“I am Malkia Rehema Okonkwo. Your brother put out a distress call for the area. My ship was passing close by. My guardcore are securing the station.” Her eyes narrowed. “The real guardcore. Would you care for some lunch?”
Sanda dissolved into a puddle of frantic laughter.
INTERLUDE
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 0002
THE PRICE OF KNOWLEDGE
Maria had been furious with Alexandra when she’d summoned her to her room late at night to show her the body.
There had been no real struggle for her life, Lex had assured her irate lover as the assassin’s stain bore deeper into the fibers of her floor. It made her wonder if a better material could be developed to wick such stains away. The man had broken in, then Lex had stunned him, interrogated him, and stabbed his femoral artery. It was all very neat.
Maria, for some reason, disagreed.
“You knew he was coming and didn’t tell your security detail?” she demanded. Though gravity was near Earth standard in this hab ring, the woman’s hair had a fluffy quality that had only grown when she’d left the humidity of Earth behind for the dry, recycled air of space.
“Of course not,” Lex said, watching the way the soft lights played in Maria’s hair. They reminded her of something. A model of neurons, perhaps. “They would have killed him on sight. I needed to know what he hoped to achieve.”
“You always need to know,” Maria said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. There was no god in the sky above to which Maria could pray, there wasn’t even a sky anymore, but the habit stayed with her, and always made Lex smile.
Smiling, in this situation, only made matters worse.
Maria darted around the body and grabbed Lex’s wrists, her strong fingers digging in against the bones, and turned Lex’s hands over. Blood slicked her palms, and some of it was Lex’s. She hadn’t realized that the force required to stab someone meant you lost friction on the grip of the blade’s handle. Annoying. Physics usually behaved for her.
“You’re hurt,” Maria said.
“A scratch. It doesn’t matter.” Lex peeled her hands away and dropped to a crouch alongside the body, fascinated, turning his head so she could see his still-open eyes. Erik. His name had been Erik. “He knew.”
“Knew what?” Maria pulled her green silk robe tight and stepped as close as she could to the body without staining her slippers.
Too much. “That there isn’t a deadman’s switch.”
Maria sucked air through the gap in her front teeth, whistling. “Then he’s not the only one who knows.”
“No, he isn’t. I’m afraid that deterrent will no longer work in thwarting attacks on my person. I still have the active switch, and they know that, so they’ll seek to stun, incapacitate, or destroy me in my sleep.”
“Lex…” Maria’s voice was thick as she put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “We have to increase security.”
“I had arrived at the same conclusion.”
Lex stood, but her gaze was stuck on the body. How silly, how annoying, that one being could force her hand to change so much. But it would not slow progress. She would not allow it. They were already halfway through building a second gate in Tau Ceti, and Lex would not stand for a hiccup in that plan. She needed to know what was on the other side. Needed to know if all systems were as barren as Tau Ceti.
Needed to know if the next punch-through would lead to the makers of the sphere.
“I had time to draw up plans while I waited,” she said.
“While you waited for…?” Realization dawned, and Maria laughed. “You drafted plans for a new security unit while you waited for your assassin to show?”
“Here, let me show you.”
In the low light of her private quarters, Alexandra Halston turned her wristpad to face Maria, and pulled up the first, rough strokes of the organization that would become the guardcore.
“No one will know them once they take the armor?” Maria asked. “Not even you?”
“Prime Inventive is a nation built on secrets,” Lex said, and as the word nation passed her lips, she knew it to be true. They had a fleet. They would have an elite guard. They had an inner council keeping their greatest mysteries safe. Soon, Lex mused, there would be only one secret left to keep.
The rest, the building of a nation-state in the stars, was only a formality.
CHAPTER 49
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
SICK OF WEAPONS
Someone in guardcore armor handed her tea, and it was all Sanda could do to keep from dumping it out in the corner of the room for fear of being poisoned. Instead, she set the cup aside on the table next to her, and tried not to look like she was falling asleep where she sat.
