Anford fired off a text to him in seconds, cc’d Olver: I’ll only approve this if you agree to take a fleet squadron and four GCs.
Greeve: Agreed.
Olver: Is Hitton aware?
Greeve: She is not.
Olver: Best keep it that way.
Anford: Agreed. Approved.
Olver: Approved.
The chat window closed.
That came too easily. Possibly Olver had been waiting for Biran to make a move on that front—it was his project, after all—but it seemed unlikely that the director and general would sit on their hands waiting for Biran to jump. Which meant they both had assets in play on the asteroid already.
Biran sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. Things were supposed to be easier after the weapon fled and Sanda was recovered. This was a goddamned mess.
CHAPTER 41
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
THE TIMELINE NEVER QUITE WORKS OUT
Sanda holed up in her room and pulled up a gate database, checking on the deadgate that hid the coordinates. Still offline. She sighed with relief, wondering. If Rainier knew the coordinates, she hadn’t shared them with Lavaux. The nanite swarm might be for switching the gates off to hold Prime hostage, as Novak suggested. Such a technology would get her anything she wanted.
That Rainier was developing technology to spin gates up rankled. She had to ditch these scientists and get behind that gate as soon as possible.
A knock sounded on Sanda’s door. She’d known it was coming, could see the worry and tension and… something else, something she couldn’t identify, building behind Graham’s eyes after Janus. But when it came, her chest still lurched, her fingers clenched. This wasn’t a talk she was ready to have. Not yet.
“Come in,” she said anyway.
Graham flipped his mag boots off and floated in, grabbing one of the wall straps to guide him to the chair bolted to the floor across from Sanda’s desk. He grabbed the back of the chair and floated there, meeting her gaze.
She hooked the tablet she’d been working on back into the Velcro on the desktop. A lot of different methods had been tried for securing things in space. GrabSure, GripFace, a plethora of other brand names cranked out by Prime Inventive—Development Division—that always fell flat, disappeared into the flotsam of the market, because Velcro was so damned satisfying. Humans liked their tactile feedback—the snagging and pulling, the rrrp sound it made when you took something away.
Graham was about to take himself away. She felt that sound building in her chest.
“Hey,” he said. “I think I…” He looked at his hands, scarred and gnarled against the back of the chair. “I failed you. I’m sorry.”
She hadn’t expected that. “No. You haven’t.”
“Failed to prepare you, I mean.”
“For an experimental spaceship taking me hostage? Because that’s not something they cover in parenting classes.”
“Child,” he said, which was what he always said when one of his children was pissing him off. “I meant for war.”
“That’s what the fleet—”
“No. They teach you how to be soldiers. I’m not talking about maneuvers and protocols and how to shoot straight. I’m talking about the cost, the human balance that never quite makes it seem like it’s worth it. I couldn’t teach you those things, because I never learned them.”
He turned his head away, seeing a different place, a different time. Sanda leaned back, waiting.
“You get taught a different kind of war in the Grotta,” he said eventually. “You’re so far down on the ladder all you can see is your own nose, the only thing worth fighting for is your own life. Or maybe those you love, if you’re lucky enough. I think maybe Jules learned that kind of fight, too. It’s not… It’s not a safe mindset, when there’s more than yourself and your loved ones to be fighting for.” He took a shaky breath.
“That’s why I gotta go. Because you learned the bigger lessons, and I haven’t, and someday you’ll make a call on this ship, and I won’t listen to it. Not because I’m your dad and I think I know better—I ain’t that stupid—but because I’ll see you, in danger, and the reality of war won’t matter because I only ever learned to fight for what I love, not what I believe.”
“Dad, you’re the only person on this ship I can trust.”
“You don’t see it yet, but that’s not true. Conway and Knuth adore you. Nox and Arden… They’re difficult people to earn respect from, kid, and you’ve done it.”
“You can’t possibly be telling me that I can trust Nox and Arden. Not with…” She trailed off and tapped the chip implant site on the back of her head. “Not with this.”
