Vigilante

by Laura E. Reeve

  “Are the contractors Terran?” Joyce asked.

  “I don’t think that matters as much in new space as you think it does.”

  “The Terrans will be all over this, given their problems with Mars and Earth.”

  “Not Earth—Terra. Once you leave this ship, you should avoid offensive words.” She clipped her words, irritated. He apparently thought his mission, whatever it was, would be business as usual. It wouldn’t, not in new space. “You’re going to have to get used to new space, Joyce. There’s a mishmash of backgrounds and loyalties here; our governing bodies are far away and we’re isolated. You practically breathe ComNet on any Autonomist world, but it won’t even exist here. That means no timely news or feeds, no safety monitoring, no automatic nine-one-one access, and you have to get into the queue to make calls home. There’s no such thing as free bandwidth out of this system. Not while that generational ship has to get more than twenty-five years of data downloaded and processed.”

  She ran out of breath and stopped her minidiatribe. Tapping a command, she showed the view of the Pilgrimage III looming imminent and by now, filling the entire screen.

  “And don’t make trouble for Matt,” she added. “He’s had enough problems lately.”

  “I won’t make any trouble.” Joyce’s voice was grave, but the corners of his eyes wrinkled with humor. “As long as I don’t have to eat generational ship food.”

  Ariane laughed. “If I have to eat dinner aboard the Pilgrimage , then so do you. Worse, you have to pay for your food.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “Of course, you get credit if you donate genetic material,” she said.

  He snorted. “I’ll never sink to jacking off for money. You haven’t sold them anything, have you? What about Mr. Journey?”

  “We haven’t had time.” At his expression, she said, “Seriously, Joyce, there’s nothing obscene about it, once you can get over the privacy issues. They’ve got to contend with real-space, which prevents women from carrying babies to term. Besides, they never know when they’ll be stranded light-years from civilization, and they can’t even trust that the civilization they left still exists. They need a viable gene pool for healthy children and, possibly, for rebuilding our species.”

  “I don’t care; they’re not getting any of my little guys. Only my wife gets those.”

  She rolled her eyes, remembering the time she’d met Joyce’s wife. That woman was a saint. “Why do men think they’re superheroes simply because they can produce sperm?”

  “Just get us docked, will you?”

  Matt’s mood didn’t improve when he looked over his messages in his quarters. He’d seen the package from Athens Point Law Enforcement Forces, and if Ari hadn’t acknowledged and allowed it to download—no, that wasn’t fair. She was operating the ship and it was her responsibility to accept any messages directed to Aether’s Touch.

  He stared at the LEF seal revolving over the text. Since they knew the message had reached the ship, he had to open it. He sighed, looking at the text that said, “Positive identification of receiver required for service.”

  He’d already had unpleasant dealings with Athens Point LEF and, while this should be a request for relevant information, he had his doubts. He knew the LEF had finished gathering evidence for prosecuting Nestor’s murderer, a customs official named Hektor Valdes.Unfortunately, Val des wasn’t rolling over on his employer, accomplices, or contacts. This remote subpoena probably meant they hadn’t shut down the graft that flowed through Athens Point Customs. They were flailing around, expanding their voracious appetite for information, whether relevant or not. Worse, they might be feeling vindictive.

  There was no sense in delaying any longer; he provided his voice and thumbprint for identification. He clenched his jaw as he read what the subpoena required. Great. Not only did they require an affidavit answering certain questions; they wanted a time-stamped copy of everything Nestor had sent him in the past year, and that meant exposing Muse 3. He had twenty-four hours to hand everything over to one of their authorized representatives.

  He needed a lawyer, fast.

  “I don’t know why I have to be part of this parade,” Joyce muttered into Ariane’s ear while Matt moved through the airlock ahead of them.

  “You heard him.” Ariane nodded toward Matt’s back. “We’ll observe all generational ship customs, to include tours and dinners.”

  “But you’ve already gone through this once. Isn’t that enough for everyone on our ship?”

