Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2)

by Christina Westcott

  “No,” Wolf and Fitz said at the same time.

  “And after I helped you blow away Smiley?” Cypher pantomimed a shot to the head.

  “Is that true?” Fitz asked. “Tritico is dead?”

  Wolf nodded.

  She touched his hand. “I’m so sorry, Love.”

  “I’m not,” said Cypher. “That jerk tormented both of us, and he enjoyed every second of it. He deserved to die; him and his bugs and damn wireheads…ah…sorry, Gray Eyes, augies.”

  Wolf took a step and his knees buckled. Fitz caught him, and Bartonelli supported the other side. “I hope you ladies have transportation nearby, because if I don’t get something to eat soon, I’m not going to be awake much longer.”

  “Lizzy’s parked just around the corner. If you don’t mind processor fare, I’ll get you a big bowl of stew.”

  “Right now I’d take some of Jumper’s cat food, as long as I could follow it up with some chocolate cake. Then a long, hot shower and a soft bed for about ten hours.” Wolf kissed her on the temple. “And you there when I wake up.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Cypher said.

  “No ménage à trois.” Fitz reached up and pulled Wolf’s spike.

  “Wait—” was all Cypher had time for before he was gone.

  “You are all I need,” Fitz told Wolf.

  __________

  The music and laughter of the postponed Founder’s Day party drifted from the villa as Wolf slipped out onto the balcony, Jumper a shadow at his heels. The evening was calm and cold and, as the door closed behind him, blissfully silent. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of rose and gold, with that intensity of light found only at the beginning and ending of a day.

  He placed a plate of meat scraps, left over from their meal, on the table and took a deep breath of the crisp air. He remained a true son of Willcommin, famous only for its banking and its glaciers, and even the years he’d spent on sub-tropical Rainbow hadn’t instilled a love of sunny climes in him. Perhaps heat and humidity reminded him too much of Tzraka hiveships, and the close darkness of that bloody damn warehouse.

  He fumbled with the closure on his high collar. He should have remembered from the last time he’d been Triumvir how the stiff braid chaffed the edge of his jaw. With its armor, medals, and braid, the scarlet uniform jacket hung heavy on his shoulders, but with the Emperor in attendance at his party, a certain amount of formality was called for. But not out here. He unsealed it, feeling the cold air against the silk shirt beneath.

  Inside his head he was alone, none of Cypher’s carping or incessant whining or lusting after Fitz. Likewise, his inhead display showed no prompts, no omnipresent toolbar along the side, and no status updates. The computer under his breastbone had been wiped of all data, taking with it access to all his augmentations, even the old ones, leaving him utterly and frustratingly Normal. The first time he had been without some kind of modifications since before he’d been Ari’s aide-de-camp, personal assassin, and bed warmer. He didn’t like the itchy, vulnerable feeling it spawned inside him, but until he could locate a cyber-tech he trusted, he’d have to do without.

  “You’re not going to give all this good steak to those stinky flying lizards, are you?” Jumper sat with his nose millimeters from the plate, his plexisteel claws tapping an impatient rhythm. “Even I know you’re not supposed to feed wild animals.”

  “It’s winter, Jumper. At this latitude there’s not a lot of hunting; most of their prey will be hibernating for the next few months. They need a little help to get through the worst of the season, that’s all.”

  The cat made a rude noise. “They should move south, or die.”

  That was a little harsh, even for Jumper. “What are you so angry about?”

  “That big male garnshrike tried to carry me off.”

  Wolf rubbed at one eyebrow. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t think a garnshrike could even lift you off the ground.”

  “Are you calling me fat? I’m not fat; I just have a lot of heavy fur.”

  “Heavy being the operative word in that sentence.”

  A handful of dark shapes lifted from the gnarled trees atop the furthest rock spire and flapped in their direction.

  “Such a waste. Faydra and I could have a romantic dinner on this steak.” Jumper’s mate remained inside asleep, still recuperating from the injuries she’d received. The cat licked his shoulder, then his paw, and swiped it across his ears several times before he spoke again. The feel of his words in Wolf’s mind felt different, unusually subdued for the feisty feline. “When I saw that bug clock Faydra it scared the crap out of me, and that kinda got me to thinking. Me and Sweet Paws have decided to settle down and start our own clowder. And with your baby coming, it might be nice for little Rhiawyn to have a kitten or two to grow up with.”

