Larick nodded. He planned to do exactly that.
-10-
Maddox exited his shuttle in one of Victory’s hangar bays.
Lieutenant Commissar Larick was waiting, with his beefy bullyboys in a row behind him. They wore regulation military police dress, with regulation sidearms. Each looked exactly like what he was: a uniformed assassin. It was the eyes: hardened with the miasma of death hanging around them like flies.
Maddox realized his heightened senses gave him this awareness. In a small way, the feel of death was like that of an ancient, Ska-commanded Destroyer of the Nameless Ones. That sense was merely a drop of the evil essence permeating the Destroyer. Perhaps the miasma came because the killers exulted in their murders. That bloodlust stained their dark souls.
The lieutenant commissar held out his huge right hand in greeting. Maddox accepted. The heavier, taller man shoved his right shoulder forward and squeezed with crushing force, grinning all the while. A second later, he frowned.
Maddox smiled easily as he exerted considerable force to match the handshake.
For a second, maybe less than that, bafflement crossed the fleshy face. Larick released his hold and gave the captain a curt nod. It might even have been one of respect.
That was the last polite thing Larick did for the next two days. He started by barking his credentials and stating that he acted under the full authority of the Lord High Admiral and Director Chom of Political Intelligence.
Maddox nodded as if bored, and he continued to act in the same manner for a full two days. He seemed to accept Larick’s ill manners and intrusion into all shipboard functions. He accepted that an MP would be with him at all times. Maddox went so far as to sleep on a sofa instead of in his quarters with Meta.
Chom sent them Mary O’Hara’s coordinates in East Antarctica. From that moment on, Victory’s sensor teams kept a strict scrutiny on Mary O’Hara from orbit. She was on the surface in a chilly rehab center in the middle of Antarctica. Mary spent most of her time in her quarters, playing pinochle with other senior citizens or doing wind sprints in one of the basketball courts. Perhaps a quarter of the inmates were Political Intelligence guards in disguise. That meant a swift rescue from Victory was out of the question.
Maddox studied a graph of the neuron rays beamed at her.
“How does anyone think Lisa Meyers can kidnap O’Hara from there?” Maddox asked Larick on the first day.
“You know that as well as I do, Captain.” The two men spoke on the bridge. “We suspect Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers is behind this.”
That told Maddox nothing. “What if the so-called kidnappers aren’t Meyers’ people?” he asked.
Larick sneered. “I’ve been told that the name Vint Diem strikes close to home for you.”
“Indeed,” Maddox said. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s Diem and the New Man agent who helped him once already.”
Larick seemed disappointed, saying no more.
Maddox felt the wrestler’s intense desire to kill him. It was a palpable force. That conflicted with Stokes’s information. Maybe Nostradamus had fed Stokes false data to cause him—Maddox—to let his guard down with Larick. And yet, he’d been in Chom’s inner sanctum. The man could have easily murdered him there. What was really going on?
Maddox decided to keep waiting—he didn’t know for what exactly. But if they waited too long, would Nostradamus have a lock on Star Watch?
He glanced at Galyan. The little holoimage gave him a subtle sign. The AI was using all his hacking skills, searching for Nostradamus’s hidden lair. So far, though, Galyan had not discovered Nostradamus anywhere.
Maddox gave him the countersign. Galyan was to redouble his search.
The holoimage winked out.
Now, all Maddox could do was wait.
-11-
If Nostradamus was waiting for another shipment of long, low, off-white machines that could move with centipede appendages, a shipment from Jarnevon, before everything was ready, he might have had some concerns if he knew what was taking place in the Tau Ceti System.
The Conqueror-class Battleship Napoleon waited in a dense asteroid-dust particle field. It had been waiting here for two weeks already while on silent running. The ex-Lord High Admiral Cook was in the battleship. He was not presently in command. Captain Bob Little from Kanas ran the ultra-new lethal warship. The captain and his crew had been away from Earth or other rendezvous points for a year already. They all wanted to go home, or at least have a month-long shore leave. These were not Patrol-rated crewmembers, but ordinary Star Watch personnel, not used to such a long patrol for one continuous stint.
