Alarm of War (15 page)

To offset their limited military force, the Light was rumored to have a far-flung network of spies, moles living on every inhabited world who kept on eye on everyone because anyone could someday pose a threat. They were also great explorers, believing that the study of the Universe was a direct homage to God.

So why would someone from the Light – and an intelligence officer if Hiram’s suspicions were right – come all this way to see a lowly lieutenant in the Victorian Fleet?

The answer was simple: They wouldn’t.

Hiram blinked. The man from Canaan was watching him intently.

“You bring me greetings from my mother’s sister, Cornelia, but you are here because you need to see my superior, Admiral Teehan, the director of Fleet Intelligence,” Hiram said matter-of-factly.

The man’s eyes twinkled with delight, like a teacher who has seen a student solve a particularly difficult problem.

“Your aunt said that you would understand this,” he said warmly. “That makes it so much easier. I am Jong. I have a message for Admiral Teehan.”

Admiral Teehan made little effort to hide his displeasure. “For years we have asked for help from the Light, but you always refused. When we asked you about new research projects by the Sultenic Empire, you refused. When we couldn’t find the pirates raiding the old trade route between Sybil Head and the Dominion, you refused. When we heard stories of the Dominion building a new colony, you refused.
Now
you come waltzing in and say that you have something urgent to tell me.”

Jong did not reply, but merely handed a data stick across the desk. Teehan frowned. “What’s this?”

“Many years ago the Light placed an acolyte on Darwin, in one of the resorts that caters to the needs of offworlders who wish to meet together discreetly. Our agent was a waiter. He became over time a trusted employee of the hotel; they used him to serve food at these meetings. A year ago-”

“A year ago?” Teehan snapped. “Something happened a
year
ago and you’re only telling us now? You people really take the cake, you know that?”

“Admiral,” Jong said, a hint of weariness in his voice. “If we have offended you in some way, I deeply apologize. We are giving you this information because we think it may be very important to you. When we first received it, we were not sure of its import, but now with the Tilleke preparing for war, we think you should see it and judge for yourselves.”

Teehan did not look happy, but took the data stick and inserted it into his computer. A video appeared, but it was immediately clear to all of them that the camera was defective. There was no audio at all. The left side of the picture was washed out, a scratchy white glow instead of a normal image. In the right side of the picture was a spotted image of a tall man. He wasn’t in uniform, but everything about his erect posture, powerful build and authoritative stance screamed “soldier.”

“This is Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir,” Jong explained. “He is a member of the Royal Family. He is important in Tilleke society, a favorite of the Emperor’s, a personal friend of Prince RaShahid, and considered by the Light to be one of the foremost military strategists in the Tilleke Empire.”

Despite himself, Teehan was grudgingly interested. “Okay, so who’s he meeting with?”

Jong sighed. “We don’t know. The camera was built into our agent’s glasses. In fact, the lens was the camera. But, as you can see, it didn’t work properly.” He waived one hand in a vague circle. “This is all we have.”

“You are wasting my time, Mr. Jong,” Teehan said irritably. “This is nothing. A speck of information totally out of context. This is a picture of a man who might be on vacation for all I know. This doesn’t tell us anything we need to know.”

Jong’s composure cracked a little. “Surely you do not fail to see the implications of this, Admiral.”

“What implications?” Teehan asked coldly.

“They are not subtle, Admiral.” Jong glanced at Hiram. “Even your young lieutenant here sees them, don’t you Lieutenant?”

Hiram didn’t answer, but leaned forward to study the image. Hmmm… Behind Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir there was a man standing up against the wall, hands folded in front of him. He was staring straight at the camera, which meant that he had been watching the waiter very closely. A bodyguard, probably. A special bodyguard for a member of the Tilleke Royal Family. Hiram suspected that if he enlarged that portion of the picture he would see the tell-tale surgical scars on the side of the man’s head, marking him as one of the Crèche-born Savak, the Emperor’s personal guards and storm troopers. The Tilleke Royal Family were an incredibly small minority in a sea of lesser born Freemen and slaves. They were ever mindful of their personal security. They traveled only with Savak bodyguards, surgically altered and behaviorally conditioned from birth for absolute obedience to the Emperor.

