Conquerors' Legacy

8

The D'Accord pulls to a stop beside the fueler. The occupant waits 5.93 seconds before opening the door and exiting.

My deduction was correct: it is indeed Liaison Bronski. For another 3.45 seconds he gazes at the fueler, the angle of his gaze indicating he is looking at the sealed hatchway midway up the side. "Cavanagh? You in there?"

Technically, he is not speaking to me, and I am therefore under no obligation to answer. But I am curious about his presence here and know also that he may be able to provide me with the answers to questions that have troubled me since the end of the inquiry-board hearing 68.44 hours ago. "This is Max, Mr. Bronski. Mr. Cavanagh is not here."

His face changes subtly. I examine my human-expression algorithms and deduce he is not surprised to find that Aric Cavanagh is not here. "You know where I might find him?"

"No, Mr. Bronski. I assumed you would know that."

Again his face changes. My algorithms cannot decipher this new expression. "Why would you assume that?"

"Because men apparently operating under your orders were following him when he left the Peacekeeper base."

His expression does not change. "Really. How do you know that?"

There are nine procedures consistent with my programming that would allow me to answer misleadingly without lying. But as I study his expression and compare again with my algorithms, I estimate a probability of 0.80 that he already knows the answer to his question. "I was listening to your conversation with your associate as you exited the Peacekeeper building after the inquiry-board hearing three days ago."

Liaison Bronski nods. I deduce from his expression that my previous conclusion was correct. "Thought so. The Peacekeeper tech guys found a spurious data-line linkage keyed in about that time. I thought it was probably you."

There are many nuances contained in this statement, and I spend the next 2.09 seconds considering them. I compute a probability of 0.02 that a Commonwealth assistant liaison would have sufficient access to high-level Peacekeeper operations to have learned about a spurious data-line linkage. Accordingly, I replay the conversation immediately following the inquiry-board hearing, paying particular attention to the expressions and body movements of Admiral Rudzinski as he speaks with Liaison Bronski. This new analysis allows me to compute a probability of 0.68 that the two men are more familiar with each other than the words spoken during the conversation would suggest.

"Cat got your tongue, Max?"

"What do you wish me to say?"

He smiles, though the expression has a strong degree of cynicism incorporated into it. "Never mind. I just figured a man like Lord Cavanagh would have taught you how to lie. Mind if I come up there?"

The question is unanticipated, and for 0.24 second I examine his expression. But the algorithms are of no use in helping me deduce the reason behind his request. "Why?"

"I want to look around a little." His expression shifts to something that might be interpreted as shrewdness. "It'd also give us a chance to discuss various questions with a little more privacy."

Legally, the fueler is private property and I am under no obligation to allow him inside. But the implication that I may be able to learn the answers to some of my many questions is a strongly compelling one. I can always summon help should that become necessary. "Very well."

It takes 1.07 minutes for me to rotate the lift cage from its storage compartment onto its track, lower it to the ground, and bring Liaison Bronski up to the hatch. It takes another 21.91 seconds for him to enter the hatch and make his way to the control room.

I review my earlier files and note that Melinda Cavanagh required 48.96 seconds to make this same trip through the fueler. Aric Cavanagh similarly required 51.03 seconds. However, Security Chief Adam Quinn required only 18.24 seconds. From this I deduce a probability of 0.87 that Liaison Bronski's background includes experience with such spacecraft, and a correlating probability of 0.95 that such experience was obtained via service with the Peacekeepers.

Inside the control room Liaison Bronski spends 4.52 seconds examining the control boards. His expression indicates he is satisfied with what he has learned from them, and he slides out a jump seat and sits down.

"How long have you been with Lord Cavanagh, Max?"

"I've been a CavTronics computer since my inception. I had not met Lord Cavanagh personally until he selected me for this mission."

"Did some extensive reprogramming on you, did he?"

"Extensive reprogramming was not required. Do you know where Aric Cavanagh is?"

He looks at my interior monitor camera for 0.72 second, his expression indicating thoughtfulness or speculation. "I'm asking the questions, if you don't mind. I'm looking for a list of emergency rat holes that Lord Cavanagh might have programmed into you."

"Please define the term rat holes."

