Roche smiled to herself. Yes, it was appropriate. “Okay. ‘Proctor’ it is. Here’s hoping it gives us better luck than its previous owner.”
Roche laughed aloud at this. “Both.”
* * *
A security card gained them entry to an unfurnished office at the back of the building, stained from years of neglect. Sabra stepped up to a sliding door set in one corner of the room and punched a code into a keypad. The metal door shuddered for a moment but failed to open. Without complaint, Sabra repeated the sequence. On the third attempt, the door finally opened with a slight hiss. Beyond was an elevator. The woman ushered Roche, Maii, and Cane inside. With a rattle and grind of machinery, the carriage and its four passengers dropped downward. “Where are you taking us?” asked Cane. “Downstairs,” said Sabra. Her reticence could have been natural or cultivated; either way, it showed no signs of abating.
“The port is riddled with old tunnels and chambers,” said Roche, “left over from the early colonial days, before the Ataman Theocracy and COE invasions. Everyone knows they’re here, but no one apart from the resistance uses them; they’re supposed to be unsafe. According to the Box, this section used to be a university. The resistance rebuilt it, and now uses it as a headquarters.” She smiled sweetly at Sabra, who returned her gaze with obvious dislike. “And that’s where we’re going. To meet Haid, right?”
The woman shrugged. “Right enough.”
Their journey ended with a stomach-wrenching jerk. When the door slid open, it revealed a narrow, ill-lit passageway. Sabra nudged them forward, then sealed the lift behind them. Poorly maintained gears groaned as the carriage slowly returned to the surface.
“This way,” said Sabra, and headed down the corridor.
They passed through a security scanner and a corridor lined with a dozen locked doors, then entered a dimly lit chamber containing nothing but a wide wooden desk and five chairs. Behind the desk and its compulsory computer facility sat the most profoundly black man Roche had ever seen. His skin was as dark as that of an Olmahoi, with a similar bluish sheen. He was hairless, which only accentuated the color of his skin. One eye stared at them from behind an ocular lens—held permanently in place millimeters above the eye by microfilaments embedded in bone. The other was nothing but glass. His left arm, resting on the desk, lifted as they entered the room to gesture at the chairs.
“My name is Ameidio Haid,” said the man. His voice was warm, patient, and solid. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Roche nodded, accepting the apology for what it was: a formality. She settled gratefully into an armchair, the upholstery of which was ripped in various places. Cane sat to her immediate left, Maii to her right. Sabra stood to one side of the desk, unobtrusive but undeniably present. Under the dim light above the desk, Roche could see deep scars etched in Haid’s cheeks and temples. Not injuries, she noted, but surgery. Given the hollow look of his face, she suspected that items had been removed, not implanted.
Or perhaps, she thought, remembering DAOC’s stern restrictions on technology, confiscated.
“I was beginning to wonder if you even existed,” said Roche. When he smiled at this, she said, “It’s good to finally talk to you face to face.”
Haid’s laugh was mellow, natural. He would have been an attractive man if not for his injuries. “I’m pleased to be able to say the same about you, Commander Roche. Only two days on the planet, and you’re already something of a legend.”
“Unintentionally, I assure you.”
“If you say so. Although it is difficult to imagine how one could wipe out an entire squadron of DAOC personnel by accident.”
Roche smiled now. “What I meant was, it wasn’t my intention to become involved.”
“No?” asked Haid. “Then what exactly was your intention?”
“To stay alive,” she said. “And to complete my mission, of course.”
“Ah, yes. Your mission.” Haid leaned back in his seat, all business. “You have mentioned this to a number of my people but have neglected to define it even once.” Haid raised an eyebrow. “I find this oversight slightly unnerving.”
Roche said nothing, conflicting desires warring within her. She needed to tell him to gain his trust, but needed to trust him before she could tell him. There was no easy way out of the dilemma.
As though reading her thoughts, Haid said, “I understand your reluctance, Commander Roche. I am in a similar bind. As director of this small covert operation, I am honor-bound to follow its interests before my own. You could be a great boon to us, but you might also be a great threat. Perhaps only time will tell which you are.”
He folded his hand into his lap. “I therefore suggest that we ignore the matter of your mission for the time being, and concentrate on other issues. DAOC security, for one. You are fleeing from them. Why?”
“Because they are corrupt. I was a passenger on the Armada ship destroyed two nights ago—”
“Yes, we saw the explosion. Local news reported it as a mining accident.”
“It wasn’t. The Midnight was ambushed by Dato ships during its approach through the Soul. We barely escaped with our lives by pretending to be debris flung from the wreckage. When we crashed on the planet, Enforcement attempted to capture us. The obvious conclusion is that the wardens are collaborating with the Dato Bloc.”
“Treason?”
“Yes,” said Roche. “In exchange for money.”
“This planet encourages a mercenary attitude. It has, after all, little else to offer.” Haid seemed amused by the squabbles that had impinged upon his immediate life. “So close to the Dato border, such a security compromise would seem inevitable—or at least possible. That begs the question: what were you doing here in the first place? If you or what you’re carrying is so valuable, why place it in such an unnecessarily risky position?”
