by Thomas Webb
Silvio noted the sound in her voice. The look in her eye. He sensed there was more she wanted to say, and that some of it might even be something he wanted to hear. He felt his mood shift, ever so slightly, as a bit of his anger dissipated.
“But?” he prompted.
“But,” Cynthia began, “quiet as it’s kept? United Les Space has been a tremendous pain in the ass, for a lot of important people. Sure, not a few of their political campaigns and their fortunes are tied to ULS.” Cynthia leaned in, gripping her teacup. “But if, say, some series of unfortunate events were to befall the firm?”
“Unfortunate events?” Lima echoed.
“Sure,” she replied. “Maybe some important exec has a heart attack? Maybe another one has a solar yachting accident? Or suffers a space cruiser malfunction?” She shrugged. “Well, let’s just say that the United Nations Intelligence community probably wouldn’t be inclined to look into such incidents too closely.”
“Let me get this straight,” Lima said, his excitement growing. “Are you saying that I and my people have the green light to take these bastards out?”
“Not at all,” Cynthia said. She signaled the waiter for a menu. She waited until he’d delivered it and disappeared back into the kitchen before she resumed the conversation. “But what I am saying is that you, Silvio Lima, have an exceptional talent for operating under the radar. You should, after all—I’m the one who trained you to do it. And what I am saying, absolutely, is that if you chose to take some sort of extra-governmental, unilateral action against a certain corporate entity? I can’t say that I or my superiors would be opposed to that.”
“I see,” Lima said. His day was suddenly looking a lot better. “Would this hypothetical action have direct UNIA support?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What about from the SAD?”
“No,” Cynthia said. “Not officially, at any rate. Unfortunately, that’s about the best offer I can make.”
Silvio leaned back in his chair. Cynthia perused the menu as he considered the new information she’d shared.
“Can you loan me Sanders?” he asked.
“He’s quite an asset to the agency, but we might be able to convince him to take some time off.”
“That would be good. He was Delta, was he not?”
Cynthia lowered the menu just enough to meet his gaze. “They don’t actually call it that anymore.”
Silvio rolled his eyes. “Of course they do not.”
Lima considered the situation. He’d been called a dangerous man more than once in his life. He couldn’t disagree. He’d go so far as to say he could be vicious when he had to be. Even downright merciless at times. But he’d never done it for anything less than what he believed in. He’d never hurt or wronged or taken from anyone that didn’t deserve it. And United Les Space fell squarely into the ‘deserve it’ category.
Silvio had seen their type before. When he worked for the UNIA, he’d been more focused on espionage, then later the terrorist threat posed by the Outer Colonies. Finally, toward the end of his career, his time had been completely occupied by the Separatist Wars and the politics that drove them. In all that time he’d learned that not even the Director of the UNIA himself was immune to the whims of the General Assembly. The members of the Assembly needed corporate money to fund their political campaigns which would, in turn, keep them in power. But now, no longer under the direct command of the UN or its intelligence agency, Lima had had enough. This time was different.
And his team? He’d chosen most of them because they’d displayed the exact same qualities he possessed—all were capable, smart, and ruthless. All possessed a moral code, but none were above bending the rules when necessary. Now a member of that team—of his team—had been seriously hurt. And the rest of them were just as hungry to exact revenge as he was.
It was time to take the offensive. Time to take the fight to the enemy. Lima stood to go.
“Leaving so soon?” Cynthia asked. “I’d hoped you would stay for lunch.”
“Have the soup dumplings,” Lima said, straightening his jacket. “And the beef and scallion pancakes are amazing as well.”
A confused look crossed Cynthia’s face. His abrupt exit had taken her by surprise. “This thing with ULS. . . do you read what we’re saying here, Silvio?” she asked.
“Oh, I read you,” Lima said, already planning his next moves. A dangerous smile touched his lips. He was eager to go. There was a lot of work he had to do to get ready. “I read you loud and clear.”
