Nearby

“THIS is me,” Evan said unnecessarily, stopping outside the door.

The affable “Decker” might have never existed. The tousled brown hair had been trimmed, the blunt features set in a professional mask, and, as Lieutenant Kelce Decker, somehow the other Human took up more space, shoulders broader, his bulk no longer that of someone who enjoyed his beer. Not just the uniform. This was a person able to change his appearance and manner at will, and Evan knew better than underestimate him.

“I’m to come inside with you, Polit.”

“Very well.” Opening the door, Evan stepped through. “Lights.” The room was more of a disaster than he remembered. Not a disaster—effort. He gave himself a stern inward shake, thinking of the galley, and explained with a hint of pride, “Professor Harpesseon worked through the night.” While he’d slept in the fresher.

Evan refused to feel remorse. He’d needed that deep nightmare-free sleep.

Chairs, table, the bed—the only surface free of what Evan took for meaningful and important clutter was his yet-to-be-used cot. A lump of clothing in a corner suggested Harps wasn’t interested in having his laundry done.

“I’ll stand, sir.” Decker spread his legs and cupped his hands behind his back, a daunting point of order in the mess.

About to sit on his cot, Evan stayed on his feet. He tried for friendly. After all, they’d shared a meal at Great Gran’s—and a trip on her boat. “Evan, please. What do I call you now? Lieutenant?”

“That’d be best, sir,” with stress. “Or Decker. Mistral’s a tight ship.”

And perhaps the newcomers weren’t receiving the warmest of welcomes. Evan nodded in sympathy. “They put you with the crew?”

“Commander Kamaara gave us her quarters.”

Evan highly doubted there’d been any giving involved. It did reinforce Strevelor’s claim to be in charge, leading him to consider his own instructions. “I’ve left—” about to say translight com, Evan switched to, “—the item in my bag.” For all he knew, someone was listening. Though if someone listened, and he no longer had the authority to make them stop, how was he to use the com without being overheard?

Being secretive was more difficult than he’d imagined. Evan gestured vaguely to the cot, the edge of his luggage showing. “Should I get it out?”

“I’m not authorized to know what you’re referring to, sir,” Decker responded, his expression bland. Which would be no. “The commander will stop by shortly. I’m here to answer your questions regarding the mission—those I can,” he qualified.

Evan let his relief show. “That’s excellent news. Let’s get you a seat, Lieutenant.” Picking the chair with the fewest articles, he carefully set those on the floor in the same orientation, then turned the chair to face the cot. “Please sit. I’ve a few.”

A real smile. “I’m sure. Thanks for this.” A little of the former Decker showed as he dropped into the chair, stretching out his legs with a stifled groan. He frowned at his feet. “I want you to know—” He looked up, brown eyes troubled. “I want you to know I’m sorry for my part. Lying to Celonee, taking her food, her boat. Not what I signed up for, sir, treating good people like that.”

And not what Decker was supposed to say to him, Evan guessed, touched. He found himself grinning. “Great Gran got you with the Bloat Flies, didn’t she.”

“That she did,” with a wry chuckle. “Now, sir, what do you want to know?”

Where to start. Evan sat on the cot, pulling his still-blank notebook from its pocket.

“You can’t make a record, sir.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Chagrined, not a spy, Evan put away the notebook. “Are the two of you really first contact specialists?”

“Yes, sir.” Decker brushed his fingers over the bars affectionately. “My last service was with Captain Lawrenk Jen, of the Vigilant. Captains Haula and Poink teach at the academy. Between them, they’ve conducted over twenty first contacts. Captain Ionneanus may have retired, but trip’s applied codebreaking technology to the study of nonverbal languages. We do know what we’re doing, Polit.”

He hadn’t confirmed Strevelor’s credentials, but Evan had read them for himself. As for their combined knowledge?

“I certainly hope so,” Evan replied, then realized how that sounded. “Sorry—”

“No need to be, sir,” with welcome frankness. “We’ve met species oblivious to any Human-tech signal before. The Passerby are the first to ignore us while using each lost ships’ final translight communication to send their own messages. I’m told Survey considered a machine intelligence, but there’s a contradictory pattern to the image star fields suggesting biological minds, perhaps groups in disagreement.” Decker rolled his shoulders, tipping his head from side to side. “I won’t deny it’s a puzzle.”

Fascinated, Evan leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Say we find the Passerby. What’s the approach?”

“Up to me? Standard first protocol. Stay well back and don’t provoke. Observe. Let them start the conversation.”

“They have started it,” he countered. “By sending the images.”

