“Yes, sir.” Esmay saluted and went aboard, very little cheered by the knowledge that her captain no longer thought of her as a monster. Clearly, enough other people did.
* * *
In the next few days, Barin did his best to search the station, but he did not see Esmay in any of the places where off-duty officers congregated. Her name was never down for a machine or swim lane at the gym; he could find no logon records at the library; she had no assigned quarters. Could she still be living aboard Shrike? He called up the ship’s entry and found her listed as the XO-at least that was right-but no personal comcode number. He didn’t want to call the ship’s general number and have her paged; in the present climate, that might get them both in more trouble.
The next briefing began with a presentation by one of the Guernesi.
“Thanks to the data cubes recovered by Shrike, and skillfully enhanced by your technicians, we’re able to identify the raiders as members of a religious-military organization which controls some six Earth-type planets in this area-” He pointed to a chart on display. “You’ll notice that these are in the angle, as it were, between Guernesi and Familias space.
“Let me give you a little necessary background on the group that calls itself the New Texas Godfearing Milita, or the Nutex Militia, for short. Our historians have done extensive research on the fringe religions that formed colonies in the early days of expansion from Old Earth, because we’ve had unpleasant contact with many of them. This one claims to descend from founders in Texas-one of the United States, which was in North America, for those of you with an interest in Old Earth geography.”
“I don’t see the relevance,” Lord Thornbuckle said. “We can learn the history later-”
“I believe you will, sir. Their present beliefs are relevant to your daughter’s situation, and to any hope of intervention on her behalf. Their present beliefs grow out of their mythologized view of Texas history.” He took a breath and went on. “Now, this state had at one time been-very briefly-an independent nation. As with other nations swallowed up by larger political units, a portion of its population clung to that memory and caused trouble. In the late twentieth, their reckoning, one of many militias and terrorist religious groups active in the United States was something called the Republic of Texas. At that time, it was not affiliated with a particular religious position, and did not have as rigid a view of gender roles as some others. But it existed in the same soup, as it were, and the flavors melded.”
“Was it involved in terrorist acts at that time?” asked Admiral Serrano.
“We think originally not, except in collecting arms, evading taxes, and causing the local government as much administrative trouble as possible. However, in one recorded standoff with the authorities, its members did take hostages, and did announce an intent to form a separate government and bring down the existing one. It failed. But that failure led to an affiliation with the survivors of a failed religious fringe group. They explained the Republic of Texas failure as resulting from lack of faith, and explained their own as resulting from lack of military experience. That group bore the rather cumbersome name of the Republic of Godfearing Texans Against World Government. It quickly splintered, as such groups often do, into several, each of which had similar, but doctrinally distinct, beliefs. One of these called itself the New Texas Godfearing Militia. This particular branch believed that the decay of society which led to acceptance of tyranny was due to the influence of women, and that women had been allowed beyond the bounds set by God in Holy Scripture. Many other such groups existed at the time-universal education for women in North America was then fairly recent, and their entry into employment was blamed for male unemployment and discontent. Historians have found many texts advocating the return of women to ‘traditional’ roles, defined very narrowly.
“It is this branch of the original which made it to space, under a colonization contract which they promptly disavowed. They organized their own colonial government, based on a military unit found in the original state. Apparently, a mythology had arisen surrounding the Texas Rangers, so they denoted their elected officials ‘rangers,’ and appended the names of historical figures from the brief period of Texas nationality. That’s important, because we have learned to track splits in the original group by their choice of names for their rangers. For instance, there’s a branch that denominates their leaders Rangers McCullough, Davis, King, Austin, and Crockett. Another uses Crockett, Bowie, Houston, Travis, and Lamar. However, they all have in common a council of five rangers, headed by a captain. We’ve included a listing for each of the six known branches.
“Because this group formed by splintering, and considers individual liberty of utmost importance-individual liberty of males, that is-they are constantly breaking up and reforming alliances among themselves.”
“Do they exchange prisoners?” asked another admiral.
“Almost never. We’ve retrieved a few men from them, by hefty threats. But never women. There’s a double problem with their attitude towards women. They believe that allowing women in space, for instance, is a form of neglect-that men are bound by faith to protect women. So if they capture women, they consider that they are actually saving them from a worse fate.”
“But they mutilated and killed those women-”
“That’s the other problem. Their religious beliefs are, as with most such groups, extremely rigid on anything having to do with sex or reproduction. They believe women were created by God to serve men and bear children . . . and that they must be guided, if children, or forced, if adults, into the role divinely intended for them. They also believe that only male-female sexual activity is permissable; anything else is what they call abomination. So also is contraception and genetic engineering. So if they capture women who have contraceptive implants, evidence of genetic engineering, or who are, by virtue of their rank or behavior, ‘usurping the authority of men,’ they usually kill them.”
“Brun’s a Registered Embryo,” Lord Thornbuckle said. “She’s got the mark-what would they think of that?”
“Abomination, certainly. Interfering with God’s plan for humans . . . and I assume like most unmarried young women, she also had a contraceptive implant?”
