Ascending - James Alan Gardner [59]
“But the planet was off-limits,” Festina protested—as if that were sufficient excuse for not coming to weep on my grave. “I’d forced the Admiralty to agree no one would ever land on Melaquin again: not the council, not me, not anyone associated with the Technocracy. It was the best way to keep the League of Peoples happy. That’s why nobody had cleaned up the evidence before; the top admirals didn’t want to risk upsetting the League. Now, of course, with their asses on the line, the council will do anything to stay out of jail…which means they’re like rabid dogs, biting anyone who gets in the way.”
“Including us?” Uclod asked.
“You, me, and their own dear mothers…not to mention,” Festina raised her voice slightly, “anyone who’s managed to hack into the ship’s internal intercoms to eavesdrop on this meeting.”
“You think we are being spied upon?” I whispered.
“On this damned ship, it’s a certainty. The ship-soul computers are constantly listening…which means other ears could be listening too.”
Uclod snorted. “Hell of a security system you got if any Tom, Dick, or Harry can hack into your hardware.”
Festina glared at him. “The fleet’s computer security is nigh well unbeatable against outsiders; the problems only come from insider spies. The spies work for admirals, and admirals all have backdoor access codes that circumvent our regular safeguards.” Her fierce expression melted to a rueful smile. “Basically, this meeting is shielded against everyone except the bastards who are most likely to eavesdrop on us. And if anybody is eavesdropping,” she said, raising her voice again, “you now know too much for the High Council’s comfort. If I happened to be a spy, I’d think long and hard about my own personal safety. If, for example, I received a secret order like, ‘Sabotage Royal Hemlock,’ I’d wonder what would happen if I obeyed. Suppose I disabled the Hemlock so it could be captured by the council. Would the Admiralty really reward me for devotion to duty? Or would I end up with everyone else on a thousand-year sleep-ship to Andromeda?”
She let the question hang in the air. Finally, it was the mook sergeant who broke the silence. “The admiral realizes,” he said, “how unlikely it is that every spy on board will accept your reasoning?”
“Certainly,” Festina told him. “There’ll always be idiots who dream of big payoffs, even when they know they’re working for treacherous bastards. But I’m hoping there’ll also be sensible people to stop them. People who’d rather not fall off the map, thank you very much, and who’ll blow the whistle to me or the captain.”
“The admiral is an optimist,” Sergeant Mook said, though he was smiling behind his visor.
“The admiral likes people to know where their best interests lie,” Festina replied. “She also likes taking every possible precaution. For example, Sergeant, I would never tell you your job, but do we really need this huge contingent to guard unarmed civilians? Aren’t there better places your people could be?”
The sergeant’s eyes flickered. “Does the admiral vouch for these guests being trustworthy?”
Festina looked at us a moment—Uclod, Lajoolie, Nimbus, and me—then laughed out loud. “Of course not. All four are ticking bombs, for Christ’s sake. But compared to some members of the crew, these folks are absolute saints. Why not leave a few of your guards here, and send the rest to…oh, wherever you think a not-too-smart spy might stir up mischief.”
The sergeant said nothing for a count of three, then nodded. “The admiral’s suggestion is well taken.” He tapped a button on his wrist, then began speaking rapidly—which is to say his lips moved at high speed, though I could not hear a sound coming out of his helmet. I assume his words were transmitted privately to the troops around him…because in a few seconds, all but two of the mooks saluted and clattered out of the room. As for the sergeant