  “We decided against Rhiawyn. I thought maybe Elraina.” Wolf and Fitz had changed their minds about a name for their daughter so many times it had become a running joke. Yesterday the big contender had been Violetta. “Where were you thinking about setting up housekeeping?” Wolf asked, picturing a litter of mewling telepathic kittens rampaging through his bedroom at zero-dark-thirty.

  “I thought about that meadow by the waterfall, the one with the blue flowers. Sweet Paws likes it there.”

  “That’s nice,” said Wolf. And it was at least ten klicks from here.

  “You’ll have to build us a house, with carpet and several soft sofas. An entertainment center and, oh yes, a processor, of course. Don’t forget to have it programmed with all my favorite foods.”

  “Anything else?” Wolf asked. “Perhaps a landing pad for your limousine?”

  “That would be cool. And our own private pilot, of course.” Jumper waved a paw. “Can’t fly it myself; no opposable thumbs.”

  Wolf only snorted.

  Without his augmentations, he would have to wait until the garnshrikes flew closer before he tossed them their tidbits. They spiraled in, the last of the sun glinting from their rainbow scales. Like quollas, their larger cousins, garnshrikes resembled feathered dragons, but with red, gold, and blue plumage to match their scaly bodies. The largest broke from the formation and swooped low over the cat, its voice a rusty screech. Jumper hissed and squalled, lunged for his tormentor, but missed.

  “What did I tell you? He’s out to get me, but I’m going to rip those gaudy tail feathers off his sorry ass one day and feed ’um to him.” The cat held up a front paw, the fading sunlight gleaming from a single extended claw. “See this, you overdressed lizard. It’s got your name written on it.”

  With much screeching and squabbling, each of the duller-colored females snatched their offerings out of the air, and returned to their aerie. Only the big male remained. He clutched his donation in his talons and hovered, expecting more.

  “Greedy bastard.” Jumper grabbed the last piece of steak and dived under the table.

  Fitz stepped out onto the balcony, and the cat took the opportunity to sprint through the open door back into the safety of the house.

  “So this is where you’re hiding. Our guests were beginning to wonder if you’d abandoned them.”

  “Just getting a bit of fresh air.” He watched her come toward him, his heart accelerating from the pure joy of knowing she would be in his bed tonight.

  “And feeding the wildlife. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you weren’t supposed to do that?” She slid her arms inside his jacket, embracing him as she snuggled her face against his shirt.

  “Sucking up to your commanding officer, General?”

  She leaned back and studied his face, her smile crooked and suggestive. “Soldier, you ain’t seen sucking up. Wait until our guests have left tonight and I have you all to myself.”

  “Can’t wait.” He nuzzled the hollow beneath her ear.

  She giggled in a most un-senior-officer way. Her mood sobered as her fingers brushed the golden dragon pins on the collar of her black uniform. “I barely had time to get used to bei
ng called Colonel. This has to be the shortest time in grade for a promotion.”

  “Emperors can do that.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Ari just wanted to show her appreciation for—.”

  “Chopping her arm off?” Fitz snickered. “I’d hate to see what I’d be expected to do to get promoted to Triumvir.”

  “Oh, so you’re after my job now?”

  “I’ll be satisfied with general for now, but generals don’t get to go out on field operations much.”

  “Neither do parents. And we’re both going to be one of those soon. We’ll need to stay closer to home until Elraina is older.”

  “Elraina? I thought we decided on Kerstia.”

  “No. We hadn’t really decided on anything. What about Zoelle?”

  Fitz rolled her eyes. “I never liked that one. Maybe Leoma? Britta? Storm? We only have until late spring, when she comes out of the artificial womb. We have to have a name by then, or she’ll legally become Baby FitzWarren Youngblood.”

  “Youngblood FitzWarren. If she follows her parents into fleet, carrying the same last name as the Supreme Military Commander would be a liability. FitzWarren, on the other hand, is fairly common.”

