He palmed the release and his XO, Major Donkenny entered.
“Any luck?” Wolf didn’t expect an affirmative answer.
Fen Donkenny stripped off his helmet, scratching his thinning hair into a spiky mess as he dropped into a chair. “Zip, Nada. It’s like that bugger just disappeared.”
“From what FitzWarren told me, our cook’s helper is actually an Imperial operative, a real pro. I suspect he had his exit route in place, probably more than one. He’s no doubt on his way out of the system by now. Pity, I would have liked to spend a bit more time with Mr. Stripes.”
“Any idea why he went after FitzWarren instead of you?”
“I’m pretty sure I was next on his list, but it was my own bloody stupidity that got her involved. I should have realized someone from SpecOps might recognize her. It’s not that large of an organization and with her high-profile job, it was inevitable she’d have crossed paths with anyone they sent.”
The major eyed Wolf’s civilian clothes. “You’ve decided to go with her?”
“I shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks, but I do need you to provide me some backup.” He turned to extract two more ammo cases from the cabinet, stacking them on the floor. “FitzWarren has arranged to meet with her people in IAS-23. That’s the Imperial Astronomical Society designation for the system. I don’t think there’s a name for it in the commercial charts, but I’ve marked the info on its location for you in the computer. It’s out beyond Carlotta.”
“Damn, that area gives me the creeps. Carlotta’s bad enough, but this place must really be in the Back of Beyond.”
“And Baldark is even further out. That’s why I need back up.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to take Bifrost and a squad of GDs right from the get-go?”
Wolf chuckled. “I’m going to let FitzWarren think she’s in charge of this mission for a bit longer, but I want our people in place to pull us out if something goes wrong. I don’t want to end up stuck on that backward planet like Ransahov. I’ve got no desire to live in a mud hut and crap in a hole in the ground like an animal.”
He turned to the room’s third occupant. “No offence, Jumper.”
“None taken. I don’t like to do my business in the dirt either. Give me a nice clean refresher, then I can hit the processor for lunch and crash on the couch afterwards. None of that back-to-nature crap for this cat.”
Wolf walked to his liquor cabinet, extracting a bottle of vilaprim and pair of glasses.
“I want Bifrost waiting for us at that rendezvous point within ten days. You might run into some Imperial ships, but they’re supposed to be on our—rather, FitzWarren’s side, so be your usual charming self when you arrive and try not to get my ship shot up.”
“And if you’re not there?”
“Give it a day or so and if we don’t show up, you’ll have to come to Baldark after us. You know how to locate me.” He tapped his spike’s housing at the back of his head.
Wolf eased into his chair, placing the liqueur and shot glasses between them. As he broke the seal on the bottle, it flash-chilled its contents.
“What are we toasting?” asked Donkenny. “Must be important if you’re getting out the good stuff.”
The chartreuse-colored liqueur oozed out of the bottle in a steaming, gelid slush. The outside of the tiny glasses frosted. Excellent Scyran vilaprim was rare in the Midworlds, and illegal, but he always managed to have a smuggled case or two stashed in his liquor cabinet, for special occasions.
He set the shot glass in front of Fen. Vilaprim was an acquired taste, one his XO had never cultivated. Even after more than two decades of working together, his friend still approached the 110-proof liqueur with trepidation.
Wolf raised his glass and Fen followed. The appropriate toast inside the Empire would have been To the Dragon, but he had long since amended it.
“To the Gold Dragons.” His XO seconded it.
Wolf tossed back the shot, and the icy liquid hit the back of his throat like a hammer. A pain stabbed behind his eyes, but quickly receded. The liqueur pooled in his stomach like a puddle of frozen lava. He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Now that’s a particularly prime batch.”
Fen sipped at his drink. “I don’t know how you can do that. The stuff freezes my tongue and I have trouble talking.” He said his words carefully, but Wolf detected a slight slur.
“The trick is not to let it touch your bloody tongue.” Wolf laughed as he handed a small box to the other man. “This is for you.”
Fen’s dark eyes narrowed as he placed his mostly full glass on the desk. “Why do I get the impression I’m not going to like this?”
Wolf leaned back in his chair and watched his friend’s face as puzzlement dissolved into horror as he opened the box. Odd that an otherwise confident man could be so terrified of two pieces of gold and diamond. It wasn’t what they were, but what they represented.
“I can’t take these.”
“Yes, you will take them, Colonel Donkenny. I’m leaving and you will be in charge.”
“But you’ve left before and we’ve gotten alone fine with things like they’ve always been. You don’t need to do this.”
“I remember dragging a skinny farm kid out of a brawl in an all-night food court… Bloody hell, was that twenty-four years ago? And ever since then, I’ve been grooming you for this day. Now, shut up and put on the bleeding collar pins, Colonel. That’s the last order I’m going to give you.” Wolf stood.
His former XO scrambled to his feet, box in trembling fingers. Wolf removed Fen’s old collar pins, securing the new ones on his uniform. His friend’s breathing grew rapid, and sweat beaded his upper lip.
