Shadow Play

by P. R. Adams

  “Most of the others were asleep or caught up in trying to do something about it.”

  “You…walled yourself in while other people slept?”

  “I knew there was nothing we could do.”

  “But you could have told them.”

  The SAID agent looked away. “They didn’t trust me. You understand, don’t you?” She turned back. “Trying to establish trust?”

  Stiles slipped her finger inside the trigger guard. “What’s that mean?”

  “Aren’t you…?” Srisha tilted her head. “Maybe… Never mind.”

  Stiles let out her held breath. “You said it couldn’t be harmed. It sure seemed to be affected by gunfire when Grier and Halliwell shot it.”

  “That was…strange.”

  “You mean you’d never seen it damaged before?”

  “I’d never seen it just watch people like that. It usually attacks immediately.”

  The thing certainly seemed remarkably fast.

  Stiles sent Srisha down the stairs first, the whole way down turning a plan over and over until the GSA officer was sure there were no obvious problems with it. Consulting one of the Marines would have been ideal, but things were too complicated to let concern over potential problems get in the way. They needed to get out of the ruins, or they would die there.

  Halliwell waved them in, wisely giving Srisha some room. When she was past, he put his mask against Stiles’s. “The thing tried to get in. Corporal Grier gave it a couple bursts, and it reconsidered.”

  “Good. That means it wasn’t waiting for us out there.” Stiles relaxed a little.

  “So there were stairs?”

  “But no way out. We’d have to blast through a wall or two.”

  “There’s probably enough explosives in that satchel charge for that.”

  “I know. But if we blow a hole, it’s going to be on us before the first one of us gets outside. That thing? It’s a robot, and Srisha says it won’t cut through walls.”

  “Well, that’s some strange programming for a robot.”

  “I don’t think that’s the extent of it, but that’s what’s keeping it out right now.”

  The staff sergeant turned to check that they weren’t being watched, then placed his mask against hers. “This secrecy—you don’t trust her?”

  “Something’s not right.”

  “Because she’s SAID?”

  “That’s the starting point. But I’m going to need you to trust me, okay? Even after what happened on the Pandora.”

  “I told you, Lieutenant, trust has to be earned.”

  “At least accept my word that I want us to get out of here alive.”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you. I think our only chance to get out of here alive is to draw that thing in here and trap it with the explosives.”

  “Now, see, the second you ask me to trust you, you go and—”

  Stiles held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

  The staff sergeant grunted, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a skeptical smirk. “I’m listening.”

  “We can’t outrun it. We can’t see it coming out there in the maze. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “So making a run for the crater without at least damaging it is pointless.”

  The edge came off Halliwell’s smirk. “And guns aren’t doing much to it.”

  “Pissing it off, I think. But if Srisha’s right, and it won’t try to break through barriers, we don’t have to destroy it. We just need to seal it in.”

  “That’s a lot of explosives to try to seal it. Those go off, this place is going to collapse in on itself.”

  “Which is fine. I’m going to crawl up to that hatch and—”

  “It’ll kill you.”

  “I’m just going to radio in a request for pickup. Commander Benson knows the place. When she has a shuttle on the way, you and the others pull back into here.”

  “In here? With this one hole to go through?”

  “Send people through ahead of time. I think we can have folks on the stairs.”

  “Wait. Where are you going to be?”

  “In the comm center. I’ll hide behind the racks of gear and watch video from that security camera in the hall.”

  “You don’t think it can sense you?”

  “I think it will sense all that gear.”

  “Gear?”

  “When it froze on the ladder instead of attacking. I think it sensed the computers. The way it kept looking at the opening.”

  “It has a thing for electronics?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s irritated by the signals.”

  The big Marine frowned. “That’s a lot of risk to take on, not knowing.”

  “My call.”

  “All right. So it doesn’t come after you. What next?”

  “When it goes into the room to pursue you, I’ll go up the ladder.”

  “And me and the others?”

  “Up the stairs, blow that satchel, take out a wall, make a run for the shuttle.”

  “Wait. How do you expect us to outrun this thing to the stairs?”

  “You won’t have to. We’re going to seal it inside here.”

  “How?”

  “This is where it gets tricky, so you really are going to have to trust me.”

  Halliwell shook his head. “I don’t guess I have much choice.”

  “Okay, so here’s what we have to do.”

  29

  Hissing. That’s all Benson heard over her communicator. She leaned forward in the pilot’s seat of the Marie Belle S1 and raised her eyes to the black sky in disbelief. Even in the protection offered by the shuttle, it felt as if Jotun were battering her. She’d been talking with Colonel McLeod over a fairly solid connection—nearly green—then she’d been cut off.

  The communicator’s pale green status light reflected off the cockpit glass: the device was still functional. The shuttle’s radio was still functional. Pinging Agent Patel’s gunship gave a clean signal loop.

  She powered the radio down.

  Patel had cut her off. That was the only thing that made sense. But why?

  She’d been talking about the stealth capabilities of the Azoren. That hadn’t been news to McLeod or Patel.

