“Let's just say that it isn't our primary goal, though I will admit that it has been most helpful in funding our other activities. It's rare to make a profit in our line of work.”
“Line of work?” Medina asked.
“He's an agent, working for the Triplanetary Fleet,” Morgan said. “I doubt Dubois is his real name, but I do know that he's disgracing his uniform.”
“Come, Ensign, nothing so grim as that. As far as I'm concerned, I'm simply doing my duty, serving the people of the Confederation as best I can. So far, we've kept the casualties to a minimum…”
“Tell that to Spaceman Nakadai.”
His face dropped for a moment, and he replied, “You attacked my people, Ensign, while they were simply leaving the planet.”
“Using children for cover.” Shaking her head, she said, “I just hope I'm there for the court-martial that puts you into detention for the rest of your life.”
With a shrug, he replied, “I risked a few lives to save millions. If our roles were reversed, if you knew what I know, then you might have done the same. I don't think we're so very different, are we, or am I mistaken in thinking that you're acting outside your authority as well?”
“Counter-Admiral Knight is personally responsible for the deaths of dozens of people...”
“All uniformed officers and crew who volunteered to sacrifice their lives for their country if that became necessary. Had they died in a war, you'd be celebrating that sacrifice and honoring their memory.”
“Some of them were my friends,” she replied. “Do not dare for a moment to suggest that there can be any justification for your crimes.”
“Not my crimes,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as I know, you and that gang of outlaws you are serving with have already had all the vengeance you are ever likely to get. In any case, we're wasting time, and mine is valuable. I have work for you.”
“If you think...”
“Actually, I'm damn certain you will. I understand you have training as an archaeologist, and I need that right now. You're going to accept because there is no other way for you to gather the intelligence you came to this system for in the first place, and I'm offering because I'm short-handed in experienced personnel.”
She paused, and said, “The alternative?”
“Solitary confinement until we finish our work and leave the system, whereupon you will be handed over to the correct authorities for trial. I think you can count on an extensive sentence.” He smiled, then added, “I'll sweeten the offer. Help me now, and not only will you be able to gather the information you want, I'll leave you here when we've finished.”
“Why?”
“Because I'll be watching every move you make, and there is no way for your friends to retrieve you. If they try, we'll wipe them out, and they know it. Either they'll choose the safe option and flee to neutral space as soon as they can make another hendecaspace jump, or one way or another we'll bring them down. We've got friends coming in the near future.”
Morgan frowned, puzzling over his argument. He seemed more interesting in justifying his mercy to himself, or perhaps to anyone who might be listening, than he was in convincing her. He looked into her eyes for a moment, flashing her a half-smile before turning to the door. There was something about this that just didn't add up.
“Then I take it you will help us, after all.”
“If you give me half a chance, I'll escape,” she said. “I'll offer no parole.”
“Naturally,” he said. “I'm aware what the first duty of an officer is, and I wouldn't presume to tell you not to do your duty. Just as long as you know that you'll be shot dead if you try. You'll be constantly monitored, and there will always be at least one armed guard close by.” Turning to Medina, he asked, “Is she fit enough to leave here?”
“As long as she isn't going to do anything particularly strenuous.”
“Just a little tour,” he replied. “There are a lot of things here that I think you'll be very interested to see, and I might convince you that you've picked the wrong side yet. Follow me.”
With a glance back at Medina, she followed him out of the door, taking careful steps in the low gravity, bouncing high with every pace as she walked down the tunnel. Microgravity like this was worse than no gravity at all, and Dubois turned with an apologetic glance as he gestured to a shaft up ahead. She walked past a guard, standing by the hatch, who looked at her with a leering sneer, running his eyes over her and reaching down to his pistol.
“You're too trusting, Dubois,” the man said.
“Stow it, Larson. We need her.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Let me work on Petrov for a few hours. You'll be amazed how fast he works then.”
“I'm in command, Chief,” he replied, locking a gaze on him. “Don't forget it.”
“For the moment,” Larson said. “For the moment.” He turned and walked away, leaving Dubois and Morgan at the hatch.
Looking at her apologetically, he said, “I'm sorry about that.” Gesturing at the hole, he added, “We go down there. Trust me, it's worth it.” He took a step out into nothing, pushing off to speed his descent. Morgan looked after him into the darkness, glanced around, and followed him. There seemed to be no monitoring devices down here, no guards to chase her, but she was realistic enough to know that it was an illusion, that if she attempted to make her escape now she'd do nothing except make her situation worse. There would be an opportunity to get away, as long as she chose her time with care.
For what seemed like hours, she fell down the shaft, pushing back to arrest her descent whenever it felt as though she was dropping too quickly. She heard a thud from beneath her, evidently Dubois reaching the bottom, and after a few seconds fell into a huge cave, hundreds of meters across, dark aside from a series of searchlights playing around the gloomy expanse, occasionally picking out a rocky outcrop or a strange-shaped crystal.
