Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
ALSO AVAILABLE
ALSO AVAILABLE
THE ULTIMATE IN SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY!
Praise for the Major Ariane Kedros Novels
Vigilante
“[An] intriguing ensemble cast . . . [a] nicely complex universe . . . in this entertaining second military SF adventure for Ariane Kedros, a secret agent of the Consortium of Autonomous Worlds. . . . Reeve immediately immerses the reader in her universe’s vernacular, acronyms, and back-story . . . most rewarding.”
—Publishers Weekly
Peacekeeper
“An excellent debut novel. Peacekeeper is full of exciting, complex characters in a truly byzantine universe where everything hangs in the balance. I can’t wait for Reeve’s next book.”
—Mike Shepherd, author of the Kris Longknife series
“Reeve shows great promise.”
—Darque Reviews
“Former USAF officer Reeve channels her flight experience into this crisp military SF debut. . . . Reeve drives the story at a breakneck pace, providing a fine mix of derringdo, honor, and courage, and the familial bickering and affection of a close-knit crew.”
—Publishers Weekly
ALSO BY LAURA E. REEVE
Vigilante
Peacekeeper
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First Printing, July 2010
eISBN : 978-1-101-18855-2
Copyright © Laura E. Reeve, 2010
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To my parents, Gerry and Norma,
who have never stopped exploring and learning
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every novel has its quirky challenges, particularly when life intervenes. This one turned out to have more challenges than most, and I’m grateful for my husband, Michael’s, support, as well as his encouragement and advice. I also thank the rest of my family for their patience while I focused on this book. Special recognition must go to neurologist Dr. Randall Bjork, who figured out how to treat my headaches while not turning me into a drooling (and nonwriting) zombie. Once again, I’m indebted to my critique partner, Robin Widmar, as well as first readers Summer Ficarrotta and Scott Cowan, for their reviews and editorial comments. Finally, I must thank my fantastic agent, Jennifer Jackson, my editor, Jessica Wade, and the staff at Penguin Group for their work on this series.
CHAPTER 1
Did you rats sense the fracas in our newest solar system? G-145 went silent and Pilgrimage HQ panicked, sending out emergency messages. When G- 145 came back up and the Pilgrimage III said, “Nothing happening here,” did anyone believe them? Something happened, because net-think has Jude Stephanos, senior senator from Hellas Prime, hurrying off to G-145. . . .
—Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.051.22.04 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 12 under Flux Imperative
The alien followed her, quiet as a whisper. As Major Ariane Kedros turned into the chapel, she caught in her peripheral vision a glimpse of the tall, horned Minoan warrior. Perversely, she refused to acknowledge who, or what, followed several meters behind her.
Every day for the past six days, before her shift started, Ariane had stopped by the chapel of the Pilgrimage III. On the front wall, above the altar, was the list of recent fatalities. This list grew every day, as Abram’s attempted takeover of G-145—a takeover she had played a large role in stopping—was converted from blood to dry data. Terran State Prince Hauser’s death put the number at more than two hundred.
Ignoring the Minoan behind her, Ariane selected the front bench. She sat with her back straight and stiff, her hands gripping the cool, hard surface beneath her. She started at the top and read every name. As always, she paused when she came to Colonel Elene Dokos.
It took physical effort to move past that name. They killed her in front of me, and I couldn’t stop them. The edge of the bench dug into her fingers as her grip tightened.
“You did the best you could.”
The voice made her start. Justin Pilgrimage, the communications officer for the Pilgrimage, stood beside the bench with his head cocked in question. When she nodded, he sat down beside her, although he jerked his head toward the back of the chapel.
“Don’t look now, but a Minoan’s back there watching you,” he murmured, leaning close.
“Warrior Commander’s been following me around for days,” she replied in a flat tone. Minoan technology exceeded theirs by so much that there was no chance of hiding their conversation.
His eyes widened. “Does this have anything to do with them calling you ‘Breaker of Treaties’?”
His reaction made her pause. She’d become bl
asé, almost numb, to the aliens that had given humans faster-than-light travel more than a century ago—and indifference was dangerous. The Minoans carried weapons that boiled people from the inside out and they had organic ships with directed-energy weapons, all of which were beyond humanity’s comprehension.
