Defender Read online

  “What did they hear?”

  “Ramirez told Graham that the station out there is still operating. Still has crew on it.”

  Ramirez himself. He was stunned at the indiscretion. But maybe a dying man hadn’t had choices.

  And what did he say to that?

  “Can you find that worker? It’s got to be in infirmary records.”

  “It’s not all, understand. Ramirez ordered Graham take no extraordinary measures to keep him alive. Said that he wanted to die. The ship was fueled and he was ready to die. That’s what’s being said around.”

  He didn’t doubt the details. Now he wasn’t sure he doubted the central rumor. A deep and volatile secret had broken out of confinement.

  At worst construction, they were betrayed—and not for the first time. His own Mospheiran heritage welled up in him, in deep, angry suspicion.

  He shut it down. Tried to think instead of react.

  “We don’t have all the facts,” he said to Paulson. “I’m asking, keep your workers exactly as you have, out of places where they can gather and theorize. I’m applying to ship command for a clarification. Talk to that worker if you can. Let’s find out the truth.”

  “When you know what’s going on, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “Deal.”

  Still no answer to the beeper, and no help from C1. Bren punched out on Paulson and looked at his security team.

  “Did you follow, nadiin-ji? Ramirez-aiji in dying said to Jase-paidhi that there were indeed people left behind on the other station and that at that time it was operational. He said, at the same time that he had fueled the ship and that he was ready to die.”

  “Perhaps we should visit Jase,” Banichi said. “Jago and I.”

  If they were on earth, they would have other recourses— they might well have sent a messenger from the Guild. They weren’t on earth, and hadn’t, and he didn’t want to start a war with the ship-crew.

  “We’re going to have to advise the aiji,” Bren said. “That on a priority. Put another call through, Gini-ji, to Eidi, to anyone you can get.”

  “Put on the vest, Bren-ji,” Tano said ominously, meaning the projectile-proof one that restricted his movements and his breathing, and no, he didn’t at all want it, one more ferocious inconvenience in an already maddening hour—but under the circumstances and with what was riding on the lives of a handful of critical personnel, he had no choice but agree.

  “I shall,” he said. “I shan’t forget it, Tano-ji.”

  “Jase is calling back,” Algini said suddenly, and Bren snatched up the ear-set.

  “Jase?”

  “Bren. I have a page from you. I’m on my way to a meeting.”

  “Jase. I don’t know if you know, but whatever Ramirez told you—it got out. That the other station wasn’t destroyed, for starters. Is that true?”

  There was a slight pause. Possibly command hadn’t known rumors were flying. He had the impression that, wherever Jase was, he had just stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Is the rumor true, Jase?”

  “Bren—” A short pause. Desperation in the tone. “Bren, I can’t talk about this here.”

  He lapsed straight into Ragi. “You’d better know it’s not secret. It’s being talked about among the workers. My staff knows. It’s being reported on the planet.”

  “The crew doesn’t know, Bren. We don’t know. Don’t let it out.”

  “It is out. I understand what you’re telling me…” That… God, the crew had not a clue and the captains had lied to them. That possibly Jase had had no clue either, and that was why Ramirez had told him: he could believe that Jase was innocent. “Is that the truth, Jase-ji?”

  “He said so,” Jase admitted. “I was afraid the techs had heard.”

  “I don’t know if a tech heard, but a worker in for treatment overheard. It leaked to the Mospheirans, Jase, and there’s no stopping it.”

  “I can’t say more than I have right now. Bren, I’m asking you, don’t call Tabini yet.”

  “I have to call Tabini. Every Mospheiran with a phone link, every corporate officer and the communications techs— they’ve already been talking. If you don’t want a bigger crisis than we already have at this point, Jase, don’t cut me off from Tabini. If merchants know it on the North Shore waterfront, damned sure I’d better advise the aiji very soon that we have a problem.”

  “Bren, I can’t say—I don’t know—I think Ogun has something to say about this. I have to get to the meeting. Wait. I ask you. Wait.”

