allies and enemies 02 - rogues (26 page)

“And you’d be rewarded? Made a hero?” An icy betrayed anger slipped into her veins.

Leaning drunkenly, he rose from the grav bench. “Erelah—”

“You will never be one. It’s simply not in you.”

The skin around his eyes tightened. Did he actually flinch? How deep did this act go?

In one vicious move, she thrust the jdrive at his chest. “Take it. If it is so important to you. This thing has ruined everything around it. If you think you’ll have better luck, then it’s yours.”

More in reflex, he clutched the drive. Once more, he reached for her, but she moved away.

“I was wrong, Erelah. I didn’t understand.”

“We agree on something.” Throat tight with rage, she hurried from the loft.

PART VII

60

My sweet girl. My perfectly imperfect girl.

Tristic shook with anticipation. Some of it still belonged to Maynard, her loyal pet. Poor thing. Maynard’s body weakened daily. But too soon. She had tried not to burn through him. It was an eventuality.

No matter. Her new vessel lingered nearby in the cavernous hangar of the Human’s stolen Sceeloid outpost. Poor Wren. The confusion that surrounded him was nearly comical. The past few days were likely a blur for the wretched man, none of which he would remember well. Controlling him from afar in a sight-jack had been tedious, draining. To have him near eased the strain on her abilities. Especially now, with this victory at hand.

Erelah had been so close. She could practically smell her, taste her. The sensation was invigorating.

Tristic hardly noticed the restraints that bound her vessel’s wrists. The thick ungainly fingers trembled as they brushed the cold poly fiber of the stryker’s wing.

She longed to climb inside the cockpit and immerse herself in its confines, breathing Erelah in like memory’s ghost. She could caress the console, touching the same things, and share a detached communion.
My killer, my future still.

Of course, her jailors would not allow that. They scrutinized her every move.

Tristic allowed them their smugness. Their control ebbed daily. Already she had established a foothold in Wren. He had been weak to begin with. His own curiosity had damned him. Soon she could slip behind his eyes, wear him. Her new toy.

The true impediment was Snowden. She was a soldier, resolute in her skepticism. It was her armor. Tristic had found the right ways to tempt her. Like any military minded person: offer weapons, the keys to victory. Snowden’s ambition drove her. She would have been at home with the Kindred warlords, with their childish posturing and constant search for advancement and laurels.

“The drive was not intact.” Wren’s tone seemed part apology, part accusation.

As if
she
could be blamed for the thievery of the miscreants that laid claim to the stryker.

“Meaning?” Tristic struggled to keep the defensive tone from Maynard’s voice.

“The device you described has been removed from the engine compartment. There is no sign of it on the pirate ship. The Binait woman denies knowledge of it.”

“Lies, of course,” Tristic blurted. It was a stumble. If she were not so distracted by the stryker, the promise of the girl so near.

“What makes you so sure?” Snowden’s eyes narrowed. Her energies were tucking away. She was less likely to trust.

Careful. Careful.

“Binait are lying thieves. Untrustworthy as a race.”

Tristic forced her full attention back on the two Humans. “If they have removed it, it still may be possible to track it, provided the field compression is active.”

“Provided?” Snowden paced. She would need to be dealt with soon. Wren was next in the command structure, a far more willing puppet. “Miles. I think we’ve heard enough of this. It’s a goose chase.”

Wren seemed to snap from his fog. “Sir, I—”

“Enough, Major.” Snowden strode to the door. “I’m going to talk to this Binait prisoner. Get the real story.”

The door shut. Wren’s stricken expression was nearly laughable. How he pined for that woman’s approval. Perhaps she would allow her new pet a taste before eliminating Snowden. A type of reward.

He was vulnerable. There had been few other opportunities to be alone together. The guard remained outside the hatch. Another would be due any moment. It had to be now.

Tristic gathered her strength, pushed out at him. She crossed the space between them quickly. Her bound wrists sought the exposed skin of his throat.

“There’s still time, pet,” she crooned as she slipped into her new vessel.

