by Rick Partlow
“Damn,” he murmured to himself.
“Terrin,” Franny’s voice cut through the musing, the warmth of her fingers on his hand bringing him back to the present. He looked over and saw her smiling and his grin widened. “You were lost in some astrophysical problem, weren’t you?”
“I was just thinking,” he admitted, “the stardrive manipulates spacetime. There’s got to be some way we could use it to generate artificial gravity.”
“Oh, man,” Kammy groaned, “you do that, I will buy you the biggest steak they got in Argos. And then we could eat steaks in the galley instead of this shit!” He waved the food packet demonstratively. “Hey Terry, I’m sorry you gotta come back to us and be stuck with this for a welcome-back dinner. We were worried about you, bro!”
There was a murmuring of agreement from the ship’s crew gathered in the galley for lunch and a few squeeze bulbs of juice or coffee were raised in a toast. Heat rose in Terrin’s ears.
“Maybe the secret’s in the data you brought back with you,” Lyta said, speaking for the first time since she’d entered the galley. She’d been quiet ever since she and her Rangers had marched onto the drop-ship to head back to the Shakak twelve hours ago. “I hope there’s something vital in it,” she added, staring at the bulkhead as if seeing something the rest of them weren’t. “The price was pretty high.”
Terrin felt the air go out of him and he stumbled for something to say.
“I…I wanted to tell you, Lyta,” he finally stuttered, “your officer, Captain Cordova, he saved our lives. He was a real hero.”
“He was a Ranger,” Lyta said flatly, as if that explained everything. “Tell me though, Terrin,” she prompted. “I think we’ve showed our hand here, put all our chips in on this one. So tell me, was the data that important?”
“Lyta, it could change everything,” he said. “The interstellar economy, the military, the whole balance of power in the Dominion. Eventually, everything’s going to be different.”
Lyta glared balefully at her food packet, then tossed it overhand toward the recycler mounted on the far bulkhead. It spiraled tightly and sank home inside the dark opening.
“Different isn’t always good,” she declared, then pushed herself out of the galley.
An awkward silence fell over the cluster of tables as Kammy and Tara stared after the woman. Kammy headed after her with the grace of an acrobat, frowning in concern, while Tara went back to her dinner with a philosophical shrug
“Damn, what’s gotten into her?” Terrin wondered after the buzz of general conversation had picked up enough to cover his words.
“I don’t know,” Franny said, “but there was something I wanted to ask you about. Back in the canyon, we were talking about something and I just…”
Terrin sucked in a breath, screwed up his courage and kissed her. Franny stiffened slightly, but then she returned it, a hand going to his neck to pull him closer. Someone in the galley noticed and hooted their appreciation, but he didn’t care.
Life was just too short.
“I feel like we’ve been here before, Captain Laurent,” Lord Aaron Starkad said, his tone light and airy but the chill of his ice-blue eyes showing the real story.
Two Marine guards had escorted him into the holding cell, but he waved them back to the door, approaching the fold-down cot where Laurent had been sitting when he entered. She had leapt to attention and was still locked up, eyes staring straight ahead at the sterile blankness of the white walls, trying to keep an eye on his motions with her peripheral vision. Starkad dropped onto the cot casually, propping one polished, calf-high riding boot up on the edge of it and draping an elbow over his knee.
“Sit down, Ruth,” he urged her, patting the mattress of the cot. “Talk to me.”
She eyed him warily but did as she was told, sitting at the edge of the cot, feet planted on the floor, hands flat beside her.
“I want you to tell me why you think this mission failed so spectacularly, Ruth,” he whispered in her ear, his voice soothing, as if he were her closest confidante. “Tell me how Grieg managed to fuck things up so bad you had to shoot him in the face.”
She restrained the bitter laugh trying to force its way out. She should have known those Marines would talk, eventually.
May as well go all in.
“Colonel Grieg was an idiot,” she told him frankly. “He alienated the mercenaries when they were willing to work with us, alienated the civilian population and tried to use brute force when bribery would have worked more effectively, and then he failed to recognize the fact our enemies had beat us to the punch and were already on the planet. Once that became clear, he totally lost his composure and instead of adjusting his battle plan and adapting to the situation, he gave up and decided on pointless suicide.”
Aaron Starkad peered at her far too closely for far too long before he finally nodded.
“That matches what the Marines told me. They were…disappointed in their commander.”
She let the breath she’d been holding out very slowly and gradually through her nose, not wanting to sound guilty or nervous.
“What are we to do with you, Captain?” Starkad wondered. “Every time you go on a mission with a superior in command, he winds up dead and you end up one of few survivors.”
“May I be allowed to make a suggestion, Lord Starkad?” she asked very, very carefully.
“But of course, my dear,” he said warmly. “That’s why you’re still alive.”
A shudder ran up her spine but she refused to give into it.
“I think you should make me your Chief of Intelligence, sir.”
“Oh-ho! Do you really?” He laughed, not with mockery she thought, but with actual delight. “Oh, my newly-lovely woman, what a marvelous suggestion and one with enough nerve that I am quite willing to give it a go.” He pressed his fingers together and eyed her over his clasped hands. “If you’re given this responsibility, Colonel Laurent, what would your advised course of action be for your Lord Supreme?”
“The Guardianship of Sparta can’t be allowed to have this sort of power unchecked,” she said, firmer now, stronger, more confident.
“You advise open war, then?” He cocked an eyebrow curiously.
“Not open, my lord,” she corrected him. “We were nearly able to stage a coup in Sparta once, with Duncan Lambert. We were minutes away from having our man on the throne, doing our bidding, the first step towards uniting the Dominions under the Supremacy.”
She smiled, baring her teeth.
“This time,” she said, “we’ll do it right.”
FROM THE PUBLISHER
Thank you for reading Revelation Run, book three in Wholesale Slaughter.
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