Haze, page 35
“I doubt very much if I’d understand two lines of it. Chief?”
“Same here, ma’am. The basic space-time formulas we had in school just about finished me.” He glances at Santreeza. “I guess it’s accurate and all that.”
“Oh yes, it’s an impressive bit of work. I helped Golverg clear up a couple of details. So, he agrees with the researchers that the dark fluid might provide the energy closing a stargate would demand, if you could collect and channel it. That’s a very big if.”
“So it’s possible to close a gate after all?”
“Theoretically. Certainly not likely! You wouldn’t be working with the actual gate, which doesn’t physically exist by any rational definition, but with the space-time around it. But what in hell? The energy it would demand! You’d need to direct a beam of pure energy amounting to a Class O star going nova. A blue giant, for instance. I cannot imagine how any group of sapients, organic or not, could succeed at using that much siphoned energy for anything other than raw destruction. If they did manage to generate an energy beam from dark fluid, how would they control it? You’d need precise control.” She pauses, considers. “Let me see, the only analogy I can come up with is using the beam like a giant needle to stitch and mend the break. That’s horribly oversimplified, but you can get some idea.”
“And one slip-up?” Devit says.
“Total destruction. Even the backlash could cause a major disaster, like sending waves of energy strong enough to kill every living thing on a planet.”
“You’d think it would have turned Merrval into asteroids,” Evans says.
“That’s more likely to have happened to whatever planet anchored the target stargate.”
Evans shudders. Devit twitches—Santreeza doesn’t know what else to call it. His body makes a sudden, if very slight, jerk to one side, with an equally subtle motion of his head.
“Chief?” Evans says. “Are you sai?”
“Yes, ma’am. I just saw something. Lieutenant, I’m remembering some information you gave me a while back. That second mole, Karski, the one who worked for Speed Shunt. Didn’t he claim to have proof a gate could be closed?”
“He did, Chief. That theoretical work I just told you about? It was published at the time and widely discussed. I can’t imagine that Karski would be able to understand the actual research papers. He wouldn’t have been working for Speed Shunt if he could. Golverg told me that some garbled versions of the theories got on the vidnews at the time. You know how badly they report scientific developments. I don’t know where Karski found the transcripts of the vid reports, but yeah, the files make it look like the poor bastard did. Pretty expensive find. It got him killed.”
“Huh.” Devit is looking at the far wall with a strangely distant expression. “So, there was widespread reaction—let’s call it panic—at the time. This dark fluid theory, did the public react to it?”
“Oh yes. As you say, panic. Other theories cropped up, too, and lots of editorials blaming anyone the vids could think of. A couple of transport firms went belly up, but it was the Colony Fleet that got most of the crap talk.”
“I’m not surprised,” Evans says. “The Colony Fleet was a very strange institution, you know. Some of their top brass held very peculiar views about the reasons it existed.”
“That’s true. Karski probably found a lot of old vids about them.”
“What about the other theory?” Devit says.
“This one’s slightly more probable. Each shunt is anchored to a planet, right? What if someone destroys the planet? The shunt’s going to drift away. Probably fade and close eventually. Golverg worked out the math for that too.”
Devit leans forward in his chair. “That sounds better, yeah. I can see how a good-sized battle group could muster enough power to disrupt even a good-sized planet.”
“One big problem.” Santreeza looks his way with a wry smile. “There was no debris. No radiation belt expanding either. No one could work out how an entire planet could just disappear without a trace. And for that matter, the original anchor planet was still there at the Pinch location.”
“So much for that, yeah.” Devit pauses, thinking. “But if they cut the twin shunt loose, the one where we found Orb? There was an asteroid belt in that system.”
“That’s a possibility, yes. Golverg has some serious doubts about it, but he’ll have to explain them if you want to know.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Evans smiles with her usual half twitch of her mouth. “A lot of this kind of speculation is beyond me, frankly. But what counts is that Karski found something he thought he could sell. It got him killed, and all for nothing.”
“Not necessarily for nothing, ma’am,” Santreeza says. “Bait. Karski’s work probably did get a higher price out of Consolidated. More creds for Speed Shunt’s stockholders and execs. Then somehow the secret got out, and the rumors started. Which could cause a panic that could wipe Consolidated out.”
“That’s called justice in action. Serves the bastards right.”
“You have a point, Chief. This is all speculation, yes, but I’m going to send this material to the Bureau.
“Thank you, Santreeza. This may be what they sent us out to find.”
“Agreed, ma’am.” Devit feels a part of the mental pattern come together, but only part. He does, however, have an idea of where to search for what he needs.
“Santreeza, you’ve done a splendid job,” Evans says. “I’m going to encode this right now. The packet boat’s still in transmission range, but I’d better get the shunt packet to them ASAP.” She pauses briefly. “Willox is at the airlock, Chief. Bring him in, will you?”
“On my way.”
Willox is leaning against the wall next to the airlock and reading something on his PL. He smiles pleasantly enough when he sees Devit and slips the device into his tunic pocket.
“Checking my stash of legal docs,” Willox says. “It’s a good thing you thought of that, Pete.”