She dropped down to the surface, knees bending from the impact, and saw a familiar face waiting for her at the bottom. Valentin Petrov, just like the publicity holoimage taken for his books, though he'd never displayed quite such an air of desperation then. He glanced at Dubois, and shook his head.
“You didn't need to bring someone else into this. The least you could do is allow me to complete this project my way.”
Shaking his head, Dubois replied, “I'm afraid you just aren't getting the results quickly enough. The help of a colleague will no doubt speed your work.” Glancing at Morgan, he continued, “Besides, the young lady came a very long way to find you, and it seems wrong not to give her the opportunity to greet you.”
“I don't need another Triplanetary lackey, thank you.”
With a laugh, Dubois said, “I'm sure the good Ensign feels the same way. If it helps, I'll tell you that she was captured down on the surface earlier today, and that she is just as reluctant to be one of our guests as you. Perhaps you will be able to plot an escape together.” A menacing look crept upon his face as he added, “We must complete this work quickly, and I cannot accept any further tardiness. You will work together, and you will find the item we're seeking. I hope I make myself clear.”
“Perfectly,” he said with a sigh.
“Then I'll leave you to your work. I wouldn't worry about the possibilities of regaining your freedom, by the way, Ensign. The passages are all but endless, and while the previous inhabitants were good enough to ensure that they were all airtight, our life support system has some unfortunate limitations. I wouldn't want you to stumble into an area we haven't opened up yet. We're in a big enough hurry as it is.” Looking at the two of them, he said, “Someone will be along with food shortly. Have fun.” He jumped up, soaring into the air in the minimal gravity, and reached for a hidden handhold at the base of the shaft, tugging himself up towards the inhabited area of the base.
“Did you come for me?” Petrov asked
.
Nodding, Morgan replied, “I found a copy of your book about a month ago. We came as fast as we could.” Looking around the cavern, she added, “You didn't talk about any of this.”
He smiled, and said, “I had to save something for the sequel, didn't I? Besides, I'd only just found this place when I published the first volume of my discoveries. Most of the real work has taken place in the last three months.” Looking ruefully up at the shaft, he added, “Not that this intrusion has helped matters at all. Who are you working for?”
“The Triplanetary Fleet,” she replied.
“That's what Dubois said.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Technically, he has a point. There's a renegade faction trying to track down the Stygian homeworld...”
“What?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Do you mean to tell me that you've got a lead on the location of their home planet? And you're wasting your time here?” Shaking his head, he continued, “I've been looking for years, and never even come close. This is the largest outpost I've ever found.” Kneeling down on the floor, he picked up an intricately carved rock, and said, “There are relics all through this rock, all dating from around the same time. I think this was a support installation of some sort, maybe a refueling base for their ships, though there's not much evidence of their technology.” Shaking his head, he added, “It looks very much as though the place was stripped bare of anything usable.”
“How big is this place?” she asked, looking around.
A grin spread across Petrov's face, and he replied, “I'll show you.” He reached into a pocket for a control and tapped the button upon it. Instantly, lights flashed on all around, reflecting from the crystals to expose the sheer expanse of the Stygian city. The remnants of buildings were everywhere, hundreds of them, all protected and preserved within this fragment of rock for countless millennial, covered in the astounding patterns and designs that were the identifying mark of the dead-race.
All along the far wall, a row of ghostly statues stood sentinel over the whole affair, an army of the dead waiting for eternity, strange shapes of a dozen different types, some of them humanoid, others decidedly not, one of them a tall, amorphous blob that loomed forward as though about to pounce, strange cilia covering him, almost seeming to writhe as the shadows danced.
“What are they?” she asked.
“I don't know,” he replied. “My guess is that they were a pictorial representation of their culture.” Turning to her, he continued, “Which means that we're looking at a multi-species society.”
“That's impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “We've never met any aliens that could live in the same conditions as us, unaided. Different biochemistry, atmospheric and temperature requirements, even background radiation levels.”
“True, today, but for all we know there were other alien races around this part of the galaxy back then. Or maybe there were some sort of genetic experiment, artificially produced offshoots of a core race.” With a shrug, he added, “Maybe I'm completely wrong, and they are representations of ancient gods, or someone's crazy idea of abstract art. I haven't found any language, at least, not anything I can read.”
“We thought...”
“We?”
“I was working at Karnak Station before it was destroyed.” Glancing up at the shaft, she added, “By the same group of murderers who have us imprisoned right now.”
“That doesn't surprise me,” he said, shaking his head. “Dubois isn't too bad, but some of the others are downright nasty. Watch your back when we go upstairs.” Looking around the ruins again, he said, “Though as my assistant, you'll have the same protected status I do. They need us, Ensign, though I'm still not sure what for.” He paused, then said, “You were saying?”
“We thought that the pattens might be some sort of writing. Our linguistic analysis team had determined that they were some sort of repeating structure, but they couldn't decide whether or not it was simply a question of copied designs or if there was something deeper. We didn't have a big enough sample, and everything we found had been out on the surface for thousands of years, bombarded by dust.” Shaking her head, she said, “This is perfectly preserved.”