“Wolf, you are coming back, aren’t you?” asked Colonel Donkenny.
“I won’t keep you. I know you have a lot to do, like picking your new XO. I’ve got to finish packing.”
Fen’s eyes were unusually shiny, and, for a moment, Wolf thought he would hug him, but instead he stepped back and saluted. Then he whirled and was out the door before Wolf could think about returning the gesture.
He picked up Fen’s practically full glass and topped it off from the frosted bottle. “No sense letting this go to waste,” he announced to the cat and tossed back the drink. Coughing, he poured another shot and downed it, then another. A pleasant fog curled around his thoughts but immediately evaporated. Bloody hell. There was a lot he hated about his life but the thing he despised most was that he couldn’t even get properly drunk anymore.
Chapter Eleven
Wolf extracted his datachip from the Elizabeth Angstrom’s processor and closed it up, pleased with the new menu flowing down the screen. Initially, he planned only to load Jumper’s food, but one glance at the pathetic state of FitzWarren’s meal selection, and he knew more extensive programming would be necessary. He wouldn’t survive this mission on a diet of soup and cheese sandwiches.
He ordered a surf and turf for Jumper, coffee and a piece of chocolate cake for himself. FitzWarren’s reader lay on the tiny table where she’d left it when she retreated to her quarters to catch up on lost sleep. He perused the contents as he sipped his coffee. At one entry, he choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering.
“Hey, what’s with the coffee shower?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think FitzWarren read this kind of trash.”
“Porno?” Jumper’s green eyes widened.
“No, worse. Romantic fiction. It’s about the life and loves of Ari Ransahov.”
“Are you in it?”
“I bloody well hope not.” Succumbing to puerile curiosity, he began reading, pausing to snort periodically.
Because of its proximity, Wolf had chosen Lyric-A, the companion star to Rainbow’s primary Lyric-B, for their first destination. The majority of the eighteen-hour trip was spent in climbing out of the gravity well to the
hyperlimit, from there the translation to their next jump point would take only a few hours. After an infinitesimal turnaround time, he’d instructed the ship to execute a series of short hops through a handful of star systems before heading for Baldark. The unusually high number of sensor ghosts they’d picked up after leaving Rainbow made him uneasy and willing to err on the side of caution.
“Colonel Youngblood,” the ship announced. “There is an incoming message for you from Bifrost.”
He put the reader down and rose. “I’ll take it in my quarters.”
Wolf had hoped the revelation he buried in the computer files wouldn’t come to light until he was out of the system, but he’d trained his protégé well. Behind his bucolic exterior, Fen Donkenny possessed a sharp analytical mind. Few details escaped his former XO’s attention.
He’d disabled the ship’s comm pick-ups inside his quarters, and with the Gold Dragons’ encryptions, both sides of this conversation would remain private. He sat on his bed in the dark for several seconds before accepting a voice-only transmission.
Fen didn’t give him time for a greeting. “You resigned.”
Wolf sighed. “Yes, I did. You knew this day was coming. We’ve talked about it many times. In fact, I’ve probably put this off too long, and this contract gives me the perfect opportunity. I may be forced to take actions that could be construed as serving the interests of the Empire and I don’t want any of the political blowback landing on the Gold Dragons. I kept my personal license so I’ll be working this operation as an independent contractor.”
Fen’s reply was slow in coming. “What are you going to do then?”
“After this op? I hadn’t really thought about it. I could use some down time—just a couple tall cold ones and nothing to do.”
“I can see that lasting a day before you’d go stark staring mad.”
“You’re probably right, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. I’m still the majority stock holder in the corporation, so I’ll be around.”
A hail from somewhere on Bifrost’s bridge distracted Fen. When he returned, his voice was all business.
“We’ve picked up another sensor ghost.”
Wolf sat up straighter. “Beside the one’s that’s been shadowing us?”
“Yeah, this one’s just sitting out beyond the hyperlimit trying to look like a hole in space. And it’s big.”
“Warship big?”
“At least bulk freighter size. It could be a legitimate hauler with comm problems or maybe a smuggler, but I think it’s worth investigating. If it turns out the Empire’s got a battleship parked out there, it would make me real nervous. We’ll escort you to the hyperlimit and then check it out before we head back to the barn. If I see anything I don’t like, I just might call a full base alert. That might cause some grumbling, but it’s what they’d expect a new commanding officer to do as soon as he takes over.”
“Well, good hunting, Colonel, and take care of my—uh, your people.” Wolf disconnected.
He remained seated in the darkened room several minutes before standing. As he walked into the brightness of the corridor, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he stepped out of one life and into another.
Fitz awoke to a low but insistent alarm in her head. From deep inside the ship, she heard the drone of the hyperlight engines. A soft thump signaled a cooling pump kicking on. Air whispered through ducts with the flat metallic scent of multiple scrubbings and recyclings. She was back in her bed, onboard her ship and everything felt normal.
She checked her inhead chrono and bolted upright. “Lizzy, is this time correct?”
“Of course it is, Commander.”
