“I thought Nox was going to be doing the shooting?”
“Times are changing fast, Novak. Try to keep up.”
CHAPTER 39
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
THE OBJECTIVE HAS CHANGED
Compartmentalizing was every spy’s specialty, and Tomas leaned hard on his training, shutting down his emotional core so he could get through this. As Sanda strode alongside him toward the kissing airlocks of the Thorn and the shuttle, he realized she was reluctant. Threatening innocent people wasn’t in her nature. To Sanda Greeve, the world was broken but could be fixed if only the people who lived in it, who loved it, worked hard enough. The corner Liao had backed her into didn’t mesh with her intrinsic values, and it had to be rubbing her raw inside.
But she would do it, because it was the best tool to get done what she felt needed to be done to make the world better, and safer, for all those in it. Including the people in the shuttle who had become, unwitting or not, pawns in a game too large for even the Nazca to grasp.
The lie hurt her, but she would do it because she believed it was right.
Why had lying never hurt him?
That it had been trained into him as second nature by the Nazca was true, but in all his time learning their ways he’d never once felt that distinct discomfort that was written so plainly in Sanda’s tense face, in the brisk way she moved as if she wanted to get this over with, to rip it off like a bandage and let the blood flow fresh so she could move on and heal.
Was he missing something? Sanda saw a threat lurking in the edges of the universe and wanted to fix it, to stop it, to take everything she loved and make it safe. She was willing to threaten and lie for that.
Tomas had a job to do. He did it, and there was satisfaction in doing it well, in gaining the respect of his superiors within the order, but that was where it ended for him. He had no purpose outside of the job, and he didn’t even need the money. Not anymore.
Sanda stopped in front of the airlock. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve been lying to them since day one, Commander.”
“Does that bother you? That they’ll hate you, when they realize you’ve betrayed them? Because they will. When you leave to follow your mission, they’ll piece together what scraps you left behind.”
“I’ve left a trail of hating all across the universe. It won’t even be me they hate. It will be Novak.”
She pursed her lips, arm hovering halfway to the lock release. “Is it worth it?”
He stared hard at the airlock, for to look at her would be to let his guard down in a way he couldn’t afford right now. She wouldn’t believe he was himself unless he changed his face back. He needed to get through this and back to a MetBath. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I get some answers.”
She snorted. “I’m not convinced there are answers enough in all the universe to soothe some aches. We’re like kids, the Nazca and me and even Arden, maybe. Looking at the universe and asking why, why, why, until we’re blue in the face. But there doesn’t have to be a why, does there?”
“Rainier has a reason for doing what she does. So does Jules.”
“And those two answers, they’ll be enough for you?”
“This time.”
“All answers get you is more questions. You should know that better than anyone, Nazca. I had to learn it the hard way.” Her fist clenched. “I’m still learning it.”
She tapped in the override to the airlock and waited while it cycled, then stepped through ahead of him. It wasn’t the move he wanted her to make. He wanted her to put him through first, to let the first thing the scientists saw be the fear he could so easily manufacture writ clear across his face.
He wanted them to expect bad news before they got it, because humans always liked that pump primed. It was as if, in expecting bad news and getting it, there was enough satisfaction in having been proven right to ease some of the raw parts of the bad news.
But Sanda wasn’t Nazca and didn’t work that way.
“Commander,” Dal said in a voice raspy from overuse. A lot of arguing had been done in the time Tomas had been away. They had all strapped in, and watched Sanda’s approach with tired, wary eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll be blunt with you, Doctor. Liao has demanded your safe conveyance to Monte Station in exchange for the sample in the flask and a detailed description of the contents thereof. To be certain she does not tamper with the sample, she will remain locked up on the Thorn for the duration of the transit. Your communication channels have been blocked.”
Tomas watched them through downcast eyes. A few sharp intakes of breath, a muttered oath. Only Dal leaned forward, his tired eyes narrowed.
“She has done nothing wrong and does not deserve a cell.”
“She is withholding critical information about research performed at an illegal station.” Sanda swept them all with a fierce glare, her face hard, but Tomas could see the subtle tugging at her lips that indicated she resented having to do this. “For her sake, you all had better make certain you share everything you know about that fluid when the time comes.”
Dal held both of his hands up, palms out. “Liao knows more than we do, I’m sure.”
“Consider carefully,” she said. “We will dock in five days. Your safe passage relies on the thoroughness of your explanations upon arrival. Once there, be warned that SecureSite officials at Monte are very interested in anything you can tell them about Jules Valentine.”
“We hardly knew her—” Sarai protested.
“Nevertheless, there will be questioning. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a ship to fly.”
Sanda left before there could be any protests, leaving a tense silence in the air, which Dal finally gathered the nerve to break.
“You were there, Novak. Do you believe Greeve will really harm us if we are less than forthcoming…?”
He shook his head, wringing his hands together. “I don’t know. She was furious when Liao set an ultimatum.”
“So we can’t say either way.”
