The Iron Admiral: Deception

by Greta van Der Rol

  Her fingers closed over a long, thin object, the metal smooth and cool in her fingers. Well, well. She hadn’t seen this for a while; the original Sean tracker. Where would he be? Some other planet, she’d expect. Probably still on Gueri Nestor. Although if he was, she would have expected Vlad’s people to have picked him up by now.

  Just for the hell of it, she turned the tracker on.

  And received a signal.

  She almost dropped the stylus. Sean. Here in Shernish. He had to be.

  She sagged down on the bed and read the coordinates from her implant. The ‘Seafarer’ bar down in Quay Street.

  What in blazes was he doing here? Maybe he knew she was here? She let out the breath she was holding. What if he did? She wanted to confront him. Didn’t she? Xanthor would have to wait.

  Late afternoon light danced off the University’s cones and spires. The perimeter wall glowed, almost rosy, while long shadows pointed up the hill toward her, as if showing the way to the gate. She turned down hill, squinting her eyes against bright sunlight as Qito Ras began her descent into the sea. From this high, the rays glinted off the tops of the waves, giving them a coppery glow. She hurried past Xanthor’s house with a sidelong glance and a promise to return as soon as she could. Port Road buzzed, busy with vehicles and pedestrians going in both directions, noisy with voices and the hum of traffic.

  Sean was in a bar. No surprises there. Would he be alone? Maybe. He wore his privacy shield, the one she’d built for him a few years ago, so he was hiding from surveillance. She walked carefully, eyes and spy gadgets on her surroundings. Twice she’d screwed up, once after the Fleet ball and then again in the cellar at Gueri Nestor. She wouldn’t be so stupid again. A man lounged in the shadows. No, waiting for someone, eyes scanning the road. Anyone tailing her would do better. Nevertheless she recorded his appearance and that of the woman gazing in the shop window.

  She turned along Quay Road, the river on her right. Often enough she’d come here to buy fish straight off the boats moored on the wide jetty along its banks. A succession of chandlers, pawn brokers, boarding houses and pubs lined the road. She walked along the quay itself, wood worn by generations of

  feet, both human and ptorix. The water slapped on the pylons and the breeze that ruffled her hair carried the scent of oil and fish and rope. Opposite the ‘Seafarer’ she stopped and mentally checked her equipment. No surveillance taps, one warning. She frowned at the image. Young, female. The girl hurried

  past and headed toward another pub a little further along.

  What illumination there was in the Seafarer Tavern came from the bar, where rows of bottles stood in mirror-backed shelves. The place would be busy later but now, a little before sundown, not too many people sat at the tables that filled the room. An attendant, a heavy-faced man wearing black, polished glasses. A group of fishermen clustered at the bar, deep in beer and conversation, barely glanced at her as she entered. She wove between the tables, toward the back wall where a man sat head to head with a

  blonde, the scarred wooden bench between them. Allysha grabbed a chair from another table and sat down facing them. They sat up, startled.

  The girl glowered. “Get lost—” she began.

  “Get rid of her, Sean,” Allysha snapped. “We’ve got business.”

  His eyes widened as he recognized her. “Yeah.” He turned to the girl. “Push off, Lexi, okay? This is just business. I’ll catch you later.”

  Lexi pouted. “Who’s she?”

  Sean pushed at Lexi’s arm. “Never mind. Go on.”

  With a last black glare at Allysha, Lexi went. Allysha moved to the chair the girl had vacated. Not good to have her back to the door.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said. His hair was black and long, tied into a ponytail and he wore dark blue contacts. She noted the slight grey cast to his skin, the puffiness around the eyes. He looked wary and a little tired.

  “Well, I’m not. No thanks to you, I’m told.”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Ally. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I was already drugged. The stuff you hit me with reacted with what was already in my system.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. What’s it about, Sean? What do they want? Who are they?”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Tepich. Same guy as Tisyphor. Had you really heard his name before?”

  “Keep talking, Sean. Tepich. Some GPR person, right?”

  He nodded. “Right. I don’t know what they want you to do but it’s some system thing—”

  “The work’s beyond your capabilities, I take it?”

  “It must be. But I don’t know what. They don’t confide in me.”

  So they didn’t trust him, either.

  The attendant came and picked up Sean’s empty glass. “Same again?”

  Sean fiddled with his coaster and flashed a glance at Allysha.

  “Yes, okay. I’ll have a kib juice.”

  “Beer,” Sean said.

  Allysha raised an eyebrow as she flashed a credit chip. Beer. Very down market.

  When the barman had gone Sean leaned toward her. “Listen, I need your help, Ally.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m in trouble, bad.” He held her eyes, pleading his case. She took stock of the tension in his shoulders, the nervous way he fingered the coaster. He leaned back, silent, as the attendant delivered the drinks.

  As

  soon as they were alone again he swallowed a mouthful of beer and continued, “If I don’t deliver you, Tepich is going to kill me. I only just managed to escape after…” he scratched his hair, “after Gueri Nestor. Tepich gave me three months and I’ve gone past that. I was on borrowed time. When they thought you were dead… I was dead, too.”

