Jol caught a whiff of what smelled similar to burnt bread. He inhaled deeper, the space between his brows creasing, the corners of his mouth pulling downward.
Not again. It’s too rare. This is not happening to me twice in my career.
His gut was heavy though, as if it already knew the answer, no matter how unlikely. Jol picked up the mailing and held it to his ear.
There was a sound coming from inside the box. It would have been an unimportant noise to most people, resembling paper crumpling or perhaps a strip of ronka sizzling over a fire. But the sound raised the hair on the back of Jol’s neck, and the smell was stronger than before—one he remembered as if he’d last scented it yesterday.
He pivoted, tucking the box under his arm and grabbing his com from his belt. He sprinted for the door as he yelled into his device.
“Security Officer Jol to Hazardous Threats! I have a slow-burn chemical explosive nearing detonation on the executive floor!”
He made it to the corridor as an answer transmitted. “This is Tak responding. Proceed down east stairwell two floors down. We are evacuating that area and flushing a garbage unit for explosive disposal.”
Jol raced down the corridor, rushing for the staircase at the end. As he stampeded past exclaiming office workers, a siren went off. The claxon’s wail split the air. After the short blast, another voice spoke over the system-wide public address system. “Attention, all personnel. Clear all corridors, conveyances, and stairwells. Proceed to nearest office and await further information. This is not a drill. Clear all corridors—”
The faces of stunned men blurred past as Jol flew as fast as his legs could carry him. The door to the stairwell stood open, no doubt signaled to do so by Nobek Tak. Jol dashed through the opening, noting the burning smell growing stronger. He didn’t have much time.
He leapt down the stairs, feeling the shock through his legs as he hit the landing. A swift twist to jump down the next flight. It took forever to alight, as if he floated rather than hurtled through the air. He was not moving fast enough.
A blinding flash. A ripple of air bubbling out, carrying disintegrating body parts with it. Rom…oh please, Rom, no.
Jol forced the memory away with a curse. As he thudded on the second landing, the door next to it slid open, giving him access to another endless corridor.
Tak’s voice again: “Officer Jol, proceed to Disposal Seven, which is fifty feet ahead. Intake is on your left.”
Fifty feet. It felt like fifty miles. Too far before the explosive went off. Jol sprinted anyhow, trying not to see Rom’s face in his last moments. Would he be greeting him again in the next few seconds, finding him amongst the departed ancestors?
The trash unit slid out of the wall before him, triggered by the security detail watching him. Jol didn’t slow as he approached. He pitched in the smoking box, watching as it curved up in the air and then down. It descended into the depths just before the unit began its retraction into the wall.
Jol kept running, racing to get as far from the disposal as he could before the bomb went off. The unit was reinforced. No doubt the box was falling into the deeper recesses of Removal and Reclamation, perhaps already a floor or two down. Nonetheless, Jol wasn’t sticking around. He didn’t trust his life to luck. The damage a chemical bomb could do to surroundings—to a man’s body—was not something the Nobek would ever forget.
He’d been running forever. He’d nearly made it to the end of the corridor when a deep thud sounded. It was a noise that was distant, as if coming from the bowels of the planet. No tremor shook beneath Jol. There was just that almost negligible thump. Jol slowed and came to a stop, hardly believing that had been the extent of what he knew was a vaporizing blast.
Tak’s voice came muted from the com Jol held. The Nobek had clutched it so tightly in his hand that it had left a deep impression in his palm. “Explosive has detonated near the bottom of the refuse chute. Orders from head of security Talu are to resume guarding your subject. He will arrive to debrief you shortly.”
“Acknowledged.” Jol’s voice sounded strained, as if he’d been screaming for hours on end.
As the all-clear was given over the PA system, the Nobek went to the conveyance. His legs were shaking—surely from the effort he’d put into running.
Fuck that. It’s shock. You don’t have to admit it to anyone else, but at least admit it to yourself. You could have gone out the way Rom did.