Sarai said in a small, listless voice, “We have no reason to withhold information…”
Dal met Tomas’s eye, and he knew the man was thinking of the strange structure of the governors. Maybe the younger scientists hadn’t noticed, but Dal certainly had, and Tomas believed Liao was experienced enough to have figured out that they were modified, if not exactly how.
“Liao will clear it all up,” Tomas said, letting his voice shake, and ignored the weight of the flask he’d stolen, tucked into the pocket of his jumpsuit.
Sanda would not harm these people. But he needed to get back to her, and the only way to do that was to bring this sample to his superiors to complete his mission and gain access to a MetBath to put his face back into the Tomas configuration.
She’d forgive him once she knew. Once he could explain everything. She had to.
CHAPTER 40
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
GET THEE TO THE ASTEROID
Two weeks later, and Hitton’s report on the survey of the asteroid was more of the same: incomplete. Biran grimaced, scrolling through the overwrought document on his wristpad, struggling to read between the lines to figure out what the root of Hitton’s concern was.
Every time she sent back a report, the message was identical: This asteroid was not yet ready to begin gate construction on. Her geological survey team provided details amounting to “we don’t know if this rock is stable,” but something about those details itched at the back of Biran’s mind.
When he had conspired with Vladsen and Shun to circumvent Hitton’s concerns regarding the location of the asteroid, it hadn’t occurred to any of them that Hitton was head of geology on Ada. Any survey team sent to do the deep inspection Shun had asked of the High Protectorate would be headed up by her.
And here they were, stymied, while Bollar and his army rattled their sabers at what they saw as intentional obstruction of the project. They weren’t wrong. Yet, stubborn
as Hitton could be, Biran doubted her reasons for delaying construction were entirely born of spite.
She was a harsh woman, but she was not blind to the boon the gate would offer. Her primary source of contention, military might, had been settled the moment Biran made his speculation clear to Icarion, forcing Okonkwo to pour the resources they needed into the Ada system.
Anford had been right. He could hear the click of fleet-issued mag boots tromping up and down the halls and streets of the station at all times of day and night. In the time following his announcement and Okonkwo’s initial, private backlash at him and Vladsen and Shun, the population of little Ada had soared by 20 percent. Its armory swelled by 220 percent, according to Anford. He had no reason to doubt that number as hyperbole. He could see the truth of it in the lines around her eyes, and the extra contracts Ilan’s shipping company picked up to help move the guns around the system.
Whether or not they liked it, that asteroid would be the most secure gate in all of Prime. So why was Hitton stalling?
If it wasn’t political, that left the possibility of a real threat—but one she wouldn’t come out and say over any channels, secure or otherwise. So something on the ground, at the asteroid. Nazca, maybe? They’d want a glimpse of what went into surveying a gate site, and while insertion into that team would be difficult, Biran knew they could manage. If Hitton had caught even the slightest whiff of a spy in her midst, she’d shut down like this.
Icarion could have placed their own spy, but Biran doubted they had the sophistication to pull that off. He frowned at himself. They had built The Light. He needed to stop thinking of them as the regressive settlement Prime had painted them as, and start thinking of them as a cornered tiger. He had helped them survive—and saved his own conscience in the process—but now a different war was at play.
Biran gritted his teeth and fired off a short text to his sister.
B: Our mutual friend have any companions in Ada at the moment?
S: Haven’t seen him in a while, no idea. Found a Nazca in Ordinal, but no knowledge on Ada. Something cooking?
B: Dunno yet.
S: wow what a profound insight from our political superstar
B: hush
S: you asked!
B: :( :(
Sanda shot back a laughing emoji and marked herself as away. He rolled his eyes and closed the dialogue box, but found he was smiling when he did so. He could get so mired in his own thoughts he lost perspective. This was a simple enough problem on the surface. He needed to know what was happening at the ground level on the asteroid. He couldn’t do that from the Cannery, ergo, get thee to the asteroid. Sanda would have charged off at the first sign of fuckery in Hitton’s reports.
Of course, Sanda had a gunship. Biran had his shuttle, designed to take him from Ada Station to the dwarf planet. Even if it could hold enough fuel to get him as far as the asteroid, it’d take a lot of miserable, cramped weeks to pull off. It wasn’t like he had the money to rent a charter—the Nazca were still merrily bleeding his accounts dry for the recovery of his sister. Biran grunted. He hoped Tomas was living well off that credit. Somebody should be.
But he did know somebody with access to a much larger ship. Biran pinged Vladsen, and the man answered right away. His lips pulled sideways into a forced smile.
“Speaker. Perusing our latest report?”
Biran grimaced. “That obvious?”
“There is little else for us to do at the moment.”
“Maybe not.”
“Meaning?” Vladsen leaned toward the camera.
“Something’s gone wrong at the asteroid, I think we’re all in agreement on that front. But Hitton’s not talking, most likely because she believes her communication channels are monitored by whatever is making this project go sideways. She needs help. And she needs it in person.”
“You’re proposing a vacation? A hab dome on an asteroid is hardly my idea of rest and recuperation, but I see the appeal.”
“I don’t have access to a ship that can get me there.”
