Starhold's Fate (Starhold Series Book 4)

by J. Alan Field

  “Sleep,” he said with a tired grin. As she waited for a serious answer, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead. You?”

  “I’m resigning my commission,” she said in a low voice. He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued. “Remember back when I used to be Queen of the Daze? In the old days, aboard Tempest, we could pop in and out of hyperspace a hundred times and I was as good as gold after each jump. Well, it’s all caught up with me.”

  This took him off-guard. “I know you’ve been having trouble with some translation illness lately, but…”

  Nyondo shook her head. “Not just lately. It’s been going on for some time now. I finally had the docs check me out.”

  “Phase Fatigue?” he guessed. “But that usually begins much earlier in a spacer’s career, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’m the exception. My body is breaking down from the movement in and out of normal space. What are the stats? One in fifty spacers? Well, I’m the one. Based on my initial tests, the docs are telling me that I still have some time, but I need to get out soon. I love traveling the Black, but I’m not willing to die for it.”

  “Of course not. Sunny, I’m so sorry.”

  “I just thought you should know. Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I’m ready to make a change. I’ve loved my Space Force career, but I can do other things. Actually, after what happened that last day on Tempest, I think maybe it’s time to move on to another life. Sometimes, this one is just too hard.”

  He stood, his hands reaching out to take hers.

  “I will always be there for you, you know that.”

  The corners of her lips turned upward into a lovely smile. “That helps—it really does.”

  They embraced, each holding the other gently, carefully, as if one of them might break. As the moments crawled by, their arms grew comfortable wrapped around each other. Pettigrew pulled her even closer, held her even tighter. Thoughts of her leaving, thoughts of being away from her again were beginning to overwhelm him.

  It abruptly crossed his mind that she might back off, that he was making an unforgivable mistake. Her body said no. Nyondo clutched to him tightly, resting her head against his shoulders. They stood motionless, blissfully entwined for minutes. It was so serene, so right.

  He placed his hand on the back of her neck as she lifted her head to face him.

  “Sunny, I know this is a hell of a time to say this, but I—”

  She quickly reached up, placing a finger against his lips.

  “Don’t jinx it,” she said softly. “Don’t you dare jinx it.”

  Their lips moved close together, almost touching.

  “Mullenhoff to Pettigrew—Chaz, please respond!”

  “Damn you, woman!” cursed Nyondo softly as her head jerked back.

  “Pettigrew here,” he said firmly so that the intraship PA could hear him.

  Mullenhoff’s voice was tense. “Admiral, the Massang have started to power up the Threshold. It looks like this is it. I estimate it will take them ten standard hours to bring everything online. If you intend to move against them, we need to go now.”

  19: The Manor

  Prosperity City

  Pontus

  “What are we doing here?” asked Lin as the three of them entered an old school building. The facility had been abandoned years ago, but never torn down because the locals were still squabbling about what to do with the land it stood upon.

  “Staging area,” said Carr. “This building is ideal. It’s on the same side of town as our target and we can gear up inside and out of sight.”

  As Carr, Sanchez, and Lin walked into the school’s leaky gymnasium, dozens of uniformed men and women were mulling around. Most were busy with last minute equipment checks and other details, so they paid little attention to the new arrivals. One man, however, took note.

  “There they are!” called out Lieutenant McDowell when he spied the trio. Walking briskly toward them, McDowell was accompanied by a woman wearing a different type of uniform and a stern expression on her face.

  “Major Carr, Commander Sanchez—and Ms. Lin,” McDowell started, belatedly acknowledging their newfound comrade. “This is Chief Inspector Abbasi of the Prosperity City Police Bureau.” The tall, handsome woman said nothing, making only a grudging nod of scant courtesy.

  Carr returned the gesture but Sanchez did not, opting to walk away instead.

  “My wife and I have already met the Chief Inspector,” admitted Carr. “She wasn’t any more thrilled to see us on that occasion.” Police officials are rarely in a good mood following a motorcycle chase and shooting spree through the streets of their city.

