Shadow Strike

by P. R. Adams

  “Expected?” McLeod frowned. “It was one of the possible outcomes.”

  “So, this wasn’t a sudden rescue mission.”

  “Oh, it was. But we knew an extraction was a possibility at some point.”

  “And you planned for it.”

  “You have to. Obviously, we would have hoped for a better outcome, but losses are always to be expected, and there’s always risk things will tilt toward war.” He didn’t seem worried about it.

  “You don’t think they’ll respond?”

  “The Azoren? They’re bogged down with the Moskav. Now they’ve had an incident with the Gulmar. Even a genocidal psychotic has limits. They won’t have the stomach for a three-front war. They can’t.”

  Benson swallowed. It was all so rational and logical. Planned. “What if the Gulmar sue for peace?”

  “After what happened? I don’t believe they’ll be able to. And we’ll provide them incentives to stand up to the Azoren. Old ships like the Marie Belle and Istanbul. We’ve already shown that we can get them functional in no time. Imagine the Gulmar fielding ten, maybe as many as fifteen ships within a year. Refitted like the Clarion. And there’s a profit to be had in it as well.”

  “While we build out a new fleet to deal with the threat?”

  “Exactly. Everyone wins.”

  Except for the millions who die in a pointless conflict. “We’ve—” Benson choked back a sigh. “—already reached out to the Gulmar?”

  “They’ve been engaged in trade talks for years now. Mutual defense is just a natural extension of that.”

  “An alliance?”

  “Oh, no. Too many would oppose that. Your mother’s party…” McLeod shook his head.

  Everything seemed to spin. Benson closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  McLeod’s seat creaked. “Commander?”

  “I think I pushed myself too hard.” She stood. “Thank you.”

  He stood and shot Scalise a look; she stood, too. “Give Agent Patel some room for a day or two. He’ll get over this.”

  Benson managed another variation on a Stiles smile, although probably not a good one. All the way back to the cabin, blood thundered in the commander’s ears. Her steps were unsteady, and her back felt damp.

  Any delusion that she’d been in control during the meeting was gone. The whole thing had been a minor concession, a display of appeasement.

  They knew. They had this planned all along. They want war.

  Hadn’t that been what Stiles had said?

  But did McLeod want war, or did he just want the threat of war?

  It didn’t matter. He’d get both. And with the relentlessness the Azoren had shown on Jotun, he’d get both.

  Soon.

  The hatch to her cabin opened, and she stepped in, noting the empty bed and immediately feeling so very alone. She needed someone to talk to, and it would have been even nicer to have someone to hold.

  Later.

  She got out of her dress uniform and splashed her face with water, then dug her communicator out of the jacket pocket and connected to Halliwell.

  On the third connection tone, he accepted. His face was red and sweaty, and he was breathing hard. “What is it?”

  From somewhere, a female voice said, “C’mon, Clive. Don’t stop now!”

  Benson disconnected and blocked any non-emergency transmissions. She shivered and crawled under the blankets.

  And for the first time in her life, Faith Benson understood the sort of loneliness her mother had complained about to her little child. It was the pain of being the only voice warning about short-sighted thinking and greed and hubris and narcissism. It was having allies and friends turn their backs on you when you said things that made them uncomfortable.

  What had her mother called it? The Cassandra Curse?

  Whatever it was, Benson hated it. She would much rather share the nonsensical beliefs of those around her than see the path her people had been put upon.

  Because it was a path that could only end in desolation.

  3

  Knocking brought Benson out of a fitful sleep. The cabin lights had shut off on their own at some point, leaving only the glow of her trophy globe to light her room. At some point, she’d kicked off the covers, and the cool air had dried her sweat. Now she was cold and out of sorts.

  She pushed up from the pillow, and the lights came on.

  Just her. In her cabin. On the Clarion. Alone.

  The knock came again—insistent. Why not use her communicator to wake her? It was right next her pillow…

  Blocking all incoming calls except for emergencies.

