Matt acknowledged and silenced the alarm. He swiveled to face her, his warm brown eyes tightening with a chill she’d never seen. “What’s Joyce doing here?”
“How would I know?” She wiped her fingers on her coveralls, which would soon be heading to the steamer anyway.
“Can’t we go about our business without having the Directorate of Intelligence always breathing down our necks?”
That’s not fair—it only happened once, she wanted to say, but they had avoided the subject of “what happened” on her last mission, and she’d been satisfied with that unspoken arrangement. She didn’t care to bring up memories of what Matt had gone through any more than she wanted to rehash her own experiences.
“He’s not in uniform.” She refrained from adding that it probably meant Joyce was under orders.
“Master Sergeant Alexander Joyce requests admittance,” announced the ship systems, which sounded synthetic and neutral to her after listening to Muse 3.
“Go to quiescent mode, Muse Three.” Matt glanced at Ariane. “We’ll both talk to Joyce, in case I need an interpreter for militaryese.”
She shook her head at the unusual cynicism coming from her business partner and employer. Matt used to have enough unbridled optimism for both of them. Perhaps Nestor’s murder, as well as Cipher’s violent attempts to assassinate her, had changed Matt. Regretfully, she wondered whether anything could neutralize the poison of bitter experience.
As they climbed down the tube to the front airlock, the ship’s systems announced, “Disconnection in two hours and thirty minutes. Environmental system conversion should begin immediately.”
When you can’t dodge crap from the Great Bull, as Lieutenant Diana Oleander had heard said in various and more vulgar forms, the only way to avoid the splatter is to stay faceless. The flutter in her stomach warned her that such a barrage might be coming her way.
“Pleased to meet you, Colonel. If you and your aide will step this way.”
Colonel Owen Edones followed the Terran, his shiny shoes clicking on the deck. Oleander brushed imaginary lint from her service dress coat and walked calmly behind and a step to the right, just where an anonymous aide should stay.
For a moment, she wondered whether the scheduling staff aboard the Bright Crescent was purposely torturing her. She squelched the idea. Someone had to take the place of the mysteriously missing Sergeant Joyce on this emergency mission, and her name must have come to the top of the rotation list titled “Unpleasant Additional Duties for Junior Officers.”
She followed Colonel Edones through a door into a small conference room.
“This is a secure room, sir.” The serviceman who showed them into this room backed out quickly, closing the door behind him.
Looking around, Oleander understood his haste. Putting a dead body on the conference table could barely make the place more grim. Two Terran officers and two Autonomist officers sat at the table, their faces pale and drawn. Her own red service dress with gold trim was the single bright spot; the Terrans wore their customary muddy colors and the other Autonomists, including Edones, were dressed in the black uniform of the Directorate of Intelligence, which sported light blue trim in modest amounts.
“Shut that down.” The major, whose name tag read BERNARD, pointed at the slate she carried. Oleander had read her premission briefing. Bernard was the leader of the Autonomist weapons inspection team visiting this Gaia-forsaken Terran outpost. Despite the cool temperature in the room, Major Bernard’s face sweated. Beside him sat a burly female captain named Floros, who looked ready to vomit.
“Yes, sir.” Oleander thumbed off her slate and stowed the stylus. She tilted the slate so everyone could see that it couldn’t record.
Colonel Edones walked to the head of the table, where an empty chair waited. All faces rotated to watch him. In Oleander’s short experience with Edones, she’d noticed he could grab and hold the attention of any room.
Something’s wrong. Oleander suddenly wished she could flee through the door behind her. She wasn’t going to like what was coming. Moreover, she saw the dark maw of the Directorate sucking her even deeper into the muck of military intelligence.
“You called me here using an emergency priority, Major.” Colonel Edones put the lightest lilt of a question onto the end of his sentence.
Bernard took a deep breath and said, “A temporal-distortion weapon’s gone missing.”
