by Chris Reher
“Who is aware of this situation?” Factor Coyle asked.
“Factor Baroch issued a gag order. As far as I know, only two Vanguard officers and Shan Jelani know that the boy is missing. The school isn’t about to advertise that they let him disappear and they have been directed to keep it that way. We don’t know how much the kidnappers know of the boy’s nature.” He glanced at Baroch. “And we have no way of knowing who on Delphi does.”
“Apparently Jelani does,” Baroch said. “You mentioned that one of the officers is the boy’s father?”
“Yes, Factor. Major Tychon.”
“Where is his mother in all this?”
“Deceased, sire.”
Baroch winced.
“Do you have any leads on who took the child?”
Carras nodded. He stepped out of the way to let them watch excerpts from the school’s security video that he now displayed on a nearby screen. A camera had captured the trio of strangers walking down a hallway with a school staff member. Unmistakable among them was a Caspian, his visible skin covered in blond hair as dense and short as that of a horse. When they passed the camera, he lifted his eerily elongated head to smile at them. One of his yellow eyes winked slowly.
“That rogue!” Coyle exclaimed.
Some of the others also grumbled at the affront.
Carras froze the video and pointed at the Caspian. “Pe Khoja, one of Tharron’s closest associates. We assume that the K’lar woman is there to look after the boy which gives me hope that they mean him no harm. She is not known to us. The Human is also one of Tharron’s men. As you can see, Pe Khoja does not care if we know of his involvement in this.”
“That much is clear,” Baroch said. "Please wait outside, Colonel, while we debate this matter."
Carras let himself out of the room and waited impatiently in the stark antechamber, surrounded by stone-faced guards. He had hoped to deliver his report and then be dismissed. Surely, the Ten employed agents who would know how to find a child hostage among the enemy. This would allow him to forbid Tychon and Nova to search for the boy, leaving the matter to those who could remain impartial. It would be better that way.
He paced, knowing that his involvement with the Tughan was only beginning. The news of his existence would have to remain a secret, not only to avoid panic but also to avoid further strain on the Union's relations with Delphi. And he, Carras, already knew of it. And he, Carras, commanded a squadron of agents that were considered to be the Union's best, the only cohesive group that could be trusted to keep this secret a secret. And two of those already knew of the Tughan. The same two that could identify the boy at a glance. Vanguard Seven.
Carras mopped his brow, sweating profusely. Had anything in his past career prepared him for a mission such as this? Was his Vanguard prepared? They had studied Tharron until they knew his past and present like they knew their own. They knew where he employed his rag-tag armies and who his associates were. They recognized his voice and could recognize his face in a crowd of K'lars. It was all that his Vanguard were employed to do: Destroy Tharron and, until that was accomplished, discover his bases, towns, advisors and hangers-on. Anticipate his moves and foil his efforts to damage the Union Commonwealth. Tharron was the only reason that the army was such a vast and expensive organization in Trans-Targon. Anywhere else in the Commonwealth peace prevailed and power struggles were carried out most civilly by huge trade conglomerates and combines, politicians and shipping magnates.
And now, all of this, their entire glorious Union, was threatened by a single madman who would soon control all of it if not stopped. Air Command's vast reserves of men and weapons ceased to matter. They may as well send everyone home.
Carras forced himself to stop pacing and peered intently into the faces of the guards lining the walls of this room. Stalwart. Unmoving. He suspected that they had been genetically engineered, bred and trained for their duty to the Factors. What use was this now? Guards, guns, planes, all toys now. Who would throw pebbles to stop a charging bull?
When Carras heard the knock on the inside door, he knew that the leaders would have come to the same conclusion as he had, as Tychon had days ago as they discussed their options aboard the Eagle. There were precious few choices left. They would try to stop the bull or die trying. There was nothing else to do. And he was the boy with the pebbles.
He entered the room and waited while it was resealed, feeling the silence descend over the chamber to drop heavily on his ears.
