As we reached the wormhole, Maja said quietly, “If the Chron have gotten better at bypassing those asteroid fields, how long is it going to take them to get to Nearspace?”
I shook my head. “Not long, I’m afraid. Not long at all. And we have to get the others back before they do.”
Chapter 3 – Lanar
Wheels Within Wheels
I MUST HAVE been feeling guilty after I sent Luta off on her mission for the Protectorate, because I decided that my next task, after meeting with Harle Southwind at lunchtime, would be to see what I could do to shake up the PrimeCorp investigation. I also knew I wouldn’t be able to simply sit around FarView Station while Luta and her crew were away. Although I had utter faith in her abilities, she worried me. She often took chances without thinking enough about the consequences, but I rarely mentioned it. It only led to arguments I seldom won. So most of the time I kept my worries to myself and my mind otherwise engaged.
Although Luta had brought back considerable evidence of PrimeCorp’s transgressions, both past and present, the reports had met with a good deal of skepticism. Even some factions within the Protectorate found it difficult to credit, and PrimeCorp’s Council ambassadors issued flat out denials. As soon as the investigation had officially launched, a flock of PrimeCorp lawyers had filed motions and set up legal obstacles to try and block it. So far they’d refused to comply with demands for access to their internal files and had denied any knowledge of the men and women Luta had seen in the Chron system wearing PrimeCorp uniforms. And despite having their pictures and ID implant data, we’d failed to tie them to PrimeCorp through the Nearspace database. Either they weren’t connected, which I found unlikely, or PrimeCorp had managed to keep the connections secret. PrimeCorp claimed they were being set up—by a rival corporation, or perhaps even by the Protectorate itself. The PrimeCorp drive signatures Luta had recorded could be explained away as stolen parts, or refurbished PrimeCorp ships that had been decommissioned and sold to private buyers.
There were plenty of damning things in the files Jahelia Sord had stolen from the PrimeCorp Main computers, and we’d let them know we had some of them. The PrimeCorp lawyers were kicking up a huge fuss about the provenance of those files, but we’d declined to comment, letting them stew. They didn’t know we had the Chron-Esper dictionary dating back to the time of the first Chron war, or where it had come from. I’d advised that we hold that back even from the Council for now, and Regina Holles and the other Fleet Commanders had agreed. It was one thing to accuse PrimeCorp of not reporting exploration results and interacting with alien species outside Nearspace, but to accuse them of starting the Chron War? We needed more information before we showed our hand on that.
Harle showed up right on time and I welcomed him into my quarters. He’d worn his usual impeccable uniform—Lobor officers tended to consider themselves “on duty” unless they were on official leave, and rarely dressed in casual clothes outside their own quarters. He’d brought a warm loaf of gada, a dark, seeded Lobor bread, and we settled in to a lunch of albondigas, a meatball soup I knew Harle particularly liked. As Harle had requested, I’d set out a bottle of deep purple jarlees wine. With my mother now living on Kiando with the Chairman of the planet’s governing corporation, I was always likely to have a supply of the local delicacy on hand. We broke the gada into chunks, Lobor-style, and ate for a few minutes, talking about inconsequentials. Then Harle got to the point of the meeting.
“Remember a few months back, I told you we were looking at something possibly big happening with PrimeCorp?” he asked, setting down his soup spoon with a satisfied sigh.
“I remember,” I said. “I’ve wondered about it even more since Luta brought back her revelations.”
He nodded. “I don’t know yet if they’re related, but I wouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been watching some interesting movements in former PrimeCorp executives over the past five years or so.”
“What do you mean?” I put my wineglass down and leaned forward with my elbows straddling my empty bowl.
He considered, seeming to choose his words carefully. “It’s nothing overt,” he said, “but a pattern that made us take notice. Executives, some fairly high up on the corporate ladder, would leave PrimeCorp and almost immediately take up positions with another, rival corporation.”
