No Remorse, page 6
Talyn’s thin lips twisted into a smirk. “Funny how they still haven’t figured out you’re a rabid fan of explosive solutions to every one of life’s little problems.”
“And this time, I solved two problems in one go.”
“Oh?” She cocked a questioning eyebrow. “And what would the second one be?”
“I’ve escaped Camp X duty.”
“For now.” When she saw the glint in his bloodshot eyes, she added, “But you’re still not traveling to Scandia.”
“I’d say this latest incident pretty much supports the notion my daughter’s disappearance isn’t just a random event. They counted on my reacting as I did, hoping I’d leave Camp X, with or without authorization. Maybe they even thought I’d be recalled to Sanctum for a personal talk with the commodore. Whatever. It worked up until I decided opening fire was my sole alternative.”
“Or our enemies had an abduction plan lined up just waiting for one of us to be vulnerable. And when you showed up here on Friday night, one of theirs, someone still at large, spotted you, called it in, and they pulled the trigger. Nothing to do with Saga.”
“Either alternative is plausible,” Ulrich conceded with a nod. “But if the Black Sword mole is at Camp X, why wait until Sunday? Why not try on Friday evening?”
“Time for one thing. I requested the skimmer only an hour before my departure. That was the first anyone at Camp X knew I was heading to Sanctum. Between the time it would take to warn the opposition and then set the trap, I’d be here already. Then, they probably also figured I wouldn’t be as alert on Sunday night, after a weekend of carousing.”
“I doubt they’ll try a similar trick again,” Ulrich said. “Not after it failed with such spectacular results. And speaking of results,” he climbed to his feet, “Hera and I are meeting the Chief in ten minutes. It’s all hands on deck for Naval Intelligence tonight — now that there’s proof of further Black Sword rot in our midst. Try to rest, Major, and don’t leave the hospital until Hera fetches you in the morning. You’re officially on lockdown, complete with guards in the hallway. I’m sure you don’t need an explanation why.”
“No, sir.”
“We can’t afford another towering inferno. I’m sure the Governor General of Caledonia is already giving Grand Admiral Larsson an earful about the Fleet turning Highway One into a flaming mess.”
“Understood, sir. But I can’t control the enemy’s actions.”
“Just make sure you control yours. Good night.”
Talyn blew Decker a kiss, then followed her commanding officer out the door, leaving the Marine to his thoughts. And to his inflamed nerve endings.
**
Monday morning turned into Monday afternoon before Talyn stuck her head through the doorway to Decker’s hospital room. “You’re not AWOL. Good. Does that mean you’re turning into a responsible, mature senior officer?”
“No. It means I’m still feeling my aches and pains, and can’t take on the two meatheads standing guard in the hallway. One, maybe, but not both. Did you come to spring me?”
She stepped into the room with a bundle tucked under her arm and nodded. “Yes, and escort you back to your apartment, where you’ll find everything you need to convalesce. You’re confined to quarters until further notice, by order of the Chief of Naval Intelligence.”
Decker put on a wounded air. “Hey, I’m the victim here, remember? Why is the Chief punishing me?”
“Something about avoiding a flare-up of violence at the heart of Fleet HQ, no doubt. Josh Bayliss will take over from you at Camp X for the next six weeks. He’s wrapping up things today and handing responsibility for the Pathfinder School to the Standards Squadron sergeant major tomorrow. I spoke with Rolf Painter, and he’ll run things until Josh shows up. Pavlik Hineman has no issues with the changes. They send their regards and wish you a speedy recovery.”
The Marine snorted. “What? No snide remarks about my propensity for causing big bangs?”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “Josh did touch on your unfortunate habit of overdoing things.”
“That’s more like it.” Decker threw back the covers and sat up, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a soft groan. “I will need gentleness from you, my dear.”
“That goes without saying. Exerting yourself is forbidden.”
“If you do all the work, I won’t need to.” He smirked at her as he climbed to his feet.
