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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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Joyce raised his eyebrows. He had to give Maria credit for thinking big,
but his initial reaction was to scoff at the idea. However . . . it was disturbingly plausible.
Because he worked for the Directorate of Intelligence and had high clearances, he knew about
the overrides negotiated between the ship line and CAW. However, the possibility of rescue came
down to one issue: Did the
Pilgrimage
crew download the command to
allow overrides?
“We can take over their message center,” he suggested.
At the same time, Maria said, “We can hitch an elevator ride to Beta
Priamos, going EVA.”
Neither spoke immediately, appraising the other’s plan behind lowered
eyes. His was suicidal, given their lack of weapons, but hers had problems also.
“You’re not EVA-qualified anymore.” He was obliquely referring to her
Tantor’s Sun disease. She had equipment to provide her positive air pressure and oxygen when
sleeping, which traveled with her in a large case—when she didn’t need that case for kidnapping
victims off habitats, he reminded himself. She’d used her equipment case to smuggle an
unconscious Major Kedros off Karthage Point. Later, he found the equipment broken down into
small pieces and stuffed in ventilator shafts and trash compactors.
Maria shrugged and pointed to the implant in her forearm. “I get
continual medication that prevents the respiratory problems—it’s controlled similarly to
asthma. If I set the EVA suit to slightly higher oxygen than normal, there’s little chance of
an attack.”
“But there’s still a chance. How long before you run out of
meds?”
“A couple days. I was supposed to receive my quarterly shipment on the
resupply ship tomorrow. Gives me incentive to kick these guys out of here, doesn’t it?”
“Is there an in-system source?”
She shook her head. “Even the
Pilgrimage
’s
labs can’t manufacture it. If our ‘captors’ have truly shut us off from the outside worlds,
then we’re all dependent upon the
Pilgrimage
for everything, from
food to light manufacturing.”
Joyce pictured a future filled with crèche-get food: processed algal
bars, hydroponically grown pastel vegetables, and bland noodle dishes. The glimpse nearly made
him gag.
“That’s enough incentive for me,” he said. “Where are the EVA suits
stored?”
CHAPTER 15
When an unbeliever faces an arc of retribution, tailored to their sins
and completing their just punishment, they will hesitate. It becomes the responsibility of
the believer to agent that arc of retribution, and the believer will be rewarded, their
kismet enhanced . . .
 

Forecast by the Fifteenth Prophet, Who Served
Without a Name
, est. 2058.xxx UT, reindexed by
Heraclitus 7
under Flux Imperative
 
