Bianca D'Arc

by King of Clubs

  Chip had a feeling the need was going to arise very shortly.

  He sent another short series of nearly imperceptible hand signals. They were all going to have a little powwow. The men signaled back that they were free to stay for an hour or two after the bar closed that night. Now he just needed a cover story. So many men sticking around after hours would be noted if anyone cared to watch the bar. Chip was taking no chances.

  “You still play poker, Julian?” Chip asked, casually wiping a glass before he put it away behind the bar.

  “I play,” Freight Train jumped into the conversation from a few bar stools away. “You got a game going, boss?” Freight Train was one of those guys who figured since he had a nickname, everyone else needed one too.

  Chip was cool with it. Freight Train’s easy going attitude was a great cover for one of the deadliest operatives in existence. He’d earned his nickname. If anyone even tried to stand in his way, they got run over pretty quick. He was a good man to have at your back in a fight.

  “Not yet, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since I heard Lila deals cards.”

  At the sound of her name, Lila floated down the bar toward him with a seductive smile.

  “Somebody mention my name?” The intimate way her eyes flashed at him was also a clear message to those gathered that something had changed between them.

  Oh, she was good. She didn’t even have to say a word and anyone who cared to look, knew they were sleeping together. The caveman in Chip wanted to beat his chest with a roar of triumph. As it was, he settled for placing one hand on her hip in a gentle, very obvious, caress.

  “You know how to deal poker, right?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Ask me something difficult. Of course I can deal poker. And just about any other card game you want to play.” She sent him a mischievous smile. “Why? You fellas want to play?”

  “I can’t play now,” Chip clarified. “Not while the bar is open. What about a friendly game after hours?” He didn’t have to ask her to stay after, she’d pretty well just telegraphed that she would be here in the bar, with Chip, regardless.

  “That sounds like fun. I can organize some snacks and we can make a night of it. How many do you expect?”

  The guys Chip had signaled agreed to play, one by one. By the time the bar closed that night, it was all arranged. The five original operatives had gotten the word out to a few more trustworthy retirees who had expressed concern over the recent happenings in the mech section. By the time the bar shut down, there was a group of about a dozen vets who’d come for the so-called poker game.

  They all knew they were really there for a meeting of the minds. They were going to share intel and hopefully formulate a plan of action. Chip was prepared. He’d been processing what he knew all day and had computed the probabilities. He knew what they needed to do in various scenarios and the odds of success got better with each additional team member.

  Chip had accessed all the personnel files of each of the men as they were added to the group. He knew their backgrounds and specialties, even though he’d never worked with, or even met, a few of them. But they came highly recommended by the others, and that—plus evidence of their characters that could be gleaned from their files—was good enough for Chip. They needed all the help they could get should the worst happen.

  A couple of hours later, the meeting was in full swing. Each man had given a report about what they’d seen and heard, and what they surmised. Chip’s implanted cybernetics were running through all the information, drawing parallels and conclusions based on all the different pieces of the puzzle that were finally coming together.

  He’d sent the cleaning bots out early, even before the bar had closed, to discover and disable any listening devices that patrons might have left behind. Sure enough, there were at least two found right off the bat. Chip had set the bots for a more thorough search and destroy cycle as soon as the bar closed while he and the men played a round or two of poker at one of the big tables in the center of the seating area. Once the place was clear, he set a perimeter alarm—with active security screen that would make it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop from outside—and began the meeting.

  “So what’s their end game?” Julian asked after they’d discussed the various reports for a few minutes in an open forum.

  “Beats me,” Freight Train answered aloud while many others nodded agreement. “You got any ideas, boss?”

  All eyes turned to Chip. Whether he liked it or not, he’d been elected leader of this little group. They were all retired and although their former ranks carried a lot of weight, they all either knew or were beginning to realize that Chip was the elder statesman of the group. Not in age, necessarily. One or two of the guys were older than him, but in experience, Chip had most of them beat.

  Hence, they looked to him for leadership. It was a role he wasn’t unfamiliar with, though it had been some time since he’d taken command of a group of soldiers openly. Not that this covert group was out in the open.

  A momentary pride filled him when he realized they wanted him to lead. He’d missed command, though he’d enjoyed running his stable of covert operatives for the past several years. Still, his injury had ended his combat career on a sour note. He’d never had the send off other officers enjoyed when they retired. He’d simply faded away, into years of hospital stays and surgeries, retraining and reeducation. That wasn’t the way he’d always intended to go out.

  Maybe this was his chance at redemption. Maybe he could get a taste of combat once again—if it came to that—and retire from this small group of vets the way he’d wanted to retire from his first combat assignment. Well, to be more accurate, Chip had always figured he’d either retire with a party or go out in a body bag. The latter was more common in his line of work, but he’d always figured he wouldn’t mind dying for his cause in battle.

  Being run over by a vehicle carrier was ignominious, to say the least. That wasn’t the way for a career soldier, an Enhanced Special Operator, to take his leave. Chip was glad to be alive, but that humiliating exit from combat service had always bothered him.