She tossed the bundle she’d been carrying on the bed and nodded at it. “Clean clothes. Get dressed so I can take you home and return to work.”
“My sidearm?”
“In your quarters, along with what you were wearing yesterday.”
While Decker swapped the hospital pajamas for a set of loose workout clothes, he asked, “Anything new on my misadventure?”
Talyn shook her head. “Not much. The repair section found no indications of a tracking device. But like I said, it might not have survived your bouncing around.”
“If they knew what my car looked like and saw me leave the base, the buggers wouldn’t need a tracking device. What about the road train?”
“There’s not much left. The police and fire service will do the usual forensic analysis, of course, but from what I’ve seen, I doubt we’ll find any clues about the generator and reactor’s origin.”
“You went up there?”
“At first light. Don’t worry, I took a platoon from the quick reaction force along as bodyguards.”
“Which is why you’re late springing me from this place.” He stepped into a pair of light shoes. “Done. Let’s go.”
His first few steps came with a barely suppressed grimace as bruised muscles made their displeasure known.
“Tender?” Talyn asked.
“A little stiff, nothing more.” When she didn’t reply, contenting herself with a sympathetic smile, he asked, “You’re not turning my comment into a acerbic joke? Are you actually feeling empathy for others?”
“No. I can’t feel empathy for anyone, not even you. But I can feign it well enough to fool most, and that means no crude remarks when an injured man misspeaks.”
Decker gave her a broad grin. “Bullshit. I know there’s a soft spot for me somewhere inside that soulless void.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
They crossed the base via its underground transportation network, this time availing themselves of the silent, smooth, automated passenger carriers instead of walking.
Once in the senior officers’ apartment block lobby, Talyn asked, “Can I trust you to go straight up and settle in? Or do you need an escort to make sure you obey orders? I really must return to work.”
The Marine raised a solemn hand. “I’ll go to my quarters without making any detours, promised. But if I’m missing a few things in the food and drink department, can I ask the commissary to make a delivery or should I call on you to shop for me?”
“Everything you need is already there.” She gently touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Try to relax, Big Boy. Catch up on your historical readings. Or if you insist on feeling useful, put a briefing package together for Josh, so he can at least pretend to follow your lead at Camp X. I’ll see you when I’m done with the latest crop of brush fires, not least those resulting from last night.”
“Sucks to be the commodore’s chief of staff, doesn’t it?”
“Would I rather be in the field? Yes. But he needs me at his side right now.” When Decker opened his mouth to reply, she pointed at the lift. “Off to your quarters.”
“Aye, aye, Commander, sir.” As Talyn turned to leave, he added, “And if you want to feel even more useful tonight, I might enjoy a massage...”
“I’m sure you would,” she tossed over her shoulder before vanishing down the stairs again.
As promised, his apartment was fully stocked with a week’s worth of meals and his favorite tipples. He also found a hand-written note from Commodore Ulrich pinned to the wall, a not-so-subtle reminder he was confined to quarters by order of the CNI.
Decker found a dozen Shrehari ales in his refrigerator bearing the alien label identifying them as five-year-old T’klach vintage. Talyn’s doing again. He took one of them, uncapped it, and raised the greenish, twisted bottle in a sardonic toast to his would-be abductors.
“May you dumb assholes continue to fail in the most spectacular way possible.”
Before Decker could swallow a single sip of the potent brew, his apartment’s comlink chimed for attention. The Fleet’s starburst, anchor, and crossed swords insignia swam into existence before his eyes, followed by words announcing an incoming personal message routed through the HQ communications center. He presented his credentials and accepted the missive, then took that delayed sip of ale while staring at his console with suspicious eyes, wondering whether it augured more bad news.
“Play the message.”
“It is text only, accompanied by a static image,” an AI’s voice replied.
Words suspended in midair shimmered before his eyes.
