by TR Cameron
He strode forward into the shuttle landing zone, a space demarcated by a small fence. One of the Cronus’s standard shuttles filled the area inside that barrier, likely because his team’s ride had been blasted to bits and left the Special Forces contingent one short. His first act when he’d regained contact with the ship had been to confirm that his pilot had survived, and he met the news that she had with great relief. He’d received that information directly from the woman stepping from the shuttle, Major Anika Stephenson. Her short-cropped blonde hair ruffled a little in the breeze, but it wasn’t long enough to get in her piercing eyes or block the strong lines of her face. She walked like the bodybuilder she was, all coiled power ready to burst.
“Welcome to Vermar, Major.”
“Quite a place you have here, Jackson. How are the ribs?”
“Fine.” He pointed at the security office. “Our guest is right this way. Need a stop anywhere first? Cup of coffee?”
She shook her head. “I’ve already had three pots of the stuff today. It’s not often one of my squads gets their shuttle shot out from beneath them and another winds up corkscrewing around in space after a missile to the engines.”
He nodded. “At least Captain Lorenzo made it down unscathed.”
His superior officer snorted. “I guess twenty-four hours to repair is better than fifty for Frangilo’s or needing an actual replacement for yours. Captain Jensen is not pleased with you for getting her shuttle destroyed, by the way.”
Jax winced. The commander of the Cronus was not someone you wanted to make angry. “I’ll be sure to apologize once I get back.”
Stephenson shrugged. “She probably won’t throw you out an airlock if you do, but the odds are better than if you don’t. You might want to carry air and a helmet with you for a while, though.” Her deadpan expression gave no clue whether she was joking or not. “Any progress on our prisoner?”
They strode side by side along the narrow lane between the med center and the barracks, but barely. It was a good defensive design but less effective where comfort was concerned. The buildings themselves were a bland grey mix of modular metal and plastic pieces. “Her arm’s been tended to, although we didn’t give her any painkillers for it beyond the minimum needed during the procedure. Doc says the quick heal drugs will probably take a day to fix it. It took a lot of damage.” The words came out flat and emotionless. He wasn’t proud of hurting the other person, but as Stephenson had affirmed, choices had consequences.
His wrist comm transponder opened the outer door, and they stepped into a darkened control center. Displays clustered around the near corner showed views from cameras mounted on the turrets and feeds from the satellites flying overhead. Several also showed the swooping movements of a drone in terrain-following mode. The autonomous guards randomly darted around an extended perimeter as a backup to the humans tasked with the same responsibility. The operator was deeply engrossed in his work and spoke quietly with someone over his headset comm.
Jax took Stephenson to the back wall, where two doors led to separate incarceration-slash-interrogation spaces. Entry required his transponder and a security code tapped into a pad, and he stepped through first to ensure that the prisoner wasn’t waiting to spring upon them. She sat idly on the solid platform that served as the room’s only furniture. She looked up at their entrance and scowled. “You again. Here to break the other arm?”
Jax shook his head and secured the door behind his boss as she crossed the threshold. “Not unless you force me to. I told you to stand down. You didn’t listen.”
“Would you have in my place?”
“Yes.” A soft snort sounded from the AI in his brain, who had gotten entirely too comfortable with her role as his inner critic. Shut up, you. I might have. It’s possible. “But that doesn’t matter. Allow me to introduce Major Stephenson. She has a few questions for you.”
The woman shifted her gaze to Stephenson. “You’re his boss?” She nodded. “My condolences.”
Stephenson barked a laugh and shook her head. “You seem to have a way with women, Captain. But it doesn’t appear to be a good way.” She turned her attention to their prisoner. “Name and rank, please.”
“Kendrick, Hayley. Lieutenant.”
The Major crossed her arms and stared down at the other woman. Their captive was dirty and disheveled, but still retained a fighting spirit that Jax recognized from his people and himself. She might not be the Confederacy equivalent of Special Forces, but she was undeniably a warrior at heart. Her blonde hair was shaved almost to the skin on the sides and back of her head and was short and spiky on top. Thin lips and narrow eyes gave her a stern look. “Well, Kendrick, Hayley, care to explain what you and your team were up to today?”
She grimaced. “Not really. I think my superiors would frown on that.”
Stephenson nodded. “That’s completely understandable, and likely the same answer I would give in your situation. However, I don’t believe you fully understand what’s going on. Allow me to explain.” She turned to face him. “Captain, some of this will be new to you as well.” She walked to the corner of the room and leaned back against it, presumably so she could easily see both of them. “It turns out that this particular operation was absolutely screwed from the get-go. Our incursion force, which showed up expecting to find nothing in the system based on recon done almost immediately before, instead found a ton of capital ships waiting for us.”
She punctuated her words with gestures that he read as a mix of actual anger and an effort to push their prisoner’s buttons. “So, clearly there was an information leak there. Let’s call that problem number one. Then, when we get to our objective, the strangely under-defended Confederacy home base on Vermar, not only is it abandoned, but it’s trapped. We’ll refer to that as problem number two.” She strode forward to stand over the other woman, who remained seated and stared upward. “And then your team shows up and tries to kill mine. We’ll call that problem number three. And lest there be any confusion, problem number three makes me want to break your other arm on general principles.”
