Davis swiftly produced his gun and prodded Yercer and his men forward with such force that Lilly didn’t have to intervene. While she was sure Davis wanted to bed Brand, he was still professional enough to recognize the situation before it had gotten out of hand. Assisting the newer deputies was a required part of the job. With the high turnover in staff, either due to death or simply because being a deputy didn’t pay that well, Lilly needed the newbies trained fast, and she depended on the veterans to step up when needed.
The streets of Naillik were crowded in the midday rush. Hovercraft and wheeled transports jostled for space down the main street. Pedestrians scuttled between vehicles and building entrances under the protection of sun-brellas—the ultra UV-resistant umbrellas that could double as weapons when necessary.
For a town of only twenty-six thousand citizens, it shouldn’t be this crowded, but the actual number was five times higher if you considered all of the mining establishments and camps within Naillik’s territory. The population along the Rim was something conveniently left out of the discussion when Tim had initially accepted the job of sheriff ten years ago. Not that it would have changed his mind any.
Back then, in happier times, just after they’d gotten married, Tim had been fired up over his new job. His sense of right and wrong had come directly from his upbringing, since both of his parents had served in the military. He wanted to create a safe haven in this backwater corner of the galaxy that even families could inhabit. She was honoring his ambition after his death by taking up the role of sheriff. Sure, she couldn’t envision this place ever being family-friendly, but that didn’t make the bad guys good. She just wanted to tip the balance on the side of justice and give as many bastards as possible what they deserved before she relinquished the job.
A couple with two kids shuffled along the sidewalk, slow enough to catch her attention. At least two, the mother and son, had the Rot. Dried blood streaked their faces below their nostrils. Hell, the father and daughter probably had it as well.
Roars from across the street yanked her attention away. The ruckus was coming from inside a small bar, the Lost Last, which most patrons called the Double L—a lot easier to say when you were drunk. The doors burst open and a small crowd rumbled onto the street, hollering and cheering.
“Another fight?” Brand asked.
“Well, it is Tuesday.” Lilly rolled her eyes at Brand’s nonplussed expression. “There’s a fight at the Double L every day.”
“Should we stop it?” her newest deputy asked.
“Have at it.” Lilly strode toward the prisoners. They were craning their necks, trying to watch the fight with the glee of inmates observing an in-prison riot.
“That’s the difference between you pussy Nailliks and those of us who live in Bane,” Yercer said, sidling as close to her as his restraints allowed. “We like a good fight.”
Lilly jammed her elbow into his ribs, urging him to back off.
“You’re right.” She grinned. “That was good.”
He growled at her but didn’t attempt anything stupid.
The crowd had grown to almost a hundred as passersby stopped to watch. This was a bad look for Naillik. Lilly didn’t want to see her town turn into another Bane—a lawless city in a constant state of chaos. This kind of crap was bad for business, even hers.
She never thought she’d want to be someone who owned, or even had a partial stake in, a saloon, a brothel, and a hotel. But, she couldn’t be sheriff forever. And she had to admit, when she and Tim had bought into the Red Lady, it had provided more revenue than being the sheriff did, or ever would. And luckily, it was a classier joint than the Double L, and easily brought in more than ten times its revenue. Now that she was on her own, with a lot of dangerous enemies, she had to look after herself because sure as hell no one else would.
She glanced at Yercer, who eyed her as if he wanted to crack her skull open.
“Both of you, go stop that fight,” Lilly said to her deputies. “I’ve got these guys.”
“Think you can control all of us?” one of Yercer’s lackeys piped up.
Lilly held up a remote and, without hesitation, pushed a button to shoot an electrical current through all of their restraints. She was egalitarian like that.
They writhed in pain, tugging their wrists in the electrified handcuffs.
“Pretty sure,” she replied.
“Stop it,” one whimpered.
She removed her finger from the remote button.
Recovering quickly, Yercer stepped toward the idiot who’d spoken and, before Lilly could separate them, headbutted the lackey, hard enough to produce a loud thud. The guy staggered around dizzily, threatening to pull them all down with him. Including his boss.
