Counter-Measures

  "Uh, aren't they halfway across the Ashtan system?" "That's right. From the looks of things, we're going to be floating out here for about three weeks while they revector and match. Just about time enough for us to hose the radiation contamination out and refinish the inside of the ship. "

  "And time enough for that thrice-cursed CV to make it to Riparious. " Lark jutted her jaw out as she glared at the monitor.

  "You're learning, kid." Skyla hesitated, the anger and frustration boiling.

  "And I promise. I'll do everything I can to keep from chewing your head off in the meantime."

  "You can chew on me if it makes you feel better. I can take it, Skyla. And then, one of these days, I can feed it all back to the reptiles."

  :'The reptiles?" 'Yeah, Ily and Arta."

  "Good term. I like that. Reptiles."

  Lark was studying the backs of her hands where they rested on the console. "I don't believe it," she whispered wretchedly. "My first space battle . . . and I slept right through it. "

  At the stricken look on the girl's face, Skyla couldn't help but crack a smile. Then she laughed and continued to laugh until her gut ached and tears ran from her eyes.

  "They've vanished from the screen. They're beyond our detection. The light shadow is growing. Are they in there?" Arta glanced across the narrow hallway and into the compact bridge where Ily's supine form lay in the command chair.

  The Seddi assassin wore armor and lay in a tangle of crash webbing in the small cubicle behind the bridge. From that position, she could see the monitor which depicted the vanishing redshifted stars behind them. The light cones were closing as they neared light speed and null singularity mass.

  The ship's speaker stated, "I'm dropping our acceleration to a normal boost.

  We've either outrun them or destroyed them. "

  Arta frowned. "I didn't see any flash of light, no measurable radiation spike.

  We'll have to check the records when we're null singularity."

  "I would speculate that we were too fast for them. Perhaps Skyla overran the potential in Tedor's yacht. It was an old ship, a capable performer but not up to CV standards - "

  Arta sighed and stretched, muscles rippling. "We're free, then. We've lost them again."

  "Yes," Ily's voice came through the speaker. "And now we'll jump, revector, and our next port of call will be Itreata.

  "And revenge. Wonderful revenge." Arta curled strands of copper-tinted hair around her slim fingers, excitement in her amber eyes, as she whispered, "I'm coming for you, Andray Sorinsen. "

  Meanwhile, the light shadow which would have obscured Skyla's stealthy approach continued to widen behind them like a black blot ringed with a rainbow.

  Chrysla's subspace dish had picked up the message in relative time, and now played it on Sinklar's comm. He stared at the craggy features of the woman's face that lingered in the monitor-and then vanished after the delivery of the message. With final resolve, he killed the connection and sat staring at the empty screen.

  "So it's over. They executed Magister Bruen this moming. "

  Done. Finished. A final closure. He glanced around his quarters, hating the white walls and vacant holo tanks, and the strangling feeling of confinement.

  The rough road that led to the future unfolded before him, and for once he found himself at something of a loss.

  On his desk lay a translation of the ancient book, a present from Staffa-translated by the Mag Comm's talent. Many of the place names were meaningless but a world was emerging in Sink's imagination. If only he could share his discoveries, but Mac lay comatose in a hospital bay over sixty light-years away.

  a Unaccountably restless, he shut down the room terminal nd activated his belt unit before palming the hatch and stepping out into the corridor. For days, he'd been at odds with himself, anxious, ill at ease. Mac's face had stared out at him, neither condemning nor forgiving. Just another link hanging by the thinnest of threads before snapping and vanishing into the past along with Gretta, Hauws, Anatolia, and the rest.

  The Targan war was now over. He'd finally received a message he had at once dreaded and awaited. A conclusion,

  like the final chapter of a horrible story. Would the dead rest now?

