Read The Catalyst (Targon Tales) Online

Authors: Chris Reher

Tags: #rebels, #interplanetary, #space opera, #military sci-fi, #romance, #science fiction, #sci-fi

The Catalyst (Targon Tales) (8 page)

BOOK: The Catalyst (Targon Tales)
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"Frankly, I’d rather be back in uniform, Doctor." She nodded toward the window. "And my plane."

He smiled indulgently. "Yes, soon, I’m sure. The good news is that this agent in your blood seems to have rendered you immune to the poisonous effects of water ash."

"Well, now we can all celebrate," she grumbled.

"Doctors, please give us a few moments," the Colonel said. His gesture included the nurse. The medics filed out of the room, leaving only the officers.

The Colonel pulled a chair from the wall closer to Nova’s bed and sat down. "Lieutenant, I am, as you probably know, Colonel Tal Carras, commander of UCB Targon, and this is Major Bak. You seem to have had quite an adventure."

"I’m not sure about that, sir. It feels more like a bit of a disaster."

"We know what happened on the
Dyona
," he said. "We have the video from all decks. But the sound files are inconclusive. What do you know about this transport?"

She slowly lifted her shoulders as she thought about his question and then dropped them again. "Not a lot, sir. We were sent from Zera to guard a shipment and a Delphian leaving Pelion for Magra. Some scientific expedition going out from there. We were betting that it was something about to go extinct and was being relocated or a breeder or something, seeing how Delphians were involved. He didn’t say much to us on the way out."

"Who shipped the box?"

"A regular freight company on Pelion arranged for the trip and the security detail. We picked the box and the Delphian up ourselves rather than have him sent up to the
Dyona.
Lieutenants McLaine and Be’al went into the building. I stayed in the shuttle. We kept it under guard until the pirates boarded us. Things got out of hand quickly after that. I'm sorry, sir."

"Yes, we saw the video. The pirates opened fire after Captain Harlow refused to allow them entry into one of the rooms. Unfortunately, the
Dyona
was subsequently destroyed."

She sighed. "All this over a shipment of water ash? The people were already dying by the time we escaped. Did you intercept any of the pirates? They took some passengers and crew off the ship before the air went bad."

"I’m afraid not," Carras said. "What was Sethran Kada's involvement?"

She glanced from him to the other officer before answering. "He arrived later, I think. I have... met him previously and he decided to take me off the ship. There was no time to save anyone else."

"You know him?"

She returned his questing gaze without wavering. "Yes, sir. We trained together."

Carras nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. "Do you know the intended destination of the tank?"

"No, sir. We were to leave it with the Delphian on Magra Alaric. They just wanted safe passage out of rebel territory."

"Who approved the escort?"

"As I understand it, sir, the request was made directly to my CO according to our agreements with Pelion’s government. She’s supplied security for transports on other occasions, although usually for passengers."

The Colonel tapped his fingers on the armrest of the chair. "You are temporarily relieved of duty, Lieutenant. But you are staying on Targon until we have discovered a way to deal with that organism."

“I’m guessing that there is no intention of actually removing this thing from my blood until you’ve figured out what it is. Am I right?"

“Very astute. We have classified the entire incident. I’ve taken this case and you will answer any further questions only to me. You are to have contact with no one other than hospital staff. No further communications from you to anyone else about this."

"Yes, sir," she said, wondering why but not inclined to question command decisions. "Colonel, about Sethran Kada... I would not be here if not for his assistance. He risked a lot to assure my safety. I did not see him kill anyone or give orders aboard the
Dyona
. He may be a common pirate but–"

"I assure you he is not a common pirate," Carras said. "He has been released from custody."

This time, Nova could not help but voice her surprise. "What? Why?"

"He’s a civilian. We have no evidence of anything but that he helped you escape the
Dyona
. And you confirmed that. The guns in his possession were not contraband that we were able to trace." He stood up.

"Did he... did he leave?"

"His ship is still on Targon." He paused before opening the door. "You may want to reconsider any future connection with that man. He is, as you know, at the very least a rebel sympathizer. Your record so far is flawless. Associations have a way of finding their way into your files."

