"It’s all right. Move your hand down and press the jet for just a second. Better. And again."
He could almost hear her heart thundering. He gave the jets a short burst and came closer to her.
"Hold onto me," he said. "I’ll take us in."
She clamped her arms around his waist. The ship they’d just left drifted on, around the curve of the station and angling up toward C wheel. Bay three of wheel D had almost cleared them. He could see the stern of his ship, clamped in place in bay four. He fired the suit jets, getting in close to the station’s superstructure. He braked, turned and angled for the ship’s hull.
They drifted. He put his legs out, braked… contact. He stood upright on the curved surface and helped Allysha steady herself. She clung to him. The bay cavity soared above them, long girders connecting the wheels.
"The emergency hatch is just up there, Allysha." He pointed at the outline on his ship’s hull, a bright yellow square just above the engine cowling.
He shaped to fire the jets.
"Stone. Where the fuck are you? This is Tyne."
Saahren took his fingers off the jets. Tyne had used his implant to contact him. He must be nearby.
"What’s happened?"
"My operation’s blown. They’re waiting for you. On your ship."
Saahren’s heart lurched. They’d be waiting for him at bay C-6, as well. "Where are you?"
"I managed to get out and called in a favor with a friend. Can you get to bay B-3?"
"Not easily. I’m on the outside of my ship at D-4 in an exo-suit. I’d planned to get in through the emergency hatch."
"Right. Stay there. We’ll come around the station. Be ready to come across. The ship’s name is ‘Maxine’—a long, white luxury yacht. I’ll give you notice."
Allysha stared at him. "Hostiles, my love. Possibly at the docking bay here, just as possibly on the ship. But help is on the way."
If the hostiles were on his ship and they realized he and Allysha were here on the hull, there was likely to be trouble. He hoped Tyne moved fast. And that the hostiles weren’t equipped to pursue. The idea of a luxury yacht wasn’t comforting.
She edged closer to him. "How long?"
"I don’t know. Look for a white ship, close to the station."
The emergency hatch cracked.
Heart racing, Saahren grabbed Allysha, fired up the thrusters on his suit and dived off the hull, her frightened yell echoing in his ears. If he could keep out of sight for long enough they might yet make it. Using the smallest possible jets he maneuvered the two of them around underneath the ship’s engine exhausts. Come on, Tyne. Hurry up. He swiveled his head, looking around him. If they realized what he’d done they could easily follow.
"Brad." Allysha’s voice gasped in his helmet.
He’d already seen them; two suited figures, one on each side of the ship, both jetting toward them.
He let go of the hull, aimed a jet at the nearest assailant and fired at full power. The suited figure jerked, arms and legs thrashing. Allysha did the same, sending the figure on her side into a tumble and stabilizing their position at the same time. But it wouldn’t be for long. He angled the jets to drive him and Allysha out into space away from the station, but not too far. The massive cylinder reared above and below, turning slowly, punctuated with the staggered ranks of the ass-end of ships stuck into bays like so many ticks into a host. Chollarc’s daylight face filled the left-side view. Allysha hung onto his belt. He caught a brief glimpse of her face. Frightened but resolute. He’d accept that in a trooper, any day.
The attackers had regrouped, but they weren’t following. Neither were they withdrawing. They would have called up a transport, something to scoop them up like a couple of fish in a net, while they waited to cut off escape. Damn it, Tyne. Where are you?
"Here’s help. Or trouble."
He turned to see the blunt nose of a ship edging toward them. A grey ship. "Trouble."
The two people floating beside his ship had started to move. They were trying to herd them into a trap. Push them from behind, straight into the ship. Well, he wasn’t going to play. Tyne would be around somewhere.
"Hold on to me, Allysha. We’re going up." She nodded at him as he fired the jets down. He’d have to be careful not to go too high.
"Trouble with hostiles, Tyne. Looks like the station’s shuttle ship."
"Copy. We are armed."
"Make it fast, will you?"
A hatch at the top of the shuttle ship opened and a grey-suited figure emerged wielding a net. They’d normally use that for scooping up debris. Saahren pulled out his pistol.
