MindMage: BlackWing Pirates, Book 2

by Connie Suttle

  "I know about that—tell me what Cayetes did." I knew most of it, but wanted Dori to tell me what she knew, in case I'd missed something. Also, Cayetes ended up using the Lyristolyi drug, and I certainly wanted that information.

  "Cayetes hired a warlock and a witch to do a transference—it's a black spell and illegal everywhere. Those two transferred Cayetes' spirit from one body to another, trying to outpace the effects of the disease, and of the transference itself, because a transference only lasts for a few days before the body begins to die and a new one has to be provided. He went through countless people before his assistant found a cache of the drug and they administered it to twins who survived, and then cloned numerous copies of the same bodies so Cayetes would look the same instead of changing appearances every few days. Eventually, the drug was manipulated and a spell cast that enabled Cayetes to be rid of the disease and keep the same body, although he was a broken, mindless fool for quite a while after that—until Quin healed him. She had the best of intentions, understand, but it released that prick into the world of crime again, and what followed wasn't pretty."

  "So, the Lyristolyi drug is perhaps the worst kind of drug imaginable."

  "Yes. It was outlawed long ago, and even the Lyristolyi people consider it a capital offense for anyone to have it in their possession."

  "The death sentence isn't levied on most worlds, but I knew that world still held it in reserve," I nodded. "Now I know why."

  "Most people think drakus seed is the worst drug, because they've never heard of this one. Imagine what it would sell for on the black market."

  "Why is that?" I asked.

  "Because of the saying, once a survivor, always a survivor. In other words, the Lyristolyi drug will ensure that you can live forever—if you survive it the first time and can get a supply of it when your current body dies. That doesn't include the number of clones you could make of yourself, either, by giving blood to others who share your blood type."

  "You just scared the pants off me," I frowned.

  "I don't want to scare the pants off you," she said. "I want you to take them off willingly."

  "We'll get to that," I laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mountain Retreat, Campiaa

  Randl

  We talked about work if you must know, I replied to Kooper's mindspeech. We discussed the Prophet, his possible motivations and the Lyristolyi drug.

  Don't get defensive, that's not what I intended, Kooper said. Did you find anyone else in Ba'Moru who Caille infected?

  One of the servers at the restaurant was infected—I could detect her interaction with Caille, and only had to dig a little deeper to see her affliction from that contact. That means there could be many, many more, each of them passing their own version of the infection along to their unwitting partners.

  Fuck. Kooper's frustration came through clearly in his mindspeech. I didn't point out that the word itself was how people were now sharing the Prophet's encroaching disease. How do we stop this? he asked after a moment's silence.

  Unless you intend to tell every person living in and out of the Alliances that they either have to practice abstinence or go back to long-outmoded methods of sexually transmitted disease control, then there's not much to be done. You already know this can't be found with any existing medical test, so everybody will be suspicious from the get-go. If you explain exactly what it is that they have, the Prophet will realize his army is likely much larger than he ever dreamed it could be. All those people, just waiting for his commands, once he learns of their existence.

  Wait, I'm coming to you. Give me a few seconds.

  Kooper arrived in the library of the mountain retreat where I sat, going through information on the Lyristolyi drug on my comp-vid.

  The Director took a seat and stretched out his long legs, while allowing his arms to dangle over the sides of his cushioned chair. He didn't speak for a while, because he was considering what I'd said to him.

  "You said they're waiting for the Prophet's commands."

  "Yes."

  "Can anyone else command them?"

  "Not likely," I shrugged. "Unless he clones himself, and I doubt he's willing to do that. Even an exact replica of himself would mean he'd have to share power, and he doesn't strike me as the kind of individual who would do that."

  "Then we have to kill him as soon as possible. No commands mean the disease will lie dormant in all those people infected through sexual contact."

  "I know you don't want to hear this, but we have to find him, first," I said.

  "You found him the last time," Kooper began.

  "No, Director. He found you. He wants you dead, remember? You and Jett. I was fortunate enough to see him through Phorde Gaster—fast enough that I could tell a few things about him, such as where he was and what his immediate plans were. I was able to stop him last time, because he wasn't expecting anyone to come against him. I won't have the element of surprise a second time."

  "You think he's looking for you, like we're looking for him?"

  "Undoubtedly. He wants me dead, just like he wants you, Jett and who knows how many planetary leaders dead or under his thumb. He doesn't like losing, Master Lion Snake. He lost the first round to us. He's planning something even more malicious, and this time, he's not tipping his hand."

  "Someday—it doesn't have to be today, but someday, I'd like to hear good news from you, Agent Gage."

  "Let's hope that day comes, then. For now, I'm as much in the dark as you and everyone else. We can't find him, even when we employ power to do so. Wherever he is, he's plotting nasty things and nobody will know what they are until he springs his traps."

  "Conclave starts in an eight-day," Kooper sighed. "I'm sorry I barked at you, and frankly, until this is over, I don't care what you and Dori do with each other. The worlds could end and I'd be forcing you to abide by rules that may not make a damn bit of difference in the long term. We survive this; we'll discuss things afterward."

  "Thank you, Director."

