by Sean Danker
It made sense that the general would have one. The suit would ensure that, at least physically, she would have no difficulty keeping up. “That’s cheating,” Rada said.
“Hey, you weren’t wearing that when we had to run to the ship,” Woodhouse said. “You still got it, ma’am.”
One corner of her mouth twisted upward. “I do this to illustrate a point. Let us consider it a teaching moment.” She began to push Major Morel’s arm down. He fought her, but he couldn’t win. She forced him to the ground.
“How many of you looked up Ling Bai after we killed her last night?” the general asked, still holding Morel down.
“I did,” Major Lucas said.
“So did I, ma’am.” That came from Yeoman DiJeur.
“Me too,” Rada added. Bjorn kept silent, though he had as well.
“Then you learned that she was actually rather formidable, as such people go. Certainly not the most celebrated or prolific pirate, but she did not lack for nerve, and there is ample record of her accomplishing much with little. She was a perfectly competent captain. And yet you see what an impact a small difference in technology can have,” Dayal said, letting go of Morel’s hand. Red-faced, but calm, the big major rubbed his hand and got to his feet. “I trust I’ve made my point.”
“Yes, ma’am.” DiJeur was glowing.
“I have got to get one of those,” Lucas said, stretching.
“Is it as hard to use as they say?” Compton asked.
The general hesitated. “It does take discipline,” she admitted after a moment. “Not to destroy everything one touches.” She looked down at her gloved hand, opening and closing the fingers. “I have to deactivate it to fly.”
Woodhouse whistled. “Can I borrow it, ma’am?”
She ignored him.
“Does anyone have any broadcast time they could part with?” DiJeur cut in, sounding sheepish.
“Didn’t you just send a message home?” Rada asked her.
“I only have a couple years until my niece won’t think I’m the best anymore.” The girl rubbed her hands together. “I’m just asking.”
“I’d offer you mine, child,” the general said, vaguely apologetic. “But I have my great-grandchildren to think about. They’re terribly excited that I’m back in action. Literally,” she added tiredly.
“Of course, ma’am.” DiJeur sighed.
“Take mine, Rebecca.”
She looked up at Major Compton. “Really, sir?”
“It’s fine. I’ll share Walter’s.”
“What’s mine is yours,” Major Lucas said, shaking his head. “She just wants war stories from us. It’s not that hard.”
“I don’t like doing that.”
“Fine.”
“We did just kill Ling Bai,” Woodhouse pointed out.
“Which is classified,” Compton reminded him. “The little princess wants to hear about us swashbuckling through space, getting into sword fights with Ganraen princes.”
“As one does,” Ibuki said, passing by on his way to his fighter.
“But not Prince Dalton,” Lucas said quickly, grinning.
“Oh no,” Compton agreed, putting his hands up. “Not him.”
“She’s into Ganraen music?” Bjorn asked, unable to help himself.
“She’s into a lot of stuff,” Compton said frankly.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” Lucas said mildly.
“She’s my wife too.”
“Someday I’ll have husbands,” Rada said, waving her finger at Lucas and Compton. “And they’ll fight over me. Just like this. You’ll see.”
“He started it,” Compton said.
Bjorn smiled, but he noticed that Yeoman DiJeur was not smiling. The Lydia was only eighty hours into the cruise, but her adoration for Major Compton was already fairly obvious. She didn’t like being reminded he was married.
DiJeur didn’t seem the type to disobey orders; she would keep her implant active, numbing her reproductive urges. But she still had emotional needs, and it looked like the fatherly figure that Compton presented really hit her where she lived. Bjorn decided it wasn’t his place to tell her to work on her poker face.
“We’re off course,” Rada said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon, Ensign,” the general said, looking over her shoulder. She’d been making for the hatch.
Rada pointed at the force shield. “Look. It’s Archimedes. It’s not precise, but we shouldn’t be able to see it off starboard.” She started forward. “It should be behind us somewhere. We’re moving toward Ganraen space.”
“We could just be correcting,” Bjorn said, following her.
“I’ve been staring at it for five minutes. I just realized why I was so hung up.” She shook her head. “We’re not on course for Oasis right now.”
“Good eye, Grigori.” Lucas drew even with them. “But don’t look so tense. If the commander’s rerouting us without saying anything, there must be a reason. Lydia, give me front view and a local chart. I’ll bet we’re just diverting to get those smugglers.”
The others joined them at the force shield. Images began to appear in the air as the AI obeyed the major’s requests.
“Here we are.” Rada enlarged the hologram. “See?”
Woodhouse gazed at the feed. “What’s that up ahead?”
“Debris field,” Rada said, folding her arms. “But why are we going in there? Is there a target?”
“If there was, we’d be on alert. Whatever we’re doing, it’s meant to be discreet.” Major Compton looked at General Dayal. “What do you think, ma’am?”
“Commander Mao has not given us any reason to question her judgment,” the old woman stated simply. “I’m inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Who’s the secondary helmsman?” Woodhouse asked curiously, looking around at the group.
