Richard focused in on O’Connell. “We are and one didn’t. While we have limited ability to blacklist Senecan government personnel, we do have extensive files on each of them. Christopher Candela is as clean as they get. Family man, hard worker, upstanding member of society. A little quiet and keeps to himself, but zero history of trouble. Never been arrested, never affiliated with extremist groups or vocalized anti-Alliance sentiments. Frankly I would be less surprised if you accused my hundred sixty-four year old grandfather living in Bonn of being an assassin.”
O’Connell snorted. “That simply means his government put him up to it. If you ask me, this was an act of war.”
The Deputy Foreign Minister looked down her long, pinched nose at him. “That remains to be seen…General, is it? We will naturally be demanding answers from the Senecan government. This man might have acted alone, or as an agent of a terrorist organization. It’s far too soon to be throwing around declarations of war.”
“Well, ma’am, how about you just let me know when it is time, all right?”
The glacial stare which came in response would have frosted the room had the woman been present in person. The Defense Minister stepped into the tête-à-tête to redirect the conversation. “Have we implemented additional security measures yet?”
Miriam acknowledged the Minister with a miniscule nod. “Absolutely. Security at Alliance buildings galaxy-wide has been increased to Level IV, military bases to Level III. As a precautionary matter all military leave has been canceled and personnel recalled. Heightened security is in place for the Prime Minister and Assembly Speaker as well as their families and homes. Protective details are currently being dispatched to senior administration officials and Assembly members.”
She gave a rare, wry smile. “And as we speak the dust is being brushed off the strategic plans for a number of military scenarios.” She should know, she expected to be spending the next twelve hours preparing recommendation briefs on them.
Alamatto gave the room a formal nod. “If there are no further questions, we’ll adjourn for now. All updates should be forwarded to my attention. I’ll be flying to Washington to brief the Cabinet shortly. Unless there are significant new developments, the Board will meet again at 0800. Dismissed.”
19 Siyane
Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet
Alex lugged the unconscious form to the jump seat, deposited it unceremoniously and engaged the safety harness.
Mesh straps emerged from the wall and snaked around to pull him upright in the chair, hands snug against his sides. She activated a web normally used to secure cargo; the subtle silver glimmer barely registered against the gunmetal fabric of his environment suit. She code-locked the web.
Only then did she disengage the suit’s seal and remove the helmet from her captive. A mop of soft, loosely curly black hair tumbled across his forehead and along his neck. She ignored it to scan the manufacturer imprint inside the helmet.
~ 2321, Seneca SpaceEX, Ltd. ~
The accent, of course. “Well that’s just fucking…great.”
She carried the helmet over to a cabinet on the opposite wall and dropped it in a drawer, stripped off her own environment suit and stowed it, then sat down in the cockpit chair. Her toes propelled the chair in agitated circles while her fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the armrest.
This did not fit in her schedule. Not repairing a gaping fissure in the hull and certainly not babysitting a prisoner. Why did she have to go all honorable and rescue him? She could have simply kept going and everything would have been fine….
Admittedly, there would still be the small matter of the hole in her ship. And he would be dead.
She spun the chair around to face him. The Daemon rested on her thigh, but her hand maintained a loose grip on the trigger. With a flick of her thumb the nervous-system suppressor field keeping him unconscious dissipated.
It took only a few seconds for the man’s eyelids to begin to flutter, long black lashes beating against tanned olive skin. An additional second ticked by.
His head snapped up. Bright indigo eyes met hers, startlingly clear and alert. She forced herself not to flinch and to meet his gaze coolly.
“You’re Senecan.”
He glared at her with what she took to be cocky contempt, almost as though he hadn’t noticed he was rather extensively restrained. “Are you insane? Why the hell did you shoot me? I didn’t even have a weapon!”
She didn’t answer right away, instead eyeing him appraisingly. Advanced if utilitarian environment suit. Beneath the suit, hints of a lean but athletic build. A taut posture which evoked the impression of a panther poised to spring, restraints be damned. Well-defined but not angular facial features dominated by vibrant, piercing irises.
In sum, every pore of his being oozed one thing…
…okay, fine. Every pore oozed two things. The first was irrelevant.
The second was dangerous. She arched an emphatic eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think you need a weapon in order to kill me.”
He didn’t argue the point. “And why should I want to kill you?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who opened fire.”
“Merc raiders attacked me on the way here. I thought you were one of them. Are you?”
“No.”
“Well I’d say ‘sorry,’ but seeing as how you shot down my ship then shot me, I’m not feeling particularly generous at the moment.”
She shrugged with intentional mildness, a counter to the intensity of his stare. “Self-defense. What are you doing here?”
“Studying the pulsar. What are you doing here?”
“Just seeing the sights. You’re lying.”
“So are you.”
“Maybe. I’m also the one holding the gun and the key to those restraints.”
“Fair point.” He paused as an odd shadow flickered across his eyes…then chuckled with surprising lightness. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what I’m doing here.”
