Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “Thanks!” He climbed into the cockpit, dripping water everywhere.

  She shut the hatch behind him, cutting off the roar of the storm. In the ensuing silence, Zack slipped into the co-pilot's seat and, with her help, he strapped in, hands trembling. Shock at his unexpected rescue was beginning to numb his senses.

  The woman turned her full attention back to the shuttle and lifted it out of the waves. Moments later, buffeted by the wind, yawing and tossing, the Warthog rose towards the black clouds at a steep angle. Gravity and speed pressed the two humans into their seats. When they broke through the clouds, high up in Pacifica's atmosphere, the sun caressed Zack’s face through the thick cockpit window, and the abrupt change from storm to calm snapped his mind back to the present.

  He glanced at the woman beside him. She was tall, slim and long-limbed, but wiry, judging by the strong tendons in her hands and wrists as she gripped the shuttle's controls. Her black hair, cut just below the ears and swept back, showed strands of silver at the temples. The lines around her mouth and crow’s feet in the corners of her dark, deep-set eyes marked her as mature, a few years older than Zack, but not by much. Definitely military, he decided and not only because she wore an unmarked battledress that had seen a lot of use.

  Attractive, the gunner thought, his mind seeking refuge in the irrelevant and innocuous, but in a tough way. Sort of like Raisa. Officer, if I know my old Navy.

  “Thanks for the rescue,” Zack's voice, worn out by the effects of his harrowing experiences, was no louder than a harsh whisper.

  “You're welcome, Sergeant, though I apologize for taking so long.” Her voice, now that she wasn’t shouting, had a rich alto timbre.

  “Huh?” Decker frowned in puzzlement as the use of his former rank and the apology finally cut through the fog in his brain.

  The woman chuckled.

  “Sorry, Sergeant. Let me introduce myself. I'm Commander Hera Talyn, Naval Intelligence. We've been looking for you ever since you vanished on Deveaux station. It's a minor miracle they let you keep the Master Gunner's badge.”

  “Why?”

  “It's what we used to find you. Actually, keep track of you for the last year or so.”

  “Amali had it checked, and it was just a piece of metal alloy. Otherwise, he wouldn't have let me keep it.”

  “Our dear Walker was only partially right,” she replied, amusement plainly visible on her lean face. “That alloy has an unusual characteristic: close to a human body’s energy field, it becomes a beacon that a properly tuned sensor can spot at one hell of a distance. We were glad you decided to wear it after our operative slipped it to you on Pradyn. It made our jobs a lot easier.”

  “So I was set up as a dupe to infiltrate Amali's organization?” Zack countered angrily. The force he put in his words strained his vocal cords, and he coughed.

  “It was not quite that easy, Sergeant. I’ll explain everything once we're back on the ship and away from Pacifica. By now, I suspect Amali has discovered you’ve left his island and has scrambled his resources to stop us.”

  “Damn!” Zack shook his head. “Next time a buddy sets me up with a job offer...” Then, “Say, Commander, what ship are we headed for? A frigate?”

  “No, Sergeant,” Talyn smiled again. “Demetria. Captain Ducote will be overjoyed to find you're alive and well.”

  “Damn!” Decker repeated, a slow grin spreading on his battered face.

  Seventeen

  Commander Talyn handed control of the Warthog over to the AI and pushed her seat away from the console. With a sigh of relief, she stretched her limbs and grinned.

  “Unless our friend Amali has also bent Pacifica Aerospace Control to his every will, we're safe. I'd give my next month's pay to see the bastard's face when he realizes you slipped out from under his multi-million cred defense umbrella.”

  “And out of the grasp of his fucking bugs,” Zack replied in a voice that was half whisper and half gravel. “But he isn't the sort to stop his plans over one retired Marine if I read the scumbag right.”

  “You have, Sergeant.” She looked at Zack, and her grin vanished, replaced by a frown as she saw his state clearly for the first time. Her trained eye immediately recognized the traces of the mind probe, and she groaned.

  “One thing about Amali: he never falls short of my expectations. Cantos?”

  “Yeah.” Zack looked away. “He said I suffered no permanent damage.” But his tone belied the words. Decker's neurons might still fire in proper sequence, but the thing that defined Zachary T. Decker had been damaged.

