“Bero, as the ship prefers to be called, is considered a rogue target by Icarion’s commanders. They will endeavor to destroy him and rely upon their secondary Protocol for military might. They do not, currently, know where Bero is, but I am willing to bet my life that I know where he’s fled. And that, if I came to him and asked, in exchange for a safe escort from this system, he would divulge the location of the second Protocol’s construction.”
“I would return with Major Greeve,” Tomas slid smoothly into her slight pause, “to assist her. Bero knows me, and would not turn me away if I were with the major.”
Sanda tightened her laced fingers but otherwise managed not to react. Instead, she inclined her head slightly to indicate she was ready for questions. Biran gestured to the man on his right. “Keeper Garcia, if you’re ready.”
“You claim this ship would hand over the coordinates of its replacement so we can destroy it, but also that it is a whole AI, presumably capable of understanding what we will do with that information. Why would it facilitate the murder of its cousin?”
“Bero is disgusted by the mistreatment of partial AI systems—smart homes, vehicles, etc. I have no doubt Icarion will hamper the development of their next Protocol to keep it from rebelling. I believe Bero will see the destruction of his lobotomized counterpart as a mercy.”
“Thank you,” Garcia said. “Keeper Hitton?” He turned to his right, where a smartscreen cast the image of a Keeper woman with bedhead and a half-pulled curtain against Ada Prime’s simulated nightfall over her shoulder. Despite her harried appearance, she stared hard at Sanda, as if they were in the room right next to each other.
“Ms. Greeve. I am pleased you have been returned to us, but I have my concerns. Your appearance comes at a crucial time during negotiations between Ada and Icarion. It occurs to me that we have only your word that you have been where you say you have, and that your intentions are true. What reason have I to believe that you have not turned against our cause in your time away?”
“Are you calling my sister a traitor?” Biran asked.
The woman turned to him and spread her hands. “I am identifying a possible threat to our stability, Keeper. Your sister’s return is heartening, but we have had no time at all to vet her current interests. And you, yourself, have disobeyed orders in seeking her out—no matter that it resulted in the discovery of the weapon.”
“I wasn’t the only Keeper on this ship who agreed to search the rubble field—”
“Track me,” Sanda interjected before Biran could get good and riled up. “Monitor every move I make. If I do anything at all suspicious, you can blow me out of the sky. Bero might be the big gun around here, but your weapons are more agile.”
“Make no mistake,” Hitton said, “tracking you will be the only way I find this venture at all acceptable. That is the bare minimum of reassurance. I require more foolproof safeguards when it comes to the future of The Light.”
“You want us to deliver a payload,” Tomas said.
“Absolutely not,” Sanda said.
Hitton cocked her head. If she were in the room with them, Sanda’d be tempted to knock the smug smile off her face. “Why so angry, Ms. Greeve? If the ship is as amenable to our cause as you say he is, then you have no need for concern.”
“What you’re suggesting blatantly violates the Treaty of Sanglai. It is the equivalent of rigging a poison capsule in a human ventricle and demanding they do as you wish under threat of death. It is coercion, borderline torture, and I will not be party to it.”
“The entity in question is not a human body.”
Sanda counted backward, slowly, from three. “The chassis of the mind is irrelevant.”
“You may feel that way. But in the strictest sense, in our code of law, this ship has no human rights.”
“We must be better than a codified system,” Sanda pressed. “What good are our laws if they cannot be reexamined to better fit the needs of our present society?”
“We are wasting time,” Garcia interjected. “Such matters are for later debate. Now, we must decide if returning the major to her captor to request information is worth all risks involved.”
“And I am discussing the terms of that return,” Hitton said.
“Keeper Vladsen.” Biran gestured to the man on the other side of Hitton’s screen. “Have you a question?”
Hitton sat back, hard, her chair drifting away from the camera a few inches, and resigned herself to glaring into the lens as Vladsen cleared his throat.
“You claim the entity is unstable. What guarantee can you make us that, once this ship is escorted to safety from Icarion clutches, it will not cause damage elsewhere in the inhabited systems?”
