Saahren dealt with the necessities first. He had his implant reset and took back command of the fleet from Admiral Valperez. He gave his senior staff a brief explanation of the events on Tisyphor and what had happened subsequently. That included Allysha’s presence, of course, and while he described her remarkable talents with information systems and all things Ptorix, the private part of their relationship he kept to himself. He had an uncomfortable feeling that one or two of them deduced a little more than he told them. But they were guessing. He fielded a few questions, then raised a hand.
"That will do for now, gentlemen. I wish to see if our guests are comfortable." He returned the salute automatically, choosing to ignore a few barely-swallowed smirks.
Tyne and Grallaz would be fine and his body double had been moved and confined to quarters for the trip to Malmos. Allysha. He hesitated at the door of her stateroom. He hadn’t expected such vehemence from her over the techpack. But he’d done the right thing. Of course he had.
Arcturus announced him and he stepped inside. She sat on the sofa dressed in the grey pants and shirt ordinary crew members wore, bare feet propped on the coffee table. He longed to settle down beside her, take her in his arms. But her eyes raked over him, her lips set in an unwelcoming line.
"Are you comfortable? Is there anything you need?"
She shot him an almost contemptuous glance and looked around the room. "Yes, I’m comfortable. It’s just like a hotel suite. How couldn’t I be comfortable? Is your swanky apartment in Malmos like this or is it better?"
Her words slammed into his mind. "How do you know I have an apartment in Malmos?"
She shrugged, pretending defiance but her eyes flickered. "You must have mentioned it."
"No. It means nothing to me. I rarely use it." She’d seen the data; she must have. But how?
"Well, it’s a reasonable guess."
She’s lying. She’s lying to me. A tendril of anger rose from his gut. "No, no, Allysha. You’re not guessing. How do you know?"
"I must have seen it somewhere." She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.
He stepped closer. "Did you see it on the IS?"
She tossed her head. "Maybe. I don’t remember."
"If you saw it on the IS, you must have seen it on my personnel file. That’s restricted. Maybe two or three people on this ship can see my record."
She swallowed and the skin around her eyes tightened a little.
He put facts together in his head, that feeling he had when she concentrated that she wasn’t physically there, the way she sometimes seemed to know things before she pulled the techpack off her belt. "You haven’t been completely honest with me, have you?"
He waited but she didn’t say anything. His lips tightened. She’d fooled him. Him. Idiot. He’d let her get past his defenses. Love is blind, they say.
"No? Well, let’s see if I can work it out. You need the techpack in places where there is no data point. Perhaps a non-technical person like me could call it a pocket InfoDroid. You can connect directly with an IS through a data point but you keep that secret, pretending to use the techpack. Am I right?"
Allysha folded herself up in the chair and pressed her fist to her mouth.
Rage exploded in his chest. He strode two steps across the room and stood over her. "Answer me."
She jerked as though he’d struck her. "Yes."
The anger evaporated like mist. Stupid, stupid. He sank down into a chair and rested his chin on his fist. He was being unreasonable. He had no right to bully her, she had only protected herself. And what to make of this—it was unexpected. If he’d been concerned about the safety of the systems on his flagship if she had the techpack, what now? And she’d proved she could get into anything she wanted. He could bet her incursion wouldn’t show up in the logs.
"It’s easier with the techpack. It has functions I can use, tools. But I can do without it if I have to." She’d unwrapped herself a little but her tone was hesitant. "I was curious. I just wanted to find out about you."
He leaned back and put his arms on the armrests. And now he’d bullied her. How could he repair that? "You could have asked. You have only to ask."
"I wanted to know if you’d lied to me. Besides, aren’t I allowed to know where you live?" Some of the defiance was back.
He shook his head wearily. "I’ll take you there. You can live there."
She frowned and rubbed one arm with her hand, up and down, up and down. "No. No, you won’t. I just want to go home. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish it would all end, or that I’ll wake up and find out it was all a horrible nightmare." Her lip trembled and her eyes were brilliant. "What are you going to do with me now? Put me in a cell? Yes, I can get into any of your warship’s systems. I won’t. I found out what I wanted to know."
