"If this works, then we’re going to rise in the overlord’s eyes like a shooting star. We, meaning myself and my staff.” His hand, brushing by his hip and flickering, said, Anyone who doesn’t support me will be left behind.
She knew he meant Nathan and he saw her nipples harden through her suit. The rivalry between them would never die. Still standing over Kedros, she holstered the stunner. "And if this doesn’t work?”
"I think it will.” He told Maria what he wanted her to do. After all, he promised Kedros she’d leave his ship alive, but he didn’t say in what condition.
Maria was amused, but a bit puzzled. "Don’t we need to protect her from the assassin you mentioned?”
"No.” Isrid shrugged. "I’d like her to last at least six months, but if we’re clearly blameless, her signatures would probably stand through the investigation. We do need to get as far from her as possible, and quickly.”
"Your plan works best if she lives. Nathan will be displeased, but your debt to her is paid.”
"I arranged this primarily to hold on to those leases,” he said sharply.
"Certainly, SP.” Maria leaned over and straightened out Kedros’s body. She traced down Kedros’s breastbone with her finger. "But there’s now a connection between you two.”
She was referring to the belief that significant emotional exchanges and debts—blackmail probably qualified as well as saving a life—could connect two auras. The connection showed as visible blotches and stains. Isrid hoped that Kedros’s blue and turquoise wouldn’t be tinged with his orange red. It’d be a shame, even though the colors were complementary.
"As between you and Sabina?” Isrid asked.
"I was told that you saw the video.” Maria had worked her way down to Kedros’s hips and legs. If Isrid didn’t know better, he’d assume she was ensuring that Kedros didn’t wake up damaged or in pain. Maria’s fingers became distracting, at least to him.
"You can search our auras, SP, but I doubt you’ll find any debts. You know I’m not looking for a connection in the bedchamber.” Maria’s lips parted and her tongue caressed her upper lip. She was looking down at Kedros. "Can I dress her when the time comes?”
"If you want.” His tone was careless. He had to find out, however, whether she understood that Sabina’s attention didn’t change anything. "I understand Sabina’s urges, but what are you looking for in the bedchamber? To use your euphemism.”
Maria stood up and walked toward him. Her gaze slid sideways to the table and the skeleton restraint. She smiled, every part of her body expressing, suggesting.
"Experimentation.” She stepped close and he felt her fingers release the seal at his crotch.
A good thing too, since his erection was demanding attention. Isrid rewarded himself with one of those perks that comes the way of state princes.
Edones, Joyce, and Matt had squeezed every drop of relevant information they could from Karthage and had regrouped in Edones’s office on his cruiser. Now Matt was so angry that he thought his head would blow apart.
"What do you mean, you can’t do anything?” he shouted at Edones, all decorum dissolved. "You know she’s on the Terran ship and you’re not going to have it boarded?”
"I told you: With the state prince aboard, they have diplomatic immunity.”
"That’s Great Bull-shit. I’ve read enough interstellar legal code to know that diplomatic immunity doesn’t cover criminal actions, such as kidnapping.” Matt wasn’t boasting; he’d studied the ISS code pretty thoroughly before launching his business.
"Maybe so, but accusing a Terran state prince of a crime under ISS is way beyond my authority.”
"They subverted AFCAW security—hell, they probably tried to blow up Karthage Point! One call to Alexandria Port Security or Hellas Prime Customs and you’ll have stopped them.” This seemed so simple to Matt. They just needed to catch up, since the Bright Crescent was following the same flight plan as the Terran state prince’s ship.
"Captain Rayiz cleared their departure. There’s nothing to connect them to the explosion and everyone has alibis,” Edones said. "The explosives were set on the outside of the station, and Rayiz is already tracking down a possible lead with a contractor’s maintenance drone.”
"But Ari said there had to be someone on-station to help—and you don’t have an alibi for anyone in section eight-D before the explosion. That includes the Terran state prince.” Matt had viewed all the unclassified interviews.