Roche considered the alternatives for a long moment before eventually replying: “Cover.”
Haid nodded, then smiled. “Cover you still seek to maintain. Understood. But tell me, why is it that when you speak of your escape from the ship you refer to ‘we,’ not ‘I’?”
Roche glanced at Cane, who kept his stare fixed upon Haid. “I’m carrying an AI,” she said. “That was my only companion before my escape. The others came with me by chance.”
“Really? Veden and Maii I was expecting. The other, however, is a complete unknown.” Turning to Cane, he tapped his teeth with his fingertips. They made a soft clinking noise, as though his fingers were made of plastic, not flesh.
Cane returned his steady gaze without blinking.
“You look like a soldier,” said Haid. “Are you an Armada officer?”
“I have no allegiance to the Commonwealth of Empires.”
“A bounty hunter, then? Or a mercenary?”
“No.”
“A spy?”
“No.”
“Then what are you? You’re not a transportee, I can tell that much.”
“I don’t know what I am. A refugee, perhaps.”
“I find it difficult to imagine what you would be seeking refuge from.” Haid smiled. “Emmerik describes your strength with some awe. Yet you expect me to believe that it is simply a natural ability?”
“He was pulled from a survival capsule before we jumped to the Hutton-Luu System,” Roche said. “He has no memory of the time before then. Just his name. If you don’t believe me, ask Maii.”
“Oh, I will.” Haid’s eyes didn’t shift from his examination of Cane. The reave herself made no sound. “Interesting,” Haid continued, still talking to Cane. “If you aren’t with the Armada, why are you on Roche’s side?”
Cane shrugged. “Expediency. It seemed appropriate when I first met her, and still does.”
“A natural soldier with no orders, no past, latching onto the first officer he comes across? Is that the whole truth?”
“Yes.” Cane’s voice was even and unfazed.
<
br /> Haid rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll need more than that. The stories are too wild for me to believe without evidence. Will you submit to a physical examination?”
Cane glanced at Roche, who nodded. This coincided with her own desire to find out more about Cane—and his origins.
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Haid leaned forward to run his hand along the edge of his desk. “I must admit, though, you make me nervous. You arrive on this planet, possibly the most potent task force I’ve ever seen, and refuse to answer my questions. I’m sure you can appreciate my frustration.”
Roche frowned. “Are you suggesting—?”
“Cane with his natural strength and combat abilities, Maii with her mind power, your AI’s apparent ability to manipulate the systems of hostile parties, and you, perhaps the leader and coordinator—how could I not be nervous with you sitting on the other side of my desk?”
“If we wanted to overthrow you, or infiltrate you, we could have made a move by now, and you know it. Besides, you invited Maii and Veden here.”
“True.” He said this thoughtfully. “Did they tell you why?”
“No.”
“Can you guess?”
“Something to do with Maii’s talents and Veden’s negotiating skills, I imagine. I’m assuming you’re not planning to control Warden Delcasalle directly.” She shrugged lightly. “That’s all I’ve managed to work out so far.”
Haid smiled. “Emmerik trusts you. He told you about the need for a High Equity Court hearing to discuss our ownership of this planet. If Maii still won’t tell you after this meeting, then that’s the only clue I’ll give you.”
Roche sighed. She could understand his position, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She was sick of fighting for every step and meeting obstacles everywhere she turned. Most of all, she lacked Cane’s apparently indefatigable patience.
“Okay,” said Haid, obviously tiring of letting the conversation wander, “here’s the way it stands. You have to convince me, A, that I can help you without putting myself at risk, and B, that I should help you in the first place. You have to tell me what you want, then we’ll negotiate.”
“Fair enough.” She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I need to send a message to my superiors in Intelligence HQ informing them of the situation in Port Parvati.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“By gaining access to a high-power hyperspace transmitter, preferably one with encryption facilities.”
“Relatively simple, it seems.” Haid’s fingers tapped a tune out upon the table. “Problem number one: there is only one such transmitter on Sciacca’s World, and that belongs to the wardens. Problem number two: the only access to it is from within the landing field itself, well out of harm’s way inside the MiCom installation. Three: even if you could get in, how do you expect to override the security systems designed to prevent such unauthorized transmissions? Four: you’ll need my help to get at it, and I’m not yet convinced you deserve it.”
“One and two we can deal with later,” Roche responded, “when you give us more information. Four is up to you to decide. Three is this.”
Rising to her feet in one smooth motion, she raised the battered valise and slammed it onto the desk. Haid jumped back involuntarily, and Sabra reached into her tunic and quickly withdrew a pistol. Before she had a chance to react, however, Cane had also risen from his chair and kicked the weapon from the woman’s hand.
Haid’s sudden shock evaporated just as quickly when his eyes settled upon the valise Roche had placed before him. “The AI, I presume,” he said.
Sabra, nursing her hand, collected her pistol and, at Haid’s instruction, slid it beneath her tunic. Only then did Cane return to his own seat.
Roche reached across the desk for the computer terminal and placed her hand on the palm-link.
“Box? Go to work.”
A moment later, an artificial voice spoke from the terminal itself.
