Dragonfly (32 page)

I hadn’t slept during the entire trip—useless even to try—and no doubt I looked like a starved raccoon, with black bruises under my eyes and creases pinching my mouth. My mind still tumbled over and over, spinning uselessly like shrapnel, and my muscles ached, my nerves juddering at every sound. I hadn’t found any food on the ship, either, and my head pulsed and swam with hunger. A couple times, my ESE had signaled, a high-pitched squeal that pierced my eardrums like a skewer, but I’d ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to Nikita, not in my current state. Maybe not ever.

The shutters slid aside with a crunch, and Esperanza loomed in the clearview, its tall spires glinting, lights gleaming from a thousand glittering windows. Approach beacons flashed red and yellow, ships cruising back and forth in intricate patterns, and beyond, the swirling blue Irkutsk nebulas filled half the hemisphere, eerie and silent.

I couldn’t see
Ladrona
in the docking rings, and my lips tightened. Didn’t mean he wasn’t here. I scanned the rings for Nikita’s modified Sliver class. Didn’t mean he wasn’t here either.

The console pinged as a channel opened, and an Espan-accented voice rang out in the cockpit. “Pharaoh on two-seven-four charlie, Esperanza control,
buenas dias.
Refresh your flight plan and retransmit.”

“Control, this is
Nefertiti
, no plan on file. Request priority docking slot and expedite.” I tried to hide my impatience. They were just doing their job.

A crackle; probably them holding their hand over the channel to laugh at me. Bastie’s ancient ship didn’t look like its owners could afford to breathe at Esperanza, let alone stay for any length of time.

“Negative,
Nefertiti
. Proceed to holding pattern echo, approach five. Will advise.”

Idiots. I gritted my teeth. “Control, let me rephrase. This is Imperial warship
Nefertiti
, authorization Aragon delta phi four-seven epsilon. Let me the fuck into your airspace. Now.”

A muffled snort, and silence. I guess I got their attention.

“Affirm,
Nefertiti
,” the voice said, after an interval they’d surely spent riffling madly through security protocols to check my authent. “Slot delta seven, expedite.”

“Delta seven, Control. Have a nice day.”

I rolled
Nefertiti
to starboard, rockets howling, and a few minutes later the docking rig clunked into place.

I cranked the rusted airlock open, and the familiar, decadent smell of Esperanza flooded in, lights gleaming on the buffed metal floor. I finger-combed my hair and retied my ponytail as I waited for the blast doors to open, and fought to slow my breathing and calm my heartbeat as I walked as swiftly as I could without running toward the elevator and the alpha docking ring.

My body writhed in a contradictory mess, my senses pulling me in all directions at once. My nerves shouted at me to rip the station apart searching for Sasha, not to stop until I’d found him and explained everything. My trigger finger itched to go for Shadrin, blast my way into the Imperial quarters and blow his treacherous brains out. My stomach hankered for food, and my brain ached with fatigue, urging me to collapse in the first convenient corner and sleep until I died or woke up refreshed.

I didn’t have time for any of that. Sasha had a big headstart, and
Ladrona
traveled a lot faster than
Nefertiti
. I didn’t know how long he’d already had to finish his calculations, set his explosives, daisy-chain the detonators for effect, calibrate the remote control. I couldn’t let him sink to those depths. I’d wallowed down there, and I knew what it was like. It would destroy him. Too much humanity still filled his heart.

I rubbed my face wearily as the elevator eased to a halt at alpha level. If I wanted to find Sasha, Shadrin was the key. I knew in my heart that Sasha had told me the truth, that he still thought he could change things, and he’d give Shadrin one last chance to back down on Santa Maria. If I found Shadrin first, then Sasha would come to me. But first I had to get in to see Shadrin.

I twisted the red steel handle, and the blast doors ground aside. I knew I wasn’t really Aragon any more; I couldn’t be. But she’d help me one last time, before Axis laid her to rest, hopefully not with a bullet in the skull.

With tense white fingers, I wound the chipped glass airlock open and climbed aboard
RapidFire
. She lay much as I’d left her: my rumpled bed unmade, the breakfast dishes undone and the warm, lingering smell of Nikita poisoning the air.