The Minoans didn’t think like humans. There was no gray area for them, particularly when following laws or dispensing justice. They’d committed “delayed genocide,” using mysterious genetic weapons, upon a tribe as punishment for piracy and terrorism. They’d followed interstellar law to the letter, of course, and no government had the balls to protest that attack. While it led to a decades-long lull in piracy, it also caused festering resentment—and we were the ones who suffered from Abram’s vengeance.
“Does it follow you everywhere?” Justin pressed.
“I’m given privacy for my work, but not in public places such as this.” She glanced around, noting that repairs had started on the shrine at the front. Someone found the original gold statue of St. Darius, in a helmetless environmental suit, holding out only one hand in benediction because his other arm had broken off.
This suddenly seemed ludicrous as well as heretical—having a Minoan, who probably wasn’t even a Gaian-based life-form, inside a place where people venerated Gaia’s servant St. Darius. Swallowing the hysterical giggle that rose in her throat, she said, “Luckily, they have no interest in my hygiene habits. Warrior Commander follows me only in public areas of the Pilgrimage, not onto my ship.”
“Why?”
“I’ve asked questions, with no success.” She forced her hands to rest in her lap rather than balling up into fists of frustration. “He—it—has been following me ever since the sun calmed down.”
“About that.” He smiled. “I wanted to thank you. It’s beyond rumor now. We all know you saved us from becoming another Ura-Guinn.”
She flinched and went still. She should have anticipated the comparison, even though G- 145’s sun hadn’t suffered a full temporal-distortion wave because she pushed the weapon into N-space as it detonated. Of course, Justin couldn’t know she was also responsible for Ura-Guinn’s devastation; her apparent age didn’t make her a likely candidate for detonating the only other temporal-distortion weapon ever used. That detonation was sixteen years ago, during the war between the Terrans and the Consortium of Autonomous Worlds, and that fatality list could eventually number over four billion souls. Saving the several thousand souls inside G-145 was almost immaterial by comparison.
Due to the vastness of space, proof of the survival of Ura-Guinn’s star had taken this long to get to civilization. Now the Feeds screamed with each new guess of Ura-Guinn’s fatalities, using clues stitched together by the Epsilon Eridani antenna telescope, which couldn’t even see the man-made structures in Ura-Guinn. Each report from the Feeds resurrected her nightmares and reanimated the accusing ghosts in the back of her mind.
“We’re all grateful you got rid of the weapon before it did much damage.” Justin hadn’t noticed her stiffness, and his voice was warm. Friendly. What would he think of her if he knew her real history? Justin’s gaze sharpened, focusing on the top of the list displayed on the bulkhead next to the shrine. “I always stop here, for Dan’s sake.”
She nodded, and her relief at the change of topic almost made her dizzy. The top name on the list was Daniel Pilgrimage. Dan had worked beside Justin on the control deck, and he’d been the first to die when Abram arrived.
Justin looked down at his hands, which he tensely kneaded. “My shirt was covered with his blood. I looked at it for days, building up rage. I thought it would dishonor him if I threw the shirt in the disposal. This morning, I realized I could honor him, yet lose the rage, so I threw the bloody thing away.”
Her throat was so tight, she could barely swallow. “I can’t,” she finally said.
“Can’t what?”
“Lose the rage. I hate the monster that did this.” Her hand swept through the air, motioning toward the damaged shrine. “I’m glad he’s gone, and I hope the rest of those isolationist bastards are put away for as long as possible.”
“You’ll get your wish.” The corners of Justin’s mouth quirked upward. “The Terran State Prince has already boarded and your senator arrives tomorrow, so the Tribunal—whatever it’s called—can start.”
“The Interstellar Criminal Tribunal,” she said hollowly.
“Yeah, for war criminals.”
“They’re being tried for crimes against humanity, not as war criminals. They weren’t part of an armed conflict between states.” The difference was important, but not to the ghosts shrieking in her head. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to blur the image of Terran agent Nathanial Wolf Kim as he tortured her, saying, “Four billion people gone. Admit it—you’re a war criminal.”
She didn’t know how much of the war Justin remembered, since he had been born shortly before the generational ship Pilgrimage III embarked on the G- 145 mission twenty-six years ago. He wasn’t used to military uniforms, however, and as her hands dropped into her lap again, he gestured at her attire. “I almost didn’t recognize you from the back.”
