Queen of Chaos, page 15
part #3 of Sequoyah Series
“As long as they stay off my ship I can deal with it. You need a secure room to do your spy stuff?”
He smiled. “As long as nobody comes in here, this is fine.”
“Right. I’ll go check on the loading.” She gave him a kiss and a grin, sidestepping his reach.
The cargo loading was almost complete, and half an hour later Ennis joined her in the bay. He had a dull grey datatab in his hand.
“It’s encrypted and volatile—any attempt to read it without the correct equipment erases the content,” he said, handing it to Palmer who nodded and tucked it in a shirt pocket. “Here’s the address and the rest of the instructions. I’m not saying swallow it if captured, but don’t show it off at the bar, either.”
Palmer looked at the textsheet with the address, shrugged, and added it to the pocket. “I can do that. Mind if I ask a favor of you, same?” He pulled out a different textsheet with a flimsy printout wrapper. “For Grimaldi. Want ta thank her for puttin’ me in the way of this job,” he said, face reddening.
“Every thirty days, same coordinates,” Moire said. “Don’t let anybody on your ship for that run unless we tell you ahead of time. Whatever you do outside of that is your own business.”
“Gottit.” Palmer turned to Ennis and held out his hand, mumbling and his face turning even more red. “Thanks for…thanks for the card games. I’ll keep yer chips for ya, ya damn cheater!”
Chapter 8
Friends and Relations
Awareness emerged as unconsciousness slowly drained away. Ennis drowsed for a while, first wondering at his uncharacteristic inertia, and then, as he woke up further, at why he felt not only happy, but secure. It made no sense. He was in a highly reworked ship traveling through the fringe of the Fringe, possibly being tracked by crabs even now, and yet there was a noticeable absence of the constant nagging need for watchfulness. Even on FarCom he had never entirely allowed himself to let his guard down.
It couldn’t entirely be because of Moire, though she certainly helped. He smiled, stretched, and sighed when he touched both ends of the bunk. How fortunate neither of them were large.
There was something he needed to do. Moire had asked him, as she was leaving to start her shift and he was not really awake, just listening to her voice. He racked his brain, trying to remember. No, he was not going to use this as an excuse to go to the bridge. He had real work to do, work for Umbra as well as for Moire. Harrington! That was it. She wanted him to help Harrington with the crab translator. He frowned. She’d mentioned Umbra, too, and that didn’t make sense. And another name he didn’t remember.
He sighed, stretched again, and got his gear together. Shipsuit was definitely not optional, not on this crate. The crew did good work but Frankenstein was still, at best, an experimental design. He’d find Harrington, who would explain everything. But first, food. Ennis closed his eyes, bringing up a mental map of the ship from the last time he’d been on board. Even when you knew where the galley was, it was equally important to know how to get to it since nothing was laid out in the usual way.
Whistling a tune in a randomly changing key, Ennis headed out. One of the crew was in the galley when he reached it; the assistant engineer, who greeted him by raising his mug.
“Welcome back, Commander.”
“It’s good to be back—Kwife, right?” Ennis said, scanning the available food options. They were all processed, and he couldn’t help a sigh. “Where’s Madele Fortin?”
Kwife laughed and gave him a sympathetic grin. “Dirtside. Sequoyah. You got spoiled, eh? They need her more than we do. Got a lot more people since you were there last. Don’t worry, that stuff is pretty good. Just not as good as hers.”
Ennis decided the cinnamon protein bread would do, and sat down with that and a juice bulb. “Any idea where I can find Harrington?”
“Probably down in the tank. Where the crab lives,” Kwife explained. He drained his mug. “I can take you there, if you like. We’ve made some changes since you left, and of course getting hit in the fight didn’t help.”
Ennis was glad Kwife had offered. The route had two pressure doors now, one with a hand–lettered sign stating shipsuits were mandatory beyond that point.
“Took us a while to get it patched up and sealed,” Kwife said, seeing him read the sign. “Captain wants us to be cautious, just in case something breaks loose again.”
