Well, well. Her heart beat steadied. Maybe she wasn’t for the firing squad just yet.
“Welcome back, Morgan Selwood.”
She stared at him, straight into slit black pupils in an amber field. She was supposed to look down, wasn’t she? Well, fuck him. She wasn’t beaten yet.
“You have not yet learnt manners, I see.”
“Where I come from, meeting a man’s gaze shows honest intent.”
“You are not where you come from.”
He struck her face. Her head whipped around. She staggered sideways and stumbled to her knees, her cheek stinging. She hadn’t even seen him raise his hand. He hauled her effortlessly, one handed, to her feet again. He must be enormously strong. His fingers must have left dents on her shoulder.
“So. Let us start again.” That even, baritone voice. He might as well have been at a cocktail party.
No, she wasn’t where she came from. Wishing she could rub her cheek, she bowed her head. “Admiral.”
The word stuck in her craw. She fixed her gaze on his rank insignia. Daryabod—Full Admiral. Second only to Daryaseban—Grand Admiral in the manesan fleet hierarchy. A very, very powerful man. Another bastard admiral.
“Better. You have not been entirely honest with us, Suri Selwood.” Still with that cocktail party voice.
“I told you no lies.”
“You left out quite a lot. Such as your ability to connect with our computer systems through the sensors.”
She met his gaze for a fraction of a moment and looked away again. “Who told you that?”
“Come now. Let us not be disingenuous. Your colleague Jones was happy to tell us what he could.”
“The sensors were off when I was brought here.”
“Yes. We did wonder why you seemed to stare at them so intently, so often. But it was confirmed in the last conversation between Sayvu and Jones before your escape attempt, so we ensured that option was not available to you here.”
“So she was in it? In this trap?”
He turned, lithe and graceful and prowled over to the chair, the light glinting off the ornate silver clasp that held his hair. He sat, long legs thrust out before him, crossed at the ankles.
“She was trapped herself, you might say. There are always Bunyada cells on large warships. Prasad had begun to suspect the young lieutenant. We expected that Bunyada would be most interested in your colleague in particular, because of his round eyes. We offered the bait and she took it. Of course, we had our own informer in the group and that individual eventually managed to hide a listening device on Sayvu’s person.”
“What will you do with Sayvu?”
“She will be executed.” He tossed the remark away, as if it didn’t really matter.
“Jones?”
“He has been most cooperative.” Ravindra smiled, a curve of the lips that sent a shiver of fear down Morgan’s spine. “Amazing what a little pain will achieve.”
So not averse to torture. Why would she be surprised?
He sat up straight, placed his hands on his thighs. “Jones is of no further use to me. I will send him to Military Headquarters for further interrogation. But you… you have talents I can use.”
She stared at him until a quirk of his eyebrows warned her to avert her eyes. “To do what? Is this something to do with the Bunyada? Because I don’t know anything about them. Not a thing.”
“The Bunyada is a canker which I would like to erase. But I have a much more pressing problem. The Yogina, the aliens you were in company with when we found your ship.”
She sighed and shook her head. No, wrong. But the head jerked back for no seemed so inadequate. “We weren’t in company with them. They’d taken us in tow. I know even less about them than I do your freedom fighters or terrorists or whatever they are.”
“You have devices in your head and so have they. You have artificial eyes and so have they. And you have the ability to understand computer systems that are alien to you. Jones says you can run a spaceship with your mind.” He placed the fingers of both hands on his forehead for a moment.
“I have just returned from a planet called Dilmar where these aliens destroyed the entire population and set the settlements on fire. We were fortunate that one man survived to tell the tale.”
“A whole planet?”
“A pioneer world. Fifty thousand people, in three cities.”
She looked over his shoulder at the bulkhead behind him, plain, featureless. Fifty thousand people. “Just ordinary people? Not a military outpost?”
“Ordinary people of all classes, trying to build a future for themselves. I can show you the evidence.”
She snorted. “Evidence. Evidence is like statistics.”
“You don’t trust me?”
She smiled at the floor at her feet. He had to be joking, didn’t he?
She realized he’d moved when she saw his boots, polished to a mirror shine.
“You want honesty you can understand?” He lifted her chin with his fingers and locked his gaze with hers. “I do my job as honestly as I can. And that is to allow ordinary people to live their lives in peace.”
Not a blink, not a waver. But what did he want? More Supertech ‘magic’? “What can I do?”
“We have one ship, one of their fighters. We have the pilot, too. Dead, unfortunately. One of our patrol ships found the vessel, apparently abandoned in a planetary orbit. You will tell me what you know, what you think you may be able to discover. Perhaps penetrate the ship’s computer systems.”
He hadn’t let go, still held her chin in strong fingers. His skin felt smooth but tough. She’d never been so close to a manesan. She could smell him, clean but spicy, a little like their food.
“Well, Suri?”
“Their systems are different?”
“We have no way of knowing.”
Intriguing. Absolutely intriguing. She felt that familiar surge of adrenalin that signified a challenge. But for him? This bastard?
“If I say no?” She treated him to a brief laser stare which would have had a human ducking for cover.
