The
door to the room slid aside, the brightness of daylight cutting a
long, rectangular swath across the dark carpet. Senna got only one
foot inside when the muzzle of a pulse pistol was pressed to her
right temple. She gasped but didn't move.
"It's
you," Crais said with obvious relief, putting his pistol back
into its holster. "I didn't want to take the chance.""Trust me," Senna sighed, walking across the room to the dining table. "I completely understand."
She placed the bag she'd been carrying on the table, unpacking the containers of water and food she purchased at a small diner across the street. Crais grabbed one of the bottles and drank deeply. She opened a square container of cold noodle salad, placing it before him. Ravenous, he sat and began to eat without preamble. She sat across from him and started on her own food.
"Any progress with that thing?" Senna asked around a mouthful of food, pointing to the information access terminal on the desk behind him.
"Little to none," he replied after swallowing. "Computers are sadly not my area of expertise."
"Well, you're in luck." She smiled, wiping her hands on a napkin and rising from the table.
Crais turned in his chair to watch as she used her thumbnail to loosen a clamp on the back of the terminal. Lifting up the top and exposing its inner workings, she looked over the crystals, wires and connectors with brow furrowed.
"Sebacean tech is different from human," she said as she carefully jimmied a crystal up and out of the device. "But not incomprehensible."
After studying it for a moment she motioned for Crais to hand her one of the small metal utensils from the dining table. Taking it from him, she began to shave an edge of the crystal with painstaking precision. Using the knife-like tip, she pried another crystal out, replacing it with the one she'd shaved.
"Scanner?" she asked, extending a hand out to him.
Crais placed the device in her palm and she was popping it open in a microt, digging wires and connectors from its innards. She found what she was looking for. Taking it between thumb and forefinger, she inserted it into the slot left vacant by the first crystal. She quickly jury-rigged a connection. Closing the top of the information terminal, she left just enough room that the wires from the scanner wouldn't be crushed.
"Give me the ident-chip," she said without looking at him.
He opened his uniform tunic, slipping the cord with the chip on it from around his neck.
"This is not my original ident-chip." He admitted with a grimace. "I made modifications soon after I took Talyn."
"That was smart," she replied distractedly, taking the chip and sliding it into the port.
An image of the main landing field's directory came up.
"Okay, tell me what I'm looking at." She said.
Crais rose and leaned over her shoulder to look at the information. She stiffened momentarily at his closeness then slid aside to let him use the keypad. He tapped in several symbols and was rewarded with a swirling red image. As it coalesced above the terminal he smiled. The main registrar's arrival logs.
"You've done well," he said softly.
"I'm a natural-born geek," she admitted uncomfortably.
He spared her an uncomprehending look, eyebrows high.
"A tech," she corrected.
He nodded and turned back to the terminal to read the information. After several microts, he drew in a sharp, hissing breath and straightened as if struck. The look on his face was one of worry and fear. He spun and walked away from the terminal.
"What?" She asked watching him pace across the room.
"Basically the sum of my worst fears," he admitted his voice tight and angry.
"What?" she pressed, touching his shoulder without thinking. He turned to her and did not pull away from her touch. "What is it, Bialar?"
"They are from the Mhultaan," he said staring into her face intensely. "My second officer. . .and others."
"Oh, damn," Senna swore. "What're we going to do?"
"We can't leave without the materiel for Talyn," Crais said, turning away from her again, walking back and forth tensely. "We also cannot be discovered by Lt. Braca. I have no doubts about where his loyalties lie. Bringing my head in on a jinka pole would do wonders for his career."
"Jesus wept," Senna whispered.
"We're trapped here until they leave," Crais growled, furious at being in such a weak position. "We don't dare move about the city or go to the munitions complex. As for food and water, I can't think of sending you out again. Even in a passing encounter, Braca's people would know you're no Peacekeeper."
She seemed on the verge of some retort about how she'd warned him of this fact before they left Talyn, but thankfully held her tongue.
Instead, after a moment she offered: "The desk clerk downstairs said something about a festival starting today."
Crais shook his head saying, "Festival of Dhan, deity of the harvest on this planet. I saw information postings about it on our way into the city."
"Surely the city will be filled with people coming to this thing," she said, her words pouring out in a rush. "Wouldn't I be just another face in the crowd?"
