“What proposition would you have made?” Viktor asked.
“Hm? Where?”
“To the mafia to be invited onto their freighter.”
“I was going to tell them that my current landlord was kicking me out and that my profitable business would be willing to pay them a small percentage for transportation and protection. It was just a ruse, of course. I have higher standards as to who I let protect me.”
Ankari thought he might smile, but he sighed instead and rested his jaw atop her head.
“Ankari, I’m not kicking you out. I just worry that the ship isn’t the ideal environment for what you and your people are doing. And I’ve realized, as your mother was doubtlessly pointing out when you closed the door, that I’m not a good choice for you.”
She frowned, though she was staring at his neck, so he wouldn’t be able to see it. She should have shut the door earlier in that call. “I see my mother twice a year, Viktor.” Less, lately. “I love my family, but they can keep their opinions to themselves. You’re the one who matters, and you’re delusional if you don’t think you’re a good choice. It doesn’t matter what my mother thinks.”
“I don’t want to be the source of strife between you. Parents do matter. Sometimes it takes losing them to realize how much.”
He spoke softly, and she knew he was thinking of his homeland and all that he had lost. He wasn’t wrong, but damn it, she wasn’t wrong, either.
“Viktor.” Ankari leaned back so she could look him in the eyes again. “My mom isn’t going to disown me or stop talking to me because I’m seeing a mercenary. You’re not causing strife. Not any more strife than we usually have. Did you know that she totally disapproved of this latest business venture? Now she’s forgotten all about that, because you came along. Next week, I’ll do something new that she doesn’t approve of, and she’ll forget about you. This is how relationships work in my family.”
His return gaze wasn’t obstinate or mulish, but he didn’t smile or agree, as she wished he would. She hoped he wasn’t thinking he would have to bonk her over the top of the head with a mallet and leave her on the space station “for her own good” when the Albatross was ready to depart.
“I think if Mom met you, she would like you. People have these preconceived notions about mercenaries. You’re probably aware of this.”
“I’ve heard of such things,” he said dryly.
“Maybe someday, you could consider taking a break from work, and we could go visit my family. Granted, that’s probably not what men dream about when planning vacations.”
“Mercenary captains don’t get to take vacations, not if they want to keep their ships.” He frowned.
Great, she had made him worry about what was happening back on the Albatross in the scant days he had been separated from it.
“You could retire,” Ankari said and smiled to let him know she was joking.
“At forty?”
Ankari had always had the impression that he expected the job to kill him before he reached the age where one typically retired. She didn’t truly wish for him to leave his company, not yet anyway, but she did wish that he would plan for that being a possibility one day. “Your engineer said it best: how many more years can you continue to beat up all those young pups who challenge you on the mat?”
“If there’s a woman around that I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of, a lot.”
She chuckled and stroked his face, thinking another kiss might be nice before they put some distance between themselves and the explosion-blackened bay. “So, I’m the reason you won that bout? You definitely better keep me around then.”
He snorted, the lids of his eyes lowering as he regarded her through his lashes. She thought of that as his come-hither bedroom expression, even if he would have been appalled at the idea of possessing anything but fierce and dangerous warrior expressions, and it always made her insides quiver.
As he lowered his lips to hers, she realized he had not given in to her yet, had not admitted that he was good for her and that her place was at his side and vice versa. But the attention of his mouth made her forget her arguments. Hadn’t she just been confessing how he could keep her from thinking?
The hand that had been rubbing her waist slipped beneath her shirt, fingertips raising goosebumps as they traced her rib cage. She squirmed closer and, wanting to feel more of his hard body against hers, slid her leg across his lap so that she straddled him, not caring that the hilts of his pistol and dagger prodded her legs. Judging from the enthusiasm of his kisses, something else might prod her soon. She smiled, her lips against his, resting her hands on his shoulders, feeling the hard round muscles beneath her fingers.
“Thank you,” Ankari murmured without taking her mouth from his, “for protecting me out there.”
“Always.”
She wanted to thank him for risking himself to protect the innocent people in the bay, too, for caring enough to want to do so, but it would have taken too many words, when her mouth was already busy. Enjoying the taste of him in her mouth, the teasing strokes of his tongue, the way he nibbled at her lower lip.
Viktor’s arm wrapped around her back, pulling her down onto him even as he continued to massage her bare flesh under her shirt. His strong fingers sent pulses of warmth through her, and she melted against him, deepening their kiss. His other hand slid up the outside of her leg, then gripped her thigh, his thumb rubbing the inner seam of her trousers. Memories of what that hand had done in the elevator flashed into her mind. Heat flushed her body, and she grew intensely aware of his hardening bulge pressing against the core of that heat. That wasn’t anything hanging from his weapons belt, not this time.
She rocked into him, needing him closer, wanting him in her. Her movements elicited a groan from deep within his throat, and she knew he wanted to be in her too.
