“Nah. You’d have to do better than that to keep my interest. We recently had this fellow as a passenger, so I’m inured to sexy men right now.” Bonita selected one of the pictures where Asger was dressed in nothing but an artfully placed bunch of leaves and turned it so her pirate would see it.
She lowered it in time to catch a startled look on his face. He quickly masked it, the cool sardonic expression returning.
“He appears young for you,” Johnny said.
“I like younger men.” She wriggled her eyebrows at him, guessing he was a good ten years her junior.
“I’m sure I have more experience than that puppy. But let us talk of work before pleasure, yes? I’ve been authorized to offer twenty thousand for the return of Qin Three.”
Bonita leaned back in her pod, pretending to debate the offer. “Why do the Druckers want her so badly? Don’t they have a bunch of others?”
“Each of those girls is worth ten trained soldiers in a fight. Just yesterday, I watched one of them stomp Jeb Drucker in the sparring ring, and he’s modded up to android levels.” Johnny smiled tightly, as if the sight hadn’t displeased him. “Further, there’s a matter of saving face. It’s not the Druckers’ way to look bad by losing things that belong to them.”
“Who would even know?”
“They would know. Others close to them would know. It’s enough.”
“Will she be treated acceptably once she’s returned? I’m not heartless. She’s been a good worker for me. I need the money, I’ll admit—who doesn’t?—but I don’t want to turn her over if she’s to be tortured or punished for leaving.”
“She’ll be treated the same as before. The Druckers want loyal warriors, not super soldiers with a taste for vengeance.”
Apparently, they didn’t think taking those girls to bed could instill a thirst for the latter. Sometimes, Bonita wished Qin was the vengeful type. Instead, she seemed to accept her lot in life and only turned on her killer instincts when she was fully engaged in battle.
No, that wasn’t completely true. She had fled the pirates once, after all. She didn’t want to be with them.
“I’ll sell her back for twenty-five thousand, and whoever you send to collect her will have to agree to a neutral meeting place of my choosing.”
“Whoever we send? Why, I plan to come personally, dear Captain. Perhaps, after we’ve completed the transaction, you would be willing to join me for a drink.”
“If everything goes without a hitch and you people don’t try to betray me, then I would absolutely have a drink with you.” Maybe this could go both ways. If he truly was interested in her and wasn’t feigning that, maybe if she promised him a date, he would be less likely to set up a double-cross. It was a lot to hope for, but she found herself smiling and saying, “Maybe more than a drink.”
“More than a drink? Whatever do you have in mind?”
“You seem a vaguely educated man. Perhaps we could talk about our favorite books together.”
“Vaguely?” His eyebrows rose. “Dear Captain, I am a trained accountant. Not only am I well-read, but I can rub numbers together in the most enticing way.”
“Number rubbing? What exactly does that look like?”
“Show up without that calendar, and I’ll show you. What neutral meeting place do you propose?”
“Death Knell Station.”
Johnny snorted. “How is that neutral? The Amigos are likely allies of yours, and they are enemies of the Druckers.”
“I had to tilt the odds in my favor, since you have a warship and a crew of four hundred, and I have a freighter with little more than Viggo to assist me.”
“Viggo? A man? Are you married, Laser? If so, my disappointment will be as intense as a tidal wave. Unless you and your husband have an open relationship, in which case, I’ll gladly rub things for you.”
“I thought you only rubbed numbers.”
“I’m versed in many types of rubbing. Does that excite you?”
“I’ll be excited by twenty-five thousand Union dollars in my account and nobody stabbing a dagger in my back.”
“At Death Knell Station,” he said, his tone flat.
“Yes. The alley behind the Fiery Comet restaurant across from Docks and Locks.”
“Very well. I’ll send the date and time that we can get a ship there.” He smiled slightly. “I look forward to showing you how well I rub.” He reached for the button to turn off his comm but paused to add, “I refer to numbers, of course.”
“Of course.”
The comm ended.