Fine. He’d be honest. Honest enough to acknowledge it wasn’t the fact that he could have been killed that had him shaken. It was the memory of seeing Rom die so horribly. After two fucking years, it screwed with him as facing death never would.
Settle down. You have a job to do, and you’re doing it well. Talu will be proud. Rom would be too.
Jol boarded the conveyance. His voice was firm, normal again, when he ordered, “Executive floor.”
By the time he entered Ospar’s office, Jol had regained almost all of his equilibrium. As the Dramok gaped, still standing behind the desk where the Nobek had left him, Jol said, “That was a hell of a promotional package. It got my attention. You should hire them.”
* * * *
At the end of the workday, Ospar let Jol precede him into the Dramok’s home without argument. He waited just inside the door for the all-clear before moving further into his greeting room, then paused there for his bodyguard to tell him the rest of the place was safe.
Ospar paced while Jol searched around. As he did so, he considered the Nobek who had saved his life that day. Had put his own survival at risk to do so. Sure, it was what Jol was being paid to do, what his father had ordered him to do. It didn’t change the fact that Ospar was standing in his home without even a scratch to tell of the blast that had missed him by minutes.
It was a sobering realization, as was the feeling he’d acted like a complete ass to the man who had kept him breathing. It was one of those matters of existence Ospar needed to reflect long and hard upon.
When Jol called that the common room was clear, Ospar went in, poured himself a drink, and sat down. He got the firepit crackling as was normal, but tonight, he didn’t turn on the political news. He ruminated over his bodyguard instead—or he started to until he realized he needed to order dinner. The close call at Itga had soured him for lunch, and now his stomach insisted he needed to make up for it.
He sipped at his glass of bohut and stared at the flames in the pit. He didn’t stir until Jol appeared in the doorway. “All rooms check out.”
“Good. Thanks.” Ospar nodded towards the bar behind the lounger. “I guess you wouldn’t care for a drink, being on duty and all that. However, a single-serve bottle of kloq wouldn’t put you off your game, if you wish it.”
One of Jol’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. Despite the suspicious expression, the Nobek said, “I suppose a serving should be all right.”
Ospar got up and fetched the bottle. “Have a seat.”
Jol sat on the lounger, three feet from where Ospar had been. The Dramok handed him the kloq. Jol muttered his thanks while watching Ospar with narrowed eyes.
Jol must have suspected Ospar wanted something from him. After all their altercations, it was no doubt strange to be treated nicely.
I do want something. I want to apologize for how I’ve behaved.
He was sure Jol wouldn’t accept an admission of regret. The Nobek would sneer at any amends Ospar might offer. Instead of coming out with the contrition he felt, Ospar said, “You knew right away what was in that package.”
Jol swallowed the kloq and grimaced with a show of satisfaction. “Yes.”
“Talu said slow-burn explosives aren’t commonly used in assassination attempts.”
“There’s a large margin for error in that regard. Slow-burns leave a big chance that the bomb will not be in the vicinity of the intended victim when it goes off. It’s too inconsistent an approach for most attacks meant to kill.”
Ospar’s eyes narrowed. Jol sounded as if he
was an expert on such devices. “What’s its method of combustion?”
“Such an explosive relies on a chemical corrosive decay before ignition, unless it’s specially formulated to go off when exposed to a particular element.”
“What kind of element?”
“Usually, something quite simple and easy to access. Oxygen. Even light. Some sort of plentiful environmental trigger.”
Ospar mused over the information. “I wouldn’t have opened the parcel, however. I put such deliveries in the bin next to my desk for later recycling.”
“In which case, it would have been close enough to kill you.”
Ospar shifted. He didn’t want to be reminded of his close call.
Talu had informed him that the detonation of the device had erased all evidence that might have singled out a perpetrator. The lethal mailing had arrived with other parcels, and law enforcement was still trying to figure out the origin. Ospar didn’t need Talu or the investigator in charge, a tough cookie named Axter, to tell him the likelihood of discovering the guilty party was slim.
“No way to pin it on Urt or his backers in the syndicate,” he muttered. His would-be killers remained on the loose.
