Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2) (15 page)

Cypher heard his voice
say, “I’ve destroyed your fleet and captured your Triumvir.”

“And once again, Old
Friend, you have forgotten the objective of the game—to seize the crown.”
Smiley’s avatar stood at the center of the field, in the golden pavilion,
wearing the crown, the scepter in his grasp.

Bloody hell.

Cypher ripped off the
VR helmet and flung it across the desk. The augie surged toward him, but jarred
to a halt at his boss’ upraised hand. “No problem, Captain, my opponent can be
somewhat volatile when he loses.” Smiley refilled both glasses.

“I expected a bit more
from your performance yesterday.”

“I expected better
intelligence. I was frickin’ lucky to make it out of there alive. I’m wondering
if me not surviving was part of the operation from the beginning, like the fat
Admiral. That would save you a bunch of money. Tie up loose ends.”

A look of mock
contrition replaced the smile. “Old Friend…Cypher, the thought that you might
be killed never entered my mind. Perhaps you failed to take into consideration
Ransahov’s new Chief of Security, Colonel FitzWarren. I know from experience
that she can be most formidable, but next time she won’t be a problem.”

The smell of Gray Eyes’
hair wafted through his memory. “Next time? There’s not going to be any next
time.”

“Might I remind you
that you weren’t able to complete your agreed-upon assignment?”

“Only because you
neglected to tell me I’d be going up against Ransahov’s little augie attack
dog. If I hadn’t put a back-up escape plan in place, I wouldn’t have made it
out of there alive.”

“Be that as it may, you
still failed.”

“Only part. You gave me
two jobs—whack Ransahov, and create mayhem. I did a damn good job of the
latter, judging from what I’m seeing on the Tri-Ds, so how about you pay me
half the agreed on amount, we call it quits, and I walk out of here.”

The smile disappeared
from the other’s face. “We had a deal and you have not lived up to your end of
the bargain.”

“I’ve changed the
deal.” On Cypher’s inhead, the red icon superimposed over the position of the
man behind him began to flash, warning that the augie had edged closer. It
upgraded his threat potential.

“That’s not the way it
works,” said Smiley.

Cypher leaned forward,
shifting his weight onto his feet as he slapped the desk’s metal top. “It does
if I say so.” His inhead lit with warnings as the augie lurched closer. He
threw up a hand and shouted, “Stop.”

The office grew
uncomfortably still and quiet.

It was Cypher’s turn to
smile. “This body has the latest modifications, and I’m betting that means I’m
faster than Red. Are you willing to bet he can get to me before I rip your head
off?”

Smiley signaled for the
augie to withdraw, and the alarms inside Cypher’s head subsided.

“See how much easier it
is when you play nice? If you want me to do this job, it’ll be on my terms. I
want twice what you promised me for the last fiasco—and that’s in addition to
the rest of the fee I’ve got coming from it. I want half of it up front, in a
numbered account in a Willcommin bank, and I want it immediately.”

Smiley’s jaw worked as
he considered the deal. He nodded. “See to it, Captain.” The augie muttered a
litany of curses as he exited the office.

“And I want a small,
hypercapable, unregistered ship.” There was someone he planned to take with him
when he fled the Empire.

“Don’t push it, Old
Friend. For the money I’m paying you, you can buy your own ship.” He poured two
more glasses of vilaprim. “Shall we toast our bargain?”

Cypher tossed back the
shot and offered the glass for a refill. He could get used to this stuff. The
money in that account would set him up for life on any world in the Back of
Beyond. Somewhere light years from the political machinations of the Empire,
where he’d never have to look at this smiling face again.

Smiley pushed a reader and
a datachip case across the desk. “This is everything you’ll need. Background
information, your new identity, and all the details for your assignment, along
with all the necessary credit chips and IDs.”

“Wouldn’t pulling all
that together right after an assassination attempt raise a lot of red flags?”

“No. We’ve had this
information in place for several weeks.”

“Sounds like you
expected me to fail.”

“Let’s just say I gave
myself options. It’s better to have a back-up plan in place that never gets
used than to rush around after the fact without alternatives. You taught me
that.”

