A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1

by Christina Westcott

  She reached up to massage the stiffness from her neck and a sharp jab in her shoulder reminded her of how close she’d come to not walking out of that blood-soaked bedroom. Fitz huffed out her frustration along with her sigh and retrieved her coffee. As wired as she felt, more caffeine wasn’t wise, but holding the mug gave her something to do with her hands. She imagined the cup was Jeferi’s neck and clenched it until her knuckles whitened.

  Youngblood stepped through the door. “I understand you wished to speak to me, Commander.”

  Since she’d last seen him, he’d exchanged his bloody uniform for light body armor. Moisture from one of the nightly storms beaded the composite vest. He stripped off his helmet, pushing wet tendrils of hair off his face.

  “Have you found Jeferi yet?”

  “Jeferi? I didn’t realize you and your assailant had gotten to know each other quite so intimately in that short time. If you’re referring to Mr. Stripes, no, we haven’t. And I’d bloody well like to know how he managed to slip through our security, but my gut tells me he’s long gone.” He ordered a cup of tea. “Am I to assume you’ve had dealings with this person before?”

  “Over a year ago, Jeferi Hiruko rotated aboard the AriR as a nav-tech. He made quite a splash with the ladies. He, on the other hand, only had eyes for me—that should have been my first clue something wasn’t right. Normal men are usually too intimidated to date an augie.” She took a drink to moisten her dry mouth and screwed up her face. “We spent a lot of time together.”

  “Lovers.”

  Fitz wasn’t sure if his word had been a question or statement.

  “I thought we were, but he was only using me to get close to the Triumvir. I can’t believe how stupid I was to give him all those opportunities to assassinate Kiernan. When he finally made his move, I stopped him, but it was pure luck. During Jeferi’s apprehension, two innocent people paid for my gullibility with their lives. DIS requested we send him back to Striefbourne City to stand trial, but we learned later he never made it there. I gather they found something else for him to do.”

  “He showed up here less than six standard months ago. Which makes me think Tritico had me under surveillance long before you presented me with this current problem.”

  Fitz put down her cup, squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. This felt like it should be done at attention. “Colonel, I want to hire you to help me locate Ari Ransahov.”

  He considered her words for several seconds. “It’s five thousand a day, plus a per diem of a thousand for use of Gold Dragon equipment and expendables, such as ammo and explosives. There’s a minimum charge of five days, and in this case, a maximum of fifteen. If we haven’t finished this up in that time, we have bigger problems. But at the end of the contract period, if I deem the extra time could be productive, I will consider negotiating on a day-by-day basis—for a twenty-percent surcharge. You, of course, will be responsible for all miscellaneous expenses such as food, fuel, repairs, docking fees and any bribes.”

  A protest stuck in Fitz’s throat.

  He continued, “At the end of the contract you will return me to this base or supply a first-class ticket from the nearest space port back to the Rainbow system.”

  “What about me, Boss?”

  “Oh, yes. Where we’re going it might be advisable to take Jumper. His fee is a grand per day.”

  “A thousand creds a day to take the cat?” Fitz sputtered.

  “How come I only get a thousand when you get five grand? That’s not fair.” Jumper scrambled to his feet, the fur on his back standing up.

  Youngblood ignored the cat’s protest. “And of course, we’ll need an armored, life-support carrier for him.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to make me pay for that, too?”

  “I’ll let you rent mine and include it under equipment used.”

  “Oh, that’s big of you.”

  “I generally ask for half of the minimum up front, but in this case I’ll trust that Fleet is good for it.” He studied her, brows drawn down. “They are good for it, aren’t they, FitzWarren?”

  “You’ll get your damn money.” Maks Kiernan was going to bite her head off for this. But he said any way possible.

  A nasty thought occurred to her. “You had this all thought out in advance, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. Before I take a contract, I have every scenario mapped out. In this case, hiring me was your only option. I just wanted to see how long it would take you to realize that.”

