The Iron Admiral: Deception (22 page)

The trouble was very definitely what to do.

She’d had plenty of time to think while she lay, weak and drained, on her bed, staring at the ceiling. At first she didn’t even think, just drifted like flotsam in an ocean of dreams. Events replayed. She could stop them and rewind them in her mind. What happened here? What had she thought there?

Okay, she was prepared to admit that she had feelings for Chaka Saahren. Okay, she loved him. She could even think of him as Chaka, now. In her mind, she rested her forehead against his chest in warehouse 30-Hector. Safe. She could smell him, feel the texture of the uniform against her skin. He’d visited her in hospital a few weeks ago, sitting beside her bed, tall and dark. They’d only let him stay for ten minutes and she’d been half asleep most of the time. He’d held her hand the whole time and he kissed

her forehead before he left. Flowers were always there at her bedside. Only now the note was different.

No name, just ‘I love you’.

The surf boomed. A particularly large wave shattered itself on the unseen rocks and salt spray rose above the grass.

The grand admiral, now. That was a different matter. Thoughts of Jossur still tugged at her mind. She was prepared to accept that all the facts she could find supported Saahren’s account that the planet had not been bombarded from space. But her father had still died there, along with millions of innocent ptorix,

even if it was a legitimate military target. And what about Xanthor? He’d said, at a public meeting in Shernish, that the Confederacy Fleet had bombarded Jossur. Why?

 

A hunting seabird floating on the air currents folded its wings and plummeted into the ocean to emerge a moment later with something wriggling in its claws. The bird struggled into the air on pumping wings and canted east along the cliffs.

And what about Sean? Allysha couldn’t bring herself to believe that he wanted to hurt her. Twice he’d tried to… what? Catch her? Take her somewhere? Three, if you counted Tisyphor and that fellow—what was his name—Tepich. Yes, she’d been gravely ill the last time, but that was because Sean

and his friends had drugged her when she was already drugged. A soporific, the doctors had said. It wasn’t supposed to kill her. She wondered what they wanted from her. Some sort of systems work, obviously. That was all she had to offer.

It didn’t matter anyway. She wanted a divorce. Saahren’s—Chaka’s—face drifted into her mind. She picked at a piece of grass with her fingers. He wouldn’t be content with anything less than marriage.

He’d

said so, on Tisyphor and after the Fleet Ball. He’d also said he wouldn’t kill Sean, but that Sean had better sign the divorce papers when the time came. She had no illusions about what might happen if Sean was stupid enough to refuse. She might love Chaka but he wasn’t ‘nice’. And marriage… marriage to a grand admiral? He routinely chatted with presidents and ministers, commanded millions of people. And she, Allysha Marten, was just a gifted techo from an edge planet. Was that what she wanted? She wished he really was just Sergeant Brad Stone; or even Senior Commander Brad Charters. Then it would be easy.

She lay back on the grass, supporting her weight on her elbows, knees bent. The sun shone warm on her hair and face. Another couple of days, the doctors said, and she could return to her Malmos apartment.

And then what? She had no doubt that Sean’s friends would have found out where she was, that they’d try again. The protective measures would be even worse. She’d be surrounded by Fleet security people, escorted everywhere, never given a moment of freedom. Even here on the grass, they knew where she was. Guards hovered, never too far away.

She heaved herself to her feet and dusted her hands on her trousers. She’d been manipulated for long enough. Time to take charge, get some answers. She needed to deal with the ghost of her father, talk to Xanthor and confront Sean. After that, she could think about Grand Admiral Chaka Saahren.

Two days, the doctors had said. She walked slowly down the slope back to her private bungalow. Two days and Vlad would come to take her back to Malmos. She’d be guarded around the clock. She was here, too, of course. The hotel grounds were as secure as current technology could provide and she herself was kept under direct surveillance. Even so, it would probably be easier to escape from here, where the surveillance was at least not so intrusive. Her steps slowed and she frowned. Sneak off; is that what she intended? Yes. The contract was ended; she was a free agent. She almost smiled at the thought of Chaka’s face if she told him she was going home, alone. He wouldn’t allow it, not for a minute.

