Wolf hadn’t mentioned that his friendship with Lister had stretched back decades when he suggested they take Lizzy there for repairs, but he wouldn’t have. She hadn’t known all his secrets then. Not that she knew everything about him now, either. A man can accumulate a lot of secrets in ninety years.
A slight thump through the deck plates, and the spinning down of the engine’s vibrations, warned Fitz they’d landed a second before Lizzy gave her a heads up on the arrival.
“You cats staying here?” she asked. Jumper shared the bed with Faydra, his paws around her neck while he washed her ears.
“Hell, no. And miss a chance to ride on a warship?”
“There won’t be any riding. Just a walk through, then the mess,” Fitz said.
“A party? Food and a ride on a warship.”
“Really, Jumper, can’t you think about anything but eating?” Faydra asked.
“I think about you, Sweet Paws.”
“It’s a good thing you said that.”
The cats hopped down and trotted out the door with the two women.
A crowd of Coronia’s dignitaries greeted them upon departure. The Fleet Commandant showed all the quiet reserve and deference of a military officer greeting his liege, but the station CEO nattered on about passenger level increases, number of docks and tonnage transshipped as if he were delivering an annual report to the Board of Directors. The party crossed the station, traversing corridors lined with silent, armed marines at attention.
Despite the lessening of the danger, old habits kept Fitz scanning her surroundings, acute senses sharp, but her threat assessment computer idled at a low alert level. At the entrance to the corvette’s docking bay, the civilian party withdrew and Fitz almost missed Ari’s parting remark to the station head.
“Advise your Traffic Control that we will be taking the ship out shortly. Please arrange for all the necessary clearances and prepare the bay for our departure.” Ari glanced back at Fitz, a mischievous glint in her eyes, well aware that even her Chief of Security wouldn’t dare contradict the Emperor in public.
Fitz ground her teeth as she followed Ari through the banner-draped bay, between the lines of saluting sailors, and onto the ship. Captain Wellborn and his officers greeted them, dressed in a curious mixture of coveralls and dress uniforms. She almost didn’t recognize Miah Lister. She’d been expecting the elegantly dressed and coiffed CEO she’d met at the Atrium, not a slender figure in rumpled coveralls, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with a messy ponytail and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Ari greeted the engineer with the warmth of old friendship.
“How about we proceed to the bridge, Miah, and you can show me this shiny new toy you’ve given me.”
“Not given. There’s the not-so-little matter of the price tag for this contract, Your Majesty.” Lister chuckled. “Never thought I’d be calling you that. Particularly after that time you got blasted on vilaprim and slugged that ambassador…”
As the two women headed forward, lost in their reminiscing, Fitz glanced around, expecting to see Pike, but he wasn’t there. That wasn’t like him. She hoped he hadn’t ruffled Mandisa’s feathers so badly he got himself kicked off the ship.
Outside the entrance to the bridge, she posted three of the Praetorians and Costos before she entered. Accustomed to serving on the huge ships of the line like the AriR, the control room of the corvette felt cramped with the bridge crew and officers, augmented by the addition of their party.
The four main stations—helm, communications, weapons and navigation—stretched across the forward section of the bridge in a shallow arc, their viewing screens arrayed before them. At the rear, a raised dais held the command chair, from where Wellborn could survey his domain. Separating the two was the railed area traditionally called the captain’s walk, where the officer in command could pace off nervous energy.
The helmsman quickly relinquished her position to the Emperor, and Lister began to give Ari a quick refresher on the controls. Wellborn had the look of a man who’d just realized he’d lost control of the situation and surrendered to the inevitable. He retreated to the dais only to discover two cats curled up in his chair.
“Everyone is back aboard and at their position,” the XO said. “The landing bay has been cleared.”
“We have our clearance from Coronia Traffic Control,” the comm officer announced.
Wellborn nodded. “Engineering? Lieutenant Menendez, light ’em up.”
