Darklight Pirates

Goram Weir stood in the middle of the circular mirror, turning slowly in a full circle to examine himself from every angle. He smoothed a wrinkle in his immaculate white jacket and turned the black pin in his lapel just a little more to show his mourning for the lost Tomlins family, but especially the Programmer General who had served Burran so well for so many years, only to die in a tragic StringSpaceDrop mishap.

He cleared his throat and began his rehearsed speech, watching his every gesture and adding nuances at critical points. Because every instant of his eulogy would be scrutinized, he had used the Blarney Stone to analyze his facial twitches, tone and other aspects of the speech. It had to pass muster with the newsers that he was sincerely bereaved and reluctantly assuming the position of Programmer General, though he knew his skills were so much less than his dear predecessor’s.

“That’s a bit too much, isn’t it?”

Weir jerked round, his hand going for a small lasepistol that normally rode at his hip. He had donned the formal suit. A bulge would have been picked up and commented on.

“Don’t startle me like that again, Riddle. You might find yourself on the receiving end of an energy beam.”

“Does the new Programmer General value his Commander in Chief Armed Forces so lightly?”

The intruder laughed in a manner designed to infuriate. Weir kept his temper, wondering why Riddle felt obligated to press his luck. He motioned and turned off the cylinder of mirror to face Riddle, trying to fathom what the man thought. At times, he seemed simpleminded and others, like now, he played a more intelligent game. A deeper game. If Weir took the time to find how much deeper, the officer’s usefulness might be extended—unless Riddle had designs on the Programmer General’s post himself. That caused Weir to chuckle. Riddle was not a learned man, not in the ways of computers. If he hooked into the neural net to access the Blarney Stone and faced the control algorithm, he would die of a coronary sparked by stark fear. It was that daunting to anyone not prepared to feel small and insignificant.

Weir had only begun to ease himself into the complex program Tomlins had written, building its code over the years until only he fully understood it. Contrary to law, he had documented nothing of what he changed. With him dead, turned to plasma in orbit around Ballymore, asking him personally to explain the subtleties was out of the question. At least that had gone according to plan.

“What of the bitch and her family?”

“You mean Kori Tomlins?”

Weir started to snap at him, then saw a glint of amusement in the man’s eyes. He played his secret game. To hell with him.

“Who else? The older sister died when her carrier was shot out of the sky during takeoff. Oh? You weren’t aware I knew that? I have access to the entire data gathering network throughout Burran. The orbital satellites are useful for tracking on the surface, too.”

“Ebony Tomlins died when the carrier exploded. There was no chance of finding a body.”

“The other bodies,” pressed Weir. “What have your agents told you that isn’t recorded yet?”

“I had submersibles ringing the island when the commandos entered the mansion. The safe room was found quickly. It took the better part of a half hour to blast through the armor. The room was empty.”

“It is almost certainly true that Scarlotti got them off the island. I monitored everything around the island but saw nothing.”

“If he flew a small carrier close to the ocean’s surface, visual and radio wave reflection would mask his escape--their escape. I established a search pattern immediately after finding the safe room empty, but Scarlotti had gotten them away.”

Weir wanted to rail about his new Commander in Chief allowing not only the CIO but the wife of the Programmer General and his daughter to slip away, but he held back any criticism. When it became apparent Kori Tomlins had vanished, Riddle had done everything by the book. He had established the search pattern and put up interdiction rings. He failed to report an even more extensive search of Scarlotti’s compound. Holding back that information wasn’t an oversight. Weir thought it had failed to turn up any trace of the CIO.

“It would have been useful having Sean deliver the memorial speech while I looked on, dabbing at a tear now and then.” Weir enjoyed the way Riddle looked momentarily flustered, then recovered. One possibility was a k-chip implant that failed to function properly, but Weir had never heard of an intermittent flaw. It was more as if Riddle had to await orders and was told the words to speak.

A quick glance showed that the room had an installed Faraday cage to smother any electromagnetic signals coming in or outgoing. Weir walked to his desk and activated an external fiber optic link that wasn’t snuffed out by the heavy copper bands hidden away in walls, floor and ceiling. The countdown to his performance moved with inexorable slowness, but it showed he would be on every Burran viewscreen in less than five minutes.

“How are you planning to find Scarlotti and those he so foolishly aided?”