I frowned. “That’s a little odd. When an exec leaves, aren’t they usually bound by a non-compete clause? I thought that was pretty standard.”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “No-one wants former employees taking secrets to a rival. But these exec movements are out of the ordinary,” he continued. “When they take a new position, it’s at a rival corporation, but always at a division that just manages to squeak around some very particular language in the PrimeCorp non-competition agreement.”
“What kind of language?”
“It comes down to an exclusion that extends to business interests that correlate closely to the position they’re leaving, but leave the field open for interests that deal with a different business sector.”
I nodded slowly. “So someone leaving, say, a mining division, couldn’t go to work for a rival mining division, but they could go to work for a pharmaceutical division? But most corporations wouldn’t forbid that, would they? Whatever mining operation knowledge someone might leave here with is not really going to benefit a pharmaceutical operation.”
“No, but according to the standards that most Nearspace corps apply, they’d usually be precluded from taking a related position—like our mining operation post, for example—for a minimum of five years, if not more, right?”
I sipped wine and nodded. “Five years seems reasonable. But I think it’s possible to get a court to overturn that if it’s deemed too restrictive on a person’s ability to make a living.”
“Right. So, what if I told you the PrimeCorp clause says six months,” Harle said, leaning forward and putting his lightly furred hands on the table, “and what if I told you further that all of these execs, within a year or two of moving to the new corporation, somehow manage to transfer to divisions where they do have knowledge and experience, and also end up in a more powerful position than the one they started out in?”
“Hmm. Six months is short, and that does seem sort of coincidental. How many people are we talking about, here?”
“Over the past five years, across all divisions, twenty-seven.”
“Twenty-seven? That’s too many coincidences!” I said.
Harle leaned back and tapped the leathery pads of his fingers together. “I know. It’s suspicious. For PrimeCorp to lose that many high-level execs should be pretty devastating. But they’ve obviously taken it in stride.”
“We are talking very upper level?”
He nodded.
“But for them all to end up that quickly in powerful positions where they have experience . . . why would PrimeCorp make the non-compete period so short? That seems counterintuitive to their interests.”
“The Protectorate has a theory,” he said. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, then slowly paced the width of the room. As he walked with his slightly bouncing gait, he also bounced an index finger off his lips.
“If you plan to go to war with someone, what’s one of the first things you might want to do?” he mused, then answered his own question. “Put spies where they can find out the enemy’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. To know your Enemy, you must become your Enemy. So, imagine if those twenty-seven execs weren’t fired, and didn’t quit. PrimeCorp has a pretty good record of holding on to its upper-level folks. Imagine if they left for some other reason.”
I tapped my fingertips together, then joined him at the viewwall, where he’d stopped pacing. “You’re saying the terminations could be in the interests of a greater good—that is, putting people loyal to PrimeCorp inside its rivals.” From here, we could look down along the hub of FarView Station, windows winking on every level, launches and ships gliding slowly to and from the docking
arms. “But—PrimeCorp spying on its rivals? Sorry to break it to you, Harle, but there’s nothing terribly unusual in that.”
“The numbers are unusual,” he observed mildly. “But here’s the other wrinkle. In the time since each of those executives has made the internal move, a couple of other things have also happened. Each one has had direct influence on subsequent hirings and firings in their divisions. And key positions on the Boards of Directors have also changed in each of those companies, and in all cases—all of them—the new Directors have some connection to the moved executive. Sometimes you have to dig pretty deep to find that connection,” he said, “but in every case, it’s there.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Okej. That takes us outside the boundaries of coincidence.”
The Lobor nodded. “That looks like someone is plotting internal corporate takeovers. And that’s just the stuff we know about.” He turned away from the view wall to face me, ears pricked forward. His rounded, canine eyes, dark brown and luminous in the small space, were very, very serious. “And although this may sound very conspiracy-theory-ish, imagine how much easier it would be to effect those takeovers if everyone was distracted because Nearspace was embroiled in a war with the Chron?”