  Chip put aside such selfish thoughts and set his mind to the matter at hand. He thought he knew with ninety percent certainty, what the saboteurs were about now. Until this meeting of the minds, he had only a fractured picture of the action. A lot of these guys were living and working in other parts of the station where things had happened or been witnessed that Chip hadn’t known about until now. Not everything was put in station records or recorded. Human reconnaissance was still a vital asset.

  “I believe they want to take over the station.” Hard looks from all around met Chip’s statement.

  “I thought it was just sabotage,” Lila spoke for the first time. “I mean,” she seemed to backpedal when all eyes turned to her, “I thought they were trying to blow up the station or something.”

  “So did I, but to what purpose?” Chip softened his words, speaking to the woman who had changed so much about his life in so short a time. “That’s what I couldn’t get a handle on until just now. Some of the things some of you just reported seeing in the outer rings of the station lead me to believe that destruction of the station is not their ultimate goal.”

  “Hostile takeover? You think they’re working for the jits?” Julian asked, his face darkening with concern.

  “We’re out near the Rim, but I can’t be sure if they’re working for the jit’suku or merely their own ends. A station on the Rim would be a great staging area for jit’suku or pirates alike. Either way, they’ve managed to put people in key positions within the mech section to be able to force station management into doing whatever they want. They’ve been demonstrating their ability to make small things go wrong for a while now. The valve explosion earlier today was a more overt action. I would predict an escalation in events until they finally step forward to claim responsibility and try to gain C&C access to the station itself.”

  Command and Cont
rol access meant the station would be theirs to do with as they pleased. They could kill everyone, lockdown whole sectors, gas the population or even deprive them of oxygen or water. Nobody would be safe if the saboteurs got into C&C.

  The men all looked grimly resigned to Chip’s conclusions. Nobody wanted to argue, which reinforced Chip’s assessments that first, his men were steadfast, and second, that they’d been able to put two and two together as he had. It made sense, given all the intel they’d just revealed to each other. Each of this dirty dozen of retirees had seen different things that, when added together with what Chip and Lila knew from their observations in the bar, led to his conclusion. The saboteurs were after the station, not to destroy it, but to control it.

  Thankfully, Chip had a plan.

  “All right. It’s time we discussed the players.” Chip stood and flicked a control that raised a projection station from the floor of the bar. Lila raised one eyebrow in surprise and Chip had to smile at her. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. The bar was fully equipped to act as a troop staging area, complete with armory and briefing capabilities.

  Chip brought up images of the group Lila had begun observing almost from the first day she’d taken over the bar. He had a series of short clips he played for the vets, along with a corresponding data stream that correlated the conspirators’ conversations with events on the station. Seen in this fashion, it was pretty damning.

  Chip was betraying a lot about the bar’s real function to several men who were not part of the intelligence service, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He was also pretty sure these particular vets would be drafted into intel work as soon as this situation was dealt with. If nothing else, they could serve as sleeper agents. They’d already proved their willingness to pitch in and help, and they’d been very observant.

  After the clips finished, Chip stood and faced the men. He left several holographic projections of the saboteurs up for study. He went through each profile, including any family members they had on station and other connections. He outlined the support group first, saving Beezus and Bjornson for last. When he put up Bjornson’s close-up shot, one of the older guys, a former Master Chief named Hank, started to scowl and squint.

  “Can you remove the facial hair and make him a brunette?” Hank asked out of the blue. Any good image program could modify holograms to some extent. Luckily, The Rabbit Hole was equipped with software that was better than most. Chip made the mods and Hank nodded. “I think you’ll find that this Bjornson fellow is really a pirate brat named Robert Morgan. His father ran the Aleuseus Seven out of Isengard, that little moon that was a pirate base for two decades before the action at Last Spiral Station cut them off. His dad called himself Captain Morgan, but his real name was Bill Monroe and he hailed from Nine Rings Station over by Halcyon Prime.” Hank sat back and slapped the table. “I thought I’d seen the last of them when we cleaned out Isengard. I was on the Odysseus for a few years, back when human pirates were more trouble than jits. I was part of the escort for Captain Morgan and his family when we took the moon. His son, Robert, would be just the right age now. I’d swear your Bjornson is really Robert Morgan.”

  Chip called up Hank’s service record on his implant and confirmed his duty assignment on the Odysseus. It looked like they’d just caught a big break.

  For the sake of the group, Chip made a show of pulling up the information on Bill Monroe aka Captain Morgan and his family. Sure enough, the pirate captain had recently been released from prison, supposedly reformed. His son had received a lighter sentence because it had been decided that he hadn’t been heavily involved in his father’s illegal enterprise. Robert had been too young when their moon base was taken. Or so the court had concluded.

  It wasn’t too hard to draw the connection between Robert Morgan and Bill Bjornson. One had ceased to exist mere weeks before the other showed up, seemingly out of nowhere. And their facial structure was nearly identical. Morgan had changed his hair color, but other than that, he hadn’t done anything too radical to remake his identity. Mostly it was the paper trail that had been faked. Easy enough to do if you knew the right criminals.