A thin smile. “You sound like the commander. He’s pushing for a modified second, where we’ll reflect what they’ve sent back to them while testing their tolerance for a closer approach. It offers some tactical advantages.” The smile disappeared. “No matter the approach, Polit, we stay the course until convinced the Passerby pose no further danger to ships. Our orders don’t include retreat.”

He’d told Great Gran the truth. They might not come home. “Understood,” Evan replied, quiet and firm. “But we’ve already engaged with them, haven’t we?”

“What do you mean?”

He had to be careful. Eller—Strevelor had warned him not to tell his aide about the faction or their efforts to thwart them. Despite his reaction to Decker, the feeling the other would make a good friend?

For all Evan knew, Decker was the faction agent Strevelor hunted. Distrust was part of the game, he told himself sadly.

“This mission,” Evan said at last, “is based on the assumption that when Veya Ragem’s implant activated to navigate her ship in translight, it somehow caught the attention of the Passerby. Twice in Sidereal Pathfinder, the final time, the Azimuth Explorer.”

“Lacking an image, we can’t be sure the Azimuth Explorer met the same fate, but that’s the working hypothesis.” Decker folded his arms behind his head. “Since part of the implant remains active—leave it to the techs to explain that—we’ve coordinates for it. And thus for the Passerby.”

They were talking about a dead person’s eye, artificial or not, and Evan’s skin crawled. “We can’t know they kept it.”

“Ah, but we do. The Echosymm Harps mentioned? That’s a lagged correspondence between the implant remnant and the star fields in the images.” Seeing Evan’s face, Decker half smiled. “Means we can prove the implant moves in sync with the Passerby, more than by coincidence. Not that we’ve a clue why they have it.” A snort. “Heezles collect erotic geometry and don’t get me started on Ervickian hoarders. Call it Passerby curiosity.” A pensive, “That would help.”

Curiosity being a commonality of those who left their worlds for space, as often as not, a shared starting point. Evan frowned. Nothing about this felt like sharing.

“What is it?” Eyes no longer sleepy in any way regarded him. “You said we’ve already engaged with them. What did you mean?”

“If the Passerby reacted to the implant’s activity, what’s to say they haven’t to whatever Harps is doing to locate it? And if they have? We’ve told them we’ve made the connection. That we know how to find them.”

“And we’re coming.” Decker sat up, no longer looking relaxed. “Contaminates the approach, even if the Passerby take it calmly. Damn.”

“I’m sure it’s occurred to the others,” Evan said quickly. “It’s too obvious—”

“It’s the obvious that sneaks around to sting.” The officer shook his head. “You saw that group, Polit.” He grimaced. “Look to you as if they’ve been comparing notes?” He got to his feet. “The commander needs to hear this.”

---

After the door closed behind the lieutenant, Evan remained sitting, hands loose on his knees, Decker’s final words echoing through his mind over and over with one change: Paul needs to hear this.

And he couldn’t tell him. Everything concerning Paul’s mother was classified so far above his pay grade Evan Gooseberry grew nauseous contemplating it.

That didn’t stop him worrying at the problem. Paul deserved to know. If there was any justice, he’d be here, now, as what Veya died for came to fruition and, quite possibly, helped humanity through a first encounter chancier than most.

Paul had to know.

Evan pulled his bag from under the cot, setting it beside him. Inside was a translight com. One he couldn’t use without Strevelor and, when he did, Strevelor would be standing right there, listening, so that wouldn’t work.

He sighed, opening the bag. Might as well be productive, and jot down what notes he could in his private notebook before his next visitor. Nothing of what Decker had told him of course, or secrets, but he should record his observations of the experts. Their names.

Evan’s fingers touched his winter coat. He opened it, reaching in—

The sleeve was empty.

He took a slow, deep breath, determined not to panic. He felt the left sleeve. The translight com was there.

He’d been in a rush. His notebooks must have slipped out when he removed his suit roll.

But even as he dumped the contents of the bag on the cot, even as he worked through socks and the spare shirts and the night clothes he’d yet to wear, Evan Gooseberry knew they hadn’t slipped. Knew he’d secured his precious, private notebooks inside the sleeve, inside the coat.

And now they were gone.

“Lost something, Polit?”

What Evan didn’t know was how long Commander Ne-Sa Kamaara had been watching his desperate search. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, then locked it.

“Oh no. I’m just unpacking,” Evan said warily. “Is there something I can do for you, Commander Kamaara?”

She held out her hand, palm up. “If you haven’t lost it, then give it to me.” Her fingers closed and opened. “The blister bomb.”

“Buddy?” He gaped at her. “That’s why you’re here? But you’re the commander—”

One corner of her lips deepened. “And the most experienced weapons officer on the Mistral. Unless you want someone else to instruct you, Polit?”