-26-
“You should go home,” Lash said, the words coming out as a deep rumble from his chest cavity. “I can sit with her for a while, if you like?”
On some level Shane understood that Lash was right. She’d been here for three days straight, with most of that time spent either wide awake or dozing in sporadic, fitful spurts. She’d hated every aspect, every second, of it. The bright white lights. The clinical cleanliness of the room. The hushed cycling of the disc-shaped robots tasked with sanitizing the place. The acrid scent of antiseptic cleanser and disinfectant made her stomach churn. Even if she did have an appetite, the AI vending machine across the hall dispensed nothing but flash freeze-dried garbage.
Christ in the Stars, she thought. I would kill for a hot shower.
Judging by what she could smell of herself, she was willing to bet that Lash and the non-robotic members of the hospital staff would kill for her to take one, too.
Lash was right on all counts. Her going home would be the wise thing to do. On some level, she understood that.
Yet there existed a part of her—a doggedly insistent part—that told her otherwise. Deep down, in a place she didn’t want to admit was there, Shane believed that as soon as she left, the moment she walked outside the hospital, something terrible would happen. Irrational as it seemed, the belief held power over her. Her rational mind assured her that it was ridiculous to think her leaving would somehow lead to tragedy. How could one thing possibly have any effect on the other? But the irrational part of her posed another question; how would she live with herself if she left and something did happen to Gina? So the end result was simple.
She couldn’t leave.
They’d said Gina could come out of her coma at any minute. They’d also said she might never wake up. Shane made a conscious decision to believe the latter over the former.
“Do you know how I know that you should go home?” Lash asked.
“Sorry?” Shane said.
She hadn’t heard him. Her thinking felt clouded, her brain fuzzy. A fog of exhaustion hung over her, and her headache felt like there was a tiny off-worlder trapped inside her skull, attempting to drill its way out.
“I said, do you know how I know that you should go home?” the gigantic Salayan repeated.
“No,” Shane replied. “I don’t know.”
She held Gina’s hand. She watched her wounded soldier’s chest rise and fall in a steady but oh-so-agonizingly slow rhythm. Shane stared daggers at the sterile bandages wrapped around the burnt gouge on Gina’s head, as if the hatred in her gaze could simply make it all go away.
“I know you should go home,” Lash began, “because for the last half an hour I have regaled you with a fascinating story of the Great Salayan Clan Wars, which occurred over seven-hundred of your Earth years ago. And you, Shane Mallory, did not utter a single word the entire time.”
“Huh,” Shane grunted.
She’d only half-heard what Lash said. Her thoughts had already drifted back to Gina. Shane feared to look away from her, all but willing Gina to open her eyes.
Lash sighed and pulled his bulky reptilian frame from the chair next to the window. He walked over to Gina and placed a gentle claw on the unconscious woman’s shoulder. “At least someone appreciates me sharing the stories of my home world.”
Ever since he and Gina had taken out the Space To Air missile placement on Mios, she’d toned down the jokes at his expense, and he had, in turn,
opened up to her. He and Gina had grown tight over the last few months. It was then Shane realized that she wasn’t the only one hurting right now, that she wasn’t the only one who was deeply worried about Gina.
Lash smiled down at Gina’s unconscious form. “Rest well, my friend. But hurry and wake.” He turned to Shane. “I have to send an encrypted communications wave to my planet. I’ll be back in less than an Earth Standard hour. When I return, I am prepared to stay until morning.” He fixed Shane with his red-eyed gaze. “And when I return, I expect you to go home, Shane. After you arrive there, you will do us all a favor and bathe. You will get yourself some of that disgusting human nourishment, and then you will get some rest.” His ruby eyes softened. “I’m telling you this as a friend. You can’t be of any use to anyone if you’re exhausted.” He indicated Gina, lying in the bed. “She would not want that for you.”