  “Nice try, Joyce. We always do the meet and greet; the Pilgrimage ship line is sovereign here, so consider it a complex border-crossing ritual.”

  “I’m going to gag if I have to eat any crèche-get food,” whispered Joyce in a warning tone, but Ariane pretended not to hear him.

  Ahead, Matt was shaking the hand of the senior staff representative, a woman with an unlined face and faded, short brown hair.

  “Commander Charlene Pilgrimage. I’m off shift and I can give you the tour.” The woman extended her hand. “Missed you the first time you came through.”

  This willowy woman commanded the huge generational ship Pilgrimage III, or as currently configured, habitat. Ariane should have learned by now that she couldn’t make assumptions about the age or experience of generational ship crew members. Charlene Pilgrimage might have been born before her parents, or even grandparents.

  “Ariane Kedros, pilot of the Aether’s Touch.” She shook Charlene’s hand, appreciating the purpose she felt in the commander’s hand and arm.

  Ariane looked around while Matt introduced Mr. Joyce. They were standing in the welcome area, a room fed by several hallways from the passenger airlocks. Two lines of four pews faced a shrine to St. Darius set into a niche in the wall. Of course, everything was bolted down to the walls or deck.

  In generational ship fashion, the room was monochromatic, if one discounted the dark gray pattern on the deck. The walls were deep, golden yellow, while the doors and the shrine were outlined with light yellow. She walked toward the shrine, whose niche was backed with a mosaic of glittering gold tiles. At the top of the niche were two lines: ST. DARIUS INTERCEDES AND PROTECTS ALL EXPLORERS WHOM GAIA INVITES INTO ITS UNIVERSE.

  As in the fundamental Gaia-ist tradition, no artistic rendering appeared, nor was any gender attributed to the Highest Creator. The golden statue of St. Darius, on the other hand, was lifelike and detailed. He stood in a helmetless environmental suit and held out his hands in benediction.

  “If you’re interested, Ms. Kedros, there are services here every day at nineteen hundred.” Charlene’s voice came from behind her.

  Turning, Ariane saw that the group had moved past the pews toward the airlock. She followed them to the ladder that led upward through the vertical airlock between modules. What looked like spires from afar were towers of stacked modules that could separate, provided the disconnection charges blew properly. The deck of each module was “down” toward the engines or, when in habitat mode, toward the gravity generator.

  She looked up the ladder and saw all three ports yawning open. Anyone could climb up onto the control deck, but generational ships were more concerned with the dangers of long-term real-space travel, rather than security. There were many examples of the hazards generational ships faced: the mysterious loss of the Voyage II, or the disastrous mission of F-58, when less than fifty percent of the Expedition I made it to the buoy setup point. As she climbed through the thick middle where the airlock separated, Ariane noted that the inspection date was two days ago and the autohoist, used to move heavy items through the airlock when the ship was operating with gravity, was securely tied to one side. What the Pilgrimage’s crew lacked in security, they made up for in safety.

  She stepped onto the control deck after the others. The primary control deck was circular and lined with every conceivable type of console layout. There were mechanical switches as backups to automated systems, even though this ship couldn’t transition int
o N-space.

  “Hey, Ariane. Glad to see you back.” Justin, the communications officer, waved at her.

  “You’re working third shift now?” She drifted over to Justin’s console while the commander made a determined effort to give Joyce, the newcomer, an introduction briefing. She looked up at Justin’s bandwidth readings, noting the amount given over to the Pilgrimage was largest. After that, the research and development bandwidth ranked second.

  “Can you show me the contractor bandwidth distribution?” she asked, smiling back at Justin.

  He obligingly expanded the display so she could see which contractors were using the bandwidth, and where they were located.

  Meanwhile, the parade had worked its way around to the traffic console. She heard Joyce ask sharply, “Who’s on that ship?”

  Her gaze followed Joyce’s pointed finger and her smile faded as her face went numb. On the list of recent arrivals to G-145 and ahead of Aether’s Touch by several hours, was the Candor Chasma—a name forever embedded in her mind. Printed beside its Terran name were the words, “Planet Registration: Mars, Purpose: Dignitary Transport.” Her stomach twisted. Parmet’s ship. Its next destination was the Priamos moon of Laomedon.

