Guided by Starlight

by Matt Levin

  He then took a chip out of his wrister and handed it to her. Inputting it in her own device, she noted that the file contained a dozen flight tickets as well as the file detailing Owen Yorteb’s involvement with the Offspring. “And tell your staff to make sure they don’t use their comm devices. It could be a means of tracking us.”

  That ruled out sending the information to Tricia, even if Isadora wanted to. Which she was no longer sure she did. She thought about sending the Syndicate file to the media, but exposing General Owen Yorteb’s connections to the Offspring would be a hollow victory if it meant giving away their position.

  And besides, it sounded like the Offspring were more deeply connected than she had thought. What if they had members embedded in the media as well, and they either buried the story or used the file to link the refugees to the Syndicate? Hell, even a normal journalist could follow the threads and discover that her people were in bed with the black market. No, there wasn’t much to do with the Syndicate information for the time being.

  Isadora fell into step alongside Russ as they headed back to the cabin to round up her staff. His pace was brisk, troubled. Nothing like the relaxed walk-and-talks they used to have back on the Preserver.

  She had come to the villa to find some peace outside the city. But now, the entire planet felt like it was threatening to consume her. As she wrapped her coat around her torso, she wondered whether there was any safe harbor left in the system.

  CHAPTER 33

  * * *

  Tricia was starting to fear that Isadora had disappeared. Ever since she had requested that her staff set up a meeting between her and the refugee leader, they had been unable to find her.

  Eventually, they had discovered that the refugees had left the capital for a weekend retreat at a resort cabin in the Obrigan countryside. Her sense of unease about a potential link between the refugees and the black market hadn’t abated, so she had eventually approved sending a detachment of troops to go bring them in.

  She entered the situation room and didn’t even bother with the pack of cigarettes in her breast pocket. “Status report,” she said brusquely.

  “The troops we sent to the villa have reported back,” Philip Eswan said. “The entire place is deserted. The refugees must have left overnight.”

  “And we know they haven’t returned to the embassy,” Owen Yorteb interjected. “I sent a combination of soldiers and ISB agents to the newars’ office, but no one was there either.”

  That gave Tricia pause. On one hand, she appreciated the general’s initiative. On the other, sending troops to a foreign embassy was in violation of a number of Union laws. Not that Tricia had ever given that sort of thing much weight, but it was an aggressive move. And she wished the general had consulted her.

  Was this really what she had come to? Had she been checked out for so long that her staff was just doing her job behind her back? Then again, she could hardly even blame them. She had been on auto-pilot for years, and Owen was only following through on her orders.

  “We’ve been trying to reach Isadora Satoro’s comm device,” Philip said, frowning. “But we haven’t managed to get through to her or anyone else in the refugee government. It’s a total communications blackout.”

  “I have directed my agents to track down key members of the refugee government,” Karen Pitera spoke up from the other side of the table. “We’ve submitted known profiles of their leadership to every spaceport on the planet, as well as the orbital outposts.”

  Tricia frowned. Those orbital stations were breeding grounds for black market activity. It wouldn’t be hard for a few determined individuals to slip by. Especially if they had Syndicate ties.

  “Do we have any theories about where they might be going?” Tricia asked.

  “I only see one option,” Owen said. “They’re returning to their Calimor settlement. If they’re taking commercial transports, there’s no way they could reach the Preserver. And no other option makes as much sense.”

  “But we know they have arrangements with both the Syndicate and the Horde,” Philip countered. “They might have left for Zoledo or Ikkren, respectively.”

  “Maybe,” Owen shrugged. “Either way, if our goal is to find Isadora Satoro, we should focus on New Arcena. I recommend that we go to Calimor and demand to speak to her. That would force her to surface.”

  A silence fell on the room as all of them realized what, exactly, the general was proposing. “When you say ‘go to Calimor,’ I take you to mean…” Tricia said, gesturing for Owen to continue.

