Codename: Night Witch (15 page)

She wasn't alone. Beside her stood a man. He wore the uniform of a colonel from the clan Chagatai, a very old and respected clan of mercenary soldiers. Sigrid never dreamed she might actually meet one in person, and seeing one standing so close, it was easy to forget herself. They were famous for their professionalism, but more than that, their lethality and unflinching resolve. His eyes never left her, and neither did the hand that rested on the hilt of his curved
talwar
sword. He was sizing her up, gauging exactly what kind of opponent he was facing.

"Madame Magistrate," Franco said, "may I present Ms. Camila Valentina—"

"Sigrid," Sigrid said; it was obvious everyone in the room knew exactly who she was. "My name is Sigrid Novak. You
know
who I am, Magistrate."

Slowly the magistrate turned to face her.

"Yes, Ms. Novak. I know. Just as I also know
what
you are."

Strangely, or perhaps surprisingly, Sigrid detected no threat or boast in the declaration. It was a simple statement of fact.

"I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Kimura once," the magistrate said. "A most remarkable woman. I am pleased to see that she finally succeeded in her endeavors. Her accomplishments have become legendary—as have yours, Ms. Novak, if I may say so."

Sigrid wasn't sure about the whole "legendary" part. But whatever. "If you know who I am, then perhaps you won't mind telling me why I'm still alive, Madam Magistrate? Killing me was the smart play."

"Killing you?
Ah, of course. You're referring to the bounty on your head: 'Dead or Alive,' I believe. And for one-point-eight-five billion in adjusted Federated dollars? A tidy sum, to be sure."

"I should warn you, Magistrate, I didn't come here just so you could turn me in to the CTF. Others have tried."

"Then it's a good thing I have little interest in turning you in, isn't it? One does not arrive in my position without understanding the true value of things. I have come to realize, Ms. Novak, that you are worth
far
more
than any simple prize purse. The CTF wouldn't place a death mark on you if they didn't fear you."

"And what about you, Madam Magistrate?" Sigrid asked. "Do you fear me?"

"Curious that you should ask that, Ms. Novak. The colonel here thinks I should. He believes you've come to the Crossroads to
assassinate
me. He believes I should order your termination."

Sigrid flashed a look to the tall warrior at her side. He was more statue than man. If it weren't for her sensors, she wouldn't know he was breathing at all. "You haven't answered my question, Magistrate."

"I believe I just did. After all, Ms. Novak, if you were here to murder me, wouldn't I already be dead?"

Sigrid considered the question, wondering at the hidden meanings behind it—and yes, there were many, though what those were she couldn't yet tell. "Yes, Magistrate, you would."

The magistrate spread her arms wide. "Then neither of us has anything to fear."

As if the matter was closed, the magistrate took a seat in one of the empty chairs, then gestured for Sigrid to do the same.

Sigrid sat and crossed her legs at the knees; the fact that the action allowed her hand to slip down to the recoilless at her side was purely coincidence.

"I hope you can forgive the colonel," the magistrate said. "Though, you must admit, it was an easy assumption to make—you coming here to kill me. After all, wherever you go, Ms. Novak, death does seem to follow. Certainly my brethren in the Council for Trade and Finance have not been so fortunate where you are concerned."

Sigrid bristled at the mention of the Council and the not-so-thinly veiled accusation. "Magistrate, if you're suggesting I had anything to do with that—"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Ms. Novak. The records speak for themselves."

Records?
"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you? Then I shall refresh your memory."

With a snap of her fingers the magistrate signaled Franco to her side. The port master stepped over and laid a thin pad on the table between them. With a swipe of a finger, the screen illuminated. The magistrate turned it toward her and Sigrid's eyes widened.

"What is this?" Sigrid reached for the pad, grasping it in her hands, holding it so hard it was a miracle it didn't snap in half. "Where did you get this? Who gave this to you?"

"Does it matter? Or does it only matter that I have it? I told you, Ms. Novak. I know who you are. I have been following your career for some time. I
know
what it is that you've been up to."

