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Rear Admiral Hera Talyn allowed herself a pleased smile when Colonel Zack Decker’s and Major General Jimmy Martinson’s faces appeared on her office display.
“Gentlemen, you’ll be pleased to hear that Erinye Company is battered, bruised, stirred, and shaken, with severely depleted ammunition stocks and short several serviceable pressurized armor suits, but otherwise in good health. All Marines stood roll call this morning. I can’t say the same about Tyrell Station. Three of its modules are damaged beyond repair, including the reactor, and several adjoining ones suffered collateral damage. Operations are essentially at a standstill until we replace those modules. There were, thankfully, no casualties among legitimate employees. An Assenari ship is on the way to deliver a repair team and remove the workers. It’ll be a few weeks, maybe even a few months before Tyrell is back up and running.”
She went on to relay Delgado’s report, which arrived less than thirty minutes earlier, transmitted via Garibaldi.
When she fell silent, Decker frowned. “Hashashin? Is Curtis sure?”
“What he describes bears the hallmarks of previously identified Hashashin attacks.”
“Not that we’ve identified many,” Martinson said.
Talyn inclined her head. “Granted, but I agree with his assessment. It confirms information obtained by our sources on Earth. The Sécurité Spéciale is upping the ante by using fanatics about whom we know little now that we’re effectively neutralizing their usual assets through direct action and intimidation.”
Decker let out a grunt.
“I guess it was inevitable they’d go for the unspeakable after we put the fear of the Almighty into most organized crime groups and mercenary organizations. That’ll bring our dirty little war to a new level. But well done Curtis. Seizing two ships and downing a third, along with taking over a hundred prisoners — he’ll be in my chair before long at this rate.” He gave Talyn a suspicious look. “Unless someone with more stars on the collar than you takes umbrage at his burying the munitions depot beneath a few hundred tons of rock.”
She shook her head. “He did precisely the right thing under the circumstances. While Assenari repairs Tyrell, it wouldn’t surprise me if a recovery team with remotely operated heavy excavation machinery digs the depot out, perhaps only to make sure Curtis’ people rendered the warheads completely inoperable. And if they didn’t, then an injection of a stable polymer to fill the cavern will do the same thing. As of now, it’s been designated one of the most dangerous toxic waste dumps in the known galaxy. I’m briefing the Grand Admiral in two hours on the matter, and I’ll find out what he thinks at that time. Keep in mind he considers Curtis a splendid officer after the recent trip to Earth.”
“When is Erinye Company coming home?”
“They and Garibaldi will stay at least until the workers are evacuated, and a replacement garrison arrives to guard Tyrell during the reconstruction. How and when that’ll happen isn’t clear yet, but Curtis is loading the prisoners into a single sloop that will head straight for Parth as soon as possible with a prize crew from Garibaldi and a contingent of her Marines. The other sloop will stay to transport the Erinyes home, also with a prize crew from Garibaldi.”
Decker nodded once. “Makes sense. And what about the artifact in the basement?”
“Oh, dear.” She gave her partner an amused smile. “That won’t go over well with the Grand Admiral, I’m afraid. The late Nero Engstrom’s predecessor will face troubling questions once things settle, as will Assenari Mining’s chief executive officer and his boss, the CEO of Assenari Enterprises. Oh, and by the way, Terry Evans, the woman who died soon after Curtis arrived, remember her? She was a ComCorp operative, killed by an Assenari Enterprises operative, who then tried to destroy Tyrell by blowing up its reactor. Curtis figures he was a sort of organic dead man’s switch tasked with denying the artifact should it be endangered.”
“If Assenari can’t keep it, no one can?”
“Perhaps not so much that but something based on the logic that only Assenari knew the exact location, and once Tyrell was gone, the thread liking it with the artifact was broken.”
“Nasty. You figure he was a Hashashin as well?”
Talyn made a vague hand gesture. “Could be. Perhaps from a different faction or clan. In any case, my people will be delivering pointed messages to Assenari’s top leadership. After all, their hireling tried to destroy a Fleet-owned installation.”
