by C. Gockel
“And me. I’ll come, too,” Michael said. “I know the lay of the land. I know places that Infected pirates won’t know.”
“We can give you a suit and kit from one of our wounded,” Ko said.
The static spread from 6T9’s spine to every inch of his skin. Turning on his heel, he said, “Sounds good. Five, could you—?”
Behind Ko, Davies swore.
Everyone turned to look at the shipman. Ko gestured Davies over. “You have something to say, Shipman?”
“Sir, they need experience.” Davies gestured to Michael. “He’s a green lieutenant.” He gestured to 6T9. “He’s a general, but has he trained recruits? I’ll volunteer to go with them, sir.”
6T9 almost said no, just to leave, when he remembered Ko’s suggestion and Kenji’s theory about multiple perspectives. To Ko, he said, “I would be grateful for his expertise.”
Ko’s lips parted and it looked like he was going to say no, but then his eyes flicked to Michael, to 6T9, and back to Michael again. His shoulders fell. “I can give him to you. But I won’t ask any of the other members of his team to go with him.”
“I will volunteer, sir,” said Falade.
Lang, the weere, turned his head sharply toward Falade. But then, glaring at 6T9, he said, “You’ll need someone who can sense the Dark. I’ll volunteer, too.”
They needed more than someone, they needed someones, but 6T9 decided to deal with that later. Every second of lost time was a fission along his spine.
Strom bit her bottom lip. “We can get you weapons from our impound and a ship that might do the trick—a pirate vessel. It will blend right in, but you’ll need someone to fly it.”
6T9 tapped the back of his head. “I can download the manual for anything, and I am an experienced pilot. I’ve even managed to slip past the Luddeccean Guard and land on Luddeccea itself.”
Davies cocked his head. “Thought we shot down the last Republic infiltrator.”
Technically, they had shot down his ship, but 6T9 had landed. He decided not to argue the distinction. “Are you with me or not?”
10
Diplomatic Maneuvers
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 1
The door was open, but Volka knocked anyway.
“Come in,” Alaric said. The holo was powered down and laying on his legs. He had the tablet in his hands. She walked into the room and each step was like wading slowly into Alaric’s consciousness. She was used to being tied to Sundancer—she could feel the ship’s concern for her even now—and she knew Carl’s thoughts were just a wish away, but with Alaric, it was still strange. She wished she could turn it off, and yet it drew her in—his mental landscape was alien and yet familiar. The closer she got, the clearer his thoughts became. He was reading a science magazine called Galactic Discovery—because of course he would be. The article was on innovations in Q-comm manufacturing that might one day make them affordable for more than just large industries and government—
Alaric looked up, and she felt his surprise. His eyebrows rose, and then his eyes drifted from hers down to the boots of her envirosuit. He frowned slightly and met her eyes again. He wasn’t unhappy to see her; he was worried about her. The suit meant she was headed into danger.
Replying to his unasked question, Volka said, “Not danger for me.” At least, she didn’t think so. Between Galactic Republic armor that resisted the weapons of the Dark, and Sundancer’s innate imperviousness to traditional weaponry, she was fairly certain she’d be safe.
His features smoothed. But then he cocked his head. Volka didn’t hear the words of a question so much as feel the tug of his curiosity.
Bowing her head, she whispered, “I need to talk to someone … Someone who isn’t in the Fleet or … or … Carl.” She didn’t know where else to go. Scanning the speckled pattern in the floor, she wished Sixty were here.
“The One can be …” He sighed. “Opinionated.”
She huffed a laugh, and she felt him smile in response, but maybe the smile was only inside him, because when she glanced up, his expression was neutral. He indicated a chair near the head of the bed. “Why don’t you sit down?”
She maneuvered the chair so that she could look at him directly, and all the while felt the weight of silence between them...or maybe it was the weight of emotions. His feelings for her were not neutral. He was grateful she’d come to see him with her problems, worried for her, and wishing he could stand and take her in his arms.
