Emmers fairly danced around. “But look at this, ma’am.” He brought a display onto the Hazlett.
Jade ran her fingers over the tracing. “What is it?”
“Cheshire Cat was recalibrating her Roessler-space scanners and picked this up. At first they thought it was a flaw in their systems, but it was constant, and they decided it was real. Lieutenant WhiteWolf thought enough to send it to our attention. Notice how faint it is; orders of magnitude less than standard transition waves. An average ship’s scanners would never detect this.”
Jade yawned. “So?”
“I took the liberty of comparing it to the abnormal waves Dr. Linde reported.”
Jade sat bolt upright. Kuchera trembled.
“What in heaven made you think of that?” Jade demanded.
Emmers raised his shoulders. “Just a hunch.” He added an overlay to the screen.
“They match, exactly,” Kuchera breathed.
Jade shivered as a thrill coursed through her. “Where did Cheshire Cat detect these waves, Emmers? From the Gara’nesh fleet?”
Emmers grinned triumphantly. “No, ma’am. From here. Right here on Covenant.”
TWELVE
In the outermost fringes of Gamma Hydra 4's system, a place inhabited by the ash of interstellar dust, fragments of asteroids, and the cold cores of hibernating comets awaiting an encounter with the sun to restore them to long-tailed life, Cheshire Cat drifted wraith-like, one ghost among many, indistinguishable from the flotsam of stellar formation and death.
Smaller than Starwind, the larger ship’s near-equal in speed, minimally armed—nav screens and hazard-defense lasers only—Cheshire Cat existed for one reason, and one reason only: intelligence gathering. The most sensitive scanners and surveillance devices the Hegemony could devise crammed the narrow confines of her interior and protruded through the light fabric of her hull.
The existence of spyships like Cheshire Cat was a matter vehemently asserted by opponents of the war, and equally vehemently denied by those who waged it. Only a very few knew for certain of the spyships’ existence.
The life of spyships tended to be dangerous and nerve wracking. And, Lieutenant Hal WhiteWolf thought as he studied his commander’s latest orders, brief.
Jade Lafrey’s instructions had arrived just before shift change, while WhiteWolf was in his quarters dressing. Shifts divided the day—one of the four crewpeople was always on duty while the rest took turns sleeping, relaxing, and performing other duties. WhiteWolf worked a shift just like his crew; this rotation, the morning watch.
WhiteWolf shook his head as he entered the bridge. His mane of thick black hair cascaded about his muscular shoulders.
“What is it, sir?” Ensign Kathy Fines asked, looking up from the navigation console.
“It appears as if we stumbled upon something with those abnormal transition waves,” WhiteWolf replied. He scratched his head.
“They’re not artifacts?”
“The Commander doesn’t think so.”
“I was right, huh?” Fines pulled up the recordings for another look.
“You were.” WhiteWolf nodded his approval. “Good instincts.”
“Good thing we decided to recalibrate the scanners, then. What does she want us to do?”
“Get this, Kathy,” WhiteWolf said. “She wants us to stop our surveillance of the Gara’nesh fleet and concentrate our attention on Covenant itself.”
“Covenant?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Looking for anything specific?” Fines asked.
WhiteWolf shook his head. “Concentrate on the Roessler-space waves, and try to pinpoint their exact origin, if possible, but be alert for any kind of unusual activity.”
“As always,” Fines commented dryly. “If it’s usual, somebody else can watch it.”
WhiteWolf chuckled. “True.”
Fines studied Cheshire Cat's scan console. “Just when we’re in perfect position to observe the Gara’nesh fleet.”
“Yeah. We’ll need to be closer to Covenant if we want to have a chance of picking up anything more detailed on those waves. Get us underway, Kathy. Slow and easy. Let’s not advertise our presence. I don’t want Fleet-keeper Shurra taking us for the enemy we are and targeting us.”
“Me neither, sir.” Fines played with the helm/navigation console. Cheshire Cat stirred gently to life. Her idle drift took on a defined purpose.