Bonita shook her head. “I do believe that man intends to double-cross me.”
“Don’t you intend to double-cross him?” Viggo asked.
“Yes. So, we’ll end up with a quadruple cross, and that always gets complicated and messy.”
“Perhaps it’s fortunate you’re meeting someone who’s adept with numbers then.”
Bonita sighed. “I doubt it.”
She would have preferred to meet with someone who came across as a thug and an idiot. Despite Johnny’s barbed-wire tattoos, she feared he was neither. And that made him far more dangerous.
It was well into the morning cycle—Casmir had slept longer than he’d planned—and the warship was less than two hours from the wormhole gate out of System Lion when he found Kim in a large multi-purpose recreational room next to the Osprey’s gym. She was in a sparring area, wielding two wooden batons of similar length to the kendo bokken she practiced with back home. Her opponent, Asger, attacked and defended with a wooden staff the length of his extended pertundo.
They sprang into and out of each other’s range, the clacks of the practice weapons ringing from the walls as they attempted to make contact. Each wore padded armor and light shoes instead of their galaxy suits. Judging by the other men and women in the gym, that was typical in here.
Casmir waved for Zee to stay by the door and walked to the side of their circular arena, lights in the deck defining the space and blinking and buzzing if anyone stepped over the boundary. He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to wait patiently and admire their speed and agility—they both had the grace of natural athletes who had practiced their craft for years, if not decades—but he mostly hoped they would notice him and take a break so he could ask Kim about bees.
“She’s pretty good, huh?” said a young man coming to stand beside Casmir. His gray T-shirt only said Fleet in capital letters and didn’t hint to his name or rank. “You’d expect a knight to have serious fighting skills, but not a biologist.”
“Her family runs a kendo studio.”
“I heard she beat up one of your would-be assassins that escaped during the power shutdown.”
Casmir blinked. He hadn’t talked to Kim much since his return—in addition to wanting to ask for this favor, he hoped to get an update on whether she’d found anything from his swab or that strand of hair—and was chagrined to hear that she might have been in danger. Especially if it was because someone had wanted to get at him. Again.
A heavy blow from Asger sent Kim flying, even though she’d blocked it. She twisted in the air and managed to land on her feet.
Casmir had the urge to run into the arena and play peacemaker. Did they need to whack at each other hard enough to leave bruises—or broken bones?
He snorted at himself. He was definitely his mother’s son. Er, his adoptive mother’s son. He was still puzzled by the revelation that he’d been cloned from a legendary military admiral. And not one who’d served during peacetime. Mikita had almost singlehandedly won the Twelve Systems for the Star Kingdom.
Casmir needed to read more about the man now that he’d figured out as much as he could about the likely destination of that cargo ship. Maybe he should be doing that instead of trying to arrange for bacteriologically superior bees for Princess Oku. Though he had been waiting to read about Mikita in the encyclopedias and books kept in other systems. He hoped he wouldn’t regret that. What if what he read out there was unpala
table? What if Mikita had been far closer to the heartless killer Rache was than the caring professor that Casmir liked to think he was?
“That’s stellar,” the young man said, making encouraging gestures as Kim charged back in at Asger. “I’m Lieutenant Meister, Professor. We all appreciate you and Grunburg saving the ship from the bind it was in.” He stuck out his hand.
Casmir shook it. “It seemed like a good idea, since I didn’t want to stay in that shuttle indefinitely.”
“They can be claustrophobic.”
“It was more the lack of gravity that I objected to. My stomach doesn’t seem to be made for space travel.”
“No?” He looked curiously at Casmir. He had sandy blond hair and freckles that gave him a boyish look despite broad shoulders and a fit build. “I’m a historian. Both of my parents are scholars back in Zamek.”
“I didn’t know the Fleet had a military occupational specialty for historians.” Casmir didn’t recognize Meister’s face or name but wondered if he should. The lieutenant was looking at him as if he was familiar to him. Had they gone to the same university?
