Mercurial: Ace Evans Book 5 (Ace Evans Series), page 24
When he slipped out into the café, Nyx didn’t even notice him. When he sat down at her table, she nearly shouted with alarm, until recognition set in. Then she threw her arms around him and cried. They were in a shadowy section of the café and no one paid them any attention, but they whispered anyway.
“Alex, I thought you were dead,” she said, trying to calm herself down. “Where’ve you been?”
“I hitched a ride on the Commodity.”
“You were on the ship?”
“I was on the hull,” Alex said. “I could have gotten in, but I didn’t want to risk being seen.”
“Why?” Nyx said. “Everyone is desperate to find you. Ash, Sly, Sansabar, and especially Mr. Haley.”
“But they can’t find me,” Alex said. “I can’t go back to the CDF. And I can’t let people like Lynn Faulk use me anymore.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Nyx said.
“I don’t think Mr. Haley would, but he can’t protect me. And I can’t ask him to. Once word gets out about what I can do…”
He let the thought trail off and stared deeply into her eyes. There was no way to know how she felt without asking, but he was afraid she wouldn’t agree with his plan. If he left the CDF, she might break things off. It was painful just to think about, but he knew he couldn’t let people use him. The stakes were just too high.
“So, you’re just leaving, then?” Nyx asked. “You’ll desert and risk the consequences? What if you get ill again? What if you need help and you’re all alone?”
“I’m not sick. In fact, I’m better than ever, stronger than before. But I don’t want to be alone,” Alex said, summing up all his courage. “I want you to go with me.”
She started to answer, but suddenly closed her mouth and sat back. She looked at him and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking.
“Alex Evans, are you asking me to run away with you?”
Alex felt himself blush. She reached out and took his hand.
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it won’t always be easy, but I’ve got an idea. We can help people Nyx. We can do more behind the scenes than simply working with CDF.”
“Helping people?”
“I know it’s important that you do something meaningful. I want that to. I can use my abilities and with your intellect and computer skills we’ll be a force to reckon with. We can work as a team to make the galaxy a better place.”
She hesitated again, considering her options. Alex had never felt so vulnerable before, even when his life was on the line. If she turned him down he didn’t know how he would go on without her.
“Just you and me, on the run,” she said. “Sounds kind of exciting. But we’ll need money.”
“I’ve got a plan for that,” Alex said. “I know someone with more than enough who won’t be needing it.”
“Okay,” Nyx said. “I’m in. I don’t think I could be a Controller for anyone but you.”
“Is it selfish that I don’t want you to be?” Alex asked.
She pulled him close. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
EPILOGUE
Loman Haley was not enjoying his retirement. Once it was obvious that Alex was lost, he just didn’t have the will to keep going with the CDF. Staying on would have been a battle in any regard. He had turned over General Cordair and Lynn Faulk to the authorities. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing or not. Lynn Faulk had a way of twisting the truth to suit her needs and more than enough finances. But that was someone else’s problem, he decided.
After selling his stock in Ahzco, along with his apartment on Arcadia, Loman had more than enough credits to settle wherever he wanted. He chose a thriving lunar world called Bethel, in the Laban system. It was a spectacular moon, with more water than land and a tropical ecosystem. He bought himself a villa on a cliff overlooking turquoise-colored water, and drank too much gin.
In the six months since living on Bethel, he’d had one visitor. She had shown up one day on the balcony when he came back from buying groceries.
“Is that mostly gin?” Ciara Prince asked.
“How the hell… Oh, never mind.”
“You don’t have much security,” she pointed out.
“I don’t need it,” Loman said. “I’m retired. Just another old guy drinking too much and playing golf.”
“You don’t look too happy about it,” she said.
“Things don’t always turn out the way you expect them to,” Loman said.
“Indeed,” Ciara said. “I don’t suppose you heard about Lynn Faulk?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“Her lawyer has asked to be removed. Apparently, she has lost the ability to pay the man his fee,” she dropped the news slowly, letting each word sink in.
