"Not with me," Fuchien assured her. "My colleagues' shortsightedness in that respect is my gain, Ms. Tanner. You are Ms. Tanner, I presume?"
"In the flesh," Megaira replied. "I hope you'll enjoy your visit. We don't entertain often, so we're putting our best foot forward, and …"
The conversation rolled on, and neither Fuchien nor McSwain noticed when their eyes began to turn just a bit disoriented.
This, Alicia thought, was the strangest thing they'd tried yet. In her present, straitened condition, Tisiphone would have found herself hard put to weave an illusion half this complex. But she wasn't forced to weave it alone, for Megaira had opened a direct tap to the Fury, throwing her own tremendous capacity behind the spell like a gigantic amplifier that restored Tisiphone, however briefly, to the peak of her long lost power.
And with that aid, the Fury surpassed herself. She wove her web with consummate skill, ensnaring both her guests and extending a tendril of herself to Alicia, as well. It was an eerie sensation, even for one who had become accustomed to the bizarre, for Alicia inhabited three worlds at once. She saw once through her own senses, again through Megaira's internal sensors, and last of all, she shared her guests' illusion. She sat with them at supper, chatting with Megaira's other selves while the AI provided their conversation and Tisiphone gave them flesh, even as she sat alone with them at the table. It was almost terrifying, for it wasn't what the Fury had done to Lieutenant Giolitti. There would be no hazed memories or implanted suggestions. This was real. Backed by the AI's enormous power, Tisiphone took them all one step out of phase with the universe and made her reality theirs.
Nor was that all she did. There was no rush, and she plumbed Lewis Fuchien's memories to their depths, filing away every scrap of a fact which might be of use. By supper's end, they knew everything he did, and the merchant was convinced Captain Mainwaring's crew was perfect for his needs.
The meal ended, and the entire crew-except Tanner-"excused" itself to return to duty. Fuchien lifted his brandy and sipped appreciatively.
"Well, Captain Mainwaring, you and your people have not only met my standards but far exceeded my hopes. I believe we can do business."
"I'm delighted to hear it." Alicia sat back with her own brandy and smiled, then gestured at the empty chair which held her purser's ghost. "In that case, why don't you and I sit back while Ruth and Sondra do battle?"
"An excellent idea, Captain." Fuchien beamed. "Simply excellent."
Dewent dewindled in the galley view screen as Megaira's velocity mounted, and Alicia watched it while she tried to define her own emotions. A complex broth of anticipation, hunger, and fear-fear that she might yet blow her chance-simmered within her, and over it all lay a haze of excitement as she looked ahead to Wyvern, mingled with relief at leaving Dewent astern.
She still didn't like Fuchien, but neither did she dislike him as much as she had expected. He was as ambitious and credit-hungry as Jacoby, but without the other's outright evil. He knew of his associate's drug deals yet took no part in them, and while he suspected his Wyvern contact of fencing goods for the pirates terrorizing the sector, he himself had had no direct dealings with them. He disapproved of them, in a depressingly mild sort of way, yet it was unrealistic to expect more from him. He was a Dewentan, and servicing "outlaws" was what Dewent did. By his own lights, Lewis Fuchien was an admirable and honest businessman, and Alicia could almost understand that.
That was one reason she was glad to leave, for she didn't want to understand it. On a more pragmatic level, their departure meant her and her "crew's" deception only had to stand up for one last planet. Only one, and then she didn't care who knew. Fleet was welcome to pursue her. Indeed, she would welcome their pursuit if her flight could lead them to the pirates.
She leaned her elbows on the edge of the console, propping her chin in her hands and brooding down on the rapidly diminishing image, and let her mind reach out ahead. Wyvern. The planet Wyvern and a man named Oscar Quintana, Lieutenant Commander Defiant.
Wyvern had a peculiar aristocracy, with no use for titles like "baron" or "count." Their ancestors had been naval officers-little more than freebooter refuse from the centuries-past League Wars, perhaps, but naval officers-and the ship name appended to Quintana's title indicated that he sprang from one of the founding noble houses. Peculiar as it might sound to off-world ears, he'd be a powerful man, probably a proud and dangerous one, and it behooved her to approach him with caution.
