by Blaze Ward
“And if not?” he leaned forward enough to rest his elbows and hands on the table.
“Then the hunt will take a very long time,” Athanasia studied the man closer. “My former masters won’t let me go after him forever. My crew will rebel at some point, so I will need to hire a ship. An armed privateer with a new crew, but I’ll require a bloodhound who knows Wildspace. A pilot who can track them down, and wants them as bad as I do. You strike me as that kind of man.”
She watched his body language now as the man considered her offer.
He could get even with Tarasicodissa, and with his own former crew member who had apparently broken into the ship to steal all her gear back. At the same time, this proud man would have to submit to a woman. Suborn himself.
She doubted the man needed money. Rumors had circulated about the cargo that had been valuable enough to dump his crew at Bohrne Station, the last time he had come through.
Did his anger outweigh his greed and his pride?
Athanasia reached out with a hand and ran it through Stephaneria’s hair. Listened to the woman growl with emotion. It wasn’t a sexual display intended to arouse the man, but a show of dominance to cow him. To show him what vengeance might taste like, if he was willing to submit.
It helped that his reputation in Laurentia was already so low. Word had gotten around that the man had abandoned his former crew rather than pay them. Only the most desperate people would be willing to hire on to his ship now.
That was just another thing she could use to bait her trap.
“Well?” Athanasia turned back to the M’Rai giant and pinned his psyche to the wall like a dead butterfly.
“I will meet you there,” he finally said, huskily.
“Good,” she smiled, rising to shake his hand. “I will have the coordinates transmitted to your ship shortly. And then we can begin to hunt.”
She could never return to what she had before. Even in the Dominion she would be an afterthought. But with his reputation in tatters, neither could this man.
In Wildspace, however, she could take the funds that had been intended to keep her away for a very long time, and perhaps turn herself into a pirate. A warlord. She would need angry, dangerous people to catch her prey.
There was no reason to let such a crew go to waste after she had killed Hall. And the M’Rai had the makings of the perfect minion for her later.
14
Kyriaki
She didn’t like it, but she wasn’t in charge. Kyriaki could take measures to mitigate the risk, however. Right now, that meant that Valentinian drove their new truck. Dave sat with a good firing arc forward and right, covering things with that rifle of his. Bayjy had the left with her plasma rifle.
Kyriaki had claimed the turret, after Basuk had ordered his men to drop a twin pulse cannon into the ring.
Let’s just see what that fool Rossham and his master wanted to try today.
They had taken a short run out into the nearby wastes with Basuk and a mechanic aboard, to confirm how everything worked. The engines and maneuverability had been sufficient to impress the captain.
She’d gotten to unleash hell on a rock facing, testing the extra generator that had been purchased and added specifically to power such a nasty weapon. Kyriaki wasn’t quite good enough to sign her name with the cannon. At least not today.
If they ended up in a running firefight with a tribe of crazed, cannibalistic, sex fiends, that might change.
Valentinian drove the sled back to the compound and lowered it onto the landing gear.
“Yes,” he said simply, pulling a wad of bills from a pocket and handing them to the arms dealer with a harsh grin the man reciprocated as he and the mechanic climbed out.
“I am so glad we were able to do business, Captain Tarasicodissa,” Basuk stepped back and bowed. He looked up at Kyriaki next. “And if you choose to seek other employment, dangerous lady, please contact me first and I will find you the best jobs on the planet.”
After three hours with the locals, she understood the level of compliment intended. She nodded with a half-shrug. If it came to that, she was in much deeper trouble than just being unemployed.
Valentinian lifted the sled back up and banked around to the left, opening the throttle a little as they circled the city and climbed onto the distant plateau at high speed.
Kyriaki saw the man first, since she was flying up top with heavy goggles that protected much of her face, and the targeting reticle of the twins hovering in the air on their laser.
Longshot Hypothesis sat out in the open, for the most part, once you got to the top of the bluff. A man was sitting a polite distance away from the ship in a folding chair with a solar umbrella proving some shade. She yelled a warning to Valentinian and rotated the guns to look for other targets. Dave would have the man’s eyeball, even at this range and at speed. Kyriaki had seen that deadly killer move on Tartarus.
But nothing presented itself in the way of assholes needing to be killed today.
“Bayjy,” Valentinian called over the harsh buzz of the repulsors and the wind. “Are the alarms all still active?”
“Stand by,” the purple nemesis called, putting her rifle down and pulling out her cardreader. That woman knew more about security systems than any of the other three of them, maybe combined, and they could all break into most places. Bayjy would simply snap her fingers and the systems would turn themselves off for her.
“We’re intact, Captain,” Bayjy said after a few seconds. “Somebody rang the doorbell, and then nothing.”
“Remind me to add a signal to our cardreaders in the future,” Valentinian said. “Send us a notification when that happens, anywhere we might be in range. Plus zero a camera in so we can see who it is.”
“Piece of cake,” Bayjy laughed.
They were getting close to the man waiting, so Valentinian slowed to a polite speed and then finally stopped. Kyriaki lined him up with the twin pulse cannon anyway, even as she locked the weapon down, dropped out of the ring, pulled her assault pulsar out and hopped off the side of the vehicle.