Completely unaffected, he let go of her and sat down again. “You would help the Bunyada but not me? They are terrorists, killing and destroying to sow unrest. They claim to be anti-Mirka but it is usually everyone else who suffers. Shuba, Hasta and the poorer Vesha. Not the Vesha princes, not the rich merchants like Sayvu’s father. I can show you this, too.”
“Show me what you have and I’ll decide.” Bravado. He’d know. He hadn’t threatened her, no ‘do this or you die’. Then again, why state the obvious?
“In the meantime, can you take these things off?” She jutted an elbow in an attempt to show him her shackled wrists.
He pressed a button on the communicator at his belt. Almost immediately the cell door opened and an underling appeared, nearly falling over himself to bow. “Remove the bands,” Ravindra said.
Morgan felt the shackles fall away and flexed her shoulders. Ah, that felt good. Better than her cheek. She lifted her fingers to her face. I’ll bet I’m bruised.
“Come.”
Chapter Eight
Morgan trailed in Ravindra’s wake, a couple of troopers behind her. The guard at the exit from the prison block nearly bent over double in obeisance. If she’d thought the admirals in the Coalition Fleet were self-important, they had nothing on this man. Who needs gods when you have an admiral?
Ravindra led the way to a guarded door not far from the detention block and inside the isolation unit. The troopers acknowledged the admiral and unlocked, casting furtive glances at her as they did so. Inside yet another closed room an officer greeted Ravindra.
“Senior Commander Hanestran is commander of the computer maintenance group,” Ravindra said. “This is Morgan Selwood.”
Hanestran looked her up and down. His expression reflected restrained curiosity of the ‘let’s see what you can do’ kind. “Suri,” he said, returning her bow with a briefer one of his own. His eyes lingered fo
r a moment on her cheek.
The admiral shifted, recalling her attention. “You will work with Hanestran to find out what you can about the alien craft and to tell him about your own ship.”
“I would be delighted.”
He treated her to a brief stare. She’d have to be careful with the sarcasm. “Hanestran will show you the Yogin ship. You will need to wear an isolation suit.” He waved a hand at a row of orange suits hung on pegs.
Suited up, Ravindra, Morgan and Hanestran passed into the airlock that sealed off the isolation unit from the rest of the ship. They waited for a few moments while the air was exchanged, then the internal door unsealed and slid open. The place was tall and wide as a maintenance hangar and just as well-equipped. Workbenches lined the walls. Tools and gadgets hung neatly on racks or stood in their assigned bays on the floor. The room sparkled with cleanliness, in sharp contrast to the two ships on its pristine floor.
Curlew crouched like a battered, bloated insect, incongruous in this environment. Beside the freighter another ship lay on an angle, one wingtip resting on the deck, a streamlined, arrowhead shape, the short wings meant for atmospheric flight. Here on the hangar floor the ship looked very small, even smaller than when she’d seen its like in space.
While Ravindra stood to one side, watching her, she walked around the fighter, featureless except for a bulge in the top center, closer to the front than the back. The grey finish was smooth and unblemished, except for a line like a seam round the edge of the bulge. No muzzles, no vents, nothing to reveal a propulsion system. She concentrated. No sense of a computer system. Fascinating.
“You wish to see inside?” Hanestran’s voice broke into her concentration.
“Yes.”
He walked up the wing and flipped the bulge open, revealing a windowless canopy, hinged at the back. “We forced it open. It’s the only place we could find a join.”
Kneeling on the wing, she peered inside. Apart from a seat and a harness, the cockpit held nothing she recognized. A lens in the middle might have been a data port. She polled. Nothing.
“Nothing I’ve seen before.” She jumped off the wing back onto the deck.
“So you cannot help?” Hanestran almost seemed disappointed.
She grinned at him. “I didn’t say that. It’s a challenge. It will take time.”
“Let me show you the body.” He led her over to a tall, rectangular cabinet next to the workbenches. “We have our own small morgue here.”
He pressed a button and a drawer slid out. Mist formed and trailed down onto the floor. The alien lay on its back, its eyes open. Bald, ugly, vestigial nose and ears, no sexual organs. But undoubtedly humanoid. Five fingers, five toes, two arms, two legs. One head. Eyes like hers? Morgan looked. Yes, she could understand why Ravindra would say that. Dull and lifeless now, but when the Yogin lived those eyes might have gleamed like hers.
“It has something in its head?” she said.
“It had. We carried out an autopsy. The object we found has been removed.” He pulled open a drawer, took out a box and opened the lid. A black ball lay in the center.
“May I touch it?”
He nodded. She lifted the ball with gloved fingers. Hard, not like the flexible implants melded into her brain. The surface absorbed light.
She handed the ball back. While Hanestran replaced it and returned to close up the alien’s drawer, she wandered back to the fighter, still standing with its cockpit open.
She stretched out with her sensors. A touch, the slightest tingle in her implant. Coming from the alien machine.
She stiffened, instantly alert. She’d have to get into the computer system somehow. She’d bet a year’s pay that thing was still functioning. Set to poll at some strange interval, maybe?
Ravindra crossed the distance between them in two strides. “What happened?”
“What?”
“You reacted to something. Just then. What?”
