“I suspect a lot about your forces,” she returned dryly, “and you’re right. I said you weren’t a fool. My position weakens almost daily. I represent a waning power, the Non-Engineered in the high command. They’ve been trying to force me into retirement or a transfer. Either is the functional equivalent of a death sentence for me and perhaps my kind. So I’m desperate, enough to take a wild chance with you and the Confederacy.
“Don’t bother to talk to me about rogue operations or personal vendettas. The Confederacy is behind you and you’ve got more than you’ve shown. Or,” she smiled, “I’m an idiot and you’re dead.”
“I would hate that,” Fenaday said. He was not going to share the information on the Intruder or his cyber-force. He suspected Dominici guessed, just from what she knew about Enshar. The gap in her knowledge was the top secret Intruder. With the information she could supply, they might actually have a chance.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “Intelligence now, and after we strike Pard, protection.”
“Excellent,” Dominici smiled. She put down her glass then walked over to her desk, returning with a small metal box. “Here are the plans for Pard’s complex; he changes things randomly, so it’s not complete. The other files show a list of Pard’s forces and the naval forces he can lay immediate command to. Denshi doesn’t trust the Navy. They handle their own security and nothing less than a battalion level attack is going to make much of a dent in that complex. In the city, there are police and Geneticist Proctors to contend with. Regular troops would make short work of them, but they are more than adequate against assassins. Denshi security is probably the best there is. Takes one to catch one.”
“Like the Ninja of old,” he said, taking the box.
“The what?”
“A force in ancient Japan on Earth, known as Ninja or the Shinobi, assassins and bodyguards like the Denshi, exerting power in the same fashion. But an assassin is just an overly expensive soldier in a real war. The Shogun government wiped them out when they became too influential.”
“We have that chance here,” she agreed. “Denshi has many more regular troops than we can account for. Many of them are gone. We don’t know where. Navy troops have been filling in, but Denshi doesn’t use them in their own facilities. Pard may be under-defended, more at the compound than in the city, where they can call on Denshi-friendly police and Hagen’s Proctors. My information is that Pard is heading back to the complex for the next three days, lying low while you are here.
“Everything you need is in these files. There is a code for contacting me. Use it sparingly. It takes Denshi an average of two weeks to crack them. I won’t need another. Since that’s about as much time as I have left.
“Now, Captain,” she added, “your last chance to mix business with pleasure?”
Fenaday felt lightheaded. Dominici stood right next to him, her scent more intoxicating than the wine. Her skin looked firm, smooth and flawless. He shook his head to clear it, taking a step back at the same time. “It isn’t that you are not attractive,” he said ruefully. “You are. My thanks to God, or Dr. Allessandro, but I’m spoken for, at least I think so.”
“How quaint,” she replied, seeming unoffended. “Still, I’m glad saying no wasn’t easy. A woman doesn’t like to think she’s losing her touch. Wait two hours, Captain, then walk out to the antechamber. My guards will take you back.”
“Two hours?” he asked.
“I do have my reputation to consider,” she said, walking out of the room with an intriguing sway to her hips.
Fenaday felt his stomach muscles tighten. Baseball, he thought, Sunday Mass, icy-cold January breezes.
Chapter Eleven
Guards escorted Fenaday back to the shuttle bay, where the others were preflighting Pooka. Seeing his own security in the form of Rask’s ASATs brought a feeling of intense relief. A half-dozen of Sidhe’s honor guard stood watch outside the shuttle when the doors to the bay cycled. The ASATs snapped to attention as he entered, leaving his Olympian escort behind. Telisan and Rask hurried over to greet him.
“I’m O.K.,” Fenaday assured his anxious companions. “Let’s get back to the ship. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough for one evening.” The others knew he had given standing orders that nothing was to be discussed until they were safely off the station and away from spying devices. Mmok would have used his time to make sure no one had slipped by their guards and bugged their vessel. They clambered into the old Dakota class shuttle. Fenaday walked onto the flight deck to find Angelica Fury already in the pilot seat.
“Glad you’re back, skipper.” She seemed to have gotten over being mad at him.
