“You had a hard time? I thought I was being interrogated.” Gregor was strong, and he had the constitution of a bull, but Andi had always been amused at the giant’s fairly low tolerance for pain. He was a reliable comrade, and handy in a fight, but he was also a little bit of a baby. She didn’t think he’d have lasted a week in the Gut.

  “Alright, let’s get ready.” Lorillard had, wisely to Andi’s view, decided to ignore the interplay between the two of them. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I think we’ve got the reactor core location. It’s a good bit from here, but accessible.” Andi knew that was an overstatement, at least by most accepted definitions of ‘accessible.’ Lorillard had very little idea what lay between their current location and the reactor core. “There’s a big fusion unit down there at the very least, and, more probably, an antimatter system.”

  Andi knew blowing a fusion reactor wasn’t terribly difficult. Any interruption in the magnetic fields containing the reaction—at least one occurring faster than the operating system could respond with a crash shutdown—would release a miniature sun, and turn the station, and anything still docked to it, into plasma and hard radiation.

  An antimatter system would be even easier. Just cutting the power to the magnetic bottles holding the precious and volatile substance would do the job. There was no reaction necessary, and even a completely shutdown unit was vulnerable, as long as it had any fuel left. It wouldn’t take much antimatter to blast the station to atoms. A kilogram would do the job just fine, and probably a lot less than that.

  “Jammar, Jackal, Barret, Anna…you all head back to the ship.” Andi caught the cadence in Lorillard’s voice as he mentioned the ship, the worry he was trying to hide. Still, she thought it was the right way to go. “Head back to where we hope the ship is still docked,” wouldn’t be the best morale booster just then.

  Lorillard glanced over at Gregor. The giant was haggard looking, but Andi knew he still had some fight left in him. Still, the captain finally said, “Gregor, too. Go back with the others, and have Doc take a look at that shoulder.”

  He turned toward Andi. “You better go back, too, Andi.”

  The words were like a gut punch. Andi would have been just as happy back on Nightrunner heading home on a quiet and uneventful journey. But there was no place safe just then, and she wasn’t the sort to shy back from the forward action. She was still on the fence as to whether she cared as much as Lorillard about destroying the station. It seemed like a terrible waste, of technological advancement certainly, but even more important to her, of almost limitless wealth. She’d dreamt of the kind of money and power that would shield her from danger, allow her to live as she wished, to ignore the laws and rules thrust upon her with the blatant disregard of people like the O’Bannons. And the station’s vast technology offered just that, and more.

  But she trusted Lorillard’s judgment, and somewhere a bit deeper, beyond her resentments and the drive to attain great wealth, she understood that the Confederation was a far better alternative to the Union. At some level, she realized that it was unthinkable to allow the Union, with its Foudre Rouge terror troops and its blood-soaked Sector Nine agents and torturers, to gain a massive technological advantage.

  “Captain, I think I could…”

  “You’re the best pilot we’ve got, Andi…after me, of course.” Andi smiled at the brief touch of humor. “You’ve got to go back, just in case.” Lorillard didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. Prowling around, looking for the station’s reactor core and rigging it to blow up or malfunction…it didn’t make anybody’s list of safe endeavors. Andi didn’t want to think about losing someone else, and certainly not Lorillard. She didn’t want to think about it, but she didn’t have a choice. Her rational mind was trying to calculate the odds, and she didn’t like any of the results she was coming up with.

  “Sy, I know you didn’t sign up for the really hardcore stuff, but I don’t know what it’s going to take to trigger the reactor. It’d sure be a help to be able to access the information systems.”

  Sylene nodded almost immediately, if a bit nervously. “I’m with you, Cap…but I’m far from sure I’ll be able to help. The local system AIs are one thing. The reactor’s got to have its own, probably with a ton of security.” A pause. “But I know how important this is…”

  “Thank you, Sy.” Lorillard nodded gently as he spoke. Then he turned toward the others. “Yarra, I could use you, too. No one knows their way around this imperial tech like you do. I’m hesitant to pull you from Nightrunner, in case the ship needs repairs…” He paused. Andi had no doubt they all had various nightmare scenarios about what they’d find when they got back to the ship. “…but we just can’t leave this station for the Union to gain control.”

  “Count me in, Cap.” There was no hesitation in Yarra’s voice, not at first. Then: “Though, I wouldn’t exactly say I know my way around imperial tech like this.” She waved her arms, gesturing all around.

  “You’re the best we’ve got, Yarra…and, I’d say, one of the best out there, anywhere. I’ve been waiting for years for you to come tell me you were leaving because some megacorp waved a huge research job in front of you.”

  “A desk would drive me crazy, Cap. How could I give up all this…” Again, she waved her arms around her.

  “Alright, we’ve spent enough time here. Let’s get going. And watch out. We have no idea what is still operational on this hulk…or how many Foudre Rouge are out there.”

  * * *

  “What the hell is going on in that station?” Gavereaux was angry, frustrated. He had no comm at all, not even to Nightrunner—nor the two Foudre Rouge he’d sent to that, presumably captured, ship—and certainly not to any of the parties he’d sent inside. The old imperial material from which the station had been constructed was mysterious, and impenetrable to any of his scanning or communications systems, and that effect was backed up by some seriously high-powered jamming. He’d lost touch with every Foudre Rouge team he’d sent in before they’d gotten twenty meters inside.