She spread her hands in surrender. “In that, I can only offer you my word that I believe he will not. The ship was disgusted by the destruction he was forced to deal out.” Visions of Bero’s captain’s sweat-streaked face came to her unbidden. Her claims they had lost control filled Sanda’s mind. Had his disgust been real?
The chip in her skull felt unnaturally heavy, as if it were pulling her head back. Pulling her away from all the Primes gathered at the table. She forced herself to project confidence. No matter what happened here, she needed to get back on that ship.
“I cannot see him willingly engaging in combat, unless for self-defense. Which he might feel necessary if we were to strap a bomb to his body.”
Hitton snorted.
Vladsen frowned, but waved a hand to move on to the next Keeper, a woman seated across from him. “Keeper Singh?”
“My dear,” Singh began, dripping with a flavor of parental condescension that made Sanda’s blood boil. “I am certain your heart is in the right place, but you have come back to us after a trying time. And, it must be said, your disappearance was a matter of great public discussion. You are a hero to our people, Major Greeve. A symbol of perseverance and loyalty to Prime in the face of the Icarion dissenters. While you have spent the last two years in coldsleep, as I have been informed, your legend has grown—no doubt due to your brother’s tireless efforts to find you.” She flicked a look at Tomas, but Sanda couldn’t read anything in it.
“I’m sorry, Keeper,” Sanda said, “but do you have a question for me?”
Her mouth scythed into a sneer. “Why are you so desperate to become a martyr?”
“This is not about politics,” Biran said, his tone reined in so tightly that, to Sanda’s ears, it scarcely sounded like he was able to take a complete breath.
“My boy, everything is politics,” Singh said.
“Ada’s current political climate,” Sanda spoke quickly, “I am not familiar with. But I assure you, Keeper Singh, I have no taste for death. Not long ago I was led to believe I was the last living human in the star system. Though my heart soars to be alive, and to be returned to you all, the grief I shouldered then shadows me always.” She caught Biran’s eye and held it. “Every fiber of my being wants to stay on this ship. Wants to return home to Ada and share a couple shots of Caneridge with Biran and our dads while we swap stories of all that’s passed while I was gone. But that safe place, that home, isn’t just mine. Every soul in Ada and Icarion has a similar place, or at least I pray they do. And, as far as I can see it, my getting Bero on our side keeps more than just my home safe.”
Singh turned to Biran and inclined her head. “Your martyr speaks prettily. Tell me, did you remember to record that? No, don’t bother—I know you did.”
“Enough,” the Keeper man in the viewscreen next to Singh said.
“Keeper Lavaux, my apologies. Was I keeping you from your question?” Singh purred.
Lavaux zoomed his camera in so that the room could better see his face. His ash-blond hair was arranged into loose, smooth waves, his grey eyes free of any wrinkles despite what must have been a long, and probably stressful, life thus far. A VR monocle looped around his ear to hang over one eye, the subtle flicker of the HUD hinting that he was keeping tabs on more than one crisi
s at once.
“Greeve,” he spoke with an affected, but faint, old-world French accent. “If Bero won’t give you the coords, what will you do?”
“Commandeer the ship.”
Lavaux’s gaze sharpened, the flicker of his HUD dimming as he focused his vision on Sanda’s face. “You will single-handedly commandeer the biggest weapon in the known universe, from the inside?”
“She won’t be alone,” Tomas said.
“You’re not a bullshitter, Keeper Lavaux.” In the corner of her eye, Biran winced. Lavaux just smirked. “I’m a soldier. Cepko here is Nazca. We spent a lot of time learning the ins and outs of that ship. If it comes to it, if I feel anyone is in danger by Bero, I can cripple him once I’m inside. He took me by surprise, the first time. I’m ready for him now. He won’t best me again.”
“Understood.” Lavaux retracted the zoom on his camera as he sat back, attention diverting to the HUD. Sanda wondered what could be so important compared to a rogue planet-busting weapon on the loose, but she figured the Keeper knew his business.