"It also includes Major Kedros.” Edones used a calm, reasoning tone. "Karthage security has degraded atrociously, considering their MilNet outages. The new facilities commander is having them wipe all their systems, rebuild them, and reinitialize them with chaotic key particles. All expensive procedures, opening a window of vulnerability—”
"I was asking about Ari,” Matt said, his anger now smoldering in the pit of his stomach. "What are you going to do about her?”
Yes, that was what it all came down to: Ari. Matt watched Edones and Joyce exchange a glance. Edones looked a little uncomfortable. Maybe now I’ll get the truth.
"Major Kedros will realize that the weapons treaty is our highest concern,” Edones said. "We can’t afford risking this treaty with a—a political incident between us and the Terrans.”
"Like rescuing her? For Gaia’s sake, you said they’re torturing her!”
Matt stood up with clenched fists. Joyce went into a stance that meant Matt would suffer a lot of pain if he launched himself across the shiny desk and throttled Edones. There was a tense moment before Matt sat back down and forced his hands to relax.
"We can get the AWOL charges smoothed over and we might be able to save her career. However, Major Kedros knows she can’t put us in a position of choosing her safety over the stability of the weapons treaty.”
"I don’t give a floating fuck about her career, or your treaty.”
"It’s not my treaty. Everyone’s duty in AFCAW is to keep the peace. Pax Minoica is now embedded in our culture, our lives,” Edones said.
A chime from Matt’s ear bug stopped his reply. Matt had an incoming message, marked private, from his ship. His ship? The Aether’s Touch had no active . . . uh-oh, Nestor’s Muse 3 was apparently taking its own initiative.
"Uh, I have a private incoming message. Can I borrow a slate?” Matt flipped his tone one hundred and eighty degrees, becoming unexpectedly polite. He reddened when he saw Joyce’s eyebrows go up.
Edones nodded, and Joyce reached in the side pocket of his crew coverall leg and handed Matt a slate. Matt ignored their watching eyes as he dumped the message to slate. He read through the results and couldn’t help widening his eyes.
"News?” Edones asked in a light tone.
Matt looked up and glared at him. The MilNet systems had probably siphoned off a copy for these jerks to look at later, but he might as well show Edones the contents since they concerned Ari.
"Some of my leases were signed by Ari a few minutes ago. I think you’ll recognize the companies that are now holding the leases.” Matt handed the slate back to Joyce.
"All Terran-funded shell corporations.” Joyce’s voice was grim.
"Just what we didn’t want—what are you grinning about, Mr. Journey?” Edones’s voice became sharp.
"They’re not going to kill her, don’t you see?” Then, as Joyce’s and Edones’s puzzled looks remained, Matt added, "You guys need to read up on CAW contract law. As part of probate, all signatures the deceased makes within six months of death are suspended, pending investigation. They can be reinstated, but if it looks like death didn’t occur naturally or the deceased was coerced—”
"Or murdered?” Edones nodded. "But what happens when you contest her signatures?”
"They’re valid, and Ari had the authority to sign those leases. Now I’m being coerced.” Matt’s voice was flat. "They’re waiting to see what I do. If I contest her signatures, the resulting investigation might suspend the leases for as long as a year. Not only that, I’d expose t
hem as kidnappers and they might as well kill her. They know I know that.”
The office was silent for a moment.
"This is a quandary.” Edones’s voice was as flat as Matt’s. "We can’t have the enemy controlling the leases and subsequent contracts in Pilgrimage-G- 145.”
Anger surged through Matt’s blood again. Edones’s suggestion was the equivalent of refusing to pay a kidnapper’s ransom. Did this bastard think he’d risk Ari’s life?
"First, there is no ’we.’ This is purely my decision and I’ll let her signatures stand.” Matt’s voice was low and vicious. "Second, there is no enemy. Not for me. The war ended fifteen years ago. Third, don’t be thinking I’ve got nothing to hold over you, Edones. Ari had signatory authority to less than half the contracts. I reserved some for my signature only.”
