Path of the Fury by David Weber
A heat which was rapidly becoming familiar tingled in her right arm, radiating from its contact with Gateau’s left elbow, and she felt her friend’s thoughts. Amusement. Pride in the way she was bouncing back from her wounds. Carefully hidden worry over the upcoming interview. A burning curiosity as to the reasons for her dread over meeting Keita and concern over their possible consequences, and under it a deeper, more persistent worry about Alicia’s stability—and what to do about her if she was, in fact, unstable.
A mental grumble answered, but the information flow died, and she was grateful. Stealing Tannis’s thoughts was a violation of her privacy and trust—almost a form of rape, even if she never felt a thing—and Alicia hated it.
Not that it hadn’t been useful, she conceded. The first time Tannis had hugged her, Tisiphone had plucked a disturbing suspicion from the major’s mind. Alicia’s monologues had gotten just a bit too enthusiastic, and Tannis knew her too well.
Forewarned, Alicia had tapered off and allowed her manufactured dialogues to run down as if she were tiring of the game. Tannis had written them off as a sarcastic response to the people who suspected her sanity, and thereafter Alicia had restricted herself to occasional verbal responses to actual comments from Tisiphone. That worked much better, for they were spontaneous, fragmentary, and enigmatic yet consistent—clearly not something manufactured out of whole cloth for the sole benefit of eavesdroppers—and their genuineness had turned Tannis’s thoughts in the desired direction.
Alicia hated deceiving her, but she was having those conversations. It was always possible she truly was mad— a possibility she would almost prefer, at times—and if she wasn’t, she certainly wasn’t responsible for Tannis’s misinterpretations of them.
She squared her shoulders, tucked the ends of the towel into the neck of her sweat shirt, and walked down the hallway at her friend’s side.
Tisiphone watched through her host’s eyes as they marched along the corridor. The past few weeks had been the oddest of her long life, a strange combination of impatient waiting and discovery, and she wasn’t certain she had enjoyed them.
She and Alicia had learned much about her own current abilities. She could still pluck thoughts from mortal minds, but only when her host brought those other mortals into physical contact. She could still hasten physical healing, as well, yet what had once been “miracles” were routine to the medical arts man had attained. There was little she could do to speed what the physicians were already accomplishing, and so she had restricted herself to holding pain and discomfort within useful limits and insuring her host’s sleep without medication or one of the peculiar somatic units. Tisiphone hated the somatic units. They might sweep Alicia into slumber through her receptors, but sleep was a stranger to Tisiphone. For her, the somatic units’ soothing waves were a droning, scarcely endurable static.
She and Alicia had also determined to their satisfaction that she still could blur mortals’ senses, even without physical contact. Their technology, unfortunately, was something else again, and that experiment had almost ended in disaster. The nurse had known the bed was empty, but her medical scanners had insisted it was occupied. Not surprisingly, the young woman had panicked and turned to run, and only the testing of another ability had saved the situation. Tisiphone could no longer beguile and control mortal minds, but she could fog and befuddle them. Actually taking memories from them might have become impossible, but she had blurred the recollection into a sort of fanciful daydream, and that had been just as good—this time.
Their experiments had combined dismay and excitement in almost equal measure, yet neither Tisiphone’s own sense of discovery and rediscovery nor Alicia’s amazement at what she still could accomplish had been sufficient to banish her boredom. She was a being of fire and passion, the hunger and destruction of her triumvirate of selves. Alecto had been the methodical one, the inescapable stalker patient as the stones themselves, and Megarea had been the thinker who analyzed and pondered with a mind of ice and steel. Tisiphone was the weapon, unleashed only when her targets had been clearly identified, her objectives precisely defined. Now she could not even know who her targets were, much less where to find them, and she felt . . . lost. Ignorance added to her sense of frustration, for if she had no doubt of her ultimate success, she was unused to delays and puzzles. It had turned her surly and snappish (not, she admitted privately, an unusual state for such as she) with her host until a fresh revelation diverted them both.