  There was nothing to do but wait.

  “We still have no comm, either into the station, or outside. Scanners are blocked almost at the hull of the artifact, but we retain limited readings out here. Enough to keep watch on Nightrunner. For now, at least.”

  Gavereaux nodded, but the last sentence the agent had added troubled him. It was natural to expect constancy, but now he wondered how long he should wait. He’d had comm outside the station when Clipper had first arrived. Then, the jamming had started. Could he lose the scanning capability he still had? He couldn’t allow Nightrunner to slip away from him. The secrecy of the station, especially keeping word of its location from Confederation authorities, was paramount.

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the small display, on the hazy image of Captain Lorillard’s ship. He looked over at the numbers on the side, checking the power readings. The scanning capability he had seemed steady.

  He turned and looked over at the weapons display. The lasers were fully charged, the fire locks still firm. He looked back at Nightrunner, and inside his head, a debate raged.

  Lorillard’s crew could be useful—very useful—in analyzing the station. They’d be particularly helpful when he got them back to Union space, when proper Sector Nine interrogators got a go at them.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself…you need to keep this station a secret. That’s the first priority, the only one now…

  He could hear his own voice, two versions of it, arguing, shouting at each other. Should he wait, be patient? There was no real reason to believe his Foudre Rouge had not taken control of Nightrunner. He simply couldn’t reach them on the comm, and he was letting it get to him.

  The other voice was just as strong, just as relentless. Lorillard was an experienced and capable captain, and his crew were among the best on the Badlands frontier. Underestimating them was asking for trouble. They were potentially valuable, yes, but if he let them get away, escape from the system…

  He turned toward the comm station, but he remained silent. If he’d been on Clipper, or if he’d had a comm link with the other ship, he’d have given the order he felt floating at the back of his throat.

  The command to open fire.

  * * *

  There was another clang on the airlock door, loud, an urgency to its sound. Tyrell looked over. At least he knew what it was. The two soldiers seemed less certain, both gripping their weapons tightly the instant they heard it, exchanging tense glances.

  The one Foudre Rouge, the superior—marginally so, at least to Tyrell’s observation—moved across the room and aimed his rifle at the hatch. He gestured to the other while snapping out a quick series of commands. It sounded like incoherent babble to Barret, as had most of the interchange between the two soldiers. Barret was no expert on Foudre Rouge, but he thought he’d heard mention before of the secret battle language of the Union’s clone soldiers. He’d always thought that was a myth. After all, it sounded made up, and there was no shortage of bizarre legends about the hated Union troopers in Confederation media.

  Now, he suspected, he’d just seen hard evidence of its existence.

  The second soldier moved up to the door, slowly, cautiously. He was attentive, but Tyrell couldn’t read any hint of actual fear. He’d seen tension, caution, focus, in the soldiers holding him captive, but not the slightest inkling of anything resembling actual fear. He’d heard the Union clone soldiers were put through rigorous training from childhood, and that they were conditioned from ear to ear to be obedient and fearless warriors.

  Another legend proven correct? He had a hard time imagining any human being not feeling fear…but it definitely looked like the Union fighters had buried it pretty damned deep, if they hadn’t eradicated it entirely.

  The Foudre Rouge soldier looked at the comm panel for a few seconds, and then he reached out, tapped at the controls.

  Nothing.

  Barret watched, wondering how much difference there could be between Union and Confederation intercoms. He felt a feeling of superiority, a sense that the Union soldiers were stupid, incapable. Then, he stopped those thoughts cold. He could see—and feel—the competence of the enemy fighters…and the danger they represented.

  Then, almost as if to emphasize his realization, the trooper managed to activate the unit.

  “Identify.” It was short, brusque, just like all the other mannerisms he’d seen in the Foudre Rouge. He’d always considered them an enemy, at least in a general, quasi-patriotic sense. Now, he understood why they were so feared.

  A response came back, the voice hard, cold, the words gibberish. Battle language again.

  Tyrell sighed softly. More Foudre Rouge. He’d let himself hope the other members of the crew had returned, and it was somewhat of a letdown to realize that, instead of reinforcements, he had more enemy troops to deal with.

  It was a relief, too, in its own way. He’d been scared to death at what might happen if the others came back unaware.

  The door slid open, and two more of the enemy soldiers came in. Barret had been plotting, trying to convince himself he and Doc had a chance against the two soldiers—assuming, of course, they could get out of their shackles. He’d gamed it out in his head half a dozen times, and every one of them had ended poorly. Against four enemies, it wasn’t even worth considering.

  The soldiers spoke in their battle language for perhaps another half a minute. Then, they stood rigidly for an instant, exchanging something that looked vaguely like a salute. Then, the two who’d just arrived turned and slipped back out the door.

  Tyrell watched, surprised and relieved to see the new arrivals depart so swiftly.

  His tactical situation had improved. He was back down to two Foudre Rouge.

