by Jaleta Clegg
We stepped into the empty hallway. A quiet murmur of voices came from other rooms.
"This way," Vance whispered. He led me down the hall, out of the patient rooms and into a busier section of the building. People in uniforms, silver and black and blue, hustled past us in all directions .
Vance and I walked to the elevators. I let him push the buttons. I concentrated on not showing how much pain I was in. It took most of my willpower not to keep looking behind us. I expected my medic to come roaring after me at any second.
We got an elevator to ourselves. My uniform and Vance's haughty stare scared the others into waiting. The door shut and I sagged. Vance caught me and held me while the elevator slid silently down to the lobby floor. I braced myself back up as the door opened.
There were uniforms everywhere. Big men in black carrying big guns stared at everyone. Vance led me right past a pair of them guarding the entrance. They didn't give us more than a glance.
We stepped out into sunshine. Vance went to a groundcar parked near the entrance and opened the door. He helped me in, making it look as if he were my aide. He hurried around to the driver's side and got in. I sagged back in the seat as soon as he closed his door.
"How are you doing?" he asked as he started the car. We rolled smoothly into traffic. "Dace?" he asked when I didn't answer.
"I'll survive," I managed through gritted teeth. My side was on fire. I wondered if I'd ripped anything open. I was beginning to think running away with Vance was a mistake. I could always blame it on the drugs. I wasn't thinking clearly.
"Just hang on. We'll be there soon and then you can rest all you want."
"We'll be where?"
I looked out the window. Ships rose not far away. We were headed for the landing field.
Vance steered the groundcar into the port, pausing only long enough at the gate to swipe a card through an automated scanner. It opened the gate and let us onto the field. The groundcar rolled to a stop. He turned to me with a grin. It faded when he saw my face. "You don't look good. Let's get you inside."
"Inside where, Vance?" I was tired and I hurt.
"My friend borrowed his father's yacht. Come on. I think you'll like Bud."
"His name is Bud?"
"Nickname. He prefers it to Flash. That was the name he earned at the Academy."
Vance opened my door and helped me out. He had his arm around me, more than half carrying me up the ramp into a small yacht. It was as big as the Phoenix, if you didn't count the cargo bays. The engine was bigger. Even through the haze of pain, I noted that. I couldn't help noticing. I missed my ship and being in space.
Vance shut the hatch. We were immediately surrounded by soft noises and softer carpet. The air smelled fresh, not recycled. The layout was customized, which by itself told me how expensive the ship had to be. There was a fairly large lounge area with a small cockpit at the front. The main feature of the lounge was a half circle of couch upholstered in a white fabric that was warm and soft to the touch. It faced the front of the ship where a big viewscreen hung, silver and opaque at the moment. Vance took me to the couch and settled me at one end of the curve.
"Just lay down and take it easy," he told me.
I lay back, biting my lip at the pain. The couch was incredibly soft. I relaxed into it, feeling the slightest vibration as a massaging unit activated. Warmth spread through me.
"Be right back," Vance said.
I watched him hurry across the lounge towards the back of the ship. Wide steps led up to a second level. Two doors opened off the level. Vance disappeared into one. Cabins, I assumed. I wondered if there was a crew aboard and where they lived. The lounge took up most of the space on the ship.
There was an automatic galley located between the two cabin doors, the ultra deluxe version. I wondered how it compared to Jasyn's cooking. I closed my eyes on a sudden wave of homesickness and drifted into a doze.
"Dace?" Vance was leaning over me. I blinked myself out of a dream involving blankets that transformed into furry snakes.
"Doesn't look like any Admiral I've ever seen," an unfamiliar voice said above me. I had to crane my neck to see the speaker. He was tall and heavyset. His hair was medium brown, cut in a long style that didn't flatter him. His features didn't need flattering. He had a chiseled profile and piercing green eyes. He smiled easily. "I hope you're worth it."
"She is," Vance assured him. "But right now, we need to get her away. Before they realize she isn't in her bed at the hospital."
