A supervisor whose head was bent over her personal unit came walking around a corner and right past one section of commandos who silently parted to make way for her. She paused, raised her head with a puzzled expression, then concentrated on the unit in her hand again as she walked on down the passage.
Watching it happen, Drakon remembered the strange feeling of exhilaration that came with being invisible in a stealth suit, an elation that had to be carefully controlled because it could so easily lead to mistakes that would reveal your presence. Bumping against something, or someone bumping against you, a misstep that created too much noise and vibration, even the faint breeze created by your movement that could alert age-old instincts in humans. Defensive training for sentries emphasized paying attention to such almost subliminal alerts.
If you feel a faint wind when there shouldn’t be a wind, it may be the last thing you feel.
And if sentries or others were alerted inside an installation like this, defenses could flood important passageways and rooms with mists designed to make it easy to spot the shapes of anyone wearing even the best stealth suits.
But these commandos were experienced and careful, and the people they encountered did not seem to be concerned about attack. Had Colonel Dun told them what she was doing? Perhaps not. More than one sub-CEO and CEO operated on the philosophy that it was easier to keep workers in the dark.
Once you start explaining things,
one of them had once admonished Drakon after catching him briefing his unit,
they’ll start expecting reasons for whatever they’re told to do instead of just doing it.
His eyes flicked from virtual window to virtual window in a constant dance, seeing the commandos’ progress in a dozen different areas. One section had already reached the primary load control center, fanning out to take positions from which they could instantly disable every bulk transport system. Another was inside a room holding emergency backup controls and circuits, the room completely automated so that the commandos could load in software that blocked functions without alerting the control-system software guardians.
As Morgan slowly turned a corner, the view from her suit showed a small hallway where a soldier stood on bored sentry at an access panel. On one arm he wore a metabolic cuff, designed to automatically sound alarms if it were removed without the proper codes or if the sentry’s metabolism showed signs of severe stress. Drakon had never forgotten the sentry in his unit who had arranged a hookup during a late-night shift, not realizing that the metabolic excitement generated by sex could set off his cuff. That sentry had doubtless never forgotten it either; but then, he had been lucky he hadn’t been shot the next day.
The section with her followed as Morgan took several quick strides to the sentry, who just had time to glance around with a perplexed look before one of the commandos slammed a disabler into his arm. The soldier’s body spasmed, his voluntary muscle control abruptly cut off while involuntary functions like breathing and heartbeat continued unhindered. The cuff produced no warning as the sentry was gently lowered to the floor, then the commandos were going through into the secure area containing the facility’s command center and Colonel Dun’s offices.
Most of Malin’s sections were in position and he was leading the rest in a rush toward the rear of the secure area to cut off any attempt at escape. Morgan’s sections were spreading fast through the secure area, dropping the occasional roving sentry before the guards knew they faced any danger. The lucky sentries, those wearing metabolic cuffs, were left helpless but alive. The unlucky ones died silently and swiftly.
Drakon’s eyes went to stress monitors, seeing that the commandos were feeling the strain of the quick movement, of the long approach, of the unnatural gliding stride necessary to reduce the sounds of steps while in a stealth suit. It all wore out anyone pretty fast, even someone as well conditioned as these troops.
But everything was going perfectly.
Until one of the stealth suits failed.
To the workers kicking back as they watched equipment readouts in the transport control center, it was if a soldier in light combat armor suddenly appeared in their midst. The smart ones froze, even their breathing coming to a temporary halt, prehistoric instinct telling them that the only way to survive the attack of a predator was to remain absolutely motionless.
But one of the workers was either brave, or she panicked, slamming the emergency-alert button next to her hand before any of the soldiers could react. An instant later her head rocked under a brutal blow from a weapon’s butt end and she collapsed, still alive only because Drakon had ordered the commandos to kill workers only if there was no alternative.
Red lights pulsed and alarms thundered, bringing everyone on the facility to full alert. “Move!” Morgan shouted, and her commandos broke into full runs, no longer using the concealment stride.
