Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) (23 page)

When Dean arrived, the commander waved him over to her bridge station.

“Problems?” he asked.

“Not yet. Anticipated. Look at our display. If the Xesset continue their move, they’ll be able to fire at the freighter, unless we can interpose
Wasp
here. We’re fully shielded—the Xesset may guess our tactic; however, they shouldn’t be able to detect us. I want you to communicate the situation to de Coeur. If we can’t stop the Xesset actions, he and his men may need to abandon the freighter. Keep your comlink short, we don’t want the aliens tracking our electronics.”

Dean laughed. “I can’t see him agreeing to that. If his men are at risk, though, he’ll take steps to protect them. I need to give you an update, too.”

The commander signaled for Dean to continue.

“At least for the moment, de Coeur is in control. They have the engine room; they’ve mounted guards on the cargo—it’s weapons, as expected, at least in the containers they’ve sampled. He’s arrested the skipper. His concern is the three Xesset who are somewhere on board. The aliens may, in desperation, try to detonate some of the cargo, which could destroy the freighter.”

“A simple problem—find and capture the Xesset,” Gillespie said.

“Exactly what he said. I’ll update him with our change of position and report anything new from him as and when we talk,” Dean promised as he left the bridge.

“Sir,
Wasp
has disappeared from our screens. They have extremely effective shields,” reported the Tac lead on
Defender
’s bridge.

“What else is happening?”

“Sir, the boarding parties are inside the freighter—
Djamu
—and she’s now stopped dead in her tracks. The Xesset ship is turning towards the freighter. Its movement is slow, almost a drift rather than a planned course change.”

“There’s your answer,” said Captain Montrose. “If
Djamu
is full of munitions, the Xesset may fire a missile at her and explode it all. They’ve demonstrated they’re bloody heartless. They could easily destroy the freighter, killing everyone on board, including their own crew and
Wasp’s
mercenaries. Although they’d lose their investment, which must be significant. I suspect
Wasp
is moving to protect the freighter. Keep trying to tap into communications, from anyone to anyone.”

“Sir, we’re two light minutes away—by the time we read a message, it’ll be all over.”

“I still want to be updated with blow by blow details. You never know—we might need a good mercenary team in the future.”

“Yes, sir. My team will continue to monitor. If you would authorize us to move closer, we should be able to intercept their point-to-point comms. I’d like to be within weapons range.”

“Do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Yi poured herself a small glass of wine—it was a new vintage, grown on the hills outside Freetown, the capital of Freedom, which had been recommended by the local vintner. Its golden glow promised a taste experience. Condensation beaded on the outside of the finely cut crystal glass. Her preparations were complete. Local cheeses, delicacies, wine, juices were all ready. Her guests, fellow hospital workers, were due to arrive—she checked the time—in fifteen minutes, unless they decided to be fashionably late.

Retirement from the Imperial Medical Service, she reflected, was an experience, which she now regretted not actioning sooner. The softer civilian lifestyle was relaxing, at least temporarily. She sighed. She felt there was something missing; her duties were not as challenging as she needed. Her conflict with ImpSec had left a mark on her service record, she was sure, although it was not a visible one. Fortunately, the local hospital, even if the resources people were aware of the issue, had not raised it in their interviews.

She had to admit there were flaws with her new circumstances. Her rented apartment was not much larger than her shipboard quarters, and its only positive was the accommodation subsidy paid by the hospital. She had a superior at the local hospital who seemed to have absorbed the entirety of the hospital’s bureaucratic regulations. The crowded cities of Freedom, the rapidly repressed tremors of terrorism as people objected to the yoke of the Empire, and the unexpected pervasive presence of Imperial forces gave the impression the Empire was growing distrustful of all its citizens. There was fear on the streets, which she tried to ignore.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her reverie. She walked to the door and checked the video display of the internal security system. A stranger stood at the entry lobby to the apartment complex. He was dressed in a uniform, although not of any Imperial service, she was certain. She pressed the talk button.

“Yes?”

“Colonel Yi?”

“Dr. Yi,” she corrected.

