Roche didn’t need him to tell her that. The Kesh pilots were fighting for their lives in the truest sense of the expression. Failure was not an option.
“Well, I hope they’ve made their peace with Asha,” said Haid. “Because the way Vri’s going out there, they’ll be meeting her pretty soon.”
“Kajic,” said Roche. “Tell Vri to dock when this is over. I want him in close from now on, under our camouflage. He’s going to be one hell of an inconvenience if he keeps on giving us away like this.”
“Yes, Morgan,” said Kajic.
“And Maii,” Roche went on, “can you determine who’s been leaking information to them?”
<Their orders came from superior officers. Beyond that, they know nothing.>
Roche cursed again, although the news wasn’t all bad. Someone had set them up, yes—but that someone had only known who they’d be traveling with, not where they were headed. This at least put to rest her fears of an ambush at Perdue.
Nevertheless, it was frustrating. Word about her was obviously continuing to spread. The only time she’d been left alone since arriving at the system was while under the protection of the council. She wondered if the superior camouflage technology of the Skehan Heterodox alone was sufficient to explain that brief lull.
Cane exploited weaknesses in the engineering of three of the Kesh fighters, to cripple rather than destroy them. The remaining three were taken out by Haid and Vri with less compassion, or less skill. Roche plotted a high-energy course away from the area, which Kajic set off upon the moment Vri’s ship was safely enclosed within the Ana Vereine’s camouflage field. Disguised as an innocuous freighter, they accelerated rapidly toward the sun.
“Our route takes us through or near several densely occupied regions—regions we know next to nothing about,” Kajic warned. “We’re battered but by no means unable to fight. However, I am going to require some time to do repairs.”
“I understand,” said Roche. “Vri, do you know anything about where we’re going?”
“No.” The Surin’s stolid mien was unchanged by the battle. Despite being docked to the Ana Vereine, he remained locked in his ship, ready for anything. “I suspect that no matter where we go we will enter regions in which the risk of conflict is high. Such is the nature of this environment.”
“All we can do, then, is keep our guard up.” The two ships that had followed them from the Phlegethon seemed to have wandered off, but that didn’t reassure her. If someone was still watching the Ana Vereine, their new attempt at camouflage wouldn’t fool them, and neither would the change of course. And chances were that the Kesh probably weren’t the only people who had known about the Surin escort.
Despite that, when they ran afoul of a minefield an hour later, then triggered a security alert two hours after that, the occurrences seemed unconnected to their mission. They were random incidents exacerbated by the tension and uncertainty in the system. As they traveled closer to the sun, then past it, the density of ships, and therefore the possibility of conflict, increased. Their sheer velocity was considered by some a serious threat, especially with so much debris already filling the system. They spotted two hulks in close orbit to the sun—strange spindly things that looked as though they’d been tied in knots. Roche couldn’t tell how they’d been scuttled; she couldn’t even imagine how they’d looked before being damaged.
They passed beyond the innermost regions and reached the domain of the ring. Ships seemed to avoid the dust-filled area, choosing orbits that arced out of the ecliptic or never crossed its aegis. Apart from the ablative effect of the dust on shields and hulls, Roche could see no good reason to take such dramatic steps, yet she did the same. There may have been a reason of which she was not yet aware.
The ring itself didn’t look like much by visible light. Viewed in artificial colors revealing frequencies in the infrared and ultraviolet, and shown in rapid motion so that all the observations Kajic had made since their arrival in the system roughly two days before lasted only a fleeting minute, strange patterns swirled through the dust like standing waves in a torus made of water. What this meant, if anything, Roche didn’t know, but it did give her something to look at apart from the endless parade of other vessels. Compared to Palasian System, Sol had very little to offer in the way of natural spectacles.
Beyond the ring, their velocity decreased. The number of ships in the region surrounding them decreased also, until they reached a distance from the sun similar to that maintained by the Phlegethon. Roche recalled how crowded it had seemed when they arrived; now it felt like a vacuum.
As a result, she was forced to concede the possibility that their close pass by the sun might have shaken off any pursuit. Fifteen hours into their voyage, and feeling the effects of another long, stress-filled stint on the bridge, she decided it was safe enough to call another break. Kajic, not knowing that she’d had little sleep while the Box kept watch, insisted that she retire to her cabin—or at least get something to eat.
The latter she couldn’t argue with. Leaving the ship in Kajic’s capable hands, she went to the mess and ate as much of a standard meal as she could stomach. Then, anxious about what lay ahead, she went to her cabin.
* * *
The whirring of thousands of electric scalpels disturbed her rest. Tiny machines, ranging in size from a pinhead to her thumbnail, were drilling somewhere nearby. They burrowed. They buzzed. The noise was maddening.
It seemed to be coming from inside her mattress, or possibly from under the bed. She got up and turned on the light to look, but there was nothing there. Nevertheless, the sound continued— but behind her now. She turned. The room was empty. Still the noise persisted, growing louder—whining, sawing, grating.
Then something tickled her ear. She flicked it away in irritation: a black speck, like a bug. Another ran down the back of her neck. She flicked it away too, and felt more. She shook her head violently as a sense of unease rushed through her.
