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DualE broke contact with Penance and hailed the Rickover.
The navy ship's response came quickly. "Clear this channel, Crossed Swords. You are interfering with a naval operation."
She knew the voice. "Don't give me that crap, Lieutenant Brienne. I know the protocol. This is a civilian wavelength."
"In case you hadn't noticed, we're surrounded by civilians. Who are at risk. I'm flattered you recognize me, DualE, but recognition won't get you through to Admiral Rowland." Brienne's picture wavered then vanished.
"I don't need Rowland himself. Get me Captain Siebe or an aide with political muscle. I need someone in Rowland's command to run over the bureaucrat clowns running this station."
"Leave your message. I'll see what I can do."
DualE pounded her fist on the chair arm. Brienne was right, Rowland was too busy to take time for an ex-officer who'd already negotiated free passage from the Confluence. Now that she was an outsider looking in, the chain of command minimizing risk looked frustratingly inefficient. "All right, thanks. Message follows." She controlled her emotion and spoke evenly. "This is DualE of the Crossed Swords. My co-pilot, Carver Denz, has been arrested and taken off our ship by Argosy Station authorities. They claim the attack came from Schoenfeld Eddy and link Denz's former presence there to the attack. If they arrested everyone in the station who'd been in the Eddy at one time, the brigs would be overflowing. I want the real reason he's been detained and I want him released. I'll stand by." She began reviewing her station knowledge in case it came down to a one-woman retrieval operation.
"Message received. Don't call again. We'll hail you."
The inside of the Crossed Swords seemed smaller without Carver. She'd gotten used to sharing the craft with him and being part of a team again after too many months as a lone wolf undercover agent for Rowland.
The months she'd spent haunting Argosy Station had proven fruitless and her mission to determine the Realms' military strength would have failed entirely if not for her second role as Carver's anonymous protector.
While she scrubbed off the post-cryo effluvium, she scanned the messages careening within the station and set the listener program to tag any reference to Carver, herself, their ship or the Penance and its crew. She had little doubt she could sneak aboard the station and remain undetected for a day or two. She knew the station's every meter, nook and bolthole. Without knowing Carver's exact location, too much time would be wasted, increasing the likelihood of being caught. And she'd miss any message from the Rickover.
"Pious here, DualE. Any response from your former commander?"
"Nothing yet. I've left a message for Rowland. Any answer to your inquiries?"
"Like you, no worthwhile information. We're still searching for an ally if one exists. If this were Slate's Progress instead of Argosy Station, we'd have someone by now."
"Explain." She'd know they'd spent a brief time further out in the Realm. Long enough to gather a congregation?
"We had a successful gathering in Slate's and I believe the faith of one person in particular would be still active."
"There's been enough traffic between the two stations in the weeks we've been in Bohr that your follower could be among them and here now."
Pious cleared his throat. "Excuse me."
She heard another muffled cough then he resumed. "It's unlikely. Our recruit, Chels Harte, was stuck on Slate's. Too many trips through jumpspace had rendered Chels unable to psychologically survive further exposure to the universe's underbelly."
"I understand. I've had colleagues in the navy wash out before retirement because of 'Spook Syndrome'. Hope my time never comes. If it does, I hope I'm not stuck in a rathole like this station. I haven't visited Slate's, but I hear it's even grittier than Argosy."
"It is certainly chaotic. Less geometrically ordered. And the migrant inhabitants are a rougher lot." Pious rasped again. "I will leave you to your task with the Rickover. We'll be in touch if news of Denz surfaces."
*
Carver's escort was joined by two more uniforms as they entered the main docking area. Lights flashed, klaxons rang and station staff rushed in all directions. None of it seemed to accomplish anything except creating more panic. Why didn't those who were in one spot stay there, instead of exchanging places with those from another area?
They entered a narrow corridor leading from the main deck. The noise dropped and the light dimmed. Carver ducked when warned by the guard in front and watched his step on his own volition. Conduits dripping station fluids ran within the passageway. "Was this designed for plumbing first and humans as an afterthought?" he asked.
"Shut up."
Carver bit his lip and carried on. He was traversing parts of the station he'd not seen in his previous visits. This was the below-water portion of the Argosy Station iceberg. To complete his analogy, it was also cold. The corridor turned into a steep incline and his boots slipped. The leader grabbed Carver's tunic and pulled him along. They stepped from the tunnel into a public area. Carver tried to picture where they were but his weeks aboard Argosy hadn't brought him here. The odor of bad gin and worse beer told him they had to be close to Phyl's Fill, the basest bar on the station. The lowest geographically and socially.
Two distinct groups were in sight. Three possible patrons on their way to exchange credits for dicey alcohol and questionable goods or services in the tavern, and a pair of armed security officers who gave Carver's company a quick wave then returned to watching the civilians. The station was on edge but a few brave or reckless souls carried on their routine. Crawl from whatever hole one slept in, head for Phyl's and wash away or drown one's demons. Station attack was just another hurtle to get to the next day.
Before he could recognize any specific landmarks, they entered another maintenance tunnel. Ten minutes of ducking and hurtling deck obstacles brought the four to a formidable door, criss-crossed with decades of scars and dents. A knock with a baton spurred an opened slit occupied by a pair of eyes.
"Prisoner you're expecting," said Carver's lead guard.
The door clanged twice then opened. Carver was pushed inside and abandoned by his escorts.
The new guards pointed forward to a barred cell. "Through there." The door grumbled noisily, allowing Carver to squeeze inside. He wasn't the lone occupant; half a dozen dishevelled and tired men met his gaze with disinterest then looked away.
Carver turned around. "How long have you been expecting me?"
"No questions."
No questions from them either. The brig guards were prepared for him. The first escort hadn't contacted anyone in his presence. They must've radioed a heads-up before he re-entered the Crossed Swords. Or had someone known of his arrival before they docked? Given the near hour it took to reach here, and the fact there were three station guards ready for his EVA return, it was possible. Old enemies? New?
No interrogation because they didn't need information from him. They wanted him. Isolated from DualE and/or the brothers. Knowing what didn't help him determine why.
Carver mimicked the other prisoners, lowering his focus to the floor and shoving hands in pockets. He slumped on the crude bench to ponder past and present misdeeds.
*