No Remorse, page 15
“Which explains why we’re using the owner’s cabin and not one of the crew compartments.” He pulled on his trousers and stepped into his boots.
“Garrett graciously took the first officer’s quarters. He knows when to bow out.”
When they entered the bridge, Montero, who was slumped in the command chair, glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I was wondering whether I should send the engineering droid with a crowbar, in case separating you from each other or the bunk proved to be beyond the AI’s dulcet tones.”
“Having it show up with two cups of coffee would do the trick,” Decker replied.
Montero touched the control screen embedded in the chair’s arm. “You can use the commo station to decrypt the boss’ love note, Hera. It looks to be pretty short.”
A few minutes later, Talyn turned away from the console and grimaced. “You were right about it being a brief missive. All the commodore said, other than acknowledging our assessment of the Scandia situation was ‘proceed at your discretion.’ I take that as permission to act if we see an opportunity. He’s probably worried someone might intercept his orders and bring proof to the SecGen and Senate that the Fleet is interfering in the affairs of sovereign star systems.”
“No mention of my request for Special Forces backup?”
Talyn shook her head. “Not a single word.”
“Damn.”
“The commodore would need to clear your request with Admiral Kruczek before sending it to the Commander, Joint Special Operations Command,” Talyn replied. “And maybe the Chief felt that, in turn, it needed the Grand Admiral’s blessing, which wasn’t forthcoming. Sending a Special Forces unit to a sovereign star system experiencing political upheaval, even if done under the guise of a training visit with the local Commonwealth Armed Services unit, is risky. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Chief or the Grand Admiral decided it wasn’t a risk worth taking. The repercussions that might stem from public perception of the Fleet taking sides without Senate sanction, let alone without being asked by a legitimate star system government, could be far-reaching. We can interfere in minor colonies such as Garonne and maintain plausible deniability. Here? Not so much.”
“Why did we not discuss this before we added my request for backup to our report? I might have couched it in different terms.”
“I was expecting more defined mission parameters, including whether our brief was merely to observe and report rather than engage in direct action, not for the commodore to tell me we should proceed at my discretion. He knows giving us free rein means we’ll do more than intelligence gathering, especially since he’s well aware of your proclivities.”
“Which ones?” Montero asked with a mischievous grin. “The tendency to blow things up on general principle?”
Talyn ignored him and asked Decker, “Does this change your plans about the Scandia Regiment? There’s not much point in pretending to be a liaison officer if there’s no incoming Marine unit. Never mind we have no orders to offer the current government military aid in case the People’s Alliance and its supporters try a coup d’état.”
“I’ll figure something out,” he growled. “There’s no way I’ll allow those Coalition fuckers to mess this place up. What do you think will happen once the bastards figure they can pick and choose star system governments to suit their schemes?”
“I didn’t mean we do nothing, Zack,” she replied in a more gentle tone. “And if you still want to try co-opting the Scandia Regiment by yourself, I won’t object. But perhaps we should give our options more thought before landing in Hamar.”
“What other options? I’m sure the current prime minister knows his government’s under threat. He’s been draining the People’s Alliance swamp for almost four years and has faced just about every obstruction possible. I’m also convinced he’s well aware that changing laws to prevent another fifty years of Alliance rule will trigger the most serious response to date. And yet, he’s going ahead with it, even though his senior civil servants, generals, and police commissioners are Alliance creatures. What can we do, other than give him Fleet backing through the only unit available?”
“Zack’s not wrong,” Montero interjected. “Until you’ve been there, you can’t appreciate how volatile things are. Just keep in mind the Scandia Regiment’s members aren’t as apolitical as the average Marines. Most of them were born here and have extensive family connections on both sides of the political divide.”
“Though I’ll bet a majority aren’t Alliance supporters,” Decker said.
“True. But it only takes a few to sabotage anything you might undertake. That’s why you were hoping for your Fort Arnhem buddies to stiffen the ranks, no?”
