by Rick Partlow
Sandi fought to keep a scowl off her face at that announcement; it had been the crux of an argument she and Ash had fallen into about whether they should try to sabotage the warhead before it was delivered to Tangier. He’d been right and she’d been wrong and she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
Still, his part of all this might be embarrassing enough to make up for it. She glanced over at where Lena Brunner stood slightly apart from her father, the look on her face oddly pensive for such a celebration. Sandi nudged Ash and nodded towards the woman.
“You’re up,” she said, with just a little malice aforethought.
He moaned slightly, but then shook his head and walked over toward Brunner. Sandi slowly moved back out of the circle of the courtyard’s floodlights, toward the nearest entrance to the house. It should be easy, she thought, if it went as they’d planned it…
***
“We’re only going to have one shot at this,” Sandi had told them. She’d been sitting on the back of an acceleration couch in the cockpit of the Acheron, with Ash beside her and Fontenot, Kan-Ten and Tomlinson clustered just inside the hatchway.
It had been crowded, but the cutter was the only place in Cape Spartel that they knew was secure for them to talk.
“The Planet-Killer is going to be sent out on a cargo shuttle tomorrow,” she had continued. “Once it’s gone, we’ll never find it again until they decide to use it. And we can’t make the attempt to sabotage the warhead without busting Adam out at the same time, because if they catch us and we have to shoot our way out, then we’ll never get to him.”
“Why is it important,” Kan-Ten had asked her, “that we liberate the young one?”
“A few reasons,” Ash had answered. “First of all, his father is Admiral Krieger, a flag officer in the Fleet supply and logistics branch, and whoever has control of the kid has control over his father and the weapons he’s been stealing and selling. If we don’t get him out of here, someone is going to use him to pressure his father. And second of all,” he’d looked each of them in the eye in that earnest, straight-arrow way that he had, “he’s an innocent kid and it’s the right thing to do. And none of the other reasons mean a damn thing compared to that one, so I’m going to stop there.”
Kan-Ten hadn’t questioned the reasoning, though Sandi hadn’t been sure if he’d bought into it or not. It was, apparently, enough for him that Fontenot did.
“I’m going to have to be the one to grab Adam,” Sandi had said, taking up the reins of the conversation once again. “I’m the one he trusts, and I’m pretty sure he’ll do what I say. I’ll go alone and bring him here, to the Acheron, then get it warmed up and ready for the rest of you.”
“I’ll go with the team to sabotage the warhead,” Ash had volunteered readily.
“Excuse me, Commander Carpenter,” Fontenot had interrupted him. “Do you have any experience whatsoever handling demolitions?”
“No,” he’d admitted quietly.
“And you have very little experience with ground combat either, and none with infiltration.” The cyborg had stared at him as coldly with her natural eye as with the bionic one. “Frankly, you’d be a liability.” She’d motioned at herself, Kan-Ten and Tomlinson. “The three of us can handle the warhead. We have a plausible reason to be there, since we’re on the guard detail roster.”
“So what do I do, then?” Ash had asked plaintively. “Sit here on the ship with my thumb up my ass?”
“You’ve got to be at the party,” Sandi had pointed out. “If both of us just disappear, it’ll look suspicious. And you’ve got to keep Brunner occupied. She’s been organizing the security for both Adam and the missile. She’s the one most likely to notice if something’s up.”
“And how the hell do I do that?” He’d demanded. “Why would she talk to me at all?”
Sandi had cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief.
“Are you serious? You haven’t noticed the way she looks at you?”
“What?” Ash had asked, shaking his head. “How does she look at me?”
Sandi had laughed then, and Fontenot had as well, while Ash had looked in clueless confusion between the two of them.
“How the hell did someone so oblivious ever get to be a pilot?” Fontenot had snorted.
“She’s a lonely woman,” Sandi had explained patiently. “She probably can’t have relationships with the locals because of her position as her father’s executive. You’re an outsider, fairly good looking, obviously brave and resourceful…” She’d trailed off, eyeing him meaningfully.
“Are you serious? You want to me to have sex with her?”
“Well, obviously we don’t have time for that,” Sandi had admitted, starting to have a little fun with his discomfort. “But you could talk to her, maybe keep her attention for a few minutes.”
“Shit.” Ash had rolled his eyes, surrendering to the inevitable. “Fine, okay. It’s fucking degrading though.”
“We all meet up back here at 2400 hours local,” Sandi had concluded, once the chuckling had run its course. “No one be late, because I don’t think we’re going to have much of a window, and this is the last flight out.”
***
The mansion was nearly deserted for the party, and Sandi reached the suite where Adam was being kept without being questioned. The guards were still posted there, though, plain-clothed and professional-looking by local standards, at least. One was short and stocky, his head depilated and intricate tattoos worked around the circumference of his scalp, while the other was a tall, slender woman with skin the color of old teak and long hair twisted into a bun at the top of her head. Sandi walked up to them as if she owned the place, her right hand slipping into the small tote bag she carried strapped across her shoulder.