It was probably good that he couldn’t. Volka already felt uncomfortable being here, but she needed someone to unburden to, who could help her figure out what to do. She could kill, she had killed, but she had never killed an innocent on purpose. She felt sick to her stomach imagining taking the ambassador to the Dark—whoever they were, no matter how conceited and condescending they’d be toward her for being an uneducated Luddie.
“The Republic wants me to do something …” Her stomach fell, and she felt bile rising in her throat. “Terrible.”
Thoughts flickered through his mind, everything from suspicion that they were assigning her to spy on Luddeccea, to aid in an assassination, to a false flag operation—and much more that flowed too fast for her to catch. She almost gasped, overwhelmed by the speed at which his mind worked, but then in another instant he tossed all those ideas aside. She wanted to ask, Why, why don’t you think it is any of those things? But he spoke first. “What is it, Volka? What is it that they want you to do?”
So she told him, and felt his stomach sink to the level of hers.
“The ambassador,” Volka finished. “The Dark will infect them and their staff.”
“Agreed,” Alaric said.
Volka exhaled in relief. Someone who didn’t think she was an idiot.
“How do I convince the Fleet and the Republic that it is a horrible idea?” Volka asked.
Alaric stared at the hologlobe laying on his legs. He scowled. “You shouldn’t be the one who has to do this.”
Volka’s ears flicked, annoyed despite herself. “No one should have to do this.”
Alaric looked at her sharply. Volka swore she felt the air crackle with an inquiry and felt that inquiry tossed aside for another. “Will there be some sort of official video or—” He waved at the hologlobe. “Holographic record?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I didn’t ask.”
Jaw tight, Alaric said, “If this is done, it is vitally important that there will be.”
She blinked.
Rubbing his chin, Alaric’s gaze slid back to the hologlobe. “I’ve been watching the damn thing. There is a lot of footage from System 5.”
Volka straightened.
“Most of it is from citizens there,” Alaric continued. “There is so much … disbelief … Even citizens in System 5 in areas that haven’t seen fighting are claiming that the Dark doesn’t exist and that it is a ploy to reinstate the draft.”
Volka’s ears curled, remembering Michael, the student protester from System 5. He’d believed that.
“If there is official evidence, something visual that can be shown to people, not just dry reports which were released after our battle in System 33—” He shook his head.
Volka shivered, remembering the animals that had ignored pain and death, seeking to infect her and the Fleet Marines. They’d gotten two Fleet Marines including Ben, and two of Alaric’s men.
“—maybe, they’d believe?” Alaric let out a breath and smiled wryly. “It’s easier to believe in than a personal savior and Heaven.”
“Don’t say that,” Volka said automatically. He could be charged with heresy. She blinked. But this was the Republic, and they didn’t charge people for heresy here … at least, not that kind.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed, and she felt cool calculation. “Say what?”
“You know what you—”
Fury rose like a flame in his chest. He stared at her. “Say what, Volka?”
“You could be accused of—” Her lips parted in shock. His li
ps hadn’t moved.
A muscle in Alaric’s jaw jumped. “You. Are. Reading. My. Mind.” Again, his lips didn’t move, but the words were clear and sharp. He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a snarl and she felt invaded …
Volka’s ears curled. No, Alaric felt invaded. “It’s an accident,” Volka whispered. “When I’m tired, it happens.” Her feet shifted uneasily on the floor. “Around you … it’s all of the time … I can’t stop it.”
His expression was angry, but his true emotion was mild horror.
Rising from the chair, she moved toward the door. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be—”
“Volka, stop,” Alaric said.
She turned.
“I’m touched,” he said, sounding slightly aggrieved. But the words weren’t precisely a lie. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Solomon died before you rescued me. I thought that he had told Carl I was in danger, and that Carl had told you … That’s not what happened though, is it?”
Volka shook her head in the negative.
He dropped his hand. “I was thinking, I was hoping you weren’t dead. I expected you’d be in the thick of whatever the Dark was really after.”
