by Kelly Gay
His wrecked smile nearly did her in. “Yep. I’m good.”
He wasn’t good. None of them were. If that were the case, they’d be organizing their next salvage op instead of putting their lives on the line in the name of vengeance.
“He just landed over in West Glades,” Lessa said, clearing her throat and sounding a little emotional too.
As Komoyan airfields went, it was the perfect spot for the Sangheili. Farthest from the city center, on a bit of dry ground and surrounded on three sides by murky mudflats and natural clearings.
“Looks like Nor’s intel was right again,” Niko said. “Elld’s auction was enough to draw him in.”
One of the preeminent dealers of salvaged goods and military surplus along the Via Casilina, and a trusted business ally, Venezia-based Nor Fel had contacted Rion a few days prior with news that Gek ‘Lhar would be attending a private auction held on Komoya by the Yonhet trader known only as Elld—news that was both troubling and surprising because, unlike Nor, who refused to sell weapons of mass destruction, Elld didn’t have such limitations.
And according to Nor, not only was Gek attending, but he’d taken specific steps to procure an invitation, which raised more than a few eyebrows. ‘Lhar was a Sangheili commander—he didn’t attend auctions. He and his cronies took what they wanted. Killed for what they wanted. They scoured the galaxy for military surplus to rebuild the Covenant into its former glory.
Playing by Elld’s rules put the Sangheili in a rare and vulnerable position, one which Rion would, naturally, use to her advantage. But he had to know the risk he was taking. He’d left the debris field—a veritable goldmine of Forerunner salvage—to come here. What else could he possibly want or need?
“You really think he’ll fall in line and play by auction rules?” Lessa asked. “I mean, that’s not really his M.O.”
“No, but he’s outmatched here and he knows it.”
“I’d like to see him try something,” Niko said. “Komoya has, what, sixty or seventy ships with working cannons?”
And used together, they could create a formidable anti-aircraft barrage, potentially blasting anything out of the sky. Not to mention that, during the auction, house rules severely handicapped anyone in attendance.
“Roger that, little brother,” Less agreed. “I’ll get a few more images and then meet you guys back at the warehouse.”
“We’re about fifteen minutes out,” Rion said, picking up the pace as they entered the eastern edge of the city.
As they navigated through the narrow dirt streets and canal bridges, through one vast cargo hold after another, Rion barely saw or heard the sights and sounds and people. Gek ‘Lhar’s image loomed large in her mind. There hadn’t been a day in the last ten weeks that she hadn’t seen him in her thoughts and dreams, standing over Cade’s body, a triumphant leer on his saurian face.
The only bit of solace Rion had was the wound she’d given him with her M6. She’d been trying to kill, not maim. The bullet had sliced across the left side of his face, destroying his eye and leaving a deep jagged mark that could never be hidden. A smear on his precious honor. A wound given to him not in glorious battle against a worthy foe, but by an unclean human female.
While she took immense pleasure from that, she wouldn’t be satisfied until the hinge-head was utterly broken.
At the northwestern edge of the city sat the Loren, a large transport barge 327 meters in length and 38 meters wide. Its original storage compartments and separate entries made perfect warehouses to rent to the good citizens and patrons of Komoya. A small airfield had been cleared nearby, which made the unloading and transporting of goods and storage a breeze.
As Rion punched in the entry code to her compartment, an old beat-up Mongoose ATV caked in dirt and mud pulled up and parked next to her. Lessa shoved her dirty goggles to the top of her unruly blond curls and tugged a dusty handkerchief from the bottom half of her face. She cut the ignition and hopped off the quad, handing Rion a datapad as the warehouse door slid open. “Gek’s still using that atrocious old war freighter.”
The datapad contained recon images Lessa had just taken. “Any support vessels?” Rion asked. “How many crew?”
“I counted seven Sangheili plus him. No other ground support I could see. Niko will have to take a peek inside Chalybeate’s orbital surveillance to see if he brought any friends.”