“My apologies, Dr. Yi. My name is Barreda, Jakob Barreda. I’m a personal assistant to Senor Maxwell Arraya, Director of Banque Vanarra. He wishes to meet with you, at your convenience. I have a written invitation and letter, which I can leave in your lobby. A vehicle and escort will be provided. He instructed me to state this is a personal invitation, nothing to do with banking business. He wanted you to understand this is not a sales call.”

There was a tendency for the upper classes on Freedom—or indeed, for those with pretensions of such—to eschew electronic communications, so the delivery of a written invitation was not out of the ordinary. What was unexpected, she realized, was that she was the target of such an invitation. She was intrigued.

“I have heard of the bank, of course.” Banque Vanarra was reputed to be the oldest and most trustworthy banking group on the planet. “Please leave the correspondence. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Yi.” The speaker touched the point of his cap in an informal salute.

The doctor watched the video display as the man dropped an envelope into her lobby letterbox. The inbuilt sniffer would check—as it did for all correspondence and small packages—for explosives or other contaminants. Once checked, the letter would be automatically delivered to her fifteenth floor apartment. She waited until the man left and then returned to the table where she had placed her glass of wine. She would read the communication after her guests departed, she decided.

“Dr. Yi, Dr. Yi. I’m Maxwell Arraya, and I’m so pleased you could visit.” The speaker was impeccably dressed in a formal business suit. He was shorter than she had expected, although she did not know why she had that expectation.

“Senor Arraya.” She held out her hand, which the banker pressed and released.

“Indeed. Call me Maxwell. Welcome to my office. Please, please take a seat. I would have invited you to my home, but there is a slight touch of business content to our meeting, and I like to keep these things well separated, if you know what I mean.” The man’s smile appeared to be genuine.

The meeting room was probably larger than her total apartment and was furnished in antique, if not ancient, furniture. Large paintings of armored knights and their battles covered each wall except for the floor to ceiling windows, which overlooked the main parklands of the city. She carefully sat at an antique table that would, she estimated, be worth her lifetime earnings.

“Your assistant, Jakob Barreda, indicated this was not a business meeting?”

“Indeed, yes. He was instructed to state we did not intend a business meeting. Indeed not. There is a topic—not related to banking business, I assure you.”

“Sir, I’m confused.”

Senor Arraya said, “My apologies, yes, apologies.” His expression was rueful. He consulted the contents of a folder. “Normally, with a guest, I would discuss the weather or the economy, perhaps sometimes our political scandals. However, today, I prefer to focus on why I invited you to meet with me. You will forgive this directness, I trust?”

Dr. Yi nodded, her expression showing her bewilderment.

“Good, good. I will attempt to clarify. Please be patient, Dr. Yi. Now, I have some questions, if you will bear with me. The first one is easy: you recently retired from the Imperial Medical Service?”

“Yes, that is no secret.”

“When you retired you had the rank of colonel?”

“Again, that’s no secret.”

“You served on HS
xTaur
?”

The delayed return of the hospital starship and of a number of its medical staff had been well publicized in the local media, so there was no issue was likely to arise if she acknowledged her service on the hospital ship.

“Yes, I did.”

“Now, now, hmm. Here we may be heading into deeper waters. On your last tour, on the return leg, you treated a young man who had lost his memory?”

“Ah—I suppose that is not a secret, either.”

“He gave his name as Steg de Coeur?”

Dr. Yi nodded her head.

“Good, good. He was, according to my information, treated professionally. Indeed.” Senor Arraya turned the page of the file he was reading. “ImpSec, it seems, did not show any sympathy towards this young man?”

“I—I don’t think I can respond to that question.”

“No, no, of course not.” He turned to the next page. “He was carrying a sword, I believe?”

Dr. Yi was silent for a moment. She nodded her head. “He called it Ebony.”

“Ebony. Oh, excellent, excellent.”

The bank director looked up from the page he was reading. “Dr. Yi, please forgive me. These were what I would call grounding questions. I needed to make sure I am speaking to the right Dr. Yi. Now, do you know the whereabouts of this sword—ah— Ebony?”

