Pale Boundaries

by Scott Cleveland

  “It is the Minzoku who have violated our trust,” Hal replied coldly. “The Tiger Opal proves that. The Onjin have honored our commitment, and will continue to do so—provided you cease undermining the covenant between us.”

  “WORDS!” Den Tun exploded, angry past all reserve. “Nothing but words! Actions betray you!” His jowls quivered; Hal wondered how much more enraged the old man could become before stroking out. “The number of Onjin here dwindles with each decade while the gaijin grow bolder; Minzoku numbers increase each year, yet you provide us with no more resources with which to defend ourselves.

  “I have seen with my own eyes the plans and mechanisms in place to remove the Onjin to safety if necessary, yet no preparations exist to evacuate the Minzoku! I know the penalty the gaijin impose on those who break their law and what will happen to my people when the Onjin finally depart.

  “The Tiger Opal represents the only viable hope I have to achieve the leverage necessary to save the Minzoku. Why, in the face of all this, should I believe that you will now deal with us in good faith?”

  “I suppose,” Hal replied in all earnestness, “you’ll have to trust that self-interest will outweigh our base villainy and that the economic benefits of your discovery warrant a reevaluation of our policies. I will put the issue before the Onjin council personally but they need reassurance that you harbor no ill will.”

  Den Tun’s composure returned as Hal spoke; the old man appeared thoughtful, but not convinced. “I have submitted many requests for certain materials,” he replied. “You will provide them through established channels. In exchange, I will withdraw our forces from the pass.”

  “Done,” Hal said, “but I require the technical data on the Tiger Opal’s production process, as well.”

  Den Tun looked unhappy. “Your assertion that we possessed a single facility was correct,” he said. “The data you speak of was destroyed with it—in the accident.” His choice of phrase struck Hal as profoundly odd given what he knew to be the truth. McKeon threw him a quick thumbs-up from beyond video range, indicating a positive development. Hal assumed it had something to do with Minzoku honor, a way to proceed past an otherwise unforgivable offense.

  “However,” Den Tun continued, “a detailed, encrypted description of the process accompanied the Tiger Opal,” Den Tun said. “The package was hand-delivered to a gaijin courier on the shuttle crew, but we have not yet located it among the wreckage. The Onjin are in a better position to ascertain if it was taken to the mainland with the bodies than we.”

  “I agree,” Hal said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Den Tun.” He signed off with a slight bow, and turned to face the clamor that erupted when the link broke. His cousin voiced the most vehement disapproval.

  “We can’t give him carte blanch!” Tamara exclaimed. “We deny them certain material and technology for a reason!”

  “It’s done,” Hal said flatly, “and I’ll be the one to answer to it if the Board objects, which they won’t if we get what we’re after.”

  “This is a set-up,” she insisted, then pointed at Dayuki accusingly, “and she’s been a part of it from the beginning! I want her locked up if you insist on keeping her inside the Fort!”

  “I have to agree, sir,” McKeon said.

  An acidic knot burned in the pit of Hal’s stomach; Den Tun’s tirade revealed the degree to which he’d penetrated the Fort’s network, ferreting out information not intended for the eyes of most Onjin. The old man may have taken more damaging action than stealing industrial secrets had he penetrated another level of security and found the complete version of the Family’s evacuation doctrine.

  “Lieutenant Dayuki, however unwittingly, has brought to light an incomprehensible compromise of our security,” Hal snarled. “How the fuck did you two miss it?” McKeon had enough shame to look embarrassed, but Tamara hadn’t reached the limit of her defiance and opened her mouth for another salvo. “Don’t,” Hal warned with a raised finger. “I want preliminary information on the shuttle crew and the civilians that picked them up in one hour.”

  He returned to his suite with Dayuki in tow. He placed an order with the cafeteria to deliver breakfast as well as groceries to stock the kitchen, since it seemed that they would be staying for a while. Dayuki needed a full set of new clothes and toiletries, but that would have to wait a few more hours.

  “Was Den Tun telling the truth about the Tiger Opal?” Hal asked as they ate.