“Not perfectly,” Petrov replied. “Someone had a good try at destroying it, probably by outside attack. The damage is consistent with that caused by a bombardment on the outside of the asteroid, as far as I can tell. Though I don't have the equipment I did before they arrived. We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“What exactly are they looking for?” she asked.
“Anything to do with their religion, though how I'm meant to tell that I couldn't begin to say. Specifically, any astronomic representations. I haven't found anything yet, but I've barely begun to search this place. I could be here for a decade and barely scratch the surface, not that telling them that does any good. Rushing science is a bad enough idea at the best of times, but with archeology it's easy enough to destroy everything you're looking for. I'll be damned if I go down in history as another Schliemann.”
“Don't worry,” Morgan said. “The longer it takes, the better.” She looked around, and said, “They must know this, so there's no harm telling you. I came here to find a starchart. We've got several pieces of an astronomical frieze that was duplicated on two of their settlements, and we believe that finding an intact example, or at least one that will fill in the gaps, will point the way to their homeworld.”
“The discovery of a lifetime, of the century,” Petrov said, a greedy gleam in his eye. He placed his arm around her shoulders, and said, “There could be no better place to make such a discovery. If it is here, we will find it together, and then go to greater wonders beyond.” Gesturing at an outcrop at the far end of the cavern, he said, “Come on. I haven't tried that area yet.”
He drifted away, focused once more on his work, and she looked after him, shaking her head. For a month, she'd been hoping that this was the end of the trail. Now, with the enemy in control, she was praying that it wasn't.
Chapter 10
“I'm sorry, Captain, but I've been informed that the prisoner is still too ill to question.” McCormack sounded embarrassed to be given the excuse, his tone apologetic. “Apparently the paralyzing agent that Ensign Morgan used had some unexpected side-effects, and the medical personnel are unwilling to allow any visitors.”
“Doctor Strickland has a different opinion,” Conway replied, attempting with limited success to control his anger. “He's gone over the records, and there is no evidence of any adverse reactions ever reported from this drug. Someone's stalling, and I want to know why.”
There was a brief pause, and a dull tone announced that the channel had switched to a hidden, scrambled signal.
“Confidentially, Captain, I agree with you. Apparently the man is a member of the Prospectors' Union, and the Mayor's been bombarded with requests that he not be turned over to you. It's a political nightmare.” He sighed, and said, “I don't make these dumb orders, Captain, I only pass them on. If it was up to me, he'd have been in interrogation hours ago.”
“Someone's going to try and break him out,” Conway replied, bluntly.
“I certainly hope so,” McCormack said. “I've got two people with him, and four more watching every way in or out of the hospital, as well as all the surveillance equipment I've been able to scavenge. I've also got someone working on our database, and I'll let you know when they've finished going through the system. I can tell you now that someone's hacked into it, and with a little luck, we'll be able to know who soon.”
Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Conway said, “I'm waiting to see Zharkova now. Maybe I can talk some sense into her.”
“I suppose there has to be a first time for everything. If you pull it off, come on over. You can pick some lottery numbers for me.” He chuckled, and said, “If you're going to beat impossible odds, we might as wel
l make a little money out of it.”
Nodding, Conway replied, “Will do, Mac. Conway out.” He snapped his communicator closed, and replaced it in his pocket. He looked around the waiting room, festooned with posters calling for increased rights for the workers, higher pay and profit share, lurid warnings of the dangers of insufficient safety systems. Glancing down at his watch, he shook his head. For half an hour he had sat here patiently, waiting to be admitted, but his patience was almost exhausted.
A woman walked out of the office, looking up with a tired sigh, and said, “I'm sorry for the delay, Captain, but Representative Zharkova will see you now.” She walked over to the coffee machine and filled a mug, draining it in two deep swigs and returning to her desk. Conway paused before entering and looked down at the secretary as she started to pull up reports.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.
“Change the tone of the conversation I'm about to have. Bad day?”
“Worst I've ever had since I was assigned here,” she replied, shaking her head. “Everyone's gone crazy from the Mayor on down, and I'm half-inclined to join them.” Looking at the office door, she said, “Go easy, Captain, if you're a merciful man.”
“Message understood,” he replied, turning to step into the office. Inside, it was far from what he expected, almost bare walls with only an antique clock and a holoimage of Saturn to break the monotony, Zharkova sitting at a gun-metal desk, a pile of datapads scattered before her along with three forgotten, half-empty cups of coffee.
“Have a seat,” she said, looking up. “If you're about to start an argument...”
“I was,” he said, sitting down. “Your secretary talked me out of it.”
“I'll have to give her a bonus this month,” she said. “First of all, I'm sorry about what happened to Ensign Morgan, and if that stupid demonstration had anything to do with that, well, I apologize about that as well.”
Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Page 9
