Tales from the Inbox: A Spacer’s Partnership

2950-05-10 – Tales from the Inbox: A Spacer’s Partnership 

While we were out of contact with Centauri during the battles at Håkøya, several entries from the account of Ramiro W. relating to his misadventures in partnership with the con artist Livia F. (both pseudonyms, obviously) were provided on this feed. As it’s been a bit of a slow week and I’ve been asked several times about that account, I’ve elected to pull the remaining section of Ramiro’s story out of the backup post system, as it might be months before it is seen if I leave it there. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear it, Ramie?” 

Ramiro took in Livia’s deliberately cocked hips, tilted head, and pouted lips, and made a show of turning his chair back toward the controls for the ship’s cargo crane. He knew her well enough by now to know that those were the markers of trouble, and that he wanted no part of whatever was about to happen. He also knew that a simple “yes” would do absolutely nothing. 

“You’re walking away from a lot of money, and that’s exactly why you needed me in the first place.” Livia leaned over the back of the chair, and Ramiro scowled at the strong scent of her exotic floral perfume. “Unless you change how you operate, you’re just going to need me to bail you out again.” 

“I paid you back, Liv.” Ramiro pulled down the slider and watched the crane’s hook drop down toward the netting-encased mass of crates in the middle of the hold. “With interest. And that doesn’t include your share of the profits from your little scheme.” 

“It was hardly little.” Livia pretended to be hurt. “And you wouldn’t have anything to pay me back this time. Won’t you let me-” 

“I don’t want to know.” Ramiro sidled out of his chair and past her through the hatchway into the cargo hold. “When we get back to Philadelphia, you’re getting off my ship.” 

Ramiro could hear Livia’s fashionable heels clicking on the deck as she followed him. “Look, I know you weren’t happy about all the shooting, so I came up with something where there won’t be any trouble like that.” 

Ramiro snorted. Trouble was the air Livia Farran breathed. “Anything that doesn’t have trouble would bore you to death. I want to go back to boring.” 

“Look, Ramie, I’m trying to meet you halfway here. I’m talking about easy, safe money. It’s even legal.” 

Ramiro grabbed the cargo netting and climbed up the stack toward the hanging crane hook. “That’s not far off what you said the last time.” The last time, her pitch had been that they were only stealing from people who deserved to be stolen from, and they’d both come far too close to being killed in the process. 

Livia of course would not follow Ramiro up the side of the netted cargo shipment. She stopped at its base, though she raised her voice to compensate for the greater distance. “Just hear me out before you say no, okay? I really...” She paused for several seconds. “I really thought you’d like this idea.” 

Ramiro, one hand on the dangling hook and the other disentangling the carry loops from the netting he’d wrapped around the pile of goods, paused and glanced over his shoulder. Livia was looking down at her expensive shoes, not up at him, her dark hair hiding her face. She looked disappointed and almost embarrassed, and for a moment, he almost forgot that she was always acting and started to feel sorry for her.  

“Fine. Pitch it.” Ramiro looped the first few loops around the dangling hook. Livia might be a con artist, but she had never swindled him, at least not directly; the worst she’d ever managed was to trick him into being an unwilling partner in swindling someone else. “That way I know what I’m saying no to.” 

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Ramiro could almost see the reflection of Livia’s suddenly sunny smile on the opposite bulkhead. “It’s like this: my contacts say there’s profit in moving the monied people and their stuff out of Maribel. Seems like the rich parasites of the whole Frontier are off for safer hosts, and the usual services aren’t moving much cargo.” 

“Don’t see how that’s any good for me.” Ramiro hooked the final loops in, then closed the crane’s hook and locked it. “Jen Daley isn’t equipped for pampered passengers, and I’m not in this business for the social scene.” 

“With a few quick touches, I could make your cabin comfortable enough for a family of four. You’d have to use the second bunk in the little closet I’m sleeping in, of course. Think of how much we could charge them.” 

