The Long March (The Exiled Fleet Book 2)

by Richard Fox

Faylun was right. The Dizzy was strong.

  He felt a cold breeze waft over his being, then a shadow darkened the colors.

  “Tolan,” his name echoed through his mind.

  “Not now, Mr. Panda,” Tolan said. “I’m waiting for the elephants.”

  “You are under the influence of narcotics,” the voice said.

  “You don’t sound…like a panda,” Tolan slurred.

  The shadow loomed over him, and he felt a sharp pain on his arm. The haze from the drug the Martian gave him collapsed, replaced by Thorvald’s unfriendly face.

  “What the hell did you…” Tolan gagged, then sat bolt upright. “You—” Tolan vomited between his knees and all over his sheets. The spy groaned and rolled onto the floor with a thump as a cold sweat emerged all over his body.

  “I injected you with a purge compound. On Geneva, we call it dasiert,” Thorvald said.

  Tolan dry-heaved and pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

  “You could have…dragged me to the bathroom first, you buzz-killing asshole,” Tolan said.

  “I could have.”

  “This better be good. Real good. Like enough reason for me not to lock up your shell and play drums on that empty head of yours.” Tolan wiped a hand across his mouth.

  “There’s been an apparent homicide.” The Genevan handed Tolan a data slate. “The Commodore wants your opinion. No one on the ship’s seen anything like this before.”

  Tolan snatched the slate away and swiped across the screen. He stared at the image of Foster’s bones in a pile of ash, then the next image of her skull crumbling away, then the last of a gray swath on the locker-room floor.

  Tolan looked up at Thorvald. A ripple passed down the Faceless spy’s body and he said, “We need to lock the ship down. Now.”

  ****

  Gage stalked into his quarters and slapped a hand on the control panel, locking himself away from the rest of his ship. The burning pit of despair next to his heart blossomed and he stumbled against his bed. He sat on the floor, his head buried in his hands.

  Barlow. The Retribution. He’d left them behind. Condemned his friend and all the souls aboard to the Daegon.

  He’d lost sailors before, had them die fighting besides him…but ordering Barlow, his friends since their days at the Academy felt like he’d been run through the heart with a poisoned needle.

  “Was there another choice?” he half-whispered. “Could I…No. I am the commodore. I am responsible. I am responsible.”

  Gage lifted a foot and kicked his nightstand and sent it rolling across the deck. Data slates, paper bound books and a framed photo spilled out. There was a crack of breaking glass as the frame bounced off the wall.

  The commodore tamped down on the emotions raging in his body and mind, then picked up the picture: his mother and father on their wedding day. His father wore his navy uniform and new ensign bars, his mother looked radiant in her alabaster dress. A crack ran through the glass over his father.

  In a way, he’d never met either of them. His father died in battle before Gage was born. His every memory of his mother was that of a despondent woman that never recovered from her grief. She’d sent him away to boarding school at a young age and barely kept in contact with him. She’d passed away while Gage was in his teens.

  “Must carry on,” Gage said, echoing his mother every time he’d shared a problem. “I bear the mantle of command. I break and the fleet will fall apart.”

  A chime sounded over his door. Gage glanced at a screen on his forearm, didn’t see any urgent or life threatening messages, and ignored the visitor.

  A fist pounded on the door.

  “I bet he’s drunk,” Tolan’s voice carried through the door. “I bet he’s drunk and you don’t have the balls to hit him with that same bullshit you gave me.” Tolan knocked again, louder.

  “You know this is important, override the door,” Tolan said to someone on the other side.

  “There is no immediate danger,” Thorvald grumbled. “I must give him another four minutes before I open the door. That is protocol.”

  “You think there’s no immediate danger? I thought we paid you to be paranoid. Does that tin can of yours come with a stick that you…”

  Gage righted the nightstand and stowed away the mess as the bickering continued just outside his door.

  “Enter,” Gage said, his mask of command back in place.