“Communications established. Nice work, Morgan. You have placed us right into the heart of the resistance. Very well done indeed.”
Another look of concern briefly crossed Haid’s black face, but it quickly yielded to curiosity. “This is the device you used to take control of the Enforcement vessel over Houghton’s Cross?”
“With it,” said Roche, “we can do whatever we like to the wardens, once we get in.”
“Which explains why they want you.” Haid nodded. “Did you steal it?”
“Nothing so dramatic. I was carrying it back to Intelligence HQ when the Dato ambushed us here.”
“But how did the Dato know you were coming?” he asked. “Or expect to get away with it?”
“Courtesy of the wardens, as I said. They’re as corrupt as hell. I can’t hand it over to them—they’ll just sell it to the Dato Bloc—so I’ve got to call for help. Which means getting into the landing field. And that’s where you come in.”
“Perhaps.” Haid knitted his fingers together and leaned back in the chair. “Go on.”
“If we can signal the Armada, they can send reinforcements.”
“Perhaps you can even get off-planet first, and then signal for help.”
“Impossible,” interrupted the Box.
“Oh?” Haid leaned forward. “It would seem to be the safest option. It would avoid having to hold the landing field until reinforcements arrive.”
“Not under the circumstances,” the Box continued. “The Dato have imposed a blockade on Sciacca’s World. Any unauthorized and uninspected departures will be shot down before reaching orbit.”
“How do you know that?” Haid regarded the valise with suspicion.
“Your information network has failed to penetrate the wardens’ higher security, but it does have access to the landing field’s flight schedule. All flights have been canceled or severely delayed pending Morgan’s capture.”
Haid’s smile tightened. “Drastic steps,” he said. “This changes everything. Perhaps you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“Your options are limited,” said Roche. “You could kill us, or try to. You saw how we dealt with the Enforcement squadron; could you do any better? Or you could let us go and risk us being captured.”
“I have copied your security files,” added the Box. “My capture would mean the complete and utter destruction of everything you have built.”
Haid paled at this. “Or I agree to help you.”
“Precisely,” cooed the Box.
Haid rubbed his hand across his chin. “But what’s in it for me? How do I benefit? Apart from not being destroyed, I mean.”
“I can help you attack the wardens,” said Roche. “They are corrupt, the enemies of both of us. They deserve to be brought to justice.”
“So you’ll get a medal, and I’ll get—what?”
“Revenge, at least,” said Roche. “I’m hardly in a position to promise a reduction in your sentence.”
“That’s not what I want.” Haid’s sigh was deep and thoughtful, but his good humor was returning. “I never thought I’d hear an Armada officer swearing revenge on her fellows.”
“I never thought I’d be doing it myself.” Roche nodded and stepped away from the desk, severing contact with the palm-link. “But they’re not my fellows, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t associate me with them.”
“I’ll try to remember.” Haid glanced at Sabra, who was still rubbing at her hand where Cane had kicked it. His one good eye crinkled with amusement. “Well, you have me fascinated, Commander Roche. I was just about ready to turn you in when you arrived, but you’ve convinced me to reconsider.
“I suggest we all need time to think about our positions. Not long, though. If the Dato become impatient, who knows what they’ll do?” Haid stood. “We’ll meet again in six hours. Sabra, please show our guests to somewhere they can rest. Instruct Sylvester Teh to conduct an examination of Cane as soon as possible. And there may be other minor injuries requiri
ng attention.”
The sour-faced woman nodded briskly but said nothing.
“Wait,” said Roche. “What about Veden? What’s happening to him?”
“He’s undergoing surgery. Our physician has been discussing his case with Maii while we talked. She can keep you updated in her own time.” Haid held out his hand to her. “But thanks for asking. I’m relieved to see your concern for your companions, even for those that wish you harm.”
Roche took the resistance leader’s hand. The feel of his fingers convinced her of what she had suspected: the limb was artificial. Now that she saw him standing, she also realized that his other arm was missing entirely.
Haid noted the direction of her gaze. “Perhaps, when we meet again, we can exchange stories.”
Roche held his monocled stare. “Perhaps.”
With a slow-lidded wink, Haid bowed and left the room.
12
Sciacca’s World
Port Parvati
‘954.10.32 EN
1795
The hill was bald, stony, and round. A fringe of grey, long-stemmed grass ringed its base, lending it a striking resemblance to an Eckandi’s skull. The view was extensive, even though the summit wasn’t particularly high, with uniformly flat plains leading to a knife-edge horizon in every direction. The cold blue of the sky was dotted with small islands of cloud, and between them glimmered a handful of nearby stars that defied the light of the weak, white sun.
As she stood there watching through another’s eyes, the largest of these stars, Kabos, winked once, twice, and then went out.
She buried her hands into the deep pockets of her thick overcoat and sighed.
“Child, we have been working together for... how long?”
She turned out of politeness to face the owner of the voice, and saw herself echo the movement through his eyes.
“And in all that time, have I ever betrayed you?”
She hesitated, even though there was no doubt in her mind.
The Eckandi nodded. “Not once.”
The Prodigal Sun Page 20