The ex-Lord High Admiral had arrived two weeks ago, having come from Earth. Cook had been healing from his ordeal in the J.B. Rehabilitation Center in Montana. He’d healed enough that much of his former spirit had returned. He remembered the mental link with Nostradamus, and he remembered enough to want to keep waiting in the Tau Ceti System for the next shipment.
The old man had been working on Bob Little. It frankly galled Cook that he’d lost his post. Fletcher certainly didn’t know what to do with it. For all his own shortcomings, Cook felt he’d been doing a damn fine job all these years as the Lord High Admiral. Sure, he’d had a slight lapse on the Pluto Station. Someone had operated on his mind. He would make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Besides, he’d blown away that freakish alien from Jarnevon. That should prove his heart and mind were in the right place.
Cook kept dreaming about going to Jarnevon with a fleet and nuking the planet. He wanted to do to Jarnevon and Nostradamus what Fletcher had once done to the Old One on the Forbidden Planet.
Cook was on the bridge when Captain Little received word from his sensor officer. “Captain,” she said. “I’m detecting a stealth vessel. It’s taking the route Victory logged that the Class-3 Hauler Lolis II took.”
The Victory-gained information had come from Stokes. The rest of Star Watch didn’t know about that yet.
“Hmm…” Little said. He was a slight man, but with a hard-as-nails attitude against all things wishing to hurt Star Watch.
“Captain,” Cook said. “What is the registry of the stealth ship?”
Little glanced at the sensor officer.
“The vessel is from Jarnevon, Lord High Admiral,” she said.
Cook didn’t correct her. Neither, it turned out, did Captain Little. He was the ex-High Lord Admiral. In any case, Cook gave the captain a significant glance.
Little bent his head, doing some thinking. He knew Cook’s story. He was one of the last starship captains that Stokes trusted. Little regarded Cook, possibly coming to a decision. “What are your orders, Lord High Admiral?”
Cook opened his mouth. He was not legally the Lord High Admiral. He didn’t want to start a civil war in Star Watch either. He was a history buff, and recalled back in Medieval times when there had been two popes competing against each other. Star Watch and the Commonwealth needed unity. But if that unity came from an alien wishing to dominate humanity for its own sick ends…
Nostradamus had almost cracked him. That ship out there was from Jarnevon. It was a stealth vessel using the smuggling route.
“Captain,” Cook said. “Destroy it with extreme prejudice.”
Captain Little thought about that.
Cook moved closer, putting a big old hand on Little’s left shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do, but you’re the captain. You’re going to have to make the call.”
“What do you think the vessel holds?” Little asked quietly.
“Pieces of the alien menace,” Cook said just as quietly. “I-I don’t know quite how to say this, but it’s rebuilding itself. It’s doing that back on Earth. If we destroy the stealth ship…we may give our side a little more time.”
“You know that to be true, sir?”
“No. It’s a gut feeling.”
Bob Little knew about gut feelings. He nodded. “Attention, bridge crew…”
Three
hours and nineteen minutes later the newly upgraded disrupter cannon speared out of the asteroid-particle dust field. The battleship must have come as a surprise, as the stealth vessel had made no effort to change its approach.
The disrupter must have caught the enemy napping. As the beam burned through the hull, the comm officer over there began hailing.
It was too late. The Napoleon’s disrupter beam burned through the stealth vessel and caused a ship-wide explosion.
There had been Liss machines in the craft. And Nostradamus was waiting for them. He could survive and do just fine without these machines. But it would take a little longer before everything was ready.
Cook and Little had bought Maddox and the others another few days with this move. Would it be enough?
The next few days would tell.
-12-
At the end of the second day of Larick’s arrival on Victory, the strength of the neuron rays beamed at Mary O’Hara trebled.
