The Elysium Commission (30 page)

After the overview came two solid stans of detailed holos and information on the corvette's projected flight path toward the Hawking complex, the entry and exit points, the timing, and the recovery. Then came the same level of details for the attack on Time's End. I had my doubts about the entire mission. It was far too complex. If anyone made a single mistake, nothing would work. At the same time, I didn't have any better ideas. Not ones that would give either Siendra or me a chance to get through it all in one piece.

I had the feeling that had been planned, too.

Still, at the end of the morning briefing, I had to ask, “What if this doesn't work?”

“Then the Devantan PDF will be forced to use far more direct and messy methods, and several million people will die. That's the minimum extrapolation.”

I hadn't expected anything different, but I'd had to ask. The question I didn't raise was how the sisters had let such a sorry situation arise. There wasn't any point in that.

“That's it for now.” Shannon stood. “Donne, join us in the private dining room as soon as you can. It's three doors down.”

Siendra let the colonels depart before her. “We need to talk before you draw any conclusions.”

We certainly did.

As Shannon had indicated, almost before the security screen had lifted, the doctor was standing in the doorway. She did wait until Siendra and the other two had left before walking toward me.

“You're ahead of schedule on the healing.” She linked to the medunit. It fell away, leaving a light nanite-spun cast on my forearm. It was almost invisible. “I'd still be a bit careful there, Captain.”

“I'll try, Doctor.”

“There's a uniform in the fresher if you want to change. You need to come back here for another check after your afternoon activities. Before your evening meal.”

“Yes, Doctor.” I smiled as I spoke.

She did return the smile before she turned and left.

After showering in the adjoining bath-fresher, I donned the shipsuit that had been provided. It was a match to the one Siendra wore. Like hers, it bore no insignia, but it was tailored to me. The integrated nanite protection and link system were better than what I'd had on the Pournelle II mission—and that had been the best available to SpecOps at the time.

Shannon, Carle, and Siendra were seated around the single circular table in the small private dining room. The tablecloth was cream linen, and the cutlery was silver. The goblets and glasses were crystal. There was no wine. The remaining chair was between Colonel Carle and Siendra. I eased into it.

“We didn't think you'd be long, Captain.” Shannon offered a pleasant smile.

“Thank you.” I turned to the intelligence colonel.

Before I could say anything, she said, “The installation here is considered secure, but the servers are not cleared for this mission.”

In short, don't talk about it except behind the full security screens. I hated taking anything on faith alone, but I wasn't being given enough information to do otherwise. At that point, a server appeared with a tray bearing four salads. Each held thinly sliced apples and pears over red leaf lettuce, sprinkled with chopped toasted almonds.

“Do you follow the work of Devantan dramaturges and writers?” I asked.

“Not really,” replied Shannon. “I've seen enough of what passes for drama.”

“You mean,” interjected Siendra, “if it's real, it's either too upsetting or too boring, and if it's neither, it's not real?”

“Something like that.” Shannon took a bite of the salad.

I looked to Carle.

“I like a good drama, if it's exciting. It's a break from the fine detail of what I do most of the time.”

I could see that.

“What about you?” countered the intelligence type.

“I like a little of everything, if it's good. Even opera.”

“It's often less exciting than what follows,” suggested Carle, her voice pleasant. “That can be chilling, especially comparatively.”

I got the hint. I couldn't help but wonder how much she'd observed, particularly during the opera.

That was about as interesting as the conversation got during the remainder of the meal. The main course was clearly less than exciting—competently prepared veal scaloppini with slightly overcooked pasta.

As I was taking a last sip of iced tea, Shannon rose. So did Fiorina Carle.

“Colonel Carle and I need to work out a few details. I'll meet you both at the maglev platform in half a stan.”

“Yes, ser.”

Siendra just nodded.

Once the door closed behind the departing colonels, she turned to me. “Blaine…there's something you should know. I didn't suggest, volunteer, or even hint that you should be the operative. I was told your name ten minutes before I walked into the briefing.”

I believed her. “Shannon's a sadist. He didn't tell me. He just said he'd enjoy my finding out.”

“I thought he hadn't said.”