CHAPTER 2
If a weapon or weapon system (as defined in this Proto col) is lost or destroyed due to accident, the possess
ing Party shall notify the other Party within forty-eight UT
hours, as required in paragraph 5(e) of Article II, that
the item has been eliminated. In such a case, the other
Party shall have the right to conduct an inspection of the
specific point at which the accident occurred.
—Section V, Loss or Accidental Destruction, in Elimination
Protocol attached to the Mobile Temporal-Distortion (TD)
Weapon Treaty, 2105.164.10.22 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 8 under Flux Imperative
During the silence that followed Major Bernard’s statement, Oleander’s hand began to cramp. She relaxed her grip on her slate.
“Gone missing, Major? Could you be more precise?” There was an edge to Colonel Edones’s voice. His ears and cheeks flushed. She thought the reaction made him look more human. When the coloring faded, he was his bland politic self again, with frightening secrets hidden behind cold blue eyes.
“Perhaps Colonel Ash could explain. After all, we’re speaking about a weapon in his inventory.” Major Bernard glanced sharply at the closest Terran, who had no name tag.
“There’s a warhead package on our inventory that hasn’t been identified through physical inspection.” Ash had an unremarkable face, made more colorless by his lack of expression.
“Are we talking about a separated Mark Fifteen package, a Mark Fifteen warhead, or a Mark Fifteen installed in a Falcon missile?” Edones asked.
“I’m not authorized to release that information to you.”
At Ash’s response, Major Bernard rolled his eyes. The Terrans didn’t display any emotion and Oleander reminded herself that many Terran officers were trained in somaural projection; Ash probably had the ability to hide his feelings, as well as to subtly communicate commands to his subordinate.
“The inventory lists it as a package,” Bernard said.
Ash barely inclined his head. Apparently he would allow Bernard to provide the information.
“Colonel Ash, you are authorized to release inspection-related information to us,” Edones said. “The Elimination Protocol of the treaty allows us to investigate the loss or destruction of a weapon. Besides, we’ve signed agreements to protect your classified material with equivalent Consortium procedures.”
“Section five covers loss or destruction by accident. This is probably a clerical error in the records,” Ash said.
“Is that the Terran euphemism for a prime fuckup?” The words suddenly spewed from Captain Floros’s mouth. Throughout the conversation, she’d looked like a smolder ing volcano.
Oleander looked down to hide her smile. Floros’s outburst was inappropriate, but it had the unexpected effect of relieving tension in the room. Everyone around the table relaxed, including the Terrans, if only to act offended.
“Captain, please.” Colonel Edones’s tone was mild.
“Sorry, sir.” Contrary to her tone and words, there was no apology on Floros’s broad face.
“Colonel Ash, AFCAW has every right, on behalf of the Consortium, to investigate this missing item even if it proves to be a paperwork problem,” Edones said. “Please don’t make me go back to my superiors for endorsement and justification. They would immediately contact your commander, which would embarrass you much more than me.”
Edones’s threat to end Ash’s career was so smooth and unyielding that Oleander shivered. She hoped she
never ended up on Edones’s bad side—never, ever. Ash’s emotionless mask slipped and uncertainty showed, but for only a moment.
“We’ve already reported this up our chain of command. State Prince Hauser will be arriving within hours and he’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Ash apparently thought he could lose the taint of incompetence by pushing all negotiations onto someone else. His plan might work, or it could cover him with career-ending grime.
“Fine. I’ll wait for your SP. We’ll require quarters near the inspection team.” Edones’s gesture included Oleander.
Ash nodded.
“Lieutenant, tell the Bright Crescent we’ll be here at Teller’s Colony for an indefinite period of time.”
“Yes, sir,” Oleander responded briskly, and restarted her slate, but her heart sank. She might be on this Gaia-forsaken rock for a while. If this “small additional duty” dragged on too long, it might attract the notice of the Directorate’s personnel management. Rumors said that once the Directorate of Intelligence snagged you for an assignment, your operational career was finished. She liked working in plain, straightforward Operations. At least the rules were fixed and written. Hell—at least there were rules.
