by Allan Cole
His first act, quite in character, was to dump as much as he could on Tanya.
“The orders just came in from On High,” Harry said. “And those orders are for us to get this thing sorted out immediately.
“They want us to find out if it was an accident, like the Russians claim. Or was it purposeful? And if it was purposeful, who was responsible?”
“They realize, I assume,” Tanya said, “that if it wasn’t an accident— and we prove it— it might mean war?”
Harry shied away from this. “Let’s hope for the best,” he said. “A few minutes ago I was handed an official communiqué from the Kremlin. They insist it was an accident. That a civilian ship was mistaken for an attacking American destroyer. And they promise to make restitution to the families of the victims.”
Harry sucked in a deep breath, calming himself. “I’d no sooner read that,” he said, “then I got another message from the Kremlin. This one warned that any accusations better not go too far.
“And that there might, and I quote, ‘be reason to believe,’ endquote, that the whole thing was a setup by the Americans to embarrass the Kremlin.”
Tanya nodded. She was up to speed now. “Okay, Harry. How do we proceed?”
“Not we,” Harry corrected. “You!”
“What?” Tanya was confused.
“You’ll have complete carte blanche in your investigation,” he said, “and broad authority.”
As he spoke, he swiped at a vidtablet, legal phrases swirling on its surface.
“I’ll be alone?” Tanya asked, brows shooting up in surprise.
This was very strange. This was a job for a team, not one person.
“Yeah,” Harry said, “you’ll be alone.” He pushed the vidtablet into her hands. “Two places to sign… here… here… and your thumbprint here.”
Tanya ignored his directions. “I don’t understand,” she said. “This is the kind of situation that calls for governmental commissions— from both sides, Harry. Both sides!”
“Sure, there’ll be commissions,” Harry said. “Ask the Big Boss to explain.” He pointed upwards— indicating the penthouse offices of the UWP Commander In Chief, General Hamann.
“Meanwhile, all I’ve got are these written orders for you.” Again he indicated the vidtablet.
At Tanya’s glance, the scrolling phrases on the flat screen came to a halt, then leaped to the beginning of the document.
She looked it over. Everything was right. Big red seal and General Hamann’s signature.
“I still don’t like it,” she said. “This makes no sense.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you this much,” Harry said. “But no more. The Russians say they’ll only allow one UWP investigator. And that investigator must be no one else but you.”
He peered at her, eyes hard. “Why, I don’t know,” he said. “Can you explain it?”
Tanya snorted. “What? You think I’m an RGF agent? Give me a break, Harry! The fact is, everybody knows I can’t be bought, can’t be pressured. That’s the truth, not a boast, and both the Russians and the Americans know it.”
“The trouble with you, Tanya,” Harry snarled, “is that you have way too high an opinion of yourself.”
He jabbed a finger at the vidtablet. “Now sign it, dammit.”
Tanya signed.
Harry grabbed it back, rose to his feet and headed for the door. “Well, that’s that. Good luck, Tanya.”
And he exited. For the first time since they’d met Harry left her company without first pressuring her for a date. What was this? New tactics? Demonstrating his indifference? Or plain old ordinary fear? Funny how guys like Harry shriveled up when their precious parts were really on the line.
Once upon a time in Tanya’s life there’d been one man who’d been different from all the rest. There were no games, no jealousies, no man versus woman war between them. But that was long ago, as they say, and besides the man was dead— killed fighting a terrorist gang in the Old Bronx.
She reviewed the document she’d just signed. The order was clear. She was to investigate all circumstances leading to the destruction of HolidayOne. She was to gather evidence, form a conclusion, and report those conclusions.
Tanya scrolled down to the expense ledger, whistling when she saw the budget she’d been allotted. The UWP was not noted for such generosity.
A red light flashed at the bottom of the screen. Tanya tapped it and a small card popped from a slot. The card was blue and silver, but otherwise featureless.
