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THIRTY-­THREE

North Star Spaceport

South of Makaum Sprawl

0518 Hours Zulu Time

O
n every planet Sage had ever served on, there was a “North Star Spaceport.” He'd heard that the actual owners were an interplanetary criminal syndicate that used the small spaceports to launder credits, or maybe to ship their own black-­market goods. Or maybe there was a small corp somewhere that had licensed the name throughout the known star systems, spread the gossip themselves, and charged licensing fees to the ­people who wanted to set up shop under the North Star name.

Sage wasn't sure what the true story was, and he didn't really care. He and Kiwanuka left the other soldiers at the spaceport. Culpepper didn't care for the idea, but he was a soldier who followed orders.

Faceshield lifted, Culpepper scowled at the Phrenorian warriors milling around the aircar. “I'll be here till you get back, Top.”

“I know you will, Corporal. I'm counting on it.” Sage walked toward the spaceport office, a small plascrete block that had the name painted across it.

The spaceport was only large enough for four shuttles at any one time. There were no storage areas. Refueling and repairs were done in space in rented mechanics' bays on space stations. Profits were taken through quick turnover traffic, dealing with regular deliveries as well as taking in overflow from other corps' ports.

One of the shuttles sat out on the field. It was a no-­frills scarred box with a rounded nose, stubby wings, and three large thrusting engines. There wouldn't be anything comfortable about the ride.

The small man in the office window had white hair and bowed shoulders, and age had written a story in the wrinkles on his face. He was a man who had been countless places and seen countless things, but now he stared out at Sage with bewilderment.

“Sergeant Sage?” the clerk asked.

Sage responded that he was. He had called North Star because he hadn't wanted to use a Terran Army shuttle and risk tipping off Ellen Hodgkins.

“You requested four seats on the shuttle?”

“Yes.”

The clerk motioned toward Kiwanuka and Zhoh and the Phrenorian warrior that accompanied them. “For the four of you?”

“Yes. Round trip.”

“For all of you?”

“Yes.”

For a moment longer, the clerk stared. His bewilderment became disbelief, then he firmed his jaw, processed Sage's credstick, and handed them the tickets. The little man continued staring after them as they went to the shuttle.

Near Space

6259 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

Zhoh endured the launch, felt the giant primary of gravity pressing him back into the foam seat, and concentrated on the mission he had set for himself. Breathing was difficult, but he worked at it and kept himself calm.

Being in space was no problem, but leaving a gravity well or returning to one came close to unnerving him—­though he would never admit that to anyone. Give him his
patimong
and a place to stand and he would battle any being, but he dreaded the excess gravity because it always felt like his exoskeleton would give way under the increased forces. He had never seen that happen to anyone, though there were those who claimed to have seen such a thing, and he did not think it could happen under normal conditions.

But he only had to remember Sage and the female sergeant lying in other foam seats to know that these conditions were not normal.

“When we find Ellen Hodgkins,” Mato said over the comm link from the foam seat beside him, “we cannot control what she will tell the sergeant.”

Zhoh didn't know how Mato could think to speak at the moment, or how he found the breath.

“What if she tells the sergeant about General Rangha's involvement in the weapons dealings?”

Zhoh already knew the answer to that. “Then we kill them all, Mato. At that point, we will have no choice.” He felt angrier that he had to find these loose ends and deal with them so carefully. This was Rangha's mess, and it should have put his head on a pole. But Zhoh's honor would not allow him to let the Empire be embarrassed in such a manner. A Phrenorian warrior was a fighter. Not a thief or profiteer. What a warrior did when he took up his weapons was to further the interests of the Empire, not himself.

For a moment, Zhoh caught himself on the horns of that dilemma. There might be some who would say his actions now were to further his own interests, not the Empire's. His future and that of the Empire were aligned. He would not think—­could not think—­any other way. Whether the Empire admitted it or not, it needed him to clean up Rangha's dishonor, and it needed him to take Makaum.

