Interstellar Mage

by Glynn Stewart

  She shook her head into the camera.

  “We promised Captain Rice his safety. If we are to keep that promise, I need more than just myself to turn the tide.”

  Maria Soprano might have agreed to betray David Rice’s trust and keep the Protectorate informed of his movements and activities, but she had every intention of extracting a very specific price for that information.

  If Red Falcon was going to be bait for the Protectorate’s enemies, then the Protectorate needed to provide the rest of the trap.

  “Captain, do you have a minute?”

  David looked up from the message he was composing to Keiko—to go out through the RTA once they docked—to find Kelly LaMonte standing in the door to his office.

  “The door is open, Kelly,” he pointed out. If he needed to work in privacy, he’d close the door—though he tried to be available to all of his people. Given what he’d asked LaMonte to do, he’d have time for her even then.

  She nodded in response to his comment—and then closed the door behind her as she stepped in and took a seat.

  “I’ve been looking into our coms,” she said without preamble. “And, well…we have a problem.”

  He sighed. While he had hoped that LaMonte would turn up a blank or something pointing back off the ship for evidence, he hadn’t really expected it.

  “We knew that,” he confessed.

  “No, you didn’t,” LaMonte said flatly. “You thought we had a spy.”

  It took him a moment to process just what she meant, and then he sighed again and laid his hands on the table, studying the young, currently green-haired engineer.

  “How bad?” he asked.

  “I’m still trying to dig into who might have sent data packets off the ship while we were in New Madagascar,” she said. “We didn’t have anything in place to actively track communications, so it’s a longer, more manual process. But…”

  “But?”

  “Kellers and I had a chat after you and I spoke,” she told him. “We figured the most likely method of someone trying to sneak data off the ship right now would be to add it to our encrypted post box.”

  David nodded.

  His ship had a set of databanks that no one aboard was supposed to have any access to. They linked up with the Royal Post Office in each system, which downloaded and uploaded the vast amount of data, mail, financial information, etc., required to run an interstellar society.

  Those databanks were heavily secured and encrypted, though he’d had the non-financial portions opened up a few times in the past. Adding something to them, though, would have been much easier than taking something out—and since Red Falcon had automatically transmitted their contents in response to a request from the RPO barely two hours after arriving in the system…

  “So, you tracked additions?”

  “We set up a program to track every change and batch of changes to the encrypted databank,” LaMonte confirmed. “We couldn’t access them, and the databanks wiped themselves once the local PO had confirmed receipt and the checksums, but we know how many additions were made.”

  David nodded his understanding of the spiel. “And?”

  “Four,” she said quietly. “Four separate additions, presumably going to four separate destinations from four separate people. This ship is a goddamn mole hill, Captain. Some of those are probably…benign, but…”

  “Define ‘benign’,” David asked. “Because people on my ship who are selling my information to others make me twitchy.”

  LaMonte sighed.

  “Some of the security troopers aren’t as good at keeping their mouths shut around a pretty girl as they probably should be,” she said dryly. “And at least one was trying to talk Wu and I into his bunk and really didn’t keep secrets well.

  “At least some—though I’m not sure how many!—of our security troops aren’t ex-Marines at all,” LaMonte admitted. “We’ve got at least a squad, and I wouldn’t be surprised at the entire platoon, of active-duty Royal Martian Marines aboard.”

  David put his face in his hands and exhaled sharply. He’d suspected Skavar might be more linked to his old employer than he’d thought, but an entire RMMC platoon aboard ship?

  No wonder they’d had no problems acquiring exosuit battle armor and heavy weapons normally restricted to the military. They’d probably just been issued straight from the Corps’ quartermasters!

  But…as LaMonte said, having secret Marines aboard was probably benign. The other three messages, though…

  “Any way to see what they were sending out?” he asked.

