Hell to Pay: A Mercenary Warfare Adventure

by Zen DiPietro

  They struck off toward her quarters, but when he started to turn left, she gave his arm a tug. “I moved. I’m this way now.”

  The door to her rented quarters looked no different than the one she’d previously stayed behind.

  “Why the change?” he asked.

  “I was in a short-term rental, in the area where people stay for a night or two and leave again. I wanted something a little roomier, and with less transient traffic.”

  “I see.” He’d expected her to ask him in, but she didn’t. They hovered just outside the door.

  “It’s not long term, either,” she pointed out. “I don’t have any long-term plans. This spot is strictly medium term, and easy enough to leave on short notice.”

  “Keeping your options open?” he asked.

  “Precisely. I’m thinking I’ll wait while the conflict between the PAC and Barony develops. Then I can decide where I should be. In the short term, I figure I’m safest here, and better positioned to see for myself what people are hauling and trading.”

  “Sound thinking,” he said.

  “Of course it is. Did you think I was just hanging out here to be close to you?”

  “I’d considered the possibility.”

  She smiled mysteriously. “Maybe that’s a factor influencing my decisions, but rest assured, it’s not the only one.”

  “Good to know it doesn’t all hinge on me.”

  “So much ego.” She pretended to scoff, but she wore a playful expression. “Let me know when you’ve sorted yourself out and are ready to orchestrate a fancy date.”

  “Fancy? Who said I would make it fancy?”

  “I did. Just now. You said you’d make it up to me, and I’ve decided that fancy is what it’ll take.”

  “Fine,” he agreed. “One fancy date, as soon as I’ve shaken off my funk.”

  “The terms are accepted, then.” She leaned forward, and, to his surprise, booped his nose with her finger. “Goodnight!”

  As he walked back to his own quarters, he wondered at her retiring so early for the night, at her generosity toward his poor company, and her good humor.

  Maybe she had changed.

  THREE DAYS LATER, Cabot hadn’t heard from Fallon again. He’d expected to. He’d waited in a state of anticipation for her to show up and petition him again to join the fight against Barony alongside Ditnya Caine. He remained tense and ready to reiterate his position.

  By the end of the third day, when she hadn’t arrived at his shop at closing time, or his quarters just after, the pressure eased. After three days, they had to have made decisions and enacted a plan of action. A plan that didn’t involve him.

  He let out a long breath as he sat on his couch, taking the first sip of a small glass of brandy. It wasn’t enough alcohol for him to feel any effects, but it was enough for him to taste, savor, and relax with.

  He felt like he’d gotten a second lease on life. A chance to reevaluate and move forward. He liked having Nagali and Omar on Dragonfire. They’d brought him in from the fringes of activity and gotten him more involved. While he’d never be the guy who was the life of the party, he no longer felt the need to distance himself as much as he used to.

  Rather than feeling like a caretaker of Dragonfire’s residents, he felt more like part of a family. Kind of an uncle—tangentially related, but missed when absent.

  He liked that.

  Taking another sip of his brandy, he leaned forward and activated the voicecom sitting on the table in front of him. By the time he got an answer, he’d finished his drink.

  Finally, Nagali’s face appeared. “What’s up?”

  “I’m in a better mood,” he announced. “How about I treat you to that fancy date?”

  IN RARE LAVISH STYLE, Cabot treated Nagali to an evening that turned out to be fun for them both. Two nights later, he took her, Omar, and his young friend Arlen out for a more casual dinner.

  He hadn’t seen much of Arlen of late because her business centered around making long transports. He liked having the chance to catch up with her before she left again the next day.

  “How are things looking out there?” Omar asked. He was eating a particularly large sandwich that defied logic. Two smaller sandwiches would have made for much tidier eating, but apparently, neatness counted for nothing in Omar’s quest for large meals.

  Arlen, by contrast, carefully spooned up bites of Rescan stew. “It varies. Some places and some times seem like business as usual. Others seem entirely upside down. There’s a lot of normal, which seems fine, until you come up against something that’s freakishly out of whack.”

  “Like what?” Nagali asked.

  “Like Kanar having a hard time getting fresh produce shipped in. They’re willing to pay premium prices, but they’re not on one of the more accessible circuits. Since it takes a few more days to get out to them and back to a place with a shipment awaiting pickup, a lot of people don’t want to bother. Time is too valuable.”

  Cabot finished chewing a bite of his crisp salad, feeling a hint of guilt that Dragonfire was suffering no such supply issues. “Strange that just a few extra days would be worth so much to people who usually go job to job based only on the highest bid.”

  Arlen nodded. “It is. And what’s going scarce is so unpredictable. At one location, it’s something you can live without, like tea. At another, it’s biogel. And it’s all about where a place falls in relation to the most lucrative pickup and drop-off points, and the amount of time needed to get there.”

  “Unpredictability of supply and scarcity makes for a volatile marketplace,” Cabot mused.

  “Which leads to dangerous times,” Omar added. “People do crazy things when they’re desperate.”

  They all looked at him. “What?” he asked defensively.