  And, he was back to plotting desperate ways to strike out, to try to reclaim control of Nightrunner.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Somewhere Inside Imperial Station

  Orbiting Zensoria, Osiron VI

  Year 301 AC

  Andi walked down the corridor, far more speedily, perhaps, than caution dictated. She was anxious to get back…and find out just what was going on with Nightrunner.

  She’d ended up in the front of the small column, and the others had slipped into position behind her. It was nothing she’d ordered or requested, nor anything they’d discussed. She didn’t have a leadership slot, certainly nothing official—something she certainly didn’t think she rated—but the rest of the crew members seemed content to follow her anyhow. They were all edgy she knew.

  At best. At worst, they were terrified.

  Maybe it’s the calm demeanor you project.

  Though, what a load of shit that is…

  The truth was, she was as scared as any of them. Terrified for herself, of course, and for those of her comrades following her down the corridor. For the captain, too, and the others with him, deep in the station somewhere, taking a risk so desperate, the mere thought of it made her want to double over and vomit. Scared for Nightrunner, too, and what might happen, or have already happened, to the ship.

  There was something else, too, something unfamiliar. She was afraid for the Confederation, about what would happen if the Union, already almost twice as large in systems and population, gained the technological edge as well.

  She surprised herself at how good an actor she was. Or how good a liar. She had managed to keep the fear and the tension from her voice, and she suddenly realized the others were looking to her for strength. She couldn’t understand it—she was twenty years old, and for all she’d been through, she didn’t know a damned thing about leading people.

  She wondered how much of conventional leadership came down in the end, not to some X factor or list of abilities, but rather to the simple ability to bullshit. To lie.

  To pretend to be someone you weren’t.

  Her hands were clasped around her assault rifle. The weapon didn’t match the piece of military-grade goodness she’d watched Lorillard use, but it was effective enough in combat.

  Just remember, if it comes to a fight, aim for the weak spots in the Foudre Rouge armor…

  She’d seen firsthand that the Union breastplates could turn away even a direct hit to the chest from a gun like hers, at least at ranges longer than a meter or two. And, from the looks of the Foudre Rouge, she didn’t think giving one of them a second chance was a very good idea.

  She took a deep breath and pressed on, moving down the almost featureless corridor. She stopped for an instant and looked up ahead. They were almost back to the ship—at least to where she hoped the ship would still be. There hadn’t been any enemy contacts, and she was beginning to allow herself to hope they would make it back without incident.

  Then, she froze.

  She’d heard something, from behind them. Well down the corridor and around the corner. It was out of sight, and fairly distant, but she knew what it was. She knew immediately.

  She would recognize the sound of Foudre Rouge boots on the steel deck until the day she died.

  Three of them…maybe four…

  “Against the wall, everybody.” She turned and whispered the command, gesturing for the benefit of any who couldn’t make out her soft-spoken words. “And quiet!”

  She pressed her own back against the wall and stayed silent. She was listening, trying with all she had to pick up even the slightest hints at any sounds. She caught the boots again, softer this time, farther. She sighed with relief. She was pretty sure the enemy soldiers were moving away.

  Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. She thrust her arm out again, waving back toward the wall, signaling her people—and they were behaving just that way, as her people—to stay where they were.

  She listened again, holding where she was and keeping her comrades in place until two minutes had passed without another sound. Then, she turned and said, “Alright, I think we’re clear. Let’s get back to Nightrunner. Now.” The thought in her head—the one she knew was in everybody’s head—added a quick, if it’s there, to what she had said, but she kept that part to herself. They all knew the danger, but there was nothing to be gained by indulging such worries. If Nightrunner was gone, or even worse, if the ship had been destroyed, they’d decide what to do then. When they knew.

  Endless worries and speculations before then weren’t going to accomplish a damned thing…except maybe to dim their focus, get them killed by something they could handle if they were sharp enough.

  She moved forward again, cautious as before. The near-encounter with the enemy troops had both pushed her to move faster and to be quieter. As before, the two contrary impulses mostly canceled each other out.

  There was something else on her mind, however, something gnawing at her worse than her fears of what lay ahead of them. The best she could place them, the Foudre Rouge she’d heard seemed to be heading in the same direction as the captain and the others. She felt the urge to turn around, to follow, and possibly to engage the enemy soldiers. To keep them from finding the captain, or intercepting his party on their way back.

  But she couldn’t go back, not yet. She knew Lorillard had entrusted her with getting the rest of the crew back to the ship, and she wasn’t going to fail him. They’d been gone for too long anyway. If Nightrunner was in some kind of trouble, they had to get there and deal with it.

  She was worried about the captain, and Yarra and Sylene too, but the best she could do for them was to make sure the ship was ready to go if—when, she pushed herself to believe—they got back.

  She looked down the corridor, and she saw the dark metal of the ship’s docking tube hatch. They had made it back, and Nightrunner was just where they’d left her. She let the worry and even some of the fear for the captain go for a few seconds, allowing a wave of relief to flow through her.

  And then that was gone in an instant.

  She saw—something—inside, through the small hyper-plastic window in the hatch.