by neetha Napew
BOOK FOUR
Chapter Fourteen
“Commander Sassinak ...” The voice was vaguely familiar; Sassinak pulled her attention out of an engineering report and glanced up. Incredulous joy engulfed her.
“Ford!” She could hardly believe it, and then wondered why she hadn’t already known. Surely the name would have been on the roster of incoming officers -
“Lieutenant Commander Hakrar broke a leg and two ribs in a waterboat race . . . and they offered it to me, so - “ His broad grin was the same as ever, but now he subdued it. “Lieutenant Commander Fordeliton reporting for duty, captain.” He held out his order chip, and she took it, feeding it into the reader. Her side screen came up with a list.
“There’re just a few chores waiting for you, as you can see - “
“Mmm. Maybe I should have stopped for a drink before I reported aboard.” He leaned over to take a look at the screen, and feigned shock. “Good grief, Commander, hasn’t anyone done any work on this ship since you docked?”
Sassinak found herself grinning. “Did you see the holos of the damage we came in with?”
“No - but I heard rumors of a Board of Inquiry. Bad fight?”
“Fairly stiff. I’ll tell you later. For now - “ She looked him up and down. The same dark bronze face, the same lean body that could slouch carelessly in a dockside bar or dance elegantly at a diplomatic reception, the same tone of voice, wordlessly offering support without challenge. If she had had her pick of all the possible executive officers, he would have been the one. And yet - she wasn’t ready for anything more, not yet. Would he understand? “Just get yourself settled, and we’ll have a briefing at 1500. Need any help?”
“No, Commander, thank you. I met your Weapons Officer on the way to the dock, and she’s helped me find my way around.”
Sassinak leaned back, after he’d gone, and let herself remember that crazy trip as prize crew on a captured illicit trader, something more than ten years before. She’d been exec on a patrol-class vessel, Lily of Serai, and they’d caught a trader carrying illegal and unmarked cargo. So her captain had put her and five others aboard, as a prize crew to bring the trader to Sector HQ; she’d had command, and Fordeliton, then a Jig, had been her exec. She’d hardly known him before, but it was the kind of trip that made solid relationships. For the trader crew had tried to take the ship back, and they’d killed two of the marines - and almost killed Ford, but she had led the other two in a desperate hand-to-hand fight through the main deck corridors. If Huron had seen that, she told herself, he’d never have doubted her will to fight. In the end they’d won - though they’d had to space most of the trader’s original crew - and she had brought the ship in whole. When Ford recovered from his injuries, they’d become lovers - and in the years since, whenever they chanced to meet, they had enjoyed each other’s company. Nothing intense, nothing painful - but she could count on his quiet, generous support. Another incoming officer brought her much less content. Fleet Security, apparently impressed by her conviction that she had yet another agent on board, decided to assign a Security officer to the ship. Sassinak frowned over his dossier: a Lieutenant Commander (in Security, a very high rank) from Bretagne. All she’d wanted was a deeper scrutiny of her personnel records, and instead she got this . . . she looked at his holo. Slim, dark hair and eyes, somehow conveying even in that official pose a certain dapper quality.
In person, when he reported for duty, he lived up to his holo: suave, courteous, almost elegant. His voice had the little lilt she remembered from Bretagne natives, and he used it to compliment her on her ship, her office decor, her reputation. Sassinak considered biting his head off, but it was never wise to alienate Security. She gave him courtesy for courtesy, alluding to her first ship service under a Bretagnan captain, and he became even sleeker, if possible. When he’d gone to his quarters, Sassinak took a long breath and blew it out. Security! Why couldn’t they do the job right in the first place, and prevent hostiles from getting into Fleet, instead of sending people like this to harass honest officers and interfere with their work?
But Dupaynil turned out better than his first impression, He got along well with the other officers, and had a strong technical background that made him useful in both Engineering and Weaponry, His witty conversation, which skirted but never quite slid into malicious gossip about the prominent and wealthy among whom he’d worked, livened their meals. And he was more than a quick wit, Sassinak found out, when they discussed the matter of planet piracy and slave trading.
