Pathfinder (17 page)

Dr. Lowry frowned. Ariane wondered if she was dismayed at all the lost research time. They could have spent the past months doing more than getting the power working and mapping the ruins.

“By your calendar,” Contractor Director paused briefly, “we were first able to communicate with the ‘Builders’ twenty-six thousand UT years ago.”

Matt made a dry sound in his throat. Ariane was speechless, exchanging glances with David Ray. Turning, she saw Dr. Lowry making notes on a slate, something about “time scale.” There was no sense in complaining about not producing the translator earlier; suddenly, she had a different perspective on wasted months, only
months
, of research.

“When Pilgrimage proposed the G-145 mission, we understood that Minoan ships had never traveled to this solar system,” David Ray said quietly.

“You were correct.”

“You encountered the Builders elsewhere?”

It was agonizing to wait for the Minoan to dip its horns, causing strings of cascading jewels to sway. “Correct.”

“Are you going to tell us
where
?” From the tightness of his voice, Matt sounded like he was reaching the limit of his restraint.

“That information is not necessary for your research.” Contractor Director sounded smug.

“When Minoans first made contact with humans, they stated there were no other existing sentient species.” Lowry’s voice was brusque, a logic missile homing in on a problem.

“That’s practically yesterday for them,” whispered Matt in Ariane’s ear. First contact between the Minoans and Earth, now called Terra, happened around one hundred and thirty UT years ago. Everyone assumed the contact was the result of the Hellenic Alliance landing on Terra’s moon.

Contractor Director said nothing, until David Ray rephrased Lowry’s comment as a question. “When Minoans arrived in our solar system, why didn’t they consider the Builders an ‘existing sentient species’?”

“The Builders had ceased being sentient. It happens, particularly with evolved self-consciousness.” Contractor Director made a negligent motion with its hand.

“Just like that, huh?” Matt commented quietly.

Contractor Director might have heard him. “We think it ninety-nine percent probable the Builders regressed in the past ten thousand years and their civilization collapsed.”

“But you haven’t confirmed that.” Lowry belatedly remembered that a question was required. “Is the collapse
verified?
”

“Researcher of Astrophysics asks an excellent question.” Contractor Director methodically selected a tawny jewel on a rope that fell from its left horn and looped down to the back of its headdress. Two gloved fingers on one hand twirled the jewel, while the Minoan pointed at the view port on the bulkhead. The words “Proprietary Information” displayed.

The Minoan’s surprisingly crisp tone, as well as the display, caused Ariane to sit up. Until now, she’d been enjoying the show, but wondering why she’d been given a ticket. The Minoans had their expert astrophysicist, experienced prospector, and—well, David Ray had a lot of legal experience and knew how to protect intellectual property. Why did they need her?

“We intend to repair the Builders’ buoy and sponsor your
exploration
to the Builders’ main world. Of course, we need volunteers.” After making this pronouncement, Contractor Director folded its arms and waited.

Shocked silence. The world had just flipped ninety degrees; technological blocks had mysteriously disappeared, replaced with questions, such as
why didn’t the Minoans just go themselves?

This felt like a dream she’d had before she came to G- 145. In the dream, she struggled to break through a heavy door that had a keyhole. Somewhere, somehow, without any memory of how it happened, she found a key. It was cold and heavy in her hand, made through archaic metallurgy. Then, when she turned to the door, she couldn’t find a keyhole.

She’d told Major Tafani about the dream. After some thought, he pronounced his explanation: She was searching for meaning in her life, trying to validate her existence. Whether Tafani had been correct or not, no longer mattered. The Minoans had just handed her a clear, honorable, and beneficial goal, minus the usual moral ambiguities of Edones’s missions.

Ariane stirred. “Count me in,” she said.

 

Looking every bit the middle-aged academician, Dr. Istaga hurried forward and offered his hand. “SP, nice to see you again.”

Isrid smiled dryly as they shook hands. Dr. Istaga knew how to break a
somaural
reading, and contact did that quite handily. The diffident Istaga had convincingly played the part of interpreter during the weapons inspection at Karthage Point, but he was also a
somaural
master and a special operative for Overlord Three. He’d earned Autonomist hatred for his wartime missions, which he performed under the code name Andre Covanni and where he pushed the boundaries of the Phaistos Protocols. As Andre, he was responsible for many civilian deaths that only narrowly were defined as collateral damage.

