Nezdeh smiled tightly, kept her eyes on the Aboriginals. “I trust you understand now that I will not tolerate liars.” She turned to the male. “You are Kozakowski, are you not?”
He blinked in surprise. “I am. How do you—?”
“Do not question me. Besides, the answer to your question is obvious. Our agents aided your megacorporation in the recent war. Do you think we did not acquire complete information on your assets and personnel? And you, having been a direct liaison to one of us at Barnard’s Star, should certainly know better.”
The Asian female glanced sideways at Kozakowski; had she possessed a knife, Nezdeh had no doubt that the diminutive woman would have gutted the collaborator. Kozakowski swallowed tightly, looked imploringly at the Ktor. “I kept your secrets. I have not failed you. I compromised and delayed the defense of this ship. Why would you expose me?”
“To bind your fate to ours. Irrevocably.” Nezdeh was annoyed that the Aboriginal did not see it for himself. “Now, there is no path back for you. Your secret is revealed. You cannot return to your own primitive peoples; they will be happy to execute you. And some of the nations of your planet have retained suitably agonizing forms of capital punishment.”
“But if he kills me first, his secret remains safe,” the Asian female murmured.
Nezdeh turned, surprised. She saw that far, that quickly. Let’s see what else she has deduced: “So, do you presume I wish you dead?”
“No,” said the female. “The opposite. Now that I am aware of Kozakowski’s treason, if anything befalls me, you will look to him as the architect of that misfortune. And so, I am the means whereby you ensure that his fate is sealed, if he should abandon you. In that event, you would return me to my people, who would have every reason to believe my accusations. So, logically, you intend to keep both of us alive for the foreseeable future, or you would not be using us as means of leverage against each other.”
“You are correct. We need you alive to oversee the operations of this ship and its megacorporate crew. But be warned: the crew’s continued survival is contingent upon your cooperation, Tagawa. That includes whatever persons may be in your cryogenic suspension modules.” She turned to Kozakowski. “In your case, you may hope for a richly rewarded future with us.”
Brenlor leaned forward. “But should you displease us—” He let the statement hang unfinished.
“You can count upon my loyalty,” Kozakowski hurried to assure them.
Nezdeh turned toward Tagawa. “And you?”
“I am compelled to comply and shall do so.”
Idrem raised a single eyebrow. “Will you?”
The Aboriginal female stared but did not say anything.
Nezdeh glanced at Idrem. “You have additional information on her? What have you learned?”
“It is not what I learned, but what I found. We were searching all bunks and staterooms for undisclosed weapons or communicators. I discovered this in a hidden safe beneath her bunk.” He produced a long wooden box, closed with an old bronze latch.
Nezdeh frowned, took the box, and opened the lid. Inside was a long knife with a broad, oddly angled blade that came to a slanted, off-center point. The blade itself was half wrapped in a length of white cloth. She removed and unwrapped the knife; the blade shone and winked wickedly. “This is not primarily a weapon, I think,” Nezdeh speculated. She stared at the Asian female. “Tagawa, what is this?”
* * *
For the fifth time in as many minutes, Ayana Tagawa prepared herself to die unflinching and with honor. “It is a tanto.”
The female Ktor — for she could not be a representative of any other power; the Ktor were the only alien species that humanity had not yet been seen in the flesh — frowned at the blade. “I know this term from studying one of your warrior cultures. It is, and you are, Japanese?”
“It is. I am.”
The Ktor named Nezdeh tested the edge with practiced care, touched the ceremonial cloth that had been bound around the center of the blade. “This is used for ritual suicides, is it not?”
“It was.” Ayana left out the fact that although that use was now quite rare, it had not disappeared entirely.
Nezdeh fixed red-flecked hazel eyes upon hers. “Do not attempt to lie to me, low-breed. You would now be as dead as Brackman if you did not interest me.”
Untrue. Brackman was extraneous to your plans. But you need me to ensure your hold over Kozakowski. “I misspoke. The tanto is still used in this fashion, but very infrequently.”
This seemed to partially mollify the Ktor, but only partially. “It is a warrior’s means of preserving honor, I recall. So tell me — warrior — did you intend to use it on yourself?”
Not before I used it on as many of you as I could catch by surprise. “No, it is not mine,” she lied. “In my culture, a woman’s honor is not that of a warrior, and her failures are not effaced in this fashion.” Which was no longer uniformly true in Japan’s changing culture. “This tanto was my father’s and those of my family’s many fathers before him. He was a warrior, as were they.” Which was true.
Nezdeh stared at her for a long time. Ayana had the sense that her life depended upon the Ktor being unable to read anything in her face, her eyes.
Apparently, she succeeded at remaining expressionless. Nezdeh passed the box to the most junior of the four Ktor. “You may not have this weapon, of course,” she commented casually, “but we shall retain it, undefaced. On this you have my word.” The other two senior Ktor glanced at her in what might have been surprise.
“In the meantime,” Nezdeh continued, “both you and Kozakowski shall acquaint our logistics officer, Sehtrek, with the contents of your ship, its lading manifest, and most particularly, any pertinent facts or contents which do not appear in your data files. And unless you wish to lose appendages, do not think you will conceal anything from us. Nor should you think that we will be so gullible as to believe that you have no hidden caches or off-manifest items. Sehtrek will be here within the minute: attend him when he comes.” She turned to the two other Ktor who had spoken. “We should confer on our next steps.” Then, with a final glance at Ayana, the Ktor woman exited.
Ayana, half-surprised to still be alive, wondered if she should be grateful or dismayed that she was.
Chapter Fourteen. FAR ORBIT SIGMA DRACONIS TWO
Caine Riordan watched as a crab-armed cargo tug grabbed a habitation module from the Lincoln’s forward cargo racks, leaving a gap in the serried ranks of its fellows. The tug’s operator was quite accomplished: even as its manipulator arms half rotated the hab mod, the tug was already boosting away from the human shift-carrier and angling into a trajectory that would take it toward the nearby Slaasriithi ship.
Downing approached the gallery window, nodded at the tug as it overtook their shuttle on a roughly parallel course. “I believe that hab mod is your new home. It should be in place by the time we rendezvous with the Slaasriithi.”
The deck moved slightly under their feet. Their own craft had cut thrust, probably to let the tug get farther ahead. Riordan reached out for a handle, steadied his body against a slow drift up from the deck. “So where are the other warm bodies who’ll be going down the rabbit’s hole with me?”
As if in answer to his question, Ben Hwang drifted into the room. “I’m here. Can’t say I’m enjoying the ride, though.” He moved slowly toward the gallery window, carefully towing himself from one hand hold to the next.