Enigma

by C. F. Bentley

  Sissy and her girls answered the calls quickly and efficiently. Penelope and her girls added their own hands and soothing words.

  “Should’a known Gil wouldn’t be here without his wife,” Jake mumbled to himself.

  “Mara.” Jake stepped aside as professionals did their work around him with noisy efficiency.

  “What now?” she returned, too busy for politeness.

  “We need water, Mara. Lots and lots of it.” He drew in a deep breath organizing his thought. “The reclamation and recycling system can’t handle this many new people. We need more water.”

  “And where am I supposed to get it?”

  “I don’t know. But a million liters is only going to begin to help.”

  “Do you care where I get it? Like maybe stealing from the planet below that we aren’t supposed to touch in case we alter its natural evolutionary process?”

  “Do what you have to do. Don’t leave a trail. There’s a small cargo shuttle docked between my suite and the HG levels. It has a tow hook.”

  “Um . . .”

  “I’m sending someone to help. Someone who knows how to hide things in deep dark places no one else cares to go.”

  “There’s no one better than me.”

  “I think there is. Gil!” he called over the babble. “Gil, I’ve got a job for you. Mara, if anyone asks, tell them you found an empty wing prepared for water breathers, complete with a sea of their natural environment.”

  “Sir.” Gil turned toward him, keeping an arm around a very pregnant woman who rubbed her belly as if ready to deliver right there in the cargo bay. “I’m a bit busy, sir.”

  “Laudae Sissy can take over for you there. I need you elsewhere.”

  Once the water situation was settled and the refugees stable and depositions taken, he had another job only Gil could accomplish.

  “None of these people are human. They’re all barefaced trolls,” Garrin reported to his father, Lord Lukan. His voice carried through the cargo bay without hindrance. “Our presence is not required here.”

  “Your stupidity is matched only by your laziness,” Lord Lukan replied, also loud enough to be heard. “We are able-bodied. We can help those in distress.”

  “They are not worth . . .”

  “They are worth a dozen of you!” Sissy rounded on him. “As High Priestess of all Harmony and her colonies, I order you to roll up your sleeves and work. You can at least pretend compassion.” She turned her back on the Noble, deliberately, and blessed a wailing child by tracing the Harmony glyph on its forehead with her finger. Then she offered yet another cup of water to the baby and its older sibling.

  Chastised but resentful, Garrin reluctantly threw a blanket around the shoulders of the shivering children.

  Three hover cams recorded it all.

  Another wave of walking wounded descended upon Jake. He lifted a child to his shoulder and half carried a woman to a waiting gurney and medic.

  “Thank ye,” she whispered through thin and cracked lips. “I didn’t think I’d survive to see another human face.”

  “How long have you been fleeing the Maril?” Jake asked, handing her a cup of water from a tray atop a packing crate.

  “Days, weeks. Can’t tell. Six jumps through hyperspace, evading.” She lifted bleak eyes to him. “Not enough sleepy drugs for everyone. Too many ghosts crowding in. All t’ ones we left behind.” Tears leaked from her eyes.

  Jake settled the wasted child, next to her.

  “Did . . . did the Maril take over the government, set up occupation?” He had to know what he was dealing with.

  “Nay, sir. They killed all left on the ground. Bombed all the buildings to dust.”

  “Cleansing,” Jake whispered. “How’d you get away?”

  “We been under siege for weeks. A captain decided to take a risk and fight his way through the blockade. Some o’us chose t’run. Some chose to stay and fight it out.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Moisture she could ill afford to lose. “Me mate stayed.”

  He nodded for the medic to do what he needed to do.

  Jake turned back to helping carry out the ones who couldn’t walk on their own.

  With each step he cursed the winged creatures who had started the war. He cursed their cleansing. And he cursed himself for not being out there on the front fighting them away from human space.

  You vowed not to kill again, a voice in his head reminded him.

  “This is different.”