  “Not easily,” she confessed. “James had some thoughts; he’s working on them, but he figured he’d keep all of the chatter on this down-low through me. Anyone asks, I’m telling them you’re mentoring me for my Mate’s certificate.”

  David chuckled.

  “That’ll work,” he agreed. “Want me to?”

  Technically, all of his senior officers were supposed to have Mate’s certificates except Soprano—her Jump Mage training was regarded as equivalent. In practice, that was waived in the case of ex-Navy people like Acconcio or long-serving people aboard a given ship, but for LaMonte to move into a chief engineer or other officer role on another ship, she’d need the certificate.

  “Kellers is giving me most of the help I need,” she told him, though a wicked grin grew over her face as she spoke. “But I do have some questions that would be better asked of a Captain…”

  26

  “Red Falcon, this is Mage-Commander Guerra commanding Dance of Rising Freedom,” the man on David’s screen said calmly. He was fair-haired but dark-skinned, though not dark enough to blend into the black uniform of the Royal Martian Navy.

  His destroyer was now barely a million kilometers from Red Falcon, allowing for a semi-reasonable conversation despite the lightspeed lag.

  “We’re pleased to see you, Mage-Commander,” David told Guerra. “We probably don’t need the escort in, but I am not turning it down.”

  Guerra nodded.

  “Neither I nor Commodore Andrews thought you would,” he said. “I’ve reviewed your reports and will be taking close scans of your vessel to validate your damage assessment. That should help with your insurance.”

  “I appreciate it,” David said. “I’ve had my run-ins with my insurers before. I’m surprised they were willing to insure Red Falcon at all!”

  “The fact that she’s almost as well-armed as my destroyer probably had something to do with it,” Guerra said with another chuckle. “If you’ll permit it, I’d like to have a team of my engineers come over and go over Falcon’s weapon systems. While I’m sure that your people are well trained, my people are specialists in exactly those systems.”

  “I would appreciate that,” the merchant captain replied. “Though a good chunk of my engineering people were Navy personnel first. They have experience with weapons.”

  “Of course,” Guerra agreed instantly. “I also must admit to some degree of responsibility with regards to the planet.” He coughed delicately. “The Svarog system government has…requested that we verify the safeties and containment fields on your antimatter missiles and drives before you approach Dazbog orbit.”

  Given the writ David carried, he didn’t actually have to comply. On the other hand, Svarog didn’t actually have to let him in their system. And given that he was carrying a hundred one-gigaton antimatter warheads—plus enough fuel to multiply that explosion tenfold—it was a reasonable request.

  “Of course, Mage-Commander,” he echoed. “I understand their concerns, and while I am quite confident in the stability of my systems, it’s a reasonable request—especially given our damage. And like your escort, Mage-Commander Guerra, I’m not going to turn down a second set of expert eyes on my antimatter stockpiles!”

  Guerra nodded once more.

  “I appreciate your cooperation, Captain Rice,” he told David. “His Majesty’s Navy will do everything in our power to return that cooperation while you are
in the Svarog system. May I invite you and your Ship’s Mage to join me for dinner aboard Dance?

  “From your reports, it’s going to be a long flight home.”

  Maria was half-amused and half-terrified by the fact that no one except her seemed to think that having her aboard a Navy destroyer was a bad idea.

  Kelzin was a good pilot and the ride over was as smooth as any she’d ever experienced, the small personnel shuttle from Red Falcon passing by a dozen transport shuttles from Dance of Rising Freedom carrying maintenance techs and engineers to go over the big freighter’s guns.

  Approaching the destroyer, it was all she could not to automatically stiffen her spine to attention. Dance was a white square-based pyramid, exactly one hundred meters on a side and massing just over one million tons. For all that she was tiny compared to Red Falcon, she carried twice as many missile launchers, half again as many defensive lasers and over twice as many heavy battle lasers.

  The whole process had a strained familiarity to it. She wasn’t approaching this destroyer as a member of its Navy, arriving as one of the senior officers aboard or as a visiting senior officer from a similar ship.

