The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack (19 page)

Three hours and two beers later he found what he had been looking for. And it was worth the snake and the rateri and the assignment to play narc in the backwoods. It was even worth the Fuentes’ St. Barbara medal. He played the section of the tape a second time to make sure he wasn’t imagining it all.

A Khalian trade ship arrived yesterday. I went down as one of the responsibles in the club. No doubt they were unloading rateri. When we got our allotment the club chief rounded us up to go. I got lost and lingered. Before the ship lifted a second consignment was brought aboard. I couldn’t see very well, but it appeared to be a line of slaves. Efrichen don’t deal in slaves, not in their listed economy. I watched more closely, and at least two of the consignment were tattooed with rateri
marks.

Pictures followed, blurry the way they were when the camera was handheld in a concealed position. But he could see clearly the brilliant colors of the club tattoos on the people nearest the camera. And the blankness on their faces that seemed devoid of intelligence. Enough rateri over enough time, maybe on the right people with the right psychological makeup, Diego thought.

He shuddered. The rateri seduction was still close, still clinging to him in the shape of a violet serpent that sprawled over his ice white skin. Behind those vacant masks, how many of those new slaves were dreaming of vivid colors and vital activity, he wondered. He could still feel it breathing on his flesh, the need to experience utterly, to throw off the careful shackles of breeding and ambition and lose himself in a universe of sensuality.

He keyed the board absently, losing his place in Jurgen’s narrative. The face in the screen flickered, suddenly looking far more haggard than it had before, as if the other had aged years over the course of ten minutes.

The Khalian vanguard ship is due in two months. There are rumors around the club about the “friends.” Some insist that they are going to liberate us from the Efrichen Bund government, others say that they are going to level the planet and take the rateri friends away. Still others are convinced that the Khalia are surveying to settle here. My analysis of the various actions of the Khalia in this sector over the past two years indicates that they are searching for a staging outpost in this region. Efrichen is particularly well suited to such use. It is already fully habitable and self-sustaining with a ready trained workforce, the port facilities are relatively modern for an agrarian world and in excellent repair. There are large areas, including whole continents, of virgin land for expansion and additional facilities. Only two or three other colonies in this entire quadrant offer as much. What makes Efrichen unique among them is that it is at the Mowbrey point in colonial development, the colonists first and most violent clash with their own value structure. At this point, the colony is now generating enough wealth for the first time to provide the luxury of dissent, and many of the young people of the colony are disenchanted with the philosophical/agrarian goals of the colony. In two more generations, according to the normal model, the colony should have gone from primary agriculture to primary industry in an agricultural base stemming directly from this rebellion in thought. However, at this point the younger generation on Efrichen is excited by anything new, and especially anything alien. They are unquestionably ripe for an alien drug to be introduced. There is no question in my mind that rateri is the first wave of a Khalian invasion into this sector through the corruption of the Efrichen culture and economy.

Diego drew a deep breath as the tape ran out. The enormity of it frightened him. In the back of his mind he could hear his father the admiral droning on, “Your first duty is to humankind as a whole. That takes precedence over the individual.” And he could hear his mother the admiral, also, saying, “It is better to make a mistake than not to act at all.”

The chrono blinked steadily in the corner of the screen. He had five hours, six on the outside, before he had to return to the club and meet Jurgen. Now there was no choice. It wasn’t simply a matter of losing the medal, no matter how much that meant to him. But he was afraid of losing his soul. That was the one thing Sein had never mentioned.

He was trained to kill ships, had done so many times in simulations and didn’t doubt his ability in real time. Ships were inanimate objects, enemies that were provided as targets. Faced with the shape and speed of the metal hulk it was easy to forget there were sentient beings inside, and everything encouraged them to forget. Besides, whoever was there, wasn’t human. Khalia didn’t look like people, Diego reminded himself. They looked and acted like malevolently animated pack animals.

