by R. M. Olson
“How did they—” began Ivan, and then he stopped, and Tae could see the exact moment when Ivan finally figured out what had happened. He sank back into the chair, shaking his head, face slightly pale.
“You saved my life, didn’t you?”
“I damn well put it in danger in the first place,” Tae snapped. He dropped down into a chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “I—guess I’d better call Lev. This may put a kink in our plans. I won’t be able to do any hacking, other than something that’s relatively undetectable, like into the coms and vid feeds. Otherwise they’ll know exactly who it was.”
“Tae,” said Ivan softly. “I’m—sorry.”
“No. It was my fault,” said Tae. “If I’d—”
“‘If you’d nothing,” said Ivan, standing abruptly. “Cut it out, Tae. You need to stop feeling guilty for existing. Zhenya is brilliant, that’s the only way they survived as long as they did on the streets, and the only reason they’ve survived this long in the mafia. And they chose to do this, and there was nothing, aside from letting them kill me, that you could have done to stop it. It’s their fault, not yours.”
Tae stared up at him for a moment, and finally managed a weak smile. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I guess so.”
Ivan smiled back, then dropped back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. “Oof. I don’t know how you did this in prison, but I’m going to be honest, this never sleeping thing is getting to me. As terrible as it sounds, I’m happy Grigory’s conference will be over and done in three more days. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll last.”
Tae chuckled, and didn’t let himself think of how close they’d come to Ivan not lasting out the end of today, didn’t let himself think of what Zhenya knew or wonder what they’d do with that knowledge.
Because Ivan was right—at this point, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LEV TOOK A deep breath, and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling glass that was the only thing separating the inside of Grigory’s luxurious observation room from the vastness of deep space, outside.
They were moving fast, especially for a ship this size, and he knew it because Grigory had shown him, once, the controls, had asked the pilot to demonstrate the speeds she was able to travel.
But with the endless expanse surrounding them, it was difficult to tell.
The conference started in less than twenty-four standard hours. And they were on their way to join it.
He couldn’t shake the tension from his muscles.
He and Tae and Ivan had sat up long into the night, trying to figure out what exactly needed to happen with their crazy, cobbled-together, last-minute plan.
And he still wasn’t certain he’d made the right decision when he’d agreed to help the others stop this. Because it was likely that if Grigory’s scheme failed, he wouldn’t bother to kill the minister. And it was certain that he wouldn’t help Lev go after Evka.
Lev still could see, behind his eyelids, what Grigory had done to his would-be assassin. He’d said it was something he was forced to do to stay alive, and maybe that was correct.
But—he’d enjoyed it. Lev had watched him, from the corner of his eyes.
Grigory had enjoyed every moment of it.
He was born to this.
No. He wasn’t born to this, any more than any person was born to it. He’d grown into it. He’d become what he needed to be, day in and day out, until now, that day, he had become a person who enjoyed watching that type of torture, enjoyed watching the screams of pain, the horror and the fear on the man’s face.
And—
And the problem was, the worst part of that whole thing was, that, watching it, Lev was very, very certain that he could, one day, if he chose, become the kind of person who could do something similar. Maybe he’d never enjoy it the way Grigory did. But he could be, he’d been suddenly, sickeningly sure, the kind of person who could watch it with dispassionate interest.
Hadn’t he, just minutes before it had begun, agreed with a plan which he knew, without doubt, would end in the death of not only the three people who were holding his and the rest of the crew’s lives in their hands, but their families as well? Their husbands, wives, partners. Their children.
Because one of those families, he was almost certain, had children. Young children.
And he’d nodded blandly, knowing, as he did so, that those children would be killed, and he’d been willing to sacrifice them to keep Olya alive, and Tae and Ysbel and Masha, and Jez—
Jez.
He shut his eyes briefly and shook his head.
He’d been willing—
He opened his eyes again, staring sightlessly at the blackness surrounding him.
And he still wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice.
He wasn’t sure there was a right choice.
The ship they were approaching loomed ahead of them in the distance. It was big enough that it hardly looked like a ship, the bulk of it rising up to one side of them, blocking off the stars behind it, making it a hulking dark, thicker and more substantial than the surrounding blackness.
They’d be there in a matter of minutes. The government ships, some of them, were probably already there.
He didn’t move from his vantage point until he felt the slight jolt of the ships joining, the smaller jolt, then the steadying, of the airlock connecting.
They were hooked on.
He closed his eyes again for a moment and took a deep breath.
Tomorrow.
If they were going to stop this, this ridiculous, cobbled-together plan they’d come up with would have to work, because they had no more time.
He turned and walked slowly towards the airlock. Best to scout out what they were working with now, so he’d have some idea, maybe be able to give Jez—
He broke off the thought, because he needed a clear head, damn it, and now wasn’t the time to think about the way she’d looked at him the afternoon before, hungover and unsteady, the way her eyes had widened, the way her body had softened under his fingers, the way she’d leaned, unconsciously, towards him—
He gritted his teeth.
