“They are soldiers.” Too soft, the lovely Morgan; too soft by half.
Prakesh stepped forward. “If you are ready, Admiral?”
“I am.” He strode over to the Halycon.
The step up was set for troopers. He could manage but Morgan would need to climb. “Let me help you.”
She shot him a glance and clambered up on her own into the port seat of the third row. He sat next to her as the other troopers took their places with practiced ease. The top slid soundlessly over their heads, while the side sections lifted from the base.
The Halycon rose, negotiating its way up to the canopy. Agile, six-legged creatures fled, scolding, as branches snapped and whirled. The vehicle sped away, over the treetops, heading for the base. To port the jungle marched away to the mountains, lapping at their feet. To starboard a calm sea lay beneath a thick layer of cloud.
Morgan sat with her face on her fist. The troopers were silent. Ravindra wished he could have planned a little more precisely but they would simply have to improvise. At least they should be able to get into the base. From there, he would have to rely on Morgan.
Prakesh turned around in the seat in front of him. “Approaching the main gate, Srimana.” The sides of the vehicle darkened, hiding the troopers within from scrutiny.
The Halycon slowed and descended outside the double row of brightly-lit perimeter fences. The gates were closed and armed troopers waited on both sides. He looked at Morgan. Her face was closed but he could feel her nervousness. Truth to tell he could be calmer himself. He was at home on the bridge of a battle cruiser.
The Halycon stopped, hovering half a meter above the ground. The driver leaned out to speak to the guard who approached.
“Septa platoon, back from patrol.”
“Septa?” The guard checked a list on a sanvad attached to his wrist. “You were due back three days ago. I’ll have to check.”
“What’s to check?” Prakesh said from behind the driver. “We had some trouble with the Halycon, trooper. And we’re tired, hungry and dirty. Can we get on?”
“Chief.” The guard made to step back and stopped. “Wait.”
Ravindra’s heart beat faster and his hands gripped the blastech a little more tightly. He hadn’t expected to have to fight his way into the base but if he had to, he would. “Amber,” he muttered to Prakesh. Be ready to fight.
Prakesh pressed a button on his suit, sending the signal to the soldiers. They shifted, hands gripping their weapons. If he ordered red, the Halycon would batten down to battle mode, deploy its heavy gun and barge its way into the base.
The seconds ticked by. He forced himself to relax, hiding the fluttering nerves with practiced ease. What was the problem? Why were they being held? His fingers flexed on the blastech’s butt.
The gates began to move but still the guard kept them. Prakesh began to fidget.
A wheeled heavy hauler swept by.
The guard waved the Halycon on.
Morgan wasn’t the only one who sighed with relief. The Halycon slipped along a tree-lined roadway toward the base’s landing pads. A shiny civilian Starliner stood on the far side, atmosphere and shift-space capable, but unarmed. All the military ships must be in the hangars. Over confident. That was good.
The troop carrier turned a corner past the administration block and headed up between the neat lines of barracks.
“All out,” Prakesh said.
The sides dropped and the top retracted. The troopers jumped down and went around to Prakesh’s side to form up. Ravindra eased himself down to the end of the line, ready to sidle out.
“Drop your weapons, all of you, you’re under arrest.”
An armed squad approached at a jog.
Ravindra exchanged a glance with Prakesh.
“Get out of here, Srimana.” Prakesh whirled, his blastech blazing blue fire, and charged, the rest of the platoon right behind him.
Morgan. Where was Morgan? She emerged from under the trees. He grabbed her arm. “They’ve given us a chance. Let’s go.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Lakshmi scowled, lips twisted. “Can you be sure they’re dead?”
Iniman beamed at her from behind his desk. “I think we can be confident, Hai Suri. But I have a squad searching for remains.” He leant toward her, elbows on his desk. “Mind you, there are creatures in the forest which would make short work of a carcass.”
Asbarthi refrained from rolling his eyes. Iniman obviously thought she’d like that answer. What a patronizing know-nothing. He would have to be relieved of this command, at least, very soon.
