Echo Rift

by G. S. Jennsen

  “Greater than the Machim Primor attempting to drop a black hole on our universe?”

  “In the short term, perhaps not greater than that, no. But in the longer term, the result will be the same if we don’t act to defend ourselves.”

  “I understand where your concerns are coming from, Commandant. They did kill you.”

  She ground her frustration into her jaw. “Prime Minister, have I ever been wrong when I have counseled you about a military threat? Have I ever exaggerated or fear-mongered?”

  He tilted his head in concession. “No. You have not. But some argue that you aren’t the same person you once were.”

  “If you believed this to be true, you never would have signed the regenesis legalization bill into law.”

  “True enough. I did want to see for myself, but I’ll grant that you appear unchanged.”

  “Then I ask you to believe me now.”

  His eyes bore into her, but she didn’t flinch; finally the stare broke, just a fraction, and he nodded minutely. “To be fair, the admiralty is expressing much the same concerns in their reports. But other than adopting every AEGIS recommendation that’s flying in from the Presidio on an almost hourly basis, what would you have me do?”

  “Today? Right now? Add an array of negative energy missile batteries to the Terrestrial Defense Grid. Oh, and make certain they’re modular, because we’re working with the Asterions to develop more advanced versions of our negative energy weapons. If the improvements are viable, you’ll want to deploy them once they’re ready.”

  “You want me to build a new set of missile batteries around the entire planet? Do you have any idea how much such an undertaking will cost?”

  “Less than the cost of rebuilding every major city on Earth after they burn to ashes in a Rasu-delivered conflagration.”

  “Commandant—”

  “The Rasu are nearly impossible to kill—but we can kill them. The methods we employ to achieve this are not perfect, but they do work, and we need to put ourselves in a position to be able to use them effectively when the time comes. The lasers comprising the Terrestrial Defense Grid remain the most formidable conventional weapons active in Concord, but they will only slow the Rasu down for a minute or two. Negative energy missiles are the safest tool we possess to permanently destroy Rasu while posing the smallest threat to civilian populations and military craft. Adapt and meet the problem, Prime Minister.”

  He drummed his fingers on a leather box sitting atop his desk. “The Assembly Armed Services Committee, not to mention the Select Military Advisory Council, will have to approve an infrastructure project so massive as what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m happy to speak to them if they have questions or concerns.”

  “And you very well may need to do so. But you’re correct. Across a myriad of threats to our existence we’ve faced during my time in government, you’ve never been wrong. So I will…” he shrugged broadly “…do what I must and recommend we pursue such a project. Damn the torpedoes one more time.”

  She let a small measure of the relief she felt reach her expression. “Thank you, Prime Minister. I pray that we stop the Rasu in their tracks long before they ever learn of Earth’s existence and you never need to use those defenses, but I’ll sleep better at night knowing Earth is well-prepared to meet this threat.”

  20

  * * *

  CONCORD HQ

  Richard had barely ensconced himself back into the newest intel report to hit his desk when another knock jolted him out of it. He looked up to see Devon standing in the open doorway to his office.

  He immediately adopted a mask of cordial neutrality. “Good afternoon, Devon. What can I do for you?” Despite his efforts otherwise, it came out sounding stilted and overly formal, which seemed about right. He was trying to take Graham’s advice to heart, but his brain had thus far stubbornly refused to let loose of its grudges.

  Devon stared at him for several seconds, the younger man’s nose pinched up and his eyes creased. Finally he nodded, as if to himself. “Can we go get a beer?”

  Richard frowned. “Why does everyone keep wanting to ply me with beer?”

  “I can’t speak for anyone else, but here’s my thinking: one, because I’m going to need one, or possibly three, for this conversation. Two, because you really look like you need one. Possibly three.”

  He’d always been amused by Devon’s unique brand of humor, and the deadpan delivery broke through his defenses. “Granted on all counts. Let me finish one thing up.” He deleted the sentence he’d been struggling over and wrote a new one without thinking on it too hard, then sent the response and shut down his screens. “Where to?”

  The Black Hole wasn’t even close to the only bar on Concord HQ, but it was the one most frequented by Command and CINT employees. It served decent finger food and a comprehensive assortment of drinks for every species, and the high-back, circular booths provided a measure of privacy for the patrons.

  Richard eased into a booth near the back opposite Devon. They ordered two SanDune IPAs, then Devon clasped his hands atop the table. Then fidgeted around for a minute, grabbing a napkin to clean off an invisible stain on the table and scrolling through the menu again.

  “Devon….”

  “I helped Mia access the CINT secure network to send a message to the mole you had in place with Ferdinand.”

  Richard sighed. “I know you did.”

  “What? How could you know? I was sneaky. Clever, too.”

  “You always are, which is why I can’t prove it—or couldn’t until you just confessed to me. It’s probably more accurate to say I suspected.”

  Devon’s shoulders sagged, and when their drinks arrived he hurriedly turned his up, prolonging his sip for longer than politeness dictated. Finally he set the mug down and wiped foam from his mouth. “Why didn’t you come talk to me?”