  How?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mac listened to the distress call from General Jake. He paused in traversing a maintenance tube. Refugees. His heart twisted in sympathy. He’d been a refugee all his life: running, hiding, scraping together an existence with stolen food, clothing, and air.

  Should he turn around and help? With his strength and knowledge of the station he could help more than three others.

  If he showed himself, they’d shoot him again, maybe kill him.

  He had other chores, necessary chores, better accomplished in privacy. With all able bodies helping the refugees, no one would notice where he worked, or who he worked with.

  He dropped from a maintenance tube into the heavy-G portion of the abandoned Harmony wing.

  “You’re late,” Admiral Pamela Marella snarled from behind her EVA faceplate. The bulky suit masked her figure. She could be anyone in that disguise.

  But Mac knew her scent and her voice from the night she had approached his bedside in the hospital. She needed his expertise. He needed out of the hospital.

  She helped link his computer network to his bedside. He promised to help her with the autopsy. Favor for favor. Tidbit of information for tidbit of gossip.

  “My movements around the station are not always linear. I must avoid detection,” he replied cautiously.

  “I appreciate that. Someday you must show me some of your routes.” She turned to the bulky black box at her feet. “Help me set this up. I’m not used to heavy G.”

  Mac bristled at her lack of the respect he’d become used to in Medbay. No “please.” No “Mr. Mac.”

  He turned to retreat the way he’d come, not caring if he offended the admiral. What could she do to him his own mother had not? He could hide from her probes indefinitely. If necessary, he’d sneak aboard a ship bound for another station just to get away from her.

  But he needed to stay. He was so close to gaining control of the station . . .

  “I thought your curiosity would overcome your pride, Mac.” She sounded unconcerned, but her body gave off a whiff of anxiety.

  He could play mind games with her all night.

  “High rank does not relax the need for manners,” he replied. “I’d like to direct you to the etiquette book compiled by my mother.”

  The spymaster ground her teeth.

  “Would you please help me set up this autopsy table? I admit that I can’t do everything by myself in heavy G with limited atmosphere.”

  Mac kept his back to her. “I can help elsewhere.”

  “Mr. Mac,” she added just as he decided to resume his retreat.

  “Very well, Admiral.” In seconds he had the folding table open and braced on its six legs. Then he helped her carry the corpse of the Squid pilot out of the damaged cockpit.

  The deep cold of space had prevented decay. Still, Mac smelled death. He shied away from it, fearing that this too would be his fate if he ever fell into the hands of his brother’s people.

  As the admiral made her first cut into the tough, rubbery skin of the alien, Mac murmured a prayer to Laudae Sissy’s Goddess. He knew no other that might listen to such as he.

  He wished he could sing the harmonies of the universe to give peace to the soul of this now extinct race.

  “I wonder who came off the Harmony ship directly into CCU in Medbay,” the admiral remarked casually.

  She didn’t smell relaxed. She needed this information.

  “I never heard a name,” Mac replied truthfully.
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  “But you know?”

  “I can guess who an older balding human with a Temple caste mark and a fragile heart might be.”

  Pammy’s eyebrows rose enough to show behind the distorting faceplate. “I can guess too. I can also guess why he came. All is not peaceful on Harmony. The HP needs the HPs to back up his politics.”

  Mac nodded. “I hope she does not go home with him. She brightens this dismal station.”

  Pammy snorted something and continued her autopsy.

  While the spymaster removed organs, weighed, measured, and sampled them, all the while recording every move she made with her own hover cam—not one of the Media devices from Harmony—Mac removed himself to the cockpit and began working on understanding the ship’s computers.

  He allowed another of Pammy’s hover cams to record everything he discovered.

  They needed to know where the Squid had come from, what they knew, and why that graceful race had gone extinct, as his mother’s race nearly had. What were the signals? How might such a terrible loss to the galaxy have been prevented? Who was next?

  That thought made him stop and examine his thoughts.