The noise became louder. It was coming from behind her head.
In the mirror, she saw dozens of minuscule machines crawling through her stubbled hair, the area blurred and hazy from the frenetic movements of their razor-sharp mandibles. She brushed them away in fright, but others quickly took their place. She couldn’t get rid of all of them; there were just too many.
With a growing sense of horror, she turned her head to one side to see the hole in the back of her skull, where hair, skin, fat, and bone had been carefully cut away, allowing the tide of machines egress from where they lived inside her....
Sitting up, she ran a hand across her scalp and tried to gather her thoughts. Her first concern was for the ship. A quick check of her implants showed that she had been asleep for almost five hours—the longest she could recall sleeping for ages. Presumably nothing dramatic had happened, or else she would have been awakened, but she’d be surprised if nothing had happened at all.
“Box?” She swung her legs out of bed and thought about standing. She needed a shower and a change of clothes. All she could smell was the sweat the nightmare had left on her skin.
“Box?” she said again. “Why the hell aren’t you talking to me?”
<Because I was destroyed in Palasian System,> it said into her mind. <Remember?>
<Damn!> She cursed her stupidity. It was just fortunate that she hadn’t made the mistake of speaking out loud to the Box with the others present. <1 totally forgot.>
<You have to be careful, Morgan.>
She ignored the reprimand and headed off for the showers. <Any dramas while I was out?> she asked.
<Nothing of any consequence,> the Box replied. <We will arrive at Perdue Habitat shortly. Population eleven thousand, plus or minus a few hundred passers-through. Our IEPC clearance has taken us this far, but Haid suspects we’ll be challenged once we’re in range of their cannon.>
<Cannon?> A wave of hot water hit her skin. <What sort of habitat is it?>
<Ex-military. It’s seen some service in the past, by the look of it, although it’s not what you’d call serviceable now>
<Who runs Perdue?>
<That has yet to be determined,> the AI said. <Kajic has spoken to three different people so far, each claiming to be the representative of the local powers-that-be. They don’t seem to be exchanging information. I suspect Perdue may be in conflict with one of its neighboring habitats. The transmissions we are receiving could be coming from more than one source in the command chain.>
Roche exhaled heavily, and breathed in steam. <1 assume Nemeth gave us some information on who to contact. A name, at least?>
<He did give us a name, yes: Atul Ansourian, the self-styled eminence grise to the Administer of this habitat and, by default, of the region. The Ulterior had come to some sort of arrangement with him, I gather, in which he traded resources for assistance when or if it was required. He was the one who was to have provided access visas and such support as we would require to carry out our mission.>
<Was to have provided?> said Roche. <Why past tense?>
<Because he is dead,> said the Box. <He was murdered yesterday.>
<About the same time we left the Phlegethon,> she mused.
<It would seem so,> it said.
<Do you think it’s a coincidence?>
<I couldn’t say, Morgan.>
She savored the last few moments of the shower. <Eminence grise, you said.>
<Yes. His rank was only adviser, but he wielded the real power. From isolation, apparently; according to the files he was something of a recluse.>
<It’s a shame the two of you never got the chance to meet,> she said, stepping from the cubicle. <You would have gotten along well.>
<Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Morgan?>
Ignoring the remark, she began to dry herself. <So, let me guess,> she went on. <The murderer is still at large, identity unknown?>
<Far from it. She is in custody in Perdue Habitat and has already pleaded guilty to the crime.>
<Really?> said Roche. <Things aren’t normally so cut and dried.>
<Indeed, Morgan,> said the Box. <There are several legal and ethical problems dogging the case. Although having said that, no one really expects her to escape the death penalty in the end.>
<What sort of ethical problems do you mean?>
<It appears that the girl is Ansourian’s daughter.>
Roche wondered if any of this would prove relevant, but noted it anyway. <How do you know all this, Box?>
<I took the liberty of infiltrating the habitat’s news services when we were first contacted. Once I had the correct frequencies, it wasn’t difficult.>
Roche nodded thoughtfully as she finished toweling herself down. <Tell me about this Perdue Habitat, then,> she said, slipping into a simple, unadorned uniform. <Is it segregated or open?>
<The dominant Caste is called the Vax, but they allow free movement from the other two main habitats. Tocharia 13 is occupied solely by members of the Zissis Caste; Random Valence is an open space designed for trade. I would opt for the latter if I had the choice of destination, but there’s no denying that Perdue Habitat has the influence over the region, and is therefore the main congregating point.>
<How long until we’re ready to dock?>
<One hour. Cannon will come to bear, if Haid is right, in ten minutes.>
<Guess I’d better get moving, then.> She took one last chance to be still, standing in the middle of the room and breathing deeply three times. Then, rubbing vaguely at the back of her head, she set off for the bridge.
* * *
“As I said, I don’t care who you say you are,” said the figure on the main screen. “You have no papers we recognize, no jurisdiction over us, and, as far as I can tell, no reason to even be here. Therefore, we have no reason to let you dock. So unless you change your orbit and move away, I will assume your intentions to be hostile and be forced to take appropriate action.”
“And I’ve told you,” Roche said. “We had private business with Atul Ansourian. He was supposed to meet us here!”
