Silent Order_Master Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

“Oh, um,” she said. “You might also want to have the house computer delete the security footage for the last half-hour or so.”

  “Right,” said March. Given that Adelaide was a Beta Operative of the Silent Order, her house had robust security systems. Security cameras covered the entrances and several of the rooms on the main floor. And come to think of it, they would have been right in the line of sight from the dining room camera. “Not the sort of thing we want floating around if it gets hacked.”

  “I prefer the live performances anyway.” Adelaide grinned and disappeared into the basement. March stood up and retrieved his shorts, and a moment later he heard the thump of the treadmill in the basement. He tracked down one of Adelaide’s spidery cleaning drones and instructed it to clean the kitchen and the dining room carpet, and the robot got to work. Then he went to the computer terminal in Adelaide’s downstairs office and checked the security recordings.

  March didn’t often feel embarrassment, but he did when he saw the recording from the kitchen.

  He didn’t even like to look at his reflection, let alone to watch himself naked with Adelaide.

  He deleted the footage at once, and then stood up, frowning.

  It was a trivial matter, and no harm had been done.

  Yet it bothered him.

  He was an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order. Noticing security cameras was something he had to do. Yet he had been so gripped with desire for Adelaide that he had forgotten all about the cameras. His brain had shut off, and he had been thinking with…

  Well. He knew what had been doing the thinking.

  It wasn’t the kind of mistake he usually made. In the field, it might be fatal.

  March shook his head and walked back to the kitchen, circling around the drone as it whirred over the carpet. He decided to clear his head by making breakfast. Yes, that was a good plan. He would surprise Adelaide when she came upstairs, and…

  He had left his phone on the counter, and it started buzzing as he approached.

  An incoming call.

  March picked up the screen, and his mind went cold and clear.

  The call was from Censor. The head of the Silent Order wouldn’t call him for a trivial reason.

  Censor had a mission for him.

  March took a deep breath, accepted the call, and lifted the phone to his ear. This was, he realized, the first time he had ever taken a call from Censor while not fully dressed. Thank God Censor never used video links.

  “Sir?” he said.

  “Hello, Captain March,” came the familiar dry voice, a voice so familiar that March’s own thoughts sometimes spoke in it. “I trust you are well?”

  “Very well, sir,” said March.

  For once in his life, that was entirely true.

  “Good,” said Censor. “It seems you have stumbled upon something of a hornet’s nest on your recent trip.”

  “The Howard Carter and Dr. Anna Siegfried, sir?” said March. He walked from the kitchen and did a quick circuit of the lower floor, looking through the windows. (Thank God all the shades had been drawn!) Adelaide’s house was in one of Calaskar City’s more rural suburbs, and as far as March could tell, no one was watching the property.

  “That is correct,” said Censor. “That was good work, by the way. The Agotanni Pirates are a menace, and rescuing even one survivor helped improve our position with the Mercatorian government. However, I’m afraid the attack on the Howard Carter was the edge of a more dangerous situation.”

  “How so?” said March, stopping in the living room. He thought about sitting in one of the easy chairs, decided he was too sweaty for that, and stayed standing.

  “What do you know,” said Censor, “about the fall of the Fifth Terran Empire?”

  “Not much, sir,” said March, his stomach tightening. The last time someone had talked to him about the five ancient empires of humanity had been when the Wasps had attacked Vesper’s World. “Only what I’ve picked up in casual conversation. They were the last of the old human empires, the last attempt to unify all of mankind under a single central interstellar government. The Fifth Empire collapsed because of a civil war over biotechnology. The founders of Calaskar fled the fall of the Empire, and so did the ancestors of the people who eventually started the Final Consciousness.”

  “Accurate,” said Censor. “The Fifth Empire, as you will no doubt recall, arose after the Wasps destroyed the Fourth Empire.”

  “Yes,” said March. It was easy to remember things that he had learned the hard way.