Tisiphone had discovered computers. More to the point, she had encountered the processors built into Alicia’s augmentation, and had she been the sort of being who possessed eyes, they would have opened wide in surprise.
The data storage of Alicia’s processors was little more than a few dozen terabytes, for bio-implants simply couldn’t rival the memories of full-sized units, yet they were the first computers Tisiphone had ever met, and she had been amazed by how easy they were to access. It had taken no effort at all, for they were designed and programmed for neural linkage; the same technique which slipped into a mortal’s thoughts through his nerves and brain worked just as well with them, and the vistas that opened were dazzling.
It was almost like finding the ghost of one of her sister selves. A weak and pallid revenant, without the rich awareness which had textured that forever-lost link, yet one which expanded her own abilities many-fold. Tisiphone had only the vaguest grasp of what Alicia called “programming” or “machine language,” but those concepts were immaterial to her. A being crafted to interface with human minds had no use or need for such things; anything structured to link with those same minds became an extension of them and so an instinctive part of herself.
She had scared Alicia half to death, and felt uncharacteristically penitent for it afterward, the first time she activated her host’s main processor and walked her body across the room without consulting her. Their security codes meant nothing to Tisiphone, and she unlocked them effortlessly, exploring the labyrinthine marvels of logic trees and data flows with sheer delight. Their molycirc wonders had become a vast, marvelous toy, and she flowed through them like the wind, recognizing the way in which she might use them, in an emergency, as both capacitor and amplifier. They restored something she had lost, restored a bit of what she once had been, and she had sensed Alicia’s amusement as she chattered away about her finds.
Yet it was past time for them to be about their mission, and she wondered if Alicia’s meeting with Sir Arthur Keita would bring the moment closer or send it receding even further into the future.
Alicia’s spine stiffened against her will as she stepped into the sparsely appointed conference room. A small, spruce man in the crimson tunic and blue trousers of the Ministry of Justice’s uniformed branches stood looking out a window. He didn’t turn as she and Tannis entered, and she was just as happy. Her eyes were on the square, powerful man seated at the table.
He still refused to wear his ribbons, she noted. Well, no one was likely to pester him about proper uniform. She came to attention before him, clasping her hands behind her, and stared three inches over his head.
“Captain Alicia DeVries, reporting as ordered, sir!” she barked, and Sir Arthur Keita, Knight Grand Commander of the Order of Terra, Solarian Grand Cross, Medal of Valor with diamonds and clasp, and second in command of the Personal Cadre of His Imperial Majesty Seamus II, studied her calmly.
“Cut the kay-det crap, Alley,” he rumbled in a gravel-crusher voice, and her lips quirked involuntarily. Her eyes met his. He smiled. It was a small smile, but a real one, easing a bit of the tightness in her chest.
“Yes, Uncle Arthur,” she said.
The shoulders of the man looking out the window twitched. He turned just a tad quickly, and her lips quirked again at his reaction to her lese majeste. So he hadn’t known how the tr
“That’s better.” Keita pointed at a chair. “Sit.”
She obeyed without comment, clasping her hands loosely in her lap, and returned his searching gaze. He hadn’t changed much. He never did.
“It’s good to see you,” he resumed after a moment. “I wish it could be under different circumstances, but—“ A raised hand tipped, as if pouring something from a cupped palm. She nodded, but her eyes burned with sudden memory. Not of Mathison’s World, but of another time, after Shallingsport. He’d known the uselessness of words then, too, when she’d learned of her promotion and medal and he’d shared her grief. A time, she thought, when she’d actually believed she would remain in the Cadre and not just of it.
“I know I promised we’d never reactivate you,” he continued, “but it wasn’t my decision.” She nodded again. She’d known that, for if Sir Arthur Keita seldom gave his word, that was only because he never broke it.
“However,” he went on, “we’re both here now, and I’ve postponed this debrief as long as I could. The relief force pulls out for Soissons day after tomorrow; I’ll have to make my report—and my recommendations—to Governor Treadwell and Countess Miller when we arrive, and I won’t do that without speaking personally to you first. Fair?”
