The Relativity Bomb

by Arlene F. Marks

  “You’ve been ordered to protect me? From what, exactly?”

  “From anyone who might wish to hurt you. The order was nonspecific.”

  Townsend leaned forward and said tightly, “And who gave you this assignment, Karlov? Who gave you the wafer and told you what to say to me when you arrived here?”

  The other man paused for a moment, then leaned across the table as well. “I promised never to speak his name. But he instructed me that if you asked this question, I should remind you of the first time the two of you met. You were crying, and he told you to cry harder and get it all out of your system because tears were a sign of weakness on the streets. He told you that if you wanted to survive, you must never cry in front of anyone else again.”

  Rex Regum. For one breathless instant Drew was twelve years old again, small and alone and choking on fear as the gang leader’s hand gripped the collar of his jacket, propelling him into the worst six years of his life. Each time the memory resurfaced, it ricocheted like shrapnel inside his head. Today it was a painful reminder of the fact that, regardless of the name he was using or how he chose to portray himself to others, Tommy Novotny had never been Drew’s friend.

  According to the datawafer, Tommy was reformed — made brand new and given command of all the EIS field operations, including the mission on Daisy Hub. However, as Drew knew only too well, once a King, always a King. For Rex Regum the Kings had always come first. Whatever motives he might pretend to have for sending Max Karlov to the Hub (assuming that Karlov was telling the truth and Tommy was actually the one behind this), what he was really doing was putting a King’s welfare above everything else, and letting Drew know that if push came to shove, he had better be prepared to do the same.

  A swelling tide of anger reached Townsend’s throat, hardening his voice. “So that’s it? All I’m supposed to do is put you to work, and all you have to do is watch my back?”

  “And complete whatever tasks you assign me. Isn’t that enough?”

  “To persuade me to add you to the crew manifest? I’m afraid not. There’s more to this than you’re telling me, and I can’t trust you if you’re holding back. And if I can’t trust you, nobody else on the station will either. You think I’m in danger? Some of the crew are convinced that my next order will be to shove you out an airlock. A couple of them might not even wait for me to give it.”

  Karlov’s chuckle sounded like a death rattle. “They’re welcome to try. But I took this assignment in exchange for my life and I’m going to carry it out, with or without your cooperation. What is important is that you remain safe. Agree to that and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Townsend breathed an impatient syllable. Rex Regum had no idea what had been going on out here. Daisy Hub was no longer just a Terran border station. To the Nandrians, it was a House, equal in importance to one of their own; and should House Daisy Hub fall, the full wrath of the Nandrian race would descend on whoever was responsible. The Nandrians were fierce warriors. According to Holchuk, the last time an allied House had been dishonored, they had destroyed a home world, triggering an interstellar war.

  Drew was walking a knife edge, and nobody on Earth could be permitted to know about it. All he was able to say was, “You’re wrong. What’s important is that Daisy Hub remain safe. The survival of this station takes precedence over the life of any member of its crew, including the manager.”

  “Then assign me tasks that will help preserve the Hub. I’m quite versatile.”

  “What if Daisy Hub were attacked by an enemy force? Which of us would you protect then?”

  “It wouldn’t be my first battle. I would fight at your side and ensure that you survived it.”

  “But you wouldn’t keep me out of the combat zone?”

  “Why should I? You’re a Warrior King, are you not?”

  — «» —

  It was a lot to take in, and Drew still wasn’t sure that any of it was true; but at the end of the interview he and Karlov had shaken hands. Now he just had to find a way to break the news to the crew.

  Resisting the urge to return to his quarters for a second, closer reading of the encrypted datawafer, Townsend headed for AdComm instead. Bits of Karlov’s story kept repeating on him, like the onions in one of Jensen’s casseroles: “…the people who killed Bruni Patel … they came after me because Bruni and I were kin … lost my eye in the struggle … Bruni’s contact helped me to escape from Earth on the condition that I carry out this one mission … this is truth, I swear it on the graves of all my kin.”

