Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Afterword
The Assassin’s Salvation
(a Mandrake Company novel)
by Ruby Lionsdrake
Copyright © 2014 Ruby Lionsdrake
Acknowledgments
My thanks go out to my editor, Shelley Holloway, as well as Sarah Engelke and Cindy Wilkinson for offering feedback on an early version of this novel. I would also like to thank you, good reader, for supporting the series and following along with the Mandrake Company crew.
Chapter 1
The shuttlecraft was pink. Sergei Zharkov scratched his jaw as he crouched twenty feet atop stacked shipping crates, hugging the shadows, so the freighter crews wouldn’t notice him. It was a combat shuttle, the same model Captain Mandrake had owned the last time Sergei had worked for him, but no self-respecting mercenary would possess a pink spaceship. He knew he hadn’t gotten the dock number wrong, but maybe Mandrake Company had been delayed and some opportunist had taken the open slot?
Marinth was one of the smaller cloud cities, and it didn’t claim a huge loading area. Freighters occupied all of the other docking spots, their crews out loading or unloading cargo, assisted by hover cranes. There was only one person working outside of the shuttle, a woman who seemed… not particularly suited to a pink spacecraft.
Perhaps it was the tools that clanked in the pockets of her coveralls as she moved about, poking into the vessel’s exterior panels, or maybe it was the grease smudge on her cheek and the matching one streaked across the back of one hand. This was not to say the woman wasn’t feminine. No, Sergei had been admiring the sway of her hips for the last five minutes. She was tall, with a pair of thick blonde braids that swung about her shoulders as she worked, and she had an appealing face with a cute, button nose and gray-blue eyes. A young and innocent face, he reminded himself, having already dismissed her as someone who shouldn’t have to be bothered by a man with as much blood on his hands and baggage in his mind as he.
Sergei snorted softly. Who did appreciate his blood and baggage? Captain Mandrake possibly. At the least, Mandrake knew about Sergei’s occupation and his past and wasn’t bothered by it.
Thunder rumbled in the gray clouds lurking overhead. Marinth might be a city that floated in the sky, but that didn’t keep it from being rained on, as the large puddles dotting the loading dock attested.
Sergei stood, intending to go inside and call Mandrake before the clouds soaked him. But two men from the grungy, ill-maintained freighter next to the shuttle were ambling toward the blonde woman. She wasn’t armed with anything other the tools; he had noticed that immediately. He always noticed people’s weapons. The men wore daggers on their belts, as well as laser pistols, though from the way they swaggered and smirked at each other, Sergei doubted they had robbery on their minds.
He crouched again, this time on the edge of his perch. He could jump to a ledge provided by a shipping container sticking out a couple of inches further than his current one, then leap the rest of the way to the ground without hurting himself. He could do so in a second, if need be.
Mandrake would have laughed at the notion of him running to some woman’s rescue. Of all the people who might play the role of chivalrous knight in shining armor from Old Earth, Sergei was surely not on the list. Or maybe Mandrake would have understood. Despite a fearsome reputation, one Sergei knew was well deserved, the Crimson Ops soldier-turned-mercenary had been known to offer assistance even when pay wasn’t on the line.
“You look lonely over here, girl,” one of the men said.
The blonde woman had been watching them approach out of the corner of her eye, and she put her back to the shuttle to face them, an electric multitool in her hand. She didn’t stand in the bent-kneed ready stance of someone with combat experience, but she had the sense to know there might be trouble here.
“Do I?” she asked, swinging the tool casually, vapidly one might have thought, but her thumb was fiddling with some setting on the control panel. Sergei couldn’t imagine what; it wasn’t as if a screwdriver could be turned into a laser rifle. “You’re mistaken. I enjoy my own company very much.”
“Aw, but we’d enjoy your company very much too. Why don’t you come on over and we’ll give you a tour of our ship? We’ve got a full bar. Happy to make you a drink, whatever you fancy.”
“No, thanks. I’m on the clock. My employer is just inside.” She gestured toward the shuttle with the tool, her thumb shifting again. Was she disabling something? Sergei was too far away to tell.
“Yeah, we saw her earlier, and some other woman that went inside there. Been speculating on what sort of business you’re running here, as you don’t seem to be loading any cargo.” The speaker nudged his buddy, who snickered back at him. Sergei could guess where their speculation had run. They were spending more time staring at her chest than at her face.
“We run a medical clinic and perform services for clients,” the woman said. “I can get you a card if you’re interested.”
“Medical clinic, sure.”
The men sniggered.
The bigger of the two stepped closer. “Why don’t you come over here, and we’ll show you what services we offer?”
“Yeah,” his buddy said. “We can show you our manly services.”
“I’m not interested, thank you.” Had her voice been harder, colder, her rejection less polite, they might have left her alone, but she came across as sweet, as one who might be taken advantage of without repercussions.
Sergei clenched his jaw. That wouldn’t happen.
