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Commander Talyn handed control of the Warthog over to the AI and pushed her seat away from the console. With a sigh of relief, she stretched her limbs and grinned.
“Unless our friend Amali has also bent Pacifica Aerospace Control to his every will, we're safe. I'd give my next month's pay to see the bastard's face when he realizes you slipped out from under his multi-million cred defense umbrella.”
“And out of the grasp of his fucking bugs,” Zack replied in a voice that was half whisper and half gravel. “But he isn't the sort to stop his plans over one retired Marine if I read the scumbag right.”
“You have, Sergeant.” She looked at Zack, and her grin vanished, replaced by a frown as she saw his state clearly for the first time. Her trained eye immediately recognized the traces of the mind probe, and she groaned.
“One thing about Amali: he never falls short of my expectations. Cantos?”
“Yeah.” Zack looked away. “He said I suffered no permanent damage.” But his tone belied the words. Decker's neurons might still fire in proper sequence, but the thing that defined Zachary T. Decker had been damaged.
“I'm sorry,” Talyn whispered. “I’m so very sorry.”
The silence deepened in the cockpit, and she felt an unaccustomed sense of guilt. Working for Naval Intelligence’s special operations section often meant compromising one's values for the greater good. But the moral balance sheet calculated in the safety of a sterile operations room meant absolutely nothing in front of a man who'd gone through the worst sort of hell because of one cold-blooded decision.
Zack broke the silence first, shutting his feelings away with the other miseries he'd collected over the last few weeks.
“If I remember rightly, Commander, the proper procedure after a mission is a debriefing while the memories are still fresh.” His eyes remained fixed on the star field beyond the cockpit window.
Talyn didn't respond. Her gaze was still transfixed by the small dots of healing flesh on his scalp. His matter-of-fact tone had stayed any further apology or explanation. He didn't want them.
“Yes,” she finally said, “yes, you're right, Sergeant. A debriefing.”
For the next two hours, Talyn skillfully extracted things from Zack's memory that even he had forgotten. She questioned him as she would question any trained Pathfinder after a mission, not like a civilian, or even a soldier who'd gone through an ordeal that would destroy most people. Decker wouldn't appreciate a gentle treatment. His self-respect and inner balance had been badly shaken, if not irretrievably ruined. Treating him like damaged goods would only make things worse.
“You show the recall abilities of a trained agent, Sergeant. I'm impressed. Your report completes the spotty picture we have of Amali's hideaway, though I can't help wishing he had shown you the hive in person rather than through a vidscreen. It would make the follow-on force's job a lot easier.” Zack still stared through the window as he had ever since Talyn had noticed the probe scars.
“It wasn't just a vidscreen, sir, but an actual window,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “The first view, that of the egg chamber, was direct. I'd swear to that. Which means the queen's chamber and the nursery aren't far away.”
“Yes, you're probably right. Amali's psych profile makes him out to be the kind who prefers live demonstrations of his power.”
“I’m sure showing me a tape of the bug eating Strachan, instead of me seeing it live, put a damper on his enjoyment. But since the asshole offered me a starring role in the sequel, maybe it didn't matter.”
He turned to spear Talyn with hard eyes.
“Speaking of Strachan, what happened to Shokoten? Most of the crewmembers were good, honest spacers. Nothing to do with the shit the captain was doing.”
“Still sailing the star lanes, as far as I know. The Amalis, whatever else they may be, aren't wasteful. Only Strachan suffered the brunt of their displeasure. He vanished in Hadley three days after you took off in Demetria. We had always presumed him dead and now you’ve confirmed it. There's a new captain aboard Shokoten, and I'm pretty sure that she won't be doing anything illegal for a long time. The ship's usefulness as a cover for smuggling expired when you ran.”
Decker shrugged and looked outside again. The Warthog was about to enter the system's inner asteroid field, and Talyn turned off the autopilot, taking the controls once more.
“That's good. I felt at home on Shokoten once Alers was gone. So what happens now? Will anyone take care of that fucking psychopath?”
“First,” Talyn gave Zack a quick glance, “we park this thing aboard Demetria and head for the rendezvous with the follow-on force.”
Talyn pointed out the window. “And there she is.”
“Demetria, this is Falcon One, over.”
“Falcon One, this is Demetria. How's the weather planetside?”
“Humid, with a storm brewing,” Talyn grinned briefly at Decker.
“Password,” she whispered.
“Any luck, Falcon One?” Avril Ducote asked, anxiety coloring her normally steady voice.
“Scratched, bruised and wet like a dishrag, but otherwise unharmed, Demetria,” Talyn replied, deliberately avoiding any mention of the real damage Zack had suffered.