  Kin. King. Cute. And he’d pushed the Bruni Patel button. Leaned on it, in fact. O’Malley was going to be very busy for the next while, checking out Karlov’s version of events and verifying selected bits of data from the wafer. And if the big man turned out to be lying?

  The spacing threat had been a bluff. Although Townsend had been trained to kill by the EIS and had occasionally had to use lethal force when working for New Chicago Security, he was not a cold-blooded murderer. Nobody would be going out an airlock without a Personal Life Support suit as long as he was in charge. But neither could he turn anyone with knowledge of the EIS over to the Rangers on Zulu. Not yet, anyway. So, if O’Malley’s research revealed that Karlov was a threat to the station, then maybe it was time Daisy Hub had a brig.

  As Drew stepped out of the tube car on AdComm, he saw Ruby and Lydia with their heads together at the main console. They glanced up at his approach.

  “Well?” demanded Ruby.

  “Well, what?”

  “You know what,” Lydia scolded him. “Have you decided what to do about this Max Karlov person?”

  Drew eased himself into the chair behind his desk. “Ruby, do you remember telling me when I first arrived that I made your brain itch?”

  She raised an eyebrow in response.

  “Well, I think I understand now how you must have felt. He tells a good story, and I’ve agreed to put him to work, but until we’re sure about him we’ll need to take precautions. I want you to assign him quarters, but I also want him monitored, so get Singh to install a securecam beforehand.”

  “Will do, Chief.”

  “Lydia, you’re to keep him on your screens and watch him carefully. O’Malley can spell you off. If either of you see him doing anything even remotely suspicious, report it to me immediately.”

  “Roger dodger, Drew,” she said, and snapped him a mock salute.

  “I’m going to put him into the detail rotation, just like any other crew member.”

  “Classes?” Ruby prompted him.

  “Why not? He’s supposed to be my bodyguard, so martial arts training might be a good place to start him.”

  “Whoa! Time out!” yelped Lydia, making the classic ‘T’ signal with her hands. “A bodyguard?”

  Drew sighed inwardly. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy for anyone to swallow. “Yeah. Apparently, that’s why he was sent here. He says his assignment is to keep me out of trouble.”

  “And who’s going to keep him out of trouble?” demanded Ruby. “You do realize what’s going to happen the next time a Nandrian ship docks at this station? Assuming its Chief Officer doesn’t take mortal offence at the very idea of your bringing a protector to the welcoming ritual, all the martial arts classes in the galaxy won’t help if this guy manages to insult a Nandrian warrior.”

  “A short while ago you expected me to space him,” he reminded her. “Now you’re concerned about his safety?”

  “Not his. Yours. Spacing an undesirable is something the Nandrians understand,” she pointed out. “They do it all the time. However, letting your subordinate disrupt one of their ceremonies could easily get you killed.”

  “You’re right,” he decided. “Karlov’s going to need a crash course in Nandrian culture.”

  “I’ll set it up with Gavin Holchuk.” Ruby went quiet for a moment.
“What do you think, Drew? Was he really sent here to protect you?”

  Privately, Townsend doubted it. But his EIS handlers had given him two options for dealing with anyone standing between him and the completion of his mission. He could turn Karlov, or he could terminate him. And there was no question in Drew’s mind as to which he would prefer.

  “I don’t know,” he said wearily. “In any case, until his story checks out we’ll have to take precautionary measures. Spread the word to the crew to be careful what they say within his hearing, and to report immediately anything questionable that they notice about him. Tell the Doc she has to keep Yoko out of sight until further notice. The cloning operation, too. And first thing next shift, I need to meet with Gouryas. There’s something I want him to build.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Lydia stepped out of the tube car on AdComm, looking like the proverbial cat that had just swallowed a canary. “New guy finally has a tummy ache,” she announced to the room, adding with a whoop of triumph, “And I won the pool! Five and a half standard days.”

  Drew turned in his chair and asked Ruby, “How much lemon juice did she just win?”

