Saahren’s heart froze in his chest. He assumed his blank, military mask, the one that hid his feelings.
“No, he’s not,” Tyne said before he could speak. He flicked a hand in resignation. “Might’s well tell him.
Brad was a senior commander. But the likes of him don’t go looking for work as a security guard so I
changed his implant to sergeant and dummied up his record to suit.”
“You’d need an InfoDroid for that,” Roland said.
“What d’you think?” Tyne winked.
Saahren breathed again. He’d be sure to buy Tyne a drink for this one, bar of his choice. At least.
“Which reminds me, Tyne, I haven’t had a chance to ask you what happened on Chollarc?”
“Couple of men broke into my place,” Tyne said. “Said you’d stolen a ship and I had to know
something about it. They slapped me around a bit, said there was no Sergeant Brad Stone. They’d have
Fleet contacts, of course. Needless to say, I pleaded ignorant. They asked me about a woman; that
would have been you, Miss Marten; but I didn’t know anything so that was easy. They had me trussed
up, ready to take me to explain all on Tisyphor while they waited for you to turn up. That worried me, I can tell you. Our friend van Tongeren is not a nice man. Grallaz got me out.”
Allysha turned to Saahren, her eyes as hard as marbles. “So what’s your name?”
“Brad Charters,” Saahren said. He hadn’t even hesitated. She’d have to know sometime, but not now.
“Why was that a secret?”
“Because the fact that I’m a senior commander and not a sergeant meant Tyne was at risk,” Saahren
said. This was one of the things you learnt as you rose up the slippery pole of rank; how to lie through your teeth and sound convincing. Sometimes he despised himself.
Roland chuckled. “Sounds like a great way to start a marriage, darling. Make sure he tells you what
your married name will be before the ceremony.”
What he’d give to wipe the smile off his supercilious mug. Blast and damn, the man was right.Don’t bite.
He’s trying to rile you. Yes, he knew that. He and Roland were not going to get along.
“Perhaps we’d better plan this Brjyl raid,” Tyne said, fingering his goatee.
Roland turned to Tyne, dragging his eyes away from Saahren.
“Yeah. Editor, ask Melching to drop us out of shift-space and then come join us, will you? Stand up,
everybody.”
Grallaz took himself off downstairs.
The sofas rolled away into the walls and six chairs rose from the floor. As soon as they sat down the chairs tilted and lengthened and harnesses slid out of housings, confining their legs, shoulders and waists.
The sub-light engines roared, transcending the barely audible hum of the shift-drive. Saahren’s body
strained against the harness for a few moments as the ship slowed down. The sound of the engines died into the background, the harnesses retracted and the seats tilted upright.
“Reconfigure the room, editor,” Roland said, levering himself out of his chair.
The chairs disappeared and the sofas rolled out again.
“Miss Melching is on her way,” the IS said.
Melching’s footsteps rang on the stairs. She stepped through the door, a swarthy, stocky woman with
short-cropped hair. Her eyes flicked around the group, pausing for long enough on the ptorix to make
her feelings clear and then she sat down next to Tyne. Not the sort of captain Saahren would have
expected from a man like Roland; or maybe not the sort of woman.
“What’s the target?” she said to Roland.
“Brjyl.”
She nodded. “Needs a course change. I suppose that’ll help shake anybody following us. The folks at
Chollarc station weren’t too impressed with us shooting up their people.” She spoke in staccato jerks, like gun fire, but her voice was a pleasant alto.
“Oh, I doubt it was the station’s people. More likely GPR.” Roland scratched at his chin and eyed Tyne.
“Any chance of changing my ship’s signature? You or your toe r… ptorix mate? I’ve got a few spare
registrations but I don’t have an InfoDroid to make the change.”
Tyne shook his head. “No. I’d need an InfoDroid, too. Didn’t have time to collect mine. Sorry.”
“I can do it,” Allysha said. “But I don’t like that expression. Toe rag. I don’t like it one bit.”
She jutted her jaw at Roland, which only seemed to amuse him. His expression was enough to make
Saahren’s blood boil. The man was virtually smacking his lips. She wasn’t available.
“Change my ship’s ID and I promise I’ll behave,” Roland said.
“Give me the registration documents and show me the interface to your IS,” Allysha said.
Melching grinned, eyeing the two of them as if they were in an arm-wrestling competition.
“I’ll need some help to tell me what I have to change,” Allysha said.
“Tyne and Melching between them should be able to give you some advice,” Roland said.
“I’ll take you through to engineering,” Melching rose and went to the stairs, Tyne and Allysha behind her.
“What do you propose to do on Brjyl, Roland?” Saahren said.
“Last time I heard there were still a few journalists hanging around there, hoping for something. I should fit right in. I have accreditation and Tyne can be my photographer. He’s done it before. We’ll tell them I’m doing a free-lance documentary.” He sauntered over to the bar, pulled out a bottle of soda and
waved it at Saahren. “Want one?”
Saahren shook his head. “What about Allysha and I?”
“She can be the dolly-chick assistant. You we don’t need.”
“I go where she goes.”Whether you like it or not.
