The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy (16 page)

“Well done,” he said to her.

“Watch it. Our other friends are coming for us.”

She rotated them both to face the on-coming figures from the station. They’d been supplemented, too. A scooter had exited the station and sped toward them. If more men came out of the shuttle ship, he’d be out of options.

Saahren fired at the rider.

“Don’t correct,” he told Allysha. “Our friends can’t be far.”

The shuttle ship started to maneuver, shifting position to round them up. A glimpse of something white caught his eye. His nerves zinged. Tyne. At last. He fired the jets to get above the advancing ship. A burst of white energy drilled out from its side, spraying the scooter. It slewed around and slammed into the station’s supporting girder.

“Is that you, Stone?”

“Yes.”

“Move up. There’s an emergency hatch top aft. I’ll come up and grab you.”

Saahren let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t out of this yet, but it was a good start. He fired the jets briefly to bring them above the starship’s hull and once more to stop the movement. Below them, the white ship’s guns sprayed a salvo, driving the pursuers back. The shuttle ship sped up, looking for clear space to turn.

The ship advanced beneath them. Too fast. At this rate, it would have left them behind. The emergency hatch came into view, a red circle on the white surface. It blossomed open and a suited figure emerged holding a staff. He held it out in Saahren’s path. Saahren used his jets, took hold and allowed himself to be dragged in. He pushed Allysha ahead of him into the airlock and followed himself. Once on the ladder he pressed the button to close the exit. The latch locked; air would be flowing in.

Allysha sagged against him and he draped an arm around her shoulder.

“All right?” he said.

She managed a laugh. “Yes. That might have been fun with a bit more practice.”

He squeezed a bit more.I love you, Allysha .

“Both okay?” Tyne said.

“Yes.”

The ship rocked. Under attack? Probably.

Tyne’s lips moved, talking to someone via the helmet mike. But the sudden surge that slammed them against the wall was answer enough.

“Roland says he’s hit the scooter. He’s headed off at high speed, trying to shake the shuttle ship.”

The light flashed on the airlock status gauge. Tyne opened the hatch into the ship. Saahren climbed out of the exo-suit and helped Allysha with hers. The ship lurched and they staggered out.

“Strike on the aft shields,” Saahren said.

“Give me the suits,” Tyne said. “I’ll put them away and meet you in the lounge. Up one deck, left and through the door.”

Saahren nodded. Allysha finished running her hands through her hair and followed behind him up a short flight of stairs to a carpeted foyer and through the door into a well fitted lounge.

“Wow,” Allysha said, head swiveling. “No expense spared here.”

Cream carpet, brown leather sofas, dark wood paneling, and recessed lighting. The room could have been in a top hotel.

“I have to wonder who our benefactor is,” he said.

Drug lord? Spoilt rich kid? Billionaire playboy?

One more lurch, the ship straightened and the sound of the engine changed.

“We’ve made it to shift-space,” Saahren said. He sagged down on one of the sofas.

****

station. The pilot nosed her in, between grey walls studded with utility outlets. A clunk, a shudder, a sigh of air and the pilot announced they’d docked.

Van Tongeren scrambled to his feet the moment the harness had retracted sufficiently and activated his comlink. He grabbed Sean’s arm and dragged him into another cabin on the ship, talking as he went.

“Is he there? Good. Bring him to the conference room.”

Sean barely had time to take in an oval table surrounded with chairs fixed to the floor. The room had a window but here in the station all he could see was grey wall. He sat down, willing himself to relax. Van Tongeren wasn’t happy, prowling around the room like a trapped cat, his hand straying now and again to the bulge at his shoulder.

The door opened. Van Tongeren whirled around. A tall man sporting a handlebar moustache stepped inside, smiling.

“Evening, van Tongeren. Welcome to Chollarc.”

“Don’t bother with the small talk, Rosenberg. What happened?”

Rosenberg’s eyes flickered. “They escaped, boss.”

“They did fucking WHAT?”

“We were waiting. On Stone’s ship. He didn’t turn up and we saw him and another person outside in exo-suits. We tried to scoop them up but another ship arrived and took them away.”

Sean wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of van Tongeren’s ears. He’d gone rigid, fists clenched, his face red. But at least now they knew somebody else had escaped with Stone. He hoped it was Allysha.

