Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (20 page)

Erik smiled. “Oh yeah. And she has this odd way of trying to encourage it by second-guessing me at every turn.”

“Well you know the Major. Everything’s a test. What
do
you think we ought to do? I mean, Colonel Khola’s offering a full pardon, and justice for the Captain. That’s what you wanted, right? To clear his name? They’ve admitted they were wrong, the guilty have been punished, and we can all go home if we want to, yes?”

“It didn’t achieve anything, Lis. A turnover in the top leadership… so what? The top leadership changes every few years anyway, Chankow had only been in the job eighteen months, Anjo two years. They’re all disposable. Fleet lives are supposed to mean something, we have all these memorials to the glorious dead and we go on about the terrible loss, but in truth Fleet’s command culture has made us all disposable. Even their own top commanders.

“I know the Captain hated it. He was all for personal sacrifice, but choosing to sacrifice yourself is a very different thing from having some bunch of faceless bigwigs deciding to sacrifice you without asking you first. I think that’s what attracted him to the Worlder cause in the first place. It’s not that he had any great sympathy for Worlder politics, it was just the lack of personal choice that bugged him. The lack of democracy. I heard him say something like it a few times — what’s the point of saving humanity from alien slavery if we have to sell ourselves into human slavery to do it?”

“Do you think the new Fleet Command would leave
Phoenix
alone once we return?” Lisbeth asked quietly. “Do you think they’d keep their word?”

“Oh probably,” Erik said dismissively. “For as long as it suited them, anyway. That’s not the point. We haven’t
won
anything, Lis. Fleet didn’t concede to us. They’re just playing their politics, their numbers games, same as they always do. And they’re asking us to shut up and forget everything that’s happened to do it.

“And the more I think about what we’ll lose if we do play along and shut up, the more I found myself thinking that the real tragedy won’t be Worlder politics and trying to find some new deal between Spacers and Worlders to avoid a civil war. I mean we’re dealing here with a Fleet that will assassinate its own leadership in order to achieve its objectives. It’s a faceless mob, I’m not even sure who we’d talk to if we could, who could make things stick with Fleet.

“No, the real tragedy would be this.” He nodded at the queen’s head in the nano-tank. “Human politics will always be there, and will always be hard. But this. This is the first time any powerful human force has tried to get to grips with the big history behind all these human wars. And if Romki’s right about the alo… how would we find out? The alo won’t tell us. Fleet won’t tell us. If we go to alo space ourselves, the alo will kill us —
Phoenix
is alo-tech, they’re not scared of us, they’ve got a hundred ships this good. More probably.”

“Erik?” Lisbeth asked carefully. “Do you think that maybe Stan was right?”Erik considered the queen. He wasn’t quite prepared to go
that
far. “I’d like to ask her some questions,” he said of the queen. “I did tell Trace not to shoot her. I wonder if it’s not too late.”

“Wake her up?” Lisbeth’s eyes were wide. “I’m not sure even Stan thinks that’s a good idea. And these tavalai Dobruta want her destroyed.”

“You know, I never did entirely understand that,” Erik confessed. “If we want to know how to fight them, or even to understand the size of the threat, surely we should study them? Not just destroy everything on sight?”

“You heard the tale of McCauley’s Rock?”

“Everyone has. But I did some checking on the name, and there was never a research base on McCauley. I think it might be just a story, made up to scare people.”

“No.” Lisbeth shook her head. “Stan says it’s real, they just changed the name for secrecy. Some researchers really were activating hacksaw brains to learn more about them, and some of those hacksaws really did take over the base by remote and kill everyone there. They can take over foreign systems by remote if they learn them well enough, Stan says. Hack into a marine armour suit and open fire on the other marines, that kind of thing. It’s seriously scary stuff, and I doubt we could guard against it because even with all our most advanced tech, hacksaw tech still basically shouldn’t exist. None of
Phoenix
’s techs really understand how the queen works. It may as well be magic, for all we can explain it.”

“All the more reason to study them.”

“Erik, the tavalai were nearly exterminated by hacksaws. All organic sentient life was. The slavery, the genocides… I mean we humans had it rough, but we’re not the only ones who said ‘never again’. Tavalai think the technology’s seductive, and that they have to resist temptation. The Fathers didn’t resist the temptation, and it destroyed them completely. Tavalai just refuse to make the same mistake. And so they created the Dobruta.”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“No, but I’m sure Stan has. And they make perfect sense when you think about it. I mean,
Phoenix
’s database has never heard of
Makimakala
, when Fleet track every tavalai warship of that class. So
Makimakala
wasn’t in the Triumvirate War, despite how desperately the tavalai needed every ship. It was off doing other stuff. Which tells you how seriously the tavalai take that mission.”