They were bloody well friends. Crewmates and friends. And he bloody well had to get a handle on himself right about now.
He’d reached the airlock without noticing. He shook his head and glanced around.
There were guards Grigory had posted at the door, but it appeared that they were more interested in keeping unauthorized people off of Grigory’s ship than they were from preventing people from getting onto the casino ship. They barely glanced at him as he stepped past them into the narrow airlock passage.
If Grigory’s ship had been nothing but class, the dark blue-black of space reflected in the carpets and pillars, trimmed with gold—this was something else entirely. It still had an air of opulence, the thick, cloying scent of far too many credits hanging in the air like a perfume, but there was nothing understated about this place. The carpets here were a rich red, the walls plastered with gold, the servers dressed in outfits that accentuated both their bodies and the opulence of their uniforms. He blinked, and then gave a faint, reminiscent smile.
Not a place, certainly, that Jez would have appreciated yesterday, when she’d come stumbling out of her room.
Already, this early in the afternoon, he could hear the click of gambling tokens, the rise and fall of voices, the clink of glasses, smell the mingled alcohol and rich cologne from the gambling rooms.
This was a ship that wouldn’t keep track of standard time. This was a ship where any hour of the day or night, there would be a place to find alcohol and tokens and a game to play them in.
He wandered along the halls toward the sounds, looking around him at the richness of the walls and furnishings.
If he hadn’t just watched Grigory’s ship approach, felt the jolt as they hooked in, he would hardly have guessed they were in space.
He reached the gambling hall and stepped
inside, standing back against the walls to observe. The tables were already crowded with people, and it was readily apparent that both the tokens and the alcohol were flowing freely.
It was a large room, and despite its open appearance at first glance, as he looked closer he noticed how the tables were set up, the pillars and half-walls and low stairways that somehow, without seeming to, broke the room up into several distinct segments.
That was good to know.
It might make it more difficult for Jez to see what was going on, but it would certainly make it easier for Tanya and Olya to go unnoticed.
Jez too, if it was even possible for her to go unnoticed.
He shook his head slightly, and started back down the hallway to Grigory’s ship.
“Lev!”
He looked up quickly.
A woman was standing half-way down the room, dressed in a government uniform, a holoscreen pulled up over her wrist that she’d clearly been studying a moment earlier.
“Ljubika?” he said in disbelief, staring at her.
She smiled, and crossed over to him. “Lev! I never thought I’d see you here.” She put a familiar hand on his arm, and he smiled back despite himself.
She’d been one of his first friends when he’d moved over into government. His first lover there, certainly. They’d both been young and ambitious and smart, and he’d actually liked her very much. It had only been three or four months before they’d both been transferred into different departments, but—well, but she’d been a friend when he’d badly needed one.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She raised a teasing eyebrow. “The same thing you are, I imagine. Something this big, they decided they needed someone to keep track of things. So that’s what I’m doing, I suppose. I’m technically under-minister to the Minister of Finance, but I’m good at logistics, so here I am.” She paused. “Last time we met, they were going to move you over into the internal security department. You still there?”
“I’m—not in the exact same department,” he murmured. “I’m—working on internal matters with a special team. We tend to work on programs that run a little under the radar.” It took him a moment to get his tongue around the magnitude of the deception.
She gave him a curious look, then glanced back at her holoscreen and cursed quietly. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’m on a mid-day to midnight Standard shift.” She turned, then glanced back at him.
“Give me a call sometime. For old time’s sake. I’ve actually missed you, you know.” She tapped her com quickly against his. “You have my number now. But I really have to run.”
“Good to see you, Ljubika,” he called as she strode off.
He looked after her for a moment, a hard, cold knot in the pit of his stomach.
Ljubika was here, keeping track of logistics. They weren’t together anymore, but she had been—probably still was—a decent person. Not a hero, not a saint, but—well, just a person. A person he was fond of, a person who didn’t deserve to die.
How many other decent people were in here, refreshing themselves in their rooms on the deck above, standing in chatting clusters around the gambling floor? How many other people who had friends who liked them, lovers who missed them, children who couldn’t wait for them to get back home?
And when the hell had he stopped thinking about that?
No. Perhaps the better question was, when had he started thinking about that again?
He remembered Grigory, the look on his face as he watched the man in front of him die, and shuddered.
How far was he, really, from that?
It didn’t matter, not at the moment. He’d told Tae he’d help save these people, and even though he had no idea if that was the right decision, he could parse the morality of it when this was all over.
For now, best to get back to planning. Now that he had some idea of the structure of the gambling hall, he’d be able, hopefully, to put together what Grigory had told him and make the plan a little more firm. He was sending Jez, along with an eight-year-old, into the middle of the mafia. And he certainly did not intend to do so unless he was very, very certain that he could work out a way to keep them safe.
