by MB Panichi
On the other side of the office, Maruchek and Rogan faced off. Anger and frustration flew between them. Their voices grated through her aching head. They’d been at it for a half hour, intermittently interrupted by stilted com calls from Rogan’s security personnel.
Maruchek paced behind his desk. A glowering Rogan leaned against the side of the same desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I cannot believe you had a hole that big in your security!” Maruchek roared.
Rogan glared defiantly. “I ran personnel checks three days ago and the bitch came up clean! I don’t know who got to her, but I will find out.”
“My daughter could have been killed! I will not lose another member of my family, Duncan!”
Rogan’s head snapped around. “How do you know Hedding was even there to kill her? They both had weapons!” He motioned sharply toward Morgan. “And where did she get a fucking gun?”
There was a long, pregnant silence. Both men turned to look at her.
After a moment, she realized they were waiting for her to answer. She turned to Maruchek. “It’s Shaine’s. She told me to keep it with me.”
“Did she tell you to shoot Hedding, too?” Rogan demanded.
Morgan sat up straighter. “No. Shaine just told me to be careful. She changed the lock on the suite so only she and I, and you two, could get in. I think that’s why I reacted. Lissa shouldn’t have been able to let herself in.”
Maruchek crossed the room to sit beside her. “Can you tell us exactly what happened?”
Morgan looked at him. She flicked a glance at the still glowering Rogan, who remained leaning on the desk. She struggled to sort out her thoughts and put all the fractured images into a single whole. Finally, she took a breath and let it out slowly. “I was in bed reading, I’d just about fallen asleep. I heard something and Lissa was standing at the door to my bedroom. She had a holo album, like the one you’d left for me. And she said you wanted her to give it to me.” She paused and looked a question at her birth father.
Maruchek said, “I didn’t send her. And there was only one album.” He rested a hand, briefly and lightly, on her arm. “Please, go on.”
“I’m not sure, after that. We said a few things and then—” She shook her head. “There was a flash. I think she fired at me. I pulled the trigger and she fell—” She shuddered, picturing Lissa blinking in surprise when she realized she’d been shot and crumpling to the floor. Just as clearly, she remembered Lissa’s empty eyes staring sightlessly at her when Maruchek guided her out of the bedroom.
Maruchek gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze. “You saw her gun?” he asked.
“Yes—no—I don’t know. I think she fired and I fired almost at the same time.”
“You did the right thing, Morgan,” Maruchek said.
Morgan glanced at him and refocused on the floor. Whether right or not, Lissa was dead and she’d done it. What if Lissa hadn’t intended to kill her after all? She closed her eyes and felt sick again, wondering if Shaine ever felt this way. Did taking a life haunt her, too? Was this why Shaine wanted to get away from Mann-Maru Security? How many times did Shaine have to make a similar decision? Kill or be killed. Kill or maybe be killed. How did Shaine deal with it? Because she didn’t think she was going to be capable of processing Lissa’s death for a long time.
“She would have killed you,” Maruchek said. “You did what you had to do. You defended yourself.”
Rogan said, “We need to get her out of here, Tarm.”
Maruchek stood and turned to face his security chief. “I agree. The question is: what’s secure at this point? I don’t want a repeat of this incident.”
Rogan started toward the door. “I need to make a couple of calls. I think we should head over to 2333, to Garren’s facility. Brodderick Fenn will have the whole place locked down and there are EG cruisers in the area.”
Maruchek asked, “You’re sure that’s a good idea?”
“If you have a better one, let me know. I’ll be back shortly.” Rogan stalked out the door.
Morgan watched him leave. She closed her eyes, exhausted.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shaine slogged through the sand, fighting the gusting winds that increased as the temperature rose. Sharp particles strafed her suited body, clattering against her helmet and the flex-armor neck and shoulder plating. Every couple of minutes, she glanced down at the GPS on her comp pad to make sure she trekked in the right direction.