So, there was history
between these two, Smiley and The Other. Perhaps at one time they’d been
friends, or more, but now all that remained was a simmering hatred. He’d felt
The Other nipping at his consciousness when he’d threatened Smiley, sensed his
desire to feel his fingers tighten around the man’s throat.

Now Smiley had the
upper hand, and Cypher sensed he planned not just to kill his opponent, but to
hurt him, discredit him, to make him suffer in as many ways as possible. And
the battleground for this private war was the body he inhabited. He would have
to proceed very carefully if he didn’t want to end up collateral damage in
their personal vendetta.

Chorickus returned and
dropped a Fleet off-ship case beside his chair, then threw a bank-key bearing
the logo of a large Willcommin private bank on the desk.

“I take it that is
sufficient?” Smiley gestured toward the bank-key.

Cypher picked it up and
discreetly checked the balance, fighting to keep his eyebrows from climbing
toward his hairline.
More than sufficient.
“When does the hit take
place?”

“Lister Shiplines
delivered the first of their new corvettes to Fleet as part of the Founder’s
Day celebration.” Smiley chuckled. “
The Mad Dog
, as her crew has taken
to calling her, is docked on the military side of Coronia Station. Ransahov
will be coming aboard for the Captain’s mess tomorrow night, at which time
Chairwoman Lister will officially transfer ownership over to the Empire. My
hackers have arranged for you to get onboard before her arrival, and leave her
a little gift.”

Smiley leaned back in
his chair, steepling his slender fingers. “As close as we can ascertain, no one
aboard the ship knows your cover on sight. Your face, on the other hand, is
rather more recognizable. You’ll have to keep your exposure to the crew to a
minimum.”

Cypher stood, slipping
the bank-key into his pocket. “This for me?” He placed the luggage on the
desktop and unsealed it. Inside he found a pressed and folded black uniform,
some inexpensive civilian clothes, toiletries and underwear.

“You have a lot to
accomplish before tomorrow night. I should let you get to it. You’ll probably
want to freshen up when you reach the hotel we have reserved for you, and might
I suggest you do something about your hair. It looks ridiculous.”

And you bloody well
look like a pile of gerbat shit yourself, Jan.

Cypher coughed to
stifle his laughter. He capped the bottle of vilaprim and slipped it into his
case. “You don’t mind if I take this, do you, Jan?”

A muscle in Smiley’s
cheek twitched at the use of his first name. Let him wonder just how much of
his old adversary might be breaking through.

Outside on the street,
Cypher realized how tempting a target he made with the case slung over his
shoulder. He scanned the shadows and found no one lurking, but let his threat
assessment computer go active. There were several klicks to cover before he
could locate a terminal to call an aircar to take him to the hotel downtown. He
set off at a brisk pace.

Hand in his pocket, he
let his thumb rub against the edge of the bank-key. There were no memories in
his mind—not his own anyway—but he was willing to bet he’d never possessed so
much wealth. With this kind of money, he could run far enough that he wouldn’t
spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

Maybe he would buy that
ship, and not some broken down tramp freighter, but a yacht, small but
comfortable—and heavily armed. Gray Eyes might look at him differently if he
had one of those fancy Lister Pulsars, but all the credits in this account
would barely make a down payment of one of those toys.

As soon as he reached
the hotel, he’d transfer the money into a series of smaller accounts located
outside the Empire. Maybe in the Alliance, or even the Landers Federation,
somewhere Smiley’s data-snoops would never be able to track it down and snatch
it back.

After a shower and a
quick meal, he’d catch a shuttle up to Coronia Station and buy a ticket on the
first passenger liner headed out system. He reached the closest public terminal
and called a ride, whistling as he awaited its arrival.

In the aircar, the
lights of Striefbourne City spread out beneath him, Cypher dug the bottle of
vilaprim out of the case and took a drink. The liqueur’s bite set him to
coughing. This was an acquired taste, one he planned on cultivating, along with
all the other trappings of wealth.

He seemed to recall
that augies had only a limited life span. Something about the modifications to
their bodies killed them early. If that was the case, he planned to pack as
much living into the time he had, but that took money. Would he have enough?

