Sidespace (11 page)

“He’s a programmer, not a soldier. He had no experience in military warfare or tactics. Surely a high-ranking officer possessing the necessary core skillset could have been trained in short order.”

“How short of order, Chairman? I realize time dulls memories, so allow me to refresh yours. We had no longer than a week before the Metigens reached Earth—a week which would’ve seen the death of millions on Seneca and Romane—”

The woman’s voice rose to drown Miriam out. “Our relations with the Federation are not the subject of this hearing.”

“I didn’t say they were. I said we had no time.”

“Well. We do have time now, don’t we? If Noetica is allowed to continue—and that is a significant ‘if’—it needs to be institutionalized as a classified military research program and removed from active service.”

Mori spoke up. “I happen to agree, Chairman. I also agree we should disconnect Mr. Reynolds and find a more suitable replacement.”

She canted her head in Mori’s direction. “
Disconnect
him? After six months of being joined with one another, he and ANNIE have developed a symbiotic relationship not merely on a psychological level but also a physical one. His brain has been irrevocably altered by the connection, as, arguably, has hers.”

“ ‘Hers’? Anthropomorphizing machines now, are we?”

Miriam’s gaze swerved back to the dais. “If you had read the reports as meticulously as you claim, Chairman, you would know Artificials tend to assign gender identities to themselves. I’m respecting its preference.”

“It’s a
machine
, Admiral Solovy.”

“If you mean it’s constructed of synthetic materials, then yes, it is. Devon Reynolds is not.”

The Chairman cleared her throat. “The status of Mr. Reynolds will be determined at a later date. We face a larger issue: the security of Noetica and the technology behind it. If the means to create additional Prevos were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be catastrophic.”

“The ‘means’ reside on the very bleeding edge of both science and medicine. Dr. Abigail Canivon is the only person who fully understands the procedure. Further, examining either half of a Prevo will not yield answers to the extent you suggest. It is not something that can be reverse engineered.”

“Perhaps not. But ignoring for the moment the fact the Federation possesses a Prevo over which we exercise no control—and the fact you now have not one, not two, but
three
active Artificials on EASC grounds—let us do discuss the fact that your daughter has run off with the Artificial most intimately involved in helping Dr. Canivon develop the Noetica procedure, has she not?”

Miriam’s jaw tightened. “My daughter received permission to take possession of the Artificial known as ‘Valkyrie.’ ”

“Permission from EASC—which means from you—not permission from this Committee. And she did not have permission to traverse the Metigen portal and vanish.”

“Actually, she did.”

Miriam took great pleasure in the brief but unmistakable look of surprise on the woman’s face. “What do you mean, Admiral?”

“I not only authorized but requested that she undertake a mission to learn more about what exists beyond the portal.” It was a lie, but it had the advantage of being a believable one. She and Alex had discussed this very question several times in the preceding months. Discovering the answer to it was indeed important, albeit something she never would have asked Alex to pursue due to the danger inherent in it. Little surprise, really, when Alex had done it anyway.

“With a reputedly former Senecan Intelligence agent.”

“With her
husband
. I’m sorry, I was under the impression we were now allies with the Federation.”

“Again, a topic for a later date. Why weren’t we informed of this ‘mission?’ ”

Miriam kept her expression scrupulously neutral, for the words alone were quite sufficient. “You aren’t informed of many missions, Chairman. This is an oversight committee, not a strategic one.”

The Chairman grew more agitated and appeared to be on the verge of losing her composure. “Why didn’t you send a military reconnaissance or special operations team? For a dedicated military officer, you seem to be turning to civilians to do the military’s job rather a lot of late.”

“Because I did not wish to start another war when we have not yet recovered from the last one. A single civilian ship—particularly one benefiting from both the knowledge of an Artificial and the experience of an intelligence agent—is far less likely to engender weaponized conflict than multiple military craft.”

Mori’s eyes had grown wide beside her. “But we told the Metigens we wouldn’t go looking for them!”

She allowed herself a small smile. “Actually, we didn’t.”

S
EATTLE

Across an ocean and a continent another hearing came to a conclusion even as Miriam’s hearing was starting to get interesting.

Now Richard Navick stood on his porch and stared at the front door to his home. Their home.

Will had designed it from scratch and overseen every aspect of its construction twelve years earlier. The lot on the banks of Lake Sammamish cost a small fortune, but they’d recouped some of the expense by acquiring materials at cost from W. C. Sutton’s suppliers. It had still set them back financially, but they’d never regretted it. This was an ideal and
personal
home. A refuge.

How was he supposed to tell Will? His husband would blame himself, clearly, and there was nothing Richard could do to prevent it. There was no way out of the guilt and recriminations guaranteed to follow.

