by R. M. Olson
At last Tanya pulled away, and gave her that smile that wasn’t really a smile.
“I’d better go. Make sure the children aren’t getting into trouble.” She turned, and Ysbel looked after her as she left, something twisting in her chest.
Something had happened to her wife, ever since that day two and a half weeks ago, and she wasn’t sure how to fix it.
Or rather, she knew how to fix it. But the price might be Tanya and the children’s lives, and that was a cost that was infinitely too high.
CHAPTER THREE
JEZ NARROWED HER eyes and glared out the front window of the cockpit at the massive ship looming in front of them, right on the coordinates that Masha had set into the holoscreen.
It was almost too big to be called a ship, really—a small station, practically, and even from here she could see the credits it must have taken to keep it up here, the smooth panelling that could absorb the impact of meteoroids and space junk without losing their lustre, that could take the crap and the radiation and the slow, creeping assault of deep-space parasites and hold them all at bay.
And even then, even through the smooth sheen that whispered of credits and luxury, she could see the small signs of rot, the way the spaces between the panels were pitted and ugly, the places under the fins where no one would normally see.
And right about now, unless she guessed wrong—
Half a dozen ships appeared on her holoscreen, bursting out from behind the massive station-ship like sparks from an explosion, and she grinned to herself. They were fast, she could tell that already, and if they didn’t have enough firepower to take down any damn long-haul in the system, she missed her guess.
She let her fingers rest loose on the controls, her grin spreading wider, her breath coming just a little quicker.
Because hell. This was the kind of thing she lived for.
“Jez,” Masha murmured.
She shot the woman a quick smirk over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you bastard. I know what I’m doing.”
“Jez—” Masha was speaking through her teeth. “We are here as invited guests. I’m not certain how long that will last if you start shooting at them.”
Jez sighed and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to shoot at them, OK? I mean, unless they decided to shoot at me first, in which case—” She grinned wider. Masha sighed and tapped the com.
“Masha Volkova. We’re here by invitation. Grigory Korzhakov requested my presence.”
“Send in the invitation code,” came a cold voice over the com. Jez rolled her eyes again.
Bastard sounded like he’d like an excuse to shoot them down, and to be perfectly honest, she would absolutely love to see him try. An aching, itching restlessness had crawled under her skin over the past two and a half damn weeks, and she refused to think about why, but the point was, if she didn’t get to do something soon, she might actually explode into a million pieces.
“I’m sending it through now,” came Masha’s pleasant voice.
“Confirmed,” the voice said over the com. It was probably slightly less cold now, but honestly, not enough so that you’d notice. “I’ll send in a pilot ship, and send flight instructions to your com. Please follow exactly. If you deviate from the planned course, you will be shot down without hesitation.”
“That’s what you think, you plaguers,” Jez muttered under her breath.
“Understood,” said Masha, her voice still pleasant. She tapped the com off and shot Jez a look.
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Jez grumbled.
Masha was still watching her appraisingly.
“Look, if you want to bring the damn ship in—” she snapped.
“No,” said Masha. “I do not. However—” she paused a moment. “I have no idea what Grigory wants with me. But if we intend to try to use him to put a more permanent halt to the government’s Vyernist Protocol, it will require some amount of patience. Will you be able to do that, Jez?”
Jez grinned, even through the nervous tension that bubbled through her, making her fingers ache and her legs twitch with the need to move, to do something, anything. “You know me. I can do basically anything.”
Masha was still studying her. At last she shook her head ruefully. “I’ve known you long enough to know what I can and cannot expect. And therefore, I’m not expecting miracles. However, if you could see fit to not shoot anyone or incentivize anyone shoot at you for the next twenty-four standard hours, I would appreciate it.”
Jez glanced over at her reflexively.
If she were being honest, this new side to Masha, where she was actually not a complete bastard, was something that would take some getting used to.
Still—well, she’d never actually realized what it would be like, having someone as thoroughly competent, and thoroughly terrifying, as Masha on her side, for once.
It was actually kind of nice.
“Figure I could give it a try,” she said finally.
Masha actually shot her something that looked, almost, like a small grin. “I suppose I can live with that.”
Jez’s holoscreen flashed for a moment, and a long string of characters scrolled over it. A moment later, she had visuals on one of the ships, sleek and deadly, that was going to guide them in. She glanced down at the flight plan, took a deep breath, and nudged her beautiful angel ship forward.
The pilot ship brought them into a small hangar bay on the belly-side of the station-ship, and she set the Ungovernable down gently on the bare metal floor as the bay doors slid shut behind them. The airlock hissed as it pressurized, and then the voice over the com said, “You’re cleared to disembark. Please leave all weapons aboard your ship, and come out slowly.”
“You have an interesting way of greeting guests,” Masha said into the com in her blandest tone. “If you recall, Grigory extended the invitation. And he mentioned nothing about a requirement to disarm.”
“You’ll leave your weapons on the ship,” the voice repeated, the tone slightly harder.
“And how does Grigory intend to guarantee our safety?” asked Masha, in that same pleasant voice.
