Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  The doubt weighed heavily on her soul.

  V

  … It’s been three weeks since Gypsy was taken. The brief lift we got from learning that her body was not in the crashed jet seems a long time ago now. As progress has stalled, morale has dipped alarmingly. A pervasive friction is growing among the crew, and I fear where it may lead.

  Certain parts of the puzzle are becoming clear. Colonel Matha did enter the jet as we thought, but the camera footage after that point was faked, both in the hangar and other areas of the compound. The original footage has been permanently deleted, so we have no easy way of finding the truth. The security officer responsible for this fakery has been identified and questioned – roughly, I suspect.

  She has admitted to being a sleeper agent for an Anasadan terrorist cell called the Summer Frost. Her orders to doctor the footage arrived on the day of the abduction, suggesting that this was almost a spur-of-the-moment action by Matha. She denies any knowledge of his current location.

  So, we’re getting no nearer to rescuing our friend. Our reason for coming here, meanwhile, seems almost forgotten, at least by those in charge…

  – Daniella Winters, Journal Entry #630

  “Captain, I want firstly to reassure you that progress is constantly being made. There were three more suspected sleeper agents arrested this morning – each has received encrypted signals on a similar waveband to the officer who assisted Matha.”

  Hunter nodded without much enthusiasm. It was good of Prime Minister Safri to come out here in person with his updates, but they seldom contained solid grounds for optimism.

  “Is there any evidence linking these three to Gypsy’s abduction?”

  Safri shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and took a sip of his Darjeeling. “No. But the more of this network we uncover, the more likely we are to hit upon someone with the knowledge we seek.”

  “You’re assuming that such a person exists,” noted Sandra Rivers. “The orders may have originated on Anasade, and merely been relayed through Matha. Whatever operatives they have stationed here likely know only as much as they need to.”

  The three of them were talking in Hunter’s personal quarters – the sterile Meeting Room next door seemed a poor venue to receive a visiting head of state. The Bona Dea itself remained in the jungle, the clearing where they’d landed being conveniently situated within a couple of hundred yards of the crash site, which the humans had been permitted to continue examining for clues.

  “Colonel Matha is the key,” Hunter mused. “Given that this operation seems to have been carried out at short notice, I think there’s every chance that he had the latitude to run it himself, without Anasadan orders. You’ve investigated his past, I suppose?”

  “Of course. His friends and family have been questioned and his home ransacked. There’s strong evidence that he was born here, making him a traitor rather than a planted spy. He fought in the last war, and served as a diplomatic escort to Anasade before that, so the opportunities were there for him to have been radicalised. Those who knew him describe a reserved, driven man who was civil but kept friends and family at arm’s length. No partner, no children. We found no equipment in his home capable of sending an undetected signal across space, but his role did involve supervising the development of military tech, including long-range communications. We’ll keep looking. Has your investigation born any fruits?”

  Hunter almost smiled. Safri knew full well that it hadn’t; he was eager to remind her that his security forces weren’t the only ones drawing a blank. She glanced across at Rivers, prompting the head scientist to answer.

  “No. It’s a longshot, frankly. Learning the means used to control the ship remotely probably won’t have any impact on your investigation. It was likely just a radio signal exploiting your existing autopilot software – we’ve found nothing in the wreckage beyond what we might expect, given the blueprints with which you provided us.”

  Safri grimaced regretfully and set his cup down. “I’m afraid this is going to be a long investigation. It might help if Anasade would speak to us, but they’re continuing to ignore our ambassador’s ship; it’s been in the designated meeting place for five days now. Radio signals have also been ignored.” He rose to his feet. “I should get back to work – I’m meeting with Hoga to discuss the latest round of interrogations.”

  Hunter rose too. “What will happen to the interrogatees after you’ve finished with them?”

  “They’ll be given a fair trial, and most likely found guilty of either espionage or treason, depending on whether they are Mono- or Ana-born. It’s death in either case. You disapprove?”