  Extinction occurred when deaths increased and births decreased until insufficient numbers remained to breed and maintain a viable gene pool.

  As he delved into the intricacies of the ship’s computers, he let his mind run free in circles and loops and spirals inward.

  A brief diagnostic of the ship revealed decay and malfunction from age and overuse without repair. No replacement parts for such an antique and arcane design.

  No replacement Squid People. Because they had no home world to return to for breeding rituals. Because . . .

  He breathed deeply and slipped outside a hatch to examine the hull. Badger Metal tiles all in place. Space radiation shouldn’t have penetrated.

  What if these water breathers were susceptible to a specific kind of radiation that the Badger Metal couldn’t shield against?

  What if . . . ?

  “I can’t allow you to disrupt my patients,” Doc Halliday said to Jake. She stood firmly in the entrance to Medbay, feet spread, hands on hips.

  Jake assessed just how much her determination made her a solid barrier between him and information.

  She looked tired from her marathon of caring for the refugees.

  “I need to talk to the captains of the refugee ships. The Maril are advancing and I need to know who will be their next target,” Jake explained gently. “Will it be the next agrarian and unarmed planet, or maybe us?”

  Doc Halliday exhaled deeply, almost to the point of deflation. “Sorry. The first captain died during surgery. He took three full blaster hits at the beginning of the journey. I don’t know how he stayed alive long enough to pilot through six jumps and a tricky docking.” She inhaled again and resumed her usual forthright posture, disappointed but not defeated. “The second one suffered a head injury. If he wakes up, he may not have enough memory to help you.”

  “I’m sorry. For you and the men’s families. While I’m here, is there anyone among the refugees I can talk to?”

  “Not yet. They are all too traumatized to remember.”

  “For any of those willing and trained, I’ve got job openings in just about every category from cleaning and maintenance to propulsion engineer and Control tech.”

  “I’ll pass the word along. Most of the refugees have nothing and nowhere to go. Families dead or missing. They might be grateful for work. I can use the space if you move them out to crew quarters.”

  “What about your other patients. Adrial . . .”

  “Should still be drugged insensible. Per your orders.” Doc Halliday lifted her chin and met his gaze defiantly.

  “Adrial spoke to the Military I assigned to guard her not an hour ago. She listens to recorded music every waking moment . . .”

  “Her reaction to drugs is a constant mystery. I never know what’s working and how. Her obsession with music worries me. Her mind drifts. The only thing she focuses on is the music. If I can’t get two coherent sentences out of her about her condition, you won’t get anything worthwhile out of her either.” Doc Halliday shook her head.

  “Adrial. Music,” he mused. “Laudae Sissy is the most musical person I know. I want you to call her next time Adrial is coherent. Sissy should be able to make sense of her mystical nonsense.” He longed for the spectacles his tech team still played with. With those, he could monitor heat signatures and heart rates in any room in the complex if he wanted.

  Including the secret patient from Harmony he wasn’t supposed to know about.

  “No guarantees.” Doc Halliday nodded her consent.

  “What about Mac?”

  “Mac?” she asked, as if she’d never heard the name. The stiffness in her smile betrayed her lack of innocence.

  “The Arachnoid-Labyrinthe alien.” Jake narrowed his eyes. “It’s been more than a week since he dropped into Medbay unannounced, Doc.”

  “Broken bones and blaster wounds take a long time to heal.”

  “Can he talk?”

  “You’ll have to wait in line to ask him questions,” she said, obviously stalling.

  “Why?” He edged a bit closer.

  She didn’t retreat or give him a fraction of an opening to push himself into the Medbay.

  “In line behind me and half the med staff,” she explained.

  “And why can’t you ask him questions?” Another step and he loomed over her. Her eyes were on a level with the crystal stars on his collar.

  They didn’t intimidate her.

  “Because he disappeared within hours of surgery. No being should have recovered that quickly. He’ll damage himself more by running around the station too soon.”

