Peacekeeper

by REEVE, LAURA E.

  Matt displayed shots he’d saved on his slate. On the wall, three large view ports opened and showed the artifact at different ranges. One view was at a distance that showed the complete cylindrical shape that narrowed like a cone at one end. The second was closer and from a different angle; the last was a close-up taken by the bot, showing symbols and surface characteristics.

  "What is that?” Edones’s eyes narrowed.

  "Something that was obviously created and placed by a space-faring civilization. Something that behaves strangely like a Minoan time buoy, at least physically. Something our scientists and engineers could learn much from, right?”

  The smile on Edones’s face finally faltered. "Why isn’t this all over the feeds and public forums?”

  "Because I buried this data. Finding it requires too much analysis for the empty heads on the feeds, but plenty of others have figured it out.” Matt thrust his slate toward Edones. "Take a look at the bids coming in and the backgrounds I’ve uncovered on some of the bidders. There are AFCAW contractors and companies fronting for Terran interests. Here’s a former Terran military contractor—probably still doing business with them. Oh, and look at this! Here’s a company that’s contracted to do black projects for your Directorate of Intelligence. Does this have enough military relevance for you now?”

  Matt smiled as Edones took the slate and studied it, taking his time to scroll through the entries. Several minutes passed and Matt knew he’d found a soft spot. It was time for good old blackmail.

  "What if, in my ignorance, I accidentally gave all the G-145 intellectual material to the Terrans? Strange things can happen under free enterprise,” Matt said.

  Edones sighed and put the slate on his knee. His blue eyes were unreadable. "What do you want from me, Mr. Journey?”

  "I want out of the Athens Point jurisdiction, I want you to help me find Nestor’s killer, and I want to talk to Ari.”

  They stared at each other in challenge for a moment. Edones was the first to break his gaze. He looked around the room and shrugged. "Depending upon what I get out of this, I can offer you two out of the three. But I doubt you’ll find AFCAW custody as comfortable as this.”

  CP never answered her. Ariane tied off her suit to a grab bar, while Parmet put on the rest of his suit and did the same. They watched the decompressed side of air lock 8D-A. Ariane whispered an appeal to Gaia, praying that Karthage hadn’t been built by the lowest bidder. Internal air locks rarely experienced these conditions, but so far, their pressure held as she felt the deck shudder.

  They watched the habitat side of air lock 8D-A blink warnings. It was now locked and disabled as Karthage Point tried to protect its inhabitants from decompression. Karthage CP now made announcements over the emergency channel that they could hear through their suits.

  "All personnel take decompression precautions. Repeat—all personnel prepare for possible decompression. Levels seven, eight, and nine, begin lockdown procedures. Repeat, levels seven, eight, and nine, begin lockdown.”

  If lockdowns were only directed to levels on either side of 8, perhaps the damage was confined to level 8. Glancing out the small portal to the side with habitat air, she saw the suited emergency team scampering to take hold. There was no way they’d be opening air lock 8D-A any time soon.

  As the decompression warnings repeated, the shuddering continued with sharp deep protests from the station structure that she felt through her hands and feet. This probably resulted from torsional twisting around Karthage Point’s central axis—not good. Only overengineering and the careful application of positional thrusters could hold Karthage together now.

  "Levels six through ten, begin lockdown. Repeat—” CP had extended the lockdown, not an encouraging sign.

  She exchanged a glance with Parmet. He took hold of the bar nearest her, and she could see his green eyes through the faceplate of the hood. They were calm, but she also saw calculated worry. Of course, he could project anything he wanted. She looked away and checked the air lock display. Their pressure was still holding.

  "Gravity generator is going off-line, prepare for thruster maneuvers. Warning—gravity generator is—”

  CP was plowing through their checklists as fast as possible to prevent the station from tumbling itself apart. Ships with gravity generators usually took them off-line in this manner near gravity wells, such as large planets and suns, for structural safety. Karthage Point wasn’t designed for the forces that CP was intending to apply, and they were doing everything they could to widen their safety margin.

