Lowell sighed as the ship made downshift into Besht. It had been a nightmare trying to find a way back. Viya Station had loaned him a ship, but with no crew it wasn't going anywhere. No one wanted to leave. He'd done what he could to help them rebuild.
Willet Smythe had finally reappeared and saved the day. He'd driven a mean bargain, though, Lowell thought in admiration. In exchange for a crew to fly him to Tebros, Will got the ship for the Federation. It was one expensive trip.
Except things at Tebros hadn't been much better. There were some ships flying in and out of port, true, but none were headed inwards. Tebros was solidly in the Federation, along with Viya and a dozen other worlds nearby. Lowell had begged his crew to take him farther in. They had taken pity on him.
They'd taken him to a little backwater of a planet where Lowell had been transferred to another ship, a merchant with little room or comfort for passengers. That ship had taken him in to another system where he'd transferred again to an even more decrepit tramp trader. And two more in quick succession. He was really gaining an appreciation for how well Dace had kept her ship running.
The latest leg was in an ore freighter. The crew had doubled up to give him a shift in the bunk for a few hours at a stretch. The three of them were beyond strange. They had lived together in the ship for so long they didn't quite know how to interact with anyone else. Lowell did his best to be civil. It was hard. The three of them were definitely not humans anymore.
The ship groaned as it slowed and settled on a course that would take them in to the stations orbiting Besht. He flicked through com channels and breathed another sigh of relief. Besht was still Empire. With any luck, he could commandeer a ship here to take him back to Tivor and his long overdue rescue trip. He wasn't going to leave Paltronis and Scholar stranded there. And hopefully, they had Dace with them.
The ship docked, with a maximum amount of creaking and groaning and nasty sounding clanks, at an ore dump station, not one of the commercial stations circling Besht. Lowell bit back his opinion of that. It would definitely not have been civil.
When the last connection had clunked home, the crew turned their stares on him. Lowell got the message. He thanked them effusively, paying them the last of his credit chips. It was not enough, he knew it and they knew it, but he was desperate and they were gracious about it. He picked up his small bag of possessions and made a hasty exit from their ship.
The dump station was little better than the ship. It had not been made to be attractive, it was utilitarian. Rusted pipes crossed overhead in a web that would have made any spider proud. The deck was littered with hoses and connections to the station's vast storage tanks. Lowell picked his way through the chaotic mess to the stationmaster's office.
The man was big and rough and not pleased to see a passenger undocking at his station. He grumbled as Lowell entered the office.
"Whaddya want?" he growled in a deep voice.
"Any chance of catching a connection to one of the other stations?" Lowell asked tiredly.
The man sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Lowell knew he smelled funny, he'd been wearing the dockworker's jumpsuit for three weeks without a chance to bathe. Ore freighters were not known for their amenities.
"This ain't some kind of tourist station," the stationmaster grumbled. But he was turning to his console and scrolling through the ships currently docked.
"I know that and I appreciate any help you can give," Lowell said, not above begging, bribing, or outright flattery to get where he wanted to go. He had no cash left, and wasn't sure he could access any of his accounts. But better here at Besht than any of the other worlds he'd been at lately. Besht was at least civilized.
"There's Ryullan," the stationmaster said after a long pause. "He might take you over. He said he was headed out on a shopping run."
"Thank you," Lowell said gratefully. "I don't know if I can pay him. If I could access my accounts…" He left it dangling suggestively.
The stationmaster grunted and shifted over to give Lowell access to the console. Lowell leaned in. The stationmaster sniffed and moved farther away.
Lowell's hands flew over the keypad. His three official and personal accounts were frozen for some reason. He didn't do any fishing to find out why, not yet. He didn't want to announce his arrival. Tayvis' warnings had him skittish. He'd been out of touch for much too long. He skipped over to a backup account, one in a different name with no ties that could lead to him. Other than his prints, he thought as he pressed his thumb to the pad. The machine chimed. Lowell pushed his personal chit into a slot on the machine. It clattered a moment and his chit popped out. He stepped back.
