by John Ringo
Reporting this kind of material to a huge, hardball, corporate entity via a Tong plant would have been suicidal, if he’d been dealing with humans. Humans would put their heads together and notice that the Tong had had the information and had connections with the factors screwing Epetar along its trade routes. The trails were covered, but human intuition just might connect the dots. It paid to know the alien mind. Putting the pieces together, even long after the fact, would require having someone who had all the pieces. Which would mean someone at Gistar would have to share the information about how they knew of Epetar’s loss. Sharing did not make up a major part of the Darhel personality. Humans from a rival corporation, in the same situation, would almost certainly look into it. Gistar couldn’t care two beans about Epetar’s losses, unless the existence of outside involvement was very blatant. The Darhel were not stupid. They were very, very smart. Probably smarter than humans. But they weren’t invulnerable, if you could keep the left hand from knowing what the right hand was doing.
If Kim reported Epetar’s misfortune to his bosses at Gistar, Stewart would know. If the man somehow missed the opportunity to peruse Stewart’s PDA — and he’d carefully made sure anything else important was well locked down — he’d have to find some other way to feed him the information. The faster it got to Gistar, the better. It was crucial that the other Darhel group be in a position to snap up Epetar’s cargoes. He’d chosen Gistar out of several Darhel groups with operations in the Sol System because it seemed to have the best cash flow and the best distribution of ships, for his purposes. Gistar routinely stocked portions of its cash reserves on board the commercial couriers that waited on site at most major jump points, ready to be dispatched with urgent information — for a steep fee. Any outgoing Gistar freighter could, again for a fee, rendezvous with a courier ship prior to jump and pick up code key currency to remedy misfortunes or take advantage of opportunities. Gistar had a freighter load of monazite sands, molybdenum, and various asteroid extracts bound from the Sol System to Adenast, with its major space dock facility and building slips. They had a courier load of Tchpth scientists bound on a return trip to Barwhon after installing some rather exotic equipment in their asteroid extraction facilities.
Both destinations would give ample opportunity for Gistar to divert a ship and load it with sufficient currency to purchase high-margin cargos. Both ships were far enough from the jump point for Kim to tightbeam them the motherload of information he was about to brilliantly stumble over, but close enough to it to ensure that all ships that would be involved in Stewart’s little dance would be close to their respective jump points and therefore would move very, very quickly to reach their commercial targets.
The hapless Epetar crews would arrive at planet after planet to find no waiting goods. They would then be in position to make deals they thought would minimize their losses, all the while being systematically and subtly skinned. Stewart’s grin was feral. Ain’t payback a bitch?
It would all look so closely timed as to have been planned in advance by Gistar — drawing suspicion away from the organization that had such a firm hold on the loyalties of his wife. Stewart didn’t give a flying fuck about the Bane Sidhe, but providing cover for his wife — and by extension his kids — was something else. He’d never want her to turn traitor on them, but God dammit he wished she’d just quit the fucking job. They wouldn’t dare touch her if she was in the custody of the Tong, as his wife. They needed the organizational relationship too much, and she’d be no threat to them, anyway. It wasn’t like they didn’t have other dormant assets. The Tong’s patronage certainly covered him from misunderstandings with the Bane Sidhe, if they were to become aware of his identity and continued survival today. Cally O’Neal Stewart would become just one more female operative on the inactive list. She didn’t see it that way, which did maybe say a few things about where he rated on her list of priorities.
If, somehow, his analysis of the Darhel situation was wrong, in any major particular, he would probably find himself beginning a new job on the graveyard shift of the bar that served the station’s dock workers. If he was right, as he was almost certain he was, he was about to make the organization a great deal of money. More importantly, he was about to enable the organization to subtly and thoroughly screw a Darhel business group while keeping it totally ignorant of the fact that it was being royally and deliberately fucked. The money would please his superiors. The honor restored, by avenging a very personal debt the Tong owed to the Darhel, would mean infinitely more. The Tong had been scrupulously careful never to speak of their knowledge of the events in the war, and how much they had pieced together of the part the Darhel played in it, anywhere where an electronic eye or ear might overhear it. They had quite meticulously avoided ever putting anything at all in writing, much less onto any electronic device. They had quite deliberately played fat, dumb and happy. And they had waited. Finally, there was an opportunity. It was worth a bit of risk to potentially avenge the deaths of billions of their people. Hell, it was worth the risk to avenge China alone.