The steward. “Betts sent—reported to you,” Evan corrected.

Her hand moved impatiently.

He took out the green cylinder. “Buddy—This belongs to a relative of mine. I promised to return it to her.”

“Did you?” she murmured, her keen gaze locked on the device. “How long has your relative had ‘Buddy’ around the house?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Looks antique to me. Polit?” Kamaara gestured again and this time Evan carefully put Buddy in her hand. In the midst of examining it, she glanced up at him. “What made you bring a weapon on my ship?”

“It was my relative’s idea. Things were—I had to leave quickly and couldn’t explain why. She was afraid for me.”

“Because of who you left with. Yes, we know,” with a grim smile at whatever she read on his face. “Operatives have a particular stench.”

Evan held back a protest he wasn’t sure was sincere. “About Buddy?”

“Buy your caring relative a replacement, Polit. A new one. Betts did us all a service—this is long past expiry. I’ll dispose of it before it blows us up.” As Evan shuddered, Kamaara wrapped the cylinder in a piece of foil material she produced from a pocket, then tucked the thing away. “Here.” A small black disk appeared in the palm of her free hand. “Single use stun. The effective radius is about the width of this cabin. Firm press in the center, like so. You’ll be unaffected, but it’ll slow any theta-class species and knocks out Humans for up to ten minutes, depending on mass. Leaves a wicked headache.” As Evan gingerly accepted it, she patted his shoulder. “More importantly, it won’t damage my ship.”

From his shoulder, her hand slipped down his upper arm, stopping above his elbow. “The steward said it looked as if you’d had a stim shot. Here.” A finger pressed.

Evan winced. “That’s the spot. I was getting pretty groggy. Commander Strevelor said it would help.”

“Bet he did. I need to see your arm, Polit. Now.”

“He and the lieutenant took the shots, too.” But it was an order and Evan put the stun disk down with care, then hurried to remove his jacket, then shirt, feeling a chill inside. “What’s the matter?”

“Our observant steward belongs in security.” Kamaara squeezed a fold of his skin, over the sore spot. “This. See it?”

Evan stretched to look at the outside of his arm. Where she squeezed a foreign lump protruded, like the tip of a stylo.

“Subcutaneous tracker. Someone doesn’t want you wandering off, Polit. Which of them administered the shot?”

He closed his mouth, only then realizing it had dropped open in shock. “Decker—Lieutenant Decker, I mean. It stung at the time. I—I remember saying it was revenge for the Bloat Flies.”

She studied him, then nodded. “Get dressed.”

“You’re leaving it there?” he protested, hand hovering over his violated arm.

“Removal would take a trip to medbay—and won’t answer any questions, starting with why. Why are you on my ship, Evan Gooseberry? Because I don’t believe it has anything to do with a ShimShree on Botharis or finding the Passerby aliens.”

Her ship. Kamaara had made her priorities crystal clear from their first meeting. After shrugging on his shirt, Evan met her intense gaze.

Coming to a quick decision, hoping it was the right one, he sat on the cot and pulled his coat from the tangle of his belongings. He removed the translight com from the sleeve, resting the device on his lap, then looked up again. “Commander Strevelor gave me this in secret before we boarded. To contact the All Species’ Library—Paul Ragem and Esolesy Ki. About Passerby,” he added.

“An unauthorized translight message was sent from the Missy last night. Was it yours, Polit?”

Evan shook his head. “I can’t use this without the commander. He has the code.”

“Could Strevelor have used it without your knowledge?”

“It’s possible—I fell asleep in the fresher,” he confessed. “But Harps was here working.”

“The professor could have used it.”

By the same token, Harps could have taken his notebooks. Evan refused to believe it.

Trust no one. He shook his head again, this time in denial of that inner voice. Fine advice for a spy, but trust was at the heart of what he was. More than that, trust—knowing who to trust and when—was crucial to his function as a diplomat at the interface of humanity with everyone else.

“I trust you,” Evan declared quietly. “I trust Harps and the Dwelleys are what they seem to be. I came here to help, not point suspicion at the innocent.”

Her eyebrows rose, erasing some of her habitual scowl. “Strevelor. He show you credentials?”

“Yes, but he had me destroy them.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“They appeared in order,” Evan protested. “There was even a note from my—the ambassador at Dokeci Na approving my time on the mission.”

“Passerby.”

He hesitated.

