Pathfinder (15 page)

The rest of her retort died on her lips as State Prince Parmet and his co-wife Garnet entered the room. She’d forgotten the presence Parmet could project. He was tall and, like most Terrans, had perfect body symmetry. Adept at
somaural
projection, his dignified stride made Garnet, hurrying behind him, seem obsequious by comparison. Ensign Walker stood up, smartly at attention, and Matt automatically followed suit in a civilian parody. She, however, took her time and haphazardly pushed herself out of her seat. Parmet wasn’t
her
leader. Since Terrans were quick to interpret body language, Garnet’s eyes narrowed. Ariane nodded at her with casual recognition.

“Take your seats, please.” Parmet ignored her insolent posture and seated himself at the head of the table. He made introductions, for Matt’s benefit. As usual, this social dance displayed the Terran love of names that tied back to the home planet. “My wife Garnet Westwind Tachawee has taken on some of the reporting tasks required by your S-triple-ECB.”

“They’re not
mine
.” Matt refused ownership of that infamous bureaucracy.

“We agree, Mr. Journey, after we waded through their regulations,” Walker said. “We needed to see whether you could work for yourself, because this exploration process was starting to look like a money-laundering scheme.”

Matt’s mouth fell open, but Garnet smoothly interrupted. “Forgive the ensign. He’s just expressing our frustration with the Consortium’s complex procedures.” Garnet’s eyes flashed sideways toward Ensign Walker. “We understand the percentage Aether Exploration makes from the leases is to help you recover your earlier prospecting costs. That percentage has nothing to do with the
current
contract you’ve signed, although we were concerned about possible conflicts of interest.”

“And the fact you’re taking Minoan money,” added Walker.

“We’re hired by a company incorporated on Hellas Prime. Besides, we can’t benefit from the leases until this research generates spinoff technology.” Matt started explaining the financial relationships.

Bored, Ariane’s attention wandered about the room and lit upon Parmet, who was watching her. This didn’t surprise her. Parmet liked to watch his staff prod others so he could study reactions. He was talented at
somaural
reading, which could interpret everything from unconscious body language to subtle Martian hand signals. With a shock, she realized her eyes were locked with Parmet’s. The green of his eyes was flecked with brown, but they weren’t warm. She looked away. She had no way to prevent Parmet from “reading” her, but she didn’t care. There was nothing he could learn as she listened to Matt and Garnet chat about contracts.

“Everything’s in order, including transfer of facilities leased by Nautikos. We’ll key the locks to your thumbprints.” Garnet’s voice was emotionless as she handed Matt’s slate back.

Mercifully, the meeting was wrapping up. She stood up with Matt. Walker and Garnet picked up their slates—everyone stopped at a motion from State Prince Parmet, who hadn’t risen.

“I’d like to speak with Major Kedros alone,” Parmet said. Garnet’s eyes widened.

“I’m not on active duty,” she said.

“Then I’d like a word with you,
Ms.
Kedros.”

“Only if I’m present. She’s my employee.” Matt’s hands suddenly rested on her shoulders, protective.

“No.” She touched his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Wait for me, okay?”

“You bet,” Matt muttered.

Everybody reluctantly filed out of the room. Garnet left last, her lips pressed together. Ariane stayed standing, waiting.

“You don’t fool me, Major. You’re still wearing your uniform.”

TEBI’s success with two-part poisons near the end of the war justified their research into more sophisticated assassination tools. The R&D was expensive, since each constituent of a poison must be specially designed for effective delivery. Whether the League considered TEBI’s investment worth . . .

—
AFCAW Report on TEBI Weapons and Tactics (Declassified)
, 2101.242.12.00 UT, indexed by
Democritus 12
under Metrics Imperatives

 

 

 

“P
ardon?” Ariane looked down at her clean coveralls with the Aether Exploration logo. “You’re under orders. A plainclothes mission, perhaps?” He matched her sardonic tone.

