Quantum

by Jess Anastasi

  Lucie nodded, her expression troubled. “I know, and believe me, we’re all aware of the risks we take. But Qae has a way of convincing you that risking your neck for the greater good is worth the possible consequences.”

  The congratulatory part of the men’s conversation had moved on to backslapping. Yeah, Forster could be one charming son of a bitch, especially if he could fool people who should have been arresting him.

  “How much do you know about Sarolta?”

  The sudden change in the direction of conversation threw Mae, but nonetheless, she thought over the few bits she’d heard. There were hundreds of planets under IPC jurisdiction, a handful still holding out independence since the Assimilation Wars. Apart from the few planets she’d traveled to in her life, it was impossible to know about every single known or populated world.

  “It’s a poor mining planet, straddling the line of solvency by selling its resources to the IPC.”

  Lucie nodded. “Sarolta subscribes to IPC rule and government, but the planet has remained mostly independent, like a lot of the poorer outer worlds have. The IPC has a monopoly on buying Sarolta’s resources and pays them a pittance. A piece of critical equipment running Sarolta’s most profitable aluminum mine needed to be replaced. Sarolta’s government applied to acquire the equipment through a rental or loan arrangement, but the IPC refused on grounds of Sarolta’s questionable solvency. On the surface it all seems legit—Sarolta isn’t exactly flush with spare funds—but they could have paid for the equipment over time.”

  The IPC wasn’t perfect—what government was? But she hated the thought that an entire planet of people were getting screwed for the gain of an already wealthy institution.

  Lucie glanced over at Forster as the Ebony Winter’s captain walked with Sarolta’s leaders down the ship’s ramp while the hover pallet moved the crate out of sight.

  “So after denying Sarolta the equipment, the IPC warned that if they couldn’t afford the next round of quarterly governmental taxes, the IPC would step in and take control of Sarolta’s assets,” Lucie continued.

  And there was the punch line. Mae shook her head, disappointment rising within her even though she’d guessed how the story would end.

  “Without the main mine working, Sarolta won’t be able to afford the next quarter’s taxes, and the IPC could simply take over.” The totality of the situation left a sour sensation in her stomach.

  Lucie nodded, her expression grim.

  “And the crate you stole from the Isis Delta shuttle contains that critical piece of mining equipment, which Forster is not going to take credits for,” Mae concluded.

  “He’ll agree to some kind of trade so that the men can save face, but it’ll probably be something like a free berth and anonymity whenever we come by this region of space, or discounted goods.”

  “I see,” she murmured. And she really was starting to see—something she really hadn’t expected. “So there is actually a point to this madness. He’s not just some adrenaline-junkie badass space pirate.”

  “For the record—” Forster’s voice sounded just above her ear, and she spun with a short gasp. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to sneak up on her.

  “I hate being called a space pirate,” he finished, a wicked grin turning up the corners of his mouth. No doubt he’d enjoyed startling her.

  She leveled an unimpressed glare on him. “And why not? It’s an accurate description of your choice of career.”

  “An accurate description?” he repeated, making a face. “‘Space pirate’ is the most ridiculous-sounding thing I’ve ever heard. No self-respecting man could wear that title. I’ll stick with illegal salvager or handsome scoundrel, whichever you prefer.”

  “Space pirate it is, then.” She shot him her own insolent grin as he frowned at her.

  “You are a trying woman, Mae Petros.”

  “I’ve been telling her that for years.”

  Mae glanced past Forster at the familiar drawl to see Rian topping the ramp and crossing the cargo bay toward them, followed by Zahli, who practically ran over to greet Qae with a hug and affectionate exclamation.

  “Rian!” A hard swell of relief pounded through Mae, and she brushed by Forster and Zahli to hurry toward her old friend. Though she usually wasn’t one for being overemotional, after the trouble she’d faced simply trying to get to Rian, she could have quite happily thrown herself into his arms. Except Rian hated to be touched, so she forced firm control over the unusual impulse.