“Fair.” Alicia’s contralto was deeper than usual, but her eyes were steady, and it was his turn to nod.
“I’ve already viewed your statement to Colonel McIlheny, so I’ve got a pretty fair notion of what happened in the fire fight. It’s what happened after it that bothers me. Are you prepared to tell me more about it now?”
The deep voice was unusually gentle, and Alicia felt an almost unbearable temptation to tell him everything. Every single impossible word. If anyone in the galaxy would have believed her it was Uncle Arthur. Unfortunately, no one could believe her, not even him, and they weren’t alone. Her eyes nipped to the Justice man, and an eyebrow arched.
“Inspector Ferhat Ben Belkassem, Intelligence Branch,” Keita said. “You may speak freely in front of him.”
“In front of a spook?” Alicia’s eyes snapped back to Keita’s face, suddenly hard, and the temptation to openness faded.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a spook,” he replied quietly.
“No, sir, I haven’t forgotten. And, sir, I respectfully decline to be debriefed by Intelligence personnel.” It came out clipped and colder than she’d intended, and Ben Belkassem’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
Keita sighed, but he didn’t retreat. His eyes bored into her across the table, and there was no yield in his voice.
“That isn’t an option, Alley. You’re going to have to talk to me.”
“Sir, I decline.”
“Oh, come on, Alley! You’ve already spoken to McIlheny!”
“I have, sir, when under the impression that he remained a combat branch officer. And—“ her voice turned even colder “—Colonel McIlheny is neither Cadre nor a representative of the Ministry of Justice. As such, he may in fact be an honorable man.”
She felt Cateau flinch behind her, but Tannis held her tongue and Ben Belkassem stepped back half a pace. It wasn’t a retreat; he was simply giving her room, declaring his neutrality in whatever lay between her and Keita.
The brigadier leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You can’t decline, Alley. This isn’t like last time, and I can’t make any bargains with you.” She sat stonily silent, and his face hardened. “Allow me to correct myself. In one respect, this is exactly like last time: you can damned well end up in the stockade if you push it.”
“Sir, I respectful—“
“Hold it.” He interrupted her in mid-word, before she could dig in any more deeply, then shook his head. “You always were a stubborn woman, Alley. But this isn’t the case of a captain breaking a colonel around the edges—“ Ben Belkassem’s eyes widened fractionally at that “—and I don’t have the latitude to allow you a gesture.” He raised a palm as her eyes flared hot. “You had a right to it. I said so then, and I say so now, but this isn’t then, and the questions aren’t coming just from me. Countess Miller personally charged me with uncovering the truth.”
His eyes drilled into hers, and she sat back in her chair. He meant it. If it had been only him, he might have let her off—again. But he had his orders, and orders were something he took very seriously, indeed.
“Excuse me, Sir Arthur.’ Ben Belkassem raised one placating hand as he spoke. “If my presence is the problem, I will willingly withdraw.”
“No, Inspector, you won’t.” Keita’s voice was frosty. “You are part of this operation, and I will value your input. Alley?”
“Sir, I can’t. It— I promised the company, sir.” Her own hoarseness surprised her, and a tear glistened. She felt Tisiphone’s surprise at the surge of raw, wounded emotion, then relaxed minutely as the Fury slipped another pane of that mysterious glass between her and the anguish. She drew a deep breath, meeting Keita’s eyes pleadingly but with determination. “You understand about promises, sir.”
“I do,” Keita didn’t wince, though his voice gave the impression he had, “but I have no choice. I know what happened at Shallingsport, and I was at Louvain. I understand your attitude. But I have no choice.”
“Understand?” Alicia’s voice cracked. She swallowed, but she couldn’t stop. Despite all Tisiphone could do, an old, old agony drove her. “I’m not sure you do, sir. I don’t think anyone could—except Tannis, perhaps. We went in with a company, sir—a company!—and came out with less than a squad!”
“I know.”
