Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “Looks like you’re right once again.”

  “You should be used to that. How about we talk to the damsel in distress and her duenna? And don’t tell me you aren’t impatient at seeing that bodyguard again. She must have caught your eye somehow because I don’t recall your inviting folks to sample the duty-free rotgut all that often.”

  “Do I see the old green-eyed monster raising its head?” He leered at his partner.

  “You might recall that I’m not capable of feeling normal emotions, jealousy included. And I’ll grant you the duenna has a little je ne sais quoi. We dark angels usually do.”

  Decker laughed.

  “Okay. Whatever. Let’s go check in on our protégées. By the way, did you really rig the shuttle’s fuel cells to blow the moment its airlock is opened?”

  “Of course. I need my bit of entertainment as well. Let’s hope they bring it into their shuttle hangar first. That ought to put the entire ship out of action.”

  “Nice.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “The apprentice is truly surpassing the master. And it serves the bastards right.” Decker released Talyn and nodded toward the corridor. “Shall we?”

  Once out of the airlock, he slammed the inner door shut and spun its emergency locking wheel until it could move no more. “There. Next time they try, they’ll need to cut their way in.”

  “Unless insiders leave the barn doors open again.”

  “Not after we invite Captain Whatshisname to our quarters for a friendly chat.”

  “Kreipe.”

  “Ah, yes. Hanno Kreipe. That conversation should be interesting.”

  “Or we make like nothing’s happened, find out what’s going on, and keep an eye on our two friends until we dock at Valerys. Discretion being an operative’s best quality, in spite of the fireworks on Mission Colony.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  They wound their way up the spiral staircase with as little noise as before. The only evidence of the drama on the passenger deck less than ten minutes earlier were two faint, rust-colored stains where the corpses lay before Decker hauled them to their shuttle.

  Everything seemed as it should in the middle of the night watch. Doors were shut, even that of the women’s cabin. Decker approached theirs and rapped his knuckles on the panel three times in rapid succession followed by a pause and then a single knock. A crack appeared between the door and its jamb, and a gimlet eye stared out at them.

  “We sent the boarding party home to mother,” Decker said. “There were eight of them. No survivors.”

  Astonishment briefly flashed in the bodyguard’s single visible eye.

  “It was thirsty work,” the Marine continued. “My partner and I need a pull on that bottle of rotgut. I hope you left us some. Then, we’ll discuss why we had to repel boarders instead of getting our full night’s sleep.”

  The woman stepped back and allowed the cabin door to open fully. Tall and wiry, she wore a dark, loose, single piece garment liberally festooned with pockets. Short brown hair streaked with gray topped a seamed, narrow hatchet face dominated by hard dark eyes that missed nothing.

  Now that he saw the bodyguard with fresh eyes, especially with the way she held her needler though its barrel pointed downward, Decker knew she was someone like Talyn or him.

  Her charge, on the other hand, seemed to be the odd one out. The woman sat on Decker’s bunk, wrapped in a dark robe, her straw-colored hair covered by a silk scarf that framed a pale, forty-something face dominated by a strong chin and a hawk nose. Pale blue eyes beneath eyebrows so light they appeared silvery in the cabin’s harsh illumination studied Decker with equal measures of curiosity and caution.

  A pang of anguish twisted his guts when he met her gaze as memories long suppressed bubbled back to the surface. Whoever she was, the woman before him bore an eerie resemblance to Avril Ducote, his long-dead partner, gutshot by pirates hired to abduct and sell him into slavery as revenge for Walker Amali’s death.

  Talyn pulled the door shut, then leaned against it, arms crossed, while Decker took a healthy pull from the bottle of amber liquid sitting on a sideboard to help shake off the disturbing sensation he faced Avril’s fraternal twin. Yet in their time together, she had never mentioned any female siblings. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and handed the bottle to his partner.

  “Throwing out the trash always leaves a bad taste in my mouth, especially when I don’t know why we did it. Would either of you care to comment?”