"When I fire this, we’ll shoot backwards. Can you use the jet to balance us here?"
"Yes."
He fired at the net man. At this distance the beam wouldn’t pierce the hardened suit but the man let go of the net and ducked back into the ship. Saahren shifted his fire to the net, blasting it down below the vessel’s hull and out into space while Allysha held their position with her jet.
"Well done," he said to her.
"Watch it. Our other friends are coming for us."
She rotated them both to face the on-coming figures from the station. They’d been supplemented, too. A scooter had exited the station and sped toward them. If more men came out of the shuttle ship, he’d be out of options.
Saahren fired at the rider.
"Don’t correct," he told Allysha. "Our friends can’t be far."
The shuttle ship started to maneuver, shifting position to round them up. A glimpse of something white caught his eye. His nerves zinged. Tyne. At last. He fired the jets to get above the advancing ship. A burst of white energy drilled out from its side, spraying the scooter. It slewed around and slammed into the station’s supporting girder.
"Is that you, Stone?"
"Yes."
"Move up. There’s an emergency hatch top aft. I’ll come up and grab you."
Saahren let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t out of this yet, but it was a good start. He fired the jets briefly to bring them above the starship’s hull and once more to stop the movement. Below them, the white ship’s guns sprayed a salvo, driving the pursuers back. The shuttle ship sped up, looking for clear space to turn.
The ship advanced beneath them. Too fast. At this rate, it would have left them behind. The emergency hatch came into view, a red circle on the white surface. It blossomed open and a suited figure emerged holding a staff. He held it out in Saahren’s path. Saahren used his jets, took hold and allowed himself to be dragged in. He pushed Allysha ahead of him into the airlock and followed himself. Once on the ladder he pressed the button to close the exit. The latch locked; air would be flowing in.
Allysha sagged against him and he draped an arm around her shoulder.
"All right?" he said.
She managed a laugh. "Yes. That might have been fun with a bit more practice."
He squeezed a bit more. I love you, Allysha.
"Both okay?" Tyne said.
"Yes."
The ship rocked. Under attack? Probably.
Tyne’s lips moved, talking to someone via the helmet mike. But the sudden surge that slammed them against the wall was answer enough.
"Roland says he’s hit the scooter. He’s headed off at high speed, trying to shake the shuttle ship."
The light flashed on the airlock status gauge. Tyne opened the hatch into the ship. Saahren climbed out of the exo-suit and helped Allysha with hers. The ship lurched and they staggered out.
"Strike on the aft shields," Saahren said.
"Give me the suits," Tyne said. "I’ll put them away and meet you in the lounge. Up one deck, left and through the door."
Saahren nodded. Allysha finished running her hands through her hair and followed behind him up a short flight of stairs to a carpeted foyer and through the door into a well fitted lounge.
"Wow," Allysha said, head swiveling. "No expense spared here."
Cream carpet, brown leather sof
as, dark wood paneling, and recessed lighting. The room could have been in a top hotel.
"I have to wonder who our benefactor is," he said.
Drug lord? Spoilt rich kid? Billionaire playboy?
One more lurch, the ship straightened and the sound of the engine changed.
"We’ve made it to shift-space," Saahren said. He sagged down on one of the sofas.
***
Sean kept his eyes on the view screen as van Tongeren’s R-400 slid into the berth on Chollarc’s space station. The pilot nosed her in, between grey walls studded with utility outlets. A clunk, a shudder, a sigh of air and the pilot announced they’d docked.
Van Tongeren scrambled to his feet the moment the harness had retracted sufficiently and activated his comlink. He grabbed Sean’s arm and dragged him into another cabin on the ship, talking as he went.
"Is he there? Good. Bring him to the conference room."
Sean barely had time to take in an oval table surrounded with chairs fixed to the floor. The room had a window but here in the station all he could see was grey wall. He sat down, willing himself to relax. Van Tongeren wasn’t happy, prowling around the room like a trapped cat, his hand straying now and again to the bulge at his shoulder.