“What do you need?” The woman asked her. Her hand didn’t stray near the gun holstered across her chest, but Sandi knew she could have reached it in half a second, and fired almost as fast.
“Ms. Brunner said I could bring our guest some food from the party,” Sandi had lied easily, smiling like an old and trusted friend. “It’s right in here,” she added, raising the tote bag.
She yanked at the bottom of the bag and pulled out the stunner, the one she’d bought with the last of Ash’s money back on Belial. The woman’s eyes went wide; Sandi didn’t think the man ever saw the weapon before she pulled the trigger and held it down. A scream of crystallized sound slammed into the two of them and they collapsed into silent convulsions, eyes rolling up into their heads and drool foaming from the edges of their mouths. When she let off the trigger pad, both the guards slumped, unconscious, and she dropped the drained stunner, kneeling down to strip the two of their handguns.
Her pulse was hammering in her ears and she worked to get it back under control; fight-or-flight was a fine evolutionary development when the enemy had to sink its teeth into you in order to kill you, not so much when they could shoot you from a hundred meters away. She kept her eyes up and down the hallway, watching for anyone else who might wander up on them, only turning for brief glances to examine the door lock. It was simple and mechanical, like most things out here where metal and wood were cheap and plastic and ceramics weren’t. You could fabricate nearly anything with the right raw materials, but in the Pirate Worlds, the raw materials were the sticking point.
Damn good thing, she thought, twisting the lock to pull the bolt. If the door had been ID sealed, she’d have had to use a charge to open it, and there was no way everyone wouldn’t have heard that.
There was a small sitting room just inside the door, with a sofa and a well-appointed, hand-made easy chair as well as an interactive entertainment center, which was comprehensive if also obsolete. Adam had been watching something on the 2D flat panel display and he’d come to his feet at the sound of the lock turning; the look on his face was a mixture of fear and anticipation when he saw her enter, gun in her hand.
“It’s time?” He asked, bending over to pull on his shoes. He was d
ressed in comfortable indoor wear: loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Sandi nodded, ducking back out and grabbing the female guard, dragging her inside and then going back out for the male.
“The others are sabotaging the missile,” she told Adam, grunting with effort; the male guard wasn’t a small man and she had to dig her heels into the lush carpet to get him to move at all. She began stripping the woman of her fur-lined coat, pulling it on herself since she wasn’t dressed for a trip outside. “Do you have a jacket?”
By way of response, he ran back to the suite’s bedroom and rifled through the large closet next to the bathroom, coming out with a heavy-duty, hooded coat that looked at least a size too large for him.
“Let’s go,” she urged him as he slipped into it. “Follow me close, be quiet and if I tell you to run, take off and don’t stop.”
The car was waiting where Fontenot had said it would be, at the rear of the mansion, away from the crowds and the party, in a drive that led to a small, rear gate. It was a tiny, electric-motor runabout, not built for serious off-roading, and the cyborg had told her that it was mostly used by the mansion staff to run into town for any items not brought in by the daily supply deliveries.
There were security lights at the rear of the house, but the car was tucked into a fold of the building that shielded it from direct view.
“Get in the back,” Sandi told Adam, yanking open the driver’s side door and sliding behind the wheel. “Duck down and keep your hood over your face.”
“Do you think this is going to work?” The kid asked, pulling his door shut and huddling down on the floor.
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him, touching the start button. The flywheel spun to life with a high-pitched hum and the little car lurched forward as she touched the accelerator, the tires scratching against the gravel of the driveway. “Even if they catch us, they need you alive and healthy.”
Of course, they’ll kill me without a second thought…
The driveway was long and twisting, running past rows of bunkhouses and storage buildings, the light off their porches and walkways creating enough illumination that Sandi was able to navigate the narrow road without switching on the car’s headlamps. There was no sound out here, no sign of occupation; everyone who wasn’t attending the party was working at it, except the guards. The rear gate only had a small guard shack, though, and if Fontenot had greased the right palms…
It was open. She felt a sense of elation when she saw the gate yawning wide, the small booth dark and unoccupied. That much, at least, had gone according to plan, which seemed like a good omen to her.
Once she’d driven out of the gate, she switched on the car’s headlights and fed power to the accelerator, the wheels thumping rhythmically off the ruts in the road. A kilometer of twisting, unplanned gravel road and treacherous ice later, they were out of view of the rear gate of the mansion and Sandi was heading out towards the landing field, to the hangar where they’d stored the Acheron. The night was dreary and overcast, and even the lights of the city didn’t seem to penetrate it, like the darkness was a blanket draped over the length of the place.
“You can get up now,” she told Adam. “We’re clear.”
She could hear him clambering up from the floorboards, and then he was climbing over into the passenger’s seat beside her, his motion shaking the little vehicle on its suspension. She wanted to tell him to stay in the back, but she knew he had to be scared and being closer to her and having a better view would make him feel more secure.
When the hell did I get so damned sensitive of people’s feelings?
“What did you do to those guards?” He asked her.
“Sonic stunner,” she explained. “Old piece of shit, we were lucky it lasted long enough to take them out.” She shrugged. “They’ll be okay in an hour or so.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “Johann, the guy, he was nice to me. Even when the others weren’t, when they treated me like I wasn’t there, he would talk to me.”
