Marauder (8 page)

Megan leaned back, her fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on her couch’s arm. Tarrant’s enthusiasm was infectious. ‘It still doesn’t give us back control over our
fleets,’ she pointed out.

Tarrant leaned towards her. ‘If this works out as well as we think it will, we’ll be returning home with enough advanced scientific data to revolutionize our society completely.
We’ll be able to license that data to the Accord in return for full control of our fleet again. They’ll bend over backwards to give us what we want.’

‘At the very least,’ added Bash, ‘it has to be worth a shot. Otherwise, you and I are going to be stuck running automated mining traffic, or having to retrain for the Accord.
And even if they do decide to let us pilot nova-class ships, it’s not going to be like it was before.’ He shook his head, slow and sombre. ‘Jumpy bureaucrats breathing down our
necks all day, wanting everything we do filed in advance, and in triplicate – that’s not what I became a pilot for.’

She turned to Tarrant. ‘Look, all of this sounds great, but there’s already a delegation from the Accord on its way here to oversee the handover.’

‘All the more reason not to waste any time,’ said Tarrant, his hands clenching into fists. ‘Let me be very clear about what we are proposing. We want to take the
Beauregard
–
immediately
– on a deep-space expedition to seek out the Wanderer, and then see if we can replicate what the Meridians managed on behalf of their own
civilization.’

‘So, since we’re doing some straight-talking,’ said Megan, ‘I want to be absolutely sure of what you’re saying. You want to
hijack
the
Beauregard
,
with my help, and you really have Otto Schelling’s backing for this?’

‘I can put you in touch with him right this second, if you’re still unconvinced.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, feeling a curious sensation of both terror and exhilaration at the scale of their plan. ‘I believe you. But how do we know the Wanderer is even still
out there, or where exactly it is? It must have travelled a hell of a long way since it ran into the Meridians, even moving at less than light speed.’

Tarrant made a practised gesture, and a map of the local stellar arm materialized overhead. ‘We narrowed down the Wanderer’s likely location to a number of possible target systems,
extrapolating from its last recorded positions,’ he explained, as he indicated a star cluster that was clearly a very, very long way away. ‘Fortunately, the Atn and the Shoal recorded
the coordinates of their own encounters with it, and that information let us extrapolate its probable direction and speed of movement.’

‘After this amount of time?’ She found herself unable to hide her scepticism. ‘So it could be anywhere.’

Tarrant grinned. ‘Ordinarily it’d be an impossibly long shot, yes. But the Meridians left some probes behind to track the Wanderer, and they’re still functioning.’

‘So you’re not just
hoping
it’s still out there.’

‘Oh no,’ said Tarrant. ‘We
know
it’s out there. We even sent out a pair of our own probes equipped with nova drives to perform a fly-by. Take a look.’

The image of the spiral arm expanded, fading at the edges as the view rushed in towards a tight knot of several thousand stars that were identified by supplementary information as the
Calafat-Holt Cluster.

The view zoomed in again, slowing as it approached a nebula that made Megan think of what sunset in hell might look like. Supplementary data told her she was looking at a Wolf-Rayet star, a
bloated ball of gas dozens of times larger than a standard Earth-type, and approaching the end of its life. It had been given the designation C-H45k.

C-H45k was losing mass at an enormous rate, throwing off great sheets of burning plasma that obscured the star itself from sight. Any kind of approach to such a system was going to entail some
fairly unique challenges.

‘It doesn’t seem to want to make it easy for anyone to drop by and visit, does it?’ she muttered.

Sifra chuckled. ‘Just the same thing we were thinking.’

‘This isn’t a mere hop or a skip you’re talking about,’ said Megan. ‘You’re talking about a trip of more than
fifteen thousand
light years. I can
think of maybe only a handful of expeditions that have travelled that far. In fact, you’re talking at least half a year just to get there.’

‘Then we need to set out straight away, Miss Jacinth,’ said Tarrant. ‘And the
Beauregard
is already stocked with every resource it needs for a long-range
mission.’

Megan nodded. At least that explained the final, mysterious cargo shipment. ‘All right, then. Let me see it.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘The Wanderer,’ she said. ‘You said there was a fly-by. I want to see what it looks like.’