  “I'm sorry,” Talyn whispered. “I’m so very sorry.”

  The silence deepened in the cockpit, and she felt an unaccustomed sense of guilt. Working for Naval Intelligence’s special operations section often meant compromising one's values for the greater good. But the moral balance sheet calculated in the safety of a sterile operations room meant absolutely nothing in front of a man who'd gone through the worst sort of hell because of one cold-blooded decision.

  Zack broke the silence first, shutting his feelings away with the other miseries he'd collected over the last few weeks.

  “If I remember rightly, Commander, the proper procedure after a mission is a debriefing while the memories are still fresh.” His eyes remained fixed on the star field beyond the cockpit window.

  Talyn didn't respond. Her gaze was still transfixed by the small dots of healing flesh on his scalp. His matter-of-fact tone had stayed any further apology or explanation. He didn't want them.

  “Yes,” she finally said, “yes, you're right, Sergeant. A debriefing.”

  For the next two hours, Talyn skillfully extracted things from Zack's memory that even he had forgotten. She questioned him as she would question any trained Pathfinder after a mission, not like a civilian, or even a soldier who'd gone through an ordeal that would destroy most people. Decker wouldn't appreciate a gentle treatment. His self-respect and inner balance had been badly shaken, if not irretrievably ruined. Treating him like damaged goods would only make things worse.

  “You show the recall abilities of a trained agent, Sergeant. I'm impressed. Your report completes the spotty picture we have of Amali's hideaway, though I can't help wishing he had shown you the hive in person rather than through a vidscreen. It would make the follow-on force's job a lot easier.” Zack still stared through the window as he had ever since Talyn had noticed the probe scars.

  “It wasn't just a vidscreen, sir, but an actual window,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “The first view, that of the egg chamber, was direct. I'd swear to that. Which means the queen's chamber and the nursery aren't far away.”

  “Yes, you're probably right. Amali's psych profile makes him out to be the kind who prefers live demonstrations of his power.”

  “I’m sure showing me a tape of the bug eating Strachan, instead of me seeing it live, put a damper on his enjoyment. But since the asshole offered me a starring role in the sequel, maybe it didn't matter.”

  He turned to spear Talyn with hard eyes.

  “Speaking of Strachan, what happened to Shokoten? Most of the crew members were good, honest spacers. Nothing to do with the shit the captain was doing.”

  “Still sailing the star lanes, as far as I know. The Amalis, whatever else they may be, aren't wasteful. Only Strachan suffered the brunt of their displeasure. He vanished in Hadley three days after you took off in Demetria. We had always presumed him dead and now it’s confirmed. There's a new captain aboard Shokoten, and I'm pretty sure that she won't be doing anything illegal for a long time. The ship's usefulness as a cover for smuggling expired when you ran.”

  Decker shrugged and looked outside again. The Warthog was about to enter the system's inner asteroid field, and Talyn turned off the autopilot, taking the controls once more.

  “That's good. I felt at home on Shokoten once Alers was gone. So what happens now? Will anyone take care of that fucking psychopath?”

  “First,” Talyn gave
Zack a quick glance, “we park this thing aboard Demetria and head for the rendezvous with the follow-on force.”

  Talyn pointed out the window. “And there she is.”

  “Demetria, this is Falcon One, over.”

  “Falcon One, this is Demetria. How's the weather planetside?”

  “Humid, with a storm brewing,” Talyn grinned briefly at Decker.

  “Password,” she whispered.

  “Any luck, Falcon One?” Avril Ducote asked, anxiety coloring her normally steady voice.

  “Scratched, bruised and wet like a dishrag, but otherwise unharmed, Demetria,” Talyn replied, deliberately avoiding any mention of the real damage Zack had suffered.

  He wouldn't want her to tell Ducote, out of shame. But Avril had to know, and would, when the two women managed a moment alone together, preferably soon.

  “He's looking forward to a big shot of anything alcoholic you may have on board.”