  “I cannot say with absolute certainty,” Dayuki replied. “Nothing he said contradicts what I discovered, but Den Tun is practiced at intrigue. Nothing he does or says may be taken for granted.

  “You were fortunate to catch him at a disadvantage; he cannot be certain what you have learned from me and he feels insecure because of it. He would not have lost his temper had he been as prepared for the confrontation as he ordinarily prefers.”

  “I’ll be depending on you to help me exploit that,” Hal told her. “The more he thinks we know the less comfortable with lying he’ll be.”

  It was nearing two hours by the time the pair returned to the command post where Tamara, McKeon and Sergio waited in one of the secure conference rooms. They had the good sense to conceal any hint of impatience and Tammy even managed to smile at Hal when he entered, though she pointedly ignored Dayuki’s existence.

  “Let’s have it,” Hal ordered.

  “All four crewmen were long-term employees of Sun Cargo,” McKeon said. “We have nothing to indicate which one was Den Tun’s agent. Autopsy reports included a list of the clothing and property associated with each body but none of it appears to be what we’re looking for.”

  “What about the civilians that brought in the bodies?”

  “Terson Reilly and Virene Van Strahlen,” Tamara said, indicating a video monitor on the wall. Two photographs appeared, both police mug shots obtained through one of several illicit links into Nivia’s official network. “Reilly is an immigrant; Van Strahlen is a native. Both have criminal records.”

  The subjects were markedly different, notwithstanding their genders: Van Strahlen smiled at the camera impishly; her hair was combed, her face was clean, and she did not appear overly concerned with her arrest. Reilly glowered; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt and his face swollen, marred by a fight with the police or some other adversary.

  Tamara continued: “According to the police report, Reilly was the one who entered the escape pod and recovered the bodies of the pilot and one other crewman.”

  “A sure bet they pocketed any valuables,” Sergio said. “No doubt it’s been fenced by now.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hal replied. “Compound semiconductors don’t look like anything special. Unless someone knew what it was they wouldn’t be interested. It’s either rattling around in a drawer somewhere or it went down with the pod—or Den Tun is lying through his gums.

  “Anything else?”

  “They’re newlyweds,” Tamara said. “Both are students at Malone. Reilly is in the pilot training program; he and another student are engaged in some kind of performance evaluation at the moment.”

  “We need to interrogate him,” Hal decided.

  “How much attention are we willing to generate to do it?” McKeon asked.

  “As little as possible—and it goes without saying that we don’t want them talking about it later.”

  “We’ve got their flight plan,” McKeon said, switching the image on the monitor. “They’re scheduled to use a waypoint that’s well beyond radio contact with shipping lanes; they won’t be missed for several days, at least.” And when they were missed the search would focus far from Nivia.

  “Is the student with him a high profile?” Hal asked.

  “Nothing much on him beyond his university transcripts—no relatives of stature or influence,” Tamara said.

  “How firm is his ETA?” Hal asked

  “Plus or minus three to five days,” McKeon replied. “They’ve got the platform tagged as a refueling
point, so getting them stopped shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “We can use your ship,” Tamara said. “Arrive before he does and send over a boarding party when he docks for fuel. Once we have what we need we can liquidate both pilots and dispose of the ship. His disappearance will set things up for the woman’s suicide if we still need to interrogate her afterward.”

  “One versed in criminal activity may recognize others who intend foul play,” Dayuki said quietly.

  Tamara ignored the comment. “We’d only need half a dozen people.”

  “Dayuki’s right,” McKeon said. “Approaching him is a problem if he catches on. We need to lure him in as non-threateningly as possible.”

  “Send a woman,” Dayuki suggested.

  “Hal, these interruptions are disruptive,” Tamara said.

  “He’s less likely to feel threatened by a woman,” McKeon agreed, “but it can’t look too contrived.” Tamara gave the security officer an icy look at finding herself the one ignored.

  “Could we influence something to put Reilly in need of assistance?” Sergio offered. “A friendly couple could appear to offer aid—Hal and Tamara, for instance.”

