The Dark Imbalance (24 page)
Read The Dark Imbalance Online
Authors: Sean Williams,Shane Dix
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Fiction, #Space Opera
doing there, Uri?> she asked Kajic.
Roche agreed. Part of her was still nervous about giving the ex-Dato captain the chance to escape with the ship, but the rational side of her knew that this was simply unjustifiable paranoia. Had he wanted to, he could have killed or lost them dozens of times already.
Roche nodded to herself. She couldn’t do everything—especially when this particular job held little appeal.
The scutter disengaged from the
Ana Vereine
and arced smoothly toward the larger ship. Cane flew the small craft with competence and ease. He was a natural at everything he turned his hand to, even a complicated task such as flying a space vessel. Somewhere in his lost memory, Roche supposed, was the knowledge he needed, accessible at will. How it had got there in the first place, though, was the question—one question among many. She could only hope that some of them would be answered when he came under the council’s spotlight.
There had been no mention of the Ulterior outside the sealed conference room where Roche had revealed her knowledge concerning the five clone warriors. She assumed that it was still considered at best to be an informal group by most of its members—although Murnane’s presence at that meeting was a strong indication that its activities were partially sanctioned by its parent, or would be gratefully absorbed into the greater body of work if things went well.
How long her partial acceptance by the council would last she didn’t know, but while she
was
a member, she resolved to take full advantage of it. She couldn’t just sit by and watch while everything was potentially falling apart around her. Even if the council ended up dismissing her again, then at least she could say that she’d tried.
“Ameidio?”
Haid turned to face her.
“If you were the enemy, and this was your doing”—she indicated the images of destruction displayed on the monitor which was built into one wall of the conference room—”
why
would you be doing it?”
He faced the monitor and contemplated the question for a few moments. “To reduce the resources of the enemy,” he said at last.
She shook her head. “No,” she said, “They’re far too outnumbered. Even a ninety-nine percent reduction in our capability would leave them way behind.”
“To disorganize the enemy, then?”
She considered this for a short while before offering another shake of the head. “That’s a hell of a lot of effort for so little gain.”
“Depends on how you look at it.”
“Not really,” she said. “Wouldn’t any sensible campaign concentrate its energies here, on the
Phlegethon
? That’s where the potential for organization exists. Even if it’s the only surviving ship, it’d stand a chance of victory against a small enough enemy force.”
He shrugged. “This could just be a smoke screen, then, and they are already working on us. We just haven’t realized it.”
“We got rid of their agents; they don’t have anyone else to work through.”
“You heard what Murnane said: the council is recalling its field agents. How many of the enemy do you think will slip in with that lot?”
She nodded. “I’ve considered that,” she said. “And who’s to say the enemy
has
to be a clone warrior at all? There are bound to be collaborators we’ll never detect, small-time operators who might slip past even high-grade reaves because they aren’t aware that what they’re doing is even wrong.”
His dark eyes watched her closely. “You could be right about the agents,” he said. “But there’s something else on your mind, isn’t there?”
She half-smiled, then sobered. “This mass killing,” she said slowly. “It’s a message of some sort.”
“A message?” Haid frowned. “Saying what?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m not even sure for whom it was intended.”
“It would have to be for the council, surely,” said Haid. “Who else could it be for?”
She didn’t answer that, because were she to voice her suspicions, she was sure that Haid would think her totally paranoid. Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the message was aimed at
her.
It was as though they somehow knew that
she
was responsible for having located the five clone warriors, and that now they were making her pay the price. If so, this was retaliation on the largest possible scale; they were warning her not to do it again....
But that all presupposed the existence of the epsense link Cane had already denied knowing anything about. She doubted the council could decide in a single sitting whether he was telling the truth or not, but she was looking forward to seeing them try.
On the screen, a habitat shaped like a spinning top broke up under centrifugal forces, spraying fragments into the small flotilla arrayed against it. Roche couldn’t even begin to imagine the scale; the habitat could have been home for dozens or thousands of people, and the ships may have been fighters or cruisers. There was no way to tell the scale from the display on the screen alone.
She stood abruptly, turning from the destruction to face Haid. “Come on,” she said. “I’m going to get Vischilglin to take us to the docks to meet Cane and Maii.”
