Thelma shrugged. “Maybe. But I accept that we’re not the best placed people to investigate that aspect of the case. Galactic Justice, including Covert Ops, has the resources.”
“Max locked me up because he doesn’t trust Covert Ops. Are you really prepared to trust normal channels with this information?” The cyborg faced Max. “I get your dilemma. If you don’t immediately pass this information on, you could feed accusations that you attempted to cover up Hwicce’s involvement. But who do you trust, and can you trust their associates?”
Maybe Carl deliberately meant to remind them that one of Sheriff Pang’s deputies was dirty. There could be, would be, others.
“Aubree,” Thelma said. “Aubree Tennyson is the Galactic Justice agent on Zephyr. She was the one who…” She glanced at Carl. “It was through her that we learned of the bunyaphi being in the Saloon Sector. We would have heard anyway. The Biting Teeth and Swooping Hawk both called in at the Deadstar Diner.”
“You can keep secrets from me,” Carl said. “Your choice. But what do you know about Agent Tennyson? Do you know why she was dumped out here?”
“No.”
“I don’t hack the Galactic Justice database,” Lon added to Thelma’s answer. “It’s too well protected.”
Max groaned.
Carl seemed to ignore Lon’s admission that it wasn’t legality, but difficulty, that determined the AI’s hacking targets. “Aubree Tennyson executed her last boss. The man was trafficking in saurelles, the ones who showed no creativity, and hence, were exiled from their clans. There was a network trading them as slaves. Aubree could have taken her boss in alive, but there was sufficient wriggle room in his ‘resisting arrest’ for her to survive the fallout from her actions.”
“Exiled to the frontier,” Thelma said.
“Some in Galactic Justice sympathized with her.” Carl’s stern tone made it clear he wasn’t one of them. “I don’t approve of vigilante justice.”
Max nodded. He held the same line against vigilantism.
Carl relaxed a fraction. “If you bring Aubree into this, you risk tainting the case with her reputation.”
“I wasn’t thinking of including Aubree.” Max had heard some of the rumors that swirled around Aubree.
“It’s a judgement call,” Lon said. “The longer we wait, the more bunyaphi who’ll be mutilated and fused with the mech-mods.”
“They volunteered,” Max said.
Carl pushed back from the table. “They did.”
“But Max protects people from their own stupidity all the time.” Thelma smiled at him faintly.
He hoped he could live up to her faith in him.
Lon stayed focused and presented the opposing argument. “Rushing in to save the bunyaphi volunteers risks warning the person or group orchestrating this conspiracy and gives them a chance to hide. Who knows what their next attempt would be, and who might be hurt by it.”
“I don’t think there’s any question, not really, that we must report the existence of the Xlokk base and the mech-mods now,” Max said. “We all agree with Lon’s analysis of the data. What we’re debating is who to trust, and that’s my call as sheriff.”
Thelma nodded.
Carl waited with inhuman stillness.
“This plot was put into operation before the comet helices appeared,” Max said slowly. “Once they occurred, Keele, and whoever’s using him, might have hoped the Space Rodeo and its attendant chaos would distract me, but they couldn’t have planned for it. Which means they didn’t plan for the influx of Navy vessels.”
Thelma guessed what he intended. “Max, Galactic Justice will hate you.” It was an observation, not an objection.
“I can’t trust that Galactic Justice, particularly in this region of space, aren’t compromised.” Max spelled out his rationale for Carl more than for Thelma or Lon. “I’m far from claiming that the Navy is apolitical.”
Lon snorted, an interesting noise for a spaceship AI.
“But the conspiracy didn’t focus on getting its people into key positions in the Navy to manage the mech-mods and bunyaphi situation,” Max concluded. “We discovered the Xlokk base in time to prevent the conspiracy from hatching its horrors. But the investigation has to be thorough and independent. In the current circumstances, I’m inclined to trust it to the Navy. Any objections?” He looked at Carl.
The Covert Ops agent leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Max continued quietly. “There is a personal cost for each of us. I’ll have to declare my connection to Hwicce, given the labels on the mech-mods.”