“You don’t say,” Loman replied, perking up.
“There have been some very big donations to charity,” she continued. “It’s surprising. Unlike you, she had the very best security, and no one can pinpoint how or why the money disappeared. No one hacked her account. It was as if she did it herself.”
“How’d you pull that off?” Loman asked.
“I didn’t,” Ciara Prince said. “I thought you did. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Loman said. “To be honest, I don’t even know anyone who could.”
“I can think of one person.”
“No,” Loman said shaking his head and dropping into a comfortable patio chair beside Ciara. “No, that’s impossible. We looked for him everywhere.”
“And didn’t find anything. No body, no proof that he was killed. Not to mention his Control went AWOL right after leaving the Askerria Sector.”
“That’s because he was vaporized or blown to bits when that wretched ship she built broke apart. There were hundreds missing that were never found. For all I know, he’s still floating somewhere out in the cold…”
His voice cracked, and Loman Haley’s eyes stung with tears. He didn’t like to think of Alex Evans. It was too painful. The boy had saved him so many times, Loman had lost count.
“And Nyx West left the CDF because she was distraught,” Loman said. “We all were. Especially the members of his Team. I heard they all left the CDF not long after I did.”
“I just thought you might know something.”
“Who’s looking for him?” Loman asked.
“A few people,” Ciara replied. “Nothing serious yet, but I’ve heard a few inquiries.”
“If he is alive, you can’t help them.”
“I deal in information, Loman. I can’t turn a blind eye; I’d lose my reputation.”
“Well there’s nothing to know,” Loman said. “I wish there were, but there isn’t. If Alex is alive, it’s news to me.”
“If that changes would you tell me?” Ciara said. “I can make it worth your while.”
“No,” Loman said. “I would never betray him.”
“Fine, it was worth a try,” she said with a smile. “I think I’ll be seeing you around, Mr. Loman. I like what you’ve got going here.”
She had left and Loman had drunk himself into a stupor. When he woke up, he felt ashamed. The alcohol hadn’t changed anything. It only numbed his feelings of responsibility. But if Alex really was alive, he decided he could find a way to help the boy.
He started by getting rid of the booze. It took a few days to clear his head and he still had the shakes, but each day was getting better. He spent hours searching through the news. Ciara Prince had been right about Lynn Faulk’s fortune. The authorities on Arcadia had gone through them with a fine-toothed comb and come to the conclusion she was pulling some type of hustle.
The money had been moved to her various corporate entities and then into a variety of different banks before being given to a wide range of charities. But some simply vanished, more than enough for a person to live on. The authorities were convinced that Faulk was preparing to run, and they revoked her bail before she got the chance.
But Loman wasn’t convinced. If Lynn Faulk had wanted to escape the charges against her, she would have disappeared. She had the resources, and there were plenty of opportunistic pilots on Arcadia who would have gladly helped her escape. The fact that her missing funds caught her off guard and that she turned to the authorities for help was evidence, in Loman’s mind, that she wasn’t behind the theft.
Still, Loman didn’t have the resources to do a thorough inquiry. And asking questions would only raise suspicions. He didn’t want to draw undue attention if Alex was still alive. The boy had his reasons for disappearing the way he did.
The following day, new neighbors moved in beside him. It was a large villa, with an even grander view than his own. Loman hadn’t even known it was for sale. He was walking back to his own home from the market when he met his new neighbors. It was an older man, his wife, and young daughter.
“Name’s Bruce,” the man said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Loman,” Haley said, not sure if he was losing his mind or if his memory was simply playing tricks on him. But the man looked familiar.
“This is my wife, Penelope. And our daughter, Jasmine.”