“Well, in that case, can we return to civilization, Asbarthi? I’m sick of the wilds.”
She stood and wiggled her way to the window to stare out at the landing pads where a Starliner was parked. Its shining silver skin gleamed in the late afternoon light.
“In a few moments, my dear. I have promised the people of Krystor Central a special fly-past and a special fly-past they shall have. The flight is about to be launched.”
An irritated snort. “You go off and play soldiers, then. I’ll wait here until the Starliner’s ready.”
****
Morgan followed Ravindra off between the barracks where they would be less conspicuous. Shouts, screams, the sudden scamper of moving troops, the clatter of weapons rose from behind them. People were starting to appear, attracted by the noise. Feet pounded on the roadway, coming this way. Responding to Ravindra’s outstretched arm, she flattened her back against the wall and prayed the owners of the feet wouldn’t look down the alley. Or hear the hammering of her heart. A squad clattered past, obviously in a hurry to get to the fight.
The blastech in his hands, Ravindra pushed away from the wall and jogged down the alley between the barracks, careful to keep in the shadows. They halted at the corner of a building that fronted the landing pads. A showy ship with double tails, a pointed, curved down nose and sweeping wings stood alone on the pavement.
“Are we going for that?” One swift dash and they’d get to the ship.
“If we must. It’s a Starliner, a civilian luxury cruiser. It’s shift-space capable and at least we’ll be comfortable. But I would have preferred something armed.”
Yep, so would she. Oh well, needs must. “Ready when you are.”
Across the other side of the paving a hangar door began to lift. They shrank back.
As soon as the door rose high enough, the pointed noses of fighters appeared. CL30’s, the same as the Fleet used, black pencil shapes, their wings tucked inside for storage. Robot tugs pushed them out onto the paving, row after row of them. One by one, almost like a coordinated dance, the wings on each ship emerged from the sides. Crew came out, black-suited, donning helmets as they walked.
“I think we’ll have to be a bit more subtle,” Ravindra said. “People like us would not appear on the landing pads during a deployment. We would stand out.”
“Fine. Maybe we can get flying suits, then. I’d like that. I’m uncomfortable in this. I’d love a shower. I bet I stink.”
“You do.”
She lifted her lip at him. “So do you.”
“We’ll have to get to the other side to the crew rooms.”
“We just walk. Pretend we belong.” What’s the problem? Apart from several thousand potentially hostile troops, of course.
“You’ll have to leave the camouflage jacket. But yes, the clothes you’re wearing are close enough to Shuba work wear at a distance. We cannot walk together.”
“Uh-huh. Not done, huh?”
“That is correct.” The sides of his lips twitched. “And you must skirt the edges of the field.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you outside the crew room.” She set off around the edge of the landing pads. Where she came from a lowly rating wouldn’t have the temerity to cross the air field; it would have to be even more so here. Not casual, but not over confident. She was a worker who did the menial tasks. Even if her heart beat far too fast.
She gazed around as she
walked, looking for inspiration so she could keep up her pretense. Alleys were always good. She was in luck. Right next to the crew room half a dozen boxes stood on a dolly next to the bins. She rummaged. All Empty. Morgan read the labels; Farnesi, manufacturer of quality small arms, Jayas Emporium ‘for the best in uniforms’. She grinned to herself. Nobody had to know they were empty.
Pushing the dolly in front of her, she turned out of the alley way. The howl of engines reverberated in her ears as the first group of fighters soared into the air. The next three were already moving. None of the take-offs seemed urgent; just a routine maneuver. Maybe even a practice.
No one took any notice of her as she lumbered out of the alley to the front door of the crew room. She paused for a moment as a few people came out, one fitting his helmet on as he walked. A trooper, maybe a bit shorter than normal, stood a little to one side as if on sentry duty. She ignored him and pushed the dolly up the ramp.
Inside, she had a choice of a lift directly in front of her or a corridor stretching in both directions. A sign on the right hand corridor read ‘Flight Crew’. She headed right.
