Pathfinder (44 page)

“I’m sure.” Her parasite thrummed with impatience and set her on edge. She put the seed into the small lockbox, keyed to her thumb- and voiceprint, so she could appease her own worries and secondly, subdue her parasite’s jitters. When she closed the lockbox and believed the seed was secure, the parasite calmed.

“They never told you what this archive would contain, once grown?”

“No, and I don’t want to know.” Years of hiding her history made her a facile liar, even more convincing when she rationalized that she was protecting Matt. A secret known by more than one person might not be considered a secret anymore—not by alien thinkers as literal as the Minoans.

Matt shrugged, apparently believing her, and turned back to the control console. They’d just docked at Beta Priamos and he was paying their lease and maintenance fees. He pointed at their operations account, where the balance blinked because it was entering a dangerously low bracket. “Remind them that this is a contract deliverable, will you? They’re prompt with their payments, so I might not have to grovel, yet again, for a loan.”

“Yes, boss.” She stood and slipped the fist-size lockbox into the large pocket on the side of her coveralls. That put it right at the tip of her fingers; she could tap it and feel its form against her thigh.

“
Boss?
As if I control what happens around here.” Matt hunched over the control panel, grousing. “Now I have to figure out how much hacking Muse has done to my security systems.”

She grinned, leaving him to deal with Muse 3. She’d climbed down the vertical and started down the corridor to the forward airlock when Matt yelled, “Remember to get a receipt! And ask them about removing that worm from your arm; maybe they’ll do it for free.”

Luckily, she was far enough away, opening the airlock, that she could ignore him. When she stepped out on the ramp, facing a new and underused station, she ramped up her senses and enjoyed a rebirth of her first introduction to Beta Priamos. The few commercials displayed on the walls were brighter and the smells of construction added color. Everywhere, she inhaled newness and cleanliness.

Matt didn’t know the pessimistic prospects of actually removing the parasite, nor did he know that the Minoans had correctly anticipated that she’d want to keep the parasite in her body indefinitely. Her enhanced sense of smell had saved her life and she now depended more and more upon it. Her reflexes were faster and her movements more accurate. She tested them by jogging over the curved decks in station gravity to where the Minoans were docked, to find Contractor Director waiting for her.

Any hopes that she’d be treated like a triumphant hero, returning the stolen elixir, were crushed when Contractor Director immediately displayed a copy of the contract on the nearest bulkhead. Then, with a swirl of red robes, the emissary held out a long slim hand, palm up. She placed the lockbox, closed, on the palm area of the hand, taking care not to touch the alien. Suddenly she felt exhilarated, suspiciously similar to a sudden release of endorphins after winning a boxing bout or race.

I’m not a trained pet, performing for rewards
. She forced a savage spike of anger and the feeling of elation faded. Whether the reward was the result of her parasite’s automatic programming, or Contractor Director’s doing, she didn’t know. The Minoan was currently scrolling through the contract and didn’t seem concerned with her.

“Aether Exploration will receive the verified payment in a few hours.” Contractor Director marked something on the contract before hiding the lockbox within its voluminous and shifting robes. She noticed it had no concern about the
locked
aspect of the box, either.

“We—er, Owner of Aether Exploration would like a receipt for your returned property,” she said.

Contractor Director nodded in approval. “Of course.”

After looking over the receipt on her slate, she had to ask for more. “Remember our bargain? The location of the other Builders’ buoy?”

The Minoan emissary paused, perhaps hesitating. She hoped she hadn’t been irritating, but they’d had an agreement and she would make them stick by it. However, Contractor Director might be reevaluating the scope of their agreement. “Would you prefer only locations of buoys, or locations of all known edifices in mundane space?”

“There’s more? Of course. I’d like all locations.” She didn’t want to look surprised and she certainly didn’t want to seem grateful. She’d gone through a lot to get this information, and the Minoans preferred a businesslike approach.

