Qet Toccata (2181)

By B.B. Irvine

Captain Ecurba is nearly killed by an enraged Niv bodyguard whose apparent death starts an investigation into a plan to imprision Ceti Cats to harness their unique abilities to cross objects across interstellar space distances. While Ecurba continues his search on planet Deepstrike for the Cat Penning facilities, fifty light years away on Cape Of Velvet Captain Xiu-Li Chen starts on the trail of the Niv mastermind responsible.
What they discover is an atypical weapon capbable of killing all seventy eight billion Qet living in the Qet Sphere, with nothing available to counter its effects if launched.
Not only must Ecurba save the Ceti Cats again, he must destroy the weapon and save the Qet – starting with his wife, Qet-Sia Pathfinder. Meanwhile, Xiu-Li Chen must figure out how to infiltrate an armed compound full of hostile Niv mercenaries and confront the malevolent Dr.Lugubrious Dirge before he can launch his attack on the Qet Sphere. Book 8 of the Spacer Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.B. Irvine
• Release date: Dec 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301230280

B.B. Irvine

B.B. Irvine was born in New York City in 1959. He graduated from the High School of Music and Art N.Y. (1976 music), New York State University at Stony Brook (1980 B.A. liberal arts), and in 1982 received a certificate as a Physician Assistant from the Bowman Gray School of Medicine in North Carolina. He has worked in settings including emergency medicine, AIDS research, and addiction treatment in New York City where he lives. In 1994 he earned a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do from Grandmaster Richard Chun. His novels and screenplays evidence his knowledge of people and frequently weave medicine, science, history, romance, and martial arts into the action.

Book preview

Qet Toccata (2181)

Spacer Series Book 08

by B. B. Irvine

Copyright 2022 B. B. Irvine

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 01 - Drinks At The Ringtailed Snark

The Ringtailed Snark

Outskirts of Deepstrike Valley Complex

Northwest Territory, Deepstrike

26 December 2181

ECURBA

Ever make an entry into a very noisy room which led to a really big silence within it?

Except for a music track on the house system, after I walked into The Ringtailed Snark there was instant total silence within it, where maybe thirty to thirty five people were drinking, eating, and going off into the smoker now and then when they wanted it. It was a bar, the one in Deepstrike Valley Complex on Deepstrike where the illegal deals for goods and services to the building and mining crews were conducted and at times transacted.

It was farthest away from the actual living and work sites on this frontier planet, nearest to the spacecraft landing zone, and the place where one found builders, mercenaries, miners, pilots and smugglers for hire, or at least got a referral. Drugs, other illegal substances, contraband images, and nearly everything else could be obtained or arranged, if it was possible – and for a price, it nearly always was.

The men and women building on Deepstrike worked hard and earned a lot of money but had no intentions of settling on the planet. They preferred frontier planets and active fringes, and hoped there would be another new planet system they could go work in – or at the worst, go to some still raw systems in the Human Sphere they hadn’t been to yet, and work in the wilderness there. They had plenty of money and were usually bored and restless, so a place like The Ringtailed Snark existed.

And then in I walk, the new sheriff in system. Sort of. It’s always the sort of that gets you, though. Hey everybody, I said, nodding and smiling. Just here to talk some music business.

That actually took most of them by surprise. They were hard core physical types, high strung on their jobs, dangerous when stoned and provoked to anger, but they also became chaotic when given dissonant signals. They all knew I was a musician, and I was being open, affable, and disarming (my strengths). I was not being The New Sheriff In-System, as they had to officially consider me as, at least when it came to some of their business.

I sat down at the bar, not trying to take their space, and just coincidentally right by the door, where anyone who came in would see me in my Space Alliance Systems Space Fleet field uniform. That potential damper to his business brought the bartender over fairly quickly, and in a mood to take care of my business. "Music business?"

I think live music would add a lot to a place like this, I said.

A lot of bills from instruments smashed during insertions into bad players, or even certain patrons, with bills from that, too.

I shrugged. This place is just crying for the blues, Jeswaldo.

He sneered at me. Well, since there’s no live music, what are you doing here? Jeswaldo thought for a second. I mean, can I fix you a drink or something, Captain? He turned his sneer into a smile of sorts. He was trying.

I’m meeting with someone, and I’ll take a bottle of Striker Beer.

He was able to hide his look of resignation while he got the beer, and by the time he set it in front of me he was merely suspicious. The conversational murmur had also picked up and was almost normal again. Who are you meeting?