“You don’t trust the council to do it for you?” said Haid.
“That’s not the problem,” she said. “The last time I sent those two somewhere on their own, I very nearly didn’t get them back.”
“What about Vri?” Haid said, getting to his feet.
She had forgotten the Surin. Vri had been with them for twenty-four days, but had never integrated into the group. He kept apart, following his own agenda, only working with them when their goals meshed. The moment their goals came into conflict, she had no doubt whose orders he would follow. On the
Phlegethon
, he would be close to getting what he and the Surin Agora wanted. She didn’t entirely trust his ability to compromise if his superiors didn’t follow suit.
“All the more reason to go down there.” She turned to leave.
“Morgan?” Haid said suddenly. She stopped and faced him again. “Do you think you could handle Vri?”
The question startled her.
“If you had to,” he went on quickly. “One on one.”
“I’ve no idea,” she said. “Probably not. I’ve never even thought about it, to tell the truth.” The soldier had performed very well in the Fathehi Consulate. Not as well as Cane, but better than anything Roche could ever hope to perform. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Just curious.”
“And what about you?” she said.
“Me? I wouldn’t stand a chance.” His smile was disarming. “But both of us at once...? Well, that would be a different story.”
She smiled slightly and patted the ex-mercenary’s shoulder. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
* * *
The scutter was delayed slightly by an unscheduled course-change undertaken by the
Phlegethon
in order to avoid a cloud of debris too extensive to tackle head on. Even with the enormous ship’s shields, the chance of a large fragment slipping through was too great to risk. Changing the ship’s orbit gave a certain tactical advantage too: camouflaged or not, the more it moved, the less chance someone hostile had of tracking it from its last known location.
Apart from a containment team already in position when they arrived, the civilian docks were virtually empty. Of all the airlocks Roche could see, the one through which Cane and Maii disembarked seemed to be the only one in use.
“You don’t get many visitors here, I take it?” she said to Vischilglin, who waited with them by the inner door.
The tall woman shook her head. “Security is very tight at all times, and especially so now. I am told that docks like these are usually a hive of activity when consistory vessels return to their home system. With such a large crew, the reunions can go on for weeks. The Heterodoxies are renowned for their devotion to family as well as to faith.”
The woman spoke quickly and with animation, but never meeting Roche’s eyes. It seemed to Roche that she was nervous, anxious—trying, perhaps, to suppress an uncomfortable thought.
“Something’s bothering you?” Roche asked.
Vischilglin kept her gaze on the dock’s inner door. “I’ve lost contact with my superiors back home,” she said softly. “Signals stopped arriving three days ago.”
Roche nodded slightly, but didn’t know what to say. She was saved from having to by the inner door hissing open. The suits of the containment team whirred as they stood at the ready.
Cane stepped out first, followed closely by Maii. She wore a new hazard suit with additional armor provided by Vri that lent the normally gray exterior an air of gilt decoration. Cane wore nothing but a typical brown Dato shipsuit. There was a tension in his posture which only heightened when he saw the containment team.
Maii looked tired; her lips were thin, her pale features drawn. She stepped over to Roche and lightly touched her arm.
The image might have been meant to make the girl look strong. To Roche, it made her look very small and alone.
The Surin girl touched her mind with a mental shrug.
Vri was the last to step from the airlock. His visor was in place and his eyes were hidden, but Roche could tell from the way the helmet moved that he had scanned the containment team, Vischilglin, Haid, and herself with one appraising glance. He knew what had happened on Galine Four and was obviously prepared for anything.
He stopped just behind Maii and waited silently.
“The council will convene in fifteen minutes,” said Vischilglin, stepping forward. “Transport has been arranged.”
As she spoke, a large, flat vehicle slid quietly to a halt nearby. The containment team reorganized itself to create a clear space leading from the airlock to the transport.
“Do we all go together?” Roche asked her.
“That would be simplest.”
Roche nodded, but instead of heading for the transport, she moved to face Cane.
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” she asked.
“To testify before the council,” he said.
“Are you ready for that?”
He returned her stare evenly. “Are you?”
