A Dark and Dirty War, page 10
“I’m going ashore to meet with Consul Forenza and the guy who runs Kilia, a thug by the name Enoc Tarrant. We met during the war, but Tarrant remembers me as Shannon O’Donnell, captain of the privateer Persephone. I’ll be taking Chief Guthren, who was with me at the time. He’s organizing an armed landing party — four spacers — as an escort. Gregor is speaking with your second officer to organize the shuttle. My goal is convincing Tarrant speedy and willing cooperation in helping find Athena will see us gone before shipping around here, and Kilia’s profits are unduly disrupted. He has connections and could obtain quicker results than the Colonial Office intelligence network.”
Rydzewski nodded. “Understood.”
“While I’m away from Salamanca, you’re in command of the task force. Should Tarrant or anyone else be foolhardy and detain me, you will ignore my presence in Kilia and continue with the mission. In such a circumstance, I am expendable. Should that happen, please work closely with Gregor. We went through something similar during the war.”
She held his eyes, knowing he’d likely never experienced a situation where his commanding officer might become a hostage. Besides, the general order covering such an eventuality was rescinded years earlier, a move Dunmoore considered foolishly optimistic. Just because the war was over didn’t mean hostile elements wouldn’t dare incur the Fleet’s wrath if they thought they could get away with it.
“I doubt Tarrant will risk angering the Commonwealth. He didn’t strike me as the type, but people change, and there’s no knowing what other factions exercise power in Kilia.”
“Noted, sir.”
“I may call on you for a demonstration of power if Tarrant forces my hand, so be ready.”
“Yes, sir.” His jaw muscles worked for a moment as if he were chewing on his words. “May I say that I’m not particularly comfortable with you doing this? Flag officers commanding shouldn’t lead landing parties. Instead, they should negotiate via comlink and leave the landing to their subordinates.”
An amused smile relaxed Dunmoore’s features.
“I’m not a flag officer, Piotr, though I understand your sentiments. In any other circumstance, I would proceed with more caution, but here, today, only my physical presence in Tarrant’s company can get us results. Remember, I wasn’t chosen for this mission merely because I was available but because I know firsthand how things work in this part of the galaxy.”
Dunmoore understood part of Rydzewski’s worry stemmed from fear he’d be stuck seeing the rescue through to a successful end and either felt inadequate or feared that in case of failure, his promising career would be over.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back aboard for the evening meal after hopefully securing Tarrant’s help in exchange for our speedy departure.”
**
Dunmoore was glad Forenza had arranged a docking arm. Entering the shuttle bay carved into the asteroid would bring back too many memories. Even so, for a fraction of a second when she climbed aboard her craft, she expected four soldiers from E Company, 3rd Battalion, Scandia Regiment as escort rather than bosun’s mates.
She’d received invitations to attend the Regiment’s anniversary celebrations over the years but could never free herself from her duties in time and make the trip from Caledonia. Besides, just the thought of seeing Lieutenant Colonel Tatiana Salminen, as she was now, and the men and women who’d served faithfully in Iolanthe under her command made her wistful for long-vanished glories.
As she settled in beside Guthren after giving the pilot and her escort a nod, the latter said, in a voice pitched for her ears only, “Apropos of nothing whatsoever, I wonder how Karlo Saari is doing.”
Dunmoore turned her head and gave him a sardonic look as the aft ramp rose and cut them off from the hangar deck.
“You too, eh?”
Command Sergeant Karlo Saari of the Scandia Regiment led her escort the first time she and Guthren visited Kilia Station.
“Too many memories, sir.”
“Last I heard, Karlo was a reserve captain and back as an EMT in his hometown. But you knew that, Chief.”
“Those were the good old days, Skipper, when we ran the enemy ragged in this part of the frontier and could threaten guys like Enoc Tarrant without worrying that HQ might take exception.”
“You said it.”
