The Vigilante Chronicles Omnibus

by Natalie Grey

  And he was fairly sure he had a good angle—using its obvious condescension to Tafa against it. When he came out of the gym, he spoke brusquely to her.

  “I’d like to speak to you about your cousin.” He gave her a brief, hard look and waved negligently down the hall as he strode away. “I’m going to clean up. Wait for me in the second conference room. The ship will give you directions.”

  The ship? Rude.

  I’d rather they didn’t know everything about you yet.

  Oh. That makes sense.

  Mmm. Barnabas gave a respectful nod to the Jotun as he passed. He took his time changing, and offered a silent apology to Tafa; he’d explain all of this when he spoke to her. Then he wandered back out into the hall with a glass of water in his hand and his hair still somewhat wet.

  The Jotun, as he had hoped, was still lurking.

  He’s trying to get into my systems, Shinigami reported. I’m not sure it’s malicious, per se. It’s his way of learning about us. I’m feeding him false information, though. I don’t think he’s caught on.

  Barnabas tried not to grin evilly. Good. See what you can get from him in the meantime.

  Oh, I am. Their suits are actually very impressive. I’ll be selling this to Jean for sure.

  Giving. You’ll be giving it to Jean.

  Oh, come on! She’d be thrilled to get her hands on this.

  Yes, of course—piss off the woman who makes our weapons. That’s going to go well. Because if she fails to kill us herself, you know she’s going to bring John in.

  Oh.

  Yes.

  Barnabas gave the Jotun a brief nod, then frowned as if he’d had suddenly had a thought. “Did she speak to you about her family?”

  “I knew who they were, of course.” Jeltor could have made a career out of sounding artfully bored. “Impossible to ignore that last name. But she never spoke about them, no.”

  “I’m getting that sense.” Barnabas shook his head in mock annoyance and sighed. “I should have known better than to hope for any useful information out of one of them. What’s weird is, I’d done some digging and I didn’t come up with any mention of her parents.”

  As he’d hoped, Jeltor was eager to display his superior research skills. “You wouldn’t. They were the family embarrassment.”

  Barnabas, already walking away, looked back as if this information was unexpected and interesting enough to detain him. He leaned closer. “Really? How did you ever find that?”

  “I have my sources.” Jeltor was as smug as the cat that got the cream. The suit didn’t provide any facial expressions and the jelly-blob body was as unreadable as ever, but Barnabas was sure the thing was smiling. He seemed to weigh the pros and cons of talking, and the pros won out. He shuffled a few mechanical steps closer. “They joined a group of troublemakers. A little terrorist group called the Hyo-Tein.”

  Translation?

  Fuck if I know. It’s not coming through. Unless it’s a mix of Brakalon and Leath, in which case it means “Umbrella Fart.”

  Barnabas pressed his lips together in an attempt not to laugh. I, uh…I think that’s unlikely.

  Be careful, though. Her voice was suddenly grave. Be sure he’s telling you the truth, and if he is, tread lightly. I’m coming up with nothing about these people, which means—

  Boreir Group wiped them off the map.

  Exactly. And you cut the head off the snake, but we still haven’t gotten some of their executives yet.

  Noted. To Jeltor, he said, “I’ve never heard of the Hyo-Tein.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” the alien assured him confidently. “They haven’t been around for decades at this point, because of her parents. Not that they wanted the group destroyed, no. But Boreir Group was… Hmm, let’s say they were particularly harsh because members of their family were involved. They’re the ones who got it classified as a terrorist group after they killed everyone. If you find stories about them, they’ll be the stories Boreir Group planted.”

  This was interesting. Barnabas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and nodded for Jeltor to continue. Two things were clear: the alien was telling him the truth, and he enjoyed knowing things no one else knew.