He rehearsed what he would say while he stared at the door. “Will, the Ethics Council found out I was married to a Senecan spy. I’ve been fired—asked to retire—resign—dishonorably discharged.” Surely the last part could wait until the dust had settled? But that would be lying. There had been too much lying in this house, and they’d agreed there would be no more.

Richard struggled to keep his heart rate steady as he opened the door and stepped inside. He was out of practice—it had been too long since he’d been in the field where such a skill might mean the difference between living and dying. His voice sounded raspy as he called out. “Will, I’m home. Where are you?”

Silence answered, and only then did it occur to him that he hadn’t viewed his messages since before the hearing. He’d spent the trip home in a fugue, his brain cycling the fateful declarations of the Ethics Council in an endless loop. Sure enough, there was a message time-stamped two hours earlier from Will saying he had an unscheduled meeting with a difficult client and was going to be late.

Richard sank against the foyer wall and allowed the oppressive silence to overtake him.

Will Sutton dragged himself through the door at 2130, frustrated and annoyed. It was neither his nor his company’s fault that Figro Limited’s design requirements were not in fact their design requirements. Architecture did not involve mind-reading, much to the Figro CEO’s surprise.

“Richard? Sorry I’m so late.”

He received no response, but Richard could be in the shower or on a comm. Will shrugged his jacket off and hung it on the rack in the foyer then wandered into the living room. The door to the back porch was open, allowing a frigid breeze to drift through the house and making him reconsider losing the jacket. He elected to check outside first and appraise the situation before deciding whether to retrieve it.

“Richard?” He stepped onto the porch.

Richard raised a glass in his direction from one of the hand-crafted teak deck chairs but didn’t look over. Will glanced at the half-empty bottle of bourbon perched precariously on the railing. It wasn’t uncommon for them to share a drink or two at night, but he was fairly certain the bottle had been full this morning.

“Hold on a second.” He went back inside, grabbed his jacket and quickly returned. Then he steadied the bottle with one hand and leaned on the railing to face Richard. “Bad day?”

Richard gave a low, rumbling chuckle and took a long sip from an almost empty glass. “Nah. You had one though, didn’t you? Tell me about your bad day.”

“Why don’t you tell me about yours first.”

Richard blinked hard but still didn’t meet his gaze. “If you insist. I got fired. Now about your day—”

“What?
Why?
”

“Don’t make me say it, please.”

“What…it wasn’t…because of me?” He’d feared it often these last months—the possibility of, peace aside, the wrong bureaucrats finding out his history and amorphous allegiances. Miriam had looked the other way, and Director Delavasi had assured him no one in the Alliance knew that, until very recently, his true employer was the Senecan Federation Division of Intelligence. But someone always knew.

Richard finally looked him in the eye, and it was all the answer he needed. He inhaled sharply. “I’m going to get a glass.”

It took them both finishing off a second glass of the bourbon before either spoke another word. Will had stood in the kitchen, hands on the counter and head hanging, for at least five minutes, confident Richard was too drunk to notice the passage of time. He might have hyperventilated—hence the five minutes—but wrangled it under control before he made it back out to the porch, poured a glass straight up to the rim and fell into the other chair.

“How?” The bourbon burned hot down his throat while he waited on an answer.

“ ‘Protected source.’ Graham’s got himself a double agent.”

“Yeah.” The word propelled itself outward on a ragged, broken breath. The days between when he’d exposed his deepest secret and when Richard miraculously appeared at the door to his hotel room had been the worst of his life, no question. Surviving them to an outcome he’d never dared hope was possible, then everyone he cared for surviving the Metigen invasion, had led to the best days of his life.

But this…it was a lesson his father had imparted long ago, and one of the few he’d remembered in the aftermath of the accident that killed his parents when he was teenager: choices have consequences. Whether the next day, year or decade, they will catch up to you.

There were so many choices, with so many consequences.

He refilled his glass, and at Richard’s outstretched arm refilled his as well. “Is it too late for you to disavow me? Say you didn’t know, curse my name, pledge my death, whatever it takes?”

“Probably not—I mean I mostly stood there staring blankly, so maybe? But I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Why
not
?” Richard growled, gutturally and far more fiercely than was his nature. “Aside from the obvious? After the war, after the damn apocalypse, after everything? I find I don’t have the patience for the bullshit I once did. I think I’m finally seeing the world the way David Solovy did. Those bureaucrats huddled in their bunkers while we saved the galaxy, and now they want to tell me I can’t do the job I’ve done damn well for eighteen years because of some regulation? They simply can’t wrap their tiny little minds around the idea that Seneca is no longer our enemy.”

For a moment Will got caught up in the righteous indignation. “I think they simply can’t
accept
Seneca not being the enemy.”