Black Sword (Decker's War, #5)

by Eric Thomson

  A side door opened, converting to a ramp, and a line of Marines in battle dress uniform, carrying packs and duffel bags emerged. They headed to the small terminal building where a duty driver waited.

  When the stream of arrivals dried up, a man in naval blue, but wearing civilian rank insignia, stepped out of the shuttle and waved at them.

  “Right, folks,” Gurung rasped. “Form into an orderly single file and hustle your asses on that thing.” He nudged Decker. “Off you go.”

  Zack took one final glance at Fort Erfoud before stepping aboard and put the last few months out of his mind. The mission was on again.

  *

  He had spent his previous trip aboard Birkenhead in the brig. Therefore the barracks were as unfamiliar to him as the rest of the ship, save for the shuttle hangar. On the other hand, the auburn-haired command sergeant with the sardonic smile watching him find his bunk was all too familiar.

  “You received an overnight demotion?” He asked in a low tone when he passed her in the corridor. “Must have been a hell of a party.”

  Talyn fell into step beside him.

  “Marine officers live in wardroom country, and I simply couldn’t spend another day without your charming wit. And if you intend to find the bastard who dumped you in the wilds, you’ll need someone to watch your back. Oh, and FYI, command sergeants rate two person cabins. And it seems that I’m alone in mine, at least for the next leg.”

  “Trying to tempt me after my months of enforced celibacy?”

  A passing corporal gave them a strange stare. Decker grinned and winked at him.

  “Are you telling me Bill Whate doesn’t have you-know-who’s easygoing charm?”

  Mischief danced in her dark eyes.

  “Training is hardly conducive to play time.”

  “No doubt, but you spent a few weeks on Desolation Island, which is, last I checked, a mixed-gender facility, so to speak.” She saw something briefly light up his eyes and said, “Thought so. You must tell me about your adventures when we have a moment.”

  They stopped by the door of a squad bay.

  “I believe this is my destination, Sergeant. Buy you a coffee in the mess later?”

  “Say in one hour?” She asked.

  “Done.”

  He saw SFC Gurung stalk down the corridor, stopping at each squad bay to count heads and make sure his charges were in the right place.

  “That’s my temporary leader, and he’ll wonder why a newbie like me is making bedroom eyes at a command sergeant wearing logistics tabs, so until later.”

  Decker vanished into the cabin and tossed his bags on the nearest lower bunk, knowing no one would want a man of his size sleeping above them.

  An hour later, moments after a voice on the public address system ordered Birkenhead’s crew to departure stations, Decker entered the spacious barracks mess.

  He found Talyn ensconced in a corner booth from which she could see the entire compartment without being obvious about it – a perfect spot for a mission debriefing. On his way to join her, he stopped at a coffee urn and filled a large mug almost to the brim.

  “So what’s our story?” He asked, slipping into the booth across from her. “Someone’s bound to wonder why Private Whate, a recent graduate of the Marine Light Infantry training system is so chummy with Command Sergeant Loring, of the Logistics Branch. I mean other than the fact that we’re a pair of good looking people and obviously belong together?”

  She gave him a crooked smile.

  “There’s that Decker charm I’ve missed for so long. We’re old friends — end of story. This isn’t Fort Erfoud with its arcane regulations. Even though you’re serving under a nom de guerre, there’s no rule in the Fleet saying you can’t hang out with friends who knew you under another name.”

  Decker nodded.

  “Fair enough. I still have a whiff of recruit thinking up there.” He tapped his forehead. “So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not yet back to my old convention-defying self.”

  “Tell me what happened from the moment you left Caledonia.”

  Decker’s eyes lost focus, staring into the coffee mug without actually seeing anything. He turned his attention inward, sorting through, and ordering his memories so he could present a coherent and concise story. It was something they had done more often over the last few years than either cared to admit and had become almost second nature.

  Nor did he shy away from parts that anyone else might consider personal and not germane to the mission, such as Delia Ward and her wild talent. Or Earle Windom’s private vendetta against his former Pathfinder troop leader.