“Nothing I recognized. But something. A pulse… something. The ship would certainly be functional. It will take time, but I’ll do my best.”
He almost smiled behind the helmet’s visor. “Excellent. But make no mistake, Suri. You have no doubt noticed that the sensors in this chamber have been turned off. So. I trust you only so far.” He held his forefinger and thumb a hairsbreadth apart. I want your help but if it is not forthcoming, if you try to delay, if you do anything I find dubious…”
He placed his fingertips on her forehead. “Perhaps we will have to remove these things you have in your skull and see what we can find. Do I make myself clear?”
Chapter Nine
Morgan stared up into slit pupils as indifferent and implacable as a black hole. “Perfectly clear.”
He took his hand away from her forehead and flicked her cheek hard enough to jerk her head. “Mind your manners.”
She bowed her neck. Bastard. Arrogant bastard. “Admiral.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, Morgan trailing after him, back to the change room where they shed the orange suits.
“In future you will work here with SenComm Hanestran. For the moment, you will come with me.”
She followed him into a transit car and cast a surreptitious glance at the man beside her. He certainly had a presence. He exuded maleness; tall, wide-shouldered with a nice butt and the arrogance of a despot. She’d bet he’d be popular with the women at the planetary stops. There’d be fighting in the queue. She’d seen that sort of thing often enough, too.
The car stopped at level six. Same as the bridge, a few conference rooms, accommodation for a few of the very senior staff. She’d mapped it all out days ago. Guards snapped to attention when Ravindra left the transit. No-one got past the foyer without approval or an appointment, it seemed.
He strode down a corridor. The first door on the left had his name on it, but he walked past. Morgan glanced at the plaque; his office. He opened the next door with a press of his palm on the wall panel and entered. She followed him. The guards did not.
She could have been in a top-class hotel. Wood-paneled walls, dark blue carpet. Two soft couches faced each other. Four matching backless poufs were grouped around a low table. An HV unit, capable of displaying holograms or flats, stood in a corner. A row of paintings hung on the walls and two beautifully detailed model space craft had pride of place on a wide cabinet.
“Sit.” Ravindra indicated one of the couches and sat on the other, back straight, legs crossed. A steward appeared from a doorway Morgan hadn’t noticed.
He bowed to what must have been forty-five degrees. “Srimana?”
“Charb, Tullamarran.”
The man bowed and withdrew.
“These are my private quarters,” he said. “You will be installed into the quarters opposite. It is a state room reserved for important visitors. I expect it will be more comfortable than a detention cell.”
“Can I have my own clothes back? The ones on the ship I arrived on?” Manners, Morgan. “Please, Srimana?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
The manservant returned bearing an intricately carved pot and two mugs on a tray. The sharp aroma of charb filled the room as he poured.
Morgan picked up her mug and turned it in her hands. Nice. Fine, almost fragile-looking white material with the Fleet galaxy symbol on the side in gold. Charb. Horrible, bitter stuff. It seemed to be the equivalent of home’s barist. Only nowhere near as nice. She’d try not to gag.
She sipped. Complex flavors assailed her taste buds. A hint of bitterness persisted but this was something she could drink.
“It’s not bad.”
“This was freshly brewed. Now, tell me what you are.”
She stared into the mug. But then again, why not? Fessing up had been plan B, after all. She couldn’t possibly put the Coalition into danger and she’d had quite enough of a detention block.
“I’m a Supertech.” She said the word in Standard. “A special sort of technician. My eyes are artificial. They
function like ordinary eyes but they’re also like sensors so I can connect to computer systems. I ran the computer systems on the ship we arrived in, flew the ship, navigated, did any engineering.” She smiled. “Not very well, as it happens.”
“And now tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Huh. You shouldn’t believe everything Jones tells you.”
“I don’t. And that is one of the reasons why I insisted that you actually demonstrate the ability to pilot one of our ships. At least for a short time. Astonishing control, by the way. Most impressive. I had no idea our utility shuttles could perform so precisely. These things in your head… what do they allow you to do and how can you interact with our systems, which are very different to yours?”
You wouldn’t understand… Well, she’d better try. “I’m a BI. A Bio-engineered Intelligence. Supertech is a nickname. I was modified at birth to work with computer systems. I’ve been designed to interact with information systems, hence my eyes and the implants in my brain. How I connected with your systems? Any computer system does the same sorts of things. Data travels down a connection into a processor. The processor does things and sends the result out. If you know what goes in and what comes out you can usually figure out what happens in the middle. What’s different is the language and the rules. Sort that out and you’re there. One of the things I’m programmed to do is exactly that; to analyze interactions.”
And anything else he really didn’t need to know. Or want to know.
“And what controls you?”
Far too smart, this admiral. This was one question she wasn’t answering. “Nothing.”
“Come now, Suri. You serve. Otherwise you would not have been on a freighter with a man you evidently do not particularly like, testing a new shift drive. And who built the shift drive?”
Yep, far too smart. “Another Supertech built the shift drive, one who worked for an engineering firm specializing in space technology.”
“And you tested it?”
“If you like. A simple little run between planets. I was due to take on a new contract not far from where the freighter was going.”
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