Bara Gaon was one of the Laconian Empire’s most important industrial hubs. Bara Gaon-5 was a ball of soil and water placed in the exact center of the goldilocks zone, and with so little tilt to its axis that its seasonal changes were nothing more than mild suggestions. Significant volcanic activity in its early formation meant the crust was full of useful metals, and the soil was well suited for adaptation to Earth organics. In orbit around it, the Bara Gaon Complex floated, a massive construct of shipyards and low-gravity production facilities.
The tracking systems from Gewitter they’d linked to the Derecho showed that, in addition to the two destroyers, there were four deep-space telescopic satellites, three dozen Laconian radio listening stations, and seventy-three ships currently under thrust in the system.
Not one of them had seen the Rocinante come through the ring.
While the Rocinante might flee into the system and then try to get the underground to help them hide, it was impossible to believe they could have made the transit without being spotted.
Tanaka had the SigInt people run a deep background on the system’s governor to make sure she wasn’t on the take from the resistance, but it was pro forma. Tanaka didn’t expect them to find anything. She’d just followed the wrong lead.
“It looks like it was a supply ship out of Firdaws called the Forgiveness,” Botton said, standing next to her at the bar in Gewitter’s upscale officers’ club. He laid his terminal on the bar and pulled up a holographic 3-D model. “Former colony ship owned by a liability collective and run by Captain Ekko Levy.”
The décor was a tacky style they called Martian Classical. Lots of fake wood and polished metal mirrors surrounding carved stone tabletops. A few other people sat at the tables, chatting and drinking and eating mediocre pub food. But the lighting was good, and the music was low enough to allow for quiet conversations. After a few weeks on the Derecho staring at the same cloth-covered bulkheads every day, even the club’s fake wood paneling felt like luxury.
“No chance they were a deliberate decoy to pull us off the trail?” Tanaka said, knowing the answer before Botton replied.
“They don’t show up in any intelligence databases. If we were confused by the timing of their ship making the transit out of the ring space, it seems more likely that it was unintentional on their part.”
If we were confused. Botton was being diplomatic. This was her mission. She was calling the shots.
“We followed the wrong scent,” she said.
“It looks that way,” Botton replied. Tanaka shot him a look of irritation. She wasn’t looking for his agreement. Botton’s expression didn’t change. He waved the bartender over and ordered a second beer as if he hadn’t noticed.
As Tanaka brooded over her options, the bartender brought Botton his beer and a bowl of dried and salted seaweed flakes. He looked at her, as though trying to gauge whether asking her if she wanted another drink was more dangerous than ignoring her entirely. He made the right call and walked away without a word.
After the silence had stretched out long enough to make her point, Tanaka said, “I’ll check my other leads. In the meantime, call up signal intelligence. Put the word out to every ship and relay on the network. They’ll be running without a transponder, but we’ve got the Rocinante’s drive signature and hull profile.”
“Copy that,” Botton said, and started to leave, most of his second beer still sitting on the counter.
“Also? Go back over the sensor data we took in when we passed through the ring gate. Run the analysis again, omitting Bara Gaon. Maybe there’s something there we overlooked.”
“Aye, aye, Colonel.”
“And make sure they understand,” Tanaka said, “that finding this ship is a security priority. Failing to report will be considered an act of sedition and punished by being sent to the Pen.”
“I thought Major Okoye ordered the dismantling of the Pen?”
“I’ll build a new one.”
“Understood,” Botton said, and left the bar in an overly casual hurry.
She pulled up her personal message queue and started the long process of demanding reports. The questioning of Duarte’s friends and intimates hadn’t turned up any other visitations, but the interviews of second-degree connections were ongoing. It looked like a dead end to her, but there was someone on Laconia whose job was to tell her so, and they could fucking well do that. Ochida hadn’t gotten her an updated study of the egg-ship thing. She sent a request for that. It queued. There was congestion at the repeater network because of interference coming off the ring gates. Three notifications were waiting for her with intelligence about San Esteban and the death count there, not that she had any clear idea what she was supposed to do about it. Feel bad that she hadn’t found Duarte in time for . . . what? For him to stop it from happening? Everything about the situation chafed.