Lost Alliance (Dragonfire Station Books 1-3): A Galactic Empire series

by Zen DiPietro

  “Oh, I get why it’s necessary,” Nevitt assured her. “Brak’s presence here, the implants, PAC intelligence. There’s a trail of bread crumbs that could be followed, and someone will definitely be looking. I’ll take care of it. Including letting the crew know that the Onari’s visit didn’t happen. We can’t do anything about the other people visiting Dragonfire during that time, but most of them wouldn’t have much interest in the Onari unless they were in need of a hospi-ship at the time. Just one more stop among many. You’d be surprised at how much it all blurs together for them. Sometimes poor recollection is a captain’s best friend.”

  Which was a very intriguing statement, but Fallon couldn’t afford to get off track. She had to focus on containment. “The crew’s families are a potential problem.”

  “Wrong. Everyone here loves you. They won’t know the why of it, but they’ll know they’re backing you up.” A humorous light glinted in her eyes. “And you know what, my looking out for you might actually get people here to like me, for once.”

  Nevitt seemed to find that highly amusing, and Fallon wondered about this captain of hers, whom she’d taken to be a dull, insufferable hard-ass. She wished she had more time to get to know the real Nevitt. Maybe sometime, in the future.

  Before leaving Nevitt’s office, Fallon saw the captain’s mouth curl up on one side. “I almost wish I could come with you. Before I started on my long climb to the top to change things from the inside, I wanted to do what you’re doing.”

  “Fighting for your life and the lives of your team, against a special-ops outfit gone wrong?” Fallon couldn’t keep all traces of disbelief out of her voice.

  Nevitt grinned. “Well, not exactly that, but something along those lines. Just with less, you know, likelihood of death.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Fallon muttered.

  Nevitt laughed, perhaps for the first time that Fallon had ever heard. “I have every faith in you, Chief. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be giving you my class-six. Which I expect to get back, intact.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Since Fallon had already informed Arin that she’d decided to take a couple days of shore leave on Sarkan, she had nothing left to do but depart.

  She liked piloting the class-six. It was maneuverable and fast, though it left a bit to be desired in the way of amenities. The cockpit doubled as the sleeping quarters, with the seats converted into narrow, though not horrible, beds. The washroom was as basic as it got—a sonic sink and a zero-gravity toilet. The latter being standard spacefaring equipment, since no one wanted to deal with the results in the event of an artificial-gravity failure. Fallon was unlikely to need the ship’s facilities, though, given that the trip to Sarkan would only take a couple hours.

  As soon as she sat in the pilot’s seat, something clicked. Not only that she had superior piloting skills, which her file had noted, but something inside her immediately told her that she really, really enjoyed flying. She took some liberties in her flight plan, executing some maneuvers that weren’t the least bit necessary and definitely wasted fuel. But they sure were fun, and gave her some inklings as to what she was capable of. She hoped she’d soon get the opportunity to pilot something with greater power and heft.

  Poor Raptor. Here she was enjoying the cruiser, while he was squeezed into an ultralight. Well, better him than her.

  At least neither of them had to worry about money. Raptor had worked his magic and filled fake accounts for each member of their team with many more cubics than they could possibly need. Another benefit of working with a programming genius and hacker extraordinaire, who knew where all the gems were buried. Score one for having someone from the inside. And score another one for already having an identification card she could use for her clandestine trip to Sarkan. Not too shabby on the spy stuff for someone who didn’t yet remember having been one.

  She locked in the coordinates for the docking station and spent the last half hour of her trip studying the specific area where she’d find Peregrine. A small island off the coast of a southern continent. Supposedly, Peregrine had been searching for a deep, deep underground hitman who had settled on Sarkan. Fallon doubted the man even existed.

  She had to wait briefly to dock above the planet’s atmosphere. Sarkan’s docking station was a busy one, as the planet was a popular destination for tourists and vacationers. It was also large, as well as efficient, so she didn’t have time to get frustrated before receiving clearance to link up to a docking bay.