  He extended his hand. “I’ll have the datawork drawn later this morning for your approval, but until then, my word is my bond.”

  She accepted the offered clasp, feeling her fingers squeezed in his strong grip. Anticipation filled her. Whether it was from finally getting this mission underway or the prospect of spending time with him, she wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll need to see to a few security details and transfer command to Major Donkenny. Then a couple of hours to pack my kit and I should be ready to leave by 1400. I suspect you could use a few hours of down time after the night you’ve had.”

  “The first thing I want to do, Colonel—”

  “I’m sorry, Commander, but from this point on, I’m taking complete operational control of the mission.”

  “The hell you are. This is my assignment, and it’s my responsibility to see it carried out.”

  “And you hired me to ensure that success. Now stay out of my way and let me do my bloody job.” He moved closer, using his greater height to intimidate her.

  She couldn’t match him in size, so Fitz raised her voice, enunciating each word carefully. “I expect you to obey my orders. You’re only the hired help.”

  “And you are the client. Your job is to set the mission objectives, put up the money, and stay out of my way. Since it doesn’t seem like that’s going to be likely given the circumstances, I insist you listen to what I say and do exactly what I tell you—without question. Do I make myself clear?”

  “If you think I’m going to let you walk in here and take over my operation—”

  “Commander, if you’re having a problem with our agreement at this stage, perhaps it might be better to renegotiate—” He stepped back, holding up a finger for silence. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “Route it to the conference room.”

  He cut his gaze back to her. “Commander, it seems we have a transmission for you.”

  “For me? No one knows I’m here…damn, except Lizzy.” Fitz followed him into the conference room, mind churning as she played out every scenario that could have prompted this call.

  The holo above the long table displayed the SpecOps screen saver, a pair of golden swords crossed over a star field.

  “Lizzy?”

  “Is that you, Commander?” her ship’s avatar asked.

  “Of course it is. What’s happened?”

  “I’m going to need your identification code.”

  “Lizzy…”

  “Identification code, Commander.”

  Fitz rattled off her alphanumeric password, but the computer still wasn’t satisfied.

  “Are you alone?”

  “I’m with Colonel Youngblood. He’s now an official part of this operation, and so can be privy to anything you would share with me.”

  The silence lengthened, and Fitz began to shift from foot to foot. Finally the ship answered with one word. “Authorization.”

  “Damn it, Lizzy.” She ground her teeth together. “Lollypop. There, are you happy?”

  Youngblood arched a brow and mouthed the word at Fitz. She rolled her eyes. “It’s a code. If I don’t answer with the appropriate counter sign, she’ll know I’m being held under duress. And it had to be some stupid word you wouldn’t use in everyday conversation.”

  The computer generated voice managed to sound sullen. “Commander, I don’t thi
nk it’s necessary to divulge our operational procedures to an outsider.”

  “Lizzy, I told you the colonel is a member of this team, and you will afford him all the courtesies you would me. And you will obey his orders. Now, what have you got for me?”

  “I pulled a message off the shipper board on Rainy Prime. It was routed to us from Grady, requesting we divert to Petra Nova and pick up an emergency shipment of medicinals to be delivered to a mining facility out at Petra 6. They did stress it was urgent.”

  “Damn, that means trouble.” She turned to Youngblood. “We use a fictional freight company as a cover, embedding our communications in invoices and shipping orders. An urgent request usually means we’ve got a problem.”

  “It took me some time to break it out,” Lizzy continued. “The message had been embedded deeply to prevent interception, and it took a rather circuitous path to get here, so I’m afraid it’s already several days old.”

  The black and gold logo faded, replaced by the command deck of the AriR. Fitz’s stomach did a slow roll as she saw the flashing battle stations alert. The bleat of a system alarm cut off abruptly, replaced by the tense mutter of a well-trained crew. A word or phrase would periodically rise about the background noise.

