On a Pale Ship: A Privateer Tales Series

by Jamie McFarlane

  “Leave it alone, Oleg,” Yasha said. “You don’t want any part of this.”

  “To blood,” Oleg said, ignoring him. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Not here,” Yasha said. “Take it outside.”

  “Loser pays for damages,” Oleg said. “The way it’s always been.”

  “Did you say Baron Serikov?” Yasha asked, finally catching up. “There’s no Serikov.”

  Luc threw his half empty glass of vodka into Yasha’s face and whipped out the bokken. In a single fluid movement, he lashed out and struck Oleg in the knee, dropping him to the floor. Without stopping, Luc spun, kicked the closest of Oleg’s companions in the face, blocked a club strike from the second with his bokken, and moved so the third man was blocked by the other two.

  “Get him,” Yasha roared. “He’s an imposter.”

  “Frak,” Luc said, slashing the bokken into the jaw of the first man who stepped into his vision. He spun again, bringing his heel into the knee of number two, dropping him onto the ground next to Oleg. His final opponent squared off and swung two clubs in an undisciplined flurry. Luc danced around the man, deflecting his blows easily while waiting for an opening.

  Finally, the man started tiring, unable to keep the clubs swinging with such ferocity. Luc blocked a blow, pushing the clubs out and away, leaving just enough time to swivel and bring the bokken’s blade down onto the man’s neck. He was careful to avoid causing permanent damage, but pleased all the same when he heard the snap of the man’s collarbone.

  “Do not move, Serikov,” Yasha said from behind the bar. The sound of a blaster rifle’s charge being loaded into the chamber caught Luc’s attention.

  “No harm,” Luc said, holding up his hands, still holding his bokken. “Just a misunderstanding at the gate earlier today.”

  Oleg and his friends groaned while rolling on the ground.

  “What are you doing here, Serikov?” Yasha asked.

  “I told you,” Luc said. “Checking on a shipment. We were expecting a package we did not receive.”

  “You could not know about that,” Yasha fired the weapon.

  At first, Luc thought he was dead. A close-range blaster shot was more than sufficient to kill a man. And while the pain was incredible, he felt himself fall into a heap on the floor.

  “Sergey. Pack him up. We need to take him to Leonidovich.” Luc heard Yasha say as the world around him turned to black.

  Luc’s eyes fluttered open as he gasped for air, coughing at the water he’d breathed in. He found himself lying on a stone floor, water dripping from his face. Instinctively, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and looked up. A very battered looking Oleg grinned evilly as he set a bucket onto the floor and stepped aside.

  “There he is.” Luc’s eyes were drawn to a group of men. They were seated on a raised floor in a semi-circle facing him. A dark wooden railing separated him from the men except for a hinged portion that sat open. The speaker was a man about his own age and was set apart from the group by the fur-collared red cape he wore over more practical street clothing. It didn’t take much imagination for Luc to realize he was looking at Khan Leonidovich.

  Luc sat back on his knees and took in more of the room. He sat in a large hall that was open above all the way up to the roof. Arched columns carved from stone lined the room on either side and flames burned atop bronze-colored sconces. His eye caught movement behind the columns. Yasha was there, and behind him stood a gathering of less-important onlookers, no doubt. On the wall behind the Khan was a single, colored-glass window, centered between another set of arched columns and taking up most of the back wall.

  “That’s right, take it all in,” Leonidovich said and gestured grandly, standing from his chair and pushing off the robe. Two previously unseen girls scurried around his chair, picked up the robe, and placed it back onto his chair before disappearing behind it again. “You are a guest of the Khanate of Leonidovich, the greatest of all King Kostov’s fiefs. I am Khan Eduard Leonidovich, but we all know that. What we are here to learn is just who you are.”

  Luc pushed up from his knees and attempted to stand. He knew that to negotiate from a position of weakness would gain him nothing, although only so much could be done under the circumstances. From the corner of his eye, he saw Oleg swing what looked like his bokken, striking him in the back just below his ribs. With a cry of pain, Luc fell forward, catching himself with his hands. For a moment, he sagged as he coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. The pain blotted out all potential for strategic thinking.

