On The Imperium’s Secret Service (Imperium Cicernus) (30 page)

Fitz nodded at Mariko, who realised that she was now meant to play the good cop. 

“You have done something very stupid, but you have a chance to serve the Imperium now,” she said, in a very gentle tone.  “Don’t fuck this up. We will take good care of you.”

She patted him on the shoulder and watched as Fitz placed the chips, wafers and computer in his rucksack.  Each of the chips could hold thousands of terabytes of data; even with the best computer analysis software, she didn't see how they could review them all in time.  But they’d know what Richardson’s contact asked for, wouldn’t they?  Perhaps they could use that to guide them to the important parts of the collection. 

“Come along,” she said, to Fitz.  “And you” – to Richardson – “get a proper dinner, some sleep, and then reflect on how lucky you are to have a chance to make up for your indiscretion.  Not everyone gets that sort of chance.”

Outside, pitch darkness had descended, broken only by sallow streetlights that produced plenty of shadows for footpads and muggers to hide in.  The streets were almost deserted, apart from a handful of drunken men singing their way down the other side of the street.  Their song made her blush the moment she worked out what half the words meant...

“Back to the hotel,” Fitz said.  “And then back to analysis.  The enemy doesn’t sleep, so neither can we.”

“You should have taken me along,” Mai said, when they returned to the hotel.  “I’m sure I would have been useful.”

Fitz grunted as he walked over to the first bug and carefully removed it with the sonic screwdriver, before taking it into the next room and burying it under a mountain of pillows.  The second bug was harder to remove, so he used the sonic screwdriver to disable it before returning the device to his pocket and jumping down to the floor.

“They probably won’t notice,” he said, by way of explanation.  “Plenty of travellers in these hotels disable the bugs, even ones on legitimate business.  It’s the ones who ignore the bugs you have to watch; they’re either ignorant, which isn't too bad, or they’re using the bugs to lull the hotel into a false sense of security.”

He looked at Mai.  “It’s better to have someone back here watching from afar if someth
ing goes wrong,” he said.  “If it was entirely up to me, I would have a trained team backing me up, ready to jump in with weapons blazing if the shit hit the fan.”

“But I have no weapons,” Mai pointed out, weakly.

“I could find some here,” Fitz said.  “Whatever the Imperium may say, the trade in illegal weapons has been booming over the past few hundred years, even on worlds that are supposed to be secure.  I’d prefer to avoid having to call upon Imperial Intelligence stockpiles, but I can probably locate an arms dealer in Undercity without too many problems.”

He shrugged as he picked up the first datachip he’d taken from Richardson.  “A pity we don’t have a bigger team,” he said, after a moment.  “Some of us could work
with
Richardson, forcing him to guide us through the files he modified or handed over to his contact.  As it is, we have to leave him alone and hope that he doesn't decide to betray us.”

Mai looked up, alarmed.  “Is that possible?”

“He may feel that the Secessionists could get him off this ball of rock before Imperial Intelligence could tear the planet apart looking for him,” Fitz said.  “Or he may decide to buy a ticket out-system himself and flee both factions.  The behaviour of a man who feels like a hunted animal isn't easy to predict.  One way or another, we have to keep a close eye on him – and one hand wrapped around his nuts.  We have to keep him feeling that his only hope for getting out alive is working with us.”

“And it is,” Mariko said, softly.

“Order whatever food you want,” Fitz ordered.  “It will probably taste better here than at the diner.  I’ll eat once I’ve started reviewing the files.”

Fitz was right, Mariko discovered, ten minutes later.  The hotel’s food actually managed to look appetising, although there was a lack of local specialities that surprised her.  But then, most of the population was probably fed on fish and vat-grown algae.  There would be no room for a genuine local style to develop yet.  The chicken tasted suspiciously bland and the fries were rather flat, yet it was edible.  She felt a great deal better after eating enough to quiet her stomach, so she picked up a plate of nibbles and took them into Fitz’s room.

“You need to eat,” she said, putting the plate down beside him.  “I don’t think that even your augmentation can do much without proper fuel.”

“I’ve known soldiers to force themselves to eat their own flesh when they were running out of supplies,” Fitz said. 

Mariko was appalled – and yet it
was
technically possible.  Given the right sort of inner nanotech, it was possible to turn almost anything into a fuel source for the body. 

“But you're right.  I do need to eat,” he admitted with a smile.  “The picture emerging in front of me is not a happy one.”

Mariko nodded.  She wasn't surprised. 

“I think we all knew that that was going to happen,” she said, dryly.  “What has he been doing?”

“I don’t have a complete workup yet,” Fitz said, “but the
least
dangerous thing he’s been doing is passing personnel files on to the Secessionists.  Anyone with a skilled expert in psychology could use those files to identify someone else who might be weak enough to succumb to their pressure and turn him into a second Richardson.”

“I see,” Mariko said.  “How many?”

“He passed over hundreds of thousands of files,” Fitz said.  He snorted.  “They can't
all
be spies, or we would have lost the war decades ago.  But anyone mentioned in these datachips will have to be regarded as a potential suspect.  Investigating them all will take years...”

“Which could be the point,” Mariko pointed out.