Ebony was in her apartment, carefully stowed away in the bottom of a case containing household items. “I believe so, yes.”

“It’s in your possession? Under your control?”

“I prefer not to answer that question, at least not until I know more.”

“I understand, yes, I understand.” Senor Arraya removed a page from his file and set it aside. He withdrew the next page, glanced at its contents and then looked at Dr. Yi. “I suppose you know your patient was sentenced to death for spying?”

“Y–yes. We—myself and my nurses—gave evidence at his trial and were advised of the verdict and sentence.”

“Do you know, yes indeed, that the sentence was not carried out?”

Dr. Yi sat up straight in the antique chair, its age probably the reason for its uncomfortable structure. “No, I did not.”

“Please read this, so that I may destroy it as quickly as I can.” Senor Arraya slid a sheet of paper across the table.

“Destroy it?”

“Read it, you’ll understand.”

Dr. Yi started to read and then stopped. “This is—?”

“Yes, it’s genuine. It’s also extremely sensitive. Please, please continue reading.”

The page was a copy of an extract from a report produced by two representatives of the Advocate-General; it summarized their visit to Diyark Prison and their inability to discover the whereabouts of a prisoner who had been delivered there some weeks prior to their visit. The man’s name was Steg de Coeur. The report stated there was no record of the prison officials carrying out the sentence of the ImpSec judges. It concluded with the statement that the officials were unable to locate the prisoner, that a search to determine his whereabouts had been unsuccessful.

Dr. Yi raised her head. “This is almost—unbelievable.”

“The A-G representatives apparently carried out a thorough investigation.” Senor Arraya opened a small metal container on the table. “May I—?” He gestured at the sheet of paper.

‘What? Oh—oh, yes.” She slid the sheet back across the table. Her fingers trembled.

The banker placed the page in the metal container and closed the lid. He pressed a button on the side of the container. Dr. Yi caught the impression of a faint wave of heat accompanied by a low whirring sound. The banker raised the lid and checked the interior. Small ash fragments drifted out. Apart from some ash residue, the container was otherwise empty. He closed the lid.

“I have another question for you. If—if you were to know the whereabouts of Ebony—yes, I know.” Senor Arraya raised his hand, stalling her objection. “I said, if. Let me see.” He looked quickly at the next two or three sheets of paper. “Indeed.” He looked up and focused his attention on Dr. Yi. She was almost taken aback by the intensity of his regard.

“Dr. Yi. We occasionally have a need to utilize a courier firm. You understand, as bankers, sometimes we might have a need to deliver documents, titles perhaps, sometimes a valuable heirloom or other items, from here to our other branches, to our head office, or indeed, to other banks in our trusted correspondent network. These deliveries often are, of course, interplanetary, system to system. You understand?”

“Y—yes, I think so. I can well imagine where something might need to be delivered as you describe.”

“At times we receive odd requests. This one certainly fits into that category. We’ve been requested by one of our correspondent banks—oh, it’s a well-established and trusted bank— they hold shares in our bank, and we don’t have many shareholders, at all.” The banker paused and consulted a sheet of paper. “Let me see. We’ve been requested—if at all possible—to find this sword—Ebony—and to entrust it to our correspondent courier service for delivery.”

“To de Coeur? Is he alive?”

“I cannot—I don’t know. Ebony is described as an invaluable, no, irreplaceable heirloom. If we can discover its location—talk with whoever has possession—we are instructed to arrange for the courier service to deal directly with that person. I suspect it will be delivered to the correspondent bank I mentioned. I—I’d prefer not to mention the identity of that bank.”

“I think I understand.”

“Good. Good. Do you have possession of Ebony?”

“I promised de Coeur I would hold Ebony for him.”

“Can you release Ebony to our couriers?”

Dr. Yi reflected for a long while. Senor Arraya was patient.

“Yes, I think it should be acceptable to de Coeur, given the background you’ve provided.”

The banker visibly relaxed. “I had hoped you would agree. I can have the courier call tomorrow, at whatever is a convenient time for you?”