—Dr. Diotrephes, Testimony to Senatorial Subcommittee on Substance Abuse, 2105.302.10.05 UT, indexed by Democritus 8 under Metrics Imperative
Nestor’s tiny voice sounded from Matt’s implanted ear bug. “Matt, wake up.”
Nestor? Matt’s eyelids jerked open and his stomach tensed. Nestor’s gone, murdered. He relaxed as he realized he was safe in his quarters on Aether’s Touch.
“Matt, you have an urgent call.” The voice belonged to Nestor’s Muse 3. Matt had allowed the burgeoning AI to manage messages, but felt he really should curb his increasing reliance on it. Until Muse 3 was fully licensed, CAW authorities could legally seize, dissect, or destroy it.
“I’ll take it on control deck,” he whispered.
Diana stirred beside him, muttered something unintelligible, and slid back into sleep. She lay on her side, back toward him, and he rolled so he could smell the light, delicate scent that mingled in the strands of her long chestnut hair. Raised generational, he was easily overwhelmed by soaps and oils, but Lieutenant Diana Oleander was rarely overbearing. Not even in uniform. His eyes strayed across her shoulder, which he struggled not to stroke, to the steamer where she’d put her Alpha Dress. Her uniform was no longer the colorful green, gold, and red of AFCAW operations. Last night they’d had harsh words about her change to the “black and blue,” her transfer to the Special Operations Division of the Directorate of Intelligence. It was their first spat and, not surprising, it was caused by that manipulative bastard Edones: the colonel who ran that division, ordered Ari about—like a puppet—and now controlled Diana.
Sighing, he pulled on his shorts. He slipped through the hatch and into the ship’s corridor without waking Diana. After quietly closing the hatch, he glanced toward Ari’s quarters. The status light beside the hatch indicated they were empty. He strode to the end of the corridor and grabbed the rungs of the ladder before asking, “Who’s calling, Muse Three?”
Muse 3’s answer made him pause and curse. Belatedly, he considered the listening AI and its learning algorithms. “Uh, ignore my last phrase.”
“Did I notify you correctly? Colonel Owen Edones is listed as Ari’s supervisor and he is making a high priority call.”
“You did what you were supposed to,” he said as he climbed, clamping his teeth together. This was his own Gaia-b’damned fault. If he’d used the ship’s automated call answering, he could have ignored the call.
He padded quietly over the warm deck in his bare feet, comfortable in the one-gee provided by the generational ship’s gravity generator. They were docked with the Pilgrimage III, a behemoth among even generational ships. Fourteen other ships were attached to the Pilgrimage III, now in habitat mode. Four days ago, a Minoan warship joined them, hovering about ten kilometers away from the Pilgrimage. No one missed the hint: The Minoans and their warship would be staying until the Tribunal concluded.
Colonel Edones’s call blinked in HOLD mode until Matt tapped for pickup.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Journey.” Edones’s voice was infuriatingly bland, as usual. “Do you need time to dress?”
Matt forgot he wasn’t wearing anything above the waist but he was on his ship, so he’d answer in whatever attire he chose. Edones, on the other hand, wore his impeccable black and blue uniform. Doesn’t the stiff prick ever take it off? Matt realized he’d never seen Edones in anything other than Alpha or Full Dress.
“What do you want?” Matt glanced at the time. If Edones were considerate, he’d have waited until Matt’s publicly posted sleep shift was over.
“The Feeds are sending correspondents for the arraignment and the Minoans have classified the detonation as a violation of the 2092 testing treaty. If the correspondents get hold of that, they’ll descend on Major Kedros.”
Matt rubbed his eyes and forehead. “Everybody’s already stated, for the record, that Ari had no choice but to send the weapon into N-space.”
“Certainly, but—”
“Ari isn’t here, so why wake me?” Matt asked bluntly, letting his hands fall into his lap. “Combined with what you’re doing to Diana, this feels like harassment.”
“Maybe I’m interested in whether you intend to sleep your way through my staff.” Edones’s tone was cool.