Finally the shuttle broke free of the planet. Zhoh breathed deeply while his body was suddenly weightless. Then the shuttle pilot kicked in the nose jets and started the spacecraft spinning fast enough to provide 0.3 g. The weightlessness went away and Zhoh felt comfortable.

The
Hooded Vorol

Orbiting Makaum

0746 Hours Zulu Time

“I can't allow you to carry arms aboard this ship.” The tall, thin Cheelchan female looked imposing in her black
smaup
-­hide coverall. Her own dark skin looked leathery and jaundiced. Her eyes were slits and sat too far apart on either side of her head to be considered attractive by Terran standards, but it echoed the fine bone structure of her body.

Cheelcha was a small backwater world that came naturally to crime, especially smuggling. It was a stopgap planet, a place between Gates where ships would meet and trade in illicit goods that were outlawed at the end of one Gate or the other.

The ­people had lived in clans and fought each other for the resources, till the offworlders had discovered them. Then they had banded together, more or less, in the sprawls and had stolen from those who came among them. Once they had ships, they spread to the stars, usually in the same line of work.

Sage gave her a flat stare. “You will step out of my way and allow me to do my job.”

“You have no right—­” the Cheelchan said.

“I have every right,” Sage roared in his drill instructor's voice. The Cheelchan ensign drew back from him. “The Terran Army signed on to protect Makaum.”

“This isn't Makaum.” Her voice took on a strident tone.

“You're in orbit around Makaum and you do business onplanet,” Sage replied. “As such, that makes you part and party to Terran Army peacekeeping efforts, including the right for Terran Army personnel to board and search your ship at any time.”

That was why Zhoh had needed Sage, to pull rank on the ship while they looked for Ellen Hodgkins.

“Check your manifests, ensign,” Sage continued, “or pull the ship's captain away from breakfast and break the news to him. Either way, I'm going to do my job.” He strode through the hatch to the small security area and the young Cheelchan stepped back from him.

She tapped her comm badge and connected to the captain. Sage didn't stay to hear the conversation. He'd done enough raids to know how that would go. He stopped in front of the ship's computer, tapped the keyboard, and scowled at it as the device immediately locked down.

“Wishing you'd brought Pingasa now, Top?” Kiwanuka asked over the comm.

“Do you know anything about breaking into these things?”

“If it doesn't involve a sledge or explosive materials, no.”

Sage turned to the Cheelchan female. “Open these rec­ords.”

She stood up to her full height and quivered a little. “I have sworn to protect the rights of our guests.”

“If I search through this computer and match it against warrants on this planet and others, I may end up taking all of your clients into custody.” Sage knew that was probably true.

“Tell me who you are looking for,” the ensign said.

“That's not happening.”

The Phrenorian warrior with Zhoh stepped forward. “Perhaps I can be of assistance, Sergeant.” He held up a PAD configured for Phrenorian use.

Sage looked at Zhoh.

“Mato is good with electronics systems,” the Phrenorian captain stated. “He got us through traps set in the storage bay.”

Sage remembered how impressed Pingasa had sounded when looking at the locking mechanism on the storage bay in Cheapdock. If Mato had gotten through problems there, then the warrior had to be good with tech.

However, allowing the Phrenorian to access the data first was risky. Sage didn't trust Zhoh to share everything.

Time was also a concern. Ellen Hodgkins, if she was still on the
Hooded Vorol,
could hear about what had happened at Cheapdock at any time, realize that the storage bay had been at the center of that, and elect to jump ship. The only thing Sage was banking on was that she wasn't an early riser and that no one had tipped her off.

Sage stepped back from the computer to allow Mato access. “Get it done.”

Mato moved into the space, opened the computer with a small screwdriver he handled like a surgeon, then attached clips from his PAD to the circuitry within. In seconds, he had access to the computer network and appeared to be scouring screen after screen of information.