  “I do not believe Oleg likes you, Mr. Serikov, is it?” Leonidovich’s voice held the mocking tone of someone bored and in power. “Or is that really your name?”

  “I am Baron Roth Serikov, a citizen of Fariza on Vermeer. You have no right to treat me this way,” Luc said. He knew his cover was the only chance he had.

  “Do you know how long it takes for a message to travel all the way from Grünholz to Vermeer and back, Baron?”

  “A couple of hours?” Luc guessed.

  “One hour, twelve minutes,” Leonidovich added. “And do you know what we found when we asked about Baron Roth Serikov of Fariza?”

  “I was granted title by Delpha Karivoh and given a holding for my actions in the Balta uprising,” Luc replied, reciting the cover story his AI projected onto his HUD.

  “This was brought up,” Leonidovich said. “Conveniently, Karivoh passed a number of stans ago and was unavailable to corroborate. A most convincing electronic cover story if someone were to inquire.”

  Luc pushed against his knees again and sat back on his heels, hoping Oleg wouldn’t knock him down.

  “You see, the thing is, we did just a bit more checking and we found the most unexpected piece of information. Would you care to guess what that is?”

  Luc didn’t respond. The man had something and he would hear about it either way.

  “Does the name Captain Lucien Gray ring any bells for you?” Leonidovich smiled tightly. “Do you really think we wouldn’t discover Nuage’s meddling in our business?”

  “Nuage has nothing to do with this. I was let go from service. I’m acting independently,” Luc said. While he despised how the Nuage government had treated him, he still loved his country.

  “To what end, Captain Gray?”

  “I’m not a captain anymore. It’s just Luc.”

  “You’re stalling. Why did Nuage send you to spy on me?”

  “I was responsible for Lieutenant Emilie Bastion. Her body was not returned. I believe she is still alive,” Luc said.

  “You do not trust electronic records either, then? We sent a data stream of your Lieutenant’s last moments to Colonel Festove,” Leonidovich said. “It was quite gruesome.”

  “I saw no evidence of Emilie’s death,” Luc said through gritted teeth, tipping his head back defiantly.

  “You see, Valya?” Leonidovich said, turning to the lean, dark-haired man who sat next to him. “Even the pigeons don’t trust electronic records.”

  Valya smiled tightly, turning his scarred face only slightly toward Leonidovich as he nodded.

  “Yasha, play it. And, Captain Gray, you can take my word. We did not manufacture this stream,” he said.

  Yasha, who sat at the end of the grouping of men on the stage, stood and gestured toward the wall to Luc’s right. A white sheet unfurled and just as it straightened a gray image of Grünholz’s sky appeared on it. Luc caught the sight of Emilie floating down, her suit’s arc-jets firing erratically, trying to push her toward Cauldron but also laboring to arrest her downward momentum. It soon became apparent that she would miss the city by upwards of a kilometer.

  “We’re not the animals you make us out to be,” Leonidovich said. “We sent a rescue boat.”

  The room grew quiet again as they all watched Emilie. After twenty seconds, she’d fallen within two hundred meters of the sea’s surface and she started struggling frantically to work the controls of her suit, making her flight si
gnificantly more unpredictable.

  “I think she’s seen something in the water,” Leonidovich said, enjoying himself. “And look. A patrol craft. It’s so close, but will it be in time?”

  With hope, Luc found a twenty-meter-long, gray steel boat slicing through the water in her direction. A single large turret rotated, pointing at the surface of the water. Estimating the speed of the ship and Emilie’s descent, he could see she would hit the water only a few seconds before the craft would arrive. He willed the ship’s captain to fire at the water that was churning beneath Emilie’s feet.

  Even before she landed in the water, a great green and pale-finned fish leapt from the water. Emilie, seeing the danger turned from it, but it was too late. The fish closed its mouth on her lower extremities and dragged her down, under the water.

  “And that’s what was sent to Colonel Festove. A rather convincing story, don’t you think? Nothing manufactured, just the cruel hard end of a pigeon’s life.”

