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The following day in the main cafeteria, Tyrell’s workers gave Delgado and Hak a wide berth, leaving them to enjoy an entire table alone, even though most of the rest were crowded.
“Don’t like us much anymore, do they?” The first sergeant commented as another trio walked by, scowling openly. But he took pleasure at returning every rude or angry stare with a friendly smile and did so again this time.
“I’d be annoyed as well if someone decided he’d scan every hard-working employee because of a few suspicions,” Delgado replied.
“Doesn’t seem fair, though. They’re nice people, on the whole.”
“I know, Top. But it’s the best way of stirring things up to cover our moves. And maybe help us find out if Sécurité Spéciale operatives are plotting mischief.”
“Who might also know about the other thing we haven’t yet fully figured out.”
Delgado nodded, then drained his coffee mug. “Rolf should show up with his daily report soon. Are you coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Painter was chatting with Testo when they entered the command post. Both looked up at Delgado, and the former said, “Good morning, Skipper. I hope you enjoyed a good night’s sleep.”
“I did, thank you. A little birdie tells me something interesting happened during the night watch.” Delgado and Hak took their accustomed chairs at the conference table.
“That birdie would be right, sir. The sensor we installed on the executive accommodations level picked up Jannika Hallikonnoen appearing in the corridor via the maintenance tube and entering Chief Engineer Iago Sakamoto’s private quarters.”
“Really?” Delgado’s eyebrows rose in surprise. An unprepossessing, balding fifty-something with a slight paunch, Sakamoto oversaw Tyrell’s entire infrastructure and was Romana Movane’s second-in-command.
“Please tell me Carl Kuzek’s trick of turning the executive level bedroom communicators into listening devices worked.”
A predatory smile briefly lit up the normally dour command sergeant’s square features.
“It did, and you’re about to hear things you can never unhear, Skipper.”
“How many obscenity laws does the recording break?” Delgado asked, grinning.
“Hardly any. Our esteemed chief engineer doesn’t sound like much of a lover, which should not surprise those of us who’ve met him.” He glanced at Testo. “Might as well share the pain.”
Testo reached for his console, and clear voices filled the room. “Be grateful it’s audio only, Skipper.”
Painter was right. Sakamoto didn’t sound like someone highly active in bed, nor did Hallikonnoen seem to enjoy herself much. When the recording ended, Delgado leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin as he mentally separated the chaff from the kernels of truth.
“If I may, Skipper?” Painter waited until Delgado gave him the nod to go ahead. “I figure it’s clear Hallikonnoen is in this relationship with Sakamoto to collect information about Tyrell. You may have noted that she skilfully interrogated him during and afterward, something he didn’t seem to realize. If you’ll recall, I did a tour at Camp X as an instructor back when Colonel Decker was a major, and we trained agents in interrogation techniques. In my professional opinion, she’s more in our line of business than that of extracting rare ores from the crust of a dead planet.”
“Sécurité Spéciale, then.” Delgado gave Painter a knowing look.
“That would be my guess. But something else struck me. The questions she asked and the way she asked them makes me believe Hallikonnoen used him to confirm or expand on information she already has.”
Hak let out a soft grunt. “Meaning Hallikonnoen is using other informants, people she may not entirely trust.”
Painter nodded. “That’s what I figure.”
“Then what’s her game? She arrived here well before the recon droids found the Migration War bunker, so not that.” Hak looked at Delgado. “Do you figure she’s here to monitor the Fleet’s newest gambit — extracting the resources it needs to build starships and weapons instead of buying them from the Assenaris of the galaxy at market rates? Or is it because of the thing in the basement?”
“Or both. I’m sure the Sécurité Spéciale is interested in how the Fleet handles this. They probably placed agents or informants in every mining and production operation we bought, just to see why we did so. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me if they already know we found Migration War records presumed lost and are buying properties around suspected weapons caches. Whatever’s on Level Sixteen is merely a bonus.”
“So, we use the assumption that Hallikonnoen is Sécurité Spéciale, Skipper?” Testo asked.
Delgado nodded. “Until we find out otherwise. Which begs the question whether she’s involved in the death of Terry Evans.”
“No tangible evidence,” Painter replied. “We’ve not yet asked anyone direct questions concerning their whereabouts that night, and if we assume she’s Sécurité Spéciale, then we definitely won’t speak with her.”
