Polity 2 - Hilldiggers (18 page)

The command would come from Director Gneiss himself, after ratification by the Oversight Committee. The answer lay in a bit of rerouting, so that when Gneiss ordered one protocol the system employed another. Without hesitation she made the alterations. Now, if the Director ordered EM and thermal sterilisation as detailed in Protocol Two, or the detonation of the nukes as in Protocol One, in both cases Protocol Three would be employed and the Ozark Cylinders would be ejected. All of them would be ejected.

When she was done, Yishna sat back and just stared at the screens. After a moment she triple-wiped memory so nothing of what she had done could be detected. She then turned everything off, stood up, and headed for her quarters. Dropping fully clothed onto her bunk, she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

Four hours later she woke in utter panic. Why did I do that?

Deep inside she somehow knew why, but could not allow herself to consciously admit it. She felt the terror of madness—of her mind not being her own. And from that moment Corisanthe Main seemed filled with dangerous shadows, and the nightmares began.

—Retroact 11 Ends—

Harald

As he headed for his quarters aboard Ironfist, Harald seethed. Had David McCrooger remained unthreatened throughout his journey here from the edge of the system, people would then have believed that Fleet had honourably discharged a duty it found distasteful and been extremely embarrassed at subsequently losing McCrooger to unprovoked Brumallian aggression. Inigis's foolish attempt to rid them of the Consul Assessor straight away had changed that scenario by exacerbating public suspicion already driven high by Uskaron's book. It was lucky that despite that idiocy, parliamentary vote had allowed Fleet to recommission its old weapons and begin to manufacture more, just as Harald required. However, supposed threats to Sudoria needed to be highlighted and brought closer to home, and Orbital Combine must be implicated.

Harald halted by his door and, without the intercession of a control baton, sent the access code direct from the hardware in his foamite suit. The door unlocked and he pushed it open. Sensing that his quarters were occupied, he drew his side arm, then quickly darted in and to one side, the weapon levelled at the figure occupying the chair beside his console.

“Have you so many enemies, Harald?” asked Yishna.

Harald kept his weapon sighted on his sister, while eyeing the small pistol she held. She watched him for a moment, then glanced down at the pistol.

“Combine manufacture,” she said, placing the weapon down then sliding it to the back of his desk. “Surely Fleet possess better weapons?”

Returning his side arm to its holster, Harald closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. To obtain that little Combine gun, she had obviously opened the code-locked storage compartment under his desk—not a serious problem for her, of course.

“To answer both your questions, I do have a few enemies. There are some in Fleet not averse to using assassination as a means of gaining promotion, though there're few like that here on Ironfist. Hence my reaction to you just then, and hence the presence of an unregistered weapon here in my quarters.” He walked over to his samovar and tapped himself a cup of the same pungent tea Yishna was presently sipping. While doing this he tried to relax the tension that seemed to entwine steel springs through his body.

“I had not realised,” said Yishna, looking dismayed.

Harald immediately understood that she referred to his tacom alterations, and not the fact that he had enemies. “Communication is the key, sister. It always has been.”

“Some might consider it mutilation.”

Harald grimaced, carefully placed his cup down by the samovar, then removed his helmet and glove, placing them down beside it. Taking up the cup again, he finally turned and seated himself on his divan. “Perhaps you should be the last to make such observations, since this technology stems from your own research.”

“Perhaps.”

“So why are you here, sister?”

Yishna stared at his adapted eye. “Interesting. It merely looks like you've received a poke in the eye, yet we both know the largest alterations are behind it.”

“I asked you why you are here.”

Yishna stared at him a moment longer, then said, “I'm here because, apparently, some suicidal Brumallians fired a missile at the ship I was aboard. Those surviving the attack were picked up by Ironfist's rescue boats. Seven others died, including, apparently, the Consul Assessor.”

“Regrettable,” said Harald. “I was looking forward to interrogating him during Inigis's trial.”

“I suspect you would have found it an illuminating experience.”

“Doubtless.”