He wouldn't want her to tell Ducote, out of shame. But Avril had to know, and would, when the two women managed a moment alone together, preferably soon.
“He's looking forward to a big shot of anything alcoholic you may have on board.”
“I was about to ask whether you picked up the right one, but if it wants booze, it has to be an ex-Marine called Zack Decker.” Something in the way Avril spoke drew Zack's attention, and he frowned for a moment. “The cargo hold is open for your landing, Falcon One. And the celebratory whiskey is ready and waiting.”
*
The Warthog’s thrusters died away the moment the assault boat settled on the bare deck of cargo hold number one. Zack climbed out of the comfortable co-pilot’s seat and stretched his limbs out as far as the small cockpit allowed. His entire body felt like a single, massive bruise. Every muscle had stiffened during the flight from Amali’s island, and he hurt like hell.
Jumping out of the open cockpit door, he landed on the deck with a hollow thump, sending a renewed wave of pain up his legs and spine. Across the hold, the access hatch swung open with a metallic clang.
Through it strode Avril Ducote, Valkyrie-like in battledress with a sidearm, her long blonde hair swinging down her back in a thick braid. A smile of pure pleasure filled her face, piercing through Zack’s dull ache like a thin shaft of sunlight through a carpet of storm clouds. She stopped in front of him, so close that they nearly touched and her eyes looked searchingly into his.
“You’re alive,” she whispered, as if in disbelief.
“Yeah, so Commander Talyn tells me.”
“You don’t know how happy I am, Zack.” Now he could see tears forming.
“Somehow, I think I do.” It was clear to Decker, even in his current state, that Avril Ducote had fallen for him. He didn’t know how he felt about that because he didn’t want to touch any of his emotions right now, except hate, but his resolve faltered for a few seconds. His hard, blank stare softened, and some of his inner turmoil and pain shone through.
“For what it’s worth, Avril, I’m damned happy myself to be back on your ship, and not only because that means I’ve escaped from bug island.”
She nodded, smiling shyly.
“Then I’m even happier.”
“Sorry, Avril, Sergeant, but we must go,” Talyn’s gentle voice intruded and drew them apart. Though the agent really was in a hurry, her primary concern was getting Zack out of a situation she knew he couldn’t handle yet. Not until his mental wounds had scarred over.
“Of course, Hera,” Ducote replied, blinking away the excess moisture in her eyes. “Come, Zack. First a shower and a shave, then clean clothes. There will be a hot meal and a glass of whiskey waiting for you in the galley.”
*
“So, what happened after I left the ship at Deveaux Station?”
Zack glanced at Avril and Talyn in turn. Though he still looked like hell, the shower, and fresh clothes had gone far in improving his appearance, but he wasn't the same Zack Decker who'd left Demetria only a short while ago.
The intervening days had given his eyes a haunted look. A look that gave Ducote a jolt of despair every time she saw it, because she feared the Zack she knew, her Zack, was gone.
While he had showered, Talyn had given her a brief run down on his encounter with the mind probe, and its effects. Avril had tightened in fury at the revelation, and would have strangled both Amali and Cantos on the spot. But she also understood Zack's state, and the fact that things might never be the same again.
They were in the small galley, he drinking scotch, they coffee. Demetria had jumped to hyperspace ten minutes earlier, on her way to a rendezvous Talyn, irritatingly, refused to explain.
Zack had given Avril an account of his time in Amali's hands, sparing her no detail. His hard, brittle honesty had astonished Talyn, but she realized that Zack Decker was a remarkable man. Too remarkable for the way he'd been treated by the Marine Corps.
“Maybe Avril should start, Sergeant,” Hera raised an eyebrow at Ducote.
“Why do you insist on calling Zack 'sergeant', Hera?” Avril asked with a hint of asperity.
“Military courtesy,” the agent shrugged. “He's a retired command sergeant with twenty years honorable service and is entitled to the rank.”
Zack snorted in derision, the first sign of the old, hard-assed Pathfinder he'd shown so far, but she ignored him.
“Unless he prefers I call him something else.”
“Try his name. It's Zack.”
“No need, sir,” Zack chuckled at Avril's reaction. “'Sergeant' suits me fine. It's a damn sight better than what I’ve been called lately. And I guess I came by the title honestly, which I can't say about a lot of other things.”
“And why does he call you 'sir'?” Avril was openly disapproving now. “You people kicked him out of the Corps.”
Avril's defense of his free, civilian status made Zack smile with enough warmth to give her pause.