  “…hyperlimit in nineteen minutes…”

  Maks Kiernan, jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up, handed a data pad to the AriR’s captain and turned to the holo’s pickup. “I guess you can tell it’s dropped in the pot here.” He chuckled, but the mirth never made it to his eyes.

  “About three hours ago, Admiral Pettigrew jumped into the system with a taskforce from Home Guard. He said Ashcraft had requested my presence at Striefbourne City, along with Admirals Rafferty, Delgato and Tomislaw—which just about beheads my command structure. He went on to assure me that he and his staff would be happy to assume authority here until our return.” Anger made Kiernan’s Ceriala Island brogue deepen. “That asshole Pettigrew must think I’m as dense as a neutron star not to realize it doesn’t take a taskforce to deliver that message.”

  “…enemy missile launch. Two hundred incoming. Make that two fifty…”

  Kiernan looked over his shoulder at the muted chaos of the bridge, then slipped into his seat, cinching the harness. With a final tug on the restraints, he turned back to the pickup.

  “Needless to say, we ran. I didn’t get out with as many of my people as I’d hoped for. They knew exactly when to hit us. The fleet was scattered all over the system on maneuvers. Some physically couldn’t reach us before we bugged out; others didn’t respond to my orders—not that I blame them. This is rapidly turning into a cluster chuft.”

  A shutter rattled through the ship. Behind Kiernan, a thin wisp of smoke hung in the air. Alarms pulsed. Fitz’s heartbeat accelerated to match cadence with the warnings.

  “…damage reports decks nine through twelve…”

  The Triumvir’s eyes swept around the bridge and returned to the pickup. “We got out with five battleships besides the AriR, six cruisers and a dozen corvettes…ah, make that ten. We lost Sekhmet and Harpy trying to screen the supply and refit ships. Those support ships are slowing us down, but we’re going to need their repair facilities, so I don’t dare leave them behind.”

  Reality settled in, twisting in Fitz’s gut. Only two months ago, she’d sat next to the security chief of the Harpy at a meeting and took an instant dislike to the prissy little man because of his incessant nitpicking. Now he was probably dead.

  The screen froze, broke up in pixilation, then reappeared, catching Kiernan in mid-sentence. “…our original plans. We’ll rendezvous…” The image dissolved into blackness.

  “That’s all there was, Commander,” Lizzy said. “And the date stamp on the message is seventy-five hours ago.”

  Pain jolted through her injured shoulder as Fitz clinched her fists. “And there’s been no message since?”

  “No, Commander.”

  “Don’t automatically assume the worse, FitzWarren,” Youngblood said. “It’s not uncommon to lose communications in battle.”

  “But he would have sent another message.”

  “Probably not if their jump point was only minutes away. They could still be in transit. If I had to hide that many ships, I’d hole up somewhere off the space lanes and lie doggo. The only way to get a message out would be by courier boat, and I wouldn’t risk detection by doing that unless it was absolutely necessary.” He drained his cup before continuing. “He mentioned a rendezvous point?”

  “When I returned with Ransahov, I planned to meet a patrol ship at IAS-23. It’s one of those dead systems out in the Back of Beyond. No legitimate interests go there, not with that area’s reputation for unaccountable disappearances. There’s so much debris in that system, you could hide an entire fleet if they were buttoned up. It makes sense for Maks to head there now.”

  The mission had suddenly gone from locating Ransahov to stepping into the middle of a shooting war. Fitz studied Youngblood for his reaction. “You still good with this?”

  “Of course, Commander. I gave you my word. However, this does radically alter our time table. We need to leave now.”

  He turned to address the holo. “Ship, I want you on the landing pad at the north end of my base in one hour. Please contact our air traffic controller as soon as you’re airborne. They’re a tad bit suspicious of unidentified incoming aircraft.”

  Several seconds of silence ensued before Lizzy replied. “Commander?”

  “Do it, Lizzy.”

  “Is she going to challenge every order I give her?” Youngblood asked. “If I tell her to launch counter measures in the middle of a firefight and she has to stop to ask you if that’s acceptable, we’re going to end up a cloud of debris.”

