The others around the conference table blinked or rocked back in their seats, shocked.
“He’s expensive.”
“That’s not why we don’t like to use him. We have the budget for this. The problem is he insists on complete information.” This was a source of resentment even at her level in Toren’s organization, that a contractor could demand and get information that was jealously guarded. He produced results, and he had never compromised that information. They had to trust him.
She smiled coldly at their uncomfortable expressions. They thought the worst was over for this meeting. “Now. What other disasters haven’t you told me about?” This should never have escalated so far. Cameron was one person, and their entire organization could not find her?
Viello shifted in his seat. “Um. Got a strange report from Cullen, probably nothing. The source is not very reliable. Small–office manager. He claims he saw a generated worker there. Free.”
Yes, that was a disaster. “And?”
Her subordinate looked around the table, licked his lips, and swallowed. “He tried to do something about it.”
Meniran closed her eyes. “Did he succeed?” The only hope was this idiot manager had not seen what he thought he had.
“The police somehow messed up the ID test and—”
“The police were involved?” She didn’t even bother to hide her anger this time. “Take steps. Immediately. This must be contained, do you understand? If the generation project is affected….” If the project was detected, they would be in a lot of trouble. The Long Range Plan required those workers.
She'd have to prepare the lawyers for possible legal defenses. At least the generated workers wouldn't show up in the Index; that was one buffer she was glad she'd insisted on, even if it had restricted the project at first and greatly increased the budget. Now her superiors would see why it had been necessary. “Did he say why he didn't just grab the…individual?” It had to be a mistake. They would have told her if one was missing. At least, they should have. As bad as it would be if one got loose, it would be worse if anybody found out about it.
“Said he didn't have enough people. This guy was sent there because he didn’t make the cut for the project, but he was in on some of the initial planning. Keeps applying for transfers to the project, probably thought this would look good. That’s why I didn’t pay much attention to it.”
Meniran felt a cold chill. This could be bad. Two disasters on her watch. Why now? Didn’t they have any preventive procedures? The Long Range Plan was too important, and Toren had placed all of the company’s efforts toward it. It had to work. The rewards for success were commensurate with the consequences of failure. Sometimes she wondered if they were risking too much, but she couldn’t back out now. She would simply have to make sure Fleet never knew until it was too late.
CHAPTER 2
TRAVEL BROADENS THE MIND
Within minutes of Ennis’s arrival at FarCom, a marine escort was taking him on the familiar route to Namur’s office. The quick response had him worried. He’d gotten to FarCom sooner than he’d expected, because the giant station/supercarrier had moved since the last time he’d been on board. It was closer to the Inner Systems now.
That wasn’t reassuring either. Fleet wouldn’t move FarCom on a whim, and they wouldn’t move it back from the Fringe and the front lines unless they had to. The war must not be going well.
If Namur wanted to see him he couldn’t be in complete disgrace. Then again, maybe he just wanted to get all the information before the court–martial.
Namur, and his office, were unchanged. He was seated behind the desk, a dim island of light in the shadows. Little golden glowballs were still scattered in odd corners, providing the only other light. It occurred to Ennis he had never seen Namur anywhere else. Perhaps he lived there.
He couldn’t tell anything from Namur’s gaunt face, but that was nothing new. The head of Umbra was accustomed to learning secrets, not telling them.
Let’s get this over with. He straightened, forcing himself to look Namur in the eyes. “I failed,” he said curtly.
Namur raised an eyebrow, but that was his only reaction. “I am afraid you will have to be more explicit, Commander Ennis. Precisely how did you fail?”
Ennis hesitated. Shouldn’t I be getting yelled at by now? “I was able to find Moire Cameron. But when I attempted to capture her, the gun…” The gun you made me take, damn you, “did not function as anticipated. Instead of stunning, it nearly killed her. She recovered while I was dealing with her injuries, and escaped again. It’s all detailed in my report.” He could hear his voice tightening. He placed the datatab with the report on Namur’s desk.