“They’ll commit a mistake sooner or later as they grow more desperate to stop you. With any luck, I will continue to keep you alive.” Jol sighed over his finished drink and pitched his empty kloq bottle towards the wall with the recycling bin. The wall opened and caught the flying missile neatly. Jol stared at it with an intensity seldom accorded trash bins.
Ospar was impressed with his aim, though not so much the spoken sentiment. “More than luck, I hope.”
A ghost of a smile touched Jol’s handsome but feral mug, as if the man might be capable of teasing. “Along with some skill. You can take heart in the fact that they used such a shoddy weapon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It shows Itga headquarters isn’t vulnerable to an inside attack. Whether that bomb came from Pladon or the syndicate, they don’t have anyone close enough to you to use more trustworthy means. No one who has access hates you enough to kill you.”
“It’s a good thing I’m such a grand guy to be around.”
The hint of a smile deepened on Jol’s face. He snorted.
The door announce went off, and the hint of humor disappeared. He was upright before Ospar saw him twitch a muscle. The Dramok stood. “Our dinner has arrived.”
Jol waved him back. “I will collect it. Stay here.”
He hurried out of the room. Ospar remained on his feet. He went to the gaming table in the corner and turned on the surface display. He had the activities menu on the screen when Jol returned with a stack of large food containers. With his arms extended all the way down, the boxes reached to the Nobek’s chin, which he used to help steady the column of containers.
He asked, “Are you expecting guests?”
“I didn’t know what you would want, so I ordered several dishes. Bring them over here. We can play while we eat.”
Jol flashed his suspicious expression, but he obeyed. He sat in the comfortable hover chair across the table from Ospar.
They sorted through the food containers, picking out their favorites. Ospar took note of what Jol chose for future reference. He’d conceded that he would be spending much of his time with the Nobek, at least until the contract for Eruz was awarded. In the wake of the day’s events, he figured he might as well make life as easy as possible on both of them.
They set their meals up, placing the rest of the food to the side. Moments later, the sound of his own chewing filled Ospar’s skull. Jol acted ravenous and ate with prodigious appetite. Ospar waited until the Nobek cleared his plate and refilled it. He slid the game table’s menu along the surface’s touch screen towards Jol.
He asked, “Do you see anything that interests you?”
Chewing a mouthful that ballooned his cheeks, Jol perused the selection. He swallowed and tapped the menu, bringing up a Dantovonian holographic cityscape. “Espionage Wars.”
A smirk slid over Ospar’s face. He knew the game well. “Excellent. I prefer games that rely on strategy. Better yet, we can pretend to blow things up that aren’t me.” Wondering if he could pull off the plot that had come to mind, he asked in his most innocent tone, “Care to make a friendly wager?”
“You want to bet on the contest?”
“It’s more fun when something’s on the line. Go on, Nobek Jol. If you win, what do you want from me? Besides my head removed from my shoulders?”
Jol snickered and considered. After a few seconds he declared, “A case of last year’s leshella from the Lisidian Valley.”
Ospar grinned in appreciation. “My, my, what good taste you have.”
“What of you?” Jol challenged. “I will remind you that I don’t possess a sizeable pocketbook. You’ll have to be inventive when it comes to your prize.”
“We don’t pay you well?” Ospar couldn’t help but tease.
“I have no complaints. Even from your ivory tower, you must know a security guard’s wages won’t cover the price of fine Plasian vintages.”
Ospar chuckled. He pretended to consider what he’d take as his winnings, though he’d chosen before they’d sat down to eat and play. “Hmm, what would I like from you?”
“Anything but demanding I quit my assignment.”
“After today’s demonstration of selfless honor and duty, I’d never consider such a thing,” Ospar assured him. “Ah! I’ve got it. If I win, you’ll allow me to return the favor of last night.”
Jol flushed and dropped his gaze for an instant. Guilt filled his expression. Though his attack on Ospar had been warranted, it was nice to know he felt some remorse for his momentary animalistic turn.