"I cannot risk it," Crais countered sharply, turning an angry glare on her.
"And us starving is your only alternative?" she replied just as angrily.
They stood stock still, staring hard at one another for several uncomfortable microts.
At last she said, "I'll watch my step. I'm good at that. Remember, I survived nearly two cycles with the Tirysp. I can survive a grocery run."
The lone Expeditionary Directorate light cruiser was unprepared for the Scarran attack at the outskirts of the Yrunndas system.
"Commander Nagen," the young navigation officer yelled above the din of the first volley of cannon fire. "Scarran mid-class fighter."
The old officer grabbed the console before them to steady himself as the cruiser rocked from another hit.
"Get us out of here," Nagen snapped, slapping the flat of his hand down on the console. "We're no match for them. Get us back to the Freydahl."
"Sir!" the navigator affirmed, plotting the course with nimble fingers.
Another round of cannon fire shook the ship, sending personnel around the command core sprawling to the deck. Nagen and the navigator pulled themselves to their feet as the cruiser lurched, shuddered violently and slowed.
"They've taken out the main drives," shouted a tech from her station.
"We're not going to make it home alive," Nagen said under his breath, then saw the look on his navigator's face. "Change course for Yrunndas III. We will try to shake them off by diving into the planet's atmosphere. That Scarran ship isn't built for atmospherics."
"Yes, sir." The navigator replied, punching the codes into his panel.
"Once we've lost them, we can make repairs at the munitions complex on the planet." Nagen said with far more confidence than he felt.
Braca maneuvered the ground car out of its parking slot and onto the main highway. The commandos and techs followed in a larger cargo vehicle close behind. Traffic was heavy coming into the city for the Festival of Dhan, but the road leading out to the munitions complex was deserted. He tapped his fingers with impatience on the controls, hating the slowness of ground travel.
Lt. Chalmer, seated beside him, reached out a hand and patted him affectionately on the thigh. He smiled at her then returned his eyes to the road ahead.
"All I can think of is another Scarran attack on the ship," he sighed. "With us plodding along in a ground conveyance when we could be in the marauder and off this planet in a fraction of the time."
"The no-flight zone includes even Peacekeeper ships," Chalmer soothed, referring to the area in and around the capital city during the Festival of Dhan. "We need to respect their local laws if we intend to continue using this planet as a munitions supplier."
"Oh, I understand that," Braca groused with a bitter frown. "It doesn't mean I have to agree with it."
She laughed at him before turning her attention back to the pad in her hand. She made last minute checks of all the materiel she would need for her division's repair efforts.
"Frell!" Braca swore loudly, slamming the ground car to a jerking halt.
Chalmer caught herself on the dash, turning a shocked expression on him. Wordlessly he pointed to an object streaking across the sky in front of them. He jerked open the door beside him and leaped out of the vehicle. The Peacekeeper light cruiser, more fireball now than ship, shot over their heads with a deafening roar.
"For the love of Cholok," said Chalmer.
The commandos and Techs piled out of the cargo vehicle and into the roadway, all eyes locked on the ship as it sped to its death. Braca held his breath as it plummeted nose first into the enormous Temple of Dhan less than a kilometra away. The large crystal and wood structure erupted with the force of a volcano. The ground beneath their boots shook and the air was soon filled with the smell of burning fuel, metal and wood.
Natives began pouring out of their homes around the highway like maddened insects from a hive. Voices rose in a cacophony of disbelief and grief as they watched the flames of their ruined temple leap into the late afternoon sky.
Someone had a portable radio, the voice of a commentator bringing a hush over the growing masses. After a few microts, the owner of the device shoved it upward in an angry fist.
"Peacekeepers!" he shrieked. "That was a Peacekeeper ship destroyed the Temple!"
Braca felt as much as saw all eyes turning toward his people. As the crowd began rumbling forward with growls and angry shouts, he pulled his pulse pistol. Soon the disgruntled people had blocked their way to the ground cars.
"Take cover," he shouted to his personnel as he and Chalmer ran off the road away from the direction of the crash.
He motioned everyone to follow as he led the way, running with all his might, between two houses and into another roadway. He looked desperately for anything that might offer cover where he could take a few microts to think about what to do next. Turning sharply down another street he saw what he was looking for.
