3

 

 

AVS-44

‘955.01.20 EN

1110

 

“Welcome, Morgan.” The transmission came from the singleship via standard COE communications channels: encrypted and on a tightbeam, but otherwise unremarkable. “I knew we were expecting someone from COE, but had no idea it would be you!”

“Not now, Myer.” Roche looked up at the face in a corner of the scutter’s main observation tank and was pricked again by its unexpected familiarity. “We’re docking in five minutes, and I need to concentrate.”

Mavalhin smiled the smile she remembered so well. “Okay,” he said, “but remember, I’m right behind you, so don’t cock anything up, all right?”

Roche didn’t bother to reply. She knew him—or, more accurately, had once known him—well enough to realize that such comments were symptoms of his own insecurity. Whenever he’d needled her in the past, it had been because he felt threatened by her and needed to bring her down a peg or two. Nothing, it seemed, had changed.

Beside her at the helm of the scutter, Haid killed the audio link between the two crafts.

“The station has indicated that we are to dock at their main facility,” he said. “So far, everything seems aboveboard.”

Roche looked at the navigation display. The mini-station hung like a vast, gray stone in the dark-body halo the natives of Palasian System had called Autoville. Like most mini-stations, it had a spherical external framework almost a kilometer across upon which hung such hardware as thrusters, shield generators, docking bays, and communication dishes; on the inside huddled the modules required for unsuited habitation, packed piecemeal together and connected to the shell by a semi-rigid lattice. Much of the shell’s interior was empty, apart from what appeared to be a small scout-ship docked in an internal gantry; as a result, the mini-station seemed incomplete. But Roche could tell just by looking at it that it had seen many years of service. Its one identifying feature:—a black R painted on the end opposite the main engines—had faded from long exposure to space dust.

No lights were visible on the shell or in the interior. Whoever it belonged to, they were taking the job of hiding seriously.

“Bring us in slowly,” Roche said. She would have liked to pilot the scutter herself, but preferred to give Haid the opportunity of flying with his new prosthetics. The bay they were aiming for was outlined in green, courtesy of the navigation AI. “Are we still clear, Box?”

She waited a second for the AI’s reply. The Ana Vereine—along with Cane and Maii—was waiting camouflaged as a COE raider a safe distance away, resulting in a slight communication lag.

“I detect no suspicious emissions,” said the Box eventually. “Apart from the singleships and a handful of drones, there are no other vessels in this vicinity. The station is communicating with several distant sites by tightbeam, but I have been unable to overhear their conversations.”

“So far so good.” Roche watched the mini-station grow steadily larger in the display. “Still, I’d be happier if they’d tell us who they are.”

“They probably feel the same way about us,” said Haid. “Our ID tells them nothing, and you’ve avoided mentioning why we’re here. Trust works both ways, Morgan.”

Roche nodded. “I know. But who makes the first move?”

“I guess they already have, by inviting us here.” Haid adjusted the scutter’s trajectory with a quick burn on the thrusters. “I’m not saying we should let down our guard entirely, but we have to give a little in order to get what we want.”

“That doesn’t sound like your normal line, Ameidio.”

He smiled. “Just trying to see it from their perspective.”

She supposed she should do the same, although it was hard to remain impassive following the shock of seeing Myer Mavalhin again. Any fear she had felt over the occupant of the singleship had vanished the moment she saw his face, in 2-D monochrome and highly compressed from the tightbeam transmission aimed squarely at the probe they had sent to follow the Ana Vereine’s path. Those dark eyes set deep in a broad, clean-shaven face; the black hair with its graying swaths about the temples... There was no mistaking him.

No mistaking, either, the warning he had sent:

“If you’re heading to Aro Spaceport, then change course now, while you still can. A hostile agent unlike anyone you’ve come across before has been contained within this system, and we’re unsure of his whereabouts. I urge you to turn and leave immediately.”

She had already seen enough for the advice to carry real weight. Only the smallest hint of hope had kept her from seriously considering the option of leaving.

“If for any reason you are unable to escape the system,” he had continued, “or if you’re in need of repairs, then follow me to the coordinates 63 plus 4 degrees, 2 point 6 PAU. But maintain radio silence. We don’t want to risk exposing ourselves with unnecessary communications.”

We, he had said, as casually as only he could under such circumstances. We. There was someone else alive in Palasian System.

The yellow landing lights of the station’s main docking facility winked invitingly to life as the scutter broached a minimum distance. No doubt the light was coherent and aimed directly at them to reduce the risk of anyone’s overseeing. There would still be scattering off the scutter’s hull, but Roche suspected the risk of anyone’s detecting that was small. Precautions were sensible only to a certain degree; beyond that, they were symptomatic of paranoia.

Which is why, she guessed, she had taken Mavalhin at his word. He was not an unknown quantity, like everything else in the system; she couldn’t entirely trust him, based on past experience, but at least she knew that he was only mundane and could deal with him if necessary.

Myer Mavalhin...

“You said you studied with this guy,” said Haid, breaking into her thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Roche felt again that sudden rush of unreality as the fact that he was here, in Palasian System, struck home. “At COE Military Cottage.”

“How well did you know him?’

“Well enough.” She shrugged, and hoped the flush spreading across her face wasn’t visible. “We took the same classes and were often buddied on smaller projects. We were regarded as a sort of team.”

And it had been a very good team, she remembered. For a while. Maybe a year. Then it had been unbearable, prolonged by the fact that the College tutors had still expected them to continue working together. If not for Mavalhin’s eventual expulsion from the College, she might well have left herself, just to get away from him. It had been that bad.

But here she was—part of her almost glad to see him again, after all this time, while another part of her still yearned to stick him in a blast tube and press Purge.

Roche had already discussed some of the facts with the others on the Ana Vereine, although she hadn’t felt comfortable delving too deeply into her past. Even when the station had been located at exactly the place Myer had indicated—measured from Jagabis’s location and plane of ecliptic: 63 degrees closer to them, 4 degrees above, and just over two and half times as far away from the sun—she had avoided talking to Mavalhin directly, for fear of exposing scar tissue she would rather have kept hidden. She had simply ordered the Ana Vereine to rendezvous with the station and sent a brief text reply indicating to him that she would be willing to talk terms.

But she could feel Maii’s curiosity brushing at the edges of her long-term memory. And Haid knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “You’re prepared to take this guy at his word when he says he and his buddies want to work with us, but you’ll hardly talk about him, let alone to him. Who is it you don’t trust, Morgan?”

“I’m not sure,” she said frankly, half-smiling in the gloom of the scutter. “I don’t know what I’m thinking at the moment, which is why I’d rather not think at all for a while.”

“That’s not very reassuring, Morgan.”

“I know, but... Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just dock, and see what they have to say.”

“Now I know why you left Maii behind. With her here, I’d at least have been able to dig a little deeper.”

She was about to snap back that the reave would never have betrayed her confidence in such a way, but caught his grin in the fluorescent glow from the displays in time to realize he was joking.

“It’d take more than Maii,” she responded evenly, “to make sense of this mess.”

“So it seems,” he said, returning his attention to the navigation display.

 

* * *

 

The scutter docked with a slight jerk. Within seconds, environment displays indicated that an external feed needed authorization before the physical link could be completed. Roche advised the scutter’s AI to wait.

“A little rough,” said Haid, leaning back in his seat and flexing his new hand. The matte-gray digits wriggled as fluidly as organic fingers did, defying their appearance.

Roche patted him on the shoulder, and levered herself out of the copilot’s chair. “Nothing a bit of practice won’t fix.”

“I guess.” Haid followed her into the scutter’s empty passenger bay.

She reached into the shoulder bag she had brought with her and produced two Dato side arms, giving one to Haid. The holster of the other energy weapon she clipped to the belt of her black expedition uniform—again, a standard Dato make but not distinguished by insignia. Haid’s weapon hung at his side like an extension of his biomesh.

“Ready?” he said, shifting the side arm into a more comfortable position.

“Not quite.” Roche keyed her implants and linked them to the scutter’s communications systems. <Box, are we still in contact?>

The lag was shorter this time. The Ana Vereine had assumed a more immediate position once the scutter had docked.

<Yes, Morgan.> The AI’s voice was a whisper in her head. <Your audiovisual feed is clear. There has been no interference from the station.>

<How about you, Ameidio?> Roche asked, directing her attention to the man standing next to her.

A small window appeared in one corner of her vision. Haid’s more basic implants were not designed to carry sensory data, but could transmit and receive text messages translated from speech by the scutter’s processors.

FINE, he said. AM I COMING THROUGH OKAY?

Roche nodded. <Let’s keep in touch regularly. If they cut us off, we pull out immediately.>

UNDERSTOOD.

<Given the power at my disposal aboard the Ana Vereine, I am confident I will be able to contact you at all times,> said the Box. <Should your return feed be interrupted, I will notify you>

Roche nodded again, satisfied that she had covered that particular base as thoroughly as she could. The station would know that they were broadcasting to and from the scutter, but without cracking the Box’s cipher, eavesdroppers would not know what was being said.

That was fine by her. Just because Myer and his friends probably weren’t working for the clone warrior didn’t necessarily make them allies.