  All over the station-ship hookup, communications that shouldn’t get out of a security folder were flying back and forth like mad. “Jase, you know where my loyalties are. Tabini ignorant is far more dangerous than Tabini informed.” Jase, damn it all, hadn’t given an official order in all the years he’d warmed that fourth seat. And didn’t want to start now. “You were fourth seat and maybe it didn’t matter. But now you’re third. Like it or not, somebody who knows had better make a decision. You keep channels open for me to Mogari-nai. You know Tabini. You know the consequences, dammit, if he should be surprised, especially now, especially now, with critical meetings going on. You know that.”

  “I know. I know. I’ll hold your channel open. I can do that. But that’s all I can do—I can’t go rushing around giving orders right now, I can’t, under these circumstances. Tabini misinformed isn’t damned good either, Bren, is it?”

  “Somebody in command knows the truth. Somebody in ship-command damned well better know, Jase, and—hear me on this—there had better not be any surprises.”

  “There won’t be. Bren. Trust me. We’re about to address the crew on intercom. Get everybody out of the corridors. Secure all stations. We’re asking the same of crew. Wait for Ogun. That’s all I ask. One favor. Communication silence until then. One favor. Please.”

  “You know what you’re dealing with. You know. We’re secure out there as we’re likely to be. But don’t lie. Absolute truth to these people. They deserve it. Once in several centuries, they deserve it. Hear me?”

  A small pause. There was desperation on the other end of the link. “I didn’t know, Bren. I didn’t know. Crew didn’t know. I’m not even sure Sabin knew. Now I think we’re going to find out. Be patient. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  Historically, it wasn’t only the colonists the Pilots’ Guild had lied to, and lied to habitually, as if the truth was the automatic last recourse of any situation, the one commodity always to be kept in reserve.

  “Tonight,” Bren said. He at least believed Jase—whose mangled Ragi had contained half a dozen egregious and inflammatory mistakes. He filled in the blanks, filled them in with knowledge of Jase, where nothing else would serve.

  And Jase punched out to go to his meeting.

  He sank back in the chair, dumbfounded—speechless for the moment.

  We’re going to find out, Jase said.

  Hell, Jase, worse for the crew this time than for Mospheirans. They set up the station out there. Wasn’t it their ancestors who crewed it?

  And assuring us the aliens couldn’t have gotten any clue to let them track the origin of that station back to this star—oh, well, again, just a little cosmetic exaggeration. Don’t worry. It’s not that likely.

  Likely they won’t come here and blow the planet up.

  Bloody hell, what excuse is Phoenix command going to tell us all this time, Jase?

  He couldn’t let the distress reach his face—first lesson of diplomacy among atevi: never look upset. He looked at the ceiling a moment, away into white-tiled space, drew a deep breath, then faced solemn atevi stares with as much calm as he could muster.

  “Well, Jase and I have had a lively discussion. As you heard.”

  “One heard,” Banichi said.

  “Jase says the captains will soon address the crew, nadiin-ji. Jase says he didn’t already know what Ramirez is alleged to have told him, so I suppose if we’re patient we may hear at least as much truth as the other captai
ns have to admit. I’m. not pleased, I may say, and I’m doubtful how much truth we may yet hear. Jase says we’ll have Mogari-nai available.”

  “What measures shall we take?” Banichi asked him— Banichi had to ask, in matters involving humans. On the planet, among atevi, Banichi was inclined to know.

  This one, unhappily, was up to the paidhi to figure out.

  But once lied to—where did people start believing again?

  “One wishes one knew, Banichi-ji. One waits to see what is said, one supposes, and then one tries to determine whether we’ve now returned to the truth… or whether there’s only a new lie.”

  “Does this entail a quarrel among the human associations?”

  “One isn’t sure where the lines are,” he said. “One isn’t sure whose side certain individuals may be supporting.”

  “The ship being refueled,” Algini said, “they can choose to leave.”

