***
In almost eight years serving as one of the Widow’s agents, Jenavian had telepathically linked with the Nidus’s psionic network hundreds of times. The system was, for all intents and purposes, a highly efficient debriefing mechanism. While the Intelligence Ministry’s conventional operatives were forced to spend hours writing reports and conversing with their superiors, Spiders could achieve the same result in seconds. The process was nearly as precise and efficient as a surveillance robot uploading its data to a central database; the Widow and her Drones would immediately be able to evaluate the Spider’s direct memories of the operation in question.
The downside, of course, was that an operative had to face up to every bad decision he or she made during a given mission. There was no glossing over temporary failures, no hiding behind verbal vagaries—every action, every word, every thought was processed and dissected by the network. In principle, it meant that the Spiders were more accountable for their actions, which in turn produced better agents. In practice, it meant that there was a tendency to obsess over irrelevant failures despite significant operational victories, and such a system all-too-often lacked the ability to see the convoy for the freighters.
The result was that Spiders were conditioned to discover new ways to “game the system,” so to speak. In Jenavian’s case, that meant learning how to upload some memories and not others…or, in extreme circumstances, to fabricate wholly fraudulent ones. She’d never been anywhere close to an expert in hiding her trail in such a way—she’d only rarely felt the need to do so. After Mirador, however, Markus had secretly devoted a great deal of his time to mastering the technique. He’d known that if the Widow or her Drones began to sense his doubt, they would wipe his memories of the mission and start over with a clean slate…or simply kill him. He’d become an expert at “selective uploading,” as he’d called it, and he’d taught her some of the techniques.
Today, almost four years later, those lessons were about to be put to the test.
The network is ready, Agent Vale, the Drone behind her whispered into her mind. You may begin.
Jenavian nodded and stepped onto the central platform. The network chamber was small; other than the red crystalline platform at the center, the only other objects in the room were various cables and power nodes. She’d always felt like she was stepping into a closet rather than the primary hub of all thought and memory in an extensive telepathic network. But then, given the speed at which the average Spider could upload his or her thoughts, anything beyond the basics was probably just so much wasted space.
The interface device itself reminded her a bit of the engine room on the Damadus, though somehow this seemed less complicated. The technology on the Nidus was a fusion of psi- and conventional tech rather than the pure expression of one or the other, and as a result she had a better understanding of how it all functioned. Still, looking back on it, maybe Markus really hadn’t been such an expert on Sarafan technology. Much of what they’d been taught to use on the Nidus was very similar in principle, but for whatever reason she’d never thought of it that way before.
Taking a deep breath, Jenavian reached out and held her hands above the interface. Thexyl was convinced that the Hierarchy would dispatch a fleet to wipe out New Keledon the instant they learned its location, and as much as she’d argued with him about it, he might have been right. The moment she touched the controls the Widow would have all the information she needed, and Jenavian would have effectively doomed fifty thousand people—the vast majority of whom were completely innocent—to an explosive and fiery death.
She had killed innocents before, of course, depending on how strictly she chose to define the term. On Zultar, she’d once been forced to exterminate an entire camp of refugees who’d been protecting a renegade Fly. On Mirador, she’d been an integral part in an operation that had wiped out nearly two thousand humans, most of whom were harmless family members who’d never overtly acted out against the Convectorate. And in countless other cases, she’d thoughtlessly gunned down guards or soldiers whose only real mistake had been getting in her way.
She was a mass murderer, plain and simple. The only difference between her and a random psychopath was that her crimes hadn’t been committed out of bitterness or rage or outright insanity; she had killed because her government had told her to. And perhaps in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t any better.
Is there a problem, Agent? the Drone asked.
“No,” Jenavian murmured aloud, then pressed her hands down on the console.
Her memories poured into the link, from the skirmish on Briton Chalo all the way to her arrival here just minutes earlier. She did her best to withhold her various arguments with Thexyl, mostly for his protection, and of course she completely glossed over the gradual welling of her own doubts about the Convectorate and her place within it. It was considerably more difficult than she’d anticipated; as it turned out, virtually everything she’d done since capturing Markus had been laced with uncertainty. But ultimately neither the Widow nor the Intelligence Ministry could legitimately complain about what she had accomplished. She had found the Damadus data crystals, she had discovered the Mire’s secret base, and she had even dragged Markus back for interrogation. She had played the perfect little operative all the way through, even though that unquestioned loyalty was about to result in the massacre of thousands of people she barely knew.
