Empire & Ecolitan (19 page)

“As for the New Kansaw assignment, Major, you seem to be the perfect choice, because, frankly, I really don't care how many rebels you butcher. I'd rather not ruin another officer doing it.”

Jimjoy forced a frown. “I don't have to like it…”

“Neither do I…”

“But you get the credit for uncovering Commander Allen's espionage, while I get a black mark, another one, for unconventional behavior, if I'm lucky.”

“Don't press your luck, Major. Standard procedures…”

“Didn't seem to hamper you when you assigned me to the Accord mess. By the way, that report is completed and filed under ‘Accord, biotech one,' with my order code.”

“What did you find out?”

“It's all in the report. Basically, they have taken the science of genetics further than anyone in the Empire. I suspect they may even be beyond the accomplishments of Old Earth in the pre-Directorate days. How far only a skilled scientist could tell you. I tried to put all the technical jargon in the report. There probably are future military applications, but the Accord types seem to be concentrating mainly on plant genetics and removal of lethal human genes. They've done a great deal with plants.

“Accord really has no way to disseminate the information beyond its own people. No one outside of the top Imperial scientists seems to understand what they're doing. I suspect that's what led to the Fuardian actions and Commander Allen's presence there, perhaps as a way to get the Empire to crack down on the Institute, rather than learn from it.”

“I'm not sure that follows.”

“Look at it this way. Only Accord and the Empire have the scientific background to benefit from the Institute's research. Halston's still in an uproar, and the fundamentalist leanings of the Fuards have always prohibited genetic research. If Commander Allen could have persuaded the Service to destroy the Institute
before
gaining the knowledge the Institute has developed, then the Empire could not use that information against the Fuards. And since genetic research is against the Fuard creed, they'd want to destroy the Institute anyway. But since Accord is still an Imperial colony, they can't move directly. Of course, I'm sure you've already figured that out.”

“True…uh…ummm,” offered Hersnik, glancing at the small security screen wistfully, and rubbing the numbed fingers of his right hand with his left.

Jimjoy took a step toward Hersnik, who looked up nervously. “Seems to me you have two choices—get me out of here and clean up the mess, or be unavailable when the Admiral is looking for you and wants to know why his staff knows and why you haven't let him know.”

“That sounds like blackmail…”

“No. Letting the Admiral and the media know is merely insurance.” Jimjoy sighed. “If I'm alive and this drags out, you'll always have the chance to blame me for forcing the issue—once you've shunted me off to somewhere like Gilbi or New Kansaw.”

Hersnik steepled his fingers, awkwardly, since his right hand seemed not totally controlled. His black eyebrows furrowed. “You forget I could still place you under a security lock.”

“You could.” Jimjoy laughed, harshly. “But then you'd have to explain that in addition to everything else, and it would look like you were trying to cover up something worse. Do you really want that, Hersnik?”

At the use of his name without its accompanying rank, the Intelligence Commander glared at the Major.

“Explain what?”

Jimjoy leaned forward, with an intensity that forced the Commander to lean back in his swivel. “Do you think that the Admiral is going to explain to the media how a Fuard agent infiltrated the Service's most inner circles? Do you think the Admiral will go before all those fax crews? When the news is bad? When that's your job? When my reports show that the Fuards are manipulating the Intelligence Service?”

“What?”

“A portion of my report was leaked to the media…the part that shows Commander Allen was trying to kill me to prevent his identity from being revealed.”

“And…” said Hersnik slowly.

“If anything happens to me right now, it would seem that you were covering up everything to save your own neck. I doubt it matters to the Admiral one way or another whether you explain your way, or face an inquiry and a possible court-martial. Not to mention explaining my disappearance. Of course, you could just say that everything is well in hand, and that I have been reassigned at my own request…”

Jimjoy could finally see the trace of sweat on Hersnik's forehead. He waited.

“You really don't think this will protect you for long, do you?”

“No. As soon as the furor dies down, I imagine someone will try again. But I'm a good enough operative to have a chance. And it will probably cost anyone who tries at least a few good men, which would also have to be explained. And I really don't think you want to make those explanations for a little while.”

“That's not enough, Wright. Good try, but it won't wash.”