Congratulations on surviving the highway holocaust you created yesterday, Major Decker. We should have expected you to take the risk of firing on the tractor beam generator at point-blank range, trusting in your car’s hardened passenger compartment for survival. But the game is merely beginning.
The holographic image of a young, long-haired, blond woman with deep blue eyes replaced the words. Though Zack Decker hadn’t seen his daughter since she was a child, the Marine recognized her immediately. Saga’s features faintly echoed his own. But the hard lines she’d inherited from him were mercifully tempered by her mother’s softness, although without entirely disguising an innate air of stubbornness Decker recognized whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. And she seemed scared.
“Open a link with Commander Talyn,” he ordered the AI in a tight tone, “and then ask the communications center do a full trace-back on this message.”
— EIGHT —
“The preliminary analysis of the hologram shows it’s a human and not an avatar,” Hera Talyn said, not bothering with a greeting when Decker accepted her call later that afternoon. “However, the image has been sanitized of any traces that might show where it was taken. The message itself was cleansed of tags, but the communication center’s trace-back points at it originating on Caledonia. Although from where remains a mystery. It bounced several times around the planet via the satellite constellation, obscuring the point of transmission. The signals intelligence folks will keep at it, but don’t hold your breath. Are you sure it was Saga?”
“As sure as I can be after twenty years. She looks like such a convincing blend of Ingrid and me that I can’t see her being anyone else.”
“You of all people should remember how easily a good disguise can fool even the best biometric scanners.”
“I’m not a biometric scanner, honey. Parents are a lot harder to fool. We can recognize our offspring even years later because we see ourselves. If that wasn’t Saga, then whoever made her up to look like my daughter needs to come work for us.” Decker shrugged with irritation. “Besides, it’s clear the opposition know who my daughter is, whether or not that was Saga, and are using her to reach me. It’s no longer speculation but hard fact. Stuff that up your plasma conduit, Chief of Staff.”
“No need to invoke unnatural acts, Zack. I’m well aware of the situation, and I think the message is merely part of whatever they’ve hatched to draw us out after their abduction attempt failed.”
“Aye,” he nodded. “And I expect them to reach out again at any moment with part two, designed to trigger a rash move on my part.”
“Which you will not act on,” she warned in a tone that brooked no reply. “Further communiqués come straight to me. You will not leave your apartment, or call anyone other than the boss or me, in case Yang wasn’t the only turncoat in Special Operations. The opposition still has people close to us as last night’s events prove.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “The expected response, Major, is yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” he parroted without the slightest trace of irony in his tone. “Of course, keeping me confined to quarters works better with incentives.”
“Drink another ale, watch a bit of entertainment. I’ll be home when I’ve put out today’s fires.” Her image faded away, leaving the Marine alone once more with his worries.
Inaction never suited Decker, even if his entire body ached from bouncing around the highway, but he knew better than to drown his worries in alcohol. Becoming a booze hound ultimately saw him shanghaied into Naval Intelligence years earlier, albeit via an incredibly twisted route. If he hadn’t staggered into an old buddy’s bar on Aramis looking for a drink or ten...
Decker made himself another cup of coffee and dove into the latest literary find he’d dug up from the HQ archives, hoping it would help settle his troubled thoughts.
It didn’t, but reading about the follies and foibles of a long-gone military intelligence organization serving a totalitarian state kept him mildly entertained. Especially since he saw the Fleet’s future reflected in that historical account, should the Coalition attain its goal.
A stab of hunger pulled him back to the present. He glanced at the time display, then noticed darkness settling over Sanctum. Yet so far, no sign of Talyn.
Decker threw together a solitary meal and ate while watching the local newscast. Last night’s incident still topped the list of current events, but thanks to the HQ Civil Affairs officers, it was petering out into nothing more than an unfortunate accident. One that caught a member of the Armed Services returning to his duty station.
At around eight in the evening, Decker’s AI finally piped up. “Commander Talyn has entered her quarters.”