Deeply xenophobic, haughty, convinced of their own innate superiority and with a profoundly enlarged sense of personal space, the Tilleke traveled little. They were virtually prisoners of their own culture. They were uncomfortable being in close physical proximity to someone other than another member of the Royal Family. Vacationing in Darwin was unthinkable. Simply walking through a crowded spaceport, eating in a restaurant, even walking on a busy street would push a member of the Royal Family into a claustrophobic anxiety attack. So if al-Bashir had been in Darwin, it could mean only one of two things-

“Brill?” Teehan prompted impatiently.

Hiram snapped back, a little disoriented. “Sir?”

“Our good Mr. Jong says the implications of this are obvious. Do you see them?”

“Well, there are two things, sir. Uh…actually three, I guess.” He felt the old familiar fear start to pulse, the one that haunted him whenever he was put on the spot. A prickle of sweat broke out on his scalp and his stomach lurched.
Not now, for the love of God.
He took a deep breath. “Jong is right that al-Bashir is a very senior officer within the Tilleke Naval Fleet. What’s more, he is one of their Royal Born. The fact that he’s on Darwin meeting in secret could mean that either he is plotting against the Emperor, or has been sent there by the Emperor to plot with someone else. But see here?” He pointed to the Savak bodyguard in the picture.

“If I’m right, that is one of the Savak, the Emperor’s personal guard. He uses them as guards for all of the Royal Family, and is rumored to use them as special storm troopers. The Savak are loyal to the Emperor.” He frowned. “No, that doesn’t really describe it. The Savak are
more
than loyal. There are reports that they have been surgically and psychologically conditioned so that they
must
obey an order from the Emperor. If that Savak guard thought al-Bashir was betraying the Emperor, he would report him, if not kill him outright.”

“So you think al-Bashir was there plotting with someone else?” Teehan asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Plotting what?”

Hiram shrugged. “We only know two things.” He held up a finger. “First, whoever he was with isn’t part of the Victorian government. If they had been, you would know about it.” A big assumption, Hiram knew, one that opened up other doors that he didn’t want to even think about. “So that means that Tilleke is plotting with someone outside of Victoria, which means we could be the target.”

He held up a second finger. “Second, it’s serious, whatever it is.”

Teehan frowned slightly. “And you know that how, Lieutenant?”

“Two reasons, sir. The Tilleke hate to travel. Al-Bashir would only leave Tilleke for something of the utmost urgency. But the real reason is that Jong did not debrief his agent to get more information.” He turned to Jong. “
Could
not debrief him, am I right?”

Jong nodded. “Sadly, you are correct, Lieutenant Brill.” He turned to Admiral Teehan. “Our agent was murdered minutes after he left the glasses at a dead drop. It was made to look like a robbery.”

Teehan slapped the table in frustration. “It’s not enough!” he said.

“Al-Bashir met with someone a year ago. That’s all you have. Maybe if you had let us know sooner, we could have investigated, but after a year…” His voice trailed off.

Later, Hiram walked Jong back to the shuttle bay deck.

“Your Admiral will not follow up on this, I fear,” Jong said.

“No,” Hiram said.

Jong sighed. “I will report to the Abbot.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? You obviously have no love for Victoria.”

Jong smiled thinly. “No. Victoria scorns us for everything we hold dear. Worse, Victoria scorns everyone else for not being Victorian.”

“But you’re here,” Hiram insisted.

“Yes,” Jong acknowledged ruefully. “It is the lesser of two evils. Victoria is arrogant, pretentious and proud. Victoria ignores us when it can and when it cannot, sneers at us. But for all of that, it is tolerant. Prejudiced and unpleasant, but tolerant.

“The Emperor Chalabi is not tolerant, Lieutenant. The Emperor demands to be worshiped. He will not abide conflicting loyalties. And he thinks it his destiny to rule the entire Human Universe. We have watched the Emperor for a very long time. We know him all too well. There will be no room for the Light in his universe.” He stopped and faced Hiram directly. “You need to understand, Lieutenant Hiram Brill, there is no room in the Emperor’s universe for Victoria, either.”

They continued walking, then Jong spoke again. “Do you believe in God, Lieutenant?”

The turn of direction didn’t really surprise Hiram; every conversation he’d had with his aunt eventually turned to God. “Let’s just say I have questions,” he replied.