Indeed, it appeared that she did. For displayed on the pad's screen was a dossier—a highly detailed dossier—and it was a dossier on Sigrid. More than classified, it was deeply personal. Whoever had compiled the history had been incredibly thorough in their gathering of information. This wasn't just a dossier—
this was her life!
They knew everything about her. Her childhood in Geneva. The Academy. Her treatments. Her training. Nothing was spared. Not even the most intimate of details. They even knew about Suko.

And while her own fractured memories might end at Bellatrix, the dossier continued. Case files, stolen right from the Naval Intelligence branches of the CTF. Arrest warrants.
Death warrants.
All of them added within the last six years.

It wasn't a secret that she was a wanted woman. The CTF blamed her for a great many things, everything from the destruction of the Panama lift complex, to the naval forces wiped out at Scorpii. They were lies, of course, more trumped-up charges to justify her planet-sized bounty. But what she was seeing here—a laundry list of violence that spread from the Earth to Cor Caroli—this time they'd gone too far.

"The charges against you are lengthy, Ms. Novak," the magistrate said. "You stand accused of assassinating the Council for Trade and Finance. Eighteen corporate enclaves annihilated; their factories, all their inhabitants blown from existence. I find the report on Procyon of particular interest. Annihilating a military complex of that size? You must tell me how you pulled that off."

"I would be happy to," Sigrid said. "Except I didn't do it. Not any of it."

The magistrate sat back, regarding her for a moment through steepled fingers. "You surprise me, Ms. Novak. I didn't think you'd deny—"

"I am not
denying
anything. I'm telling you. This—" Sigrid threw the pad back down onto the table, where it skidded across its surface "—this is all bloody bullshit. I didn't
do
these things. Someone has been lying to you, Magistrate."

"Perhaps," the magistrate said at last. "And perhaps not. But I am neither your judge nor jury. Honestly, Ms. Novak, I would be disappointed if these charges
weren't
true. You have become legend in these parts. The Federation might call you a terrorist, but to the people of Earth you are a hero."

"I'm no hero."

"Aren't you? You've smashed the Council's hold on the corporatocracy and fractured the Federation. It's only because of your actions that people are discovering there may be an alternative to compliance. They don't have to be slaves any more. I'm sorry, Ms. Novak, but without you there wouldn't be a rebellion."

"I would never do those things—"

"Wouldn't you? I
know
how the Council plotted against your mistress, Ms. Novak. They conspired against her, stripped her of her own corporation—chased you halfway across the galaxy for your troubles. And then they tried to cover it up." She flipped absently, scrolling through the data on the pad. "And did a poor job of it too. Frankly, I'm surprised Lady Hitomi didn't order their annihilation sooner."

"Lady Hitomi Kimura has never asked me to…"

Sigrid's voice faltered.

It was perhaps strange to realize then that not once had her mistress ordered her to kill. Sigrid was a trained assassin, wasn't she? That was why she'd been created. Yet not once had Hitomi ever asked her to terminate anyone. Certainly, Sigrid
had
killed
for her. And if Hitomi asked her to kill the entire Council, wasn't that exactly the kind of thing she would do?

Probably.

Then why couldn't she remember?

A pitcher of water sat on the table between them. The magistrate filled a glass, then nudged it across the table toward her. Sigrid sat staring at the glass while the magistrate regarded her passively.

"Earth's ruling elite have not fared well where you are concerned, Ms. Novak."

"I am not a murderer, Magistrate."

The magistrate's eyes widened. "For your sake, I sincerely hope that you are. You are a soldier, an assassin. Death, Ms. Novak, is your stock-in-trade."

"I
didn't
come here to
kill
you."

"No. I don't believe that you did. I think the fact that you saved my daughter is proof of that. For that, I am in your debt."

"
Why
have you brought me here?"

The magistrate rose, straightening the hem of her suit jacket. "The CTF's days are numbered. I have worked too hard to be swallowed in the ashes of a burning empire. I don't know if this
denial
of yours is part of some misguided act, and frankly, I don't care. Lady Hitomi saw the future, Ms. Novak, and that future is you. You, and women like you. Women like…my daughter."

