Interlude-Captain
Serral was impressed with Weith.
The Jack’s pilot had some deep seated opinions about Wolshu Kemon, but he’d kept them under wraps while they gathered more complete information. But after trawling through Coalition fleet intelligence and the information his own crew had assembled in Mummar…
It was shocking that Weith had held his tongue this long.
Even a generous examination of the facts was…damning.
For four months no broadcasts from the Fafin had reached the Jack.
For those months, the Fafin continued to order Human-compatible food supplies. Ergo, the ship was not incapable of communicating. Ergo, the Fafin and its crew had not contacted the Jack by design.
Serral was well past the point of being convinced himself. The evidence from their time in Mummar was convincing, but the slim possibility remained that Kemon’s intentions might be good.
But any question of that was evaporating quickly.
“This guy is a downright [snake,]” Caleb said, turning the page on a file.
“Is that last year?” Nai asked. “If you think that’s bad, you should read this one.”
“Six years this guy has more or less been a terrorist,” Caleb complained. “Look at this, he’s got an actual manifesto about piracy, but there’s almost a hundred reports of him taking supplies from civilian cargo ships.”
“Oh, don’t be so unfair,” Tasser joked. “I’m sure all of those were just willing donations from grateful citizens. He’s just ‘keeping the void orderly, and that takes goods.”
Serral recognized the last words as Kemon’s own. Caleb wasn’t kidding about that manifesto.
“Crazy thing is, I kinda see the appeal,” Nai said. “He has to be quite a thorn in the Majesty’s side. Almost all that cargo he’s messing with is coming out of Dai-Dai Koahn and Hexiam—controlled by the Assembly forces.”
“So he’s a privateer, not a pirate,” Caleb balked. “So what?”
“So…there might be some who might have a problem with opposing him,” Serral said. He glared at Sturgin subtly, but she showed no reaction.
“What are we actually talking about then?” Fenno asked. “Kemon isn’t our target. He’s just an obstacle. What about the Humans he’s got?”
“Answering that requires addressing the sword on the string,” Serral said. “Nai, the dates?”
“Oh. Yeah. Five years of Coalition files on Kemon, but none of them from the last four months,” she said. “If you guys were keeping tabs on him like this, you definitely know where he is. So spill.”
Sturgin was unflappable, addressing Serral instead.
“You run a fascinatingly informal crew, Ase,” she said.
“Answer the question,” Serral demanded. “We both know Caleb’s diplomatic credentials clear muster. So why aren’t you telling us what we want to know?”
“Because those credentials don’t entitle one to classified information. You and your crew might retain your navy clearances while on leave for your diplomatic mission, but that doesn’t authorize you to be read in on whatever military file you want.”
“We have cause and need to know where Kemon is,” Serral sighed.
“Cause doesn’t entitle you to military secrets either,” Sturgin said apologetically. “There’s procedure you can follow, but we know that’s not a quick process.”
“Is that a confirmation that Kemon is a military secret?” Caleb prodded.
“I will neither confirm nor disconfirm any military intelligence,” she said with practiced ease.
“What about military operations? Investigations? What about—” Caleb said.
“All those too. Sorry, but what I’ve given you is exactly everything I can,” Sturgin said.
“So basically all you’re willing to give us is what we already knew?” Nai said.
Sturgin shrugged.
“You caught us at a really bad time. A few months ago, or a few months from now, we would have enough room for a very different discussion, but for the next several weeks? These files are all the navy resources we can give you,” Sturgin said.
Serral’s gaze narrowed on her.
It was subtle, but she’d actually betrayed a rather large piece of information. Had that been on purpose?
The Vorak’s own gaze flickered toward Serral for the blink of an eye. It had!
What kind of game was she playing here? And was it because of Admiral Hakho, or in spite of him?
“Asu Sturgin, could I have a word?” Serral asked politely.
“About time,” she said. “Lead the way.”
“Nai, give me a candle-construct for privacy?”
Nai threw a quick glance at Caleb, who materialized a cylinder with a ring on one end and tossed it to her. Nai frowned at the rod in her hand for a moment before handing it to Serral.
“Just pull the pin,” Nai said.