  As he stopped in front of her, Rian offered a short grin and opened his arms to her. She puffed out a short sigh, partly of relief and partly of surprise, then stepped into his embrace.

  “You had me worried for a while there, Petros.” Rian’s embrace was a little on the stiff side, his words gruff. Although anyone who didn’t know him would have missed it, she caught a sense of the raw emotion bubbling under the surface of his usual detached cynicism.

  “We had a few close calls, and if it hadn’t been for everything you’ve told me over the years, Zander and I definitely wouldn’t have made it this far.” She squeezed him tighter for a quick second then moved back.

  Rian sent her a reproachful look. “You’re a survivor, Mae. You always have been. I’m sure you would have been fine. Isn’t that right, Graydon?”

  Zander had come up behind her, casting a speculative glance between Rian and her. He’d still been sleeping when they’d landed around an hour ago, and she’d decided not to wake him before sneaking down for a bit of snooping. Though Zander seemed happy to see Rian, she’d gotten to know him well enough that she could see a shadow of tension in his easy expression.

  Okay, so she and Rian had history, and she didn’t just go around hugging anyone. But Zander didn’t need to pull any of that macho-jealous-possessive crap like he had when they’d boarded the Ebony Winter. Considering the weird pseudo–domestic bliss they’d fallen into over the last few days, did he really think she could be interested in anyone else?

  “I’ve never met anyone quite like her, that’s for sure,” Zander murmured, sending her an unreadable look. He clasped forearms with Rian, and the two men stepped in for a quick man hug complete with backslapping then parted.

  “And I am frecking glad to see you’re alive, Zander.” Rian shook his head slightly. “I assumed the worst when I realized the guy currently sitting at the helm of the Swift Brion wasn’t you.”

  Zander’s expression darkened. “About that. I hope you can help me take that bastard out and get my goddamn ship back.”

  “By the saints’ silkies, Graydon, all that in good time.” Forster moved in and clapped Zander on the shoulder. “First, we’re going to have a nice long discussion where Rian here tells me everything he knows about the Reidar, so next time one decides to sneak into my crew, I know what to do with the scum bastard.”

  …

  Though it was early by standard ship time, Rian accepted the beer Qae offered him while Zander declined, instead going over to the galley bench to make a couple of coffees.

  Rian glanced around the small communal room of the Ebony Winter, packed with Qae’s three crew, most of the Imojenna’s crew, and lastly Zander and Mae, who sat beside him on one of the half dozen or so stools along the bulkhead. His cousin’s smaller Sylph class ship made the Imojenna look like a luxury cruise liner. Sharing the larger ship with his sister, her fiancé, an Arynian priestess, and the other four crew members made him feel like a sardine a lot of days, so he didn’t know how Qae could stand flying about on a ship so small. Yep, he totally would have gone postal and vented himself and everyone else around him by now if he’d been stuck on a tin can this size.

  Truthfully, he’d been glad to get off the Imojenna when the Ebony Winter had landed on Sarolta the day after their own arrival. Trekking out, as dangerous as it always was, gave him a break from certain passengers and their penchant for Jasmynah tea, which permeated every frecking corner of his previously girly-scent-free ship.

&nb
sp; Rian knocked the top off his beer and glanced at Mae, who watched Zander approach with a cup of coffee in each hand. Oh, and like he hadn’t noticed how schmoozy the two of them seemed. It made him want to puke his biscuits, but if two of his oldest friends had found happiness and comfort in each other, then he wouldn’t begrudge them.

  “So, you’ve got a story to tell me,” he announced before taking a long swallow of the cold beer. “Tell me everything, right from the start.”

  The two of them shared a quick glance, then Mae launched into the story. The rest of the room’s occupants fell quiet as she got into the recount, with Zander throwing in an extra detail or two here and there. By the time they were finished, everyone was staring at them with varying degrees of awe and respect. He’d known Mae had skills, and maybe luck had played into parts of the equation, but damn, they’d done well to stay a step ahead of the Reidar this whole time. And the final move—slipping from the Isis Delta shuttle onto the Ebony Winter—had been a stroke of genius.

