by Sam Schall
“My apologies, Admiral.” She looked around and then motioned to the sitting area. “May I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, no.” He watched as she considered her now empty glass. When she placed it on the shelf next to the half-empty whiskey bottle, he blew out a soft sigh of relief. The second hurdle had been cleared.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
He leaned back did his best to look at ease as he waited for her to sit. “First off, you can relax. I wanted to talk to you about several things, including what’s planned for tomorrow.”
She nodded once.
“Ash, I’m not going to tell you to buck up or any of that bullshit.” He chuckled as she leaned back, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Losing people sucks. That’s the price of command and we both knew it when we accepted our commissions. But you’ve been hit with much more than that over the last five years and you haven’t taken time—let’s be honest, you haven’t been given time—to come to terms with all that’s happened. Now you’ve lost people you cared for due to yet another betrayal. That’s enough to mess with anyone. So no, I’m not going to report you for it. All I’ll do is say I’m here whenever you want to talk.”
She swallowed hard and for a moment tears shone in her eyes before she blinked them back. “Thank you, sir.”
“Richard,” he corrected. “No formality tonight.”
She nodded and gave a slight smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re due a little latitude, Ash.” He relaxed a bit more. “We will assume a parking orbit around Fuercon tomorrow morning. Orders from FleetCom are to offload our dead first. I want full honor guards for each of your fallen. Mess Dress uniforms. Last off will be those who died in the shuttle saving this ship. With your permission, I would like to be one of the honor guard for them.”
She nodded again. “Of course, sir, and thank you. Your taking part will mean a great deal to my people.”
“Ash, I honor them as much as you do,” he said gently. “And their deaths anger me just as much. That is one of the reasons why I will do everything I can to make sure Fonteneau and those who conspired with him feel the full wrath of our justice.”
She didn’t try to hide her emotions this time as she reached up and rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Thanks.”
“After the fallen are handed over, you are to return to the ship.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “I’ll explain shortly. I think you’ll approve.”
“If you say so.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Next off the ships will be the wounded. Then those who are being given leave or moving on to new assignments. Standard procedure in other words.”
Ash reached for her datapad and made a few notes. “I’ll make sure Marines are on-hand to assist in the bays.”
“Thanks.” He paused, considering what he needed to say next. “Once the port has been cleared of all but necessary personnel, the prisoners will be transported down. They will be taken into custody and secured in the brig in the security complex. I want you and a team you handpick to facilitate the transfer.”
Ash blew out a breath and climbed to her feet. Collins waited, watching as she paced the length of the room. When she stopped in front of the viewscreen, he tensed slightly, wondering if she’d pour herself another drink. She’d been drinking too much since the loss of Talbot and the others. It hadn’t impacted her performance—yet—but it was only a matter of time unless she stopped.
Damn it! Was asking her to deal with Fonteneau too much?
A moment later, Ash turned. As she did, she reached for the whiskey bottle. A rueful, almost sad, expression crossed her face. Then it was gone. Without a word, she moved across the room and put away the bottle. As she returned to her chair, Collins wondered if this was the turning point for her. He hoped so. If they were going to defeat the Callusians once and for all, they needed her sober and thinking, not dulling her senses and slowing her reflexes with liquor.
“I understand.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on her upraised fists. When she leaned back a few moments later, she looked more like the Ashlyn Shaw he knew. Determination gleamed in her eyes and a hint of color touched her cheeks. “Richard—Admiral, I have one request.”
He looked at her, a hint of suspicion starting to take root. “What?”
“I want to have a chat with Fonteneau.” Now it was her turn to hold up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “Richard, I promise not to lay a hand on him. I won’t even threaten him. But I have questions I need to ask. I owe it to the dead and to their families.”
For several long moments, he considered what she said. Before he could answer, she smiled slightly and continued.
“I’m not asking you to let me see him alone. You can send anyone you want in with me. I even insist that the interview be recorded.”
He didn’t need to ask why. She’d learned the hard way to make sure she never left herself open to unfounded accusations if she could help it.
“All right, but with one proviso.” He waited until she nodded for him to continue. “I will arrange it so you have a few minutes alone with him. I won’t even tell you not to intimidate him. Just make sure you don’t do or say anything that might negatively impact his trial.”
“But?”
“You will do so after he’s been handed off dirtside. Let’s make this as clean as we can. Then you are to go home. Be with your son and the rest of your family until you have to report back for duty.”
She smiled. It might have been a small smile, but it was the first real smile he’d seen from her since Talbot’s death. “Thank you.”
“One more thing.” He climbed to his feet and waved for her to stay where she was. “Do you want me to assign someone to pack up Talbot’s personal effects?”
“Thank you but no. My brother and I will do it tonight.”
He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. He’d expected her answer and respected her for it.
“Briefing at 0700 to go over the final schedule for tomorrow. Get some rest now. There will be time to pack up Loco’s belongings after the briefing.”