  ****

  “It’s called nihilum in the Faceless trade,” Tolan said as he tossed the data slate with Foster’s final picture onto the deactivated holo tank. Gage, Price, and Thorvald stood around the circle with the spy. “They use it to cover their tracks during an infiltration. Stops anyone from bumping into themselves, which tends to make carrying out a contract that much more difficult.”

  “Is that the only explanation?” Price swallowed hard.

  “I’m certain of it,” Tolan said. “I’ve seen this too many times to mistake it for anything else.”

  “Then we have an infiltrator,” Gage said. “The ship is under combat conditions. Every air lock is sealed. Section chiefs are under instruction to keep their sailors in sight at all times, travel in three-man teams when necessary. Which doesn’t strike me as a permanent solution.”

  “It will slow him down,” Tolan said, “but it’s hard to tell how much damage he’s already done.”

  “Must have come aboard with the Harlequins,” Price said.

  “No.” Tolan shook his head. “Operating as a Faceless is expensive. Someone has to pay for a contract and there’s no one on Sicani that would shell out that sort of coin to hurt us—we were leaving. The problem of our presence was solved. Also, Faceless don’t take suicide missions. There are far cheaper options for that sort of wet work.”

  “What are you getting at?” Thorvald asked.

  “Faceless will go after someone if it’s personal, and that’s what we’ve got here.” Tolan tapped at a screen and a mug shot appeared in the holo tank. The face changed several more times before stopping at a man’s head and shoulders so black they were almost a silhouette.

  “Ja’war the Black,” Tolan said. “Responsible for the Reuilly bombing way back when, a fact we only learned a few years ago. Ormond sent me and a team to wild space to hunt him down, which was a lot like looking for a needle in a haystack made out of needles.”

  “But you caught him,” Gage said.

  “I did. And I brought him back to Albion in irons and threw him in the dungeon,” Tolan gave Thorvald a quick look, “before the brief trial he didn’t deserve. Where the Daegon must have found him and realized he’s useful.”

  “He’s here for you?” Thorvald asked.

  “No. He came aboard with the Daegon assault torpedoes. Which means he’s had the run of the place for several hours. If he wanted me dead, he would have come for me first. The Daegon turned him loose for another purpose.”

  “Prince Aidan.” Gage shook his head.

  “Salis and Bertram,” Thorvald almost growled the steward’s name, “are with the Prince. No one’s been in or out of the Prince’s quarters since before the first assault ship attacked us on Gilgara.”

  “He’s safe for now,” Tolan said. “Ja’war won’t make a move until he has an escape route and he doesn’t have that while we’re in slip space.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Price asked.

  “Ja’war was our obsession for years. The team and I studied every contract he ever carried out. We played cat and mouse with him on more than one planet in wild space before we either got too close or he got tired of us.” Tolan looked away. “Lost most of them on Uru IV. Hastings checked out after that.”

  The spy cleared his throat.

  “So there I was, no kidding, all alone in the Joaquim, when I considered my options. Follow Hastings’ example, return to Albion with my tail between my legs with nothing to show for the loss of my team but a few interesting stories…or keep after Ja’war. I wasn’t ready to give up.”
r />   “That’s when you became a Faceless,” Gage said.

  Tolan narrowed his eyes at the Commodore. “Smart man, sir. Smart man. I knew Ja’war as well as anyone in wild space, so I scrounged up some—not some, a lot of—money and,” he waved his fingers in a circle in front of his face, “made a change. I didn’t have the coin to go the full Monty of DNA mimicry and bone replacement like Ja’war, but I could get work as a Faceless. And that’s when I hung my shingle out to the criminal element as Ja’war. Funny thing, Faceless can be anyone they want, but if you’ve got the right set of attributes, you can pose as any Faceless you want.”

  “You became a terrorist,” Thorvald said.

  “For hire, but doing jobs as Ja’war wouldn’t have helped me find him. Instead, I took a contract, got my half up front…and then managed to botch every job. Assassination targets got off with a good scare and a hint who hired me. Industrial espionage swipe? The employer got a data rod full of naughty comic strips. After a while…word got around that the good name and sterling reputation of Ja’war the Black had a few smudges.”

