by Daniel Gibbs
"I did the same," Ascaro answered. "I would rather be in Zalain living peacefully with my family, not here. But our world needs people ready to stand up for the civil rights of all Lusitanians."
"Just as it needs patriots ready to stand up and protect our world from the threats that would ruin it," Palmeiro answered. "That has always been the purpose of the Estado Novo."
There was silence between the two women. She is refreshing, Ascaro decided. Even if she is wrong, at least she is not barking in rage at me for not agreeing with her. She finally ended the silence. "So it is said."
"For what it's worth, Madame Minister, I understand you are, in your own way, a patriot. Simply a misguided one," Palmeiro remarked. "The Estado Novo is necessary, and it does not exist simply to abuse democrats, although there are always excesses out of zeal. I cannot apologize for acts I did not commit, but I do feel regret at those displays." The woman bowed. "Pardon me and enjoy your meal, senhora, I have duties to return to."
"I will see you later, then," Ascaro remarked. She watched Palmeiro go. Vitorino must be tittering with laughter at assigning me an honest RSS agent.
With that thought, she turned to her meal before it could cool.
14
Word spread swiftly through the station that the Guild Councils were rallying a fleet. No one yet knew why or where, only that it involved the missing ships, which more than justified the situation to the station residents.
Al-Lahim noticed signs of the station's mobilizations as he walked the streets of Quetta District. Notifications were out, calling the militia to service. Spacers among the local population were joining Dulaney's fleet to bring his crews up to full strength. Apprehension was also there: Trinidad Station had faced many threats over the last century and a half, but never a situation that called for it to do the equivalent of full mobilization.
His reason for coming was varied. Spiritually, he enjoyed the chance to visit one of the district's mosques and join in prayers. There were mosques on Lusitania, but the political issues there made visiting them dangerous for him. Here, he could come freely and make one of his daily prayers in the company of other believers, none of whom might be a PdDN member or an RSS operative.
Once he saw to spiritual need and duty, al-Lahim ventured to an eatery. The food was all local, so it had the peculiar taste of vat-grown meat and hydroponic- and aeroponic-grown vegetables. It was still quite decent.
His contact walked in. She wore a headscarf like most women in Quetta District, joined by a one-piece spacer's jumpsuit of green coloring. Anyone wondering her religious affiliation would find the question answered by the sheathed kirpan hung from her belt. Al-Lahim gestured to a chair for her to sit in. "I recommend the biryani. And the paneer is the best I've had off-planet."
"Abdul." The woman sat, giving no indication she was going to take up his suggestions.
"Kaiya." He leveled a bemused look at her. Kaiya Kaur Chagger was a long-time contact of his. She had her own ship, a Federated Interstellar-model midweight transport called the Majha that had been substantially modified and thus armed. "You don't look happy to see me."
"More like I'm not happy that I've been called to Trinidad Station," she said. "Especially with my cargo. The last thing I need is pirates."
"Given the situation, pirates aren't your worry." Al-Lahim took a sip of chai and folded his hands on the table. "It's good to see you, Kaiya, regardless of circumstances. I know the work doesn't always agree, but it's important."
She sighed. Her face was round and of spacer-pale brown coloring. She was smaller than al-Lahim, but that didn't deceive him. The kirpan was primarily there for religious purposes, given she was from a Sikh family on the planet Khalistan, but he knew she was skilled with the blade and could kill with it if needed. "It's been too long since I, well, since I've been able to do anything to remind myself that I'm still living a righteous life."
"I know the feeling." As much as he sympathized, al-Lahim wished to get to business. "Did you bring the cargo?"
Kaiya nodded. "I even managed a berth at Arm 3, as you requested. But are you sure—"
"I am. And if it worries you, I'll be going with them," he said. "I'll handle everything."
"As long as I don't have to make up the excuse to the quartermasters," she said. "It looks like there's a mobilization going on around here. I'm sure I saw the Morozova attached to Arm 3."
"I don't want to go into detail."