  Ariane closed her eyes as she felt the gravity generator go off-line. She felt nausea building from the confusing forces upon her body. One of the Hellas Prime-Hellas Daughter stabilization points provided a quasi-periodic "orbit” for Karthage Point. Keeping within this stable, bounded area required only modest station keeping. However, the explosion had pushed them off their stabilizing orbit, and parts of Karthage were accelerating at different rates than other parts. Any elementary school child knew what that meant. Tumbling. The nightmare for all space habitats: when the invisible forces of gravity, mass, and momentum started tearing them apart. She felt the mindless shrieking of the habitat through the handhold and bulkheads as Command Post applied stabilizing thrusters in small increments.

  She jumped when Parmet heavily tapped her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw him pointing to the status above the air lock door to decompressed section 8D. It was blinking orange and the seal was leaking, perhaps owing to station contortions.

  "CP, this is Major Kedros with SP Parmet. Air lock eight-delta-alpha’s seal is going and we’re only equipped with emergency suits.”

  It didn’t hurt to remind CP about their situation. She made sure to mention Parmet; it wasn’t going to look good for AFCAW to lose a dignitary, a Terran state prince, no less, on the first baseline treaty inspection.

  There wasn’t an immediate response. She could imagine the input, the messages, and the status displays the controllers inside CP were handling.

  "Acknowledged, Major Kedros.” Another pause. Then predictably, the same harried voice asked: "What’s your estimated air supply, Major?”

  She looked up at the air lock’s status and decided not to include it in her estimate. She considered only the suits, which had about two UT hours of air for a midweight male.

  "CP, we have approximately one and a half hours left.” She gave them her shortest estimate.

  "Acknowledged. You’ll get top priority after stabilization. Uh—no time frame on that yet.” CP went silent.

  That’s not good. She double-checked the status of the air lock. The leak was slow. She had a choice and she made it quickly, unsealing the hood of her suit and shutting down the air supply. The creaking of the station structure was loud and made her want to grind her teeth. She tightened her tether and made herself take slow breaths.

  After significant hesitation, Parmet followed her actions.

  "What if the door blows?” he asked, once his face was uncovered.

  "We stay ready to seal up as fast as we can. This way, we use the air inside the air lock while we have it, since there’s no guarantee they’ll lift the lockdown soon.” She didn’t bother to tell him that if the air lock blew, the cheap emergency suits couldn’t protect them from hard vacuum for long.

  She studied the environmental slate, hoping to discourage his conversation. The slate tried to estimate how much oxygen they had left in the air lock, using data from the door and its own sensors. Of course, the slate didn’t account for her enhanced metabolism, but she wasn’t about to download her oxygen use from her implant in front of Parmet.

  Under normal conditions and conservative estimates, two adults could stay conscious up to four hours inside the air lock. However, these weren’t normal conditions. Since the seal was leaking air to the decompressed part of the station, the slate recommended that they use suit resources. She jabbed at the slate, changing the conditions and asking for recalculation.

  "We mi
ght have enough oxygen in this air lock for an hour, provided the leak doesn’t get worse.” She kept her eyes on the slate to avoid meeting Parmet’s gaze. "Go back onto suit air if you feel any problems breathing.”

  They drifted against the wall where they were tethered, feeling the movement lightly applied by station thrusters. Both of them watched the status displayed over the air lock. The leak didn’t get worse, but it didn’t get better either.

  Ariane decided not to monitor the slate. She thought hovering over the decreasing numbers might only make her nervous, but she hadn’t thought she’d fall asleep. She edged into a dream, an early memory from the war. Waiting in a dark air lock for the enemy to attempt boarding their damaged ship, she’d gripped her weapon so tightly that her fingers cramped. Of course, they hadn’t been as damaged as the enemy originally thought, but her friend Erin had still died—

  She started awake when the slate began beeping. Lights were still on. She and the slate floated on tethers; CP hadn’t restored gravity. She felt short of breath, like when she’d gone on a mountain climb with Brandon.

