Secrets Vol 2

by DeSalvo-Hamre-Knight-Paul

  Which she might soon be, after Henry took the second access tube back to her quarters.

  Elise lifted her head. "Roarke, you'd..."

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  The corridor door slid open, revealing two figures in black and gray CSS boarding armor. The visor of one of the suits slid back, revealing Henry Voronnin's familiar face, twisted in an alien expression of rage. "Damn you, Roarke, why won't you kill her? Are you that hot for her narrow little ass?"

  "Henry," Elise growled, "you treacherous..."

  Before she could open her mouth again, Roarke swept her out of her chair with one hand and tossed her into the corner. Her head struck the bulkhead with the force of his enhanced strength. Sparks exploded in a white-hot burst of pain.

  ******************

  Roarke dove after her, spinning to place himself between her and the mutineers. It was a risky move, literally backing himself into a corner, but he knew if he'd tried to defend her any other way. one of them would maneuver to his rear and take her. Triggering his radio implant, he barked, "Yo, get a crew down here! The goddamned escapees are in Elise's quarters!"

  The smaller of the two promptly turned and rammed his fist into the bulkhead beside the door. Sparks showered. He turned and served the door to Elise's quarters the same.

  "Your rescuers won't be getting in that way, Roarke," Henry told him over the sound of rending metal. "Not without a beamer torch and an hour's work, anyway." The big man edged toward him. "Let us have the captain, and we'll discuss this."

  Roarke's lips pulled back in a snarl. "Go to hell."

  "Be reasonable. There are two of us, and you don't even have your helmet. One good head shot, and your brains are all over the bulkhead. Either way, I'm going to kill her. Why die too?"

  For a moment Roarke could see it: Elise, helpless in the merciless armored grip of these bastards. Rage scalded him. "Fuck you, Voronnin."

  "I'll get her. One way or another." He was swinging his fist in a blurring roundhouse before his faceplate even had time to close.

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  Roarke blocked it away from his bare head and slammed out a counter punch. It struck Voronnin square in the chest, and he staggered, only to rear back and drive a kick right at Roarke's belly.

  His first impulse was to dance aside, but Roarke caught himself at the last moment. He couldn't leave Elise unprotected. He swept down a block instead.

  Too late. The booted foot hit him like a meteor. Even with the protection of his armor, the impact rammed into his belly with sickening force. Roarke gasped for breath, fighting to keep on his feet and avoid being knocked into Elise, knowing he could easily crush her even as he tried to keep her alive.

  Recovering his balance, he growled and shot two rapid-fire punches at Voronnin's faceplate. The assassin blocked the first, but the second staggered him.

  Not daring to press his advantage for fear of leaving Elise vulnerable, Roarke stayed in his corner and waited for the next attack.

  ******************

  Woozily, Elise shook her head, blinking away the dancing gray spots that filled her vision. She must have blacked out for a moment. Something broad and hard was pressed against her, wedging her into a corner so tightly she could barely breathe. She heard Roarke curse viciously over a rhythmic series of crunches, the sound of something hard slamming and grinding into something that clanked and scraped with each blow. Still dazed, Elise pressed her forehead against what she suddenly realized was Roarke's armored back, and him shudder with impact. It was then that she recognized the pounds: hand-to-hand combat in armor.

  Desperately she shook her head again, trying to make sense of the situation despite the hammer strokes of headache that made thought all but impossible. They were backed into a corner. It was the worst possible tactical position; Roarke couldn't maneuver at all. Why didn't he move, get room enough to defend himself?

  The last of the mental fog burned away as she realized Roarke

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  must be guarding her. Because if he didn't, Henry Voronnin would murder her like a child pulling the wings off a bug.

  Looking up, she saw Roarke blocking punch after punch away from his head.

  Damn. He couldn't keep that up. He was going to get himself killed trying to keep her alive. Stupid, quixotic...

  What was she supposed to do without him?