  — Eighteen —

  When neither answered right away, Decker said, “Allow me to start with the introductions. I’m Ned Sarkin, and she’s Lena Taryen. We’re Fleet veterans turned hired guns.”

  Something in the deadly duenna’s eyes told him she put as much credence in the veracity of their names as in a Howler’s honesty.

  “What’s the point with using names?” She asked. “Surely you don’t expect me to tell you who we really are? Not after this? For all I know, you might work for the opposition too. Or for someone else who’d like to cause us harm.”

  “Fair enough. You realize Captain Kreipe was in on it, right? He was either bought off or threatened into letting goons board and take you between FTL jumps. That means this isn’t over. And very shortly, the rest of the gang will be aware it failed when they recover their shuttle and it blows up in their faces.”

  The woman’s right eyebrow crept up. “You booby-trapped their shuttle?”

  Decker jerked a thumb at Talyn.

  “She did while I put the Howler corpses on board. It’s headed back to the mothership under the control of its AI, which my partner reprogrammed. If Kreipe doesn’t jump us out of here before the shuttle makes it home, the bastards might try again, and if that happens, we won’t enjoy the element of surprise. So maybe we should get to know each other a little better, because whether or not you like it, Lena and I stuck our noses in your business, and you’re damned lucky we did. As my partner keeps telling me, I’m cursed with this knight in shining armor complex, and that’s now been placed at your service.”

  After a long silence, during which the duenna’s eyes went back and forth between Decker and Talyn, she inclined her head.

  “Very well. I will override my suspicious mind and trust my instincts, which are telling me you’re one of the good guys, Ned Sarkin.” Her tone left no doubt she didn’t believe it was Decker’s real name for one second. She gave Talyn a hard glance. “On the other hand, I can’t read you, Lena Taryen. But that also tells me something. I’m just not sure what.” Another pause. “The name’s Gudrun Mariano. I’m a minder, as you’ve no doubt guessed by now. Strictly freelance.”

  “And your client?” Talyn asked.

  Mariano’s chuckle, though grim, wasn’t completely devoid of humor.

  “Now that would be telling. Even a freelancer is bound by the Personal Security Services Guild rules, and that means only the client may reveal his or her identity, not the minder. And my advice to her before you came back was don’t. For our purposes, you may call her Maggie.”

  “Okay.” Decker drawled out the word as he half sat on the sideboard. “Welcome to our cabin, Gudrun and Maggie. Now that we’re a happy bunch of fresh acquaintances here, would you mind telling us why the Confederacy of the Howling Stars was so keen on offering you a ride? I presume they were after Maggie and not her heavily armed governess.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do mind,” Mariano replied. “Telling you could unmask my client’s identity.”

  “The goons already know her identity,” Decker pointed out in a reasonable tone, “and your itinerary. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to set up the abduction attempt. Someone told them your cabin number and bought off the captain. A pirate raid at the edge of interstellar space, near a frontier star system, or as frontier as this part of the Rim gets nowadays, is a perfect way to make someone disappear.”

  Mariano studied the Marine with renewed interest.

  “Hired guns?
Why is a smart, deadly merc like you not under permanent contract with one of the better PMCs?”

  “Wanderlust and a deep distrust of faceless corporations. What happens when we reach Cimmeria? I doubt the Howlers will try again while we’re on final approach after the in-system jump, not within sight of Valerys Station, meaning the next chance at grabbing your client will be after Thebes docks.”

  “Arrangements have been made for us there,” she replied in a confident tone. “You need not concern yourselves with our fate.”

  “What if those arrangements are as deeply compromised as your journey aboard Thebes? Perhaps there’s a mole in the outfit that hired you to mind Maggie.”

  “Why do you care about the fate of two strangers?”

  “Lena and I dropped eight Howlers for your sake. Not that ridding the galaxy of those amoral assholes wasn’t pleasant in and of itself, but it means we have a certain interest in ensuring our efforts weren’t in vain. A righteous kill is a terrible thing to waste.”

  “Let it be, Ned,” Talyn said. “Sera Mariano is well within her rights to keep Maggie’s identity and everything else about her contract confidential. If she feels sure the rest of their journey will be without incidents, who are we to pry?”

