by Cathryn Cade
The slaver closed his hand around the jeweled crop and began to tap it on the table. One of the men nearest him grinned, as if in anticipation.
“Yes, Midas,” the slaver repeated genially. “Do you know who I call myself after? A king of ancient Earth I. Everything he touched turned to gold. And just like him, this happens for me.”
He smiled, spreading his arms to indicate the gaudy room.
“This does not happen because I am weak, or a fool. It happens because I take what I want, and I keep it until I have used it up, or I am tired of it. No one takes from me what is mine. I will destroy it first. And I don’t share.”
Joran raised his brows. “You must not remember what happened to that first Midas, eh? Look him up in the archives. He died, Vadyal. Literally choked on his precious gold.” He shook his head. “Be a shame that happened to you.”
The Gorglon emitted a growl of menace from his place before the doors.
Var growled back.
“So I’m here to help you with that,” Joran went on, ignoring the byplay. “You see, you and me are lot alike. I also take what I want, and hold onto it. And the plains of Frontiera? They’re mine. That includes the trade there. All of it. Man comes in, tries to sell something, he gives me a cut, or I take it.”
Vadyal regarded him with contempt. Then he laughed, a rich, fruity sound that made Joran’s palm itch for his weapon. “You think I will share with you? You think because you are bold to come here, now I am afraid and I will open my pockets and let you take and take?”
The slaver slashed with his crop, and the drinks on his end of the table went flying, splashing over the others seated there. None of them moved to get away or clean off the sticky liquid dripping from their faces and clothing. Instead they sat as if frozen in place, their gazes on Vadyal.
“I will kill you,” Vadyal shouted, his face suffused with color. “You dare to come to my casino with your piddling little human guards? Storm, hah! You are nothing but a drop of rain...and I will turn you to steam if I wish.”
He sat back, beaming as if proud of his own imagery.
The Gorglon and the other guards cocked their weapons, trained on Joran, Var, Haro and Qala.
Haro yawned audibly, the sound incongruous in the charged atmosphere.
Qala sighed and moved forward to put her hand on Joran’s shoulder. “You going to tell him soon, Zhazid?” she asked. “Or can I do it?”
“Tell him what?” The lovely woman who stood at the slaver’s shoulder moved forward. She ignored Qala and shook her head at Joran. “No one escapes Vadyal. Give up now, Storm, before you get hurt—or dead.”
Joran eyed her with lazy interest. She was sending him a message with her green eyes, one that he had no trouble deciphering.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Ms...”
“Slidi,” she breathed, looking down as if too shy to hold his gaze any longer. “My master is very powerful—”
“Shut up,” Vadyal ordered coldly. He waved to the guards. “Enough of this. Take them.”
The atmosphere in the room crackled with added tension. The others at the table tensed, eyeing Joran with expressions ranging from avidity to fear.
Joran snapped his fingers. “Wouldn’t do that, I were you,” he called. A holovid sprang up over the table. He gestured at the cruiser, bristling with weapons at every port, floating in space. “We didn’t come without reinforcements. One of my ships—within firing range. Armed and ready, right, Pede?”
“On your command, sir,” Pede said calmly.
“Hah!” Vadyal spat. “You think my Pleasure Planet has no weapons, no protection? I will shoot your puny ship from the sky.”
Haro and Qala shifted behind Joran, Var rumbled again, and the tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.
“Well,” Joran said. “Maybe you could...maybe not. But I doubt you have one of the new hyper-charged laser cannons. I do.”
There was absolute silence in the big room.
Then Pede muttered in Joran’s ear. “A hyper-charged cannon? What the fuck, boss?”
Joran was thinking the same thing himself. As a bluff, it was a big one. Which might work—or not. The new cannons were out there, but he didn’t have one. He’d never seen the need to have the ability to wipe a large chunk of real estate off a planet.
Vadyal laughed. “Ha, ha, ha. I don’t fear this—this is a big story, made up to frighten children. No one has these yet, except the IGSF. Certainly not a small-time pirate like the Storm.