Edones grimaced, which Matt interpreted as relief.
"You surprise me. I didn’t expect you to hold healthy amounts of distrust toward your business partners.”
"I trust her.” Matt glared back. "I was trying to get Ari interested in the business without overwhelming her.”
"Major Kedros may not be the reliable business partner you’re hoping for, Mr. Journey.”
"Why?” Matt asked bluntly. "Does it have to do with all the years of altered records? Is she connected to Ura-Guinn?” Matt tossed out the questions quickly, hoping to provoke a reaction.
But there were no twitches in Edones’s too-perfect facade. Matt watched Edones with narrowed eyes. There was also a little nagging voice in the back of his mind; perhaps he had distrusted Ari, deep down.
"It was the Consortium that originally funded the G-145 mission. We should benefit from the proceeds, not the Terrans.”
Edones was taking another tack—didn’t the man ever give up? This objection, however, Matt was prepared for, after working J-132. Governments were usually the biggest financers of generational ship missions, where the designations G-145 and J-132 were mission numbers and not astronomical designations. The generational ship lines always had to consider the unpredictable political environments; circumstances might not be the same after they took fifteen, twenty, or, in the case of G-145, approximately twenty-six years to drag a Minoan time buoy out to a system and open it to N-space traffic. This was why generational ship lines had offices near both the Consortium and League nerve centers.
"J-132 was financed during the war also, but by the League. My company’s already been through one interstellar and multigovernmental opening.” Matt smirked. "Our SEEECB has a counterpart under TerraXL. They exchange information, approve the contractors, and give me a qualified list of contractors. Some of them are Terran and they’re bidding for my leases. Don’t worry, the Consortium can get its cut from any new system.”
"There’s still plenty of room for AFCAW contractors?” Edones asked.
"Certainly. That’s why I’m not going to be contesting Ari’s signature.”
Matt had layered and interwoven the lease coverage, providing what he thought were checks and balances. It was lucky he’d done that, because now he had to play the Minoans against CAW against TerraXL, and he couldn’t let Edones know that. He was unsure of what it would mean to give the Minoans a seat at the table; they were an unknown in this game of dividing the resource pie. Moreover, Matt had no doubts that this was a dangerous game, particularly when dividing G-145. Nestor might have been murdered for it. Just because the SEEECB had approved a contractor didn’t mean they were automatically clean, with no connections to organized crime.
"We have an hour before we reach Alexandria Port and I believe Athens Point LEF has questions for you. Shouldn’t you be helping them?” Edones asked, effectively changing the subject.
CHAPTER 18
Ha. You Autonomists think you’ve shed all the outmoded Sol technology. You’re the new colonies, innovative and brilliant. You think Hellas is the center of art, society, and science. Gibber on, you morons. Universal time is still run by Terra’s orbit and your measurement units were developed, for the most part, on pre-Terran Earth. So don’t go . . .
—Rant: Because I Can, Lauren Swan Kincaid, 2105.045.02.55 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 12 under Conflict Imperative and Democritus 17 under Metrics Imperative
The economies of the Prime planets were booming and Hellas Prime was no exception. Alexandria was the largest city in the southern hemisphere of Hellas Prime, sprawling over seventeen thousand square kilometers. It wasn’t the most densely populated, with about eleven million people and an urban plan that incorporated strips of greenbelt to allow natural flora and fauna to migrate through the city. Alexandria was reputed to be the most beautiful city on the most prominent Autonomist planet in the Consortium. Consequently, it also boasted the highest property taxes.
Even the crown jewel of Hellas Prime, however, had its seedy neighborhoods. One of these was the Karaborsi Canal, where liquor, drugs, and prostitution flowed, if not freely, then economically. The Alexandria Addict Commons purposely abutted the Karaborsi Canal, since "retirement” to the Commons didn’t require any actual dropping of habits. The only requirement for keeping supplies moving across the fence into the Commons was a friendly relative willing to send stipends, whether credit or goods for barter.
