by S. E. Smith
“I’m the agent. I’d been working deep cover, slated to board Wisdom, but the ship was scuttled. Command told me you’re my contact.” He inclined his head toward Sona. “She was a passenger on Wisdom and it’s important I escort her to headquarters.”
“Heard about the ship,” Garr acknowledged. “Still a lot of question marks here.”
Maura—in her uncolored state—came streaking out of the ship, chattering loudly as she clambered up Rigel’s field fatigues and perched on his shoulder to scold Garr.
“Guess your pet’s telling me we’re on the same side.”
“She’s not a pet.”
Garr swung his head back to Sona. “You look Rathski to me.”
“I am.”
“Pretty rare breed to be sided with the Network, aren’t you?” Garr asked, before his questioning look shifted back to Rigel.
“She’s a Network asset,” Rigel stated. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. She was going with him to the transport.
Garr leveled them both with a hard squint. “Well, aren’t you two a pair?”
“We need to clean up the scene,” Rigel said. “Before their Alliance friends show up.”
Sona snagged one of the fallen Ithians by the belt and dragged his body across the hangar floor.
“They won’t come lookin’,” Garr said. “This lot wasn’t a patrol. Just rogue cutthroats, hoping to hijack my ship.”
Rigel gave his battered vessel a scathing look. “Why yours?”
“Easy mark for a pack of cowards. One man against seven,” Garr said. “But I stalled ’em. Told ’em my first mate was returning with treasures. That’s why they were waiting for you.”
“Good thinking,” Rigel said, pitching in to help Sona finish stacking dead Ithians.
“Hades. Wishful thinking,” Garr sneered. “I hoped to blue Hades you could handle the situation once you got here.”
“It’s handled.”
Sona withdrew a scorchbomb from her synth-leathers. “To cover our tracks.”
She hurled it into the heap of bodies. Rigel did the same with the one he still carried. The devices ignited with distinct pops, flaring white hot and reducing the fallen men to fine ash.
Maura yipped and clung to the back of Rigel’s neck, peering over his shoulder at the inferno.
“No hurt Maura,” Rigel reassured her, watching the firestorm die down with a tightening gut.
Maura nosed his cheek. “Rigel belly hurt.” The intuitive SpyDog had picked up his suppressed reaction.
“These weren’t good or honorable men,” Sona said in a low voice, as if she could sense his feelings, too.
“No, they weren’t,” Rigel answered darkly. Eliminating threats was sometimes a necessity in his line of work, but it never got easier.
Rigel helped Sona kick sand over the burn scar then turned back to the hang entrance to retrieve his satchel. Far down the darkened ally, the sound of distant shouts echoed.
He sprinted back to the ship. “We’re going to have company. Fifteen tempas, tops.”
“Let’s get spaceborne!” Garr barked, racing up the gangway. “We’ll sort things out once we’re flying.”
Rigel eyed the derelict ship, muttering, “If we survive the launch.”
Garr gripped the ramp controls. “Don’t judge, boy. Just get your ass aboard.”
Sona strode up the gangway and Rigel followed closely, one hand steadying Maura, giving the battered hull a last once-over before ducking inside. “This thing’s part of the Network fleet?”
“Aye, this thing is all that.” Garr sealed the airlock. “Head up to Flight. We’ll debrief later.”
Chapter Six
“Get on the lift. Time’s not on our side,” Captain Garr said, waving Sona and Rigel to an opening in the ship’s corridor. She squeezed between the two men in the small space, holding her breath as the circular lift rotated and rose, opening on an ancient flight deck.
“First, I need you both to hand over your weapons.”
Sona looked at Rigel, who shifted his hand to his laze-pistol. On his shoulder, Maura squeaked.
“No arguments,” Garr warned. “If you’re friendlies, you won’t need them. And if you’re not, I do. Now be quick about it.”
Sona set her jaw but did as Garr asked after Rigel complied. Garr locked their weapons in a dented wall bin.
“Strap in,” he ordered. “This’ll be quick and dirty.”
