Breakout (34 page)

Startled, he stared for a few seconds. “It's your money, don't give it back to me because you feel beholden.”

“I don't. But there's no other way for me to go on the books as a partner, much as I don't feel entitled to it since the money came from you initially.”

“Is that still bothering you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Creds are nothing. They never saved my life or made me feel like I was worth anything. Anyone can earn credits, whereas nobody but me gets to be with you.”

“You say that like it's special.”

In answer he carried her back to bed and proved that it was.

42

Loose Ends, Frayed Knot

Tam sat down at his temporary desk and checked messages.

The name on one leapt out at him, freezing him in place. Though he'd sent word that first night, he hadn't expected a reply at all, let alone that fast. For long seconds, he just stared at the screen that was integrated with his desk. And then he activated it.

A strong face appeared, framed in silver hair. Time had been kind, or she'd used Rejuvenex strategically. Either way, she didn't look measurably older than when he'd completed his mission and taken the punishment appropriate for crimes such as his.

“I wish I could come to you in person, but unfortunately, affairs of state prevent me from traveling to Gehenna. It would invite speculation that I can ill afford at this stage in some critical negotiations.” She sighed faintly. “I am not as free as I once was. You've no idea how often Soraya and I have thought of you, Tameron. The magnitude of your devotion to Tarnus . . . I have no words to express it. It never set right with me that you gave so much and paid so high a price to see justice done.”

He paused the feed. After all this time, it rocked him that she knew who he was.

I'm nobody. I'm a kitchen boy.

But from the first time he reached out to her in exile, she had never treated him like a lesser being. She didn't mock his plans. Instead, she had listened, and said, “It's impossible.”

Nothing is impossible,
he'd replied.

It took months to convince her to see multiple doctors and scientists, until someone said he could help. On her end, all she had to do was find a nonlethal extraction method for the implant in her skull. He promised to handle the rest.

And I did.

Tam let out an unsteady breath, surprised to find tears standing in his eyes as he listened to Tarnus's true queen. “You did your part. I never doubted that you'd be worth the sacrifice.”

That first night on Gehenna, after Martine fell asleep, he'd scanned the news feeds, catching up on Tarnus history, quietly fearing that nothing would have changed for his people. But she had repealed restrictive laws, lightened the burden of taxation on the poor, and reduced the nobility's privilege. Later, policies had been dedicated to improving trade and creating a strong economy. Ten turns ago, the queen and her consort had adopted a little girl, who was known as the People's Princess. One day, a commoner would govern from the Tarnus throne, a feat made possible only because Dina had returned from exile.

The message was only half-complete, so he played the rest.

“I am beyond relief that you have risen from that place. It was my deepest sorrow that I couldn't intervene. I wanted to. So hearing that you're safe and free . . . it gives my heart peace. While I can't see you in person, I can finally remunerate you as you deserve. I've opened an account, here are the particulars . . .” She spoke a series of numbers and Tam committed them to memory. “Don't worry. There's no tracing the funds, and I used an intermediary. No one will know that I've finally rewarded you for unparalleled service to your country. One day, the history books will show you, not as a monster but a patriot. I will endure long enough to make it so, this I swear. I've told my daughter about you, and she will pass the truth along to her children as well. Live well, Tameron, and know that you are ever in our hearts and minds.” The queen of Tarnus wiped the tears from her cheeks, and the message ended.

“I didn't need credits,” he told the dark screen.

This . . . this is more than I ever hoped or imagined.
Finally, it felt as if that door had closed, freeing him to look to the future. He had expected to be executed and once he was sentenced to Perdition, he started scheming. Because
not
to plan meant accepting that his life was essentially over. On Tarnus, he had made few friendships, so it was rather astonishing that he'd come out of the worst place in the universe with the best people he'd ever known.

I have a future. I am needed. And there's work here to be done.

“You all right?” Martine asked.

She paused in the doorway, tilting her head. Hurriedly he swiped at his eyes and went to her. “Better than. I've just had an unexpected windfall.”

“Ooh. Are we rich now?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “We are.”

•   •   •

VOST
didn't bathe or shave after he got off the hellish transport to New Terra. He passed through all the checkpoints with no problem, which meant the guild hadn't flagged him yet. Relieved, he called for a car and went straight to the hospital. He was braced for the worst—that the private-pay assholes might've cut his son's treatments—but when he checked the registry, Jamal was still listed. With shaking hands, he emptied all his accounts and received a
BALANCE
PAID
flicker from the screen.