“I have the information.” Mato took his leads back and deposited his PAD into his chest pouch. “I can take us to our destination.”

Sage let the Phrenorian take the lead and followed him.

Out in the wide metal-­and-­ceramic hall, Sage glanced up at the cams located along the hallway. “I know you didn't mention our destination back in the sec office, but they're going to track us. They may warn everyone on whatever floor we stop at.”

“They will not be tracking us,” Mato said with calm authority. “I have blinded their vid and aud sec systems, and I have created a passcode that will allow us access to most compartments on the ship.” He stopped in front of the ship's elevator and used a lesser hand to punch a keypad.

The doors slid open with a
whoosh
.

“You did all that in the little time you spent on their computer network?” Sage asked.

“Some things you prepare for ahead of time, Sergeant.” Mato stepped into the elevator and held the door till everyone entered, then he pressed the D Deck button.

Sage was impressed, and he made a mental note to talk to Pingasa when they returned. Computer security at the fort needed to be hardened—­immediately.

The elevator dropped toward D Deck.

D Deck

The
Hooded Vorol

0751 Zulu Hours

When the elevator doors opened, Sage blocked the way with his arm and looked at Mato. “I want to know where we're going.”

Mato turned to Zhoh. “Captain?”

“Tell him,” Zhoh said.

“Of course, sir.” Mato turned back to Sage. “Our destination is Unit Forty-­seven. She was registered as Deborah Jones. An innocuous name. Other Joneses are listed as being on the ship. It seems to be a popular name.”

Sage chose not to explain why Jones or Nguyen or Ivanov might be so popular and focused on the mission. “You're sure it's her?”

“The
Hooded Vorol
keeps a vid log of its guests. I matched her photo. She has changed her hair length and color, and the color of her eyes, but it is her.”

“I'll take the lead,” Sage said, pulling his Birkeland and setting it to stun.

“Of course, Sergeant,” Zhoh said.

Sage stepped into the hall and kept going. The first units were numbered 61 and 62, but the living quarters were tiny, claustrophobic areas for most ­people who weren't used to them, so Unit 47 wasn't so far away.

Only a few guests were in the hallway. One glance at the black, battle-­scarred Terran Army AKTIVsuits—­or maybe it was the Phrenorians, Sage conceded—­sent them scurrying.

Just before Sage reached the door to Unit 47, two men stepped out of the unit across the hall. They wore armor and carried weapons, so Sage knew the no-­weapons rule wasn't enforced on the ship. The men looked seasoned, carrying scars and the air of men used to combat.

One of the men—­a short, swarthy older man with an obvious cyber eye and the smooth way of moving that advertised he had wired reflexes—­triggered the face-­recog programming in Sage's near-­AI.
Attention, Sergeant, the man before you has been identified as Xander Singh, a known associate of Velesko Kos from time spent in the employment of Domanska Mining Corp in the Awver system. He is a wanted fugitive in three different—­

The door to Unit 47 opened and Ellen Hodgkins left the room in a hurry. Evidently the ensign had managed to send out an alert somehow from the sec office.

 

THIRTY-­FOUR

D Deck

The
Hooded Vorol

0753 Zulu Hours

H
odgkins had cropped her hair as Mato had said, cutting it to jaw length, and it was now electric blue with silver streaks. She wore black-­lensed eye protectors, so he couldn't be sure about the eye color, but her profile was a match to the facial-­recog that had been dug up when they'd investigated Velesko Kos. The skintight sky-­blue bodysuit flaunted her curves, making her stand out yet be instantly dismissed as window dressing for some corp exec. She carried a small matte-­black case in one hand.

Singh stepped forward, putting himself between Sage and Hodgkins. He spoke over his shoulder to the woman. “You need to go.” He drew a vibro knife from the sheath at his hip. The blade was as long as Sage's forearm and the weapon hummed in readiness.