They fell silent as the shuttle lifted half a meter off the deck, retracted its landing struts, then pivoted and headed for the starboard space doors now slowly opening while red warning strobes flashed. A force field kept the atmosphere from escaping, but the inner airlocks were buttoned up.
The sleek, elegant craft nosed through the shimmering curtain and out into the void, leaving Salamanca’s comforting armored hull behind. At that moment, for an inexplicable reason, the blaster at Dunmoore’s hip felt unusually heavy and uncomfortable. True, this was the first time she carried a sidearm since the war. But it was more than that, more than the memories.
She abruptly released her seat restraints, stood, and headed for the flight deck. Then, out of politeness, she stuck her head through the open door and asked, “Mind if I join you?”
The petty officer at the controls looked over his shoulder.
“Please do, sir. You can take the weapons operator seat if you like.” He gestured at the console to his right. As she settled in, the grizzled veteran indicated the pilot wings on her battledress tunic and grinned. “Want to take the controls?”
“Thanks for the offer, but those,” she tapped the wings, “are now just a souvenir of my younger days. I haven’t flown anything in a long time. I just want a good look at those docking pylons. They weren’t there the last time I visited this place.”
“In that case, enjoy the view.” He centered their target, Pylon Five, on the flight deck’s primary display and zoomed in. The shuttle was level with the docking station, its topside facing the spinning asteroid. “I’ve matched Kilia’s rotation. Now, it’s just a question of getting within five hundred meters under our own power. Then Kilia will tractor beam us the rest of the way. Can’t say I’m too keen about surrendering control to this lot, but I guess it’s that or entering the shuttle bay, which wouldn’t be any better.”
“I’ve done the shuttle bay, PO. This is better. Much better. Up here, if things go pear-shaped, you simply blow the docking clamps and shove off. Escaping from down there isn’t quite as easy.”
“Do you think we might get into trouble?”
She shook her head. “No. But you never can tell when you’ll need to make a quick getaway.”
“Roger that, sir.” He glanced at his console. “And we’re within tractor beam range.”
Right on cue, the radio came to life. “Shuttle Luckner, this is Kilia Traffic. Activating tractor beam.”
A few seconds passed, then, “Luckner confirms. We are under your control.”
Dunmoore stared at the petty officer and mouthed, ‘Luckner?’
He shrugged. “They wanted a name. Since using the hull number is clumsy and you’re the task force commander.”
They watched the docking station grow on the primary display, even though the shuttle was approaching broadside rather than head-on. When they were within a few meters, four arms extruded from its surface along with a universal airlock adapter tube. Moments later, four thumps resonated through the hull, followed by a fifth.
“Shuttle Luckner, you are docked. Please confirm airlock integrity from your side.”
The petty officer studied his console. “I read pressure on the other side of my hatch.”
“In that case, welcome to Kilia. You may disembark. The Commonwealth Consul is on his way. Kilia Traffic, out.”
— Fifteen —
Dunmoore unfastened her restraints and stood. “You’ll stay with the ship, PO. Let no one other than us aboard. If someone forces the airlock, disconnect.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Open her up.”
She turned and headed back into the passenger compartment, where Guthren and the four bosun’s mates waited for her orders. Two stood by the door, grave expressions on their faces, hands hovering over the blasters holstered at the hip.
“Let’s go, Chief.”
“Sir.” He gestured at the leading pair, who stepped cautiously into the universal airlock adapter tube and covered the few meters between the shuttle and the docking station proper at a quick pace. Once they’d checked out the other side, one of them reappeared and gave the all-clear signal.
Shifting from the shuttle’s artificial gravity into that created by the asteroid’s spin momentarily surprised Dunmoore as she exited. The difference wasn’t much, but enough so that it took her a few seconds to adapt. By the time they gathered in front of the elevator connecting the docking station with the habitat, its doors opened, and Mikhail Forenza stepped out.
“Welcome, Captain, Chief.” He bowed his head in a formal, almost courtly gesture more befitting a diplomat than a spy.
Dunmoore held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet in person once again after so long.”