  Decker exhaled noisily.

  “Okay. Never mind my caring nature. Would you like to switch cabins for the rest of the trip?”

  Before Mariano could answer, a soft chime wafted through the air, followed by the soothing female voice of the ship’s AI.

  “Please prepare for the transition to hyperspace. We will jump in one minute.”

  “I guess the Howlers won’t be trying again out here. We’ll return to our quarters after the transition, but thank you for the offer.”

  “Feel free to change your mind and impose on us at any time before we part ways on Valerys, Sera Mariano.”

  The minder inclined her head by way of acknowledgment. Three soft chimes sounded again, sending her to sit beside Maggie while Decker sat more firmly on the sideboard and Talyn braced herself in the doorframe. Nausea came and left with its usual abruptness.

  “I guess we’ll never find out if your booby-trapped shuttle did a number on the Confederacy ship,” Decker remarked as he stood. “Shame. I’d have liked to witness that.”

  Mariano and her client also climbed to their feet. “Our thanks for everything you’ve done,” the former said.

  Moments later, Decker and Talyn were alone in their cabin once more. The Marine took another swig of whiskey.

  “You know who Maggie the Mysterious reminds me of, right?”

  “I noticed the pained expression in your eyes. The resemblance to Avril Ducote is remarkable, but it’s not her. Avril died long ago.”

  “Sure.” Decker took another sip. “But seeing Maggie’s face still drove a knife through my gut. Metaphorically speaking.”

  “Drinking more of that will do just as thorough a job on your stomach.” She took the bottle from his hand and placed it on the table. “However, I might know Maggie’s real identity.”

  “That quasi-eidetic memory of yours again?”

  “Yes and no. Along with looking like Avril’s long-lost kid sister, she also bears a family resemblance to a man who’s rather infamous in certain circles.”

  “Her father’s a mobster?”

  “It depends on your point of view, I suppose. But if I’m right, it raises a long list of questions and gives precious few answers.”

  “Turf war between the Confederacy and another gang for supremacy in the Rim Sector, perhaps?”

  Talyn shook her head.

  “No. Not unless the Deep Space Foundation suddenly decided to engage in retail-level criminality instead of making its profits through influence peddling.”

  “Louis Sorne’s pretend not-for-profit? Didn’t it stop operating when Sorne was indicted, thanks to your Constabulary friend?”

  “Sadly, no. The firewall between Sorne’s business interests and the Foundation allowed it to escape scrutiny, in part thanks to a sympathetic judge who was either overly naïve or venal. I should imagine the Constabulary is still trying to find an opening, but if Sorne’s friends in the Senate are running interference, it’ll take a brave Chief Constable to choose that hill for a potentially career-ending death match.”

  “So who is she?”

  “Maggie? How about Magda Annear, daughter of the late Ryker Lubben, a wealthy dilettante with more ambition than ability, and Nerys Annear, Cimmeria’s senior Commonwealth senator? Lubben died a few years ago in what the Cimmerian Gendarmerie ruled an accident though not everyone agreed at the time. However, before his untimely passing, Lubben, among other activities of note, chaired the Deep Space Foundation’s board of directors at the behest of his lifelong pal, Antoine Hakkam, the Foundation’s president and chief executive officer. It gets better. Hakkam is also Magda’s godfather.”

  “Wait a minute. I thought Nerys Annear was one of the good politicians. How did she fall in bed with the best friend of a skunk such as Hakkam?”

  “No idea, but they split up years ago, well before she was elected to public office.”

  “Why would the daughter of such a powerful mother be traveling incognito? Are you sure it could be her?”

  Talyn nodded.

  “The family resemblance is so strong I wonder why they didn’t give Maggie a new face to go with the cover identity, and not just because of Nerys Annear. Hakkam must be collecting new enemies on a regular basis nowadays, considering he runs Sorne’s empire while the old man is in custody. Mind you, Sorne is probably still issuing orders from his prison cell.”

  Decker’s snort was loud enough to wake the dead three decks below.

