Assured (Envoys Book 2)

by Peter J Aldin

  The acrid funk of Tluaan urine hadn’t quite been sucked from the air yet, nor was it overpowered by the soap aroma coming from the bathroom down near Piers’s room. Ana eased open the door that Umby had indicated. Chlalloun startled from the narrow armchair, coming to his feet and wringing his hands at his chest. His ears twitched. He wore human clothes—baggy around his shoulders and tight around his hips—and the room smelled like soap. Soap and the unlit aromatic candles the ambassador’s bodyguard kept on her narrow shelving unit by the wardrobe.

  “Much as I like the air in here, we’re going in there.” She stood back and gestured to Gregory’s door across the passage. When Chlalloun didn’t move, she almost yelled at him, but pity stopped her. He was a kidnap victim, completely alone, helpless, in fear for his life. And he was not a soldier. She attempted a polite bow, then repeated the gesture toward the ambassador’s door. “Please.”

  Finally understanding, he hurried past with his hands raised to protect his head. Had Umbrano hit him? she wondered.

  Gregory’s cabin was bigger than the bodyguard’s. A deeper bunk. More shelf space. A wider wall closet. An armchair as well as the desk chair. And an actual work desk right by the door. No photos or holos. No knickknacks. The closet had an old-fashioned tumbler lock with a physical key. And Gregory had left the key in the lock. She checked inside it as Chlalloun folded into the armchair. It was clogged with fancy and not-so-fancy male clothing.

  She closed the cabin door and inspected the rest of the room. A wall panel between the bunk and the corner shelving unit opened to reveal an emergency e-suit hanging inside. Blocking Chlalloun’s view with her back, she powered up the sleeve’s comm-unit. Thankfully, it made no sounds as its tiny electronic keypad activated and a text screen blinked to life above it. She found a stylus slid inside a recess, withdrew it and scrawled a few experimental letters. The unit still made no noises—and why would it need them, being intended for use in the vacuum of space? To the side of the scribble plate was a LOCAL USERS icon; she tapped it and two “users” appeared in a list on the screen:

  PL VIDO

  DCHC-Dv-113942

  The second one had to be the ship’s registry number; it was probably a link to cockpit comms. But PL Vido? Was Vido the pilot’s name? Was that the pilot’s suit? P had to be for Piers. She sent a single word his way.

  Hey

  Then waited. And waited. Eventually she gave it up and slumped on the cot.

  Umbrano must have stayed in Piers’s room for a long time. It wasn’t until thirty-nine minutes later that she glanced up and saw a reply message glowing on Gregory’s suit panel.

  I’m a crummy husband but I’m a good father. When I’m home at least. And I’d like to get home to see my kids again. You help me out of this and I’ll testify that you weren’t in on it. They tricked you like they tricked the rest of us.

  They did, she sent back. They damn well did.

  Okay, accepted. I’ve been thinking a lot. We need to keep it simple, right?

  Right

  Very simple. A pause. The bulala was being dramatic. There was no goddamn time for dramatic.

  She typed back, Whats that mean!!!!!!

  Forget hacking. Forget locking them in a cabin. You don’t need a knife fight. Wait until they’re together then shoot the bastards at the same time.

  “Oh, my God,” she growled. “We discussed this!”

  You said no guns on a yacht!!!! she replied.

  Your ballistic sidearm no. A stun pulse from your rifle, not so bad.

  Not so bad????

  Should be fine.

  Should be?????

  It will be. Security forces have used them on boats like this with no issues. Some superficial damage when they miss, that’s all.

  Holy crap. Why the hack not tell me this before?

  She wrote, I stun them then what? stun them again in the head at close range to finish em off?

  Why finish them off? Can’t you just restrain them? Lock them up?

  Well no I can’t asshole coz first theyll find a way to break out if lock em up and second do you have any restraints handcuffs crap like that?

  There came a pause before his short reply.

  No.

  Ana’s jaw had dropped open. She was scratching her temple in surprise. Because in the time it had taken Piers to admit and type that word, another idea had occurred to her. Maybe even a good one.