  Tamara warmed to the idea immediately. “I can be very helpful.”

  Alone with Tamara for a week or more? In a pig’s eye! “We don’t need to come up with the details today,” Hal told them. “Write up an operations plan and get it to me in time for the intercept.” He stood, signaling the end of the meeting.

  “And, just so you know, sir,” McKeon said, “we’re analyzing the network to find Den Tun’s access point. There may be some interruptions while we isolate the vulnerability.”

  “Hold off on that for now,” Hal said. “Partition the sensitive data—airgap the system if you have to—but don’t cut him out. He’ll be more inclined to trust us if he thinks he still has that advantage.”

  “Is that your idea,” Tamara asked tonelessly, “or hers?”

  “One more comment on the subject and I’ll relieve you of your duties,” Hal told his cousin. The unprecedented threat left all three staring at his back in disbelief as he and Dayuki made their exit.

  Dayuki’s service to Hal-san, she quickly realized, did not abate the mistrust of other Onjin. They became tight-lipped and skittish when she was about, impairing Hal-san’s efficiency, and he was obviously distracted by her reception. She could not dissuade him from taking her along during routine business until, exasperated, she told him to cease trying to reverse their roles.

  “I am Minzoku,” she said, “not a guest. I serve you. If it is best that I do so from these rooms, then in these rooms I shall remain!”

  A Minzoku man might have beaten her for such impudence, but Hal-san thanked her for her forthrightness. They soon anchored themselves in a routine that placed her under virtual house arrest, out of sight in his quarters unless she accompanied him while he performed his duties. The restriction was unwelcome but not intolerable.

  Each morning Dayuki rose with Hal-san and prepared his breakfast while he bathed. They often talked about the developing situation between the Onjin and Den Tun while they ate, and Dayuki made suggestions or offered insights as the situation warranted. She cleaned the quarters and bathed afterward and, if Hal-san did not require her assistance that day, sat down at the library terminal to study.

  The Onjin’s electronic library was the most marvelous device Dayuki had yet to discover. She need only enter a subject and the information appeared at her fingertips at once. If the Onjin’s expansive files lacked the information she desired she could ‘surf’ the gaijin Hypernet, which had yet to admit ignorance of any topic.

  If anything, its greatest fault was the sheer volume of responses: almost always hundreds, frequently thousands, occasionally hundreds of thousands! Hal-san showed her techniques to eliminate many spurious hits, but she still had to sift through hundreds of files to find what most interested her.

  Dayuki decided to practice closer to home and chose a subject she was innately familiar with. She entered “Minzoku” expecting to find a few files about her people written by scholarly Onjin. What appeared instead was a dictionary entry:

  minzoku, n. Japanese for people (race). See Also: 1. hitobito (persons) 2. kokumin (nation) 3. ichizoku (relatives).

  Dayuki frowned. She knew of only three races: Minzoku, Onjin and gaijin. What was this Japanese? She typed the word into the search engine. The matches numbered nearly a million. She scrolled through the titles until one caught her eye.

  Land of the Rising Sun: A Traveler’s Guide to the Japanese Islands.

  Dayuki browsed through images of shrines, gardens and villages amazingly similar to those she was familiar with, confirming what she’d suspected when she saw the title. These Japanese were one of the fabled co-progenitors of the Minzoku.

  Most evenings Hal-san was considerate enough to let her know when he expected to return. Dayuki bathed before he arrived and always had the evening meal ready the moment he walked through the door. Many times he came in so late they hardly spoke before he fell into bed exhausted. More often they chatted over dinner about his activities that day, or something Dayuki had learned from the library. She carefully avoided talking about the Japanese, fearful that Hal-san might somehow interpret her interest in the origins of the Minzoku as disloyal to the Onjin.

  As the day of Hal-san’s mission approached he returned to his quarters remote and distracted. Dayuki respected his quiet moods and kept her distance when she sensed he needed room to sort out whatever disturbed him. She initiated lovemaking if he remained awake and restless, which never failed to end his sleeplessness. The night before he was due to leave, however, sekkusu could not soothe him. “Hal-san,” Dayuki finally asked, “what troubles you?”

