The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy (18 page)

“You think this van Tongeren found out about the virus and went looking?” Leonov said.

“Along those lines, yes. I’d guess he was setting up his clandestine weapons smuggling anyway. Maybe

the virus was something he heard about while hiring staff and he decided to take advantage. Find out

what you can and do it quickly.”

“I’ll get onto it immediately.” Leonov hesitated, his grey eyes twinkling. “This lady.”

Vlad was fishing. He suppressed a smile. “She’s an expert on Information Systems. And speaks Ptorix.

And can fool a military InfoDroid. Her name is Allysha Marten. She comes from Carnessa.”

“And you met her on Tisyphor?”

“Yes.”

“And you took out this lab together and you’re going to Brjyl together. Anything else you’ve done

together?”

He fidgeted. This was getting a little close to the mark. “No.”

Leonov laughed.

“I’m not noted for female entanglements.”

“But you’re entangled with this one.”

Saahren looked at the bulkhead beside him as the heat rose in his neck. This was very uncomfortable.

“Or are you just good friends?” Leonov asked, eyes dancing.

“Yes, all right, a little more than good friends. But that’s my business, not anybody else’s.”

“Understood.” Leonov fingered his chin. “Look, I know you haven’t known her long. Any prospects of

marriage?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“It’s just that you’ve always told Irina that when you met a nice girl you wanted to marry, she’d be the first to know.”

Saahren laughed. It had, indeed, been a long standing joke between him and Leonov’s wife. Leonov had

persuaded Irina to desist from matchmaking many years ago but she still clung to the forlorn hope that Saahren would eventually marry.

“You can tell her, Vlad. But she’s to keep it to herself.”

Leonov was still grinning when Saahren shut down the connection and turned off the privacy screens.

Irina would probably be delighted to help with wedding plans. Not that he cared. Anywhere with legal

jurisdiction would do.

He left the comms room, closed the door behind him and ran up the stairs back to the lounge.

Roland scrambled to his feet. His eyes glinted and a smirk hovered around his lips. A shiver of

foreboding traveled down Saahren’s spine.

“Well, well,” Roland said. “You really are used to giving orders, aren’t you?”

Saahren ambled over to the sofa and sat down. “Senior commanders are used to giving orders, yes.”

“Ah, but not as much as admirals.” Roland’s smirk turned into a triumphant beam.

Fuck. Steps on the stairs. Tyne and Allysha.

“Not now, Roland—”

She appeared in the doorway as Roland interrupted, “Don’t bother denying it. I just did some image

matching of you and Saahren. Voice-matching, too. Ninety-eight percent certainty is good enough for

me. I suppose you had the scar covered?”

Allysha tensed, her face frozen in a look of horror. “Saahren?”

“That’s right, darling. Seems you’ve scored the Iron Admiral himself…” his voice trailed away.

Allysha came to stand in front of him, gazing at him with those beautiful, green eyes, pleading. “Brad?

It’s not true, is it?”

What do you do? Lie through your teeth yet again, knowing it will come out soon enough? Or face the

future.

He stood. “Allysha…”

Her mouth twisted in disgust, her eyes glistened. “Bastard. Lying, murdering bastard.”

She fled.

Her feet clattered on the stairs. She’d gone to their room. Her room, after this. Saahren’s heart was a lump in his chest. The look she’d given him skewered his soul. Revulsion; deep, bitter loathing. Worse even than he had imagined. Murderer?

He glared at Roland. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?”

Roland’s eyes flickered and he took a half step backward. But he recovered his composure quickly.

“Well, well. I always thought rank was a leg-opener. Seems I was wrong. In this case.” He sniggered.

Saahren only just avoided knocking the bastard out. His fist itching, he banged down the stairs, strode over to the door of the cabin he’d shared with Allysha and slapped the release. She’d locked it, of

course. Damn and blast Roland to all the hells of Karadesk.

He whirled and called up to Roland, standing in the doorway to the lounge. “Get this door open.” He

made the words an order.

Roland didn’t even hesitate. “Open the door, Editor. Override authorized.”