The day brightened into a brown-red twilight of sand and dust.
Despite the storm, she remained on her scheduled ETA to Charun’s compound. She smiled grimly. The mostly underground warren wasn’t truly hidden, but its secluded existence in the middle of nowhere ensured Charun’s center for research and security stayed relatively unnoticed by the outside world.
She didn’t know the details of Charun’s internal corporate hierarchy, nor did she much care. Based on what Rogan’s spies and investigators had put together over the years, the mining research and development was more a cover than anything else. Sure, they did some R&D, but Rogan believed the desert compound was the base for Charun’s more covert corporate security force and the so-called “pirates” who’d been plaguing out-system mining facilities for years.
Neither the justice system nor Maruchek’s private investigators had managed to pin that particular accusation on Charun, though not for lack of trying. Based on the reports Ellerand had provided her, the only evidence gathered was either circumstantial or inadmissible in court. Charun covered his tracks and his money trails incredibly well. Even so, she figured it was only a matter of time. If this mission actually succeeded, his time was up.
She was careful not to push hard too early, though now that it was daylight, she could move faster than she had when she couldn’t see a thing. She sipped sparingly from the tube connected to water pouches in the suit’s sides. A compact unit on her back pumped air into her helmet. Even filtered, the air left a dry, gritty feeling in her mouth and nose.
As the morning temperature rose, the storm intensified and visibility went from a couple of meters to pretty much nothing. The slap of wind and sand against her faceplate became white noise she tuned out. The repetition of putting one foot in front of the other became an internal rhythm to which her body moved, allowing her mind to wander.
Memories of old missions flitted through her thoughts in piecemeal images. In contrast to the dryness of the desert, she remembered vividly the feel and stench of damp, sweltering heat and the buzz of insects as she crawled through a jungle swamp. She remembered picking her way through the dark, musty ruins of an ancient subway system under New York City to catch a group of terrorists at a secret meeting site. Always, she’d relied on painstaking and careful movement forward, remaining focused on the destination. The journey created a slow buildup of tension, a tightening of the spring that would be ready to snap when the time came.
One big difference between then and now: her current mission lacked a plan. Her objective was to take out Tyr Charun, but the details remained a blank slate. There was no appointed meeting place and no specific time for a public activity leaving Charun in the open. She had no idea where he might be at any given time, just that he was somewhere in his secured compound.
In the military, the only time she’d flown by the seat of her pants had been when the mission went FUBAR. Working for Rogan, she’d always been meticulous—planning out her missions to the most minute details. The current mission meant life or death for Morgan, and yet she had no strategy past how she was going to break in.
She hated not having a plan.
She glanced at the GPS, adjusted her direction and checked the time. At this rate, she would reach Charun’s compound just past oh-ten-thirty hours, about the time the storm would be at its strongest, giving her the most protection from detection. If there were any working cameras, they were less likely to pick her up with all the blowing sand. Her personal body temperature would blend into the
background if there were thermal scanners in use.
She plodded forward.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sound of an argument rose from the transport’s cockpit, echoing back into the main cabin. Morgan recognized Rogan’s low rumble.
“Do you really think I take this situation lightly?” Rogan asked.
“My concern is that arrogance and complacency have put us in this position.”
“Don’t insult me, Tarm.”
“Then don’t fail me again.” The last was spoken flatly, evenly, and with unmitigated authority.
Morgan half-opened her eyes when Rogan stalked furiously through the cabin, slamming the aft hatch behind him. He didn’t look at her as he passed. She was glad. She’d had more than enough of his accusing glare in the last few hours. His constant animosity wore on her raw nerves. He seemed to blame her for the situation, which pissed her off. Yes, she was to blame for Lissa’s death. The thought made her nauseous. But it wasn’t her fault that Lissa broke into her room with a gun.
