Cold Welcome

by Elizabeth Moon

  Across the passage, one room was full of opaque canisters almost waist-high, stacked three wide on either side, with an aisle between them. They were labeled, but not in a script she knew. On the walls above hung the same kinds of cleaning equipment familiar to humans everywhere. Brushes, mops, a shelf of something that looked like small balls of moss but felt like something to scrub pots with.

  The other room looked, at first glance, like a laboratory or laboratory supply room. Tall transparent containers of different-colored liquid and a faintly tangy odor. Ky moved closer; the room’s light brightened. Inside the jars she could now see shapes—translucent, taking the color of the liquid. A long string of little bags, each with a dark dot in it. A sinuous line of…bones? segments of one thing?…with feathery fronds extending to either side. Each jar bore a yellow label with a single symbol on it—again, she could not understand it, but when she reached out to trace the symbol, it flashed a bright blue light at her.

  That had to mean Don’t touch. She looked around once more, forced herself to ignore what wasn’t going to solve their problems, and went out, closing that door.

  Kurin came out to join her in closing all the doors, and the others climbed aboard the vehicles. They left the area as they’d found it, all doors closed.

  “I think they’re a lot like us,” Kurin said. She was in the first vehicle with Ky.

  “They eat, they drink, they excrete, they must lie down on those shelf things because what else would you use a soft-halfway-down shelf for? And cleaning supplies.”

  And whatever that was in the last room. Nobody’d mentioned that, and Ky wasn’t going to.

  After another three hours of travel, they passed another portal that closed behind them. Ky signaled to keep going. If they found another rest stop, they might as well stop for the night. An hour later, there it was: the same as the last except somewhat larger.

  “We need to loosen up,” Ky said before Cosper could start in on fitness training; he looked pleased that she’d mentioned it. “Ten minutes,” Ky said. “Then we set up for the night.”

  Nobody complained about the vigorous calisthenics and stretches. Afterward, when they discovered four rooms, not just two, with beds, they each claimed a bed, clustering in two of the rooms, leaving the rest for Ky to choose from.

  Gurton investigated the kitchen/dining room, discovering a cooking surface behind the plain counter, and set to work on a hot meal. Some were dozing by the time she served, and immediately after Ky sent them all to bed.

  The room she chose for herself had two electrical outlets on the wall without bunks. What would the mystery people have used for voltage? She checked with her implant cable; the green light came on. How likely was it that a different race or culture, or humans from before electricity was used on Old Earth, would choose a compatible voltage to…whichever side of Old Earth it was that used 110 instead of 220?

  But safe. Except—she didn’t need to call Rafe now. They were out of the old base, doors locked behind them, and he wouldn’t be expecting to hear from her tonight anyway. It would be smarter to wait a few days, until they were farther away—maybe even had found another route to the outside—and she could tell him where she was, a long way from any enemy. She put away her special cable and went peacefully to sleep.

  DAY 217

  Despite her confidence in the obscurity of the hidden doors, and the fact that they had all the power rods they’d been able to find, Ky woke early and chivvied the others into action. “We can do twelve hours,” she said. “Fifteen minutes at the rest stops; half an hour for lunch. Twelve hours will get us 180 more kilometers.” If everything worked as well and no better than the day before. If the enemy hadn’t figured out where the entrance to the rest of the facility was, and how to get their own vehicles into the tunnel. Because their vehicles would not be self-driving and would go much faster, she was sure.

  The day ground on, hour after hour of rolling almost silently along in a traveling bubble of light, doors opening in front of them, closing behind them. She was stiff every time she got out of the vehicle, less and less glad to be climbing back aboard. Finally they came to the opening where Ky had planned to stop for the night, and everyone climbed down, groaning and muttering.

  “Exercise period?” Cosper asked.

  “Definitely,” Ky said, over the groans. “Including you, Gurton—I’m sure you’re stiff, too.”

