“I would approach you directly,” the Unknown Caller on the imp explained. “Except for the that fact that I am not very popular among what passes for the authorities in Xanadu. I perform an important but universally despised task for my people, you see. But enough about me. I am here to warn you that you and the entire human delegation are in grave danger.”
“Why tell me? Should I connect you to the Secretary of State?”
“Do not do that, please. I contacted you because we are in the same line of work. You are a field officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. And I am the Seeker of Knowledge, which is a long-winded way of saying the same thing. Two spies, in other words.”
Heather kept her feelings under control and laughed at some inane joke the feathered Nazi made. Being identified was among the worst fears of an intelligence officer, second only to being captured, which in this case was the most likely thing to happen next.
“Do not worry,” the Seeker of Knowledge went on. “It is not my intention to denounce you to my people, who have even less liking for enemy spies than they do for their own. Besides, where is the fun in merely squashing you like a bug? I think we can go a few rounds in the Great Game, you and I. I am even prepared to offer you a number of incentives to play it.”
“Such as?”
“A chance to turn the tables on the Hierophant at his own game, for starters. A chance to not only leave this system with many of your original passengers and crewmembers still alive, but to gain what you sought: free passage for you and your allies, and no transit rights for your enemies. But you will have to do something for me first. I have a rival among the Multitude of the Unique. He is known as the Scholar, our lore-keeper. He leads a faction that opposes mine. For all his learning, my rival is not very smart, but he is dogged and stubborn. He was one of the instigators of this particular game, insisting in bringing you humans along, and one of you in particular. I need you to find out why. In return, I will provide you with some aid. Just enough to give you a fighting chance.”
“It’s not going to be easy to spy on your people.”
“You will be given enough access to break into the Common Conduit. From there, you will use your skills to penetrate my enemy’s private files and uncover his plans. If you are found out, I will deny any involvement in your activities. Discovery will mean certain death. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
She also understood that if this so-called Seeker didn’t like her answers, certain death would likely follow. Going along seemed like the only safe choice.
“You must also agree not to divulge this arrangement to your people. That could lead to your discovery. Your communications are thoroughly compromised, by the way. Breaking your implants’ encryption codes is child’s play for our devices. Your exchanges with me are secure, but none other. Are we in agreement?”
“Yes,” Heather said. She had every intention of cheating, but only when an opportunity presented itself.
“Very well. I will contact you when it is time to start working for me. Even without my warning, it will soon become apparent to all of you that the Tah-Leen do not have America’s best interests at heart.”
The call ended, leaving her alone with the duo of chatty aliens. More smiling, nodding and fending off advances occurred while she tried to process what had just happened.
Sometimes I love my job.
* * *
Some party.
Watching a bunch of ETs dressed up as humans was turning to be equal parts disturbing, annoying and disgusting. From the way a few aliens were boinking each other, they’d gotten their lessons on human sexuality from the kind of raunchy VR porn lonely spacers favored. Word from higher had come down to not accept any invitations to join in, and Lisbeth had politely turned down half a dozen come-ons and less politely slapped an ET’s hand away when he started getting a little too insistent. Fortunately, the aliens had taken the rejections with fairly good grace.
The whole night had been pretty much pointless. The Snowflakes had provided no useful information about themselves. Every question she’d asked had been answered with useless generalities or empty platitudes. They wanted to have their questions answered, and they seemed to be mostly interested in what it was like to kill. At least the ones who’d pestered her had few questions about any other subject, other than asking her to ‘join in some joyous intimacy.’ As a pick-up line, it plain sucked even if you set aside the fact that these were aliens wearing human bodies the same way they wore their colorful costumes.
At least it looked like things were winding down. The Secretary of State was making excuses and saying her goodbyes without being overtly insulting. Which probably took a lot of effort. The whole thing felt like a major diss to Lisbeth. You didn’t treat a diplomatic delegation like some curiosity to gawk at, make fun of, and try to have sex with. Starfarer traditions were very formal when it came to interstellar politics, and a race this old would be expected to follow them even when dealing with lesser civilizations. The Snowflakes clearly didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of them. In which case, why had they even bothered inviting the American delegation? The answer was bound to be something nobody would like.
And here comes another one. Her fists clenched involuntarily when she saw the newcomer was wearing a pre-Contact Marine aviator’s suit. She might be relatively new to the Corps, but that didn’t mean she was happy to see someone pretending to be a leatherneck. That was the sort of thing that merited a violent response.
“Major Zhang,” the Tah-Leen said, grinning ear-to-ear. “Tonight, in this incarnation, I call myself Gregory Boyington, in honor of the famous Marine pilot of that name. I would be most happy if you would call me ‘Pappy.’”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she replied. And I’ll call you Pappy after they hold the Winter Olympics in Hell.
“I am very interested in you, Major. But do not be alarmed. My interest in you is not as a potential sexual partner, but as a warp fighter pilot.”