Roland laughed. “Scared I’ll seduce her?” He cracked open the container and tipped the soda into his
mouth, throat working as he swallowed.
Anger bubbled. He pushed it down; there wasn’t any point. “You and Tyne will be creating a diversion
so that Allysha and I can get that device. If she has to be there, I’ll be there to look after her. You can call me your bodyguard if you want. Technical assistant, whatever.”
“I suppose you’re going to insist. Can your girlfriend dummy up accreditation for you?”
“I expect so.”
Roland crushed his soda container and tossed it with languid accuracy into a recycle bin beside the bar.
He seemed sunk into himself, deep in thought. “Quite a find, isn’t she? Speaks Ptorix, can make an
InfoDroid obsolete. Can you imagine a woman like that working for someone like me?”
“No.” Saahren snapped the word. Idiot. The man was baiting him. He stood. “I have to make some
calls to Malmos. Do you have multi-dim capability?”
“Of course. I’m a journalist.” He grinned. “With very deep pockets.”
“May I use your comms room?”
“Sure. Down the stairs, first on the right.” Roland swung his legs up onto the sofa.
****
Saahren closed the door to the comms room behind him and activated his personal scrambler. He had
no doubt Roland or his captain would be trying to find out what he was doing but Fleet security included full encryption of anything entered into the keypad and any recording devices would hear static. He
entered his personal code into the keypad and waited. A new screen flashed up, requesting a series of passwords, which he entered.
Another brief wait, a flicker and the 2-D image of Admiral Vlad Leonov, head of Fleet Intelligence and Saahren’s closest friend, appeared. He sat in his office, the Malmos cityscape just visible in the window behind him, bullet head bent forward, eyebrows lowered.
<
br /> “Where the fuck have you been, Chaka? I’ve been worried sick about you and what the Grand Admiral
was threatening me with doesn’t bear thinking about.”
He grinned. “I’m pleased somebody missed me. I’ve been enjoying a short holiday on a planet called
Tisyphor. It’s a nice little facility the GPR has set up to smuggle weapons. It’s an edge planet, abandoned by the ptorix.”
“Where?”
Saahren sent the coordinates.
“When will you be back?”
“A week, ten days. There’s something else I want to track down before I come back. I’ve met a person
who was involved with the information system at Brjyl. She might just be able to provide us with some new evidence.”
Leonov’s shrewd grey eyes narrowed. “What sort of evidence?”
“A different view of the shootings in the control room. She installed a secret backup system.”
“You’re no proposing to go there yourself, are you?”
“Yes, I am, Vlad. I have Tyne with me. His operation has been blown, by the way.”
“Yes, I know that. But you can’t go to Brjyl.”
“I can and I will. She has to collect this thing, otherwise the data will be wiped. I’ll be with her. Let’s face it Vlad, if you send somebody it will take too long and she’d have to be there, anyway. We’re on our way now.”
“On Tyne’s ship?”
“No. Marius Roland’s ship.”
“Him. Has he recognized you?”
“So far, so good. No scar, longer hair and having the body double on Ceres seems to be good enough.”
“Huh. I expect he’ll get a cracking story out of this.”
“He will. And he hasn’t blotted his copybook with your people. Unless you know more than me?”
Leonov’s eyes lost focus for a moment as he carried out an interrogation of his databases. “No, he’s
clean. Sometimes we’re not happy with his methods but he has no love for Anxhou, or the GPR. And as
you say, you have Tyne with you.”
“Something else, Vlad. And this is urgent. A virus apparently killed all the ptorix population on Tisyphor thirty years ago. You’ll have the story in your databases somewhere, as a shadowy rumor. But I’ve seen proof and I have reason to believe that the virus has been resurrected with the intention of using it as a biological weapon. We blew up the lab but I have a horrible feeling the virus might have been taken away from the planet before we did that. If the GPR has that virus and decides to use it, the business at Brjyl will look like a children’s birthday party in comparison.”
Leonov frowned. “All the ptorix on the planet? You’re certain? No survivors?”
“As certain as I can be. There has to be something—some sort of information—on Chollarc. The ptorix
knew what happened but they kept it secret; they probably feared just what I fear. We need to be very sure that lab was completely flattened on Tisyphor and if the virus was taken away, find out who has it and where. Find out what you can about these people. Sean O’Reilly, Gerrit van Tongeren, Anton
Tepich, Doctor Leon Rostich, Jarrad Korns.”
He added a brief explanation of what he knew about each.
“You think this van Tongeren found out about the virus and went looking?” Leonov said.
“Along those lines, yes. I’d guess he was setting up his clandestine weapons smuggling anyway. Maybe
the virus was something he heard about while hiring staff and he decided to take advantage. Find out
what you can and do it quickly.”
“I’ll get onto it immediately.” Leonov hesitated, his grey eyes twinkling. “This lady.”
Vlad was fishing. He suppressed a smile. “She’s an expert on Information Systems. And speaks Ptorix.
And can fool a military InfoDroid. Her name is Allysha Marten. She comes from Carnessa.”
“And you met her on Tisyphor?”
“Yes.”