“Open our side of the connecting door.” He pulled a bottle of Glen Arcturus, his favorite whiskey, and two tumblers from the drinks cupboard, then set them on his sitting room table.
Talyn’s side of the connecting door hissed open. She stepped through, face etched by fatigue, and unfastened her tunic with a sigh of contentment. Decker pointed at the bottle, eyebrows raised in question, and she nodded.
“Tough day in the bureaucratic trenches?” The Marine asked while he poured a healthy measure into each glass.
“There might be an as yet undiscovered black hole in the Scandia system.” She dropped into a chair across from him.
Decker handed her a glass, then raised his in salute. “Smert Chyohrniy Mech.”
“Right now, I’ll drink to anything, but that needs translating.”
“Death to Black Sword. It’s Russian.” He pointed at his reader. “I spend the afternoon getting an education on the ruthlessness of military intelligence agencies in dictatorships, specifically the Soviet Glavnoye razvedyvatel’noye upravleniye, circa second half of the twentieth century.”
“You’ve been studying the past to predict the future?” She asked after swallowing a healthy mouthful of the potent, amber liquid. “Perhaps not a bad idea, considering.”
“What’s this black hole in the Scandia system?” He settled back in his favorite chair, the whiskey tumbler cradled in one hand.
“First your daughter vanishes, then the Scandian cops ask us if we’ve heard from your ex-wife and now one of ours disappears.”
“Maybe Shrehari corsairs are trolling for slaves on our side of the border. Which one of ours?”
“Remember Garrett Montero?” Talyn took another sip.
“Yeah. Lieutenant commander, likes to work solo under deep cover, almost as big as I am, but only half as mean.”
“Though with a lot more roguish charm. He’s back aboard our favorite undercover Q-ship and has been building a new identity to go with his new face, but still working his old job ferreting out intelligence under a smuggler’s guise. And he’s still operating alone. Or at least he was operating alone.” She sighed again.
Decker studied her through narrowed eyes. “Are you saying Garrett and Phoenix, or whatever Amali’s old yacht is called these days, went walkabout without leaving a forwarding address?”
Talyn nodded once. “Garrett has. He established his new home base in the Scandia system. I asked him to keep an ear to the ground for anything about your daughter and possible activity by the opposition. It was more as a matter of course than anything else since he’s our only operative out there. Call it ‘a be on the lookout bulletin’ if you like. Garrett acknowledged my transmission, then went silent. I pinged his ship, now named Haukka, a few days ago, posing as a potential customer, but received a reply from the Breidablik port master’s office instead. Haukka is still sitting in her berth, but there’s been no sign of Garrett anywhere since shortly after my first message. The port master is wondering who will take over the ship and pay the docking fees.”
“Breidablik? Isn’t that a free port on Scandia’s moon?”
“It is. And before you ask, the harbormaster’s office found no evidence of Garrett leaving the habitat or anything to show he was still there either. Like I said, there’s something sucking up people in that part of the Rim Sector.” She drained her glass, then allowed herself a heartfelt, half-whispered curse. “If anyone could dodge those Sécurité Spéciale bastards and their hirelings, it should be Garrett Montero. He’s settled into his new identity by now and can pass for a true scoundrel. I’d hate to think what his falling into the enemy’s hands means for the thin smattering of less experienced officers out there.”
“It means you and I need to get off our asses and back in the field.” He grabbed the bottle and held it up. “Another slug?”
“Sure.” She slid her glass across the smooth tabletop.
“Consider this.” Decker poured her a generous measure. “I’m being replaced by a guy who can teach my stuff as well if not better than me. The boss can surely find another minion to fight his bureaucratic battles — perhaps Pavlik Hineman. We recruit an officer from the 1st Special Forces Regiment to replace him at Camp X, and everything’s sorted. There’s no one with enough experience available we can send to Scandia other than us. Not if the enemy is operating against Naval Intelligence in full force out there. And with Garrett gone, someone needs to recover Haukka.”