“Ellen Hodgkins.” Sage drew the shokton he'd equipped himself with for use on the ship. Fighting in space was problematic. Beam weapons and depleted uranium rounds ricocheted off the bulkheads when they didn't punch holes in a hull. “By the authority of the Terran Army, you're under arrest for conspiracy regarding the attack on Fort York and for weapons trafficking.”

Hodgkins ran for the stairwell doorway at the other end of the hall. The second man trailed after her, drawing a sonic mace capable of delivering hydrostatic damage to anything that held fluid. The sonic blast could do significant damage even through a hardsuit.

“Get out of the way,” Sage told Singh.

The man shook his head. “That's not going to happen.”

Sage feinted with the shokton, then he delivered a backhand blow with the weapon aimed at Singh's head. Singh stepped back to avoid that, and when he did, Sage tossed a non-­lethal tangler grenade at the man's feet.

Moving smoothly and quickly, Singh swept the grenade behind him with the vibro blade and ducked away from the released plaswire coils that exploded out of it. The strands looped uselessly in the empty expanse between Singh and the other bodyguard.

Still in motion, Singh went on the attack. The vibro blade blurred in front of him. If not for the musculature of the hardsuit, Sage knew he'd never have been able to keep up with his opponent. Again and again, the blade bit into the armor on Sage's forearms as he blocked thrusts and slashes. The cuts ran deep, drawing sparks from wiring and sometimes blood from Sage's flesh beneath the armor. The nano-­circuitry repairing the hardsuit scrambled to rewire all the systems to keep Sage's hands online and operational.

Warning, Sergeant. Suit integrity in forearms and hands are at 57 percent. Continuing to battle in this manner will result in eventual failure of—­

In the past, Sage had been up against opponents wielding knives and swords, and he'd fought them on the battlefield and in rough bars, in the hardsuit and unassisted. Singh was one of the best he'd ever encountered, but the man had dropped into a rhythm. Perhaps fights didn't normally last this long for him, or the rhythm had come from sparring with the same partners too long, but Sage spotted the cadence and anticipated Singh's next strike before he made it.

When Singh struck, Sage closed his hand around the man's knife hand and squeezed, feeling the bones in the hand shatter even though they were reinforced. To his credit, Singh ignored the pain and dropped the vibro knife into his other hand. He stabbed at Sage's stomach and managed to get at least six centimeters of blade through the armor on Sage's right side.

Administering pain blocker. Administering coagulant. Do you require—­

Before Singh could drive the vibro blade any deeper, Sage backhanded the man on the side of his face, breaking his jaw and slamming his head into the wall. Singh's eyes glazed and rolled up into his head. Sage allowed the man to sink to the floor when his legs gave out beneath him.

“On your left, Sergeant.” Zhoh brushed by Sage in the narrow hallway, quickly followed by Mato.

Ignoring the fading pain in his stomach as the meds kicked in, Sage wrapped a hand around the vibro blade and pulled it out. Nausea swam through his mind and it knew it was more from shock combined with lack of sleep over the last three days than any damage he'd suffered. This wasn't the first time he'd been stabbed.

Blood pooled inside the armor, but it was already responding to the coagulants and nanobots in his system.

“Clear my head,” Sage said as he steadied himself.

Administering stimpak. Recommending med center and sleep. You are nearing exhaustion.

“Sage.” Kiwanuka stood beside him.

“I'm fine,” Sage told her, and started toward the other end of the hallway, where Zhoh had engaged the other bodyguard.

The Phrenorian captain stood his ground and blocked the sonic mace again and again with his sword. The stims hit Sage's system and his vision narrowed to dark tunnels. For a minute he didn't think his legs were going to hold him. He'd pushed himself too far, too hard, and for too long. If it hadn't been for the hardsuit and the microgravity in the ship, he didn't think he would have managed to remain standing. Stab wounds tended to have that reaction more than bullet or beam wounds. There was something visceral about getting pierced by a knife.