  Today, she would be an outsider aboard Dance, not part of the extended family. It was a strange feeling.

  “You’ll be fine,” Rice murmured from beside her, and she glanced over at him in surprise. “The first time I was invited aboard a Navy ship as a civilian was weird,” he continued, “and I was only a Petty Officer—and I mustered out voluntarily.

  “So, it’ll be weird. It’ll be awkward. And you’ll be fine.”

  She exhaled heavily but nodded.

  “Okay, boss,” she told him. “I’m going to hold you to that. There will be consequences if you’re wrong.”

  Her joking threat brought the intended chuckle from him, and she found herself relaxing slightly as Kelzin swept the shuttle into Dance of Rising Freedom’s shuttle bay. Thrusters flared as she settled onto the floor, the magic of the warship’s gravity runes reaching out to grab the shuttle and claim her.

  “Come on, Maria,” Rice said. “Let’s go.”

  Guerra met them himself, waiting behind the shuttle bay safety shields until the air around the shuttle had cooled and then crossing the bay floor to greet them as they exited the spacecraft.

  “Welcome aboard Dance of Rising Freedom, Captain Rice, Mage Soprano,” he told them. “My XO is currently aboard your ship, so it will just be the three of us for dinner tonight. If you’ll come with me?”

  Dance of Rising Freedom was a newer ship than Swords at Dawn had been, but the bones of the layout were the same. Maria knew within a minute of leaving the shuttle bay that the Mage-Commander was leading them to the Captain’s quarters and his personal dining room.

  A space that, among its other virtues, was also one of the most secure meeting rooms aboard the warship.

  She let the two captains carry the conversation, quickly realizing that neither of them was attempting to make it serious. Like her, Rice was ex-Navy, but he didn’t bring that up chatting with Guerra.

  Once they finally reached the Mage-Commander’s dining room, however, Guerra quickly locked down the security features.

  “My steward will be serving us shortly,” he assured them, “but we needed a few private moments. I have all of your reports and filings for insurance with regards to the incident, but I am aware of realities, Captain, Mage.

  “What didn’t make it into the reports?” he asked flatly.

  Maria exchanged glances with Rice. She’d already told the Martian Interstellar Security Service everything that Guerra might be asking about, but her Captain didn’t know that. She wasn’t sure what level of secrets he was planning on keeping from the Navy.

  “Not all of that is…information I am privy to disclose,” Rice finally said slowly. “What I can tell you that I can’t tell my insurance is that we knew we were being hunted. A surviving portion of the Blue Star Syndicate has marked me for death for my involvement in Mikhail Azure’s death, and they seem quite determined to carry through on the threat.”

  “Damn,” Guerra said mildly. “We’ve warned our superiors that the Blue Star Syndicate isn’t as dead in this sector as any of us would like. New names, new leaders, but the entire Syndicate apparatus in Svarog and several surrounding systems survived intact.

  “Between the Navy and local authorities, we’ve convinced them to keep their heads down so far, but the Commodore and I are nervous about just what resources they may have access to.”

  “How bad are we talking here?” Maria asked. “Blue Star wasn’t that powerful, was it?”

  “It was the Protectorate’s largest crime syndicate,” Rice said quietly. “I killed the son of their leader, so he came after us. It didn’t end well for him, but an organization that big…”

  “Exactly,” Guerra confirmed. “The biggest issue here is that half a dozen destroyers under contract to Grand Interstellar Foundry went missing when the Protectorate took control of Svarog. They’d be obsolete now, unless they were kept up to date, but we’ve only ever accounted for one of them.”

  Maria grimaced. “Accounted for” in this context could only mean that the ship in question had been destroyed in combat with Protectorate or militia forces.

  “Our best guess is that they ended up co-opted into pirate organizations and that at least some of them ended up in Blue Star Syndicate hands,” he continued. “And we are quite certain that those assets passed on to the new leader of the successor organization here.

