“That data is fairly worthless in any case. No essential installations will be put at risk.”
“Bait for a trap of some kind? I doubt it would work.”
“The trap is the data itself. Once it is uploaded into the terrorist's network, it will launch a malware attack that will bring down the organization. All you have to do is make sure that it is uploaded.”
“What about Valeria?”
“The Legate's daughter? She is expendable.”
Logan stood up, sending the chair rattling back across the room.
“No-one is expendable.”
The man laughed, softly. “Everything is. You're in no position to make any bargains. Just make sure that the malware is uploaded. We'll deal with all the loose ends after that.”
“What makes you think I won't simply fly off to parts unknown? You couldn't stop me. Not once I leave this room.”
He shook his head. “You won't do that. When you take a job, you finish it. You'll rescue the girl. And to do it, you'll do exactly I have said. All I've done is add an operational parameter to your mission. You can go now.” He unlocked the door remotely; Logan heard the thunk of magnetic locks disengaging.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“I'm a soldier, Mr. Winter. Just like you.”
Chapter 4
The Lucifer Kiss emerged from hyperspace after sixteen long days of flight. The sky was dominated by a dull, purple brown dwarf, sending a dim light over a ring of brown, cracked asteroids. Ahead, Khiva Station, a collection of rings, spindles and rectangles floating over one of the larger rocks, red and blue lights casting an eerie light.
Logan eased back on the throttle while Boris threw switches in the flight engineering station. Anna and Melissa had come up to the cockpit to watch the emergence from hyperspace; they both seemed rather unimpressed.
“Well, that's it. The only habitable facility for ten lights in every direction. We'll be docking in about ten minutes.” Logan punched a sequence of buttons and stood up, making his way back to the lounge.
“It doesn't look like much,” Melissa pouted. “What's so special about it?”
“Khiva's about a thousand years old. If it weren't for the drug rings, criminal syndicates, slave traders and pickpockets, it'd probably be a prime vacation spot. I suppose it is, but not for the usual package tourists.” Boris and Anna followed him back down to the lounge.
“Have you ever had the pleasure of visiting this place before?” Boris asked.
“Helena and I dropped off here about six years ago on an artifact auction for a Araucanian noble. We came in and out clean, so no-one should remember me.”
Anna slid into one of the chairs in the lounge, pouring herself a drink. “What about law enforcement?”
Logan snorted. “The more powerful of the syndicates run a security force. All they care about is no-one doing anything stupid – so as long as you don't start blowing up bits of the station or try some heist so big that it will bring in one of the Nine Empires, they'll leave you alone.”
The lounge screens lit up, displaying a series of calculations that Logan quickly skimmed, then switching to a view of the docking sequence. He nodded at Boris, who punched in a quick sequence of buttons, and the path smoothed out. Logan pulled open a locker, began to strap on his double holsters, and chose a couple of low-velocity pistols to fill them with.
“You have a station gun, Anna?”
“Of course. I take it that the two of us are the face of this operation?”
“With your looks and your brains – and my two guns – I'm relatively confident we can pull it off. Boris, Melissa, you'll stay on the ship and act as backup.”
Melissa looked at Anna and Logan. “I'd like to stretch my legs as well, Logan. Why should you and Anna have all the fun?”
“You aren't missing much. You've seem slums before I guess, this one's just floating a couple of million miles from a near-dead star. Also you've not done anything like this before, and dealing with dangerous anarchists is probably not something you are used to. Us excepted. Besides, there's pretty much no chance that any of this is going to go according to plan, so I'm pretty sure we're going to end up calling you in. Happy?”
“No.” She frowned. “But I'll go along with it.”
Boris leaned forward. “I take it I'm to keep the ship ready for immediate launch and keep my guns on me at all times.”
“You know me all too well.”
With a loud thunk, the ship landed in the docking bay, and a succession of noises indicated that the clamps had locked down and the transfer tunnel attached. Boris raised a class in mock salute as Anna and Logan headed into the station; the last thing Logan heard as he left the lounge was the sound of Valeria's music; Melissa had been playing it almost non-stop on the voyage out.
The landing concourse was pretty much as Logan remembered it. A couple of dozen ships in various levels of repair clamped down by plastic snakes to a bustling corridor, maintenance technicians with the uniforms of a dozen small operators hurrying back and forth with parts and tools, vendors with stalls selling indeterminate foodstuffs and cheap novelty items, a couple of gaudily-dressed women offering other services.
Logan strolled down the concourse, Anna on his arm, looking around for any differences; the first one was immediately apparent; as the tri-vid advertising began to flash a logo; a dark green 'A' surrounded by a black circle. The voice was talking about 'joining the struggle', but Logan stood there, staring at the logo until it disappeared. Anna began to pull at his arm.
“What's wrong?”
“Bad memories. Come on, let's see about getting rid of our cargo.”
The pair continued silently down the concourse, turning down a side corridor until they came to a broker's office, a faded neon sign reading 'Swycaffer's' over the door. Inside a bored looking gray-haired woman sat behind a tired old desk; the room was mostly empty of furniture, a couple of old chairs accommodating Anna and Logan. There was, however, a stack of leaflets on the desk with the same symbol they had seen outside.