Beyond Zhoh, Mato, and the bodyguard, Ellen Hodgkins opened the stairwell and went through.

6313 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

The female was getting away.

The realization of that infuriated Zhoh. He resented the bodyguard standing in front of him, preventing him from reaching his prey. At another time, he might have respected his opponent's knowledge of arms and the bravery with which he fought, but that time was not now.

Zhoh thrust at the bodyguard again and once more found the sonic mace intercepting his blow before it could be delivered. The initial block shivered along Zhoh's arm, but the immediate sonic discharge that followed threatened to tear his arm from his body. Zhoh didn't dare expose a limb to the destruction the sonic mace would carry. A humanoid's skeleton would fracture under the onslaught, but under the chitin, his body would be destroyed.
Lannig
would not remedy that.

The stairwell door closed and erased sight of Ellen Hodgkins.

Cursing, Zhoh lashed out again. This time the bodyguard was not quick enough to block the keen blade completely and it sliced along his brow over his right eye. Enduring the sonic blast again, aching from the injuries he'd suffered, Zhoh moved to the bodyguard's right and took advantage of the temporary blindness caused by blood weeping into his eye.

Zhoh thrust again, but the
patimong
only delivered a glancing blow. The blade cut into the bodyguard's armor, but didn't reach the flesh beneath. Knowing he had an opening, the bodyguard whipped the sonic mace toward Zhoh's head. Zhoh managed to get his other primary up to block the bodyguard's blow, avoiding the weapon and striking his opponent's wrist.

Twisting slightly, Zhoh whipped his tail forward and sank the tip into the bodyguard's jugular, putting his strength and weight into the strike. Envenomed, already dying and losing motor control, the bodyguard stumbled back and grabbed at his throat as his air passages closed down.

Mercilessly, Zhoh shoved the soon-­to-­be corpse to the hallway floor and continued on. Mato followed him, and the sergeant was once more moving, with the female sergeant at his side.

Zhoh's thoughts raced as he opened the stairwell door and went through. He could not allow Ellen Hodgkins to tell what she knew about Rangha's criminal activities, and he didn't want to fight Sage and the other soldier here. If he and Mato killed them on the
Hooded Vorol
, Zhoh was certain the ship's crew would never let them leave the vessel alive.

Defeat seemed determined to snatch victory from his grasp. Pausing in the stairwell, Zhoh smelled the woman's scent and knew that she had gone up rather than down. He rushed up the steps that were built for humans more than they were constructed for Phrenorians.

He opened a comm to Mato. “You have seen the ship's blueprints?”

“Yes.”

“The woman is going up. What is up there?”

“Three decks up, there is a shuttle holding area. If she can get one of those vessels, she can leave this ship.”

Zhoh redoubled his efforts, launching himself up several steps at once, taking advantage of the microgravity.

G Deck

The
Hooded Vorol

6371 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

Stepping out of the stairwell on G Deck, Zhoh gazed around the wide-­open desk. Bulkheads set the 5,000-­meter-­long space off from the rest of the
Hooded Vorol
on three sides. The fourth side held three door bays that allowed shuttles to leave the ship.

The shuttles were small, space-­use only, and not meant to make planetfall. Several shapes and sizes occupied the rows before Zhoh, ranging from single-­pilot slingers to small cargo carriers.

“Hey.” The speaker was one of five Cheelchan sec guards emerging from around a boxy cargo shuttle much like the one that had brought Zhoh and the others to the
Hooded Vorol
, only this one was on a much smaller scale and looked more frail. “Put your weapons down and stand against the bulkhead.” His battle armor gleamed and he held a pistol in his hands before him.

The other sec guards looked like copies of the first and only maintained a ragged sense of combat, not spread out the way they should have been.

Mato, Sage, and Sergeant Kiwanuka joined Zhoh in the shuttle area.

“I'm Terran Army,” Sage declared, flashing his ID on a holo in front of his hardsuit. “We're here on a peacekeeping matter. These ­people are with me. Now back down and let us get our jobs done.”

