It made his soul hurt, the notion that she would fear him. Her shoulders were hunched nearly to her ears as they walked down the corridor, as if she expected him to stick a dagger in her back at any moment. He groped for something he could say to reassure her. Given time, so long as he got his chance to prove that he was with them and not against them, she should figure out the truth, but did Sergei have that time? Jamie would share that conversation with Ankari—and with Sergeant Hazel. It wouldn’t take more than a word to convince Hazel to leave him down here and to report that Sergei couldn’t be trusted. He would never get a chance to return the favor he owed the captain, and who knew what Mandrake would think?
Damn it. He had come here to do a favor for his old commander. How had he become a suspect?
“Wait,” Sergei blurted right before they reached the door and Jamie turned in. He resisted the urge to stop her by grabbing her arm or otherwise touching her—that would only alarm her more. “I would like to explain something. So you’ll understand.”
Ankari and the doctor were looking toward the doorway, toward him and Jamie. He held back another wince.
“Over coffee,” he whispered. “In the cafeteria. Will you give me a minute? While they finish their meeting?”
Thankfully, Jamie didn’t turn her back on him or shut him down straight away. He wasn’t sure why, but he held hope when she repeated, “The cafeteria?”
He nodded, wanting to point out that it was a public space with several people in it, so he naturally couldn’t be intending to harm her in any way. But she was smart—hadn’t he just been dwelling on that?—and she would figure it out. If she wanted to go off with him. Or was willing to, anyway.
Jamie gave Ankari a long look, and Ankari frowned at him and at Jamie too. The doctor cleared her throat, probably wanting to get back to their discussion.
“Getting a coffee,” Jamie finally said, and pointed to the cafeteria.
His heart swelled. Sergei wasn’t sure why, but he was getting a chance.
Ankari hesitated and looked at him again. He tried to look innocent. Or at least unthreatening. She waved to them, then returned her focus to the doctor.
“Just a moment,” Sergei whispered. He pulled out a mini surveillance kit, stuck a couple of tiny cameras to the wall to monitor the hallway, and then another onto the jamb to watch the meeting. The devices wouldn’t record sound, but he shouldn’t need that. He thumbed instructions into the controller, then nodded Jamie toward the waiting room. He shouldn’t leave Ankari—a real bodyguard wouldn’t—but the cameras made him feel less guilty about the decision. Besides, he could be fired within the hour and left on the planet if he didn’t convince Jamie of his good intentions. Who would watch Ankari then?
Jamie followed him through the waiting area and toward the cafeteria. He noticed the way she didn’t put her back to him, and again that stung him. It shouldn’t when he had so recently met her. What did it matter? And yet… it did.
A few people sat in the cafeteria, drinking coffees and eating meals. Sergei waited for Jamie to punch in an order for a “vanilla bomber,” ordered black coffee for himself, then swiped his palm across the payment sensor. The machine spit out their drinks within a few seconds, and he led the way to a table in the corner. He thought she might balk, since the nearest people were closer to the aisle, but he did not want anyone overhearing what he feared he was going to have to share. He wasn’t even comfortable with the idea of Jamie hearing it, but the truth might be the only thing that bought her belief.
She perched on the edge of the booth, her hands wrapped around the mug. Sergei sat across from her, looked into her eyes, and… forgot everything he had meant to say. He kicked himself mentally. This was no time to get nervous about talking to a pretty girl. He had to save his butt here.
“My father doesn’t approve of me meeting with boys unchaperoned,” Jamie said out of nowhere.
It startled him into laughing, or maybe it was the release of tension that did that. She wasn’t smiling, so it had probably been a nervous joke, rather than anything intentionally playful. Or maybe it hadn’t been a joke at all. Maybe she wanted him to know she had a big, brawny father who would kick his ass if Sergei hurt her.
“Oh?” he asked, going along with it, because he hadn’t quite figured out how to say what he meant to say yet. “Is he bigger than me?”
“Much bigger. And ex-Crimson Ops, as well.”