Maddox and Larick were on the bridge when Valerie swiveled around and informed them of this.
“Triple?” asked Maddox from his command chair.
Valerie nodded.
“That tears it,” Maddox said with heat. He’d been trying to hold it together. He’d been remembering what Stokes had written in his office. But he loathed the idea of his grandmother taking any more mental damage. He wanted to find and destroy Nostradamus. Where could the Liss creature or creation be hiding?
Larick was standing nearby and perked up as Maddox spoke. Two of his MPs stood near the hatch, straightening as they noticed their boss’s attention.
“Something wrong, Captain?” asked Larick.
Maddox swiveled around. “Plenty wrong, Commissar. That’s my grandmother down there. I demand that you call Chom and tell him to—”
“Excuse me,” Larick said in a harsh, cutting voice. “You will not make any demands of me. I’m here to observe you and ensure that you do your duty, Captain, as per orders from the Director of Political Intelligence and the Lord High Admiral.”
“My grandmother—”
“If you can’t do your duty,” Larick said, interrupting, “tell me. Tell me at once.”
Maddox stared at the massive commissar. He felt the stares of his bridge officers and he most certainly felt the targeting eyes of the two MPs. Without another word, Maddox swiveled forward.
Larick frowned, rubbed his chin and abruptly headed to the captain’s chair. “She’s your grandmother, and I know this must be difficult for her. I can appreciate your anguish at what torment she must be going through with these triple-strength rays striking her brain.”
Maddox said nothing.
“I hope she isn’t suffering,” Larick added.
Maddox’s head bent forward as if it was suddenly too heavy to hold up.
“I hope you won’t think my comment earlier too harsh,” Larick said.
“I…” Maddox said.
Larick watched him carefully, perhaps even hopefully.
Maddox straightened and seemed to make a show of stiffening his shoulders. “I know how to do my duty, Commissar.”
“Good,” Larick said, although he seemed disappointed.
Maddox would have eyed the man sidelong, but he knew the bullfrog of an officer might be one of the most dangerous men he’d had to deal with on his bridge.
“The Iron Lady can handle it,” Maddox said softly, hoping that was true.
“Eh?” asked Larick. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Maddox said, hoping Galyan could get the job done. The AI was going to scout down there and then continue to search for Nostradamus. For all they knew, the Liss was down there in East Antarctica.
Maddox hoped that wasn’t true, but they were running out of places to search.
-13-
Director Akon Chom of Political Intelligence was one of the hardest working HM people in Star Watch.
The large, muscular commodore sat in his office, reading report after report. If he flagged, he took stimulants. He wasn’t going to let that bastard Maddox outfox him as the hybrid had so many others. Larick reported several times a day, but he hadn’t told Chom anything he didn’t already know.
Maddox was playing coy. Stokes must have tipped off the captain regarding some of the minefields waiting for him. Did Maddox know that Larick had a special folder? It gave the lieutenant commissar the authority to take over command of Victory. Larick could open the folder at his discretion. Of course, the wrestler knew he would have to defend himself in a military court later. But Larick was smart as well as strong and had titanium nerves regarding such things.
Chom set down his tablet and rubbed his temples. He was tired, and his eyes were sore. Was he missing something?
The director let his forearms drop onto the desk. He pressed an intercom button. “Send in Alusz.”
Three minutes later, the secret door swished open. A slender woman wearing some sort of gauze garment stepped in. She was youthful with startling beauty, long dark hair and perfect breasts and large hips as Chom liked.
“Your orders, Commodore,” she purred.
“My shoulders,” he said.
Alusz sauntered behind him, beginning to rub his shoulders. She was athletic and had strong hands, kneading his muscles.
Chom groaned in delight. Alusz was one of the few perks he allowed himself. He had a prodigious appetite for work but had realized long ago that even he needed a release valve.
“My neck,” he said hoarsely.
She began rubbing his neck.
Chom felt his eyelids droop. No. That wouldn’t do. “I need a level two stimulant.”
