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“That Gregor will make a full recovery is the best news I’ve read in a long time.” Holt gave Kowalski a faint smile of relief after reading Dunmoore’s report in the latter’s office moments after it arrived.
“Yup.” She nodded. “The fact he saved his own life by saving hers is one of those mysteries best left to the Almighty. If he hadn’t rushed the assassin, the dagger would have gone in just a few centimeters higher and punctured his heart. He wouldn’t have survived long enough for medical help. Who do you think commissioned the hit?”
“Hersom, no question about it. That was a professional job. It only failed because the assassin didn’t count on Siobhan’s flag captain to act like a trained bodyguard. We’ll likely never find out. Using a real Pathfinder dagger as the weapon is a nice bit of deflection, though. Plenty of Special Forces operators joined the private sector after the war looking for adventure on a larger salary, and a lot joined the Howlers. The MPs will never find him. He likely came aboard the starbase openly under the guise of an Armed Forces member and left it the same way, then vanished once he was on the ground before the investigation focused on transient personnel. The face picked up by surveillance gear doesn’t exist in the security database. So clearly, he wore a disguise at the time. Like I said, professional, which means SSB. Oh, we’ll look, but I doubt there’s any actionable evidence to find. The locals discovered nothing like usable DNA traces, and even if they had, an SSB assassin would be untraceable.”
Holt shrugged.
“All we can do is thank the deity of our choice that Gregor survived and Siobhan’s unhurt. He might not make the 101st’s next patrol, but that’s a minor thing.”
“Do you figure they’ll try again?”
A grimace.
“Perhaps, but I’m of a mind to warn Hersom the next attempt will cost him personally. If Admiral Doxiadis approves, of course. The attempted assassination of a rear admiral aboard a starbase raises the stakes considerably.”
“And shows the Fleet has holes the SSB exploits at will. Granted, a scheme to take Siobhan out was likely concocted before she docked, but considering it occurred less than twelve hours after her unannounced arrival speaks to both good planning and a degree of penetration we did not suspect.”
“Don’t I know it. My counterintelligence colleague responsible for threats internal to the Fleet will take it as a personal failure, and that means a lot of work ahead ferreting out SSB moles for his people and anyone he can draft.”
“So long as your lot doesn’t embark on a witch hunt that could cause extensive damage. It would play into the SSB’s hands.”
“We’re not the sort, so don’t worry.” Holt stood. “I’ll let you brief the CNO while I do the same with Doxiadis.”
**
“Ah, Admiral.” Blayne Hersom looked up as Admiral Jado Doxiadis, Chief of Naval Intelligence, approached his table on the same patio where he’d met Holt. “No uniform today?”
“You don’t like my fashion sense, Blayne?” Doxiadis took the other chair, but instead of facing the lake, he stared intently at Hersom.
“Your fashion sense is impeccable. I’ve just never seen you in civilian during working hours. What’s the occasion?”
“I’d rather not make a splash out here where anyone can see, and a four-star admiral’s uniform is rather noticeable.”
Hersom, who was facing the lake, glanced at Doxiadis.
“Oh? Now I’m intrigued.”
“Then stop staring out into nothing and look at me, you despicable, jumped-up bureaucratic weasel.”
“What was that?”
Hersom’s eyes widened in shock, but he obeyed Doxiadis and turned his chair ninety degrees.
“Listen to me carefully, Blayne. I will only say this once. Do not, ever again, send an assassin after one of ours. Otherwise, I will ensure the SSB is burned to the ground.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I certainly don’t like your tone, Jado.”
“The attempted hit on Dunmoore that took out her flag captain — who’s doing nicely, by the way, send him flowers, he’ll enjoy the irony — that’s on the SSB and don’t offer me your usual denials. Consider this a formal warning by the Fleet. Should anything happen to Siobhan Dunmoore, you will join her in the Infinite Void. That’s a promise, even if Sara Lauzier does something on her own. Consider yourself her guardian. Keep her under control and stay away from the Fleet. We’ll be cleaning up the Protectorate Zone and leashing your Howlers, and you’ll watch us do it without moving a finger. Otherwise, you might find SSB assets inside the Commonwealth vanish without a trace.”
A mocking smile danced across Hersom’s lips.
“I never knew you could be so hot-blooded, my friend.”
“You tried to murder one of ours. If your assassin had succeeded, we wouldn’t be talking right now because our assassin would also have succeeded.” Doxiadis stood. “And we are better at using violence than your people. Always a pleasure, Blayne.”
**
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Gregor.” Dunmoore beamed down at Pushkin as his eyes fluttered open.
“How—how long?” He asked in a dry, raspy voice.
“Five days. Since you came out of surgery, you’ve been in a medically induced coma to help with the regen therapy. The medicos say you’ll make a full recovery, although a centimeter or two higher, and the outcome might have been different.” She shook her head. “You fool. Whatever possessed you to jump in front of me and save my life?”
“Instinct?”
“Well, whatever it was, thank you. I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
A smile appeared on his drawn features.
“Consider us even, Skipper. You saved my life back when you took command of Stingray. If not for you, I’d be dead by now, or just as good as.”
“Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”
“No.” He licked dry lips with an equally dry tongue. “I’d love a drink of water right now.”
Dunmoore held up a bulb with a straw.
“Would you like me to do the honors or call a professional?”
“If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”
She gently placed the straw between his lips and tilted the bulb once, twice, three times, then pulled it away.
“Better?”
“Much. So, what happened? I can’t remember anything beyond some asshole was about to puncture my admiral.”
She recounted every moment, then added a cryptic statement to the effect that friends on Earth would make sure the party responsible never tries again.
“Ah. Zeke and Kathryn, right?”
“Yes.”
“Bastards who did this should be nailed against a tree and shot the old-fashioned way, with small steel pellets, repeatedly, until they resemble colanders.”
“I’m sure between them, they came up with something workable, though less bloodthirsty.”
“Does this mean I can’t join you for the next patrol?”
She shook her head.
“We’re extending our stay in port, to everyone’s delight, so we can take aboard a Marine contingent. By the time that’s settled, you’ll be released, if not on full duties, then light ones, which don’t bar working as flag captain.”
“Good. You can’t go back into the Zone without me. After this, I deserve a little vicarious vengeance as we wipe out the tools of those fools on Earth.”
“Get better, Gregor. The sooner you’re back aboard Iolanthe, the happier we’ll be.” She stood. “And before an apologetic nurse tries to tell a rear admiral time’s up, I’d better go. I’ll be back tomorrow, and every day you’re in here. Should I bring the chief next time?”
“Please do. He’s another one who helped save me back then.”