At least they’d given her a wheelchair, as it turned out the rumors that the Prime Director traveled only on ships under spin-grav were true. The medis had patched her up quickly, rushing her out for this audience with Okonkwo, and Sanda wasn’t sure she could stand under her own power yet. The high-end stims and painkillers were nice, though.
The GC pretended not to notice Sanda snub the tea and took up a sentry position near the door. She had spent little time paying attention to them until now. They’d been ghosts, furniture. Facts of life drifting around the fleet academy that weren’t spoken of, unless in rumor-filled whispers of so-and-so’s aunt disappearing five years ago to join the GC.
Now, that armor lurking in the corner felt like a toxic stain that needed scrubbing out.
The door dilated and Okonkwo swept into the room, having shed her Prime armor for a blue silk dress that brushed the tops of her slippered feet and had no business in a ship that might lose gravity.
The sleeves went to her elbows, and as Okonkwo moved, Sanda glimpsed a crescent-shaped scar on her forearm. The resemblance to the tattoo on Keeper Nakata’s wrist sent a jolt through her. She swallowed and averted her eyes from the mark, trying not to get too mired down in what it might mean. First things first.
“Is my crew accounted for? Are they safe?”
Okonkwo settled into a chair across from her and accepted the tea the GC brought her, sipping it first before cradling it in her palms.
“The crew members we know of have been found and are in various states of stable, yes. Your father took a blaster to the hip, but is recovering well. Nox and Knuth were both in various states of injury which were noncritical, and Arden is unscathed. As for Conway, she has been contacted and is returning to the station with the Thorn.”
She paused, and while Sanda knew that this pause was calculated to draw her into asking about the missing member from the list, she didn’t care. Okonkwo knew. Probably, in the five minutes Sanda had been sitting here waiting for the tiniest sliver of news, Okonkwo had squeezed every drop of information from Monte Station and shaped it into something like the truth of what happened on Janus.
“And Dr. Liao?”
She smiled into her tea. “Ah, the doctor. I’m pleased you didn’t dissemble—I had to check, you understand. Make sure you weren’t trying to hide her from me. She is perfectly fine. Arden Wyke was adept at keeping their location concealed. They were the last my GC found, and revealed their presence only after we broadcast certain encrypted signals. She has been very vocal about the innocence of her colleagues. I’m dying to hear your take on things.”
“You know about the sample taken from Janus?”
“Yes. Liao was most insistent that the sample, combined with the notes of the researchers, would prove that they acted under what they believed to be Prime orders. Unfortunately, the sample was destroyed in the battle. Our medis found the flask in what was left of the guardcore ship you commandeered.”
“Destroyed?” Sanda wasn’t sure if she should feel relief that such a vile creation was gone, or upset that she’d lost the evidence. “You’d have to press Liao for the details, but that flask was full of self-replicating nanites designed to amplify signals to and from the gates. Self-replication aside, the scientists’ work wa
s above board as far as they knew. They were unaware that the governors on their models had been broken, allowing access to a gate’s power system.
“Prime Director, they operated under the direction of Rainier Lavaux. If Rainier has more of those nanites, then she can turn the gates off and on at will.”
“Rainier? Interesting. I understand your concern, but I assure you that such a thing is impossible. Without an intimate knowledge of how the gates operate, getting a signal through to them isn’t enough. Keepers must scan in their activation codes. Rainier may believe she can do this thing, but I do not believe her capable. It is impossible.”
“But you said…”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did I say, Commander?”
Sanda flicked her gaze to the guardcore in the corner, but Okonkwo waved at her to continue. Despite the encouragement, she couldn’t help but drop her voice. “I encountered a Nazca on Janus Station who claimed to be working on your behalf, hunting Rainier. He was the one who alerted me to the modified governors and sent the information to his handlers. He claimed that you redirected the mission to focus on gathering all instances of the nanites.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I see,” Sanda said, though she really didn’t. Novak had seemed convinced that his orders came from Okonkwo. While the Nazca were exceptional at lying, she didn’t understand why he’d lie about that.