She didn’t remember clearly who shot first and clung to the belief that her reaction wasn’t a mistake. She wouldn’t have used the pistol if she hadn’t been threatened. If she’d misjudged the situation…she wasn’t sure she could live with the guilt if that were true. It’s not murder if Lissa shot first. I’m not a murderer, am I? I didn’t mean to kill her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away. I can’t deal with this right now. Too much was happening, too fast. Digger’s death, a new family, people trying to kill her. I just need to get through the next couple of days.
Morgan glanced around the main cabin’s dull gray interior. She had unclipped the four-point restraint harness, but didn’t have the energy to leave the relative comfort of the reclining acceleration seat.
This shuttle was faster and more maneuverable than the one she and Shaine had ridden in earlier and bare bones in its creature comforts. The cramped main cabin contained four reclining acceleration chairs. A computer workstation and secondary communications setup were built into the opposite bulkhead. A food dispenser unit took up the rear wall beside a semicircular booth and the hatch leading to the rear sections of the ship.
Morgan scrunched down in the chair, huddled into her jacket with her hands jammed into the pockets, wishing she had a blanket against the chill of the dry, recycled air. She knew by the smoothing out of the ride and the settled hum of the engines that the shuttle had broken free of Earth’s atmosphere and entered open space. She’d overheard enough snatches of conversation over the past couple of hours to know she, Maruchek and Rogan were headed to one of the mining facilities in the Belt. She wasn’t sure what leaving Earth was supposed to accomplish.
Since Rogan had gone aft, the muted voices from the cockpit sounded like business as usual. She closed her eyes again, allowing the droning of the ship’s drives to lull her closer to sleep.
Sometime later she heard light footfalls coming toward her from the cockpit and a pause as Tarm Maruchek’s voice was directed up front. “Mr. Loh, I need to you to contact Facility 2333. Get Garren on a secure line and transfer the call back to the captain’s cabin. I need to speak with him privately before we arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Maruchek’s footsteps stopped.
Morgan sensed his presence at her side. She opened her eyes.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Still kicking,” she returned.
Maruchek studied her face. “You’re strong, like your mother.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.
She received the gesture without reacting. She eyed the man she was beginning to accept as her birth father. “What happens when we get to where we’re going?”
“We’ll stay at Garren’s mining facility until Rogan has the situation at the main compound in hand.”
“We’ll be safer in the Belt than on Earth?”
“Yes.” He paused. “You’ve heard about the attacks that damaged one of our mining facilities?” He waited for her nod and continued. “Since then, the facility has been in secured lockdown. There is a heightened Earth Guard presence in the area. Rogan believes, and I agree, that your presence there will go unnoticed, at least until my compound on Earth has been secured and we’ve rooted out any additional threats.”
Morgan chewed on his answer. She didn’t feel reassured. She recalled what she’d seen about the attack. The installation had taken mostly superficial damage, but she still felt uneasy. She’d lived in similar places and didn’t consider a mining facility anywhere near secure.
“Don’t worry, Morgan. It’s all going to work out.”
She looked up at Tarm Maruchek. She knew he was trying to help, but his attempts weren’t working. She closed her eyes. Her head hurt and her thoughts whipped around in a crazy muddle. She heard a rustle of movement and Tarm’s retreating footsteps, then the metallic click of the rear compartment hatch opening and closing. She tried to clear her head, but images continued to flash relentlessly behind her eyes. She thought of Lissa’s lifeless body lying in the doorway and relived the shock of the gun going off in her hand.
Lissa Hedding tried to kill me. This is the third time in three days I’ve been targeted. For the first time, reality really sank in. She felt a surge of anxiety. What would be next? When? And what about Shaine? Where was she now? Was she okay? If Shaine killed Charun, would the threat be over? Or would someone else just step in? If the secret of her birthright got out, would she ever be safe again?
