Sha moved to take down the Khan; he must find proof!
The curtain whipped aside, revealing a haggard and harried-looking Jesup. Tia yelped in surprise and half rose before recognizing the intruder.
Petr almost crushed the cube in his hands as he stared hard at Jesup.
Bitter, ghastly disappointment slid through him at the negative shake of Jesup’s head. A panoply of emotions raged across Jesup’s face, but Petr focused only on one.
Failure.
Overlord-C DropShip Breaker of Waves
Midpoint Turnover, Adhafera
Gravity disappeared in a sickening lurch as the mammoth drive plume cut forward acceleration and the captain initiated a midpoint turnover for the Overlord-C DropShip. Several minutes passed as Sha continued to scan the papers he’d been reading (his mind blanked out the four notices that rang the length and breadth of the ship, warning of imminent turnover). Then, with another lurch, which sent the hard copies spinning lazily to fill almost every corner of his office, the drive flare ignited once more, beginning the deceleration burn toward the waiting CargoShip.
A good thing he had not been drinking anything. The thought barely penetrated his bitter mood.
It had to be done.
He kept telling himself that, but the words did not comfort him. His decisions had cost too much, too many personnel. People who could have served the Aimag, the Khanate, for years to come. People who trusted him to lead, to not throw their lives away without cause. He kept the helm pointed at his target with steady hands, but his heart began to wonder if this truly did lead where he needed to go.
Sha never intended to see so many die, so quickly.
Especially at his own hand.
But ovKhan Kalasa was becoming inquisitive, and Sha felt the need to remove his people from Petr’s grasp. Especially Elemental Corin, whom he now could not find. And simply removing them off-planet was not enough; they had to be permanently beyond his reach. Sha swallowed dryly and realized he did need a drink. But he needed to destroy most of this paper before an aide could bring it.
He stood up slowly and began to gather the paper. As each report floated in front of him, he glanced at it again. All I’ve done for weeks is deal with endless reports.
Destroy endless reports.
Star Colonel Coleen Nagasawa entered at that moment, unbidden and uninvited. She closed the door slowly. Sha cocked an eyebrow, surprised at her boldness. Then he saw the rage burning in her eyes, in stark contrast to her calm face, and he knew the answer to his question.
Sha casually reached under the desk and pressed a button, which kicked on a white-noise generator. Even among his own Aimag, on his own ship, the words he knew were about to spill did not need to be heard by anyone outside this room.
Enough surgical removal for now. More than enough.
“What have you done?” she demanded quietly.
He nodded slightly at her cool tone; his years of work with her to obtain such objectivity had reached fruition. She had been trained to keep her emotions at bay when making a decision, and she could do that now, regardless of the hate or anguish or despondency that tried to engulf her at this moment.
“What I must.”
“What you must. What you must.” Her voice rose a pitch and stopped. Her clenched fists popped with tightly wound tendons.
Sha bent and began to pick up the papers, which fell like large, dry snowflakes. Though Coleen knew most of his plans, even she was not privy to the full scope; he needed to destroy some of these before she could become aware and feel compelled to make a decision she would regret.
“What you must. But they were Aimag.” The sudden look of confusion that drooped her eyelids and slackened her mouth momentarily pulled at his own emotions, echoed his own thoughts.
He did not answer, but continued to shuffle the hard copies, trying to recapture the order he so carefully had given them earlier. He could then feed them all into the incinerator.
Finally, when Sha refused to repeat himself or elaborate, she took a single step toward him and raised her arm. He would never know what she intended to do, but he simply looked at her.
Though a small man, short and slight of build, Sha possessed a look as cold as the voids of space, which could blast through any defense, harrow a soul, freeze a self-image—ultimately shattering.
He stopped her with a look.
Sha turned back to his papers, finished his reorganization and then, and only then, turned back.
“We have agreed this can be the only way, quiaff?”
After a long silence, she finally responded in a low voice. “Aff.”
“Then we must stay the course, quiaff?”
She hesitated another moment before replying,
“Aff.”
At that moment, he experienced an epiphany. Suddenly, he understood her reaction, and though he lost a degree of respect for her, he also felt more confident of her. He understood that now he held the upper hand, not just as her ovKhan, but in every other way. Now he could keep her in line. Keep her from making a foolish error.
“I trust you completely,” he said. “You need not worry.”
She flinched as his words shot straight toward her true concern: her own safety. If it became known that she possessed such an unClanlike characteristic, her position as Star colonel would become . . . uncomfortable. He could feel her anger (read: fear) dissipating as the strings he tied to her wound tight once more.
That she could lack the courage to embrace death yet rise to the rank of Star colonel in spite of it, actually increased his trust in her. His instinct to include her at the beginning was rewarded by the knowledge he could move with more freedom with her at his back.
She is more spheroid than Clan.
He could see her self-loathing. His new understanding of her weakness should have made him sick. Instead, he smiled gently.
She turned her face away, though her shoulders lost some of their slump. Give acceptance with one hand. Take away self-respect with the other.
Everything is a compromise, Coleen. Everything.
But Sha knew she’d known that much longer than he. Reminded now, he firmed his resolve.