"My ship has armament," she pointed out. "If they're gathering a fleet, you could find a way to sign me up—"
"No," al-Lahim interjected. "I've gotten some of our contacts involved, but I can't risk your operations or cover. As important as this is, there are other ops counting on you."
"There are," she conceded. "In that case, I'll be leaving as soon as I can."
"That won't be for a while," he said. "They're locking the system down until a few days after we depart. That way, no warning will have time to get to another system before we're at the target location."
"Well, my crew's been wanting a break," she said. "So perhaps I'll try the local cuisine after all."
With the arrival of more captains, another, larger war council meeting was necessary. The fleet was up to sixty-four vessels now, given all the favors being called in. It made Henry nervous, since the more they spread the word, the more likely the League would catch on.
As expected, the war council's time was dominated by the discussion of spoils. Given the number of independent spacers, privateers, and pirates in the fleet, nobody could be shocked. Minimal allotments were guaranteed to minimize the risk of a rush for spoils to be used against them, while initiative was rewarded by the promise of keeping part of what a crew individually seized. The allotment would be roughly half and half: half of what any ship took would be spread evenly to all remaining crews and the other half they'd keep.
Once that was done, and Dulaney used the discussion to leverage acceptance of his leadership, a Tal'mayan captain brought up the obvious question. "How do you know where we are supposed to go?" she demanded of him.
"We have a tracker in place," Henry said from his seat beside Tia. They were at a table beside Dulaney, showing their prominence in the planning. "It was planted on a League spy officer's ship by an ally of convenience. For security purposes, I'll provide course data as we progress."
There was some grousing about that. Henry feared it might become accusations of planning a trap, but soon the grousing disappeared. Between his reputation, that of Dulaney's and the Tokarevs’, anger over the League's behavior—or their general existence—the promise of salvage and spoils, everyone was for the attack.
The discussion went on toward the EMP weapon.
Miri was waiting when the war council got out. Henry looked to her with interest, but she shook her head. She wasn't here to see him. He and Tia went on to whatever other work they had in mind.
She walked up to the Tokarevs when they emerged. They looked at her with politeness, if not respect. Her deception, while understandable, still rankled. "I wished to speak with you both. To talk about Vasily."
It was obvious they wanted to say no. Miri expected them to. But Pavel ultimately nodded. "Follow us."
She did. They took a station transit car to another section of Trinidad, a residential/commercial one. Near the transit station was a small structure, an eatery, with Cyrillic characters alongside Latin ones. It was named "Stepan's."
The inside reminded her of other small restaurants she'd seen in her life. There were only sixteen tables available. A plump older woman approached and spoke in accented English. "A table for three?"
"Da."
"Ah, finally, fellow Russians," the woman said, changing languages. Her Russian was accented differently from the Tokarevs', and it didn't sound like the Russian Miri heard among the League either. "Someone will appreciate the pelmeni."
Both Tokarev brothers chuckled. They followed her to a table, Miri at the rear. Another employee, or member of
the family, brought out a samovar. "We make do with what we can," the waitress assured them, again in Russian. "We import from Belgorod when we can afford to." Miri recognized the name as one of the Russian-colonized worlds in Neutral Space, Belgorod-Sagittarskiy.
"So do we," Piotr assured her. "Pelmeni sounds excellent. And borscht." The last was added as if he didn't need to check the menu.
Pavel asked for the same. Miri decided on vegetarian borscht. Ordering vegetarian was the best method to avoid pork as a spacer without calling attention to observing any dietary laws.
The waitress departed and she was left with the brothers. She resumed speaking in Russian. "My apologies again for deceiving you. You saved my life. You deserved better."
Piotr said nothing. Pavel pursed his lips together. "Given your history, we understand. Understand we saved your life as a duty, not a favor."
"Still, you deserved better. Do you have any questions for me?"
"Are you the Traitor of Lowery?" Piotr asked bluntly. "I do not doubt the League wants you dead, but that doesn't mean you're being honest."
"I am, and I deserve the title," Miri said quietly. "To keep my cover, I betrayed people to the League. They hate me, and they're right to."
