The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy (6 page)

Conversation flagged. She’d drink her wine and leave, then he’d get his chance to talk to her.

“You have a really different accent. Where’s your home planet, Miss?” Emment said.

“I’m from Carnessa. A little university town called Shernish.”

That explained the accent, lilting with rolled consonants.

“Carnessa. That’s one of the Qerran planets isn’t it? Where that massacre happened? Brill or

something?” Emment said.

She jerked upright, staring at the fellow. “Massacre? What massacre?”

“Hadn’t you heard? It’s on all the news services—has been for the past few days. Confederacy troops

are supposed to have gone into a mining settlement there and killed about three thousand ptorix.”

Her jaw dropped. “I was there, at that settlement, last month. Doing a system,” she muttered, so low

Saahren had to strain to hear. “Three thousand. That’s pretty well everybody there.” She licked her lips, clearly upset. “Why would the Confederacy do something like that?”

“They say they didn’t.” Emment cocked an eyebrow. “Seems a bit unlikely to me.” He spread his hands.

“I mean, why would they? But the reports say a Fed trooper’s body was found there.”

Her throat worked. “I don’t believe it. Three thousand.”

“Have there been any further developments?” Emment asked van Tongeren. “I haven’t had a chance to

see the news today.”

“Oh, it’s still a stand-off.” Van Tongeren grinned. “Anxhou’s making aggressive noises about protecting the rights of ptorix citizens outside the Khophirate, Bloom says he’s done his best by sacking Saahren and the Qerrans are saying leave us alone.”

Saahren could bet on that. The very thought of his dismissal brought the rage back to boiling point. The Grand Admiral hadn’t wanted to sack him but he’d had no choice. President bloody Bloom had insisted.

Fool. The idiot thought appeasement was diplomacy. Ptorix Governor Anxhou would push for any

concessions he could get. The Qerrans were the pawns in the middle while the Confederacy and the

Khophirate played ‘who’ll blink first’ over their heads.

“Anxhou’s trying to goad us. He’s got it in for Saahren, I reckon,” Emment said. “I’ll bet this is still all about Forenisi. Did you know Anxhou’s son was the admiral in charge of their fleet? Saahren absolutely blasted ‘em; smashed them and sent what was left home in a basket. A great victory, great man. Bloom

sacking him was stupid, just stupid.” He shook his head, frowning. “He’ll need the Iron Admiral before this is over, mark my words.”

Miss Marten’s eyes narrowed. “The Iron Admiral? That’s what you call Saahren?”

The two men’s eyes widened. He was surprised, himself. His nickname was well known in the

Confederacy.

“Do you know what the Tors call him?Chohzu.” She said the word as a ptorix would, hissing the

sibilants, her lip curled, nostrils flared, contemptuous. “In ptorix mythologyChohzu is the great enemy, the demon who rains down wanton destruction from the heavens. Fire, famine, disease—the whole gamut.

That’s what they call Saahren.Chohzu the destroyer. Billions of Tors died at Jossur. Billions.”

Emment’s face creased into a disgusted frown. “Look, lady, let’s not be too cozy about this. Plenty of humans have been murdered, too. Before Forenisi, they took over two star systems humans had

colonized, threw out anyone that survived the bombardment and put ptorix settlers there. Just as well Admiral Saahren had the balls to fight back or the same thing would’ve happened at Forenisi.”

“You mean Lex and Scrivenour?” she asked.

He nodded.

“That’s not what I heard.” She thrust over the table toward him, finger jabbing. “I heard those worlds were returned to the Khophirate. Returned!”

“Well, you heard wrong.” Emment sat back, arms folded, glowering.

“Come on, folks,” said van Tongeren smoothly. “It’s all history and it’s too hot for all that aggravation.”

“You’re probably right. Thanks for the drink. See you later.” She practically leapt to her feet and

stormed off, leaving the two men to trade incredulous looks.

Saahren drained his beer and stood. Well, that had certainly given him plenty to think about. He knew about the ptorix nickname, too. But he hadn’t expected her to equate him with a ptorix demon. She

didn’t like Admiral Saahren at all. He wondered why. Sure, billions had died at Jossur but it was a battle in a time of war.