  Guess my poker face needs work. “It’s not my place to. Let me accompany you to the airlock.”

  * * *

  “Thoughts on that?” asked Hunter once they’d seen the prime minister out.

  “I daresay he’s doing the best he can,” responded Rivers as she re-seated herself. “The trail seems rather cold, though. In time he might find out what Matha did after exiting the jet, but will that change anything? If he’s taken Gypsy to Anasade then I’d say no.”

  “If only the Anasadans would talk to us.”

  “What motivation have they to do so? Captain, we both know why Gypsy was targeted. Matha evidently believed that her gifts would give Anasade the edge in the next war, which they’re probably gearing up for even as we speak. He may be correct in that belief, though I myself would have been a better target.” At Hunter’s raised eyebrows, she clarified, “My understanding of the practical applications of theory are much stronger. Gypsy may be able to solve specific problems if they give her all the data, but she’d struggle to come up with projects of her own. Of course, I’d be more able to resist coercion as well. Assuming that Matha has seen our experience of the Zakazashi – and I believe Gatari sold the broadcasting rights to the other colonies some time ago – he may have identified Gypsy as someone easy to … persuade.”

  Hunter ran a slow hand through her golden locks. Persuasion. The idea of anyone being tortured is … obscene, but for someone so fragile to suffer it through my negligence? Unthinkable.

  She was grateful when Rivers changed the subject. “Captain, I have to question the utility of our continuing investigation here. The chances of us finding anything useful on the crash site are remote.”

  “I can’t deny it, but I’m not sure we could be of much more use back in the capitol. And … there’s another reason, actually. Out here in the middle of nowhere, we can act with a little more autonomy. One of our Kerinian ambassadors, Zarka, has suggested that he may be able to get us more information through ‘unofficial channels’, as he called them. He should be on his way over here right now; I asked him to visit once Safri had left.”

  “I’m surprised you’d agree to that. Pleasantly so.”

  “As long as Gypsy’s missing, I’m afraid we have to compromise on our moral principles a bit. I’m not planning a revolution, but a little clandestine data-gathering? Yes.”

  Zarka appeared at that moment, escorted in by Bala. He declined Hunter’s offer of tea and seated himself comfortably in a couch opposite the two women.

  “Good news, Captain. I’ve been in contact with some people who may be able to help you. They’re called the Icebreakers – an independent counter-terrorism group. Their representative tells me that they’re well familiar with the Summer Frost sect, and have a good idea of where your officer is being held.”

  That is good news, thought Hunter. Which probably means there’s a catch coming.

  “How did you make this contact?” asked Rivers. “You’ve hardly left your quarters these past few weeks.”

  Zarka smiled toothily. “We brought some of Kerin’s finest technology with us – with your captain’s permission, of course.” Hunter nodded in affirmation. She’d had little choice in the matter, of course; the freedom for her ambassadors to bring with them anything other than weaponry had been amongst Mokubarij’s terms. “I’ve been in contact wit
h various people I know to be useful,” Zarka continued. “Our comm tech is far beyond the locals’ ability to trace, if that’s what you’re worried about – beyond yours, too. It was Treja who connected me with the Icebreakers.”

  “The Victory party leader?” Hunter’s voice rose a touch in incredulity. “Funny, I got the impression you two didn’t like each other.”

  “We don’t. He’s a scheming opportunist who’d like nothing more than to reshape this planet in his own image. I said I’d contacted useful men, not good ones. Safri is well-intentioned but young and naïve. To trace a path of poison, ask a snake, as we say on Kerin.”

  “Very catchy. And these Icebreakers? Are they snakes as well?”

  Zarka brushed a tiny particle of grit from the sleeve of his jumpsuit. “I don’t know. I prefer not to be drawn into the web of terrorism and counter-terrorism the Warring Twins have woven between their worlds. They’ll have committed some morally dubious acts, certainly. The woman I spoke to was called Lupa. My impressions of her? Intelligent, articulate, driven … guarded with a touch of paranoia.”