“She an only child?” Loman asked, starting to believe it was more than a coincidence that his new neighbors were so familiar. He was even starting to think that Ciara Prince hadn’t come snooping, but to warn him. It was possible that if Alex was alive that he could have stolen Lynn Faulk’s money. He might have even hired Ciara to see how Loman’s loyalties were aligned.
“No, we have a son,” Bruce said.
“And a daughter-in-law,” Penelope said happily. “You should have seen their wedding. It was spectacular.”
“Oh, yes? Well, I love weddings,” Loman said. “I’d love to see pictures.”
“They were married at a temple that doesn’t allow photos,” Penelope said. “But I’m sure they’ll be by for a visit some time. You can meet then. They’ll tell you all about it.”
Loman nodded, feeling strange, as if he were in a dream. He bid his new neighbors goodbye and then went home. He was just about to put the key in the lock, when he heard familiar voices inside.
The End.
SURVIVORS PROLOGUE
Looking back, I can see why we lost. When you’re lying in a medical pod, with more painkillers pumping through your veins than blood, you end up with a pretty clear retroactive perspective.
It wasn’t a tactical defeat, but rather a political one. Maybe every veteran of war says that, though. In the end, the politicians blame the commanders, the grunts on the ground blame the politicians, and, more likely than not, the commanders blame themselves for not standing up to their superiors, even if they knew the plan was faulty right from the start.
I’m not complaining; I’m alive, after all. Still, even now, the fight comes back to me in flashes. I don’t remember much. It’s like my mind doesn’t want to admit that such horror was real. Or maybe it’s the meds—I can’t say for sure, just like I can’t say for sure what happened on our mission. What I do remember is the flight to Luyten C in the Gliese system and the fear that seemed to gnaw at me beneath my armor.
Don’t get me wrong: I wanted to fight. I was a Terrestrial Advance Combat grunt, or what the old Earth-based military called Force Recon. Luyten C wasn’t my first combat drop, either, but the Orrkasi had never attacked anything so close to our home world before. Even after a century of exploration and colonization, the Sol system was still our most inhabited sector of space. If the Orrkasi had managed to establish a base on Luyten C, they would have been able to launch attacks deep in our system. The consequences were dire, and we all knew the stakes: it was kill or be killed. I managed a little of both.
At this point, the only things I know for sure are that I am still alive and that I somehow made it back to the naval hospital on Titan. I deduced where I am when I realized I could see Saturn’s rings through the window when my vision finally cleared. I knew I was alive because of the pain—so much pain that I wish for death, although the med droids won’t let me die.
My injuries are severe enough that I’ve been trapped in a medical pod, with nothing to do but think. If I ever get out of here, which is a really big if, I’ll be permanently maimed. That means I won’t be on a TAC team ever again. My team should have left me on Luyten C. The old samurais had it right: it’s better for a warrior to die in battle than to live with the knowledge of all they’ve lost.
And it seems to me that I’ve lost it all.
SURVIVORS CHAPTER 1
“Next!”
I stepped up to the counter at the logistics station. My orders had come through after what had seemed like a lifetime of rehabilitation. They should just call it torture since, in my opinion, that’s what it is—torture and disappointment. I handed my slate to the sergeant behind the counter. He took the shockproof computer tablet that every Marine carried and scanned it.
“Staff Sergeant Vanhorn,” the bored clerk said without looking up at me. “Let’s see…I’ve got you going out on the Rihla. Gate D, docking bay eight.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking back my slate and stepping aside to let the next Marine have access to the clerk.
I slipped my hand-sized slate into the cargo pocket on my thigh, then hefted my loadout bag, thankful for its tiny wheels. I wasn’t sure that I would need all the gear inside the bag, as I wouldn’t be going into a combat zone again. The scar tissue on my left side had ended that possibility. I could finally bend my rebuilt left knee without screaming in pain, but running was impossible. The surgery on my back that had fused most of my spine into a solid chunk of bone, scar tissue, and rigid med-grade plastic left me stiff. The pain was constant, as was the feeling of something foreign in my left eye—laughably impossible, since my left eye had been too damaged to save. The surgical droid had removed it, yet I felt the constant need to rub it and remove the imaginary speck of grit that seemed to be agitating it.