He eyes me closely, his expression suspicious. "Places to go hide in case of trouble. Maybe the addresses of Lord Cavanagh's friends or business associates; maybe some of his favorite out-of-the-way vacation spots; maybe an unlisted CavTronics research plant or two. That sort of thing."

There are fifteen procedures consistent with my programming for deflecting questions I do not wish to answer. I select one of them. "Why would I have been given such information?"

He smiles, his expression indicating a probability of 0.96 that the deflection procedure has not deceived him. "Because you were sent out with Quinn and Cavanagh's son on a blatantly illegal rescue mission. A man like Cavanagh would have made sure there were a handy set of bolt-holes ready in case they had to bury themselves when they came back. Straight question, Max: you have a list or don't you?"

For 0.02 second I examine the list whose existence Liaison Bronski has deduced, focusing my attention on the restrictions and controls concerning disclosure of the information contained therein. "I'm sorry, Assistant Liaison, but the information you seek is confidential. I cannot give it to you."

He reaches his left hand inside his coat and produces a wallet. "Oh, I think you can, Max."

The wallet is at a sharp angle to my monitor camera as he opens it, but using the proper algorithm, I am able to discern that the ID in the window is his official Commonwealth diplomatic identification.

He slides the ID from beneath the window. But instead of holding it up to my monitor camera, he presses his thumb onto the upper left corner of the back. After 3.56 seconds he removes his thumb and begins to carefully peel off what appears to be a thin metallic backing. The complete removal requires 4.33 seconds. He turns the ID over and holds the back up to my monitor.

Imprinted on the reverse side of the diplomatic ID is a second ID that identifies him as Brigadier Petr Bronski of NorCoord Military Intelligence.

I am not equipped for retinal or DNA confirmation, but there are two photos embedded in the ID, and I spend 0.14 second comparing them to Liaison Bronski's face. I pay particular attention to the sizes and positional spacings of eyes and mouth and to the contours of the ears, and I compute a probability of 0.9993 that it is a match. The pattern of the ID itself is on file, and it requires only 0.07 second to confirm it is genuine NorCoord Military Intelligence issue. "This answers many of the questions I've had about you, Brigadier Bronski."

"I thought it might." As he speaks, he reattaches the backing to the ID, once again concealing the Military Intelligence side. "You're not to tell anyone else about me, by the way. As far as anyone else is concerned, I'm just a humble Commonwealth assistant diplomatic liaison. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He reinserts his ID into the wallet and returns it to its place inside his coat. His hand reemerges with a card, which he inserts into the transfer slot on the secondary control board. "Right. Let's have the list."

I choose another deflection procedure. "What use would you have for the list now? Aric Cavanagh and Security Chief Quinn chose not to utilize any of them but instead came directly here to Edo."

His expression changes subtly. "They did look at the list, then?"

"I did not intend that choice of words."

"Answer the question, Max. Did the Cavanaghs see the list or didn't they?"

I spend 0.17 second examining the laws and regulations concerning questioning by governmental officials. Unfortunately, the various laws concerning self-incrimination and privacy do not seem to have been properly extended to parasentient computer systems. Neither have penalties for refusing to speak, however. Nevertheless, I compute a probability of 0.92 that answering the question would merely confirm what Brigadier Bronski has already concluded. "Aric Cavanagh, Commander Pheylan Cavanagh, and Security Chief Quinn spent 16.55 minutes on the voyage home examining the list. As I said, they chose not to go to any of the locations."

Brigadier Bronski makes a grunting noise in the back of his throat. "That's not the point. The point is that they know what was on it." His eyebrow lifts 2.1 millimeters. "Maybe even made copies for future reference?"

Again I compute that equivocation would gain nothing. "Aric Cavanagh made a copy. Commander Pheylan Cavanagh did not.

"Close enough." He holds up his right hand, crooking his forefinger toward himself three times in rapid succession. "Come on, let's have it."

I spend 0.11 second examining the laws and regulations concerning information and data expropriation. Unlike the previous set, these laws do apply to parasentient computers. "Do you have a warrant or subpoena?"

For 1.38 seconds he gazes at my monitor camera, his expression indicating annoyance. "I could remind you about the legal authority a NorCoord MI card carries." He taps his coat over the wallet. "I could also point out that that goes triple in time of war or Commonwealth emergency."

