Pathfinder (36 page)

“We’re starting the enhanced clash, so go through it again.” Dr. Lee’s voice, small but clear in her implant, grabbed her attention. She acknowledged and performed the same tests again, under the enhanced clash designed by the Minoans. She didn’t feel the same pressured feeling behind her eyelids but otherwise, the Minoan clash felt about the same.

Trying to rub away the sharpness in her head, she heard concerned murmurs over at the display bench. She unhooked the leads from her implant—her Autonomous one—and decided to internally call the Minoan implant a
parasite
to differentiate it from all the other subcutaneous Autonomous equipment in her body. “Parasite” made sense, didn’t it? At her spiteful thought, it stirred and she had momentary nausea.

“What’s the problem?” She walked up behind everyone and looked at the graphs. All showed early and precipitous drops in drug concentration. This was more than an ultra-rapid metabolic response. Lee sat to one side, frowning and scrolling through a document. The others turned to face Ariane.

“You need to keep higher levels of clash in your bloodstream,” Matt gestured at the graphs. “It looks like the Minoan implant will
prevent
you from piloting N-space.”

“Perhaps we need the conditions of N-space to test my little parasite.”

Matt’s face turned pasty. “Dropping into N-space, without knowing whether the clash will kick in—”

Lee yelped, “Hah! She’s got it right.”

Turning to survey the three men, Lee added tartly, “Those responses were what the Minoan manual said would happen. It looks like only the women in this room have got Gaia’s common sense.”

Now
that
sounded like the old Lee. Ariane smiled. The others followed suit and David Ray smiled so widely, he showed teeth.

Lee looked at them suspiciously and snapped, “Why are you all standing about and grinning? We have work to do if we’re getting this launch off the ground—metaphorically speaking.”

 

Isrid looked at the forty view ports of faces on the wall in front of him, one for every member of the
Pytheas
crew, and sighed. Sometimes he regretted the end of the war; otherwise, he could pump everybody full of drugs and interrogate them. “Let’s go through them again, but not through their superficial background records. This time—no holds barred—we identify
who
knows
what
about
whom
.”

“Yes, SP.” Maria Guillotte and Ensign Walker nodded, although Walker double-checked the secure status display on the tabletop in front of him. Isrid approved.
A survivor, if he continues to pay attention to details
.

“Start with the auxiliary members who’ll be near the buoy,” Isrid added.

Walker displayed two more view ports to the side, under a label of “Aether’s Touch.” The faces belonged to Mr. Matthew Journey and Dr. Myrna Fox Lowry, who would be controlling the bot that ended up being their exclusive interface to the buoy, as well as relaying comm through to the Builders’ solar system.

“From the top and no holds barred,” she said with a warning glance at Walker. “Ariane Kedros, which we know isn’t her original name, is the N-space pilot chosen by the Minoans. I’m using her as the central starting point. The Minoans say she’s the key to a successful N-space drop, because she’s using their enhanced drugs and tech. I also suspect most of the security risks for this mission are related to her.”

Maria didn’t add,
because Kedros helped detonate the weapon at Ura-Guinn sixteen years ago
, since Isrid had used the highest TEBI restriction he could on that information. That was part of his agreement with Kedros, for getting control of the leases on G- 145. Walker knew about the involuntary and unpleasant ride Kedros had upon Isrid’s ship, but he couldn’t know why.

“Yes, everything connects to her.” Isrid stared at Kedros’s official portrait, with which he was so familiar. It showed a waiflike face with sharp cheekbones and loose curls framing dark eyes that held tormented knowledge. A true
Destroyer of Worlds
, as the Minoans had named her.

“The entire crew has now met Ms. Kedros, but here are the people who might have had some connection to her
before
the
Pytheas
entered the system.”

About half the view ports became highlighted, showing people who knew the civilian Kedros before G- 145 was opened, or had met her during Abram’s takeover. Ensign Walker immediately homed in on the one exception.

“What’s the connection between Dalton Lengyel, the mission commander, and Kedros?” Walker frowned. “I don’t remember reading anything in his background that connected him to her.”

“That’s marked TEBI- Restricted.” Maria looked at Isrid. “However, my research indicates that Lengyel himself might not be aware of the connection, so I doubt it’s relevant.”