I felt something stir in my gut. “Merde. Harle, are you serious? What could they hope to gain?”
“You’re right. A war shouldn’t benefit them,” he said, “because PrimeCorp depends on a stable business environment across all of Nearspace, just like any other corporation. So, we still don’t understand how that all fits together.”
It was my turn to pace, connections lighting up inside my brain. “But the fighting with the Chron acts as a distraction, while PrimeCorp quietly takes control of all these other corporations or divisions of corporations. If they can get planetary control, they can replace that world’s ambassador with one of their own choosing—”
“—and once they have enough ambassadors in the Council, they essentially control Nearspace,” Harle Southwind finished in a tight voice. “The few corporations that might be left, and the autonomous and Authority-governed worlds, wouldn’t be enough to outvote them on anything.”
I stopped pacing. “But to collaborate with the Chron and bring war to Nearspace? That’s—that’s treason.”
“Agreed,” Harle said, his ears flattening. His lips drew away from his teeth in a snarl. “But if they control the Council, who’s going to prosecute them?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out, contemplating the very different Nearspace Harle had just conjured into the realm of possibility. “So, what do we do? You heard Regina. We can’t go after the Chron militarily—unless you have enough evidence to move against PrimeCorp?”
“Not yet. Much of this is supposition, coming up with a theory that makes sense of all the pieces. But this is why I wanted to talk to you. Fleet Commander Holles suggested it.”
“What can I do?”
The Lobor shrugged in a very human gesture, spreading his hands wide, leathery palms facing up. “I don’t know, exactly. But Regina says you and your family—you’ve got history with PrimeCorp. She thought you might be able to help. We need more details. We’ve tried to get someone on the inside, but apart from people they move out themselves, PrimeCorp is locked up tighter than a Protectorate brig.” He sighed and let his hands drop. “I don’t know. I’m just asking for ideas.”
Mother, I thought. That’s who might be able to help, and that’s why Regina had made the suggestion.
Harle handed me a datachip. “That’s the list of corporations who have hired on ex-PrimeCorp execs, and the names of the execs themselves. I thought it might be useful to you.”
I looked out the view wall again, tucking the datachip absently into my pocket. The station looked so peaceful, so quiet against the backdrop of space, even though I knew that within its reinforced walls, thousands of people went busily and unsuspectingly about their business. People the Protectorate had a duty to look after.
“Leave it with me, Harle,” I said finally. “I’ll have to think about it a bit.”
“Or course. And Lanar—keep this entirely between us, all right. We’re still suspicious that information is leaking somewhere.”
“A mole? In the Protectorate?”
Harle shrugged. “I’m not saying that for sure. But . . . we can’t let PrimeCorp know how much we suspect. We have to play this close to the chest.”
I nodded. “Whatever you say, Harle. And I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”
He turned to survey the station as well. “We have to, Lanar. And soon.”
AFTER MY DISCUSSION with Harle Southwind, the best place to start was to pay Mother a visit. She might not have called in all her inside sources at PrimeCorp when she decided to stop hiding her research data, so it was possible she’d still have a contact there who might have knowledge of use to us. But it wasn’t the kind of question you ask over FTL WaVe, no matter how good your encryption is.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t head straight out to talk to Mother in person. I sent an inter-system message to make certain she was at home and found out that she wasn’t. She’d finally gone to Damyadi Station, to consult with representatives of the Schulyer Group about their new anti-aging technology. She was expected back in five days.
So, I had almost a week to fill. I didn’t want to spend it worrying about Luta, so I filed a routine patrol route that would keep us actively watching for signs of Chron trouble, gave my crew six hours’ notice that we were leaving, and got underway. I took along copies of all the datachips of information we had concerning PrimeCorp and their activities, as well as the one Harle had given me. No matter how much time I spent poring over them, though, nothing new leaped out at me.
