allies and enemies 02 - rogues (38 page)

Picus answered. “It can sustain you indefinitely. I calculate…”

“Until Asher returns with your Kindred.” Kelta spoke over him.

Indefinitely. How vague. What lovely odds.

She ignored Picus, focused on Kelta. “Would
you
do this?”

The woman joined her at the side of the box. “He
will
return with your brother.”

Erelah drew her chin up. Absently, she drew a hand across her abdomen.

“Then there is something I must tell you.”

90

“On Narasmina? You are certain?” Tristic stalked the limited space of the operations area. It seemed too small and built as an afterthought.

Why did the Humans insist on building things so confined when the Sceeloid base held such enormous rooms?

It was as if they truly lacked confidence in their spacefaring skills and subconsciously, as a race, elected to build in meek lines and hunched-over spaces. They were pretenders at conquering the void. The Regime had piloted its icy stretches for hundreds of years before Humans had sent their first rockets to lifeless rocks and celebrated with idiot glee.

On a proper Ravstar vessel, even the smallest frigate, the operations tier would be cavernous, commanding the reverence it was due. It would be filled with sensor arrays, feed lines, all the information one commanded at any number of stations.

The Human equivalent was a narrow metal corridor with two chairs bolted to the floor and mismatched monitors that relied on an archaic manual input system of clacking keys and pressure-sensitive screens. There were no neural ops overlays, keyed to the thought processes of silent, obedient techs.

To just have that servitude at Tristic’s command once more. Even the smallest technological advancement would be bliss.

“Yes, sir.” The young man before the console flinched under her attention.

Do I seem too eager? Did it matter now? Really? The charade would soon be over. No need to keep pretending.

Tristic was fully aware of the nervousness she evoked in the two young ensigns. Normally this would not do. She preferred the power of the subtle to control subordinates. The suggestion of a threat, rather than the actual act, could be far more coaxing. She acted a part here: the beloved Captain Wren, burdened with leading Roughbook by the untimely end of Snowden.

Tristic flexed the jaw of this body. Humans were supposed to be appropriate vessels. Yet this one was fading. He bore none of the painstaking preparation that had gone into the Veradin girl. Perhaps using Wren was a mistake. Snowden’s form had appeared far sturdier. Her authority would not have been questioned. The woman had been aloof, impossible to keep in one place at a time for any sort of influence to take root.

Wren had been a necessary choice of new host.

When she was able to gather her strength in the quiet of her assumed quarters, Tristic could reach out, touch the minds of others nearby. That’s how she heard the rumors and muttering. Some had come to doubt Wren’s sanity. He no longer behaved as expected.

Now each time she interacted with them, she was more aware of the tense looks, the barely veiled fear.

Did they think she would
eat
them?

Well, that fear was fair enough.

“Yes, Captain…Major. The DCS reads are clear. These are the coordinates.”

“How many mercenaries have gone missing there?” Tristic leaned over his shoulder; the young man cringed away as if fearful to touch her. She chose to ignore it.

“Three.”

Too much of a pattern to be called mere coincidence.

By why that place? It was a fishery. Insignificant. With a smaller populace, it would not be the easiest place for a newcomer to go unnoticed. Unless one had assistance…

“Tell me. What intelligence has been uncovered on the rogue Guildsman, Asher Corsair?”

Perhaps a visit to Narasmina was in order.

PART XI

91

Corsair had forgone the docks and instead settled the Cassandra on a level, dusty field. The space was tight, with room for error in landing. Rocky walls rose high on three sides. One corner of the landing field granted a view of a seaside town, built in rows of terraces encircling a harbor. Seafaring vessels dotted the deep blue-green water. White birds screeched against the wind that was bracingly cold despite the clear skies and mellow sun. It was winter here, but blissful compared to the dingy smog and broody storms of Hadelia.

Jon felt lighter. Until now, he’d not realized how long it had been since he’d actually seen a sun from the surface of a planet or felt truly warmed by one. He drew in a deep breath.