"Carras," Baroch said as though he had never left the room. "You will employ your agents to locate the boy but we cannot approve a large scale operation. If this Tughan works as intended, we no longer outgun Tharron and so this will remain a covert operation. We will expect progress reports within weeks. We recognize that lives are at stake. Perhaps many lives. Your agents will attempt to liberate the Tughan and return him to Delphi before you try to take him by force. Failing that, you will take immediate action to disable the Tughan in any manner you see fit. Tharron must not be given the opportunity to test its design. Do you understand?"
Carras nodded. Of course he understood. He bared his teeth in a grimace of disgust.
"Of course, we would prefer to gain control of the Tughan Wai. The research opportunity would be of value." Baroch's brittle skin wrinkled around blue lips as he smiled at this understatement. "We trust that you will manage this operation without needing to divulge its nature to anyone but your Vanguard. You are given unlimited clearance. However, anti-Union sentiment is strong on Delphi. We cannot risk our position there by restricting their Shantirs, as you had suggested.”
Carras nodded, inwardly wishing the pox on all politicians and their kin.
"Good. I am going to oversee this operation. Please report to me as soon as any progress has been made." Baroch waved a dismissal.
Carras stomped out of the room, a seasoned warrior, nearing his honorable retirement, now officially responsible for the military balance for all of Trans-Targon! He cursed the day that had made him an officer.
Chapter Seven
“I would have appreciated a meeting in little more… wholesome surroundings,” Jelani sniffed disapprovingly. He looked up at the Terran who had brought him here, then at the Caspian sitting across the table.
Pe Khoja studied the Delphian through half-closed lids. Pinched, aristocratic face with a beak of a nose. A voice that grated. Not so young anymore; Pe Khoja judged him to be third, maybe even fourth quarter. Skin of the left forefinger worn-looking as if from the chafe of a heavy ring worn for years. Maybe the sort of ring worn by Shantirs.
He slumped deep into his seat and drew a knee up against the edge of the table. His eyes searched through the noisy, surging crowd around them, seeing no one loiter, no one watching. If there were any Union agents here, they were well concealed. The nervous Delphian before him sat erect in a crowd of slouchers, eyeing a brawlsome group of travelers at a nearby table as if he expected an imminent assault. He looked out of place here in Feron’s only public airport and interstellar launch.
It took hard-earned experience to distinguish ticket-holding commuters from the riffraff of thieves, panhandlers and whores. Moneyed people used Feron’s Union-owned airdrome on the other side of the glaring, blaring city. No one ever came here to stay. It was a stopover at best. A fortunate few used the launch to leave this place forever. For Pe Khoja, the mining planet was a place to meet pirates and renegades, his most valuable contacts. When possible, he avoided it altogether.
He glanced up at the pilot that had delivered Jelani. “Get lost.”
Fynn Bridger looked from him to the Delphian and then moved away, his eyes on the surging crowd around them.
“This will do for our first date,” Pe Khoja said to Jelani. “Now tell me why a Delphian is looking for the likes of me.”
“That man is paid to guard me,” Jelani objected. “Who knows what felons frequent this place.” Jelani did not bother to explain that Fynn Bridger had sought him out aft
er Jelani had spent three days in bumbling attempts to find someone in the lower holds of Targon with some sort of connection to the rebel. He had practically dragged Jelani out of the crew quarters before someone could wonder why, of all people, a Delphian elder was haunting those crude halls. Jelani suspected that the pilot had his own reasons for wanting to leave Targon. Now AWOL and flying a hired ship, returning there was not an option.
Pe Khoja observed the Delphian curiously. Clearly, the man had no idea who was hosting this particular interview. “You get to keep him, no worries,” he said. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“Entertain me.”
