Vigilante (7 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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She ran out of breath and stopped her minidiatribe. Tapping a command,
she showed the view of the
Pilgrimage III
looming imminent and by
now, filling the entire screen.
“And don’t make trouble for Matt,” she added. “He’s had enough problems
lately.”
“I won’t make any trouble.” Joyce’s voice was grave, but the corners of
his eyes wrinkled with humor. “As long as I don’t have to eat generational ship food.”
Ariane laughed. “If I have to eat dinner aboard the
Pilgrimage
, then so do you. Worse, you have to pay for your food.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Of course, you get credit if you donate genetic material,” she
said.
He snorted. “I’ll never sink to jacking off for money. You haven’t sold
them anything, have you? What about Mr. Journey?”
“We haven’t had time.” At his expression, she said, “Seriously, Joyce,
there’s nothing obscene about it, once you can get over the privacy issues. They’ve got to
contend with real-space, which prevents women from carrying babies to term. Besides, they never
know when they’ll be stranded light-years from civilization, and they can’t even trust that the
civilization they left still exists. They need a viable gene pool for healthy children and,
possibly, for rebuilding our species.”
“I don’t care; they’re not getting any of my little guys. Only my wife
gets those.”
She rolled her eyes, remembering the time she’d met Joyce’s wife. That
woman was a saint. “Why do men think they’re superheroes simply because they can produce
sperm?”
“Just get us docked, will you?”
Matt’s mood didn’t improve when he looked over his messages in his
quarters. He’d seen the package from Athens Point Law Enforcement Forces, and if Ari hadn’t
acknowledged and allowed it to download—no, that wasn’t fair. She was operating the ship and it
was her responsibility to accept any messages directed to
Aether’s
Touch
.
He stared at the LEF seal revolving over the text. Since they knew the
message had reached the ship, he had to open it. He sighed, looking at the text that said,
“Positive identification of receiver required for service.”
He’d already had unpleasant dealings with Athens Point LEF and, while
this should be a request for relevant information, he had his doubts. He knew the LEF had
finished gathering evidence for prosecuting Nestor’s murderer, a customs official named Hektor
Valdes.Unfortunately, Val des wasn’t rolling over on his employer, accomplices, or contacts.
This remote subpoena probably meant they hadn’t shut down the graft that flowed through Athens
Point Customs. They were flailing around, expanding their voracious appetite for information,
whether relevant or not. Worse, they might be feeling vindictive.
There was no sense in delaying any longer; he provided his voice and
thumbprint for identification. He clenched his jaw as he read what the subpoena required.
Great. Not only did they require an affidavit answering certain questions; they wanted a
time-stamped copy of everything Nestor had sent him in the past year, and that meant exposing
Muse 3. He had twenty-four hours to hand everything over to one of their authorized
representatives.
He needed a lawyer, fast.
“I don’t know why
I
have to be part of this
parade,” Joyce muttered into Ariane’s ear while Matt moved through the airlock ahead of
them.
“You heard him.” Ariane nodded toward Matt’s back. “We’ll observe all
generational ship customs, to include tours and dinners.”
“But you’ve already gone through this once. Isn’t that enough for
everyone on our ship?”
“Nice try, Joyce. We always do the meet and greet; the Pilgrimage ship
line is sovereign here, so consider it a complex border-crossing ritual.”
“I’m going to gag if I have to eat any crèche-get food,” whispered Joyce
in a warning tone, but Ariane pretended not to hear him.
Ahead, Matt was shaking the hand of the senior staff representative, a
woman with an unlined face and faded, short brown hair.
“Commander Charlene Pilgrimage. I’m off shift and I can give you the
tour.” The woman extended her hand. “Missed you the first time you came through.”
This willowy woman commanded the huge generational ship
Pilgrimage III
, or as currently configured, habitat. Ariane should have learned
by now that she couldn’t make assumptions about the age or experience of generational ship crew
members. Charlene Pilgrimage might have been born before her parents, or even
grandparents.
“Ariane Kedros, pilot of the
Aether’s
Touch
.” She shook Charlene’s hand, appreciating the purpose she felt in the commander’s
hand and arm.
Ariane looked around while Matt introduced
Mr.
Joyce. They were standing in the welcome area, a room fed by several
hallways from the passenger airlocks. Two lines of four pews faced a shrine to St. Darius set
into a niche in the wall. Of course, everything was bolted down to the walls or deck.
In generational ship fashion, the room was monochromatic, if one
discounted the dark gray pattern on the deck. The walls were deep, golden yellow, while the
doors and the shrine were outlined with light yellow. She walked toward the shrine, whose niche
was backed with a mosaic of glittering gold tiles. At the top of the niche were two lines: ST.
DARIUS INTERCEDES AND PROTECTS ALL EXPLORERS WHOM GAIA INVITES INTO ITS UNIVERSE.
As in the fundamental Gaia-ist tradition, no artistic rendering
appeared, nor was any gender attributed to the Highest Creator. The golden statue of St.
Darius, on the other hand, was lifelike and detailed. He stood in a helmetless environmental
suit and held out his hands in benediction.
“If you’re interested, Ms. Kedros, there are services here every day at
nineteen hundred.” Charlene’s voice came from behind her.
Turning, Ariane saw that the group had moved past the pews toward the
airlock. She followed them to the ladder that led upward through the vertical airlock between
modules. What looked like spires from afar were towers of stacked modules that could separate,
provided the disconnection charges blew properly. The deck of each module was “down” toward the
engines or, when in habitat mode, toward the gravity generator.