Malin’s section blew open the rear exit, firing as they came through at a guard running toward them. The guard jerked backward under multiple hits before spinning to hit the wall and flop to the floor lifeless.
Soldiers started to pour out of one of the barracks rooms, only to meet a barrage of fire that dropped the first ones through the door. At least one soldier in the barracks tried the emergency exit and found out the hard way about the explosive charge placed there by the commandos.
Someone had figured out that stealth suits were being employed, and at critical areas inside the facility passageways and rooms filled with a fine mist. But the commandos already controlled every important point in the civilian side of the facility, and before the mist had fully deployed one of Morgan’s sections got into the military command center and wiped out the soldiers on watch there.
Morgan moved with reckless speed, killing two soldiers near the entrance to Dun’s quarters so fast that they were both still falling as she reached the door. A commando put a breaching charge in place, then they all went to either side as the charge tore the door off its hinges and fried automated defenses just inside the doorway.
Drakon could see Malin coming along fast, closing on Morgan’s position as she led her section into Dun’s quarters. He was pushing the pace, too. Why? Did he want Dun dead? Or did he want to save Dun for interrogation before Morgan reached her?
The inner door protecting Dun’s personal area blew inward as another breaching charge went off, then Morgan was inside the last barrier, her weapon questing for targets.
Malin had reached the back of Dun’s area, his own section blasting its way inside from that direction.
Morgan put a round into the center of Dun’s bed, then centered shots in each closet door before the commandos with her yanked open the doors. “Not here,” a commando reported.
The image from Morgan’s suit swung wildly as she surveyed Dun’s bedroom, then centered on a wall panel that betrayed signs of being newer than the panels to either side of it. “There!” Two shots failed to penetrate, but a final breaching charge shattered the concealed armored door.
Morgan, who had been against the wall next to the last door as it was blown, was still coming around to face that door when Dun stepped into view, weapon leveled at her. Drakon could see it all from several points of view at once, but he could do nothing. For a few instants, time seemed to slow down as Morgan tried to bring her weapon to bear, as Dun’s hand tightened on the trigger of her weapon, as the commandos with Morgan found their lines of fire blocked by her, and as Malin burst into the room with his commandos, Malin’s weapon already pointed at Morgan’s back.
“No!” was still coming out of Drakon’s throat when Malin fired.
* * *
“WHY?”
Drakon’s gaze was centered on Malin, who stood at rigid attention.
“Dun had to be stopped before she activated any fail-safes,” Malin reported, his tone as emotionless as his expression.
“That was Morgan’s primary duty. You knew that.”
“It was my assessment, on the scene, that she needed backup.”
“Do you think that excuse is ironclad?” Drakon almost shouted.
“Sir, you have always encouraged us to act based on our assessments—”
“Dammit, Malin, if your shot had been aimed a fraction of a millimeter different it would have blown off Morgan’s head instead of Dun’s! Why the hell did you take that kind of chance? Or was it a chance? You knew that after Dun shot Morgan she wouldn’t have gotten off a second shot before the commandos with Morgan nailed her. Was this just a perfect opportunity to end your quarrels with Morgan by ‘accidentally’ blowing her away during a firefight?” Drakon was shouting now. “If you wanted her dead that bad, why not let Dun do it? Or were you afraid that Dun would miss?”
Malin had paled, but he kept his voice steady. “I . . . General Drakon . . .”
“Yes or no! Did you try to kill Morgan?”
“No!” His voice cracking, Malin stared at Drakon. “No,” he repeated in a lower but still-strained voice. “She . . . I knew Morgan wanted to get Dun. I thought . . . she would . . . need help.”
Drakon moved back and sat down heavily, glaring at Malin. “Dammit to hell, Bran.
You
were worried about
Morgan’s
getting hurt? That’s your defense?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I didn’t know you, if I hadn’t seen a thousand times just how professional and dependable you are, I wouldn’t believe you. I still have trouble believing you.” He blew out an angry breath. “Your shot could easily have killed her. But Morgan would probably be dead if you hadn’t fired. I hope you’re not expecting her to thank you.”
