by David Weber
And with that aid, the Fury surpassed herself. She wove her web with consummate skill, ensnaring both her guests and extending a tendril of herself to Alicia, as well. It was an eerie sensation, even for one who had become accustomed to the bizarre, for Alicia inhabited three worlds at once. She saw once through her own senses, again through Megarea’s internal sensors, and last of all, she shared her guests’ illusion. She sat with them at supper, chatting with Megarea’s other selves while the AI provided their conversation and Tisiphone gave them flesh, even as she sat alone with them at the table. It was almost terrifying, for it wasn’t what the Fury had done to Lieutenant Giolitti. There would be no hazed memories or implanted suggestions. This was real. Backed by the AI’s enormous power, Tisiphone took them all one step out of phase with the universe and made her reality theirs.
Nor was that all she did. There was no rush, and she plumbed Lewis Fuchien’s memories to their depths, filing away every scrap of a fact which might be of use. By supper’s end, they knew everything he did, and the merchant was convinced Captain Mainwaring’s crew was perfect for his needs.
The meal ended, and the entire crew—except Tanner— “excused” itself to return to duty. Fuchien lifted his brandy and sipped appreciatively.
“Well, Captain Mainwaring, you and your people have not only met my standards but far exceeded my hopes. I believe we can do business.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.” Alicia sat back with her own brandy and smiled, then gestured at the empty chair which held her purser’s ghost. “In that case, why don’t you and I sit back while Ruth and Sondra do battle?”
“An excellent idea, Captain.” Fuchien beamed. “Simply excellent.”
Dewent dwindled in the galley view screen as Megarea’s velocity mounted, and Alicia watched it while she tried to define her own emotions. A complex broth of anticipation, hunger, and fear—fear that she might yet blow her chance—simmered within her, and over it all lay a haze of excitement as she looked ahead to Wyvern, mingled with relief at leaving Dewent astern.
She still didn’t like Fuchien, but neither did she dislike him as much as she had expected. He was as ambitious and credit-hungry as Jacoby, but without the other’s outright evil. He knew of his associate’s drug deals yet took no part in them, and while he suspected his Wyvern contact of fencing goods for the pirates terrorizing the sector, he himself had had no direct dealings with them. He disapproved of them, in a depressingly mild sort of way, yet it was unrealistic to expect more from him. He was a Dewentan, and servicing “outlaws” was what Dewent did. By his own lights, Lewis Fuchien was an admirable and honest businessman, and Alicia could almost understand that.
That was one reason she was glad to leave, for she didn’t want to understand it. On a more pragmatic level, their departure meant her and her “crew’s” deception only had to stand up for one last planet. Only one, and then she didn’t care who knew. Fleet was welcome to pursue her. Indeed, she would welcome their pursuit if her flight could lead them to the pirates.
She leaned her elbows on the edge of the console, propping her chin in her hands and brooding down on the rapidly diminishing image, and let her mind reach out ahead. Wyvern. The planet Wyvern and a man named Oscar Quintana, Lieutenant Commander Defiant. Wyvern had a peculiar aristocracy, with no use for titles like “baron” or “count.” Their ancestors had been naval officers—little more than freebooter refuse from the centuries-past League Wars, perhaps, but naval officers— and the ship name appended to Quintana’s tide indicated that he sprang from one of the founding noble houses. Peculiar as it might sound to off-world ears, he’d be a powerful man, probably a proud and dangerous one, and it behooved her to approach him with caution.
“You two are in a bloodthirsty mood,” Alicia observed. “Or are you just worried that I’m getting ready to funk out?”
“Sure.” Alicia stood and yawned, stretching the tension from her shoulders and grateful to be distracted from her moodiness. “As a matter of fact, I’m not that worried over Quintana. If he’s what we think he is, I hereby give you both carte blanche for anything we have to do to him.”
“Oh, yean? Harsh is okay with me, but remember— even if he’s a direct link, we still need to get to the next step. I’m afraid that may limit what we can do to him. I mean, we couldn’t even squash that slime Jacoby.”
“I know that tone,” she said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“You fill me with dread—and you’re stalling.”
“One of you had better trot it out, ladies!”
