The Thief, page 29
“We call it a ceisio. We appropriated it from some aliens a few galaxies over around a thousand years ago, and it has made the gaffaeler job immeasurably easier ever since.”
“And?”
“And there’s currently one of these planted on Concord HQ in a maintenance tunnel that parallels the Special Projects division. I know because I placed it there a week before you spotted me on Ares.”
Eren’s gaze shot up from the device. “This is how you learned about the MAST?”
“It’s one of the most sophisticated pieces of technology we possess. Though we can reproduce it, I’m not certain anyone here understands how it does what it does.”
“And that is?”
“Cracks into any quantum-based storage unit within a hundred meters and reads its contents. The language the contents are written in doesn’t matter, and neither does the robustness of the encryption—it’s all the same to this little guy.”
Warnings buzzed between Eren’s ears. “So you—your people—know everything Special Projects is doing. Which means you know almost everything Advocacy Advanced Research is doing, and most of what the other Concord species are doing as well.”
Tolje shrugged. “I suppose we could have captured all that information, true, but no. Eren, we don’t care what you’re doing over in your corner of space. We went searching for something to help us track the origin point of the attacks. The queries the ceisio performed on the Special Projects servers were all related to ferreting out anything you guys had that fit the bill. It spit out the MAST, and they sent me to Ares to get it.”
“Understood. But you’re still listening.”
“Which is why I’m telling you where it is. I figure you’ll want to clear it out when you get home. Oh, and there’s a second one stuffed into the grass behind the Olympia Advanced Research Institute on Ares—so I could spoof the credentials needed to get inside.”
Eren kept the string of curses from reaching his tongue. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, have someone take care of those.” He closed the box and handed it back.
Tolje shook his head. “Keep it.”
“Why?”
“Like you said—a parting gift. A personal thank you for saving my people. I figure even Concord doesn’t have something this advanced. You might need it one day.”
Eren dropped the box in his bag before his friend changed his mind. “We definitely might. You’re a good, good man, Tolje.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed.”
36
* * *
The inside of the Phae’soon Administrative Building was as shabby and cobbled-together as the rest of the colony, excepting the former Terminus Dispersal facility. The floor was rough, unpainted concrete, the walls a molding beige.
Dozens of Phae’soon fretted about in states of low-level agitation. No one paid Eren and Nyx any mind as they waddled down the hallway in their Shroud disguises. They didn’t dally, lest someone try to talk to them, but it did take two turns and a backtrack to find what they were hunting for.
The plain printed sign beside the door simply read, ‘Administrator’s Office.’
Eren stepped up to the door, but nothing happened. He’d expected it to be unlocked on account of the crisis, but perhaps the Phae’soon hierarchy was more rigid than he’d sensed. He started to knock, then realized a notch was carved into the plaster of the door.
He pressed two fingertips into the notch and felt the door move a fraction. Gods, it didn’t slide open automatically—it was manual. They really were in dire straits here.
He shaved two percent off the fervor of his planned speech and forced the door open.
A Phae’soon in marginally nicer attire than everyone else in the building—mostly due to a smattering of canary yellow filigree embroidered on their tunic—sat behind a desk. They barked orders into some sort of microphone positioned in front of their mouth while two fingers punched at a screen beside them.
It took a second before they glanced Eren’s way. “What can I do for you?”
Nyx closed the door behind them, and they deactivated their Shrouds.
The Phae’soon leapt up from their chair and, before Eren could stop them, let out a piercing cry.
He sighed and rolled his eyes at Nyx. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
She nodded and took up a position by the door.
The next second, the door skidded open and two Phae’soon burst in. “Sir, what’s wrong?”
Nyx drew two handguns—the one Tolje had returned to her before they’d departed Nythir and the one Eren had lent her—and pointed them in opposite directions while she carefully rotated in a full circle, ensuring everyone got a turn in the crosshairs. “Stay back. These weapons will vaporize most of this building with a single shot.”
It was true; all she had to do was toggle a setting a centimeter beneath where her thumbs rested to switch them from tools of targeted suppression to wide-beam carnage. Perk of the job.
Eren straight up felt his groin stir to life at the sight of her. Black leather pants, black duster coat, two high-powered weapons and one deadly serious intention of using them to impose her will. He was so fucking screwed, and he had no idea how to maneuver his way out of not being screwed. Worse, he was no longer certain he wanted to.
The administrator held up a four-fingered, slightly webbed hand. “Narn’ale, Raes’keen, stay clear of the intruders. There’s no need for violence.”
“Thank you.” Nyx gave the administrator a bone-chilling smile. “You’ll forgive me if I keep my weapons drawn, but rest assured, I have no desire to vaporize any of you. Don’t attempt to harm us, and you won’t be harmed in turn.”
The administrator nodded carefully. “We understand. How do you know our language?”
Eren half-sat on the edge of the desk. “We know a lot of things. We’d like to talk about some of them with you. What’s your name?”
“Arvah’dajal.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Arvah’dajal. I’m Eren Savitas, and this is Nyx Praesidis.”
“You blew up the Terminus Dispersal.”
“I heard the explosion was caused by an acetylene leak.”