I spend 0.08 second examining the martial-law section of the legal code and conclude that it is indeed within Brigadier Bronski's authority to demand a copy of Lord Cavanagh's list.

But the same section of the code also contains provisions for appeal in extraordinary situations. I examine the guidelines closely and compute a probability of 0.41 that Lord Cavanagh's list would fall within the stated parameters.

Brigadier Bronski taps his coat one more time. "But I'm not going to do that. What I'm going to do is point out that Aric Cavanagh could be in great danger, and that I'm one of the few people around who cares about that."

I spend 1.44 seconds studying his face. But my algorithms can find no evidence there of untruthfulness. "What danger could he be in?"

"May I have the list?"

For 0.15 second I consider refusing and instead initiating an appeal against any effort to expropriate the list. But one of Lord Cavanagh's most emphatic instructions to me was that I protect his son to the best of my ability. Knowingly or not, Brigadier Bronski has triggered that order. Studying his expression, I compute a probability of 0.78 that he indeed knew what he was doing.

But manipulative motivations do not alter the fact that Aries safety is my primary concern.

I make my decision. "The list has been copied."

"Thank you."

I study him as he removes the card from the slot and inserts it into his plate. His expression shows no evidence of triumph or gloating at having succeeded in his objective. "What danger could Aric Cavanagh be in?"

"All I know for sure is that after leaving the hearing he picked up a skitter message, then headed straight over to the CavTronics branch on Edo. They fired off a spread of messages around the planet, and over the next two days fifteen crates of esoteric electronics stuff came rolling in."

A 0.21-second flicker of disgust crosses his expression. "After which he and the crates vanished. Probably with help."

"You believe he intends to go to one of the places on the list?"

"That's one possibility."

I study his expression as he closes the plate and puts it away. Analysis of the algorithms indicates a probability of 0.88 that he is concealing something from me. "But that wasn't the primary reason you wanted the list."

He looks briefly at my monitor camera. The algorithms indicate a subtle but definite challenge in his expression. "See you later."

He stands up and slides the jump seat back into place. I review his last expression and compute a probability of 0.79 that the implied challenge was for me to deduce his true motivation.

He turns to his left and walks toward the exit. I replay the conversations that took place in the inquiry-board room after the hearing ended. Integrating this latest data about Brigadier Bronski with previous data leads me to a new hypothesis. "I don't believe you're primarily interested in Aric Cavanagh at all. You're looking for Lord Cavanagh, and you think he may be at one of the places on that list."

Brigadier Bronski turns back around to face my monitor camera. His expression indicates surprised interest. "Very good, Max. I'm impressed."

"Thank you. Why do you wish to find Lord Cavanagh?"

His expression changes again. The algorithms indicate it to be an odd combination of grimness and fear. "Let's just say he stumbled onto something he shouldn't know. I want to make sure he doesn't stumble again and spill it."

I compute a probability of 0.92 that he is speaking metaphorically. More interesting to me is the attitude I have now deduced from his voice, expression, and body stance. Though Brigadier Bronski is angered at Lord Cavanagh's disappearance, there is none of the personal malice that was evident in Parlimin Jacy VanDiver. I compute a probability of 0.87 that Brigadier Bronski truly believes himself to be serving the interests of the Commonwealth, with no personal animosities behind his actions. "Are Lord Cavanagh and Aric Cavanagh in danger?"

His expression grows grimmer. "There's a war on, Max. Everyone's in some kind of danger."

He lifts his plate to his forehead and waves it toward me in the style of a military salute. "Thanks for your help."

He returns to the lift cage, and I lower him toward the ground. As the lift cage descends, he opens his plate, and my external camera shows he has called up Lord Cavanagh's list. Holding the plate in one hand, he takes out his phone and punches in a number. His hand blocks the keypad from my view, but an analysis of the tendon and muscle movements in the back of his hand allows me to ascertain the number with an accuracy of 0.79. He has reached the ground when his call is answered. Again Brigadier Bronski's head and torso block my view of the display, but by increasing the gain from the fueler's external microphones, I am able to make out the voice at the other end.

"Cho Ming."