The stationmaster leaned in to read the screen. "I prefer cash," he muttered. Then he caught sight of the amount Lowell had just gifted him. It was three days pay for him. He glanced up at Lowell in surprise.
"I'm really very grateful for your help," Lowell said with a smile.
The stationmaster punched the buttons that called up one of the docked ships. "Ryullan, pick up the com."
It crackled with static and cleared. "What?" a sharp voice demanded.
"I got a passenger for you, wants a lift to one of the other stations."
"I'm not some friggin passenger ship."
"It will be worth your time, trust me. Have I ever led you wrong?"
"There was that investment in ore futures at Herifan." The com crackled for a moment of staticky silence. "You sure this is worth my time?"
"You're going anyway, ain't you?" the stationmaster asked. "One little old man who ended up where he don't belong and wants to go back. He's got the money to pay."
"And I'll bet he's standing right next to you listening to everything," Ryullan shot back. "Send him over. It's a short trip, I think I can stand it. He's riding on the floor in back, though."
Lowell nodded. Anything to get back to civilization. Running water, real food, clean clothes, he could hardly wait. And information. That was what he really wanted more than anything else.
"He'll be there as fast as he can run," the stationmaster promised. He clicked the com off. "Dock seventeen, way on the end," he said to Lowell.
"Thank you," Lowell said sincerely.
"Better hurry, Ryullan don't wait around much."
Lowell ignored the grin on the other man's face as he hurried out of the office. Docking bay seventeen was around the curve of the station. Lowell hurried as fast as he dared through the noisy dock. He reached the end of the dock and wondered if the stationmaster had been playing him for a fool. He peered around a metal plate blocking most of the dock and breathed a sigh of relief.
Seventeen, along with eighteen and nineteen, were afterthoughts, small bays for insystem shuttles. The only one showing a green light was seventeen, and that light was flashing. Ryullan was preparing to undock. Lowell broke into a run, unwilling to miss this flight.
The hatch slid open when he knocked. He hurried inside. It slid shut on his heels. He picked his way forward even as the shuttle was undocking. It was a personal craft. The back area where passenger seats were usually installed, was full of crates webbed to the walls. A narrow aisle led forward.
"Grab a spot of floor," Ryullan shouted back at him.
Lowell barely had time to sit before the shuttle shot away from the station. There was no artificial gravity field. Lowell clutched at the webbing on a crate to keep from floating around. His stomach protested the change to null gravity. Acceleration shoved him backwards.
"Be there in half an hour," Ryullan called back as the ship settled on course.
The engines throbbed. Lowell pulled himself forward to the cockpit. "You sure you don't have an extra chair somewhere?"
Ryullan glanced back at his green face and reluctantly shifted over so Lowell could squeeze into the cockpit. There was another chair, a small foldout one designed for the backup pilot that obviously didn't exist. Lowell strapped himself in.
"Greenie," Ryullan muttered. "What in blazes are you doing out at an ore station?"
"Trying to get home," Lowell answered. It was close enough to the truth.
"What direction you coming from?" Ryullan asked as he leaned forward to adjust a control.
"What used to be the Outer Worlds," Lowell admitted. "It's all Federation now."
"Then you were probably better off staying out there," Ryullan said. "Besht isn't what it used to be. Refugees been pouring in for weeks."
"Refugees?"
"From the attacks. Federation ships blasted half a dozen worlds. Viya Station was blown clear out of space."
"Not entirely. I was there when it happened. And it wasn't Federation. Or Patrol. Pirates, out for a quick profit, nothing more."
"Whatever you say," Ryullan answered.
He didn't talk again until the ship was docked at Five, the utilitarian station orbiting Besht.
"Thank you," Lowell said. "I can pay you."
"I don't want your money," Ryullan snapped. "I want you out of my ship."
Lowell didn't waste time wondering what he'd said to offend the man. He thanked him again as he picked his way past the cargo to the hatch. Ryullan didn't follow him, he stayed in the cockpit. Lowell made a mental note to find a way to pay the man anyway.