  When Decker finally fell silent, he looked up at her with a half grin.

  “So where’s my Shrehari ale, darling? I believe that’s our traditional reward for a superlative mission debriefing.”

  “Our? Yours, perhaps. I already checked, and the canteen has no imported beers available. You’ll have to be content with Caledonian oatmeal stout. It’s the closest thing to your usual tipple, from what I hear.”

  A wry expression twisted his face.

  “Yum. A meal in a bulb, but if needs must...” He climbed to his feet. “What would you like?”

  “Gin and tonic.” Her eyes flicked to one of the mess hall’s entrances. “Don’t make any sudden moves and don’t stare directly at the ship’s officer who just came in on what is presumably an inspection round.”

  “Why?” Decker kept his gestures casual.

  “He resembles the man you described as the one who knocked you out before leaving Birkenhead for Desolation Island. Fleet Auxiliary spacer with fifth officer stripes, slicked back blond hair, long on top, short on the sides, narrow, hawk-like features, hard blue eyes, mid-thirties, wiry, wears shuttle pilot wings.”

  “That sounds like him all right.”

  “Do you think he might recognize you and get spooked by your return from the dead?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But if he’s the bastard who left me to die on Cannibal Mountain, I guarantee I’ll recognize him.”

  Decker slowly turned, eyes settling on the drinks dispenser beside the bar at the far end of the room. But not before they briefly met the officer’s cold blue stare.

  He saw a hint of curiosity, but no fear in the face of the man whose nametape identified him as Fifth Officer Volk. The Fleet Auxiliary spacer hadn’t yet made a connection between the man with the Marine Light Infantry badges and the convict he had ferried to the planet’s surface months earlier.

  Decker knew his own eyes had betrayed nothing, nor had a single muscle in his face twitched. As far as Volk could tell, the Marine didn’t know him from Adam. But before leaving the mess to continue his inspection tour, he glanced back at Zack over his shoulder, a faint frown creasing his high forehead.

  With drinks in hand, Decker slid into the booth again.

  “We’ll have to wait until we’re a few hours from docking at Valeux Station before nailing Volk’s ass to a chair somewhere quiet and squeezing him dry.”

  Talyn nodded.

  “Agreed. Unless he figures you for the guy he was told to dispose of and tries something stupid.”

  When Decker opened his mouth to object, she said, “Unlikely, I know. His best bet is to stay away and pray that nothing happens before you leave his ship at Marengo.”

  She raised her glass.

  “Cheers, Zack. You have no idea how glad I am that we’re back together. After weeks without a single sign of life, finding Bill Whate’s name on the convict-recruit list came as a bigger relief than I could ever have expected. The universe would have become a dull place without you.”

  “The asshole who’ll send Zack Decker to join his ancestors hasn’t been born yet, honey. And after nine weeks of intense training, I’m fitter, tougher, and harder than most Marines half my age.” When he saw that familiar gleam in her eyes, he smiled. “You did say you had a private cabin, right?”

  She gave him a lazy wink.

  “Try and savor that beer
before you get frisky, big boy. You’re only allowed two of them per day, and I won’t help you cheat.”

  Thirty-One

  As it turned out, Sergeant First Class Gurung didn’t even bat an eyelid at seeing Decker and Talyn spend so much time together. Private Whate’s behavior was beyond reproach. He spent long hours at the gym every day and didn’t try to circumvent the two drinks maximum, unlike some of the more enterprising troops in his charge. Besides, Command Sergeant Loring, as he knew Talyn, outranked him but treated Gurung like a professional peer.

  They saw Fifth Officer Volk regularly, making the rounds of Birkenhead’s Marine barracks as part of his duties. But after that first spark of curiosity on the day they left Parth, he had studiously ignored Zack. They finally dropped out of FTL for the last time, and eventually, an announcement from the bridge informed all aboard that they had Marengo in sight.

  In less than twenty-four hours, Birkenhead would dock at Valeux Station for the convenience of most passengers. The troops headed for the 1st Battalion, however, would be ferried directly to the unit’s main operating base by shuttle.

