by Natalie Grey
“Please don’t. I’m not sure I’m ready to have an associate with embedded guns.”
“So you do think it’s possible!” Shinigami looked triumphant.
Barnabas knew he needed to change the subject before she asked about embedding a flamethrower. “All right. Tafa…there you are. You’ll be ready for our signal when we need extraction, yes?”
Tafa nodded. “And I’ll let you know if I see anything on the scanners that looks hinky.” She had recently started watching human movies and was surprisingly good at learning colloquialisms. “Hinky” was one of her favorites thus far.
“Right.” Barnabas nodded to Gar and Shinigami. “So we go in and pretend to be bargaining to get Jeltor back.”
“And you have an idea of how to convince them you’re not there to burn the place to the ground?” Shinigami asked skeptically.
“Sort of. The fact that I haven’t yet burned it to the ground seems like a good place to start.” Barnabas gave them all a smile and, as the blast doors opened, turned and walked down the gangway.
It was paradise—that was his first thought. The air seemed to be the perfect temperature, the wind was rustling in the abundant greenery, and there was the pleasant smell of sea, flowers, and fresh air. Grisor had made the most of this place, enhancing the natural landscape with faint touches of technology.
A man of taste. Barnabas suspected that Tafa and Gilwar were right that Grisor’s pride was heavily invested in his self-image of being a civilized and refined person. That would be his weakness, and Barnabas hoped to exploit it.
It looked like he would have the opportunity to try immediately, given that Grisor was waiting for them. Two absolutely massive bodyguards flanked him, their suits bristling with far more weapons than Gilwar’s schematics had shown. Between them, Grisor looked slender and graceful.
“Barnabas.” His voice was warm and rich. Well-suited, Barnabas guessed, to making allies in private talks or stirring emotion with speeches in the Senate. “We meet in person at last.” He sounded delighted, except for the very faint undercurrent of cruelty in his voice.
Barnabas decided to play the same game. He’d known Michael’s son David, after all. This was hardly anything new to him. He smiled back and went over to hold out his hand. He was risking immediate assassination, of course…
If they could summon enough force to kill him in one strike. He doubted they could.
“Senator Grisor.” He filled his voice with just as much warmth and shook the Jotun’s hand. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m glad we could do this without…unpleasantness.”
Grisor laughed heartily. He turned and Barnabas fell in beside him, strolling along with the bodyguards on one side and Shinigami and Gar on the other. Both Shinigami and Gar were wearing masks that obscured their features, so it was impossible to be certain of Gar’s species.
“There is no need for unpleasantness,” Grisor said as they walked. “I am not a soldier, to solve every problem with ships and guns.” Deep contempt showed for just a moment, and Barnabas heard his hatred of the Navy and their meddling. “Tell me, what did you wish to discuss?”
“Ah.” Barnabas tilted his face to the sky and studied it for a moment. Shinigami, you and Gar pick out which guards you’re going to neutralize.
On it, boss.
“It is a small matter, in some respects,” Barnabas said. “But perhaps one that a man of your moral code would be unwilling to compromise on.”
Grisor said nothing. His face was turned toward Barnabas expectantly as the group made their slow way down a broad avenue lined with flowering trees toward the amphitheater Tafa had described.
“I understand you were wronged by a friend of mine,” Barnabas said. “He has…damaged your interests, or at least potentially done so. I gather you’ve brought him here to even the score. I know it is a great deal to ask since there is a need to make an example, but I hoped we might come to a mutually beneficial agreement that resulted in his release. Any…damage…done to him would, of course, be water under the bridge.”
You’re disturbingly good at that, Shinigami commented.
Agreed, Gar said.
I’m not enjoying it. Barnabas didn’t look at them. But the payoff should be good.
Grisor said nothing for a moment. “I must admit, from your reputation, I didn’t expect this attitude.”
Barnabas gave a laugh. “Like you, I must sometimes make an example. What man of principle does not need to do so?”
