Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  "But Sinklar's people don't fill out forms."

  Razz grinned. "Not even one ... if we can help it, that is. "

  "Then I guess Fist is as barbaric as we are." "Beg your pardon?"

  "Nothing. We're here." Skyla stepped out into the crisp air, her breath fogging, and pointed at a lock. So much could still go wrong with this quantum-crazy scheme. "That's it."

  Skyla walked across the large square bay. The gun-metal gray walls curved to accommodate the station hull. Scuff marks, scratches, and streaks marred the black duraplast tiles that cushioned the decking. The humming of machinery and ventilation competed with the muffled clunks and bangs of a terminal like this one. All in all the cavernous dock sounded pretty quiet-compliments of the conquest.

  Skyla palmed the lock plate and the heavy pressure door clanked and rolled back. Razz pulled the antigrav down the long telescoping passage to the yacht's lock. There, Skyla undogged the hatch and stepped inside. The lock in Rega One appeared like any other, lockers lining the sides where pressure suits were stored.

  A shiver ran along Skyla's spine. Last time she'd stood in a lock like this had been aboard the Vega. Arta's people had ambushed her, and in the end ...

  Skyla took a deep breath. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, Razz. Do me a favor, huh? Open those lockers, check them out. "

  "Yeah, sure. No problem. " Razz immediately jumped to the task, opening locker after locker, calling out. "Vacuum suit here, looks like an expensive job."

  Then, moving on to the next, "Got another one here." Finally, "That's all, Wing Commander. Want me to check the rest of the ship? I mean, the only guy aboard ought to be that engineer."

  "No. That's fine. I'll see to him."

  At that moment a man in coveralls rounded the corner.

  "What's this all about? A minute ago I get a call from the Port Authority.

  They said I was to turn over possession. The next thing, I get a hatch alarm.

  Who are you?"

  :'You've got personal possessions aboard?" 'Yeah, of course."

  :'How much are they worth?"

  'I don't know. Just clothes, holos of my family."

  Skyla jerked a thumb. "Razz, go with him. Help him get his stuff, and then get off. Oh, engineer, this thing's ready to go, right? Food and water stocked?

  Reaction tanks topped up? None of the equipment down for maintenance?"

  "Yeah, She's ready to go. The Minister insisted we keep her that way. " He shook his head. "Pretty damn rough him getting the syringe like that. Ily trumped that up, you know. "

  "Yeah, I know. Go get your stuff."

  Skyla wheeled, trotting down the midsection lateral corridor to the center of the vessel. There, she followed the midline corridor to the bridge and dropped into one of the two control chairs.

  ' 'Come on, girl. Keep your guts. " She took a deep breath, stilling the building tension. "Rot you, Arta." With capable fingers, Skyla energized the systems, conducting the flight prechecks. As the systems powered up, she familiarized herself with the parameters of the reactor, and vessel performance.

  "Not quite my old yacht, but you'll have to do." Comm buzzed. "Wing Commander?

  Razz here. We've got the engineer's stuff out. I'm at the lock. Want me to dog it on the way out? Or do you need anything else?"

  4 'Thanks, Razz. If you're ever in a bind, give me a call. And remember, this is a covert operation. "

  "You got it, Wing Commander. Best of luck to you, and thanks for the chance to work with you."

  Skyla- flipped on the comm monitor, watching as Razz stepped out of the vessel's pressure hatch. From the outside pickup, she watched as the soldier dogged and locked that hatch, then followed the bewildered engineer down the accesS TaMp.

  Skyla nodded as the lock safety light gleamed. She began the power up, accessing comm. "Port Authority, this is Wing Commander Lyma. Prepare to clear my craft."

  "Acknowledged. All craft must be cleared by the Companions' orbital security.

  But then I suppose you're aware of that. "

  Skyla gave the monitor a grim look. "Yes, I am. If you would patch me through to Simva Ast I would appreciate it. "

  "Patching. Guts, Skyla. This is the last hurdle. If you crack now, Ily and Arta win.

  Skyla nodded as a woman's face formed in her comm monitor. "Hello, Sal. I'm aboard Rega One, clearing the Regan Orbital Terminal in a matter of minutes.

  Give me a vector clearance for zero three four, one eight five, zero nine zero. "

  "Affirmative, Wing Commander. " Sal's forehead lined under her comm headset.