“Likewise.” They shook. Then he offered Guthren his hand. “Glad that you’re still by the captain’s side, Chief.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, sir.”
Forenza gestured at the cargo-sized elevator cab. “Shall we?”
The ride up the pylon was smooth, though Dunmoore felt another minute shift in the gravity as they neared the asteroid’s surface. Finally, their cab halted without a bump, and the doors opened again, this time on a huge, hangar-like space with airlocks piercing each of its four shiny, gray walls. A scuffed floor showed evidence of hard use beneath the harsh white lighting.
Forenza led them to the one on their right, which unlocked and swung open at their approach. When Dunmoore gave him a questioning look, he said, “We’re under surveillance by the Kilia Operations Center and have been since the docking station. They’ve upped their security measures in recent years, and I can’t say I disapprove.”
The airlock opened on a broad corridor like the one she remembered from her first visit, and soon, they passed through another and emerged into the habitat itself.
“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Guthren said while the four bosun’s mates stared at their surroundings with evident curiosity.
A small city of low-rise building clusters separated by wide avenues, it was lit and warmed by an artificial sun on the cavern’s ceiling. The short, narrow horizon on either side, as it rose along the asteroid’s inner diameter, still felt faintly surreal, but Dunmoore ignored it in favor of comparing what her eyes saw with the images stored in her memory.
“They built along the edges. So the city limits are higher up on the wall on both sides.”
“Can’t go too far. Otherwise, they’ll be burned to a crisp by that reactor-fed plasma ball.”
Forenza glanced at Guthren over his shoulder.
“There is talk of reducing its size and centering in on the main axis so they can build around the cavern. All that would be needed is a physical axle from end to end, but there are still engineering challenges to work out. Besides, the station’s carrying capacity in terms of environmental systems, atmosphere scrubbing, water, and food supplies has an upper limit, and I’d say while they’ve not yet reached it, we’re past the two-thirds mark.”
They eventually came to the central plaza with its quasi-pyramidal Kilia Station Principal Management Office at the center and turned left toward several three-story office buildings. One of them bore a small sign that read Commonwealth Consulate by the door.
“Nice. Right at the heart of the action,” Guthren commented. “You’ve got ‘em where you can see ‘em.”
“And they have us where they can see as well.”
Forenza ushered the landing party into the consulate lobby and turned to Dunmoore.
“Your escort can stay here while you, the Chief, and I discuss our meeting with Tarrant in my office.”
The young petty officer in charge of the bosun’s mates briefly came to attention.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Once in Forenza’s second-floor office, a room with wall-sized displays instead of windows, they settled into comfortable chairs around a low coffee table. Forenza sat back and crossed his legs, his left ankle resting on his right knee.
“As you might know, Tarrant doesn’t keep a place of business as such. Since he runs the station more or less like an autocratic ruler, he pretty much considers the entirety of Kilia his domain.”
“The last time we were here, Tarrant buttonholed us at an open-air café just around the corner.”
Forenza gave her a knowing nod.
“One of his favorites. This time, we will join him in a private dining room at the back of the restaurant across the plaza. He’s intensely curious about your arrival and clearly wishes discussions held behind closed doors. Now, as to which tack you should take, here’s what I suggest. I doubt Tarrant knew about the hijacking in advance, let alone supported it after the fact, even in the slightest way possible. Taking Athena presents the same level of risk as the slave trade for anyone involved. And though normally, punitive action inside the Zone can’t come from either Commonwealth or Shrehari naval units because of the Treaty, he knows both navies operate Q ships in the anti-piracy role. And they don’t pull their punches.”
“Then, I show up on his doorstep with five warships, the largest fighting formation in the Zone since the war. That must have been quite a wake-up call, whether or not he was in on it.”
Forenza let a faint smile of amusement play across his lips.