Jimjoy smiled. “All right. I'd hoped you'd be reasonable. Unless I cancel the drop personally, and I won't until and unless I have a courier to my assignment and I'm the copilot, ‘Halston Fuse One' will hit the fax circuit.”

“Halston Fuse One?”

“Call it up on your Security two base. You can call up from your data banks. You just can't get outside.”

Hersnik frowned, but the Commander's hands touched the console. His mouth dropped open.

“Not even the Admiral knows about this, Commander, and if I get safely off-planet in my courier, he won't have to.”

Hersnik glared.

“No threats, please.” Jimjoy sighed. “I've already had to do more than enough just to carry out my mission.”

“Your mission…your mission…”

“The one you sent me on. The one you didn't want me to return from, Commander. You and I both know who Commander Allen really worked for, and you're far better off this way.”

Hersnik's face was blank, and Jimjoy wondered if he had pushed too far.

“Orders to New Kansaw it is. Permanently, as far as the Service is concerned.”

“I'll wait right here, after I've released the holds on your system, while you do the authorizations, Commander.”

“Suit yourself, Major. Suit yourself. Not that you haven't already. This orbit's yours.”

Jimjoy nodded. He just hoped one orbit would be enough.

“A
RE YOU CERTAIN
, Commander?”

“Of course not, sir. If I could prove it, it would have been handled in the ordinary manner.”

The Admiral sighed. “I think we'll refrain from going into that right now.” He rested his elbows on the wide expanse of polished wood beside the ornate console, leaning forward to pin the dark-haired Commander with piercing green eyes. “Let me summarize your surmises, and they are surmises, for all the circumstantial evidence you have presented.

“First, Major Wright managed to appear at Intelligence Headquarters without known use of Imperial Service transport or without being intercepted by any of your agents or by any friendly agents. Second, he admitted recognizing two attempts on his life by the late Commander Allen. Third, the health and service records of Commander Allen now in the data banks and the hard copies in Headquarters do not match the hard copies of the records found in the Commander's personal effects. Fourth, Commander Allen should not have had access to all of his own personal records—”

At the open-jawed expression of the Commander, the Admiral smiled and interjected, “My summary is not confined to just those facts you have chosen to present, Commander.”

The Intelligence Service Commander closed his mouth without uttering another word.

“Fifth, Commander Allen was killed with the weapon found in his own holster inside a secure military installation by a Commodore who does not exist, but who knew background information known only to the senior watch officer, and not available to Major Wright under normal circumstances. Sixth, Major Wright detected and avoided two other assassination attempts you engineered indirectly and did not report to High Command. For whatever reasons, he chose not to even report all these incidents to you. Seventh, Major Wright still chose to return and to make a full, accurate, and detailed report, albeit with certain ‘precautions,' and to request further orders, as far from Intelligence Headquarters as possible. Finally, he sent me a copy of the materials he presumably set aside to ensure his own protection.”

The Admiral smiled at the Commander, but the smile had all the warmth of a wolf confronting a wounded stag. “Now, Commander, would you care to draw any additional conclusions from my summary?”

“No, sir. I would be interested in your conclusions.”

The Admiral nodded. “I can understand that. First, despite your deviousness, your incredible stupidity, and your colossal egotism, your instincts happen to be correct. Major Wright represents a considerable threat to the Service. Second, your choice of an assignment for the man is also probably correct. And third, that is exactly what Wright wanted.”

The Commander swallowed.

The Admiral waited.

“I don't think I follow your logic to the end, sir.”

“Major Wright is a threat because he will never see the Empire's need for subtle action. Every direct action reflects poorly and stirs up greater resentment against the Empire. He will also destroy incompetence, one way or another, and most incompetents in the Service have strong political connections. They must be kept isolated and placated, but we do not have the political capital to destroy them.”

The Commander squirmed slightly in the hard seat, but continued to listen.

“Major Wright also inspires great loyalty in the able people who recognize his talents. They would emulate him, multiplying the destructive impact the man can create.

“Last, he has no hesitations. He is a deeply ethical man, in his own way, with the same lack of restraint as a psychopath. With him, to think is to act, and no structure, authoritarian or democratic, can react fast enough to counter him.”

The Commander cleared his throat softly, as if requesting permission to speak.

“Yes, Commander?”

“You make him sound almost like a hero. But you insist he is a danger, and you say that my actions were correct.”