  He brushed a hand across his stubbly hair, once again its normal pale color. All the scars from his dash through the flames had faded; all but the ones left on his soul. “What have you found out about the fire at the warehouse?”

  Fitz stepped from the comfort of his arms and slumped against the wide stone balustrade, crossing her arms. “Still preliminary, but the body count is two Normals, two augies and an undetermined number of Tzrakas. Nothing definite on identifications yet. Beneath the floor we found a labyrinth of tunnels with exits popping up all over the Warren. I don’t want to think about it, but we could have bugs loose down there. I have my people chasing down every lead and reported sighting. Seems the residents of the Warren are a bit jittery and seeing bugs everywhere.”

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “Pike traced down Cypher for me, or rather who he used to be. Jack Selkirk, a low-level DIS data-pusher with no family or friends. His co-workers described him as a loser with delusions of grandeur. Always bragged about hitting it big one day. Seems he embezzled fifty grand from a field operations account. DIS caught up with him trying to board a shuttle off-world. After that, he seemed to disappear.”

  “Tritico probably had him mind-ripped and his body thrown in an industrial recycler. Even he deserved better than that.” Wolf braced his hands against the cold stone and stared out across the ocean. “As soon as you’ve identified Jan’s remains, I’d like to send them back to his homeworld. He might still have family there.” His voice broke. “I keep thinking there should have been another way.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. He would have destroyed the Empire; killed us all…”

  “Not now, but earlier, when it might have worked out differently if I had spoken up. After the academy we didn’t see each other often, but whenever we’d get together for dinner or drinks he was more and more of a stranger to me.”

  “A friend’s bad decisions are not your fault.”

  “Aren’t they? Aren’t we responsible to those we care about? To speak up when others don’t?”

  She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful, complex man?”

  The door opened, light spilling across the balcony. “There you are, Pops. I figured I’d find you love-birds out here,” Garion Ransahov said, joining them. “Mother sent me to look for you. She’s getting a bit antsy from all that itching of her arm growing back. Said only dessert would help, so we want to cut the cake before that crazy cat of yours starts eating it.”

  Wolf cocked an eyebrow at this son. “Pops?”

  “You’d prefer something else, like Daddy? Or ‘Hey, Old Man’?” He’d definitely inherited Wolf’s mischievous smile.

  “Wolf will do nicely.” He draped an arm around Fitz’s shoulders and they started inside, but he stopped. “You two go on ahead. There’s something I have to do in my office. I’ll be just a minute. Don’t let Jumper get near the cake.”

  Once in the wood-paneled quiet of his sanctuary, Wolf extracted a data crystal from his pocket, inserted it into the computer, and copied it. He named it an obscure title, passworded it, then erased and ejected the crystal before he dumped it in the recycler. After pouring a glass of vilaprim, he sat back, opened the file and steepled his fingers against his lips.

  A stranger stared back at him, bald headed and bushy bearded.

  “What’s this?” Wolf asked.

  “I’m just trying out some new faces,” Cypher replied. “Do you like it?”

  “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “What about this?” The image morphed into the countenance of a well-known and distinguished Tri-D newsman.

  “Definitely not you.”

  “I guess I’ll stick with this.”

  Wolf found himself staring at his own face, but with a mop of dark curly hair.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t hit the delete button on me,” Cypher said.

  “I told you I wouldn’t.”

  “I haven’t given you much reason to like me.”

  “You got us both out of that warehouse alive. I owe you for that.”

  “Yeah, I did save our butt there. So what are you going to do with me?”

  “Haven’t decided. Putting you in a body would mean taking it from someone else…”

  “And you’re far too straight laced and respectable to do that.”

  “…unless I could find a recently-deceased one.” Wolf scratched his jaw.

  The image on the computer shivered. “A dead man. I don’t think so. What about a ship? One of those Chimera-class attack shuttles. Now that would be trick.”

  Wolf chuckled. “Trust you with Hell Whip missiles and a laser cannon? I don’t think so.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a warship. Maybe a little survey ship, an old freighter, anything so I could at least get out and see the galaxy instead of being trapped in this computer. Hell, I’d be happy to run your house for you.”

