meters tall. He wasn’t young,
a bit older than Sean she’d guess and his eyes; his eyes were like obsidian. She was frightened for a moment, seeing the cold fury in his face after he’d felled that creep but it wasn’t directed at her. He’d been gentle and sympathetic. So different from the rest of the men here. She’d checked the Confederacy ID chip in his head behind his left ear as they walked. Single, no dependents. Divorced, perhaps? But wouldn’t the ID have said?
She went into her apartment and inspected the torn shirt. That was one to toss out. She shuddered,
remembering the rough hands, the alcoholic stink of the fellow’s breath. Urrk. She threw the garment in the bin and fetched another from the closet. It was the last she had.
She would have liked to get to know Brad Stone better. But she’d only be here for a few more days.
Just as well, really. It would have been just like Jarrad; hardly time to get to know him and then she’d move on. The last thing she needed was another man in her life. She still had her hands full getting rid of Sean.
Now then, what happened on Brjyl?
She flicked through the HV programs. As Emment had said, the news was full of the Qerran crisis. Most of the programs presented political analysis and comment. She flicked past them. She wanted to know
what happened.
“Let’s take another look at the distress signal that was sent from the Brjyl control room and intercepted by Qerran authorities.” At last. Allysha sank into the chair and paid attention.
A panic-stricken man, hair disheveled, eyes round with fright, sat at a console, staring into the camera.
“Anybody… this is Brjyl control… we’re under attack!” His voice was a rapid staccato, his eyes darted to his right as he talked. “Confederacy troops, firing at will… it’s a massacre… please…. Help…” The
speaker’s head turned to stare, slack jawed. A figure appeared, its back to the sensor. The crackling zap of a laser weapon rang out; the operator clutched at his chest and fell to the ground. The figure turned around, a trooper in activated body armor. Face anonymous behind a helmet visor, it advanced toward
the camera. A gloved hand reached outand then there was static.
Allysha recoiled, hand pressed to her heart. She’d met that man, the one who was shot. Passingael, that was his name. Latif Passingael. Nice man, obliging and inoffensive. And a trooper had killed him. She bit her lip. The man had shown courage, to broadcast that message instead of hiding somewhere. He must
have known he wouldn’t survive.
“…could have been contrived ,” one of the analysts said.
“True,” said another person on the panel. Her name appeared below her image, Meranda Sutchcock,
associate professor in politics from Alexander Moreton University. “But the question must be why? Who stands to gain from this?”
“Not the ptorix,” said a heavy-faced man sitting further down. Chas Marais, journalist from theGalaxy Times .
“Well, you say that, Chas, and it’s certainly true of the ptorix who were on Brjyl, but what about
Anxhou?” Sutchcock asked. She wore a lot of jewelry and waved her hands about when she talked.
Allysha lost interest. Typical. They were going to blame the old enemy. She shook her head. It seemed pretty conclusive to her. Murdering a few thousand innocent miners would be child’s play for Saahren.
Chapter Ten
Allysha checked the security systems one more time. In the evening the mine was down to just a few
personnel. No one was about, just one fellow in the control room. She altered the security system to
register her as being in her quarters and set off to the store room.
The door slid open at her touch. Just an ordinary store room, a long counter and a delivery system in front of racks of shelving. To get to the shelves themselves, you had to go around the counter. The
pathway seemed to be empty, but an infrared energy grid, invisible to a normal human
a bit older than Sean she’d guess and his eyes; his eyes were like obsidian. She was frightened for a moment, seeing the cold fury in his face after he’d felled that creep but it wasn’t directed at her. He’d been gentle and sympathetic. So different from the rest of the men here. She’d checked the Confederacy ID chip in his head behind his left ear as they walked. Single, no dependents. Divorced, perhaps? But wouldn’t the ID have said?
She went into her apartment and inspected the torn shirt. That was one to toss out. She shuddered,
remembering the rough hands, the alcoholic stink of the fellow’s breath. Urrk. She threw the garment in the bin and fetched another from the closet. It was the last she had.
She would have liked to get to know Brad Stone better. But she’d only be here for a few more days.
Just as well, really. It would have been just like Jarrad; hardly time to get to know him and then she’d move on. The last thing she needed was another man in her life. She still had her hands full getting rid of Sean.
Now then, what happened on Brjyl?
She flicked through the HV programs. As Emment had said, the news was full of the Qerran crisis. Most of the programs presented political analysis and comment. She flicked past them. She wanted to know
what happened.
“Let’s take another look at the distress signal that was sent from the Brjyl control room and intercepted by Qerran authorities.” At last. Allysha sank into the chair and paid attention.
A panic-stricken man, hair disheveled, eyes round with fright, sat at a console, staring into the camera.
“Anybody… this is Brjyl control… we’re under attack!” His voice was a rapid staccato, his eyes darted to his right as he talked. “Confederacy troops, firing at will… it’s a massacre… please…. Help…” The
speaker’s head turned to stare, slack jawed. A figure appeared, its back to the sensor. The crackling zap of a laser weapon rang out; the operator clutched at his chest and fell to the ground. The figure turned around, a trooper in activated body armor. Face anonymous behind a helmet visor, it advanced toward
the camera. A gloved hand reached outand then there was static.
Allysha recoiled, hand pressed to her heart. She’d met that man, the one who was shot. Passingael, that was his name. Latif Passingael. Nice man, obliging and inoffensive. And a trooper had killed him. She bit her lip. The man had shown courage, to broadcast that message instead of hiding somewhere. He must
have known he wouldn’t survive.
“…could have been contrived ,” one of the analysts said.
“True,” said another person on the panel. Her name appeared below her image, Meranda Sutchcock,
associate professor in politics from Alexander Moreton University. “But the question must be why? Who stands to gain from this?”
“Not the ptorix,” said a heavy-faced man sitting further down. Chas Marais, journalist from theGalaxy Times .
“Well, you say that, Chas, and it’s certainly true of the ptorix who were on Brjyl, but what about
Anxhou?” Sutchcock asked. She wore a lot of jewelry and waved her hands about when she talked.
Allysha lost interest. Typical. They were going to blame the old enemy. She shook her head. It seemed pretty conclusive to her. Murdering a few thousand innocent miners would be child’s play for Saahren.
Chapter Ten
Allysha checked the security systems one more time. In the evening the mine was down to just a few
personnel. No one was about, just one fellow in the control room. She altered the security system to
register her as being in her quarters and set off to the store room.
The door slid open at her touch. Just an ordinary store room, a long counter and a delivery system in front of racks of shelving. To get to the shelves themselves, you had to go around the counter. The
pathway seemed to be empty, but an infrared energy grid, invisible to a normal human
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