“No, not with that.” Graham shook his head.
A flash of anger warmed her blood. “Then why leave me? You’re the only one who knows. And I will have to tell them, soon enough. I can’t bring… I can’t bring a whole crew through a deadgate to a mystery location without giving them every advantage. Without you to watch my back, without someone else knowing all the details, mistakes might be made. We might miss something.”
“You’ll have to pick your moment, kid, but hold out as long as possible. What you carry… No one should have to carry that, not without volunteering for it. And that means the knowledge of it, too. It may not seem like much of a difference where those coords came from, but that’s your most dangerous secret. That’s killing knowledge, because you and I both know Prime won’t stand for it, and they won’t just yank it out of you. They might very well take out anyone who knows the secret, too.”
She clenched her fists. “And you want me to trust your old Grotta friends with that? You might as well take them with you when you go.”
“You’ve already trusted them. You’ve given them their weapons—Nox his guns, and Arden their tech—and let them go. They love you for it, you know. They might not understand it themselves, but those two… They were beaten down in Atrux, ground against the bedrock of the Grotta. You gave them agency, right off the bat, with only a few threats attached. They expected distrust and condescension from a major—hell, from a sergeant. They never saw you coming.”
“Even Nox?”
“What do you mean?”
Sanda pursed her lips, deciding how close she wanted to dance to the truth here. “I haven’t looked him up yet, but I can. I have his full name. Those fake fleeties on Janus didn’t move right. Nox does. Why is that?”
“Ah. That.” Graham’s gaze went hazy as he drifted on memory. Sanda gave him all the time he needed to collect his thoughts. “Nox’s parents… They weren’t unkind, necessarily. I never knew them myself, but I gather that they expected a great deal from him. More than he could deliver.”
“They thought he’d be a Keeper.”
“How did you know that?”
She shrugged. “You don’t give a kid a name like that if you expect them to grow up to become a thief or a merc.”
“True enough. But his parents didn’t have the connections. And it does take connections, no matter how good your test scores are, so he was never considered a candidate.”
Sanda arched a brow. “Connections? And who pulled what string to get Biran’s scores looked at?”
His smile was sly. “Ilan. He’s a damn good cook, and he wouldn’t let certain key players forget it.”
“Does Biran know?”
“Probably. Or at least suspects. There was a time when I would have called him too naive to notice but… not anymore. Nox would tell you the rest himself, if you asked, so I don’t feel this is any great betrayal. But, because he couldn’t get the right attention in the normal way, he enlisted to get attention that way.”
Sanda snorted. “The fleet is an inconvenient, but necessary, tool as far as the Keepers are concerned.”
“You and I know that. Nox knows it now, but he didn’t when he was sixteen and desperate to live up to all those syllables. He enlisted, but never got the attention he deserved. Got stuck down in the ranks as
he didn’t have the… temperament… to rise up.”
“He was an ass.”
“Indeed. His parents died when he was in an engagement out on some fringer settlement, couldn’t tell you which one, and that was that. He landed back on Atrux, went on leave, and never came back.”
“He’s AWOL?”
“Technically, I suppose, though the fleet stopped bothering to find him a long time ago. Arden made it look like he was dead. Nox is just Nox now. I don’t know if he picked a new last name.”
“That all feels like a very intimate disclosure for him to make to you.”
“It is. It was.”
“Dad…”
He shook his head. “When Ilan came along, that was it for me. I was supposed to rob him, lift a shipment he was running through the Grotta, but instead I just… I left with him.” Graham smiled wistfully and glanced down at one slightly curled hand. “I mean, damn could he cook.”
“You didn’t leave the crew. You left Nox.”
“Yes. I never even said goodbye.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t punch you on sight.”
“So was I.”
Sanda chuckled.
“What?”
“When you told Biran and I how you two met, you left out the part where you were on your way to rob Ilan blind.”