The door opened. Van Tongeren whirled around. A tall man sporting a handlebar moustache stepped inside, smiling.
"Evening, van Tongeren. Welcome to Chollarc."
"Don’t bother with the small talk, Rosenberg. What happened?"
Rosenberg’s eyes flickered. "They escaped, boss."
"They did fucking WHAT?"
"We were waiting. On Stone’s ship. He didn’t turn up and we saw him and another person outside in exo-suits. We tried to scoop them up but another ship arrived and took them away."
Sean wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of van Tongeren’s ears. He’d gone rigid, fists clenched, his face red. But at least now they knew somebody else had escaped with Stone. He hoped it was Allysha.
"Another ship?" The words escaped through bared teeth.
"Yeah. We followed up. She’s a luxury yacht named ‘Maxine’. She’s owned by Marius Roland the journalist."
"And what have you done about it?"
"Nothin’. Nothin’ we could do. She went off through the gate, headed for Kentor according to the travel plan. Oh, by the way, we did some checking. That Stone fellow is a senior commander in the Confederacy Fleet."
"Oh, great. Better and better. What are you planning to do now?"
Rosenberg’s dark eyes narrowed and his mouth stretched into a thin-lipped grin. "I’ve got some ideas. I’ll find them."
"Good. You take him with you." Van Tongeren flicked a hand at Sean.
Sean’s nerves twanged. "Me?"
"Yes, you." Van Tongeren jutted his forehead into Sean’s face. "Find your wife, my friend. She has to have been with Stone. Tepich is convinced, he wants her for the job and he expects you to deliver. If you don’t, he won’t be happy. And neither will I. And don’t think you’ll be safe. Not anywhere. Understand?"
Sean breathed in bitter spices on van Tongeren’s breath. Fuck. And he’d thought Bronx was bad. The whole situation had become quicksand, threatening to swallow him whole. "But I don’t know where she’s gone."
"You go with Rosenberg. I’ve got other things to do."
For the first time, van Tongeren smiled.
Footsteps rang on the stairs. Allysha gazed at a short man wearing a goatee beard and a fellow with holovid star good looks. Tall, wavy hair, blue eyes, handsome, wearing expensive, carefully rumpled clothing. A bit like Sean. And his eyes slid over her body in just the intimate way Sean’s would have done. Her skin prickled with distaste.
"This is Marius Roland," the short man said. "And this is Brad Stone and…" he raised his eyebrows, looking between Brad and her.
"Allysha Marten," Brad said. "Allysha, this is my Chollarc contact, Aaron Tyne. Thanks for your help, Mister Roland. I think I’ve heard your name."
Roland turned his gaze to Brad.
"Have you now? Yes, I guess so." He sank down onto the sofa opposite Brad and patted the space next to him. "Have a seat Miss Marten."
She shot him a glance. Yes, the same full-of-himself predator as Sean. She sat next to Brad. He took her hand, warm and possessive, moving his thumb over her skin.
"Mister Roland is a highly-regarded investigative journalist, Allysha," Brad said. "I’ve read many of your articles. I see you’ve been well paid." He glanced around the room.
"My father helped, Mister Stone." He frowned. "Has anybody told you that you look like Admiral Saahren?"
Allysha tensed. But that was silly.
Brad chuckled. "If I had a credit for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be as rich as you."
"Hmmm." Roland’s face cleared. "Well, the word is Saahren’s gone home to sulk. They’re still following him around, asking for his opinion, but he’s still dodging. I’d love to interview him, tried a few times. Fascinating man."
She began to relax, the tension easing out of her shoulders. She supposed he did look a bit like Saahren. Tall and dark. But he wasn’t like Saahren at all.
"And who are you, ma’am?" Roland asked. His demeanor had changed to smooth and intimate.
"Me? Umm…"
"We’re to be married. Very soon," Brad said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
He had no doubt, no doubt at all. Whether she liked it or not.
The door opened and a conical form appeared. A Ptorix. He seemed to float into the room, his four short legs invisible under the garment. The three eyes near the top of the pointed head swirled blue. Allysha noticed Roland’s quickly-hidden grimace.