  “Now that we’ve told you about all that, it brings us around to this.” Zander set his empty coffee mug aside and produced a handgun.

  Rian accepted the weapon from Zander and cast a critical look over the piece. The gun almost looked like a pulse pistol, but it was a little heavier, a little more solid in his grasp. Still, as he held it up, he found it had a nice even weight, and the grip molded well against his palm, putting the trigger at a natural angle to his finger. Whoever had designed the weapon knew what they were doing.

  “What is it?”

  “It was supposed to be a painless type of stun gun.” One of Qae’s crew spoke up, the tall, lanky guy with an unruly mop of hair falling into his intelligent dark eyes. “But finding an electrical pulse that interrupts or shuts down the body’s system without hurting is near to impossible. The way it’s calibrated now, it won’t hurt anyone—well, any human.”

  “What do you mean, any human?” Rian traced a finger over the sleek design, a slight stirring of anticipation eddying low through his guts. Had they actually stumbled onto a weapon that could take those resilient bastards down in a single shot?

  “This is the part where things get a little hazy,” Mae put in. “For a few moments, it kind of stopped the Reidar in its tracks, and when he came at us again, whatever ability it used to shape-shift had stopped working. We saw its true face.”

  “And let me tell you”—Qae stood, slamming his empty beer bottle down on the counter and grabbing a full one—“that was some freaky shite. I mean, holy mother of crap balls, if I ever see one of them up close and personal again, it’ll be too soon. I shot the hell out of that thing at close range, and I still almost emptied my chamber before it went down and stayed there.”

  Rian clenched his fist around his own nearly empty beer as images rose unbidden—the Reidar scientists leaning over him while he was naked and strapped down to the hard metal table, not bothering to hide their true faces while they sliced and poked and prodded. Acid burned the back of his throat, and he shook his head, shoving the jagged pictures back into the far reaches of his mind where he never ventured if he could help it.

  “Yeah, unfortunately we discovered the hard way that the slimy bastards are frecking resilient.” Rian’s voice came out rough, so he cleared his throat and took a cleansing mouthful of beer. If only it was Violaine. He’d have to see if he could source a bottle or two while they were grounded on this piss-poor planet.

  “So we’re not really sure if it’s some weird fluke, but we’re hoping that the frequency of the electromagnetic wave disrupts the Reidar’s ability to hold a false form.” Mae gestured to Qae’s crew. “We tested the weapon on everyone else, and if it works the way we hope, it didn’t reveal any other impostors.”

  “But you don’t know for sure.” Rian rolled the empty beer bottle between his palms, letting the story sink in and the possible ramifications spin through his mind. “So what we need is to find another Reidar to test it on.”

  Zander crossed his arms, a scowl settling onto his features. “Obviously. But how are we supposed to do that?”

  Rian sighed, then stood and paced across the small galley. He set the bottle down on the counter with a slow movement and turned to face the room full of people looking at him with varying degrees of expectation. “I really hope I’m wrong, but I might have some ideas.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Rian.” As they entered Sarolta’s house of government, a ripple of unease surged through Zander when the doors closed behind them and various CP officers stood at attention around the lobby. Holy hell, he’d done some questionable things in his time, but today’s adventure—if they got through it in one piece—would be one for the ages.

  He wanted to say this was pretty much the most insane thing Rian had ever suggested, but it wouldn’t be true. His old war buddy had done some pretty crazy-ass things over the years. This would be one more in a long list of deranged, wacky plans.

  “You know how my luck runs, Zander, and part of me wants to be wrong. But odds say that the shape-shifting bastards have infiltrated every frecking corner of our universe.”

  “Well, that’s a comforting notion,” Forster murmured, a step ahead of them, leading their little party through the building.

  They passed through several security checkpoints, and with each one, the cold gripping Zander’s insides dug deeper claws into him. If this all went south…never mind the Reidar wanting to kill him, he’d be lucky to leave this building alive.