The Tong had not originally been his people, of course. But when Stewart joined something, he joined.
Tuesday 10/19/54
Cally had to fight to stay awake on the drive into Charleston Tuesday morning. Granpa had been infernally cheerful when he woke her up at six. Unfortunately, strong coffee tasted wonderful, but might as well have been water for all the good the caffeine did her. Her nannites scavenged it and destroyed it almost before it hit her bloodstream. Provigil-C worked, but not if she wanted to sleep on the plane, and boy, did she want to sleep on the plane. There was too much to do once she got into base. She’d never have time to recover. She really ought to go through her pitch for Michelle’s mission before she had to present it. There were a lot of things she ought to do. And she did them. Usually. Mostly. Sort of. Granpa had been a bad influence.
Keiran had the small, gray jet ready to preflight when they arrived — it had taken all of Granpa’s persuasion to keep Lucille from sporting at least red stripes and her name.
Their company ID’s, under a very sincere front corporation, allowed them to enter the charter gate at any time of the day or night without further screening. Despite the official “terrorism” that DAG existed to combat, nobody was hijacking or blowing up airplanes anymore. Why try that kind of political action? All you had to do if you didn’t like living under an existing government was punch out a case or so of sten guns, stock up on ammo, and take off for parts unknown. Oh, there were political malcontents, of course. They just had a dearth of the personality types willing to go out and die for them. Cally never thought of the Bane Sidhe as terrorists, and would have argued vehemently that they were not. After all, they never, ever tried to be noticed, and they never, ever tried to frighten anyone at all. Oh, they sought political change. But very subtly, and with a careful eye towards the long haul. Personally, she was more impatient. It was one of the reasons she had chosen her particular profession. That, and some unusually high scores on the basic occupational specialization aptitude profile. Tactical patience came easily. Strategic patience was harder for her. It was only Aelool’s assurance that endgame was ninety percent probable, for better or worse, within her own grandchildren’s generation that made it possible for her to keep going, year in and year out.
Once she and Granpa had secured their bikes in the hangar, they stepped out onto the gray tarmac, under the heavy fall cloud cover. Kieran was in the cockpit preflighting Lucille, and Cally loaded her backpack onto the plane. From the boxes in back, she wasn’t the only one supplementing income with a little tax-free transshipment of trade goods. She nodded approvingly, until she saw their pilot reach back over his shoulder to press something that looked suspiciously like a wad of bills into Granpa’s hand.
“Granpa!” She knew she sounded shocked.
“What? Like you don’t?” He didn’t even turn around, pocketing the cash, hand coming back out with a well-worn tobacco pouch.
> “You could have at least cut me in,” she huffed.
“Oh. Sorry. Thought you were getting some unhealthy scruples in your old age,” he said. “Besides, no offense, and I’m all for sharing the wealth, but what were you going to trade that I’m not already getting direct?”
“Well, for one thing, a few of the hospitals could certainly use some high grade opium. You know how bare bones they are for most drugs. They’ve got good enough lab guys to do most of the chemistry on site. We’ve got enough non-immunes that the base hospital wouldn’t turn up their noses, either. Our guys could even do the final chemistry for whole shipments. Better to rope them in to do the reselling, anyway.”
“And you’d have a source I don’t know about? Tell me you’re not involved in any way I’d disapprove of.” He seldom took that flat tone with her.