  “The leaders of the Fifth Empire always feared the Eumenidae would return,” said Censor, “and so naturally their research interests turned towards biotechnology. Rather in imitation of the Wasps, I suppose. The Empire began massive experiments with human augmentation and modification. Eventually, the Imperial leadership hit upon the idea of reforming all of society into genetically modified classes, with each class specifically modified to serve its designated function.”

  “That sounds a great deal like the Final Consciousness, sir,” said March. “Only with biotech instead of cybernetics and alien technology.”

  “The dream of collectivist tyranny is an old one, I am afraid,” said Censor. “As you can imagine, the various proposed subjects of this great bioengineering project objected rather forcefully, and the Fifth Empire disintegrated in a massive civil war.”

  “I’m going to guess that Dr. Siegfried’s field of research was the Fifth Terran Empire?” said March

  “You guess correctly, Captain,” said Censor. “Dr. Siegfried has degrees in both bioengineering and history, and she is the University of Mercator’s leading expert on the Fifth Terran Empire. Truth be told, she is one of the leading experts on the Fifth Empire anywhere in known human space.”

  March thought it over. “Just what did Dr. Siegfried dig up, sir?”

  “Most of the relics aboard the Howard Carter were primarily historical in nature – statues, artwork, that sort of thing,” said Censor. “All of it valuable enough for the Agotanni Pirates to risk the raid, but Dr. Siegfried did find an item of particular interest. Specifically, she located a sealed shipping case from the Fifth Empire that contained nine metal canisters about the size of a human forearm.”

  March didn’t like where this conversation was going. “And what was inside those canisters?”

  “A live sample of biomorphic fungi.”

  The words made no sense to March, and for a wild instant, he wondered if the head of the Silent Order had made a joke.

  “Biomorphic…fungi, sir?” he said.

  “You haven’t heard of it, I assume.”

  “No. What is it?”

  Censor cleared his throat. “A biological weapon that targets anything its user wants.” His voice was grave. “It was one of the deadliest weapons of the Fifth Empire. The biomorphic fungi is, in essence, infinitely reprogrammable. The Imperial military could program the fungus’s DNA before deploying it as a weapon. The fungus could be configured to attack, for example, human life signs. Or the metal employed in starship construction. Or specific age groups. In its most deadly form, a properly configured sample of biomorphic fungi could annihilate a planetary ecosystem. The Fifth Empire destroyed many inhabitable worlds to contain the rebellion.”

  “The biomorphic fungi is a biological weapon of mass destruction,” said March. He liked this less and less. “And the Agotanni Pirates now have it.”

  “You see the problem,” said Censor.

  “What are they going to do with it?” said March. “The most logical course of action for the Agotanni would be to use the weapon for blackmail, or to sell it.” The certainty came to him. “They’re going to try to sell it.”

  “In point of fact,” said Censor, “they’re going to auction it off to the highest bidder. The Agotanni Pirates have contracted with the Masters of Burnchain Station to sell the canisters of biomorphic fungi. You are, of course, familiar with Burnchain Station. We can expect every expansionist dictator and terrorist or
ganization to show up for the auction, and the Machinists will likely send agents to attempt to purchase the weapon.”

  March’s fingers tightened against his phone. He knew what the Final Consciousness would do with a programmable weapon of biological mass destruction.

  “Yes,” said March. “Am I assume that I am to go to Burnchain Station and stop the sale of the biomorphic fungi?”

  “That is correct,” said Censor. “Specifically, you are to destroy the fungi. It is too dangerous to fall into any hands, even our own. Even the simple act of possessing the weapon could cause a war.”

  “Burnchain Station moves around, sir,” said March. “Do we know where it is?”

  “Not yet, but we will,” said Censor. “Some of the other Operatives of our Order have obtained copies of the invitations to the auction. Those include the location of Burnchain Station. We will provide you with a forged copy of the invitation, along with a false transponder code for your ship. Your mission, Captain March, is to proceed to Burnchain Station, and locate and destroy the containers of biomorphic fungi by any means necessary.”

