The Spider and the Fly

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

  “Your Excellency,” Visek’s image said over the viewscreen. Judging from the small pockets of dried fluid encrusted around his eyes, he must have been deep in the middle of a sleep cycle. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I have an update,” Drathir replied as he dropped into his seat. “Agent Vale has just returned to the Nidus, and she managed to capture Coveri and bring him with her.”

  The other man clucked his tongue in surprise. “That is excellent news, sir. Did she recover anything from the Damadus?”

  “According to her, the data crystals were empty. The Sarafan never found a cure, and it appeared they all went crazy and turned on each other.”

  “So much for the great legend,” Visek snickered, blinking the last of the visible fatigue from his eyes. “At least that particular crisis has been averted.”

  “Perhaps,” Drathir whispered. “Vale did return with another data crystal, one she claims neither she nor Coveri were able to access. The Widow recognized it the moment she laid her eyes on it, though naturally she claims the Hierarchy never told her specifically what it was.”

  “That seems…unlikely.”

  “She’s lying, obviously,” Drathir agreed. “The question is how. Did the Hierarchy tell her what it was, or did she never really contact them in the first place?”

  “Did they ever respond to your earlier query?”

  “Not yet. I went through the proper channels, but my request for an audience is still pending. I may have to pressure the Conclave to force an open meeting…assuming that’s still possible.”

  Visek’s eyes flickered. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just a theory,” Drathir murmured. “You have one of your own, I assume?”

  “It seems to me the most likely scenario is that the Widow has simply kept the Hierarchs in the dark,” Visek mused. “That would suggest the crystal is something important to her, but not necessarily to anyone else.”

  Drathir nodded. “If we expand on our original hypothesis that the Widow is actually Sarena Naradov, the mate of Krucius Foln, then this crystal must have something to do with him. Vale said they found his corpse clutching onto it on the bridge of the ship.”

  “A personal log or some sort? Perhaps something recorded just before he died?”

  “If all this is just an elaborate ruse to recover an ancient love letter, I’m going to be sorely disappointed,” Drathir said dryly. “It must be something else…and I believe I finally know what that is.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll tell you once I have something more substantial.” He glanced around the room, feeling more exposed than ever. If he was right about what was actually going on here, then he could have a hundred honor guards waiting outside his door and he still wouldn’t feel safe. The future of the Convectorate—the future of the entire galaxy—might very well come down to the decisions he made in the near future. “Right now I need to prepare for the fleet’s arrival. According to admiral Mothaal’s last report, he’ll be in position in less than two hours.”

  “I would feel better if you were off the Nidus when they arrived, Your Excellency,” Visek said. “The Widow may not take kindly to being ambushed, and the farther away from her you are when it happens, the better.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, wake the rest of your team. I may need to contact you for additional support.”

  “Of course, sir. We’ll be ready.”

  “I know you will,” Drathir said, and meant it. If nothing else, this little fiasco had validated the tough personnel decisions he’d made in his first six months as minister. Visek and his squad had been more resourceful than he could have ever imagined, and once this was over with, the Ministry would be ready to enter a new era of efficiency and effectiveness. Perhaps the Conclave and the Hierarchy would as well.

  Drathir clicked off the viewscreen and tilted back in his chair. Unfortunately, on the off chance he was wrong about everything and the Widow actually was a loyal servant of the Convectorate, his summary termination and then execution would quickly become the stuff of legend within the Asraad caste. But he was willing to take that chance. All the evidence—all his instincts—had drawn him to the same harrowing but inexorable conclusion.

  And now, at long last, the time had finally come to do something about it.

  Reaching down to his desk, he signaled for his guards. The door slid open mere seconds later, and one of the men peered inside. “Yes, Your Excellency?”

  “Wake your partner and bring him here,” Drathir ordered. “There’s something we need to discuss.”