"You kidnapped her from the hospital?" the stranger demanded of Vance. "What kind of idiot are you?" He turned his eyes back to me. They were kind, full of sympathy. "Are you sure you don't need a medic?"
"I'll be fine," I murmured, "with a bit of rest. Do you want me to call you Bud or Flash?"
"Call me Max," he said. "And this fleabitten toad should be called—"
"You wouldn't," Vance interrupted.
"Oh, I will," Max said with a vengeful grin. "Call him Mister Magnificent."
Vance groaned.
"And if he doesn't mind his manners better, I'll tell you how he got that name."
I smiled at Max. He was nice, I thought fuzzily, as I slid back asleep. Maybe nice enough that I could convince him to take me home. But only if I knew where Jasyn was with the ship.
"I've got a liftoff window in half an hour," Vance said.
"Where are we going?" Max asked.
I didn't hear the answer. I was asleep.
Chapter 3
Lowell, to all outside appearances, was utterly engrossed in the minutely detailed report Admiral Flanigan presented. Inwardly, his mind wandered more than a little. He'd read Flanigan's report the night before when he had finally arrived back at Besht. Weeks of harried travel along the new border of the Empire were taking their toll. He kept the look of concentrated interest on his face out of habit. He was tired. Not just physically, he was tired of the constant negotiations, of the unending meetings everywhere he went. But he had his orders. He was to solidify the border and do his best to bring the straying worlds back into the Empire.
It was an impossible task. Those ensconced at Linas-Drias, the seat of the Empire, had no glimmer of understanding about the new reality. The Federation, once just a slightly better organized group of pirates, was now a force to be reckoned with. According to his information, which was admittedly sketchy, the Federation was larger than the Empire. And much stronger.
The report detailed the number of ships that had deserted from the Patrol to the Federation. It was an impressive list.
A sudden stir of activity outside the glassed walls of the room caught his eye. People in the blue of medics searched through the crowds moving purposefully through the halls. Lowell caught Paltronis' eye. She glanced through the windows and nodded then slipped out. He could trust Paltronis to find out what was happening.
"The problem, Admiral Flanigan," Lowell said, "is not that ships are leaving the Empire. They might have stayed if orders were not given for them to open fire on their own people."
Admiral Flanigan's face tightened. Lowell suspected Flanigan had given the order for the disaster at Ruritan. They'd lost most of a battlegroup there, the crews had kicked out the people who wouldn't join the mutiny before turning on the few ships still trying to enforce the Empire's control. Those three ships turned tail and ran. Ruritan joined the Federation without a shot fired. Ruritan now had its own fleet of fully armed battle ships.
"They refused to follow direct orders," Flanigan said in his own defense. "Ruritan was not to be allowed to desert."
"So you ordered them to fire," Lowell said. "Did you check where the crews of your ships came from? Ninety three percent of them were from either Ruritan or one of four systems next to it. You gave them orders to shoot their families and friends. They knew Ruritan and the other systems were leaving the Empire."
"Which makes them traitors." Flanigan slammed his hand on the table.
"They are still people, most of them
unarmed."
Flanigan leaned over the table. "Where are your loyalties, Commander Lowell? Judging from your words, I begin to question your devotion."
The air in the room was electric. The others waited nervously, Lowell was High Command, answerable only to the Emperor.
"I've spent my life working to keep the Empire together. You dare to question me?" Lowell wanted a reason to pull Flanigan from his position in command of the Fleet.
Flanigan was smarter than Lowell hoped. He backed down. "Your words could be misinterpreted."
"The last thing we need is a shooting war," Lowell said. "Look at your report, Admiral. We are outgunned. Open war with the Federation would be disastrous. And the more you push your crews to shoot unarmed civilians, the more ships we are going to lose."
Lowell turned his attention to the next person on his agenda. His battle with Flanigan was far from over and he knew it. This was only the opening skirmish.