“We have orders to detain you,” the sec leader said. “Now get up against the wall.”

A handful of beings stepped out from the other side of the shuttle space, saw what was taking place, and quickly retreated.

“Captain,” Sage said quietly over the comm link, “I'm not going to let these men stop me.”

“Agreed,” Zhoh replied. “Mato and I will go to the right—­”

“Sergeant Kiwanuka and I will go to the left. If you have to hurt them, hurt them. But do not kill them unless you're forced to.”

“Understood, Sergeant.” Zhoh readily agreed to forestall an argument, but he would do whatever he needed to in order to achieve his goal. If these beings had to die, then that was the way it would be. “Go!”

Zhoh hurled himself to the right and Mato was right behind him. Sage and the female sergeant split off to the left. Immediately, the Cheelchan sec guards fired their assault weapons. Zhoh expected the rounds to ricochet from the bulkhead the stairwell door was located on, but they shattered against the surface instead. Dye marked the impact areas around small projectiles that studded the wall. Almost instantly, the projectiles sizzled with energy.

Mercy weapons. Zhoh wanted to scoff at their opponents' weakness. Such weapons would never be allowed in the hands of a Phrenorian. He slid behind the bulk of a nearby shuttle and smelled the air, getting a sense of the direction the female had taken.

Listening to the flurry of armored boots striking the metal deck, Zhoh knew the sec guards had split up in an effort to apprehend Mato and him as well as the Terran soldiers. Zhoh ran to the back of the shuttle and ended up between it and the bulkhead.

The wall was part of a machinist's bay. Magnetic strips held heavy torque wrenches and other tools Zhoh could not identify. Except as potential weapons.

Seizing a fire extinguisher from the wall, Zhoh tossed the red container to Mato, who caught it easily and grasped the intention. He armed the extinguisher and pointed the nozzle at the corner of the shuttle as the sec guards approached.

Zhoh picked up two wrenches as long as his primary arm, kept one, and tossed the other to Mato, who caught the tool in his lesser hands. Together, they awaited the sec guards.

When the Cheelchans rounded the shuttle, bunched too closely together to be effective instead of spread out as Zhoh would have trained his warriors, Mato emptied the fire extinguisher in a single, long blast as he dove to the deck.

Purple foam struck the sec guards and covered them, bonding instantly the way it was supposed to in order to smother a flame. The fire retardant could be lethal to an unprotected being.

The foam blinded the guards and turned the deck slippery beneath their boots. Zhoh stepped in with his wrench before they could recover and swung at the first Cheelchan's head and nearly took off his helmet when the blow landed. Unconscious or nearly so, the guard dropped.

From his position on the deck, Mato lay beneath the stream of mercy rounds that sprayed a full meter above him. He swung his wrench and knocked down the nearest sec guard, then, when the guard hit the deck, he hammered the Cheelchan again. The sec guard's helmet bounced against the deck and he lay still.

By that time, Zhoh had thrust his wrench into the remaining sec guard's helmet and drove him backward so suddenly that his feet shot out from under him. Before the Cheelchan could fall to the deck, Zhoh swung again, slamming the heavy wrench against the sec guard's helmet.

The guard quivered and lay still.

Zhoh kept hold of the wrench and followed Ellen Hodgkins's scent.

Three rows down, the female was climbing into a small shuttle, ducking beneath the uplifted hatch. Zhoh ran to her and reached her before she knew he was there. He gripped her foot and yanked her from the spacecraft, throwing her down to the deck. He stood there, towering over her.

She'd lost her goggles and gazed up at him with cold, cruel eyes. Her hands were outspread. She no longer carried the black case.

Zhoh motioned to the shuttle. “See if you can find the case she had.”

Mato scrambled up into the shuttle cockpit as autofire sounded from the other side of the shuttle. Sage and the female sergeant must have engaged the remaining sec guards.