Maria was gesturing, indicating there was activity below. He got to his feet, not easily done in these civilian suits, and stepped close. She held out the slate and he put the contact on his glove onto the pad for local secure communication.
“Someone’s loading the internal elevator,” she said, her voice sounding strange from the compression algorithms.
“Our extra hour’s up. It might be safer to go back.”
“We’ve got a leeway of ten minutes.”
“We’ve got an error of plus or minus ten minutes,” he said. “Can your lungs handle the minus side?”
“I can do this.” With that, she pulled the slate away. She put it on her upper arm, where self-tightening webbing secured it. Then she carefully stepped over the crosspiece at the edge of the enclosure and onto the elevator crate.
Joyce followed. They secured themselves to the crate by lying down between raised struts and using webbing that came with the suits. He hoped that whoever was riding or transporting cargo on this thing didn’t dawdle.
After hesitating during the initial hookup, the crate moved quickly enough to satisfy him. As the crate rose out of the cradle, he didn’t want to look up at the tiny station above because he thought it’d give him vertigo. However, looking at the dark side of the hulking gas giant, Laomedon, made the elevator feel puny and his perch even more dangerous. Space wasn’t any better; anyone who’d been in vacuum looking out into the dark expanses knew that such contemplation would eventually shrivel the soul.
So he turned and looked at the struts, admiring the nano manufactured, ultrapure steel. He focused on the heads-up time display: more than two hours to go. He could continue to marvel upon the advances of material science—he snorted—or he could sleep. Reaching awkwardly to his wrist control, he set an alarm to wake him before the crate slid into the station.
The elevator ride up to Beta Priamos Station was unbearably long and yet much shorter than Ariane hoped. Luckily, it was quiet and the men left her sitting alone with her thoughts.
She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and tried to plan. Unfortunately, she wasn’t good at this thing called planning. Matt, like all her supervisors, said she was good in a crunch. Her military commanders had called her “quick thinking” and “coolheaded under stress,” but no one praised her planning or strategic thinking.
With planning came uncertainty, gnawing at the back of her brain. If she let it grow, the only place she could silence the sound of her disintegration would be at the bottom of a bottle. There were no bottles here, and no place to hide from her responsibilities.
You think too much, Joyce said. He was right. These idiots who followed Abram had no idea of the hell they were about to unleash upon G-145. Her resolve hardened. They also have no idea what this Destroyer of Worlds will do to prevent another TD detonation. She’d take the entire station out in a ball of fire, if she could. How’s that for an arc of retribution? She glanced quickly at Emery, noting that he alone wasn’t dozing.
She closed her eyes. They were approaching Beta Priamos; she felt the odd effects of its gravity generator above them and her webbing squirmed and tightened. She didn’t have a plan yet. She opened her eyes and saw Emery staring at her.
“What the hell,” muttered Julian as he reached for a barf bag. Luckily for all of them, it was self-sealing and clung to his face as he started to vomit.
“Still getting your space stomach in shape, Julian?” She ladled on the fake concern. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be piloting this important mission.”
Julian snarled something that might have been “Fuck you.”
“Sorry, can’t hear you.”
“Stop it, Major,” Tahir said.
Emery looked amused, but his attention was on the docking display. They felt the interior elevator car disengage from the crate with the carbon nanotube cable. The elevator car moved toward its airlock in the ring.
“Time to go,” Emery said. The door opened and he checked the passageway with his pistol ready. He motioned for them to disembark.
The station seemed as deserted as before, but Ariane figured it was, nominally, under isolationist control. She wondered briefly about Joyce; had he made it back to Aether’s Touch? There was also that extra weight the elevator carried, but since no one had rushed out of the elevator maintenance bay to rescue her, she couldn’t waste time worrying about whoever or whatever had hitched a ride.
Emery and Julian went in front, their weapons ready. Ariane walked behind them, followed by Tahir. She gained a little hope from their caution, since it might mean they didn’t have the entire station locked down.