With that, he turned and left her quarters. For the first time since Talbot’s death, he felt better about Ashlyn and how she was coping. Hopefully, she was on the road to a return to normal.
4
Midlothian Embassy
New Kilrain, Fuercon
Ambassador D’anil Kalmár stared out the window, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. For five years he’d served as Midlothian’s ambassador to Fuercon. Three of those had been before Derek Harper was elected as president. How he missed the days of the previous administration. Life had been much easier then.
Unlike his predecessor, Harper actually cared about his fellow Fuerconese, not just those who put him in power. He took his oaths to serve and protect them and the system seriously. Because of that, he didn’t play political games, especially not if those games might put Fuercon at a disadvantage. That made Kalmár’s job not only more difficult but decidedly more dangerous.
Damn Harper and damn Alexander Watchman!
Kalmár returned to his desk and once again pulled up the latest message from home. After weeks of delays, the government, in the form of the Administrative Bureau, finally responded to his request for guidance. Instead of giving him a clear policy to follow or, better yet, information on Watchman’s location he could hand over to the Fuerconese, the Bureau played word games with him. He was to “appease” Harper. Give him whatever information he wanted, even if he had to make it up. All that really mattered was making sure he gave the man no reason to look closer at Midlothian than he was already. Then the Bureau reminded him he had a scapegoat—Watchman. All blame for any slights, real or imagined, presented by the Fuerconese were to be laid at the feet of the former Intelligence Czar.
Then came the threat. He’d been expecting it. One part of him was tempted to take them up on it. Midlothian’s counterpart to Secretary of
State Nelms reminded him he served at the pleasure of the Bureau. If he was unable to carry out these simple instructions, he left them with no recourse save to recall him home. There were dangers in going down that road but they couldn’t be any worse than what he faced here, in a decidedly hostile environment.
If only it was that simple.
Kalmár ran a hand through his graying hair and dropped onto his chair. As he did, he released a long breath. Until he walked out of his office and seemingly disappeared into thin air, Alexander Watchman had been Midlothian’s intelligence czar. He knew where all the bodies, real and metaphorical, were buried. He had dossiers on everyone in government and all the major business players. If the government wanted dirty work done, it turned to him and that gave him a power none of them anticipated. A power he never hesitated to use if he felt it would benefit him. Now those power players who never hesitated to use him to deal with those who became inconvenient or dangerous to them were scrambling to not only find him but to find his data stash before anyone else did. That included the Fuerconese and their allies.
The question remained about what Watchman planned. No one with an ounce of self-preservation believed he wouldn’t reappear, probably at the worst possible moment. The real question wasn’t when that happened but what Watchman would do when it did. Would he use the information he had on the members of the government as leverage in the face of the evidence Fuercon and her allies had gathered, evidence proving he had been working with the Callusians in the war?
Of course, he would. Kalmár didn’t doubt it for a moment. Nor did he doubt Watchman would use the information to implicate those who failed to support him when their conspiracy became known.
Why in the name of all that was holy hadn’t he retired when he had the chance before Harper took office? He wanted to be as far from here—and from Midlothian—as possible when the proverbial shit hit the fan.
A knock at the office door interrupted his thoughts. Sitting up, Kalmár called for the newcomer to enter. The door slid open and Elwyn Fertig stepped inside. The woman waited for the door to close. Then she activated the security screen that prevented anyone from entering or overhearing what was said. Worried, Kalmár waited, wondering what bad news the woman brought this time.
“Well?” he asked when she remained silent.
“I just received word that the taskforce sent to Savitar VI returned to the system last night. Shuttles have been arriving all morning, ferrying dead and injured groundside.” She dropped onto one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I don’t have any details, but word is Harper will address the system either tonight or tomorrow morning. My sources tell me the taskforce completed its mission but what it found was worse than anticipated. I’m trying to get additional details but, so far at least, no one is saying anything more than that.”
Kalmár frowned again. Fertig was ostensibly his secretary. In reality, she had been sent by Watchman to keep an eye on him and on events on Fuercon. The ambassador knew first-hand how deadly she could be. Worse, he knew she would do whatever she felt necessary, even if it meant killing him, to protect Midlothian. But the woman sitting in front of him bore little resemblance to the confident killer he knew. This woman was shaken to her core and there could be only one explanation. She knew more than she said.
And he couldn’t let that go unchallenged. Not when that knowledge could be about so many things that might mean life or death—for him.
“There’s more to it. What aren’t you telling me?”
Now it was her turn to frown. Kalmár held her gaze. Once he’d been scared of her and her ties to Watchman. But no more, at least that’s what he told himself. She’d cut those ties when she handed Watchman’s pet assassin over to the Fuerconese after Moreau attempted to assassinate President Harper. Oh, Fertig took a few precautions to make sure the woman couldn’t give the Fuerconese any information about who she was or what she had been up to. But he knew what Watchman’s orders had been. Fertig was to ensure Moreau’s presence wasn’t detected and, if it was, that she managed to get off-planet before she could be taken into custody.