“Wise,” Ennis murmured. They reached the door to the hold stairs. “I know the way from here. Thanks.”
Kwife waved good–bye, and Ennis started down the stairs to the two big cargo containers on the floor of the hold. The stairs had been repaired, he noticed, and then he saw the large patch on the hold wall. The hull wall. His cheerful mood abruptly chilled. Exactly how bad had this fight been?
He fingered the collar of his shipsuit, double–checking that the oxygen capsules were in place. The door to the human side of the structure was closed, and he knocked before entering. Harrington looked up as the door opened.
“Ah, there you are! You’re looking well—running around the galaxy seems to agree with you. No hair–raising adventures getting to us, I trust?”
“Very dull. I wasn’t even shot at,” Ennis said dryly. “No kidnap attempts, no explosions. Not at all what I am accustomed to.”
“You should have gotten here sooner. There were quite enough explosions for my taste,” Harrington said, turning back to the console. It had a number of controls and inputs. The old battered code reader Perwaty had first used to communicate with his shipwrecked companion was plugged in, but so was a sleek, modern device Ennis found familiar. “Yes, we decided that we ought to work on a system that was a trifle more robust,” Harrington added, seeing the direction of his gaze. “I had the distinct suspicion that He Who Dwells in Shadow would be in the market for a crab translator that would be more amenable to mass production. Besides, this lets us do some analysis.”
“Namur wants the source,” Ennis pointed out. “Not that this isn’t helpful.”
Harrington sat back. “You know, this may be an awkward question, but what precisely is Radersent’s legal status?” He gestured at the large window into the crab quarters. Radersent was visible, but instead of standing as he usually did he was draped over a large, branching framelike structure. “The reason I ask is it has become apparent he regards himself as a member of this crew. More precisely, Moire Cameron’s crew. He became rather agitated when he thought we were going to leave him with the other crabs, you know, even though he was quite badly injured at the time. You’d think he would have more pressing issues to concern him. I understand Umbra’s interest and only wish to promote it by pointing out that ‘handing over the crab’ might possibly be…counterproductive.”
“Are you saying he wouldn’t help us?” Ennis asked, studying the display for a moment before tapping out a greeting. He wasn’t sure if the crab could recognize specific humans, and in any case he had been gone for a long time. Radersent responded with a graceful wave of his head tendrils but didn’t get up. “Is he feeling all right? You said he was badly injured.”
“He is much better than he was,” Harrington said with feeling. “Yes, very bad. We would have lost him without the help of the crabs we rescued. I’m not entirely sure what his motivation would be, in Umbra’s custody. We’re still piecing this together, mind you, but it appears crab social structure relies heavily on personal loyalty. Almost feudal, in a way. He would have no ‘connection’ to Umbra, at least nothing like that with the captain. And I don’t believe he understands any connection between her and Umbra. It’s very strange.”
Ennis stared at him. “Even though we’re all human? It isn’t clear we’re all on one side?”
“It appears all the crabs are not. Bear in mind we interrupted a crab–on–crab battle, so that seems credible to me.” Harrington shrugged. “He uses a term we haven’t translated yet for the crabs we met. There’s definitely the negation pitch, but Inathka thinks there is also the same base phoneme for family or allegiance, so a tentative meaning might be ‘not one of us.’ Even though we see them all as crabs.”
“Inathka?”
Harrington hesitated. “Right. You haven’t met her. Speaking of legal status—we’re not quite sure what to do with her.” He started working with the advanced comm device, inserting a datatab. “She used to be a, let us say, involuntary worker belonging to the ceeyo of Kulvar. In a series of events a dutiful Fleet officer should probably remain in official ignorance of, she was transferred to the ownership of the captain. Who, I hasten to add, was fully intending to release her unharmed at a more law–abiding location. However,” he said, removing the first datatab and inserting a second one, “we let her help out and this Inathka was observant, curious, and extremely skilled with comm devices. She planted a hidden link in this very device that allowed her to see some of the negotiations with the crabs. I am quite certain Namur doesn’t want word reaching Toren that we might have sources of information they don’t know about.”
