Pathfinder (35 page)

“If the Overlords were fracturing, would you be told?” she asked.

Ensign Walker shrugged, avoiding an answer. Instead, he picked up his slate. “While you were giving testimony, I got permission for you to see our background investigations, such as they are, of everyone selected to go on the
Pytheas
. Ms. Guillotte was chosen for the sensors and weapons position, given her experience. At the SP’s request, she has also looked over the backgrounds.”

Meaning, even Parmet was nervous about the people recently arriving at this station. Ariane picked up her slate as Walker thumbed his. She saw his package arrive on her queue. “Did Ms. Guillotte have any concerns?” she asked blandly.

“She didn’t find anything definitive, but she wants to speak with you privately.”

Of course she does.
Ariane nodded.

“I still recommend you delay the expedition. Everyone would support you, including the crew. We all know this is going too fast.”

Except the Minoans. Drained of energy and emotion, she said good-bye to Ensign Walker. She was juggling too many missions, hiding too many secrets, and knew too much about all the wrong people. She had just been maligned in front of the ICT as a greedy drunk turned vigilante. Now she was going to let the Minoans implant their technology in her, just so she could pilot a crew infiltrated by unknown treacherous persons to a solar system that contained a civilization-destroying time bomb. Paying her debt to society was getting more difficult every day.

As she exited Walker’s security offices, she wondered whether she’d
ever
been in control of her life. Outside Security, where the corridor met the ring, a small crowd had formed.

“Ari!” Matt turned and, before she knew it, enveloped her in a tight hug. “We did it! We got a lock signal that we can use. There’s a viable N-space path.”

Regrettably, the hug had to loosen, but he kept his arm around her shoulders as he twisted her around to look at the cluster of people. “Here’s our pilot!”

There were cheers and suggestions of celebration as Matt said in her ear, “Meet the new exploration crew of the
Pytheas
.” As his arm pulled her against his side, she felt she was coming home to where she belonged—an
impossibility
, for her, for more than sixteen years. Maybe this trouble was worth it, after all.

Shocking, just shocking. We all know, by now, the iso- lationists stole a TD weapon and intended to use it in G-145. They wanted to drop out of the civilized galaxy or go out in a nova. They’d have been successful if not for the heroics of Major Kedros and Master Sergeant Joyce. This morning the ICT dropped all charges associated with the weapon, leaving only the wimpy indictment of violating the Phaistos Protocols. . . .

—
Dr. Net-head Stavros
, 2106.064.09.58 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 12, Democritus 3
under Conflict, Cause and Effect Imperatives

 

 

 

A
ren’t you afraid?
Owen had asked Ariane this morning.
Yes, Owen, I’m frightened
.
I’m sorry I couldn’t admit that to you
. She watched Dr. Lee pick up the Minoan implant with forceps. It hung in the cool air of the lab and writhed. She stiffened, her belly feeling like a rock, and time slowed.

Earlier that morning, Edones had finally called, via encrypted comm. He looked better than when he’d taken back the
Pilgrimage
; the man seemed to thrive on politics. Or, perhaps she should consider the sympathetic corollary: When thousands of human lives hung in the balance, decisions weighed more heavily and sapped his life force. Regardless, he looked his politic and chipper self this morning, even though he was delivering bad news about the ICT.

“They say there wasn’t enough evidence for Article Five charges of isolating and enslaving a population. But they did rule that Rand and his men are guilty of violations of Article Two, for breaches of the Phaistos Protocols.”

“That’s nothing to message home about. And the sentences?” She was mildly disappointed and surprisingly overwhelmed by the relief that she wouldn’t have to testify again.

“They haven’t an ‘accord’ yet on sentencing, according to SP Duval, who took the brunt of the Feed correspondents’ attention. Senator Stephanos is just hanging on for the ride, since he’s involved in damage control right now.” Edones went on to describe how Myron, with the help of aides for two other senators, had managed to concoct a political struggle around how AFCAW had handled “the G-145 situation.” Several senators were realizing they’d become far too dependent upon their staffs for political threat and public opinion assessments.