“Investigators have uncovered strange residue at regular intervals amid the rubble. It doesn’t correspond to any materials used inside.”
Eren hadn’t expected the ruse to hold for long. Despite their poverty, these were intelligent, resourceful aliens. And for purposes of this discussion, it was good the administrator knew the score. “It might be better if our conversation continued in private.”
Arvah’dajal considered Eren silently for a moment…then his eyes flicked toward the door. “Narn’ale, Raes’keen, you can go.”
“But, sir!”
“If they wished me dead, I would already be dead. I said go.”
Amid some sputtering, the two Phae’soon backed out the door. Nyx closed it behind them, then positioned herself where she could see both the administrator and the door. She lowered her weapons, though she kept them unholstered and ready.
Confident she had his back, Eren focused his attention on the administrator. “You got me. I did blow it up. I couldn’t allow you to kill any more Hesgyr.”
“But you are not Hesgyr.”
“No, I’m a species called anaden. We hail from way the hells over in that direction.” He waved his hand toward the left wall. “But we have wormholes, too, so…” he spread his arms wide “…here we are.”
“Why?”
“We’ve gotten to know the Hesgyr these last few weeks—well enough to decide they do not deserve to be slaughtered by the tens of thousands.”
“They slaughtered us!” Arvah’dajal’s voice rose to a register so shrill, Eren’s ears rang. Nyx’s posture tensed as she shifted toward the door, but no one barged through it.
“No, the Rasu slaughtered your people.”
“Because the Hesgyr rendered us unable to defend ourselves.” The administrator seemed to realize he’d been shrieking and dialed his voice in, thank the gods.
“I understand you believe that,” Eren replied. “I understand why you believe that. And it’s true their thievery left your planetary defenses crippled when the Rasu arrived. But let me tell you something. Your weapon? The one the Hesgyr took? It wouldn’t have saved you. You see, you probably didn’t get the chance to find this out, but the Rasu regenerate. They don’t die—instead, they shift and reform and they come after you again.
“You throw everything you possess at them. Then, when you’ve exhausted your resources and have nothing left, they come at you one more time. They are relentless. Or were, I should say. They’re gone now.”
“You said they don’t die.”
“Well, it turns out everything can die—you just have to discover the right poison. But we lost tens of millions of people across so many species before chance, fate and gritty determination led us to discover their particular poison.
“See, I know your pain. The Rasu attacked my home, too. A beautiful, warm, vibrant planet I love so dearly. They razed its forests and felled its ancient trees and boiled its rivers.” His voice choked up, and he breathed in through his nose. Dammit, this was supposed to be a performance! “I fought them with rockets, and when those ran out, I fought them with guns. And when those ran out, I fought them with my bare hands. But I couldn’t stop them. None of us could.”
He planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “You couldn’t have stopped them.”
To his credit, Arvah’dajal didn’t flinch away. “We could have bought time to evacuate.”
“A little, yes. A few thousand or a few tens of thousands—and every life is precious. I get it. Look, I’m not here to defend the Hesgyr’s theft of your weapon. It was inexcusable. The Hesgyr are selfish and short-sighted and obstinate and prideful. But they are not malicious, and they are not killers.
“You know how I can prove it? They had this location in their crosshairs a few hours ago. A single volley of well-placed missiles fired from space, and the colony would have been returned to the swamp that wants so badly to reclaim it. But they didn’t do it. Instead, they decided neutralizing the threat your weapon represented was sufficient to protect their people, and they went home.” It wasn’t precisely the truth, but it was close enough.
Arvah’dajal’s hands shook as he lowered into his chair. “We have no funds or resources for orbital monitoring. No way to learn anyone was there. We would’ve had no warning.”
“Nope. But guess what this means: today is the first day of the rest of your lives. I look at you, at this colony, and all I see is bitterness and hate. You have let your thirst for revenge fester like a pus-filled wound until it has consumed you. You leave your people to scrape by in shacks, half starving, while you pour every resource into your revenge. It is devouring you from within.”
“You speak as if you know the first thing about us. You do not.”
“But I do. I spend a lot of time around species not my own. It’s kind of my job. And one of my best skills is spotting the things that make a society tick without too much effort. I see you. I see what you once were, and I see what you can become again. But I also see what you’ve let yourself devolve into, and it breaks my heart. Don’t you want to live? Don’t you want to thrive?”
“Thrive?” Arvah’dajal sang in despair. “We have nothing left. Yes, we’ve devoted virtually everything to the Terminus Dispersal, but where do you imagine we would be if we hadn’t? Dancing upon floating platforms among the stars? Our homeworld is gone, our colonies destroyed. We are a few thousand refugees, and nothing is left to us but justice for those whom we lost.”
“This doesn’t have to be true. Let us help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“My people. Concord. We’re the reason the Rasu are gone and are never coming back. And as naive and idealistic as it sounds, Concord believes in lifting species up. We can help you rebuild.” He sensed Nyx’s eyes boring into the side of his head in silent challenge. He hadn’t been cleared to make such an offer, but that had never stopped him before.
“Why?” Arvah’dajal asked. “This ‘Concord’ doesn’t know us. We can offer them no reward in exchange for their assistance.”
