Izza shut down the engines before the Malevolence realized she’d triggered a flash rather than a fire. Hopefully, any damage could be cured by an hour or two scraping off the residue. She allowed the port thruster on the starboard beam to fire a little longer. Just enough to nudge Phantom away from the space station and toward the planet it orbited.
“Cannot comply, Malevolence,” she stated. “Maneuver controls not responding. We are committed to our current trajectory.” She injected a little panic into her voice. It wasn’t difficult. “We’re being sucked into the planet’s gravity well. We’re going to crash into the ground.”
“Standby, Phantom-8-8.”
“Neat trick,” said Fregg while they waited for their fate to be decided.
Was the human using sarcasm? Izza wondered whether Fregg was about to question why they were daring the Malevolence to blast them to plasma, rather than take the safe – but slow – passage down to the ground. But she didn’t. Fregg understood.
“It’s what the captain would do,” said Fregg. “If you were badly injured.”
“If any of his crew were injured,” Izza replied, though she wasn’t sure if that were true.
“Phantom-8-8, this is Malevolence. You are cleared to follow your current trajectory. Do not deviate. Tugs are en route to tow you to Station Cyan-1-4. Obey their instructions to the letter. If they perceive you to be a threat to the station, you will be fired upon and destroyed without warning.”
“Understood. Thank you, Malevolence. Will they have a medical team ready?”
“Phantom-8-8, this is Legion Station Cyan-1-4. Medics are on standby to assist once you are secured inside the base.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
“You will be arrested and questioned,” said Cyan-1-4. “If your story checks out, you will receive a heavy fine, and an entry will be made on the record of your vessel and its officers.” The comms operator sighed. “We can see from here that your ship’s been through hell. We’ll take care of your injured, Phantom-8-8. Standby for instructions from the tugs. Out.”
“Been having fun while I was away?”
Izza leaped out of her seat. It was Fitz! He looked on the brink of death, pale and leaning on Lily and that Special Missions human for support. But he was alive and where he belonged: with her on Phantom’s flight deck.
“You’ve done well,” he told her. “I expect. Probably.” He shrugged. It looked like an extreme physical effort. “To be honest, I haven’t a clue what’s going on, but I do know that’s a Naval base we’re being towed to, and our sort aren’t welcome there.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Verlys says I’m no longer dead.” He winked. “It’s a promising start.”
He activated the intercom and spoke to the ship. “We’re about to be questioned by the military, so time to get our stories straight, people. Don’t bother lying because they’ll see through it. On the other hand, we don’t have to volunteer anything we don’t want to say. This is our story. Malix tasked Sybutu to carry a message to me. Arunsen’s team escorted them. Sybutu delivered the message, and I rescued the messengers. The Phantom tried following the strange ship because its captain is the kind of impulsive guy you go to spacer bars to hear stories about, but we crashed out of the jump tunnel. If you have even the slightest speculation about why Malix wanted that message delivered, do not so much as whisper it inside your own head.”
“How do we explain the journey time to Regina-Ventu?” asked Sybutu, his voice coming through the bulkhead speaker.
“What do you mean, Sergeant?”
“Don’t you know? We got here in only five days.”
“What?” Fitz stared at Izza, wide-eyed. “Is this true?”
She nodded, but noticed his eyes flick momentarily to the side.
It was Fitz’s tell. The one only she brought out in him.
He knew. He already damned well knew!
“That’s a mystery others will have to explain to us,” she told Sybutu, not daring to look at Fitz.
An alert from her flight console informed her that the tugs were requesting she yield nav-control.
“Sinofar, Fregg, Catkins,” she said. “We’re about to be boarded and inspected. Stash and burn. You know the drill. To our passengers, keep your weapons powered down and out of your hands. I don’t care if you get shot, but I don’t want that happening inside my ship.”
She flicked off the transmit button. “Fitz, you do realize they will want to know why Malix sent a message to the captain of a free trader?”
