Starhold (17 page)

“You know, I’ve worked for State Security for over forty years. I’m a Senior Inspector, but only because I’ve accumulated years, not accomplishments. I wanted to do something big, to prove that I was more than just a plainclothes cop.” Carr had called her that in their previous meeting, something he felt bad about now. “Forty years, most of it spent on my homeworld busting small-time crooks,” she continued. “I just wanted to do something grand, to end my career on a high note. The whole idea was so stupid. Right now, I’d give anything to be back on Arethusa, rousting some petty pickpocket into jail.” She looked pitiably at the two OMI agents. “You will help me get home, won’t you?”

“Of course we will.” Sanchez said as she grasped the older woman’s hand. “Tell us, how did you get here?”

“After I uncovered the
Theodora
information, I foolishly decided to follow up on my own. I contacted someone known to me in Port Bannatyne, a pilot that occasionally did contract work for the SSB. He and his friends stole
Kestrel
and then forged the IDs to trick the ship’s AI into allowing us to fly her. Of course, it all started to fall apart when we arrived in Sol and I discovered that my pilot had died during the flight. Poor, poor man.”

Carr interrupted impatiently. “We found
Kestrel
and your pilot. So you had the computer land the ship and you walked to town. How have the local authorities not taken you into custody? And the bigger question, what have you found out? Who are these people and what’s going on here?”

Mumphrey leaned in close to the table. “It was the Underground, the resistance. They found me first, before the authorities. The Underground sent me to make contact with you two.”

Sanchez glanced at Carr. “That could be useful,” she remarked, though Carr wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Right now, he had a bad feeling. It was one of those ‘this is all about to go wrong’ sensations.

Mumphrey continued. “As for these people and this colony, well, you’re just not going to believe it. It’s so fantastic…”

At that moment, a waiter approached the table and put a piece of paper down in front of Mumphrey. “Your check, madam,” he said. He was an attractive man, maybe thirty with a healthy head of thick brown hair. Mumphrey began to protest that she had already paid, but stopped short when she saw the waiter’s face.

Mumphrey forced a smile, but Carr could see through it. “Thank you, very much,” said the older woman. There was trouble. Carr gave a quick glance about, looking for someone who might be secret police. Several people sat nearby—a woman messing with a mobile, a man in business clothes looking over a menu, another man…wait—it was the woman on the mobile. She had called or signaled for a capture team.

“We have to go,” declared Mumphrey. She flipped the paper over to reveal its contents to her two companions. ‘Get out now’ was scrawled on it. “I know where to go,” Mumphrey said quickly. “We need to walk two doors down the street and our friends will be waiting for us. If we get separated, go to the grocery store you visited yesterday and they will find you.” Carr was impressed since he had been positive they hadn’t been followed yesterday.

The café was located on a corner, so there were good escape routes. Sanchez rose with Mumphrey, her eyes beckoning Carr. “Go on,” he ordered. “I’ll follow.”

By now, he could clearly see the trap closing. Two uniformed officers were walking toward them from the north, two more from the south. A man parked what was supposed to be a taxi on the opposite side of the street and got out, waiting for traffic so he could cross. The woman at the café had put away her mobile and was preparing for action.

Walking down the street, Mumphrey and Sanchez were about to reach two of the green-clad police as Mumphrey veered left into some sort of shop. Suddenly, Sanchez bolted right, ran across the street and almost collided with a man on an electric scooter, causing him to lose his balance. She was trying to create a distraction to give Mumphrey time to get away. The man on the scooter crashed to the ground and Sanchez hurtled him. Without breaking stride, she hit the ground running, turning on the speed to sprint away. Carr admired her moves.

Two officers were about to give chase, as was the phony taxi driver, when Carr picked up a nearby round metal tray from a server’s station near his table. He banged the tray hard against a table, frightening some of the onlookers. “Hey! Hey, numb nuts!” he called out to the man closest to Sanchez. “She’s not the one you want!” The woman with the mobile had moved next to Carr and was reaching for what was probably a weapon, but she never got to it. She dropped like a rock as the confederate of Mumphrey, the faux waiter, bashed her over the head with a ceramic plate. He shrugged, gave Carr a roguish look, and took off back through the café.

Frank Carr started running the opposite direction from Sanchez, still carrying the round metal serving tray. He was headed down a street that seemed to have several alleyways shooting off to both left and right. The problem with alleys was that many of them had dead ends—he had to be careful not to run down the wrong one.

