The Devil and Deep Space Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sandri Brecinn sat at her ease in her war room watching the course of the exercise on the massive screens that filled the whole half of the room: top, bottom, sides. “What do they think they’re doing?” she demanded, watching, as the Wolnadi made an audacious move on its next–to–last target. “Eppie, I’m going to want a blood test on that navigator. He’s got to be on something.”
    An appreciative chuckle ran through the room, passing from sycophant to toady to sidekick. Brecinn stretched comfortably. She was in her element, surrounded by her people, and they all knew that nothing the Ragnarok accomplished during this exercise would make any difference in the end. The Ragnarok was history. History, and a very significant addition to her asset account.
    “You might have to hold the crew here for a while.” Eppie, her aide, picked the line up and stretched it out ably. “Once you start looking into such things. Who knows how far it goes?”
    Brecinn liked Eppie. Eppie was a reasonable person. They were all of them reasonable people, people one could deal with, people with whom one could do business. Well, almost all of them. Some of the observers were unknown quantities. The armaments man, Rukota, for one; Brecinn didn’t know too much about him except that he was very solidly protected — his wife had an intimate understanding of long duration with somebody’s First Secretary.
    The Clerk of Court that Chilleau Judiciary had sent to take legal note of the proceedings, however, was a woman with a very interesting past about whom Brecinn’s sources wished to say surprisingly little; that piqued Brecinn’s interest. Noycannir was just a Clerk of Court, one who didn’t seem to be very well placed. Her apparent status was inconsistent with what little Brecinn had been able to find out about her contacts. So was she a different sort of an observer? And why exactly was she here, under cover as an exercise observer?
    If Noycannir was here on a secret mission she had yet to approach Brecinn about it, which showed a lack of respect on Chilleau’s part. Chilleau was getting too self–confident by half. The Selection was far from certain, and — favorite or no favorite — Chilleau’s victory would not be guaranteed until the last Judge had logged the consensus opinion of the last Judiciary. That was weeks away.
    “No sense of propriety.” Brecinn vented some of her frustration with Chilleau Judiciary at the expense of the Wolnadi crew on–screen. The Ragnarok ’s fighter had taken its next–to–last target; it had only one left. “Anybody with a feather’s–weight of sensitivity would settle for a solid showing. Instead of this — shameless display — ”
    That crew knew as well as anyone that the program was as good as cancelled. If they had any sense at all, they’d be doing what they could to facilitate the cancellation, and hoping for a few crumbs of the spoils to drop their way. If they were reasonable people, they’d play along. Nobody was going to be looking closely at anybody’s personal kit once the ship was decommissioned, after all.
    The Wolnadi closed on its last target. Brecinn frowned.
    There was an observation station right there, just there, to the other side of the containment field. The Ragnarok ’s observation party was on that station. The Wolnadi wouldn’t know that, or at least they weren’t supposed to know. What was she worrying about, anyway? Brecinn asked herself, and took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. The odds of the fighter missing the target, breaching the containment field, and hitting the observation station were low indeed.
    Maris had sworn that the stock he had stowed there was stable. Fresh stuff. New loads. Rocket propellant didn’t start to degrade until it got old, unless it had been contaminated. Maris knew better than to have sold her inferior goods. He knew she needed them to satisfy the debt she owed to reasonable people.
    And the fighter