The small confectionery store was closed thanks to the festival. Braca kicked the front door open with one try, pushing Chalmer inside and motioning the remainder of his team after her. He followed closely on their heels, slamming the door behind him. The locking mechanism was now shattered. He motioned two commandos to secure the door with their bodies. He ordered the others to fan out in the small shop and secure all windows and any other doors.
"Miklo, we can't stay here," Chalmer said catching her breath.
"Shut up," Braca snapped in reply. "I know that. Give me a microt to think."
"We can't afford to alienate these people," she pressed. "That munitions complex is vital to Peacekeeper interests in this sector."
He murdered her with his stare but said nothing. Before she could comment further, the sounds of sirens and ground cars filled the shop. Braca strode to the nearest window, cursing as he saw several squads of Yrunndasian militia taking up positions in the streets outside.
"You're surrounded Peacekeepers," an amplified voice warned them, dripping with the promise of a slow and painful death. "Drop your weapons and surrender."
Several of the commandos chuckled at this pronouncement but Braca's furious glare silenced them.
"Hold position at every window," he ordered sharply. "Secure the doors at all cost. Rapid burst fire. Kill everyone in sight."
The commandos rushed to comply, opening louvered windows and thrusting the muzzles of their pulse rifles between the slats. The noise of weapons fire from both sides was deafening. Braca and Chalmer took up positions at the front of the shop, joining in the fray with their own pistols.
Most of the Yrunndasian militia was soon lying dead in the streets outside. Braca walked to the rear of the shop as the firing began to die down. As he looked out of the windows to assess a possible escape route, he heard Chalmer cry out sharply. He turned to see her falling, a smoking wound to her right thigh.
He raced to her, going down on one knee and taking her hand in his. Through clenched teeth she whispered his first name then cried out again in pain.
"Tech," he shouted, waving one of Chalmer's people over to them. "Tend the wound."
"Yes, sir," the young girl said, voice quivering.
Braca watched as the Tech worked to stop the bleeding, and then give Chalmer an emergency hypo of painkiller. The lieutenant's face relaxed and she eased herself back on her elbows as the Tech applied a battlefield dressing.
He knew if he allowed reinforcements to arrive, none of them would make it out alive. They would toss in sleep gas grenades, burn the place to the ground or even starve them out if all else failed. He rose and turned to the leading officers of his two squads.
"Squad one, at my signal lay down a suppressing fire so that the Techs, Lt. Chalmer and I can get back to the vehicles." he ordered. "Squad Two, when Squad One is clear, launch the novatrin grenades and get out."
He pulled Chalmer to her feet, leaned down and hefted her into a fireman's carry over his left shoulder. Stepping to the door with Chalmer held secure by his left hand, his pulse pistol in his right, he looked back at his Team.
"Now!" he shouted.
Squad One filed out with lightning speed, their rifles destroying everything in their path. He motioned the Techs to run. He jumped out of the shop after them, firing his pistol and running as fast as Chalmer's weight allowed.
Only microts later, Braca heard the whump of grenade launchers, forcing himself to run faster than he thought possible. He fired blindly at civilians foolish enough to poke their heads from their homes. Breathing hard he came out of the housing area. Their vehicles sat on the roadway unharmed.
He yanked open the door of the cargo car's driving compartment, dropping Chalmer roughly into the seat opposite him. She grunted in painful protest and righted herself.
The engines ignited with an angry, grinding sound as the Techs and commandos piled into the rear compartment. Braca pushed the controls to maximum as a commando secured the door. The cargo vehicle lurched forward, slamming into their ground car and shoving it out of their path. Braca's face was a cold, furious mask as he drove at top speed toward the munitions complex.
Two armed militiamen guarded the front gate of the complex. Without slowing down, Braca drove toward the gate, crushing the guards beneath the cargo vehicle as it plowed through. He stopped right outside the main entrance, shouting for the commandos to disembark from the rear.
Chalmer grimaced, pushing herself out of the driving compartment, landing hard and nearly falling as she hit the ground.
"Stay in the vehicle, Veya," Braca snapped, pulse pistol already in his hand.
"So that any stray militiamen can come murder me?" She grunted as she limped toward him. "I'm coming with you, Miklo."
They had no time to argue. He made a sour face at her, but allowed it.
The front entrance was locked. Braca signaled the commandos to burn their way through. They made short work of the portal. Kicking away shards and lumps of melting metal, they poured into the lobby of the building. Braca, Chalmer and her Techs were right behind them.