  Unsteadily, she slid out of the bunk and pulled a bathrobe on. As she dropped the communicator into a pocket, she caught a whiff of her breath—bad enough to stop a bull in its tracks as her mother used to say. Spices and paste had been trapped in some fold of her mouth for too long.

  Another knock.

  She opened the hatch. Halliwell glared at her, eyes smoldering, fists on hips. He wore casual clothes—dark jeans that hugged his thighs and butt, an even tighter blue shirt that looked almost black in the dim passageway lighting. He’d worn the outfit the first night she’d sneaked him into her cabin on the Pandora to make love. Was that why he wore it now?

  He looked past her, as if expecting to see someone in her bunk. He didn’t relax when his eyes settled on her again. “What was that all about?”

  “That?” She rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  “The call? You interrupted my workout.”

  “Workout.” The voice. It had been Grier’s. Benson had known that at some level, but she’d just assumed… “I wanted to talk.”

  Halliwell glanced up and down the passageway. “Can I come in?”

  “You still have clearance.”

  He squeezed past her. “I didn’t want to take the chance.”

  She checked the passageway before the hatch closed, then turned, nearly bumping into him. Then she wrapped him in a tight hug and breathed him in until the tension in his muscles receded and he brushed fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, Clive.”

  He hooked a thumb under her chin to pull her eyes up. “Want to talk about it?”

  She turned away to spare him from her breath. “In a second. Something died in my mouth.”

  Halliwell sighed while she brushed her teeth. “Chuck said Brianna told him that you had a big meeting with Colonel McLeod and Agent Patel. Is that what messed you up?”

  Was that Stiles manipulating again? “I’m not messed up.” The words were mangled by the toothbrush swishing over her teeth and gums.

  “You were crying. Your eyes are still puffy, and it’s been like three hours.”

  Three hours? It felt like she’d been asleep for days. She spat and rinsed. “They don’t realize what they’re doing.”

  “The colonel?”

  “All of them.” She washed, then dried her face. “McLeod, Patel, whoever supports them in the government.”

  “They’re spooks. I told you, never trust a one of them. Lying is a spy’s job.”

  “But they’re lying to themselves. This thing we did on Jotun? It wasn’t a last-minute operation.”

  “You knew that.”

  “I suspected there was more to it, but McLeod admitted that they knew all along that they’d have to go in there. This was something they’d expected to do from the beginning.”

  “Sure. You don’t infiltrate without expecting to exfiltrate.”

  “No. There’s more to it.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Like?”

  “Like…I’d rather talk with all of you about it.”

  “Who?”

  “The Pandora crew. The only people I can trust.”

  “Brianna was part of the crew.”

  “The old crew. Before the intelligence agencies got involved.”

  “Okay. Sure.” He uncrossed his arms and the tension that had bunched the muscles of his upper body seemed to lea
k out. “I can talk to Toni.”

  Don’t call her that! “Let me send an invitation to everyone. We can meet in the galley. It’ll be closed soon. For a few hours. We’ll have it to ourselves.”

  “Fine.”

  She pulled the communicator from her pocket and dictated the appointment details—place, time, attendees, subject.

  Halliwell pushed off from the wall. “Three hours? Why not just head there when the place closes?”

  Benson checked the communicator for any queued messages: nothing. If there were an emergency in Fold Space, no one was likely to have an opportunity to sound an alarm. She slipped the communicator back into the robe pocket, then undid the belt and folded the garment over her chair.

  Halliwell’s eyes widened, but he didn’t protest as she pressed him against the wall and kissed him.

  She unbuckled his belt. “You think three hours will be long enough?”

  He smiled and peeled his shirt off. “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

  It felt surprisingly wrong to have the Pandora crew gathered without Stiles, but Benson wasn’t going to budge on it. Instead, she focused on the table and the walls around her, searching for any bugs even while knowing they were going to be impossible to detect with the naked eye.