Serral queried the embedded construct, finding it would block psionic signals for a bit more than thirty minutes. It would do.
“Flight deck,” he told Sturgin.
The two of them climbed the Jack’s decks and shut the floor hatches behind them before Serral pulled the pin on Nai’s creation. Removing the ring made it dematerialize with the now-exposed end of the stick beginning to melt away at a min’s pace.
Sturgin eyed the creation curiously. Serral couldn’t sense much of her psionics, but he could perceive enough to know she had them. But he couldn’t sense if she was Adept—another feature Nai’s candled-radars failed to replicate.
“We won’t be overheard, Asu,” he said, emphasizing the adjutant’s rank.
“You know we have secured facilities for this on base, right?” she said, unimpressed.
“This will do. Nothing said here leaves this room.”
“Forgive me if I don’t think Caleb Hane can’t circumvent his own creation,” she said.
“This isn’t actually his creation,” Serral said. “He absolutely could break it, and he won’t do so because I asked him not to.”
“You asked him? Was something
“I asked implicitly,” Serral said. “Quit quibbling. Why aren’t you helping us?”
Sturgin stared at him for too many moments. Even through all the wrong angles of Vorak facial muscles, it was impossible to miss the confusion playing behind her eyes.
“This is a warzone,” Sturgin finally scoffed. “Diplomatic missions don’t get to just flit into forward military positions and run amok. Unless your diplomatic mission involves going to Dai-Dai Koahn? Are you here to negotiate a ceasefire with the Majesty?”
“Our mission is to track down refugees,” Serral said. “The ones who need our help aren’t in the nice places. Believe me, we looked. For the last four months, in fact. But after all that, we find that one Wolshu Kemon took at least forty First Contacts into your warfront system. So please, enlighten me as to Admiral Hakho’s relationship with Kemon.”
“No,” Sturgin said simply.
“You can’t complain that my mission has no business here when someone who sure looks like your asset dragged our refugees into quite possibly the last place they have any business being,” Serral said.
“I will not confirm nor disconfirm any military intelligence, assets, missions, or—do I really have to give you the company line?”
“You have your orders, and I have mine,” Serral said. “And believe me, you might be aide to an Admiral, but I probably have more leeway in my assignment than you do. So I’m going to keep asking, thanks.”
“That’s hardly surprising. Laranta’s the least conventional strategist on the Admiralty Board. She’d let her commander leave tea and cookies out for the rak if she thought it would confuse them.”
“So why is Hakho going so far afield? Allowing enshrined protocol like First Contact to be bent? It’s not like him.”
“You’re only saying that because of the Admiral’s reputation,” Sturgin said.
“The strictest, most exacting, inflexible commander in the entire Coalition navy? I think you and I both know that Hakho’s earned that perception.”
Sturgin slumped back in the console chair in a way that pricked at Serral’s Casti brain. It looked like she was slouching—or it would. But with Vorak posture, it was hard to tell. But her eyes stayed fixed on him, like she was dissecting his face, looking for the most vulnerable place in his skull.
“…Every Casti in this system wouldn’t be caught dead leaving the ‘Admiral’ off of his title,” she said.
“I fly with two prodigies who’re both underage on their home planets,” Serral said. “And not two weeks ago I had to send both of them into the hideout of a Casti-supremacist group who I’m pretty sure had a stranglehold on the city’s water supply. They not only made it out, but did so escorting two rescued prisoners and fending off a dozen armed thugs.”
Sturgin blinked, confused.
“Formality is an acknowledgement of expectations,” Serral explained. “And my expectations keep failing to prepare me. So I’ve grown accustomed to informality.”
“I approve, then,” Sturgin said. “Biggest flaw in all of Casti civilization is inflexibility. If something doesn’t work, you should change it.”
“I’ve met too many Vorak to think the stereotype is accurate…” Serral said. “But—”
“But the biggest flaw in Vorak civilization is that we’re too flexible,” she said. “We’ll tear down something that works just fine if we convince ourselves there’s a tiny chance to do it better. Our principles change like the wind, because that’s how we learned to sail. We’re so—”
“But none of that is true,” Serral said, cutting her off. He’d heard all the stereotypes before.
