The Prodigal Sun

by Sean Williams

  Roche sighed. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure him out ever since I met him.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Haid. “Ignore what he is for a moment, and focus on how he came to be here. You said his life support capsule was plucked out of deep space near an interim anchor point. I can understand his lack of memory, perhaps—but not his escape from the cell. Who helped him? Why did they send him to you? And the timing of his release is suspicious, too. Did his ally know about the ambush? And if they did, how could they possibly have known that you, of all the people onboard the Midnight, were going to escape?”

  Roche considered for a long moment. “They couldn’t have. No one knew the ship was going to blow until it happened. Except maybe Klose—”

  “But you said he did his best to keep you away from Cane.”

  “I know.” Roche shook her head. As unlikely as coincidence was, it seemed the less ridiculous option. “You really think there’s a conspiracy?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not dismissing the possibility.” Haid’s monocle didn’t waver, so tightly was his attention focused on her. “Everything Emmerik’s told me warns me to be careful where Cane is concerned.”

  “Fair enough.” She couldn’t blame him for being wary. Someone with Cane’s natural combat abilities deserved that, at the very least.

  “And then there’s Veden,” Haid continued. “He’s supposed to be on my side, but I have to tell you that the way you turn up together makes me a little... uneasy.”

  “Well, you can rule out the possibility of the two of us working in tandem against you. He’s been wanting to cut loose from me ever since we met.”

  “So I understand.” Haid smiled to himself and studied the last mouthful of water in his glass. “Maybe he knows something I don’t.”

  “All he’d know would come through Maii. If she’s told you nothing, then that leaves me in the clear. Right?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said. “Except that you and she have been fairly close since your arrival. Maybe the two of you have taken sides against Veden and me, for whatever reason. It’s a possibility I have to consider.” He downed the last of his water in a single gulp. “Yet you maintain that you don’t know why she’s here.”

  “That’s not quite true anymore.” Roche shuddered slightly, remembering the dream the Surin had given her. “I do know a little more now than I did.”

  “How much?”

  “I’m not sure.” The slab of Maii’s memories had been dumped unceremoniously into Roche’s head in the form of a dream, raw and requiring processing. Now that she had the chance, she belatedly tried to assimilate what she had learned with what she knew about Sciacca’s World.

  “Something about the DAOC hyperspace transmitter being off-planet?” she said.

  Haid nodded. “The MiCom installation in the landing field controls all transmissions, but the hardware itself is in a remote polar orbit, well outside the Soul. The small station is unstaffed apart from a skeleton crew to oversee the equipment and to perform minor repairs. The crew is rotated once every fifty days with fresh personnel from Kanaga Station.”

  “So it’s theoretically impossible for anyone on the ground to take over the transmitter.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Unless you somehow infiltrate the crew of the station.”

  “Possible, but unlikely. This is a high-security installation; the transmitter will have command codes known only to the CEO.”

  “Warden Delcasalle,” said Roche.

  “Exactly. Without the codes, the only way to ‘interfere’ with any broadcast is to damage the transmitter itself.”

  Roche nodded to herself, the plan suddenly falling into place. First, Maii had to work her way into the warden’s mind—not to take him over, for there were sure to be safeguards against that, but to steal the transmitter codes. Second, she had to reach out for the orbital station and select one of the crew. Someone who knew how to operate the transmitter, someone tired and easily influenced— perhaps at the end of a tour of duty, eager for recall to the main base. Someone who could be controlled by epsense to send a message from Sciacca’s World—a message, more specifically, to the COE High Equity Court requesting a formal hearing on behalf of the rebels.

  And that was where Veden came in. Such a request, from an undercover delegate of the Commerce Artel, would hardly go unnoticed.

  Except that now Veden was in a coma.

  When she outlined this to the leader of the rebels, he smiled widely.

  “That’s the gist of it,” he said. “A long shot, but at least it doesn’t involve the use of force. The Eckandar Trade Axis has been sympathetic ever since their outcast—Lazaro Houghton—betrayed the original settlers. The cost in bribes to get the message out to them nearly ruined us, but it’ll be worth it.” He shrugged. “At least we hope it will be. Veden’s still under anesthetic; we won’t know how he’s doing until tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t wake from the coma, then we’ll have to rethink the situation.”

  Roche nodded. “The only other option, as far as I can see, is to raid the landing field and use the codes there. But given your current position—underarmed, that is—I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “Perhaps not. But maybe we should plan something anyway, just in case.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Haid grinned suddenly. “You know, Commander, I think we’re actually getting somewhere.”

  “That depends on how you look at it. I’ve decided to trust you—but, then, I have little choice.”

  “True. And I’ve decided not to turn you in to Enforcement for the bounty, although I won’t deny we could use the cash. Apart from the fact that you might be able to help us, I’ve got little to lose if I support you. Should Veden’s plan work, the High Equity Court can be told about you then. Or you can transmit a message to your superiors at the same time.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “At least we agree on something.” Haid leaned back into his chair. “We can discuss Plan B later, if you like. All I want is an assurance that if Veden’s plan fails and yours works, you’ll take him off the planet when you leave. I owe him that much, for coming here.”