  “Cell? Try a comfort suite. Rich fucks like Sorne receive the deluxe treatment in an idyllic place where they can meditate on the mistakes that brought them there. And plan on how they’ll screw everyone over the next time. Magda Annear, huh?”

  “That’s what I don’t understand.” Talyn reached for the whiskey and took a modest sip. “The Confederacy rarely engages in kidnapping on its own account, which means someone hired them for this job. Perhaps people who want something from Antoine Hakkam and the Foundation, or from Senator Annear. Or the Annear family conglomerate.”

  “Isn’t that a rather long list?” Decker dropped into the lower bunk and kicked off his boots. “Considering how much those Deep Space bastards have been interfering in planetary politics. Didn’t we decide they were among the possible offworld instigators behind the Scandia putsch attempt?” The Marine’s face suddenly lit up with understanding. “Oh.”

  A smile softened Talyn’s thoughtful expression.

  “Oh, indeed, darling. Sorne is desperate for a seat at the Coalition’s grown-up table, and the Foundation is his tool to ingratiate himself with the top leadership. Since Senator Annear is a firm supporter of sovereign star system rights, she’s one of the Coalition’s main political enemies in the legislature.”

  “Then who hired the Sécurité Spéciale’s occasional wetwork specialists to kidnap Maggie? Did the SecGen’s thugs and the Coalition part ways, or did they stop using the Howlers as subcontractors?”

  “Not that we know.” She sat beside him. “Did you consider it could have been a false flag operation, an abduction team made to appear like Howlers, in case someone saw them?”

  “That’s called living dangerously if ever the Confederacy finds out.” He saw the gleam in her eyes and sighed with resignation. “Let me guess. You’ve become determined to find out what this Maggie business is about. Don’t forget our main job, find the rest of the MHX, and put every last terrorist wannabe out of business before civilians die in job lots.”

  “I’m not forgetting. My instinct tells me there could be a link. We already figure the Coalition is in some ways connected to if not actively backing the Democratic Stars Alliance.”

  “Or is the DSA’s creator.”

  She nodded.

  “Sure. And if Maggie is Magda Annear, th
en she’s connected to both the Deep Space Foundation, which we believe supports the Coalition’s goals and Senator Annear who opposes them. Does she favor one over the other, or is she opposed to either?”

  “If she’s in her mother’s corner, an abduction attempt by Howlers makes perfect sense. Coerce the senator into backing away from her vocal pro-star systems stance.”

  “Then, there’s Magda’s estranged husband, Pavel Yagudin.”

  Decker’s eyes widened by a few millimeters.

  “Of Yagudin Industries?”

  “The very same. He’s apparently apolitical, almost puritanically so. Yagudin’s sole interest is running his zaibatsu, and he’ll work with anyone who helps him increase his reach and wealth,” Talyn replied, using the ancient Japanese term for an influential family-owned industrial and financial conglomerate.

  “Sometimes, I can’t help wonder how you know all this.”

  Talyn tapped the side of her head.

  “I read everything that crosses my desk when we’re between missions and once stored up there, I never forget it. Besides, Sorne and I almost crossed paths on Aquilonia Station, so I’ve kept an interest in local affairs.”

  “Or is your interest more closely related to the affairs of your Constabulary bent cop hunter?” Decker gave her a knowing glance. “You certainly seem to have developed a fascination with someone you used as a dupe.”

  “I’ve not heard a certain Marine complain about his turn as my dupe lately.”

  “You know I’m not one to bitch and moan, although you still owe me plenty of penance for past misdeeds. But if you’re nice to me right now, I’ll consider it another down payment on that particular debt.”

  Talyn rolled her eyes.

  “And we’re back to your favorite topic. How does that always happen?”

  — Nineteen —

  Breakfast in the saloon, only a few hours after the abortive kidnapping attempt, seemed surreal even to an operative with Decker’s long experience of strange situations. Everyone behaved as if nothing occurred shortly before Thebes went FTL on her last leg to Cimmeria. And for most of the passengers, nothing had happened.