“There’s always some truth to stereotypes,” Sturgin said.
“Just never as much as anyone thinks,” Serral nodded. “So be Casti why don’t you, and just cower in the face of someone with higher rank?”
“Be Vorak why don’t you, and learn to take ‘no’ for an answer?”
“I can’t,” Serral said. “I love this mission too much.”
“Love?”
“You’re an Asu,” he said. “So you had to do at least some work deployed. You know how most missions are. It’s war. Best case scenario, you get a target that really has it coming. Worst case, you know the Vorak your troops are shooting are probably young conscripts, charmed by a fleet recruiter.”
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“I mean, Askior’s enemy fleet is the Majesty,” Sturgin said awkwardly. “They’re a Casti fleet…”
Serral ignored her joke.
“I’m on a mission to rescue some kids who’ve been cursed to be the victims of a truly heinous crime,” Serral said. “I’ve been given extreme latitude to deploy the Warlock herself with extreme prejudice against anyone who stands in the way of that mission. I’m on a mission to rescue kids, Adjutant. You really think I’m going to take ‘no’ for an answer?”
Sturgin’s expression softened, if only for an instant.
“I can only tell you that Kemon’s activities in this system are classified,” Sturgin said regretfully. “I’m sorry if Admiral Laranta gave your mission wider latitude, but Kemon isn’t only involved with your humans. And we do not share classified information. Full stop.”
Serral fumed silently to himself. The words burned on his own tongue, because he’d spoken them before. Information security was paramount, even for seemingly noncritical information. Back at Demon’s Pit, every single hardware spec had been similarly classified.
Before withdrawing from the base, one of the last arguments he’d had with the local governance had centered on his refusal to allow anyone to see the reactor’s supply of spare parts, right down to what kind of bolts they used on the piping.
What type of piping bolts the reactor used didn’t seem like the most critical piece of information, and frankly, it almost certainly wasn’t.
But even those bolts were classified.
Because information security was not something you skimped on.
There was something else going on here. Serral didn’t know what exactly, but for some reason, Hakho and the 2 nd fleet believed it would be catastrophic if the Jack’s mission was allowed to make contact with Kemon’s group.
“Then we should still be authorized to look for humans unaffiliated with Kemon’s efforts,” Serral said. “He came here with humans, but…Askior should have…it’s own.”
The look on Sturgin’s face was guilty as sin, and she knew she’d given something away.
“You can’t use our deep space telescopes,” she tried, but it was too late.
“Kemon doesn’t just have Mummar’s humans,” Serral realized. “He must have found Askior’s too.”
“It’s all classified.”
“…He had to have found Askior’s Humans,” Serral repeated. “We can’t look for them, because you know he’s already found them. How many does he have now? We know he picked up two ships in Mummar, but we don’t actually know how many Humans were on them.”
“If I break code here, will you actually listen to what I’m saying?” Sturgin said.
“…Maybe,” Serral said.
“Your mission is open-ended. You can look for Humans to help anywhere, right? Say, another system?”
“We’re following a trail from another system already,” Serral said. “It led here.”
“And I’m saying your efforts are almost certainly going to be more productive anywhere that’s less of a warzone. Whoever nabbed your abductees has them spread far and wide, right? So nose around Gogashi or Eshameen for a month or two. We could even hook your ship up with some contract work on the way there to keep your budget flush.”
“I don’t look the other way,” Serral said coldly. Not anymore.
“There might be Humans in grave danger in those systems, and I’d vouch that—” she clapped her mouth shut before she could actually divulge anything on purpose.
Serral’s eyes narrowed at the Vorak officer. That little ‘slip’ had been just a bit too perfect. Seemingly unintentional while also managing to betray anything while implying scores.
“Kemon isn’t the only [snake], here,” Serral said. “That was neat. Hakho should send you undercover.”
“I have to guess on what a [snake] is,” Sturgin said, “but I think I can gather. But believe me, I’m a [snake] on your side. I wouldn’t tell to go somewhere else if it wouldn’t be actually beneficial for everyone involved.”
