Birthright: Battle for the Confederation- Turmoil Page 19

  "Enric Shae will return with a treaty offer, which you will of course sign," she replied. She stood up and walked over to his side of the desk. While she was unfamiliar with the use of sexual tension to meet her own ends, Dennix realized that she was very well capable of doing so. Even in her standard, abrasive state she could be alluring, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly what about her made it so. Still, he couldn't look away as she perched on the corner of his desk, her athletic leg dangling within his reach.

  She continued. "It will offer our nonaggression in return for your agreeing to dismantle combat units along your borders. You will be allowed to keep a certain percentage of your fleet for internal police action, but you will not be allowed to take those forces outside your borders. In time, those borders will change and we will assume more and more control, sometimes overtly and sometimes not. You will be named as our Governor and representative here, and you will stay in power. The rest of the details are more fluid and quite honestly might change, but you will get your overall wish. You will get to rule in our stead, and the Confederation will not be conquered outright. The people only have to know what you tell them, and you know they'll believe you even if there's evidence to the contrary as long as you stay ahead of them."

  Dennix spun his chair away from her, disappointed with himself for thinking such thoughts about the woman who was telling him how he was going to surrender. For that's what it would be. Of course, it would start out innocently enough, but he was enough of a player to know that the Primans would soon begin taking more and more of the Confederation. Eventually they'd want to start with their indoctrination all over again as they did on every captured world. They'd insinuate themselves into the Confed culture. He didn't know how patient these people would be, but spending a thousand years out in the depths of space plotting their comeback would indicate they might have a very pragmatic viewpoint on taking their time with the Confederation if need be. Hell, given enough time, they could probably get one of their own elected to the Senate someday and just start voting themselves into control. He held no illusions; his power was transitory, no matter who won. But he still couldn't for the life of him decide whether he wished the Primans would win or if he should root for his own navy, the organization he was marginalizing every day.

  Loren was sitting at his station on the bridge of Avenger, doing a little research. With local access to the entire Confed navy database, he'd decided to fulfill an obligation and look up a Priman prisoner named Krenis. The Priman had been a captive, but had been valuable in Avenger's quest to find a cure for the Priman DNA weapon that had infected Toral. Loren had promised he'd keep tabs on the prisoner, as would Halley Pascal, to prevent any unexplained disappearances of their prisoner.

  He tapped and swiped through the screens as he searched for Krenis's name. Loren located him in a detention facility right in the capitol, an unusual location for keeping POWs. Out of curiosity, Loren ran a quick search of the other Priman prisoners located there. The bridge crew heard a hiss of air as Loran inhaled, followed by a few muttered curses. Representative Velk was in the same facility.

  "That's certainly unusual, to be sure," admitted Captain Elco. Loren had sought out the captain in his cabin and told him what he'd found. "It doesn't necessarily mean anything, though."

  "I know," Loren said with a grimace, "but it just feels odd. I mean, why not put him in Navy HQ in the asteroid field? And why is he having visitors like staff from Senator Dennix's office?"

  "Now that," Elco said, holding his finger up in the air, "is an excellent question." The captain leaned back in his chair and bit his inner lip as he ran through scenarios. "I suppose the most likely reason would be to interrogate or offer some sort of exchange between Velk and the Governing Committee." He didn't say it with much conviction, though.

  "I thought I might ask him if he knows," Loren said gently. "My clearance will get me into the facility to see Krenis, and maybe if I had authorization from a commanding officer involved with Velk's capture I could get in to say ‘hi’ to him as well."

  Loren sat there, straight faced and trying to look innocent. Elco wasn't buying it.

  "And you wouldn't think of trying to grill him on Priman agents in the government or anything else you might have on your scheming little mind?" Elco asked through narrowed eyes.

  "Come to think of it," Loren said brightly with a wide grin, "those are excellent ideas. That's why you're the captain of a large and impressive ship like Avenger, I guess."

  "You would have made a great salesman," Elco admitted. He leaned over and started tapping at keys on the desk surface and watching the results in the holo field hovering above it. "I assume you won't be going alone?"

  "I thought I'd take Cory, Merritt, and Web with me," Loren said neutrally.

  "Ok," Elco said after a moment's pause. "There aren't any restrictions on military visitors that supersede me, and I don't see the harm. You going tonight?"

  "Can't think of a better time."

  Salvor waited in the cafe where he and Tana Starr had met days ago. This time, however, he'd found a seat at the bar and ordered a local beverage, something based on a fermented grain product.

  He pretended to be studying the various displays around the bar area and their scenes of sporting competitions, financial updates, and local news. He fought the urge to glance at his watch or comm device, but knew from the rhythm he was keeping that about ten minutes had passed since he'd last checked. Tana Starr was five minutes late.

  "Excuse me," he heard a female voice say as someone tried to slide into the space next to him, jostling him a bit. He inclined his head, trying to not look perturbed; standing out was not good for his cover, but something about this rude woman demanded at least a glance at her.

  He was surprised to see it was Tana. She flashed him a smile as she held up her comm device with its embedded payment chip inside over the bar. The bartender quickly swept past and she ordered a drink. A second later, it was sitting on the bar in front of her as she waved her comm device over a flashing spot on the bar's surface.