  “I am here on instructions from my government,” said Abbasi stiffly. “Personally, I can’t wait until all of you leave Pontus.”

  Lin looked around the gym. “Carr, there are a lot more bodies here than just your Marine platoon. Who are the others?”

  Carr locked his eyes onto Lin. “The Pontians have loaned us a few of their own Special Ops people. I think your boss is going to be surprised.”

  Sanchez suddenly reappeared, grabbing Lin from the back and roughly jerking the smaller woman’s arms behind her back. McDowell swiftly produced a pair of handcuffs, slapping them around Lin’s wrists as he took charge of the squirming woman.

  “What the hell?” she squealed as Sanchez reached into Lin’s coat and removed a pistol, then continued to pat her down, searching for more weapons.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Lin. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s the end,” said Sanchez. “What does it look like?”

  Carr moved in front of the struggling woman. “You once told us that you were loyal to a man, not a flag. But that man isn’t Admiral Bettencourt, is it? You were talking about Samson Dansby.”

  “Carr, have you lost your mind?” Lin snarled.

  “Some days I think I have—but not today. I wanted to do some research on Colonel Dansby, so I uplinked to the old Commonwealth database through the computers on Dagger. I learned a lot about the incident at Caswell Station and how Dansby worked with a young intelligence officer to infiltrate and capture the terrorists who had seized the station—just before he summarily executed them all. That was when you first met him, wasn’t it?”

  “And the murders in Beetle’s brothel,” said Sanchez as she rose beside Lin, holding a knife that had been strapped to the woman under one pant leg. “You did that. Dansby had had enough of Beetle Dash. The fool had outlived his usefulness.”

  “You made a big mistake that day in the safe house,” Carr continued. “When you described the attack on the brothel, you stated precisely how many girls had died. Five girls you said, but you also claimed that you turned and ran after seeing Beetle lying dead on the floor in the foyer. If you only went inside as far as the foyer, how did you know exactly how many girls had been murdered?”

  “I don’t remember how I knew it was five,” plead Lin. “I probably saw it on my mobile, on the Nets while I was resting.”

  “No, you didn’t. The police kept a lid on that story for one full day. It didn’t even make the Nets until after you slipped through the safe house window to run back and report to Dansby. The reason you knew five girls were dead is because you killed them, and Beetle, and everyone else up there.”

  “And the killings themselves. We reviewed the Pontian police reports. Everyone was killed by gunfire, except Beetle. His throat was slit, just like the time that girl came back from Dansby’s camp to warn Bettencourt. Maybe you did it with this,” said Sanchez holding up the knife she found on Lin’s leg. “I wonder how much DNA can be gleaned from this blade?”

  “You must really have hated Beetle,” said Carr. “Seeing how he treated you, I can understand why. After you slit his throat, you turned the knife on yourself, then came downstairs to our suite. You needed to get in good with us to learn how much we knew. How better to do it than becoming a victim?”

&
nbsp; “Stabbing yourself—that was really ballsy,” said Sanchez. “A bit masochistic for my taste, but it took guts.”

  Lin rolled her eyes. “If I’m as lethal as you say, I could have killed you both a dozen times—but I didn’t.”

  Sanchez scoffed. “Now be fair—you did try once, when you set us up at Flower Bank Park against those android bikers. That had to be your idea, or was it Dansby’s? Beetle Dash couldn’t have thought of that scheme if he lived to be a hundred. But I’m curious—after the bike chase, you stopped trying to knock us off. What happened?”

  Before Lin could speak, Carr made a guess. “I’m betting that Dansby found out about the Sarissan Marines up on Dagger. That changed his thinking. He wanted all of us, not just two measly Sarissan agents. He wanted to get us all together and have you lead us right into an ambush—and here we all are.”

  “Change of plan, sweetie,” taunted Sanchez, getting very close to Lin’s face before stepping away.