“I know there’s Humans in the hands of someone who’s been ignoring our very relevant and benevolent attempts to contact them,” Serral said. “Humans in definite danger trump those in indefinite danger.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘everyone’ involved,” Sturgin said. “You think I don’t know your priorities?”
“I think I’m still waiting for when you ‘break code’.”
“Then I’d like to pose you a hypothetical. Imagine, if you will, a number of…ahem, ‘Vorak pups’ in the care of someone very unscrupulous…say they’re a…”
“Let’s say they’re a lawyer,” Serral suggested.
“A lawyer! Unscrupulously perfect,” Sturgin nodded. “These pups aunt—grandmother? Whichever extended family member comes looking for them along with all the rest in the litter, finds that the lawyer, despite being a downright [snake] is actually taking good care of them for the time being, and that there’s a clear timetable for how long that will be the case. Now, everyone involved can agree that the pups can’t stay with the lawyer forever. But also, poor grandmother doesn’t have the beds or bank to take care of the first pups she finds. Especially not so many. So, as bad as a taste as it leaves in her mouth, grandma’s gotta agree that her best move is to focus on putting together said beds and bank so she can actually care for the pups when it’s time to pull them from the lawyer’s clutches. Following me?”
“…And the lawyer must know…a fastidious banker with secretary who’s a bad swimmer,” Serral said.
“Hey…” Sturgin protested. “I’m great at swimming…and I carry a gun; I’m not a secretary.”
“I imagine this banker would know what the lawyer was up to,” Serral said. “And this banker would be a lot more powerful than the lawyer. So surely—in this very hypothetical situation—the banker has a very good reason for not just removing the lawyer from the equation and taking care of the pups himself.”
“Well I think in this metaphor, the banker is leveraged,” Sturgin said. “You know, plenty of assets, but none of them liquid. Which is why if grandma comes back in two-thousand hours, the whole situation will have resolved itself.”
“That’s why Hakho is putting up with him?” Serral was dumbfounded.
“Ah, see, you broke out of our little imaginary scenario, so…that’s classified.”
“Kemon gets to handle a hundred adolescent First Contacts so the Coalition navy doesn’t have to?”
“I can’t tell you any of that,” Sturgin said.
“Is the problem that those Humans are basically a bomb waiting to go off, and you don’t want to touch it? Or is it that you don’t have to expend resources maintaining that particular bomb?”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“But you have to know Kemon is breaking First Contact procedure,” Serral said. “That’s why you don’t want us knowing exactly where he is…we can’t call the Organic Authority down on him if we don’t actually know where he’s breaking protocols.”
“I can’t disclose—”
“You must be getting tired of saying that,” Serral said.
“You don’t seem to be getting tired of hearing it,” Sturgin said.
“Why are you even talking to us then?” Serral asked. “If Hakho’s ordered you to be this unhelpful, why even bother having you liaise with us?”
“I am being as helpful as I can,” Sturgin said. “But you need to understand that Hakho can’t order me to give you classified information.”
“He’s the admiral in charge of the system!” Serral complained. “It’s a judgement call on who gets read in, and it comes down to his judgement!”
“You’re an even higher rank than me,” Sturgin said. “So you should already know that being in command doesn’t mean that everything is in your control…”
“…Or everyone,” Serral realized.
Hakho had the misfortune of being the only admiral fighting against an Assembly fleet of Casti. Fleet morale had to be terrible.
…And that could lead to strained loyalties.
“Is Hakho that worried about his own people?”
“Is Caleb Hane’s privacy bubble as good as you think it is?”
“I have no doubt that it’s even better,” Serral said.
“Then…it would be a safe assumption to think several of that strict banker’s underlings are a bit sweet on the lawyer. He’s a lawyer, after all. He knows what to say to make Casti feel all warm inside.”
“How bad are the leaks?”
“Bad,” Sturgin said.
“That’s why Hakho didn’t clear Jordan and Caleb to leave the ship,” Serral realized. “He doesn’t even want his own people knowing they’re here.”
“Your people wouldn’t go blabbing about your own mission, even to allies,” Sturgin said. “But Hakho also actually doesn’t trust the Humans. I’m a Vorak, so you know I can just change my mind about them on a dime, but…the Admiral sees your Humans for what they are.”