  The general tapped a series of buttons on his terminal, and the holographic projection switched to show a view of three planets: Rhavego, Enther, and Calimor. The system’s asteroid belt cut a stark line between the orbital paths of Enther and Calimor. A smattering of green blips in orbit over Rhavego represented the Union’s Fourth Fleet, their furthest-deployed attack group.

  “I’m saying we send the Fourth Fleet to Calimor,” Owen said. “At a decent burn, they’d be there within a week.”

  Tricia’s forehead throbbed, and she closed her eyes. Sending Union warships past the asteroid belt would be a major step for her: her first time ordering an offensive movement since the war with the Horde. She had sent ships to receive the Preserver, sure, but only after assuring the Horde and the Junta that it was a strictly diplomatic mission.

  In a technical sense, it wasn’t like the position of her fleets mattered that much. A warship could lob a missile wherever it wanted from any position. But this was politics: that meant that sometimes, the symbolic weight of things mattered more than the reality. Sending even just a handful of ships into the outer rim would represent a major turning point.

  And Tricia wasn’t even sure she would be comfortable with the implied threat. Parking warships in orbit of the refugee’s Calimor settlement and demanding to speak to Isadora came with an obvious corollary: or else we blow up your only damn settlement.

  It didn’t matter how concerning the refugee’s covert actions had been. Tricia wasn’t about to nuke their colony from orbit. That would be an insane act of overaggression, to say nothing of the military’s no-first-use doctrine. But maybe the refugees didn’t need to know that. Maybe they’d turn over Isadora instead of calling her bluff.

  She supposed she could also send ships to the Preserver, but the cryo vessel was so deep in space that it would bring her ships uncomfortably close to Ikkren. If just sending vessels past the asteroid belt worried her, sending them straight into the Horde’s neighborhood was terrifying.

  “Wait,” Karen said, interrupting Tricia as she wrestled with the looming decision. “I’m getting something here.” Karen threw up a different image on the main projector: footage from some ISB agent’s body cam. The footage showed an individual pushing their way through a crowd as they approached a dark-skinned woman in a transit terminal line.

  “This is coming from an agent on one of the orbital stations,” Karen explained. The footage showed the agent pausing, using facial ID software on their wrist device to confirm that the individual they were zeroing in on was Gabriella Betam, listed as Isadora Satoro’s attorney general.

  “That’s a confirmation,” Karen said. “Do we have a go order?” she asked, looking up to make eye contact with Tricia.

  “Bring her in,” Tricia said, giving a hurry-up hand gesture. Returning her attention to the projector, she watched as the agent approached Gabriella, flashed a badge, and forcibly extracted the woman from the terminal line. The attorney general’s expression registered equal parts shock and fear.

  Karen tapped another few buttons, and the image returned to the previous holographic readout. “I’ll have my agent conduct a field interrogation.”

  “She may have colleagues in the vicinity,” Owen said. “Have your agents search the area.”

  “Already done,” Karen said. Tricia thought she could detect an edge of frustration in the ISB director’s voice.

  However, hours passed and they still hadn�
�t heard anything. It was shaping up to be a late night, and Tricia had already sent out one of the lower-ranking officers for coffee. Twice.

  Suddenly, Karen furrowed her brow at her wrist terminal. “I’m getting reports from a different orbital. It looks like we took in another high-profile refugee adviser. Alexander Mettevin: Isadora’s chief of finance.”

  Tricia’s heart fell slightly. Sure, they might glean a lot of information from this Alexander fellow or the attorney general. But she was sure Isadora hadn’t told them everything—after all, she didn’t tell all of her staff everything—and the real prize was still out there.

  “I’m having my agents focus on whether either Mr. Mettevin or Ms. Betam knew about the Syndicate arms deal,” Karen said. “Ms. Betam has vociferously denied any knowledge of the agreement, and it looks like Mr. Mettevin is doing the same.”