Why?

I can tell you if they’re here, or keep an eye out for them.

You know who’s here and who’s not, then?

Of course. I’m a bartender, and an owner. I make sure the patrons get what they order, and special guests get special attention. He grinned. Guests like you, Captain Ecurba. He easily managed to not be unctuous.

Why, thank you, Jeswaldo. That’s really nice. I drank some Striker and looked around, watching everyone carefully avoid my glance. Looks busy tonight. I can wait right here. I don’t want to tie you up.

He smiled nervously. That’s what good help is for. And I can use a break off my feet. I’m not as young as I was yesterday. He quickly sat down on top of a rail on his side of the counter.

No one ever is, I said, filling some time by stating the obvious. I drank more beer, hoping this plan I was a part of here was clever, but not in a stupid way.

How’s your lovely wife? he asked, playing bartender.

Doing well, I suppose. I looked around the place. She’s here somewhere.

Jeswaldo froze, his face drooping in shock and some alarm. Oh, yes? He was trying to figure out how he had missed a Qet coming in, especially one as lovely as Qet-Sia Pathfinder, and where she might be now.

Mmm-hm. I drank another sip. I didn’t really like beer that much, but local Striker tasted good. The Deepstrike wild grains being used by the local microbrewer gave Striker Beer a unique taste, and I liked supporting local business – even a bar like The Ringtailed Snark, since it seemed to concentrate the persons most often of interest when something shady was discovered by the authorities.

Jeswaldo looked a bit ill; I decided he had missed Qet-Sia coming in, but I also hoped she was actually in here, as she was supposed to be (like in a clever plan that is still stupid). I covered up my sudden rush of fear by finishing my bottle of Striker and muffling a burp. Sorry.

Jeswaldo chuckled weakly. I’m a bartender. That was nothing. He was still looking around his bar and now he was also checking his security cam screenlets when he looked down on his side of the bar counter. If Qet-Sia was seated at a table, wearing a head cloak, hood, or diamondball bill cap – as almost everyone in here was – there was no way to tell now which patron was Qet-Sia.

I wasn’t sure myself, but I bet if the time came for an official response, it would be a proper diamondball bill cap with her ship name on it. She was very strict, and very proud. Having started the plan in motion with my walking in, the timing for everything else was now dependent on the next steps.

I put down my empty beer bottle and stood up. Be right back. Then I walked over to Occam Dirge and sat down at his table.

Occam Dirge gave me a distinctly hostile sneer. Nobody asked you to sit down here, Captain, he said, very quietly. Occam Dirge had piercing ice blue eyes, dark black hair, and looked like a holovid hero, the one chosen to play Hercules, Apollo, or the heroic adventurer character so big now at The Triplet, Paul Sherlock – or maybe play young up-and-coming killer, the one who was too good looking to be a bad guy, therefore he was one, and was charismatic as hell to other bad guys for hire. He was a Niv, and one of Deepstrike’s new criminals.

I looked at his bodyguard, a young, tough looking Niv woman. She did, I said, tilting my head. With her eyes.

She growled and nearly stood up, her green hazel eyes looking coldly Feral, but Occam Dirge’s hand flashed out to rub her shoulder. There, there, Anemone, a drink with Captain Ecurba is not the worst thing in the world.

That’s okay, Mister Dirge. I’m here on business, I told him.

He smiled thinly. "You’re saying she asked you with her eyes to sit down so you can talk business?"

Look, Mister Dirge, it’s getting extreme now, I said quietly, determined to be polite and respectful. "Inanimate goods, even all that far end of the spectrum stuff, that’s one thing – usually bad, probably unhealthy, but that’s a choice for your consumers. It’s the people – people can’t be trafficked, and serfdom is not allowed."

Occam Dirge sneered. You better watch I don’t sue you for slander.

I laughed. Right, you and the word of your psycho bodyguard, about words only the two of you claim you heard me say, and which are in any event objectively proven. We took the ship intact, and your transit crew has been quite informative.

The sneer grew. You’re fekking ballsy to come in here alone and spout all this fekk to me at my own table. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I shrugged. Comm them for an update.

His ice blue eyes narrowed. "You think I’ll fall for that?" Occam grinned.

Fine, I said. I’ll comm them on my DPaT. I took out my DataPad and Transmitter (DPaT) and set it up for the comm, engaged it, asked Lieutenant Tamara Kanzy to patch the call through, and handed it to Occam Dirge. Here. My DPaT, my comm, they can only trace it to me.

