A Fighting Chance (34 page)

There was no need to give an order as the T-2s equipped with missiles fired them. The sleek-looking weapons leapt into the sky, snaked away, and converged on the fleeing plane. There was a flash of light followed by a puff of smoke as bits of wreckage twirled toward the ground.

Meanwhile, in concert with the air attack, the Ramanthian counterassault began. And, as Santana had anticipated, they came from two directions at once. He was standing above the landing pad, shoulder to shoulder with his troops, when the Ramanthians marched upslope. Weapons rattled as the legionnaires fired down into the undulating mass of bodies. Many fell, but the bugs kept coming. They were led by a very brave officer. He was waving a sword and seemingly invulnerable to the bullets that kicked up puffs of dust around him. Dammo? Yes, quite possibly.

The officer was flanked by two noncoms. One of them held a Ramanthian battle flag aloft just as one of his ancestors might have a thousand years earlier. The other was carrying a pole with Temo’s head on it. Her eyes were staring sightlessly uphill, the wooden shaft was drenched in gore, and the message was clear: The chits wanted revenge. And they were willing to face a hail of bullets, climb over the bodies of their dead, and even take to the air if required. Those who chose to unfurl their seldom-used wings made excellent targets and were soon shot down.

The order to charge didn’t originate from Santana. It came from a private named David Pynn. His T-2 had been killed during the assault on the auto cannon. And like the enemy in front of him, he was motivated by a desire for revenge. So when he shouted, “Come on! Let’s kill the bastards!” it wasn’t the result of careful thought. But as he jumped the waist-high wall and started downslope, it began a chain reaction. Santana was powerless to do anything other than join them as the rest of his troops followed Pynn, their weapons chattering madly.

The Ramanthian officer was directly in front of Santana. And as bullets whipped past and grenades exploded downslope, Santana made for the Ramanthian. Then, as the two lines clashed and penetrated each other, the bug raised his sword. Santana pulled the trigger on his carbine but nothing happened. He was out of ammo.

There was barely enough time to raise the otherwise-useless weapon and use it to block the descending blade. The strength of the blow sent a jolt down both of Santana’s arms. He grimaced and brought a knee up. It struck the chit in the thorax and threw him off balance. Santana took advantage of that by clubbing the other officer with his rifle butt.

The Ramanthian was stunned. He just stood there for a second as Santana drew his sidearm and fired. The bullets entered through the bug’s thorax and blew bloody divots out of his back. He fell over backwards and slid downhill to join a drift of bodies.

The Ramanthian standard-bearer went down shortly thereafter, as did the noncom supporting Temo’s head. That was when the tide of battle turned. All opposition melted as the T-2s descended the slope like avenging gods. Their weapons continued to fire as their foot pods turned the fallen into a bloody slush.

According to the information available on Santana’s HUD, only sixteen members of the company were still alive. A victory had been won. But the price was so steep there was no joy in it. And he wondered how many more people would have to die before the war finally came to an end. Blood from both sides of the conflict ran downhill, seeped out onto the landing pad, and painted it red.

THE SPACE STATION
ORB I
, IN ORBIT OVER PLANET LONG JUMP, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

Vanderveen was on “B” deck, letting the crowd of spacers, merchants, and crew people carry her in a clockwise direction around the center of the
Orb I
space station, when a holographic image appeared directly in front of her. The man was about her age and very handsome. “Hey, babe . . . If you’re looking for a good time, my name is Mark. How ’bout we get together? I’m on . . .”

Vanderveen never found out where Mark was located because the image exploded into a thousand motes of light as she walked through it. And there were other distractions, too. Including the “zip” ads that circled the bulkheads, the exotic scents that misted the air, and the arrows that appeared on the floor in front of her. Each of them represented a business and was trying to lead her somewhere. All of which made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. And that was to find the Warrior Queen.