“We’ll be out of here in an hour.” Sandi patted him on the shoulder, keeping her eyes on the dark and icy road. “We’ll get you back someplace safe. Back with your dad, if that’s what you want.”
“My dad’s a criminal,” Adam declared. He was trying to sound harsh and bitter, but the tone came across more as raw and hurt and vulnerable. “He doesn’t give a shit about me.”
“If he really didn’t give a shit about you,” Sandi reminded him, “no one would be bothering to kidnap you.”
“You really think I should go back to him?”
She shrugged. “No, you should go wherever you want. But I think you should forgive him.” She felt a hollow in her chest as she formed her next words. “I didn’t forgive my mom until long after she was gone, when it was too late.”
He went silent at that, and so did she, and before either of them could think of anything worthwhile to say, they were passing through the industrial district on the edge of town. At this time of night, the buildings were vacant and cargo trucks stood dark and silent, sentinels parked across freight entrances to secure them from thieves. Piles of stained winter slush hugged the exterior walls, destined to grow every month until the continent’s brief summer.
And past the last of the warehouses and fabrication centers and workshops, just this side of the perimeter security wall, was a series of hangars, some public, some owned by the Rif. Most were dark and unoccupied, their owners and managers enjoying home fires, while the ship crews and masters patronized the hotels and restaurants and brothels in Cape Spartel. A few were still brightly lit and bustling with activity, working on the schedules of ships just in and needing maintenance or refueling or repair.
Sandi turned into the row of sheet metal structures, heading down to the very end, to one of the largest of the hangars, this one lit brightly by security lights but showing no signs of activity. She frowned as she pulled the car up to the side entrance, switching off the headlights but not the motor.
“What is it?” Adam asked her; she guessed he must have noticed her expression.
“There was supposed to be a guard at the door,” she told him. “Korri said he’d let us in without asking any questions, but he was supposed to be there.”
“Maybe he’s inside,” the boy suggested. “It’s cold.”
“Maybe,” she said, unconvinced. She shut down the vehicle, pulling one of the pistols she’d taken from Adam’s guards out of her pocket and making sure she knew where the safety was before she opened her door. The wind sliced into her even through her stolen jacket and she reconsidered if Adam might be right; she wouldn’t want to be out in this, either.
He followed her without being told, his haste and the look on his face making it obvious that he didn’t want to be left alone. She approached the side entrance cautiously, taking a quick glance through the clear pane of locally-fabricated glass set in the hollow, steel door. She could see the Acheron, stretched across every spare centimeter of the hangar, its landing treads dwarfing the diagnostic computers and maintenance carts that hugged the walls, but there was no sign of the guard, or of anyone else.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Stay behind me,” she cautioned Adam. Then she twisted the door handle; it was unlocked, at least. Maybe the guard had simply not wanted to be around to see whatever she was being paid to overlook.
The howl of the wind died away as they stepped into the building, though the interior of the hangar still felt like a refrigerator with all the sheet metal and concrete. She pushed the door shut behind them, still pointing the gun out ahead of her. There was nothing.
“All right,” she sighed, deciding she was being paranoid. “Let’s get on board.”
She led Adam over to the ID panel at the belly of the Acheron, tucking the gun into her belt so she could touch the panel and type in the entry code.
“Don’t move, Ms. Hollande.”
She froze at the voice, recognizing it immediately but not quite believing it.
<
br /> Jagmeet Singh stepped out of the shadows of a bank of diagnostic sensors, his Gauss machine pistol held casually at hip-level, pointed at her. He still wore the same contemptuous glare that seemed to characterize her every meeting with him, along with the same dark-hued body armor.
“I remember you being quite proficient at spraying and praying with a handgun, so if you’d be so kind as to slowly and carefully, with just the thumb and forefinger of your left hand, take that weapon out of your belt and set it carefully on the floor, I might not have to kill you just yet.”
She thought for just a split-second about grabbing the gun and going out shooting, but then she saw Adam out of the corner of her eye, his eyes wide, face pale as he slowly edged away from the man.
“Who the hell are you?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.
“He’s a bounty hunter,” Sandi told him, withdrawing the gun with glacial slowness. “He works for La Sombra.” She went down on a knee to set it on the floor. “He’s after me and Ash.”
“Ash and me,” Singh corrected absently, motioning her away from the pistol. He kept his weapon trained on her as he bent at the hips and scooped it up. His eyes were dark and cold, like the night. “But I’m afraid it’s a bit more personal now.”
Sandi cursed under her breath.
“Look, I didn’t kill your wife…”
“No,” he agreed too easily. “You didn’t. Your uptight, upright prig of a boyfriend did. And a few seconds ago, I was very irked that you showed your face here rather than him.” The impersonal mask Singh wore seemed to crack, and a glimmer of utter fury shown through. “But I believe I’ve had a change of heart. When life gives you lemons and all that, eh? You see, killing him wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as what he did to me, so I’ve decided to let him live.”
