by Chris Reher
“And you think that’ll stop me?” She raised her arms as if to embrace the night sky. “I am going to see them all. You just watch.”
He leaned forward to kiss her softly. “You will, I’m sure.”
“Yeah. Meanwhile, we have this.” She tilted her head to let his lips travel over the skin of her neck. “And this is a very, very nice place to hide out.” Vistas like the one before them existed in other parts of the station, but none so private and none where being seen with a member of the crew in such an intimate display would not raise questions.
He seemed to guess her thoughts and began to unfasten her shirt.
“What do you have in mind, sir?”
“Shh,” he whispered. She shivered when he bared her to the sky and each other and his hand, calloused but infinitely gentle, moved over her body. “Wanted to see you like this, in the star light,” he said. “A Nova among the stars.”
She purred under his touch. “You are a poet. I told you.” She gasped when he pulled on the string of her loose trousers. “Not here!” she whispered.
“I locked the door.” He smiled when she did not resist losing the rest of her clothes and happily submitted to his questing fingers. She looked out into the endless expanse of time, thinking of nothing until she was swept away to somewhere out there, arching her back with a guttural groan that he silenced with his kiss. Still befuddled by the moment, she turned to him and he lifted her over his lap to watch her move languidly above him, outlined by the stars and a halo of hair. He held her for a long while after finding his own release in deep, shuddering waves of pleasure.
Chapter Nine
“Whiteside!”
Nova looked up from her breakfast bowl when the call cut through the din of chatter, the scrape of chairs on the bare floor, the clatter of dishes being stacked and sorted in the nearby kitchen. Lieutenant Sulean and her Caga squad roommate also scanned the mess hall to find Captain Dakad striding toward them. Nova slapped the com screen on her sleeve as if that would make it work properly. “I could have sworn that I wound this thing up this morning.”
Sulean snickered and nudged one of the replacement pilots who had finally arrived just two days ago. “He likes to shout. The com bands aren’t conducive to shouting.”
“He’d find a way,” Nova mumbled. The day had barely begun and already Dakad had found some reason to bark.
“He scares me,” the pilot said, not frightened enough to let it interrupt his breakfast.
Nova cast a curious glance his way. That Lieutenant Ko hailed from Feyd was clear by the deep brown of his skin, embellished on all exposed parts with intricate tattoos that carried much meaning for his people. Having seen him at his exercises, she knew that the patterns were not restricted to just his face and neck. But his long-limbed body was typically Centauri as was the black hair. Centauri and Feydans carried nearly identical DNA and most other Prime species were also not that far removed. This was as much a reason to suspect divine intention as much as some shared origin in another part of the galaxy, depending on one’s viewpoint. Nova had no precise viewpoint but she found the possibility endlessly fascinating. Interspecies breeding was rare and often problematic and so generally not encouraged by those who had any say in the matter. Still, people had a way of getting together. Proof of that was sitting right here, slurping the last of his fruit soup.
The captain had reached the pilots’ table where four of his men and Nova were finishing their meal, already suited up and ready to begin their patrols and exercises.
“Saddle up, Whiteside. You’re taking a few pedestrians back down to the Shon Gat garrison and then pick up three more pilots while you’re there. Bunch of day trippers want to go, too.”
“Aye, sir.” They still hadn’t replaced the lost shuttle pilot and so the combat pilots had filled in for her, not averse to the break in routine or the chance to spend the occasional evening on the Siolet base.
“No layover. You’re back here tonight.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
Dakad’s narrowed eyes exuded disapproval while he tried to decide if sarcasm was involved in her reply. Seeing nothing on her guileless face, he spun and left them to their tea.
“Some day, Nova…” Sulean warned.
Her roommate smirked, like Lieutenant Rolyn well aware of how Nova was spending her downtime. “Something tells me she meant it.”
Nova stood up. “Bus is leaving soon. Better be on it.”
She left the mess and bypassed the restricted lifts leading to the fighter plane levels to take the one to the passenger concourse. The supply clerk supplied her with the latest gossip while issuing her the uniform used by non-military pilots. He also promised her a fresh flight suit upon her return, for which she was grateful. The suits had a way of picking up an unpleasant rankness well before new ones were issued.
She waited at the shuttle gate while security checked it once more for possible sabotage and then completed her own pre-flight inspection before allowing the passengers aboard. The civilians returning to the base were the last of the team still investigating the explosion on the flight deck. Despite Nova’s carefully padded inquiries during the trip to the surface, none of them seemed inclined to discuss the case. She wondered if the supply clerk would have better luck with them. Perhaps he gave lessons in prying gossip out of people.
She landed them on the small air field that served the elevator base garrison and saw them to another plane leaving for Siolet. Then there was not much to do but wait for her new passengers. She knew no one here that she cared to visit. Her temporary squad during her stint as ground troop was now manning Rim Station, her old base. She cared little for the ones here now, consisting mostly of those either belonging to or afraid of Captain Beryl. She ambled to the garrison administrative building, craning her neck up at the elevator looming over the landscape. It was impossible to ignore.
