Pathfinder (10 page)

“I’m surprised your people haven’t seen this yet, Colonel. The S-triple-ECB said it had the most constraining nondisclosure clauses they’d ever processed. They even sent it back once to Hellas Nautikos, requesting revisions.”

“Senator, I’m sure this is in Captain Floros’s queue.” Edones’s tone was cool. “I apologize for the delay in analysis, but I’m a little shorthanded right now, what with organizing the security for your contingent.”

She saw the senator’s eyes flash and narrow, but Colonel Edones could apparently get away with a few acerbic comments. The senator tapped his implant. “There’s something else strange about this contract. It’s one of only two contracts the Minoans have ever made with humans that
name
the required contractor personnel.”

Three names appeared highlighted in the view port text: Matthew Journey, David Ray Pilgrimage, and Ariane Kedros. She felt her stomach muscles tighten with tension and her scalp tingle. She lightly ran her fingers through her hair to disperse the prickling.

“You mentioned
two
contracts?” Edones asked.

“The other unprecedented contract was signed just a day ago, between Hellas Nautikos and the Martian offices of MIT, naming Dr. Myrna Fox Lowry to this
team
being constructed by the Minoans. She’s already on Beta Priamos doing research, so she’ll just change employers. Let’s not forget, however, she’ll be working under a different set of nondisclosure clauses.”

“Ones acceptable to CAW. Otherwise, they’d never have pushed the contract through our S-triple-ECB.” Edones’s frosty gaze met and held hers. “Do you have something to ask me, Major Kedros?”

“My employer mentioned he might have a contract, but he didn’t give me specifics. He wondered when I’d be released from active duty.” She kept her tone flat, not even sure what she wanted. Her current task felt onerous and came with the nasty side effect of arousing her ghosts. “I was going to ask about that today, but so much has happened. . . .”

Her voice died away. Had it really taken less than six hours to dodge an attempt on her life, show up at the arraignment, and watch Tahir die in front of Gaia and everyone else? When had she last eaten? As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.

“You could put the Major on plainclothes assignment. She’d be in perfect position with her civilian job,” Stephanos said, looking at Colonel Edones.

“No,” she said sharply, immediately discerning the senator’s purpose. “I won’t
spy
on my employer, even if my employer’s working for aliens. That goes beyond the constitutional purview of the Armed Forces.”

The senator’s eyes glittered. “No one mentioned the ‘s’ word, Major.”

“I won’t accept a mission that’s in conflict with my employer’s interests.” She locked her eyes on his.

Senator Stephanos looked away first. He rose, eerily silent in spite of his bulk. Both she and Edones stood, as well.

“Colonel, the Directorate of Intelligence has seriously disappointed the Senate, particularly those of us who support your funding. You’re supposed to be our best source of military intelligence, yet we had no notice of the security problems in the Terran weapons programs. I have to warn you I’m under pressure to perform a full mission audit of the
Bright Crescent
’s response mission to G- 145. That’s an intense, time-consuming affair and I’m strongly resisting.”

“Yes, sir.” Edones’s voice was colorless and he didn’t seem surprised at the not-so-veiled threat. He stopped the secure privacy shield by tapping his desk.

Senator Stephanos paused at the hatch, his eyes flickering to her and back to Edones. “Another thing, Colonel. If you come under audit, the Senate will need assurances that you can control your subordinates and your resources.”

Net-think has spoken: The reason Dr. Rouxe was murdered was to prevent his testimony, although no one can explain
how
he was murdered. Another shocker: Who’s missing a TD weapon? Here’s a list of Terran and Autonomist weapon storage facilities. . . .

—
Dr. Net-head Stavros
, 2106.053.21.32 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 8
under Flux Imperative

 

 

 

A
fter Matt disconnected his call with Ari, the ship’s proximity alarm went off. A view port opened over the pilot’s panel and showed the reason: a maintenance bot was approaching the port dorsal area, using the standard stern approach. Its automated message said it intended to perform a hull integrity test. He called the
Pilgrimage
maintenance control center.

“This is
Aether’s Touch
. Can you explain the maintenance bot at my slip, when I didn’t ask for one?” When he could, he managed his own maintenance; he saved money and if the job wasn’t done well, he could only blame himself.

There was silence. Finally, the operator responded. “This is
Pilgrimage
Maintenance One. We don’t show you on our schedule,
Aether’s Touch
. What ID is it squawking?”

“Hmm . . .” He looked over the message header and text. “I don’t see an ID.”

Puzzlement was evident, now, in the operator’s pause. “
Aether’s Touch
, we’ve put out a recall to all maintenance bots, both internal and external. Did it respond?”

“No. It’s fifty meters and closing.” He double- checked the ship’s smart armor status.

“We’ve got an EVA-capable team in a shuttle. They’re at Gold One and can be at your slip in two minutes.” Even if the team members were inside their extravehicular activity suits, ready to “go EVA,” they’d be too late.

“Negative, Maintenance One. It’s encroached into my self-defense zone. I’m exercising my rights.” Matt’s fingers danced as he powered up the midsection rail guns. The bot was using the correct maintenance approach, perhaps to allay his suspicions, but the approach also gave him a clear corridor to punch it. The security system provided targeting vectors and he loaded slugs. He ordered thrusters to compensate, so he didn’t transmit too much force to the
Pilgrimage
through clamps and connections.

“
Aether’s Touch
, we recommend waiting for our team.”

He ignored the message and fired.

“Maintenance One, I’ve fired a soft dispersive- force slug. The bot just took—” He stopped to calculate forces and, in the view port, saw the bot try to compensate with thrusters and—
uh-oh
. “I think the bot just
exploded
.”

