The Devil and Deep Space (18 page)

Once it had left the ship, however, the little remote took surprising action, kicking itself away from the
Ragnarok
’s hull, tearing itself free with a sudden convulsive gesture.

Away from the ship, it dropped, inert and silent, traveling on the inertia of its escape until its sensors told it that it was clear of the ship’s communications intercept net.

And then it began to transmit.

It was too small, too primitive, to do anything but send its tiny packet of information. It was preset for one exact target receiver, burning its limited power supply with reckless profligacy in its urgent need to make its message heard.

It had things to say, to the right people. It knew who had been on board of the ship nearest to the observation station when the station had exploded. It knew which team it had been, and which Wolnadi. The names were required; the Warrant could not be written without the names, and without a Warrant, there could be no serious challenge to the
Ragnarok
’s custody of the individuals in question.

It sent the names on transmit, and fell silent.

###

Ap Rhiannon had asked Dierryk Rukota to join her in the Captain’s office. He wasn’t much occupied this forenoon, tired of watching the assessment team go through one Wolnadi after another and sensibly resigned to the futility of trying to talk to the Ship’s Engineer; so he’d come directly.

He beat her to it, finding himself when he got there with nobody but the First Officer for company. The First Officer, however, was apparently too absorbed in some documentation to more than acknowledge his presence with a polite, if uninterested, nod.

Rukota looked around. This had been Captain Brem’s office. It looked unoccupied — as though Brem had only begun to move in before his unexpected death. None of the decor looked particularly like ap Rhiannon to Rukota; had she moved in at all? Or was she still operating out of a Lieutenant’s office, being punctilious about her rating? It’d be like her.

“Well, if the Captain isn’t going to use this space, I wish she’d loan it to me,” Rukota said to the room. The Captain’s office was one of the larger administrative spaces on board of the
Ragnarok
, and it was quite emphatically roomier than the squad bay that Mendez had allotted to the Pesadie team. “I could fit my whole crew in here. With some space left over for a bean tea service,” he added, a little unfairly, eyeing the quite obviously unused service set to one side of the room. If there was any hope at all for good bean tea it was nowhere on board but here, since Wheatfields had declined to share his.

Mendez set his flat–form docket aside as the admit warning sounded. “Haven’t had it fumigated yet, General. And my Captain needs the space to talk to your Admiral.”

Rukota was minded to object to Mendez’s assumption that Brecinn was “his” Admiral, but found the First Officer’s unselfconscious reference to ap Rhiannon as his Captain too interesting to interfere with. And ap Rhiannon was here, now, after all. No bickering amongst the troops in the presence of Command Branch, Rukota reminded himself.

“General Rukota.”

She came into the room with a precision of Security whose posting of themselves at the door was beautiful to watch. Rukota had noticed that, about the
Ragnarok
; all of the normal morale indicators were absolutely topnotch as far as crew demeanor went. He’d been trying to convince himself that they were all simply on their best behavior with outsiders present; but the ability of a pair of troops to post in perfect synchronicity was not something that could be turned on and off for company. It was either a consistent habit of living, or impossible.

Bowing his salute in response, Rukota felt it better not to speak until spoken to. She clearly didn’t have a great deal to say to him. Seating herself at the Captain’s desk, she gestured for him to come and stand behind her. Mendez took a position beside him, at her right shoulder, and petrified without a moment’s notice into an archetypal image of a First Officer present for a Captain’s transmission.

Rukota didn’t think he could match the pose. Moreover, he could not help but feel that he would only look pathetic if he tried. At least he understood why he was here, now; ap Rhiannon had some sort of an official communication to make.

“This is Acting Captain Jennet ap Rhiannon, Jurisdiction Fleet Ship
Ragnarok
, for Admiral Sandri Brecinn. Pesadie Training Command.”

The usual preliminaries, and then Admiral Brecinn appeared in holographic projection at one–and–four–eighths’ life–size in the room in front of them. It was a good deal closer than Rukota had ever gotten to her, and the experience was not an entirely pleasant one. She looked rather older, and very tired.

