by JC Cassels
More static crackled, but Blade barely made out the words.
“Rogue’s Cross?” He hoped he’d heard wrong.
“Yah… Rogue’s Cross. You know di place?”
Blade’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, I know it.”
“Royce say…meet…you and di man…Rogue’s Cross...”
“Who called him in?”
“Dunno…say he has seniority…you…dis his op’ration.”
His brow furrowed. “No, he doesn’t have seniority over me. I don’t care…”
“He say to tell you…if it was your brudder…you…go too.”
Blade sighed in defeat.
“Fine. Tell him I’ll meet him there.”
“I’ll do dat.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Yah, I know.”
He disconnected the call and met Bo’s inquisitive stare. “A man matching your father’s description and calling himself The Barron has surfaced in a mental care facility in the Fifth Sector.”
“What about Rogue’s Cross?” Bo canted her head at him.
Blade held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet. “Royce is meeting me there.”
“When?”
“As soon as I can get there.”
Bo reached for her shirt, neatly folded on the corner of the blanket. “We’d better get going then.”
“Negative,” Blade said tersely. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Of course I’m going.”
She would insist on going. Maybe if she weren’t still trying to recover from shoulder surgery, he might actually like to have her along. But not this time. When he broke grav, Bo Barron would not be aboard ship.
Instead of arguing with her, he retrieved his clothes from the boat.
She shrugged into her shirt and left it hanging open in the front.
“I am going,” she repeated.
He sighed and shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait.
That gave her pause. Her brow furrowed and she squinted at him, all the fight gone from her.
“Why don’t you want me to go? He’s my father.”
A muscle jumped in Blade’s jaw. He squinted out over the Lahtrecki ocean for a long moment while he carefully chose his words. When he finally looked at her, his expression was carefully closed.
“You’re still in the rehab part of your recovery,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any further injury now could mean a permanent disability. Rogue’s Cross is one of the roughest stations in this part of the Commonwealth. I wouldn’t board without another Predator for backup. The price on your head makes you a very attractive target. A busted shoulder makes you a soft target. If Royce knows you at all, he’ll expect you to show. If he was trying to poison you – if he was poisoning your father – he’ll try something when he has the two of you together. The only way I can control the risk to you and your father is for you to stay here where I know you’re safe.”
“You’ll bring my father here?”
He nodded. “I can control the situation here.”
“And if Royce tries something here? What then?”
“I’ll stop him.” It was a promise as much as a statement. “Anything after that is up to your father. He’s his brother. It’s his call.”
Bo stared up at him, letting the full import of what he was saying sink in. Unmoving, he regarded her in turn, patiently waiting for her to process everything. She knew him too well to doubt he would do as he said.
“You know, there was a time you’d try to charm me into to letting you go without me.”
There it was, the surrender in her tone. Now it was a matter of letting her talk herself into it.
“Don’t you think we’re beyond games and manipulation, Bo?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I’ve always thought we were beyond those things.” She stepped closer to him. Reaching out, she traced the hard line of his jaw and the muscle that jumped there. “This is the line, isn’t it?”
“What line?”
“The one I’m not supposed to cross.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
After a long moment, she smiled. “This is where I’m supposed to trust you and submit. To do as I’m told.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”
He wanted her safe, yes. He also didn’t want her to have to watch him kill her uncle, or possibly die by his hand. Uncertainty gathered his brows. It wasn’t just that he wanted her to remain on Kah Lahtrec; he needed her there. He needed to have someone to come home to…to live for. He needed her view of him to remain untouched by the possibility of what he might have to do should Royce prove to be the worst of what Blade thought him capable. He didn’t have the slightest clue how to begin putting it all into words. He just prayed she’d understand and trust him.
“Oh, Dev…” Tears stung her eyes.
Understanding rolled off her in a crashing wave. Some of the stiffness eased out of his shoulders. He tenderly touched her cheek.
She lifted her chin with a small smile. “Just bring my ship back in one piece.”
“I hope to bring back more than your ship,” he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Blade buckled the gunbelt around his hips and adjusted the heavy holster more comfortably on his thigh before snugging it down. He hated wearing the damn thing. Sidearms tended to draw the wrong kind of attention, especially on a station like Rogue’s Cross. He glanced at the ship’s chronometer, which had synced with the station.
“Sir?” The ship’s computer broke the silence.
“Yes, Sundance?”
“There is an incoming transmission from the station. It bears IC coding.”
Blade’s lips twisted in distaste. He checked the charge on the Mergent Arms PX-12 and sighted down the barrel before sliding it into his holster. He may as well be wearing a Consular Guard uniform with this ungainly service blaster on his hip.
“I’ve been expecting it,” he said. “Patch it through.”
The com-light flashed on the control panel.
“Go for Devon,” he said briskly.
“Welcome to Thieves Central.” Royce Barron’s voice crackled over the speaker grille. “You gonna make me wait here for you all day?”
Despite his misgivings, amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. Leave it to Royce to see right through him.