“But that means I’ve been asleep for eight hours. I asked you to wake me after no more than four.” She ground the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“You were exhausted when you came aboard, so I thought I’d let you get some extra sleep. I’m quite capable of running this ship on my own. The complete course to Baldark is laid in, including the colonel’s bizarre hop-skip-and-jump nonsense. I woke you now because we arrive at Lyric-A in half an hour.”
When they came aboard, Youngblood expected to lay in their course, but Lizzy’s refusal to allow him generated a huge argument—only the first of many, Fitz suspected. The ship won this one by simply locking him out of the controls.
“How are our guests doing?”
“That creature is skulking around, poking its nose into every duct and access port it can find. My environmental filters will be full of cat hair. If it sneaks back into some crawlspace and defecates…”
“Jumper assured us he knows how to use the head. Relax, he’s just being a cat. Isn’t there some expression about cats and curiosity?”
“You mean ‘curiosity killed the cat?’ I think I can arrange that.”
“Be nice, Lizzy.” Fitz rose and stretched. She felt surprisingly good. A full eight hours of sleep helped, but she suspected most of that was due to Doc Ski’s magic meds. While she slept, the nanites had finished their repairs on her shoulder and shut down. She rotated her arm, finding the stiffness absent.
“What about Youngblood?” She made her way to the head.
“He spent several hours running around an impromptu obstacle course set up in the forward cargo hold. Commander, for a Normal, he’s extremely quick.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Fitz looked at her reflection in the mirror, gingerly probing the dark bruise under her eye and chuckling. “And he’s pretty strong for an old goat.”
Lizzy continued. “Then he locked himself in his cabin and proceeded to disable all the audio and visual pick-ups in there. As if I have nothing better to do than ogle him when he changes clothes.”
Your loss. Fitz doubted Lizzy had ever ogled a man even when she’d been human.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and headed for the common room. That was a bit grandiose a name for the tiny space. No larger than her sleeping quarters, it held only a processor and small counter at one end. The majority of the remaining area was taken up by the table where Youngblood and Jumper sat. The cat pinned a plate under one paw and polished it with his tongue, intent on licking up every sub-atomic particle of food. His companion briefly glanced up from a reader—her personal reader, Fitz noticed with a flash of irritation.
“Sorry, I hadn’t planned to sleep so long. I hope you two managed to entertain yourselves.” She headed for the processor and a much-needed cup of coffee.
“No problem.” Youngblood continued to read.
“Easy for you to say, Boss. All that bitch of a ship did was piss and moan at me. ‘Don’t you go there. Don’t you pee on that.’ What does she think I do all day long, just go around eliminating on everything? She’s just jealous ’cause she doesn’t have a bladder.”
Imperial techs hadn’t found a way for the ship’s computer to receive telepathic communications. Fitz suspected if Lizzy could hear Jumper, their exchanges would get really acrimonious. As it was, she was stuck in the middle of their incessant sniping, able to hear sides.
“While you’re up would you mind getting me some of the beef au jus?”
Youngblood didn’t look up. “Ignore him, he’s had entirely too much to eat already.”
Fitz checked the processor, surprised to see a new menu. “You reprogrammed my processor unit.”
“There was nothing in it but a couple of sandwiches and some soups. I could have added more, but the memory capacity on the unit is so small that by the time I put in Jumper’s food, there wasn’t a lot of space left over. As it was, I had to move several of your listings into the inactive file. You did have three different vegetable soups in there.”
“But I liked those soups.” Her protest became half-hearted as she noticed a second entry for coffee. She punched in her selection and took a sniff of the aroma. Rainbow High Mountain. “This coffee
makes your intrusion into my processor’s memory tolerable.”
He dropped the reader on the table, one finger tapping on it for emphasis. “This is a load of rubbish.”
“What are you reading?”
“The Stars My Lover,” he recited in an overly dramatic voice.
“I adored that book; I must have read it a dozen times. While I was at the Academy, it was on the best seller list for months.”
A fictionalized story of the love affair between Ari Ransahov and Herrik Landers, the book covered the former Triumvir’s life from the end of the Tzraka War until the night she walked away from her own legend. Nowhere did it mention she’d spent that last night with one Wolfgang Amadeus Youngblood. In fact, as Fitz recalled, his name never appeared once in the book.
“You’re upset because you’re not in it.”
“I’d be horrified to discover I’d been mentioned in this drivel. There’s not enough truth in it to fill one chapter.” He pushed the reader across the table toward her.
“The author researched extensively.”
Wolf snorted. “Not very well. Ari never loved Landers. Their marriage was solely for political expediency.”
“That’s not true. You’re letting your failed relationship with her distort your memories.” She picked up the reader, cradling it against her chest. “If she wasn’t heartbroken after his death, why did she have a mental breakdown? It had to be grief, pure and simple.”
“She suffered an emotional collapse after Emperor Rantha relieved her of duty because she screwed up too many times. Her stupid decisions cost lives.” Anger tightened the muscles of his jaw. “I was there, I saw it happening; your author didn’t.”
A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1 Page 9