by Daniel Gibbs
One such old memory took the stool beside her, the source of the message that brought her here. He was a tall man, solid but not big, his brown complexion similar to hers. She owed hers to ancestors from Vietnam and Malaya while Felipe Xiu's mostly came from the Philippines, and further back from China. Like Tia, he was in a spacer's jacket over a dark green shirt, and with black spacer's trousers. The growth of a beard on his face was something new. "Comrade Felipe," she said quietly.
"Comrade Tia." He already had a drink. A Thanh's like hers, but straight, no Scotch mixed in. He held up the shot glass, prompting her to do the same. "To fallen comrades."
"To fallen comrades," she agreed. She gulped down the contents of the glass. It was good, strong stuff, and it made itself known as it descended her throat and on to her stomach. It wouldn't be enough to take away sobriety by itself, but it would undoubtedly chip away at it. She signaled for another drink to keep it company. "How have you been?"
"Well enough," he said, his tone cautious. His gray eyes seemed distant. "I sometimes wonder if it is time to take up the government on the amnesty."
Tia narrowed her eyes. "Oh?"
"It's been fourteen years now, Tia. Fourteen years since our revolution failed. I miss being at home."
"Bullshit," Tia growled. "You were never one to give a damn about home. What home did you have, did we have? Being helots to the off-world corporations paying us as little as they could to gather our world's wealth for them? You used to say you'd rather die in exile than bare your neck for their boots." A suspicion crossed her mind. She took her next drink first, a jolt of liquid courage to voice it. "Or are you going back to join the Social Solidarity movement?"
"If there is to be any future for the working class of Hestia, it will be in solidarity with the League of Sol," Felipe insisted. "The failure of our revolution—"
"—was because of the League!" Tia shouted. Her voice carried over the bar, but there was no notice from the others. This was a spacer's bar, after all, and every spacer had something that would set them off. "After all of this time, you can't see that?! They propped us up, gave us arms, gave us hope, encouraged us to strike, and then they betrayed us to the government! Face it, Felipe, they never wanted us to win in the first place."
"Of course they did," Felipe insisted. "But the League has to consider the needs of all oppressed peoples, not just Hestia. Victory for the Hestian working class then might have only led to defeat in the end, if the Coalition took advantage."
Tia rolled her eyes at him but said nothing. It was the old argument again, the same one their League contacts had used after the killing was over, when she woke up on the evacuation ship, half-dead from her wounds and mostly dead from the blow to her spirit. To hear Felipe repeat those lies after all of these years was infuriating, and her face betrayed that feeling.
"This is exactly why the League turned from us," Felipe said bitterly. "Because you and the others would not listen."
"Oh, I listened," Tia remarked bitterly. "I heard the speeches about the needs of Society being greater than our cause. But let's face the facts, Felipe. The League was more interested in keeping Hestia neutral so they could trade with the megacorps too." She almost spat the word "megacorps," signifying the tremendously powerful corporations in Neutral Space that grew so wealthy and large, they could dominate planetary governments. Indeed, they nearly become states in of themselves. Memories of the conditions they kept her and her family in rankled, made bitter by the failure that drove her from her homeworld.
Felipe smacked his hand on the bar. "So, they could defeat the Coalition and bring revolution to all of Sagittarius!"
She didn't like the look in his eyes. His enthusiasm. Not given what she knew of the League now. "I've learned what the League's idea of revolution and the post-capitalist society is, Felipe, and they are no better than capitalists. Worse in most respects."
Felipe nursed his drink instead of replying. Tia used the time to enjoy another. "So this is how it is, then? You will not relent."
"Not to them. Never." Tia shook her head. "I will not drive the megacorps off of Hestia just to be enslaved by the League's precious 'Society'."
"I see. I wish I could persuade you otherwise." Felipe let out a sigh. A sad look came to his face. "Do you remember Quan?"
A small smile came to Tia's face. "I do, fondly." She left the abrupt change of topic unremarked on. It was always the best way to deal with a dispute between old friends. Old memories and, for this evening, a lot of Thanh Specials.
"I remember that time, before the revolution, when we were in the safehouse in Thyssenbourg…"
11
When Miri returned to her rented room, she did so with added and welcome weight. Aside from the bag of food, mostly fruits and vegetables, and some self-heating dinners, she was carrying a Burleigh & Armstrong pulse pistol in a small-of-back holster and a pair of small Makarov flechette pistols in ankle holsters. It was, perhaps, a bit much, but Miri intended to survive whatever happened. The guns gave her options.
She found a call had come from the Kensington Star's owners, Patterson and Yarborough Transport of New Cornwall, usually called P&Y for short. She sent out a response and soon was face to face with a young, dark-skinned woman with a New Cornish accent. "Ms. Lupa. I am Patricia Okon, Company Security. Thank you for getting back to me." Her tone sounded impatient. Miri had kept her waiting.
"I needed to get food," Miri explained. "I came back as quickly as I could."
"Your report makes for interesting reading," Okon said, her tone tense. "You're positive the attacker was a League ship?"
