WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (13 page)

Neopol sighed. It was probably one of the old Delian Fleet. Registration and listings showed a number of such decommissioned vessels; he would soon find out which one had escaped. He swirled the ice in his glass and drank the last of his Scotch. He put the glass in a special compartment. Technically he should have waited, or drunk from a flat flask container. The flat flask was designed to be sucked or squeezed in order to prevent spillage in space, in case of loss of artificial gravity. Neopol didn’t care. He liked his Scotch on ice. Rank had its privileges.

There was no doubt now. His suspicions had been correct. There were traitors aboard
Conqueror.
Neopol’s eyes stung and burned with emotion. He shut them. Such an unexpected sentiment. Was it a remnant of his former womanly self? He felt a pathetically weak and irrational sensation — a strange female desire to cry. He suppressed the urge and ruthlessly replaced the desire for tears with anger.

He had been betrayed. Again. Was there no one he could trust?

He opened his eyes and lifted one hand and picked up the data stick that contained all his research. Neopol wore a platinum bracelet to which he usually attached his data device. All his extensive knowledge — every interrogation, every fact he learned — was on this disk. To predict and control all of humankind, that was his goal. He knew so much now, and yet he still could trust no one, except possibly Lord Andros.

He tapped his lips with one finger. Then his lips curled in a slow, wicked smile.

Finding and breaking the traitors would be a pleasure. The men in charge of scanning and tracking — one or more of them would be guilty. With his skills he would quickly discover which ship had departed, where it was bound and who had been aboard her. He would find the escaping vessel and complete his mission as ordered by Lord Andros.

All Delians must die. No exceptions.

Subsequent to a subtle campaign over a number of years, religious conviction became unfashionable. A source of disharmony, all religions were intentionally lost during the Age of Expansion. What happened then? People created new religions. Why? It’s human nature to believe in God.

— High Command, private records, Lord John Andros

A
dmiral Neopol watched through the viewscreen as his transport moved through space toward the massive battleship
Conqueror.

The operation on Delian had been a failure, despite the recovery of numerous valuable items. Two main mission targets, acquisition of the Delian Testimonials and the priceless Damithst King’s Mirror, had not been achieved. Not only that, but there was evidence that one Delian vessel had fled just prior to the gassing of that world. The Admiral had notified the crew. He intended to find who was responsible. Let any little mice flee and tremble in fear. They could not hide from his traps.

While on final approach to
Conqueror’s
docking bay, Neopol unstrapped. Despite his size he moved gracefully down the aisle, coming forward to flight control. He wanted to watch Pagett guide the large craft, and he thought with amusement, to test his nerve.

Neopol’s lip curled. Well, well, what did he have here? The Lieutenant Commander must have landed such a vessel a thousand times, but under his scrutiny the man was actually sweating. Neopol wanted to laugh, but he controlled the impulse. Long ago he learned that to manipulate others, first he must be master of himself.

Pagett ran a nervous hand through his hair. With intense concentration he slowed the craft to a crawl and made a perfect landing. He turned and said, “Sir, you’re at liberty to disembark. Are there further orders?”

Shadows of movement could be seen through the vessel’s windows and sound penetrated the walls of the ship as various transports arrived and unloaded from within
Conqueror’s
enormous hold.

Neopol contemplated Pagett as he attempted to remain still under his penetrating inspection. The man had such lovely green eyes, Neopol mused. Really rather attractive — they had been genetically altered no doubt. A full two minutes passed without the Admiral saying a word, while Pagett showed more and more subtle signs of unease.

Yes,
he thought.
Our Lieutenant Commander is uncomfortable.
Neopol was enchanted by his discomfort. He let another minute go by. At last he said, “Did you enjoy your visit to Delian, Lieutenant Commander?”

Pagett, already white with anxiety, paled even further. “Yes, sir.”

Neopol schooled his face to remain bland, but inside he hid a contemptuous and satisfied grin. It was just as he thought. Pagett was simply upset by the death of the Delians. He wasn’t a traitor. There was no mystery there. “That will be all.” He dismissed him with a wave and turned. “Sub-Lieutenant,” Neopol snapped.

“Yes, sir.” Janson said.

“Obtain duty rosters for the last five days — I’ll want a hardcopy. Notify Captain Barlow that I’ll expect him in my quarters at 1700.” With those instructions, he left.