  Cabot smiled. Omar liked to play dumb to get people to let their guard down. He did it so much that sometimes even his own friends were surprised when he said something wise.

  “Nothing,” Nagali said. “You’re right. Things could get scary out there.”

  Cabot looked to Arlen. “If things get rough for you, come back here, okay? You’ll be safe on Dragonfire.”

  “As safe as anyone can be, which might not be very within the next few months,” Nagali muttered.

  Her all too accurate statement fell over them, making the mood heavy.

  “Or things could shift,” Omar said, forcefully injecting some hope. “All we can do is deal with what comes.”

  Cabot wondered what it would be like for him and Nagali to weather out the coming months on Dauntless. They’d have more freedom, but they’d have far less safety.

  It was ironic that the two of them, who benefited from the PAC by making profit with their willingness to break PAC laws, now stood to benefit from the same laws that they flouted.

  Some might find that unfair, but Cabot didn’t. If things got dire on Dragonfire, he was certain Omar would pull his weight helping out. He was pretty sure Nagali would, too.

  Arlen said, “Have you heard the PAC has eased required maintenance schedules? They’ve added a ten percent tolerance, until further notice.”

  “Yes,” Cabot said. “I saw the announcement this morning, too. That’s not a good sign.”

  “It means the PAC expects things to get worse,” Nagali said in agreement. Then she added, “You know, if we could get the Outlaw cleared for our use—”

  Cabot cut her off. “Out of the question. That ship’s here for government business, not profit.”

  Nagali rolled her eyes. “It’s not like it’s their only ship. It’s just sitting there, unused. Such a waste.”

  “Only if it goes unneeded,” Arlen pointed out. “But if it were needed and unavailable because it was delivering turnips somewhere, the results could be disastrous.”

  Cabot nodded, but the conversation got him thinking about Fallon and her team, and what they might have planned. They could use the Outlaw to greater benefit if—

  Nope. He cut off t
hat line of thought. Not his problem. He’d opted out of all that, leaving it in far more capable hands.

  Now, if they wanted him to arrange a deal for power couplings, he’d be ideal for that job. If they wanted him to serve in that capacity, he’d be more than happy to help out.

  After they’d all finished eating, Arlen let out a long sigh. “This has been great. Thanks for inviting me. I think I’ll take a long walk in the arboretum. It’s nice to stretch my legs before getting back on my ship again.”

  “I’ll join you,” Cabot said, looking to Nagali and Omar to see if they wanted to come along. They both shook their heads.

  “Plans,” Omar said.

  “Me too.” Nagali brushed off the front of her blouse, ridding herself of any errant crumbs. “But you two have fun.”

  A short time later, he and Arlen strolled down a tree-lined path. She took deep breaths, inhaling the smell. “I know it’s recycled air, but it smells so much fresher with the plants in here.”

  “The air on stations with a botanical center always smells better. The filtration systems are always more efficient, too. Nature tends to do things so much better than science does,” he mused.

  “How philosophical.” She smiled at him.

  “Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age.”

  “You?” she laughed. “Never. Just look at the company you keep. And I bet you could hold your own in a fight if you had to, too. You definitely haven’t gone soft.”

  Long after they’d parted ways, he kept thinking about her words As he got ready for bed, he replayed them again in his mind.

  He’d meant it about going soft. He’d more or less forgiven Nagali, and he’d allowed himself to become friends with many people on the station. He’d also done a long stint of service for PAC command, which, in his book, was the ultimate sellout for a businessperson.

  But to Arlen, those things seemed to make him stronger and more formidable instead of soft.

  The implication plagued him as he lay in bed, trying to sleep. Ever since he’d come to Dragonfire, he’d been a loner. Self-sufficient. He’d thought that showed strength, but what if he’d been wrong?

  Had his association with Fallon and the PAC, Omar and Nagali, and even Ditnya—all the things he’d considered to be selling out—actually made him stronger, and he’d failed to recognize it?

  CABOT STILL FELT UNSETTLED in the morning. So much so that he had Nico open the shop so he could go talk to Fallon.

  Except he couldn’t find her. Even Arin didn’t know where she was. Nor could he contact Raptor, Hawk, or Peregrine.

  That didn’t bode well.

  With no other options, he sent a message to Captain Nevitt, asking to see her.

  An hour later, he stepped into ops control, feeling wildly out of place. He’d never met privately with Nevitt before, and he’d certainly never had any reason to step into ops control.

  A dozen officers sat at various stations, doing whatever it was they were in charge of. A few of them cast him a speculative look, then went back to work.

  He moved ahead and to the left, to Nevitt’s office door, then activated the chime.

  The door slid open.

  Though Cabot didn’t feel intimidated as he sat in a chair in front of her desk, he did feel like he was at a disadvantage. He wanted information he didn’t have a right to know, and answers to questions he shouldn’t even ask.

  “What can I do for you, Cabot?” The captain looked as starched and polished as ever, with that slight edge of disdain that was her trademark. That trademark hadn’t made her terribly popular, but she’d loosened up in recent months.

