In Her Name

by Michael R. Hicks

  The problem of Mackenzie, however, remained. How had she escaped the dragnet that had been thrown over the city since his security people had been alerted by her delving into his past and that of his son?

  She must have had help, he decided. But from whom? And why would anyone help her when every form of public media carried the story of her aiding and abetting Reza Gard in his bloody escape from the hospital before “killing” Nathan (Thorella had arranged to have a particular Marine lieutenant and a few of his troops die in Reza’s “breakout”)? He knew Carré and Braddock would have helped the fugitives, but they had been effectively neutralized. Who else was there? His intelligence people and researchers had combed the files for anyone who had been associated with Gard and Mackenzie, but those relative few had all been ruled out. Reza did not have any other known associations on Earth, as most of the officers and enlisted members of the Red Legion only returned from their regiment as corpses sealed in boxes.

  The search for people who had known Mackenzie, however, yielded a surprise: Tanya Buchet.

  Borge shook his head. Tanya, of all people. He had known her since she was a child, and had often looked upon her as an adopted daughter. He had never known or suspected that she and Mackenzie had known each other. Borge had called her about the matter personally, and had been reassured that she had not seen Mackenzie in nearly twenty years, and if she had, she would have shot her herself.

  He had eliminated Tanya Buchet from his list, leaving him a blank screen. Not a single lead presented itself. Borge silently fumed.

  Colonel Markus Thorella entered the confusion of the Internal Security Command Post. Ignoring everyone around him, he made his way straight to the new president.

  “It had better be important, Markus,” Borge warned ominously. Despite his outward appearance of calm, his mood was homicidally ugly.

  “It is,” his secret son said quietly. “We need to talk. Privately.”

  Borge scowled. He looked at the anthill-like activity swirling about him. He could do nothing but wait. And it would not really matter if he waited here, alone but for his thoughts, or talking to the Marine standing before him. His son. “Very well,” he said.

  After the door to Borge’s makeshift ready room closed behind them, he said, “All right. What is so important that you had to interrupt the hunt?”

  Thorella snorted derisively, but he was not about to tell the president what he really thought of the incompetent IS troops and their “hunt.” No, if Gard and Mackenzie were going to be found, he would have to do it. And he thought he had a good idea where to start. But that was not why he had come here.

  “I was just talking to the fleet operations officer,” he said, leaving out the slight detail that they had been talking while in bed. “She said she came up with a plan on the staff battle computers for beating the Kreelans. Decisively. She explained it to me, and it sounds like it could be done. But L’Houillier and Zhukovski didn’t buy off on it. Neither did Nathan.” He smiled. Slightly. “I think you ought to hear it from her yourself. Very soon. The Navy has a lot of information – a lot more now than they even had a few days ago – and she thinks she can pinpoint the location of the Kreelan homeworld. And, if her plan looks like it would work, we could take out the Kreelan fleet and homeworld in a single, massive attack.”

  Borge nodded, his eyes narrowed as he thought. If what Thorella said was true, the potential for making history could not be underestimated. The man who won this war would have power beyond measure, and everlasting glory in the pages of history. Indeed, this was worth his attention, even over and above what was going on in the room next door. “And those bastards have not bothered to bring this to my attention?” He did not mention that he had put off both officers while he conducted his witch-hunt for Gard and Mackenzie. “I want a briefing as soon as possible from this operations officer of yours,” he ordered briskly. “After that I want to see the two admirals. I won’t stand for this kind of behavior.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” Thorella said quietly. “A fleet squadron patrolling out beyond the Rim is bringing home some interesting cargo.” He smiled again. Chillingly. “Two Kreelans, one of which they say is Gard’s son.”

  Borge’s face twitched into a smile. Surely, this was a joke, he thought. But he could tell from the younger man’s face that it was not. “Incredible,” he breathed. The opportunities were immediately obvious. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

  That is what Markus Thorella had always loved about this man. He asked for his opinion, and even listened to him. A better father one could not have, adopted or otherwise. “Gard is going to find his way off-world somehow,” he told the president, “despite the best efforts of the Internal Security Service.” Borge frowned at his son’s disdain, but he did not say anything. The ISS was not known for its brilliance in the field. “Once he does,” Thorella went on, “it’s going to be almost impossible to track him down.”

  “Unless we give him a destination he can hardly refuse?” Borge prompted.

  Thorella nodded, handing Borge a stylus pad on which he had already outlined the operation. “If we want this to work,” he told Borge, “we have to get on it right away…”

  * * *

  Several thousand kilometers away, on an estate fifty kilometers south of what had once been the city of Paris, was a private subterranean spaceport large enough to house the single vessel that had belonged to the Buchet family for over one hundred years: the Golden Pearl. She had not been moved from her berth in fifteen years, not since Tanya’s parents had died. Tanya herself had only infrequently visited the old estate, and things there were not quite as pristine as they once had been. Things had been cared for, of course, from the massive bounty of wealth left by her parents, but the place lacked the look and feel of habitation, of an owner’s love and pride.