“Of course, my lady. I’m counting on it.”
Izza sucked in a sharp breath. Sometimes it was difficult to remember why Tavistock Fitzwilliam was worth her attention. “Everyone else off the flight deck. Now!”
The three other humans hurried away, leaving just the two of them. Izza brought the blast door down with a thud as the heavy metal locked into its reinforced slots. For good measure, she also activated the privacy shield, extending it forward over part of the flight console so she could still communicate with the tug. Even that little human worm, Khallini, shouldn’t be able to overhear now.
He waited patiently, leaning back against the blast door.
“What’s really going on, Tavistock?”
Her human was wearing his flying jacket over a naked chest that carried livid purple marks from Sinofar’s stim pads. In normal circumstances, the combination would be an attractive look. But she already knew this wasn’t their regular kind of predicament, because he didn’t offer her his grin. Instead, he gave it to her straight and serious. “You know sometimes I say ‘trust me’, and you go all green and musty on my ass until I ’fess up? This is not one of those times.”
She studied him for a moment, but the tugs were giving instructions and she had to respond.
He waited silently until the tugs had them safely in tow and she was ready for him.
“There are two occasions I know of when I didn’t haul your sorry human ass out of the coals you’d lit for yourself. One time was long ago when you lost your friend, Ratcliffe, and the other time, I was in trouble as deeply as you. She got us out that time. Kanha Wei. Is it her again? Was it her who rolled back time?”
“I…” Fitz shrugged and gave a weak bow. “I didn’t like to mention her assistance. I may be imagining this, but I detect you hold a certain animosity toward her.” He stiffened his back. “Please do not ask how we got here or why she interfered.”
Izza regarded her partner as she considered his request.
Tavistock Fitzwilliam enjoyed his embellishments, as he liked to call them. Downright lies, many would describe them, but it was sometimes sweet how he spun the universe into more fanciful and always more pleasing versions of reality. It helped that she could see right through them. Others could not, but with her he wore his deceits uneasily, which was why she allowed him a few she pretended not to pierce.
But on rare occasions there was another kind of secret he kept from her. Information he withheld because it was dangerous for her to know. She’d been Nyluga-Ree’s personal pilot and navigator for six years. She understood all about the kind of knowledge that was far better never to have learned, which was why she kept her own secrets from Fitz, ones he knew never to try teasing from her.
When the humor left Fitz’s face altogether, and he held her gaze, respectful but resolute and unyielding, she knew she could trust his reasons unreservedly.
She advanced on him, pinning him against the blast door as she kissed him.
His eyes widened with surprise but soon narrowed with delight.
He glanced toward the flight controls, but she wouldn’t release him. They were headed into the unknown, and that sometimes meant he would be separated from her for a while. She tasted the inside of his mouth hungrily.
Fitz pushed himself free.
“Izza! You lovely beast. There’s no time for that now. I need to get arrested.” He staggered over to the flight console and took a moment
to check their inbound trajectory. He was a pilot, after all.
When he turned back to her, he was her human rascal once more. “Well, my lady. Maybe we have a little time. And I’m sure Sinofar said something about light exercise speeding my recovery…”
VETCH ARUNSEN
“No. No, this won’t do,” Fitz announced loudly to the cavernous hangar, his voice echoing off the smooth surfaces of the blast shields that surrounded them.
Vetch glanced up from Green Fish who was on a hover-stretcher being seen to by the base’s medics.
“This isn’t a big enough reception at all,” said Fitz, glaring at the security detail who’d arrived to arrest them. “Aren’t you meant to be on high alert or something?”
Vetch tugged at his beard. He was about to put a lot of trust in the smuggler captain, and he was beginning to rethink that decision. But if they didn’t throw in their lot with the Phantom’s crew, what then?
Before they’d gone into cryo, his troopers had agreed to sign on as mercs with the Phantom until they had checked out the situation. Despite its many failings, he was proud of his Militia service, but too many powerful individuals in the Militia wanted his people dead. He couldn’t return them to their deaths if there was a way out.