“No, you have nothing. And if you try to fire on my lawful business with a standard laser cannon, which I believe you have? We can do what we want with you and your minions here. We will tell the IGSF, ‘Oh, it was so horrible, the Storm try to rob us and we had to kill him’.”
Quark, time to play the holodice he really had, but didn’t want. The eppies.
“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong, Midas. Because, you need me. The way I hear it, the IGSF is after you. I hear they have their suspicions about your shadow business.”
“You mean my little auctions? They will not make that stick to me,” Vadyal insisted. “I pay much credit to keep on the hush-hush.”
Joran shrugged. “Guess one or more of your ‘friends’ isn’t so friendly after all, ‘cause according to the buzz, they know enough that they want you wiped out of the galaxy like a bad memory.”
Vadyal was sweating, his face glistening. He slammed his crop on the table. “You brought this on me!” he accused. “This is why you are here, to threaten me? I will kill you for it!”
Joran bared his teeth. “You can certainly try. But I have a better idea. The only way to foil the epaulets is to form a partnership. I have eyes everywhere on Frontiera, and I know the wild lands like you know your casino here. I know all the places to hide contraband, and how to avoid the satcom system.”
Vadyal sneered contemptuously. “You lie. Your own brothers are legitimate businessmen. You only play at stealing, Storm. I don’t form partnerships with boys who play.”
“Really?” Joran murmured. “Then how come the profits from your last auction are in my accounts?”
Chapter 18
The slaver and all his minions froze.
Vadyal’s florid face deepened in color until it was suffused with deep purple, his wattles trembling as he shook with rage.
He thrust his crop straight out at Joran. “You? You are the one who stole from me? And now you tell me this? How stupid are you?”
“Smart enough to have done it once,” Joran said, smiling faintly. “So I can do it again any time I want. Unless you deal.”
The Gorglon moved, and behind Joran, so did Var. Joran didn’t turn his head, but he knew Var would have his weapon in the same position as the Gorglon—ready to shoot if necessary.
Slidi bent and whispered quickly in her master’s ear, her hand stroking his shoulder, her eyes down.
Slowly, his face relaxed. He nodded once, then shoved her off with the back of his hand. She subsided, smiling slightly at Joran.
“So,” Vadyal said heavily, “You have stolen much credit from me. Now you want to work with me? How do I know I can trust you? You will show me this by returning the credit—every single byte.”
He sat back, smirking at Joran.
Joran shrugged, as if the demand was negligible. “Sure, I can do that, Midas. Piddly amount like that, I’ll hardly notice it’s gone.”
Vadyal eyed him with mingled suspicion and satisfaction. “Show me. Begin the transfer now.”
“Raa-mat! Das hasmaata-plas whamaa?” roared the Gorglon. He raised one long, meaty arm and pointed at the holovid of the armed ship.
“Wait,” Joran’s translator chirped. “Whose fighters are those?”
He didn’t need the translation, or Pede’s shout of alarm in his ear.
Ice filled his gut as he watched a formation of IGSF fighters emerge from behind his ship and circle it, as if in complicity. What the fuck were the IGSF pilots doing, showing
themselves that way?
“Shit,” Haro breathed. It sounded more like a prayer.
Vadyal was on his feet, his visage once again filled with rage. “You bring the IGSF with you? You try to betray me?” he demanded. He pointed his crop at Joran. It shook in his grasp. “This is how you know so much—you make a trap with them!
“Kill them!” he bellowed. “Kill them all!”
“Get down!” Var bellowed, yanking at Joran’s chair.
The Gorglon surged forward, weapon aimed at Joran, and so did the guards. That was the last thing Joran saw before the lights winked out, leaving the room black as the inside of the bottom shaft of Creed’s mine.
He dove sideways, Qala and Haro with him. Laser fire streaked through the darkness, searing the place where they had been.
Var returned fire, then fell back with a grunt. “Take out the guards!” he bellowed. Laser streaked again and he thudded heavily against the wall.
Joran surged up to fire his own weapon at the origin of the enemy fire. The Gorglon gave a harsh gurgle and fell with a massive thud. Haro and Qala were up, firing at the other guards.