He was furious, but curious, so Occam took it. Hello? His face darkened. You stupid bastard, I told you what to do then! It drained white. "I should fekking kill you myself for this. What? What? You – fekk you too! He slammed down my DPaT, then looked up at me. Oh, sorry, he sneered, and then he slid it across the table top to me. Occam looked at Anemone. We’re it, at the moment, he said softly, then he looked at me. You here to arrest me?"

I can’t do that. I shrugged. "They just like to call me the ‘new sheriff in town.’ No, I’m here to discuss options, especially since the Deepstrike Valley Police are on the way here, and they can arrest you."

Hostility – tinged with puzzlement. You’re tipping me off to run?

No, I wouldn’t advise that, either. I’m happy if we never see you or your ship sneaking around Deepstrike again. Now, you can run, or sit here and wait and see if a new, raw living frontier colony system jury will be at all understanding of whatever defense you concoct. But whether they convict and punish you here, or you go elsewhere and take your chances with a different system’s judicial process, each is fine with me. If you run, they’ll send alerts out about you. If you’re seen in realspace, you’re a target for interception at R.O.E. One – shooting to kill allowed.

He sneered afresh. Then your ‘Rules Of Engagement’ might also kill some of those innocent victims you’ve just claimed might be on board, the ones you’re now so busy protecting from me.

I shrugged. No one assumes you’re guilty of that. You’re presumably too Rational to take further chances, after this conversation is logged in. So blasting your ship apart if it ventures anywhere within a system should only kill you and your Niv attack dog, and anyone on board being paid for ship operations. Whereas a standard SAS SysCon traffic pattern entry permission request prevents all of that.

This attack dog can tear you apart, Katsavr, said the Niv woman, visibly trembling. Not even the Cats will dare show up to save you.

They might. I grinned. They’re so easily amused, you know.

Anemone growled. Dirge had to restrain her with a pat to the shoulder again, then he looked at me. You are playing with fire, Captain.

Don’t tell me you can’t control your attack dog, Mister Dirge. That isn’t your reputation as a businessman.

Anemone is an independent person, Captain Ecurba, not a dog under my control.

I looked at the woman. Quite a lovely human weapon at your side, then.

Anemone bared her teeth and hissed quietly.

Sorry, m’am, I meant that in only the best way, of course. I looked at Dirge. You hire unusually touchy people. Do you find emotional instability co-exists with a willingness to break laws, rules, and norms of behavior?

He laughed. Are you trying to goad me, Captain? Frighten or anger me into a rash move of some kind?

A rash move? Like scratching yourself, or something?

Occam glared at me, then I saw his eyes flick down to his wrist. I knew he had to have some sort of comms unit, and his wide forearm band DPaT had a flexvid screenlet. I watched his eyes cut over to Jeswaldo, hovering in the end of the bar, watching us and the bar, and then Occam Dirge was looking right at me again. I just looked back calmly, and Dirge finally sneered a smile. You spoke of my heading out of Deepstrike?

If you want to take your chances elsewhere. Other systems can shoot your ship apart on sight if you simply show up, but you’re a clever, crafty fellow. Maybe you can sneak past their SysCon grid units, and then avoid basic recognition opsware when you are inevitably scanned in a public space somewhere. Good luck.

So I just get up and walk out?

Well, I leave first, and then the two of you can either stay here for local justice to arrive, or you and your weapon get up and walk out. I stood up, startling them both, I think. I bowed slightly. I hope you find the best rational pathway for your next steps.

I turn, and take a step away from his table.

The Niv woman uncoils herself and rises, just as a tall figure wearing a diamondball bill cap steps up behind her. Anemone reaches for some sort of a hand weapon, and the figure strikes Anemone’s arm.

Anemone whirls, knocking off the diamondball cap.

The tall figure wearing it is Commander Qet-Sia Pathfinder – short cut, glossy black hair, violet eyes with vertical pupils, now open and intense. A Qeta in her prime of youth, an experienced fighter, perhaps as lithe, fast, and powerful as a Niv. Anemone snarls. The fight begins.

The fight is fast, hard, intense, and confined. Even for the hardened types who liked The Ringtailed Snark and a good fight, this is something else. Qet were supposed to be as fast as Niv, or maybe the other way around; no one in the Snark has ever seen them fight, that was certain. They cannot tear their eyes away.