The door swished aside. Saahren took a deep breath and stepped inside. She lay rigid on the bed, her

face shoved into a pillow.

“Allysha?”

“Get out. Leave me alone.”

Emotions fought for dominance. Embarrassment at being caught out, foolishness for not confronting her at a time of his own choosing. He closed the door. For a moment he toyed with the idea of sitting on the bed next to her and decided on the chair instead.

“Allysha, talk to me. I’m sorry you found out like this but now you know at least do me the courtesy of telling me what I’ve done wrong.”

“Wrong?” She levered herself up and turned to him, furious eyes brimming with tears. “You murdered

my father.”

Her bitterness, her hatred lashed at him. Anger flared. Righteous anger at being accused of an impossible crime, being judged for an absurdity. He forced himself to keep his voice even. “I don’t remember

murdering anyone. I’m sure I would have. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Jossur.”

He hadn’t expected that. “What was your father doing at a ptorix military planet?”

“He was a professor. Head of the human engineering faculty at Ullnish University. He went to Jossur to give a lecture to ptorix officers.” Her throat worked and she looked down at the floor. “He asked me to go with him. I refused.”

“He was there? When the planet was devastated?” And she could have been? That last twisted his gut

more than the death of some professor lecturing to the ptorix military.

She sat on the edge of the bed, arms rigid. “When you ordered the planet bombarded.”

“Bombarded? From space?” He shook his head. “No. That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie. I saw the images. I’ll never forget them. Bodies, blood, craters, smoke. Males, females,

children. Stacks of bodies.” She pushed her fingertips against her forehead, her eyes closed.

Saahren let some of the tension drain. This was just an awful misunderstanding, something he could

explain. “Allysha, the planet was not bombarded. I sent two of my ships to Jossur from Forenisi. Anxhou had two battleships stationed there, ready to throw into the mix at Forenisi. Each of my ships targeted one of the battleships. They launched their missiles, destroyed the two ptorix warships and came back to Forenisi. They didn’t even make planetary orbit.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he raised his hand. “Yes, the planet suffered massive destruction.

Because one of the ptorix battle cruisers collided with the planet’s space station. The ship blew up, destabilized the station’s orbit and both of them—the battleship and the station—came down onto the

planet.”

“So you’re telling the story, right?” she sneered. “The winners always get to tell the story.” She leaned toward him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “That’s not what they told us at home. And this wasn’t the press braying ill-researched propaganda. This was Professor Xanthor, my father’s friend and a professor of

ptorix-human relations at Ullnish U. He gave a public lecture, denouncing the Confederacy’s base act.

He said two Confederacy battleships bombarded the planet. He showed pictures of them, firing their

weapons. We saw the craters, the bodies.” She blinked away tears. “No more lies, Saahren.”

She said his name as though it was an insult. “I’m not lying. It’s the truth. Ask Roland. Or Tyne.”

“I will. I’ll ask Grallaz, too. And now get out. Get out of here. Leave me alone.” Her voice broke, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

He stood, his heart shattered. But this would pass. She was wrong. “We still have to go to Brjyl.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes.” She snapped her eyes open again. “But not for you. I’m not

doing it for you.”

He walked out. The door whispered shut behind him.

Roland stood, arms folded, at the foot of the stairs. “Did she tell you why?”

“Yes. It will pass. Her father was at Jossur. She believes the ptorix line that I ordered a bombardment of the planet.”

He trudged up the stairs and flung himself on the sofa, thankful that Tyne and Grallaz were no longer there to witness his misery. Roland, who had followed him, went over to the bar, poured two large

measures of brandy and handed him a glass.

“You think it will pass, do you?”

Saahren swallowed a large mouthful of brandy, feeling the liquor warm his throat. “It isn’t true. You would know that. She’ll come to her senses.” Of course she would. Truth would out.

Roland sat down. “You don’t know much about women, do you?”

“And you do, I suppose.”

“You’ll have to win her confidence back. You’ve lied to her twice in as many hours. Yes, you have.” He leaned forward. “You were a sergeant, then you were a senior commander. They were both lies.”