Kendrick swallowed with an effort. “That’s understandable, Major. I’m sure you understand it was nothing personal.”
Stephenson, who had turned her back to return to her corner, spun and pointed. “See, that’s the thing. It seems very personal. It seems as if the whole thing was a trap. And I’m very interested in knowing who it was intended to ensnare, or given the available evidence, to kill.” She shook her head. “But we’re still not at the most relevant part of the discussion where you’re concerned. We just got word that UCCA intelligence is on the way to interview you.” The prisoner paled suddenly, and Stephenson nodded. “That’s right. You could expect decent treatment from the military under the standard rules of warfare, which no doubt made resisting our inquiries seem like a viable option. But if you’re still in this room when they arrive, you’re going into a black bag, onto a ship that officially doesn’t exist, to be taken to an installation that’s so secret it’s set up to self-destruct rather than have a hint of its existence sneak out.”
She folded her arms and stared at the prisoner. Kendrick’s eyes were locked on the floor as she slowly shook her head. Jax wondered if she realized she was doing it. Her limbs trembled, seemingly at random. In her place, Jax would spill every detail he knew, although his clearance was almost certainly much higher than hers. Finally, Kendrick looked up. “What do you want to know?”
Stephenson grinned. “Everything. From the first moment you heard about this mission until you were stunned unconscious. Every single detail. And if I suspect for even a second that you’ve held something back, I walk out and leave you here until the ghosts arrive and take you away on their non-existent ship.”
She nodded and cleared her throat. “May I at least have a glass of water? There’s a lot to tell.”
Chapter Five
After dinner was complete, the dining hall transformed into an officer’s club by virtue of a roll
away bar being rolled into view. You made your own, or more often whoever was around took turns playing bartender. Jax always enjoyed the feel of being behind the counter, or in this case, oversized cart. But tonight he was only making drinks for his people, and Beatrice O’Leary helped him carry them back to the spot they’d claimed.
She sat beside him, with the other three on the opposite side of the long cafeteria table. O’Leary was strong, smart, and attractive. Rigorous discipline and enemy fire had burned away any hint of immaturity or unprofessionalism during the time he’d known her. He lifted his gin and tonic in a toast. “To Wasp. May she be twice the leader I am.”
Sebastian “Strings” Welker snorted. “Hopefully she can aim higher than that, boss.” Their newest member had only recently joined in the constant bantering insults they all traded. While his comments weren’t all that original, his sense of timing was impeccable. Tall, thin, and fastidious, Welker upped the sophistication level of the group considerably.
Darius “Dare” Lyton nodded in agreement. “Seriously. Like, she’d have to go backward to accomplish that.” He was the most physically capable of the group, his dark skin stretched by his muscular form.
Jax shook his head. “You people are terrible. This is supposed to be a celebration, not a chance to pile insults on me before I wander off into the temporary sunset. Don’t forget. Eventually, I’ll be back, and you won’t have Wasp to protect you.”
O’Leary grinned. “No worries. I’ll still have your sixes, no matter where I am.”
Kyra “Books” Venn laughed. “Besides, boss, trashing you is how we celebrate.” She raised her glass, straight bourbon over ice, and toasted, “To Axe. May he stay away long enough that we actually miss him for once.”
He winced and put a hand on his chest as the team cackled at him. “You wound me. Deep inside, I’m terribly wounded. My heart bleeds.”
Venn quipped, “Maybe you should get that replaced, too.”
“Ow. Low blow, Books. Even by your standards.” The others gave her a quiet round of applause. He replied wistfully, “I think I’ll miss you least of all.” They caught the reference since the Wizard of Oz had played on the Cronus a while before and they’d watched it together.
As usual, it was O’Leary who pulled them back to seriousness. Honestly, she’s even more driven than I am. Athena, who apparently didn’t want to be left out of the insult fest, gave a small laugh. “Except you’re a terrible driver.” He frowned. Not quite there yet, robot. He was pretty sure that term was mildly offensive to her, and he wanted to ensure she was included in the other part of the game, too. No reply came, and he nodded in satisfaction.
O’Leary asked, “So, what did you find out from the prisoner? What’s all this about?”
Jax sighed. “Well, it was kind of about me.”
Laughter erupted. Venn kept on for almost thirty seconds after everyone else and finally had to make a visible effort to stop. She wiped her eyes and shook her head. A single strained sound escaped her lips, and she rose suddenly. “I think I’ll refresh our drinks.” She moved quickly away, and the choking sounds of her suppressed mirth faded slightly.
When they all stopped looking at her and met one another’s eyes again, Welker shrugged. “You have to admit, that sounded, uh, a little paranoid and self-centered. You know, on the surface.”
He nodded. “I’m aware. And believe me, I wish it weren’t the case, but it appears that it is. The prisoner, one Lieutenant Hayley Kendrick, isn’t far enough on the inside to know the whole picture, but she gave us some broad strokes. Apparently, the Confederacy is aware of and interested in my existence.”
