She could warn Brandon, tell him everything, and risk a blatant security violation. It might be worth the destruction of her career if her warning kept him from harm. But Hellas Prime was a large and heavily populated planet. She’d have to find him first, and now she had an excellent opportunity.
"I could identify your companies to my partner and ask that they be considered, but I won’t guarantee they’ll get the leases they’re bidding,” Ariane said cautiously. Matt wouldn’t want Minoan concerns getting any contracts and she agreed. This "gentlemen’s agreement” could never be acknowledged by the Minoans, so what harm could come of giving Matt a list of companies? He’d get a good laugh out of it.
"That is acceptable.” The emissary straightened its neck, righting its head. "The other Destroyers of Worlds are located within the Demeter Sanctuary on Hellas Prime.”
Ariane nodded. That sounded like the sort of place Brandon would prefer. She pointed down at the table surface and said, "I’ll need MilNet nodes to send your list of companies.”
"Of course.”
The emissary caressed a jewel in the string and Ariane activated a display on the table. A message arrived in her queue and she opened it: a list of companies. She didn’t bother to read it.
"I can only do an anonymous drop from here to my partner in Aether Exploration, Limited. As you can see, I’m sending your list with an advisement to consider these for contract authority. Once again, I can’t guarantee results.” Ariane didn’t add that Matt would consider this a joke, at best, when he did receive the list.
The emissary seemed satisfied and did the Minoan equivalent of closing that topic and changing the subject.
"I would now advise you, as Treaty Compliance Officer, that you have less than two hours to start your baseline inspection.”
"I accept title of Treaty Compliance Officer,” Ariane said.
"I also accept the honor of observing your compliance,” added the emissary.
Ariane hid her sigh. Since the emissary wanted to hang around awhile, she wasn’t going to have time to get a report to Colonel Edones. All AFCAW installations would have raised their alert status because of the sabotage and passed this warning on to civilian habitats as well. The news would certainly have reached the colonel by now and he’d eventually receive the casualty list. He’d know she hadn’t been able to protect Icelos.
Had Matt figured out where she was? She hoped not, because she didn’t want to be the cause of any worry, not at this time. When he received this mail through anonymous drop, he’d know that she was alive and well.
Outside, Lieutenant Colonel Voyage, Captain Rayiz, and Lieutenant Santorini waited impatiently to one side. To the other side, beyond the Minoan escort, State Prince Parmet stood with Dr. Istaga. Ariane followed the emissary out of the room and shrugged in response to the questions radiating from Jacinthe, Rayiz, and Santorini. She felt shaky and the whole episode felt like a dream; she’d just personally negotiated with an alien.
"Let’s get started on Karthage’s baseline inspection,” she said. "The emissary has expressed a desire to observe our compliance to the treaty.”
CHAPTER 14
This year the Overlords must hear our petition. We desperately need funds to expand protected biomes. The protected areas we currently have are too small and they struggle to operate in this shambles of an economy. Thankfully, the war with the Autonomists is over and we’re no longer seeing money sucked away to support . . .
—Tenth Symposium on the Restoration of Terra, Dr. Hong Cloud Chicahua, 2093.318.10.22 UT, indexed by Democritus 29 under Metrics Imperative
Matt wasn’t surprised to find himself locked in his quarters after he released his webbing. No space vessel wanted passengers rattling around, and on a military ship, this crew probably rated him lower than useless.
He pulled out his slate. His most recent message was from Sergeant Joyce. Looking stern and authoritative, the sergeant said that Matt was confined to his cabin, with the exception of mealtimes. He would be escorted to the galley for meals. Full toiletry facilities were available in his cabin. Cheap sonic showers and sponge baths—great. Well, Edones had warned him.
There was more. Joyce provided Matt a MilNet account that provided a conduit to ComNet, so he could access all the bids sent to his company. Matt also had access to Athens Point LEF files on Nestor’s murder and Colonel Edones expected a full analysis.