  He dove right in. “Do you know where Fallon is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has she gone to fight the slavers or Barony?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “If she’d gone to do either, I could say nothing about it. It would be highly classified information.”

  That stung.

  Cabot had been in on all this from the beginning. To now be considered an outsider and cut off made him feel like he’d been disowned.

  “I’m concerned,” he said.

  “We’re all concerned. About our colleagues, our families, and the PAC itself. Fallon’s doing her job. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “Few people are as capable of doing that as Fallon,” he said. “I was hoping to talk to her, though. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “No. And if I did, again, I couldn’t tell you. If you have information to give her, you can tell me and I’ll relay it.”

  Her expression softened slightly. “Relax, Cabot. You did your part, and ended up being a big help. But we all have our limits, and it’s good that you know where yours are. You’re important to the station, and now you can focus on your function here. We’ll be counting on you to help keep us supplied if normal trade is disrupted.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can, of course. Dragonfire’s my home.”

  “Mine, too. And Fallon considers it hers, as well. Don’t worry. We’ll all keep doing our jobs, and we’ll get through all this.” She nodded encouragingly.

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “You and I should talk more often. I had gotten into the habit of letting Fallon and Arin handle a lot of the contact between the people of Dragonfire and the command crew. I’ve been working on fixing that, but I have a lot of ground to cover yet. If you have concerns or notice something, you can talk to Arin, of course, but you can also talk to me.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I will.” He put his hands on the armrests of the chair to help push himself up, but he paused. He didn’t stand. He just sat there, poised to stand.

  “Is there something else?” Nevitt asked.

  “No.” He should just leave.

  “It’s just…” Scrap. He’d meant to leave and now he was talking again.

  When he didn’t finish his sentence, Nevitt provided, “Feel bad about not doing more?”

  That came close to what he was feeling. “I do wish I could do more. And I’m sorry I can’t.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “It’s okay, Cabot. There’s a reason elite people like Fallon do that kind of work, and why it’s not easy to become a PAC captain. It’s a lot of responsibility, and can be very dangerous. If everyone could handle that kind of stress, it would be easy to get into positions like that.”

  He blinked at her. He’d thought she understood what he was talking about, right up to the end of what she’d said. “No. That’s not it. I’m not too stressed to work for PAC command. I’m not afraid of working with Ditnya Caine.”

  Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’re not?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “What’s going on, then?” she asked.

  “I’m not qualified. I’m not PAC-educated and PAC-trained. I’m not a spy. I’m not a war general. I’m not a diplomat. I’m a trader. I don’t know how to stop an interstellar war.”

  “Ah.” She looked at him, like she was trying to see beneath his skin and into his thoughts. After a long pause, she said, “Here’s the thing about that, Cabot: no one does.”

  When he didn’t respond, she continued, “It’s never happened. War is too expensive. Even a war confined to one planet. And you can count the number of wars that have happened between two planets on one hand. It’s just too damn costly. But an interstellar war? The cost is beyond comprehension. There’s no frame of reference for what Barony’s doing. No one knows how to fix this without catastrophic losses.”

  “But at least people like Krazinski know the principles of war,” he said. “Fighting tactics. Or, heck, even how to pilot a ship during a battle. All I know is business.”

  She shook her head. “Here are the principles of war. People fight. People die. That’s it. The rest is made up as it goes along. You’re arguing that you’re not qualified to fight in this war. I’m telling you that nobody is. No number of classes, no amount of tra
ining, can prepare you for what has never been seen. But it has to be done, anyway.”

  She let her words sink in, then added, in a quieter voice, “The only question is what you can give to the effort. You have expertise and access that Fallon, her team, and I don’t. Is that something you’re capable of turning to the PAC’s advantage? Not everyone is cut out for the brutal decisions that are required during warfare. Your mercenary nature seemed to indicate that you could handle it, but only you can determine that.”

  There was truth in what she said. Logic. He’d been thinking of himself and the situation one way, but now the variables were shifting, giving him a new perspective.

  It was like the time some ripper offered him a shipment of nearly worthless stenz bolts. He’d been just about to send a refusal when he realized the people on Atalus could use them to repair their damaged homes and shelters. To them, those bolts were priceless.

  Value was in the eyes of the beholder.

  He said something polite, bowed, and left. At least, he thought he bowed.

  He didn’t remember pushing the button on the lift, but the doors opened and he found himself on Deck 1.

  As he slowly plodded down the corridor, the captain’s words kept coming back to him. The only question is what you can give to the effort.

  On the boardwalk, he sat at a table alone, facing out toward the people walking by, though he didn’t notice who they were or what they were doing.

  What did Fallon and Peregrine give?

  The only answer he could come up with was everything. They gave everything they had to their jobs and their team.

  He wasn’t like them. Didn’t have their skills, connections, or authority. But Fallon had said he had his own team, and she’d asked for his help. And if she thought he could do what she was asking, and she knew more about all this than he did, then who was he to refuse?

  It was somewhat circular reasoning, but it held up because he had faith in her and she had faith in him.

  Huh.

  You can’t argue with math. That was one of his favorite rules of sales, and while this situation didn’t have actual math, it all added up nonetheless.