“Counterattack imminent.”
“Last chance.” Ming felt her blade edge break the soft skin of Lander’s throat.
His eyes relented, and she eased the pressure. Lander began to speak, but Ming stopped him. “I can tell if you’re lying.” She leaped off his body in one swift movement. “You lie, you die. No more chances.” He sat up, rubbing the fresh cut on his neck.
“He told me to kill you.”
“Who?”
“Taulke,” he grunted, coughing.
“Truth,” MoSCOW reported.
“Anthony wants me dead?”
“Confusion.”
“Not Anthony,” Lander said. “Tony.”
Tony Taulke wanted her dead? That made even less sense. She’d done nothing to him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Lander said.
“Truth.”
“I don’t understand. Anthony sent you to protect me.”
Lander shook his head, the muscles in his face contracting in ways that told her he was conflicted, but not lying. “Not to protect you,” he said finally. “To get you out of the way. He made a deal for the boy. I don’t know with who.”
Ming didn’t need MoSCOW for this calculation. Auntie Xi. Anthony Taulke had cut a deal with Xi, using Ruben as a bargaining chip. And he’d manipulated Ming out of the way so he could close the deal.
“It’s why we intercepted the Baldwin in the first place,” Lander continued. “To pull you both in-house.”
MoSCOW analyzed his vocal inflections. “Truth.”
“Tony and the old man are on the outs, each trying to one-up the other. Anthony sent the Revenant to intercept you and Tony was pissed at me for not warning him. Now one Taulke wants me to babysit you, the other wants you to have an accident. Tony signs my paycheck, so I take my marching orders from him.” It was the most she’d heard Lander say at one time. Even without MoSCOW she could tell he was relieved to unburden himself.
“I didn’t want to do it,” Lander said. “Executing people—women, especially—is not my style.” MoSCOW said he was being truthful.
“But you would have.”
Lander shrugged. “Yeah, I would have.”
“Truth.”
Her enhanced mind cycled through her options. Intercept Ruben. Go to Mars, confront Anthony. Deal with Tony.
She rejected them all. She needed a new plan, a way to change the field of play. It was time for Ming to make a move worthy of a queen.
“I can help you,” Lander said.
“Truth .”
“You don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“I know if you’re going up against the Taulkes, you’re going to need help. ”
“How can I trust you?” Ming said. “You’re nothing but a hired gun. You’ll shoot me in the back first chance you get.”
She watched the range of emotions cross his face. He knew she had no reason to trust him and she would also know if he was lying.
He finally spoke in an even voice. “Just because I work for the Taulkes doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth. Here’s my offer: I’ll help you do whatever it is you’ve got planned, then we go our separate ways. I’ll make my peace with the Taulkes on my own terms.”
“Truth .”
“You’re bleeding.” Lander pointed at her face.
Ming wiped her nose with her gloved hand. It came away wet.
MoSCOW recommended disengagement to minimize the radiation exposure. She ignored the warning.
Lander might be right. The universe had just gotten a lot more complex, and she would need help for this new plan. Without MoSCOW, she never would have entertained the idea of trusting him, but his biometrics confirmed Lander’s offer was genuine.
“Fine, you’re hired,” she said and started for the Roadrunner . “Double-cross me and I’ll rip out your spine.”
• • •
Ming let Lander drive. Using MoSCOW, she could have flown the shuttle and done everything else she wanted to do at the same time, but it was better for Lander if she kept his mind and hands occupied .
When they were back in lunar orbit, Ming connected to the LUNa City traffic network and searched for the flight data on UN Shuttle X769. A UN ship passing through LUNa City traffic flow would not have aroused any suspicions, but it would have been tracked as a matter of routine.
She found it, but no incoming flight plan had been filed. That wasn’t unusual. As a UN vessel, it would have passed security automatically. She found the logs for the outbound flight, searched for the long-range track using its transponder signature.
