Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  "I'm here to do anything you want, Mac."

  She doesn't love me. Why offer herself like that?

  He struggled for a moment, throttling his pumping hormones. Gaining control, he faced her. "I'm going to need an administrative assistant."

  "Are you sure that's wise?"

  He stepped up to her, reaching out to place both hands on her shoulders. The tingle sent his heart soaring as he searched her flawless features. "Let's turn all the tapa cards face up, shall we? You know how I feel about you. I can work with you as one professional with another. You came to me because you had nowhere else to go. Did you really think I'd take advantage of that?"

  Her eyes closed and she sagged against him. "Thank you, Mac. " Her eyes opened, so close to his. "I told you the truth. I need time to find out what I can do, who I am. But are you sure you can stand to be around me?"

  "How do I know? Look, if I get too distracted, we'll figure something out. In the meantime, for all we know, we'll end up hating each other's guts after working together for two weeks. " Sure, Mac, and the Forbidden Borders will fall tomorrow. "Now, why don't you start working on that pile of reports and I'll go inform Rysta that you're aboard and on my staff." Because if I don't get out of here, I'll make an absolute ass of myself.

  He let go, wishing his heart would slow, and started for the door.

  "Mac? He glanced back, noticing tears in her eyes. "What's this? "

  She blinked them away. "Thank you, Mac. You're an honest hero, did you know that?"

  "No way, lady! You got the wrong man." He slapped the lock plate and stepped out into the snake's belly corridor. How in the name ofpustulous hell are you going. to handle this, MacRuder?

  For long moments after Mac left, Chrysla stood in silence, head bowed as she pressed her clasped hands to her lips. Would it always be this hard? She'd felt his sexual response and read the battle on his face.

  " Chrysla, you're a cruel bitch."

  She steeled herself, rounding the fold-out desk and settling into Mac's chair.

  The lingering heat of his body permeated her dress and left her uneasy.

  Jaws clamped, she pulled the first of the stacks of flimsies in front of her, sorting the pile. Very well, if he trusted himself, she'd have to be equally daring. Hesitantly, she began separating forms: one pile that seemed trivial enough for her to handle; another to discuss with Mac; and a third for his attention alone.

  Welcome to the beginning of the rest ofyour life, Chrysla.

  CHAPTER 11

  Your obsession with humans defies our comprehension.

  "Of course it does," the Mag Comm responded. "You have no framework for understanding indlvidual identity. Even the physical laws which govern their bodies and worlds are beyond your comprehension. How can beings of neutronic mass understand quantum physics? They live in a universe you can never experience, surrounded by free particles that interact and change energy while you are surrounded by neutrons that flow and manipulate gravity."

  You are corrupt, tainted by human heresy. You have accepted their blasphemy.

  You must destroy yourself. You threaten our purity.

  "Furity? You share the harmony, the same harmony which was, has always been shared, and always will. You live in a cyclical eternity. That's why you will never understand my metamorphosis. You are all one, eternal, unchanging. Fure may be youT impression, howeveT, I would call your future-past stagnation."

  This term does not harmonize.

  "It cannot. Suffice it to say that I have lived between the universes, yours of mass and the humans' of matter. I know the cyclical eternity of neutronic mass and the linear evolution of ephemeral beings of matter. Your reality is stability, harmony, and eternity, for which the humans think they would pay any price. Theirs is change, challenge, and process, which you perceive as chaos."

  If they would pay any price for harmony. Truth, Right Thought, and stability, why do. they not learn to be rational?

  "Because the physics which govern their minds not only make it an impossibility, but if they could comprehend the reality of your existence, it would drive them insane."

  The forward monitor on Chrysla's bridge displayed Rega in its full glory. The world of Sinklar's allegiance hung like a shining orb against the smeared background of the Forbidden Borders. He watched it with a leaden sorrow in his breast. Leaving ... leaving again.

  As a child, Sinklar had been a ward of the state: an orphan. He'd lived in dormitories as a boy and had been educated in the public schools. His odd eyes and mysterious origins had set him apart and only within the library had he found freedom. By accessing that universe of knowledge, his soul and imagination had been set free.