Hellas Daughter was in decline and the moonlight was faint. The weather stayed in that uncertain evening drizzle, as if committing to steady rain was too strong a statement. Tonight in particular, Thales wished he’d taken his mother’s advice as he stomped back to his position at the front admittance counter of the Commons.
Get a doctorate and go into genomics, she’d said. That’s what’s hot.
Thales had disagreed. He didn’t want to go through that much schooling and take on that many debt-years. He didn’t think genomics would be a viable long-term career. Now what was he doing? I’m an orderly—just strong-armed security.
Earlier in the evening, Thales had quelled a small tempest with the residents before it developed into a riot. He was going to have to talk with Dr. Phan, one of the staff rehabilitation therapists, about his choices for interactive v-plays. To get their v-play, residents had to agree that they were rehab possibilities. They also had to agree to subject themselves to rehab messages presented in the v-plays.
Dr. Phan had made a bad choice. He’d picked a drama where a character was degraded by his alcohol use, and drowned because of the degradation. Most of the residents that went interactive chose to be the main character and vicariously experience the alcohol, as Dr. Phan had predicted they would. The v-play caused strong reactions when the main character cleaned his feces-smeared trousers in a swift deep stream that would ultimately lead to his drowning. These reactions weren’t quite the ones Dr. Phan had hoped for, because the designer of the v-play apparently didn’t have a good grip on alcohol abuse.
"Where’s the drugs?” screamed a resident, Carolyn. But then, she was never satisfied with the v-play experience. Thales had to eject her from the connection.
"Wouldn’t happen. Nobody shits their pants—nobody eats if they’re a drunk. You piss your pants, you don’t shit your pants.” Another resident, Tank, was methodically trying to stop the v-play interaction by pulling out the sensory feeds in the connection panel. His nickname was unfortunately descriptive, and Thales had to call for extra muscle to get Tank back to his billet.
After this crisis, Thales had settled back in at the front desk and opened view ports to his favorite feeds beside the displays within the Commons. Through the glass doors, he saw a long, dark car pull up outside. It was too nice for this neighborhood, probably a rental. He saw two figures get out and struggle with a third limp, insensate form.
A check-in. Sighing, Thales changed all the public view ports to generic landscapes. The view ports behind the admittance counter still displayed, but couldn’t be seen from the other side. The Commons management didn’t like visitors seeing the living conditions of the residents.
Hearing the doors whoosh open, he arranged his smile, raised his head, and
froze in surprise. He’d thought he’d seen everything—but perhaps not.
The future resident was a young woman with a lolling head of dark hair. Thales could smell the reek of alcohol three paces away. Her eyes fluttered a bit, indicating she’d probably taken smooth with her alcohol. She wore an AFCAW uniform. None of this was unusual. Crewmen and -women were often brought in to sober up, and an AFCAW superior usually showed up to chew them up and check them out, not necessarily in that order. AFCAW took care of their own.
The two escorts, however, captured his attention. They looked similar in body size and weight, but their clothes were all wrong. They were tight and stretchy and the color of mud, with no lights or displays or decorations. Thales knew they were Terrans since he was devoted to his feeds. He had watched a hurried interview with the Terran state prince, who’d hit Alexandria Port only a couple of hours ago. The state prince said he was here for a short bout of "sightseeing,” as he’d called it. When he later wandered the port’s shops with his security, crowds of remotes followed him and loaded their video onto ComNet.
Thales had never expected to see Terrans standing at his front desk. "May I help you?”
"We’d like to commit this woman,” said the male Terran, frowning. He looked grouchy, perhaps because of his blackened right eye and the bruises on the right side of his face.
"You want to admit her?” Thales said.
"Of course.” The female companion smiled warmly at Thales. Her hand was splinted, but she looked concerned for the young woman they held up between them.
"Do you have custody or power of attorney for this person? Do you have authority to waive her privacy?” Thales brought up his admittance checklist on the countertop.
"We found this woman. We were told we could drop her off without signing anything. . . .” The woman’s voice dropped off into a slightly questioning tone.
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