Pathfinder (38 page)

“When would that be?” Ensign Walker asked sharply.

“Hours, maybe a day—”

Isrid cut off Andre and turned to Walker. “There will be a lag while the highest members of the staff consult with the Overlord. However, as Assistant for the Exterior, I’ll be at the top of the message list, once they’ve drafted a response.”

Ensign Walker calmly met his gaze. “And until then, SP? What will you do?”

Again, Walker rose in his estimation.
Most TSF officers have been prepared for this moment, but as a bureaucrat, I’m on my own
. Isrid said, “I’ll honor my prior commitments to running this station and supporting an interstellar exploration mission. Any use of Terran Space Forces or TSF weapons will be considered exactly as they would have been yesterday; all in support of Pax Minoica. Are you with me, Ensign?”

“Yes, sir.” Walker snapped back the reply, and the petty officer beside him straightened unconsciously.

“Raise the threat-ready level for the operational crew on-station and notify the
Percival
. However,
no one
, repeat,
no one
is to take action, even defensively, without my approval.”

“But what about the exploration mission?” Andre pushed forward, his eyes wide and his face flushed. “You can take control, SP, or order the Autonomist commander replaced. You should press for an advantage right now.”

Before anyone else added their advice, Isrid raised his hand and signaled for quiet. He watched Andre’s face, remembering how the master spy thrived during wartime. He also recalled phrases from field commanders, such as “loose cannon” and “uncontrollable,” being thrown about with Andre’s name.

“What
should
we tell the exploration team?” Zheng asked.

“Nothing,” Isrid said. “That includes all the R and D teams on Beta Priamos and Priamos. There’s nothing they can do, anyway, so let them work in peace.”

Ensign Walker and Isrid both looked at Andre, who tried to forestall what was coming. “SP, any decision you make could be permanently attributed to you, or merely blamed upon a faceless committee or group. You need me
here
as advisor, for your protection.”

“I’ll accept the responsibility, thank you, but I’ll need to keep you incommunicado for a while, for
your
protection.” Isrid smiled. “And Ensign Walker, make sure your security personnel institute full chemical protection protocols, to protect against multicomponent poisons.”

Andre sighed as two tough-looking TSF guards appeared in response to Walker’s call. Looking at Isrid, he shrugged and said, “Exactly what I would do. Bravo, SP.”

He was quickly transitioning to Dr. Istaga as he walked out between them.

“I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep,” Dr. Lowry told Matt. “Nothing’s happening for a while, but wake me if we get surprised.”

Matt nodded as she left the control deck, wishing he could address her as Myrna, but she was so formal. He certainly hoped they weren’t surprised and everything happened the way they
trusted
it would. That was the whole problem: They had to put their faith in experiments and alien assurances. The Minoans had run experiments against the bot-plus-Builders’ buoy and proclaimed that there
was
an operating buoy at the other end and that it would probably carry comm and provide a lock signal. If not, the Minoans provided some equipment, that
they just happened to have lying around
, which could relay comm and
maybe
coax a lock signal from the buoy on the Builders’ end.
So . . . this is all going to work, right?
He was asked to believe this, coming from aliens who refused to take the risk of traveling themselves.

He stood and stretched. Ruffling his short hair, he wondered how they had managed to get this far, based on Minoan smoke and mirrors. And why was he getting jitters
now
, after he had watched the
Pytheas
drop out of real-space? Maybe he was just worried about Ari and the others.

His glance fell on the small FTL data diagram of G- 145. Once the
Pilgrimage
had installed more buoy relays, the faster-than-light data coverage was good over most parts of the solar system. He frowned, seeing more symbols and movement than he expected. He tapped the console to enlarge it and translate call signs to ship names. The
Pilgrimage
was still near the system buoy. Leaving the
Pilgrimage
, heading vaguely toward Beta Priamos, was the TLS
Ming Adams
, followed by the
Bright Crescent
. Their headings were unclear when Matt eyeballed the diagram, but when he ran the vectors, those ships were heading toward his ship and the Builders’ buoy,
not
the station.

There was movement near Laomedon and Priamos as well. The TLS
Percival
, on a patrol that
should
have positioned it far on the other side of the gas giant Laomedon, was streaking toward Priamos and the Beta Priamos Station. He whistled; “streaking” wasn’t an exaggeration. It looked like all three military ships were either at full boost or full braking, and that wasn’t just disquieting; it was frightening.

Time to call Diana, who was probably on the
Bright Crescent
. He waited for either an answer or her queue, but finally got the response, “Unable to complete call. If you wish to leave a message on station
Pilgrimage
, please . . .”

Matt recorded a simple statement like, “Diana, please call me,” but for a different purpose. He then commanded a reverse trace of the package he had just sent, including a download of the routing table. He examined it, frowning.

The call had been correctly routed through two inner-system relays between him and the
Bright Crescent
, but the message didn’t make the final hop to the ship. The errors indicated transmission failure or interference, causing the call to be rerouted back through a relay to the
Pilgrimage
. He called Beta Priamos Command Post, asking for security, and was quickly transferred to Ensign Walker.

“What, for Gaia’s sake, is going on with the
Ming Adams
and the
Bright Crescent
?” Matt demanded.

“Mr. Journey.” Ensign Walker seemed uncertain and looked to his right, out of Matt’s view. The ensign was in a big room, and there seemed to be movement about him, perhaps of other people. Colorful graphs and displays were on the bulkheads, but Matt’s view port didn’t show them clearly.

State Prince Parmet stepped into cam-eye range, causing it to refocus. He stood half a head taller than the ensign. “May I help you, Mr. Journey?”