“Yeah,” Erik murmured, staring at the queen. “I bet they’d know a thing or two about her.”

“You think they’ll attack us to get her?”

“It’s not impossible. Probably not if we’re ready for it, tavalai aren’t usually that brutal, and Captain Pram seems like a civilised guy.”

“A civilised guy given the task of preventing hacksaw armageddon,” Lisbeth reminded him. “Don’t underestimate how determined he might be.”

“No, I won’t. But with the sard after us too, there might be some benefits in having an ibranakala-class right alongside us at dock.”

“But tavalai and sard are allies,” said Lisbeth.

Erik shook his head. “Not
this
tavalai. Tavalai factions do their own thing, they’re not a very cohesive people. Dobruta strike me as obsessive in their task, they’ll take that very seriously. They won’t care who gets in their way — human, sard or barabo.”

T
he dock jeep
thudded over deckplates, weaving between pedestrians and other vehicles. Trace sat on the rear amidst several from Command Squad, a
Phoenix
spacer behind the wheel where marines would not fit. Joma Station locals gave them alarmed looks as they passed, three jeeps loaded with human firepower. It was hard not to imagine that most stations would get sick of
Phoenix
quite quickly, attracting trouble and stomping all over their territory with armoured boots. Already the locals’ expressions upon seeing them had shifted from curiosity to wary disapproval.

They zoomed past
Makimakala
at Berth 28, with a casual wave to the tavalai karasai on guard across the dock, weapons pointed unthreateningly at the ceiling. Similar waves came back, tavalai wondering what the crazy humans were up to now. It had been ten hours since
Phoenix
and
Makimakala
commands had discussed matters on station dock. Now she’d been pulled from her bunk in the middle of
Phoenix
’s night-shift — now synchronised to station night-shift — on yet another urgent call.

A berth past
Makimakala
, they stopped, the jeep rocking as marines leapt off. Staff Sergeant Kono took the lead with Privates Arime and Rolonde, the other half of Command Squad behind her, sick of being left behind when she went out on station. Not that they didn’t understand her need to share herself around — more that to be in Command Squad meant that the company commander’s safety was your responsibility above all else. Compared to that priority, everyone else could go jump.

An elevator took them to the upper rim, then into an open garden square, synthetic sunlight from the high ceiling, thick green trees and simulated flowing streams. Such ‘natural’ designs on stations made nice open space for hotel frontings, and Kono lead them into one such, hotel staff talking with Joma Station police, looking agitated. Another elevator, and a corridor with several marines guarding it, standing by an open door.

Trace ducked to make sure her Koshaim didn’t catch on the doorframe, and found herself looking at a crime-scene. Directly inside the door was a body, shot twice in the chest at close range. Human. Not one of hers, or anyone she recognised from
Phoenix.
The corpse wore a once-nice suit, and a pistol remained locked in his cold hand.

“Major,” said Jokono in the room beyond. Trace was not surprised to see Hiro with him.
Phoenix
’s own terrible twosome, some called them. Running off on their own at each station stop, not sleeping in
Phoenix
block accommodation, but renting their own rooms, making their own friends, talking to all kinds of people. Last she’d heard, Jokono had been having dinner with Joma Station security chiefs and getting a guided tour of the place. Doubtless the barabo were all intrigued to meet a human counterpart with such high connections as Family Debogande, and Lieutenant Shahaim was keeping Jokono well financed, so everyone could be suitably wined and dined.

“Hello boys,” said Trace, stepping carefully past the body, as Command Squad added their security presence to the hallway outside. Into the main bedroom she saw another body on the floor by a bed. There was a bloodstain on the bedcovers, and a big pool of red on the floor. So he’d been shot from about where she was now standing, had bounced off the bed and fallen to the floor. The shots were again precise, and tightly clustered, suggesting professional work. “Your room Hiro?”

“One of two,” said Hiro. “My actual room is across the hall. This is the one registered in my cover name.”

“Ah,” said Trace, dialling down the armour tension now that she was standing near unarmored people. “A trap.”

