Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (34 page)

Finally, one of the heads of a VN security association piped in, a young man with slick, medium-length hair and a boyish face—from Gethillas, near the Apple Core Nebula, also close to the Sagittarian border. “Yeah, I’ve got a question. Voris Blackstone from Zephyrus Defense Group. I want Miss Scarlet to answer this one.” He looked her right in the eyes. “What happens to the DDF when the war eventually ends?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling the heat of a sudden and unwelcome spotlight. “There’s no way I can answer that question right now. How could I know?”
Keep it simple and opaque
; that’s what she had planned beforehand in case she was asked anything.

Voris shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t accept that. If you want billions of sharebucks from us, you’re gonna have to give me a straight answer. What happens to this military force when all the fighting is done?”

Emma licked her dry lips. “Well, there are several options we can pursue. We can sell the company and its assets piecemeal and dissolve it completely. We can adjust our business model and—”

“I want to know if our fees to the DDF are going to become taxes,” Voris said. “How do we know the DDF isn’t going to evolve into an Orionite central government?”

Emma had to swallow before she could laugh. “Because that’s the last thing I want—the last thing
any of us
want. The DDF is a
private firm
. We want to
sell
you our services, not force them on you. You’ll sign a contract with us, arbitrated by a judiciary firm we both agree on. Once your contract is up, we’ll have no more claim on you.”

As she examined her own words, she realized she hadn’t lied, hadn’t stretched the truth, though the tension in her shoulders made her feel as though she had.

“I’m aware of your laissez-faire bonafides, Miss Scarlet,” Voris said, “but everybody likes the free market on their way to the top. Then it’s a different story.”

“The length of the contract is negotiable.” Emma shrugged. “You don’t have to be with us indefinitely.”

“Oh, but we do. If we have to sell our mineral rights to pay for it, then yes, we do.”

“Our fee structure can accommodate you, Voris,” Georgio cut in. “That won’t be a problem. We want allies, not indentured servants.”

“And the judiciary firm,” Voris continued, still directing his gaze at Emma. “It wouldn’t happen to be Georgio’s firm, would it?”

Emma shook her head, grateful for the easy question. “No. It won’t be Cornerstone Jurisdiction. They’re one of our partners on Agora, yes, but we’ll use a neutral third party to arbitrate.”

“How will you be able to find one?” Voris asked. “If the firm is willing to arbitrate, why wouldn’t they be willing to pitch in? They would have to choose between protection and money.”

“Some firms have already declined to participate in the DDF,” Georgio answered. “On systems out near Rosette and Crab. They figured they wouldn’t be affected by a war between the great powers anyway. We’ll use one of them.”

“There may be risks involved in partnering with us,” Emma said. “But the risks of
not
partnering with us are greater.”

Voris took a deep breath and twiddled a stylus between his fingers. “In other words, it’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

A glass door swished open behind Emma, and footsteps signaled the entrance of newcomers. She and Georgio turned to find a well-dressed group of men—only men—some Persian and others Arab. Men from Earth. On their lapels, they wore pins of a familiar symbol—a golden “TC” with the blue-and-green Earth inlaid in the “C.”

Their leader, clean-shaven and handsome, offered a confident smile. Heydar Samara—spokesman for the Terran Confederacy. Emma recognized him from news clips.

“It is a risk
we
are willing to take,” he said in a melodic Arab accent.

In that moment, quiet and tame as it was, Emma sensed a momentous shift in her world—in the entire galaxy.

Orion was uniting before her eyes.

Carina Arm, on the planet Baha’runa . . .

Hundreds of representatives filled the Upper House floor, every seat occupied. Only a few desks were lit, where people tapped their notes. Quiet faces watched in rapt attention—representatives and staffers alike. A rarity. Hovercams trained their lenses on the current speaker holding the floor: Jayson Skance, Unificationist, of Tars Crucis. He argued in favor of the motion to re-open the border gates, and he did so with alarming persuasion.