But all that had depended on a 150-year sleep.
How they’d gotten here in only five days was a terrifying mystery. It should be impossible. How? Who? Why? He was desperate to learn the answers, but even more important was the change that had wrought in the legionary component of Chimera Company. They would report in. Tell all. And go back to being good little jacks, leaving Vetch’s people with their death sentence and probably executed for desertion the moment they were returned to the Militia.
So, yeah, Fitz was the key.
Shame he was staggering around the hangar like a drunken loon. Why wasn’t Izza reining him in?
“Hey.” Vetch waved at the medics tending Green Fish. “That man making a nuisance of himself? He was in a coma ten minutes ago. Nearly didn’t make it out of resuscitation. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I think you should check him out.”
A green hand pulled on his beard and pulled his head to the side. Izza squashed her face against his. “My Fitz knows what he’s doing,” she whispered. “Learn to trust him.”
Vetch calmly pressed his thumb hard against the pressure point Zhoogenes had in their wrists. Her grip weakened and he pulled himself away.
Nonetheless, he took her advice to heart. They needed to get out of here and the only route out was on the Phantom. And if there was one thing a smuggler could be relied upon to do, it was knowing how to fly under the radar and get in and out of awkward places. Fitz was acting like an idiot, but if Izza thought that was part of the plan, then there would be a good reason.
He nodded at Izza, then crouched down to put a hand on Green Fish’s shoulder. “Hang in there, Trooper. We’ve got your six.”
He left her to the medics and walked over to Darant, whispering in his ear. “It’s a Legion post, so they won’t be interested in us. As soon as Green Fish is stable, we’re busting out of here in the Phantom. Pass it on. Militia only.”
The security team who’d boarded the Phantom came out and reported back to their officer. Vetch edged closer so he could hear.
“The ship’s showing external damage, Lieutenant. And the cryo pods have thawed within the last half hour. All except one which is still cold.”
“That’s Rynter,” Vetch interrupted. “She was killed on Rho-Torkis.”
The lieutenant’s eyebrows shot up at the name of the nightmare planet they’d escaped.
Vetch’s shoulders sagged. Nice one, he told himself. Way to get their attention.
The officer walked over. “Where did you say this happened?”
Fitz acted as if he resented the attention moving away from him. “Never mind where we’ve been,” he said, staggering between Vetch and the lieutenant. “A better question is why we came here at all.”
The officer shoved Fitz away.
Vetch didn’t like the way Izza showed no reaction. This was a setup, and he’d been sucked in to play his part.
“I’ve come to blow up the base,” Fitz informed the lieutenant in a slurred voice.
“Shut your damned mouth,” said one of the base security guards pushing between Fitz and his officer. “You’re drunk. Or…” He seemed to suddenly notice the vivid stim wounds on Fitz’s chest, and then see the medic beside Green Fish who was gesturing his way. “Stay calm, sir. You’re not well. The corpsmen will check you out shortly.”
“Oh, come on, you knucklehead jack. Help a guy out. There’s gotta be some weak spot you can give me. Cooling system for a nuclear reactor that I can quietly turn off. Or orbital gravity stabilizers. Oh, yeah, that’s a good one. I can reverse the polarity and then we’ll fall down the gravity well to crash into Regina-Ventu. Is there, perchance, a containment field for your main particle cannons I can switch off and thereby melt the station?”
“Sort yourself out before you’re questioned. The Lieutenant doesn’t take kindly to wise-guys.”
“Questioned?” Swaying, Fitz waved his hand in the direction of the lieutenant. “That guy?” Fitz giggled. “He’s not a real interrogator.”
Suddenly, the sway was gone from his body, and the slur from his voice. “And I am not drunk. I am, in fact, extremely dangerous.”
The guard’s expression was just beginning to switch from professional contempt to concern when Fitz punched him in the face and laid him out across the hangar deck.
