by Timothy Zahn
And with a snick, the door popped and slid open.
"What the hell?" Faraday thundered, scrambling to his feet and putting his back to the desk as two men strode into the room. "What do you think—?"
"Save it, Colonel," the lead man cut him off. As his partner hung back by the doorway, he crossed purposely toward Faraday.
And only then did it register in Faraday's brain that the two men weren't wearing the light blue of Station Security. They were instead dressed in the dark violet uniforms and berets of the Five Hundred's own private Sanctum Police.
So Liadof had not only brought her own tech team to Prime with her, but had also imported her own police force. Dimly, Faraday wondered what Stationmaster Carerra thought of that. If in fact the man even knew about it.
The cop reached Faraday's desk and swept a hand across the top, sending the various neat stacks of paper and disks flying. McCollum's sketch went with the rest of them—"Here it is, Arbiter," the man called, scooping up the mesh.
And from out in the corridor, Liadof stepped into the doorway.
"Fine," Faraday said through suddenly dry lips. This was trouble, all right. Big, expansive, world-filling trouble. "I'll ask you, then, Arbiter Liadof. What in hell's name do you think you and your men are doing?"
"I'd watch your tone if I were you, Colonel," Liadof advised calmly, stepping inside and accepting the piece of mesh from the cop. "We're conducting a search; and you are in possession of stolen and highly classified material. You've got one minute to tell me where you got it."
Faraday took a deep breath. Resistance was useless; he knew that. But there was nothing to be gained by going all humble and conciliatory, either. Not with someone like Liadof.
And he was sure as hell's kittens not going to meekly hand McCollum over to them. "Or?" he demanded.
"Or I'll have you arrested for espionage," Liadof said. "As well as violation of the Universal Secrets Act, theft of government property, and conspiracies in all of the above. And your time is down to forty seconds."
Faraday shook his head. The mental gears, momentarily frozen by the suddenness of the invasion, were starting to churn again. "I don't think so, Arbiter," he said. "Nothing has been stolen. Even if it had been, I have every right to have that piece of mesh in my possession."
Liadof smiled coldly. "You have such authorization in writing, of course?"
"Of course," Faraday said. "It's called the Project Changeling Mission Statement."
"Really," Liadof said. "And who said this had anything to do with Project Changeling?"
Faraday inclined his head slightly. "You did."
The smile vanished. "What are you talking about?"
"This afternoon in the Contact Room," Faraday said, trying to keep his thoughts a step ahead of his mouth. "You said I was the one running the techs, but that you were Project Changeling now. Since you haven't shown me authorization for any different project—or even mentioned one, for that matter—the only reasonable assumption is that everything you've brought aboard the station comes under the Changeling aegis. And since the mission statement gives me full access to anything involved with the project...?"
He lifted his eyebrows, letting that last sentence dangle in the air.
And Liadof was definitely not smiling anymore. "You must be joking, Colonel," she said in a low, dark voice. "You really think that bubble-wrap argument will hold acid for even a minute?"
"I don't know," Faraday said. "But I'm willing to try it if you are."
For a long moment she stared at him, the lines in her face deepening into small desert ravines. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll call that bluff. I'll call Earth tonight and have the reauthorization of Project Changeling here by morning. With myself as head, and with you completely off it."
"That is your prerogative, of course," Faraday said stiffly, wondering if she was bluffing in turn. Did she really have that kind of power with the Five Hundred? "But when you do, make it clear to them that I'm not going to be pressured or coerced into resigning. If they want me off Changeling, they'll have to fire me. That could be an interesting public relations challenge."
"The Five Hundred aren't nearly as interested in public relations as you seem to think," Liadof countered. "Until then, consider yourself under house arrest."
Faraday shook his head. "I think not, Arbiter. As I've already explained, I have full authorization to know everything there is to know about Changeling."
"Only for the next few hours," Liadof retorted.
