Cold Revenge

by Jaleta Clegg

  "I am aware of that, captain."

  "Patrol regulations give me the authority to pull my ship from service. We can’t follow anyone, the damage is too great."

  "I’m not arguing, Suweya," Lowell said. "Please, make all speed to Tebros. Fast enough to get us there within your window of safety. I’d appreciate less than three days, if you can manage it."

  Suweya still eyed him suspiciously. The captain came closer, to stand on the small platform and lean over Lowell where he sat in the chair that should rightfully belong only to the captain or his second. "This wasn’t what you had planned, was it? It didn’t go as you planned."

  "It didn’t turn into a major battle, either," Lowell said. "They would have destroyed this ship, if they’d really wanted to. They were afraid we had reinforcements hidden."

  "So they blew the engines and ran? Why do I not quite believe that?"

  "There would have been an entire battle group here if they hadn’t been lured away by feints." Pirates attacks had blossomed all through the sector over the last week.

  "Now you’re claiming those pirate raids were staged? Just to draw the ships away?" Suweya leaned on the railing, watching his crew and Lowell at the same time. "Just how big is this investigation?"

  Lowell looked past the captain, watching empty space on the viewscreen. "Bigger than I anticipated. Did you get good readings of those ships?"

  Suweya turned to his console and accessed the report. "Hunter class Patrol ships." He scrolled through the information and frowned. "Where are the id signatures? You can’t remove those without scrapping the entire ship."

  "They aren’t stolen Patrol vessels."

  "Then where are they coming from?" Suweya was genuinely puzzled. "All shipyards within the Empire embed the id signatures for any ship that carries weapons."

  "Exactly." Lowell let the implications sink in. Suweya’s face paled, interesting to watch in someone with such dark skin to begin with.

  "Who has the resources to build ships of that class? Without the id signatures."

  "This is much bigger than I thought," Lowell said. "I think we’ve caught a whale instead of the minnow I was fishing for."

  "What are your orders, sir?" Suweya asked, frightened into cooperation by what Lowell had revealed.

  "Take us to Tebros, as you intended. I’ll commandeer another ship there, if I need to. Meanwhile," he stood, "I’d like to talk with your scan techs for a while."

  "We’ll make the best time we can," Suweya promised.

  Lowell stepped down from the captain’s chair to stand behind the scanning station.

  The officer on duty glanced up at him. "Sir?"

  "Did you get readings on the ships?" Lowell asked. "There were three of them."

  The tech shook his head. "Only the basics. Too much interference in the blasts to really scan them close."

  Lowell patted his shoulder and took an empty seat next to the console. "What I really want is the vector they headed out on."

  The man typed quickly, his fingers running over the boards with confidence. "The one that attacked us went this way." The screen changed to a map of the system. A single blue arrow streaked away from the planet they hung next to.

  "What’s in that direction?" Lowell asked, mostly to himself.

  The tech enlarged the scan. Labels bloomed next to distant stars.

  "If they follow that vector, it will take them deeper into the sector," the tech said. "Possible destinations, considering the damage they took, place them at Tebros or Viya Station. Or one of a dozen other smaller systems. None of them have the right facilities, though."

  "Not that we know," Lowell said, tugging at his ear. "There are three dozen systems catalogued along that vector."

  "Uninhabited, sir," the tech said.

  Lowell didn’t answer, he studied the map, choosing the most likely candidates for a hidden repair facility. He’d have to send Drummond on that search. "What of the other two ships?"

  A green arrow joined the blue one, the other hunter. It veered off towards the frontier worlds and the empty space beyond that was sparsely settled and beyond the Empire’s control.

  "That ship was undamaged," the tech said. "It docked with the freighter briefly."

  Lowell nodded, he already knew that. He tapped the screen and the tech enlarged the scale.

  "There are five probable systems," the tech said. "All frontier, though. Low tech ports. No Patrol bases."

  "And any of them are likely," Lowell said. "And the Phoenix?"

  A red arrow blossomed on the map.

