Counter-Measures

  "Do you have to call me that?"

  Ark's hard expression didn't change. "You may not be a Lord, sir. But you carry yourself like one. " He stopped, turning at the door. "And that, Sinklar, was a compliment. "

  "Monster! " Bruen insisted, voice wavering.

  When Sinklar finally stepped outside, the cool Targan night braced him. Nevertheless, he stopped to lean against the dome, exhausted in body and soul. The tortured look on Kaylla's face would haunt him. The accusation Nyklos had made was the same to her as slitting her belly and reaching in to pull her living intestines out to drag in the dirt.

  The feeling of filth lingered like a miasma.

  Adze appeared from the darkness to slouch next to him, crossing her arms. Her armor made a scratching sound against the wall. "You know, not everyone can deal with Ark that way. Only the Lord Commander and the Wing Commander have ever stared him down.

  "I hadn't noticed."

  "No, I suppose you hadn't."

  "Still want to be part of the team? It could be a little rough. "

  "When you take control, you don't do it in half measures. " In the glare of the lights, her dark eyes sparkled. "I'll watch your back for you. You can bet on it." "Ambition? "

  She shook her head. "Respect. And I want to." The tone of voice made him turn.

  "Relax, Sinklar," she told him dryly, attention on the night. "In the first place, I'm a professional-and you're my assignment. In the second, I saw your face when you got on the LC. You may not know it, but you're not ready for anything but mourning for a long time to come.

  "Indeed. "

  She'd flipped on her night vision equipment. "If you think differently, you're only fooling yourself. You loved them both. Rely on yourself for a while."

  "You seem to know a lot about it."

  "Maybe I don't know jack-shit, pal. But bouncing from one woman to the next and never learning who you are is a recipe for disaster. Take some time, Sinklar. "

  He glanced up at the sky, shivering slightly in the chill. "Time? I wouldn't know what it was if I had it." He gave her a nod. "I'm going to get some sleep."

  "Sleep well, Sinklar. Your back is safe." "Thanks. "

  But tomorrow would be another day.

  "I don't like it," Rysta declared bluntly from her chair in the center of Gyton's conference room. Mac, Chrysla, and the rest of his officers kept glancing at the telemetered holo of Ily's freighter as it boosted for the stars. Searing bluewhite streaks of reaction shot out from the bounce-back collars as the ship hurtled outward.

  "They're desperate," Mac stated, gesturing toward the projection. "At last reading, she's pulling forty-one gravities of acceleration. She knows we're-"

  "That's just it," Rysta growled, one eye narrowed. "Thirty-five gs, Mac, and I wouldn't have my back up. Forty and I'm real wary. Desperate? Are you kidding?

  That's suicide! "

  "Perhaps she's modified the drive somehow? Upgraded?

  Added additional cooling?" Boyz wondered as she twirled her frizzy hair and studied the holo.

  " When?" Rysta asked. "That's Blacker's old ship, Victory. Blacker wasn't really rolling in credits. He made a good living, even improved his family's situation a little, but he never scored the kind of credit it would take to refit an old scow like Victory." She licked her lips. "Trust me. If Will Blacker had made that kind of income, he'd have invested in another ship to double his carrying capacity before he'd have spent it on high performance gimcrackery for Victory. "

  Chrysla had said little, her attention centered on the comm. monitor before her. "According to the manufacturer's specifications for the Model Sixteen RF

  which I've looked up in Gyton's comm, Victory should only be able to manage thirty-five gravities. At forty-one, she should be at one hundred and fifteen percent of reactor capacity. Her artificial gravity generation is six gravities over the manufacturer's recommended maximum. If Minister Takka is aboard, I think she's very desperate indeed. "

  Mac rested his chin on his hand, studying the holo of the fleeing ship. "From the trail of debris she's kicked out, she's running at ship's mass only. Look, you can see the hold bays. They're in vacuum. Maybe they've dumped atmosphere, too, and they're living in suits?"

  I IHell of a way to treat a ship," Rysta shook her head. Assuming they could make the ump, she'd have to be refitted on the other side. It's a igood thing they killed Blacker. He'd hate to see Victory abused like this. "

  Mac glanced at the monitor that displayed Gyton's position. The digital readout reported them as being within fifty thousand kilometers of Victory and closing with each second. Qyton would overtake her prey at 0.86 C in twentyone hours relative ship's time.