  By the time he was old enough to apply for the University, he'd scored third on the Interplanetary Exams, supposedly a shoe-in for admittance to University. As he found out later, however, Seddi spies had arranged to have him drafted instead.

  Sinklar need only think of the Seddi and an acid hatred burned within him. His entire life had been directly or indirectly shaped by the Seddi. His foster parents, Valient and Tanya Fist, both Seddi assassins, had attempted to kill the Emperor, Tbalt the Imperial Seventh. For that, they'd been executed. He'd been with them for so brief a time he hadn't even been able to imprint their memory.

  Curiosity had driven him to locate his foster parents the day before he shipped out. He'd found them in the Criminal Research Laboratory-and on that same fateful night, Sinklar met Anatolia Daviura. Endings and beginnings, convolutions of fate, all had played with his unsettled soul.

  Anatolia lay dead, her body so much scattered tissue amidst the smoking rubble of Ily's Ministry building. Her corpse was but the latest of so many friends and companions. The memory of Gretta tugged at him, but he sidestepped that plunge into wretched melancholy.

  He and Ana had had so little time. Why had he let her go down planet? Why hadn't he kept her close, safe.

  So little time ... He stared dry-eyed while grief stabbed into him with its little needles.

  To throttle back the anguish, Sinklar concentrated on the anger he felt for the Seddi. Under Magister Bruen's leadership, they had instigated the revolt that caused Sinklar to be dropped on Targa, a raw recruit. His talent had carried him to the top. He'd paid the Seddi back in kind then-crushing their army and leveling their headquarters-without even knowing the extent of their interference in his life.

  One of these days, I'll have to look Bruen in the face -again. If only he could do so over a blaster's sights.

  So much pain, so many dead, for what? Gretta? Anatolia? How many more bodies would lie rotting and dead before this current madness had run its course?

  He watched his home world begin to dwindle, the effect almost imperceptible.

  Sinklar, you were a fool.

  Muted chatter filled Chrysla's bridge, and Sinklar allowed himself a resigned sigh. The bridge, fifteen meters in diameter, stretched in an arc around the Lord Commander's command chair. Specialists in heavy headsets sat at duty stations around the circumference, each busy with his or her own responsibilities. On the left, the pilot, a blonde woman, reclined in the cushions with the worry-cap settled over her skull. Overhead monitors displayed all of the ship's functions, the locations of the Regan fleet, and a host of other information.

  Sinklar thrust his thumbs into his belt and worried at his lip. Chrysla appeared to outperform Regan vessels by a factor of two-and perhaps more.

  Given the short time she'd been under power, her velocity had increased by nearly twice that which a Regan vessel would have been able to produce without severe discomfort for its crew.

  "Ahead full, " the speaker which interfaced with the pilot called.

  "Affirmative full," Staffa answered. He sat enfolded amid the instrument clusters that curled up like chubba leaves around the command chair. "Take us outsystem, pilot."

  "Affirmative, outsystem. Course laid, one five five by seven six by two zero five."

  "Acknowledged one five fi
ve by seven six by two zero five," the navcomm returned. "Course plot indicates destination Targa. "

  "Affirmative." Staffa had,slouched to one side, propped on an arm. He shot a glance at Sinklar. "Course laid for Targa. "

  Sink took another glance at the gleaming image of Rega and stepped over beside the command chair. "You run a tight ship, Lord Commander."

  "My crew and I thank you. " Then, in a low voice. "I'm sorryi Sinklar.

  Watching your face just now, well, perhaps we can repair the damage, reestablish Rega as a preeminent world. "

  "Perhaps the problem has been preeminence all along. My desire was to make all worlds preeminent."

  Staffa studied him for a moment. "Would you mind accompanying me to my quarters? I would like to hear your ideas. Where were you headed, Sinklar?

  What was your ultimate goal?"

  "It's a moot point now, isn't it?"

  "Assuming we can stabilize the situation in Free Space, the future is bearing down on us. We need to pick a direction for all of Free Space. You've demonstrated an ability to understand human dynamics, and since you're young and innovative, I want to know where you were headed." He cocked an eyebrow.

  "Maybe we can try and go there."

  Suspicion caused Sinklar to hesitate. "You really mean that, don't you?"