Commander Bickwell didn't bother to stand to report. He was older, his dark hair liberally streaked with gray. He looked tired and defeated.
"We've lost a good portion of our agricultural worlds," he said. "Food shortages are going to happen within a few months, unless we can do something about it."
"Why is this a military matter?" Flanigan interrupted.
"Because hungry people riot," Lowell said impatiently. "And when they get hungry enough, they kick out the people ruling them and find new ones."
"The Federation has a food surplus," Bickwell said.
"Only because they've stolen our worlds," Flanigan interrupted again.
"Admiral Flanigan," Lowell said sharply. "You will shut up or you will leave."
They locked stares across the table. Flanigan turned away first. He was spoiling for a fight. Lowell would give him one, personally, but Lowell was not going to allow him to embroil what was left of the Fleet in a war they couldn't possibly win.
"The Inner Worlds will feel the effects last," Bickwell continued as if the interruption hadn't happened. "Patrol stores will begin to run out within three months."
"Then we need to open negotiations with the Federation," Lowell said.
That got him more than a few suspicious stares. Lowell stood and leaned on the table, meeting their eyes, willing them to listen to reason.
"We've lost the Outer Worlds. Face the truth. They aren't coming back to the Empire. So we make the best of what we still have or we'll end up losing more. Possibly the whole Empire if people begin to starve. Who do we have that we can send to negotiate with the Federation?"
None of them moved. They looked away from him, refusing to answer. What he said, even if it was the truth, was still perilously close to treason. He might be able to get away with it, but if they spoke the same words, they would suffer.
"Commander Reeasht," he addressed the woman at the far end of the table. "Contact the planetary Ambassador's office and see who they can recommend."
He sat back in his chair. "Continue, Commander Bickwell."
Bickwell droned on, detailing the current state of supplies and equipment for the forces stationed at Besht and along the new border.
Paltronis slipped back into the room. She crossed silently to Lowell and bent to whisper in his ear. "They're looking for an Admiral who disappeared from the medical wing sometime this morning." She didn't need to specify which Admiral.
Lowell stood, interrupting Bickwell in mid-spiel. "A slight emergency is in progress. Please, excuse me."
"What emergency?" Flanigan asked.
"A small matter of security, nothing to be alarmed about," Lowell said. "Please, Commander Bickwell, continue with your report. I'll collect the summary later."
He left before they could drag him back into the meeting. He and Paltronis made haste for the bank of elevators. The number of people in the halls had increased significantly. Many of them wore Medical blue.
"Was it just a way to rescue me from the meeting?" Lowell asked.
Paltronis shook her head. "She's gone. Cydon, the medic assigned to her during the day, is adamant she was kidnapped."
Lowell's face was grim. He knew more than a few people who would be overjoyed to have Dace in their hands. It wouldn't be good for Dace. He opened his mouth as he punched the elevator button.
"The base is already sealed." Paltronis anticipated his question. "Security is reviewing all recordings of the entry area."
"Good," Lowell said, nodding his head.
The elevator slid upwards. They got off onto the medical floor. The knots of people were more pronounced here, black uniforms of Enforcers mixed in with the blue. Lowell tugged his own black uniform straight. He wore his real rank, High Commander of the Enforcers. Paltronis walked at his shoulder like a black ghost.
The biggest knot of people jumped to attention as he approached. At the center was a beefy medic in blue.
"He had a discharge paper," the man said. "Everything was in order."
"Except the paper was his, not hers," another man said. He wore silver, with the gold clusters of Base Commander. "Commander Lowell." He saluted.
Lowell waved off the salutes. Most of the people found something else to do, still within earshot but out of reprimand range. "I assume Admiral Dace is the one you lost."
"She isn't lost," the base commander said.
"You don't currently know where she is, therefore, she's lost. Who took her out of here? And how?"
A secretary handed a slip of a note to the base commander. He glanced at it before answering.
"The who is easy enough," he said. "We tracked the medical records requests. He's Patrol, or was until this morning. Which helps explain the how."