  “He came looking for you,” Gage said.

  “That he did.” Tolan frowned slightly. “My faux Ja’war persona had built up a reputation for being sloppy and he was rather perturbed with the situation. He infiltrated a high-rise where I’d laid a trap and my crawfish nailed him. Rather embarrassing for someone like him to go down to something so elementary. If you’ve never seen ten taser drones mob a person before, I suggest you give it a watch, so satisfying.”

  “Then you brought him to Albion for trial and the Daegon found him in the Intelligence Ministry’s holding cells.” Gage leaned back from the table. “Now he’s on this ship murdering my crew.”

  “Every department and section performed a head count,” Price said. “No discrepancies reported. None of the dead or missing from the last Daegon attack have been seen either. The sailors that found the body in the lockers don’t recognize the woman they saw after we had them go through head shots from personnel files.”

  “We call it a feint,” Tolan said. “Human beings evolved to recognize faces. Change a few details here and there for a few minutes, then snap back to the set identity.”

  “How do we catch him?” Thorvald asked.

  “What’s more important right now is to figure out what he’s already done.” Tolan rubbed his chin. “Let’s assume Prince Aidan is his target. Ja’war needs to get him off this ship and to the Daegon. Have separate crews go through key systems—engines, life support. Lock down the escape pods. Spike the shuttles and fighters.”

  “We might need the life pods and our void wing,” Price said.

  “You want a solution, I’ll give you a solution. There’s no sugarcoating or half-measuring out of this. Ja’war is as capable and as cunning as any Faceless that’s ever lived,” Tolan said.

  “A DNA sweep?” Thorvald asked. “The ship’s military police have crime-scene equipment. If we test every crewman against the medical database…”

  “Sweepers read from skin cells and saliva,” Tolan said. “Ja’war’s body has had enough time to mimic his latest identity. He only needs,” the spy glanced at a clock, “another twenty minutes before his blood morphs to match his last victim. The only medical way we’ll find him is through vivisecting the crew one by one.”

  “This ‘feint’ you mentioned,” Thorvald said, “how different could he look from his current identity? The information suggests he was caught off guard when the other sailors arrived in the locker room.”

  “Facial features…” Tolan’s eyes lit up. “Not sex or height or skin color…you might be onto something.”

  “The two of you are in charge of finding Ja’war,” Gage said. “Price and I will work out how to get Prince Aidan off the ship safely.”

  “Salis and Bertram are with the Prince,” Thorvald said. “No one else must come near them. The Genevan Houses are well versed in hunting down infiltrators, though Faceless rarely travel beyond wild space.”

  “Shell head and I will figure something out,” Tolan said. “Just so you know, Commodore, if you lift the lockdown, Ja’war will use that as a chance to switch faces. At least, that’s what I would do.”

  “The lockdown remains in effect,” Gage said. “I don’t like holding information back from the crew, but if we tell them there’s a mimic on board, the paranoia will hurt us more than anything until we reach the nebula. Find him and destroy him.”

  Chapter 15

  Hanging from the ceiling by a single arm, his feet barely able to touch the ground, Barlow drifted in and out of consciousness. Pain erupted across his body from time to time, emanating from the collar tight around his neck. Sometimes he felt knives skirt across his skin. Other times the band tightened to the point he couldn’t breathe, then loosened just before he lost consciousness. His handless right arm hung slack against his side, the stump cauterized into an ugly black mass.

  Time had lost any meaning. He existed only in alternating periods of agony and dread.

  The chain loosened and Barlow sank to the floor, a cold grate that reeked of old blood. He heard the door to his cell slide open but didn’t bother to look up. The few seconds of rest were jewels beyond price.

  A pair of ornate blue sabatons stopped in front of his face and then a hand gripped him by the elbow and sat him up against an ice-cold bulkhead.

  Tiberian looked into Barlow’s eyes. He snapped his fingers and a warm sensation flowed through Barlow’s body, melting away the pain. Barlow’s head lolled to one side and his eyes lost focus.