A bored guard stood outside her unit. She smiled at him and went inside, into another tastefully decorated, impersonal interior but here the windows were real, with views of the gardens. Allysha turned on some music—Manessa’s Fantasies, complex and hypnotic—and turned her mind to planning her escape.

****

“Grand Admiral, I have a code five request for a conference from Admiral Leonov.”

Saahren sat up straight. “Put it through.”

There was a momentary delay as Arcturus sealed the room and then Leonov’s image appeared. He looked tense and very serious. “You’re not going to like this, Chaka.”

Icy fingers sent shivers down Saahren’s spine. “What?”

“She’s gone. We’re not sure when but we think yesterday.”

Not again. Surely not again. Saahren’s nostrils flared but he kept his voice flat. “Where? How?”

“She’s left a message. We don’t think anybody has grabbed her. Best if you look at that message first.”

“Put it on.”

Leonov’s image remained at one side and Allysha appeared.

She spoke the words herself. Saahren thought she stood near the ocean, on grass. He could hear the muted roar of surf and her hair blew a little in the wind. His heart sped up at the sight of her. The bruises were gone and she’d lost that pallor.

“By the time you get this, I’ll be on my way. I know you’ll be angry.” She sighed, eyes pleading. “But please don’t try to stop me. There are things I have to know, have to find out for myself, ghosts I have to

put to rest. After that… well, I can get on with living again.” She paused. “I haven’t been abducted and I’m fine. Fit and well. I know you can find me. I’m asking you to trust me.” She smiled. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

The image disappeared.

He stared at his hands, splayed on the desktop. Just when he thought he’d won. He’d been planning to return to Malmos next week to see the President. Or that was the excuse. She was too trusting, altogether too trusting. Did she think she was safe? That attempts to take her would stop? Why? That was the important question. What did they want from her?

“She recorded that on the cliffs near the hospital.” Leonov sat in his office, behind his desk. Outside, the Malmos skies promised rain. “I sent agents to pick her up. She rigged the system in her bungalow to pretend that she was still there. Used holograms of herself, doing usual day-to-day activities, to fool human eyes. And the sensors… well, you know how easy she’d find that.”

The subterfuge would have been child’s play for her. Nevertheless. “Are all your people totally incompetent? You know what she can do. Couldn’t you at least have put some people in to watch her?”

“All the surveillance systems were operational. We were keeping her safe, not keeping her prisoner.”

True enough. No point in blaming people. “When did she go?”

“According to the system, about a day ago.”

 

“She’s gone to Shernish,” he said. “That’s obvious.”

“Yes.” Leonov chewed his lip. “I wish we knew what they want her for.”

“You still say it’s GPR chasing her?”

“Nothing’s happened to change that perception.”

His first instinct was to send people to bring her back. And yet she’d asked him not to, to trust her. And if he didn’t? If he dragged her back? “Any sign of O’Reilly?”

“No. But we’re still looking.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway, I guess. Find her, Vlad. But give her room, if you can.”

****

Allysha sat in a booth in the transit lounge on Piermont station, in orbit above Melchior. The planet hung in the view screen, a gibbous ball. Patches of light glittered on its night side, especially along the margins of Atlantis, the largest continent. In places clouds obscured the ground.

 

Oblivious to the view, she sipped at a glass of juice while checking the people in the lounge. The tiny sensors in her earrings collected information around her and relayed warnings to her implant. All clear so far. Business people chatted or read news sheets, a couple let their kids jump on the furniture, a number of people snatched a quick bite to eat or a drink from the refreshment counter or the vending machines.

She caught her breath at the sight of a couple of uniforms and let it out again. Relaxed fleeters, being transferred or going on leave. No sign of pursuit. Not so far, anyway. She flicked a mental eye to the boarding announcements. The flight to Kentor would board in ten minutes. The seconds crawled by. The father of the rioting children had finally taken them in hand; now they were crying.

Her ticket flashed; the flight to Kentor was ready to board. At last. The tension in her shoulders eased, she picked up her bag and walked as casually as she dared, along with a few hundred other people, to the airlock at gateway seven. She’d paid a first class fare; or rather, Marian Blaxland had. Blonde wig, blue lenses, high heels, tight dress and an ID card. And, of course, a personal privacy shield to screen her

from detection. The false identity was the easy part. She’d change to something else on Kentor and book

a passage to Carnessa from there. She’d be home in a few days.