Lash placed a massive clawed hand on Shane’s shoulder. She put her tiny hand over his. The smooth feel of his scaled claw provided a great measure of comfort. One that she hadn’t realized she needed. The Salayan gave her shoulder a final pat and left, ducking beneath the hospital room doorway. The doors of the Hospital Israelita Albert Einstein in Sao Paulo were built long ago, before the U.N. began the exploration of space, and before the Allied Planets reached out to earth. Salayan physiology hadn’t been a consideration when they were designed those hundreds of years ago.
Shane smiled through the exhaustion, watching him move down the corridor. He’s not wrong, her rational brain said. You should go home. You should get some rest.
Then she looked at Gina.
Shane hadn’t been by herself with Gina since Silvio Lima had the Green Beret placed in an emergency stasis field and brought here from Cetov 9. Shane vaguely remembered hearing him say he wanted Gina in Sao Paulo, close to home base. It was a good call, and one which she’d been in no positon to argue at the time. Now, finally, the two of them were alone. The smell of hospital-cleaned sheets stung her nostrils. The incessant beeping of the monitors refused to give her any peace. The spotless white walls, the UV lights, disinfecting the room even as they shined down on it. It all seemed so close. So claustrophobic.
Gina lay there, silent and unconscious, hooked to the machines that monitored her vital signs. Shane gripped Gina’s hand tight. Then, unable to hold back any longer, she gave in.
Shane buried her head and cried. She shook, her body wracked by terrible, silent sobs. The stress of the last couples of years, the frustration of endless war. The fear of losing Gina, the pain of seeing her this way. . .it was all just so. . . much. Everything came erupting forth.
Shane Mallory had never been one to feel sorry for herself. So after a few heart-rending moments, the tears eventually gave way to something else. There was no surprise when rage, hot and heavy, began to burn inside her. She clutched the bedclothes in a stranglehold, tight enough her knuckles cracked and the blood drained from them. She focused her rage at Ramsey, for what he’d done. For putting them in this position in the first place. It was his people who’d hurt Gina like this.
Shane’s face contorted in a mask of rage. We should have killed you when we had the chance.
Her anger then turned to the Separatists, for keeping up these damned eternal wars. Then her analytical side kicked in, and she came to a realization. Her rage, although justified, was mostly misplaced. The ones who really deserved it weren’t Ramsey and his troops, or even the Separatists themselves. No, the ones most deserving of that rage were the real architects of not only her pain, but that of so very many others.
United Les Space.
ULS thinking they could do as they pleased with people’s lives. As if they could treat people like they were nothing. Less than nothing, even. United Les Space, a faceless corporate entity. . .they were the source of it all. They were the ones ultimately responsible for everything that had happened. Maybe they hadn’t started the Separatist Wars, but neither did they have any qualms about propagating them. . .so long as their profit margins remained healthy. They were the ones who had to pay.
Maybe the UNIA couldn’t sanction the punishment they deserved. But if not? Then to hell with the UNIA, was Shane’s opinion. She was no longer military. She no longer took orders. And she damn sure didn’t answer to United Nations Intelligence.
The high-pitched beep of the machine startled her. She didn’t recognize the sound, couldn’t place the machine’s new tone. She looked up, wiping her bright green eyes, now puffy and red, with her fists.
She waited.
There was another strange beep. And then another.
Shane watched the holographic monitor, waiting, hoping, for something to happen. Hoping that what she’d prayed and begged the universe for for so long was finally coming to pass.
The holo screen marking Gina’s heart rate spiked, then fell. Shane’s breath caught in her throat. It spiked a second time. Gina’s heart rate increased, then steadied.
Shane gripped Gina’s hand, and she felt a squeeze in return.
Shane’s heart leapt. “Nurse!” she yelled.
Within a few seconds, everything had changed. ULS, the Separatists, Ramsey—they could all wait. In the span of a few heartbeats, Shane’s sole purpose and priority pivoted away from vengeance, directly toward getting Gina Romero well.