"Perhaps," Faraday said. "That still won't change the current situation. You can't make an ex post facto charge of espionage."
"We'll see what I can or cannot make," Liadof said. "Until then, as I say, you're confined to quarters."
"But you have no grounds to do that," Faraday insisted. Surely she couldn't simply rewrite the law.
"I don't need any grounds," Liadof said coolly. "The law says the legal authorities can order you held for twenty-four hours without charge."
"I'll appeal to Stationmaster Carerra," Faraday threatened.
"Go ahead," Liadof said, gesturing to her cops. "I've got twenty-four hours to respond to him, too. One way or another, Colonel, you're spending the next twenty-four hours in this room."
She stepped out into the corridor again. "And if I have my way," she added as the two uniformed men joined her, "it'll be the next five weeks." With that parting shot, she let the door slide shut.
Faraday gave them a count of sixty. Then, stepping to the door, he keyed the release. Even if Liadof had somehow managed to obtain a passcard, surely she hadn't also been able to talk Carerra out of a lockcard.
The door slid obediently open. So she hadn't gotten authorization to lock him in.
She hadn't had to. Standing stolidly across the corridor, glowering silently at him, was the larger of her two pet cops.
For a moment they eyed each other. Would the man really have the audacity, Faraday wondered, to use physical force to keep an uncharged man in his quarters? He was half inclined to try it and find out.
But it was already late in the evening, and he knew how much Stationmaster Carerra hated being dragged away from his scotch and soda after duty hours to deal with trouble. Better to let it go for now, get a good night's sleep, and get it straightened out in the morning.
Stepping back, he let the door close again. Out of simple habit, he locked it.
Besides, Liadof had already missed one trick. Retrieving the sketch McCollum had made, he sat down at his desk again and resumed his study of it.
He was still studying it ten days later when they finally came to get him.
SIXTEEN
In the eastern sky, the glow from the distant sun was just starting to drive the gloom away when Raimey came to the realization that he was finally home.
It was an odd feeling, especially considering the circumstances under which he'd fled this part of Jupiter. After nearly two dayherds, Drusni's rejection was still as fresh and painful as if a pack of Sivra were still chewing on him.
But even that ache couldn't dispel the excitement he could feel growing inside him as he continued to swim. He could smell the presence of his old herd; the subtle yet distinctive combination of odors that he'd grown up with. The same mixture, yet different, as the children he'd known had become Breeders, and as the original Breeders had become the Protectors and Nurturers leading the herd. The cycle continued as it had since the beginning, the old story-circle phrase whispered through his mind. The eternal cycle: always new, yet always the same.
Only now he knew that, wherever that cycle had started, it hadn't started on Jupiter.
The familiar scents were growing stronger. It might be interesting to take a look up there later, he decided, at least go up to Level Two where the male and nonpregnant female Breeders would be swimming, keeping watch for predators. He could pop in and renew acquaintances with some of the kids he'd hung out with, see which ones had bonded together. It might even be fun, provided he didn't run
into Pranlo in the process.
Or, worse, Drusni.
But all that could wait. Somewhere up there, invisible above the upper clouds, were Faraday and Hesse. They'd clearly lost track of him since his departure from this region, but he knew that they would have kept monitoring the herd in the hope he would eventually make his way back there. If that transmitter they'd built into his brain was still working, they should be contacting him as soon as he got within range. He could hardly wait to tell them the news.
Speeding up a little, he swam toward the glowing sunlight.
The uniformed Sanctum cop escorted Faraday into the Contact Room and then stepped to one side, falling smartly into a parade rest beside the doorway. His partner, Faraday noticed, was already holding up the wall on the other side of the door. "Colonel Faraday," Liadof greeted him, half turning in the command station chair to face him. "Thank you for joining us."