Speaking aloud, she continued: “We’ll wait for them to make their move. It shouldn’t be long; they’ll probably want to attach an umbilical to keep us under control. In fact, I’m hoping they will, because that’ll give us easier access to the bay security systems. The Box is more likely to find useful data poking around the datacore than we are on a guided tour.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Haid. “It handled COE HQ easily enough, so—”

A clunk on the hull interrupted him. They both turned to face the airlock. A red light began to flash.

Roche cued her implants for an external transmission. “This is Morgan Roche,” she said. “I’d like to speak to the person in charge of dock security.”

“That would be me,” came the immediate reply. “Gered Disisto at your service. We’re trying to attach an umbilical, but your ship won’t comply. Is something wrong?”

“I will release the airlock when I am satisfied that we’ll not be harmed.”

“Your caution is understandable, Commander,” Disisto said. “And I give you my word that you are in no danger from myself or anyone under my command.”

“Not good enough.” She was tempted to correct the erroneous use of “Commander” but decided to let it go. “I’ll allow the umbilical to be attached, but I’m not leaving this craft until you and one other officer arrive to escort me from it.”

There was a slight pause, then: “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Roche instructed the onboard AI to proceed with the linkup. The sounds of faint movement came through the hull as the umbilical locked tight around the external airlock and equalized pressure. At the same time, fuel and data lines sought their respective sockets and clicked home. The sounds ceased at the same time the airlock display indicated that the umbilical was sealed.

“You there, Disisto?” said Roche.

“I’m here,” said the dock security head not long after. “Outside and waiting.”

First making certain her side arm was within easy reach, Roche stepped back from the airlock and cued it to open.

The outer airlock opened with a hiss and two men stepped inside, one tall and dark-skinned, the other short and fair, both wearing gray uniforms. When the outer door had sealed behind them, the inner opened and they stepped inside, bringing with them a pocket of heavily scented air.

“Disisto?” said Roche, looking to both men.

“That’s me.” The tall, dark-skinned man nodded, extending a hand to Roche, which she took, and shook. His face, like his frame, was lean without being thin, as though he exercised regularly. “Roche, I presume?”

“And this is Ameidio Haid.” Haid bowed slightly.

Disisto indicated the other man. “Torr Synnett.”

Synnett glanced at both of them in turn, but was otherwise impassive.

“I figured you’d want us unarmed,” he said, gesturing at

Haid’s side arm. “So this puts us at something of a disadvantage.” When neither Roche nor Haid made any effort to remove the weapons, Disisto shrugged and said: “Well, now what?”

“Now we follow you out of here,” said Roche. She indicated the airlock. “After you.”

The four of them filed into the small enclosure and waited for the doors to cycle. The smell of spices was stronger closer to the two men, and Roche resisted the urge to ask what it was. Cinnamon, perhaps, with a hint of cloves, plus something more pungent, less familiar.

KESH, Haid said via his implants.

Roche glanced at Haid. <What do you mean?>

CAN’T YOU SMELL IT?

Roche tasted the air again. She had met Kesh agents while in the COE’s employ, but always under Pristine-controlled circumstances. Never had she been in an environment that was home to any of that particular Caste for any length of time. If Kesh was what Haid said he smelled, then she would have to take his word for it.

“Welcome to Galine Four,” Disisto said as the outer door opened. “No doubt you’ll be unfamiliar with the layout of the station,” he went on, ushering them along the umbilical. “But it won’t take long to get your bearings. Until then I’d be more than happy to act as your escort. Or I can make other arrangements. It’s up to you.”

“You’ll do fine,” Roche said, moving forward to stand next to him. The ribbed plastic swayed slightly beneath their feet as they walked. “But I’d like to meet your commanding officer as soon as possible.”

Disisto nodded amiably. “I’m taking you there now.”

“Good,” said Roche. “There are a lot of questions I’d like answered—such as what you’re doing here in this system.”

“I’m sure he’ll be asking you the same things,” said Disisto.

“And I’ll be happy to answer him,” said Roche. “Once I’m certain of his intentions.”

At the far end of the umbilical, they stepped onto a metal platform which led to a flight of steps. The door behind them was the second of three along one wall of the main docking bay’s disembarkation point. The scutter lay hidden behind the pressure-wall, which also possessed larger airlocks and umbilicals designed for the transfer of freight. None of the other doors was in use.

A dozen people occupied the disembarkation point, three of them dressed similarly to Disisto and his sidekick—obviously security officers like them. Above and on the far side of the chamber was a glassed-off observation floor which held still more gray uniforms. Even with so many people watching her, Roche felt alone; the disembarkation point was large enough to hold five of the Ana Vereine’s scutters.

The acoustic properties of the room lent a booming quality to their footsteps as they descended the stairs.

“Not much of a reception,” Haid joked.

“You’ll have to understand that we’re a little busy at the moment,” said Disisto earnestly. “If one of our scouts hadn’t been in your vicinity, we probably would’ve let you go on your way rather than risk our necks talking to you.”

“Speaking of which,” said Roche, remembering Mavalhin. “Will that singleship we spoke to be docking soon?”

“It’s just coming in now. Why?”

“I studied with the pilot some years ago. I was wondering whether I’d get the chance to catch up with him later.”

“Well, he has debriefing and decon before he’ll be allowed to mix with the rest of the crew, but I’ll make sure he knows you asked about him, if you like.”

Roche felt a mixture of relief and regret rush through her. “Thanks.”

Disisto led Haid and Roche toward the main exit, with Synnett bringing up the rear. Roche glanced behind them just as the seal around one of the other umbilicals flared green, indicating that someone—presumably Mavalhin—was about to disembark. The three other security guards in the disembarkation point moved up the steps—and it was only then that she realized that the guards hadn’t been there to greet her and Haid at all.

<Odd,> she commented to Haid. <So much for being cautious. They don’t seem to give a damn if we’re here or not.>

FEELING PUT OUT, MORGAN? Haid shot back.

<No, it’s just not what I expected.>

The corridors and open spaces they passed through were uniformly drab: gray walls and floors, with minimal lighting; clearly a work area and not intended to look pretty. The few people they encountered were busy performing errands and took no notice of Disisto and his entourage.

“So,” she said after a while. “What exactly is it you do here? The station, I mean.”

Disisto faced her with a smile. “Research,” he said. “But beyond that I’m not authorized to say. That will be up to the chief to explain.”

“And just who is this ‘chief’?”

“Professor Linegar Rufo,” said Disisto. “He’s in charge of Galine Four.”

“That’s the name of the station, I take it?” Disisto nodded without breaking his stride. “Is there a Galine One, Two or Three anywhere around?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “There may have been once, but I’ve never heard of them.”

“You’ve worked here long?”

“Five years.”

“A long time to be cooped up on a station like this,” said Haid.

“It beats a lot of the other jobs I’ve had.”

<Box,> Roche sent via her implants, <look up Galine Four in the COE register and see what you can find.>

<Already checking,> replied the AI.

Haid picked up the conversation, grilling Disisto about his previous employment—which seemed, for the most part, to have been for the Traders’ Guild or independent merchants. Roche followed the exchange with half an ear while continuing her discussion with the Box.

<Let me know if you find anything. Any luck breaking into the station’s security system?>

<On a superficial level, the task was absurdly simple,> the Box replied. <But I have not yet managed to obtain anything more interesting than basic hardware specifications. There is obviously a secure cache I have not yet penetrated.>

<That’s odd> It wasn’t like the AI to be so easily thwarted. Still, Roche had no doubt that, in the end, the Box would obtain the information she needed. <How about Galine Four? Found anything yet?>

<An advertisement in the xenoarchaeological sites of a science forum for a privately owned, mobile facility with permanent research staff on board.>

There was that word again; research.

<Xenoarchaeology, huh? Strange for such a vessel to be here, considering the ruins are recent and the builders Pristine.>

<Perhaps not, Morgan. There was an archaeological outpost in the system around Kukumat and Murukan.>

<So the station might have been visiting there when the clone warrior attacked,> said Roche. <Because it doesn’t appear on any of the COE registers as a permanent facility, it would have been overlooked.>

<That seems plausible.>

<But why hasn’t it left, then? That would have been the sensible thing to do.>

<Because it cannot. From my observations taken as the scutter approached, I can state with certainty that this station possesses neither anchor nor a slow-jump drive.>

Roche absorbed the fact with interest. <They’re trapped here too?>

<So it would seem.>

<Is the Ana Vereine powerful enough to slow-jump both itself and the station out of here?>

<Unlikely,> said the Box. <But it could certainly rescue the station’s occupants. I estimate a crew of roughly five hundred to a thousand—well within our carrying capacity.>

<Then at least we have something to bargain with.> Roche smiled inwardly. <And they know it too. No wonder they’re playing it cool.>

<Unless they don’t understand the danger they’re in...>

Roche returned her attention to Disisto. The security officer was describing how they had sent manned singleships to every occupied point in Palasian System, and how they had found only destruction everywhere. If he knew anything about the perpetrator of the attack, he was hiding it well.

“And you’ve seen no evidence of life at all?” Roche asked.