“Told you so.”
He didn’t resist as four guards rushed him, bundling him to the deck alongside their semiconscious comrade. They delivered a gratuitous application of their shock sticks.
Izza and the Phantom’s crew looked on in grim silence. With Fitz’s head smoking with the volts that had been shot through it, the guards jammed an injector into his neck and pumped its contents into him.
“I always say,” Fitz commented sleepily. “If you need to get arrested, do it properly.”
He slumped, unconscious. As dead to the universe as Vetch’s hopes of lying low and sneaking out of there.
From the center of the security detail, who had now drawn sidearms and were screaming at Phantom’s passengers and crew to lie on their bellies, the officer pointed at Vetch. “He’s the ringleader. I saw him issuing orders. Keep them all in iso-cells. We’ll interrogate him last.”
Vetch felt his arms pulled behind his back and his wrists tied. “Welcome to Station Cyan-1-4, void scum,” crowed a voice from behind. “Your stay will not be a pleasant one.”
NEXT ISSUE: Deadly Gaming!
ISSUE 2
TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM
The interrogator yawned.
It was but a slight stretching around the mouth that she quickly stifled, but Fitz caught it.
As unobtrusively as possible, he loosened his back and stretched himself as best he could while manacled to the interrogation post.
It had been a long shift in this dark box, deep within the bowels of Legion Base Cyan-1-4. He made a calculated guess that they’d reached a critical juncture: the interrogator was now more fatigued than him.
Which meant it was time he changed tactics.
“Could I trouble you for a chair, please?” he enquired.
“No.”
She’d spoken without thinking, but now her brain must have engaged because she frowned at him. Until this point in the proceedings, Fitz had only spoken a single phrase, repeating it endlessly.
Yes, that’s right, he thought. Tell yourself that I’m the one who’s weakening. Tell yourself that you’ve won.
He gave her an indulgent smile. “I hear the dark harvest has been good in New Leningrad.”
She rolled her eyes. “And there it is again,” she sneered. “The dark sodding harvest in a place that doesn’t exist except in your tortured mind.”
Fitz had expected a more violent response: screaming into his fa
ce or striking his head with her semirigid club. But he had misjudged her. Instead, she seemed tired of him, resigned to a wasted session. He’d left it too late to change his approach. He’d worn her out so much that she no longer cared.
Making one last stab at riling the woman, he rolled his eyes at her in a deliberate echo of her own reaction. Then he slowly repeated his phrase. “I hear the dark harvest has been good in New Leningrad.”
“What’s the matter with you? Is that meant to be a political statement? A code phrase? Or do you think we’re here to play games, because I assure you we are not? With the new Emergency Powers Act in force, if you push me hard enough with your stupid New Leningrad drent, I can have you shoved out the airlock with less than five minutes’ paperwork. Is that what you want, assbrick? You want to spend your final moments walking the void?”
“I hear the dark harvest has been good–”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You’ll have to promise not to tell anyone, but you just guessed right. It’s a secret pass phrase. I’m full of them. Have to be. Digital encryption is so easily compromised, don’t you know?”
The interrogator raised her club to strike him but stayed her hand. “Oh, what’s the use? I’ve seen it before. You’ve taken one too many spacewalks, you old wreck. Hazardous ionizing radiation, compression waves, orbital debris – ground huggers never seem to understand the dangers of living in space. They never want to. Sometimes I don’t blame them because who would want to see a sniveling wreck like you, dribbling his insane nonsense all over my interview room?”
Fitz sniffed. “A little brutality from the authorities is to be expected in these difficult days, but I strongly object to the use of the term ‘old wreck’. I am a mature human male in the prime of condition. I am not even middle aged.”
“It’s been a long day. Humor me. This pass phrase, what’s it supposed to mean? Am I meant to hurry over to the base commandant? Should I inform him that he needs to place Cyan-1-4 Base, and all of its assets, under your personal disposal?”
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 5