Tanya shifted her grip until she held the card by her right thumb and forefinger. A snap of static as the card cast a recognition spell. She felt a tingle as it checked to see if she really was Tanya Lawson, then formed a magical bond with her.
A flash and a full-size image of General Hamann rose up in the center of the room. The image showed a big, burly man wearing the full dress uniform of a two-star general.
Tanya neutralized the spell and the image disappeared. She carefully tucked the card away — it was her authority, her claim to demand help from any agency. She didn’t dare lose it. But if she did the elaborate spell that had been cast would make it useless to any other person. Not even a First Class Wizard could break its magical code.
Tanya recognized the rather solemn and formal style of the spells as coming from the UWP’s top team of wizards. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get this card made so quickly. One more bit of proof the crisis had reached gale force and was quickly rising.
Musing, caught off guard by emotions plunging along the roller coaster of fast moving events, a sudden flush of elation took her.
Well, she thought, this is what you wanted since you were a kid, isn’t it? Tanya Lawson, Girl Hero, facing the most difficult of missions. Standing alone before the whole world.
The moment grew stranger still and Tanya found herself leaning on her hands, bending over the table, wild visions floating before her. Tanya Lawson the WorldSaver! Lawson the Great! The woman who stopped the war!
Then a cold peering eye caught her.
It was a terrifying glare, coming from afar, but at the same time she knew the owner was near, terribly near. It felt like some creature lurking in the very depths of the earth, now rising to the surface. No. She was wrong. This was a Being out of nothingness.
And it wasn’t in the deep, or in the street, or in the sky. It was everywhere and nowhere at once. Permeating the UWP skyscratcher, inside and out; in this world and all others.
Tanya’s senses were scorched in one fleeting second of that glare— as if she were staring at a fierce sun. The glance of that Being was filled with wrath, immeasurable wrath, and Tanya trembled, knowing if it continued she was lost.
No mortal could withstand such anger, such force. She lifted shaking fingers, trying to cast a defending spell; to run, to hide, to shield herself in a cloak of invisibility.
But it was no use.
An icy hand clutched her throat… and then…
All was gone!
There was a gentle knock at the door.
Tanya nearly collapsed. She was weak and her uniform was soaked through with fear’s sweat. Her knees trembled.
The knock came again.
Her spine tingled with dread. She just knew it was the Being! Crouching… waiting… beyond her door.
God, God, why didn’t it burst through and get her? A wild thought: some said there were a few very evil creatures, like vampires, who couldn’t enter a mortal’s house against the owner’s will.
Maybe that’s what was happening.
And the… Thing!… wanted her to open the door!
Again, the knock.
Tanya’s hand moved down to her sidearm. Bullets against such a creature were probably no good— but… but…
A voice: “Inspector Lawson! Ma’am! Are you there?”
Tanya thought she recognized the voice. It sounded like Kriegworm, the giant Ogre-Mage, one of a very few magical beings who’d managed to enlist in the U
WP. He was a very powerful mage, one of the best.
Tanya was too weak to walk the five paces from table to door.
“Open,” she commanded and the door swung open.
As much as she disliked Kriegworm she was relieved to see it really was him. To Tanya, Ogres were ugly, nasty things that gave off a powerful odor, made worse by the fact they believed bathing was one of the stupidest of all soft-skin inventions.
Even more— they were MAGICAL BEINGS, and that was enough for Tanya. Still, at the moment she was damned pleased to see him.
“What do you want?” she managed.
The Ogre— eight feet high, four feet at the shoulders, red round eyes, sharp white fangs peering from the upper lip— was elegantly garbed in a gray suit. His tie was perfect and on his wrist he wore an expensive gold Rolex.
Tanya unwittingly sniffed the air. Oh, boy! Eau de Cologne! Seems Kriegworm had prepared well for this visit.
“I have special orders,” Kriegworm growled, looking at Lawson with a strange glow in his red, round goggle-eyes. “Very special orders.”
Tanya sighed, normalcy setting in. Ogres were rather ceremonial. Sometimes it became boring.
