Star Raider

by Vaughn Heppner

  Tanner’s panting turned to wheezes.

  “You’re finished, meat,” Baldy sneered.

  Tanner silently agreed. Still he unwound the belt from his fist and dropped to the floor. He tried to kick out his feet and catch himself with his hands. He was too tired to do it right. He crashed onto the floor as pain flared in his left wrist. He must have sprained it. Then, Baldy’s feet collided with his. The big man grunted in surprise, sailing over Tanner’s prone and aching body.

  If Tanner tried to do the same move a hundred more times, it would never have worked as perfectly as this again. Baldy thudded onto the floor ahead of him. The man was like a spring, though, and scrambled to his feet.

  Tanner groaned. He moved too slowly, still trying to get to his feet. Baldy growled with rage, rushing him, stomping and kicking. Tanner rolled, rolled the other way and heard Baldy’s shoe stomp twice in fast succession. Instead of rolling a third time, Tanner swung the belt in a short arc.

  “What the blazes?” Baldy shouted.

  The iron buckle swung around one of the bruiser’s ankles. Tanner yanked as hard as he could. Maybe Baldy had been in the process of trying a kick to the face. It meant he might have already been off balance. With an “oof” sound, the big man landed on his chest.

  A final impulse drove Tanner. He launched himself, landing on the monster’s back. He had the belt in his hands and had no idea how he’d gotten it off the bruiser’s ankle.

  Tanner found himself on the man’s back with the belt around the dense throat. He twisted the leather around gristle as hard as he could. If he failed, Greco and Jordan would surely die on a prison planet.

  Baldy hissed like a rock snake while climbing to his feet. The man had incredible strength, much greater than Greco’s. Thick fingers reached back and grabbed at Tanner’s head. He ducked it, twisting the belt harder, choking the bruiser. Fingernails scraped his scalp. The two of them sounded like animals.

  Tanner had no idea how long this lasted. Several times, Baldy pushed back, body slamming him against the wall. With grim determination, Tanner maintained the chokehold.

  Another smashing hit proved too much. Tanner lost his grip. Baldy gasped as he ripped the belt from his throat.

  “You filthy bastard,” the bruiser whispered hoarsely. He flung Tanner onto the floor. “Now, it’s my turn, boy.”

  Tanner fought but it didn’t matter. The leather looped around his throat and tightened painfully. He couldn’t breathe! He clawed at the belt.

  Baldy laughed in his ear.

  ”Stop!” a woman said.

  That didn’t make sense to Tanner. Was he hallucinating already?

  “You’re killing him!” the woman shouted.

  “Yeah,” Baldy whispered. “The choker dies here.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Shut up, Lacy. He’s a dead man.”

  “I said no.”

  A second later, Baldy collapsed onto Tanner. The grim constriction around his throat loosened.

  Tanner gasped and shuddered, pushing the bruiser off him as he luxuriated in being able to breathe again. None of this made sense. What had the woman done to the bruiser to make him stop?

  She picked up her flashlight, shining it on Baldy for just a moment.

  Tanner wasn’t sure. He thought he saw blood leaking out of the man’s ears. Was Baldy dead? Tanner didn’t recall hearing a shot. The woman had a coilgun, but she didn’t hold it.

  He focused on her. It seemed as if she put something about the size of a cellphone in her pocket.

  She shined the light in his eyes, making him squint.

  “You’re a mess,” she said.

  He still gasped and shuddered, trying to think and doing a lousy job of it.

  “Get up,” she said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

  He didn’t move, just breathed—just lived.

  Lacy—if that was her name—grabbed an arm. She hoisted him to his feet with effortless strength. That didn’t seem right. Nothing was making sense.

  “Move,” she said, shoving, making him stagger toward the distant light.

  What was going on? What was this all about? Tanner tried to look back at the dead man on the floor. She shoved him again, making him stagger worse than before.

  He’d heard bones snap when he’d landed. How had she survived the fall? She looked like the frailest one of the bunch, yet she seemed unhurt.