“Of course I do,” Alicia said, then paused. “Did you horrid creatures put something into it? You didn’t hit him with a virus, did you?”
“Quit stalling! What did you do?!”
“Besides the information on his distribution network?”
“What kind of extraction program?”
“A credit transfer? You mean you robbed him?”
“Of course you can rob a thief!” Alicia closed her eyes and flopped back into her chair. “I thought you were supposed to have my value system!”
“I just bet you are,” Alicia muttered, running her fingers through her hair. “All right, how much did you hit him for?”
“All of what?”
“You—“ Alicia gurgled to a stop, and pregnant silence hovered in her stunned mind. But then her closed eyes popped open as panic cut through her shock. “Good God Almighty, Megarea! What do you think he’s going to do when he figures out we robbed him?! We can’t afford that kind of—“
“How do you know?! Damn it, who else is he going to suspect?!”
“You mean—?”
“Oh, Lord!” Alicia moaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “I never should have inflicted you two on an unsuspecting galaxy! Just where—if I dare ask—will this wandering program finally end its criminal days?”
“Thaarvlhd?” Alicia repeated blankly. Then, “Thaarvlhd?! My God, that’s the Quarn Hegemony’s central banking hub for this sector! Damn it, the Quarn take money seriously, Megarea! Violating Thaarvlhd’s banking laws isn’t a harmless little prank like murder!”
“Documentation?”
“My prints?!” Alicia yelped. “You opened an account in my name?!”
“Sweet Suffering Jesus!” Alicia never knew exactly how long she sat there, staring at nothing, but then a thought occurred to her. “Uh, Megarea.”
“I’m not condoning what you’ve done — not condemning it either, you understand, or at least not yet — but I was wondering. . . . Just how much did you two rip him off for?”
“A rough estimate will do,” Alicia said in a fascinated tone.
“Two hun — “Alicia closed her mouth with a snap. Then she began to giggle — giggles that gave way to howls of laughter. She couldn’t help herself. She leaned forward, hugging her ribs and laughing till her chest hurt and her eyes teared. Laughing as she had not laughed in months, with pure, devilish delight as she pictured ultra-civilized Edward Jacoby’s reaction. And she’d thought they couldn’t hurt him! Dear God, he wouldn’t have a pot to piss in, and he’d never even know who’d done it!
She pummelled the deck with her feet, wailing with laughter, until she could get control of herself again, then straightened slowly, gasping for breath and mopping her eyes.
Tisiphone asked mildly, and Alicia giggled again.
“Stop that!” she said unsteadily. “Don’t you dare set me off again! Oh. Oh, my! He is going to be upset, isn’t he?”
“Damn straight it did!” Alicia shook herself, then straightened sternly. “Don’t you two think you can get away with something like this again—not without checking with me first, anyway! But just this once, I think I’ll forgive you.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The assembled officers rose as Rachel Shu followed Howell into the briefing room. More than one set of eyes were a bit apprehensive, for the intelligence officer had just returned from meeting Control’s latest messenger, and Howell’s people were only too well aware of the casualties they’d taken on Ringbolt.
Howell took his place at the head of the table and watched his subordinates sit, then nodded to Shu.
“All right, Commander. Let’s hear it.”
“Yes, sir.” Shu cleared her throat, set a notepad on the table, and keyed the tiny screen alive. “First, Control sends us all a well done on the Ringbolt operation.” Breath sighed out around the table, and Howell smiled wryly. “He regrets our losses, but under the circumstances, he understands why they were so high, and it appears both our primary and secondary missions were complete successes.”
She paused, and Howell listened to a soft murmur of pleasure walk around the room. How many of those officers, he wondered, ever really spent a few hours thinking about what they’d done? Not many—perhaps none. He certainly tried to avoid the memories, though it was growing harder. Yet it was often that way. There were things he’d done in the service of the Crown which he tried just as hard never to remember. This wasn’t that much different, he told himself, and pretended that he didn’t know he lied.
Of course, much of their pleasure stemmed from the fact that they’d expected to be reamed. A pat on the back always felt better when one had anticipated a rap in the mouth. That much was the same as in the Fleet.