“It's the way things go, Avril,” he gently replied, before the discussion went any further. “She's a commander and outranks me, so I call her 'sir,' same as she calls me 'sergeant.' It wouldn't feel right to do otherwise, even if I'm retired. Now can we talk about what happened, please?”
Avril sighed but held her peace.
“As you wish.”
She settled back and stared down into her coffee mug.
“About ten minutes after you left the ship at Deveaux, Hera showed up at the gangway, asking to speak with you...”
*
“Excuse me, Captain Ducote. I'm looking for Zack Decker.”
“And why should you look for this Decker person on my ship?” Avril eyed the tall, dark woman with suspicion, determined to cover for her friend and shipmate.
“My name is Commander Hera Talyn, Naval Intelligence.” She showed Ducote an official-looking identification card. “It's vital I speak with Decker soonest. He's in great danger from people who want to silence him.”
“How do I know you’re not one of the people who wish him harm?”
“So he's on board?” Talyn asked.
“I’ve not said so, Commander. Please tell me why I should trust you. Anyone can flash a cute little ID card.”
“You're right, anyone can. But to prove my bona fides, we'll need to agree that you know Decker, and do it quickly. If he's already left the ship, I must to find him before the opposition does.”
Avril stared at her for a few seconds and then shrugged.
“Somehow, I don’t think you would simply walk up and ask if you were one of the Sécurité Spéciale scum. Their methods seem to lack subtlety.”
“Not always.” Talyn's eyes never left Ducote's. “But if it means anything to you, I'm the case officer who led Decker into this pickle, and I'm trying to extract him in one piece.”
The agent could read Ducote's indecision her eyes, but refrained from pushing any further. Then, the look vanished, and her face tightened.
“He left the ship about ten, fifteen minutes ago to book a shuttle flight down to Toulon. He wants to try contacting the Marine Regiment's intelligence officer down there and give him the information he uncovered.”
“Damn!” Talyn swore, slapping her right hand against the airlock hatch in frustration. “I had hoped to reach him before he went ashore. The Sécurité Spéciale has a hit team on the station. Unfortunately, we don't know what they look like. Decker is in great danger.”
“Will they kill him?” Ducote's face had gone white with fear.
“I doubt it. They'll want to know how much he found out, and to whom he spilled the beans. Then, they'll kill him.”
“Zack told me everything.” The trader's voice was nearly inaudible.
“Which means you're next on their list. Don't leave your ship. Let no one aboard, and if you own a sidearm, keep it handy. I'll try to intercept Decker before the Sécurité Spéciale team does.”
Talyn turned on her heels and left the ship, heading for the station's core. Ducote, now thoroughly frightened, closed the airlock and retrieved Zack's old Imperial Armaments blaster from her cabin.
*
Talyn returned three hours later, with a grim look on her face.
“He's gone.”
“What?”
“Station security traced his movements. He last appeared in the shop district along with the two Sécurité Spéciale agents tailing him.”
“I thought you didn’t know what they looked like.”
“No, but they made the mistake of moving like a team of hunters, which marks them as trained agents. We spooks can recognize each other. The training's the same. After that screen capture, nothing. I'm sure he's off the station by now. A private yacht left an hour after the last sighting, and that was no coincidence. The pilot of the ship looked like the male half of the Sécurité Spéciale duo on the harbormaster’s screen when he filed his flight plan.”
“Where is the yacht headed?”
“Pacifica.”
Avril nodded. Then, she frowned.
“But Commander, these Sécurité Spéciale people sound like professionals. Why would they leave such a trail on the station's security system? You took little time to find them. Is it a red herring?”
“Good question,” Talyn smiled tightly. “But I doubt it's a false trail. The Sécurité Spéciale wants Zack Decker, and that means no complex operations. A simple snatch and grab before the opposition can react. And it worked. Once they reach their destination, they're home free. The Fleet has no jurisdiction on Pacifica, and no one there will lift a finger to help us.
“What now?”
“My people are combing the station, just in case, and I'll put some additional resources on his tail, but frankly, I don't think we can intercept the yacht in deep space. You know how hard it is to find a ship that doesn't want to be found. That's if I can even move the resources into place fast enough. I don't have a ship nearby to do it myself.” She glanced at Avril, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “It occurs to me that since he told you what he knew, the information he collected isn't lost.”
Ducote's face hardened.
“If I tell you what he told me, you no longer have a reason to save him.”
