Pathfinder

by Laura E. Reeve

  “Reevaluating your motives?” Lee asked dryly.

  “Ah.” For a moment, her mouth wouldn’t form words. “It’ll take more than a few tests to convince me to put one of those in my body.”

  Lee chuckled as she sealed and removed the bag of blood from Ariane’s arm. “I’m impressed. You took that pretty well. David Ray, my sweet hero, nearly fainted when he saw them. Matt became positively ill.”

  “Are they alive? Why two?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the things in the display.

  Lee shook her head. “Those are only our test models. I’m going to use grafts to see how compatible your tissues are with one; leaving the other as a control. The Minoans will examine them after I’m through. As for whether they’re alive? I don’t know. I’ve asked that masked, horned mystery to give me more documentation.”

  “Contractor Director, you mean?”

  “That’s the one. I was sent a hefty file that looked like an operating manual, but they might be instructions for assembling a glider, for all I could understand.” Lee strode across the room to put the blood in a storage unit. “I told the emissary I needed something better. It said, You need simplification, Physician of Pilots? and I nearly decked it, regardless of its big bad bodyguards.”

  The thought of Dr. Lee punching out Contractor Director distracted her, and she was still chuckling as Lee came back with a row of big biopsy needles on a tray.

  “You’ll have to lie down on the cot over there. Let me get the topical anesthetic.” Dr. Lee pointed to the curtained area in the corner. “I have to get samples big enough to graft onto the sample—er, equipment—and view the results.”

  “I understand. And please, please make sure we understand how it works.” Ariane tried not to shudder as she took a last look at the wiggling implant.

  “Don’t worry. We’re in uncharted territory and nobody’s putting this thing into your body until we do every test we can think of—and some we’ve never thought of before.”

  After Dr. Lee had used what seemed like every needle and knife in her lab, she declared she had enough samples. Granted, she had a skillful touch, but Ariane still felt like a pincushion when she was finished. As she pulled her coveralls on, the doctor made a comment that sounded shrewdly casual. “Before you volunteer, remember that we’re all concerned for you. Especially Matt. He’s twisted up with worry.”

  “I think he’s more excited than worried. After all, exploration is his calling.” Ariane glanced over her shoulder. She saw Lee’s ramrod-straight back, as the doctor fussed with samples at her bench.

  “Well, he’d do anything to ensure your safety or your happiness. Remember, he’s known you far longer than Diana.” The doctor turned to look at her.

  Ariane looked away. Old busybody—she’s trying to make mischief, mess up my working relationship with Matt. He was her employer, making him the civilian equivalent of her commander. Besides, he was crew. She knew, from experience, how fast romance or sex could break up a crew. In fact, she was reminded of this every time she saw the Leukos Industries logo.

  She left Lee’s lab quickly. It seemed inevitable that her feet would lead her by the Stellar Shield. She’d kept away from bars and hadn’t had even one drink since Matt had retrieved her on the Pilgrimage. She walked in.

  CHAPTER 16

  Forget Major Kedros! My vote for hero of the millisec- ond (the average net-think attention span) is Master Sergeant Alexander Joyce. The man went head-to-head with Abram and took a full flechette blast in his side. He’s been through transplants, tissue grafts, and surgeries as they’ve rebuilt half his abdomen. Today, he testified from his clinic bed. . . .

  —Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.059.14.30 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 5 under Conflict Imperative

  Ariane was intent upon controlling her drinking that evening, and circumstances helped her. Hal, her usual drinking buddy, wasn’t in the Stellar Shield. When she looked around, a group of maintenance workers hailed her, but she declined with a smile.

  The cheerful noise in the bar bothered her, seeming overbearing and artificial. Her mind kept repeating Lee’s words, and she wanted that stopped. She drank a beer at the counter, but it didn’t make her feel any better and it didn’t stop her thoughts. Where did Lee get the idea she was attracted to Matt? Well, “attracted” was the wrong word—“smitten,” perhaps? “Infatuated?” Impossible. He now had Diana: young, beautiful, smart, and unburdened by demons. There was no way she’d mess that up for Matt—no matter what. She decided to order a pint of liquor to take with her.

