But Rayna gave little away in any case. “Nothing’s improved, that’s for sure. There’s a killer on the loose, Rafe, and some kind of menace we don’t understand ready to break out somewhere in this galaxy. We need your father’s help.”
“I’ve explained before, Chief, Del’s beyond the point where he can help you. And I can’t, I can’t, allow a Thrane to put hands on him. He would never forgive me.”
“Okay.” Rayna’s defeated sigh was audible across the thousands of parsecs that separated them. “I can’t force this on you. At any rate, it wouldn’t have happened right away. Gabriel his team may have a lead on our killer; they’re following up. How about you think on this some more? Maybe you’ll have a change of heart.”
He dropped his formality at last. “I won’t change my mind, Rayna. You know why I can’t say yes to this.”
“I know.” There was sympathy in her voice now, and warmth in her expression. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
In the days following the disaster of the steam explosion, things were abnormally quiet in the labor camp. Work at the site was suspended for a time, except for robot exploration of the collapsed dome for purposes of re-engineering a new excavation. The men who had not been too badly injured in the explosion were tended in a makeshift med tent. Those who were deemed beyond saving were simply killed and buried. Other than those duties, the able-bodied slaves had little to do.
Del put his unaccustomed free time to use noting guard schedules, shuttle arrivals and departures, freight deliveries, and the movements of office personnel and of the warden. He kept all the data in his head, a facility he’d cultivated over his years in camps like this one. Shef liked to joke that he was buddies with a walking computer; Del just knew he was good with details.
“Do you realize these dumbasses bring a shuttle of party girls in here every 40 days?” He and Shef were digging yet another grave in the Potters’ Field back beyond the latrines. Kwai was harvesting herbs near the fence not far away. The guard who was supposed to be watching them had long ago fallen asleep in the paltry shade of a nearby building. Del didn’t blame him; the temperature must have been around 35 degrees Centigrade.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Shef stopping digging to stare at him. “You’ve seen them?”
Del shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard the shuttle. And a guy in the kitchens told me they get the cook crews to make ‘special dinners’ on those nights.”
“Ha! Special dinners? What do they have—slop under glass? Mush tartare?” Shef had a belly laugh at his own joke. Then he sobered up. “How many girls on that shuttle?”
“Ah. Now you’re getting my point,” Del said with a slow smile. “Not sure. But I doubt they’d come with a full complement of guards.”
“They do not.” Kwai had joined them, a clutch of healthy green plants in his hand. “We are discussing the shuttle that brings the women, are we not?”
Del considered the Apprentice of Dhar-Bey and his mysterious skill at divining secrets. “We are. What do you know about it?”
“It arrives every 40 risings, at precisely one segment past sunsleep,” Kwai answered. “It departs again at mid-day the next rising. There are no less than eight and no more than twelve women aboard each time. The shuttle carries one Gray pilot and two Ninoctin guards, one to stay with the craft, one to accompany the women. I have had no luck determining any details about the craft’s mother ship.”
“Well, damn!” Shef exclaimed. “You’ve been busy!”
Kwai shrugged. “There has been little to occupy my time.”
Del didn’t add that he’d determined much the same thing. “We have to find out what kind of ship brings them here—who’s aboard, how far she could take us.”
“You’re planning an escape.” Kwai looked at him evenly.
“Just considering my options.” Del would allow nothing more. He couldn’t let himself believe there was a way off this rock. Until the way was clear.
Charlie was a little surprised to see Del so bright and chipper on this gloomy morning. He greeted her from the great room with a big, fully-present, smile and held out his thin arms for a hug from Happy. Quite a contrast with his son, who stood brooding on the porch in the frigid morning air.
She said good morning to her client, then let Happy take over for a moment so she could talk to Rafe. “Hey. Your dad seems to be up-and-at-’em this morning. I’m guessing he slept well?”
The weight on Rafe’s shoulders seemed to lift a bit. “Yeah, actually, he did. Got through the whole night.”