“Of course,” Lord Thornbuckle said. “And beyond that, REs require a positive fertility induction. Brun wanted the implant mostly so she’d be like her friends, some of whom weren’t Registered Embryos.”
“It’s surprising they didn’t kill her,” the Guernesi went on. “They must have considered her political importance worth taking the chance that God would punish them for allowing her to live. That’s undoubtedly why they did such a thorough job with muting her, and proceeded immediately to induce fertility. In their own minds, they were reclaiming her for God’s purposes, and sending a message to you and the rest of the Familias-”
“Then they’re free-birthers-”
“Rabidly so; each adult male is entitled to as many wives as he can support, and free access to what they call ‘whores of Satan.’ All live-born children, however, are considered equally legitimate property of the acknowledged father-and if no father boasts of it, there are always people ready to adopt. If any of their own women rebel-and it does happen-they are muted and handed over to these breeding houses.”
“How do you know so much?” Thornbuckle asked.
“Well, we share a border with two of the five systems they control, and they’ve come after our people repeatedly. Their beliefs name us as one of the abominations. If anyone is interested, we can provide copies of what they consider to be divinely inspired prophecy and law. They also trade with us, in very limited ways-in spite of our being, in their view, perverts and abominations, they have need of our skills sometimes. In order to protect our people, we’ve had to find out more about them. In fact, I’m afraid we may be indirectly responsible for this incursion into Familias space.”
“What!”
“They had attacked one of our pas
senger ships, the third time in only a few months. It got away, but we felt they were becoming too bold. So, we smacked them, hard-went in and blew some of their fixed defense platforms, and told ’em God was punishing ’em for their errors. They know most of our people are what they call ‘spiritual’-though of course, not the same faith. Anyway, my guess is that they reacted to this by looking for some way to regain their prestige. Stayed away from us-and the Emerald States, on their other side, had whacked ’em before they bounced off us-so they went after you. I should warn you-they probably have agents somewhere in your commercial networks, because every time we’ve caught them trying to hijack a big cargo ship, it’s had illegal arms shipments on it.”
“There was nothing like that on the Elias Madero manifest . . .”
“No. There wouldn’t be. The way they operated in our space was they’d get something on a shipping agent, get the access to a hold-sometimes only one, sometimes several-then they’d have it stuffed with anything they could buy on the gray market.” He tipped his head. “Lot of it came from the Familias, you know. You folks have a thriving arms industry.”
“We’re not alone in that,” Lord Thornbuckle muttered.
“No. But of the stuff we’ve confiscated when we’ve caught them, around seventy-three percent comes from Familias sources, eleven percent from ours, and the rest from the Emerald Worlds.” He paused; no one said anything. “I’d recommend a very thorough look at the Boros Consortium shipping agents, especially the one upstream of where the attack occurred. They don’t usually wait long to grab after they’ve coerced someone into loading. Patience is not their strong point. You might also want to check your official military inventories; in both the Emerald Worlds and the Guerni Republic, they’ve attempted to gain converts within the military. Their emphasis on male supremacy and personal honor does find welcome in some cultures, and you’re a multicultural entity.”
A chill fell on the room; Barin recognized both fear and denial in the silence. As if they did not already have concerns about loyalty, after Lepescu and Garrivay. But before any of the military spoke, Thornbuckle did.
“So now you’ve narrowed it to-what-five planets? Six? But she could be anywhere.”
“In theory, yes. But here’s what else we’ve got . . .” A still shot of enhanced vid went up. “Thanks to Shrike’s extensive scavenging of the hijacking site, and the quick thinking of someone in the Elias Madero crew, we have video data of the hijackers themselves. “You can see that enhancement gives us the engraving on the leader’s insignia . . . here . . . you can just make out bowie. So we know that this raid was led by a Ranger Bowie, and we know from other sources that only two of the settlements, Our Texas and Texas True, now title one of their rangers ‘Bowie.’ Knowing that, we’ll need to get visual confirmation of which Bowie we’re dealing with-and that may take some time.”
“She doesn’t have time,” Thornbuckle said. “We have to find her . . .”
Barin saw the sidelong glances; he had heard the rumors, too. They had worse problems than a missing woman and threats against the government. Something would have to be done.
“We have field agents working on it,” Grand Admiral Savanche said. “Since the Guernesi told us to expect terrorist attacks from these people, we’ve put out specific warnings to law enforcement on all orbital stations, shipyards, and in the larger cities.”
Zenebra, Main Station
Goonar Terakian had come into the Rusty Rocket for a quiet conversation with his cousin Basil Terakian-Junos, out of the hearing of their other relatives and shipmates. They had business no one else needed to hear. Midweek, mid-second shift, they might have been lucky enough to find the bar empty except for Sandor the bartender and possibly Genevieve. Genevieve, Sandor said, was off somewhere shopping. But the bar wasn’t empty. Propped against the bar was a young man whose shipsuit bore an unfamiliar patch, but his condition was all too familiar.
“You don’t have a clue what’s coming to you,” the young man said. He was very young, and very drunk. Terakian ignored him, and ordered for himself and Basil. Perhaps the young fool would go back to talking to himself.
But he didn’t. When Terakian moved to the far end of the bar with Basil, the young man followed.
