Didn’t think they’d ever become best buddies.
Brad took the time to complain about Cecil as he and I had found an elevated observation post to keep an eye out for Pierre.
“I swear to you, someday Cecil’s gonna bail even if he’s on a prowl for a target with a partner.”
“Really?” I asked. I had a hard time picturing it, as Cecil was the guy who’d recruited me to the team and saved my ass from a serious beating on more than one occasion. On one of those occasions we’d both gotten beaten so thoroughly that we were black and blue for weeks, but at least we’d won the fight. He hadn’t bailed then—he’d stood by his partner. But I didn’t doubt Brad either as he had an eye for details that I sometimes missed. Maybe because he had several more years’ worth of experience.
“Mike. Life has a few lessons to teach, and our business has more than most. Some of them you learned as a soldier, but you have to remember when dealing with mercenaries that sometimes you meet one who aims for the big bucks.”
I felt chills run down my spine. “You mean the highest bidder can buy loyalty?”
Brad looked at me in a way that made me think he might have learned this lesson the hard way. “Cecil has been in this business too long, kid. Even his ethics are for sale.”
Was it fear I saw in Brad’s eyes?
“Pierre has been spotted by the Bar under the Bridge,” Jack said in our earpieces. Brad was on his feet in a second, and I never got to ask him any of my many questions. But the thought of a man being able to sell his ethics was unfathomable to me. It sounded like selling a piece of your soul. But one’s ethics weren’t supposed to be appraised in monetary value—it shouldn’t be possible if a person wanted to consider himself a whole person. Money can buy much but not a soul. I’d never believed it possible, and with the look in Brad’s eyes, I promised myself that mine would never be for sale. The highest bidder would always come up short.
When we arrived at the Bar under the Bridge, there was a mighty commotion. People were walking around outside, talking, and pointing in every direction while a stench from the alley drifted our way. The unmistakable scent of gunpowder.
Brad grabbed the nearest man by the collar and turned him to face him. “What happened here?”
“Let go! I have nothing to do with this.” The man freed himself from Brad’s hold. I raised my rifle and let it land heavily on the man’s shoulder so the cold muzzle touched his cheek. The man stopped moving and raised both hands—in one he had a knife.
“If you want to continue to not have anything to do with all of this, then I suggest you pack away the blade, pal,” I said.
“Don’t shoot, I’ll tell you everything,” the man said in a small voice.
“Okay.” I lowered my rifle, but I kept it visible. The man’s eyes were on it the whole time as he told of two men entering the bar. A third had gone amok and ran through the place, blind to his surroundings. They’d all run out back from where several shots had sounded moments later.
“Brad!” someone yelled. The man’s account of what had happened became irrelevant as I recognized the voice as Bill’s. Then a scream in pain sounded, and we hastily made our way through the crowd.
Bill was on the ground, holding his leg. He’d fastened a belt around his thigh to stop the bleeding.
“What in the worlds happened? Bill, look at me.” Brad turned Bill’s face up to look at him. Bill’s gaze was unfocused, so I took over his attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Artery isn’t damaged,” I noted. Brad nodded and found coagulant from a thigh pocket. I took the bags and poured the contents from it into the open gash. Bill screamed again and snarled at me while he clutched at Brad’s arms.
“Where is Cecil?” Bill asked when he was finally able to focus on constructing a whole sentence that didn’t contain curses or profanities.
“What happened?” Brad asked and fumbled to make his earpiece work.
“Pierre. He ran out here. I didn’t even see him! Cecil came the other way around. He wanted to cut him off, but Pierre was waiting for me. Here, in the alley. Half my face feels crushed.” Bill’s hectic breathing made the sentence come out in short, jerky sentences. “Got the butt of a gun right in the face. Never saw it coming.”
Brad sent me a worried look before he resumed the attempt to make his earpiece work. “Report back, everybody report back!”
“Jack here, I haven’t heard from anyone. Uniforms on their way to a shooting. What happened?”