Vladsen’s expression went stony. “I see. And you’re asking to borrow my keys?”
“I understand the Taso isn’t technically in your possession, but Rainier relinquished that property to the Keepers upon Lavaux’s death, and it’s already been scoured for any evidence relating to him and Lionetti. It’s rotting in storage.”
“Yes, a storage facility overseen by our Protectorate. You have the same access, Speaker. I hardly see why you need my approval.”
“Vladsen, I…” He cleared his throat. “Whatever his flaws, Lavaux was your friend. You knew Rainier. Lavaux appears to have had few other social contacts, and no living family. I will not commandeer that ship without your approval.”
Vladsen flicked his gaze away, stung, and Biran wished he was as good at talking to individuals as he was speaking to all of Prime.
“A ship of that size requires a crew,” Vladsen said.
“I know some people who work for my fathers’ hauling company. They’re trustworthy.”
“And how are you going to pay them?” Vladsen returned his gaze to the camera, wry amusement lurking beneath his dark features.
“Well, I, ah…”
“Before he died, Lavaux confided in me that he’d discovered you hired a Nazca. Did you wonder how he knew? It was because he went to hire one himself and was informed that the best-suited agent in that field of play had already been tapped. A small matter to weasel out the details from there. He admired you greatly, for what it’s worth, for beating him to the chase. But I know what they charge, and I know you haven’t upgraded a single thing in your house since you became a Keeper. You do not have the credit to fund this expedition.”
Biran’s neck turned hot. “I’m sure I can round up funding—”
“I have the credit.”
Biran hesitated, though he couldn’t say why. He had no reason at all to distrust Vladsen’s motives, aside from the man’s association with Lavaux. Asking permission to use a ship that was technically available to all Keepers was one thing. What Vladsen offered was a bigger debt, and for some instinctual reason, Biran did not want to be indebted to that sculpted, troubled face.
Some life had come back into Vladsen over the last two weeks of stewing, and while Biran didn’t doubt the man had had enough time to lick his emotional wounds and put his game face back on, there was an edge of calculation in his slow smile that rubbed Biran the wrong way. Everyone in the Protectorate was playing their own game, he told himself. It was only because of Lavaux’s betrayal that Biran feared those games might be hazardous to his health.
He couldn’t say no. He’d asked for the ship, and that came with strings. Biran hoped the addition of the credit wouldn’t transform those strings into chains.
“You know my financial burdens. I do not believe I could ever pay you back.”
“I don’t expect it. This is not a loan to you, Speaker. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m invested in the outcome of the asteroid gate as well. Hitton’s delays are troubling, and as we can’t ask her over present channels, seeking her out in person is our only course of action. Unless you’re having doubts…?”
“No, not at all. This gate must be built. How soon do you think the Taso can be ready for flight?”
“Hard to say. She hasn’t been grounded that long, but I’m hardly an expert in these things. Secure a crew, have them go over it with a fine-tooth comb, then we’ll set course.”
“You’re skipping a step,” Biran said.
“Oh?”
“We have to file the flight plan request with Olver and Anford.”
“Ah.” Biran almost laughed at the flash of surprise across Vladsen’s face. Maybe the other Keeper wasn’t such a cipher after all. “It seems I have picked up some poor habits.”
“Don’t let Olver hear you say it. He’ll think you got them from me.”
Vladsen tapped at his wristpad. “I’m passing you the digital keys now. Ping me when you’re
ready to leave.”
“You don’t want any input in the crew?”
Vladsen lifted one shoulder, long curls sliding off the slick material of his jumpsuit, and in that motion Biran saw a mirror of Lavaux’s practiced insouciance. “Not my specialty. I trust you, Greeve. But put the flight request through first. Would hate to hire a crew just to let them go again.”
Vladsen ended the call, his face replaced with a blinking packet of incoming data that contained the digital keys to the Taso.
Biran should have tapped those keys and continued on with his plans, but something stopped him. That hesitation, again.
Vladsen was playing his own game, surely. That much wasn’t enough to make him pause. But this was something more, a base animal instinct crying out to abort this path, pick another plan. Sweat slicked his palms, old anxiety fluttering his belly. Why? Why was he doubting himself now? He’d come so damn far and…
It was the Taso. Had to be. When he’d first seen it, hulking on the edge of the dock, its airlock wrapped like sharp jaws around the gangway, he’d felt the same instinct, the same inner voice calling out to him to run. He hadn’t then, because that leviathan of a spaceship had been his only chance of finding Sanda before the exodus.
But it hadn’t been the ship itself that’d frightened him, it’d been the specter of the man who controlled it. Even then, when he trusted him, Lavaux had been unknowable. Had outright told Biran that he was helping him only as a matter of convenience to himself. Lavaux was dead. That ship was not his ghost. No shadow of the Keeper could reach Biran now.
He tapped the keys, added them to his personal security wallet, then filed a quick flight plan request to Olver and Anford—no use going through the usual queues, where they’d get kicked up to those two anyway.
Chaos Vector Page 27
