Shooting the Rift - eARC (29 page)

I wondered how other agents in my position dealt with that kind of thing. Were they able to compartmentalize their own feelings and the needs of the mission, so they simply didn’t affect each other, or were they unfeeling sociopaths, who just didn’t give a damn? Either way, I didn’t feel too comfortable about joining their ranks.

“We’re here,” Jas said, breaking into my thoughts. She cocked her head, looking at me curiously. “Penny for them?”

“They’re not worth that much,” I said.

Jas had led me to a commissary, crowded with men and women in uniform. No doubt I’d have learned a lot about what was going on in this part of the base if the variations and insignia had meant anything to me, but at the time I was too intent on keeping her in sight to take much notice of the people around me, or compare their shoulder flashes against the file I’d got stashed away somewhere in my ‘sphere. For the most part, like Jas, their tweaks weren’t visible to the naked eye, but one or two exceptions stood out; a few tails waved over the shoulders of seated diners, and a couple of people, their gender indeterminate, were little more than stocky slabs of muscle, who looked to me like collateral damage looking for someone to happen to.

My Guild patch and inflamed visage attracted a few curious glances, but, for the most part, we were left to find a quiet table with little fuss. I expanded my ‘sphere out of habit, but, of course, the serving drones weren’t designed with a neuroware interface in mind. “How do we order?” I asked.

“Through this.” Jas pulled her handheld out of her pocket, and looked at me curiously for a moment, until realization dawned. “Oh. You don’t use these, do you?”

“Not as a rule,” I said. “But I can’t mesh with the systems here.” She looked a little uncomfortable as I said that, suddenly reminded of the cultural gulf between us. “Does it bother you?” I asked. “Knowing I’ve got neuroware in my head?”

“Not usually,” she admitted, tapping the little device, and launching a blurt of information at one of the hovering drones. Buoyed up by my success with the node, I couldn’t resist poking at it with my sneakware, but, just as before, the genetic code kept me out. “You look so normal, it’s easy to forget.”

“I am normal,” I said. “But I know what you mean. When I look at you, I just see a person, not a tangle of transgener tweaks.”

“Only a person?” She smiled wanly in response. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

“A lot more than just a person,” I admitted. “A woman I’d really like to get to know better.”

Her smile grew brighter, like the sun beginning to break through a layer of cloud, but retained a rueful edge. “Be careful what you wish for, Si. A League soldier and a Commonwealther—could get messy, especially now.”

“I’m not Commonwealth,” I said, “I’m a Guilder,” although a small part of me was wondering how much of that was actually true. I’d certainly gone to a great deal of trouble to follow through on my promise to Aunt Jenny, although technically I should have set any previous allegiances aside the moment I became a Guild apprentice.

“You say that now,” Jas said, as a drone descended, depositing plates and drinks on the table between us. “But I imagine you’ll feel different when your mom’s in the firing line.”

“You think it’ll come to that?” I asked, trying to keep the tone conversational. If she’d heard anything about the League’s plans for mobilization, asking her flat out about it would be certain to close down the topic.

“I hope not,” she said, digging in to her food. She chewed and swallowed. “Bacon sandwich okay? I thought you’d prefer something simple, under the circumstances.”

“Perfect,” I said, taking a bite of my own. I went on around a plug of masticated bread and pig flesh. “The League’s been demanding a Commonwealth withdrawal from Rockhall longer than either of us have even been alive.” Struck by a sudden thought, I gave her an appraising look. She might seem about the same age as me, but with all the tweaks I knew she’d had, it was hard to be sure: it was common knowledge even in the Commonwealth that it was possible to slow the aging process with the right transgenic modifications, and, despite the general disapproval of such things, there were always rumors about the rich and well-connected taking discreet trips to Numarkut to find out for themselves. “And the diplomats are still talking to each other.”

“Yep.” Jas took a sip of her coffee. “They’re good at that. But if the Commonwealth won’t give us our planet back willingly, we won’t have much choice in the end.”

“Your planet?” I asked. “Don’t the people who live there get a say?”

Jas nodded. “I suppose they should do. Have a referendum or something. But the Commonwealth isn’t that big on democracy, is it?”

“Of course it is,” I said, feeling I ought to defend my old home, even if I didn’t belong there any more. “We have elections.”

“Do you?” Jas asked, sounding skeptical. “And how often did you vote? Oh, I forgot, men aren’t allowed to.”