It was a relief to step onto the station. Though it didn't boast the glamorous decorations of the other four stations, its clean light and obvious prosperity cheered Lowell like nothing had for months. He walked across the dock to the shuttle offices. He was almost back. He could almost breathe the air of Besht.
People shifted away from him as he joined the line. He looked disreputable and smelled worse. And it didn't change the grin he wore.
He bought his ticket and waited in the lounge with the other passengers. A few of them left to book another flight. He tried to stay in a corner, but the room was small.
The shuttle was smaller. He had a complete row to himself, though. Everyone else crowded to the front, away from him. He dozed during the flight down to Besht.
The landing field was mostly the way he expected it to be. There were a few more cargo ships than usual, and a lot more Patrol ships. Besht had gone from settled security far from the border to being part of the smaller Empire's frontier. Lowell disembarked with the other passengers. They went straight ahead into the main terminal. Lowell turned left to walk across the wide expanse of plascrete. The Patrol compound loomed a good half mile away.
The walk felt good. He convinced himself of that, because no one stopped to offer him a ride. The day was bright, warm and slightly breezy and smelling of grease and fuel and baking plascrete.
Lowell pushed open the entrance door for the main Patrol building. Its wide expanses of marble floors were not empty, pristine and quiet, not anymore. Knots of Patrol officers and enlisted men moved purposefully through the room. The receptionist's desk had not one but four officers manning it. All of them were busy, looking harried and rushed. Lowell crossed the floor, ignoring the curious stares that followed him. He wasn't exactly dressed the part today. He wore a dark gray grimy dockworker's jumpsuit, complete with Viya Station's logo blazoned on the front left side. He stopped next to the wide desk and waited.
"What do you want?" one of the secretaries snapped at him.
He caught sight of a familiar bob of blond hair down the hall leading back into the maze of offices behind the desk. Paltronis was here? He moved before he could think better of it.
"You can't go back there," he was briskly informed even as the burly Patrol ensign pushed him back by the desk. "Not without authorization."
Paltronis glanced back and saw him. She had aged years. Her face was hollow and lined. Her eyes were dark and haunted. He wondered what had happened on Tivor.
"You want helped or not?" the same secretary barked at him.
Paltronis waited just beyond the barred entry to the compound. Her uniform was crisp, brand new, if Lowell was any judge. He wanted her report. He didn't want to bother with the secretary. But he didn't have much choice, at least until he established his credentials.
"Id scanner, please," he informed the secretary.
Paltronis folded her arms and leaned against the wall, watching him.
The secretary lifted the glowing pad to the top of the desk and waited, impatiently tapping his hand against the wooden desktop. Lowell placed his right hand, palm down on the pad. The light blinked red before returning to its normal green.
"Name and rank?" the secretary asked in a bored tone, already mentally moving on to the next crisis.
"Grant Lowell, High Command."
If he'd dropped a charged bomb, it wouldn't have had less impact on the room. Silence spread around them. The secretary's eyes went wide. All other crises in progress were put on hold.
"Identity confirmed," a computerized voice announced.
"Your pardon, sir," the secretary started groveling, "I had no idea."
"I wouldn't have, either."
"What can we do for you, sir?" The tone this time wasn't impatient and harried, it was deferential.
"I'd like a bed longer than five feet, running water that is actually more than lukewarm, a clean uniform, and something decent to eat. In the reverse order," he added. He saw Paltronis twitch her lips, suppressing a half hearted grin.
The secretary typed rapidly for a moment. He smiled across the desk at Lowell. "We can have a room cleared for you within ten minutes."
Paltronis stepped forward. "I'll take him to his room. I'm sure he was going to look for me soon anyway."
Lowell picked up his limp duffel bag and walked around the bulk of the ensign blocking access. The man shifted aside for him, now that his authorization was no longer in question.
Paltronis led him through the busy lower halls and through a maze of cross halls into the quieter residential section. "They've put you on the top level," she told him as she stopped by an elevator.
