The Devil and Deep Space (3 page)

“First Officer, please go and get that crew to the courier as soon as they dock. I’ll meet you there. I’ll explain to 5.3. I want those people out of here.”

Fleet couldn’t ask them questions if Fleet couldn’t lay hands on them. Let Koscuisko take 5.1 home with him on leave, not 5.3. By the time Koscuisko was back Fleet would have straightened everything out, so long as she could ensure that they didn’t just take the path of least resistance at the expense of the crew of the
Ragnarok
.

“Vector transit is logged, Lieutenant,” Wheatfields said, his voice calm and matter–of–fact over the station pickup. Turning around, Jennet gave the Engineer a crisp nod that was equal portions of acknowledgment and thanks.

“Never mind explaining to 5.3,” Mendez said. “Explaining to Andrej. That’ll be the test, Lieutenant. I’ll be waiting to see you do that. Coming, Seascape?” He would go along with it. He agreed with her. So he knew she was right about Fleet.

“I’ll talk to Pesadie once Koscuisko is on vector,” Jennet said to Two, who was just hanging there, taking it all in. “Did we even know where the observers were? I know the fighter didn’t.” Most observation stations were unmanned. But it wasn’t because they were dangerous, in any way. What had caused that explosion?

“We had no idea.” Two’s translator was permanently set on “chipper,” no matter the seriousness of the situation. “Were it not for the deviousness of your Intelligence Officer you still would not know. Please be careful, Captain. We have had very bad luck with our Command Branch lately.”

Yes, Two was brilliant; but the joke was still in poor taste. If it had been a joke. Did Desmodontae joke? Was there a concept of humor in the Desmodontae worldview? Who knew? Two was a bat. Hominids were her natural prey. A much less intellectually sophisticated hominid species, perhaps, but Jennet knew quite well that on a certain level she looked like lunch to Ship’s Intelligence.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Keep Fleet off if you can, please.”

She had to get out to the courier bay in the maintenance atmosphere, where Security 5.3 was only waiting for their officer of assignment to leave his going–away party before departing on home leave for Azanry in Koscuisko’s system of origin, the Dolgorukij Combine. They had probably been looking forward to the vacation. And she was going to deny them the treat at the last possible moment.

It was ugly, but it had to be done. She had to get that fighter crew out of the way before Fleet could start talking about Protocols.

###

Surveying the scene in his office with satisfaction Andrej Koscuisko — Ship’s Surgeon, Chief Medical Officer, Ship’s Inquisitor — drained his cup and lofted it high over the heads of three intervening revelers to where his chief of dermatology sat tending the dispenser of punch. “How does this happen?” he called, with challenge and confusion in his voice. “There is a cup, and it is empty.”

And only then did it occur to him to hope that Barille would not try to toss it back to him, once refilled. There was already enough of a mess on the floor: snack wrappers escaped from the waste container, bits of paper garlands.

Barille bowed cheerfully from his post. “The situation shall be speedily amended. Sir.”

Andrej Koscuisko was not exactly drunk. But he was unquestionably in such a very good mood that not even the unexpected appearance of the Ship’s Second Lieutenant — Renata Seascape — could perturb his genial humor. He was on holiday. He was going home. He was taking his people with him, or at least some of his people.

“Lieutenant. A surprise.” She stood in the doorway to his office, which was full of people and decorated for the occasion with colorful garlands of fish tails and fins and cheerful smiling fish–faces. Andrej had at first tried to believe that they could have no idea how rude it all was; but there was no real use trying to pretend that Infirmary had not in all this time learned that Dolgorukij men customarily thought of their genitals in piscine terms, so it was a mark of affection, really. “Come in, sit down, have a drink. Have several. There’s plenty.”

And it all had to be gone before the next shift came on, because one really did not party in Infirmary, not even in the Ship’s Surgeon’s private office. Which Mahaffie would be sharing with Colloy and Hoff during his absence, and Andrej wished them all joy of the documentation, with a full heart.

Seascape smiled and bowed. “Thank you, your Excellency, no thank you.” She had to raise her voice to make herself heard; Volens had started to sing. Something about a river, Andrej thought. “Sir. Your presence very urgently requested in courier bay. Time to go, sir. Please come with me.”