The elevator docked on ring five, but the class C docks were located on ring three. When they went through the connecting tubes and entered ring three, Ariane was pleased to see Emery turn to the right. He’d lead them right past Aether’s Touch.
She noticed the men were unused to station gravity and the curvature of the floor. Their footsteps were hesitant, sometimes stuttering. She’d have to plan this right, because she wasn’t intending to escape. Slowly, in preparation, she shortened the distance between her and the men in front of her.
When they had almost passed the corridor to the slip, she darted and brushed by Emery.
“Stop her!” Tahir yelped.
Emery reacted quickly by tripping her. She went sprawling toward the cam-eye connected to Aether’s Touch. With her hands tied in front of her, she softened the fall. She managed to mouth her message before his boot came down hard on her back. Then, as he grabbed her collar and hauled her back toward the other men, she mouthed her message again.
“Is that your ship?” Tahir asked.
She didn’t answer.
“That slip is leased to Aether Exploration,” Emery said. “We haven’t broken the security yet. It’s more sophisticated than the Terran ships or freighters.”
“We’ve got the pilot right here.” Tahir pointed at her with his pistol.
She flinched and wished he wouldn’t do that, considering his weapon skills, but this was a delaying tactic if ever she heard one. She tried not to look hopeful.
“We don’t have time.” Once again, Julian reminded the others of their mission. “We have to get the full benefit from Laomedon’s eclipse.”
His comment prodded the others into moving. Once on Parmet’s ship, they climbed up to the control deck. Someone on-station had prepared the ship for undocking and when she saw the status boards, she knew they also controlled the Command Post. CP had already transferred control of the docking clamps to the ship.
The TM-8440 had two pilot seats because it separated N-space from real-space functionality, making it easier to crew the ship. Because this was a much larger ship than Aether’s Touch, and originally military, there were more stations on the control deck. Comm, weapons, and command all had separate stations and seats.
Emery went immediately to the weapons station. She noted, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that the console was active. These isolationists had been busy; they had already used the controller to cobble together an interface to the raw warhead.
As she expected, Tahir pushed her into the N-space piloting seat. It put her too far from the real-space controls; she’d be unconscious or dead before she could grab control of the ship. So much for flying us into a rock.
As Julian went through a stripped-down coordination with CP to undock, she examined the N-space console in front of her. Parmet’s Penrose Fold referential engine had gone through a diagnostic test two days ago, probably right after they docked. She realized that she’d docked at Beta Priamos Station thirty hours ago. The bright loaded in her implant was gone; she now ran on adrenaline alone, her enhanced metabolism kicking in.
“We’re unlocked and pushing away,” Julian said. “We’ve got the gravity generator online, so we can do full boost.”
She looked at the blank diagnostic display at her station. Slowly she moved her bloody and bound wrists to rest on the console, and surreptitiously
pressed the status query command. The view port displayed the result, “PFR engine uninitialized. No license crystal installed.”
Emery laughed harshly and she turned to see him watching her. “You didn’t think we’d leave that engine up and running, did you?”
Yes, she had. She’d underestimated them. She’d been lulled by Tahir’s talk of N-space drops, forgetting that a Penrose Fold referential engine couldn’t operate without its license crystal. Stupid, stupid, stupid of me. She stared at Emery, remembering him taking out his wand to use on Colonel Dokos. Hatred flooded her face with warmth.
“The crystal’s safe with Abram, down on the moon.” Emery turned back to his weapons display.
“Go to hell.” Her voice trembled with rage.
Julian signed off with Command Post. Emery and Tahir ignored her. She watched the display of Beta Priamos Station dwindling slowly behind them. Ahead was G-145’s sun; Julian was punching in the burn parameters.
She was out of options.
CHAPTER 18
We’ve analyzed comm fragments and estimated the ca sualties in Ura-Guinn. The population of the innermost
habitat was lost with the initial coronal mass ejection.