The ship came alive, vibrations surging through its metal body, through the deck plates and up Fitz’s legs. The mechanical song soaked into her bones, filled all the empty spaces inside her she’d hardly known existed. She’d been planet-bound for too long; months had passed since she’d been aboard one of the larger ships of the line. The atmospheric shuttles didn’t count, not even Lizzy. There was a fierce joy at being inside a vast mechanical creature, fashioned from the hearts and minds of talented people and melded with the plexisteel soul of this metallic beast she rode.
This moment had been so long in coming. Ashcraft’s reign had been a dark time for the Fleet. She could understand now why it was so important to take this ship out. Her smile spread so wide it made her cheeks ache. In that instant she knew how Ari felt to be back at the helm of a starship, to be alive as only a pilot can be. How could she deny her friend that pleasure? Emperors had little enough time for joy.
The comm light on her inhead flashed, but she pushed it to standby. She joined Mandisa on the dais, leaning against the railing. That same fierce pride she sensed in Ari shone from the XO’s face.
“It’s a good ship you have here, Hazel.”
“No, Fitz, it’s a great ship. And I’m proud to be a part of her. But I hear you’ve had your own run of good luck. Talk is you signed onto a long term bonding contract with Old Mad Dog Youngblood.”
Fitz sputtered, breaking into a laugh. “Mad Dog?”
“Okay, Triumvir Youngblood. But that’s what the crew has taken to calling him, what with the ship’s nickname. It might be a little disrespectful, but they have a lot of faith in him. He seems to be one of us. They think he’s just the person to turn the Fleet around, to make us proud to do the Dragon’s Bidding again.”
The XO leaned in close. “And I’ll bet he’s a little of the Mad Dog in bed, huh?”
“I’ll never tell.” Fitz’s laughter brought tears to the corners of her eyes.
Fitz and Hazel had served together on the AriR for several years, and developed the kind of friendship that could allow such remarks.
The damn comm buzzed again, but before she could put it on standby, Lizzy broke in. “I think you’d better take this, Colonel.”
Bartonelli’s shout, high and ragged, poured out of her comm as soon as she accepted the call.
“…Pike, not Wolf, Chima. And if Pike’s here…”
“Slow down, Sergeant,” Fitz said. “Slowly. Now, what’s happened?” Cold crept up her spine.
She heard Bartonelli draw in a deep breath and blow it out. “They arrested Pike, not Wolf. He’s not awake from the stun yet, so I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, I’m thinking it was bad, real bad.”
“Son of a…” Fitz bit off the rest of the curse. “I can guess what happened.” Pike had said at lunch that his hackers had plugged a few of Tritico’s back doors into the personnel files—but not soon enough. That smiling bastard must have hacked in and switched the records. If Pike was down there in the holding cell… She grabbed Mandisa’s shoulder. “Commander, my aide, Lieutenant Pike, did he come aboard the Mad Dog?”
“Yeah, and I have to tell you, Fitz, I don’t know how you can put up with him. I would have thrown his black uniformed ass off the ship if I—”
Fitz overrode her friend. “Where is he? Still aboard?”
“He shouldn’t be. The little jerk said he had more important business to attend to. As if we didn’t amount to a pile of gerbat guano.”
“What did he look like?”
Mandisa shrugged. “Tall,
slender. Not bad to look at in a kind of familiar way. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a slightly not regulation mustache…”
“Mustache?” Wolf and his disguises again.
“No other distinguishing characteristics?”
“A cleft in his chin…”
“Shit, shit, shit.” Anger burned through Fitz, melting the ice that had so recently locked her spine. “That isn’t Pike; it’s the assassin. I have to know if he’s still on board. Do you have a way of scanning for visiting personnel?”
Mandisa’s eyes grew huge and round. She sprinted to the communications position, Fitz at her heels. “Ensign, the man you scanned into the system earlier today? Can you locate him?”
“Of course, ma’am.” They had their answer in seconds. “Lieutenant Pike is in engineering.”
“Engineering?” shouted the XO. “What the hell is he doing there?”