“Another ship?” The words escaped through bared teeth.

“Yeah. We followed up. She’s a luxury yacht named ‘Maxine’. She’s owned by Marius Roland the journalist.”

“And what have you done about it?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’ we could do. She went off through the gate, headed for Kentor according to the travel plan. Oh, by the way, we did some checking. That Stone fellow is a senior commander in the Confederacy Fleet.”

“Oh, great. Better and better. What are you planning to do now?”

Rosenberg’s dark eyes narrowed and his mouth stretched into a thin-lipped grin. “I’ve got some ideas.

I’ll find them.”

“Good. You take him with you.” Van Tongeren flicked a hand at Sean.

Sean’s nerves twanged. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Van Tongeren jutted his forehead into Sean’s face. “Find your wife, my friend. She has to have been with Stone. Tepich is convinced, he wants her for the job and he expects you to deliver. If you don’t, he won’t be happy. And neither will I. And don’t think you’ll be safe. Not anywhere.

Understand?”

Sean breathed in bitter spices on van Tongeren’s breath. Fuck. And he’d thought Bronx was bad. The whole situation had become quicksand, threatening to swallow him whole. “But I don’t know where she’s gone.”

“You go with Rosenberg. I’ve got other things to do.”

For the first time, van Tongeren smiled.

Footsteps rang on the stairs. Allysha gazed at a short man wearing a goatee beard and a fellow with holovid star good looks. Tall, wavy hair, blue eyes, handsome, wearing expensive, carefully rumpled clothing. A bit like Sean. And his eyes slid over her body in just the intimate way Sean’s would have done. Her skin prickled with distaste.

“This is Marius Roland,” the short man said. “And this is Brad Stone and…” he raised his eyebrows, looking between Brad and her.

“Allysha Marten,” Brad said. “Allysha, this is my Chollarc contact, Aaron Tyne. Thanks for your help, Mister Roland. I think I’ve heard your name.”

Roland turned his gaze to Brad.

“Have you now? Yes, I guess so.” He sank down onto the sofa opposite Brad and patted the space next to him. “Have a seat Miss Marten.”

She shot him a glance. Yes, the same full-of-himself predator as Sean. She sat next to Brad. He took her hand, warm and possessive, moving his thumb over her skin.

“Mister Roland is a highly-regarded investigative journalist, Allysha,” Brad said. “I’ve read many of your articles. I see you’ve been well paid.” He glanced around the room.

“My father helped, Mister Stone.” He frowned. “Has anybody told you that you look like Admiral Saahren?”

Allysha tensed. But that was silly.

Brad chuckled. “If I had a credit for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be as rich as you.”

“Hmmm.” Roland’s face cleared. “Well, the word is Saahren’s gone home to sulk. They’re still following him around, asking for his opinion, but he’s still dodging. I’d love to interview him, tried a few times.

Fascinating man.”

She began to relax, the tension easing out of her shoulders. She supposed he did look a bit like Saahren.

Tall and dark. But he wasn’t like Saahren at all.

“And who are you, ma’am?” Roland asked. His demeanor had changed to smooth and intimate.

“Me? Umm…”

“We’re to be married. Very soon,” Brad said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

He had no doubt, no doubt at all. Whether she liked it or not.

The door opened and a conical form appeared. A ptorix. He seemed to float into the room, his four short legs invisible under the garment. The three eyes near the top of the pointed head swirled blue.

Allysha noticed Roland’s quickly-hidden grimace.

“This is my colleague, Grallaz,” Tyne said.

Grallaz did a complicated half-bow, his tentacles intertwined. “Recalibrated izz your shift drive, Mizzter Roland,” he said, hissing the sibilants in the normal ptorix way. “Will perform more quietly from now.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Not a friend of the ptorix, their host.

Tyne made the introductions. Allysha rose and mirrored Grallaz’s bow.

“I am honored to meet you, Sir,” she said in Ptorix. “Are you an engineer?”

Grallaz’s eyes swirled from the blue of concern through green to yellow. “You speak our language very well, lady. So rare. Yes, I specialize in space ship engines, shift drives and so forth. How do you come to know our culture so well?”

“I grew up in Shernish on Carnessa. My childhood friends were ptorix. I am an engineer, too, but for information systems. I would like to see what you’ve done with the ion drive.”