  "Get onto suit air and seal up,” she said to Parmet. "You’re not who you should be.” He didn’t look as though he was short of breath.

  "Excuse me?” She looked at Parmet in confusion. He moved closer and she backed away, pulling herself higher with the handhold. She glanced up at the ubiquitous MilNet cam-eye and wondered whether it worked.

  "You’re not who you profess to be, are you, Major? You’re certainly not the sum of your records.” He stopped moving and looked her over with calculation.

  She’d lived enough years with Owen’s handiwork to have confidence in her established identity. Parmet was only trying to frighten her, showing he’d done background investigations.

  "Well, who is?” She snorted. "Right now, I’m hoping to get back to my normal life, boring as it may sound. I’m suiting up.”

  She panted as she turned on the air in her suit and sealed it. Parmet began doing the same, but he wasn’t panting. Perhaps he’d attained some sort of control over autonomous functions such as breathing and heartbeat with his somaural training.

  Once they were suited up, their only communication mode was the emergency channel, but they both kept silent. Ariane watched him move about, getting as comfortable as possible. When she saw his arms fold and his eyes close, she thought he was submerging into a trance. Perhaps he could slow down his oxygen consumption.

  They waited.

  "Do you know your name? Tell me your name, rank, and service number.”

  The questions pestered her. She had a whopping headache and she wanted to sleep.

  "Ari,” she mumbled, opening her eyes. She saw a blurred male face above her.

  "That’s good,” he prompted. "Focus. Let’s have your full name, rank, and service number.”

  No! She tried to sit up, but someone held her down. No one could know about Captain Karen Ahrilan Argyris, who had the service number of D2- 12-2399.

  Several voices were having a rapid conversation above her.

  "We have to scan for brain damage and evaluate radiation effects.”

  "Motor skills look good.”

  "Squadron commander wants her debriefed immediately. The colonel is dead—”

  "Emergency medical treatment takes precedent.”

  "Squadron commander thinks she’s drunk. Can you—”

  "I can only read her implant for emergency data, because she’s Reserve. Unless we have her signed release on file?”

  "I have to check.”

  "She’s not drunk.”

  The last voice, cool and distinct, washed over her body and chilled her. State Prince Parmet.

  "I’m fine.” Ariane focused on the technician leaning over her. Her vision sharpened. His name tag read STALL. On his collar, he carried the rank of senior technician. "Ariane E. Kedros, Major.” She had a common name for the Autonomist Worlds, easy to remember, but she had to struggle to remember her service number. "Alpha-seven-one-two-six-four-seven-two.”

  "Good, Major. Can I access your implant for blood-gas readings?” He held out a slate.

  "Yes.” She had a swarm of medical and security personnel looming over her. A slate was shoved at her face and she gave them her approval, using voiceprint.

  The gravity generator was back online and she no longer wore the emergency suit. She was lying on a gurney near the interior side of air lock 8D-A. Turning her head, she could see through the portal to the other side, where a suited technician was using metallo-ceramic sealant foam. That meant the air lock wasn’t usable, or passable, anymore. They were probably strengthening the air lock and radiation shielding from the unpressurized side as well.

  Ariane looked the other way and saw SP Parmet standing to the side, now shadowed by his assistant and the funny interpreter. Nathaniel Wolf Kim and Dr. Istaga. Not funny—dangerous. The fog in her head was lifting. Feeling vulnerable, she sat up, this time helped by a technician.

  Technician Stall was frowning at his slate. "Your blood gas readings look good, Major, but I still need to do a full-body scan.”

  "Can that wait?”

  This question came from an impatient captain behind the medical technicians. Ariane couldn’t remember his name. He wore a security emblem and was flanked by a female sergeant in full exoskeleton and armor, with assault rifle. There were six other SF behind the sergeant, also armed to the teeth.

  Ariane’s eyebrows rose. Were they expecting boarders? A hostage situation? Of course, she was the only one that had a good idea of what happened. The explosion might have destroyed much of the physical evidence, including Icelos’s body. Her input was going to be vital to the SF.