  “Her mother’s parents were clerics,” the Jotun explained. “So I guess she had some ideas in her head about how the universe should work—and of course, then she fell in love with one of Mustafee Boreir’s brothers. Now, Gedden Boreir—that’s her father, you know. Yes?—wasn’t ever going to inherit. It was always Anafee, and her son after her. So I’ll bet he thought he could just do anything he wanted. Maybe he wanted to mess with his sister a bit. So he joins this group, and they start lobbying to disallow the sale of munitions to a few of the larger planets.”

  Barnabas started to feel a bit uncomfortable. He had a fairly good idea of what was coming—or at least the general idea—and it was not good.

  “He probably thought he was going to get a talking to.” Jeltor tried to make it a joke, but he failed. “They didn’t bother. His mother told Mustafee to take care of it. It was a test; her first big test for her heir. Let’s just say he passed with flying colors.”

  Barnabas felt a low throb of anger. “But they kept Tafa alive?”

  “Of course. She was just a child. They’re not monsters, after all.” Jeltor’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and Barnabas could feel his genuine disgust at what had happened. For just a moment, Barnabas saw a thought flash through the Jotun’s head—a family with children and siblings, many generations. There was love there, and a deep horror that anyone could hurt their family the way Mustafee Boreir had. Jeltor paused, then admitted, “I suppose I don’t blame her for being…how she is.”

  Barnabas thought back to Tafa—earnest and defiant, cloaking her feelings in black humor and resolutely shoving away thoughts of her family. She had chosen to be a painter. What did that say? What did it say that she still tried to make something beautiful, even after her early experiences?

  He was not sure. He nodded to Jeltor, however. “Well, thank you. I never would have guessed.”

  Jeltor gave a stiff mechanical nod. He seemed embarrassed to have shared a moment of genuine emotion with Barnabas.

  As Barnabas walked away, he considered. That bit of conversation had been more successful than he had hoped, and he had a better, not to mention more reassuring, picture of Jeltor’s character.

  Tafa’s story, however, was horrifying.

  She was sitting straight-backed in her chair when Barnabas entered, thoughts resolutely blank. She was terrified of what was coming.

  “I’m sorry I was delayed,” Barnabas told her. He slid into the chair opposite her. “I’m sorry I was curt with you before, as well. I have a lot on my mind.”

  It wasn’t the explanation he wanted to give, but it would have to do.

  Tafa looked at him mistrustfully, so Barnabas decided to come at this from a direction she wouldn’t expect. “Your paintings are beautiful.”

  She froze, her eyes widening. “How…”

  “Your thoughts,” Barnabas admitted. “You know I can see them, yes? I told you all as much when we were with the captains.”

  “I didn’t think you really meant it.” She sounded horrified. “You saw my— I never show anyone my paintings!”

  “No? You should. They’re very good.”

  “You can’t even see them the way they’re meant to be seen.” She wasn’t trying to be insulting. “You look at things with both eyes at once. My paintings are for Yofu.”

  Barnabas considered this, his eyes distant. He thought back to the images he had seen. Yes, they had always come in pairs, meant to be seen simultaneously. That was fascinating.

  “You know, I was once a monk,” he told her. “In human history, before we had the technology to print words, we would copy out our knowledge by hand. Monks—a sort of religious figure—would write the books out very carefully, and they would make art in them. There would be drawings on the page, and they would make the letter
s beautiful. We called them ‘illuminated manuscripts.’ To make them was a sort of religious devotion; service to God. I got the same feeling from your paintings.” He hesitated, then added, “I know you didn’t mean to show them to me, and I’m sorry I looked without your permission.”

  “Most aliens can’t read minds,” Tafa murmured finally. She didn’t say anything about her paintings, though Barnabas had felt a flare of grief when he described them as religious. Knowing her history, he wondered if he had been closer to the mark than he had guessed. “I mean, I know Ubuara kind of can, but they can’t read other species’ minds.”

  “Most humans can’t,” Barnabas agreed. “I’m a rather unique case.” He decided not to share the details. He would rather not touch off a firestorm by explaining just how he had come to be modified.

  Tafa hesitated. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather skip all the pleasantries. What do you want from me? What are you going to do with me?”

