by Natalie Grey
“Wait.” The new Shrillexian pointed at Barnabas. “Who’s that? Why d’you have a human with you?”
“They have their uses,” Gar told him with amusement. “Why is everyone here so interested in him? Do you want to buy his contract?”
For a moment, that seemed to do the trick. In fact, it almost certainly would have—if Fedden hadn’t taken that opportunity to shoot the new Shrillexian while his back was turned.
Blood hit the wall of the corridor and Barnabas reacted first. He reached out quietly to take Gar’s arm, but forced himself to wait. Gar froze, and so did everyone else in the room.
Then everything descended into chaos. He dragged Gar down the corridor toward the ship, throwing another tiny device into the air to zoom over the heads of the brawlers and seek out the main servers while everyone was distracted.
If they couldn’t get the information one way, they’d get it another.
Shinigami, open the door and make sure no one follows us. And since I know you’re going to ask—if someone tries, you can use the flamethrower.
Wheeeeeeee!
9
Fedden knew he wasn’t likely to get a better chance than this.
Crallus had pissed enough people off by talking about rate hikes that even the Brakalon captains were thinking of leaving. No one liked the new Torcellan, either. Fedden had heard the same whispers from a few people while he’d been back.
It had come to him in a flash. If he took Crallus out now, it was very possible that the rest of the mercenaries would fall in with him instead and accept his leadership.
He hadn’t ever particularly wanted power. Crallus had power, and what had it gotten him? He clearly hated everything about his life, and without being in the thick of things he was getting soft. He was angry about it, too.
But at that moment a thought came to Fedden and he pulled out his gun. He was sure he wouldn’t end up that way. Hell, he could live the good life while he was here doing business and then go along with whatever captain he wanted to for a few fights and still keep his edge.
With that vision of the future, the captains would respect him in a way they didn’t respect Crallus because Fedden would still be one of them. He would still be a strong fighter—not the strongest, because there was always some young male with something to prove, but strong enough and well respected enough that he wouldn’t be as vulnerable as Crallus was now.
His gun came out of its holster so easily that Fedden was sure he was doing the right thing. He shivered with excitement.
Which meant the shot went wild. It wasn’t far off-center. It hit Crallus near the shoulder blade, then there was blood and the other Shrillexian’s sudden roar of pain. He crumpled to his knees before anyone moved.
But Fedden knew he’d missed his chance. If he’d taken Crallus out with a single shot he would still have had to sell his takeover, but Crallus would be dead and there would be no reason to fight for him anymore. However, he was still alive and the field was still split.
It was clear that not everyone backed Crallus, but a few of the smarmier captains—the ones who were forever sucking up to him—rushed at Fedden. Crallus had chosen the most loyal of his people to accompany him when he came here to confront the renegade, and Fedden supposed he couldn’t fault the bastard for that.
He bared his teeth and yelled as he leapt into action. He knew the rules of this game. Falter for even a moment and he was as good as dead.
So he fought. He fought with everything he had. The first one to charge him was a Brakalon he’d only met a few times. Young and unusually brash for a Brakalon, he had hands the size of Fedden’s head.
He was young, though, and prone to the same stupid mistakes all young males made. He charged in too fast and he didn’t have any way to arrest his momentum when Fedden stepped forward to meet his charge with a knife to the gut. The Brakalon’s eyes went wide in surprise, but before he could react—that wound wouldn’t kill him before he could make Fedden sorry—Fedden and the knife were gone.
Another captain was ready for him, however, and as Feddan sidestepped the Brakalon he tackled Fedden straight into a wall. It was a Yofu, his hair shaved off defiantly against the customs of his people. He landed a punch squarely on Fedden’s face.
“Traitor!” He drew his hand back for another punch.
Fedden kicked him away. Tagurn was doing nothing to help, the rat. He had hung back and was speaking urgently to one of the other captains as they put pressure on Crallus’ wound.
If Fedden survived this he was going to make Tagurn pay for that.
He returned to the Yofu, who was about to come at him again. Fedden sank into a crouch and, when he saw something in his peripheral vision, dove sideways. The Brakalon, now clutching his stomach, stumbled through the space where Fedden should have been. A moment later the Yofu—also unable to course-correct in time—slammed into the Brakalon and bounced off.
Fedden would have grabbed the Yofu by his hair if he’d had any, but instead he cocked an arm as the male stumbled sideways and landed a devastating punch on the Yofu’s jaw. Then, not wanting to miss anything where the Brakalon was concerned, he drew his pistol again and put a few shots into the alien’s head as the Yofu crumpled to the ground.
The Brakalon went down like a stone, but Fedden had definitely lost this battle in everyone else’s mind. Understanding that he would kill them, the rest came at him in a rush. They held down his arms and legs and dragged him out of the conference room and through the corridors.
At some point someone put a sack over Fedden’s head, so he was only vaguely aware of where he was being taken. Blows landed on his body and head, and he grunted with pain and struggled. He was going to be killed whenever he got to where he was going, so he might as well make them pay for it.