Haro grunted as he was hit. Teeth gritted, time moving in slow motion, Joran turned his fire on the far end of the table. Had to assume every man and woman there were enemies.
“Stop!” the woman shrieked from across the room. “Stop, he’s dead!”
For an instant, they were all still, only harsh breathing in the stifling darkness.
A glowlamp sprang to life, illuminating Vadyal. He lay sprawled across his conference table, his gold clad bulk still, eyes staring blankly at the toppled glasses on his table.
His mistress stood over him, her hands dark with blood, eyes wide. “He’s dead.”
Vadyal’s guards were dead or wounded; in any case they were down and seemed to have no desire to continue the fight although Joran kept an eye on them. The others at the conference table had all disappeared underneath it, except for Slidi’s slave, who simply leaned against the wall as if he were watching a holovid, his dark eyes flicking from player to player, face blank.
Joran gestured with his weapon. “You all right?” he asked the woman.
She nodded, and then shocked the hells out of him by smiling, her glossy lips curving up, her slanted green eyes sparkling. “I’m better than all right,” she purred. “The bastard’s dead, and now, all this is mine.”
That was cold, but then again, the slaver hadn’t been the kind to inspired devotion. Joran stood, pulling Qala with him. “Are you his partner, or wife?”
“No, his mistress—former mistress. And I have the links to all his credit accounts and every security measure in this floating piece of space junk.”
She tossed her auburn hair back and smiled at him. “All I need now is the right male to share it with.”
Haro groaned from the floor behind Joran. “Great. ‘nother pushy female. Can somebody...?”
“Just one slight problem with that,” Joran said to the woman. He stabbed his finger toward the east where Pede and the eppies waited. “Them. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
He bent to Haro, who was clutching his shoulder. “We’ve got you, buddy.”
“Wait,” Haro said weakly. “Var—shit, I think he’s hit worse.”
“Hells,” Qala said. “Haro. Var!”
Joran whirled. He’d assumed the stoic, unflappable Var was behind him, backing his play and keeping quiet. “Check Haro,” he told Qala. “Keep the woman covered.”
“Right.”
“Boss?” Pede demanded. “You okay in there?”
“Give you an update in a sec,” Joran said.
“The IGSF are gone,” Pede went on, his voice harsh with anger. “Fuckin’ hells, stupid eppies. Said they thought this was just a routine mission—gonna kill ‘em myself.”
“Just give us a sec,” Joran repeated. He shoved a chair out of the way and dropped to his knees beside Var who lay in the shadows of the big table. The big man was prone, sprawled on one side.
“Var, you big lug,” Joran said. “You never could duck worth a shit.”
He pulled the flash from his belt, and shone it in Var’s face. He was pale, his eyes half closed.
Dread chilling his gut, Joran searched swiftly. Var’s broad chest was covered in blood, welling from a wound in the center, right through his protective vest. Shit, shit, shit! He should’ve made them all wear protective suits.
“Get a medtech,” he ordered, “And a medkit if there’s one here.”
“You there! We need a medkit,” Qala ordered over his head. “And a tech if you’ve got one—now!”
Joran rolled Var onto his back, yanked a clean bandanna from his pocket, and pressed it to the wound, leaning on it. Then he pressed his fingers to Var’s thick neck. “Pulse, faint and irregular.”
“Oh, God,” Qala choked. “His head.”
Joran looked up. As Qala shone her light on Var’s face, he saw that the side now revealed was covered in gore, from the top of his head to the middle of his cheek. Joran couldn’t see his eye, whether because it was covered in blood or just gone, he didn’t know.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the hot bile that rose in his throat. He’d seen wounds this bad many a time, but never on anyone he knew so well.
“Get me up,” Haro demanded behind him. “Shit, Var.”
Scuffling noises said Qala was helping him up.
“You sit,” she ordered Haro. “Move out of that chair before the tech looks at your shoulder and I’ll shoot you in the other one.”
“Yeah, babe. I’m fine, see to Var.”
