by Ken MacLeod
Max let the silence become uncomfortable while he studied Petoskey. The captain stood six and a half feet tall. His broad shoulders were permanently hunched from spending too much time in ships built for smaller men. The crew loved him so much they would eagerly die—or kill—for him. Called him Papa behind his back. He wouldn’t shave again until they returned safely to spaceport; his beard was already quite full, and juice-stained at the corner with proscripted chewing tobacco. Max glanced past Lukinov, the balding “radio lieutenant” and stared at Ensign Pen Reedy, the only woman on the ship.
She was lean, with prominent cheekbones, but the thing Max always noticed first were her hands. She had large, red-knuckled hands. She remained impeccably dressed and groomed, even six weeks into the voyage. Every hair on her head appeared to be individually placed as if they were all soldiers under her command.
Petoskey and Lukinov sat on opposite ends of the bunk. Reedy sat on a crate across from them. Another crate between them held a bottle, tumblers, and some cards.
Petoskey, finally uncomfortable with the silence, opened his mouth again.
“Just looking,” Max pre-empted him. “And what do I find but the Captain himself in bed with Drozhin’s boys?”
Petoskey glanced at the bunk. “I see only one and he’s hardly a boy.”
Lukinov, a few years younger than Max, smirked and tugged at the lightning bolt patch on his shirt sleeve. “And what’s with calling us Drozhin’s boys? We’re just simple radiomen. If I have to read otherwise, I’ll have you up for falsifying reports when we get back to Jesusalem.”
He pronounced their home Hey-zoo-salaam, like the popular video stars did, instead of the older way, Jeez-us-ail-em.
“Things are not always what they appear to be, are they?” said Max.
Lukinov, Reedy, and a third man, Burdick, were the Intelligence listening team assigned to intercept and decode Adarean messages—the newly opened wormhole passage would let the ship dive into the Adarean system undetected to spy. The three had been personally selected and prepped for this mission by Dmitri Drozhin, the legendary Director of Jesusalem’s Department of Intelligence. Drozhin had been the Minister too, back when it had still been the Ministry of the Wisdom of Prophets Reborn. In fact, he was the only high government official to survive the Revolution in situ, but these days his constellation was challenged by younger men like Mallove, who’d created the Department of Political Education.
“Next time, knock first, Lieutenant,” said Petoskey.
“Why should I, Captain?” returned Max, congenially. “A honest man has nothing to fear from his conscience, and what am I if not the conscience of every man aboard this ship?”
“We don’t need a conscience when we have orders.”
“Come off it, Max,” snorted Lukinov. “I invited the Captain up here to celebrate. Reedy earned her comet today.”
Indeed, she had. The young ensign wore a gold comet pinned to her left breast pocket, similar to the ones embroidered on the shirts of the other two officers. Comets were awarded only to crew members who demonstrated competence on every ship system—Engineering, Ops and Nav, Weapons, Vacuum and Radiation. Reedy must have qualified in record time. This was her first space assignment. “Congratulations,” said Max.
Reedy suppressed a genuine smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“That makes her the last one aboard,” said Petoskey. “Except for you.”
“What do I need to know about ship systems? If I understand the minds and motivations of the men who operate them, it is enough.”
“It isn’t. Not with this,” his mouth twisted distastefully, “this miscegenated, patched-together, scrapyard ship. I need to be able to count on every man in an emergency.”
“Is it that bad? What kind of emergency do you expect?”
Lukinov rapped the makeshift table. The bottles rattled. “You’re becoming a bore, Max. You checked on us, now go make notes in your little spy log, and leave us alone.”
“Either that or pull up a crate and close the damn hatch,” said Petoskey. “We could use a fourth.”
Lukinov waved his hand in clear negation, showing off a large gold signet ring. “You don’t want to do that, Ernst. This is the man who won his true love in a card game.”
Petoskey looked over at Max. “Is that so?”
“I won my wife in a card game, yes.” Max didn’t think that story was widely known outside his own department. “But that was many years ago.”