Hiro nodded. He looked calm as ever, but the calmness was slightly forced, his breathing elevated, his eyes more active than usual. He’d done the shooting, Trace reckoned. No real surprise. “I was looking for other humans on station. There’s about four hundred, most of them on business, looking for opportunities once Fleet starts moving this way. A few government, obviously. These were Fleet Intel, operations branch.”

“You found that out when they tried to kill you?”

“No, I knew already. I ran into these guys a lot in my previous job. I had dinner with another of them last night — we were both pretending to be businessmen, we talked bullshit for most of the evening, we both knew exactly who the other really was. If you’ve been in the game long enough, you can just tell.

“And then these two came into my registered room, not knowing I was actually sleeping just down the hall.”

“Sloppy,” Trace suggested.

“They thought I’d drunk the drink my dinner guest drugged. I faked it. I should have been out cold in bed, it was slow-acting.”

Trace nodded thoughtfully, looking at the second bed — pillows had been piled beneath the covers to look like a person sleeping. It had evidently held their attention for long enough. The pillow-man had two holes in him, and the dead man by the bed had a silencer on his pistol. Hiro must have come in the door behind them so fast they’d not realised their mistake until too late.

“Their IDs are very good,” said Jokono, holding the men’s wallets. “The kind of top work you’d expect from Fleet Intel. The thing is, I managed to trace them to the ship they came in on.”

“You did?” Trace was astonished. On an alien station, with no access to central databases, that seemed impossible. “How?”

“Never you mind,” said Jokono with a faint smile. “The thing is, they arrived just yesterday off a ship from Lucient.”

“Same place
Europa
came from,” Hiro added.

“It’s the closest human system,” said Jokono, “so it makes sense. There were thirty-six humans on that ship. A very, very disproportionate number of them being very fit, youngish, male, etc, etc.”

Trace blinked. “You think they’re Fleet Intel Operations too? All of them?”

“Not
all
. Statistically, maybe half? Most of the businessmen I meet aren’t quite that fit and well dressed, like they’ve all had their civvies chosen for them by central casting.” With a skeptical eye at Hiro’s nice suit. Hiro rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s not too surprising,” said Trace. “The LC said himself he’d bet Colonel Khola wasn’t here alone. Obviously Fleet were going to be keeping an eye on his mission. Maybe positioning themselves to intervene violently.” She’d have to boost security again, she thought. Increase the minimum numbers in which marines could patrol, and make extra certain no spacer crew went unaccompanied.

“Here’s the thing,” said Hiro. “
Phoenix
has been advertising she was coming here for a while. Far too loudly, and for far too long.”

He’d made that complaint before, Trace knew. But the priorities of spies, and the priorities of
Phoenix
’s commander, were at present two very different things. “Go on,” she said.

“So if you’re going to move a covert force to Joma Station to support Colonel Khola’s mission, you do it
before
he arrives. Prepare the ground. Khola’s been here for sixteen days, but these guys just arrived.”

“Hmm.” Nothing pleased Trace quite so much as the company of people who knew more about certain specialities than she did. In jobs like this, you never stopped learning, and never stopped encouraging those with specific skills to feel free to do their thing. “So they’re
not
after us?”

“I don’t think so,” said Hiro, with a faintly excited intensity. “I think someone else. Someone important. These guys have been
everywhere.
Risky enough to possibly blow their cover, a whole bunch of humans all arriving at once, asking questions.”

“Questions about what?”

“About a man travelling incognito,” said Jokono, also with intensity. “Got here a few days ago, apparently, paying passenger on the freighter
Dawn
. We talked to a few of the people these guys had been talking to, asked what questions they were asking. A man alone, fleeing from something, possibly with a couple of well-trained bodyguards, and a lot of cash. They were asking moneylenders, there’s a blackmarket in conversion of human currency on Joma Station, though it’s not officially allowed. Apparently there was one very big conversion, in the right time-range.”

Trace’s eyes widened as she realised. “Shit. Supreme Commander Chankow.”

Hiro and Jokono nodded in unison. “If you’re fleeing from Heuron,” said Hiro, “this is the only way to get to Outer Neutral Space. And Outer Neutral Space is about the only place Chankow could come where he might be able to go native and be left alone.”

“Vieno was certainly a very nice, unpopulated planet to disappear for a long time,” Jokono added. “But he arrives in Kazak System, sees
Phoenix
has just arrived, and
Europa
too, and gets scared he’ll be spotted. He knows we’ll be watching the outgoing passenger traffic for humans, and Khola’s people certainly will. So either he’s still here, hiding on Joma Station somewhere…”

“Or he’s caught a ride out to one of the moons,” Trace finished. “Insystem ships don’t have to register passenger manifests with station, and even if they did, on a barabo station you’d just buy some gifts and everyone would look the other way.” Wow. “Good work guys. I’m actually impressed.”