"I've seen them before, ma'am. It was." Miri considered Okon's body language. Skepticism, a healthy skepticism, was apparent. But no sign yet that she wasn’t trustworthy.
"And you spaced yourself to get away?"
"I did."
Now Okon's suspicions were more noticeable. "Why?" she asked pointedly.
"The crew wasn't resisting, and I had no intention of being taken prisoner," Miri added. "I have a record with the League. They'd have spaced me anyway. Without an EVA suit." After the drugs and beatings and whatever other cruelties State Security came up with to punish me for Lowery.
Okon didn't seem surprised. If she was competent, Miri suspected Okon was already certain Karla Lupa was a legend. But Miri wouldn't be the first spacer to go under an assumed name, especially in neutral space with all of the Coalition (and less frequent League) deserters, ex-pirates, and others with a sordid past. The scrutiny would be on Miri's activities now, not her past. "You're lucky the Tokarev brothers were in the area. Otherwise, you'd be dead."
"I'm well aware of that, Ms. Okon."
"So why didn't we get a distress call?" Okon asked. "Kensington Star had a QET."
"I'm not sure, Ms. Okon. I wasn't on watch when the attack came." Miri thought back to the same attack. "We lost main power, and the ship's drives went down. Captain Lewis called a warning that we were being boarded but told us to stay in quarters. From what I gather, he surrendered almost immediately."
"I suppose there was little more Captain Lewis could do in the circumstances," Okon said. "I am curious as to how you escaped."
"Through maintenance access spaces adjacent to my quarters, after the League sealed us in."
Okon jotted down a note. "Alright. I'll commence an investigation. Please keep yourself available for further interviews, Ms. Lupa. We'll arrange for a ship to come out to Harron for you immediately."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Miri had nothing more to say and allowed Okon to terminate the call. She turned away from the monitor and considered her next action. Her instincts told her to minimize how much she went out. She had enough supplies to do so for several days.
But she'd already been seen by many people. P&Y was going to put her under more scrutiny, and that might attract other attention. The League had its operatives in the neutral worlds, after all, and she had no illusions they hadn't been briefed on Miri Gaon. I
f they had someone in a position to connect Miri Gaon to the existence of Karla Lupa…
That was not a possibility she was willing to risk.
Thankfully, the Coalition had its own intelligence assets in the Trifid Nebula region, and the rest of neutral space. They also had a vested interest in keeping Miri Gaon alive and out of League hands, regardless of her official resignation.
Miri picked an orange from her bag of fruit and retrieved a bowl and a knife from the small efficiency kitchen in her room. She returned to the monitor and activated its connection to the extranet, then went to work peeling the orange while considering the wording of the message she'd send to her CIS contact.
Patricia Okon finished her preliminary report on the suspected loss of the Kensington Star. She upgraded it from "Possible loss" to "Certain." It would not make her employers happy, or at least those responsible for handling the inevitable claims from the families of lost crewmen. Aside from the cost of the ship and cargo, the insurance premiums were going to be a financial hit P&Y could well do without.
Not that this was Okon's job to worry about, and she didn't bother. Her job was to find out what happened.
She wasn't sure of Karla Lupa. The only survivor, and one who had some prior involvement with the League that her record didn't indicate. She just happened to be picked up by the Tokarev brothers, who had their own history with the League?
Okon considered the alternate possibility briefly. Perhaps Karla Lupa worked for the Tokarevs, and this was a false flag operation by the Cyrilgrad pirates, intentionally trying to pin the recent ship disappearances on the League. It might even be more than that. A Coalition Intelligence operation?
Too many possibilities. Not enough solid data.
Either way, Okon submitted the report she had so far, including the interview with Karla Lupa. Then she quit for the night, content she was doing her job.
She might not have been so content if she knew her company's systems were one of many compromised by a third party.
Through the liquid crystal 2D monitors built into his officer's wall, Admiral Hartford was treated to a view as if he were looking out a window. Pluto Base's work continued apace, and they were quickly reaching the point when the operation would commence. Its progress was marked by all the ships showing on his monitor, while the Trifid Nebula was a splendid backdrop to the sight. A quiet, pleased thrill went through Hartford at that prospect.
There was a tone at his door that prompted the Admiral to turn back from the view. "Enter," he called out.
Through the door came Commander Yvette Aristide. The tan-skinned woman from the world of Juares was his liaison with State Security External Operations, that is, the agents of the State that operated outside of the League's current control. "Admiral, there is a complication."
Hartford kept a sigh from forming in his throat. There were complications in any endeavor, he reminded himself. "Describe it."
"Intelligence sources indicate that a crewmember of the Kensington Star escaped our capture of the ship," Aristide said, her accent distinctly Francophone Caribbean. "Our role in the ship's capture has been indicated by the escapee, and an investigation by the owner is underway, with the support of government authorities on New Cornwall and Hatfield."
Hartford frowned at that. "Our Marines were thorough. No life pods were launched from the ship, nor its shuttle. How could someone have escaped?"