The UN craft had entered high Earth orbit, the traffic pattern that flowed above the space stations and assorted satellites ringing the planet like so much junk. The final ping in the record showed the shuttle descending into the orbital ring. The transponder was designed to stop when the shuttle docked.
Using standard UN flight protocols, MoSCOW laid out the projections. Five space stations—all registered to corporations—were possible docking sites. She queried the registries for each of them simultaneously, finding they were all registered to impenetrable shell companies. Ming cursed. She would need access to an Earthside database for that search and she could not risk that level of exposure.
All of the stations had repositioned since the UN ship contact and were spread about the orbital ring. Ming targeted the nearest one and shot the coordinates to Lander.
“That’s where we’re going,” she said. “I need to make a call before you start the burn.” She checked the timer built into MoSCOW. Two hours and seven minutes.
Tick-tock .
She permanently disengaged the radiation warning. She’d do the hospital time, but if she really was going to hunt down Elise Kisaan, she needed the abilities MoSCOW offered her—whatever the consequences.
“You don’t look so good, Ming,” Lander said. MoSCOW registered genuine concern in his voice. Odd, since he’d tried to kill her less than an hour ago.
“I’ll be fine.” She dialed her father-in-law JC Han’s personal connection. The Korean man’s blocky face filled her retinal screen. He looked surprised to see her.
“Ming, you’re safe.”
“Truth.” She was getting more comfortable with MoSCOW’s intrusions now. She could call on the added capabilities at will.
“I need information, JC. About my father. I need to know how he died.”
The older man’s face creased into a frown. “He died in a virus outbreak in Indonesia, Ming. You know that.”
“Did you review his security logs?”
“No, the security upload link was down that entire day. Maintenance, I think. Unfortunate, but not unusual.”
“There was an inquiry.”
“Of course, Ito visited the site and reported back to the board. The camp had been firebombed for safety. There was nothing left, he said.”
“Truth.”
Ito was the one who had found the last fifty-nine seconds of security vid. Ito had given it to Ming’s mother. But that got her no closer to knowing who was behind the attack, Sying or her aunt .
“My father was murdered,” Ming said.
JC’s face registered shock.
“Truth.”
“What do you know about Ruben?” Ming asked.
“Nothing,” JC said. His eyes flicked away from hers. Lie .
“I need you to give a message to my aunt.”
“Anything.”
“Tell her I’m coming for her.” She ended the call.
It felt like MoSCOW was consuming her body from the inside out. Ming stuffed another prepackaged bar in her mouth.
“Ready?” Lander asked.
Ming closed her eyes. She called up the image of the Kisaan woman in her retinal display. She was the key to this whole mess. Find her, take back Viktor’s cryptokey, and then she’d have the leverage to deal with Anthony Taulke on her terms.
Tick-tock .
“Max burn, Lander. I don’t have m
uch time left.”
Chapter 19
William Graves • Haven 6, Deck 36
Graves nodded his approval. The bridge of Haven 6 looked like an army command post: a captain’s chair in the center, flanked by the executive officer at tactical and the helm. Comms, weapons, and engineering were behind him. All manned by competent-looking young men and women in dark blue jumpsuits.
An impressive wallscreen showed the exterior of the Haven. US Army personnel formed a wide perimeter facing the people scattered over the countryside around the dome. The people who weren’t coming with them.
He turned his attention to the navy captain, who rose from the command chair. Captain Tristan Rickard had quick, intelligent eyes that made Graves feel as if he’d just been scanned and catalogued. Rickard was the man from beyond deck 36, the man who was going to take Haven 6 to the stars.
“Captain,” Graves said, automatically adopting the kind of no-nonsense tone a man like this would appreciate. “What’s your status? ”
“We’re standing by for countdown, sir.” Rickard’s flat, open speech placed him from the northeastern United States. “Once you give the order to seal the dome and turn over control to the engine room, we’ll start the launch sequence.” Rickard’s smile was perfunctory, a nervous bending of the lips. “The launch, it’ll be rough. Gonna feel like an earthquake in here, but that’ll smooth out once we break out of the silo.”