“Not true. You’re smart. Clever. And Concord desires smart and clever allies a great deal. But even if you can’t pay us back except with your friendship, it will be enough. We’ll do it because the destruction the Rasu inflicted is the greatest tragedy we have ever witnessed, and we would right it where we can.”
“And all you ask in return is that we stop attacking the Hesgyr?”
“I’ve already stopped you from attacking the Hesgyr. All I ask in return is that you never attack them again. Not unprovoked—and should they provoke you, try using your words first. Also, don’t first-strike anyone in Concord, either. Obviously. You’ll need to convince those in charge that this, ah, violent spell of yours was a grief-induced psychosis you’ve now moved past, and you’re not a violent species by nature.” Eren smiled. “Think you can do so? Do it and mean it?”
“It’s an easy promise for us to make today. Thanks to you, we have no means of attacking anyone.”
“True. But for all I know, this isn’t your only surviving colony, and that wasn’t the only version of the weapon.” He’d downplayed the possibility to the Hesgyr in order to stop them from massacring the Phae’soon refugees, but it existed. When wormholes were on the board, anything was possible.
“I lead only this colony. If there are others—I am not saying there are—I cannot speak for them.”
“You had better hope you can.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s more than a threat. With Concord’s riches comes a military fifty-five million ships strong. We make great friends. We also make bloody terrifying enemies.”
Arvah’dajal quivered in his seat, properly cowed. Time to wrap this up. “Listen, I’m not asking for a definitive response today. Emotions here are running high, and you have a disaster aftermath to manage.” Eren fished a small device out of his pocket and set it on the desk. “But when you decide you’re ready to pack away your vengeance and start living again, just press the button on that device and speak your message. Someone will be in touch.”
Nyx’s wormhole returned them to her office at Advocacy Square on Ares. Home sweet home…or home adjacent, anyway.
Eren took in the bare walls of her office and shook his head. “You have got to decorate in here. Did you at least pick up a souvenir on Nythir that you can stick on a shelf? A few curios would go a long way toward adding character. At a minimum, they would give visitors something to contemplate other than your steely glare.”
If his barbs hit their mark, she gave no indication of it. She moved to sit behind her desk, one leg crossed over the other and shoulders lifted; her glare wasn’t quite steely, but it was…guarded. “You sounded like a diplomat back there.”
He retreated from the desk in alarm. “No. Nope, no way. I’m merely trying to get species to stop wantonly killing each other.”
“That’s what diplomats do.”
“And when Arvah’dajal comms us up, I’ll send one his way. My work in their corner of space is done.”
“You didn’t have the authority to promise them Concord’s help.”
He shrugged. “Something else for the diplomats to work out amongst themselves. I set his mind to contemplating the possibility of a future for his people, instead of only a lost past.”
“You did.”
This was normally the point in their meetings when she demanded a full report, but this time she’d been an active participant. He checked the walls, but as he’d observed, they offered nothing to focus on. “So, anyway, I’m going to head home to Hirlas. Rustle up some clean clothes, then eat something that doesn’t taste like it came out of a sewer. Tomorrow I’ll start making my usual rounds, see who started fomenting what while I was gone. But, ah, thanks for your help and everything.” He turned to go, and go quickly.
“I didn’t know all of that.”
“All of what?” he asked.
“About Hirlas. I knew you’d gotten trapped on the ground there when the Rasu invaded, but I didn’t realize how difficult it was for you.”
“What I said to the administrator doesn’t even begin to cover how difficult it was for me.”
“No, I imagine it doesn’t. Regardless, I want to…I don’t think I’ve ever said how sorry I am. For Ms. Rhomyhn, for Hirlas, for everything that’s happened to you these last several years. I frankly don’t understand how….” She pinched the bridge of her nose and dropped her chin to her chest.
“What is it?” He immediately regretted asking. Why had he asked? He was trying to make a hasty exit, dammit.
Her gaze rose enough to allow her eyes to settle on him. “You feel things so strongly—so grandly and so terribly. How do you survive it all?”
“Survive the emotions, you mean?”
She nodded.
“Pretty badly, more often than not. You might have noticed I tend to flail around a good bit. Blowing shit up from time to time does help take the edge off, though.”
“Explains your affinity for it.” She chuckled weakly—then stood, nudging her chair back until it bumped into the rear wall of her office. “Can I tell you something?”
Alarm bells set off clanging between his ears. As usual, he ignored them. “I’m pretty sure you already are.”
“I guess I am.” Her throat worked laboriously. “I don’t know how to feel things. And before you say it, no, emotions weren’t bred out of me at a genetic level. Emotions are neurochemicals and pheromones, and without those, our bodies wouldn’t function properly. We wouldn’t be anaden at all. So I have the capacity.”
A dozen snarky retorts queued up on his tongue; he’d volleyed most of them her way on multiple occasions. Now, though, he simply waited for her to continue.
“I think the problem is, I was never taught that it was acceptable to experience feelings, never mind to act on them. There wasn’t room for emotion in an Inquisitor’s world. Except for one: loyalty to the Primor. So I don’t have a frame of reference for how to process any of the others.”