“What about the bombing attempts? What have you gotten from the lieutenant?” She frowned. The TSF intelligence officer might be able to dig up an old APG-3034, but why?

“We can’t connect anyone to the explosives—we’re having trouble proving the Terrans knew they were getting data from Myron. The lieutenant’s initial story is that she received anonymous tips for the pickups. She won’t answer, yet, any questions about her superiors, such as SP Duval.” One of Edones’s eyebrows twitched; he didn’t have to tell her that he wasn’t finished with the TSF lieutenant. “As for the explosives, we suspect the grenades were stored in the visitors’ hostel on the
Pilgrimage
, but only for a short period of time. Four Terrans selected for the
Pytheas
crew stayed in that hostel. I’ve sent you their names.”

She’d check out those people as soon as she could. Right now, she wanted to know more about Edones’s situation. “What harm has Myron done, besides wasting time and attention on this audit? I’m worried that Overlord Six’s staff is involved—Joyce told you about my informant, right? Six may have been behind Abram’s botched attempt to sever this solar system.”

“We won’t know the full damage until we look through everything Myron passed on. We’ve demanded they return the data, but Duval and his staff are being a tad obstructive. I’m hoping the TSF, on its own, will be willing to work with us.” Edones grimaced. “The capabilities of the
Bright Crescent
have been compromised, of course. I’ve ordered an entire overhaul of the ship, but we have to wait until we’re at Karthage Point or another depot- level facility. Oh, another caution—there were references to Directorate case files in the data Myron passed—your current mission might have been jeopardized.”

“And what about Overlord Six?”

“Hmm. Yes, all leads point to Six, don’t they? Who’s your informant?”

“Frank Maestrale, an Autonomist who’s detained on Beta Priamos for helping Abram.” This was a secure session, so there seemed little harm in passing Frank’s name. “All he can give us is hearsay. You might want to look over Sergeant Pike’s report on the comm traffic as well.”

Edones made a note on his slate, then asked the question she’d been dreading. “How’s our friend doing?” Even over encrypted comm, he was careful when he referred to Maria.

“Have you seen the crew selections for the
Pytheas
?” After Edones nodded, meaning he knew Maria would be on the crew, she continued. “Everything’s on the back burner until we finish the first exploration mission.”

“Just remember that we have no funds for relocation—our friend must stay in place.”

“That may be a deal-breaker,” she said.

Edones shrugged, his face frigid with indifference.
So much for Maria’s wishes.
Meanwhile, Edones said, “I suggest you find a way to delay the exploration mission.”

“Not so easy. The Minoans are champing at the bit.”

His blue eyes became even cooler. “I think they might listen to
your
cautions.”

“The TSF security manager, Ensign Walker, has already let me look through everyone’s background investigation. All the Terrans look innocuous.” Even Maria. Knowing Maria’s TEBI background, she’d had a laugh at
that
harmless-looking dossier.

Edones sighed. “You know the Terrans don’t have reliable tracking systems. Those investigations are fantasy.”

They stared at each other in silence. A strange expression crossed Edones’s face; he looked away, and when he focused upon her again, his eyes still seemed remote. “Please, Ariane. Delay the launch. You’re risking too much. Besides the possible saboteurs, I’ve heard you’re going to use enhanced piloting drugs and Minoan tech. Is that true?”

The shock of Edones using her first name hit her like a cold shower. She shivered, suddenly recognizing what had briefly shown on his face: worry and fear.

“I can’t delay.” She tried to talk around the secrets, which was dangerous to do with Edones. “The Minoans have good reasons for this schedule. They’ve got a slightly better clash for me to use—” She drew a big breath to hide her hesitation. “And they’ll be adjusting my body’s drug levels through—some equipment.”

“Equipment?” His voice was sharp.

“They’re, sort of, inserting something under my skin. That’s privileged information, per our Minoan supervisor.” Although most of Parmet’s staff, and only Gaia knew who else, were aware of the implants.

He blew his breath out in exasperation. “I can tell you’ve made up your mind and you’re hell-bent on doing this. You’re always so—so—”

“Stubborn?” she said.

“
Self-contained
. Closed.”