“You’ve got one for an AI, then?”
“One for whomever its organic partner is.”
“That’ll do it. And one to get data out of the local Police Guard?”
“No, damn it. It’s going to take a court order to pry anything out of them.”
“Crap. Evans has already requested an advocate from Harad Fleet Base.”
“She told me, yeah. Don’t know when they’ll get here.”
“Well, not much we can do about it now. Been meaning to ask you, Yosh …. How are the repairs on the Cotta going?”
“Oh man! It’s been driving me nuts. They had to send to Roon for parts. Cotta’s one of the newly designed ships, and the SARs aren’t carrying the standard kits yet.”
“And what? Harad Base doesn’t have them, either?”
“Yeah. Shit! Until they find some, nothing to do but wait.”
Waiting. Devit has always hated it, this ugly stretch of time when no one knows when or how combat will begin, but everyone knows it’s inevitable. Although Devit’s reasonably sure that the Mary won’t be joining the strike force, “reasonably sure” is not the same as “certain knowledge.”
With Dan gone, Devit has the cabin to himself and the time to follow up a couple of questions that have been nagging at him. With the Repositories’ public archives at their disposal, he and PrimeTwo should be able to find some serious answers.
Before he can begin, a ping hits his earjack: Jorja.
“Peter? The archivist for Dock Seven did accept one of the legal transmits Willox brought. The last persons to want references to the Bolivar material were me and the professor, of course. But the person before us was Tay Jasson. He made the request from the Lokiki three solstandard weeks ago.”
“What was he after?”
“A packet of data about the organic mind to AI conversion. The only thing in the easy download was the location of the packet elsewhere. He didn’t have the top flight security clearance to access it. I bet he paid someone to place the IED because he didn’t want anyone else to have the information if he couldn’t get it. That ‘anyone’ would have to be Consolidated Lanes. They’re the other player in this game.”
“And I bet you’re right.” Another piece of Devit’s pattern falls into place. “Thanks, Jorja. Do you know anything about the interstellar stock market?”
“Not a whole lot. Are you planning on investing?”
“At my pay grade? That’ll be the day. No, I’m wondering if there’s some way a sapient can make money by getting a company’s stock to lose value.”
“I think there is, but I don’t know how.”
“I’ll have to see what I can find out. Anyway, can you send a transmit to the Hounds? Ask them to look into Ty Jasson’s personal finances—the assets he holds separately from the clan. I’m willing to bet they’re relevant.”
“Will do.”
“Another question. You told me about the Fleet archive material getting deleted. And then someone restored the codes so you could get in?”
“That’s it, yeah.”
“Do you know when this happened?”
“Only roughly. The deletion happened just over a year ago. The restoration happened a few days before I was sent the codes.”
“A year apart, then.”
“Yes. Is it important?”
“Maybe. It could be one of the big answers. It could be meaningless. I’ll have to see if I can find out which. It’ll give me something to do, if nothing else.”
“True. By the way, Golverg and I are going down to Third soon. I’ve got the address of the Bolivar material. If you think of anything else you want me to look up, just contact me.”
“Sai. And here’s my last question. Have you heard from the Ilana Police yet?”
“Are you psychic or something? I was just about to send you the transmit. Yes, there was a second murder. About four hours before Willox was killed, a Consolidated Lanes employee died. The bruises on his arms indicate he was caught from behind and held motionless while his throat was cut, one clean slash through the trachea and up into a main artery.”
“A Hopper assassination team. Shit!”
“Yes. Just what we don’t need. I’m sending the news back to the Bureau right now.”
After she logs off, Devit spends a few minutes worrying about her safety, down onplanet where he can’t keep watch. He reminds himself that her bodyguards will be the absolute best on the Rim and forces himself to return to his research.
“PrimeTwo, a question. On the interstellar stock market, is there a way for an investor to make a profit if a stock price declines?”
“This does not sound logical, Chief. But organic sapients are known for doing illogical things. I am framing conditional search terms now.”
Illogical or not, the question turns out to be easy to answer.
“I have found a process, Chief, called ‘selling short.’ It is very complicated. Shall I describe it to you?”
Noises drift into the cabin from the corridor, two sets of footsteps—one slow and steady, the other erratic—and Mata’s voice, murmuring, “C’mon, you can make it.”
“PrimeTwo, load the information onto my PL. Brennan’s here, and he needs help.”
The door slides open with a bang and the stink of secondhand alcohol. Dan grabs the doorjamb and steadies himself before he falls. Mata throws a precautionary arm around his waist.
“Chief, is the pilot ill?”
“No, PrimeTwo. The condition he’s in is called drunk. I’ll get back to you later.”
Between them, Mata and Devit get Dan into the cabin and flop him onto the bed.
“We’d better just let him sleep it off,” Devit says.
“We can’t. I’ll help you sober him up. The captain just got a message. Captain Bonna’s coming over from the Mansa. She wants to congratulate Dan in person.”
“Oh shit!”
Dan looks up, hesitates, and clamps a hand over his mouth.
