“Artistic done.”
Susan laughed. “Thank you, I was rather proud of it. How long until the machine shop finishes that adaptor collar so Chusexx can hook up with the AM factory?”
“Another day, mum,” Mattu said. With Miguel on detached duty, she’d gotten a field promotion to XO and was busy juggling a dozen time-critical projects. Everything was time-critical. They’d sent Halcyon back to Grendel in time to disable the task group’s skip drone before it automatically bubbled out for the Admiralty House with everything it had seen, and the system was already on a civilian travel lockdown, so they had three days left before anyone would realize the Allen was overdue, and another five before any reinforcements dispatched to investigate would arrive.
It was the first time Susan had felt any sort of gratitude for being assigned to such a far-flung outpost, but every day they lingered was a day lost on the lead they had over whatever would eventually be sent to finish them off. And if a Planetary Assault Carrier task group hadn’t done the trick the first time, she didn’t even want to think about what the response would be this time, from either side.
She looked across the table to Thuk’s people. They’d been betrayed by their own as well. Someone from within their “Symphony” had sabotaged the Chusexx, hoping to cause a flashpoint for war. And Susan was absolutely convinced someone on her side of the Red Line had intended the Ansari to be the spark. When that failed, the system’s civilians were evacuated and the Paul Allen sent to make sure they could spin whatever story they’d wanted the public to hear.
Unsurprisingly, the news hadn’t sat well with either of them, and Thuk’s act of gratitude solidified into a more permanent alliance on the spot. Which, while an immense relief, carried its own unique challenges and obstacles.
“Thuk, have you found any of our food that you can use yet?”
The Xre’s face made a strange gesture that, if she had to guess, was probably some permutation of disgust. So, he’d been subjecting himself to the food trials. Susan imagined herself diving into a plate of live bugs and had a similar reaction, so she could relate on some level.
“Search continue,” Thuk said politely, as diplomatic an answer as any.
Susan nodded sympathetically. “We’re prioritizing staple foods for deep storage, survival bars of simple proteins, sugars, and carbohydrates. They should work in a pinch, even for your physiology. Sorry they’re not … wriggling.”
“We endure,” Kivits said. Susan hadn’t heard enough out of the four-legged worker caste to get a feel for his inflections, but he sounded resigned to his fate.
“We endure together, one … mound,” she said, borrowing the Xre word for community, hoping it came off as genuine and not appropriation. “Anyway, we have some breathing room for the time being. But we need to start thinking about what our plan is going forward. Where are we going next? What are our objectives? We’re adrift without a compass here. We need to decide on—”
The 1MC erupted in an alert. At the same time, an urgent message flashed red in Susan’s AR field.
CAPTAIN TO THE CIC.
“Set Condition Two,” Susan snapped off as she got out of her chair. “We’re moving this meeting to the CIC. Double time.”
Three decks up and a short jog down the main corridor later, Susan’s strange retinue approached the hatch to the CIC, where a now-veteran-but-still-junior private saw them and snapped his PDW to a low ready position and held out a hand quite obviously directed at the Xre.
“Halt!” he commanded.
“They’re with me, Culligan,” Susan barked in annoyance. “We’re friends now, remember?”
Culligan turned white and let his weapon dangle at his side as he moved his hand for a hasty salute. “Yes, mum. Sorry, mum. Old habits.”
“Adapt,” she said as she crossed the threshold.
Miguel thumped him on the forehead as he passed. “Hope your sister got the brains.”
“Sorry, sir.”
To their credit, the Xre said nothing. The CIC settled into a cramped, surreal scene. Thuk, without knowing it, took over Nesbit’s worry corner, sending the CL to the other side of the compartment.
“What’s the matter, Thuk? First time in a human CIC?” Warner poked.
“Obvious. Dream it different,” Thuk shot back to everyone’s amusement. “Still, much like mind cavern. Lights different.”
Susan dropped into the familiar contours of her chair. “Sit rep?”
“Platform Six picked up a bubble burst on the far side of Grendel,” Mattu answered as she relieved the crewman manning her station. “It’s big. Seven hundred fifty thousand tons.”
“Action stations,” Susan ordered. “Cut us loose from the station and warm up the—”
“Hold up,” Mattu cut in with just a bit more confidence than she might have before they’d all committed to a course best described as legally gray. “Civilian transponder. Bulk cargo hauler, that’s why she’s so big. Preakness, flagged under Ageless Corp.”
“Verify that,” Susan said.
“Visuals confirm it, mum. Triple drive plume, standardized containers strapped to a skeletal keel. It’s an ore hauler or I’ll eat my enlistment contract.”
Susan considered the updated plot, and still didn’t like what she was seeing. Any incoming civilian traffic would’ve been waved off before the Allen’s task group set course. If they were actually civilians, whomever had just bubbled in knew damned well they weren’t supposed to be in Grendel space. Mattu uttered something in Hindi that Susan could only assume was a vicious curse.
“Well, Scopes? Are you going to share with the rest of the class?”
Mattu turned from her station with a haunted look. “The Preakness was last reported in orbit around Lazarus under medical quarantine for a bacterial outbreak it was involved in on Teegarden. It’s a plague ship, mum.”
Susan’s eyes went wide as soup bowls. “Beg pardon?”
Nesbit raised a hand from his new corner of the CIC. “Ah, Captain? I’m getting a connection request from Preakness. Except it’s not really the Preakness.”
“You’re what?” she blurted. “How are you getting a connection request?”
“Because I’m the damned corporate liaison on this ship and I have a direct channel in my
