The Iron Admiral: Deception (28 page)

“Yes, I see,” Frensberg said, nodding. “A broadcast. Of sorts.”

A broadcast. The words roared in her ears. Every single planet in the galaxy had communications satellites, in many cases covering every inch of their surface. Implants were intended to pick up broadcast

signals. Just as well that signal was directed or she’d be as dead as those poor bastards on that sled.

She

had to stop them. She shifted her mind into the base systems. She could seal the airlock, stop them from getting the ship out. Too late. It was already beyond the doors, rotating away.

She groaned. Everything she’d done had turned out wrong. More people were going to die. Because of her. Despair pressed down on her shoulders. She had to get off this base, tell Vlad and Chaka. And come up with a way to defend against what she’d done.

The observers in the laboratory had drifted off into the base’s dining room to celebrate. Bottles appeared, glasses were poured and raised. Allysha checked the launch stats. It would be hours before they’d know for sure if what they’d done worked. But Allysha had no doubt it would.

A gentle click as the door unlocked, heralding Agnita’s appearance in the doorway. “I am to take you to the washroom and see if there is anything you require. Food? Drink?” Her voice was that of a barely polite jailer. The nerve stick now hanging in plain view from the tasseled belt at her waist reinforced the impression.

Allysha raised her eyebrows. “So I no longer have freedom to go to the toilet on my own?”

“Your work here is done. You will be leaving shortly.”

“Fine,” Allysha said, standing. The washroom was a good idea, anyway. She wanted a shower and to brush her teeth, anything to wash away the horror of what she’d seen.

She stood under the shower for a long time, letting the water flow down over her upturned face and body. Scenarios flitted through her mind. The best one she could think of was a planet like Kentor. Kill off the humans, the population would suddenly be predominantly ptorix. But what was the point? It simply offered an invitation to Anxhou to take over.

She didn’t understand. She just didn’t understand.

She dried herself and dressed. Her techpack was missing. She glanced around but it wasn’t on the small bench where she’d left it, tucked under clothes. “Agnita?”

The woman appeared, silent as a ghost.

“My techpack’s missing. It’s a box about this long—”

“You will not need it.”

True enough, but they obviously didn’t know that. “It’s mine. You have no right.” She injected some anger into her tone.

“You will not need it. Come.” She took the nerve stick off her belt and waved it.

Allysha made a pretense of cowering and allowed Agnita to return her to her room. A portable toilet now took up some of the floor space between the bunk and the wardrobe. A bottle of water and some food rations had been placed on the tiny bedside table. Agnita closed the door and locked it.

The food was the usual uninspiring slices of manufactured stuff. Mindful of her survival training, she ate it anyway. Who knew when she’d eat again? More and more, she wondered what they were going to do with her. As well she didn’t need those four hundred thousand credits. Because sure as eggs hatched, she

wasn’t going to get any of them.

****

Sean walked through the service corridor into the next passenger lounge. He’d have no more than a few minutes before they noticed he was gone. Perhaps they would just leave it be. They had Allysha, which was all they wanted. But he couldn’t rely on that. Tepich didn’t strike him as a forgiving sort. He walked purposefully, not running but a man with a place to go, all the while searching for a chance. He was lucky the place was crowded. He could switch and swerve and change direction and keep an eye on his surroundings.

 

A loud conversation nearby startled him but it was only four young lads talking excitedly about something. Probably the local sheer ball finals. They were demonstrating turns and overtaking with their hands, ignoring the bags at their feet. This would work better if he had an accomplice, but he didn’t so he’d have to do his best. He jostled past the lads, shouldering one of them into his companions.

They reacted, fists balled. “Idiot. Watch what yer doin’.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, hands held palms out. “Sorry, fellas. Didn’t mean anythin’. Had a few, know what I mean? Please. Din’t mean nothin’.”

Aggression melted into disgust. “Bugger off, schlonface.”

Sean stumbled away, kicking the bag a little further in front of him until he could bend to pick it up. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the youth hadn’t even noticed his belongings had disappeared.

