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“They finally stopped hailing us, Skipper,” Chief Cazano announced when Dunmoore re-entered the flag CIC after a hasty meal in the wardroom. “No idea whether it was because of Consul Forenza or they simply became fed up with getting nowhere.”
Dunmoore dropped into her command chair and studied the tactical hologram showing Kilia Station with the docked Confederacy ship, her task force, and the Shrehari ‘science’ vessel, everything in motion like celestial clockwork. That pirate captain could probably tell her where to look for Athena, but could she afford the cost of making him speak?
Then, an idea struck her. Enoc Tarrant and his people were solely interested in profit and didn’t much care about the sources. Still, they understood the Commonwealth Navy could easily disrupt many of them simply by intercepting and inspecting any ship approaching Kilia. Perhaps he could be convinced his best interests lay in helping Dunmoore find the missing liner. But, of course, a senior Commonwealth Navy officer blackmailing Tarrant could make Forenza’s job as Commonwealth Consul and head spy on Kilia more complex, and he might object. Assuming, of course, that Tarrant didn’t decide she was bluffing with a pair of deuces.
“Incoming transmission from Consul Forenza.”
A faint smile crossed Dunmoore’s lips. Speak of the devil...
“On my command chair display.”
Moments later, a holographic Forenza appeared in front of her.
“Captain, I’ve arranged a meeting with Enoc Tarrant. Needless to say, he’s rather irritated by your presence because he’s correctly deducing the sight of five Commonwealth warships will make customers with questionable cargoes hesitate.”
“How nice to hear.” Her smile turned into a smirk. “Perhaps he can use his considerable connections in the Zone and help us search for Athena. It’s the quickest way of ensuring our speedy departure.”
“That is something we should discuss beforehand.”
She nodded.
“Indeed. I understand your situation and the fact that you’ll still be here when I’ve left with my task force.”
“Just so. Let’s be clear on one thing. Threatening Tarrant won’t get us far. He knows you’ll never open fire on Kilia. It would mean the end of your career. Conversely, he’ll never open fire on you because it means the end of his reign. What he can do, however, is reject requests for cooperation and use his connections inside the Commonwealth to see you punished.”
A snort. “You can’t intimidate someone who’s out the door when this is over, Consul. I’m the proverbial woman with nothing left to lose. But I wasn’t thinking of threats in any case. Coercing Tarrant into cooperation by cutting off his supply of pirates, sketchy traders, and renegades from every species in the Zone is another matter. As you said, those who fear the Navy won’t approach, lest we seize them. And the ones who do, other than the Shrehari, I can threaten with complete impunity. Not that it would take much. I daresay Salamanca is the largest fighting ship in the Zone at this point and the most modern. One broadside across a renegade’s bow, and they’ll know it’s either surrender or die. Is this an approach you’d support?”
“If you do it with a smile and merely seek his help in return for a speedy departure. Of course, should he prove false, you’ll come back for another chat.”
“Then we agree. When is our meeting with Tarrant?”
“In three hours. I’ve reserved one of the docking arms for your shuttle rather than use the internal bay. Tarrant and his people will be less likely to play silly games that way. Perhaps you could arrive in, say, two hours? I’ll show you the consulate, and we can discuss last-minute issues. Is there anyone from your previous meeting with Tarrant in the task force?”
“Yes, my command coxswain, Chief Petty Officer Guthren. I planned on bringing him with me.”
“Good. And armed guards. I would suggest four. You and your coxswain should carry sidearms as well.”
“Will do.”
“In two hours, then. Forenza, out.”
Guthren immediately stood. “I’ll speak with Salamanca’s bosun to arrange the escort and weapons.”
“And I’ll see that the second officer organizes a shuttle,” Pushkin added.
She nodded her thanks. “While you do that, I’ll speak with Captain Rydzewski.”
Dunmoore found Salamanca’s commanding officer in his day cabin and took the chair across from his desk.
“I’m going ashore to meet with Consul Forenza and the guy who runs Kilia, a thug by the name Enoc Tarrant. We met during the war, but Tarrant remembers me as Shannon O’Donnell, captain of the privateer Persephone. I’ll be taking Chief Guthren, who was with me at the time. He’s organizing an armed landing party — four spacers — as an escort. Gregor is speaking with your second officer to organize the shuttle. My goal is convincing Tarrant speedy and willing cooperation in helping find Athena will see us gone before shipping around here, and Kilia’s profits are unduly disrupted. He has connections and could obtain quicker results than the Colonial Office intelligence network.”
Rydzewski nodded. “Understood.”
“While I’m away from Salamanca, you’re in command of the task force. Should Tarrant or anyone else be foolhardy and detain me, you will ignore my presence in Kilia and continue with the mission. In such a circumstance, I am expendable. Should that happen, please work closely with Gregor. We went through something similar during the war.”
She held his eyes, knowing he’d likely never experienced a situation where his commanding officer might become a hostage. Besides, the general order covering such an eventuality was rescinded years earlier, a move Dunmoore considered foolishly optimistic. Just because the war was over didn’t mean hostile elements wouldn’t dare incur the Fleet’s wrath if they thought they could get away with it.
“I doubt Tarrant will risk angering the Commonwealth. He didn’t strike me as the type, but people change, and there’s no knowing what other factions exercise power in Kilia.”