She looked up the ladder and saw all three ports yawning open. Anyone
could climb up onto the control deck, but generational ships were more concerned with the
dangers of long-term real-space travel, rather than security. There were many examples of the
hazards generational ships faced: the mysterious loss of the
Voyage
II
, or the disastrous mission of F-58, when less than fifty percent of the
Expedition I
made it to the buoy setup point. As she climbed through the thick
middle where the airlock separated, Ariane noted that the inspection date was two days ago and
the autohoist, used to move heavy items through the airlock when the ship was operating with
gravity, was securely tied to one side. What the
Pilgrimage
’s crew
lacked in security, they made up for in safety.
She stepped onto the control deck after the others. The primary control
deck was circular and lined with every conceivable type of console layout. There were
mechanical switches as backups to automated systems, even though this ship couldn’t transition
into N-space.
“Hey, Ariane. Glad to see you back.” Justin, the communications officer,
waved at her.
“You’re working third shift now?” She drifted over to Justin’s console
while the commander made a determined effort to give Joyce, the newcomer, an introduction
briefing. She looked up at Justin’s bandwidth readings, noting the amount given over to the
Pilgrimage
was largest. After that, the research and development
bandwidth ranked second.
“Can you show me the contractor bandwidth distribution?” she asked,
smiling back at Justin.
He obligingly expanded the display so she could see which contractors
were using the bandwidth, and where they were located.
Meanwhile, the parade had worked its way around to the traffic console.
She heard Joyce ask sharply, “Who’s on that ship?”
Her gaze followed Joyce’s pointed finger and her smile faded as her face
went numb. On the list of recent arrivals to G-145 and ahead of
Aether’s
Touch
by several hours, was the
Candor Chasma
—a name forever
embedded in her mind. Printed beside its Terran name were the words, “Planet Registration:
Mars, Purpose: Dignitary Transport.” Her stomach twisted.
Parmet’s
ship
. Its next destination was the Priamos moon of Laomedon.
“That’s Terran Overlord Three’s Assistant for the Exterior. They left
for Priamos an hour before you arrived,” Charlene said.
“State Prince Parmet?” Matt glanced at Ariane, his expression a mix of
shock and resignation.
“Did you know about this?” Ariane asked Joyce, her voice low with anger.
So help me, if Owen knew and didn’t warn me. . . .
Joyce, however, looked concerned also. He shook his head to answer
Ariane’s question and turned to Matt. “Now it’s even more important that I get to Priamos as
soon as possible. Remember my appointment?”
Joyce and Matt locked glances. Meanwhile, the generational ship crew
looked on with lively interest.
“Do you know the Terran State Prince, or is this a matter of conflicting
politics?” asked Commander Charlene.
Ariane shook her head and avoided meeting Charlene’s eyes. Crèche-get
could be annoying when they were catching up on events. They took their neutrality seriously,
more than anyone else did, meaning they thought they should be privy to everyone’s secrets.
Granted, this crew had plenty to learn. In the decades between the
Pilgrimage
’s launch and their arrival in G-145, the use of a
temporal-distortion weapon had ended the war between the Consortium of Autonomist Worlds and
the Terran Expansion League. The
Pilgrimage
crew had also missed
the beginning of Pax Minoica, brokered by the Minoans.
“Parmet was probably sent to represent the Terran companies that signed
our leases and monitor the contractors doing research on Priamos—that’s why we’re so
interested.” Matt diverted Charlene’s interest.
So many secrets. So hard to remember who knows what
about whom
. Matt knew Parmet had tortured her and that she’d signed the leases under
duress, but did he know why? Did he know exactly what she, Brandon, and Cipher had done during
the war? This was why she needed the blessed numbness of alcohol and smooth to quiet the
buzzing of all the secrets in her head.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Commander. I need to speak privately with my
pilot and
him
.” Matt jerked his thumb to indicate Joyce. “Got a
place we could use?”
“Certainly, Mr. Journey. I can let you use a small enclosure off the
chapel on the floor below. It’s secure.” Charlene pointed back down the vertical
airlock.
“Secure, my ass!” Once inside, Joyce growled and paced around the small
room. “There’s nothing secure on this damn ship and I wish I had the equipment to prove
it.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Matt stared at Joyce. “Even if we had a
secure facility, you wouldn’t tell us why you’re going to Beta Priamos.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No,” Ariane and Matt responded in unison.
“See?” Joyce smiled grimly. Matt glared in response.
Ariane put her arm on Matt’s to get his attention. “What’s going
on?”
“We’ve got a problem. I have to delay the contractor meeting. I’ve got
to give a deposition within the next twenty-two hours, and I’ll need representation.” Matt
glanced uncomfortably toward Joyce. “They’ve subpoenaed Nestor’s packages, the ones he sent me
before he died. I need to fight this, so I don’t see us leaving the
Pilgrimage
for another day, at the least.”
He was protecting himself and Ariane—because they were harboring an
illegal AI. But he was also protecting Muse 3 itself, all he had left of his friend. Over
Matt’s shoulder, Ariane saw Joyce’s eyebrows go up.
“What about my schedule?” Joyce asked. Ariane and Matt ignored
him.
“So?” She shrugged. “Let me go out to Priamos and take care of the
contractor meeting.”
There was silence as Matt and Joyce stared at her in shock.
“What? Why the surprise?” she asked.
“No offense, Ari, but you haven’t shown much interest in the business
side of this exploration company. Now you want to present a reporting matrix to a bunch
of—er—hostile contractors?” Matt asked.
“Sure. You already familiarized me with all the reporting ins and
outs.”
“Maj—Ms. Kedros, you avoid business and anything that smells like
paperwork.” Joyce looked at her skeptically.
“Yes, and it’s time I changed that. Matt’s been asking me to shoulder
more of the administrative load.” Turning to Matt, she asked, “Isn’t that right?

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