In the nearest washroom he examined his new prize. He could flush the wig he wore down the toilet. He hoped. A rummage through the bag revealed a reasonable looking jacket and a blue shirt. The fellow’s pants were too large for him. The shirt and jacket would have to do. Sean changed, shoved his discarded

clothing into the stolen bag, and toggled the ID function in his implant. Might as well return to being Jak Costaz.

Back in the lounge, he left the bag beside a chair and made his way to the ticket booth. “Sal Menoa, please.” Kentor’s capital was as good a place as any for a man on the run.

****

Carnessa turned gently in its stately dance around its sun, its three small moons in close attendance.

 

Saahren gazed down at the usual blue/green orb of a settled world. Now, not just the three moons circled the planet.Arcturus drifted in high orbit and around her, half a dozen other ships were carefully scattered to ensure a rapid deployment. Anxhou continued his waiting game. But he would attack here first; Saahren was sure of it. All the ptorix governor needed was an incident; an excuse.

Ullnish lay directly below the battle cruiser’s deliberately geostationary orbit, its lights just beginning to glow in the wake of the darkness now trailing its shroud across the surface. As often as he’d seen that sight on so many different worlds, it always fascinated him. Almost like a cloak, or a curtain.

And just over there, where the sunlight faded, was Shernish. “Arcturus, show me the university.”

The image expanded rapidly, then more slowly as sea and mountain disappeared off the edges of the view. He’d seen it before, of course, up closer than this. He’d been there, with her, to prevent the release

of the killer virus. Then, storms had lashed the city. Today, sunlight poured down on the ancient walled fortress on the hill, surrounded on three sides by the river. What a wonderful defensive position. Flags flew on the cones and spires, people of both species walked in the courtyards. Lobok Street wound around the walls, busy with traffic. Port Road meandered down the hill to the sea from the main entrance.

Xanthor lived in Port Road. He could even pick the roof and the roof of the house Allysha owned before

O’Reilly sold it from under her. But Allysha wasn’t there.Allysha; where are you? What’s happening to you?

“Sir?” Butcher’s voice interrupted his reverie and he turned around.

“It’s time,” his adjutant said.

Saahren nodded. He made one last small adjustment to the high collar of his dress uniform and walked out into the corridor, Butcher a step behind him. Formal receptions were probably the things he hated most about his job, but they had to be done.

In the hangar bay, the shuttles stood ready, engines idling. His escort slammed to attention, Saahren returned the salute and he and Butcher climbed into the nearest ship. In accordance with Fleet policy, senior command officers traveled in no more than pairs. Admiral Larsen and Captain Pedder would follow in other transports.

“Will it just be ptorix at this do, Butcher?”

“No. A few prominent humans have been invited.” Butcher showed him the list, with pictures. Business men, academics, nobody Saahren knew. Or wanted to know.

“Any news of Allysha?” Butcher asked.

Saahren shook his head and stared at the screen. It was a fine night. The Qerran capital was spread out before him. Even the streets were curved, not straight, clustered around both sides of a wide, meandering

river crossed by many bridges, their lights reflecting in the dark water. To the east, the space port was a bright oval. Their destination, the Suldan’s palace, lay in its own grounds by the river. It sparkled with colored light.

He stepped out into the glare of publicity that surrounded an event such as this. After all, that’s what this

‘good will visit’ was all about. He smiled at the cameras, shook hands and tentacles, exchanged pleasantries, until he was ushered forward to meet the Suldan himself. As always, he towered above even

the tallest ptorix. Suldan Bentrax was no exception but he had not tried to make himself taller by using a stage, as others had. Saahren greeted him as an equal, a strong leader doing a difficult job.

“I’m pleased to meet you in person,” he said to Bentrax, accepting the proffered tentacles. They writhed in his grip, firm and dry.

Bentrax spoke, eyes whirling green, while his assistant translated. “You have taken the time to learn something of us. I appreciate that.”

Saahren smiled. “The Suldan will know that I was well taught.”

“Your adviser, Professor Marten’s daughter.”

“Yes.” A single word that meant so much. “I would have liked to have met her father.”

“He was a most unusual human. And he is still missed.”