“I’ll figure something out.” Decker glanced at his partner. “Can you forge those orders for me now? There’s no need to change anything. The way things are moving, by the time the regiment’s commanding officer figures out there aren’t any special operators from Caledonia coming, it’ll be too late.”
“Give me a few hours,” she replied in a resigned tone. “Meanwhile, please ask traffic control for a landing slot, Garrett. And trash the Mattias Kenly identity along with his face. The Sécurité Spéciale obviously decided Kenly was a person of interest. That means he stays among the disappeared. Sorry.”
Montero winced. “A lot of time and effort creating a new me flushed away.”
“Maybe it’s time you chose another occupation than smuggler as your cover, Garrett, or took a shore billet until things smooth over.”
“Please don’t pull me from the field.”
“That’ll be the commodore’s call to make,” she said with finality.
Decker snorted. “Based on your recommendation.” He gave Montero a commiserating smile. “Garrett, my friend, you need to understand something. Even though Hera’s back in the wild with her inner assassin free to kill, she’s still in many ways Commodore Ulrich’s executive officer, the one whispering in his ear. We serve at her pleasure as much as at his. And since she’s told you to find a new name and face, can I offer a barely used set I no longer need? We’re roughly the same size and build.”
Talyn’s eyes shifted from one to the other.
“That’s not a bad idea, Zack. Annekka Bayle and Dmitri Rauck sightseeing in Hamar won’t attract much notice since both entered Scandian jurisdiction legally on their employer’s business. Mattias Kenly, however, is officially missing and unofficially on the Sécurité Spéciale’s wanted list. That only leaves the matter of getting you off Haukka and on your way to Kollsvik unseen.”
“I seem to recall this tub has a shuttle. Why don’t you fly me to the Kollsvik spaceport where I can enter Scandian jurisdiction legally as my own self?”
“With the name Zack Decker showing up in the immigration records and triggering alarms? I think not. And it wouldn’t take long for an enterprising individual to trace the shuttle back to Haukka, no matter how much we try to hide its provenance. No, you’re coming to Hamar with us. We’ll smuggle you off the ship somehow — as one of your spare cover identities, needless to say. You can become the infamous Major Decker once you’re in Kollsvik.”
Zack knew by her tone she would brook no further discussion. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“I’ll tap one of my contacts working the Hamar spaceport for help,” Montero said.
“Why would the contact help Dmitri Rauck?” Talyn asked.
“Because I took the precaution of warning my more reliable acquaintances that friends might show up and identify themselves with a specific set of code words. It’s not an uncommon thing in those circles.”
“Well then.” Decker rubbed his hands together with glee. “What are we waiting for? Let’s swap faces, forge my orders, and land this puppy.”
**
“You a friend of Matt Kenly too?” The heavy-set Scandian stevedore appointed as Zack’s native guide asked as he led the latter away from Haukka’s landing pad. He aimed them at a dense warehouse cluster on the edge of a tarmac big enough for an entire battle fleet. The wild blond hair and a shaggy beard framing a sharply angled face gave him the fearsome appearance of his distant ancestors, but his lilting, slightly accented Anglic sounded incongruous to the Marine’s ears.
“More like a friend of a friend.” Decker wore his dark spacer’s clothes for the occasion, to better blend in with the rough men and women working the cargo-handling end of Hamar’s spaceport. The Shrehari blaster he preferred as his sidearm sat comfortably in its shoulder holster while his dagger rested in its forearm sheath. The large-bore needler taken from the Sécurité Spéciale goon was in his backpack, concealed beneath a change of clothes appropriate for a Marine Corps liaison officer in mufti.
“So you don’t know Matt Kenly?” They reached a row of grimy hangars tall enough for starships of Haukka’s size and slipped into a narrow alley. “Shame.”
“Why is it a shame?”
“He’s a good man to know.”