Contractor Director extended a single finger, while it twirled a gem on the glittering chain that cascaded from one of its horns. “Your slate, please?”

It touched her slate and transferred three real-space coordinates. She recognized the first two coordinates as being in the New Sousse system, but the third was surprising. She didn’t immediately recognize the solar system, but she could tell that it was Terran-controlled space, which was discouraging.

“Per our agreement, I’m free to release this information to whomever I wish,” she said cautiously, testing.

“No, because circumstances have changed.” Her stomach tightened in dismay, but eased as the emissary continued with, “Having carried roles of Treaty Compliance Officer and particularly, Breaker of Treaties, we would expect Ariane-as-Kedros to restrict the information to adherents of Pax Minoica.”

“I understand.” She could live with that.

Although she didn’t want to address removal of her parasite,
yet
, she still had questions. The improved clash could be used by other N-space pilots, of course, but could parasites, or implants, be designed for other humans?
Maybe
, said Contractor Director, although she sensed reluctance in that answer.

This led the Minoan to another point, one she wanted to avoid: her ultra-rapid metabolizing of alcohol. She would metabolize alcohol even faster and if she enjoyed the effects of alcohol, she would see that diminished.

Great
. “By how much?” This was important.

“Your sense of taste will be enhanced, but you must take warning. You will not experience the depressive or relaxing effect of the alcohol
until it’s too late
.”

“What?” Her face prickled with embarrassment. “Are you trying to ‘fix’ me?”

“That was not our intent. You may still harm yourself with alcohol consumption if you wish,” Contractor Director used a helpful tone. “An excessive amount will be required to overwhelm the implant, and it
will
result in brain damage or death.”

The earnestness of the Minoan, who obviously didn’t intend to humiliate her, angered and embarrassed her even more. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire because, apparently, she cared about what the aliens thought of her. She abruptly bid Contractor Director good-bye, hoping it’d be a long while before she encountered the emissary again. Besides, she had a duty to perform and she couldn’t be late.

Ariane sat on her bunk in her quarters on
Aether’s Touch
, smoothing the gloves in her lap and emptying her mind of aliens and their pesky parasites. Yes, it was wartime again, but it wasn’t going to be her war. Her war had lasted for decades and the hostilities had mostly occurred in space, often leaving civilian populations unaffected.

The Terran League’s civil war would be different.
This
war felt like the chaos and fragmentation that had happened to Earth when the Minoans arrived. Give humankind a chance at some alien tech, and watch them fall upon one another like savages, every time. She snorted, finally pulling on the gloves.

She was wearing her dress coat, black edged with light blue, with blue and gold epaulets and stripes about the cuffs. It was longer than her Alpha Dress, reaching the midpoint between the tips of her relaxed arms and her knees. Her trousers had a sharp crease and a blue stripe down the side. Her white gloves added the final nuance to her purpose.

“Ari, Sergeant Joyce requests an encrypted face-to-face session,” Muse 3 announced.

She took the call. The turnaround at the
Pilgrimage
had been too quick; she hadn’t had time to debrief Colonel Edones. Joyce was probably doing follow-up.

“You clean up pretty good, Major.” Joyce looked impressed.

She smiled. “Expressing AFCAW condolences and, since there wasn’t a TSF officer available on the
Pilgrimage
, escorting the remains.”

“Hmm. About that . . . The colonel’s pretty pissed. With both of us.”

“I’m the one who takes the responsibility—for violating orders and not taking the mission to completion,” she said.

“No doubt about that. It’s why you’re paid the big bucks.” Joyce joked, meaning she was the
responsible officer
in charge of the case. “The colonel’s slightly appeased by the information Dr. Lowry has given him. And he’s getting tidbits from our new TSF ally.”

“New ally? You’re not talking about the traitorous great-nephew.”