  "If they follow a straight course, there’s only one world that way," the tech said. "Beyond that is the Rift. No one travels through that without a lot of supplies and preparation."

  Lowell watched as the map shifted again. There were very few stars showing, mostly dim red dwarfs. Only one star showed yellow. He tapped it.

  "Haviland, sir," the tech said. "Nothing much there. The one inhabitable planet was settled five hundred years ago by a group of isolationists. Minimal contact with outsiders. There is one port. Few ships ever bother to land there."

  "And all this is in your databank?" Lowell asked. Most scan techs would not have known the details of such a minor system without referencing it.

  "My homeworld, sir," the man said.

  Lowell nodded and filed the fact away for future reference. He might need this man’s knowledge later. Depending on whether the Phoenix was still there when Lowell reached the planet. There was little chance it was heading anywhere else. Curious, he thought. Why Haviland? He’d have to do some snooping when he reached Tebros. Haviland might have connections to Targon. Why else move to such an isolated spot when there were better worlds closer to the regular trade routes? Unless you had regular trade from a different direction.

  "Thank you," he told the tech as he stood.

  Suweya was deep in discussion with his head engineer. Lowell watched for a moment and decided against interrupting. Suweya had his hands full getting the ship to Tebros. Lowell walked off the bridge, towards the cabin they’d given him.

  He was running out of time. The longer they held Dace the less chance he had of getting her back. He thumbed open the door to the tiny cabin and went in. He’d bungled the whole thing. A miscalculation. He thought Targon was smaller, a broken shell that only needed the last few players found and arrested. He hadn’t counted on the merge with Blackthorne. Targon had moved too soon. Jerimon had overplayed his hand, or else they’d gotten impatient.

  Whichever had happened, Lowell’s rescue team had been left behind. It had taken too long for the pieces to start falling back into place. They made a picture Lowell didn’t like. And there was little he could do about it.

  Except hope, and keep moving his own pieces.

  He tapped the console in the cabin. The screen waited for him, cursor blinking. What information did he want to access? What information would give him the pieces he had missed? He ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the sense of failure and defeat. He’d missed too many pieces already in this game. And the stakes were much too high. He had to be one step ahead instead of one step behind.

  Otherwise, people he’d grown to care for would die. He’d sent men into situations he knew would almost certainly kill them. It had bothered him before, but not like this. They had known what they were getting into, they were trained and equipped with the best he could send. He’d sent Jerimon into this, barely trained and unprepared for what had happened. Two months of crash courses were nowhere near the five years most of his agents got before they ever stepped foot into a real situation.

  And now he had Tayvis out there. That was the only comforting thought he could find, and it was cold comfort. Tayvis was too personally involved to think clearly.

  Lowell sank his chin into his hands, watching the cursor blink patiently. He’d slipped up, badly. He was also too involved, he admitted to himself. He wanted those people back, alive. He wasn’t sure he could keep making these decisions.


  He smothered his guilt and self pity when he heard the engines begin to vibrate. He had only a few days to find a way to wiggle out of this. He had to think up a good excuse for the bank. He’d lost their three million credits after promising them it would be returned in a few days.

  That problem was a lot less troubling than the missing Phoenix. Lowell poised his hands over the keyboard. He typed furiously. Information scrolled over the screen. Some of it was even useful.

  He was interrupted an hour later by a knock at his door. "Come," he said, without looking away from the screen.

  "Captain Suweya says we’re ready to leave," the ensign said. "We picked up our escape pod. The captain would like you to come to the docking bay."

  Lowell looked up at that. The news had to be bad. He stopped the flow of information on his screen.

  The ensign led him through the ship. His fingers twitched his uniform as he walked, a sign of nerves he was barely aware he showed. The docking bay, a small room only large enough for the pod, was crowded. Suweya and two engineers waited with several medtechs. They had the hatch on the pod open. Lowell stepped quickly around the pod and peered in.

  The medic leaning in the hatch backed out and shook his head. "Neural scrambler, point blank to the head. There’s nothing I can do."