  Fortunately for Reza and Jodi, the Pearl had also been cared for, the ship having been tended and kept in perfect running order by the technicians who periodically were paid to visit from Le Havre and Brest. The two of them did not have the time nor the inclination to tour the estate itself, but if it was anything like the ship on which they now found themselves, Jodi could not believe that Tanya did not spend more time here. The ship was a work of art both in terms of engineering and creature comforts. Having quickly studied the most important of the operations tutorials, she quickly realized that this ship, despite her age, must still be one of the fastest ships in human space. It was a badly needed bit of luck.

  But she found herself lamenting the fact that they could not take a more leisurely cruise. The ship was a traveling wonderland of luxury, a relic of the pre-war age when grace and refinement were more important than batteries of guns and torpedoes. Of course, at some point during the war she had been fitted with a complement of those, as well, along with a series of increasingly sophisticated upgrades to her electronics.

  But the weapons were irrelevant in the ship’s history and her mission of pleasure. A presidential yacht could not have offered as many graceful appointments as the Pearl. The ship could accommodate fifty guests in luxurious suites. No hot-bunking on this tub, Jodi thought. Guests ate their meals in a lavish dining room, with the food served on real silver and china. They could find entertainment ranging from casual conversation in the sitting room to plays on stage. According to the ship’s log, the Pearl had even once hosted a performance of the Bolshoi Ballet Company.

  Jodi had never realized just how rich the Buchet family was until she had come aboard this ship with the entrance codes Tanya had provided. She smiled to herself. It was too bad things hadn’t worked out with Tanya, she thought. It would have been nice to marry rich.

  Tanya had said she would join them as soon as she could, but that there was some unfinished business she had to take care of. Jodi was not entirely comfortable taking her along, but she was obligated to, for a lot of reasons. She just hoped they were the right ones. She also hoped that Tanya was not intending to do anything
foolish. If she did, she would be on her own. Jodi would not be able to help her.

  When she finished the pre-flight preparations, Jodi headed aft to find Reza asleep on a leather sofa in the library. She covered him with an immaculately decorated afghan. She could tell that even it had received its share of care over the years, for it smelled clean and fresh, without a trace of the stale reek of age. When his eyes fluttered open, she said, “Go back to sleep. We’ve got a while longer before we go.”

  Reza mumbled something unintelligible and did as he was told. Leaning down, she kissed him softly on the lips, then left him to rest.

  Back in the cockpit, she went through the ship’s abbreviated checklist again. The weapons, above all, were ready. While the yacht’s armament made it no more formidable than a Coast Guard cutter, it could still deliver a sharp sting to anyone not being very careful. In addition to the four twin laser barbettes arrayed around the hull, she had two torpedoes in a ventral launcher for more serious situations.

  She just hoped she would not have to use them at all. Compared to what was probably arrayed against them, it was little more than a last great act of defiance.

  Sitting at the pilot’s station, she switched on the data scanner. She had programmed it earlier to sweep any channels it could access for information pertaining to herself or Reza, as well as Tanya, Nicole, and Tony. She hoped the latter two were all right, but all she could do now was pray to a God that she was starting to believe in. She had been having too much luck to believe otherwise.

  The computer had graciously prioritized the tidbits it had come across in the last hour or so. And after viewing the first one, Jodi did not need to see any more.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” announced some talking head news anchor Jodi did not recognize, “we have just received a startling announcement from General Staff Headquarters.” The screen cut to the face of someone Jodi knew only from thin gossip: Admiral Laskowski.

  “Commodore Marchand,” the fleet operations officer said, “in command of the Seventy-Third Reconnaissance Squadron, with her flag aboard the cruiser Furious, has reported the capture of two Kreelans, a warrior and a child.” The view cut to the two faces, then scenes of the two aliens in an isolation cell. While Jodi was no expert in things Kreelan, there was no mistaking the sheer exhaustion in both of them, notably in the older one, who was incredibly haggard. Worse, their faces were black, just as Reza’s wife’s face had been the day of the battle for Erlang.

  “More significant than the capture itself, however, is that the child is a male, the first living Kreelan male to ever be discovered.” There was an animated murmuring in the briefing room a few thousand miles away as the reporters and other attendees assimilated this bit of information. A few people raised their hands for questions, but the admiral ignored them.

  “Even more startling,” she went on after a suitable pause, “is that we believe the child is the product of the union–” she made it sound like a dirty word, “–between Reza Gard and a high-ranking Kreelan warrior.”

  The conference room went as silent as a grave. “This is not a joke or a publicity stunt, ladies and gentlemen,” the admiral cautioned darkly. “Some of Commodore Marchand’s people have been able to establish rudimentary communication with the adult warrior that led to this conclusion.” Jodi was suddenly treated to the image of Eustus Camden gesturing to the warrior, and evidently receiving some kind of – to Eustus, anyway – intelligible response. “And the child’s overt physiology bears out the claim.” Another shot of the child’s face.

  “My God,” Jodi whispered as she leaned closer to the display. “His eyes…” There could be no doubt they were Reza’s eyes, the same penetrating green as the boy’s mother had when Jodi saw her on Erlang.