She also did not look to be in a very good temper. “You have results to report, ap Rhiannon?” Granted, Brecinn had no motivation for observing the niceties of Fleet protocol; she seemed to be alone in her office, and ap Rhiannon was only acting in the capacity of Captain. Rukota thought her choice of words unnecessarily short, all the same.

“Preliminary results, Admiral. I am calling to report that the Wolnadi fighter that was nearest to the scene of the accident when it occurred has been identified by the preliminary assessment team. My Engineer has transmitted the information to me. I will be asking General Rukota to prepare an in–depth analysis.”

Rukota heard her, but he didn’t believe it. He kept his face clear and his expression serene by main force of will. It was times like these that being ugly was useful; people generally spent as little time as possible, looking at him, and were less likely to notice a continuity glitch accordingly.

If the Wolnadi had been identified, it was news to him.

“And not before time, Lieutenant.” Brecinn sounded gratified, almost gloating. But not surprised. Suddenly Rukota had a very unhappy feeling that something even uglier than anticipated had occurred. Had one of the team come by information by stealth, and transmitted it?

It was hard to imagine. There was a genuine coherence to the crew of the
Ragnarok
that Rukota found intriguing, and that would be hard to reconcile with treachery on the part of any of the souls assigned.

Admiral Brecinn addressed him directly, calling his attention back to his immediate environment. “I was beginning to wonder what you were taking so long at, General. When may I expect my report?”

He could answer this one honestly, which always helped. “I’m unsure as yet, Admiral. The information is just in. I haven’t had a chance to consult with the team.”

And yes, he would play along with whatever it was that ap Rhiannon had in mind. It was poor policy to contradict Command Branch in front of other officers. He could afford to wait until he knew what she was up to before he decided what his considered response would be. He didn’t owe Brecinn anything in particular, one way or the other.

“Well. Fair enough, I suppose. Don’t keep me waiting. Anything else to report, Lieutenant?”

Brecinn’s insistence on ap Rhiannon’s junior status was beginning to grate on Rukota’s nerves. The crew of the
Ragnarok
didn’t seem to mind “Captain” ap Rhiannon; they corrected themselves easily enough when they said Lieutenant, or at least they had in Rukota’s limited experience. If the crew of the
Ragnarok
didn’t mind, why should Admiral Brecinn?

Whether or not ap Rhiannon experienced a like sense of aggravation, there was more than a touch of asperity in her voice as she replied. “Yes, Admiral, in fact. I have shortages to report, and it’s impacting health and welfare. We were to have been at the resupply station days ago, Admiral. I have got to go and get some of these requisitions filled.”

Brecinn had not been expecting anything of the sort out of ap Rhiannon, either in subject or in delivery. It was all too clear from the momentary wobbling of her stream–snapper’s beak of a mouth. “You’ve already been told three times that there simply are no replacement converters available for that secondary fusion. I’ve told you, there’s a shortage on, or don’t you believe your own supply reports?”

What shortage? Rukota wondered, hoping his face was appropriately blank. Shortage of converters for fusion furnaces? That was ridiculous. Why would Fleet tolerate a shortage in such a critical area? Motivation and weapons systems had the very highest priorities. He must not have caught something, somewhere.

“Understood, Admiral Brecinn. But I have other requisitions against existing inventory for nutritures. Meds. On–board recycles. Some of these have been outstanding from the beginning of the recent exercise.”

Oh, really? That could explain why the bean tea was as bad as it was. If he’d known ahead of time, he could have packed an extra store for his personal use; although that might not have been interpreted as a friendly sharing gesture.

“General Rukota? What do you have to say about all this?”

Brecinn’s abrupt, direct address startled him beyond his ability to cover it up. Was she calling ap Rhiannon a liar? Or simply a poor judge of logistical requirements? Did it matter? Brecinn clearly did not care how she spoke to ap Rhiannon, Command Branch or no Command Branch. It made a man feel very uncomfortable: apart from the gratuitous rudeness of the gesture, what made Brecinn think that she could get away with it?

