Counter-Measures

  She lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. "I don't know you." "Sinklar Fist. I'm .

  . . Uh, I guess I'd have to introduce myself. I'm with Staffa . . . er, the Lord Commander."

  "Lord Fist," the woman told him. "What can I do for you? "

  "First off, call me Sinklar. I'm no Lord. Second, could you tell me where to find STU Adze?"

  "She's still under the helmet. " The woman looked down. "She might be there a while. It looks like the computer smacked her with a random."

  "A random?"

  "Training exercise. Sometimes the computer switches the rules in mid-exercise.

  It's a random action designed to keep these lazy sots from outguessing the computer for combat solutions - "

  "Sounds pretty serious."

  The tech grinned. "I've seen raw recruits leave here with leaking pants. It's real enough. Come on, I'll show you." She took him back into the hallway beyond the desk, then

  into a large booth with countless screens on the walls. Most were blank but three depicted scenes of violent combat. The tech pointed to a screen on the lower r 'ight. "That's Adze."

  Sinklar studied the situation. Virtual reality reproduced the sounds, smells, and other sensations of a different environment. For training soldiers, it seemed like a wonderful alternative to the butchery his First Targan had survived.

  The view was evidently from Adze's helmet, seeing what she would see. Stats on the side of the screen listed the enemy as Imperial Regan forces. The terrain appeared to be Targan. Adze was directing a Special Tactics Unit toward a low rise upon which a fortified position had been established. From the symbols, Sinklar determined that it was a full Section she faced.

  Covering fire was being provided by four members of her team who were inching their way up the middle of a rocky valley while Adze was attempting to flank the position with the rest of her unit.

  "Good tactical position," Sinklar noted. "But she needs to slip at least one more flanker over the ridge.

  The tech glanced at him. "Tell her."

  Sinklar shot her an uneasy glance. "Won't it mess up the exercise?

  "The idea is to learn. To try things here so you don't have to make it up when it's for real." She handed him a small microphone. "Go for it. Let's see what you're made of."

  Lifting it to his lips, he said, "Adze, send a flanker across the ridge. Your left is vulnerable if they've got a Group in standard deployment."

  "Who's this?"

  "Your mother. Do you want to do it or leave your left and, pretty soon, your rear open to a flanking attack. " "Chandra, break left over the ridge. See if we've got trouble. "

  " 'Firmative," a voice called.

  Adze continued to work her way rock by rock, calling orders to her Special Tactics Unit as they crawled forward. The Regan fire continued to rake the gully where the four marksmen wiggled from one bit of cover to another to snipe at the position.

  "Adze?" Chandra's voice rang out. "We've got a Group over here! So far they're just sitting. "

  "Pus Rot it! All right, Mom, what's next?" Sinklar looked at the tech.

  "Go ahead," she said. "That was a good call."

  Into the mike, Sinklar ordered. "What kind of heavy stuff do you have?"

  "Grav-mounted four-man blaster. It's set up a half klick behind me. If the Regans stick their heads up or sally, I can pound them back into their holes."

  "Does Chandra have a flare set?" "Affirmative."

  "Order her to deck that Group with a ring of flares.

  :'What for? Flares can't hurt anyone

  ,You'll never win a war gabbing, Adze. burn that position with flares. After that, don't worry about it, but leave Chandra where she is to keep track of them. If they start to move, drop another flare on them. "

  4 'You're out of your mind. " Then: "Chandra, shoot flares at the Regan Group

  " 'Firmative. "

  The tech glanced at Sinklar and made an "ok" with her thumb and forefinger.

  Adze had reached a position from which she could control the side of the knoll where the Regan Section had dug in. The four snipers in the gully continued to shoot. The Regans shot back.

  Adze ordered her heavy blaster to pound the position, and at the same time, she charged forward, deftly enfilading the knoll.

  Chandra's voice called, "The Group is trying to move." "Hit them with mama's flare."

  " ' Firmative - They've dropped back again." Sinklar winked at the tech.

  "Works every time "How do you know that?"

  "Whoever programmed your machine read the Holy Gawdamn book."

  "You've done this before." "Yeah, a time or two - "

  Adze had her team close enough by this time so that they could rake the trenches with enfilading fire.