  “You don’t know what they want me for? Honestly?

  “No. I honestly don’t know.” He opened both his hands on the table top for a moment and sighed.

  Allysha picked up her glass. The deep red fluid glowed in the bar’s low light. What to do? He’d held her eyes, tried to look honest. Nice try, Sean. But she believed him, certain in her own mind he wouldn’t be able to deceive her. Not anymore.

  “So you’re on the run?”

  His shoulders slumped. “Yes. I suppose so. I’ve still got your shield.” He looked defeated, out of options. “At least here in Shernish I know people.” He frowned and put his head to one side. “Anyway, why are you here? I thought you worked for the Fed Fleet?”

  “Contract’s finished.”

  “What about Saahren?Are you his girlfriend?”

  “No.” She held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “Not something I care to discuss. He’s keen, I’m not.” Chaka would excuse the lie.

  He nodded. “Ah. Yes, that’s what I would’ve thought.”

  She sipped at her juice as Sean drank more beer. This was why she was here, wasn’t it? To end this chase? She didn’t trust him, didn’t really want anything to do with him, but what choice was there?

  “Look, Sean, I don’t want your death on my conscience. If you want, I’ll go with you, do their job.”

  His face lifted, hope blossoming. “Are you serious?”

  She shrugged. “I’m out of work. I presume they’re paying?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  He swallowed another mouthful of beer, put the glass back on the table. “You mean it?”

  “Yes, I mean it.”

  “Okay.” He hesitated, staring at the table top.

  The tables around them were starting to fill as people came in after work. Allysha checked them over.

  The fishermen were still propped up at the bar. A gale of laughter erupted from the middle of the room, where a group had pulled a number of tables together into a square. The smell of roasting meat drifted from the kitchens.

  “We’ll have to go to Kentor,” he said. “I can contact somebody there.”

  “There’s nobody here?”

  He shook his head. �
��I wouldn’t have come back if I thought there was.”

  She was stalling, she knew she was. “Okay. I’ll check flights.” She pulled out her techpack and picked up the signal from the space port. Damnation. Flights to Kentor only went once a week. And the next one left at midnight, Carnessan time, the return trip of the flight she’d come in on.

  “Has to be tonight, Sean. Unless you want to wait a week.”

  He stared. “A week?”

  She snorted a laugh. “I take it that’s not an option. Okay. I’ll pick up my stuff and meet you at the station.”

  He put out a hand as she stood. “You’re leaving?”

  She looked down at him and sighed. What had she ever seen in the man?

  “The station, Sean. An hour.”

  ChapterTwenty-Eight

  Allysha found Sean leaning casually against a wall inside the station. She had to hand it to him, he certainly looked convincing, a man waiting for his wife. She’d showered and changed into black pants and a deep red shirt. Minimal clothes and personal items were in a pack slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t booked out of the hotel. The room was hers for two weeks.

  Sean straightened up as she approached and hefted his own pack. For the look of it, she put a hand on his shoulder and pecked him on the cheek. “Just for appearances,” she said in reply to his pleased surprise.

  They walked into the station together, Allysha monitoring as they went. Ah. A warning. The same woman who’d been looking in shop windows earlier in the day. She might be going home, but if she followed them to the space port they might have picked up a tail.

  “I have tickets to Kentor,” she said. “Second class.” Not too obvious but not down the back with the herd.

  “It won’t be busy. There’s not much traffic going there anymore.”

  She knew that but she didn’t bother to say.

  They reached the space port without incident and made their way to the shuttle gate, half empty and orderly, a far cry from when they’d been here last, chaotic and claustrophobic. No sign of the woman.

  She took two news sheets from the stack and handed one to Sean. A quick glance revealed nothing of interest. She pretended to watch the news items, her senses on her surroundings.

  The boarding announcement caused the usual eruption of noise. A few people said fond farewells, chairs scraped, passengers jostled politely for position at the boarding gate. Sean and Allysha shuffled up the race in the middle of the queue. They were about to turn the corner in the passage when the warning flashed in Allysha’s implant.

  The woman ambled behind them, last in line.

  Allysha kept her eyes forward. “We have a tail,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  Sean’s face tightened a little but he didn’t turn. “Where?”

  “Last in the queue.”

  The woman turned right with the rest of the third class passengers while Allysha and Sean went left into first and second class. They sat together, half-way down the aisle. When the shuttle’s doors closed, less than half the seats in the cabin were in use. Five ptorix business people, two together, the other three alone; nine humans sat scattered in individual seats. No-one was on holiday, no family groups.

  None of the business class passengers seemed in any way unusual but she recorded them anyway. Who did the woman in third class work for? She could be Fleet. Chaka would know where she was intending to go and she’d be stupid if she imagined he wouldn’t send agents. In fact, she hoped he had. Then again,

  she could be a GPR agent.

  She sent the woman’s image to her techpack and showed it to Sean. “Recognize her?”

  He examined the image, brows lowered. “No,” he said at last. “But, like I said, I don’t think they have agents on Carnessa.” He chewed his lip. “I met Tepich in Sal Menoa—Kentor’s capital. He doesn’t like the ptorix, not one little bit. Refuses to have anything to do with them. Besides, they think you’re dead.