Graves shared a look with Jansen. She’d be dealing with three thousand people of various stripes, experiences, and neuroses during the launch.
The silence drew out, the bridge crew watching them. Rickard cleared his throat.
“We’re ready for the change of command whenever you are, General.” Rickard indicated the tablet held by the XO, who’d appeared at his side. He scanned in his biometric data, then handed it to Graves. The general repeated the procedure and passed the tablet back.
Rickard came to attention and saluted. “I relieve you, sir.”
Graves returned the honor, aware that Jansen was watching. He held the salute, feeling the tip of his finger quiver against his temple. “I stand relieved, sir.”
Rickard dropped his hand and extended it to Jansen. “Welcome aboard, Captain. I’m appointing you to my staff as personnel officer.”
Jansen shook his hand mechanically, a bewildered look on her face. “General, can I speak to you, sir?” she said to Graves.
Rickard gestured to the door marked Ready Room off the right side of the bridge then spun on his heel. “Comms, make a ship-wide announcement that we’re sealing the dome in one hour. Let’s get the other Haven COs onscreen…”
The sounds of the bridge faded as Graves followed Jansen into the ready room and the door closed behind them. Her gait was precise, measured.
Her about-face was so fast Graves almost ran into her.
“Sir, what the hell is going on? You’re being relieved of duty?”
From the hunted look and the worry in her voice, Graves was glad he hadn’t told her the truth before now.
“I’m not going,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. “The Havens are defenseless ships. No shields, no weapons, no protection of any kind. Thanks to Remy, we’re going to take the fight right to the Neos.”
“Remy?” Jansen looked at him with horror. “That’s what all that was about? General, you’re needed here, not leading some kamikaze attack on a space station full of religious nuts.”
Graves gripped her by the shoulders. “Hannah, I have complete faith in you. You are exactly the kind of person we need on this mission, not some old, broken-down soldier like me. I have a role to play, but not as part of the Havens.”
Jansen started to speak, but welling eyes made her stop. The system-wide comm system saved both of them any awkwardness. The countdown to sealing the domes had begun.
Jansen shrugged his hands off her shoulders and wrapped her arms around him. She squeezed him for a minute, then let go and stepped back.
“I’ll come back for you, sir. Promise.”
Graves impressed the iron line of her jaw and her handsome face into his memory. He would miss Hannah Jansen more than he ever expected. “How about you just make me proud, Hannah? ”
She smiled and let her eyes find his.
“Always.”
• • •
Graves watched the Haven 6 dome shrink as the shuttle left the Minnesota prairie behind. The dome had sealed closed behind him, leaving an unbroken curtain of milky-blue material.
He missed Jansen already, but instead of sadness or anger at the situation, he felt only a gnawing emptiness. The dome shrank to a pinpoint and then was obscured by wisps of cloud.
“How long to the command ship?” he called to the pilot. The sky around him darkened and the Earth’s horizon began to curve. Crowds of low-orbit satellites came into view.
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
“Very well. Wake me when we get there, Lieutenant,” Graves said, closing his eyes.
He dreamed of the family lighthouse in Maine. The winds of the Atlantic howled as twelve-year-old William Graves bounded up a circular staircase, hot on the heels of his older sister, Jane.
When they reached the lantern deck with its massive Fresnel lens, Jane burst through the trapdoor and rushed to the railing. The brisk sea wind seemed to bar young Will, whose hands clutched at the metal lip of the trapdoor. Jane stood on the bottom bar of the railing, rested her thighs against the top rail, and leaned into space.
“Janie, don’t!” Will said.
She ignored him, her long, brown hair whipping behind her. Jane closed her eyes, raised her face to the sun, and spread her arms like a bird .
Graves’s heart clenched at the sight of his terrified younger self hanging back in the trapdoor. He was afraid of heights. He wanted to be brave like his big sister, but he didn’t have it inside his little body.