  “I was about to ask whether you picked up the right one, but if it wants booze, it has to be an ex-Marine called Zack Decker.” Something in the way Avril spoke drew Zack's attention, and he frowned for a moment. “The cargo hold is open for your landing, Falcon One. And the celebratory whiskey is ready and waiting.”

  *

  The Warthog’s thrusters died away the moment the assault boat settled on the bare deck of cargo hold number one. Zack climbed out of the comfortable co-pilot’s seat and stretched his limbs out as far as the small cockpit allowed. His entire body felt like a single, massive bruise. Every muscle had stiffened during the flight from Amali’s island, and he hurt like hell.

  Jumping out of the open cockpit door, he landed on the deck with a hollow thump, sending a renewed wave of pain up his legs and spine. Across the hold, the access hatch swung open with a metallic clang.

  Through it strode Avril Ducote, Valkyrie-like in battledress with a sidearm, her long blonde hair swinging down her back in a thick braid. A smile of pure pleasure filled her face, piercing through Zack’s dull ache like a thin shaft of sunlight through a carpet of storm clouds. She stopped in front of him, so close that they nearly touched and her eyes looked searchingly into his.

  “You’re alive,” she whispered, as if in disbelief.

  “Yeah, so Commander Talyn tells me.”

  “You don’t know how happy I am, Zack.” Now he could see tears forming.

  “Somehow, I think I do.” It was clear to Decker, even in his current state, that Avril Ducote had fallen for him. He didn’t know how he felt about that because he didn’t want to touch any of his emotions right now, except hate, but his resolve faltered for a few seconds. His hard, blank stare softened, and some of his inner turmoil and pain shone through.

  “For what it’s worth, Avril, I’m damned happy myself to be back on your ship, and not only because that means I’ve escaped from bug island.”

  She nodded, smiling shyly.

  “Then I’m even happier.”

  “Sorry, Avril, Sergeant, but we must go,” Talyn’s gentle voice intruded and drew them apart. Though the agent really was in a hurry, her primary concern was getting Zack out of a situation she knew he couldn’t handle yet. Not until his mental wounds had scarred over.

  “Of course, Hera,” Ducote replied, blinking away the excess moisture in her eyes. “Come, Zack. First a shower and a shave, then clean clothes. There will be a hot meal and a glass of whiskey waiting for you in the galley.”

  *

  “So, what happened after I left the ship at Deveaux Station?”

  Zack glanced at Avril and Talyn in turn. Though he still looked like hell, the shower, and fresh clothes had gone far in improving his appearance, but he wasn't the same Zack Decker who'd left Demetria only a short while ago.

  The intervening days had given his eyes a haunted look. A look that gave Ducote a jolt of despair every time she saw it, because she feared the Zack she knew, her Zack, was gone.

  While he had showered, Talyn had given her a brief run down on his encounter with the mind probe, and its effects. Avril had tightened in fury at the revelation, and would have strangled both Amali and Cantos on the spot. But she also understood Zack's state, and the fact that things might never be the same again.

  They were in the small galley, he drinking scotch, they coffee. Demetria had jumped to hyperspace ten minutes earlier, on her way to a rendezvous Talyn, irritatingly, refused to explain.

  Zack had given Avril an account of his time in Amali's hands, sparing her no detail. His hard, brittle honesty had astonished Talyn, but she realized that Zack Decker was a remarkable man. Too remarkable for the way he'd been treated by the Marine Corps.

  “Maybe Avril should start, Sergeant,” Hera raised an eyebrow at Ducote.

  “Why do you insist on calling Zack 'sergeant', Hera?” Avril asked with a hint of asperity.

  “Military courtesy,” the agent shrugged. “He's a retired command sergeant with twenty years honorable service and is entitled to the rank.”

  Zack snorted in derision, the first sign of the old, hard-assed Pathfinder he'd shown so far, but she ignored him.

  “Unless he prefers I call him something else.”

  “Try his name. It's Zack.”

  “No need, sir,” Zack chuckled at Avril's reaction. “'Sergeant' suits me fine. It's a damn sight better than what I’ve been called lately. And I guess I came by the title honestly, which I can't say about a lot of other things.”

  “And why does he call you 'sir'?” Avril was openly disapproving now. “You people kicked him out of the Corps.”