Kamaara squatted in front of him, balanced on her booted heels as if ready to stay that way for hours. “Evan, there are a hundred and four innocent people on this ship, give or take a few passengers I’d be happy to spit out in a lifepod. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous this situation might become, and it’s essential I know everything that might tip the scales one way or the other. Why did he bring you here? What’s in those bags he brought? What’s Strevelor really after?”

Great Gran had told him . . . trust those who’ve earned yours. Though it wasn’t easy to come to attention on a cot, Evan Gooseberry stiffened his spine and shoulders, decision made. “He told me there’s a faction within the Intrepid Few who’ve funded illegal research for decades, including Pathfinder. That some of them are here, using Mission Passerby as a cover to find and destroy evidence of what they did to Veya Ragem. He’s been posing as one in order to find them.”

“Your role?”

At the question, at her belief, he let out a shuddering breath. “To be a witness for him if anything goes wrong but—mostly I’m here because Strevelor believes Paul Ragem trusts me. Enough to answer questions about his mother and to learn what the Library has about the Passerby.”

Kamaara reached out to tap the translight com. “Why not use the ship’s?”

“Because—” Their eyes were on the same level and Evan found himself staring into hers. The pupils were large and dark, surrounded by brown irises, striated in honey tones. The whites were yellowed and bloodshot, as if she’d hadn’t slept well of late, and what he had to say wouldn’t help. “Strevelor said Paul doesn’t trust Survey. And he doesn’t know who else on board is in the faction yet. They’re dangerous, Commander. They intend to eliminate anyone who knows about Pathfinder, including Paul. They’ve tried on Botharis. The kidnapping?” For she’d been involved in the resolution.

“Strevelor told you all that.” Kamaara shook her head. “Evan. Evan. Evan.” Her hand reached again, this time to deliver a stinging snap to his ear.

He cupped it, eyes watering. “What was that for?”

“For being you.” Rebuke delivered, Kamaara collected the translight com and rose to her feet.

Evan knew better than risk trying to reclaim it. He stood, taking a deliberate step to put distance between them. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” All at once Kamaara seemed more distracted than angry. “And we’re out of time. You said Strevelor’s coming here, soon?”

“Yes, but—”

“Tell him you opened your bag and the com wasn’t there.” She shot a look around the room, pouncing on a box full of tools. Before he could argue they were Harps’ and shouldn’t be moved, she’d buried the com inside and tucked the box under her arm. With her free hand, she tossed him his jacket. “Get that back on. Don’t forget the stun.”

She’d believed him. She didn’t believe Strevelor. Heart beginning to pound, Evan obeyed wordlessly, slipping the small black disk into an inner pocket and standing for inspection.

“Good.” Kamaara’s scowl deepened. “We didn’t have this conversation, Polit. I came for this.” She tapped the box. “Clear?” She spun, heading for the door.

“Wait.” Evan caught up to her in two strides. “You think Strevelor lied to me.”

A sidelong look. “No, Polit. I think everything he told you was true. Other than the part about being a Survey operative.”

Stunned, he watched her unlock and open the door. “What—what should I do?”

“Stay here. I’ll send the steward for you in ten minutes. Till then—” Kamaara gave him an almost sympathetic look. “Pretend you still believe him.”

With that, she stepped into the hall, walking away briskly. Evan retained the sense to close the door behind her.

He didn’t bother locking it. Neither codes nor keys seemed to matter much on the Mistral. Someone had stolen his notebooks. Maybe the same someone who’d used the “secret” translight com he no longer had.

And Strevelor wasn’t posing as a faction agent. He was one. He was the danger to Paul. Had planned to trick him—he deserved worse than a stinging ear—into harming his friend. It all fit. Hadn’t Great Gran suspected? She hadn’t trusted “Eller” for an instant.

Strevelor could be here at any moment.

Pretend.

Ten minutes till Betts came to interrupt. If he could attend a meeting of honest Dokeci, with their WRINKLES and TENTACLE ARMS, pretending not to feel FEAR even when he did?

He could do this. Evan brushed his lapels and tugged his cuffs. He ran a hand down his left sleeve, pausing over the tracer implanted in his arm, distressed to know it meant the pleasant Lieutenant Decker must be faction as well.

Evan pulled out the stun disk, going over Kamaara’s instructions before returning it to his pocket.

Ready as he could be, he picked up a sock and methodically looked for its match—

The door opened and he braced himself.

But it wasn’t Strevelor.

The Dwelleys waddled in, holding the dazed-looking professor by an arm each, thrumming in stress. “Dire news!” exclaimed Wort as Blue Spider moaned “Dreadful!” at the top of substantial lungs.

Evan stood staring, a sock in each hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Did my job. Traced them,” Harps mumbled, then looked up, eyes full of horror. “They’ve killed a world.”