Exodus, page 73
Whatever Gahiji-Calder had been expecting Makaio-Faraji to say, it obviously wasn’t that. “There’s what?” he exclaimed.
Makaio-Faraji explained everything Olomo had told him.
“The Wynid security council has never been aware of any Formation War survivors beyond the HeSea,” Gahiji-Calder said. “Not in all my time as chief archon, nor before. I would have known.”
“Ualana-Shoigu claims otherwise,” Makaio-Faraji said. “And by implication, so does Helena-Thyra—unless he has conspired against her somehow. That’s why I’m here. Despite my resentment at the act, I understand why I was removed. She is realigning the court, the military, and her security services to a more active and aggressive state. And after today’s Imperial Council meeting, we now know why. But I’m trying to see if the two are connected.”
“The Imperial security council resolution concerning Capo Frois took most people by surprise,” Jolav-Dabny said ruefully. “But it does fit with Helena-Thyra’s shift back to hardline policy. And actually, her policy shift isn’t that unusual—at least to those of us who were around before the Accord. I remember her and the other queens from those times. They were fierce back then, more so than she’s become in this new host of hers.”
“I see. So could Ualana-Shoigu have influenced her somehow?”
“Not a chance,” Gahiji-Calder said. “But he’s the reason we were glad you asked to see me.”
“It is inconceivable to me that Ualana-Shoigu has become Helena-Thyra’s chief archon,” Jolav-Dabny said. “Ualana-Lyon utterly despised Thyra, and I cannot emphasize just how strong that hatred was. In private, he truly believed she had killed both of his congregant daughters.”
“Yes,” Makaio-Faraji said. “I was at that First Trial. It was…disconcerting. But as I recall, Helena-Chione approved Thyra’s actions that day. I heard about Second Trial. Didn’t Thyra save your daughter?”
“She did, but by then Ualana-Lyon was beyond reason.”
“So what changed his mind?”
“He had a theory about Thyra,” Jolav-Dabny said slowly. “Though to be honest, obsession would be more accurate. He blamed the girl’s innate ferocity on her bloodline. As far as he was concerned, her family was deemed poor stock. He actually feared her becoming a host for Helena.”
“Yet when he returned from this supposed state business, she immediately appointed him chief archon,” Gahiji-Calder said. “That hurt, I do not mind admitting. I’m having to distance myself from my own family for fear they are tainted by association.”
“There has to be an explanation,” Makaio-Faraji said, puzzled. “I’m sorry, I’m not current on court activities and intrigues. You said he returned—from where?”
“We’re not sure,” Jolav-Dabny said. “Which is where you come in.”
“In what way?”
“I might not be chief archon anymore,” Gahiji-Calder said. “But I have contacts that go deep. It’s taken months, and a lot of favors called in, but I discovered that after Second Trial, when he lost Delfina, Ualana-Lyon took his sons Shoigu, Lucio, and Pavel with him on a ship, the Annoton. They departed Wynid and flew to the Kelowan system.”
“They did?”
“Yes. The Annoton was not listed as owned by the Panrako Family, so uncovering the link was not easy. Ualana-Lyon was clearly making considerable effort to hide what he was doing.”
“Where did he go next?”
“We don’t know. Though he—and he alone—returned, newly hosted in Shoigu, on a private Panrako yacht, the Edlynne. And painful as it is to admit it, I don’t have many resources in the Kelowan system. You, however…”
“Ah.” Makaio-Faraji took a deep breath. “Ualana-Shoigu stripped me of every operation but one. He’s allowing me to finish investigating the two hostile archon networks on Gondiar.”
“Interesting. Why?”
Makaio-Faraji looked straight ahead. “Because I begged him.”
“I wouldn’t have let that sway me.”
“Yes; I am aware of that.”
“In which case, until we know what is behind this alliance between Helena-Thyra and Ualana-Shoigu, you need to be extremely careful when you fly back there. I cannot believe he allowed you this favor without seeing some advantage for himself.”