It was cooler inside and she flapped the front of her uniform blouse to circulate the air under there while she filed her report with a bored clerk. “So where is everybody? I’m expected back topside today.”
“Not here yet. Sandstorm grounded their skimmer. I’ll tag you when they’re ready to leave.”
“Storm heading this way?” The least entertaining thing she could think of was to be grounded at the Shon Gat garrison overnight. Perhaps there was time to head to Camomas or one of the other towns instead. She had no desire to wander around Shon Gat even if the town had been officially cleared of militants.
“Nah. Blowing itself out over the flats. You’ll be okay.”
Nova looked out of the dusty window over the training grounds. Some grunts were jogging around out there, no doubt cursing the grit drifting into their lungs. How fortunate they were aboard the skyranch with its new, clean exercise equipment and a view of the green space while doing their laps.
“Is the pilot here yet?” she heard a gruff voice through an open door.
“Yessir, right here,” the clerk replied.
“Send him in.”
Nova raised an eyebrow and walked into the commander’s office where she saluted with the least amount of decorum she could get away with. “Major Trakkas,” she said.
He looked up. “What are you doing down here, Whiteside?”
“Driving the bus.”
“You air jockeys don’t have enough to do,” he grumbled. He gave her a card. “Get over to the climber hub and pick up a packet from Sergeant Srilk to take up with you. I don’t have three days to get it up there.”
“Yessir. Who is the receiver?”
“Just leave it with Private Maxen at supply. Dismissed.”
She hesitated a moment. As far as she knew, Trakkas had not once inquired about her capture during the Shon Gat siege. The fact that he was to blame for her even being there didn’t seem to bother his conscience. She wanted to ask about the others and perhaps say a few words about Lieutenant Reko, but staring at the top of the major’s unevenly shaved head suddenly made her av
erse to even talk to him. She left without another word.
The air outside was now thick enough with the abrasive dust to force her to pull up her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, glad that she had remembered to grab one from the shuttle. The tether’s anchor building loomed above the surrounding structures, looking impressive and efficient and, although really little more than a shipping facility, decidedly military. Most of that was due to the armored vehicles, patrols and of course the massive scaffold surrounding the lower part of the tether, studded with communication and surveillance equipment covering the entire hemisphere. The security checkpoint at the entrance was meant to look sleek and elegantly designed but whoever was in charge of the place had by now lost the battle of trying to keep the dust from covering everything. She patted her clothes to add her contribution while the guard checked her credentials and retina.
The zone beyond the checkpoint looked like a larger version of the elevator hub on the station. The climber loading deck was more tightly guarded and armed guards walked among the rows of containers awaiting shipment. She walked around the hub to a service area and presented the card Major Trakkas had given her.
The clerk glanced at it and then nodded to his left. “Go see Srilk. The Caspian over there.”
She nodded and followed his direction. The woman he had pointed out was busy overseeing some sort of repacking of one of the containers. She turned her long, densely furred head when Nova approached. Her yellow eyes were watering even in here. Caspians wore clothes only where custom or policy demanded it but Nova suspected that this one was glad for the coveralls that kept the dust from her intricately patterned hide.
“Sergeant,” she said and showed her card again. “Trakkas asked me to pick up a package?”
“And about time,” the woman said and dug through some of her pockets while walking away from the dock workers. “Can’t wait to get rid of this.”
Nova followed her, baffled by this process and the soldier’s lack of manners toward an officer. The Caspian found what she was looking for and slapped a flat metal case into Nova’s hand. “Those guys are paid far too well for easy work, if you ask me. Tell Beryl his bag is in—”
“Srilk,” a harsh voice barked behind them. Another guard, this one Centauri, glared at her. Nova had no trouble recognizing him as one of Beryl’s associates. The last time she had seen him had been with her gun to his throat at Rim Station. “Whiteside,” he said pointedly. “Moonlighting again? You just can’t keep your ass in your Kite, can you, Lieutenant?”
The Caspian’s short intake of breath told Nova that a different sort of courier had been expected here today.
“Got to keep things interesting,” she said and flipped the container into the air before dropping it into her pocket. “I’ll tell Beryl you said hello.”
Having no other place to go, Nova walked quickly across the garrison’s central square and to the mess hall where she asked for cold tea. Her hand explored the lump in her pocket while she sipped. Payment for what? What was Beryl up to? She frowned, rejecting the idea that he and his men were behind the recent sabotage. They were rotten to the fibers of their pharmaceutically enhanced bodies but they were in this for themselves. She doubted that any of them had the necessary interest or concentration to work for the rebels.
Smuggling was the most likely reason for this payment. If they themselves weren’t smuggling goods past the checkpoints, they were allowing shipments to go through uninspected. With Beryl’s men in control of security at both the base station as well as the hub on the ranch, not a difficult feat. And of course, Major Trakkas seemed to be in charge of it all, adjusting duty rosters to place his men where they needed to be to keep the goods moving.
Nova tapped her com unit to contact the tower. “Boss, how long till the transport from Siolet arrives?”
“Hours yet, Lieutenant. Still grounded.”
Nova considered. Technically, she was on her own right now, with her commanding officer somewhere in orbit. “How’s the weather to Rim Station?”