61

Rachel paced the length of the tiny room. It did not take much time. The broom closet held one chair, a workstation desk (entirely decommissioned) and a slim bed that was barely more than a cot. A gray pimple the size of a marble nested in the corner where the wall met the ceiling, no doubt a surveillance camera.

She flipped it off.
Pricks.

The thick glass door, no matter how firmly she affixed it with a glare, remained locked. The view of the room beyond had not changed: a single marine, her “escort.” No longer wearing the heavy deployment armor, but standing in a way that suggested he was well skilled in the distribution of ass-kickings.

The young man refused to acknowledge her presence in any way. The nametape on his fatigues was too far away for her to read. She had decided to name him “Melvin” because a) he seemed nothing like a Melvin and b) a deeply seated antagonistic part of her really thought he would hate that.

Her first few hours in the compound had been spent in an uneasy trance, as if this were all a fantasy and she’d wake up to find herself back on Ix’s defunct carrier, surrounded by Zenti. The food tasted real enough, though, and was surprisingly bland. The water was good old recycled stuff, something any colonist would know by the “trust us, the chlorinated aroma is way better than the alternative” taste.

How long has it been since Tintown?

Certainly, someone would come to tell her that they’d sent her message to Sasha. She was not expecting a welcome home party in her honor. Rachel had been officially listed as dead two years ago, but someone
had
to be curious. Instead, they were treating her like an inconvenience. There was something worrisome about that.

The far door that led into the hallway beyond the cell opened and a tense-looking young woman appeared. Dressed in scrubs and wearing an expression that suggested she would rather be anywhere else, the medic spoke briefly to Melvin and then stepped up to the glass door.

“Doctor Northway, I’m here to collect a blood sample.” The medic nodded at a plastic phlebotomy kit in her hand. The woman’s badge read: Hoffs

“That’s nice.” Rachel folded her arms. “I gave at the office.”

She blinked at her.

“That means ‘no’.” Rachel stomped back to the cot and sat. “No blood, spit, pee…nada. Not until I talk to someone in charge.”

Hoffs frowned. “Doctor, you of all people must know that isolation and sample testing are part of the protocol for unsupervised interaction with off-world—”

“Unsupervised interaction,” Rachel scoffed. “You know. I’d been wondering what to call my experience of playing Dr. McCoy to the interstellar cast of the Pirates of Penzance for nearly two friggin’ years.”

The tech gave an uneasy grin, attempting to change her tack. “Doctor, if you give me the specimen, I’ll be sure to convey your request to Captain Wren. He’s a very busy man.”

“How ‘bout now?” Rachel shot back. “March on back and tell Wren that I demand my one phone call.”

Hoffs exchanged a look at the marine. “It’s not that simple—”

“It’s usually not. Here’s what I do know.” Rachel sprang up from the cot and stood before Hoffs. “Any foreign or threatening organism I might have contracted would have been detected by the ASC that we went through at the station airlock. It screens for over four thousand known infectious agents that affect Humans. That takes five fucking minutes. Not a day and a half. If something had been detected, I guarantee you I would be in a neg-pressure room, not someone’s old office. So you want my blood for something else. You gonna tell me what, sweetheart?”

Hoff frowned. “Fine. Looks like it’s going to be the hard way.” She pivoted back to Melvin, who looked as if he very much liked the sound of “the hard way”. He stepped closer to the glass and reached for something she could not see. There was a string of soft clicks as he accessed the key pass. He was close enough for Rachel to read his nametape: Chapman.

Huh. I would have never guessed that one.

Rachel backed away as the door slid aside.

Chapman entered the tiny room first. In his right hand was something that looked alarmingly like a Taser.

The lab tech stepped in behind him. “Let’s get this over with.”

62

“You wished to see me, Doctor.” Wren stood beyond the glass. He was dressed in dark navy fatigues, impossibly neat, his hands folded in front of him.

“What the hell is going on here?” Rachel raged. Her arm still throbbed from the forceful removal of her blood. “Why are you keeping me locked up like this?”