“You haven’t been at Headquarters for several years,” he said. “I’m sure you remember that speculation about certain families had begun even ten years ago ...”
“Yes, of course.”
“Our problem has been not in finding out who, but in proving how - with persons of such rank, we cannot simply accuse them of complicity. And they’ve been very, very clever in covering their tracks, and making their accounts clean for inspection. That ship you captured, for instance - “
“I was thinking Paraden,” said Sass.
“Precisely. But you noted, I’m sure, that although there were apparent links to Paraden family enterprises, there was no direct, traceable proof...”
“No. I’d hoped the traces on those transports coming into the pirate base would be helpful.”
“Oh, they were. Commodore Verstan forwarded all available data - and we’re now sure of some kind of complicity between the Paradens and at least one group of political activists from Diplo.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” said Sass. “The Paradens I’ve met were all prejudiced against any of the human variants - I’d think they’d be the last people to consort with heavyworlders.”
“The Paraden family stronghold maintains a body of heavyworlder troops. That’s not widely known, but we have - had, I should say - an agent that had infiltrated them just so far. It would be within their philosophy to use the heavyworlders that way - and to gain exclusive access to chosen worlds.”
“That young woman who went crazy and tried to poison us all was born on Diplo. But I thought she was too irrational to be anyone’s agent - “
“You’re undoubtedly right. No, if you have a saboteur on your ship. Commander, it’s someone more subtle than that. And quite possibly not a heavyworlder. There’s a growing sentiment that Fleet demands too much and delivers too little protection . . . that it’s used to keep colony planets subdued, or to prevent the opening of suitable worlds for colonies. Exploration has shifted a lot of blame to Fleet, over the past decade or so - and that concerns us, too. Why are we blamed when Exploration chooses to classify a world as unsuited for colonization? Why is Fleet responsible when the alien vote in the FSP puts a system off-limits for humans? Because we enforce the edicts, apparently . . . but who is emphasizing that, and why?”
“And you have no idea if any of this crew is such an agent?”
Dupaynil shook his head. “No - the records all seem clear, and that’s what you’d expect from a professional. They’re not going to do anything stupid, like use a faked name or background. We can check too easily on that sort of thing these days - the Genetic Index gives us the references for each planet-of-origin. If I said I was from Grantly-IV, for instance, you could look it up in the Index and find out that I should be blue-eyed and a foot taller.”
“But surely most planets have a variety of genomes - “
“A variety, yes, but not the entire range of human possibilities. Much of the time it doesn’t tell us precisely where someone is from - although with tissue samples for analysis it does much better - but it certainly tells me what questions to ask, and what to look for. Anyone from Bretagne, my home world, has experienced double moonlight, and knows about the Imperial Rose Gardens. You’re from Myriad - you lived in its one city - and so I know you experienced a seacoast with mountains inland, and you must have seen at least one gorbnari.”
Sassinak had an instant memory of the gorbnari, the wide-winged flyers of
Myriad, who preyed on its native sealife. Not birds, not fishes - exactly - but gorbnari swooping down for krissi.
“So if I asked you,” Dupaynil went on, “whether gorbnari were gray or brown, you’d know - “
“That they were pale yellow on top and white underneath, with a red crest on the males ... I see what you mean.”
“Since the Myriad colony was wiped out, and not replanted, the references to native wildlife are pretty vague. In fact, the only comment on gorbnari gives their color as ‘mid-to-light brown, lighter below’ because it’s taken from the first scoutship report - and that ship sampled on the other continent, where they are that color.”
“So you’re going to mingle with the crew, and check that sort of thing, stuff that doesn’t come up in the records at all?”
“Right. And of course, I’ll fill you in on whatever I find.”