  "What if I come by for scans in an hour or two, after a debriefing?” she asked Stall. She nodded at the security officer, Captain Rayiz. She now remembered that he was the commander of the SF Squadron. He reported—had reported directly to Colonel Icelos.

  Stall reluctantly agreed to later scans after Ariane demonstrated that she could stand and walk without help. A stone-faced Rayiz provided a detail to escort the Terran visitors back to their quarters, where they were to stay until told otherwise. State Prince Parmet was apparently unharmed.

  Rayiz told Ariane to follow him and they marched off. She hoped that the four SFs flanking and following her were for protection. The hissing, squeaking, muscle-suited escort dwarfed both her and Rayiz. She followed Rayiz down two levels and into the Security Force Operations Center. Their escort took up positions outside the center. Inside, Lieutenant Colonel Jacinthe Voyage stood with her back to the door, looking at damage reports. She turned around and gave Ariane an edgy smile that didn’t hide her satisfaction.

  "What happened, Kedros? Did Colonel Icelos botch your sabotage attempt?” she asked.

  CHAPTER 11

  If an item listed in Section I of this Protocol is lost or destroyed as a result of an accident, the possessing Party shall notify the other Party within 48 UT hours, as required in paragraph 5(e) of Article II of the Treaty, that the item has been eliminated. In such a case, the other Party shall have the right to conduct an inspection of the specific point at which the accident occurred to provide confidence that the item has been eliminated.

  —Section V, Loss or Accidental Destruction, in Elimination

  Protocol attached to the Mobile Temporal Distortion

  (TD) Weapon Treaty, 2105.164.10.22 UT, indexed by

  Heraclitus 8 under Flux and Conflict Imperatives

  Isrid was silent as he was escorted back to quarters, but Nathan kept a running commentary on inept Autonomist security and inadequate habitat design, both of which had caused risk to Terran dignitaries, most particularly their state prince. His diatribe amused Isrid, even if it was only for the benefit of their escort team and the ubiquitous AFCAW MilNet nodes. Dr. Istaga was quiet.

  Maria met them at the door to Isrid’s suite, clearly projecting agitation.

  "SP, are you all right?” Her face was pale and her voice was
anxious and appropriate for any observers, but the tiny tight gesture as she palmed open the door said, We’ve been compromised. Something beyond the recent explosion had disturbed her.

  "Their medical people checked me out. I was groggy, but they claimed I got off without permanent damage.” Isrid turned as if to include Nathan and Istaga in the conversation, but he was checking to ensure that they hadn’t reacted to Maria’s message. Neither Nathan nor Istaga seemed able to project somaurally, but they would read it well enough.

  Later. Isrid needed a secure room for face-to-face discussions. He could ask the Autonomists for one, but what would they infer from such a request? Major Kedros’s request for an EOD team meant she suspected sabotage or planted explosives, and Isrid didn’t want his inspection team put on the list of suspects by immediately calling for a private meeting. Of course, he had equipment to jam their MilNet node-to-node comm, but he didn’t want to expose classified Terran capabilities. On an inspiration, he turned to the most senior person in their over-equipped, heavily armed escort.

  "I’d like to have my own doctor examine me, but under a privacy shield,” he said to the escort.

  Luckily, the Autonomists had a great respect for personal privacy. The big brute of a man nodded, turned to the opposite hall wall, and opened a channel to Command Post. Everyone watched as a CP controller, some young female lieutenant, authorized the privacy shield for an hour and returned them a code.

  Isrid had the only medical doctor on the team come to his quarters, where he invoked the privacy shield. The woman gave him a perfunctory check, then left. Isrid called in Nathan and Maria. They still had three-quarters of an hour left on the privacy shield, but he also pulled out the classified jammer and activated it, just in case.

  "The Autonomists have devised a way to hide some of their warheads, under the cover of destruction,” Nathan said. "They’re risking the treaty, maybe Pax Minoica itself.”