  “I cannot spend half a month alone with Tamara Cirilo,” he said. “I cannot spend a day alone with that woman!”

  “She seems overbearing,” Dayuki said, “though that is not unusual among Onjin women. I have noticed that she defers to you readily enough. What do you find objectionable?”

  “Her deference is a ploy,” Hal-san replied, “part of a scheme cooked up by her father to arrange a marriage for us.”

  “Is there any benefit in such a union for you?”

  “In some ways, yes, I suppose so.”

  “Then marry her.”

  “What?”

  “The party with the least interest in a relationship wields the most power,” Dayuki explained. “Use their desire for a union to further your own interests.”

  “I can’t marry a woman I don’t even like!” Hal-san sputtered like a drowning man.

  Dayuki sighed. “Surely, Hal-san, you have the means to support more than one wife?”

  “I can’t have more than one wife,” Hal-san exclaimed.

  “What a strange custom,” Dayuki said with a shake of her head. “A Minzoku man may take as many wives as his wealth can support, but a wise and discerning man marries three times: once for comfort, once for wealth, and once for power.”

  “Never love?”

  “He takes a mistress for love,” Dayuki said, “and a wise mistress stores up his gifts against the time when he loves another.”

  “Interesting,” Hal-san replied, “but that isn’t the way it works for me. Once the Family arranges a marriage it doesn’t permit divorce.”

  “Then what you say is true: you must not be left alone with this woman.”

  “I can’t avoid it, now.”

  “Hal-san,” Dayuki said patiently, “who is the—leader? The boss here?”

  “I am.”

  “Of what value is that if you cannot use it for your own benefit?”

  The alarm that went off in the command post two hours before dawn cleared Stan McKeon’s head of drowsiness. “East sally port!” someone shouted. McKeon snatched an assault rifle from the rack and rushed out with a handful of his men. Outside, the Fort slept on in the chill autumn air. The nightly lockdown protocols in effect made external alarms unne
cessary and would only serve to alert the invaders of their detection or send some panicked Onjin rushing outside into harm’s way.

  The armored sally port was closed and locked tight. False alarm, McKeon thought, but the command post informed him otherwise: “Sentry reports two subjects heading away from the east wall.” McKeon and his detachment caught up with them at the edge of the old landing strip east of the Fort.

  “Change of plans,” Hal explained. He held his shuttle’s remote-com in his hand. “I’m leaving early. Lieutenant Dayuki will accompany me.”

  “Sir, I don’t recommend this,” McKeon said. “Why don’t we go back inside and talk about it?”

  “Stan, this is the way it’s going to be,” Hal said. “There’s nothing you can do unless you’re planning to shoot me.” The shuttle’s landing lights came on a hundred meters out as it settled toward the ground. Hal lowered its ramp remotely so they could board.

  McKeon’s shoulders slumped. “Shit.”

  Nivia Station: 2709:05:06 Standard

  Technically, baffle-riders fell into a class of small, privately owned and relatively unregulated spacecraft the Commonwealth considered Recreational Aerospace Vehicles. The only specific requirements to meet the loose definition of an RAV were that the craft possess no jump capability and that it never be used to transport paying passengers or cargo.

  That lack of regulation gave rise to vehicles of all shapes, sizes and quality of construction, and made their use attractive to individuals who, by temperament or necessity, sought to avoid the intrusion of official authority in their activities. RAV’s were a constant irritation to said authorities, who had difficulty distinguishing between those who operated the craft as a pastime and those who made it a lifestyle that frequently demonstrated disdain for rules and regulations in most other aspects of society as well.

  Of greater frustration was that, although baffle-riding was strictly illegal and vessels constructed to engage in the practice possessed specific common characteristics, the only way to legally divine the difference between an RAV and a baffle-rider was the act of baffle-riding itself. The activity fell under theft-of-services laws in most local jurisdictions and Commonwealth regulations made it a violation of a number of intersystem transportation statutes.