The Artifact

  She exhaled loudly, nodding. “Yes ... I know. Anyway, recriminations do us no good now. You shot your way out and killed Rodger in the process. Father looked apoplectic. In a matter of moments he’d been forced to violate his own system of ethics. His son had been killed before his eyes, and most of our ships were damaged. That’s when Alhar sent a message telling us to pursue and kill your ship ... or Mother would be put to death. I guess he didn’t want another incident to stir up people like the Enesco affair did. Arpeggio was already in enough trouble. Without Sellers to ... Father broke down and cried on the bridge. Alhar was livid, shouting, raging. I ... I suppose he thought Father had broken ... so he killed my mother. Right there on the monitor. Put a blaster to her head and ...” Her fists knotted on the smooth shell of the spectrometer.

  “Blessed Architect.”

  “I ordered the fleet to space. Claude Mason implemented the orders. Everyone was in shock. We had wounded aboard, decompressed compartments, ruptured grav plates—and no idea when Sellers and his fleet would return. They had four sentry ships out on patrol as it was. The situation was incredibly tense on Arpeggio. If Sellers came back ... he’d destroy us. As it was, we had five ships left. Enough to fight our way out. Only they didn’t push it. Didn’t want the losses I guess.”

  Sol turned, slamming an angry fist into the bulkhead. “But why?”

  “They wanted Brotherhood technology in case the Confederacy decided to wipe them out. I suspect that when Sellers finally returned with Hunter our fleet would have been surrounded and captured. I think, looking back, that’s what they were after in the long run. We were a means of augmenting their defenses. If they couldn’t turn Father to their side, they’d have killed him and taken hold of the ships one way or another.”

  He took a deep breath, remembering the damage Sword had done that day. Despite being outnumbered, they’d fought back with everything they had. “Must have been an interesting jump.”

  She nodded. “On Dancer they held the reactor together with spit and a little prayer. Bad Boy only had minor damage, mostly fractured and buckled hull plating. Dyna lost her comm and half her crew. Claude got her mostly patched by the time we made the jump. Worst of all, everyone was demoralized. And I ... I couldn’t even sit down with my father and have a good cry. The fleet had become my responsibility. Not that I minded. Kept my mind busy, didn’t leave me time to think . . . to remember or grieve. Just . . . Well, you know. She was my mother, too. Better that it all fell to me than Father, I guess. He just stayed in his cabin, reliving memories. Taking it all on his shoulders.”

  “What about now? Why am I here? What’s this all about?”

  She shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know why he picked you. I can guess. He respected you. Time after time, when he wasn’t working on the problem, he’d talk about you. About how you tried to ram Rodger. ‘An honorable young man, Constance.’ That’s what he’d say, and his eyes would get a faraway look. ‘Rodger should have been like that.’ And then he’d wave me away ... or get up and walk off.”

  Sol grunted, unable to fit the pieces together in his head. “That’s it? I’m an honorable young man?”

  She stood, stepping in front of him, feet braced. “Maybe. Or maybe Mother’s death reminded him of his own mortality. He compromised himself on Arpeggio. No matter what you might think of my father, he’s a man dedicated to a system of values.” She lifted her hands and let them drop. “I don’t know. I suspect getting you this command is a matter of atonement. It’s a chance for him to right a wrong. And he also believes that you’re trustworthy.”

  “Why? You don’t trust me. Why should he?”

  She reached up to twirl a lock of red around slim fingers. “Because he says he saw your soul that day oif Arpeggio. When he got a line to your bridge, he says he learned everything about you he needed to know.”

  “And we’ve been wondering about my sanity?” Sol rubbed his face. “Blessed neutrinos.”

  “Don’t talk about my father that way. You’ve only got a brief acquaintance to work from. I’ve known him for a lifetime. In the last year, he’s carried more of a burden than . . . No, it’s not time for that.”

  “This might be a good time to give me the rest. I mean, look at it from my perspective. If I had just told you that story . . . and you were in command of this ship, knowing what I know? What in hell would you think? Seriously, Connie. What in the name of seven suns could you possibly believe?”

  She stared dully out at the stars and shrugged, reseating herself. “I’d have to accept that . . . No, that’s an out and out lie. I’d . . . Hell. You know, I feel a thousand years old.”