Dupaynil was the last incoming crewman - when Sassinak thought about it, the perfect arrangement, since anyone transferring out so late would be noticed. The orders came through for them to leave, and soon they were on their way to their assigned position. Sassinak wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry that she had no chance to attend Huron’s funeral. Soon she was far too busy to brood about it.
For one thing, she had to supervise the continuing education of five newly “hatched” ensigns, fresh from the Academy, and eager to prove themselves capable young officers. Fordeliton handled their assignment slots, but she had an interview with each one, and chaired the regular evaluation sessions. It was a very mixed group. Claas, one of the largest heavyworlder women Sassinak had ever seen, came with a special recommendation from Sass’s old friend Seglawin at the Academy. (“I can trust you,” she’d written, “to perceive the sensitivity and generosity of this ensign - she’s bright, of course, and reasonably aggressive, but still too easily hurt. Toughen her, if you can, without sending her straight into the Separationists.”) Sassinak looked up - and up - at the broad face with its heavy brow and cheekbones, and mentally shook her head. If this girl was still oversensitive, after four years in the Academy, she had small chance of curing it.
Timran, stocky and just above the minimum height, had a low rank in the graduating class, and an air of suppressed glee. Clearly he was thrilled (surprised, even?) to have made it through commissioning, and equally delighted to have such a good assignment - and such a commanding officer. Sassinak was used to male appreciation, but his wide - eyed admiration almost embarrassed her. She wondered if she’d really been that callow herself. His only redeeming characteristic, according to the file, was “luck.” As his pilot instructor said, “Under normal circumstances, this cadet is adequate at best, and too often careless or rash. But in emergencies, everything seems to come together, and he will do five wrong things that add up to the best combination. If he continues to show this flair in active duty, he may be worth training as a scoutship pilot, or a junior gunnery officer.”
Gori, on the other hand, was a quiet, studious, almost prim young man who had ranked high in academics and sports, but only average in initiative. “The born supply officer,” his report said. “Meticulous, precise, will do exactly what he is told, but does not react well in chaotic situations. He should do well in a large crew, and ultimately onstation in a noncombat capacity. Note that this is not lack of courage; he does not panic in danger - but he does not exceed his orders even when this is desirable.”
Kayli and Perran were more “average,” in that their abilities seemed to be all on one level. Physically they were something else. Kayli was a stunning diminutive brunette, who could have had a new partner every night if she’d wanted it. What she wanted, apparently, was Gori. Sassinak was not surprised to find that they were already engaged, and planned to marry at the end of their first cruise. What did surprise her was Kayli’s continuing disinterest in the other men - very few people were exclusive in their relationships. But despite all suggestions, Kayli spent her off-duty time with Gori, much of it in the junior officer’s mess with books spread all over the table. Perran, not at all as overtly attractive as Kayli, turned out to be the vamp of the group. She had an insatiable interest in electronics . . . and men. Ford’s description of her stalk of the senior communications tech gave Sassinak her first relaxed laugh in weeks.
As the trip progressed, Claas seemed content enough, if quiet, and Sassinak noted that she seemed to spend some free time with Perran. It seemed like an odd combination, but Sassinak knew better than to interfere with what worked. Timran got into one scrape after another, always apologetic but undaunted as he discovered the inexorable laws of nature all over again. Sassinak wondered if he’d ever grow up - it didn’t seem likely at this point. Only her experience with other such youngsters, who surprisingly grew into competent adults if given the chance and a few years, reassured her. Gori and Kayli occupied each other, and Perran, having caught her first man, soon started looking for another. Sassinak felt a twinge of sympathy for the unlucky quarry; Perran was none too gentle in her disposal of the former lover.
Dupaynil turned up evidence of several anomalies in the crew. He said quite frankly that most of them were probably innocent errors - data entered wrong in the computer, or misunderstandings of one sort or another. But sorting them out meant hours of painstaking work, correlating all the data and holding more interviews to recheck vital facts.