  “They may be keeping their hands clean as piracy goes so far, but they have the tools for it. Every ship passing through is being warned of the danger. It’s less…immediately applicable to you, but you still wouldn’t be entirely safe if they jumped you with those destroyers.”

  “I appreciate the warning,” Rice said quietly. “Especially since it seems like Mikhail Azure’s heirs specifically have it out for me.”

  Guerra smiled grimly.

  “The reports I’ve seen of his death are so redacted, they’re hard to read,” he said. “I have enough to know that it wasn’t just you who killed him, Captain Rice, but I doubt the Syndicate has that much information.”

  “Well, the ‘good’ news is that I’m going to be hanging out inside your defense envelope for a few weeks while we patch up the Falcon. I trust His Majesty’s Navy to keep us safe.”

  Maria said nothing. They knew Turquoise, the woman who ran the very organization Guerra was concerned about, was headquartered there. They also knew the Legacy was hunting the weaker successor factions almost as hard as they were hunting David Rice.

  She doubted Dazbog’s orbital yards were going to be any safer for them than the rest of the Protectorate.

  27

  “This is Foundry Yard Alpha,” a trained contralto voice purred over the voice channel. “We’ve received your list of damages, and it appears we do have a yard large enough for your vessel, Captain Rice.”

  The speaker coughed delicately.

  “One yard,” she emphasized. “You’re in luck, as it just came available. We’re transmitting you a course to Slip Alpha-Six.” She paused. “There is a base charge for the use of the yard that needs to be paid on arrival. Have you sorted affairs out with insurance?”

  “I have spoken to my insurers,” David told her. Of course, the people he’d spoken to didn’t actually work for his Mars-based insurance company. That entity had offices in fifteen systems, but it couldn’t be everywhere. They had deals with local insurers in systems like Svarog to handle their affairs.

  “While I don’t expect to have any problems,” he continued, “I’ll pay the docking fee up front myself.” He studied the chaotic swarm of struts, ships, and EVA suits that made up Foundry Yard Alpha and smiled.

  “Would Foundry Alpha prefer to provide a tug?” he asked. “Falcon is a very large vessel, and our primary engines are antimatter rockets.”

  There was a pregnant pause.

  “There is normally a fee
for that,” the controller purred, “but given the circumstances and, as you said, the size of your vessel, we will waive it in this instance. Please proceed to the entry coordinates you were given; a tug will meet you there.”

  The channel cut off and David glanced over at Campbell.

  “You heard the lady,” he told his XO. “Take us over to the entry point and let’s wait for the tug.”

  Campbell shook her head.

  “That woman’s voice is practically a deadly weapon,” she observed. “Do you figure they’ve got a man with just as trained a voice for the female Captains?”

  “Probably,” he agreed. “And they probably try and dig up any given Captain’s preferences before they chat with them—though that is assuming that she’s actually a person and not a voice-changing program they run whoever’s on duty through.

  “You’ll note she didn’t give us a name, after all.”

  “I also noted that she is very aware of just how much money these repairs are going to make them,” Campbell replied dryly. “I checked. Bastion Yards—what used to be Foundry Yard Bravo and changed the name after being sliced off—has a slip that can fit us, but doesn’t have the expertise for an antimatter-engine rebuild.

  “They’re the only ones who can do the work and they know it.”

  “I wonder if our friend over there was actually done or if they kicked her out for us?” David asked, highlighting a ship moving out of Slip Alpha-Six. Like Red Falcon, she was a big ship. One of the rare jump-capable asteroid miners, often used as anchors for a hundred smaller sublight ships in systems without an inhabited planet.

  “I’d guess she’s a more regular customer, so she was probably done,” Campbell said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to piss off, what, thirty thousand grumpy asteroid miners? Not for a one-shot windfall, anyway.”

  David shook his head.