Barely controlled chaos ruled the conference room as she walked in. A cluster of advisors surrounded General Alamatto at the head of the table, and several military officials huddled by the windows gesturing in animated whispers. The holos of the remote members jerked and flickered as they handled interruptions and rushed to prepare. Aides hurried around in a bustle of activity which closely resembled pointless circles.
Miriam simply crossed the room and took a seat. Her shoulders locked straight as she opened three small screens and proceeded to study their contents.
Richard hurried in, both hands interacting with two separate aurals and only belatedly remembering to make sure his uniform shirt was tucked in properly. She spared him a tiny, sympathetic smile but didn’t otherwise acknowledge his presence.
Alamatto cleared his throat loudly; it barely registered above the din. Again, to no avail. In frustration he slammed his palm on the table.
“If we can bring this meeting to order…” he paused as those present scurried into some semblance of order “…thank you. First, I’d like to note that in addition to the regular Board members, we have present this evening Major Lange from Security Bureau and Colonel Navick from Military Intelligence in person and Defense Minister Mori and Deputy Foreign Minister Basak via holo.”
He waited for the last person to settle on a location to stand. “As you’re all aware by now, approximately thirty minutes ago Trade Minister Santiagar collapsed and died while attending the Trade Summit on Atlantis. I don’t want to misrepresent any of the facts, so I’ll let those closest to the situation bring us up to speed. Major Lange?”
Lange was a tall, wiry blond with pale blue eyes which connoted his strong Scandinavian ancestry. Miriam had worked with him on occasion and found him professional, if cold, and highly competent.
He nodded brusquely at the General. “Thank you, sir. The incident occurred while Minister Santiagar and other senior officials greeted guests in an official receiving line before the closing banquet. Including staff, seventy-nine individuals were in the ballroom at the time, as well as another sixty-five in the entryway and hall area.” He flicked his wrist and a three-dimensional schematic of the ballroom and immediate surroundings materialized above the table.
“The ballroom was locked down six seconds after the Minister collapsed, the wing of the convention center containing the ballroom twelve seconds later. All exits from the convention center were staffed and monitored within two minutes.” The schematic zoomed out to encompass the entire building and the exits lit up in red.
“All spaceport departures are being held and searched beginning five minutes after the incident. Atlantis security has been extremely responsive. Despite the frivolous nature of the colony, they are a well-trained and professional department and I have every confidence in their ability to support our investigation.”
He took a sip of water from the glass an aide had placed on the table. “Alliance doctors treated the Minister on the scene. He displayed no vital signs upon their arrival and was declared deceased after six minutes. Initial analysis indicates he suffered a cybernetics malfunction which triggered a neural stroke and brain hemorrhage. No other attendees have experienced health issues. Nonetheless, officers on the scene are investigating every possibility, including biological and chemical weapon dispersal, food tampering and remote cyberbomb delivery.”
He gazed around the long table and to those standing along the walls. “Any questions?”
Admiral Rychen, the Northeastern Regional Commander based on Messium, spoke up. “What about the guests? A lot of people were in the room. Could someone have slipped in?”
“We’re obviously still questioning the attendees, but we have confirmed everyone present was on the official guest list or approved staff. At least one person present departed before the lockdown was complete, but I’ll let the Colonel speak to the matter.” He nodded to Richard, who stepped forward as Lange backed away.
Richard coughed a tad awkwardly. She knew he wasn’t fond of speaking in front of large groups, preferring to work in the background if not the shadows. But matters were what they were.
“Yes. Though preliminary, examination of the Minister’s body suggests his cybernetics were sabotaged by a self-replicating virus, resulting in a forced overload designed to damage the brain.”
“So he was assassinated then?”
He glanced at the Defense Minister. “Yes, sir. It appears that way. We are pursuing every lead, but the primary suspect at the moment is Christopher Candela, a junior staffer in the Senecan delegation.” He displayed a visual of an unremarkable-looking man with dark brown hair. Looks were often deceiving these days, but the man seemed to be in his late twenties.
“Mr. Candela was seen greeting Santiagar in the receiving line several seconds before the Minister collapsed. He left the room via a service door immediately thereafter. EAMI agents initiated pursuit and tracked him through multiple corridors before he vanished from surveillance cams, likely due to a cloaking shield. By that point the lockdown had been completed…” Richard was too polite to look over at Lange “…and the fields placed on the exits will disrupt cloaking tech, so it is unlikely he will be able to escape the net. An exhaustive search of the conference center is ongoing.”
“Goddamn Senecans! I knew this Summit was a trap.”
Alamatto grimaced at the holo of General O’Connell. “General, we don’t yet know anything for certain. Please, Colonel, continue.”
“Yes, sir. Nine individuals attending the Summit did not attend the dinner: three reporters, five corporate executives and one of our low-level staff members. We’ve confirmed they didn’t leave Atlantis prior to the dinner and are in the process of tracking them down.”
O’Connell spoke up again, though he appeared to be making a marginal effort at restraint. “How did an assassin get past your background checks, Colonel? I was under the impression EAMI had their spies all over this damnable Summit.”
