by J. Boyett
“Thus,” Yfir explained, “the loser must render access to his gate to the victor. Do both players understand and accept the rules?”
Farraday looked at his two subordinates, to see if they’d noted anything objectionable. But Miller was too busy scanning the crowd to pay much attention to the rules of this game, and Cosway seemed to be trying with great effort and little success to read the alien words written on the game table.
Chavez answered Yfir first: “I understand and accept.” Judging from Chavez’s intonation, this was a ritual reply to what must have therefore been a ritual question. So Farraday parroted it: “I understand and accept.”
The gamemaster spun the ball; the two humans placed their bets. There was a first turn, then a second. It was an easy game; as far as Farraday could tell, it didn’t have much to do with skill, only with luck in picking a number that the wheel would happen to stop on. For the first couple of turns Farraday did well. Chavez seemed unconcerned about it, though, as if he had nothing to lose but money, and not as if the game were rigged with some treacherous enchantment that would turn the loser into a toad or anything. So when Chavez hit a big number and moved almost half Farraday’s deck into his hold in one sweep, Farraday tried not to sweat it.
Chavez’s streak of luck continued. Not with every bet, otherwise Farraday would have suspected the game was fixed. Nothing made him suspect that; only, that one big win had set Chavez so far ahead of him that Farraday’s occasional, paltry wins could not catch up with the cumulative effect of Chavez’s now equally paltry but somewhat steadier ones.
The final blow came. Chavez landed a number that put him way over the top, and all Farraday’s cards were forfeit. A sigh went through the crowd. Farraday tried to smile—after all, it wasn’t enough money to put a dent in Galaxy’s holdings, even though it would be a pretty hefty chunk of change for a private citizen. His lips faltered, though, and he found that he couldn’t quite bring himself to be a good sport about the whole thing. Silly though it might be, he did not like losing to Chavez.
And then, as he took note of the ominous quality of the silence, Farraday started to wonder if maybe he was right not to be happy. All chatter from the sentients had ceased. It was the sort of lull that follows something more important than a loss at cards.
Farraday looked at Chavez. Chavez wasn’t gloating, or smiling. But his eyes were very cold.
Farraday said, “You haven’t taken my cards from the hold. That’s a fair bit of credits you could put toward the Provisional’s cause.”
“There’s no rush, Captain. Soon enough I’ll have access to everything I need from Galaxy.”
There was a bowling ball of solid ice in the pit of Farraday’s stomach. His eyes shot to Yfir and Shinjo to see if they were going to let such a brazen threat go unchallenged. But they only looked back at him somberly. “The gate,” gasped Farraday.
“Yes, Terry,” said Chavez, almost gently. “I was afraid Lieutenant-Commander Miller would catch on. I wasn’t too worried about you figuring it out ... though to tell you the truth, Terry, if you had, I would have been proud of you.”
Miller had stepped forward and was beside Farraday now. “What?!” he demanded, incredulous, appalled. “What’s going on?!”
The gate. “The gate,” Farraday told him, spitting the words. “I formally announced that I understood and accepted the rules of the game, which include forfeiture of the gate if I lose. Not this gate—Galaxy’s gate!”
“I will be taking the contents of this gate, as well,” Chavez informed him. “Tanner, gather up his cards, please.”
Farraday glared at Shinjo with disbelief. “I trusted you,” he said. “I thought you guys were known for your honesty.”
“So we are, Captain,” said Shinjo. Farraday fought the urge to smack that mournful little curve right off his tattooed yellow mouth. “And I told you no lies, though there may be some truths I did not go out of my way to emphasize. We cannot play an active part in you humans’ intra-species conflict, sir. Our only concern is with maintaining the tranquillity of the sector around Bayawah Spaceport. And that aim is best served if Commodore Chavez’s faction gains the upper hand, and all human activity restricts itself to the area of your homeworld.”
“So it’s worth it to you to sell us out.”
“We explained to you the rules of this game, sir, and asked if you understood and accepted. Note that, while I did not anticipate this audience, I feel no shame in speaking before it.” Shinjo raised his voice, taking in all the surrounding sentients with his gaze. “Let all who are present see, understand, and spread the word: we aim to deceive none.”
“Sure as hell wish we’d gotten a demonstration of your brand of honesty,” muttered Farraday. Glancing down, he saw Miller’s fingers dancing near the holster of his blaster. Farraday hissed to get his attention, and when Miller looked at him the captain gave him such a snarl that Miller moved his hand away, startled.
Farraday turned back to Shinjo, Yfir, Chavez, and Tanner. Some of the onlookers had noticed and been rattled by Miller going for his gun, but the main players seemed almost not to have paid attention. They knew plainly enough how high the consequences would be for such a breach of oath, that they didn’t take seriously the threat that someone would go through with it. Besides, even if a guest were stupid enough to shoot at them, Shinjo and Yfir probably had all sort of techno-thaumaturgical protection.
As for Chavez, he was just a plain old cool customer. Cold, even, Farraday thought again, as he looked again into the man’s eyes.
“I guess it never occurred to me that you would cheat, Ferdy.” Even as Farraday heard himself speak, the words struck him as a pathetic attempt at baiting.
