The Tangled Stars, page 12
Without him or any other entertainment, the time dragged. I’d slept so much in my detention cell I had no reserve of sleepiness to draw on now to pass the time, and anyway, I was a bit afraid if I slept, I’d miss the signal when the time came to, hopefully, extract me from the clutches of “Efficiency” Bryce.
I feigned it, all the same, loosely strapped in, floating motionless just above my chair—the shuttle had no grav-web; nothing that small ever did—with my eyes closed, occasionally stirring and holding my stomach or my head, doing my best to look like someone who was sick and getting sicker, assuming Bryce was looking in on me, although frankly, if I were him, up there in the cozy control cabin, I’d be watching something more interesting, drawn from the no-doubt well-stocked entertainment data stores.
I had no way to tell time, but after either a short eternity or a brief infinitude, I received the signal I’d been waiting for: the sudden shrilling of an alarm, twin to the one I’d heard when Galioto’s ship had almost scraped our paint after trailing us all the way from the outer system—the sudden nervous breakdown of an AI convinced it’s about to be wiped out in a mid-space collision.
The Ernest Cox, Laysa, and Thibauld had arrived . . . well, unless we’d just had a really unlikely and unfortunate meteoric encounter.
Either way, I was out of there.
I dug the vial of Juliet Juice from my pocket, opened it, drank it, and just had time to push it out of sight back in my pocket before pain seized my chest, cold seized my limbs, an iron grip seized my throat, and darkness sucked me down.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fooling humans isn’t hard, but it certainly is fun.”
—Thibauld’s Private Log
“How are your quarters?” Galioto asked Sarah when her image appeared on the holo-display in his own put-the-finest-luxury-hotel-to-shame guest accommodations aboard Earth Capitol Station.
“Extremely nice,” she said. She didn’t sound happy about it.
“And the crew’s?”
“Satisfactory.”
“Good.” Galioto glanced from Sarah’s image to the data display floating next to her, detailing the status of the Heorot. “The ship is secure, we’re secure, and Kain’s ‘yachts’ are uselessly orbiting Earth, unable to get at us.”
“For now,” Sarah said sourly. “They’ll run us down within a few hours of us leaving the Capitol.”
“No, they won’t,” Galioto said. “They’ll be busy evading the Earthforce ships that are being prepared to go after them unless, of course, Kain calls them back to Luna in response to the civil suit that is being filed right about now by one of Earth’s most noted attorneys.”
“On what grounds?”
“Interference with trade,” Galioto said. “Earth takes that very seriously indeed—unless, of course, it’s Earth interfering with the trade of other jurisdictions.”
Sarah looked even more unhappy if that were possible. “You said you were calling in a favor. Just how high up the food chain is the person who owed you that favor?”
“Very high indeed,” Galioto said. He had no intention of telling Sarah the favor had been owed by the station commander herself, Ariana Herzog, or what the nature of the favor had been. It went back to when Herzog had been a long-range patrol officer in the Belt, and he’d been a minor smuggler. She’d arrested him, there’d been a problem with her ship, they’d been stuck together for days before finally being picked up, they’d found pleasurable ways to pass the time, and they’d continued pleasurably passing it in the months that followed, whenever they could arrange a clandestine rendezvous.
During that time, she’d looked the other way and occasionally even provided support for some of the activities through which he had ascended from minor smuggler to major extralegal power—a much preferable phrase to “crime lord,” as those media outlets he did not control or could not intimidate liked to call him. They had parted amicably when she was transferred back in-system, but she had known then, and knew now, that her actions could, if they came to light, destroy her career and put her in prison.
