The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  The Marine rubbed the side of his neck where the blaster had been. “Sure,” he said, because there wasn’t much else to say when there was a man right behind you with a blaster in his hand and murder in his heart.

  The Marine and the Lieutenant slipped out of the booth, leaving the bar, the Marine glancing over his shoulder, Kohl giving the man a friendly wave before slipping into the booth across from Nate and Grace. He looked at Nate. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Grace,” said Grace, flashing that smile.

  “Was I,” said Kohl, “fucking talking to you?” He was slurring a little. He seemed to see the sword on the table for the first time. “Nice sword.”

  “Thank you,” said Grace. “I’m—”

  “Still not,” said Kohl, “talking to you.” He blinked, coughed, and looked at Nate. “Captain?”

  “Kohl raises a good question,” said Nate. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Grace Gushiken,” said Grace, “your new Assessor.”

  “Hell of a way to interview for a job,” said Nate, “but we’re full. And we don’t need an Assessor.”

  “Yes you do,” said Grace. “Be honest, Nate—”

  “Captain Chevell,” said Nate. “Let’s start with that.”

  “Captain Chevell,” said Grace, still a hint of a smile about her, “those men weren’t going to tell you anything. Not about the cargo. Not about the transmitter. And sure as stars, not about what’s going on at Absalom Delta.” She looked at his metal hand. “You look like you might know what the Republic lying to you feels like.”

  Nate’s eyes moved to the door of the bar, a couple walking in. They were laughing, her hand on his. He bent to whisper in her ear, and they moved to the bar. The bartender with the glowing green braids put a couple of drinks in front of them, sweeping Republic coins away like they’d never existed, like it was a magic trick to make things disappear before your eyes. Nate watched Grace Gushiken watch those two enter, watched her watch them move to the bar, and then watched as she pretended she wasn’t watching them. “So, Grace,” he said. “You seem to know the Republic pretty well yourself.”

  “Better than you know,” she said, relaxing into her seat, which — not coincidentally, Nate thought — lowered her from view.

  “And why should I take you on my crew?” he said.

  “Because you need me,” she said.

  “And because you need me,” said Nate, looking at the couple at the bar. They were still laughing, and talking, but their eyes were scanning the crowd. “Why?”

  “I need to get off this rock,” she said. “An Assessor doesn’t make coin sitting in a spacer bar.”

  That, right there, was the first time that she lied to him. Not about her name, as near as Nate could tell, but about what she was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a great Assessor. It’s that she was so much more. Nate could feel it, feel it like he could sometimes feel the old pain where his left arm and leg had been burned away in cleansing fire. Feel it like warm sun on his face when they were on a beautiful planet like this Enia Alpha, a gentle 0.9Gs tugging at him, a yellow sun in the sky above. But he could also feel that there was something about her. She had tugged that tiger by the tail like she owned the damn tail, and Nate felt an instant like for anyone who could stick it to the Republic.

  Nate looked at October. “Kohl,” he said, “do you want to fight?”

  Kohl thought about it. “I don’t know, Captain. You and me? It’s going to be hard for you to give orders without your teeth.”

  “Not me,” said Nate. “Those two at the bar.”

  Kohl turned around, the faux leather booth seat creaking under his weight. He turned back. “How much you want ‘em hurt?”

  “I want ‘em hurt enough to let us get to our ship without being followed.”

  “Great,” said Kohl, starting to rise.

  “Could you,” said Nate, “wait for us to go? You know how I love watching you work, but—”

  “But you want ‘em distracted as you go, so I can get ‘em from behind,” said Kohl. “It doesn’t seem very fair. I like it.”

  Grace was already flowing from the booth seat next to Nate, a dancer’s grace in her movements. She snatched the sword from the table like it weighed nothing, slung the scabbard’s belt over her shoulder, and gave Nate a glance. Something fearful behind the play. “You ready?”

  “I’m ready,” said Nate, but this time he was lying to himself. Not that he knew it. None of them knew what was coming.

  • • •

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