Hopefully, he’d listen and stay exactly where he was, getting what little rest he could.
In her medbay, she put all personal thoughts aside as she discarded the cloths and water before taking the sample tubes and labeling them with a micro-crystal stamp. On each label, the thumb-sized screen flickered to life and catalogued the contents, then scanned and confirmed they were all workable samples. She put three in a coldstore, but kept out the fourth. In another half hour, she’d separated various components of the blood and started the Imojenna’s computers working on DNA and genetics sequencing.
But when the estimated time flashed in the bottom right-hand corner of her commpad, she groaned. Five days? How was she going to keep Rian from questioning him for that long? Worse, how could she expect Varean to languish down there for all that time?
Chapter Ten
Despite Kira ordering him to get some rest, Varean wasted a good half hour trying to figure out if his chains or the bulkhead brace had any weaknesses he could exploit to get himself free.
Unfortunately, he’d take a safe bet on the gorilla chaining up more than a few people before him, because even with his extensive commando training, he couldn’t find any flaws in the way Callan had attached him to the brace.
He muttered a few choice curses under his breath, wiping his face against his biceps, trying to stop some of the sweat dripping into his eyes. Whatever good Kira’s sponge bath had done was well and truly wasted now. Although, at least he wasn’t half covered in his own blood anymore.
Speaking of that sponge bath, he was not going there again. No way sir. Living through it had been hard enough without his mind supplying him a play-by-play rerun. But damn him to Erebus, he couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming at him like an avalanche, no matter his determination to the contrary.
She’d soaped him up and oh-so-innocently cleaned him down with all the precision and detachment of cleaning a battlecruiser. There shouldn’t have been anything sexy about it. Yet for all the pain and injury he’d suffered recently, it seemed his body was primed to soak in any kind of ministrations like a damned soppy sponge.
Never mind getting shot with the Reidar stunner, chained up, locked up, or put down. If anyone ever wanted to torture him, apparently all they needed to do was send in Kira with those wet, soapy cloths a few times, and he’d be begging for mercy.
It had taken her maybe ten minutes to get him cleaned up to her satisfaction—every touch completely, frustratingly professional and impersonal—but they’d been the longest ten minutes of his life. If he’d been sweating by the time she was done, the heat from the engines hadn’t been the cause. He’d been left with the small dignity that, while he’d been dealing with some serious swelling below the belt, at least he hadn’t been fully standing at attention. And apparently she’d been so unaware of him as anything but an object, he didn’t think she had a clue just how intensely she’d jacked up his entire system.
But all that aside, it’d probably come time to admit he did need to shut himself down, let his abilities do their thing, and regain some strength after taking another hit from the damned alien stunner. His body was still buzzing from it, like he’d been hit by lightning, leaving residual burns licking under his skin and his head throbbing with each beat of his heart. Though being upright with his arms stretched above his head wasn’t ideal, he closed his eyes and made his mind go quiet, forcing himself into a semi-relaxed state as if he were taking a combat nap while stuck in live action.
But with his abilities now running rampant, his body and mind separated, leaving his physical self in a healing state while his consciousness remained mostly alert. Whoa. So he had no idea he could do that. Weird. Like floating in a dark pool of water where he knew he existed, but there was no sensation.
Gradually, he got the sense he wasn’t closed in a dark, sensory-deprived bubble, but opening to—something bigger and more complex than his own mind, something that had become familiar. It was that place he’d been unwillingly drawn into when he thought he’d been dreaming. Now he could see there was actually a way to enter, a rippling horizon of yellow and gray shifting light. And above him, always unreachable but present, was that blue star. What this all meant, he had no idea. Did it come back to his heritage? Things he would have learned if his mother hadn’t died and left him to the foster system?
It seemed he was gaining more control over this augmented reality, choosing to tap into the mysteries himself instead of simply being inundated by them.