Oh, he does, does he? What about the help I asked for?
At the end of the message, Joyce said, "When I’ve got some spare time, I’ll provide my own analysis to the colonel.”
Joyce finished his message tautly, without any sign-off. It was obvious the gruff sergeant didn’t feel he had any time to spare on Matt’s problems.
Apparently, he was facing a lonely time aboard the Bright Crescent. His cabin allowed only about three paces alongside the bunk. Across from the bunk were storage lockers and his "facilities,” which weren’t any bigger than the full-height locker beside them. Sighing, Matt threw himself on the bunk. He picked up his slate again and tested his account and conduit to ComNet.
It worked fine. He browsed over the documents sent by Athens Point, such as autopsy reports, but he avoided video taken on the scene and from ComNet nodes in the vicinity of Nestor’s apartment. He couldn’t shake the memory of his friend strung up like some sort of animal carcass and he wasn’t ready to see Nestor, alive or not, on video. He could do it later. The ship would be at sublight for several days before reaching Karthage Point.
Instead, Matt turned his attention to what he could now access on the Aether’s Touch: the packages Nestor had sent before he died. There was already significant lag transferring data and attempting real-time queries to the AI back at Athens Point. He wondered what sort of acceleration this cruiser could thrust to, and not turn her crew into jelly.
"Nestor’s Muse Three, retrieve and summarize the data from packages titled ’Customs’ and ’Kedros.”’ While it took longer for Matt to enter text questions, it made for quicker messages. Considering that Edones was controlling and paranoid, Matt had no illusions of privacy aboard this ship. He was sure his communications going through the conduit were recorded, but at least they’d have to be decrypted. Matt pictured some disinterested lackey, probably some low-ranking military grunt, examining his messages.
A knock at the door interrupted his reflections.
"Unlock door,” Matt said, wondering if it was time for his meal. Now I know how inmates feel.
The door was opened tentatively. Standing in the corridor was a young woman with striking eyes that reflected her green uniform, intensifying the color. Her complexion was creamy, and her face seemed to glow against chestnut hair tied back into a braid. The black name tag on her uniform read OLEANDER.
"Oh, excuse me.” Matt scrambled up from his bunk. His shirt had been open; his elbows flapped awkwardly as he sealed it.
"For what?” Oleander had a dreamy confidence that wrapped peacefully around her. She made Matt feel like the proverbial awkward country cousin.
"Huh?” He ran his hands through his short hair, trying to regain his composure. "Oh. I’m sorry that I bumped you from your quarters.”
"No problem. It’s all part of the job. Ready for chow?”
"Certainly. Is it breakfast or lunch?” Matt hurriedly pulled on his boots.
"It’s whatever you want. We’re shift-based.”
He followed her down the narrow halls, appreciating the deftness she used to turn the corners and maneuver past oncoming personnel. The gravity generator, in expensive ships and certainly military vessels, could be used to bleed off force into N-space and compensate for acceleration-g. Sort of like antigrav, but not really, because it didn’t require the expensive power of true antigravity. Theoretically, it should feel exactly like being in "natural” free fall when orbiting a gravity well, but the human stomach seemed to know the difference. Nobody had their space stomach until they’d exercised and operated under acceleration-comp
ensated free fall with an N-SPACE connection. The generational ships built up to high speeds, but they did so through low acceleration. Matt’s space stomach had been built up on the Aether’s Touch, which had a surprisingly high acceleration limit.
The few crew members they met in the hall were in uniform and nodded companionably in passing. There were some sidelong glances at Matt, but no one bothered Oleander with questions.
Like they have membership in some club, and I’m frozen out. He tempered his sullen and ungracious thoughts, considering where Oleander might be bunking at this time. She’d shrugged when he apologized, since it was "all part of the job.” Why did those words seem to only come from people who didn’t have a "job,” but were dedicated to a profession?
"Hey—Lieutenant.” He caught up with Oleander. "What’s your position here?”