"Yes, sir."

"Rest now, Lieutenant. We will return later to continue the debrief. I'm under orders by the good doctor to keep this interview short."

She smiled at him, feeling at ease with the Centauri. "Thank you, sir."

 

* * *

Nova awoke hours later when a spill of light fell into the room. She blinked tiredly, watching a medic enter and increase the illumination just enough to see by. He stopped to peer at her for a moment before moving closer, to the side of her bed. She breathed evenly and slowly, her lids barely open. Something about his furtive movements seemed beyond the care someone would take around a sleeping patient.

She shifted slightly and he stopped to wait for her to change positions in her sleep, perhaps unaware that she had pulled her blanket away from her legs. He reached into a pocket and withdrew something that he then placed onto her tray. When he turned to listen for a sudden sound in the hallway she saw the outline of a gun beneath his hospital whites. An adrenaline rush surged through Nova’s veins to banish any remnants of tiredness from her system.

He did not draw the gun but instead took her wrist to turn her arm, his touch gentle and steady. When he twisted to reach for the object he had placed on the tray, Nova exploded from her bed to hook one knee around his neck, using her other foot to launch herself forward and throw him off balance. He stumbled and pulled her along when he crashed to the ground. It was an inelegant maneuver that relied mainly on surprise and was hindered by her disadvantaged position, but she managed to pin him face-down, his arms twisted painfully behind his back. She grasped his hair and slammed his head onto the floor, stunning him, before reaching up to snatch the item he had placed onto her tray. It was an ampoule similar to the ones Doctor Darshan had left with her.

"Time for my meds?" she asked.

He turned his head but when he tried to shake her off she leaned forward to twist his arm even further. Something popped. He groaned in pain but did not call out for help. Blood pooled under his face from a broken nose.

"Who sent you?"

"Fuck you."

"You’re not my type." She placed the needle-tipped vial against his neck. "Who sent you?"

"You don't have the balls."

She stabbed the needle deep into his neck. He squealed, not quite loud enough to alert nearby hospital staff. "Stop! Don't! "

"That's in your jugular now. I've had practice with these things, believe me. All I have to do now is give it a good squeeze. I suggest you hold very still."

He made a small and unclear sound.

"I didn't quite get that. Who did you say sent you?"

"Pe Khoja," he said. "Some Caspian named Pe Khoja, out of Magra."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Take that thing out of my neck!"

Nova knew that she was running out of time. She felt the body beneath hers tense as he overcame the pain of his broken nose and assessed her hold on him. There were only moments before she would have to shout for help. "Who else on this base is working with him?"

"Not telling you anything, bitch. Go ahead, start yelling. I’m not alone here but you are. No one will come for you. The Colonel made sure of that."

"Colonel?"

He lunged desperately away from the hand that held the deadly capsule to his neck and tried to roll her off himself. Nova increased her now one-handed leverage on his arm but when he twisted to slide from under her the capsule between her fingers compressed. The liquid in the ampoule surged into his vein and she held him down while he convulsed beneath her for the longest twenty seconds of her life and the last of his. She tumbled away and expelled something between a gasp and a sob.

What had brought this rebel here? Who was this Caspian, this Pe Khoja, if that information was true? She stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. What had he meant when he mentioned the Colonel? There were thousands of people on this base and most certainly there were rebels among them. Were they operating at command level right here on Targon, the most vital military installation in the entire sector?

"Keep moving," she murmured and struggled to her feet. Get out of this place, regroup, if only with herself, find safety, think. She went to the door and peered into the hallway. No guards, no one in uniform, just the occasional medic and a few patients. And no way to tell friend from foe. She looked down at herself. Her clothes had been taken away and all she had where these pajamas or whatever it was that they issued in this place. There was blood on one of her sleeves and more was smeared across her chest.

She bent over the dead rebel on the floor and tugged on his smock. When she rolled him over to remove it she also took his gun and felt instantly safer. His lab coat hid the gun and the blood on her sleeve. Before heading for the door, Nova snatched her medication packet from the tray by her bed.