“I was,” she admitted.
He nodded. “Faster-than-light ships, you were trying to protect them from the Dark.”
Her lips parted in shock.
“You didn’t succeed, they got some.” His brow furrowed. “Not so many—but more than a few.”
“Solomon told you,” she whispered.
He blinked, befuddled. “No, it was just the only thing that would be more important than defending the gate.” He thought that was self-evident. He continued more urgently. “One of those ships attacked my ship. It jumped in, did its damage, and jumped out. It doesn’t have many to spare, but it has enough to take that sort of risk. They may strike in System 5 again.”
Volka felt herself go cold. “That is another reason I should be dropping off troops in System 5! I shouldn’t be taking a man to his death.”
Glaring at a point on the wall, he responded, “You shouldn’t, no.” Volka felt the real meaning of the words. Someone should, so that the ambassador’s death might serve as a warning to the unbelieving of the Republic. But they shouldn’t send Volka. She didn’t deserve that sort of emotional pain.
Volka growled at him. “You’re condescending.”
The look he gave her was wilting. He was angry that she’d read his mind again, and he was completely unrepentant for the anger and what he saw as justified concern. “They should coordinate with Luddeccea. We could escort the ambassador. Our crews will not feel as conflicted.” His lips twisted wryly. “They’ll probably experience a bit of schadenfreude.”
Volka’s hands curled into fists. She was angry at the mission. Angry at his condescension. Angry that he wasn’t helping her solve this problem.
Alaric said. “Having our—my countrymen do the deed is the best option. You will not stop this operation.” The last was said from experience with bureaucrats, she felt that, and his surety that she was too insignificant in the grand scheme of things to alter their opinions.
The fabric of the universe stretched and pulled between them. She felt that, too.
Volka’s nostrils flared. “You’re wrong.”
Spinning on her heel, she left the room.
“Volka,” he called. She winced at his pain as he tried to sit up, and she felt his fear for her pulling her back. Growling, she ploughed forward with jerky movements, as though breaking invisible bonds.
When Volka reached the Diplomatic Corps residence, Alaric’s worry was the size of an ice cube and just as cold. It sat in her stomach, and even the heat of her fury could not melt it. And she was furious. No one had consulted her about the mission with the ambassador. She had a mind. She was more than a ferryman who took passengers without thought of their destination.
Striding toward the conference room doors, she curled her fists at her sides. Instead of trying to curb her anger, she let it burn. When she was emotional, her telepathy was stronger.
One of the two Marines on guard stepped forward, lifting a gloved hand to her chest. “Ma’am, I can’t let you in there.”
She stared at that hand. Closing her eyes, she felt it … the pressure of it against her sternum … and the threads of the universe that wrapped around the Marine’s fingers and spun out into the fabric of everything, including her mind and her heart. She exhaled, feeling the pattern they wove. She did not even know this Marine’s name, but she knew he would die to protect the ambassador, not out of personal loyalty, but out of duty … and loyalty to the Marine standing next to him. Her eyes flicked to his companion and saw the threads that bound them together. The twist and colors of the threads were different, yet the second man’s loyalty to his duty and comrade were the same.
Volka focused first on the Marines before her and pulled at the strings. “I am here to save the ambassador.”
Nothing happened. Gritting her teeth, Volka imagined the universe between them constricting, contracting … and then she felt their acceptance. “I need to speak to the ambassador immediately.”
She released a breath as the man before her tapped his temple. “I’ll let him know—”
Volka yanked at the threads. “You will let me in.” She focused on his companion. “Now.”
For a heartbeat, they both stared at her. And then the first man shuddered, stepped back, dazedly murmuring, “Yeah … yeah.” Their acceptance didn’t make her feel particularly powerful. She hadn’t changed their minds; she’d merely redirected them. If the Marines hadn’t been so dedicated to protecting the ambassador, she doubted it would have worked.