  “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “The woman who just saved your sorry hide,” she said. “Now, shut up and walk. With that little stunt you just pulled our margin for error has all but disappeared. If the CGPD finds us the game is over for good.”

  Something about all this rang a bell in his memories. “Do you belong to Keg’s crew?” Tanner asked.

  “Not a bad guess, bounty hunter, but the answer is no.”

  “Then—”

  A knife appeared in her hand, the blade less than a centimeter from his throat. “Do you understand what shut up means?” she asked.

  Tanner didn’t answer.

  The blade touched his throat. “One slice and it’s over for you, Tanner. No more games, no more fun. Just go where I tell you, huh? You can bargain with my boss but not with me. Got it?”

  Maybe it troubled her having to kill the bruiser. Maybe she wasn’t just a hard case. She hadn’t let the man choke him to death, right? What did that mean, though?

  “Sure,” Tanner said, having trouble thinking straight.

  Getting one’s throat cut was better than being tortured to death. But being alive meant one could still hope for the best. The truth was that walking down the dark corridor was a gamble, one he might come to regret bitterly. It’s not as if his luck had been good lately.

  No, he told himself. Don’t rely on luck. You have to make something happen.

  For the life of him, though, Tanner couldn’t think of what.

  -7-

  A lock clicked loudly.

  Tanner stirred, blinking wearily. He raised his head off the table where it had lain. He’d been asleep—for how long he didn’t know. It must have been more than a few minutes because he felt drugged with lethargy.

  His stomach rumbled. Lacy had brought him to this cell, shoved him in and locked the door. The cell had contained a table with water, wafers and a chair. He’d eaten the food, drank the water and lain his head on his crossed arms.

  Now, he blinked sleepily at the door. There was a subdued light in the ceiling, allowing him to see.

  He must have been asleep for several hours, at least. His eyes no longer hurt, but his throat was sore to the touch where Baldy had choked him.

  Lacy had prodded him for several hazy kilometers. He’d been thinking hard during that time. The dead bruiser had felt like one of Keg’s crew.

  Keg had been a vile man with a vile bunch of people. They had been kidnappers searching for young girls to sell to nasty sex emporiums. A certain consortium in the Lustra System had tired of Keg’s antics because the man had gone pirate, raiding Lustra starliners for pretties. The corporate heads had hired assassins to kill Keg. Tanner had a growing reputation as a hunter. The corporate heads had offered him a deal, too. Killing for money wasn’t his trade, though. Instead, Tanner had captured Keg and brought him to the consortium headquarters, collecting a hefty sum. What the consortium had done afterward to Keg hadn’t been Tanner’s concern. Besides, since an encounter with a Coalition picket boat, the Dark Star had needed more torpedoes. The best ones cost plenty, too.

  The one negative to his “no assassination” policy was that people had seen him capture Keg. One of those had been Keg’s primary lieutenant. Since then, members of Keg’s crew had come after him, forcing Tanner to kill two of them in self-defense.

  Lacy claimed she hadn’t belonged to Keg’s crew. Maybe that was technically true. Maybe she belonged to the people who used those like Keg and now wanted Tanner to pay.

  One of these days, he had to figure out a way to make friends instead of so many
new enemies.

  Tanner inhaled through his nostrils. Despite his aching throat, he felt better for the few hours’ sleep, more clearheaded. The wafers might have helped as much as the sleep. He sat back, crossing his arms, waiting for the door to open. Despite the anxiety in his gut, he kept his face impassive.

  Had he made the right choice? Should he have resisted Lacy? How had she made Baldy’s ears bleed?

  The heavy door opened and—

  Tanner sat straighter, shocked to his core.

  A Remus praetorian entered the room. The praetorian was a big man. They usually were. The symbols on his jacket proclaimed the man a tribune. Two more praetorians filed in. Each wore a uniform of House Varus and wore a sidearm and shock baton on his belt.

  Tanner rubbed his eyes.

  Praetorians were house guards from Remus. Each house trained special men to guard the patricians of the extended family.