Hey, Megaira interrupted her thoughts, don't get too bothered, Alley! If he knows what's good for him, he'll approach us with caution.
True, Tisiphone seconded. Indeed, Little One, unless we are much mistaken, this Quintana must be a direct contact for the ones we seek. If so, I shall turn him inside out with the greatest pleasure.
"You two are in a bloodthirsty mood," Alicia observed. "Or are you just worried that I'm getting ready to funk out?"
Us? Megaira was innocence itself. Perish the thought.
"Sure." Alicia stood and yawned, stretching the tension from her shoulders and grateful to be distracted from her moodiness. "As a matter of fact, I'm not that worried over Quintana. If he's what we think he is, I hereby give you both carte blanche for anything we have to do to him."
My thanks, Little One-not that I intended to wait upon your permission to deal harshly with such scum.
"Oh, yeah? Harsh is okay with me, but remember-even if he's a direct link, we still need to get to the next step. I'm afraid that may limit what we can do to him. I mean, we couldn't even squash that slime Jacoby."
Ah, funny you should mention that, Alley. Megaira's elaborately casual voice set off a clangor of warning bells, and Alicia's eyebrows rose.
"I know that tone," she said. "What've you been up to?"
It wasn't just me, the AI said quickly. I mean, I thought it was a great idea, but I couldn't have done it by myself.
"You fill me with dread-and you're stalling."
It was your idea, Tis. Why don't you explain?
But I could not have accomplished it without your expertise, and you have a better grasp of the details, so perhaps you should explain.
The Fury's tone was serious, yet Alicia felt her amusement. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the empty air.
"One of you had better trot it out, ladies!"
Well, it's like this, Alley. You remember when we made that credit transfer and Tis and I raided Jacoby's data base?
"Of course I do," Alicia said, then paused. "Did you horrid creatures put something into it? You didn't hit him with a virus, did you?"
Of course not, Megaira said virtuously. What a horrible idea! I'd never do something like that-not even to a fossil like that Jurgens Twelve of his. Not that it might not have been kinder. That relic should've been scrapped years ago, Alley. It's so stupid-
"Quit stalling! What did you do?!"
We didn't put a thing into it. Instead, we took something out.
"Besides the information on his distribution network?"
Well, yes. I guess to be perfectly honest, we did put something in, but it's only a delayed extraction program.
"What kind of extraction program?"
A starcom credit transfer.
"A credit transfer? You mean you robbed him?"
If you want to put it that way. But we talked it over, and, personally, I think Tis was right. You can't really rob a thief, can you?
"Of course you can rob a thief!" Alicia closed her eyes and flopped back into her chair. "I thought you were supposed to have my value system!"
And so she does, but I am making some progress with her. Rather more than with you, in fact.
"I just bet you are," Alicia muttered, running her fingers through her hair. "All right, how much did you hit him for?"
All of it, Megaira said in a small voice.
"All of what?"
All of everything. We found all his hidden accounts as well as the open ones, and we, well, we sort of cleaned him out.
"You-" Alicia gurgled to a stop, and pregnant silence hovered in her stunned mind. But then her closed eyes popped open as panic cut through her shock. "Good God Almighty, Megaira! What do you think he's going to do when he figures out we robbed him?! We can't afford that kind of-"
Peace, Little One. He will not realize we were to blame.
"How do you know?! Damn it, who else is he going to suspect?!"
That I cannot tell you, but it will not be us, for the theft has not yet occurred. Nor will it … until he orders his first off-planet credit transfer to one of his drug-distributing cronies. Megaira was very clever, and I rather expect- the Fury's dry delight was unmistakable -that he will suspect whichever of his fellow thieves he has attempted to pay.
"You mean-?"
Exactly, Alley. See, what'll happen is the first time he orders a payment to one of the accounts I listed in my program, it'll automatically dump every credit he has into the transfer and then reroute it. His payee won't see a centicredit, but the program'll bootstrap itself-and the transfer-through his starcom, then transmit itself back out. And it'll erase itself from each system it moves through till it reaches its destination, too.