  “We need to grab the little weasel during his next round,” Decker remarked as they walked down the main passageway after their evening meal. “I suppose you’re getting to the ground via Valeux, correct?”

  “Yes. I need to prepare your and Redmon’s extraction, and I can’t do that if I show up unannounced at battalion HQ. Remember, my current cover has me reporting to the 14th Marines’ Logistics Battalion — not that I’ll do it. My Marine cover IDs aren’t what you would call in-depth.”

  Decker chuckled.

  “That’s for sure. What you know about running a supply platoon can probably be written in large letters on a small screen.”

  “And I suppose you can do better?”

  “Of course. I’m a real Marine, so I already have a leg up on any squid, let alone one’s spent most of her life doing dirty deeds behind closed doors.”

  She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “You weren’t complaining about my life’s work last night.”

  “It still doesn’t make you a logistics command sergeant, sweetheart. If every regiment had an entertainment battalion, however, you might be on to something...”

  Her retort died stillborn. Instead, she nudged him again.

  “There’s our friend Brendan Volk headed for noncom country, tablet in hand, intent on making sure we savage Marines haven’t turned our barracks into a pigsty. Shall we waylay him?”

  “It might be our last chance.”

  They followed Volk around one corner, then another, while keeping the appearance of being on a casual stroll back to their quarters. As they neared Talyn’s cabin, they put on a burst of speed until Zack was at the fifth officer’s right elbow and Hera at his left. Volk looked up at Decker with alarm, and this time his expression reflected fear mingled with recognition.

  The Marine grabbed his tablet while Talyn squeezed the nerve spots around his elbow, eliciting a gasp. Decker opened the cabin’s door, and his partner shoved Volk inside.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The spacer demanded in a tone halfway between alarm and outrage.

  “You recognize me, correct, Fifth Officer?”

  Zack loomed menacingly over the shorter man.

  “No.”

  A blaster had miraculously appeared in Talyn’s hand. She pressed its cold barrel against the hapless officer’s temple.

  “Why don’t you refresh Mister Volk’s memory?”

  Decker let a predatory smile tug at his lips.

  “Oh, his memory’s working fine. He remembers giving me a knockout shot, removing my tracking microchip, and then leaving me on Desolation Island’s central plateau for the wild ones to find and hopefully eliminate. Don’t you?”

  When a wide-eyed Volk didn’t answer, Decker leaned towards him and growled, “Don’t you?”

  “See, Mister Volk, what we want to figure out is why,” Talyn said in her most reasonable tone. “You didn’t do it for shits and giggles, meaning someone put you up to it. Tell us what you know, and you’ll never see us again. No harm, no foul. Don’t tell us and my friend here will develop a most foul mood and will inflict severe harm.”

  “You can’t do this.” A calculating look appeared on his narrow face. His eyes went from Decker to Talyn and back again. “I’m one of Birkenhead’s officers. If anything happens to me, you’ll be found out and suffer the consequences. The captain will miss me the moment we start docking maneuvers. After that, it won’t take long to track me to the barracks.”

  “Accidents happen aboard starships, Brendan,” Talyn replied. “I’ve seen my fair share of them over the years.”

  “You mean you caused your fair share,” Decker said with an amiable smile. “Don’t piss her off, Brendan. She’s one nasty piece of work when she gets mad, but after that, playtime doesn’t get any better. So let’s try this again. Why did you drug me, remove my tracking implant, and dump me in the middle of the jungle instead of outside Valla?”

  Volk shook his head.

  “You have the wrong man.”

  “I have the right man, and he needs to spill his figurative guts or I get literal.” Decker glanced at Talyn. “You brought my favorite pig sticker, right?”

  “Of course.” Without removing her blaster from Volks’ temple, she reached into her duffel bag, withdrew a sheathed Pathfinder dagger and offered it to Decker, hilt first. “Try not to be messy. I’d rather avoid a protracted cleanup job.”