Miriam smiled to herself. Like many people, the General assumed Richard was a pushover due to his mild, nonthreatening demeanor. He was incorrect.
Richard focused in on O’Connell. “We are and one didn’t. While we have limited ability to blacklist Senecan government personnel, we do have extensive files on each of them. Christopher Candela is as clean as they get. Family man, hard worker, upstanding member of society. A little quiet and keeps to himself, but zero history of trouble. Never been arrested, never affiliated with extremist groups or vocalized anti-Alliance sentiments. Frankly I would be less surprised if you accused my hundred sixty-four year old grandfather living in Bonn of being an assassin.”
O’Connell snorted. “That simply means his government put him up to it. If you ask me, this was an act of war.”
The Deputy Foreign Minister looked down her long, pinched nose at him. “That remains to be seen…General, is it? We will naturally be demanding answers from the Senecan government. This man might have acted alone, or as an agent of a terrorist organization. It’s far too soon to be throwing around declarations of war.”
“Well, ma’am, how about you just let me know when it is time, all right?”
The glacial stare which came in response would have frosted the room had the woman been present in person. The Defense Minister stepped into the tête-à-tête to redirect the conversation. “Have we implemented additional security measures yet?”
Miriam acknowledged the Minister with a miniscule nod. “Absolutely. Security at Alliance buildings galaxy-wide has been increased to Level IV, military bases to Level III. As a precautionary matter all military leave has been canceled and personnel recalled. Heightened security is in place for the Prime Minister and Assembly Speaker as well as their families and homes. Protective details are currently being dispatched to senior administration officials and Assembly members.”
She gave a rare, wry smile. “And as we speak the dust is being brushed off the strategic plans for a number of military scenarios.” She should know, s
he expected to be spending the next twelve hours preparing recommendation briefs on them.
Alamatto gave the room a formal nod. “If there are no further questions, we’ll adjourn for now. All updates should be forwarded to my attention. I’ll be flying to Washington to brief the Cabinet shortly. Unless there are significant new developments, the Board will meet again at 0800. Dismissed.”
14
SIYANE
METIS NEBULA, UNCHARTED PLANET
* * *
ALEX LUGGED THE UNCONSCIOUS FORM to the jump seat, deposited it unceremoniously and engaged the safety harness.
Mesh straps emerged from the wall and snaked around to pull him upright in the chair, hands snug against his sides. She activated a web normally used to secure cargo; the subtle silver glimmer barely registered against the gunmetal fabric of his environment suit. She code-locked the web.
Only then did she disengage the suit’s seal and remove the helmet from her captive. A mop of soft, loosely curly black hair tumbled across his forehead and along his neck. She ignored it to scan the manufacturer imprint inside the helmet.
~ 2321, Seneca SpaceEX, Ltd. ~
The accent, of course. “Well that’s just fucking…great.”
She carried the helmet over to a cabinet on the opposite wall and dropped it in a drawer, stripped off her own environment suit and stowed it, then sat down in the cockpit chair. Her toes propelled the chair in agitated circles while her fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the armrest.
This did not fit in her schedule. Not repairing a gaping fissure in the hull and certainly not babysitting a prisoner. Why did she have to go all honorable and rescue him? She could have simply kept going and everything would have been fine….
Admittedly, there would still be the small matter of the hole in her ship. And he would be dead.
She spun the chair around to face him. The Daemon rested on her thigh, but her hand maintained a loose grip on the trigger. With a flick of her thumb the nervous-system suppressor field keeping him unconscious dissipated.
It took only a few seconds for the man’s eyelids to begin to flutter, long black lashes beating against tanned olive skin. An additional second ticked by.
His head snapped up. Bright indigo eyes met hers, startlingly clear and alert. She forced herself not to flinch and to meet his gaze coolly.
“You’re Senecan.”
He glared at her with what she took to be cocky contempt, almost as though he hadn’t noticed he was rather extensively restrained. “Are you insane? Why the hell did you shoot me? I didn’t even have a weapon!”
She didn’t answer right away, instead eyeing him appraisingly. Advanced if utilitarian environment suit. Beneath the suit, hints of a lean but athletic build. A taut posture which evoked the impression of a panther poised to spring, restraints be damned. Well-defined but not angular facial features dominated by vibrant, piercing irises.
In sum, every pore of his being oozed one thing…
…okay, fine. Every pore oozed two things. The first was irrelevant.
The second was dangerous. She arched an emphatic eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think you need a weapon in order to kill me.”
He didn’t argue the point. “And why should I want to kill you?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who opened fire.”
“Merc raiders attacked me on the way here. I thought you were one of them. Are you?”
“No.”
“Well I’d say ‘sorry,’ but seeing as how you shot down my ship then shot me, I’m not feeling particularly generous at the moment.”
She shrugged with intentional mildness, a counter to the intensity of his stare. “Self-defense. What are you doing here?”
“Studying the pulsar. What are you doing here?”
“Just seeing the sights. You’re lying.”
“So are you.”
“Maybe. I’m also the one holding the gun and the key to those restraints.”