  He slipped his thumbs into his belt, booted feet scuffing the deck plates as he wandered aimlessly. Memories superimposed themselves in his mind: Fear, running liquid in his guts, as a packed LC dropped for Targa . . . and Gretta Artina sitting passively beside him. The explosion of the Section 3 Post Office in Kaspa. Blaster fire in the night. Rain running in sheets off a slate roof as Mac's blaster ripped violet into the faceless night. The stench of burning insulation drifting into the medical tang of a field hospital. Ozone mixing with dust and burning pines on a desperately held mountain pass. The look in First Mykroft's eyes changing before, during, and after Sinklar's promotion. The blinding flash of the mushroom cloud beyond the rooftops of Vespa. Gretta's bloated body mixing with Arta Fera's animal stare. Ily Takka's smile as she interrogated the Seddi Assassin. Mac's hell-take-it smile before he entered Makarta.

  Closure. The end. It should have all been wrapped up, neatly sealed. The dead should rest now. The wind should blow with less vigor across the lonely knoll outside of Vespa. The grass wouldn't bob with as much energy and the ground should turn fertile.

  But it won't. The hollow place in Sinklar's soul lingered. One episode was closed, but Mac now lay like flayed meat within the maw of a medical machine while Ily and her accursed assassin continued to ply their bloody trade.

  I should have shot her down the first time I saw her in the brick factory.

  Sinklar could recall that day, his soul just beginning to ache over Gretta's murder. Ily had come to see him, theoretically to establish the terms of peace so that the First Targan Assault Division would no longer have to bear arms against its Emperor.

  Sinklar balled a fist, forcing the anger to subside. How was I to know? What did I know of power and the greedy bloodworms it spawns in the back rooms of Imperial courts? What did I know of beautiful Ily Takka, and of seduction of the body and soul?

  That story, separate, but entwined with the first, remained open and bleeding.

  On impulse, Sinklar stepped into a wardroom on the gun deck. If for only a short time, he would draw a cup of stassa from the dispenser and find a chair in a corner. There, be-, fitting the moment, he'd eavesdrop on the soldiers, listen to the scuttlebutt-and magically share old times

  with Mac, Kap, Hauws, Buchman, and the rest.

  The room stretched fifty meters long by about twenty wide. Holo-vids were portraying everything from athletic events to zero g striptease dancers with improbable bodies. Several different sources of music collided in the middle of the room to create a cacophonous jangle. Maybe thirty people sat around the tables or hooted at the holo shows.

  On impulse, Sinklar stopped at the dispenser and drew a double charge of Vermilion single malt.

  More than one pair of eyes had noted his arrival, but unlike his own Divisions, nothing changed here. No hush spread over the room as worshipful gazes turned in his direction. From that, he took both comfort and sorrow. The comfort: These were Companions, Staffa's loyal troops, and here, Sinklar Fist could relax in anonymity.

  He settled into a corner chair, leaning forward protectively over his drink; he stared into the amber liquid as if it could serve as a scrying agent.

  The sorrow, made more potent by the news he'd just received, came from the sudden knowledge that somewhere along the line, that fragile bond between him and his troops had been severed. And now, looking back, he struggled desperately to determine when. After Ily's arrest? No, more likely after Staffa's conquest of Rega. Yes, that was it. He'd lost them the moment they'd spaced to the far corners of the empire. Like hydrogen to the interstellar wind, he'd never put them back together again. That gleam of determination would never animate those thousands of eyes as they tackled the insurmountable, armed only with faith in themselves and a belief in
their cause.

  A people had been saved-and an army had been lost. "Targa! Targa! Targa!"

  thousands of voices chanted echoingly in the hollow vault of his memory.

  "Sinklar! Sinklar! Sinklar! "

  In a silent toast, he lifted his glass and drank to the memory of the Targan Assault Divisions-and the incredible mark they'd made on human history. The rich, honeyed taste

  of the single malt ran warmly down his throat as laughter burst from a group at a nearby table.

  Once he would have danced with joy to have seen this day, to have received that message. Justice is a slippery thing at best, Sinklar. When it is handed out, a part of the universe is set right, but no one can feel good about it.

  He closed his eyes, aware of the watery blue hatred that stared back at him from Bruen's dead eyes.

  "Mind if I sit down?"