  “Yes, sir,” said March. “I will probably need help.”

  “Agreed,” said Censor. “Which is why Dr. Siegfried will be accompanying you.”

  March hesitated. “That’s…not at all a good idea, sir.”

  “Might I ask why not?”

  “Dr. Siegfried is an academic,” said March. “They’re generally useless and completely lacking in all practical skills. And Burnchain Station is an extremely dangerous place for the unprepared.” And for the prepared, truth be told.

  The dry note in Censor’s voice got drier. “Given that you are almost certainly taking this call at the home of Dr. Adelaide Taren, Captain March, one wonders if you have begun to reconsider your opinion of academics.”

  March suppressed a sigh. When he had told Censor about his relationship with Adelaide, he had expected the head of the Silent Order to rebuke him and order him to end the relationship at once. Instead, Censor had proven indifferent, though from time to time there were those dry, amused comments.

  “Don’t tell Adelaide I said this,” said March, “but she’s really more of an entertainer and a popular writer than an academic.”

  “Mmm. Well, considerations of Dr. Taren’s career choices aside, you will need the help of Dr. Siegfried,” said Censor. “She is an expert in the technology of the Fifth Empire, and her help will be required to safely disarm and destroy the biomorphic fungi. Additionally, we have been in talks with the Mercatorian government on the matter. They, too, want the fungi destroyed before it falls into the wrong hands. I’m afraid that Dr. Siegfried’s presence on this mission is not optional, Captain.”

  “Very well, sir,” said March, knowing when he had lost the argument. “I’ll make the best of it.”

  “Good man,” said Censor. “Additionally, you will have three other members on your team. Dr. Melissa Northridge, a biologist from the research division of the Ministry of Defense, and her assigned bodyguard, Lieutenant Kent Alan of the Royal Calaskaran Marines.”

  “Yes, sir,” said March, grimacing. Another scientist? “Can I ask their purpose on this mission?”

  “Dr. Northridge is likewise an expert on bioengineering,” said Censor. “The Mercatorians have sent their expert, and we shall send ours. Lieutenant Alan is Dr. Northridge’s bodyguard and a combat veteran. I will send you their files with the rest of the information.”

  “Yes, sir,” said March again. “Who will be the third member of the team?”

  “Another Alpha Operative of the Order,” said Censor. “You’ve worked with him before. Specifically, John November.”

  “Oh,” said March. “That’s good news, sir.”

  “Indeed?” said Censor. The dry voice got drier again. “Usually when I inform an operative they’ve going to work with Mr. November, the reaction is somewhat less than enthusiastic.”

  “He’s competent and knows his business,” said March. “If he’s a bit blunt, well, I prefer an unpleasant man who tells the truth to a charming man who lies constantly.” Though calling John November “blunt” was a bit like saying the core of a star was “somewhat warm.”

  “Very good,” said Censor. “Dr. Siegfried is awaiting you on Calaskar Station. Mr. November will meet you in three days’ time on Alexandria Station. You should be able to take the Tiger there by then. For security reasons, November has Dr. Northridge and Lieutenant Alan’s location, and he will direct you to them. Once you have them, you can proceed to Burnchain Station.”

  “Yes, sir,” said March. “If I can start reviewing the information as soon as possible, that would be welcome.”

  “The files on this mission are being sent to the Tiger even now,” said Censor. “Good luck, Captain March. Remember, your primary objective is to destroy the biomorphic fungi by any means necessary. If you have to bring it back with you to Calaskar, so be it, but better to destroy it if possible.”

  “I understand, sir,” said March.

  “Good,” said Censor. “I look forward to hearing of your success.”

  The call ended.

  March lowered his phone, started to put it in his pocket, and then remembered that he was only wearing his exercise shorts. Instead, he stepped into the kitchen and put the phone on the counter, looking around as he did so.

  And he thought about how much he did not want to leave.

  He was going to leave, though. March had a mission, and he was going to fulfill it. He would not let the Machinists claim a deadly ancient biological weapon.

