An Ancient Peace (27 page)

. . . travel only forward.

Thirty meters to the corner. An infinite corridor beyond that.

“We found the entrance to the weapons cache, Major.”

. . . travel only forward.

“Run,” she said.

“E
XITING SUSUMI SPACE IN TEN.
Everyone, strap in.”

“You expect to hit something, Ryder?” Werst asked over the sound of the entire team pulling webbing into place.

“No.” Craig leaned right and dragged a run of scrolling equations closer to the center of the board. “But uncertainty'll cark you before expectations. We've only got Presit's word that her equations were for the H'san's system of origin—at this point, who's to say the H'san aren't keeping the Katrien away with false coordinates? Satisfy curiosity, assume they'll never be used. I have no idea what we'll exit into.” The ancient chair complained when he shifted his weight. “And when I say
into
, I hope I don't mean that literally.”

“Presit wouldn't kill you.” Binti sounded sure.

“Not on purpose. I'll withhold my opinion on the H'san's intent until after I know we've survived the jump.”

“Wow,” Alamber muttered. “That's grim.”

Sitting second, Ressk twisted far enough around to see Torin's face. “Gunny?”

“I'm withholding my opinion on his pessimism until after we've survived the jump.”

Craig laughed, reached back, and squeezed her calf. “Sounds fair.”

They emerged just outside the elliptical orbit of an icy dwarf planet about as far from the red giant as they could get and still be in the system. If there'd ever been enough traffic for a buoy and a web, there wasn't now. With nothing in their way, they rode their momentum in,
engines off, scanners on and slaved to the maneuvering thrusters—at the speed they were going, flesh and blood didn't have a hope in hell of reacting to a potential collision before it became actual. And over.

Thumbing her webbing open, Torin stood, stretched, and folded her arms on the top of Craig's chair. “Well, what've we got?”

“There's another dwarf, almost at its far aphelion, a gas giant we're going to pass at an uncomfortable 3.7 million kilometers—probably far enough out to avoid the gravity well, but that is one fuk of a big planet.”

“Thus the term gas giant,” Alamber muttered, draping himself over the back of Ressk's chair. Ressk reached back and smacked his leg, indicating he knew the di'Taykan was there rather than with an intent to do damage.

“After the
gas giant . . .”

Torin grinned at Craig's emphasis. Alamber's hair flipped him off.

“. . . we'll cross the remains of an asteroid belt. Fortunately, the belt's close enough to big G, most of them were probably sucked in, minimizing the potential for impact. Finally, over there . . .” Craig pointed left. Torin didn't bother looking, she knew she wouldn't see anything she could understand. “. . . is a planet at the inside edge of what was the habitable zone before the star went red. Nine and a bit AU. Everything closer in, fried. Three habitable planets,” he answered before Torin could ask.

“But if this is the right system, the H'san got everyone out, right?”

“That's what history says.” Torin appreciated Binti's caution. As they hadn't been greeted by signs saying
welcome to the H'san's system of origin, proceed at own risk,
they were still relying on Presit's information, ignoring, for the moment, the accumulating evidence that suggested there was history the Elder Races hadn't shared. “Any sign of the defenses Presit mentioned?”

“Not this far out.”

“If this is the right system and the coordinates are available . . .”

“To the right people,” Alamber interrupted, making
right people
sound like an insult.

“Available to the right people,” Ressk amended, repeating the emphasis, “then the H'san clearly don't give a shit about visitors this far
out. Any defenses will be protecting the planet with the weapons cache, keeping non H'san from landing, and we're about twelve hours out from being able to pull any readings. Until we get something that says stay away from our ancient weapons or we'll kick your ass, we could be anywhere.”

Staring out at a whole lot of nothing, Torin shook her head. “If she had to do this run every two tendays, Jamers must've been bored spitless.”

“She wouldn't have done this run more than once.” Torin stepped to the side as Craig leaned the chair back, then tucked back in against his shoulder as he swung his feet up on the edge of the panel, still talking. “Once she had a chance to look around, she'd adjust her Susumi equations to match the orbital path of her destination and slide in tight and tidy. It's what I'd do.”

“Is it? Well, if working for Justice ever gets dull, we could always try smuggling.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Torin, love, you couldn't smuggle a ship's biscuit unless you were convinced it was for the greater good.”

“Hey, I could . . .”

A piece of biscuit bounced off her elbow, and she turned in time to catch a second piece. Binti grinned and ate the rest. “Not a chance, Gunny. Listen to your pretty man, he's right.”

The gas giant was beautiful up close. Swirling bands of purple and yellow and gray—darker at the poles, lighter at the equator.