“And this time, I solved two problems in one go.”
“Oh?” She cocked a questioning eyebrow. “And what would the second one be?”
“I’ve escaped Camp X duty.”
“For now.” When she saw the glint in his bloodshot eyes, she added, “But you’re still not traveling to Scandia.”
“I’d say this latest incident pretty much supports the notion my daughter’s disappearance isn’t just a random event. They counted on my reacting as I did, hoping I’d leave Camp X, with or without authorization. Maybe they even thought I’d be recalled to Sanctum for a personal talk with the commodore. Whatever. It worked up until I decided opening fire was my sole alternative.”
“Or our enemies had an abduction plan lined up just waiting for one of us to be vulnerable. And when you showed up here on Friday night, one of theirs, someone still at large, spotted you, called it in, and they pulled the trigger. Nothing to do with Saga.”
“Either alternative is plausible,” Ulrich conceded with a nod. “But if the Black Sword mole is at Camp X, why wait until Sunday? Why not try on Friday evening?”
“Time for one thing. I requested the skimmer only an hour before my departure. That was the first anyone at Camp X knew I was heading to Sanctum. Between the time it would take to warn the opposition and then set the trap, I’d be here already. Then, they probably also figured I wouldn’t be as alert on Sunday night, after a weekend of carousing.”
“I doubt they’ll try a similar trick again,” Ulrich said. “Not after it failed with such spectacular results. And speaking of results,” he climbed to his feet, “Hera and I are meeting the Chief in ten minutes. It’s all hands on deck for Naval Intelligence tonight — now that there’s proof of further Black Sword rot in our midst. Try to rest, Major, and don’t leave the hospital until Hera fetches you in the morning. You’re officially on lockdown, complete with guards in the hallway. I’m sure you don’t need an explanation why.”
“No, sir.”
“We can’t afford another towering inferno. I’m sure the Governor General of Caledonia is already giving Grand Admiral Larsson an earful about the Fleet turning Highway One into a flaming mess.”
“Understood, sir. But I can’t control the enemy’s actions.”
“Just make sure you control yours. Good night.”
Talyn blew Decker a kiss, then followed her commanding officer out the door, leaving the Marine to his thoughts. And to his inflamed nerve endings.
**
Monday morning turned into Monday afternoon before Talyn stuck her head through the doorway to Decker’s hospital room. “You’re not AWOL. Good. Does that mean you’re turning into a responsible, mature senior officer?”
“No. It means I’m still feeling my aches and pains, and can’t take on the two meatheads standing guard in the hallway. One, maybe, but not both. Did you come to spring me?”
She stepped into the room with a bundle tucked under her arm and nodded. “Yes, and escort you back to your apartment, where you’ll find everything you need to convalesce. You’re confined to quarters until further notice, by order of the Chief of Naval Intelligence.”
Decker put on a wounded air. “Hey, I’m the victim here, remember? Why is the Chief punishing me?”
“Something about avoiding a flare-up of violence at the heart of Fleet HQ, no doubt. Josh Bayliss will take over from you at Camp X for the next six weeks. He’s wrapping up things today and handing responsibility for the Pathfinder School to the Standards Squadron sergeant major tomorrow. I spoke with Rolf Painter, and he’ll run things until Josh shows up. Pavlik Hineman has no issues with the changes. They send their regards and wish you a speedy recovery.”
The Marine snorted. “What? No snide remarks about my propensity for causing big bangs?”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “Josh did touch on your unfortunate habit of overdoing things.”
“That’s more like it.” Decker threw back the covers and sat up, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a soft groan. “I will need gentleness from you, my dear.”
“That goes without saying. Exerting yourself is forbidden.”
“If you do all the work, I won’t need to.” He smirked at her as he climbed to his feet.