In general, the people in front of him were scattering, as people do during a disturbance, but one man wasn’t. He wasn’t in uniform, but while others were moving away from the crazy-looking bald man, this guy was moving toward him. Just as they got close to each other, Carr flung the metal tray, tossing the disc toward the other fellow. Before he could raise his arm to block it, the tray smacked into the man’s shoulder, throwing him off-stride just enough to allow Carr to race by him.

Carr could see the flashing lights of a police vehicle arriving at the end of the street, so he was going to have to pick an alley and take his chances. Hopefully, he had drawn enough of the pursuers away from Sanchez to allow her to escape. He was just about to turn into an alley when he saw a young man signaling to him, waving his arms. Mumphrey’s Underground confederates seemed very well organized.

Bolting toward the youngster and turning into an alleyway, the fellow was yelling “Quickly! Quickly!” Motioning toward the back end of a small truck, whose doors had been thrown open, the kid pointed and yelled, “Get in! Get in!” Carr ran for the back end of the vehicle and dove in, the doors shutting behind him. Almost immediately, the vehicle started moving.

After a short trip, the truck stopped and the back opened. Two men were there to help Carr out—men wearing green uniforms. As he exited the back of the vehicle, he noted that he had arrived at his original destination, the large hilltop building in the center of town.

“You sure we’re not supposed to take him to the Security Dome,” asked one of the greenshirts.

“Naw,” replied the smirking young man who had gestured Carr into the back of the truck a few minutes earlier. “For now, take him to one of the holding cells. The Lord Governor will want to speak with him later today.”

* * * *

At roughly the same time the three Sarissans were wreaking havoc in town, Naar was walking into the office of the Lord Governor. She wore a light-blue outfit, which complimented her shoulder-length honey blonde hair. It was all tight fitting and her skirt was short—very short, even for Sheel’s taste. He was working at his desk, where he looked up scornfully at her.

“You know, that’s not the usual expression you have on your face when you check me out,” she teased.

Sheel grunted disapprovingly. “That’s usually in the privacy of my own bedroom. You’re dressed as if you’re having a sale. What’s the special occasion?”

She stuck her tongue out at him as she moved behind his desk, bent over and gave him a kiss. “I understand the fleetmaster’s coming down from on high this afternoon. Thought I’d give him something to think about. This is what you wanted, right? You told me to get close to him, as in very close.” Sheel harrumphed again as Naar continued. “Or have you changed your mind? You wouldn’t be a little jealous, would you?”

Sheel stood and abruptly grabbed her left arm and twisted it, causing her to squeal out in pain. He bent back her arm as her face contorted in discomfort, but the look in her eyes begged for more.

“We don’t have time for this now,” he said, releasing her roughly. “And in regard to Haldryn, don’t be overconfident with him. Even with your formidable charms, you may not be the fleetmaster’s type,” observed the Lord Governor. “Besides, he’s not going to be in a very good mood when he arrives today.”

Sheel manipulated a few controls at his desk and a holographic control panel appeared above the desktop. Naar’s sunny disposition faded, as she understood the Lord Governor’s meaning. They had prepared for this moment for months, but she still had reservations.

“Do we have to go through with this?”

Sheel took a deep breath—they had discussed this all before. “Regrettable, but necessary,” he said. “We must strand the battle fleet, especially the
Imperial Wrath
, on this side of the Threshold. Now, are you positive the fleet won’t be able to detect this signal and trace it back here?”

“No, they won’t,” she assured him. “It’s just a regular radio signal that will blend in with all the background noise. Even if they thought to look, the signal is virtually untraceable.”

“Impressive. How did you manage all of this?”

“I had help from a young tech. He had an extensive knowledge of explosives and a ravenous appetite for me.”

“Had?”

“Poor boy,” she said with mock sorrow. “He suffered an unfortunate accident a few weeks ago. If you’re interested, Tharp can give you the details.”

Sheel reflected on Tharp. The young man had been a nice find. Of course, Naar was his chief partisan—no one could replace what she had done for him, but Tharp had been very useful in his own way. Almost a year ago, Sheel had found the young lad in a back alleyway, beating another youngster to a pulp. After dispensing a few bribes and altering some files, Sheel slipped him into the security detachment here at the Government Compound. The baby-faced thug was just smart enough to be handy and just dumb enough to follow orders without thinking. Naar and Tharp—the masochist and the sadist—had both been very useful.

