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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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“Okay. I’ve got an appointment to take one of those TEBI agents out of
play, but I can’t tell you anything more.” Joyce spoke slowly, drawing out his words.
“You’re not going to assassinate anybody, are you?” Matt was suddenly
uncomfortable. While he was enraged with Terran State Prince Parmet’s staff for what they’d
done to Ari, he wasn’t sure he wanted to exact blood in revenge. What sort of retribution
did
he want?
“The Directorate of Intelligence doesn’t perform state assassinations,”
Joyce said stiffly.
“Yeah. Sure. I guess I don’t need to know the specifics.” Matt watched
the status displays on the wall. He had plenty to do before disconnection: check cargo,
equipment, seal inspections, etc. He didn’t have time to negotiate with Joyce.
“We can carry you, but it’ll cost six thousand.” Matt faced Joyce,
squarely looking him in the eyes. This price was twice the HKD, or Hellas Kilodrachmas, that
the
Venture’s Way
would charge.
“That’s highway robbery, Mr. Journey.”
“The highway’s not established yet,” Matt said. “New space is expensive
and I’m risking our lives, as well as
my ship
, by going beyond my
safety margins. If I were docking at an established habitat, I’d be fined.”
Joyce shrugged. He keyed his implant and pointed to a wall to display a
transaction screen. After speaking his phrase for voiceprint analysis, he transferred funds
into Matt’s account.
I suppose, as a good Consortium citizen, I should
ask where those funds are coming from—but right now, I don’t care.
Matt pointed at the
end of the corridor. “You’ll web into Ari’s bunk for the drop.”
“Yes, sir.” Joyce sauntered down the corridor to crew quarters,
whistling a tune as he went.
Matt tried to unclench his jaw as he turned his attention back to his
mission and his ship. While he had faith in
Aether’s Touch
and he
could use another six thousand HKD, another person on this journey meant they’d be royally
fucked if something went wrong.
CHAPTER 3
Crystal has preserved the Minoan surgical hits de stroying Qesan
Douchet’s hardened bunkers, as well
as the finality of genetically targeted bioweapons that
we still don’t understand. Minoan “justice” wiped out
Douchet’s tribal gene sets,
forever
. Today, anyone of
Terran Franko-Arabian descent should have his or her
DNA analyzed before visiting New Sousse, just in case.
Remember, the tribe also had roots in Terra’s French
Brazilian colonies. . . .
 

Interview with Hellas Prime’s Senator
Raulini
, 2091.138.15.00 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 11
,
Democritus 9
under Conflict, Cause and Effect Imperatives
 
 
A
ether’s Touch
was
quiet. The men were safely webbed into their bunks, sleeping sweetly under D-tranny and no
longer sniping at each other.The ship’s systems, as well as the pesky AI, were shut down. The
ship seemed to be holding its breath; with no thrusters or engines operating, there were hardly
any sounds. Ariane sighed in contentment.
Their separation from Athens Point had been flawless. Their boost away
from the habitat was enjoyable until Joyce and Matt brought their male egos onto the control
deck. There just wasn’t room enough for a working pilot as well.
“Don’t make me stop this boost,” she warned them when the verbal
sparring pushed her over the edge. “I’ll space the both of you if you don’t shut up.”
Their expressions might have been comical if she hadn’t been serious:
Preparing for an N-space drop was risky business. They meekly left the control deck for crew
quarters so she could have her peace.
Her checklists required her to physically verify the licensing crystal
in the ship’s referential engine. The step was only a regulatory requirement and the only way
to know she skipped it was to look at her logs, but she always took the time to climb down to
the bulge. The side trip stretched her legs and calmed her predrop jitters.
The bulge held the Penrose Fold referential engine away from the ship’s
main footprint and when viewed from the outside, looked like a tumor eating away at the forward
belly of the ship. An N-space-capable ship like
Aether’s Touch
couldn’t pretend to look aerodynamic, but then, that wasn’t its function.
She moved toward the engine that rose out of the “floor” she stepped on,
thanks to her sticky ship-soles as well as the gravity generator she’d left operating until the
last possible moment. The engine’s shape and the seams of its shielding always made it look as
if it were smiling at her. She ran her hands over the cold shielding, marveling at humankind’s
greatest accomplishment prior to contact with the Minoans. Humankind learned how to enter
N-space via the Penrose Fold—they’d never understood how to get
back
from N-space, until the Minoans provided the solution with their network
of time buoys, the design of which was still a mystery.
A mystery we might solve in G-145, if the artifact
we found there is a non-Minoan version of a time buoy
. She pushed in the crystal and
entered the acknowledgment number displayed across the engine’s curved surface into her slate
for the logs.
Before she left, she glanced up at the small figure of St. Darius that
Matt had attached to the deck overhead. Matt had been raised to set great store in Darius as
the patron saint and protector of space travelers and explorers. Ariane, on the other hand,
raised in Gaian fundamentalist tradition on a planet, considered Darius only an altruistic and
historically significant figure, but it didn’t hurt to pay her respects. She nodded to the
figure and whispered a quick prayer to Gaia before turning away.