Clambering down from the cargo pile, Ramiro glared at Livia. “Let me guess. You’ve got some angle to siphon their money off while we’re in transit?” 

Livia looked away. “I, um. Yeah, that was-” 

Ramiro walked past her and back toward the crane control booth. 

“That was my thought too, but then I realized that was stupid. If we played it honest, they’d tell their friends.” Her heels clicked a hurried beat on the deck as she scurried to catch up. “I think the best money in this one is to stick with it and just do the job, no angle. People are scared enough to throw all kinds of credits-” 

Ramiro tossed himself back into the chair and flicked the controls. Out in the cargo bay, the crane began to lift, straining the loops and the netting they were woven into until the whole mess of goods lifted slowly off the deck. He watched it for several seconds before Livia’s hurried words finally filtered past the barrier his brain put up every time she was talking. “Wait a damned minute.” He turned toward her as she re-entered the booth. “Liv, did I just hear you utter the phrase, ‘no angle?’ When is the last time you slept?” 

“Very funny.” Livia tossed her head, her loose black hair briefly flopping around her face before she brushed it back. “Yes, that’s what I said. If we robbed the first customer blind, we would score big, but-” 

“The run from Maribel to the Core is weeks long. If we played it straight, you’d get so bored you’d con them to avoid getting bored.” Ramiro shook his head. “Or you’d start messing with me instead, and I’d put you out an airlock. Either way, no second run.” 

“Please, Ramie.” Livia raised one eyebrow and places her hands on her hips. “Do you really think I hadn’t thought of that?” 

“Cards on the table, Liv.” Ramiro slid his finger across the controls, and the netted cargo slid toward the big double doors at the rear of the hold. “Play this one tight, and you play it without me or Jen Daley.” 

“I’ll give you two of them.” Livia leaned in conspiratorially, and Ramiro tried to keep his eyes away from the dramatic view presented by this posture in collaboration with her low-necked, tight-fitting shirt. “First one, I think I might be onto something a lot bigger. Buy-my-own-continent money, maybe. It’s going to take time to figure out how to make it work. Might as well make some easy, safe money nursemaiding scared rich people while I’m working on it.” 

Ramiro nodded. This was more like the Livia he’d come to know far too well for his liking. “Whatever that big score is, keep me out of it. What about that second card?” 

Livia smiled, but her eyes avoided his. For once, it didn’t seem fake, but that somehow didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. “You... How do I put this. You look at me different.” 

“I know you're bad news.” 

“So do most of the people I get the better of.” Livia put her hand on the console next to Ramiro’s own. “But they see someone they can use for their own purposes. Someone easy, someone weak, someone they have an advantage over, someone they can cheat or control. That’s how I get them.” 

Ramiro glanced from Livia’s hand to her face, looking for the usual signs that she was up to something, but not finding any. Was she trying to be genuine? Could she ever be genuine? 

“Nobody with that look like yours can ever be a mark, not really.” Livia straightened and turned away, letting her hand briefly fall on his as she did in a way Ramiro knew wasn’t accidental. “I've always wondered what I could do with someone who can’t be a mark. Maybe a few months on honest runs would be my chance to... find out.” 

“You did swindle me once.” Ramiro almost hated to remind her of that fact. 

“I lied to you a little bit, and you lost nothing.” Livia smiled over her shoulder. “That’s all the cards you get. Think about it, Ramie. Only a few days to Philadelphia.” 

As Livia swept away toward the ladder leading up to the habitation area, Ramiro locked the cargo crane in place and scowled past it. He tried, and failed, to tell himself that time spent with Livia Farran was, and could only be, bad news. 

 

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Tales from the Service: The Protest Line

2950-05-03 – Tales from the Service: The Protest Line

There has been very little action here on the Frontier in the last few weeks. The Incarnation is consolidating at Håkøya, and the Navy is reconstituting some of its lower-level fleet organization to rebuild complete action squadrons after the losses among light ships in recent battles. Fortunately, reinforcements of this type of ship seem to be in ready supply; just this past week alone five destroyers and seven frigates have arrived here to take up duty with Fifth Fleet. True, only three of those ships were new vessels, the rest being refitted from reserve, but few of the ships in the fleet are of the still-rare newer models.  