The control panel hung in the air as Sheel punched in a code. The display transformed and a flashing orange icon appeared on the right hand side, with the word EXECUTE hanging above it.

Sheel gave a crooked smile. “How appropriate. You’re sure Doctor Acree and his entire staff are still at the Threshold control center?”

“They’re still there. They aren’t—,” she paused, correcting herself. “I mean, they weren’t scheduled to return planetside until next week.”

“Well then, you may do the honors, my dear,” he said, while holding his hand in mid-air, gesturing toward the flashing icon.

His partner in crime hesitated. “But Doctor Acree is such a nice man. Do we really have to kill him?”

The Lord Governor reached forward and punched the ‘execute’ icon, upon which a new message appeared: TRANSMISSION COMPLETE—DELETING PROGRAM, and then the entire display disappeared. Naar was startled at the suddenness of it all, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“The answer is yes, we really had to kill him,” Sheel stated. “We’ve been working on setting this up for months and now is not the time for regrets. The whole idea of having you accompany Doctor Acree to the Threshold was to confirm that our men had set the explosives, not to get chummy with him. Believe me, I wish we could have kept him around for his scientific genius.”

Sheel was surprised that Naar seemed truly remorseful. He brought her close and held her in his arms as she tilted her head and rested it on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Doctor Acree was a good man. I spent more time with him than most and I sincerely regret that he had to perish. However, as long as Acree and his staff were alive, there would always be the chance he could supervise the building of another Threshold. We absolutely had to eliminate that possibility,” he said to her. “How long until the signal reaches the station?”

“About twelve minutes.”

“And our men who rigged the explosives on the Threshold?”

“Still on the station. I told them they were setting the explosives just in case an enemy attacked and tried to seize the Threshold. I said we would only destroy it as a measure of last-resort, to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. They had instructions not to discuss it with anyone, because it might make the people who worked up there nervous.”

“Very neatly done,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “And now, the last connection to the meddlesome Emperor and his fool sycophants has been terminated. I’ll show elitists like Haldryn who the weakest link is. With our superior fleet, we can begin conquering this space and I will become master of my own empire. No one is ever going to call me a ‘lesser lord’ again—
not ever.
Neither me, nor my children—
our
children.”

He looked down into Naar’s pretty face, which was now beaming. In an instant of weakness, it dawned on him that he actually cared for this woman. They were a good match, and they would rule over his new empire together—and the stars help anyone who stood in their way.

16: Passion

Pinebridge, suburb of Boutwell

Planet Sarissa

Pinebridge seemed like the last remaining bastion of normality in greater Boutwell, given the insanity that gripped Sarissa’s largest city. It was the eve of the Pan-Union Cup Championship and thousands of football fans had flocked to the metropolitan area, bringing with them the peculiar madness that sporting events seem to release in humans. Boutwell had been flooded with supporters from the Sarissan city of Harlee and off-worlders from Quijano. The city was awash in Hammer maroon and Villanueva gold. Many Boutwellians had fled the festivities and the subsequent interruptions of their daily lives, opting to rent out their homes and apartments to the football revelers. The townsfolk got a quiet vacation and a nice piece of change to pay for it. The visiting fans got a place to stay. It was a win-win for all concerned.

No one in Pinebridge was renting out their house. In this suburban community, gated mansions, private security, and estate helipads were the norm. It was the home of corporate CEOs and high-priced physicians. Ordinarily, even a full admiral in the SUSF could never have aspired to reside in Pinebridge. However, during the People’s Rebellion, one of the local residents actively threw his support against ‘the People,’ that is to say, against Victor Polanco. As a consequence, the man and his family were exiled and his villa given to Admiral Channa Maxon as a reward for her service in overthrowing the previous regime.

The neighbors weren’t pleased, but most knew enough to keep any misgivings to themselves. Maxon resided there for only a few weeks out of the year anyway, spending most of her time on either Presidio Station or her flagship, the
Galatea
. However, she was at home now, as indicated by her personal standard flying from the flagpole near the front gate.

The admiral would be joined this evening by her lover, Brin Choi, commanding officer of Second Fleet. The service frowned on fraternization between its personnel, let alone between two flag officers, so it was known to only a few that Channa and Brin were romantically involved. They rarely had an opportunity to be together, but because Choi had sought a personal meeting with the Admiral-in-Chief and the conference was set for day after tomorrow, the two women would have a rare opportunity to enjoy each other’s company, if only for a short while.

