He scowled. "You underestimated your enemy."
"Yes, Sir." At least that was the truth.
"You had no authority to engage a hostile in combat. You should have contacted Captain Glebe and let him deal."
"I felt the intruders would have escaped, Sir."
Makasa's nostrils flared. "The intruders did escape, Sir. And you sustained damage to a state-of-the-art fighter."
She winced. She'd never seen him so angry.
He rose to his feet and paced around the desk to stand over her, a vast bulk in a dark blue uniform. She could smell his cologne, hear his breath hissing softly, as she examined the details of the Fleet insignia on the buttons of his jacket.
"Never forget, Cruickshank, you are a Supertech. You do not fly fighter missions without very, very good cause. What if your ship had been destroyed? Hmmm? Not just a ship, but a ship with a Supertech flying it. The fighter is worth a fortune but your skills are worth much, much more."
"Yes, Sir."
Makasa wheeled, surprisingly light on his feet for such a large man, and paced back around to his side of the desk. The hover chair hissed as he lowered his weight into it. "Do I need to remind you that not quite two years ago we lost Morgan Selwood? The Coalition cannot afford that sort of thing."
"No, Sir." Selwood. Bloody Selwood. And he called her by her first name. Ellen was always Cruickshank, never Ellen. I hate you, Selwood. You're going to die. But first I'll tell you how much I hate you.
"This is most uncharacteristic of you. Never a blemish on your record before. Was there any reason for this?" The anger had dissipated.
"Over-exuberance, Sir. The Firebrand is a lovely ship." Ellen gazed at the floor, then looked up at him. "I'll admit I took the chance for a quick spin, to test its paces. And Captain Glebe had mentioned that Iniciara feels threatened by infiltrators from Solvaria. It seemed a wonderful opportunity."
Makasa had leaned back, his piggy eyes fixed on her face. Now the brows lowered. "And yet you were beaten."
"No, Sir. The ships escaped into shift space." Ellen met his gaze, forcing down the urge to lick her lips. Makasa was no fool.
"These pilots were good enough to damage a Supertech's ship?"
"The first ship was a Valyrie, and very well flown. The second ship appeared out of nowhere. I felt I did well to prevent the Firebrand being destroyed altogether." Glebe had accepted her explanation. How could he not?
The room was silent. The ever-present whisper of the climate conditioner sounded like a wind storm, underscored by the pounding of Ellen's heart.
"One of those ships was a Comet." Makasa had interlaced his fingers, his gold rings glinting.
"Yes, old technology, Sir. But some have been modified to out-perform the Kraits. Remember at Syermon?" She certainly did. It had been the source of her idea.
Makasa was tapping his fingertips together. Good. She'd just about convinced him.
"Sir, I confess the incident threw me." She glanced at his face and looked away. "Some time off might be in order. I've not taken leave in two years."
He heaved in a huge breath. "Leave. Yes. Yes, that may be wise. Go and relax somewhere. All right, Commander. I'll have the paperwork seen to. Dismissed."
Ellen saluted, turned on her heel and marched out, past the admiral's clerk and into the corridor, where she stopped and blew out a long breath. Time to go home to Tom. And prepare a suitable reception for Selwood.
***
Makasa waited until the door had closed on Cruickshank, then allowed his body to sag into the chair while he accessed the image of his favorite Supertech on his implant. Gods he missed Selwood. She was a woman he could spar with, someone who could match his moods, could infuriate him and surprise him. To think the idiots at the Academy had tried to persuade him to terminate her. All in the past, of course. Wishing couldn't bring her back but colorless non-entities like Cruickshank simply underlined the loss.
If Selwood had pulled a stunt like this – and he knew she probably would have – she would have won, even against two intruders.
Still. Cruickshank worried him. There was something about her, always had been. Bolyanov had talked him out of his misgivings, showing him her psychological profiles, her test scores. Those had all measured up, so they had proceeded and the girl had done well. A good, malleable Supertech. No men in her life, or women, either. She'd always done as she was told, rarely made any sort of error. She'd been promoted quickly through the technical ranks. She'd never be a man-manager, of course, but it didn't really matter for a Supertech. Why did she bother him so? Leaning back in his chair he called in his clerk to arrange the leave documents for Cruickshank.