“Want to buy me a drink, darling?”

He stared down at the same girl who’d been on the shuttle he’d arrived on, registering the purple

lipstick, painted eyes, deep cleavage. Cheap perfume emanated from her like a cloud, apparent even

over the smell of beer. “I’ve got to go.”

He tried to step past her but she hooked her arm around his, her voice a semblance of a husky purr.

“I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.”

“No. Really.” He disengaged himself as gently as he could. Miss Marten was a retreating figure, almost past the houses on her way back to the mine.

“Not good enough for yer, eh?” The nasal Chollarci accent replaced the purr.

He didn’t even answer her as he jogged down the road after Miss Marten.

A man came out to meet her.Don’t tell me she has a boyfriend? His heart sank. But she didn’t seem to

be happy. He heard ‘leave me alone’.

Fury boiling in his gut, he ran.

The miner had one arm hooked around her waist and the other gripped her head as he tried to kiss her.

She kicked and struggled, trying to pull away from him. Saahren grabbed the fellow’s collar and ripped him away.

The miner wheeled, snarling, “Keep out of this,” and flung a punch.

Good. Saahren dodged and jabbed his fist into the man’s face. The crunch of bone was very satisfying

but not enough. He followed through with a savage, rounded punch to the side of the jaw that spun his foe around and dumped him in the soft ground at the side of the road.

He turned back to her. “Are you all right?” He was panting, more from anger than from the brief

exercise.

She stared at him, green eyes wide, one hand clutching her torn shirt. “Yes. Thank you.”

He stepped toward her. She stepped back, lips tight, nostrils flared.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He glanced over his shoulder at his fallen opponent. “Let me see you to your quarters.”

The alarm faded from her face as she sized him up. “I’m Allysha Marten.”

“I know. I’m Brad Stone.” He’d very nearly said Chaka Saahren. He’d better keep that fact to himself

until he could find out what her objection was.

She smiled and his heart fluttered. “Thank you, Brad Stone.”

“Where do you live?”

“The mine. In the old ptorix mine manager’s quarters.”

He walked beside her, not too close, not too fast, through the tunnel of jungle that led to the mine.

“You’re comfortable with the ptorix?”

“Yes. Very. Where I come from—Carnessa—we live together peaceably. Well… mostly. I grew up

with Tors.”

Tors. That must be her word for ptorix.

“And that’s how you understand their computer systems?”

“I suppose. I can speak their language and that always helps.”

He almost stopped. “Their language? But that’s very difficult.”

She laughed, a low, musical chuckle. “Not too bad if you learn as a child.”

The mine’s metal doors gleamed in the lights around the entrance. Saahren pressed the lock and the

personnel door slid open. He stood aside to let her go first, along the wide central tunnel that led to the control room.

She turned off into a side tunnel. A few more steps and she stopped in front of a stairway. “I live up there. Thanks again.”

Those wonderful eyes held him for just a moment and then she was gone. He stared after her. He should have asked her to dinner or a drink or … or… Idiot. Fool. Standing there like a tongue-tied teenager.

She smiles at me and I melt. She speaks and I just listen to the lilt in her words.

He sighed.I’m in love .

Saahren walked back down to where he’d felled the miner. The man was stirring, trying to sit up. He

grabbed the fellow’s collar and helped him to his feet. His nose was a mess, encrusted with congealed blood and circles were already darkening around his eyes. He had a split lip, too.

“Come on, time to go home.” He grasped the man’s arm and started leading him toward the settlement.

“I feel terrible,” the man muttered, his voice a rasp. “What hit me?”

“I did. I don’t approve of rape.”

“Wasn’t going to rape her. Just a kiss and a cuddle.”

Saahren pushed him along a little faster, anger building. “That’s not how I saw it.”

“Oh, you know what women are like. ‘No’ means try harder.”

“No. No means no, cretin.Which dorm are you in?”

“Twelve.”

Saahren helped him down a path to the front door. “Here’s home. Let me make a suggestion to you.”

