Inquisitor (21 page)

Chapter 13

She must have dozed, sitting in her pilot’s chair. A movement had woken her: Charlotte’s shadow moving around the bridge. Angel’s eyes still pained her, but the unpleasant sensation had receded somewhat.

“Where are we going now?” she asked. The ship’s engines had lulled her to sleep, her healing body failing to fend off her lethargy after the operation. She hated having to ask Charlotte that question, like she was a sidekick who was tagging along. But right now, she didn’t have a lot of options. It galled her to admit it, but at least she wasn’t helpless.

“Here. Take these.”

Charlotte pressed a few pills into her palm and held out a glass of water.

Angel examined them and let her implants decipher their imprinted markings. Standard painkillers, dosage about right for her level of discomfort. She double-checked, wondering if she should be more wary of Charlotte. After all, she’d shown a ruthlessness not many humans would be comfortable with. Her implants reconfirmed the dosage was correct, and she placed them on her tongue, swallowing them with a mouthful of water.

Charlotte smiled with approval, as if she were a mother and Angel a child she was taking care of. She had a smudge of brown in one corner of her lips.

“Good.” Charlotte held out a tray of dark brown squares. “Have some chocolate. It’s really good. It has salt in it. Crystals. There’s a crunch and—”

“No. Thank you,” said Angel.

Charlotte’s mouth turned down in disappointment. She’d painted her fingernails a pale pink with specks of red glitter.

“I have to clear my name,” Angel said.

There was a long pause. Charlotte popped a chocolate into her mouth and chewed.

“I have to,” Angel reiterated.

Charlotte nodded slowly. “I know it’s important to you. But… I thought this conversation would happen later. There was only a thirteen percent chance of it occurring now.”

Angel massaged the bridge of her nose. “Not everything can be boiled down to probabilities.”

“Most things can.”

“Then what’s our chance of getting through this alive?”

“For you… I calculate your chance of survival at sixty-seven percent.”

But not herself. “What about yours?”

Charlotte swallowed and selected another chocolate. “Mine… less than five percent.”

That low? What was Charlotte not telling her? “Uh-huh. And why is my chance of survival different to yours? Why is yours much lower?”

“Angel… it’s—”

“Why, Charlotte?”

“Because I don’t want to be imprisoned again. I’d rather kill myself. You would survive if caught. If the Inquisitors find you first, then you’ll be put on trial. Who knows what would come out then. Most likely, you’ll be found guilty—”

Great.

“—but in the end, you’ll live. Insanity would be a good defense.”

“I’m not lying.”

Charlotte shot her a look of sadness. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. If the Genevolves find you first, though… you’ll be tortured and killed.”

“Then we’d best make sure they don’t.” Angel was torn between wanting to find the Genevolves and shutting down Mercurial’s plans. She hated the way Mercurial had corrupted some of the Inquisitors, but ultimately perhaps the Genevolves and their plots were more important. Their conspiracy had the potential to be a huge threat to humanity. If there could be another devastating war with the Genevolves, then corporate villainy was a low priority. Finding the truth and protecting people—the way she couldn’t uncover the truth and protect her siblings when she was young—mattered a great deal to her. Perhaps more than anything. And then there was also clearing her name. Though it was a painful reminder of the past, her reputation was linked to it.

“Clear my name, then I’ll help you however you want. I’ll be in a better position to do so then, anyway. The Inquisitors—”

“Are powerless. Hamstrung by corruption within. The Genevolves have long and moneyed tentacles.”

“Not everyone can be bought. There are good men and women. Margith, for one.”

“Everyone has a price. A pressure point. If not money, then something else. Family. A secret.”

“Everyone may, but only a few Inquisitors are… have to be compromised.”

“How do you know that?”

“It makes sense. Why go after hundreds when only a few will do the job you need? Don’t you understand? I have to clear my name. This is important to me. My name is… all I have.”

Charlotte sighed. “All right. The risk is… never mind. I can’t see how we can do this, though. The Genevolves obliterated any evidence at Mercurial we could use. They’re covering their tracks well.”