This was different. Jurgen had once had a name, a full name that classmates at the Academy would remember as belonging to the Commander of the twenty-third. He’d had a family and a career, a history and a home planet. He was made of the same flesh and feelings. Diego knew that only too well. The seduction of the rateri dream lay only half-dormant at the edge of consciousness and only an act of supreme will kept him from leaning back and reliving it in all its vivid splendor.

One step at a time. Even in simple terms what he wanted to do wasn’t easy. In fact, Bach wasn’t sure if he could do it at all. First, he had to assume that Jurgen was leaving on that Khalian vanguard ship. Zoe had implied as much, and Jurgen had cryptically told him about the same thing. Beyond that, he had to assume it was as a member of the pirate band and not a slave. If they took Jurgen as a slave, the whole plan was ruined. Not that Diego knew all that much about Khalian ship design, but he did know that the cargo hold was not next to the main engines and that there were no delicate ships’ controls down in that area. That much was just sense.

No, it was more risk than he had been instructed to take. Bring back the report and let the Fast Attack Wing move In the way they were supposed to, that was the way Sein would want him to handle it. Diego turned the thought around and it left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. He knew he was tasting his own fear for the very first time and it amazed him.

One step at a time. Being prepared didn’t mean taking the risk, not until he was ready to throw his chips on the table. He had never gambled before. It had been strictly forbidden, and Diego Bach wasn’t about to risk his career for the chance to play cards for credits. He hadn’t known just how terror and excitement would mix to produce this supernormal awareness.

There was no choice but to make the assumption that Jurgen would be at least partly accepted as an ally by the Khalia. That would mean that he would be permitted to watch the FTL acceleration from the bridge, at least if the data on Khalian courtesy were accurate. That meant there was exactly one moment and one chance.

Diego surveyed his wardrobe and pulled on a mud brown worksuit that covered every trace of the snake and hung on his body like an old sack. No way he wanted to be affiliated with rateri or Tobishi Lines or anything else. He wanted to be a perfect blank in the mind of anyone he might encounter. To be perfectly average is to be invisible, so his mother had once said. He hoped she was right. His shoulder-length blond hair would be memorable on Efrichen, where it was associated with the rateri clubs, but he couldn’t cut it until after the rendezvous with Jurgen that night. Not good enough. He stared at his reflection for a good five minutes until a solution came.

The microscale washroom did actually have a dispenser for first aid gel, and Diego combed it through his hair with his fingers. The result was so inspiring that: he wadded together several cotton balls and inserted them, between his gums and lower lip. To complete the effect he took more of the gel and smeared it on the cuffs of his pants. When he was finished and finally satisfied with the results, Diego could pass for a mental deficient. There were plenty of them in every city and they were routinely used for simple errands and routine cleaning work. Maybe it would have been more economical to use mechanicals, but this gave people work and dignity as well as a place in society. It was the sort of thing governments usually wanted to change, but the tradition was ubiquitous and no one wanted to bother finding something better to replace it.

Diego studied himself with pride. He’d never worked on disguise before. In front of the mirror he practiced walking with the slightly hunched, heavy gait he remembered from one of the assistant gardeners at home. It took more than a few tries before he was satisfied enough to leave the confines of his cubby.

The computer-generated note in his pocket had been creased and refolded several times, cash chits attached. He entered the first decent jewelry store he encountered and handed over the note with the money. A human clerk gave him a pityingly disgusted look and then set out to fill the list. While Sein had made sure he was adequately covered with the kind of negotiables Jurgen wanted, no one had foreseen the changes in plan Diego had made. No one had equipped him with the latest gadgets Intelligence had for just this occurrence, and so it was up to him to provide for himself.

Which was exactly what the Khalia wouldn’t expect, Diego told himself. Or Jurgen, either, for that matter. When they expect the best, give ‘em low tech. Diego didn’t quite remember who had said that, but it stuck in his mind. This was going to be as low as it came.

The jeweler returned mumbling something that Diego didn’t quite catch and handed over an antique-style watch. Playing the part of mental deficient, Bach took the valuable item and stuffed it into his pocket along with the note and the rest of the money, slurred a goodbye and left.