She tossed the bundle she’d been carrying on the bed and nodded at it. “Clean clothes. Get dressed so I can take you home and return to work.”
“My sidearm?”
“In your quarters, along with what you were wearing yesterday.”
While Decker swapped the hospital pajamas for a set of loose workout clothes, he asked, “Anything new on my misadventure?”
Talyn shook her head. “Not much. The repair section found no indications of a tracking device. But like I said, it might not have survived your bouncing around.”
“If they knew what my car looked like and saw me leave the base, the buggers wouldn’t need a tracking device. What about the road train?”
“There’s not much left. The police and fire service will do the usual forensic analysis, of course, but from what I’ve seen, I doubt we’ll find any clues about the generator and reactor’s origin.”
“You went up there?”
“At first light. Don’t worry, I took a platoon from the quick reaction force along as bodyguards.”
“Which is why you’re late springing me from this place.” He stepped into a pair of light shoes. “Done. Let’s go.”
His first few steps came with a barely suppressed grimace as bruised muscles made their displeasure known.
“Tender?” Talyn asked.
“A little stiff, nothing more.” When she didn’t reply, contenting herself with a sympathetic smile, he asked, “You’re not turning my comment into a acerbic joke? Are you actually feeling empathy for others?”
“No. I can’t feel empathy for anyone, not even you. But I can feign it well enough to fool most, and that means no crude remarks when an injured man misspeaks.”
Decker gave her a broad grin. “Bullshit. I know there’s a soft spot for me somewhere inside that soulless void.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
They crossed the base via its underground transportation network, this time availing themselves of the silent, smooth, automated passenger carriers instead of walking.
Once in the senior officers’ apartment block lobby, Talyn asked, “Can I trust you to go straight up and settle in? Or do you need an escort to make sure you obey orders? I really must return to work.”
The Marine raised a solemn hand. “I’ll go to my quarters without making any detours, promised. But if I’m missing a few things in the food and drink department, can I ask the commissary to make a delivery or should I call on you to shop for me?”
“Everything you need is already there.” She gently touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Try to relax, Big Boy. Catch up on your historical readings. Or if you insist on feeling useful, put a briefing package together for Josh, so he can at least pretend to follow your lead at Camp X. I’ll see you when I’m done with the latest crop of brush fires, not least those resulting from last night.”
“Sucks to be the commodore’s chief of staff, doesn’t it?”
“Would I rather be in the field? Yes. But he needs me at his side right now.” When Decker opened his mouth to reply, she pointed at the lift. “Off to your quarters.”
“Aye, aye, Commander, sir.” As Talyn turned to leave, he added, “And if you want to feel even more useful tonight, I might enjoy a massage...”
“I’m sure you would,” she tossed over her shoulder before vanishing down the stairs again.
As promised, his apartment was fully stocked with a week’s worth of meals and his favorite tipples. He also found a hand-written note from Commodore Ulrich pinned to the wall, a not-so-subtle reminder he was confined to quarters by order of the CNI.
Decker found a dozen Shrehari ales in his refrigerator bearing the alien label identifying them as five-year-old T’klach vintage. Talyn’s doing again. He took one of them, uncapped it, and raised the greenish, twisted bottle in a sardonic toast to his would-be abductors.
“May you dumb assholes continue to fail in the most spectacular way possible.”
Before Decker could swallow a single sip of the potent brew, his apartment’s comlink chimed for attention. The Fleet’s starburst, anchor, and crossed swords insignia swam into existence before his eyes, followed by words announcing an incoming personal message routed through the HQ communications center. He presented his credentials and accepted the missive, then took that delayed sip of ale while staring at his console with suspicious eyes, wondering whether it augured more bad news.
“Play the message.”
“It is text only, accompanied by a static image,” an AI’s voice replied.
Words suspended in midair shimmered before his eyes.
Congratulations on surviving the highway holocaust you created yesterday, Major Decker. We should have expected you to take the risk of firing on the tractor beam generator at point-blank range, trusting in your car’s hardened passenger compartment for survival. But the game is merely beginning.