"Name?" Lowell prompted.
"Commander Vance Shiropi."
That was a surprise.
"She was too injured to leave on her own. You just let him carry her out of here?" Paltronis was upset, which meant being anywhere in her vicinity was dangerous.
"She shouldn't have been able to walk out," the medic answered heatedly. "But she did."
"She isn't in immediate danger," Lowell said, more for Paltronis' benefit than the others. "We still need to know where he took her. And why. Commander, may we use your office?"
"By all means," the base commander answered. "Just tell my people what you need and we'll get it for you."
They were escorted to a spacious office on the top floor that overlooked not just the port but the city beyond. The base commander left the two of them there and hurried out to collect the people and information Lowell requested.
Paltronis immediately began to pace. Lowell settled in the commander's very comfortable chair and put his feet on the desk.
"You're just going to sit there?" Paltronis demanded.
"I think better sitting." Lowell closed his eyes as he leaned back. "Vance was discharged officially this morning. Rumor is that he's with Max. I suspect he took her to Max's yacht."
"Why? What does that skunk want with her?"
"You read the report Tayvis gave about Trythia. Vance was the one who knocked him senseless and told me he was dead. I sent Dace with Vance on that mission. Why do you think he wants her?"
"To get revenge on Tayvis," Paltronis said promptly.
"That's what I was thinking. I doubt he'd hurt her. He knows her well enough to know she'd break half his bones and stomp on his face if he tried."
"If she were herself. She was still in a coma when we left. How do we know she didn't suffer brain damage? How do we know she's still Dace?"
Lowell sighed and sat up in the chair. "We can ask," he said as he tapped the com.
They waited in silence, Paltronis pacing and Lowell staring out the window, until the medic arrived.
He was older, his hair a striped mane of white and faded orange. His eyes were a strange shade of gold. Lowell blinked in surprise. The medic was not human, which made his specialty of human brain injuries especially odd. He slapped a thick folder of papers on the desk and tapped the computer interface bu
ilt into the desk surface.
"You wanted her records?" he asked. A three dimensional image of a brain, color coded into bright regions of orange, blue, yellow, and red appeared above the desk.
"Summarize what you found, please."
"Preliminary work when she was first admitted showed trauma here and here," he pointed through the image at regions of the brain highlighted in orange. "Her activity scans were all over the place, the strangest readings I've ever seen. We did new scans every day or two, whenever she was transferred between units." He glanced at Lowell, gold eyes meeting silver. "Her physiology readings were skewed, too. She's outside the range for normal human tolerances. Her scans don't fit any profile on record. Gross examination showed her to be human, but—" He shrugged. His expression invited Lowell to explain.
Lowell pretended not to notice. "What injuries did you find?"
"Gross injuries? Only the blaster shot, which was worse than any I've ever seen. She was also suffering from malnutrition and stress."
"And mentally?" Lowell prodded.
"Like I said, her scans were strange. With the amount of brain trauma we found, I doubted she'd ever regain consciousness, even if we could repair the blaster wound. Complicate that by her reactions to the drugs, and I wouldn't have given her more than a ten percent chance of ever waking up. She obviously proved me wrong."
He shifted the image. The colors ran and dripped through the brain, settling in new areas.
"As you can see from the scan we took a week after the first, the physiology shifted drastically. We rechecked all the scans. There was no mistake. Her brain rewired itself during that week." The image shifted again. The oranges and reds faded. Blue and yellow dominated. "The week after, the scans were almost normal. For a human. We found no traces of trauma, no scar tissue, no residual evidence of damage. Which is impossible. Brain tissue does not regenerate or repair itself, not to that degree." He tapped the display once more. The yellow shrank. Most of the brain glowed blue. A tiny region remained red. The medic pointed at the red spot. "That's the only area that didn't heal itself. Other than that, there's nothing wrong. The scan is normal for a human. No brain damage, nothing to impede normal functioning of the brain."