“I could guess, but it would only be that. My best judgment is that the gadgets weren’t RSF at all. That either the Scandyans or the Revenants had a hand in it. That might also be why the RSF wanted you out of the way. They may have thought you’d been compromised.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Van said. “None of it does. There’s no reason for you to invent it, but there’s no reason why—” He paused.
“There isn’t?” asked Desoll. “Didn’t there have to be a reason why the Fergus was attacked? And a reason why the Scandyan premier was targeted? In both cases, you stopped something.”
“How did you know about the Fergus?”
“Major Murikami told me. Most of the military in Scandya knew.”
Van nodded slowly. That was true enough. Commodore Petrov had made that clear from the beginning. “Do you have any ideas about that? And what happened later?”
“We’ll talk about it later. You need to get back to the ship and get some rest.”
Van yawned again. He felt as if he’d run a dozen klicks. He did need food and sleep. That was also clear.
Chapter 41
Van slept a good ten hours, but woke feeling more rested than he had in weeks. Even the pinpoints of soreness on his skull were gone. The hot water of his shower felt good—and it didn’t feel or smell recycled, although it had to have been. After he dressed, he looked over the miniature implants that Desoll had handed him the night before, but he could make no sense of them and slipped them into a locker. Desoll and Eri were at the mess table eating when he joined them, but a third plate was set out for him, as was a cup of café.
“Thank you.”
“Thank Eri,” Desoll replied. “She heard you. I was working on schedules.”
“What sort of schedules?”
“The Farhkans are kind enough to let us send message torps here. There were several waiting. First, we need to work out a jump route to Keshmara via Kush. We’ve got a deliverable in Keshmara. We’ll have to work in what we can, because I’ve been served with a judicial inquiry order to appear before the Transport Commission in Cambria in three weeks. There’s an anonymous claim that IIS has violated its foundation charter by engaging in transportation of persons as primary carriage trade…”
“They’re claiming we run a passenger line?”
“We don’t. We don’t even fit the definition. A ship has to have conveyance space for more than ten passengers outside of crew quarters. It’s an old harassing trick. If the managing director or a prime official doesn’t appear, then our charter is suspended until I do.”
“They want something?”
“The Service wants information on Revenant ship movements, according to IIS Cambria, but they can’t just ask. They have to pressure us to prove that the information was good.”
“Are you sure that’s what they want?”
“No.” Desoll took a long swallow of tea. “But it’s my best guess. Either that or they want information we can’t give them, and then I’ll have to make a stink about how they’re abusing their power. They know I would. So I doubt it’s that.”
“You’d threaten to make a stink, and they back off?”
“Information cuts two ways. It would be expensive, but we could.”
Van didn’t want to pursue that, not on an empty stomach. After sipping the café, better than any shipboard café he’d ever had, he began on the mushroom and cheese omelet, also good. He took several bites. “Good food.”
“It has to be. We spend too much time on board for it to be bad.” Desoll’s tone was dry. After a time, he observed, “You come from a very ethics-oriented background. Hasn’t your father published a great deal on ethics and the law?”
“Some.”
“And what is he saying now?” asked Desoll, after refilling his mug of tea. He sat back down in front of an empty platter.
Van debated before answering. “My father said that the Republic was facing an ethical crisis.” He smiled. “He always used to say to beware of the person who trumpets his ethics.”
“Cicero’s published works are impressive, and they suggest an even deeper consciousness.”
“Do you know everything about my background?” asked Van ruefully.
“As much as I could find out. We’re going to be trusting you with close to a billion credits worth of ship. Don’t you think that we would investigate thoroughly?” From the other side of the mess table, Desoll laughed. The laugh died away as the older man went on. “Your father is too modest and too conservative in his assessments, I fear. Those traits are the mark of a good and careful advocate, but like most ethical men of judgment, he still wishes to believe better of human foibles and frailty than he should.”
“You think he’s right?”
“The situation is far worse than he believes, and it’s something that has affected human societies throughout the entire Arm. He finds it hard to understand that some societies and some belief systems are fundamentally flawed, inherently dishonest, if you will.”
“Such as?”
“The Revenants, for one. They operate from the basic assumption that anything they do is correct. It was perfectly correct to replace the government on Nraymar, then annex it and turn all the Dzinists into day laborers if they didn’t convert. Ten years later, it was clearly their deity’s wish that Samarra become part of the Revenant theocratic realm, and that once more, those not of the faith be relegated to second-class citizenship or worse. They’ve already started the same process on Aluyson. Anything that they do is sanctioned by their theocratic authorities. When it can’t be sanctioned, or they get caught out, they deny it happened. Once, in a great while, when they can neither sanction nor deny, they will change, and pretend that they didn’t. I’ve only…known that to happen once, and it stopped their expansion cold—for about one generation.”
“What are the Revs really like? Do you know what Orum is like?”
“You can meet Revs anywhere