Lilly grinned, finding it both amusing and predictable whenever a criminal’s ego and ire overrode his reason.
“OK, Sheriff,” Davis agreed. “We’ll take care of the brawl.” He strode off, tugging Brand after him.
Lilly, meanwhile, led her four prisoners into the building. The last thing she heard was Brand using her amplified comms unit to yell at the crowd, her precise accent cutting sharply through the air, followed by an unusual, awed silence. She shrugged. Maybe her new recruit would get the hang of this after all. That was good. With Yercer intent on sucking all her attention, she would need all the help she could get.
Chapter 7
REMY
The ship was eerily quiet as Remy and Newman rushed through the carbon-alloyed passageways. They could hear little beyond their own footsteps and the humming of the ambience controllers and life support. Without the normal sound of human voices, the thump of the air coolers sounded like the Jay’s heartbeat.
“It has to be either Joss or Abrams,” Newman said in a tense whisper behind Remy.
“Reckon you’re on to something there,” Remy said. “Seeing as they’re the only other crew members an’ all.”
He pressed the control button to open the outer door of the medbay corridor, his gun poised to shoot. This was the most likely place for an ambush.
The inner corridor was empty.
“Course, seeing as they’re inseparable,” Remy continued in a murmur, “it’s most likely both.”
It was hard to believe that Redi Abrams, his top-notch mechanic, would’ve chosen the mutinous path. He was one of the more reliable fixers in the Belt. Of course, Remy had steadily shifted more responsibilities to Dreyla, which he knew Abrams didn’t like. But Remy had little choice: she was twice as smart as the much older man.
The reclusive burglar, Urgon Joss, was a different story. While he was tight with Abrams, he’d never really ingratiated himself with the rest of the crew. Damn, though, the man could get into anything… any lock, safe, building, or ship. Was he the type that would kill a fellow crew member? If honest with himself, Remy knew the answer.
He and Newman didn’t even reach the medbay before Tosh staggered out, his grizzled face and gray, straw-like hair looking wilder than ever.
Remy grabbed the old man’s forearm. “You hurt, Doc?”
“Nearly, but no,” Tosh panted. “Joss and Abrams are headed to the cargo bay.” With a quavering finger, he needlessly indicated the direction.
“Get back inside,” Remy said, nudging him toward the medbay. “No arguing.” He turned to his other crewmate. “Come on, Newman.”
Dammit!
Of course, the mutineers would’ve gone to the cargo bay—where the loot was. If he’d been thinking straight, he would’ve headed there first. Now running through the passageways, he and Newman were approaching the cargo bay fast, and he had no plan other than to shoot first and ask questions later.
Just as he pressed the entrance button, a plasma blast hit the wall, way too close to his left hand. Sparks shot off the metallic surface and whipped across his fingers. Remy jerked his Colt in the direction of the shooter and motioned Newman to slip behind him.
Abrams stood in the middle of the cargo bay, his bald head and muscula
r shoulders poking out over the large pallet of Teez chips. It took Remy a few moments to adjust to the reality of his mechanic as the enemy. His dark eyes reflected a mean emptiness, as if the two of them were strangers, as if he hadn’t worked with Remy these past two years and had his ass saved by the captain on more than one occasion.
So much for gratitude.
“Cover me!” Remy yelled to Newman and dove into the cargo bay.
He slammed against the wall behind a giant stack of smuggling crates as Abrams took repeated shots at him. Remy was grateful the containers were made of the strongest alloy he could afford.
But where was the other mutineer? His gaze darted around the bay. If Joss were here, he wouldn’t be sitting by idly. He must be headed to the bridge.
Damn it. Remy had to get back.
“Come out in the open, Captain. Do this like a man,” Abrams said in a voice Remy hardly recognized.
“I’m nice and cozy just where I am,” Remy snarled back.
A barrage of shots hit the wall behind him. As with the rest of his ship, the inner walls of the cargo bay had seen better days and weren’t exactly blast-proof. Hopefully, the Jay would hold up.