  “Because I didn’t particularly want to have this conversation. I didn’t want my suspicions confirmed. Also, I’m getting tired of arguing with people I care about.”

  “Aww, that’s…well, at least you didn’t say ‘cared’ in the past tense.”

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

  Devon flinched; the barb had left a mark. “Listen, Mia appealed to all my most vulnerable weaknesses. We were fugitives together, on the run from the almighty Earth Alliance. She saved Emily’s life when Montegreu’s Artificial poisoned her. She brought me to Amaranthe to help save the world. We have a history together.”

  “So do we.”

  “I know, which is why I’ve felt terrible about it ever since. Why I came to you to bare my soul, confess my sins and throw myself at your mercy.”

  “Over beers.”

  “I had to do what I could to sway sentiment my way. I’m sorry?”

  Richard took a sip of his drink; it was succeeding in loosening his tongue, if nothing else. “Everyone’s so very sorry after the fact, once they’ve already gotten away with their schemes. But you know what? I am done being taken advantage of by people I call my friends.”

  Devon regarded him curiously. “You’re speaking in plurals an awful lot. This has to do with more than Mia’s interference, doesn’t it?”

  “It might.” Richard groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Honestly, I’m just tired. Tired of being the only one on the team who respects the rules and thus has to constantly nag everyone else about following them. Concord may be the newest power player on the block, but it’s not a kangaroo government. The rules are in place for a reason. They matter.”

  “Oh, you’re not the only one trying to keep the rest of us in line, don’t worry. But…” Devon grimaced, looking as frustrated as Richard felt “…we’ve been friends for almost two decades now. Have you ever known me to follow the rules?”

  “No, which is one reason why you’re on the lowest rung of my shit list. I’m disappointed that you went behind my back, but under the circumstances I can’t be too surprised. As you said, you and Mia ha
ve a history as well, and I imagine her plea struck a chord with you.”

  “Are you kidding? Vengeance for the loss of one’s beloved? Apparent loss, I guess—and how messed up is that? I mean, yay for Malcolm actually being alive and all, but what a mind-fuck for her.”

  “No doubt.” He lazily swirled the beer around in its glass. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I do not.” Devon shook his head slowly for added emphasis.

  “Can you find out?”

  “Come on, man. Are you seriously going to ask me to do that? I don’t want to do that…but if it will keep me in my job and, most importantly, out of prison, yes, I can. And I guess will.”

  Richard huffed a wry laugh. “I’ll hold your sort-of-offer in reserve for now. I’m playing a longer game, and if it works, I won’t need to find her.”

  “Whew. I’ll be honest, I’ve had all the double-crossing I can stomach. It’s wearing on me.”

  “Good. Remember this next time someone tries to con you into a double-cross.”

  “No promises, but I’ll try. Damn, this being an upstanding, respectable and respected luminary is tougher than I’d expected.”

  “Oh, is that what you are?”

  Devon shrank back in the booth, hurt flashing across his features. “All right, I deserved that. Though they came from a desire to do good for someone in need, my actions were neither respectable nor luminous, and definitely not befitting the head of a Concord division.” He chewed on his lower lip. “So you’re not going to arrest me?”

  “No, Devon, I’m not, though don’t think I haven’t been tempted. You’re an accessory to a crime. But your actions fall far short of Mia’s crimes. And Miriam might literally string me up by my toes and leave me to starve in the desert if I depose two Concord division heads in less than a month.”

  Devon nodded with the fervor of the pardoned. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He turned his glass up and emptied it, then gave Richard an earnest, foam-adorned smile. “Now, can we please be friends again?”

  Richard cast a resigned gaze to the ceiling. “Never, ever break into one of my secure networks again.”

  “You don’t have to worry about it. The guilt alone has soured me on this manner of escapade.”

  “Devon.”

  His shoulders snapped straight. “I promise. I will never, ever, ever break into any system you control, of any kind, ever again. Unless you need me to.”

  “Why would I need you to break into one of my own systems?”

  “In this crazy world, you never know.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Richard finished off his beer and shrugged, trying his damnedest to let go of all this pent-up resentment. “I’ll accept your promise, and hold you to it.”

  21

  * * *

  PANDORA

  Mia yawned and flexed her arms out behind the counter. Last night had been another fitful night of tossing and turning, of her mind drifting to better times and better memories in the twilight between sleeping and waking. Though Meno denied it, she suspected that sometime during the night he’d finally screwed around with her neurochemicals to knock her out for a couple of hours. She wanted to be angry at him, but in truth she was too desperate for the peaceful oblivion of dreamless slumber to care.

  Store traffic, and with it sales, were gradually improving. She’d tweaked her inventory and the presentation of it to be more appealing to the unique customer base of the neighborhood, and the adjustments were showing signs of helping. She was still bleeding red ink, but the hole was shallowing. Another year or two of hustling for business and she might make a profit. She’d been rather skilled at doing that, once upon a time.

