A Choice of Treasons (16 page)

Moments later he was in direct contact with Dumark Central. His access was limited, but they thought the call had originated on
Invaradin
. He requested access to Maja and Toll’s banking and credit records, giving an access code that identified his request as a security matter. That, the apparent origin of the call, and Maja and Toll’s status as nobodies, made it simple.

They were broke, he found, badly in debt and getting in deeper by the month.

He called up his own balance from
Invaradin’s
paymaster files. By Maja and Toll’s standards he was rich. There wasn’t much to spend your pay on when most of your life consisted of one deep space patrol after another: a couple of tenday leaves a year, a big binge now and then on a two day liberty, a luxury item or two aboard ship. And as the years had passed his money had just stacked up.

He withdrew half his account, paid off Maja and Toll’s debts and had enough left to leave them a sizable sum in their own account.

“Why’d you do that?”

York jumped, turned about to find Maja looking over his shoulder. She was wearing an old dressing gown. “What for?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I don’t need the money. You and Toll do.”

She thought about that for a moment, then she nodded and held out her hand. “Here,” she said angrily, handing York a crumpled piece of yellowish paper.

He took it, opened it carefully. It was an old piece of paper, ready to disintegrate at the slightest misuse, and upon it, written in a tight and repressed hand, was a single name:
Collier Maczek
. “What’s this?” he asked.

“You wanted his name,” she said. “I wrote it down thirty years ago ‘cause I thought I might need to remember it someday.”

York’s heart pounded as he looked at the piece of paper again. The name was there,
Collier Maczek
, written in a scrawl he guessed hadn’t changed in all that time.

“Thank you,” he said.

She shrugged. “I don’t need the name. You do.”

“Transition flare!” Ducan Soe shouted. “Dead ahead.”

Jewel Thaaline’s heart skipped a beat. “Have we been spotted?”

Soe shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re still a good half light-year out. Maybe they picked up our transition wake. But we’re running dead slow and awfully clean. They’d have to be good.”

Jewel nodded. “Don’t assume they aren’t.” She caught one of the scan-techs glancing at her fearfully. That wasn’t what they’d wanted to hear.

“Damn,” Soe swore. “Another flare, right on top of the first. They’re coming at us in force.”

“Can you see their wakes?” Jewel asked. “Are they fanning out, or coming at us straight?”

“I don’t know,” Soe grumbled. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

“Then how the hell do you know they’re coming at us?”

“I don’t. I assumed—”

“Don’t assume,” Jewel barked. “I want hard data, not guesswork.” She looked at Tac’tac’ah. “Mr. Tac’tac’ah, see if you can pinpoint those flares.”

Tac’tac’ah wouldn’t see much while they themselves were in transition, and not at this distance, just gross phenomena like transition flares and solar masses, and when they got in a little closer, planetary masses.

“There’s another one,” Soe said. His voice had calmed somewhat. “Right on top of the last.”

That’s better
, Jewel thought. Soe was too experienced to be shouting excitedly.

Jewel glanced at Chief Innay. The old petty officer worked his console patiently, double-checking the data from his techs. He looked up and their eyes met, one corner of his mouth turning up just the slightest bit, the closest Innay had ever come to a smile.

“Well Tac’tac’ah?” Jewel asked.

Tac’tac’ah’s voice was also calmer. “Looks like it was about three hundred million kilometers out from Dumark’s primary. Do you think they’re coming after us, ma’am?”

Jewel shrugged. “Three hundred megakliks? That could be Dumark herself. We’re on line to Cathan; might be a convoy escort. We’re too small to warrant three ships.”

Soe gave her a sly look. The imperials had been jumpy lately, to the point where they just might send out three ships to intercept a lowly hunter-killer.

“Another flare,” Soe barked. “That’s four. Probably a convoy.”

Jewel waited silently.

“There’s another one. That’s five.”

Jewel started to breath easier.

“Bam, bang, bam!” Soe yelled. “There went three of ‘em, almost on top of one another. That’s eight. She’s a convoy, all right, and a big one.”

“I’ve got a wake now, ma’am,” Tac’tac’ah said. “Dead ahead at point-oh-nine-three lights and closing.”

Jewel nodded. “Mr. Soe, sound general quarters.”

Soe slapped a switch on his console and the alert klaxon began pounding at their ears.

“Mr. Tac’tac’ah, back off to minimum transition drive, and rig for silent running. This close to all that flaring it’s unlikely they’ll spot our transition wake. I want that convoy escort to pass right over the top of us. But be careful. If you accidentally drop us into sublight we could flare enough for them to see us.

“Mr. Soe, how big is that escort now?”

“I’ve spotted fourteen flares so far. The last six were in rapid succession, and now nothing. I think that’s it for the escort. We should see the main body flaring out any minute now.”

“Fourteen, eh?” Jewel asked. “That’s a big escort.”

“That’s a damn big convoy,” Soe said. “And we’re going to be right in the middle of it with their escort behind us.” Soe cut the alert klaxon, then switched his voice pickup to another channel. “Standby forward launchers.”

Innay ignored the order, waited for Jewel to confirm it.

“Belay that,” Jewel snapped. “We pass it up this time.”

“Pass it up?” Soe demanded. “This is the chance of a lifetime. We’re going to be right in the middle of a big imperial convoy, with her escort out looking elsewhere. We could take out a couple hundred million tonnes of shipping before they knew what hit them, then transit out of here free as you please.”