Venn returned, set bottles of beer in front of each of them, and reclaimed her seat. “So, you’re saying they invaded the planet and committed a dozen capital ships or so all for you?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Of course not. The planet part happened before they knew about me.” The others laughed again, and he shook his head. “No, the attempt to take the system was righteous, as was the capital ship defense of it, at least from Kendrick’s perspective. For what it’s worth, Major Stephenson agrees.”
O’Leary grunted. “Worth a lot.”
“I share your opinion. Anyway, they did somehow know several things they shouldn’t have. First, that I have an artificial intelligence banging around in my skull.”
Athena’s voice displayed her disapproval of his words. “I am not ‘banging around.’ Tightly integrated would be a better term. You could add disappointed by the lack of cerebral activity if you wanted to be accurate.”
Ouch. He didn’t reply but sensed smug satisfaction from the AI anyway. “Second, that I’m generally on the Cronus. More worrisome is that they might have been aware I was with the ship at this specific moment, which signals an even greater leak of information. Third, that the Cronus would be the first one in when we went to retake the planet. Fourth, and possibly most concerning of all, they knew when we were coming, since they were absent for the recon but present for the incursion.”
O’Leary observed, “Someone somewhere is on the Confed payroll.”
Welker lifted a hand and rocked it back and forth. “Maybe. Or they’ve cracked a communication network. Or they have excellent observational intelligence going on. Could be anything, really.”
Jax nodded. “But I’d put my money on there being a compromised person in the mix, perhaps along with that other stuff. In any case, they specifically aimed the trap at me.”
Lyton frowned. “Why not simply blast us with a fighter, then? Why the booby traps and the squads?”
He chuckled. “Stephenson asked that question in almost those exact words, although she had a couple of colorful descriptors in there as well. Basically, our side forced them deep into their backup plans. First option was the Cronus, but they failed because our ships were ready to back us up. Then it was blasting the shuttle, which they managed, but we still survived it. Captain Jensen had a hunch that they were paying too much attention to us, so she requested additional support. Our fighters took out theirs before they could get down to kill us. Only the heavy armor on the transport shuttles let them make it through the screen.”
Wasp shook her head. “There’s one thing I don’t get.”
Jax replied, “Only one? You’re having a good brain day, then.”
She smacked him with a backhand on the chest that echoed in the cavernous room and caused the few groups seated at other tables distant from theirs to look over. “So, the idea is that they want to kill you because you stole their property, is that it? Why is it such a big deal to them? Was it the only copy or something?”
“According to Athena, several backup versions exist.” It had been one of the earliest discussions the AI and Stephenson had shared, using Jax as an intermediary. “The Major’s theory is that they want to be sure the Alliance doesn’t get the chance to reverse-engineer it and nullify their advantage.”
Welker asked, “Is that something we’re close to doing?”
Jax lifted his hands, palms up. “Your guess is as good as mine. The people at the Academy think they can do it, which is one reason I’m heading off on detached duty. I mean, leave. Heading off on leave.” His team already knew the broad strokes of his plans.
O’Leary snorted. “Now that I know she was such a deep information source, I almost regret dragging her over every rock along our walk through the town.” His team laughed at the memory of that image. At the moment, he’d felt like it was quite appropriate, and now, with the distance of time and perspective, couldn’t see a reason to disagree with his initial assessment.
“She wouldn’t talk until we threatened her with the UCCA intelligence folks, though. The fear of being black-bagged helped her overcome her resistance to sharing.”
Lyton growled, “That’d sure as hell work on me. I’ve seen the ghosts a few times, and something about them gives me the creeps. I mean, they look like normal soldiers, but the eyes tell a different story.”
&nbs
p; O’Leary added, “Like they’ve gone so deep into the realm of evil that now it’s their whole existence.” The rest of the team stared at her. “What? I read books, you know. Sometimes even stories about demons and stuff. Excuse me for being a little poetic.” She took a drink of her beer and shook her head with a small smile. “Besides, it’s pretty damn accurate.”
Venn and Welker proclaimed that they’d never met an intelligence agent that they knew of, and Jax said the same. In his case, though, it wasn’t completely true. Once upon a time, he’d been interviewed by a low-level worker from the division. The man had called himself a talent scout and had told him that Jax popped up on their radar after a particularly impressive infiltration involving both stealth and disguise. To look at, the intelligence representative had been nothing special—a bureaucratic drone. But after only a couple of minutes, Jax’s instincts had started warning him of danger, and by the end of the discussion, it seemed as if the room had filled with an invisibly oppressive presence. He’d intentionally fumbled the conversation and hadn’t heard from them again.
He shrugged. “Well, fortunately, we’re usually out of the picture before they’re in it, or vice versa. I don’t have any particular desire to run into any of those people either.”
O’Leary sighed, then said, “One more toast. To our fearless leader. May he stay a step ahead of the enemies on his trail and be in heaven an hour before the devil knows he’s dead.” They clinked bottles, and although the tribute was an odd mishmash of pieces drawn from questionable sources, it still gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.
That lasted for all of five minutes before Captain Catherine Lorenzo burst into the room at a run. She received a lot of comments about her short stature but was one of the hardest-working people Jax had ever met. “Reese, Stephenson wants us, right the hell now.”