  “Useful qualities in her line of work,” suggested Rivers. “But I note ‘trustworthy’ was not on your list of adjectives. Can we be sure that she really knows about Gypsy’s whereabouts?”

  “Not to the point of certainty, no. She’s merely the best prospect I could come up with. I can set up a meeting and let you judge for yourselves. Or I could cancel the whole thing, and you can go back to sifting through empty wreckage.”

  Hunter studied the ambassador thoughtfully. Trustworthy wasn’t an adjective one might apply to him, either. Nor did he seem deeply invested in the plight of Gypsy. Yet he’d gone to a lot of trouble for them. Just fulfilling his mission to collect Vitana’s fragments, or causes more subtle? She suspected the latter.

  The Icebreakers don’t sound entirely promising. Given that Anasade is largely covered in ice, I’ve an inkling their name isn’t a reference to conversational gambits. “Counter-terrorism,” Zarka said, and I daresay that’s the phrase they use in their brochures, but it could serve as a euphemism for all manner of unpleasantness.

  Given the circumstances, though…

  “We can’t very well be passing up leads when we’ve so few of them to play with. Please set up the meeting.”

  As Zarka assented, Hunter tried her hardest to rationalise away the feeling she was making a mistake.

  * * *

  Inactivity was a state that Annie had detested almost from the moment the doctor had snipped her umbilical cord and loosed her on the world. Her parents would often regale her with tales of how she’d escape Houdini-like from her crib and scrabble about the house, burbling unintelligibly. “‘Show me the girl at seven and I’ll show you the woman,’” her Dad once said. “But it was seven seconds with you.”

  But just doing something wasn’t always enough, especially when there was another, more important something that she wasn’t helping with. With that in mind, it was probably understandable that she spent her allotted hours of routine engine maintenance with her mind less than half on the job. The bulk of her attention was on a possible technological solution to the problem of locating Gypsy.

  Gotta be a way, she thought for the hundredth time as she gave way to Lorna Costa as the duty technician. Whether she’s still here, or whether they’ve whisked her off to the ice planet, she’s a human surrounded by aliens. Can’t believe there’s nothin’ on this ship that can detect the difference at long range. If only they weren’t so danged similar to us. Infrared won’t tell us nothin’, an’ we ain’t got the tech to scan for DNA variance.

  Maybe those Kerin guys have?

  As fortune would have it, she exited Engineering to find the taciturn Zokan loitering outside the door to the ambassadors’ quarters. He was leaning against the corridor wall with his arms folded, though he straightened hastily when he saw her. “I’m waiting for Zarka,” he offered.

  “Fine.” Calling on her ever-unreliable Matan, Annie managed to dredge up the question, “Do your people have anything that could find Gypsy?”

  “No.” The response was instantaneous, and left no room for doubt. “We would already have used it if we had.”

  “Oh.” So much for that idea. “Never mind.” She moved past him to her own quarters, but he surprised her by speaking again as she prepared to enter.

  “I’m sorry that this has happened to your friend. Being cut off from those you love is a cruelty. If I can help to rescue her, I will.”

  “Thanks.” Annie favoured Zokan with a smile before entering her quarters, her spirits lifting just a fraction. Maybe we will find a way, she thought as she stripped and slid beneath her sheets.

  When she slept, she saw Gypsy again. The mathematician was bare-legged, as she’d been that time in the Zakazashi, and running away down a twisting, winding tunnel, always turning a corner when Annie caught a clear sight of her, drifting further and further away…

  A swishing from the doorway awoke her. Annie opened her eyes and blinked uncertainly at the entrance. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy. “What?” she managed, struggling up into a sitting position.

  “It’s me.” Iris Jones stepped through the door and let it close behind her. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” She reached up as though to remove her spectacles, seemed surprised to find that they weren’t there. With an almost imperceptible shrug, she began to unbutton her shirt.

  “No,” said Annie, with a sharpness which surprised her.

