Heirs of Empire

counter in the original datachip from Weapons Development’s master file, Vlad.” Vlad’s holo image nodded understanding. Each Fleet security chip was equipped with a built-in counter to record the numbers of copies which had been made of it, and while the counter could be wiped, it could not be altered. “According to our records, there should be ten copies of the plans—including the original chip—and all ten of those have now been accounted for. However, a total of ten copies were made of the original chip, and we do not know where that eleventh copy is.

“On the other hand, that original has been locked in the security vault at BuShips since the day all authorized copies were made, and none of the external or internal security systems show any sign of tampering. I therefore believe the additional copy was made at the same time as the authorized ones.”

“Oh, shit,” Hatcher moaned. “That was—what, six years ago?”

“Six and a half,” Ninhursag confirmed. “And while I wouldn’t care to bet my life on it, I’d say Tao-ling is probably right. Particularly since a certain Senior Fleet Captain Janushka made the authorized copies. Two years ago, Commodore Janushka, who was then assigned to the Sol System as part of the Stepmother team, died of a ‘cerebral hemorrhage.’ ”

She grimaced, and the others snorted. A properly pulsed power surge in a neural feed implant produced something only the closest examination could distinguish from a normal cerebral hemorrhage. But pulsed surges like that couldn’t happen by accident, and an ME with no reason to suspect foul play might very well opt for the natural explanation.

“I see.” Vlad pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a Slavic shrug. “On that basis, I am inclined to share your conclusion as to the timing, Tao-ling. Yet this weapon is an extremely sophisticated piece of hardware. Building it would require either military components or a civilian workshop run by someone thoroughly familiar with Imperial technology.”

“I’m sure it would,” Colin said, “but whoever we’re up against had the reach and sophistication to sabotage Imperial Terra—unless anyone cares to postulate two separate enemies with this level of penetration?” Clearly no one wished to so postulate, and he smiled grimly. “I think we have to assume Mister X wouldn’t have stolen it if he didn’t believe he could produce it.”

“True.” Hatcher was coming back on balance, and his voice was calmer and more thoughtful. “But Tao- ling’s still right about its utility. They can blow up a planet with it, but if that’s all they had in mind, six years plus is plenty of time to build the thing—assuming they could build it at all—and it’s also plenty long enough to have used it.”

“Precisely,” Tsien agreed. “They undoubtedly had some plan for its use, either actual or threatened, else they had not stolen the plans, but what that use may be eludes me. The conspirators must be human—there were far too few Narhani contacts with humans for any of them to have penetrated our security so deeply so long ago— so the destruction of Earth would be an act of total madness. If, on the other hand, their target is here on Birhat, any of our much smaller gravitonic warheads or even a simple thermonuclear device would satisfy their needs. Nor is a weapon of this power required to destroy any conceivable deep space installation.”

“What about Narhan?” Ninhursag asked quietly, and Tsien frowned.

“That, Ninhursag, is a very ugly thought,” he conceded after a moment. “Again, I can see no sane reason to destroy the planet—that sounds much more like something the Sword of God would wish to attempt—yet Narhan would seem a more likely target than either Earth or Birhat.”

“God, all we need is for Mister X to be tied in with a bunch of crazies like the Sword of God!” Colin groaned.

“On the surface, that appears unlikely,” Dahak said. “The pattern of ‘Mister X’s’ operations indicates a long-term plan which, while criminal, is rational. The Sword of God, on the other hand, is fundamentally irrational. Moreover, as Admiral Hatcher has pointed out, they have had ample time to destroy Narhan if they possessed the weapon. It is possible ‘Mister X’ might attempt to capitalize upon the activities of the Sword of God or even to influence those activities, but his ultimate goals are quite different from their xenophobic nihilism.”

“Then what do you think he’s going to do with it?”

“I have no theory at this time, unless, perhaps, he intends to use it as a threat to extort concessions. If that is the case, however, we are once more faced by the fact that he has had ample time to build the device and thus, one would anticipate, to make whatever demands he might present.”

“Maybe Vlad has a point, then,” Colin mused. “Maybe they have hit a snag that’s kept them from building it at all.”

“I would not depend upon that assumption,” Dahak cautioned. “I believe humans refer to the logic upon which it rests as ‘whistling in the dark.’ ”

“Yeah,” Colin said morosely. “I know.”

Chapter Fourteen

The fist in his eye woke Sean MacIntyre.

He twitched aside, one hand jerking up to the abused portion of his anatomy, even before he came fully awake. Damn, that hurt! If he hadn’t been bio-enhanced himself, the punch would have cost him the eye.

He wiggled further over on his side of the bed and rose on one elbow, still nursing his wound, as Sandy lashed through another contortion. That one, he judged, could have done serious damage if he hadn’t gotten out of the way. She muttered something even enhanced hearing couldn’t quite decipher, and he sat further up, wondering if he should wake her.

They’d all had problems dealing with the reality of Imperial Terra’s loss. Just being alive when all those others were dead was bad enough, but their conviction that Terra had been destroyed in an attempt to kill them made it worse, as if it were somehow their fault. Logic said otherwise, but logic was a frail shield against psyches determined to punish them for surviving.

Sandy twisted in her nightmare, fighting the sheet as if it had become an enveloping monster, and it ripped with a sound of tearing canvas. Her breasts winked at him, and he chastised himself as he felt a stir of arousal.

This was hardly the time for that! He wished—again—that even one of them had been interested in a psych career. Unfortunately, they hadn’t, and now that they needed a professional, they were on their own. The first weeks had been especially rough, until Harriet insisted they all had to face it. She didn’t know any more about running a therapy session than Sean did, but her instincts seemed good, and they’d drawn tremendous strength from one another once they’d admitted their shared survival filled them with shame.

Sandy twisted yet again, her sounds louder and more distressed. She was the most cheerful of them all when she was awake; in sleep, the rationality which fended off guilt deserted her and, perversely, made her the most vulnerable member of their tiny crew. Her nightmares had become blessedly less frequent, yet their severity remained, and he made up his mind.

He leaned over her, stroking her face and whispering her name. For a moment she tried to jerk away, but then his quiet voice penetrated her dreams, and her brown eyes fluttered open, drugged with sleep and shadowed with horror.

“Hi,” he murmured, and she caught his hand, holding it and nestling her cheek into his palm. Fear flowed out of her face, and she smiled.

“Was I at it again?”

“Oh, maybe a little,” he lied, and her smile turned puckish.

“Only ‘a little,’ huh? Then why’s your eye swollen?” The tattered sheet fell about her waist as she sat up and reached out gently, and he winced. “Oh, my! You’re going to have a black eye, Sean.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides—” he treated her to his best leer “—the others’ll just think you were maddened with passion.”

His heart warmed at the gurgle of laughter which answered his sally, and she shook her head at him, still exploring his injury with tender fingers.