Var was not fine. He was convulsing, as if choking. Joran rolled the big man on his side, and blood poured from Var’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Joran roared. “Where’s that tech?” He couldn’t trust anyone on this ship, but he knew how to use first aid tech himself. “Qala, link Riley, see if you can get him.”
“Right,” she agreed, her voice shaking.
“Here, here,” said a gravelly voice. An Occulan knelt at Var’s head, tech gear in hand, and two humans followed. “Move aside, let us work.”
”You move aside,” Joran ordered. “Give me that.”
He grabbed the medkit from the medic and opened it, then stared at the complicated apparatus inside. “Shit, what is this stuff?”
“It is fragile equipment,” the Occulan said, reaching out as if to keep Joran from touching anything. “Please. I am a medic, sworn to assist others. All others.”
“Vadyal’s dead,” Joran said. “You don’t work for him anymore—you know that, right? Doesn’t matter who this man is, he needs your help.”
The Occulan nodded. “Right. Now move aside and let me help him.”
“All right, but if anything happens to him, you’re space rubble.”
“Riley’s on screen,” Qala said urgently.
Joran glanced up to see his own medic watching via holovid. “Riley—is this right?” he demanded. “Are they doing what they’re supposed to?”
“Quiet,” Riley snapped. He began to speak rapidly in Occulan to the other medic, who answered in the same manner, too rapid for translation. The human tech assistants moved in beside him, and the three worked over Var with their complicated equipment.
But after a time, the Occulan swerved half of his eyestalks to focus on Joran. He shook his bulbous head even as he continued to work. “His heart has stopped.”
“Then start it again!” Joran roared, shocking himself and the techs with the force of his fury. “Now!”
“I concur,” Riley agreed. “Go!”
Var’s body convulsed, bowing up in a rigid arc. Then again. The medic waited, as did Joran, his fists clenched on the nearest chair so hard it groaned in protest.
The medic shook his head and Var convulsed again.
Several long, agonizing moments later, the techs stopped. “I am sorry. We can do nothing more. His wounds are too great.”
Haro groaned. “He’s—he’s dead? He can’t
be dead.”
Qala clutched Joran’s arm. He stood there, everything in him rebelling. “No. He can’t be gone.” Not Var. Not the huge, tough man, solid as a Frontieran mountainside. “Where’s your regen unit? Get him in there.”
“It is too late. I’m sorry.”
They all looked away, waiting. Right. He had to think, had to stay in control. This was a battle, and he had more than one warrior.
“See to my other man here,” he said. “He’s wounded. See to him.”
“They did all they could,” Riley said. “Will you inform Ilya, or do you wish me to prepare her?”
“I’ll tell her.” Let her have another hour of blissful ignorance.
The redhead approached as they followed the techs from the room, Var’s body on a floating stretcher, Haro in a hoverchair.
She glided to Joran, her hands clasped before her. “Il Zhazid,” she murmured, her eyes luminous with emotion. “We must talk. Everything has changed. New opportunities...new horizons.”
Joran put out his hands and set her to one side, away from the door.
“I just lost a man,” he said. “A good man. You do what the fuck you want—we’re leaving.”
He strode out the door, following his crew, what remained of them.
There was a disturbance at the docking bay, with a party of drunk and belligerent Serpentians, one of whom had a weapon and managed to laser the power main for that area, and for the second time on the casino, plunge them into darkness.
When the lights came back on, Slidi’s slave was there, his eyes now alive with feverish intensity, his hand gripping Joran’s arm with suprising strength.
“The girl,” he said urgently. “The slave you purchased at the auction. Is she still with you?”
Joran stared at him, caught in the dull net of shock and disbelief. What the hells? The slave wanted to know about Zaë now? “Yeah, she’s with me. Why?”
“Keep her safe,” the man said in that same urgent tone. “You must keep her safe.”
One of the guards approached.
The slave bowed as he backed away. “Thank you, my lord. My lady wishes you a safe journey.”
Joran was done. “Tell your lady she can go fuck herself.”