The miner turned bleary eyes on him. “Keep away from Miss Marten… friend. Because if I have to hit

you again, you will not stand up. Understood?” He put every bit of menace he could into his tone.

Fear flared in the miner’s eyes. He licked his lips and nodded. “Understood.”

****

handsome; Sean was handsome. This man was lean and hard, close to two meters tall. He wasn’t young,

a bit older than Sean she’d guess and his eyes; his eyes were like obsidian. She was frightened for a moment, seeing the cold fury in his face after he’d felled that creep but it wasn’t directed at her. He’d been gentle and sympathetic. So different from the rest of the men here. She’d checked the Confederacy ID chip in his head behind his left ear as they walked. Single, no dependents. Divorced, perhaps? But wouldn’t the ID have said?

She went into her apartment and inspected the torn shirt. That was one to toss out. She shuddered,

remembering the rough hands, the alcoholic stink of the fellow’s breath. Urrk. She threw the garment in the bin and fetched another from the closet. It was the last she had.

She would have liked to get to know Brad Stone better. But she’d only be here for a few more days.

Just as well, really. It would have been just like Jarrad; hardly time to get to know him and then she’d move on. The last thing she needed was another man in her life. She still had her hands full getting rid of Sean.

Now then, what happened on Brjyl?

She flicked through the HV programs. As Emment had said, the news was full of the Qerran crisis. Most of the programs presented political analysis and comment. She flicked past them. She wanted to know

what happened.

“Let’s take another look at the distress signal that was sent from the Brjyl control room and intercepted by Qerran authorities.” At last. Allysha sank into the chair and paid attention.

A panic-stricken man, hair disheveled, eyes round with fright, sat at a console, staring into the camera.

“Anybody… this is Brjyl control… we’re under attack!” His voice was a rapid staccato, his eyes darted to his right as he talked. “Confederacy troops, firing at will… it’s a massacre… please…. Help…” The

speaker’s head turned to stare, slack jawed. A figure appeared, its back to the sensor. The crackling zap of a laser weapon rang out; the operator clutched at his chest and fell to the ground. The figure turned around, a trooper in activated body armor. Face anonymous behind a helmet visor, it advanced toward

the camera. A gloved hand reached outand then there was static.

Allysha recoiled, hand pressed to her heart. She’d met that man, the one who was shot. Passingael, that was his name. Latif Passingael. Nice man, obliging and inoffensive. And a trooper had killed him. She bit her lip. The man had shown courage, to broadcast that message instead of hiding somewhere. He must

have known he wouldn’t survive.

“…could have been contrived ,” one of the analysts said.

“True,” said another person on the panel. Her name appeared below her image, Meranda Sutchcock,

associate professor in politics from Alexander Moreton University. “But the question must be why? Who stands to gain from this?”

“Not the ptorix,” said a heavy-faced man sitting further down. Chas Marais, journalist from theGalaxy Times .

“Well, you say that, Chas, and it’s certainly true of the ptorix who were on Brjyl, but what about

Anxhou?” Sutchcock asked. She wore a lot of jewelry and waved her hands about when she talked.

Allysha lost interest. Typical. They were going to blame the old enemy. She shook her head. It seemed pretty conclusive to her. Murdering a few thousand innocent miners would be child’s play for Saahren.

Allysha checked the security systems one more time. In the evening the mine was down to just a few

personnel. No one was about, just one fellow in the control room. She altered the security system to

register her as being in her quarters and set off to the store room.

The door slid open at her touch. Just an ordinary store room, a long counter and a delivery system in front of racks of shelving. To get to the shelves themselves, you had to go around the counter. The

pathway seemed to be empty, but an infrared energy grid, invisible to a normal human eye, blocked the passage, red lines zigzagging up and down between the walls and the counter. She turned the system off for as long as it took her to get past and hoped the man in the control room wouldn’t notice. Now to

check their secret store.

Standing at the end of the middle row, she activated a control. A faint rumble set her heart thumping again. A block of stone as tall as a man slid back and aside on runners. Lights blinked on but she turned them off, relying on the barely-discernible gleam from her torch. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Row after row of shelves loomed ghost-like, fading into the distance. The place was much larger than