Vigilante (21 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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“These guys must think they’re beyond any Minoan retribution.” Matt
adjusted the cam-eye focus, making the shuttles sharper. The actual mines weren’t visible, but
they could watch the process of placing and arming them.
“Why are they bothering?” David Ray asked. “After all, the buoy is still
locked down by Pilgrimage; entry to the system requires getting a key from us, or rather, from
them. No one’s getting into this solar system after the
Father’s
Wrath
.”
“Really?” Matt looked at David Ray with what he hoped was an innocent
expression. “Perhaps they’ve heard the rumors that generational ship lines sell secret codes to
governments, even the Minoans.”
“That doesn’t happen.” David Ray’s gaze shifted away from Matt.
“Most generational crew aren’t in the position to confirm or deny those
codes, but you’re the ship’s general counsel. You’d know about such negotiations.” Then, when
David Ray didn’t respond to his probing, Matt snorted and shook his head. “Look, I’m crèche-get
too! I won’t be telling anyone about any secret codes, but if there’s a
chance
a ship could come through, we should get into a position to warn them,
shouldn’t we?”
David Ray’s jaw hardened. After a few moments, he nodded slowly. “We
negotiated with both CAW and TerraXL for override keys, which are restricted to emergency
use.”
“At this point, I’m happy to hear that.”
“But,” David Ray said, taking a heavy breath, “those codes can’t be used
when the buoy is locked down, unless the ship authorizes it. Someone on the control deck might
have switched it on.”
“Abram What’s-his-face looks like he’s preparing for visitors.” Matt
pointed at the screen.
“He might be extra cautious, or prepared for Minoans.”
“They have special keys?”
David Ray shrugged. “They make the time buoys, so who knows what they
can do? So far, if they have special overrides, we’ve never seen them used.”
Matt turned and watched the shuttles finish their jobs. Ships coming
back to real-space never superimposed upon each other, due to “magic” in the Minoan time buoy
network. Pilots had to be sharp about announcing their vectors and moving out of the channel,
because the buoy sensed impediments in the channels and delays could ripple through the
network. How the buoys sensed obstructions drove physicists nuts; no one even had a beginning
theory.
“Do you think the buoy can sense something as small as mines? Would it
prevent entry from N-space?” Matt asked.
“I’m going to guess
no
. Otherwise, why would
the Minoans put a prohibition against mines into the Phaistos Protocols?”
David Ray was probably right. Matt nodded glumly. A ship might
transition from N-space safely, but when they started moving, they might be crippled. Matt
didn’t know how much explosive power those mines had, but the isolationists obviously had faith
in their strength.
“We have to get within real-time
talking
distance of the buoy channel,” Matt said. “Then we can warn someone entering from
N-space.”
David Ray chewed his lip as he looked at the display that showed the
distance to the channel. “That’s a one-way trip for us. It’ll take us too far out, use too much
of our air reserve to push us there, and we’ll pass our point of no return. Are you willing to
risk our lives on the chance that someone’s mounting a rescue mission? What if the emergency
keys aren’t enabled? If they aren’t,
nobody’s
getting into G-145
until we take back our control center.”
“What else can we do? We have no weapons. You can’t even walk. This
might be our only way to help the
Pilgrimage
.” Matt’s throat was
tight.
There was silence in module number 2098 for a couple minutes.
David Ray nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Matt did the calculations and gave the commands to the EMS, which
powered the module’s rudimentary thrusters. Their thruster power was in the form of chemical
propulsion and gas jets that used up part of their air reserve. This was, indeed, a one-way
trip. He used as little “fuel” as possible to build up to a slow drift, keeping in mind he’d
have to use fuel to slow down. It’d be twelve hours before they’d ease into real-time comm
distance of the buoy’s channel. He hoped his calculations also kept them clear of the
minefield, since they had no sensors that could detect the mines.
“Well, what are we going to do with ourselves in the meantime?” Matt
asked as he handed David Ray another ampoule with pain medication.
David Ray winced as he tried to reposition himself. He hooked the
ampoule into his implant and gave Matt a crooked grin. “You could teach me to curse.”
“Huh?”
“I was awed by your impressively long blue streak of language when you
were trying to lock up the module. Where’d you learn that?”
“My pilot.” Matt laughed. “She’s military, a reservist. She can turn the
air blue, when she wants to swear, that is.”
“And the part about the Minoan Great Bull—er—doing—ah—whatever?”
“Oh. That’s my addition. I have no problem profaning other people’s
gods, provided they can’t hear. Since I’ve only seen two Minoans in real life, I figure it’s
safe to abuse their Great Bull.”
“Hmm. You know that
we’re
the ones who think
they worship the Great Bull, right?” David Ray asked.
“Aw, don’t take all the fun out of it.”
“Let me have a quick go at cursing; then I’ll take a nap.” David Ray
said.
 
“I can’t abide cursing,” Abram said in his flat, cold voice.
Tahir didn’t think the man writhing in the frame heard him. At first,
Tahir felt sorry for State Prince Parmet when he was ushered into the room. Abram had wasted no
time on Beta Priamos Station, other than to determine it was secure. Once Abram was down on the
moon’s surface, he’d looked at the roster of names that had been collected and immediately
selected the Terran State Prince for questioning.
“I know what that’s for,” Parmet said, looking at the frame and the
technicians. “Why don’t you just ask me for the information you seek, whatever it is? I might
cooperate.”
“How could I trust your answers?” Abram asked.
“That’s what I would say. This is an ironic twist of fate, which you
wouldn’t appreciate.” Parmet gracefully shrugged.
“You’re mistaken. If I can craft your arc of retribution, then I improve
my own kismet.”
