Shades of Dark (50 page)

“No.” She breathed out the denial, her chest tightening. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

She motioned to the solitary vidscreen hanging in the far corner, flickering with images of a concert in Port Chalo last year. “There’s been nothing—”

“I noticed. I’m guessing the dockmaster doesn’t want to deal with a panic situation. Or the news simply hasn’t hit the civilian outlets yet.”

“Where did you hear about it?” Maybe it was rumor. Maybe it wasn’t true.

“From an Alliance captain.” Blue eyes studied her again. “I don’t have four hours to waste. How many besides yourself are here to see Commander Adney?”

“No direct knowledge, sir. But guessing from dockworker uniforms and discounting families, I’d say thirty or forty.” She motioned to a group of men and women about her age seated in the first three rows nearest the shuttle tubeway. “My flight out of Calth Prime got in late. They were already there. I haven’t talked to them, but they haven’t reacted to any shuttle announcements for the moon colony or Umoran.”

“Well, Subbie, we’re about to make the passengers wanting to go home to Umoran very unhappy,” he said. “Can you handle it?”

“You intend to commandeer the shuttle?”

“I do.”

“I can handle that, sir.”

“I’d do the honors, but too much walking is a problem at the moment. Find out who’s here for Commander Adney. Discreetly. Put them on alert. While you do that,” and he shoved himself, grimacing, to his feet, “I’m going to enlist the help of the local stripers.”

“Whoever’s chief probably won’t like that. You may have to get clearance from the dockmaster.”

“I fully intend to.” He lifted his duffel—clearly heavy—effortlessly. “Ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” She fought the urge to salute and instead watched him head for a striper standing in the corridor, realizing she didn’t even know his name or rank. Not that it mattered. There was something very familiar about him, something that told her she’d follow him into the jaws of hell. And never regret it.

Technically, he had use of the shuttle. One problem solved, dozens more to go. Philip headed back for the waiting area’s wide threshold. His subbie, as he’d come to think of the young woman wearing the ImpSec blue beret, raised her gaze. He inclined his head toward the tubeway, then nodded. We have permission to take the shuttle, was his unspoken message.

She pulled away from the group she was talking to and walked down the center aisle toward him. He noted again she was as tall as some of the men, and not a weakling. There was power in her stride, but also a litheness. Her ImpSec beret sat on her hair at a jaunty angle. Her hair itself was amazing, less than curly but far more than wavy. It was just short of shoulder length, as springy and bouncy as she was, and a deep rich brown that these days might be natural or might not.

The rest of her, also bouncy, was very natural. But he wasn’t supposed to notice that, since he was old enough to be her…uncle. And now, it seemed, her commanding officer as well.

“Sir,” she said, slowing, then waiting as he fell in step with her. “I have verified fifty-three, including myself, who are here in response to Commander Adney’s request. However, sir, there is an issue of your authority in this matter—though everyone understands the need to get to Seth as soon as possible.”

Fifty-three. Well, that wasn’t a bad number. But a group of three men and one woman had risen and were moving toward him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. The dockmaster and security chief are aware of our situation. We have clearance. As for my authority, that can be resolved quickly.”

The waiting room population had reorganized, with his fifty-plus possible crew seated in or standing near the first two rows adjacent to the shuttle tubeway on the far right.

“I don’t know who you are, sir,” his subbie said quickly, a slight hitch of embarrassment in her voice.

He had wondered if she’d recognized him, though his face wasn’t one of the more familiar ones. He’d not been an admiral for that long—not even a year. Evidently, she hadn’t. And yet she trusted him enough to canvass the room on his orders, without question. Either she was very intuitive or extremely stupid.

“Don’t worry.” He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “Because I do know who I am.”

She looked momentarily startled, then a small grin curved her lips.

He stopped in front of the group of four, aware the rest of the forty-nine were watching.

“Sir, we understand we’re to depart for Seth on the next shuttle,” a short, round-faced man clad in plain civilian clothing said. He was the oldest of the group, around Chaz’s age, mid-thirties. His short-cropped black hair and solid bearing were all Fleet. No salute, but his tone was respectful.

A reasonable move, since no one knew who he was.

“I’ve cleared it with Chief Carmellis and the dockmaster’s office,” Philip told him, with a slight nod to the others.

“I’m Commander Martoni, formerly with Baris Division Three, and as best as I’ve been able to ascertain, the highest-ranking officer present. Thirty-seven of the people here are my personal recruits.”

“Thank you, Commander. Excellent job.”

“I need to request your authority in this matter, sir,” Martoni continued.

“You should. Admiral Philip Guthrie, Alliance First Fleet.”

The hush of voices around him quieted. Martoni and his three officers stared at him.

Philip wondered if he’d arisen from the dead, or perhaps sprouted wings and flown around the room. No, those were Sullivan’s specialties.

“You should also be asking to see my ID,” he prompted Martoni.

“I, yes, sir. That is, may I—”

Philip was already handing it to him when he heard his subbie whisper his name, and not as a question.

“Guthrie.”

He glanced over at her, taking in her wide-eyed expression. “Apologies, Lieutenant. I thought you knew who I was.”

“I did,” she said softly. “I mean, that is…” Her voice trailed off.

She was flustered. He had a feeling that was unusual for her. Evidently meeting an admiral was something she hadn’t dealt with before. But she was SPS. She must have. He shook off whatever the issue was, because Martoni was handing him back his ID and saluting.

“Admiral Guthrie, sir, we had no idea you’d be here.”