“That’s great!” She watched as the frown settled back onto Rafe’s face. “How about you? You okay?”
“What?” He shook himself a little. “Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry, just preoccupied with some, uh, some work stuff.” He looked down at the mug in his hand and found it empty. “You want a cup of coffee? Or, uh, I guess you want tea. I can heat some water.”
“I can do it,” she said, following him into the kitchen.
“No, let me.” He gestured toward the dining table. “Sit down and take it easy before the Old Man has you running around.” He puttered at the sink and the stove, filling a tea kettle and putting it on the burner.
In the great room, Del was laughing at a re-run of Family Feud. Happy danced in excitement at Del’s side, glanced at Charlie, then planted his butt, as if he knew he was ever so slightly out of line.
Charlie feared she might be poking the bear with Rafe, but she was curious. “You’re still working?”
He kept his back to her for a long moment, fiddling with a teabag and her cup. “Yeah, well, I still consult with the district where I used to work. Just from time to time, on the phone and by email. Keeps a little cash coming in, you know.” He turned at last and brought her the tea. By this time, he had a smile on his face.
She decided not to push it, though that smile was not a bit convincing. “I get it. And I guess you can still get caught up in the cases.” Maybe she wanted to push it just a little.
He exhaled a puff of air. “Yeah. I guess you can.”
“I get that, too.” She smiled at him, and—wait, was that a reaction? Her heart skittered. What the hell, this is as good a time as any. “You know, I’ve been thinking you might like to get out and have some time to yourself now and then.”
He looked at her like she’d grown another head. “I go out when you’re here. I hike around the property. I do things in town.”
Not what she meant. “Yep, absolutely. But, uh, I thought maybe you’d like to go out to dinner some night.”
Again with the look. “I couldn’t ask you to stay that long.”
This wasn’t going well. How long had it been since she’d done this dating thing? Effectively forever. And hadn’t the guys done the asking back in the day? Oh, hell.
“No.” She crushed the urge to run a hand through her hair. “I guess what I’m asking is, would you go out with me. Not like a date or anything, just, I don’t know, friends, pizza and beer, that kind of thing, you know.” She sputtered to a stop, her face reddening. Rafe was still staring at her with that look of bewilderment on his face, as if she had asked him what the square root of blue was. Then she thought of saying, “I have a good friend who could stay with Del.”
Rafe tilted his head, looking for all the world like Happy when given a new command. “You think we should go out? Without—” he turned around to make sure Del was still fascinated by the antics of the feuding families— “without the Old Man?”
“That’s the idea, yes.” God, she was shaking. This really shouldn’t be that hard.
And, for a long moment—long enough to make her question whether she’d lost her entire mind—it looked like Rafe would say no. His emotions played across his face like the shadows of the clouds chasing the sun across the mountains. Charlie could read doubt and worry and, yes, even distrust, in his expression, but she thought she saw hope and anticipation there, too. She just couldn’t be sure which of his feelings wou
ld win the battle.
At last he took a deep breath. “Who is this person who would stay with Del? How much do you trust . . . is it a her?”
She exhaled a tiny laugh. “Yes, she’s my friend Louise. Her husband was my client for quite a while until he passed a year ago. She’s a retired nurse, too, so she’s got lots of experience with folks like your dad. And I would trust her with my life.”
“I hear that a lot around here.” He looked as if the concept was foreign to him.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. Is it that uncommon everywhere else? “Folks tend to be trustworthy—it’s a quality we value.”
“Trust is valuable,” Rafe agreed, still frowning. “I also believe it’s pretty rare.”
She met his gaze straight on. “I’m sorry you think so.”
His gaze held hers for a second, then slipped away, closing that particular subject. “So when would you want to do this thing? I’d need time to get Del used to the idea.”
Not exactly gracious, but Charlie took it as a yes. “I could bring Louise with me tomorrow, introduce her to you both. Then, if it goes well, we could go out Friday?”
“Today is Wednesday? So, yeah, that would work.”