“Captain Logan Winter, just arrived. I have a load of semi-luxury foodstuffs to unload. I was told that you would offer me a good deal.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Your office. You're off the main concourse, so you aren't getting the foot traffic. You don't have the money to pay for a big cargo, but I'm not carrying one. It's mostly dried fruit.”
She sat back, crossing her arms. “Dried fruit. What are you actually carrying? You didn't come all the way out here with a hold full of papaya and guavas.”
Logan looked at Anna, and nodded. She spoke next, “It was as much a question of what we could get away with. We got into trouble with some of the customs inspectors on Zemlya.”
Logan spat out, “They changed the rules on us. After we'd landed. Doubled our landing fees and I didn't have enough money to get out of impound. Look, I need a good deal here to get a grub stake going.”
The woman nodded. “I think I can give you fourteen thousand kopeks for the whole lot. And no customs charge.”
“Thank God for that. What's the point of all these damn officials, anyway?”
“Why do you think I'm all the way out here. No bureaucracy, no taxes, no paperwork. Just cash on delivery.”
Logan snorted. “Why can't everywhere be like this?”
The woman leaned forward, looked him straight in the eye. “There are some of us who would very much like that to be the case.”
Anna nodded. “I certainly would.”
“Well, if you are interested, there's a meeting tonight in O'Malley's where a few people will be talking along these very lines. 1930, up in the Kruger Ring.” She passed a leaflet to Logan.
“I'll think about that. Thanks for the invitation.”
“Don't mention i
t. I'll get a loader down to your ship to unload the cargo.”
“It's the Lucifer Kiss. Bay, ah, twelve.”
She smiled. “Nice name.”
Logan and Anna returned to the ship, walking silently down the concourse; Logan skimmed through the pamphlet, occasionally shaking his head. He got to the airlock, made his way to the lounge, and started to pour himself a drink. Anna placed her hand on his wrist.
“Shouldn't we be planning tonight?”
“Nothing to plan. We'll go to the meeting, make the contact, and get this the hell over with.” Logan turned to his side, still staring at the pamphlet. Anna shook her head and walked away, almost walking into Boris coming down from the cockpit.
“I don't know what's wrong with him. Ever since all of this came up, he's been distant. Now he's downright remote.”
Boris frowned, and nodded. “Come with me. I'll show you what the problem is.”
He led Anna down to corridor to Logan's quarters, and pulled open the wardrobe. On hangars Anna saw a succession of outfits in various states of decay, the exception being one at the end, encased in a suit protector. Boris pulled it out gently, and unfastened the catches. Inside was an unfamiliar uniform, but with the same dark green-and-black from the insignia; green top, black trousers. A pair of shining silver eagles sat on each shoulder.
Anna shook her head. “I don't get it.”
Boris gave a tight-lipped smile. “I've got one of these myself, but mine has Captain's insignia on the shoulders. Uniform of the army of the System States Alliance.”
“He was a Colonel?”
“He started out as a Lieutenant, all gung-ho and ready to free the people from the Triplanetary League single-handed. Those politicians did their work well on him. I was simply in it for the money, of course.”
“That's where you met him?” She ran her hand over the fabric. Clean, pressed, good as new.
“I served under him for most of the war. He rose four ranks in three years, but by the end his regiment didn't have as many men in it as the company we served together in at the start. You're sleeping with a hero. Though he'll never admit it.”
“I knew he'd been in the Succession Wars. I didn't know what he did.”
There was a very distant look in Boris' face. As if he was looking back in to the past, and it was right there in the room with them both.
“We fought at the last stand, on Jefferson. The war was over, by then we didn't have a chance. It somehow didn't seem to matter, though. Then the capital was hit by a hellburster, and it really was all over. But there was no-one left in the Alliance government to surrender.”
Anna sat down on the bed, looked down at the floor. “What happened then?”
“We were about ten miles from a secondary starport. What was left of the regiment fought a running gun battle for a day and a night to get to it. There were only about twenty of us left when we got to the starport.” His face fell again. “Twenty out of a couple of thousand. We took the last ship, a battered old transport.”
“The Lucifer Kiss?”
Logan walked in, and looked at the two of them. “It was the Z-0392 back then, but yes. Most of the men drifted back to the League over the next couple of months, Boris and I worked our passage to the Empire. I figured I owned him a ride home, if nothing else.”
Boris looked up, “Logan...”
“It's all right. Old clothes need to be aired once in a while. Boris, it's almost as if someone is reviving the Alliance out here. I recognize some of the slogans, and I definitely recognize the color scheme.”
Anna nodded. “That might explain the attraction to a refugee from the Alliance.”
Boris stood up, brushed a finger over his mustache. “Logan, this is a set-up. It's got to be.”
“It's easier to get out of a trap when you know it's there. And the bait is worthwhile.”
“Do you want me to go to the meeting tonight with Anna?”