“I had no idea that the personnel files were this sloppy,” grumbled Sass. “Surely most of these must mean something.” They were back to Prosser, and Sassinak was careful to say nothing about her earlier reaction to his holo in the files. His eyes weren’t quite as close together as she’d thought earlier. Dupaynil passed over the file with a shrug - nothing wrong with it at all.
“Have you ever really looked at your own file?” asked Dupaynil with a sly smile.
“Well, no - not carefully.” She had never wanted to brood over the truncated past it would have revealed.
“Look.” He called up her file onscreen, and ran it through his expanded database backups. “According to this, you had two different grades in advanced analytic geometry in prep school . . . and you never turned in your final project in social history . . . and you were involved in a subversive organization back on Myriad - “
“What!” Sassinak peered at it. “I wasn’t in anything - “
“A club called Ironmaids?” Dupaynil grinned.
“Oh.” She had forgotten completely about Ironmaids, the local Carin Coldae fan club that she and Caris had founded in their last year of elementary school. She and Caris and - who was that other girl? Glya? - had chosen the name, and written to the address on the bottom of the Carin Coldae posters. And almost a year later a packet had come for them: a club charter, replica Carin Coldae pocket lasers, and eight copies of the newest poster. Her parents wouldn’t let her put it up where anyone could see it, so she’d had it on the inside of her closet door. “But it wasn’t subversive,” she said to Dupaynil. “It was just a kid’s club, a fan club.”
“Affiliated with the Carin Coldae cult, right?”
“Cult? We weren’t a cult.” Even her parents, conservative as they were. had not objected to the club . . . although they’d insisted that a life-size poster of Carin Coldae, in snug silver bodysuit with a blazing laser in each hand, was not the perfect living room decoration.
Dupaynil laughed aloud. “You see, captain, how easy it is for someone to be caught up in something without realizing it? I suppose you didn’t know that Carin Coldae’s vast earnings went into the foundation and maintenance of a terrorist organization?”
“They did?”
“Oh yes. All you little girls - and boys, too, I must admit - who sent in your bits of change and proofs of purchase were actually funding the Sector XI resurgents, as nasty a bunch of racist bullies as you could hope to find. The Iron Chain, they called themselves. Carin herself, I understand, found them romantic - or one of them, anyway. She was convinced they were misunderstood freedom fighters, and of course they encour
aged that view. So your little Ironmaids club, in which I presume you all felt brave and grown-up, was a front for terrorists . . . and you had your brush with subversive activity.”
Sassinak thought back to their six months of meetings, before they got tired of the routine. The little charter and handbook, which had them elect officers and discuss “old business” and “new business” according to strict rules. The cookies they’d made and served from a Carin Coldae plate, and the fruit juice they’d drunk from special glasses. If that was subversive activity, how did anyone keep doing it without suffering terminal boredom? She remembered the day they’d disbanded - not to quit watching Carin Coldae films, of course, but because the club itself bored them stiff They’d gone back to climbing in the nearby hills, where they could pretend that villains were hiding behind the rocks.
“I think the most subversive thing we did,” she said finally, “was decide that our school principal looked exactly like the villain in White Rims. I still have trouble believing - “
Dupaynil shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Security knows that nearly all the kids in those clubs were innocent. But some of them went on to another level of membership, and a few of those ended up joining the Iron Chain . . . and those have been a continuing problem.”
“I remember . . . maybe a year after we quit holding meetings, we got another mailout, suggesting that we form a senior club. But we’d lost interest, and anyway that was just before the colony was taken.”
“Right. Now - can you explain the two grades in analytic geometry? Or the uncompleted social history project?”
Sassinak frowned, trying to remember. “As far as I know, I always got top grades in math . . . what are those? Oh . . . sure . . . they were trying a pass/fail system, and gave all of us dual grades in math that semester. It’s not two grades, really; it’s the same grade expressed two ways. As for social history - I can’t remember anything.”