“That’s not true,” I said, a trifle defensively. I didn’t really feel comfortable discussing this. “Married men are. And widowers.”

“And you really think that’s fair?” Jas asked. “How many men are there in Parliament?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “A few.”

“And in government?”

I shrugged again. “A few less.” I could see where she was heading with this, and decided to cut it off before we ended up arguing. “But it’s nothing to do with me any more. The Guild has its own way of doing things.”

“If you say so,” Jas said, sounding less than convinced.

“Of course we do,” I said, suddenly a good deal less sure than I sounded. Up until now I’d just gone along with things, picking up how they were done a piece at a time, but there was still a lot I didn’t know about how the Guild actually managed its affairs. On the other hand, whatever they did seemed to have worked for centuries, so they must be getting something right.

So I shifted the conversation to safer topics, until the meal was over and it was time to return to the internment area.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

In which I discover a deception.

I wasn’t sure what sort of a reception would be waiting for me when I got back to our quarters, but it was rather less fraught than I’d feared. Someone, possibly Jas, had seen to it that I was expected, and Remington, flanked by Rolf and Lena, was waiting by the pressure hatch when Jas escorted me through it. The presence of the transgener deckhands effectively kept anyone from the
Ebon Flow
determined to exact revenge for my squabble with Deeks at arms’ length, but in the event they seemed willing to let bygones be bygones; probably on the principle that nothing they could do to me could possibly be any worse than what I’d already gone through.

“He’s all yours,” Jas said cheerfully, although whether she was talking to Remington or the guards on duty I couldn’t be sure. She grinned at me. “Be seeing you.”

“You can count on that,” I agreed, and fought down the impulse to wave as she turned and disappeared though the hatch.

“I’m sure she can,” Clio said, a little sourly, as she moved out of Lena’s shadow; until then I hadn’t noticed her presence among the welcoming committee.

I stared at her in surprise, the conversation I’d had with Jas in the infirmary suddenly coming back to me. It was ridiculous, but, all the same. . . . “You’re not jealous, are you?” I asked, trying to inflect it like a joke.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Clio snapped, looking mortally offended. Rolf and Lena exchanged pitying looks, probably at my consequent embarrassment. Then her expression changed. “I’m sorry. I really came here to apologize.” She raised a tentative hand, and touched my inflamed cheek for a moment. “Does it hurt much?”

“Hardly at all,” I said. “They gave me a tailored antitoxin. I should be back to normal in a day or two.”

“I suppose I should say thank you as well,” Clio said, with a hint of reluctance. “If you hadn’t got in the way, I’d have been stung instead.”

“I suppose so.” I shrugged. “But in that case I should say thanks to you, too, for rushing to my defense in the first place.”

“I’d have done the same for any of my shipmates,” she said, which I suppose was truthful enough.

But maybe not quite so fast,
Rolf added, for my benefit alone.

“Glad to have you back,” Remington said. “We had some news from the Guildhall while you were away.”

“Good news?” I asked, although his expression was too sober for me to have much hope that it was.

“Not really.” We began to walk back to our quarters. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Baines, and inclined my head briefly, in a manner I hoped would go unnoticed by my companions; I’d have preferred to send him a copy of the file I’d filched for him straight away, but with Rolf’s ‘sphere still overlapping my own, I didn’t want to take the chance of the transfer being noticed. That would lead to far too many questions. “The Leaguers are still convinced there’s at least one Commonwealth agent among the crews with a Farland contract, and until they find them, or get some irrefutable evidence that there isn’t, no one’s going anywhere.”

“Can they get away with that?” I asked, already knowing full well that they could. “Surely there’s something the Guildhall can do about it?”

“Up to a point,” Remington said. “But there’s only so much pressure they’re willing to exert. Imposing any real sanctions will damage the business of every Guild crew in the system, which means reducing the Guildhall’s own tithes. And the Leaguers know that.”

I nodded. “So we’re stuffed, basically.”

“In the short term, pretty much,” Remington agreed. “They’ll cut a deal sooner or later, and we’ll get a nice big payoff for the time we’ve wasted kicking our heels here, but I’d be lying if I said this place is growing on me.”

“Sooner we get to Freedom the better,” Lena agreed.

Rolf nodded. “I’d kill for a night out at a decent opera house,” he said.