  "Adze, you've got them," Sinklar crowed. "If you drop onto their battle comm frequency and call for a surrender, the Section First should go ahead and give up. Section twenty-six, paragraph eight. Quote him that page and you won't have to kill any more of them-or risk your people further. Then bug out. As soon as you get them out of the trenches, get off that knoll and down into the valley beyond. "

  "And why is that, Mother?"

  "Because that knoll will be ripe for Regan orbital retaliation. "

  :'What makes you think they've got orbital?" 'Do you want to bet your life on it?"

  "Like I said, I'm headed for the valley."

  At that, the screen went blank, the comm pronouncing,

  "Exercise fifteen one seven is now concluded. Hard copy evaluation will be available with equipment check in." "Come on," the tech said, leading Sinklar back into the

  hallway and to the reception room.

  Minutes later, a flushed Adze appeared in the doorway, the oversized helmet in her hand. She took a copy of the printout as she handed the tech the cumbersome helmet, barely reacted as she noticed Sinklar.

  "Hello, Mom. " "Have a nice war?"

  The tech crossed her arms. "Howd you know that flanking Group wouldn't advance against simple flares?" Sinklar shrugged. "The Regan manual says that no unit will redeploy in the presence of enemy marker flares. They naturally assume that a marker flare means incipient bombardment by heavy ordnance. No one with any sense is going to jump out of his hole with a grav shot coming down the pipe. Four guys with flare guns can immobilize an entire Section. "

  "If they're working by the book," Adze said thoughtfully. "That's how you knew there would be a Group on the other side of that hill."

  "It's a standard defensive deployment."

  Adze pulled a wet strand of hair back, her mischievous smile exposing those straight white teeth. "What are you doing here?"

  He took her arm. "Come on, we're going to talk. Something about this partnership you're interested in. "

  The sparkle animated her eyes. "Sounds good." As they stepped out into the corridor, she shoved her hands into her belt, long black hair swinging with each step. "So what's the decision?"

  "Staffa thinks you're decidedly bright and insufferably ambitious. It's his opinion that you're manipulative, and he immediately wanted to know what you were trying to talk me into. Oh, and he also mentioned that you were convinced of your own invincibility."

  "And what is your opinion?" Her eyes had hardened. "I agree with him wholeheartedly."

  "I see - Does Staffa always do your thinking for you?" "No. But I listen very carefully to what he has to say.

  Curiously enough, he seems to believe that you and the Wing Commander have a lot of personality traits in common. According to him, she was every bit as insufferably determined to make something out of herself as you seem to be."

  The corners of her mouth quirked impishly. "I'm not the only one who's insufferable. The only flares you're shooting are full of hot air. " She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "But we made a pretty good team back there

  "Welcome to the future."

  She slowed, tapping the deck with an inquisitive toe. "What did you find out about going through the Forbidden Borders
? Who is Staffa detailing that to? "

  "Us. All of us. If you're interested, you'd better have a long talk with your folks. You may not be coming home anytime soon - "

  "Provided we can break the Forbidden Borders." "That does remain one of the few unknowns."

  She took his arm in hers, starting forward again. "All right, who's going to tell Mhitshul? You or me?"

  Sinklar chuckled to himself. "You know, if it had been me in charge of that Regan Section, you'd have been chewed to chowder before you got halfway up that valley."

  "No way, pal."

  "It's all right, Adze. Don't get so defensive. Even the Wing Commander had a thing or two to learn before Staffa could turn her loose."

  "The day will come, Sinklar Fist, when I will feed that back to you and make you chew it! "

  "That's fine. I'm only after your ideas-not your cooking At that moment, his belt comm buzzed. Sinklar pressed the stud. " Sinklar Fist." .

  Staffa's voice carried a sense of urgency. "I need to see you in the conference room right now. Ark and I need to pick your brain about Ily and her assassin. Takka and Fera have penetrated Itreata-and I don't think it's going to be pleasant when we find her."

  "I don't understand it! " Ily jumped from the chair that stood before the desk monitor and paced back and forth. Comm

  equipment studded the entire wall of the main room. In the holo tanks inset in the walls, scenes of different planets were presented, giving the room an airy and spacious appearance.