Wren cocked his head to the side. The motion was spastic, not matching the calm purr of his tone. “Doctor Northway, there’s something that you’ve failed to realize. I took an enormous risk in bringing you back to this installation. I went off-book when I made that decision. Some show of appreciation would be in order.”

“Thanks. A lot.”

“Sarcasm. Typical.” Wren clucked his tongue. He twitched his head again. It was a jerking twist that looked involuntary.

Rachel turned her face up at the ceiling. “Just please tell me that someone got a trans out—”

“No such thing has been done.”

Her head pivoted. “What do you mean?”

“Roughbook is a classified installation. Transmissions back to the core systems are not a common activity and are reserved for emergencies. No one has been given clearance to contact your partner.” He consulted his tablet and raised an eyebrow. “Sasha Rolanski.”

Icy panic squeezed her ribs. “Open this door. I’ll show you an emergency.”

She could swear he was enjoying this. He patted the air. The gesture seemed patronizing. “Dr. Northway, that’s a far from constructive attitude. From all that I’ve read of you, you’re an intelligent, accomplished physician and geneticist. A scientist like yourself would certainly see the logic in keeping a hidden military asset…well, hidden. The energy required for laserlink access for coms would endanger the lives of the dedicated men and women of this facility. All for what? The peace of mind of someone whom you would not have been allowed to communicate with
had
you arrived two years ago.”

“Oh my God.” Rachel folded her hands into fists. “Let me see someone above you. What’s her face?” Her memory seized the name. “Snowden?”

“Major Snowden is dead. A female Binait from the pirate compound attacked her before taking her own life.”

Rachel gaped. “Neesa.”

His eyes narrowed. “You were familiar with the assailant?”

“Yes. I mean…no. Sorta.”

“Explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. She was a nut job that ran with Ix. If you ask me, she was more the brains of the operation. He was the neurotic muscle.”

“Interesting.” It was said in a damning way. “How long were you in their service?”

“Their
service
?” Rachel huffed. “It wasn’t like that. I was their
prisoner
. Don’t you get it?”

“I see.” His tone suggested that he most certainly did not. “Doctor, the UEC has very specific rules about aiding terrorist activity.”

“They weren’t
terrorists
. They were morons that went around stealing shit.”

Wren consulted the tablet once more. Rachel promised herself she’d shove it up his ass if she ever had the opportunity. “These so-called ‘morons’ destroyed two major Guild installations in the past six months and have stolen considerable amounts of supplies destined for legitimate commerce outposts run by the same Guild. This suggests an organized criminal element. Why would you try to downplay their activities?”

Oh God. They think I’ve gone native. Maybe I have.
She swallowed. “It’s not what it looks like. I did what I had to do. It was survival.”

“So you were coerced into providing medical services?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Major Snowden’s assailant stated you aided in the escape of two other captives from the pirate compound.” He angled the tablet to face the glass. On its screen was a video with the grainy quality of a surveillance camera. Korbyn half-dragging Erelah across the muddy pockmarked landing field of Tintown. “You are familiar with these two individuals? Yes?”

Rachel stared as the image loop repeated then finally nodded. “You find them?”

Wren’s posture changed. For the first time, he actually seemed interested in what she was saying. Interesting was the wrong word. Downright eager was more appropriate.

“The male was identified as Asher Korbyn, known associate of these pirates. The crimes attributed to him are…impressive. The female, however, is another matter entirely…”

Wren’s gaze went distant. He swallowed. Then, as if remembering his whereabouts, his blue-eyed gaze drifted back to her with another jerky sideways twitch of his jaw.

Rachel stepped back. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. And for once she was grateful for the barrier between them.

“
You
attacked Ix’s place. And Neesa gave us up, told you where to find us in Tintown.”

“Doctor, are you purposefully withholding vital information about a hostile?”

“Hostile?” Rachel laughed. “That kid may be more of a danger to herself than anything.” Even as she said it, she realized that even she did not sound convinced. After all, she had seen Erelah use the Sight. That wasn’t something that you wanted used on you, and in the wrong hands, it could be a pretty dangerous thing. Was that why they wanted her?