“I’ve sent out my most trusted colonels. Although I never said so, I left the impression that whoever finds any of them will be promoted and become my right-hand officer.” Riddle got a cockeyed look. “The betting is on Colonel Bell.”

“The head of your so-called military intelligence?” Weir didn’t try to keep scorn from his voice. Jessica Bell had reached her exalted rank not through competence but blackmail. Still, being good at rooting out secrets and using them to destroy her enemies was a skill he might find useful when he eliminated Riddle.

“Should I leave?” Riddle glanced at the projected countdown clock floating in midair. Only seconds before the comlink came active.

“Go and prod your officers into finding them. All of them.” Weir seated himself and looked straight ahead into a monitor. “It will be such a shame when those three are found dead.”

“An assignation between Kori and Sean. Young Bella was outraged that her mother cheated on her father. She murdered them, then in a fit of guilt, chose suicide.” Riddle nodded as he spoke, as if he appreciated this scheme as it grew in his imagination.

“Yes, whatever you decide. That is the outcome I seek.”

Weir’s expression melted into one of sorrow, as if he fought to restrain the tears of sorrow for his lost mentor and friend.

Riddle slipped from the room to let his new superior inform the citizens of the tragic orbital explosion.

#

Riddle made a quick check of the spy detection equipment in his cubbyhole of an office. For a man sporting the new title of Commander in Chief Armed Forces, the surroundings hardly suited him. For all that, he had not liked this office when he was merely the Low Guard Commander. A few viewscreens gave all the information he required--or they had. Now a new comlink demanded his attention and to perdition with what happened in orbit or even down on the ground now that he was in charge of the Planetary Guard, also.

He pressed his palm onto the screen, which immediately glowed a dull gray. Lighted in this fashion, he couldn’t even see his own reflection. The idea, he had been told, was that anyone spying could not get a full view of his face to read his lips. It seemed plausible enough, but without windows and all the viewscreens toggled to view only and not send, who was there to watch as he spoke?

He made no comment about that. His benefactor told him this was so. Therefore, it was.

“Weir is making his condolences speech now,” he said when the gray pulsed once, silently showing the link had been established.

“Why did your spy feed cut out while you were with him?” No greeting, just an angry question.

“I don’t understand how you expected to communicate inside a room so carefully blocked against radiation up and down the spectrum.”

“I have my ways. What happened?”

Riddle considered the moment when his implant stopped relaying from his benefactor. He had moved about to stand closer to Weir. He said as much.

“There must be a new jamming device. I do not like being unable to tell you what to do.”

“I’m capable of thinking for myself. I got to Low Guard Commander on my own.”

“Did you?” The question hung in the air, taunting him, making him doubt his own ability.

“Yes, I did.”

All the response he got was a bitter laugh. He startled to say more but was cut off.

“You have always been someone else’s tool. You are mine now.”

“If you didn’t need me, you would be giving the eulogy, not Weir.”

“So, a touch of anger remains in that worthless brain. Good. I was unable to learn where the CIO escaped. What more did Weir add?”

Riddle swallowed his anger. He felt as if he were nothing more than a pawn being edged across a board, forced into a move unnatural and definitely not according to the rules. If the unseen, unknown voice at the other end of the comlink hadn’t been providing so much useful intelligence coupled with clever moves that took him ever closer to the power he desired, he would have tossed the comlink into a disposal unit. When the river of useful information dried up, he would track down his informant and deal with him. Or her. He had the gut feeling that a woman supplied him everything he wanted.

There had been several in Tomlins’ immediate circle who silently suffered in his employ, ignored and unappreciated. Two assistants and a guard came to mind. Riddle idly made a notation in his cyberlocked notebook to that effect. Find them, find if their intimate knowledge of both Tomlins and his office would have allowed them to hide a sub-band repeater there. That was the only way a signal could have reached him, relayed through some device so cleverly placed that Weir’s obsessive security searches never found it.

“The new Programmer General has directed his attention to the control algorithm, trying to circumvent the protections Tomlins installed, and turn it to his own use. He hasn’t said, but I think he is using an AI program to attack the algorithm, no matter that this is illegal. There must be parts of Burran blocked to him by that CA or he wouldn’t ignore Kori Tomlins’ capture.”

“Capture? He wanted her dead. The commandos were ordered to shoot on sight.”

“What do you want? The same for her and her daughter? One was killed by a missile.”

“Examine the wreckage and be sure of that.”