  Except for one detail near the very end, the rest of the press conference went by in a blur to Jodi, whose mind was still captivated by the face of the child born to parents of two races. The only other thing that she heard and understood was the destination of Furious and her living cargo: Erlang.

  * * *

  Markus Thorella was tired, his body and mind spent in what he considered a good day’s work. He opened the door to his apartment and switched on the lights. The furnishings and other adornments, exactly opposite Borge’s tastes, were spartan and plain. He spent little time here or in any of the five other dwellings that he held the keys to on as many planets, using it only as a place to rest and recover for the next day’s work.

  He carefully hung his cap on the hook that silently slid from the wall to accept it, then made his way to the living room – it might have been comfortable had it been furnished – and the waiting bar for a well-earned drink.

  He stopped when he saw the glass of scotch sitting in the bar’s outlet port.

  “Scotch, straight,” a female voice purred from the direction of the darkened bedroom. “Just the way you like it. Plain and boring, like you. Turn around, Markus. Slowly.”

  The back of Thorella’s scalp crawled. “I know that voice,” he murmured to himself. Turning around, he saw the woman emerge from the shadows. She held a blaster trained on his stomach. “Tanya,” he said, a wry smile touching his lips. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I’m so flattered that you recognized me… Anton Borge,” she said quietly.

  Thorella’s smile cracked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked innocently. Tried to. He felt the weight of the knife in his uniform sleeve. “The senator has been a good friend of mine since my parents died,” he said, “but he’s hardly my father.”

  Tanya shook her head, the anger glowing in her eyes as she stepped further into the light. “Don’t play games Anton. I hated your guts when we were children, and I can’t say I shed any tears when I found out you’d died in the crash. And then what your father managed to pull off. And what you did to me…”

  “Anton Borge is dead, Tanya,” he said decisively. “Whatever Jodi Mackenzie told you – it was her, wasn’t it? – was garbage. Lies.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry that you felt hurt when we… broke up. But that was a long time ago–”

  “And I’ve been living with it ever since,” she snapped viciously. “I loved Markus, and you were jealous. I know you were. And after the crash, when I helped him – you – recover, what was my reward? To be raped like an animal until you grew tired of using me and left. It was the perfect crime, Anton. I was so blinded by my feelings for Markus that I never knew that I had been destroyed until you walked away. You took my soul, you bastard. You stole it. And what did your father do to Markus?” She stepped closer, the barrel of the gun unwavering. “Was Markus already dead, or did the good senator murder him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The knife slid unseen into his palm. “I am Markus Thorella. If you want to believe otherwise, that’s up to you. But I suggest you leave now, or I’ll have to call security.” He moved toward the comm panel over the bar.

  “He killed him, didn’t he?” Tanya said almost to herself, her eyes boring into Thorella as he reached for the controls on the wall. “He murdered Markus and stuffed your beaten body into his clothes. And with his power, he bought silence and secrecy, even from his own accursed son.” Her finger tensed on the trigger. “Goodbye, Anton.”

  As Tanya squeezed the trigger, the illegal Kreelan knife that Thorella always carried flew from his hand as he dodged away from the blast of her weapon. He rolled to the floor as the wall behind him exploded in a flash of sparks and the stench of molten plastic, and watched with satisfaction as Tanya slumped to the floor, the knife buried to the hilt just above her right collarbone. The gun fell from her lifeless arm and clattered onto the floor.

  “You silly fool,” Thorella said as he regained his feet. “You should have just killed me when you had the advantage. But you had to act out your ridiculous little passion play.” He smiled. “And now it’s going to cost you.”

  Tanya was already pulling herself toward the gun, the knife a searing pain in her ches
t as the handle dragged along the floor. A thin trickle of blood seeped from her lips; her right lung had been deeply punctured. She moaned, but did not cry out.

  Thorella casually kicked the gun aside. “I’m afraid you already had your chance, Tanya,” he said quietly. “Now it’s my turn.” He knelt down and roughly turned her over. His hands squeezed her breasts, then ran down her stomach to linger between her legs as she struggled weakly against him. “I’d very much like to relive old times,” he glanced up at the SECURITY ALERT light, activated by Tanya’s blaster firing, “but I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.”

  He knew he would have to work fast. Gripping the knife’s protruding handle in one hand, he clamped his other around her throat. “You see, I need to know where Reza and Jodi are, and you’re going to tell me.”

  “Go fuck yourself, you murdering bastard,” she hissed through bloody spittle. Working behind the cover of her injured body, one of her hands groped for the tiny transmitter hidden in her belt. A trembling finger pressed the single button on the device’s face.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say, Tanya,” Thorella said with a blazing smile. His hand constricted around her throat to silence her. Then he began to saw the knife back and forth through her bleeding flesh, slowly.

  Her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

  * * *

  “Where the fuck is she?” Jodi whispered to herself. The ship was powered up and ready to go at thirty seconds notice, the clamshell doors to the Pearl’s docking bay open to the cloud-flecked skies of what was once central France.

  “We cannot wait much longer, Jodi,” Reza said from the cockpit ramp, startling her.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, recovering quickly. She felt like her bare ass was sitting on a cushion of needles.