After they filed inside, Niko entered the code to lock the door behind them and then tossed Lessa a towel from one of the workbenches. “Does Ram know?” he asked.
Lessa wiped the grime from her face. “If he had his comms on . . . I don’t know.”
Rion set the datapad on the countertop. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“He was on the roof when I left,” Lessa said.
Rion headed for the stairs built into the far-side bulkhead wall. Her boots echoed on the metal rungs as she climbed the two flights and then ducked through the open hatch, stepping out onto the roof of the warehouse.
Ram Chalva sat in his usual spot, both legs dangling over the edge, watching the ships coming and going across the many airfields positioned around Komoya, a bottle of local marsh-cane whiskey at his side. She wondered if he even saw what was before him or if he was wandering around in circles again inside his own head.
Rion had lost two crewmembers, and in their place was Ram Chalva, a damn fine jack-of-all-trades and former captain of his own salvage ship. A wounded, pissed-off Komoyan who had shown up on his homeworld a few days ago asking around about Rion and the Ace of Spades.
She’d watched him for a day before approaching him at a bar on the upper deck of the Erstwhile. Rion had pulled up a stool next to a very surprised Ram, ordered a drink, and done a little asking of her own. They ended up talking for hours. . . .
“I was the last of my crew. Gek was done with me. I knew I wasn’t leaving Laconia alive. Without you picking me up, I never would have made it.” Ram lifted his whiskey glass in salute, and they drank. “I’m sorry about Cade,” he said. “He was a stand-up guy.”
They toasted Cade and drank again.
“I’m sorry about your crew,” she said.
Another toast. Another drink.
They toasted a lot of things that night. And Rion learned way more than she’d ever wanted to know about what it was like to be the prisoner of a hinge-head. The things Gek ‘Lhar and his soldiers had done to Ram and his crew were unspeakable, and she was surprised he’d lasted as long as he had.
He was right. If they hadn’t rescued him when they did, putting him in a medically cryo-induced state to halt the advance of his injuries until they returned to Venezia, Ram would have died.
“So, what now?” she asked him, assuming he would hang up his salvager hat.
“Well, I’m out a ship, my crew is gone”—they toasted his crew again—“and I’m back to square one.” After a moment of thought, he asked, “What would you do, if you had the choice?”
She didn’t want to think about what he’d endured and the loss of his people. A longtime crew was like family, and he’d lost them all. . . .
Would she throw in the towel? Start a new life with boots on the ground, leaving the stars behind?
Out there was a world of hurt. A world of unknowns.
Yet despite her own losses, it still called to her, and she imagined it always would. She could no more leave behind the life she’d chosen than she could the Ace of Spades or her crew. “Well, I suppose I’d find a new ship, start over. . . .”
He smiled. And they toasted again. “To the scrap.”
“To the stars.”
And they drank.
“Let me crew with you for a while,” he said unexpectedly. “I’m still healing, but I’m a good pilot and engineer, I know the job, and I can work any systems you got on that black bird of yours.”
“What about being captain of your own ship? I know you’ve got a stash of credits somewhere. We all do. . . .”
He dipped his head in agreeme
nt. “And I could go out and find a decent ship somewhere, hire a new crew, be back up there in a few weeks. . . .”
“But?”
He twirled the clear liquid in his glass for a moment. “Between you and me, I’m not ready to call the shots just yet. I have a lot going on up here at the moment.” He pointed to his head. “And to be honest . . . I’m leery.”
“Of what?”
“Of too much time on the ground. The longer I’m down here . . . Too much time passes, and . . . Well, I’m not sure I’ll have the heart to get back in the game. Not after Laconia.” He shrugged. “Crewing with you will keep me in—”
“Without the pressures of being captain,” she finished.
He nodded.
Rion couldn’t say she was surprised. After what had happened to Cade, she still wasn’t sure she was ready herself. It was a hell of a lot of responsibility for one person to bear, even for a pro like Ram Chalva. She gestured to where he’d pointed at his head. “And will that be a problem?”