"That’s my choice, isn’t it?" he said softly. "Either I trust you or I lock you away."
He could have the IS in this suite physically disabled but if he did that, she would have no access to entertainments, news, communication. He might as well put her in a cell. And if he did that, what chance that she would co-operate with him, let alone anything else? He’d been a fool, a pompous idiot driven by the need to appear unbiased, even to himself.
"All right," he said at last. He took the techpack from his pocket and handed it to her. "I’m sorry. Of course I trust you." He grunted. "I’m even a little disappointed that you didn’t tell me about this astounding talent before."
He saw the look on her face, the lifted eyebrow, the slightly curled lip. "Well, not me; Brad Stone. I thought you rather liked him, trusted him."
"He never existed. He was a dream. And I trusted him as much as you trusted me." Her eyes glistened and she turned her head away.
He took a deep breath. "If you want to talk about dreams, think about nightmares, think about your Tor friends who died on Brjyl, or think about what van Tongeren wants from you, or the rioting and bloodshed between Tors and humans. Please, put any perceived animosity behind you. Let’s get this crisis ended."
She caught him with her brilliant green laser stare. "Did my data help?"
He smiled. "Oh, yes. It certainly did. It proved the argument quite conclusively. Here; let me show you."
He sat down on the sofa next to her and asked the IS to load the evidence.
Arcturus’s IS woke Allysha from forgotten dreams. "It’s nearly time to go, Allysha."
She sat up and stretched cramped muscles. "Go? Where?"
"You’re to join Admiral Saahren on the trip down to Malmos in half an hour."
"Malmos? Are we in Melchior orbit?"
"We are. You have time to shower and change."
"Flip. Guess I’d better."
She headed for the shower, shedding clothes as she went. The hot water revived her and she squirted some shampoo into her hand.
"Do I have time to pack?" she said as she lathered.
"Your belongings will be packed for you. Would you like some food before you leave?"
Allysha rinsed her hair. "If there’s time. Just a sandwich and some kaff."
She switched on the drier and turned her body to catch the warm air. Half an hour, wasn’t that typical of men? "Fancy leaving me with only half an hour to get ready."
"Admiral Saahren thought it best to let you sleep for as long as possible."
She snorted. "Huh. Just shows what he knows about women."
She was ready when Saahren came, but only just. "You could have given me some warning."
His eyebrows shot up. "I gave you half an hour."
She sniffed. "You’re lucky I made it."
He led her to the transit, down to the battle cruiser’s hangar bay and into an airlock where another officer waited beside a shuttle.
"This is Senior Commander Butcher, my adjutant," Saahren said. "Butcher, Miss Marten."
Allysha nodded and smiled at a man about Saahren’s age, not so tall, pale skinned, with a chunky build and brown eyes. She wasn’t sure what an ad
jutant was but this man had a lot less gold on his shoulder boards. She followed Saahren up the ramp into a carpeted passenger compartment. Ten comfortable seats stretched down either side of a central passage. Saahren directed her to sit across the aisle from him in the front row, with Butcher behind him. She sat quietly as the cabin went into the familiar routine for take-off. Who’d have thought a few months ago that space travel would become second nature to her?
The shuttle dropped down into the atmosphere and toward the cloud-shrouded city. The upper floors of the taller towers looked like the stacks off the coast near the cliffs at Shernish, vapor surging around the buildings in the same way that waves crashed around the rocks.
"I expect it’s raining under there," she said, more to distract her mind than for any other reason.
Saahren grunted. "Not where we’re going."
Their destination showed on the view screen, the top of one of the tallest buildings, towering above the clouds. Her stomach squirmed. She, Allysha Marten, system engineer from Shernish, was on her way to the Galactic Confederacy’s parliament building to meet the Confederacy’s president. She ran a hand through her hair and instantly regretted the gesture. She’d have to comb her hair again. She rummaged for a comb as the ship slowed and slipped into the hangar. A quick flick would have to do.
As soon as the harness had retracted, Saahren was on his feet waiting for the external door to release. Allysha made a last minute adjustment to the scarf around her neck and wished she could have done without it. The bruises had faded a little but they were far from gone. Butcher hung back and gestured for Allysha to go first. He gave her a reassuring smile as she stood.