  “Well,” Decker drawled as he unsheathed the blade and passed it in front of Volk’s face, “unless you have something else in your bag of tricks, I don’t see how I can avoid a little spilled blood.”

  “I may have something injectable that’ll help Brendan overcome his shyness. But it’s one of those compounds that trigger bad and often fatal reactions in about ten percent of people. Without access to a lab, I can’t determine whether our friend here is one of them.”

  Talyn’s matter-of-fact tone broke through Volk’s attempt at maintaining a calm facade and for the first time, his eyes showed a genuine spark of alarm.

  Decker shrugged.

  “Nine chances out of ten he’ll talk? Good enough. Chemicals beat torture for getting accurate intelligence. And if he’s one of the ten percent, I guess life will be tougher on him than on us, if only for a brief, painful moment. Do it.”

  Talyn fished a small metal cylinder from her tunic pocket.

  “It would be best to have him sit. Even without getting a severe reaction, this stuff will turn his muscles to jelly.”

  “Right.” Decker shoved Volk into one of the cabin’s two chairs. “Take a load off, Brendan and relax. This won’t take long.”

  The fifth officer met Zack’s impassive gaze with one of visibly growing concern. Decker fancied he could see an internal debate behind those pale blue eyes and said, “Time to see whether Brendan’s luck has run out. Inject him.”

  “Wait.” Volk raised a pleading hand. “They’re not paying me enough to risk my life. Promise you’ll let me go if I talk?”

  “Hmm.” Decker sat on the edge of the table, looming over the seated spacer. “What tells me you won’t go running to those fine folks who pay you to maroon exiles and inform them one of us came back from the dead?”

  A bitter laugh escaped Volk’s throat.

  “I’d be condemning myself to death if anyone found out I’d flapped my lips.”

  “Fair enough.” Decker nodded. “Besides, if we discover you spoke of our little conversation with anyone, rest assured we’ll be back, and you’ll be dead. Think about it this way. You dumped me in man-eater country and yet here I am.”

  “Understood. Ask away.”

  “Was I the first?”

  “No. I’ve done this to five convicts in the last two years.”

  Decker and Talyn exchanged glances. With the number of wild ones on Desolation Island increasing, Volk wasn’t the only corrupt officer d
umping exiles in the wrong place.

  “How much are you paid per individual?” Zack asked.

  “Fifty thousand creds, to an anonymous bank account, via anonymized channels. I tried to trace it back to the source, for self-protection, but couldn’t. The people who pay me are very, very good at covering their tracks.”

  “So you made a quarter of a million sending exiles to their doom. Nice. How did you fall into this racket?” Decker asked in a casual tone.

  “I found myself in a bit of trouble with the Constabulary two and a half years ago. The people who now employ me made an offer I couldn’t refuse. Carry out the odd task, in exchange for payment, and the legal matters go away.”

  “Ah yes, the old blackmail covered in syrup trick. Was this legal matter trumped up?”

  Volk shook his head.

  “No. It was for real. I let my appetites go too far during shore leave. An entertainer died. By the time the local gendarmes had me in their sights, Birkenhead was light years away, so they passed the case on to the feds. Not long afterward, I received a message telling me in veiled terms that the Constabulary had me dead to rights. But if I wanted to avoid charges, I should contact a particular darknet address. Which, of course, I did. The terms they offered were better than taking my chances in court.”

  “Any idea about the identity of whoever approached you?”

  “Not a clue. I never met anyone face-to-face. Even now, my orders come via untraceable darknet messages. A name, a date, and a place. I access my account every time we touch port, and I can find the right sort of terminal aboard an orbital station.”

  “Any other jobs you do for this unknown employer?”

  “Sure.” He dipped his head once. “I’ve couriered messages and small items, helped folks travel aboard Birkenhead incognito, things like that.”

  “With the odd assassination thrown in for good measure?”

  Volk looked down at his feet, as if uncomfortable at the thought of answering, but he nodded again.

  “Three.”

  “And you have no idea who you’re working for?”

  “No, and if I ever found out, they’d make me disappear.”