“Agreed. I think she feels reasonably secure at the moment, seeing as how she has no qualms about visiting Sakamoto during the night shift and asking him questions about Tyrell’s infrastructure oversight protocols. Let’s keep it that way but focus our surveillance on her and the people she interacts with when off-duty. Discreetly, of course.”
“Roger that, Skipper. If there’s nothing else for me?”
“You’re free to go.”
Once Painter left, Delgado turned to Testo.
“Next order of business. I’m headed for Level Sixteen with Singh’s section again during the beta shift to see if we can’t open that mysterious door. How’s the search for the unmarked lift’s upper terminal going?”
Testo touched his workstation console again, and a three-dimensional holographic projection of Tyrell Station materialized above the table.
“If it reaches the station proper, it could be in many of the stacked modules ending with Hydroponics Three at the very top, but so far, I’ve found nothing in the system about any additional lift coming from below. Not even a hint that something was added in recent times.”
“Okay. Keep searching. How about the sensors at the airlocks?”
“In place and scanning,” Testo replied. “And annoying the workers to no end. But I doubt they’ll detect anything smaller than a couple of micrograms liberally sprinkled on some idiot’s clothing.”
“It’s mostly for show, anyway. And if it makes the guilty nervous, then so much the better. Is everything in place for the arrival of the ship tomorrow?”
The operations noncom nodded. “Yes, sir. We should be ready for any eventuality.”
“Good. I’ll do a final review of my contingency plans when we’re done here. Once the amended version is up, I want both of you to poke holes in it. I want us ready for anything by the time the replacement workers arrive because that’ll be the Sécurité Spéciale’s only chance of slipping extra operatives into Tyrell. They must know the Fleet can show up at any time with the resources to remove the Migration War payloads.” When both nodded, Delgado said, “Captain Engstrom summoned me to his office at ten hundred hours. It might get interesting. Did you turn his office communicator into a listening device yet?”
Testo made a so-so gesture and grimaced. “It’s a tad harder to penetrate than those in the private quarters.”
“Try your best. I’d love a recording of whatever we discuss.”
Delgado stood and, with one last glance at the holographic projection of Tyrell, left for his cubicle.
**
Delgado stepped off the lift and into the executive office corridor a few minutes before the appointed time. Though most doors were open, he heard few voices and nothing more than the mechanical hum of an outpost on an airless world, whose tightly contained atmosphere was constantly cycled through environmental scrubbers.
He stopped at a broad, transparent aluminum window and looked out over the planet’s tortured landscape, stark against the cold, black majesty of space. The rays of the midmorning sun were painting a tableau of harsh light and deep shadows wherever jagged peaks rose above the surface and craters dropped beneath it.
Delgado couldn’t help but wonder what Keros looked like a thousand centuries ago when the proto-Shrehari L’Taung civilization — if his assumptions were correct — dug out a room deep beneath the surface even as it collapsed. Was the planet alive, lush, and teeming with strange life forms? Or was it a marginal, hardscrabble world like some he’d visited, such as Andoth?
Unbidden, the troubling words of the early twenty-third-century poet Hiroshi Yamagata, who died during one of the First Migration War’s many massacres, came to mind.
Born in darkness
It will die in darkness
The universe ever changing
Never changing
Violent and peaceful
With harmony ever out of reach
It took an effort to tear his eyes away from the savage panorama and prepare himself for what he figured would be a confrontation.
He crossed the corridor and entered Engstrom’s office antechamber, where his administrative assistant greeted him with a bland expression.
“Major Delgado for Captain Engstrom as ordered.”
“One moment please.” She tapped her workstation console. “Major Delgado is here, sir.” She listened for a moment to words only she could hear and then smiled apologetically at the Marine. “I’m sorry, sir, Captain Engstrom is unavoidably detained for a few more minutes. Please take a seat. He won’t be long.”
Delgado nodded, unsurprised at the delay. Engstrom was playing the oldest game in the book, making him wait to show his superiority. He sat, composed himself, closed his eyes, and slipped quickly into a light meditative trance, restful and calming.
If Engstrom wanted to make him wait, then he would wait for as long as necessary. The man’s games were meaningless and allowed him to clear his mind and focus. Gradually, Delgado felt an inner calm, a feeling of balance and harmony slow his heart rate. His body relaxed and he knew he had already won the conflict that lay ahead.