Sergei snorted, assuming that was a lie—he had been picturing a farmer, not a fighter—but she arched a single eyebrow.
“Really?” he asked curiously.
“Really. He met my mother on leave one year, kept going back to see her, and decided to retire from the Fleet. They went back to his parents’ farm on Mercruse and had kids. He’s in his fifties now, but still tougher than titanium nails.”
Sergei wanted to relax and joke with her, but her shoulders were still tense. Again, he had the impression that he was getting this information as a warning, even if a subtle one. The threat of a vengeful father was somewhat ameliorated by the idea that he lived halfway across the system, but now that Sergei was imagining an older version of Viktor Mandrake as her father, he admitted he might be a touch intimidated if he ever showed up for a family dinner. Not that she would invite him. This whole discussion, the idea that she was talking about her father as if her parents were still a big part of her life, reminded him that she was way too young for him. Not that he had ever actually courted a girl and had to deal with a father, at any age. He had still been a virgin when he joined the Fleet, and his first experiences with women hadn’t encouraged him to seek out others for some time.
Jamie took a sip of her drink, and he reminded himself that he was supposed to be sharing this information with her, not simply thinking about it. That had been the plan, anyway.
“Jamie,” he said slowly. “I’d like to tell you how I met Mandrake and some of the things that happened when we were working together.” Like wasn’t exactly the right word. He would prefer to take these secrets to his grave and loathed the fact that Fleet still had a record of him somewhere. Not that the record had all the truths in it… “So you’ll understand that I wouldn’t betray him. Ever.”
“All right.” Her face was hard to read, but it wasn’t closed off. She seemed to be an open-minded person by nature. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t been fazed by Hazel’s insinuations—or truths. Maybe it made sense that someone with a Crimson Ops soldier for a father wouldn’t bat an eye at the notion of an assassin. Though she certainly wasn’t jaded, not judging by the compassion that had been on her face in the waiting room.
Her brows arched, and he realized he had been staring at her, thinking too much, taking too long. She probably thought he was a nut case and was simply too polite to say anything.
“I lied about my age to get into the Fleet. My childhood was particularly miserable, and I couldn’t wait to escape. Fleet was the only escape for someone like me, and where I came from, nobody kept good records of things like births. Not to mention that I was born in a brothel, not some fancy hospital.” He wasn’t angling for pity and waved away what might have been a sympathetic comment, rushing to get to the important part. Before he lost his nerve. “I made it through the basic training fine and headed off to advanced infantry. I hadn’t had much in the way of formal schooling, so it was about all I qualified for. They give you psych tests early on, and it turned out that I had what it takes to become a Fleet assassin.” He twirled a finger to highlight what a prize that had been. Oh, he had thought it fabulous at the time, some sign that he was a particularly virile and promising warrior. It had been later when he realized the tests had been more about measuring his moral flexibility than any athletic prowess. “I did well at the training and was sent to my first unit. Usually, you’re at least eighteen when this happens, since you can’t enlist until your eighteenth birthday. Legally. I had just turned sixteen when I showed up on Sergeant Viktor Mandrake’s doorstep.”
Jamie didn’t say anything, but she was listening and seemed less tense and uncomfortable. Sergei took that as a positive development.