A horrified receptionist ran toward them, hands held out submissively before him.
"Please, you can't be here," he said, voice quivering.
Braca held a hand out to Chalmer. She placed the data pad with her acquisitions list on it into his waiting palm.
"We require this materiel," He said, voice like a knife's edge. "You will provide it."
Before the terrified receptionist could take the device, a group of heavily armed workers burst into the lobby from the inner complex. He fled Braca and the commandos, hiding behind the new arrivals.
"I'm Devin Teldo," One particularly large Sebacean barked. "I run this facility."
Braca waved the acquisitions list at him with one hand, pulse pistol still aimed with the other. "We require materiel and will not leave this complex without it."
"We're no longer doing business with Peacekeepers," Teldo said angrily, shaking his pulse rifle for emphasis. "Not since you thoddos plowed one of your ships into our Temple."
"Not to mention that little altercation over in Fhaval Township," another voice from the group rang out in the lobby.
"The ship was obviously attacked," Chalmer replied, her own pulse pistol in hand. "Probably by the Scarrans. Do you really wish to alienate Peacekeeper might when the Scarrans are so near?"
Frightened murmurs came from the gathered workers.
"You have one choice, Teldo," Braca said, his face implacable. "Give us the materiel."
"Or?" Teldo scoffed, tightening the grip on his pulse rifle.
Braca turned a look on Chalmer, face hard, but his eyes seemed almost to ask permission. She nodded her head imperceptibly, lowering her eyes. He made a single motion with his left hand. Pulse fire rang out in the lobby as the workers fell dead before getting off a single shot.
"Officer Garro," Braca snapped, looking down at the smoldering remains of Teldo. "Take the cargo car back to the landing field. Come back with the marauder."
"The no-flight zone," Chalmer said, standing beside him.
He shot her a furious look and barked, "No-flight zone be frelled! Do it!"
The young commando pilot pivoted on her heel and ran out of the complex at top speed.
"Fan out," Braca ordered the remainder of his two squads. "Kill any workers still in this place. No survivors. We can forget a zero presence profile on this planet from now on."
As they moved out of the lobby, Braca grabbed Chalmer by the arm, digging his fingers in until she winced. "Lieutenant, surely you've been a Peacekeeper long enough to know you should never question the orders of your mission leader."
"I've been one long enough to know we need this planet," she hissed trying to pull away from his grasp. "Strategic position, munitions. We can't afford to lose this foothold in the Uncharted Territories."
"We're not going to lose it," he replied releasing her. "They obviously didn't fathom what it meant to refuse us. This is going to be a Peacekeeper stronghold before the cycle is out. This planet's population will have no choice."
Chalmer shook her head knowingly.
"Now, put your Techs to gathering this," he said, roughly handing the data pad back to her.
"Yes, sir," she smiled contritely.
He watched as she hobbled away, her Techs close behind.
Braca looked on as the marauder landed inside the complex's perimeter fence. Chalmer, her Techs and the commandos stood nearby, circled around massive piles of equipment and replacement parts. As soon as the cargo door slid aside, Braca motioned Chalmer and the others to get to the task of loading the materiel.
"Lt. Braca," Officer Garro said as she emerged from the marauder. "Permission to make report."
"Stand easy and report," Braca replied, his attention more on the cargo than upon her.
"Sir, when I was at the landing field, I saw a standard Peacekeeper transport," she said. "Since there had been no previous reports of other troops here, I scanned the pod."
"And," Braca said dismissively.
"At first it seemed everything was in order, but the scanners didn't recognize the signature code," she explained. "On deeper scan I noted that the code had been tampered with."
"A stolen transport pod?" Braca asked finally turning his attention to her.
"Not just any stolen pod, sir." She said with a victorious smile. "The transport pod used by the traitor Crais to make good his escape from the Mhultaan."
Braca's heart was in his throat, his eyes wide. "Crais, here?"
"The registrar's logs show the pod belonging to a Captain Anton. . .and a Lt. Larell." The commando pilot replied, smile widening.
"Shaltan satra," Braca swore under his breath, then to the pilot: "Get ready to take off, Officer Garro. Report to the registrar that we're leaving the planet."
"And the traitor, sir?" she asked respectfully.