"Do I want to know how you got here?" Lowell asked as they stepped into the elevator. "I expected to have to extract you from Tivor."
She shifted away from him, almost but not quite holding her nose. "We got here in a lot better condition than you did."
"I got the only rides I could find. Viya Station was attacked by pirates several weeks ago. Shortly afterwards, the boundary of the Empire moved a dozen light years or more. I was stuck on the wrong side."
"What about the Patrol base on Viya?"
The door slid open on a dim hallway, deserted and quiet, muffled in thick carpeting. Lowell stepped out and sighed heavily.
"I never thought I'd miss the little luxuries," he said. "I've spent weeks on decrepit freighters, not one of which had a functional shower. There isn't a Patrol base at Viya, not anymore."
"This one," Paltronis said, stopping by a thick door with the number four stenciled on it.
Lowell touched the lockplate. It glowed green and the door swung open. He stepped inside. The room was a suite, with deep upholstered chairs and a real wood table. The door to the bedroom stood open, showing a glimpse of a wide bed covered with a deep blue spread embroidered with the Patrol logo.
"You need me to fetch anything for you?" Paltronis asked.
"Sit down and tell me the outline version of what happened," Lowell told her. The door clicked shut as she stepped into the room. Lowell relaxed into one of the deep chairs. He couldn't help the sigh of pure pleasure that escaped.
Paltronis crossed the room and stood at the window, staring out at the busy port. Lowell waited, wondering how bad it was going to be. Every sign told him Paltronis was close to breaking, something he had never thought she would do.
"We got here three days ago," she said after a long silence. "Tivor—" She stopped to collect her thoughts. "It isn't Empire anymore. It isn't Federation, either, not as far as I know. Maybe in a couple of years, they'll have things sorted out. It was pretty chaotic when we left."
She turned around to face him. The light from the window behind her obscured her face. But Lowell knew her well enough to read her voice. She was upset, deeply and thoroughly.
"There isn't a short version, Lowell. I don't know how to shorten it. Maybe Scholar can."
"I'll get his version later. Give me yours. Please."
She paced across the room, moving restlessly, touching things and putting them back. He waited. He wanted a shower and real sleep in a real bed, but he was willing to wait. This was more important.
"The ship that brought us back to Tivor, after I left to pick up Scholar, defected to the Federation. They dumped us off on an escape pod." She stopped, going still as a predator sensing prey. "Where were you? You were supposed to wait. The Seeker was gone, and so were you."
He looked up at her and realized she didn't know, she had no way to know what he did. "I received a message. It was too important to ignore. That was why I was on Viya Station. Tayvis—"
She sucked in her breath, a hissing sound of surprise and hurt.
"He's alive, Paltronis. We left him on Trythia. Willet Smythe, now of the Federation, rescued him. And gave him some detailed intelligence about a plot to overthrow the Emperor."
"Roderick is still under house arrest," Paltronis said.
"He was a diversion. The real plot is still very much alive, and too high for anyone to touch. Not even me." He watched her a long moment. "I need to tell Dace he's still alive."
"You can try, but I doubt it will do much good."
That got his full attention. He sat up straight, a difficult feat in the soft chair. "What happened?"
"She's Hrissia'noru," Paltronis said. "You ever wonder how she got those genes?"
"I knew, for quite some time now."
Paltronis sank into a chair across from him. She stared unseeing at the table between them. He waited for her to collect her thoughts.
"There were some of them on Tivor," she continued, almost as if she were talking to herself, as if she'd forgotten he was there. He kept still, letting her talk. "We would never have found her, except they brought her to us. They'd done something to her."
Lowell edged forward, wondering where Paltronis was going with her story. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they'd entered the room. He saw the hurt.
"They turned her into some kind of monster. Telepathic and empathic. She almost shredded my shields. Without even trying. She went crazy. Scholar found some herb medicine that blocked it, but it left her in a stupor. They're trying to run tests to see if it left permanent damage." She fell silent, looking away again at the grain of wood in the table.
He waited, sensing her story wasn't finished.