She’d specifically avoided even
thinking
about Maria in his presence. Maybe he was fishing for a response. She smiled and returned the favor. “You needn’t worry about any
Directorate
missions, SP. It looks like Dr. Rouxe was killed with a sophisticated multicomponent poison, a common TEBI tool. Perhaps you should worry about Dr. Istaga, who’s stepping off the
Golden Bull
right about now.”

As a
somaural
master, Parmet wouldn’t reveal surprise unless he wanted her to see it. He nodded thoughtfully, as if he expected her comment. She glanced at the time displayed on her cuff; if everything went well, the
Golden Bull
had recently docked and Istaga would soon be on Parmet’s calendar.

“I look forward to seeing my previous interpreter,” Parmet said in a flat voice. “But you’re wrong about whether I should
worry
about your Directorate. I’m interested in everyone’s agenda, because I’ve recently received odd threatening messages.”

“Odd? I thought State Princes received threats all the time.”

“Not ones that know my private ComNet address; usually they end up in the public queue handled by my staff. And no one has previously threatened the
family
of a State Prince
who let the destroyer of Ura-Guinn go free
.”

His words, as well as his tone, chilled her. Being Autonomist, her reaction was to look around for recording nodes.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t allowed ComNet to encroach into
this
conference room. Everyone must carry their data on slates or implants.”

“How many people know about—me?” She sat back down.

“Not many.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, uncomfortable with his intense scrutiny. “I hope you’re not suggesting the Directorate would stoop to sending threats, or involve your family.”

“My security determined the message came from
inside
G-145, so once again, I ask about your
mission
.” His eyes had gone from intense to glaring. “And save me from that prim protest,
the Directorate doesn’t perform state assassinations
. We both know what a slippery definition you’re using.”

Contrary to the Directorate, TEBI had claimed responsibility for assassinations during the war, but her words of objection stayed in her throat.
She’d
never been a hired killer. At least, that hadn’t been the original purpose of the mission. Her eyes lowered, and she stared at the generic gray deck without noticing it, the seams of displayable material blurring. There had been one covert mission when things went wrong, when she and Joyce wouldn’t have made a clean exit if she hadn’t . . . She shivered, clearing her head of the memory, and looked again at Parmet.

“Smart.” His facial muscles slid into neutrality. “Don’t say anything, Major, because there’s no need for either of us to explore the past. What I propose is cooperation.”

“What sort?”

“The sort where you use your skills to help me find my culprit, and I don’t throw you into protective custody. Ensign Walker already suggested that, after reading the case files from the
Pilgrimage
.”

“I’ve got no time to do charity work. Our employers have promised a full schedule.” She smiled. The smile was pretense, hiding the sinking feeling in her chest. G- 145 represented such
potential
, being the first place mankind had found evidence of an alien, but non-Minoan, civilization. What she longed for, hoped for, was to throw herself into this huge well of research and exploration. It was a chance to lose her guilt and ghosts, but then Edones assigned her to Mission Turncoat. The last thing she wanted was to add another pesky case on top of that, particularly one that kept dredging up ghosts. Besides, she was the last person who would willingly help Parmet. He hadn’t touched her personally, but he’d ordered the kidnapping, torture, and then blackmailed her with Brandon’s safety.

“I’m not asking for extra time. At some point, you’ll stumble over the malefactor and I’ll want information.”

“If I refuse?”

“I tell Ensign Walker you have a covert Directorate mission and he throws you in the brig—to hell with mere protective custody.” His voice was light.

She snorted. “You have no justification for detaining me.”

“I don’t need any.”

She watched Parmet’s face, even though he didn’t allow any clues. In her gut, she felt he was bluffing. She concluded the same through cold calculation. Parmet knew Matt’s company worked for the Minoans. He wouldn’t dare endanger the advantage, and money, the Minoans offered to beleaguered researchers in G-145. So why was he trying to enlist her aid in the first place?

“If I run into anything, I’ll let your people know. Who would be my contact?” she said cautiously.

