Read Online The Phoenix in Flight by Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge - Free Book Online
Authors: Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge
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assigned me.” Morrighon paused, probably hoping for an
acknowledgement, but Barrodagh said nothing. Knowing Morrighon’s obsessive
attention to detail, Barrodagh had told him to organize Thuriol’s message
archives. Lacking a security level high enough to read them, all he could do
was organize them by date and the code name of the recipient—the perfect job
for Morrighon. Others would analyze the resulting mass of data to winnow out
whatever else Thuriol might have been up to.
The whine in Morrighon’s voice intensified. “I am distressed
to have to report that once again my duties have been interfered with by those
who consider such activities an amusing use of their time.”
What is it now? The ingenuity that lower-level
Catennach in applied to tormenting those even lower in the hierarchy never
ceased to amaze Barrodagh. If they spent half as much effort on advancing
themselves as they do calculating just how far they can go in sabotaging each
other without risking reprimand themselves...
Yes, but that would leave them free to attempt sabotaging him .
Which was why he didn’t interfere.
He nodded slightly, encouraging Morrighon. He could, of
course, just cut him off, but he’d long ago learned that rudeness was a weapon
to be reserved for worthy opponents, and furthermore, that even the slightest
courtesy to the lowliest was a powerful tool for eliciting useful information
about the high-level Catennach who could sabotage him.
“This time, someone tampered with Thuriol’s archives in an
attempt to compromise my work.” Morrighon’s mouth creased in prim triumph. “But
they were careless, and I found what purported to be a system acknowledgement
of a message, but one of which there is no record, and which furthermore would
have been sent after his transfiguration, which is obviously impossible.”
Barrodagh nodded again automatically, his mind spinning off
on another track as Morrighon whined on about other slights and pranks he’d
endured in Barrodagh’s service, and then the sense of what the factotum had
said detonated in his brain.
An unrecorded message sent after Thuriol’s death.
Either that was underlings playing their games... but that
was unlikely, not after Thuriol had been subjected to the mindripper. Bori
tended to avoid even mention of someone’s name after they’d suffered so
terrifying an end, lest they somehow be implicated.
Or...
Gods and demons, Thuriol had rigged a revenge worm!
Barrodagh’s stomach lurched and the back of his throat
burned as his motion-sickness returned full force. It took every bit of control
developed over decades of deadly bureaucratic infighting to prevent Barrodagh
from screaming an interruption at Morrighon as the other man nattered on,
oblivious to the implications of what he had uncovered. Instead, he raised a
hand, his fingers stiff. Morrighon instantly fell silent.
Barrodagh consciously lowered his hand, and forced a smile,
speaking in a mild tone. “You are quite right, Morrighon. These pranks have
gone too far, and I will have them looked into. Please forward the compromised
data to me so that we can get to the bottom of this.”
It was unnecessary to add the word “immediately,” as
Morrighon could be trusted to... yes, Barrodagh’s console was already blinking
with incoming data.
“Your efficiency is commendable,” Barrodagh continued. “I
will have your Vox Populi account credited with a bonus.”
Morrighon’s image vanished. Barrodagh tabbed up the relayed
data, sick with certainty. The acknowledgement of the revenge worm’s message
had come straight from...
Cheruld. Aegios of the Qoholeth Anachronics Hub, from
which Panarchic courier ships, the fastest means of communication in the
Thousand Suns, were regularly dispatched to major Panarchic centers. Arthelion,
Narbon, Talgarth, Lao Tse... Worse, the man to whom the Heart of Kronos had
been sent.
Barrodagh stabbed at his console, requesting a secure
connection to the
acknowledgement, but Barrodagh said nothing. Knowing Morrighon’s obsessive
attention to detail, Barrodagh had told him to organize Thuriol’s message
archives. Lacking a security level high enough to read them, all he could do
was organize them by date and the code name of the recipient—the perfect job
for Morrighon. Others would analyze the resulting mass of data to winnow out
whatever else Thuriol might have been up to.
The whine in Morrighon’s voice intensified. “I am distressed
to have to report that once again my duties have been interfered with by those
who consider such activities an amusing use of their time.”
What is it now? The ingenuity that lower-level
Catennach in applied to tormenting those even lower in the hierarchy never
ceased to amaze Barrodagh. If they spent half as much effort on advancing
themselves as they do calculating just how far they can go in sabotaging each
other without risking reprimand themselves...
Yes, but that would leave them free to attempt sabotaging him .
Which was why he didn’t interfere.
He nodded slightly, encouraging Morrighon. He could, of
course, just cut him off, but he’d long ago learned that rudeness was a weapon
to be reserved for worthy opponents, and furthermore, that even the slightest
courtesy to the lowliest was a powerful tool for eliciting useful information
about the high-level Catennach who could sabotage him.
“This time, someone tampered with Thuriol’s archives in an
attempt to compromise my work.” Morrighon’s mouth creased in prim triumph. “But
they were careless, and I found what purported to be a system acknowledgement
of a message, but one of which there is no record, and which furthermore would
have been sent after his transfiguration, which is obviously impossible.”
Barrodagh nodded again automatically, his mind spinning off
on another track as Morrighon whined on about other slights and pranks he’d
endured in Barrodagh’s service, and then the sense of what the factotum had
said detonated in his brain.
An unrecorded message sent after Thuriol’s death.
Either that was underlings playing their games... but that
was unlikely, not after Thuriol had been subjected to the mindripper. Bori
tended to avoid even mention of someone’s name after they’d suffered so
terrifying an end, lest they somehow be implicated.
Or...
Gods and demons, Thuriol had rigged a revenge worm!
Barrodagh’s stomach lurched and the back of his throat
burned as his motion-sickness returned full force. It took every bit of control
developed over decades of deadly bureaucratic infighting to prevent Barrodagh
from screaming an interruption at Morrighon as the other man nattered on,
oblivious to the implications of what he had uncovered. Instead, he raised a
hand, his fingers stiff. Morrighon instantly fell silent.
Barrodagh consciously lowered his hand, and forced a smile,
speaking in a mild tone. “You are quite right, Morrighon. These pranks have
gone too far, and I will have them looked into. Please forward the compromised
data to me so that we can get to the bottom of this.”
It was unnecessary to add the word “immediately,” as
Morrighon could be trusted to... yes, Barrodagh’s console was already blinking
with incoming data.
“Your efficiency is commendable,” Barrodagh continued. “I
will have your Vox Populi account credited with a bonus.”
Morrighon’s image vanished. Barrodagh tabbed up the relayed
data, sick with certainty. The acknowledgement of the revenge worm’s message
had come straight from...
Cheruld. Aegios of the Qoholeth Anachronics Hub, from
which Panarchic courier ships, the fastest means of communication in the
Thousand Suns, were regularly dispatched to major Panarchic centers. Arthelion,
Narbon, Talgarth, Lao Tse... Worse, the man to whom the Heart of Kronos had
been sent.
Barrodagh stabbed at his console, requesting a secure
connection to the
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