“Bill got shot, and Cecil isn’t here. We can’t find him, but Pierre is on the run. He shot Bill,” Brad said.
“Get the hell out of there! I have the law closing in... wait, I think I got Cecil on another line... he’s hurt.”
A strange static noise filtered in and Jack’s voice was drowned out by it.
Brad looked at me and nodded.
“Come on, Bill, we have to move,” I said, swung my rifle over my shoulder, and grabbed one of his arms while Brad helped to haul him to his feet. Bill cursed as we dragged him toward the spaceport. We could only guess from which direction the police were coming—all we knew was that we had to avoid them. They asked too many questions. Even though we were allowed to work there, we were also obligated to cooperate and report shootings in their city if we talked to them.
“Jack... Jack are you there?” Brad asked several times on our way back. “Damn, get that connection back up and running.”
“Wonder if Cecil made it back,” I said.
“Maybe, but why the hell didn’t he stay with Bill?”
I didn’t have time to ask because Bill suddenly became very heavy as he collapsed unconscious in my arms.
“Bill, hold on. We’ll be there, soon.” I hauled him up the best I could. Brad sped up, but we had to take cover in an alley behind a dumpster as several local lawmen turned onto the street we were on. I used the wait to check Bill’s pulse. “He’s cold, and his pulse is weak. We gotta haul ass, he needs blood and soon.”
“I know, kid,” Brad said before he left all of Bill’s weight to me. Brad stayed in the shadows and crept toward the alley’s opening to peer around the corner. “All clear, let’s move!”
I hauled Bill up, and Brad grabbed the other arm again. Two more blocks and we’d have a visual line of sight on the ship. But something was wrong! That much was evident as we rounded the last corner. The ramp was lowered, and steam oozed out into the chilly night air.
Brad looked at me, alarmed.
“Run, I’ll take Bill,” I said.
Brad let go immediately and set off in a sprint. I lowered Bill so I could pull him up in a fireman’s carry. Then I began running toward the ship, and my muscles began burning almost immediately. My mind fought to convince my body that it was far from tired yet. But the ramp was still a problem to climb—especially when I saw Brad working on stopping the bleeding on Cecil, who was lying prone and unconscious on a gurney.
“God dammit! This just isn’t our day!” I exclaimed and placed Bill on a gurney next to Cecil.
“Give him blood and see if you can get through to Jack. The hatch is closed, and he didn’t answer me.”
“Okay.” I rigged the synthetic blood. Then I checked Bill’s vitals and ran for the hatch.
The storage room was a mess, and I took the time to look around while calling for Jack. He didn’t answer, so I ran for the stairs, but the hatch didn’t budge, so I hit my head and fell three steps down before I got a foothold again.
“Jack! Can you hear me? Open the hatch!” Still no answer, so I went back to the storage room to search for tools to circumvent the lock.
“What’s going on?” Brad yelled.
“The hatch is locked. Jack still isn’t answering!” I yelled and heard Brad curse while I continued to look for tools. I finally found what I needed and ran for the stairs again. The hatch gave way, and I pushed it open. If I hadn’t seen a dead body before, I would probably have fallen down the stairs again. Jack was lying three feet away with his f
ace turned toward me. His eyes were wide and stiff. There was a single entrance wound in his forehead, but the mess on the wall told of the caliber that had probably been used. To make sure, I crawled over to look at the back of Jack’s head. It wasn’t there—only a big, soggy hole.
“Mike!” Brad yelled.
“Coming!” But I took the time to close Jack’s eyes.
Brad was checking on Bill as I entered the med bay. “Cecil’s come around, and Bill is improving. Did you find Jack?”
I nodded and moved to Cecil’s side. “Jack’s dead. Shot with a shredder. We have to scrape him off the walls.”
Brad looked at me, horrified, before he shook his head and returned his focus on sewing Bill’s leg back together.
“I want him. I want that bastard,” Cecil whispered.
“Pierre?” I asked.
