“Very well. Now, why is this ship in this system?”
The human frowned. “We’re just refueling to—”
Nezdeh had to repress a sigh. “You will find that while I do not relish violence for its own sake, I am ready to embrace it where it is an effective tool. Now, I will ask again, for you know the intent of my question: how is it that a shift-carrier from Earth, which cannot reach this system directly, is here at all?”
The male shrugged. “We had help.” Nezdeh made sure her move to strike him again began at an inordinately slow pace; Brackman stepped back, hands raised. “The Dornaani. They gave us what we needed to make a shift to deep space.”
“Gave it to you? Their modification is presently integrated with your drives?”
“No. They came aboard, modified our guidance systems. Added things to it: I don’t know. I’m not sure they let anyone know exactly what they did, including the officers who came on board with them. Then, right after we arrived here, they removed it.”
“And your ship acted as a tanker, carrying the fuel for the rest of the fleet that moved directly on from deep space to carry out the attack against this system, and then Homenest?”
“I guess so, yes. Look: they didn’t tell me—us—much.”
Which made unfortunate sense. The information in the Arbitrage’s data banks—the first thing she had accessed when the system started rebooting—had some small but important gaps, particularly in the recent navigational and operational archives. “So, what orders are you carrying out now?”
“We’re refueling.”
“Do not be obtuse. I refer to your current, and your contingency, orders.”
“We’re to shift to join the fleet in Sigma Draconis.”
“When? You no doubt have a projected departure window.”
Brackman looked away, looked as though he might throw up. “Forty to forty two days, depending upon skimming conditions.”
“And how soon will there be an inquiry if you do not arrive at Sigma Draconis?”
“Well, I—Immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
Nezdeh smiled. “Thank you. You have been very helpful. Unfortunately for you, you are not at all a convincing liar.” She raised the pistol and fired twice.
The first round hit Brackman square in the forehead, but had barely enough energy to make an exit wound. The second popped open a dark red hole just to the left of his sternum; that round did not emerge from his back. Nezdeh had reduced the propellant not only to reduce the recoil to zero, but to prevent overpenetrations, and hence, damage to important ship’s systems.
Brackman hit the deck with the odd gentleness of all limp bodies that fell in low gee. Blood spread out slowly from the back of his head, giving him a round red martyr’s nimbus that shone in the overhead lights.
Nezdeh turned to the two remaining Aboriginals. “A commander would not have a moment’s uncertainty regarding the response protocols to be observed if his ship was overdue. Besides, a search would not be ‘immediate’; this hull adds no appreciable combat capability to your counter-invasion fleet. It is an auxiliary, and an increasingly redundant one.”
“Which makes it perfect for our purposes,” added Brenlor as he entered the bridge with Vranut and Idrem. “If there was one ship your fleet could afford to lose, it was this one.”
Nezdeh smiled tightly, kept her eyes on the Aboriginals. “I trust you understand now that I will not tolerate liars.” She turned to the male. “You are Kozakowski, are you not?”
He blinked in surprise. “I am. How do you—?”
“Do not question me. Besides, the answer to your question is obvious. Our agents aided your megacorporation in the recent war. Do you think we did not acquire complete information on your assets and personnel? And you, having been a direct liaison to one of us at Barnard’s Star, should certainly know better.”
The Asian female glanced sideways at Kozakowski; had she possessed a knife, Nezdeh had no doubt that the diminutive woman would have gutted the collaborator. Kozakowski swallowed tightly, looked imploringly at the Ktor. “I kept your secrets. I have not failed you. I compromised and delayed the defense of this ship. Why would you expose me?”
“To bind your fate to ours. Irrevocably.” Nezdeh was annoyed that the Aboriginal did not see it for himself. “Now, there is no path back for you. Your secret is revealed. You cannot return to your own primitive peoples; they will be happy to execute you. And some of the nations of your planet have retained suitably agonizing forms of capital punishment.”
“But if he kills me first, his secret remains safe,” the Asian female murmured.
Nezdeh turned, surprised. She saw that far, that quickly. Let’s see what else she has deduced: “So, do you presume I wish you dead?”