Swiftly I undressed, tossing the blue wrap and Isabel’s trousers away, and pulled on a clean black silk flight suit, smooth and cool on my sweaty skin. I splashed my face, washing off grime and tearstains, and studied my singed self in the mirror. Dark circles blossomed under my eyes, and a horrible grey tinge sickened my skin. I even had pimples on my chin, angry purple ones just itching to spread.

God, I wanted a hot bath, a bed and a good night’s sleep. Better still, a hot bath and a bed with Sasha in it, and then a good night’s sleep. My body wept and pleaded just thinking about it, and I wiped my face on the hand towel, averting my gaze. I didn’t want to look at myself any more.

The galley table slid aside when I touched the contact concealed beneath it, revealing Aragon’s secret arms stash. I slipped my Axis ident into my suit’s side pocket, and surveyed the array of weapons strapped to the side of the padded white compartment. The shatterjay would be no use this time. I needed something longer range, quick and accurate, but efficient at close quarters too. After a moment’s consideration, I chose an under-powered atomflash with laser targeting for my shoulder holster, and a poison-cell plasma pistol for inside my suit, just in case. I didn’t need to check the sights or the charges. They were already adjusted, already filled.

I slipped my black flight jacket over the top and shrugged to get comfortable. The guns’ weight felt good. I still wore Aragon’s skin pretty well, and I could still feel her come-and-get-it defiance burning in my heart when I thought about Shadrin. But I missed her confidence. All my truths had turned out to be lies, and I might never be certain about anything again.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Shadrin was a dead man, that was one thing I was certain of. But not before he’d answered my questions.

***

It was early evening on Esperanza, and the polished terraces were crowded with gamers, celebrities in gowns and jewels, out-of-uniform Imperial soldiers trying to look like regular people, Espan gangsters wearing sharp black suits or cocktail dresses with gold chains and etherwave earpieces. I shouldered through, and people noticed the sharp silver Axis flashes on my collar and let me pass, pretending they didn’t see me.

I crossed the thick black carpet and stepped into an empty elevator. A couple followed me in, and quickly backed out again when they saw what I was. I smiled at them as the door phased solid, but my heart stung. Had it always been like this? Maybe I hadn’t noticed how people feared and shunned us. Maybe I just hadn’t cared. Maybe I’d liked it, being in charge. Being the one everyone else was afraid of instead of the frightened one.

Well, now I was mad as a slipspace rat. They were right to be afraid of me.

The elevator hissed upward, the floor numbers flashing in a blur. I knew where to find Shadrin. I knew all about the surrender negotiation team’s arrangements from my omega brief.

Thirty-seven, and the numbers stopped. My pulse steadily quickened and my nerves tingled, exhilarating, reassuring. My vision seemed to sharpen, my hearing to intensify. This was what I’d trained for, what my whole career led me toward. And at long last, I stalked the real enemy.

The glass door dissolved, and I stepped through.

35

The black lobby gleamed under white calmlights. A shiny black partition behind the counter blocked my view of the inner sanctum. I flashed my ident at the black-uniformed sentry and she ushered me through with a sharp salute, which, not being military, I wasn’t strictly entitled to. I resisted the urge to smack some sense into her, to show her where playing nice with Axis had landed me.

Beyond, the sanctum lay quiet in soft light. Pale curved desks and couches lined the dark carpet, and along one wall a clearview stretched from floor to ceiling, wisps of blue nebula misting the black starfield. A young blond lieutenant bent over a glowing glass console, absorbed in his work. Another riffled through a display, searching some cluttered dataspace. In the corner, an old Espan woman cleaned the carpet with a humming static filter, and lemon antivirals tainted the cool air.

At the far end, a broad white desk stood spotless, a tall, spare-fleshed man sitting behind it. An expressionless major in black marine uniform leaned around his high-backed chair, passing cyberpaper documents to him one by one. The general signed each with a digital authenticator after flicking his gaze briefly across the page, his long bony hands moving efficiently, without fuss. His silvering hair was cropped short, his face narrow and animated, his grey eyes sharp.

My throat tightened, and sweat trickled inside my flight suit.

His aide whispered into his ear as I approached.

He looked up, ident still in hand, and smiled, bright and genuine like he always had. “Major Thatcher. What a pleasant surprise.”

I halted before his desk, my fingers twitching. Carrie Thatcher was unavailable, for the moment. “It’s Aragon now.”