  "I don't like it," Rysta repeated. "It stinks like a Sylenian whore at an Imperial banquet. "

  I IWhat's wrong, Rysta? What stinks?" Mac watched the old Commander, wary of her slitted glare as she studied the holo of Victory.

  Rysta shook her head. "Can't put my finger on anything specific, Mac. It's just in the gut, you know? A wrongness, an odor of trouble.

  "So what do you recommend?"

  Rysta pushed back on her skinny arms, the piping on her sleeves gleaming in the light. "I'd say we shoot her apart when we match. Hail them, give them one last chance to surrender, and then kill them."

  The frown lined Mac's forehead. "I promised the Wing Commander we'd take them alive if we could."

  "We don't even know that this is them! I'm laying six to four they spaced on the CV. Sure as gravity in a black hole, this is a soak off."

  "We don't know that. " Mac spread his hands wide. "Here's my guess. Ily andArta killed the CV pilot, dumped him in the closet, and figured that finding his body would send pursuit after the CV. Ily programmed the CV comm to run for it, and they slipped away to the freighter. It's only logical. A fugitive takes the fastest ride out of the gravity well he can get. Who'd chase an overloaded freighter, for the Gods' sake?"

  Rysta fingered the wattle of wrinkled skin that hung down from her chin.

  "Sounds good, Mac. Now, let me play you another melody. Ily and Arta figure their cover is holding. No one knows they are on the planet. But they do know something went wrong on Terguz. The trail is still hot there, and Blacker is missing. Someone will realize his ship is missing, too. Skyla's yacht is there, so how long will it take before Rill gets a grilling? Eventually, every port of call made by a Model Sixteen RF is going to be scrutinized.

  "So what does Ily do? She buys a load of grain to be shipped to Imperial Sassa, has her genetic work done, and prepares to leave. While she's clearing Customs, a CV drops in and they meet the pilot-a brash guy looking to be laid.

  Ily Takka isn't one to turn down an opportunity. Arta kills the pilot and Ily rigs Victory for an easy boost to light speed. But she's canny, covers her tracks with care.

  "'What if someone finds the body? What if an alert goes out for Victory? She programs a comm trigger to trip so that if the freighter is hailed, automatics will evacuate the hold and decompress the vessel. By disconnecting and overriding the safeties, Victory will do exactly what she's doing, drawing pursuit and attention from the CV. Ily knows Gyton can catch a Model Sixteen.

  A couple of minutes on the comm will prove that. So she rigs the ship, booby-traps it. The

  second we match and deploy the LCs, the proximity alert goes off on Victory's comm and the reactor goes blewy. "

  "And Ily and Arta skate away in the CV? " Chrysla asked. Rysta gave them all a half-lidded look. "It's perfect. Arta and Ily were making a desperate run.

  They thought they'd been discovered and took their pursuers out rather than be caught. We close the books on them, and they're free to disappear with their new CV. They've hidden the trail again. "

  Mac rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's conjecture, Rysta. We have to know!

  So what do we do?"

  Chrysla had a worried look. Boyz, Red, and Andrews were all considering the possibilities

  Rysta sighed, reaching for her
cup of stassa. "My recommendation is to match off Victory's forward quarter and shoot her apart from a safe distance. "

  "Can you simply disable her?" Chrysla wondered. "Oh, sure, you mean like shoot a hole through the reactor? When she's running that hot? I think, Lady Attenasio, that the safeties are already disabled. She'll go up like a star gone nova at the first shot. "

  Mac stared up at the holo, gnawing on the knuckle of his thumb all the while.

  "I can take her. Match close enough that I can cross. Maybe a single man at the same velocity could-

  "You're out of your mind, boy!" Rysta shook her head. "Look, taking an LC over is one thing. You've got power, maneuverability, and radiation protection."

  "So, I take an LC. It's only me that has to make the jump. One man instead of the whole Section."

  "Excuse me," Boyz stated. "I request the honor of the mission. It's only logical. I'm a Section First, Mac." "Boyz is too necessary for unit cohesion,

  " Red an-

  nounced. "I'd be a better choice."