  Her attention flickered to the silent news feed screen; she forced it away. Being out of the loop and absent from the halls of power made her twitchy. She longed for the inside news on the Rasu conflict, on the faltering Anaden rebellion, even on the…she shuddered…Savrakath situation. But so far every time she’d activated the news feed, within five minutes Malcolm’s name had come up, and she’d had to hurriedly shut it off again.

  As a result, it often felt like she lived in a brittle bubble, cut off from the rest of the world and its grand machinations by a flimsy barrier that was always one catastrophic event away from bursting. Did normal people feel this way all the time? Isolated and frustrated, helpless to shape the course of history?

  Her finger was wavering above the news feed button when the door opened. A man walked in carrying something in both hands; he was well dressed, especially for the neighborhood, wearing tailored navy slacks and a gray merino wool cardigan. Wavy, dark brown hair fluttered over his temples from the breeze outside to frame the striking silver of Prevo eyes. Over-sharp features put a slightly hard edge on an otherwise handsome face.

  He gave her a broad smile as he ignored the product displays to cross the store and arrive directly in front of her, where he set his package on the counter. “Good morning. I’m Enzio Vilane, president of the Approach Community Retailers Council, and I brought you a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift.”

  She stared down at the package in surprise. Beneath a clear plastic cover sat a large plate stacked high with…cookies? “I’m Laisha. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vilane. And thank you. These smell delicious.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” His expression flickered uncertainly. “Shall we dive into them? I mean, they’re all for you, of course, but if you want to do a taste-test?”

  They really did smell wonderful, so she removed the cover and handed him a cookie, then picked one up for herself. “Let us test them together.”

  The cookie was warm, gooey and filled with raisins. She let the gooeyness fill her mouth before washing it down with coffee. “Did you bake them yourself?”

  He hesitated. “Is the correct answer, ‘yes’?”

  “The correct answer is the truth.”

  Something indefinable flashed across his features for a microsecond and was gone. “Then yes. For good or ill.”

  “No, they’re delicious. My compliments to the chef. Or…baker, I guess.”

  “What a relief. Thank you.” He dragged a stool over and sat at the counter to munch casually on his cookie. “How are you finding the neighborhood so far? Good neighbors? Good customers?”

  “The other store owners I’ve met have been very friendly, and after a slow start, business is picking up. The local gang shakedown was a little annoying, but other than that, everything is going well.”

  He frowned. “I do apologize for the thugs bothering you. The Council is doing what it can to run the lowlifes out of here, but….”

  “But this is Pandora. I expected it.”

  “So you’ve lived here for a while?”

  “No. I lived here a long time ago, when I was a teenager. I’ve only recently returned.”

  “I’m not surprised to hear it. If I may be embarrassingly honest, having met you now, you’re too classy for this place. Don’t misunderstand, this is not me complaining. I’m glad you’ve arrived to spruce up the quality of the neighborhood.”

  “You flatter me, but I’m simply trying to make a living like everyone else. I’m nothing special.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  She smiled blithely. He was charming, no question. Perhaps a touch too charming. “What do you do? Other than run the…what did you call it?”

  “The Approach Community Retailers Council, but ‘ACRC’ is less of a mouthful. I’m a real estate investor—or trying to be one. I own a couple of apartment buildings in the area.”

  “I imagine the real estate market here on Pandora can get exciting at times. How long have you been a Prevo?”

  A corner of his lips wavered. “Some years now. I did miss the OTS unrest back in the day, but I signed up not long after The Displacement. What about you?”

  If he could lie, so could she. “Oh, only a few months ago. It’s all still new to me. Exciting, but also a little daunting.”

  “If
you ever have any concerns or want some helpful tips, feel free to message me. I’ll send you my personal contact address. I just need your…well, I can send it to the store account.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait, instead plastering on an expression of innocent obliviousness. “How kind of you.”

  “Exhibiting kindness to our local retail owners is part of my job, and you are making my job easy today. Hey, we have a newsletter that goes out once a month. I’ll include an announcement about your store opening in the next issue. Hopefully it will bring you a few additional customers.”

  “Thank you. And for the cookies. I think I’ll have another one for brunch.”

  “My pleasure. Truly.” He gazed at her for a long moment, giving her an opening to engage further, before taking the hint of her silence and standing. “I’ll come back by for the plate in a few days. It’ll give me an excuse to drop in and see how you’re doing.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  He smiled again, backed toward the door, then finally turned and left.

  She munched on a second cookie, half expecting him to reappear in the doorway with another gracious entreaty. When he didn’t, she set the plate under the counter. The cookies were too tasty to let her customers abscond with them.

  What an odd encounter. Part of her feared she’d become too jaded and distrustful to recognize a simple, friendly interchange for what it was. Not everything in life was palace intrigue and court manipulations.

  But she’d risen to the dizzying heights of the Concord Senate and oversight of inter-species diplomatic relations—before taking a stunning triple axel dive off that peak to crash on the rocks below—because, among other skills, she’d grown very good at reading people.

  Meno, I want to know everything the exanet knows about Enzio Vilane. Then I want anything else you can scrounge up on him. But don’t use the Noesis. He’s a Prevo, so he could be listening in.