Shadrin rose and came around the desk to meet me, his smooth black uniform spotless. “Yes. Yes, so I see. Wonderful. I knew you’d go far. It’s good to see you.” He held out his hand.

I didn’t take it. “We need to have a chat.”

He dropped his hand, watchful as he resumed his chair. “Of course. Have a seat. How can I help you?”

His aide stepped back politely, clasping her hands behind her.

I perched on the chair’s soft edge, my thighs tense. “Talk to me about Urumki Mor.”

Shadrin’s brow creased, and he shook his head. “A terrible, wasteful business. I heard you were involved on the ground, in counter-insurrection? My condolences.”

Smug bastard. Calmly, I reached under my jacket and drew my atomflash, placed it on the desk within reach. “It’s not that kind of chat, Valodyi.”

Shadrin’s face drained, and his aide drew in a sharp breath.

“Leave us,” Shadrin snapped.

Her hand strayed to the poisongun at her belt. “But—”

“Leave us. Clear the room. Now.”

The aide marched away, her face carefully blank. She ushered the others out, and within half a minute we sat alone, only the buzz of the fans circulating lemon-scented air for company.

“What’s the matter, Valodyi? Don’t want them to hear what I’ve got to say about you?”

I reached across the desk console to thumb the lockdown contact. An alarm pealed two short high-pitched blasts, and steel shutters scraped down to cover the clearview and the sanctum door. I flipped open the emergency panel and hit the station evacuation alarm. Blue diodes flashed. I typed in Aragon’s Axis ident.

“Authenticate it,” I ordered.

“Why?”

“Because everyone on this station’s about to die. Not that you care. Authenticate it.”

“I can’t do that—”

I slammed my palm on my atomflash, an unsubtle threat. “Authenticate, Valodyi, before I get impatient.”

Slowly, he reached out, punched in his code and hit ‘execute’.

Bright icelights snapped on, glaring on the white desk, and in the distance beyond the bulkheads the evacuation alarm shrieked. A blastproof panel near the doorway slid aside, revealing an emergency exit. I couldn’t let Sasha kill them all. Now, he wouldn’t be able to.

I eased my hand on the weapon. “Now. Urumki Mor. Talk.”

“I’ve been through this with your people already.” For the first time, fear shimmered in his voice. “All the questions. I told them what they wanted to know—”

“This isn’t for Axis.” My anger rose like a tide of blood. If Axis had already questioned him, then they knew everything and were in on the cover-up. “It’s for me. I know what happened. I want to hear you say it.”

He rose, awkward. “Why dredge up the past? We all know the insurrectionists play dirty. It’s what we fight them for—”

“Shut up and sit down.” I twitched up the flash, the metal warm and comforting in my hand, my aim swift and immediate. The old confidence coursed in my veins, and I welcomed it. I’d blown away Agent Max with a single blind shot at ten meters. No way would I miss this one.

Shadrin lifted his hands and returned to his seat, his gaze flickering. I could see the calculation, his narrowing eyes, the lines tightening around his mouth. He was wondering how much I knew. “The investigation was conclusive. A series of errors, miscalculations, poor intelligence, battlespace confusion—”

“An accident? Is that what you’re telling me?” Sickness roiled inside me. He’d changed his story without so much as a blink. I leaned across the desk on one elbow, the flash steady in both hands. “You don’t flood half a fucking city with shatterfire by accident. You killed my friends, my subordinates. If I hear any more bullshit Imperial spin from your mouth, I swear, I’ll melt your lying head to mush. Tell me what really happened.”

Sweat beaded on his temple. “Nonsense. Why all this rage? Your colleagues’ deaths weren’t your fault.”

He sounded so calm, so fucking reasonable, like all those courses I’d done in hostage negotiation. It only maddened me more.

I stood and circled the table, lowering my aim to just a breath from his cheekbone. “Last chance. Tell me.”

His knuckles whitened on his chair’s arms. “Think about what you’re doing—”

I pressed the flash’s emitter into the hollow in his cheek and thumbed the charge with a hiss. It seared his skin, and he choked back a yelp.

“I want to hear you say it,” I repeated, harsh. “Tell me.”

“I had no choice!” Spit flecked between his clenched teeth. “The territory was lost. The battle was over. I did the only thing I could.”