****

Sean followed Orac out of the derelict house into an equally decrepit street lined with collapsing houses.

 

The house where Allysha lay, probably dead by now, was invisible, two blocks away. Dead. He’d never meant to hurt her. But now he’d have to be in really big trouble himself.

 

“The gunship’s still there,” Orac said, checking his sensors. ‘We’d better clear off.”

“Where to?” Sean hoped his nervousness wasn’t obvious.

Orac’s face was blank, devoid of emotion. “Tepich will want to know.” He turned to the small man in the dark clothing. “Hang around and keep an eye on those troops. Let me know if they move or if anybody’s on our trail.” The man nodded and jogged off between the houses.

Tepich. Shit, oh shit. Sean’s knees turned to water. Just the mention of the man’s name was enough to make him tremble. The third fellow, Brinsen, pushed him in the back. “Let’s go, O’Reilly. We don’t keep the boss waiting.”

He hurried along between them past the rotting garbage, the blank windows, his heart thundering in his chest. “Look, give me a minute will you?” he said, slowing his pace. “I need a leak.”

“Sure.” Brinsen followed him into an alley, stood behind him as he did his business against a wall. They were keeping an eye on him, no doubt about it.

A few more blocks on, Orac nudged him down into a subway station and onto a half-full commuter train. They sat on a bench, one on either side of him. Three stations on, Orac said, “We get off here.”

Sean jumped out of the train ready to run but Brinsen caught his arm. “You stay with us, O’Reilly.” He twitched aside his coat so Sean could see the weapon.

Outside, late afternoon light cast shadows in a busy street. A tram rattled along a line in the center of the roadway. People filled the sidewalks; locals in business suits, women with shopping and many Fleet uniforms. This might be his chance. But Brinsen guided him over to the wall, out of the traffic flow. Fuck.

If his heart beat any faster, he’d explode.

Music and laughter drifted in the air just ahead. A bar. What he’d give for a drink right now. Orac had just passed the doorway when a group of men erupted into the street. Two of them were fighting, thumping at each other, a fleeter and a local, surrounded by barrackers egging them on. Orac couldn’t get

through. Sean darted sideway. Brinsen lunged for him and struck a fleeter, who smacked the man in the stomach with a clenched fist. Sean ran, darting between people on the crowded pavements, heading for a

corner. He slowed down, panting. So far so good. Judging by the noise the struggle had turned into a full-on brawl. He sauntered down the street, listening to the approaching sound of a police siren. Two blocks away he boarded a tram.

He hung onto a strap in a packed carriage, swaying with the other commuters as the vehicle rounded a bend. He’d have to get off this planet and fast. No. Not smart. They’d head straight for the space station for sure. He needed a supermarket, a store where he could buy things, disguise himself, somewhere to hole up. The tram was passing into the theatre district. It was too early for patrons but displays showed trailers, restaurants advertised meal and ticket combinations. The tram slowed, forcing him to adjust his footing to keep his balance. Maybe the gods of chance were smiling for a change. A theatre supplier; just

what he needed. He jumped off at the next stop and hurried into the store.

Two days later Sean used a stolen credit chip at the Gueri Nestor space port to buy himself a ticket to Chollarc, one eye over his shoulder for hovering thugs. He’d changed his appearance with hair dye and clothing bought at the theatre suppliers. High-heeled boots made him look taller and altered the way he walked. He’d stuck on a small mustache, and padded his waist and cheeks. Even if Tepich’s thugs were around, he was pretty comfortable they wouldn’t recognize him. He was Albrecht Dimmler, dealer in ptorix jewelry, off to Chollarc looking for bargains.

He sat on a bench in a corner and fiddled with a coaster. He would have loved a drink but it wouldn’t be a good idea. Get off this world, get out of here, get away from Tepich. He was still nervous, of course

he was, who wouldn’t be with Tepich after him, probably gunning for him now. Oh, Allysha. He hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t wanted to hurt her. She had to be dead. What a way to die, in pain and filthy.