  The bartender looked skeptical. “Ms. Kedros, you know we don’t carry good stuff in pints. We’ve got the tasteless and odorless rotgut—leastways, that’s what I call it. Then we’ve got two others, called ‘rum’ and ‘whiskey,’ but you got to be wasted to believe those names.”

  She ordered a pint of rotgut, because it had the highest proof. The bartender looked away with a vague expression as she slid the pint into the pocket of her coveralls. It came in an unbreakable zero-gee container so it could be sipped almost anywhere. She wasn’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last person to buy this sort of comfort on a rough, lonely, frontier outpost like Beta Priamos Station.

  When she came through the airlock on Aether’s Touch, she asked Muse 3 whether Matt was on board. Now that he’d initiated the licensing process, Matt had taken to leaving Muse 3 enabled. However, Muse 3 had strict instructions on whom it could initiate speech with, or answer.

  “No, Ari. Matt said he will be on the surface of Priamos moon until next first shift.”

  “The entire night? Sorry, let me rephrase that. Does he intend to spend his sleep cycle down there?” Being planet-born, what Matt called a “grav- hugger,” Ariane often reverted to planetary rotation terms. Even her phrase of “down there” could be misleading, but at least Beta Priamos Station orbited Priamos.

  “Yes. Matt is staying in Visitors Quarters and will return to the ship around zero eight thirty.”

  She immediately pulled out the pint, popped the top with her thumb, and took a deep swig. It burned like hell going down, but she loved the warming calm she felt spreading from her stomach. As she walked past the control deck and checked status panels, she took a few more sips. By the time she climbed down to the galley and her quarters, the sound of unraveling was gone from her head.

  There was a message from Joyce in her queue. She lay down on her bed and played it, hoping there’d be good news about the audit of the Bright Crescent. Joyce only indicated it was still in progress; he spent more time on the investigations into Tahir’s murder and the explosives.

  Joyce was brutal about Pilgrimage security. They can’t even qualify as a clusterfuck, Major, with so many blind groping the blind, was his deadpan and dead-on assessment. She smiled as she sipped her pint. It was good to see his face and hear his voice, even if it was only a recording. His irritation proved he was getting better.

  Joyce had a right to be vexed. They’d given up on finding Tahir’s cause of death and Joyce managed to get Tahir’s body sent to Hellas Prime, where he hoped he could convince Pilgrimage HQ to call in forensics experts. Inquiry into the explosive attacks had hit an even thicker wall.

  She chuckled when Joyce said, “I’m pushing to have Benjamin order canine teams—I get such a kick seeing these crèche-get shudder when they think of hairy, drooling beasts running around their habitat. However, they could be the best solution, low-tech or not, to my problem.”

  At the end of his message, Joyce asked for updates. She knew he was referring, obliquely, to the Maria mission. No need to call him back, because I haven’t done squat. With a pang of guilt, she took a long sip.

  Ariane woke to the sound of her alarm. Her head was clear, surprisingly so, when she looked at the pint and realized how much she’d drunk. Last night had only been about the alcohol; she couldn’t even justify her drinking as socializing. This was another line her addiction counselor, Major Tafani, had warned her not to cross. She stuffed th
e pint of rotgut into her locker in the hygiene closet, behind one of her soap bottles. Leaving it beside her bed, or even in her quarters, was too close and personal. It nagged at her, but she couldn’t throw it away, not when it still had a third remaining.

  She checked Matt’s schedule. At the moment, he was coming up on the elevator, climbing the stalk in the long trek between moon and station. She considered calling him, but hesitated. Looking at his and her schedules, side by side, she decided that she wouldn’t call him under normal circumstances. Which made her pause; why was she so worried about normalcy? Her schedule had visits to Dr. Lee’s lab, as well as Novak and Lowry’s lab. She decided she didn’t want to face Dr. Lee so soon, and moved that session to after lunch.

  After devouring a big breakfast, she decided she couldn’t put off her mission much longer. She had to speak with Maria, but when? There wasn’t time for a trip down to Priamos, not for several days. On impulse, she called Maria, audio only.