After he'd finished the orders, the clerk left his office, the door closing gently behind the man.
Makasa stared at the closed door. Damn it. His gut instinct was screaming at him, and he'd learned many years ago not to ignore his instincts. He turned on the special jammers which prevented any chance of eavesdropping and sent a request to Andrew Chang.
Chang appeared in moments, nondescript, colorless, a man you'd miss in a moment. "Admiral." His gaze was fixed on something behind Makasa's left shoulder.
"I have a job for you."
The man waited.
"This woman. Ellen Cruickshank." Makasa raised her image on his desk. "I want you to follow her. She's a Supertech, so any technological tracking equipment will be pointless."
Chang's eyebrows lifted for a microsecond. "That will make it difficult. What am I looking for?"
"I feel she's up to something. But I don't know what. Look for anything unusual, follow wherever she goes."
A slight nod. "Where is she now?"
"For now, she has gone home. She has asked for leave, which I have granted."
Makasa tried to hold the agent's gaze, but the man's eyes swiveled away. "You'll report every day."
"Understood."
"Dismissed."
Chang eased out of the chair and left the room.
***
Carrying her bag, Ellen almost ran up the path to her ground floor apartment. The door slid aside at her approach. And there was Tom. She dropped her bag onto the ground and he leapt into her arms, rubbing his sleek black fur against her cheek, while he yowled piteously.
"Yes, I missed you, too, baby," she cooed, fondling his ears and running a hand over his back.
"Did they feed you properly?" She carried him out to the kitchen, put him down and found a bowl while he circled around her legs, his tail trailing over her pants. She'd had one of the clerks come in to feed him and see to his health while she was away but Tom would pretend he hadn't had anything to eat for weeks. Biscuits rattled in the bowl as Ellen poured them in, and the cat set to with a will. That would at least give her time to unpack.
By the time Ellen returned to the living room Tom had finished, licking his paws as he waited for her on the sofa. He turned reproachful yellow eyes on her and she could almost hear words in her head. 'I've been badly mistreated and I hope you'll be staying here to look after me properly for a while.'
Oh, he made her smile. Ellen sat beside him. "I've got some things to do. Will that be all right?"
All right as long as he could sit on her. He swaggered over and insinuated himself on her lap, turning himself around a couple of times before he subsided, purring.
Ellen brought up the image of the two men who'd been with Selwood on Iniciara. Ex-Admiral Ashkar Ravindra and Sudam Prasad. Licking her lips, she ran the footage of the fight again. Both men fought with almost feline grace, effortless and fluid; and Ravindra had picked up Selwood as easily as if she was a doll. Strange that Selwood, who always despised rank, should end up with a man like that. Then again, maybe it was just a working relationship. The record said Selwood was registered as the engineer on Curlew, after all. What's more, there had always been three of them; her and the two men. Maybe this was a threesome? Ellen certainly wouldn't put it past Selwood. The very thought was enough to send a throbbing tingle to h
er groin.
Tom shifted on her lap and began to knead, digging the points of his claws into her skin just enough for her to register his presence. Ellen ran a hand down his silken back and he settled again.
And now she'd better see what she could find out about the delightful Admiral Ravindra. She sought out the data port on the wall and requested a connection with the intelligence system. What was known about Coromandel?
The planet appeared in her mind, the usual blue-and-white ball, the inner-most world of a four-planet system. Coromandel had resisted becoming a part of the Coalition, despite numerous attempts, but relations with the Coalition were cordial and they transacted their business in Galactic Standard. Sensible.
Ellen delved into the intelligence data, drawing out images and reports about the power players on the planet. No Ravindra. Even if he had retired a few years ago, he should still be listed here. The Coalition had kept an eye on its independent neighbors for a long time. No Marion Sefton or Sudam Prasad, either; but then she hadn't expected there would be. Perhaps a different name? But none of the images for the power players matched Ravindra, either.