“He wasn’t enthused about having an assassin assigned to his unit. At that point, he was still a little idealistic about what all Crimson Ops was, and what they did, I think.” Sergei waved a hand to dismiss the comment, realizing she might not be that aware of what her father’s career had entailed, especially if he had retired before she was born. “He’s actually leading a much more honorable life now, though I don’t think he sees himself that way. Albatross, hell of a name for a ship. Anyway. I was a cocky young private, eager to prove myself better than all of the men in the squad, Mandrake included. We got sent off on some hairy missions early on, and I got my fill of blood, more than I’d ever wanted. The, uh, excitement and newness of it all wore off quickly.” He studied his hands, which were wrapped around the coffee mug he hadn’t taken a sip from. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that talking about how he had come to be an assassin who took countless lives bothered him less than those stupid counselors. No, he knew exactly what it said about him. Moral flexibility. He snorted and took his first sip, wishing it were alcohol instead of caffeine. He needed something bracing. “After the missions, we would be sent to see these women called counselors. They were always women, oddly. Or maybe that’s not odd. Women are supposed to be more empathetic, right?” He met Jamie’s eyes. “Did your father ever mention them?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe his encounters weren’t quite so, hm.” Sergei spread a hand, not sure what the gesture meant, just that he was struggling to explain things. “We had a couple who were assigned to the ship in the three years I was there. They had all manner of drugs and tools for psychiatric use. Supposedly, they were there to keep us fit for duty and to report if anything changed to make us not fit for duty. That was the official line. But this one… I swear, she enjoyed screwing with everyone. The whole ship was afraid of her. There wasn’t anyone to report these people to, mind you. They were outside of the ranking system yet at the same time, treated like admirals because they had a direct line to high command and could break a man’s career. Anyway, this one, she picked on Mandrake quite a bit, but I was a special project. I have no idea why. She would drug me and, uh…” He took another sip. He’d never told anyone about this, and it was even harder to be blunt than he had realized. “Force me to have sex with her,” he finally managed, not able to look at anything except the table as he did so. “More than that. She was all manner of evil. I know how that must sound, coming from an assassin, but…” Sergei realized he was groping in the air with his hand and forced himself to clasp it around the mug again. “Until then, I’d had this notion that I was a big brave man, even if I wasn’t yet eighteen. But after dealing with her, there were times I ran off crying. I even went to Mandrake a couple of times, begging him to do something, as if he wasn’t a victim too. He probably would have done something if he could, but they chip you, you know.” He touched the side of his head. “When you join the Fleet. For identification and location, they say, but they can use it for punishment, too, to keep you from—let’s just say that if you attack a superior officer—or a counselor—it’s not a pleasant experience.”
Sergei took a breath and forced himself to look up at Jamie’s face. He wasn’t sure what he expected there. Disgust? Condemnation? Disbelief? For some reason, it was beyond difficult to meet her eyes. Maybe she wouldn’t believe him and he would have bared his soul for naught. He didn’t think anyone would make up something like his past, but maybe he lacked imagination. Jamie didn’t look skeptical though. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were moist with unshed tears. He scratched his head. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. She barely knew him, so he didn’t know why she would.
She blinked and looked away. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to be caught getting emotional. That was understandable. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked downward again.
“That’s not all of it,” Sergei said. “We were down on a planet for maneuvers one night, getting ready to stage an assault. There were a bunch of officers with us, and she was there, too, keeping an eye on her troops. On me.” He ground his teeth, the memory so alive and real that he was seeing that night before him, instead of the table, the full moon in the sky highlighting the rock formations and saguaro cacti. He even smelled the juniper and sage and remembered the sound of lizards scurrying in the underbrush. “Somehow our secret staging location got leaked, and we were attacked, caught with our pants down. Majorly. Everyone was running to the guns, to the shuttles and fighters, trying to keep from being blown off the face of the planet.” Sergei licked his lips, knowing this was the part of the story where he was going to lose sympathy. He glanced around, making sure nobody was nearby, as if after all this time, someone might report the truth to the Fleet. Guiltily, he checked his camera feeds, too, remembering that he had forgotten to. With relief, he saw Ankari was still in the office, her briefcase laid open on the table as she talked to the doctor.
“If she hadn’t been screwing with me that night,” he said, “I would have done my duty, not thought of her. But I saw her tent get blown up, and I ran over to check. I wasn’t going to save her, no way. I was hoping I’d see her dead on the ground, empty eyes staring up at the stars, like—” He caught himself, heard the loathing in his voice, and glanced at Jamie warily before continuing. She was watching him, but if she had judgment in her mind, it didn’t show on her face.