“I’m not stupid, Roche,” said the official, his bald, yellowish scalp crinkling as he spoke. “Your ship is camouflaged, and you won’t tell us what your business with Atul was. Yes, we’ve heard of you, but not through him. He never mentioned you at all.”
“There has to be someone else there we can talk to, surely?” snapped Roche.
The man sighed tiredly. “I can pass your query through to the administer if I really have to, but I don’t think it’ll do you any good.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Roche said. “Just get her on the line! I’d rather talk to her than waste my time with you.”
The line closed without another word from the man. Roche vented her frustration by thumping the station in front of her.
“Maybe we should just try bribing him,” said Haid.
“On an open line?” She shook her head. “That’d just give them another excuse to turn us away.”
“And if they turn us away, anyway?”
She looked over at Haid and forced a smile. “Then we might give it a try,” she said.
Five minutes later, the line opened again to reveal another yellow-skinned, bald male. Except that his face was rounder and his eyes more deeply set than the previous official, Roche would have had trouble distinguishing between them.
“I am Dockmaster Rench,” he said, his voice smooth. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. Dock 14-B will be cleared for your approach—with the proviso that you drop your camouflage and declare your crew. Should you fail to comply with these conditions, access to this habitat will be denied.”
“Agreed.” Roche’s response was immediate; she had little choice. She instructed Kajic to reveal the Ana Vereine and Vri’s ship to the habitat; then she named each of her companions in turn. “Is that sufficient, Rench?”
The dockmaster studied something off-screen. “I don’t recognize your configuration. Somewhere local?”
“Dato Bloc, a Commonwealth of Empires splinter government.” She figured it didn’t hurt to be open about some things.
He nodded. “Looking a bit rough around the edges for something clearly so new.”
“We’ve seen some action,” she admitted.
“Who hasn’t?” He half smiled. “Prepare to dock, Roche. I’ll have someone meet you down there.”
Kajic followed navigation buoys into the crowded docks. Numerous ships of various types occupied most of the available gantries; some seemed to be undergoing repairs while others were idle, perhaps loading or unloading cargo and passengers. Most of them were support craft for the various military forces massing in the system. Roche recognized a COE Armada cruiser among them, although the name painted on its side—Paraselene—didn’t ring a bell.
With a clang, the Ana Vereine docked with the massive structure. Shaped like a mutated sea anemone, the former military station had sprouted numerous access tubes and containers, crossing and recrossing, branching and rebranching away from a barely glimpsed central section. Its asymmetry reminded Roche of a coral, yet its angular edges and corners made her think of crystal deposits.
Outfitted with side arms and hazard suits, Roche and Maii stepped from their ship into the dock’s grease-smelling antechamber. The entire area rang to the sound of metal striking metal, over the rumble of a thousand voices speaking at once. There was a striking contrast between the habitat and the vast empty spaces of the Phlegethon. It seemed to be full of crates, machines, and people of all shapes and sizes. None of it looked familiar to Roche, used to the homogeneity spread by the Eckandi Trade Axis.
From among the bustle, a woman stepped forward to greet them. Short and muscular, wearing a purple uniform with black trim and a close-fitting cap, she had the same yellowish tinge to her skin as the other two officials Roche had spoken to. She assumed that they were all members of the Caste the Box had mentioned to her earlier: the Vax.
“Hello,
” said the woman. Her voice was brisk but not unfriendly, and raised slightly to be heard above the clamor of the other voices around them. “I am Overseer Pacecca. Dockmaster Rench sent me to welcome you.”
Roche introduced herself and Maii. Pacecca eyed the girl’s blank visor for a second, then asked: “Your friend is blind?”
“Yes.” That seemed the simplest answer. “Her suit’s navigation systems are linked to mine; she won’t get in the way.”
“Very well.” Pacecca looked around her, as though realizing for the first time just how busy it was. “Perhaps we should go elsewhere to discuss why you’re here.”
“I’d prefer to talk to the administer,” said Roche.
“There isn’t much chance of that, I’m afraid,” said Pacecca. “She has taken the loss of Atul Ansourian very badly. You probably won’t get to see her for a while, when things settle down.”
The implication that the habitat failed to run without Atul Ansourian around backed up everything the Box had said. “Nevertheless, I’d like to try.”
Pacecca looked at her evenly, patiently. “Very well. I shall see what I can do. My assistant—” The overseer looked around irritably. “Quare!” she barked.
A man stepped forward from the crowd, dressed in a uniform similar to Pacecca’s, but green with gray trim. He looked like any number of faceless, middle-management lackeys Roche had seen over the years—slightly overweight, balding and stooped, yet with eyes that watched everything, keen to find an advantage.
“Yes, Overseer?” he said softly.
“This is Quare,” Pacecca said to Roche. “He will take you somewhere quieter.” She paused thoughtfully, as if considering her options.
“Perhaps Stateroom B?” the little man suggested.
She scowled at him. “Remember your station, Quare,” she warned disdainfully. “However,” she continued, turning her back to him, “Stateroom B will be fine.”
“Yes, Overseer,” said Quare, his head lowered.