“I hope your excursion to Beta Priamos was comfortable.” Isrid picked his words carefully, adding emphasis on excursion and signaling,
A brief pleasure trip?

“It’s business, I’m afraid. A fact-finding trip for the Overlord. You understand.” Dr. Istaga looked around and asked about area security with rapid subtlety of finger and wrist movements.

The room is secure
, Isrid answered
somaurally
. “I watched them put up the bulkheads in this section. My personal security staff scans for both active and passive recording pips every shift, at two randomly determined times. No one, including me, knows the scan schedule more than twenty minutes in advance.” Isrid tapped the time display. “The last scan occurred about an hour ago, at thirteen thirty-three.”

“Good. I have information for ears only, no record allowed.”

Isrid nodded. “Now you’ll try to surprise me by saying you killed Dr. Tahir Rouxe.”

“SP, I’d never attempt to surprise you.” Dr. Istaga used a reproachful tone. “Besides, I couldn’t hope to hide my methods from a former TEBI Director. I delivered two components to Dr. Rouxe, while a guard unwittingly provided the third.”

How long had it been? Only seven years since he held the position, but those memories had already faded, like they were part of someone else’s life. Was that because he had pushed them away, or because he had changed? Maybe he was just getting old. He sighed and said, “Multicomponent poisons have been in TEBI’s toolkit for a while. In some circles, it’d be tantamount to burning ‘TEBI’ across the victim’s forehead.”

“True, but it was nice to get back to dependable basic tools. It’s also appropriate
for this case
, because Pilgrimage sovereignty demands that the crèche-get perform the autopsy. They’re just not up to snuff in multicomponent poisons.” Dr. Istaga smirked.

“AFCAW’s Directorate of Intelligence will surely suspect, and Colonel Edones has his ship docked on the
Pilgrimage
.”

“The Autonomists are snarled up in their own problems. Some sort of political furor over the costs of saving G-145.”

“But why neutralize Dr. Rouxe? That could capsize the prosecution’s case.” Isrid took care to appear noncommittal, but this question was important. Several Terrans had died in fighting Abram’s isolationists; one of them was State Prince Hauser, a comrade and friend. Abram also had the audacity to imprison and torture Isrid, as well as
Isrid’s son
, Chander. For those crimes, Isrid would gladly see the isolationists executed, under Terran authority—but killing Rouxe made that goal more difficult. Why take out the prosecution’s best witness?

An expert reader, perhaps even sensitive to auras, Dr. Istaga’s eyes narrowed as he watched Isrid. For a fraction of a second, Isrid saw the vague features of an unremarkable academician sharpen into those of a cunning, uncompromising political officer. This, surely, was
Andre
. Just as quickly, facial features blurred and shadowed, as if a cloud had passed over—quite a trick inside a space habitat with artificial lighting. Isrid forced himself to blink and breathe naturally.

Dr. Istaga was back, and he cocked his head. “Rouxe would have exposed weaknesses, in our forces as well as security. And, since our Overlord lost control of a TD weapon, he’s lost political clout.”

Political clout?
Isrid had rarely heard this phrase uttered on the Overlord’s staff, but he’d always worked external threats. Even now, as Assistant for the Exterior, he wasn’t focused on politics within the League. He waited.

Dr. Istaga noted the sideboard with refreshments and paused, going over to pick out a drink pack. He came back, took a deep draw and set the pack down with a tiny betraying quiver. “Remember, your ears only. The Overlord has initiated Operation Palisade.”

Palisade
. As the name insinuated, it was the plan for digging in and protecting Overlord Three’s assets from “close neighbors,” generally meaning an
internal League threat
. There was always distrust between Overlords, and secrecy and intrigue were expected, particularly with regard to resources.

“SP Duval? Overlord Six?” Isrid asked. “I wondered why a representative from District Six was appointed to the ICT. I should have queried Terra immediately.”

“I’m afraid we’ve become accustomed to controlling the wealthiest solar systems, and using Terra as the weight to control the rest of the League.”

