The Kassa Gambit

The Phoenix didn’t have to identify itself. The comm station did that, signaling in large red letters that it was an Altair Fleet cruiser.

“Fleet’s finally here,” Prudence muttered, and put her hand on the comm switch.

“Wait.” Kyle’s voice leapt across the bridge to stop her.

Turning in her chair to face him, she waited.

“Don’t tell them about seeing the alien ship.”

What kind of game was this? Why show her the evidence, and then tell her to keep quiet? Surely her role in their plot was to validate the alien attack. She would play the straight man, the hardened spacer veteran on the evening news talking with wide-eyed excitement about the aliens. An independent witness, interested only in the truth. A seed of rumor, spreading fear and panic.

And now Kyle warned her to silence?

“They’ll interrogate you. This whole thing’s a cluster fuck, Prudence. There’s dead people everywhere, and an impossible alien warship. Nobody knows what to do. So they’ll do everything. They’ll impound your ship, strip search it for clues, and lock your crew in a holding cell for a month. I don’t think you want that.”

It wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what she feared. Jorgun would be putty in their hands, manipulated to whatever ends they needed, broken and discarded when they were done. And none of her crew were citizens of Altair. Fleet wouldn’t be particularly concerned about their legal rights.

If they started asking questions about the Ulysses, what would she tell them? That a dying old man had given a young girl a starship, charmed by nothing more than the romance of her quest to seek out her mother’s world?

She had survived this long by going unnoticed. She was certain her future depended on it. But why would Kyle know that? Why would he care?

“Let me get this straight. You want me to lie to Altair Fleet?”

“Not lie, exactly. Just don’t tell them everything. There’s nothing in it for you, Prudence. Direct them to the signal. Let them find it themselves.”

She stared at him. He was as close to unnerved as she could imagine him being.

Flicking on the comm, she answered Fleet’s call. “This is the Ulysses, responding to the Phoenix. How can we help you?”

There was a pause, as if that simple response had confused them.

A different voice on the speaker. More nasal, and laden with the expectation of obedience. “You can start by explaining what’s going on down there.” Not a spacer’s voice. Apparently, commandeering ships was in season.

Prudence flicked a glance at Kyle and was startled to see his anger. He obviously recognized that voice, and he didn’t like it.

“There’s been some kind of attack, Phoenix. A week ago. We’ve been in-system for about thirty-six hours, and running relief operations for most of that. Any assistance you can render would be greatly appreciated.” She shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have baited the unknown authority on the other end of the line with her dry sarcasm. But the look on Kyle’s face paid for it. He almost smiled.

Subconsciously, she’d known he would. That’s why she’d done it. In the sixteen hours they had spent together, he had been scrupulous about not flirting with her. She’d never been around a man, single, married, or homosexual, that hadn’t risked at least one bantering comment for her approval. And now she was performing for his.

Deeply annoyed at herself, she returned to business.

“You didn’t get a message from the Launceston?” But of course not. The timing was wrong. They would have passed in node-space, silenced by the inflexible laws of relativity.

The voice changed direction, avoiding the question. “Ulysses, put your captain on the line.”

Prudence had dealt with this a thousand times, but it never got any easier.

“This is Captain Prudence Falling, owner and operator of the Ulysses.” Straining to keep the annoyance out of her voice, all she achieved was to drive the irony deeper.

But the voice didn’t care. It was immune to subtleties. “Captain, we are on an important diplomatic mission to Bierze, and we can’t be diverted. Give us some GPS coordinates to rendezvous and we’ll transfer our medical supplies and staff.”

She answered without thinking. “Phoenix, this planet is in shambles. There’s nothing left standing but hungry, scared people. Whatever stuffed-suit meeting you’re rushing to can wait.”

Too tired. Making mistakes, losing control of her feelings. Kyle was part of the problem. She wanted to hate him as much as she hated his armband, but he wouldn’t let her.

Now he stepped up to save her. The voice had just begun squawking, working itself up to a fine outrage, when he walked over to her console and put his finger on the transmit button.

“This is Police Lieutenant Kyle Daspar, command leader of the League. I have the honor of addressing District Leader Rassinger, do I not?”

Miraculous silence from the comm. Then curiosity, although it tried to hide under polished indifference. “Daspar? How are—what are you doing out here?”

“We’re not on a secure line, Leader, so with your permission I’ll spare you the details. I came out here on some League business, but that’s obviously been superseded by what’s happened.”

Prudence blinked her eyes, jolted by yet another facet of the enigmatic Kyle Daspar. She would never have imagined such diplomacy from that jutting jaw. She could not reconcile those proud eyes with this bureaucratic subservience.

“What are you doing right now, Command Leader? What is your current status?”

“I’ve commandeered the Ulysses, and we are on a polar flight to rescue some research station personnel. However, there is a matter that I feel might exceed my competence, and I would appreciate your advice, Leader.”

Prudence stared at him. He looked like he meant it. The act was perfect, his sincerity unquestionable. If she had not seen him at the alien wreck—if she had not seen his confusion, anger, and gentleness—she would have been convinced.

But she had. And now she could not guess what this role-playing was costing him. How could his spirit survive, buried under that? Under the weight of the League.

Carefully, she pulled herself back from the edge. She had seen many strange things in her short life. She had learned that appearances can be deceiving, on every level. Kyle Daspar might be exactly what he seemed: a true believer. A person whose soul was given over to a higher power, allowing him to be a man at one moment and a slave at the next, without even noticing the change.

In this case the higher power would be more odious than most, but in her experience, it never really mattered what you sold your soul to. In the end the result was always the same.

“What is this situation, Daspar? Are you sure it’s that important?” Rassinger’s voice wrestled with itself. In the space of a single vowel, she could tell the man was annoyed at Kyle’s urbane competence, but unable to find a reason to complain.

“We have located an anomalous signal, Leader. It’s deep in the arctic circle, and the research staff assures us they have no teams or equipment in that sector. It’s possible that it could be an artifact of the enemy. If so, that would constitute a level-one military goal, which would supersede my current mission. Should I divert from the rescue mission to investigate this signal?”

The answer was quick—too quick.

“No, Daspar, do not divert. If it really is a level-one priority, then it supersedes our own mission. I’ll take the Phoenix and investigate. Can you give us a coordinate for that signal?”

Kyle paused, looked at Prudence. So he was going to let her help. If she played her cards right, uber-leader Rats-ass would not remember her earlier slip, only her useful assistance afterward.

She leaned over the microphone. “I’m afraid not, sir. Without GPS satellites, we’re operating off of dead reckoning. But I can transmit a solar vector. Your nav officer should be able to get close with that, and we can tell you what frequency to look for once you’re in the area.”