Walker raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“We could concentrate on who knows Kedros’s history.” Maria tapped a command and three view ports became highlighted: hers, Journey’s, and Lowry’s. She made the Martian patois sign for
frustration
, and added, “There’s our problem. We’re looking for someone who’ll be on the
Pytheas
, and it looks like I’m the only suspect.”

“Let’s try this differently.” Walker tapped for control of the displays. “Let’s assume that Kedros’s background is common knowledge. If so, who’d want her dead or harmed?”

Maria snorted and Isrid said, “Better light up every Terran. That’s half the crew—by design. And since we don’t keep a tenth of the data the Autonomists do, all Terran backgrounds are suspect. That’s too many threats to monitor.”

Walker held up a cautionary finger. “But let’s apply a
familiarity
factor. They say ‘familiarity breeds contempt,’ but it also blunts the passions. Many of you who now know Kedros—as a real human being—are less likely to fly into a vengeful rage. Am I right?”

Maria sneered, while Isrid returned to contemplating Kedros’s face. Walker was right. Isrid had known he wouldn’t kill Kedros from the moment he saw her loyalty to her commanders, new and old, even under torture. At the time, he couldn’t admit he
admired
the fact that Nathan couldn’t break her.

“If we remove Terrans who have worked with her or might thank her for being saved from Abram’s weapon, we end up with fewer people upon whom to focus.” Walker tapped and only nine faces remained.

Isrid stared at those faces, but he’d spent hours already going over any video and photographs, trying to see if he recognized Nathan in any of them. Unfortunately, appearance was meaningless, particularly through cam-eyes. Don’t like the texture or color of your hair or skin? Salons had both temporary and permanent fixes for that, as well as the ability to hide, change, or create birthmarks. Don’t like the color of your eyes? The possible changes ran from full-fledged transplants to injected dyes to thin, difficult-to-detect contacts. Shape of eyes? Facial features? Plastic surgery had advanced, even on Terran worlds, to perfection. Weight could be changed and height could be fudged, given the nebulous Terran records. However, one thing that wasn’t as easy to hide, even by those knowing
somaural
projection, was muscle memory and unconscious body language. That was why he and Maria had looked through hours of ComNet video collected though the newly installed nodes on the station, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nathan—but to no avail.

Perhaps Nathan wasn’t here, but Isrid couldn’t prove he was anywhere else, either, after searching through Terran governmental records. Nathan had vanished. The Autonomists would say he was “out of crystal,” although they were referring to the act of avoiding ComNet records.

“SP, Colonel Edones of the AFCAW Directorate of Intelligence wishes to speak with you, face-to-face,” Walker said.

“Clear the displays,” Isrid said.

Ensign Walker did so, and then let Edones’s call through by dropping the privacy shield. The wall displayed the head and shoulders of Colonel Edones, whom Isrid considered the most dangerous intelligence controller in AFCAW. Unfortunately, and perhaps by intent, the view port didn’t display Edones’s lower arms or hands, which would have given Isrid a
somaural
reading advantage.

“Glad to finally meet you, SP Parmet,” Edones said. “Greetings, Ms. Guillotte and Ensign Walker.”

Maria returned a cold nod. Edones had connected to a conference room that contained several people, so the node automatically gave him multiple views of the room. This was something Autonomists expected, but Terrans had to think twice about, so Isrid was relieved he’d cleared the displays.

“Likewise, Colonel. How may I help you?” Isrid asked.

“I have information for your security. These four Terrans stayed in the
Pilgrimage
Hostel A, in a room that also held explosives within the past ten days.”

Walker nodded and displayed the list, bringing up photo and records. They were, indeed, three men and a woman who were on the crew of the
Pytheas
. Latecomers to G- 145, they were also among the nine Terrans who hadn’t ever worked with Kedros.

“There’s no proof any of these people carried explosives onto the
Pilgrimage
,” continued Edones. “But someone’s baggage inside that hostel contained explosives. Unfortunately, nonresidents also stored luggage inside that room.”

“This may be helpful, Colonel. Thank you,” Ensign Walker said.

“For the next topic, SP, I’d like to speak with you privately.”