  Sinklar blinked, glancing up, aware that the rowdies had stopped laughing and were peeking surreptitiously his way. One of the chairs in their group was empty, and Sinklar looked up at a most attractive young woman. Long shining black hair hung down to her waist. She wore spacer's whites which set off the healthy brownish-copper complexion. More, the trim cut of the clothing accented her body, the swell of high breasts, the narrow waist, and muscular hips. One shapely eyebrow had lifted questioningly as she probed him with familiar black eyes.

  " I don't . . . Adze? Is that you?"

  She gave him an uncertain look and said, "Excuse me. Youlooked . . . well, sad. I thought perhaps I could . . . I guess I was interrupting. I'm sorry."

  " No . . . no . . . sit. I was just . . . well, I wasn't here. Locked away in my head." He smiled wanly. "Actually, I was saying good-bye

  :'Good-bye? "

  'To a lot of dear friends."

  "Are you sure you don't want to be alone?"

  Sinklar used a foot to shove one of the chairs out. "Sit down, STU." He gave her a shy smile as she seated herself. "You caught me by surprise and, to be candid, I didn't recognize you when you weren't all polished looking and spiky. "

  The charming twinkle in her dark eyes complemented the full white teeth exposed by her quick smile. "So, do you like the deadly STU look, or the soft and delicate appearance?" She inclined her head, hands extended. "I can do either one. "

  , ,Stay just the way you are for a moment or two. I want to memorize-save it for the times when the other memories become too much to bear."

  "Flattery, Sink? Or am I so intimidating I can even make the nightmares look tame?"

  "No, I'll trot this memory out when I need to remember' there's a beautiful side to life." He adopted a posture of mock seriousness and added, "Of course, I'll omit the look of mischief in your eyes and add that hard glint I got used to on Targa. "

  "I was on duty then. " She reached out and tapped his drinking bulb with a finger. "What's this? Celebration?" He frowned at his drink for a moment.

  "Whiskey is funny

  stuff. It's poison, you know. And we drink it in celebration? Well, maybe it's suited to this occasion. I just received a subspace. The Chief Civil Magistrate on Targa has informed me that Magister Bruen was convicted on all charges. They executed him in Kaspa for inciting revolution, murder, and a whole slew of other things."

  Sinklar turned the drinking bulb, watching the light play through the drink.

  "That kicked loose a lot of memories." "So how did you end up here?" She leaned forward,

  propping her head on an arm, gleaming black hair spilling in a cascade.

  Sinklar raised his eyebrows. "By accident, I suppose. I wanted . . . wanted to hear soldiers. That's when it hit me. The Targan Divisions are gone. Targa is a closed book for me." He sipped the single malt again.

  Her gaze reflected a change in her thoughts. "Are you ure that's a bad thing?"

  s " Without my Targans, we'd have never held the Empire together until Staffa could deal with the Mag Comm. My people went out and did their duty-and they did it better than any Regan army ever could have. I'm not sorry, Adze, just .

  . . sad. It'll never be the same again."

  "How's MacRuder doing?"

  "Hanging on. They're not even allowing him consciousness. They're too afraid of what it might do to his brain, that it might start healing processes that would scar the neural pathways. I guess they drilled a couple of holes in his skull and drained the subdural hematoma, and they've got his limbs all set straight, but . . . pus eat me, I don't know how he's going to be. They've got him on ice until they can space for Itreata. Gyton has to match with the Wing Commander's Rega One before they can get him to first-class medical facilities. "

  :'What did you hear about the Wing Commander?"

  'I guess Ily shot her up while making an escape. Staffa was pretty worried until the reports came in."

  "Rumor has it that Minister Takka's CV was vectored for Riparious. Holocaust has gone deep in anticipation. Orchid May is the commander, and you can bet that if Ily drops, Holocaust will tag her." Adze tilted her head. "Why the smile?

  ' 'Ily wouldn't do anything that stupid. Trust me, she may be a reptile, but she's one of the most cunning snakes you'll ever meet. "

  "Not if she got a piece of the Wing Commander and didn't return to finish her off. The Rotted Gods help her when Skyla Lyma catches up with her."

  :'We'll see."

  'I've been on the Wing Commander's list. Believe me, Sink. If I were Ily, I'd be worried."

  " Don't forget, Ily got her once. She can do it again. The difference is that Ily thinks five moves ahead of everyone else. We'll all pay before we finally catch her."

