“We can try. I’m not confident we’ll be able to get a message in return, though, not without the sender accounting for the adjustments we’ve made on this end.”
He stood to traipse across the room. “Here’s what we need to do. Let’s put together a message relaying the situation here—make it as clear and direct as possible—and send it to someone who can use the information. Then we need to get out of here. Off this planet.”
She followed his haphazard path. “Because we need to get all this information to the military leadership.”
“Well, yes. But mostly because I’d really like to live, and the odds of doing so on this planet are surely decreasing by the hour.”
29
SENECA
CAVARE
* * *
ISABELA DESCENDED THE MARBLE STEPS of Division Headquarters to the street below. Traffic looked brisk, but she sensed a change in mood of the pedestrians passing in front of her. Gaits which normally might have been buoyant or energetic were now hurried to the point of being frenetic. Shoulders were hunched over and parents kept protective arms around their children.
Her heart clenched painfully at the sight. Soon, Marlee, sweetheart. I’ll be home soon. I promise.
Remembering her mission, she jolted herself out of the reverie and joined the passersby as nonchalantly as possible. She did her best not to dart her eyes around in search of anyone following.
The personal shield Director Delavasi had provided her sent faint tingles roving along her skin like low-level static electricity. He’d said she wouldn’t be able to feel it. He had lied.
Or it could simply be nerves. She patted the small stunner in her pocket to make sure it remained secure. Another gift from Delavasi. He’d shown her how to use it then promised she wouldn’t need it. She rather hoped he hadn’t lied about that, too.
She took the next left and scurried across the street, as much to blend in with the crowd as out of her own nervousness. Her instructions were to stop at a store, go check on her mother, then head for the spaceport. If she made it all the way to a transport for Krysk odds were she was in the clear, though an unidentified agent would be quietly coming along with her in case someone tried to grab her after she returned home.
According to Delavasi, Caleb had been framed for the EASC bombing with the help of someone inside the Division of Intelligence. She’d agreed to help draw this person out, because she wanted to help her brother and because she wanted the whole affair settled once and for all here on Seneca. Her daughter was in enough danger already from Alliance attacks and alien invaders without her bringing home murderous traitors.
She made a little bit of a show—too much?—of considering the placard of a convenience store before going in and buying a packet of trail mix, lemon tea and a temple press for a developing headache.
Taking a deep breath intended to bolster her resolve, she stepped back out on the street and continued toward the nearest levtram station. Dusk faded to night as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon, and a chill crept down her spine.
In the dark this plan suddenly seemed far more dangerous and rather foolhardy on her part. She wasn’t her brother; she didn’t know how to be a spy or how to work undercover. She wasn’t a weakling, but she hadn’t needed to physically defend herself since Sienna Bassi tried to pull her hair out in 9th level after Isabela stole her boyfriend. Her husband Daniel had dabbled in martial arts but he did it for relaxation, not self-defense.
She tried to recall that movement he used to perform, in the middle of the bedroom floor, where he—
She gasped as a wave of sorrow and pain bloomed out of nowhere to overcome her. For the briefest eternal second she could see him, shirtless and wearing loose black shorts, his wiry frame displaying only a hint of muscles no matter how much he exercised. His eyes closed as he made a show of concentration and even breathing while one leg swept out in a smooth arc—
—strong hands shoved her into an alley then slammed her into the wall before she was able to blink.
A blade was pressed to the side of her neck. It flickered against her shield, sending jolts of electricity down her arms. She realized she ought to try to reach the stunner in her pocket, but her arms were caught beneath the weight of the body squeezing against her.
Her attacker’s voice snarled low at her ear. “You have ten seconds to tell me where Caleb Marano is. Otherwise I guarantee you will never see your daughter again.”
She worked to focus on the person holding her captive. But it was dark and the alley was darker. The person was tall but not bulky; plenty strong though.
The blade dug into her neck; her skin was on fire from the shield’s efforts to fight it. “Time’s ticking, Ms. Marano. Where is your brother?”
The voice sounded familiar now. A woman’s voice, maybe. A wispy lock of hair fell across her vision, gleaming ginger in reflected light from the street. The agent who’d taken her and her mother from the house?
Her own voice quivered and she didn’t even have to fake it. “I don’t know, I swear!”
“Liar. You—”
“STEP AWAY AND RAISE YOUR HANDS NOW!” The command boomed from the alley entrance. Her attacker shoved her to the pavement and took off running.
Isabela gingerly massaged her knee where it had slammed to the ground as a raucous, violent scuffle ensued deeper in the alley. After a few seconds she carefully stood and peered into the shadows, trying to discern what was happening.
“Ms. Marano, are you injured?”
She jumped and instinctively backed against the wall. The man approaching her looked familiar, though. One of the agents who had come and gone during her endless detention.
“It’s all right. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you to a secure location, but do you need medical attention?”
Dizzy from adrenaline and terror and relief, she shook her head haltingly. How did Caleb do this every day? “I scraped my knee is all.” His words finally succeeded in penetrating her brain, and she frowned. “I’m not free to go?”