The salty tang of the air conjured a childhood memory:
Uncle brought us to see the ruby beaches of Argo’s single ocean. Erelah held my hand, clung to my arm. She was afraid of the waves at first. Soon she was racing up and down the shore, laughing.

He felt Sela watching him. Each time he turned, she’d look away. The worry line had forged between her eyebrows, but so far she’d said nothing. The wariness hung between them as they followed Corsair up the trail. The man seemed more anxious since they’d docked. He’d even retreated from trading barbs with Sela.

Jon could tell she was waiting for something to happen: some double-cross or ambush. Could he blame her, really? The last few years of their lives together, disaster was more the rule than the exception. She was ever-vigilant. That was how they made her, she’d explain. As if the explanation alone was enough to justify it.

For once, Miri, please let this be your grace. Let this be your mercy. Let this be true.

They came to a wide spot on the trail. Jon slowed to take a long draw from the water packet Sela had made him bring. The liquid was warm, flat but far better tasting than the hydration matrix she’d kept waking him up to make him drink while the pharms worked their way out of his body.

Sela waited for him to catch up. “Jon?”

He grinned. “Just thinking. You never answered my question.”

Her shoulders twitched. She aimed her gaze on the path, falling in step beside him. “You asked twenty-eight questions in the past day and a half. I responded to—”

“You know which one I mean.”

She focused furiously on the path ahead.

Jon stopped. “What is it, Ty? Tell me.”

She traveled a few more feet, then turned. “Must we have this conversation
here
? Now?”

“Ladies, can we pick up the pace?” Corsair shouted from higher on the trail. He was an impatient figure at the crest of another rocky outcropping.

Sela directed a low curse in Common at him. Corsair made a rude gesture in response.

Jon reached for her. She looked down at his hand, took it. When she looked back up at him, he saw something that astonished and wounded him in the same breath. Tears.

“When this is over.” Her voice was raw. “Please.”

“Alright.” He felt cold suddenly, despite the glare of the Narasmina sun.

Sela slipped away. Her hand falling away from his.

In silence, they fell in behind Corsair. He doggedly led on through the twisting climb. The pathway narrowed into a series of roughhewn steps in the rock. Granite rose to obscure the view of the harbor. The sun could not find them in the shadows of the cliff. A cold wind chilled the sweat to his skin.

They reached the trail end. Corsair disappeared behind the bend. When they caught up, Jon felt a strange nervous jolt. He stopped.

Corsair’s posture was very wrong. The stillness of it.

Sela felt it too and was the first to react. She slipped past Jon, drawing her A6.

“What is it?” Jon called. Dread made his legs heavy.

Corsair turned. His jaw tight. The maroon eyes glinted. “Trouble.”

92

“Where is she? Where’s my sister?” Jon turned with impressive speed on Corsair. It was difficult to imagine that he had doled out some sort of misguided gratitude to the man at one point.

Despite their differences in mass, Jon tackled him, slamming them both against the blown-out remains of the doorway. The unmistakable ghost of a blast shadow scarred its surface.

Corsair’s back rammed against the metal. Jon shifted his weight, driving his forearm to compress his windpipe. Anger drove the attack; not the goal of subduing him.

“What’d you do?” The snarl was one she would never have thought to come from Jon Veradin of the mischievous half-smirk and ready jokes. His face pinched in alien rage. Something had snapped deep within him.

“This wasn’t me.” Corsair bared his teeth.

Sela watched them grapple, considered aiding him. Ultimately discarded the thought. It was somehow more satisfying to bear witness. It even seemed as if Jon were holding back. She wished he wouldn’t.

“Here. She was supposed to be
here
.
This
was safe.” Corsair shoved. Jon scrambled back.

Sela tensed, eager to jump in.

Jon lunged. His fist caught Corsair’s jaw even as he opened it to tell more lies. The move was undisciplined, his stance off, but it seemed to have power behind it.

Corsair staggered. He made no move to counter attack.

“For Nyxa’s sake, stop.” The half-breed held a hand up, beseeching. “Someone’s found her.”

