“Whatever it was,” said Haid, “it hit hard.”
“Is there any way to tell how long ago it happened?” asked Cane.
“My guess would be sometime in the last six weeks,” said Kajic. “But probably no earlier than a month.”
“Agreed,” added the Box. “The rubble the probe encountered in the orbit of the moon is clearly ejecta from the impact that has not had time to disperse; that makes the impact fairly recent. But the crater floor is no longer molten, indicating that some time has passed. Between four and five weeks ago is my estimate.”
“Any idea what it might have been?” asked Haid.
“At this point, no,” the Box said. “But my intuition tells me it was most likely a ship of some description. It would have been much easier to cause a ship to crash than to give an asteroid the vector required to make it impact in such a way.”
“Is it worth looking for survivors?” asked Roche.
“No.” The Box sent an icon darting into the view, pointing out details Roche had missed. “Here you can see the fallen cable of the orbital docking facility; this fragment here corresponds to part of the base itself. You can also see how a major fracture line runs directly through the site of the main installation. This last detail must surely have been fortuitous—no one could have predicted exactly how the moon would fault—but I doubt that anyone would have survived the impact alone, anyway. The seismic energy released must have been tremendous.” The icon disappeared. “It would have been over in seconds. A very effective blow against the Armada presence in this system—both in terms of resources and morale.”
“It was deliberate, then,” Haid said. “It couldn’t have been an accident—a coincidence?”
“Possible,” said the Box. “But unlikely.”
Roche listened to the Box with a growing sense of unreality. The destruction of an entire Armada refueling base was still something she could hardly believe possible—even though the scant reports COE Intelligence had received from the system had intimated far worse. And now she was seeing it.
The destruction of Palasian System was no longer a morsel of information to gain leverage with COE Intelligence; it had actually happened.
“We don’t have any other suspects,” said Haid.
“Three hundred,” Roche replied. “Plus whoever was on the ship when it crashed—if it was a ship, of course.”
“Either way, that’s a lot of dead people,” said Haid grimly.
“Whether there was one person or a thousand, the actual number is irrelevant,” said Cane. “The only thing of importance to the clone warrior was to ensure that no one was left alive.” He glanced over at Roche. “Assuming, of course, we have correctly interpreted my sibling’s motives.”
Roche studied Cane through the ghost image of the planet in her artificial eye. “Even more important than the base’s strategic value?”
He paused before answering, his features contorted as though he was fighting conflicting emotions.
“Yes,” he said finally, then turned from Roche back to the screen. “The primary objective would have been to destroy as many people as possible as efficiently as possible. The drive for efficiency would have necessitated an early strike against this base, yes, but if it had been automated, that need would have been reduced. Where there are no people to command them, machines can be inefficient in battle.”
“So he would have attacked Aro Spaceport first?” Roche asked.
“Yes, had the refueling base been uninhabited.” Another pause. “I’m sorry,” he said, again facing her. “I do not like thinking this way. It is too easy for me.”
Roche nodded, even though she didn’t truly understand how his mind worked and therefore could not empathize with his feelings. When he used his genetically modified abilities, he was terrifying to watch. That he had not used them against her was something for which she’d be forever grateful—and therein, she thought, lay the paradox. Of the two Sol clone warriors at large in the Commonwealth, only one was obeying its natural instincts. Cane was not. But why?
Because he doesn’t want to. That was the only answer she could supply. He had said as much himself. And if the part of him that wanted to kill indiscriminately had been subsumed by the part of him that didn’t—which perhaps not even the Sol geneticists could have suppressed entirely—then she hoped it stayed that way. Especially now that she had seen what he could have done.
She rubbed her eyes, breaking the link and killing the image of the planet in her left eye. Fatigue, which she had successfully kept at bay since her abrupt awakening, was numbing her limbs and pressing at the backs of her eyes.
She was sufficiently aware of her inner feelings, however, to suspect that something more than fatigue was at work.
“The base is dead,” she said, letting the issue slip for the moment. “The how and the why can wait until later. Uri, set course for the Voloras flyby and get us on the way to Jagabis. I want to see what’s left of Aro Spaceport before we start making any decisions.”
“The probe will be there in approximately ten hours,” said Kajic. “We’ll be past Voloras in four, and well on our way by the time data arrives.”
“Good. I’ll leave that side of things to you and the Box. As long as I’m kept informed, the two of you can run the ship for a while.”
“Where will you be?” asked Kajic.
“In my room, catching up on some sleep.” To the others on the bridge, she added, “ I suggest you do the same. In thirteen hours we’ll have much more data on our hands than we have now, and we’ll need to be alert to deal with it.”
“Make sure she does, Cane,” said Roche. “I know you probably won’t need to rest, but she does.”
Cane nodded.
“That goes for you too, Ameidio.”