Fitz leaned in and studied the board, and the flashing icon over engineering. “When we moved up our timetable, we messed his up. Didn’t give him enough time to get off the ship.”
“But if he’s gunning for Ransahov, why would he leave before she came aboard? That makes no sense.”
“It does if he planted a bomb. He’d want off this vessel as quickly as possible.” Fitz twisted around. “Lister, get Ari to turn around. Get us back to the station. Now. Don’t take no for an answer. I need her off and back down to the surface, where I can control all the variables.”
So engrossed in the joy of her flying, Ari seemed unaware of the drama playing out around her.
Mandisa grabbed her arm. “What about my ship? If he planted a bomb…” Nervous looks passed among the bridge crew.
“Have your people rip this ship apart looking for anything out of the ordinary. I’m going after him.” Fitz downloaded a schematic of the vessel from the ship’s computer and shunted it to her inhead display. “Keep in touch with me on combat channel four, and get us back to dock. Until I give you the all clear, no one comes through that door, do you understand? No one onto the bridge; no one off.”
A streak of black left the captain’s chair and met her at the door. Together, she and Jumper charged through, stopping only long enough to give an order to the guardsmen.
“If anyone besides us comes down this corridor and even looks like they’re trying to get on the bridge—black uniform or no—stun the bastard, no questions asked. Just put him down. Costos, you’re with me.”
Following the map of the ship displayed on her inhead, Fitz hit hyperkinetic in three steps, Costos right with her, and Jumper racing flat out to keep up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beyond the door to Mandisa’s office, the sound of racing feet died down, except for one more person, moving slower. Cypher pulled off his ID badge, listening, carefully judging his timing. He opened the hatch and stepped through, slamming into a young woman and driving her against the opposite bulkhead.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Let me help you up.” He pulled her to her feet, while adroitly removing her ID and replacing it with his. Anger flashed in her eyes, but fear quickly replaced it at the sight of the black uniform. He dusted her off and sent her on her way, wearing his identification. That should confuse them long enough for him to find a way off the ship, but first he had to get out of this uniform. He needed to blend in.
He moved deeper into the ship, finding every door locked. Sweat beaded beneath his phony mustache. Fleet personnel were a suspicious lot, always locking their quarters. A new sound brought his head up and around. Two people, running quickly, no, hyperkinetically. Gray Eyes and another augie? He had to get out of the corridor now, but where? He rushed from door to door, trying to temper speed with silence. The augies’ hyper-sensitive hearing could pick up every sound, but all the doors were locked. Up ahead one stood open, and he put on a burst of speed to reach it before his pursuers came into view. No time to slam the hatch for fear they’d hear the sound and then he’d be trapped in the room. Inside he flattened against the wall, watching the two black blurs sprint past.
They hadn’t seen him.
As soon as they were far enough away, he shut the door and evaluated where fortune had brought him. He stood in some kind of breakroom, coffee cups and dirty plates strewn across every surface, discarded jackets and overalls thrown across chairs. Lister people, of course; Fleet would never be so sloppy. He stuffed the uniform jacket down the recycler chute, along with the stolen ID card, and pulled on a pair of coveralls bearing the ship and galaxy logo of Lister. Next he removed the mustache and contacts; not much of a change in appearance, but perhaps enough to confuse someone long enough for him to take them out. He picked up a tablet, tucked it under his arm, and reached to open the door. His hand went to the comm panel instead. He snatched his fingers back.
He hadn’t done that. Who? The Other? He couldn’t let him out, not now.
Just let go. Call her. It’ll all be over soon. It’s okay. The words whispered across his mind, like wind over an ice field.
Cypher smacked his fist against the plexisteel of the bulkhead. Pain helped, pain drove The Other away. “Only over for you. I’ll be dead. Leave me the hell alone.” His voice sounded high and brittle to his ears. He rolled his shoulders and fought down the shivers rattling through his body—his body, not The Other’s any longer. His.
He palmed the door release, but before he could step through, a small dark object dashed by, paws nearly silent against the deck plates’ pad. The shape charged down the corridor and almost out of sight before he recognized it.