Rafe stood with his hands in his pockets, a casual pose not quite hiding the tension in his tall frame. She smiled at him, noting his reaction carefully. No, she hadn’t been mistaken. He did light up when she smiled, his grim aspect lifting until she could almost see the real man behind the mask he wore. She suddenly realized she’d do a lot to see more of that man.
Somewhere deep inside she felt herself fall from a very great height. Charlie had no idea what was at the bottom of that long drop. And if she were to let out the scream that was trapped in her chest, it would be equal parts terror and exhilaration. All the way down.
“Beh Deen orbit established, Cap.” The tiny bells attached to the helm officer’s facial piercings tinkled as she turned to look at her captain.
Sam Murphy stood up from his seat in the horseshoe-shaped command center on the Shadowhawk’s bridge and moved up to the Cap walk behind it. “Park her here for a while, helm. We’ve got business dirtside.”
“Aye, Cap.”
He turned to the young crewman on Communications. “Let Traffic know we’ll have three coming down in less than an hour—or whatever the equivalent is here. And tell the Cruzes I need them in the Command Room on the double.”
“Yes, sir.” Crisp. No questions. And the kid sitting in for Chief Communications Officer Patel got to his job right away. The Shadowhawk might once have been a pirate ship, but Sam would wager her crew was a disciplined as any in the ConSys Fleet. Her captain took a special kind of pride in it, especially now that the ’hawk was part of Rescue.
“Dartha,” he told his helm, “you have the conn.” He slapped his Pataran Executive Officer on the shoulder. “Mo, you’re with me.”
He left the bridge and ducked through the hatch into the adjoining Command Room, the tall, dark-skinned Pataran following close behind him. He’d no sooner settled in behind his desk when the two Rescue agents whose transport he was providing knocked at his cabin door.
He waved them in. “We’re in orbit. Thought we could go over this plan one more time before we go dirtside.”
Lana perched on one of the benches that served as seating in the cramped office. Mo hovered near the hatch, his arms crossed over his storage-container-sized chest.
Gabriel had spent a lot of time in Sam’s office; he just set a hip on his friend’s desk. “Pretty simple plan, amigo,” he said. “I have the description my friends gave me, and a list of places this ptark is likely to be—the only hotel, the bars, party houses, a couple of purveyors of stolen goods. Lana and I will check them out, find him and bring him in. End of plan.”
“Yeah, okay, except I’m going with you.” Sam knew his friends wouldn’t like it. He didn’t care. “More of us looking, less likely he’ll escape the net.”
“The more people asking questions, the sooner he’ll know we’re on to him,” Lana countered.
“I agree,” Mo said, his stare icy and unwavering. “This is a small outpost on a newly colonized planet. It’s hard for so many outsiders to blend in.”
“I’m a starship captain. I’ve got reason to be there—shore leave, buying supplies, ship repairs.” Sam gestured in the direction of the Rescue agents. “What’s their cover—selling old Earth vids?” Maybe that was a little harsh. Lana raised an eyebrow and looked like she might kick his ass if it weren’t for Gabriel’s hand on her arm.
“Our cover’s a tough one for Lana, but it’s worked before,” Gabriel said, his face grim. “Slaver and cargo. People understand a salesman looking for a connection, and they underestimate a mindwiped slave. I think you and Rayna have used the same ruse yourselves.”
Sam cursed and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . lately it seems all I do is sit up here on the conn and wait for someone else to do the heavy lifting. And this guy gets to me.” They had a name for him now—Vaalad Zouk, Thrane/human citizen of Terrene, suspected of dozens of crimes, convicted of none. “He’s dangerous, there are a lot of places on that list, and it’s just the two of you. Let me help.”
He could tell Gabriel was softening, but Lana was shaking her head. “Ray will kill us all.”
“Only if she finds out,” Sam said with a grin. “Now, how about you give me that description and a couple of locations to check out?”