A detachment of Fleet troopers crashed to attention and presented arms when Saahren appeared. He returned the salute. Allysha felt very small and insignificant following in his wake. She hung back with Senior Commander Butcher as Saahren was greeted by a middle aged man in a beautifully cut business suit.
"Alonso Vetch, the president’s adviser on Ptorix affairs," murmured Butcher for Allysha’s benefit.
"If you’ll come this way." Vetch gestured to the doors at the back of the hangar.
Allysha kept pace with Butcher behind Saahren. She gazed around, taking in simple elegance, even in the transit car. Where the Ptorix would have decorated everything, the human taste was plain, with neutral colors like white, beige and cream. But the fittings and fixtures were beautifully designed and superbly finished. When the car stopped, Vetch led them along a corridor carpeted in green and hung with portraits, mainly of older men in suits.
"The Confederacy’s past presidents," Butcher said.
Finally Vetch ushered them through a waiting room—a clerk nodded respectfully—and into what Allysha assumed must be the inner sanctum. The room oozed understated luxury, with soaring ceilings and muted, indirect lighting designed to highlight the no doubt expensive art hanging on the walls. A massive desk and matching chair stood in front of a window that took up an entire wall. The turbulent cloud tops rolled past like an ocean, eddying around a few other towers that protruded so far into the sky. On a clear day, the view would be spectacular.
"Admiral Saahren, Mister President," Vetch said.
Ten comfortable chairs surrounded a low table in a corner of the room. The four men sitting there all stood up as Saahren approached. One of them stepped forward, hand outstretched, a smile creasing his rather heavy features. He was the only one Allysha recognized from the news broadcasts on Arcturus. President Galbraith.
"Admiral, so good to have you back."
Saahren saluted. "Thank you, Mister President."
Galbraith’s eyes narrowed as he dropped his hand to his side. "I think you know Oldric Frykes, who’s taken over as Minister for Defense and Foreign Minister Hardrid Singel." Saahren gave a military bow from the neck to the two men. "And of course you’ve met Dermuid McKinley."
"My adjutant, Senior Commander Butcher and my advisor on Ptorix matters, Allysha Marten," Saahren said. "For Miss Marten’s benefit, Mister McKinley is the leader of the opposition in the Confederacy Parliament. He is, if you like, the alternative president if Mister Galbraith’s government were to fall."
Allysha’s eyes flicked from man to man. All of them had immediately dismissed her as decorative but irrelevant. Galbraith was curious and defensive. He hadn’t liked what Saahren had said about McKinley. McKinley seemed a little bit excited; Singel was nervous, Frykes belligerent and Vetch impassive. They mirrored what Saahren had told her as he briefed her in the shuttle. McKinley had everything to gain; the other politicians had the Government to lose. Allysha didn’t really care about any of them. She had Carnessa to lose. She went over the evidence again in her mind, reviewing what Saahren had shown her and told her. Surely there was enough.
"It’s a pity we couldn’t see your evidence before the meeting with the Qerrans and the Khophirans, Saahren." Galbraith’s voice held a note of reproach, as if the admiral should have known better.
Saahren frowned. "I am here in my capacity as an admiral of the Fleet, Mister President. Please address me as Admiral."
Galbraith blinked. "Er, sorry, Admiral."
Allysha suppressed a smile. That was the tone of voice Saahren used when he was displeased. It seemed Galbraith was as susceptible as everybody else.
"Perhaps it’s time we gathered in the conference room, gentlemen," Vetch said.
Galbraith, Singel and Frykes moved as a group, pleased at the intervention. McKinley hesitated, a hint of smile on his lips and exchanged a few quiet words with Saahren. Butcher and Allysha followed.
***
Vetch ushered everyone into an austere, business like chamber. A massive blackwood table surrounded by matching chairs almost filled its space. The Confederacy coat of arms, a galaxy in three quarter view on a black field with the motto ‘justice for all’ in gold letters below it, hung on the wall at the far end of the room.