It seems, paradoxically, that replacing losses is making the fleet newer and stronger. Of the eleven Vantchev-class frigates launched since the lead ship was shown to the public in 2945, I’m told six now serve with Fifth Fleet, and one more was crippled in action at Margaux and hasn’t returned to service yet. 

One might ask (and I have) why we can’t have the new ships without seeing so many older ones destroyed or crippled. The answers I get are varied. On the one hand, obviously the reinforcements are coming whether or not any ships are lost; on the other, the ships in Fifth Fleet have operated together for a long time, even before the war, and introducing untested ships and inexperienced crews into the squadrons without time for maneuver exercises is seen as a bad plan. Admiral Zahariev seems to be trying to mostly assign the new ships to new squadrons operating together, and he seems to be keeping them in secondary roles while they work up. 

This week, I must call to the attention of this audience the situation on the beautiful blue-green planet once again visible outside Saint-Lô’s lounge viewpanels. A little unrest here after the fall of Håkøya was only to be expected, but the situation seems to be only worsening over time. A trooper by the name of Floyd Grier has been sending regular reports of the situation on the streets around the government center, and I’ve elected to employ his account to demonstrate the situation. 

Floyd Grier stared through his transparent face-plate at the crowd on the other side of the barricade. Most of the faces in the front row were familiar to him by now, or perhaps they were only types, replaced with indistinguishable alternates each time the sun went down and the night’s clashes discouraged some, injured others, and emboldened still more. 

The traitorous orb of Maribel’s primary was about to betray Floyd and his compatriots once more, and already the crowd had gone from loud but orderly to borderline riotous while the shadows lengthened. The people screaming for the attention of the planet's civilian and military officials weren’t bad people, but they were scared, and that much unease squeezed into such dense crowds was as dangerous for Floyd and the other troopers guarding the perimeter as murderous malice. He told himself every night that the sensible majority of citizens were at home, finding more productive outlets for their unease at having a conquering enemy fleet barely five light-years away at Håkøya. 

Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps he was wrong, and that everyone on Maribel had lost their damned minds. Too many of the people choked into the metropolis and its outskirts were refugees from worlds now fallen under the Incarnation’s shadow: Håkøya, Margaux, Adimari Valis, Mereena, and more. They had already fled one home for the promised security of the fleet base at Maribel. As far as those people were concerned, the titanic battlewagons of the fleet had proven themselves powerless to stop the enemy, and soon that fleet would depart or be chased away. 

Floyd could hardly blame the people on the other side of the cordon for believing it. Rationally, he knew the fleet could never abandon a major base like Maribel unless its fighting power was utterly smashed. Rationally, most of the people screaming and shaking their fists probably knew it too, but rationality never survived exposure to crowds for very long. 

“Attention, demonstrators.” The loudspeakers set up behind Floyd barked. “You are required by local ordinance to disperse at sundown.” 

This warning had been issued every day since the demonstrations had started. Floyd hadn’t seen the crowd obey it even once in his eleven nights on duty. Sure, some people began to look uneasy and filter back toward the fringes. Those would generally head home with clean consciences, believing that the rest of the crowd was just as reasonable as themselves and expressing outrage at the injury and property damage reports in the morning newsfeeds. Surely, they’d say, the authorities had provoked a clash; after all, they hadn’t seen the crowd do anything aggressive all day. 

Floyd and the other troopers on the line knew only too well how quickly crowd psychology shifted after the sun went down. In the twilight, all it would take was a single spark to set off the fear-consumed protestors, and unfortunately, someone always provided it. Personally, Floyd suspected enemy-sympathizing agents of most of these instigations; the authorities never managed to get their hands on the culprits. 