  "Whenever you have information, keep me apprised. Notify Opal or Kell if I'm unavailable."

  "I will."

  "Good. That's settled." Kooper rose from the chair, nodded to me and folded space. The weight of two Alliances sat on his and Jett Riffler's shoulders, and I didn't envy them their burdens.

  Queen's Palace, Le-Ath Veronis

  Winkler

  "I'm saying that Randl is as much or more of a target than anyone else," Kooper paced inside my office. "That means that his father, Brandl, could become a target, too, if the Prophet ever learns who Randl is."

  "Easy enough to do," I agreed. "What do you intend to do about this? Brandl travels to and from Avii Castle and the beach palace all the time. Anybody could get to him while he's traveling; it wouldn't take much, you know."

  "Either Brandl has to accept guards—who have power—or he allows someone to be disguised as him during travel times, while he's transported back and forth by someone who can fold space."

  "Which is your preference?"

  "A disguised replacement, who won't be easily taken down," Kooper said. "Brandl wouldn't want someone captured or dying in his place. We either need a vampire, werewolf or someone else who can defend themselves, to act as Brandl during his regular travel times. Get the real Brandl back and forth by folding space."

  "Have you discussed this with Randl or Brandl?"

  "Not yet. It just occurred to me after Randl and I talked earlier. He says he's a target because the Prophet doesn't like losing, and he lost to Randl last time."

  "Megalomaniacs are so predictable," I said dryly.

  "And so dangerous," Kooper said, his tone grim.

  "Do you think Randl can go against him again? Since the Prophet will be expecting something of the sort?"

  "Randl's worried about the same thing. He says he no longer holds the element of surprise, so we're dealing with the unknown, now."

  "We were dealing with the unknown when he attacked us w
ith the exploding dead," I pointed out. "You think he has more of those things waiting?"

  "There are no reports of newly-vandalized cemeteries," Kooper replied.

  "Hmmph." I didn't like that answer, and neither did he.

  "Will you arrange for someone to take Brandl's place when he commutes from one palace to the other?"

  "I'll have it done in an hour," I said. "Erland's here, so he can provide the disguise," I said, naming Lissa's warlock mate. "I just have to choose which person would be best suited for the job."

  "Let me know who and when," Kooper said. "I need to get back to Campiaa."

  "Have fun," I waved as he disappeared.

  Mountain Retreat, Campiaa

  Randl

  "Are you going to read all night and starve, or are you coming with us?" David and Vik arrived in the library, where I was still researching the Lyristolyi drug. Lissa had extensive records on it, including what Dori had given me.

  To say it was dangerous was putting it in the mildest of terms.

  Vik, whose head wasn't far from the ceiling, stood beside David, who was less than half Vik's height. They really were mismatched bookends. "I'll come," I shut off my comp-vid. "I think I need a couple of beers, too."

  "We can manage that," Vik grinned. "Either come now or I'll carry you out of here."

  "I'm not incapacitated," I said. "Just hungry." My stomach rumbled, giving credence to my words.

  "Then let's go. We have a table waiting at the Glitz."

  The Glitz, short for Glittenganz Casino, was on the higher end of places to stay, and held a number of good restaurants. Many catered to the less than well-dressed, so I wasn't worried about being in casual clothing.

  "Lead the way," I gestured toward the door. I'd never been skipped anywhere by a High Demon. Vik skipped us in, so I knew he'd informed David of his hidden talents, at least.

  I hope you know how to keep secrets, I sent to David as we were led to a table near the back.

  Owl shifter, remember? David responded.

  Right.

  "Drinks?" Our server, a perky young man, asked after arriving at our table.

  "Refizani Blue Label," I said immediately.

  Make that three," David said.

  "Very good, sir," the waiter acknowledged. "I'll be back with your drinks, and I'll take your order then."

  "Hear that? He called me sir," David teased. "I think everyone should call me that."

  "Have you been knighted by the Queen?" Vik asked.

  "No."

  "Then I'm not calling you sir."

  "Somebody went to clown school," David pointed at Vik.

  "And I have the big shoes to prove it," Vik agreed.

  It took a moment for the meaning to sink in, but it did and I laughed.

  "Where's Dori tonight?" David asked.

  "With her sister and brother-in-law," I said. "Cori wanted to go to a particular steakhouse, and, as things aren't so cordial between Marco and me, I said to go on without me."

  "Marco's usually better than that," David said as the waiter set our beers on the table.

  "Marco's never been presented with a potential addition to the family," I pointed out. "As far as he's concerned, I'll have to earn my place."

  "I'd like the prime rib, please, thick cut, rare," Vik said, ignoring David and me so our server wasn't kept waiting.

  "Very good, sir," the young man smiled. "And you?" He turned to David.

  "Roasted fowl, please, with the fruit sauce."

  "Excellent choice. And you?" he had no idea how to deal with me, because he, like most people, could only focus on my white eyes.

  "I'd like the seafood pasta, please."

  He blinked, because I hadn't ever lifted my menu to read it.

  "That's a new item, but it comes highly recommended."

  "I'm looking forward to it," I said.