“No. That’s on me. I’ll deal with it. I’m good enough to fly, don’t worry about that.”
What could she say? She’d lost two of her crew, Kip the traitor, and Cade the . . . everything. And there was no replacing him; no one could.
But the extra set of experienced hands, especially if they ran into trouble again, was an opportunity that didn’t come around very often.
“Tell you what. We’ll give it a go. You can fill in as engineer on our next run, and then we’ll see, all right?”
Ram’s mouth was tight as he nodded, staring at his glass for a long moment before meeting her gaze. He was a tough man, a longtime rival and good friend, and she hated seeing the suffering behind his grateful look.
He lifted his glass and gave her a dry grin. “Here’s to old rivals.”
“And friends.”
They clinked glasses and drank again. . . .
Ram glanced over his shoulder as Rion approached. He was short and stocky, with a deep olive complexion and eyes so dark they nearly matched his black hair and beard. He wore his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a band and always had a thin hand-rolled cigarette tucked behind his ear or stashed in his front pocket. His hands and arms were covered in faded constellation tattoos.
She joined him, taking a seat on the edge.
He didn’t wait for her to spell it out. “I heard,” was all he said.
“You gonna be okay?”
“What choice do I have?”
Rion hesitated. “I need to be sure you’ll stay frosty and stick to the plan.”
He watched a shuttle take off in the distance. “Death is too easy for the things that bastard has done. Don’t worry about me. I’m with you. We’re going to take everything from him, make him miserable, alone, dishonored.” He studied her for a hard second before a slow smile split through the beard to reveal white teeth. “And then we’ll kill him.”
At that point, they might not have to. In a culture based on military prowess and loyalty to master and clan, honor was the foundation upon which the Sangheili carried their very existence. A true Sangheili warrior would choose death over dishonor any day.
“How much time do we have?” Ram asked.
“Less than an hour until the auction.”
“You sure Elld will let you in, coming in at the last minute?”
“That’s the thing about greed,” she said, getting up. “Makes folks predictable.”
And while Rion didn’t prefer showing up uninvited, she really didn’t have a choice, thanks to Kip and ONI. Once she sought out an official invite, Elld would run his standard financial check on her accounts—a prerequisite for entry. The credit inquiry, no matter how “secret” it was supposed to be, would light up ONI’s advanced surveillance boards like a goddamn laser show. Better to do it all at the last second before entering the auction than to give ONI a head start on her location.
Rion regarded the man as he returned his attention to the night sky and lifted the bottle to his lips for another swallow. “Just be ready,” she said.
He finished his drink and then tipped the bottle toward her to show that he heard loud and clear.
CHAPTER 2
* * *
HRB Flintlock, financial district, Komoya, Sverdlovsk system
The Flintlock served as the center of Komoya’s west-side financial district. In its former life, it had been part of a fleet of bank-owned securities transit vessels. Now meticulously upgraded with the latest surveillance technology and armed to the teeth, it made the perfect place for Komoya’s high-end black market and an even better place for very private, very below-board auctions.
Every vendor, browser, and buyer came armed; to frequent the market without protection was a mistake made only once. Even the credit runners, transporters, and messengers were packing, and Rion always had a sneaking suspicion that the old marsh-cane vendor near the stairs sported a few rifles under her table of sweets.
Rion leaned casually against the second-story railing of the old ship’s cargo stairwell, chewing on a stick of sweet marsh cane and watching the crowd. Not that she needed the bird’s-eye view. The three Sangheili warriors marching into the market had little care for stealth or for anyone unfortunate enough to be in their path. They stood out not because they were Sangheili—there were enough mercenaries of that ilk around these days—but because of the way they cut through the mob, patrons either scrambling or knocked aside.
Rion tossed her cane stick into the trash and headed down the stairwell. “He’s here. Two guards with him.”