Tension seeped out of muscles he hadn't even known were cramped. He closed his eyes, trying to dial down his fading panic so it wouldn't register when he got to the room. But as he headed that way, someone stepped out of a cross corridor, blocking his path. His heart went cold and dark. Vost lifted his gaze and recognized the Ronin enforcer in full battle armor.

“Did you think Anjon and Gazel wouldn't report your treachery? You hijacked a guild vessel and murdered the crew. If you provide the names of your accomplices, we might be persuaded to show mercy.”

That seemed unlikely. It was an execution-worthy offense, not one that could be mitigated by information. While mercs might double-cross each other, there were lines that could not be crossed, and according to guild policy, what Holland had intended to do didn't warrant how they had responded.

Here at the end of his life, he chose defiance. “I'm not helping you track anyone down. Find them on your own, if you can. But I suspect you won't profit if you do.”

Don't underestimate them. It'll be the last mistake you ever make.

Part of him hoped they did go after the convicts because it wouldn't surprise Vost at all if they somehow managed to burn Ronin Group down and piss on the ashes. The thought amused him though that obviously infuriated the enforcer.

“This is funny to you?”

“Not really.”

“You going to step outside with me, or should I gun you down right here?”

That sobered him quick enough. “I know there's no reason for you to acquiesce but . . . will you give me ten minutes? I'd like to say good-bye.”

That's why I came. To see my boy. To keep my promise.

The Ronin goon hesitated, and since he had on a helmet, Vost couldn't see his expression. Finally, the merc said, “Fine. I'll go with you to the boy's room and wait outside. But if you try anything, I will splatter you all over the walls. And that'll be pretty traumatic for a sick kid, huh?”

“I got it. That won't be necessary.”

He fell silent then, his boots lined with lead as he made his final visit to Jamal's room. His chest hurt, and breathing felt like too much work as he stepped inside. The boy was asleep, but he stirred when he heard footsteps. Bright blue eyes shone in his pale, thin face, and spindly arms reached out for a hug, despite all the tubes and wires.

The enforcer jerked a nod, averting his eyes.

Five minutes.

Gently, Vost sank down on the mattress and wrapped Jamal in his arms, burying his face in the boy's hair. “I'm back, buddy.”

“I was worried, you were gone so long.”

“Yeah, well. The job took longer than expected.”

His eyes found his partner across the room, dozing in the chair. Breck was scruffy and unshaven; it looked like he had been basically living in Jamal's room.
Do I wake him? Do I tell him?
Sometimes there were no good answers. This was the last time he would ever hold this kid in his arms. Vost fought tears.

“You stink, Daddy.” Jamal pulled back, wrinkling his nose.

“I know. Sorry about that. You . . . take care of Papa, okay? I know you're going to grow up to be an amazing man.”

Until this moment, he hadn't known how to solve this problem. Treatment alone couldn't save Jamal, only transplant surgery or a cloned organ could, and so far, they hadn't found a tissue match, plus they didn't have the credits.
Indemnity will pay out if the guild kills me.
Between his life savings and the death benefits, his son would be fine. Now he knew why everything had worked out this way. Breck might not agree, but Vost had no regrets.

He touched his son's head.
My life for yours. That's how it's supposed to be.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than you will ever know. Now be a good boy and get some sleep.”

Smiling, Jamal settled into his pillows, and Vost went over to his sleeping husband. From the hall, it looked like he was brushing a kiss across Breck's forehead. Which he did, but he also tucked the credit stick into his pocket as well.

“You ready?” the Ronin thug demanded.

“I am,” he said.

Vost was smiling when he died.

43

Strange Days

Dred spent the next two weeks doing manual labor.

The first part of the remodeling project was depressingly like janitorial work. On the plus side, she definitely felt like she was pulling her weight. Alongside the others, she scrubbed and scoured, scraped turns of neglect off the floor and walls. They hauled junk away by the bin, while Jael complained that he had more than enough creds to pay people.

She threw a dirty rag at him. “This is a good team-building exercise. Probably.”

“The minute you start spouting corporate jargon, I'm burying you in a dark hole.”

She smirked. “Liar. You'd die without me.”

“Possibly.”

Tam interrupted, “How soon can you take my credits?”

Apparently, he'd come into some money, though he wouldn't explain where it came from. Maybe he'd shared the truth with Martine, but she wasn't talking.

Jael glanced over in surprise. “You're investing, too?”

“It only makes sense. I'll diversify later. If I'm to be involved in building this business, we might as well use private capital. That way, we needn't share the dividends.”