Fortunately, this man was a stranger, and not somebody she would be duty-bound to annihilate right now. Pity, she supposed, but at least the man who had been sent last night had either learned his lesson, or had competition.
“Captain?” the man rose and bowed.
He was wearing the robes that everyone wore if they spent any time outdoors on this planet. Sand colored and well draped. Expensive-looking, too.
Valentinian shut the craft down and climbed out, as did the others. She glanced over and smiled when Dave switched to overwatch, that killing rifle sniffing the aim for snipers about to try something. That left her free to talk to this person.
She walked to about four meters away and centered her weapon on his chest with a hungry smile. She had practiced that look, back when she wore the white beret, as a way to intimidate the hell out of everyone.
It still worked. He swallowed loudly and flinched.
“Here,” Valentinian stepped closer and studied the man. “Who are you?”
“A messenger, sir,” the fool managed weakly. “Truqtok was unhappy that yesterday’s courier was found unacceptable, so I was sent in his place.”
She eyeballed the man closer now, noting that this Truqtok fellow had either sent his lawyer, or his chief of staff. Not one of yesterday’s killers. Somebody with brains. Possibly the only other person in the gang, if it was like most criminal organizations.
They tended to be long on thugs and short on intelligence, until you got to the top and found the men and women who used pens instead of shock pistols to commit their crimes.
“I see,” Valentinian said crisply. “After yesterday, you won’t be offended if I don’t invite you inside for tea. However, nor will I cast your corpse into the desert wastes. How may I be of service?”
Kyriaki nearly did a double-take, watching Valentinian turn into someone else before her eyes. All morning he had been a hard-as-nai
ls pirate captain. Now he was a Dominion gentleman.
Weird. But she knew the man could be a chameleon. It was just educational to watch it in action. Nobody she had ever known could shift so smoothly, and she had arrested and extradited some of the best conmen around in her time.
“When you were unavailable this morning, I was instructed to await your return,” the man said. “My master would congress with you, at your convenience.”
Valentinian literally clicked his heels together and bent forty-five degrees at the waist, as if they were on a government floor.
“Very good,” her captain replied. “As you can see, we have just returned from a shopping trip, and will need some time to stow everything correctly aboard. Then it will be the hottest part of the day. Perhaps we could meet an hour before sunset?”
“That would be acceptable, Captain,” the man bowed back.
She perked up when a hand dipped into a pocket, but he withdrew a card, rather than a weapon, and held it out lightly.
“Directions to Truqtok’s compound, west of the city, Captain,” he said. “I will convey your estimated arrival to my principal and we will look forward to entertaining you.”
He turned with a nod to her and the rest and walked back down the trail as if there were no weapons at all trained on his back. Kyriaki looked over at Valentinian, but he shook his head and started back the other way.
“Bayjy, open her up,” Valentinian called as he climbed back into the rig.
She and Dave covered everything else that might move, until the sound of the desert sled grew silent inside the big cargo bay. She went in last and closed the big doors with a palm on the switch, watching the waning crack until the outside heat was blocked and air conditioning flowed.
“I swear you people like living at the south pole,” Bayjy groused loudly as she headed forward to grab warmer clothes.
They met up again in the lounge upstairs as Bayjy pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and extra socks.
“We going to meet this warlord punk?” Kyriaki asked as they settled.
“Don’t really have much choice here,” Valentinian nodded. “Good ones, anyway. Meet with him tonight, or blast off right now for the deep desert and try to hide from whatever agents might be there.”
“It’s a trap,” Bayjy opined. “Y’all know that, right?”
“They all are, Bayjy,” Valentinian agreed.
Kyriaki nodded with both of them. But what choice did they have, other than to walk in ready to kill everyone that moved and hope that it was enough?
Kyriaki would handle her part, if it came down to death and mayhem.
15
Glaxu
By the time Glaxu had landed Outermost in a nearby canyon and gotten the ship covered by a desert tarp, the sun was mid-morning, which should have made his approach easy. The humans would be down in the city for a time yet. Their kind never walked long distances in the sun unless they had to.
But there was someone else watching the new ship when he slipped over the crest of the ridgeline. Local. One he knew by reputation, although they had never personally met.
Ehlgeron. Truqtok’s fixer. Dangerous, dangerous man.
Immediately, Glaxu had gone for cover, then he carefully stalked forward as if a dozen snipers were waiting for him to appear. Interestingly, the man had a camp chair to sit on, and his signature solar umbrella.
And patience, apparently. The human was sitting in a place where Glaxu could sneak up on him, if necessary, but not the ship. He appeared happy to wait for the other humans to return.
So much for trying to crack the security systems and steal what he needed.
Glaxu found a good perch mostly behind the man, once he circled around and confirmed that Ehlgeron was here alone. Today, Glaxu had worn his desert shorts, baggy enough to run if he needed to, but with nests on each side where he could put eggs or other valuables as needed.
The shock pistol was under his left wing on the crossed bandolier, with a vibroblade on the right side. Other equipment was stashed in pockets on the bandolier or on his greaves where he could get at things in a hurry.