The bigger man jerked his head at his buddy, a watch-my-back gesture, then took another step toward the woman, his hand outstretched. “We’ll change your mind. I promise you.”
Sergei jumped to the ledge, then leaped to the ground, the silencers in his boots ensuring he didn’t make a sound as he ran toward the trio, not that he would have, anyway. He had been taught well. His favorite serrated knife was already in hand, a weapon that didn’t set off alarms on bases, not the way laser pistols often did. The bladed weapon was far more than he needed to deal with these two.
But the situation had changed in the second he had been leaping and running. The woman had tossed her tool into the big puddle at the men’s feet. Sparks of electricity flew up from it, and Sergei had the opportunity—the utter pleasure—to witness two idiots being electrocuted.
Oh, they staggered back out of the puddle, their hair sticking out in all directions, before being fried into crisps, but the big one had taken enough of a hit that he tumbled to the ground, his hands clutched to his chest, like he was afraid his heart would leap out if he didn’t hold it in tightly.
The woman turned and ran, her eyes wide with fear, as if she worried she would be punished for her audacity, or maybe she worried they would recover and come after her. No, they wouldn’t be attacking anyone else any time soon.
Sergei had slowed to a trot as the scene played out, but he now found himself in the woman’s escape path. He hadn’t intended to block her or impede her, but she must have seen him as another potential threat; she grabbed another tool out of her pocket, this one a simple pair of pliers, n
othing with electrical wiring.
Sergei halted. He had no wish to have anything twisted or pulled. Not wanting to appear threatening, he dropped his head into a bow. A graceful bow, he thought. Maybe he could apply for the position of chivalrous knight, after all. “My apologies, miss. I had intended to come assist you with the removal of the trash that someone left on your dock, but I see you’re quite capable of dealing with refuse disposal on your own.”
She glanced warily toward the men. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the plier handles. She must not electrocute people often. “I just didn’t want anything to do with them.”
“I thought not.” Sergei found it remarkable that she had so easily resolved the situation when she clearly wasn’t a trained combatant. And damned if she wasn’t even more alluring down here, up close. He hadn’t been able to see the freckles from his distant perch. They were delightful, sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.
She turned her wary eyes on him, and he realized that he had been staring at her and also that he was… aroused. How embarrassing. And inappropriate. Some knight. It was a foregone conclusion that she didn’t want anything to do with him, either. She must be wondering if she could trust his words, or if she would need to find a way to electrocute him too. Having observed the other men’s faux pas, he was not foolish enough to stand in a puddle—just in case she could do more with those pliers than he thought.
“Just one quick question if I may,” Sergei said, hoping to distract her with his words before she thought about looking down, not that she looked like the sort of girl who ran around checking out men’s crotches. “I’m looking for a mercenary shuttle that was supposed to be docked here—at least that’s the message I received. You wouldn’t have seen it, by chance? Mandrake Company.”
“Oh.” The woman blinked and lowered her pliers. “Are you Sergei Zharkov?”
It was his turn to blink in surprise. “Yes… And you are?”
“Me? Jamie Flipkens. We’re with Mandrake Company.” She waved toward the shuttle. “Sergeant Hazel is expecting you.”
Sergei gazed at the pink hull a few feet away from him. “Sergeant Hazel rode down in this… this?” He held back a more derogatory word; for all he knew, this Jamie Flipkens had picked the color. No, probably not. She had said her employer was inside. That was likely the person responsible.
Jamie smirked. “Not happily. We’re not actually a part of Mandrake Company—Ankari, Lauren, and I—but we had some clients down here, and when the captain said he needed someone picked up, we volunteered. Well, Ankari volunteered. She still dotes on him.” Her smirk broadened.
Sergei stepped back, more shocked by the idea of a woman doting on Mandrake than by the idea of a pink shuttle docking in the mercenary ship’s bay. “Does he… dote back?” he asked, morbidly curious.
“Oh, yes. Every time they cross paths, they’re either giving each other puppy eyes or dragging each other off into closets. Or shuttles. You have to be careful to knock if you don’t want to walk in on something. Even on closet doors.” Her smirk faded, her eyes growing self-conscious. “Gosh, I shouldn’t be babbling on about this, should I? I don’t even know who you are. I mean I know your name, but not if you’re old friends or old enemies. Or, uhm.”
He had been quite enjoying her babbling—her defenses had gone down, and she’d had the most lively and tickled eyes as she shared this insider knowledge. “Old friends,” Sergei decided on, even if their relationship had been more complicated than that. She probably wanted the simple version. “We served together in the Fleet. If he’s found a woman who makes him happy, I’m pleased.”
Sergei wondered if he would ever find a woman who would make him happy. If only he could successfully retire and find a second career that was less likely to appall the opposite sex. Oh sure, there were those rare women who were employed in the same field, who had the jaded and cynical outlook on humanity that went with it, but he’d never had much luck making those relationships work. Probably because he was more drawn to innocence. And freckles.