“That’s exactly why you failed,” said Chavez. “And that’s why you’ll never be a first-rate tactician, no matter how likeable your crew finds you. You’ve never understood that the first rule of any game is that it’s always possible to cheat.”
“Maybe I’m just too virtuous.”
“Lazy thinking, I call it.”
Cosway watched and listened to the scene unfold, stricken. It didn’t help that the well-meaning and bewildered Boksal kept nudging him, trying to get him to explain what was going on. Miller said, “Commodore, Galaxy will never submit to you, if you try to board her.”
“Then things shall go poorly for Galaxy, once Commander Blaine forces me to unleash the hyperdrive spirits via their True Names, and instruct them to wreak all the havoc their poltergeistal hearts desire. But I hope it won’t come to that.” He paused, looking the three Galaxy men over, then said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you three here on Bayawah. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can count on the continued hospitality of our hosts. As for Commander Blaine, we’ll have to see. I have a feeling that she might listen to reason, and that the more classically military structures of the Provisional may appeal to her. And it would be good for the Galaxy crew if there were some continuity in the command personnel.”
Farraday, Miller, and Cosway all figured the prospect of Blaine turning her back on the Democratic Empire in favor of the Provisional was about as likely as Chavez putting on a little-girl dress and ribbons and dancing the Moondoggle Jig of Rigel IV. But maybe it would give Blaine some room to maneuver if Chavez thought the possibility was there, so they kept their mouths shut.
Chavez started to step away, then paused, as if considering whether or not to say something. In the end, he did decide to say it: “I’m sorry about the way things have turned out, Terry. If only for your mother’s sake.”
Then he and Tanner turned and walked away. After a last, inscrutable look, Shinjo and Yfir followed, a pace behind. The three humans were left alone. Except, of course, for the crowd that had gathered to watch their defeat.
“I swear,” remarked Farraday, with forced, fake casualness. “The next person who mentions my mother, I may break his arm.”
Seven
Blaine was not on exactly the same sleep schedule as the captain an
d his away team, so she was still in bed when her communicator beeped her awake. “Lights,” she commanded, and blinked as they came on. She was grateful these communicators weren’t equipped with vidscreens, so she didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing her crazy hair or puffy eyes. “Blaine here,” she said, as she held the little wristband device up to her mouth.
“Blaine, this is the captain.” Farraday’s voice buzzed tinnily through the speaker. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Blaine listened to his run-down of the situation. Before he was done with the third sentence she was throwing her uniform on. Once he’d completed his explanation she was hurrying out into the corridor and was on her way to the bridge. Checking first to make sure there were no crewmen near enough to overhear (no sense in panicking them prematurely), she said into the mouthpiece, “So what you’re telling me is, ‘Prepare to be boarded’?”
“I’m afraid so, Commander. As you know, Bayawah Spaceport has made no promises regarding the security of our communications, which means the Provisional could be listening in right now. So I don’t want to risk any specifics.”
Damn. He was right; still, it felt like she should fill him in somehow about Beach’s suspicious behavior. “Sir, is Miller with you? He and I had a conversation earlier that I think he might want to fill you in on....”
Farraday cut her off, as if afraid she were about to spill the beans about something: “That’s all right, Commander, thank you, I’ll be sure and ask Miller about it.” Then he added, with a grimness that let her know he’d already been made privy to everything, “Next time you and Miller have a conversation like that, you might think to involve me, Commander.”
Uh-oh, the captain was not pleased about having been left out of the loop regarding Miller’s suspicions of Beach. And the thing was, he was clearly justified in being peeved. Like Miller, Blaine wasn’t used to perceiving herself as the unprofessional, improper one, and she disliked it. So much so, that she barreled ahead, ignoring the remark altogether: “Understood, sir. I’ll see about blocking access through the umbilical gate....”
But Farraday surprised her by questioning this plan, even though it seemed plainly the only course: “I don’t know, Commander. According to mystical laws, I’ve given him access to the ship, though it couldn’t hurt to ask Witch Walsh for a second opinion. If you try to block him through non-thaumaturgical means, it may prompt him to set the hyperdrive spirits wild, via use of the True Names. And Bayawah won’t offer any protection, because we’ll be in violation of our oath, technically. He could go so far as to destroy the Galaxy.”
By now Blaine was jumping into the lift, and punching the button labeled “Bridge” as the doors slid shut behind her. “Well, sir,” she said, “wouldn’t that be better than letting the Provisional get its hands on a Fleet starship?”
The pause from Farraday’s end was so long that she was beginning to fear he’d been cut off. Finally, he said, “We’re safely here on the station—you all are the ones aboard Galaxy. When it comes to whether or not you should allow the ship to be destroyed with all hands on deck ... well, that’s a decision you’ll have to make on your own. I can’t make it for you.”
Actually, he absolutely could make it for her, by giving her a direct order to do so if necessary. As far as Blaine was concerned, leaving it up to her was just a way of shirking responsibility for the dirty decisions. All she said, though, was, “I and all the crew would rather die than betray our orders, sir.”