 
A
riane wrenched her gaze away from the picture
of the Terran TD warhead package. Tahir watched her with fascination, perhaps a hint of
terror.
“What are you doing with this?” She spoke slowly, her mind whirling as
she tried to recall all the classified briefings she’d had on Terran TD weapons. In particular,
she tried to remember the safety and control mechanisms that prevented unauthorized arming and
detonation.
“He intends to detonate it.”
“You mean Abram? Is he your father?” She stared back into Tahir’s eyes
and knew the answer. “He’s insane.”
“Yes.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone with a shrug, as if he accepted
and acknowledged this long ago.
“If he can detonate this—”
“He can.”
That’s Great Bull-shit, but Tahir obviously
believes this and I need to keep him talking
. “Then he’ll kill all of us. A
temporal-distortion wave will cause a sun to nova.”
“Ura-Guinn’s sun survived. Abram has studied this and calculated the
safest yield and detonation point. He only wants to destroy the buoy.”
“No one knows why Ura-Guinn’s sun survived. Even so, lots of people died
from that detonation.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “The flares and mass emissions fried
most of the inner-system bodies and habitats. Anyone transitioning from or to N-space at the
moment of detonation,
anywhere in the Minoan buoy network
, was
lost.”
“Except you. You’re living proof that someone can drop out of the system
during a TD detonation.” His eyes brightened even more and he looked feverish. “Can you do that
again?”
A chill ran up her back and she tried to ignore the creepy feeling he
gave her. “That was luck, nothing more. We dropped before the detonation, but thousands of
others were lost in transition.”
“I read classified reports that said the buoy was going down when you
started your drop.”
She paused and quickly reassessed his Terran clothes and his accent, so
different from Emery’s. Tahir was educated and, if she could believe him, he’d procured the
weapon for Abram. If he read classified governmental reports on the damage at Ura-Guinn, did he
also have access to classified weapon designs? His conviction that Abram could detonate a
stolen weapon might have merit. She changed her approach; trying to convince Tahir of the
ramifications of a TD wave was counterproductive.
“You need to stop him,” she said urgently. “Don’t give him codes or
anything else that controls the weapon.”
Tahir’s face went through rapid transformations: helplessness, anguish,
and terror. She watched him struggle for control, finally shuttering his face in darkness. With
a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized he could never stand up to his father, no matter
how she tried to manipulate him.
“It’s too late for that.” His voice was soft and cold. “You’ll realize
that when you meet him. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
She did as he told her, and he tied her wrists with a quick-tie usually
used in law enforcement. For a moment, she wondered why he’d waited until now to tie her hands.
Did he now expect a suicidal escape attempt? She had no death wish, even if she did have her
dark moments. A memory of Cipher took over her thoughts: Cipher holding a stunner and expecting
old Ari, or new Ariane, to roll over and participate in a group suicide pact.
Even Cipher knew me better than that, considering she backed up her proposition with
explosives
.
Tahir pushed on her back, breaking the memory’s grip. “Start
walking.”
She followed his directions and by her estimate, they wound around the
great hall to the comm center. Abram also used it for his operations center, but everyone was
obviously used to ComNet coverage, by the number of messengers scurrying about. The confusion
indicated Abram’s people weren’t trained for comm-out conditions.
Tahir pulled her to one side of the corridor to let someone by: Emery,
the executioner, and his cohort jogged by and turned into the comm center ahead of her. She
noticed Emery had blood on his right hand. As he turned, he wiped his hand on his thigh. She
hesitated and Tahir pushed again, nagging her into motion.
The comm center was chaotic. Glancing about, she noted she was the lone
woman in the room. To her right, Emery, his cohort, and two other men were piling slates on a
counter in groups. Beyond the men was a portable display unit with lists and diagrams on its
glowing surface. From the conversation, Ariane guessed that they were trying to account for
personnel. Had they found everyone assigned to Priamos? They didn’t want any loose cannons
rolling about and upsetting their plans.
Good job, Matt, although you couldn’t have known
this would happen.
Ariane looked away and pressed her lips together, hiding her smile.
Matt’s snarled leases had ultimately proven useful. These criminals had a nightmare on their
hands, figuring out how many people were working on this moon. The contractors weren’t being
cooperative, by the looks of Emery’s hand.
“Hey, do we have her inventoried?” One of the men with a pile of slates
pointed at Ariane. She frowned at his choice of words, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Emery turned slowly and scrutinized her, the lids on his eyes so low
that they were slits. She tensed. Dokos’s tag, fixed in an inside pocket, dug into her side as
she tightened her arms. The quick-tie began to hurt her wrists.
“Her name is Ariane Kedros,” Emery said. Then he looked at Tahir and
their gazes locked.
“Kedros . . . Kedros . . .” The original questioner turned to the
display and cycled through lists. “Who’s her employer?”
“Aether Exploration,” Emery said in a casual tone. “You’ve got her
recorded as female number three in room twenty-two. While you’re at it, mark her as
military.”
“What?” All four men looked at her.
Her face stayed impassive and her mind veered away from Colonel Dokos.
She made a note regarding Emery’s excellent recollection, which spurred her to observe the room
and commit the faces she didn’t know to memory.
“She’s mine,” Tahir said.
“Yes.
Cousin
Tahir has decided she’ll be
useful.” Emery drawled the words. “We’ll see what Abram thinks.”
Ariane felt the tension. She heard the sarcastic tone in Emery’s voice
and the irony applied to the word “cousin.” There were complexities here she didn’t understand.
Tahir pushed her away from the group and across the large room to another knot of men.
Frank was there, standing awkwardly with his weapons hanging on his
belt. His face looked like he was frightened, or intimidated, as he talked to a man whose back
faced Ariane.
“Abram, I brought her,” Tahir said.
The man speaking with Frank turned around.
“This is the
Destroyer of Worlds
the State
Prince told us about.” Tahir prodded Ariane in the back with the bulbous flechette
pistol.
Abram inspected her, his gaze traveling over her once, stopping on her
face. Ariane tried not to recoil. Abram’s face was pitted and lifeless. His dark eyes burned
with anger, but had a dead, reptilian quality—she’d never seen such frightening eyes. Trying to
meet his gaze was physically exhausting. Nothing in his eyes indicated he was looking at
another person; he might have been looking at a slate, rather than Ariane.
“No, you’ve got the wrong person. I know Ari. She’s a pilot,” Frank
protested.
With relief, Ariane looked away from Abram, to Frank’s face.
“Right, Ari? You weren’t in the war . . .” Frank’s voice died away as
she raised her eyebrows. His forehead wrinkled and his expression became pained. “You didn’t
have anything to do with Ura-Guinn. I’d be disappointed—”

You’re
disappointed? That’s a laugh, Fr—”
The side of her head exploded and she was suddenly on the floor. She tasted blood and her
vision grayed and narrowed to a point as she fought to stay conscious. Abram didn’t pull his
punches for women.
She heard an exclamation from Frank.
“I can’t allow livestock to be insolent. It’s an issue of training,”
Abram said dispassionately. His voice sounded far away, far above, as he added, “Take blood and
tissue samples from her. The Terran said she has rejuv enhancements, so if she can pass
anything of worth on to male progeny, we’ll keep her.”
She ground her teeth, trying not to shriek from the pain in her skull.
Someone pushed her jacket sleeve up for samples; then strong hands grabbed her upper arms and
hauled her to her feet, and higher. As she dangled, the hands dug into her arms and the
quick-tie cut into her wrists. She couldn’t open her eyes or raise her head.
“Put her in with the Terran,” Abram said.
“He’ll kill her,” Tahir protested.
“I merely assist in both their arcs of retribution,” was the cold, flat
retort from Abram, but she didn’t understand the words.
They dragged her out of the room.
 
“We need her, Father!” Tahir tried to keep desperation from cracking his
voice.
Abram whirled on him, eyes blazing wildly. “You are never to call me
that again.”
Tahir lowered his eyes respectfully, but he didn’t back away. This would
make Abram curious, if nothing else.
“What interest do you have in her?” Abram’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s useful. She’s pilot trained.”
“I have plenty of pilots. As a female, her only useful function is
producing eggs.”
“Abram, this is a moment when fate balances on your decision. She has
destroyed a world; consider what her final punishment would be.”
Tahir had never publicly stood his ground with Abram, not in this way.
He added, “You yourself spoke of the arc of retribution, written by the Fifteenth Prophet. If
you hesitate to be the agent of her completion, then let me.”
Glints in Abram’s eyes indicated that Tahir was on perilous ground. “Be
careful—that prophet speaks of great deeds and significance, not the small, mean life of
womanhood.”
BOOK: Vigilante
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