Blink: Interdiction (Book 4)

28

It took Darien a moment to process the statement, but processing it didn't help. He held Merlynn's stare, cocked his head to one side quizzically and frowned.

"He asked for me?"

"Yes."

"Me specifically?"

"Yes."

"What the hell?"

"Yes. Again."

He shook his head in bewilderment. "Why? How do they even know who I am?"

"That would be a very good question," Merlynn muttered. "There have been security recordings from some of the Blink operations – maybe someone managed to place your face."

"I haven't been on this planet for six years," Darien said a little too quickly, unwilling to believe that someone in the resistance had identified him. "And our identities aren't on some colonial register. Even if they did manage to get a face off a recording they couldn't have found me through normal channels. It's impossible."

"Operative Flint, everything you're saying is true, but I think the matter of how is one for history to sort out. The fact is someone did identify you and they want to talk."

"Space." Niamh looked at him aghast. "You think someone recognised you, you know... from before?"

He spread his hands in bafflement. "I mean, I guess it's possible. The only other explanation..." His gaze flickered uneasily to Merlynn. "Well the only other explanation would mean a lot of hard questions for everyone on this base."

"You think we have a spy on the base?!" Merlynn hissed.

Niamh shrugged. "Why not? It's been clear since we landed here that the rebel forces are better organised than anyone gave them credit for."

"Can you show me the transmission?" Darien asked. "Maybe it'll mean something to me."

"Of course." At a nod from the colonel Pynazt queued up the file on the briefing room screen.

It took a few seconds for the screen to flicker into life and at a glance it looked like any other rebel transmission: the same oily, distorted silhouette against a green backdrop; an almost formless black shape. A few seconds of crackling static filled his ears before the shape moved, as though shifting position in a chair. Then the rebel leader began to speak.

"I suppose we touched a nerve," the modulated voice muttered in a way that seemed almost weary to Darien's ears. "That's how things work out here. Push back against the big bad wolf and it bites your damned hand off. Hope it feels good now that you've got your war."

He frowned. This felt different than the combative, overtly political broadcasts that periodically hijacked Ravine's airwaves. Something bitter seeped through in spite of the heavily disguised voice of the enemy.

"I'll admit, it took us a little while to realise just what was going on down here – all your little bits of sabotage and subterfuge. I thought for a moment that maybe the colonial government might have figured out how to show some damned restraint. But no. All of that was the work of the obedient little pixies you brought in to do the real work." A pause. A derisive chuckle. "It's a smaller galaxy than I thought I guess. 

So, here's a message for whoever's in charge of the big guns down there. You've got two choices. We can fight this war out here and now and tear this planet apart while we're at it. Or I can talk to Blink Operative Darien Flint, who I know is on your base as I speak.