  Once on board the docking station, she crossed the large complex and hopped one of the three orbital elevators, which had luckily just arrived. She waited impatiently for the doors to close. Finally they did, and a slight dip in her stomach let her know that the clamps had released and the cables had begun pulling the elevator down.

  She stood in a back corner, where she could see the other travelers, who all seemed entirely at ease. She was glad that none of the passengers had elevator phobia. She had the sense that she’d seen it before, and considering they were basically riding a massively shielded rocket down a cable straight toward the planet, she could sympathize with the nervous types. Theoretically.

  After an hour of slow descent to clear them of the docking station, the elevator pilot ignited the propulsion system and they really began the drop. Even Fallon preferred to sit for that part. She and the others were shielded from the majority of the g-force, but it was far easier to tolerate the ride while seated.

  Though the ride took the same amount of time as elevator rides always did, it felt to Fallon like an agonizingly long downtime. The weight of the universe above seemed to push down on her, unseen and foreboding. She had two team members up there, ones she didn’t even really know, fighting for survival. Against a foe she wouldn’t recognize if she saw it, and which likely controlled more things than she even knew. Her muscles screamed to be in motion, to be getting the job done. Instead, she had to sit here. Waiting. Inactive. Lacking any apparent measure of control. She barely managed to hold herself still.

  Finally the elevator cut the propulsion and glided to a seamless stop. The doors opened and Fallon burst out into the transport station, alive with the need to move, to run, to get the job done. Was this how she always felt on a mission?

  She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with the fragrant freshness that only planetary atmospheres had. She drew it in over and over, until she deemed herself at risk for hyperventilation. Outside the station, the air would smell and feel even better, with just the right touch of natural humidity and gentle floral breezes. She itched to get out and soak it all up.

  But first she had to make it through all of her transport. She had only a brief layover before boarding an air tram, so she proceeded directly to the boarding point. She pushed through the throngs of people, who were a study of organized chaos. Moving sidewalks and staircases hustled travelers toward their destinations, but that didn’t keep some individuals from striding forward, squeezing past others in an attempt to hurry their trip along. Too often, the hasty ones bumped the patient ones with their bags and parcels, eliciting some dirty looks and now and then a muttered curse.

  Not that Sarkavians were unpleasant. Quite the opposite. The cranky ones all appeared to be visitors to the planet. True Sarkavians didn’t need to rush. They lived in a virtual paradise, and could afford to take the time to enjoy life and take inconveniences in stride.

  Sarkan was like an entire world modeled after Earth’s Hawaii, more or less. The planet’s double suns were situated perfectly to gently warm it and encourage prodigious growth of flora.

  Even as she skimmed through the station, nimbly dodging groups and stragglers, constantly calculating the quickest route, Fallon tried to imagine growing up on such a planet, and found she couldn’t. Maybe because she had no frame of reference for her own growing-up years. She could definitely imagine retiring on Sarkan, though. If she managed to grow that old, it would be the ideal place to settle in. But she didn’t real
ly want to start calculating the odds of her reaching such a point.

  After her first air tram, Fallon boarded three more, then took a taxi from the tram station. More impatient waiting. More agonizing slowness.

  She arrived at a small boat-rental marina, along the edge of a beach resort, with a sense of relief. As the taxi drove away, she stood still for just a moment beneath the suns. Now this is air. Genuine sunlight floated down from the universe and sank into the skin of her arms and face, a sensation almost as tangible as a touch. And finally, she could get to work. Both sensations felt incredibly satisfying.

  She adjusted the small backpack she wore over one shoulder, in the local fashion. Along with her lightweight pants, hiking boots, and breezy blouse, it would mark her as one of the many people who had settled on Sarkan and become locals. Since retirement didn’t seem likely for her, she’d just have to make the most of this little experience of pretending.

  “You sure you’re familiar with one of these?” the marina’s boatman asked with a friendly smile. “They’re a little more complicated than the basic pleasure boat.”