“The false labels,” Thelma corrected quickly. “The Star Marines kept the secret of your dad’s identity before.”
“It’ll probably come out this time. I didn’t expect to hide it forever. But you’ll be dating the President’s secret son.”
She laughed.
It reassured him, especially when she walked around the table to sit on his lap and kiss him.
But Carl’s expression was cold.
“I’m sorry,” Max said to him. “Telling the Navy will out you as a Covert Ops agent. I can’t let them believe you’re just a mercenary turned deputy. However, if you avoid going on their vessels, you should be able to keep your augmentation private.”
“I’m fine with being who I am, and the Navy learning it.”
Max jerked his head in acknowledgement.
Thelma stayed on his lap. It wasn’t protocol for a meeting, a deputy cuddling with the sheriff, but the Lonesome was also their home.
“Lon?” Max asked.
The AI responded immediately. “Like you, I was prepared for my identity to be revealed one day. The Navy should know who analyzed the Xlokk data and be able to discuss it with me. Keeping my presence on the Lonesome secret is less important to me than stopping the nightmare of the mech-mods and whoever is behind it.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Max said. He ran a hand along Thelma’s arm, aware that they were about to change their lives. “Lon, can you comm an admiral for me?”
Chapter 9
“Is it creepy that I’m just standing here watching you?” Max stood against the wall of the training ring on the Lonesome, his own workout complete.
In the middle of the floor, Thelma’s aerobic exercise, her dance class, was winding down. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Do you think I usually shake my booty this much?” She swished a little extra hip sway for emphasis.
“I didn’t think. Just appreciated it.” He pushed away from the wall.
“Good answer.” She ended the dance session with its viewscreen instructor. The music pumping through the speakers cut off. “Shower?”
“I was waiting for you.”
In two hours, the Navy would launch their assault on the Xlokk base.
For Max the hardest part of handing off the investigation to the Navy had been accepting his role on the sidelines. The Navy itself had been eager to be convinced to act.
If Xlokk had been a habitable planet, the Navy couldn’t have gotten involved. Interplanetary affairs were the domain of Galactic Justice. However, Xlokk being classified as uninhabitable (even if it currently hosted an illegal base) opened a loophole. Evidence of the presence of illegal weapons of war, that is, the mech-mods, reinforced the loophole. Finally, the Navy could be called in, at the Interstellar Sheriff’s discretion, if an incident off the starlanes required more force than a sheriff commanded. This was meant to address the need for naval support in response to banditry, but Max could twist it to this purpose.
As far as the Lonesome knew, the Navy was in position to act, and no one in Covert Ops was any the wiser.
Carl would take a lot of heat for that. His superiors would loathe being blindsided by events on Xlokk, especially when the Navy crowed about taking the lead. That the Covert Ops agent had maintained silence spoke for his personal integrity.
Max was adjusting his view of the man.
It hadn’t been an easy four days.
The Navy had scrutinized Lon’s report and the underlying data. They’d questioned Max and Carl, and consulted with Max. At the end of the process, their decision was rational, justified, but not without cost.
They chose to wait for the Ripping Claw’s scheduled visit to the Xlokk base and its departure. According to the data Carl had copied, the Su clan would confirm the effectiveness of the eleven mech-mod test subjects, and deposit a dozen more drivers. The first eleven active mech-mods would remain at the Xlokk base, inside the trampship for monitoring, but would board the Ripping Claw when it returned to deposit the next dozen volunteers in five days.
Rushing to attack the base before the Ripping Claw’s arrival risked the Navy personnel involved, especially the Star Marine units. It also failed to allow sufficient time for Naval Intelligence to subvert the base’s comms security and hide the fact that control of the base had changed hands. If they managed that, then they won more time for the investigation to zero in on those involved. Plus, they’d maintain the advantage of surprise when they picked up the other players involved.
For instance, the Ripping Claw. No one was quite sure what defenses a civilian ship capable of jumping through a perilous wormhole might contain.