  "Uh, I didn't get any advance information. Do we have a glitch in the system?

  Does someone need an ass chewing? Or is this something that's none of my business."

  Skyla grinned to camouflage the guilty insecurity she knew had to be leaking through her facade like oxygen through a ruptured pipe. "Negative on the ass chewing. Nothing needs fixing, and nobody screwed up. Staffa and I cooked this up at the last minute. He's busy getting ready to space Chrysla, and I've got my own assignment. Please clear on my authority. "

  "Code, please, Wing Commander."

  "Code for my mission is .--think fast, Skyla'Countermeasures. ' "

  "Affirmative, Wing Commander. Code name 'Countermeasures' is operative for your clearances until further notice. I'll route that along to security.

  Skyla forced the old bluff tones into her voice. "Have a good one, Sal. And remember to tell the folks in weapons not to scorch my tail on the way out.

  Might look bad on their service records."

  "Affirmative, Wing Commander. Rega One is cleared on vector zero three four, one eight five, zero nine zero. Repeat, Wing Commander Lyma is cleared. I'm transmitting that information to Regan Outsystem Traffic Control."

  "Affirmative, vector zero three four, one eight five, zero nine zero is logged into navcomm. Lyma is out." Skyla

  lowered the worry-cap over her head, feeling the prickle as the ship's systems began to interface with her brain.

  She reopened the line to the Regan terminal. "Port Authority, you may release my vessel. Course vector is relayed from my navcomm to Outsystem Traffic Control for approval. "

  A moment later, a disembodied voice sounded in Skyla's head. "Course approved.

  " As if there'd been any doubt. "Cast off initiated. Safe spacing."

  Skyla sensed the yacht shivering as the grapples loosened and angular momentum carried Rega One free of the outer rim. Relief mixed with a hollow sadness.

  Through the ship's sensors, she applied maneuvering thrust, changing the attitude until the mains were oriented toward deep space. Applying judicious throttle, Skyla edged out into the traffic lane and lined up on her escape vector.

  With stem resignation, she built thrust, following her vector outsystem. I'm sorry, Staffa. It's a dirty trick, but I've got to deal with this myself.

  Skyla reclined in the command chair, learning the ship as she played with the reactor, attitude jets, and maneuvering systems. Yet, no matter how she concentrated, Arta lurked in the back of her mind-and somewhere Skyla would find her in the flesh.

  And when I do, we'll even the score, bitch. But she'd begun to tremble, fear running free at thought of that confrontation. I'm going to fail . . . again .

  . . and she'll kill me.

  The clutter on Mac's desk remained as deep as when he'd sat down half an hour ago. Instead of reviewing the reports sent to him by First Boyz, or running an inventory of the supplies shipped to Gyton, Mac slouched back in his chair, staring sightlessly at the comm monitors across from him. Once this cabin had belonged to Rysta, then to Sinklar, and now it was his. The achievement seemed hollow.

  Mac had enjoyed the first quarter century of his life, sponging off his father's money. He'd been the perfect playboy, even if his low birth excluded him from the elite circles. Women, drink, and good times had been his in a carefree world.

  The draft had ended all that, but in the army his brash cha
risma among the raw recruits had garnered him recognition-and more importantly, a promotion to Corporal First. The Targan drop had begun as a grand adventure, and the chance to win the prettiest girl in the Division: Gretta Artina.

  Fate had rapidly changed any such silly notions. Within hours of landing, Mac, Sinklar, and Gretta had been running for their lives, hunted, terrified, and hanging by a thread. Sinklar's innate brilliance had kept them alive and forged bonds between them that could never be broken. Gretta loved Sinklar, and Mac loved them both.

  He closed his eyes, the desperate sting of grief reborn as he remembered Gretta's rotting body; and Arta Fera, standing over the corpse, animallike in triumph, insanity sparkling in her amber eyes.

  Memory encouraged Mac's stifled rage. Arta had escaped justice, whisked out of Sinklar's reach by Ily Takka's clever manipulations.