She slipped into the hallway and joined some of the other patients walking there, no doubt under doctors' orders to keep their circulation moving. Strolling along without hurry, she scanned the hallways for exit signs. One appeared overhead and she followed its suggestion to turn into another corridor. Medical staff and some patients stood near a bank of elevators just ahead, waiting for their ride. Two uniformed and armed soldiers watched them closely, perhaps hoping for some malfeasance to liven up the late hours of their shift.

Nova retraced a few steps and used the key tab on the rebel’s smock to open the door to a laundry supply closet. “Hate elevators, anyway,” she grumbled and opened the hatch to the laundry chute. As she hoped, the shaft was outfitted with deep indents along the way to facilitate maintenance. It took only a few seconds for her to heave herself across the lip and begin the climb downward. She descended as quickly as she could, not looking down, not wondering how many floors existed below the base hospital. Twice she had to flatten herself against the slick wall of the chute to avoid being swept along by bundles of bedding and towels. She stopped to remove her hospital slippers to find better purchase on the plastic footholds. She was not in the top physical shape she had been only days ago and she felt herself growing weaker with each floor she passed.

At last, light and cooler air reached her and she saw a mountain of laundry piled on the floor below. She gripped a metal rail at the bottom of the shaft and twisted to peer into the service hall. Seeing no one, she let herself drop, blessing the pile of unvarying whiteness that so closely matched her clothing.

After a moment’s rest she rolled from the heap and stole along a system of conveyors, ducking behind bins when a worker or two strolled by. The laundry system was fully automated and few hands were required to keep things organized. It took an eternity before Nova found what she was looking for: a row of bins on tracks containing clean flight suits, helmet-pads, sub-gloves, and pressure suit liners along with the standard grey shirts and shorts worn by the pilots living in the barracks on the lower floors. She missed two of the carts that were abruptly put in motion and leaped into a third.

The containers whipped along on their tracks, jolting Nova at every turn and every sudden stop. She pulled a few bundles up between her and the sides of the bin to cushion some of the worst of the blows but the ride soon had her feeling queasy and disoriented. She managed to dig her way down to a flight suit of approximately her size and slipped into it. She almost shouted out loud in protest when her cart slammed to a stop without due consideration of her already bruised shoulders.

She peered over the edge of the bin and then quickly vaulted out of it and across the rails before the next one arrived.

"Now where the hell are you, Whiteside?" she murmured and looked around. A nearby sign on a double-door indicated that she was on the third level. She had no idea what the third level was for but, considering the flight suit delivery, she assumed it to be the flight decks. The base was built into the almost vertical side of an escarpment and the bays had been carved out of existing tunnel entrances leading deep below the surface. She pushed through the door and slipped into the hall beyond.

This level stood in sharp contrast to the antiseptic environment she had left above. The walls were bare, cracked in places and dripping unpleasantly. A cold draft met her, hopefully from open bay doors near the parking garages for the planes. She headed into the draft, shivering as she moved along the deserted corridors. Surely, Seth could be found near the Dutchman.

Eventually, her instinct and a few less-than informative signs led her to the hangars. She hurried along the perimeter of a vast parking garage, moving behind vehicles and crates whenever possible. She saw a few technicians working on a shuttle in the distance and a group of pilots walking toward one of the rear hallways.

There were no fighter planes on this level and the space was allocated to service cruisers, shuttles and private planes. Among them stood the Dutchman, easily recognizable by its low-slung cockpit tucked forward of the crossdrive assembly. Nova approached it and pressed her hand to the key plate by the entrance. She was not authorized to access this ship and so an alarm would sound inside. Nothing happened. She tried again, wondering if he was asleep. The attempt to enter the ship would also have sent an alert to the control unit he wore on his upper arm.

Voices reached her ears from the glass-walled passage leading away from the hall. It was the boisterous sound of bored pilots amusing themselves with what little recreation was available down here. It reminded her of her own squad who would be doing the very same thing between shifts on her base on Zera. Then again, they had lost six of their number only days ago and she doubted that there was much laughing now. Seven, if her survival was also classified.

BOOK: The Catalyst (Targon Tales)
13.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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