  Sol stood, waiting, arms crossed.

  She looked up. “I’m not meaning to change the subject, but you still believe I killed Ngoro?”

  “Shouldn’t I? You’re not even supposed to know he was murdered.”

  The corners of her lips quivered. “Father told me. Things are more dangerous than we’d anticipated. You don’t have a clue as to who did it and—”

  “We’ve just about tied up the loose ends, the guilty party will be in custody by—”

  “You’re a rotten liar, Solomon Carrasco. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Tactically, it was very well done. If I didn’t have inside information, you might have tripped me up.”

  Sol sat across from her. “So you won’t tell me what this is all about?”

  She leaned her head back, exposing the firm lines of her throat. “Oh, God, I’m tired of this. No, Captain, Ngoro’s murder makes it that much more important that I don’t tell you. Kraal gave me a few hints about Brotherhood ships. If you don’t have a clue as to the killer, he’s very, very good. No matter what your resistance, there are ways of making you talk. What you don’t know, you can’t reveal. That’s a simple fact.

  “No, I won’t tell you. You’ll find out in the end. When that day comes, I’ve got to make a decision I may well regret for the rest of my life.”

  “And that is?”

  She lowered her head to give him a hollow-eyed stare. “Whether or not to allow you access to godhood.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  “Constance?” Malakova asked.

  “Pardon me?” She forced her attention back to the big Gulagi. He watched her speculatively while Lietov’s half-lidded stare left her uneasy. Carrasco had walked into the lounge, and Elvina immediately latched onto his arm, chattering away.

  He smiled nervously, listening while she led him to the dispenser, filling two glasses. Connie chafed, uncomfortable at the woman’s familiarity.

  Elvina continued to try and lead Carrasco away, handing him the drink she’d prepared. The woman’s cheeks even seemed to redden in anticipation. Damn her, the hot little bitch couldn’t keep her hands off men!

  And so what? It’s her business. If she screws Carrrasco’s eyeballs out, that’s his business—and Joseph Young’s. She looked over to see the lanky Mormon engaged in oblivious argument with Mac Torgusson.

  Carrasco disengaged himself, smiling, making some explanation and fleeing rapidly. The whole incident bothered her, crawling around under her skin like a Gonian parasite.

  Elvina stood, staring pensively at the untouched drink Carrasco had handed back to her. Her expression narrowed—becoming almost predatory—as she glanced after the Captain.

  “We were discussing the possibility of a Council seat for Star’s Rest,” Lietov reminded smoothly. “I—”

  “I’m well aware of our topic,” Connie snapped, sudden hostility triggered. “Perhaps the laudable Representative from Sirius would like to explain Star’s Rest’s position, too?” She arched an eyebrow, glaring coldly at Lietov’s perfect politician’s smile.

  “I wouldn’t be so bold, Deputy Speaker. Nevertheless, a Council seat, as you well know, is not a trifling matter. Many stations and colony planets bid for seats. Few are granted. And, if you would allow me, such decisions take a two-thirds vote. As the Confederacy expands, the Council becomes ever more crowded,
seats more difficult to obtain.”

  “A threat, Assistant Director?” Connie straightened, dropping her voice.

  Lietov never lost his smile. “No, Deputy Speaker. Simply a word of friendly advice. Among friends we don’t need to threaten. Sirius looks very favorably upon you and your father. We have long memories of the excellent service you rendered in difficult times.”

  Connie bit her tongue. Lying bastard. What’s your angle? You and Jordan spend too much time together.

  “I’m most pleased the capable Assistant Director remembers that Sirius hasn’t always wielded the power it currently espouses. That’s the nature of governments. Power is fluid, constantly shifting. And one never knows where the next leader might arise—or what resources lie at their disposal.”

  Lietov bit off a reply, forced warmth replacing the irritated glint in his eyes. “No, one doesn’t. I, for one, shall do everything I can to further the . . . resources waiting at Star’s Rest.”

  Damn it! He knows! Or suspects. Damn you, Palmiere! For a short credit chip I’d cut your white-skinned throat and watch you bleed! She matched his diplomat’s smile. “On behalf of the Speaker and people of Star’s Rest, I sincerely thank you.”

