Vri helped Roche stow the body in the rear hold, where the Box could keep an eye on it. Then she went back to the pilot’s station, which Cane had left vacant, and took control of the scutter from Kajic.
A chart appeared on the console, with major concentrations of fire and wreckage marked.
With a simple series of commands directed through her implants, she fired the scutter’s thrusters and moved them away from Perdue Habitat.
* * *
The scutter was attacked the moment it disengaged. Fighters and cannon converged on it, urged on by reports that they were responsible for the death of the administer—which in essence was true. Roche guessed that the remaining clone warrior was behind it, continuing the ploy that had begun with the report that she had assassinated Jans—only this time it was for real.
Surprisingly, the Random Valence ships joined in, local rivalries forgotten for the moment—or perhaps directed by another clone warrior among their own numbers. Roche wondered what lies they might be being fed, but it was impossible for the Box to access their command network.
Barely had they managed to evade pursuit long enough to dock with the waiting Ana Vereine when something exploded in the habitat behind them. They couldn’t tell what it was—maybe a major power plant, or a weapons store. Roche could only watch with a sinking feeling as the great tangle of corridors began to disintegrate, unraveling like a knot and breaking into chunks as local stress points flexed too far and snapped.
Pursuit abruptly fell off as all the ships in the area retreated to search for survivors. Roche wanted to assist also, but Haid—awake but concussed—talked her out of it.
“Even if they don’t shoot us out of the sky,” he said, “they probably wouldn’t let us get close enough to do any good. Remember: one of them is still in there, and they’re not going to make it easy for you.”
By “them” he meant the clone warriors. Roche was beginning to think that “they” were everywhere.
As the Ana Vereine retreated from the vicinity, injuries were attended to while everyone discussed what had happened. Haid was still recovering. Alta Ansourian was under sedation; Roche didn’t know if she would ever be united with the habitat survivors, or indeed any of her people, but she would do her best for the woman. Vri was back in his ship. Maii was resting on a bench on the bridge, where Roche and Kajic went over the small amount of data they had managed to gather.
Cane was asleep in the medical unit.
<1 coopted the diagnostic AI to my service,> it replied.
<1 don’t believe his need to rest has anything to do with his injuries or his being tired, Morgan. At least not a physical tiredness.>
She knew what the Box was implying. She herself had done little else but think about it since leaving the habitat, and even now the significance of what had happened was still difficult to fully appreciate.
Roche added that to the list of things they’d learned.
The Box hesitated for a second. When it spoke again, its voice was contrite.
Roche remembered something Ansourian had said about the previous administer discouraging the use of transit tubes after “a terrible accident,” years ago.
Roche could see that, too. Ansourian had also mentioned that Inderdeep Jans wouldn’t have agreed to come to Sol System at all if he hadn’t pressured her into it. Certainly her odd moods had kept the efficiency of the habitat at a low ebb. And ultimately, with Roche on her way and Ansourian a genuine thorn in her side, she had been forced to make her move.
Roche couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had they realized the truth earlier. Maybe she could have saved the lives of Ansourian and everyone else on the station, or maybe it would’ve turned out as it had. There was no way of knowing.
more closely. When they could find a way to fix the precise locations of people in the real universe from the impressions they left in n-space, maybe there would be a chance. Maybe.
She sagged back in her seat. If Kajic wondered why she was no longer showing much interest in the data they were supposedly examining, he said nothing at all. Maybe he just assumed she was tired like everyone else—which she was. It was made worse by the fact that she knew she wouldn’t be getting the chance to rest any time soon.
Roche’s weariness intensified at the thought. In just fifteen hours they could be going through it all again.
<1 can do that for you, if you like,> said the Box.
Speaking aloud, she said: “Uri, I’m sorry. I’m really not up to this at the moment. I’m feeling a little tired and distracted. Let me get a couple of hours’ sleep and we’ll finish up then, okay?”
“Of course, Morgan,” Kajic said. “Is there anything you’d like me to get on with while you rest?”
Roche thought for a second. “Yes. Plot a course for the Katajalin Serai and get us under way. Its location is in the file Nemeth gave us. Send a drone to check things out first, though; this time I want to know exactly what we’re getting ourselves into.”
“Understood.” As his holographic image began to dissolve, he added: “Sleep well, Morgan.”
“I will,” she said to the suddenly empty space before her.
<1 can make sure of that,> said Maii softly into her mind.
For once, Roche was tempted. All the other times the girl had made that offer, she had turned it down out of fear that the reave might tamper with her mind. She’d had plenty of opportunities now to see that Maii’s intentions were innocent. If Roche could trust her with the knowledge that the Box had survived the destruction of the Sebettu, then she could probably feel safe in her hands for a couple of hours.
But the thought still nagged at her that she would be defenseless. It would take longer still for her to get over that feeling.
The girl radiated warmth.
Later, though, Roche would regret that she hadn’t given herself wholly over to the girl’s care. Her sleep was disturbed by dreams that left her frightened, bewildered, confused, and sad. Most unnerving was a recurring image in which she was floating gently over a flat gray landscape in which there suddenly appeared a circular hole. First a pinprick, then a gaping mouth, then a yawning chasm, it sucked her into its lightless maw—and she fell, much as she had in the dream that had haunted her through COE Armada Military College and before her arrival in Palasian System. Only this time there was no bottom. This time her fall went on forever.