Cecil nodded. “We both took a round. Bill and me. When I reached the alley, he was already down. I managed to surprise Pierre, but his gun went off as we fought. That’s why I left Bill. I thought he was dead and since I was hurt, too, I couldn’t wait if I had to bring Pierre back, too.”
“Why didn’t you call it in?” Brad asked. Whether Cecil was too confused or dazed to notice the accusation in Brad’s voice, I don’t know, but with our conversation earlier about Cecil’s lack of moral in mind I definitely caught it.
“My earpiece got lost in the fight. I looked for it, but people were coming, and they wouldn’t make it easier to get away. What should I have done? Let Pierre go?”
“A target can always be tracked down again,” Brad said, quietly. I looked from one to the other. The tension in the room rose uncomfortably. Cecil wasn’t hurt badly. Not enough to need blood or surgery.
“Pierre came to after I’d closed the ramp. Jack came down to help me, but Pierre managed to kick me. He hit my wound and got a lucky punch in. I heard Jack yell that he’d call for help. Pierre grabbed my gun and shot me again when I tried to stop him and then... then I don’t remember anymore.” Cecil looked away.
I was reminded of a mission where I’d been wounded and therefore not fast enough to help a fellow soldier. Branning Jackson almost lost his leg because I wasn’t quick enough to drag myself over to free him before the last parts of the wreckage fell and squashed his leg. It wasn’t my fault, but I definitely remembered the feeling Cecil had right then. For a long time, I’d had the feeling that my best hadn’t been good enough. That I wasn’t good enough. Long conversations with Jackson had finally given me the forgiveness I needed to start believing in myself as a good soldier again. As a good fellow soldier. He forgave me right away, but I had a harder time forgiving myself because of all we’d been through on Orlani, too.
But Brad didn’t seem convinced by Cecil’s guilty conscience. Since that day he kept an even closer eye on Cecil. Always had an ear his way.
Cecil recovered from his injuries without complications.
Bill remained limp. Some of the muscles couldn’t be repaired properly again, not even after a trip to the hospital.
We gave Jack a burial in space. An unmarked grave somewhere between the systems. Every active soldier’s tomb. Serving the stars gives us a place among them should we die in service. Even though we’re mercenaries, that funeral is for us, too. Even bounty hunters show each other that final honor. With a last note written on the shroud, the body is jetonized into space.
I never forgot the details from that day. Especially Brad’s expression is as clear to me today. And his tales of a lesson learned the hard way.
Present day
Mike found relief in recounting the incident again. But he also found alarming thoughts and feelings concerning the conversation he’d had with Brad as they’d sat on that roof, waiting for Pierre.
With the incidents from prison in mind, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Hadn’t he sold his ethics in prison? Hadn’t he made compromises in an area he’d sworn was too valuable to not keep intact?
It pained him to think of Keelan.
But Keelan had made compromises too after Mike had come back bruised and defeated. He’d bought the dream crystals even though he said he never wanted to have anything to do with drugs. Because he didn’t want to protect Mike while he was high. Or had the gesture been an unspoken promise of protection that one time?
Suddenly Mike felt a burning need to know the answer to that question. But he knew one thing for sure. Keelan would kill him for having betrayed him if they ever crossed paths again.
“Thank you for sharing this with us, Mike,” Heckman said. “I must say that I’m impressed with the amount of details and especially your observations. Does any of this stand out clearer because you just read the files?”
“Yes, sir. But other details remain confusing. You ask me to tell you about Cecil’s behavior and my observations of this. But why he seemed so tense that day, I still don’t know. It doesn’t shed light on the information regarding Brad’s death. But the reason why I’m telling you about this particular incident is because it was the first time I saw this behavior. Or the first time I noticed it.”
“So you noticed a similar behavior from him after?” Lewis asked.
“Yes, sir. Oddly enough a later incident has more than a few things in common with the one I just recounted. Here the files have really shed new light on the matter, and I can see several connections,” Mike said.