“You know how it is for us newbs,” he said. “Still trying to get the hang of shutting all the systems down and securing the con.”
He glanced over the flight deck and the controls he’d secured upon docking twenty minutes earlier.
“Well, quit primping and get your butt down here,” Royce growled. “This contact is about to bolt, and if you make me lose this lead to my brother, I’m not going to be the one to explain it to Bo.”
Blade picked up the long black coat from the navigator’s seat and carefully pulled it on, mindful of his shoulder holster and the weapons strapped to his forearms. “Cool your jets, Royce,” he said. “I’m on my way. Devon out.”
The com light winked out.
Blade tugged on the front of the coat. It whispered into place around his calves, brushing the tops of his scuffed black riding boots.
“I’ll contact you if I run into trouble,” he said.
“Understood, sir,” Sundance replied. “Good luck.”
Working quickly, he slipped his data reader and com set into the side pockets before he donned the oversized pair of mirrored sunshades that doubled as a heads-up display for his data reader, and descended the narrow stairway to the main deck.
His boots clicked against the fuseform flooring as he made his way to the airlock. The inner hatch opened at his touch and he ducked through. He waited for it to close behind him before he turned to the outer hatch. A quick check of the docking tube seals assured him he wouldn’t be blown out into the vacuum of space. He tapped his command codes into the panel beside the outer hatch and it irised open.
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The processed air from the station hit him in a physical wave as it mingled with air from Sundance’s environmental controls. Blade stepped into the docking tube and paused only long enough to seal up the ship behind him before continuing on to the station’s airlock at the other end. You could tell a lot by the way a space station smelled. Old cooking grease mingled with the persistent smells of the fried tubers favored as a comfort food in this part of the Commonwealth.
Once on board the station, the full impact of the smells and noise rolled over him. He stood just inside the inner hatch for a long moment evaluating the situation. The environmental scrubbers in this part of the station didn’t seem to be working. Acrid fumes from burning the traditional cakes of compressed brazier fuel wafted through the air. The dull rumble of conversations from myriad voices mingled with tinny music and the frantic hiss of something frying in grease.
It could have been any other station at any other shipping lane crossroads in the Commonwealth, save for the sub-socialites who populated the lounges and restaurants. Most reputable stations didn’t allow travelers and vendors to wear bandoliers of armor-piercing charges across their chests. Blade watched a small knot of mercenaries pass. Faces battle scarred, dressed in scavenged body armor and armed much as he was, there was no mistaking their line of work.
Blade stepped through the hatch and descended the few steps onto the main concourse, joining the flow of foot traffic moving through the station. His eyes constantly roamed the crowd for any sign he’d been marked as a target by the local thugs who made a living rolling unsuspecting travelers.
He didn’t mind making Royce wait. IC agents expected it. It came with the territory. Waiting tended to knock operatives off-stride. Make them wait long enough and they became impatient; that made them reckless and more inclined to make mistakes. Royce Barron was one of the best and not any more inclined to make reckless mistakes than Blade. It was, however, part of IC protocol to play subtle mind games with other agents in the field.
No doubt that was the reason Royce had chosen Rogue’s Cross as their meeting place. It was one of the few places in the Commonwealth where Blade’s looks and fame would be a detriment. It was hard enough to convince his holofeature industry colleagues to take him seriously. He doubted any of the pirates, toughs or warlords on Rogue’s Cross would be inclined to view him as much of a threat either. Normally he used that prejudice to his advantage. Given the recent attempts on his life, however, he felt very exposed and vulnerable. He didn’t like the feeling. Ordinarily, he’d have found a measure of comfort at meeting another Predator here and knowing he had an ally watching his back. Until he knew for certain where Royce’s loyalties lay, Blade probably wouldn’t draw an easy breath.
He found Royce at a small Mondhuic restaurant near the station’s hub. With a nod, Blade slid into the chair across from him.
“Took your time,” Royce growled, but there wasn’t any heat in it, confirming Blade’s suspicion that he knew exactly what he’d been doing.
Forcing down his rising sense of unease, Blade leaned back in his chair. The edges of his coat slid open, displaying to the room his hand resting casually on the blaster strapped to his thigh.
“Is your contact still here?”
Royce nodded slightly. With a slight jerk of his chin, he indicated a nervous looking little man at a nearby table. Sensing their attention, the man, already sweating profusely, paled and slowly rose from his seat. With an anxious look around, he slithered to the chair that sat between the two men. He turned wary eyes to Blade.
“He tells me that you’re the one willing to pay for information on The Barron.”
Blade sat silent and unmoving, waiting.
The man tapped his fingertips on the tabletop and swallowed hard. He looked to Royce for encouragement before turning his attention back to Blade.
“Look, they’re gonna transfer him or something, soon,” he said. “Do you want to know or not?”
Without comment, Blade slowly reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope containing the hard currency he’d promised in exchange for information on The Barron’s whereabouts. At the sight of the bulging package, the man’s eyes widened and he stopped fidgeting. His gaze locked on the envelope and followed Blade’s hand as he placed it on the table in front of him. The man’s fingers curled and he started to reach for the pack. Blade rested his hand on top of the envelope in silent warning.