The question was a challenge, although she didn’t know why it should be. “I have nothing to hide,” she said. “And I’m assuming that you don’t, either—that you’ve been telling the truth from the start.”
“Why would I do otherwise?”
“Because...” She faltered in mid-sentence. There were no words to frame the suspicion she still felt, deep in her gut. “Because you
could
.”
Because I stand to lose everything if you haven’t been telling the truth....
“Having the potential to do something is not the same as intending to use it, Morgan. You of all people should know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that five of my people died today as a direct result of your involvement in this conflict. Uri showed me the footage. Now that you know for certain that your ability works, you have the potential to track down and hunt every one of my kind and bring them all to their deaths. Whether I agree with them or not, whether you think I might be one of them or not, whether I am lying to your or not—it’s all irrelevant. Ultimately, all that matters is your
intent
, isn’t it?”
She took a step back from his intense gaze. “Killing all of your kind would be genocide.”
“Exactly. And since I know that this is what you would call it, you have nothing to fear from me.” He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Morgan, any intelligent being can only do what it thinks is right. Have faith in my ability to do that, and everything will
be
all right.”
His eyes never once left hers. His hand gripped her shoulder tightly. She felt he was pleading with her, trying to make her understand something important—but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Genocide? Was he talking about the destruction of the Caste that had made him and his kind over half a million years ago? Or was he just using that possibility to illustrate a more general point?
“If you have any surprises in store for me,” she said, “you’d better let me know now.”
“I’m not the one with the surprises, Morgan,” he said.
Turning on his heel, he stepped through the containment team and onto the transport.
15
SHCV Phlegethon
955.2.14
1000
The fane was full. By the time Roche and her party took their places in the front row, with a clear view of the font and the small group of people around it, she had lost count of the number of unfamiliar Castes mixed in with the thousands of Pristines: short ones, tall ones, broad ones, thin ones, Castes that required filters to weed out atmospheric irritants, and Castes that, judging by the thickness of their skins and protective coverings over their eyes, could have survived just as comfortably in a vacuum. She recognized only three types: a Surin not far from where they stood, an Eckandi toward the rear, and a robed Hum looming to one side. Where they had come from, she couldn’t guess.
The “tension” sprang in part from the news that the Heresiarch had placed the ship on red alert. The conflict in the system showed no signs of abating; if anything, it seemed to be spreading. All peripheral civilian ships, including the
Ana Vereine,
were to dock, and a protective sphere of fighters would patrol the space between the camouflage and the body of the
Phlegethon
itself. If anything got through, it would be instantly dealt with.
When the time came, Esko Murnane stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the Heresiarch. He raised his hands and, gradually, silence fell about the fane.
“We have taken the unprecedented step,” he began, without preamble, “of inviting our non-Pristine guests to join us today. We intend this as a sign of solidarity in these difficult times, when
all
of Humanity seems endangered, not just the Pristine Caste. For many of us, this meeting could well be the first time we come face to face, knowingly, with the enemy.”
Although Murnane had made no gesture nor mentioned any names, heads began to turn toward Roche and her party.
“We have among us again a person you all know at least by reputation—a person who was initially rejected by this council but who has, despite that, worked for us in an unofficial capacity for the last two and a half weeks. The information distributed immediately prior to this meeting explains how Morgan Roche has stumbled across a means of identifying the enemy. If this ability is unique to her, it may be of little long-term benefit in our fight with the enemy. But if it is not, if there are others among us who share this ability, then we have a very real chance of victory. To overcome the enemy we must explore
every
possible avenue—and at this moment in time, this is the best option available to us.”
Roche couldn’t tell from Murnane’s expression whether he believed what he was saying or not, but the triumphant glint was back in Nemeth’s eye. It probably wouldn’t matter from his point of view if Murnane believed it at all, as long as the council gave
him
the credit.
“The sudden and unexpected escalation in conflict we’ve seen around us,” Murnane went on, “may be connected to the death of five clone warriors earlier today on board this very ship. Immediately following their deaths, fighting broke out around the system, and it has not stopped or even eased since. The speed with which the news spread suggests that some sort of epsense link might be involved, and so we have asked Morgan Roche, here, if she will help us in determining whether or not this might be the case.”