  Something hard closed around her ankle. Jerked, pulling her down and out. Elise yelled and grabbed for Roarke, but her hands slipped down the chill, smooth metal of his armor. She hit the deck hard, and her captor dragged her out of her corner, right past Roarke's leg, scraping off a layer of skin on his knee joint as she passed.

  Roarke glanced down, saw what was happening and swore, grabbing for her, but a punch from Voronnin drove him back into the bulkhead.

  A gauntleted hand closed brutally tight over her throat and jerked her to her feet. Elise gasped, fighting to breathe, clawing uselessly at the arm that held her. Gagging, she stared into the polarized plastic of her assailant's faceplate.

  The visor slid back, revealing the smug, malicious features of Lt. Gloria Price. "Hello, Captain. Looks like I finally got you just where I want you."

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  In frustrated rage, Roarke watched the second assassin drag Elise out of reach. He had to get her back before the bastard killed her.

  Something blurred toward his face. He blocked it automatically, knocking aside yet another lethal Voronnin punch. Cursing under his breath, Roarke realized he'd have to take care of that treacherous son of a bitch first. Knowing he needed maneuvering room to do it, he lunged out of the corner, slamming a one-two combination into Voronnin's faceplate as he went by. The tough, armored plastisteel was designed to take a lot of abuse, but if you hammered at it long enough, it would give.

  And that was just what Roarke meant to do.

  He circled his hulking opponent, forcing himself to forget Elise's peril for the moment. It was difficult using martial arts techniques that called for agility in bulky boarding armor, but still he twisted his body into a powerful spinning kick targeted at Voronnin's skull.

  With a roar of fury Roarke could hear even through the helmet, the big man grabbed his leg before the strike landed. Jerking straight up, Voronnin dumped him hard on his back, then stomped viciously down into his belly. Pain choked him, sickening and black. Voronnin drew back for another kick, but this time Roarke caught his boot. Clamping his other hand into his foe's knee, Roarke picked him up and hurled him away. Voronnin slammed into the bulkhead.

  Rolling, Roarke sprang for him in a low, flat dive, managing to score another hard punch to the faceplate just as Voronnin landed a bruising kick between his ribs. But the helmet didn't give.

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  He just prayed Elise would still be alive by the time it did.

  ******************

  Black spots danced in front of Elise's vision as Price's ruthless grip cut off her oxygen. Even as she pounded the traitor's arms in an effort to break her hold, Elise realized she was deliberately spinning the assault out. In the suit, Price could have easily crushed her throat with one hard squeeze. Evidently she was enjoying herself too much to make it quick.

  Elise's blows weakened as her strength drained rapidly. Even the pain was fading, drowned in a rising tide of darkness. With a sensation of mild surprise, she realized she was dying.

  Abruptly the vicious grip relaxed. Wheezing, Elise choked down a gulp of air.

  "Oh, Captain—I just remembered," the blonde said, malice in her cold blue eyes. Elise didn't stir, hanging limp as she concentrated on breathing. Price gave her a quick, hard shake. "Wake up, Captain, you need to hear this. There's a message Admiral Scordillis told me to convey before you died. Are you still there?"

  She managed a weak kick in the traitor's general direction.

  "Good. Listen carefully now: your father is dead. The CSS had him assassinated a week ago. You're the last Morrell left
alive. And soon.. .there won't be any of you."

  ******************

  Roarke managed to work his opponent into the same corner he'd just vacated, but he paid for it. Voronnin hammered a trio of blows into his torso so powerful the armor couldn't absorb that much force. Pain hammered him, and something grated ominously in his ribs. Cracked, Roarke thought grimly. Perhaps worse. He tried to back away, but sensing his weakness Voronnin stalked him, drawing back his fist for another pile-driver punch to the ribs.

  Roarke automatically blocked—only to realize at the last instant the strike was a feint.

  He looked up to see a huge fist coming right at his face.

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  Instinctively Roarke ducked, grabbing the arm as it passed overhead. Continuing the arc, he jerked forward and down. Voronnin went airborne and slammed head first into the bulkhead behind him. Plastisteel crunched. The assassin rebounded off the wall and slowly toppled.