Clearing his throat, the man tried a smile. “Is it all there?”
Blade nodded.
“Can I see it?”
With the edge of his thumb, Blade parted the envelope, revealing the stack of currency within.
The man’s eyes glittered in unbridled avarice. He licked his pudgy lips and smiled.
“Can I count it?”
Blade’s other hand moved over his sidearm. He flicked the power setting to full. The unmistakable whine rose from underneath the table, cutting through the din.
All color drained from the man’s face. He swallowed hard once again.
“I, uh…okay,” he said. “The guy you’re looking for is in the Liota Mental Hospital on Sonora IV. I don’t know how long they’re gonna keep him. The orderly said something about taking genetic samples and sending them to Mondhuoun for verification.” He looked anxiously from Royce to Blade. “You know you’re not the only ones asking about this guy, right?”
Royce swirled his drink absently in his glass. “Who else is asking about him?”
The man shook his head. “Dunno their names, but they looked like hunters to me,” he said. “Half dozen of ‘em.”
Blade and Royce exchanged a look.
“When did you last see him?” Royce asked.
“Four standard,” the man said. “Can I have my money now?”
The hair on the back of Blade’s neck snapped to attention, as did every hair on his arms as adrenaline flooded his system.
“Kid?”
Royce’s concerned voice filtered faintly through the buzzing that filled Blade’s head.
Taking a deep breath, Blade opened his awareness as Tahar had taught him. The restaurant took on another dimension. As his senses expanded, colors took on deeper, more vivid hues. Subtle waves and ripples of energy crackled between individuals. Blade glanced over the informant, reading the shifting aura surrounding him.
“He’s sold us out,” Blade said in Gallic. “The hunters he was talking about are here.”
“Are you sure?” Royce asked, also in Gallic.
Blade nodded. Closing his eyes, his awareness exploded outward. Stimuli flooded his mind. He quickly sifted through it.
“I can only spot four of them,” Blade said. “One is at the bar, two are over by the front window, the other one is leaning up against the entrance to the service hallway.”
“What’s he sayin’?” the man asked.
“He was asking about the daily dinner specials,” Royce said.
“This kind of thing makes me peckish,” Blade said. He opened his eyes, forced a smile and slid the envelope across the table. “Thank you for the information.”
Royce frowned. “If you’ve been lying to us, don’t think I won’t track you down…”
“He wasn’t lying,” Blade said.
“How the hell can you be sure about that?” Royce switched back to Gallic.
“I just can, Royce,” Blade said in kind. “You’re overlooking the bigger question here. If there were six of them to start with, and four of them are watching us, where are the other two?”
Royce’s jaw tightened. “Going after my brother.”
Blade nodded. He leaned closer to the little man, who was watching them with wide curious eyes.
“If I were you, I’d run before the shooting starts,” Blade said in Basic.
The little man paled and snatched the envelope from the table. Clutching it to his chest, he bolted from the table like a scared glumrat flushed from its hole.
“I don’t think they’ll be fool enough t
o start anything here,” Royce said.
“Agreed. I’d rather not engage in any gun play if we can help it.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Royce climbed to his feet and lifted his drink. “Mondhuoun Kir Brahay!” he shouted.
To Mondhuoun the victory!
The crowd echoed the Black Wing battle cry. Mondhuic travelers and expats climbed to their feet, saluting with their drinks held high, booming the phrase in Gallic.
“Arak la haar!” Royce shouted.
“Prepare to die?” Blade climbed to his feet.
Royce shrugged. “More like ‘it’s as good a day as any to die.’ It’s another battle cry.”
Already the battle cry echoed through the restaurant. The non-Gallic-speaking patrons looked quizzically around, the four hunters among them.
“You’re The Barron’s brother!” someone yelled in Gallic.
“I am,” Royce replied with a nod. “The Barron needs your help.”
Blade kept his focus on the hunters. He sensed their apprehension, as they didn’t understand what Royce was saying.
Several voices rumbled in the crowd swearing allegiance to The Barron.
“My friend and I are on a mission to bring him home,” Royce said.
A roar of approval reverberated through the restaurant. Royce raised his hands asking for quiet. The crowd obeyed.
“Four men in this restaurant want to stop us.”
The crowd booed and jeered. Royce signaled for quiet once more.
“I need you to stop them from following us.”
“Who are they?” a voice demanded.
“Don’t look at them,” Royce warned. “The guy leaning against the service entrance hallway…,” he looked to Blade. “Who else?”
“The one at the bar in the green trousers and the two at the table by the front window,” Blade said.
No sooner had he finished when the restaurant erupted into chaos. As one, the Mondhuic surged through the crowd, converging on the four men and shouting the Black Wing battle cry.
“That’s our cue to leave,” Royce said.
He dashed for the entrance, Blade half a step behind him. The four hunters rose to follow, but met the angry Mondhuic instead.