“No,” said the female. “The opposite. Now that I am aware of Kozakowski’s treason, if anything befalls me, you will look to him as the architect of that misfortune. And so, I am the means whereby you ensure that his fate is sealed, if he should abandon you. In that event, you would return me to my people, who would have every reason to believe my accusations. So, logically, you intend to keep both of us alive for the foreseeable future, or you would not be using us as means of leverage against each other.”
“You are correct. We need you alive to oversee the operations of this ship and its megacorporate crew. But be warned: the crew’s continued survival is contingent upon your cooperation, Tagawa. That includes whatever persons may be in your cryogenic suspension modules.” She turned to Kozakowski. “In your case, you may hope for a richly rewarded future with us.”
Brenlor leaned forward. “But should you displease us—” He let the statement hang unfinished.
“You can count upon my loyalty,” Kozakowski hurried to assure them.
Nezdeh turned toward Tagawa. “And you?”
“I am compelled to comply and shall do so.”
Idrem raised a single eyebrow. “Will you?”
The Aboriginal female stared, but did not say anything.
Nezdeh glanced at Idrem. “You have additional information on her? What have you learned?”
“It is not what I learned, but what I found. We were searching all bunks and staterooms for undisclosed weapons or communicators. I discovered this in a hidden safe beneath her bunk.” He produced a long wooden box, closed with an old bronze latch.
Nezdeh frowned, took the box, and opened the lid. Inside was a long knife with a broad, oddly angled blade that came to a slanted, off center point. The blade itself was half wrapped in a length of white cloth. She removed and unwrapped the knife; the blade shone and winked wickedly. “This is not primarily a weapon, I think,” Nezdeh speculated. She stared at the Asian female. “Tagawa, what is this?”
* * *
For the fifth time in as many minutes, Ayana Tagawa prepared herself to die unflinching and with honor. “It is a tanto.”
The female Ktor—for she could not be a representative of any other power; the Ktor were the only alien species that humanity had not yet been seen in the flesh—frowned at the blade. “I know this term from studying one of your warrior cultures. It is, and you are, Japanese?”
“It is. I am.”
The Ktor named Nezdeh tested the edge with practiced care, touched the ceremonial cloth that had been bound around the center of the blade. “This is used for ritual suicides, is it not?”
“It was.” Ayana left out the fact that although that use was now quite rare, it had not disappeared entirely.
Nezdeh fixed red-flecked hazel eyes upon hers. “Do not attempt to lie to me, low-breed. You would now be as dead as Brackman if you did not interest me.”
Untrue. Brackman was extraneous to your plans. But you need me to ensure your hold over Kozakowski. “I misspoke. The tanto is still used in this fashion, but very infrequently.”
This seemed to partially mollify the Ktor, but only partially. “It is a warrior’s means of preserving honor, I recall. So tell me—warr
ior—did you intend to use it on yourself?”
Not before I used it on as many of you as I could catch by surprise. “No, it is not mine,” she lied. “In my culture, a woman’s honor is not that of a warrior, and her failures are not effaced in this fashion.” Which was no longer uniformly true in Japan’s changing culture. “This tanto was my father’s and those of my family’s many fathers before him. He was a warrior, as were they.” Which was true.
Nezdeh stared at her for a long time. Ayana had the sense that her life depended upon the Ktor being unable to read anything in her face, her eyes.
Apparently, she succeeded at remaining expressionless. Nezdeh passed the box to the most junior of the four Ktor. “You may not have this weapon, of course,” she commented casually, “but we shall retain it, un-defaced. On this you have my word.” The other two senior Ktor glanced at her in what might have been surprise.
“In the meantime,” Nezdeh continued, “both you and Kozakowski shall acquaint our logistics officer, Sehtrek, with the contents of your ship, its lading manifest, and most particularly, any pertinent facts or contents which do not appear in your data files. And unless you wish to lose appendages, do not think you will conceal anything from us. Nor should you think that we will be so gullible as to believe that you have no hidden caches or off-manifest items. Sehtrek will be here within the minute: attend him when he comes.” She turned to the two other Ktor who had spoken. “We should confer on our next steps.” Then, with a final glance at Ayana, the Ktor woman exited.
