| |
“How’s business?” Colonel Zachary Thomas Decker dropped into one of the chairs facing his spouse’s desk and tossed his beret on the other.
“Booming.” Rear Admiral Hera Talyn gave him a fond smile. “What brings you to Sanctum a day early?”
“Jimmy and Kal want to buy me a drink and pick my brains on solutions to certain hiccups they’re encountering in building up the division. Throw in the fact I’ll spend an extra night with you, and the offer was irresistible. Besides, I think Josh enjoys having me away so he can correct what he believes are my lacuna as a commanding officer.”
“He’ll get his chance in the hot seat soon enough, honey.”
Decker made a face at her. “Already scheming to take the regiment away from me?”
“And what are you doing these days, other than planning and administering with the occasional foray into recreational demolitions on the Fort Arnhem range thrown in?”
Decker sighed. “Nothing exciting. I truly miss the days when you and I were crisscrossing the Commonwealth, sowing terror among our enemies, and taking a righteous sword to those who soiled humanity by their presence.”
She chuckled. “How lyrical. But remember, for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”
As she spoke, his eyebrows crept up in genuine surprise. When she finished, he said, “Ecclesiastes. I guess I have been rubbing off on you in more than the biblical sense. Nicely done.”
She inclined her head. “Why, thank you, my good colonel. I expect the usual reward for diligence when we’re in our quarters tonight.”
“That’s a promise. So, what’s new?”
“The prize ship Harfang landed the Nexcoyotl PMC prisoners on Parth and is headed for the nearest starbase to be sold, and its crew returned to Garibaldi. The prize ship Faucon is on its way to rendezvous with Mikado, which will take Erinye Company aboard for a new mission.” When Decker frowned and gave her a questioning look, she smiled. “No rest for the wicked. They’re not coming home just yet, in large part because time and distance make them the best choice rather than send another of your available units.”
“Not that there are any idlers at Fort Arnhem these days, but fine. And you would have told me when?”
“Tomorrow. I just received approval from the CNI for a retaliatory strike on the Nexcoyotl principal base of operations in the Protectorate Zone. Best we teach every PMC an object lesson by destroying Nexcoyotl. Otherwise, they might think we’re losing our edge.”
Decker let out a soft grunt. “I’d be happier if we found out where those Hashashin are hiding. Normal PMCs can be cowed with a few slaps across the head. It’s the zealots who scare me. One of these days, they’ll be told to crash a starship into an OutWorld capital and kill millions.”
“We’re working on it, and their time will also come. We do face more immediate problems, however.”
“Such as?”
“Miko figures Bauchan is onto her, probably because we foiled his plans so comprehensively. Concurrently, we could also have a mole somewhere around here if Bauchan found out about the ammunition depot not long after we did.”
“You’re leaving her on Earth?”
Talyn nodded. “There’s no other choice at the moment. If she climbs aboard a starship, Bauchan will take her in and see if they can interrogate her despite the fact she’s conditioned. They may share a bed from time to time, and Bauchan may even be inadvertently feeding her real intel during their post-coital moments of bliss, but he’s as incapable of sentiment as any good spymaster.”
“Then we should be on the lookout for false intel designed to blow Miko’s cover.”
She nodded again. “That’s already being taken into consideration. And keep in mind, Miko is just as expendable as we were in the day.”
“I know. And so does Miko, but no one wants to see a comrade die in a fetid dungeon from a drug-induced cardiac arrest, her body tossed in an incinerator and her ashes thrown out with the garbage. We Marines can be quite sentimental about proper burials with military honors.” He glanced at the clock on Talyn’s desk. “And that being said, how about you buy me lunch at the Officer’s Mess? I’m not due to meet with Jimmy and Kal until fourteen hundred.”
“You just enjoy making heads turn when the most infamous married couple in Sanctum enters.”
He gave her a broad grin. “Yep.”
**
“Well, well, well. Guess what just showed up on my hangar deck — reams of ragged refugees from a backwater outpost.” The Q ship Mikado’s captain, Commander Sandor Piech, a compact, square-faced officer with gray hair and a gray beard, stuck out his hand after returning Delgado’s salute and granting permission for Erinye Company to come aboard. “How are you doing, Curtis?”
“Same old, same old, sir. I gather you received new mission orders for me?”
“Indeed. And from our beloved black ops employer. We’re headed for our favorite hunting grounds in the Protectorate again to terminate a mercenary outfit called Nexcoyotl whose HQ is on Galadiman.”