“I’ll do so as soon as I’ve finished here,” said Haid, his hands busy over a console.
“Okay,” Roche said. “Unless something happens, we’ll meet back here in twelve hours.”
She stood and led Maii over to Cane. The reave’s hands briefly linked Roche with Cane, and in that instant Roche received a mental flash of Cane’s mind. The impression was short-lived, and carried with it no actual thoughts, but it left her with the impression of rapid motion. Even after the contact had been broken, she couldn’t shake a mental image of a gyroscope spinning, perpetually on the verge of toppling over but never quite doing so.
“Wait,” said Kajic as she started to leave. “I’m picking up another transmission.”
Roche continued toward the exit. “I doubt we’ll learn anything new,” she said. “Unless we work out the language—”
“It’s not from Jagabis, this time,” Kajic said. Roche stopped and faced Kajic’s flickering image. “We’re picking up the fringes of a tightbeam, probably reflected off the source of the first transmission. Whoever’s sending this one must be doing the best they can with a fairly low-tech outfit. Hang on—we’ll see if we can decode it.”
“It’s not in cipher,” said the Box. “It is a standard text message. No voice, no images.”
“Display it,” said Roche, curious despite her exhaustion.
The view of Hintubet faded from the main screen. Now in its place were several lines of text:
I DO NOT RUN FROM YOU,
BUT NEITHER WILL I RUN TO YOU.
I DO NOT REQUIRE YOUR AID.
WHEN OR IF I DO NEED ANYTHING THAT YOU POSSESS,
I WILL TAKE IT.
YOU WILL NOT STOP ME.
I AM NOT YOURS TO COMMAND.
Roche read it once, then again. “That’s it?” she asked after a third and final reading.
“The same message is repeated twice,” said the Box.
&nb
sp; “And it’s not encrypted?”
“No.”
“But it was sent on a tightbeam.”
“Yes.”
“Then that tells us something. I’ll bet the reason we’re picking up the fringes of the beam is because it’s been through a number of relays to prevent triangulation of the source. Whoever sent it was less concerned about the contents of the message than keeping their location a secret.”
Haid nodded. “That would make sense.”
“And judging by the content, I’d say there’s only one person who could’ve sent it.”
“My sibling,” said Cane, meeting her accusatory stare.
Roche nodded slowly. “He’s alive.”
“And kicking,” said Haid. “I’m glad I’m not in the shoes of whoever he’s talking to.”
“The fact that he’s talking at all is interesting,” Roche mused. “In fact, it sounds like he’s bluffing.”
“You think so?” said Haid.
She shrugged. “If he’s hiding, he’s vulnerable.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Haid returned his attention to the console before him. “I’ll see if any of the probes picked up the signal and try to pin down a source.”
“Good. Any more, Box?”
“The transmission has now ceased,” said the AI.
She considered whether she should stay on the bridge to see if anything else came in, but decided against it. The communication from the Sol clone warrior was important enough to warrant further examination, but not informative.
Again, without further data, she would only be speculating wildly.
“The situation’s unchanged, then,” she said. “I’ll keep my implants open for any further developments. Don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I won’t,” said Kajic. His image dissolved at the same moment Roche stepped from the bridge.
* * *
Back in her cabin, Roche lay on her bunk, going over the data they had collected so far. Detailed images of the rained Guhr Outpost came as often as the probe—now orbiting the small moon—passed by. All that remained of the refueling base were fragments twisted beyond recognition. Sensors detected high levels of radiation in the heart of the crater, which supported the theory that a ship, not an asteroid, had crashed there, but no remains of the ship had been found. Given the force of the explosion, Roche didn’t expect any. The ship must have been fully fueled to have caused such a blast. Only time would tell how greatly the moon’s orbit around the gas giant had been disturbed.
The remainder of the probes, now on their way to every major body in the system, were still too far away from their destinations to provide any new perspectives. The earliest she could expect data would be from the probe heading to Gatamin, six hours away; the latest, from the probe aimed at Kukumat and Murukan, the jovian pair, at over twenty hours.
Determined not to let frustration get the better of her—there was, after all, nothing she could do to change the speed of light—she tried instead to focus her thoughts on what she did know about Palasian System.
First of all, the COE Intelligence data appeared to be accurate so far. There had been a battle of some sort that had cost the Armada at least a refueling base.
Second, the system was suspiciously silent, apart from one unintelligible signal emanating from near the major port around Jagabis and another whose source was in hiding.
Third, the sun had been transformed into a cosmic hypershield generator by a weapon used only once before, over a thousand years ago. The last government known to have had access to the sole remaining Asha’s Gauntlet prototype was the Kesh.
Fourth, Maii’s mind-riding abilities had been negated by a mysterious “smothering” effect.
Fifth, the system had been cordoned off on the outside by three Armada vessels acting under direct orders from General Ramage, commander in chief of the COE Armada.