  Politics. The two men were fighting for command of the situation.

  And her people were fighting for their lives.

  She pushed up from the pilot’s seat with some difficulty, gasping at the pain in her knee and back, nearly collapsing back. Boots stomped through the passenger bay, then someone was there, strong hands supporting her.

  It was Dietrich.

  When he spoke, the doctor’s voice had that impatient, irritated edge he sometimes had with patients. “You need to learn to listen to a doctor’s orders.”

  “I’m trying to keep our people alive.”

  He made one of his patented testy clucking noises. “Far too late for that.”

  She twisted around to glare at him. “I did what I could.”

  “Oh, I hardly assign the blame to you at this point. Yet the crater is full of the dead and dying, and far too many are Kedraalian.”

  He helped her to the airlock hatch, where she caught her breath. While she leaned against the frame, he rubbed her shin. At one point, it felt like he’d driven a knife into her muscle.

  Dietrich looked up, one eyebrow cocked. “That hurt?”

  “Like a red-hot scalpel being poked into the bone.”

  “You’re going to need a cast. That or surgery. You’ve torn or stretched—”

  “Commander Dietrich, right now, what I need is to get our people ready for another attack.”

  He pulled something from a pouch hanging from his hip. Tape. As he tightened up the temporary brace that had been wrapped earlier, he smirked at her. “I don’t see the Azoren staging another assault in the next few minutes.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Gadreau. I had to suffer through his bellyaching when he sent one
of his Marines to check the south wall. Of course, every casualty suffered was the result of your inadequate decision-making.” The doctor held up a finger to stop her. “Not my words, Commander. I merely repeat to answer your question.”

  “All right. What did he find on the south wall?”

  “Corpses. Many corpses. Some torn to pieces. And no surviving Azoren.”

  “And the north wall?”

  “That would fall to you to investigate, I’m afraid. As far as the good captain is concerned, his only assignment was to secure the south wall.”

  Benson groaned as the doctor ran a particularly tight circle of tape just below her knee. “Gadreau’s going to be a problem.”

  “Yes, well—” Dietrich stood and smiled at her. “—you have experience.”

  “Doctor Dietrich, I think I like this self-aware version of you.”

  “Oh, I meant Commander Martinez.” The doctor might have winked at that.

  She leaned on him until they reached the gun turret bunker. It was silent now, the last ammo drum long ago emptied. More crates had fallen in, until now only the north-facing section had any integrity to it at all. Someone had removed the dead Marines, at least.

  Parkinson’s head came up when she poked her head through the opening. “The probe’s spent, but I think they’ve given up.”

  There were no blurry figures on the wall, and a quick check of the tactical network showed only green signals inside the fortifications Fero’s team had set up.

  Dietrich tapped her shoulder and pointed toward those fortifications. “I must make my rounds now that you’re all through blowing each other into pieces.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say to him.

  Parkinson craned his neck to see who she was talking to but quickly grunted and leaned back. “Is it over?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What about Brianna’s team?”

  Benson bit her lip. “They’ve had it a little worse.”

  “Oh?” Jealousy or concern tinged his voice. “What happened?”

  “Last I heard, there’s something in the ruins. It’s apparently a lot like the Azoren out there, but it’s not them.”

  “Some sort of stealth technology, you mean?”

  “Maybe the same.”

  “Well, I guess it’s time I got a look at those Azoren suits then.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  The engineer leaned against the base of the control system for the now-quiet turret gun. “Everything hurts too much to rest.”

  “I so understand that.”

  Benson identified a couple signals from one of the shuttles—support personnel who’d been pressed into service. She connected to them and sent the coordinates of the turret gun, then texted them: There are enemy corpses near these coordinates. Please bring them to Chief Parkinson for examination at this position.

  She pinged Parkinson, then attached that ping to the text.

  The signals of the support personnel promptly moved toward her, and confirmation texts followed.

  “Well—” She ran a hand along the curve of the last ammo drum. “—I’d like to stay around to watch you do your engineering thing, Chief, but I’ve got some other work to do.”

  Parkinson opened the backpack he’d brought with him and set out tools. “I’ll let you know if I find something. Keep your expectations reasonable.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She hobbled past the support personnel, pointing them to the opening of the mostly collapsed enclosure when she saw they had a corpse already. After a couple steps, she turned back around. “Hey!”

  One of the support people twisted around. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “There are more corpses.” She pointed to where she knew other Azoren lay. “Strip their armor and get it to the chief, please. Their weapons and ammunition, too. And…they have grenades. In pouches. Could you bring me a couple?”

  “Will do, Commander.”

  If war was imminent, studying Azoren weapons development was going to be critical. Even if Parkinson couldn’t crack the mystery of the stealth technology in time to help Stiles, he might be able to provide answers once they were back on the Clarion. Assuming they could get back. The way McLeod had sounded, she wasn’t so sure.

  After one of the technicians gave Benson a couple Azoren grenades, she made her way back to the shuttle she’d just used, then searched through the tactical network for the pilot.

  Dead.