Ayana, half-surprised to still be alive, wondered if she should be grateful or dismayed that she was.
Chapter Fourteen
Far orbit; Sigma Draconis Two
Caine Riordan watched as a crab-armed cargo tug grabbed a habitation module from the Lincoln’s forward cargo racks, leaving a gap in the serried ranks of its fellows. The tug’s operator was quite accomplished: even as its manipulator arms half rotated the habmod, the tug was already boosting away from the human shift-carrier and angling into a trajectory that would take it toward the nearby Slaasriithi ship.
Downing approached the gallery window, nodded at the tug as it overtook their shuttle on a roughly parallel course. “I believe that habmod is your new home. It should be in place by the time we rendezvous with the Slaasriithi.”
The deck moved slightly under their feet; their own craft had cut thrust, probably to let the tug get farther ahead. Riordan reached out for a handle, steadied his body against a slow drift up from the deck. “So where are the other warm bodies who’ll be going down the rabbit’s hole with me?”
As if in answer to his question, Ben Hwang drifted into the room. “I’m here. Can’t say I’m enjoying the ride, though.” He moved slowly toward the gallery window, carefully towing himself from one hand hold to the next.
Downing watched the Nobel prize winner’s cautious progress. “Rulaine and O’Garran are coming out on the next shuttle, along with this Tsaami fellow who ferried you to and from your meeting with the Slaasriithi ambassador.”
“A second shuttle, just for the three of them?”
“No, they’re just tagging along with all the kit we’ve scratched together for you. I’m not sure you appreciate the challenges this has posed, Caine. This fleet came out here to fight a war, not explore new biospheres. This mission has half a dozen logistics staffs scrambling to find compact, pioneer-grade biosensors, microlabs, an automed, and more Dornaani translators.”
“Hah,” said Vassily Sukhinin from the doorway, “those bean counters have it easy.”
“Oh?” smiled Riordan. “And you’ve come along to say farewell, too?”
“Da,” Sukhinin grinned back as he glided, quite professionally, to join the other three at the wide expanse of triple-layered glass. “Anything to get away from the staff officers who have been pestering me about finding personnel for your legation. The Fleet doesn’t have enough of the civilian-grade specialties and is also struggling with an incomplete database.”
“Incomplete?” Hwang echoed.
Sukhinin nodded. “Yes. It was just luck that Doppelganger is carrying most of the needed specialists. Along with gospodin Gaspard and his staff, she brought hundreds of civilian personnel, many with credentials that are rare among military ranks. But each of them must be added into the Fleet’s database. And only after trickling through Doppleganger’s Arat Kur communication systems. It is not a smooth operation.”
Downing stared at the distant speck that was Doppelganger’s sister ship, Changeling. “And I won’t even be here to see the end of it.”
“You are leaving already?” Hwang sounded as surprised as Caine felt. “I though you were staying until Visser formally hands the reins over to Vassily.”
Downing shook his head. “The secure pouch that came on board Doppelganger carried new orders. Due to Wasserman’s discoveries, I have to catch up with the outbound Changeling and oversee his security, all the way back to Earth. Lemuel Wasserman is now the pearl of great price, so we can’t let anything happen to him. The wanker.”
As Hwang pushed himself further down the expanse of window to get a better vantage point as they approached the Slaasriithi shift-carrier, Riordan’s took advantage of the comparative privacy. “So Richard, once you’ve left Sigma Draconis, who’s going to run the on-site intelligence operations?”
It was Sukhinin who responded, elliptically. Or so it seemed, at first. “Originally, I was concerned that it would be intolerable to remain here, working alongside that arrogant upstart, Gaspard.” The Russian’s smiling eyes became sharp. “But now, he is traveling to have tea with aliens. And I have determined, after speaking with Richard, that there are additional interesting activities that want my attention while I am in this system.”