“Correct on all three counts. He is a hero type. He is a danger, and if he cannot be eliminated, he must be kept on isolated and dangerous duty at all costs.”

“What if he deserts—” The Commander broke off the question as he saw the Admiral grin. “I see…I think. If he deserts, he destroys his credibility within the Service. And if he takes straight butchery assignments, he'll either have to reject them, for which he can be court-martialed or cashiered, or lose his ethics in accepting them. Is that it?”

“More or less, Commander. Although we will attempt, with more subtlety, to render the longer-term issues moot.” The Admiral frowned. “That leaves the question of how to deal with Commander Allen. My thought is to leave the murder as unsolved, but to imply that he was indeed a double agent, and that a certain Major solved the Empire's problem. Since that Major will not be around to counter the rumors, that approach will bear double duty.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because you will make the necessary arrangements, Commander. Need I say more?”

The Commander repressed a groan. “No, sir.”

The Admiral stood, with a brief shake of his head, the backlighting glinting through his silvered blond hair. “That will be all, Commander.”

S
TILL FROWNING AFTER
his quick look through the station screens at the scout ship in the docking port, Jimjoy sealed his suit and stepped forward.

The
Captain Carpenter
had seen better days. Much better days, but he couldn't say that he was surprised. Obviously, Hersnik wanted to get word to New Kansaw before his favorite Special Operative arrived. From the looks of the
Carpenter
, the good Commander might not have to worry about Jimjoy's arrival at all.

Jimjoy shrugged within his suit and tapped the access panel.

“
Carpenter
, Tech Berlan.”

“Major Wright here. Temporary assignment for transport.”

“Lock's waiting, Major. The Captain should be back in a few minutes with the clearance.”

Jimjoy pursed his lips, then frowned again. Clearances were not picked up, but routed through the station comm system. Shaking his head, he studied the ship's lock as he stepped through the station portal and into the
Carpenter
.

Would what he was looking for be that obvious? He doubted it, but the clues were there.

“Cluttered” was the best word for the ship's lock. Although all the gear was secured, much of the additional equipment was stowed in place with brackets added without much regard for the ship's original design, leaving only enough comfortable space for a single suited individual to walk through into the ship itself.

Jimjoy studied the lock, but all the equipment appeared standard, and the lock control panel, though battered, showed no signs of recent tampering.

The man who had identified himself as Berlan waited inside the courier.

“Major Wright?”

“The same.” Jimjoy fumbled with his flat dispatch case, carried in addition to his kit and his flight equipment. The flight equipment bag also included several smaller packages with rather more specialized equipment. Commander Hersnik would not have been pleased with the contents, but then again, Commander Hersnik would not be carrying out the mission. The need to bring equipment meant that he was carrying more gear than usual, and the lack of personal mobility bothered him.

At last he managed to fumble out his I.D. and orders for the technician.

Berlan was red-haired, rail-thin, and stood perhaps five centimeters taller than Jimjoy. His short-cropped hair was shot with silver, and a thin white scar ran from the right corner of his mouth to his earlobe.

“Yes, sir. Senior Lieutenant Ramsour should be back shortly. You get the top bunk in the forward space—that's the spot of honor, since you're ranking on board.

“Hope you don't mind acting as the backup, but otherwise we don't go.”

“No problem, chief. Let me stow my gear. Then I'd appreciate it if you'd show me around.”

Berlan looked as though he might frown, but he did not. His lips pursed. Then he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Jimjoy eyed the clean but battered control area as he passed the open portal. In the Captain's cabin, scarcely more than a long closet, he found a single large and empty locker and placed his bags and case inside.

Berlan stood waiting.

“Drives?” Jimjoy asked as he knelt by the flush hatch that should lead to the space below that contained the grav-field polarizer, the screen generators, and the discontinuity generator, not that anyone ever called it other than the jumpbox.

“Standard. Beta class.” Berlan made no movement to unseal the hatch.

Jimjoy touched the access plates, waiting for the iris plates to open fully. Then he touched the locks to ensure the hatch didn't reseal on him. He still wore his shipsuit, including the hood, with only the face membrane not in place. Drive spaces had been known to lose pressure during inspections, especially when the inspector was not popular.

“Coming, Berlan?”