  “Everyone but you and Jensen paid in this time. That’s nearly two liters’ worth, if my calculations are correct. Good for an extra half hour or so of shopping in the hold of the next Nandrian ship that stops by. And speaking of Nandrians, House Trokerk is leading in the tekl’hananni standings again. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about delivering a first-contact speech next time around.”

  That was reassuring. Daisy Hub and Trokerk were formalizing an alliance, now that Gavin Holchuk had been adopted into Nagor’s Fifth Shield clan. In terms of the Nandrian welcoming ceremony, however, all that meant was that no one would be disemboweled if Drew hesitated or mispronounced while reciting his mandatory speech. His command of Gally was almost perfect now, but he still spoke it with an accent; and the aliens’ tendency to take violent offence at the slightest deviation from script had sent him to Med Services on more than one occasion for something to settle his nerves.

  With luck, Holchuk would be able to impress on Karlov how important it was that he stand absolutely still and silent during the ritual. Even luckier would be something that kept him away from Deck A altogether. The brig, maybe? Townsend made a mental note to ask Gouryas how those plans were coming along.

  “Boss!” O’Malley was standing in front of Drew’s desk, his grin even broader than Lydia’s. “You were right. Well, not completely right, but right enough.” Leaning closer, he intimated in a whisper that carried right across the deck, “She may be alive.”

  Drew glanced around, saw Ruby and Lydia both studiously ignoring the scene in his workspace, and said with undisguised annoyance, “Meet me in the caf in five minutes, O’Malley, and don’t talk to anyone until I get there.”

  — «» —

  “Talk to me, O’Malley. Was her name added to the passenger manifest after the crash or not?”

  The ratkeeper sat facing Townsend across the small round table, managing to look self-satisfied and exuberant at the same time. “Not. But that doesn’t make her death any less bogus.”

  Drew had little patience right now for guessing games. “You’d better explain,” he warned.

  O’Malley planted himself more firmly in his chair, adjusting his hips and shoulders like a golfer preparing to tee off. This was one of his tells. The story would be long and recounted in exhaustive detail. Townsend groaned inwardly, but resigned himself to sitting through it. Like the Doc, the ratkeeper was a wealth of information, and there was no predicting where his research might have taken him.

  “When I realized the passenger list hadn’t been altered, I decided to dig a little deeper. I began by checking out all the names on the manifest. There were forty-two including your sister’s. Thirty-seven of them had been added to the population database within a single six-day period. All the entries were made long after each person’s supposed date of birth; and some of them were listed as being born on Earth, so there shouldn’t have been any delay at all.”

  “You’re saying these were imaginary people?”

  “Definitely. Whoever input the information was smart enough to spread out their places of birth, at least. There was also just enough cross-referencing to withstand a superficial inquiry. But it was a rush job, as if there was a deadline involved. So, on a hunch, I looked into the ship. Transport and mixed-use vessels are pretty thoroughly documented. Every date you can imagine is recorded in the Fleet database.” He began counting on his fingers. “Design approval date. Construction start date. Online activation date. Official launch date.”

  “I get the picture, O’Malley. Now get to the point.”

  “The Gloria Terrae never existed. It was an overlay. Not a bad one, either. Whoever spliced it in was tech-savvy, able to alter the shipyard records, but not well-enough informed to realize that freighters are differently documented than passenger vessels. A couple of important dates were missing.”

  “You still haven’t gotten to the point. Was there a crashed ship or not?”

  “There was a crash, all right, but it wasn’t the Gloria Terrae, and there were no passengers aboard. The ship that collided with that asteroid was an old freighter on a pre-scheduled scuttle run.”

  “And the date of that run was the deadline?”

  “Yep. Someone overwrote the ship’s history, keeping all the dates but changing the name and classification of the vessel. Then they replaced the standard scuttle confirmation with the tragic story of a crashed transport, complete with passenger manifest. Pretty clever, when you think about it. Fill an imaginary ship with imaginary passengers — who don’t need bodies since nobody will be claiming them — plus the names of five real people who need to disappear, whose bodies are conveniently unrecoverable.”