The colony on Beh Deen II had been slashed and burned out of a vast primordial swamp. Located on the highest ground sensors could find, the thermocrete structures still struggled to remain above water, and in monsoon season, they often failed to do so. Many were built on stilts or pylons, a sensible precaution against not only the rain and floods, but also against the many creatures that slithered among the overgrown verges of pathways and clearings.
The heat wrapped the somnolent town in a wet, suffocating blanket, even now, long after the sun had flared out in a fiery red sunset. Sam had soaked through the tee-shirt and light utility pants the replicator had seen fit to issue him for this trip dirtside. He’d been in and out of three hole-in-the-wall establishments serving warm millet beer and synthohol that tasted like piss, and he’d had no luck finding the “Thrane with black eyes and a scar on his left hand who might be interested in security work.” Not that he’d been quite that obvious about it. He’d been an outlaw once himself; he knew people were reluctant to talk to a stranger.
Still, Sam thought he’d hooked his fish in the place he’d just left—for a second. He’d spent more than an hour there drinking the worst swill he’d ever tasted, getting the florid-faced server to talk to him. She’d leaned in to ask how much he was offering for what she knew about Zouk when the bartender yelled at her to “move her arse” to the next table. From the look of things the server was in for a beating later. Sam was sorry for that. He slipped her some extra credits when he paid his tab and left the bar.
Outside under the shelter of a building raised on stilts where he wouldn’t be seen, he pulled out his comm. He sent the message via text: Cross off Loc. 1-3. Any luck there?
It was a second before the answer came back. No luck Loc. 4, 5. Still @ 6.
Moving on to 7 and 8. Next check 0100.
Roger that.
He put the comm away, but before he could take a step, something loomed in his peripheral vision—black and swift and deadly. He pivoted left and raised his arm to meet it, and caught a splintering blow with his forearm that would have gone to his head. Perai, was that an iron bar? His hooded attacker was wide open now, so Sam put his whole body behind a right cross to the man’s jaw. The man staggered back, but he didn’t go down. He came at him again with that rod. This time Sam turned into the man’s swing and blocked with both hands—damn, that stung! He managed to grab the bar with his left and smashed his assailant’s temple with his right elbow. That backed the sucker up, and now Sam had the weapon.
He advanced on the man, determined to do him serious harm. He took his attacker’s elbows out first—right, then left. You won’t punch anyone for a while, you shalssiti pultafa! Then he took the knees, each one with a satisfying crack!
The man was on the ground now, moaning. Sam figured he was ready to answer a few questions. He took a step in the man’s direction, then pain exploded at the back of his skull. Sam lurched forward onto his knees. His vision narrowed to a dim tunnel. Nausea roiled his stomach, but before he could spew the sour result of hours of scouring the worst of Beh Deen’s drinking establishments, the weight of a planet landed on the back of his head again, and the world went dark.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On Friday night, Rafe gave the Old Man his dinner and his meds, then got him ready for bed like always. They’d met Charlie’s friend Louise, and, thank the gods, Del had taken to her as quickly as he had taken to Charlie herself. The older woman seemed comfortable around Del, too, and the plan was to leave Happy with them as extra insurance. There was no guarantee Del’s mood would continue in its current mellow state, but Charlie had assured Rafe that Louise wouldn’t panic if the Old Man had one of his episodes. His new “sitter” would just call and wait for them to get back from the restaurant, which was only 20 minutes away.
“What are you all spit-shined up for?” Del growled at him as he emerged from the bedroom. Then the Old Man grinned. “No, wait. Don’t tell me you finally asked that girl to take a turn around the rec deck?”
Rafe frowned. “No rec decks, here, Del. We’re dirtside.” He shrugged into a leather jacket and pulled down his cuffs inside the sleeves. The shirt and jeans were new and uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to wearing anything like them. “But, yes, Charlie and I are going out for a bit. Louise is coming to keep you company. And Happy. You okay with that?”
“Who’s Louise?” Del’s voice grew an edge.
Rafe didn’t bother reminding him of what he’d forgotten. “She’s a friend. You’ll like her. The dog will be here.”
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