Perhaps he even wanted to make up for it, because he said with perfect equanimity, “I assume you would be on top this time?”
“You would be correct.” Ospar’s cocks gave an eager throb at the idea. It was his turn to flush, remembering how he’d responded to being on the bottom.
“Fair enough.” Jol’s agreement came without hesitation. Ospar set aside the humiliation, delighted his ruse was working thus far.
They set up the match and Ospar focused on winning. A supposed-revenge fuck wasn’t the only thing on his mind, however. He hoped the convivial atmosphere of playing would give him the opportunity to draw Jol out. He owed the Nobek his life. The more he understood about his bodyguard, the more he could do to repay the debt.
After five minutes of opening gambits and establishing their strategies, Ospar ventured, “Slow-burn chemical explosives are rare, and yet you knew what was in that package. You’ve faced today’s situation at some point in the past.”
Jol frowned. Whether it was at the game or Ospar’s comment, the Dramok wasn’t sure.
The Nobek made a move on the board and said, “You are not the first man I’ve done personal security for.”
“Were you as successful in saving his life as mine?”
“My client lived, but not through any of my doing. My partner and I identified the parcel he’d been sent as suspicious, but we’d had no experience with that type of explosive.”
The expression on Jol’s face warned Ospar the story was grimmer than the Nobek let on. “Your client survived. You did too. Yet I get the feeling this doesn’t have a happy ending. Your partner?”
Jol shook his head. His expression didn’t change, but his silence told volumes.
Ospar grimaced. “I’m sorry. I take it you and he were close.”
Jol stared hard at the table as if he’d have preferred to avoid the conversation, but he chose to answer. “We’d been the best of friends in training camp. Later, we were more.”
“Much more.” Sympathy made the Dramok grim.
“I gave up offers to train for both the Royal Guard and Global Security so he and I could remain together.”
Ospar thought of how he’d sneered at Jol for being a security guard—a job that retired Nobe
ks with nothing left to prove of their bravery tended to inhabit. He cringed to think how he had insulted Jol.
No wonder he treats me like the world’s biggest asshole. I should have checked further into his background than I did.
Ospar had taken hateful delight in discovering Jol had gotten his position from his father. He swallowed against the choking guilt of that. In the most reverential tone he could summon he said, “Not just anyone is invited to work for those entities, especially the Royal Guard. It must have been difficult to walk away from such prestigious offers.”
Jol shrugged. “Rom wasn’t courted by the Royal Guard, but he did get an offer from Global Security. Honor and prestige weren’t as important to him as freedom to forge his own path. He wanted a less strict working environment.”
“And you wished to be with him.” It was a tragic love story fit for the drama theater vid feeds.
“It was an easy decision as far as I was concerned.”
The loss of his lover must have been devastating. Ospar’s heart felt heavy for the Nobek. “I’m sorry he didn’t make it, Jol.”
“Thank you.”
They continued to play, remaining quiet for the most intense part of the game. After an hour of maneuvering, Ospar won by the skin of his teeth.
At least, that was how he’d made it look. How nasty would his bodyguard turn if he knew what an awful cheat Ospar was? However, the Dramok had gone into the match with every intention of winning. All in the hope of rewarding the man who had kept him alive.
He grinned as Jol groaned. “I do believe it’s time to pay up, Nobek. Would you follow me to my sleeping room?”
Jol snarled at him, but Ospar detected no real menace behind the sound. He didn’t look as bestial as he had when he’d run Ospar down the night before. The spicy-sweet scent of Kalquorian arousal laid heavy on the air. It told the Dramok his opponent was not as unhappy with the result as he pretended. Hopefully, Ospar would be good enough to keep Jol pleased.
Chapter 8
Ospar’s delight at the success of his ruse was blunted as he looked over the Nobek he’d brought to his sleeping room. What had seemed a good idea before had become fraught with concern. His cocks were still interested in what was about to happen, but he wasn’t as hard as a man like Jol should inspire him to be.
Clan and Conscience Page 8