Grisor made a small sound that might have been agreement. Barnabas, having met quite a few politicians, understood it to be a good tactic for not being caught on record giving any sort of strong opinion.
“So,” the Jotun said finally, “what are you offering?”
“Ah.” Barnabas let his smile broaden. “I think you will like this,” he said as if confiding a secret. He chose his words carefully. “It should serve your interests and repair the damage that has been done.”
“I’m intrigued.” Grisor sounded cautiously optimistic.
“I hoped you would say that.” They had reached the amphitheater and Barnabas looked at it with a jaded eye. It was beautiful, of course, but he had seen enough people like Grisor to know exactly what types of ugliness lurked beneath the surface of this place: slavery, torture, control, and cruelty.
Get ready.
Aye-aye.
Barnabas turned his head to look at Grisor. He was, rather ostentatiously, not in a battle stance. He had linked his hands behind his back and did not turn his body toward his opponent. A fight began long before blows were exchanged in the subtle cues that drew an enemy’s eye…or induced one to pass over, unseen.
“I will give you,” Barnabas said, “and every member of the Infrastructure Revitalization Committee, a clean and painless death. I will raze all mention of your existence from the official record, so only your associates know about the cancer that lurked within their society.”
At his side, Grisor went still.
“This is a sacrifice, you understand.” Barnabas kept his tone light. “The families of the aliens you abducted and tortured should know what happened. The rest of the species in this sector should know. But I am willing, for the sake of the citizens you wish to raise up, to let this be a secret. Instead of a disgrace, a curse, a footnote in history whose name is spoken with contempt, you and your colleagues will merely be forgotten.”
He met the eyes of Grisor’s mechanical face and smiled. It was not a kind smile, and it was not the face of blind Justice. It was the face of a man who saw, measured, and chose.
“You will—” Grisor began.
“Die” had probably been the end of that statement, but Barnabas didn’t care. His fist shot out sideways and embedded his knife, to the hilt, in the hip of Grisor’s suit.
Gar and Shinigami had chosen their targets, but they weren’t quite as quick off the mark as Barnabas was. They launched into motion, Gar just a split-second behind the guards, Shinigami recovering from her lapse with the superhuman speed she’d been built to have. An explosive round caught the more distant guard in the head, and it was knocked, heavy and awkward, off-balance.
Barnabas didn’t wait to see how the fight behind him would play out. He wrenched Grisor off balance, swung him in a wide arc, and gave a heavy kick to send the Jotun tumbling down the steps of the amphitheater. He felt a single moment of satisfaction.
Tafa and Shinigami yelled through the Etheric at the same time, and the potted plants at the base and rim of the amphitheater popped up to reveal turrets.
Barnabas swore and threw himself down the stairs after Grisor. Gar! Get to cover!
I’m handling it! Shinigami called. I just need to get to the controls. Tafa—
Gilwar says he’s on it, Tafa reported. Just hold out!
Behind him, Barnabas heard Gar give his ridiculous battle cry and turned in time to watch Gar vault into the air, climb the back of a guard’s suit, and begin working on the weak points near the sensor
array, ducking out of the way of the guard’s weapons-heavy arms.
Shinigami, not content to sit by while Gilwar did his work, was lobbing grenades and firing explosive rounds by turn, creating dead zones by taking some of the turrets out of the mix. Barnabas couldn’t see the pattern she was using, but he was sure there was one.
There was no time to waste. He landed near Grisor on the floor of the amphitheater, rolled to his feet, and dragged the senator toward the door that led into the building. A few steps, a few more—
Grisor was now between Barnabas and the turrets. He snarled and fought, but his suit wasn’t as strong as the guards’ suits, and Barnabas was continuing to keep him off-balance.
“So,” Barnabas said pleasantly, “do we have a deal?”