"I'm sure I'm most welcome," Faraday murmured, looking around the room. There was Beach, hunched over his communications panel. Milligan was busy with his sensors; Sprenkle was looking over his weather reports or whatever stuff psychologists looked over at times like this. McCollum—
He felt his breath catch in his throat. McCollum's chair was empty.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here," Liadof continued. "We're ready to launch the Omega Probe into Raimey's old herd; and, as we knew might happen, Raimey himself has just entered the area. I thought you should be on hand in case we decide to talk to him. Yours is the voice he knows best, after all."
"Of course," Faraday murmured, his eyes still on McCollum's empty chair. Could she be merely sick, or otherwise incapacitated? But then why hadn't Liadof tapped one of the other shifts for a replacement?
"I see you've noticed our lack of a Qanskan biology expert," Liadof commented.
"Yes," Faraday said, locking gazes with her. "Where is she?"
"In her quarters," Liadof said evenly. "Shortly after you were placed under house arrest, we discovered Ms. McCollum was the one who had obtained that discarded section of mesh for you. She is therefore no longer with the project."
"She had every legal right to be in possession of that mesh," Faraday insisted. "Just as I did."
"The Five Hundred think otherwise," Liadof countered. "On both counts."
"I intend to appeal that decision," Faraday warned.
Liadof shrugged. "That's your right," she said. "But I doubt you'll find a negotiator willing to take the case."
Faraday clenched his hands into useless fists. So that was it. McCollum's future was officially dead now, her career prospects shunted off into the twilight oblivion reserved for people who had offended the Five Hundred.
And Faraday was the one who had done it to her.
Liadof might have been reading his mind. "Consider it an object lesson, Colonel," she said quietly. "You obviously don't care about your own career; but your people here are young and ambitious, with bright futures ahead of them." She considered. "Well, these last three are, anyway."
Faraday had never wanted to hit anyone as much as he wanted to hit Liadof. But he resisted the impulse. There were other ways to fight this. There had to be. Somehow, somewhere, he would find the right one.
And until he did, it would serve no purpose to get himself thrown back into his own quarters.
There was nothing he could do for McCollum right now. But maybe there was still something he could do for Raimey.
Stepping past Liadof, he went and stood behind Milligan. Liadof's top-secret probe was centered in one of the sensor displays, a three-dimensional version of the sketch he'd been studying and analyzing over the past few days.
A study which, he saw now, had been decidedly hit and miss. The top ovoid was indeed a modified Skydiver probe, as he'd concluded; but it appeared to be rigidly attached to the lower ovoid instead of being connected to it with a second-stage tether. The lower part was indeed composed of McCollum's mesh; but the mesh wasn't simply acting as a breathable outer skin. There was some kind of mechanism vaguely visible near where the two shapes joined, but most of the lower ovoid appeared to be completely empty.
And while the wands atop the upper probe were indeed control and sensor antennae, the ones stabbing downward from the lower ovoid were something else entirely. From all appearances, in fact, they seemed to be jagged-edged spikes.
"Omega Control to Contact Room," a voice announced from the ceiling speaker. "Omega Probe is ready to launch."
"Acknowledged," Liadof called back. "Launch Omega Probe."
On the display the double ovoid dropped away from its transport, descending rapidly toward the swirling clouds below. There were no tether lines visible, Faraday noted, which meant the thing was going to be free-flown. The grab rings must be simply for retrieving it later. "Which crew do you have aboard the tether ship?" he asked.
"My people are controlling it from Bay Seven, actually," Liadof said. "Omega's flight characteristics are outside the expertise of anyone on Prime."
"Then why are we even here?" he asked.
"You're here, as I've already said, in case we have to talk to Raimey," Liadof said. "The rest of Alpha Shift is here to handle the sensors and monitors and generally make themselves useful."
And to prove their loyalty in the face of McCollum's object lesson? Probably that, too.
Milligan was fiddling the telescope controls, keeping the probe centered and in focus. "Rather confident designation, calling it Omega," Faraday commented. "Do the Five Hundred expect this to be the last probe design we're ever going to need?"