“So far, we’ve only run into one Genevolve, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So we can assume she’s the only one chasing us. Unless we disappear, and she calls more in.”

“There’s a high probability she’s already recruited some help. Whether other Genevolves or not is incalculable.”

“What’s the probability she’s the one who blew up Mercurial Logic’s headquarters?”

“High. Range in the nineties.”

She needed more evidence from Mikal’s bug aboard the Genevolve ship. But unless it was in range, it was impossible.

Angel spoke cautiously. “Then we need to capture her. Either her ship or her implants will have the evidence we need.”

A flash of fear was quickly replaced by calculation. “Actually,” said Charlotte dryly, “this might fit into my plans. We could lure her in.” There was a long pause. “Yes. This just might work.”

“What exactly are your plans?” asked Angel, both curious and dreading the answer.

“I want the first thing any freethinking animal does: I want to survive.”

•

Sercan Orbital sat just above the asteroid belt around Skarsgard, a white sub-giant star. Situated far enough out to be inhospitable to life, there was no reason to locate an orbital out here. Except a few hundred years ago there was an immense spaceship battle among the asteroids. Mainly over resources, as the system was unusually rich in heavy elements, and it happened to be located at an intersection of self-proclaimed areas of ownership of large corporations at the time.

According to history, hardly any humans were killed during the battle, which was conducted mostly by primitive Advanced Intelligences piloting battleships and other smaller classes of war craft. What they did leave behind were scraps of spaceships—some kilometers long—floating among the asteroids. The corporations abandoned them as unsalvageable. But to enterprising prospectors, they were a gold mine. What was a curiosity from a dark time in human history turned into a way of making a living for innovative thinkers who “mined” the detritus for saleable scraps: old technology, sometimes functioning—parts, weapons, shields, drives, and fusion generators—leftover bits and pieces from a less enlightened time. A trading post was set up. Small at first, it nevertheless grew as more and more prospectors came to try their luck. As it expanded, a number of less salubrious traders arrived, selling and buying anything under the suns.

The orbital had started out as a supply station for the prospectors and traders. The owner, as part of a joke, had built the original supply station around one of the asteroids, which was pure diamond—worthless these days, but a curiosity. Since then it had grown, layered, and developed into a trading hub. If you wanted to buy something, if you had something to sell, and couldn’t do either on your home planet, Sercan was the place to go.

Angel looked at the box Charlotte had emerged from. To her eyes, it lacked the intrigue it once had, the promise of mystery. But perhaps that was her imagination.

“Is the tracking device working?”

“For the third time, yes,” replied Charlotte.

“Good. Then let’s get going.” Angel triggered the ship’s cargo loaders.

She rechecked her hand-cannon as Charlotte’s box swung through the air, admitting to herself she was nervous. If someone here recognized her, they’d probably have to shoot their way out. The reward posted on her head was enough to make anyone take the chance, even if they were looking down the barrel of her hand-cannon.

Earlier, she’d chosen her wardrobe to conceal her features. A midnight blue scarf covered her hair, leaving her face exposed. Large tinted goggles masked her eyes, the kind usually worn by colonists on worlds with bright suns. Her retinal implants compensated for the low light, so her vision was perfect. In fact, it was slightly better than normal. Once the swelling and pain had subsided, everything was crisper, clearer. And she found she could see with clarity at a longer distance. She was uncomfortable with this, but at the same time, something else swelled within her. It took her a moment to identify what it was. Pride. What Charlotte had been able to do—fix her ruined eyes—was unheard of. Her technology could benefit so many, and be extrapolated to other techniques. What would she be capable of, if given full rein?

The box clunked into place on a motorized, wheeled tray. Angel shivered.

“Ready, Angel?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Charlotte was dressed in a tight mesh top and a short skirt, with long socks. She was also wearing sparkling silver platform shoes that added a good six centimeters to her height. Angel frowned. She was far too young to be wearing revealing clothing like that. Still, she wasn’t really a girl, was she? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about it bothered her.

“Charlotte,” Angel said, “please change into something less conspicuous.”

Charlotte frowned. “Are you taking away my free will and agency?”