  “That’s Terran Overlord Three’s Assistant for the Exterior. They left for Priamos an hour before you arrived,” Charlene said.

  “State Prince Parmet?” Matt glanced at Ariane, his expression a mix of shock and resignation.

  “Did you know about this?” Ariane asked Joyce, her voice low with anger. So help me, if Owen knew and didn’t warn me. . . .

  Joyce, however, looked concerned also. He shook his head to answer Ariane’s question and turned to Matt. “Now it’s even more important that I get to Priamos as soon as possible. Remember my appointment?”

  Joyce and Matt locked glances. Meanwhile, the generational ship crew looked on with lively interest.

  “Do you know the Terran State Prince, or is this a matter of conflicting politics?” asked Commander Charlene.

  Ariane shook her head and avoided meeting Charlene’s eyes. Crèche-get could be annoying when they were catching up on events. They took their neutrality seriously, more than anyone else did, meaning they thought they should be privy to everyone’s secrets. Granted, this crew had plenty to learn. In the decades between the Pilgrimage’s launch and their arrival in G-145, the use of a temporal-distortion weapon had ended the war between the Consortium of Autonomist Worlds and the Terran Expansion League. The Pilgrimage crew had also missed the beginning of Pax Minoica, brokered by the Minoans.

  “Parmet was probably sent to represent the Terran companies that signed our leases and monitor the contractors doing research on Priamos—that’s why we’re so interested.” Matt diverted Charlene’s interest.

  So many secrets. So hard to remember who knows what about whom. Matt knew Parmet had tortured her and that she’d signed the leases under duress, but did he know why? Did he know exactly what she, Brandon, and Cipher had done during the war? This was why she needed the blessed numbness of alcohol and smooth to quiet the buzzing of all the secrets in her head.

  “You’ll have to excuse us, Commander. I need to speak privately with my pilot and him.” Matt jerked his thumb to indicate Joyce. “Got a place we could use?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Journey. I can let you use a small enclosure off the chapel on the floor below. It’s secure.” Charlene pointed back down the vertical airlock.

  “Secure, my ass!” Once inside, Joyce growled and paced around the small room. “There’s nothing secure on this damn ship and I wish I had the equipment to prove it.”

  “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Matt stared at Joyce. “Even if we had a secure facility, you wouldn’t tell us why you’re going to Beta Priamos.”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No,” Ariane and Matt responded in unison.

  “See?” Joyce smiled grimly. Matt glared in response.

  Ariane put her arm on Matt’s to get his attention. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a problem. I have to delay the contractor meeting. I’ve got to give a deposition within the next twenty-two hours, and I’ll need representation.” Matt glanced uncomfortably toward Joyce. “They’ve subpoenaed Nestor’s packages, the ones he sent me before he died. I need to fight this, so I don’t see us leaving the Pilgrimage for another day, at the least.”

  He was protecting himself and Ariane—because they were harboring an illegal AI. But he was also protecting Muse 3 itself, all he had left of his friend. Over Matt’s shoulder, Ariane saw Joyce’s eyebrows go up.

  “What about my schedule?” Joyce asked. Ariane and Matt ignored him.

  “So?” She shrugged. “Let me go out to Priamos and take care of the contractor meeting.”

  There was silence as Matt and Joyce stared at her in shock.

  “What? Why the surprise?” she asked.

  “No offense, Ari, but you haven’t shown much interest in the business side of this exploration company. Now you want to present a reporting matrix to a bunch of—er—hostile contractors?” Matt asked.

  “Sure. You already familiarized me with all the reporting ins and outs.”

  “Maj—Ms. Kedros, you avoid business and anything that smells like paperwork.” Joyce looked at her skeptically.

  “Yes, and it’s time I changed that. Matt’s been asking me to shoulder more of the administrative load.” Turning to Matt, she asked, “Isn’t that right?