  Holding his abused ribs, Roarke cautiously moved close enough to see Voronnin's face. Through the shattered visor, his opponent's face was slack, eyes closed.

  One down, Roarke thought grimly.

  ******************

  Elise stared at the blonde in stunned horror.

  Obviously relishing her anguish, Price explained, "The Admiral suspected you might decide to step into your father's position with the Reform movement. That's why you've got to die." Smiling sweetly, she let go of Elise's throat so she could catch her by the shoulder instead. She drew back an armored fist that could shatter her captain's skull. "Any final words for the Admiral, Captain?"

  Elise coughed. "Yes," she choked out. Her voice was barely a whisper, sandpaper rough. "Abort Omega Code Zero."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Price scowled, irritated. "If you're trying to stall..."

  She broke off as her body snapped out to its full height, jerked rigid as though by invisible strings. Her hands fell away from Elise and slapped down at her sides. Price's eyes widened. "What?" Her head snapped back and forth in her helmet, but other than that, she didn't move at all.

  She couldn't.

  Despite the agony in her throat, Elise felt a feral grin slide across her lips.

  "What the hell is going on?" Price demanded, her voice spiraling into a screech. "What did you do?"

  "I was..." Elise had to stop and swallow to get her abused vocal cords to work, but she still couldn't manage anything louder than a whisper. ".. .expecting something like this from you. A month ago I

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  programmed your onboard suit computer to lock the armor down at my command." Watching fear swamp Price's eyes as the blonde realized just how throughly she was trapped, Elise felt her grin broaden. "You know, I do have a message for Scordillis. Tell him I resign." Slowly, she drew back her fist.

  "Captain...!"

  The punch landed squarely on Price's patrician nose. Blood spurted, accompanied by a satisfying howl.

  "You have such a way with words." Roarke said into Elise's ear.

  "I try." She redirected her triumphant grin over her shoulder at him.

  Ignoring Price's nasal curses, he shook his head. "Here I was, desperately trying to finish that bastard Voronnin off in time to save you, unarmed and supposedly helpless as you are. I should have known better. You wouldn't be helpless stark naked in a tiger cage."

  Refusing to subject her abused throat with any more attempts at speech, Elise smiled tightly.

  Roarke frowned and put out a hand to lift her chin, tilting her head back so he could see her throat. "Let's see that.. .Elise, you've got her fingerprints branded into your throat. I'm amazed you can talk at all. Are you all right?"

  "Fine," she rasped. As fine as she could be, anyway, under the circumstances.

  He shot her a worried look, obviously doubting it. "Let me call my crew and see how they're doing with the door. We need to get you to a medic." Looking away from her, he said into his implant, "How are you coming with that laser torch, Yo?"

  As Roarke talked to his people, Elise's attention fell on Henry, still sprawled unconscious on his back. His helmet faceplate was shattered into jagged chunks.

  Taking a step toward him, she felt something roll under her foot. She looked down and saw she'd stepped on the neurowhip, lying where Roarke had apparently dropped it. Elise picked it up and absently began to twist the setting rings as she moved to stand over

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  her former friend.

  "What happened to you, Henry," she murmured. "And why didn't I realize it?"

  His eyes opened. "You always did underestimate me."

  His hand flashed upward and dug into the waistband of her coveralls. The next moment she was on top of him and his huge hand was wrapped around her head. Slowly, he began to twist.

  Elise gritted, "Planning to break my neck, Henry?"

  "Yeah." His grip tightened. "Sorry, Captain."

  She rammed the neurowhip through the hole in his faceplate and activated it. He howled, his massive body arching under her, his hand tightening convulsively on her head. Teeth clenched, she held the whip where it was.