The populations on the primary planet and correspond ing habitat had protective magnetospheres, plus warn ing, so there were initial survivors. This work has been
hardest on the Terran researchers. . . .
—Journal of Marcus Alexander, Sophist at Konstantinople
Prime University, 2105.331.12.05 UT, indexed by
Democritus 17 under Cause and Effect Imperative
“If you don’t have weapons, maybe you can use a squad or two of these guys to take back the Pilgrimage.” Matt jerked his thumb at the guardians. “The generational ship doesn’t have stand-off weapons.”
David Ray winced visibly and shot him a warning glance. Confused, Matt snapped his mouth shut. He thought it was a good idea. Apparently not.
“As Contractor Adviser, I’m not equipped to handle confrontation with weapons, beyond taking protective measures.” The emissary made a gesture of apology. “I have requested a warrior interface. We must wait.”
“You have a comm channel through the buoy?” Matt leaned forward.
“No. The buoy is not available for communication.”
His hopes fell. However, the Minoan’s answer begged the question as to how they’d entered the system in the first place. Did the Pilgrimage ship line negotiate secret codes with the Minoans too?
“Contractor Adviser, we hoped—,” began David Ray.
“All tactics must be coordinated with the warrior interface. Please wait.” The emissary cut him off with uncharacteristic speed. Its fingers twirled a bead and the hologram changed to a distant view of a star field. When its head bent, it became motionless, but for the robes that gently billowed.
David Ray motioned to Matt to step farther away from any of the Minoans. “I think that’s the signal for ‘go speak among yourselves, mundanes, and leave me alone.’ ”
“No kidding. Do we have privacy?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it matters.” David Ray looked at the two motionless guardians. “We won’t be allowed to leave until the warrior shows up.”
“Yeah, but where’s he—it—been all this time? It’s obviously on this ship.”
David Ray lowered his voice until he was barely breathing his words. “I’m beginning to think these guys are manufactured as needed, and I’d be curious if I wasn’t scared shitless.”
Matt’s eyebrows rose and his voice lowered in kind. “Why?”
“We’ve historically interacted with these two types.” David Ray jerked his chin toward the emissary and the guardians. “But there’re also the warriors. They’re ruthless, by our standards. They commanded and executed the attacks on Enclave El Tozeur.”
“Maybe that’s what we need,” Matt shot back. “Maybe they can kick these assholes all the way back to New Sousse.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” David Ray frowned. “We don’t understand their moral structure and we’ve only seen Minoans function within our legal system. Given past experience, if they bring in their warriors, human life won’t weigh much in their battle tactics.”
“How’ll we know—”
A sighing sound made Matt jerk around and he watched a slit appear in an area of a wall. He gasped at the height of the figure that stepped through; the ceiling above had to dimple, like someone sucking in their stomach, to let the horns pass. This Minoan, from boot soles to horn tips, stood almost a meter taller than the guardians.
There was no question as to its occupation. Its weapon was similar to the guardian batons but longer and with raised decorations in gold at one end. While the emissary’s outer robes were red, the warrior wore the shorter black robes of the guardians, but with gold trim. Its horns seemed carved of pure ebony. They were sharp and uncapped, lacking the emissary’s strings of jewels that went to the back of the headdress. Instead, the warrior wore a high-collared torque of golden metal that had short strings of jewels hanging from it. There were plenty of control surfaces on that torque, which plugged into the back of its headdress.
The two guardians went down on one knee, while the emissary nodded slowly—once.
“I pass over control of Knossos-ship,” Contractor Adviser said to the tall figure.
David Ray drew in a sharp breath. He leaned close and muttered into Matt’s ear, “People are going to die. Possibly in vast numbers.”
The warrior strode past Matt and David Ray as if it didn’t see them. Above its horns, the ceiling kept contorting in waves to avoid getting gored. Matt watched these movements with a combination of nausea and awe—sort of like our body-forming chairs, but better. David Ray poked him to direct his attention toward the Minoans.