The holographic image of a young, long-haired, blond woman with deep blue eyes replaced the words. Though Zack Decker hadn’t seen his daughter since she was a child, the Marine recognized her immediately. Saga’s features faintly echoed his own. But the hard lines she’d inherited from him were mercifully tempered by her mother’s softness, although without entirely disguising an innate air of stubbornness Decker recognized whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. And she seemed scared.
“Open a link with Commander Talyn,” he ordered the AI in a tight tone, “and then ask the communications center do a full trace-back on this message.”
— EIGHT —
“The preliminary analysis of the hologram shows it’s a human and not an avatar,” Hera Talyn said, not bothering with a greeting when Decker accepted her call later that afternoon. “However, the image has been sanitized of any traces that might show where it was taken. The message itself was cleansed of tags, but the communication center’s trace-back points at it originating on Caledonia. Although from where remains a mystery. It bounced several times around the planet via the satellite constellation, obscuring the point of transmission. The signals intelligence folks will keep at it, but don’t hold your breath. Are you sure it was Saga?”
“As sure as I can be after twenty years. She looks like such a convincing blend of Ingrid and me that I can’t see her being anyone else.”
“You of all people should remember how easily a good disguise can fool even the best biometric scanners.”
“I’m not a biometric scanner, honey. Parents are a lot harder to fool. We can recognize our offspring even years later because we see ourselves. If that wasn’t Saga, then whoever made her up to look like my daughter needs to come work for us.” Decker shrugged with irritation. “Besides, it’s clear the opposition know who my daughter is, whether or not that was Saga, and are using her to reach me. It’s no longer speculation but hard fact. Stuff that up your plasma conduit, Chief of Staff.”
“No need to invoke unnatural acts, Zack. I’m well aware of the situation, and I think the message is merely part of whatever they’ve hatched to draw us out after their abduction attempt failed.”
“Aye,” he nodded. “And I expect them to reach out again at any moment with part two, designed to trigger a rash move on my part.”
“Which you will not act on,” she warned in a tone that brooked no reply. “Further communiqués come straight to me. You will not leave your apartment, or call anyone other than the boss or me, in case Yang wasn’t the only turncoat in Special Operations. The opposition still has people close to us as last night’s events prove.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “The expected response, Major, is yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” he parroted without the slightest trace of irony in his tone. “Of course, keeping me confined to quarters works better with incentives.”
“Drink another ale, watch a bit of entertainment. I’ll be home when I’ve put out today’s fires.” Her image faded away, leaving the Marine alone once more with his worries.
Inaction never suited Decker, even if his entire body ached from bouncing around the highway, but he knew better than to drown his worries in alcohol. Becoming a booze hound ultimately saw him shanghaied into Naval Intelligence years earlier, albeit via an incredibly twisted route. If he hadn’t staggered into an old buddy’s bar on Aramis looking for a drink or ten...
Decker made himself another cup of coffee and dove into the latest literary find he’d dug up from the HQ archives, hoping it would help settle his troubled thoughts.
It didn’t, but reading about the follies and foibles of a long-gone military intelligence organization serving a totalitarian state kept him mildly entertained. Especially since he saw the Fleet’s future reflected in that historical account, should the Coalition attain its goal.
A stab of hunger pulled him back to the present. He glanced at the time display, then noticed darkness settling over Sanctum. Yet so far, no sign of Talyn.
Decker threw together a solitary meal and ate while watching the local newscast. Last night’s incident still topped the list of current events, but thanks to the HQ Civil Affairs officers, it was petering out into nothing more than an unfortunate accident. One that caught a member of the Armed Services returning to his duty station.
At around eight in the evening, Decker’s AI finally piped up. “Commander Talyn has entered her quarters.”