Yet once he’d become immersed, the antagonistic mutation within him stretched, latching onto his newfound feelings toward Kira. Images came at him like asteroids.
He wanted her, saw, felt himself kissing her, but there were no bars between them. This time she didn’t pull away, this time he didn’t let her pull away. He took control, took what he wanted. The shadows drove him to take everything from her. Claiming her body wasn’t enough; he wanted her pleasure and her pain. Her very life. Instead of touching her like a lover should, he was hurting her, he was going to kill her, because that’s what the shadows demanded.
He recoiled, distantly feeling his body jerk as though he were fighting to get free. But there was no escape. He’d been dragged too deep and couldn’t break the suffocating hold.
…
Rian leaned on his console, watching as Kalaheo station loomed. Lianna took them underneath one of the four protruding external docking bays before swinging back around and maneuvering the ship toward an empty berth.
Being a large station in a central system, Kalaheo was busy, and they’d had to cool their jets for three hours before anything had even opened up. Station law required a ship to stay docked for two hours, something to do with authorization checks and cooling engines. But he didn’t plan on hanging around that long. For a start, no matter how good at forgery Callan might be, he couldn’t be sure some tie-wearing form-filer wouldn’t realize they were flying under a fake registration. And two, if his luck ran the usual crappy streak, they’d more than likely need to make a quick getaway.
Lianna sat back as the engines started winding down. “Docking complete. Pressure equalizing in the cargo bay hatch.”
Though her voice held its usual note of perfect professionalism, and outwardly she hadn’t treated him any differently in the last twelve hours, he was getting a definite chill from her that hadn’t been there before. At least she wasn’t outright avoiding him like some of the others. Even Callan seemed to have an extra wary glint in his eyes the few times they’d spoken.
He couldn’t decide if the crew’s new, guarded, tiptoeing-through-the-frecking-tulips attitude was hilarious or downright aggravating. He’d never lied to any of them about his true nature, never tried to hide the darkness inside him. They’d all been witness to him killing some frecking mother-loving son of a whore at one time or another over the years. They knew him for the destroyer he was.
So maybe he’d never told them about the whole Reidar-assassin bit, but that was mostly because he didn’t remember all that much about it himself. There were flashes; most often they came at night, in his dreams. He never could tell what was real memory and what was simply his damaged mind creating gruesome, bloody images. And while he didn’t remember the specifics of killing the entire Freemont government, the simple, undeniable fact that he had done it was lodged in the dark recesses of his mind like knowing his own name.
Maybe a normal or remotely sane person would have felt guilty when faced with the stark reality of their vicious, malevolent past. And sure, a cold kind of creeping sensation—one that was familiar and desolate—had burrowed into the back of his neck and refused to let go since he’d stepped onto that dead ship. But he didn’t feel bad. He was sure as frecking hell angry, like he was giving birth to an arctic vortex that would raze everything in its path. Yet he let the frigid fury feed his resolve to pay back those shape-shifting freaks in kind—kill two of them for every life they’d directly or indirectly had a hand in destroying.
&n
bsp; “McKenzie, you’re coming on station with me.” He pushed back from the console, but tapped the comm icon and ordered his sister’s fiancé, Everette, up to the bridge.
“What about Callan?” Lianna asked once Tannin had arrived to take over the helm and they’d started down to the cargo bay.
“He’s coming, too.”
Lianna gave a single nod, clipping her gun belt around her hips and double-checking her weapons. Usually he would have taken only one or the other, not both. He’d like to say they wouldn’t expect trouble on a nice, civilized station like Kalaheo, but lately trouble found him like a black hole found any matter dumb enough to get near its event horizon.
Callan was waiting for them on the cargo bay deck. Though it didn’t outwardly appear the guy was toting as many weapons as usual, it was just an illusion. No doubt he had an impressive number of guns and knives stashed.