He had promised her he would call in that favor someday. He had also promised that once he did, he would destroy the incriminating data. He had promised it again when she’d agreed to let the Heorot dock at the Capitol and provide accommodations for him and the crew. He didn’t know if she believed he would keep that promise. Normally, he would, because failing to keep that kind of promise would make others who owed him favors for similar reasons less likely to trust him when he tried to call in their IOUs. On the other hand, this situation was unique. The moment he had realized MASTT Primus had potentially reopened and that the only remaining viable ship in the system that could potentially travel through it was located on Earth, he’d thought it likely he would be calling in this favor. He just hadn’t expected to call it in so soon. That being the case, he might keep his leverage intact a bit longer, in case he wasn’t quite done needing Ariana’s help.
“Let’s proceed with our business review,” he said brusquely to Sarah.
“Yes, sir,” she said, voice coldly polite. She began the well-oiled routine of going through the reports from his many far-flung enterprises, which were still finding their way to him without difficulty, though hours older than he was used to receiving them, thanks to the light-speed delay.
He listened attentively, but he was long used to splitting his attention, so while he made decisions about the pricing of certain substances on Eros and ordered the elimination of a troublesome social crusader on Titan Station, he was also reviewing the Cooper Gordon situation. He kept coming to the same conclusion: he was right where he needed to be.
That Coop was after the Pioneer-class starship on the planet’s surface, he had no doubt. To even get to the surface, Coop had to come through the Capitol. Without clearance from the station, he would be shot out of the sky.
Exactly how Coop planned to obtain that clearance and overcome all the other obstacles between the Capitol and the Jeanne Baret, he had no idea. That he would find a way, however, Galioto had little doubt. Cooper Douglas was very good at what he did.
All Galioto had to do, now that, through the good graces of Ariana Herzog, he was safely—and very comfortably—ensconced on the Capitol, was wait. Eventually, Coop would show up. Somehow, he’d get down to Earth. There, he’d either succeed or fail in his attempt to get the Jeanne Baret. If he succeeded, Galioto would be perfectly positioned to steal the ship from him as he left Earth. If he failed, then Galioto would still be exactly where he needed to be to make his own attempt.
Should I make my own attempt first? he pondered. Try to grab the ship before Coop can even get there?
He’d considered that possibility before and rejected it. He rejected it again. Galioto could act decisively and make split-second decisions when he had to. But when a situation was fluid and still developing, he was perfectly content to wait. Stealing a starship from Earth would wreak untold havoc on his normal operations. He could not possibly accomplish it without revealing himself as the one behind the operation, and, in response, Earthforce would undoubtedly launch the kind of outer-system strike force it had last launched a quarter of an Earth century ago. The absence of a certain asteroid and the increase in debris in the vicinity of where it used to be bore witness to what that could mean for whoever was on the receiving end. Nor would there be any solidarity among Galioto’s fellow outer-system denizens—he had more than enough enemies who would gladly cooperate with Earthforce to ensure he was tracked down and eliminated.
He would only risk that kind of retaliation as a last resort, although he would risk it if necessary. The prospect of being the only man with access to the scattered worlds of the MASTT network offered too many possibilities for wealth and power to not risk it, and, of course, with that access, he could leave Earth system entirely.
But he wasn’t there yet, not while Coop was still at large and with his own plans in play. Galioto would wait, comfortable but alert, until Coop made his move.
“Let’s move on to the mining operation on Eos,” Galioto said to Sarah and continued the review with now-undivided attention.
• • •
Thelonius Bryce made no attempt to evade the Ernest Cox as it came up alongside his Ranger shuttle, Ernie having done an admirable job (as all AIs did) of matching speed and trajectory, with the added fillip of ensuring he did so inside the proximity-warning limit. Laysa would have been shocked if Bryce had attempted to evade, since his shuttle was a dumb one designed to simply ferry Rangers and, as now, the occasional prisoner from the moon to the Earth Capitol. It was possible for the ranking Ranger on board to override the computer and take manual control, but only if said ranking Ranger was a qualified space pilot, and even someone who was qualified would have thought twice about messing with something so underpowered, with a barely-there engine and only rudimentary attitude controls. It would be all too easy to exceed the parameters within which the shuttle could correct any control input errors, with the result said Ranger and anyone else on board could be looking at a long, uncomfortable float before someone could come to fetch them or, worse, an even more uncomfortable (but much shorter) uncontrolled atmospheric entry.