To his surprise, he found himself in Crallus’ office when the hood came off. Crallus was leaking blood and pale with pain, but he knew the importance of appearances. One of the captains was tending him while he sat in his normal chair.
He waved a hand at Fedden. Shoot me if you want, the gesture said, but you didn’t kill me when you tried and now you are a captive.
Fedden stared at him wordlessly. What was Crallus going to do? He’d gotten used to thinking of the man as soft and greedy, but he had the sudden vivid memory that Crallus used to have a reputation—the sort of reputation that had made other mercenary captains decide to work with him instead of fighting him. Crallus had been one mean sonofabitch.
Crallus leaned forward. “You wanted my job. You thought you’d kill me and take it. Ha.” The laugh caused a bit of blood to leak out of his wound, but he stayed upright. “Not so different from me at that age, Fedden. I respect that. But you killed one of my captains. A good captain; promising. I have to decide what to do with you.”
He raised a hand and gestured, and the bag came back down over Fedden’s head. He cursed himself as he was dragged away.
Why hadn’t he just taken the job with that Luvendi the normal way? He was going to die now.
Records had not been kept properly on this planet. Rald hated being stumped by things as trivial as that. He shook his head. Farfaldri Kat had given him good ideas, but it turned out that even the Luvendi could not help Rald determine exactly where the old mines had all been, much less who was there now.
Rald had some ideas of what he might find, of course, but he had survived this long by not assuming his enemies were stupid. These bastards had taken down Jutkelon and the ships’ captains. High-impact weaponry had been used on Jutkelon’s compound simply to make a point.
He would be foolish to assume that the mine was undefended.
Aebura’s had had very few leads, so he had spoken to Kat’s head of security and shortly found himself in a bar on the outskirts of the Luvendi district. The bar was packed, mostly with Brakalons. They turned as Rald came in, assessed him indifferently, and went back to their drinks.
Rald looked around as he settled down at the bar and waited to be
served. He was about to take a risk.
But he had always enjoyed a good bar fight.
“One of my friends came here a few weeks ago,” he announced after his drink had arrived. “Good man. Name of Galagg.”
That earned him some narrow-eyed stares.
“He’s in the same business as all of us,” Rald told them. “Of course, you never got to meet him because a ship named the Shinigami shot him down from orbit. Destroyed his ship. His whole crew is dead because some human decided they had a right to tell us what to do on this planet.”
He paused to take a sip of the liquid. It was terrible, but at least it wasn’t Coke. That stuff had been vile. Full of bubbles.
“Galagg came to help someone you might know, though.” He raised his glass. “Jutkelon.”
There was a pause, then one of the Brakalons at the bar growled, “I knew Jutkelon.”
Rald waited, taking another sip of whatever the hell this liquor was. It burned nicely. It would do.
“Ran a good outfit,” the Brakalon admitted. He nodded at Rald. “Just a friend of a friend to you, though?”
“We fought together a long time ago,” Rald told him. “Sure, he set down on this planet and he didn’t fight with me anymore, but we still had each other’s backs. Same with Galagg. Maybe I never fought with him, but now that Jutkelon’s dead I figure I’m in this with anyone who wants to help me.”
There was a long pause.
“With what?” an alien asked. Its wide black eyes blinked at Rald. Taller and more muscled than a Torcellan, its face had a snout-like olfactory organ. It had no ears to speak of.
He wondered briefly what it was and decided he didn’t care. He shook his head and looked at each of the people in turn. “I saw what happened to Jutkelon’s compound. Now, I won’t fault you for not getting involved then. What could you do with that ship in orbit? But it’s gone now, and you’re just going to let its allies keep what they took?”
A murmur went through the bar. They saw where Rald was going with this.
“Not our problem,” one of the Brakalons argued. He shook his head. “I fight for whoever pays me. Jutkelon didn’t pay me. Your friend didn’t pay me. You don’t pay me. You see my dilemma.”
Rald had been ready for this. “No one is going to pay you if these humans have their way.”
There were grumbles around the room, and Rald held the Brakalon’s eyes until he looked away.
“I’m searching for their allies,” Rald told the group. “And when I know everything there is to know about them, I’m going to go find these humans and turn everything they’ve tried to do here into a smoking wreck like the one they made of Jutkelon’s compound. They wanted to make a point? They thought we’d just sit here and let them do it?” He snorted and his lip curled. “Looking at you, I guess they were right.”
They were furious at the insult, but to his surprise they also looked scared. He understood. They were worried that the humans would come back.
Cowards.
“They’re in the other cities,” one of the mercenaries informed him shakily. “You don’t want to fuck with them.”
“You’re supposed to be mercenaries!” Rald spat contemptuously. “No one’s supposed to want to fuck with you. You start getting weak like this—just roll over and let people take whatever they want, let them kill your friends without fear of your revenge—and what are you? Not a mercenary anymore, that’s for sure. You don’t even have any pride left.”
“You think you can win if you go up against them?” One of the mercenaries shook his head. “You’re wrong. No one knows all their capabilities.”