“Colonel Morgan has already made clear her feelings in that regard,” Malin said.
“Yeah. You’re damned lucky I was tied into the command circuit and could activate overrides to freeze her suit. Otherwise, she would have killed you then and there.
Why
, Bran?”
“I did not try to kill Morgan, sir. You can put me in the highest level interrogation room you desire, and I will repeat that statement as many times and ways as you wish.”
Drakon locked eyes with Malin. “If I put you in that room, and asked you why you worked so hard to catch up to Morgan, what would your answer be?”
Malin hesitated. “To . . . keep her from being killed. Sir.”
“You two hate each other.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So? Do you have some kind of sick thing going on with Morgan?”
Paling again, Malin shook his head, looking revolted. “I have
nothing
like that going on with Morgan.”
After several seconds, Drakon made an angry gesture. “I have to believe you. Or have you shot. I prefer to believe you. The official story from this moment forward is that you acted to save Morgan, even though no one who knows you two will believe it. But if anything like this happens again, I don’t care whether or not Morgan gets hit, understand? You’ll be toast.”
Malin appeared briefly disconcerted. “You . . . will let me continue working on your staff?”
“You and Morgan. Yes. She’s all right with that. Once Morgan calmed down, she was impressed that you’d tried to nail her yourself under the only circumstances where you might have succeeded and could have gotten away with it. That’s the sort of thing Morgan admires in people. She still won’t turn her back on you again, but now she seems to think you’re worth killing.”
Taking a deep breath, Malin nodded. “I guess I should watch my back.”
“Yeah. That would be a real good idea even though I told Morgan that I needed both of you. And I’m telling you the same thing. If either of you kills the other, I’m going to make sure the survivor wishes they’d been the one who died. Is that
absolutely
,
completely
,
totally
clear, Colonel Malin?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
ICENI
sat in her office, wondering why Drakon hadn’t called yet, when he finally did. The virtual image of her co-ruler appeared seated across the desk from her. “The orbital facility is completely secured,” Drakon said. “We swept it down to the quark level and except for Colonel Dun’s surprises we found nothing that shouldn’t be there except the usual contraband, pornography, and recreational drugs. The bad news is that we are now certain that Colonel Dun was working for the ISS.”
“Dun? An ISS agent?” Iceni asked, projecting surprise. She didn’t want Drakon to know that she had already learned of that from her source close to him.
“There’s no doubt at all. Dun had a secondary, small office hidden next to her bedroom. Heavy armor, shielded from detection, and tied in to all the systems on the facility. Only the snakes could have put that sort of thing in place without anyone’s spotting it.”
“Yet there was no indication prior to that Dun was in the employ of the ISS?”
Drakon shook his head. “No. The snakes had even misled us by leaking information that she was an occasional informant of theirs. Lots of people were occasional informants of the snakes because when they came asking not many citizens could say no. Dun was under really deep cover. She must have been recruited decades ago. And I’ll admit that worries me. If Dun could be so carefully hidden, who else in this star system might be a deep-cover agent for the snakes?”
“One of the strongest weapons of the ISS was sowing distrust among everyone,” Iceni commented. “Not that we didn’t work on doing that to ourselves as well. So, deep-cover snakes and other hidden agents of the ISS must be added to our list of concerns. Thank you, General Drakon. Is there anything else?”
“No. Not at this time.”
After Drakon’s image vanished, Iceni turned to Togo, who had been standing off to one side, rendered unseeable to Drakon by Iceni’s communications software. “What didn’t he tell me?”
Togo consulted his own reader. “Just prior to Colonel Dun’s hidden office’s being broken into, she sent a burst transmission to C-625. The cruiser would have received it half an hour before it entered the hypernet gate.”
“Do we have any idea what the message was?”
“No,” Togo replied. “Colonel Dun’s equipment self-erased and -destructed. I have been unable to determine whether or not General Drakon’s people have been able to recover anything from it at all.”