  “Yes, Ms. Kedros?” Maria’s voice was chillingly polite.

  “I was given a package to hand carry to you, from the Pilgrimage.” She kept her voice relaxed.

  “I see. You’re the last person I’d expect a favor from.”

  “Agreed.” Ariane responded in an equally cool tone. “But a mutual acquaintance gave me an antique document you ordered, and told me to be careful with it.”

  Maria didn’t miss a beat. “It might be something I ordered more than a month ago.”

  “It’s a play titled ‘A Famous History of Troylus and Kressida,’ printed on paper, so I’d prefer to deliver it in person. Unfortunately, I don’t know when I can make the trip down to the surface.”

  “I’m working up on-station for a while,” Maria said. “I can meet you on Ring Three, near Maintenance Equipment and Supplies.”

  “How soon?”

  “Immediately.” Maria hung up.

  Well. Ariane grabbed the sealed box that Edones had given her. It contained, surrounded by inert gas, a certified copy of the play she mentioned—not an original, of course, but a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old limited print.

  She was off the ship in what she considered record time, but she didn’t beat Maria to the maintenance equipment office. As she approached, she saw the tall leggy blonde leaning against the side of the corridor, staying out of the way of maintenance carts and personnel departing for jobs. Maria had cleverly picked a high-traffic area with no ComNet nodes installed.

  “You have it?” Maria pushed away from the bulkhead and smoothed her cap of chin- length hair. Her eyes were focused on the package. “What about the price?”

  “I was given latitude to negotiate a few points. You can take possession of the document now, if you wish, and deal with details later.” Ariane handed her the package carefully. The package was the important part of their interchange, because an observer would concentrate upon it. And it was totally meaningless.

  “Details later, hmm? I can read your body language, Ms. Kedros, and it bodes a high price for me.”

  “We’ll talk.” She shrugged uncomfortably under Maria’s knowing glance. The Directorate had made itself perfectly clear, through written orders and Edones’s verbal instructions. AFCAW wasn’t going to pay for Maria’s defection unless they got decent intelligence from several years in place.

  Maria would also have to take risks. It was customary for the Directorate to promise “protection” to an informer, but this was unrealistic for deep cover operatives. If Maria backed out of this, Ariane would understand, but she’d also have to pressure Maria to stay the course. She took a deep breath. “We can meet at the end of this shift. I assume we’re both hip-deep in this expedition.”

  “I’m applying for the copilot and sensors seat.” Maria sniffed. “Sent in my records and recommendations this morning.”

  “I suppose I—” Ariane had to lean in to the bulkhead to avoid an elbow from a lab technician. More than station maintenance streamed by; the R&D laboratories had to requisition equipment through this office, also. This tech was Terran, with a loose lab coat over his tight jumpsuit. She caught a glance from angry blue eyes under a mop of straight caramel-colored hair. Someone was having a bad day. She finished with, “I should wish you good luck.”

  Maria watched the back of the tech with a strange expression, shook her head, and murmured, “I hope luck has nothing to do with it, Ms. Kedros.” She held the package close to her body as she strode away.

  Ariane watched her weave through the crowd in front of the maintenance office toward the other end of the hall. After passing a knot of people having an impromptu but heated discussion, a shorter figure with burgundy hair darted from behind the group to intercept Maria.

  Great. Sabina might have been shadowing Maria. Ariane watched the two greet each other, neither showing surprise. Maria bent her head to listen to the psychotic bitch but they both turned away, so Ariane couldn’t see their expressions.

  She sighed. This mission might be going sour, but that was more Maria’s problem than hers. She had physicists to consult, with hopes of kick-starting an ancient N-space buoy.

  After Maria entered, Sabina stood in the doorway until Isrid sent her off with a flicker of his hand.

  “Is she going to be a problem?” Isrid raised an eyebrow. Maria and Sabina had openly been lovers; Sabina herself had shown him video, for some purpose she wouldn’t divulge. Sabina didn’t know how to interact with people, other than to try manipulation. When Maria had distanced herself from everyone on the station, his wife had probably been hurt, but she’d responded by stepping up her machinations against everyone around her.