The whispers around the fane became slightly louder, and in the general murmur Roche heard her own name being mentioned over and over again. She wished that she could shut the helmet of her combat suit to block the voices out; the attention focused on her from those present in the fane was almost suffocating.
Murnane stepped back to let Nemeth take the floor.
“I have been declared chairperson for this meeting,” said the younger man. “As someone who has recently worked with Morgan Roche, I am in a unique position to guide the council to the conclusions it
must
reach. As my colleague has just told you, this development may prove crucial to the success of our defense of the galaxy against our enemy. Indeed, it may prove critical to our very survival.”
The murmurings rose in pitch again, threatening to become a clamor of alarm.
“Please!” Nemeth raised both his hands, gesturing for calm. “There is no need for panic!” he called out over the noise. “We mustn’t be unnerved by what the enemy has done this day! Don’t allow yourselves to think that they have the measure of us. What you are seeing is merely the winnowing of the weak—of those corrupted and influenced by the enemy! Those seduced by evil have died by evil’s hand! But the same fate does not await us. We are equal to the task ahead.
We
are strong; we
will
prevail!”
He lowered his hands and cast his gaze across the crowd. If he expected cheers, he didn’t get them, but he did get the crowd’s full attention. After a while, relative quiet returned to the enormous room.
Roche wondered how many people had allies, friends, or family among those already killed in the chaos. She didn’t think that any of the Castes she had encountered deserved to be labeled “weak” or “evil” simply because they had been destroyed by the enemy before the others. After all, only chance might have spared the
Phlegethon
itself from the five clone warriors that had infiltrated it.
But this was politics, not reasoned debate, and the reminder was a timely one. In order to get what she wanted, she would have to score points, not make them.
When he had finished scanning the crowd, Nemeth faced Roche’s party. “Morgan Roche and Adoni Cane, please step up to the font.”
Cane waited for Roche to move before stepping out of the crowd. Together they walked the twenty-odd steps to the heart of the fane, where Nemeth and Murnane and a dozen other people waited for them. The gaze of the council was almost unbearable now: as heavy as a planet and no less impersonal. A subtle prompt from Maii buoyed Roche slightly, made her feel that she could actually face them successfully.
me than
with
me.>
Nemeth’s nod to each of them was formal and perfunctory. His only interest was in beginning the interrogation.
“Morgan Roche, why are you here?”
“To determine the origins of the enemy,” she said briskly; she was tired of answering the same old questions over and over. “And, if possible, to find a way to stop them.”
“Who sent you?”
“No one sent me,” she replied. “I used to work for the Commonwealth of Empires, but I am now independent.”
“Is it not true that your mission has been sanctioned by at least one of the High Humans?”
“I am unable to answer that question,” she said after some consideration, “because I’m not sure myself of the truth.” That much, at least, was honest. “There have been times when I was convinced of High Human intervention, but I’ve never had the evidence to prove or disprove this.” That, also, was true; she only had the Box’s word that the Crescend was involved. “The fact that I once had in my possession a fully conscious artificial intelligence—something far beyond the capabilities of mundane science—was all I really had to suggest that I was being helped by someone in the High Human ranks.”
“And this AI is now destroyed,” said Nemeth. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.” Having been said so many times now, the lie came easily.
“Do you claim that your companion here is one of the enemy?” He looked at Cane as he said this.
“Yes.”
“We’ll come back to this in a moment,” he said, returning his attention to Roche. But first I’d like to address something else.” He paused, posturing loftily. “The last time you came before us,” he said, “you refused to submit to a genetic test. Why was that?”
“At the time I was unaware of your reasons for wanting me to,” she said. “The thought simply hadn’t occurred to me that you wanted to determine whether or not I myself was one of the clone warriors. Having said that, however, I should point out that I will
still
resist such a test, because I believe that I have clearly demonstrated my allegiances in this last week. Even if I
was
a clone warrior, I have given the council information on the whereabouts of five others. Why would I allow my own kind to be killed if I wasn’t on your side?”