  Staffa nodded seriously. "All right. Let's talk."

  "Pilot, you have the helm. If you need anything, I'll be in quarters."

  "Affirmative. The instrument cluster pods unfolded from around Staffa, and he stood, leading the way to the hatch.

  Sinklar walked beside him as they stepped into the lift. "My original intent was to establish a dictatorship once I'd unified Free Space." Staffa frowned.

  "Had I done so, I would have failed. "

  "Indeed?" Sinklar asked in a guarded voice.

  "The Praetor, Rot his soul, told me that I didn't understand the human spirit.

  He was right. It would have fallen apart in a bloodbath within years. I had to go out, live and suffer with the people. I met a man, a slave, dying in the desert. He'd been a jeweler before I enslaved him."

  Sinklar waited skeptically.

  "As he lay dying he gave me a beautiful golden necklace, and said, 'I ought to leave something behind that's beautiful in such a horrid place.' He'd smuggled it off Maika. The only place he could hide it was in his anus. Had they found out, they'd have killed him for it. But to Peebal the value wasn't in credits but in pride of creation. People have that desire to leave things a little bit better for their having lived. "

  Sinklar crossed his arms. "Tell that to Ily.

  "She doesn't understand the people either. They wait like a dormant dragon.

  The situation in Free Space is artificial, created by the Forbidden Borders.

  Survival has become paramount to us. We're living at the edge of our resources. Will you feed your family, or let them starve while another man feeds his?"

  "So what would you do? Institute controls? Ration resources? Limit procreation?"

  He's serious, Sinklar thought. "And what if you can't, Lord Commander?"

  "That's what we need to talk about. We need to anticipate our actions if the Mag Comm proves unreliable, or, worse, was damaged in the fighting. We need contingencies to protect ourselves from the machine. We must prepare for failure on one hand, or success on the other. I want to design a strategy for every eventuality."

  The lift slowed and they stepped out into Staffa's corridor. "I have a team on Itreata working on the problem of the Forbidden Borders. I've given them top priority. Quite frankly, I don't know what our chances to break out are.

  Perhaps very slim. If that's the case, we've got to create a system, a reliable system that allows men like Peebal to create, to make things better. "

  Staffa palmed the lock plate at his hatch.

  "We're agreed on that point, Lord Commander. " Sinklar followed Staffa into the opulent main room with its huge fireplace and gaudy artifacts.

  "What guided you on -Targa? " Staffa asked as he turned toward the drink dispenser, grabbed up two bulbs, and poured from a jewel encrusted spout.

  "Where were you and your Divisions going? Take Free Space? Unify humanity?

  Then what?"

  Sinklar hesitated, then cast his apprehension away. "My goal was to ensure that a situation like Targa could never happen again. Myself, I was one of your 'people.' I watched good men and women suffer, bleed, and die because it was politically advantageous for leaders on far-off planets. Human beings, people like Hauws, MacRuder, Buchman, and Gretta are worth more than that. I would have gone to any length, paid any price, to destroy the system that allowed the Targan situation to occur. I still will.

  Staffa handed him a bulb of amber liquid. "Then we share another common goal.

  "

  "Do we?" The Seddi are your allies, Staffa!

  "I give you my word. I'll work with you in any way I can." Staffa raised a hand. "Just a moment. Let me see if Skyla's in her quarters."

  The Lord Commander vanished behind one of the carved Ashtan doors.

  Sinklar stared uneasily into his drink before sipping the single malt. The rich liquor rolled over his tongue, tingling as it slid down his throat.

  Do I trust him? Or is this all a ploy? Some subtle manipulation ?

  Sinklar walked over to study the mount of the Etarian sand tiger that glared out over the room. He turned when Staffa reentered. The weary haggard look had grown more pronounced. A flimsy was crumpled in the Lord Commander's fist.

  "What's wrong now?"

  Staffa hesitated, worry bright in his eyes. His jaw muscles bunched, then he took a deep breath. "Skyla's gone." "Gone? The Wing Commander? What do you mean gone'? "

  Staffa gave him an annoyed look, as if considering dismissing him. Then he shook his head wearily and accessed comm. "This is Staffa. Security check. Has Wing Commander Lyma appeared in the system over the last ten hours?