“Yes, and you know why, too, sir! You know why that son-of-a-bitch screwed our mission brief to hell! You know he sent us in against a ‘soft target,’ a bunch of crackpot League separatists with ‘improvised weaponry’ and no tactical training. Well, I’ve got news for you, sir— there were two fucking thousand of the bastards, with the best weapons money could buy! But Captain Alwyn took us in, and we did our job. Oh, yes, we did our goddamned job, and seven of us came out alive!”
“Alley. Alley!” Alicia’s augmentation crackled with prep signals as emotion jangled through her, and Gateau’s hands massaged her shoulders, trying to relax her tension. “They did their best, Sarge.” Tannis’s voice was soft. “Intelligence screws up sometimes. It happens, Alley.”
“Not like this,” Alicia grated. “Not like this time, does it, Uncle Arthur?” Her eyes were green flint, challenging his, and he inhaled deeply.
“No, Captain. Not like this,” he said at last, quietly, and looked over her head at Major Gateau. “Did Alley ever discuss this with you, Major?”
“No, sir.” Tannis sounded confused, Alicia thought, and no wonder.
“No,” he sighed, and turned his eyes back to Alicia. “Forgive me. You promised me you wouldn’t, didn’t you?
She stared back, face like marble, and he pursed his lips in thought, then nodded slowly.
“Perhaps it’s time someone did, Major.” He gestured at the chair beside Alicia and waited until Gateau sat. “All right. You know about the, um, flap when Alicia resigned?” Tannis nodded. “Then you know it was part of a bargain—a cover-up, if you will. In return for her resignation, the Cadre agreed not to press charges for striking a superior officer. Correct?” She nodded again. “Do you happen to know the identity of the officer she struck?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll be damned. I never thought the cover-up would hold.” Keita pinched the bridge of his nose again. “That officer, Major Gateau, was Colonel Wadislaw Watts, Imperial Cadre, the man—“ he met her eyes, not Alicia’s “—responsible for the Shallingsport intelligence assessment. And she didn’t just ‘strike’ him; she hospitalized him in critical condition. In fact, it was, by her own subsequent admission, her intent to kill him.
Tannis gasped and turned to stare at her friend, but Alicia looked straight ahead, eyes stony, showing her only her profile, while Keita continued in that same flat, s
“Precisely. You and I know, Major, that the Cadre isn’t perfect, whatever the Empire as a whole may believe. We make mistakes. Not often, perhaps, but we make them, and when we do, they can have . . . major consequences. Shallingsport was one such mistake.”
“Mistake!” Alicia hissed like a curse, then caught herself and pressed her lips together. Keita frowned, but he didn’t reprimand her. He simply went on speaking to Tannis as if they were the only people in the room.
“Alley’s right,” he told her. “It wasn’t a mistake that killed ninety-three percent of your company. It was a crime, because those casualties—“ he laid his palms on the tabletop, as if for balance “—were completely avoidable. Colonel Watts had in his possession data which gave an accurate picture of the opposition you faced. Data which he suppressed.”
Gateau’s race was white, twisted with disbelief and anguish, and Keita folded his hands together and frowned down at them.
“He thought he could get away with it, hide it,” he said softly, “and he very nearly did.”
“But . . . but why, sir?”
“Blackmail. The . . . foreign power actually behind the Shallingsport terrorists had suborned him. He’d been feeding them information—minor data, but valuable— for seven years before the raid, and he’d been very, very clever. He went through several routine security checks and one regular five-year close scrutiny, and we never realized. But when Shallingsport came up, his employers informed him that he could either cook his intelligence analysis to guarantee a blood bath that ended in failure, or be exposed by them.”
“You’re saying we were set up,” Gateau whispered.
“Exactly. You were supposed to be wiped out and ‘push’ the terrorists into massacring their hostages, thus blackening the Cadre’s reputation and branding the Emperor with the blame for a catastrophic military adventure. That plan failed for only two reasons: the courage and determination of your company and, in particular, of Master Sergeant Alicia DeVries.”