Her thoughts spun out of control. I can’t live my life like this! She wanted to scream. Stop it! Just stop! She forced herself to imagine the warmth and safety of Shaine’s arms around her, struggling to find the comforting feeling of waking in Shaine’s embrace. She clung desperately to any hint of solace in those memories. Eventually, she succumbed to exhaustion and the drone of the engines and lost herself in sleep.
* * *
Morgan tumbled through the blackness of space. Desperately, she slapped at the controls on the rocket-pack’s handlebars. The ignition switches were unresponsive under her gloved thumbs. She caught dizzying glimpses of the mining facility falling away as her body twisted into the black. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t get any air. Warning alarms screeched in her ears. Panic blossomed excruciatingly in her chest.
A fluorescent orange vacsuit tumbled into her path. Blackened, burnt gashes were seared across material ripped open by laser fire. Blood red ice crystals covered a woman’s gently smiling face behind the shattered helmet.
“Mom!”
Another vacsuit floated past her, this one white with a blue stripe down the arms and legs. She didn’t want to look but couldn’t stop. Suddenly the fractured helmet was in front of her eyes and Digger stared accusingly at her.
“No!”
Morgan woke with a start, gasping for breath, clamping down on what she knew would have been a scream. Her fingers twisted around the edges of a thin, dark-blue travel blanket. She blinked, struggling to comprehend where she was and where the blanket had come from. Transport shuttle. I’m on a shuttle with Maruchek.
A motion caught her eye. Rogan turned in his seat at the computer console. He said shortly, “We’re within half an hour of the facility.”
Morgan nodded automatically and had to process the information for a couple of seconds before it made any sense. Facility. She, Maruchek and Rogan were headed for a mining facility in the Belt that was supposed to be safe. No wonder she was having nightmares. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, then pushed the blanket to the side of the acceleration chair. She shifted the chair from reclined to seated and got to her feet, rolling her head to loosen her neck muscles.
Remembering the small bathroom just aft of the rear hatch, she slipped inside and locked the door behind her. The cramped space contained a tiny sink, a sonic shower and a toilet. She met her tired gaze in the mirror above the sink. Against skin paler than normal, her eyes seemed too big for her face and were darkened by l
ack of sleep.
You look like crap, Rahn. Her long bangs hung limply into her eyes. She brushed them away with a swipe of her hand, did her business and wandered back out into the main cabin.
Rogan leaned over the computer console, muttering to himself.
She walked past him to the cockpit, hoping to find out what to expect when they arrived at the mining facility.
Maruchek looked over his shoulder when she paused at the cockpit’s hatch. The second officer said something to Maruchek, who replied, then turned his head and gave Morgan a smile. “Are you feeling better?”
She nodded. “Rogan said we’re almost there.”
“Yes.” Maruchek straightened and nodded at the two folding jump chairs against the wall beside her. He took one.
Morgan took the other, aware of his steady gaze on her. “What happens when we get to the mining facility?” she asked.
“First, I want you to meet your brother, Garren. He runs the operation there.”
Morgan nodded and propped her elbows on her knees. Her gaze remained focused on the floor. She fiddled with her mother’s ring. My brother. The words sounded odd when she considered them. I have a brother. I’ve always been alone. She’d seen pictures in the holoalbum of a young man with dark hair and a serious expression and eyes like his father. Other than hair color, there was little resemblance between her and Garren. He was much taller, broadly built and angular, while she, like her birth mother, had a whip-thin, almost child-like frame.
She wondered if Maruchek had told Garren about her and assumed he had. She felt a second of panic, of things spiraling out of control—too much change, too fast. Her heart rate jumped. She took a long breath and forced herself to relax. She asked quietly, “Any word from Shaine?”
“No, nothing yet. I’m sure soon, though.”
She hoped he was right. Shaine had been so casual about the whole assassination thing. In and out, quick and dirty, she’d said. No problem.
But Morgan had seen the worry in the depths of Shaine’s deep green eyes. She was glad she didn’t know any details of Shaine’s mission. Knowledge would only have given her more dangerous scenarios to imagine.