  She admired the islanding craft. A powerful outboard motor with a backup and responsive controls to go from leisurely to serious speed in seconds. Oh, yes, this was the ride she wanted.

  “Yep. Been taking these out for years,” she assured him, pressing her hand to the infoboard for the transfer of cubics. It could be true. The controls certainly looked familiar. “Good for the soul, ya know?” She gave him a sunny grin, just like a native-born Sarkavian would. Falling into character had been completely intuitive. Even the way she held herself had changed, shifting from a rigid posture and quick steps to a loose, languid way of moving. Yes, she’d certainly done this sort of thing before.

  The man smiled, relieved. “That’s what I always say. Does me good to see people who still know how to pilot a real boat, instead of one of those.” He jerked a thumb at the tourist version. Slow, simple, and difficult to screw up.

  “At least they’re boats and not hovercrafts with automated controls,” she chuckled.

  “I heard that.”

  They shared a smile, then she hopped in and he untied the boat, helping her ease down the dock. Once she floated clear, he tossed the ropes to her and she started the engine. As she gently powered away, she waved back to him.

  It wasn’t just talk. She really did love boats. She wondered if she’d liked them before marrying a Sarkavian, or if that had come after. Either way, she had an affinity for being on the water. Given how much she’d also loved piloting the class-six, maybe she just liked driving.

  As she focused on the mission objective directly ahead, her adrenaline spiked. It didn’t make her feel jittery or nervous. It gave her a laser-tight focus, sharp eyes, and the feeling she could chew through the hull of a ship with her bare teeth.

  Once at a safe distance from the dock, she increased the power. She took a wide, indirect approach toward the tiny island’s beach, giving herself the opportunity to scan the land. She noted no obstacles or traps, but made a mental map of the most protected approach to the tiny building in the center of the island. Not that the trip inland would take much time. She judged that she could have hiked from shore to shore in less than twenty minutes.

  Fallon cut the motor and coasted toward the island’s surprisingly well-maintained dock. She moved to the port side of the bow and stood waiting, hoping she’d judged the angle just right. As the boat nosed up to the pier, she extended her arm and deflected the approach, avoiding a hard collision. The adjustment slowed the boat’s momentum and she guided it in as it gradually slowed.

  She loved this old-school stuff. Wood. Rope. Docking up with your own arms and muscles. She quickly tied the boat up to a post, grabbed her backpack, and carefully leaped up to the pier.

  Wasting no time, she strode toward the shore while adjusting her pack so that it hung comfortably. She scanned the island from end to end, looking for hazards. All she saw were tropical trees swaying in the breeze and playful water birds chasing each other through the air.

  She heard a splash and pivoted, only to see one fish right after the other break the surface, spend a couple seconds in the air, and crash back into the water. Listerfish. She turned her attention back toward the tiny cottage, and immediately felt like something had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on anything different, but she had that growing presence in her chest that suggested that she was not alone.

  She slowed her pace, scrutinizing every tree, every shrub, anything that might conceal a person. She kept shifting her orientation and looking side to side, keeping a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree awareness.

  “Relax, Fallon,” a voice rang out from nearby. “If there were a combatant on my island I’d know it. We’re clear, at least for the time being.”

  Fallon didn’t recognize the voice, but it could only belong to one person. She saw movement to her left and part of a tree trunk twisted away from itself, revealing a woman dressed in mottled shades of brown. Her skin had been painted in the same palette, with the cracking effect that the tropical trees on the island had.

  Silhouetted against the larger island backdrop, the woman had a thick, athletic build that Fallon envied. She herself had plenty of lean muscle, but she’d never be able to put on the bulk that Peregrine had, unless she took hormones and steroids. Which she wasn’t about to do.

  Fallon and Peregrine walked directly toward each other, and when they met up, Peregrine said, “Let’s get inside. I need to know everything. Immediately.”

  What they really needed was to get out of there, not sit around talking shop. But they could fight over the sequence of events once they had sufficient cover. “Right.”