  “Don’t worry, Colonel. She’ll obey you. Won’t you, Lizzy?” When no answer was forthcoming, Fitz sighed. “Lizzy…”

  “If that’s what you wish, Commander.” The holo disappeared as the signal cut off.

  Youngblood strode out of the conference room. “I’ll have my yacht, Bifrost, shadow us to the hyperlimit just in case there are any Imperial ships around.”

  “And what do you think some fancy pleasure yacht is going to do against a corvette?”

  “Plush she may be, but Bifrost isn’t some rich man’s toy; she’s one of the original three Lister Pulsars. And we’ve refitted all of her original weaponry.”

  Pulsars had started life as Gyrfalcon class corvettes, until Ashcraft stiffed the Lister Corporation on the contract, leaving the ship builder with three warships and no buyers. Lister had the last laugh, and retrofitted them into the fastest—and most costly—hypercapable vessels in the Human Sector.

  “FitzWarren, we might be wise to take Bifrost instead of that sulky ship of yours.”

  “Lizzy will get the job done, and I don’t think I could afford a Pulsar-sized surcharge tacked onto my bill.”

  Youngblood shrugged. “Even if it looks clear when we reach the hyperlimit, we should still hop, skip and jump out.”

  “We’re not playing some silly game here.” Fitz followed him into his office.

  “Hop, skip and jump. The St. Albans Maneuver? It’s a little tactic we developed during the Tzraka War to keep the bugs from following us home.”

  “All you’d have to do is jump. They couldn’t track you through jumpspace.”

  “That’s what we thought, until we started losing installations. Then we figured out how they did it. They could extrapolate our course from our orientation at the time of translation. All they had to do was follow that course, dropping in to check each system along the way until they zeroed in on our emissions. We took to making a short hop to an adjacent system, hitting the hyperlimit at such a shallow angle we were literally skipping off it, and then making a longer jump. You might have to do that a couple of times until you were certain you’d gotten away without be
ing observed by one of their scout ships.”

  “But the Tzraka were just bugs.”

  “Bugs that were controlled by something intelligent. Something we never saw.”

  “I don’t recall hearing any of this in our classes at the Academy. In fact, the instructors who’d been in The War seemed reluctant to talk about their experiences.”

  “There were things about that war that no one wanted to admit. Like the fact we were getting our asses kicked.”

  “But we won. Ari Ransahov beat them at Lockmea Rho when she destroyed their fleet with that nova bomb. That’s where she won her Hero of the Empire medal.”

  “She destroyed five hive ships and the rest of the bugs stopped fighting.”

  “That’s what I mean, we beat them.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think the Tzraka were only attack dogs. Their masters called them to heel. Sometimes I wonder what’s going to happen when those huntsmen let slip their hounds again.”

  He pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a package that contained her camosuit, clean and neatly folded. A small cylindrical object folded in a piece of black cloth rested on top of it. Her spike.

  “I took the liberty of moving your things into another room. You should have enough time to clean up and have a quick breakfast.”

  “Not a problem for me, I don’t have anything to pack, but can you be ready that soon?”

  “I always keep a kit ready. In this job it pays to cultivate the ability to bug out on a moment’s notice. I’ll meet you on the landing strip in an hour.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Youngblood called into question everything she thought she knew about the history of her Empire. To her, Ari Ransahov had been a hero, but he painted a picture of a flawed and troubled woman. Fitz hoped his memory was colored by the stormy relationship he’d had with her because right now, both she and the Empire needed Ransahov to be a true hero.

  Chapter Ten

  Wolf studied the rifle lying in the case on his desk. The Wentworth Ninja Mk 2 had long been considered the finest sniper weapon ever produced, and this one had been updated with the latest in multi-spectrum scopes. It showed years of use, parts of the black non-reflective stock had been worn to a soft patina. He closed the lid, set the case on the floor and pulled several boxes of ammunition from the weapons locker built into the wall. The door chimed.