“Where’s your crew?” Rigel questioned.
“I am the crew, Cardi.”
Sona gave Rigel a quick glance. So he was Carduwan. That fit. The Carduwan government was in the thick of the messy insurrection against the Alliance. One of their brash officers, Captain Jagger, had had more than his share of brushes with her planet’s navy. She’d just never have pegged Rigel as Kuppah—Rathskian slang for ‘beak-nosed traitors.’ He didn’t fit the profile. So to speak.
After her initial doubts about Rigel, he’d managed to impress her in ways she’d never expected. He was curt, demanding, and competent, as the situation demanded, but she’d also caught hints that the man had a soul. Maybe there was a good guy in there, after all.
Garr slid into the pilot’s console near the forward vu-portal and pulled a visored helmet over his head. Rigel pointed Sona to the second flight couch and took the jump seat under a bank of time-worn instruments behind her. Maura jumped into his lap.
“We’re go,” the cap muttered into his helmet mic. “Give us a push, my friend. Just make it snappy.”
The ship’s hoverjets blasted and the vessel lifted on a cushion of air, shimmying gently as multiple tugs contacted her hull.
“Network asset in the traffic tower,” Garr muttered to them in an aside.
The view shifted as the tugs pushed the craft down the darkened alley to a jump deck. A very close jump deck, if luck was with them. Sona subconsciously tightened her crash harness and kept her doubts to herself, but this antiquated vessel seemed more patch than panel.
Patrols were sure to have heard the commotion and might be closing in. The onset of night at least gave the craft some cover, but anything moving toward a jump deck during the blockade was likely to be challenged. Sona took her lower lip between her teeth. With any luck. the Alliance had other matters demanding their attention, like that explosion in the sky earlier.
As if Rigel shared her thoughts, he said, “What’s the word on Specter?”
Garr angled his head to the side, though his eyes were obscured behind the dark visor. “That crazy-assed stunt stirred up the whole flibbing sector, but damned if she didn’t get away.”
So it hadn’t been the Network ship that had exploded.
Garr flicked several switches, and added, “Prep for launch. It’s gonna be hairy.”
“Should we say our prayers now?” Rigel said.
“Keep your snark to yourself, boy.”
Sona locked her hands tight around the armrests of her flight couch.
The ship’s rear drive fired up and the roar vibrated right through her bones. Moments later, they were streaking toward space as if they’d been fired from a paracannon. Plastered into her flight couch, Sona struggled for breath as the G-forces mounted. The craft pinged and groaned around them. The shaking made her teeth chatter. Captain Garr shouted something, but his words were lost in the deafening bellow of the engines. Was this wreck going to hold up to the punishment?
Then the ship slipped into the quiet of the exosphere and Garr cut the engines and engaged the artificial gravity. Sona relaxed and blew out her breath, relieved at the absence of both pressure and decibels.
“Why are you cutting power?” Rigel demanded. “You’ll need full engines to evade Alliance ships.”
“Open your eyes, man,” Garr answered, gesturing out the vu-portal toward empty space. “Nothing to dodge. The ships are gone. Blockade’s been lifted.”
“What the Hades?”
Even without angling her head, Sona sensed Rigel’s attention turn to her
. As if he thought she had the answers.
Hadn’t the last several hours working their way through the Alliance-riddled spaceport together proven she wasn’t an enemy who would put a laze-pistol blast between his eyes at the first opportunity?
And yes. She’d had many.
In truth, she was the one who had to be cautious. She couldn’t put her trust in anyone. Not Rigel, not Garr, and not even the…
Well, maybe the StarDog.
Like Luna, Maura didn’t have the capacity for pre-judgment her human counterpart did.
“Course is set and the scopes are clear,” Garr said, rising from his flight couch. “Let’s have a chat in the galley.”
“We’re going to reach the transport in time?” Sona questioned.
“If you’re both who you say you are, you’ll get to MONA Loa. Not to worry. Not about that.”