Time to go? Rising from his desk Andrej squinted at his timepiece. Surely not. Someone threw a fish–fin at Seascape and it stuck in her hair, but she was otherwise unmoved. Well. Perhaps it was time. Because he was tipsy, and could have mistaken the schedule.

“If you say so, Lieutenant.” It was a tricky business, making his way to the door; it meant getting past Aachil, and Aachil always got a little over–affectionate when he was drunk. Not like Haber. Andrej wouldn’t have minded kissing Haber, but he rather drew the line at Aachil. “Gentles. Thank you for your good wishes, good–bye, I’ll be back in three months. Please do not save any documentation for me. I grant it all to you, with all my heart.”

The party was in full spate. It would do very well without him. Barille was in pursuit, with a full cup of punch; Andrej couldn’t very well have Barille coming out into section with uncontained liquor, could he? “Yes. Thank you.” Almost to the door. Andrej drank off half the cup before handing it back. “But really, I must go. The Lieutenant says so.”

She was getting impatient, too. “If you please, your Excellency, we’ve got to get to courier bay.”

That was odd. What urgency was there, really? Everything was ready to go, his kit packed, his people cleared. But not understanding what was happening was something that a man grew to accept when he was drunk, or even when he was merely not exactly drunk. So rather than argue with her Andrej put his arm around her shoulders — for support and stabilization only, of course, he was a little unsteady on his feet. “Yes, yes, Lieutenant, coming immediately. Tell me. Have you ever to Azanry been?”

He was going home. It had been nearly nine years. He was not going home to stay, to try to rebuild a life of some sort after eight years dedicated to the practice of atrocity as a professional torturer; no, that fantasy had died months ago, when Bench intelligence specialist Jils Ivers had brought him word from Chilleau Judiciary that had forced him to re–engage with Fleet, to save himself from the administration that had been responsible for the Domitt Prison.

But he was going home.

Bench intelligence specialist Garol Vogel had shown him a Bench warrant with his name on it, in Port Burkhayden. Someone wanted him dead. If someone with the power to obtain a Bench warrant truly meant that he should die, the odds were good that he did not have long to live. So he had to take care of some personal business before he could be free to concentrate on who and why and how he was to protect himself. He had to ensure that Marana would be all right if he was killed; Marana, and his young son Anton.

“Never had the pleasure, your Excellency, though I understand it’s very beautiful,” Seascape said. “Here’s the lift, sir. It’ll be this way.”

What? Oh. That was right. He’d asked her a question.

“I suppose one’s home is always beautiful.” The half–cup of punch he’d downed on his way out of his office had fuddled him, but the walk did him some good. His head was just clear enough for him to realize what an inane thing that had been to say. Stildyne’s home had never been beautiful to Stildyne, for instance, as far as Andrej had ever heard him talk about it.

Or perhaps Stildyne’s had simply never been home at all in the sense that Azanry was Andrej’s. That could be. Stildyne’s childhood and upbringing had apparently been as ugly as Stildyne himself was, also through no fault of Stildyne’s own.

The lift doors sealed behind them; they were alone. Andrej leaned up against the back wall of the nexus lift, waiting for the fog to clear from the forefront of his mind.

“Your Excellency, there’s been a change of plan,” Seascape said.

Andrej stared at her, wondering what she was talking about. “How do you mean, Lieutenant?”

Seascape seemed uncomfortable, but resolute. “Necessary to make a last–minute substitution, sir, Security 5.1 for 5.3. We’re to be met by the First Lieutenant. She’ll explain, but you should at least be forewarned.”

Substitution? What nonsense. And yet it didn’t seem to be a joke; Seascape seemed quite serious. Any number of things to say occurred to Andrej, but she was the most junior officer on board — so whatever was going on was not likely to be her fault. A man had to take care how quickly he took offense, when liquor might be interfering with his perception.

The nexus lift stopped; it wasn’t far to the courier bay from here. One turning, three turnings, straight on; First Officer stood in the corridor waiting for them, pointing them toward the ready–room with a gesture of the arm and hand before he followed them into the room to close the door behind them.

Through the observation window in the connecting door, Andrej could see his Security 5.3, drawn up in the muster room adjacent. What were they doing there? They were supposed to be waiting at the courier itself, not on standby.