Ennis grimaced, rubbing his forehead. “Damn. No, you are right. What a mess. But you said…she’s still working on this?”
Harrington took the second datatab out. “Oh yes. She is quite good—very intuitive about signal analysis. We’ve made a lot of progress with the translator with her help. Still, given the sensitive nature of the data, the captain insists on keeping her isolated from direct contact with the main copy of the data and the device. She asked me to vet Inathka's work, given my extracurricular activities, but I pointed out you are an official member of Umbra and more likely to spot any funny business than an ad–hoc civilian like myself.”
So that was what Moire wanted him to do. Now he just had to figure out how to do it. How had he ended up with Umbra anyway? Where had he gone wrong?
“I’ve just got a lovely batch of data for her now, and it seems Radersent is getting tired again, so off we go.” Harrington gathered up the datatabs, tapped out a brief message to the crab, and got up.
Ennis turned to follow him and stopped, transfixed by the image on the big display screen. He hadn’t noticed it until now. “What the hell is that?”
Harrington looked grim. “A structure we found at the location the crabs wanted to be dropped off at. Their ship had no mobility.”
“That looks…dangerous,” Ennis said, staring at it and feeling very cold.
“Possibly.”
“Possibly? Look at it! I’ve never seen anything like it before! It’s bigger than FarCom!”
“I agree, but according to our scans and the crabs, it is abandoned. Notice the craters.”
Yes, now he could see there was extensive damage. His heart rate slowed a little. “How old is it? Did you ask?”
“Well, that’s one of the things we think might not be getting translated correctly,” Harrington commented, opening the door. “Because if Radersent understood us, the answer is 'over two thousand years.'”
¤ ¤ ¤
Moire lounged back in her chair, feet on the console, and cast an eye over the realspace panel. The sargasso remained its inert self. Nobody was talking on the main channel, reserved for communications to the bridge, and the few times she had visited the crew channels it had sounded like work was progressing well. They’d developed a rhythm; everyone knew what needed to be done and how to do it efficiently. All she had to do was stay out of the way. Maybe this being–in–charge gig wasn’t so bad.
Hearing the sound of approaching feet, she glanced over her shoulder. As she had hoped, it was Ennis.
“Lunchtime,” he announced, holding out a plastifiber box. “We have a fine selection of processed starch with protein paste, various flavors; synthetic flavored gooey squares for dessert; and vitamin and whatnot–enhanced beverages. Oh, and I figured out where you hid the coffee so we have that too.”
Moire sat up. “Then I forgive you for the vitamins. Thanks for saving me the trip. You didn’t want to go out to the wreck today?”
He gave her a wry expression. “You said we’re going back to meet Palmer once the wreck is dropped off, which doesn’t leave much time. If I’m going to be telling Umbra they can’t have Radersent shipped to them in a box it would be a good idea to have something almost as useful to give them instead, agreed?”
“Yeah, suppose so. What have you figured out?” Moire mumbled around her ersatz sandwich.
“Not much.” Ennis sighed. “Harrington was right; their system of communication is complex. No hope of us ever being able to speak it directly. The crabs have some way of creating up to three distinct sound frequencies superimposed on each other, and one seems to be their version of grammar. I’m focusing on getting as much raw data assembled and organized as possible and hoping the cryptos on FarCom can figure it out.”
“Any chance they’ll share if they do?”
Ennis shrugged. “Above my pay grade. I hope so, since it would help us learn more. Of course they might just as easily decide that handing ultraclassified information to an infamous space pirate of the Fringe would be viewed dimly by the command, even if you did give them most of it in the first place.” He took a swig of the vitamin drink. “Such is Fleet logic.”
“Well, no sense in borrowing trouble. Oh, speaking of trouble. What the hell were you thinking giving Alan a sniper rifle? I mean, you got Ash and George and Hideo books and toys and so on. Why?”