“I have no part in profiting from putting a monkey on anyone’s back, not even tangentially, if that’s what you mean. Not anything you’d disapprove of, Granpa? You’d disapprove more if I wasn’t.” She smiled wryly.
He stared at her searchingly a moment before nodding. “We’ll talk quantities later,” he said. “And where the hell is Tommy?” He stepped to the door of the plane and looked out across the endless gray field as if he could make the other man appear by scowling.
Cally wasn’t nearly that fussed about it. Tommy late meant more sacktime for her. She shifted enough boxes that she could recline her seat and got her sleep mask out of her thigh zip pocket. She could sleep without dark. She could sleep propped standing up if that was all she had time for. But she’d get the best use out of the available rest if she had dark. Besides, Granpa was alert enough for both of them. The last thing she heard before she drifted off was a grumpy harrumph from his general direction.
All too soon, he was nudging her awake, tapping her hand from a careful distance on the other side of the aisle.
“Hey, sleepy, time to wake up,” he said.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, glancing at the window. Not that it did any good, since someone had thoughtfully lowered the shade. She didn’t feel the slightly hollow sensation of descent. “How far out are we?”
“A bit more than an hour,” he said.
“What? I’ve only been asleep a half hour.” She glared accusingly. “A bit more,” she echoed grumpily, pulling the mask back down over her eyes.
“You got a cat nap. Quit bitching; time for business.”
“Can’t it wait?” she grumbled.
“Maybe for you it can,” Tommy broke in, “but I’ve got three doctor’s appointments and paperwork in personnel. Vitapetroni expects me pretty much as soon as we get off the plane.”
“And I need my ducks in a row for Nathan. All right.” She sighed, sitting up and yawning. “Anyone think to bring coffee?”
“Sure.” Tommy poured a cup of coffee into a thermos cap and handed it over. The slightly sour aftertaste as she drank made her wish they could brew it on board. Unfortunately, the last coffee pot for the plane’s machine had broken and from the prices on eBay you’d think the things were made of gold. Wendy had probably brewed this in a pan on the stove. She ignored the grounds in the bottom of the cup and finished the whole thing.
“So. Papa filled me in on the basic mission. Darhel-owned secret research facility, we pull a switch while the all-seeing high mucky-muck mentat is out of town. Broadly, what are the less obvious things that could go wrong? His schedule changes, difficulty getting people inside, all the standard stuff is a given.” Tommy shrugged, pouring himself some of the aging brew.
“Well, first off the Darhel and the mentat are going to be worried directly about Michelle. If they weren’t scared of her, they wouldn’t be trying to kill her. She doesn’t plan a direct attack, but how sure of that are they?” Cally offered.
Papa O’Neal spat thoughtfully into a paper towel, wadding it into an airsick bag. “I don’t know how she’d attack if she did. Whether the mentat thinks he can handle it or not, my understanding is he’s the only thing that could handle a direct attack and everybody would be worried about apocalypse anyway. You can’t exactly plan for apocalypse. At least, I’ve mulled it over and I can’t think of a way they could do it. They may be scared, but their whole play is a bet that she won’t. If she goes ballistic on them, they’d have to worry just as much about her doing it when they try to call her debts. They’ve placed their bets, I don’t think there’s anything we can do about their own ‘what if we’re wrong’ scenario for direct attack.”
“They’ll expect her to try to call in favors with Indowy clans to find it and steal it back. She’s Indowy raised, and that’s how they’d handle it. Especially since she’s got few clan members of her own as far as they know — just Mike and her breeding group’s kids. They’ll obviously make sure Mike’s on the far side of inhabited space,” Tommy said.
“They have; I checked.” Papa O’Neal nodded and put in, “They’ll call in an aethal master. Get him to set up a situation board and block any moves with the Indowy. Since she’s a master herself, they’ll hire the best one they can find. We can only hope she’s better than he is and has successfully camouflaged any connections she’ll be using. That ball’s in Michelle’s court.”