“Was it that obvious?” I laughed.

“It probably wouldn't have been to anyone else. I've been watching you for a while. Since I've been working with Krij.”

“Carle doesn't miss much.”

“No, she doesn't.” Siendra smiled mischievously. “She doesn't like opera, either.”

“How much do you know about that?”

“About opera? Very little. That you occasionally attend it for professional reasons with attractive women who have information. That you ended up swimming in a reservoir after your last opera.”

“You're an attractive woman with information,” I pointed out.

“I can't take you to a private box at the opera on opening night. Carle told me that,” she added quickly. “She's very thorough.”

“Have you worked with her before?”

“Professionally. She's briefed me on several recon missions.”

“Recon? You've been watching the Frankans for years, then?”

“And the Argenti and a few others. We can't afford to rely on the Assembly space service. That's been apparent for years.”

“We? The covert intelligence service of the Civitas Sorores?”

“Who else?”

“Is it all women?”

“No. Shannon isn't female. Neither are you. It's whoever they think will best handle the tasks they need done.”

“You
and
Krij, then.” It all made sense. They'd had information I couldn't get anywhere else. “Another part of the reg compliance business.”

“Exactly. If we seem to know more than the average corpentity type would, then, who else would? We see everyone's ops plans and finances.”

“So…is Astrid Forte another intel type?”

“Blaine…I can't tell you any more than I have.”

That meant yes. There was something about it that nagged me. I couldn't place it. Then it hit me, even though I certainly couldn't do anything about it at the moment. “Intelligence types for the sisters have the same legal standing as the sisters, don't they, both the restrictions and the benefits?”

“They'd have to, wouldn't they?”

That was another answer that wasn't technically an answer, but it explained a great deal. I thought I had my answers as to who my client in the Wayles inheritance really was—and why, even if I couldn't do anything about it at the moment.

For a moment, I just looked at Siendra. The dark gray shipsuit tended to wash her out. Even so, she was good to look at. I realized something else. She was the kind of woman who never quite looked the same from any different angle or in any light. She met my eyes, not challenging, but not flinching, just accepting.

“We should start for the maglev,” I finally said. Then I stood.

“How is your arm?” Siendra rose with that quick and fluid grace that made it seem as though she were sitting one moment and standing the next.

“It aches a little at times, but it's much better. The doctor told me not to overdo it for a while. Say…one day.” I laughed.

So did she, softly, but warmly.

I wondered why I hadn't seen the warmth behind the professionalism. Had it always been there? Had I failed to see it? Or had she become less guarded? If so, why? Just because she'd have to work with me?

Shannon was waiting on the maglev platform. He gestured toward the open hatch of the maglev capsule.

I let Siendra go first, then followed her. With only four couch-seats, the capsule felt crowded. The trip took almost a quarter stan. With Shannon there, I wasn't in the mood for talking to Siendra. Maybe I'd missed something, but there had been the slightest hardening of Siendra's voice when she'd mentioned Odilia. She'd referred to the princesse as an attractive woman who had information. The phrasing about not being able to take me to a private box on opening night was as close to a catlike remark as I'd ever heard from Siendra. Yet she'd wanted me to understand that she had not been the one to drag me into the mission.

When the capsule door opened, I let Shannon and Siendra get out first. She started toward the left-hand archway. Then Shannon did. I followed them both down the gray-walled and gray-carpeted corridor. Again, all my implants and access to anything beyond the facility were blocked.

The third arch opened into a cavernous space. Once inside, I could see full-cockpit simulators for several classes of spacecraft.

“Is this where you've been training?” I asked in a low voice as I caught up with Siendra.

She nodded.

“Donne! Over here,” called Shannon.

“Here” was the cockpit of a high-speed in-system scout. Beside it was a complete set of space armor, without any ID. My size.

“You've got fifteen minutes to get into the armor and check out things and run through the checklist before we start the first sim run. The Phase I profile's in the system.”

I eased into the armor. Even with the assists, it was heavy in standard grav. But then, it was designed primarily for null gee. Once into the cockpit, I linked to the systems. The sim-links were solid. They felt “real.” I began the scout checklist.