  Lowell would never have admitted to the sudden surge of guilt he felt. He leaned into the hatch and breathed a sigh of relief. The man in the pod was not Tayvis. He recognized the face, even slack and drooling, but only from surveillance photos.

  "Darien Harris," he said, straightening, much more in control now. "Interesting."

  "The one who kidnapped them?" Suweya said, frowning.

  The medics moved in to remove the body. It wasn’t a person even if it still breathed. There was no intelligence, no brain left.

  "Which begs the question of who was in that other ship," Lowell said. He plucked his bottom lip as the medics slid the limp body from the pod and carted it away.

  "The money’s gone, sir," Suweya said.

  "Yes, I know, I didn’t expect to find it. It’s a message, to me."

  "Saying what?" Suweya demanded.

  Lowell looked over at him. It was his ship, after all. He’d tried to help, especially after Querran had pulled him aside and quietly threatened him. Lowell wasn’t going to lose anything by telling Suweya what he suspected. It might even help.

  "Darien Harris was thought to be the head of Targon," Lowell said. "He was the only one not in custody. He was the one who put the price on Dace’s head. Rumors were that he wasn’t quite sane anymore, not after Belliff fell apart."

  "Who scrambled his brain?"

  "That’s what I’d like to know," Lowell said.

  Chapter 31

  I was pulled from sleep by the smell of pancakes, sausages, eggs, bacon, and other foods I couldn’t identify. My stomach grumbled loudly. I blinked my eyes open, confused for a moment by the plaster ceiling overhead, instead of the molded plastic and metal of my ship. I remembered, and this time I didn’t mind, much. We were free, for now. I yawned and stretched. I still ached, but it was the feel of healing bruises this time.

  I got up from the couch and found my way to the bathroom. I washed my face, drying it on the worn towel. It was still luxury to me. I padded my way to the kitchen, barefoot and not caring this morning. Nothing was going to intrude on my sense of well-being until after breakfast, I told myself. My bare feet whispered on the scrubbed wooden floor.

  Tayvis and Jerimon sat at the table, in front of big stacks of food, talking to Jervos who was putting away his own stack. Martha was at the stove, turning out more.

  The men saw me. Jerimon stood and offered me his chair. Tayvis glared at him, half out of his own chair. I ignored both of them, sitting in Jerimon’s chair and intent on eating the food before someone took it away. Jerimon picked up his plate, letting Martha set a full one in front of me. Jerimon stood near me, leaning against the wall and eating. I started in. The food was plain but wonderful.

  "Heber should be here by noon," Jervos said. "He wants to know what the dickens you are doing way out here, crashing into my field. I told him to ask you when he got here."

  "Heber’s not a bad sort," Martha said, refilling my glass with more red juice. I’d never tasted anything like it. Cool, thick, sweet, with just enough tart aftertaste to make you want more. I rolled it over my tongue. It went well with sausage.

  "Don’t let him push you around none," Jervos said, waving a fork loaded with pancake at us. "He thinks he’s the law around here."

  "And he’s not?" Tayvis asked innocently. He did it a lot better than Jervos.

  Jervos stopped, the fork full of pancakes dripping syrup as he held it an inch from his mouth. He noticed finally and put the fork down. "Heber’s the local representative of the law, such as it is. Don’t you go disrespecting us."

  "He wouldn’t dream of it," Jerimon said. Tayvis shot him a dark look.

  "Stop fighting," I told Tayvis. "It’s my job to fight with Jerimon."

  They all looked at me.

  "Did you hit your head, Dace?" Tayvis asked.

  Martha watched us with eyes that saw all too well what was going on. She smiled a small little smile at me. My face flushed red.

  "Your clothes are clean," she said. "If you’re through?"

  I looked at the plate. I’d eaten everything and even wiped the extra syrup off, licking it up with one finger. I got up and left before Tayvis or Jerimon could say anything about my eating habits. I was hungry, I hadn’t had real food in much too long a time. What business was it of theirs anyway, what I ate or how I ate it?