He let the murmurs run on a moment longer, then tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. Silence fell once more, and he nodded to Shu.
“Preliminary evaluation of the captured data,” the commander continued, keying the advance to display the next screen as she picked up her report again, “indicates we probably secured more from Ringbolt than we would have from Elysium, and our financial backers are delighted. Control asked me to tell you all that their support has firmed up very nicely once more, and that most of them seem convinced we know what we’re doing after all.
“On another front, the Ringbolt attack has apparently produced the desired effect in the Senate and Ministry. Control didn’t want to come right out and say so, but he seems confident that ONI and Marine Intelligence on Old Earth are coming to precisely the conclusions we want, and pressure from the Senate is growing every day. Best of all, public opinion here in the sector itself is shaping up very nicely. ‘Panic’ might be putting it too strongly, but there’s widespread anxiety and an increasing perception that the imperial government is powerless to stop us.”
Shu touched the advance key again and allowed herself a small frown.
“We do have one unanticipated complication. Apparently, one of the people killed on Ringbolt was Simon Monkoto’s brother Arlen.” Howell sat a bit straighter and saw others do the same at mention of that name. Shu saw it, too, and her smile was wintry. “We all know Monkoto’s reputation, but his outfit isn’t up to our weight even if he knew where to find us. The problem is that he’s calling in a lot of debts from his colleagues, and most of them are angry enough over Ringbolt to throw in with him even if they didn’t owe him. Among them, they may be able to assemble an independent force that is a threat, and because they’re independents, Control’s ability to track them will be much lower than for the regular El Grecan Navy. On the other hand, they are independents. Their fleets represent their working capital, and they can’t tie them up indefinitely on this kind of altruistic operation.”
“What’s the chance of El Greco picking up the tab?” Alexsov asked.
“Unknown. Mercenaries of Monkoto’s caliber normally don’t come cheap, but these aren’t normal circumstances. I don’t now about the others, but the Maniacs’ll probably settle for basic expenses with no profit margin, and that could make them extremely attractive to El Greco. Still, that might work in our favor. If they hire on with El Greco, the El Grecans will tie them into a comprehensive strategy. Under normal circumstances, that would make them even more dangerous; as it is, they’d simply be easier to watch—and avoid—given the joint planning between the Empire and the El Grecans.”
Alexsov nodded thoughtfully, and Shu shrugged.
&nbs
p; “Control isn’t too concerned about them at present. As I say, they’d have to find us before they could hurt us, even if they managed to assemble enough firepower to come after us. It’s unlikely they can do that, but Control isn’t taking any chances. He wants us to relocate to the AR-Twelve site as soon as possible to get us further away from El Greco.”
“Makes sense,” Howell agreed. “And it sounds like we’re in pretty good shape, if Monkoto is Control’s worst worry.”
“He is and he isn’t, sir,” Shu said. “Control’s arranging recruitment to make good our Ringbolt losses, and he’s managed to scare up two new BCs to replace Poltava.” Howell grunted. Crewing two more battle-cruisers might stretch them thin, but the firepower would be well worth the inconvenience.
“In the meantime, though, Control himself is going to have to stay close to Soissons, because that’s the most delicate problem area just now. In particular, McIlheny seems to be getting closer than we’d like. According to Control’s courier, he’s currently promising some significant report to Admiral Gomez and Governor Treadwell. Control couldn’t hold the dispatch boat, so we don’t know what sort of report, but he informs me that he’s prepared to deal with it, whatever it is. Assuming he’s right—and he usually is—our only other local concern is Admiral Gomez. She’s backed off just a bit and endorsed Treadwell’s request for heavier units, which may divert some of the pressure for her relief.” Shu shrugged again. “If so, we’ll simply have to proceed with the backup plan and eliminate her. We’re looking at several options for that, but Control is leaning towards passing us her itinerary. She’s taken to traveling about in Antietam with minimal escorts in the interest of speed; if he can pass us her schedule, we might be able to intercept and take her out. In many ways, that would be the ideal solution, given her popularity with the Fleet. It would not only get rid of her but turn her into a martyr and provide yet another reason for Fleet to go after the nasty pirates.”