Tarrant glanced at Sifra, who shrugged. ‘All right,’ said Tarrant.

More images appeared. At first, all Megan could see was a black outline against a field of stars. But then she pulled the projected data into her personal datascape, the lounge around her
briefly fading from her sight.

She could make out a massive central body, dark grey and black, with what appeared to be numerous arms extending outwards from its central mass. It made her think of nothing less than the
knotted roots of a tree that had just been ripped from the soil and exposed to the daylight. She might have assumed the branch-like structures were drive-spines, if she hadn’t just been
informed that the Wanderer travelled at sub-light speeds.

The images sent a trickle of ice running down her spine. There was something about those branching structures that made it look as if the Wanderer were reaching out for her, like some ragged and
hungry beast amidst a forest of stars.

She exited her datascape, and was aware of Tarrant looking at her expectantly. ‘Well?’ he asked.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’m impressed. But what makes you so sure I won’t turn your offer down?’

‘Psychological profiling says you won’t,’ said Tarrant. ‘And, besides, Mr Bashir assured us that you wouldn’t.’

‘Having two machine-head pilots is standard operating procedure for any long-range expedition,’ said Sifra, ‘and this one is no different. And, as we’ve already pointed
out, the rewards are
extremely
generous.’

‘No,’ said Tarrant, studying her, ‘she’s not really interested in the money. It’s just like Mr Bashir said: life for a machine-head in the Accord means being
tightly controlled and entirely dependent on the mercies of a distant bureaucracy. But the Alliance was never about that.’ He leaned towards her, his gaze intent. ‘This is your chance
to get back the life you wanted – before it’s lost forever.’

Something made it hard for her to pull her eyes away from his. It was uncomfortably as if he could see right inside her, to all the insecurities she worked so hard to keep hidden.

‘But . . . just the four of us?’ she asked, looking around at the other two.

‘It’s not as if we don’t know that just one machine-head could keep a ship like this running indefinitely,’ said Tarrant, sitting back again. ‘I’d obviously
prefer to take along a full team of specialists, but there isn’t the time for that, and there’s too much risk that it would lead to us being discovered before we set out. Not only that,
but it’s absolutely imperative that none of this is in any way attributable to the Schellings – or any of the First Families, for that matter. We need to make this look as if we just
cut and run.’

Cut and run. Just take the
Beauregard
and pilot her fifteen thousand light years, in search of some ancient ship travelling on an unknown quest
.

The whole idea was impossibly romantic, and – she was forced to admit – more than a little appealing.

But it was impossible, of course. Surely he knew that?

‘You do know that all the Alliance’s ships are equipped with failsafes, don’t you?’ she said. ‘They’re there to prevent machine-heads like me from doing
precisely
what you’re suggesting. As soon as someone down in Ladested realizes I’m taking the
Beauregard
out of orbit without authorization, they’ll shut me down
remotely.’

‘And Otto Schelling, as the primary financier behind the
Beauregard
and its sister ships,’ said Tarrant, ‘has the ultimate responsibility for that override. We
won’t be stopped.’

‘I need more than just your word on that,’ she said.

Tarrant nodded. ‘I’d check the current authorization flags, if I were you.’

Megan dived back into her datascape just long enough to ascertain that numerous fail-safes had indeed been disabled. She blinked, feeling numb. It meant she could literally take the
Beauregard
anywhere she wanted.

‘Why ask me to do this
now
?’ she exclaimed. ‘Why not yesterday, or a week ago?’

‘We didn’t have everything we needed, a week ago,’ said Tarrant. ‘And that didn’t leave us much time.’

There’s no turning back
, she told herself, feeling a sense of standing on the edge of a precipice.

‘Whatever data you have about the Wanderer,’ she said, ‘I’ll need to see all of it.’

Tarrant nodded, as if he’d been expecting her to say just that. ‘We’ll upload everything we’ve got to the
Beauregard
’s data banks, the moment you give your
answer.’

She glanced at Bash, noting his hopeful expression.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘let’s do it.’