"We are still analyzing the situation," said Aristide. "As things stand, my guess would be that we will find the ship short one EVA suit."
Incredulity was Hartford's initial response. "You believe they ejected themselves into space?"
"That is the most likely method, yes. State Security will be investigating to ensure there is no treason among the troops observing the captured crews."
The idea was astonishing. What kind of person would be so desperate to escape that they would take such a risk? Hartford felt impressed. "Have you checked the list of captives against the known roster of the ship?"
"I have someone already on that," she said. "I felt it necessary to speak to you immediately, however."
"Yes, for good cause." Hartford returned to his seat and slipped deep into thought. There must be a way to turn this to his advantage. "At this juncture, discovery would mean disaster. We’ve put too many resources into this operation to scrub it. We’ll have to adjust." He folded his hands together and set his index fingers against his chin. "It appears we may need to arrange to eliminate the survivor."
"Would that not raise suspicions?" Aristide asked, her curiosity evident.
"Potentially, but perhaps not," said Hartford. "The important thing is to discredit the escapee. Make their escape seem collusion, not fortune. The disappearance can be made to look like a guilty pirate slipping away." He thought of something. "Do we know who rescued the survivor?"
"Our best assets attribute it to the Tokarevs of Cyrilgrad."
Hartford chuckled. "Ah, excellent. Their anti-Social attitudes are well known to this sector. It shouldn't be hard to make it look like this is an endeavor to discredit us. There are worlds that would prefer that to the truth."
"I'll make the arrangements with Commander Li."
"Excellent. And interview the Kensington Star crew to find out what you can about the escapee. I’ll authorize permission for them to be given extra rations for cooperation. I must know more about this person. They sound quite formidable."
"Yes, sir. Permission to be dismissed?"
"Granted."
She left, leaving Hartford to his thoughts. It was, all things told, an unwelcome complication, but one he would adjust to. His plan was still intact, and his chance of success nearly assured.
Just before he was ready to depart his office, a message came in from Aristide. It was in two parts, marked high priority.
The first was an additional tidbit from the investigation by the owning company: their internal security division had just authorized a corporate craft to depart New Cornwall for the planet Harron. Hartford was familiar with the detestable place. He also knew it was reasonably close to the system where they intercepted the Kensington Star. He would have to speak to his intelligence assets and ensure they investigated.
He held that thought upon review of the second part: a crew personnel file from Kensington Star. "Karla Lupa" was a cargo hand with a background that, the more he looked at it, the more he was certain was a legend. A cover identity.
Curious. Very curious indeed. Someone using a legend with such a fear of capture by the League that she was willing to risk dying alone in the void? That made identifying her all the more important. Hartford relayed her geneprint to the database for State Security.
When he got the result, his curiosity was gone—replaced by determination, even need.
There would be no half measures. Hartford would insist that External Security throw everything into this to make sure they captured the survivor.
It is like the universe itself is teasing me, he pondered, looking at the geneprint match in the database and the attached profile. Another operation put in jeopardy by that woman. This time… this time I will have her. I will not let her ruin my plans a second time!
12
Henry was having his morning coffee at the hangar access door when Piper, Brigitte, and Cera came tottering back to the ship. "A fun night, ladies?" he asked, his voice a little louder than usual.
They gave him a much-deserved death glare.
"We're not due anywhere, so you'll have a chance to sleep it off."
"Wanker's enjoyin' this," Cera grumbled under her breath as they went by at the speed and gait of a particularly lethargic zombie.
Henry had expected the three to be out all night, getting up to the kind of thing spacers usually did when in port. He was more surprised to see Tia come in, looking like death warmed over. "You didn't join them, did you?" he asked, truly curious at the prospect. Tia usually didn't go for the port call girls' night out that Cera typically organized.
<
br /> "An old friend met me. We had things to catch up on," she answered and rubbed at her eyes. "I lost count of how much Thanh with Scotch I had."
Henry made an understanding "Ahhh" sound. "Yeah, that stuff can catch up on you. Have any actual blood left in your bloodstream, or are you combustible now?"
"Hell if I know," Tia grumbled.
Henry almost asked if she was okay. It was clear she had other things on her mind than the hangover from too much alcohol. "Well, go get rehydrated. We don't have any calls for pickups yet, so there's no need to rush out."
"Planned on it."
She went on. Content everyone was back, Henry headed toward the ship. He finished the last of the coffee and felt the remaining mental cobwebs of sleep finally clear from his mind. Aside from the prospect of Vitorino having another cargo for them, Pieter wanted the rest of the day to complete an inspection of their Lawrence drive, and Henry had no reason to deny him. He instead considered getting with Felix and Yanik to inspect the Shadow Wolf's weapon systems.
He'd just about gotten to the ramp for the mid starboard cargo hold when Felix came rushing from the other starboard ramp, a frightened look on his face.
"Felix! Felix, what is it?" Henry called out, having to run to catch up before Felix got to the door. "What's wrong?"