  “This won’t save you,” Lin said drawing a huge breath of defiance. “If you think a man like Colonel Dansby is going to be undone by the likes of you, you’re delusional. The Massang are going to win this war—it’s inevitable. We either live with the winners or die as the losers. Dansby and I are going to live.”

  “Unlike the millions on Kolo Khiva that you and Dansby helped to kill,” said Carr.

  “A small price for survival. Besides, they were just dirty Essadonians,” replied Lin with a sneer.

  Sanchez pivoted back toward their prisoner. “By the way, I never did give this to you,” she said as her fist smashed across Lin’s jaw, causing the woman to reel backward into Lieutenant McDowell’s arms. “Chief Inspector, please take her away before I do something I actually regret.”

  As Abbasi and her constables took charge of Yunru Lin, Sanchez returned to her husband’s side, flexing her hand.

  “Hurt yourself?” asked Carr.

  “No.”

  “Did it feel good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you glad you did it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “So am I.”

  “Major Carr, everything is in order,” reported Lieutenant McDowell. “One question, sir. Not that my people don’t love a good fight, but if we know where the bad guys are, why don’t we just blast them with a missile from Dagger and be done with it?”

  A couple of the nearby Marines grimaced at their CO. If he continued this kind of talk, he might spoil their good time.

  “We want Dansby and any other prisoners we can take alive, Lieutenant. There is a whole network of traitors at work here. We need subjects for interrogation. Hopefully, some of them will tell us how big Dansby’s organization is and on what worlds are they located.”

  “Where the hell is Beckman?” Sanchez interrupted.

  “I’m sure our good friend suddenly found something more important to do,” said Carr as he turned back to McDowell. “We can’t wait for Beckman any longer. Lieutenant, you know the plan. Lin wanted us to take the South Road and she said that Dansby had six men at the Manor with him. I figure that means he has at least a dozen. They’ll be lying in wait for you along the road.”

  “The Pontians know the area well, Major,” said McDowell. “They’ve shown us some shortcuts. At twenty-two hundred hours, we will begin ambushing the ambushers. How many of my Marines will you need to accompany you to the main house?”

  “None. With most of Dansby’s people out waiting to pounce on your Raiders, the Manor should be lightly guarded. Commander Sanchez and I will do just fine on our own.”

  McDowell cast an eye toward Sanchez, who returned his apprehensive look with a feral smile and a quick wink.

  The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you are in good hands, sir. Good luck to both of you.”

  * * * *

  The earliest humans touched down on Pontus in the year 2269, three years before the final arkship departed Earth and brought the Diaspora of Humankind to an end. Pontian settlers were mainly western Europeans, a portion of the lucky twenty million souls that managed to escape the Blue Planet before total environmental collapse killed everyone else. The benefactor of those fortunate people was a consortium of Euro-based corporations. Along with a grateful and willing workforce, the corporate masters re-located to this pristine planet, creating multi-world businesses which promoted mining, agriculture, banking, chemicals, and more.

  But it wasn’t quite business as usual for the Pontian merchant kings. Making money at the expense of nature was acceptable on other worlds—after all, there were now a multitude of other planets to plunder and ruin for profit. When it came to their own world, however, the Pontians became obsessively protective. Arcologies, vertical farms, and solar domes were the order of the day. Private homes had to be green homes, and the elite of this world led by example. Old Ortelli Manor was one of the earliest such places.

  Partially embedded into the side of a hill, one of the first great private residences on Pontus stood before Carr as he waited for Sanchez to move into position. The property manager working for the Manor’s distant landlord, the Ortelli Group, had hastily provided a floorplan for the Sarissan operatives to memorize. Generations of Ortelli’s had lived here, until the grandfather of the present patriarch decided it was too remote for his taste and moved to a modern skytower in Prosperity City. According to the property manager, someone calling himself Hofmann was the current occupant. The off-worlder had paid a year’s rent up front and requested that he not be disturbed.