“Report your orders,” she said.
“I am to accompany Master Investigator Lawson on her new mission,” Kriegworm said.
“But I was told I would be alone,” Tanya said.
“Yes, that’s so,” the ugly head nodded. “The Rooskies allowed only one UWP representative. Very clever of them, I think. Master Investigator Lawson is the appointed person, I was told. But even the Master Investigator must report her activities. I’ll put out an active AerialSpell to catch the Master Investigator’s thoughts which she will consider suitable to report.
“I was also told that Master Investigator Lawson will go to the Rooskie’s space citadel in the Frontier Zone. I’ve been ordered to accompany you and transmit your reports directly to General Hamann. Is my answer complete, ma’am?”
Indeed it was. And yes, Kriegworm was a master of secret signal transmissions. But Tanya always used her own skills.
In all her years she’d never failed a mission and had never asked for or needed the help of any UWP high-ranked Wizards, to say nothing of Magical Creatures! Strange. But then, this was no ordinary mission.
Still, to send another UWP officer was a clear violation of the guidelines the Russians had insisted upon.
“Do you have written orders?” she demanded. To be formal is to be formal.
The Ogre grinned broadly. “Written, cast and magically implanted,” he said.
He bowed, giving Tanya a small black box of polished wood with a ring of gold-encrusted runes on the cover. “Master Investigator Lawson can see everything for herself.”
The confirmation looked impressive. The order was written in red ink, the personal seal of the UWP Chief gleaming with gold. Tanya gently touched it and a small image of the UWP Emblem shimmered over the paper.
All of the other documents were also of the highest degree. Headquarters must have been at work all night to prepare the stuff.
“And here’s your ticket, ma’am. The lifter to StarKennedy will depart at 8:40. We must hurry. The airport wizards will not delay the start for us.”
“Are you joking with me, Second-Class Detective Kriegworm?” said Tanya in a cold voice.
No magical creature ever dared to joke with her. Lawson’s fingers crossed. In a moment this Ogre would have big troubles with his belly.
“Please forgive me, Master Investigator Lawson,” Kriegworm immediately bowed his huge head. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I thought…”
“Your humble thoughts are of no interest to me.” Tanya cut him off. “I’ll be there on time. Now I must work. You may go, Kriegworm.”
The Ogre bowed once more and vanished without a word.
Tanya sighed in relief and cast an AirCleaning spell. Then she turned to her workstation. Here it was impossible to avoid magical machines. There wasn’t enough money in the galaxy to buy a computer without spiritworld creatures.
However, Tanya pitied them— the miserable OpticDiscDrive Dwarves, enslaved in a prison of timespells, locked in tiny drive chambers.
All information concerning the extermination of the HolidayOne was already available. Vidimages rushed in a mad dance— Master Investigator Lawson was at work.
HolidayOne data. Passenger list. One survivor. Billy Ivanov. What a strange name. Now the fiendish crew. Again, one survivor. Scratch, the Engine Devil.
Both the boy and Scratch had been rescued by the RGF space fortress and were being treated for shock and minor injuries in the Russian infirmary. Very good. She could interview them when she grilled the Borodino officers responsible for this incident.
Her shuttle flight from Starport Kennedy would take her directly to a space liner especially chartered for this mission. Its first stop: the Borodino.
She pored over the data. Well, well, well! Liner course… Missile course… Why did they shoot, dammit, why did they shoot? The liner had crossed their path at overlight speed. Which meant it would’ve been impossible to attack the Russian space fortress.
What did the Russians say? The liner was mistaken for an American destroyer? Maybe for a modified destroyer, suitable for scout missions?
Okay, but what about the magical environment? It must have been clear that it was a civilian ship— clear even to an apprentice enchanter, not just to the True Wizards of insuperable forces and powers!
How could they have made such a mistake? There was no sorcery in the whole Universe that could make such a team blind even for a second.
Well, she would need a whole list of the Russian’s citadel crew…
DirectLink Spell. Uh, that’s it. The RGF representative at UWP headquarters flashed online.