He felt more committed than ever.
25
Halifax DropPort, Halifax
Vanderfox, Adhafera
Prefecture VII, The Republic
10 September 3134
Petr tried to decide if the torrential rains were preferable to this soupy mist. Because moisture was not actually falling, you believed you would not get wet; but in the brisk walk between buildings or vehicles on the hard tarmac of the DropPort, the dampness built up until you were covered in a fine layer of water. Most of the drops maintained their cohesion for a certain period, then suddenly soaked your head, and everything else.
He was not sure his mood could be more foul.
“ovKhan,” Jesup said, coming up from behind him as he stepped into the Command HQ vehicle, which sat almost three hundred meters from the closest of Delta’s DropShips.
He noticed that Jesup somehow managed to keep mostly dry and cursed under his breath. “What?”
“Most personnel have reported in. We have an exercise running out beyond Tumbled Heights, but word has gone out to all troops.”
“About time. What has happened to our discipline? How did we grow so lax?” He moved around inside the main briefing room and squelched into a seat at the holotable, disregarding the water saturating the seat and now soaking through his pants; he waved a hand at his aide to take a seat as well.
“Sha lifted off in, what, less than six hours? We should have done the same.”
“He did not take all of his forces with him.”
“Aff, but I wager he could have if he intended to. We have been here too long.”
“Then why would he wait to leave until the sabotage by Adhafera terrorists? I disagree. He could not have lifted off so quickly.”
The musk of their warm, damp bodies quickly pervaded th
e interior, mixing with the stale sweat of years of use, creating a miasma he’d almost gotten used to. He shivered.
Aff, a sure sign he’d been downside too long.
He ignored Jesup’s insistent belief in the Adhafera terrorists. Petr had broached the topic at least a half dozen times with the man, and he refused to acknowledge any other possible explanation. Considering what they had seen together over the years and the impossibilities made truth before their eyes, Petr was infuriated by his obstinate refusal to even entertain an alternative. It confused him, made him wonder, briefly, if Jesup needed to believe in the terrorists for some reason.
In fact, it dawned on him that his aide’s usual sarcastic mockery no longer echoed in his every word. It was as though something had stripped away, or at least blocked, his capacity for looking at the world with cynicism.
The cacophony of a thousand autocannons burst across the tarmac and drove all such thoughts from his mind. He jumped for the door, ignoring the rain; Jesup followed.
Outside, the first of the DropShips began to lift off, illuminating the late-night darkness.
“About time,” he said again, aggravated by his reaction to the liftoff. He had ordered it, and the captain had informed him it would occur soon, so he should have expected it. He was jumpy. Upset.
After a moment, Jesup said glumly, “I hate gravity. I cannot bear to think about how horrible two gravities will be. Stravag Sha for pushing his DropShips to such extremes.”
“He must believe we would pursue him as soon as we knew he had secured the Stewart information.” Does he have a clue about the rest of what I know—what I suspect? Is that why he ran so fast?
But he must know I will follow him to Stewart. I have to wring information from him I can present to Sennet. Or is Stewart a diversion and he flees elsewhere?
He shook his head, moved back inside and sat down, turning on the holographic table, which sputtered to life, showing the entire Adhafera system with the estimated whereabouts of Beta’s ships; both the first group with Sha himself, as well as the smaller group that departed later. He ran some numbers and realized Sha’s JumpShip transport must be available to depart the system immediately upon his DropShip reaching the nadir jump point, leaving a second ship to depart with the second group; he hoped—vainly he was sure—that Sha would not be able to remove all of the forces from the system for another two days.
It would take Petr ten days, perhaps a day less, to intercept Sha, but pushing at two gravities for the entire haul. Petr rubbed his hands together, almost wincing at the aching tendons and joints that would result from such punishment, especially for a Clan used to long years of microgravity.
A small price to pay to stop Sha’s plans. To stop him from shattering Clan Sea Fox.
“What are you going to do once we catch him?” Jesup asked in a small, deadly serious voice.
Gazing up into his aide’s serious eyes, Petr wondered the same thing himself. Had been wondering since he made the decision to lift all available forces off world and head out after Sha.
He felt pulled. He was reacting to events as they unfolded rather than controlling the situation; he had felt this way for weeks. He hated that sensation and knew such strategies always lost. If he hoped to find victory, hoped to do something beyond following Sha around as though led by the nose, failing utterly to stop him, he must seize the initiative again.
But how? That question did not yet have an answer.
He opened his mouth to reply and blackness stepped into the doorway, as though detaching from the night itself.
Jesup glanced over his shoulder to find the source of the absurd look on Petr’s face and immediately threw himself out of his seat toward the back of the room, spun into a low crouch and sized up the situation.
Clothed in a pitch-black sneak suit with night-vision goggles dangling around the neck, totally drenched (probably why none of the area’s IR sensors squawked), the short, stocky intruder moved with lethal grace. The Shredder heavy needler pistol swung in perfect arcs, one-two-three, checking the room, placing targets, before sliding back on straps to a hoisted position under the right arm, easily pulled into position if needed. Though the gun almost looked too large for the intruder’s stature, Petr didn’t doubt for a moment the efficiency with which this person could use such a weapon. Every action, every muscle movement radiated competence and lethality.