He had a chance to
double his money. All he had to do was kill an Emperor and survive. Double or
nothing. The odds looked pretty good. Perhaps he’d check out Smiley’s plan
before he made his final decision. Another long pull on the bottle spawned a
warm buzz inside his chest that dissipated almost instantly, boiled away by The
Other’s seething hatred for Smiley. He’d be a fool to trust the man. He had
nixed the idea of including a ship, but that was probably only to appear like
he was actually negotiating. On the money, Smiley had agreed to his demands
readily.
Too
readily.

Almost as if he didn’t
expect Cypher to survive to collect.

Fitz clenched her fist,
opened it, and touched each fingertip to her thumb in turn, moving faster and
faster until her digits blurred in hyperkinetic speed. At least her hand
operated normally again, even if the incision continued to bother her. The
auto-doc’s patch job would have to hold until the techs finished their check of
every system on the cyber-tank and gave it the all clear. She couldn’t risk
having her mind subverted, not with the lives of so many people she cared about
riding on the outcome of this crazy game of cat and gerbat.

Favoring her shoulder,
she slipped on her armorcloth undershirt and sealed it up. Ski held up the
jacket for her. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That your symbiont is
not reacting normally.”

“Do we even know what’s
normal for an alien organism that makes you nearly indestructible? I’m fine,
perfectly fine. In fact, compared to six months ago, I feel wonderful.”

“Come on Fitz. Don’t
try to bullshit a bullshitter. You know something’s going on, and so do I. Now,
what is it?”

Fitz raked her fingers
through her hair and winched as the incision pulled at the still-healing
muscles. “This thing with Wolf has me running a bit ragged and I told you, I’m
not getting enough sleep. I’ll feel better when this is over.”

Ski held up a fist.
“You’re telling me if I smacked you on the site of that incision it wouldn’t
hurt.”

Fitz shifted back a
step. “It’s a bit sensitive.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“Doc, I had late stage
TKS. The symbiont might be having a little trouble coping with that.”

“No. I checked you on
Baldark right after you received it, and again here during the surgeries to
replace your damaged implants, and both times the reactions were exactly what
I’d expect. When did it change?”

“A few days, a few
weeks later. I don’t remember. Is it important?”

Ski growled in
exasperation. “Why the hell
wouldn’t
it be? Something could be going
wrong with the symbiont that will eventually affect all of us, and you’re the
first to show the symptoms because of the complications from TKS. You need to
come in for a complete work-up.”

“Out of the question,
Doc.” She moved to defuse the protest building in Ski’s eyes. “Ari’s heading up
to Coronia Station this afternoon, where Miah Lister is turning the new
corvette over to her. When she gets back, that’ll end her public participation
in the Founder’s Days’ celebrations. Garion Ransahov is arriving from Baldark
in a couple of days to spend some time with his mother. That should keep her
occupied, and out of trouble.”

The culminating event
of the holidays came on Tenthday, when families gathered for private
festivities after exchanging the traditional early morning gift. In the
evening, Ari and her son had planned to join them for a quiet dinner at Sea
Spires, to give Wolf and Garion a chance to work on their relationship, but
that had been put on hold for now.

“Give me a few days to
wind up this operation, then I’ll come in and let you poke and prod me all you
want.”

“Fitz, he’s faster and
stronger than you, even when you’re at optimal performance. If you try to go up
against him when you’re not one hundred percent, he could do some serious
damage. He’s come close twice. How do you think he’ll feel to know he hurt
you?”

No worse than she felt
at the thought of shooting him down like a diseased animal. “Wolf wouldn’t hurt
me. He’s had several opportunities, and each time he’s held back.”

“But Wolf’s not in
charge. It’s this other guy…”

“Cypher. I call him
Cypher.”

“Cypher? You’ve given
him a name? Sounds like you’re in danger of confusing the two. Wolf is your
bond-partner, and this Cypher character is a cold-blooded killer. Don’t mix
them up.”