“Into the WM!” Mata says. “And hurry.”
“Wang, of course Brennan came back drunk,” Evans says. “You might remember your own condition after celebrating your wedding.”
Wang has the decency to wince and nod agreement. “Apologies, Captain. The waiting’s getting on my nerves.” She suddenly grins. “Having something to complain about always helps.”
Evans has to laugh. “Apology accepted. The waiting’s getting on everyone’s nerves. I don’t know why Bonna hasn’t called the CO meeting.”
Captain Bonna has apparently been brooding over that very thing. When she and two Marine guards arrive, “Damn Harad Base, anyway,” is the first thing she says.
“What have they done now, Enid?”
“Told us to wait. No attack on this terrorist planet—yet.”
Since Devit’s not on the bridge, Bonna takes his station chair. The Marines sit on the floor, one to either side of her.
“Did they deign to tell us why?”
“Well, yes, and they have a point. They received the transmit about the shunt discovery late last Designated Night. By the way, how in hell do you get your transmits delivered so fast?”
“I don’t know. Santreeza’s been handling our communications.”
“She’s a wizard with the AIs, all right. I’ll ask her later. But the Harad Base CO sent a packet boat out immediately, telling me to take no action until they’ve consulted with Central Command.”
“That means getting the news to Central Base. And getting their transmits back out here again.”
“Yes. More damned waiting.”
The elevator doors slide open. A damp Dan Brennan, in a uniform that looks uncomfortably tight, steps out and salutes. Devit and Mata follow him out.
“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
Brennan’s voice is so steady that Evans wonders what Devit and Mata did to sober him up so fast. She decides she’d best not ask.
“I did, Lieutenant,” Bonna says. “You’re to be congratulated.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but really, I can’t take much credit. It’s just a matter of the genes I happened to get.”
“No. You’re the one who figured out how to use them.”
Brennan starts to speak but blushes instead.
“Be that as it may,” Bonna continues, “I received a status transmit from Harad Base. You’re recommended for promotion, and I don’t see any reason you won’t get it. Good job, Brennan.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” His Pale face stays a bright pink.
“We should know about any action plans soon. I’ve been ordered to keep you safe. I’ll look for the most secure place I can find, and you’re going to be in it.”
“But, ma’am, I’m the second officer on this Scout. If my ship goes Action Ready, I want to be on it.”
“Well said, but orders are orders.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re a resource, Brennan, with a rare function, and the Fleet most likely has plans on how to use it.”
For a moment Evans is afraid that Brennan is going to faint. The blush turns a dangerous pale pink, almost white, and he takes a step back as if to steady himself.
Bonna leans forward in the chair. “Are you ill, Brennan?”
“No,” Evans says. “He’s hungover. A little celebration with his fellow starpilots.”
Bonna’s crest flaps in wild good humor. “Well deserved, I’d say. Go lie down.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He manages a decent salute. “I’d better.”
“One quick thing,” Evans says. “Whose onboard uniform is that? It’s obviously not Brennan’s.”
“Lieutenant Santreeza’s, ma’am,” Devit says. “They’re about the same height, but she’s a lot thinner. His is in the sonocleaner at the moment.”
“I don’t want to know why. You three have permission to leave the bridge.”
When they reach the cabin, Devit checks the sonocleaner. Dan’s onboard uniform is still cycling through. Dan changes into his civilian clothes and tosses Santreeza’s onto the bed. Devit picks them up and folds them in the regulation way.
“Let’s go to the galley, Dan,” Mata says. “We won’t look at food, but you’ve got to drink a lot of rehydrates.”
“Agreed. Jeez. My head.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Come on, you need fluids.”
Mata takes Dan’s arm and leads him firmly away. Devit opens his PL and brings up the definition of “sell short” that PrimeTwo found in a public data bank.
“Short selling: First you borrow shares of a security, one whose price you think is going to fall, from your brokerage. You take this loan and sell the shares on the open market at the current price. With that money, you buy it all back after the price drops. In other words, you’ve got the shares and the money between the original price you sold them at and the much lower price you bought them back at. You give the borrowed shares back to your broker with a commission and pocket the profit. The Rim Council has placed severe restrictions on the practice, because short selling on a large scale can trigger a downward spiral, hurting stock prices and damaging the economy. Some of the wealthy clans, however, have found ways around these restrictions by dealing with brokerages that are not under strict Rim supervision.”
Devit leans back in his chair and smiles at the mazla vine. “Just what I wanted to know,” he says aloud. “So far, so good.”
The cable pod from spacedock takes Santreeza and Golverg down to the landing pad for the Deep Archives on Third. As soon as they step out of the pod, the heat falls on them like a hungry animal. Santreeza drops her duffel and struggles out of her onplanet tunic jacket as fast as she can. Her bodyguards are doing the same. Golverg, who’s been carrying his jacket, drops it and his suitcase to help her.
“Thanks,” Santreeza says. “I heard about the heat here, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”
“Ma’am?” Sergeant Mills, the Human leader of the bodyguard team, steps forward. “Let’s get into the station. Bound to be cooler.”