“You’re getting better at this,” Fitz said agreeably.  “Imperial Intelligence will go mad trying to sort through all the possible suspects.  Anything that even smacks of disloyalty will be grounds for a category-one investigation.  Our morale is going to go right down the tubes...

“I’m seriously considering withholding this part of the data for the moment,” he added.  “A witch-hunt will tear us apart.  Perhaps we should just start cutting movement orders, get the suspects scattered over the Imperium.  Except that many of them will be of long-service in this sector and married to local women.  Damn!”

“They won’t want to go,” Mariko said, quietly.

“To say the least,” Fitz said.  “I’d bet half my father’s estate that almost all of the people in the files haven’t been approached, but how the hell do I prove it?  The local station is going to shit itself when it discovers what Richardson has been doing under their very nose...and they will overreact to any other possible leak.  I need to take this to someone with enough authority to hold the locals back from doing anything stupid.”

Mariko picked up a chicken stick and chewed on it thoughtfully. 

“Is there anyone with that much authority?”

“Only people back on Homeworld,” Fitz said.  “I’d have to convince them that it was important, and that won’t be easy.  Overruling a station chief is never good for Imperial Intelligence’s morale.”

He shrugged, picking up a second set of chips. 

“This merry lot involved fiddling with the manifests of various lost shuttles and a couple of starships.  Around eighty personnel with Imperial Navy records were reported as being on the shuttles when they exploded, leaving few traces behind for an assessment team to recover.  Those officers are now legally dead...”

Mariko saw where he was going.  “So where are they now?”

“That’s the question,” Fitz said.  “What’s more worrying is that their service records suggest long-term crewmen with experience, but without the connections to become mustangs and rise in the ranks.  The Imperial Navy has a major problem with officers being promoted because of family connections or outright back-scratching.  These crewmen would have
known
that their careers were going nowhere, while they had to take the orders of inbred morons with a perfect pedigree and little else.”

The anger in his voice surprised her. 

“I thought that was how you joined the Guards?” she ventured.

“One of their long-serving sergeants was kind enough to put me in my place,” Fitz said.  “Some of the orders I gave on a training field would have killed my men if I’d issued them in combat.  But not everyone is bright enough to recognise that they might want to listen to people who have been in the military longer than the inbred morons have been alive.”

He shook his head.  “At least eighty personnel, missing and presumed dead,” he told her.  “Maybe more, if Richardson wasn't the only spy; eighty people who could be anywhere by now.”

“Eighty isn't that many,” Mariko protested.

“You can run a superdreadnaught with eighty men if those men know what they’re doing and don’t mind having no damage control section,” Fitz corrected her, darkly.  “Maybe not a realistic prospect for a long engagement, but more than enough for a surprise attack.  And guess what else Richardson has been fiddling with?”

Mariko saw it, clearly.  “Starship numbers,” she said.  “He’s helped them to steal an entire fleet.”

“Only seven ships, the largest a battlecruiser,” Fitz said, savagely.  “They were supposed to be part of the Imperial Navy reserve, ships placed in mothballs because we didn't have the trained crewmen to operate them.  Richardson appears to have manipulated the system very well; orders to renovate them came from one source, papers for their transfer came from another source and IFF codes that allowed them to use the wormhole network came from a third.  I don’t think Richardson did all of this on his own.  Someone very high up has been helping him to manipulate the paperwork.”

“Lady Mary,” Mariko said.

“She isn't a Navy officer,” Fitz said.  “But she will have allies – clients – among the Imperial Navy officers in the sector.  A few nights on Tuff and they’d probably be eating out of her hand.”  He snorted.  “But we can leave the rest of the analysis until later.  What do you think this means?”

Mariko saw what the Secessionists were doing and swore out loud.  Revolt was futile because the Imperial Navy would put it down, by orbital bombardment if necessary.  But if the Secessionists had a fleet of their own... 

“They’re building their own navy,” she said.  “They could stand off the Imperial Navy, couldn't they?”

“Perhaps,” Fitz said.  “But nineteen ships won’t stand up against a full battle squadron, not unless they intend to use hit and run raids against our shipping.  That won’t keep them going for long once the Imperium is aware of the threat.  They’d be forced to flee to the Rim, or get crushed.”

Mariko considered it. 

“What if they call on the Snakes for more support?”

“It’s a possibility,” Fitz agreed.  “The Snakes could certainly give a single battle squadron a very hard time, perhaps destroy it outright.  But then the Imperium would send an entire fleet to settle the score and just drive on their empire.  The Snakes would be brutally crushed, and that would be the end of that.”

He hesitated. 

“I happen to know that there are planners in the Imperial Navy who believe that we should take out the Snakes now,” he added.  “Put together a task force and just advance on their systems, forcing them to confront us or watch us turn their homeworlds to radioactive glass.  Not a pleasant thought, but if we fight it out now, we may not have to worry about fighting them later.”

“As the Imperium continues to decline in strength,” Mariko said, grimly.  The prospect of so many deaths, even alien deaths, was horrifying.  “What did the Imperial Navy have to say about the planned attack?”

“They claimed that the planners were mad,” Fitz said.  “And then, they insisted that they should all be removed from sensitive positions and exiled out to the Rim.  The last thing they want is a foreign war that might call attention to how far the rot has spread into the Imperial Navy.”