“Come on, Will!” Jane called. “It’s like flying!”
Will’s lip quivered, and he ducked his head lower. Jane hopped off the railing and raced back to the trapdoor. She knelt in front of him. He might have expected scorn or even pity from Jane, but that was not her way. She held out her hand.
“Take my hand, Will,” she said. “I won’t let you fall. Today is the day.”
Graves felt the boy war with his fears, then he reached out. Her grip was warm and strong and so very calm that some of it leaked back into him. He climbed the last two steps of the ladder and got to his feet.
Jane interlaced her fingers with his and gave her brother’s hand a squeeze. Graves wished he could freeze that moment.
“You’re very brave, Will.”
The boy smiled up at her, confidence swelling his chest. Today would be the day.
“C’mon,” she said, pulling him forward to the edge.
He gripped the railing with one hand, knuckles white, eyes wide with terror.
“Don’t look down,” Jane said, kneeling next to him. She pointed. “Look out at the horizon, Will. See how big the ocean is? How beautiful?”
He saw the far, blue horizon with its magical ability to draw from a young boy’s imagination limitless tales of sailing ships and pirates, sea chanties and treasure chests, damsels in distress .
“Good, Will,” Jane said. “Now, look down.”
The lighthouse stood atop a rocky cliff and his gaze traveled down the white stone, down the brown jutting cliffs to the black rocks and foaming surf. Spray billowed as the water hit the rocks like wet fireworks bursting in the air.
His stomach clenched, and for second Will thought he might be sick.
Jane’s arm slipped around his shoulders, drawing him close. “Look back at the horizon,” she whispered in his ear.
He raised his eyes to the flat blue line. His nausea subsided, but his death grip on the railing stayed.
“Are you ready?” Jane asked, a lilt of humor in her voice. Jane guided the hand she held to the railing until the boy grasped the cold, salty-wet metal.<
br />
She climbed onto the bottom railing. She rested her weight against the top railing and leaned over the edge, spreading her arms wide.
“You can do it, Will. Fly with me.”
In real life, William Graves had never flown with his late sister. She was the daredevil, he was afraid.
But not today.
Still gripping the top railing with both hands, Will placed one foot on the bottom railing, then the other. He felt faint when he hoisted himself a mere eighteen inches higher, but he held on. Graves felt the wind buffeting him.
“Let go,” she shouted, her face bright with joy. Stray strands of her long hair whipped behind her like a pennant. “Fly with me!” She closed her eyes and screamed into the wind.
The top railing bit into Will’s waist. His palms were slippery with sweat, and his knees threatened to fail him any second now.
Will peeled one hand, then the other from the railing and spread his trembling arms wide. He looked toward the blue horizon and turned his face higher, howling his accomplishment to the sky.
“General!”
Graves jerked awake.
“We’re on final approach, sir,” the pilot called. “You said to wake you.”
Graves grunted a reply, brushing a hand across his cheek. It was numb and cool. The dream had felt so real…
But more than that, the dream left him with a sense of hope. If ever he needed that kind of confidence, it was now.
Today is the day, Will.
Graves leaned forward and stared out the forward window. “Is that it?”
“That’s the Dauntless , sir.”
The ship was a newer Y-class sloop, so named for the sweep of her wings. She was built for speed, not fighting, but the upgraded comms and sensor package she carried was worth its weight in platinum for what Graves had in mind.
She carried only a pair of low-mass rail guns fore and aft, the max allowed by the UN Treaty on Space Warfare. In order to prevent an off-planet arms race, the only vessels that could be armed were atmospheric-capable ships, and then only with projectile weapons. The use of energy weapons or missiles was strictly prohibited.
Graves held no illusions that a murderous cult like the Neos would bother observing international law.
Cassandra's War: A Sci-Fi Corporate Technothriller (The SynCorp Saga Book 2) Page 17