Admiral Neopol’s quarters were opulent, with thick, expensive carpets and priceless paintings. The room was mainly decorated in gold, red and white, and was cluttered with gilded furnishings, and unexpected knickknacks. There was a fine lace comforter, fine bone china and antique porcelain figurines, a roman bust and delicate vases that would be destroyed if
Conqueror
lost gravity. It was as if Neopol had brought all the personal possessions he owned aboard. Renitu’s Seventh Symphony played loudly in the background.

Janson returned with the duty rosters, and held them out to his superior.

“Good. I can get started.” Neopol paused for a moment, as Janson stood before him as solid and still as one of his sculptures. The Admiral frowned. “Go away now,” he said to his aide. “I won’t need you. Go eat or something.” Without a sound, Janson left.

Neopol sat back and relaxed, studying the hard copy of the duty rosters. He could instruct Icom analysis, but it was more amusing to do it himself. He was quite good at spotting patterns. He had learned that from Lord Andros. Andros was a master at seeing the big picture from simple observation of symmetry via a variety of models, paradigms and designs. He enjoyed the hunt. Few activities gave him as much satisfaction as chasing his quarry to ground.

Neopol smiled, glancing through personnel list suspects. Barlow, as senior officer, was most likely involved in the Delian conspiracy. He would know for certain soon.

A gentle tap at the door interrupted his musings. The Admiral noted: seventeen-hundred. Exactly on time. “Come.”

Barlow came in and stood to attention.

“At ease, Captain. Come and sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite his. “You are, after all, among friends, eh?” The Admiral grinned and raised his glass. “Scotch? It is all I have, I am afraid.”

Barlow sat down. “No, thank you, sir.”

“Do you enjoy Renitu, Jon?” Neopol asked, lowering the volume of the music.

Captain Barlow stammered, apparently caught off guard by the question, “Ah, no, sir. I mean … I haven’t heard him before, but this particular composition sounds nice.”

Neopol chuckled and drawled in a condescending manner, “Ah, well, not everyone has had the opportunity to study the modern masters.”

“No, sir.”

Neopol noted that Barlow’s face showed more color than usual. The man shifted imperceptibly, adjusting the collar around his neck. The Admiral used his “we have a problem” voice, “Do you know why you’re here, Jon?”

“No, sir.”

“I have reason to believe that there is a spy aboard
Conqueror
.” Neopol watched closely to observe the effect of these words.

“Indeed, sir? Barlow queried calmly. “May I ask why?”

The Admiral studied Barlow for a moment, reflecting. He had expected a reaction from this direct question. He was certain Barlow was aware of the conspiracy. He would try another ploy. He said, “A ship left Delian five days ago.”

Barlow’s lips parted, and the pupils of his honey-brown eyes dilated a fraction.

That’s better,
the Admiral thought.
Now, was Captain Barlow astonished or afraid?
Neopol said, “The vessel departed sector G. It wasn’t reported.”

Emotions flew across Barlow’s face for the merest moment.

Neopol smiled with satisfaction. Oh, yes, there was no doubt about it. Barlow was guilty. Suddenly Neopol didn’t want to continue. Let Barlow wait, let his fear work, eat away at him for a bit. He would be the last to undergo mindtap.

“Well, Jon, I see that you are as surprised as I was,” Neopol said in a loud, genial voice. “Never mind. We will get to the bottom of this with mindtap.”

“Mindtap?” the Captain echoed, his tone incredulous. “But mindtap is illegal.”

“Yes, of course,” replied the Admiral. “But mindtap is the best way to find the truth, and in cases of treason it is admissible.” He laughed. “I’ve permission to use any means to get to the bottom of this. I’ve notified HC,” he added, tapping his nose, as if letting Barlow in on a secret. “Unfortunately, your name was on the duty roster at the time. Never mind. Full mindtap interrogation will not be necessary, and as you know it produces no lasting effects.” Admiral Neopol stood up, signaling that their meeting was over. “I’ll call you when I require your attendance.”

Barlow’s frowned, his face registering surprise and confusion.

“Oh, I’ve had your Icom blocked for all communications,” the Admiral explained. “Not only yours, of course, but everyone’s from the duty roster. No need to tell you to keep this little secret hush-hush, is there?” The Admiral didn’t wait for a reply to his question. “You’re dismissed,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Captain Barlow walked from the room with what to the Admiral’s amusement appeared to be careful, wooden steps. All the color had drained from his face.