Perched on the edge of the pilot's chair, Ressk leaned forward, toes digging into the padding. “Weird.”

“What is?” Werst asked absently, distracted by the muscles flexing in his bonded's feet.

“When's the last time you saw a gas giant without a harvesting station or six?”

“Sixty satellites in orbit, powered up and scanning. I'm not reading weapons . . .”

Civilian salvage operators had specs for every Confederation and
Primacy weapon. No one wanted a salvaged hunk of metal to blow up their ship. Torin suspected they had some of both allied and enemy specs
before
the Corps got them. Specs for H'san weapons, on the other hand, hadn't been included in Intell's IP. No one had been surprised.

“. . . I am reading a shitload of high energy crap I can't identify, so I'm going to step into our metaphorical vacuum and suggest that's what'll fry us.”

“Agreed.” They looked enough like weapons signatures to Torin; she had no trouble labeling them as such. There was plenty about astronavigation she still didn't understand, but weapons, weapons she knew. “Or if not fry, hold us until the H'san arrive.”

“And then what?” Binti demanded.

The whole team was back in the control room.

“We disappear,” Werst growled.

Ressk tapped the board and scowled down at the new line of numbers. “Or they wipe our minds.”

“Or use us as slave labor in the cheese mines of Traxus.” Alamber's hair was a pale nimbus around his head.

“I think that's covered in
we disappear
,” Binti said thoughtfully after a moment.

Werst made a noise halfway between disbelief and insult. Binti bounced a wadded-up piece of rice paper off the back of his head. Alamber laughed. When Torin cleared her throat, Werst pointedly ate the paper and sat down.

They all needed to get off the ship and do something. Torin looked at the planet in the distance and shook her head. “And then nothing good happens,” she said. “What about ships in orbit?”

“No ships. And no energy trails either.”

“I found . . .” Ressk began.

Craig cut him off. “You didn't find a trail.”

“I found mathematical evidence of multiple trails. One of them significantly larger than the rest. I think this is the right place, and I think both Jamers and her employers are using a brush.”

Torin raised a hand before Craig could protest again. “A brush?”

Alamber answered before Ressk had a chance. “It's a burner that disperses your trail. They've been a rumor in the darker corners for
years. If someone's actually managed to build one that works, that takes all the variables into consideration, then that someone is a decent engineer and a fukking brilliant coder. I'm in love.”

“Good for you. Don't let it affect your aim.”

He grinned. “Never has before.”

Torin ignored the increasingly salacious suggestions of what he'd been aiming at and tipped Craig's chair back far enough for her to see his face. “So, a burner?”

“Possible,” he admitted reluctantly. “Probable even, if Presit sent us to the right place.”

“It raises the odds that she has.” Torin let the chair drop level again. “Are we in danger?”

“From the satellites? Not yet. Ressk's right, they're set up to keep people from landing.”

“Keep scanning, then. We need to know how to get past them.”

“You think?”

“Gunny. We found their ship.”

“On my way.” She dropped off the back of the treadmill, grabbed a towel, and peered into the complex system of ropes and pulleys dangling in the corner. “Coming, Werst?”

“No.” He grabbed a passing line with his left foot. “Not until I can hit something.”

“How could the satellites miss that?” It wasn't a small ship. Even allowing for Craig pulling the front port to full zoom, it looked at least as large as
Promise
's current configuration.

“We're not reading it either, Gunny.” Toes gripping the edge of the panel, Ressk's fingers flew over the board. “It's eyeballs only. Invisible to nonorganics.”

“Love the twisty and brilliant mind that came up with the code,” Alamber murmured, hair sweeping slowly back and forth. “The blocker's essentially broadcasting
you don't see me
so sincerely that tech doesn't see it.” He slid around in the pilot's chair, unable to turn it due to Craig's white-knuckled grip. “We need a third station, Boss. I can't work under these conditions.”

He had a point, Torin acknowledged. Alamber and Ressk together had been able to beat every security system they'd come up against, but doing it on the move left Craig standing and required a dangerous game of musical chairs if they needed to maneuver—like during those instances when they were in range of multiple satellites armed with unknown weapons. And gods help them if a situation arose where Binti needed to shoot back. By law, nonmilitary craft were unarmed, but salvage ships carried cutting lasers and
Promise
had kept hers when she'd changed trades. No one who'd ever used a benny during a boarding party would argue against a cutting laser being a weapon. “I'll bring it up with Justice next time we're docked. If Justice is still speaking to us after this.” She frowned and leaned in, uncomfortable behind Ressk's chair, but refusing to admit it. “Is that a second Susumi engine?”