“I could force you. There are methods,” Talyn replied with a shrug. When Avril's face tightened in anger, she continued. “But, before you kill me with your bare hands, I won't. He clearly means a lot to you, and to be frank, I feel an obligation towards him. I dreamed up the plan that placed Decker on Shokoten as an unwitting plant. A Pathfinder major reminded me, not that long ago, that there are values beyond winning or losing, and we forget them at our peril, or we become no better than our enemies. He was right, and this is one of those times where the values come first.”
Ducote stared at Talyn warily.
“Your ship can take us to Pacifica,” the agent continued. “We may have a chance if I can arrange for a Fleet transport to meet us on the way and deliver a specially modified assault shuttle. You realize it may not work.”
Avril Ducote nodded once, but her face plainly showed relief mixed in with the anguish. Surprising herself, Talyn reached out and squeezed Ducote's hand.
“Our chances are fair. The Sécurité Spéciale is good, but no bogeyman.”
“And what is it?”
“Bad news, Captain.”
“Call me Avril, please.” She held out her hand.
“And I'm Hera.”
“The Sécurité Spéciale is a civilian intelligence agency that answers only to the Secretary General of the Commonwealth. It replaced the old Special Security Bureau wiped out by Grand Admiral Kowalski years ago. That's one hell of a story in itself, by the way. The problem with the Sécurité Spéciale is it doesn't actually serve the Commonwealth as a whole, but the SecGen and the Coalition, a bunch of people just as nasty as their agents.”
“I’ve heard the name of the Coalition whispered before, but who are they, and what do they want? Or is that classified?”
“It is, but only so they don't find out how much we know. The Coalition is a grouping of senators, planetary politicians, military officers, and businesspeople like the Amalis, who dream of turning the Commonwealth into an Empire, with themselves at the center, as a new aristocracy. They want to return the Outworlds to their subsidiary status as they were before the Migration Wars. These days, the Navy has its hands full trying to make sure no one takes the first step towards something we'll all regret. At least the part of the armed forces based in the Outworlds. The others, well, you can imagine.”
“That sounds appalling.”
“You better believe it. If you ask me, this old Commonwealth of ours is headed for the biggest shit hole since the last Migration War, and that's why I'm in this crappy line of business. I'm not saying all that justifies what I did to Decker. But it worked where all our earlier efforts didn't. With the kind of stakes in this game...”
*
Demetria left Deveaux Station within the hour, her offloading and departure miraculously smoothed by Talyn’s connections. At the minimum safe distance, she jumped into hyperspace towards a rendezvous point, halfway between Dordogne and Pacifica.
Their meeting with the unnamed spy ship didn’t delay their flight by very much. Yet, by the time Demetria released the modified Warthog in the Pacifica system’s inner asteroid field, the fast yacht had gained several days on them.
Though trying to keep up hope, for Ducote’s sake, Talyn privately doubted she’d be able to retrieve Decker in time, if she even found him. Masquerading as a courier, the Warthog slipped into low orbit, timing her descent so it was night over the island. The shuttle sailed down, all systems off, in full stealth mode and Talyn searched for a sign of the special beacon disguised as a badge on Amali’s private island.
When the Warthog was low enough to track the beacon and pinpoint Zack’s location, a dawn storm was already blanketing the area. Talyn had to switch back to full power to slice through the tempest, alerting the island’s guardians in the process. Fortunately, that same storm screwed with their systems just long enough...
*
“...and then I dropped out of the cloud cover, just in time to see the heroic tableau of Zack Decker's last stand in the pounding surf. The rest, as they say, is history.” Talyn allowed an ironic smile to tug at her thin lips.
“If you had showed up a few minutes later, you wouldn't have found a Zack Decker anymore. But I’d have given the bastards one hell of a case of indigestion, I can tell you that.” Zack downed the rest of the whiskey and looked at Talyn with suspicion.
“Tell me, Commander, how the hell did I get mixed up in all this. I was just minding my own business on Aramis, crawling into a bottle every night, and blowing my pension on booze.”
There was more than a hint of anger in Decker's voice, a subtle warning he wouldn’t accept bullshit. Avril squeezed his hand reassuringly as Talyn looked at them in turn, clearly deciding how much she could say.
“The Navy's been keeping a close eye on all Amali activities since we shut down one of the Coalition's covert programs last year. Success has been hard to come by because the Amalis and their cronies enjoy the full support of Sécurité Spéciale resources. On the off-chance, we placed undercover agents on all of Amali's ships, including Shokoten, which was a special target because it was fast, well-armed and good for solo runs into the badlands.”
“Harwan Lokis,” Zack said in a flat tone.
“Yes, though that wasn't his real name. He was a Navy lieutenant, and a good operative. The Sécurité Spéciale was on to him pretty fast and murdered him on Pradyn.”