A second trip to a hobby shop was similar. Here the, robovendor didn’t even bother with a telltale scan as it delivered up the goods. Satisfied, he headed back to the union quarters where he underwent another change back into the Tobishi Lines engineer. It was sixteen hundred hours. Exactly right. Diego went to the union dining hall as soon as his hair had dried.

Ari, first navigator on the
Lodestone,
was already seated in front of a large plate of muffins and cake. Diego felt a wave of relief. He had remembered that Ari came from a planet that adhered to a different eating schedule than the one he had been raised with and always insisted on a late afternoon meal. Which was probably why he was overweight. After helping himself to a cup of coffee he slipped into the seat across from Ari, who was busily wolfing down a large piece of chocolate cake.

“You gotta try this cake,” Ari said immediately. “Black Forest cake, they call it. Traditional here. Made with cherries soaked in brandy and chocolate.”

Diego smiled politely and shook his head. The sweetness of the cake would only make the fear on his tongue taste worse. “I actually came to ask you a couple of questions,” he started. “Like, when the FTL Drive commits, it signals before the safeties are acknowledged, right?”

Ari regarded him carefully and nodded. “And it’s a nice bright green light, too. Funny about that. The Khalia use blue, I heard. I wonder if that’s physical or cultural. You know anything about, it?” A slow smile spread over his broad face as Diego shook his head. “Mr. Bach, if that is your name, good luck. I think.”

Frantically Diego considered everything he had done in the past weeks. He hadn’t thought he’d broken cover, had never let himself get into a compromising situation even on
Lodestone
and hadn’t talked to anyone. Even Ari. Especially Ari. Stunned, he said neither thank you nor goodbye before leaving his full coffee cup on the table and bolting.

Back in the comforting solitude of his cubby, Diego began systematically pulling apart the back of the watch. The task was far more difficult than he had originally imagined since his hands were trembling ever so slightly. Suppose he gave himself away tonight? Not that it would matter, he thought. He still wasn’t convinced that he was really going to tryout this idiot gambler’s scheme.

Besides, it was one thing to think about killing Jurgen, once a fellow officer who deserved at least the consideration of a clean choice. When he was only twelve his father had told him of an ancient custom of Earth, where a dishonored officer was locked in a room with a pistol and a bottle. He at least had the chance to restore his integrity in the eyes of his peers. Jurgen wasn’t going to get even that much chance.

Beyond it, the whole plan was filthy, ugly. To blow anyone apart—Jurgen or a slave or even a Khalian functionary—was not in the confines of proper combat.

And then Diego knew that that had all been dreams and stories and school, where everything was neat and clean and all decisions came out in little boxes labeled “right” and “wrong.” If Jurgen hadn’t put him in this position, if Jurgen had been a proper Intelligence agent instead of a traitor, he wouldn’t have to make such a decision, take such a risk. Anger at Jurgen boiled over and Diego hissed his sudden fury like a snake ready to strike.

The back of the watch carne off, revealing a single-chip attached to a micro battery and mostly empty space, which was exactly what Diego had hoped. The hobby store package contained several old-fashioned collector’s item dueling pistols, complete with shot and powder. Funny that they would sell things like that on the open market, forgetting just how dangerous such toys could be. Just because there were more accurate and effective weapons in existence didn’t mean that a dueling pistol or its powder was no longer deadly. Only that people didn’t think of it that way any more.

The hobby shop had also supplied an “eye” that responded to different wavelengths of light. The directions were somewhat garbled and it took Diego a bit of time to figure out how to set the thing on wide-band blue. He hoped Ari had given him the right information, and the thought of Ari brought the fear taste back to overlay the anger.

Taking a deep breath to steady his hands, Diego pried the chip of blue stone from the face of the watch and set the eye behind the hole it left. He connected the low-grade telltale to the battery and filled the rest of the space with black powder.