Sunset in Silvana (Da'ark Nocturne Book 1) (29 page)

She pushed at the gunner on her left and felt his ribs cave in under the force of her blow as he began to slowly topple out of the door.  Pain lanced up her arm and she glanced down at her mangled hand.

Careful, Tanya, at the speed you’re moving, your hand could have disintegrated.  It’s lucky you’ve got energy to spare.
  She moved the bones back into position, concentrated for a subjective second and her hand was whole again.

The push she gave to the pilot was more circumspect, but enough to lift him out of his seat and start him on his ponderous way toward the ground, still clutching his microphone.

Tanya swung the joystick to the left, and slowly but inexorably the aircraft slewed sideways. 
I should have brought a book,
she thought as she waited for the fuselage to swing round.  After an apparent age, her friends were no longer illuminated.

:
Fly, you fools!
: she sent them.
 
She giggled, and shook herself. 
Don’t get carried away, you idiot – you’ve still got a job to do. 
She steadied the joystick, aimed the mini-gun at the oncoming troops, pulled the trigger and locked it.

Before the first bullet had left the gun, she had teleported to the ground. 
That’s funny, my clothes have stretched.
  Looking down, she saw that her skin, as well as her costume, hung loosely on her. 
I should have remembered – my fat reserves are almost exhausted.  This is an effective way to lose weight – though it’s a bit of a drastic solution.  I’d better get moving while I still can.  If I can just disable the other troops while my heart’s still beating…

The soldiers under fire from the helicopter were beginning to dive for cover, so she zigzagged among the troops coming from the other direction, delivering incapacitating blows wherever she could. 
This feels more like swimming than running.
 
It must be the increased wind resistance – after all I
am
moving at a couple of hundred miles an hour.

Her dance of mayhem was complete before her first victim hit the ground.  She looked down at her body, her vision blurring and her heartbeat faltering.  She was drenched in sweat and realised that, since she couldn’t disperse the heat she was generating fast enough, her core temperature was far too high and her organs were failing.

She could see that her friends were most of the way across the strip, and could tell that, as the drugs were beginning to fail, her speed advantage was dwindling. 
I’m probably too far from the Sub-Major’s transponder for it to protect me,
she thought.
  Let’s see if I can outrun those satellites…

She launched herself across the strip.  She was barely half-way across when there was a concussion and a blast of heat behind her and she felt the skin on her left heel blister.  Her last conscious act was to hurl herself through the air towards the trees.

This book is dedicated to Sue Sims, Paul’s wife and one of the best friends you could ever hope to have. She also, with great patience, corrected some of the more interesting deviations from Standard English that we committed as well as copy editing the book.

We would also like to thank, in no particular order, Howard, Neil, Julian, Bob, and Jonathan who helped develop the story and the characters.

Paul Sims

The Author works as a Software Engineer for a major company. Although he is talented at what he does, he is, at heart, a storyteller.

He is married with three sons.  Three cats condescend to share his house and he is looking forward to retirement, as he will have more time for writing, and to raise the spaniel(s) he wants to add to his menagerie.

This is his first published work of fiction.

Robert Warr

The Author was born in the South of Africa on New Year’s Day, a fact that was reported in the local paper. This was his last brush with any type of fame.

A good education was followed, eventually, by an engineering degree, and having tried the army and the police force (as a reservist in both cases), he went into the world of industry. This industrial career was mercifully cut short following an accident while playing cricket in India. As a part of his physiotherapy, he started writing again and found a satisfaction in fiction that no management meeting could ever match.

Having had animals all his life the Author lives in Bournemouth and is currently owned by a Bengal who graciously shares his time with a Labrador and a ginger tom.

More information on his work and forthcoming novels can be found on his Amazon Author page.

Commander John D’Arcy, of Section 6 (Counter-Espionage) of the Terran Union’s Naval Intelligence Service, stood outside his superior’s office door.  His heart, normally so well controlled, was beating faster than was comfortable.  After all, a summons from the Admiral was rarely for a chat – and this was the first time he’d been called to see the Old Man since...  He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in.”

He squared his shoulders and entered.

Admiral Neville looked up from the file he was reading.  “Ah, Commander D’Arcy, thank you for coming so promptly.  Take a seat.  How are you feeling?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Have you got used to your new hearing yet?”

“It’s still a bit odd – slightly echoey – and hearing sounds outside the normal spectrum can be rather disconcerting.  The adjustable volume is useful, though, and should prove invaluable in the field.  And it’s better than being deaf – or worse.”

“To be honest, when I saw what that bomb did to you, I thought I’d never see you in my office again.”

“When I came to, I must admit I thought the same – but now, thanks to the marvels of modern medicine, here I am: John D’Arcy 2.0.”

“Are any of the replacement parts metallic?  That could cause problems on high-tech worlds.”