“I spotted her running for an escape shuttle. I was so… frazzled, I guess is the word, that I didn’t care at that moment if the chip exploded in my head. I just wanted her not to torment anyone else. I took my rifle and… blew her head open. When I ran over to make sure there was no chance she would survive, I saw Mandrake. He’d just finished knocking out some enemy scouts who were trying to steal the shuttle. He saw everything. I joined the fight after that. What else could I do? But I spent the whole night knowing I was a doomed man. Somehow, I survived the battle—less than half the soldiers we had down there did—and I went back to the ship, still waiting. Either for the chip to kill me or for the MPs to drag me off for my court martial and then the firing squad. But nothing happened. Time passed, and I learned two things. First off, that the counselors had to have their controllers with them in order to use the chip for punishment; so they basically had to be focused on you and paying attention. Second, that Mandrake had reported the counselor as slain by enemy fire. That was it.”
Sergei took a deep breath and blinked his eyes a few times, the memories of that night, the realness of it, finally fading and his awareness of the cafeteria, the clanks of dishes and the murmurs of other conversations, returning. “I worked up the courage to go see him a couple weeks later, to thank him, or try. He just handed me a bottle of vodka and told me to get so drunk I didn’t remember any of it.” Sergei managed a faint smile at the memory. “That didn’t quite work, but life went on. There were other counselors, but none as bad as that one, at least none that found me so intriguing. Maybe they were screwing with other young privates. Maybe they still are. I don’t know. Not long after that, Grenavine was annihilated and Mandrake deserted. He’d had a couple of years left on his tour, but I wasn’t surprised when he disappeared. Hard to stomach your home world getting utterly destroyed, especially when you’ve got a decent one. I’d probably be thrilled if the shit-hole station where I grew up was blasted from the stars. But anyway, I got transferred, did a couple more years in the military, then left when my tour was up. Honorable discharge, if you can imagine. It’s disturbing that Mandrake was labeled as a deserter and given a dishonorable discharge, when I was the one… I tried to retire a couple of times, but found I got bored or that I wasn’t educated enough to qualify for much else. Heard that Mandrake had started his own company and worked there for a while. Tried to retire again, after a run-in with a girl who said she’d never sleep with an assassin and how could I sleep with myself?” Sergei snorted. �
��Kind of regretted that I left the company over her. That didn’t work out. And that brings us up to now. When I saw the notice about the bounty, I had to warn Mandrake, and I realized that I’d missed being on the ship too. Even though I never really fit in, it didn’t matter. There are a lot of people there who don’t fit in. It’s still a family, in a way. And I missed it.”
Sergei leaned back in the booth and pushed his hand through his hair, looking at Jamie for the first time in a while. “I’m sorry for talking so much. I can’t even imagine what you must think, some near stranger telling you all that. I promise you it’s not something I talk about a lot. I just need you to know that what you heard was really just me trying to mess with that man’s head. I don’t know if Mandrake cares a whit about it one way or another, but he has my loyalty. Because of that night. Because of other stuff, too—that wasn’t the only time he saved my life—but especially because of that night.”
Jamie was the one staring into her coffee cup now. She looked up when he stopped talking, but wore the expression of someone who didn’t know what to say. Not surprising. His fantasy that she would join him on his side of the table and stroke the side of his face wasn’t realistic. He would settle for her believing him and not reporting anything untoward to Sergeant Hazel.
“He must know that then,” Jamie finally said. “The captain.”
“Know that I’m loyal? I hope so. But he’s always had a paranoid streak—I don’t imagine you survive long as a mercenary captain without that. And I’m sure he always meant more to me than I did to him. I was such a dumb young pest when I first showed up in his unit.” Sergei smiled—those memories at least weren’t painful. “I just needed you to know, because, uhm, I heard what Hazel was saying to you, about leaving me here. I want to fix this problem for Mandrake. Bounty hunters, assassins—they’re my world, and I know how to navigate it. And I owe him a favor. I want to do right by you all too. You and Ankari and, er, the one who never comes out from behind the curtain.”
The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) Page 6