It made Riahn nervous. Very nervous. The House of Justice had funded a thorough investigation after Minister Tahn’s preliminary study. They had scanned tens of thousands of cubic kilometers around the wreckage site, scoured every last piece of debris, recovered every salvageable second of security video footage, ran tests on every speck of DNA. No trace whatsoever of Sierra. In her absence, they had constructed a few detailed conspiracies about Carinian groups attacking Sierra’s yacht to kidnap her for ransom or to incite a war.

Riahn didn’t like it. He knew no better than anyone what the hell had happened to Sierra, but he’d taken advantage of her death. He’d partnered with Morvan to enact his scheme. People would be asking questions about him, about what he knew, about why he’d taken part in Morvan’s scheme. Awfully quick to have thought up that scheme, now that Riahn thought about it. He’d assumed this was merely one of the Arms Ministry’s thousands of contingency plans, that they had as little knowledge of the incident as Riahn. Listening to this debate—as much about Sierra’s whereabouts as the border gates—Riahn could no longer be sure. And that made him nervous. And twitchy. And hungry.

Nervousness always made him hungry. He reached behind his back to a platter of agave almond cookies and grabbed two.

“The matter would be different if the evidence were
inconclusive
,” Representative Skance said from the podium, stepping from one side to the other to engage the whole audience. “But it isn’t merely
inconclusive
, as some of my esteemed colleagues continue to say. Every forensics expert, every neutral observer who looks at the evidence comes to the same conclusion: Sierra Falco was snatched off her ship, probably in her bedroom’s preserve bag, and probably after the ship had sustained several hits. Otherwise we would have to believe Ulrich Morvan’s story that Sierra was blown out of her bedroom by the first hit and then obliterated so completely by the second hit that she left not even a trace of DNA behind. We found DNA evidence for every single member of her crew, but not her. I find that incredibly hard to believe.”

Riahn reached behind, but his fingers found an empty platter. He’d gone through a full plate, and his nerves still jittered. The sugar probably exacerbated the problem.

“In the wake of these developments,” Skance continued, “I see no reason to continue our war footing against the Sagittarians, and thus I move to re-open the border gates for travel and trade.”

Travel and trade
. Such friendly words. Riahn might’ve been persuaded by such ideas were he not already in league with Morvan. He wished he weren’t.

The glass door to his suite swished open. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Aisha.

“Yes?”

The young curate wore a heavy look. “You told me to inform you when the Minister of Arms had arrived.”

“Ah! Good.” Riahn grabbed his curate, thrust him to the balcony’s ledge, and placed a tablet in his hands. “Take notes.”

Back inside the suite, Riahn found Morvan at the refreshment table stirring a cup of holly. Calm, almost serene.

“I don’t like this, Ulrich.” Riahn spotted the still-glistening apple pastries. Must’ve just been brought in. He made a bee-line for them. “I have no sway over the vote this time.”

Ulrich sat in a plush chair, crossed his legs, and blew on his holly. “You don’t need to sway it.”

“What?” Riahn asked, mouth full.

“It doesn’t matter how the vote goes,” Ulrich said, then took a cautious sip.

Riahn swallowed. “How could it not matter? I used every bit of influence I had to pass the closed border mandate. It was supposed to be a logical step toward war. The people were supposed to get behind us. Carina was supposed to unite. This is a step
backwards
, Ulrich. It’s regression. How can that be alright? How can you be so calm?” It started to make Riahn mad how calm Ulrich was.

“The plan has changed,” the Minister of Arms said. “But the goal is the same. And still feasible.”

“The plan has changed?” Riahn repeated. “After all the work I put into closing the damn border gates? Ulrich, I don’t think you understand how our reputations—how
my
reputation—will be tainted by this. Rumors are going around, even in this building, rumors about us. You and me.” He quieted his voice. “That we conspired against Sierra and had the Space Force carry out the attack.”

Ulrich rolled back his head and laughed. “I’m sure the House of Justice would like everyone to believe that.”

“It’s no joke, Ulrich.” After another warm, sugary bite, Riahn asked the obvious question. “Can you assure me you had no knowledge of this attack beforehand?”

Ulrich’s stern eyes betrayed his answer, but he voiced it anyway. “Of
course
I didn’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then how in God’s name are you so calm?”

“Riahn, sit down.”

Riahn set down his pastry and brushed the glazed sugar off his hands. “I prefer to stand. Whatever you have to say, say it.”