  The deck plate boomed in her ear as something heavy hit the ground beside them. Fingers closed over Henry's, fighting to pry I them away. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw Roarke's white, desperate face as he fought to keep Henry from twisting her head any further. Pain lanced up and down Elise's neck, and she screamed as the pain spiraled, her voice blending with Henry's bellow. She felt bone grate just as Roarke finally managed to jerk Voronnin's hand away, scraping off a layer of skin in the process.

  Henry's bellow cut off.

  "I should have killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance," Roarke panted into the sudden silence. Reaching down, he tenderly pulled Elise away from her would-be killer.

  "S' okay," Elise rasped, looking down at Henry. His eyes were fixed, I staring. Dead. "I thought neurowhips weren't supposed to kill."

  “They're not" Roarke frowned at the body. "Though I do think I heard something about not bringing them in contact with the victim's head..." Glancing at the readout of the whip she still held, he flinched. "Not at that setting, anyway."

  Elise looked down. All three readings were redlined. Horror wound tight in her. "Evidently," she whispered.

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  ******************

  Elise made a soft sound. Roarke looked quickly over at her, scanning her as she lay on the regrowth couch a few feet away. He'd ended up in Sickbay with her when the medic discovered the interesting fractures in his ribs.

  The desolation on her face tore at him. "You had no choice, Elise, you know that. He was going to kill you."

  She shot him a blank look, as though it was taking her a moment to remember who he was talking about. At last she shook her head, pale strands shifting around her shoulders under the gold light cast by the medifield. "It's not that." Elise hesitated. "Roarke, the CSS had my father assassinated."

  He blinked. "You're that Morrell?"

  "Didn't you know?"

  "The dossier I had on you was fairly sketchy."

  She nodded, then fell silent again.

  He studied her. Her face was too pale, suffering etching the delicate features and pulling her lush mouth tight. Yet her eyes were dry. "You've seen news stories then?" she asked at last.

  "Yes."

  "How did they do it?"

  Roarke hesitated, then admitted reluctantly, "A sniper from ambush. I understand he died instantly. They're claiming a rival member of the Reformists hired the assassin."

  "They would."

  "I'm sorry, Elise."

  "I know." She paused. "When the medic releases us, there's something I want to show you."

  He nodded and allowed the silence to claim her again.

  ******************

  An hour later, they stood in a gravity lock and waited for it to cycle. Slowly, Roarke felt his body becoming lighter as the gravity

 
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  in the cubical decreased until his feet left the deck altogether. The opposite hatch opened, and Elise pushed off, drifting out of the lock to catch at a padded perch in the tank beyond. Roarke followed more slowly, scanning the area with his habitual caution.

  It looked just like the ZG tank on the Liberator. Designed to allow crew to practice zero gravity fighting skills, it was outfitted with a number of hoop-shaped perches that projected from the smooth, curving walls. Vid projectors allowed the occupants to program whatever background they chose for three-dimensional display on the tank walls; Elise had chosen a scene of the Earth from orbit. Roarke stared hungrily. He hadn't seen the home world since the war started, and he doubted he'd ever see it again. It was as chokingly beautiful as always, a lovely blue globe splashed with green and ocher, swirled with blinding cloud cover.

  "Before we started this mission, while the Raker was still in orbit around Earth, my father came up for a visit," Elise said softly, "I brought him in here and had the computer relay a sensor image to the projectors. This is a recording of that image." Her voice dropped. "He said Earth had never been more beautiful to him, because he was seeing it from the deck of my ship. Since then, I've been coming here whenever I felt the need for his guidance. It makes.. .made me feel close to him."

  "I can't think of a better remembrance." His voice was a bit too husky, and he cleared his throat. He felt a sudden, vicious desire to hunt Frank Scordillis down and kill him for her.

  "My father thought the Rebellion was wrong, you know." Elise brought her feet around so she could perch on the handhold. "He believed the only real route to change was from within. Otherwise you just exchange one dictator for another."

  Roarke scowled. "The Rebellion is a democracy, not a dictatorship. We've already ratified a constitution."

  "I know." She let go of her handhold and hung in the air for a moment, letting herself float. "As much as I loved him, I've come to