“No – they’re all organic, grown in a vat from my own stem-cells; even the drug filter and the dispenser built into my new right kidney were constructed using my own DNA.  After some intensive physiotherapy – with a very attractive physiotherapist, I might add –” (he grinned boyishly) “– I’m raring to go.”

“Ever the man of action, eh?”  The Admiral laughed.  “Well, I’ve got a new assignment for you, if you’re sure you’re ready to get back into harness.”

John couldn’t suppress his smile.  “All too ready, sir.  To be honest, I’ve been getting a bit impatient.  After all, the medics cleared me a month ago.  I was beginning to be afraid you were going to chain me to a desk forever.”

“Not a chance of that – you’re one of our best operatives.  This is a long-term job: you’re going to join the personal bodyguard of the Regnian Sector Governor – without anyone knowing who you really are, of course.”

“What’s the problem?”

The Admiral frowned.  “The medic on the team recently retired early, and another took his place.”

“There’s nothing suspicious about that; it’s a high-pressure job, with a lot of burn-out.”

“Normally, I’d agree, but when the new doctor is a volunteer from Mercy, I find it suspicious, especially since the retiree has been offered a sinecure of a job with the same organisation.”

“Hmm… you think the Eranians are up to something?”  It was an open secret in the intelligence community that Mercy Incorporated, an interstellar aid agency, was covertly operated by the Eranian Empire.  “What do we know about the replacement?”

“Her name’s Tanya Miller, and she was born and brought up on Ataraxia.  That makes her a Union citizen, but the fact that she was recruited by Mercy is of concern.”

“How long has she worked for them?”

“Several years.”

“What benefit would the Eranians gain from having an agent in the Governor’s bodyguard?”

The Admiral shrugged.  “That’s what I’d like to know – and why I’d like someone I trust keeping an eye on her.  Either she’s there for some skulduggery, or the Eranians know something we don’t.  Both possibilities make me nervous.”

“Is she psionic?”

“Not that we know of.  That’s one of the things I want you to look out for.”

“Hmm…  Relations with Eran have been good for a decade or more.  Why would they rock the boat now?”

The Admiral raised one eyebrow.  “You never know with those psionic bastards.  I served in the last border war.  It may have been over in less than a month, but it was pretty bloody, and I lost a number of good friends to their dirty tricks.”

“Actually, I was involved too.  I was just out of Staff College.  I graduated early because of the crisis.  I was on the
TUS Intrepid
when we beat the
Pride of Hurrn
.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t realise.  You must be proud.”

“Of being on the only ship to take out one of the enemy’s?  Of having the dumb luck to take advantage of their mistake?  Not really.  I rescued some of their survivors, and – believe me – most Eranians are just like you and me.  I can understand you being suspicious about people with psionic abilities, sir.  After all, nobody wants their innermost thoughts exposed to strangers – but it’s a fact of life that such talents exist, and are by no means restricted to the Eranians and the Aelumi.  And they can be useful, particularly in our profession.  I sometimes wish I was psionic – it would certainly make my job so much easier.”

“That’s what worries me: people with talents like yours
and psionic abilities as well
, working for our enemies.  It’s bad enough having registered psionics – there’s one on the team you’re joining already – but it’s the
unregistered
ones that worry me.”

John cleared his throat.  “Well, I’ll make sure this doctor’s kept under strict surveillance.  How am I to infiltrate?”

“We’ve been a bit lucky there.  The current pilot on the team has recently become pregnant, and has resigned from her post.  You’re to be her replacement.”

John frowned.  “Surely they’d normally draft in a local.  Won’t they smell a rat if I’m being imposed on them?”

“You’re right.”  The Admiral’s brow wrinkled, and then cleared.  “I know.  You’re officially one of my aides, right?”

“Yes…”

“Well, what if you were having an affair with my wife?”

“What?”

“Yes, yes – I can see it now.  I come home unexpectedly and find you and her in flagrante.  I’m outraged, and have you transferred somewhere far away – Regni.”

“But wouldn’t Lady Neville object?”

The Admiral laughed.  “Not Elizabeth.  Before we married, she was one of Section 5’s best agents.  She agreed to retire, bless her, because I didn’t like the idea of her seducing any more naïve ambassadors or envoys, but she’s always chafed a bit at that.  I’m sure she’d enjoy having a swan-song.”

“We could just pretend it happened.”

“Not if I know Beth.  She’ll insist on playing out the full scene to make it believable.  I’ll try to hush it up, of course, but sufficient hints should surface to back up your story when you tell it to your new team-mates.”

So it was that a few days later John was sent on a shopping expedition, and when he arrived back at the Admiral’s quarters, the front door was open.

“Hello?” he called.

“Come along in, John,” came a sultry voice.  “Put the bags in the kitchen, and come and join me in the living room.”

“Shall I put the ice-cream away?  It’s half melted already.”