  "Understand what?" Arta asked as she walked through the arch that led to the rear of the curiously simple living quarters. The Seddi assassin placed hands on her shapely hips, flaunting her naked body. Ily glanced distastefully at her and shook her head. "Why are you still screwing him?"

  Arta laughed, then danced across the room, muscles playing under the honey tones of her skin. "Because, dear Ily, it tortures him. He knows that I'm not his Chrysla. He hates me so desperately he can't stand it, and all I have to do is run the tip of my finger around his testicles and he can't stop the erection."

  Arta cocked her head, an amused smile on her lips. "Do you know what that does to him? He's a psychologist, and his penis continues to defy his brain. Each time I bring him to orgasm-if you'll excuse the pun-is like turning a burning screw a little deeper into his soul . . . and he can't do a Rotted thing about it. Exquisite, don't you think?"

  Ily sighed and shook her head, attention returning to the monitors. Reports flowed across different screens, the security officers talking back and forth, desperation in their voices.

  "I don't understand. They should be falling apart! Comm itself should be flickering and failing. Instead, if anything, the system seems to be stabilizing. "

  Arta walked over, placing an arm around Ily's shoulders as she stared thoughtfully at the data on the screen. STO Wheeler was issuing instructions again. Commander Delshay, violet eyes gleaming, was arguing back, punctuating her words with a clenched fist.

  "The confusion got us in here," Arta reminded. "Even if it only lasted for a couple of hours before they caught it, it was enough to paralyze their security precautions. Without a major comm malfunction, I don't think you could have picked the lock on that door." She hooked a thumb at the double-layered sialon and graphsteel hatch with its extensive security monitors.

  "Perhaps," Ily mumbled, tapping her teeth with a thumbnail. "Rot you, Arta, go shower. You smell like the sheets in a cheap Sylenian brothel. "

  Fera chuckled before she bent to kiss Ily on the lips and then skipped away to dance back across the room.

  The weight of the universe was descending around them, and Arta, if anything, appeared more relaxed than Ily had ever seen her. Ily noted movement out of the corner of her eye and wheeled to study the door comm. An armed group of shining STU trotted through the hallway beyond. Two of the armed personnel dropped off to take up positions on either side of the door. The others then proceeded down the hallway.

  Heart pounding, Ily tiptoed to the heavy door, pressing the audio.

  ". . . wouldn't come up here anyway, " the first STU grumbled.

  "So relax, it's cake duty. We stand here and bore ourselves to death staring up and down the hallway. All we have to worry about is tired feet. Think about the guys crawling through the ventilation system-or maybe the sewer plant. Now that would be a wonderful assignment, don't you think?

  Ily cut the connection, wearily relieved. If anything, it increased their safety. She'd made the objective in time. Arta was right, the comm dysfunction had lasted long enough-just barely. Despite the fact that she hadn't permanently damaged Itreata, she'd reached her desired position. Ily's pulse had settled back to normal. If they were safe anywhere on Itreata, it would be here.

  A muffled groan sounded from beyond the arch and Ily crossed the room, passed through the dining area, and stuck her head into the bedroom. On the plush sleeping platform, Andray Sorinsen lay flat on his back, naked and bound.

  Arta's preferred way.

  "Happy, Professor?" Ily asked as she crossed her arms and leaned against the arched doorway.

  "Why do you let her act like . . . like .

  "A wanton? Because she is. The Seddi trained her to be the perfect sexual magnet. Etarian Priestesses taught her the arts of love at the Temple in Etarus. It was the Seddi, however, who conditioned her brain to kill after sex. I broke the

  conditioning, which allows more plasticity of behavior, but she's still a single-purpose weapon.

  "She's an animal."

  "Perhaps, but she's my animal, and she's Rotted good at what she does. Stop complaining, Professor. As long as you continue to amuse her, you'll stay alive. The Blessed Gods alone know how long we'll have to wait here until Staffa arrives, so make the best of it. Close your eyes, believe she's Chrysla. You've loved her for years, haven't you?" "Do you know what an experiment in deviance the two of you would make?"

