“Please, step through here, sir.” The taller of the two guards motioned him forward.
By the second step, alarms pulsed and the scanner lit up with flashing red lights. The fact that he didn’t hear the whine of two pulse rifles power up told him they’d been prepared for as much.
“Please step over here, sir, and scan your ident-card,” the guard said.
“Of course, Sergeant.” Cypher kept the smile locked in place, but his lungs refused to move air through his tight throat. Here’s where it could get dicey. On the machine’s monitor, a tech studied the image of him displayed by the scanner. Superimposed over the outline of his shape, every bit of technology, every computer, every reinforcement in his body pulsed an angry red in time to the alarms. He unclipped his ID and swiped it, feeling sweat beading beneath his fake mustache. At the same time, he slapped his left hand on the plate for the biometrics to sample. The seconds clicked by with glacial slowness, and Cypher began to compile a list of profane adjectives describing Smiley’s parentage.
The alarms stilled.
Cypher eased out the breath he’d been holding. Smiley’s people had done it. They’d make the switch.
“You’re cleared, sir. Someone will be along shortly to escort you to the ship.” The marine guard handed him his case.
A few minutes later, a tall woman in Fleet blue stepped forward to greet him. Her complexion and eyes were the color of hot chocolate, her black hair shot through with silver. Lieutenant Commander pins decorated her collars. The skin around her eyes crinkled as she regarded him, then held out her hand.
With proper military protocol, he came to attention and bowed his head before accepting her hand. “You’re Captain Wellborn’s XO, Commander Mandisa?”
“And you must be FitzWarren’s Lieutenant Pike. Welcome to the W.A. Youngblood, or as we like to call her, the Mad Dog.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure you and your crew are excited to host the Emperor this evening. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible while I get everything set up.”
“I’m sure you won’t be a problem, Lieutenant,” she said as he fell in step with her.
No. The problem wouldn’t be his, but the next time the real Braylin Pike tried to use his ident-card, he was in for one hell of a surprise.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once past the checkpoint, the sumptuous décor and cheerful colors of the commercial station gave way to utilitarian military gray. Cypher followed Mandisa, the woman walking with eyes straight ahead, spine rigid, and hands clasped behind her back.
“Lieutenant, I was not informed of any change in plans, or that you would arriving early.”
“I’m aware of that, ma’am, but as I’m sure you can appreciate, Imperial Security is quite busy at the moment and we can’t always adjust our schedule to fit everyone else’s needs.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, dark eyes narrowing. “In other words, you thought that if you showed up early, you’d catch us with our pants down.”
“No, ma’am. That thought never entered my mind. I’d prefer to get this over as quickly as possible, with a minimum of disruption to your preparations, and get on to my next appointment.”
Which is catching the Trans-Gal Starliner outbound for Willcommin at 1435 hours. I plan to be light years away when this mess blows up.
“You won’t be staying aboard for the festivities?” Mandisa turned down a companionway where station workers hung imperial purple and gold bunting. A wide swath of similar-colored carpet adorned the hallway, stretching all the way to the ship and up the boarding stairs to the Mad Dog’s airlock.
“Mere lieutenants don’t rate invitations to imperial functions, I’m afraid. I only follow the orders I’m given, make my inspections and file my reports.”
“About those inspections… What exactly are you looking for?”
What indeed? Cypher hadn’t the slightest idea why Braylin Pike had been sent up here in advance of Gray Eyes and the Emperor’s party. Smiley hadn’t seen fit to supply that information. He’d have to figure this out as he went along. “With the recent attempt on the Emperor’s life, we can’t be too careful.” As they stepped into the hangar bay, he pointed out the knot of workers struggling to hang two garrison-sized flags from the overhead beams.
“With all these preparations, there is an unusually large number of station workers in here. Plus, you still have all of Lister’s engineers making the necessary last minute adjustments to the ship before handing her over to us. Every one of those people needs to be checked out.”
Mandisa stopped and studied him, a muscle in her jaw straining before she spoke. “I can assure you, I have personally vetted every civilian worker we have on loan from the station. And while Miah Lister has vouched for all of her people, that didn’t stop me from checking each and every one’s personnel jacket. As of this moment, there is only one individual in this hangar bay that I wouldn’t stake my reputation on, and that’s you, Lieutenant.”
Hazel Mandisa didn’t appear to be intimidated by the black uniform—not one little bit. He might have to do something about that.
Cypher turned and strode toward the ship. “Then it appears my job here is going to be simple. Shall we get on with this?”
He paused at the foot of the boarding stairs. “I’ll need an office, with access to a computer, and some privacy, Commander. Yours will do nicely.”
She pushed past him, eyes frosty, and stalked up the steps. He followed, smiling behind her back. The way to deal with hard asses was to be just a tad bit harder.