She nodded deliberately, as if she were contemplating a philosophical assertion, and decided to play a hunch. His lilting and very distinctive accent had vanished, replaced by the generic intonation heard on the largest independent worlds. Such a talent was uncommon, and typically found in a very specific skillset.
She crossed one leg over the other and relaxed a bit in the chair, though the Daemon remained on her thigh. “Hmm. Well, I suppose that means you’re likely either military, intelligence…or a criminal.”
Her eyes narrowed in pointed accusation. “I bet you’re a criminal. A human slave trafficker, or maybe a gunrunner, arming the violent gang wars on the independents? Or are you a drug dealer…yep, I bet that’s it. I bet you sell hard chimerals to kids so they can burn their brains out, but not until they—”
He growled in palpable frustration. “I wouldn’t do that. Ever.”
She grinned smugly. And she was quite proud of herself.
“So military or intelligence, then.”
Her gaze ran down and up the length of his body again, this time for dramatic effect. “And I highly doubt the military would let you keep that mess of a haircut, so intelligence it is.”
His brow furrowed into a tight knot at the bridge of his nose; the muscles of his jaw contracted beneath cheeks shadowed by the hint of stubble. He looked at her as though she resembled some sort of alien creature, perhaps with slimy tentacles swirling about her head, but remained silent.
She took the silence as confirmation. “Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?”
He blinked, and with the act his expression morphed from dismay to wary detachment. “This is unclaimed space. I have as much of a right to be here as you do.”
“Wasn’t what I asked. Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?”
“I still can’t tell you, especially not when you’re Alliance. What are you doing here?”
Her mouth twitched before she managed to squelch it. “What
makes you think I’m Alliance? This is a civilian vessel.”
“Oh, you’re not military—though you’re not far removed from it—but you are definitely Alliance.”
“Why?”
“The way you said ‘Senecan.’ Like it was a curse.”
She met his penetrating stare with her own cool one. “It is.”
“Lovely.” The left corner of his mouth curled up in a brazen smirk. She instantly disliked it. “In fact, I’d put credits on you being from Earth.”
“There are sixty-seven Alliance worlds. Why would I be from Earth?”
“Earthers exude this arrogance, this pretentiousness—as though even now, nearly three hundred years after colonization began, they’re still the only people who really count.”
“That is not true.” Her toes swiveled the chair again. Her gaze drifted away from his to stare at the ceiling. Seconds ticked by in silence; she felt him watching her.
Finally she rolled her eyes in reluctant exasperation. “Okay, it’s totally true—but not me. I don’t feel that way.”
His self-satisfied smile noted he could give as good as he got, and knew it. “So you are from Earth.”
Dammit. “That’s irrelevant. What’s your name?”
“Samuel.”
“I’m sure. Well, Samuel, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a little while.”
His expression turned imploring. “Can I at least get some water?”
“When I get back.” She leveled an unimpressed glare in his direction but gave him a wide berth as she passed him and headed down the circular stairwell.
First things first. She double-checked the status of the plasma shield to make certain it was holding. Getting sucked out onto an inhospitable planet sporting unbreathable air and limited atmosphere absolutely didn’t fit in her schedule. Satisfied with the readings, she lifted the hatch to the engineering well and descended the ladder.
The dull sallow of the planet’s surface could be seen through a roughly three meter long rupture in the hull. The reassuring plasma shimmer kept the interior free of the churning sand and harsh wind.
A smaller gash twisted diagonally from the midpoint of the rupture up to the base of the right internal hull wall. The wall had been ripped open to expose the housing for the plethora of conduits, filters and cabling which powered the ship. The external hull, partially visible behind the mess, sported merely a hairline crack.
From one perspective, this was quite good news—more structural integrity, less hull to repair. On the other hand, it meant the laser had likely danced around wreaking havoc in the gap until it dissipated. Even absent closer inspection she noted several of the photal fiber weaves were shredded in multiple places. Dread pooled in her gut at the thought of what systems they might belong to.
With a sigh she maneuvered around the rupture in the floor to the open gap. She crouched and peered into the aperture, rocking absently on the balls of her feet. Once she got in there it would be hours just cataloging the damage. Perhaps she should get her captive a little water first….
What did Senecan Intelligence want in Metis, anyway?
She had picked up some rather unusual spectrum readings on the long-range scans before being so rudely interrupted by laser fire. Had someone else already found the same thing—or more?
“Puzzle it out later, Alex. Prioritize: Water, damage assessment, repairs.” She stood and climbed out of the engineering well, went upstairs and rummaged around in the kitchen storage for a field water packet.
‘Samuel’—she doubted it was his real name—regarded her as she approached. His acute gaze made her strangely uncomfortable, but she did her levelheaded best to not let it show. She gave him an irritated look and shoved the water packet in his face.
“Something wrong?” he inquired as he accepted the straw.
“Yes, something is wrong. You totally wrecked the undercarriage. God knows what it’s done to power and navigation. We’re going to be grounded for days thanks to your handiwork.”