As Tahir watched the two men face off, he couldn’t help but be impressed
with Parmet’s stature and bearing. Of course, he knew the Terrans were consummate actors and
with their
somaural
training, could control many autonomous muscles
and reactions. That knowledge didn’t make the tall man with near-golden skin any less imposing.
By contrast, Abram became stooped and sallow, bitterness oozing from every pore.
“Somehow, I’m not surprised that this is really all about
you
.” Acidic disdain dripped from Parmet’s voice. Abram ignored the words; the
technicians exchanged frightened glances.
Parmet stepped into the frame with dignity and let the technicians
tighten the restraints. His
somaural
abilities soon couldn’t
withstand the regimen of pain inducers and emotional feedback enhancers that Abram’s
professional torturers pumped into his bloodstream.
As a first step, Abram probed for leverage as the technicians worked the
pain enhancers. Parmet was protective of his family and had particular fondness for his first
and only son. He also still grieved the loss of his brother at Ura-Guinn; the brother and
brother’s wife were going to join Parmet’s multimarriage. Tahir felt twinges of sympathy after
learning this. He no longer thought the Terran multimarriage was offensive and kept his
“cultural dilution,” as Abram would have called it, private.
Abram started using Parmet’s son as coercion, moving to more
constructive and relevant questions. Why was Parmet here in G-145? What were the features of
his ship? Which contractors on this moon were Terran and which were Autonomist? Abram looked
for the additional peripheral information. At this point, in an effort to please the captor or
to help their savior, whichever script was being played, the subject would babble more
information than necessary. Abram uncovered some surprises.
Why was Parmet in G-145?
First surprise: Parmet had tortured and coerced a woman to get Terran
contractors some leases. Tahir’s opinion of the State Prince dropped, while one of the men
laughed and then choked when Abram stared at him. Abram didn’t appear amused so much as
vindicated.
“I always knew commerce and business would eventually adopt the tools of
warfare.” Abram nodded.
What were the features of Parmet’s ship?
Second surprise: Parmet’s ship wasn’t the commercial version of the
TM-8440; it was a retrofitted military model that still held an original command and control
module for the Falcon missile. This time, Abram almost smiled.
“Can we use that CCM to interface with the Mark Fifteen package?” Abram
turned to Tahir and in doing so, missed the look of horror that crossed Parmet’s face. Tahir
wondered how cognizant the subject was during drug-induced torture. Since Parmet had
practically invented this type of torture during the war, perhaps they should be cautious about
information flowing the
other
way during this interrogation.
“With some adjustments, yes.” Tahir said nothing more and Abram turned
back to Parmet, who again had bulging eyes and twisted lips from the pain of his existence.
Worry knotted Tahir’s gut and he chewed the inside of his cheek. Parmet’s ship had taken ten
hours off Abram’s schedule and Tahir tried to hold down his panic. He was resolved to be out of
G-145 before Abram used the TD weapon, but he still didn’t have a whisper of an escape
plan.
Abram continued the probing.
Which contractors on
this moon were Terran and which were Autonomist?
Third surprise: One of the prime contractors, Hellas Nautikos, was owned
primarily by
Minoans
. Shock hit everyone in the room like a stun
grenade. The men froze and the room was quiet, except for the suppressed moan that came from
Parmet’s throat.
“Call Emery. And get this man’s son.” Abram’s voice was soft and flat,
but Tahir recognized the stance and the careful enunciation. He’d seen it on the video of Abram
with his mother, and fear started creeping over him. He had to fight an urge to curl up in a
corner and hide. Abram was enraged, but he wouldn’t let his feelings manifest in outward
symptoms—the messenger of such news was a safe outlet for his rage. Parmet would end up dead
or, like Tahir’s mother, a vegetable. Tahir’s stomach churned as a technician departed to
retrieve Parmet’s son.
Emery was quick in responding to Abram’s summons. He eyed Abram, then
stood beside Tahir with his hands held behind his back and his feet braced wide.
“Emery, find every supervisor that works for Hellas Nautikos and execute
them.”
“Pardon? Sir?” Even Emery, used to obeying orders, was startled.
According to Qesan’s stratagems, Abram should be manipulating their prisoners in efforts to
start small steps of cooperation. Each bit of cooperation would lead to more. At this phase of
their mission, according to Qesan, executions were contrary to their objectives.
“Execute them.They work for our enemy.”Abram turned away in dismissal,
looking at Parmet with calculation.
Emery bowed his head in assent and went to the door, but paused as Abram
absently added, “Emery. You might as well get rid of the military personnel, while you’re at
it. We can’t afford to keep them around.”
The door beside Tahir opened and he saw Parmet’s son. Chander, according
to net-think, was eleven years old, yet he matched the height of his guard. Terrans bred their
children tall and the boy’s face indicated his true age. His intense green eyes were natural,
since he was Terran, and they flashed in barely suppressed terror.
“Why am I here?” Chander asked. His mouth clamped shut as his gaze went
to the end of the room, where the frame clamped his father into a semi-upright position.
“Shut up.” The technician holding Chander’s arm tightened his
grip.
Chander’s face went slack. Tahir knew what the boy was feeling, being
suddenly reminded of the times he himself had been escorted into his father’s viewing room to
see the video of his mother’s torture. It was an “example of Minoan oppression,” as Abram had
called it.
Abram, standing beside the drooling Parmet, hadn’t noticed the boy’s
arrival. “I couldn’t care less if we break him, so increase the dosage,” he was saying to the
technician. “First, I need him to give us low-stress passwords for running his ship. Second, I
want to know everything I can about the lessees here on this moon. I want detailed backgrounds
on all the players, whatever he got from Terran military intelligence.”

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