Maybe to leverage her trust by making her believe that he worked on behalf of Prime, but by that point he had to know she’d never trust him. He’d blown his chance by pretending to be Tomas. His true motives had died with him on that shuttle. Part of her wished she could unwind that clock, go back and interrogate him all over again with fresh eyes, but he’d been Nazca. Nothing he said could be trusted.
“It’s possible Rainier wanted the nanites to spin a deadgate,” Sanda said. “The coordinates Keeper Lavaux had planned on taking Bero are behind one.”
“She would have no better luck there, the same principles apply. If you were so concerned about these nanites, why didn’t it occur to you to hand them over to the fleet for analysis?”
“Prime Director, I had just stepped off a station faking a Prime charter, owned by a Keeper’s widow, with a security staff comprised of people pretending to be fleeties—uh, soldiers. I was not confident in who I could trust.”
“And so you brought the hammer down on Monte.”
“I didn’t intend—”
Okonkwo held up a hand. “I’ve read your dossier, Greeve. I understand you did not intend to harm a civilian station. Your mistrust of the government you serve led you to that rather poor decision.”
Sanda flicked a glance to the GC. “I do not believe my distrust is misplaced.”
“I suppose I cannot blame you for that. Tell me, Greeve, do you believe Anford is a good person?”
She blinked. “Of course.”
“You trust her? Not because she is your superior, I mean. You trust her instincts as a person and a general?”
“I do.”
“Good, then you are not completely stupid. But despite that trust, you denied a direct order to take those scientists to a fleet station and instead put an entire civilian station in harm’s way. People died today, Greeve. Not just the false GC.”
She straightened. “I am very sorry people died. But if there had been false fleeties on the station, then we would have lost the scientists and possibly the sample, too. I couldn’t take that risk.”
Okonkwo closed her eyes for a breath, then snapped them open. “My dear, I understand these conspiracies are new territory to you, but they are not to me, nor to Anford. We have had insurgent factions infiltrate the fleet before—spies abound—and never have they had the numbers to control an entire station.
“If you had followed Anford’s orders, and there had been fake ‘fleeties’ there, and the false GC showed up, you would have had a fight on your hands. But you would have had allies—the real fleet—and once more, allies who signed up to fight.
“You mean well, Greeve, but this decision was a catastrophic fuckup. You have been embroiled in bullshit, and the adjustment is difficult, but if you’ve decided you can trust Anford, then trust her.”
Sanda crushed her eyes closed and gripped the armrests of the chair hard enough to make her knuckles ache. A dozen excuses roiled through her mind but they were all useless. Okonkwo was right. Sanda should never have gone to Monte. “I understand. I’m so sorry.”
“Do not apologize. Do better.”
She forced herself to meet Okonkwo’s baleful stare. “I will.”
“I believe you. And that is the only reason you won’t spend the rest of your life in a cell.”
“I’d like to do something for Monte.”
“They don’t want you or your help. Leon Gutarra is already making noise about going public regarding the rogue GC. I’ll pour money into the reconstruction, which I would have done regardless. It will be swift, and it will be an upgrade, and they will be quiet about the attack, but you will never have friends at Monte Station. I suggest you wipe the dock from your maps.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help discreetly—”
“I will let you know.” She took a long sip of tea, sat back, and crossed her ankles. “Now. As you seem determined to kick this particular hornet’s nest, I suppose I should brief you on the matter. You’ve been trying very hard not to look at my tattoo removal scar. I could have had it lasered smooth, but I like the reminder, however subtle.”
Sanda’s cheeks went hot. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Of course not. You’ve seen it before, possibly in dire circumstances, and are wondering at its origin. Was your brother able to provide? I’m certain you asked.”
She laughed nervously. “No. He’d never seen it before.”
“We have not had a member in Ada in decades, though there have been considerations. Our last disappeared around the time Icarion started fussing. We thought it prudent to remove ourselves until things settled. If not in Ada, where have you seen it?”