PART THREE:
PHLEGETHON
11
TBC-14 (a.k.a. IND Kindling)
955.1.33
0390
“Who is the enemy, Page?” Saltan Trezise asked via the ftl link with the Phlegethon.
De Bruyn didn’t answer immediately. She was too busy watching the recording of Perdue Habitat disintegrate. It was the third time she had sat through it; this time she was paying special attention to one particular section of the structure.
Signs still remained of where Roche’s tame clone warrior had blown his way in through the outer hatch of the refuse dumper, and where the ex-Dato scutter had left distinctive exhaust marks upon its departure. Unfortunately, that portion of the habitat had been one of the most severely damaged, and De Bruyn’s recording was the only remaining proof of what had taken place there.
“Someone got rid of the evidence,” she said, watching again the puff of energy that tore apart the section of the habitat, atomizing anything that might have remained within and slagging the dumper itself. “There’s nothing left at all.”
“Are you listening to me, Page?” he said. “I asked—”
“I heard you,” she said. And indeed she had: she had switched to an ordinary audio link, tired of his voice insinuating through her implants. After a session with him, she felt as if her brain had been soaked in oil. “I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“The work you and your ineffectual council should be doing.”
“We have enough on our hands without wasting time pursuing grudges.”
“Is that really what you think this is?” She made no attempt to hide her anger. She’d had enough of that sort of talk from the mercenaries on Dark Stressor.
“You haven’t given me sufficient evidence to think otherwise, I must say.”
“Must you?”
His sigh was audible over the link. “Page, you’re acting like a child.”
“I’m investigating every possibility,” she said. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“No you’re not,” he countered quickly. “You’re investigating just one possibility from every possible angle.”
“And what’s wrong with that? It’s still a possibility.”
“A remote one, at best,” he said. “Really, Page, what have you to go on? A suspicion; a scrap or two of barely circumstantial evidence—”
“More than a scrap! We know Roche was in the habitat. One of your own agents lifted her image from security. But no one saw her leave.” She indicated the image before her, speaking as much to herself as to Trezise, mulling over the problem again. “This whole area was blacked out at the time. We have no hard evidence of anything!”
“We do know she escaped, Page. She sent a report to Rey Nemeth ten hours later.”
“Someone did. We can’t be sure it was her.”
His laugh held more exasperation than amusement. “You think she stayed behind?”
“Maybe. Or maybe the scutter acted as a distraction while she went elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.” Her fists clenched.
“So in the absence of any alternative theory, do you really believe it wasn’t her?”
“All I’m saying is that it pays to be careful. She’s slippery, and she’s not stupid. If she thinks she’s being followed, who knows what lengths she would go to to avoid me?”
“Possibly,” he muttered. “But you have to admit that these lengths would be ridiculous.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it. The evidence overwhelmingly suggested that Roche had been on the scutter when it left the habitat, and that she had therefore been aboard the Ana Vereine when it left the vicinity of the disaster. If De Bruyn could allow herself to feel satisfied on that point, she could move on. There were other, more immediate things to worry about.
She killed the recording, deciding that she did in fact agree with Trezise. She would not, however, give him the satisfaction of knowing that she had given in.
“Have you learned anything of note?” she challenged him as she checked local space. Still no sign of the ship she was waiting for.
“Things are moving apace,” he said. “The Kesh-Olmahoi conflict has ended as expected, with the Kesh decisively routed. Surprisingly, no evidence has been found of enemy involvement. But the council is lending its support to those attempting to clean up the mess.”
No evidence, De Bruyn repeated to herself, disappointed that he should be s
o blind.
“We’ve been investigating the cult I mentioned earlier, the one purported to worship the enemy,” he went on. “They have caused a moderately large amount of damage and their influence appears to be growing. It seems there are several splinter sects. Their devotion is quite genuine, albeit misplaced and lacking any foundation. We have interrogated a number of devotees and found that they possess no more knowledge about the enemy than we do ourselves. If the enemy does have any involvement with them at all, then it is purely symbolic. They share no information with their worshippers, and no plans, and seem to bear them no sympathy at all when they are purged. Five pockets of the religion have been flushed out of as many fleets, and not once has the enemy raised a hand to stop us.
“The interesting thing, though, is that the cults believe, as do some of us, that the enemy has been sent to rid the galaxy of Pristines. While this does conflict with some of the evidence we have gathered, it is suggestive. There might yet be a grain of truth to that belief, after all.”
De Bruyn let him ramble on. She didn’t know whether he was talking for her benefit, or his own, but she doubted he would be telling her anything simply because he thought it would help her. Maybe he thought she knew something about the cults and might let it slip if he encouraged her. She did, but she wasn’t going to let him know.
The near-space screen was still empty.
“There have been a few setbacks,” he continued. “One of the council’s major allies, the Espire-Mavrodis Coalition, was struck from within just hours ago. A group of military officers attempted to capitalize on discontent in the lower ranks, and mounted a coup that might very well have been successful, had not one of their own had a change of heart at the last moment and turned against them. The debacle cost the life of nearly every person we had come to rely on in that quarter, and has left the Coalition in complete disarray. They’ll be no use to us in the short term, I’m afraid—and maybe never, as there is talk of them pulling out to regroup. Unfortunately, the defecting officer has not been found.”
The Dark Imbalance Page 19