“Sounds about right,” Less said over comms. “I’m counting five hinge-heads left on the ship. They’re keeping it warm, Cap. He doesn’t plan to be here long.”
Rion made it to the cargo bay’s main floor and began easing her way into the Sangheili’s chaotic wake with unhurried steps. She wasn’t worried about losing them—she knew exactly where they were headed.
“Little Bit, is it there?” she asked, ducking beneath an awning and stepping over a spilled basket of salvaged motherboards.
“Is what there, Captain Forge?” came the congenial voice of their adopted Forerunner AI.
Niko’s whisper crackled through the comm speaker. “The luminary.”
“Of course!” LB said, remembering. “The luminary is indeed on board the war freighter.”
Rion rolled her eyes and dodged a few persistent sellers. How many times had they gone over the plan? “Where on the freighter?”
“Oh, yes. . . . The bridge, Captain. The luminary is on the bridge.”
“Ram?”
“Five is no problem. They’ll be out like a light in no time. We’ve got it covered on this end.”
“As soon as you’ve got the luminary, get to Ace and request launch codes. We’re all paid up with the yard chief, so there shouldn’t be any issues getting the go-ahead to burn. I’ll be with you guys shortly.”
“Roger that,” Ram said. “We’ll keep Ace running.”
After a chorus of good lucks and be carefuls filled her comm, the earpiece grew silent as the sounds of market activity took over.
As plans went, it was, as Cade would say, balls out.
She could picture the tall, broad-shouldered ex-marine saying it. Dry smile. Amused eyes. Always having her back whether he agreed with her tactics or not. Love and grief and fear made people do dangerous things. And Rion was no exception. Revenge had a hold over her and the crew, and they weren’t going to back down until Gek ‘Lhar paid for all the lives he had taken away.
One way or another, the Sangheili commander was about to have a very, very bad day. And it was just the beginning.
Rion edged away from the main market area and paused at the head of a long corridor, giving the Sangheili time to find the large vault Elld had repurposed into his auction house.
As she waited, she reached into her pocket, retrieved a pair of black gloves, and pulled them on.
The right glove was a normal black mesh and synthetic m
aterial. But the left one, while made from the exact same material, sported a wafer-thin, malleable scanner sewn into the palm of the glove. With Little Bit’s help, Niko had been able to turn his idea into a working prototype—a small device that recorded the residual light left on a datapad screen. A message, a look at finances, a picture—if it had recently been on the screen, the scanner could capture and store the light impression left behind. It had no communications or relay capabilities, so it would remain undetected and unaffected by Elld’s jammers. Once reunited with the software Niko and LB had also created, they’d be able to download the scans and reconstruct the residual light of up to two or three consecutive images.
Rion was keen on using it to get a better idea of what Gek might be up to, and how to make what remained of his life a living hell.
As soon as a gleam of light illuminated the corridor, she knew the Sangheili were inside the vault. She glanced at the time. Five minutes to auction. It was now or never. Rion straightened and headed down the corridor, keeping her thoughts focused and her courage up.
Once she entered, she’d be in a frequency dead-zone, with all communication-capable technology—commpads, datapads, translators, you name it—completely useless. The only tech allowed here was strictly controlled by Elld.
By the time Rion neared the vault door, she’d been swept by a number of security protocols, none of which were seen, but were there nonetheless. Commissioned by the now defunct Harris-Romner Bank, the Flintlock had been created with the highest protection measures of its time, offering transport and storage of private and commercially owned valuables across the galaxy. When the ship was sold, Elld and his investors had purchased it, bringing it here to Komoya and reshaping it into the perfect financial center.
Two familiar Sangheili mercenaries armed to the teeth in a mishmash of Covenant War–era armament flanked the hallway, their rifles slung over muscled gray shoulders, clawed hands casually supporting the barrels. Their bare heads turned in unison as they stared down at her from their lofty height, regarding her with the same kind of irritation Niko had for Komoya’s gnats, their insect-like mandibles shuddering mildly in disgust.