“Oh, they don’t. I’m in Intelligence. But I’m working on an advanced degree from Zamek University while I serve. I was stationed on Jotunheim Station for a year for a diplomatic mission, and I took a few classes at the university there. Zamek is being snooty and not letting me transfer the credits.”
“Well, it is another nation’s education system. As far as I’ve heard, there’s not a lot of standardization across the systems as far as university requirements go.”
Casmir shifted his weight and wriggled his fingers when Kim glanced at him. He didn’t want to interrupt her training, but he did want to get an answer back to Oku as soon as possible. He wondered what she’d thought of the crusher-android conversation. Had sharing that been odd? Maybe she would think it had been an accidental upload. What had seemed whimsical the night before seemed a strange choice now, considering he had been messaging royalty.
“I think they just want me to pay more for their credits.” Meister smirked wryly.
“Did you take any history classes while you were at Jotunheim Station? That’s in System Hydra, right?” Casmir realized he might have someone right here who knew something about Admiral Mikita, the rest of the galaxy’s version of him, not the edited-to-suit-the-Kingdom’s-tastes version.
“I did, actually. Military history and early colonial politics.” There was that curious look again.
Was that why he thought he recognized Casmir? Because he’d seen the same pictures in history books that Qin had seen?
“I’ve also studied the history of the pirate families and some of the newer independents.” Meister raised his eyebrows. “That being as much for my work as for my education.”
“Of course.” Casmir smiled innocently, though he worried about what those elevated eyebrows might signal.
Maybe it wasn’t that Meister recognized him as an Admiral Mikita lookalike but a Rache one. Did all of Royal Intelligence know who Rache truly was these days? Would they have shared that information with Military Intelligence?
Casmir remembered Jager’s warning for him to stay away from Rache, that in order for him to be useful to the Kingdom, he had to be trustworthy. What if there were Intelligence officers on the ship—such as Meister—who were filled in on everything and had been ordered to keep an eye on Casmir?
“The pirate families sound particularly heinous,” Casmir said, hoping to divert the man’s attention from Rache, if that was indeed who Meister had in mind as a newer independent. “I have a friend who’s trying to find a way to escape their interest right now.”
“Qin Liangyu Three?”
“Yes.” Casmir forced himself to keep a smile on his face, though he now had more evidence to support his hypothesis that this guy had been completely filled in on all things related to Casmir. “Have you met her? She’s a sweet girl.”
“That’s not how she looks in the picture I’ve seen.”
“Did the picture not show her holding one of her unicorn candles with freshly painted fingernails? Er, claws?”
“No, it was from security footage at the royal air harbor as she slung an intruder over her shoulder as if he weighed ten pounds.”
“That was a bounty hunter trying to capitalize on her reward. I hope his hospital stay went well and that he didn’t suffer too many ill effects from self-tranquilizing himself numerous times. Though maybe it’s not technically self-tranquilizing if the drone you programmed does it.”
“He was sent off to a penal colony for having worked with the Black Star terrorists.”
“Ah. Better than being dead, I suppose.”
“I’m going to assume you haven’t been to a penal colony.” Meister, who had seemed affable and innocuous early on, narrowed his eyes, as if to imply Casmir might end up in one if he didn’t play his role satisfactorily.
“No. Is it worse than Ishii’s computer closet here?”
“There’s mental rehabilitation in addition to physical labor. Speaking of pirates, we’ve been trying to capture Captain Tenebris Rache and dump him into a penal colony for years.” Meister waved his hand, as if the comment was meant to be casual and apropos of nothing, but Casmir had no doubt it was very, very intentional.
“Oh? I’d heard the goal was to assassinate him.”
Meister’s eyes sharpened. “Is that what he told you?”
“What? No. He’s barely told me anything about anything when our paths have crossed.”
“I understand they’ve crossed often of late.”
