The Gilded Cage

by Blaze Ward

  From her recent studies, improvements in jump drives and life support systems meant that a crew of twenty to thirty would be normal on a vessel of this scale. She had probably already seen twice that count, just crossing half the linear distance and going up three decks.

  They certainly weren’t going to shoot their way in, if they wanted to rescue Djamila. Hadiiye was patient. Navarre would have a plan.

  The party came to rest at a closed hatch. It was like that moment when the tide turned, pooling all the water to stillness in a bay, just before it started to run back out. She missed the smell of Dundee.

  Tamaz gifted them with his warm, drunk smile, a canary in his mouth, at least metaphorically.

  “And now, my friends,” he said, summoning his best diction from the depths of his drunkenness. “Now, you will see the power that I wield. The glory. I give you, the dragoon, Sykora.”

  He turned and theatrically pushed the button to slide the hatch into the wall.

  Hadiiye was last into the small room, crowded with five other bodies around the table.

  No, six. Strange little man tucked into a corner, crowded back from the killers around him as if they had a sour smell. She sniffed. Nothing but the musk of big men and her perfume.

  Probably not something that turned the little man on, either way.

  They jostled around, finding a calm point. Again, tides swirling, eddying.

  In her heels, Hadiiye was taller than anyone in the room but the big guy, so she could see over shoulders and didn’t need to press forward.

  Hadiiye suppressed any gasp, any emotional response, any clue that might suggest she was more or less than she seemed. They had arrived at a moment of life or death.

  Djamila.

  The dragoon was tied naked to a modified hospital gurney. Trussed, really. Immobilized by someone who was extremely serious about his business and not just exploring his kinbaku kinks on a long woman.

  And wires everywhere. Every good nerve cluster appeared to be getting a jolt of electricity, except the one between her legs.

  So, pain, but at no point pleasure. About what she expected from these men. Brutality, with no understanding of what made a woman tick. Especially not one like Djamila.

  Morons.

  Not that she would help correct their misunderstandings, but it was certainly ammunition for what she had planned for them.

  Lit cigarettes and bolt cutters came to mind.

  Hadiiye stepped back. She had seen what she needed. Her job was to bodyguard Navarre and keep him safe, especially here in the pits of hell.

  Navarre stepped close to Djamila, leaned over, got very, very still. He could probably smell her sweat from there.

  “You see, Captain Navarre,” Tamaz gloated. “I have succeeded where all others have failed. The woman is mine.”

  She watched Navarre’s head turn to look at Tamaz, his face unreadable but closed.

  “Would you like to say hello to her?” Tamaz asked innocently.

  Hadiiye felt the room around her grow cold. She suddenly understood why Tamaz had been so easy about inviting them into his lair to see his prize.

  It was a trap.

  Masterful, really. Bring them here where they couldn’t escape. Bring Djamila out of her tortured state, present the strangers, see her response before she could collect herself.

  Navarre, they would kill out of hand. There was a very good chance Wilhelmina would end up on a table just like this one, if something went wrong.

  Her death might linger over years.

  There was nothing of Javier in the man before her. Captain Navarre was supreme, regal. He was vengeance, personified. He had a voice that could etch metal.

  “That would be lovely,” Navarre drawled, acid dripping on every word.

  The other men had grown suddenly tense, respecting the possibility of violence on close quarters. Very few people would make it out of a room like this alive, most likely, if something bad happened.

  Navarre stood perfectly still. Calm, poised, almost happy. She watched him look down at Djamila again, smile with the warmth of an owl sneaking up on a field mouse.

  “Please?” he continued, putting true emotion into his voice as he looked at Tamaz.

  Captain Tamaz nodded to the weird, little dumpy man in the corner, who leapt forward and began jiggering with a machine by Djamila’s head. Hadiiye has taken it for a bio–monitor at first glance.

  It was apparently the source of Djamila’s pain.

  She watched Djamila’s body grow limp and relaxed as the electricity subsided.

  Tamaz worked his way around to the other side of the table with the doctor, leaving him a clear view of Navarre’s reaction.

  And, coincidentally, moving him out of the way if Erckens and the giant needed to get physical in a small volume. Hadiiye let herself fade back just a bit more, and turned slightly to the side, in case she needed to get at a hidden knife quickly. Not that it would probably matter, but anything in a maelstrom.

  Even from here, the smell of whatever they put under Djamila’s nose was putrid. Almost raw ammonia. Certainly, it got through.

  Djamila opened her eyes slowly. She came to herself and looked up at Javier/Navarre, leaning over her, leering.

  “Hello, princess,” Captain Navarre said cheerfully.

  The big guy tensed. Erckens tensed. Hell, all of them puckered up a little.

  Djamila, bless her soul, actually growled up at Javier, around the gag in her mouth.

  Navarre was looking away from her, at Tamaz, when he straightened up, so Hadiiye couldn’t see his face. But the emotion in his stance, his body language, was pure triumph.

  “Whatever you have planned for her and Sokolov,” Navarre purred loudly. “I’m in.”

  Wilhelmina reconsidered whether bringing Javier here had been a good idea, after all.

  Part Four

  The bed was cold.