“The scope of the assessment team’s brief does not extend to the
Ragnarok
’s requisitions–in–holding.” He could hear his own stiff outrage in his voice. And he was trying to be polite; because he believed that discipline and courtesy were supposed to move up, as well as down, the command chain. “As far as anecdotal evidence is to be trusted I can personally vouch for the generally depressing lack of required sensory characteristics in Ship’s Mess.”

But Brecinn was already pulling her head back beneath the bony shell of her figurative carapace. “Well, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the investigation, I suppose you may as well go resupply,” Brecinn said, with a dismissive frown. “Rukota, I’ll be waiting for your report.”

Ap Rhiannon had given her what she wanted, the promise of a report. Brecinn clearly felt she could afford to play from her rank. “But I don’t mind telling you, Lieutenant, that to my mind identifying the saboteurs responsible for the murder of Captain Brem should be somewhat more important than stocking up on sweetener for your fast–meal mush.”

“Thank you, Admiral Brecinn.” Ap Rhiannon for her part sounded absolutely unmoved, as if she had not even noticed Brecinn’s rudeness. “For my part, I was raised to believe that the health and welfare of the souls entrusted to my Command under the rule of Law was much more important than playing pointless political games with anyone. I state once again for the Record that the evidence will show that the
Ragnarok
had no part in the death of Cowil Brem. Departing for resupply, by your leave, Admiral.”

Admiral Brecinn waved ap Rhiannon off with a cavalier gesture of her hand. “Do what you must, Lieutenant. I need by–name identification of the crew of that Wolnadi, General, so that the documentation can be prepared for a formal Inquiry. The sooner we can complete the necessary reports, the better off we will all be in the long run. I trust you take my meaning. All of you. Pesadie Training Command, away, here.”

It was a mistake on the Admiral’s part, an error. Rukota knew it in his bones, even though he did not yet know exactly why it was an error.

Cutting the signal with a decisive gesture ap Rhiannon stood up; and remained for a brief moment with her back to them, leaning on the table’s surface as though she was tired. Rukota supposed that it was abstractly possible that she was, but there would be no getting such an admission out of her.

Then she straightened up, and looked back, over her shoulder at them. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested. “Before we run into any interference. You know what to do, First Officer. General Rukota, thank you for coming. I felt you would wish to be present.”

“Tell me about this information your Excellency has just provided,” Rukota suggested, unwilling to go away quietly. “Does the preliminary assessment team know about this?”

Ap Rhiannon smiled. Mendez didn’t. They were in this together, Rukota realized; and he was complicit as well, at least by implication. “It’s possible,” ap Rhiannon said. “We think we’ve had a leak. But as long as she thinks she’s got the names coming, we can win a little time to maneuver.”

Well, to the resupply depot at Laynock, for instance. Except that the Laynock depot wasn’t the only depot that was accessible from the Pesadie exit vector. And he wasn’t going to think about it. It was none of his business. “If she’s got the names already, it’s all academic, your Excellency.”

Ap Rhiannon shook her head. “It’s not official. She can’t admit to having the names until your report transmits them. And once she has the names, she’ll want the troops. I don’t know how we’re going to protect them, exactly. But we’ve got to think of something.”

A vision from the recent past rose up on the mind’s eye of General Dierryk Rukota. A shuttle. A courier. Clearing for Azanry, if he remembered correctly. Hadn’t the technician said it was the
Ragnarok
’s Chief Medical Officer, going home? One of the Ship’s Primes. Traveling with Security.

Ap Rhiannon was playing more dangerous a game than Rukota would have imagined, if she had done what he suspected. Her career was at risk, at the very least; and for what? Reluctance to surrender four souls to Inquiry, to torture?

Or educated expectation of how the scope of Inquiry would widen with its own inexorable logic from four to sixteen to two hundred and fifty–six?

“What’s my place in this mess, then, your Excellency?”

Ap Rhiannon almost smiled. Almost. “Let that assessment team do what they came for, General. Ask them when they’ll have information for you to prepare your report. It’s their job, after all. With respect. General.”
Stay out of it. You aren’t part of it anyway. Keep clear
.

Rukota was disgusted enough to do just that. He bowed in salute. “Very good, your Excellency. Returning to assigned offices as instructed.”