She climbed into bed and leaned against him. He put an arm round her shoulders as she took a deep breath. “When I was ten I had an invisible friend,” she admitted. “I only discovered he worked for the Eschaton after home blew up…”
Martin glanced up as Rachel opened the door to the cramped office cube, off to one side of the executive planning suite. His face was lined and weary. “You’re all right?” he asked.
“Never been better.” Rachel pulled a face, then yawned. “Damn, need a wake-up dose.” She looked at the table, glanced at the young-looking Lieutenant sitting at the other side of it from Martin. “Introduce me?”
“Yeah. This is Junior Flight Lieutenant Stephanie Grace. Just back from ground leave. While she’s been away I’ve been working with her boss, Flying Officer Max Fromm. Um, Steffi? This is my wife, Rachel Mansour. Rachel is a cultural attache with—”
“Not that introduction.” Rachel grinned humorlessly as she held up a warrant card. Her head, surrounded by the UN three-W logo on a background of stars. “Black Chamber. That’s Colonel Mansour, Combined Defense Corps, on detached duty with the UN Standing Committee on Interstellar Disarmament. Purely for purposes of pulling rank where appropriate, you understand. I’d rather the passengers and crew outside your chain of command didn’t learn of my presence just yet. Do we understand each other?”
The kid — no, she was probably well out of her teens, quite possibly already into her second or third career — looked worried. “May I ask what you think is going on? Because if it’s anything that threatens the ship, the Captain needs to know as a matter of urgency.”
“Hmm.” Rachel paused. “Until six hours ago, I thought we were looking for a criminal — a serial killer — who was traveling aboard your ship and killing a different victim in every port.” She stopped.
The Lieutenant winced, then met her eyes. “I hardly think that would normally warrant a Black Chamber investigation, would it, Colonel?”
“It does if the victims are all ambassadors from a planetary government in exile that has launched R-bombs on another planet,” Rachel said quietly. “That stays under your hat, Lieutenant: our serial killer is trying to precipitate a war using weapons of mass destruction. I’ll brief your Captain myself, but if word of it gets back to me through other channels—”
“Understood.” Steffi looked worried. “Okay, so that’s why your husband” — Her eyes flickered toward Martin — “has been dredging through our transit records for the past six months. But you said there was something else.”
“Uh-huh.” Rachel met her eyes. “It’s a motive thing. I don’t think it’s a lone serial killer; I think we’re up against a professional assassin, or a team of assassins, from an interstellar power. And they’re intent on obscuring their tracks. Now they know we’re onto them, they could do anything. I hope they won’t do anything that threatens the ship, but I can’t be sure.” She shrugged uncomfortably.
Steffi looked alarmed. “Then I must insist you tell the Captain immediately. If there’s any question that the, uh, killer might do something aboard her vessel, she’s responsible for it. Master and commander and all that. And so far” — her gesture took in the mound of open windows and entity/relationship diagrams in the table-sized screen — “we’re not getting very far. We have about two and a half thousand passengers, and seven hundred crew. We generate over three thousand personnel movements every time we berth, and frankly, the two of us are snowed under. If you’ve got something solid to tell the skipper, it’ll make it easier for me to get you more help.”
“Okay, then let’s go see the Captain.” Martin stood up. “Want me to come along?” he asked.
Rachel took a deep breath. “Think you can carry on without us for a while? I don’t expect it’ll take long to fill her in…”
“I’ll keep at it.” Martin shook his head. “I’m still working through the tourist-class passengers. I thought it was going to be simple, then Steffi here asked what if a passenger disembarked and checked out, did the job, then took passage under a different name in a different class? It’s a real mess.”
“Not totally,” Steffi volunteered. “We have some biometrics on file. But we’re not geared up for police-style trawls through our customer base, and pulling everyone’s genome out for inspection would normally take an order from—” She glanced at the ceiling. “So shall we go visit the skipper?”
Captain Nazma Hussein was not having a good day.
First departure had to be delayed six hours because of some stupid mess downside, delaying a couple of passengers who had diplomatic-grade clout-enough to hold the ship, even though each hour’s delay cost thousands. Then there was a problem with mass balance in one of the four ullage tanks that ringed the lower hemisphere of the liner’s hull, a flow instability suggesting that a stabilizer baffle had been damaged during the last docking maneuver. She’d managed to get away from the flight deck, leaving Victor in charge of the straightforward departure, only to find a queue headed by the deputy purser waiting in front of her desk for orders and/or ruffled-feather smoothing. And now this …
“Run that by me again,” she said, doing her best to maintain the illusion of impassive alertness that always came hard after a twelve-hour shift. “Just what do you expect to happen aboard my ship?”
The diplomat looked as tired as she felt. “One or more of your passengers or short-term crew have been bumping off people at each planetside port of call,” she explained again. “Now, I’ve been ordered to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Which is all very well, but I’ve got reason to believe that the killer is acting under orders and may try to cover their tracks by any means at their disposal.”
“Disposal?” Captain Hussein raised one sharply sculpted eyebrow. “Are you talking about a matter of killing witnesses or passengers? Or actions that might jeopardize the operational safety of my ship?”
The woman — Rachel something-or-other — shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said bluntly. “I’m sorry I can’t reassure you, but I wouldn’t put anything past these scum. I was downside yesterday, and we managed to abort their latest hit, but the trap misfired, mostly because they demonstrated a remarkable willingness to kill innocent bystanders. It looks as if they started out trying to keep a low profile, but they’re willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals, and I can’t guarantee that they won’t do something stupid.”
“Wonderful.” Nazma glanced sideways at her overflowing schedule screen. Numerous blocks winked red, irreconcilable critical path elements, overlapping dependencies that had been thrown out of balance by the late departure. “Do you know who you’re looking for? What would you have me do when you find them?” She looked past the diplomat. The trainee kid was doing her best to melt into the wall, clearly hoping she wouldn’t dump on her for being the bearer of bad tidings. Tough, let her worry for a few minutes. Nazma gave her a grade-three Hard Stare, then looked back at the spook. It hadn’t been so many years that she had forgotten what the kid would be feeling, but it wouldn’t hurt to make her ponder the responsibilities of a mistress and commander for a while. “I really hope you’re not going to suggest anything like a change of destination.”
“Ah, no.” The woman, to her credit, looked abashed. Bet that’s exactly what you were about to suggest, Nazma told herself. “And, um, the safety of your ship is paramount. My main concern is that we identify them so that they can be discreetly arrested when we arrive at the next port of call — or sooner, if there’s any sign that they’re a threat to anyone else.” Nazma relaxed slightly. So, you’re not totally out of touch with reality, huh? Then the diplomat spoiled it by continuing: “The trouble is, you generate so many personnel movements that we’ve got a pool of about 200 suspects, and only ten days to check them. That’s the number who’ve been downside on all of the planets where an incident occurred — if we’re looking for a team, alternating targets, the pool goes up to 460 or so. So I was wondering if we could borrow some more staff — say, from the purser’s office — to help clear them.” She forced a tense smile at Nazma.