Event Horizon (Hellgate) (60 page)

Yet the ship was operating as smoothly as ever the
Wastrel
did. The hull thrummed with power on another level – the vibration was not stronger, but
different
, Marin thought. The air felt different too, almost as if he could feel positive ions effervescing in the back of his brain, as if a thunderstorm were approaching on high winds. Humans and Resalq would soon grow accustomed to it. Operations was comfortably familiar, companionably dim, filled with the rush of data, the scents of coffee, cinnamon,
taccali
, and quiet voices. Further down the body of the habitation module the Resalq were setting up labs, Jazinsky and Teniko were arguing, Judith Fargo and Bravo Company were bickering amiably over accommodations, who got which bunk, and how their gym should be arranged. Travers watched them for some moments, amused, indulgent, before he followed Marin to the crew lounge where Leon and Roy were configuring a pair of autochefs, one for the human palate, one for the Resalq.

Of Jon Kim there was no sign, but at one end of the long mess table Shapiro was methodically paging through what seemed to be an immense document. The adrenaline rush of launch had spent itself and he looked tired. Marin glanced over his shoulder and saw a transcript of numerous verbal sources which had been collated to bring out the gist of the intelligence from Velcastra – the last such briefing he would receive before Lai’a returned to Hellgate.

“Get me a coffee, would you, Curtis?” Shapiro gestured with the handy. “The Velcastra transmission makes interesting reading … if you enjoy the sensation of spiders scurrying up and down your spine.”

“Anything classified at a level we can hear?” Travers pulled out a chair.

“None of the covert nonsense matters anymore,” Shapiro said unconcernedly. “It’s fair to say we’re not even in the same universe any longer, and it’ll all be history by the time we return. This? Well, the Jagreth Secret Service did manage to capture several agents, and after the battle it seems two of those agents decided where their loyalties or priorities lay. Saving lives is the only mission that counts for a damn now. They put up their hands, defected, offered to share what information they possessed.”

“And we trust them?” Marin asked doubtfully as he set a mug down at Shapiro’s left hand.

“After the battery of tests those people endured, I would say so. President Prendergast’s specialists were … thorough.”

“They were tortured.” Travers’s face clenched.

“Not really – though unpleasant situations certainly took place in simulation. You recall the Frank Berglun interrogation?”

“And Jo Queneau.” Travers lifted one brow at Shapiro.

“Yes. Prendergast’s defectors suffered several of those
sims
, none of them easy; one was especially brutal. Prendergast’s people had to be sure, and no physical injury was done … and remember, secret service agents are trained to shrug off what would challenge an ordinary person. They can disregard abuse, especially simulated abuse, which would destroy you or me. It goes with the job, and they only do the work because they’re good at it.”

“Fair enough.” Travers looked up at Marin, who had taken green tea and come to rest with a view of the Resalq painting of the solar sailor. Even now Marin knew a great deal more about security work than Travers did, and he nodded a mute affirmation of Shapiro’s case. The Confederate agents who had defected would have expected no less, and they endured what they must to validate the defection. When it was done they would be treated well, and eventually they would be free. Liberty was worth the price.

“This information is six or eight weeks old,” Shapiro was saying, “so it’s of limited value but, as I said, it’s interesting. The
Avenger
was originally assigned to Borushek. Given ‘success’ on Velcastra – measured as forty million dead and the biosphere so badly damaged it would take moderate terraforming to repair it – and ‘success’ on Jagreth, measured in similar terms – the
Avenger
was assigned to quash the insurrection on Borushek. The mission profile was to arrest anyone suspected of Daku affiliations and place an occupation force in charge of both the Fleet installations and the civilian spaceport, both groundside and at Sark High Dock, in orbit.”

“Meaning, tens of thousands of casualties and prisoners, followed by a great many trials and firing squads.” Marin said bitterly.

“But the planet was to be recovered with its biosphere intact.” Shapiro sighed. “Borushek is useful. Fleet Sector Command. So, no bombardment, no irradiation, no atmospheric or biological weapons.” He set down the handy and took the mug between both palms. “With Borushek back under control, the
Avenger
’s next assignment was me.”

“It was
get
Harrison Shapiro,” Travers said in sour tones.

“It’s the way the game is played.” Marin pulled out the chair beside him, turned it, straddled it. “Back in the time of the World Wars, the first half of the twentieth century, they used to call it the Great Game, or the Game of Empire.”

“As if conquest and military domination was the greatest ideal to which civilized people could aspire,” Shapiro said in a voice as sour as Travers’s. “Six centuries later, little has changed in the homeworlds. The playing field is infinitely more vast but the motivation is the same – and it dates back to the dawn of human history, millennia before Imperial Rome.” Deliberately, he turned off the handy. “Well, my part in their ridiculous game is over. I was never a politician – if Chandra Liang can make sense of this, he’ll write himself into history as the peacemaker, but I’ll give you fair warning: the way history is recorded in the homeworlds, and the way we write it in the Deep Sky, will be two different stories.”

“Out here,” Marin made a gesture with his cup which embraced the frontier, “we fought for our freedom, protected millions of lives, saved the biospheres of at least two worlds, won ourselves the chance to hunt Zunshu … long-term survival for all.”

“Back there,” Shapiro went on, “they’ll say the military mutinied, the civilian community rose up, we were responsible for the deaths of twenty thousand Fleet servicemen and tens of millions of tonnes of shipping – we’re murderers and thieves. Brigands, no better than the rogue Freespacers with whom we’d allied ourselves. We ought to be brought to justice for crimes against humanity. And incidentally, by the time those agents defected on Jagreth, the arrest warrants had already been issued for myself, Chandra Liang, Alec Tarrant, Mark, Richard, Alexis and others.” His brows rose. “If we’re apprehended, it’ll be the old fashioned kangaroo court and a swift, efficient firing squad.”