  Adze placed a slim hand on the table and Sinklar's eyes kept straying to it, marveling at the soft appearance of her skin.

  " Sink, you don't seem to think much of the Wing Commander's abilities. I wouldn't say it too loudly. There are about fifty people in here who'd consider it their obligation to twist your arms off, shove them down your throat, and stuff you sideways down a converter tube for just thinking any such heresy."

  "Wait a minute. I don't see more than thirty people in here. "

  "That's because I'm the only person here who has heard you try and commit suicide. If you even hinted it out loud, STU would appear out of the deck plates. There, you're warned. Now keep a sane tongue in your head. "

  ' 'You missed the whole point, I have a tremendous amount of respect for Wing Commander Lyma, but I've also tasted Ily's venom firsthand. I've watched her work . . . been one of her victims. I meant it when I said she was the most cunning person I've ever met. That doesn't mean she's invincible. Were she, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now because she'd be Empress. The other ray of hope is that the second most cunning person

  I've ever known was just put to death. "

  "We'll get Ily and Arta, too."

  "Do you always sound so sure of yourself?"

  With a sensual movement of her head, she tossed the wealth of black hair over one shoulder. "You bet. And to date, it's paid off. Hey, it got me assigned to you, didn't it? "

  "Some payoff."

  "We all have to put in our time doing scut duty. I just had to suffer a little more than most, that's all."

  "I seem to remember the disgust in your eyes."

  "In fairness, you don't exactly inspire confidence on first appearance. And as you may recall, you weren't exactly yourself those first couple of days on Targa. Ana was too recently dead, and Ily was still oxidizing out of your system. Then, on the first night I watched you cry in the reopened adit. The next day I watched you break down inside the mountain. And this was the terrible Lord Fist that everyone was calling the new threat to Free Space?"

  "Point made. But tell me, are you bringing all this up as part of an elaborate diplomatic process? Or are you just trying to make me feel good about myself?"

  "You don't think I'm diplomatic?"

  Sink gave her a quizzical glance. "What's all this other nonsense? Threat to Free Space?"

  "Gun Deck scuttlebutt. What were we t
o think? An unknown tames a planet in revolt and smacks the pus out of five Regan Divisions. He nearly offs the Lord Commander, but for the timely rescue of the Companion fleet. Next thing we hear, he's as good as crowned Emperor of Rega and is retraining the Regan military. Sassa is crapping itself inside out to strike before this new young god can spread his wings. Before they can act . . . Blam! Sassa is broken by a military master stroke and their empire is disintegrating. The Wing Commander is taken prisoner and Ily and Sinklar are at the bottom of it-supposedly buying time to refine their strike at Itreata. We space again, to save theday at the last instant before Lord Fist can harm our Wing Commander or become a danger. "

  She shook her head and grinned. "And after all that, I meet the legend. You weren't even ten feet tall."

  :'You know, genetic engineers can cure that."

  'Stay the way you are, Sinklar. " She smiled, real warmth in her expression.

  "What's next? Itreata? Worry about Mac until our medics make him well again?

  And then what?"

  I 'I've been working on a codification of the legal system. Trying to lay the groundwork for what's coming-assuming the Forbidden Borders can be breached."

  Her voice dropped slightly. "I wondered what had happened to you."

  :'How about yourself?"

  'I've studied forward infiltration sabotage technique, second level neutralization of enemy command control centers, advanced beachhead perimeter stabilization, and anatomy. "

  "Anatomy? Sure, I should have guessed. Fits right into the curriculum."

  "Did you know that it's possible to slip a twenty centimeter length of fourteen gauge wire up the nasal foramen, past the turbinate bones, through the cribiform plate, and into the center of the brain?"

  "You must be a fascinating conversationalist at dinner parties. "

  :,Try me sometime."

  'How about now? I haven't eaten in . He frowned.

  16 Well, it's been a while. Got time?"

  She pinched her full lip with broad white teeth, a stirring in the depths of her eyes. "I've got seven and a half hours before I'm on duty again." A hesitation. "Business . . . or pleasure?"