“And you took out this lab together and you’re going to Brjyl together. Anything else you’ve done
together?”
He fidgeted. This was getting a little close to the mark. “No.”
Leonov laughed.
“I’m not noted for female entanglements.”
“But you’re entangled with this one.”
Saahren looked at the bulkhead beside him as the heat rose in his neck. This was very uncomfortable.
“Or are you just good friends?” Leonov asked, eyes dancing.
“Yes, all right, a little more than good friends. But that’s my business, not anybody else’s.”
“Understood.” Leonov fingered his chin. “Look, I know you haven’t known her long. Any prospects of
marriage?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“It’s just that you’ve always told Irina that when you met a nice girl you wanted to marry, she’d be the first to know.”
Saahren laughed. It had, indeed, been a long standing joke between him and Leonov’s wife. Leonov had
persuaded Irina to desist from matchmaking many years ago but she still clung to the forlorn hope that Saahren would eventually marry.
“You can tell her, Vlad. But she’s to keep it to herself.”
Leonov was still grinning when Saahren shut down the connection and turned off the privacy screens.
Irina would probably be delighted to help with wedding plans. Not that he cared. Anywhere with legal
jurisdiction would do.
He left the comms room, closed the door behind him and ran up the stairs back to the lounge.
Roland scrambled to his feet. His eyes glinted and a smirk hovered around his lips. A shiver of
foreboding traveled down Saahren’s spine.
“Well, well,” Roland said. “You really are used to giving orders, aren’t you?”
Saahren ambled over to the sofa and sat down. “Senior commanders are used to giving orders, yes.”
“Ah, but not as much as admirals.” Roland’s smirk turned into a triumphant beam.
Fuck. Steps on the stairs. Tyne and Allysha.
“Not now, Roland—”
She appeared in the doorway as Roland interrupted, “Don’t bother denying it. I just did some image
matching of you and Saahren. Voice-matching, too. Ninety-eight percent certainty is good enough for
me. I suppose you had the scar covered?”
Allysha tensed, her face frozen in a look of horror. “Saahren?”
“That’s right, darling. Seems you’ve scored the Iron Admiral himself…” his voice trailed away.
Allysha came to stand in front of him, gazing at him with those beautiful, green eyes, pleading. “Brad?
It’s not true, is it?”
What do you do? Lie through your teeth yet again, knowing it will come out soon enough? Or face the
future.
He stood. “Allysha…”
Her mouth twisted in disgust, her eyes glistened. “Bastard. Lying, murdering bastard.”
She fled.
Chapter Twenty Five
Her feet clattered on the stairs. She’d gone to their room. Her room, after this. Saahren’s heart was a lump in his chest. The look she’d given him skewered his soul. Revulsion; deep, bitter loathing. Worse even than he had imagined. Murderer?
He glared at Roland. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?”
Roland’s eyes flickered and he took a half step backward. But he recovered his composure quickly.
“Well, well. I always thought rank was a leg-opener. Seems I was wrong. In this case.” He sniggered.
Saahren only just avoided knocking the bastard out. His fist itching, he banged down the stairs, strode over to the door of the cabin he’d shared with Allysha and slapped the release. She’d locked it, of
course. Damn and blast Roland to all the hells of Karadesk.
He whirled and called up to Roland, standing in the doorway to the l
ounge. “Get this door open.” He
made the words an order.
Roland didn’t even hesitate. “Open the door, Editor. Override authorized.”
The door swished aside. Saahren took a deep breath and stepped inside. She lay rigid on the bed, her
face shoved into a pillow.
“Allysha?”
“Get out. Leave me alone.”
Emotions fought for dominance. Embarrassment at being caught out, foolishness for not confronting her at a time of his own choosing. He closed the door. For a moment he toyed with the idea of sitting on the bed next to her and decided on the chair instead.
“Allysha, talk to me. I’m sorry you found out like this but now you know at least do me the courtesy of telling me what I’ve done wrong.”
“Wrong?” She levered herself up and turned to him, furious eyes brimming with tears. “You murdered
my father.”
Her bitterness, her hatred lashed at him. Anger flared. Righteous anger at being accused of an impossible crime, being judged for an absurdity. He forced himself to keep his voice even. “I don’t remember
murdering anyone. I’m sure I would have. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Jossur.”
He hadn’t expected that. “What was your father doing at a ptorix military planet?”
“He was a professor. Head of the human engineering faculty at Ullnish University. He went to Jossur to give a lecture to ptorix officers.” Her throat worked and she looked down at the floor. “He asked me to go with him. I refused.”
“He was there? When the planet was devastated?” And she could have been? That last twisted his gut
more than the death of some professor lecturing to the ptorix military.
She sat on the edge of the bed, arms rigid. “When you ordered the planet bombarded.”
“Bombarded? From space?” He shook his head. “No. That’s not true.”
“Don’t lie. I saw the images. I’ll never forget them. Bodies, blood, craters, smoke. Males, females,
children. Stacks of bodies.” She pushed her fingertips against her forehead, her eyes closed.
Saahren let some of the tension drain. This was just an awful misunderstanding, something he could
The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy Page 14