"Weapons officer.” She gave him a serene smile and motioned, indicating that he should precede her into the galley.
Matt nodded. Not only did he have nothing in common with this woman; he couldn’t imagine her long, graceful fingers flying across a console and sending havoc and death via kinetic or swarm missiles. Those were conventional space warfare weapons mentioned by talking heads on the feeds. Matt shivered.
Oleander didn’t carry the weight of potential death and destruction on her shoulders. She was young and fresh, unburdened by second-guessed decisions and losses like older crew. Like Ari. Why am I comparing her to Ari? He couldn’t help himself, although the petite, gruff, dark-haired, dark-eyed Ari bore no resemblance to the ethereal and glowing Lieutenant Oleander.
"We’ve got the standard select-from-stores and heat-it-yourself cafeteria. We’re not big enough to have cooks and stewards.” Oleander gestured about the small and spotless mess that had two shiny kiosks for retrieving and heating food. In her calm voice, her words were neither an apology nor an excuse.
Matt was delighted to find several generational menu items, while Oleander went for the planetary-grown foodstuffs. The kiosks dispensed the food in low-g dishware. After they found a table, Oleander took the time to answer his questions during their companionable meal.
Matt asked polite, but general, questions about ship living conditions and military life. Eventually, this led to a deeper conversation about AFCAW officer career progression.
The important career points for an officer, explained Oleander, were getting out of the training mode of sublieutenant and then making each rank step, at the appointed time, up to the rank of major. If one could attain the rank of major, then one could work up to forty years in AFCAW service or apply for retirement after twenty-five years of service, depending upon one’s assignments.
"Early retirement can be granted based upon the amount of action the officer has seen.” Oleander sipped delicately at her straw.
"But we’re not at war,” Matt said. "What sort of action would you see?”
"Perhaps I should have worded it as risk encountered and injuries sustained during duty. Accidents happen in space, as you well know, and there are still military actions against pockets of partisans and pirates and anarchists. There are risky rescue missions. People still die in the line of duty, Mr. Journey.”
She barely raised her voice, but Matt felt abashed nonetheless. Growing up on a generational ship, he had a tendency to belittle the risks of living in habitats and the basic rigors of real-space travel. Once he’d accepted a lifetime of debt for the Aether’s Touch, he’d found a whole new set of dangers engendered by N-space navigation and referential engines, or that’s what the insurance companies told him.
"I’m worried about what we’ll find at Karthage Point,” added Oleander. "’Minimal loss of life’ can mean there’s been life-shortening exposure to radiation. Some crew could be looking at early retirement—are you all right?”
Matt’s face reddened and his heart skipped. He’d forgotten, at least for the past half hour, about the explosion at Karthage. He had troubles swallowing his mouthful of food, which abruptly took on the texture of gravel.
"I’m fine,” he said. "My pilot is a reserve officer who might be stationed on Karthage. I’m worried about her.”
Oleander had a way of encouraging talk without seeming to ask questions, and Matt found himself telling her all about Ari. Coincidentally, Oleander had also grown up on Nuovo Adriatico. Not a prime planet by any means, Nuovo Adriatico had the benefits of mild climates and genetically flexible flora, so Oleander began dredging up memories of agricultural work and bucolic vistas.
"Uh, yes, sounds beautiful.” Ari made Matt uncomfortable with those same scenes of the wide open, terrifying for all crèche-get. "You might have gone through the military entrance academy together.”
Oleander chuckled with her warm voice. "That’s unlikely. You say that she’s a reserve major? Then she must be a bit older.”
"Well, she does look younger than her thirty-five years, but she’s hardly . . .” Matt had wandered into no-man’s land. In this day of near-relativistic speeds, extended lifetimes, and reconstructive surgery, it was rude to speculate about anyone’s age and he was about to tread on this sanctified ground for two women at once.
He retreated promptly. "I think she just made major, before she started working for me. She works for Edones in the Directorate of Intelligence.”