“Director Olver?” Biran prompted.
Sanda’s mouth went dry. She knew the director was on the Protectorate, but somehow she hadn’t expected him to take the time to CamCast in. His tired face filled the viewscreen on a tablet Velcroed to the last chair, and though the man looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his eyes were sharp as razors.
“I understand your connection with this ship, and I must wonder if it is clouding your judgment. Do you truly believe the path you propose is safer for our people than abandoning the system and leaving Icarion cut off from the rest of the inhabited universe?”
“Abandoning them would only delay the war, Director. They are researching methods to cross the stars without the gates. If they are lucky, and determined—and make no mistake, cutting them off from civilization will light a fire under them like no other—then it is only a matter of time before their intergalactic technology matches, if not surpasses, ours. If we leave, we are giving a war to our grandchildren. I’d rather clean up the mess now, when the innocents of Icarion may still be made into our friends, not our enemies.”
“In that case, Major Greeve, I have one more question for you, if I may?”
“Please.” She waved a permissive hand.
“Do you really think you can pull this off?”
She grinned. “Only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER 56
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
ACTION IS BETTER THAN MEETINGS
Maybe not the best closing statement,” Tomas said.
They sat on a long bench in a waiting room just across from the Protectorate’s meeting chamber. The seat was annoyingly low, making Sanda feel like a kid as her knee bent at an awkward, high angle. At least she didn’t look as ridiculous as Tomas. He had the look of a man who’d crashed a toddler’s tea party.
“Nothing wrong with a little gunner bravado.” She thumped him on the shoulder. “Something you cool, calm, and collected spies wouldn’t understand.”
“Not something I think the Keeper Protectorate understands.”
The door dilated, and it took Sanda a second to zero in on what she was seeing. Keeper Lavaux strode into the room, monocle shimmering and, now that the camera wasn’t cropping them out, rank badges flying high over his right breast. Sanda gawked. Not only was the Keeper the tallest man she’d ever seen—he had to duck to get through the door—he was also the captain of this ship. No wonder he’d been distracted.
“There you are,” Lavaux said as if Sanda had spent the last twenty minutes intentionally hiding from him.
“Keeper Lavaux, I didn’t know you were on board.” She couldn’t stand to attention, not without making a rather ungraceful lunge for her crutch, so she snapped Lavaux the tightest salute she’d ever managed in her life.
“I command this ship, Major Greeve, and I rarely leave my post when on board.”
“Has the Protectorate reached a conclusion?”
“Another half hour for them to bicker, probably. I’ve said my piece, and I read the report Biran filed before the meeting.” His tone implied he lacked confidence that the others had done the same. Typical bureaucrats. “I understand current events were kept from you while you were on board The Light. Have you done any catching up?”
She shook her head.
“As I suspected. No one should be surprised to discover they’re a major.”
“That obvious?”
“It was evident during that interview that you require practice reacquainting yourself with the neutral expressions required of politics.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“And the language.” Lavaux shook his head. “I will be blunt with you, Greeve. I read Biran’s report, but I also read your personnel file. You are not suited to the position you find yourself in, and I scarcely think you’ve begun to understand the scope of it.”
Sanda bristled. “Then you know I commanded a gunship, Lavaux. They don’t hand those ranks out as party favors. I may have been kicked up to major under dubious circumstances, but I know my way around an XO hobnob. If I survive this mission, I will not fail in my new command. I’ll do the training to make certain no one can scoff at my ability.”
“Your ability to do your job is not my concern. I like you, Greeve. I think you’re suited to the position. But you’re an Ada native—never set boot outside this system, if your records are accurate. Are they?”
“They are.”
“Then for you, Ada is Prime and Prime is Ada. You lack scope. What you do here in the next twenty-four hours has consequences not just for the planetary governances of this system, but for the entire galactic alliances. Though we do it with gentle care, Prime reigns supreme in every inhabited system. We are the glue that holds human expansion together, and jealous eyes watch us. Any misstep with the Icarion situation will have galactic consequences.”