“The blow is about to fall,” the young man said. He had an accent you could slice for baklava. “And yet you walk in darkness, unaware.”
“Go away,” Basil said.
“You will not give the orders then,” the young man said. “It will be too late for you, then.”
Terakian looked past him at Sandor, who rolled his eyes but said nothing. Drunks are drunks, an occupational hazard. But the Terakians were old customers, so he approached the young man. “Are you drinking or talking?” he asked.
“Gimme another,” the young man said. He swayed slightly but he wasn’t out yet, and Terakian figured he wouldn’t remember anything anyway.
“About the Vortenya contract,” he said to Basil, turning his back on the drunk. “What I heard from Gabe on the Serenity Gradient is that they’re planning-”
The drunk tapped his shoulder, and Terakian turned angrily. The drunk shook a finger in his face. “You don’t know what’s coming to you,” he said again.
“What are you talking about?” Terakian said, more than a little annoyed. “All I know that’s coming to me is a half share in the ship when my uncle dies.” He grinned at his cousin, who grinned back.
“Issa secret,” the young man said. “But you’ll know. You’ll all know.”
“Sounds like a threat,” Basil said. “Oooh . . . I’m so scared . . .”
“You better be,” the young man said. His bleary gaze focussed again. “All you . . . abominations.”
“Egglayer!” Terakian’s cousin said. He had a temper, and the scars to prove it.
But the young drunk didn’t rise to that insult. He smiled an ugly smile. “You’ll be sorry. When the stations blow, and the wrath of God smites-”
“Here now,” Sandor said. “No god-talk in this bar. If you want to fight over religion, do it somewhere else.”
The young man pushed himself back from the bar, took a few unlevel steps, then folded over and vomited copiously.
“I hate righteous drinkers,” Sandor said, reaching for the vacuum nozzle racked behind the bar. “They can’t hold their liquor.” He looked at Terakian and his cousin. “You ever seen him before?”
“No,” Terakian said. “But there’s been a few of those patches around the last day or so, over in D-dock.”
“Well, stick your head out and see if you spot any station security while I clean up. Don’t want any trouble with the law for having served to a minor or something.” Sandor yanked on the vacuum hose, and hauled it around the end of the bar toward the mess.
Terakian, who came through this station every two months, regular as clockwork, knew most of the station employees. He glanced down toward Friendly Mac’s Exchange & Financing, and saw Jilly Merovic on her beat. He waved; Jilly waved back, and crossed the corridor, moving at her usual quick walk.
“Jilly’s coming,” he told the bartender.
“Good.” Sandor had already sucked up most of the vomit, but the young man was sprawled unconscious. “Help me turn him over, will you?”
“Leave ’em face down, our ship medic says,” Basil said.
“Well, then, pick up his head so I can suck up the rest of the puddle.” Basil grimaced, but pulled the young man’s head up by the hair as Sandor passed the vacuum intake under his face.
“What’s going on?” Jilly asked from the doorway.
“New customer-he drank too much, threw up, and passed out on me.”
“Um. You get his ID?”
“It said he was twenty-seven.”
“All right, Sandor, I’m not accusing you of selling to minors. I just wanted to know if he had any medicals.”
“Nothing stamped.”
Jilly squatted beside the sprawled figure, then g
lanced up at Terakian and his cousin. “Either of you know him? Did he seem distressed?”
“No, we didn’t know him, and he seemed drunk,” Basil said. Terakian gave him a warning look; Basil was the kind to resent the interference of fate. They could always do their business later, if he didn’t cause enough trouble to get them noticed.
“He was making threats,” Terakian said. “Called us abominations, and said we’d get what was coming to us.”
Jilly had opened the man’s ID packet but she looked up at that. “Abominations? Are you sure that’s what he said?”
“Yeah. And something about stations blowing up. Typical mean drunk, is what I thought. Probably his captain told him off, or his station molly took up with someone else.”
“Ever hear of a ship called the Mockingbird Hill?” Jilly asked.
Terakian shook his head. “No . . . what is it?”
“An unaffiliated trader. This is Spacer First Class Todd Grew.” She scanned the ship patch on the man’s arm, then looked at the readout on her handcomp. “Mockingbird Hill all right, and she’s berthed in D-dock. Paid up a thirty-day docking fee, and her cargo is listed as light manufactory.”
“Aren’t you going to call his ship for transport back?”
Jilly gave Basil a look that chilled Terakian to the bone, though he got only the edge of it. “No. Ser Grew deserves only the best medical treatment. You two keep watch on the door-if you see anyone looking for Mr. Grew, go cause trouble. Whatever you do, don’t let them in here.” Then, to the bartender. “I’ll need your comjack.”
“But you have your-”
“Now,” Jilly said, with sufficient force that the bartender stepped back. Terakian was glad to see another man react the way he felt. He nodded at Basil and they went to the door as Jilly had ordered. He couldn’t hear what she said . . . but a long life in Familias spaceways left him no doubt as to the identity of the men in unremarkable clothes who came through the bar’s back door and bundled Todd Grew into a gurney before he woke up. Even as they were taking him out the back, one of them approached Terakian.