“I understand.”
“So you’ll do it?” Jolav-Dabny said. “You’ll find out where the Annoton went? Presumably that’s where Lucio and Pavel are, too; they certainly never returned to Wynid.”
“Count on it,” Makaio-Faraji said resolutely. He made a difficult decision; so much about the very notion was taboo. Just asking was calling into question the heroism of an entire generation of Imperial Celestials. “I hesitate to raise this, but did Ualana-Shoigu’s family ever validate Shoigu’s hosting with an imperātrix antithesis authentication?”
Jolav-Dabny drew a sharp breath.
“I was there in the Privy Council meeting when Ualana-Shoigu appeared,” Gahiji-Calder said solemnly. “His cousin, Lady Lachwin-Elif, exchanged self-perceptuals with him. She accepted his succession.”
“The same Lady Lachwin-Elif who has not withdrawn from her seat on the Privy Council,” Jolav-Dabny said disapprovingly.
“Which signifies just how close the Family Panrako is now allied with the Royal House,” Gahiji-Calder said in annoyance. He raised his glass to Makaio-Faraji. “That is the concern we should focus on, rather than dredge up an ancient nemesis. You know, I was on Kelowan the day Queen Zuberi was killed. I played my part in destroying the horror she was birthing. Nothing in those laboratories survived—not the biology, not the neurology. I watched her princesses and congregants die with my own eyes. We spared no one, not even the youngest. The nightmare died with them.”
“Of course,” Makaio-Faraji said, but even so, now that he had dared mention it, the notion refused to abate. “I’ll start a search for the Annoton.”
“I have one idea that might help,” Jolav-Dabny said. “Before he left, Ualana-Lyon was cursing Oneshot.”
“Lord Bekket?”
“Yes, indeed, the Master of the Court himself. Who came from Uixic. Which is in—”
“The Kelowan system,” Makaio-Faraji concluded.
“It’s as good a place for you to start as any,” Gahiji-Calder said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three weeks after Vanilda’s graduation ceremony, Terence was still sulking. Along with four hundred other parents, he’d been in the school’s assembly hall, watching the senior year collect their grade one education certificate. Like all the other fathers, he’d tried not to let his pride show, but it was hard. He even felt a lump in his throat, which he’d always assumed was just an expression.
Then at the reception afterward she told them she was going to work for an events promotion enterprise.
“You’re taking a year off before college?” he’d asked. It hadn’t been mentioned before, but plenty of eighteen-year-olds had a break year.
“No, dad, I’m not going to college. There’s no point. I can think for myself, thank you—and that’s all college teaches you…supposedly; we certainly don’t learn anything new. They’re just a con by Celestials to help enforce their orthodoxy on humans.”
“Oh, for Asteria’s sake! Of course you learn something. Look at Aljan; he’s halfway through his medical course. He’s having a great time on campus, too.”
“Yes, he’s learning which bit of Celestial tech to put on which injury. You can get that off a lnc.”
“Look, I know you think Gondiar isn’t the best place in the Cluster to live, but a degree gives you an opportunity to make the best of it.”
“Did you just seriously say ‘make the best of it’?”
“Yes, actually, I did. Sweetheart, life anywhere is not easy, and making the best of it is what humans have been doing since before we ever left Old Earth. The best of it can be pretty good, you know.” Even as he said it, he knew he was losing the argument—an argument he shouldn’t even be having, as Jimena’s expression was making very clear.
“Best isn’t good enough, dad. Not for me. Not for a lot of us, actually.”
“A law degree will allow you to challenge the system.”
“Sure, make changes so small nobody will ever know they exist. You think Josias would ever settle for that?”