  "Your orders will be out shortly. Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

  "Another beer," Vik said before emptying his bottle.

  "Right away, sir."

  "Now who's being called sir?" Vik set his empty bottle down and lifted an eyebrow at David while the waiter hurried away.

  "Tall people are always insufferable," David sniffed in pretended annoyance.

  "Do I need to get between you two?" I asked.

  "I can still reach him, even if you do," Vik grinned.

  "Whatever you do," David turned to hiss at me, "Do not let him pat me on the head."

  "But you're so cute when you're an owl, I just want to pat your head," Vik laughed.

  "You see what I've had to put up with while you've been galivanting around?" David frowned at me. "The least you could do is take me with you sometimes, just to keep him at arm's length."

  "I want to go, too," Vik said.

  "It's going to be a long night," I sighed.

  Vik

  When I said I wanted to go with Randl and David, I had no idea I'd end up in Melton Timble's cell, while Randl studied him. We'd received permission from Kooper and Jett, and had to promise that we'd be shielded against any attack from the prisoner before they allowed it.

  They were also watching from an office nearby—the cell had several vid-cameras placed inside it.

  So far, Randl hadn't said a thing, while Melton snarled at us from his seat on the cot. At least he knew he was outnumbered, although he eyed David from time to time.

  Melton thought he was selecting the easiest target.

  David could take him apart if he wanted. Melton Timble had never trained to fight, and David trained or worked out every day.

  "Where did you get the weapon?" Randl spoke abruptly, making Melton jump.

  "Not telling," Melton turned his head away, refusing to look at Randl.

  "But you just did," Randl said, a smile lighting his face. "Thank you. I learned something today."

  "What the hells do you think you learned? I told you nothing," Melton hissed.

  "Perhaps someday, you'll figure out that you can, in fact, be wrong about something. Later, you may discover you can actually admit it. Good luck with that, by the way," Randl said and folded David and me out of the cell.

  Randl

  "I know where he got the weapon," I said, once we appeared inside the office where Kooper and Jett waited.

  They or their agents had asked that question continuously after Melton's arrest, but they'd gotten no answers.

  "But he has a growing obsession," Kooper pointed out.

  "He still has the memory, and there's been no activation of the obsession—we discussed that already. Therefore, when I asked him a direct question, the memory of where he got the weapon surfaced and I could see it. If we'd waited a few weeks more, I probably wouldn't have seen it; it would be swallowed up by the encroaching affliction."

  "Where did the weapon come from?"

  "He purchased it from Poll Endicut. I understand he's a small-time criminal, with suspected bigger-criminal ties. We need to find Poll, I think, so I can see what he knows about the bigger fish."

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Jett asked.

  "I'm concerned there may be connections we don't know about. Remember, the Prophet can infiltrate legitimate businesses. Can he not also infiltrate not-so-legitimate ones, too? He's had a year to work this out, and he may hit us in ways we haven't even considered."

  "Randl, when I asked you to keep me informed, I had no idea it would be all bad news," Kooper growled and rose to his feet. "Come on, let's visit Teeg. I'll contact Opal and Kell on the way."

  Kell and Opal dragged Poll Endicut in for interrogation just before dawn. It didn't matter—I hadn't slept much anyway.

  I left David and Vik at the mountain retreat—no need to wake them for this. Kooper was waiting for me inside the interrogation room when I arrived. Jett, Kell and Opal were in an adjoining room to watch and listen.

  "Hello, Poll," I said, sitting down opposite him at the small table inside the room. "Do you know why you were br
ought in?"

  "Whatever it is, I'm innocent."

  Poll had small eyes, pursed lips, wispy blond hair that was combed over a balding patch atop his head, and an attitude that would have befitted a much larger, infinitely more honest man.

  "You sold a laser pistol to someone who paid you several thousand credits for it," I said. "That laser pistol, which has no registration, I might add, was used to commit murder."

  "I don't know anything about that. I was with my family at the time."

  "You were with a woman whom you paid for sex at the time of the murder," I pointed out. Poll was so easy to read, there was nothing subtle about his mind—everything floated near the surface and was easy to extract.

  "See, not guilty."

  "I said at the time of the murder, not that you committed the murder. You sold the laser pistol the day before. That's the crime you've committed recently, anyway."

  "I committed no crime. The murderer shot that woman."

  "Oh, so you do know about this, then."

  "I don't know anything. I know my rights and I'm leaving."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  "I want my advocate, then."

  "Fine. I have everything I need from you already." I rose and walked out of the room, leaving Poll to his fate.

  Agents were already going through his home and hiding places, and I figured they'd find enough evidence to keep Poll incarcerated for a very long time.

  "The names I pulled from him are Adarr Gramm, Jewl Yarro and Rale Linn."

  "Three of the worst that manage to elude us every time," Jett grimaced. "We think they're working together, but there's no substantial proof. Drugs, weapons, whatever you want that's not legal, they can sell you—through middle-men like Poll."

  "Poll has seen the employees of all three, although he has no idea where they're based; they send him information on where to meet their servants, who provide the contraband, take the credits, then disappear."

  "That doesn't help us," Jett began.