“Accustomed?”

Dr. Istaga played with the label on his drink pack. “The dynamics have changed, SP.”

Historically, Overlord conflict lined up with Five and Six against an accord of One through Four. Districts Five and Six contained most of the “fringe” worlds, defined as such by their wildly diverse, contentious, and sometimes insular inhabitants, rather than by galactic location. Fringe worlds usually had dysfunctional economies and weak gross planetary products, due to fragmented populations operating around hot spots of rampant lawlessness.

One of those hot spots, Enclave El Tozeur on New Sousse, had attracted the ire of the Minoans about thirty years ago. Abram’s isolationist tribe claimed responsibility for an act of space piracy that, inadvertently or not, damaged a Minoan ship. When pressed by the Minoans, Overlord Six had disavowed sovereign responsibility over Enclave El Tozeur and allowed them their retribution. The physical damage was surgical and temporary, but the Minoan’s genetic weapons had permanent effects.

“Six’s staff has always parroted the line that the Minoans railroaded us into peace, that we should have retaliated after Ura-Guinn.” Isrid didn’t mention he’d had the same opinion until a few years ago. Then he had decided the League’s dire economic situation required a change in his attitude. “What’s changed? Why initiate Palisade, at this point?”

“It’s still about Pax Minoica, of course. Overlord Six started pushing, again, for us to pull out. Started campaigning several months ago. Vociferously and convincingly. Overlord One has taken his side.” The corners of Dr. Istaga’s mouth stretched into a faded smile, his eyes unfocused, as he mused. “Fifteen years ago, I would have supported that. But now . . .”

Isrid relaxed. “Same old issues, so
Palisade
seems rather extreme at this point. District One has always been weak.”

Dr. Istaga held up a cautionary finger. “Four has sided with our Overlord, but Two is wavering. That’s the problem. The Triangle is no longer united.” Districts Two, Three, and Four comprised the Triangle of Power, because of their resources and raw materials. They could conscript more people from their better-educated populations, and build superior weapon systems.

“That seems oddly coincidental,” Isrid said slowly. “When, exactly, did Overlord Six start pushing for withdrawal from Pax Minoica?”

“About eight months ago.” Dr. Istaga shrugged.

“That’s right behind the release of the Autonomist second-wave prospecting data for G-145.”

“Ah. You think Six is threatened by the research into the Builders’ technology. Why?”

“I don’t know, but the timing is suspicious.” He carefully watched Dr. Istaga. “By the way, my security has decided Rouxe’s execution isn’t related to the other drama on the
Pilgrimage
. Were those explosives your doing?”

“I’m distressed by your suggestion, SP.” The doctor looked honestly offended. “Those were gauche operations, lacking sophistication.”

“Are the incidents related to Six’s waning support for Pax Minoica?”

“Maybe, since they targeted Autonomists.” Dr. Istaga shrugged, and glanced at the time on the wall. His voice hardened. “My purpose here, on this station, is
Palisade
assessment. Cleaning our house, so to speak. The Overlord can’t be worrying about informers or defectors on his staff.”

He felt tired, watching fire shine deep in Dr. Istaga’s eyes, but feeling none inside himself. Knowing Istaga was the last person who should hear this from his mouth, he said, “I thought, with our
Open Gates
policy, we stopped questioning loyalty. This is a small frontier community of interstellar scientists, who value personal opinions and free speech. Do you really intend to single out
our
District’s people, in this environment, and interrogate them?”

Dr. Rok Shi Harridan Istaga, known as Andre Covanni by very few people, looked at him with sparkling eyes. “SP, I’m surprised that
you
would call the test of patriotism an interrogation. But have no fear. The methods I use these days are subtle. Nobody’s going under neural probe.”

“What about the loyalties and backgrounds of other Terrans? We have contractors coming from throughout the League and it seems sensible to evaluate those from District
Six
.”

“Not my responsibility. The TSF should be doing that.” Dr. Istaga shrugged. “But if I see anything unusual, I’ll notify you.”

“Please do, Doctor.” It took all his composure and training to keep irritation from marring his State-Princely nod and gesture of dismissal.