  But who cared if someone listened in? She wasn’t conspiring. She was having coffee with her old crew.

  Sealed off from the rest of the darkened ship. Whispering.

  Heart pounding.

  Just six little mice, talking about nothing. Squeak squeak.

  Benson breathed in the rich aroma and let the steam warm her.

  Dietrich cleared his throat, letting everyone know he was annoyed. “Faith?”

  Time. It was time. Benson set her coffee down, already missing its bittersweet warmth in her hands and on her tongue. She couldn’t look commander-like with the mug pressed to her lips. Then again, dressed in her own version of casual—dark slacks that rode below the curve of belly she couldn’t get rid of and a loose, bright yellow sweater that just oozed comfort—did she need to be commander-like?

  Everyone was dressed similar to that. To her right, Halliwell in his jeans and dark blue shirt and Grier in cutoffs and a sleeveless top that emphasized her sculpted form. To the left, Kohn in light windbreaker that matched his sand-colored, business-casual slacks; Dietrich in a jacket and slacks that must have cost a good bit to pull off such a tailored-to-be-casual look. And at the end of the table, Parkinson in a pullover shirt with popped-up collar and jeans.

  In the dim light, wrapped in steam from their coffee, they were ghosts.

  Like me. Survivors returned from the dead. “Thank you for making the time.”

  That drew confused looks: Didn’t you send us an appointment?

  “We’re just days out from exiting Fold Space. I think we all know that when we reach Kedraal, we’re facing changes. Big changes. Some of us might be separating—”

  Halliwell found something really interesting in the dark depths of his mug.

  “—and the rest of us are almost certainly looking at new assignments.” Benson could only hope her future wasn’t as bleak as it felt at the moment. “Since we aren’t likely to have much of an opportunity to say goodbye, I thought we’d do that now.”

  She stood and extended a hand to Dietrich. “Thank you. Each and every one of you. It’s been an honor to serve with you aboard the Pandora and…now.”

  The doctor stared at the offered hand as if it were a virus that needed to be analyzed and categorized. “You don’t expect to simply be reassigned to the Pandora?”

  “No. I don’t think any of us will be.”

  He shook, strong fingers wrapped around the back of her hand. “Well…”

  Kohn shook next, dark eyes wide in surprise. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She had to stretch to reach Parkinson, who seemed almost hurt by the development. He was especially pale and probably still in pain despite the treatment he’d received since returning from the moon. More importantly, he sported a scowl that said he hadn’t really considered the potential outcome she was laying out. When he let go of her hand, he looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to let his confusion show.

  “I—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have some more updates on…everything.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  “Pandora systems, those Azoren stealth suits—all of it.”

  “I understand.”

  “I-I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

  Did he think she didn’t value him? “I look forward to your findings.”

  Grier’s shake was powerful and confident. “You ever need a corporal in your Marine contingent, ma’am—” The wink she gave was playful.

  Then there was Halliwell’s grip. Benson knew the feel of his powerful hands all too well, but the vulnerability in his eyes was new. “Thanks.”

  That was it from him: “Thanks.”

  He was keeping so much bottled up inside, she wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him.

  What’s going on in that head of yours, Clive?

  She sat back down and tried to keep her smile, pushing away thoughts of what could have hurt the big man so badly. She would rather be curled up in her bunk with him, though. It was so much easier just forgetting the world outside and finding peace together.

  It was Parkinson who broke the silence. “So, you have any word? Like what sort of tasking we’re going to get? Shipboard or planet-side?”

  “I haven’t been approached, no. I don’t know that they expected us to be here.”

  There. That registered on all their faces. She was saying what they all must have at least considered: They’d beaten the odds.

  Survivors. Ghosts. They had to feel it.

  Dietrich leaned forward. “So, Staff Sergeant Halliwell, you think they’ll give you your separation now?”

  The big Marine shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  The doctor’s eyes twinkled. “There’s a real appeal to the idea of returning to civilian life.”