"Without you, their world would never have been liberated," Pavel pointed out.
"Perhaps not. But I was the one who betrayed their loved ones. I caused them to be hanged, just as your father and uncle were. Or to be deported to the Orion Arm and never seen again." As she said the words in Russian, she struggled with the pronunciation, given her disuse of the language. As she spoke, Miri felt the old guilt returning. "I've tried justifying it. As did my superiors. But," she sighed, "now I’m the cause of gentle Vasily's death."
Again, Piotr said nothing. His face twitched in anger. Pavel could speak, at least. "We understand this too. Vasily had a good soul. He suffered as a slave, but unlike many, it didn't take the good from him. God saw that goodness and sent us to free him so we could save his soul. He's with God now."
Piotr's eyes came up. "Tell me more about this attacker."
Miri had to walk a fine line here. Indeed, she had to deceive the Tokarevs again. If they knew that the attacker, Kepper, was the source of the tracker, they might demand he be handed over. And while she had no doubts he deserved what he'd get at their hands, the League had to be stopped.
It hurt Miri that she found herself making the same calculations she had on Lowery. She was putting the mission ahead of principles and trust. If she trusted them, trusted the Tokarevs with Kepper's presence, maybe they'd agree to stay quiet about it. They might even let Kepper finish this operation, and they could always find him later. But she couldn't risk that they wouldn't. Perhaps I am too much a spy. I’m too familiar with deception; I find it too easy, she considered.
These thoughts moved through her mind in the span of a few seconds. The expression on her face was neutral, an old habit to avoid letting her facial expressions show what was inside her heart and mind.
"Caucasian male, mid to late thirties, perhaps early forties," she began. "Approximately one hundred and eighty centimeters tall, maybe toward one-ninety. Dark hair, brown, and blue eyes. He was competent. If not for Cera McGinty of the Shadow Wolf's crew, he would've taken me." She sighed. "He had Vasily's helicar; it was how he laid the trap. It worked, because while I was suspicious, I wanted to make sure Vasily was okay. If only I'd beaten him, maybe Vasily would be alive."
Knowing what query was forming in Piotr's mind, she said, "As it was, he shot me in three places, and I almost bled out. I mostly lost consciousness in the back of their rented helicar. Captain Henry took me straight to his ship for medical help and launched as quickly as he could. I didn't have a chance to ask about Vasily or message Father Nikolai."
The brothers listened to her description and explanation with quiet focus, their only diversion being Pavel pouring tea from the tap on the samovar. By the time she was finished, he was pouring her a cup as well. She accepted it and looked at the contents, a rich brown with steam still rising from the hot tea. She took a sip. The taste was strong, a little stronger than she liked, but it was good.
"He must have forced Vasily to betray you," said Pavel as she took the drink. "And then shot him after you escaped."
"Most likely." She shook her head. "I never wanted anyone to die for me. Never again."
"It is as much my fault," said Piotr. "I should have remained in Sektatsh and kept you safe until your superiors arrived. This murderer would not have gotten past my crew."
"But he might have killed them," she said. "It's possible that if the League didn't think me extractable, they would’ve hunted the Morozova. Just as they did the Shadow Wolf."
The brothers knew what she meant. "Still, we are better able to resist such things than Vasily was."
"He struck me as a kind and gentle being," she said. "But I didn't get to know him. What was he like?"
For several seconds, there was no reply. Pavel looked at his brother with sadness. "He was my proselyte," Piotr finally said. "Years ago, when Captain Osinski commanded the Morozova, and my brother and I were junior officers, the Harr'al abducted and enslaved Father Nikolai's deacon. We went in and rescued our brother in Christ, at the cost of some blood and damage to the Morozova. We freed the slaves as well. While we were being repaired, he came to me in our ship chapel and started asking about our religious icons. I knew enough Calnin to communicate with him and explained Christianity to him." A smile came to Piotr at the memory. "It was not easy. Calnin is a very… strange language. But I made the important parts clear. I explained Christ and his message, and his death and resurrection. It was the nature of Vasily's good soul to be drawn toward that message. He wanted to know even more. He stayed even after we left Harron to perform other duties." Piotr stopped long enough to drink more tea. "I taught him Russian, with Pavel's help."