Sigrid looked up sharply. "You know what she is?"

"I have suspected for some time. After the events of last night, I became certain of it. Those men, the ones who tried to take her, they were hunters, weren't they?"

"They were."

"Agreed. Someone knows what my daughter is, Ms. Novak. The only question remaining is who. Fortunately, you left one of them alive. He was most eager to tell me who hired them—once the colonel here was done with him. Are you curious?"

Not waiting for an answer, the magistrate leaned over and tapped the pad on the table between them. The image of a young man appeared, hovering above the screen.

"His name is Lars Koenig. He is the marquis di Valparaíso. You won't have heard of him. He was a minor operator. Harmless. Mostly. Just another glory-roader running narcotics for the Cabal. All that changed six months ago. When the CTF pulled out of Santiago, he moved in—declared himself marquis. More curious, the Cabal decided to back him."

She tapped the screen again and a three-dimensional map popped up, performing a slow rotation over the table.

Sigrid saw the regions of the southern industrial zones. Most were covered in the blue of the Consortium, but there was an ever-encroaching blotch of red sneaking eastward over the Andes mountains, threatening to swallow them whole.

"The marquis has proven somewhat of a surprise. In less than four months he's managed to seize nearly all of the surrounding territories. With the war raging in the north, we are all but cut off. Still, he's never moved against the Consortium. Not until last night."

Sigrid turned from the map back to the image of Lars Koenig. Blond, blue-eyed, lean and strapping, the man didn't exactly look like the ferocious Khan the magistrate made him out to be. He looked as if he'd be more at home in dance halls or orbital gambling parlors than commanding legions.

"Don't let his looks fool you," the magistrate said, as if reading her mind. "He's scum of the worst kind. Narcotics. Weapons. Sex trafficking! He's got his fingers in the worst of it. Heaven knows what he intended for my daughter."

"I
know
what he intended, Magistrate." Visions of her friends on Scorpii flashed in her head, the countless girls strapped to laboratory tables on Bellatrix, twisted and disfigured. "Your daughter would not have survived. None of those girls would. If this marquis knows what your daughter is, you can't let this go unpunished."

"Then I'm glad we both agree. Unfortunately, war with the Cabal is a luxury I can ill afford. With the fall of Buenos Aires, many of the mercenaries I chose to employ have fled. It seems the Federation is offering triple pay to anyone willing to fight."

"The Mercenary Guild would
never
sanction the termination of a contract—especially under wartime conditions, Magistrate. When word gets back to Vincenze—"

"I'm afraid the guild has its own problems. And Vincenze Station is a long way from here. Contracts are no longer honored as they once were, and now the safety of the Crossroads hangs on a knife's edge."

In that moment, Sigrid knew why the magistrate called her here. Since childhood she'd been trained for moments such as this—to be asked to do what she did best: to take another person's life. For revenge. For honor.
For coin and contract.
This was the way of the mercenary.

"You want me to kill him. You want me to kill Lars Koenig."

"Kill him?" Sigrid saw a bitterness well within the woman, threatening to pour out and spill across the table. "Lars Koenig moved against my house, Ms. Novak. He tried to take my daughter.
My daughter!
I don't want you to kill him, I want you to
destroy
him! I want you to burn his entire operation to ash. I want his flesh peeled from his bones—his manhood swinging from the parapets!"

If the magistrate had let her anger get the best of her, at least it was a rage Sigrid understood. Lars Koenig was no different from the Randall Gillingses or Harry Joneses of the world. For them, her daughter was nothing more than a tool. A means to an end. An asset to be used and discarded. And like her, Sigrid knew the magistrate would go to any lengths to protect her family and her home.

Flushed and red, the magistrate took a moment to pour a glass from the pitcher, drinking deep. Wiping her mouth, she placed the glass carefully back down on the table.

"Forgive me. I lose myself where my daughter is concerned. I love her very much. It is a weakness. If you hadn't come along when you did, she would now be in the hands of the marquis."

"Your daughter is still in danger, Magistrate. If this marquis knows what she is, then you can be assured that others do as well. More men will come. They will always come."