Through a slit between crates, he could see Abrams moving back and forth, as if trying to get a good angle.
“You don’t have to do this, Abrams,” Remy called out. “Look, if this is a comment on my leadership, hell, I get it. I can be an ass sometimes. Why don’t I give you a raise?”
Abrams let off another volley of shots, making the crates tremble. “This is a whole lot bigger than you, Capt’n. It ain’t personal.”
The shots knocked a crate off the top of the pile. The metal-alloy box collided with Remy’s arm as it toppled to the floor, sending white-hot pain through his bones. He unleashed a howl. This was starting to feel very personal indeed.
“You ain’t got long, Capt’n,” came the mechanic’s voice, laced with a note of satisfaction. “Sorry it’s gotta end like this. See, Larker never wanted you to succeed with the job, and if you did, me and Joss were to make sure you didn’t make it back alive, even if the shipment did.”
Remy blinked in pain and amazement. He always knew his boss, Larker Max, was the scum of the universe, but this was low even by his standards.
A movement behind him made him twist his gun around to the entrance. Newman hovered by the side of the doorway.
Before Remy could yell at him, Abrams shot at his new target. Newman bent over, clutching his shoulder.
Abrams advanced toward his wounded crewmate, who hadn’t yet sought cover. Remy jumped up to block him and pushed over a wall of crates, which tumbled to the floor. There was a loud crash, followed by a muffled yell, as the crates swallowed Abrams up. But judging by a movement within the heap a few seconds later, it hadn’t killed him. Unfortunately.
“Allow me,” Newman said, brushing past Remy to inspect the pile of crates.
“No,” Remy shouted, lowering the Colt and reaching out to grasp Newman.
Like a manic jack-in-the-box, Abrams poked out and shot Newman at close range. Remy’s gunner also managed to get a shot off, right in the mechanic’s forehead, but then he, too, collapsed.
Remy dove forward to catch Newman. Spotting a large, ragged hole in the older man’s chest, Remy knew: Tosh wouldn’t be able to patch him up.
He looked sorrowfully into Newman’s gray eyes, which gradually grew duller.
Newman whispered his last two words, and then his head lolled, lifeless, to the side. His final words turned Remy’s blood cold.
“Hurry. Dreyla.”
Chapter 8
DREYLA
Dreyla let loose a string of colorful curses as she stood before the Jay’s power display along the rear wall of the bridge. No one was around to hear her anyway. It wouldn’t help to bring the main power back online, but it sure did make her feel better.
What the hell?
Even the backup units wouldn’t come on, and unfortunately, she couldn’t fix any of them from here.
“Abrams disconnected the main power coupling in the engine room,” Urgon Joss said, sauntering onto the bridge.
Dreyla turned at the sound of his voice. His thin cheeks stretched into a macabre grin as he stood with hands on hips, watching her.
Her blood froze. The situation was suddenly clear. All the life force seemed to drain from her body, and she had to compel her legs to take deliberate steps toward her nav console. It was her only hope.
“Don’t even bother trying to contact the captain.” Joss stepped closer. “He’s dead by now… the ship is ours.”
“You piece of shit,” she hissed.
Dead. The captain? No, it’s not possible.
She hurled herself at the console, slapping on the comms button with the heel of her hand. “Captain, you need…”
A whack against her jaw made everything turn black. Next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the ground, clutching at the floor plates, aching from the impact. Her eyes watered, but primal instincts of rage guided her now. She jerked her chin up. Joss was charging at her again.
His hands reached under her arms as if to hoist her up. Kicking furiously to hide her intentions, she slid her emergency blade out of its hidden pocket on her hip. Then she stopped moving, twisted, and took deft slices at Joss’s forearm. A deep red gash appeared across his flesh.
He roared. His grip on her armpits slackened and she wriggled out. He stared at the cut as if he couldn’t believe what she’d done, but then his face clouded over and he gave her a death glare. She braced herself, gripping her blade’s handle still tighter behind her back. If she was going to die, at least she’d go down fighting.