Bryce, for all his delusions of superior cop competency, apparently did not desire to blaze across the heavens like a shooting star. He did not take control of the shuttle.
He did, of course, take control of the communications console. “Unidentified ship,” he said, his voice echoing in the Ernest Cox’s control room, “this is Luna Ranger Shuttle XRCI2, on official business to the Earth Capitol. It is a serious offense to interfere with our flight. You are already in contravention of navigational safety protocols by rendezvousing without permission and far within the five-thousand-meter safety limit for close approaches. Please withdraw.”
Laysa said nothing. She wasn’t going to risk Bryce identifying her voice. She left the communication up to Thibauld, who from somewhere in his AI dredged up an Australian accent. “Sorry, mate, no can do,” the cat said. “We’re here for your passenger. Cough him up.”
Silence. “Why would you want Cooper Douglas?”
“Owes my boss money,” Thibauld said. “Bloke you may have heard of. Eric Galioto.”
Another pause. Laysa figured Bryce didn’t have a clue who Galioto was and was hurriedly looking him up. “Outer-system crime lord?” he said after a long moment.
“Not what I’d call him, mate,” Thibauld said, putting a warning tone in his voice. “Not to his face or in his hearing, at least.”
“Is he there?”
“On this rustbucket?” Thibauld laughed. “No. But he’s close.” That was no more than the truth.
“I can’t ‘cough up’ Cooper Douglas,” Bryce said stubbornly. “He is a prisoner, already tried and convicted and sentenced to twelve years’ hard labor on Earth. It is my job to see that he gets there.”
Laysa was listening to the byplay with only half her mind. The other half was on the interface her fingers were flying over, as she took advantage of the open communications channel to upload the takeover code she’d prepared for the Ranger shuttle. It was a ridiculously easy bit of computer hackery because both the shuttle and Bryce were stupid, the shuttle because it had been made that way, Bryce either because he had been born that way or because his Internal Affairs training had squelched any incipient sparks of original thought he might have been emitting. He was currently exhibiting said lack of thought by not engaging the communications security protocols that would have prevented her from doing what she was going to do . . . now.
She nodded to Thibauld, who showed his teeth in a feline grin, then said, “Well, mate, you’ve already failed in that job. We now have control of your shuttle. All of it. Including life support. Which,” he glanced at Laysa, who gave him a thumbs-up, “we just turned off. Check your boards.”
Silence. When Bryce’s voice returned, he sounded angry but not, to his credit, frightened. “What do you want?”
“Told you. Cooper Douglas.”
“Killing life support will kill him, too.”
“Mate,” said Thibauld, “he’s already dead.”
“What?”
“Poisoned. My boss really didn’t like Douglas reneging on his debt and flying off to Luna to try to get out of paying it. He really, really didn’t like it. Bad for business, you know. He has a reputation to protect. Which he has.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Go check. I’ll wait.” Thibauld cat-grinned again, even though Bryce couldn’t see it. Clearly, he was enjoying himself. “But not very long. The air’s going to get stale in there in about twenty minutes, I reckon. Temperature is probably already dropping.”
Seconds ticked by. Laysa sat with her arms folded, waiting. Thibauld had a wash.
Bryce’s voice returned. “He’s dead, all right,” he said, his voice thick with fury. “The Luna Rangers won’t stand for this!”
“The Luna Rangers can stand or sit or throw a fit; we don’t care,” Thibauld said. “Now. I suggest you take to the lifeslip. It’s good for twenty-four hours, and the emergency beacon will go off the minute you separate from the shuttle. It’s almost certain Earthforce will get a rescue craft out to you in time.”
“What about the shuttle?”