“Only outriggers, here and there,” Disisto said. “A spine or two must have moved in a few years ago without registering; they certainly don’t show in the system stats. Most of them are in the belts the prowlers haven’t already mined, although some have come in closer. We saw a couple attempt to intervene on Aro, but not very successfully. A piece of the Spaceport’s orbital tower was rigged as a trap; cut them clean out of the sky.”

“Our probe in that area found gas-guns in the derelicts—”

“Yeah, we ran into those when we put the tower out of action. It was about then we decided to cut our losses and get out of the way. Not that there’s anyone left to rescue on Aro, anyway.”

“Or anywhere else, it seems,” said Haid. “Except for this station,” put in Roche. “Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

“Not really,” said Disisto as they approached a transit tube. He pressed his hand onto the ID scanner, then turned to Roche. “We’ve been very careful, keeping emissions to an absolute minimum and staying put. We’re not a battleship, and we’re smart enough to know it. This warrior took out an entire Armada base, so we certainly wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

<He’s lying,> said the Box.

<About what?>

<About ‘staying put.’ The station’s reaction engines have been operational for an extended period in the last few days.>

<How can you tell?>

<Every attitude vent and thruster is radiating heat, and I am detecting a poorly dissipated ion wash in this vicinity.>

<Enough to tell where it leads?>

<No. Just that Galine Four has traveled a large distance recently, and not hidden in Autoville as Disisto would have you believe.>

Roche chewed her lip thoughtfully, but she didn’t have time to dwell upon the matter for very long: the transit cab had arrived and Disisto was ushering them inside.

“We’re leaving the outer levels behind us,” he said, punching a destination into the cab’s control system. “If you experience any giddiness, it won’t last long; a few ambient g-fields overlap between here and the Hub. In the center you shouldn’t have a problem. You’ll get used to the transition if you’re here long enough.”

“Seems like you could use a competent engineer,” said Haid.

“Perhaps.” The door slid shut, and Disisto moved to place his back against the far wall. “But as I said, you get used to it.”

The cab descended with a sudden lurch that just as quickly reversed, leaving Roche feeling as though she was going upward. Haid lost his balance and scrabbled with his artificial hand for purchase on the wall. He missed the support rail, and fell to one knee.

Roche reached out to support him; he righted himself with a grunt.

“A little unsteady, there,” observed Disisto. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll’ be okay,” Haid muttered, embarrassed. He wrapped his good hand around a support. “You did warn us, I guess.”

“How much further?” Roche asked.

“Not far, once we arrive at the Hub.” Disisto cocked an eyebrow. “You in a hurry?”

“Just don’t want to keep our host waiting.” The floor beneath them shifted again, but this time Haid managed to remain steady. “So aren’t you interested in what we’re doing here?”

Disisto shook his head. “It’s none of my business. My concern is security only, and you’ve had the okay from the chief. I’m curious, naturally, which is why I volunteered to be your guide. But I won’t push the matter unless...” Something shifted behind Disisto’s calm façade, as though there was a question he wanted to ask. Just then the cab shuddered. “We’re almost there,” he said, changing the subject. “Our gradient should be nice “and smooth from here on in.”

The sensation of motion faded almost entirely. Within thirty seconds, they came to a halt and the doors slid smoothly open.

Disisto disembarked first. The first thing Roche noticed was the noise: voices, footsteps, whirring machinery—so different from the near-silence of the Ana Vereine. The second thing she noticed, once she had left the cab, was that the dull gray decor had been left behind; here, in the Hub of the station, the walls were white and the light dazzling. The corridor ceilings were laced with vines and other unobtrusive plants. The air was fresher too, although still thick with the smell Haid had identified as belonging to the Kesh Caste.

Several people walked past as Roche waited for Haid to leave the cab. Not all were Pristine: Roche spotted two Mbata talking animatedly in their native tongue, and one Surin walking alone. Some wore uniforms similar to Disisto’s, but different in color; a substantial proportion, however, were casually clothed. A couple eyed them with curiosity, but didn’t stop.

“Which way?” Roche asked, indicating the four corridors that branched from the tube’s exit.

“Down here.” Disisto pointed along the rightmost corridor. “Don’t touch anything or talk to anyone unless I say so. We’re all a little jumpy and I’d hate for there to be a scene.”

Roche nodded, noting that the inhabitants of Galine Four’s Hub did seem a little tense. No one met her eye, and Haid’s radical biomodification aroused ill-concealed suspicion in one or two.

Disisto led them along the corridor, then to an accessway that curved gracefully into the distance. One hundred meters farther on, they passed a window, and Roche stopped to stare through it. On the other side was an enormous chamber filled with plants growing in free-fall. Long tendrils rose from spongelike vats of nutrients; moss and vines covered every flat surface; occasionally among the ubiquitous green was a speck of color—probably a fruit or vegetable doing its best to remedy the imbalance.

“Commander Roche?” Disisto stood waiting for her while Haid and Synnett continued on their way.

“Huh?” She turned toward him. “Oh, sorry. I was just admiring your garden.”

Disisto smiled. “I try to spend as much time in it as I can. Rank, as they say, has its privileges.”

“Sometimes.”

“Yes, sometimes.” His smile slipped, and Roche found herself missing it immediately. “Let’s go,” he said.

They followed the other two along the sweep of the corridor and to a semicircular antechamber where two armed guards in black waited by a sealed double door.

“He’s expecting us,” said Disisto to the nearest guard.

The guard nodded and the doors sighed open. Disisto marched between the guards, waving for Haid and Roche to follow. Synnett brought up the rear, as implacable and silent as a cloud’s shadow.

They found themselves in a short corridor, facing another double door. The space was empty and dimly lit, and warmer than the antechamber had been. Once they were inside, the door shut behind them.

“Where—?” Roche began.

Disisto raised a finger to his lips. “Wait.”

“Place your weapons on the floor,” boomed a voice from the ceiling, its non-Pristine mouth lending a slight lisp to the fricatives.

I TOLD YOU, sent Haid.

<That you did,> Roche replied. The voice belonged to a Kesh.

“Relax,” said Disisto. “It’s nothing sinister. The chief just won’t allow arms anywhere near him.”

Roche glanced at Haid. “What happens if we refuse to comply with his wishes?”

Disisto shrugged. “Then you don’t get to meet him.”

<I advise diplomacy at this point,> said the Box via Roche’s implants. <Refusal may cost us more than acceptance would.>

<That’s easy for you to say,> Roche shot back. <You’re not here.>

Even so, she loosened the clasp on her holster and placed the side arm on the floor by her feet. Haid, after a moment’s hesitation, did likewise.

“The cyborg will be placed within a restraining field,” said the voice when both weapons were on the floor. “Sudden movements will not be tolerated.”

Haid grunted and went to raise his hand, but was unable to. Gritting his teeth, he attempted the movement more slowly, and this time his hand inched up to his chest.

Disisto watched him in alarm. “I’m sorry.” His concern and surprise were genuine. “I had no idea they would—”

“Just as long as there are no other surprises waiting for us,” Roche said with some anger.

Disisto glanced at the door. “I hope not.”

Haid’s hand clenched into a fist. SONOFABITCH.

The lock clicked.

“You may enter,” said the voice.

The door slid open, revealing a room as large as the bridge of the Ana Vereine, but far less cluttered. An expansive, circular desk, cut from polished white stone and adorned with shimmering holographic tanks, occupied the center of the room. The ceiling was also circular, and stepped around this central point, like an inverted amphitheater. The walls were comprised of dozens of inactive screens, and off to one side, was one large window through which could be seen the green of the station’s gardens.

Disisto nudged Roche forward, and she stepped inside. Haid, moving cautiously so as not to activate the restraining field, did likewise.

Her first impression upon entering the room was of spaciousness and grace. Her second was of clinical efficiency, as though the room served as a laboratory when riot used for meetings. Her third was less analytical, relying mainly on the data her sense of smell provided.

Cylindrical light fixtures suspended between the floor and ceiling cast a pure, white light on the room’s three occupants.

“Greetings, Commander Roche,” said the first, a Pristine standing on the far side of the desk. His hair was white, where he had hair at all. He was so small and his skin so waxy that Roche guessed his age to be over one hundred standard years. His movements, though, were far from infirm.

“You would be Rufo,” said Roche.

The professor raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “I see Gered has briefed you.” His eyes then fell upon his security head, who shifted uneasily beneath the stare.

“Some,” said Roche, noting Disisto’s discomfort. “Nothing of consequence.”

“Anyway,” said Rufo grandly, “I welcome you to my home.”

Roche eyed the two Kesh standing to either side of Rufo; neither looked particularly welcoming, even for a Caste not given to pleasantries. Both wore formal uniforms of office, with leather surcoats and boots over black bodysuits that bulged with muscle.

“Your home?” said Roche.

Rufo moved around the desk to greet her. At close range, he seemed even smaller. “I finance and run this establishment. My employees are under no illusion as to who pays their bonuses—although I like to believe that I am a fair taskmaster.” His piercing, bright blue eyes darted to Disisto. “Would that be a fair comment, Gered?”

The security officer nodded smartly. “More than fair, sir.”