This late in the afternoon, they met few people in the rabbit warren of lanes separating the warehouse clusters. Anyone other than Decker would soon lose his orientation, and the Marine suspected it might be on purpose. He was an outsider, enjoying access to the spaceport’s unguarded, hidden egress points solely because ‘Dmitri Rauck,’ as Garrett Montero now styled himself, had spoken those magic words identifying himself as someone in Mattias Kenly’s confidence.
They reached a building that seemed in even worse shape than its neighbors and the stevedore pulled the door open, inviting Decker to enter the unlit warehouse ahead of him.
Something in the man’s eyes and gestures seemed false, but the Marine stepped through anyway, right hand reaching for his blaster. He sensed the stevedore move behind him and shifted to one side with blinding speed. The Scandian stumbled past him, clearly taken by surprise. Zack whipped his blaster out as his guide shouted something in Scandian, and a half-dozen men who’d been hiding behind old crates rose up, needlers and scatter guns at the ready.
“Surrender, and we won’t hurt you,” one of them, an older man with a face lined by decades of criminality, yelled in a rumbling, thickly accented Anglic that seemed to rise from the very gates of hell. “There’s no need for you to die.”
“He claims he doesn’t know Mattias Kenly,” Decker’s erstwhile guide said.
“Shame,” The other man replied, parroting the stevedore’s earlier comment. “But I’m sure they’ll want to decide that for themselves.” He pointed the barrel of his weapon at the Marine. “Drop that miniature artillery piece you’re holding and come along nicely. You wouldn’t like the pain my riot gun can inflict. My loads aren’t fatal, but you’ll wish they were. We’re paid to bring you in alive, but no one said the word intact.”
“Whose dirty work are you supposed to be doing?”
Decker ran his eyes over each of them, noting their stance, the way they held their weapons, the expression on their faces and the degree of confidence in their gaze. He decided these men were adept at waylaying travelers. He saw no fear, no nervousness, and most importantly, no spark of conscience. Born thugs. The sort who’d do the Sécurité Spéciale’s bidding without question provided the price was right. But he could sense an undercurrent of confusion, thanks to his own visible lack of concern at the situation. The other goons threw their boss sideways glances, looking for cues. They likely weren’t used to prey that didn’t immediately surrender.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the leader said. “Now drop that damned gun. I won’t tell you again.”
Instead of replying, Decker stroked the blaster’s trigger. It coughed once. A black, smoking hole appeared in the middle of the man’s chest. His face contorted into a mask of outrage before he crumpled to his feet. But the Marine didn’t waste time admiring his handiwork.
The large, alien weapon spoke five more times in rapid succession, until only the stevedore who’d led him to this trap remained standing, a look of pure astonishment transforming his rough features. Decker gave him a good long look up his blaster’s barrel before speaking.
“I should kill you too,” he said in a hard voice devoid of emotion. “For betraying the smuggler’s guild if not for leading me into a trap. But I’m willing to deal. Tell me who hired you, then help me off this spaceport. After that, keep your mouth shut and your head down, and you might live.”
An unearthly gasp interrupted Decker, and the Marine spotted a hand reaching for a discarded needler out of the corner of his eyes. He swung his gun at the prone man and fired two shots. The hand jerked once and stopped moving.
He turned his weapon back on the stevedore, whose terrified gaze was darting everywhere as if looking for an escape. Then, the man’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.
“Fucking amateurs,” Decker muttered in disgust. A quick check confirmed that the rest of the ambush party, save for his guide, was dead. Their weapons, though old, were serviceable but carried only non-lethal rounds.
He pulled out the communicator hidden in his jacket’s inner pocket and switched it on.
“Rookie Trooper to Mother Goose.”
A few seconds passed, then an anonymous female voice, which he knew to be Talyn’s, but masked, replied, “Mother Goose here.”
“The guide led me into an ambush. Our friends are still looking for Matt and thought I could help. The ambush party was low-quality muscle for hire, six of them, and now gone to whatever hell accepts useless garbage. The guide is alive but fainted from fright.”