“If you want, sir.”

“Wouldn't hurt, especially since your equipment may have been modified since installation. Ships this old tend to have some unique modifications.”

As he slid into the maintenance area, two meters square, from which in-passage repairs were theoretically possible, the Major took a deep breath.

Ozone, as expected. A hint of old oil, also expected, and a rubbery sort of smell, the kind that always showed up after new or rebuilt equipment had been installed.

He waited until the tech's feet touched the plastplates, looking at the area to his right. The polarizer was untouched, clean, but with a fine misting above the exposed plastics and metal. The mist seemed to hover several centimeters above the polarizer.

“Not much to see, sir.”

“Enough, Berlan. Enough.”

Jimjoy looked straight at the jumpbox. The involuted blackness of the discontinuity generator twisted at his eyes, but he attempted to look around it, and at the thin power lines that ran to it. Superconductors were fine, but even a small gash could pose enough problems to turn the scout into disassociated subatomic forces. The silver finish on the lines he could see was unmarred. Besides, there were no recent marks around the field boundaries on the plastplates of the deck.

That left the screens.

“Had some screen problems last time out?”

“Why…ah…yes, sir. Nothing major, Major. But we kept going into the orange with debris.”

Jimjoy forced himself to nod, as if he really didn't understand. “They fix it, or just replace part of the generators?”

“There. Pulled out the power links, replaced them.”

Jimjoy followed the tech's gesture, noted the obviously newer, or at least less battered, section. He also noted, but did not call attention to the dullness of the thin power line running to the rear section of the screen generators.

“If that's all, sir…?”

“That's all, Berlan.”

Clink
.

“Flame…” muttered the Major as a stylus spilled from his belt pouch onto the deck and skittered to the base of the unpowered screen generator. “Lucky it went that way.”

Berlan swallowed. “Need some help, sir?”

“No. Get it myself.”

“I'll give you room, sir.”

Jimjoy knelt and crawled under the apron of the generator, reaching for the stylus and checking the power connections. He did not nod as he saw what he expected, but, instead, reached for the stylus and eased it away from the equipment. His hand flicked a switch into an alternate position, a switch he doubted most of the crew knew even existed.

Then he eased himself backward and stood, carefully tucking the stylus back into his belt pouch.

“Everything all right, sir?” Berlan peered down from the hatch.

“Fine. Coming right up.”

Jimjoy climbed the ladder slowly, though he would have needed only two or three of the inset rungs to lever himself back into the scout's main corridor.

There were two possibilities, and he didn't like either. Lieutenant Ramsour's presence might tell him which was correct.

“The other tech?” he asked as he resealed the hatch.

“That's R'Naio. Should be back with the Captain. Wanted some real comestibles, not just synthetics.”

Jimjoy grinned. “Can certainly understand that.” He edged toward the control section. “Wouldn't hurt to check out the board, especially if I'm backup.”

“Yes, sir. But the Captain's quite good.”

“Understand, but sometimes the best can't do everything.”

“Suppose that's true, sir, but it will be a short trip.”

Jimjoy smiled and edged around the technician into the copilot's couch.

The control section smelled…used…and the section of the controls before the Special Operative was slightly dusty. He held back a sigh as he ran his fingers across the board, trying to refresh his skills, noting the slight differences in control positions and calibrations. The screen configuration was standard, with the power disconnects apparently operational solely between screens and drives.

The rationale was simple enough. Scouts by necessity often operated at high gee loads. Scout pilots were often inexperienced. The default system configurations allowed power diversion between screens and drives, but not between the grav-field generator and either drives or screens.

Jimjoy would have bet on two other factors, one being that the
Carpenter
ran hot. All scouts did.

With a wry grin, he eased himself out of the copilot's shell.

“You must be Major Wright,” a new voice remarked.

The speaker was thin, dark-haired, hard-voiced, and female.

Jimjoy nearly nodded, instead answered. “The same. You're Captain Ramsour?”

“A very junior senior Lieutenant Ramsour, Major. And also rather new to the
Carpenter
.”

“First command?”

“Second. Had the courier
Tsetung
for a bit over a standard year. Rotated into the
Carpenter
when her skipper made Major and was selected for staff college.”

Jimjoy merely nodded politely.

“Major?”

“Yes?”