Pavel laughed. “You mean I taught him with your help, Piotr."
Piotr chuckled. Miri did too, recognizing the sibling ribbing for what it was. "Our chaplain, Father Vasily, took charge of his religious education. It was why Vasily chose that as his Christian name. But I was there for every step, reinforcing his new faith, helping him understand it." Pain came to Piotr's voice. "I still remember when we were about to take command from Captain Osinski. Vasily was there for the ceremony. He was so happy."
"It was when he told us he wanted to return to Harron and work with our missionaries," Pavel added.
"Yes. He wanted to help bring other Harr'al to the love of Christ. I know the choice terrified him."
"He didn't want to be returned to slavery," Miri suggested.
"Exactly. But he did it anyway." Piotr took another drink. "And then I brought you to him and put him in the path of our enemies. Now he's gone."
"He died with an innocent soul, Piotr," Pavel said. "He’s in a better place."
"Yes. With Papa and Uncle."
Miri swallowed. Hearing the pain in their voices and the history of Kepper's victim—her victim too—made her choice to keep the killer hidden all the more difficult. In fact, she wanted to shoot Kepper herself now, because killing Vasily had served no purpose beyond a cold-blooded "no witnesses" attitude.
But there was a greater purpose at work. A mission of higher priority. So she said nothing.
They didn't say much either, as their food came out. As it turned out, it was quite good too.
After seeing to some supply purchases, Henry and Tia returned to the transport lift. To their surprise, they found Miri waiting for them. She didn't say why and they didn't ask.
During the lift journey to the docking arms, Miri took advantage of their being alone to ask, "Do you think Kepper will come through?"
Tia gave Henry a concerned look, to which he nodded. "If he's smart, he will. He'll be coy about it, probably insist on giving us the course piece by piece. That way, he can be certain we won't space him or anything."
"He would be correct for most of us. I wouldn't s
pace him, but I'd give him to the Tokarevs. They would be grateful, especially if they knew what he did to Vasily."
Henry could hear the guilt in Miri's voice. He could see that, in her heart, she felt responsible. He bet the Tokarevs wanted to know more about who attacked her because they desired revenge on Vasily's killer. While he was certain she hadn't told them where Kepper was, it was mostly because the Tokarevs hadn't come straight to him about it.
"We'll deal with Kepper later," Henry said. "After we survive what's coming next."
Miri bobbed her head up and down but didn’t speak.
They returned to the Shadow Wolf's berth and found a peculiar sight. A number of cargo flatbeds were pulled up to the starboard-side middle hold. On the flatbeds were long, cylindrical objects with engines on the rear and maneuvering thrusters built into the sides. Henry recognized them immediately, given their profiles.
Which was why he wasn't surprised to see al-Lahim accompanying the flatbeds while Tia and Yanik were discussing the contents with him. Henry approached with Miri and called out, "What's all this?"
Heads turned to face him. "Ah, Captain." Al-Lahim smiled. "I was just discussing with your First and Second Mates one of my contributions to this operation."
"Those are Hunter missiles, aren't they?"
Al-Lahim nodded. His smile grew. "They fell off a supply ship somewhere, I think."
Henry didn't know whether to be impressed or worried. Hunter-model missiles were some of the best anti-ship missiles in Coalition service, with excellent acceleration, maneuverability, and an advanced—but shackled due to strict Coalition laws—AI system made to avoid point defense and overcome electronic spoofing measures. A good spread of them could take the deflectors off a battleship, and annihilate a cruiser. "I'd hate to be the captain of that supply ship," he remarked, going for the joke. The Hunter was incredibly expensive, even the older models from his time in the CDF. He suspected that the "supply ship" in question was not exactly one that the CDF would ever admit to having, if it had these missiles out here in Neutral Space.