“It was Nihao Kiani.”
“We suspected as much. Thank you for confirming it, Sergeant.”
“Don't bother looking for revenge, sir. Her body is dust in a Pacifica Kasbah.”
“You?”
“Raisa and me. And a Shrehari disruptor.”
Strangely, the thought of the formidable Arkanna and the sound of her name didn't give him anything more than a quick twinge of pain and emptiness.
“Thank you again. That saves me an assassination.” She took a sip of her coffee. “After Lokis' death, we were without a mole on Shokoten, and that made us nervous, since she was the most likely for any covert operations, especially now that the Amali's tame reiver clan is history. If you believe in fate or the gods, then it was preordained that a solution to our dilemma would walk right into our hands.”
“Me.”
“Right again.”
“So Tren Kinnear works for you, does he?” Zack growled, eyes narrowing in anger. “The slimy bastard. He'll feel my fist on his face when I see him again.”
Avril squeezed Decker's hand, as much in support as to contain his rising anger.
“Kinnear is a casual, not an operative. He runs a popular tavern at a major spaceport, so he hears and sees things. And he passes those things on to us.”
“Out of sheer altruism, right?” Zack’s words dripped with sarcasm.
“Mostly, yes,” Talyn replied, ignoring his tone. “At first, Tren Kinnear came to us on his own with information, out of a feeling of loyalty and duty. Since then, he's been a valuable asset. And before you ask, he's never accepted a single cred in payment. He’s a very proud man.”
Zack grunted in disbelief.
“When your little problem with the police happened, and Kinnear took you in, he told us about it and asked us to help keep things quiet, as a return favor for his work. That's when I pulled your personal file and had a brainstorm.” Talyn smiled sadly. “Sergeant, I think by retiring you early, the Marine Corps cut off its nose to spite its face.”
Decker glanced away in embarrassment.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Since the Sécurité Spéciale had uncovered Lokis, I figured someone who wasn't an agent but with the brains to work things out on his own might do the trick. You fit the profile and would make an excellent merchant ship gunner. I instructed Kinnear to set up your recruitment aboard Shokoten the next time Captain Strachan came in and to make both you and he believe this was merely one ex-Marine trying to do a favor for another. I had hoped that if you found something dangerous to the Fleet or to the Commonwealth, you'd feel it was your duty to pass it along, and that you'd know danger when you saw it. Kinnear wanted you to be fully briefed and not sent in as a dupe.”
“Yeah, right,” Zack muttered, shaking his head, “and I'm a Verdanian hermaphrodite.”
“Then don't believe me, if you like,” Talyn briefly glanced at the ceiling, as if praying for patience. “But I vetoed that idea. If you went in as an agent, the Sécurité Spéciale would have you marked within days, and we'd be back where we were.”
“So you sent me a trinket to remind me of my oath to the Corps. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”
“Something like that, yes, and to give us the means to track you. We had an agent watching at every port, ready to reel you in if you gave signs of wanting to speak.”
“Except Pacifica, the night we went into the Kasbah.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I can tell when I'm being watched, a sort of sixth sense.”
“I'm impressed. That night in Hadley, our watcher vanished. He was probably caught in the net the Sécurité Spéciale was closing around you.”
“How did you guys plant that badge on me anyways?”
“I slipped it in your pocket in that rowdy bar on Pradyn, just before Shokoten's first officer joined you.”
“You?”
Talyn smiled.
“I was the Ungaran spacer beside you.”
“I'll be damned,” Decker shook his head with grudging admiration. Ungarans were the most human-like of all Shield races, but still... “You're good, sir.”
“Does that mean you're no longer pissed-off at me?” Talyn raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah.” Zack shook his head slowly. “When all's said and done, your plan worked. Knowing what I now know, I'd do it all over again. That fucker Amali is just too damn dangerous.”
“Spoken like a true Pathfinder.”
Decker acknowledged the compliment with a wry smile.
“After twenty years, it's damn hard to break some habits.”
“I'm glad to hear it, Sergeant because I must ask you to do something else.”
“Yes, sir, I'll do it, sir. I'll lead in that follow-on force you mentioned.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. That will be a great help.”
“Hey, Commander, I know the difference between a mission based on a briefing and one that's guided by someone who's actually seen the target up close.”
“No!” Avril Ducote's voice stilled the others. She glared at Talyn indignantly.
“Zack has already done more than enough for you. He’s no longer a Marine. Why should he go risk his life again? Let your follow-on force do it without him.” Then, her tone dropped to a whisper. “I don't want to risk losing him again.”
Decker took her hand.