The door swooshed open, and Volka stepped between them into the room. Balling her hands into fists, she concentrated on how angry she was. There was a long white table perpendicular to her, but what caught her eye was a window that spanned the length of the room. It was framed by lush plants, and the view was of Earth. A man, back to her, was sitting just beyond the table. His shoulders were stooped and frail, his hair white and thin. Standing at his left was a woman with straight, glossy hair, the blackest Volka had ever seen, and pale skin. She wore a high-necked suit dress of red silk. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Another woman stood at the man’s right. She was leaning over him, a tablet in her hand. Her hair was a more usual dark brown; her suit dress was a neutral gray. She was the first person to notice Volka. “Who are you? This is a private meeting.”
“It’s all right,” said the old man, with a voice like wind in dry leaves.
Volka didn’t wait. “This is a suicide mission.”
The woman with brown hair said tersely, “We are not in need of uninformed opinions.” Tapping her neural port, she added, “You don’t belong here.”
Volka’s lip curled, but the woman in the red dress interjected. “Volka is quite welcome to stay.” Bending, she turned the chair around so the old man faced Volka. It wasn’t usual for humans—or even weere—to look like any of the old races, but the woman in the red dress reminded Volka of the women she’d seen in Mr. Darmadi’s art history books—specifically in Chinese silk paintings. Her face was oval, her nose petite, her dark eyes were narrow and deeply hooded, and her lips were full, though her mouth wasn’t particularly wide. She was so strikingly beautiful, it was hard to look away from her, but when she did, her heart sank. If anything, the old man was frailer than Volka had imagined, and older, the lines in his face very deep. Was this the man who was going to face the Dark? Her stomach clenched, knowing it was so. The lines on the old man’s face deepened further when he beamed at Volka, and said, “How I’ve wanted to have a little private time with you. Wasn’t I saying so, Rushi?” His gaze flicked up to the woman in red. She raised an eyebrow in response. To the other woman, the old man said, “Ms. Li, would you please give us a few minutes?”
Ms. Li frowned at the old man, but, drawing herself up, she walked around the table, lifted her nose, and strode past Volka and out t
he door.
“Miss Volka,” he declared, rising from his chair. He was slightly spryer than Volka had imagined. Slightly. “So nice to meet you, I am Ambassador Zhao.” He held out his hand. Volka didn’t take it. Instead she grasped the invisible threads between her and Zhao and felt … genuine joy at meeting her, not a shred of condescension, just wonder that was immense and bittersweet. The heat of tears pooled in her eyes. “The Dark will kill you!”
Zhao withdrew his hand, straightened himself, and smiled. “That is why I must go, isn’t it?”
Volka’s jaw fell. “You know.”
“Oh, of course,” Zhao replied. “But I do appreciate your warning.” He did, and he didn’t. He was afraid and determined in equal measure. He didn’t like being reminded of the danger.
Volka felt as though the universe was contracting, as though all the threads were cut loose. She shivered. She might have swayed on her feet.
“Please sit down,” said Rushi, gesturing with an elegant hand.
Volka fell into a seat. The ambassador’s sacrifice, and the enormity of the evil she had almost committed stark in her mind.
11
Stunned
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 5
“This is the ship they’re giving us?” Michael—Lieutenant Snow—whispered. “Do they want us to die?”
6T9 walked beneath the battered cutter. Vaguely triangular in shape, it had wings that might have once given it lift without hover engine help, but they’d been hopelessly dented. So much so, he thought with a grimace, they’d give it downforce. The hull was pockmarked by impacts and deformed by collisions and, based on the warp of one of the wings, possibly melted by phaser fire. The cutter had once had functioning time bands flowing from bow to stern, but chunks of them were missing. It wouldn’t be capable of lightspeed, but they might create enough distortion in time to give it some resistance to phasers. Patches of the original paint attested it had once been shiny steel-blue, but now it was dark brown and could pass for a piece of space junk. “It’s perfect.”