“I heard you cheated to win her,” said Lukinov. He was Max’s counterpart in Intelligence—the Department of Political Education couldn’t touch him. The two Departments hated each other and protected their own. “Heard that she divorced you too. I guess an ugly little weasel like you has to get it where he can.”
“But unlike your wife, she always remained faithful.”
Lukinov muttered a curse and pulled back his fist. Score one on the sore spot. Petoskey reached out and grabbed the Intelligence officer’s elbow. “None of that aboard my ship. I don’t care who you two are. Come on, Nikomedes. If you’re such a hotshot card player, sit down. I could use a little challenge.”
A contrary mood seized the Political Officer. He turned into the hallway, detached one of the crates, and shoved it into the tiny quarters.
“So what are we playing?” he asked, sitting down.
“Blind Man’s Draw,” said Petoskey, shuffling the cards. “Deuce beats an ace, ace beats everything else.”
Max nodded. “What’s the minimum?”
“A temple to bid, a temple to raise.”
Jesusalem’s founders stamped their money with an image of the Temple to encourage the citizen-colonists to render their wealth unto God. The new bills carried pictures of the revolutionary patriots who’d overthrown the Patriarch, but everyone still called them temples. “Then I’m in for a few hands,” Max said.
Petoskey dealt four cards face-down. Max kept the king of spades and tossed three cards back into the pile. The ones he got in exchange were just as bad.
“So,” said Lukinov, glancing at his hand. “We have the troika of the Service all gathered in one room. Military, Intelligence, and—one card, please, ah, raise you one temple—and what should I call you, Max? Schoolmarm?”
Max saw the raise. “If you like. Just remember that Intelligence is useless without a good Education.”
“Is that your sermon these days?”
“Nothing against either of you gentlemen,” Petoskey interjected as he dealt. “But it’s your mother screwed three ways at once, isn’t it. There’s three separate chains of command on a ship like this one. It’s a recipe for mutiny. Has been on other ships, strictly off the record. And with this mission ahead if we don’t all work together, God help us.”
Max kept the ten of spades with his king and took two more cards. “Not that there is one,” he said officially, “but let God help our enemies. A cord of three strands is not easily broken.”
Petoskey nodded his agreement. “That’s a good way to look at it. A cord of three strands, all intertwined.” He stared each of them in the eyes. “So take care of the spying, and the politics, but leave the running of the ship to me.”
“Of course,” said Lukinov.
“That’s why you’re the captain and both of us are mere lieutenants,” said Max. In reality, both he and Lukinov had the same service rank as Petoskey. On the ground, in Jesusalem’s mixed-up service, they were all three colonels. Lukinov was technically senior of the three, though Max had final authority aboard ship within his sphere.
It was, indeed, a troubling conundrum.
Max’s hand held nothing—king and ten of spades, two of hearts, and a seven of clubs. Petoskey tossed the fifth card down face-up. Another deuce.
Max hated Blind Man’s Draw. It was like playing the lottery. The card a man showed you was the one he’d just been dealt; you never really knew what he might be hiding. He looked at the other players’ hands. Petoskey showed the eight of clubs and Lukinov the jack of dia
monds. Max glimpsed a dark four as Ensign Reedy folded her hand and said “I’m out.”
“Raise it a temple and call,” Max said, on the off chance he might beat a pair of aces. They turned their cards over and it was money thrown away. Petoskey won with three eights.
Lukinov shook his head. “Holding onto the deuces, Max? That’s almost always a loser’s hand.”
“Except when it isn’t.”
Petoskey won three of the next five hands, with Lukinov and Max splitting the other two. The poor ensign said little and folded often. Max decided to deal in his other game. While Lukinov shuffled the cards, Max tugged at his nose and said to the air. “You’re awfully silent, Miss Reedy. Contemplating your betrayal of us to the Adareans?”
Lukinov mis-shuffled. A heartbeat later, Captain Petoskey picked up his spittoon and spat.
Reedy’s voice was as steady as a motor churning in low gear. “What do you mean, sir?”