“Viktor,” she whispered, dropping her hands to his belt. “I want—”
A boom sounded in the distance, and Ankari slumped, doubting she would get what she wanted. They broke apart, listening. It wasn’t nearly as loud as the ones they had experienced in the bay, but an electronic beeping filled the air immediately after it. The way the shrill noise reverberated through the maintenance passage made Ankari feel like they were inside of a bell, the clapper banging right beside their ears.
“Uhm.” She leaned back, the noise effectively killing the mood. Perhaps it was just as well. This was hardly the place to be in the mood for anything except finding a way out of it. “Is that related to the bay?”
“Unknown. But it’s time for us to go.” Viktor shifted her off his lap and nodded down the passage. He tapped his comm-patch. “Borage?”
Ankari could barely hear him over the noise. She rolled to her feet, bent almost in half in the low space, and headed down the passage. Maybe the beeps would not be as loud once they found a corridor again.
“Calling all officers to stations,” came a muted announcement from some speaker outside of the maintenance shaft. “Security and station personnel, report to your stations. We have an emergency situation. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”
Chapter 12
Ankari stopped when she reached a hatch and glanced back to see if Viktor had followed her. With his height, he couldn’t manage a crouch, so he had to crawl along on hands and knees. She supposed it was good that their moment of passion had been interrupted; otherwise, she would have been conking her head on the low ceiling with every thrust of their hips.
Viktor must have finished his conversation with Borage—or given up on it—because his lips were not moving. The obnoxiously loud beeping had resumed as soon as the speaker had called all officers to their stations, and it did not sound like it would cease any time soon.
“Did Borage say anything?” Ankari asked, grabbing the wheel that manually opened the hatch.
“Yeah. Find a holodisplay with the news on.”
Viktor helped her with the wheel and held up a hand, insisting
on exiting first. He paused, waiting for a pair of legs to race past before opening the hatch more than a couple of inches. Then he slipped out and waved for her to follow.
They had come out in one of the main corridors, and people in Security and white administration uniforms were racing away from them, not in the direction of the bay but toward the center of the station, the atrium area. All she could assume was that the men from the ship were up to something. Maybe she and Viktor shouldn’t have spent so much time talking. And kissing. But hadn’t he said this wasn’t their fight? Of course, it could become their fight if those grenade-flinging mafia men did something that could damage more than a single bay of the station.
Ankari’s finger tightened on her pistol trigger when someone raced around a corner and ran toward them, but this time, the security people were too intent on their other problem to notice her or Viktor. Even so, being in the main corridor made her uncomfortable, so she was relieved when Viktor pointed to a side passage up ahead and led the way. He turned down it, then took another turn into an administration area with voices coming from it. Ankari was not sure why he had chosen the spot until she saw that all of the desks were empty and that the “voices” were coming from reporters on a holodisplay in the front of the office.
“...threatening the hostages,” one woman was saying, a black camera sphere hovering in the air beside her ear. The fountain in the atrium was visible behind her, and security people raced by in the background, all of them well-armed. Ankari recognized some of them from the chaos at the bay, their faces sweaty and soot-stained from the earlier battle. “The Midway CEO, chief financial officer, and executive vice president are being held in the offices on the top floor by armed men believed to be representatives of the Russian mafia.”
Either someone else had made the connection that Ankari and her team had made, or her people had gotten the message to someone who mattered and cared. Sergei might have reached one of the more influential news representatives by now too.
Another boom sounded, both over the feed from the display and through the open doorway. The reporter flinched and spun around, but whatever she saw was not visible on the camera.
Ankari and Viktor were not that far from the atrium, so she was tempted to run down the corridor and see for herself what was going on. The offices of those head people probably looked out over the treetops of that park.
More footfalls thundered past in the corridor outside their door as a mix of security officers and men in Fleet blacks ran by. Then again, Ankari and Viktor might be wisest to stay put, since the last time they had been sighted, Security had been certain they were part of the problem.
The reporter faced the camera and spoke again, her words tumbling out more rapidly than before. Barely able to hear over the ongoing alarm and the shouts from outside, Ankari leaned closer. Viktor stood next to her, an ear toward the holodisplay and his eyes toward the open door, his face impassive.
“Both the main elevators and the cargo elevators have been destroyed, denying our forces access to the top floor so that they can rescue the station executives. One of our teams has also—” The reporter gulped and shook her head. “One of them found a booby trap in a stairwell, and several people were killed or injured. The rescuers will have to proceed with more caution, sweeping for bombs before they can risk the stairs again. The mafia men don’t seem to care if they destroy the station and everyone on it.” She paused and touched her ear, listening to someone give her an update.
“Good of the reporters to keep the mafia updated on the situation,” Viktor growled. “I’m sure they’ve got the news on in those offices up there too.”
“We’ve finally received a list of their demands,” the reporter added before Ankari could respond. “They’re requiring that their ship be released and that all of the Fleet ships that have arrived around the station stand down as they pass. They’re planning to take their hostages with them and—” She paused to listen to someone again.