She wasn’t wearing her normal crew coveralls with the Aether Exploration logo, because she was still on active duty. Her black uniform with light blue trim was crisp and clean, appropriate for a golem from the Directorate of Intelligence, under the Armed Forces of the Consortium of Autonomist Worlds. She ran her fingers through her dark hair so it curled under at the ends, shortened to collar length to meet AFCAW uniform regulations.
Justin went quiet and made the universal gesture for wait-I’m-taking-a-priority-call. He listened while his finger drifted to press behind his jawbone, acknowledging the call.
“Needed on control deck?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He gripped her forearm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Crèche-get, those born and raised on generational ships, tended to be sentimental and demonstrative, so she resisted the urge to pull away. “I know you feel guilty,” he added.
“Excuse me?” The words came out sharper than she intended.
“You just couldn’t save everyone, Ariane. It’s time to forgive yourself.”
“Oh, so that’s my problem.” She smiled, hoping she looked natural. “Thanks for the amateur psych eval.”
“Hey, I just saved you a trip to Mental Health.” He winked as he stood. She watched him hurry down the wide aisle. He took care to step down one side, away from the still figure of Warrior Commander seated in the exact middle of the last bench on the left.
After Justin left, her gaze lingered a last time on the list. Her mouth hardened as she considered the two latest entries. State Prince Hauser hadn’t been able to recover from a rare reaction to the prophylactic radiation drugs. More tragic, Major Phillips of the Terran Space Forces had gone beyond the radiation exposure point of no return while retrieving victims who had been spaced alive, in environmental suits, by Abram’s men. The fatalities continued long after Abram’s defeat and death.
This list didn’t include the other victims, such as AFCAW Master Sergeant Alexander Joyce, who had barely lived through face-to-face combat with Abram; or Danielle, the pilot raped by Abram’s nephew Emery. Yet more justification for leaving Emery to die in N-space. I’m not sorry I did that. N-space, or nous-space-time transit, was the only way to traverse space in faster-than-light fashion, but entering it without having a buoy lock meant the ship was lost forever. The passengers would be insane after a couple of hours without D-tranny in their bloodstream. Although that might have been too good for Emery, by only adding disassociative psychosis to his sadistic sociopathy. The lack of delta tranquilizer, however, wasn’t what mattered most; going into N-space without locking onto a buoy meant you could never return to real-space.
Standing, she smoothed her black uniform. Her shiny boots made light taps on the deck as she walked down the aisle. She paused before passing the dark figure with tall horns that was sittin
g quietly. She sighed. This seemed too much to ask of her, considering her pay grade. At least the warrior didn’t have a guardian escort, like a red- robed emissary Minoan, or she’d be leading around a whole parade of aliens. She made a tight gesture toward the hatchway. “Are you ready, Warrior Commander? Another day, another drachma, as we say.”
Warrior Commander’s horns dipped slowly in a nod and she moved on, knowing she’d get no other response. She no longer watched the tall figure in billowing robes rise and mysteriously fit within the Pilgrimage’s decks.
Why are you following me? The unanswered question stoked her glowing ire and resentment. Her pace was solid, with purposeful cadence, as she strode through a spoke hall toward her destination: the brig.
“Sorry, Matt. There’s nothing I can do.” In the view port, Carmen’s head bobbed on her treadmill at Athens Point, more than seven hundred light-years away from G-145. “I can’t find anyone with enough balls to sign off on extending your line of credit.”
“But I have a low risk rating.” This situation seemed entirely illogical to Matthew Journey, majority owner of Aether Exploration. Why should the rules change so suddenly?
“I know. It’s just that G- 145 is anathema to the financial sector right now.”
“Government contracts are still funded,” Matt said, “and the Terran League is moving money for their contractors.”
“From what I hear, they’re stretched to cover the rise in hazard pay that contractors demand.” Carmen stopped bouncing and moved to pick up a towel, the cam-eye panning and widening the view. She dabbed at the sweat between her breasts, her athletic cleavage separated and firmed by space-age materials in her bra as well as her body.
“But nothing has changed. The Builders’ ruins Ari and I discovered are an engineer’s wet dream, with the possibility of re-creating those materials. There’s an inactive buoy—a potential gateway to Gaia knows how many worlds. G-145 has the same resources it had a month ago.”
Pathfinder Page 1