It is a deadly martial arts ballet, a flurry of arm, elbow, and knee moves, strikes and blocks and counters, hard full contact, at high speed –

Anemone not only had a blast tube but also a blade, a special ops ceramblade which makes Qet-Sia laugh.

Anemone roars when she hears that, but Qet-Sia handles the blade by using a chair she picks up, using it first as shield, then as a means to finally hook Anemone’s knife arm.

As they crash together, they grunt in pain.

Anemone staggers back, cough-gasps a large gout of blood, and falls to the floor. The ceramblade is buried in her chest. Twitching, coughing, Anemone rolls onto her side, kicks hard and then slumps face down, motionless.

Qet-Sia steps back.

Occam Dirge put his hands on the table in front of him and folded them. He looked shocked, furious, and then as insolent as ever, but he was now much better at hiding his feelings for the moment.

I saw another figure move through the crowd to join us – throwing his hood off to put on a VICTORY diamondball cap was Lieutenant Commander Hoperose (Tac-Sci), our other back-up, a tactical-science officer and a veteran of Conflict ground combat ops on Jade (usually Qet-Sia’s overwatch whenever she left VICTORY).

I gave Qet-Sia the cap that Anemone had knocked off her head, and she smiled at me. You are well, Captain Ecurba? she asked, as she smoothed dowb her short cut straight black hair back and then put on the VICTORY cap.

Yes, thank you, Commander Pathfinder. You are as well, I hope?

Excellent. Qet-Sia now looked at Occam Dirge. He was distinctly uncomfortable with the way she measured him – as if he was prey.

I had seen Qet security cam digivids of two past attempts by other Qet to kill Qet-Sia. She could be as fierce and dangerous in a fight as Xiu-Li Chen was, but rarely needed to be, thank Space. And she had her own version of what Xiu-Li’s crewpers called the Qet look, the one that scared people so. Being a real Qet, the look Qet-Sia gave Occam Dirge now was particularly chilling: I even shivered, and I was off on the periphery of it – thanking Space she had never used that look on me. I would not want to ever be seen as Qet-prey.

Hoperose rolled out an empty bodybag and they both wrangled it around Anemone’s limp body, sealed it shut, and then carried her out. As tough and familiar with bloody violence as the average Snark clientele were, they seemed a bit shocked by our almost casual clean-up. I suppose they were used to waiting for a cops to show up and do it, but we were the cops, sort of… Or, even worse: we were something else, and much more unpredictable than the sort of local civil service enforcement officers they were used to.

In fact, we had to get the body out of there before the police showed up and started asking us questions about our intentions here tonight, and our actions. I left, stopping to send fifty credits into the bar account. That should cover their drinks and the clean-up we can’t get to, I said breezily. Goodnight.

As I approached the front door, another patron paid up at the bar for their drinks, joked with the now rather unhappy bartender Jeswaldo, and then shuffled up to the door behind me. At that moment, the local police chief stepped through it and walked past me right to Occam Dirge’s table, while we went through it on our way out into the night.

Once outside, Lieutenant Arabella Victrix straightened and increased her pace to catch up with me. That was pretty scrunchy, sir, she murmured.

Yeah.

Thanks for including me.

Thanks for volunteering. I don’t think Qet-Sia would have trusted anyone else as my overwatch.

The Squad Runner was two hundred meters away, on the other side of some trees. I headed right for it, while Arabella split off and dawdled for a bit, taking up rear guard. We all had some doubts about the total absence of relationships of any kind between local persons in the law enforcement and criminal sectors of the small but ever growing local population on Deepstrike. The entire system still had under seven thousand total humans in it (and three dozen sentient intelligents – six or seven Qet, the rest Traders). Even if not related by family, almost everyone knew everyone.

I wish I had doubts that I had not just made an enemy for the rest of my life in Occam Dirge, and possibly the whole Dirge family. Certainly in at least one branch of it. I had accepted this part of it, though, when I agreed to a plan that resulted in the death of his cousin at the hands of my wife.

Anemone was Sibella Dirge, and Occam should have known or learned who she was no matter how hard she tried to hide it, so I expected she had been identified. Despite actual events, her past association a year ago with the now famous SAS GRANDE REGENCY had given her local rogue credentials, especially as the judicial proceedings had not needed her presence. She supposedly had been detained after medical treatment, interrogated, and then she was either let go due to family pressure, or escaped, or –

Well, this time her absence from the scene was because she was carried away in a bodybag by SAS VICTORY crewpers backing up Captain Ecurba, who had just told Occam Dirge that his starships would be blockaded if they didn’t secure proper SysCon permissions for passage – which meant they could be boarded for inspection.