Seals and locks—tight.

Power—standby.

Habitability—green…

I finished the checklist and began to run over the mission profile. In theory, it was simple enough. Siendra would accelerate the
Aquitaine
to max in-system velocity and release my scout, short of the Frankan defense fields and the point where the projection field lens would appear. I would continue to accelerate. Once through the projection field lens, I would fire two torps. The properties of the field and lens would energy-invert the torps, and I'd have to avoid the lens and its peripheral effects and angle toward the pickup point and the second field lens. That was if everything went right. It might, but we had to be prepared for other eventualities as well.

Coyote one, this is Coyote lead
. Even through the links, I could hear and feel Siendra's “voice.”
Comm check.

Coyote lead, comm is clear and strong.

Max acceleration will commence in two minutes.

Stet. Understand two minutes…

The first run was smooth. That was just to make sure Siendra and I both had the profile down. After that, it got worse. Much worse.

Carle—or Shannon or both—made sure everything went wrong. Siendra lost a converter, then a thruster. One of my torps refused to launch. The target projection field was located off course line…

I was damp with sweat when I finally left the cockpit simulator and extricated myself from the armor. I was more than ready to walk in the cool of a mortal garden.

Shannon had other ideas. “You've got a half stan break to get a bite to eat. There are rations over there and some water and iced tea. Then we need to get you onto the boards.”

I didn't want to admit how tired I felt. I might have been in good physical shape, but operational shape was something else. Besides, Shannon was sweating, too. “Now?”

“You'll be about that tired by the time you reach the ops center at Time's End.”

There wasn't any point in arguing. I didn't. I walked toward the corner of the artificial cavern that held two tables with chairs.

Siendra was seated at one table. Her shipsuit was damp in places as well. She motioned to me. After taking a ration pack and a large beaker of iced tea, I joined her.

“How did you think it went?” I took a long swallow of tea.

That brought a wry smile. “Not bad for the first time we've worked together. Not smooth enough or seamless enough to rest on our nonexistent laurels.”

“Have you flown the
Aquitaine
before?”

“Yes, but not since her latest modifications.”

“She wasn't originally designed to carry a scout.” That was a safe assumption. No corvette was built that way.

“No. They reduced crew space to two tiny staterooms to accommodate the larger drives and the oversized converters. It was a rush conversion.”

“Why us?”

Siendra shrugged. “Who else do they have?”

“I haven't the faintest idea who the sisters have. Nothing on Devanta is ever what it seems.”

“As things are, they're transformed upon the blue guitar.”

“Blue guitar?”

“It's a paraphrase from pre-Diasporan poetry. In a way, the Civitas Sorores are that kind of instrument. That's why neither the Frankans nor the Assembly care for Devanta, if for different reasons. The sisters don't foster the illusion that what one sees is reality. In even a moderately high-tech society, the excess of information ensures that what we see is not reality. We're allowed, even encouraged, to select our own personally compatible vision of what we wish reality to be. That's why Thurene needs a shadow knight. Or a Fox. There have to be those who see behind the illusion of reality.”

I wasn't sure about how effective the shadow knight was or had been. The Fox had been a legend who had vanished when he or she had become too publicized. I also realized that I'd just heard the longest statement Siendra had ever made in my presence.

“For something necessary…” I broke off what I'd been about to say. I'd almost said that the sisters had discouraged the shadow knight. But, in support of what Siendra had said, I realized that such apparent opposition was an illusion. They'd only created the illusion of opposition. Likewise, I'd have bet that the media stories, ostensibly in support of the shadow knight, had probably come from Legaar Eloi, setting up the shadow knight to be discredited for failing to live up to the media image. Only in the shadows of obscurity could the knight of shadows or the Fox of the past flourish. I shook my head. “Excessive familiarity killed the Fox.” I took a bite of the ration cube. “It may destroy the shadow knight.”

Siendra nodded. “Despite what people say and wish to believe, reality lies in the shadows. Too much light blinds, and too little engenders nightmares and fantasies.”

“You're almost as cynical as Krij.”

“More so in some ways. Less in others.” The hint of a faint smile crossed her lips.