“This is something I must do, Avril. If it saves a single Marine's life, the risk will be worth it, and I have a promise to keep. I told Amali I would kill him myself.”
“You hear the sound of the bugles, and you have to go? Once a Marine always a Marine? Go then, Zachary Decker, and be damned. Just don't be surprised if I don't wait for you.”
Then, before tears overwhelmed her, she fled the galley.
“Sorry, Sergeant.”
“Don't be, sir. I can understand why she's upset. Me, I can look at this mission and not think about whether I'll be coming back or not. It isn't in my nature; otherwise, I'd never have made it as a Pathfinder. So I don't look at it as a chance to die, only as an opportunity to make the scumbags die. Avril will come around.”
“I hope so, Sergeant, for she and her ship will have a role to play in the operation.”
“I figured as much. So who's the follow-on force?”
Before Talyn could answer, emergence nausea overcame them.
“We're at the rendezvous,” she said when it passed. “Let's head for the cockpit and see if they've arrived,” she replied instead, a sphinxlike smile on her face.
Avril was behind the controls of her ship. Without turning around to face them, she said, in a savage tone, “We're here, Commander.”
“Whatever happened to Hera?” the agent asked.
“I can’t be friendly with the woman who blew on the damned bugle, knowing my shipmate would respond like a hunting dog to the hunt master's call.”
Zack placed both hands on Avril's shoulders and squeezed.
“Hey, take it easy, girl. I'm doing this because I want to, not because a spook manipulated me.” He glanced at Talyn, eyes apologizing for the unflattering description. The agent smiled back.
“Anyway, I won't be going in alone, like last time. If I survived on my own, imagine with a full strike force.”
“Promise you’ll come back?”
“Hey, I promised when I left the ship at Deveaux. I came back didn't I?”
“Yes,” she finally replied, grudgingly, “with a bit of a delay.”
“Not my fault, Avril. Complain to Walker Amali. Or shall I give him your compliments when I put out his lights?”
“I don't care, Zack. Just come back.”
He was about to reply when a flash of light out in space caught his eye.
“Ship emerging, Commander. And damn close too. Either they have a good sailing master, or the captain's a hot-dogger.”
“Both, Sergeant. That's them.”
They waited in silence, watching the growing spark off their port bow. As the ship neared, Zack could make out its shape.
“Hey, that's a bloody patrol frigate.” His heart beat faster as he recognized a ship just like the one he'd called home for several years. Happy years.
“It’s the patrol frigate Charles Martel.”
“The 251st,” Zack said in a low voice.
“Indeed. They're the follow-on force. The 251st has been doing jobs lately that never officially happened.”
“A spook commando?”
“Something like that. Unofficially, they work for my bureau in Naval Intelligence. Do you know them?”
“Some. Like their sergeant major. Most of the other noncoms too. Corps' a small place.”
“So I hear, and the Pathfinder community even smaller. Not to throw aspersions on your old unit but the 251st are the best of the best. That's why they get the prize missions.”
Zack nodded, only half hearing Talyn. His mind had returned to the days when he wore black battledress with the six silver stripes and crossed swords of his rank. When he had lived on board Charles Martel's sister ship Musashi and led the thirty Pathfinders of Third Troop, 902nd Pathfinder Squadron. The days when he felt alive and happy, respected, known as a master craftsman in his chosen profession. He'd give his everything to return to that life.
If he hadn't accepted this mission before, he would now. A chance to finish off Amali by being a Pathfinder for the best Pathfinder outfit in the Fleet was enough to give him goose bumps.
*
“Demetria, this is the Commonwealth Starship Charles Martel, Simon Dubois commanding.”
Zack snapped out of his reverie and looked at Avril. “They're calling you.”
“Oh, right,” Ducote replied, sounding as if she too had lost herself in contemplation. “This is Demetria, Avril Ducote commanding.”
“Is there a Commander Talyn on board?”
“Yes. Hera,” Avril pointed at her commo console, “go ahead.”
“Talyn here, Captain Dubois. Everything's good. Sergeant Decker is with us, and he's agreed to go with the squadron. I suggest we dock Demetria with your ship.”
“Agreed. Stand by for tractor beam lock, Captain Ducote. We shall pull you in and mate the ships at our keel airlock. When we have you, please cut all engines.”
“Demetria standing by.”
With a smoothness born of long practice, the frigate's crew gently took the small trader into their tractor beam's embrace and mated her to the underside of the bigger vessel with barely a shudder. When the airlocks were pressurized, Talyn touched Avril's arm.
“I shall need you both at the briefing.”