Outraged and provoked by Ecurba’s specific insults to her, Anemone then tried to attack him as he exited, and Anemone (Sibella Dirge) was killed in a hand to hand fight by a Space Alliance Systems Space Fleet officer and fighter pilot backing him up: Ecurba’s wife, Qet-Sia Pathfinder. That was a pretty clear cause for a feud and retaliation, I thought.

I sighed. About a year ago, Sibella Dirge had been a cuddle partner of mine for a very short time when we had shared service together, so I had extremely mixed feelings about everything that had just happened. I hated its finality, the absence of so many other options now, even if I was also reluctantly satisfied with how everything had just gone inside of The Ringtailed Snark.

I nodded to Hoperose and ducked into the Runner. I heard Arabella and Hoperose murmur something as she trailed in after me, and they chuckled as they followed me into the Runner and closed it up behind them. I grinned – it was great to see Arabella Victrix had found a new friend, as Arabella tended to be a loner, and it seemed Jacob Goodman and Aprilmay Harrison were now a fairly steady couple.

In the middle bay, Qet-Sia was surprised. I expected greater mourning from you, my husband. Yet you smile.

Life goes on, Qet-Sia. As you remind me often. And good work.

She chuffed. This is one time when I am both pleased with my execution, and yet displeased with the results.

You were incredible, Qet-Sia.

Sia preened a moment, closing her violet eyes. Thank you, Ecurba. Then she looked at the bodybag on the floor. I fear we were both not as skilled as we hoped.

I noticed then that her arm was wrapped, and my heart flipped. I was just about to blurt out something stupid when Arabella matter of factly unsealed the body bag and flipped it open.

I saw Sibella blink her green hazel eyes and look up at Arabella, then Qet-Sia, then me. Are we there yet? she asked me quietly.

No, Major Dirge, I managed to answer, with a degree of cool. But a quick break and injuries status check are both indicated.

Major Sibella Dirge, Niv Intelligence Division, scowled at me. "That was not the plan. Sir."

I sighed. All right, any cuts? Need any first aid materials?

"I’ve already seen to it. Sir."

I rolled my eyes. All right then, major. You know best. Back in you go.

"Good. Then she nibbled her lip, so Arabella hesitated. Maybe a real field dressing would be better, now that we’re in a secure space," said Sibella.

I gave Arabella a nod and she got right to work as Sibella presented an arm wound she’d wrapped in torn off shirt strips. Sibella even gave Qet-Sia a grin, and nodded at Sia’s wrapped arm. I see we’ve become blood sisters.

Qet-Sia was startled, then she stood tall and proud and preened – and I mean, like a princess. "At last, she said, and her pride in those words seemed to ripple on through Sibella Dirge. Whatever Sibella had meant when she spoke, her words had now taken on significant meaning for both. You have always served with great courage and honor, Sibella Dirge, and with a persistence on your path no matter how far from others you were… Sia looked down at the deck in Qet submission posture. Yet I do apologize for my errors in our dance of weapons, my sister."

Arabella Victrix and I looked at each other, then away to different points – I went for my DPaT to start checking in, and Arabella resumed her work on Sibella’s arm.

My bond-link partner (wife) was a Qet female, part of a matriarchal culture, and the various bonds of Sisterhood were expressed on multiple levels, in many ways. I knew Qet-Sia had long admired Major Sibella Dirge, an undercover tactical officer in the Niv Intelligence Division, and I knew Qet-Sia Pathfinder strongly identified with this particular situation because Sibella had been working directly against her own family – her cousin Occam, in fact.

Niv Families had histories dating back eighty years, to the First Days on the planet at Tau Ceti they had irrevocably landed on in 2101, only to find it was killing their human bodies. Everything dated to then, and even through The Change in 2103 that turned Sol humans (Homo sapiens) into Niv humans (Homo neosapiens).

The biologic Change on Niv in 2103 created two Rationally different approaches to politics: the Hard Rational Party and the Outreach Party. Those philosophically distinct political parties changed previous family disagreements and old sore points into political differences which have grown over the last eight decades. The Change and two different philosophies also created structures that meant families could no longer depend on a continuing fealty toward a Family’s traditional approach to politics. Niv children raised in a Niv culture which evolved greatly valuing a Rational Mind In Action made decions based upon their own observations and knowledge available about what they wanted to believe in, which approach to take, and so on.