  March wanted to fulfill his mission, but he did not want to leave.

  The contradiction left him uneasy.

  But he had work to do, and he set about it. He went upstairs and took a quick shower in the bathroom off Adelaide’s bedroom. Once that was done, he dressed and used his laptop computer to book a seat on the next passenger shuttle leaving the Calaskar City spaceport for Calaskar Station. So many of Calaskar’s industries and production facilities were located off-planet in high orbital stations or on asteroids that the planet’s spaceports typically had passenger shuttles heading for Calaskar Station every eight hours.

  He was packing when Adelaide came into the bedroom, breathing hard, her shorts and exercise bra soaked through with sweat, her skin glistening with it. She came to a sudden halt and looked at him in surprise.

  “The call was from Censor,” said March. “I have a mission. I think I’ll be gone for about two or three weeks.”

  “Ah,” said Adelaide. “It’s about that business with Anna Siegfried, isn’t it?”

  March frowned. “How did you know?” Shooting down pirates and rescuing injured foreigners was hardly classified, so he had told Adelaide all about it.

  “Because I know Anna Siegfried,” said Adelaide, pulling her sweaty hair out of its tail and running her fingers through it. “She always pushed a little too hard. Probably dug up something she shouldn’t have.”

  March grunted, unsure of how to respond to that.

  Adelaide smiled. “And don’t talk to me about Xenostas. I just wanted to make an interesting documentary. I didn’t intend to dig up those alien relics.” Her smiled faded. “Dr. Siegfried, though…she’s made a career of looking for dangerous things. She’s obsessed with the technology of the Fifth Terran Empire, and a lot of that stuff is dangerous. Bet she found something unpleasant.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” said March, “but I can’t stop you from figuring it out, either.”

  Adelaide sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Some of the animation seemed to drain out of her features, making her look sad and tired. She always reacted that way when she found out he had to leave on a mission, but she never cried, never complained, never got angry.

  She understood.

  And she proved it when she straightened up, her gray eyes glinting like knife blades.

  “You’re going to hurt the Machinists?” said Adelaide.

  “Yes,” said
March. “If I can.”

  “Good,” whispered Adelaide.

  March and Adelaide were in many ways very different people. But they had one thing in common, something that most people did not understand and hopefully would never understand.

  She hated the Final Consciousness as much as he did.

  In fact, he thought she might hate it more. The Machinists had taken March and turned him into an Iron Hand, transforming his body with their cybernetics and nanotech and filling his mind with the thunder of the Final Consciousness itself. The man he was now was a long way from the boy he had been in the labor camp on Calixtus.

  But they had done the same thing to Adelaide. She had been a young wife, happy and pregnant and looking forward to the future. Then Simon Lorre had set off his bombs, and Adelaide’s husband had died next to her in their car, and her child had miscarried as she lay trapped in the wreckage.

  When the rescue crews had finally dug her out of the ruined car, hours later, she had been transformed just as March had been. The pregnant young wife had become the kind of woman who could shoot a Machinist agent in the back of the head without hesitation.

  And if the Final Consciousness ever burned, March and Adelaide would stand hand in hand and watch the flames.

  Perhaps that made his absences easier, the knowledge that he was going to hurt the enemy who had scarred them both.

  “What time do you have to leave?” said Adelaide, pulling herself together.

  “I’ve got a seat on the evening shuttle from the spaceport,” said March.

  Adelaide nodded. “I’ll drive you.” She stepped forward and kissed him, the salt of her sweat upon her lips. “I love you, Jack.”

  He knew she did. And he loved her, strange and alien as the emotion was to him. He hadn’t loved anyone for a long, long time. Words were not his strength, but they were short words, so he made himself say them.

  “And I love you,” he said.

  “I’ll clean up, and we can go,” she said, pulling off her sports bra. March’s eyes lingered on her. “Come shower with me.”

  “I already showered,” said March.

  She grinned and slipped out of her shorts. “Twice in the same day won’t hurt anyone.”