“Sorry, ma’am, not quite yet. The Director is concerned there may be other people involved. We need to make absolutely certain you’re safe.”
She was too tired to argue. Exhausted, in fact. She gestured weakly. “Take me wherever you think is best.”
INTELLIGENCE DIVISION HEADQUARTERS
Graham seethed. His seething was blatantly visible to anyone who happened by, for which he could give a rat’s ass.
He stalked outside the interrogation room, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His vague reflection in the glass indicated his hair resembled that of a stereotypical mad scientist after being subjected to frequent abuse for the last three hours.
Bad enough it was one of his own agents, but his second in command? A woman he had trusted with the most sensitive intel, not to mention his personal doubts and concerns? A woman he had shared drinks with on the occasional evening? He had relied on her. Depended on her. Trusted her.
He may be a stupid, slow fool of an old man but he was damn well still in charge. He steeled himself, made a silent vow not to punch her and stepped into the room.
She gazed up at him, a tight sneer turning her face malicious in its coldness. Her hands, waist and ankles were restrained in webs but she managed to notch her shoulders up a fraction. “Sorry, sir. Looks like I won’t be able to make it to work in the morning.”
The expression she wore and sarcastic tone in her voice told him she didn’t intend to bother claiming a misunderstanding. Good.
“I want to know one thing, Liz. Your interrogators will want to know a great deal more, but I merely require one piece of information. Why? Why cause a war? Why frame a fellow agent? Why kill a fellow agent?”
“I didn’t kill Volosk. He was a decent man. Didn’t kill Nythal, either, even if he wasn’t.”
“But you know who did, don’t you?”
“That’s more than one question, boss.”
He placed both hands on the table and leaned over it until his face was positioned centimeters from hers. He’d decided ‘who’ was a far more important question than ‘why.’ His voice emerged as a low, rumbling growl. “Answer the question.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know enough to hand them over to you—assuming I would, which I don’t plan on. Aliases, dummy accounts, dead-drop exanet addresses. You know how the game works, don’t you, old man?”
She held his stare, but he took some small comfort in seeing a glint of fear in her eyes. “But I will tell you why, because I’m feeling charitable. We have cowered in the shadow of the Alliance for too long. We make nice and pay tribute to those arrogant fucks and they don’t deserve it. We are so much better than those tawdry, pretentious pricks.”
“That’s what this is? You want to piss all over the Alliance because it’ll make you feel special? You’re nothing more than a playground bully desperate for validation.”
“Bullshit. This isn’t about me. Seneca is ready to rule this whole galaxy, if it only dared. I just tried to give it a little nudge.”
“These are people’s lives you’re destroying with your little nudge. You’re a psycho, and you aren’t worth a second more of my time.” He shoved off the table and tossed a dismissive hand in her direction. “Enjoy your nice, long stay in solitary. I’m sure someone will persuade you to talk eventually. Or not.”
He stormed out and down the hall, waving off several agents via a glower threatening enough to ensure they stayed away.
Why did being one of the good guys have to be such a pain in the ass sometimes? He needed a stiff drink, then another one—but he couldn’t spare the time because the galaxy continued to blow itself up apace. And it wasn’t interested in taking a breather on account of his foul mood.
His glower sent two passengers scurrying out of the lift as he barreled onto it. It occurred to him he should perhaps tone it down a bit; he probably resembled a madman on a chimeral bender and if he wasn’t careful someone would show up wielding a tranquilizer.
He grumbled at the empty lift and made a note to have the drink later.
A red light flashed in the corner of his vision. Concerned Isabela was in danger or another agent of his was dead or the aliens were making a house call, he opened the message.
None of those events had occurred, thankfully. Instead it was a priority request bumped up the chain to him.
And with good reason. A hoarse chuckle bubbled up from his chest as he stepped off the lift and hurried toward his office. For the first time in days, a feeling which might be misdiagnosed as hope stirred in his gut.
30
PORTAL PRIME
UNCHARTED SPACE
* * *
“DAMMIT, HELMSMAN, GET YOUR ZADNITSA to an escape pod now!”
Russian. Him. Alex willed the scene to crystallize faster.
“But sir—”
“I can fly her, I assure you. Now get out of here—that’s an order!”
She was on the deck of an Alliance military ship. A cruiser. She knew this not from the size or layout of the bridge but because of who stood at the railing which framed the sunken navigation pit.
Commander David Nikolai Solovy leapt into the pit, taking time to pat the helmsman on the back as he reluctantly departed the bridge before dropping into the flight chair and strapping in.
Dad.
He was so damn handsome, even with his dusky blond hair strewn wild by too many fingers being dragged through it and a thin sheen of sweat coating his neck and arms beneath rolled up sleeves.
He was now alone on the bridge. Everyone had been evacuated. Outside the viewport the incredible brightness of the Kappa Crucis blue supergiant dominated in spite of the clumpy H II gases.
Considerable debris from wrecked ships floated silently against the hazy white-blue glow. The Stalwart was extremely close to the supergiant. Dangerously close.