She looked at Zack with a critical eye. His cuts and bruises were still livid, but he still looked the part of a tough ex-Marine, in his old, black battledress with the Imperial Armaments blaster on his hip. The only insignia he wore was the Master Gunner's badge, but nobody would fail to recognize him as a combat-hardened noncommissioned officer.
Talyn in the lead, they climbed the ladder to the upper airlock. The hatches opened smoothly, and Zack inhaled the achingly familiar smell of a warship under sail when they left the trader and clambered aboard the frigate.
Zack barely noticed the figures waiting by the hatch as he stepped into the ship. Snapping to attention, he saluted first towards the bow of the frigate where in the days of ocean-going ships the national ensign had flown, then the officer of the deck who happened to be the captain himself.
“Permission to come aboard, sir.”
“Permission granted, Sergeant Decker. Welcome.” Commander Dubois shook Decker's hand after returning the salute.
Another officer stepped forward and held out his hand. He was tall, almost as tall as Zack and a few years younger, but his weathered face and old eyes hinted a long time spent on the frontier. Pale hair, blue eyes, with a hawk's nose and a firm chin, he would have looked intimidating to a civilian, but to Decker, he looked like one of his own.
“Major Kal Ryent, CO of the 251st. Glad to have you along. I understand you saw the inside of the target.”
“Yes, sir. And I'll be glad to guide you in.”
“Good. My sergeant-major has told me a lot about you when we found out you'd be joining us.”
“Knowing Vanlith, everything you heard was bad, right sir?” Zack grinned.
“Right, Sergeant, which means you'll fit right in.” He smiled.
When Decker saw Ryent's pale eyes shift, he suddenly remembered his manners.
“Sir, I'd like to introduce Captain Avril Ducote, of the trader Demetria. I owe her a lot.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain.” Ryent shook Avril's hand, appraising her. He liked what he saw. Ducote seemed steady, capable, and experienced.
“I suggest we head for the briefing room,” Talyn said once the introductions were over.
“Right, Hera,” Ryent replied, flashing the intelligence officer a quick smile that, to Decker, seemed more than just a greeting between casual friends.
As they walked down the all too familiar passageways, Zack asked Talyn in a whisper, “You, and the major old friends, sir?”
“You could say that, Sergeant,” she replied in the same tone. “We've done a few missions together.”
Zack nodded, a knowing smile briefly playing on his lips.
The lift deposited them on the bridge deck, by the ship's briefing room and as the gunner stepped through the door, a deep, vibrant voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Well, well, well, if it isn't Zachary T. Decker, Command Sergeant, retired. Who left the airlock open and let you on board a perfectly respectable ship?”
The speaker, a stocky, broad-shouldered noncom in his late forties stood by the conference table, fists on his hips. He wore the starburst insignia of a sergeant major and the gold jump wings of an expert Pathfinder.
“Vanlith, you old bugger,” Decker shot back, grinning broadly. “I see the Corps finally fucked-up and made you respectable.”
Avril Ducote was surprised to see the two men embrace.
“Speaking of fuck-ups,” the weathered sergeant-major said when they let go of each other, “the Corps made a real doozy in your case. How's retirement?”
Zack grimaced.
“Shitty, Gus. Don't take it if they offer. The first thing you do is crawl into a bottle. Then, you get yourself into more trouble than a gaggle of recruits on shore leave. And then you end up on a fucking frigate, wondering how the hell you volunteered to jump into shit with a bunch of certifiably crazy Pathfinders. Civvie life is nuts, man.”
He punched the older man in the arm.
“Gus, I'd like to introduce you to Avril Ducote, the captain of the ship I'm working on. Avril, this is Augustus Vanlith, the only reprobate in the Corps to make sergeant major after getting busted down to private not once, but twice. He's one hell of a Pathfinder.”
“Captain,” Vanlith shook Avril's hand, “I can only express my admiration at your fortitude. Zack can be one hell of a nasty customer. And I wish you all the happiness you can find in this shitty universe.”
“Thank you,” she replied shyly, wondering how he knew about their budding relationship.
“Sergeant, Captain Ducote,” Major Ryent interrupted with a smile, “I'd like to introduce the rest of my people.”
For Zack Decker, it was old home week, a return to the life he had loved. He either knew all the 251st's senior noncoms or knew people who knew them. The Corps was indeed a small place.
“... and if we can finish with the tearful reunion,” Ryent's command voice called everybody to order, “I suggest we turn to planning the mission. Take your seats please.” He turned to Zack.
“Sergeant Decker, the floor is yours. My battle captain will project aerial views of the target on the vidscreen on request.”