“Thanks,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “How soon can you get us out of here?”
“We’ve got an exit window set and ready to go. If you’re ready, I’ll get started on my checklist.”
“O.K. Angie. Let’s get going.”
Fury popped her checklist on the screen and keyed her mike. “Hermes’ control, this is Pooka. We are preparing to leave. Please confirm cleared exit vector.”
Pooka sealed, and the bay began preparation for decompression. In the back of the shuttle, the ASATs stowed their weapons. Rask oversaw this, though he kept his own weapon handy. The bay lights went out and the shuttle’s cut in automatically. Pooka lifted. Back out under the stars, Fenaday sighed in relief. Maneuvering room at last.
Telisan and Mmok waited impatiently until the shuttle cleared the near area of the space station. “Rask,” Fenaday called. The Morok locked down his weapon and joined them on the flight deck.
“Course plotted and locked in,” Fury announced. “ETA to Sidhe is one hour and ten minutes. No real flying to do till then. Want me to take a walk?”
“Thanks, Angie,” he replied. “It’s not you...”
“Forget it, skipper,” Fury smiled and waved her hand. “It’s all just business.” She sealed the lock behind her.
“At last,” Telisan said.
“Yeah, give,” Mmok added. “What happened?”
“We have an ally,” Fenaday said. “General Dominici is going to help us. Pard is gunning for her. She thinks she has only a few weeks left. She wants to strike at Denshi, the Engineered and particularly Pard.” In a few minutes, he laid out the details of the meeting. The codes, contacts, her offers of help and the reasons why. He handed the data crystals and disks to Mmok.
“Christ, Fenaday,” Mmok grimaced. “Some muscle queen throws her legs around you and we are supposed to believe this?”
“Oh, enough out of you,” Fenaday said, too tired for the usual verbal battles. “What choice do we have? We’re stalemated in orbit, getting nowhere. Time is against us. We have no way to find our people, no help from downworld, even from Davis.
“Do you want to storm Pard’s fortress blind? With no better information than Mandela’s—you know I wish I knew his real goddamn name—obsolete data? Besides, I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Why not?” Rask asked.
Fenaday glared at the Morok. “She wasn’t after sex. The pass she made was pure manipulation; she wanted the extra hold on me. You know, I don’t just sleep with everyone who asks.”
The Morok seemed to consider this for a second. “How come?”
Fenaday looked exasperated. Mmok snorted a laugh. Telisan seemed confused. “I’ll explain human mating rituals some other time,” Fenaday said. “Meanwhile, we get back to Sidhe and start planning how to get downworld. That’s the area Dominici can’t help us with. She may not be our friend, but she isn’t Pard’s either. That will suffice for now.
“Somehow we have to locate Pard, then get our forces down outside of Marathon unobserved. At least we have somewhere to go after the sanction. Getting off was always the weak part of the plan. ”
“As it was with Rigg’s mission,” Mmok said. “They had three options. The shuttle was going to rendezvous at the landing site near Manki two days after the sanction. If the government fell and the Neos took over, n
o problem. If not, they were to break out as best they could, or as a last resort, head to the embassy. I don’t think any of us want to rely on Davis.”
“We agree on that,” Fenaday said. “All right. Mmok, get that data processed for download so we can get to studying. Start updating our landing profiles. I’m going to sack out for an hour.”
“Dreaming of beautiful women?” Rask grinned.
“Is there any other kind around here?” Fenaday said.
“One does see only the most handsome of your species,” Telisan said.
“It’s what this society was created for,” Fenaday yawned, fatigue creeping into his voice. “Developing the perfect human. If you don’t measure up, I guess you fall into some grunt underclass. I wonder where they keep the poor people?”
“Where did you keep them on New Eire?” Mmok asked bitterly.
“What?” Fenaday turned toward the cyborg.
“The poor, Fenaday, the non-Irish, those who weren’t related to the First-In families.”
“New Eire was settled by Irish refugees,” Fenaday retorted, “for Irish refugees fleeing the New Troubles. It was to be our place, free from the burden of history.”