"Oh, Lord!" Alicia moaned, covering her eyes with her hands. "I never should have inflicted you two on an unsuspecting galaxy! Just where-if I dare ask-will this wandering program finally end its criminal days?"
It'll probably take it a while to make connections, but it's headed for Thaarvlhd. I set it up to open a numbered account when it gets there.
"Thaarvlhd?" Alicia repeated blankly. Then, "Thaarvlhd?! My God, that's the Quarn Hegemony's central banking hub for this sector! Damn it, the Quarn take money seriously, Megaira! Violating Thaarvlhd's banking laws isn't a harmless little prank like murder!"
I didn't violate a thing. They're used to orders like this one, and I included all the documentation they need.
"Documentation?"
Sure. They don't care about names, but I included everything they want on human accounts: your retinal prints, your genetic pri-
"My prints?!" Alicia yelped. "You opened an account in my name?!"
Of course not. I just explained they don't use names, Alley. That's why they're so popular.
"Sweet Suffering Jesus!" Alicia never knew exactly how long she sat there, staring at nothing, but then a thought occurred to her. "Uh, Megaira."
Yes?
"I'm not condoning what you've done-not condemning it either, you understand, or at least not yet-but I was wondering… . Just how much did you two rip him off for?"
Hard to say, since we don't know exactly when the program'll trip.
"A rough estimate will do," Alicia said in a fascinated tone.
Well, using his last two years' cash flow as a basis, I'd say somewhere between two hundred fifty and three hundred million credits.
"Two hun-"
Alicia closed her mouth with a snap. Then she began to giggle-giggles that gave way to howls of laughter. She couldn't help herself. She leaned forward, hugging her ribs and laughing till her chest hurt and her eyes teared. Laughing as she had not laughed in months, with pure, devilish delight as she pictured ultra-civilized Edward Jacoby's reaction. And she'd thought they couldn't hurt him! Dear God, he wouldn't have a pot to piss in, and he'd never even know who'd done it!
She pummeled the deck with her feet, wailing with laughter, until she could get control of herself again, then straightened slowly, gasping for breath and mopping her eyes.
I take it you are less displeased than you anticipated? Tisiphone asked mildly, and Alicia giggled again.
"Stop that!" she said unsteadily. "Don't you dare set me off again! Oh. Oh, my! He is going to be upset, isn't he?"
It seemed an appropriate-and just-way to deal with him.
"Damn straight it did!" Alicia shook herself, then straightened sternly. "Don't you two think you can get away with something like this again-not without checking with me first, anyway! But just this once, I think I'll forgive you."
Yeah, for about three hundred million reasons, I'd guess, Megaira sniffed, and Alicia dissolved into laughter once more.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The assembled officers rose as Rachel Shu followed Howell into the briefing room. More than one set of eyes were a bit apprehensive, for the intelligence officer had just returned from meeting Control's latest messenger, and Howell's people were only too well aware of the casualties they'd taken on Ringbolt.
Howell took his place at the head of the table and watched his subordinates sit, then nodded to Shu.
"All right, Commander. Let's hear it."
"Yes, Sir." Shu cleared her throat, set a notepad on the table, and keyed the tiny screen alive. "First, Control sends us all a well done on the Ringbolt operation." Breath sighed out around the table, and Howell smiled wryly. "He regrets our losses, but under the circumstances, he understands why they were so high, and it appears both our primary and secondary missions were complete successes."
She paused, and Howell listened to a soft murmur of pleasure walk around the room. How many of those officers, he wondered, ever really spent a few hours thinking about what they'd done? Not many-perhaps none. He certainly tried to avoid the memories, though it was growing harder. Yet it was often that way. There were things he'd done in the service of the Empire which he tried just as hard never to remember. This wasn't that much different, he told himself, and pretended that he didn't know he lied.
Of course, much of their pleasure stemmed from the fact that they'd expected to be reamed. A pat on the back always felt better when one had anticipated a rap in the mouth. That much was the same as in the Fleet.
He let the murmurs run on a moment longer, then tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. Silence fell once more, and he nodded to Shu.