The shot took him fully in the back, sending him staggering forward. Barnabas felt the breath go out of his lungs and his armor, as advanced as it was, could not keep his ribs from breaking and several organs from rupturing. He let go of Grisor as red haze covered his vision. He just had to survive while his body repaired itself—
“No,” Jeltor called. He stepped into the light of the amphitheater, a new suit gleaming over his body, a smoking gun leveled at Barnabas. “We don’t have a deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Take out the suit! Shinigami’s yell echoed in Barnabas’ head. Now! We’ll take the guards. Get the suit!
Barnabas was already moving before he realized how deeply he’d come to trust Shinigami. He hadn’t even hesitated before taking her suggestion. If anyone had asked him, however, he would have said that—outside of a battle situation with an established chain of command—he could not imagine responding this way to anyone other than Bethany Anne. Things had changed.
For the better.
His bones and organs healed more every second as he threw himself at Jeltor.
Jeltor, forgive me. I’m sorry. He grabbed for the arms of the suit, intending to wrench one of them off. He would disable the suit piece by piece.
Or…that was the plan. Jeltor, however, directed a hard punch at Barnabas’ still-healing body, stepping inside the range of his arms. One mechanical hand grabbed Barnabas’ throat and squeezed.
“You will not hurt His Excellency,” Jeltor commanded.
Somewhere nearby, Grisor was laughing. Barnabas could hear it as the nanites began their work anew and his mind reeled from the pain. He could not let Jeltor crush his throat, but to strike at the tank would be to kill his friend—and he was not going to do that. He clung to Jeltor’s arm and looked into the tank.
“You’re still Jeltor,” he wheezed to the Jotun floating in there. “They burned this into you with pain and mind games, but you’re still Jeltor. The part of you that knows what Grisor is—that part is still there. They can tell you to be loyal to him, but they can’t make the whole rest of your mind agree. He’s going against everything you stand for.”
Jeltor hit him again, and there was the searing pain of ribs cracking a second time.
Barnabas! Shinigami’s scream seemed to echo in his ears as well as his mind, and then he realized she truly had yelled it aloud, using it as a battle cry while she broke one of the guards in two and tossed his body down the stairs, fluid pooling and draining away from the limp Jotun body inside. Get out of there first, then try to get into his head!
Barnabas swung into action at once, grabbing for a knife and electrifying it before he plunged it into Jeltor’s wrist. The biosuit jerked, power ricocheting through the internal circuits, and Barnabas stumbled away. He saw Grisor waiting and ran the other way, heedless of the laughter.
You think I’m defeated? he thought savagely. You have no idea what you’re in for. With each passing second he stood outside Jeltor’s range he was healing.
Four shots echoed nearby in such close succession that they must have come from multiple guns. Barnabas looked that way, a hand still pressed to his ribs, and saw both Shinigami and Gar pointing their smoking weapons at the husk of the last guard.
The turrets had been swiveling, unsure of their targets with so many of their own in the mix, but now they centered on Shinigami and Gar without hesitation.
“Down!” Barnabas yelled. The acoustics were so good that his call was deafening. It rolled through the space long after Shinigami and Gar had hit the floor on the top level of the amphitheater and crawled to shelter behind some of the top turrets.
Tafa, what’s Gilwar’s status on the turrets?
He says he’s close.
They’re shooting at us! Barnabas dove behind shallow cover and lobbed a grenade at the turret closest to him. Tell him to hurry it up!
With a whine and a defeated sigh, the turrets stopped firing and dropped gracelessly back down. Several of the potted plants, jostled a bit too much, tipped onto the ground. It was almost enough to make Barnabas laugh—until he heard the trickling sound of water.
Sonofa—every damned time with these people.
To be fair, they are an aquatic species.
That will be enough out of you. Laughing helped, now that his internal organs were fixed. Barnabas stood, his mind made up and his fingers ready to grab for his Jean Dukes. He had to keep joking, or he would realize how high the stakes were.
“Jeltor.”
A hollow boom sounded as the gun in Jeltor’s arm went off. This time, however, Barnabas had anticipated it. The round passed harmlessly through empty air and made a smoking dent in the wall behind him.
Barnabas, meanwhile, took shelter behind a nearby potted plant.