  The two rankers flanked the open door, standing at attention with their hands on belted batons. The implication was clear: if Tanner did anything the tribune disliked, the rankers would beat him.

  The three wore helmets, chest-plates, shin guards and forearm protectors. Without arms, Tanner could not possibly win a fight against three trained praetorians. Even with arms, he’d have a hard time of it.

  “Stand in the presence of the Patrician Ursa of House Varus,” the tribune said in a rough voice.

  Tanner’s body obeyed before he consciously thought about it.

  A woman walked into the cell. She wore a flowing white robe that trailed on the floor. Demurely, she doffed a white shawl from her head, staring at Tanner. Patrician Ursa was tall, although not as tall as Tanner was. She had pale skin and long, blonde hair with the greenest eyes Tanner had ever seen. She was gorgeous.

  “Lady,” Tanner said, as he inclined his head.

  The tribune stiffened, glancing sharply at the woman.

  “Now, now, Tribune,” Ursa said in a candy voice. “He cannot know proper protocol. He is a plebian, after all. I hear he grew up in the sewers.”

  “The correct word is slums,” Tanner said. “Rats live in sewers.”

  That was too much for the tribune. “You will wait for the patrician to address you before you speak to her.”

  Because the tribune was from Remus, Tanner gave a single nod of acknowledgement. Did they know Consul Maximus? Had they come to help him?

  “Are you…” Ursa said, frowning, turning to the tribune as if offended. “Must I stand while addressing the plebian?”

  “No, Lady,” the tribune said, snapping his fingers at the two rankers. “Please, forgive my oversight.”

  One of the rankers hurried around the table, taking Tanner’s chair. The man brought it to the patrician’s side, placing it behind her.

  “Closer,” she said, stepping to the table.

  “Allow me, Lady,” the tribune said, taking the chair from the ranker, setting it behind her as she sat.

  The ranker returned to his position by the door. The tribune flanked the patrician. She fluffed her robes, making herself comfortable. Once finished, she looked up at Tanner. She scrunched her nose, made a face and looked at the tribune.

  The big man seemed confused.

  “He needs a bath,” Ursa said.

  “Ah, of course,” the tribune said. Straightening, staring at Tanner, he made a shooing motion.

  Tanner took a step back.

  The tribune glanced at the patrician. She ignored him.

  “More,” the tribune said.

  Tanner backed up against the wall.

  Lady Ursa nodded. She had a silk handkerchief in her left hand and delicately held it under her nose.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Ursa said. “I would like to rent your boat.”

  Tanner frowned, not certain he’d heard correctly. Just what in the heck was going on?

  “Naturally,” she said, “I will return it to you once I’ve completed my voyage.”

  Tanner glanced at the tribune. The man faced forward, staring at the wall.

  “I’m addressing you,” Ursa told Tanner.

  That made the tribune focus on Tanner again, giving him an obvious non-verbal message: act with utmost respect toward the patrician or else.

  Tanner couldn’t fathom the meaning of all this. It bemused him. He had assumed they came from Consul Maximus. Now, he wasn’t sure.

  “By, ah, ‘boat,’ do you happen to mean my raider?” Tanner asked.

  “Yes,” Ursa said. “That’s right.”

  “I see. Yes, I might be persuaded to take you to your destination.”

  “No,” Ursa said. “I want your boat, not you or your smelly crew. Surely, I’ve made that clear.”

  Tanner glanced at the tribune and the two door guards. Was this for real?

  “I almost forget,” Ursa said. “What is your rental price?”

  “You’re mistaken, Lady,” Tanner said. “I won’t rent my ship to anyone. I hire out if the contract is acceptable. Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if I’m willing or not.”

  She lowered the handkerchief, giving him a knowledgeable smile. “I understand men like you enjoy dickering, but I’m in a hurry. My mission is urgent. Tell me your rental price so I can be on my way.”

  Tanner zipped up his leather jacket. It was all the armor he had against those batons. He had a feeling the guards were going to swing soon. The patrician was crazy if she thought she could bully him like this.