“Keeper Nakata.”
“Nakata?” Her brows arched high. “Dead, unfortunately, though not surprisingly. She was an aggressive member of the order. Ah. I see now. You were chasing Jules Valentine, Nakata’s killer. Nox and Arden are known associates of that woman. Did you find her?”
Sanda pressed her palms against her knees. Fear fluttered through her, but she made herself meet Okonkwo’s eyes. Sanda had no doubt that everything she was about to say, the Prime Director had already discerned. There was nothing subtle about what had happened on Monte, and Malkia Okonkwo was one of, if not the most, connected person in the universe.
Her only chance to fill in some large gaps in her knowledge was to be as straightforward with her as possible. No games. No dissembling. Not when you were toe-to-toe with the head of all of Prime’s intelligence agencies.
“Prime Director, I have been betrayed from every direction since I woke up after Dralee. I don’t mean to be rude, or insubordinate, but it is my stringent belief that the people of Prime are in danger. I can’t see the full picture yet. I have lines drawn from Keeper Lavaux to Jules via Rainier Lavaux. I have a whole station full of scientists working for Jules who don’t know what they were there to do. I have Keeper Lavaux attempting to kill me to take Bero to a location that makes no sense, and I have GC rolling up on a civilian station with guns blazing to get at those scientists. I was happy to warn you about the nanites, but otherwise, I don’t want to talk to you with that scar on your arm unless you’ve got a real fucking good explanation.”
Sanda held her breath while Okonkwo’s eyes narrowed. After a beat, the Prime Director burst into laughter and slapped her palm against the arm of her chair. Shaking her head, she stood and drained the contents of her teacup in one gulp, shivered a little, then flipped up the top of a side table and rummaged around in the interior. Glass bottles clinked.
“Do you want a proper drink, Greeve? This”—she waved th
e empty cup at her—“wasn’t tea. Ah.” She pulled a slim bottle of black glass from the table and popped it open, pouring a glug of amber liquid into her cup.
“Excuse me, Prime Director,” Sanda said as Okonkwo strode across the room, tipped Sanda’s tea onto the floor—where it was promptly absorbed by the rug’s smart fibers—and refilled her cup with the liquid. Whiskey, by the scent. “But, what the fuck?”
“Expected me to throw you out? Toss you in a cell and forget the key for your impertinence? Pah. If I wanted you punished, I would have leaked a false tip that the corrected footage of your supposed murder of Keeper Lavaux was faked, and let the scaremongering rumor hordes do the rest. Many of those voices have not been convinced as it is, and it would be such a small thing to tip public opinion against you. But I do not break tools, Commander Greeve. I use them.” She drifted back to her chair and crossed her legs languorously as she sat.
“You and I are very much on the same side, if there are any clear lines at all to be drawn in this universe. I’ve read your dossier. You went into the fleet to protect your darling little brother. You enlisted knowing full well that Icarion was rattling their sabers, which says something for your sense of honor even in those nascent days. And on those rare occasions you were ordered to battle, you acquitted yourself well, until the fateful ambush at Dralee that would have, should have, destroyed you, if not for the intervention of Icarion’s wayward beast of war. Am I right so far?”
“Bero is no beast.”
“Forgive me my flourishes. The problem with you, Greeve, is that you were rocketed up from your provincial life into a quagmire of political fuckery previously unknown to you. Oh yes, we Keepers present a unified front to the united worlds because we must, but we squabble like children. Lavaux was one of my more problematic members. Thank you for seeing to him.”
“I didn’t kill him on purpose.”
“Just like you didn’t spear Monte on the blade of the GC, and yet a wake of bodies follows you.” She sighed and swirled her cup. “Usually we construct icons like you. Pick a likely, squeaky-clean fleet academy grad and give them some fight or another to win by the skin of their teeth, prop them up as a hero. It helps if they come from humble origins, then trot them out when needed. You don’t trot, Greeve, you gallop, and you don’t have the slightest clue what you’re galloping toward.”
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