  “Follow my steps. I’ve laid out a few surprises for unwanted visitors.”

  She fell in behind Peregrine, obediently planting her feet exactly where Peregrine had walked.

  Peregrine accessed the cottage with a palm scan and a coded voice-ID check. Clearly, she was no less paranoid than Fallon herself. Though she likely had good reason for her caution, just as Fallon did.

  The inside stood in stark contrast to its rustic outside. Every surface gleamed with video screens, metal, or high-durability polymer. The place was practically a mini ops-control room combined with a sysops lab, then condensed into a tiny space. A kitchenette adjoined the room, which had one doorway, probably to a small bedroom.

  “What’s going on?” Peregrine wasted no time with hellos, and that suited Fallon just fine. The sooner they got off Sarkan, the safer they’d both be.

  “I’m here to get you off-planet. Raptor’s doing the same with Hawk. Someone at Blackout has decided to take out Avian Unit. We don’t know why. But someone tried to assassinate me, in a very public way. We need to leave immediately.”

  Peregrine’s barklike face moved, but it was hard to make out her expression with the patterning.

  “I haven’t seen you in a year, and I don’t even know why. Before I lift a finger, I want to at least know what the plan is.”

  Fallon hadn’t anticipated resistance to her rescue. Damned inconvenient. She wondered if Peregrine were always so contrary, or if she had just been saving up her pain-in-the-ass moments for right now. “The plan is to get the scrap out of here. Immediately. Forget your assignment. It’s probably bogus. We need to grab everything useful you have here and bolt, then meet up with Raptor and Hawk.”

  Fallon had expected a demand for more detail, but Peregrine only said, “Understood. There’s a backpack and a couple of duffels in that compartment.” Peregrine pointed to a trunk-like storage table. “Load up the tech I have. I’ll get clean and changed, pack my supplies, and we can go.”

  Now that was more like it. Action. Movement. Fallon tore open the trunk and began breaking down the voicecom and surveillance tech. She packed everything they wouldn’t be able to easily get their hands on. She’d just about finished when Peregrine re-emerged, looking entirely different.

  She’d dressed s
imilarly to Fallon in pants and a blouse, along with boots. Her long hair, which was right on the dividing line between honey blonde and light brown, had been pulled back into a simple ponytail. Fallon recognized from the active file the round face, the brown eyes, and the narrow lips with a tendency to frown.

  Peregrine dropped a backpack and hefted a large duffle onto a table. She pulled out a hat and put it on, stuffing her ponytail into it. She settled a pair of sunglasses on her nose, then shrugged into a jacket with a masculine cut.

  Fallon had to smile. Dressed thus, with her build, the casual eye would see Peregrine as a man. Three looks in less than ten minutes. No wonder they called her Masquerade.

  Peregrine yanked a blonde wig out of the bag, but before she could hand it over, Fallon spoke. “Not yet. After we return the boat. If I don’t return it, the boatman will report it missing, and that might bring Sarkavian officials here sooner rather than later, and there’s no telling who they might discover here. I don’t want innocent people to get hurt. After we return the boat, then you can disguise me.”

  Peregrine nodded, stuffing the wig back into her bag. She crossed the room, opened a drawer, and put several more things into the duffle. She cast a quick look around the cottage, then nodded. “I’ll arm some booby traps on the way out, in case someone comes looking.”

  Fallon liked the way she thought. She waited at the door while Peregrine input some commands, and they were headed to the pier less than twenty minutes after Fallon’s arrival on the island. Not bad, considering most of the time had been spent on Peregrine de-treeing herself. Still, Fallon itched to get moving. To get off the planet.

  The boat ride back to the marina gave them a few minutes to talk. Fallon filled Peregrine in on the basics of the situation. She had questions for Peregrine too, lots of them, but they’d have to wait.

  “Back so soon?” the boatman asked genially as he came to help tie up the boat.

  “Happened across an old friend,” Fallon answered, keeping her tone amiable and full of shoot-the-breeze. “Decided we’d go get some lunch.”