“Cat?”
How was that possible?
The feline dug in with his claws, attempting to stop, and flipped fuzzy butt over ears. It struggled back to its feet. “Boss?”
It was Cat. His cat, from the Warren. How could it be here now, on board this ship? And talking to him? Reality shifted beneath his feet.
Cat had been his only friend. The only living being who cared about him. Or so he had thought. In truth, Cat must be a spy for Gray Eyes, one of those damn telepathic spacer’s cats. He had no idea SpecOps used them for surveillance, but there was no doubt in his mind now that the creature had led Gray Eyes to his hiding place. How else had she found him so easily unless Jumper had betrayed him?
Jumper? How did he know the cat’s name? Easy. Jumper belonged to The Other.
Not a possession, but a friend.
“You shut up,” Cypher said.
The cat eased toward him. “Boss, please…”
“Get away from me, you Judas cat.” Cypher threw the tablet at Jumper.
The cat whirled and raced away.
That animal would bring Gray Eyes down on him in a matter of minutes. He had to move, but his feet stuck to the deck. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, focusing all his willpower into moving his legs and started walking, but it felt like wading through deep water. Caught between the force of two wills, his and The Other’s, his body stumbled like a drunkard.
His onboard pharmacopeia, sensing his physical distress, flashed a message asking if he needed medical support. It displayed a menu of stimulants and neuroaccelerants. Cypher dumped a double dose of everything into his bloodstream, despite the unit’s warnings. He twitched as the drugs slammed into him, melting away The Other’s control like ice near a flame. He could move again.
He ran. Getting off this ship was the most important thing right now. He couldn’t be aboard when the bomb went off. The explosion wouldn’t be enough to destroy the vessel; just wreck that conference room and spray those damn darts everywhere. It could possibly breach that observation port, but the internal pressure door would quickly seal off the room, so there wasn’t any danger there, but after the explosion they’d lock down the ship so tight he’d never escape. No, he had to get off now, whether they were underway or not. And that left only the shuttle bay. If he tried to use an escape pod, they’d pick him up in a second. He needed a ride, and a shuttle would get him to the station or back down to the planet.
As long as he had this jerk inside his head, he might as well take advantage of his expertise. “You’re the big Fleet officer. Where’s the shuttle bay?”
No answer.
Cypher hadn’t really expected any help from that quarter, but they both seemed to have access to the same shared memory base. The Other knew a ship like this. He could sense the familiarity, and searched through the information stored in The Other’s mind. He felt opposition, like pushing through layers of steel wool as his opponent threw up barriers against his intrusion.
There. He found the trace of memory and latched onto it, following the thread until he could see a deck plan of the ship clearly in his mind. Down and back. That made sense. The shuttle bay would be at the rear of the ship, on the lowest level.
He ran, staying just below hyperkinetic speed, the stims making his muscles ache with the need to move faster. He took the stairs in two jumps, down and ever rearward. Gray Eyes could be right behind him. He paused at the last set of stairs and listened, heard no pursuit, but went over the rail anyway, dropping the three meters to the next level. In his haste, he almost passed the entrance to the shuttle bay.
He reached for the hatch release, but touched the comm pad. He flinched back.
“Go to hell, you bastard,” he snapped, and pushed his way through the door.
The two techs in the control room turned toward him, shock on their faces. He back-handed the closest and spun, driving a foot into the second one’s stomach. The first man tried to rise, but a series of overhand blows put him down. The other tech came up, swinging at him with a large spanner. Cypher blurred aside, watching the man’s eyes widen as he realized he faced an augie. A knee in the gut, then an elbow to the kidneys put the tool wielder out of the fight.
He gathered up both limp bodies and stuffed them in an equipment closet, then slid two heavy storage totes in front of the door. He scanned the control room. A bank of monitors lined one wall, and a row of glass-fronted lockers holding armored vacuum suits took up the other. He checked the airlock, assured himself there was pressure beyond it, and cycled through.
Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2) Page 18