“Right now I’d even settle for an evening at the burlesque,” Lena added, then smiled at his horrified expression. “Just kidding, dear.”

“So I should hope,” Rolf said. “I grew out of being entertained by tricks with party balloons years ago.”

“It’s not the balloons,” Remington said, with a faintly distant expression, “so much as what happens when they burst.”

“Really don’t want to know,” Clio said firmly, leading the way into our quarters.

“What happened after I left?” I asked, a few moments later, finding the two of us alone in the communal area. Rolf and Lena had disappeared into their room almost as soon as our feet crossed the threshold, and Remington had gone into a huddle with Sowerby, who wanted to go over some of the finer points of the latest report about the state of the systems aboard the
Stacked Deck.

“Not a lot,” Clio said. “The green slut apologized for what had happened to you, which surprised everyone, and John said I should apologize for trying to hit her.” I noted the careful phrasing, which left me in little doubt that any apology actually offered would have been grudging to the point of nonexistence, if she’d actually bothered to make one at all. “Deeks kept on whining until his skipper told him to shut up, then Ronnie threatened to arrest anyone who wouldn’t go back to their own quarters.”

“Well, at least that gave the two of you something to talk about for the rest of the evening,” I said, trying to look on the bright side.

“Yeah, well, that’s another thing,” Clio said. “He left straight away, said he had reports to write, and was shipping out right after that. So it looks like I scared another one off.”

“Really?” I tried to sound surprised, but I couldn’t really blame him. If he’d thought she really was a giggling simpleton, the sight of her going all valkyrie on Deeks had probably come as a bit of a shock. “Then it’s his loss if you did.”

Clio smiled, a little more warmly. “Nice of you to say so, but, no, not just his. I’d been working on him ever since he first boarded, hoping to get a bit of information we could use as leverage to get out of here, but that’s all wasted effort now.”

“You were playing him?” I asked, surprised, although now I came to think about it, at least that explained her apparent personality flush every time he was around.

“Mostly, but I can’t pretend it wasn’t fun as well. He is quite good looking, after all.” She shrugged. “You’re not shocked, are you?”

“Why would I be?” I asked. “I’ve been doing the same thing with Jas, haven’t I?”

“Oh, please.” It was hard to tell which was the most scornful, her voice or her expression. “You’re all over her every chance you get. Don’t tell me you’re only after info nuggets.”

“I do genuinely like her,” I admitted. “But I’ve been trying to crack her comm link with my sneakware too.”

“Really?” Clio looked surprised. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Guess you really are a natural born Guilder.”

“I can be a lot sneakier than that,” I said, not quite sure how I felt about the way the conversation was turning, but relieved to find that she seemed to approve of my actions anyway. “I managed to crack a node while I was in the infirmary.”

“You did what?” Despite the number of times you read it, people’s mouths very seldom drop open in surprise in real life, but if they ever did I imagine it would probably look a lot like Clio’s expression at that moment.

“I got into the system,” I said. “Not for very long, but I managed to get hold of some stuff.”

“Like what?” I had her attention now, all right, and I must admit I rather liked the feeling: Clio wasn’t exactly the easiest person in the galaxy to impress.

“Like this,” I said, sending her a copy of the shipping movements I’d lifted. “Do you think John can use that for leverage?”

“He might.” She nodded, turning the idea over in her mind. “Not directly, but it’ll be catnip to the Guildhall. If he waves this in front of them, they’ll do whatever it takes to get us out. As soon as they’ve analyzed what cargoes are moving in and out of here, they’ll be able to corner the market in whatever the League Navy most wants, and set their own price.”

“Good.” I yawned, taken suddenly by surprise by how tired I felt. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I can.”

“Yeah. You look like you could do with some sleep.” Clio nodded sympathetically. “Catch you later.”

Sleep, however, was a long time coming. I couldn’t resist starting to sift through the data I’d snaffled as soon as I was alone, and, as before, it wasn’t long before I was completely absorbed. It was dry stuff, though, and I found myself stifling a yawn or two long before I reached the end. In fact I was beginning to doze, which was fortunate as it turned out; because it was in that half-waking state where the mind begins to free-associate that I spotted something seriously wrong, and sat bolt upright on the bed, suddenly completely awake.