“Not possible. You must have seen a canister rupture.”

“I
saw
an explosive force. You’d better report this to security. Send your shuttle to collect what you can for analysis.” He sent the vector track of the biggest cluster of debris.

“
Aether’s Touch
, we didn’t have cam-eye coverage—”

“I’ll attach it to my report. You’ve got another security problem,
Pilgrimage
Maintenance One.” Matt tersely signed off.

Bots used in space were designed to cause minimal damage when they ruptured. They weren’t supposed to fly into lots of small pieces, even from compressed gas canister rupture. If the bot had been closer, he’d have needed his expensive high-grade active armor. Thank Gaia that
Aether’s Touch
was tougher than the normal exploration vessel.

My ship was just targeted by saboteurs
. Matt took a moment to get his brain around that. The
Pilgrimage
wasn’t a safe haven, even after all its security upgrades.

After the hatch closed behind the senator, Ariane was caught off guard by Edones’s sudden ire. “What’s your problem, Major? You save an entire solar system from frying, and crack under the pressure of being a hero?” Edones’s biting voice felt like the slap of cold water on her face.

“Excuse me?” She met his icy gaze with her own. She sat back down. “Sir?”

“Your maudlin behavior. Your drinking. Didn’t you realize that by volunteering for addiction counseling, your superior—that’s
me
, if you’re not up to speed here—is required to report any abuse of alcohol or drugs. Why do you think I called in Mr. Journey last night?”

She flushed, but stayed silent.

“I can’t have your attention focused at the bottom of a bottle. Not right now.”

Her embarrassment turned to anger. “Owen, if
you
haven’t noticed, the Feeds are reporting whatever can be discerned, or guessed, about the Ura-Guinn detonation.” Her hands balled into fists, while the ghosts started rustling again in her brain. “They’re trying to piece together what happened, find out who survived. You can’t know how distracting it is to be reminded of—
that
.”

She saw his eyes flicker when she used his first name. It had almost become a code word, an indication she wasn’t in “military mode,” even if she currently wore the uniform. Her hands opened, only to intertwine and grip each other tensely.

He sat silently and considered her. After methodically restoring the secure privacy shield, he spoke in a mild tone. “Remember, the telescope data is decades behind us. We won’t know about individual survivors until the generational ship gets to Ura- Guinn. You’re going to have to deal with sensationalism and conjecture in the meantime.”

He was right, but entirely unhelpful. She swallowed, her throat tight, and nodded.

“You followed orders and did your duty. AFCAW will always protect you, as long as you wear that uniform,” he added.

As long as I wear this uniform
. She looked down. “I still put on this uniform because I believe in Pax Minoica, if nothing else.” She suppressed a bleak chuckle. “Otherwise, it hasn’t been much protection.”

“And neither have I, being remiss in my duties as a supervisor.”

“Duties?” She looked up at his sober tone.

“I should have recognized you had a problem. Even though neural probes are forbidden due to your background, I should have put you into addiction counseling sooner.”

She looked away. Knowing Owen Edones as long as she had, she recognized this as his one and only warning shot.
Straighten up and fly by the book
. Since Edones focused on results, he was less inclined to worry about borderline behavior in his people, but once he advised about such behavior—she’d better listen. She remembered the senator’s similar warning.

“What’ll happen to
you
when the Senate gets around to nitpicking and second-guessing your decisions?” she asked.

“Since each Assassinator missile costs several million HKD, shooting off sixteen of them was certain to have repercussions. Particularly when our most fiscally conservative party controls the Senate.” Edones picked up his slate.

Ariane shifted her weight, uncomfortable despite the chair’s efforts. If someone replaced Colonel Edones as head of the Special Operations Division of the Directorate of Intelligence, people and policies would change. There wasn’t another colonel in AFCAW with Edones’s experience—she remembered the earnest face of
young Lieutenant Owen Edones
, as he explained how her new identity would work and the risks of the experimental, but voluntary, rejuv procedures.

Self-consciously, she raised her fingertips to stroke the smooth line of her jaw. Rejuv, as it currently existed, was rarely successful. The only reason she wasn’t a coddled lab rat having her life documented for the advancement of human biochemistry, was due to Owen’s personal commitment to give her a shiny new life. She ignored the inner voice that spitefully told her she’d ruined this life as she looked at the lines developing on Owen’s face. At some point, he’d passed her in apparent age. Would a different division head be inclined to maintain a Reservist slot for someone who was, frankly, both an embarrassment and annoyance to the Consortium?

“Is your career in jeopardy?” she asked.

“Heads are rolling above me, but the mitigating factor is that we knew the Terrans had piss-poor weapons security, because we watch a good many people who fall
outside our purview
.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, Major. I can defend myself in the political arena.” Colonel Owen Edones gave her the brusque little smile that told her this subject was closed. He tapped his slate. “Let’s talk about what you’ll be doing. I’ve sent your orders to Admin and they’ll be ready to sign. It’s a plainclothes mission and you’ll be able to go to Priamos with your Mr. Journey.”

She ignored the dig. Matt wasn’t
her
Mr. Journey, but Edones always tried to goad her into exposing personal details about her life. “Matt’s my employer, and he’s stood by me. I won’t take a mission that’ll injure his reputation or his business.”

“In this case, there’s no conflict of interest. Since I’m not getting any more personnel, I need you to pick up Joyce’s mission.” He nodded at her slate on the arm of the chair. “You should have access to the case file.”

She saw the special information access form pop up on her slate and thumbed acceptance. The case file was categorized “Kressida” and she read it warily. Her lips tightened. “You’re peddling shit from the Great Bull itself, as my
employer
would say. No one needs to defect from the Terran League since they instituted their Open Gates policy.”