She had to get Gina better. But she wouldn’t forget. No way would she forget. The time for their enemies to pay for what they’d done was coming. There would be a reckoning, and it would be soon.
-27-
The smell of grilled seabass, fragrant rice, and roasted asparagus wafted through the atmosphere. A delectable pile of buttered kilifi oysters, fresh harvested from the sea that very morning, sat in front of him. None of that stopped Hale, normally a voracious eater, from pushing the gourmet feast around the plate with his fork.
Five-hundred credit dinners weren’t normally his style, even with all the ASI funds fattening his account lately. Still, he wasn’t in the habit of ignoring ridiculously priced, mouth-watering dinners either. All the more reason he should have been savoring the delicacies instead of pushing them from side to side on his dish. Even with this amazing meal, and the company of a beautiful woman, his mind still chose to go elsewhere.
The dress shirt and slacks he wore weren’t really his style, either. They weren’t his standard uniform, but tonight he’d made an exception. Anesu had bought the shirt for him. The damned thing fit him to a tee, even better than if he’d bought it himself. That brought on a whole slew of other problems. The last time someone had bought clothes for him, it hadn’t ended too well. He’d have to address that later.
“Is there something wrong with your food?” Anesu asked.
She sat across from him, and not even the night sky of the capital city was enough to eclipse her beauty. Radiant coffee-colored skin against a sheer yellow dress that did little to hide her lithe, warrior’s body. Her dark eyes shone in the low light of the restaurant. It was one of the capital city’s finest, perched atop a building in downtown Uzuri. Hale’s appetite had gone UA, but Anesu seemed to be having little problem enjoying her plate of sea-crab stuffed tilapia.
Hale wished he could say the same about his meal. “Yeah,” he replied, his mind elsewhere. “I mean. . .no. It’s fine.”
Here he was, having an incredible dinner with an equally incredible woman, yet he was unable to enjoy it. The wheels of his mind spun too fast. The Separatists. The peace talks. Ramsey. United Les Space. What had happened to Zombie. Mostly about Zombie. And Shane, of course.
Zombie was awake, which was great news. He’d been told she was expected to make a full recovery. She was lucky. The pulse round had struck her helmet, and then scorched a deep pathway along the side of her skull. Not enough for a full burn-through kill shot, but she’d suffered a serious concussion from the force of the energy round. Not to mention a severe, bone-deep burn to her head and skull. She’d live, but she’d have some extensive neural regeneration therapy sessions to repair t
he damage. And she’d have a hell of a scar to show for it, if she decided to keep it. Another one for her collection.
She’d been awake and talking some when he left North America. Otherwise he never would have taken this trip at Anesu’s request. Not while a team mate was down.
“Trace?” Anesu asked. There was concern in that question. He felt it.
“I’m sorry.” It was about the best Hale could manage. He took the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. It seemed his appetite had no plans on making a return appearance.
She reached across the table and took his hand. She smiled. “It’s alright.”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s not. And I am sorry. I wish I was better company right now.”
Anesu dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. The movement struck Hale as so delicate. Stark contrast to the warfighter he’d seen in action on Mios and at the UNIA black site. “Zombie will be fine,” she assured him. “You have read the same updates as I. She is expected to recover fully.”
Hale nodded. “I know.” His thoughts had already shifted to Ramsey and ULS, and what the connection between the two could really mean.
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. “You are thinking of an enemy,” she said.
That caught him by surprise. “Yes,” he said, a little unsettled that she’d been able to read him so easily.
“Alright,” she said. “May I venture a guess as to who that enemy might be?”
“I don’t think you have to guess,” Hale growled.
Anesu looked from side to side, as if someone might be listening. She checked her bag, making certain the wave scrambling device Shemi had given her was operational. Not until she was satisfied that they were free of surveillance did she continue.
“Our intelligence office tells me that the peace talks were called off after the bombing attempt.”