Rufo smiled and moved back around the desk. “Introductions, then. Morgan Roche, your name we know, and that of your companion, Ameidio Haid; Gered filled me in as well. But you two have not met all of us, yet.” He stopped upon reaching the first of the Kesh, and reached up to place a hand on one massive shoulder.

“This is Lieutenant-Doctor Haden B’shan, my second in command.”

The Kesh officer bowed, his hairless head catching the light; his tough skin was predominantly yellow, but with blotches of blue and purple in symmetrical patterns, like ink blots, scattered across every visible surface. Where ears would have been on a Pristine, two dark-colored membranes a thumb’s-width across were visible.

“I am honored,” he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

Unable to think of anything appropriate to say, Roche bowed also. She was slightly surprised by his words: Kesh were not normally so gracious to members of other Castes, particularly ones they hardly knew.

Haid on the other hand, slowly placed one fist on his chest and said: “Do-tri’sk en sh’ante ruk.”

B’shan smiled, the moist inner lips of his mouth appearing for an instant. “Du. Impressive.”

“Some time ago I served with a squad of Kesh commandos on Nirr,” Haid explained.

“Which family?”

“G’rodo.”

B’shan nodded. “They were a noble lineage, prior to their excision from the N’Kor Republic.”

“I always felt the Dictatrix could’ve shown leniency in their case.”

The other Kesh made a noise in his throat that sounded like gravel underfoot. B’shan nodded again, this time with solemn dignity. He stepped back to draw attention away from himself, the soles of his leather boots squeaking on the floor as he did so.

“And this,” Rufo continued, “is Field Officer Shak’ni.”

Shak’ni was taller than B’shan, but thinner. His face was etched with fine birthmarks in a bright shade of red, like veins. This time, the bow was begrudging, barely a nod. Shak’ni’s eyes met Roche’s only briefly as she returned the gesture, his contempt for her as palpable as the smell of his Caste filling the room. He didn’t waste nods on a greeting, and Haid too said nothing.

Moving back around the table, Rufo returned to a position directly in front of her and Haid.

“Together,” he said, “Haden and I have been scouring this system for evidence of the warrior that wrought such destruction upon it.”

“I guessed as much,” Roche said, glad they’d finally arrived at the topic that most concerned her. “I’m keen to analyze your data.”

“And I am keen to analyze yours.” Rufo’s stare held hers firmly. “I presumed that’s why you had came here. Crossing the Gauntlet is a feat not undertaken lightly.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course. The various technological experiments performed by advanced Castes prior to Transcendence were a fascination of mine during my youth.” Rufo stopped, as though a thought had just struck him, then continued: “But it would make more sense to explain from the beginning. Please, take a seat.”

He waved a hand, and five white chairs rose out of the seamless floor in a ring around the circular desk. Roche hesitated for a moment, then took the one nearest her. Haid sat beside her; the two Kesh sat opposite them.

“Gered, if you would be so good as to wait outside, I will summon you when Commander Roche is ready to leave.”

Disisto nodded, turned and left the room. Synnett followed close on his heels.

“Now.” Rufo took the remaining seat. As he did so, the holographic tanks lining the walls and on the desk flickered to life. Color and movement surrounded them: scenes of distant worlds and stations, only a handful of which Roche recognized; strange texts in unknown hieroglyphs; the faces of dozens of people of all Castes and types, lecturing silently,

“I have many interests,” said Rufo, “but foremost of them all is the past. History and the flotsam by which we gauge it has fascinated me ever since I was a child. From the age of four, I devoted my life and, upon my father’s early death, a considerable fortune to the pursuit of such knowledge. But for such relics, and the resources my father left me, many of my childhood dreams would have gone unrealized.

“For instance—” He stood abruptly, pointing at the ceiling above the desk. From the center of the roof descended what appeared to be a sculpture no larger than Roche’s hand, or a fossil cast in amber. Roche was unable to tell what it was, exactly, even when it had come to rest a meter above the desk.

“Give us a hint,” said Haid, his artificial eyes focusing closely on the object.

“This,” Rufo went on, his hands held out before him, “is my most prized possession. It was plucked by these very fingers from the wreckage of a spaceship ten times older than any of the existing civilizations in this region.”

<It’s the Gil-Shh’ana Fiche,> said the Box. <The cornerstone of all that is known about Primordial civilizations! Its location has been a mystery for twenty years.>

“It is a data-storage device built by none of the known Castes, past or present,” said Rufo at the same time. “The information it holds has never been fully translated, but it contains words written before even the most ancient Caste is known to have inhabited the stars.”

“How is that possible?” Roche asked when she had the overlap straightened out.

“Clearly there are gaps in our knowledge,” Rufo explained. “At least four Primordial Castes precede the earliest confirmed records we have. We call them Castes A, B, C and D, for even their names are unknown.”

“But they are Human?”

“Of course, Commander. It is an established fact that no other intelligent species ever conquered the stars.” Rufo spoke as though to an ignorant child. “Apart from this, all we can say for certain is that these Castes disappeared many hundreds of millennia ago. There are relics scattered here and there for those who care to look, but not enough to build a coherent picture of what their societies were like; not even enough to convince most universities to teach the facts that we have uncovered. I have devoted my life to expanding that pool of knowledge, and a few others along the way.”

Realization dawned on Roche, then. “You’ve found some ruins, haven’t you?”

“I was led to believe so,” Rufo said. “Mok, the only moon of the Kukumat-Murukan double binary, is said to hold a fabulous collection of artifacts that have yet to be catalogued. Regrettably, the unfortunate business in this system has prevented us from examining the site. You see, I am not so involved in my work that I will ignore Human suffering when it occurs in front of me.”

“And what exactly have you done about it?” asked Haid with a hint of skepticism.

“As much as you, so far,” Rufo replied, clearly resenting Haid’s reproving tone. He faced Roche. “I have removed my station to a safe place and dispatched smaller vessels to survey the damage.”

“And you haven’t intervened?”

“How could I do anything other than study what has happened here? That is the area in which my skills lie; I am neither tactician nor warrior. I decided that the long-term interest of the region would be best served by intelligence rather than valor.”

“And what have you found?” Roche asked.

Rufo sighed and returned to his seat. “I have seen things in these last two weeks, Commander, I never expected to see. Things that... Forgive me.” Visibly distressed, he leaned back in his seat and signaled for B’shan to continue.

The Kesh stood. “Understand, Commander Roche, that we on Galine Four are not allied to any military service. Therefore, if at any point during what I am about to tell you, your training suggests an alternate interpretation, please do not hesitate to interrupt. We will welcome your input.”

Roche nodded, not wanting to discourage his mistaken assumption of her origins: while the Ana Vereine was camouflaged as a COE warship, it was safer to reinforce that impression. “Your rank is honorary, then?”

“A title, no more, left over from my adolescence in the service of the Dictatrix. I am an academic first and foremost, now.” Noticing her glance at Shak’ni, he added: “My fellow Kesh is acting as a liaison between Galine Four and the N’Kor Republic. Prior to our arrival here, we were researching several sites in non-Pristine territories.”

“Understood,” said Roche. “Please, continue.”

B’shan moved closer to the table. The Gil-Shh’ana Fiche retreated back into the ceiling as a large display flickered into life. In the tank appeared a scale map of the orbits of the five innermost planets of Palasian System.

“You are no doubt aware how it began. A COE courier, Daybreak, en route to Gorund Sef picked up a single life capsule not far from here and disappeared shortly thereafter. Two days later, it reappeared on a course for Guhr Outpost, broadcasting an emergency beacon. The outpost’s commanding officer sent a tug to intercept Daybreak and bring it in for repairs. Subsequent to that, the base reported being under attack, then it too fell silent.”

“Yes,” Roche interrupted. “A battalion of Marines was sent to investigate. The pictures brought back by the one surviving ship showed the inhabited bases in Palasian System in flames.”

“By the time Daybreak was recovered, it was already too late,” said B’shan grimly. “The emergency beacon was a distraction; the crew had been dead for a day before it was even sent. The... person responsible commandeered the tug sent to intercept it, and, in conjunction with a small asteroid he had already diverted from its orbit, destroyed Guhr Outpost before its commanding officer could realize what had happened. The asteroid collided with a medical vessel parked in a refueling orbit, and sparked a chain reaction that resulted in the ignition of the outpost’s entire fuel reserves.”

Haid whistled. “No wonder the crater was so big.”

“Bear in mind that much of this is supposition extrapolated from the small amount of evidence left behind at the scene, plus flight data from several of the derelicts we recovered and some faint observations recorded by various installations scattered through the system. We can’t even tell how many people were involved in the attack. But given that only one person was rescued from the life-support capsule, and that the chain of events begins at that moment, we have assumed that this single person was alone responsible for what happened here. I know this seems unlikely, and we have no images of this person to prove any of it—or even ascertain his identity. Unfortunately, we can only work from the data we have, and that isn’t much. I would hate to give you the impression that we know exactly what occurred, when at best all we can offer you are theories.”

Roche nodded, indicating for him to continue.

“From Guhr Outpost we have traced the tug’s movements to Gatamin, where it changed course and headed further in-system.”

“How did its pilot know where to go?” Haid asked.