"Preliminary evaluation of the captured data," the commander continued, keying the advance to display the next screen as she picked up her report again, "indicates we probably secured more from Ringbolt than we would have from Elysium, and our financial backers are delighted. Control asked me to tell you all that their support has firmed up very nicely once more, and that most of them seem convinced we know what we're doing after all.
"On another front, the Ringbolt attack has apparently produced the desired effect in the Senate and Ministry. Control didn't want to come right out and say so, but he seems confident that ONI and Marine Intelligence on Old Earth are coming to precisely the conclusions we want, and pressure from the Senate is growing every day. Best of all, public opinion here in the sector itself is shaping up very nicely. 'Panic' might be putting it too strongly, but there's widespread anxiety and an increasing perception that the imperial government is powerless to stop us."
Shu touched the advance key again and allowed herself a small frown.
"We do have one unanticipated complication. Apparently, one of the people killed on Ringbolt was Simon Monkoto's brother Arlen."
Howell sat a bit straighter and saw others do the same at mention of that name. Shu saw it, too, and her smile was wintry.
"We all know Monkoto's reputation, but his outfit isn't up to our weight even if he knew where to find us. The problem is that he's calling in a lot of debts from his colleagues, and most of them are angry enough over Ringbolt to throw in with him even if they didn't owe him. Among them, they may be able to assemble an independent force that is a threat, and because they're independents, Control's ability to track them will be much lower than for the regular El Grecan Navy. On the other hand, they are independents. Their fleets represent their working capital, and they can't tie them up indefinitely on this kind of altruistic operation."
"What's the chance of El Greco picking up the tab?" Alexsov asked.
"Unknown. Mercenaries of Monkoto's caliber normally don't come cheap, but these aren't normal circumstances. I don't now about the others, but the Maniacs'll probably settle for basic expenses with no profit margin, and that could make them extremely attractive to El Greco. Still, that might work in our favor. If they hire on with El Greco, the El Grecans will tie them into a comprehensive strategy. Under normal circumstances, that would make them even more dangerous; as it is, they'd simply be easier to watch-and avoid-given the joint planning between the Empire and the El Grecans."
Alexsov nodded thoughtfully, and Shu shrugged.
"Control isn't too concerned about them at present. As I say, they'd have to find us before they could hurt us, even if they managed to assemble enough firepower to come after us. It's unlikely they can do that, but Control isn't taking any chances. He wants us to relocate to the AR-Twelve site as soon as possible to get us further away from El Greco."
"Makes sense," Howell agreed. "And it sounds like we're in pretty good shape, if Monkoto is Control's worst worry."
"He is and he isn't, Sir," Shu said. "Control's arranging recruitment to make good our Ringbolt losses, and he's managed to scare up two new BCs to replace Poltava." Howell grunted. Crewing two more battlecruisers might stretch them thin, but the firepower would be well worth the inconvenience.
"In the meantime, though, Control himself is going to have to stay close to Soissons, because that's the most delicate problem area just now. In particular, McIlheny seems to be getting closer than we'd like. According to Control's courier, he's currently promising some significant report to Admiral Gomez and Governor Treadwell. Control couldn't hold the dispatch boat, so we don't know what sort of report, but he informs me that he's prepared to deal with it, whatever it is.
"Assuming he's right about that-and he usually is-our only other local concern is Admiral Gomez. She's backed off just a bit and endorsed Treadwell's request for heavier units, which may divert some of the pressure for her relief, but she and the Governor are just about ready to start sticking knives into each other. If she isn't relieved, she may be able to force Treadwell into adopting a more effective posture, and none of us wants to see that."
Shu shrugged again.
"If that looks like happening, we'll simply have to proceed with the backup plan and eliminate her. We're looking at several options for that, but Control is leaning towards passing us her itinerary. She's taken to traveling about in Antietam with minimal escorts in the interest of speed; if he can pass us her schedule, we might be able to intercept and take her out. In many ways, that would be the ideal solution, given her popularity with the Fleet. It would not only get rid of her but turn her into a martyr and provide yet another reason for Fleet to go after the nasty pirates."