“It’s me,” Bjorn said, biting his lip. A detour this early in the cruise struck him as odd. “Would it be impolite to ask her?”
“Not especially,” Compton murmured. He activated his com. “Commander, why are we off course?”
“Sealed orders,” Mao replied. “How’d you know?”
“We’re looking out the window.”
“Oh. Well, relax. No need to panic yet. Maybe soon though; we’re almost there.”
“Almost where, ma’am? There’s nothing here,” Lucas said, returning to the chart. “Oh,” he said, realization dawning on his face. The com went dead. Lucas shook his head and looked at Compton. “Intel?”
“Could be anything. A buoy or a listening station. SOS, change of orders. But it’d have to be something shady,” Compton said, looking thoughtful. “Any diversion should be worth an alert, and the only reason not to go to alert is to keep it off the log.” He shook his head. “Special ops.”
“Am I the only one not following?” DiJeur asked, looking from face to face hopefully.
“We’re going somewhere that isn’t on the map,” Bjorn told her, watching the general. “Unofficially. Read that however you like.”
DiJeur frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Until recently this was unregulated space. An Evagardian military presence wouldn’t be illegal, but it would be suggestive. If it had been public knowledge, that would sort of hint toward the Empress’ intention to annex,” Major Lucas said, then looked directly at her. “You think we don’t have stuff out here?”
DiJeur looked embarassed, but Rada cut in.
“I thought we annexed it so we could lawfully cut down Ganrae’s mercenary options,” she said.
Lucas made a noncommittal gesture with his shoulders. “Maybe,” he said.
“You mean the Empress wanted it all along?”
“No one is saying that. Though the Empress doesn’t oppose expansion,” General
Dayal said, folding her hands behind her back. “She merely has her own way of going about it. Always has. If you know your history, you’ll know of something called manifest destiny, and that the Grand Duchess had very strong feelings about not repeating that arrogance, something she’s been at odds with through history.”
“The Grand Duchess died hundreds of years ago,” DiJeur pointed out.
“The Grand Duchess is eternal. The Once and Future Empress, as they said, in reference to certain Old Earth literature.”
Woodhouse gave the general a funny look. “That’s not literal,” he said. “Her influence is eternal. Her ideals might be eternal. Her will is eternal, because her servants will always be there to implement it. She’s not eternal. She’s buried under a statue on Old Earth.”
“What statue?” Rada asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Call of the Motherland,” Woodhouse told her.
“That’s a myth, Woodhouse,” the general told him. “She did admire that statue. But she wasn’t even Russian. And she’s not buried on Earth.”
“Then where is she buried?”
“Good question,” the general said, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
“Do you know what’s out here, ma’am?” Bjorn asked.
She shook her head. “No, Lieutenant. I was never involved in this end of things. And I’ve been retired twenty years.” She shrugged. “I’ve been many things, but never a spy.”
“What’s that?” Rada asked, stepping closer to the feed.
“Wreckage,” Woodhouse replied, pointing. “That’s a hull. Look at the lines.”
“But look at what it’s doing. It’s not moving with the rest of the debris.”
“Suspicious, right?” Mao said.
Everyone jumped. Yeoman DiJeur actually cried out in surprise. The commander had appeared in the middle of the group without anyone noticing, and now she stepped forward.
“Technically only the general and myself have clearance for this, so we’re going to bend the rules a little. I’m reading between the lines, but it sounds like we’re in for some bad news. That affects all of us, so I say you’ve all got a right to be here.”
“Commander, we are being hailed,” Lydia said.
“I can see why,” Mao replied.
“Commander, will you accept the communication?”
“You’re just like my parents, Lydia.” Mao gave an exaggerated groan. “You don’t get me. Let them through.”
A woman about Mao’s age with pale hair in a regulation cut appeared on the force shield.
“In my day you had to be on the bridge for this,” the general murmured. Woodhouse snorted.
“Commander Mao,” the woman said. “And your whole crew,” she added, arching an eyebrow.
“Major Nelson, we meet again,” Mao said, saluting.
Nelson returned it. Behind her, Bjorn could see what looked like a cramped command bridge.
“Kelly, I wondered if you’d be willing to extend me a little hospitality.”
“How long have you been stuck in there?” Mao asked, grinning.
“Almost six months.”
“How’s your psych report?”
“My what? No, seriously. Please let me come aboard,” Nelson said.
“Lydia, go ahead and mate us. Major Nelson’s coming over.”
The feed vanished.
“That’s a ship?” DiJeur said incredulously.
“Not even that,” Mao said, putting her back to the shield and leaning on it. Bjorn thought that was an intensely reckless thing to do; if the AI decided to, it could let her slip right through it into space. “It’s just a habitat. No engines. It has enough systems to perform its functions and support life. Anything more would make it too easy to detect.” She waved a hand. “EI and the fleet have these things everywhere.”
“I take it you know this woman,” Major Compton said. Bjorn looked back to see that the bay was filling up. Only Kladinova and Major Morel were absent.