“What
do
you believe in?”

Hiram thought for a moment. Thought of his fears and his quests, his longing to belong, always feeling like the outsider looking in, his inability to see the politics swirling around him when he was only searching for some objective truth. Always searching.

“I believe in logic,” he said at last.

“Ah,” Jong nodded. “You must be very lonely then. Logic is such a cold master.”

They arrived at the shuttle bay. Jong shook his hand. “This is not over, Lieutenant. The Emperor is moving his pieces. We will keep watching. If we learn anything someone will contact you. Your Aunt Cornelia says you like her chocolate cake. Is that true?”

Hiram blinked, caught off guard by this sudden twist. “Yes.”

“Well, then, goodbye for now, Lieutenant. I fear there are difficult times ahead, but remember: A man must strive.”

E
mily had no idea where they were going. “Do you have any idea where he’s taking us?” she asked Cookie.

“Not a clue, child.” Cookie battered her eyes and clutched her bosom mockingly. “I just breathlessly follow my man here and hope against
all
odds that he actually knows what he’s doing.”

Hiram Brill smiled, enjoying his secret. “Be patient, people, not much further.”

Cookie leaned to Emily and whispered. “Look at that smile! Don’t he just look like a boy sittin’ in Sunday church with a frog in his pocket?” Emily snorted back laughter. “Hiram, why are you being so mysterious? Where are we going?”

“The mystery,” complained Grant Skiffington, “is why we all agreed to follow Hiram anywhere.”

“Come along, “Hiram said cheerfully, “it will all be worth it in the end. You’ll see.”

“This is boring,” complained Skiffington date, a curvesome blond who worked in one of the offices on Atlas. She had very long legs, a very short dress and heels not very suitable for the walkabout Hiram was leading them on. Her name was Tiffany or Heather or Krissy or something. Emily couldn’t remember which. “We could have gone to one of the night clubs off the promenade deck.” She looked distastefully around the deck they were on, which had occasional coils of wire and tubing stacked against the wall and grease smears on the floor. “This place is a dump.”

Emily’s date – blind date really – was a captain named Alan from the space station’s construction unit. He looked around and shook his head. “Haven’t been up here yet. Could use a little paint.”

“It’s a dump, Grant,” the blonde said peevishly. “You said we were going to have
fun
. This isn’t fun.”

“Give it a rest, Krissy,” Grant replied irritably. “Let’s see what it is first.”

Cookie whispered to Emily: “Which do you think is larger, her tits or her IQ?”

“Almost there,” Hiram soothed. Grant shook his head and shot Emily a baleful glare. When Hiram had planned this night out, he had insisted that they invite Grant. After her recent meeting with Captain Grey, Emily had been intrigued by the chance to see Grant again, but also perplexed. “He treated you like dirt!” she complained to him. Hiram, who she still viewed as a bright but very naïve young man, had astounded her by saying: “Em, I’m an Intelligence Officer. Grant is the son of the Admiral of the Second Fleet. Who knows what he might let slip?” Doubtful, Emily had invited Grant. To her surprise, he’d agreed. Now his girlfriend was whining and he didn’t look too pleased. Emily felt a mixture of guilt and amusement.

At the end of the corridor they came to a set of metal stairs. At the top was an unmarked wooden door. “And here we are!” Hiram cried. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. It opened and a large man in a stained jumpsuit looked at them. “Yeah?”

“We’re meeting Captain Murphy,” Hiram told him. The man looked at them, his eyebrow raising a notch when he took in Krissy’s attire. “Okay, he said doubtfully, and let them in.

Inside, it was noisy and dark. The room was large, with a scattering of wooden tables and overstuffed easy chairs pulled around coffee tables. There was long bar along one wall, and music coming over the loudspeakers, some sort of ballad about a man and an innkeeper’s daughter, but that was mostly drowned out by a man standing on a table in the corner blowing air through a long stem into a bag and making a sound like a cat being tortured. The room was filled with men and women, many wearing kilts, laughing and drinking.

“I don’t like this, Grant,” Krissy complained. “Let’s go to the promenade and find a
nice
club.” Grant ignored her, staring at the far wall. “Gods of Our Mothers!” he breathed, “Will you look at that!”