Master Sergeant Joyce stepped onto the Aether’s Touch with a confidence that filled the corridor and implied he owned the deck under his feet. He seemed much bigger in person than on video; being so perfectly proportioned, his sheer muscular bulk couldn’t be realized until one stood in front of him.
Ariane saw Matt take an involuntary step backward as Joyce stepped through the airlock. Then Matt squared his shoulders and straightened out of his habitual slouch.
“Mr. Journey.” Joyce extended his hand.
Matt shook it, but Ariane saw a familiar stubbornness set into his jaw. Having grown up on a generational ship, Matt had the slim and wiry body of most “crèche-get.” Standing nearly as tall as Joyce, however, he looked almost frail by contrast.
“Good to see you, Joyce.” Ariane, at least, was honestly happy to see Joyce.
“What are you doing here, Sergeant?” Matt asked bluntly.
“Mr. Joyce, if you please. I need a ride to G-145.”
“What?” Ariane and Matt looked at Joyce in shock, receiving only an innocent expression in response.
“You know that’s impossible. This ship is designed for two people and we’ve already requisitioned our air, water, fuel—” Matt sputtered to a halt.
“You’re not making a real-space run. You’re taking an N-space shortcut and you’ll have plenty of resources for three people,” Joyce said.
“As long as nothing goes wrong!” Matt had grown up in real-space and wasn’t about to short his safety margins. He and Joyce eyed each other and Ariane sensed a testosterone buildup in the narrow corridor.
“G-145 is still under controlled access,” she said. “Our ship was assigned an authorization key by Pilgrimage, but only for two travelers.”
“I have authorization.” Joyce touched his implant and pointed to the bulkhead. The systems on Aether’s Touch, still hooked into ComNet, obligingly displayed his data on the wall.
Matt’s lips pressed together as he looked at the key that had an AFCAW priority code at the end. Ariane looked down at her scuffed boots, no longer feeling joyously free or even interested in the conversation. As a reservist, she’d done enough active duty this year—perhaps for a lifetime—and she’d hoped to leave all those memories behind for a while. Joyce, obviously under Directorate orders for some dark military intelligence motive, had to get to G-145 in a hurry. Matt could resist all he wanted, but Joyce would have his way.
“Why don’t you get on the next transport?” Matt asked.
“Venture’s Way won’t be leaving for three more days. I need to get there faster.” Then, when Matt’s face started getting red, Joyce added, “Wouldn’t you say you owe me for keeping quiet?”
“Eh? What do you mean?” Ariane jerked her head up to look at both men.
“Nothing,” Matt said hurriedly.
“And I’m up one for a favor, right?” Joyce turned to look down at her.
“Eh?” It was Matt’s turn to be puzzled.
Joyce was referring to the sly bookkeeping he and Ariane kept on who had saved whose ass, and when. He was currently one up on her, but she didn’t want to go into that history in front of Matt. As civilian employer and coworker, Matt didn’t need to know how dangerous most of the Directorate’s missions had turned out to be. It was better that he believe the last mission was an anomaly.
“Look, this isn’t my decision to make.” Ariane put up her hands, palms outward. “Matt’s the owner of this ship and the equivalent of mission commander. You guys work this out. I’ve got to get back to my undocking checklists.”
As if on cue, Aether’s Touch announced, “Warning: Forty minutes before service conversion. Resource charges will rise one hundred fifty percent. Environmental system conversion procedures must be initiated.”
She turned about and sprinted toward the ladder to the control deck, having the benefit of station gravity. Once she was back at her panels, she started bringing up the environmental systems on Aether’s Touch. When they tested out as operational, the ship could take over all environmental functions.
She looked up at the video portals of ship airlocks, corridors, and compartments. Matt and Joyce were conversing intently, but not audibly, and her hand hovered over the internal comm control for a moment. She shook her head and went back to her disconnection procedures. Matt hadn’t asked for privacy, but he also hadn’t said she should monitor their conversation.