  “I’m sure you would. So you could spy on Fitz.”

  A look of feigned surprise crossed Cypher’s face. “I didn’t even think about that, honest.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” Wolf reached to close down the program. “Just wanted to wish you a Happy Founder’s Day.”

  “No, wait. I’ll take anything. Just get me out of here. A loading droid, a maintenance bot. Hell, even a sewer-cleaning droid…well, maybe not that last one…”

  “Goodnight, Cypher.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank all my readers who hung in there, waiting to discover what happened to Fitz, Wolf, and Jumper after they returned home from their adventures in A Hero for the Empire. Did you really believe I’d let them settle down and grow fat and happy? Jumper might like that lifestyle for a little while, but even he’d be anxious be out there again, shredding the bad guys with his plexisteel claws. No, there are more exploits awaiting the trio and their friends, both human and feline. Immortality gives one enough time to get into a lot of trouble. Stay turned…

  If you enjoyed this book, or even if you didn’t, please leave an honest review on your favorite site. It tells me you appreciated the time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears I put in to give you a chance to play in my world.

  For their invaluable help in seeing this book to publication, I’d also like to thank Barbara Sibley, Rhonda Mason, Linnea Sinclair, and Karen (Reid) Auriti. I can’t forget to mention all the SWFRWers for their moral support and encouragement. Thanks to Noah Chinn and Laurel Kriegler for their tremendous jobs of editing, and kudos to the Killian Group for a fantastic cover. Last and most certainly not least, a big, warm cuddle of appreciation goes out to my four fur babies. They always knew when it was time for me to stop writing, and one would be appointed to stand in front of the computer monitor. I’m sure it was only coincidence
that they did it only when their food bowls were empty.

  The sharp-eyed among you may have noticed that Jumper looks different on this cover. It’s not just because black cats don’t show up well against black body armor. I asked Killian Group to make him look like my Manx kitty, Gryphon. Personality wise, Grif has always been the model for Jumper. I’m sure if he were telepathic, he’d say, “It’s about time you made me a cover-cat.”

  BONUS MATERIAL

  For those of you who haven’t read A Hero for the Empire and would like discover how Fitz met Wolf and Jumper, here’s a little sample to whet your appetite.

  ___________

  Nothing focused your attention like knowing you were dying. Commander Kimber FitzWarren felt her days slipping away like the mission clock counting down in the corner of her inhead display. She sucked in a lungful of humid night air. This was only a field op, like dozens she’d worked in her career. But the future of the entire Empire didn’t hang on any of those. She shook her head. Concentrate.

  Across the quadrangle stood the headquarters of the Gold Dragons Private Military Corporation. She was behind schedule, should already be on its rooftop amid the jumble of antennas and comlink towers. A scan of the open area in night vision and infrared found it empty, but before she could launch across it at hyperkinetic speed, her augmented hearing identified the sound of footsteps running in her direction.

  She jerked back into the shadows of the alleyway, hugging the plastcrete wall. Her camosuit blended her shape into the background, rendering her all but invisible. The uniform hid her thermal signature as well, but did so by keeping all that heat inside. Sweat ran in rivulets along her ribs and plastered her undershirt to her back.

  No alarm sounded, but a man loped into view, jogging with the economy of movement common to long distance runners. He was tall, with a whipcord lean build and broad shoulders. A thick braid of flaxen hair trailed down his back, pointing to one of the finest butts she’d ever seen.

  Her threat assessment computer fed her details on the impressive array of weaponry he carried. Under his right arm, holstered for a left-handed draw, he wore one of those new Acton Mk IV pistols, the ones with settings that went from stun to slice-and-dice. There was a knife in the back of his belt, another in his boot. An old slug thrower hung low on his thigh. Those weapons had fallen out of fashion before Fitz was born, so ammunition must be expensive and hard to get. The pistols were loud and kicked like an arkobeast, but for sheer stopping power, nothing could beat them. A slug thrower could stop an augmented agent charging at hyperkinetic speed dead in her tracks. That thought made the sweat trickling down the small of her back turn icy.