“We’re keeping it,” Thibauld said. “Go now. Or stay and suffocate, mate. Or possibly freeze to death. Your choice. Out.”
Ernie took the hint and cut the transmission.
“Good job,” Laysa said. “I particularly liked the ‘almost certain’ part, considering we’ve already sent a distress message that’s been acknowledged, and a rescue vessel is on the way.”
“I like to play with my prey,” Thibauld said. He licked a paw and swiped it across his right ear. “It’s genetic.”
A minute or two passed, then Ernie said, “Shuttle lifeslip away.”
“Take us in, Ernie,” Laysa said. “Extend aft docking tunnel. Match and lock.”
Twenty minutes later, she opened the same lock through which Bryce had invaded the Ernest Cox on the moon, floated through the tunnel (Ernie’s grav-web did not extend into it), opened the shuttle’s lock, and made her way into the passenger compartment, where Coop was strapped into his chair, eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. She felt a pang at the sight. He really did look dead. No cursory examination by a human who wasn’t equipped with a medical scanner would show a sign of life.
But she was equipped with such a scanner, and it confirmed he was still very much alive. She unstrapped him and, not without some difficulty and one banging of his head against a bulkhead that he would undoubtedly feel once he woke up, maneuvered him out of the shuttle, into the Ernest Cox, and into his own sleeping bag. Then she went back to the control room.
It was the work of a few moments to remove the software she’d inserted into the shuttle’s system, the work of a few more to wipe all records of their presence, both inside and anywhere near the shuttle. When the rescue vehicle arrived from the Capitol, it would find Bryce floating in his lifeslip not far away, while the shuttle continued its serene, undisturbed journey to the Capitol, with absolutely no indication in its sensor records that any ship had come anywhere near it. It would also look as though Bryce had himself sent the anonymous signal prompting the launch of the rescue craft before any of the events he said took place occurred. It would look, in other words, like Bryce had hallucinated the whole thing.
Except, of course, for the undeniable fact that Cooper Douglas had been aboard the ship when it launched and had now disappeared.
And, according to Bryce, was dead.
Laysa wished she could hear the ensuing conversations.
She reprogrammed the transponder. The Seager Wheeler ceased to exist. Now they were the Bandersnatch, a tramp freighter with a very believable record in the Lunar shipping databases, inserted by Laysa, of a series of uneventful trips to and from Mars carrying very boring cargoes—perhaps not quite as boring as wheat, but close.
The Jeanne Baret, the Pioneer-class starship that was their ultimate target, remained safely at rest in Chicago. They’d get there, but first—they were going to Mars.
• • •
Galioto had just stepped out of the shower when Sarah called, the console identifying her for him. Grabbing a towel, he padded over to the communications unit and took the call without bothering to cover up. “What?” he said, toweling his head.
“News about Cooper Douglas,” said Sarah. Her eyes flicked down, then up. “You asked me to find out what prison they sent him to.”
“Yes,” Galioto said.
“Earthforce has been trying to keep a lid on it, but one of our new moles came through.”
“And?”
“Something strange happened while he was being transferred,” Sarah said. “He never made it.”
“Something strange?” Galioto said, pausing in his drying off. “You mean an attack.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Galioto’s temper was wearing thin. “Tell me what happened, Sarah. Now.”
“That’s the problem, sir. The Ranger escorting Douglas—an Internal Affairs type, for some reason—swears he was intercepted, life support was turned off, and he was ordered into the lifeslip, where he was found when the rescue ship reached the spot after receiving an anonymous call. However, the rescuers found the shuttle completely intact and undamaged, with absolutely nothing in its datastores supporting his story: no record of any ship coming anywhere near it, no record of life support having been interrupted. If you believe the shuttle’s records, Bryce—that’s the Ranger—first sent a distress call, then abandoned a perfectly healthy spacecraft in the middle of a routine Moon-to-Earth flight, for no apparent reason.”
“And Cooper Douglas?”