“Certainly.” Isrid dismissed the others with a hand signal. Maria stood up with composed movement, but her gaze lingered on Colonel Edones. As Parmet watched her walk out, he remembered another list, more distasteful, that Dr. Istaga wanted him to keep in mind.

Edones cleared his throat. “I hope you’re devoting resources to protecting Ariane Kedros, SP. Her safety is paramount to the success of this exploration mission, which I suspect is a test.”

“A test? By the Minoans?”

Edones’s eyes narrowed at his tone of false naiveté. “What better way to test Pax Minoica than to dangle a solar system full of goodies and see who behaves themselves?”

“You think the Minoans are waiting for one of our governments to take over.”

“They left their warship sitting in this system.” Edones shrugged.

“We’re committed to the cooperative research programs here at Priamos.”

“Nice statement, but how far does your royal ‘we’ extend? To other Overlord staffs?” Edones glanced downward with his frigid eyes, and then returned to making eye contact. “Ensign Walker will be receiving some news about a surprise arrival to this system. Don’t be too hard on him; our TSF source was blindsided as well.”

His
Terran Space Force source? Isrid saw a square brighten on the table surface in front of him.

“You’ll want to take that,” Edones said. “I’ll wait.”

Isrid put Edones’s call on hold. He was irritated, but his
somaural
skills allowed him to appear unruffled as he shut off the cam-eyes in the room. Once he had no witnesses, he jabbed the smooth surface that looked like a red blinking button. “Yes, Ensign?”

“The TLS
Ming Adams
, under Soussen Port Command, is docking with the
Pilgrimage III
. Sorry for the late notice, SP. We should have been told as soon as it dropped into real-space, but even Lieutenant Tyler wasn’t given appropriate notice—she’s been confined to the
Pilgrimage
and SP Duval won’t take her calls.” Walker’s voice was tense.

“Get me all the information you can on that ship and why it’s here. I don’t like playing catch-up with the Directorate’s golems. Send an immediate recall to the
Percival
. I want them back at this station, using best speed.”

“Yes, SP.”

Isrid composed himself. Walker worked quickly, because a view port opened right beside Edones’s image, showing a photo of the TLS
Ming Adams
with specifications. The ship was a frigate, like the Defender-class TLS
Percival
, but was a lighter and older Atlantic-class ship with less advanced weapons.

What is Duval doing?
When Isrid looked at the ship specifications, he realized Duval might have violated their tonnage limitations set in the Status of Forces agreement with the Pilgrimage line. Of course, that depended upon what weapon loads the ship was carrying, which Duval wasn’t likely to reveal. The tonnage limitations in that SOF agreement were the source of Edones’s problem as well. His AFCAW Fury-class cruiser, the
Bright Crescent
, had longer range, better armor, and more brute firepower than the Terran frigates, but that extra tonnage meant he couldn’t call in anything more than a corvette if he wanted to stay within the Status of Forces agreement.

“Caught up now?” Edones gave him a perfunctory smile when taken off hold. “I see you weren’t forewarned about the
Ming Adams
.”

Although it was obvious, Isrid wouldn’t own up to being unprepared. “Why aren’t you asking SP Duval about the ship, since it’s out of his district?”

“Oh, I will, after he’s finished answering Commander Meredith’s questions. I hoped to first have a civilized and informative conversation with you.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Colonel.”

“No insincere praise intended, I assure you,” Edones said blandly. “I just wanted to check, as of this moment, whether you thought Pax Minoica was still in force.”

“Would I say anything
but
‘yes,’ with a Minoan warship in the system?” Isrid responded, just as dispassionately.

“But, can a State Prince push the Terran Space Forces in his or her district? Duval can’t order the crew of the
Ming Adams
to violate Terran treaties, correct?” Even though Edones tried to hide it, this was the crux of his call.

Isrid looked at the other view port, where Walker was displaying data, estimates, and intelligent guesses. The
Ming Adams
was indeed docking at the
Pilgrimage
. Ensign Walker, perhaps with the assistance of his superior on the
Pilgrimage
, Lieutenant Tyler, was estimating the armament, weapons load, and crew. As Isrid noted the crew composition, his heart sank and he figured Lieutenant Tyler was the one who had warned Edones. Tyler and Walker estimated regular TSF makeup at less than ten percent. The remaining crew members were classified as “local irregulars,” which meant different things to different Overlords.