“You go into space, and you run into pirates. I think that’s just what happens.” Casmir shrugged and spread his arms, also striving for casualness, even though he was positive Zee would point out his increased respiratory rate if he were close enough to do so. “The travel and tourism brochures fail to mention that aspect.”
“Royal Intelligence believes he’s after the gate and will try to get to it ahead of us.”
“He did try to claim it for himself once.” Casmir grimaced, imagining him and Rache ending up working at odds with each other again. He remembered their handshake, after they’d both climbed out of the rubble in that base, and wished… He wasn’t sure what. That they could be friends and brothers? Some siblings found that challenging even when one wasn’t a heinous criminal. He just wished they didn’t have to be enemies.
“And is likely to do so again.” Meister smiled, but his eyes were intent as he added, “Will you have any trouble fighting him if we end up battling his mercenaries to get to it first?”
“Fighting him? Do I look like someone who successfully picks fights with a lot of people?” Casmir waved at himself—he was certain he was the smallest male in the gym, in weight if not in height and weight—and then waved at Asger, offering him up for comparison.
Meister looked toward Zee. “You can sic your robot on him.”
“I have done that before, but I truly hope Captain Ishii’s plan doesn’t hinge on sending me into a combat situation.” Casmir’s stomach twisted at the idea of even being on the Osprey if the Fleet went into battle with Rache’s Fedallah, but surely, he couldn’t be held responsible for anything that happened if the ships fought each other. Though he would feel strange if he was forced to watch his clone brother’s demise from across the intervening space. Why couldn’t Rache find a new hobby and leave the gate to Jager?
A hypocritical thought, since Casmir hadn’t been willing to leave the gate to Jager. Not last time. This time, he would stay out of it, do what he had to do in order to return to his home a free man.
“I imagine Captain Ishii will do whatever is most likely to cause this mission to succeed.”
Casmir decided he didn’t need to break out in a cold sweat at the thought of being marched into battle against his brother’s mercenaries. At the most, Ishii might order him to send Zee along with a boarding party. Even that made his stomach squirm again, the idea of commanding Zee to help against Ra
che. To help kill Rache. Because that was what their goal would be, not to simply keep him from getting the gate, but to eliminate him as a threat to the crown.
A couple of big men walked up, bare-chested and gleaming with sweat, and Casmir had an excuse not to reply. Though he wasn’t sure their presence was an improvement.
The men stopped next to Casmir and Meister, looming over both of them. Casmir groped for something witty to say, his instincts and past experiences telling him that interest from beefy men was never a good thing. They didn’t want to beat him up for some reason, did they? He didn’t think he’d bumped into anyone or inadvertently knocked a towel off a hook on the way in.
Casmir readied a finger, prepared to wave for Zee to come loom over them.
One man wiped his palm on his damp trousers, looked at it, rubbed it on his friend’s equally damp shirt—this earned him a punch that would have knocked Casmir on the deck, but which he didn’t seem to feel—then stuck it out toward Casmir.
“Glad to have you aboard, Professor.”
“Oh.” Casmir was so startled by the pleasant words that it took him a moment to add, “Thank you,” and clasp the hand, his own dwarfed by it, and accept the hearty shake. It was so far from the introduction he’d expected that he didn’t worry about the fact that neither of the man’s attempts to dry his palm had been successful.
“I’m Sergeant Kofler. That’s Corporal Juric. You let us know if anyone gives you trouble while you’re here.”
“What if Captain Ishii gives me trouble?” Casmir didn’t think that would happen, not now that Ishii had deigned to give him a bed to sleep in, but his was the first name that popped into mind.
The sergeant’s forehead furrowed.
“You let us know if anyone lower in rank than us gives you trouble,” he amended.
Casmir smiled. “Thank you. I will.”
“We heard those idiots from the mess tried to kill you. For some stupid bounty they probably wouldn’t have even gotten. If that happens again, you let us know.” The corporal pounded a fist into his palm hard enough that Casmir jumped.
Crossfire (Star Kingdom Book 4) Page 15