Floyd’s helmet comms pinged, and a reticle appeared in the heads-up display in his helmet, swooping in to bracket a face in the third row of the crowd. “Grier, that’s the instigator from two nights ago.” Janssen, one of the troopers in the reserve line behind and above Floyd, called out. “He’s in your arc. Watch that bastard. He’s going to try something.” 

“We should go in and get him before the sun goes down.” Floyd’s eyes narrowed. Two nights ago, his good friend Sharif had been mobbed by rioters and badly injured. The medics said he’d pull through all right, but Floyd had been the one to console Sharif’s wife and kid, and to get them inside the cordon in case someone marked them as targets. Ladeonist insurgents were like that on other worlds; they’d pick on the families of the injured to try to goad the authorities into a brutal crackdown. The higher-ups weren’t taking any chances now. 

“Negative.” Lieutenant Holmwood snapped. “Leave him be until he actually starts something. I’ll have one of the big guns on him in case he does.” 

“Attention, demonstrators.” The loudspeaker’s voice cut easily over the shouting mob, reciting another rote warning required by local law. “Directives will be enforced with acoustics.” 

Floyd grimaced. He could almost see the telescoping booms of the acoustic disruptor cannons rising from their mounts on the building behind him. All along the perimeter, those sinister towers would be rising. He hated the acoustics as much as any protestor, but without them, there was no way for a force of about twelve hundred troopers to hold an urban perimeter nearly a mile in circumference. 

At the sight of the acoustic booms rising, the man bracketed in Floyd’s headset sneered. His eyes seemed to flash in the slanting light, and then he ducked backwards and vanished. 

“Janssen, did you see where he went?” Floyd scanned the crowd, but the instigator did not reappear. 

“Negative. But he damned well didn’t go home.” 

Floyd looked up at the sun, partially obscured now by the top of one of the lower buildings along Bryant Causeway. He knew the night would be another bloody mess, and wished he could be anywhere else than in the thick of it. 

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Tales from the Service: The View from Headquarters, Part 6

2950-04-26 – Tales from the Service: The View from Headquarters, Part 6

As I have mentioned in recent weeks, we’ve been working with Admiral Zahariev’s headquarters to set up a proper interview about the two battles in the Håkøya system. It’s taken some time, but we’ve finally arranged a virtual conference with Colonel Durand and Captain Kirke-Moore, who we have spoken with in the past. 

As is usual for interviews conducted by this embed team, the audio recording can be found on the Cosmic Background datasphere hub.  

D.L.C. - Duncan Chaudhri is a junior editor and wartime head field reporter for Cosmic Background.     

N.T.B. - Nojus Brand is a long-time explorer, datasphere personality, and wartime field reporter for Cosmic Background.    

C.S.D. - Colonel Carolina Durand is the Naval Intelligence attaché to Admiral Zahariev.     

B.K.M. - Captain Bozsi Kirke-Moore is a former pirate who has experience with asymmetric warfare in the Coreward Frontier, serving as an adviser to Admiral Zahariev. His rank is provisional, as he has never held it in Navy service prior to his recent appearance on the Fifth Fleet staff.  

[D.L.C.] Thank you both for joining us. I’m sure the last few weeks have been very busy. 

[C.S.D.] As always, Mr. Chaudhri, it is a pleasure to work with you and your company, though I’d hoped our next talk would be under better circumstances. 

[B.K.M.] Yes, it is good to talk to you again, Mr. Chaudhri. I heard you were injured last month in the first battle. How is your recovery? 

[D.L.C.] Thanks to the med-techs, I’m almost back to normal. Luckily my job is mostly desk work. 

[N.T.B.] He got off lucky, but we’re glad he pulled through all the same. A lot of good spacers in Fifth Fleet weren’t so lucky that day. 

[B.K.M.] Good to hear your voice as well, Mr. Brand. Has this war tarnished your notoriously spotless optimism already? Fifth Fleet’s prospects so bad as they sometimes seem. 