Smart-ass.
“No. If we draw attention, it’ll compromise the mission. We’re laying a trap. If we’re too obvious, she’ll know it’s one.” There was no need to state who “she” was.

For a moment, Angel thought Charlotte was going to continue arguing with her. Then Charlotte nodded and made her way to her cabin. Angel let out a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t long before Charlotte rejoined her, this time dressed in casual pants and a shirt.

The box followed them faithfully down the cargo ramp and into the orbital proper. Yellow lights flashed on the sides of the tray, along with a high-pitched beeping, indicating a heavy load that people should avoid. A few passersby gave their cargo curious looks, but none of them stopped to stare. They weren’t an anomaly in Sercan, and the appearance of an unknown ship delivering merchandise was a run-of-the-mill affair. Automated cargo carriers of various sizes scooted around them, and Angel checked her step a few times, though she knew their sensors and servos were advanced enough to avoid other vehicles and pedestrians.

“Here,” Angel said. A trader’s warehouse. Any should do. They didn’t actually need to sell the box, though it would fetch a good price. Cutting-edge corporation technology always did. What they needed was for word to get out. The active tracking device they’d inserted was a precaution, in case the Genevolve stole the box and disappeared, or they lost her somehow.

The four-story warehouse looked almost identical to the ones around it. Flat, machine-polished plates of plascrete made up the walls, and the hangar-like doors looked to be almost bombproof. Two cannon turrets to either side swiveled to track them as they approached.

“Why this one?” asked Charlotte.

“It’s the closest.”

“Oh.”

Angel pressed a green button on the intercom. A few moments later, a thin, wavering voice spoke.

“What is it?”

“We have something—”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. We—”

“Appointments only.”

“Look, we have something—”

“Would you like to make an appointment?”

“No. We have state-of-the-art, cutting-edge, experimental technology from Mercurial Logic Incorporated.”

There was a long pause. “We have an opening now. Please come in.”

The doors cracked apart, and the space between them widened with a droning hum. They wandered toward it, waiting for the gap to open enough for their merchandise to fit through. Light from outside lit the dim interior.

An old man appeared, spectacled and wearing tan pants and a woolen jacket that looked a hundred years old. Fashionable, he was not.

He ran a hand through wispy white hair covering a spotted pate. “Come in, come in.” He waved to them. “I’m Strelmach.”

Angel and Charlotte entered the dingy space and introduced themselves as middleman vendors under assumed names, which they’d agreed to earlier.

The warehouse was crammed with crates and boxes on racks that stretched to the ceiling. Automated forklifts on rails roamed the aisles, depositing and removing loads, all of which came or went through two large holes in a side wall.

“So, lovely ladies, store or trade?”

“Trade,” Angel said.

Strelmach rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Excellent. We don’t get many walk-ins, but they’re usually exciting.”

“I think you’ll find this one suitably exhilarating,” Angel said.

“Here, here,” Strelmach said, gesturing toward a large component analyzer. He squinted at the control panel and ran a hand along the exterior framework.

Angel’s implants directed the cargo loader into the analyzer. Laser lines traced the outside of the box while at the same time it was bombarded with a plethora of examinations—soft X-ray, ultrasound, imaging, neutrino, electrical, and magnetic.

Strelmach wandered over to the machine’s controls, tapping buttons and twiddling dials. It looked older than he did, by a good few hundred years. There was a chittering, and its screen flooded with figures and symbols. He looked them over, peering closer at a few of the sections.

“Oh my!” Strelmach exclaimed, then flashed them an annoyed look he tried to cover quickly. He took off his spectacles and polished the lenses with a kerchief from his coat pocket. He came toward them, placing his spectacles back on his nose and clearing his throat. “I believe you’re mistaken,” he began, holding up the curled paper. “This is an older model, and—”

Angel snorted, loud enough to cut him off. Then she chuckled. “Sorry, Mr. Strelmach, but you’re going to have to do better than that. We know exactly what we have here.” She triggered the cargo loader to roll out of the analyzer. “If you’re not going to deal honestly with us, then we’ll go elsewhere.”