“What happened to Inigis's ship?” Yishna asked. “I know it was hit by a Brumallian missile and that there was a detonation in one of the silos aboard, shoving it into a decaying orbit, but that's about it. No one here seems inclined to tell me any more.”

“It nearly went down, but Inigis, ignoring the order confining him to his cabin for his alleged attempt on the Consul Assessor's life, took command again and saved the day by detonating a second weapon in another silo, thus changing his ship's trajectory. His actions will of course be taken into account when he comes to trial.”

“What are you up to, Harald?”

“I'm not sure I understand your question.”

“We two are driven; we studied hard and we learned, and have now attained high positions in Sudorian society. I have only one more step yet to make to become Director of Corisanthe Main, but my work sufficiently satisfies me that I'm prepared to wait until Director Gneiss steps down.” Yishna frowned as if remembering something unpleasant, then shook her head and continued, “What are you waiting for, Harald—and are you waiting at all?”

“The stratified ranking system of Fleet will not allow me to take the position of Admiral, since Captain Dravenik gets precedence. However, as Fleet Tacom I now hold more power in fact than Carnasus holds in name. Standing at his shoulder, I've reached the highest position I can attain without a major readjustment of the ranking system.”

“And killing the Polity Consul Assessor helps this how?”

“I don't know. Perhaps you'd better ask the Brumallians that.”

Yishna just stared at him for a long moment before going on: “It may be that the Polity does not represent as much of a danger as you might think.”

“Our affairs here are complicated enough as they are without outside interference,” Harald snapped, not sure why he suddenly felt so angry.

“David McCrooger was a very interesting person ...” Yishna trailed off, staring at something distant. “I...I thought I would be able to easily play him, understand his motivations and the true intent of this Polity, but every time I began to feel I knew what he was all about, some new level to him was revealed.” She focused on Harald. “Like sometimes when you talk to someone intelligent and old, you keep uncovering layers of complexity.”

“Perhaps that is precisely what he is,” Harald replied. “We don't know how good their medical science is, so he may have been much older than he looked. I in fact think that rather likely.”

“I asked him about their policy regarding imprisoned sentients, should the Polity take over here.”

Harald felt something go quiet inside him, waiting. Every sound in this room suddenly became intense and every object clearly denned and subject to his full perception.

“His reply?” he asked casually.

Yishna's nictitating membranes flicked closed, giving her eyes an opaque sheen. “He told me that in the case of corrupt totalitarian regimes they grant a full amnesty to all prisoners, though those guilty of capital crimes are checked for socio- or psychopathic tendencies. But because our regime is not such, cases would be individually reviewed under Polity law, and those found innocent of any crime would be released. But Polity intercession is unlikely.”

“Reviewed under Polity law,” Harald repeated. “Your impression?”

Now, in a noticeably flat tone, his sister replied, “I am sure that those unjustly imprisoned would be released no matter who or what they are.”

Harald felt himself returning to a more normal level of perception. Yishna's nictitating membranes opened and she looked about with annoyance.

“It happened again,” she said.

“It often happens when we meet after being apart for some time.”

She glanced up at him. “It's some sort of communication—non-verbal.”

“It is,” Harald agreed, “but I fail to divine its purpose.” He paused for a moment then asked, “How goes your research into the Worm?”

Yishna shook her head as if dispelling idiocy. “I can record bleed-over now—not telepathic inductance after all, but some inductance phenomena related to underspace.” She was now fidgeting, as if bored with this conversation.

“Which the Polity would know all about, of course. It is a shame that David McCrooger is now dead, for he could perhaps have helped you in many ways.”

“Yes, a shame.”

Harald continued, “However, I rather suspect that David McCrooger is not the Polity's only envoy here within our system, and for my purposes I would rather there were none here at all.”

“Your purposes?”

“Yishna, much as it's pleasant to chat to you, perhaps we can take this up later?”

“What are your purposes, Harald?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss Fleet matters with someone so high up in Orbital Combine, sister.”

“Would that I could believe 'your purposes' concern only Fleet.” Yishna put aside her cup and stood. “We should discuss this further.”