“If it makes you feel any better, neither did I.” He pocketed his ID and shifted the weight of the duffel on his shoulder.

“Can I take that for you, sir?” one of the other men, also in civvies, asked. “We’re loading gear first.”

“Thank you, but I’ll handle it. They should announce the schedule change shortly. Let’s make sure everyone’s ready to go. I want to keep problems to a minimum.”

Martoni nodded, then issued quiet but firm orders to the woman and man closest to him. They hurried off, Martoni not far behind, and with a nod or a hand signal from him, groups of young men and women rose from their seats or straightened from their tired slouches.

Heads turned as he walked, limping, toward the tubeway, his blue-bereted subbie on his right. Whispers followed him.

Well, if they hadn’t known who he was before, they sure as hell did now.

The shuttle schedule board flashed, declaring the Umoran shuttle’s delay and a “Special Shuttle” to Seth departing in half an hour. Groans and cries of dismay echoed around him. Tired faces watched his people queue at the tubeway. A few angry faces stared boldly at him.

I’m trying to keep you all alive was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say it. An admiral doesn’t make excuses. An admiral doesn’t explain. An admiral acts.

He went in search of Martoni, found him about the middle of the queue, half-hidden by a wide pylon.

“We have everyone’s baggage almost loaded,” Martoni said, motioning to Philip’s duffel. “Sir, I can take that.”

“I’ll keep it,” he told Martoni, then turned and almost mowed down his subbie. Whose name he’d yet to learn.

“Lieutenant,” he said, but loud shouts halted his intended question.

Two men advancing on the tubeway, and the shuttle crew standing at the check-in counter.

“Oh, God.” His subbie sounded exasperated. “Mr. Wonderful and his best friend.”

He glanced quickly at her.

“I had to ream them a new one earlier when they tried to take seats away from an elderly couple,” she explained hurriedly. “I probably should have shot them then.” Her hand snaked inside her jacket.

Philip touched her arm. “Leave that pleasure to the locals.”

Her answering sigh was filled with regret, but she didn’t refasten her jacket.

“But I paid my money!” the bearded man bellowed. “I have my goddamned rights.”

“Yeah!” His friend pounded the counter.

The two stripers broke into a trot.

Philip looked over his shoulder at Martoni. “Get your people loaded. Now.” Once the shuttle was away, the problem would solve itself.

Then a third person rose from one of the back rows of seats. A woman, waving her ticket in the air. “I paid my money, too!”

Some people looked away, but a lot watched her, watched the bearded man and his now red-faced friend.

A voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this shuttle is a priority military requisition. You will take your seats or you will be removed from the waiting area by our security.”

“Military?” the woman with the tickets called out. “This ain’t no military. It’s a lie. Somebody got paid off.”

More angry voices rose around her. One of the stripers pulled away from the ticket counter and headed for the woman, his Blue Surger now in his hands.

Damn it, this is wrong. It makes no sense.

Philip checked the queue. About half were on board. Martoni was still by the hatchlock, next to a decidedly nervous, short, slender woman in the shuttle company’s light green uniform, holding a databoard.

He nudged his subbie without taking his gaze off the commotion. “Go on.”

“With all due respect, Admiral…Hell, no.”

That warranted a narrow-eyed glance. She didn’t budge. And she had a Stinger in her hand, partly shielded from view by the pylon in front of her.

Another loud shout brought his gaze up.

“You wanna arrest me? Go right ahead!” The bearded man backed away from the counter, hands held high, but his tone and manner were clearly taunting the striper.

Philip saw security moving in from the right, then something else caught his eye. Movement almost behind him, near the tubeway at the far end of the waiting area.

He dropped his cane, drawing his Carver smoothly as five dark figures burst through the service doors next to the far hatchlock, and the high-pitched whine of lasers filled the air.

“Down! Get down!” Philip shouted, returning fire, very aware he was an open target in those few seconds, but he had no choice. There were women, children in the rows to his left.

Ignoring his leg, he dropped to his knees behind the pylon and fired again as people fled, screaming.

Something crashed in front of him. A long bench, upended, then another, forming a low barricade. His subbie scrambled toward him. “Guthrie!”

He launched himself sideways, well aware he might not be able to walk after this, then ducked behind the metal barrier she’d created. His subbie had her Stinger out, and was laying down a pattern of fire, keeping their attackers momentarily pinned behind the tubeway check-in counter.

He holstered his Carver with one hand, dragging his duffel closer with the other. He unlocked it in two quick moves, then yanked out the Norlack, took aim, and fired.

The counter exploded.

He fired again, dropping one of the black-clad figures, and swung to his right for another, but that one was already falling from the stream of fire from the Stinger next to him.

“Admiral Guthrie!”

He recognized Martoni’s voice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a line of stripers surging down the corridor.

“I’ll cover you. Now!”

He looped the duffel’s strap over his shoulder. No way he was leaving his arsenal behind. “Subbie. On three. Ready?”

She was grinning, her eyes bright. She shoved her beret down the front of her shirt. “Ready.”

“One…two…three!” He lurched to his feet, fired once more at his attackers, then took off for the hatchway in his best painful-beyond-belief loping, limping run, laser fire whining around him….

ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR

Finders Keepers

Gabriel’s Ghost

An Accidental Goddess

Games of Command

The Down Home Zombie Blues

SHADES OF DARK

A Bantam Book / August 2008

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2008 by Linnea Sinclair Bernadino

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