The Spider and the Fly

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

  “That was certainly…illuminating,” Thexyl said as he pivoted around in his chair, his long, serpentine head cocked just slightly to the side.

  “It was something, anyway,” Jenavian muttered. She stepped through the doorway and glanced over to the zoomed-in sector holomap floating on the left-hand side of the bridge. Five seconds of study confirmed what she’d already suspected: Kalifax was only a minor detour from their current course back to the Nidus. The Manticore and its state-of-the-art jump drive could probably make the trip in thirty-six hours or less. Under different circumstances, she would have considered that good news; it meant she could easily check out Markus’s story with a minimum of wasted time and effort.

  But that, of course, was the whole problem. She had no interest in spending any more time with him than was absolutely necessary. But the decision wasn’t hers to make, and she already knew exactly what the Widow was going to say.

  “Did you notice anything interesting from here?” she asked.

  “Judging by his vitals, he wasn’t lying,” Thexyl told her. “He may legitimately believe that this contact of his has found the Damadus. Whether or not the contact is lying, of course, is another matter.”

  “He’s also a Spider, and even with the neural implants I wouldn’t be surprised if he could control his vitals just fine,” Jenavian reminded him. “There’s a very real chance he’s making this whole thing up. He could have just picked Kalifax for a rendezvous knowing it was between here and the Nest.”

  A cool patch of blue rippled across her partner’s otherwise gray, scaly neck. That particular shade and pattern was, she’d gradually surmised, the Kali racial equivalent of raised eyebrows. “You don’t believe it is worth pursuing?”

  “No,” she said. “I have no interest in giving him an opportunity to escape. Any of the codes or other sensitive information he’s holding are probably also time-sensitive—wasting a dozen hours on a fool’s errand will just give the Mire an opportunity to change their protocols.”

  “I see.”

  Jenavian shot him an icy glare. “You disagree?”

  His scales rippled pink—a Kali shrug. “Your vitals were more erratic than his. It’s possible the sudden reappearance of your former partner is having more of an emotional impact on you than you’d like to admit.”

  “It made me want to shoot him in the face, does that count?”

  “I believe it confirms my theory, yes.”

  Jenavian rolled her eyes. Kali rationality—it was simultaneously one of the most useful and most annoying traits of his species. She’d never seem him get particularly riled up over anything; in fact, she’d rarely even heard his voice change pitch. It made him an excellent data analyst and advisor, but it often left something to be desired in terms of casual conversation.

  But she wasn’t much of a conversationalist herself, and one of the reasons they got along so well was that they could be honest with each other. They’d been partners for almost two years now, ever since she’d broken up that slaving cartel on Otarus. His culturally ingrained sense of integrity had demanded he repay her, and she’d decided to take him along for his technical and engineering skill.

  He’d long since paid off his debt to her, of course, but he’d decided to stay along anyway. The Widow didn’t particularly care for their ongoing partnership given the security and sensitivity of most of her assignments, but he’d more than proven his skill and loyalty over the years. And in all that time, she’d never once regretted keeping him along, not even when his objectivity was as incredibly inconvenient as it was right now.

  “It’s been a long time since Markus and I worked together,” Jenavian said after a moment. “Frankly, I’d assumed he was dead by now.”

  “According to official records, the two of you went through most of your training together. You may have both been Spiders, but you’re still human. I presume you developed an emotional attachment to him over that time.”

  “It was a long time ago,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Right now all that matters is getting him back to the Nidus for a full debriefing. We might be able to take down all the scattered remnants of the Mire in a single strike.”

  Thexyl’s scales didn’t change, but he obviously knew an excuse when he heard one. “In any event, it’s probably best if you contact the Widow and let her know.”

  Jenavian sighed and glanced back down to the holomap. She already knew exactly what the Widow was going to say—the Widow, and the Hierarchy that controlled her. The smallest mention of Dominion technology attracted the Tarreen like chibberling larvae swarming over a leaky rotaka pheromone gland. The Hierarchy would follow up on any lead concerning lost psi-tech no matter how obscure, and in this case the delay might cost them the chance to take out hundreds or even thousands of Mire terrorists. And Markus knew it.

  She shook her head in annoyance. The Tarreen’s abject fear of Dominion technology had never made any sense to her. Psi-tech was utterly useless to non-psychics, and between the Pandrophage and the Spiders, they had all but wiped out psionically-gifted humans. The Mire could find an entire fleet of old Dominion cruisers and it wouldn’t change anything. Despite that fact, however, she’d witnessed the Hierarchy’s fanaticism time and time again over the years, and sadly even the Widow was bound by their decree.

  “I’ll contact her,” Jenavian said eventually. “But maintain course until then just in case.”

  “As you wish.”

  She stepped off the bridge and maneuvered through the Manticore’s narrow corridors to her quarters. Once she arrived, she closed the door behind her, swapped on the sound proofing toggle, and then swore at the top of her lungs.

  She should have just shot him. The first moment she’d seen his shadowy silhouette through the nightclub floor she should have just blasted the whole area, consequences be damned. The Widow might have been disappointed not to have her trophy dragged back to her lair, but she would have gotten over it eventually. A dead traitor was still better than an active one.

  But no, she had hesitated just like Markus had in the alleyway. Neither of them had been willing to just pull the trigger and end it, and that said far too much about both of them for her liking. He remained delusional that he’d done the right thing, and she remained unable to fully convince herself that he hadn’t.

  One way or another, something was going to have to give. And soon.