And one she knew all too well.
Jenavian lifted her hands off the console once the link was complete, and as usual she needed to swallow in a vain effort to wet her impossibly dry throat. The entire process had taken just over a minute, but it always felt like she’d just finished a two-hour workout.
Upload received, the Drone announced. Thank you, Agent Vale. The Widow requests that you return to your quarters and await further instruction.
“Right,” she said, turning and stepping out of the room.
Jenavian kept her mental barriers at full strength as she walked across the compound, ignoring the Drones and even the other Spiders as she wound her way up to her quarters. She was one turn away when she nearly slammed into the chest of a tall figure standing around the corner.
“Hello, Jen,” Ralon Sisk said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “I never got the chance to welcome you home.”
“The same goes for you,” she managed, retreating a single step. She’d been hoping to get the chance to talk to him away from the Widow, though the middle of the corridor wasn’t exactly the most private location on the Nidus—if there even was such a thing in a base full of telepaths. “I thought you were supposed to be at the Intelligence Ministry.”
“Minister Drathir decided that he wanted to inspect our facilities personally.”
“Ah. I admit I was a bit surprised to see a Tarreen here. It’s been a long time.”
“He is unconvinced about the necessity of the Spider Program, though I’m sure your successful recovery of Markus will change his mind.”
“I’m sure it will,” Jenavian murmured.
“Speaking of our old friend, he seemed convinced that you would ultimately join with him,” Sisk said. “And particularly devastated that you betrayed him.”
Miraculously, she managed not to flinch. “You’ve spoken with him?”
He nodded, and his smile widened. “The Widow granted me the privilege of conducting the initial interrogation. I’m sure she would consider letting you take over, though, once you’re properly settled.”
“I’m sure you can handle it,” Jenavian replied, her throat somehow even drier than before. She hadn’t expected them to start the interrogation so quickly, especially not with Markus’s injuries. Had they even bothered to heal him, or had they simply started pounding away at his mental barriers the moment he’d reached the infirmary?
Sisk shrugged. “I assumed you’d wish to finish what you started. I know how long you’ve wanted the chance to redeem yourself.”
Jena
vian’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Poor choice of words, sorry,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I just know you’ve been looking forward to finally dragging Markus back here after what he did to you. I know I was, and you were always…closer to him.”
This time she undoubtedly flinched, but she quickly glanced away and hoped he didn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter to me. As long as we can destroy the Mire, that’s what counts.”
“I suppose so,” Sisk replied. “Well, it shouldn’t take long to break him either way. I think despair might undo him even before the nasathine. The fool really was pinning all of his hopes on you.”
“Yes,” Jenavian whispered. “I always knew he was an idiot.”
Sisk smiled again and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You look like you could use some sleep. Let me know once you’ve gotten some—I’d love to hear about this Mire base firsthand.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.”
She returned a quick and entirely fake grin before stepping past him, hoping desperately that he couldn’t sense the knot of tension swelling inside her. Before coming here, she’d wondered briefly how Sisk might react to the news of Markus’s capture. The two of them had been good friends once, insofar as Spiders really had friends, and she assumed he shared some of her doubts about this entire operation. Evidently not.
Jenavian continued on to her quarters, doing her best to bury the mental picture of Markus writhing in agony on the interrogation room floor. Thexyl was already there when she arrived, sitting behind her computer terminal and staring intently at the screen. His entire body was covered in thick, shimmering patches of orange.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, his voice uncharacteristically tight. “I’ve been accessing the Convectorate database in an effort to identify the last data crystal.”
She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “And?”
“I wasn’t able to find anything specifically on that crystal, but I think I’ve finally discovered why Markus never located the cure on the other ones.”
“Why is that?”
He spun around to face her, a patch of yellowing tracing down his chin. “Because the disease that allegedly crippled your entire species—the disease that vaulted the Tarreen into power—is a lie.”
Jenavian froze in place. “What?”
“The Pandrophage,” Thexyl whispered. “It doesn’t exist.”
The Spider and the Fly Page 42