  "Says who?" Andrews argued. "I've got more experience in starships. I can get to the bridge and shut her down. " "Whoa! " Rysta called, waving the brewing argument into

  silence. She grinned at Mac. "If you train them too much, they lose any sense of caution."

  "But it could be done?" Mac insisted.

  Rysta gave him a flat look. "Sure, it could be done. But Mac, you, or Boyz, or Red, or anyone else is going to be

  betting his life that we're wrong about that ship. Before you make any kind of decision, I want you to think about this very, very carefully. In the first place, Victory could be nothing more than a bright ball of plasma by the time we match. She's that close to the edge. Second, let's say she's booby-trapped.

  Mac, how many ways could you booby-trap that ship? Think you could shut her down? What if Ily rigged a grenade in the main console? Maybe it goes off when you pull the throttles back? Maybe the grav plates overload when you set foot on the deck? At forty-one gravities, you'll never feel a thing as you spread all over the floor. "

  No one spoke as Rysta shook her head. "I say Victory is a death trap. It's your final decision, Mac. I can't veto your order-but I would if I could.

  Whoever tries to set foot on that ship is a dead man. I rest my case."

  A cold shiver passed through Mac as he stared up at the holo of Victory. It would be so easy; time it so that he matched at the same time the gaping hold was passing and step aboard.

  "Don't even think it, Mac," Rysta was saying.

  "I say we do it. Just like taking the Markelos. I know, Rysta. And I've listened to your arguments. Still, we've got to know for sure. If Ily's aboard, we can get her. If not, we'll at least save the ship. And who knows, maybe there's some sort of information aboard her. Something to tell us where she went if she's not aboard."

  "And if it's booby-trapped?" Chrysla asked nervously. "Red and Andrews will go with me. They know enough comm tricks to disable anything Ily would have left." Mac looked around. "We can't just let the ship go."

  And if I can capture Arta and Hy, hand them over to Wing Commander Lyma, maybe I can buy Staffa's goodwill for me and Chrysla.

  The hard tiles rasped hollowly under Kaylla's heels as she walked through the silent corridors in the Seddi warrens of Itreata. Overhead lights cast a soft white glow over the paneled hallway that wound through the moon's solid rock.

  Only the faintest hum of the air-conditioning could be heard over her steps and the whisper of her long robes.

  Kaylla turned off the main passage and climbed the smooth steps which spiraled upward. The muscles in her legs had a flaccid rubbery feel-that of stiffness and insufficient exercise.

  She palmed the lock plate and the heavy hatch slid sideways to allow her into the dome. She moved wearily as she stepped up to the tactite surface and placed her hands against the cool curve of the transparency. Out there, beyond the rocky horizon, the Forbidden Borders smeared the outlines of the stars, coldly impersonal, as lonely and dull as the ache in her heart.

  Images of the past, of Bruen as a younger man, chiding them as she and her husband stood holding each other, vied with the nightmare scenes of the final day on Maika. She lay in the rubble, stripped naked, as man after man pried her legs apart and raped her. Somehow, she'd shut off her mind, barely aware of the pulsing ejaculation within her, deaf to the grunted moans, and the male weight that pressed her into the gritty dust. In detached horror, her concentration had been on her husband and children. Wide-eyed, she'd seen them shot down in puffs of pink mist-her servant dying in her place. Additional images: The slave pens. More rape. The collar. Transport to Etaria, yet more rape-and then the desert.

  And now another betrayal, more insidious in its own way. She closed her eyes, head bowing until her forehead touched the cool tactite.

  She'd endured patiently, always hoping, always keeping the spark alive . . .

  enduring for God.

  Why did Nyklos' accusation hurt so much? What was it about this time that made such a difference?

  Was it that it came so soon after her irritating arguments with Seekore? She'd won those, cutting a deal with the grateful union leaders and blunting the bloody commander's enthusiasm for mayhem. At least for the moment, Terguz was stable.

  It's not the betrayal. It's the way it was done. That's the painful part.

  Bruen had accused her of sleeping with Staffa, and Nyklos hadn't even had the decenry to contact her, to ask if it were true.

  Once a slave, always a slut! Was that how they thought?