Back on the control deck, she webbed herself in and turned off the
gravity generator. She double-checked the D-tranny dosages for Joyce and Matt. After shutting
down the real-space navigation system, she pressed an ampoule of cognitive dissonance enhancer
against her implant. She watched the ampoule drain and the implant start dispensing the
protective drug for piloting N-space into her bloodstream. This drug was nicknamed clash, and
steering through N-space without it was equivalent to committing yourself to the nearest psych
ward for disassociative-based insanity. She had done one emergency drop without preparation,
having to get her drugs dispensed while in N-space. She’d kept her sanity—although she supposed
there were some who questioned that—but ended up hospitalized, taking intravenous nutrition for
a couple days before she could keep her food down.
Nothing would make me
go through
that
experience again
.
Clash, besides lowering some sort of quantum threshold within her neural
synapses, made her edgy and gave her headaches. This effect had become worse after AFCAW
meddled with her biochemistry. She now needed high dosages, so much higher than needed by
normal human physiology that only AFCAW physicians evaluated her and prescribed her N-space
dosages.
However, she shouldn’t complain: She’d volunteered for the experimental
rejuv and now she had a body that could recover from almost any amount of alcohol and drugs. Of
course, she still suffered from overindulgence, like anyone else. She just had a hell of a
recovery rate. Smiling wryly, she searched in her chest pocket for the street smooth that she
usually used to cut the edge from the clash. Smooth was legal but wasn’t an approved supplement
for use in N-space.
She paused, her hand frozen. Last time the ship came back from G-145,
she’d risked getting a fine, perhaps even having her license suspended, by the stuffy Athens
Point officials.
But no one in new space even cares
, her mind
countered. However, regulations or the risks of fines hadn’t stopped her hand, but rather words
she’d heard from Tafani.
Major Kedros, treating your body like a cocktail
plainly proves your problem
. When she countered with examples of self-medication, he
answered,
Don’t you think that people who medicate themselves might also
suffer from substance abuse?
She hadn’t known what to think, except that she felt
trapped. She had desperately hoped Tafani would answer questions, not propose more.
Fuck you, Tafani—I won’t let you sit in my mind and
mess me up.
The savage spike of anger she felt surprised her, even frightened her with
its intensity. She put the smooth tablet on her tongue and let it dissolve as she purged her
emotions with deep breaths through her nose.
After she reconfigured her console, shut down everything that ran on
Neumann processors, and picked up her manual checklist, she felt better. She piloted N-space
for a living and she was damn good at it, regardless of the undermining echoes of Tafani in her
head. With a tap of her finger, she started the Penrose Fold referential engine. She watched it
go through initialization, safety checks, and the determination that there were no operating
thrusters and no N-space connection through a gravity generator. It proclaimed itself happy
with a green status light.
On cue, the twitching heartbeat signal displayed on her console, showing
that she’d locked on to the Hellas inner-system time buoy. She had put the ship in the outgoing
corridor, although the corridor was merely a convention used to manage traffic. Most important,
Aether’s Touch
was far from the strictly defined incoming-traffic
channel. Regardless of how ships dropped out of real-space, the buoys sequenced and precisely
positioned the ships in the incoming channel, which was one of those mysterious safety features
designed into the Minoan time buoy network.
Their keys were dialed in and she waited for a response from the buoy.
Not only did the time buoy network have to program and calculate their nous-transit, but the
Pilgrimage generational ship also had to approve her keys because their destination buoy wasn’t
“open.” A moment passed before the display told her that they’d arrive in G-145 in eight hours
and forty-nine minutes, using Universal Time. The transit estimate was generally accurate,
although the pilot wouldn’t feel the passage of time correctly. Eight hours could feel like
eight minutes or eighty hours—there was no way she could influence her experience, one way or
the other.
She tilted her seat back and put on a visor that was an imitation of
v-play equipment, although it only displayed the unprocessed external cam-eye circuits. Her
webbing wiggled snug as she adjusted her visor and turned it on. She couldn’t see the dark
inner-system buoy, but she could see whatever the abbreviated spectrum of visible light could
show her around
Aether’s Touch
. Her selected outgoing corridor was
crowded, which wasn’t surprising. Hellas was a busy system and these ships could be bound for
anywhere.
A large commercial freighter was the closest ship in her starboard view
and as she watched, the bulbous area around their referential engine grew bright and the ship
winked out with a flare, dropping into N-space. She tsk-tsked quietly with her tongue; the
flash of photons as the ship transitioned indicated their engine wasn’t tuned correctly and
they were wasting energy generating the Penrose Fold.
She put one hand on the N-space control and sent the drop command to the
referential engine.
Her
transition didn’t cause a flare, and the
Aether’s Touch
dropped into N-space as smoothly as a pearl slipping
into a pool of oil.
Tahir Dominique Rouxe stowed his bags and sat down on his bunk, a move
that didn’t even require turning because his quarters were so small. He continued to hope that
this was an exercise, exactly like J-132.
“This is the captain—there have been changes.” The announcement played
through all the nodes in the ship and Tahir’s stomach clenched at the sound of stress in the
man’s voice. The captain’s throat sounded tight. “The
Venture’s Way
has changed its registered name to
Father’s Wrath
. Repeat, we are
now
Father’s Wrath
. In addition, our departure for G-145 has been
rescheduled. We’re departing earlier, at twenty thirty. Unofficial guests should disembark at
this time. Repeat, we—”
BOOK: Vigilante
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