The guardians backed against the walls. Over the holographic display, emissary faced warrior and Matt couldn’t tell who was in charge of whom. The warrior loomed taller, yet the red-robed emissary didn’t appear intimidated. Matt frowned; what would a frightened Minoan look like?
“Knossos-ship was not to be witnessed.”
Ah, so it does notice us. The warrior, however, didn’t gesture or look at Matt and David Ray. Its voice wasn’t as smooth as the emissary voices that Matt had heard, both personally and recorded.
“Damage of Knossos-ship was unavoidable, as was rescue under Humanity Phaistos Protocol,” Contractor Adviser replied.
“Explain.”
At this point, Matt expected Contractor Adviser to launch into an explanation, where he and David Ray could interject their comments. Instead, both Minoans reached for a bead. Contractor Adviser twiddled what looked like a priceless ruby while the warrior touched a purple crystal, perhaps an amethyst. Over the display, they touched fingertips and Contractor Adviser’s jewel glittered.
They were probably doing nothing more than near-field data exchange. ComNet users did this all the time by touching node-enabled surfaces to transfer data with their implants. But when the Minoans did data exchange, it looked more impressive. There was nothing like sparkling jewels to make the process seem magical. The Minoans’ fingers dropped from their respective jewelry and the warrior turned slowly to look at Matt and David Ray.
“Contractor Adviser, please introduce Pilgrimage General Counsel and Owner of Aether Exploration to the warrior—er—interface?” David Ray spoke quickly, with an atypical stutter.
Matt figured he should put a lid on the smart-ass remarks that often spouted from his lips. He tried to look quiet and unassuming, which wasn’t difficult in this roomful of seven-foot-plus aliens.
“I have done so, Pilgrimage General Counsel.” The red-robed emissary gestured toward the warrior and stepped back from the holographic display. “This warrior has level-three authority, and command of all units within this solar system. You may address this warrior as Warrior Commander.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Warrior Commander,” David Ray said.
The warrior, who faced the holographic display and fingered a string of beads on its torque, ignored David Ray’s words. The display zoomed to show the square wart of the Pilgrimage module on the side of the ship. The wart started to flash, giving Matt the distinct feeling that the warrior was going to jettison it into the minefield.
“No! Please!” David Ray came to the same conclusion and moved toward the display.
The Minoans in the room didn’t acknowledge David Ray’s words or movement. The guardians remained motionless. The emissary and warrior might have been statues, except for the whispering movement of their robes in the fictional breeze.
“I am the only Pilgrimage authority here.” David Ray’s voice cracked with desperation. “Your actions must have my approval!”
Laws. We say that Minoans always follow the rules, but perhaps we should say they follow laws. Matt remembered Nestor talking about Minoans and the differences between rules and laws. A law is a codified rule, which has more than convention behind it, Nestor said. We know Minoans obey our laws, but we don’t know if they follow our societal rules and conventions.
“Pilgrimage General Counsel is correct. This system is sovereign to the Pilgrimage ship line.” He tried to use a calm, authoritative tone.
David Ray gave Matt a glance of gratitude, mixed with apology, that said he should have thought to say that himself. Then David Ray jumped backward as the warrior rotated to loom over him.
“Does Pilgrimage approve the use of the module to detonate mines that threaten Knossos-ship?” The warrior’s voice had a deep grating sound that set Matt’s teeth on edge.
“No. That module contains vital Pilgrimage assets.”
The room was silent as the warrior appeared to ponder David Ray’s response. Its gloved fingers stopped moving. “What action would Pilgrimage suggest is most effective, given the tactical situation?”
Personally, Matt didn’t have a clue. He looked helplessly at David Ray, surprised to see the mild-mannered attorney square his shoulders. David Ray poked his finger into the holographic display at the green triangular symbol, which represented the buoy. “I agree we must clear the buoy arrival channel. If your ship took damage, our ships will fare worse. But my module is not a mine-clearing tool. There has to be another way.” David Ray looked up at the tall, motionless warrior, his jaw set stubbornly.
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