  Tricia wasn’t surprised. It would make sense to keep something of that magnitude out of non-defense personnel’s purview.

  “They could be lying,” Owen said. “They have no reason not to. We should have them undergo another round of questioning.”

  “I agree. Let’s get both on shuttles to the capital ASAP,” Tricia said. “Any sign of the others?” According to their files, the chief diplomat, Katrina Lanzic, and Isadora herself were still outstanding.

  “I’ve sent agents to each of our orbital stations,” Karen said. “According to a preliminary interrogation of Mr. Mettevin, it appears the refugees split up after we captured Ms. Betam.”

  In a vacuum, two out of four wasn’t bad. But it was troubling that Isadora still hadn’t surfaced. Tricia knew the Syndicate operated on Obrigan. If the refugees’ ties with the black market were deep enough, Tricia figured there were plenty of options for smuggling the refugee leader off-world. The thought spiked her sense of unease.

  For so long, she had operated with a sense of swagger. No one would ever challenge the Union. How could they, with Union fleets patrolling the space lanes and most of the system’s population living under Union jurisdiction? The Horde had tried and failed spectacularly.

  But now, all these little gadflies were coming together: the Horde, the Syndicate, and perhaps these new arrivals. Had Isadora been drawn into some massive conspiracy? Or was she directing the whole thing, all while playing dumb to Tricia’s face?

  Another few hours passed, giving Tricia plenty of time to introspect while her advisers continued to chatter away around her. Eventually, a moment of clarity struck the prime minister. She had let herself become lazy and complacent since the Horde war. Trying to remember anything specific from the last seven years, Tricia drew up blanks. Or maybe it was just the sleep-deprived, coffee-fueled delirium she had found herself in.

  Hazy images flashed through her head. A limitless number of meetings, most of which with people she despised. The stretch of time as she watched the seasons pass by from her office window. Her electoral victory back in 2401, which had felt more like a preordained coronation than a hard-fought triumph.

  She had been sleepwalking through her middle-age years. When had she let herself get so old? When had she let herself become disillusioned and lazy? She had once sacrificed everything to rebel against the very government she now headed. She had once demanded that the system restructure itself to satisfy her vision. Where had that defiant, headstrong woman gone?

  She turned to Philip Eswan. “Walk with me,” she muttered.

  “Of course,” the aging admiral said. The others watched the two of them depart the situation room with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

  The two exited into a series of basement tunnels that ran underneath the Government-General. Tricia had never spent much time in the long, twisting corridors that ran underneath her workplace, but she knew more than a few of her caucus members who had.

  It was where politicians got drugs or companionship smuggled in without the prying eyes of the media watching. Sometimes, other representatives would hold meetings down here off the record. It was the usual court politics and intrigue that Tricia cared little for.

  But Philip Eswan was one of her oldest and most trusted advisers. And she wanted to get his input away from the others’ influence. “We’re not gonna find Isadora, are we?” she asked.

  Philip just frowned. Or at least, Tricia thought he did. It was always hard to tell behind the man’s mustache. “I think it’s incredibly unlikely, ma’am.”

  Tricia sighed. “Help me here. I can hear the drums of war ringing in my ears. Deploying ships to the outer rim? How did we get here?”

  Philip looked thoughtful. “I agree with your skepticism,” he said finally.

  Tricia suppressed a grin. She was secretly hoping the admiral would give her any excuse not to make a move against the refugees. “But if our goal is to prevent another war in the outer rim, well...we may need to take action,” he said.

  The grin no longer felt like it was about to burst out.

  “What Karen said a few days ago is correct. Even if the refugees don’t have any nefarious intentions, they’re letting the Syndicate flood the outer rim with thousands of weapons. It could destabilize the entire region. If we’re not willing to commit forces now, we could be drawn into a far deadlier war down the line.”