Bathed in the harsh lights of the landing bay, the corvette had the sleek, brutal lines of a predator. Built to be as deadly in atmosphere as in space, a tall vertical stabilizer rose from the rear of the fuselage, its missile tubes extended as techs swarmed over it. The ship’s smart paint was programmed to display the imperial rearing quolla, a broken starship in its talons. Closer, on the flank, he noticed the visage of a snarling wolf, a banner above it declaring that this was the Mad Dog, while below the image were the vessel’s more official identifications, the Imperial Naval Ship number and the name W.A. Youngblood.
In mid-step Cypher froze, his body locking up on him. He plunged into a void, cold and dark as dropping into a deep, sunless sea. Something enormous brushed past him, rising, an amorphous shape built only of thought and seething anger. Then he was alone in the emptiness, unable to feel his body, hear his breathing, or heartbeat. He screamed, but no sound came because he had no mouth. Without hands, he clawed at his prison. A single dot of light appeared above him, even though he had no eyes to see it, and he threw every particle of his consciousness toward it. The light erupted around him, bursting like a soap bubble. The Other flowed past, sinking, his hatred and anger acid against Cypher’s thoughts.
He slammed back into the world with enough force to stagger him. Gasping, he clutched the railing to keep from going to his knees.
Mandisa turned back, a touch of dark humor in her voice. “Having a problem with the stairs, Lieutenant?”
He sifted through his still-rattled thoughts for a suitably sharp rejoinder. “Not at all, ma’am, but you might want to have one of your crew look at this carpet on the steps. It wouldn’t do for the Emperor to fall flat on her face when she comes aboard your ship, now would it?”
Arching an eyebrow, Cypher waved for her to continue, while inside his mind he trembled like a child who’d awakened to discover the nightlight out. Only a monster really did lurk in that darkness inside him.
How had The Other done that? Taken back control of his body and thrown him into oblivion. Could that happen again? He’d fought his way out this time, but would he always be able to do that? What if The Other found the strength to reclaim his body and cast him once again into that inner darkness, to have no sensations, no stimuli, no awareness beyond a jumble of terrified thoughts? Locked in an empty hell while The Other lived his life until death took him. Would that even be a release for him? He was only a
computer program. Wasn’t that what Gray Eyes had said? What if that program went on running, forever, with him growing mad and madder still, until…
Sharp words broke him out of his terrible musing, to discover he’d reached the inner airlock hatch.
“Lieutenant?” Mandisa studied him, eyes narrowed. How long had she been talking to him, while he stood as blank eyed as an automaton?
“I said, we need to get you logged into our ship’s locator system. Just so we can keep track of where you are while you’re aboard the Mad Dog.” She waved a young ensign with a tablet forward.
The woman scanned his indent-card and presented her handheld for his palm print on the biometric reader. “This will get you into the ship’s computer, Lieutenant.”
Feigning suspicion, he hesitated for a second. Sitting inside a docking bay, the Mad Dog should be logged into Arachne, the fleet’s main computer, but it wasn’t unheard of for a ship to remain on its internal computer systems, pulling updates only every hour or so. If that was the case, there was a very real possibility that Smiley’s switch hadn’t reached the ensign’s unit and all hell was going to drop on his head as soon as he touched that screen. He tensed. At hyperkinetic speed, he could be out of the bay and back up the companion way, but he’d still have to face those marine guards. They’d be ready for him. As fast as he was, he couldn’t outrun Mandisa’s comm signal.
He touched the screen.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” The ensign smiled up at him, tucked the unit under her arm and hurried away. Just like that, it was over. Cypher tried not to let the commander see the nervous breath he puffed out.
“Do you plan on subjecting the Emperor and her party to the indignity of a scan?” He rubbed his palms together.
Mandisa smirked. “Of course not. We make special provisions for our important visitors. Now, if you’ll follow me.”
She led him along the main corridor that ran the length of the vessel. On a warship this compact, with space at a premium, the hall was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass. Pressure doors transected the passage every ten meters, forcing them to step over the low thresholds. Techs in dark coveralls bearing the ship and galaxy logo of Lister seemed more common than naval personnel. They swarmed around open inspection panels and over exposed ducting.
“There seems to be an awful lot to be done. The ship is going to be ready for the Emperor’s inspection, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll see that it gets done. And on time. As long as I don’t keep getting interrupted.”
A pair of Lister techs approached, forcing the two officers to flatten against the bulkhead to give the women room to pass. The taller one, with a black pony tail and exotic features, started to speak, then shook her head and continued past.
Cypher kept his face down and cap low. Here on board the ship he faced the greatest risk of recognition, despite his attempts at a disguise. He brought up his tactical display and checked his six. One of the women had stopped, and he could almost feel the weight of her gaze on his back, but he kept moving.
He stepped through the open door where Mandisa waited, taking in the cubical in a single glance. Beyond a workstation and computer, the tiny space allowed only for two chairs, one comfortable looking and padded behind the desk, the other straight and hard, close enough to the front that the Commander could reach across and bite the head off any inept ensign unlucky enough to occupy it. Commendations and plaques from her previous assignments covered the walls, but neither there nor on her workstation did he see a trace of personal adornment. No homey pictures or holo-cubes of smiling grandchildren; only a hard-edged space for a hard-nosed officer. There was a tiny processor, good only for coffee or tea, and the single door on his left undoubtedly led to her living quarters.