“From what my sources tell me, it was a shock. I let slip that the Confederacy of the Howling Stars might be responsible for Athena’s hijacking, and apparently, that threw him for a loop as well, since he’s been hosting them for the last few years. Therefore, I suggest you approach the matter of cooperation as if Tarrant and, through him, Kilia, are aggrieved parties since the hijacking imperils Kilia’s operations and possibly even its freedom. I don’t know how your last discussion with him went, but I’m going to assume he held the upper hand. So this time, you must lean on him rather than the other way around.”
Dunmoore chuckled. “That won’t be a problem. Back then, I was operating undercover and couldn’t let my ship’s true identity come out. Now, my superiors expect me to use my formation’s obvious strength and firepower as a simple message from the Commonwealth government — don’t mess with us.”
“Good.” Forenza’s communicator chimed. He retrieved it and glanced at the screen. “Tarrant is playing his little games again. He’s advanced our meeting time to five minutes from now. Clearly, he knew when you arrived and where you are at the moment. It’s his way of exercising power as Kilia’s supreme ruler. Would you like a cup of coffee before we head over and arrive fashionably late?”
“Certainly.”
“And you, Chief?”
“Sure.”
Forenza stood and walked over to a sideboard where an insulated jug and three small cups on a tray waited. He carefully poured, then brought the tray over and placed it on the table.
“Please help yourselves.”
They chatted about inconsequential things while enjoying the rich, thick brew, catching up on the unclassified portions of their lives since they last parted company. Once Dunmoore put down her empty cup — she was the last to finish — Forenza glanced at the time.
“Fifteen minutes should do it.” He stood. “Shall we?”
Dunmoore felt vaguely ridiculous as they crossed the plaza in precise formation — the petty officer and a bosun’s mate in the lead. Then she, flanked by Guthren and Forenza, and finally the other two bosun’s mates. But she knew there were dozens of eyes on them, watching and evaluating. They couldn’t help but notice the grim determination on their faces and the equally grim blasters on their hips.
The mirror-like restaurant door slid aside silently at their approach even though the window display indicated it was closed. They entered a vast space with chairs, tables, and decorations but with no living beings other than two obvious human bodyguards by a door at the far end. Stocky, wearing tight clothes that outlined bulging muscles, both sported shaved heads and goatees and wore blasters in cutaway holsters at the hip.
As soon as Dunmoore and her escort entered, one of the men held up his hand.
“Mister Tarrant will only see Consul Forenza and Captain Dunmoore. Everyone else, out. And no guns either.”
Dunmoore stared at him in silence for several heartbeats.
“Does that mean Enoc Tarrant is alone in the backroom?”
“That’s none of your business. You want to see Mister Tarrant, you play the game by his rules.”
“Petty Officer Ruad.”
“Sir.”
“Scan the room and tell me how many life signs you detect.”
“Yes, sir.” Ruad pulled out his sensor.
“You can’t use that in here.” The goon took one step forward and reached out to snatch the sensor from Ruad’s hand.
Dunmoore pulled out her blaster and pointed it at the man’s head.
“One more twitch, and Tarrant will be looking for a replacement. Now, who’s with him in there?”
After a moment, the other man said, “His counselor, Mister Hagen, and two guards.”
“That wasn’t so difficult. I’ll be taking Consul Forenza, Chief Petty Officer Guthren, and two of my guards in with me, and we will keep our weapons. Now step aside before I order you thrown out.”
“No,” the first goon replied. “We have our orders.”
“And I’ve just countermanded them.” Dunmoore’s tone was icy enough to make hell freeze over.
She holstered her weapon and walked past him without another glance, Guthren, Forenza, and two of the bosun’s mates on her heels. The other man simply shrugged, as if he figured Tarrant wasn’t paying him enough to fight off the Navy at odds of three to one and stepped aside.
The private dining room door opened, and Dunmoore walked through without breaking stride. Inside, she found what she expected — Tarrant and his consigliere seated at a round table facing the entrance, with the guards standing a few paces behind them. They’d been watching the scene from the main room on a wall display, which now showed the two goons staring at her back.