  “But now we find that Parmet will be at Priamos. It’s too dangerous for you, Ari.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I figured we could run into him. I know that Maria Guillotte’s already there managing contractors who, not surprisingly, have strong connections to the Terran Space Forces. I can handle it.”

  “No. They tortured you, Ari.” Matt looked for support from Joyce, but didn’t get any. The sergeant’s face closed and he crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. He was staying out of this discussion. Matt added, “I thought Parmet hinted that if he saw you again—well, he’d do something.”

  “I’m not going to let his threats rule my life, or yours. We need to be able to go about our business.” She was adamant, or at least she could act resolute, as Matt looked searchingly into her face. Internally, she was less sure. What would she do when she ran into Maria or Parmet? Smile brightly and say, Hey, remember me? A couple months ago you pumped me full of mind-altering drugs and pain enhancers, then beat me up, broke my legs, blackmailed me, and dumped me in an addict commons.

  “You could end up sitting across a conference table from them.” As he watched her, Matt looked less doubtful.

  “Sure. But the Terran leases depend upon my silence and they know that. I doubt they’ll attempt to mug me in the station halls.”

  Relief and worry battled on Matt’s face, but cleared when she smiled at him. Sure, she’d love to shun the stuffy business briefings, but Matt and his leases had saved her life.

  So it was settled. Well, maybe not.

  “What about my schedule?” Joyce asked. “It takes around ten hours to get to Beta Priamos—”

  “Nine point five hours in Aether’s Touch,” Ariane said.

  “Fine. To make your meeting, Ms. Kedros, you don’t need to leave for another eight hours, but I should get to Beta Priamos as soon as possible.”

  Matt was seriously considering Joyce’s words. He locked glances with her. This was unlike Matt, violating crew rest guidelines by making her turn around the ship so fast, but his eyes asked her to do it. He knew something. What was so important about Joyce getting to Priamos? She sighed, knowing how this would play out, and agreed.

  “I’ll follow you out to Priamos when Venture’s Way gets here,” Matt said.

  After he left, she frowned at Joyce. “Tell me you didn’t do that just to get out of dinner on the Pilgrimage.”

  Joyce smiled.

  CHAPTER 5

  The College of History is at fever pitch: We’re finally get
ting data surrounding the Ura-Guinn detonation. What

  happened to the inhabitants and how did they cope?

  We’re analyzing the signals broadcasted soon after

  the detonation. The chaotic fragments and the signal to-noise ratio make this nearly impossible, but this is

  why we built the Epsilon Eridani deep-space, high-gain

  antenna.

  —Journal of Marcus Alexander, Sophist at Konstantinople

  Prime University, 2105.326.09.15 UT, indexed by

  Democritus 9 under Cause and Effect Imperative

  Ariane got the ship serviced, undocked, and in a boost toward Priamos. For their safety and comfort, she turned on the gravity generator. Then she slept.

  “You look better,” Joyce said when she reappeared on the control deck. He had minded the consoles while she slept for a couple hours.

  She plopped down onto the secondary control seat and looked at their position. They’d recently passed by a relay, which used the Minoan time buoy to shuttle faster than light communications around the solar system. “Is the comm forwarding up?”

  “I pinged the relay and it’s not operational yet. Perhaps it’s time to complain to the Pilgrimage staff. However, we did get a light-speed message from Mr. Journey. He said he’d be talking to a lawyer ’bout the time we arrive at Beta Priamos.”

  “Thanks for copiloting,” she added, running her fingers through her hair. As usual, her short, loose curls arranged themselves obediently; she’d been lucky to get her mother’s dark hair, eyes, and complexion. She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of her mother and father, both passing away while she was on active duty during the war. Then, before she could take leave and visit their graves, the Ura-Guinn event occurred and her new identity barred her from visiting that crypt in a little town on the shore of Nuovo Adriatico Estes.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Joyce said.

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t worry about Parmet. The Terran leases depend upon your silence, so I doubt he’ll even acknowledge your presence.”