  An hour later, she agreed when Droshinski said, “At least we can shower and change clothes—but I wish we had a ’fresher cabinet for the dirty ones.”

  While the others continued to clean up, Ky wandered through the other rooms, similar to those she’d seen before. What were those shapes in jars? And what were they for? How old?

  “Sir? Gurton’s serving supper.”

  “Coming.” Ky closed the door as she left the mystery behind and set her mind firmly on the present and future. Everyone bedded down early, making up for the night before. Again, Ky thought of contacting Rafe, but decided that they hadn’t traveled far enough yet and she had nothing really to say.

  DAYS 218–219

  In the next two days they covered 360 kilometers of gray tunnel, most of it straight, with interruptions at the same regular intervals. Although the tunnel never seemed stuffy, and the lights and water continued to work, Ky felt certain that no one had been down this way for centuries. The silence was oppressive, once they stopped for a meal or a night’s rest. Conversation lagged. They went through the exercises Cosper insisted on without enthusiasm; Ky, focused on what might be happening outside, didn’t try to rouse them to any.

  On the second night, she contacted Rafe. He sounded exhausted and distracted when he answered.

  “Where are you?”

  “Out of the main complex. Our vehicles can only go fifteen kilometers an hour, but we run them twelve hours a day.”

  “So you’re well away, that’s good. Supplies?”

  “Ample food and water for two or three tendays, if we can use the vehicles the whole way; if we have to go on foot, it’ll be tighter.”

  “And where exactly are you now?”

  “There’s a passage—the only one that we found—leading from the main complex. You should be able to do a void-scan and see it. It started out heading north, but we’ve had some curves and I’m not sure now.”

  “That’s good—sorry, Ky, I’ve got to go. Teague’s calling me.”

  Ky shook her head, shrugged, and lay down wondering if he’d actually heard everything she’d said. Where were their enemies? And their friends?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SLOTTER KEY, PORT MAJOR

  DAY 218

  Rafe and Teague, working together with Rafe’s own tool kit and another set of special devices MacRobert procured from somewhere, were tracing the power supplies to the facility they thought was the site of the unusual fatalities. Grace, home from the office, reading files she’d hunted down, looked up from time to time. What they said was cryptic, techtalk she didn’t know, but both the intensity of their concentration and the rising tension kept her checking in on them every little while. The file she’d pulled and was now marking offered hints at something deeper, less amenable to immediate action, than the flow of electrons to and from that facility.

  Finally Teague said “Ahhh” in a tone that could only mean success, and Rafe said “Gotcha.” She looked up again. Rafe turned away from the table and grinned at her.

  “Good news?” she asked.

  “We found it and we’ve identified all its input gates. Moreover, Teague—and I bow before your genius, Teague—has coerced the power input main controller into accepting us—that is, Teague—as its new lord and master.”

  “And what have you done?” Grace asked. “You’re looking far too smug to be a mere sidekick.”

  “Indeed,” Rafe said. He puffed out his lips and raised an eyebrow. Grace laughed. “You wound me, Rector Vatta, indeed you do. To the core. However, because I am a sweet and generous soul…”
Here Teague looked startled and Rafe glared at him. “When have I been less than sweet and gracious to you, Teague? What I was about to say…with Teague holding the controller at bay, I was able to induce a small power surge into one of the subsequent switches, and get into one—only one so far—of the server arrays. Those files are even now being sucked by the financial ansible, and apparently—but only apparently—being sent outsystem to a bleached recipient. Which would be me, if I were on Nexus, but I’m not and it isn’t. Moreover, though usually a large send would trip an alarm, it won’t now.”

  “I suppose you’ve already read all of them?”

  “No, only a few headers. Enough to know we will want to read them in detail later. Right now I’m just sucking them away before doing whatever you want done to the installation. It’s going to take awhile, even at max bandwidth, because the owners of this facility—not being utter fools—not only had quite competent security measures in place for intrusion, but anticipated that a slow outward bandwidth might be useful in preventing a faster loss.” He smiled at her, a smile of such limpid, innocent joy that she knew it was faked. “What would you like done with this facility later?”