Zack went over to the white screen.
“Okay, Pathfinders, Uncle Zachary will tell you a sweet bedtime story, and when I'm done, you'll want to slice Walker Amali's balls off yourselves.”
*
For the next hour, Decker described the island and Amali's operation in excruciating detail, including his own ordeal. Talyn supplied information she'd obtained through her intelligence sources, but it was essentially Zack's show.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Ryent nodded when Decker finished his briefing. “It'll be a tough nut to crack, especially since we'll violate the Rules big-time by mounting an unauthorized op on a member planet. Hera, what are our mission parameters?”
“Simple, Kal.” Talyn let her hard eyes roam around the table, meeting the others' square on. “Kill all Quas adults, especially the queen, all pupas and destroy all eggs. In intel words, terminate with extreme prejudice. Not that it'll be difficult, after Sergeant Decker's speech. Once you've done that, destroy the labs, data banks and anything associated with the hive.”
“Dibs on the interrogation room,” Zack interrupted.
Ryent looked at him for a few heartbeats and nodded. Anyone who had suffered a mind probe was entitled to demolish the gear that had raped his mind.
“What about the humans?” The major asked.
“If it shoots or resists, kill it. If it runs and hides, let it be. Ideally, I'd like a few survivors to spread the word that the Fleet has the cojones to violate the Rules when the Coalition goes beyond the pale. And that's why you're going in under your own colors, not as a covert force.”
“Good.” Ryent and the Marines nodded with satisfaction. They disliked fighting under a false flag, even if politics and secrecy made it necessary. “And Amali?”
“Mine again, sir,” Decker interjected. “I promised him I'd see him dead.”
“If we catch him, he's yours, Decker,” Ryent replied.
“If.” Talyn sounded dubious. “He probably has a foolproof escape route only he knows about. And at the first sign of danger, he's gone.”
“Leaving his people on their own,” Zack's voice dripped with acid. “Fucking coward.”
“Any other constraints?” Ryent asked.
“Yes. It'll be a light infantry op, using Warthogs instead of the Typhoons and combat cars, and we can't afford to put Charles Martel in Pacifica orbit. Too obvious. If Captain Ducote agrees, we'll use Demetria to bring you into launch position, and retrieve you after the mission. Her ship is large enough to carry the gunboats, and can slip into orbit without attracting as much attention. Your descent will be in full stealth mode, not only to deceive Pacifica Aerospace Control, but also Amali's private AA artillery.”
“I'll do it,” Avril Ducote said, voice steady. But Zack wasn't deceived. Her pallor had increased, and he could see she was frightened. But gutsy.
“Okay.” Ryent stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders as he stood. “Hera, Mo, Sarn't-Major, Sergeant Decker, Captain Ducote and Sergeant Takahashi, please stay behind. We'll work on the mission plan. The rest of you can start preparations. We'll hold orders in two hours. Sergeant Ikeda, get a full issue of combat gear ready for Sergeant Decker, minus, I believe, a pistol. You seem to own a well-maintained Imperial Armaments specimen, Decker.”
“Aye, sir. Took it off a reiver near Koramshar. My first Fleet Pathfinder op.”
“With the 902nd, right? I heard about that one when I was at the School. An excellent piece of work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
*
Three hours later, Vanlith took Zack down to the locker room to draw his kit. Along the way, Decker breathed in the atmosphere of a warship's Marine barracks and felt the loss again. He belonged here.
Word about him had spread fast, and the Pathfinders preparing their armor and weapons nodded in greeting as he passed. Ikeda waited for them beside an open locker which now bore the name Decker, Z.T.
The armor fit like a glove and Zack reveled in the feel of its protective weight. He was pleased to see that they'd put command sergeant stripes and swords on it.
“Sorry, I couldn't find a crest of the 902nd, Decker.”
“I think I still have a few hidden away. Hang on.” Decker dug into an inner pocket and grinned as his hand came back with several plasticized insignia. He slapped a crest on each sleeve, above the rank stripes.
“A lot better, Zack,” Vanlith nodded. “Why not go the whole hog?” He took the remaining two crests from Decker's fingers and pressed them on his battledress.
“Welcome back to the Pathfinders, Command Sergeant Decker.”
Vanlith reached into the locker and pulled out a fifteen-millimeter carbine. He tossed it at Zack, who caught it and expertly worked the action, performing the approved Marine Corps weapons safety check.
The carbine felt right in his hands, natural. A beautiful piece of machinery lovingly maintained and which he would lovingly use. Soon.
“Lock and load, Zack, because we're going on a bug hunt.”