“What the flame did you do?”

“Enough that New Kansaw is the best assignment I'll ever get again.”

Lieutenant Ramsour shook her head. “You know the board?”

“Yes. Not as current as you.”

“Happy to have you here.” Ramsour scarcely sounded happy, but more like resigned to an unpleasant duty. “Your gear strapped in?”

“In the empty locker. Sufficient?”

“What it's for. We're waiting for a R'Naio and a few local comestibles, since none of us care much for synthetics.”

“Outbound from New Kansaw?”

“After we pick up Lieutenant L'tellen…fresh from post-Academy training.”

Jimjoy frowned.

“Her father's deputy base Commander there.”

“Wondered about that.” Jimjoy looked toward the board.

The pilot followed his glance. “R'Naio should be here momentarily. She had an electrocart at the lock. You can start pre-break checks, if you want. I'd like a last look below.”

“Go ahead. I'll wait. A few minutes won't matter that much.” He wanted to watch her inspection of the drives.

The Lieutenant did not acknowledge his statement, but was already kneeling to reopen the hatch.

Berlan stood on the other side of the hatch, ostensibly checking the bulkhead panel containing the lock circuits and controls. As the Lieutenant dropped through the full iris of the hatch, he looked up to meet the Major's eyes, then looked away.

“Berlan!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Did you run a full-surge through the screens?”

“No, Captain. Can't until we're clear of the station. We're at a standard lock port, not at a Service lock.”

“Sorry…forgot about that.”

Jimjoy nodded imperceptibly. She asked the right questions, although he wondered why the
Carpenter
had not been able to get a full-Service lock.

He caught Berlan's eye. “No facilities for couriers?”

“Not for a Ramsour, Major.”

Jimjoy nearly choked, turned the feeling into a cough. “The Commander Ramsour? Her father?”

“Uncle.” The tech's voice lowered. “She won the Armitage…understand they couldn't deny her pilot training…finished in top ten percent…with everyone out to bust her.”

“Berlan…are you spreading gossip again?”

The Lieutenant looked up at the two men before flipping herself up and into the passage with a single fluid movement that Jimjoy envied.

Berlan flushed.

“Don't listen to him, Major. He thinks the whole universe is out to get me because Steven Ramsour was my uncle. But his paranoia counters my unfounded optimism.” She resealed the hatch and straightened, brushing back short black hair with her left hand. The hair was too short to need brushing, but even that nervous gesture was graceful.

Jimjoy glanced at the standard embossed wings and name on her gray shipsuit—LT RAE RAMSOUR, ISC.

“Yes…the name is Ramsour. That's me.”

Jimjoy merely nodded. The more he heard, the less he liked it.

“Have you ever heard of a Commander by the name of Hersnik, Lieutenant?”

“Hersnik? I don't believe so.”

Jimjoy was convinced she had recognized the name, especially when she did not ask for his reasons for asking the question.

“
Carpenter?
Berlan, release the double-damned lock and give me a hand with your flaming fresh food.” The gravelly voice issuing from the lock control panel could only be that of the missing R'Naio.

Berlan reached for the control.

The Lieutenant nodded sharply toward the control board. “Let's get you on your way, Major.”

Jimjoy turned, took a step, and dropped back into the copilot's shell, this time cinching the straps in place.

“Skitter pilot, too?”

“Sometimes.” He realized that the Lieutenant, while not experienced, was sharp. Too bad that she was being allowed to climb too fast, although that was also predictable. Intelligence, arrogance, grace, looks, and disguised femininity…and a case to prove for the entire Service—Hersnik had a lot to work with, and Jimjoy had probably handed him the solution to two problems on a platter.

He thumbed the checklist prompt.

“Power one…”

“…standby,” she answered.

“Power two…”

The checklist was quick enough, and the
Carpenter
showed in the green.

“Alphane beta, this is Desperado. Standing by for pushaway. Orbit break, corridor three. Clearance delta.”

“Desperado, beta. Cleared for break. Estimate pushaway in three stans. Clearance is green. Report when clear of station.”

“Beta, Desperado. Stet. Will report when clear.”

“Lock links are clear, Captain.” Berlan's voice was raspy through the board speakers.

Sssssssss
.

Only a faint scraping sound marked the separation of ship and station.