“I have something that Tharron needs,” Jelani said. “I know you have the boy. I have the means to make him useful to you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Look,” Jelani said. He shrank back when a trio of Genen bipeds lurched past their table, shrieking something akin to laughter. Malodorous fumes wafted into his nostrils and he suddenly felt the need for a bath. He closed his eyes, meditating, shutting out his unwholesome surroundings. He drifted into a state of mind that let him block out everything except the rebel in front of him. “I may not be the sort of person you are used to dealing with, but you should not underestimate me. You want the Tughan and I can give him to you. You’ll not get such an offer from anyone else.”
Pe Khoja leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “That is the part that confuses me, Shantir. Share with me the reasons why you, a Delphian, take up with yonder deserter over there,” he gestured toward Fynn, “and travel all the way out here to offer us your services.”
“My reasons are my own!” Jelani exclaimed. “You can take my offer or not. If not, I’ll thank you for your time and be on my way.”
The Caspian regarded him for several moments before throwing his head back in a bellow of laughter that had nearby travelers turning their heads. He sobered, still chuckling in amusement, when one of his men approached him. “Delphi, you are so very much past that option already.” He waved Jelani’s panicked reply aside to study a small screen that was being shown to him.
The data concerned the Terran pilot that had brought the Shantir here to Feron. He had been photographed and identified and Pe Khoja read the information with growing interest. Undistinguished record, long list of transgressions and misdemeanors, questionable associations, frequent transfers from one command to the next. Hunter Class pilot and exceptional marksman. Perfect, Pe Khoja thought. Then another item caught his eye. He glanced up at his aide. “Really?” The information listed among the pilot’s past and close associates one Captain Nova Whiteside.
“Confirmed.”
Pe Khoja grinned, showing sharp teeth. Tharron had not been pleased to learn that Whiteside, long a thorn in his side, had been assigned to the boy’s father. No doubt she was using her considerable tenacity at this very moment to try to track them down. She had become a symbol of Union presence to their K’lar leader and he blamed her even for events in which she had had no part at all. It seemed that whenever one of their schemes failed or was foiled by the Union, Whiteside was sure to be listed among the reasons. And now her old boyfriend was applying for a job. This might be fun.
He turned his attention back to the Delphian. “Tharron will want some sort of proof that you are sincere, wizard. For all we know, the Union sent you to spy on us and play your mental tricks with us all.” Pe Khoja groaned inwardly for having voiced such nonsense.
Jelani bristled. “I assure you I am sincere. I care nothing about Union dealings.”
The Caspian pretended to ponder a while. “We’ll make this simple. You tell me where we can find Nova Whiteside and I’ll take that as proof that we can trust you.”
Jelani gasped. “Nova… What does this have to do with the Captain?”
“Nothing. We’d just like to know where she is.”
“So you can murder her.”
“It’s what we do.”
Jelani shifted in his chair and cast his eyes around the concourse for some way of starting this whole sorry day over again. This had all gone too fast! He had meant to make inquiries, perhaps get some information from one of the rebels embedded among the Union pilots on Targon. Maybe send out some signals that he was interested in taking a closer look at the Tughan-to-be. Instead, Fynn Bridger had bundled him onto a cramped and filth-encrusted cruiser and shipped him all the way out to Feron, barely speaking throughout the two-jump journey it took to get here. And here he was. With this Caspian who was surely no minor follower among Tharron’s men. It had not taken Pe Khoja’s threat to make clear that there was no turning back from here.
He squared his shoulders. It mattered nothing. There was no price too high to pay for finding Kiran.
“The Captain is irrelevant to me,” he said. “They left days ago with the Colonel on some errand. I know not what. After that they will be on Magra until a transport from the Outland comes in.”
“Tychon is with her?”
“You asked about the Captain!”
Pe Khoja stood up and waved to his men to keep an eye on the Delphian while he sauntered over to where Fynn Bridger loitered. He leaned casually against a pillar and regarded the Human silently. Brawn, enough scars to evidence some hands-on experience, probably not a lot of scruples, if judged by his records. His visible weapons were excellent and well cared-for.
