Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

Brackman was rubbing his jaw. But what the Aboriginals lacked in readiness, they made up for in spirit: although at the wrong end of a gun barrel, the male’s eyes were wide, bright, furious. “This ship, the Arbitrage , is a megacorporate hull. Which means it belonged to traitors.” He glanced at the other male, and the look in his eyes changed from fury to hatred. “When we kicked their invader cronies off Earth, we took over their shift carriers, but we had to crew them with loyal personnel from the merchant or colonization services. Like me and Ms. Tagawa. But we had to keep a core staff of the CoDevCo crew; they know the ship best.”

“Very well. Now, why is this ship in this system?”

The human frowned. “We’re just refueling to—”

Nezdeh had to repress a sigh. “You will find that while I do not relish violence for its own sake, I am ready to embrace it where it is an effective tool. Now, I will ask again, for you know the intent of my question: how is it that a shift-carrier from Earth, which cannot reach this system directly, is here at all?”

The male shrugged. “We had help.” Nezdeh made sure her move to strike him again began at an inordinately slow pace; Brackman stepped back, hands raised. “The Dornaani. They gave us what we needed to make a shift to deep space.”

“Gave it to you? Their modification is presently integrated with your drives?”

“No. They came aboard, modified our guidance systems. Added things to it — I don’t know. I’m not sure they let anyone know exactly what they did, including the officers who came on board with them. Then, right after we arrived here, they removed it.”

“And your ship acted as a tanker, carrying the fuel for the rest of the fleet that moved directly on from deep space to carry out the attack against this system, and then Homenest?”

“I guess so, yes. Look: they didn’t tell me — us — much.”

Which made unfortunate sense. The information in the Arbitrage ’s databanks — the first thing she had accessed when the system started rebooting — had some small but important gaps, particularly in the recent navigational and operational archives. “So, what orders are you carrying out now?”

“We’re refueling.”

“Do not be obtuse. I refer to your current, and your contingency, orders.”

“We’re to shift to join the fleet in Sigma Draconis.”

“When? You no doubt have a projected departure window.”

Brackman glanced away, looked as though he might throw up. “Forty to forty-two days, depending upon skimming conditions.”

“And how soon will there be an inquiry if you do not arrive at Sigma Draconis?”

“Well, we — Immediately.”

“Immediately?”

“Yes.”

Nezdeh smiled. “Thank you. You have been very helpful. Unfortunately for you, you are not at all a convincing liar.” She raised the pistol and fired twice.

The first round hit Brackman square in the forehead, but had barely enough energy to make an exit wound. The second popped open a dark red hole just to the left of his sternum; that round did not emerge from his back. Nezdeh had reduced the propellant not only to reduce the recoil to zero, but to prevent overpenetrations, and hence, damage to important ship’s systems.

Brackman hit the deck with the odd gentleness of all limp bodies that fell in low gee. Blood spread out slowly from the back of his head, giving him a round red martyr’s nimbus that shone in the overhead lights.

Nezdeh turned to the two remaining Aboriginals. “A commander would not have a moment’s uncertainty regarding the response protocols to be observed if his ship was overdue. Besides, a search would not be ‘immediate’; this hull adds no appreciable combat capability to your counterinvasion fleet. It is an auxiliary, and an increasingly redundant one.”

“Which makes it perfect for our purposes,” added Brenlor as he entered the bridge with Vranut and Idrem. “If there was one ship your fleet could afford to lose, it was this one.”

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?”