  Roche thought about it. “I’m not really in a position to guarantee anything—”

  “Nor I, Commander,” Haid cut in.

  Roche studied the man’s intent expression for a moment. “But I can try, I guess.”

  “Good. That’s as much as I can expect from anyone.” Haid leaned back into his chair. “All that remains is for me to ask a small favor.”

  “Which is?”

  Haid stood and crossed to the cupboard, rummaged around inside it for a. time, then returned with a small box. Seating himself again, he keyed open the lid and showed her the contents.

  Inside the box was a slim data glove with an infrared remote link.

  “I want you to put this on,” said Haid.

  “Why?”

  “So I can communicate with the Box, of course. If we’re going to attempt anything together, we need to understand the tools at our disposal. And, given my past, I think you’ll agree that I’m the closest thing we have to an expert on cybernetic systems.”

  Roche hesitantly reached into the box and picked up the glove. Did she have the right to allow a convicted criminal access to the Box? Regardless of her situation, and no matter how much she needed Haid’s help, it went against all her training.

  “I suppose it won’t hurt,” Roche agreed warily. “Although I doubt you’ll learn much. I certainly haven’t.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we? I’ve never met an AI before with more intelligence than a retarded rodent, regardless how well appointed they may seem up front. Give me a day or two and I should have it figured out.”

  Still she vacillated. Yet she had to admit that she too was curious. If Haid could learn anything more than she had in the last few weeks, it might be worth the risk.

  organ.> The Box spoke through her thoughts.

  It made sense, she thought, slipping on the glove and snapping its wrist closed. She flexed her fingers. The mesh fabric was tight around her knuckles, but left her fingers otherwise unimpeded. Almost immediately she felt the tingle down her forearm that followed a transfer of data.

  Haid smiled. “Good. I’ll get started soon. For now, though, I suggest we find you some food.”

  Relieved by the offer, Roche stood and followed Haid from the room.

  * * *

  “It’s not a matter of numbers,” Roche insisted, “or of firepower. What I’m proposing is a quick surgical strike. If we do it properly, we’ll be in before they can mount countermeasures. And once we’re in, we can take effective control.”

  The unofficial tactical meeting had convened in an empty office in one of the deeper sections of the underground resistance complex. A large viewtank, oriented horizontally to the floor, served as a combined desk and map. Roche and Neva leaned on opposite sides of its glowing surface, secondhand diagrams painting patterns on their faces. Emmerik stood to one side, watching the interaction between the two women with interest.

  Haid had given Roche over to the two of them not long after a hasty meal in the rebel refectory. She and Neva, it seemed, had been arguing ever since.

  “Control?” The furrows on Neva’s brow grew deeper. “There are more than two thousand Armada personnel in Port Parvati, in twenty-seven separate facilities. We have less than a thousand. At the very best, we can take control of one facility, and that doesn’t give us effective control of anything. It just makes us effective targets. Ameidio won’t risk our people for such a futile gesture.”

  “There’ll be no risk to your overall organization,” said Roche. “We can use a handful of volunteers, if necessary. And anyway, we’ll control the communications nexus—MiCom.”

  “But MiCom is only the instrument of command,” Neva quickly countered. “Delcasalle and his cronies could run their operation without it; they’d use carrier bats if they had to. You don’t know these people like we do.”

  Roche shook her head. “One: MiCom is linked to the hyperspace transmitter in orbit—so once we have it, we can blow the whistle on them, right down the line to the Armada. And two: corrupt officials are the same anywhere. They—”

  “I don’t think Commander Roche plans to leave them on the loose,” the Box interrupted, speaking through a terminal near the viewtank. Roche regarded the valise in surprise, unaware that it had been listening.

  “Warden Delcasalle may well be in absolute control here,” it continued, “but he is dependent on those immediately below him, and they in turn on the level below them. All levels below Delcasalle operate through the Administration Center; the key personnel may not be present, but the mechanism for decision-making and control always is. Cut out the Administration Center, and you effectively cut off Delcasalle’s hands.”

  “Administration?” Neva waved her hand at the glowing map. “So now we’re taking out more than one of the facilities?”

  “No,” the Box said firmly. “Merely extending our strike at the MiCom installation to include the Administration Center as well. Look at the map.”

  Neva looked down, and Roche, impressed by the Box’s line of thought, did likewise. She saw at once where it was leading.

  “MiCom and Administration,” it said, “are features of the central port complex, isolated within the scorched-earth perimeter. Administration is adjacent to—and can be entered by way of—the main terminal building, which houses MiCom. So this can be a single operation. No untidy splitting of the strike force, no civilians, and no collateral damage.”

  Roche swung the Box onto the viewtank’s edge. There was just enough free chain to allow her to reach across the main map.