A few more words of friendship and support and then Saahren moved around the room, going through the motions, showing the flag. A number of other white uniforms did the same; Larsen, Valperez, Pedder,

several other ship’s captains. At last he considered he’d done enough and went in search of the one ptorix he really wanted to talk to.

He slipped away to the private room they’d organized and closed the door behind him. Professor Xanthor was already there.

“I am honored, Sir, honored to meet you.” Xanthor’s eyes sparkled greenish blue. He spoke Standard well, with the characteristic high pitch and sibilant consonants.

 

Honored. Saahren stared down at the elderly Professor. He seemed as pleased as he said he was, if he read the ptorix body-language correctly. “May I sit?”

“Of course, of course.” The eyes changed color, slightly more blue and the tentacles lashed. Just for a moment. “Is this about Allysha?”

Saahren sat in a chair brought here specially for him. It took the weight off his feet and made life a little easier for his companion, who settled onto a ptorix pad.

“In a way.”

“How is she? Safe in Malmos, I expect?”

Safe in Malmos. How he wished it were so. “I expect so.” He paused, rehearsing the words one last time. “Professor, you are the closest person she has. You know that.”

“She is dear to me. As dear as a daughter.”

Saahren leaned forward in his chair. “I wish to marry her.”

A trill of pleasure. Xanthor’s eyes danced green and gold. “Wonderful.” The light show faded. “You know she is married.”

“Yes.” His nostrils flared as the name popped into his head. O’Reilly.

“I tried to warn her. So did her father. He was unsuitable. But she insisted.” His tentacles swirled. “Has Allysha agreed to marry you?”

“No. Not yet. She blames me for her father’s death at Jossur.”

“Ah, yes. A tragedy… a tragedy. Your tactics, if I may say, were masterful.”

Saahren felt faint. “Masterful? She said that you accused me of bombarding the planet, that was how he died.”

Xanthor seemed to shrink a little. “So I was told. It was long after that I learned the truth, that the battleshipXeveres collided with the space station and both crashed to the ground. And by then, it was not

politic to tell the truth.”

“Politics.” Of course.

“Politics. I know, also, that you sent Admiral Xendo home and that the Khophir had him executed.” He rubbed at his speaking mouth. “Please understand, Lord Admiral, that even had I been permitted to tell Allysha the truth, she would not have listened. She had become estranged from her father for this… this O’Reilly. How much easier to blame a distant human admiral than face her own mistakes?”

“So you would not object to her marriage to me?”

“I would be delighted. Delighted.”

He’d be delighted. That’s what he said. Saahren’s spirit soared. One hurdle down.

 

Xanthor’s eyes swirled orange. “But what of O’Reilly?”

Saahren’s lips curved in a nasty smile. He did so hope O’Reilly would refuse to divorce Allysha. “I’ll deal with that. One way or another.”

Xanthor made a formal half bow, a difficult maneuver for a ptorix. “Lord Admiral, I would like to be present at your marriage to my dearest daughter, Allysha.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“And may I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.” Saahren had no trouble agreeing to that request, either.

ChapterThirty-Two

Allysha sat up and concentrated. The ship was back. The experiment conducted at Buena Suerte had been an ‘unqualified’ success. Galen and his colleagues had cheered and raised glasses again, seemingly oblivious to the deaths of however many people they’d sequestered there.

And now they were organizing a visual conference. Tepich and Frensberg stood together in front of a 2D screen, waiting. Both of them were dressed to kill. Frensberg wore elaborate robes of deep green encrusted with gold and jewels at the neck and sleeves; Tepich had exchanged his normal blue habit for deep burgundy.

The visual took form, shuddered a little. She couldn’t help a gasp. A ptorix. Why? Maybe Tepich and his people were simply mercenaries, looking to sell their goods to whoever would pay. Like van Tongeren on Tisyphor. It didn’t make sense, though. They were GPR fundamentalists who hated the ptorix even more than the machine-men she’d seen them murder.

The ptorix in the screen wore elaborate orange robes, a high-ranking official looking to make an impact.

He didn’t seem particularly nervous, judging by his tentacles. She couldn’t catch the color of his eyes.

A high-level meeting, then. Possibilities fizzed through her brain. Her Kentor theory was starting to look pretty solid.