  “Girls, take the dogs for a walk in the hydroponics garden,” Sissy ordered, handing leashes to Mary and Martha.

  “But . . .”

  “And take Laudae Penelope’s girls with you. Give them a tour of the station. Let the hover cams follow you.”

  Happy grins replaced stubborn protests.

  Mary handed a leash to Bella. Then she looped her arm through Cassy’s, the oldest of Penelope’s acolytes. She looked up with open admiration and the kind of devotion only a thirteen-year-old can give a companion who had matured to the exalted age of sixteen. Lavender and pink clothes separated them more than age.

  Martha also paired off with an older girl, leaving the youngest to clump in an ill-defined group, their pale clothing blending more than the older girls.

  “Stay together,” Penelope ordered nervously. “I don’t want any of you getting lost.”

  “Alone at last,” Sissy declared with relief as she plunked into a comfortable chair in her private parlor.

  “They will be safe, won’t they?” Penelope twitched in her own chair. She reached for a teacup on the low table between them. The crockery rattled, and a bit of liquid sloshed.

  “My girls have prowled every inch of this station with and without me as escort. Nothing has ever happened.”

  “The criminal element . . .”

  “This is a closed station, Penelope. If crime exists, it’s nonviolent and petty. The girls are safe. The hover cam records everything. No one would dare hurt them even if they had a reason.” She poured a fresh cup of tea for herself from the fat brown pot.

  “I have trouble remembering this isn’t Harmony City. Crime at home has tripled in recent months.” Penelope stared into the depths of her cup.

  “No one told me. What is going on?” Sissy sat up straight, alarmed.

  “Children integrate easily, especially the littlest ones. They haven’t learned to hate. Some Professional merchants have refused to sell to any but their own caste, Nobles, and Temple. There are long lines for food in smaller stores, where the larger ones are nearly empty of people but overflowing with goods. The hungriest have to resort to theft to stay alive.”

  “That is appalling! I’ll draft an order . . .”

  “The Pro
fessionals will merely close up shop. Several have rather than obey orders from the Temple.”

  “Who sends those orders?”

  “Laud Gregor.” Penelope’s gaze wandered to the comm unit embedded in the wall. “I need to call Medbay to check on him.”

  “They will call here first if anything goes wrong. You need to relax and drink your tea. Don’t make yourself sick with worry. We need you healthy.” Sissy placed a comforting hand on her friend’s arm. “What if the orders came from me, through my weekly broadcast?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. The caste system needs to become less rigid. But sometimes I wish life could just go back to an orderly and unchanging routine.” Penelope set her cup back on the table awkwardly. It wobbled before settling in its saucer.

  “I’ll try that tonight. Then I’ll follow up with a written message. Little Johnnie says I have a broad audience. I hope they listen to me.”

  “They do. Every week I hear lengthy discussion about what Laudae Sissy said. On Holy Day everyone has your name on their lips. The people trust you, Sissy. They don’t trust Gregor or Bevan.”

  “I need to go home.” Sissy stared bleakly at the wall. She’d have to leave Jake behind.

  “No, Sissy. You have to stay here. No one else understands the scope of our needs like you do. You can listen to the universe better than anyone. Harmony is merely one small piece of the big picture.” Penelope sat forward, and anxiously grabbed hold of Sissy’s hands, forcing her to look into her eyes.

  “Generations of lies and secrets are finally catching up with Harmony. I wish the transition to truth weren’t so painful,” Sissy whispered.

  “So do I.” Penelope sat back. Dark circles of exhaustion rimmed her eyes. Her once lustrous black hair hung limply about her shoulders.

  “Sleep, my friend.” Sissy rose and arranged a light blanket around Penelope. “Sleep now. Our problems will still be here when you wake.”

  Sissy paced her quarters, wishing she could go home and fix things with a wave of her hand. Wishing Jake could go with her to help and guide her. Wishing . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Hours!” Jake’s anger and fear exploded from him. “He disappeared within hours? That was three days ago.”