  The front facade of the house was laid out in three levels protruding from the hillside. The main body of the dwelling, nearly twenty rooms, stretched for a thousand square meters, about half of that space embedded within the hill. Exposed balconies were covered with flora. Plant growth spilled over the walls, covering the front of the house. In the dark, Carr couldn’t tell if it was the product of eco-friendly planning or simply years of neglect.

  A few guest buildings had been added to the grounds over time, out in the open in conventional fashion, but Samson Dansby was almost certainly tucked safely away inside the main house. As Carr approached the Manor, he hugged the shadows along the edge of the grounds. The only two sentries he could spot were loitering near the front door. Periodically, one of them would wander off on brief rounds before returning to socialize with his companion.

  He had to time this just right. After one guard departed on a quick patrol, Carr waited a few minutes before approaching the sentry by the door. Surprising and overpowering the man on the door wasn’t a problem, but the next step could be tricky.

  “Where is the boss fellow?” whispered Carr to the man he had pinned against one of the pillars on the front portico. “And if you call out you’ll never live to see help arrive.” To make his point, Carr pressed the back of a serrated blade to the man’s throat.

  “Inside… He’s inside.”

  “How many guards here at the house?”

  “Three.”

  Carr pulled at the sentry’s arm, which he had twisted behind the man’s back. The guard let out a muted yelp of pain.

  “You wouldn’t be messing with me, would you?” asked Carr in his most menacing voice.

  “No, really! Everyone else is down at the South Road to—”

  “I know all about the South Road. I want to speak with your boss, and you are going to take me to him. We are going inside and you are going to walk me past all the internal security right to the Big Man. The Sarissan Empire wants to make him a deal.” From behind him, Carr heard the other guard returning.

  Man, I hope this guy isn’t a trigger-happy clown.

  Seconds later he felt the muzzle of a pistol pressed against the back of his head.

  “Let him go,” said an unpleasant voice.

  Carr relaxed his grip and slowly lowered his knife.

  OK, boys—you got me. Now, walk me inside.

  * * * *

  “He said what?” asked the rugged-looking man in the chair.

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sp; Carr had been escorted into the Manor at gunpoint by the first guard and taken to a room off the main foyer that was once a library. Mostly vacant shelves lined the walls, with only a few dusty books remaining here and there. The room was a perfect mirror of the condition into which this previously grand estate had fallen.

  A man with a rough, pockmarked face sat in a comfortable looking leather chair at the opposite end of the room. He wore the khaki utility uniform of the old Commonwealth Marines, the rank insignia of a colonel flashing from his collar. Cleaning a slug pistol, his well-worn eyes rose to drill into the guard.

  “I asked you a question, Corporal.”

  Despite that reference, Carr’s escort wore no uniform and his manner didn’t exactly scream military discipline.

  “He said the Empire wanted to cut us a deal,” repeated the anxious sentry. “C’mon, Colonel—it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.”

  The man in the chair placed the scrambled pieces of the weapon he was cleaning onto the table next to him, exchanging them for a plasma pistol which was very much intact.

  “Corporal, did it ever occur to you that he just said that to get to me?” asked the man in a gruff voice. “And you’ve obliged him—leaving your post while you were at it.” He slowly raised the pistol in his hand, leveling it in the general direction of Carr and the Corporal.

  “C’mon, Colonel,” said the uneasy guard. “I left Patterson out front. Ain’t nobody gettin’ in.”

  “Someone already got in,” said the older man with a slight eyeroll, “because you brought him in!”

  It took a second, but the Corporal finally seemed to grasp the logic of that argument. “Oh, yeah, but…”

  The man in the chair straightened his arm and raised the pistol even higher.

  “Corporal, leave Mr. Carr with me. Go tell Hofmann to bring in our other guest and then report back to your post. Dismissed!”

  Our other guest? Carr found it difficult to believe they could have discovered Sanchez so quickly, but if that were true, they were in deep trouble.