Graham grinned. “Seemed inappropriate for children.”
“And Ilan was okay with that? He didn’t… resent you or anything?”
“Ilan… understood. You’d have to ask him about that.”
Sanda sighed. “I miss him.”
“Me too.” Graham closed his eyes. “And that’s another reason I have to go. I love you kids, I do, but every time I wake up and he’s not there… It hurts too much.”
Sanda took him in, every familiar line on his face, and wondered if she should tell him. If it was even fair to tell him what she and Biran had figured out a long, long time ago. That their parents were different. That with other kids, it was like their parents couldn’t see each other when their child was in the room. That their world was in their kids, nothing else even came close.
Oh, their parents loved them, they had no doubt of that. But when Graham and Ilan were in the same room, Sanda and Biran could cease to exist and they wouldn’t have noticed.
As kids, she and Biran had resented that love. Had tried in petty little ways to usurp one parent or another, but it had never worked. That hurt had lessened over the years as they’d bonded to each other instead. Looking at Graham now, at the naked anguish in every line of his posture, Sanda found that hurt had gone.
She’d lost them all, once. Every other pain, every tiny slight, was irrelevant in light of that.
“It’s okay, Dad. I understand. Go home. Love him for us both.”
CHAPTER 42
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
TIME ENOUGH TO SAY GOODBYE
Riding the public shuttles down to Ada was now out of the question for Biran. He used to be able to slip along, knowing a few eyes were on him but otherwise moving without being waylaid by strangers wishing to talk to Speaker Greeve. Now, after Bero, he had to take his private Keeper shuttle down to the planet.
It was fitted with sleek-shaped inertial damping couches, high-end snacks and drinks provided at their optimal temperature. Cutting-edge air recyclers kept the air volume in the tiny space fresh, while the public shuttles always carried a faint hint of sweat and stale breath. He landed in a private dock, was disgorged into a mirrored glass elevator, and then whisked away to a waiting autocab in a garage the public could not access.
Secretly, Biran hated all of it. He’d never, ever complain. Not only would his bosses be annoyed that he didn’t appreciate the safety and security offered by the system—Biran had no doubt a GC was tailing him every step of the way—but those who couldn’t travel by such means would be, reasonably so, offended that he wasn’t grateful. The isolation wore on him. Even if he didn’t want to interact with the public all the time, he hated that all of his interactions now were coordinated, scripted affairs.
He wanted to sit at a tiny coffee-shop bar and eavesdrop on the clientele in peace, catch the pulse of what was going on with the citizenry. But everywhere he went, Biran was the one being eavesdropped on, not the other way around.
Ilan opened the door the second Biran’s car pulled up to the curb. Biran didn’t remember this neighborhood being so quiet in the middle of the day, but the guardcore had increased security in the area upon his rise to Speaker. They didn’t actively discourage people from walking around, but their invisible presence was an unspoken deterrent.
“My god,” Ilan said, “you don’t exist as a mere virtual projection on my morning news.”
Chagrined, Biran folded Ilan into a bone-crushing hug. “Sorry, Dad. First the lockdown, then, well, everything else…” He waved a hand, which Ilan grabbed and used to drag him into the house, placing him firmly down at the table on his usual seat. The kettle was already hissing.
“Bah. I know, I know. Still, I’ve seen more of that reporter friend of yours in person than I have seen any of my children lately.” Ilan, pointedly, set a perfect cup of tea down in front of Biran. He took a sip before he answered.
“I came to tell you I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving for where?”
“The asteroid.”
“Graham’ll be sad to hear it. I believe he’ll be heading home soon.”
“What? Why?”
Ilan studied the contents of his mug. “Can’t do it. Things with Sanda have gotten too dangerous, or so he says. I’m not there to see what’s happening and he won’t give me the details over open channel.”
“I thought Janus was nothing. Sanda said the fight was a scuffle—”
“Sanda hasn’t told us a lot.” Ilan frowned. “Graham said he’ll have to leave before she has to kick him off the ship for making the wrong calls.”