“See if you can find something for us to hide behind,” WhiteWolf instructed. “A comet nucleus or asteroid. I’m going to instruct Curwen and Dragle. We’d all best be awake at the moment.”
“I’ll let you know when we’re in position, sir.”
WhiteWolf nodded. “And be ready to get us out on short warning.” He paused at the bridge door. “Something big is brewing.”
Jade debated long and hard before deciding to include Charles Stalker amongst those privy to her suspicions. It wasn’t that she had reservations about her chief, but the suspicions were so tenuous—mere spider’s webs of fancy spun from her own concerns. Charles Stalker liked facts. Even in the murky world of naval intelligence where concrete facts tended to be lost in a veritable fog of inference and suspicion that drifted like gossamer across the face of knowledge, blurring and obscuring detail, he preferred to act upon the basis of more than mere supposition.
She presented herself at his office well before the majority of personnel on Covenant were awake. As she’d expected, she found the admiral already at work. A notoriously early riser, Stalker seemed unsurprised to see her, merely waving her to a seat.
“Success, Jade?” Stalker set down his morning cup of coffee.
Jade paused momentarily, then finished her descent. “Of a sort, sir.”
The admiral folded his arms across his chest. “Do tell.”
Stalker listened intently to Jade’s recital, his face betraying no evidence of his thoughts.
Jade concluded and halted, waiting for Stalker’s response.
The admiral ran a hand through his hair. Jade thought he looked tired—as if he had aged years in the few short days the conference had been underway.
“Interesting,” he commented.
“More than that, I think, sir.”
“I agree that appearances are suspicious,” Stalker said at length, “but I don’t think you have much to go on.”
“I don’t.” Jade said. “That’s what’s galling.”
“It’s hard to conceive of the Gara’nesh playing such a game in human space.”
“I’m glad it hasn’t been in my sector, or I’d feel really bad.”
Stalker’s teeth showed in a flicker of a smile.
Jade continued, “Until we’re sure what we’re dealing with, shouldn’t the conference be allowed to proceed? Or am I wrong?”
Stalker looked grim. “You’re not wrong. But the conference is not proceeding well at all.”
“Admiral Vespage inferred as much, sir. But she didn’t say what was going amiss.”
“Admiral Gellner seems to have a fixation about several of the contested star systems. I can’t for the life of me see why. But he’s adamant, and Maricic supports him.”
“Is that so?” Jade’s brow furrowed.
“Travers and I have a hard time making our voices heard above the saber rattling.”
“That’s funny,” Jade mused. “Maricic seemed so reasonable at the start.”
“Everybody was reasonable at the start,” Stalker corrected. “Anyway. What have you done?”
“Cheshire Cat is scanning for the source of the abnormal waves. I have people reviewing the Covenant plans, and listening everywhere they can. But twenty-four hours isn’t long.”
“Not at all,” Stalker concurred.
“Do you know what really puzzles me?” Jade asked.
Stalker’s eyes narrowed. “What puzzles me is the Gara’nesh choice of target.”
“Precisely, sir.” Jade replied, privately surprised at the admiral’s acumen. “If the Gara
’nesh device makes GH-4 go supernova, what of it? The conference will fall apart, but there are easier ways of accomplishing that. Positioned as it is, the Third Fleet will have plenty of time to evacuate the area. Maybe we’d lose a few close-in ships and the people here on Covenant, but that’s all.”
“Those people include you and me,” Stalker pointed out.
Jade’s lips twisted. “True, sir, but you and I aren’t essential to galactic peace. Somebody else would take over.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Stalker murmured, almost too softly for Jade to make out the words. His eyes lost their focus momentarily, then regained it. “Perhaps the bomb—or device—can be planted in the middle of the fleet.”
“Maybe, but then why test one on a star?” Jade countered. “That seems like overkill to me.”
“Do you have an objection to everything?” Stalker grumbled.
“Sorry, sir.”