  And Morgan had been the head of one of the biggest pirate empires ever. He would definitely know who to pay to fake his identity.

  “Judging by this, it’s pretty obvious what they have in mind now. Capture the station and turn it into a pirate hub,” Chip concluded. “If that’s the case, they probably have a ship or two lying in wait somewhere beyond sensor range. And they won’t go easy on the populace of the station. Pirates aren’t known for their mercy. All of us will be killed first, simply because of what we are. Soldiers won’t be welcome in a pirate stronghold, retired or otherwise. The women will be at most risk. The civ men will be made to serve. I’ve seen reports of what Captain Morgan and his crews did in their heyday.”

  “I saw it first hand,” Hank interjected. “It wasn’t pretty.” His grim expression said much more than his simple words.

  “Julian, what about air support? Can we beg, borrow or steal any?” Chip asked the pilot. Julian had been sidelined from active duty for now, but could still fly circles around most combat pilots.

  “There are a few fighters in the repair facility on station that could be made ready with relative ease. I could fly one and Smiley, Jake and Roscoe could each take one.” He nodded to three of the men sitting near him, who were retired combat fighter pilots. “As far as bigger ships go, there are a few docked that might be of some help to us if they knew what was coming. I’ll make contact with the captains. Some will run at the first hint of trouble on station. I’ll be cautious because some might be in league with Morgan, but a few will probably be willing to help.”

  That assessment was better than Chip had hoped for and probably accurate based on Julian’s experience. If they were going to have to deal with a pirate armada in addition to internal saboteurs, they’d need all the help they could get.

  “Good. I’ll see what support I can get sent here on the double, through my channels.” Chip was betraying more of his actual position to the group, but at this point, he had to let them know there was at least some chance of help being on the way. General Winters wouldn’t let a key Rim station fall to pirates. If Chip could get the message out—and his implant was already working on the transmission—then Winters would muster whatever nearby ships he could find to aid them.

  “Most of you know already, but a few don’t and need to.” Chip decided to come clean a bit, to help morale. “I’m not completely retired. I run intel operatives out of this bar, some of whom are included in this group. I know I just outed a few of you, but I think we’ve already exposed ourselves to anyone with half a brain here tonight. The vets in this group have more than that.” He smiled to soften his words and try to build camaraderie. They’d have to fight pirates together. He needed to build the team quickly. “You all know as well as I do, this station is a key point on the Rim. I’ve already filed reports on what I knew. My updated report will go out shortly and include a request for immediate assistance. They’ll send help as soon as they get my transmission. All we have to do is hold off the pirates until it gets here.”

  Chip noted the relief on several faces, quickly followed by determination. Excellent. He’d been right to tell them.

  At that point, Lila fell off her chair.

  Chapter Eight

  Chip saw Lila teeter out of the corner of his eye, but was too far away to catch her. Thankfully, the other guys got her before she made a hard landing on the floor. Chip was at her side a second later.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Julian asked, clearly concerned. Lila’s eyes had rolled back in her head and her body was spasming slightly.

  Chip held her until it stopped, thankfully, only a few seconds later.

  “I’m all right,” she said softly, pushing against his hold. “Just a vision. A strong one, but I’m okay.”

  “What can I do to help?” Chip asked. His heart was racin
g. She’d just scared the hell out of him.

  “Coffee,” came her weak reply.

  Chip looked up at one of the men and nodded toward the coffee maker. “Set it to quick brew. It should be good to go. The bots keep it ready.” Roscoe dashed off behind the bar to get the coffee maker going while Chip lifted Lila in his arms and took her over to one of the booths along the wall. A small crowd came with them, all concerned for Lila’s wellbeing. “Somebody remove the table,” he ordered and two men hopped to it, lugging the heavy table out of the booth and placing it nearby.

  Chip placed Lila down gently on the padded seat, sitting next to her with one arm around her shoulders, supporting her. She was still a little wobbly, but color was coming back to her pale face. Roscoe returned with a steaming cup of coffee, which he handed to Chip. He in turn, held it to Lila’s lips, gratified when she curled her little hand around his and sipped at the hot beverage.

  She started to look better almost immediately.

  “Sorry, guys. I don’t usually keel over from visions. This was a really strong one and you all need to hear it.” Her voice was quiet in the still room, all the men watching her cautiously.

  “Are you psychic, ma’am?” Smiley, one of the pilots, asked with awe in his tone.

  Lila smiled at him and sipped her coffee, nodding slightly. “I see the future. Or, in this case, possible futures.”

  “My gran was psychic,” Smiley went on when Lila stopped talking to concentrate on her coffee. “She saved the whole family several times from sand storms that nearly wiped out our colony. She always knew when they were coming, even if the forecasters said she was looney for setting up the alarm. And she was always right.”

  Chip could have kissed the guy for setting Lila at ease. She smiled at him and Chip could feel her muscles relax slightly. Whatever she’d seen, it had made her shake and clench in fear. Smiley’s vote of confidence in all things psychic went a long way to helping her feel better and Chip was grateful.