“I heard blah blah blah, we keep all the money.” Calypso perked up visibly. “Does it still count if you gave me the money and I give it back to you? For citizenship.”

Jael seemed unsure, so Dred buzzed a message to the solicitor. Who responded right away.
Nobody cares where the credits come from, as long as the documentation is filed under the right person's name.

Elated, she shared that info, and Jael dropped his brush in a bucket of water. “You four carry on. I have to take care of incorporation right away.”

“You haven't filed yet?” Dred scowled at him.

Grinning, he held up both hands defensively. “I bought the building under my name. None of you told me you were considering dumping all your money into . . .”

“You don't even have a name,” Martine accused.

“Devos Interstellar.” Dred shooed him toward the door. “Now go put it all together. Get the nice attorney to help you.”

“You'll be sorry when I'm rich and powerful.” Jael made his escape as two buckets were emptied in his direction.

“Damn. I was going to call it Five Convicts or maybe Prison Break Unlimited,” Calypso said with a smirk.

Tam laughed. “Considering our goals, that might limit our potential.”

“Time for a break.” Martine threw down her cloth and fell backward.

The only purchase they'd made for the building so far was a portable entertainment console since Tam liked watching while they worked. Dred appreciated the new tech; it was so tiny that it could be stuck right on the wall; any flat surface morphed into an awesome vid screen with size adjustment and everything. Calypso switched channels, flipping from entertainment to drama to sports, and, finally, Tam locked it on the news net.

A perky, dark-skinned woman told them, “Stocks for Diamond Tours have hit an all-time low. Creditors are calling for immediate loan repayment, and whispers of bankruptcy cannot be far behind. The latest update . . .” She went on to talk about how the board was calling for Levin's immediate resignation and that Venice Minor had hinted they would prefer it if he relocated, as they didn't want their tropical charm tainted by scandal.

Jael had been right about Levin avoiding criminal charges since there was no other evidence for the prosecution to examine, but Rebestah's brother Duval took up the cause and started a virtual takedown campaign, demanding sanctions and boycotts in his sister's name. Sometimes, Dred wondered if they should tell the man that his sister hadn't been immediately driven to suicide as the media presumed. But since it would only make things worse, Levin certainly wasn't talking about the way he'd abandoned the young auditor on Monsanto Station.

The presenter covered the protest rallies on New Terra next, and Tam switched the unit off. “Even Silence had people who loved her. Missed her. That's . . . sobering.”

Martine nodded. “I wish we'd known sooner.”

With a snort, Calypso said, “What would you have done? Kidnapped her and done amateur brain surgery?”

“Maybe.”

Dred laughed. “Get back to work, you lot. When Jael gets back, this will be our official headquarters, and we'll all be equal partners, whatever comes.”

“Just like . . .” Tam didn't say Perdition.

Nobody ever did. It felt like an invitation for hell to reach out and drag them back. The mood was a little dimmer when they went back to scrubbing. With elbow grease and plenty of sweat, they finished the last room on the second floor before Jael got back. Dred's shoulders were sore, and her hands were blistered, but this felt right in a way she couldn't explain.

“It's shaping up.” Calypso stretched and groaned. “Damn, I'm starving. Whose turn is it to get food?”

“Mine, I think.” Dred didn't say she'd heard a noise downstairs, and that was why she'd volunteered to go out.

Jael's probably here. He can go with me.

“Get noodles,” Martine called.

“Grilled meat.” From Tam.

“I want some fruit,” Calypso yelled.

“Fine, I'm on it.” She couldn't have imagined she'd be such a jack-of-all-trades in the real world: sanitation worker, builder, courier, server.

But keeping busy felt better than sitting around, and going to bed with her back sore from honest work, well, it wasn't a feeling she'd known in a long time. Dred ran down the stairs, noting all the places they needed to be repaired.
One thing at a time.
She expected to find the man she loved coming toward her.

Instead, she nearly slammed into six men in armor, all bearing the Ronin Group insignia.
Shit. I let my guard down.
But she pulled her Dread Queen façade in place and didn't let them know she was worried. That lesson had been hammered home—fear was weakness and weakness? Death.

I'm fine. The others are upstairs. Jael will be back soon. Stay calm.

Dred made up her mind then. She wouldn't start trouble here though she'd finish it if push came to shove. “Can I help you?”