He passed the guards, who waved him though, and headed down the corridor to their rooms, frowning in thought.
He almost didn’t notice the movement in the corridor that intersected with his, the muffled sound of running footsteps, until he’d almost reached the intersection. He jerked his head up, and then someone grabbed him by the arm and shoved him backwards down the corridor. Before he could make a sound, the figure put a finger to her lips and made a fierce gesture for him to be quiet. He looked up, and sucked in a quick breath.
“Jez?” he hissed. She gave a sharp shake of her head, then she shoved him back against the wall, snatched the heat pistol from her pocket, and cracked off a shot down the corridor. She dropped as a laser beam burnt a hole in the wall behind where she’d been standing, and he noticed, suddenly, the blood staining the sleeve of her jacket, and something cold and panicky gripped his chest. She jumped to her feet, but her heat pistol had been knocked to the ground when she dived, and she glanced around for it frantically. He grabbed his own and shoved it into her hand, and she gave him a quick, tight grin, leaned out around the corner, and fired again. There was a staticky crackle and a muffled grunt.
“Think I got him,” she whispered, grinning at Lev. He grabbed her by the arm.
“Jez! What happened? Are you—”
She shook her head again. “Talk later.”
He nodded, and they sprinted down the corridor, bent low. He hit the key button on his com as they reached the door, she wrenched it open, and they practically fell inside, both of them panting. Lev slammed the door shut behind them, hit the lock, and grabbed Jez by the shoulder, pulling her around to face him. He scanned her quickly, his heart hammering in his chest, the panic bleeding through him like a wash of ice water. She had a black eye, and a long, shallow cut along her forehead, and there was blood soaking through the sleeve of her jacket, and there was blood on his shirt as well where he’d stumbled up against her as they were running.
“Jez—” he said through his teeth, grabbing her jacket and pulling it gently off her shoulders. “What happened? Where are you hurt? What—”
“Genius. Relax,” she said, giving him a tired grin. “Ran into some people I’d met in the gambling hall, and they weren’t happy to see me, that’s all. I’m fine. Just—” She winced as he peeled the blood-soaked jacket sleeve gingerly from her arm.
“This doesn’t look fine,” he said, still speaking through his teeth. His heart was pounding far, far too quickly as he pulled her sleeve gently up to reveal a long, deep gash that looked like it had been done by a knife. He looked at it, then up at her.
“See,” she said, “Just a cut. No big deal.”
“We need to get this taken care of,” he said shortly. “Stay there.” He strode over to the corner cupboard, where the first aid kit was stored, and yanked it down. He pulled it open, pulled out disinfectant and a sealing bandage, and stalked back over to her.
She didn’t say anything as he mopped up the blood, sprayed on disinfectant, and sealed the bandage carefully over the wound, pulling the edges of the cut together as he set the bandage.
By the time he was finished, his hands were bloody. He looked around for a moment, helplessly, then wiped them on his trousers.
She was still looking at him, not moving.
When his hands were no longer wet, he looked her over one more time, briefly, to make sure he hadn’t missed any other places where she was bleeding, or broken, or … He sucked in a deep breath, fighting off the sudden dizziness. Damn it to hell—
He placed his hands on her shoulders again, gently. “Jez,” he asked, his voice rough with strain. “What the hell happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Are—”
He broke off suddenly.
She was still looking at him, and her eyes caught his and
held them, and he suddenly realized that they were standing very, very close.
She took a small step towards him, her eyes never leaving his, and there was something in her expression, something that twisted his stomach into knots and tightened around his chest so he was suddenly unsure if he would still be able to breathe if she took one step closer.
His hands were still on her shoulders, and he was still holding her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go, and his heart, which had been racing in panic, was still racing, but with something else now.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t quite manage it.
“Lev,” she whispered.
He’d somehow taken a step closer as well, and their bodies were almost touching. Her breath came fast and shallow, like it had when she’d been running, and she was still staring into his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to look away either. They were close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin, and something like electricity was jolting through him, from where his hands were touching her shoulders, all the way through his body.
She was—she was just a crewmate, they were only crewmates, they’d had this discussion and they’d both agreed—
She leaned forward slightly, and her lips were so close to his that he could almost taste her, and damn it to hell, this wasn’t supposed to happen, they’d both decided this wasn’t—
He wasn’t actually sure which one of them leaned in those last remaining millimetres, all he knew was her lips brushed against his for just an instant, and then they were kissing, hungrily, desperately. Her hands wound into the back of his shirt, and he pulled her up against him, and her body pressed into his until he wasn’t completely sure where she left off and he began. Her lips caught his, deepening the kiss, and he slid his hand up, cupping the back of her head, holding her against him. He tightened his fingers into her hair, and she moaned into his lips, her body melting into him, and the only thought in his brain was that this, here, was what he had been waiting for his whole life, searching for even when he hadn’t realized he was searching for anything.