Ulrich took another sip of holly. “Sierra Falco is alive.”

Riahn almost toppled to the floor. The statement hit him in the last place he expected to be hit. “
What?
”

“Intelligence picked up a shadow market call for bids on a Carinian VIP,” Ulrich said. “I assigned a special forces team to follow the lead. They went to Agora to make the exchange, but when they arrived, the people holding Sierra . . .” He shook his head. “Must’ve backed out at the last minute.”

Riahn stumbled to the nearest chair and dropped into it, mouth agape, brain stalling. “Sierra Falco is alive . . . and with . . . who?”

Ulrich shook his head again. “We don’t know. She’s onboard a small, unregistered clipper. Orionite design, but who knows if it’s manned by Orionites. And now that it’s left Agora, it’s headed coreward. Toward Sagittarius.”

Riahn’s wide eyes maneuvered back to the Minister of Arms. “Toward Sagittarius?”

Ulrich sipped his holly. “That’s right.”

“Why haven’t you made this public? Does Falco know?”

“No,” Ulrich replied quickly. “He can’t know yet. Not until I have good news to share. I have teams in pursuit. They’ll intercept Sierra the moment they cross over the Sagittarian border. And once they do,
then
I’ll share the news. Or rather,
we’ll
share the news.”

Riahn nodded. “Yes. Both of us. Of course.” He paused for a long time, trying to settle into the idea, a sudden reorientation of reality. “Sierra is alive.”

“She’s alive.” A cool, composed smile spread across Ulrich’s face. A smile that said the Minister of Arms was in control, that he was ready to do what was necessary for Carina, that their careers would not be ending so soon after all.

Orion Arm, near Terran Confederacy space . . .

Jabron slammed his fist against the bulkhead, sending magnets and a stylus flying off into the dank, weightless air of his private room.

“I don’t
give a shit
what other people do!” Bron shouted. “Let the whole galaxy blow each other up. Let ‘em kill each other and play tug of war with this girl all they want. That ain’t
none of our damn business
.”

Davin forced saliva down his dry throat and held up a hand. “Bron, I get it—”

“No you don’t! You
obviously
do not get it. You got your head up your ass and your hand on your dick with this girl on our ship. We coulda been millionaires, boss.
Millionaires!
Now we gonna end up poor
and
dead.”

“How do you know the Carinians wouldn’t have just killed us after they took Sierra?” Davin asked, throwing shit against the wall and hoping something stuck.

“We were in public, boss.” Bron’s dark eyes and scowling lips inspired genuine fear. The huge man shook his head dismissively. “You woulda gone through with it if it were anything else. Any
body
else.”

“They would have followed us back to the
Fossa
,” Davin said. “Waited for us to take off, put a titanium rod through us in space. You think they would’ve let us live?”

Bron heaved a cold laugh. “We coulda laid low. You know that. I shouldn’t even have to say it, but I do, because
you
started thinking with the head between your legs instead of—”

“She’s a human being, Bron! And an important one.”

“None of that mattered to you before! You were in it for
us
, not them.” He jabbed a thick finger toward the med bay.

“Yeah, well, before all this, I was kind of an asshole.”

“Before all this you didn’t care what happened out there,” Bron said, softer now. Carrying so much more weight. “You cared about what happened to
us
. To me and Strange and Jai. What you said to Sierra back at Rothbard Heights, about us four bein’ family, that used to be true.”

Each word impaled Davin like falling icicles, frigid and painful. “It’s still true, Bron,” he said in a weak voice.

“Nah.” Bron shook his head again and shifted his eyes away. “You chose Sierra.”

Davin couldn’t muster a reply. Just floated and stared. They both stared, saying nothing. No more to say. Their ammo cartridges were empty.

Don’t think that
. The words kept resurfacing in Davin’s mind, struggling to be spoken, to break the humming quiet of the room. But Davin knew better. The hardness on Bron’s face assured him it was pointless. When the guy had his mind made up, no logic or plea could move him.

A rapid knock at the door broke the silence. Strange thrust her head in, eyes ablaze, breathing hard.

“Cap, it’s Sierra. You better come see.”