And that was all. Roche was fairly confident that the Sol Wunderkind was trapped in the system, but beyond that she didn’t want to speculate too far. It was tempting to write off the epsense-dampening phenomenon as another of his extraordinary talents, but that seemed unlikely. Apart from the occasional suggestion from Maii that Cane possessed a strong but latent epsense ability, there was no indication that he possessed any such talents. Nevertheless, Roche was wary of closing off any avenues of exploration too early. Not while the matters of the Gauntlet and the Armada flotilla were still to be explained, anyway. She had learned from experience that especially where conspiracies were concerned, the major factor preventing the truth’s being discovered was the observer’s unwillingness to explore connections between facts that on the surface seemed unconnectable.
She leaned back into the pillow, pushing her knuckles into her aching, tired eyes. There was, in short, enough to make her cautious, but not enough to provide her a definite focus for her fears.
And that, in a sense, only made it worse.
You will not stop me, the second transmission had said. Could she have stopped Cane, had he chosen to attack rather than to aid her? Was he even on her side? I am not yours to command, the message had said. The words made Roche wonder whether he had ever truly been...
* * *
She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until the alarm on her door buzzed.
In the dream she heard the hiss of a predator. She jerked forward on her bunk and called out in the dark, clutching at the fringe of the dream even as she was wrenched from it. She had been back on Ascensio, trying to lure a viridant out of its burrow by offering it a dead rodent. The lizardlike animal had been suspicious, but she managed to encourage it by repeating the offer several times. She had no intention of giving it the bait, though; her only intention had been to gain its trust—and then to strangle it. Only too late had she seen the glint in its eye and known that she was the one being lured. Her hand had lashed out, and the viridant had snapped its jaws around it, pulling her into its burrow...
The door buzzed again. She shook herself from a daze and spoke into the intercom:
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Cane answered. “The data from the probes are due soon. I would like to discuss something with you before then, if it’s not inconvenient.”
“Wait a moment.” She ran her hands over her stubbled scalp and wiped her face. Her skin was greasy and coarse at the same time—a grim reminder that she was overdue for a shower. After a moment she said: “Lights; door open.”
The room brightened at her command. Cane stepped into the cabin.
“I’m assuming it’s not an emergency,” she said, “or else Uri would’ve called first.”
“Little has changed,” said Cane. “We have received another transmission from the same source as the first, but that’s about it. Kajic posted details of it to your buffer, marking it as a low priority. If you were asleep, you wouldn’t have seen it.”
She checked her implants out of habit; sure enough, the message was there. She also learned that she had been asleep for seven hours. It felt more like four.
She stayed on the bed and offered Cane the chair. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Everyone is resting,” he said. When he sat he folded his hands in his lap, making him look uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I thought I’d take advantage of the situation to talk to you alone.”
“About?” she prompted.
“The transmission from Jagabis.”
“What about it?”
“I can translate it.”
She studied him suspiciously. “The Box said it wasn’t in any language that it recognized.”
“I know.”
“But you recognize it?”
“I didn’t at first,” he said. “Only after reading through the raw text for some hours did it begin to make sense. And even then, not all of it.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I am not certain what it means, but I do understand it. I know how odd that sounds, but the situation i
s as confusing to me as it is to you. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you first rather than the others.”
“You’ve kept this from Maii?”
“She knows I’m hiding something, but she won’t learn what it is unless I let her.”
Roche nodded. “So what does the transmission say?”
“It is a call to arms,” he said. “It is also a plea for help. And a request to negotiate. And an order to retreat. And an offer of assistance. And—”
She cut him off: “I don’t understand. How can it be all these things at once?”
“The message is composed of fragments. Some make sense, but a lot don’t. The bits that don’t are just meaningless, but there is still a resonance in the words—as though they have been engraved in my mind, that I might never forget them.”
She suddenly grasped the implication. “Are you suggesting that this is some sort of language used by the Sol Apotheosis Movement? That you’ve been programmed to understand it?”
“Nothing else can explain why I know what some of the fragments mean, and respond to them”—he put a hand on his stomach—”here, almost before I have time to realize.”
“Are they dangerous? Could they make you do things you don’t want to do?”
Cane shook his head. “Whoever is broadcasting the orders doesn’t know what they are doing. The fragments that make the most sense are the most emphatic, of course, but they are often the most inconsistent, too. The fragment repeated most often, for instance, is a request to trade information that is not relevant in exchange for supplies that no one in this century would need.”
“Why would anyone broadcast something like that?” Roche wondered. “And where did they find the code? It wasn’t in any of the records I accessed.”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Cane said. “Perhaps the source is a beacon, after all.”
“One the Sol Apotheosis Movement left behind, perhaps?”
The Dying Light Page 8