“You’re becoming a bore, again, Max.” Lukinov’s voice had a sharp edge to it.
“What’s this about?” asked Petoskey.
“Perhaps Miss Reedy should explain it herself,” said Max. “Go on, Ensign. Describe the immigrant ghetto in your neighborhood, your childhood chums, Sabbathday afternoons at language academy.”
“It was hardly that, sir,” she said smoothly. “They were just kids who lived near our residence in the city. And there were never any formal classes.”
“Oh, there was much more to it than that,” pressed Max. “Must I spell it out for you? You lived in a neighborhood of expatriate Adareans. Some spymaster chose you to become a mole before you were out of diapers and started brainwashing you before you could talk. Now while you pretend to serve Jesusalem you really serve Adares. Yes?”
“No. Sir.” Reedy’s hands, resting fingertip to fingertip across her knees, trembled slightly. “How did they know women would ever be admitted to the military academies?”
Reedy hadn’t been part of the first class to enter, but she graduated with the first class to serve active duty. “They saw it was common everywhere else, perhaps. Does it matter? Who can understand their motives? Their gene modifications make them impure. Half-animal, barely human.”
She frowned, as if she couldn’t believe that kind of prejudice still existed. “Nukes don’t distinguish between one set of genes and another, sir. They suffered during the bombardments, just like we did. They fought beside us, they went to our church. Even the archbishop called them good citizens. They’re as proud to be Jesusalemites as I am. And as loyal. Sir.”
Max tugged at his nose. “A role model for treason. They betrayed one government to serve another. I know for a fact this crew contains at least one double agent, someone who serves two masters. I suspect there are more. Is it you, Miss Reedy?”
Lukinov and Petoskey had turned into fossils before his eyes. Petoskey stared at the young Intelligence officer across the table like a man contemplating murder.
Reedy pressed her fingertips together until her hands grew still. She refused to look to Petoskey or Lukinov for help. “Sir. There may be a traitor, but it’s not me. Sir.”
Max leaned back casually. “I’ve read your Academy records, Ensign, and find them interesting for the things they leave out. Such as your role in the unfortunate accident that befell Cadet Vance.”
Reedy was well disciplined. Max’s comments were neither an order nor a question, so she said nothing, gave nothing away.
“Vance’s injuries necessitated his withdrawal from the Academy,” Max continued. “What exactly did you have to do with that situation?”
“Come on, Max,” said Lukinov, in his senior officer’s cease-and-desist voice. “This is going too far. There are always accidents in the Academy and in the service. Usually it’s the fault of the idiot who ends up slabbed. Some stupid mistake.”
Max was about to say that Vance’s mistake had been antagonizing Reedy, but Petoskey interrupted. “Lukinov, have you forgotten how to deal? Are you broke yet, Nikomedes? You can quit any time you want.”
Max showed the roll of bills in his pocket and Lukinov started tossing down the cards. As he made the second circuit around their makeshift table, the lights flickered and went off. Max’s stomach fluttered as the emergency lights flashed on, casting a weak red glare over the cramped room. The cards sailed past the table, and into the air. Petoskey slammed his glass down. It bounced off the table and twirled toward the ceiling, spilling little brown droplets of whiskey.
Petoskey slapped the ship’s intercom. “Bridge!”
“Ensign!” barked Lukinov. “Find something to catch that mess before the grav comes back on and splatters it everywhere.”
“Yes, sir,” Reedy answered and scrambled to the bathroom for a towel.
“Bridge!” shouted Petoskey, then shook his head. “The com’s down.”
“It’s just the ship encounter drill,” said Lukinov.
“There’s no drill scheduled for this rotation. And we haven’t entered Adarean space yet, so we can’t be encountering another ship . . . ”
Another ship.
The thought must have hit all four of them simultaneously. As they propelled themselves frog-like toward the hatch, they crashed into one another, inevitable in the small space. During the jumble, Max took a kick to the back of his head. It hurt, even without any weight behind it. No accident, he was sure of that, but he didn’t see who did it.