"Oh, we're not leaving." Braca smiled bitterly in return. "We only want Crais to think we are."
The commando nodded her understanding, clicking her heels and bowing before returning to the marauder.
Braca walked over to Chalmer, pulling her aside by the arm.
"You'll never guess who else is on this planet." He whispered with a triumphant smirk.
"Not the Scarran Armada, if the look on your face is any indicator," she replied softly.
"Crais," Braca said simply.
Her eyes wide, she turned to face him. "Here? But why?"
"Is that really important?"
"What do you plan to do?"
"We're going to capture him, of course." Braca said with finality. "Scorpius and Magistrate EL-Vashti want him alive, so we will have to be very careful."
"I don't think we're in any danger of him doing something selfless and heroic," she replied.
"Still," he said. "Alive. Else we won't live very long once EL-Vashti found out we were the ones to kill him."
"Alive then," Chalmer scoffed with a bitter grimace. "It's not my place to wonder why he isn't going to the traitor's death he deserves."
"There's more to it than you know," Braca said pulling her farther away from the Techs and commandos. "There's someone else with him. Someone Scorpius wants very badly. She's a human female."
"Human?" hissed Chalmer. "Like John Crichton."
Braca nodded, "EL-Vashti has promised this female to Scorpius in return for Crais being placed in her hands."
"I almost pity him that fate," Chalmer said shuddering inwardly at the mere notion of the IAD.
At sundown Braca walked through the city, a garishly bright cloak hiding his uniform and a festival mask over his face. He walked with a casual swagger, blending into the crowds of revelers filling the streets. Finding the building he was looking for, he stepped through its open doors.
A single militia guard sat dozing at the main desk, his head lolling with the force of his snore. Braca cleared his throat but this failed to rouse the man. Next he reached across the desk and tapped the man's arm. He awoke floundering, nearly falling backward in his chair.
"I've come to report information," Braca said flatly. "I witnessed something out at the munitions complex today."
The man groused, grunted and scratched his grizzled chin before straightening himself.
"What about the munitions complex?" he asked. "This'd better not be some drunken prank. We've enough trouble on our hands from that slaughter out at Fhaval Township."
"I'm from Fhaval," Braca lied smoothly. "I work at the complex."
"Alright then," the man said, thick fingers poised over his terminal. "What'd ya see?"
"Peacekeepers," Braca replied, putting a tremor into his voice. "Probably the ones who shot up the Township. They attacked the complex, killed everyone."
"If they killed everyone, how come you're here?" the man said grumpily, eyeing him with suspicion.
"I saw them as their commandos burned their way into the main building," Braca said, his voice almost a sob. "I got outside from the rear and ran here."
"And took the time to get into your festival togs before making your way to my precinct to report this supposed crime." The man said with growing impatience.
"I was afraid the Peacekeepers saw me escape," Braca replied in a rush. "I didn't want them to find me and kill me."
"Okay, I'll buy that." The man said as he started to tap the keys of his terminal.
"And there's something else," Braca said conspiratorially as he leaned closer to the militia guard. "I know who their leader is."
"You've had dealings with these Peacekeepers before?" he asked distractedly still typing with one finger on each hand.
"Not this one," Braca whispered. "But I've seen him on a wanted beacon."
This garnered the full attention of the militia guard.
"Apparently, he's some deserter," Braca explained in a stage whisper. "Gone renegade. Taking what he wants by force from whatever planet happens to be in his path. Check your beacon logs. I'm sure he's there. His name's Bialar Crais."
Braca stepped out of the level riser onto the roof of the abandoned building, tossing the cloak and mask aside. The evening breeze was freshening and the sounds of music and celebration rose from the streets ten floors below.
His two squads of commandos were in position along all four edges of the roof. Chalmer was leaning on a cooling duct, her wounded leg propped up. On seeing him, she straightened, coming toward him with more of a limp than before.
"It's done." Braca told her with satisfaction, walking her away from earshot of the others.
"They believed your story?" she asked softly, their bodies close as she spoke for his ears alone.
"Of course," he smiled.
"So, now we flush him out," she said with a sigh, leaning her weight against him.
"No. We let the locals do that for us. In the meantime, we wait." He answered, his arm sliding surreptitiously around her waist. "You're leg?"
"Hurts," she said. "Like a frelling relkits, but I'll survive."
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