"She got involved in the rebellion against Tivor's government, just like you ordered her to. It almost killed her, Lowell. It would have, if the Hrissia'noru hadn't shown up when they did. Rian shot her, point blank. It was starting to fall apart for her, for Rian, when the colony ship showed up."
Lowell was confused, but he waited. Paltronis was usually concise and very well organized in her reports.
"The Hrissia'noru are gone, thousands of them in that colony ship. They took the ones off Tivor with them. They almost took Dace. They gave her back just before they lifted."
"She didn't have anything to say about it?" Lowell asked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work.
"She was in a coma, Lowell. Didn't you hear me? Rian shot her, with a blaster. The Hrissia'noru kept her alive. We brought her here in a stasis capsule. The medics still aren't sure she's going to make it." She dropped her head into her hands.
Lowell stood, taking the few steps necessary to bridge the gap between them. He put his hand on her shoulder. "You did the best you could."
Paltronis shook her head. "I could have stayed, I could have kept her safe. I tried, Lowell. I failed."
"She's still breathing, isn't she?" He patted her shoulder again. "You brought her back. That was all I asked you to do. I'm the one who should take the blame. I sent her there." He stepped away and paused. "She's here, on the base?"
"Hospital complex," Paltronis said.
"Find me a uniform while I clean up, please. Whether it does any good or not, I want to see her."
Half an hour later, freshly scrubbed and feeling much refreshed, Lowell walked into the hospital lounge, Paltronis his shadow behind him. The medic refused to let them in the actual hospital room. Lowell stared through the window into the room beyond. A large box, shaped eerily like a coffin, dominated the room. Tubes snaked in and out. Machines surrounded it, blinking and beeping. The figure in the box was barely discernible through a translucent pink jelly.
"You wanted to see me?" The medic was young. He thumbed through a stack of papers as he talked. He barely waited for Lowell's nod before continuing. "She's got massive internal injuries, complicated by her reactions to the biogel and some of the medications we've been giving her. There are also signs of major brain trauma, although it's unclear exactly what kind of trauma. We've run a few scans, as much as we can with a comatose patient, but they don't give us any readings out of the ordinary range."
"Did you run a psych eval?" Lowell asked. Paltronis glanced at him, picking up on the unspoken question behind his seemingly innocent inquiry.
"We did do a base scan," the medic answered, flipping through his papers. "There didn't seem to be any kind of psychic profile in her records. We ran it to make sure everything was normal."
"May I see it, please?" Lowell asked.
The medic hesitated. Lowell's uniform finally registered with the medic. He snapped a paper out of his clipboard and handed it over.
Lowell scanned down the page. He reached the bottom and frowned. Paltronis moved closer and read over his shoulder. He went through it more slowly.
"Are you sure it's her?" he asked.
"Admiral Dace, special operations of the Enforcers," the medic said, just a hint of offense in his tone at the question. "We ran her prints and scans. All of them matched up."
"It's her, Lowell," Paltronis murmured.
"Then this doesn't make sense." He held up the paper. "Telepathy tests are in the range of point seven to one point six. Empathy tests showed nonresponsive, indicative of no innate abilities." He handed the paper to Paltronis. "Both well within normal ranges. She scored a point zero zero three before on the telepathy rating."
Paltronis glanced at the column of figures, frowning. "It doesn't make sense. I was there. I know what she did. She has to rate at least a fifteen."
"She finally managed to lower her shields. But this indicates no innate mental shielding, either."
"We can run the tests again," the medic said with just a touch of exasperation. "But our techs are fully certified. These tests are standardized, have been for over a hundred years. Those test results are hers." He nodded towards the figure in the case through the glass window.
"Their leader said one thing as they were leaving," Paltronis said. "She called us as they were lifting off. She said Dace had to choose to be one or the other and she had chosen. I didn't think about it at the time." She held the paper out to the medic. "Is it possible they removed that part of her?"
"Where the Hrissia'noru are concerned," Lowell said, "I couldn't even begin to guess."