“The tug, naturally, contained detailed navigational charts showing every settlement in Palasian System. Relevant targets were easily located.” B’shan rotated and expanded the map of Palasian System. “Geyten Base was hit next. The Armada base knew that something had happened to Guhr Outpost, but didn’t have enough details to react in time. Barely had they readied two ships to investigate, when the enemy struck.”

“We received pictures from Cemenid just before we arrived here,” Roche said. “We were unable to locate the Armada base at all; the moon appeared to have disappeared.”

“Precisely.” The view in the central tank changed to show Cemenid—a bloated gas giant almost half again as large as Jagabis, with a violent atmosphere that appeared orange in Hintubet’s red light. Three visible moons were ringed in green, plus a dark patch in the cloudscape. The image became grainy as the view zoomed in to focus on the dark patch. “This scar in Cemenid’s atmosphere does not appear in any navigational records; the fact that you did not notice it suggests that it is no longer visible at all.”

“Are you suggesting ...?” Roche began.

“That the image here”—B’shan pointed at the dark patch in the central tank—”is the impact site of the moon which was once the home to Geyten Base.”

Roche glanced at the Kesh: his expression was serious. “The whole moon—?”

“Disturbed from orbit and sent into the atmosphere.” B’shan changed the view again, this time to one showing wreckage in orbit around the gas giant. “We have discovered a large number of fragments corresponding to plate- armor commonly used to protect prowling mines from major impacts. It’s my opinion that at least two were conscripted by the pilot of the tug on his way through the innermost dark-body halo. They are massive enough to shatter a small moon, or to deflect it from a stable orbit. Furthermore, their security is light and their AIs are simple to reprogram.”

Roche pictured the prowling mines—each larger by a significant factor than Galine Four itself—barreling down on the unprepared Armada base. At that speed, little would have stopped them. The base personnel would hardly have had time to evacuate, let alone save any valuable military hardware. The destruction of the base had, once again, been conducted with chilling efficiency.

B’shan added: “We suspect that this incident is related to the ambush of the Armada battalion sent to investigate the distress call broadcast by Guhr Outpost sixteen days earlier. The Marines had been in the system for a week, as best we can tell, but disappeared around that time.”

Roche nodded. That made sense. It fit in with the little COE Intelligence had told them, anyway.

“So where did the tug go from there?” she prompted.

“Actually, it probably wasn’t there at all. Once the mines had been reprogrammed, there would have been no need for its pilot to have been present. That explains why, only a short time after communication with the base was lost, it caused an alert at Aro Spaceport when it tried to land without authorization.”

“I can’t believe they’d let it land after everything that had just happened,” said Haid.

“They didn’t. Port authorities destroyed it when it refused to respond to a third warning.”

Roche frowned. “They destroyed it?”

B’shan nodded. “But the pilot was no longer on board. His tactics were uncanny: he was never where anyone expected him to be, always one step ahead. He skipped from Daybreak to the tug when there was only the slightest chance that Guhr Outpost might have guessed he was aboard; then, barely after the authorities on Aro had learned about events at Voloras and Cemenid, he’d already left the tug and sent it to act as a distraction while he went about his real business.”

“Which was what?” Haid said.

“While Aro Spaceport mopped up the debris of the tug—believing they had destroyed the threat to the system with it—the pilot was using two prowling mines and the resources they contained to set up the next stage of his attack. It must have been during this time that he built the gas-guns and the targeters left behind in the derelicts; he certainly would have been hard-pressed to do it later.”

“That makes sense,” Roche said. “It also gave Aro Spaceport time to let their guard down.”

“It would seem so.” B’shan called up a map of the orbits around the major moon of Jagabis. “What he appears to have done in the end is to bring one of the prowlers into close Aro orbit by swinging it past Jagabis on a tight, elliptical orbit that kept it well out of view until the last minute. Then, once it was in place, it fired cutting lasers onto Emptage City, shattering the dome. It also used a flotilla of scavenger drones to attack the ships docked at the midpoint of the orbital tower. At the same time, the second ship came in by a different route and severed the orbital tower entirely.”

“How?” said Haid.

“Simply by colliding with it,” said B’shan, “and wrenching it out of its moorings.”

Roche concentrated to follow the icons moving through the main screen. “The aftershocks of the collision would have destroyed any ships still attached to the tower. Hence the derelicts.”

“And the added angular momentum would have carried much of the tower into a higher orbit, where it appears to have been cut into fragments. These fragments served as windmill-style devices designed to keep interlopers away. The cable is very thin and hard to detect; the end of each spinning segment was moving fast enough to cut a ship in two.”

“And that’s what happened to the outriggers,” Haid said.

“So it appears,” said B’shan. “We subsequently cleaned out the upper orbits of the windmills before you arrived, but there wasn’t much we could do about the gas-guns. We balked at destroying the derelicts entirely, for fear of destroying evidence, but didn’t want to risk our observers by sending them in to deactivate the traps one by one,”

Hearing that, Roche thought of Mavalhin: he would have been grateful to be relieved of that duty, she was sure. Although cowardice wasn’t exactly his style, neither was bravery.

“We detected several transmissions from that region shortly after we arrived,” she said. “Did your observers detect them also?”

B’shan waved a hand and the screen filled with Sol command hieroglyphics. “They appear to be in some sort of code. We’ve had no luck cracking it, though.”

“We also picked up another one from a different source, this time in plain text via tightbeam.”

B’shan nodded. “The source of that transmission is in the vicinity of the Kukumat-Murukan double planet. We believe it to be either a decoy or an entirely innocent message not meant for our ears.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A decoy? Why?”

“Because there have been no attacks since the destruction of Emptage City shortly before the closing of the solar envelope surrounding this system. It is tempting to assume that the person responsible has escaped.”

“So why are you hiding out here?” said Haid.

“Cautionary measures,” said Rufo softly. “It would be foolish to assume that we are safe until we have proof.”

Roche leaned forward, addressing B’shan. “You said it might be an innocent message. From whom?”

“Other survivors, like us, who are also trying to avoid detection. Until we are able to leave this system, we are all denied the option of escape; better to wait until rescue arrives than to advertise our presence.”

“What other survivors?” Roche pressed. “The base on Mok was supposed to be empty.”

B’shan shrugged. ‘The source of the transmission has only been approximately pinned down. It is ‘near’ Mok in the sense that it is within an area several million kilometers across containing the double planet. It may have come from a lone outrigger drifting past, on its way elsewhere.”

Roche granted him that. “And what about the Gauntlet? You must have seen it arrive.”

B’shan glanced at Rufo. “The quark breeders entered the system twenty-one days ago.”

“Do you know who brought them?”

“If we did, then we might at least know who to expect when rescue arrives,” said Rufo.

“They entered the system from deep space,” explained B’shan, “and aerobraked in the sun’s atmosphere. Aro Spaceport was under attack at that point, so by the time we knew they were present they were already in position. From that point, the process was rapid: within twenty hours, the Gauntlet was activated and the system enclosed.”

Rufo looked up, and spoke softly: “We assumed it to be you, at first—that you were a vanguard for a much larger recovery operation.”

Roche nodded, uncomfortably aware of the unspoken questions behind his words: Who sent you? How much longer do we have to wait? Will we be rescued at all?

She could say nothing to allay his fears, but she had to say something. “Perhaps between the two of us we can build a more conclusive picture of what’s going on here.”

“I hope so,” said Rufo, with a slight smile. “Anything you can add would be appreciated.”

“You’ve been very open with your own data,” said Roche. “I guess it’s time I returned the favor.”

Before she could begin, however, the Box spoke up:

<Wait, Morgan. There is something I need to discuss with you.>

She frowned. <Is it important?>

<Potentially.>

Conscious of Rufo and the two Kesh waiting for her to continue, she raised a hand. “One second,” she said, then, to the Box: <Okay. What is it?>

<A small problem,> said the Box. <I am unable to penetrate this station’s datacore.>

<Are you serious?>

<It would appear that there are two levels of security operating on Galine Four. The first, and least secure, is the one I have already penetrated; this allows me access to low-level information, such as visuals of corridors and some holds, air-flow analysis, water recycling figures and so on. The second level is completely separate, and cannot be accessed from the first; it covers at least half of the inner private chambers, including the room you are currently occupying, and every single datum relating to navigation and recent movements. It also covers Rufo’s private files, and any others that might confirm or deny what he and his assistant have said.>

<And you’ve tried everything you can to get at this information?> Roche asked.

<It’s not simply a matter of gaining access to them, Morgan. I don’t even know where they are. It’s as though the two security systems are completely separate, and bear no relation to each other whatsoever—which is, of course, impossible.>

<But we need access to this data before we can even think about trusting them.>

<I know. I must explore the station in more detail. The low-level security system is too limited to give me a clear enough overview of exactly what’s going on. In order to get that overview, I need a physical link in the station.>

<Meaning you want me to go exploring?>

<I need you to gain access via palm-links to as many diverse outputs as possible. If one of them allows us into the inner security system, or at least near it, then we will be that much closer to knowing what is actually going on here.>

Roche nodded to herself. <You hear that, Ameidio? Feel like going for a tour?>

I CAN’T, Haid sent back. I ONLY HAVE A TEXT LINK, REMEMBER?