  “And now,” Lietov told them smoothly, “I see my friend from New Maine. If you would excuse me? The Earl and I had hoped to arrange a cultural exchange.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of keeping you.” Connie kept her plastic smile in place as Lietov walked away.

  Nikita sighed. “Connie, forgive me saying, but he is not man to antagonize. Not in present situation.”

  She exhaled wearily. “I know. I could have handled that better. He just cut the wrong way.”

  “Um. Perhaps. But then, Nikita is also no fool. See your eyes follow Carrasco in. So suddenly you lose concentration. Get strange expression on face. Then when hot bitch Mormon grabs Captain, expression heats up like hydrogen fusion. Should Nikita be worried that soon to be next lover is about to fall to other man?”

  “I’m not going to be your next lover and I’m sure as hell not about to fall for another man! That’s the last—”

  “Hey!” Nikita gestured, palms out. “Do not bite head off old friend.”

  Connie stopped short, deflating. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little on edge is all.”

  “Come, walk with Nikita.” He offered a brawny arm. “Is time you and me had talk. What? Don’t look at Nikita like that. You have many ‘friends’ among delegates, no? All want part of mystery at end of journey. But you only have one Nikita. Sure, nose is up over what is buried in subterfuge. Let’s you and me go for walk. Time has come to talk about you, to put yourself in perspective.”

  Shooting him a distrustful glance, she took his arm. They passed a technician doing something to a light panel and entered one of the long corridors.

  “You’re right. I’m getting too bitchy,” she admitted.

  “Is a lot of stress, this thing you hide. Bah! Don’t pull away. For moment, I do not seek answers to sacred mystery of Star’s Rest. Fact. Secret is there. Important thing is that it wears you away. Eating, like parasite inside. In meantime, you take responsibilities too seriously. Whole galaxy is not your problem, eh?”

  She cocked her head, staring at him through slitted eyes. “Why should I talk to you?”

  He laughed lustily. “Because is no one else you can trust! I am Gulagi—end product of most crafty and cunning peoples in space. There! You have truth for first time since meeting politician, no misdirection or multilevel sugar-coated self-serving lie.”

  She smiled at him, amused despite her better judgment. “All right. Since your cards are on the table . . . what happens if the galaxy does ride on my shoulders? Can you think of a better reason to be on edge? Not only that, but my throat feels particularly vulnerable around people like Lietov and Medea. Anytime you talk to them, you get the feeling they’re honing knives, preparing to slice you apart. Or Mac Torgusson—ready to blow up at a word. How about Jordan? He’ll trade his royalty for a little slot punching on the side. Just the sort of people to relax with, don’t you think?”

  “Is power. Power is like disease, it sickens and wastes soul of” man. Lietov? Medea? Ben Geller? All are obsessed by power, and how to get more. Age like this breeds people so. Is time of vigor and growth and, of course, unlimited power. Like drug, it draws those who would savor narcotic. Fills gap in personality of incomplete people. Power makes them who they are. Without it, they have no sense of self.“

  “And you, Nikita?”

  “Bah! I am Gulagi! Crafty and smart. You know how I got position? Predecessor got power hungry. Had taste of it—like Malakova Station honey—on tongue. So addiction to power drug consumed him. But Gulagis are like fungus. Tendrils go everywhere. Predecessor began taking too much power and Gulagis hate powerful people. Power grabbers are threat to any good pamphlet wielding anarchist. And predecessor? Assassinated by constituents. Is sobering lesson to Nikita. No other Gulagi has ever held seat so long. Why? Nikita votes for downtrodden masses—and Gulag Sector knows.”

  “And the disease of power?”

  He nodded seriously. “Is always there, pretty Connie. Only people to put in position of power are those—perhaps like me—who have resistance to disease. Yes, look for individuals with whole souls. Those who don’t want position but are cursed with sense of duty.”

  “Another Gulagi truth?”

  “But of course. So? I am happy and healthy and lusting after delightful Deputy Speaker’s body. Why we talk of me? Tell me, you have interest in this Captain Carrasco? I see look in eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you saw in my eyes. Probably pupils. The fact of the matter is that I don’t know Solomon Carrasco well enough to have an interest. Further, given my current position, I don’t have time for an interest even if I wanted to. And, beyond that, relationships are tickets to disaster. Ultimate vulnerabilities. I was vulnerable . . . once. It almost killed me and everything I loved and cherished. I won’t be betrayed like that again. Ever.”