It had been Thelma’s suggestion that the Navy acquire that information via scanning the two bunyaphi spaceships in the Saloon Sector who weren’t on the high alert status that the Ripping Claw likely was.
The cost of the Navy’s decision to delay their attack was borne by the eleven initial bunyaphi test subjects, none of whom would be saved from mech-mod fusion, as well as by however many of the next dozen were mutilated as the first stage of fusion before the Navy attacked.
It would be a rare battle for the Star Marines involved. With mech-mods banned, they were a threat that the Star Marines seldom, if ever, encountered.
The Navy had to take the base, the trampship, and shut down transmissions without triggering an emergency alert. On the latter endeavor, they consulted with Lon.
In fact, as they counted down to the Star Marine’s assault on the Xlokk base, it was Lon alone who remained involved. He would be the first non-Navy person permitted access to the data being captured by the Navy vessels stealthed and in position in Xlokk space, as well as the frigate tracking the Ripping Claw.
The Lonesome was standing by out of Xlokk space, outside the hot zone.
Learning how it felt to send someone else into danger while you stayed safe was an experience Max would rather have foregone. The problem was that he was sidelined, but not out of the game. He couldn’t put aside the mystery of who was behind the conspiracy and get on with his ordinary sheriff duties. The Navy wanted his input. But he didn’t have any say in how the investigation proceeded.
After their shared gym time, he didn’t actually shower with Thelma. The bathroom was too small and they were both distracted. Their mutual pretense that they weren’t on edge with their observer status couldn’t stretch far enough to put either in the mood to fool around.
They ate a late dinner, instead. Thelma made gumbo; a lot of it. The spicy dish tasted as wonderful as it smelled and Max took a second serving.
“I should offer some to Carl,” Thelma said.
Max had expected the comment. In fact, she’d held out longer than he’d anticipated. “He’s happy eating goop. He’s a Covert Ops agent. An ally.” Her smile acknowledged how much of a concession that was from him. “Adding Reynard to the Lonesome family is surely enough of a challenge for you.”
She wrinkled her nose.
He was half teasing, and wholly serious. He’d accepted that Reynard was part of the team, but the AI felt alien to him in a way Lon and Harry never had. Perhaps part of Max couldn’t get past Reynard’s initial abduction of Thelma. And it wasn’t as if the AI had the social skills, let alone any charm, with which to take the initiative and move their relationship to solider ground.
“Reynard is back on his own ship.” Thelma finished her bowl of gumbo and sighed. “We’re doing our best, but Reynard and I aren’t as effective as you and Lon. The number of incidents in the territory is increasing.”
“You’re doing more than I should ever ask of you. You’re shouldering my job.”
“Hardly.”
He caught her wrist, held her gaze. “Thank you.”
The tension at the corners of her mouth relaxed. She smiled at him. “I’d do more than wrangle speeding couriers for you.” She was underselling the issues she and Reynard were attempting to pre-empt. And where they missed that chance, they were sending in people to mop up the trouble; from Navy reservists to cranky asteroid miners having to lose digging days to rescue stranded spaceships and the idiot dudes who’d gone off the starlanes.
Max lifted her wrist to his mouth and kissed the soft skin at her pulse point. It was the sort of delicate caress that melted his lover. He released her gently, satisfied by her happy sigh. “Once Carl has reported to the Anubis, he’ll be able to take on more of the work.”
“Unless Covert Ops recalls him.” Her frown was back.
Lon intervened. “Unlikely. Carl has successfully infiltrated the Lonesome and has the only inside line to the Navy’s investigation into the mech-mods conspiracy. Carl will be staying. I’ve added a fridge to the public lounge’s kitchen and filled it with fresh fruit and vegetables.”
“You’re both mother hens,” Max muttered.
“I respect Carl’s decision to maintain a separate space on the Lonesome,” Lon said, on his dignity.