“Necessary lies.”

“Not to her. You share her bed, tell her you love her… Has she been married before?”

Saahren scowled and drank another slurp of brandy. O’Reilly. He hadn’t needed a reminder.

“I’ll take that as a yes. If he was a lying asshole…” Roland lips quirked. “And judging by your

expression, he was… don’t expect it to be easy.”

“Thanks for the lesson.”

Roland sat back and crossed his legs. “You know, she was the reason I went along with you not being

Saahren. Everybody’s got a look-alike on some planet, fair enough. And the body double on Ceres is

good, no doubt. I wondered, though; but then, you with a woman?” He grinned. “I actually wondered

about your preferences when you knocked back Serena Priestley.”

Good grief. “Why?”

“Well… she’s easy on the eye.”

He winced at the memory. Serena Priestly, golden-haired siren of the holovids, whose naked image was

plastered over every male locker room in all his ships. She tried to flirt with him for the cameras. He’d virtually had to peel her off him.

“Just easy. I didn’t particularly wish to be another trophy in her ‘men I’ve had sex with’ collection. Do you think she would have been interested had I been Lieutenant Saahren?” He slammed down the rest of

the drink. “This isn’t anybody’s business.”

“Yes, true. So Brjyl is still on?”

“Yes.”

“And she’ll go along?”

“Yes.” But not for him.

“Would you like another brandy?”

“Yes.”

****

tears threatened to spill onto the pillow. A shroud descended over her, enveloped her in darkness. She’d been used; betrayed; lied to. Again. Just like Sean. Just like Jarrad.

More tears bubbled. She forced herself to her feet and stumbled over to the washroom, pulling off her clothes as she went. Might as well stand in the shower, let her tears mingle with the water. She squeezed shampoo into her hair and lathered, massaging her scalp, concentrating on the simple, mindless task.

He’d used her; used her skills to find out about van Tongeren’s operation. Anger fought with misery.

He’d said he loved her. But so had Sean, once. She’d come so close, so pathetically close to falling in love with that man, with Saahren.

In her mind the spires of Shernish University beckoned to her, vivid as a picture. Home. Bright sunlight shining on Port road, glittering on the sea. Her house high up on the hill overlooked the port where fishing boats tied up next to wooden jetties. She longed for a warm summer night, sitting in a chair on the patio, a frosted glass of wine in her hand, listening to the tinkle of a fountain while a salt-laden zephyr slipped past her face. No Sean, no Saahren.

She ducked her head under the water to rinse away the soap and her tears. Feeling sorry for herself

wouldn’t help. She was fit and well, that was always positive. She still had her career. At home, she had friends and a house. And plenty of work. And no Sean. That was definitely a positive. Her lip curled in disdain at the thought of him. And Saahren; he would go back to the Confederacy, out of her life forever.

What happened on Tisyphor would recede into memory and she could get on with the rest of her life.

Oh, buckrats. That’s what she’d thought when she left Carnessa with Sean not so many weeks ago.

Why did she feel so empty? She bit at her lip to stop it trembling.

For goodness sake, she’d thought she was in love with Sean. For ages. Yet this feeling of loss, this

physical ache had nothing to do with Sean. She’d been happy with Brad Stone; happier than she had

ever been, than she ever would be again. Tears pricked but she blinked them away. No more crying.

She switched off the water and reset to the dry cycle, turning around in the warm air current. All clean, all dry. Time to get on with life.

How long to Brjyl? A few days? Probably. Go down and get the backup and go home and have that

glass of wine on the patio. Find some way to refill the hole in her heart.

She threw herself down on the bed and listened to Braunsweger’s symphonies, drifting with the music,

back in time, back in space, back to Shernish without Sean, without Brad Stone. She dreamed of the

beach below the port on a summer’s day. Boats floated on an aquamarine sea, birds drifted on the

breeze, small waves slapped lazily onto the sand and shifted the shells from one place to another. She could almost feel the sun’s warmth on her skin, taste the tang of salt air.

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. She struggled up onto her elbows.