“If they’re blowing up the elevators and the stairs,” Ankari said, “how do they plan to get back down to the docking bays?”
Viktor shook his head but offered a guess. “Some of the men getting off that ship wore backpacks. They might have propulsion frames for their boots. They could float down the center of the atrium.”
“Getting shot at all the way down?”
“Not if they have important station personnel held in front of them like shields.”
Ankari considered the logistics of trying to float down sixteen stories with a man pressed against one’s chest, a man who might not have his own pair of boots. It sounded tricky.
“Any chance we could find some propulsion boots?” she asked.
She did not know if Viktor would want to try and do something to help or stay out of the fight this time. Helping had not gone well last time. She wouldn’t blame him if he chose to let the station handle its own problem. What did he care if some overpaid corporate officers might die? Of course, the mafia men had already shown an alarming willingness to blow up parts of the station to get what they wanted. So far, the breaches seemed to have been contained, but there was no guarantee that things would stay that way. Midway 5 was a long way from the nearest planet, and she doubted there were enough ships in dock to clear all of the people out if events forced an evacuation.
Ankari did not know if Viktor was thinking the same thing, but he wore a pensive expression as he gazed thoughtfully at the holodisplay. The news was switching locations now, showing the main elevators with their doors blown open, the warped cars inside inoperable, and then the stairwell where paramedics were carrying out injured men—and corpses—on hover gurneys.
“Boots? No. But Grenavinian children all learn to climb trees,” Viktor said, giving her a challenging look.
It took her a moment to realize what he was implying. “You want to climb to the sixteenth story?”
“I doubt the trees are booby-trapped,” he said blandly. “And the leaves might keep someone from noticing me coming.”
“You’re not going to take on all of those crazy men by yourself,” Ankari ordered, not caring if he was the captain and she was just the girl leasing his shuttle.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Viktor tapped his comm-patch. “Borage, find Zharkov and send him to the atrium, the back side, by the base of the trees. Send Azarov too. He’s fit and strapping. He should be able to climb a tree.”
“A... tree, sir?” Even with the alarms still blaring in the background, Ankari had no problem hearing the puzzlement in the engineer’s tone.
“A tree. Find them and send them, then see if you can use your engineering skills to arrange a power outage on the top floor in about twenty minutes.”
“A power outage, sir? Half of the lights are provided by plants. I don’t have access to their electrical grid or know anything about it. It’s probably full of flowers and moss.”
“Find a way. Or do I need to send Ms. Flipkens to help you?”
Borage sniffed. “Really, sir.”
“Mandrake out.”
Viktor must have already finalized his plan of attack in his mind, because he strode for the door without hesitation.
Ankari jogged after him. “I’m going with you too.”
“To the trees?”
“Up the trees.”
He paused in the doorway, his hand on the jamb as he looked over his shoulder at her.
She had no idea what was going through his head—probably that she would get herself hurt or be in his way or both—but she lifted her chin. “To watch your back. And to ensure that, because you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of a woman, you don’t let any thugs get the best of you.”
Viktor grunted, but waved for her to follow as he jogged into the corridor. Ankari ran after him, wondering if she had spoken rashly. During her own childhood, she had climbed up and down buildings and raced through obstacle-filled alleys to escape muggers, rapists, and press gangs, but trees had been sparse in the urb
an squalor of Novus Earth.
“It’s never too late to learn a new skill, right?” she muttered.
Only the wailing of the alarm siren answered her.
• • • • •
Viktor closed his map, folded his tablet, and thrust it in his pocket. He stood in the shadows behind the giant Grenavinian oak, its sturdy branches engineered—or perhaps simply shaped through cuttings—to stretch more upward than outward. The trunk rose all the way to the highest balcony and beyond, the tallest branches nearly brushing the star-bedecked viewing dome far overhead. He had selected this tree because of its heritage—he knew it would have strong limbs all the way to the top—and because it was among the farthest from the side of the sixteenth floor that held those offices.
He did a quick check of the new weapons he had acquired, some pulled off fallen security men outside of one of the bombed stairwells. An additional laser pistol, a rifle he had slung across his back on its strap, a few crude homemade throwing stars that had started life as scrap metal, and a serrated dagger that he had felt bad about purloining, since it looked like an old, well-cared-for family heirloom. He vowed to return that weapon, so its next-of-kin might be found.
“There’s Azarov,” Ankari whispered. She was leaning around the wide base of the tree, her knuckles tight as she gripped the grooves in the coarse bark. “The reporter saw him, but I don’t think she recognized him.”
Viktor did not care about the reporters. So long as local Security did not attempt to obstruct him again, especially when he was trying to help. That incident in the docking bay had been irritating. But for good or ill, the security people were busy worrying over those stairwells and elevators, trying to climb up the shafts. Either none of them had thought of propulsion boots yet, or they had thought of them, and the men who tried them had already been shot down by mafia men up top. Not a promising thought.
Mercenary Courage (Mandrake Company) Page 22