He lazily sucked on the straw, eyes twinkling in blatant amusement. Annoyed, she yanked it away and stepped back to cross her arms stiffly over her chest. “I’ll be below for the next few hours cataloging the damage.”
She pivoted and left before he could respond.
The damage was even worse than it had appeared at first glance.
She lay on the narrow strip of flooring that wasn’t ripped open and stared at the wrecked tangle of conduits and cabling. The blast had shredded twenty centimeters of one of the three lines going to the impulse engine. With the inflow reduced by a third, it was questionable whether the engine had the power to escape the atmosphere.
Even worse, fully half the conduits feeding the plasma shield were damaged—which meant the likelihood of it failing in the vacuum of space was…high.
She never would have made it to Gaiae.
Half a dozen other somewhat less critical problems were immediately evident, thanks to the fissure occurring along one of the primary cabling paths. Aft navigation controls had suffered measurable damage. Splinters of the mHEMT amp for the dampener field decorated the floor.
And all this was ignoring the obvious, irrefutable fact that the undercarriage of her ship had been torn to shreds.
She only hoped the pulse laser hadn’t vaporized too much of the hull material, and once the ragged shards were smoothed back out the hull would be able to be resealed. She kept reserve components for the internal electronics and extra conduit coils; spare sheets of reinforced carbon metamaterial? Not so much.
She opened a work list in her eVi and began. The end of the gash closest to the ladder seemed as good a place as any. She shimmied along the edge of the open wall, periodically crawling half into the exposed aperture for a closer inspection. Goddamn it was a mess.
When she finally finished cataloging the damaged components along with severity and criticality, she started constructing the most efficient order of repairs. At least the internal systems resided farther inside and hadn’t been damaged—electronics, mechanical, temperature control and water recycling were all fine. So too was the crucial LEN reactor powering them.
Crawling out of the opening, she found an undamaged section of the wall, leaned against it and drew her knees up to her chest. After a deep breath she projected the work list to an aural, expanding it until it no longer required scrolling. The result stretched for more than half a meter.
She made a couple of notations and adjusted the order. Realized she had made a mistake. Corrected it. Corrected it again.
She was tired. Too tired to begin repairs tonight for certain.
Then there was the matter of her prisoner. His restraints secured him for the time being, but long term he constituted a significant problem. A damn Senecan intelligence agent. Dangerous, clever and wearing an arrogant smirk that was going to annoy her real fast.
She wished he had just been a merc. Even the smart mercs were simple and straightforward, with easily discernible motives usually involving credits. This guy represented far more of a mystery, making him even more dangerous than his profession already did. And while in any other circumstance she would simply go on her way, the option wasn’t currently available to her.
A groan emerged from the back of her throat as she banged her head against the wall. Anywhere else and she could hand her prisoner over to the authorities, pay a premium for materials and have her ship back in near-to-good-as-new-shape in a day, two days max. But here on this forbidding planet in the middle of nowhere, there were no communications, no supplies and no authorities.
She was on her own.
Several hours did in fact pass before she reemerged from the depths of the ship.
Caleb didn’t spend the time dwelling on the unfortunate reality that he had been ‘captured,’ as it were. It was regrettable, but he hadn’t exactly been at his best, on account of having plummeted eighteen kilometers through a violent, punishing atmosphere with a centimeter of fabric and a nanopoly
faceplate protecting him then crashed onto a barren, unforgiving wasteland.
Instead he carefully studied his surroundings.
By the time she returned, he’d identified the functions of the controls within line of sight, noted several crucial junction points and potentially useful screens and—actually first—determined the nature of the encryption on the restraint web. The cockpit appeared blank and unadorned save for a single chair, which meant it was the most advanced area on the ship. Virtual and impenetrable.
The overall design of the interior conveyed a sense of understated, elegant functionality, with as much attention paid to comfort as to utility. Definitely not a military ship. No, this vessel was of private origin and very, very expensive. Corporate perhaps, though it didn’t feel corporate. It felt personal.
Once he completed the visual inventory his thoughts shifted to formulating a plan of escape. Well, not so much ‘escape’ as freedom; it would be counterproductive to abandon the only viable means off the planet.
But he had to admit he was impressed, and more than a little curious. Not about why the most advanced scout ship he’d ever seen was running around Metis. Clearly Alliance interests had discovered the same anomaly as his government and dispatched an investigator.
No, mostly he was curious about what this woman—mechanically savvy and with undeniable flying skills, acerbically sharp, ill-tempered, caustic…and rather stunning in an uncommon, confounding way—was doing piloting it, much less who she might be. At least he would be able to answer the latter question soon enough.
The woman retrieved a new water packet from the kitchen area in the aft of the deck and once again approached him. Her arms glistened from a thin sheen of sweat, while grease and fluids streaked her pants and shirt. Tangled strands of very dark red hair had slipped out of a twisted knot to tickle her cheeks and jaw.
She was making a valiant effort to come off as cold, aloof and even threatening. But he read the exhaustion in the stiff way her feet hit the floor with each step and the tense cording of the muscles in her long, slender neck.
Rogue Stars Page 87