“Which is?”
“An unknown quantity,” she said. “You called the abductees a bomb? You know what’s even worse than a bomb?”
“Something that might be a bomb, but you can’t be sure,” Serral quoted.
“Exactly,” Sturgin nodded.
“It is why, under no circumstances, can we tell your mission where Kemon and his humans are.”
Serral grimaced. There were too many moving parts to all this. Too many competing interests. He had to remind himself that broadcasting the Humans’ existence was a necessary measure to keep them all from starving in deep space, but how much easier would this have been if the ships had just stayed put?
Sturgin cleared her throat unsubtly.
“Captain, I feel like you might have misheard me,” she said. “Under no circumstances—”
“—can you tell us where Kemon is, yes, thank you,” Serral sighed.
“No, no,” she chided. “Under no circumstances can we tell you…”
“…Kemon knows where his own operation is,” Serral said. “But he’s avoiding contact…with the Jackie Robinson… You said Caleb’s diplomatic mission wasn’t allowed to know where Kemon and his humans’ location, because our diplomatic mission contacting them risks something Admiral Hakho has cooking.”
“Technically your mission won’t be allowed to, that’s correct,” Sturgin said. “…But?”
“What if someone went to Kemon without ever knowing where that was?” Serral asked.
Sturgin did not look surprised. Instead, she affected confusion.
“I beg forgiveness Ase, I’m not sure what you mean. Clarify for me?”
Serral rolled his eyes. In a very roundabout way, she was being helpful.
“Kemon’s been making very sure that he’s in a position such that it’s most convenient for anyone to hand over every human they find into his custody,” Serral said. “So if our mission were to dump two humans in your lap, on the basis that we couldn’t take care of them—regardless of who they may or may not be—then wouldn’t you have little recourse but to reach out to Kemon? So he could take the two of them off your hands?”
“It occurs to me,” Sturgin said slowly, “that there’s quite a difference between your diplomatic mission contacting Kemon and adding some more random Humans to his collection.”
“Enough pretense,” Serral growled. “Hakho wouldn’t object if Caleb and Jordan were the only ones to go?”
“They would have to know going in, they can’t mention anything about their Coalition,” Sturgin said. “Or even that the Organic Authority exists.”
“Why? Is Kemon not supposed to know something? Or is it deniability for Hakho? Or us?”
“Classified,” she said. “You can’t know why.”
“I can’t agree to this without knowing what kind of danger Caleb and Jordan might be in,” Serral said. “The Fafin has been ignoring our broadcasts, so I can only assume they’re doing the same for any Organic Authority still in this system.”
“I can’t actually give you any information about them,” Sturgin said. “…But hypothetically…if our powerful banker knew the pups were being mistreated, assets would be liquidated, and people would be mobilized.”
“But you can’t vouch for future developments,” Serral nodded.
“Nope.”
“…This is a terrible idea,” he said.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be this hard to convince,” Sturgin said. “I figured the Humans would be the harder sell. They can’t mention knowing your mission at all.”
There it is, Serral realized. He couldn’t know all the details for sure, but the truth began to take shape.
“Even Caleb’s name will be a problem,” Sturgin said. “For the next few months, no one can know the same human from the Draylend footage is here. You’re sure he’ll be okay with that?”
“Will keeping this secret help the Humans?” Serral asked.
“It should,” Sturgin said.
“Then don’t underestimate the lengths to which that kid is prepared to go,” Serral said.
····
The details would take a few days to arrange, and there was no chance Serral was having Caleb do this unprepared.
“Sturgin and I have a bad idea,” Serral said.
Jordan frowned, but Caleb’s eyebrow raised. It was an expression that didn’t exist in Casti countenance, but Serral had since learned to recognize it.
“You’ve mentioned offhand about entertainment based on Earth law enforcement,” Serral said. “Normally, I’d think entertainment would be a poor basis for investigative work but you did well enough at the Green Complex. So how would you two feel about undercover work?”
This time Caleb smiled, and a grin teased the edges of Jordan’s mouth too.
“We’re listening,” he said.