A lazy grin lit up Delgado’s features. “What a coincidence. We took three sloops and inflicted a few hundred casualties on a Nexcoyotl raiding force recently. I guess HQ wants us to finish the job as an example of why PMCs should never accept contracts putting them in direct conflict with the Fleet.”
“Sounds like you enjoyed good times wherever that was.”
“Buy me a coffee, and I’ll fill you in once we’re FTL.”
“Deal.”
“I hope you’re stocked up on my kind of ammo because we pretty much used up our first line.”
“Ammo, dropships, rations, rods from God, you name it, we carry it. They keep us ready for your lot at all times nowadays. Another innovation that no doubt comes from our favorite employer. I trust you remember where the barracks are and don’t need hand-holding?”
“Sure.” Delgado glanced at Hak, who was mustering the company in front of Mikado’s shuttles and made the go-ahead hand signal.
“Then I’ll see us off. Come to my day cabin after we jump.”
**
“Sir?”
Andreas Bauchan, who’d been staring out at a leaden Lake Geneva beneath a dull, gray carpet of cloud obscuring the surrounding mountain peaks, turned away from the window.
“What is it?” Bauchan gestured at his chief of staff to take a seat.
“We received a message from our station chief on Galadiman just now, sir. I’m afraid it’s not good news. Approximately thirty-six hours ago, an unknown military force raided the Nexcoyotl PMC headquarters. They destroyed four sloops on the ground, a dozen armed shuttles, and the company’s armory. As well, they ransacked the offices, took any documentation and computer cores they could find, and the funds and precious metals stored in the vault. Since the raid occurred during the middle of the night, Nexcoyotl suffered few casualties, but it is effectively finished as a PMC.”
“How many ships were on various contracts when this happened?”
“Three, but they no longer have a home base nor money to pay for supplies, fuel, parts, and salaries. Although we don’t know yet, I’m sure we’ll find Nexcoyotl’s various bank accounts drained by unknown parties, but probably Naval Intelligence.”
Bauchan carefully took his chair and sat back, schooling himself to seem unworried as he gazed at his chief of staff.
“Then we shall strike Nexcoyotl from our list of assets and engage a suitable replacement.”
“Yes, sir.” A pause. “It was the Fleet, of course, using a Q ship and Special Forces operators. We’ve seen this pattern before.”
“Without a doubt — retribution for Tyrell. Was there anything else?”
The chief of staff shook his head. “No.”
“Thank you.”
When he was alone once more, Bauchan turned his chair to face the window and stared back out at the lake. He wasn’t the sort who’d wonder whether he overreached, whether the dual operation, one long in planning, the second hastily added on top, should never have been attempted. Nor, to his surprise, did he feel any genuine anger.
The raid on Nexcoyotl was obviously a warning from Hera Talyn, aimed at him and the PMC community in general. It would make hiring ordinary mercenaries for operations that might anger the Fleet more difficult. Fortunately, the Holy Shadow Warriors — he privately thought it a ridiculous name, and much preferred what the fleet called them, Hashashin — were coming into their own, now that he’d arranged for steady funding to buy ships and weapons. Even recruitment seemed amazingly good, despite the fact those who signed up knew they would probably die in the service of their deity sooner rather than later. Perhaps he should see about sending their best assassins to kill Talyn. However, Bauchan understood that in doing so, he would likely sign his own death warrant, and one day face her husband, the redoubtable Colonel Zachary Thomas Decker.
And that left Britta Trulson as the only remaining question mark. Since the beginning, his closest advisers had been leery about her, one of them even quoting Virgil, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes — fear the Danaans even when bearing gifts. Or, in this case, the Deep Space Foundation’s envoy to Earth. Yet so far, she’d given them nothing but solid intelligence and advice, and she’d passed every test he set her since news of the Tyrell disaster reached his ears.
Bauchan glanced at the antique clock on the sideboard and stood, adjusting his hand-tailored jacket. It was almost time for his weekly briefing to the Secretary General of the Commonwealth, a man increasingly nervous about unrest in the OutWorlds and colonies and the Fleet’s growing resistance to direction from Earth. Telling him of this latest outrage would only make the man more desperate for a solution to regain control, even as it inexorably slipped through his fingers.
Perhaps he would search for a way of terminating Hera Talyn after all with, as she liked to say, extreme prejudice. She, Larsson, and every other senior officer were in contempt of the Commonwealth government. A purge. Yes. Bauchan smiled at his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, then strode out of his office with the confidence of a man determined he would triumph over his enemies and not, as they no doubt wished, die like the rest.