  "Spare me your study, Professor. I'll tell you exactly what motivates me: Power, pure, raw, and simple. All else is illusion so far as I am concerned.

  I've spent my life in pursuit of power, and I will continue to until I die.

  It's my obsession, and I don't care to change now, thank you."

  "Don't you care that you've become a-"

  "I know what I've become. You, with all of your studying, can tell me nothing I haven't already heard-and in more impassioned voices than yours, believe me.

  I've been branded everything from gutter slime to a vile demon even the Rotted Gods would fear. Frankly, I don't care if you or the entirety of Free Space know that I'm the most despicable and depraved bitch ever born. "

  Andray Sorinsen turned his head away.

  Ily snorted her derision and walked the length of the quarters back to the comm-cluttered wall. Monitors displayed a search in progress somewhere in the science section. Armed men and women were proceeding across a huge warehouse filled with crates. In another monitor, a Special Tactics Unit was inching its way across the floor in the psychology lab, each person taking samples of dust with sticky tape or plucking hairs from the corners. As if they needed more data. They knew that Itreata had been penetrated, and by whom.

  I did it, Staffa. Where are you, Lord Commander? When are you going to arrive here and see that you might have won a round or two, but the final victory will be mine.

  Yes, power was its own elixir, and once Staffa had paid for the setback he'd dealt her, Ily Takka would be free to begin again.

  Ily glanced at the door monitors, seeing the two armed STU standing at attention in the hallway. Assuming I live through it.

  "How do you like it?" Arta asked.

  Ily turned, startled. Arta Fera walked out in the snowy white suit of armor she'd picked off one of the chairs. Now she modeled it, turning gracefully and walking forward, a saucy swing to her hips.

  "It's not quite your look," Ily decided.

  "The chest is much too tight - " Arta stopped to catch her reflection in one of the mirrors, "And the legs and
sleeves are a little long."

  "Gold is definitely your color."

  Arta smiled. "Perhaps next time I'll try the gray. Not for style, mind you, but just to get an idea of the feel.

  CHAPTER 40

  I am writing this in my last hours as a free man. Maybe in my last hours as a living man, now that I consider it. I know how much of the Lord Commander's labor and resources have gone into this project. We've practically stripped Itreata of materials and personnel to build Countermeasures. A lot of wealth has been invested to make this machine work. Knowing the extent of the responsibility, we've driven ourselves half mad and followed every detail in the construction schematics.

  I mentioned the outside interference we were worried about. That's the key I guess. We didn't have any way Of shutting the ship off. No on/off switch.

  Normally that happens through computer command, not a physical switch to open a circuit or isolate a command.

  The message came almost without warning: EVACUATE THIS VESSEL IMMEDIATELY. ANY

  PERSONNEL WHO DO NOT EVACUATE IMMEDI IATELY WILL BE

  UNABLE TO WITHSTAND THE RADIATION AND ELECTROMAGNETIC FORCES UNLEASHED BY A FULL TEST OF THIS SYSTEM.

  Immediately thereafter, the reactors began to build and the whole ship began to hum. We didn't have the time Or ability to stop it. Had we stayed, we'd have been fried like insects in a capacitor.

  Everyone got clear and, from a distance, we watched as the ship did its self-test. Everything seemed to be working. Nothing arced, crackled, or spat sparks. The readings, even from our space dock one hundred kilometers away are incredible.

  And then Countermeasures began moving. We didn't control it, I swear to the Holy Blessed Gods. It

  started moving on its own, and let me tell you, with that many reactors and that much thrust, it can really go. Nothing available to us here can catch it.

  I've tried to call Itreata, but they've got some sort of major problem and keep relaying me to a Comm Second somewhere.

  Someone just stole the Lord Commander's most secret weapon-and no one seems to care but me! I'm going to die because of this!

  -Excerpt from Dee Wall's personal journal

  History had been made. A Regan battle cruiser lay moored to Companion tethers, her lock matched to one of the skyhooks that tied the Companion fleet to its base. In all previous instances foreign warships had been ordered to wait on the peripheries of the Itreatic system, the diplomats and dignitaries lightered in on launches or shuttles for reasons of security.