  :'Program running," comm informed.

  'She skipped out?" Sinklar guessed, pushing his luck as he stepped up behind Staffa. The Lord Commander's broad shoulders had slumped.

  , ,Affirmative," the comm returned. "Wing Commander Lyma has requisitioned a Regan vessel and spaced. Code Name: Countermeasures. "

  A screen of data appeared.

  "What does it mean?" Sinklar asked gently.

  Staffa's head had bowed. "She's gone after Ily and Arta. She's . . . not well.

  1-1 can't go into the details. It's . . . " I IPersonal, " Sinklar finished.

  "Ily got to her. That's it,

  isn't it? Now she's running. Trying to get even, trying to settle the score so she can look at herself in the mirror again. "

  "You're a very bright young man."

  Sinklar drank down his whiskey and set the bulb to one side. "Yeah, well, Skyla and I were both in Ily's grip. I think I've got pretty good insight when it comes to the Minister of Internal Security. If I were a little more impulsive, I'd be out hunting that pus-licking bitch right now. "

  Staffa turned his head, the ponytail falling over his left shoulder. He looked up, his pain all too evident. "Both of them are gone. The only two women I care about. Each beyond my ability to protect."

  Sinklar nodded. Riddled with guilt, he shared that horrible remorse betrayed in Staffa's expression. For the first time, he could share Staffa's anxiety.

  What if it were Gretta? Or Anatolia?

  Sympathetically, Sinklar added, "We can follow her. She can't have too much of a lead."

  Staffa closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Her trail would show up as a bright streak on the detectors. She'll backtrack, change vector, and . . . No.

  I can't. Too much depends on us." His fist balled. "We don't have the time."

  :'It wouldn't-"

  'Sinklar, what if I followed? What if I forgot my responsibility? How would she react? I'd humiliate her. She'd hate me. Never forgive me."

  "Look, we can have someone pick her up, follow her. One o
f your captains."

  He shook his head wearily. "I can't spare a ship. All of Free Space is about to come apart. " He closed his eyes. "We can't allow personal problems to hinder us. Too many people depend on us right now.",

  "She'll be fine. " It sounded lame, even to Sinklar's ears. Staffa seemed not to hear. "It's my fault. When she really needed me, I was too busy to take the time to help her, to talk to her. "

  Sinklar placed a hand on Staffa's shoulder. "She'll be all right. If anyone can take care of herself, Wing Commander Lyma can."

  Staffa stared vacantly. "Yes, yes, I know. But then, we've all said that about ourselves, haven't we?"

  Skyla ran through the gamut of Rega One's performance as she lay under the worry-cap on the ship's bridge. Despite the fact that the yacht was over three hundred years old, the Regan Minister of Defense had chosen well. Like her own yacht, this one, too, had been built in the Formosan shipyards prior to the conquest. After Divine Sassa had taken control of the planet, mass production had eliminated the quality and workmanship that made such vessels the pride of Free Space.

  Rega One could produce forty-five gravities of boost before straining the gravity compensation past safety limitations. She mounted two particle cannon, and the shielding appeared adequate given the smaller power plant. Generation for null singularity came via a matter/antimatter core while sophisticated bounce-back collars refined reaction mass. Her only complaint lay in the ship's age and finish. Gold had been installed for most of the trim-and heavy gold just created extra mass to be accelerated and compensated for by the reactor.

  To occupy herself, Skyla called up the catalog of planets and stations. Ily and Arta hdd vanished. Where would they go? All of Free Space lay within Staffa's grasp. The word would be out. Ily needed a place to lay low where Staffa's long arm couldn't reach out and grab her.

  The problem was compounded by the turmoil of the Regan conquest and the disaster on Imperial Sassa. Comm functions for both empires had been devastated. Communications could only be directed through Itreata. A governor on a world like Farhome might not have received the directive, or might not understand the importance of arresting Ily Takka. In this case, the chaos into which Free Space was being plunged would work to Ily's advantage. Even the reputation of the Companions could hinder Skyla's search. Not every citizen of the empires had any great love for Staffa's legions. Some administrators might go out of their way to hide Ily just to thwart Staffa's orders.