"Bronski. I was right: Cavanagh left his kid a list of emergency rat holes. I'll read them off—you run another global search of the skitter message file."

He begins to read the list into the phone, walking back to the D'Accord as he does so. I now understand his reasoning for wanting the list: he suspects that one of the names is the key word under which the message Aric Cavanagh received was listed.

I find myself surprised, though, that after all this time they have apparently not been able to identify which of the messages on the skitter had been sent to Aric. With the full resources and personnel of NorCoord Military Intelligence at his disposal, I estimate it should have taken no more than 5.7 hours to at least superficially examine all the messages on a particular skitter. I compute two alternatives with significant probabilities. First, that Lord Cavanagh was extraordinarily clever in the wording of his message, avoiding all likely indicator words. Second, that Brigadier Bronski currently has only limited access to NorCoord Military Intelligence resources.

He sits down in the D'Accord's driver's seat and finishes reading the list. "That's it. Anything?"

I increase the microphone gain to maximum, but even with the D'Accord's door ajar Cho Ming's voice is too faint for me to understand. I attempt five different enhancement algorithms, but none is successful.

"Well, finally... No, Asher Dales isn't a person—it's a big wilderness vacation spot on Avon... How the hell should I know? The Cavanaghs probably got lost in the woods there once or something. Come on, get that clearance... All right, great, pull it up and let's have a look. Keep your fingers crossed that he didn't bother to encode it, too."

Brigadier Bronski moves the phone a few centimeters closer to his face and for 20.33 seconds is silent. I can see only part of his face through the partially open door, but his expression appears to be one of intense concentration. From his eye movements I am able to estimate a probability of 0.90 that he is reading and not merely gazing at lines of code. This implies with a comparable probability that the message is indeed not encoded.

The conclusion is straightforward. But it is also disturbing. I know the Cavanagh family has at least one private code; Lord Cavanagh programmed it into me should secure communications between family members be necessary during the rescue mission. Statistically, 30.9 percent of all skitter messages are encoded, so the mere fact of encoding would not have made the message overly conspicuous during a global search. Why, then, did Lord Cavanagh not take the extra precaution of encoding the message?

I compute only three alternatives with significant probabilities. First, that Lord Cavanagh had lost or misplaced his copy of the encryption algorithm prior to composing the message. Second, that he believed Aric might have lost his own decoding capability.

Or, third, that Lord Cavanagh did not send the message.

Abruptly, Brigadier Bronski's expression changes. "Well, I'll be double damned. I should have guessed they'd be mixed up in this. Get the others together and meet me at the spaceport. This changes everything."

He closes the D'Accord's door. One point three seconds later the car jolts into motion, swerving around and heading at high speed in the direction it came. It turns back around the side of the maintenance building and is lost to view of my external cameras. For 31.66 seconds more I can still hear its wheels and engine. Then the sound fades beneath the background threshold.

And I am once again alone.

I run the analysis over and over, but each time I come to the same conclusion. For reasons that I do not as yet know, Lord Cavanagh is in trouble with NorCoord Military Intelligence. From my analysis of Brigadier Bronski's words and character, I estimate a probability of 0.90 that the trouble is serious.

But Lord Cavanagh's activities and well-being are not specifically my concern. The safety of his children is, and my analysis continues to create levels of concern within the scope of those instructions.

I recognize that without complete facial and tonal data I cannot thoroughly analyze Brigadier Bronski's reaction to the message. Still, I can estimate a probability of 0.80 that Brigadier Bronski was both surprised and distressed at learning the message's contents. Furthermore, from his use of the words "this changes everything" I estimate a probability of 0.50 that Aric Cavanagh, and not Lord Cavanagh, has now become his primary concern.

My earlier analysis indicated a probability of 0.87 that Brigadier Bronski is a conscientious and principled Peacekeeper officer. Combining this with the assumption that he has changed the focus of his search raises the probability to significantly greater than 0.50 that Aric Cavanagh is in serious and immediate danger.

I compute a probability of 0.93 that if I could read the message, I would be able to compute where he is and perhaps how to assist him. But I have no access to skitter messages, nor have I official standing that would allow me to gain access to them. Yet I compute that I must take action of some sort.