  “We’re going to play a game,” the Daegon said. “The torque knows you. The torque knows when you lie, when you hold back. Speak wholly and truthfully and the torque will reward you. Understand?”

  Despite his brief foray into bliss, Barlow managed to look at the Daegon and spit on the floor.

  A shock sent the Albian into convulsions. The assault ended and Barlow struggled to breathe.

  “You have only a few seconds to answer any of my questions, or the torque will do that again. Do you understand the rules of our game?”

  “Yes,” Barlow said. He dug his chin against his chest, waiting for the next onslaught, but the band around his neck merely vibrated slightly.

  “Good. Where is your fleet running to?”

  Barlow’s mind raced, thinking of an answer as the torque grew hot.

  “Ceylon!” he spat. “We have a treaty with the—” His response ended in a gurgle as the torque sent a spike of pain down his back. He curled against the bulkhead, a scream trapped in his lungs.

  Tiberian tapped a finger in the air and the pain ceased.

  “This is not a game you can win, Commander Barlow. I will not let you die. I will rip your body apart until you are begging to tell me every last detail of your life. There is no escaping this. Now, I will ask again. You either answer truthfully or I will leave you to the torque for hours until I return to ask again. Where is your fleet going?”

  Barlow began hyperventilating. Electricity arced from the collar and stung his cheek.

  “The Kigeli Nebula,” Barlow said quickly as tears rolled down his face and a deep feeling of shame settled onto his shoulders. “The Harlequins will lead us through to Indus space.”

  “How will they navigate the nebula?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Barlow shrank back from his interrogator. “Loussan said he had the way. Gage never explained it. Just told us to hold a close formation once we came out of slip space.”

  Tiberian grabbed Barlow’s right arm and lifted it up gently. The Daegon looked over Barlow’s stump.

  “Prince Aidan lives?” Tiberian asked.

  “Yes.” Pain twitched through Barlow’s left arm as the torque sensed he was holding something back. “On the Orion. He’s on the Orion.”

  “Have any of the other Albion royals survived?”

  “No. Not that I know. The Genevans got Aidan off world. That’s it.”

  “Good.” Tiberian dr
opped Barlow’s incomplete arm. “Now you will tell me everything you know about Commodore Thomas Gage.”

  Chapter 16

  Gage looked at the Kigeli Nebula from the view screens on the Orion’s bridge. Vast bands of orange- and honey-colored gas filled the void. Tiny pinpricks of protostars shone like pearls through the nebula’s fog and the horizon of an ice planet stretched across the bottom of the screen.

  “Conn, what are we looking at?” Gage asked.

  “We’re at a nexus point over a rogue planet,” the lieutenant said. “We’re maybe a quarter light-year from nebula front. Sensors read a few nexi near gravity wells from planetoids with mass levels near Mercury and Mars. Not that uncommon to find this sort of thing outside a stellar nursery. The bow wave from a supernova or passing micro-singularity can scatter a solar system to—”

  “Thank you,” Gage said, “but how do we get through the nebula?”

  “We could do a hard bore, but all the gas will leach power from the drives. Doubt we could go more than a dozen AU at a time before we have to recharge. But it won’t matter, as there’s enough asteroids and comets in the nebula that we’re almost guaranteed to hit something the drive shields can’t mitigate and the impact will rip the ship to very small pieces and scatter us through the nebula…sir.”

  The lift opened, and Thorvald led a shackled Loussan out onto the bridge.

  “Commodore Gage, I must say you are a poor host.” Loussan tugged at the chains binding his wrists to his waist. “I am a fellow captain and not some common criminal. At least you allowed me some dignity and kept your crew from gawking at me as your hired gun waddled me up here from the brig—which I am not impressed with, I should add. I’ve been in better.”

  “The security lockdown remains in effect,” Thorvald said.

  Gage motioned to a pair of naval police and they removed Loussan’s shackles.

  “You have another matter to attend,” Gage said to the Genevan.

  Thorvald gave the pirate a look, then grabbed a disk off his belt and slapped it against Loussan’s lower back.