“There’s no way to do that. The carrier disintegrated completely. It was a small craft and the attacking force used a missile more suitable for a vessel ten times larger. Even analyzing the plasma left wasn’t possible. That was a powerful warhead.”

“Overkill.” The word came out as if spit out. “Overkill there but Scarlotti still sneaked in, found the mother and daughter and escaped.”

“Do you have any suggestions on finding them?”

“The CIO is the weak link. He has fallen in love with Bella Tomlins.”

Riddle tried not to react. Again he heard bitterness in the voice in spite of an attempt to hide it. His benefactor held a grudge against Sean Scarlotti. That made it a high probability he or she was a member of Scarlotti’s staff. A passed-over promotion or other slight? He made a new notation to find who this might be. Motivation meant everything because he knew he would be discarded the instant someone else became more useful.

“I will convince Programmer General Weir that this is a military matter.”

“Are you in control? Weir sent a commando unit to Emerald Isle without your knowledge.”

“He used the Programmer General’s personal guard. I have no control over them.” Riddle fumed over this. Worse, Weir must have used a Middle Guard warplane to shoot down Ebony Tomlins’ plane without telling him. Hour by hour, Weir usurped control of the military.

“Consolidate your power quickly.”

“I can take over the hunt for them. If Scarlotti speaks with Weir, he might convince him to be lenient. In spite of being such a slug, he does have a way of persuasion about him. That’s why Tomlins kept him around. If there are only bodies, it won’t matter what Scarlotti says.”

“Dead bodies.” The voice turned neutral. “There must be no bodies found. You said it was overkill using a missile designed for use against a cruiser to blow up the carrier. Think in those terms.”

Riddle tensed. His benefactor knew Weir had sent the warplane and chided him over it.

“What of Sean Scarlotti? Him, too?”

“He is a traitor.”

“Technically,” Riddle said, “Weir is the traitor. So are we. Scarlotti worked to protect those legally in power.”

“The family held no official position. The whore was the Programmer General’s consort, and who knows who Bella’s father was.”

“That is the weak spot to attack. The feelings Scarlotti has for Bella.”

“Exploit it.”

“A moment.” Riddle made another notation about the threads of truth he teased from the conversation, then brought up a command screen. He was more familiar with Burran ground forces, but he needed to expand the methods of searching because time was of the essence. Ground troops might find the CIO eventually, but a touch of orbital spysat time went a long way.

“You deployed a drone swarm. What are you seeing?”

Riddle’s eyebrows arched in surprise. His benefactor had some capability to spy on him, but it wasn’t complete. The swarm of gnat-sized drones sprayed along the coast opposite the Tomlins’ island covered more than a thousand hectares and relayed the information to a comsat and back to him. He received it, but the person on the other end of the gray-screened comlink only knew he had deployed the swarm.

“I acquired a target, probability 95 percent that it is Scarlotti. That was fast, if I say so myself. He is flying a carrier away from the capital.”

“He must have achieved whatever there was here that Kori wanted.”

Riddle made another notation. His benefactor was in the capital.

“What would she want that Scarlotti would risk his neck to retrieve?” Riddle spoke rhetorically. He knew a great number of devices and access codes were stored in the CIO’s office that Kori Tomlins would need if she intended to foment any revolt against Weir. Whoever controlled the database for the master computer controlled Burran. Scarlotti could never access its full power, but using information from it helped any effort to depose Weir.

“Could he have secured a backdoor into the Blarney Stone?”

“Tomlins would never commit such an error, either by installing or allowing a backdoor to exist. And recording such an access point rather than keeping it in his head would put the computer at risk.”

Riddle wasn’t so sure. The control algorithm was complex. He wasn’t a programmer but had to use the resources afforded by the master computer and recognized that the CA contained millions of lines of code. Tomlins was good, genetically good, but committing everything to memory was risky in the days of Eire agents with brain scramblers infiltrating the capital. He had even heard of a k-chip that, rather than imparting it, sucked knowledge from a brain for recovery later.

“Locked in on his destination.” Riddle sat straighter. He reached out and activated his HUD. It would be only a few minutes before he snared Sean Scarlotti and along with him Kori Tomlins and her daughter.

All that remained for him was the decision whether to capture them or annihilate them, as his unseen, perpetually angry benefactor wanted. He had a few minutes to decide what benefitted him most. A smile crossed his lips as he blanketed the area with a new drone swarm. Being in charge now, he had no need to worry about budgets.