Stalker tapped on his desk. “I’ll alert Admiral Vespage—unless you have any suspicions concerning her?”
Jade shook her head. “None at all.”
“A wide dispersal should ensure that the majority of the ships are safe in case the Fleet is targeted, while allowing them to remain on station.”
“I think that would be a sensible precaution, sir.”
Stalker nodded dismissal. “Let me know if you find out anything, Commander. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to get Gellner and Maricic to listen to me.”
“What about Admiral Koharski, sir?” Jade asked, rising.
Stalker’s eyes clouded in momentary puzzlement. “She doesn’t seem to—she’s not as adamant as before. But Lena’s like that. She has her moods.”
Jade hesitated at the door and looked back over her shoulder. Stalker had slumped forwards until his head rested on his folded hands. He appeared to be praying. Jade realized abruptly how little she really knew about her chief. Was Stalker a man who prayed, or not?
The door closed, cutting off her view.
She hoped Emmers and Kuchera were doing their share of praying.
Central Committee Member Georgia Maricic yawned and stretched. She pushed the soft, sky-blue sheets away with an elegantly manicured hand. The room lights illuminated and she squinted.
“Here we go again,” she murmured to herself.
She rolled onto her side, slipped out of the bed, and ran her eyes over the clothes she’d laid out in readiness for morning.
After bathing, she donned a sapphire gown and seamed it. She clipped a gold and diamond necklace about her neck, brushed her hair into place and studied the result.
A tiresome task, preparing for the day, with no one of consequence to appreciate the results.
She finished her makeup and blinked her long lashes several times. A splash of perfume completed her preparations.
Satisfied, she left her quarters, not sparing a glance for the pair of guards who fell into step behind her.
In the corridor, she encountered Blair Iverson coming from the direction of his quarters. The Political major paused and then approached her. “Good morning, Member.”
“Any words of wisdom to begin the day, Iverson?” Maricic asked.
He shook his head. “Ambassador Halaffi’s patience appears to be wearing thin. There may not be many more mornings here.”
“No.”
“I can’t say that I’m sorry, Member.” Iverson shook a crease out of a sleeve. “What a mess.”
Maricic glanced at him. “The conference or your clothes?”
“Both.” Iverson scowled. “If I may speak candidly, Member-?”
Maricic gestured.
“I’ve heard enough of Admiral Stalker’s and Governor Travers’ twitterings, Member. It makes me sick, listening to them. And now Lafrey’s returned, too.”
“What was the business of the abortive assassination attempt on Southern Cross? She claimed it was Politicals.”
She emphasized the word ‘Politicals’.
The tip of Iverson’s nose whitened. “The idiots waiting for Trevarra got carried away, Member.” He drew a finger across his throat. “If Lafrey and Trevarra hadn’t done for Lieutenant Maynard, I’d have had to.”
“I did want Lafrey to come back,” Maricic said.
“Admiral Gellner ordered as much, Member. But would it have been a big deal if she hadn’t?”
“What do you have against Lafrey? Other than pro-peace views, of course.”
“General suspicions,” Iverson replied.
Maricic halted. She raised a finger to her lips. “No. There’s more to it than that. Something personal?”
Iverson opened his mouth, shut it, then said, “In a sense, Member. Years ago—back in ‘43—I was doing a tour of duty on Weston’s World. We had our eyes on a man named Gregory Hotchkiss.”
Iverson paused to allow a pair of diplomatic corps to pass by and move out of earshot, then continued, “He was a very close friend of Lafrey’s.”
“Why was he under surveillance?” Maricic asked.
“He was a very bright university student. Another student put us on to him. Hotchkiss was propounding unacceptable views.”
“Such as?”
“He belonged to a group of socio-religious radicals. Quite puerile really. The type that resists enlightenment.”
“The Hegemony is a religiously diverse entity,” Maricic replied. “As long as loyalty to the state is upheld, people are free to believe what they choose. Whether or not those beliefs are intellectually respectable is not an issue.”