The ship’s acting First Lieutenant ap Rhiannon stood between Andrej and the door to the next room. She waited until Mendez had sealed the door, and then she spoke. That was a little forward of her; perhaps the impertinence could be excused on a formality, as her superior officer was not on board.

“Your Excellency. I regret that I must make an alteration to your travel plans, sir. It will be necessary for you to take Security 5.1 rather than your previously selected Security 5.3 home with you on leave. And it is critically important that you leave immediately.”

Said who? Jennet ap Rhiannon? Andrej folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. She was shorter than he was. And he outranked her. Who did she think she was, to tell him what to do?

“I’m not inclined to make any such substitution, Lieutenant.” He’d been through a great deal with 5.3, or rather they had been through a great deal with him. Because of him. On his behalf, for his sake. “I have clearance for 5.3. I’m taking them with me. What possible interest could you have in interfering with my holiday?”

And yet the First Officer was here, and he was not jumping down her throat for overreaching her position. First Officer rarely tolerated breaches of rank–protocol; Andrej therefore asked the question in a curious, rather than an overtly hostile, tone of voice. Oh. Perhaps a little hostile. Perhaps. He didn’t like Command Branch interfering with his life. Captain Lowden had had altogether too much to do with Andrej’s life, until someone had killed him at Port Burkhayden.

“In the recently completed exercise from which Security 5.1 has just returned, a target was destroyed near the containment perimeter.” All right, she clearly seemed to feel that she was making an explanation. He would wait. “Shortly afterward, an observation station proximal to the final kill exploded. I don’t know if 5.1 knows about the explosion. I’m quite sure they don’t know where our own remote observation team was when the explosion occurred.”

Andrej began to see where the argument was headed. He didn’t like it. “Lieutenant, I have promised these people, and long anticipated this. Is it truly necessary?”

Even through the liquor and the partying, however, Andrej’s mind could track the logic. Command Branch officer dead. Explosion proximate to fighter manned by Security 5.1.
Interrogate the crew for any potential evidence of conspiracy to commit a mutinous act. Aggressively investigate all implied or explicit disaffection among
the crew.

“Your Excellency, through the death of acting Captain Cowil Brem I have assumed command of the
Ragnarok
. In the legal capacity of your commanding officer, I direct you to take Security 5.1 and clear this ship with all expedient speed.”

How dare she use such language with him? She had the technical authority, but it was just that, a mere technicality. And yet she was right. She was the senior Command Branch officer, and that made her acting Captain.

That didn’t mean he had to like any of this a bit. “First Officer. What have they been told?” It was capitulation on his part, and she would recognize it as such. But he dared not leave without understanding exactly what Lek Kerenko knew, and what supposed; Lek was bond–involuntary, and vulnerable.

“I told ‘em that Fleet would try to pick the team apart, to cover for the embarrassment of being blown out of the water by an experimental ship. So they were going on assignment. Captain’s direct and explicit orders.”

Well, it would do, and it was all he had. Very well. “I will say good–bye to my Security,” Andrej said firmly, and not very respectfully either. “And then I will leave straightaway. By your leave, of course, Lieutenant.”

He didn’t wait for leave. He went through the intervening door into the muster room, where Security 5.3 stood in formal array, waiting for him. There was to be no chance to explain; what the Lieutenant proposed was to willfully evade normal Judicial procedure by removing persons potentially of interest from their immediate environment, and that might create trouble in the hearts and minds of bond–involuntary troops.

Bond–involuntaries had been carefully schooled in the performance of their duty. Emotional conflict was the signal for the governor that each had implanted in their brains to punish what was clearly either a transgression or intent to transgress. So he could say nothing to his people except that he was sorry, that he would miss them, that they would be sure to come with him next time.

She was overreacting. Surely. Yet he had seen too much during his term of duty to be able to believe that there was no chance of her worst fears becoming reality.

###

Stildyne could see Koscuisko in the next room, talking to 5.3. He wished Koscuisko would hurry up. The sooner they got clear of this the easier it was going to be to manage; and starting this exercise with Koscuisko already in a filthy mood was not what he had anticipated — but a man could only deal with what he had to work with. Not what he wished he had.