Our route brought the Cheswick finally around to Mu Cassiopeia and the planet Kiando. Although the main colonies on Kiando were built around heavy metal mining operations for the Duntmindi Corporation, much of the planet was still untouched wilderness. The other major industry was wine-making with the native jarlee fruit, but neither of those had brought my mother to the planet. It was the anti-aging research sponsored by Gusain Buig, head of Duntmindi’s operations on the planet and elsewhere. And after she’d met the Chairman, her relationship with the man himself. I was glad to see her happy again after all her sacrificed years spent evading PrimeCorp.
As soon as we skipped through into Mu Cassiopeia, I put the call through to Mother. I had to leave a message, but she pinged back within half an hour from her office in Gusain Buig’s house. “Lanar! I heard a rumour you were looking for me. What brings you?” she asked, green hazel eyes shining as she leaned close to the screen with a smile. She held up an admonishing finger. “I hope it’s not all business. Sometimes a son should just come and visit his mother because he loves her, you know.”
I grinned. “If I tell you how much I love you, can I sneak in just a little bit of business, too?”
She sat back from the screen and crossed her arms in mock annoyance. “I suppose, if you must. Will you join us for dinner?”
“That would be great. We should arrive just in time and I’ll come down in the launch.”
“I’ll tell Gusain. He’ll be pleased to see you too.” She closed the connection with a little finger wave and a smile.
I still find the resemblance between Mother and Luta disconcerting. The nanobioscavengers have held them at nearly the same physical age, and although the similarity is not that of identical twins, they could be sisters. I hadn’t counted on my worries about Luta being triggered by seeing Mother, so I changed my clothes and went down to the workout room for a bit of physical distraction to fill some of the four hours until we reached the planet.
Gusain Buig’s home sits on the outskirts of Ando City, the planetary capital, more a mansion than a mere house. Among its many accoutrements is a personal landing pad plenty big enough to accommodate the ship’s boat from the S. Cheswick. The pilot brought us in low over the mining fields studded like giant footprints across t
he continent’s arid deserts. Occasionally a splash of bright, verdant green signaled an oasis, or rippling blue announced one of the many small seas. On the outskirts of the city, terraced hills hosted row upon row of pale, burgundy-veined leaves of jarlee vines trailing over arched trellises. The city itself boasted few very tall buildings, since the first settlers had opted to build downward as much as up. The Ando City region tended to extremes of temperature, so the inhabitants wanted cool havens in the summer heat and warm sanctuaries from winter’s bite. For a community of miners, going underground made perfect sense. I gave the sergeant who piloted me down leave to head into town for his own supper, an offer he gladly accepted. The food on the Cheswick is good, but it’s not exactly restaurant fare.
Mother greeted me at the door. Her auburn hair, a little lighter than Luta’s, was braided and coiled on top of her head, and she wore a long green sweater, jeans, and soft knee-high boots. Long earrings, tiny jade stones dangling from fine silver chains, hung almost to her shoulders. To the casual observer she wouldn’t look much older than I did, but when I leaned in to kiss her cheek the lines around her eyes and mouth were more visible. Worry, rather than age, was responsible for most of them.
As I kissed her cheek she hugged me tightly. “So good to see you,” she said, almost a whisper. She’d never be able to make up for the seventy years she’d spent separated from us, running from PrimeCorp and hoping we’d have normal lives without her, but at least the unique circumstances of our longevity meant she had a chance to try.
She released me from the hug, tucking her arm through mine to lead me into the house. “Dinner’s ready,” she said. “Can the business part of the visit wait until after that?”
“Absolutely,” I told her.
“How’s Luta? Have you talked to her lately?”
“She seems to be fully recovered.” The truth, if not the whole truth. Guilt gave me a nudge in the gut. I’d asked Luta to keep her mission quiet, and then gone to see Mother without thinking that I’d have to lie about it myself.
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