Galbraith sat in the president’s chair, underneath the coat of arms. The humans sat on Galbraith’s left; Singel, Frykes, McKinley, Vetch, a space, then Allysha, Saahren and Butcher. Allysha rubbed her leg nervously and recognized displacement behavior. They’re just men, men with titles. Her head jerked up when the first of the Ptorix delegation arrived, resplendent in red and gold robes with matching headdress. He glided into the room with self-assured arrogance, a Ptorix noble of high status. All the humans stood. Allysha noted that even in the high headdress the Ptorix was not quite as tall as Saahren.
"Good to see you again, Lord Daizhen," Galbraith said, smiling. He paused while the man who had entered behind Daizhen, repeated his words in Ptorix.
Saahren’s voice spoke via her implant. "Anxhou’s ambassador with his tame human, Ingor Tesso."
"Lord Daizhen returns your greeting." Tesso, a short, thin, undistinguished looking individual, had the look of an accountant or a back room lawyer, studious and pale. Dressed in a less elaborate version of his master’s costume, a red and gold, floor length robe, he wore his hair long, parted down the middle and hanging to his shoulders. If Tesso had intended to impress, he’d failed. He looked absurd, almost comical, like a character in a children’s program. Mister Cone, who would be in company with Mister Ball and Miss Cube. She suppressed the grin. This wasn’t supposed to be funny.
Daizhen’s eyes flicked across the humans. He registered Allysha’s presence without any reaction, but she noticed a spike of blue that settled quickly back down to yellow-green when he looked at Saahren. Daizhen was uncomfortable; just a little bit.
The ambassador moved to his place beside the conference table, where Ptorix platforms were set, ready for the visitors. Tesso fetched a chair and sat beside Daizhen, staring at the humans with haughty defiance.
Qerra’s Ptorix ambassador was last to arrive. "Welcome to you, Lord Marratax," Galbraith said.
"Thank you, Mister President," replied the Ptorix in accented Standard. "Good day to you, Admiral Saahren." His robes were deep red with gold trim, less ornate than Daizh
en’s costume but probably more comfortable. His eyes glowed greenish blue. Curious, interested.
"If we’re all here," Galbraith said, "let’s get started. You will see that Admiral Saahren is here in person to report on the incident at Brjyl. I’m sure our guests will be fascinated to hear what you have to say, Admiral."
On the other side of the table, Daizhen made a remark.
"My Lord wonders if you have any real new evidence to present, or if you intend to offer more excuses," translated Tesso. He raised a superior eyebrow.
Saahren stood. "I have no need to offer excuses, as you will see. First I’ll show you the distress signal sent from the settlement on Brjyl. I know you have all seen this footage already but I wish to refresh your memories."
Butcher activated the HV in the center of the table.
A panic-stricken man, hair disheveled, eyes round with fright, sat at a console, staring into the camera. "Anybody… this is Brjyl control… we’re under attack!" His voice was a rapid staccato, his eyes darted to his right as he talked. "Confederacy troops, firing at will… it’s a massacre… please…. Help…" The speaker’s head turned to stare, slack jawed. A figure appeared, its back to the sensor. The crackling zap of a laser weapon rang out; the operator clutched at his chest and fell to the ground. The figure turned around, a trooper in activated body armor. Face anonymous behind a helmet visor, it advanced toward the camera. A gloved hand reached out and then there was static.
Butcher paused the HV.
"My people obtained a Ptorix information system from the ruins of the control room at Brjyl," Saahren said. "This is what really happened."
The scene was calm, even mundane. A windowless room, softly lit, its walls unadorned grey plasteel, a closed door opposite the camera. Six people, three Ptorix and three humans, were in evidence. Four of the operators sat at workstations around a central plinth. Two people, one Ptorix, the other human, bent over one of the seated operators, examining something on the screen. Suddenly the door slid open. Troopers in Confederacy battle armor surged in and fired their weapons in arcs. The air thrummed with the noise of discharging weapons, breaking furniture, exploding equipment. The workers hardly had a chance to register surprise. Blood and ichor splattered the walls and workstations. The firing stopped. A work station spat sparks and smoked; a last chair clattered to the ground. The operator whose screen had attracted an audience hung dead in his chair. The other people lay scattered on the floor amongst the remains of their equipment.
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 240