  “Emilie,” Luc choked, tears running down his face, no longer caring what Leonidovich thought of him.

  “Pigeons. So weak. Play the rest, Yasha.”

  The craft’s turret belched fire and the water turned a murky brown and red as the shot found its home. The great fish floated to the surface, Bastion’s dead, broken body hanging from its mouth.

  “We’re not as fond of the groglesnout as we let on,” he admitted. “A respectable hunter, but a single kill will feed hundreds for a week.”

  “Why wouldn’t you just return her body?” Luc asked, his voice weak.

  “Why is it that men are always willing to die for answers? You had a good life, Captain Gray. Your country sent you to spy on me. It was a mistake that has cost you your life. Why do you care about the rest?”

  “I was responsible for her,” Luc said. “She was my friend.”

  “Economics, Captain,” he said. “We did not kill the groglesnout to rescue your friend or to feed the whining masses of Cauldron. A highly trained, freshly-killed pilot’s corpse is worth fifty thousand credits.”

  “To whom?”

  “Ironic that you would ask. The very people you said you represented in Fariza. This is why I know you are a spy. A man on his own could not have this information. Nuage Intelligence has been sniffing around my operation for years and they’ve picked up a scent that pointed them to Fariza. Your lack of knowledge confirms what I’ve always known. Nuage Intelligence knows nothing. Tell me, do you have any idea what they’ll pay for the corpse of one Captain Lucien Gray?”

  Luc shook his head, not willing to give the man the satisfaction he was looking for.

  “I’m thinking at least seventy-five thousand. I’ll ask for a hundred, but they’ll negotiate me down. Add that to the gold in your pocket and it’s turned out to be quite a pleasant day. Do you have any last words before I allow Oleg to drive his saber through your ribs?”

  “A smoke?”

  “A fine package of smokes you were carrying. I had assumed you carried them to bolster your thin disguise.”

  Leonidovich plucked the pack out from a pocket within his shirt, walked through the opening in the wooden railing, and handed the pack to Luc. Tapping the side of the package, Luc pulled a cigarette out and lit it from Leonidovich’s offered flame.

  “Had you been born of Cauldron, you and I could have been brothers,” Leonidovich said.

  “I will see you die,” Luc said, dragging deeply on the cigarette and filling his lungs with acrid smoke.

  The last thing he felt was the cold blade of Oleg’s saber as it pierced his flesh and drove toward his heart.

  Chapter 11

  Dirty Hands

  System: Tipperary, in orbit over Grünholz

  Dorian Anino listlessly paged through the latest board report from one of her many corporate holdings. Her mind flitted back to her encounter with Lucien Gray. Had she really dropped her dress like a schoolgirl at prom? How long had it been since she’d allowed anyone to touch her? Why couldn’t she focus? He’d been hurt when she ignored him at breakfast, but … She paged down and attempted to focus on the report. Mentally she chided herself; how much time would she waste dwelling on the enigmatic Captain Gray?

  “Ma’am?” Victor asked quietly, standing just inside the hatch to her private office.

  Ordinarily she didn’t like to be interrupted while working through reports, but she welcomed the break from her thoughts.

  “Are we to Nuage Gros?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ve been on Level Twelve docking pad for forty minutes. Your meeting is not for another thirty-five, however,” he replied.

  Dorian considered the man who had been in her family’s service for over forty standard years. Always impeccably dressed and abiding by a code of conduct outlined by a guild of butlers, he would not respond again until she requested. His right arm twitched subconsciously and Dorian intuitively understood he’d interrupted her for another reason.

  “Is there something else?”

  “Yes. The smoke tracker was engaged two minutes ago.”

  “Fantastic. We’ll finally discover where Oberrhein is sending the bodies,” Dorian replied. “You’ve transmitted this to our tracking team?”

  “I have. They entered geosynchronous orbit over the city of Cauldron and are prepared to follow as many as four different ships, should there be movement,” Victor answered.

  “Very well. I’ll be ready for my next meeting in twenty.” She turned back to the vid screen on her desk.