Nemeth nodded—approvingly, she thought. He knew what she was doing. She was setting up her argument for the acceptance of Cane. If she could convince the council that the matter of her genetic origins was irrelevant given that she was clearly working for them, not against them, then it would be easier to convince them about Cane.
“Neither would you submit to an in-depth epsense probe, though,” he went on.
“Because I believe such probes are invasive and unnecessary,” she responded calmly.
“
And
they are open to misinterpretation. My actions should be taken into consideration, not what takes place in the privacy of my own thoughts.”
He nodded again. “And do you speak for Adoni Cane, here?”
She glanced to her left, to where Cane stood patiently, awaiting his turn to speak.
“In what sense?”
“Would
he
allow himself to be genetically examined or probed by an epsense adept?”
She shrugged. “That’s up to him,” she said. “But I’ve already given you his genetic data. As for probing him, I don’t believe it’s possible. The reave in my crew finds his mind impenetrable—”
Nemeth turned to face the girl, whose thoughts had easily filled the fane, relayed by the other reaves around them. “Your testimony is not called for at this time, child,” he said, “The council will address you if and when it is required.”
<
Squt,
> the girl sent to Roche alone. Roche suppressed a quick smile, recognizing the Surin word for a closed-minded fool.
“Your reave is young and inexperienced,” said Nemeth to Roche, “although I am told she does possess a formidable raw talent. It’s possible she may be right, but I would prefer to trust the judgments of the high-grade epsense adepts the council normally employs.” He turned to Cane. “So I ask you now,
would
you allow such an examination?”
“Your reaves have been attempting to read my mind ever since I arrived on the ship,” Cane said. “They have not been able to.”
A flicker of a smile crossed Nemeth’s face. “Then will you at least drop your barriers for them?”
“I am not able to do that,” Cane said. “The barriers I have around my mind are not artificial. They are part of me. I am as unable to remove them as you are unable to remove your skin.”
“You realize that this will make it difficult for us to trust you? After all, we have nothing but your word that this is the case.”
“I understand that,” said Cane implacably, as though daring the entire council to change his mind.
Nemeth shrugged helplessly. “Then all we can do is proceed,” he said. “Do we at least have your permission to take a genetic sample, to confirm the data Morgan Roche gave us earlier?”
He didn’t hesitate: “Yes.”
Nemeth waved forward two of the people standing by the font. Cane held out his hand as one produced a small device designed to take a blood sample from his thumb. There was a small
click,
and the two women stepped away.
A few moments later, the results were displayed for all the council to study. In a giant hologram hanging above her head, Roche could see a stylized representation of Cane’s genetic code alongside the data she had given the council before. She recognized the scientific shorthand standardized by the Commerce Artel across the galaxy: chunks of code common to all Humans, no matter how divergent their Castes, lay scattered through Cane’s genes like islands in an otherwise unfamiliar sea. For the first time, she saw the vast stretches of introns laid bare, incomprehensible patterns of base pairs lined up like words in a language she completely failed to understand.
“They are the same,” observed one of the women who had taken the sample. One of the two patterns disappeared, allowing the remaining to be seen in more detail.
“He possesses the features we have come to associate with the enemy?” Nemeth asked.
“There can be no doubt.” Several of the unknown sections were highlighted in red.
“You are convinced that this man is one of the enemy, then.”
“Genetically speaking, yes.” The woman stared balefully at Cane. “I am convinced.”
Nemeth turned away from her, but Roche cut him off before he could speak.
“Wait,” she said, addressing the woman. “What can you tell me about these features?” She indicated the sections highlighted in red.
“Nothing, I’m afraid.” The woman seemed unsettled by the question. “They don’t correlate to any known Human code.”
Roche raised her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“That he’s not Human?”
“No... no, of course not.” She frowned at the question. “What else
could
he be? I just meant that the features we find in his introns are not seen in any other Caste.”
“But why is that so unlikely? Every Caste is different. Surely there must be some that stand apart from the rest?”
“No.” The woman was emphatic. “There has been much genetic intermingling between the Castes since the Primordial strains speciated, five hundred thousand years ago. One always shares
some
common features with another, no matter how different they might appear in the flesh.”
“Then what happened to Cane’s introns? Where are the sequences that should be there, and where have the new ones come from?”