Death dressed to kill.
Though the intruder’s eyes were difficult to see in the shadows playing across the doorway, they were visible.
Smoky eyes.
“Savashri,” Petr breathed, unable to restrain himself. He had known all along, though he never admitted it, what she likely must be. But her profile, the body that did not fit her movements, all allowed for easy denial. Allowed him to lead himself astray.
Now, however, the strange emotions he had felt at their last meeting coalesced into something more, something he could not ignore. Respect? Admiration? Esteem?
Aff. And more.
Though the traditional Clan warrior within warred with the vision of the obvious special forces persona before him (such dishonorable tactics!), the tough merchant-warrior respected any acumen, under any circumstances.
And acumen she held in abundance.
“I see you recognize me, sweetness.” Her sultry, almost naughty tone and the breathless chuckle that came with it, so incongruous with the walking assassin standing in the doorway, pulled a return chuckle from him before he could stop himself.
She looked pointedly toward Jesup.
Petr stood, turned to look at Jesup and watched a war between confusion and horror on his face.
What in the Founder’s name is going on? Jesup’s unasked question practically rang out in the silence.
The implications of Jesup’s response crashed down on Petr like a tsunami. Sharing a coquettish chuckle with an obvious spheroid special forces intel agent? A dishonorable assassin? Aff, that would go over very well indeed with his Aimag. If Jesup was having a hard time buying it, he shuddered at the thought of the rest of them swallowing such behavior.
But he’d come this far, trusted this much. Events were moving too quickly for regrets. Like a true Clansman, he simply moved to seize the moment. Perhaps her sudden appearance heralded the ability to act, not just react.
He turned back to her. “Why have you come, Snow?”
She casually stripped off her mask, her wet locks framing her face, those amazing eyes. A grunt from behind brought Petr’s head around again to see the look of extreme distaste Jesup wore.
Petr slowly turned away from Jesup and his mind illuminated with an epiphany. Much to his astonishment, at some point, he had stopped seeing her as he did at their first encounter. Though this was only the third time they had met—their banter, her obvious intelligence and military abilities—they all stacked up to change his perception. She was not, could never be, beautiful, or even pretty. But she had transformed from his initial impression of ugly to . . . striking.
Those smoky eyes.
Her gentle smile told him she had read his emotions on his face. And with no Clansman able to see his face, he did not care; he returned the smile for a moment.
A shared promise for a future they both knew could never be.
The rumble started low and then built to a crescendo, rocking the vehicle gently, an illumination briefly flaring outside, before fading. The second DropShip lifting off brought them both back to the reality of their situation. Of the here and now and the responsibilities they could not ignore.
“What have you brought for me?”
“Oh, a fine wedding present, sweetness. A mighty fine present. You just wait a moment and I’ll be back.” She slipped into the night as though parting shadows. The sudden silence in the vehicle felt louder than the burn of the DropShip.
“That”—Jesup broke the silence after only a handful of breaths—“is where you have been getting your information.” “Sweetness” hung suspended in the air betw
een them as though carved from ’Mech armor.
Petr had never heard Jesup speak in such a deadpan voice, as though his emotions had been stripped and painfully flayed from within. Petr did not turn, not wanting to face it. Responded softly.
“You have trusted me through honor and disgrace, across a dozen worlds and more. You must trust me now.” Years of taking this companion, this friend, for granted yawned before him.
He felt he might shatter from the stillness. He should have brought Jesup in from the beginning. Should have done so many things, which had escaped him.
Which he took for granted.
Sha’s face rose before him. Though he still emphatically believed Sha to be heading down an irredeemable path, some of his words held truth. Petr was lying to himself. Placing his desire above that of his people. Above his Aimag.
Above his friends.
For a moment, he embraced the ache that blossomed and threatened to overwhelm him. He luxuriated in the pain, finally understood the depth of the redemption he would have to undertake. Then he took the ache and wrapped it around and back down, spiraling it, sending it down into the depths, to be dealt with another day.
A day when the fate of his entire Clan did not hang in the balance.
Just then the darkness split asunder and Snow returned, moving fully into the vehicle. Behind her, wearing nothing but short briefs, an elemental stepped up and into the HQ, rocking the vehicle as much as did the DropShip. He bent over considerably to fit through the door. Though his head would have brushed the ceiling if he stood straight, the man bowed himself, as though his mental spine (his self image) were shorn away, torn from him. Slack lips formed a perpetual “O” of surprise, and his eyes darted this way and that, like Tidinic’s, trying desperately to escape, but with the full, horrifying knowledge none existed.
Petr looked in dismayed revulsion at a Clan elemental, bearing few physical marks, reduced to such a state. Snow snapped her fingers and the elemental immediately went to both knees, cradling something in his hands. Jesup’s grunt of disgust echoed his own.
He looked at the smug expression on Snow’s face and once again found himself torn between two emotions. He felt awe for her ability to break an elemental, and revulsion at seeing the epitome of the Clan eugenics program brought low by a spheroid.
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