With that, the lift doors opened, and she strode out onto the bridge. Faces snapped her way, startled and worried—she wasn’t supposed to be on-duty for another two hours. Lieutenant Summers had the conn. She cleared out of the command chair wordlessly as Blaine approached.
Blaine settled into the chair without skipping a beat. “I want a report on the conditions outside our airlock,” she snapped at the helmsman: some kid who was not Beach, she noted. Where was Beach? He should be sleeping too, she reminded herself; she and he had the same sleep rotation, there was nothing unusual about his not being here.
The helmsman checked, bewildered by the question. “Sensors show the umbilical corridor outside the main airlock as empty and airless, Commander.” Exactly as one would expect. Unless and until someone used it to board them.
Blaine only nodded, her mouth a thin grim line. She patched her way through to Lieutenant Blount, who’d been left in charge of Security. “Blount, I want you and your people to make your way to the prime airlock. Prepare to fight off anyone who tries to force their way in. Meanwhile I’ll have Engineering lock down the hardware.”
“Aye, ma’am,” said Blount, with no more hint of surprise than if they’d been running a drill. As Blaine patched herself through to her people in Engineering, she watched the reactions of the bridge crew closely. No one could really find fault with them. They responded immediately, they followed orders with no need for lengthy explanations. Blaine was sure that almost all of them would lay down their lives if ordered to, or if convinced it was necessary for the good of the Galaxy, its charter, and the absent remnants of the Democratic Empire.
Still, something bothered her about the looks they flashed each other as they awaited further commands. Their eyes were just a little too wide, their nerves just a little too frayed.
But if they weren’t quite in tip-top shape, Blaine nevertheless had confidence that they were close enough to conduct themselves honorably. And if they survived this, she’d make it a priority to whip their asses into condition.
Now that all the most immediate preparations were in place, Blaine could take a moment to check up on Beach. She had no doubt, really, that he was wherever he was supposed to be; that the drill he’d been conducting with the comm system had been completely innocuous, and that she was merely overreacting to Miller’s paranoia. Still, she should check. She called up her private AI on the command chair armrest and instructed it to discreetly check on Beach’s location.
And then she sat there gaping at the readouts. After a few moments she realized one of the crewmembers was asking her something. It was a routine query; she quickly answered it, then turned to confirming and reconfirming the data her AI was giving her.
There was no way around it. Beach was off the ship.
Gods damn it. For the briefest moment she hesitated. If she issued a general alarm, any hacks or spies the Provisional had in place would know about it.
On the other hand, if they were the ones behind Beach’s absence, then they already did know about it, and they couldn’t possibly expect her to go very long without noticing, anyway. And there had been a pretty serious breach of security, for Beach to have gotten off the ship unnoticed. Physical security, as well as cyber-security—someone must have hacked into her personal AI and canceled her order to be informed if Beach did anything unusual. The crew needed to be notified about it, and on the look-out.
“Red alert,” she declared. Then she kept a sharp eye on the crew, to see if they would exchange any dubious looks before readying their systems for battle status. But she didn’t catch any hesitation at all, this time—they were making the proper adjustments even before the red klaxons began to wail.
Good.
Eight
After the disastrous card game, and the quick conference with Galaxy during which Farraday warned Blaine about what had happened, all three humans returned to the quarters Bayawah Spaceport had assigned them. But then Miller just about flipped when Farraday asked him and Cosway to go next door to their quarters, so he could lay down a while.
“Captain,” said Miller, “I really strongly believe we should have a talk about this!”
“And that’s exactly what I plan to do while the two of you are next door, Lieutenant-Commander.”
“Have a talk, sir? By yourself?”
“Yes.”
Miller was disciplined enough an officer that he didn’t do more than clench his fists as he withdrew. Farraday knew that Chavez would have taken a very low view of him
allowing even that, but then again Chavez could go to hell. Why shouldn’t Miller be furious and show it, if he thought his ship and crewmates were about to be captured by the enemy? And how could Farraday expect his officers to be so much more disciplined than he himself ever had been?
Once his subordinates were gone, he turned the lights all the way down. He lay on the bunk, on top of the sheets, flat on his back and with his uniform still on. He left one hand on his belly and one upon his chest.
Then he had his little conference.
“Mom,” he said, out loud. “See what you got me into, Mom?”
Of course, he knew what she would have said to that. She would have had a sharp answer, would have explained that she didn’t think highly of his blaming others for his own problems, that she hadn’t raised him to use that weakling’s ploy. This was why it counted almost as a real conference, because he could imagine everything she would say just as if she were here.
And you’re at least partly wrong, Mom. At the same time, she was also more than half-right. He should have been sneakier with Chavez, instead of so obscenely gullible. Would his mother, the great Admiral Theresa Farraday, ever have sat down to play a game of chance with an enemy before knowing precisely what the stakes were?... Well, actually, yeah, she might have. It wouldn’t be fair to call Admiral Farraday gullible, but she herself had been so naturally forthright that deception had been a tactic she’d had to learn, and become accustomed to over years of practice. Rarely did an opportunity for or suspicion of it leap unbidden to her mind; rather, she had to consciously remind herself that it was a possibility and an option.