“You’re here on Grigory’s private ship.” The voice was cold with menace. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
“That is one option,” said Masha, noncommittally. “My other option, of course, is to ask my gunner to deploy the ordinances that are loaded under the base of my ship. If Grigory has done his research, which I’m certain he has, he will be aware that my gunner has a certain talent in the matter of explosives. It would certainly take out this hangar bay, that’s a given. I suspect it would also breach the hull of the ship and weaken the exterior paneling across the entire structure.” She pulled up the holoscreen on her com with a swift gesture, and Jez instantly recognized the familiar wording scrolling across the screen.
Lev. Of course. Of course the plaguer had all the specs to the station-ship within half an hour of their hyper jump into its space.
She took a deep breath and forced her hands to still against the controls.
“I note that you have a lockdown protocol to block off the back of the ship. However, it was rather short-sighted of you to construct the airlock at the juncture between the two segments. Grigory wouldn’t, perhaps, lose his entire ship, but I suspect he’d lose everything in those two sections.”
There was a long moment of silence from the other end of the line.
“You’d destroy your own ship,” the voice said, but there was a note of uncertainty in it that had not been there before.
“Perhaps,” said Masha pleasantly. “Although those of us inside would likely survive it. We do have rather impressive shielding. Still, I certainly wouldn’t want to risk it, unless I had no other viable options.”
There was another long pause. Finally, a different voice came over the com, older and deeper than the first, with a slight rasp to it, as if its owner had inhaled some chemical gas and hadn’t managed to cough it out before it had burned his lungs.
&nb
sp; “Masha Volkova,” he said, and out of the corner of her eye, Jez saw Masha stiffen, just for a moment. Then she smiled and relaxed, but her hand clenched around the the arm of the seat tightly enough that the tendons stood out on her wrists.
“Grigory Korzhakov,” she said, in that calm, bland voice. “I wasn’t aware that your boyeviki would try to threaten me the moment I arrived here. I was under the impression that it would be in our mutual interest to establish a friendly relationship. But perhaps I was mistaken?”
“Masha,” the man said again, a faint note of humour in his tone. “I see I didn’t underestimate you. Could you tell me, please, why you chose to arm your ship with an ordinance that would take apart my station ship?”
“Of course,” said Masha pleasantly. “It was because you are a man who is virtually untouchable, and you’ve asked me onto your own private ship in a space that is completely ungoverned by anyone but you. And I am not a stupid woman.”
There was a long moment’s pause. At last, Grigory said, “I am aware of that. But you don’t come onto a person’s ship, if they’ve invited you there, and bring your weapons. You know that, Masha.”
“And you don’t generally invite someone onto your ship by kidnapping one of their acquaintances,” said Masha briskly.
“Listen, Masha. I will give my word that my people will not draw their weapons on any of you. I do want to speak with you, and I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“I have made rather a long trip to hear what you have to say,” said Masha. “And I do appreciate you giving me your word. In return, I give you my word that none of my people will draw their weapons.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“You are stubborn.” Grigory’s voice had lost its humour.
“I do apologize,” said Masha politely.
“Are you doubting my word? I am used to at least some respect from people who talk to me.”
“I have nothing at all but respect for you,” said Masha. “And with all the respect due you, are you doubting mine?”
There was another long pause.
“Alright. Fine. Bring your weapons. But I had hoped this discussion would get off to a more productive start.”
“I see no reason in the world why it should not,” said Masha, all bland politeness. “I am, of course, interested in nothing but full trust and complete transparency in all our dealings.”
Jez almost snorted at that.
“My people will bring you to my office,” Grigory said grudgingly, but there was a note of something that might have been respect under the annoyance in his tone.
Masha smiled to herself and tapped the com off, and Jez watched her, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes, Jez?” said Masha, glancing over.
“You know, I think you might be able to give me a run for my damn money at getting under people’s skins.”
Masha raised her own eyebrows. “From you, Jez, that is high praise indeed.” She stood and checked her heat pistol, then tapped her wrist com to the general line. “I believe you all heard the conversation. I’ll meet you at the entrance to the loading ramp. Please do not draw your weapons unless there is at least a credible threat to your life.”
“I assume you mean,” said Ysbel, a hint of humour under her heavy outer-rim accent, “a credible threat to our lives other than the normal credible threats to our lives, like something in our heads that can kill us as soon as the government figures out how to break Lev’s code, or being blackmailed aboard the ship of the mafia krestnaya, or—”
“That is correct, Ysbel,” said Masha pleasantly. She glanced over her shoulder once at Jez, then pulled open the cockpit door and walked briskly out towards the loading ramp.
Jez glanced around the cockpit one last time.
The tension in her muscles that always seemed to come whenever she contemplated stepping outside of her perfect cockpit and her lovely, graceful ship was already tightening her chest.
She took a deep breath.
It would be fine. She’d been grounded in Prasvishoni for basically ever during their university job, and at least here she wouldn’t be grounded, not really. She was still in deep space, still on a ship, even though it was a ship she wasn’t steering and couldn’t control. But it would be fine.