  Not physically. Wilhelmina had thrown the covers down to keep from completely overheating as Javier slept. The man was a portable furnace.

  No, emotionally.

  The need for Navarre and Hadiiye to remain in character all the long way back to their own ship, having seen what they needed to see and made friends enough with Captain Tamaz.

  Navarre silent in thought and triumph. Hadiiye silent in worried fear.

  There was no love lost between Javier and Djamila. She knew that. She had hoped that his own decency would overcome his hatred, at least long enough to save Sykora from a fate worse than death.

  She was beginning to question that assumption.

  Javier barely snored as he slept beside her.

  There had been little physicality between them, save the one time. It was normally almost like sleeping in a bed with her brother, when they were still children.

  Tonight, it was like sleeping with a soon–to–be ex–husband, trapped in a bed and unable to go sleep on a non–existent couch.

  The ship was too small to get away from him.

  Had she really brought them all this distance, just so he could get his revenge on Sykora personally?

  The thought sent shivers down her spine, in spite of herself, or Djamila’s stories, or that look in Javier’s eyes.

  And that vial. Tamaz’s frumpy little assistant had pulled the glass tube, filled with a bright green liquid, from a nearby refrigerator, for Tamaz to show off to his new, drunken friends.

  Wilhelmina had studied the social sciences, the liberal arts. She had degrees in sociology, psychology, history, and accounting. She barely knew anything about medicine, beyond the basics of field first aid on primitive planets.

  The conversation between Tamaz and Navarre had quickly gone over her head. But that was to be expected from someone who once owned a steel coffee mug with THE SCIENCE OFFICER etched into the side. It had made good memento. Wilhelmina wondered if it would be a terrible reminder if they failed.

  Tamaz’s plan was simple.

  Empty the vial into Sykora with a needle.<
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  Ransom her off to Sokolov as a carrier.

  Wait twenty–four hours for a plague to vector its way through Storm Gauntlet’s crew.

  Death. For everyone but Djamila.

  Tamaz and his friends had already deserved whatever punishment could be meted out. Now they deserved a first class trip to hell.

  Hadiiye looked forward to punching their tickets.

  Javier stirred.

  A hand snaked out under the sheets, caught hers before she could twitch it away.

  She was trapped.

  He opened his eyes.

  Javier, not Navarre.

  “Are you ready to talk?” he asked her simply.

  “Do you have anything to say that I’ll want to hear?” she replied with far more edge that she had expected when she opened her mouth.

  He stared at her for several seconds.

  “Djamila Sykora is almost everything I hate about deep space,” Javier began with a shrug. “Stick–up–her–butt rules–follower who is constantly belittling everyone around her for not measuring up to the impossible standards she sets.”

  Wilhelmina nodded, unwilling to trust her reply.

  “But she’s just an asshole,” Javier said. “Tamaz and his friends are evil.”

  Something changed in his face. In his hand as well, pressed up against her side and twined with her own.

  “Once upon a time,” he continued. “I was one of the good guys. It didn’t work out, for reasons we won’t go into here. But nobody deserves that.”

  What THAT was, she left dangling, just as he did. This was yet another side of an already complicated man, one she had certainly never met before.

  Wilhelmina wondered again if she had ever met the real Javier Aritza, or just the many roles he played to keep the world at bay. She could tell that there was someone underneath that façade but there were enough flashes to keep her guessing.

  She felt his hand give hers a squeeze.

  “I’m not doing this for her, `Mina,” he said simply. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because it’s right.”

  Oh.

  She wondered about future conversations she might have with this man about the nature of evil.

  What was evil?

  Javier Aritza did not frequently strike her as an especially deep philosopher. Certainly not a pre–eminent existentialist.

  And yet.

  He was willing to simply step past all of his hatred for Djamila, and do the right thing, because Wilhelmina Teague had asked.

  Because she needed paladins.

  “So what do we do now, Javier?”

  Instead of answering, he let go of her hand and rolled out of bed. She watched his butt in those old sweats as he took two steps to the piloting station and pressed a button.

  “Curveball, this is Mother Hen,” he said into the radio. “What is your status?”

  “Primary scouting complete, Mother Hen,” Suvi replied instantly. “Transmitting now.”

  The console chirped as a file arrived. Javier sat down to read it.

  In spite of the cooler air in the room, Wilhelmina climbed out of bed and looked over Javier’s shoulder as he quickly digested the document.

  He looked up with a sardonic smile.

  “This would be easier to do if you were wearing any clothes, `Mina,” he observed tartly. “Men do find your breasts distracting.”

  She considered responses for a moment with a sly smile.

  This Javier was much closer to the man she had been expecting, a week ago. Nicer. Friendlier. Softer.

  Navarre might prove to be an interesting lay, but he wouldn’t be nearly as much fun in bed as Javier.

  “So I can’t tempt you?” she replied teasingly.

  “You’re already tempting me, woman,” he said. “But time’s tight if you want to do this. I can always have you for dessert, afterwards.”

  Wilhelmina blushed, smiled, and turned to look for a shirt.

  That would be a promise to keep him on track. She could always threaten to withhold marital favors if he got them all killed.