Was she in danger of
confusing Wolf with Cypher? The feel of his body against hers had been the
same, the taste of his kiss so familiar, but behind his eyes lurked another
mind, one totally foreign to her. The scratch of his whiskers against her skin,
and the smell of the Warren on his body, had belonged to a man so like Wolf,
and yet not.

“Wolf operated as an
assassin for Ari, but he changed.”

“The symbiont changed
him.” Ski tapped a finger against Fitz’s chest. “An extended life span has a
way of abrading the sharp edges off your personality, and each time you cheat
death it leaves a mark on your soul. That changes a person. Hell, you must have
realized that by now.”

Fitz scrubbed her
fingers across her forehead. “Right now I have a job to do. You’re going to
have to wait until I get Wolf back. That’s all you’re going to get, Doc. Take
it or leave it. Now I have to meet Lieutenant Pike at 1130 hours at the
cafeteria.”

“Malick’s hell. I don’t
know which of you has the harder head. You and Wolf belong together. At least I
can pull the bloodwork and metabolic panel from the auto-doc and get started
checking that.” Ski transferred the data to her tablet, eyes squinting as she
began to read. “That can’t be right,” she muttered, more to herself than to
Fitz.

Afraid that whatever
the doctor saw on her screen could sideline her, Fitz made for the door,
leaving Ski’s protests behind.

___________

Pike leaned against the
wall outside the fourth floor cafeteria, wearing the distracted look of a man
studying data on his inhead display. When he saw Fitz, he lurched to quick but
sloppy attention. “Colonel, wouldn’t it be easier to have our lunch sent up to
the office and continue working?”

“No.” Her answer and
smile were enigmatic as she swiped her ident-card and entered her access code,
allowing the computer to pick up her biometric signature. Yesterday she’d put
the new security measures in place at SpecOps HQ, all government buildings, and
the imperial residence, much to the displeasure of the personnel working in
them. The ident-cards presented another layer of security that set up a rash of
grumbling from the workers, but they helped negate the advantage of Cypher’s
access to Wolf’s memories. He might have the knowledge and the proper biometric
scan, but without a matching ident-card, his ability to access many sensitive
areas would be restricted, though not eliminated. These old buildings contained
too many maintenance tunnels, shortcuts, and even secret passages. All she
could hope for was to slow him down. Or steer him in a direction of her
choosing.

Once through security,
Pike caught up to her. “I’ve had a chance to study DeWitt’s files and…”

Fitz cut him off. “The
salad looks good. I think I’ll have that.”

Understanding bloomed
on his face as he followed her, picked up a tray and made his selections. Fitz
took the gelatin salad, fruit, a protein shake, and the ubiquitous cup of
coffee. Pike reached the checkout before her, but had trouble with the computer
accepting his credit chip for payment.

“I hate these things, I
always try to scan them through upside down or something.” He tried again, and
the machine repeated its loud beeping.

Fitz pushed him aside,
swiping her card through for both meals. “Lunch is on me. Grab that table in
the corner.”

The cafeteria wasn’t
busy, and a smattering of black uniforms among the military personnel and
civilians assured their presence would go largely unnoticed. As she carried her
tray to the table, Fitz noted the placement of all the surveillance cameras.
The spot she’d indicated sat directly below one pick-up, and in its dead spot.
Instead of her usual habit of sitting with the wall at her back, she chose the
near side. When Pike started to sit across from her, she quietly signaled for
him to take the chair closest to her.

Following her lead, he
remained silent until they were seated. She extracted a suppression module from
her jacket pocket, placed it on the table and activated it. The air seemed to
grow thick around them, and the carrier wave on her comm cut off. She placed a
forefinger behind her ear and slowly dragged it across her throat, the hand
sign for
shut it all down
.

Pike frowned as he put all
his systems in stand-by mode. Not a pleasant situation for an augie, but she’d
grown accustomed to in the past few months, so their loss didn’t seem to
distress her as much as it did her young aide. Once this crisis had passed,
perhaps she’d set up periodic training time without augs for everyone. Augies
could become too dependent on them.

They were as isolated
as two people could be in a high tech society, short of retreating to the polar
regions or the middle of a swamp, but even there they wouldn’t be safe from
spying eyes in orbit.