“Fair point.” He paused as an odd shadow flickered across his eyes…then chuckled with surprising lightness. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what I’m doing here.”
She nodded deliberately, as if she were contemplating a philosophical assertion, and decided to play a hunch. His lilting and very distinctive accent had vanished, replaced by the generic intonation heard on the largest independent worlds. Such a talent was uncommon, and typically found in a very specific skillset.
She crossed one leg over the other and relaxed a bit in the chair, though the Daemon remained on her thigh. “Hmm. Well, I suppose that means you’re likely either military, intelligence…or a criminal.”
Her eyes narrowed in pointed accusation. “I bet you’re a criminal. A human slave trafficker, or maybe a gunrunner, arming the violent gang wars on the independents? Or are you a drug dealer…yep, I bet that’s it. I bet you sell hard chimerals to kids so they can burn their brains out, but not until they—”
He growled in palpable frustration. “I wouldn’t do that. Ever.”
She grinned smugly. And she was quite proud of herself.
“So military or intelligence, then.”
Her gaze ran down and up the length of his body again, this time for dramatic effect. “And I highly doubt the military would let you keep that mess of a haircut, so intelligence it is.”
His brow furrowed into a tight knot at the bridge of his nose; the muscles of his jaw contracted beneath cheeks shadowed by the hint of stubble. He looked at her as though she resembled some sort of alien creature, perhaps with slimy tentacles swirling about her head, but remained silent.
She took the silence as confirmation. “Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?”
He blinked, and with the act his expression morphed from dismay to wary detachment. “This is unclaimed space. I have as much of a right to be here as you do.”
“Wasn’t what I asked. Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?”
“I still can’t tell you, especially not when you’re Alliance. What are you doing here?”
Her mouth twitched before she managed to squelch it. “What makes you think I’m Alliance? This is a civilian vessel.”
“Oh, you’re not military—though you’re not far removed from it—but you are definitely Alliance.”
“Why?”
“The way you said ‘Senecan.’ Like it was a curse.”
She met his penetrating stare with her own cool one. “It is.”
“Lovely.” The left corner of his mouth curled up in a brazen smirk. She instantly disliked it. “In fact, I’d put credits on you being from Earth.”
“There are sixty-seven Alliance worlds. Why would I be from Earth?”
“Earthers exude this arrogance, this pretentiousness—as though even now, nearly three hundred years after colonization began, they’re still the only people who really count.”
“That is not true.” Her toes swiveled the chair again. Her gaze drifted away from his to stare at the ceiling. Seconds ticked by in silence; she felt him watching her.
Finally she rolled her eyes in reluctant exasperation. “Okay, it’s totally true—but not me. I don’t feel that way.”
His self-satisfied smile noted he could give as good as he got, and knew it. “So you are from Earth.”
Dammit. “That’s irrelevant. What’s your name?”
“Samuel.”
“I’m sure. Well, Samuel, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a little while.”
His expression turned imploring. “Can I at least get some water?”
“When I get back.” She leveled an unimpressed glare in his direction but gave him a wide berth as she passed him and headed down the circular stairwell.
First things first. She double-checked the status of the plasma shield to make certain it was holding. Getting sucked out onto an inhospitable planet sporting unbreathable air and limited atmosphere absolutely didn’t fit in her schedule. Satisfied with the rea
dings, she lifted the hatch to the engineering well and descended the ladder.
The dull sallow of the planet’s surface could be seen through a roughly three meter long rupture in the hull. The reassuring plasma shimmer kept the interior free of the churning sand and harsh wind.
A smaller gash twisted diagonally from the midpoint of the rupture up to the base of the right internal hull wall. The wall had been ripped open to expose the housing for the plethora of conduits, filters and cabling which powered the ship. The external hull, partially visible behind the mess, sported merely a hairline crack.
From one perspective, this was quite good news—more structural integrity, less hull to repair. On the other hand, it meant the laser had likely danced around wreaking havoc in the gap until it dissipated. Even absent closer inspection she noted several of the photal fiber weaves were shredded in multiple places. Dread pooled in her gut at the thought of what systems they might belong to.
With a sigh she maneuvered around the rupture in the floor to the open gap. She crouched and peered into the aperture, rocking absently on the balls of her feet. Once she got in there it would be hours just cataloging the damage. Perhaps she should get her captive a little water first….
What did Senecan Intelligence want in Metis, anyway?
She had picked up some rather unusual spectrum readings on the long-range scans before being so rudely interrupted by laser fire. Had someone else already found the same thing—or more?
“Puzzle it out later, Alex. Prioritize: Water, damage assessment, repairs.” She stood and climbed out of the engineering well, went upstairs and rummaged around in the kitchen storage for a field water packet.
‘Samuel’—she doubted it was his real name—regarded her as she approached. His acute gaze made her strangely uncomfortable, but she did her levelheaded best to not let it show. She gave him an irritated look and shoved the water packet in his face.
“Something wrong?” he inquired as he accepted the straw.
“Yes, something is wrong. You totally wrecked the undercarriage. God knows what it’s done to power and navigation. We’re going to be grounded for days thanks to your handiwork.”
Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection Page 14