She rushed down to the navigation pit.
He monitored three screens while struggling to keep the cruiser steady and muttering a variety of colorful curses in Russian under his breath. The first screen displayed the position of the ship relative to the supergiant and the research station; the second tracked the Senecan fleet as it endeavored to navigate the debris-covered battlefield. The final screen monitored the status of the civilian and damaged military vessels currently evacuating the system behind the Stalwart.
She crouched beside him to stare up at his face in wonder. Her fingertips reached out to touch his arm, though it was impossible. She wasn’t really there. Like the scenes that came before, she was merely witnessing a recording of an event from the past. But oh how it felt as if she were there.
His eyes rose to check the scene outside, shining liquid silver brimming over with intelligence and intensity. Inputting a series of quick commands, he rerouted all the navigation and weapon controls to his station. Seconds later the thrusters fired beneath them.
The battle had been a rout from the beginning, so the story went, and the landscape outside the viewport verified it. But for her the story of the Kappa Crucis Battle had always been so much more than a history lesson.
The Alliance had been steadily losing their previous dominance of the sector for weeks. When the decision was finally made to evacuate the research station staffed with scientists studying the region of active star formation, technicians, and their families, Strategic Command sent a regiment to oversee and protect the evacuation.
The Federation had placed monitoring equipment throughout the region; fearful the regiment was sent as a challenge to their increasing control, they sent an overpowering force to crush it.
Two Alliance cruisers, four frigates and sixteen fighters stood no chance against the Senecan division-strength fleet that arrived, but the evacuation was already underway and the civilians required protecting.
Rear Admiral Fuschida had taken the EAS Lincoln and three frigates to engage the Senecan forces before they reached the station. Commander Solovy and the Stalwart were ordered to stay behind and guard the station, while the final frigate and a flight of fighters provided close protection for the evacuating shuttles.
Fuschida mined the route from the research station, ejecting tactical fusion anti-ship mines throughout the area while leaving a narrow passage clear for the inevitable retreat.
Two of the frigates and most of the Alliance fighters were destroyed in the primary engagement with the Federation forces, though not before wrecking one of the Federation frigates and a number of their fighters. The third frigate dispatched to the front line suffered catastrophic damage and was left unable to navigate.
The Lincoln suffered considerable damage but, for a time, remained flightworthy. However instead of retreating, Fuschida elected to deploy additional mines until the last possible second behind a virtual wall of burning ship debris, unexploded ordinances and spaced soldiers from both sides of the battle.
Alex joined him in staring out the viewport. The destruction was immense, but she discerned the narrow passage through the mines and debris.
The final strategy of Rear Admiral Dawn Fuschida appeared to have been successful; the approach to the research station, the Stalwart and the derelict vessels represented a deadly gauntlet that would force the Senecans to approach single-file, one ship at a time, or risk detonation of the mines.
When the Lincoln at last splintered apart under the incessant fire from the bulk of the Senecan fleet, the hull ripped open and the balance of her tactical mines drifted into space, all but blocking the circumscribed entrance into the gauntlet.
She watched as her father did what she knew he would—position the Stalwart broadside at the exit point of the gauntlet.
This was the part of the story that had never made sense to her. For twelve minutes while the Senecan forces split—some working to clear a path through while others gave the mines and debris a wide berth and went the long way around—his ship had sat and waited. She had always assumed he was giving his ow
n men time to evacuate or that his ship had been crippled beyond hope of flight. But it was apparent his ship was fully evacuated and, though slightly damaged, still flightworthy.
Despite the knowledge he would never hear her, she couldn’t stop herself from screaming at him, begging him to just GO. The horror of his impending death loomed dark and foreboding in her mind like the event horizon of a black hole, yet a tiny spark of hope welled inside her that somehow, some way, his fate might be avoided.
“Dad, run, now! The path is blocked, and you can get away! Run, please!”
Then the ship shuddered violently from the force of an impact.
She stood and approached the viewport…and finally understood.
The Senecans had launched drones into the channel to move the mines. While it would be some time before the gaps were wide enough for the larger ships to proceed, fighters were able, with careful flying, to successfully navigate the gauntlet. Many of the evacuating vessels and the few fighters protecting them lacked sLume drives and had not yet reached the carrier waiting ten megameters away. But for the Stalwart blocking the way, the Senecan fighters would be able to run them down.
It was the reason he had positioned the ship across the breadth of the gauntlet exit. It was the reason he had not run.
Her father rerouted all power except for weapons and minimal life support to the starboard shields. As fighters began approaching they aimed for a small gap at the bow of the Stalwart, hoping to slide through.
The fire from the Stalwart’s pulse lasers was relentless, and the first wave of fighters were shredded under the superior targeting and firepower of an Earth Alliance cruiser. By positioning the ship as he had, David Solovy had closed the gauntlet using his own ship as the final impenetrable barrier—save for a tiny path which became his own personal shooting gallery.
A deep male voice boomed through the bridge. “Unidentified Earth Alliance Captain, stand down and remove your ship from the area or you will be destroyed.”
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