The evaluators were advancing the scenario clock to the authentication sequence. Ariane looked at the crew undergoing evaluation. This was the senior crew for the squadron, and the commander was only five years behind Ariane in rank and apparent age, but to her worn senses, they seemed much too young.
"Captain Dumas and Captain Atropes have spotless evals on their records, but Lieutenant Hawking has only been with them for two months.” Jacinthe nodded at the third and youngest crew member, sitting at comm.
Inside the training module the comm panel warbled, signaling special execution orders. Ariane watched the crew smoothly begin their authentication using the classic triad. This crew had tempo; they were well trained and familiar with each other’s reactions.
"Commander’s order authenticated—approval given.”
"Comm’s order authenticated—approval given.” The young lieutenant was quick, double-checking his encryption codes efficiently. Ariane was suddenly reminded of Cipher.
Then came the classic pause in the sequence as the crew waited patiently for pilot authentication to complete. The pilot had to ensure that the orders loaded into the navigation panel correctly, and more importantly, the pilot performed decryption and authentication on the target position. All three crew members had to agree that they’d received valid and authentic orders to execute a TD weapon.
Ariane’s eyes automatically slid to the panel on the pilot’s right, where the N-space "coordinates” should display as blobs and rotate through several dimensions. However, this was the Naga-26 and the NC display had been moved higher and to the left side of the pilot display. She watched the blobs brighten and deform as the pilot initiated transformations.
"Pilot’s order authenticated and approval given,” the pilot said after making the rotations and verifying the results.
The crew picked up their original rhythm.
"Enter comm prearm sequence.”
"Entered.”
"Enter pilot prearm sequence.”
"Entered.”
"Commander prearm sequence entered. Download targeting information to warhead.”
"Target set downloaded.”
"Enter—”
Jacinthe abruptly muted the speaker, causing the evaluators in the cab to key their ear bugs a bit higher.
"The NC display hasn’t been on the right side of the pilot’s station since the Naga-twenty-four,” Jacinthe said.
Ariane knew her head hadn’t moved; only her eyes had betrayed her and only with a flicker. Regardless, she’d been carried away with the checklist and she was going to have to wipe away her memories; otherwise they’d betray her again. She turned to face Jacinthe, forcing herself to stare unflinching into the cold gray eyes. She hated having to look up at the woman; Jacinthe was tall and willowy as a result of her generational origins.
"I’m pilot qualified on the older systems,” Ariane said easily. True, maintenance officers had to shuttle around the Naga vehicles, even through N-space.
"Really?” Jacinthe drawled the word, dosing it with suspicion. "And as a bus driver, you learned ops execution checklists?”
At Jacinthe’s insult, several heads turned to watch their conversation instead of the crew. Ariane changed the topic quickly.
"Colonel, the Terran inspectors will want to see inside these modules.” Ariane couldn’t afford being rankled by Jacinthe’s ops snobbery, so she let it go.
"I have to let them inside?” asked Jacinthe.
"Yes, ma’am. Any area that’s big enough to hold a TD warhead can be subject to inspection, as long as it’s within the inspectable area. We expect them to push that to the limit for the chance of catching classified tidbits; getting intel for free, essentially.”
Jacinthe’s lips thinned as she pressed them together. She glanced at the crew inside the module one last time before striding out of the observation cab. Ariane followed. Outside, Jacinthe’s aides were standing quietly aside, waiting.
"These modules are made from operational systems. Even the static displays are classified.” Jacinthe stopped and turned, almost leaning over her.
"That’s why I’m here: to assist you in controlling sensitive information.” Ariane didn’t step back.
"Sure, you’re here to help.” Jacinthe’s lip curled and she lowered her voice so only Ariane could hear. "You’re not what you seem, Major, and I don’t like mysteries. I’ve still got a mission to meet and I’ll keep crews operational until the last TD warhead is shipped out for destruction. Got that?”
"Yes, ma’am.” Ariane kept her voice wooden. How had she gotten on this woman’s bad side? The irony of being older and more experienced than Jacinthe made her want to grind her teeth again.
"Lieutenant Santorini will help you establish our treaty compliance procedures.” Jacinthe’s voice rose, loud enough for her two aides to look up from their conversation. She turned on her heel and stalked off, waving for an aide to scamper after her. The remaining lieutenant reluctantly walked toward Ariane.
Ariane’s ear bug chimed. It was an urgent private message from Colonel Edones.
"The Terran overlords are already playing games with us.” Edones’s voice came through clearly, even through the chaotic encryption used in AFCAW facility nodes. "They moved faster than we expected, scheduling two inspections simultaneously. I have to get to Pelagos and prepare that squadron; they’re not as far along as Karthage. You’re on your own, Ari.”
"Wait, Colonel—is Parmet traveling with any of the inspection teams?”
"He’s leading the team coming here to Karthage. The itinerary and roster have arrived at command post. You’ll do fine, Major.” Edones cut the link from his side.
Ariane closed her eyes.
"Major Kedros?” Young Santorini wanted instructions.