  It wasn’t the first time his staff had raised that point. The last time had been in deep concern when Tabini had agreed to the refueling in the first place.

  “There would seem to be very little we can do about it,” Bren said.

  “We have studied the matter,” Banichi said, “and there might be something we can do about it, if we take certain key points within the ship.”

  Why was he not surprised his staff, independently and quietly, had come up with a theory of how to do it?

  And he had to decide, quickly, whether to let them try.

  But what was next on Ramirez’ agenda? Or what might Ramirez have known? What might be coming in?

  Dared they risk damage to the only ship they had—when they couldn’t, themselves, operate it?

  “We know more than we did, nadiin-ji, but we don’t know what Ramirez knew. Before we make such a move, I hope I have time to talk to Jase. And I hope Jase comes to visit us with answers.”

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Shipmates: the captains regret to report very sad news, Senior Captain Stani Ramirez has passed away suddenly of natural causes, much mourned and missed by us all.”

  Funereal music had prefaced the announcement. The meeting—Jase’s meeting—had produced, officially, an official announcement on every channel, one, channel 2, given over to a captioned translation into Ragi—Jase’s, Bren strongly suspected. There was one ill-omened error of numerology.

  “Services are set for 1800h in the crew recreation area stationside. All but critical personnel will have the choice to attend.”

  Phoenix froze her dead—for disposition later, the word had always been. At some time Phoenix would send her departed crewmen to a rest that forever escaped gravity wells, but it hadn’t happened yet. One assumed that for Ramirez. But they were hurrying to hold the memorial, no preparation. They had an hour.

  “This concludes the funeral announcement. A security bulletin follows.”

  Damned well time, Bren thought.

  “A rumor has arisen which has raised alarm among our allies. The captains have accordingly released the following accurate information. …”

  Be truthful. For God’s sake, be truthful, Jase… and be accurate.

  “Certain information regarding the station at Reunion was kept secret due to the necessity of duplicitous negotiation among the allies—”

  God, Jase, actomen’shi, not eshtomeni?

  “Reunion exists. It suffered extensive damage and loss of life during alien attack. A small number of survivors decided to stay on the station, maintain a general communications silence and effect repairs such as would give them the capacity to refit and refuel Phoenix for a further, longer voyage, only should Phoenix find no resource here.

  “In the event of a second alien attack or imminent disaster to Reunion, Reunion staff is to destroy the station with all personnel and all records.

  “Phoenix command has pledged to Reunion volunteers that Phoenix will return as soon as possible to their relief.

  “A list of known survivors will be available via C1, appended to this bulletin.

  “The Council of Captains reminds the crew that we have no information as to current conditions at Reunion. There has been no communication with Reunion since, for the protection of all persons.

  “This is Captain Graham. I ask our allies be tolerant of my foreignness and make all utterances respectful and fortunate in your minds. It is the intent of the ship-aijiin to work closely and frankly with our allies.”

  Well done. Well done, Jase.

  As well done as could be, give or take a few glitches and one piece of accidental honesty—or maybe Jase had thought it best to tell the whole truth.

  Jago was back. The whole staff assembled at the security station, leaning in the door, not venturing further into the small room.

  The content was explosive enough with the crew—who couldn’t be damned happy with what their captains had done in maintaining secrecy. No democracy on the decks, that was sure. No debate about a decision to leave Reunion personnel in place… but Phoenix wasn’t a democracy and never had been.

  The list of survivors rolled past. He didn’t personally know the names to look for, but he recognized crew surnames. There were living relatives—how close, and how emotionally viable the ties that bound them to ship-crew might be debatable, but the names told him there were ties, and the list numbered over two hundred individuals…

  Two hundred individuals to keep a station alive.

  But ask, even so, whether that list was definitive or not, or whether even Ramirez had known all the list or all the truth. The history of lies and half-truths was just too old, too long, too often.

  And in all his career he doubted he had met a situation as disillusioning and as disturbing.