Oleander looked politely interested. "Ah, the Directorate. I didn’t know they had slots for reservists.”
"Ari said it’s a specialized slot, the only one. She regularly gets hazard pay, I guess.”
"Must be a thrill junkie.” Then, when Matt frowned, she demurely finished her drink pack through her straw and added, "Well, I really don’t know what intelligence officers do for a living.”
"But this ship carries the Directorate’s seal, and you work for Colonel Edones.” Shouldn’t Oleander, with obvious military clearances, know what went on in the Directorate of Intelligence?
"Here’s where I shrug and say, ’I only work here,’ and that’s the truth. I’m a weapons officer who can be assigned to any Fury Class Cruiser, regardless of mission. So I get only what I need to know for the particular operation—in this case, all I know is we’re transporting personnel to Karthage at maximum sublight-speed.”
Matt then learned how the Bright Crescent operated. Colonel Edones was the "mission commander,” while Lieutenant Colonel Lydia was the "ship commander.” Oleander acted as though there was distinct delineation between their authority, but Matt was left with a muddled idea that Lydia might be allowed to override Edones under certain tactical situations even though Edones outranked Lydia and provided the missions for the ship. Matt was pleased that Edones wasn’t in charge of everything aboard the ship, but that also meant that most of the ship crew members wearing green uniforms didn’t know diddly about what Edones and Joyce and their cohorts did.
Same as me—I have no idea what Ari is doing. Matt rubbed his neck as he remembered Nestor’s comment, as outrageous as it seemed then, about Ari being a shadow. The bustle of the galley faded from his senses as he stared at his empty food containers. The comment Oleander made about Ari being a thrill junkie made him think about the injuries Ari always tried to hide whenever she came off assignment. She clearly felt an obligation toward Edones and a compulsion to "do her duty,” even if it might mean enormous risk.
What a bastard. Edones manipulates Ari for all he can get, putting her into only Gaia knows what kind of danger.
Overall, Matt had a pleasant meal with Lieutenant Oleander, but he was in a gloomy mood when it ended. After Oleander escorted him back to the cramped quarters, her quarters, Matt still didn’t feel inclined to dig into the reports or gory video provided by the LEF. His blinking message queue gave him an excuse to procrastinate.
He had a message from Ari! Looking at the UT stamp, he sighed in relief. She’d made this anonymous drop after the explosion occurred at Karthage, so he could assume she was safe.
The contents were surprising, though. Ari talking about business? She hadn’t shown mu
ch interest in the business side of his company. Up to this point she’d avoided using her signature authority, even if it involved—Minoans? The video showed Ari and a Minoan, where Ari was saying something like "I’m sending your list with an advisement to consider these for contract authority. Once again, I can’t guarantee results.”
Matt smiled as the list of company names scrolled onto his small wall. First, Ari was safe and well. Second, she’d had the Minoans identify their own shell companies for him, saving him time and giving him leverage over Edones.
He watched the video again. Ari looked competent, as always, but not fresh. After working with her for several years, he could see the telltale signs of fatigue and strain. Regardless, Matt was impressed. How many AFCAW officers could coolly negotiate, one-on-one, with a Minoan? Edones might have, and he had more experience than Ari, given their respective military records. However, Ari had a hardened edge and sad pragmatism that presumed she’d do what was necessary for the mission. She’d already been there, already made those difficult decisions. Matt was still certain: She’s seen combat, even if her records say she hasn’t.
That edge hadn’t formed yet in Lieutenant Oleander. Edones had experience and command presence, but he hadn’t seen combat either, because he’d been in Intelligence as the war was ending. But Joyce saw combat. Sergeant Joyce had the same grizzled edge of acceptance and pain that Matt felt in Ari. Matt bet they’d both seen and done things that couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be described.
Thoughtfully, Matt turned his attention to the packages titled "Kedros,” now available locally. What had Nestor discovered, and what did it have to do with Ari?
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