Fynn returned his stare. “See something?”
“Not so far,” Pe Khoja said. “Quinlan vouched for you. What do you want from us?”
“Not a damn thing. I want out of Targon. Out of the Union. You need pilots.”
“We do.”
“So am I in?”
Pe Khoja put his hand on the man’s shoulder and steered him back toward Jelani. “I have a job for you,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”
Chapter Eight
Five days after the council on Coup d'Oeil, the Eagle brought Nova down onto the airfields of Deen. By unspoken agreement, this Magran city was frequented by Union personnel just as another city received Tharron's planes. Parts of the planet were eternally at war and not at all opposed to using the larger conflict between Union and rebel to their advantage. Corruption ruled the distribution of smuggled weapons on both sides and few of the main continents were unaffected by the ravages these battles wrought.
Nova arranged for the servicing of the ship by a trusted outfit that called itself Extra Spatial and borrowed a skimmer from the owner, soon on her way along the coast to where Tychon and his group waited.
She had hoped that the drive along the pretty countryside would ease her apprehension and the suffocating feeling that something dark and ominous hovered just over her shoulder. The lonely trip back from Targon had offered few distractions from the nagging sense of doom that had come aboard as soon as Colonel Carras had disembarked.
Although she had dreaded a two-day confinement aboard the small ship with the Colonel on the way back from Coup d'Oeil, it had been interesting. He used the time working on whatever it was that didn't concern junior officers but they had also spent hours poring over intelligence reports, contacting remote outposts, reviewing files about the more important rebel leaders and trading bits of non-restricted information with Tychon for as long as he was in communication range. Systematically, they eliminated a number of locations as being too remote or too inhospitable, sympathizers with too much at stake, governments too beholden to the Union to want to harbor a stolen Delphian child, for whatever reason.
Carras arranged to have Anders Devaughn placed under his command. Given Anders' position on Delphi, he would be able to monitor the movements of the Shantirs who had no means of leaving the planet without using the Union base. For his part, Jelani readily agreed that none of the Shantirs that knew of Kiran's design must know of his disappearance. If asked, he would maintain the fiction that Tychon still kept the boy hidden and refused to return him to the Court.
Carras had emerged from Tychon's cab
in as they were approaching Targon, carrying his travel kit. He dropped it near the cargo bay door and came onto the main room.
"Captain," he said. "Please join me up here."
She left the cockpit. "There's not even time for tea. We're practically in orbit."
He shook his head and sat on one of the map table chairs. "I have to thank you for an enjoyable few days, Captain. Major Tychon is correct in his assessment of you and I'm glad to have you on my Vanguard."
"Thank you, sir. I've learned a lot from both of you."
He took his wrist array and sidearm from where he had left them on the map table and fussed with their adjustment. "I've studied you, too, over these past few days," he said finally. "Well, I've studied you since you joined my Vanguard."
"Yes..." she began, mystified and a little disturbed by his solemn demeanor.
"Your loyalty to the Union is absolute; you follow orders without question, even if they don't reflect your own views. You have no trouble expressing those, as I've experienced myself, but you don't deviate from a directive."
"No, of course not, sir."
"You have shown that you can carry out an order under duress and even those that never appear on any official record. The Naiya incident was a tough test of your loyalties. I'm familiar with some of the... the actions you've taken part of on Bellac and Ud-Mrak."
She said nothing. There was nothing to say. What was he getting at? Whatever it was, he spoke to her as a superior officer, not the man looking for a cup of tea before landing. She realized that, as he had talked, she had squared her shoulders, feet firmly planted, her hands clasped behind her back.
"I am going to give you an order, Captain."
"Yessir."
"It could take weeks or months before we can get even a hunch about where the boy is being held. But I believe that we will find him. We have as many spies and scouts in Tharron's camp as he does in ours."