[D.L.C.] Perhaps we should start there, then. You remain quite optimistic even after the loss of Håkøya. Obviously the battles there were not unmitigated disasters, but what specifically gives you reasons to be positive? 

[B.K.M.] The simplest one is that this fleet has twice contested an enemy for a system over a sustained period, and still has lost none of its eight capital ships. The enemy's fleet seems to either totally lack capital units, or to possess few and to keep them in reserve on the other side of the Gap, and while this gives their forces excellent mobility, it does mean that they lack a real answer for Confederated battleships. 

[N.T.B.] It doesn’t seem like they really need to destroy the battleships to achieve their objectives, though. 

[D.L.C.] Er, yes. If they can damage battleships enough to force them out of the fight, does it really matter if they can’t destroy our capital ships? 

[B.K.M.] The force economics of disabling ships temporarily does not favor The Incarnation in the long term. After all, new battleships are already arriving here on the Frontier for both Fifth and Seventh Fleets to supplement those already here. Already this year, they’ve been thwarted at Berkant and barely salvaged a pyrrhic victory at Håkøya in which they lost many ships to gain an empty world and almost none of its system-level infrastructure. If not for the fleet tenders that were stationed there, they might have gained nothing at all. 

[N.T.B.] Nothing except the planet and system, which is barely five light-years from Maribel. 

[B.K.M.] That works against them at least as much as it works against us. Maribel is well fortified against raids even without the fleet present, and we left Håkøya without any such defenses, excepting facilities for a large ground garrison. They’ll try to hold the place, but their leaders will regret it in the end. 

[D.L.C.] You’re looking at plans to counter-attack and retake the place, then? 

[B.K.M.] Eventually, of course, but there is value to the enemy fleet being so close. For example, Fifth Fleet’s skirmishing elements have the range to strike enemy forces there directly without committing tenders or other large ships, which means we can strike without warning at any time. They’ll have to use heavy escorts just to ferry their supply and troop ships in and out of the Håkøya system. This takes their limited supply of cruisers away from other duties. 

[C.S.D.] Obviously this is not secret information. The enemy knows about our raiding elements very well by now. Their admirals can see this possibility as easily as we can. 

[N.T.B.] So the war really has come down to attrition? To seeing who can replace ships and spacers fastest? 

[B.K.M.] Attrition is the sad reality of any full-scale war, Mr. Brand. The war is not about who has stormed the most planets, but about who can maintain an effective fighting force longer. Reneer and I have discussed many ways to save the lives of Navy spacers and magnify casualties on the enemy side, and one of those ways is to let The Incarnation take and hold low-value systems to thin out their resources. 

[D.L.C.] Has this thinning out provided any real benefits? 

[C.S.D.] Civilians on the unoccupied Confederated Frontier worlds have probably already noticed a considerable drop-off in enemy raiding activity in the last six months. As they need to keep ships on station over occupied worlds and to replace losses in their main offensive fleet, they have fewer to devote to raiding action. 

[B.K.M.] The homogeneity of the Incarnation fleet is both its great strength and its great weakness. They use largely the same equipment in all roles and have very few second line warships. This is probably helping them maintain their long supply lines, but it also means that they have almost no ships designed for garrison and raiding duties. Our garrison and raiding squadrons cannot stand up to their cruisers, it is true, but they also are not needed to support the battle line in main engagements. 

[N.T.B.] In other words, ours are smaller, but there are more of them, and the Tyrants can’t be everywhere. 

[B.K.M.] That is a reasonably accurate simplification, yes. Also, our various raiding units are far stealthier than any cruiser could ever be. 

[C.S.D.] We have even experimented with brief ground-side raiding strikes on occupied worlds, such as at Meraud and elsewhere. The details of some of these raids cannot be divulged, but most were far more expedient than the attack at Meraud. 

[D.L.C.] When we spoke to Seventh Fleet, Admiral Abarca indicated that he hoped to see one or both fleets on the offensive this year. Do you think that timetable is still realistic? 