  Skip back a bit, she wrote. Your sure stun bolts cant damage the ship?

  They’d be fine. Why?

  Got an idea

  She lost herself in thought a moment. His reply appeared onscreen, jolting her out of it.

  You’re going to shoot them after all?

  Im gonna distract em THEN shoot em

  Want help with the distraction?

  A grin formed on her face, one that probably looked a lot like the Fowler’s when the bastard was feeling mean.

  Oh yeah, she sent. Your gonna help with it allright

  21

  Metal ticked. Plastic creaked. People groaned and muttered. An automated system repeated the same announcement in its soft, androgynous voice.

  “Hull integrity uncompromised. Internal batteries at 92% charge. Help is on its way. Hull integrity uncompromised. Internal batteries at 92% charge. Help is on its way.”

  Two truths and one lie, Gregory thought with bitter humor.

  He’d bitten himself. He tasted blood in his mouth, his bottom lip slick and warm with it. He dabbed at it and studied the smear across his fingers under the pod’s flickering internal lights. Not much blood, really, but enough to testify that the landing had not been gentle. As if his aching shoulders and neck weren’t evidence enough. A safety briefing years ago had told him that escape pods landing on a celestial body did so in a controlled fall.

  “Not so sure about the controlled part of it,” he muttered.

  Grace had her harness off, her eyes on his bloody fingertips and bloody lip. “You all right?”

  He nodded, then grimaced when the movement caused a stabbing pain. “Little whiplash, maybe.”

  He groped at his harness buckles. She knocked his hands away to do it for him.

  “Don’t need a mom,” he grumbled.

  “Damn well need a bodyguard, though, don’t you?”

  “That’s probably true,” he admitted. Someone coughed and swore at his other side. Pan’s eyes met his. “You’re awake, Captain!”

  “Damn. I was hoping I wasn’t.” Hearing his voice, others—free of their restraints—pressed toward him. Pan hadn’t even tried to remove harness yet. He raised a shaky hand to forestall their queries and anxieties—then dropped it into his lap again. “Give me a minute, will you all? I feel worse than you look.”

  There were several bloody lips, Gregory noticed now. Westermann was bleeding a little from a cut on her cheek where she must have struck it early on. With the only standing room down the narrow sides of the pod, several people had stayed in their seats: Sintopas, Westermann, Yassim, Hecate. Chief Lindberg was rubbing at her neck as she pushed to the front of the small crowd in the portside aisle.

  “Sir, shall I bring you up to speed?” she asked.

  Oh, now you want to contribute? Gregory felt like saying.

  “In short sentences,” said Pan. “With small words.”

  Lindberg did so, helped by other crewers slipping in details.

  As he assisted Pan with getting his harness off, Gregory watched the captain absorb each new detail, saw every wince and eye-flicker and angry micro-expression wash their way across his face. Through it all, the captain held Lindberg’s gaze and held his tongue. The next time he spoke, it was to ask what kind of terrain was outside.

  I am so glad you’re back, Gregory thought.

  The male helmsman said, “The region near the Xenthracr mining site is sparse, dry forest. We’re in the volcano crater with the Qesh temple thing.”

  “Why there?”

  “The Ambassador’s orders.”

/>   Pan shifted around to focus on Gregory. “Why there?”

  Gregory repeated his reasons for choosing the site. This time, he included Chipper’s speculation about the old Qesh radio tower.

  Pan listened and replied, “Very well,” leaving Gregory to wonder whether he agreed with the decision or not.

  Doesn’t matter what he thinks. It’s done now.

  Pan gripped the seatback in front of him, pulling himself to the edge of his chair. “Are we picking up transponder signals from other survivors?”

  They’d already reported the uncertain fate of most pods and the danger they’d been in from the fighters in orbit.

  “No,” said Toller. “Nothing since we came out of reentry sensor blackout.”

  “Nothing from Devilfly? Nothing from the Lioness?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Can someone assist me forward so I can look at the exterior scans?”