**
Curtis Delgado, First Sergeant Hak, and Romana Movane, sitting in the landing strip control room, watched Harfang lift off with its cargo of captured mercenaries. It would head directly for Parth, where the Commonwealth’s long-term prisoners were housed in a vast network of institutions. There, they would be put on trial and, if found guilty, sentenced to hard time for attacking Tyrell, though Delgado doubted any of them faced permanent exile on Desolation Island. He didn’t wish that on anyone but the worst criminals, not after hearing Colonel Decker describe his experience there during a mission that saw him play a condemned prisoner a few years ago.
“I wonder if we’ll see any of those buggers wearing Marine black and working with us in a few years,” Hak said as his eyes traced the sloop’s ascent.
Movane gave him a sharp glance. “How’s that, First Sergeant?”
“Ever heard of the Marine Light Infantry?”
She shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“The regiment recruits from the Parth prison system — condemned men and women with military experience who are unlikely to re-offend after a basic training regimen that essentially reprograms their personalities. Much of its cadre are volunteers from elsewhere in the Marine Corps and the Army, mostly people looking for a new life or a fresh start without leaving the service. Call it a human recycling program.”
“Interesting.”
“And successful,” Delgado said. “They’re considered by many of us as the finest light troops in the Corps, tough, capable, tireless, willing to take risks that would make regular Marines think twice, and capable of absorbing casualties without breaking stride. The MLI belongs to SOCOM these days, so it’s entirely possible that some of the mercenaries aboard Harfang might cross paths with us, albeit under a different identity. And now, Chief Administrator, I believe you and I have an appointment with the artifact in the mine. I trust the secret lift still works?”
“Yes, it does. Although my superiors won’t be happy if I took you for a visit.”
Delgado snorted with amusement. “That’ll be nothing compared to my superiors’ unhappiness at your bosses keeping it from them. I expect Assenari Enterprises’ CEO to receive a very pointed rocket from the Grand Admiral shortly. Had the Fleet known about something that might attract the wrong sort of attention, Tyrell would likely not be in its current state, facing millions of creds in repairs and with production suspended for months. Never mind the fact that if it weren’t for us replacing the regular garrison because of the Second Migration War ammo dump, the mercenaries would likely have seized Tyrell and endangered the lives of everyone here, yours included.”
Movane’s face hardened. “It wasn’t my decision, Major.”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But you were involved with the matter of Fleet-appointed commanding officers not reporting the artifact.”
“I was only following orders.”
“An excuse which hasn’t worked since the mid-twentieth century. That being said, you’ll show me everything now, so I can complete my report.”
**
“What do you know about the L’Taung, Major?” Romana Movane asked after sealing her pressure suit. They were in the hydroponics module’s mechanical compartment, which had survived the bombs on the upper level, preparing to take the lift to the artifact.
“About as much as most people know. So, is that it? A L’Taung artifact?”
“Yes. Or at least we’re as certain as can be, all things considered.”
“We suspected as much.”
“You’ve encountered L’Taung artifacts before?”
“Out in the Protectorate Zone. Not that you ever heard me say so, since the Treaty of Ulufan forbids military operations there. But simply based on their architecture and the materials they used, the L’Taung were a tad more advanced than any current civilization in the known galaxy, ours included.”
“Good. Then I won’t spend an hour explaining things.” She turned toward the lift door, summoning the cab.
A few moments later, the door slid open, revealing an unadorned but brilliantly lit car. Delgado and Movane stepped in and grabbed the rookie bar attached to the walls at waist level. She stroked the black control pad, and the doors closed. A second or so later, the lift depressurized, and its floor dropped out from under their feet as they sped to an airless chamber deep below the surface.
After what seemed like an eternity to Delgado’s protesting stomach, the lift slowed and, moments later, stopped. Without further commands, the door opened, revealing the same impossible section of tunnel that puzzled the Marines a few days earlier.
Wordlessly, Movane led the way to the slick doorway. She touched a wall section beside it, uncovering a large knob that she pushed inward. The outline of a smaller door appeared around the knob, and she gave it a shove. The door swung aside effortlessly, and Movane stepped through after indicating Delgado should follow her.