Her smile was most unpleasant, and Howell hid an inner shiver. He'd served under Gomez, and while he was willing to admit she might have to be eliminated, he didn't look forward to it. Shu obviously did. He didn't know whether she had some special reason to dislike Gomez or if it was simply the professional neatness of using an enemy's death to advance their own ends which appealed to her so, and frankly, he didn't want to know.
"All right," he said, deliberately breaking his own train of thought. "What did Control have to say about the physical take from Ringbolt?"
"Quite a bit, Sir. In fact, that was my next point." Shu flipped quickly through screens of data, then nodded. "He was a bit surprised by how much we got away with, and, of course, we lack the facilities to transport cargo, as opposed to data, directly to the Core Sectors. Moreover, our backers have specifically asked that we not send it to them. Control believes they're nervous about having traceable hardware and experimental material in their labs, not to mention the potential for interception en route."
"So he just wants us to dump it all?" Henry d'Amcourt demanded. "Jays, Commodore-that's almost a billion credits out the airlock!"
"I didn't say Control wants it dumped, Henry."
Shu disliked interruptions almost as much as she disliked d'Amcourt personally, and her voice was chill, but Howell understood his quartermaster's anguish. The surviving shuttles had returned with an unanticipated fortune in tissue cultures, experimental animals, and an entire arsenal of new and advanced gene-splicing nanites, not to mention apparatus researchers on most Rogue Worlds (and not a few Incorporated Worlds) would have killed for. Henry wasn't so much affronted by losing the money involved as he was by losing the potential in supplies and ammunition it represented.
"All right, Rachel," the commodore interposed tactfully. "From what you're saying, I gather Control has something specific in mind?"
"He does, Sir." Shu turned to face him, just incidentally turning her back on d'Amcourt, who only grinned. "He suggests we distribute it through Wyvern-preferably via a series of cutouts which can't be traced directly to us but guarantee at least some of it turns up here in the Franconia Sector and, if at all possible, in the Macedon Sector, as well."
"Ah?" Howell leaned back and smiled, and she nodded.
"Exactly. We can realize perhaps seventy percent of its open market value in the transaction, which should please some of us," she very carefully did not look at d'Amcourt, "but he's especially interested in having some of it spotted as far away from the Core Sectors as possible."
Howell nodded. Throwing some fourth or fifth-stage patsy out here to the Ministry of Justice or its Rogue World equivalent would divert attention from their real backers, and it could serve as a wedge into Macedon at the same time. They'd been looking for something to suggest the "pirates" were turning their attention towards the Franconia Sector's neighbors. But coupled with the sheer value involved, that meant this particular shipment had to be handled very carefully indeed. He glanced at Alexsov.
"Greg? Can Quintana handle it?"
"I believe so," Alexsov replied after a moment's thought. "He'll want a bigger cut if he has to arrange to burn a customer, but he'll go along. And he certainly has the contacts and organization to make it work."
Howell toyed with his stylus a moment, then nodded.
"All right. But I want you to set it up in person, Greg. It's about time you checked in personally with Quintana again anyway, isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir. I can go ahead in a dispatch boat and have everything set by the time the transport arrives."
"I don't think so," Howell mused. "I hadn't thought about how useful this could be until Control pointed it out, but he's absolutely right. So no slipups are allowed. I want the arrangements made and triple-checked before we hand Quintana the first flask of this cargo. And I don't want you wandering around in an unarmed dispatch boat, either. Take one of the tin cans, make your arrangements, and then meet us at the AR-Twelve rendezvous."
"If you say so, Sir. But should I really be absent for that long?"
"I think we'll be all right. Control hasn't sent us a fresh target yet, and we'll be meeting his next courier there, anyway. You should be back in plenty of time to coordinate the next op."
"Yes, Sir. In that case, I can leave this afternoon."
Chapter Fifty-Seven
"So, Captain. You have a delivery for me, I understand?"
Alicia looked up sharply at the first-person pronoun. She stood at the foot of the shuttle's ramp, the turbine whine of other shuttles at her back, and the fellow before her was dressed almost drably. She'd hardly expected Quintana to appear in person the moment she landed, nor had she expected to see him so simply dressed, but her second glance confirmed his identity. The match with the holo image Fuchien had shown her was perfect.