After receiving permission from Secretary Yatsu to travel from Sensa II to
Orb I
aboard the minesweeper
Io
, Vanderveen had been forced to part company with Sullivan and his crew half an hour earlier. Kai Cosmo was at her side as she left the ship. But once aboard the space station, it was only a matter of a few seconds before he said, “Thanks for the ride, ma’am,” and promptly disappeared. Which made sense because he was almost certainly a deserter, and there were military personnel in the constantly swirling crowd.

That meant Vanderveen was alone. For the moment at least. Although Secretary Yatsu had promised to send a security team—people who could help her and protect the Queen. Assuming Vanderveen was able to find the monarch.
And how hard can that be?
she thought to herself.
There are only so many places to hide on a space station.

It was a comforting thought, and one that helped boost her spirits as she paused in front of an information kiosk. There were more than a dozen entries under HOTELS. She chose a midpriced hostelry that promised to provide “a comfortable bed, a full suite of electronic conveniences, and a private bath.”

The Sweet Sleep was located on “D” deck right next to a zero-gee gym. After checking in, Vanderveen made her way down a short hall to room four, slid the keycard through the reader, and entered what turned out to be a very small cabin.

The unit included a bunk barely large enough for one person, a fold-down desk, and a tiny bath. But that was enough. So Vanderveen shrugged the backpack off her shoulders and locked the hypercom in a drawer. Then, having unpacked to the extent she needed to, she went looking for something to eat.

The stand-up eatery was located about fifty feet from the entrance to her hotel and was clearly popular with the space station’s crew beings. And that was a reliable indicator of good food at reasonable prices.

So she bellied up to a counter, made her selections from the list on the menu that appeared in front of her, and touched SUBMIT. A utility droid arrived with the food ten minutes later. The meat-and-veggie wrap was excellent.

As Vanderveen ate and washed her food down with occasional sips of tea, she was in a perfect position to watch the passing crowd. She saw humans, Thrakies, Prithians, Dwellers, Hudathans, and LaNorians. But no Ramanthians. And that made sense inside the boundaries of the Confederacy. It also served to illustrate a very important point. If the Warrior Queen and her retinue were aboard
Orb I
, they were hiding.

But why would the Ramanthian monarch enter enemy territory? To get help perhaps. But what
kind
of help? According to the Ramanthian doctor on Trevia, at least a dozen experts had examined the Warrior Queen and arrived at the same conclusion. Her condition was hopeless. Which brought Vanderveen full circle. Why hide on
Orb I
?

Vanderveen had eaten her fill and was about to return to her room when a cyborg wandered past. Not a military form but what looked like a one-of-a-kind civilian who was equipped with four arms. A technical specialist of some sort, she supposed. Somebody with a need for extra limbs.

Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, Vanderveen had it. Of course! Having given up on finding a cure, the Queen wanted to purchase a custom-designed vehicle. And all of the very best cyberneticists were human, which would explain the royal’s presence on
Orb I
. Or maybe not. But it was a theory. And the only one Vanderveen had.

Vanderveen felt a rising sense of excitement as she paid her tab with a swipe of the hotel’s guest card and went looking for an information kiosk. A quick search produced three hits.

After jotting the names down, Vanderveen paid quick visits to each, her theory being that one of the cyber labs would be visibly larger and theoretically more successful than the others. And that was the case. TOMKO CYBERNETICS was located on “C” deck. If external appearances meant anything, it was at least twice the size of the other two businesses combined.

Since TOMKO CYBERNETICS seemed best suited to satisfy the needs of a presumably demanding monarch, Vanderveen resolved to start with them. But how? Vanderveen knew that the lab’s employees would stonewall her if she walked in and asked for information regarding the Queen. And they would strengthen their security measures as a result. She could force them to answer her questions by calling for some legal assistance, of course. But that would take weeks if not longer.

So Vanderveen purchased a cup of tea from a vendor and watched people come and go from the lab as she sipped it. Then, having concocted a plan, she went back to her room and made the necessary preparations. She would need the right look and some basic supplies to be successful. An hour later, she was dressed and carrying her briefcase as she entered TOMKO CYBERNETICS and presented herself to the receptionist. Bio bod? Or cyborg? It was impossible to tell. The woman looked pleasant either way. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“I work for ANCO Electronics,” Vanderveen lied. “We’re about to release a new line of synthiskins. I’d like to speak with one of your lead engineers regarding the possibility of a beta test.”