A cold knot of fear formed somewhere between her stomach and her heart. She was going to face her worst enemy alone, hiding behind an identity that didn’t even fool the Naga squadron commander. Hung out as bait.
Damn you, Owen.
CHAPTER 6
"Hear me and index my life” is the lament of the grain of sand on the beach. Citizens document all aspects of their lives, from plucking nose hairs in the morning to evening masturbation—in childish attempts for attention. Luckily, indexing requires meeting objective AI imperatives, yet tireless Als can’t keep up with the deluge of drivel that’s written into crystal lattice. Democritus and Heraclitus have spawned more than forty models each, and I question the soaring costs we face each year for more vaults.
—Minutes for Senatorial Subcommittee on Consortium
Tax Structures, Senator Stephanos IV, 2104.352.04.11
UT, indexed by Democritus 7 under Metrics Imperative
Ariane watched Colonel Edones depart Karthage Point. He saluted Colonel Icelos briskly, acknowledging the facility commander’s permission to depart the station, then walked into the air lock for his ship.
She was no longer angry; after all, Edones hadn’t been looking over her shoulder on any of her plain-clothes operations. Although Sergeant Joyce was on three of the missions . . . hmm. Honestly, those missions really had required two operatives. Edones had faith in her and figured she could take care of herself. You always come through when it’s crunch time, he’d said after one mission, after she protested that she was piss-poor at planning.
Ariane disagreed with his assessment that she was right for the intelligence field, but never voiced her opinion. Why was that? Probably because he’s the last remnant I have of my previous life, of the real Ari.
When she first met him, Lieutenant Owen Edones had a generic face that was eminently suited for the intelligence field. His blue eyes were as bland as his expression, perhaps a result of the institutional lights and colors in this small room. Under other circumstances, Ari supposed, this was an interrogation room.
"There’s risks associated with the rejuv procedures,” said Edones. "Your genetic tests say you’re an ideal candidate, but you’re under no pressure to un
dergo any of the offered medical procedures or surgical alterations. You can take only the relocation and records-wipe, although your new identity will be more effective, more stable, with a change in appearance.”
A chance for reinvention, a new life—and I’m having problems making a decision! Ari paced in front of the table, where the lieutenant had laid out the different slates, all waiting for her approval or refusal. She hadn’t seen anyone since this had started, not even her squadron commander. It had been one black and blue after another, once their ship had managed to come out of N-space and dock at Thera Point. Brandon had lost control, enraged because the crew wasn’t warned about the mission payload. Then the three of them were separated.
"What are Cipher and Brandon doing?” she asked.
"I can’t tell you that, ma’am. That would be a violation of—”
"Yeah, yeah. Violation of personal privacy, classified material, need-to-know only. Did I cover the pertinent regulations?” She was rude to Edones not because she outranked him, but because she’d never liked intel types.
"Yes, ma’am, most of them. We’re trying to perform identity changes and we’re tampering with vault substitution and AI indexing. This would be highly illegal, under any other circumstances.”
"Not to mention impossible.” She stopped pacing and stared at Edones. "We’re told that once recorded, everything stays in immutable crystal. Only AIs can alter indexes in rewritable memory, to allow true objectivity. Are you saying that AFCAW is destroying and replacing whole vaults for us? That AIs will be reindexing multiple vaults of new crystal?”
The expense made her giddy. Should she be grateful or frightened? What will I owe AFCAW?
"I won’t go into the details.” Edones placed his immaculately manicured hands on the table before him. They remained quietly folded together while he spoke. "Suffice to say, AFCAW will be going to great lengths to give you a different identity, with different records.”
"To cover all the important asses?” She wrinkled her nose and frowned. "There’s no way to obscure the loss of Ura-Guinn. Or the executive order to use the TD weapon.”
"Those holding public office are prepared to take the consequences, since they’ve ended decades of warfare by bringing in the Minoans. You should be concerned with your own future.”
She resumed her pacing, although she could barely hear her footsteps under the active muffling inside the room. She could only take four paces, then turn, take four paces . . . Now that she had a chance for early separation, she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave AFCAW. Ever since her teens, she’d dreamed of the promises of space flight and getting her commission. Her goal had always been to fly military spacecraft, as long as she could remember. Without the military, she’d be adrift.
"Can I stay active duty?” she asked.
"If you wish, but you won’t be allowed to work Naga operations. There’s also the Reserve, if you want to keep your commission. But we’ll hash out the details of your new life later.”
"How many of these new lives are you putting together?” She watched his lips tighten. I don’t have the need to know. Quickly followed by the realization: I’ll never see Brandon again. Her stomach knotted, though she hadn’t eaten in hours. How long had she been here anyway?
"Won’t there be some record, some connection, to our past? How will I find the others?” Her voice rose.
"Consider yourself lucky that your immediate family is gone and you’re not having to jettison them. As for your fellow crew members, no one has expressed an interest in your future.” Edones gestured at the slates that quietly waited for signatures. "Captain Argyris, you have decisions to make.”
She picked up the nearest slate, the one offering rejuv.
"What does it matter, then?” she asked, a reckless edge in her voice.