  There were only two still showing green, both of them in one of the defensive fortifications facing the north wall.

  One of them was Ensign Reyes.

  Benson connected to the young pilot. She’d impressed in the chaos of the Azoren interceptor attack. Plus, the ensign was sturdily built and seemed just the sort for what was necessary. “Ensign Reyes?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Reyes’s voice was raspier than normal, as if she’d screamed it raw.

  “I need a pilot who can put Marie Belle S1 down in a tight spot. Am I talking to that pilot?”

  “The only one.”

  “I’d like to lift off now.”

  “On my way, ma’am.”

  Benson did her best to make speed for the shuttle. As she shambled toward it, she connected to Gadreau. “Captain Gadreau, the crater is yours.”

  “Mine?” The captain’s voice was heavy, as if he were ready to collapse.

  “I’m going to see if I can reach Lieutenant Stiles and her team with a shuttle.”

  “You’re leaving us here?”

  “Have your people prepare to launch.”

  Gadreau’s heavy breathing filled the connection. “What about the dead?”

  “We won’t have room aboard the shuttles for everyone. Gather ID tags.”

  “We don’t leave Marines behind!”

  “I can’t count the number of sailors we’ve lost in space, Captain. It’s an unfortunate reality of war. Keep your people alert, but load the shuttles. If I haven’t signaled in fifteen minutes, launch.”

  She disconnected as she approached the airlock just ahead of the pilot, who came around the far corner of the vessel, carbine rattling off her light armor. Reyes held out a hand to help, and Benson took it. She settled into the co-pilot’s seat and strapped in while Reyes powered systems on.

  “Ensign Reyes, you ever go up against anything like what we saw today?”

  The young woman flashed a grin that reached her dark eyes. “I live for new experiences, ma’am.”

  “There might be more Azoren out there. Anti-aircraft rockets. Machine guns.”

  “Seen it all before, Commander. Where to?”

  “Sending you the coordinates now.” Benson brought the data on the ruins up and selected the area that had looked the most promising. “Before you lift off, tell me you can handle that.”

  Reyes popped the imagery up on the control display. She pursed her full lips and squinted, then nodded. “No problem, ma’am.”

  But some of the confidence was gone from her voice.

  “Let’s go.”

  The shuttle’s engine whined to life, and the vibration rumbled up through Benson’s legs. She gritted her teeth and patched in through the radio, trying to connect to Stiles.

  Nothing.

  A ping showed a very, very weak signal—barely yellow.

  But that should’ve been good enough to make a connection.

  Benson turned to the pilot. “What mission channel would have the best chance of getting through heavy-duty construction material?”

  “They’re all the same type of signal. One doesn’t work, neither will the others. Unless…”

  “Yes?”

  “Emergency signals use a completely different range. It’s a narrow band, usually just for the transponder burst. You could try that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Benson sent a text on the channel first: Brianna, we’re coming in with a shuttle. Where are you?

  Nothing.

  Unlike the regular
channels, there was no way to know if it the message went through. It should have, but…

  A text flashed on Benson’s screen: We’ve got problems. I don’t think we can trust Srisha Patel.

  It took some self-control for the commander not to reply with a comment about never trusting intelligence agencies. That was Halliwell talking, not her. It wasn’t as if Stiles could have forgotten the pain she’d caused by letting the crew of the Pandora die. She clearly saw her work as honorable.

  So Benson finally settled on: Is she a threat?

  After a moment, Stiles replied: I can’t prove it, but we’re operating under that assumption.

  That sounded bad. Benson dictated a reply: What makes you feel that way?

  The reply was almost instant: I think she killed the GSA SIGINT team.

  Benson’s eye was drawn to the crater, which was now a black circle beneath the shuttle. Seeing the near-symmetry up close, the sense that this was the work of a weapon became absolute. The ravine that snaked east to the ruins was more the aberration now, and it seemed likely there was something behind its creation that set it apart from the crater and the ruins. Maybe instead of one weapons hit, there had been two, and the winding rift had been the result of a fault or had once been an underground channel or something. Using human understanding to make sense of a species that might not have been fully humanoid and was almost certainly much further technologically advanced seemed pointless.

  No sign popped up of the Azoren forces, although they could be moving somewhere west of the crater and she wouldn’t be able to see that.

  With the ruins closing, Benson texted again: We’re moving to the place identified as a potential landing site. Can you make it?

  Stiles didn’t respond immediately. When she did, it wasn’t encouraging: No.

  The pilot nodded toward the ruins. “Two minutes, Commander.”

  A checkered pattern of grays and black. That was all Benson could make out of the mess. Rubble spilled from meters-high frames into wide avenues that seemed coated with scales from their height. The buildings must have been huge and complex in design, with what might have been broad courtyards defining shapes—octagonal, spoke and hub, rectangles that seemed like they might have branched out and turned back in on themselves.

  The commander still couldn’t pick up any signals from within the ruins, and when she tested the mission channels out, the same terrible ping response confirmed her fear about something—the building materials, maybe radiation—wreaking havoc on the comms.