  "I'm so sorry for barging in," she began saying to Salvor. He tilted his hand, showing the concealed scrambler he'd been covertly holding, and nodded for her to continue.

  "You're go for tonight," she said quickly, still smiling brightly. "Seven o'clock. I've rescheduled as many guards as I could, but you'll have about seven or eight to deal with in the area where the Representative is being kept. Sorry I'm late," she added, "but Dennix was unusually wordy tonight. Take care."

  With that, she grabbed her drinksand brushed his shoulder with hers as she left, just another scene of flirtation among the many people out on the town.

  Salvor finally glanced at his comm device and saw he had forty-five minutes to be in position to enter the detention facility. He'd be able to get back to the safehouse, gather everyone up, and be ready in less than twenty.

  "I still can't believe you managed to arrange this," Merritt said to Loren as they got out of their military-issue hovercar. They'd taken a transport from Avenger to the nearest military base, then signed out a hovercar and driven to the facility. While most buildings in the city were so tall they had main entrances and garages every twenty or thirty stories, this facility was largely underground. The idea was that there were only a couple ways out of the more secure underground facilities, and they all led through two chokepoints up and out of the building, unless somebody was willing to try to tunnel underground and through the heavily reinforced walls and floor undetected. Nobody had yet escaped from the facility, a heavily-touted claim to fame.

  The four walked through the night air, finally cooling off after the hot day, though the air was still dense with humidity. As they reached the main surface-level entrance, they passed through a series of checkpoints which led deeper in and farther underground.

  They finally approached the detention wing reserved for Priman prisoners and an older Confed officer behind a blaster-resistant viewport.

  "E
vening," the battered-looking human woman began in a gravelly voice. Loren had never been a good judge of age, especially with women, considering the various treatments available to prolong lifespans, but he'd have guessed she was somewhere in her sixties. It wasn't the years, it was the mileage, so the saying went. She was physically in decent shape, though her features were weathered out of proportion to her physique. Her eyes were stuck in a sort of permanent squint, like she'd spent too many years in a desert without protective eyewear. She had a barely visible scar that crossed horizontally from her left ear across her cheekbone, and she walked with the slightest of limps as she moved to the viewport to address them through the tinny sounding speaker mounted in the middle of the transparent armor window.

  "Hello, Lieutenant," Loren began, looking at her rank badging. "We're here to see a Priman prisoner named Krenis, and on authorization from Captain Elco on Avenger we'd like to check up on Representative Velk as well." He held up a data chip for her to see, then set it in the recessed part of the countertop below the speaker. The countertop's clear cover slid over the chip and the woman reached through from her side to retrieve it. She placed it on a reading pad and let the computer scan the contents.

  "Velk, eh?" she began as she distractedly skimmed the orders from Elco. "Damn Primans," she continued. "Cost me a whole lot."

  "That where you got the scar?" Web asked conversationally.

  "Heh?" she said, then realized what Web was getting at. "Oh, no; everything you see here is courtesy of the Enkarrans years ago. One of those off-the-books skirmishes we had with each other from time to time that we managed to keep the media from finding out about. Ship I was on was trying to claim some useless gas giant and the Enkarrans were trying to do the same. I was in the wrong compartment when it got opened up to space. Cost me a few scars, vocal cord damage, and my left leg. They grew me a new one and had the nanites sew it back on, but I have some sort of rare immune problem where as soon as those little things leave, my body tries to reject all the repairs they did, so the docs just leave them in there, swimming around my insides. Fixed me up good enough to stay in the service if I wanted, but couldn't do combat anymore. So, I get to babysit deserters, local felons, and lately a few esteemed Priman guests." She paused. "Thanks for asking, though. Usually people just try to pretend they don't see anything wrong. Nothing to be ashamed about, far as I can tell."

  "None that I could see," Loren agreed.

  "Well, you all check out," the woman finished. Only she knew the depth of the scan they'd just endured, and they'd been cleared of everything from open warrants to being Priman. There was a series of beeps, and the armored hatch next to the viewport slid open. "Come on through."

  They did as instructed and found themselves standing next to another part of the desk as it extended down a long, utilitarian hallway. It reminded Loren of being aboard ship, with exposed supports and services attached here and there.

  "You can keep your weapons for now," the desk officer continued. "When you get to Velk they'll have you check your sidearms. Go on down to the end of the hall; there's just the one door. This long hall is just a kill zone in case somebody tries to get in or out after I sound the alarm."

  "Comforting," Web said with a grin.

  "Enjoy."

  They passed through the hatch as expected and entered a common area that opened up to a maze of hallways, interrogation facilities, glass walled conference rooms, and several banks of holding rooms. Everyone but Loren took a seat in the uncomfortable chairs provided along the perimeter while he continued their authorization under the watchful glare of two Confed Marines, HMR-12 "Hammer" assault rifles held ready.

  "Prisoner requested to see?" the bored clerk asked. He was a Qualin, much younger than the group's first point of contact. It was probably his first assignment and he seemed determined to get everything perfect.