With one outstretched arm dripping with blood, Joss lunged at her. This time, she bent low and sank the blade into his thigh, piercing through the thick overalls. He shrieked and howled, grasping the inflicted leg, but he didn’t have the guts to pull the blade out. Dreyla straightened up and shuffled backwards, heading toward the comms unit again.
His hand flashed in her periphery before it collided with her skull with such force it toppled her over, making her crash helplessly against the steel-edged panel of the nav console.
Through the mist of pain, she could see he was about to take the blade out of his thigh. The menacing light in his eyes was more animal than human. She couldn’t believe she’d had civil conversations about engine diagnostics and power conversions with this guy earlier in the day.
His grasping motions halted at the sound of footsteps clattering on the corridor to the bridge.
He isn’t dead!
Using the diversion, Dreyla clambered to her feet. But Joss was quicker. He grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and tugged her back into his chest, just as Remy entered the bridge. His strong fingers dug into her collarbone, and she could smell his awful breath.
She met Remy’s eyes for a fraction of a second before he moved his gaze to Joss.
“Abrams is dead,” the captain said. “Your little mutiny is over.”
She felt the cool tip of Joss’s gun pressing against her temple. She tried, for Remy’s sake, not to look like she was ready to throw up with fear.
“You don’t get it, Bechet,” Joss sneered in his nasally voice. “But you’re done. Larker set this whole thing up. He wanted you dead.”
Remy’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She knew the captain was using the talking tactic, to buy time, or maybe because the info was important. But he didn’t know how unhinged Joss had become. She tried to signal him with her eyes, but other than blinking rapidly, she couldn’t think how else to convey shoot now!
“Too many of the other crews started looking to you,” Joss continued. “Larker Max doesn’t like competition.”
“I never wanted what he has,” Remy grunted.
“I told him that, told him you were weak… that you would only kill to protect your people, not to finish a job.”
Joss shoved his fist against Dreyla’s spine, making it cle
ar he wanted her to move. She pressed back with all her weight, slowing their path toward the exit. Every second counted.
“That’s why I’m gonna walk this little tart to the cargo bay,” Joss said with another belligerent shove. “And she and I, and the Teez, are going out through the airlock.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Dreyla spat. She may as well play the info extraction game, too.
“He’s got ships coming in,” Remy answered coolly for him. “I’m assuming that if you didn’t take the ship, you’d just drop out and be retrieved by one of them.”
“So, you ain’t as dumb as you look,” Joss said.
“That’s up for debate.” Remy gave him a sardonic smile. “But I can’t let you take her.”
“Got no choice.” Joss stepped closer to the exit, shoving her along. “We both know you won’t risk the girl’s life, so as long as I got her, you ain’t doin’ shit.”
Dreyla threw Remy a desperate look. Joss was right. Remy wouldn’t take the shot while he had her. She wanted to be all heroic and scream, “Never mind me!” but she really, really didn’t want to die. And definitely not like this.
“Who’s coming for you?” Remy asked, edging closer to Joss.
“An old friend of yours is heading this way. Personally, I find her even scarier than Larker.” Joss let out a low chuckle of relish.
Dreyla knew exactly which old friend Joss meant. The woman who would like nothing more than to unceremoniously blast off Remy’s arm, which was, in fairness, what he’d done to her, and who, once she’d finished blasting off other appendages, would eventually kill him. Possibly by disembowelment.
“So, you’re working for that bitch,” Remy stated rather than asked.
Joss nodded. “She pays a hell of a lot more than you do.”
“Can’t enjoy that money,” Remy said slowly, “if you’re dead.”
The quirk in Remy’s tone tipped Dreyla off. Following his gaze, she reached down and grabbed the handle of the blade still sticking out of her captor’s thigh and gave it a ruthless twist. He hollered in pain. His vise grip on her loosened so she could duck down below his shoulders.
Galactic Blues - A Newton's Gate Serial: Born Under a Bad Sign Page 3