Kalmár also knew Fertig never would have taken such a step had Watchman still been in power. But the revelation the Midlothians had actively assisted the Callusians in their war against Fuercon and her allies meant the government needed someone to blame. The last thing the system could afford was for her so-called allies to turn against it and declare war. Unlike Fuercon and the others, Midlothian didn’t have a strong navy. It relied on money and trade to maintain its powerbase. That was now in danger because of Watchman and his belief he knew more and held more power than the government.
At least the powers-that-be had been quick to throw the blame on him. Not that it appeased Harper and his allies. They’d demanded Watchman be turned over to face judgement for his betrayal. But they also continued to dig and look for further evidence of a conspiracy. That led to others in the government and in the business sector being named as co-conspirators. Less than a month earlier, Harper had sent a final demand to the Midlothian government. Either hand over those named and all intel gathered about them and their whereabouts if they had fled the planet or the allies would take direct action against Midlothian.
Could that be why the taskforce returned home instead of remaining on-station?
“That’s the problem.” She lifted a hand and brushed the hair from her brow. “No one is saying anything else. My sources aren’t talking. There is none of the usual chatter in the coffee shops and other stores near the port. Even my media contacts are getting the cold shoulder. I don’t know if that means the taskforce got its ass kicked or if it found yet more evidence against Watchman or if it is something else.”
Kalmár cursed softly. Harper had shut down most of their information sources before the taskforce left the system. Now it appeared he had finished the job. But why? And what did it portend for Midlothian in the long run?
“Keep on it. I don’t care what you have to do, find out what’s going on.” He pinned her with a firm look. “And don’t get caught at it.”
Her eyes flashed and then she nodded.
“I’ll see what I can find out from the diplomatic corps.” Not that he expected it to be much. That source of information had dried up just as Fertig’s sources had. “Any word on Watchman?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. He could be anywhere.”
And that was what made him even more dangerous. They needed to find him and let the Fuerconese know before he managed to strike and cause even more trouble for Midlothian.
“Your recommendations?”
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she stood and paced the length of the office. He waited, giving her the chance to gather her thoughts. They might be uneasy allies now but at least they were allies. Not that he expected it to last. If Watchman turned up or if she felt it served her purposes to turn on him, she would without a second thought. Until then, however, Kalmár planned on using her. Hopefully, he’d have secured his position before she decided to try to do the same.
“We need to start preparing for having to move the staff and their dependents to the embassy. It won’t take much more for the Fuerconese public to turn against us. Not with Harper telling them about Watchman working with the Callusian and his open speculation about what role the Bureau played in it all.” She returned to her chair and sat. “I’ve been hearing reports of some of our people being verbally attacked when they’ve been out in public.”
“I’ve already ordered preparations be made.” He nodded toward the window overlooking Patriots Row, the roadway running in front of the embassy. “And our so-called protectors out there?”
He didn’t have to explain who he meant. The uniformed members of the Fuerconese Marine Corps and capital security force patrolled outside the embassy. They might officially respect the sanctity of the embassy grounds, but he knew better. They were there as guards and would move in the moment Harper told them to.
“We continue to ig
nore them.” She lifted a hand before he could say anything. “We can’t do anything to give them cause to arrest our people or, worse, to make entry onto the embassy grounds. But we also have to be aware of the drones and the other forms of surveillance we must assume they are using.”
He didn’t like it but she was right. They had to play this smart and do their best to at least appear to be cooperating with the Fuerconese government.
“All right. Find me something I can use as leverage. A rumor about where Watchman might be, something about the Callusians, I don’t care. We need to get Harper and his people off our backs until the home government has a plan in place to deal with this situation.” He waited, giving her time to consider what he said. “And don’t try to play me. Both our necks are on the line here.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that.” She looked and sounded as if she appreciated the situation no more than he did.
“Any word on Moreau?”
This time Fertig cursed with such imagination he couldn’t help smiling. Rarely did anything get under her skin, but the would-be assassin had. That was why he still didn’t understand why Fertig left Moreau alive when she handed the woman over to the Fuerconese after that attack on Harper. The drug she gave Moreau might have locked down the woman’s mind, preventing her from speaking or moving, but there was no guarantee the medical types wouldn’t find a counteragent for it. If they did, Moreau could cost them everything.
“Nothing.” She all but spat out the word. “The idiot medic I turned got himself reassigned to other patients. He won’t say what happened but my guess is he did or said something to raise Shaw’s suspicions. She’s taken an interest in Moreau, from what he told me.”
“The current medical team?”
She almost snarled before answering. “He doesn’t know who is on it and I can’t find out—yet. But I am working on it.”
The possible implications worried him and, under cover of his desktop, Kalmár clinched one fist in anger. “All right. Keep trying. We need to know what’s going on.”