“Darhel. Aliens are alien. As it gets closer to her being in breach of contract, he may get antsy. If he gets nervous, he’ll try to cover his own ass. To a Darhel, that will mean flashy moves to look like he went above and beyond in the event that something goes wrong. So what’s he do? One thing is it’s Earth and humans. Smart Darhel hire security when dealing with Earth and humans. He doesn’t know how much they need, so he’ll think more is better and expect his bosses to think the same, but he won’t want to pay much for it. DAG.”
“What? How do you get that?” It was Tommy who said it, but he and Papa were both looking at her as if she’d gone nuts.
“No, it makes sense if you think like an Elf. Great Lakes is right next door. DAG has figured prominently in three or four big box-office holodramas lately,” she explained.
Tommy and Papa rolled their eyes. The shows in question had been more Hollywooded than anything Hollywood had turned out prewar. Really bad, and really popular.
“The point is they’re glamorous right now. Flashy. The Darhel always have to have the best of the best of whatever Earth’s got. Adding to the attraction, he probably doesn’t have to pay his lackeys in the Joint Chiefs’ office an extra buck to get them. Just bully the guys — they’re already nice and compromised. He’ll do it because he can, and he’ll like it. It’s an excuse to throw his weight around. What’s the downside to him?”
“That’s a hell of a longshot,” Papa complained. “He may not even think of it. You can never be too paranoid. Okay, we’ll cover it. Brief in one of the cousins just in case.”
“He’s more likely to bring in a second aethal master. Where a first won’t get her, a second might,” Tommy insisted.
“True. All we can do about it is remind her to be paranoid as hell and not get caught. Cally, that’s your department.”
“Got it. I’ll take care of the briefing, too. We’ve got that family reunion coming up. I’m sure there will be someone I can pull off to the side. Are we done?”
“For now, unless any of us think of anything else.” He spat once into the bag and grabbed a bottle of water. “I wouldn’t turn down a cup of that coffee.”
“I’m sleeping.” Cally said emphatically. “Don’t wake me until we’re on the ground.”
Father O’Reilly’s office was a familiar and usually comfortable place, but today he looked more strained than she’d seen him since the first, tough weeks right after the Bane Sidhe split. Aelool was absent, attending a birth celebration for his newest clan members. It would take all day. It had become necessary for the health of the remaining Indowy to break the traditional prohibition against their highly prolific race establishing breeding groups on Earth. It had been done with trepidation on both sides and a hard upper population limi
t. Once the limits had been reached, the tentative plans were to proceed with some highly clandestine shipyards that had always been beyond the daring of the original organization. Human influence on the Indowy on this side of the split was so infinitesimal as not to be noticeable to most humans. Cally knew enough about the Indowy to realize the changes were at breakneck speed, for them, and to understand quite clearly why the Bane Sidhe split had been a total divorce. She also knew why the organization was so very careful to conceal the extent of the social changes from the Tchpth observers. Nothing could be concealed from the Himmit, of course, but just because they collected stories didn’t always mean they told them.
It made her nervous to see the father so clearly stressed. Anything that could upset him couldn’t be good news for the organization. Usually, he wasn’t a man given to fidgeting and had one of the best poker-faces of anyone she knew. It took more than a still expression to conceal dark circles under your eyes, though, and the usually immaculate clerical collar was wrinkled as if he hadn’t been to bed and changed clothes in quite awhile. He had that look around the eyes that she couldn’t quite put into words but had learned to associate with an active dose of Provigil-C. His thumb and forefinger were rubbing together as they must when he prayed the rosary, even though his hands were empty. She doubted he had even noticed he was doing it, which disturbed her even more. The weather in the artificial window reflected the cold, wet, stormy day above. Not the most pleasant day in the world. She herself would have preferred something more cheerful, but she didn’t ask him to change it. It would have been rude. Normally she found the shushing sound of rain peaceful. Today it was just dismal. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for his comments on the mission profile displayed in front of him on his desk. He turned the display off and sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at her.