“Most of it – but bring me the strawberry sundae.”  There was a low-pitched laugh.

He did as he was told, but the sight that met him as he entered the lounge almost made him drop what he was carrying.

Elizabeth Neville was draped across the sofa in a black negligée that was obviously designed to show off her voluptuous figure.  The cups that covered her breasts and the thong were of lustrous silk, and the rest of the assemblage was also silk, but diaphanous.  It was obviously designed less to be worn than to be removed.

“Oh, do close your mouth, John – you look like a fish.”  She gave another laugh.  “Now bring me the ice-cream.”

Wordlessly, he crossed the room and held out the tub and the spoon he was carrying.

She took his wrist firmly, and with surprising strength, swung him off his feet.  He sat down with a bump on the sheepskin rug, the back of his head resting on her thighs.

“Oh, that’s better.”  She took the ice cream, levered of the lid of the tub and carefully spooned out some of the contents.  Slowly, and with obvious pleasure, she sucked the semi-liquid dessert off the spoon before licking it clean.  She took another spoonful and deliberately let some of its contents dribble onto her breast.  “Oops.”  Another throaty laugh.  “Be a dear and clean that off, please.”  John reached for his handkerchief, but she shook her head.  “Silly boy – use your tongue.”

This is too real
, John thought, aware that his trousers were definitely feeling tight.  “But, Lady Neville,” he began
sotto voce
.

“Don’t you find me attractive any more?”  There was a catch in her voice, and her lower lip trembled slightly.

God, she’s good.  She can even produce tears when she wants to. 
“It’s not that,” he whispered.  “It’s just that I respect your husband, and I’d hate to…”

“Hah!  He doesn’t love me like you can.  Now use your tongue for what it was designed for.”

Tentatively, he leaned over and gently licked her breast clean.

She shuddered in delight as he did so, then slithered down so her face was level with his and gave him a long lingering kiss.

The pressure below was eased as she loosened first his belt, then his trousers.  He was wondering just how far this would go when there was the sound of the front door slamming, and the Admiral’s voice said, “Beth?  Where are you?”

Lady Neville gave a theatrical cry and pushed John away, just as the Admiral appeared in the doorway.

“Th-this isn’t what it seems,” John stammered as the Admiral strode towards him.

“Yes it is.”  Lady Neville was suddenly between them, facing the Admiral defiantly.  She tossed her head.  “You leave me here all day to rot, Roger.  John, at least, cares for me.”

“Go to my office and wait for me there, Commander D’Arcy,” the Admiral said through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing.

He’s good, too,
thought John.  “But, sir..”

“Now!”

“Yes, sir!”  John quickly adjusted his trousers and fled, the voices behind him becoming more and more impassioned as he did so.

About an hour later, John was sat in the Admiral’s office when the Admiral himself returned, his face like a thunder-cloud.  He strode in, slammed the door, and broke into a smile.  “Well done, my boy,” he said, rubbing his hands with glee.  “You sold that brilliantly.”

“It’s all down to your wife, sir – she’s amazing.”

“Isn’t she just!”

“She made
me
believe we were having an affair.”

“Section 5 hated losing her.  I’m not sure they’ve forgiven me yet.”

“How did it go when I’d left?”

“Oh, we had a shouting match that no-one within miles could ignore.  It ended when I slapped her face.”

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, yes, I did – but I can do it with a lot of noise and little pain.  And she can use make-up to simulate a bruise.”

“What happened then?”

“She collapsed into a storm of tears.  I was immediately contrite, and took her in my arms.  She batted those big brown eyes of hers and promised never to cheat on me again.  I accepted her promise.  She blamed the whole affair on you.  I left, promising to return as soon as I’d dealt with you.”

“What a performance!  A pity there wasn’t an audience.”

“Oh, I’m sure there was.  The walls of our quarters aren’t very thick.  I’m sure Beth is looking forward to the rumours spreading.  She’ll love playing the
Femme Fatale
.  By the way, she sent her thanks for the negligée, and you have my thanks as well.”  He smirked.  “It’ll come in handy tonight, when we ‘make up’.”

John was puzzled.  “I don’t remember buying that.”

“Oh, but you did – via the Quartermaster of course.  That woman obviously knows as much about lingerie as she does about munitions.  There’s a virtual paper trail in your name from an online store.  She did the same for a rather nice agate bracelet and a jade locket.  There’s also subtle traces of several assignations you had with Beth over the last few months.  They’re hidden just well enough that a determined investigator will find them.  You can claim for everything we’ve paid for on your behalf on expenses once the furore has died down.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.  I’m a gentleman.  Please tell your wife…”

“Call her Beth, please – let’s sell this properly.”

“Please tell Beth that I don’t regret a second of our time together, real or imagined.”

“Good man.  Now, you’d better act contrite.  Avoid people as much as possible, and concentrate on doing paperwork until you leave.”