“Meaning, you’ll live the rest of your life surrounded by a platoon of bodyguards.” Travers looked away. “Damn.”

Shapiro made a soft sound that might have been acid humor. “You hadn’t thought of this? Oh, I had, Neil. I have three choices. One, live in the bosom of a security detail, as you suggested, and hope a sniper doesn’t take me from a thousand meters’ range in a year, or five years. Two, manufacture a fresh identity, try to lose myself deep in the crowd of a world like Velcastra, where the population is big enough to allow anonymity, and hope I remain hidden. Three …” He nodded into the infinity of distance. “Leave. Richard’s name is also on the Confederate blacklist. He’s been identified as one of the major conspirators and enablers of the Colonial War.”

Marin’s lips compressed. “It had to happen. Fortunately, the
Wastrel
is the safest territory in the Deep Sky. Confederate agents have no chance, none at all, of reaching him.”

“But you can’t live the rest of your life on one ship,” Travers protested. “It’s as good as a prison sentence.”

“And lately he’s been talking about leaving,” Shapiro added. “Heading out – see what’s on the other side of Freespace. See if we can find another jewel like Velcastra.”

Now, Marin had to smile. “Found a whole new colony?”

“It’s been done,” Travers mused. “Ulrand was a breakaway from Pakrenne. Celeste has potential. Not that anyone these days would waste time and effort terraforming a rock with such a crap biosphere, but a couple of hundred years ago they were glad to colonize planets like Aurora. You know it?”

“Way back in the Near Heavens, not far from Darwin’s and Rethan,” Marin remembered. “It’s a ball of ice – strategically positioned. Humans could live there, if they didn’t mind some fierce cold … cool star, close orbit, was it? And the system was in the right
place
.”

“Which was critical in the days of sleeper ships,” Shapiro mused. “It’s difficult for us to imagine, today, a time when it was easier, cheaper, faster, to reengineer humans for difficult worlds like
Mazjene
than to find more terrestrial worlds.”

“Thank gods it all changed with Weimann technology.” Travers lifted his cup in a mock toast. “Here’s to Foster Weimann and the lads at Arago.”

“Indeed.” Shapiro joined him in the toast. “And now … I think Richard may have the right idea. I can live for a while in the close embrace of a security squad, but a lifetime of it –?” He shook his head.

For a moment Marin hesitated and then asked, “You’ve, uh, seen the whole arrest list, have you?”

He was asking, were the names of Marin, CJ and Travers, NA, on that list. Shapiro knew exactly what he meant. “You haven’t come to the attention of the Confederacy – yet. The Commonwealth is sweeping for agents at this time. With luck they’ll sweep the Deep Sky clean, but it’s not impossible for Earth, or even individuals, to deploy agents in ten years, or thirty years, to dig out the roots of the insurrection – us – for the purpose of belated revenge. It would be termed ‘justice’ but in the end semantics is only a game.”

“Damn.” Travers gave Marin a look that mocked them both. “Well, shit. There goes that horse property in Three Rivers.”

“We might put the same property in a similar region on a world that’s so far out, the Confederacy doesn’t even know it exists, and even if they did, they’d couldn’t reach it. They’re centuries away from developing anything remotely like hyper-Weimann tech, and we sure as hell aren’t about to share.” Marin gave Travers his hand, and Neil took it. “We return to the Deep Sky, safe on the
Wastrel
. Security detail around us … bodyguards assigned by Dendra Shemiji. Mark will be surrounded by his own people at home on Saraine – Jai Serrano would take the assignment in a year or two. Us? We have the place you’ve always wanted somewhere far beyond the reach of Confederate agents, and when we visit the Deep Sky, they’re welcome to take a crack at us. They’ll find it’s a big mistake.” He looked along at Shapiro. “Yes?”

“Very wise,” Shapiro said gravely. “There, you see? Long-term plans for the future are the best therapy to offset the dread that shrouds any high-risk mission. Lai’a?”

“General Shapiro?” The AI was everywhere, seeing and hearing everything, seldom intruding until it was called.

“How long till we reach the Ebrezjim Lagoon?”

“We will be in the driftway adjacent to the horizon in 28 minutes,” Lai’a told him. “Captain Vaurien has suggested a hiatus there for diagnostics, engine realignment and data gathering prior to transit of the temporal field enclosing the lagoon. I concur.”

The AI was still speaking when Travers got to his feet. “Armor.”

“You want to go aboard the
Ebrezjim
?” Marin was surprised.

“I do.” Travers rubbed his palms together. “I’m curious –”

“Restless,” Marin hazarded. “Sizzling with adrenaline, desperate to blow it off some way … an excursion to the
Ebrezjim
, an hour pumping iron, or a couple of hours in the sack, with a locked door and the comms turned off?” He cocked his head at Neil, pretending to weigh the three and enjoying the luxury of an opportunity to tease; Travers’s eyes darkened by shades as he watched. Curtis dropped his voice. “I’d take the locked door, the dead comms and
you
, inspired with a grand passion.” He cast an amused glance around the crew lounge. “But I’m thinking, I’ll settle for the excursion.”

A tray of combugs lay in the middle of the table. Travers took a deep breath, cleared his throat and slid one into his ear. “Bravo, we’re about a half hour from the lagoon. You want to break the armor out of storage, check it over?”

An identical bug slid into Marin’s ear and he heard Tim Inosanto: “Hey, we get to take a hike? So soon?”

And Fargo: “Don’t be so goddamn’ puppy-dog eager. Hey, Roo – get your ass back in gear. You want a day trip or not?”