“Since we don’t all speak Ptorix, Allysha, it might be better if you two spoke Standard like the rest of us,” Brad said.

She flushed. Rude of her. “Sorry. I just asked him what he’d done with the ion drive. I’d like to see.”

“Ah. So you’re an engineer as well, Miss Marten?” Roland said.

She swung around to him.What a surprise, huh? A brain, no less .

“Yes. Information systems, but that’s what runs space ships, I’m beginning to find.”

“Where are we headed, Roland?” Brad asked.

“Kentor. Another mixed human-ptorix world where Tyne and his pal will be comfortable. You two should be able to get on from there, I expect.”

“Yes,” Brad said. “The powers on Kentor have no love of the Khophirate. Or of the Confederacy.

We’ve been out of circulation for a little while. What news of Brjyl?”

Roland smirked. “Governor Anxhou has sent one of his warships into orbit at Carnessa.”

Brad stiffened. “And the Confederacy has allowed this?”

“Oh, yes,” Roland said. “President Bloom has assured us all just one warship doesn’t pose a threat.”

Well, why should it, thought Allysha, perching herself back down on the edge of the sofa next to Brad.

“So what? Lord Anxhou probably wants to protect us from the Confederacy.”

Roland snorted and fixed her with an icy stare. “I’ll bet he does. I suppose you believe the Confederacy Fleet really did attack Brjyl.”

Oh, not another crazy theory. She was getting sick of this. “Don’t you?”

“It’s a fit up, sweetheart. Has to be.” His tone dripped condescension.

She bristled. “Why is it a fit up? Why isn’t it just what it looks like? The Confederacy Fleet murdering innocent Tors?”

“Because there’s no point, darling. What’s in it for the Feds?”

Allysha folded her arms. “It’s typical of Saahren.”

“Saahren?” Roland said. “Nah. He’s too smart for that. Why would he have murdered a few thousand Tors on Brjyl? What was in it for him? If he really wanted to do that, he could have bombarded the place from space and left no evidence for investigators to find. The only outcome from an incident like this is to inflame the political situation, which is what it has done. And got him sacked, of course. Although I reckon that’ll change.”

“So come on. What do you think happened, Mister investigative journalist? I’d really like to know.”

“Anxhou set up the whole thing.”

Her jaw flapped. “But… but he’s a ptorix.”

“Well, yes he is. And you think he wouldn’t murder his own? I’m betting this is Lord fucking Anxhou’s first roll of the dice,” Roland said. “He’s manufactured an incident against the ptorix on Brjyl so that he can play the gallant knight and step in to protect innocent ptorix from the human aggressor. If the Confederacy Government accepts that argument, then Carnessa is history.”

She squirmed on the sofa.

“Anxhou is not to trust,” Grallaz said softly. “Izz true what Mizzter Roland zzay.”

Even Grallaz.

“You’ve formed an excellent argument, Roland,” Brad said. “Have you sold that story to anybody?”

“The theory’s bandied around. But without proof, that’s all it is. And the broadcasters have been told…

told… not to suggest the ptorix have killed their own.” Roland’s lips curled as if he’d eaten something bad. “Believe me, if I had some proof, I could get Bloom sent to hell in a hill trolley. Now that would really feel good.”

“Perhaps that’s possible,” Brad said.

Roland raised his head, eyes narrowed. “How.”

Brad took her hand again. “You were at Brjyl, Allysha. Did you weave any of your magic there, as you did at Tisyphor? Hiding information? Is there more to find?”

Never underestimate Brad Stone. “What if there is?” she said.

“Then this standoff can be ended with facts. Suldan Bentrax can deal with the unrest on his own Qerran planets without intervention from either side,” Brad said.

“Yes. At least, maybe,” she said.

All of them stared at her.

“It’s just a chance,” she said. “They shot up the control room, as I remember. Was it completely destroyed?”

“No. They set it alight but the fire went out,” Roland said. “I… er… managed to get hold of the intelligence footage.” He even looked a bit embarrassed.

“Do you have it? Here?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because I built the information system at Brjyl.”

“Did you indeed,” Roland said, eye brows arched. Well, now. Editor, show us the analyst’s images from the Brjyl control room.”

“Searching now,” the IS said.