He commandeered her chair and put his case down. “This will do nicely. Is there a freshener nearby?”
She curled her lip, but pointed to the door. “Through there, in my private quarters, and to the right.”
“Good. Now, shall we get started. If you’d log me into your computer?”
Mandisa leaned across the desk and rapidly input an alphanumeric string. His heightened perception caught the sequence and stored it in memory. Once in the personnel files, he began with the station workers, scanning through every detail of their mundane work history and private lives, while the Commander watched him with the intensity of a hungry cat. Boredom had long since set in by the time he reached the end of the station’s files and moved on to Lister’s. The first entry stopped him.
“The woman we passed in the hall…that was Miah Lister?”
“Yeah, I’d have expected a smart intelligence officer like you to know that.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t often get the opportunity to make the acquaintance of many high powered CEOs.”
Had Lister known The Other? She’d seemed unduly interested in him. He’d have to make a point of avoiding her, just to be on the safe side.
His body’s co-habitant had nothing to say about Lister. In fact, he’d been strangely quiet since his abortive attempt to hijack this body. Having to fight off another such attack now could prove disastrous.
He returned to the appearance of reading, trying to come up with a way to get Mandisa out of the room without arousing her suspicions. Tension charged the air in the cubical, so that when her comm peeped, they both jumped. She rose and turned her back to him, whispering, as if that would keep an augie from hearing both sides of the conversation.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Hazel, can you step down to my office for a moment?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, as if deciding if he was worth stalling off her commanding officer. Apparently not.
“This will only take a minute,” she said, and stepped out.
Cypher leaned back and stretched before picking up his case and walking toward the side door. Surveillance on board a warship was virtually omnipresent, but there were a few places that even imperial spy-eyes shied away from. Places like a line officer’s private bathroom. He stepped into Mandisa’s freshener and shut the door behind him.
Echoing the commander’s personality, the toiletries were stowed in the cabinet, ordered by purpose and size, and the towels tri-folded and hung on their bars to display the embroidered ship’s logo.
Kneeling, he placed his case on the toilet and opened it, pawing through the tablets and folders until he located the scanner. He removed the back and began ripping out components and dumping them down the room’s recycler. The remaining parts he rearranged, adding the timer from his appointment pad, and plugging in the power core from his sidearm. He hated disabling the weapon, but he hadn’t wanted to face the inevitable questions trying to bring a second power core aboard would have generated. He dug into his pocket for the last piece, the canister packed with those damn black darts. Made of organic material, it had gone through the security scans undetected.
The blast from this bomb should be enough to take out everyone in the conference room; he didn’t understand Smiley’s insistence that the poisoned needles be included. He stroked his thumb across the outer case of the cylinder, careful not to touch the tips of the darts packed inside. From the care both Smiley and Red took in handling this thing, it was obviously deadly, but there wouldn’t be much left alive after that bomb went off. He extracted a roll of spacer’s tape from his case, tore off several pieces, and attached the canister to the power core, then set the timer for 1830 hours.
In his hotel room last night, he’d practiced until he could assemble the device in under a minute, but now his nerves buzzed and his hands were slick with sweat. He cursed at the uncooperative parts as the job took longer than he’d anticipated. He’d finally snapped the scanner’s case back together when he heard a voice from the outer office.
“Lieutenant? Where the hell are you?”
“I’ll be right out.” He flushed the toilet and splashed water on his face, dry
ing off and stuffing the towel back on the bar in an untidy wad.
She eyed him as he returned. “You always take your case with you when you go to the bathroom?”
Damn, she didn’t miss a thing, did she?
“Only when it has top secret material in it. And I’m not sure you don’t have some light-fingered person aboard who’d love to get their hands on it.”
“I told you, you don’t have to worry about our security.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Commander, I could use a break, a chance to stretch my legs. Why don’t we do our walk-through now? I can come back and finish this up later.”
Mandisa led him on the path the Emperor would take when she came aboard, while he pretended to use the now non-functional scanner to check for explosive devices. He fought to contain snickers from the irony of searching for a bomb using the very bomb they hunted. Their last stop was his ultimate destination, the Mad Dog’s conference room.
A long table, topped with a slab of brushed plexisteel, dominated the narrow space. Above, a recessed light spanned the length of it. That would be the best spot to place the bomb; the underside of the hull plates would deflect the blast downward.
At the far end, behind the captain’s chair at the head of the table, a large circular view port, now closed, dominated the wall. Cypher approached it, setting his case on the edge of the table, and activated the window’s controls. The shielding rolled back to display the busy landing bay beyond the armorglass, techs scurrying in last minute preparations for the royal visit. He tapped the panel again and watched it iris shut.
“This seems like a strange affectation to find on a warship.”
“We like it.”
“I expect you do; particularly your captain.” He folded his arms on the back of the chair. “Sitting here while the ship is under way, with the universe spread out behind him, would lend him a certain air of majesty.”
Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2) Page 16