“Jeltor, you said you once believed that Jotuns were superior to all other species. That belief did not survive when you started to meet other aliens.”
“Come out.” Jeltor sounded frustrated. “Barnabas, this isn’t funny. You came here and tried to kill His Excellency. You want to destroy the Jotun people, give us a slow death you can pretend you have no knowledge of while other species cause chaos across the sector.”
“Why would I want that?” Barnabas asked calmly.
“Because your Federation wants us to be too concerned with each other to hurt them!” Jeltor called back. “They know that if we joined together, they could be wiped off the map.”
“Jeltor, I assure you that is not—” Barnabas paused. “You know me,” he said. “You’ve watched me take actions that would not expose your species to—”
Left! Go!
Again, Barnabas listened without hesitation, and he was glad he had done so when the stone base of the potted plant exploded into chunks of flaming rubble.
Dear God, what kind of ammunition does he have?
The really fun kind. I mean, if you’re shooting it. Less so if you’re the one having to get out of the way.
Noticed that, did you? Barnabas listened to the heavy steps coming closer, formulated his plan in a split-second, and hurtled out of cover in silence and with deadly speed. His enhanced strength sent him far higher into the air when he leapt than Jeltor expected, and as shots peppered the air, Barnabas came down on Jeltor’s head and chest, releasing bots onto the suit and punching the sensor array. Shinigami, what can you do with those?
I’ll let you know when I have something. Plan as if there’s nothing I can do.
Barnabas sent back a wordless assent and slammed his fist down three more times into the visual sensor display. Unless he was very much mistaken, this now gave him two large blind spots on Jeltor’s sides, where there was always armor plating, and would make even front and back vision more difficult for his opponent.
He jumped free and landed lightly on the ground, circling to stay in the blind spot as Jeltor staggered in a circle, looking for him.
“Jeltor, you know that what Grisor offers is false security,” Barnabas warned. “He can’t ever give you a peaceful world. A world that is built on violence and cruelty will always be cruel. He will not become kind once he has all of you in his thrall. No, he’ll use that to silence dissent while he and his friends grow rich and powerful.”
&n
bsp; “Liar!” Jeltor called. He sounded furious.
“Don’t listen to him, Jeltor.” Grisor sounded soothing and utterly calm, as though he were not at all afraid. “Remember the fear of your past life? Remember the insecurity, the failure? You will never have to fear that again. No other species will threaten us.”
“Jeltor, if what he offers you is so wonderful, why hasn’t he undergone the procedure?” Barnabas locked eyes with Grisor. I’m coming for you, you bastard.
“For the one who rises to lead, there cannot be any procedure.” Grisor was beginning to sound panicked. “I am fully devoted to my ideals already. I seek only to give others the peace I already have.”
“Does he sound peaceful, Jeltor? Does he sound like he’s free from fear?”
Jeltor gave a mechanical sound, half-groan and half-shriek.
The suit keeps frying the bots, Shinigami reported, frustrated. They must be used to this as a form of sabotage. I have one more, but—dammit! No more. I can’t help. I’m sorry, but you’re doing well. You’re sowing seeds of doubt.
Thank you. Barnabas darted through Jeltor’s field of vision, hoping to draw his attention, and the gun did indeed come up to follow him. It was slow, however, tracking based on Jeltor’s warped perception of a world part aquatic and part air. I know what I have to do, then.
He took two steps and jumped once more, but this time he went even higher, leaping entirely over Jeltor’s hulking new biosuit and landing with crushing force on Grisor.
Heyyyy, you listened!
Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big thing of it. Barnabas ripped an arm free before Grisor could recover and dragged the senator off-balance once more. The water was finally beginning to fill the amphitheater, rising very slowly. Is Gilwar interfering with the water?
He says he is, Tafa said. He shut off all but one of the filtration plants, and the system is designed not to use water that’s unclean because the Jotuns would be swimming in it.
Clever. Barnabas smiled as he held his knife to the gap between Grisor’s armor plating. So it came in useful after all. Good call, Tafa.