  Lindberg and Toller volunteered. Assured’s four weapons and sensor operators shifted to the entry/exit hatch at the back, staying out of the way. Grace had stepped out into the starboard aisle. Gregory joined her, then tried to move further forward to for a better view of the captain’s activities. But Hecate emerged from her seat to block his way. They had uncuffed her uninjured right hand to get her into her harness. Gregory thought it was probably time they put the cuff back on.

  She said, “Was this what you expected when you first begged your Parliament to let you say hi to the Tluaanto?”

  “Shut your yap!” someone shouted before he could respond. It had come from Westermann in the other aisle. The bellow was fierce with rage. And it silenced all other talk and movement in the cramped compartment. “You don’t talk, you evil bitch. You just murdered almost a hundred people. Good people!”

  Hecate sneered at her, raising the wrist with the handcuff dangling from it. “You can keep me prisoner but ya can’t stop me yacking.” She looked like she’d add more, but her mouth froze half-open when Westermann drew her sidearm and aimed it across the seats and square at the Xerxian’s chest.

  Gregory launched himself between them, surprised by his instinct, surprised when Grace didn’t yank him out of the way, and glad when one of the Assured weapons controllers put a restraining hand upon Westermann’s arm.

  “We’re not going to murder her in return,” Gregory said. “You’re not a murderer.”

  Westermann had shifted her aim enough to remove the danger to him, not enough that she couldn’t take the shot if he budged a little. The tableau lasted a few seconds more, then she relented, holstering the gun, and facing the bulkhead cubbies. She punched one of them hard and stayed that way with her back turned. Gregory pivoted, noticing the hatred on most faces staring at Hecate, the hot and angry tears spilling down Yassim’s cheeks, the way Esana clutched her fists to her chest.

  “You soft little puppies,” Hecate mocked from behind him. “Killing enemy combatants isn’t murder.”

  “Enemy …?” said Esana.

  “You’re all our enemy. I did it for the Xerxian people, for the Sevens Party!”

  “Someone shut her up or I will,” Grace muttered.

  “And when you or some other hellhacker sends me to the next life,” Hecate continued, “I will unite with other brave toughers who—”

  Grace punched her. Hard. Hecate went down, flopping and flailing. There was no blood, but a welt already showed up on her left cheekbone.

  Grace bobbed on the balls of her feet, just beyond the fallen woman’s tangled legs. “Get up.”

  Hecate raised her gel-casted left wrist. “I’ve only got use of one hand.”

  “Then I’ll only hit you with one hand,” Grace replied.

  “That’s enough,” said Gregory. “All of you.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Pan. “We’re not murderers. We’re not pirates. We’re not street thugs. We are Confederation navy and,” he added, shifting a little to catch Grace’s eye, “diplomatic staff.”

  Grace scowled and backed away.

  “Diplomatic staff who throw a good punch,” said Hecate, sitting up and testing her new wound with the tips of her fingers.

  “Listen to me closely, all of you,” Pan said in his command tone. “I’ve been stunned into unconsciousness. I have one hell of a headache. We’ve all lost our ship, our people. My ship. My people. Believe me when I tell you, I’m not in the mood for any more bullshit.”

  Pan waited expectantly, until a chorus of “Aye, sir” rippled through the pod. Westermann was the last to say it. Hecate just snorted, arms resting on her knees.

  “The prisoner better hold her tongue,” he said. “We might not shoot her in cold blood, but I’ll be happy to gag her and lock her in a cubby.”

  Hecate only shook her head this time and let it hang over her hands.

  “All of you are alive so far because of two things. You were lucky enough to be on the bridge, near the ship’s best pod. And you responded well to the emergency and got off the ship fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you feel guilty about that. You think you abandoned your shipmates. You think you could have done more. It’s only human to think that way, but you need to stop it. You did the right thing. By continuing to survive, we honor the loss and the … the sacrifice of those who are gone. And we need to be at our best—for each other—if we’re to survive this.”

  Pan gestured for Toller to send data onto the ceiling screens.