“More importantly, he was promoting the desirability of making peace with the Gara’nesh.”
Maricic yawned. “Is there a point to this story, Major?”
Iverson rubbed his right hand, massaging the wrist. “We raided one of their meeting places. Most of them stood there and allowed themselves to be shot down like target dummies. It was boring, really. But not Hotchkiss. He shot back, seriously wounding one of our agents.”
The tone of Maricic’s voice belied her words. “Very interesting, I’m sure. What has this to do with Lafrey?”
“I always suspected that Lafrey put him up to joining this group. But we were never able to pin anything on her, although she was under surveillance for months.”
“And your concern?”
Iverson held out his arm. “Have you ever been through regeneration, Member?”
Maricic shook her head.
“Then you can’t imagine the pain. I was the injured agent. Months upon months of pain that no drugs or brain-modulating techniques could quell. The medicos want you to be awake, you know, no stasis.”
Iverson’s face twisted as he relived the memory. “I always felt that I owed Jade Lafrey for that one. I think she has a lot to do with this undertow of political-religious fanaticism, and I want her. I want her, Member.”
“Who knows? You may get your wish. But not now,” Maricic said.
Iverson was non-committal. “It depends how the situation develops.”
“Have you seen Admiral Gellner?” Maricic asked abruptly.
“He’s in the conference room, I believe, Member.”
They resumed walking along the corridor.
“Revenge has its points,” Maricic remarked. “As a remedy for ennui it is sometimes valuable. I have a list—a long list—of those who require attention. Take you, for example.”
“Me, Member?” Iverson gasped. Beads of sweat blossomed among his freckles.
A faint smile creased the scarlet curve of Maricic’s lips. “Only an example. I can treat you any way I like.” Her fingers clicked inches from Iverson’s nose. “A snap of my fingers and Blair Iverson is transferred to Southern Cross. Or Last Chance. Or maybe he disappears entirely. What’s one Political more or less?”
Iverson stood rigid, his face red, his hands clenched by his side. His breath hissed through his nostrils.
“What is the function of the Political Bureau?” Maricic taunted. “To serve the Central Committee. Consider yourself as having ser
ved.”
“Member, you wouldn’t—”
Maricic laughed, a harsh, braying laugh. “Don’t worry, Major, you’re not on my list. Not yet.”
With a bent index finger she motioned for Iverson to precede her. “Come, Major. The Gara’nesh await.”
Imperious, she stalked along the corridor.
Jade assumed her seat behind Admiral Stalker with the sense that this might be the last negotiating session she attended. Initially, she hadn’t planned on coming. Rick Emmers had persuaded her with the observation that if she didn’t, she’d only fret in her office. She was forced to concede. Unless a new avenue of investigation presented itself, Emmers and the crew of Cheshire Cat could pursue the active leads.
One by one the other participants entered and seated themselves. Travers appeared nervous. His head twitched from one participant to another and then back again, in a movement more suited to the fidgety Gellner. He drummed his fingers on his console. Stalker was impassive. He leaned back, folded his hands, and settled in for the duration.
Lewis Gellner’s face was set. Jade had seen that expression before. The flinty cast of his eyes and the clenching of his jaw muscles declared that Gellner was spoiling for a fight and wouldn’t back down from anyone—or anything. Cylena Koharski was tense, not with the nervous twitching of Travers, but with a restrained tension that revealed itself in the set of her shoulders and the way she held herself upright in her chair.
Blair Iverson was a study. Jade kept her eyes on him for a long moment after he entered with stilted steps. His crimson ears contrasted with the dead white of the tip of his nose. His left hand worried his right wrist. Jade had observed the same mannerism from him before, but today it seemed more pronounced. She wondered what Iverson had discovered to make him so angry.
He moved his head abruptly, catching her eyes before she could avert them. The raw hostility almost stole her breath away. Pig-like, malevolent, seething, the fury of a wounded animal stared at her. Then he looked away. Jade exhaled.
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