Gwa-an protocols permitted traders to dock at designated stations. Haval quizzed Jedao endlessly on the relevant etiquette. Most of it consisted of keeping his mouth shut and letting Haval talk, which suited him fine. While the Gwa-an provided interpreters, Haval said cultural differences were the real problem. “Above all,” she added,” if anyone challenges you to a duel, don’t. Just don’t. Look blank and plead ignorance.”
“Duel?” Jedao said, interested.
“I knew we were going to have to have this conversation,” Haval said glumly. “They don’t use swords, so get that idea out of your head.”
“I didn’t bring my dueling sword anyway, and Sren wouldn’t know how,” Jedao said. “Guns?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “They use pathogens. Designer pathogens. Besides the fact that their duels can go on for years, I’ve never heard that you had a clue about genetic engineering.”
“No,” Jedao said, “that would be my mother.” Maybe next time he could suggest that his mother be sent in his place. His mother would adore the chance to talk shop. Of course, then he’d be out of a job. “Besides, I’d rather avoid bringing a plague back home.”
“They claim they have an excellent safety record.”
Of course they would. “How fast can they culture the things?”
“That was one of the things we were trying to gather data on.”
“If they’re good at diseasing up humans, they may be just as good at manufacturing critters that like to eat synthetics.”
“While true of their tech base in general,” Haval said, “they won’t have top-grade labs at Du Station.”
“Good to know,” Jedao said.
Jedao and Teshet also went over the intelligence on Du Station. “It’s nice that you’re taking a personal interest,” Teshet said, “but if you think we’re taking the place by storm, you’ve been watching too many dramas.”
“If Kel special forces aren’t up for it,” Jedao said, very dryly, “you could always send me. One of me won’t do much good, though.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Teshet said. “Essier would have my head if you got hurt. How many people did you assassinate?”
“Classified,” Jedao said.
Teshet gave a can’t-blame-me-for-trying shrug. “Not to say I wouldn’t love to see you in action, but it isn’t your job to run around doing the boring infantry work. How do you mean to get the crew out? Assuming they survived, which is a big if.”
Jedao tapped his slate and brought up the schematics for one of their cargo shuttles. “Five per trader,” he said musingly.
“Du Station won’t let us land the shuttles however we please.”
“Did I say anything about landing them?” Before Teshet could say anything further, Jedao added, “You might have to cross the hard way, with suits and webcord. How often have your people drilled that?”
“We’ve done plenty of extravehicular,” Teshet said, “but we’re going to need some form of cover.”
“I’m aware of that,” Jedao said. He brought up a calculator and did some figures. “That will do nicely.”
“Sren?”
Jedao grinned at Teshet. “I want those shuttles emptied out, everything but propulsion and navigation. Get rid of suits, seats, all of it.”
“Even life support?”
“Everything. And it’ll have to be done in the next seventeen days, so the Gwa-an can’t catch us at it.”
“What do we do with the innards?”
“Dump them. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Teshet’s eyes crinkled. “I knew I was going to like you.”
Uh-oh, Jedao thought, but he kept that to himself.
“What are you going to be doing?” Teshet asked.
“Going over the dossiers before we have to wipe them,” Jedao said. Meng’s in particular. He’d believed in Meng’s fundamental competence even in academy, before they’d learned confidence in themselves. What had gone wrong?
JEDAO HAD FIRST met Shuos Meng, then Zhei Meng, during an exercise at Shuos Academy. The instructor had assigned them to work together. Meng was chubby and had a vine-and-compass tattoo on the back of their left hand, identifying them as coming from a merchanter lineage.
Today, the class of twenty-nine cadets met not in the usual classroom but a windowless room with a metal table in the front and rows of two-person desks with benches that looked like they’d been scrubbed clean of graffiti multiple times. (“Wars come and go, but graffiti is forever,” as one of Jedao’s lovers liked to say.) Besides the door leading out into the hall, there were two other doors, neither of which had a sign indicating where they led. Tangles of pipes led up the walls and storage bins were piled beside them. Jedao had the impression that the room had been pressed into service on short notice.
Jedao and Meng sat at their assigned seats and hurriedly whispered introductions to each other while the instructor read off the rest of the pairs.
“Zhei Meng,” they said. “I should warn you I barely passed the weapons qualifications. But I’m good with languages.” Then a quick grin: “And hacking. I figured you’d make a good partner.”
“Garach Jedao,” he said. “I can handle guns.” Understatement; he was third in the class in Weapons. And if Meng had, as they were implying, shuffled the assignments, that meant they were one of the better hackers. “Why did you join up?”
“I want to have kids,” Meng said.
“Come again?”
“I want to marry into a rich lineage,” Meng said. “That means making myself more respectable. When the recruiters showed up, I said what the hell.”
The instructor smiled coolly at the two of them, and they shut up. She said, “If you’re here, it’s because you’ve indicated an interest in fieldwork. Like you, we want to find out if it’s something you have any aptitude for, and if not, what better use we can make of your skills.” You’d better have some skills went unsaid. “You may have expected you’d be dropped off in the woods or some such nonsense. We don’t try to weed out first-years quite that early. No; this first exercise will take place in this room.”
The instructor’s smile widened. “There’s a photobomb in this room. It won’t cause any permanent damage, but if you don’t disarm it, you’re all going to be walking around wearing ridiculous dark lenses for a week. At least one cadet knows where the bomb is. If they keep its location a secret from the rest of you, they win. Of course, they’ll also go around with ridiculous dark lenses, but you can’t have everything. On the other hand, if someone can persuade someone to give up the secret, everyone wins. So to speak.”
The rows of cadets stared at her. Jedao leaned back in his chair and considered the situation. Like several others in the class, he had a riflery exam in three days and preferred to take it with undamaged vision.
“You have four hours,” the instructor said. “There’s one restroom.” She pointed to one of the doors. “I expect it to be in impeccable condition at the end of the four hours.” She put her slate down on the table at the head of the room. “Call me with this if you figure it out. Good luck.” With that, she walked out of the room. The door whooshed shut behind her.
“We’re screwed,” Meng said. “Just because I’m on the leaderboard in Elite Thundersnake 9000 doesn’t mean I could disarm real bombs if you yanked out my toenails.”