The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy (31 page)

confident, stood at her window, looking out across the gardens. “Nice place,” he said. “A view, easy

walk to the office.”

The apartment was magnificent, much nicer than anything Allysha had in Shernish, back home on

Carnessa. Elegant and well appointed, it boasted a large bedroom, a study and a fully functional kitchen.

The living room contained a separate dining area and a built-in bar flanked the short passage that led to the front door. She had selected a palette of ocean tones from the available color schemes. Pale green walls blended with sea green carpet and the furniture and window coverings were the ivory of sea foam.

The colors, at least, reminded her of home.

“Yes, very suitable.” He put his head to one side. “No personality, though. There’s nothing of you here.”

“Why would there be? I’ll be gone in a few months. Anyway, why are you here? I don’t want to see

you. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“Yes.” He came to sit down in one of the armchairs. “I have to say, I still find your attitude odd. How’s your back? No lingering side effects?”

Oh, that again. “Look, I told you before, it was instinctive. I just… did it.”

Dived across in front of Saahren when a mad gunman turned a weapon on him. Tesso, the ptorix

ambassador’s translator, had just killed his employer after being personally implicated in the massacre on Brjyl. Her action was instinctive but in the quiet of the night Allysha knew she might not have done the same thing if, say, President Galbraith was the assassin’s target. She wasn’t going to tell Saahren that.

“And I am grateful, Allysha. I have tried several times to express my gratitude but you won’t let me.”

He had. He’d sent her flowers and she’d put them in the disposal, he’d sent her jewelry and she’d sent it back to him. She refused to talk to him except about work. She’d refused an invitation to his inauguration as the newest Grand Admiral. She hadn’t heard from him for two weeks, thought he’d finally given up.

Until now.

“Okay, you’ve said it. Now will you please leave? This is my day off.”

“I thought we might spend the day together. I want to know if mamangs combine well with curry.”

Oh, buckrats. She’d said that when she first tasted the flesh of mamangs, back on Tisyphor. They were delicious. Memories flooded. The mountain garden, eating mamangs on the lawn by the waterfall. She

could almost taste them in her mouth. That was when they’d first made love.Don’t go there .

“Where can we get them in Malmos?” Damnation, she’d agreed. Without hesitation. “It doesn’t matter.

I’m not going. You have no right and you can’t make me.”

He smiled, showing teeth. “Kaff before you shower, or after? Can I help you with your robe?”

She looked down at her garment, following his eyes. The cord had loosened. Saahren stared at her

cleavage and passed his tongue slowly between his lips. His eyes were hot. Allysha flushed and fled to the washroom. “After,” she said over her shoulder. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. She might as well humor him; he’d leave soon enough, back to his battle cruiser and then she could get back to her own

life.

Showered and dressed, she returned to the living room to find Saahren watching a news broadcast.

“Turn it off, Albert, and make some more kaff,” he said when Allysha appeared. He shook his head.

“Tell me why it takes so long for a woman to get dressed.”

“Because I haven’t done… what d’you call it… boot camp training.” Although she had to admit, she’d taken longer than usual. What to wear was more complicated than usual. Casual, but not too casual.

Nice, but not too revealing. In the end she’d settled for tailored black pants and a green shirt. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders but she’d applied just a little eye makeup. Not for him, though.

He fetched the kaff for her and sat opposite her at the dining table. “I like the shirt. It matches your eyes.”

“That’s why I bought it.” She sipped her kaff. “So what’s the plan, Admiral? Since it’s clear I have to obey orders.”

“We’ll make a day of it, do some ordinary things, visit a few places. You haven’t been out much since you’ve been here.”

“Are you having me followed?”

“Let’s just say I keep myself informed about your movements.”

Damn him. “I hate this, you know that? You know everything about me, whether I want you to or not.”

His smile was reflective. “Not everything. There are things that only you can tell me.”

She gulped down the rest of her kaff and took the cup to the kleendish in the kitchen. Damnation. He

was every bit as unsuitable as Sean had been; just differently unsuitable. She’d learnt her lesson. Love was for losers.

“Well, come on,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, let’s go. You can buy me breakfast somewhere.”

“I have a skimmer on the thirtieth level.”

He went out the front door first and waited for her to lock up. In the parking area he wove his way

between the vehicles to a slightly battered blue Lysanda convertible with its top open. The model was probably five years old.

“Oh. I would have expected you to drive a TL 200 or something.”

He laughed as he opened the door for her. “This isn’t mine. I don’t even own a skimmer, as a matter of fact. I don’t get to drive myself very often. If I want a vehicle, I just requisition one. Where we’re headed a TL 200 would stand out like jaykka ferns in the desert. And probably wouldn’t be there when we got

back.”

She slid into the passenger seat. “Where does this come from?”

“FI. They have quite a few vehicles of different types for undercover operations.”

Fleet Intelligence. That would be right, all organized with his good friend—and her boss—Admiral Vlad Leonov. She wondered if Vlad knew about this… this raid. Huh. Of course he did.