The process and its results were not always what their Family had always believed was most Rational, or sensible, or acceptable: previous definitions evolved with every new generation’s coming of age. Inevitably, large Niv families grew apart and sensibly stayed separated from each other. Family branches had relatives who broke laws, and other relatives who became law enforcement officers.

At Sol, Planet Earth had around ten billion people living on the planet, and for several years now. At Tau Ceti, Niv had the smallest planetary surface population of all twelve Human Sphere planets – they resisted any exact census data, but twenty million total population was the highest estimate, and I believed it was under or around ten million, myself.

In such a relatively small concentration of people living on the planet, where a few families with decanted sibs could have two or three thousand members, clashes could not be avoided every time. In very, very large families there were some feuds between now distant branches that were much deeper than with any external group. The Great Change to their brains and bodies and the rather unique Niv cultural superemphasis on education certainly gave them advantages over Sol humans – but they craved being human. I thought of Niv as Sol humans with physical improvements and greater cultural focus than any other Human Sphere planet.

The Niv feuds over elements of honor and vanity, power and politics – all examples of the Niv Rational Mind In Action completely failing – were not spoken of by Niv in general. Niv killed Niv sometimes, often from the same impulses and dark passions Sol humans live with. This was also not talked of; ironically, it was exactly when Niv were just as ticked off and irritated about something as any Sol human would be that Sollies felt closest to the Niv.

It was typically human. Yet it was also Qet. Very Qet.

Qet politics still used assassination as a political tool every now and then, and sometimes it was from family politics alone – someone wanting to be the most outspoken Qet by eliminating others with followers for positions on either side, generally evolving to three points of view for every political issue: radical right, extreme middle, radical left, in Human terms. Any other Qet with any real moderation or abilities at compromise, able to mix approaches, could be eliminated via either intimidation or being absorbed – no longer giving out interviews and policy position blips/chips, referring those requests to their candidate or party leader. In Human terms: both radical right and radical left sought to eliminate any and all extreme middle voices.

Qet-Sia Pathfinder and Sibella Dirge both had family members who believed in unique approaches which were in total statistical disagreement with the beliefs of their larger cultures when it came to about how to interact with fellow sentient intelligents – their family members were criminals, criminals who had killed others in the course of their actions.

Both Qet-Sia and Sibella could decide themselves if their family member’s actions outweighed any DNA-blood similarities, and either choose to act against them, or recuse themselves for fear they would be mentally biased in a way which meant they might overlook outright murder as an accepted tool… Or they could try to find a way which let them walk their own path without making any lives worse by appearances or actions which were egregious and openly destructive to the family name or position.

I looked over, and saw Sibella looking at me. Everything okay? she asked softly, feeling relaxed enough to drop the sir. I could tell Arabella was nearly finished with her work on Sibella’s cut, and Qet-Sia was now across the cabin, starting to fold up her bar rogue costume.

I nodded at Sibella, and smiled. I suppose. I’m still in shock from our little exercise in living theater back there. Especially that fight scene.

Sibella looked at Qet-Sia’s back, then at me. It was an experience in trust and training I will always treasure, Ecurba. And a crafty way of getting me free without exposing me.

Yeah – by killing you.

She laughed and smiled at Arabella, who was finished. Thanks. Sibella now looked at me. Don’t be sad. That’s the best part.

Yeah, well... We Senivri might be sneaky this way, but now your family thinks you’re dead.

They wrote me off when I joined Niv Space Service and went into Tactical Law, Ecurba. Sibella shook her head. As we’ve discussed.

I nodded. I remember. She had mentioned once how hard it was to decide how to view her mother’s death in a hopCar crash, very soon after Sibella had joined the Niv Space Service. It was not terribly unusual to crash a hopCar, and there was no forensic evidence for foul play, but her father and the uncles on his side were definitely Hard Rational, anti-Sol human racists. They were the type likely to fund their activities through illegal profits, and use banned materials to build dangerous weapons just in case, but which were also used every now and then to do structural damage, sometimes killing other Niv (perhaps during a robbery of some kind). This didn’t mean someone in the family had killed her mother, but… I’ll miss you, Sibella.

Sibella sighed, smiling sadly. You will miss me, and I will miss you. I have always felt safe and cared for on your ships, Ecurba, and now I’m off them both.

I shrugged. Oh, well. At least you’re not actually dead.

Sibella laughed. "Exactly. And although Occam may at first accept what he saw, no doubt he will conclude at some point