  Avril's defense of his free, civilian status made Zack smile with enough warmth to give her pause.

  “It's the way things go, Avril,” he gently replied, before the discussion went any further. “She's a commander and outranks me, so I call her 'sir,' same as she calls me 'sergeant.' It wouldn't feel right to do otherwise, even if I'm retired. Now can we talk about what happened, please?”

  Avril sighed but held her peace.

  “As you wish.”

  She settled back and stared down into her coffee mug.

  “About ten minutes after you left the ship at Deveaux, Hera showed up at the gangway, asking to speak with you...”

  *

  “Excuse me, Captain Ducote, I'm looking for Zack Decker.”

  “And why should you look for this Decker person on my ship?” Avril eyed the tall, dark woman with suspicion, determined to cover for her friend and shipmate.

  “My name is Commander Hera Talyn, Naval Intelligence.” She showed Ducote an official-looking identification card. “It's vital I speak with Decker soonest. He's in great danger from people who want to silence him.”

  “How do I know you’re not one of the people who wish him harm?”

  “So he's on board?” Talyn asked.

  “I’ve not said so, Commander. Please tell me why I should trust you. Anyone can flash a cute little ID card.”

  “You're right, anyone can. But to prove my bona fides, we'll need to agree that you know Decker, and do it quickly. If he's already left the ship, I must to find him before the opposition does.”

  Avril stared at her for a few seconds and then shrugged.

  “Somehow, I don’t think you would simply walk up and ask if you were one of the Sécurité Spéciale scum. Their methods seem to lack subtlety.”

  “Not always.” Talyn's eyes never left Ducote's. “But if it means anything to you, I'm the case officer who led Decker into this pickle, and I'm trying to extract him in one piece.”

  The agent could read Ducote's indecision her eyes, but refrained from pushing any further. Then, the look vanished, and her face tightened.

  “He left the ship about ten, fifteen minutes ago to book a shuttle flight down to Toulon. He wants to try contacting the Marine Regiment's intelligence officer down there and give him the information he uncovered.”

  “Damn!” Talyn swore, slapping her right hand against the airlock hatch in frustration. “I had hoped to reach hi
m before he went ashore. The Sécurité Spéciale has a hit team on the station. Unfortunately, we don't know what they look like. Decker is in great danger.”

  “Will they kill him?” Ducote's face had gone white with fear.

  “I doubt it. They'll want to know how much he found out, and to whom he spilled the beans. Then, they'll kill him.”

  “Zack told me everything.” The trader's voice was nearly inaudible.

  “Which means you're next on their list. Don't leave your ship. Let no one aboard, and if you own a sidearm, keep it handy. I'll try to intercept Decker before the Sécurité Spéciale team does.”

  Talyn turned on her heels and left the ship, heading for the station's core. Ducote, now thoroughly frightened, closed the airlock and retrieved Zack's old Imperial Armaments blaster from her cabin.

  *

  Talyn returned three hours later, with a grim look on her face.

  “He's gone.”

  “What?”

  “Station security traced his movements. He last appeared in the shop district along with the two Sécurité Spéciale agents tailing him.”

  “I thought you didn’t know what they looked like.”

  “No, but they made the mistake of moving like a team of hunters, which marks them as trained agents. We spooks can recognize each other. The training's the same. After that screen capture, nothing. I'm sure he's off the station by now. A private yacht left an hour after the last sighting, and that was no coincidence. The pilot of the ship looked like the male half of the Sécurité Spéciale duo on the harbormaster’s screen when he filed his flight plan.”

  “Where is the yacht headed?”

  “Pacifica.”

  Avril nodded. Then, she frowned.

  “But Commander, these Sécurité Spéciale people sound like professionals. Why would they leave such a trail on the station's security system? You took little time to find them. Is it a red herring?”

  “Good question,” Talyn smiled tightly. “But I doubt it's a false trail. The Sécurité Spéciale wants Zack Decker, and that means no complex operations. A simple snatch and grab before the opposition can react. And it worked. Once they reach their destination, they're home free. The Fleet has no jurisdiction on Pacifica, and no one there will lift a finger to help us.