  At the last checkpoint, they had to relinquish their weapons. Zander took out the two pulse pistols he carried but left Chase’s Reidar stun gun pressed into his lower back, where he’d holstered it beneath his shirt. Forster had assured them that Sarolta’s security was piss weak and they wouldn’t bother to double-check. Sure, Forster was Rian’s cousin, but Zander still wasn’t sure how far he trusted the marauder. Old IPC habits died hard, he supposed, and depending on how this little jaunt turned out, it would confirm once and for all whether he could count Forster as an ally.

  Two CP officers led them down another short hallway and opened a set of double doors. Forster sent the men a nod and asked for the doors to be closed behind them. Rian surreptitiously palmed the lock on the side of the doorway and scrambled the codes using some device Tannin had given him.

  Inside the large room, which looked to be some sort of informal study or library, eight men in various types of IPC and government uniforms stood to greet them.

  “Captain Forster.” A man wearing presidential robes stepped forward. “You said you had something important you needed to share with us?”

  Forster nodded. “Yes, High President Hamilton. I’ll explain in a moment, but first, this is for your own good.”

  Zander swore as Forster yanked out the pistol Chase had given him and lined up the high president of Sarolta. The man’s eyes widened, but before he could make a sound, Forster shot him.

  Chaos erupted, spurring Zander and Rian to whip out their own guns. Without a word, they started at opposite ends of the loosely lined-up government officials, while Forster turned to two in the middle of the room. Most of the men simply looked stunned, the pulse of energy having no effect on them. All except for one on the far left, who’d collapsed to the floor.

  “What is the meaning of this?” High President Hamilton stuttered, smoothing unsteady hands over his chest. In the background, several fists pounded on the door, muffled shouts accompanying the noise.

  Rian shoved his stunner away again and drew the nucleon gun he’d smuggled in.

  “We’ll explain in a moment. First, tell us who that is.” Rian motioned with his gun, slowly moving in on the prone form.

  “That’s Ron Wagner, the trade minister.” The high president’s voice came out uneven.

  “The trade minister? Huh, wouldn’t have guessed that,” Rian murmured.

  The fallen man suddenly moved, rolling into a crouch with a fluid movement then sho
oting upright. A new wave of panic rolled through the room as the creature faced them, its scalelike skin glistening under the overhead lighting.

  Before it could make another move, Rian lit up with his nucleon gun, emptying the forty-round chamber into the creature’s chest at close range. After the barrage of gunfire, silence rang in the room, only broken by the clunk as Rian’s empty power cartridge hit the floor, followed by a solid chink as he loaded a new energy pack.

  “So, Chase’s Reidar gun works a treat.” Rian’s tone held a definite edge of grim satisfaction as he inched forward and kicked the splattered Reidar in the side. After a long second, he nodded and slipped the nucleon gun away. “You know, getting rid of the liquefying Reidar carcass after the fact has to be the least fun part of this.”

  “They liquefy?” Forster demanded, affecting an exaggerated shudder.

  Rian glanced at his cousin. “Yeah, real messy, real fast. What happened to the one on your ship?”

  Forster shrugged. “Vented about two minutes after I shot it.”

  “Any longer than that and you’d have needed a shovel and bucket.”

  Zander released a long, uneven exhale, the pressure in his chest telling him he’d been holding his breath and hadn’t even realized it.

  The high president of Sarolta had dropped into a nearby chair, his face washed of any color, while the remaining government officials had scattered to the far sides of the room. The CP officers in the hallway were still attempting to get in. Rian stepped over the dead alien and yanked a banner down from the wall then flicked it over the body.

  “Now, High President Hamilton, I’m going to let your oh-so-effective security detail back in here, and you’re going to tell them not to kill us. Also, make sure no one sees this body until it’s finished decomposing. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

  High President Hamilton cast a slow look between the now-covered alien and Rian, thumbs hooked into his weapons belt. The man blinked and seemed to snap out of his daze. He shot to his feet, a stain of red flushing his face.