  “Both MiCom and Administration are secure modules,” she said, following the Box’s lead. “Probably prefab components shipped from an old orbital facility. But the main entrance to Administration is only about ten meters from the emergency stairs to MiCom. See, here.” She tapped the point on the plan showing the map of the main terminal building. “We can go to that point as one group, split into separate strike forces, and be in a position to move simultaneously against the two targets.”

  “Seems almost made to order,” Neva said dryly.

  Roche glanced up at her, trying to read her face rather than her words. But the woman was impassive.

  Roche returned to the plans. “Forget the lower floor and the navigation module; that’s of no interest to us. The MiCom module occupies the three levels above that, right through to the roof installations; it’s totally isolated from the ground floor, totally shielded and insulated, totally self-contained. It even has its own emergency life-support system, controlled from the first floor. The only points of entry or exit are the elevator system—which can be disabled—and the equipment access stairwell from the ground—here. All we have to target is the first floor, and they’ll be cut off from the outside.”

  Neva leaned over the map, her face finally revealing a hint of interest in Roche’s plan.

  “It’s a simple operation,” Roche said. “A single shot and the elevator will be inoperable. We go up the stairs, blow out the door, and enter fast under cover of the explosion. Three or four people could secure the floor in, say, thirty seconds. One heavy weapon to cover the stairwell—perhaps a portable shield to prevent them lobbing their own explosives in on us—gas via the emergency life support, or Maii, to knock out those above us—and we’re secure. It’ll only take a few seconds to interface the Box. Once we’ve done that, we’ll control all command communication on Sciacca’s World plus all intersystem channels, including the Armada’s.”

  “What about Admin?” said Emmerik.

  “Cane can take a small force in there,” Roche said. “It’s one level; he’ll simply sweep through it. No need to be tidy.”

  Neva looked across at Emmerik. A frown creased her face.

  The Mbatan nodded. “He’s quite capable of doing it,” he said.

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “I know,” said Emmerik, his eyes moving to meet Roche’s.

  Neva’s gaze narrowed. Lowering her eyes to the map, she deliberated a moment, then said: “Okay, Commander. It seems sound enough, although it does rely heavily on the talents of a small number of individuals—namely the members of your own party. Should either you, Cane, or Maii fall early in the battle, success will be unlikely.” She folded her arms and nodded to herself. “But supposing we grant you the possibility that your plan might work, there still remains the little matter of getting to the strike point you’ve identified. The terminal complex is well inside the landing field’s electrified perimeter, some hundred meters back from the only gates. Not only is the gatehouse well served by Enforcement personnel, but so is the main guard block. Both lie between the gates and the front doors of the main complex. Needless to say, these people aren’t technicians and administrators and will be highly sensitive to intruders. How do you plan to get us past them?” She brushed the back of a hand across the map as though wiping off crumbs. “Just send Cane in first?”

  Roche smiled. “That’s the least of our problems. What you have to decide is whether you want to continue to play good citizen, perhaps infiltrate the system and gain a few minor advantages—or whether you want to go with us and clean this bunch out once and for all.”

  Neva’s expression tightened as she spoke. Obviously she had struck a nerve. “I shouldn’t need to remind you, Commander,” she said, “that we’ve built up a strong and efficient resistance here over a number of years. If we implement your plan and it fails, we stand to lose everything.”

  “Not necessarily. You risk maybe a dozen people. Surely you’ve set up field-operative cells with one person control?”

  “Of
course. That’s how we work outside the city.”

  “Then use one of those cells.”

  Neva said nothing. She looked at Roche and the Box’s valise in turn, then back to the map. Her frown intensified.

  “Believe me,” Roche pressed, “if we wait much longer, a Dato ground team will be next on the scene, and your little operation won’t last a week. They’re a distinct step up from the locals you’ve been dealing with.”

  Again Emmerik and Neva exchanged a glance. “We know,” said the woman.

  “There’s just one thing I’d like to ask,” said the Mbatan. “You seem quite confident about getting in, but what happens afterward?”

  Roche hesitated. She hadn’t dwelled on the aftermath as much as she had on the events leading up to it. “The message to the Armada will be sent on a broadband emergency frequency. The Dato will know instantly it’s been sent, and might even back off without any further trouble, depending on how far they’re willing to be involved. Even if they don’t, we can use the Box to control the landing field’s defense screen to keep them—and the Enforcers—at bay for a while. Long enough for a reply to arrive, at least. Reinforcements won’t be far behind.” She shrugged. “That should be enough to make Delcasalle think twice about attacking us.”

  “Perhaps.” Neva still looked undecided. “But it still seems a little risky. We’ll be sitting ducks in the MiCom building.”

  “I agree,” put in the Box, surprising Roche. “I don’t doubt that I can send the emergency message and simultaneously organize a ground defense while you keep MiCom secure. In a predictable world, this would be no mean feat. But in the real world I will have little control over the response time of the Armada or the actions of the Dato Bloc. Should the former be sluggish and the latter retaliatory rather than conciliatory, there will be little even I can do to delay the inevitable.”

  Emmerik nodded. “The longer we’re under siege, the more time we give DAOC or the Dato to find a way in.”