“Did you tell her?” Joyce asked after Ari went up the ladder to the control deck.
“Tell her what?” Matt crossed his arms. “Changing the subject won’t get you a free ride.”
“You went through hell and high water to help save her, and you aren’t going to tell her why?”
“I don’t remember any water.” That wasn’t quite true. For a moment, Matt remembered the blue New Aegean Ocean of Hellas Prime as they hurtled down in a rock, or more precisely, a reusable reentry vehicle. Matt tried to erase the memory by focusing his irritation on Joyce. “Ari’s an outstanding pilot and a damn fine crew member. I’ve had to trust her with my life out in new space, so why shouldn’t I go to extremes to help her?”
Joyce rolled his eyes. “Good to see that you’ve got a healthy amount of denial.”
“You’ve got less than two minutes to tell me why I should lug along another resource sink.”
“Let’s just say that when I get to G-145, I can deal with a loose thread, something that might be a hazard to Ari’s health.”
“Didn’t you find Cipher’s—her body?” Matt swallowed hard. He might not remember Cipher’s real name, but he couldn’t forget the spectacular display of her talent with explosives. The shrapnel hadn’t reached his protected position in the hovercraft, but he’d watched the pilot struggle to stay airborne and he’d seen Edones’s face turn to hamburger. However much he’d hated the supercilious colonel before, he forgave Edones almost everything for holding on to Ari through that explosion. When they’d pulled Ari aboard the hovercraft—
“That’s, ah, part of the problem. They say they stopped their search because the hillside is unstable.” Joyce’s cocked eyebrow provided subtext: Ari doesn’t know that Cipher’s body is missing, and neither of us should bring up the subject.
Matt reran Joyce’s words in his mind. “What do you mean they stopped the search? Who are ‘they’?”
“Leukos Industries froze AFCAW out. We’re not getting cooperation from the civilians investigating the bombing on the Demeter Reserve. This might be because Mr. Leukos has a strange aversion to Colonel Edones.”
“I’m not surprised, nor do I believe he’s alone in his feelings,” Matt deadpanned. “But what does this have to do with G-145? You should be on Hellas Prime if you’re interested in what happened to Cipher.”
“We think she might still be alive.
If so, she’s too smart to stay on Hellas Prime. She blew a hole in Karthage Point and took over the habitat environmental systems, and Karthage was military.”
“I’ll agree she’s dangerous,” Matt said. “But I’m still waiting for the connection to G-145.”
“I’m meeting someone there who knows part of the Karthage puzzle and the meeting is—constrained, both by time and place.” Joyce cleared his throat. “This person might help us get a fix on Cipher.”
“You’re meeting with a TEBI agent.” Matt grinned as he watched Joyce raise his eyebrows. Of course, he’d give the balls off the Great Bull itself to go back to the time when he didn’t know the acronym for the Terran Expansion League’s Bureau of Intelligence. “I’ve picked up more than you realize, Joyce. If you discount rich Mr. Leukos with his mysterious background, there aren’t too many others who know about Ari.”
“And what, exactly, do you know?” Joyce’s eyes were sharp.
“I know enough. Those were Terran intelligence agents who abducted and tortured Ari, while we dithered because Edones couldn’t risk the precious Pax Minoica.” His mouth snapped shut. That’s the one decision I’ll never forgive Edones for making. He also wouldn’t admit to knowledge of Ari’s background; she was one big snarl of secrets that he wasn’t supposed to know, and couldn’t accept knowing. For instance, whatever involvement she’d had in the Ura-Guinn detonation . . . He blinked hard and refocused on Joyce.
“Okay. I’ve got an appointment to take one of those TEBI agents out of play, but I can’t tell you anything more.” Joyce spoke slowly, drawing out his words.
“You’re not going to assassinate anybody, are you?” Matt was suddenly uncomfortable. While he was enraged with Terran State Prince Parmet’s staff for what they’d done to Ari, he wasn’t sure he wanted to exact blood in revenge. What sort of retribution did he want?
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