As he hit the hatchway release, he glanced up the stairs, fully expecting Ella to come waltzing down, all soft eyes, swaying hips, and metium-reinforced attitude to tell him she was coming along on this little jaunt. But by the time the hatchway had fully opened, there was no sign of her. He was almost disappointed, which was idiotically ridiculous. Actually, maybe disappointed wasn’t the right sentiment. More frustrated that she kept him so far off-kilter he could never guess her intent. Hell, she hadn’t even come to see him after he’d returned from that dead ship and locked himself in his cabin with a bottle of Violaine until the frecking tremors in his hands had stopped.
Obviously, their last encounter had convinced her to stay away from him, even though he definitely hadn’t been the victor in that little skirmish.
Putting the priestess out of his mind, he stepped through the atmospheric doors and into the short metal tubeway leading into the docking arm. He, Callan, and Lianna came out in a wider passage with a gangway running down the middle, multiple tubeways leading to each berth in this section of the station. People strolled up and down the wide gangway, some coming, some going, some towing luggage or directing small, compact hover carts, some groups standing and chatting.
Rian kept his head ducked but his attention sharp. The last thing he needed was someone recognizing the ex–war hero. For a start, he was trying to keep a low profile and get out of here before either the authorities or Reidar knew he was dumb enough to set foot on a central system station. And second, he frecking hated it when people tried to congratulate him or stared at him in awe like he was something special.
Once they’d left the gangway and made it to the inner station, he stopped to access a directory. It’d been years since he’d come through this system. The public station logs he’d checked had listed Grigor as still residing and trading here, but often the information was outdated by months or occasionally years. However the directory aimed him toward a sector on the upper trading side of the station. Seemed Grigor had moved up in the universe since last time Rian had dealt with him, when his base of operations had been at a hole-in-the-wall, dingy stand in the bowels of the station.
Then, Grigor had acted as one of the many cogs in the larger syndicate of drugs, weapons, and prohibited tech run by an illegal trader named Uzair, who operated out of Huata, the legendary illicit bazaar on the Rim. When a rival organization had snatched Grigor’s son and sold him into slavery, Grigor hadn’t contacted Uzair for help—not that the ruthless trader would have helped anyway—but instead had contacted Rian. Liberating that frecking slave ship had earned him one more gold star in the legend of Rian Sherron, War Hero. He’d left the slave traders bloody and broken and had abandoned the ship at an aid station used by the IPC military for relief works before taking Grigor’s son back to Kalaheo.
In return, Grigor had offered him an open-ended favor. Rian had never thought he’d need to call in the voucher, or if he did it would be something minor. What he planned on asking for today was no small thing.
The Reidar stunner weapon—or razar as Qae had started calling them—was the only weapon they had, the single toehold they’d found in the flawless wall of assault the aliens had erected. They needed to produce them fast, on a mass scale. Which meant parts, components, devices, and materials. A lot of which were tagged, catalogued, and tracked by the IPC. It’d be impossible to buy or trade for the amount they needed without attracting attention.
They already had UAFA charges of intergalactic terrorism hanging over their heads. And they were about to be associated with ex-Captain Admiral Zander Graydon and the huge-ass IPC flagship he was stealing—once the IPC military realized he’d gone off grid. So catching the IPC’s attention by stockpiling materials used to make weapons wasn’t something he wanted to add to the list. Besides, if the IPC knew, the Reidar would know. And until he could nuke the entire galaxy and show people the truth of what was hiding right under their noses, he didn’t want them to realize he’d found a firearm that could out the bastards to their true form.
He took note of the directions and moved off, motioning Lianna and Callan to follow him.
Some places were more crowded than others, and as they passed through each sector, Rian took note of the security cameras and tried to keep his head angled down or away. One decent facial scan and the station alarms would be wailing themselves into a lockdown.
Ten minutes later, they were standing outside a large, reputable-looking storelet, complete with offices on either side and decals on the crystal display panes announcing Grigor and Associates Commerce Exchange.
“Fancy digs,” Callan muttered as they stepped toward the wide, three-panel doorway, which slid smoothly into a recess.