  Iris’ attractive features puckered slightly in confusion, as though she had never heard the word before. “‘No?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just … no. No sex.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Iris returned to her unbuttoning.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Annie, her head clear enough now to feel annoyance at her wishes being dismissed. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “But I am.”

  “It’s kind of a two-player game.”

  Iris’ hands slowly dropped to her sides. She stared at Annie with an intensity the technician found quite unsettling. For almost the first time in her life, she felt self-conscious; noting that the bedsheets had fallen to her waist, she drew them up to neck-height.

  The action did not go unnoticed. Iris scowled, her hazel eyes flashing with definite anger. “Is this one of your jokes? You’re always ‘in the mood’. It’s one of your defining characteristics, I’d say.”

  Annie wasn’t sure whether to be offended. “People change,” she said slowly. “So do circumstances. In case you haven’t been keepin’ count, six women have died around here in less than a year. Now Gypsy’s kidnapped, in who-knows-what danger. Meaningless sex just seems … tacky. Immature.”

  “I see.”

  Annie grimaced. She should really have resolved this months ago, but she’d let matters slide, hoping to spare herself an awkward conversation. Wishful thinking.

  “Look, it was fun,” she began, “and I don’t-”

  “A game,” Iris cut in. “Yes, that’s very like you. Indulging your own whims, using others as props for you to stand on.”

  Annie’s burgeoning guilt was obliterated by a sharp flash of anger. “Hey, cut that out! How many times did I say, ‘No serious relationships?’ Ain’t no fault of mine if you didn’t listen.”

  Iris’ features had frozen. “You did say that,” she conceded at length, her tones chilly and unapologetic. “Well, I see no reason to take up any more of your time. Pleasant dreams.”

  She turned to leave. “Hey,” called Annie after her. “You know you can always use the sexbots, right? Thought you preferred men, anyway.”

  “Machines aren’t men. There’s nothing like the human touch, Annie.” Iris tapped the door release and was through it in an instant.

  Annie fell back into bed with a sigh. Above her, Anansi the spider looked down from his web in a manner she felt somehow reproachful. “Well, how would you have handled it?” she demanded. “Never would
’ve picked her for the clingy type. Guess she hates me now – I’ll add that to the list of things that suck.”

  There not being much else to do, she sighed once more and closed her eyes, without much optimism for a quick return to sleep.

  “Anansi, old buddy, we’re long overdue a lucky break…”

  * * *

  The meeting with Lupa of the Icebreakers took place four Monosadan days after Hunter had agreed to it, in the darkest hour of a rainy night. She came alone, dressed all in black, hooded, her nose and mouth hidden ninja-style. She evidently possessed technology capable of disguising body heat, as the Bona Dea’s sensors failed to pick her up until she was outside the airlock and giving the prearranged signal – a quick burst of high-frequency noise. When the doors rumbled open, she entered warily, her loose garb failing to entirely conceal the tension of her muscles.

  In the airlock, the lights had been dimmed at Lupa’s request. They would talk right here, so Hunter had ordered five chairs be brought into the now-cramped area. While Hunter, Rivers, Dr. Little and Doria al-Hawsawi seated themselves, Lupa declined, preferring to crouch with her back to the wall. She demanded to be told how to operate the outer airlock, in case a quick getaway was required.

  All rather melodramatic, Hunter mused, noting dark smears on Lupa’s clothing where she had crawled through wet mud while approaching the ship. Does she really believe all this is necessary, or does she enjoy it? Amelia used to love creeping about the house when she was little, playing the spy.

  Long ago.

  She briefly introduced her senior officers, and invited Lupa to speak.

  “As you know, your Gypsy has been taken by the Summer Frost,” the agent began. Even her voice was dramatic, a harsh whisper. “We have ears in many corners, and have long suspected Matha of treating with the Ana-worms. Unfortunately, his swiftness of action caught us off guard, and we were unable to mobilise in time to prevent the abduction. I offer my apologies.”