Carl had been offered Thelma’s old cabin on the main deck, but had chosen to remain in a holding cell with use of the public kitchen and lounge, instead. However, the internal hatch to it now remained open. Carl had stated, with truth, that he had more space to himself there than if he joined them on the main deck, and that he preferred his privacy.
The latter statement might be true, but Carl was also giving Max and Thelma their privacy.
Max approved.
Thelma preferred the arrangement, too, since it meant Harry was free to visit with them as normal. However, she seemed to feel guilty that Carl chose to remain in his former prison. Out of that guilt sprang the need to feed him.
Abandoning the attempt for the moment, she used the food dispenser to produce dessert, a chocolate mousse, to which she added fresh strawberries.
The Navy weren’t providing the Lonesome with a real-time data stream of the mission to capture the Xlokk base, which meant that the most productive use of Max and Thelma’s time was food, sleep and trying to keep up with the to-do list generated by Reynard running Lon’s predictive algorithms.
Max ate his mousse before retreating to his office to comms Owen and run through a late night check of the state of affairs at the Sheriff’s Office. The receptionist was sleeping in the office these days. There were less in-person complaints coming in since the attack on Thelma and Owen. It wasn’t necessarily the foiled assassination attempt that put off the dudes, but rather the yprr protection squad’s aggressive attitude. Suddenly a speeding ticket or being price gouged struck dudes as a minor issue to grumble about, and most definitely not to the Sheriff’s Office. Word had gotten around, as it did among spacers.
For Zephyr and its spacedock, that was good news. Troublemakers were giving the angry yprr family’s home base a wide berth.
Thelma put her cup of mint tea to the side of the screen on her desk. There was a new message from Reynard. She started a comms call. “What’s up?”
With Lon busy with the mech-mod business, Reynard was in charge of gathering and analyzing the data for the territory. It meant that he was first with the news.
“The Zephyr Police Department has identified the two men who attacked you on the spacedock. They are both former Star Marines.”
“Huh?”
“The police have only just released this information,” Reynard said. “Which I judge to believe is delayed. The DNA for Star Marines must be on a database that is consulted in authorized identification searches.”
“Military databases are included,” Thelma confirmed. “Then again, Owen and I weren’t hurt, so maybe the priority for identifying the men was lowered. The men must have refused to answer questions.”
“So the police report indicates.”
She took a cautious sip of tea. “Do they have any connection to Elliot Keele?”
“None confirmed, but they have been sighted on Tornado in the past.” Tornado being the mercenary and weapons trading planet in Sheriff Pang’s territory.
Having learned that the monitoring system for the old frontier line between the Reclamation and Saloon Sectors was still in place, she could guess why Tornado had been encouraged as the site for trading in violence. The ships traveling to and from it from the rest of the Federation could be recorded.
“Owen is updating Max on the Zephyr police investigation as we speak.”
“Lon!” Reynard was obviously happy to have the other AI join their conversation.
Thelma was, too. She’d gotten accustomed to being snug and happy on the Lonesome, not scattered and preoccupied. Worried.
“We’re all waiting for the Navy to report on their Xlokk base mission,” Lon said.
“I’m not,” Reynard muttered. But when Lon continued, even the recalcitrant AI was intrigued, or at least, stayed politely silent.
“There is a possible misapprehension Thelma spoke of at dinner that we should address, the three of us. Max, too, but less urgently. Ahem. When I proposed testing my predictive algorithms against trouble in Max’s territory, I anticipated time and resources to step back from them. Instead, we’ve pushed them hard to prevent trouble, firstly as the Space Rodeo brought extra people and trouble to the Saloon Sector, and now, with primary attention having to be given to the mech-mods conspiracy.
“It may be that forcing the algorithms has been beneficial in that it brought the inevitable result of their use to the forefront. I haven’t had time to analyze the data. It is not a priority. However, I suspect that use of my predictive algorithms to manage the territory was always going to hit a wall. Their effectiveness has to be calibrated over time. We began too strongly, pushed unrelentingly, and now the fundamental constant of the universe, that is, entropy, has snapped back.”
Space Rodeo Page 12