“Don’t touch anything, Callan.” Lianna shot the security specialist a quick, impertinent grin. “Knowing you, it’ll get broken, and I’m guessing everything in here is worth more than a grunt like you makes in a year.”
Callan hitched his weapon belt with its single, visible gun. “We can’t all be fancy-pants engineers, now, can we?”
“All the kiddies get the same sized slice of cake,” Rian put in before Lianna could reply. “Which means you all get the same cut of the take. Now, can we keep an eye out for station security or maybe any Reidar looking to freck us upside down and backward?”
Usually the crew’s tit-for-tat didn’t bother him. Sometimes it was even entertaining. But right now, the way his skin was crawling, he wasn’t in the mood for it.
Inside, high-end clientele browsed over everything from robotics and biometric upgrades to jewelry and kitchen appliances. More than a few took a double look at them. No doubt because their functional, shipbound clothes made them stick out like a garbage compactor in a sub-light racer lineup.
A woman came out from behind a counter and walked over smiling, but her tense gaze gave up the truth of her pseudo-friendly expression.
“Can I help you with something?” She clasped her hands in front of her as she stopped, seeming all manner of solicitous and polite.
He hooked a thumb into a loop on his belt. “I’m here to see Grigor. Tell him it’s Rian. That’s all he’ll need to hear.”
The woman’s smile became over-patient with a touch of brittleness. “Mr. Grigor isn’t available today—”
And there went the small quarter of patience he’d saved up for this little outing. His hand landed on the butt of his pulse pistol. “I didn’t ask you if he was available. I asked you to tell him Rian is here to see him.”
She opened her mouth, but Callan half stepped in front of the woman, gaining her attention as he shot her what could only be described as a suave smile. His eyes, however, remained hard.
“I’m sure you don’t want any kind of scene in front of all these fine customers. Doesn’t take much for word to get around and damage a business’s reputation. This looks like a nice place, so I’d hate to see it all scorched and broken, what with the pulse pistol fire and fleeing that’s sure to happen if you don’t go back there and find Mr. Grigor.”
The woman’s eyes widened, her lips pressing together as she swallowed, before dar
ting a glance over Lianna and ending on him. He lifted his lips in a quick, crooked smile, one that had just a tad of lethal added to it, and pointedly moved his other hand so he had both palms on weapons. Truthfully, shooting up the place hadn’t factored into his plan, but it didn’t hurt to let the woman think he was more than willing to go all kinds of postal on the no-doubt expensive merchandise.
She cleared her throat and waved a hand toward the spot she’d left a moment ago. “If you’ll come with me?”
Without waiting for a response, she led them past the long bench to a frosted-crystal pane door, where she paused for a palm scan. Inside was a kind of anteroom. A couple of plush chairs were arranged around a low table with three doors leading off in various directions.
“If you’ll take a seat, I’ll go find Mr. Grigor.”
Rian nodded, but she didn’t see, since she was too busy fleeing through the door on the far right. Lianna sat and helped herself to a glass of water from a chilled pitcher on the table, but he stayed where he was, scanning the room for any cameras or other security measures.
After Lianna was done with the jug, Callan took it and gulped straight from the pitcher, then made a face.
“Jezus. You reckon a place this fancy could at least have decent water. This tastes like it came out of the Imojenna’s decontamination tanks.”
Lianna sent the guy a flat look. “It has lemon slices in it, that’s what you can taste.”
“It’s got fruit in it?” He set the jug down with a grimace. “No wonder it tastes so frecking terrible.”
The woman came back less than two minutes later, avoiding Callan and him to angle herself toward Lianna. “Mr. Grigor is on a call, but he’ll be out in a few minutes, as soon as he’s finished.”
Lianna gave a single nod, then took a sip of the water. The woman shuffled a few steps sideways and rounded the far side of the chairs. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed out front.”
Diffraction (Atrophy) Page 12