“Is that all?”
Ennis looked narrowly at Namur, but his thin, drawn face revealed nothing. It was possible Namur just had superhuman self–control. He shrugged. Figure it out later, soldier.
Ennis reached into his shirt pocket. “She gave me some information.” He produced the second datatab. Namur reached for the tab just as Ennis reluctantly placed the NASA pin beside it. “And this.”
If Ennis hadn’t already been suspicious he would have missed it. Namur’s eyes widened infinitesimally with surprise, and the taut mouth relaxed. Namur hadn’t expected the pin. The logical conclusion that followed was that he had been expecting everything else. How was that even possible? Ennis had used the fastest means of transportation available to get to FarCom, and who else would know about the datatab? Cameron’s crew might, but they wouldn’t tell Fleet. Somebody had, but who?
Ennis concentrated on breathing and showing no sign of his shock. He shouldn’t be surprised; he’d suspected from the start of this operation that he was going to be shadowed. Pay attention, idiot. This isn’t over yet.
Namur had found an offline tab scanner in a drawer and was putting Moire’s datatab in the slot. “Considering the source, we can’t be too careful. That’s how she got in trouble in the first place.”
Under the impression he’d missed something, Ennis blinked. “Sir?”
“Cameron’s record, if you recall, mentioned illegal computer activities. That could include deliberately corrupted data.” A green pinlight flashed on the device, and Namur smiled. “But not this time.”
He put the tab in the regular data port and started reading. Ennis knew the contents by heart now. Instead of giving him the answers he wanted, it just created more questions. “Why did she give you this?” Namur’s voice was soft.
Ennis closed his eyes. “I don’t know, sir. She said…she thought it might help.” His eyes snapped open as he remembered something else. “She gave another tab to Harrington. I don’t know if it had the same material or not.”
The pause was perfectly timed. Namur was good. “Harrington?”
Of course. Harrington. “He was with me at the time. It’s in my report.” Harrington who had on two separate occasions shown up very conveniently with information about Cameron, and had insisted on joining the search. If his guess was correct, he might at least dodge a reprimand for working with a reporter. Who, apparently, wasn’t always just a reporter. He wondered if Shabata knew.
“And what was this for?” Namur lightly tapped the NASA pin with one finger.
Ennis stared at the little metal and enamel pin with the crumpled corner, and wondered how to explain. “She said she would come back for it,” he said finally. “When she could.”
He braced for more questions, but Namur merely said, “I see.” Leaning back in his chair, he continued, “I confess I had hoped you would produce Cameron herself, but you are not a trained agent. All things considered, you did quite well.”
Oh, boy. Here it comes. “Am I being sent back to regular duty, sir?” If he wasn’t sunk in disgrace, at least he’d shown he wasn’t suited for the work. He’d never asked to be handed off to the most dubious of all the dubious intelligence organizations. Captain Kushstan’s primary motivation in sending him to report to FarCom in th
e first place was to get him off her ship. She’d seen firsthand how ruthless Toren could be when they wanted information.
Namur shook his head. “The same reasons to detach you exist. If we had Cameron…” his gentle voice trailed off, and Ennis felt his heart sink. It was true. Toren would still be hunting him even if he’d brought her back, and thus endangering any Fleet ship he served on. In the middle of a war. That wouldn’t have changed if he had brought Cameron back. He couldn’t really blame Fleet for acting cautious, even if it was personally inconvenient. He hadn’t wanted to end up in Intelligence, even if he had developed profound respect for Namur, and now it looked like Intelligence didn’t want him either. But where could they post him where he wouldn’t be a liability?
It was suddenly an effort to breathe. Maybe they weren’t going to post him anywhere. They could solve their problem simply by making him leave. What will I do without Fleet? “Am I…will I be discharged, then?”