Because he was in a mood this morning, Glaxu had also added the shock bracers around the outside of his greaves, just above the ankle joint. That would let him just take a human down in a fight, when his natural instinct would be a dewclaw rake that opened up flesh. These people never wore any form of armor against blades.
Fools.
His shorts weren’t as good as a squatting cloth, but he needed to be prepared to move at high speed in a heartbeat, and the cloth always risked tripping him.
The costs of style.
Ehlgeron waited like a hunter, so Glaxu did as well. He had on a leather cap to protect the sides of his head against bugs and dust, and pulled his goggles down over his eyes, letting the electronics inside measure the exact distance to the fixer. The altitude. Temperature. Barometric pressure. Weather forecast. Available radio stations by musical format. Exact vector back to Outermost.
After an hour, Glaxu finally grinned. The human stood and walked around the ship once, probably to stretch his legs. The man was middle-aged, as humans went, so he probably needed to exercise more. Or he was confirming that no other ambushers besides an ambitious Mondi had snuck up on him.
There was that.
Ehlgeron sat again, pulling out his cardreader and losing himself in business, probably. Glaxu continued to watch.
He heard the ship’s crew returning. He hoped it was them, and not a fourth party coming to the spring mating dances.
A desert speeder was coming up from the left at high speed. Rather than move his head and risk drawing attention, Glaxu let his peripheral vision track the machine. One of the ones he had seen earlier when overflying, from the shape.
A box covered over with just enough mesh for humans in boots to stand on. He would find it uncomfortable, trying to hold on with zygodactyl toes, unless the designer had somehow picked a mesh scale that he could wrap toes around like a damned parrot on a branch.
Four humans. The same four that had departed the ship this morning as he had flown above. They paused outside the ship and spoke with the fixer as Glaxu listened in, hiding in the rocks brown on brown. Retired to within the ship as Ehlgeron returned to the city.
The vehicle suggested a trip to the deserts where even Mondi were careful not to tread. At the same time, Truqtok’s man was treating them with wary respect, so perhaps they were dangerous enough to take care of themselves.
The desert speeder was certainly well armed, over and above the four humans.
Still, they had something he wanted. Needed. If he waited until they left, Truqtok might have more killers in the area. Alternatively, they might decide to flee immediately, rather than deal with any local troubles, and he would be reduced to chasing them across the planet.
Glaxu replayed the tapes. Yesterday’s messenger? So Ehlgeron was the fallback after Truqtok probably sent his bully boys. And they had made it home safe, or Truqtok would have sent an army today.
That suggested that maybe he was dealing with more civilized folk that was normal for this planet.
He could work with that. And time was short.
Glaxu rose and approached the rear of the vessel with a jaunty stride.
16
Valentinian
The doorbell ringing had Valentinian out of his chair, with a heavy flamer in his hands, and three steps away from the table before his brain engaged. Happily, the other three were only about a step behind him.
Unhappily, they all plowed into him from behind when he tried to stop. Somehow, nobody ended up going down the staircase face first in the process of getting halted.
“Good,” Valentinian announced, holstering his pistol. “Glad I’m not the only one a little too wound up.”
That generated a laugh.
“Dave, you get to the bridge and check sensors,” he ordered. “Kyriaki with me. Bayjy stay back at the bottom of the stairs to shoot anybody if th
ey make it past us. Questions?”
A moment of thought, and then bodies exploded into motion.
Valentinian jogged to the aft airlock and flipped on the screen to show their visitor. He was assuming it was the man, returned with some message or update.
That or a deadly surprise as someone tried to rush the door. Which was why Bayjy had a plasma rifle in her hands. That sort of weapon didn’t require pinpoint accuracy, especially when someone had to come through a two-meter-wide hatch to get to you.
Valentinian was not prepared for the image that greeted him.
He was familiar with ostriches. There were a few planets in the Dominion where the creatures ran wild. Plus numerous zoos he had visited as a kid.
The person at the door was an ostrich. Sort of. In miniature, maybe.
About a meter tall, with long legs and a long neck. Short, stubby body in the middle. Beak instead of a mouth, long and heavy, coming down to a chisel point rather than slender like a hummingbird. Two big eyes with copper-colored irises were fixed forward, like a predator, rather than on the sides, like prey.
Dark brown feathers on his back and head, running a lighter brown on his neck before fading to cream on the creature’s belly.
It was an intelligent being. He (he?) wore shorts, spats, a bandolier, and a leather hat with goggles pushed up. Signs of technology, especially his pistol in a shoulder holster, if the being had shoulders. Stubby arms. Long legs.
The pistol was not in a feathered hand. So whoever it was wanted to talk, presumably.
“Dave,” Valentinian said into the intercom. “Is he alone?”
“Affirmative, Vee,” Dave replied. “Only two things moving are the guy leaving and the one at the hatch. And the first man is leaving. Just got past the point where we had our fun last night.”
“Good,” Valentinian raised his voice. “Opening the aft hatch.”
Kyriaki was several steps back and off to one side, mostly obscured by a hardsuit hanging on a rack. Valentinian figured he was safe with her covering things, so put his pistol away and keyed the hatch to open, stepping back at he did.