  Victor had been dismissed, but instead of leaving he remained still and waited patiently.

  “What is it, Victor?” Dorian asked, with her back to him. “I wish you’d just say what’s on your mind.”

  “Would you allow for a personal observation?”

  Dorian turned to face him. It was out of character for the rigid man to insert his opinion into anything. “Please do.”

  “You should not have become romantically involved with Captain Gray,” he said.

  Anger flushed her cheeks and she gritted her teeth. Dorian knew she had invited the criticism, but was still taken off guard by Victor’s candor.

  “Our encounter was hardly romantic,” she said dryly, having long ago learned how to remove anger from her speech. As she said the words, she was surprised at how hollow they sounded in her own ears. “It’s unlike you to judge, Victor.”

  “Madame misunderstands. I am sworn to serve you and I make no moral judgments. I am concerned only for your wellbeing,” he said.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Victor? That my wellbeing is compromised by whatever it was Gray and I experienced?” She searched the inexorable man’s face and for the first time in years, she felt fear. “Something has happened to Luc. That's what you're not telling me.”

  “The smoke tracker was activated by Captain Gray directly,” he said. “Twenty seconds later, his cardiac rhythm was interrupted.”

  Dorian brought her hand to her mouth. “They killed him? He was only on the planet surface for a few hours. How can that be?”

  “We have a source on Vermeer who intercepted a communication. It would appear his cover was not sufficient.”

  Unexpected tears ran down Dorian's face. "Don’t we suspect one of the illegal laboratories to be located in Fariza on Vermeer? Why would we choose this for his cover?" she asked, anger creeping into her voice.

  "I am sorry for the pain this has caused," Victor said. "Your intelligence team chose the city of Fariza for his home as it was one of the few governments that has diplomatic reciprocity with Oberrhein. A citizen of …"

  "Stop. I know all this," Dorian snapped.

  "Show bio signs and location of Lucien Gray," she ordered the always listening AI.

  The city of Cauldron appeared on Dorian's holo display. A wispy red contrail showed a route from Khan Leonidovich's castle to the cathedral. Dorian reached forward, grabbed the image and twisted it, changing her view from top down to a side view.

  "They're bene
ath the ground level," Victor observed. "The isotopes left behind will eventually provide a full accounting of the subterranean structure. In death, your Captain Gray is providing valuable intelligence."

  "They're preparing to move his body," Dorian said. "Tell the tracking teams they are not to lose him. I'll pay them four times their rate if they stay with him and nothing if they don't."

  "What are you thinking of doing, Madame?" Victor asked. "Captain Gray's death is tragic, but certainly you knew this was a possibility when you sent him to Cauldron. It is only through his quick thinking that you now have a chance to track where the bodies are being sent."

  "In all the years I've known you, you haven't questioned my intent, Victor," Dorian said. "Why would you now?"

  "I am concerned that your judgment is momentarily clouded. I do not mean to be insulting, but surely Captain Gray is more valuable in his death than he was alive. If they get a hint you are on to them, they will destroy his body and you will lose the value of his sacrifice."

  "Prepare Little Deuce for immediate departure, Victor," she said, ignoring him. "We will jump directly to Sol."

  "Yes, Madame," he said, bowing in acquiescence and stepping backward out of the room.

  Dorian stood and walked into the head that joined her sleeping quarters to her office. Looking into the mirror, she saw the tears that streaked her face and wiped them away brusquely. She'd sent more than a few good people to their deaths; such was the burden of addressing humanity's sins. This time, for reasons she knew to be purely selfish, she would not stand idly by and wait while intelligence was gathered.

  Rail thin and tall, James Warden Bang leaned into the bar and propped an elbow behind him. With his free hand, he adjusted the stim stick between his lips and tugged the cowboy hat over his brow, blocking the afternoon sun that streamed through the oversized windows.

  "When's your next show, Jimmy?" Dolly Padson, dressed in a western-period costume that included a bustier and overdone makeup, reached across the bar to accept a tray of drinks from the bartender.