  Tricia saw the logic behind the admiral’s words, even if she wished she couldn’t. Maybe it was time for action, not deliberation, and much less wishing she hadn’t found herself in this position. It was time to prove to everyone, and to herself, that she still deserved to hold her office.

  “Okay,” she muttered, and gestured back into the situation room.

  As the two of them entered, a dozen conversations went silent immediately. Everyone’s eyes followed Tricia as she walked back to her seat. She sat down, took a deep breath, and placed both her palms on the table. “I have two orders to dispatch to the Fourth Fleet,” she said, lowering her voice to project a sense of gravitas. More than a handful of her advisers leaned forward, ever so slightly. Still got it, she thought.

  “First, have them pick out two warships for an expedition to Calimor. And second, tell whichever two ships they decide on to hold position near the main spaceport on Rhavego. I will travel there personally and accompany the vessels to Calimor.”

  Owen tensed up immediately. “That isn’t a good idea, ma’am,” he said. “Remember that our worst-case scenario involves a full-scale invasion masterminded by the newars. Two warships alone can’t adequately protect you.”

  Tricia dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “As far as we know, the bulk of the weapons shipped to the refugee settlement includes assault rifles and short-range cannons. Correct?” she asked, turning to Karen.

  The ISB director nodded.

  “That means they don’t have anything that could hit a warship in orbit,” Tricia continued. “And the Preserver is defenseless. On the contrary, General, I believe that two warships can adequately protect me. But more importantly, I’m worried the situation could spiral out of control unless I’m there, communicating with the refugees in real time.”

  A message from Calimor could reach Obrigan in about four hours, which meant that any high-stakes negotiation with the refugee settlement was nearly impossible with such a significant time lag. And Tricia wasn’t about to ask her soldiers to venture into the outer rim unless she could be there, directing the operation personally.

  “We will lose substantial time if you rendezvous with the fleet,” Owen continued. “They could be at New Arcena in a week if they depart now. But it will be closer to two if they wait for you to arrive.”

  It was a reasonable concern, but still outweighed by the logistical necessity of having Tricia at the head of the expeditionary fleet. “I’ve made my decision,” she said firmly. Owen frowned and bowed his head, but he offered no further objections.

  Everyone in the room seemed to realize, over the course of the next few seconds, that meant that they too would be going with the fleet. It was important for Tricia to travel with her securi
ty team. Especially on a mission with this much emergency.

  One by one, the others leapt into action. Some began communicating with the Fourth Fleet. Others studied astrographic charts and plotted the most efficient transit path for the fleet.

  Seven years earlier, Tricia had made a personal vow never to let the Union get overextended into the outer rim again. But she was starting to appreciate the necessity of action. Continuing to do nothing might only let things spiral out of control.

  When she had first learned about the existence of the refugee vessel, she had never imagined that their arrival, of all things, would spark the chain of events that would force her to break her vow. And yet here she was.

  It was time to go make sure Isadora and her people stopped causing trouble.

  CHAPTER 34

  * * *

  Something about plans and not surviving contact with the enemy, Russ thought as his supply shuttle descended past the Calimor cloudline. Everything had been going well back on Obrigan. He, Isadora, and Riley had rounded up the rest of Isadora’s staff and made it to an orbital station just fine. But right when they were about to board a transport, Union agents had arrested Gabby Betam as she wandered away from the rest of them.

  That forced them to split up. Russ had stayed behind to make sure Isadora got out safely, even asking Riley to accompany her to make sure she got to Calimor safe. Russ had left later on a different transport. And yet, thanks to transit delays, his unique itinerary got him to Calimor before the rest of the leadership. And thanks to the communications blackout he had instituted, he had no way of contacting the others.

  He could only hope Isadora, Riley, and all the others were still safely on their way to New Arcena. He had lost countless hours of sleep in the days since departing Obrigan thanks to the crushing uncertainty about the others’ status. But until they got here, it was up to Russ to take charge. He’d make sure the colony was ready for anything.