  “Not at all.” Maria responded blandly. She dropped a light carton, made for the protection of old paper documents, onto the table.

  Isrid shrugged. Maria had been forthcoming about her bisexuality, but she’d never publicized her relationships, nor acknowledged Sabina’s jealousies. He didn’t understand her reticence, and probably never would.

  “Let’s get to work.” Isrid rapidly filled her in on the many disparate facts. First, Andre Covanni was on-station, carrying out orders from Overlord Three. Second, threats were made against Parmet’s family that mentioned retribution for letting Major Kedros live, yet were referenced by Duval, who then blamed the threats on Kedros. Third, Duval’s information gathering had expanded to include the AFCAW Directorate of Intelligence, and he now had the balls to throw his weight around with Overlord Three’s staff, insinuating that Pax Minoica would be falling and taking all supporters with it.

  Maria zeroed in on Andre. She knew the code name, but she couldn’t know Andre’s identity as Dr. Istaga. “What’s Andre doing here?”

  “Cleaning up embarrassing loose ends, like letting somebody steal a TD weapon. He’s also inventorying Overlord Three’s assets, assessing loyalties, et cetera.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flickered. She’d been his best intelligence analyst, so she probably just accurately surmised that Andre had executed Dr. Rouxe. “Did Andre have anything to do with the explosive grenades planted on the Pilgrimage?”

  “He denied any involvement. Seemed rather offended by the insinuation, in fact.”

  “And Duval knows what was in the threats you received,” she said. “But only your personal security knew about them, and they say you allowed a destroyer of Ura-Guinn to go free.”

  He sighed. “So I always come back to the basic question: How did our kidnapping of Major Kedros become common knowledge on Overlord Six’s staff? That doesn’t make sense. Neither does Duval’s absurd attempt to blame Kedros for the threats.”

  “Who, on the Terran side, knows who Kedros is, and what she did?”

  “You, me, my wives—although they insist it’s gone no further. Andre knows, but he’s only briefed Overlord Three and his closest advisors. Some of my security know, generally, that I came in contact with someone responsible for Ura-Guinn, but they can’t know it’s Kedros, specifically. That still keeps it within Three’s sphere—”

 
“You haven’t mentioned Nathan,” she said.

  Nathanial Wolf Kim had been one of his close advisors, responsible for torturing Major Kedros, until Isrid stopped him. Nathan couldn’t handle the transition from military intelligence to industrial and economic espionage, or that’s how Isrid phrased it. In other words, Nathan couldn’t let go of the war. The irony was that the Overlord was pushing Isrid to be more flexible about his own attitudes, so Nathan became an anchor he couldn’t afford.

  “Nathan resigned, of his own free will.” Isrid had tried not to take it personally. “I ensured he got a job elsewhere with Overlord Three, a high- profile, career-building position that would help rebuild Terra.”

  Maria snorted. “You give him too much credit, SP. Nathan never wanted to build, or rebuild, as much as he wanted to destroy.”

  “He didn’t take the job?”

  “I don’t know.” Maria paused. “But we should find out. This morning, I suddenly thought I saw Nathan’s posture and walk, but it wasn’t.”

  Isrid got up to stretch his legs. “You’ll get the same access to records as Ensign Walker’s people have, so if Nathan’s here, you can find him.”

  “Who’s on the trusted list?”

  “You and I. Right now, we can trust only each other.”

  Maria flinched, minutely, at his words. Someone untrained in somaural reading wouldn’t have seen it, but he did. “I’ll get started immediately,” she said quietly.

  “Sure, I’m getting around.” As he spoke into his mike implant, Joyce eyed the torture implements near his bed, all designed to help him “get around.” There was the standard old-man walker that, even though it punctured his pride, turned out to be the most useful. The anti-grav harness was hard to strap on and caused nausea. There were various types of canes, all of which required more coordination than he could summon. Luckily, Matt Journey was a cheap bastard who didn’t want to pay for video, so he couldn’t see Joyce’s state.