  Jenavian sighed and knelt down on the floor in front of her bed. For once it would have been nice if she’d had to rely on conventional communications relays to report in. Her message wouldn’t have arrived for several hours, and by the time the Widow was able to respond perhaps Markus’s window of opportunity would have closed. But sadly, that wasn’t the case. Jenavian could speak with her mistress from virtually anywhere in the galaxy, and that meant she’d have her orders momentarily.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stretched out with her mind. Her own telepathic web stretched out across millions of kilometers, easily enough to blanket an entire star system, but directly communicating with another psychic as powerful as the Widow could cover an even longer distance. All Jenavian had to do was send out the proper vibration and within seconds her recipient would recognize the mental summons and respond…

  I have been waiting for your report, Agent Vale, the Widow said. Somehow, no matter how well Jenavian thought she’d braced for it, her mistress’s cold, emotionless voice always managed to send a shudder down her spine. Is Pasek neutralized?

  He’s dead, Jenavian confirmed. But we have another problem. While I was on the station I caught the vibration from a Fly.

  Interesting. A refugee’s child?

  No. It was Coveri.

  The Widow didn’t reply, and after ten seconds of silence Jenavian had started to wonder if somehow their link had been severed. But then a small, subtle ripple of barely contained excitement washed over her.

  You have him?

  Yes. I�
��m already en route to the Nidus, but there’s something else. She paused and took in another deep breath. He claims that one of the Mire’s fringe contacts has found the Damadus.

  Another pause, but this time the mental ripple was more like an earthquake. Is that so? Do you believe him?

  He believes it, though that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. There’s a good chance this contact of his is either lying or mistaken. That or Coveri thinks it will give him another chance to escape. He wants me to take him to a meeting on Kalifax to get the exact coordinates.

  Conveniently not far from your current location.

  Yes, that was my thought. Thexyl believes he’s telling the truth, but again I’d hardly call that conclusive. It’s also possible Coveri knows he’s doomed, and he figures any time he can buy for the Mire to evacuate it’s bases and change their codes is worth it. Kalifax will cost us at least two days. Jenavian swallowed and braced herself for the inevitable argument. I could try to wrench the contact’s name and location from his mind instead. We could send someone else to the rendezvous and get the coordinates ourselves.

  Unfortunately, our resources in that sector are thin, the Widow said. You are the only Spider within twenty parsecs, and I don’t trust the Ministry’s conventional assets with anything this sensitive.

  Then perhaps it’s best to ignore it, Jenavian suggested, knowing full well how futile it was. Coveri claims that the Dowd are already on this man’s trail. We know they’ll destroy the ship when they find it, so it doesn’t seem worth the cost for us to get involved.

  The Dowd are unpredictable at best, and we cannot afford to take the chance of any Dominion technology falling into enemy hands.

  She let out a deep sigh and was thankful that her mistress couldn’t hear or see it. Coveri might have enough information for us to bring down the Mire once and for all. I don’t think that’s worth passing up for a remote chance at finding a derelict ship that may or may not have anything useful on it.

  Perhaps not, but the Hierarchs won’t see it that way.

  Then perhaps we shouldn’t tell them right away.

  Where the Hierarchy leads, we shall follow, the Widow said, her mental voice dropping a few degrees. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that.

  No, Jenavian whispered. Of course not.

  Good. You will take Coveri to the rendezvous point and meet with this contact. Do whatever is required to get the coordinates. Once you do, contact me again and I’ll dispatch a retrieval squad.

  Yes, Mistress.

  And don’t worry, Agent—Coveri’s time will come. I look forward to his interrogation.

  So do I, Jenavian said. Vale out.

  She opened her eyes and severed the mental link. She sat in place for several minutes, doing her best to let the rage and frustration fade away. They dissipated easier than she’d expected, but the doubt remained.

  Before he’d abandoned her on Typhus, Markus had argued that the Hierarchs were every bit as vile as the Sarafan they had replaced. They relied on the Spiders to maintain order, and not just by capturing potentially dangerous Flies. The Spiders put out brushfire conflicts on fringe systems, discredited and then eliminated dissenting voices on the most populated worlds, and performed countless other tasks that no one else in the Convectorate could handle. In other words, the Hierarchy used the Spiders to do virtually the exact same things the Sarafan had become infamous for, except they did it from the shadows instead of in broad daylight. Markus didn’t believe that made it any better.

  He might have been right. But for all the Convectorate’s flaws, it was the only thing standing between civilization and chaos. Without the might of the fleet to protect them, trillions of people across dozens of species would suffer at the hands of the Dowd or the Norgon or any of numerous other factions who sought power. The Elari, the Neyris, and especially humans might have had it rough right now, but things could have been a lot worse. In the final analysis, an occasionally overbearing Hierarchy was a small price to pay for galactic security.

  Those had been her counter arguments four years ago. Jenavian wasn’t sure if she’d believed them then, and she wasn’t sure if she believed them now. And the worst part was that every time the Widow gave her another idiotic order it made it that much more difficult for her to quell the doubt festering inside her. As twisted as it might have sounded, she almost hoped the Dowd or the Norgon would try to invade again. If that didn’t prove the Convectorate’s worth to the people living under its protection, then nothing would.

  Eventually she sighed and stood. Idle rumination was ultimately pointless and perhaps even dangerous. She had her orders, and she was going to follow them. And if Markus really did try to escape, then perhaps she finally would just put a flechette round in his head and end this little game once and for all. The family members of the thousands of people the Mire had murdered over the years would certainly appreciate it, and it would probably make her sleep better, too.

  Turning on a heel, Jenavian slipped back out of her quarters and headed back towards the bridge.