I shuffled off toward the people mover, a moving walkway that would take me through the installation until I found the right gate. It seemed strange to be back on active duty after nearly a year of surgeries, rehab, and recovery time. Worse still, I couldn’t even talk about what had happened, since the operation on Luyten C was classified. The brass didn’t want the public to know how close the Orrkasi had gotten to infiltrating the Sol system. While I’d been just as ignorant as anyone else during my slow recovery, I knew more about that fight now. I’d even received access to the after action report filed by my squad. They claimed I had saved their lives, although I didn’t remember it. Their truth was undeniable: buried somewhere in my kit was a little box with a purple heart and silver star, medals earned in combat against a vicious, enigmatic enemy. Still, all the decoration in the world couldn’t compensate for the hurt I’d endured. I still couldn’t be sure if I was grateful that my team had carried me out of that hellhole or not; I had lived in a state of almost constant suffering every day since.
Upon finally reaching Gate D, I started the long walk down the docking arm toward the ship that would be my home for the foreseeable future. I knew nothing about the S.F. Rihla, only that the word meant ‘journey’ in Arabic. I was familiar with the type of exploratory vessel, as TAC teams were commonly stationed on them. I was unofficially ‘TAC team 13,’ the slang term for non-combat personnel. They hadn’t booted me out of TAC, but I was relegated to a support staff position. I wouldn’t find out what desk they would tie me to yet—that would be explained once I was on board the Rihla. Even without that knowledge, I couldn’t imagine a worse way to finish my enlistment term. I had two years remaining in my standard ten-year TAC term, and it was clear that for the whole time, I would be stuck doing whatever scut work no one else wanted.
From the docking arm, I walked along a long, enclosed boarding ramp, experiencing the short transition to artificial gravity. At the ship, I passed through a wide airlock and entered the main concourse, making my way straight to the deck officer.
“Staff Sergeant Vanhorn,” I said, saluting the deck officer. “Reporting for duty.”
“At ease, Staff Sergeant,” said the second-grade lieutenant, a woman clad in naval uniform identical to the space fatigues I wore, save for their dark blue color. The name stenciled on her chest read ‘HOLLY, J,’ and her smile was genuine. I couldn’t help but notice she was very pretty. “You’ll be working with Lieutenant Bass down in the Marines section of the ship. That’s level B, section eight.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
“Welcome aboard, Staff Sergeant.”
I moved past her, mentally taking note of her name. The flight deck where I had boarded was busy with technicians and machinists servicing the drones and passenger craft stored on the ship. I crossed the wide space, inhaling the smells of metal, chemical lubricants, and ozone generated by the plasma wielders. This three-story deck was on the lowest level of the ship; above it were six other decks built on an oval structure with an open center. It reminded me of an upscale shopping center, only instead of stores, the levels were filled with berths, offices, chow halls, and unit-specific areas. In the very center was the command and control area, an enclosed pod large enough for the senior officers to observe the ship’s systems and pilot the vessel. I had spent the majority of my adult life on ships just like this one, but I was fuzzy on how they actually operated. I knew that the entire vessel was powered by a fusion reactor and used an antigravity propulsion system. Beyond that, it was a mystery.
I climbed a flight of stairs from Alpha deck to Bravo, then made my way around to section eight. The offices of the Marines were a suite of rooms that could have been in a business center on any number of worlds—the navy liked to keep their ships sparkling, and I’d heard that a full quarter of the ship’s crew spent their days polishing and cleaning the ship so that it looked brand new. In this area, the walls were made with a transparent polymer that looked like tinted glass and were framed in chrome, matching the metallic shine of the handrails and other fixtures. Glossy white panels comprised the deck, and the ceilings glowed in a spectrum of light.