“You know,” said Hiro, “I think you’re actually impressed with me more often than you’d like to admit.”

“Now why wouldn’t I like to admit that?” Trace replied. “Keep looking, we need to know what ship he took if he took one, and where it went.”

Hiro gave a little bow. “Yes Major. We’re on it.”

“Station police giving you any trouble?”

Jokono smiled grimly. “Humans shooting humans? They don’t want a bar of it. Just make it go away, they say.” Which in this case, Trace thought, was probably wise of them.

“
L
ieutenant Abacha
,” Trace said on coms as she descended the elevator from upper rim down to dock level. “Please contact Colonel Khola on
Europa
and tell him I want to talk. Main berth, call it ten minutes.”

“Aye Major, Europa main berth, ten minutes.”

Staff Sergeant Kono looked at her as they descended, wanting an explanation, but not getting one. He’d know soon enough. “Hiro’s asked a few questions about you,” Kono volunteered. “If you’ve been in any relationships, if you’re straight, that kind of thing.”

“Fascinating,” said Trace.

“I could tell him to shut it down if you wanted?”

Trace repressed a smile. “No crime to be curious, Staff Sergeant.”

“I think he’s a little beyond curious, Major.”

“Fancy that,” said Trace. She knew that Kono, Arime and Rolonde were exchanging quiet glances, daring each other to ask more — she just deigned not to notice. Rolonde in particular, the girl was far too interested in other marines’ private lives. As if marines even had such a thing, among other marines.

“You interested, Major?” asked Arime. Of all of them, he was the only one who could make it playful enough to be harmless. They knew she didn’t mind playful, in the right circumstances.

“He’s pretty cute,” Rolonde added.

“He sure shoots a nice, tight cluster,” Trace admitted.

“So you
are
interested?”

“I dunno. I was thinking one of those big, friendly kuhsi boys on the dock the other day. The ears really do it for me.”

The elevator slowed toward a stop at dock level. “I think she’s interested,” said Arime. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You know,” said Trace, “you’re fucking geniuses. All of you.” And followed Kono out the elevator door. Behind her as she passed, she heard a metallic whack as Kono gave Arime a cuff on the shoulder.

Back on the jeep, she directed Spacer Troski back to
Europa
, the second jeep holding the other half of Command Squad close behind. When she got there, Colonel Khola was waiting at the bottom of the dual ramps, amidst comings and goings from
Europa
crew and station customs inspectors and other barabo officials who had not-so-mysteriously left
Phoenix
alone.

Trace jumped off as the jeep came to a halt, and her squad formed a perimeter around her. Khola stood up, apparently unarmed in his spacer jumpsuit, a cap on his otherwise bald head. Trace stopped before him. “Your people try to kill my people again, I’ll blow you away, unarmed or not. Are we understood?”

Another man might have played games, denying there were Fleet men on station at all, pretending not to know what she was talking about. “They’re not my people,” Khola said flatly. “I’m a marine. They’re not. Command structures don’t stretch that far.”

“I don’t care,” said Trace. “You’re the ranking officer, you’re all in the same boat as far as I’m concerned. Tell them if it happens again, I’ll take Fleet’s offer of pardon as a ruse. I’m having this attack documented in full, video of the crime scene, names, bodies, everything. We’ll send that information back to all the Fleet captains who want us pardoned, and you’ll have to explain to them why instead of pardoning us, you tried to kill us instead. And then you’ll be back where you started.”

Khola’s lips twisted a little in distaste. “I’ll tell them. I’m not in command, but I’ll tell them anyway.”

“I know you’re not in command. They’re here to find and kill Supreme Commander Chankow, like you already killed Fleet Admiral Anjo. Looks like he got wind of what was coming and ran before you got him. I’m guessing the spooks tried to kill my guy because
he
figured who they were after, and they didn’t want
Phoenix
to know.” A look of wary respect from Khola. “Or we might go looking for Chankow first. A real pickle that would be, huh? If we could show the entire human population what actually happened to the big three commanders? Not that they haven’t already guessed, of course.”

“This is not the behaviour of someone who wants to accept Fleet’s pardon,” Khola said grimly.