"I do-if you have the documentation to prove you're who I think you are," she said calmly, and he gave her a faint smile as he extended a chip.
She slipped it into a reader, checking it against Fuchien's original and watching him from the corner of an eye. She didn't even look up when four heavily-armed bodyguards blended out of the crowd to join him; her free hand simply unsnapped her holster. He saw it, but his eyes only twinkled and he folded his arms unthreateningly across his chest.
Her reader chirped as she completed her examination, and she ejected the chip with a nod.
"Everything checks, Lieutenant Commander," she said, returning it to him. "Sorry if I seemed a bit suspicious."
"I approve of suspicious people-especially when they're being suspicious in my interests," Quintana replied, and extended his hand.
She clasped it, and the familiar sensation of heat enveloped her. The merchant was still speaking, welcoming her to Wyvern, but all Alicia truly "heard" was the soaring, exultant carol of the Fury's triumph.
The Quarn freighter Aharjhka loped towards Wyvern at a velocity many a battlecruiser might have envied. For all its size and cargo capacity, Aharjhka was lean, rakish, and very, very fast, for the great Quarn trade cartels competed with one another with a fervor other races lavished only on their ships of war.
The bridge hatch opened, and the being a human would have called Aharjhka's captain looked up as a passenger stepped through it.
"Greetings, Inspector. Our instruments have detected the ship you described."
The Quarn's well-modulated voice was deep and resonant, largely because of the density of the atmosphere, for Quarn ships maintained a gravity more than twice that of most human vessels. But the Standard English was almost completely accentless, as well, and Ferhat Ben Belkassem hid a smile. He couldn't help it, for the sheer incongruity of that perfect enunciation from a radially symmetrical cross between a hairy, two-meter-wide starfish and a crazed Impressionist's version of a spider never failed to amuse him.
He crossed to a display at the captain's gesture. Whoever had reconfigured it for human eyes hadn't gotten the color balance quite right, but there was no mistaking the ship in Wyvern orbit. Star Runner had made a remarkably swift passage, actually passing Aharjhka en route-not that he'd expected anything else.
"So I see, Sir," he said through his helmet's external speaker, and the captain turned the delicate pink the Quarn used in place of a chuckle at the choice of honorific.
Ben Belkassem grinned, and the captain's rosy hue deepened. Quarn had only a single sex-or, rather, every Quarn was a fully functional hermaphrodite-and humanity's gender-linked language conventions tickled their sense of the absurd. But at least it was a shared and tolerant amusement. Different as they were, both species understood biological humor, and humans gave back as good as they got.
The prudish Rish were another matter. If the Quarn found humanity's sexual mores amusing, they found those of the Rish uproarious, and the matriarchs were not amused in return. Worse (from the Rishathan viewpoint), the highly flexible Quarn vocal apparatus could handle both human and Rishathan languages, and they found it particularly amusing to enter a multi-species transit facility, make sure Rish were present, and ask one another "Have you heard the one about the two matriarchs?" in perfect High Rishathan.
Ben Belkassem had been present when one of those jokes led to a lively brawl and an even livelier diplomatic incident-not that the Rish were likely to press the matter too far.
On a personal level, nothing much short of a six-kilo hammer could hurt a Quarn, and even a fully mature matriarch fared poorly against three hundred kilos of muscle and gristle from a 2.4-G home world, whether the possessor of that muscle and gristle was officially warlike or not.
On a diplomatic level, the Terran Empire and Quarn Hegemony were firm allies, a fact the Rishathan Sphere found more than merely unpalatable yet was unable to do much about. It wasn't for want of trying, but even the devious Rishathan diplomatic corps which had once set the Terran League at the Federation's throat had finally given up in disgust. What was a poor racial chauvinist to do? Bizarre as each species found the other's appearance, humankind and Quarnkind liked one another immensely. On the face of it, it was an unlikely pairing. The Rish were at least bipedal, yet they and humans barely tolerated one another, so a reasonable being might have expected even more tension between humanity and the utterly alien Quarn.