  Kohn gulped. “Really? I-I…just started.”

  “And the future ahead of you is bright.” Dietrich patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Without Lenny blocking your path, I can’t imagine you having anything interfering with your medical school application now. And don’t fret—I’ll continue to press forward with my recommendation.”

  Parkinson sneered but held his tongue. Benson thought there might just be some hope for the engineer.

  The surgeon stroked his chin while studying Grier. “So, Commander, is the young corporal here correct in her assessment? Are you expecting to stay on and take an assignment appropriate to your rank?”

  A twinge of guilt shot through Benson when Halliwell refused to look at her. “After what we’ve all been through, I’m not sure what to expect.”

  Halliwell wrapped his hands around his cup; his knuckles whitened.

  Benson had to look away. “For all I know, we’ll all be released.”

  Parkinson straightened. “Released? We’re too valuable! Well, some of us are.”

  That drew a glare from Kohn, who quickly turned back to his coffee. “Don’t they normally kick out resurrected?”

  Resurrected. It was a term Benson hated. “In peacetime.”

  Grier chuckled. “One death’s enough, huh?”

  It was Kohn who caught Benson’s meaning. “Commander, aren’t we still on a peacetime footing?”

  Benson scanned their faces. “We entered Azoren space and killed their personnel. Maybe we get lucky. and they don’t figure it out. Or maybe it’s too small an annoyance to start a war over.”

  “But…” The young technician’s eyes widened. “You don’t think so.”

  “I’m not sure what I believe. I know I’ll have some challenges ahead of me, no matter what.”

  Grier rubbed Halliwell’s back. “Maybe we could all just buy our own ship and make a go hauling illicit goods from planet to planet, huh, Clive?”

&
nbsp; The big Marine scowled and shrugged her off. “There’s good money in legit work.”

  Dietrich leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be wrestling with a smile. “You think you have what it takes to do that?”

  “Run a merchant operation?” Halliwell sunk in on himself. “Yeah.”

  “I know some people with money to spare. Maybe we should talk.”

  “That’d be good.”

  “Assuming we’re all to be unemployed despite our personal intent.”

  Benson traced a finger around the rim of her cup. “I honestly don’t have any insight. I do know I have enemies, though.”

  Halliwell’s face darkened. “Agent Patel.”

  “At least.”

  Although Grier’s playfulness seemed to have faded after Halliwell’s reaction, she kept a grin on her face. “Don’t those guys hate everyone with decent character? It’s probably a good sign if they don’t like you.”

  “Good sign or not, they can destroy a career.”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows you did what you had to do, Commander.”

  “Do they?”

  Kohn nodded. “Definitely. I’ve talked to a lot of people. Even the folks who made it back from Jotun say whatever happened had to happen. Brianna—” He blushed. “She says there’s a small group trying to stir up trouble, that’s all.”

  Even a small group could ruin a career. Benson had seen that firsthand in less than a decade of service. “Maybe it can be forgiven as a mistake. Maybe not.”

  The doctor sighed. “Speaking as someone with more than a little experience paying penance for mistakes small and large, it needn’t be career-ending.”

  Halliwell pushed his coffee cup away. “Unless you want it to be.”

  “Of course.” Dietrich wagged a finger at the staff sergeant. “But do you?”

  “Yes. I’m tired of trying to cover up for others.”

  “Then that’s a choice you’ve made and accepted. Our dear commander here, the stars seem aligned for a bright future should she choose to stay the course. The unknown is the enemy. Unlike you, she has the advantage of an option to fall back on—a mother with some money.” Dietrich held up a hand to stop Benson from protesting. “Being from a stable home capable of supporting you isn’t a crime. I speak as someone who shares that shame sometimes. Whether or not you make something of the advantage while also acknowledging it, that’s what matters. Young Mr. Halliwell seems to be the sort bent on rising above despite the challenges life has thrown his way. That’s worthy of salute.”