<I didn’t mean it like that. It has to be me, and you’re coming along. I’m not leaving you here alone—not with that damned restraining field. You’d be too vulnerable>

SO WHO’S GOING TO DO THE TALKING?

<The Box, of course. I’m sure it’s capable.>

She returned to the opulent brightness of Rufo’s office. He and the two Kesh officers were watching her expectantly, B’shan still standing while Shak’ni watched her with ill-concealed suspicion. Roche wondered belatedly if the latter could read minds—then discarded the thought. If Maii couldn’t use her epsense abilities in Palasian System, no reave could.

“I apologize for that,” she said aloud.

“Talking to your crew?” Rufo asked.

“That’s correct. Something arose that required my attention.”

“Nothing too serious, I trust?”

“Crossing the Gauntlet appears to have been more stressful than I realized. We’ve discovered fractures on our anchor drive housing that will require maintenance before we leave. We can repair the damage ourselves, of course, but it would be much easier—and quicker—if we had access to a dry dock.”

“Our facilities here are fully equipped,” Rufo said. “You are welcome to use them.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Think nothing of it,” the scientist interjected. “I am happy to offer whatever services I can, free of charge. In return, when your drive is repaired you might consider taking some of my crew with you when you leave Palasian System.”

“When the time comes, we’ll take as many as we can.” Roche smiled inwardly; he had risen to the bait with very little prompting on her part. “I suggest, then, that Ameidio and I view your facilities to determine if they’re suitable. My information officer can fill you in on our discoveries so far, and evaluate them in the light of what you’ve shown us. That would not only save time but would also ensure that the most appropriate talents at our disposal are put to the task.”

“That makes sense.” Rufo beamed at her. “But please, do not put yourself down. It takes great skill to command a vessel of war for the Commonwealth of Empires.”

She returned his smile, although his flattery felt forced, and opened the connection to the Box. <Got that? You’re my information officer, and you’ll be dealing with them direct. For that you’ll need a face—like the one you faked when we took over the Ana Vereine.>

<Understood, Morgan. I am opening a direct communications link as we speak.>

<Just remember, I want to know everything that’s decided at this meeting, so make sure I have a recording available for later.>

<Morgan, your mistrust pains me. I can only assure you again that my best interests lie entirely with yours.>

<Yeah, but the moment they don’t...> Roche swallowed the comment; now wasn’t the time to dredge up old arguments. <Just see what else you can learn from them, okay?>

<I will.>

“There is a request for a direct line coming from your vessel, Commander Roche,” said B’shan. “I presume this will be your information officer?”

“Yes. Her name is Lieutenant Gold. Will the line be secure?”

“Naturally. No one outside of this room will be aware of what is said within it.”

“Good.” She stood. Haid did likewise, moving stiffly through the restraining field. “If you’ll arrange someone to show us the way, we’ll get on with our work.”

“Gered will be your guide,” Rufo said, joining B’shan at the central desk. “But one other thing, before you leave. You have not mentioned whether you have a reave in your crew. Can I assume then that you haven’t?”

Roche hesitated, unsure where he was heading. “Not necessarily,” she said.

“Well, if you have, then you’d be aware of the epsense-dampening field that has enveloped this system. We’ve encountered it ourselves, and are close to neutralizing it. Two of my three reaves have regained at least a measure of their normal abilities.” Rufo smiled. “So if you do have any on your ship, I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can.”

“Thank you.” Even if what he said was true, Roche would need a lot more convincing of his motives before she let Maii into his clutches. “I’ll certainly take it into consideration.”

The doors to the office opened and Disisto led Roche and Haid through. Glancing back, Roche saw the main tank flicker to life, revealing the face of a white-haired woman in COE uniform, with the usual blue-black interior of a COE ship behind her.

<You, I presume, Box?>

<Correct.>

<You look familiar...>

<I modeled the features on yours, as you may look in fifty years.>

<What?>

“Greetings, Professor Rufo,” was all she heard the woman in the tank say before the door closed on the meeting.

 

* * *

 

Galine Four’s dry docks were situated inside the spherical framework that formed the exterior of the station. A circular hold laced with retractable mesh allowed access to the dock from the outside; massive gantries and many-limbed cranes lined the dock itself like the limbs of a giant anemone.

The Ana Vereine’s scutter wasn’t visible from the pressurized observation platform Disisto took them to, but a couple of other ships were, one of them a small courier vessel that had suffered slight damage along its flanks. Roche studied it with casual interest while she accessed the specifications of the dry dock via her palm-link. Her other hand rested lightly on the butt of the side arm Rufo’s guards had returned to her after she left the station’s sanctum sanctorum.

Haid stood not far away, discussing the finer aspects of navigation with Disisto. Synnett watched coolly from the entrance to the observation deck.

The letters of the courier vessel’s ID code suddenly fell into place. Although the complete sequence was impossible to make out, she could at least tell that it had once belonged to COE Intelligence.

<Well, well, well.>

<You have something, Morgan?> asked the Box.

<Only Daybreak itself,> she said. <What do you suppose it’s doing here?>

<That I do not know. Rufo has yet to mention it in our conversation>

Roche filed the information for future reference. <How about at your end?>

<Still nothing, I’m afraid. The dry dock is on the same security level as the main docking facility. We’ll obviously need to access something in the heart of the station.>

<You said there are black spots you can’t see. Would it help if we could get into one of those spots?>

<Possibly, but—>

<Give me the location of the nearest; I’ll see what I can do.>

<The closest is one of the docks—probably the one holding Daybreak—but that is bound to be guarded. There are others within walking distance.>

The Box sent a map of the station with black spots marked, which Roche studied for a moment. A small black spot lay almost directly between her and the main docking bay. She turned back to Haid and Disisto, keeping the map in one corner of her eye.

“Hey, Disisto,” she said. “I need to get to the scutter.”

“Is anything wrong?” asked Disisto. His concern seemed genuine.

“No, I just need some specifications from the maintenance AI. I can probably find my own way, if you want to stay here and talk.”

Disisto’s expression relaxed into a smile. “I think we’d better stick together, Commander. That’d be safest for all of us.”

“As you wish.”

She headed for the exit at a brisk pace. Behind her, Haid cursed under his breath; his artificial limbs were getting the better of him, it seemed.

HOW’S THAT? he sent.

<Fine,> she replied. <Keep it up.>

Synnett fell back to help Haid while Disisto—his long legs equal to Roche’s—did his best to keep up with her.

“You’re in a hurry,” he said as they turned into a broad access corridor lined with branching portals every ten meters. Technicians moved aside as they approached.

“Restless,” she replied. “I’ve been stuck on the ship for too long.”

“The raider? It doesn’t look that cramped.”

“It isn’t really, I guess. It just feels like it at times. The walls close in, the roof starts to cave, the air begins to stink. There are moments when I’d do anything to be somewhere else, just for an hour.”

“Which is why you came here to meet Rufo, I suppose.” He glanced sideways at her. “I was wondering about that. It seemed odd for an officer to relinquish command so readily—especially given the circumstances.”

“Just because I’m not on the ship doesn’t mean I’m no longer in charge,” she retorted.

“You have a good relationship with your crew, then. They obviously know where they stand.”

If Disisto was trying to unsettle her by implying her crew couldn’t be trusted, then he was hitting uncomfortably close to home.

“I trust them,” she said steadily, not wanting him to see her ruffled by the comment. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

He nodded. “A big crew on a raider, then?”

“Moderately.”

“Haid won’t tell me where he fits in, exactly. My guess is weapons systems or security. Is he tight-lipped, or won’t you let him talk?”

She shook her head. “You’re full of questions, Disisto.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“Is Rufo making you ask them?”

“Not exactly.” He pulled a slight moue. “I report to Field Officer Shak’ni.”

“Really?” That surprised her: both his answer and his candor. “I thought he was just a guest.”

“You’re full of questions too, Commander,” he said, grinning. “Under different circumstances I’d be happy to tell you everything, but as it is...”

He let the sentence hang. Roche didn’t mind. She had reached the turnoff for the black spot.

“Let’s go this way, shall we?” She quickly ducked down the corridor before he had chance to object.

“Hey, wait!” Disisto hurried after her, surprised by the sudden turn. “You can’t—”

“Why not?” she shot back. “It’s quicker.”

“How could you possibly know that?” He grabbed at her shoulder, but she dodged aside.

“I have a good sense of direction,” she lied. “You said it wouldn’t take long for me to get my bearings, didn’t you?”

He stopped in his tracks. “Okay,” he called after her. “Okay, we’ll go this way. But can we at least wait for the others to catch up?”

She slowed, watching him over her shoulder as she did so. He seemed to mean it. When she came to a halt, she put her hands on her hips and looked around.

They were standing in a corridor no different from any other in the outer levels of the station. There was no indication of any sinister activity: no strange noises, smells, or sights.

<Well, we’re here, Box. Can you see anything?>

<Not as yet. There are doors ahead. Maybe through one of those >

<Maybe.> Swinging her legs as though to flex her muscles, she strolled ahead until she was in front of the first door. It was open. Through it she saw an unoccupied terminal, complete with palm-link, against the opposite wall.

<Tempting,> she said.