  But for a brief moment, you thought you had the chance to kill her, didn't you? Mac knotted a fist. Sinklar's decision to send Mac and Rysta on the Sassan raid had been born of desperation. The Sassan Empire had been coiled to strike Rega while Sinklar struggled to retrain the Regan armed forces. Someone had to accept a suicide mission to slow the Sassan war machine, and, of course, Sink had turned to MacRuder. Mac and Rysta had captured an enemy freighter, the Markelos to use as cover on the approach to Imperial Sassa, and there, eating dinner with the captain, Mac had found Arta Fera. He'd stared coolly down his blaster sights, memories of Gretta's stinking body pounding in his soul. But as his finger tightened on the trigger, something about the-woman's eyes stopped him. This woman's frightened gaze hadn't reflected Arta's animal intensity. Instead, a wretched, aching disbelief and resignation had possessed her.

  Mac slowly shook his head and closed his eyes as Gyton hummed around him. Who would have guessed that he'd found Chrysla Marie Attenasio-Staffa kar Therma's long vanished wife? Who would have guessed that in the coming days he would come to love her with as much passion as his battered soul could muster?

  She's gone now, Mac. Left behind like so many of your dreams.

  Mac rubbed his tired face, glaring at the monitors before he picked up the first flimsy and tried to concentrate. Red's voice over the comm interrupted his melancholy.

  "Mac? I've got a lady here to see you."

  Mac shoved the piles of flimsies to one side in a futile effort to make his desk look more like a commanding officer's should.

  "Send her in, Red."

  The hatch slid aside the and auburn-haired woman stepped inside. For an instant, Mac couldn't react. Nevertheless, he caught a glimpse of Red's freckled face, green eyes wary, but by then, Chrysla was inside and the hatch slipped closed.

  "What? I mean . . . " Mac pushed to his feet, stunned. She gave him a weary smile. "I'm sorry, Mac. I would have asked for your permission. There is still time. I can have the LC dropped and make it back to Rega.

  "But I thought . . . "

  She lowered her gaze, blush spreading. "Please forgive me. It was a mistake to come here, to startle you like this. But you see, Gyton was spacing. I had to act fast. I swear, I would have alerted you, but in the process I would have missed the connection." Her delicate smile faded as she turned. "Please, forgive me."

  "Wait!" Getting around the desk, he tripped, staggered, and caught himself.

  She shot a look over her shoulder, startled by his flailing. "Chrysla, wait.

  What's going on?" Mac managed to recover, only to stand uneasily before her, hating the worship he knew filled his expression.

  She began to fidget then, pulling the thin gloves off her hands, gaze directed toward the deck. "I didn't know . . . " She shook her head in frustration.

  "Oh, Mac, I had no idea it would be like this. Everything is falling apart.

  Staffa is torn and tormented, a man I don't even know anymore. The weight of all humanity has fallen on his shoulders. The woman he loves needs him more than anything in the universe. Skyla is teetering on the brink of spiritual dissolution. You can guess the effect my presence has on her."

  She sighed. "And then there's Sinklar. The last thing he needs is to have me complicate his life." She glanced uneasily at Mac. "You know what they face, how difficult it will be. Not just the political situation, but to forge this new relationship between themselves. Sinklar has to come to terms with himself, and with his father. He must deal with the Seddi he hates, but who are now necessary. And with Anatolia dead . . . "

  Mac winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometimes I wonder how he keeps going. Losing Gretta broke his heart. Now, to have Anatolia taken out . . . "

  "Take my word for it. My presence didn't help matters. "He can't deny the fact that you are his mother."

  "No, but just like you did once, he looks at me with hate in his eyes. "

  Wearily, she stuffed her gloves into the pocket on her cloak. "For twenty years I wished only to have Staffa rescue me and to have my son back. If I'd only known."

  Mac cocked his head, frost creeping into his gut. "Does ... does Staffa know you're here?"

  She gave him a wry appraisal. "He does. Oh, he didn't agree willingly. The argument was rather spectacular, as a matter of fact. He's still drowning in guilt about what happened to me. The very thought of me stepping out on my own, placing myself at risk again, has him half frantic." "You argued with Staffa?"

  Powered by nervous energy, she paced the four steps allowed by the cramped cabin and turned, cloak swirling. "Staft's not the only person who's changed.