Ouch. Matt’s face reddened. Admittedly, he usually didn’t jump into bed so quickly when there was a real relationship on the line, but his mind quickly formed excuses. First, Diana had serene beauty, intelligence, and she seemed genuinely attracted to him, making this an unusual circumstance for someone who was only a boring businessman in civilized space, and an isolated second-wave prospector in new space. Second, romances were breaking out all over in the aftermath of Abram’s takeover. He and Diana weren’t the only ones trying not to miss any more opportunities in their newly appreciated lives. Third, and most important, he’d never made advances toward Ari, and any fantasies he had in that direction were none of Edones’s business.
He’s probing for information. Luckily, this thought quickly cooled Matt’s response. Besides, where Diana stayed when she was under open-port protocols was her own choice. Matt pressed his lips together and calmed himself. “Your remark’s uncalled for, and unfounded.”
“So is your assumption that my interest in Major Kedros’s welfare reflects any personal feelings about you.” Edones’s lips stretched into a thin smile. “And if I wanted to harass you, my intentions would be obvious.”
Was that, in itself, a threat? Matt hesitated. If he attempted to duel with Edones, with innuendo and subterfuge the preferred weapons, he’d be seriously outgunned. He changed to the original, safer subject. “Is Ari in danger?”
“The Directorate would like to keep Major Kedros’s involvement in this incident low-profile, below the net-think exposure horizon.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. This was as close as Edones had come to admitting Ari’s identity was a fabrication, one that might not stand intensive scrutiny. Matt had accepted the fact that he didn’t know her background since she’d proven herself, multiple times, in dangerous situations. However, he still had niggling doubts regarding the influence Edones might exert upon Ari. Her altered records could only have been sanctioned and created by AFCAW. What if Edones called in that debt?
“So?” Matt prompted.
“The correspondents will arrive in less than five hours and she’s not answering my calls. She’s in Recreation Four.”
Matt sighed and ruffled his short hair with his fingers. Ari was drinking. In the past, she’d had an ironclad rule about not drinking in uniform, but he noticed her tenet had been spaced—put out the airlock with whatever humor she’d managed to retain after the Terrans had kidnapped and tortured her. She hadn’t yet rebounded to the old Ari before Abram’s isolationists tried to use her in their grand scheme. Gaia knows, she has reason to drink.
“Why not deliver your message in person?” Matt asked.
“Because she’s in uniform and she registered for substance abuse counseling. As her supervisor, I’d have to put in a report if I saw inappropriate behavior.” Edones raised an eyebrow.
Ah, he’s trying to save her career. Much as Matt distrusted Edones, the Directorate, and perhaps AFCAW in general, he knew Ari valued her reserve duty. He didn’t know why; perhaps she thought she was paying her dues for Ura-Guinn—his thoughts veered away, not wanting to consider what part Ari played in the TD weapon detonation that ended the war. That was information she held tight and close.
Edones waited.
Matt realized the supercilious colonel was asking for a favor. Keeping his tone resigned, he said, “I’ll get her out of there. But you owe me for this, Edones.”
Both light eyebrows rose on Edones’s bland face. “I wouldn’t go that f—”
Matt cut the connection. Moving with the elegant restraint of someone always testing the local gravity, he grabbed coveralls from the hall locker and pulled them on. Since third shift was usually quiet, with minimal traffic, he breezed through the airlock withou
t checking the outer cam-eyes.
Big mistake. N-space-capable ships had no windows, so Matt stumbled in surprise when he saw the red-robed Minoan emissary standing at the bottom of the ramp to Aether’s Touch. A guardian in black, with shorter horns but looming taller, shadowed the high- horned emissary. As always, the guardian carried a baton. Matt had intimate knowledge of how dangerous those Minoan weapons could be, having used one himself when they took the Pilgrimage back from Abram’s men.
The emissary was already dipping its horns in greeting and he couldn’t turn back. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he continued down the ramp. The sound of his footsteps broke the stillness of third shift. He stopped more than a meter away, keeping his distance from the red robes that drifted about without the aid of a breeze.
“Contractor Advisor?” Matt wasn’t sure whether this was the same Minoan who had rescued him after he and David Ray had fled the Pilgrimage. Did that happen only nine days ago? At the time, David Ray Pilgrimage was the line’s general counsel. Now he was on “crew sabbatical” and working for Matt, although the only way he could afford David Ray’s services was by making the attorney a minority owner in Aether Exploration.