“Zheng, from my civilian security staff. None of the military personnel, AFCAW or TSF, have been told about these personal threats.”

Aha
. Her fingers tapped the arm of her chair with satisfaction. Parmet was so worried about the Terran political environment that he only trusted his own longtime employees, transplanted from Mars. His civilian security, and
her
. Why did he trust her, when she was his traditional enemy and he’d personally wronged her? Her fingers stopped moving and she again looked straight into his eyes. If he was offering her an olive branch, there wasn’t any suggestion in his expression.

“Fine. I’ll talk to Zheng if I discover anything.” She rose to leave.

He spoke as she reached to open the door. “You understand, Major Kedros, that you shouldn’t confuse
trust
with
forgiveness
.”

She left without acknowledging his words.

 

“Lieutenant Oleander? Still with me?”

Diana focused on the maintenance tech again, and grimaced. “Sorry. Had problems sleeping.” That wasn’t a complete lie, but the root cause was the misery fogging her head and heart. When Matt left, she thought she’d be fine with frequent calls to
Aether’s Touch
, but the calls didn’t stave off loneliness for the Matt-shaped void in her life.

“I can understand, with everything that’s happened recently.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. Oleander wished, desperately, that she could remember his name. A nice man, with the ageless look the generational got after years of journeys that stretched out time. He’d probably been born before her great-grandfather.

“You were saying . . . ?” She motioned vaguely at the cold stainless steel table, where the blackened pieces of a maintenance bot rested.

“Our cursory audit of the surviving logs hasn’t proven anything, except the bot was hijacked. We’ve sent evidence on to the cybernetics unit for analysis.” He picked up a hand-size fragment of casing. “Since bots don’t have the aerogel armor that ships do, the shrapnel literally blew it to bits.”

“Were you able to recover all the pieces?”

“About ninety-five percent. Unfortunately, due to its time in space and the effects of the explosion, we haven’t found any fingerprints or biological samples for DNA analysis.”

“Or the saboteur was careful not to leave any evidence,” she said.

“Possibly. This time, however, State Prince Duval can’t complain about tainted evidence. Only
Pilgrimage
personnel handled the salvage and we documented each piece extensively and maintained the chain of custody.”

“Since you mention Duval, I’m guessing the evidence points toward a Terran saboteur.”

“Terran explosives,” the tech corrected. “We’ve identified the composition as Terran, specifically manufactured for the military at Teller’s Colony—”

“From approximately 2090 to 2096,” Oleander finished. “Such as the device planted in Sergeant Joyce’s room. Could anyone get physical access to the bot to plant the device?”

The tech gave her an anemic smile and hedged. “Well, we never had this situation before.”

“Please tell me they’re controlled, or under observation, at all times.” Through the long window on one side of the maintenance bay, she saw mechanics hanging bots on a revolving storage device.

The tech shook his head. “We’ve never needed to maintain physical security on the maintenance bots. There are unsupervised storage and dispersal bays on every docking level. But they had to crack password-controlled security to change the bot’s programming,” he added stoutly.

“Hmm.” Oleander had no response; she was realizing how overtrusting one could become in a cloistered environment. For decades, this generational crew had been on the
Pilgrimage
with no exposure to human malignancy. The enemy had been their environment. Now they were having difficulty adjusting their protective instincts.

“Thanks—look forward to your full report.” Having forgotten the tech’s name, she pointed to the base of her ear in a harassed fashion as she backed away. “I’ve got to call my superior.”

Standing beside the hatch to the corridor, she called Captain Floros. She was surprised she had to leave a message; as a compulsive multitasker, Floros usually picked up personal calls. Halfway through her bleak report, she received a familiar poke in the shoulder.

Myron, the senator’s aide and great- nephew, had quietly entered the maintenance bay.

“—Because there’s no supervision of the equipment in storage.” She finished the message quickly, noting the anticipation that lit Myron’s flat eyes.

“Yes?” she asked, using a deliberate and cold tone.

“I’ve got a summons for you.”

“For what?”