“We were friends for the first module of officer training. I was so jealous when they fast-tracked her into intel. Then she ends up here. I had no idea; I figured she’d been killed in the war, or sent off to do real spy stuff.”
“This is real spy stuff,” Major Compton pointed out.
“Disappointing, right?” Mao stretched her arms over her head and yawned.
“Is she alone?” Woodhouse asked.
“No, there’ll be an AI and she’ll have an aide.”
“A male aide?”
“Empress, I hope so. She’s not allowed to have VR in there.” Mao rubbed at her eyes and faced the shield. “But I don’t know. She wants to brief us in person, for obvious reasons.”
“Should I evaluate her?” Woodhouse sounded genuinely concerned.
“I doubt there’ll be time.”
Bjorn shuddered. Being stuck in such a tiny space for a long time couldn’t be easy. The Lydia wasn’t much, but coming aboard would be like shore leave for Major Nelson.
The crew watched the outpost draw nearer. It was indistinguishable from the surrounding debris. Bjorn was impressed with Rada’s call, but attention to detail was something you liked to see in a tech.
So, Mao had been discreetly ordered to divert to this location to receive a report from its duty officer. The commander was probably right. The chances of this being good news didn’t seem high. Bjorn watched the commander uneasily. He’d already been worried that there were too many details out of place with this mission, was already too much askew.
This wasn’t helping.
7
THE Lydia swung gracefully around, lining up Red Bay with the floating outpost. An active camouflage shield wavered and vanished, revealing an airlock. The doors had been designed to mimic the corroded wreckage all around.
The ship extended a tubular force shield with a faint bluish tint. The only reason for the color was so that people would know it was there.
“Commander, passage is authorized.”
Mao activated the com. “Nelson, you’re clear to come over.”
The doors opened, and a figure in an EV appeared, pushing off from the hatch’s frame. She drifted through the tube of shimmering blue.
Mao stepped up to the shield and grabbed her as she came through into the gravity field.
Major Nelson deactivated her helmet and immediately embraced Commander Mao.
“You’re not seeing this,” Commander Mao said, returning the embrace, but shaking a finger at the crew at the same time.
“Who’s here to call me out on it?” Nelson asked, stepping back and taking in the group.
“I do have a general aboard.”
“You do?” She paled slightly, and her eyes fell on General Dayal. “Ma’am,” she said weakly, ducking her head.
“A momentary lapse of judgment that will never be repeated, I’m sure,” the old woman said, obviously not interested.
Nelson swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Who else you got in there?” Mao jerked her chin toward the outpost.
“Just me and the computer.”
“Where’s your assistant?”
“Reassigned, and the replacement got delayed.”
“Nelson, anyone could be your aide. A child could do that job.”
“A child with secret clearance? We’re at war.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. And I have two more months in the box.”
Mao whistled. Nelson straightened up and addressed the crew.
“I’m sure your commander will tell you everything I tell her, so we can just do a mass brief. That’s what you’re going for, isn’t it? You can’t stay here long, unfortunately.”
“There’s plenty of stuff in the small-unit command manual to back me up. I’m giving them all clearance to hear wha
tever you have for us,” Mao said.
“Can I walk around your ship for a couple minutes after?” Nelson asked, and she wasn’t trying to hide her desperation.
“Do you need any medical?”
“Unfortunately no.”
“Walk all you want.”
“Thank you. Is this everyone?”
Mao did a quick head count. Morel had appeared, but Kladinova was still absent.
“DiJeur, go get her,” Major Lucas ordered, and the yeoman jogged out of the bay.
“So, these are the new fighters.” Major Nelson clasped her hands behind her back and approached Unit Two. “They don’t look like much. Just a bubble.”
“They’ve got the impact,” Mao said.
“Have you engaged yet?”
“Just once.”
“Who?”
“Ling Bai.”
“Did you get her?”
Mao nodded.
“I’ll report that for you,” Nelson said.
“I already have.”
“That’s the thing. You haven’t. Nothing’s coming out of Demenis right now.”
Nelson said it very matter-of-factly, but it took Bjorn a moment to appreciate the magnitude of the statement. Though the Demenis system had been unregulated, it had not been unpopulated. Obviously everyone wouldn’t just go quiet. For no communications to get out, something had to be blocking them.
All the smiles among the crew had vanished.
“Who’s responsible?” Mao asked, visibly troubled.
The bay hatch opened, and DiJeur returned, followed by a surly-looking Kladinova.
“We’re not going to talk about that,” Nelson stated flatly. “Officially I don’t know.”
Major Lucas balked. “It’s us?”
Bjorn felt a chill. Everyone aboard the Lydia had some of the highest security clearance in the Imperium. How much higher did it go? Why wouldn’t Nelson tell them?
“Nobody said that,” Mao said mildly, though there was nothing mild about the look in her eyes. “Let her talk.”
Nelson stopped pacing. “This is everyone? All right. I’m Major Nelson. The fleet has some information for you. At this point you all know about Colonel Cophony’s defection—is that right?”