“Welcome to the ultimate mystery, Major.”
As the door opened, lights of human manufacture came on, revealing a large cave whose walls vanished into the distance. Unknown forces had smoothed them and the cathedral ceiling. Large doors set at regular intervals pierced both sides for as far as the eye could see.
Shiny gray crates, marked with glyphs that bore more than a passing resemblance to modern written Shrehari, sat in neat rows on one side of the cavern while hulking metallic constructs, machinery perhaps, Delgado figured, filled the other. A few of the crates were open, and he walked over to one of them.
“You’ve checked the contents?”
“Yes. Feel free to look.”
He lifted the lid and peered inside.
“What are those? Crystals?”
Glassy blocks engraved with glyphs, each the size of a human adult head, were nestled inside individual compartments. Judging by the height of the crate, there were at least four layers of them.
“Assenari’s research and development scientists believe those are memory crystals — data storage.”
“How many are there?”
“Well over a hundred thousand, possibly the entire accumulated knowledge of a civilization vanished so long ago, its descendants consider it a myth.”
“You figure this is a knowledge vault, then. I read about the theories behind such things.”
She raised both hands, encompassing the cavern. “What else could it be?”
“I gather your R&D people didn’t yet crack the code?”
“No. One of my predecessors as chief admin sent an entire crate to headquarters shortly after we gained entry into this place, but nothing so far.”
Delgado turned to face Movane. “And Assenari decided it would rather keep this find a secret instead of harnessing the power of an entire species to decode these crystals. How short-sighted.”
“As you said earlier, Major, knowledge is power. If Assenari discovers a way of accessing the data inside those crystals, who can tell what potential they unleash? It might become the most powerful zaibatsu in history, eclipsing even the mighty ComCorp.”
“Not anymore.”
“No, I guess not. When the Fleet forced Assenari to sell Tyrell, there was panic in the C-suite back home. But as it turned out, the secret remained inviolate.”
“Until recently. Whoever hired those mercenaries certainly found out. Was Engstrom aware of this?” He gestured at the endless row of crates.
“Yes. He was a smart man, but not a particularly honest one. He wanted his name associated with the find once it became public and wasn’t averse to a generous payoff for keeping it secret in the interim.” She paused for a few heartbeats. “Although after what happened, I figure either Valenti Nabakov or one of his colleagues would have ensured Engstrom died in an accident once his tour here ended.”
Delgado stepped over to the row of machinery. “And this?”
“Not a clue. There’s no power source that we can detect, and before you ask, we didn’t try shipping one home for analysis. The researchers here — three of them also masquerading as environmental engineers — are still working on identifying their functions.”
He studied the first few examples, then wandered over to the nearest side door.
“What’s behind these?”
“Thousands and thousands of smaller items, most of which remain a mystery. We sent specimens back to head office.” A pause. “How where the mercenaries going to load all of this?”
“Perhaps they didn’t know how much there was. Or they planned on taking control of Tyrell so cargo ships could land at leisure. We’ll likely never find out. Any obvious weaponry.”
“Yes, and we shipped exemplars of those as well.” She reached past him and pushed on a knob just like the one on the outer door. It, too, swung aside without requiring more than a light touch. “Go in and see for yourself.”
After inspecting half a dozen side rooms and taking readings of each with his battlefield sensor, Delgado made a record of the crystals and the machinery, then said, “I think we’re done here, Chief Administrator. Just one more question, though. How did the L’Taung get this down here, and how did they intend to retrieve it?”
“Via what is now the Tyrell Mine. We found this shaft pretty much as it is today when operations were relocated from played-out ore veins a hundred kilometers east of here a few years ago. The L’Taung made sure it looked like a natural borehole, so we suspected nothing until we reached this level and removed a rockslide they purposely left to disguise the access tunnel.” She paused as they passed through the door and closed it behind them. “Now I have a question for you. Did the Fleet really buy Tyrell because it wants control over raw material sources, or because it knew about the Second Migration War ammunition depot but not the exact location?”
“I’m sorry. That’s a question I cannot answer.”
She stared at him for a few moments. “Understood.”