“That’s rather ironic criticism, Owen, coming from you.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” He looked at her searchingly. “Because you should be.”

She couldn’t answer. Owen wasn’t exactly emoting all over his screen, but she had to wait for him to transform back into the “calculating, manipulating bastard” that she thought she knew, and who had earned Matt’s antipathy.

Owen’s parting words had been, “Please keep yourself safe.” With those words echoing in her head, Ariane watched the Minoan implant struggle against the forceps.

“This is a new implant that Contractor Director says is tweaked, based upon the test results we gave them.” Lee looked dubiously at the yellow and green implant, then at Ariane. “Last chance to back out.”

Ariane sat at the lab bench, her left arm extended flat over the bench top. Specialist Dimitriou, who was now working full time for Dr. Lee, had carefully injected the chemical marker between the sheath of the brachial artery and the triceps in her upper arm. Likewise, tiny amounts of marker had been put on the input and output points of her drug implant, located on and under the skin of her inner forearm. Dimitriou held a cauterizing scalpel hovering over the anesthetized inner part of her elbow, ready to make a longitudinal cut for entry of the Minoan implant.

Impulsively, she held out her free hand, remembering how the implant had wrapped around her thumb. “Let me hold it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. We can’t chase this all around the station,” Lee muttered. She dropped the struggling fibrous thing into Ariane’s hand, where it wrapped itself around her wrist and then wove through her fingers, almost lovingly.

“Do it.” She nodded at Dimitriou and looked away.

She didn’t feel the scalpel cut, but she saw it well enough when she turned back. Holding the implant over the incision, she hoped it would “know” what to do. Indeed, it slid into her arm, causing a strange sensation that abruptly stopped.

She waited several minutes. “Well. I don’t feel any different.”

Lee and Dimitriou leaned over her arm, inspecting it. Dimitriou said, “The incision looks like it’s closing by itself.”

The implant shifted and she felt a wave of nausea. She turned away from Dimitriou and suddenly vomited. “Sorry,” she said as she coughed. “I didn’t consider the ‘ick’ factor.”

Then she fell backward off the stool. Dimitriou caught her, as she saw his worried face fade to gray.

When she woke up, she found Dimitriou had put her on the patient bed in the corner of the lab and was hooking her implant—her normal Autonomist-designed one—to a monitor. She tried to sit up.

“Hey, be careful. Let’s see how you’re doing first,” he said, pushing her back.

Matt came running into the lab, followed by David Ray. “Is she okay? What happened?” They circled her bed anxiously before Lee calmed them down.

“Don’t worry, her vitals look good.” Lee turned back to the displays.

Ariane watched David Ray watch Lee, and sympathized with the older man. He was worried, but tried not to show it as he hoped his familiar Lee would return. This was a different Lee; the spark was gone. Every once in a while, she shied away from a shadow or flinched suddenly, with no provocation. The medics said that deep emotional memories of her attack remained, even if she had no sensory or narrative memories of the event. In a sense, Lee had lost her confidence, but had no idea why.

“If you’re ready, Ms. Kedros, we’ll do a few tests,” Dimitriou said.

“Let’s go.”

First, they did the standard pilot clash- resilience tests. With these tests, they’d compare her responses against the averages and assess her required dose—which would be high, because her ultra- fast metabolism processed it quicker than normal. Like any N-space pilot, she hated the standard eye response and attention tests, as well as feeling of the clash when she wasn’t in N-space.

Clash was the name pilots gave the cognitive dissonance enhancement drug. It kept N- space terrors at bay by dulling the pilot’s emotional response and helping maintain “distance,” while keeping her reflexes sharp and thoughts clear. After transitioning to real-space, she was always hypersensitive and irritable, every sound and sight seemed to have jagged edges. Clash, however, was well worth the bother; it kept the pilot sane and had no lasting effects. The removed and distant N-space pilot who was unable to empathize was a v-play stereotype, claimed every medical trial report.
Hmm
. Those reports did nothing to quell the conspiracy theories about clash on net-think.
No worries here; I’ve harmed my body more with alcohol and recreational drugs than with anything I’ve taken for work
. After all, she was already the result of a medical experiment, that classified military rejuv—