He hefted the helmet off and placed it on his seat before turning to help her release the crash harness. As his fingers worked the buckles, Garr’s gaze lingered, sliding down her studded synth-leathers with appreciation.
Behind them, Rigel got abruptly to his feet. “What is our worry?”
Garr raised his head, his hard gaze fixing on Rigel. “Until I know just who and what I’m dealing with, either one of you might be headed for a one-way trip out the airlock. As I said, my orders clearly stated one operative to transport…not two.”
“We told—”
“Save it,” the captain snapped. “We’ll talk in the galley.”
Rigel turned to look at the empty pilot’s console. “And who’s going to be flying the ship?”
Garr smiled—though it was more of a sneer—and hefted his battered helmet, placing it back on his head. “I am.” He thrust an arm out, motioning them toward the lift. “After you.”
Rigel’s face skewed into a hard frown, but he followed Garr’s directions.
Sona again squeezed onto the lift with the two men, the close quarters disconcerting. Though she was fairly confident about Rigel, Garr was still an unknown entity. There was little room to fight here, should it become necessary. Though she’d had considerable training in close-quarters combat, using her body as an effective weapon required room to move.
The lift opened, and Sona was first off.
“To the right,” Garr directed. “Second access.”
She matched strides with Garr. “You interface with the ship using your helmet.”
“You’re a smart one,” Garr responded. “Into the galley and grab a chair. Either of ya hungry?” Garr strode to the galley counter.
She and Rigel responded simultaneously, “Yes.”
Garr grunted and bent to remove two containers from the chiller. He gathered utensils, depositing one on top of each meal before sliding them to Sona and Rigel.
She glanced at the readi-fare—some form of pasta with a thick herbal sauce—and tried not to let her disapproval show. Rathskians weren’t vegetarians. But diet was a trivial concern at the moment.
“So…” The dark visor of Garr’s helmet angled toward each of them in turn. “Let’s hear both your stories again.” Garr addressed her: “You first.”
“I was aboard Wisdom when we were given an emergency evacuation alert. The crew had trained for it. As a passenger, I hadn’t. So I fled and sought cover in an abandoned hang, and that’s when I crossed paths with Agent Rigel.”
“And how did you come to be aboard Wisdom?”
“My transport from Rathskia made a stop on Purmia and I was smuggled off the ship and onto Wisdom by Purmian contacts. Though Purmia’s under Alliance control, they’ve remained in collusion with the Network ever since…ever since the ruling duke and duchess were executed.”
“By Rathskians.”
“Yes.” She paused to draw a breath. The hideous slaying of the Purmian royal family by her own kind had brought hatred and loathing upon her subspecies by most of the known galaxy. Even though they’d been following the orders of the Ithian premier. “Wisdom was on Purmia to secure a shipment of borga ore. But the Alliance detected Captain Gant’s launch. They shadowed his ship all the way to Banna then initiated the blockade to pin him down. The Network had no choice but to destroy Wisdom…along with all her secrets.”
“So the blockade was all about Gant,” Garr muttered. “Where is he now?”
“He left his ship sometime before the incident and never returned. I haven’t been in communication with my superiors since the emergency evac, but rumor among the crew was that he boarded Specter prior to her attempt to run the blockade.”
Rigel’s brows arched in surprise, but he didn’t voice his questions.
“That all makes sense. His niece is Specter’s captain.” Garr said.
“Yes,” Sona agreed. “Because he’s actually a Mennelsohn. Gant is his assumed name. And in addition to captaining Wisdom, he’s commodore of the Network fleet.”
Rigel coughed, as if attempting to conceal his reaction to her detailed knowledge.
Garr seemed satisfied with her answer. “Explain your mission?”
“I was asked to deliver an asset to Network Command,” she replied.
“What sort of asset?”
“I can’t give specifics.”
Garr shifted in his seat. He was obviously aware of the security protocols. Was he testing her?
“And Wisdom was to take you to the transport to make the jump to MONA Loa? Is that right?”
“To Spirit. Yes, sir.” She stared down Garr’s blank visor for several moments, ready for his next volley.