“Which is why we start with information,” Rald told him. “So tell me what you know of the humans here. There are some at that bar, Aebura’s.”
The black-eyed alien made a hissing noise. “Friends of the Ubuara. Those little rats, you know? The one who runs it—he fought with them at the mines.”
Rald signaled for the barkeeper to refill the alien’s drink. “Tell me about him. Tell me about his mate, too. And his young.”
10
“That went better than I expected,” Barnabas announced, mostly to himself. The Shinigami banked smoothly away from Zahal, taking a very direct route out of the atmosphere and away from any anti-aircraft measures.
Gar looked at him. “Sarcasm?”
“Not at all. We learned how many of them there might be, which is considerably more than I thought there were. That is unfortunate, certainly. But we were able to get the interior layout of the base and a scan of security measures they have in place, and that crawler should find their main communications hub soon so we can tap into it.”
Barnabas headed toward his rooms as he spoke. He paused at the door of the suite and turned to give Gar a smile. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“You don’t want to debrief now?” Usually, Barnabas put business before relaxation.
“I want to wash this hair dye out immediately,” Barnabas explained. “I do not like it at all. Not a word,” he added in the direction of the nearest speaker and disappeared into his rooms.
Gar headed back into the main seating area and paced around the outside of it. No matter how much Barnabas and Shinigami tried to ignore it, the fact remained that Gar really had nothing to offer them except the fact that he was Luvendi. He was able to approach people who might not speak to a human.
A crew member should offer more than that. Of course, Gar knew the real reason he was here, but in the long run, it was going to be awkward for everyone if he could not bring anything at all to the table.
What did he have as a Luvendi?
He stopped. He actually did have something useful.
“Shinigami, would you bring up the files we extracted from Lan’s computers?”
There was a pause and Gar assumed Shinigami was asking Barnabas what he thought of the request, but a moment later one of the screens obligingly populated.
Gar sat down, tablet in hand, and began searching and making notes. He did not know very much about fighting, it was true. However, being Luvendi meant he had long ago learned to solve problems without fighting. A Luvendi out and about in the galaxy had to learn to defuse tense situations and achieve goals without physical violence.
Until recently, Gar had taken a lot of pride in his ability to do just that. Nonetheless, since joining Barnabas aboard the Shinigami he had become frustrated with how roundabout his own methods were. Barnabas tended to solve problems very directly, while Gar simply could not.
Now his roundabout methods might be able to help.
Gar was still deep in his research when Barnabas came back into the room. His hair was not precisely its former color, although it was close, and his eyes were back to blue. Gar wondered how he had changed the eye color but decided not to ask. Though most species seemed to have only a single pupil in their eyes, Gar had never gotten used to the appearance of it. He tried to avoid thinking about other species’ eyes, in fact. He shuddered slightly.
“What are you looking at?” Barnabas asked curiously.
“Lists of the Luvendi I know who are part of the company your Empress bought. Luvendan itself is large, but Luvendi who are out in the wider universe tend to know one another. There aren’t very many of us. I knew some, and Lan knew some others.”
Barnabas looked at the screen, then raised an eyebrow to ask for clarification.
“Luvendi tend to manage things,” Gar explained. “We handle the details of other people’s businesses because we can’t do manual labor. The ones who have found jobs off Luvendan are very good at it. Lan ran quite a profitable mine, for instance. Before I worked for him, I managed an information broker’s staff.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that the Luvendi could be a good asset to you. Getting the cooperation of a Luvendi in any of the businesses you’re looking at would mean we would get the inside information about their cash flow, their associates, and their locations—everything. That’s
the first thing.”
“And the second thing?” Barnabas took a seat and propped his elbows on his knees. To Gar’s relief, he seemed interested instead of dismissive.
“From word of mouth and, well…knowing Lan, I can tell which of these people might be involved in shady things. Things your Empress—”
“She’s not the empress anymore,” Barnabas murmured.
Gar scowled in annoyance. “It’s not the Empire anymore, and you’re not a Ranger. You all say things like that, but you haven’t given me any other terms to work with.”
“Well, the Federation—”
“He has a point,” Shinigami interrupted. “I’ve taken to calling you ‘Vigilante One.’” Barnabas frowned. “You knew what he meant anyway,” Shinigami stated flatly. “Ignore him, Gar. Tell us more about your shady friends.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“They’re people you would have associated with before meeting me,” Barnabas reminded him.
“Yes.” Gar held his tongue rather than justify his earlier actions. “There is a difference between a business associate and a friend, however. These people were my rivals. They would think they still are if I were to contact them. We were all competing for the most lucrative jobs.”
“Whilst ignoring the effects those jobs had on others.”
Again Gar held his tongue, answering with a simple, “Yes.”
Barnabas thought Stephen would be impressed. When Barnabas had first met Gar and the Luvendi had run from him Barnabas had held him in complete contempt, but even in the first meeting he had seen something unusual in Gar.
He was willing to face his past mistakes. He did not protest or make excuses.
It was one of the reasons Barnabas believed Gar could atone for his past wrongs.