2763 (the present)

The morning after Megan found herself locked into a basement room on Avilon alongside Bash, Sifra appeared in their cell in the company of the Freeholder, who had Megan’s
satchel slung over his shoulder.

She had been asleep, curled up on the cold hard concrete next to Bash’s cot, when they entered. Sifra held an antique Consortium-era assault pistol in one hand, and she saw he still
affected a straggly blond goatee, although there were now a few silver streaks. His hair still stuck up in places, giving him the appearance of someone perpetually in the process of just waking
up.

He gazed down at her, then nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good work, Luiz,’ he said to the Freeholder, then grabbed Megan by the arm, hauling her to her feet.

He pressed the barrel of the pistol against her neck and guided her towards the corner of the room farthest away from Bash.

‘Hello, Megan,’ said Sifra. ‘Long time no see. Were you surprised to discover I was still alive?’

She found it hard to swallow with the gun pushed against her throat. ‘How did you do it, Anil? I left you and Gregor for dead. Didn’t the Wanderer try and finish you off?’

‘It lost interest in us,’ said Sifra, ‘because we no longer had what it wanted. We were stuck out there on the wreck of the
Beauregard
for very nearly two years, and
all thanks to you. Two whole years before General Schelling was able to send out a rescue drone. Plenty of time for me to think about what I’d do if I ever met you again.’

‘
General
Schelling?’ She laughed because, the last she’d heard, the former president of the Three Star Alliance had been reduced to the status of a wanted fugitive.
‘That’s rich. And how is the evil old fucker these days?’

Sifra responded by driving his free hand into her belly. She felt her legs give way beneath her, and she slumped back onto the floor.

Sifra stood over her, breathing hard.
Shut your smart mouth, Megan
, she told herself.

‘Luiz,’ said Sifra over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see what’s in that bag of hers.’

Luiz emptied the contents on to the floor, then bent down to pick up Kazim’s security override device, handing it to Sifra.

Sifra held the device up before her face. ‘I know you got this from a friend of yours,’ he said. ‘Arturo Kazim, shipping agent and part-time
sans de sezi
dealer.’

Megan looked away. ‘It doesn’t matter where I got it from,’ she replied in a voice now a monotone. ‘It doesn’t work.’

Sifra nodded, and let the device fall back on to the floor with a clatter. ‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘it works just fine.’

Megan looked up at him, confused. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Arturo was working for me,’ he said, clearly relishing her look of shock. ‘He got well paid for it, too.’

Megan stared at him, refusing to accept this betrayal. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Money talks, Megan. Kazim gave you that device on my orders. He told you it would allow you to pass safely through Avilon’s security cordon, but in reality it was programmed to hack
the security systems in such a way that I myself, rather than Avilon’s civil authorities, would be informed of your arrival.’

She stared up at him, feeling sick.

‘I know all about how you built up a nice little business acting as a go-between for men like Kazim and their counterparts on Morgan’s World and Al-Jahar,’ Sifra continued.
‘I know just how long you’ve been planning to come and rescue Bash here – ever since Kazim told you, on my orders, that he was still alive.’

The sick feeling intensified, and she swallowed sour phlegm. She recalled the time Arturo had – perhaps, in retrospect, a little too casually – mentioned Sifra’s name in
connection with the
sans de sezi
trade on Avilon. She had badgered him for more information, and found out that Sifra had established himself as a major drugs importer for that tiny
world’s rich and jaded inhabitants.

What hurt most, however, was that although Arturo Kazim had not precisely been a friend, she had at least allowed herself to trust him, even so far as to rely on his aid in finding a means of
landing undetected on Avilon.

‘All this,’ she said, ‘just to lure me here? But why? For revenge?’

‘Frankly, that would be the preferred option,’ said Sifra. ‘But no.’

‘Then . . . what possible purpose is there to all this?’

‘That, Megan, is something you will find out before too long,’ he replied. ‘Instead, I’m going to give you a chance to repay your debts to the Three Star Alliance, to
General Schelling and to Gregor Tarrant.’

Gregor Tarrant
. Even the mention of the name made her skin crawl. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded. ‘Is he here?’