[B.K.M.] I would say no. After Berkant, I would have thought that was a safe bet, too. Perhaps Seventh Fleet will still achieve that timetable, but Fifth Fleet will be on the strategic defensive at least until all its battleships have been repaired and returned to service. We will certainly still move out from Maribel to contest further Incarnation advances. 

[N.T.B.] What about Farthing’s Chain? Does defending that region fall under Fifth Fleet’s responsibilities? 

[B.K.M.] I don’t know the jurisdictional situation very well at all. 

[C.S.D.] We have been informed that the Admiralty Council is sending elements of Third Fleet to patrol and reinforce vulnerable Farthing’s Chain worlds as a precaution against raids, but no major advance into Farthing’s Chain by the enemy is expected. If they do try that, their supply lines will have to run through Håkøya, where they can be easily cut by Maribel-based Navy forces. 

[B.K.M.] Ah, yes, I remember that conversation now, my apologies. I agree with the Council at least in that an attack on the Chain would allow the immediate liberation of Håkøya. 

[D.L.C.] An attack into Farthing’s Chain would be a public relations disaster, though. Does that factor into the Navy’s calculations? 

[B.K.M.] It must, of course. A loss of confidence in the Navy by the public at large is the easiest way for the Incarnation to win this war, and Admiral Zahariev is always very aware of this fact. The long-term prospects for victory still remain very good. 

[D.L.C.] Are you worried about the investigation into the loss of Håkøya? 

[C.S.D.] We cannot comment on that in any detail, unfortunately. 

[B.K.M.] I think it would be reasonable of me to say that I am not worried, but then, the worst they are likely to do is send me back to my cottage on Allsop. That world, by the grace of God, remains free of hostile forces. 

[D.L.C.] I suppose that’s- 

[C.S.D.] Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m receiving word that Captain Kirke-Moore is needed in an urgent conference with Admiral Zahariev, and that we need to cut this short. 

[D.L.C.] That’s all right, Ms. Durand. Thank you both for your time. 

[B.K.M.] It is no trouble at all. Hopefully we will speak again quite soon. 

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Tales from the Inbox: The Assassin Connection

2950-04-19 – Tales from the Inbox: The Assassin Connection 

Unfortunately, I have been unable to schedule an interview with anyone from Admiral Zahariev’s staff since the fleet’s departure from Håkøya. I can at least confirm that the fleet’s fast elements have finished their evacuation of the outlying settlements of the Håkøya system. 

I’m also told that there’s going to be an investigation into the outcome of the most recent battles. I doubt, however, that anything will come of it. Fifth Fleet did everything it could to thwart The Incarnation there as it did at Berkant, and the number of damaged and destroyed enemy cruisers speaks to the steep price they paid for this victory. 

This week's entry is a continuation of last week's (Tales from the Inbox: The Assassin Collector). Captain Ibsen's account goes on in great detail but this is as far as I intend to follow it for the moment. Perhaps in the future we will revisit it in further installments.

Grand Hierophant Toloni rested his scepter of office against the bulkhead and eased himself into a chair at one end of the long wardroom table. He had of course taken the chair at the head of the room, placing the huge blooming tree and crossbeam Penderite emblem on that wall directly behind him. “Now, Sister Ibsen. What is it you say you found?” 

Sandra Ibsen sent a command from her slate to the table’s central projector, glancing around the otherwise empty wardroom. “I think the assassination attempts are connected, Your Eminence.” 

“In that they have all failed?” Toloni rearranged his white robes and leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table. “Or that they are all perpetrated by young people with daemoniaical ideation?” 

Sandra shook her head. “Well, more than those things. Look at this.” She pressed a button, and five faces appeared on the screen – the five failed assassins who now occupied Holy Tabernacle’s brig. “The expensive weapon you got off the last one was a custom piece I could easily trace. Turns out it was bought secondhand on Maribel in December.” 