  Yes, I argued with him, and, I must admit, I even surprised myself." She gave him a satisfied look. "I found something inside myself I never knew I had that day we landed on Rega and I bluffed Ily Takka's agents. Staffa sparked it in the conference room when he denied me the chance to act in his behalf. I almost said something, but discretion prevailed. No one should be publicly embarrassed, especially not someone as great as Staffa. "

  "I wouldn't cross him, no matter what. At best, he puts collars around the necks of those he disagrees with. "

  "I'm not sure about that anymore, Mac." She shrugged helplessly. "And that's another thing that leaves me off balance. The man I loved, the Staffa I knew, it was ... well, like loving a god. Can you understand?"

  "A god?"

  She placed her hands together, lips pursed. "On Ashtan I lived a very sheltered and restricted life. Ashtan is a rather conservative world. Can you

  . . . I mean, imagine my reaction when the Companions and the Regans conquered Ashtan. I'd barely been out of my father's house-and then only accompanied by a chaperone. The events that day were so shocking I only have flashes of memory, of terror, of armored men dragging me out of the aircar, of being packed into a van with other screaming girls."

  Chrysla bowed her head. "We traveled a long time, packed in there like cattle.

  When we stopped, they herded us into a big room filled with women and girls, all crying. One by one, they'd come and drag us away. When my turn came, I . .

  . I . . . They ripped my clothes off, laughing, and then, I remember, they went silent and just stared." She swallowed hard. "Oh, Mac, it was horrible.

  There I was, quaking, shamed, trying to hide myself while they gawked. Then they began whispering among themselves.

  "Three of them got in a fight, each wanting me. Whoever the supervisor was broke it up. Had me dragged immediately to the auction block. There I huddled, whimpering, trying to hide."

  "And the slavers bought you for Sylene?"

  "Two thousand credits-a record price." Chrysla absently fingered the molded curve of the wall dispenser. "Then Staffa appeared out of a side door. I'll remember his words for the rest of my life: 'I want that woman.' After that I was treated with the most wondrous respect. Guarded by armed Companions, transported to Staffa's warship, and placed in the captain's cabin." She smiled sadly. "Do you understand, Mac? I became like a princess married to a god. "

  "And now the god doesn't seem so godlike?"

  "The old Staffa wouldn't have argued. He would have ordered,
and that would have been it. We've all changed so much. Do you see, Mac? That's why I had to get away. Staffa, Sinklar, Skyla, and I have to learn to deal with our new situations." She glanced away. "In my case, I had nowhere to go. Mac, I know how I make you f6el, but I couldn't stand the thought of staying aboard Chrysla, of adding to the confusion as Staffa tries to deal with all of his troubles. Here, aboard Gyton, I can help make a difference, and perhaps I won't be half-strangled by my past. "

  She boldly lifted eyes to meet his. "I'm here to offer you my services-and with Staffa's approval. I was born on Ashtan. I know the people. I'm a competent psychologist, intelligent, and willing to accept any duty you offer.

  "

  "I'm still having a little trouble with the why of this." "All right, I'll tell you the same thing I told Staffa. Because I finally want to accept responsibility for myself. I've always been a prize, one way or another. I need to prove to Chrysla Marie Attenasio that what I did on Myklene wasn't a fluke. That I can make it on my own."

  Mac backed up and seated himself on the corner of the desk. "And Staffa just said yes?"

  A puzzled frown pinched Chrysla's brow. "Shocked me to my roots, but he got this sad, knowing expression, and looked me in the eyes with love and understanding. His voice went soft. He said, 'Welcome to the new epistemology.

  Of all the things I cannot deny you, Chrysla, I can't deny your right to find yourself. I give you the authority to act as my agent-but be very careful.'

  And at that, he headed for the hatch, saying. 'An LC will be ready to take you to Gyton in fifteen minutes. You don't have much time, so grab your things and hurry.' "

  She frowned. "I got the distinct feeling that the reason he left so fast was so he wouldn't have time to change his mind. "

  Mac shook his head. "I don't get it."

  Chrysla gave him a warm smile. "I didn't either, at first. I thought it would be a long battle, but you see, Mac, the god I once knew has become human. In accepting respon-sibility for himself, he's willing to grant it to others. He sincerely believes what the Seddi teach."

  Mac sighed, slapping his hands together. "Very well, welcome aboard. Now what?" And if you only knew how important that question is. ' -