  Or was it just easier to assume that a woman was ruled by her clitoris rather than her brain? No matter that a woman had a collar around her neck. Once a slut, always a slave? No matter that if she didn't let a slobbering pig like Anglo drive himself past her labia, she'd be killed without a thought, kicked aside, and left to desiccate in the sand?

  Damn them! Damn them all, and their accursed, smug male righteousness.

  I'Lady?" the soft voice asked. "Can I help you?" Kaylla stiffened, fighting a panicked shiver. Clamping her jaws hard to nerve herself, she turned, seeing Myles Roma where he sat on one of the recliners above and behind her.

  "I thought it best to speak," Myles said kindly. "To let you know that you weren't alone. It might save an embarrassment later. "

  "I . . ." Kaylla's voice croaked, and she cleared her throat. "Thank you, Myles. I'm sorry. I must have walked right past you. "

  He smiled sheepishly. "You appeared totally absorbed. Is there something wrong? You looked completely misera-, ble just now. As depressed and dispirited an individual as I've seen in a long time. If it's the political situation that has you worried, don't lose faith. We'll make it. "

  She sighed, rubbing her tired face and walking over to seat herself beside him. "Will we, Legate? Or are we doomed to destroy ourselves through our own ugliness, petty greed, and jealousy?"

  "The latest report I had the pleasure of seeing indicated that your Mag Comm will take over administration. This engineer, Dee Wall, has plans for some device that will allow us to break the Forbidden Borders. And yet I see nothing but disillusionment in your expression. Why?"

  She leaned forward, rubbing her callused hands together. "Because we can rail at the Forbidden Borders, Legate. We can even smash them flat. The wretched reality will remain that we're still our own worst enemies. We always have been, and we always will be."

  She flinched at his touch, glaring at him angrily, but Myles didn't react.

  Instead he smiled, patting her gently on the shoulder. "Give us time, Magister. You've borne the burden for all of us. Suffered for us, driven yourself past endurance. I, for one, worship you and your cause. "

  The words took her by surprise and, try as she might, she could discover no dissembling in his honest expression. "Worship? A bit of a strong word, don't you think?"

  Myles shook his head. "You've kept us together, Magister Dawn. You were our nervous system when our limbs and head had been s
evered. " He spread his arms wide. "I'm only one man, and not a very good one at that, but you gave me a direction when I was lost. You . . . and Staffa. He trusted me. You provided a way through the maze with your Seddi lectures."

  Myles shrugged. "I don't know why you're so depressed, Magister. I don't know that I can, but I'll try and fix it for you. It's little enough to offer . . .

  along with a little worship for a true hero. "

  She glanced up at the stars, feeling dreadfully tired and defeated. "Hero, Legate? If this is what it feels like to be a hero, I'll settle for being a farmer from now on."

  "Maybe that's the secret, Magister Dawn. Heroes feel that way for all of the rest of us. They do what we're not strong enough to do on our own."

  She sat there, letting his words run around inside her wounded soul. Finally, she stood up, battling to keep from trembling with fatigue. How long had it been since she'd slept?

  "You're a fool, Legate. But you made me feel better. I'm going to get some sleep. If you really worship me like you think you do, you'll go down and tell my staff that no one is to bother me. If Seekore calls, order her to cut her own throat-and if she refuses, tell her we'll spread the rumor that she just doesn't have the guts, to do it. "

  "Seekore? I haven't met her. I'll be happy to deal with her in exactly those terms if it will bring you a little peace."

  "You are a fool."

  He gave her a wicked grin. "Not by halves, Magister. I hedge my bets. You see, the Lord Commander and Delshay are also friends of mine. If Seekore comes after me, I'm not averse to hiding behind them." He sobered. "And you. "

  "Don't look to me for protection. I'm giving this hero business up."

  Myles stood, offering his arm. "Here, lean on me. I'll escort you to your quarters. And afterward, I'll see that no one bothers you."

  The dream had been the same, Arta's sexual antics, Ily's interrogation, and Skyla's ultimate defeat-only to look up and see herself stepping through the shaft of light spilling from the doorway to Itreata. The light glowed on her white armor, silvering her long braid where it clipped to her epaulet. And her duplicate had turned to look back at a screaming Skyla, still bound to the chair. Arta's eyes, feral, triumphant, had burned in place of Skyla's rich blue orbs.