  Don’t they?”

  “Maybe not. If they have agents in the Fleet they may know I survived. Look, Sean, you must have picked up something about this. Do me a favor and level with me. I’m sticking my neck out for you.”

  She

  slapped his hand down as he made to order a drink. “Keep off the hooch. You need your wits about you.”

  She was surprised to see him nod. “You’re right.” He sighed. “They always wanted you somewhere else. Tisyphor was a sort of test, to see how good you were.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Well, I thought ptorix systems. They approached me after you did the Brjyl job. The references from that were fantastic.”

  Yes, she could imagine Sean’s eyes lighting up when they arrived. The references were very good. “But you don’t think ptorix systems anymore?”

  “Think about it. You proved your worth all the time at the University and then the Brjyl job. I think it was the InfoDroid. I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Makes sense.” Lots of sense. Time would tell.

  She glanced again at the picture of the woman sitting in third class. She was almost convinced now, the woman was Fleet. Did she want them to follow her? Oh, well. Not much she could do, at least as far as the space station. Chaka’s face drifted into her mind, stern and angry. And worried and maybe even a bit

  hurt that she’d left without talking to him. Yes, she’d expect that.I’m sorry, Chaka. Some things I have to

  do by myself. She hoped he hadn’t been too hard on Vlad.

  ****

  Allysha searched for the woman—they’d decided to call her ‘Miss Taylor’—when they boarded the shuttle to the Sal Menoa space station. The journey from Carnessa to Kentor had been unremarkable; any journey through shift space was unremarkable. She and Sean had slept through most of it.

  She found Miss Taylor well to the back of the queue. Without her surveillance systems, the woman would have been quite undetectable. After they’d disembarked at the space station and passed through the arrival gates the agent walked away, out of range of Allysha’s equipment.

  “Can you get somebody up here?” Allysha asked, sitting down at a table in a half-full passenger lounge.

  “I don’t particularly want to disappear into some city I know nothing about.” And at least up here, Miss Taylor, or whoever replaced her, would be about for backup.

  “I’ll try.” He pulled out his comlink, thumbed through his contacts, stopped at one and made the call, keeping the conversation to voice only. She listened in.

  “O’Reilly,” he said. “I’ve got her.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Kentor space station.”

  “Bring her down here. I’m at—”

  “No, you come up here.”

  The slightest delay.“All right. Where are you?”

  Sean swiveled his head. “Ah… Passenger Lounge on B circus. We’ve both got long black hair, tied back.”

  “Quarter of an hour.”

  “Horlitz is on his way,” he said, putting the comlink back on his belt.

  Allysha swallowed, suddenly nervous again, and checked her surveillance equipment. “Who’s Horlitz?”

  “Tepich’s contact here. I’ve never seen him but he organized my meeting with Tepich.”

  “Okay. While we’re waiting, I have a few goodies that I’d like to distribute discreetly to our new friends.”

  She ordered drinks, making the selections on the menu built into the table; a non-alcoholic fruit cocktail with a straw and a little umbrella for her and sparkling water for Sean. When they arrived she and Sean bent their heads together across the table like a pair of lovers while she explained how the gadgets she’d brought worked, and how he should distribute them. Funny, really, sitting like this with her soon to be ex-husband. Just as well Miss Taylor wasn’t nearby to send Chaka a picture of the happy reunion.

  Chaka, you know I don’t mean it.

  She checked her equipment for the tenth time. Still no sign of ‘Miss Taylor’;
or anybody else of interest.

  Maybe the woman had been replaced by somebody else. No warnings, no alerts from her spy gadgets, just the usual mix of business people and families moved through the space station. Here at Kentor a few ptorix were around as well, gliding through the hall in their conical robes. She found a news service to pretend to watch and Sean flicked through a magazine.

  Each time people walked past, her heart jolted. She’d only managed to finish half her drink; the stuff bubbled in her stomach while the glass stood on the table, the little umbrella sagging over the rim. She wished they’d hurry up and get on with it before she lost her nerve.

  The news service gave way to a life-style program. Whatever the show was about went in one eye and out the other. Sean was almost as bad. He didn’t bother changing to another magazine, just flicked through the pages, one way and then the other.

  At last, two men approached and didn’t walk by. “O’Reilly?”

  Allysha looked up at a big man with muscles on his muscles, his trousers tight around his thighs and his head too small for massive shoulders. His companion was of more normal build, non-descript, forgettable. A few months ago she might have thought he was relaxed and careless. Now she saw a man ready to move, checking the surroundings. And she also noticed a third person, a little too obviously not looking their way as he took a seat at a nearby table.

  Sean was on his feet, thrusting out a hand. “Horlitz. Good to see you again.”

  The big man’s hand engulfed Sean’s. Sean’s eyes flickered; the grip would’ve hurt, but he managed to pat the fellow on the arm with his left hand, leaving the tiny pickup invisible on his sleeve.

  Horlitz turned the chair around and sat astride, his arms on the back. “This is Curtis,” he said, indicating his companion. “And I take it this is your wife?”