DON’T, Haid sent. YOU’RE PUSHING YOUR LUCK AS IT IS.

She turned, saw Haid and Synnett at the end of the corridor. She folded her arms and waited for them to catch up. Disisto stood next to her, a distant look in his eyes suggesting he was communicating with someone via his implants.

<What’s he going to do, arrest me?> she asked Haid. <He’s not even armed. And besides, we have something he wants: a way out of here.>

IT ISN’T DISISTO WE SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT.

Movement to her left caught her attention. Turning back to the room containing the terminal, Roche realized it was occupied. As she watched, a large figure moved slowly into view, obviously heading for the desk. Although clad from boots to gloves in a dark-colored uniform made of some exotic leather, it was clear from the woman’s exposed scalp that she was a Kesh. In one hand she carried a steaming goblet of something that smelled very much like vukh.

When the Kesh noticed Roche watching her, she snarled and shut the door.

“You certainly have an eclectic crew,” she commented to Disisto.

“This is an accommodation area reserved for some of the more sensitive members, which is why we shouldn’t be here at all. But we have the okay from the chief to proceed.” His voice was relaxed, but his eyes scolded her. “I know you’re curious, Commander, but you need to be more considerate.”

“Careful, you mean?”

“That too.” Haid and Synnett reached them, and Disisto indicated the corridor ahead of them. “Shall we keep going? At a more leisurely pace, this time.”

The walk to the main docking bay revealed little. Doors that were open only revealed empty rooms, and Roche was unable to gain access to a palm-link. By the time she reached the scutter, she had decided that entering the black spot had given her a moral victory only.

<He may have been telling the truth,> she said from within the scutter, while pretending to obtain the data she required. <It could just be an accommodation area for crew members who prefer the quiet of the shell to the Hub.>

<It is certainly possible,> said the Box. <But we have no proof either way.>

She left the scutter and joined the others. “Where to now?” she asked Disisto.

“Back to the dry dock?” he suggested.

“Actually, the walk has left me thirsty. How about a drink? You must have a recreation deck here. I’ll buy you one, if they accept COE credit.”

Disisto studied her for a long moment, then said: “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Roche was unable to read his expression. “When Rufo and Lieutenant Gold have finished, we can join them then.”

Disisto nodded as he began to walk. “The main bar is back in the Hub.”

Roche followed, no longer trying to provoke him. There was very little else she could do until they reached the bar. After the disappointment of the one black spot they had entered, she didn’t see any point in trying to access others. There were too many, to begin with, and Disisto would undoubtedly put a stop to it before long.

The bar was deep in the heart of Galine Four, occupying a large space between protein vats and the plant-filled central chamber. It consisted of three rooms connected to a central chamber by wide accessways. In each of the three rooms there was a semicircular bar and numerous tables. The lighting was dim, as befitted a bar, and the sound of voices and glasses clinking along with occasional spurts of Roptio ur-music added to the ambience. The central area comprised a quarter-size dueling field, surrounded by seats.

A fight was in progress as they entered. The supporters of each combatant had clustered in groups to watch the hologram, cheering and jeering in equal measure.

Roche hooked a thumb at the scene. “A recording, I presume?”

“Must be something they pulled out of the archives,” said Disisto, “because we haven’t received any transmissions from outside the system for ages. Anything to keep the hardcore fans happy.”

Roche glanced at Haid, caught him staring at the game in curiosity. “Ameidio?”

He turned to her. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

She smiled. Haid had been confined to a penal planet for more years than he cared to remember. Dueling was a pleasure he had missed, and he had spent several days catching up on it upon finding freedom aboard the Ana Vereine. Even now, he obviously felt its call.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked.

Haid shrugged. “Anything that’s not too strong.”

“Disisto? Synnett?”

“We’re on duty,” Disisto said. He nodded to a doorway beyond the dueling field. “We can order through there.”

He led them past the fight and into one of the side rooms where it was quieter and less crowded. A number of patrons were Exotic, and clearly appreciated the space. They found a table and sat: Haid and Roche on one side, with Disisto and Synnett facing them.

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” ventured Roche, “how do I order?”

“There’s a palm-link on your chair, if you want to use that. Otherwise, I can call an attendant.”

“The link will be fine.” She found the pad on the arm of her chair and placed her hand upon it.

<Do your stuff, Box,> she said. <Fake a COE credit account for me and, while you’re at it, order a Montaban ale and three Dahish.>

<Certainly, Morgan.>

<How’s the meeting going, by the way?>

<Smoothly, although there still has been no mention of the Sol Apotheosis Movement or Daybreak. It seems Linegar Rufo is less susceptible to an attractive woman than I had hoped.>

<Despite what you might think, Box, not all Humans are slaves to their biology. Nevertheless, keep working on... Oh, hell.>

She had spied someone crossing the room toward her.

“Morgan!” called Myer Mavalhin. “Fancy meeting you down here. I thought you’d be up with the big shots for sure.”

Roche stood. “Hello, Myer.”

Disisto glanced behind him. “Mavalhin?”

Mavalhin’s step faltered upon seeing the dock security head. “Oh, it’s you.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Myer? I’ll be having words with the ingress team about letting you out of decon so early.”

“Hey, don’t go too hard on them,” the pilot protested. “It wasn’t their fault.”

“Then I’ll be talking to you instead.”

“In that case, it was entirely their fault.” He winked at Roche. “But seeing as I’m here, I might as well stay, right?”

“Don’t look at me, Myer,” said Roche. “I’m only a guest.”

Disisto shook his head and sighed. “Just remember you’re on probation, all right?”

Mavalhin pulled up a chair and sat. “So, what’re we drinking?”

Roche hid a smile. Nothing had changed. “I’ll get this round,” she said, “but after that you’re on your own.”

Myer smiled appreciatively. “I’ll have a snifter of Old Gray.”

Roche relayed the order to the Box just as an attendant arrived with her first order. Haid nodded approval at the long-stemmed glass containing a murky brown mixture, and Roche raised her own colorless drink to her lips and toasted Disisto. Synnett drank without acknowledging anyone.

Sipping the cool, clear liquid made Roche realize just how thirsty the meeting and the walk had left her. She swallowed gratefully, then sipped again.

“It’s a long way from Bodh Gaya,” she said to Mavalhin after a third sip.

“But here we are,” he said. “I heard you stayed with COE in the end. Looks like you’ve done all right with them.”

She was careful to hide her true feelings. “I can’t complain. It does get boring at times, but I prefer the security of a regular job. And it’s not that restrictive. I spent a few years in Intelligence before transferring to active command. It’s been fun, mostly.” She did her best to maintain an air of self-composure and confidence. “You?”

He lifted his shoulders slightly. “Tried the Eckandar Trade Axis for a while, then a private freight company out past Tretamen. The bottom went out of the market and the company folded, and that left me in the lurch. I worked as a freelance courier for a few years, before finally signing on with Galine Four.”

Disisto snorted. “Courier, eh? I heard you were on the run from Olmahoi creditors and needed cash to avoid grayboot retribution.”

Mavalhin gestured dismissively. “Exaggeration and rumor. Yes, money was short, but it never got that bad.”

Roche could tell by the tightness around his eyes that it probably had been that bad. Rufo would have been able to purchase his services at a bargain price. Regardless of his personal flaws, Mavalhin’s credentials would have been impressive; few people left the COE College so close to finishing, and their services were desired in many quarters of the region.

“So what is it you do here, anyway?” she asked.

Mavalhin opened his mouth to reply, but caught Disisto’s reproving look. He stopped, smiled, and said: “I’m just a pilot, Morgan. Nothing spectacular. I gave up on the dream of making something of myself. There’s a place for everyone, I’ve learned, and I guess this is mine.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Myer I once knew.”

“Well, I’ve changed, I guess.”

Roche laughed. “Now that really doesn’t sound like you!”

He fixed her with a disarming smile that lasted almost ten seconds. “Everyone changes, Morgan. You should try it sometime.”

Roche smiled, but the accusation made her feel uncomfortable. “You’d be surprised, Myer,” she said after a while.

“Really?” He beamed. “Go ahead, then. Surprise me.”

An attendant brought his drink, and with it a welcome interruption in the conversation. Roche was even more thankful when the Box intruded before they could resume their talk:

<Morgan, I’m afraid that link at your present location is as isolated as the rest. We will need to gain physical access to other black spots in order to determine what is occurring within them—or try to locate an access point to the inner security shell.>

Roche fought to contain a rising sense of frustration. <We’ve already tried that, and Disisto didn’t give me the chance—>

<I have a plan,> said the Box. <The Ana Vereine contains a variety of covert surveillance devices designed to infiltrate an enemy vessel. Some of them are microscopic in size and self-replicating; a small amount placed at any location in Galine Four would quickly spread to cover the black spots. I could even reprogram a pseudospecies to allow me terminal access.>

“Morgan?” It was Mavalhin.