Ellen withdrew from the systems. "Come on, Tom," she said, hoisting the complaining cat over her arm. "I need a cup of tea."
Tom draped himself around her shoulders while she found a cup and pushed it under the dispenser.
So Admiral Ashkar Ravindra didn't exist. Hot fluid splashed into her cup, wafting the rich fragrance of mountain blossom. Not on Coromandel, anyway. Who was he? Where did he really come from? And more to the point, where had Selwood been for near on two years? And why was she back?
Ellen strolled back into the living room and sat, the cat still ensconced around her neck. She sipped at the tea, feeling the warm fluid trickle down her throat. "What do you think, Tom? Has she defected to… somebody? Doesn't really make sense, does it? And why did they go and visit the museum and the cathedral?"
"Oh." She jerked upright, causing Tom to leap to the floor, hissing. The Conflagration museum. And they'd inspected the paintings of the war at the cathedral. Everybody knew the illustrations were fanciful, that no-one really had any idea what the war machines had looked like. Would that be what they were looking for, she and the obviously military man she worked for? The real plans for the fabled war machines?
Ellen put the cup down. Should she tell Makasa? The thought went in one side of her mind and out the other. Admit she'd lied to him? That Selwood was back and she'd tried to kill her? The cat sat at Ellen's feet, his tail curled neatly over his toes, his yellow eyes on her face as she drained the last of her tea.
"Maybe I'll just watch and wait, Tom. She'll be coming here. I'll set up the system to tell me when she arrives. I'll follow her, find out what she knows." She swept the cat up and twirled him around in a dance. "If I can find the design for the war machines I'll be famous, as well as getting those admiral's stars." She stopped, gazing deep into his eyes. "And then I'll get rid of her."
In the meantime, how nice it was to be back home, in her own bed. She snuggled under the covers, Tom's familiar weight at her feet. The image of ex-admiral Ravindra rose in her mind. He'd make a wonderful addition to her collection. She started the Playmate simulation with a thought, reveled as she found herself in a virtual reality where she was the only woman and men did whatever she wanted them to do. Her current favorite was ready and waiting, a smile on his handsome lips. Ellen dismissed him, loading Ravindra's avatar in his place.
"Come here, Ashkar. I want you to kiss me. Every single bit of me."
The avatar advanced, naked and ready. Ellen squirmed in the bed, moisture pooling between her thighs.
Chapter 8
Morgan found Prasad sitting with Jirra, frowning at his work station. "Hello. Have you discovered anything interesting?"
Jirra jerked upright, the smile fading from her face. "Sudam was just showing me the book."
Morgan raised her hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
But Jirra was on her feet, heading for the hatch. "I'll see you later," she said over her shoulder as she stepped through.
Well, well. Morgan turned to Prasad, who leaned back, stretching his shoulders, a copy of one of the books they'd bought from the Conflagration Museum open on the screen in front of him. "It hasn't been easy, given it's in an older version of your language."
"No, I guess not." She subsided into the chair Jirra had vacated. "What's with you and Jirra?"
"Nothing. We're all in this together, aren't we?"
She couldn't read Prasad. Ravindra, yes, unless he really didn't want her to, but Prasad was a past master at hiding his emotions. She guessed it came with the job. You didn't get to intelligence chief by broadcasting your thoughts and emotions to everybody.
"It's all right, really it is. I think it's great for her. I know she's not really happy in her marriage."
"The book is little more than a diatribe, a holier-than-thou cleric issuing dire warnings. It was written maybe two hundred years after the events." Prasad's expression hadn't changed. He hadn't said mind your own business, but he might as well have.
"That's what I thought, too, but you might have picked up some things I wouldn't have noticed."
"I don't think so. It's obvious they destroyed the Rosmenyo complex, if we ever doubted it."
Morgan's didn't. She had an eyewitness account, here on her implant. She played it for herself, the vision Artemis had shown her.