  “I think one may transmit to Mogari-nai,” Bren said. Eidi still hadn’t gotten back to him, or acknowledged the second call, which might mean that Eidi had had to leave the Bujavid to carry his message—or it might mean that Tabini had heard the first one and wasn’t going to acknowledge a subordinate so disorganized as to chase one message with another within minutes. It wasn’t for the aiji in Shejidan to beg details. It was for the paidhi to compose his information in logical fashion and send, and he sent. He dropped his information, piece by piece, into the gravity well and waited for some echo, any echo, to tell him how Shejidan was reacting, what Tabini was thinking, what Tabini wanted him to do about the unfolding situation.

  Tabini wouldn’t rush to judgement or to action. Not in this. Silence meant that the subordinate in question should act as wisely as he understood how to do, and silence meant if the subordinate fouled up—the aiji in Shejidan could change everything in a heartbeat.

  Jase, sending, would likely get no better reaction.

  So Bren let it be Jase—didn’t package the information under his own name, didn’t revise word-choices into felicity and good grammar—the aiji knew Jase, and he wasn’t superstitious.

  But two stations—two was one of those damnable numbers that ran cold fingers down atevi spines no matter how modern and enlightened the hearer: two hadn’t even been in consideration when they were considering building another starship: three was the plan as atevi laid it down, and two was only a stage they would pass through on their way to three.

  Trust atevi personnel to weld a piece of the next frame only to say there was a fortunate third under construction.

  He sent his own commentary:

  Aiji-ma, this is the official statement of the ship-aijiin on information overheard by a Mospheiran worker and rumored afterward by crew and Mospheiran workers throughout the station.

  This forebodes policy changes of some nature. I have received reassurances from Jase-paidhi—and will accept them in your name, aiji-ma—that the treaty stands, pending further information.

  In everything that came out, he believed that Jase hadn’t known, or Ramirez wouldn’t have had to tell Jase on his deathbed.

  And where was Tabini?

  Engaged in delicate negotiatio
ns, and relying on the steady progress of the space program to convince the skittish east to add their earnest effort to the west. Of course we can trust the ship-folk. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I know what I’m asking of you. All of it will be worth it. We have a firm alliance.

  If Ramirez had set out deliberately to sabotage atevi-human relations and the aishidi’tat at one stroke, he’d have had to study hard to pick a more delicate, more telling moment— granted the paidhi had any true idea what Tabini was up to at the moment.

  Now Tabini had to be shown taking control of a situation with the ship-folk, strongly advancing atevi positions, asserting atevi authority over the program—all through the paidhi, who was supposed to do something about it all… the way the paidhi-aiji was supposed to have been a reliable source of information.

  And in spite of the quick shut-down of private station communication, he knew the shut-down hadn’t been fast enough, and that it might be the worst thing to do: it might be better just to let the most stupid speculations go out, because at least information would flow. Rumors would be circulating through the island as fast as two cousins on north shore and south shore calling one another on the phone.

  “Keep our line flowing to Eidi,” he told Algini.

  So the messages went down, minute by minute.

  And the paidhi had acute indigestion.

  Might Damiri somehow get a message, before Tabini did? Might he suggest it, if he could ever get hold of Eidi again? He was down to considering uncle Tatiseigi, and maybe blowing Bindanda’s cover and asking Bindanda to contact him directly.

  Damn the luck. Damn Ramirez’ timing.

  Other information was flowing. He had plenty of messages from station offices, from Ginny Kroger, from Paulson, from Geigi, the latter saying, We have sent to Eidi, but Eidi seems to have left.

  He sent appropriate messages to those individuals on the station: yes, he was going to the funeral service on the station, yes, it was entirely appropriate for atevi to attend.

  By all means, the most stringent adherence to forms and politeness, while everything that was going on at official levels stirred echoes—oh, very definitely the deception echoed in his Mospheiran soul—and he was one of the Mospheirans struggling hardest to make this alliance work.