  “Here’s our situation,” the captain continued, interpreting the data. “The air outside is perfectly breathable, but it may not be pleasant to breathe. There is a high pollen count in the caldera. Not much in way of vegetation out there—grasses, broadleaf weeds, and cactus-analogs—but it seems like we’ve arrived in cactus flowering season. There’s an e-suit for everyone here, plus a couple of spares. But we won’t take everyone outside just yet. For those who do go out, you may not find the best fit in the suits onboard, but it’ll better than choking on that pollen.”

  “Captain,” Toller said suddenly. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have audio comms from the medbay pod.”

  “Open channel.”

  A gruff, male voice came on, mid-sentence. “… copy if you hear us.”

  “This is Pan, bridge pod. Who’s this?”

  “Corporal Bradstock, sir. We received your transmission before entry blackout and managed to land about four klicks outside the caldera.” The Peacekeeper was all business, as if this was something he did every day.

  “And we’re inside it,” Pan replied. “Who’s with you and what’s their condition?”

  “Rough setdown, sir, but no injuries. None besides the minor ones two of them already had. I have Ensign Moore, medical staff. Able Spacer Evans, filing clerk. Able Spacer Gladky, galley staff. And Envoy Buoun, sir.”

  “That’s good news,” Gregory said. When eyes turned his way, he clarified, “All of it. Good they’re safe.” But it had been Buoun he’d been most concerned for, he admitted to himself.

  “You’re all mobile?” Pan asked.

  “Yessir.”

  “Which side of the caldera are you on? Not the mining site side?”

  “Opposite side, I believe. We came down in forest, sir. This pod’s equipped with bloody good retros, but it got banged up. Hull’s leaking.”

  “The air outside is earth-normal, Corporal, but scan for biohazards please. We’re reading a very high pollen count. Get everyone in suits and get up here. When you reach the rim of the volcano, look for a stone structure poking from the slope inside it. We’ll meet you there. If you can’t find us, continue down to the lake where you’ll see our pod.”

  In the background, a man’s voice complained about having to walk and a woman shushed him.

  “Copy, sir,” said Bradstock and broke the connection.

  “Some welcome good news,” Pan said briskly. People nodded agreement. He pointed to an image of the Qesh brick portal displayed on a ceiling monitors screen. “That’s where we’re headed first. I’ll take six personnel with
me.”

  “Captain,” Gregory interrupted, “I don’t mean to interfere but shouldn’t we wait a while? Are you up to climbing the rim after your stunning? It’s several hundred meters up to that portal. And it’s pretty steep.”

  “Thank you for your concern. I’m up to it. I’d like to ask you the same question. Feel up to a climb?”

  Gregory abruptly appreciated all the fitness training Grace had been forcing on him. “No problem, Captain.”

  It was Grace’s turn to interrupt. “I don’t see the value in risking the Ambassador outside the pod. It’s safer in here. You’ll need people handy with weapons to come with you, so I’ll come instead of him.”

  Pan nodded. “I’ll certainly value your company, Ms. Renny. You were already included in the six I’d counted. But I’d I value the ambassador’s advice. And if anyone can think of a way to communicate with the Qesh, it might be him.”

  “I’m going, Grace,” Gregory told her quietly. No way was he twiddling his digits down here while other people got to see the sights.

  Pan continued, “The other four people coming along are Corporal Westermann and Lieutenant Toller with the rifles we have, Able Spacer Esana carrying portable sensors, and Ensign Sintopas with signals expertise.”

  Sintopas gave a barely audible whine. Hecate heard it and snorted in amusement.

  “Esana and Toller, lay out some e-suits. Westermann, unlock the small arms locker: handguns for everyone else.”

  “Not me,” Gregory said. “Probably shoot myself in the foot.”

  “He’s been training with handguns,” Grace said, overriding him. “He’ll take one.”

  Westermann fussed in the portside cubbies, handing out pistols sheathed in holsters.

  Pan added, “Those of you remaining, keep the pod sealed after we leave, filter out whatever air creeps in while we’re leaving, and watch for comms from us. Start assessing water pumps and filters to see if we can use that lake water. Recce party, the pod’s been steered to the edge of the lake, but it’ll take a bit of splashing around to get onto the banks. Keep an eye out for unfriendly fauna.”