“Yeah,” Mmok said, looking him in the eye. “You, the Amerindians, the Palestinians, everyone with a historical grudge or slight. Look, a new world, where just your own kind live. The ultimate fence.
“But try being a white on Kwanzal, or black on New Eire, or anybody on Lakota who ain’t one. Here all you have to be is pretty and talented. Maybe they are the most honest.”
To everyone’s surprise the anger in Fenaday’s eyes faded. “There’s some truth to what you say,” he replied. “I didn’t know much about it until I became poor and had to survive in the spacer sections of the offport. I never saw those people till I ended up as one of those people.
“Telisan, we treat a full alien like yourself better than we treat others of our own kind who are of different ethnic groups. There’s no quota on Denlenns or Moroks immigrating to New Eire. There is on other humans. So, Mr. Mmok, I guess you have a point.”
Mmok seemed disconcerted, almost embarrassed by Fenaday’s agreement. Telisan looked merely relieved, another Mmok-Fenaday donnybrook being the last thing they needed.
“Well,” Mmok shrugged, “you were going to sack out. We’ll wake you when we arrive.”
“No info on human mating rituals?” Rask asked.
Fenaday rolled his eyes, unsealed the doors and walked out. Mmok followed, looking dubiously at the data crystals.
Rask glanced at Telisan. “Actually, I’m not all that curious. Frankly, to me, it’s amazing they reproduce at all. Nice guys, humans, but ugly. No decent fangs.”
“To each his own,” Telisan said diplomatically, thinking about goblin-like, blue-skinned women with an internal shudder.
Fenaday, hearing the by-play as he unlatched a bunk in the small cabin behind the flight deck, snorted a laugh. The others walked past him, trooping down to the cargo deck. Angelica winked at Fenaday as she headed for the pilot’s chair, autopilot or no. Fenaday shut the thin panel to the room and lay down. Despite fatigue, his mind would not stop racing and planning. Would not stop worrying about the woman he’d crossed space to find. His eyes drifted to the tiny porthole and the world below.
*****
Fifty miles below, Shasti Rainhell looked starward from her bedroom window, wondering if she could see the moving dot of light that was her ship. Even with her enhanced vision, the task remained impossible. So near, yet so out of reach. None of the group’s special communication equipment escaped with them. They could make, buy, or steal equipment for standard radio transmission eventually, but Denshi would easily pick up such a broadcast. Assassins would arrive long before help. Still, she considered it. If they could run fast enough, they might stay ahead of the enemy long enough to arrange a rendezvous. Slim hope with a wounded man and an amateur.
The ruthless part of her soul considered and weighed the options, debating whether the time had come to sacrifice the others, to free herself to strike at Pard. They were a burden, tying her down. Every day spent with them increased the chances of capture. Pard was still the official mission. More than that, killing him was her own desperate need, running like blood through her body. It verged on being a waking dream.
Shasti shelved the thoughts for now. Normally she would have been out, prowling around looking for information, weapons and a means of contacting Sidhe. Those duties fell to Jenner tonight. Beyond a slight fatigue, Shasti had fully recovered from her injuries in the Denshi ambush, but she still judged it too dangerous to stir out of hiding. Rigg, still weak from his wounds, slept as usual.
She walked over to the small desk in the living room. From it, she drew a small pad and a box of pencils. She’d been almost too embarrassed to ask Jenner to buy them. When she finally did, the older woman only smiled, returning later with all the necessary items. Shasti went back to the window, sat in the moonlight and opened the pad. She’d filled it with sketches: her dog Risky, New Eire, and now a drawing of Fenaday. Even with her near eidetic memory, she found drawing from recollection difficult. The drawing of Fenaday wasn’t very good. She wished she had kept some pictures, but of course such personal material could identify one on a mission. Even the pad was a mistake in that respect. She looked down at the image of Robert smiling back at her. Professionalism be damned.
She looked around the dingy room. Quite a change from the Fenaday home on New Eire, she thought. A sudden memory took her back there, to another window overlooking the rocky coast behind the estate. She remembered sitting in the bay window, the sun striking warmly across her shoulders.