She quickly raised a hand to silence him, then closed her eyes, shutting out her immediate surroundings so she could concentrate on what the AI was saying. <That’s just fine, Box, but they’re on the Ana Vereine. How are you going to get them here?>

<Quite simply, and without raising suspicion. Rufo has repeated his offer to treat any ailing reaves we might have on board. All we have to do is agree, send Maii with a packet of surveillance bugs on her person, then instruct her to release them at the first possible moment. Or the bugs could be suspended in the atmosphere of the scutter itself. They would disperse through the air conditioning system when the atmospheres merge.>

Roche thought about it for a long moment. <I don’t like the idea of putting Maii at risk.>

<We could send Cane with her. He would be a more than adequate bodyguard.>

<True.> That would leave the Ana Vereine empty except for Kajic and the Box, but she kept that concern to herself. <They don’t know anything about Cane, so he could pass as an ordinary crew member. Is there no alternative you can think of?>

<None, apart from firing a swarm of bugs at the hull of Galine Four and hoping some sneak through its anti-meteor shields. The odds are against more than a few managing to get inside.> The Box paused before continuing: <Of course, there is the possibility that everything is exactly at it seems—that we can trust Rufo implicitly in everything he says. The high security might be standard for Galine Four and the other discrepancies we have noted nothing more than unfortunate coincidences>

<You’ve talked with him longer than I have. What do you think?>

<I am not totally convinced,> the AI said. <But that doesn’t mean that you have to—>

<Okay, okay.> Roche opened her eyes and reached for her glass. <We have to know what’s going on here, and if this is the only way to find out...>

<It is.>

She took a deep draft of her drink. <Then you have my approval to proceed with this plan, Box.>

<Understood. I have notified the main dock that the scutter will be disengaging in five minutes. Prior to its departure, I will finalize the details with Rufo. I will bring the Ana Vereine closer to minimize transfer time. If there are any changes, I will let you know.>

<How long do you think?>

<Thirty minutes. Cane assures me he will be ready to disembark in ten minutes.>

<Good. Tell him to be careful—and, if you can, make sure he’s wired somehow. I don’t like the idea of being out of touch with them.>

<Regardless of what happens, the bugs themselves will enable us to keep an eye on them.>

<Okay, Box. Keep in touch.>

She put the glass down on the table. Mavalhin was watching her curiously.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Just some business that needed attending to.”

He smiled crookedly but said nothing. “No rest for the wicked, eh?” said Disisto. Before she could say anything, he raised a hand to his ear, his head tilted as though straining to hear something above the general noise of the room. “Your scutter has requested permission to disengage,” he said to her. “It’s leaving without you?”

“Temporarily,” she explained. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer; you see, we do have a reave on board, and she needs help.”

“So you’ve decided to trust us now?”

“Decided we have no choice,” said Roche. “She needs the treatment.”

Disisto nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Is everything else in order?”

“It seems to be,” she said. “For the moment, at least “ Again she sensed something in his stare that belied the calmness of his face, but she could do no more than wonder about it. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“About how much you’ve changed,” said Mavalhin with a smugness that irritated Roche.

“Shut up, Myer,” she said.

“What?” He laughed. “I didn’t say anything!”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” she said. “So let’s just change the subject, shall we?” She picked up her glass and sat back, looking over to Disisto. “Let’s talk about Daybreak instead.”

It was Disisto’s turn to smile. “You spotted it, then?”

“I’m not blind,” she said. “Where did you find it?”

“It drifted in from the outer system five days ago. One of our scouts discovered it and hauled it here once he was sure there was no one aboard.”

“And that scout was you, Myer?” she said.

Mavalhin grinned. “Sorry, Morgan. Can’t help you there. I was over Aro Spaceport at the time.”

She shrugged. It had been worth a try; Mavalhin would have been much easier to pump information from than the security officer. “Was there no one aboard, then, Disisto?”

“Apart from the bodies stacked in the hold, no, there wasn’t. The pilot had abandoned the vessel long before we found it.”

“That would be before he attacked Guhr Outpost in the tug, right?” put in Haid.

“I guess so,” Disisto said. “Once he had no use for Daybreak, he must have discarded it.”

“That surprises me,” Haid went on. “In every other instance he’s used the vessel he had just vacated to act as a distraction. But not this time. It would have been more sensible to destroy it. Any guesses why not?”

Disisto opened his hands in apology. “That’s something you’d have to ask the chief. I’m not privy to all the information we’ve uncovered.”

“The fact that he didn’t bring it up makes me even more curious,” said Roche.

“I’m sure it does.” Disisto’s smile hadn’t faded; if anything, it had grown wider. Roche received the distinct impression that he was enjoying her attempts to probe the station’s veil of secrecy.

“She’s always been like this,” said Mavalhin, leaning forward to put his empty glass on the table. “A troublemaker, too. Did you know that she hacked into the College Head’s private datacore to reprogram his secretary AI? For a week, it would speak only in an obscure Mbatan dialect Morgan had unearthed in an archive. Because only a dozen or so people on the other side of the Commonwealth could speak that language, it was a whole day before the Head could get any sense out of it. It brought the Academy to a halt—and all so she could miss a Tactics exam she hadn’t prepared for.”

“Hey, that’s a lie!” Roche protested with mock indignation. “You were the one with the exam! I did it so you could get out of taking it.”

“Ah yes, that’s right,” he said. “You would’ve done anything for me back in those days, wouldn’t you?”

Roche conceded a wry smile and shook her head. “I’d forgotten what you can be like, Myer,” she said. Oddly enough, she enjoyed the banter almost as much as it annoyed her—which was a fair summary of her feelings for him, now and then. “But you won’t catch me off guard again, that I promise you.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You can take it any way you like.”

“Accepted, then. Where shall we start?”

Somehow he drew her into a one-on-one conversation, against her better instincts. While Haid and Disisto listened, occasionally talking to each other or interjecting with observations, she and Mavalhin sparred as smoothly as they had years before. It amazed her how easily the old ways returned: she had never met anybody since him who knew just how to antagonize her. The reverse was also true. Despite the fact that they had both experienced much since they had last met, the mental processes that dictated the flow of conversation remained unchanged.

“Look, I’m sorry to have to break this up,” Disisto eventually said, “but if you want to meet the scutter, we should start heading down to the docking bay.”

Roche was surprised. “So soon?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a walk there,” said Disisto. “Besides which, we have to drop Myer off so he can finish his debriefing decon.”

“Oh, come on, Disisto!” said Mavalhin.

But Disisto and Synnett were already standing, the latter tugging Mavalhin to his feet. Haid finished the contents of his glass and stood; Roche did likewise.

“Changed man, eh, Myer?” Roche scoffed.

The pilot ignored her.

On the way past the dueling field, Haid nudged her with one angular elbow and indicated the hologram with a nod. Roche looked, and had a quick glimpse of armored, robotic figures toiling with ferocious weapons on an open playing field. Nothing looked out of place.

<What?>

I THOUGHT I RECOGNIZED THE GAME AS WE CAME IN, he sent. IT’S A REPEAT OF THE GRUDGE MATCH BETWEEN ALEMDAR QUICK AND THE PREVIOUS CHAMPION, VOID 34.

<So?>

THE GAME WAS PUT ON IDNET SEX DAYS AGO. BUT PALASIAN SYSTEM WAS ENCLOSED TWENTY DAYS AGO. THERE’S NO WAY THEY COULD’VE RECEIVED THIS GAME FROM IN HERE.

Roche stopped to look at the game with renewed interest, but Synnett urged them forward irritably.

<Are you sure?>

POSITIVE. I WATCHED IT IN THE REHAB UNIT WHEN MY IMPLANTS WERE INSTALLED.

She thought it through carefully, while following Disisto and Mavalhin out of the bar. <That means they’ve had at least one communication with someone outside. But how? I didn’t think anything could cross the Gauntlet.>

<Nothing but a ship,> said the Box. <Or a drone designed to carry information>

<A message drop? From whom?>

THAT’S THE PRIZE-WINNING QUESTION, ISN’T IT?

She frowned. <There’s something really odd going on here—and the sooner we get Maii up and running again, the better. How long until she’s here, Box?>

<The scutter has been cleared to dock and is moving into position. Should be only a few minutes at most.>

Disisto, ahead of Roche, halted at the entrance to a transit corridor.

<Good. We shouldn’t be far behind,> said Roche. <By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve run a search on Shak’ni? He seems an odd choice for head of security of a Pristine-run station.>

<No, Morgan, I have not. The only high-level security files from the Kesh governments I have access to are those gathered by COE Intelligence and the Dato Espionage Corps. But I can try if you’d like me to.>

<Do it. You never know what you might find.> She waited for confirmation from the AI. Technically it wasn’t required to respond to every order she gave it, but it usually did, if only to have the last word. After a moment of silence, she said: <Box?>

Again, no response. Then:

<Morgan?> The Box sounded concerned.

<I hear you, Box>

<The scutter has docked and an umbilical is being attached. Cane and Maii are preparing to disembark. Please respond, Morgan.>

Roche felt a terrible dread radiate from her gut.

<Ameidio, we’re being jammed. It’s a trap!>

Haid didn’t respond either, but his worried eyes met hers just as the transit cab door opened to reveal Shak’ni glaring down at them. Another Kesh stood there also, along with three Pristines in gray security uniforms. All were armed, and their weapons were pointed at Roche.

“The reave and the clone warrior have disembarked,” Shak’ni said to Disisto. “This charade can end now.”