A transport stood on a sodden plain surrounded by high fences. Rain poured down. Lightning flared, revealing people behind the fence. And then the fence itself was struck and exploded into brilliant destruction. Bodies littered the ground but the mob trampled over them, running, faces twisted in fury. They converged on the ship, brandishing staves and spears, flinging rocks that bounced harmlessly off the hardened fuselage. The ship fired back. More bodies fell. A voice spoke, male, tired. 'Go, Artemis. I can’t get to you.' The attackers broke into the transport, Morgan saw a swift view of contorted faces, clubs and the vision failed.
The priest had devoted a whole chapter to the great Arch-demon Zenji, who corrupted humans and sent them out to do his bidding. Rosmenyo was accused of being a high priest to the demon. Superstitious drivel. Then the priest described how a righteous army had destroyed the heretic's works. Righteous army. Sure. She'd rather believe Artemis's version. Regardless, it was clear the historians had excavated the site and found nothing.
What had she expected? Morgan had read the books, and hadn't found anything more than they already knew, amidst the warnings of the consequences of using intelligent machines. She hadn't known whether to laugh, or get mad, especially when she reached the preachy bit about how their god would smite the wicked users of technology.
"In this crazy religion, you would probably be seen as the devil herself." Prasad cocked an eyebrow.
She grinned, leaning an elbow on the desk and supporting her cheek on her fist. "Probably. We've come a long way, haven't we?"
"Is this why they created people like you? A kind of interface, someone who thinks like a human but with machine attributes?"
"Guess so." Morgan had been told the history at school and in her training and found the reasoning absurd. Reading this ancient priest's words, written relatively soon after the Conflagration, brought the message home. Imagine what a megalomaniac Supertech could do? No wonder Makasa had tested her.
Prasad's lips jerked as he studied her face. "You don't know what to do, do you?"
"There's nothing in this to go on. No leads, nothing real. We'll have to hope there are more records on Torreno."
"There is a museum?"
"Yes, there are records at a few universities—but there's a main center on the Conflagration at the Torreno National Library. That's where I thought we'd start." Morgan didn't say the rest. Prasad would probably realize it wasn't going to be easy.
"Did you look at the original document this translation was taken from?" Prasad flicked his fingers at the screen. He
meant the digitized copy of the actual manuscript held in the cathedral, which had been included with the texts they had bought.
"It's very hard to read. I think the scholars did a bit of guessing here and there." The pages, made from pulped plant materials, were tattered. Here and there, the material had disintegrated or the print had smudged.
"I'll take your word on that. What about the pictures?" Prasad moved the display to the appendices at the end of the book and brought up one of the images, a photo of a group of people at a gathering. A smiling man, identified as Doctor Rosmenyo, was being handed a document.
"Do we really care what Rosmenyo looked like?"
"Maybe not, but what about the others? And are there any clues in the setting?"
"Not for me. But the folks at the Library might be able to help." Morgan stood. "Guess I'd better get up to the bridge. We should be coming up on Torreno very soon."
Prasad smiled. "I'm still finding it hard to get used to the speed of transit through shift space."
She paused, resting a hand on the back of the chair. "It's amazing, isn't it? Iniciara isn't the farthest planet from Torreno by a long shot but even so, it would take a military transport twenty days and we're doing it in ten. And we could've done it in less if I'd pushed us through to another dimension."
"Our ancestors must have had similar technology."
"Yeah. That or time travel." She tapped the chair back. "I'll see you later."
Jirra sat in the captain's chair on the bridge, her eyes on the instrument array. Judging by the tension in her shoulders, she knew Morgan had arrived and wasn't in a mood to talk. "Everything okay?" Morgan asked.
Jirra nodded. "All routine, as you'd expect. I did the last check a few minutes ago."
She meant the usual hourly cycle, where whoever was on duty went through a checklist which included a visit to the engine room. The ship's information system would have reported an error before a human would notice, but it didn't hurt for everyone to be familiar with all the systems and the hardware.
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