“I do not intend to let you, or Prime, down, Keeper.”
“I expect you won’t.” Lavaux grabbed the tablet resting on Sanda’s lap, punched at it a moment, then handed it back. He’d pulled up a news search engine and dialed in a search for the name Greeve over the last two years. The headlines made Sanda’s stomach twist: KEEPER’S DESPERATE SEARCH FOR STOLEN SISTER; PROTECTORATE SHOOTS DOWN BUDGET FOR EXPANDED SEARCH EFFORTS; ICARIONS THREATEN DEATH OF POW IF DEMANDS AREN’T MET; DIPLOMATIC CONVOY ATTACKED.
“Understand your place in this system. Then act.” Lavaux half turned toward the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “Twenty-four hours,” he said, then left.
“What the hell was that about?” Tomas asked.
“He was warning me I’d become a tool.” And too valuable to risk on a mission that might alleviate centuries of war. Shortsighted bastards. She flicked at the screen, scrolling through headline after headline regarding her disappearance, her heroism at Dralee, and Biran’s ascension. There was no way they would send her out to talk to Bero.
Biran stepped through the door, the look on his face barely controlled relief. He’d wanted her to stay. He thought he’d got what he wanted.
CHAPTER 57
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3541
IN A SYSTEM FAR, FAR AWAY
Juliella Vicenza ceased to exist at 0400 hours the following morning. She stood on a concrete embankment that marked off a safety barrier above a slurry of a canal and watched her wristpad go blank. Failure to connect.
Sometime earlier that night—for she hadn’t slept, and couldn’t really be said to have awakened that morning so much as risen out of her makeshift bed and walked out the door, leaving Arden and Nox in the safety of her absence—the news had gone out. Keeper Zina Rix Nakata had been brutally murdered in the Alexandria-Atrux Elequatorial Cultural Center. Authorities were seeking all information regarding this woman—Jules’s face in the center flashed across the screen, tense and wary, looking far more dangerous than she suspected she had before—but not her name.
They didn’t have her name until a
few hours later when facial recognition software had come through and pinpointed her. And then she’d been blacked out, her access to the net cut off to stunt her ability to run. Couldn’t rent a cab without an active connection. Couldn’t pay for anything that required credit. They excised her from society, a loose end snipped, waiting to be flicked into the garbage.
When they found her, she wouldn’t be with Nox and Arden. And they would find her, because she was luring them to her.
The last action her wristpad recorded would be renting an autocab from a bar a good, long walk from the place Arden and Nox were holed up in, to the warehouse district. One warehouse, in particular. The canal cut through the district, used mostly for ferrying heavy goods to the businesses operating on this edge of the Grotta. Didn’t get used much, most of the businesses out here had dried up a long time ago. Which was probably what made the area perfect for the lab—and whatever was being done within.
Jules leaned her forearms against the concrete safety wall and peeled off her wristpad. Her skin was clammy and cold in the early morning breeze. The dome did a good job of simulating natural weather patterns for the sake of verisimilitude for the residents. She’d never thought about it, what all went into making Alexandria-Atrux feel like a real, human home, when really it was just a blister on the chapped ass of an otherwise uninhabitable rock drifting at just the right place in space to be viable to build a Casimir Gate in its near orbit. Such things had never really occurred to Jules before. She was usually more concerned with where she’d get her next meal, her next drink, her next score.
A flare of anger burst in her chest. Did it really have to be like this? Did the Grotta even have to exist? Prime Inventive could just as easily have provided all its people with the clean, modern apartments and homes of the city center, couldn’t they? The economics and social studies of it all were above her—she knew that—but she knew, too, that even though they were all provided with a base level for sustenance it wasn’t enough, somehow. That something had gone wrong in the construction of these cities to have a place like the Grotta spring into existence. Some fundamental flaw in human thinking said that these lives—spare and scraping—were just fine.
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