“Clear. Storm’s heading west.”
Nova signed off, gulped the rest of her tea and hurried to the vehicle depot where she borrowed a skimmer for a trip to visit a friend at her former base. No one seemed to care very much. She remembered to let the clerk at the administrative building know where she was going before jumping into the car and heading out into the flats north of Shon Gat.
An hour of zooming over the barren salt flats brought her to where the base nestled among the foothills. Drab and storm-battered, it resembled any of the Air Command stations on planets like these. If she imagined the dusty ground red, this might be Targon. If she pictured more sand and less rock, it might be K’lar. She pulled into a filling station and left the hangars for the base interior.
“Welcome, Lieutenant,” she was greeted by a mechanical attendant at the entrance to the base clinic. Her profile was already displayed in front of the Bellac medic at the main desk when she got there. He greeted her as well but only to inform her that she was not due for an appointment.
“I’m here to see Doctor Soren,” she told him. “Could you ask her if she’s available, please?”
“I will. Please wait here.”
Nova paced around a bit and then stopped to run her hand through a scanner provided for self-assessment. “Ah, I’m Human. Good to know. And indeed a healthy specimen.” She slapped the top of the display. “Shots? I’m not due for my shots, you snoop.”
“Lieutenant?”
Nova turned.
“Doctor Soren said that she can see you for a moment.”
Nova smiled politely and followed his direction to the doctor’s workspace. Soren came to her feet when Nova entered, a concerned look on her face. “Hello, Lieutenant. I hadn’t expected to see you back here so soon. Is… is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Nova assured her, realizing that the doctor worried about some lingering effect from her encounter with Captain Beryl. “Everything working as it should. I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh?” Soren’s curious expression was guarded.
Nova sat down and gestured for the doctor to do the same. “I want to ask you something about the previous crew here. I think you know who I mean.”
“I guess I do.” Soren let the door slide shut before taking her chair again.
Nova wondered how to approach this. Now that she was here, the whole thing suddenly seemed a lot more delicate. “I’ve got reason to suspect that Beryl and his gang are involved in some smuggling at the elevator,” she said finally, as so often choosing the most direct route to get to the point. She made a mental note to look up the talented gossip at the ranch to find out how to start conversations with non-coms.
Soren said nothing for a moment. She looked out of the window, thoughtfully tugging on the purple tips of her white hair. “What do you want me to add to that?” she said finally.
“What you know about it.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t?”
“Maybe.”
Nova sighed, having half expected this. “I think they’re smuggling mince. I’m pretty sure they’re using it, too.”
Soren frowned. “What else would you smuggle out of this place? Half of his thugs are chewing that garbage. Makes things hurt less and it covers up the rest of the dope they use when I test them. The sort that I have to report or the system will do it for me.”
“What else are they using?”
She shrugged. “You don’t get to be that size without some help. Certainly not the Centauri. They’re not built for carrying around all that muscle. They didn’t get it from me, if you’re wondering.”
“I’m here to ask about the mince. I’m guessing they’re smuggling the stuff up to the station and from there onto commercial ships heading elsewhere.”
“It’s much bigger than that. They’re just paid off to look the other way when the shipments arrive. To make sure they’re not searched f
or contraband. Believe me, the best present Major Trakkas ever got was when General Ausan moved the whole outfit to the elevator. Before that they only had the supply ships that came by here.”
“Could they be gun running as well?”
Soren shook her head. “I can’t picture it. I can’t think of a life form lower than those men but they look down upon rebels as the scourge of the galaxy. They live to destroy them and take pleasure in finding interesting ways to do that. Beryl’s squad doesn’t take prisoners. The only reason to smuggle guns is to get them to the rebels. They’d never consider that.”
Nova nodded. “And Major Trakkas is steering this whole thing?”
“He takes a cut but he lets Beryl do the work. It’s why he let them hound you off the base.”
“Because of who I am. Because of my father,” Nova said, mostly to herself. “They didn’t think I’d bend.”
“Probably. Not like some of us.”
Nova looked into Soren’s face, seeing little more than shame there. She leaned forward and placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “You can help to stop this,” she said urgently. “I have some proof, but not enough. I can’t just point a finger and hope Beryl doesn’t break my leg for that. You can come forward and tell what you know. What you’ve seen.”
“Including what he did to you?”
“Yes. Including that. This isn’t just about smuggling. It’s about people getting hurt if they get in the way. We can’t let this happen. Not in the Air Command that I want to work for.” Djari’s angry face passed briefly through her mind. “This is the sort of thing that makes people distrust the Union. Hate Air Command presence.”
“What proof do you have?”
Nova reached into her pocket for the parcel she was to deliver. “I’m guessing that’s money in here. Maybe instructions, messages they can’t broadcast. Trakkas told me to take this up to the station. The woman who gave it to me let a few things slip about where it’s going.”
“So?” Soren smiled sadly. “Trakkas will have a million reasons for whatever he’s doing. They’ve been in this for a very long time.” She took the box and stood up to run it through an analyzer. “No organics. No dope in there.”