Shasti and Robert had returned to New Eire only a few weeks before. Fenaday purchased back his old estate from the company that had bought it for a conference center. He intended to restore the home. Shasti had endured a variety of social ordeals as people came to call on “The Fenaday,” restored now both to power and wealth. There were formal parties at which the men watched her and the women couldn’t figure out what to make of her. The huntsman of the local fox hunt, actually hunting for a more noxious reptilian pest called a malazard, wanted permission to restart the hunt across the estate grounds. He expected Robert to serve as Master of the Hunt. It meant horses had to be bought and events planned.
Charities showed up with hands outstretched. People with grievances and debts from when Fenaday sold off the Shamrock Shipping Line also appeared.
Shasti took it on herself to act as gatekeeper, her formidable demeanor allowing her to dispose of the hordes expeditiously. Robert and she used the freed time to explore the towns around the estate. Days found them walking hand in hand through Duncannon or Horton. Nights flickered with firelight, brandy and sensual delights in the estate’s halls.
She’d seen the cloak of old sadness fall on him only once since they moved into the manor. Their second day at the house found them reopening the library. He’d picked up a dust-covered book left lying on a table. Someone had dog-eared the pages. His face fell when he saw that.
She’d come up to him, concerned.
He remained silent for a few seconds. “Lisa must have done that,” he said finally in a soft voice. “I used to fuss at her about it.” He stroked the book’s binding for a second; his face closed in old pain.
She’d felt helpless. What would a standard human woman say? What would she know to do? Shasti could only stand mute. He replaced the book, leaving the pages folded. It took him several hours to shake off the melancholy.
On the morning of their third week, Fenaday surprised her. He found her sitting on the study’s bay window, dressed in her usual practical ship clothing. Risky, the K-9 she’d rescued on Enshar, lay on a rug nearby, dozing in the sun. The window held a cushioned seat and had become Robert and Shasti’s favorite spot in the house. They sometimes had an informal breakfast in the study, just the two of them.
She turned on hearing him approach to see him standing in boots, bre
eches, and a tweed coat.
“Today,” he said, “is our day. I want to see no one but you. I’ve banished everyone else from the house.” He reached for her hand. “Come with me, I’ve got a little surprise.” His hand felt warm, firm with the extra muscle of a man who practiced martial arts, but not rough or callused. He led her through the grand hall of the ancestral home.
She found riding boots in her size by a hall tree. After she pulled the boots on, he led her out to the courtyard. There, stamping in the still cool morning air, stood two horses, saddled and bridled, held by a young groom.
“We’re off for a ride, and Mrs. Ferguson packed us a picnic,” Fenaday smiled.
She looked at the animals. Horses had accompanied humans to almost every colony world as cheap self-replicating power for the early settlements. She hadn’t ridden one since her childhood training on Olympia.
“Which one is mine?” she asked eagerly.
He laughed. “The big one of course.” He walked over to the dark bay. “This is Chance,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “He’s a Dutch Warmblood gelding. My trainer found him. He’s very even tempered, good for a beginner.”
He patted the gray horse. “This homely rascal here is Sydney. He’s a half Arab, half who knows what. I found him in a hack stable scaring the hell out of tourists about ten years ago. They didn’t know what they had. When I sold everything else, I loaned him to a cousin. It’s been a while. I’m a bit large for him, but he’s a tough scout.”
Sydney snorted and started to explore Fenaday’s pockets, looking for carrots. Fenaday laughed again and pulled some out of an inner pocket. Sydney munched them quickly, eyeing Chance, who gave a jealous nicker.
“There’s some in your coat over there,” Fenaday pointed. She turned to see her leather ship coat on a fence post. Carrots stuck out of the right pocket. She picked up her jacket and pulled out some carrots for Chance. The bay crunched the offering and looked for more. She stood stroking the horse, enjoying the sight and smell of him.
Fearful Symmetry (The Robert Fenaday and Shasti Rainhell Chronicle Book 2) Page 16