"This is my colleague, Grallaz," Tyne said.
Grallaz did a complicated half-bow, his tentacles intertwined. "Recalibrated izz your shift drive, Mizzter Roland," he said, hissing the sibilants in the normal Ptorix way. "Will perform more quietly from now."
"Yeah. Thanks." Not a friend of the Ptorix, their host.
Tyne made the introductions. Allysha rose and mirrored Grallaz’s bow.
"I am honored to meet you, Sir," she said in Ptorix. "Are you an engineer?"
Grallaz’s eyes swirled from the blue of concern through green to yellow. "You speak our language very well, lady. So rare. Yes, I specialize in space ship engines, shift drives and so forth. How do you come to know our culture so well?"
"I grew up in Shernish on Carnessa. My childhood friends were Ptorix. I am an engineer, too, but for information systems. I would like to see what you’ve done with the ion drive."
"Since we don’t all speak Ptorix, Allysha, it might be better if you two spoke Standard like the rest of us," Brad said.
She flushed. Rude of her. "Sorry. I just asked him what he’d done with the ion drive. I’d like to see."
"Ah. So you’re an engineer as well, Miss Marten?" Roland said.
She swung around to him. What a surprise, huh? A brain, no less.
"Yes. Information systems, but that’s what runs space ships, I’m beginning to find."
"Where are we headed, Roland?" Brad asked.
"Kentor. Another mixed human-Ptorix world where Tyne and his pal will be comfortable. You two should be able to get on from there, I expect."
"Yes," Brad said. "The powers on Kentor have no love of the Khophirate. Or of the Confederacy. We’ve been out of circulation for a little while. What news of Brjyl?"
Roland smirked. "Governor Anxhou has sent one of his warships into orbit at Carnessa."
Brad stiffened. "And the Confederacy has allowed this?"
"Oh, yes," Roland said. "President Bloom has assured us all just one warship doesn’t pose a threat."
Well, why should it, thought Allysha, perching herself back down on the edge of the sofa next to Brad. "So what? Lord Anxhou probably wants to protect us from the Confederacy."
Roland snorted and fixed her with an icy stare. "I’ll bet he does. I suppose you believe the Confed
eracy Fleet really did attack Brjyl."
Oh, not another crazy theory. She was getting sick of this. "Don’t you?"
"It’s a fit up, sweetheart. Has to be." His tone dripped condescension.
She bristled. "Why is it a fit up? Why isn’t it just what it looks like? The Confederacy Fleet murdering innocent Tors?"
"Because there’s no point, darling. What’s in it for the Feds?"
Allysha folded her arms. "It’s typical of Saahren."
"Saahren?" Roland said. "Nah. He’s too smart for that. Why would he have murdered a few thousand Tors on Brjyl? What was in it for him? If he really wanted to do that, he could have bombarded the place from space and left no evidence for investigators to find. The only outcome from an incident like this is to inflame the political situation, which is what it has done. And got him sacked, of course. Although I reckon that’ll change."
"So come on. What do you think happened, Mister investigative journalist? I’d really like to know."
"Anxhou set up the whole thing."
Her jaw flapped. "But… but he’s a Ptorix."
"Well, yes he is. And you think he wouldn’t murder his own? I’m betting this is Lord fucking Anxhou’s first roll of the dice," Roland said. "He’s manufactured an incident against the Ptorix on Brjyl so that he can play the gallant knight and step in to protect innocent Ptorix from the human aggressor. If the Confederacy Government accepts that argument, then Carnessa is history."
She squirmed on the sofa.
"Anxhou is not to trust," Grallaz said softly. "Izz true what Mizzter Roland zzay."
Even Grallaz.
"You’ve formed an excellent argument, Roland," Brad said. "Have you sold that story to anybody?"
"The theory’s bandied around. But without proof, that’s all it is. And the broadcasters have been told… told… not to suggest the Ptorix have killed their own." Roland’s lips curled as if he’d eaten something bad. "Believe me, if I had some proof, I could get Bloom sent to hell in a hill trolley. Now that would really feel good."
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 231