  “Bah! What is this? Look at you! Young, healthy, most beautiful woman Nikita has ever seen. I see passionate essence of female bursting with life and spirit! Is time for fiery twining of souls and bodies—sharing with another. Otherwise you end up dry and shriveled, a part of your soul missing. You—”

  “Odd talk from a Gulagi.”

  “What? Is rule somewhere that anarchist can’t be romantic at same time? Bah! Heart of anarchist philosophy is flowering of mind, body, and soul. Human must expand and grow in all ways—including heart.” He jabbed a thick finger at her.

  “Assuming one can afford the vulnerability.”

  “Is not some musty, dusty ancient Earth proverb, ‘Is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’?”

  She shook her head wearily. “No, Nikita, I loved once. It wasn’t a matter of losing. Instead, it almost destroyed me. I ... I can’t take that risk again. Not now. Not with . . . Well, I just can’t.”

  Nikita pulled at his rug of beard. “Which brings us back to ugly gremlin on sexy girl’s back. Lietov knows. I saw that in way he reacted to you. Difficult thing for Assistant Director to do. Power malignancy drives him to crush you for being irritant. Ugly gremlin, on other hand, is too important to jeopardize. Nikita is not mind reader, but I bet he has promised to avenge such discomfort.”

  “Think so?”

  “Know so.” He reached over to pat her shoulder tenderly. “Is part of disease. Most despicable thing power monger must face is having power and being impotent to use it. Acts like slap in face. Lietov waits now. Plays game . . . and keeps score.”

  Ugly gremlin. How curiously understated. Connie slowed, arms crossed, staring at the deck plates. “And you think Medea is the same way?”

  “I do.”

  “And Jordan?”

  “Is same, if not worse. Jordan does not understand rules of game out in wide Confederacy. Is deficiency in Mainiac system. Perhaps fatally so. Jordan, too, is obsessed with
you.”

  “He wants me to be his lover—and concubine, I suppose.”

  “Bah! Man is fool! If Jordan is only choice you have, let love wither and become power monger like Medea. Is lesser of two evils.”

  “Think so?”

  “Of course! In meantime, Connie, you have trouble, you come to me. Nikita is cunning Gulagi, true. But you decide if he is worthy of beautiful woman’s trust. Unless is for your protection, Nikita will not lie to you.”

  “Why? You know something big is at stake.”

  He lifted a slab of shoulder, a shy smile on his bearded lips. “Why? Because Nikita has come to know people, Connie. I think I know who and what you are. I think, really and truly, you are best of Gulagi at heart.”

  He winked and took her arm. “Come, if you won’t let me seduce you today, at least let Nikita buy you expensive drink produced by exploited underpaid masses. And perhaps . . . perhaps, I will see you laugh.”

  Laugh? I wonder, Nikita. I wonder if I’ll ever laugh again. Still, the presence of his big body reassured her. As if she was safe while this mountain of humanity walked beside her. The Ugly Gremlin seemed a little less of a weight on her shoulders.

  If only the rational part of her mind didn’t know that for a lie.

  * * *

  Solomon Carrasco leaned back in the captain’s chair, enjoying his watch for the first time since spacing from Arcturus. A faint hum radiated from the bridge, a secure sound, the whisper of sanctuary. The boards glowed a reassuring green with the exception of the secondary microstatic refrigeration unit. Happy had located a glitch and was tackling a rebuild for the unit. For a first serious deep spacing, Boaz was proving an easy ship to captain.

  “Message, Captain.”

  “Run it.”

  Kraal’s withered face formed on the monitor, faded blue eyes peering out. “Captain Solomon Carrasco. Eyes Only.”

  “Eyes Only confirmed for the record, Captain,” Boaz announced.

  Kraal spread his parchment-skinned hands. “Solomon, I’ve received your communication. We’re deeply distressed by the assassination of Representative Ngoro. Thank you for keeping us apprised. Further, I have received your request to rescind the privacy code. In this instance, given the nature of your journey, I must concur with your judgment. I respectfully request that you observe the utmost discretion concerning the ship’s powers. The Craft is already the target of too many rumors. Each makes our position more tenuous.