Hearing someone’s approach, Sergei shifted to face the newcomer before she spoke. He should have noticed the approach much earlier, but he had been enjoying making Jamie’s acquaintance.
“Zharkov,” Sergeant Hazel said. “Kill anyone yet today?”
Jamie’s eyes widened at this greeting. Sergei sighed. Hazel respected his abilities, but not the way he used them. She didn’t look like she had changed much in the two years since they had last met. Sturdy and strong with her dark hair pulled back in a bun so tight it wouldn’t dare frizz, she could match most of the mercenaries in the company on the judo mat, and she was an expert marksman with numerous weapons, including throwing knives.
“Not since Thursday,” Sergei said.
Hazel grunted, probably not knowing whether it was a joke or the truth. It was the truth. He had been out of retirement for the last couple of months, hating that the work called to him, but unable to settle for anything less exhilarating.
“Joining the company again?” Hazel didn’t sound thrilled about the idea, but she wouldn’t openly denigrate him; there were few who would.
“It crossed my mind, but for now, I’m just here to warn the captain.”
“About what?”
“The guild sends out a weekly bulletin with new jobs listed on it. Someone is offering fifty thousand aurums for Viktor Mandrake’s head.”
* * *
Jamie glanced at Ankari, amazed her friend, employer, and business partner appeared so calm. “Aren’t you worried?” she whispered, her hands resting lightly on the pilot’s controls.
They had left the dock, with Jamie plotting a course back into orbit, to where the Albatross waited. There wasn’t much on the console that demanded her attention, but it worried her to think of the captain in danger. Sure, he had thrown Jamie and the others into the brig when they had first met, but he had turned out to be a decent man beneath the gruff exterior, and he certainly treated Ankari well.
“I’m worried,” Ankari said from the co-pilot’s seat. She couldn’t fly, but nobody else aboard could, either, so it didn’t matter much who sat up there. “But I assume it’s not the first time someone has ordered his death.”
“It’s not,” Sergeant Hazel said from the row of passenger seats against the wall. The other combat shuttles in the company had a couple of rows of seats like that, and room in the back for battle armor and racks of guns, but Jamie had helped Ankari remodel this one into more of a medical clinic with thrusters. There was a curtained-off space for procedures to be performed, along with counters full of equipment for Lauren’s research. Lauren was back there now, as usual, ignoring the safety regulations in order to work. Their new passenger preferred to stand, too, and had claimed a corner where he could observe everyone. “He’s had assassins after him numerous times. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the warning though.” Hazel lowered her voice to a mutter, and Jamie almost missed the added, “Assuming Zharkov isn’t here to claim the prize.”
Jamie thought to point out that Sergei had said he and Captain Mandrake were friends, not enemies, but it would be naive to trust his word on that. Hazel obviously knew the man, and Jamie liked and trusted Hazel, even if she was as taciturn and gruff as the captain. Jamie might be wise to take her cues from the sergeant and steer clear of their visitor.
Something about that thought gave her a twinge of chagrin. It was strange, especially given the implications of what he might do for a living, but he had struck her as a man who needed a friend. She had noticed his surface features, of course: curly brown hair that would be a wild tangle if it weren’t cut short; intent, dark brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing; and a few days’ growth of a mustache and goatee. The facial hair accented his strong jaw rather than coming across as the afterthought of someone who couldn’t be bothered with shaving regularly. But it was more the suggestion of what lay beneath the surface that Jamie remembered, a saturnine moroseness that hung about him like a cloak. He need
ed a friend… and a reason to smile. She imagined he would be quite appealing if he smiled.
“He’ll know how to handle it,” Ankari said firmly.
Jamie nibbled on her lip. She had wanted to discuss something with Ankari during this excursion, but this might not be the time to bring it up. But if not now, when? She kept putting it off, and she was running out of time if she wanted to apply. She had hoped to bring it up while Lauren had been working with the patients and Sergeant Hazel had been off on her errand, but the shield generator had been on the fritz, and then those two louts had distracted her, leering at her every time she bent over, then finally coming over to harass her. She ought to be used to the leers by now; it wasn’t as if the mercenaries were any better, most of them, anyway.
Jamie blew out a breath. Yes, that was one of the reasons she needed to bring this up. If not, she would be stuck on the ship forever.
“Ankari…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about… well, I’m not really qualified to be your engineer and pilot, as you’ve doubtlessly noticed.” Jamie flushed to think of all the times she had pulled up technical manuals and instruction guides on her tablet while she was piloting.
Ankari’s mouth drooped open. In surprise? Dismay? Jamie didn’t want her request to cause any hard feelings. Ankari and Lauren were her only real friends outside of her own planet, and the way she had left home… she wasn’t eager to return anytime soon. Her father wouldn’t understand.
“Jamie, you’re doing great,” Ankari said. “You’re barely twenty, and the fact that you already are an engineer and a pilot, that’s amazing. Most people go to school for years for each of those occupations.”
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