Petoskey flung the door open. “The pig-hearted, fornicating bastards.”
Max echoed the sentiment when he followed a moment later. The corridor was blocked by drifting crates. They’d been improperly secured.
“Ensign!” snapped Petoskey.
“Yes, Captain.”
“To the front! I’ll pass you the crates, you attach them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can I trust you to do that?”
“Yessir!”
Max almost felt sorry for Reedy. Almost. In typical fashion for these older ships, someone had strung a steel cable along the corridor, twist-tied to the knobs of the security lights. Max held onto it and stayed out of the way as Petoskey grabbed one loose box after another and passed them back to Reedy. There was the steady sound of velcro as they made their way toward the bridge.
“What do you think it is?” Lukinov whispered to him. “If it’s a ship, then the wormhole’s been discovered . . . ”
The implications were left hanging in the air like everything else. Max compared the size of Lukinov’s boot with the sore spot on the back of his head. “Could be another wormhole. The sponge is like that. Once one hole opens up, you usually find several more. There’s no reason why the Adarans couldn’t find a route in the opposite direction.”
Lukinov braced himself against the wall, trying to keep himself oriented as if the grav was still on. “If it’s the Adareans, they’ll be thinking invasion again.”
“It could be someone neutral too,” said Max. “Most of the spongedivers from Earth are prospecting in toward the core these days, but it could be one of them. Put on your ears and find out who they are. I’ll determine whether they’re for us or against us.”
“If they’re against, then Ernst can eliminate them,” laughed Lukinov. “That’s a proper division of labor.”
“Our system is imperfect, but it works.” That was a stretch, Max told himself. Maybe he ought to just say that the system worked better than the one it replaced.
“Hey,” shouted Petoskey. “Are you gentlemen going to sit there or join me on the bridge?”
“Coming,” said Lukinov, echoed a second later by Max.
They descended two levels, and came to the control center. Max followed the others through the open hatch. Men sat strapped to their chairs, faces tinted the color of blood by the glow of the emergency lights. Conduits, ducts, and wires ran overhead, like the intestines of some man-made monster. One of the vents kicked on, drawing a loud mechanical breath. Truly, Max thought, they were in the belly of leviathan now.
“Report!” bellowed Petoskey.
“Lefty heard a ship,” returned the Commander, a plug-shaped double-chinned fellow named Gordet. “It was nothing more than a fart in space, I swear. I folded the wings and initiated immediate shutdown per your instructions before our signature could be detected.”
“Contact confirmed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work then.” The ship chairs were too small for Petoskey’s oversized frame. He preferred to stand anyway and had bolted a towel rack to the floor in the center of the deck. The crew tripped over it when the grav was on, but now Petoskey slipped his feet under it. With the low ceilings it was the only way he could keep from bumping his head. It was against all regulations, but, just as with his smuggled tobacco, Petoskey broke regulations whenever it suited him. It was a quality shared by many of the fleet’s best deep space Captains. “Those orders were for when we entered Adarean space, Commander,” Petoskey added a second later. “I commend your initiative. Put a commendation in Engineer Elefteriou’s record also.”
“Yes. sir.” Gordet’s voice snapped like elastic, pleased at the Captain’s praise.
“Identity?”
“It’s prime number pings up Outback. Corporate prospectors. Her signature looks like one of the new class.”
Petoskey grabbed the passive scope above his head and pulled it down to his eyes. “Vector?”
“Intercept.”
“Intercept?”
“It’s headed in-system and we’re headed out. At our current respective courses and velocities, we should come within spitting distance of it just past Big Brother.”
Big Brother was the nickname for this system’s larger gas giant. Little Brother, the smaller gas giant, was on the far side of the sun, out past the wormhole to home.
“Are they coming from the Adares jump?” Petoskey asked.
“That’s what we thought at first,” said Gordet. “But it appears now that they’re entering from a third wormhole. About thirty degrees negative of the Adares jump, on the opposite side of the elliptic.” He glanced over the navigator’s shoulder at the monitor. “Call that one thirty-six degrees.”