  “Blow it up,” Grace said. “In fact, why wait?”

  “You don’t anticipate needing any of the data stored there?”

  Grace considered. “It might be useful. But it might be more useful to have the opposition’s attention focused on their own problems, and not on Ky and the others.”

  “They’re apt to react hastily and violently,” MacRobert put in.

  “I know. I know, and it’s dangerous, but it’s dangerous either way. Throwing some confusion into their day—night—seems preferable to me. Though, since Rafe and Teague are not Slotter Key military personnel, I cannot order them to do so.”

  “A couple of foreign hoodlums?” MacRobert considered. “Mischief makers? Foreign agents? I don’t think they’ll go for that. They know perfectly well Ky’s your niece and the military’s your responsibility; they know about your past as Vatta’s corporate spymaster. Even if they don’t have any hooks into your office at all, they’ll anticipate your involvement. It’s going to rebound onto Vatta no matter what.”

  “It might. It probably will. When would be the ideal time to disrupt them?”

  “Just as their mission starts,” MacRobert said. “Especially if that’s their communications link to their mission commander.”

  “Would they communicate early?” Rafe asked. “I was thinking they’d have it all worked out to a certain point, and might not report until they’d arrived.”

  “Depends how much fine control they want of their mercs. Would they trust them to run the op silently, or would they want to check up on them?”

  “Remote surveillance,” Grace said. “They won’t transmit unless something goes badly wrong, but they will listen in.”

  “Via that facility,” Teague said. “And the satellite they use.”

  “Which we control,” Rafe said. He was watching his screen.

  “There’s not a way to increase the bandwidth?” Grace asked.

  “Not without their knowing it right away. Separate alarm on that little item; if I could get to the hardware I could do it, but I can’t do it from here, not with more than a sixty percent probability of success. And that’s not enough.”

  “Right you are,” Grace said. “Mac, where are the transports? Still dark on base?”

  “Yes. No lights around them, no sign they’re going to sneak out tonight. Of course there might not be, but yesterday sundown the vehicles were still parked nearby. No heat signatures of ground vehicles around them at all.”

  “Let your suck run, Rafe, and see if you can get into another array. In the long run, you’re right—we want their data, enough to figure out who’s behind this.”

  “When’s Stella due?” MacRobert asked. Grace looked over at the table. He was frowning at something on his own pad.

  “Why?”

  “There’s a news note from Cascadia. Four dead in mysterious and extremely discourteous assault in a respectable housing sector. A reminder to citizens to secure their quarters and report anything suspicious to the proctors. A reminder that discourtesy will not be tolerated and decorum must be maintained in all circumstances. Nothing from Vatta Enterprises, nothing from Stella.”

  “You think that was Stella? Did you look at the arrival/departure screen?”

  “Looking now…merging with news. The dateline for the assault story is three—no, four—days back. Vatta courier departed in regular service, whatever that means, the same day as the assault…”

  Grace leaned forward. “Stella’s people would have informed us of her death or serious injury, I’m sure. Four dead and a courier departure suggests to me that she dealt with four discourteous persons and is on her way here.”

  “I thought Stella was the gentle one,” Mac said, brows raised.

  “Stella is quite capable.” Grace shook a finger at him. “She doesn’t like violence, or killing, but she also doesn’t like being hurt and wants to stay alive. I’m certain the deaths were necessary in this case. Evidently the Cascadians agree, though I swear I do not understand their obsession with manners.” She put her stack of files down. “I’m going to bed. I have an early meeting at the ministry tomorrow morning. Which of you lads is taking the watch?”

  “I’ll take first,” Rafe said. “I want to see if I can niggle my way into another array and start sucking it dry. Teague, do you want to get some sleep now?”