Following a series of meetings in the capital, the Second Fleet commander arrived by helicraft at dusk, accompanied by her security team. Space Marine security teams were chosen not only for their ability to protect but also for their discretion. They were sworn to secrecy and the quickest way to lose the job, and face a court-martial, was to have loose lips. Betraying a confidence not only betrayed the VIP but the team as a whole. Both admirals’ security squads knew of their relationship and kept the details to themselves.

As soon as Choi stepped out of the helicraft, Maxon rushed to give her an embrace and a kiss. Both were still in uniform, working right up to the evening hours. It was very like Maxon to be bold in her display of affection, whereas Choi was a reserved soul. When the latter enthusiastically returned her kiss, it surprised and pleased Maxon. The two of them joined hands and walked from the helipad to Maxon’s grand house.

Later that evening, the women ate a splendid dinner prepared by Maxon’s personal steward, Master Chief Liz Harren. The household staff had been given the weekend off and Master Chief Harren would serve as cook, server, and kitchen staff in the absence of the hired help.

As the Master Chief cleared the table, the two went to the living room to have after-dinner cocktails. Maxon made herself a vodka tonic and poured a glass of bourbon for Choi.

“So what are you meeting with Victor about day after tomorrow?” Maxon asked, sipping on her drink.

“You know perfectly well what the meeting’s about. I want to discuss improvements to defensive fortifications in the Zavijava system.”

“And give him hell for sending Sixth Fleet to Hybrias instead of sending you. You’re still smarting from that, aren’t you?”

“You bet I am,” Choi shot back. “Austen Sykes is good, don’t get me wrong, but I’m better and you know it.” She slammed back her bourbon in nearly one gulp and rose to pour herself another.

“Don’t underestimate the regard Victor has for you. I think it was a matter of being able to safely spare forces from the Rousseau system.”

Choi sighed. “You know I respect Victor, but in this case he’s wrong. He doesn’t need to be surrounded by ass-kissers. When he’s wrong, he needs to be told. The man isn’t infallible you know and I wish you’d stop siding with him all the time.”

Maxon responded in a calm and steady voice. “I’m not an ass-kisser and I’m not siding with him. I simply believe he was right in this instance.”

Choi knew this conversation was headed down a road she’d rather not travel tonight, so she tried to change the tone. “Look, it was a possible chance for action and I wanted in on it. Channa, I want to DO something—something big, something important, something more than just managing fleet drills and patrols,” Choi grumbled as she slammed down another bourbon. “The People’s Rebellion was brief, but by the Many Gods it was exciting. Everything after has been so dull, so mundane. I just saw a chance for some action, that’s all.”

“So, minding the peace is getting you down?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Let’s not talk about work anymore tonight. Even when he’s not here, Victor has a way of intruding on us. I want this evening to be about us, just you and me.”

Maxon gave a tilt of her head. “Fair enough. No more shop talk, but go easy on that stuff,” she said, pointing to Choi’s glass. “The night is young and I don’t want you passing out on me too early.”

“Not a chance, but I really needed a drink. I’ve had a long day and you probably have too. This job seems to consume us. I thought about wearing a nice dress for dinner tonight, but look at me—still in uniform.”

“Well, I definitely think it’s time we get you out of that uniform,” said Maxon with a playful grin.

Choi sauntered over to the couch where Maxon sat. Her shapely frame bent down and she took Maxon’s face into her hands.

“No more about Victor. No more fleets or fleet deployments. Just you and me tonight, my love. It’s important to me.” She leaned down to give Maxon a long kiss and then grasped her hands to pull her to her feet. As they headed for the master bedroom, Choi grabbed the bottle of bourbon from the liquor cabinet and Maxon buzzed the kitchen on the intercom.

“Master Chief Harren, we won’t need you anymore this evening.”

* * * *

Two blue uniforms lay intertwined, much like their owners in the bed across the room. Pants, shirts, and underclothes tossed haphazardly into a heap on a chair. Gold epaulettes, each with one broad and three regular stripes peeked through in a couple of places. The uniforms were as alike as their owners were different. The chair held blue on blue, the bed held ice on fire.

Morning came too quickly. They had collapsed in each other’s arms, fatigued from lovemaking and alcohol. Choi awoke first, went to use the bathroom, brushed her teeth and then slid back into bed. Thanks to modern medicine, there was no hangover. Both of them had taken what many people called ‘the magic pill’ last night, which minimized the effects of intemperance.
Too bad there aren’t magic pills for other maladies
Choi thought,
like ambition or jealousy.