Ennis shifted in his seat. “He won’t be shooting anyone unless you give him ammo. Look, you aren’t going to make him stop wanting to get his hands on a weapon; it’s too late for that. I’ve just given him a nonlethal outlet. Without ammunition the programming directly reverts to a laser training setup. He can practice and get better, and I can set it up for situational judgment–call scenarios.”
“Really.” Moire studied his face. Something else was going on, and she suspected she knew what it was. Alan was the only one of the Created that still harbored a grudge against Ennis for shooting her. Maybe this was his way of trying to make amends—but it made her life more difficult.
The comm board pinged before she could accuse Ennis, and that was probably a good thing. No point in bringing up bad memories.
“Now what? Who forgot the main channel code?” she groused. Ennis stood up and went to the comm display.
“Interesting. I didn’t know anybody was still out scouting,” he commented.
“Gren said something about looking around for more guns to add to the ship,” Moire said, getting up. “You should approve. What are they saying?”
He shook his head, looking puzzled. “Gibberish. See, it’s way out there. Farther than any of the wrecks. Is it perhaps a new wreck, coming in? Have you ever seen that?”
“No. And that’s a pretty strong signal for a wreck, anyway. See if you can use the encrypt mode to get something comprehensible. I’ll check with Gren.”
Moire tapped at the control bracelet for the captain’s earring, bringing up Gren’s personal channel.
“Gren, you got anybody wandering around the edges of the sargasso? We’re picking up a signal.”
She heard his breathing, then, “No. Everybody is here on the wreck. Where is it coming from?”
Moire glanced over at Ennis. “Location?”
“Other side completely, core–ward. It isn’t moving.” He headed for the scanner controls.
Moire relayed this information to Gren. “It doesn’t seem to be a distress beacon either,” she added, watching Ennis. He stiffened suddenly, then lunged back toward the comm panel and frantically started manipulating controls. “What are you doing?”
“Running that signal through the translator,” he said grimly. “That’s a ship out there.”
Moire joined him at the console. They didn’t have it set up for the synthetic voice on the bridge, just the display. The translator understood the signal, and it took her a moment to understand the words on the screen.
“Fix Radersent? Are you sure that’s right?”
Ennis’s face was pale. “I didn’t even run it through a filter—I just plugged it in to our end. That’s the signal Radersent’s device emits. They know about our translator.”
“That’s not all they know,” Moire snarled. She toggled the all–channel emergency broadcast. “Evacuation! This is not a drill! Drop tools and RUN!” She pointed Ennis to the guns as she ran to the web pilot’s pit. The damn crabs had known exactly where to go to find them, and there was only one person that could have told them. Harrington and Perwaty didn’t know the coordinates of the sargasso, even if they had wanted to tell the crabs. It had to have been Radersent.
She frowned. There was plenty of space for her ship to clear the sargasso and get a lineup to escape. Even if the crab ship tried to intercept them before her crew got back, they wouldn’t make it unless they had far better realspace engines than she’d ever seen. The crab ship wasn’t moving, though, and it was way the hell out. Why were they signaling out there instead of coming closer?
Moire set up a preliminary lineup and locked it in. They still had to get away from that alien web–mine in the center of the sargasso before she engaged, but it would save time if they had to bug out in a hurry.
“You did have these things fixed, right?” Ennis’s voice came over the comm.
“Yeah, the one that got damaged and the autofeed; they all work.” Reports were coming in over the captain’s earring—one group of crew already back on the ship, another on the way.
“I hope the crabs didn’t figure out how to track human ships in webspace,” Ennis said.
Moire kept her hands on the controls and her eyes on the scanner. Still no movement. “Thanks for adding to my paranoia,” she muttered. “Doesn’t feel right, though. That’s a pretty quick turnaround, or would be for us. They don’t seem to adapt that fast. Plus, if you had that kind of secret weapon would you use it like this? Showing up waving your tentacles to ask for another installment of Human as a Second Language?”