Jewel looked at him carefully before speaking. “This is a piece of incredible luck, all right. But it’s luck we’re going to use to help us carry out our mission, which is to slip quietly into Dumark
nearspace
. When that escort is past us I want full drive. I want to flare in right on top of that convoy as they flare out. They’re going to mask our transition flare with theirs, and we’re going to get closer to Dumark than could have been possible otherwise. And we’ll
not
engage the enemy unless it’s necessary to defend ourselves.
That
is an order.”

Archcanon Bortha led the procession out of the great cathedral on Luna. The ceremony celebrating the twentieth anniversary of the crowning of the present emperor had been tedious at best. Bortha watched the Edvard and Rochefort walk away, huddled in some whispered conversation. “Lynna,” he said, still looking at the back of the king.

His most trusted lieutenant stepped into his field of view. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

“Have you learned anything yet?”

“Very little, Your Holiness. As you requested I’ve made some discrete inquiries, but there’s almost nothing of substance available. Apparently Aeya was present when a rather nasty riot erupted on a planet called Trinivan, and one of our warships had to evacuate the embassy there to get her out of it. Trinivan is far out on the fringes of the empire, an independent government, with no significant resources nor any strategic value to either us or the Syndonese.”

Bortha turned toward the rectory, began walking briskly without the apparent age he carefully displayed in the presence of laymen. Lynna followed close on his heels. “Why was Aeya there?” Bortha asked.

“We’re supposed to believe it was a lark,” Lynna said.

“But you don’t believe that, eh?”

“Lady d’Hart was on Trinivan with her. And they’re being evacuated to Dumark where Cassandra is waiting with the queen mother and Martin Andow.”

Bortha nodded. “There is a pattern here, isn’t there. Do we have anyone there?”

Lynna smiled, a rare occurrence. “Rhijn is Aeya’s personal confessor.”

“Rhijn?” Bortha asked. “Do I know him?”

“You’ve met him, Your Holiness, though that was some time ago and there would be no particular reason to remember him. But he is a man of undying faith and unquestioned fervor.”

“You trust him, then?”

“Of course not, Your Holiness. But we can depend on him, especially if we offer him a Canonship if he does well.”

“Very good, Lynna.” Bortha nodded. He looked at the Canon, who always seemed to have trouble keeping pace with him. “Please continue to investigate. Edvard and his women are up to something, and the church must know what it is.”

CHAPTER 8: CONDEMNED

York clutched Maja’s piece of paper in his hand all the way back to
Invaradin
, though he didn’t really need it because the name Collier Maczek was etched deeply into his memory. And once back in his cabin he sat down immediately to dig into
Invaradin’s
data banks.

He had to believe Maczek was a man of some means, and there had to be some record of his existence. If Maczek was, or had been, a citizen of Dumark, there’d be local records on him, or if a citizen of another world, there’d be customs records of his entries and exits. York patched into Dumark’s central computer, used his military status and security codes to gain as much access as possible, then ran a search on Collier Maczek, but the results came up negative.

“Damn you!” he growled. He tried again, looking for variations on the spelling, and after a long wait the computer responded with a list of 3238 names. “God damn it!” he shouted, slamming his fist painfully against the clear switch. The screen blanked.

His message light caught his eye, had been blinking for some time now, but he’d been too preoccupied to notice. He touched the acknowledge switch. The captain’s yeoman appeared. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Ballin. Captain Telyekev sends his compliments, and he’d like you to report to his office.”

“I’ll be right there,” York said.

He blanked his console, took a quick look in a mirror and adjusted the snaps on his tunic, then stepped out into the corridor. With the repairs to
Invaradin
under way, crew traffic was heavy in the corridors.

The captain’s yeoman was in a positively jovial mood, and as he ushered York into Telyekev’s office he said, “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

Telyekev sat behind his desk. York started to follow the usual formula, “Lieutenant Ballin reporting as—”

“At ease, York,” Telyekev said, throwing a sloppy salute. “Sit down.” He smiled and indicated a comfortable seat to one side. The sloppy salute was in character, the smile was not.

“How are your parents, York?”

That too was not in character. “They’re okay, sir.”

Telyekev nodded. Small talk with junior officers was not his forte. “I have some good news. You’ve been recommended for an Imperial Cross.”

“For what, sir?”

“For the incident on Trinivan.”

York shook his head. “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but that wasn’t worth an Imperial Cross. Trinivan wasn’t much more than a police action.”

Telyekev nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but visibility—being in the right place at the right time—can make all the difference. Her Majesty requested I make the recommendation, and under the circumstances, approval is almost a sure thing.”

“Her Majesty?” York asked.

“The Empress Cassandra was waiting here on Dumark for Aeya, and in her mind you’re the man most responsible for saving her daughter’s life. And I don’t doubt getting chewed up by a
feddie
rotary helped in the sympathy department.”

Telyekev stood crossed the room. York jumped to his feet, but Telyekev waved him back down. “Hell, York. Sit down and relax for a change.”

York sat down. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Telyekev shook his head sadly as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle. “That wasn’t an order.” He splashed an amber liquid into two glasses, capped the bottle, crossed the room and handed a glass to York.

Telyekev sipped at his drink. “Her Majesty has arranged a reception at the embassy tonight, and she’d like to present you with your decoration there. You’re not exactly the guest of honor, but you’re damn close to it. All you have to do is wear your best manners and be polite.”

Telyekev was holding something back. York put the drink to his lips and swallowed the entire thing in one gulp. It burned like hell, and he almost coughed it back up. His eyes watered as he looked at Telyekev. “What’s going on here, sir?”