"You should read the cautions,” Edones said. "Our rejuv technology is still in its infancy. Your gene structure indicates a ninety-five percent chance of success, but there’re possibilities of debilitating side effects.”
Ari ran down the list of questions, answering in the negative until one made her pause: "Have you been diagnosed with any addictive personality disorders, or have you been treated for any chemical addictions?”
Only a couple of days before this mission, this mission that had changed everything, Cipher had confronted Ari and urged her to go in for an addiction diagnosis. Just because I got carried away at a bar. She hadn’t lost control, but somehow Cipher had marked the amount of smooth and alcohol she’d taken that night. Ever since the episode with Brandon, Cipher seemed to think she had the authority to nag Ari about her behavior.
Well, Cipher, if you’ve got no interest in my future, then you’ve got no basis for criticism! Ari jabbed at the slate with her stylus, marking "no.”
"Any problems?” asked Lieutenant Edones.
"Of course not,” she answered brightly. She handed him the signed slate, reaching for another one.
"Hey!” Matt ducked as a remote went too far, trying to zoom over and pluck some of his hair. His privacy shield had been breached.
"Invoke emergency privacy shield, one-six-five-beta-psi-sigma-lambda-two,” he quietly chanted for his implanted mike.
Nothing happened in the crowded bazaar. Kiosks blared, so he repeated the password. Remotes still buzzed over his head and crowded in on him like a thicket of insects, focusing their cam-eyes on him. Pedestrians, probably instrumented, edged into his personal space. Remotes ordering goods for their owners floated out of his way, but activated mikes and swiveled cam-eyes to follow his progress. He’d become a minor celebrity as net-think picked up a whiff of what he’d discovered in G-145. Now someone had cracked his emergency privacy shield code.
Matt resorted to using his second backup emergency shield; like any other Autonomist citizen, he kept several in reserve. A few remotes dropped to the deck, unable to get out of the shield radius in time. He looked down at the chattering and whirring remotes, cut off from their owners and driving software, and invoked his disablement password. Thankfully, they went still. He wasn’t sorry in the least; he had every right under CAW privacy laws to disable them.
To someone uninitiated to habitat life, this might have looked like magic. No, all it takes is money, and I’m spending it like a drunken spaceman. Matt paid a ComNet fee, via the use of an emergency privacy shield, to take away the meshed node network coverage that the remotes needed for navigation and guidance. Shields were merely ComNet algorithms that calculated an approximately two-meter sphere centered on his waist. The emergency shield had cut off all comm to those specific remotes, but hadn’t disabled them. ComNet had charged him a much heftier fee for sending a disablement signal to every node inside the shield.
Unfortunately, shields were invoked by passwords that could be guessed or hacked because they didn’t require voiceprint analysis. Net-think bemoaned the fact that users had to make up their own passwords and change them frequently, but not many citizens knew how to take technical advantage of this weakness. Somebody knows, apparently.
Bending down, he scooped up the disabled remotes. They were probably worthless for tracing their owners. Most standard modules in kits performed an autowipe if the remote experienced a privacy shutdown. He dumped them into the shopping bag attached to his belt.
Matt looked up. The remotes clustered at the edge of his newly established shield hid the upper bazaar levels from his sight. He had originally wanted to revel in his favorite noodle dish, made from one hundred percent hydroponically grown sources, in this case algae.
He wasn’t hungry anymore, not after battling remotes all the way from the ship’s berth. He’d only been going after comfort food that reminded him of growing up on the Journey IV. It also reminded him of Ari. He already missed dragging her out to eat at this shop, where he enjoyed watching her stoically choke down the noodles and make polite comments. Having her around seemed to fill the corners of his life.
Carmen, on the other hand, didn’t fit into any par
t of his life, by her own pronouncement. You have to play by my schedule, she told him. Carmen worked in finance; in fact, she worked for the bank that held some relatively small loans on the crystal and referential engine in the Aether’s Touch. Finance was one of those jobs that involved social climbing, so Carmen was a busy woman. She’d decided that Matt wasn’t suitable for upper-circle social gatherings, where the elite of Athens Point engaged in verbal sparring and judgmental gossip. Thus, he hooked up with her only for rousing but infrequent sex—not that he didn’t enjoy that—which might include some business on the side.
Matt retreated to the docks and his ship. He didn’t want to contemplate the cost of his next privacy bill. Commercials pursued him, wrapping around corners and trying to catch his eye because he’d turned off their cacophony in his ear bug.
Once inside the Aether’s Touch, he ignored the messages clamoring for his attention. On his own ship, he could have privacy, and privacy meant blessed silence. He didn’t even feel like browsing his music library.
After he ate something from a ration pack in the galley, he wondered if Nestor would be interested in dinner. He made the call, requesting face-to-face secure comm. A responder said that Nestor was busy, but would call back.
Well, there’s nothing else to do but what I’m supposed to be doing. Matt reluctantly buckled down, combing through messages and evaluating bids. Some were from large enterprises, where the bid was proposing not so much a contract, but a threat of assimilation and absorption. Many of the small companies bidding might initially appear independent, but he expected most were fronts.
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