“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
“And we’re allowed to study law. So what? It’s not our law. It’s the rules of the settlement constitution, which is imposed on us by them. How about science? Am I allowed to study science? Of course I’m bloody not; not real science. Not pure research, nothing that would allow us to increase the human knowledge base, and Asteria forbid, build our own ZPZ generators or nano-bio or ultrabonded material or microfusion generators. All our technology is frozen at grade one level, so anyone who graduated can work all the systems they’re ever going to encounter on this world.”
He’d managed to get a grip and give in with good grace—or as Jimena had called it, like a stroppy child.
The trouble was, he couldn’t just understand her argument, he even agreed with her to some degree. After thirty-plus years of working to keep the status quo, he was starting to question the whole “stability is sacrosanct” philosophy. Or maybe he was just tired from dealing with so much stupidity and pettiness. If he was honest with himself, the only reason he was still overseeing the informer network was because he wanted to finally uncover the people who were running the infiltrations, his opposite numbers. It would be satisfying—at an intellectual level, anyway. Something to show for decades of effort. Not that he could ever show it to anyone else.
All of which put him in a foul mood as he walked into the secure interview room. Bersche clearly picked up on that right away, making him cautious. Terence had left him alone for a good two hours since his arrest. They’d raided the main club Eleven Toxix operated out of, hauling off ten members. The other nine were in their own district’s police station being charged with a file full of felonies relating to theft, extortion, trafficking, tax avoidance, and possession of weapons. Terence had supplied the local prosecutor with solid evidence to get them sentenced to a decade worth of age-acceleration, then a decade on a penal farm. Another round of arrests was due in three hours, pulling in two dozen junior soldiers. By tomorrow morning, there would be no Eleven Toxix anymore.
“So what is this?” Bersche asked warily.
Terence sat opposite him and sighed. “For you, probably ten years on a farm with some age-acceleration added if I feel generous. The reason you’re here is because I’ve had enough.”
“Enough of what?”
“Don’t be a smartarse. I’ve got more informants in Eleven Toxix than the queen has spawn.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. And I want my lawyer.”
“No.”
“What? I know my rights, and I want—”
“You don’t need a lawyer because you will never go to trial. I’m not a standard police officer. I work directly for someone who has more power than even the Office of the Governor, which means I am authorized to charge and sentence you under the foreign activist law.”
“What?”
“Say what to me one more time, I fucking dare you! If I want to walk you upstairs to the canteen and shoot you in the head in front of every police officer in the building I can do so, and I’ll still be home in time for dinner. Understand? You wanted to be in the big league? Well, you made it. Welcome.”
Bersche blanched, but had the smarts to keep quiet.
“Right, this is how it goes. You are going to a penal farm for ten years minimum, and I’m confiscating every kilowatt you own, which will be given to a Victim’s Trust to compensate all the people you’ve damaged in your miserable little life. No debate, no pleading. You’re serving those ten because you’re a piece of shit, and you deserve much longer. Now, I am going to ask you some questions and you will answer them. Failure to do so will result in me adding ten years age-acceleration each time. Got it?”
Bersche nodded meekly.
“A few years back, you took on a contract to abduct Zikar. Didn’t you?” Terence prompted.
“Yes, but it went bad. They never found him.”
“No. They found me instead.”
“That was you?”
“Uh-huh. You were going to ask him about Toše.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Bersche blurted.
“Toše is a person I’m very interested in talking to. Right now one of my associates is following him, and when we discover where he’s going, we’ll bring him in here as well. So my question is: Who contracted you to abduct Zikar?”
Bersche gave him a sullen, hateful glare.
“I’m waiting…”
“Medusa.”
* * *
—
“I should be more badass more often,” Terence said over a secure lnc as soon as he got back up to his office.
“Did you wear an othervisor?” Lućia asked. “One that made you look real tough, maybe with a scar?”
“No, I outright threatened him. That got me a massive attitude adjustment.”
“What did you threaten him with?”
Terence settled in his chair and faced the window. It was late afternoon, and the orbital tower was a slim black line bisecting the azure sky directly ahead of him. “Told him I’d shoot him in the head if he didn’t answer my questions.”