  Hopefully that would be something to bring Javier back to her.

  BOOK EIGHT: PALADIN

  Part One

  The stars around her were wonderful. Suvi was home again, however temporarily, as the little flitter silently cruised through deep space outside the station, working hard to sneak up on the pirate freighter, Salekhard, with Javier and Dr. Teague in tow in suits.

  Suvi considered Javier’s plan with mixed feelings.

  When she was Mielikki, this trick would have never worked on her. But then, in those days she’d also been a small warship, built to Concord Fleet standards and expected to operate like an officer and a gentlewoman. She’d been literally wired into every hatch, every vent, every everything on her former ship.

  Salekhard was just an old tired freighter. At least she looked that way to someone looking in from the outside. Probably the big, bad wolf if you got too close. Q–ship.

  But that was the mean people aboard. Salekhard was just an old iron ship. No brains, no personality. No AI cousin aboard.

  That was probably for the best, considering Salekhard was in service to evil. Suvi wouldn’t have to figure out a way to kill her. Javier could do this thing and they’d be off.

  Suvi wished she could talk to Javier and Wilhelmina right now, but his orders had been extremely specific. No radio transmissions until he said otherwise, when they made it to the other side. Suvi looked around at the deep black of empty space instead.

  Not being a starship anymore had always been painful, but now it hurt doubly so. She was back in deep space, pulling what Javier called a second–story–maneuver.

  A length of line connected her to Javier and then to Wilhelmina, floating silently behind her on a tether like strange little balloons in their space–suits. He could communicate with her via hand signals, if he had anything useful to say, but right now, it was just silence.

  Oh, sure. Traffic all around them. A place like Meehu Platform was never quiet. There were ships coming and going every hour of every day, sometimes stacked up three deep in nearby orbit awaiting a docking bay.

  The comm was never quiet either, but Javier wanted them to think like cat burglars, and he didn’t want any transmissions close to Salekhard to possibly warn anyone what they were up to.

  Seriously, Javier. Who’s going to see this coming?

  But she kept her own counsel. Suvi’d been an officer and a gentlewoman, a scout, a pilot, a warrior. She’d never been a thief.

  It was kinda cool.

  She gave a little burst of power. Not much. Mostly to redirect herself down and sideways, just enough to tug Javier and Wilhelmina into line with the secondary engineering airlock she had picked out two hours ago.

  A game of galactic billiards.

  Contact imminent.

  Suvi flared her lifters just enough to counter the mass of the two humans behind her. Bring them in to almost a dead stop relative.

  It was all in the English you put on that ball, folks.

  Javier landed like a cat. Wilhelmina was…

  Oh, crap.

  Has this woman never done an EVA? That looked like a gymnast in gravity.

  Oh, right. Human reflexes. This was something you trained for. Nobody was born with it.

  Well, Dragoon Sykora might have been, but that just proved the rule. That woman was scary good.

  Radio? No. He’d been specific.

  And he can’t reach her.

  And I’m out of position.

  And…Hey, what are you doing, Javier? That’s my tether line. Stop pulling me closer, I need to go get Wilhelmina and bring her back.

  Suvi let her lifters go slack before she pulled him off the hull as well. He had magnets, but they were for walking, not holding them both down if she red–lined things. The last thing she needed was both of them floating loose out here, where someone might look out a porthole and raise an alarm, even in dock.

&
nbsp; She waited while Javier grabbed her body with both hands, tied the line to his belt, and then pushed her softly at Wilhelmina. She felt like a game–winning free–throw, spinning slowly backwards.

  Nothing but net.

  It’s a damned good thing I don’t get airsick, bucko, or I’d have to blow electronic chunks all over you.

  And worse, Javier missed.

  She was going to fly right by Wilhelmina, about a half meter out of reach.

  Now what do we do?

  Javier tugged on the rope and snapped his arm to one side.

  Great, now sideways torque as well? Are you trying to make me heave here?

  And then it dawned on her. As the whip snapped her to one side and around Wilhelmina’s back.

  And I’m wrapped around her like a lasso.

  Oh.

  Right.

  Maybe he has done this before.

  I’m going to sit here very quietly and pretend like I planned it that way.

  Perfect.

  Ξ

  The airlock door slid open with a minimum of noise. Javier preferred it that way.

  In dock, he knew engineering would generally be on minimum shifts with everything powered down. Unless they were rebuilding something big, in which case it would be wall to wall people and noise and he’d be caught in about two minutes.

  Darkness.

  Well, dimness.

  Engines shut down. Jump drives off. Auxiliary power reactors on baseline. Life support dialed down as the ship drew fresh air off the station. At least, fresher air.

  Stinky with a different set of trace volatile organics, at a minimum.

  Salekhard was a freighter. She wasn’t flashy. She certainly wasn’t fast. Victims came to her.

  From the drunken conversation with Tamaz, the ship had lost a pair of cargo holds during the massive up–gunning refit that turned her into a Q–ship. Space lost had been turned into banks of generators and batteries. The center of gravity of the engineering crew had shifted well forward when that happened.

  Engineering was a ghost town.

  Javier grinned.