  “Sure.” Teague pushed himself up.

  DAY 219

  Next morning, when Grace appeared, a red-eyed Rafe reported that he had sucked three of the eight arrays dry. “I can’t do the others; I’m too fogged. Ky called and I gave her what we know up to now. They’ve left the main base; they got some vehicles moving. Not very fast, and she doesn’t know where the passage leads. Finally.” He yawned, shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve got to get some sleep. Teague will be here all day. I’ll wake him now. If you want to download the files I shipped up to safe storage, he can pull them for you.”

  “Breakfast first?”

  “No. I just need sleep.” He headed for the bedroom. Grace and Mac ate their breakfast in peace; Teague appeared as they were leaving for the workday.

  “Shall I redirect files to your office?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Send me a summary, if you find something juicy. I won’t be back until evening, unless there’s an emergency.”

  She said goodbye to Mac at the door to her building and he headed off on whatever he had in mind for the day. Sometimes he explained his plans and sometimes he reappeared at lunch, or in the evening, bringing home new packets of useful information about this or that. “It’s less restful, but more fun, than running the security office at the Academy,” he said. “And I’m on my own. If I take a four-hour break in one of Port Major’s exotic brothels, nobody knows about it.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m the one who bugged the place; I know how to fox the bugs.”

  They had laughed, both aware that he was teasing her in her persona of Rector, not partner. She was used to his going about his duties—vaguely defined as they were—without consulting her on every plan or change thereto. “Lunch?” she asked. “Today’s fish stew.”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know.” He waved; she waved; she entered her office to find not only the quarterly meeting, but a string of appointments, waiting.

  —

  The quarterly budget meeting went on too long, as it always did. Grace paid close attention to which departments wanted more resources, and what for, and refused to commit to approving the whole thing until she had time to “make more inquiries.” Nobody left satisfied, including her. She managed to keep her temper in check. Mostly.

  Her assistant Derek’s com light blinked. “Rector, Master Sergeant MacRobert requests that you receive a skullphone call from another party.”

  Grace blinked.
That was not the way they usually communicated, and what other party? “I will speak with Master Sergeant MacRobert,” she said. “Is he here? Send him in.”

  “He is not here, Rector. He was calling from…um…Joint Services Regional Command Three. That’s—”

  “Ordnay, I know,” Grace said. Half a continent away, hours away by the fastest transport, and he hadn’t told her he was going that far. Why?

  “He disconnected after making his request, Rector.”

  Grace’s skullphone gave its usual annoying internal buzz that made her back teeth itch. “Thank you, Derek,” she said and punched the intercom off. The skullphone buzzed again. Why was Mac being this roundabout, setting up a call from another person through her assistant, instead of calling her himself? It had to be both important and secret, but why? He knew she preferred directness, especially with allies. What could possibly—bzzzzt—be his motive? Or…someone else’s motive. That thought sent a cold chill down her back. She tongued the skullphone’s alarm, turning it off.

  —

  “She’s not answering.” Arne Savance looked up from the console. “Nothing.” He glanced at his boss, then at the older man strapped to a gurney, his unconscious face slack with the drug. He knew who the man was: retired master sergeant MacRobert, rumored to be the Rector’s lover and certain to be her agent. “Maybe should have kept him awake, Ser?”

  “No.” His boss had never shared a name. “He wasn’t cooperative, and he’s got a block it’ll take longer to break. The assistant believed us, but perhaps the Rector had her alarm turned off. Perhaps she doesn’t take skullphone calls in work hours. We’ll keep trying.”

  “Call the assistant back, ask again?” Arne thought it just as likely the Rector had smelled a rat, but he had learned early in this organization not to offer suggestions.

  “No. Static on the line won’t fool the assistant again. We’ll move MacRobert to another location; you stay here and monitor—if she answers, play the tape, and of course record anything she says. Full band.”