  “There’s been a mistake,” he said. “If someone told you I would rent you my ship, they’re dead wrong. You can hire me. I’ll take you where you want to go. Otherwise, you can piss off.”

  The tribune’s head jerked around. The two guards shoved off the wall, their batons hissing as they slid out of the leather holders.

  “I’m just a smelly plebian,” Tanner said, holding his hands palms outward, “a rude sewer-dweller, a rat, I suppose. What did you expect would come out of my mouth?”

  “Lady,” the tribune said. “I suggest you leave the room. This dog needs a lesson in manners. He’ll speak more civilly once you return.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, putting the handkerchief against her nose. “He’s a centurion, isn’t he?”

  The tribune’s eyes narrowed as he reexamined Tanner. “Is this true?” he asked.

  Tanner said nothing.

  “I asked you a question,” the tribune said.

  “You can piss off, too,” Tanner told him. “Either you’re going to beat me or you’re not. If you do, I’m never going to hire out to you.”

  “Tribune,” Ursa said, “this is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, Lady,” he said. “Please, if you would retire…”

  “No,” she said. “I want the boat now. We should already be on our way.”

  “He’s stubborn,” the tribune pointed out.

  “I was told the centurion is a patriot,” she said. “Why is he trying to thwart us, then?”

  The tribune shook his head.

  “Oh, this is impossible.” Ursa focused on Tanner. “My mission is of the utmost importance. It will help free Remus from occupation. Do you love your world?”

  Tanner got it, then. They were fishing. This must be a Coalition Special Intelligence trick. He was supposed to blurt out his contact, Consul Maximus. This was another setup and these people were traitors to Remus.

  “I love my world,” Tanner said deadpan.

  “Then give me a fair rental price and I can be on my way,” the patrician said.

  That was too much. “Do you love Remus?” Tanner asked.

  She lowered the handkerchief. “How dare you say that to me?”

  “Yeah?” Tanner said. “Likewise.”

  Her eyes widened with outrage. “I will have you beaten.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you doubt me?”

  Tanner frowned as something seeped into his thinking. Why would Lacy have brought him in? What did the thief have to do with a Remus patrician?


  “Why do you need my ship?” Tanner asked. “What makes it so important to your project? You could rent other spacecraft, so why come after mine?”

  Ursa looked down at the table.

  “You know I’m a centurion,” Tanner said. “Few people out here know that. It’s unlikely that one of those persons would be an airheaded patrician beauty. This is an act, a performance on your part. What do you hope to gain with such an act?”

  “You’re in no position to bargain,” Ursa said, looking up, her candy voice changing to something harder. “Your ship is impounded and your crew is in lockdown. You’re close to finding yourself on a one-way ticket to Shayol. Soon enough, the Calisto Grandee authorities will auction your boat. I can buy it outright then.”

  “Maybe,” Tanner said. “The fact you’re trying this proves it won’t be so simple.”

  Ursa drummed her fingers on the table as she studied him. She no longer held the handkerchief under her nose. She no longer seemed like an airheaded princess.

  “What do you think, Tribune?” she asked.

  “Maybe Maximus is right about him,” the tribune said. “Maybe he could be an asset to the mission.”

  So, they knew about Consul Maximus. That made everything more interesting.

  “The centurion might be an asset if he can take orders,” she said, staring at Tanner.

  He realized this was his cue. He was supposed to assure her ladyship that he could take orders with the best of them. Tanner also realized that these two were trying to pull something over on him. But if they knew Consul Maximus, why go through this charade?

  “Where do you want me to take you?” Tanner asked.

  “Nowhere in particular at the moment,” Ursa said, offhandedly. “I’d just like to use your boat.”

  That was a lie. This must be a setup so he would say yes to something he would never normally do. He couldn’t think what that could be, not if Consul Maximus backed the plan. This was strange. Events were not adding up. Just what was going on here?

  “Sure…” Tanner heard himself say. “I’ll hire out to you. But you’re going to have to front some heavy credits first.”