  Barnabas sat back in his chair. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t another Mustafee,” he told her bluntly. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing the sorts of things he did. I’m now quite sure you’re not. I understand why you wouldn’t work against him. I suppose the question is, what do you want to do with your life now that everyone in your family who wanted to hurt you is gone?”

  She looked at him with a storm of emotion in her eyes. She’d never considered a universe like that; never dreamed that it might exist. Images flashed through her thoughts one after another—seeing new planets, new people. Painting. Learning languages.

  Then reality returned, or what she thought was reality. Gray and depressing, it filled her thoughts with the reminder that her family’s money had been the only thing that stood between her and starvation. With them gone, she believed she had nothing.

  “Stay here.” The offer came easily. “Until you decide, you can stay here if you want. You’re not obligated to do so.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I have no skills other than painting.”

  “Then we’ll get you some paints,” Barnabas replied. “Take any of the suites. It doesn’t matter which.”

  “But I can’t… I don’t…” She frowned as he stood up. “Look, I’m the family disgrace. They only kept me around as a warning to the rest of clan. I’m of no use to you.”

  Barnabas gave a small smile. “You don’t have to be.”

  “Why not? Why would you give me something if I’m not useful? Why would you keep me alive?”

  Barnabas paused. “Because the measure of a person isn’t how useful they are,” he said finally. “With me, people don’t earn their lives, they earn their deaths. You’ve spent your whole life trying to be nothing, but you found beauty even in that. What could you do if you weren’t always looking over your shoulder? I think you should get a chance to answer that question.”

  Shocked into silence, she said nothing, and he left her to sit in peace. He was halfway to the kitchen before he looked at a camera, frowning at Shinigami’s unusual silence.

  What, no mockery about the sappy speech?

  No. Her answer was immediate. She said nothing more, however. In the unexpected silence, he sipped his tea and thought about Tafa’s paintings and Gar’s redemption, Jeltor’s family, and Crallus’ mercenaries as the Shinigami burned toward Virtue Station.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t know, Zinqued.” Chofal sighed. She stared at the device he’d put on the table between them. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “What, because Paun said not to keep going for the ship?” Zinqued snorted. “Paun just doesn’t want to play in the big leagues.”

  “There’s something to that,” Chofal said seriously. “You know how those rivalries are, people are getting killed all the time when you get to that level.”

  “Yeah, but the ones who don’t die, get rich! Really rich.” Zinqued nodded meaningfully. “You have no idea how rich, Chofal.”

  “What do I need money for? I’ve got a good life.”

  “Really?” Zinqued gave her a look. “You’re totally fine living in a tiny bunk, eating freeze-dried food and drinking Stim-Drink for the rest of your life?” He sensed he had her, and since he knew what Chofal wanted out of life, he gave the last little push. “You could have a big mansion on your home planet. A huge workshop, too, full of spaceship parts. You could have your own dock full of ships and just tinker around with them.”

  She gave him a wide-eyed look. Clearly, she’d never thought about this. Still, she wasn’t sure. “You saw the kind of weapons that ship had,” she argued. “We don’t have those—and I don’t think anything I do will make us fast enough to outrun them.”

  Zinqued patted the device on the table. “That’s why we use this, right? It can burrow in and inject a virus into their computer systems. It’ll shut everything down, they won’t have a chance in hell of defeating programming this sophisticated.” He’d paid through the nose and called in every favor he had at their last stop, but it would be worth it. “I just need you to make sure it can latch on securely and get through the hull.”

  Chofal wavered, but as Zinqued had guessed, she was too proud of her work to resist. She had a healthy appreciation for the other ship…which meant she wanted to get her hands on it. The idea of using her engineering skill to knock out the computer systems she didn’t understand—and thus feared—was just too tempting.

  She nodded and snatched at the device.

  “I’ll do it,” she said with a grin. She swung her head from side to side to see him with both eyes, a bit nervous but also excited by the challenge. “It’ll be ready in a couple of days.”