Pike looked over his
shoulder before leaning close to whisper, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit
with your back to a roomful of people.”

“I suspect Tritico has hacked
into the surveillance systems.” Fitz nodded toward the camera above them. “And
I’m concerned about his techs learning to read lips.”

The lieutenant’s eyes
widened and he put his hand in front of his mouth before answering. “You think
he’s made it that far into all our systems?”

“DIS had years to sink
its tentacles into our computers; into every file, comm system and surveillance
package. It’s going to take even longer to uncover all their back doors.”

“Our people located and
shut down half a dozen bugs in Personnel just this morning.”

Fitz smiled. “And you
think that’s all of them?”

“I wouldn’t want to bet
my ass on it.”

“Good, because that’s
exactly what you’re going to do this afternoon. There’s been a change of
plans.”

Pike stilled with his
fork halfway to his mouth.

“Your timetable has
changed. Right after we finish here, you’ll catch a shuttle up to Coronia
Station at 1300 and go aboard the…
Mad Dog
.” Referring to the new
corvette as the
Youngblood
still felt wrong to her, particularly with
Wolf’s life and position hanging in limbo. If even one newsie put him and the
assassin together, the media would descend on him and pull him down like a pack
of quollas on a crippled neubeast.

“The executive officer
is Lt. Commander Hazel Mandisa. I’ve worked with her before, she’s as good as
they come, if a little brusque. She won’t like dealing with a last minute
change of plans. You’ll have to be your usual charming self and get her on
board with the new timetable.” She rubbed her face, her sinuses aching from the
buzz of the suppression field.

“Ari, her security
detail, and I will arrive at 1400 hours, in Lizzy, not the imperial shuttle.
I’m hoping the change of ships will throw off the newsies, and if we get into a
scrap, Lizzy’s just as heavily armed, and itching to use her new guns. We’ll
get a quick walk-through of the new ship, and then retire to the mess to hoist
a couple of drinks with Captain Wellborn. Miah Lister will officially hand over
ownership to the Emperor, and the lot of them can sit down to whatever the
ship’s cook can throw together on such short notice. I should have Ari back to
her residence by 1800 hours, the time we were originally scheduled to leave.”

Pike nodded. “If the
assassin plans to set up an ambush, you’ll be there and back before he has a
chance to follow through on it.”

“Hopefully. The only
chancy part is coming back. If he planned on hitting us when we left, it might
get dicey then, but we’ll be ready for him. I’d have preferred to go earlier,
to have her safely home before he could do anything about it, but Ari couldn’t
clear her schedule before lunch. So we work with what we have.”

Pike waved his fork for
emphasis. “So all I have to do is sweet-talk Captain Wellborn’s XO into tossing
all their carefully laid plans out the airlock and throwing in with our
accelerated timetable. Ship’s officers live for the chance to show off their
precious vessels and entertain high value guests. You don’t get more high value
than the Emperor. And hell, Mandisa probably already hates SpecOps.”

“Hazel has a reputation
for eating mediocre junior officers for breakfast, but if you do your job
right, smile a lot and flatter her, you’ll be okay.”

Fitz glanced over her
shoulder before she continued. “When the holidays are finally behind us, I’ve
convinced Ari and Garion to spend a few days up at the Summer Palace. I have a
plan to smuggle them out and set a trap for Cypher. Can’t be too easy, or he’ll
be suspicious and not fall for it.”

“By next week that may
not be necessary,” Pike said. “I came across a project in DeWitt’s files dubbed
Mimic—a DIS program to use a carefully constructed secondary personality to
embed one of their operatives. They planned to insert sleeper agents—assassins
or saboteurs—in various government agencies or the community by hiding their
agent behind an innocuous computer-generated personality. The cover would have
a childhood, schooling, a complete history, and could be in place for years—long
enough to create an entire life, even start a family—but he would have no idea
he was sharing his body with a killer until a pre-arranged signal triggered the
switch. After the DIS agent completed his mission, he could quietly disappear
or revert back to his cover personality and resume his life until the next time
his masters needed his services. The idea was that the agent could be anyone,
and even his closest friends and family would never suspect.”