“No, Myron still claims he was only helping his uncle by negotiating, on his own but in good faith, with Overlord Six. Instead of insanity, he’s going for the idiocy plea.” Joyce shook his head. “However, when SP Duval departed in a highly vexed mood, he wasn’t interested in taking his TSF intelligence aide. Lieutenant Tyler has decided to cooperate with AFCAW, Overlord Three, and Pilgrimage HQ. She’s waiting to see whether the TSF agrees with her decision and is temporarily suspended from duty while they review her case.”

“Too bad they couldn’t keep Duval from leaving.” She tugged at the white gloves, adjusting their fit.

“Commander Meredith had no choice; the
Pilgrimage
had no means to detain his ship, and neither the
Bright Crescent
nor the
Percival
had time to prevent it. They were cleaning up the Minoan mess and, believe me, no one wanted to ask the Minoans if Duval’s diplomatic privileges from the ICT still held water. Speaking of which”—Joyce’s voice became more casual—“you wouldn’t care to tell me what you gave the Minoan emissary, would you?”

“It was only a contract deliverable.” She laughed.

“And it was the property of Hellas Nautikos, about which you broadcasted to the entire solar system?”

“I’m prohibited from talking about it, per my contract. But the Minoans
did
tell me where there were other Builders’ buoys or outposts, and I’m allowed to share this with all our allies under Pax Minoica. I’m sure the colonel will be interested to see there’s one location in Overlord
Five’s
district, besides the two in Six’s district. So we have even more interest in how the League fragments.” She tapped and sent the file.

“Can I pass a recording of this call to the colonel?”

“Be my guest.”

After concluding the call, she checked that the necklace was in her inside breast pocket and she opened her locker to get the sealed ceramic box. It wasn’t big, but its weight required two hands to lift it out. “Maria Rose Guillotte” was engraved on its flat top, above another line that read, “August 18, 2072—March 10, 2106.”

Taking a deep breath, she left her quarters and was surprised to see Matt waiting for her at the passenger airlock.

“You own a suit?” She raised her eyebrows. The coat and trousers were subtle, as Autonomist clothing went, by being dark gray with metallic silver pinstripes. The suit’s cut was clean and sophisticated, with a cutaway and slight tails, like an old- fashioned morning coat. Under it, he wore a dark red shirt.

“Carmen ordered it for me. I never know what’s in style.” He shifted awkwardly. “I thought I’d accompany you, since Maria helped me, also.”

“Thanks, I’d like that,” she said. “But I warn you, this may get emotional.”

The warning stood for her as well, because it made no difference that Maria Guillotte’s ashes weren’t really in this box. The pain, to Maria’s friends and family, would be real and powerful. The Maria who had lived and worked on Mars was
no more
—and that was a hard thing to accept and understand, even to a relocated Maria with a new life and identity. She couldn’t claim her wartime medals, her civilian service, and everyone in her new life was an uncaring stranger. Maria’s life, as it was defined, had truly
ended
.

Of course, no one but Ariane, Joyce, and Colonel Owen Edones knew the truth about Maria. Ariane wasn’t supposed to approve relocation, much less deliver the defector to the
Pilgrimage
. Given Maria’s medical situation, as well as the chaos in Directorate leadership and funding, Joyce was easily able to whisk Maria out of G- 145. She’d been badly injured, which helped the story work. Joyce was the one who
made
it work, of course, by getting the certificate of death endorsed by a Pilgrimage medic and substituting a body from the
Ming Adams
for cremation—what was one more “rebel” militia irregular lost in space?

The service was held in the little generic chapel on Beta Priamos Station. Ariane walked the box of ashes through the doors to Ensign Walker, her shoes clicking sharply on the deck while a French dirge, traditional to Maria’s background, played. She gave the box to Walker, stepped back, and saluted the ashes in respect. Before she did her about-face, she caught sight of Parmet’s family. Sabina had given up any
somaural
control; her face and eyes were puffy and red. Ensign Walker, as ranking Terran Space Force officer on the station, walked the rest of the aisle and set the box on the low generic alter, draped with TSF and Terran League flags.