She laughed. “No shit.”
“And that I’d do it in the canteen.”
“Why the canteen?”
“Because I’m so far above the law everyone would see me do it and nothing would happen to me.”
“Cool. Can I use that?”
“No. Find your own room to murder people in. So have you seen Toše yet?”
“The airlock is cycling, so somebody must be coming out.”
“Okay, I’m accessing your feed now.” The image slid up into Terence’s retinal membrane. Lućia was moving through level three of High Rosa’s dock, a cavernous space crisscrossed by girders. It was several thousand years old, but still looked like it was awaiting completion, in the signature architecture of astroindustrial structures across the whole Centauri Cluster. People floated about, using moving pulltracks on the gantries to take them between docking bays and elevator cabs. Zero-gee carryandys drifted through the wider spaces, keeping to their assigned flowways, panniers bulging with personal cases they were delivering or retrieving from individual spaceships. Quite a few of them were arriving with packaged food supplies, which were taken straight through open airlocks to refill galleys.
“It looks busy,” he observed.
“Yeah, well, the Brizo is docked on this level, and it’s about to depart.”
“The Royal Science Academy mission to Dolod? I thought that was next week?”
“Two days. They’re busy integrating the observation instruments.”
“Waste of money. Makaio-Faraji let me access the navy review. It’s an iron exotic, all right.”
“I don’t doubt it, but it would be nice if humans did their own research. It adds to our own knowledge base.”
“You’re sounding like Josias.”
Lućia laughed. “No way. Ah, this is a good place to observe three-F.”
Each spacecraft bay in High Rosa’s dock had its own airlock surrounded by curving viewports to allow anyone to see the ship docked outside. Lućia was floating around an elevator cab stop forty meters away from bay 3F, which gave her a decent angle through the window. The Cybele’s Eagle had nosed its way into the bay forty minutes previously, ion thrusters along its spine stabbing out electron-blue streamers. It was a standard Traveler ship, as much as any of them were. A long spindle for cargo pods, fusion engines, and fuel tanks, with a life support ring made up from cylindrical modules fused together—some fat, some slender, and a couple nearly spherical. Each one looked like it had been made from different materials by different cultures in different eras.
Gantries had telescoped out, attaching to the load points fore and aft and locking the bulky ship into place. Then the umbilical arms moved in, connecting hoses and power cables. Coolant panels had folded back into its sides as thermal ducts latched on. Finally, the life support ring had stopped rotating, and the bay’s airlock tube had stretched out to it.
Terence watched the broad airlock door slide open. A couple of minutes later, Toše floated out. New information flashed up in Terence’s retina membrane as the CI decrypted the man’s lnc to the dock network.
“He’s booking a ticket on a tower capsule. Cutting it fine. Departs for Santa Rosa in twelve minutes.”
“I can read, too,” Lućia said. “Got myself a ticket on the same capsule.”
Toše kicked off from the airlock rim and glided over to a girder with a pulltrack. He caught one of the moving handholds easily and allowed it to tow him along. Behind him, a carryandy snagged a case from the airlock.
“Don’t follow too close.”
“Asteria’s arse, boss. Come on!”
“Sorry.”
“Releasing the aireel now.”
The viewpoint from her sensor patch shifted as she drifted over to a pulltrack. As she did, a woman emerged from an elevator cab and soared across the empty space to bay 3F’s airlock.
“Who’s that?” Terence asked.
“Unknown,” his personal CI replied.
“Okay, scan her lnc code.”
“Listed as Antoinette-2burg. Licensed freelance ship systems engineer, registered residence Kilye Hotel apartment seventeen, High Rosa’s Vinenna habitat.”
“Thank you.” He focused on Lućia’s feed. She’d reached a transit corridor, a wide tunnel leading to the passenger capsule station directly below the space dock. “How are you doing?”