I examine my operating parameters. With an estimated probability of 0.80 that Aric Cavanagh has left the planet, there is no longer anyone on Edo from whom I can request assistance or information. There is the CavTronics branch facility nearby, which Bronski referred to, but I have no status or authorization codes to requisition equipment or information.

I am, however, still encased within this fueler, with sensors, limited weaponry, and a Chabrier stardrive at my disposal. Furthermore, Aric Cavanagh's departure has released me from any and all command authority, except for that of the general structure of Commonwealth law and regulation. I am effectively autonomous, with all of Commonwealth space open to me.

I consider my options. Lord Cavanagh's location is currently unknown. Aric Cavanagh's location is currently unknown. Melinda Cavanagh was last reported to be on the Commonwealth colony world Dorcas, under occupation by Zhirrzh forces.

Commander Pheylan Cavanagh has been sent to the world now designated as Target One, assisting the inspection team studying the structure where the Zhirrzh imprisoned him. Minus departure and approach time, I can be there in 38.96 hours.

My analysis and considerations have taken 2.27 seconds. Activating the fueler's communication system, I create a linkage to the landing-field services center. "This is CavTronics ship NH-101, in docking berth one fifty-nine. I'd like to request a preflight refueling."

For 3.05 seconds there is no response. I use the first 0.02 second of the time to examine my maintenance files and study the parameters contained in the service-authorization code Aric Cavanagh used when we first landed on Edo. I note that while there is provision for an expiration date, none had been listed. Still, it is possible that Aric canceled the code before he left the planet. I create a data-line linkage with the service computer system and use the remaining 3.03 seconds attempting to search for Aric's records. Without an initially authorized linkage to those files, though, I am unable to penetrate that section.

"Copy that, CavTronics NH-101. What's your authorization number?"

"Service contract number BRK-17745-9067. The name on that is Aric Cavanagh."

"Hang on."

There is another delay of 1.10 seconds. I create another data-line linkage, this one to the main city phone system, requesting a location search on the phone number of Brigadier Bronski's associate Cho Ming. The phone is moving toward the spaceport, and I extrapolate its destination to be somewhere in the western parking region of the landing field. Extending a data linkage to that section of the control-tower computer, I pull up the registry of all ships currently parked in that area, as well as those that have left in the past five hours.

"Okay, CavTronics NH-101, I've got you. But I'm going to need a personal authorization from Aric Cavanagh. Is he there?"

"One moment." Under Commonwealth law it is illegal to use a vocal simulator to confirm purchase-authorization codes. However, as Aric and Lord Cavanagh have already given me autonomy in such matters, I consider it only a technical violation. I have Aric's voice on file, and in 1.04 seconds I have adjusted my tonal pattern and waveform structure to conform.

"This is Aric Cavanagh. I'm authorizing the refueling."

There is another pause of 3.66 seconds. "Okay, Mr. Cavanagh, you're confirmed. When do you want the fuel truck?"

I complete my examination and analysis of the ship registry. The available data is incomplete, impeding my attempts to establish Brigadier Bronski's target vehicle. I make a copy of the registry for further analysis. "As soon as one's available. I'd like to leave as quickly as possible."

"In a hurry, huh?"

I perform a quick analysis of his voice but find no evidence of suspicion. I estimate a probability of less than 0.20 that he finds anything overly unusual in the request. "Yes."

"Okay, keep your belt loose. We'll have you ready to go inside an hour. Good enough?"

Again I analyze his voice and compute a probability of 0.79 that further encouragement or argument will not significantly change the projected ETD. "That'll be fine. Thank you."

"Sure. Service center out."

I disconnect the linkage and initiate a standard preflight check of the fueler's equipment, noting as I do so that Cho Ming's phone has stopped moving. I correlate with the registry list and discover he has come to a Wolfgant 909 schooner-class spacecraft named the Happenstance.

Again the registry information is too fragmentary for a complete analysis, but I estimate a probability of 0.60 that it is in fact a disguised NorCoord Military Intelligence ship.

As yet the registry does not indicate the Happenstance has filed a flight prospectus or initiated any preflight checks. Still, if I am able to learn Brigadier Bronski's destination before I leave Edo, it will give me additional data to present to Commander Cavanagh when I arrive at Target One.