The bedroom clock read 09:32. There were things to do and Choi needed to motivate herself. She regretted deceiving Maxon into thinking they had two days together, when all they really had was last night. She regretted many things regarding Maxon, except their feelings for each other. Choi genuinely adored Maxon and she knew the other woman was deeply in love with her. Elevating her head and resting it upon her right arm, she lay watching Maxon sleep, gazing over the woman’s reddish-brown hair, her sharp eyebrows and thin lips. Choi let minutes roll by as her eyes devoured her lover.

Maxon woke to find Choi staring at her. “That’s creepy,” she joked.

Choi kissed her gently. “Good morning, my love.”

“Oh, don’t kiss me until I brush my teeth—don’t go anywhere.”

Climbing out of bed, Maxon glanced out the window. “Looks like they’re going to have a nice day for the game,” she said, referring to the Pan-Union Cup Final. First Consul Polanco had invited both of them to the match as his guests, but each had declined, citing other plans.

Maxon hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth quickly. When she returned to bed, Choi embraced her and kissed her passionately. She was pleasantly surprised at the level of Choi’s morning ardor, which Maxon soon matched. Their two bodies merged as one, with Choi conducting the passionate symphony of repeated pleasure and release that lasted for nearly an hour.

The final waves of pleasure washed over both of them and Choi felt her lover’s body relax beneath her. She carefully positioned herself, remaining astride Maxon, left hand holding her face as she swooped in for one more open-mouthed kiss.

Choi stared into her lover’s face. “I do love you, Channa, but it has to be like this. I am so very, very sorry.”

Maxon’s expression shifted from bliss to confusion. “Sorry about wha—”

Channa Maxon’s eyes opened wide and her face grimaced with pain. She started to scream out, but Choi slapped her left hand across her lover’s mouth. Maxon managed to glance downward and saw Choi’s right hand, which held the knife she had just plunged into Maxon’s side. Blood spurted and the pain spread. Maxon struggled to defend herself, but Choi had situated herself on top to control her victim.

While Maxon was in the bathroom, Choi had retrieved the knife from a pocket of her uniform and hid it under the pillow. It was a simple matter to seize it with her right hand and strike.

As Maxon struggled, another blow came as Choi again thrust the knife deep into her prey, just above the hipbone. The Tezrinan struggled less now, as the toll of the wounds and the shock mounted. Her eyes fixed on Choi—eyes that expressed both horror and sadness.

She didn’t understand it herself, but Choi suddenly became angry. Maybe she needed the anger to do what had to be done, to spur her on to finish the job. “You’d never betray Victor, not even for me!” she snarled. Pulling the serrated blade out of her victim and tossing it aside, she raised her right hand into a fist. With brutal force, she struck Maxon across the face, eliminating whatever consciousness remained. Choi dismounted her lover as Maxon’s blood seeped across the bedding and down onto the carpeted floor.

In the kitchen, Master Chief Harren checked the clock on the wall, which now read 11:02. She assumed the women would be sleeping late, but had prepared breakfast for whenever they decided to stir. Clearly, that ship had sailed and she needed to begin lunch. As she considered what to prepare, the door to the kitchen opened and Harren turned to see who it was.

Coming toward her was Admiral Choi—a completely naked Choi, wearing only a peculiar expression on her face. Harren’s jaw dropped as she considered what was going on. Was Choi drunk? Were the admirals playing a practical joke on her? Not likely. Perhaps she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. As Choi walked closer, Harren saw red liquid smeared on her leg and thigh. It was unmistakably blood.

“Ma’am?” was all that Harren could say. The admiral stopped walking and produced her right hand from behind her back—it was holding a small pistol.

Tilting her head to one side, Choi shot Harren in the forehead. The body dropped onto the tiled floor. “You’re dismissed, Master Chief.”

A few seconds after the shooting, there was a ratting at the kitchen back door, one that led to an adjacent greenhouse. She swiveled her body to the right, arm extended and weapon at the ready, but she didn’t pull the trigger again. Showing himself was Major Maurice Seydoux, leader of Choi’s security squad.

“Report.”

“The Maxon security team has been neutralized, ma’am. All ground security and comms have been disabled,” said Seydoux, looking directly into the admiral’s eyes, careful not to lower his gaze.

“Good work, Major. I’m going upstairs to take a quick shower. Have the helicraft ready to go in fifteen minutes and contact the shuttleport. We need to lift as soon as I arrive.”