“Acknowledged. Any changes to the mission parameters?”
“No. But watch yourselves. Don’t trust the smuggler’s guild around here. They’ve been bought off.”
“Understood. What about the guide?”
“I’m nowhere near the back door to this place. Once he’s taken me there, I’ll set him loose.”
“Terminate him. We can’t afford anyone running to our friends. Better they’re faced with a mystery.” When Decker didn’t respond at once, Talyn said, “That wasn’t a suggestion, Rookie Trooper.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Was there anything else?”
“No.”
“Mother Goose, out.”
Decker leaned over the stevedore and backhanded him across the face.
“Wake up, asshole.”
The man’s eyes fluttered open, then widened when they stared up the barrel of Zack’s weapon again.
“I need to know who hired you and where I can find the nearest exit.”
A faint noise from above reached Decker’s ears, and the stevedore’s head exploded in a pink mist.
— SEVENTEEN —
Reflexes took over, and Decker dropped back toward the dubious shelter offered by the open door, weapon held high, while his eyes searched the warehouse’s dark upper recesses for the shooter.
He expected a second round from what he figured was a rail gun, but saw nothing more than a small, native, eight-legged critter scamper across the cracked concrete, stop for a moment beside each of the bodies before vanishing into the gloom, clearly uninterested by human flesh.
When nothing else happened, Decker decided the stevedore’s killing came under the heading of cleanup job, to make sure no one could trace the abortive attempt to its sponsors. Kudos to the Sécurité Spéciale, if this was their handiwork, for covering every eventuality. He called Haukka to inform Talyn of this latest development.
“Strange that the cleaner didn’t try taking you out as well,” she said once he finished speaking. “You’re a loose end too.”
“Could be he or she was there to kill the goons if they failed, especially since I claimed not to know Mattias Kenly. Or they figured that my death would raise too many uncomfortable questions, not least among the local smuggler’s guild, while the rat pack that tried to jump me was expendable. Now to find my own way through the spaceport’s security perimeter.”
“That shouldn’t be hard for an old-time recon trooper. Just avoid increasing the body count. Mother Goose, out.”
Decker left the doorway’s shadow and stepped back into the alley, looking for anything that could guide him to the nearest potential exit, but in vain. The surrounding warehouses shrunk his horizon to only a few dozen meters. Using the sun and his mind’s eye view of the spaceport map, he set off in what was the right direction, though without knowing whether it would lead him to one of the exits preferred by shady operators.
After finding himself in a few blind alleys and having to reverse course, he finally emerged on the perimeter road running along the high wall that separated the spaceport from Hamar’s less savory outskirts. The workers he met along the way paid him little attention, and he wasn’t inclined to ask anyone about the best place to cross the wall unnoticed. He turned right on the perimeter road, figuring the further he went from the spaceport terminal proper, the more likely he was to find his exit.
Decker finally came around a corner and saw a stream of humans, most wearing faded dockworkers’ clothes, heading for a gate recessed into the wall. He’d caught the late afternoon shift change as planned before his guide’s betrayal. A few gave him curious glances as he joined the queue to pass through the security checkpoint, but most seemed lost in their own tired thoughts.
A finger tapped his arm as he neared the gate and a rough, but distinctly female voice said, “You aren’t passing through security like that, cully.”
Decker glanced over his shoulder and into a face prematurely aged by hard work and even harder living. Deeply set dark eyes beneath a shock of tight, curly gray hair stared back at him without hostility.
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re not working the spaceport, that’s clear because you look like a spacer, not a wharf rat. This here checkpoint is for dockworkers only. If you don’t show the proper ID, that security AI over there will whistle up spaceport police. Then your troubles really start.”
Decker nodded his thanks. “Appreciate the warning, and you’re right. I’m fresh off a starship, but my native guide didn’t show up, so I’m trying to find my way.”