  "A Priman named Krenis," Loren said patiently.

  The clerk worked away at his data pad, then nodded thoughtfully as if everything was right with the world. "Looks like a request was already entered on your behalf," he said. "The prisoner is on the way to Holding Room Three. There's a transpsrent armor wall between you, so you can all enter and keep your weapons."

  Loren thanked the man, who indicated one of the glass walled rooms that fronted the wide open common area. From the holding room, Loren would be able to see everything, as well as have his activities viewed by others. He gestured to the other three, who entered the room and sat in the provided chairs and waited for Krenis to arrive. Unlike the rest of the facility he’’d seen so far, n the holding rooms though there were no exposed fixtures for prisoners to rip out or make into improvised weapons. While the other three weren't as interested in the Priman or Loren's assurances to him that he'd be looked after, they did want to see Velk and were happy to sit through the courtesy call on Krenis.

  A minute later, the armored hatch on the other side of the glass opened and Krenis entered wearing a standard gray prison jumpsuit. He walked in a controlled and collected manner to the desk, then sat down opposite Loren and the rest. Audio pickups and hidden speakers almost perfectly reproduced voices from one side of the glass to the other, and unlike the interrogation rooms, this space felt less harsh and clinical.

  "You have kept your promise to check in on me, I see," Krenis began.

  "We were in the neighborhood," Loren admitted, "and I thought it would be the thing to do." He paused, silence hanging in the air. The two were not friends with lots of catching up to do, but Loren felt like he was supposed to do something more than just see that the man was still alive. "How's the food here?"

  Salvor readied himself at the service entrance and looked back at the rest of his team. The twelve of them had a difficult task, but the odds were stacked in their favor. It was evening, so normal visiting hours were over. Tana Starr had shuffled off as many of the guards and personnel as was possible. The Drisk prosthetics his team wore helped them blend in; his faked ID would get him to the first checkpoint, and as long as they could get past that and secure it before the next guard set off any alarms, they stood a very good chance of being out of the facility before any realistic help could arrive.

  To that end, he'd left three of his team to secure their escape route. They sat in two hovervans hidden in the service lot among other utility vehicles and storage units. There were two more empty cans parked blocks away in case they needed to initially leave on foot. There were multiple routes they could take back to their safehouse, many of which led through increasingly-crowded commercial areas with restaurants and shopping that would continue to fill up as the night carried on. They'd done everything they could to prepare; now it was time for him and his brothers to free their former Commander from the ungrateful inferior beings who had taken him from his people.

  Salvor marched confidently down the corridor towards the Confederation military checkpoint. Tana Starr had managed to supply him and one other operative with convincing enough fake ID packages to get them through the civilian portions of the building and to the military checkpoint. Once they arrived, though, there was no way to bluff or lie their way through; they'd simply have to take the checkpoint by force.

  They approached the transparent armor window in the tiny vestibule and presented themselves to the battle-worn human female at the station. Salvor could at least appreciate the woman's service; she appeared to have given much for her people. If only they weren't so misguided, they'd be much more welcome when the end inevitably came.

  "We're here to see the Priman prisoner called Velk," Salvor said, trying not to look queasy at dropping all the honorifics from the former Commander's name. He knew doing so would make him seem more casual and human, but it pained him.

  "Authorization, please," the woman said as she pointed to a recessed spot on the counter in front of the armor. Salvor dutifully placed a data chip in the recessed pad and watched as the woman reached into the tray and picked it up. A second later, he triggered the device. Simultaneous
ly, a quick puff of a potent knockout gas left the device, sending the woman to the ground in an unceremonious heap, while the device also emitted a localized electromagnetic pulse just large enough to affect the room they were in. While most military-grade devices were hardened against such attacks, the Primans still had a few tricks up their collective sleeves and had chosen now to reveal one of them. What this crew didn't know was that Priman capital ships were also about to debut the technology using their adapted Talaran torpedo designs.

  Salvor's accomplice quickly dashed to the hatch and started manually pushing it open, the electronic locking mechanisms having been fried by the EMP. Seconds later Salvor heard a commotion in the outer room, followed by the door opening, and the remaining seven of his operatives came streaming in. They'd managed to get a duffel bag through the less-effective screening before the military checkpoint, and now it had paid off. One of Salvor's operatives handed out the weapons; two compact repeating blasters plus handguns for the rest, all of Drisk design in keeping with their cover.

  Salvor hefted one of the weapons, appreciating the balance and heft of the pistol. A Drisk design whose military designation was SSK, the civilian version was called SDF Compact. The Drisk were skilled weapons designers; the Confederation needed to remain sidelined to prevent their obvious ingenuity with weapons of war from interfering with his people's mission.

  He walked past the unconscious human and without any emotion shot her once in the middle of the chest. It was unfortunate to have to kill another warrior in such a fashion, but the mission came before personal ideals and he couldn’t afford the loose end bhind them.

  "Take point," Salvor said quickly to the operative closest to the hatch to the inner passages of the facility. "Shoot only when you have to; stealth is key unless there is no alternative."