One of the vessels listed on the schedule was the
Eddie Fitz
, which had apparently arrived from Numarkut the same day the
Stacked Deck
had been boarded and impounded. But that was impossible: I’d seen it breaking away from the transit lane in the first system we’d passed through, bound for Iceball. I was absolutely positive about that, because, doubting my own memory, I replayed the datastream I’d tapped from the
Stacked Deck
’s sensor suite—and there it was, large as life.

Perhaps the files I’d filched had been corrupted, or the wrong date entered by mistake—these things happened. I went back and checked, but the data was all clean, and verified by the ship’s ident beacon. Which meant one of two things: either the
Eddie Fitz
was capable of being in two places at once, which I rather doubted, or another ship had been given her identity. The question was why.

Looking for a clue, I began to examine the file more carefully. The impostor was definitely a vessel of the same class, the attached visual made that perfectly clear, even down to the distinctive blisters on the hull which had once housed its defensive armament. Or perhaps still did: this was a Naval base, after all. I moved on to the maintenance schedule for the ship, and found my forebodings confirmed almost at once—the graviton beamers weren’t just still mounted, they’d been upgraded. The not-
Eddie Fitz
wouldn’t last long in a stand-up fight against a proper warship, but if she got the first shot in she wouldn’t need to; and no one would expect a freighter to be armed in the first place. A cold chill began to work its way down my back. I still didn’t know what this was all about, but I was beginning to have some very dark suspicions.

Which were confirmed the moment I looked at the manifest. Officially, the
Eddie Fitz
was about to leave Freedom for Rockhall with a mixed cargo of consumer goods and agricultural supplies, via Numarkut, with a transit waiver in place for the neutral system. But what was actually being loaded looked to me a lot more like the kind of supplies a company of Marines would need to establish a beachhead, and support themselves while they waited for reinforcements.

I digested this slowly, still not quite able to take it all in. As plans went, it was pretty neat in some respects; the
Eddie Fitz
and her sister ships were frequent enough visitors to Numarkut for no one to give them a second glance, and with a transit waiver she’d just pass straight through the system without even the most cursory of inspections. The League would be able to sneak its raiding party into Commonwealth space without the Numarkut authorities being any the wiser: or at least being able to claim they hadn’t been. Having seen the place, though, I’d be very surprised if a substantial sum of money hadn’t changed hands, to make absolutely sure the Trojan freighter would pass through without any hindrance from Plubek and his chums.

But parts of it still didn’t make any sense. Even if you were able to pack a couple of hundred combat troops into a ship that size (which you just might, if they were all very friendly with one other), a planet’s an awfully big place, and has far too many strategic objectives for such a small group of men and women to take unaided. Even if they took one each, which hardly seemed likely.

I was missing something, I was certain of it, something I’d half thought of a moment ago, and skipped over. Something about the ersatz
Eddie Fitz
going unnoticed . . .

Because the real one and her sister ships had been plying that route for years.

Sister ships.

Now I knew what I was looking for, I started trawling the data in earnest, looking for matches, and to my growing horror, I found a good half dozen. The league wasn’t just planning to raid Rockhall, it was preparing to invade it. The latest Trojan was even docked here, the
Tom Shelby
, waiting to take on cargo as soon as the engineers finished working on it. Which, according to the schedule, would be in less than a day.

Of course the Commonwealth would retaliate as soon as they learned of the attack, but by that point it would be too late. The League fleet at Caprona would make their move at exactly the same time, as the trojans moving into the Sodallagain system to lie in wait for the relief force from Tintagel. Which would put my mother and sister smack in the middle of the firing line. . . .

I was still trying to digest all this when my bedroom door opened, and I belatedly remembered I’d forgotten to tie a rag to the handle before settling down to review the data I’d acquired.

“Clio says you’ve got something to tell me,” Remington declared, without preamble.

“Yes.” I nodded, the words practically falling over themselves in my sudden surge of relief. “We’ve got to get to the Guildhall right away, use their riftcom—” Which would only get a message as far as the next system, of course, but the Guildhall on Iceball would relay it to Numarkut, and thence to Avalon. Once the warning was coded it could be on Aunt Jenny’s desk within a day or two, while the invasion fleet was still preparing to shoot the rift to Iceball, or possibly Numarkut, depending on how long it took us to get out of here. Long before it could get anywhere near Rockhall, anyway, which was the main thing.

“Slow down.” Remington shook his head, and waved an expansive arm, which I assumed was meant to encompass not only my room, but the base beyond it as well. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not going anywhere.”