“Not level four?” she asked playfully.
Chom looked up at her from where he sat. She lowered her head, kissing him on the mouth, her breath sweet like mint.
“Level two,” he said with a laugh.
“You’re working late again?”
“None of that, my darling,” he chided. “I’m one of Star Watch’s pillars. I’ll work until I drop if that’s what is needed.”
“Yes, Director,” she said, trying to kiss him again.
“Now, now,” he said, pushing her. “I won’t be distracted. I can’t afford it.”
“Why?” she asked, as she pulled a hypo out a carrying case slung from a strap around one of her shapely shoulders.
“Maddox,” he said.
“Oh?”
For a moment, Chom’s eyes narrowed as he examined her. His best people had vetted Alusz. Could Lisa Meyers or someone else have foisted her upon him? It seemed inconceivable. And yet…
“It’s ready,” Alusz said, looking up, holding the hypo.
Chom’s paranoia grew. Had he been getting more tired lately? It almost seemed so, as if the shots gave him a momentary boost and then brought him down even harder than before.
Alusz pretended not to notice his scrutiny as she lowered the hypo for an air-blast injection.
Quick as a cobra, Chom slapped the hypo out of her hands. It hit a wall to rattle onto the floor.
“That hurt,” Alusz said, holding her injured hand.
Chom stood.
She backed away, shrinking from him. “Have I done something wrong?” she whispered.
“You asked one too many questions,” he told her.
She stared at him with incomprehension.
“Leave your medical packet,” he said. “Then—”
A swift change altered her appearance. She inhaled deeply and expelled that with an ancient martial cry as her face screwed up. She leapt explosively and with startling coordination and agility. While airborne, her right foot lashed violently against his chest, knocking him against the desk. She landed like a cat and raised her left hand. Something razor-sharp glittered between her fingers. In that moment of victory, she sneered at him, perhaps indulging in a second of revenge for the many slights he’d heaped upon her.
Chom couldn’t breathe. She’d knocked the wind out of him. But he had the survival instincts of a
cunning larl on wind-swept Daroca. His left hand snaked under his desk. There was a knife taped under the center drawer for just such an eventuality. As her eyes glittered in enjoyment of his coming death, he tore the knife free.
She must have recognized her mistake, because Alusz brought her hand down. Chom moved faster, twisting and plunging the blade into her.
The razors that would have slashed his face open now only tapped against his flesh, as the strength had gone out of her arm. There were cuts, of course—Chom roared with fear-driven fury, shoving her from him. As he did, the paralysis drug coated on the blade went immediately to work on Alusz.
She crumpled onto the floor, twisting in agony, struggling to breathe.
Chom dropped onto his hands and knees beside her. Despite his hyperventilating, his mind clicked into focus. “I can save your life,” he panted.
She stared at him.
“Who sent you?” he asked. “Was it Lisa Meyers?”
She moved her lips, but no sound came out.
Greedy for knowledge, he bent lower. Soon, total paralysis would kill her, as she would stop breathing and her heart stop pumping.
Her eyes protruded. She struggled, and she spit in his face. Her frame shuddered afterward and then like a spent balloon, she wilted and died.
Chom wiped the spittle from his face, wiping away oozing blood as well. Tired, feeling soiled, he climbed to his feet and decided on the best means for disposing of her body. He shook his head a few seconds later. He would have the lab techs study Alusz and see if they could find any clues as to who had sent her.
As his shoulders slumped, Chom wanted to weep. He did not want to weep for Alusz. She’d been a spy, a saboteur obviously sent by humanity’s enemies. He wanted to weep because he realized that he would have to be even more careful in the future. He would have to work even harder, giving himself his own injections. If saving humanity meant sore shoulders—
He went to the hypo, studying it. He badly needed a pick-me-up, but it wouldn’t come from this tainted source.
Suddenly, he straightened. Why had the attack come now? It couldn’t simply be random chance that O’Hara was receiving triple the strength neuron rays.
The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12) Page 24