  “A day,” Zinqued corrected. “Who knows when we’ll come across them again?”

  “What are you talking about?” Paun’s voice suddenly cut through the air, and Zinqued looked up to see the captain looking between the two of them, his eyes far too knowing for comfort.

  Chofal rescued the situation with some quick thinking. “Zinqued had an idea for a new device to help us steal ships.” She told the half-truth with simple sincerity. She hoisted the device up to show Paun. “I told him I’d have it done in a few days, but he reminded me it’s been a while since we’ve seen a likely ship, so we need to be ready when we do see one.” She pushed herself up and nodded. “I’ll get to work on this. Engines are running fine, nothing much else for me to do.”

  Paun gave a long look at Zinqued when she was gone, and Zinqued tried to look as innocent as he could. Finally, Paun sighed.

  “Let’s hope this device of yours works,” he said shortly. “Easy marks are getting fewer and farther between these days.”

  Zinqued stared after him in surprise as he left. He’d thought they would have to follow the Shinigami against orders, but with Paun getting more and more worried about finding another haul...

  Yes. It was quite possible that Zinqued could get the captain to agree to this scheme.

  He grinned as he made his way to the ship’s tiny kitchen. We’re gonna be legends.

  They made good time to Virtue Station in the tiny nameless ship. Crallus spent most of it checking the sensors obsessively, but nothing ever showed up on the scopes.

  Was it possible that the Shinigami hadn’t noticed them leaving? That it had guessed their port wrong and was racing to find them in another direction? He’d been sure that they would look behind them and see that damned human, but none of his fears had come true yet.

  By the time they docked—Uleq’s family money had eased the way, and the Station Manager practically fell over himself to welcome them—Crallus had begun to think all of this had turned around. No matter how he felt about the mercenaries he’d left behind, it was hard not to feel a rush of relief at their sudden safety.

  Which was why, when they found their change of ship blocked, Crallus didn’t at first understand what he’d heard.

  “I’m very sorry, sir.” The Station Manager practically cried as Uleq stared him down. He was wringing his
hands. “Mr. Jodu says that on the orders of Ilia Yennai, you must meet with him before the ship can be released.”

  Uleq’s face went stormy, and Crallus guessed that Ilia must be his sister.

  For a moment, he felt amused at the plight of the station manager. It was bad luck to be caught between the high-ranking officials of a company as large as the Yennai Corporation. But it’d be a good story for him to tell later.

  Then Crallus remembered that to Ilia, Uleq was the rebellious younger brother who’d probably lost the family significant money as he feuded with Barnabas and the former Etheric Empire.

  And Crallus was certain to be caught in whatever trap Ilia set for her brother. He gave a heartfelt inner curse as he hurried after Uleq, who was striding upstairs to the main level with murder writ plain on his face.

  “Uleq—”

  “It will be fine,” Uleq ground out. He looked over, and to Crallus’ surprise, he could see the history of this rivalry as clear as day. Uleq had always been the younger, inexperienced sibling, never the favorite. He had tried to be clever, to earn his father’s respect, but nothing had worked—all the glory went to Ilia. Now she was determined to make him pay for what she viewed as a poor choice while she continued blindly on with a course of action Uleq knew would be ruinous.

  He was furious, and Crallus could hardly blame him for it.

  Then the walls came down behind Uleq’s eyes, and there was only the alien who had told Crallus that his father and sister would die without ever knowing why. The one who had sent Fedden on a suicide mission because executions stirred up bad sentiment. The one who had sent Crallus’ mercenaries to die so that Uleq could escape.

  This Torcellan was dangerous. Crallus put his head down and followed, regretting all the choices that had led him here. Could he slip away? Would that be possible?

  He still hadn’t thought of a way to do so as they entered the bar that housed the station’s largest bank—a part of the Yennai Corporation, as it happened. Everything here was Yennai, except for the vendors that were so small as to be insignificant. Crallus would bet that even they traded information, though.