Namur’s eyebrows lifted in his thin face, and one hand made a dismissive gesture. The faint light of the glowballs reflected off the clear prosthetic webbing on that arm. “That would be completely unnecessary,” he murmured. “Not to mention shortsighted. But I will need to think about what to do with you.”
¤ ¤ ¤
“You are worried, Captain.” Kilberton’s voice came from the realspace console.
Moire didn’t look up from her board. They were getting close to Kulvar, and she had to nail the dropout. “I’m worried about that crate. Maybe they found out and changed the reading. It just doesn’t make any sense. And then there’s Harvey. He’s had plenty of time to get the money and get here from Cullen, but no sign of him.”
Everything had seemed so promising at first. They’d found only one ship that matched all the parameters Moire had set, culled from Alan’s memories of escaping. Speedi–Web III, allegedly a transport ship for the Speedi–Web delivery company, not only matched but showed up at Kerezin at least once every four weeks. Nobody had ever heard of Speedi–Web I or II, which made her suspect that the ships never existed and the Speedi–Web delivery company was just a front for Toren.
Nobody on Kerezin shipped with them, either, which meant they’d had to smuggle in Gren’s drop–dead circuit by putting it inside the frame of a crate of standard shipboard supplies. She’d worried about that, but the empty crate was returned to the station just as Gren had predicted, and he’d been able to get the drop–dead circuit out right on the supplier’s dock without detection.
Then Gren had shown her the results. Something must have gone wrong somewhere, because the coordinates didn’t match up with any system. They were going to have to think of something else. Maybe this was too much for her small band of scavengers. But who would believe her?
Ennis would. He would understand the need to rescue the Created; he’d been trapped on the icy prison planet Fimbul until Fleet rescued him. He knew about Toren, too. How could she get a message to him? Would he be glad if she did?
Moire grimaced. She’d gotten him in a lot of trouble, even if she hadn’t done it on purpose. He wouldn’t thank her for sending him more.
The proximity alert bleeped. She turned it off.
“Captain? Aren’t you going to drop out?” Kilberton was looking over the edge of the pit at her, his hands gripping the edge tightly.
“Few more seconds.” Moire watched the readout, then hit the dropout control with a snap.
Kilberton shook his head, frowning, and turned back to the realspace controls. “That would get your license pulled in the Inner Systems,” he said.
Moire sighed, stretching in her seat. “This is the Fringe, not the Inner Systems,” she said, standing and pulling her ID from the console. “Relax. Max–prox limits are just safety rules, mostly for stations with a lot of traffic. I knew exactly where I was going to drop out. It’s all timing.”
She stopped short on the stair out of the pilot’s pit. Timing. Timing was location. What if Gren’s drop–dead circuit had been right? Toren would want to keep the location of the Created site as secret as possible. Any star system had the possibility of an accidental visit, but there was an awful lot of empty space between stars that nobody would have any reason to drop out for.
She had to tell Gren before the ship docked. Before she could get to the wall comm, Yolanda Menehune entered the bridge.
“Crew’s going out, right?” she asked.
Moire nodded. “It’s been a while; they need a break.” She paused. Yolanda had a serious look on her face. “What’s up?”
“I think maybe I should go out first and kinda check on things, ya know? I got the bad wire last time. Think something’s goin’ on.” She jerked her shoulders up, sharply. “Maybe nothin’. Heard some talk about the ceeyo making space; if that’s it we don’t need to worry. Local power struggle.”
The ceeyo was the Kulvar crime boss. Moire wasn’t sure that they would be immune from any local fights, but Yolanda could tell her if things were too dangerous for the crew. “I’ll get your gun from the locker,” Moire said. “Ask Gren to come see me, Kilberton.” He nodded acknowledgment.
Kilberton had docked the ship by the time she returned to the bridge, and Gren was waiting. He listened to her explanation of the strange drop–dead results with a thoughtful scowl.
“You think you could fly like that?”
Moire smiled. “Any pilot could, if they knew the location.”