“Now you,” Garr said, abruptly turning to Rigel.
“We,” Rigel paused to give Maura a stroke, “have been in the field gathering intel for Command. I received orders to report to Wisdom for the flight to the transport. A few sectas before I reached the ship, she was hit by a paracannon round.” His gaze cut briefly to Sona. “Word is Specter fired on her.”
Garr’s voice dropped. “Pretty fortunate you weren’t already aboard. Why was that?”
“I was notified to wave off moments before the explosion.”
“By your handlers?”
“Yes.”
“What else did they say?”
“Nothing else. It wasn’t a two-way convo.”
Garr gave him a curt nod and didn’t pursue his line of questioning. Maybe the man was aware of the covert comm system this operative was equipped with.
“Where was your AO?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss my Area of Operation.”
“You’d best answer my question, Cardi.”
Rigel’s eyes went cold. “I’ll consider discussing pertinent information with you in private.”
Sona snapped her jaw shut. Rigel still didn’t trust her enough to discuss details in front of her. Well, that worked two ways. She lifted her chin. “I agree.”
“Right, then,” Garr said, pulling his feet under him. “I’ll conduct a round of one-on-ones with each of you.” His visor angled her way and she got the distinct impression he was studying her. He rose from the table with a firm gesture to Rigel to accompany him.
“Stay in your seat until we return,” he instructed her. “Enjoy your meal.”
The two men disappeared down the corridor and a seal closed in their wake.
Sona leaned back and poked at the food with her utensil. Her instincts were to ignore Garr’s directions and scout the ship, but that wouldn’t be wise if he had the ability to surveil her with that mysterious helmet of his. No doubt he’d be watching to ensure she complied. Better not give him more cause to doubt her. No telling what Rigel might be saying to him in the meantime.
She looked at her meal and sighed. Might as well make an attempt to eat this rodent-fodder while the two men dissected her in their private chat.
She’d deal with the aftermath of their tête-à-tête once she knew the outcome.
Chapter Seven
Garr’s questioning completely focused on Sona. Did Rigel believe her story? Had he observed any acti
ons that might lead him to believe otherwise? Had everything she’d told him checked out so far?
Without disclosing his suspicions, Rigel suggested the captain run Sona’s name through the Network database for confirmation of her Network allegiance, but Garr nixed the idea. “We’re still in communications blackout. No comm traffic with headquarters until further notice.”
Rigel was as straightforward as was prudent with other info about the she-Rathskian, and when he returned to the galley with Garr, he was fairly sure they’d reached an understanding.
Sona waited at the table where they’d left her, her half-eaten meal in front of her.
“Take your seat and stay put,” Garr instructed him, before swiveling his visor toward Sona. “Your turn.”
She rose and Garr fell in behind her as she made her way down the corridor. Rigel clenched his fists when the captain’s hand came to rest on her back, guiding her forward. Herding her into his quarters.
If Garr’s pattern held true, this time his questions to Sona would be all about him. What would she tell the man?
Maura, sprawled across his lap, quietly whimpered.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
“Sona not happy.”
Rigel ran his hand over her silky fur. “How can you know what she’s feeling?”
“Maura knows.”
He gently rubbed her tiny ears, puzzling over the StarDog’s empathy. She’d never connected with another person—other than himself—on such a deep level. And why did his StarDog’s message that Sona was unhappy disturb him on so many levels?
He still had lingering suspicions that Sona was a dangerous wild card, at best, and a possible enemy operative, at worst—though that seemed less likely with each passing hour. They’d made a pretty good team back on Banna, after the initial edginess between them lessened. Unless she’d completely deceived him. Unless everything she’d said and done were only part of a plot to have him slip her into MONA Loa Station.
He didn’t want to believe that. But if true, he was playing right into her hands.
Empora’s Hades, what if she was worse than enemy counterintelligence? What if she was a terrorist, and her mission was to destroy Network headquarters? She’d had scorchbombs in a concealed pocket of those synth-leathers. What else might she be carrying?