She started to get a bad feeling about this. A literal bad feeling. Growing pressure spread from the back of her neck upwards: she’d gotten those not-quite headaches before, usually when something bad was about to happen. The last time she had that feeling, her squadron went on a sortie and lost Captain Van Allen. She’d felt Belter was in danger, but warning him hadn’t helped any; the poor bastard still blundered into a main gun blast, straight out of warp.
The way Lisbeth felt, she was about to blunder into something even worse.
“As you may know, we are the oldest Starfarer civilization in the known galaxy,” ‘Pappy’ continued. “Our historical records go back over half a million years, and include the annals of many extinct polities and species, many of which are totally unknown nowadays. The Tah-Leen were witnesses to the last Demon War, as a matter of fact, although at the time we were mere infants, mere decades after being lifted from barbarism by our benefactors and erstwhile masters, the Leenox. We know many things you humans would find very valuable.”
Oh, shit. This was important, and way above her pay grade. Well, her imp would record everything, and hopefully she wouldn’t step on her notional dick before Greg ‘Asshole’ Boyington spilled the beans.
“That sounds amazing,” she said, and managed to fake a big smile.
“Oh, but there is more. What if I told you I possess an artifact that once belonged to the Warp Marauders of Kraxan? Would that be something you’d be interested in?”
Did he say Warp Marauders?
“Yes. I’d be very interested.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
She was interested enough to apply some enhanced interrogation techniques on the smiling asshole, right here and now, interstellar incidents be damned. Only the certainty that she and the rest of the human delegation would not survive that course of action stopped her. She smiled some more instead and even batted her eyelashes as the pompous alien.
That was just the sort of information the G
alactic Alliance would kill for, especially the Imperium. The aliens who’d pledged to eradicate humanity were obsessed with what they called ‘warp demons’ and ‘warp witches.’ She was sure that if someone told them about a group called the Warp Marauders of Whatever, they’d take the story and run with it, probably convincing another half dozen civilizations to join their crusade. Even the Puppies were beginning to get worried about humanity’s new weapons. Weapons that might be old, if the term Warp Marauders meant anything like what she suspected. It wouldn’t take much to turn everyone against Earth. She needed to see it, and hopefully figure out a way to keep it from the rest of the galaxy.
The alien in the Marine costume stayed quiet for several seconds, letting Lisbeth digest the information, or maybe waiting for her to beg him for more. She figured that under the circumstances a little groveling was warranted.
“So what can you tell me about these artifacts? And the Marauders of Kraxan and the Demon War?”
“Well, I would gladly share all the information I have with you, as long as you do something for me in return.”
He said he didn’t want to have sex with me, but I’m positive I’m about to get screwed.
“And what might that be?” she asked him, playing along and hating every second of it. The premonition of danger grew stronger.
“You will need to perform a task for me. It might be dangerous.”
“I would have to ask my superiors first. And I can’t endanger this mission by playing some sort of game with you, buddy.”
He laughed at that. “I can assure you, Major, that you will not be adversely affecting your mission at all. If you agree to come with me, you can send a message to your superiors indicating you’ve accepted a personal invitation from me and will be unavailable for a day or two. Three or four at most.”
“Three or four days is a long time. What if I refuse?”
“I will be very unhappy. And you will learn nothing about the dangers your entire species is facing.”
“In that case, how can I refuse?” she said, wishing she could think of a way to do just that. She sent a secure email to General Gage, spare on details and downright insubordinate, as she didn’t ask for permission to go off with some unknown alien.
There was no response. She looked around for the general, but couldn’t see him amidst the dancing, talking and screwing aliens and their guests.
“Do not worry. Your superior will receive your message in due time,” the fake Marine said. “Now, if you will come with me?”
She did.
* * *
Fromm found Heather pretending to listen to a couple of Tah-Leen and clearly not having a good time of it.
“If you will excuse us,” he told the alien. “I need to borrow Ms. McClintock for a while.”
The ETs set off to bother someone else.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Safety in numbers. I think I can get away with being a little rude to them, being a ‘barbarian warrior’ and such. One of them actually called me that.”
“Yeah,” Heather agreed. “They aren’t being exactly subtle about their contempt for us.”
Before Fromm could answer, he received a priority call from General Gage.
“Sir?”
“One of the aliens has taken Major Zhang away and now I can’t locate her anywhere. Her implant transponder appears to be blocked. And the AIC just notified me a dozen civilians are also missing. Including that asshole, Llewellyn.”
One didn’t exclaim ‘Shit!’ in front of a brigadier general, so Fromm contented himself with, “Did they go along willingly?”
“Apparently. They all sent messages to the effect they were leaving of their own free will, including Zhang. It doesn’t matter in her case, though. She disobeyed my direct orders when she left. Warp pilots know too much classified information to be allowed to wander off on their own. I’ve half a mind to send out a search party for her, or to demand our hosts return her to us.”
Heather was frantically shaking her head, which meant she was eavesdropping on the military channel. Not something she was supposed to do, although he wasn’t surprised she had. Her silent warning made sense, though.
“If you think that’s wise, sir. What are your orders?” Fromm asked. Telling the general it wasn’t a good idea was an even worse idea. His tone managed to convey his doubts without breaching protocol.