“Maribel? That’s nearly on the other side of the Reach. Mr. Neely told me he’s a Hopesway native.” Toloni frowned. The old pontiff had interviewed his would-be killer personally, of course; he always did. So far, Sandra knew, they’d never found any way in which the assassins had lied to Toloni. They might tell any other interrogator nearly anything, but to the Hierophant himself, they either told the truth or said nothing. 

“That checks out.” Sandra nodded and tapped the controls on her slate, and the header of an official dossier appeared next to one of the faces. “Turns out Neely is a small-time Annuska smuggler, a middleman with a supplier in the outer system. At least, that’s what he was. He went datasphere dark about ten months ago, and until he took a shot at you, local authorities thought he might be dead.” 

Toloni frowned. As the head of a religious sect which prided itself on its total indifference to technology, especially datasphere-connected technology, he prided himself on his technological illiteracy, but he still had to know that the average citizen of the Reach just didn’t go ten months without making even a ripple in the datasphere. 

Sandra, as the captain of Holy Tabernacle, of course couldn’t be so illiterate; she had to make sure the ship moved seamlessly from jurisdiction to jurisdiction without any physical or diplomatic incidents. She made sure the technology-avoiding Penderites aboard the ship were identifiable by each planetary administration on which they landed, and made arrangements for the Hierophant’s travel needs on visits to the Penderite communities of those worlds. 

Eventually, Toloni raised a finger. “If Mr. Neely was not seen in computer records for ten months, how do you have record of the purchase on Maribel?” 

Sandra nodded. Toloni, as usual, had noticed a key contradiction. “The weapon was purchased on Maribel in December by one Delilah Brahms-Walton, who has a very active datasphere footprint. She seems not to have ever left that world.” With a tap on her controls, Sandra added Brahms-Walton's image to the display, with a dotted line to Neely. “If this woman hasn’t left Maribel, though, how does she know the assassins from Vorkuta and Philadelphia?” 

Another tap displayed a series of images in which Brahms-Walton appeared highlighted in red, and two other men appeared in yellow. After a few seconds, Sandra sent the command to draw a solid line from the woman to the men appearing in those stills: Begum, the assassin from Philadephia, and Nyberg, the one from Vorkuta. 

“Are you sure these are the same men?” 

Sandra nodded. “Facial recognition is a perfect match. These pictures are stamped as having been recorded on October 25. I have a customs footprint for Begum entering the Maribel jurisdiction in October and departing in November. Nothing yet for Nyberg, but he was definitely back on Vorkuta in mid-November.” 

Toloni shook his head. “If three of the five are connected to this woman on Maribel. What of the other two?” 

Sandra shook her head. “The other two were both off their homeworlds in October but that’s all I’ve got so far. Could be they got to Maribel the same way Nyberg did to be in those images.” 

The Hierophant sat back in his chair, saying nothing for several seconds. Sandra suspected he was praying and asking God for guidance, and wondered not for the first time what sort of response he was getting. 

Toloni finally spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. “Have you sent this to the system authorities?” 

“Yes, and forwarded it to Maribel and the other four systems where you were attacked. But I think we should enhance security all the same.” She pointed to the most recent of the group photos. “There are eight other men and two other women in that picture with Brahms-Walton and two of your assassins. One of them is going to get lucky, or they’ll start teaming up. Your guards are very capable, but without advanced technology-” 

“My sister, if we must bow to the ways of the world, what does that say of our faith?” Toloni stood and reached for his staff. “If it is God’s will that one of them succeed, then we cannot stop them. The Order has always done without these tools, and I will not change that.” 

Sandra sighed and nodded. She’d expected this response even though she had hoped and prayed for another. “I understand, Your Eminence. But I do wish you’d be careful all the same.” 

Toloni smiled distantly. “We all take risks, Sister Ibsen. Do continue to investigate as long as you feel it helpful, and let me know if you learn who is behind these difficulties.” 

“I will.” Standing as well, Sandra led the way to the door, beyond which the Grand Hierophant’s guards were waiting. “Perhaps I may even ask our guests about their friend on Maribel.” 

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