Caine looked from Downing to Sukhinin and back again. He nodded thoughtfully at Richard. “So. Vassily is replacing you.”
“Yes.”
Caine waited a moment. “In every relevant regard.”
“Yes.”
Caine glanced at Sukhinin. “So you know.”
Vassily smiled. “Yes, I know about your clandestine Institute for Research, Intelligence, and Security.”
“For how long?”
Vassily’s smile widened as he checked his watch. “About five hours, now, I estimate. But its existence was no surprise to me.”
Caine nodded. “Did Nolan drop some broad hints?”
Sukhinin straightened. “Nolan Corcoran and I were friends, but you must also remember that the Admiral was a consummate professional. I understand your supposition: that given our coordination before the Parthenon Dialogs, and our prior friendship, he might have…well, ‘encouraged’ me to speculate that there was an undisclosed international intelligence group assessing Earth’s vulnerability to exosapients. But he did not do so. And he did not need to. I had my own suspicions.”
Downing, surprised, glanced at Sukhinin. “I didn’t know you guessed at the existence of IRIS before the Parthenon Dialogs. I doubt Nolan did either. He was very fond of you, and certainly would not have wanted you to feel excluded.”
Sukhinin waved a dismissive hand. “Nolan did not exclude me; he spared me. I see very well how this IRIS has tied all of you in knots, has ruled your lives. Besides, at the Parthenon Dialogs, it was crucial that I had no knowledge of the secrets he kept. That way, no collusion between us—either as individuals or as representatives of our respective blocs—could be asserted.”
Riordan’s nodded. “But you suspected that IRIS existed.”
Sukhinin grinned. “Caine, parnishka, I knew it existed. I just did not know what it was called or precisely what it did. Years before, several of Moscow’s most gifted intelligence analysts had been reassigned to a secretive transnational cooperative which put them above my clearance level.” He wagged a finger. “Above my level. But I was satisfied that whatever this mysterious organization was, it posed no threat to the Federation or to Russia.”
One of Downing’s eyebrows rose. �
��You don’t strike me as the trusting sort, Vassily.”
“Well,” the Russian replied, scratching at his ear, “my superiors assured me that the unusual clearance elevations were proper and necessary. And you can imagine how much confidence that instilled in my cautious soul.” He had inserted his small finger halfway into his ear; he grinned meaningfully. But his expression became serious, even melancholy, when he removed it. “However, I deduced that Nolan was at the center of this star-chamber. And I had trusted him ever since he risked a court martial by helping my men during the Belt War. I knew who Nolan was, in here.” He thumped his chest faintly. “So I reasoned that, eventually, he and I would have a private chat, and my questions would be answered. However, I did not foresee that he would be assassinated, any more than I foresaw that I would become the answer to my own questions. As is the case now.”
Downing’s collarcom toned softly. He cupped a hand over his earbud, responded with a resigned, “Very well,” tapped out.
“Problems?” asked Hwang, who was drifting back into earshot.
“What else? The Euro armored cargo shuttle that was scheduled to transport the second half of the cold-sleepers has had an engine failure. Not serious, but it can’t be fixed in time.”
“And what was so special about this cargo shuttle?”
Sukhinin smiled slowly. “I suspect that it was not the shuttle, but certain members of her crew, that were special.”
Downing nodded. “Secure personnel, one of whom is an IRIS operative. Now we have to make do with a set of routine boat jockeys. The closest available is a TOCIO lighter.”
Hwang shrugged. “Well, it’s not as though some enemy agent would just happen to be assigned to the TOCIO shuttle that just happens to be filling in for the EU craft that just happened to break at the wrong moment.” Hwang grinned. “Rather implausible, wouldn’t you say?”
Downing’s answering smile was faint. “I suppose so.”
* * *
Agnata Manolescu brushed a bang of fine, dark brown hair out of her eyes, visually confirmed what her dataslate told her: all eleven cryogenic suspension pods flagged for transfer to the Slaasriithi shift-carrier had been scanned, data-tagged, and were now awaiting pick up by the TOCIO lighter that was due in—
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