“Everyone is busy at the moment,” the receptionist replied. “Would you care to make an appointment?”

“Can I wait?” Vanderveen inquired. “I’m on a very short layover, and I think your engineers would be interested in what we have to offer.”

The receptionist had clearly dealt with pushy salespeople before. She shrugged noncommittally. “As you wish. But it could be hours.”

“That’s okay,” Vanderveen responded cheerfully. “I understand.”

So Vanderveen took a seat in the small lobby and pretended to do some work on her hand comp as people came and went. Then, after a long, boring twenty minutes had passed, the moment Vanderveen had been waiting for arrived. The receptionist left her desk to visit the restroom or run an errand.

Vanderveen took a quick look around to ensure that she had the lobby to herself, slipped the comp back into her briefcase, and stood. Then, with the quick, confident steps of a person who knows exactly where she’s going, Vanderveen rounded the reception desk and took a hard right. Partly because the receptionist had gone left and partly because people wearing white coats had a tendency to turn right. And the closer she could get to the lab, the better.

A door hissed as it slid out of the way, and she entered a short hall. Another door was visible some twenty feet farther on. But she could see the biometric security scanner located next to the portal labeled CYBER LAB and knew she wouldn’t be able to get past it. Fortunately, the plan didn’t require her to do so. All she had to do was confirm a Ramanthian’s presence.

Vanderveen continued down the hall and checked the signs on the doors that opened left and right before choosing the one labeled STORAGE. As the barrier slid open and the lights came on, Vanderveen felt her heart try to leap out of her chest. Because there, standing with their backs to the walls, were at least a dozen people!

Then she realized that rather than office supplies, the storage room was filled with cybernetic bodies or “forms.” Prototypes perhaps? Experimental units? There was no way to know. Nor did Vanderveen care as she went to the very back of the room and made a place to sit down. The lights went off when she ordered them to, and with the exception of the glow from some LEDs, the compartment went dark. The waiting began.

Vanderveen awoke with a start. She was curled up on the floor. How long had she been asleep? A quick glance at the luminous dial on her watch provided the answer. A good three hours had elapsed since she’d given herself permission to take a fifteen-minute nap. That meant the lab was closed for the day. So why could she hear the characteristic clatter of click speech?

At that point, Vanderveen realized that at least two Ramanthians were right outside the door and might enter at any moment. She got to her feet and was busy trying to come up with a way to hide when the barrier slid open, leaving only one option. The diplomat froze as the lights came on.

Vanderveen could see the Ramanthian from the corner of her eye as he shuffled into the storage compartment. He was holding a pistol in his left pincer. Not one of the Queen’s people, then. Because they wouldn’t have any reason to burglarize TOMKO CYBERNETICS. So
who
? The assassins. Having listened in on her conversation with Cosmo and heard what the merc had to say, Croth’s killers were on
Orb I
looking for the monarch. But how did they move around without being spotted? They clearly had help of some sort. She could smell wing wax. Would the Ramanthian realize she was a bio bod rather than a form? Blood began to pound in her ears.

The Ramanthian took a long look around, lowered the pistol, and turned to go. As the door closed, Vanderveen allowed herself to take a deep breath. Then, conscious of the fact that the bug could return at any moment, she opened her briefcase and removed a weapon of her own. The weight of it was comforting as she went to stand just inside the door.

It was tempting to sneak out and shoot the Ramanthians. But how many of them were there? And what would happen if
she
was killed? The effort to find the Queen would come to a sudden halt. And the lost opportunity could be the difference between war and peace.

So Vanderveen stood with an ear pressed against the door and listened. There was a series of
thump
s, followed by a muted crash and a storm of click speech. Was someone getting chewed out? Maybe.