“Open our side of the connecting door.” He pulled a bottle of Glen Arcturus, his favorite whiskey, and two tumblers from the drinks cupboard, then set them on his sitting room table.
Talyn’s side of the connecting door hissed open. She stepped through, face etched by fatigue, and unfastened her tunic with a sigh of contentment. Decker pointed at the bottle, eyebrows raised in question, and she nodded.
“Tough day in the bureaucratic trenches?” The Marine asked while he poured a healthy measure into each glass.
“There might be an as yet undiscovered black hole in the Scandia system.” She dropped into a chair across from him.
Decker handed her a glass, then raised his in salute. “Smert Chyohrniy Mech.”
“Right now, I’ll drink to anything, but that needs translating.”
“Death to Black Sword. It’s Russian.” He pointed at his reader. “I spend the afternoon getting an education on the ruthlessness of military intelligence agencies in dictatorships, specifically the Soviet Glavnoye razvedyvatel’noye upravleniye, circa second half of the twentieth century.”
“You’ve been studying the past to predict the future?” She asked after swallowing a healthy mouthful of the potent, amber liquid. “Perhaps not a bad idea, considering.”
“What’s this black hole in the Scandia system?” He settled back in his favorite chair, the whiskey tumbler cradled in one hand.
“First your daughter vanishes, then the Scandian cops ask us if we’ve heard from your ex-wife and now one of ours disappears.”
“Maybe Shrehari corsairs are trolling for slaves on our side of the border. Which one of ours?”
“Remember Garrett Montero?” Talyn took another sip.
“Yeah. Lieutenant commander, likes to work solo under deep cover, almost as big as I am, but only half as mean.”
“Though with a lot more roguish charm. He’s back aboard our favorite undercover Q-ship and has been building a new identity to go with his new face, but still working his old job ferreting out intelligence under a smuggler’s guise. And he’s still operating alone. Or at least he was operating alone.” She sighed again.
Decker studied her through narrowed eyes. “Are you saying Garrett and Phoenix, or whatever Amali’s old yacht is called these days, went walkabout without leaving a forwarding address?”
Talyn nodded once. “Garrett has. He established his new home base in the Scandia system. I asked him to keep an ear to the ground for anything about your daughter and possible activity by the opposition. It was more as a matter of course than anything else since he’s our only operative out there. Call it ‘a be on the lookout bulletin’ if you like. Garrett acknowledged my transmission, then went silent. I pinged his ship, now named Haukka, a few days ago, posing as a potential customer, but received a reply from the Breidablik port master’s office instead. Haukka is still sitting in her berth, but there’s been no sign of Garrett anywhere since shortly after my first message. The port master is wondering who will take over the ship and pay the docking fees.”
“Breidablik? Isn’t that a free port on Scandia’s moon?”
“It is. And before you ask, the harbormaster’s office found no evidence of Garrett leaving the habitat or anything to show he was still there either. Like I said, there’s something sucking up people in that part of the Rim Sector.” She drained her glass, then allowed herself a heartfelt, half-whispered curse. “If anyone could dodge those Sécurité Spéciale bastards and their hirelings, it should be Garrett Montero. He’s settled into his new identity by now and can pass for a true scoundrel. I’d hate to think what his falling into the enemy’s hands means for the thin smattering of less experienced officers out there.”
“It means you and I need to get off our asses and back in the field.” He grabbed the bottle and held it up. “Another slug?”
“Sure.” She slid her glass across the smooth tabletop.
“Consider this.” Decker poured her a generous measure. “I’m being replaced by a guy who can teach my stuff as well if not better than me. The boss can surely find another minion to fight his bureaucratic battles — perhaps Pavlik Hineman. We recruit an officer from the 1st Special Forces Regiment to replace him at Camp X, and everything’s sorted. There’s no one with enough experience available we can send to Scandia other than us. Not if the enemy is operating against Naval Intelligence in full force out there. And with Garrett gone, someone needs to recover Haukka.”