“Certainly, SP.” Matt dialed back his smart-ass setting. He didn’t like Parmet because of what he had done to Ari, but it wouldn’t be wise to offend the State Prince—in this situation. “Perhaps you should tell me why the
Ming Adams
is boosting toward me at top speed, and why it seems to be jamming my messages to the
Bright Crescent
.”

Parmet had a face of stone, but Ensign Walker didn’t. He raised his eyebrows and looked impressed, perhaps of Matt’s assessment, or of Matt’s audacious tone.

Parmet paused, appearing to weigh options. Finally, he said, “Ostensibly, the TLS
Ming Adams
is here in G-145 to take custody of the isolationists and transport them to New Sousse. Two hours ago, they left the
Pilgrimage
with this station filed as their destination.”

“They’re a little off course,” Matt said. “And what about the jamming?”

“In their flight plan, the
Ming Adams
stated a deviation to collect data on the alien buoy. As for their active jamming, perhaps they’re using the recent compromise of the
Bright Crescent
as a way to tell them to back off.” If Parmet was trying to calm Matt down, he was failing. Matt noted the language—why refer to “they” and “them” when speaking about another League ship’s crew? Why use the patronizing tone, as if speaking of obvious fabrications? Unfortunately, Parmet seemed to know no more about the crew’s intent than Matt.

As for the “compromise” of Edones’s ship, Matt had gotten the gist of what happened from Diana. The Terrans had taken a gander at ship specifications, and might have reverse-engineered security algorithms that did everything from comm frequency hopping to missile-avoidance flight patterns. What Parmet didn’t point out was that
Edones would rather suffer active jamming of his comm than let his ship fall too far behind the faster Terran ship
. Now
that
was scary.

“Remember, there’s a Minoan warship sitting near the
Pilgrimage
,” Walker added. “We’re watching the situation carefully, and nobody’s gone into Minoan-provoking behavior. For instance, boarding actions would indicate piracy, unless accompanied by a declaration—”

Parmet put his hand on Ensign Walker’s shoulder, gently shutting him up. Matt glanced at the FTL diagram, which now had vector information about the ships. The
Bright Crescent
was a cruiser, and it was barely keeping up with the
Ming Adams
, which was a lighter and faster frigate. Of course, the frigate could continue to jam all comm going in and out of both ships. That would be the equivalent of a tantrum-prone kid stuffing fingers into his ears and humming, refusing to listen to reason.

Matt frowned and said, “I see you’ve recalled the TLS
Percival
. You’re responsible for the security of Beta Priamos station and its occupants, SP; did you decide your ship might be needed?”

“There’s an old adage that says no one may listen to you unless you’re carrying a big stick.” Parmet paused, looking intently at Matt. “For instance, a club or weapon. In whatever’s happening between those ships, I want my voice to be heard.”

In whatever’s happening between those ships
. Matt’s stomach tightened as he thought of Diana. However, he had the
Pytheas
to think about; its thin thread of communication back to human civilization hung on a fragile bot clinging to this buoy and a second-wave
weaponless
prospecting ship. The Builders’ buoy, like the Minoans’ buoys, would withstand all sorts of weapons fire, but not the bot or
Aether’s Touch
.

“What about my ship and our interface to the
Pytheas
? We’re sitting ducks out here.” Matt clenched his teeth and felt his jaw muscles bulge.

“Are you asking me for protection, Mr. Journey?” Parmet became almost deathly still.

Matt checked the FTL display again. In solar-system distances, nothing happened quickly. The TLS
Percival
was a newer type of League frigate and might get to his position within six hours. That could beat the
Ming Adams
.

He took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “Yes, SP, I’m formally requesting protection.”

 

This was like no other nous-transit Ariane had experienced. Usually, there were indications when you approached your destination and here’s where all pilots agreed: Minoan buoys looked the same in N-space as they did in real-space and you steered toward them before initiating the drop into real-space.

But Ariane saw no buoy, no artificial structure. Instead, there appeared to be a rending or tear in the darkness ahead. There was bright, piercing light and she hesitated. Should she push the ship through? Behind the light, she thought she saw a huge rounded form. She drove the ship forward and squinted at the light, through which there was obviously a solar system. She pressed the switch to dissolve the Penrose Fold and drop into real-space.

She would have screamed if she could have handled the noise. Instead of the gradual unpleasant transition, her body’s nervous system was promptly battered by input. Curling into a helpless ball was the only response she could muster. She had more to do after pushing the switch, and her hand flinched from the burning cold of the console as she shut down the referential engine. She slowly began sifting the light, sound, temperature, and pressure through correct sensory paths. The gravity generator must have been turned on—did she do that? The voices were tense; they began to separate, into male and female, rattling off tight but incomprehensible strings of words.

“Incoming kinetic—maneuver—”

“Avoid them—farther away—”

“Need chaff, releasing at—”

“Disable that platform to port before—”

Eventually, the alarms quieted down, as did the voices. Someone asked, “Ariane? Can you hear me?”

She flinched. When the question was repeated, she tried to answer, but only a groan came out. They removed her N-space visor and gave her a drink pack of sweet concentrated juice. She began to feel better. With trembling fingers, she lightly stroked her temples and came away with hair. Obviously, this had been a hard drop.

“You’re going to need quite a trim.” Maria’s face came into view. She was smiling. “But you got us here.”

“Wea-weapons?” Ariane’s mouth and tongue were still relearning how to speak.

Maria nodded. “Automated weapons platforms for protecting against incoming ships. They did extremely well, for only having solar power for the past couple thousand years. Unfortunately, they damaged one of our antennas before we disabled them—but we can get on fine without it.”