Neopol gave Janson his instructions after he left. “Follow Barlow; monitor his every action. If he asks why, tell him it’s on my orders. He’s not to communicate in any way that you are not able to fully view yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Good,
Neopol thought happily, rubbing his hands together. He would start with the others and save Barlow for the last. Barlow wouldn’t be going anywhere. Whistling Renitu’s Seventh, the Admiral left his quarters and began a brisk stroll to the detention decks to begin on his first victim.

A young technician, one of the many rank and file responsible for
Conqueror’s
engines, saluted the Admiral smartly as they passed in the corridor.

Eyes gleaming with anticipation, a smile on his lips, Admiral Neopol automatically returned his salute, hardly noticing the man. His mind was on the detention deck and all the pleasures he would discover there.

The technician smiled and thought:
The Admiral is in good spirits. That’s got to be a good omen.
In a better state of mind, the enlisted man walked on.

C
aptain Barlow sat in his quarters going through hell.
Forsaken Worlds, I’m in trouble,
he thought. He felt quite light-headed. Did Neopol suspect? What did he mean — not
full
mindtap? He would be caught now, he felt sure of it. Still, all was not lost — even if his guilt were discovered. Barlow forced himself to ruthlessly examine the possible consequences for the hundredth time in the last two days.

First, there was no real proof. Why couldn’t it have been a simple malfunction? He had toyed with the idea of ensuring that a fault would be found in the sensors, but with Janson watching him so closely it was too late for that.

It may be considered simple negligence on his part. He shook his head. If anyone but Neopol were involved, he would count on fine or demerit, at the most demotion, with no further action taken. After all, he wasn’t a spy. But with Neopol, he had to consider the worst.

He would spill everything on mindtap. He would then be tried and, if worse came to worst, convicted of treason. Surely a jury would be lenient for a first offense. But treason was a severe crime. Spending the rest of his life on the prison planet of Cirani was an unbearable option.

His mind ruthlessly pursued the worst possible consequences: death; or worse, torture then death. Barlow shut his eyes. His imagination was running away with him. If only this terrible waiting could be over.

Barlow picked up the holoshot of his wife and two children. Looking at the picture didn’t help ease his fear. On the contrary, it increased his misery. Carolle was so perfect. She was extraordinary. He had never felt that he deserved her. Jon had courted and pursued her unsuccessfully for months. A large part of the reason for her uncertainty was because of her family. How could Carolle take a low-ranked enlisted man home to meet her intolerant and prejudiced father? She had been well aware that no good would come of it.

Frowning, he remembered the first time he had been introduced to parents.

“So, you’re Barlow.” Carolle’s father had made the statement sound like an accusation.

“Yes, sir,” he had replied, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

“Your father served with the Fleet for years, but never rose above ensign.”

“That’s right, sir, though he was unable to finish out his entire service life,” Jon replied. His sudden anger helped calm him. What right did this man have to belittle his father? “My father lost his legs after serving with the fleet ten years. He was decorated with the Shedhand Cross for bravery. You see,” he said, as if explaining to a child, “he was wounded while evacuating the Enso colony from an unstable sun.” He paused to let the significance of the remark sink in. Venting his anger he asked, “Did you ever serve, sir?” The question sounded polite, but the implication was clear: what had this man ever done for anyone?

Carolle’s father had turned bright red. “I’ll not have her seen with an enlisted man, a man who will, like his sire, never rise to a position of responsibility.”

“Father, Jon!
Please!
” Carolle had implored, but it had been too late. The damage had been done. Carolle’s parents had disowned her when she married him.

To prove her father wrong, he worked relentlessly. He progressed in the fleet, finally obtaining the exalted position of Captain. But it made no difference. The same year he had obtained his promotion to Ship Captain, both her parents were killed in an accident. They left Carolle’s inheritance to the Temple of Jana.

The lesson had been a hard one. Being right was not the answer in human relations — not if it meant making someone else wrong and then rubbing their nose in it.

It had been difficult for Carolle to give up the home she had lived in, the place in which she had hoped to raise her own children. Jon was sure he could see the indecision in her eyes. Had she made the right choice? This could settle the matter for her, he decided grimly.

Captain Barlow returned the holo to the table where it belonged. He had regretted that his own father died before his promotion to Captain. Now, for the first time in his life, he was relieved that his father was no longer alive. Dad had been so proud when his son had enlisted.