“Hey. You,” a female voice said. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
Morgan froze. Not gentle curiosity, this. The words were tinged with suspicion. As soon as she turned around, the woman would notice her eyes.
“Sorry,” Morgan muttered, slumping her shoulders and trying to look small. “I’m looking for the clothing stores.”
“Clothing stores? You stink. Let’s see your ID.”
She’d stepped closer. One of those bullying women who liked to use standover tactics. Morgan kept her head down and searched in her pockets.
“What are you doing? It should be pinned on.” She slipped an assault stick out of the holder at her waist and made sure Morgan could see it.
Morgan kept her head down. “Yes, I know. It fell off. The clasp broke.” Her interrogator was a little taller than she was. She’d have to be fast and accurate. One more step. Morgan lunged forward, grabbed the other woman’s lapels in both hands and head-butted her. Hard. Full into her nose.
A gurgled grunt followed the crunch of bone. Morgan willed herself to ignore the pain. The blow had hurt her opponent more than it hurt her. She’d fallen backwards, clutching her face. Morgan grabbed the assault stick from the floor, activated the weapon with a flick, and discharged a full bolt into her prone opponent. The woman’s body went rigid, then collapsed. Good grief. She was starting to act like Ravindra. Heart in mouth, Morgan listened for a pulse. The heart beat was too fast but at least she was alive, even if she’d end up with a broken nose, black eyes and one hell of a headache. What to do with her? A quick check revealed the crew locker room was empty. They would all be out, involved with that drill or whatever it was. Morgan dragged the woman in, leaving the dolly in the corridor.
The lockers were locked, but that was all right; they used technology, not keys. Breaking the pattern was child’s play. Ignoring lockers with personal items on the shelf in front of them, she opened one after another until she found a locker with a suit. She peeled off her clothes, shoved them in the locker and dressed before she opened the next one. Nope, too small. She moved on. This looked better. She grabbed the suit and held it against her body. The legs draped onto the floor. It ought to fit him.
She raised the helmet from its housing in the neck ridge. Hidden behind the bland anonymity of the flying helmet, she bundled up the suit for Ravindra and headed for the door.
He hadn’t moved.
“Come with me,” she said, as a manesan officer might to a lowly trooper. She headed for the Starliner trying to look as if she belonged. Ravindra followed, close enough behind for her to hear his footsteps.
Another growl of sound as another wave of fighters took off. They’d replaced the spiral galaxy decal of the Union Fleet with a new design depicting white mountains on a green background.
The Starliner’s ramp was down.
She scanned, listening. Nobody. Inside, she handed Ravindra the bundle and left him to change while she checked the bridge, retracting the helmet as she walked. She hadn’t seen one of these ships before. The Fleet didn’t have the simulator on their data banks. She gazed over the bent nose as another flight of fighters took off, their drives bright red in the fading light. This transparent canopy afforded a view of all but directly behind the ship. A bank of screens reporting all functions curved around a black control panel. She had a choice of two seats; either one would do. The ship had manual control override, a recessed joystick and rudder controls, too. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use those. Her eyes focused on the data port, she melded with the machine’s processor. Fueled up, checked, ready to go. All she needed was Ravindra.
“Ah. A pilot. How nice.”
Morgan’s heart jolted in her chest. Lakshmi, her voice dripping venom. Fuck fuck fuck. Where was Ravindra? And what could she use as a weapon?
“Turn around slowly, bitch. Asbarthi still wants you, Saitana knows why. So I’m not allowed to kill you. Yet.”
Morgan swiveled the seat.
Lakshmi’s eyes glittered in triumph. A soldier wearing a dark green uniform stood beside her, legs apart, a handgun aimed squarely at Morgan’s head.
“I might have known you wouldn’t be dead. Where’s your boyfriend?” Lakshmi said.
So they hadn’t seen Ravindra. And he had the blastech. All she had to do was keep them occupied. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Lakshmi’s hand shot out, striking her cheek. Hard. “Ravindra.”
Morgan swayed with the blow. It hurt but not as much as Lakshmi might have hoped. Come on, Ravindra. Where are you? “He’s not my boyfriend.” Nobody could call Ravindra a boy.