Sela agreed with that observation.

This was the site of a one-sided battle, many days old. There was no Erelah, only the aftermath of an obvious incursion. She performed a cursory inspection of the interior, or what was left of it. Incendiary devices had gutted much of it. This place was dead and anyone that had been within was likely the same way.

If this were a trick, why would he continue to feign surprise or innocence?
A niggling worry now undermined her feeling of satisfaction.

Sela stepped back, ignoring their grappling. It was unlikely they’d do any real damage to each other. This was pent-up, directionless fury, something she could understand. Best to let them work it off.

Something itched at the back of her brain.
What am I missing?

Her eyes moved over the line of the cave, the sprung seals of the doors. Her attention fixed on the alcove. There were no telltale burns from small arms fire like plasma or pulse weapons. The blast shadow on the door seemed surgical in its placement.

Moving carefully, she stalked backed to the point of entry. The thirty-meter square space would have been a kill box against intruders. However, there was no evidence that the automated weapons mounted at the ceiling had been triggered.

Crushed stone lined the path in places. There were some places of loose soil. She noted the rounded depressions of boot treads. None of the patterns matched theirs. The footprints heading out were dispersed in a wide pattern, as if the attackers were carrying a heavy object between them.

She counted four distinct sizes. It had been a small team, trained to walk single file on their approach, like a standard…

“Breeching detail,” Sela hissed.

The trail to this cavern did not seem well-traveled, suggesting it was not common knowledge. Locals could have done this. It would explain their familiarity with the terrain. Sela dismissed the idea almost immediately. This required training. From what she’d surmised about Narasmina, it was a dull little fishery. It was unlikely to harbor an organized criminal element capable of this level of execution.

This was done by an outside element, skilled, well-armed and sent here specifically.

And it also meant Corsair was very likely innocent of any wrongdoing.

In this particular matter, anyway.

Behind her, there was another dull smack of fist on flesh. She turned.

From the set of his shoulders and the cords standing out in his neck, Jon’s anger was far from gone. Corsair leaned against the twisted hinges of the door, hands on his knees, alternatively cursing and spitting blood onto the dirt.

She considered relaying her findings.

There was a rustle in the ground cover. Sela spun, drawing the A6 in one smooth motion. At the last second, she slid her finger from the trigger.

Standing in the middle of the path stood a girl, pale blonde hair a mass of knots. The tracks of tears ran clean streaks down her soot-covered face. The child did not cower at the sight of the weapon, only studied Sela with the maroon eyes of a Binait.

“Identify yourself.” Sela holstered the gun.

Incredibly, the girl stalked right past her and raced to Corsair in a coltish sprint. She threw her arms around his waist. He reeled back, surprised. The child’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs as he knelt down to her level.

“What is this?” Sela strode up, looking from this strange new development to Jon. She saw her confusion mirrored on his face. He lifted a shoulder.

The child faced them. She drew her tiny body up in challenge, hands like stones at her sides as if she meant to protect a man ten times her size. “Stop being mean to Asher right now! You think he’s bad. He’s not! So stop!”

Jon held his hands out, fingers splayed. “I’m staying right here.”

Was the child part of Asher’s ploy as well?

The girl leveled an accusing finger at Sela. “She’s still thinking bad things. Tell her to stop.”

This is absurd.
Sela snorted. Then caught Jon’s frown. “What?”

Asher forced the girl to turn around to face him. “Mim, what’s happened? Where’s Erelah?”

“They took her. They killed the mech man too.”

“When was this?” Jon stepped closer. “Who?”

A helpless shrug. “The men with black helmets. They had noisy guns. Their colors were angry.” She frowned up at Sela. “Like her.”

She ignored the child’s glare to watch Corsair. Something in his expression had changed. She saw it. A flicker of recognition in that maroon gaze.
The bastard knew who had done this. Had to.

“Did these men say anything?” Jon asked, oblivious.

Mim shook her head. “They used words that didn’t make sense.”

“You know who did this. Don’t you?” Sela challenged.