“How?” Heckman asked.
“Cecil’s mood... I think it would be easier to explain if I tell you about that incident first.”
Chapter Ten
Kanakoon 33/06 2610
Pierre’s disappearing act on Motáll, Jack’s death, and the severity of Bill’s injuries seemed to have put a damper on the mood of everyone one the ship. Brad didn’t say much. He’d never been a man of many words, but he was more quiet than usual. Right up until the day Pierre had been observed not far from our position.
Cecil came running into the cockpit where Brad and I were cross-referencing our newest intel with our most credible sources.
“What’s this? You found him?” Cecil asked, eagerly.
“Yes,” I answered. Brad looked at me, warningly, but I couldn’t make the look fit the situation. It’d been like that since Motáll.
“He’s been spotted at the market where he engaged in conversation with a few slave trainers. No transporter registered to him or with him on its passenger list has been observed in the area. So, if he has unbroken slaves with him, he stashed them pretty good,” Brad said.
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s get moving!” Cecil said.
“Cecil, to recon the area is always the first task to be performed!” Brad said. The tension between the two rose and made me feel like a kid witnessing his parents argue.
“Dammit Brad, we’ve been here like a thousand times before, we know what the fucking marketplace looks like and where the loopholes are!”
“Yes, but we have no idea how many friends or what kind of backup Pierre’s got with him this time!” Brad pushed his way passed Cecil in the doorway. Cecil nailed me to my place with his piercing and skeptical eyes.
“What about you, Mike? Where do you stand in all of this?”
“Where do I stand? Right where we can get Pierre without losing any more team members, Cecil!”
Cecil seemed to calm down a bit, but the skepticism didn’t leave his eyes as he turned and left the cockpit. Mike followed him into the adjoining room where Bill perched at the edge of a chair, waiting. Only Brad was putting on his coat and concealing his weapons.
“Bill will be our lookout.” Brad sent him a knowing look. Bill nodded and glanced at me nervously as Cecil turned his back to us to get his own equipment. The capture made me more nervous than usual, and Brad’s sudden change of heart on whether to recon the area first or not irritated me. I didn’t want to question it, though.
“Am I the solo?” I asked.
“Yeah, you’re playing customer,” Brad said. I managed to keep the surprise from my expression.
I spent the next four hours walking the market square, drinking soup, and pretending to be interested in buying slaves. To see all these destroyed eyes and hollow shells of what had once been independent and free-thinking individuals pained me. How could someone make a living off of destroying other people like this? And for what? Power? Money? It pained me the most when I saw the children, but as a soldier, I’d seen more than my share of doomed destinies. Maybe experience was all that kept me from fleeing the place screaming at the horrors of the worlds.
“Mike, come in,” said Brad’s voice in my earpiece.
“Yeah?” I mumbled while discreetly looking around.
“We’ve got a tip on Pierre’s position. He’s talking to a seller in the north end of the street.”
“On my way.”
I found Pierre only minutes later, but as always he had eyes in the back of his head. If I hadn’t mastered the skill myself, I might have overlooked all the little movements and doings that allowed him to see everything that went on behind him. Pierre wasn’t stupid, we knew that, and so I didn’t dare sneak closer. Instead, I waved a seller closer so I could look at a young female slave. But the condition of her teeth or facts from a quick health screening didn’t interest me even though I gave it my best as a picky buyer. The seller must have believed my act.
“What purpose is your slave supposed to fill? Not only as a pleasure slave, I imagine, since you look like someone who can find someone on your own. But maybe you have special needs? I have one over here that might fit your needs better.”
His sales speech and attempt at small talk went over my head as I was trying to lip read Pierre’s conversation with someone who looked very familiar. But I couldn’t place him, and it frustrated the hell out of me. The seller’s constant presence and breathing down my neck made it impossible for me to call it into Brad or Cecil. If the man seemed so familiar, then there was the real possibility that he was a man with a bounty. He could even be Pierre’s backup.
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