After a Minoan-length pause, while Matt tried not to fidget, the emissary said, “We recognize you, Owner of Aether Exploration, but I am Contractor Director.”
He glanced at the Minoan’s face, covered in the black “velvet-over-ice mask” coined by net-think, which showed only generic raised features. This Minoan sounded like Contractor Advisor, but might not be. After their experience aboard the Minoan ship, Matt and David Ray suspected Minoan “interfaces” were manufactured by their ships as needed for the situation. On the other hand, Contractor Advisor might be filling a new role. Even mundane humans could be multi- roled, which explained the Minoans’ occasional use of Ariane-as-Kedros, when they couldn’t choose between Explorer of Solar Systems and Breaker of Treaties.
“Congratulations on the promotion.” Matt clamped his jaw shut. Why did he always have to make a smart-ass remark?
Contractor Director ignored his comment and got right down to business, its black-gloved hand twirling one of the many jewels cascading from the tips of its horns, while its other hand pointed toward the bulkhead. This was the standard gesture for showing information on a displayable surface, but the movement didn’t feel human and Matt shivered. He looked at the view port, which pushed aside the Feeds and displayed a contract that he estimated at two hundred pages in length.
“We have received a counteroffer from the legal advisor for Aether Exploration.” Contractor Director scrolled to the end of the contract, which had a confusing snarl of provisos.
Matt waited silently, since one could never go too slowly when speaking with Minoans. They considered long pauses of silence to be respectful, not the result of frantically firing neurons.
Contractor Director pointed at lines highlighted on the display. “This clause is nonnegotiable. The work, as stated, requires Ariane-as-Kedros in the role of Explorer of Solar Systems.”
Matt kept his jaw from dropping open. The Minoans had requested an individual, by name, in a contract? He was surprised David Ray hadn’t called him but, as he checked the time of the contract change, he realized David Ray had sent the counteroffer only half an hour earlier.
“If you need Ari, what do we get in return?” Then, he rephrased it so the Minoan would understand. “If you require Explorer of Solar Systems, who is also Ariane-as-Kedros, do we get a guarantee you won’t file charges against her as Breaker of Treaties?”
He waited for Contractor Director’s response, trying not to grind his teeth. Finally, the horns dipped in assent.
“Write it up and send it to my legal staff.” Not bothering with niceties, he walked away. When he was out of sight, he pulled out his slate and sent a priority message to David Ray, who comprised the entirety of his “legal staff.”
He hated intimidation, even by powerful, mysterious, and yes, scary aliens. As he jammed his slate back into his pocket, he wondered if Edones had forewarning about this Minoan proviso. He eventually turned off the spoke hall, and his stride slowed as he neared the cause of all this trouble. He hoped Ari hadn’t been in a brawl. Retrieval duty, as he used to call it, hadn’t been necessary for almost a year.
The room was eerily quiet, except for the major five Feeds running mute on the walls. No one was playing games, watching Feeds, or drinking, except for a few hard cases at the bar. Even for third shift, it was strangely deserted. Matt spun around and saw the cause. Creating an imposing shadowy bulk against the back wall, Warrior Commander sat at a table. More surprising, however, was the row of drinks in front of Warrior Commander. Four drink packs were precisely arranged in a line. Matt had never seen Minoans consume food or drink.
Shrugging, he went to the bar and sat on a stool next to a sleeping Ari, whose left temple rested on her folded arms. On Ari’s other side, her drinking buddy Hal Bokori, a loadmaster on a freighter, gently snored. His dark head rested cheek down on the bar surface, with one arm flung over Ari and the other sprawling across the bar.
“Hey, Daren. Cold papango juice, please.” It was a relief not to have to say, “hydroponic sources only,” because that was obvious to other crèche-get. He liked being back with his own kind, even if he was Journey rather than Pilgrimage line.
Daren set down a drink pack and snapped the cold tab, making it frosty. He tilted his head toward Ari. “Sorry, Matt. She’s protected by Autonomist privacy law, so I can’t give you a report on her consumption.”