  Martha led me into a back room. An old fashioned cleaner unit sat against one wall, leaning to one side.

  "Let me guess," she said as she pulled my clothes out of the unit, "both men are a bit sweet on you. And you haven’t made it clear which one you choose." She gave me a shrewd look with my clothing. "How long have they been fighting over you?"

  "A year now, since I met them both. And I have made my choice," I said, realizing it was true. Jerimon just didn’t attract me now. I liked him, yes, but not that way. "They just won’t listen to me. It’s complicated."

  She smiled, a knowing smile that had me blushing again. She patted my hand and walked out.

  I dressed slowly. My clothes had come almost clean. They looked and smelled a lot better. So, how was I going to convince Jerimon to leave me alone? I couldn’t think of any way, short of actually marrying Tayvis. That thought stopped me dead. Marry Tayvis? My hands shook at the thought. Marriage? Me?

  Not yet, I thought and yanked my suit on all the way. He still had over a year left in the Patrol. Maybe by then I’d be ready to think about marriage. I wasn’t ready yet. And I was smart enough to know it.

  I left the nightgown on top of the cleaner. I fetched my boots from the sitting room. They were next to the couch where I’d left them the night before. I folded the blanket and left it on the couch.

  Martha was alone in the kitchen, stirring something. She looked up when I came in. "Got it figured?"

  I shook my head. "Not hardly."

  She smiled and measured spice into her bowl. "Heber should be here in about an hour. Jervos took the others out to show them his tractor. Fool thing’s been broke for months. He keeps tinkering, hoping he’ll get it fixed eventually. He should have sold it to Zeb last spring when it would still start."

  I walked out through the door onto the porch. The sun was bright. The shade was cool and welcome. Tayvis and Jerimon were near the barn next to a tractor. Several animals I thought I recognized as cows stood in a nearby field, watching them. I could just see Jervos as he bent inside the open engine housing.

  He backed out and climbed onto the seat. The engine made coughing noises and sputtered. Tayvis and Jerimon both acted like they knew what they were doing. They leaned over the engine and prodded it.

  It was clear enough to me what was wrong. The fuel source had been contaminated. The lines were
clogged. It also sounded out of tune. Someone had messed with it and turned the fuel mix too rich.

  I couldn’t stay on the porch. My fingers itched to fix that tractor. I felt a very strong need to prove I was in control of something. Fixing a tractor engine was better than standing around and feeling helpless. All three men were poking it when I walked up.

  "Try twisting this a bit further," Jerimon said and reached into the engine.

  I peered over his shoulder. From what I saw of the engine, it was pretty simple. Compared to a sublight engine, most engines are simple.

  "Twist it any farther and you’ll shut off the oil," I said. "Unless you’re trying to burn up the gears."

  Jerimon pulled his hand back, acting as if he knew that all along. Jervos gave me a measuring stare as he wiped grease off his hands. Tayvis didn’t say anything.

  "I still think it’s that electrical switch over there," Jerimon said and pointed at the fuel pressure gauge.

  "It sounds like your fuel is contaminated," I said. "And the throttle is adjusted wrong."

  "Showoff," Jerimon muttered as he stepped back.

  I reached into the engine and tweaked a few knobs. "Got a driver?" I asked over my shoulder.

  Jervos handed me one. He watched me, a speculative gleam in his eye.

  I twiddled a few more things and checked the fuel lines. One was partially disconnected. I popped it back on and tightened the gasket.

  "Try that," I said.

  Jervos climbed up and punched the starter. The engine coughed and roared to life. It promptly died again, spewing out a cloud of white smoke in the process.

  I checked back under the housing. "You’ve got dirt or oil in the lines." Jervos leaned over my shoulder. I traced out the feed lines. "You should pull those and rinse them really well. And get a better grade of fuel." I used the driver and popped one of the hoses free. A dribble of dark liquid poured out. I caught a bit on one finger. It was gritty.