Anyways, this was the mafia. Probably wouldn’t be boring, at the very least. She’d never flown for the mafia, not even in her smuggling days, but some of Lena’s pilots had, and they told stories that made Lena look like a damn angel in comparison. Maybe she’d get lucky, and someone would draw on her. She could use a fight right about now, to be honest.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then took one last regretful look around her exquisite, flawless cockpit, trailing her fingers across the controls one last time. Then she followed Masha out to the loading ramp.
When she arrived, the others were already there. Ysbel and Tanya stood to one side, the children between them. They’d discussed, back on Prasvishoni, leaving Olya and Misko behind with the street kids, but Tanya had flatly refused.
“The last time I left my children, they were almost killed,” she’d said, in a tone that did not invite discussion. “I am not doing it again.”
And to be honest, Tanya was probably the deadliest person on the crew, and Ysbel was a very close second, and if the kids weren’t safe with them, then there was probably nowhere in the system they would be.
“Hey Misko,” she said, grinning at the six-year-old who was currently scowling at the world. “You remember what I taught you this morning?”
Tanya shot her a look that could have started wet concrete on fire.
“Perhaps now is not the time,” Ysbel murmured.
“You’re all a bunch of scum-sucking plague-eaters,” Misko repeated with relish.
Tanya’s expression grew, if possible, more threatening. Jez grinned at her.
Tae sighed in exasperation. “Look, can we just focus on the fact that we’re all about to march into the mafia’s headquarters, and Masha’s already made enemies with the krestnaya of the entire damn mafia outfit?”
Lev didn’t say anything, but looked supremely irritated, which was basically all he ever did these days anyways.
Masha shot all of them a cool glance before she hit the control and the loading ramp hissed open and lowered gently to the ground.
Half a dozen mafia boyeviki were waiting at the base of the ramp. As promised, none of them had weapons drawn, but there was a look on their faces like they sincerely wished they did.
Jez understood the feeling. Honestly, her hand was itching for her heat pistol.
Masha strode down the ramp first, and, after a quick glance around, the others fell into step behind her.
“Follow me,” one of the boyevik grunted, gesturing curtly with her chin, and Masha nodded pleasantly. The woman turned, with a suspicious glance over her shoulder at them, and started off, and the other boyeviki fell into step in a loose semicircle around them. Their guns weren’t drawn, maybe, but Jez’s muscles were tight, and there was an itch behind her shoulder blades, because she’d run with Lena’s crew long enough to know damn well how little that meant. She could see the subtle hints—the hands thrust into a suspiciously-heavy pocket of a jacket, the calculating way their escorts spread out around them—a couple shots each for the grownups, probably, maybe take the kids out with one.
If Grigory wanted them dead—well, even with Ysbel’s weapons, they didn’t stand a chance.
The woman leading them paused in front of the airlock and typed something into the controls, and the massive doors hissed open. Then they followed her through into the body of the ship.
Despite the adrenalin pumping through her, Jez couldn’t help but stare. She’d never in her life seen a ship like this. Hell, she’d never imagined a ship like this. The corridor floors were covered in smooth panelling, made to look like dark, rich wood, and the walls were painted in muted colours and decorated with artwork that didn’t look like anything
Jez had ever seen before, but probably cost a hell of a lot of money. The ceilings were high, not the low, cramped spaces she was used to, and there were skylights opening out onto the deep black of space.
For a moment, she ached, irrationally, for the familiar, smooth, low-ceilinged corridors of the Ungovernable, the soothing sweet musky smell of crystallized wood sap from its paneling, the odd ways the hallways bent and the comfortable imperfections of the paneling.
She sucked in a deep breath.
Must be going soft. She wasn’t actually used to missing anything.
Well, OK, that was wrong. Honestly, since she’d first set foot in her gorgeous ship she’d missed it like a constant ache in her chest every time she stepped off it. But she was usually too distracted to notice.
The corridor was absurdly long, with the occasional door to one side or the other. But when they passed through another set of blast doors and turned one final corridor, it became instantly obvious where they were going.
Ahead of them, at the end of the hallway, was another door, made of real wood that matched the luxurious dark floor panelling. It was polished until it gleamed, and the frame around it was plated in solid gold. Or hell, maybe it actually was solid gold. She’d never actually been a mafia krestnaya—maybe Grigory got off on that sort of thing.
The woman who was leading them tapped respectfully at the door.
“Yes?” came the raspy voice they’d heard earlier.
“Sir. I’ve brought Masha Volkova to see you. Along with her …” She glanced back at them, appearing somewhat at a loss for words.
“Of course. Let them in.”
There was a click, and the woman turned the golden door handle and pushed it gently open. She gestured them inside.
“Thank you,” said Masha, with a polite nod, and she stepped past the woman into the office.
Jez took a deep breath, and followed.
The first thing that struck her, as she stepped inside, was the thick, heavy, almost oppressive weight of opulence that gleamed from every surface and seemed to permeate the air itself. From the thick plush carpet on the floor to the small and clearly invaluable trinkets on the desk to the desk itself, heavy and made of a solid, expensive-looking wood inlayed with gold, the entire office reeked of credits.