Matt sighed as he put his thumbprint on the bar to pay the bill. Daren had just reminded him why he’d opted off the Journey IV, and how he’d chafed under the everyone-must-be-happy dictum. If Ari were crèche-get, her supervisor would be advised of her drinking and she’d be automatically scheduled for mental health sessions. The news would pass throughout the ship as well, resulting in pitying glances from friends and coworkers. Surprisingly, on Autonomist worlds with ubiquitous public ComNet nodes, it was unlawful for an employer to track the off-duty behavior of employees if it meant violating privacy. An employee could even charge an employer with stalking.
“I don’t need a report, but I am curious about your new clientele.” Matt jerked his thumb toward Warrior Commander’s table.
Daren’s jaw muscles tightened. “That warrior is scaring away my regular customers.”
“Anybody ask why? They answer questions, you know.” Matt took a sip of cold sweet liquid.
“He’s been following Major Kedros around for days.” Daren apparently bought the theory that Warrior Commander was male. As Matt’s face stretched in surprise, Daren asked, “Where have you been, anyway?”
Matt’s cheeks flushed as he took another sip. I’ve had my head up my ass, I guess. Ari was crew and in his world, that meant she was family and deserved loyalty beyond the employer-employee relationship assumed by grav- huggers. He should have protected her from harassment, even from Minoans, but he’d been too involved with Diana to notice. He put down the juice decisively and swiveled his stool toward Warrior Commander.
Daren put a restraining hand on his arm. “Every question’s been asked.”
“But—”
As Daren and Matt faced the Minoan across a sea of empty tables, a black-gloved hand appeared out of the Minoan’s voluminous dark robes. Warrior Commander held up its index finger with a meaningful gesture.
Matt recoiled, his plan of marching over to Warrior Commander disappearing. “What does that mean?”
“Another drink. I said he couldn’t take up space here without ordering drinks or food. He asked me for a minimum order rate and I told him one drink for every one or two hours, which he’s interpreted as one point five hours.” Daren checked the time on his sleeve. “Exactly.”
Another drink for Warrior Commander added up to seven-point-five hours. Matt wasn’t surprised Ari had been here that long, and he was sure she’d surpassed Warrior Commander’s order
rate. Both Ari and Edones tried to dismiss her alcohol tolerance, swift healing, and other aspects of her ultra-rapid metabolism as natural, but Matt suspected darker causes, such as military medical experiments.
He heard Daren pop the cold tab on a drink pack and asked, “What is Warrior Commander ordering?”
“A Hellas-brewed specialty beer, made from altensporos. Costs twelve HKD, plus import taxes, because we’re sovereign Pilgrimage territory.” Daren shrugged, embarrassment flitting across his face. “Hey, we have to support ourselves.”
Twelve Hellas Kilodrachmas was expensive for beer and Matt suppressed a smile as Daren carried the drink pack over to Warrior Commander’s table. After setting it down with a flourish and turning away, Daren didn’t see Warrior Commander adjust the drink pack so it aligned with the others. Daren thought he’d pulled a fast one on the warrior, but Matt knew just how attuned the Minoans were to human economies. They knew when they were paying abnormally high prices.
Matt didn’t feel like smiling anymore. Why would Warrior Commander pay premiums for unused beer, just to sit and observe Ari? Why would Contractor Director try to strong-arm Matt into signing a contract, with a clause designed just for Ari?
He looked down at the focus of the Minoans’ strange behavior slumped on the bar beside him in a deep alcohol-induced sleep. Ari’s lashes lay thick against the olive skin on her sharp cheekbones. Light shadows from a healing bruise on her face added vulnerability. With her eyes closed, without those deep, wise, tormented dark orbs, she looked younger than the age in her records, which was still younger than Matt’s estimate.
Matt resisted the sudden urge to comb back the thick dark hair swirling forward on her jaw. Instead, his hand went to Hal’s forearm, which he gently raised off Ari and placed on the bar. Hal snorted as he raised his head, folded his arms, and went back to sleep. Matt never asked Ari about Hal. They shared a love of drinking and if more was going on, Matt didn’t want to know.
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