"As a matter of fact, we do," Liadof said calmly. "After Omega, the designation won't be 'probe' anymore."
Faraday frowned over his shoulder at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Liadof's lips compressed slightly. "If we're fortunate, you'll never have to find out."
"That's not much of an answer," Faraday said. "Is the next generation going to be bigger or faster or something?"
She shrugged. "No need for extra size. I hardly think the Qanska could build and control a stardrive bigger than that cage."
Faraday glanced at Milligan, got an equally blank look in return. "Are you telling me you know where the stardrive is?" he asked.
"Not yet," Liadof said. "But the Qanska will soon be giving us that information. After that—" She shrugged. "It'll simply be a matter of sending Omega to pick it up."
"Really," Faraday murmured, frowning at the displays. No. That couldn't possibly be the entire plan. Why on Earth would the Qanska just meekly hand over their stardrive?
He sent a sideways look over at Beach. His face was rigid, his lips compressed tightly together. He and McCollum had gotten along pretty well in the past, he knew. Could McCollum have picked up a few more pieces of this puzzle from her friend in Bay Seven before Liadof locked her away and passed them along to him?
Possibly. Easing away from Milligan's shoulder, he drifted in Beach's direction—
"You'd better come back here with me, Colonel," Liadof called, almost lazily. "We wouldn't want you distracting the techs with unnecessary questions, now, would we?"
Faraday gave Beach's profile one last look, then turned away. "No, of course not," he said.
"Right here, Colonel," Liadof ordered, indicating a chair she'd set beside her. "You'll have a good view from here."
"And what is it I'll be looking at?" he asked as he sat down.
Liadof turned to the displays, her eyes shining again. "The end of an era," she said quietly. "And the beginning of the next."
Raimey had reached Level Two, and had leveled off from his climb, when he began to hear the first whispers of the distant Qanskan call.
He paused, letting himself drift with the wind as he listened. The voices were faint and indistinct, the tonals coming across as little more than mutterings. But if the words were still obscured, the tone of the call was clear as empty air.
Danger!
He resumed his swimming, putting a little more s
peed into it. He'd heard a thousand such warnings in his lifetime, most while he was a child, almost all of them signaling a Vuuka attack.
But he'd never heard a warning with such an edge of fear to it. What in crosswinds could be going on up there?
Whatever it was, it seemed to be getting worse. More Qanska were picking up the call now, echoing the original and adding to it. Danger, attack, fear, terror.
And there was something else different about it. Something that set it apart from all the other warnings he'd heard since birth. Something odd and chilling...
And then, with a jolt, he got it. All the voices in that call were female. All of them. The only ones who were calling for help were the Nurturers and the female Breeders. None of the Protectors were calling.
Which meant the Protectors were too busy fighting the attack to add their voices to the chorus.
Or else all of them were already dead.
Raimey leaned his muscles hard into his swimming, putting every bit of strength and speed he could into it. He had the direction now: straight ahead, definitely on Level One.
Somewhere near his old herd.
"You must be insane," Faraday said, tearing his eyes away from the displays and staring in disbelief at the woman beside him. "What are you trying to do, start a war?"
"Calm yourself, Colonel," Liadof said. Her own eyes, he noted, were still on the displays, her manner glacially calm. "And no, I'm not trying to start a war. I'm trying to end one."
"If you think a few Martian protests and riots constitute a war, you are sorely deficient in historical perspective," he bit out. "This is the sort of thing that starts real wars."
"Gently, Colonel," Liadof warned. "Proper respect and decorum, or I'll have you sent back to your quarters."
Faraday took a deep breath. Calm down, he ordered himself. She was right; and there would be absolutely nothing he could do to stop this madness if he was kicked out of here. He had to keep silent and control himself, to stay here and watch for something—anything—he could do.
And so he clamped his mouth tightly shut and let his eyes return to the displays. To the image of the Omega Probe, carrying out Liadof's grand scheme.