“None, for now. Sec-State is in charge, and she wants us to wait and see. I suppose it makes sense. Llewellyn’s disappearance could spell trouble, though. For all I care, the aliens can have his worthless ass, but he’s probably spilled everything he knows to them, and he’s the kind of bastard who’d happily play Lord Haw-Haw for the enemy if given a chance. Big mistake letting him come along. The other disappearances bother me a lot more. Civvies have forgotten how to follow orders, but they’d been told not to go off on their own. The Tah-Leen must be very persuasive.”
“Are you thinking they were coerced, sir?”
“Anything is possible. All I know is I don’t like any of this. Tell your people to watch their six. I don’t want anybody else getting picked off. We’re leaving in five minutes, by the way. Pass the word.”
“Will do, sir.” The call ended.
Fromm checked everyone’s status, which he’d been doing every fifteen minutes or so. His officers were all nearby, all engaged in conversation with one or more Tah-Leen. Lieutenant Berry seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself while discussing nineteenth century tactics with an alien wearing a Confederate uniform. The others were behaving themselves, while clearly wishing they could partake in all the high-quality booze being consumed around them.
Zhang’s icon was grayed out and marked as unavailable, just like the general had said. That meant she was behind some communication barrier or her imp had been disabled. Not a good sign. She could be dead and they wouldn’t know about it.
“We have thirteen missing civilians, including Llewellyn,” Heather said; she must have done a headcount on the civilian side. “Everyone has been warned to stay in groups and stay put until we can make our exit.”
“They’re toying with us.”
“Yes,” Heather agreed, and Fromm could tell she wanted to say more but couldn’t. Something about her eyes as she spoke gave it away, at least to someone who knew her.
“This was too good to be true,” he said.
“Yes, and there’s a lot more going on than we expected. Be ready for anything,” she told him. “Things are only going to get worse.”
* * *
“They’re coming back,” Sergeant Fuller said. “Most of them.”
“Someone didn’t make it?”
“Llewellyn, a bunch of civvies, and the Marine pilot.”
“Major Zhang? Shit.”
Warp fighters had literally saved Russell’s ass back on Parthenon-Three, and Zhang had been in on the action. For all he knew, she’d been the one who’d cleared a Viper-filled pass with her graviton cannon before the tangos could finish off Charlie Company. They all owed her.
“We going to get her?” Gonzo asked, always ready to rumble, even if it meant going into a station the size of the goddamn Moon.
“Word is she ain’t a prisoner, so no,” Fuller said. “Maybe she picked up some alien and is spending the night with him. Or her. Or it.”
“No accounting for taste. Hope it’s worth the court-martial.”
They stood at attention as the VIPs came through. Nobody looked drunk, so apparently they had stayed off the booze. And they weren’t smiling, either. They hadn’t had a good time. The ETs had been fucking with them, that much was clear. The whole party had been a fancy way to fuck with the US.
That much was obvious to Russell, who’d grown up in a place where you learned to spot disrespect a mile away. Learned not to let it go, either. Once people thought they could fuck with you without getting called on it, you were done. You’d think the VIPs would know that. Of course, sometimes whoever was dissing you could curb-st
omp you and you had to choose between taking their shit or getting stomped. Option three was to let things slide until you had a chance to extract some payback, with interest. These aliens thought they were invincible inside their economy-size starbase. Maybe they were, but Russell figured a bunch of people aboard the Brunhild and the destroyer squadron were already thinking of ways to fuck with them.
Above his pay grade, though. He had his own problems, like what to do with two liters of two-hundred bucks-a-shot booze. The stuff was currently safely stored inside his and Gonzo’s suit hydration units, securely sealed inside flexible containers that looked like fancy water balloons or sausage casings. They’d poured the liquor into the two balloons, and then pushed them into their camelback water reservoirs. That meant they were carrying only nine liters of water instead of the regulation ten, but it wasn’t like they were going to be humping it through some desert. Their suits automatically sucked their sweat, cleaned it up and pumped it back into the container anyway, so they wouldn’t go thirsty anytime soon.
His main issue was how to translate those water balloons into cash. There was no way that medical officer was paying three grand apiece for his brandy; that was why Eggo had been willing to part with the stuff to pay off his debts. Russell figured he could get half of retail if he held on to the stuff until they were back in New Parris. He had connections at some officers’ clubs. It wasn’t get-rich money, but it would keep him in cheap booze and cheaper women for a while. He might even keep a couple of shots of brandy for himself, just to see how much better the good stuff was.
All of which assumed he was going to walk out of this cruise in one piece. But you had to think positive.
* * *
“These assholes are trying to piss us off,” Mario Rockwell told Heather via imp as the much smaller formal delegation entered the audience chamber.
“Yes. Yesterday’s party was bad enough, but the Snowflakes are clearly taunting us with this display,” she replied.
Not the most politic thing to say, given that the Tah-Leen were likely to be listening in, but at this point neither of them cared.
Warp Marine Corps- The Complete Series Page 75
