by Ann Aguirre
The merc surprised her by digging into his gear belt and producing a small holo. The image revealed a small boy, thin and sickly pale, with dark hair and green eyes. He had the look of a chronic invalid. Since she hadn’t been around kids much, she didn’t know how old he was, but the entire holo was just a few seconds—the boy leaning forward out of frame as if to hug someone. Again and again it ran, until she glanced up in puzzlement.
“Who’s that?”
“My son. Who will die if I don’t come back to him.”
She had no idea what that meant, what complicated web of need and familial ties Vost had outside of Perdition. But she understood one thing sure enough; this man would make any deal and honor it to get out of here. After watching that, Dred felt as sure as she could be that he wouldn’t stab them in the back at the last minute, not when he was alone and fighting to get back to his son.
“Is he why you didn’t pull out—and die—with the rest of your men?” Jael asked.
Vost inclined his head. “I needed the credits too much to fail here. The treatments are expensive, and they’re all that’s keeping him alive.”
It explained everything about his motivations and his commitment to escaping. Dred made a snap decision, betting their future on Vost’s determination. “Very well, then. Welcome to Queensland.”