“What calls could he possibly—? Oh. Oh shit. She’ll want him gone because he’ll protect her before whatever harebrained mission she’s on, won’t she?”
“That’s my understanding. Do you have any idea what she’s doing out there?”
A weight settled in Biran’s stomach. He didn’t. He had no fucking clue. They exchanged silly messages like they always did, but somehow he hadn’t quite grasped that Anford wasn’t sending her out on patrols anymore—not that patrols had been safe. When she’d told him about Janus, she hadn’t sounded scared, just stern and focused… But then, Sanda rarely sounded scared. Extreme focus was her coping mechanism. Always had been.
“I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Aw, kid.” Ilan shook his head. “If you don’t already know, she won’t tell you.”
“Anford will.”
“And are you sure Anford knows?”
“She’s Sanda’s boss. Of course she will.”
“You’re thinking like you. Try thinking like Sanda for a moment,” Ilan said.
“She’d operate as independently as possible from any oversight that could discover the chip.”
“Exactly. She needs to know where those coordinates lead, and she can’t let Anford know why. Even if the general thinks she knows what Sanda’s up to, she doesn’t. I’m not convinced anyone does. She’s been burned too many times.” Ilan scrubbed the sides of his face with both hands. “I wish my brilliant, motivated children had decided to, I don’t know, become farmers.”
“Please.” Biran reached over and tipped an extra cube of sugar into Ilan’s tea. “You may play the straight-laced merchant dad well, but I’ve seen you and Graham at the range with blasters. And while Sanda and I were always curious about Graham’s history in the Grotta, it was your background file I looked at first the second I had Keeper privileges.”
Ilan turned about a dozen shades of crimson. “That was a long time ago for both of us.”
“You were smuggling grey goods long before you met Graham, Dad.”
He laughed roughly and glanced a
way. Light cut across the side of his face, revealing the shallow depression of an old scar that he’d had cosmetically fixed once, but hadn’t followed up on fixing again once the original filler began to fade. Ilan had always claimed he’d gotten it from the corner of a pallet taking him on the chin during a hectic loading day. Biran never doubted that, until he’d read Ilan’s official background dossier.
“Kid, those files are private for a reason. Not polite to snoop on your loved ones because you have the keys to the safe.”
“They encourage us to read the files on our family. It’s supposed to help us see how our family members may be used to leverage us.”
“And was I deemed a leverage risk because of things I did decades ago?”
“No. You and Graham… Anyone who might come knocking on your door doesn’t have the money or the power to pull that lever, do they?”
Ilan grimaced. “No. We were the lucky ones. Us, and the crew we brought with us.”
“I understand why Graham got into smuggling and heists, but—”
“Heists?” Ilan laughed. “Nothing that fancy. What he and Harlan’s crew were doing was plain old burglary, son. Don’t put a shine on it. Graham doesn’t.”
“You’re deflecting, Dad. Come on. I never met your parents, but by all accounts they were upstanding citizens, and you inherited a perfectly legal business from them. Why smuggle off-Prime-label drugs and electronics?”
“Would you believe I thought it was the right thing?”
“I’d like to.”
Ilan pushed his chair back, grabbing his mug as if to refill it even though he’d taken only a single sip since Biran added sugar. Biran shot a hand across the table and grabbed his wrist, holding him there.
“Sanda and I,” Biran said quietly, “we’re finding a lot of cracks in the edifice we climbed to the top of. You two, you got married and you settled down and you had kids and you probably never expected them to be so publicly motivated but here we are, and as much as I’d like to chalk that up to a general sense of decency instilled in us by our run-of-the-mill upbringing—with a dash of rebellion thrown in by Graham—I don’t buy it. Not anymore. Graham always pushed us to get the work done. But you? You taught us to ask questions. Why? Why hone our curiosity when you saw the path we were on?”
Chaos Vector Page 28