Saahren punched in a location and let the machine’s IS make its way out into the traffic. The ordered sky-ways were busy. Malmos was busy thirty hours a day, every day.

“Where are we going?”

“To the city markets in a suburb called Cusang. Right out on the edges of the manufacturing district on the other side of the city.”

They passed the Fleet buildings and the parliamentary complex and headed toward the mountains. The

weather was magnificent, warm without being hot, the sky a brilliant blue vault, the sunlight sparkling on distant snow caps. Saahren left the Lysanda’s top down and the wind ruffled Allysha’s hair. For a

moment she was reminded of a warm summer’s day on the beachfront at Shernish port.

“What are you thinking?”

“Summer days in Shernish. I can’t wait to go home.”

“Why? What put the thought in your mind?”

She shrugged and told him. Warmth, wind in her hair, the talk of food. The conversation went to

restaurants and cooking and what people ate in Shernish and how it might be cooked. He listened and

asked questions as the cityscape changed around them. The buildings were lower and market gardens

instead of parks filled the space between them. Long strips of different vegetables created a patchwork quilt of texture and color. Allysha hardly noticed.

****

Pyndrees eased the skimmer into the traffic a few vehicles behind the Lysanda.

“Did you know she has a boyfriend?” he asked.

“No. But she’s a good looking woman and the place is full of men.” Sean wondered if Allysha had had

boyfriends in Shernish. He hadn’t taken much notice of what she did—apart from the credits coming in.

He hadn’t actually seen much of her at all, the past few years. Foolish of him, really. His wife was lovely, without a doubt but she didn’t really seem to want his company much. She could hardly blame him for

consoling himself with other women.

He rubbed his face and wished he could shave. The stupid little beard itched. But Liam McNeill, lately of Ullnish, had a beard. At least he did while he was alive. The face shapers had reversed Sean’s

depilatory around his chin, plumped out his cheeks and thinned his hair. He wore a voice modulator

inside a tooth and his eyes were temporarily dyed blue. No need to tell the Feds Sean O’Reilly was in town. Huh. Ironic, really. He’d gone to a body shaper to avoid the Feds. A pity he hadn’t known that

particular body shaper was an agent for the Galactic People’s Republic. At least he’d been able to

persuade Tepich to let him try again to deliver Allysha. He very much doubted the late Gerrit van

Tongeren would have given him another chance.

“They seem to be leaving the city,” Pyndrees said.

Sean grunted. “If you get an opportunity, get rid of him and grab her.”

The sooner he was out of here, the better he’d like it. Malmos made him nervous. Besides, he didn’t like having to stay in a down-market hotel where the room was essentially a large drawer with a bed in it.

He’d developed a taste for first class travel and swish hotels. He didn’t much like Pyndrees, either. The man was a professional crook, tough and experienced. Tepich had provided him, ostensibly to help Sean on Malmos. Sean thought sourly he might just have another role, to keep an eye on Sean. He kept his

eyes on the Lysanda, three in front.

Pyndrees followed carefully. He pulled off the sky-way occasionally and caught up with the traffic in another lane or let other vehicles overtake him but the Lysanda was always in sight. Where would she be going? Somewhere out of town, obviously.

“Whoops. Time to go.” Pyndrees steered the skimmer off the sky-way and headed toward one of the

industrial hubs as though the place had always been his intended destination.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Greta van der Rol wishes she was born a thousand years or so in the future, where space ships zip

around the Galaxy and people have adventures on exotic worlds. Well, if you can’t be there, why not

write about it? And slap in a healthy dollop of romance, too?

After many years in the computer industry, Greta now writes full time. Her first published book, ‘Die a Dry Death’, is historical fiction based on the true story of the wreck of the Dutch merchant shipBatavia off the desolate coast of Western Australia in 1629. There may some more historical fiction in the future but for now, Greta is working on more fast and furious space romps, because they’re fun.

She lives in sub-tropical Queensland, Australia, near the beach. When she isn’t writing she enjoys

cooking and photography.

Visit her website athttp://gretavanderrol.com/

By the Same Author

The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy

The Iron Admiral: Deception*

Morgan’s Choice*

Published by PfoxChase

Also by Greta van der Rol: Die a Dry Death

Rave reviews forDie a Dry Death (In print - publisher: PfoxChase):

“Die a Dry Deathis a deeply unnerving tale, based on true events and told in a rich, evocative voice

which draws a reader in and doesn’t let go until well after the last page is turned and the book is set aside. I highly recommend it to anyone, not just fans of historical fiction or period stories.”

—Kimberley Menozzi

“Highly recommended. Accurate, well-researched historical fiction with both action arcs and (internal) character development arcs.”

—Susan Spann

“Die a Dry Deathcannot fail to satisfy the most demanding and critical of readers of historical fiction. An excellent read and highly recommended.”

—Malcolm Mendey

“I recommend this book to any historical fiction fan, and to all friends of books based on real life and given an extra dimension through fiction.”

—Heikki Hietala