Janex Jymbobobii (Triad Third, Site One, Carasian)
Josen (Triad Second replacement, Site Four, Undetermined)
Marcus Bowman (Triad First, Site One, then Four, Human)
Meen (Triad Third replacement, Site Four, Undetermined)
P’tr sit ’Nix (Pilot, Site Two, Tolian)
Pilip (Triad Second, Site One, Trant)
Tomas Vogt ( Archivist Second Class, Undetermined)
Tyler Henshaw (Triad First, Site Two, Human)
Stonerim III
Prelude
A FIVE-FINGERED HAND, thick and spotted with age, brushed over plas sheets, tipped a mem-cube on its side, then turned palm up. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Everything portable was gone. We searched for remains with orbital scanners and midlevel vidbots with no success. We’re contacting next of kin based on staff records. Members of an indigenous population, the—” a slim, delicately scaled finger tapped a screen, “—the Oud, may have been involved although there’s—ah—distinct possibility of scavengers. You saw the last annual report, I’m sure.”
“No ground search.”
“The Oud revoked permission for any offworld presence. It may be tied to an unanticipated territoriality. They’re expanding at the expense of the other sapients, despite what early surveys described as peaceful coexistence.” A pause. “In my professional opinion, the situation’s unstable. Even with intervention by the First, I’m sure the planet will be closed in the next vote. This quadrant is still more Commonwealth than Trade Pact.”
“The find?”
“There’s no proof. Bowman played it close. He could, with his reputation. The funding committee did request a presentation next month, but expansion to a priority site and additional security was a given. For what, now becomes the question. Instead of supposedly productive excavations, we found landslides and sinkholes.”
One thick finger pinned a plas sheet and jerked it free of the rest. “And explosive residue. Your thoughts.”
“I couldn’t speculate—”
The hand turned palm up.
“As you wish. The residue was inconsistent with local technologies, implying offworld origin. We recovered a handful of observation ’bots. They’d been shut down before any disruption. The authorization code was Bowman’s. I regret to say there could be a connection.”
“Elaborate.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a field researcher found a more lucrative market for his work. As for the result? Deals go badly. They might have been surprised or met more than expected resistance onsite. My speculation, with your indulgence, is that considering the rarity of confirmed Hoveny relics, the goods weren’t as advertised. Bowman could have used his reputation to entice a buyer who wasn’t fooled by fakes.”
“Murder and fraud. Serious accusations.”
“Speculations. There is, of course, no proof.” Scaled fingers met at their tips. “Other than Bowman’s own report of being contacted by a representative of the Deneb Blues, which raises questions. Among them, why would a prominent criminal organization approach him, of all the researchers based out of this facility? And was his report sincere, or a clever attempt to throw off suspicion in case they’d been observed?”
“Insufficient.”
“There is also the matter of his more recent reports. After the—accident—that killed the rest of his initial Triad, Bowman began encrypting all raw data, including vids. His submitted reports since have consisted of summaries and analyses. The support materials we have on file are inaccessible.”
“Not unusual.”
“Indeed not. Despite the First’s impeccable security, many Triads keep their findings private until they are ready to share them. Still, for Bowman, this was a change in habit. Changes have reasons.”
The flat of the thick hand swept the mem-cube aside as if offended. Dozens littered the long beige table. More waited in their racks. Potential finds, urgent demands, chances for glory, fool’s hopes. “Enough of Cersi. The First has a lifetime’s worth of stable worlds with as good or better indicators.”
“No investigation? Surely we must tell the next-of-kin what happened.”
An impatient wave. “Send out the standard condolences, hazards of pushing the boundaries of science, the First assumes no responsibility, et cetera.” A finger tapped the table. “Inform the appropriate authorities the First considers Marcus Bowman a being of interest in the destruction of Triad sites and the murder of offworld personnel. See that Bowman’s materials, encrypted or otherwise, are sealed, pending any internal review of the matter. Liquidate any assets and transfer to this office.”
Slim scaled fingers collected the sheets and mem-cube. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“Next planet.”
“No ss-sign of the artifactss-s?”
Slim, scaled fingers curled around a stem, lifted the preserved flower, held it to the light. Crystals lined each petal, sparkled like gems. “I have no explanation.” A mauve tongue fastidiously removed a single crystal, brought it between nonexistent lips, waited for it to dissolve. The tongue’s owner gave a delicate shiver as the sugar hit its bloodstream. “An excellent harvest. A shame you can’t appreciate such flavors.”
“A ss-scam is unlikely. Thossse we work with undersstand the cons-ssequence.”
“It’s possible the information was flawed. Or Bowman suspected. He worked alone most of the past year, refused extra staffing of the new site. Our contacts put it down to a pretty local he’d taken an interest in, but . . .” another crystal, another shiver, “. . . but the Human may not have been the fool we hoped.”
“If he ss-stole from us-ss, he was-ss!” Drops of black spittle landed on the vase of waiting flowers, drops that sizzled and spit and left holes behind. The stems bent, the flowers shriveled.
“Why don’t I order another round?”
Chapter 1
...SHE TOOK A STARTLED BREATH, heard others do the same. From above, beside, below. Sighs afloat in darkness.
The air in her mouth was warm and dry and tasted of dust. A word settled in her mind, an awareness bathed in peace and happiness.
Home.
The skin of her hand cooled as fingers fell away from hers.
Hold still!
Curiosity stirred. Why?
A cough, not hers, quickly stifled.
A shuffle. Something fell and shattered.
Hold!
She obeyed the thought. She waited for more, hoped for sense.
There. There’s light.
Light? She blinked to be sure her eyes were open, then turned her head slowly to find it. When she did, she blinked again to be sure.
Not much. Distant, like the gleam of a star through leaves. Below, far below where she stood. For she was standing. Steady, without flicker.
Don’t move until I turn on the mains.
That couldn’t have been her thought. Could it? Self became a new curiosity; she contorted her face, yawned wide, then pursed her lips. Rolled her head on her neck. Moved her shoulders and discovered weight on her back. Darkness pressed everywhere against her skin, soothing and close, except for the tiny gleam.
Except for the sounds of breathing, she might have been alone.
Breathing and now steps. Fumbling steps with frequent hesitations. The brush of fabric along a rough surface.
She tilted her head, tracking whoever moved with so little care. Step, brush, step. Until the sounds become fainter than her breath, so she must hold it to follow.
I’m at the panel! Shut your eyes.
She obeyed, then flinched at the dazzling brightness that spotted her closed eyelids, flinched but opened them as soon as she could bear it. Gasps of indrawn breath echoed her own.