“No? Well, let’s go and talk to Asbarthi. Then when he gives up on you, maybe I can have you.” Lakshmi’s face twisted into an evil, superior smile. Morgan loathed the bitch.
“And then again, maybe not.”
Ravindra appeared in the bridge entrance dressed in the black flying suit, the blastech held at his hip. He looked very much the Admiral and he spoke in the cocktail party voice, the one he used when he was at his most dangerous. She almost melted with relief.
“At this range, a blastech will rip you to shreds. Morgan, take the soldier’s gun.”
She reached out but Lakshmi leapt across and snatched the gun before she could. Agile as a cat, the woman landed next to her and grabbed hold of Morgan’s hair. “Not too keen to shoot now, are you, Mirka bastard? You like your little freak, don’t you? Screwed her yet? I’ll bet you have. Couldn’t wait to get your cock wet, could you? Aren’t you afraid it will drop off?” Her attention fixed on Ravindra, Lakshmi ranted, spittle flying from her lips.
Now was her chance. Morgan lurched sideways, throwing the other woman off balance. She tore her hair out of Lakshmi’s hand, pushing aside the pain, and drove her head into the soldier’s stomach. He doubled over with a loud ‘oof’. The gun had skittered across the floor. She dived after it, swept it up and fired in one motion. The soldier staggered and crumpled across the pilot’s seat. A quick check of the power setting; unconscious, not dead. A surge of relief.
Ravindra had Lakshmi in an iron grip while she struggled and shrieked invective Morgan didn’t understand. He turned Lakshmi so her back was against his chest. Even then she kept fighting, snarling and spitting like a wild thing, aiming kicks at his legs. He flung one arm across her body, caught her chin in the opposite hand and jerked. A sharp crack and Lakshmi went limp, hanging from his arms.
He let the body slide down to the ground like a bag of refuse and stepped over it. “Is this ship ready?” He pulled the unconscious soldier off the pilot’s chair.
“Yes.” Morgan swallowed. He’d killed her with his bare hands. He hadn’t said a word, just did it. No glee, no celebration. Her heart slowed back down to normal pace. Who was she to judge? Given a chance, she would have shot Lakshmi. If he’d used the blastech he would very likely have holed the ship.
<
br /> “Then take off.” The admiral was on the bridge, even if he was dragging the soldier out to the passenger compartment. Morgan didn’t know what he’d do to the man and she wasn’t going to ask. She lifted the ramp and put power to the landing thrusters for take-off.
He came back for Lakshmi, then returned and slipped into the other seat as the ship began to rise.
“You took your time,” she said.
“When they came on board I was changing my clothes in the passenger compartment. I was half dressed. I knew she wouldn’t kill you, so I preferred to appear with some degree of dignity.”
“Well, I’m glad you were so sure of yourself.”
He smiled, reached out and squeezed her knee. Just for a moment before she had time to object. “Very.”
She felt a quiver right down to her groin as an unwanted image of him with his shirt off appeared unbidden. No. It would only end in pain, a pile of rubble instead of a heart.
‘Starliner, you are not cleared for take-off. Repeat, you are not cleared for take-off. Return to your holding position.’
“Too bad,” Morgan muttered, grinning, as she raised the landing gear. They’d have to be out of here fast. There were still fighters in the hangars.
“Where did those flights of fighters go?” Ravindra asked.
She’d checked. “Krystor Central. Don’t worry, I know we have to be quick.”
‘Starliner you are ordered to return to your station at once.’ The voice had become strident, demanding.
The ship rose above the height of the hangars. On the landing pads a few figures scrambled toward five fighters being drawn out. Last light burnished the tops of the mountains; the jungle already slumbered in the twilight. Beyond the base a line of white marked the beach and then the open ocean.
She pushed the power and headed toward Krystor’s largest moon.
“Seems we have company,” Ravindra said as he deployed his helmet.
The five fighters she’d seen, streaming up after them. Morgan raised her own helmet. Action stations.
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