“Yes, perhaps later.”

Yishna glanced at his coms helmet and glove, then turned and departed.

Harald sat for a long moment with the polished wheels of his mind turning. Some input in the recent conversation had changed his attitude to McCrooger, but that did not alter his overall plan, and his feeling that the Consul Assessor was best out of the way, permanently. He stood and went to retrieve his helmet and glove, donning them almost with relief. Opening a com channel he waited. After a moment a woman's face peered at him from his eye-screen—cropped grey hair and bitter mouth, and a thin face deeply grooved with lines and a permanent look of disapproval. He rather suspected her sour mien was due to years of fighting her way up through a patriarchal organisation.

“Jeon,” he acknowledged. “Update?”

She glanced at something to one side then said, “I am still analysing the data. The trace separated on the surface—one part of it remaining inland, and the other travelling fast over land and sea to the escape-pod, then back again.”

“So there is either one conjoined object or two separate objects that have remained together until now?”

She nodded. “So it would seem. It also strikes me as likely that, whatever it is, it rescued the Consul Assessor.”

Harald sat back. “I will ask Special Operations on Brumal to...solve that problem. They will enjoy the challenge. But that is irrelevant for my purposes right now. If the Polity is interventionist, it seems this unknown object is the greatest danger to us. You have detected nothing else?”

“Nothing so far, but that's not to say there's nothing more here. It was pure luck that we picked up on this thing—luck and the application of some recent research results from Corisanthe Main.”

“I must work on the assumption that there is only this one...maybe two.” Harald grimaced—he did not like making assumptions. “You're still tracking?”

“The trace is sitting five hundred miles above the ReconYork, holding station there.”

“Very well, Jeon. I want you to prepare a five-megaton warhead—fully shielded and EM hardened—for simple contact detonation, and allowing coded detonation from here.” Jeon frowned her puzzlement, and he explained, “There will be a retaliatory strike made against the Brumallians for their attack on Inigis's ship. We will then see if the Polity is prepared to intervene, and perhaps we can remove their ability to do so.”

“I see.”

“Let me know when you're ready. The missile is to go into Silo Fourteen.”

Harald cut their communication and opened another channel. After a moment, a man gazed out at him.

“Captain Franorl, you will shortly be receiving instructions, through the usual channels, to replace Dravenik on Corisanthe Watch,” said Harald.

“To whom do I owe this honour?”

“To me, as always.”

“I see.”

“As per the agreement between Orbital Combine and Fleet, Combine observers will be sent over to your ship while you are on station watching Corisanthe Main. You are to know where they are at all times, because at a certain time they will attempt to sabotage the Desert Wind.”

“If we've evidence of this, why can't I just throw them in the brig?”

“You misapprehend me. They will all be killed while making this sabotage attempt, and therefore no evidence will be required. Suspecting attack from Combine, you will then move your ship out of range of Corisanthe Main's armament.”

Franorl smiled. “At last.”

“Out.” Harald cut that connection and quickly made a new one. After a short delay a different male face gazed at him from the screen. “Captain Dravenik, you will shortly be replaced on Corisanthe Watch by Captain Franorl on Desert Wind.”

“This is from the Admiral?” Dravenik asked suspiciously.

“It is. You will also be receiving orders to position yourself just out from Planetary Defence Platform One. It seems we may be having a little bit of a problem with Combine.”

“The nature of this problem?”

“It would appear there may be some connection between the Brumallian missile strike on Inigis's vessel and certain factions operating in Orbital Combine. We have yet to obtain clear proof of this, however.”

“Combine and Brumallians collaborating?” said the Captain disbelievingly.

“Unlikely, I agree,” said Harald. “It seems more likely to me that these factions in Combine deliberately tried to implicate the Brumallians so we would be distracted.”

“Why would Combine want to take down the ship transporting the Consul Assessor?”

“Factions within Combine, Dravenik.”

“This is all very well,” said Dravenik, “but I'd get all that through the usual channels. Why are you contacting me privately like this?”