•   •   •

WHEN
Jael saw Dred pinned on the stairs, his first instinct was to break all their necks. He even took a step toward the mercs, but with great effort, he stomped his instincts to silence. Instead, he silently activated the emergency signal on his handheld. If Dred had hers handy, she might've done the same.

“Where are the rest?” a merc demanded.

Dred's gaze met his over their shoulders, but the Dread Queen expression gave the goons nothing but icy disdain. “I asked you a question first.”

“Don't screw with me,” the man snarled. “I'll kill you where you stand.”

“Then you'll be incarcerated.” Dred seemed to enjoy telling him that. “See, I'm unarmed. I'm not attacking. You're on private property. Mind you, I
could
execute all of you right now. But I choose not to. I'm trying to cut down on the butchery.”

At first, the mercs didn't seem to know how to respond. Thinking probably wasn't their strong point. Mooks like this generally excelled at mouthing threats and shooting off their guns, though not very accurately, from the ones Jael had encountered. Since Dred wasn't cowering or trying to negotiate for her life, they had no idea what to do. Likely, they had orders to round everyone up and deliver them to Ronin leadership for judgment.

Since he'd paid for premium service, sirens screamed toward the building within a few minutes. Jael wondered when the mercs would realize they were the offenders the authorities were coming to collect. They didn't seem to have put it together since the leader tried another threat to get Dred to cooperate.

Jael crept back down the stairs to greet the officers, the only time he'd ever done so willingly. Usually, they were hauling
him
off. In a whisper he explained the situation, and the four guards accompanied him to the stairwell. They'd come in full riot gear with heavy weapons.
Yeah, premium service is totally worth it.
Law enforcement was privately contracted in Gehenna, but the law was definitely on his side. The novelty of it made him laugh.

“What the hell?” the head merc growled.

“You're trespassing,” Dred explained.

“You murdered fifteen of our men,” another snapped.

The tallest peace officer tapped his wrist, presumably to activate a recording function. “Where did this alleged crime take place?”

“Uh . . .” The leader of the six didn't look like he wanted to make a formal complaint. “On the
Stargazer
.”

“That's a ship?”

“Yeah.”

“And was the ship docked in Gehenna port at the time of the alleged instance?” Jael had rarely met such a serious hard-ass.

And he's on
my
side.

“No,” a merc muttered.

“Then you need to file a complaint in the appropriate jurisdiction. Per my records, this man is a Gehenna citizen with a clean file.”

Fresh start. It's really happening.

All of the officers were laser-focused on the armor and weapons. “Did you pay tariffs on all your gear? Should I check what you declared coming into port? Let's start with your names. Jans, start with those three.”

“Frag this.” The head merc took a step, like he meant to shove past.

“Lay one finger on me, and I'll put you down. That's six months for assaulting an officer. You came onto private property with hostile intentions. I'm documenting. Repeat offenses will be treated as harassment, which escalates on the third visit to stalking. That gives these folks probable cause to believe their lives may be endangered. You realize that on Gehenna, self-defense isn't a crime.”

“Huh?” the merc said.

Jael laughed. “It means if you come twice more, we're legally allowed to kill you.”

“Like you'd survive a second visit.” The merc raised his weapon, but his buddies didn't follow suit.

The four peace officers reacted as a unit, leveling their guns. “You want to escalate? I guarantee my gear's better than yours. I'll bet my life that you shitbags don't walk away.”

To his amusement, the mercs slunk off like whipped beasts. And then the guards inclined their heads politely. The one that had spoken before added, “Sorry about the inconvenience. Madame Sorush put a star on your contract to ensure we knew you're VIPs. I'll put extra patrols on this place for a while in case they're as stupid as they look.”

“I'll let you know,” Jael said.

“If they reach strike three, do what you have to. Some dumb-asses are unteachable.” With that, the guards turned and withdrew.

“So that's what it feels like on the other side,” Dred marveled. “It's . . . nice.”

“Did you hear how they talked to me?” Respect. That was the word, and it rushed through him stronger than any chem. It made him want to do the right thing and keep doing it. No more brute force, no more pain.

“Madame did say you're a VIP,” she teased.

They went back upstairs together, and for some reason, Martine threw a rag at Dred. “Damn, woman. Did this pretty lad distract you? Where's my dinner?”

“It's my fault.” Quickly he told them about the mercs and about how perfectly local law enforcement had performed. Jael finished, “We should stay sharp, but—”

“That whole security company's running backup for us.” Calypso shook her head in wondering amusement.

“Strange days,” Martine muttered.

That pretty much summed it up for everyone.