“Noted, sir.”
“I may call on you for a demonstration of power if Tarrant forces my hand, so be ready.”
“Yes, sir.” His jaw muscles worked for a moment as if he were chewing on his words. “May I say that I’m not particularly comfortable with you doing this? Flag officers commanding shouldn’t lead landing parties. Instead, they should negotiate via comlink and leave the landing to their subordinates.”
An amused smile relaxed Dunmoore’s features.
“I’m not a flag officer, Piotr, though I understand your sentiments. In any other circumstance, I would proceed with more caution, but here, today, only my physical presence in Tarrant’s company can get us results. Remember, I wasn’t chosen for this mission merely because I was available but because I know firsthand how things work in this part of the galaxy.”
Dunmoore understood part of Rydzewski’s worry stemmed from fear he’d be stuck seeing the rescue through to a successful end and either felt inadequate or feared that in case of failure, his promising career would be over.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back aboard for the evening meal after hopefully securing Tarrant’s help in exchange for our speedy departure.”
**
Dunmoore was glad Forenza had arranged a docking arm. Entering the shuttle bay carved into the asteroid would bring back too many memories. Even so, for a fraction of a second when she climbed aboard her craft, she expected four soldiers from E Company, 3rd Battalion, Scandia Regiment as escort rather than bosun’s mates.
She’d received invitations to attend the Regiment’s anniversary celebrations over the years but could never free herself from her duties in time and make the trip from Caledonia. Besides, just the thought of seeing Lieutenant Colonel Tatiana Salminen, as she was now, and the men and women who’d served faithfully in Iolanthe under her command made her wistful for long-vanished glories.
As she settled in beside Guthren after giving the pilot and her escort a nod, the latter said, in a voice pitched for her ears only, “Apropos of nothing whatsoever, I wonder how Karlo Saari is doing.”
Dunmoore turned her head and gave him a sardonic look as the aft ramp rose and cut them off from the hangar deck.
“You too, eh?”
Command Sergeant Karlo Saari of the Scandia Regiment led her escort the first time she and Guthren visited Kilia Station.
“Too many memories, sir.”
“Last I heard, Karlo was a reserve captain and back as an EMT in his hometown. But you knew that, Chief.”
“Those were the good old days, Skipper, when we ran the enemy ragged in this part of the frontier and could threaten guys like Enoc Tarrant without worrying that HQ might take exception.”
“You said it.”
They fell silent as the shuttle lifted half a meter off the deck, retracted its landing struts, then pivoted and headed for the starboard space doors now slowly opening while red warning strobes flashed. A force field kept the atmosphere from escaping, but the inner airlocks were buttoned up.
The sleek, elegant craft nosed through the shimmering curtain and out into the void, leaving Salamanca’s comforting armored hull behind. At that moment, for an inexplicable reason, the blaster at Dunmoore’s hip felt unusually heavy and uncomfortable. True, this was the first time she carried a sidearm since the war. But it was more than that, more than the memories.
She abruptly released her seat restraints, stood, and headed for the flight deck. Then, out of politeness, she stuck her head through the open door and asked, “Mind if I join you?”
The petty officer at the controls looked over his shoulder.
“Please do, sir. You can take the weapons operator seat if you like.” He gestured at the console to his right. As she settled in, the grizzled veteran indicated the pilot wings on her battledress tunic and grinned. “Want to take the controls?”
“Thanks for the offer, but those,” she tapped the wings, “are now just a souvenir of my younger days. I haven’t flown anything in a long time. I just want a good look at those docking pylons. They weren’t there the last time I visited this place.”
“In that case, enjoy the view.” He centered their target, Pylon Five, on the flight deck’s primary display and zoomed in. The shuttle was level with the docking station, its topside facing the spinning asteroid. “I’ve matched Kilia’s rotation. Now, it’s just a question of getting within five hundred meters under our own power. Then Kilia will tractor beam us the rest of the way. Can’t say I’m too keen about surrendering control to this lot, but I guess it’s that or entering the shuttle bay, which wouldn’t be any better.”
“I’ve done the shuttle bay, PO. This is better. Much better. Up here, if things go pear-shaped, you simply blow the docking clamps and shove off. Escaping from down there isn’t quite as easy.”
“Do you think we might get into trouble?”
She shook her head. “No. But you never can tell when you’ll need to make a quick getaway.”
“Roger that, sir.” He glanced at his console. “And we’re within tractor beam range.”
Right on cue, the radio came to life. “Shuttle Luckner, this is Kilia Traffic. Activating tractor beam.”
A few seconds passed, then, “Luckner confirms. We are under your control.”
Dunmoore stared at the petty officer and mouthed, ‘Luckner?’
He shrugged. “They wanted a name. Since using the hull number is clumsy and you’re the task force commander.”
They watched the docking station grow on the primary display, even though the shuttle was approaching broadside rather than head-on. When they were within a few meters, four arms extruded from its surface along with a universal airlock adapter tube. Moments later, four thumps resonated through the hull, followed by a fifth.
“Shuttle Luckner, you are docked. Please confirm airlock integrity from your side.”
The petty officer studied his console. “I read pressure on the other side of my hatch.”
“In that case, welcome to Kilia. You may disembark. The Commonwealth Consul is on his way. Kilia Traffic, out.”