Logan shook his head. “No, it's my face they know, I'd rather keep you in reserve a little longer. I'll be all right.”
Boris gave a quick laugh. “I'll believe that when I see it.”
Logan reached for the uniform, put it back in the wardrobe, and closed the door. “Believe it. I've aired my old clothes. Time to put them away for a while.”
Chapter 5
It proved a fairly typical spacer haunt; fake wooden bar with a plump old bartender standing behind it, pumps dispensing a dozen different sorts of beer that were basically the same, half a dozen screens on the walls alternating between advertising and sports feeds. The place was crowded, many of those in the crowd were sporting green-and-black armbands over dirty overalls or jumpsuits.
Logan and Anna had taken seats near the back of the room in plenty of time, and were on their second terrible lager of the evening by this point.
“1940. The anarchists are late,” Anna said.
Logan laughed, quietly, and gestured at the beer. “You want another one?”
Anna looked over Logan's shoulder, and shook her head. “Our mark just walked in.”
There was Valeria, looking older and more carefree than in the photographs, but definitely the same girl. She was wearing one of the armbands; the other arm was around a young man with a thin beard and a broad smile.
“Ten kopeks say that's the leader,” Logan said.
“I'm not giving you my money. He looks a bit on the young side for this sort of a mob, though.”
“I don't know, I've seen younger politicians.”
The crowd began to quiet down, and parted to let the couple make their way to the front. The screens all went dark; the doors closed, and locked. In a well-choreographed move, the lights dimmed and shone on the two of them standing in front of the crowd. There was a brief round of applause in which Logan and Anna joined, and the man began to speak.
“You all know why we are here.”
“Bet you're going to tell us, though!” a voice from the crowd shouted, to general laughter. Logan was a bit perplexed; his manner seemed uncertain, slightly hesitant.
“We're here because we all feel the same way about the bosses. About the people who tell us what to do.”
“I'm here for the beer!” another voice cried. Valeria had a frustrated look on her face, and whispered something into the man's ear.
“I know what you aren't here for – you aren't here to listen to me! So I introduce the leader of our movement, our inspiration, Valeria!”
Logan's eyes met Anna's. Whatever they had expected, this certainly wasn't it. Valeria stepped forward, her plain red hair shaking back and forth as she grabbed the microphone.
“All of us are here tonight because we don't like being bossed around by incompetent nitwits. We don't like the people in charge giving us stupid orders that don't make any sense. We don't like being told that we have to sacrifice for the common good, while the fat cats sit back and enjoy their pampered, privileged lives!”
There was a fast ease in these lines; Logan felt himself subconsciously nodding. The crowd was liking it as well.
“Yes, here we are free from that tyranny. Here we are reliant only on ourselves, and on what we can do for ourselves and for each other. But the revolution will die if it is confined to this tumbling station. It must spread, to encompass Zemlya, Kalin and other worlds. We must free others from the tyranny, or we are no better than those we have left behind!”
It went on like that for some time. As best he could work out, the 'cause' was essentially anarcho-libertarianism, a somewhat confusing blend of the two. At its simplest, it boiled down to throwing out all the bosses and replacing them with the non-specific rule of the people. While the analytical part of Logan's mind dismissed it as nonsense, the manner in which it was presented was appealing, and this was mirrored in the crowd. The speech ended to general cheers, and a couple of older men stepped forward
and began to outline more specific points of doctrine, but the crowd's attention was wandering and they quickly brought their speech to an end.
Logan nodded at Anna and stood up, making his way through the crowd. Valeria and, presumably, her boyfriend, were still arm in arm, and several people were congratulating her about the speech. After a minute, it was Logan's turn.
“That was a very inspirational speech. Really spoke from the heart.”
“Thank you, it was meant to.”
“Your father sends his best.”
Her face changed instantly from joviality to total seriousness; she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a corner of the room.
“What do you know about my father?”
“That's he sent me here to, well, rescue you.”
She laughed loudly, attracting looks from across the room. “The old bastard's agreed to pay up, then.”
“Yes. I would recommend we don't discuss this here.”
“Of course. The two of you can meet me in Gantry G, right over the spaceport concourse, in half an hour. If this is a trick, you will suffer.”
Logan nodded. “No tricks. We'll be there.”
Suddenly Valeria was all smiles again, moving back to the next person in the line. After a few minutes more, the doors unlocked and the crowd began to disperse. Anna and Logan made sure that they were not the first out of the door, but hustled out of the room and got themselves lost in the residential corridors.
“Logan, this changes the picture rather drastically.”
“Yes and no. We thought all along that she was working with the anarchists, and now we know that for sure.”
“We thought that she was working with them, not leading them. This limits our options pretty badly.”
Logan nodded. “But not to zero. We can still make a deal out of this. At least we can give them the data. Half a loaf.”
“The half without any money in it.”
They took as roundabout route back to the starport as they could without running out of time. The crowds were as thick as ever, and at least half a dozen people made failed attempts at pickpocketing Logan on the way down.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tales from the Vault Page 10