Gren scowled even more. “How does this help us? If we fly there ourselves we can’t just blend in with local traffic, or pretend to be lost or something. They probably have long–range guns.”
“I hope so. I’ve been wondering how we were going to get some.”
Gren sighed loudly. “You have to get there, and not get shot, in order to steal them.”
Moire shrugged. “There’s one ship that can show up and they won’t blink an eye. We’ll use that.”
“What, Speedi–Ship?”
“Speedi–Web III,” Kilberton said, joining them. “Not only are they likely to have guns, they will have more than simple visual identification for any ship that arrives there. They are doing very, very illegal things, and they will take…extreme precautions.”
It was a valid point, although Moire didn’t want to admit it. “OK, so we do it this way. Sneak in, figure out their procedures, and take over the ship on the way back to Kerezin. Then we come back with a surprise.”
“Yeah, and take a look at their setup on the ground, too.” Gren nodded. “Have a better chance of coming up with a workable plan.” He gave Moire a look. “I suppose you’re thinking of going yourself.”
That question she had been expecting. “Who else were you thinking of? Whoever goes has to be a pilot.”
Kilberton lifted his chin, but before he could say anything the captain’s earring chirped in Moire’s ear.
“Yes?” Yolanda must have gotten back early.
“Pico here, Captain. There’s someone at the hatch. Says his name is Felden.”
Moire sagged with relief. “Harvey! Tell him…” she paused. What if it wasn’t really Felden? Pico had never met him. “Hold on a sec.” She went to the communications console and fiddled with it until it got her the hatch vid. It was Harvey all right, and he was by himself. “Let him in.”
In a few minutes the hunched, wiry form of Harvey Felden was hovering uncertainly at the entrance to the bridge. He looked worried, even for Harvey.
“What took you so long?” Gren said, his bushy eyebrows colliding fiercely. “We thought something had happened to you.”
“I thought something was going to happen to me if I wasn’t careful,” Harvey snapped. “I got the money, all right. But I wasn’t sure they were going to let me keep it if I stayed. They were saying you’re…that we’re pirates. They were asking how we found the ships we’ve been selling. They want to talk to you.”
At this rate, I’m going to have to hire a lecture hall. “These peopl
e have names, Harvey?” Moire asked.
“Station police, of course. Some that weren’t, too. Maybe hoping it was true and wanting to join up. They looked dangerous. Anyway, I started getting real worried, especially after what you said. I didn’t even want to go straight to Kulvar, so I took a ship to Criminy and quick got on the next ship to Kulvar. I made sure nobody on the first ship was following me, see.”
A number of people were showing up now, both crew waiting for the all–clear to leave the ship and others who had heard of Felden’s return. Moire noticed Alan was now standing beside her, waving shyly at Harvey. Carlos Montero had also wandered over, smiling vaguely at everyone. He didn’t seem surprised to see Harvey again. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed he’d been gone.
“How’s Madele doing?” Harvey asked, giving Alan a friendly pat on the arm.
“Much better. Still not up to a full schedule, but it won’t be long.”
“She got shot too,” Alan added, indicating Moire.
Moire winced. “It was just an accident,” she said quickly, interrupting Harvey’s question. “One of the…oh, Fortin will tell you all about it. It wasn’t serious.”
Harvey gave Alan a look. “There was blood,” Alan said solemnly. “And she wouldn’t let me shoot him.”
“Harvey, good to have you back. We’ve got lots of work for you, if you still want to associate with this madhouse,” Moire babbled. Her earring chirped again, and this time it was Yolanda Menehune. She listened for a moment, then snapped her fingers for attention. Everyone went silent on the bridge and looked at her. “Yolanda says things have calmed down, but stay out of Level Four if you can. OK, head out and be careful.”
The first shift of crew on leave headed quickly for the door. Gren waved Yolanda over when she showed up. “We need to discuss something,” he said, when the bridge was empty except for the senior crew. “She wants to go in by herself.”
Yolanda blinked, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “What, in there?”
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