  “So she’s alive,” Drew mused.

  “Maybe. Something could have happened to her between then and now, but I can tell you for certain that she did not perish in a transport crash in 2374.”

  “The other four names. Who were they?”

  O’Malley pulled up the information on his compupad and passed it across the table. After a cursory scan, Townsend passed it back. “I don’t recognize any of these.”

  “There’s no reason you should. Two of them came from Indo-Asia, one from the League of African Nations, and the fourth from Pacifica. Americas doesn’t have a monopoly on sneaky dealings, you know. Every political union on the planet has its ‘royal family’ and one or two untouchable criminal organizations. And sometimes they’re all headed up by the same person, dictatorships being such an efficient way to get things done. I’d be surprised if all the top dogs hadn’t found a way to work together on something like this.”

  — «» —

  “Drew, we may have a problem.”

  Townsend glanced up from his light screen and saw Lydia standing at the corner of his blue rug, gnawing anxiously on her lower lip.

  He blanked the screen and motioned to her to sit down. “Jensen’s sludge has finally claimed a victim?” he ventured, only half-joking. Despite his Cordon Bleu training, the Hub’s chef couldn’t brew a decent pot of java to save his life.

  “No, Karlov has fully recovered. In fact, he’s in the SPA room right now with Hagman, white water rafting.”

  Interesting. Hagman was a cynic and the Hub’s resident grouch, making him perfectly suited to hold the position of Head of Security.

  “And they’re getting along?”

  “Yes. They met just eight days ago, but it’s as if they’ve been best friends all their lives. Lately they’ve been spending most of their off-duty time together. I’ve never seen Hagman so mellow. I’d swear he’s in love.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I offered to write Karlov his own SPA wafer and asked him what kind of activities he’d like me to put on it. And…�
��

  When she hesitated, Townsend leaned back in his chair, recalling a conversation he’d had with Ruby on this very topic the day he’d arrived on the station. “What did he request, Lydia?”

  “Armed and unarmed single combat, to the death. With Nandrians,” she concluded reluctantly.

  Drew stared at her, brought up short by the dreadful ramifications of that last word. “He wants to practice killing Nandrians? He didn’t happen to tell you why, did he?”

  “He said he needed to stay battle-ready. I think he may be some kind of soldier. But why would anyone believe we need a soldier out here, especially one trained to kill Nandrians, unless—”

  There was no need for her to finish the thought. “Yeah, that’s a problem,” he growled. “Tell Gouryas I’m on my way to see him right now.”

  It appeared they were going to need that brig sooner than expected.

  — «» —

  Doctor Marion Ktumba stood in her laboratory, her gaze swinging from the screen of her molecular microscope to the hard-copy maps of two retroviruses sitting side by side on her green enameled work table. The RNA was dense with data, much denser than it should have been. The conversion files on her computer occupied nearly a gig of memory, and each of the printouts was a thick sheaf of paper. The first retrovirus had been extracted from the blood of the black and white rat that Karlov had brought aboard the station. The second had been detected much earlier in various samples taken from Yoko, the extremely intelligent white rat that had belonged to Nayo Naguchi when he was alive. The Doc had always assumed that this tightly-curled strand of RNA had something to do with Yoko’s longevity — the Überrat was coming up on her twenty-sixth birthday — but now there was a second long-lived rat on the station, carrying a different retrovirus, and Ktumba could feel inner stirrings of both doubt and wondrous excitement.

  Before going off-world, Nayo Naguchi had been working on a way to encode information using the base pair sequencing of DNA and ribonucleic acid. It was going to be his next great breakthrough, he’d told her, a foolproof way to transmit data too sensitive or personal to entrust to an electronic device. There was plenty of room on a strand of RNA. Volumes of information could be encrypted and then injected into a messenger’s bloodstream. The messenger would literally become the message, and he wouldn’t even need to know he was carrying it. Because of the way RNA behaved, the data could also be double-encrypted, with the DNA of another individual providing the initial decryption key.