“Master Investigation Lawson here.”
“Counselor Sinitsin. Code number 2-5030-341.”
“I was appointed…”
“I know,” a deep voice answered.
“I’d like to present my confirmation…”
“I know,” repeated the voice. “No need of confirmations.”
“But…”
“You’re in a hurry, Master Investigator. I know what you need. I was waiting for your call. The crew and officer list for the Borodino will be at your computer in a second. Anything else?”
“Who should I contact during my investigation? I am supposed to visit your military facilities…”
Tanya put down the names of the key officers and crew member, plus their codes, and said goodbye to a polite Counselor Sinitsin.
She took a deep breath, settling herself.
Her job was clear. Now she had to go forward. And she could allow nothing to influence her impartiality.
Truth, truth and nothing but the truth, so help me, Tanya Lawson.
But, most important of all, she had to forget she was an American.
CHAPTER NINE
Davyd Kells extracted from the hill, gathered the kid still crouched and frozen/waiting for the shot, and pulled goddamned out.
He dodged the usual return fire, then got unlucky in the draw and was punished with a Puffship for dustoff.
It blackened the jungle all around him with a killing spell so powerful the deathwash left him numb.
Then the bullets were gone and he was safe, but the Puffship spell left him in a mood to take his own life.
A magtech gave him a foul-tasting potion for an antidote and Davyd drank it down, letting it take him, calm him, heal him.
As soon as the shakes stopped he slopped some down the kid’s throat and got him chilled out.
The kid steadied himself and said, “I’m sorry.”
Then he turned away and wept.
At that moment Davyd remembered the kid’s name— Jonz.
First name, who knew? But last name… yeah, it was Jonz.
“Listen, Jonz,” he said, “you’ve got a decision to make.”
Davyd pressed a .45 against the kid’s tem
ple. The weapon was old fashioned— fat lead, mucho powder, blow the kid’s head away and the side of the Puffship to boot. He was too tired to give a damn one way or the other.
Click! and the hammer was thumbed back.
“It’s up to you, Jonz,” he said.
The kid trembled. Davyd noted, but took no pleasure in the young man’s fear.
He said, “You want another go at this? Or do you want to quit?”
“Quit?” the kid asked, surprised.
“Yeah, quit. Sayonara. Goodbye. Calle nictus. So long, it’s been good to know you. Call it a day. Junk it all and become a plain old ordinary soldier. Shit, kid, you’ve got enough schooling to walk in a First Lieutenant in the regular army. Before you knew it, you’d make captain.”
The wheels were churning behind the kid’s eyes. Davyd could see that he wanted to answer fast and remove the threat, but was undecided on which answer to give.
“If I say the wrong thing,” Jonz asked, “I’m dead, right?”
Davyd shrugged. “Seems only fair to me. Hell, I could’ve killed you back there for freezing.”
Jonz thought and thought and thought. But he thought fast: a thousand possibilities swirling through his mind in less than a second.
“I want another chance,” he finally said.
Davyd lowered the hammer and put the gun away.
“Right answer, Jonz,” he said.
And then he folded his arms across his chest and went to sleep.
Just as he was about to drop off he heard the kid say, “Shit, I got it right!”
And Davyd thought, No kid, you got it wrong. And there’s gonna be hell to pay because I didn’t tweep you.
This was his last thought when sleep took him.
It was a dreamless sleep, a sleep without sensation. Then there was pressure against his upper arm, a quick sting and then he was coming into hazy consciousness, blearing into the eyes of a frightened young lieutenant.
Behind the lieutenant was the retreating form of the magtech, slipping a hypogun into his little black bag of tricks.
“There’s been a change of plans, Sir,” the lieutenant said, voice trembling.
He was scared, but in awe at the same time. Stepping back as Davyd unreeled, stretching long, lean limbs. Muscles cabling the tight-fitting cammiesuit. Running blunt-edged fingers through dark hair.
