by C. Gockel
He hated the idea of just giving up, but they didn’t have a lot of options. Of course the vehicle they’d left behind at the entrance to the amusement park had its normal transponder signal activated, and probably after a while someone at HQ might notice they hadn’t checked in and send out a team to investigate, but Creel doubted that would happen quickly enough to save their asses. Stupid of him not to have signed out more guns, but taking anything more than their usual sidearms would have sent up a lot of red flags. He’d thought they could do this quickly and quietly, then send out for backup if the situation warranted it. After all, there had been a distinct possibility that he and Jessa wouldn’t find anything here at all.
Oh, we found something all right, he thought grimly. A whole big bag of something. Not exactly the sort of maneuver that’s going to earn me a commendation. But right now the most important thing is survival. We can deal with the consequences later.
“Do you want me to do it?” Jessa asked. Her voice sounded almost too calm. “Maybe they’ll be less likely to shoot if they see a woman first.”
Creel didn’t like that idea at all, but he knew she had a point. You could preach all the equality of sex and species you wanted, but when it came right down to it, humans at least were still hard-wired to view females as less threatening. “All right,” he said. “But only because I can’t think of a better idea.”
“Tell you what,” she replied, giving him a smile that, despite their situation, somehow made his knees feel a little weak. “If we get out of this, you can buy me dinner.”
“Deal,” he said immediately.
“At Angel’s Flight,” she added with a grin.
Only the most expensive restaurant in Rilsport. A dinner there would probably cost the equivalent of a week’s salary. Still, considering the circumstances, it was a bargain. “No problem.”
The slightest flicker of a dimple showed in Jessa’s cheek. “I should’ve let you get me into a compromising position long before this, Creel,” she said. As his brain tried to wrap itself around that statement, she rose, hands held at shoulder height, and called out, “Don’t shoot—we’re with RilSec. Surrendering our weapons now.” And she tossed her spent sidearm out through the kiosk’s window.
For one heart-stopping moment Creel was sure the thugs outside would shoot her anyway as she stood there, exposed and unarmed. Then he heard a voice say, in an unfamiliar accent, “What about the other one?”
Silently he handed his dead pistol up to Jessa. Once again she threw it out onto the ground. Creel heard it clatter against the concrete walkway.
“Both of you, out,” the thug said. “Now.”
Feeling a little stiff, Creel climbed to his feet and stood next to Jessa. Without speaking, she reached out to open the kiosk’s door. It was an old-fashioned, unpowered entry and so swung slowly outward. Then she stepped outside, and he followed close behind her.
Their attackers turned out to be three in number, all human, though with a scruffy, wary mien that suggested they were off-worlders. The tallest of the three limped forward and said, “Keep your hands up.” His lower right leg showed a scorch mark from a glancing pulse blast. Too bad it hadn’t been a few centimeters to the right. Then he gestured toward his two companions. “Check ’em.”
In spite of the dire circumstances, Creel had to force a grin from his lips as he watched the men head in Jessa’s direction, only to see the bigger of the two elbow his compatriot in the ribs and push him off toward Creel. No doubt the man had been hoping he’d get a chance to pat down Jessa, who certainly didn’t look like your standard RilSec officer.
She kept her head up, barely seeming to notice as the man searched her for any additional weapons with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. His partner, who favored a wounded left arm, did the same to Creel in a much more perfunctory way. Then they stepped back.
“Clean,” said the man who had checked Creel.
“Same here,” the other one chimed in.
Keep smiling, little man, Creel thought, after shooting a quick glance in Jessa’s direction. She had remained expressionless, but he could see the muscles knot in her throat as she swallowed. I get the feeling that in this case payback is going to be a real bitch.
“RilSec, huh?” said the apparent leader, staring down at Jessa. “So what brings you out this way?”
Still looking straight ahead, she replied, “Jessa Kodd, RilSec Homicide, badge number 328879-A.”
The man did not look amused. “Fargging cops.” His dark gaze shifted to Creel. “What about you?”
“Rafius Creel, RilSec Internal Affairs, badge number 274392-D,” Creel said. Maybe he’d survive this, and maybe he wouldn’t, but in the meantime it gave him a great deal of pleasure to complicate this thug’s life in any way he could.
“Cute.” Still, the man seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get much more out of them at the moment, because he plucked the handheld off his belt and said, “Korvan, we’ve got a situation here...”
Jerem stood there, frozen in place, looking down the snout of the Stacian’s gun. He hadn’t realized how scary those things were up close. His whole body screamed at him to run, but he knew better than that. One move, and he’d probably get fried on the spot. Then again, these guys had been planning to kill him anyway. What was stopping Korvan from shooting him now and getting it over with?
Right then the Stacian’s belt-mounted handheld squawked, and, apparently caught off-guard, he looked down at it.
It wasn’t much of a chance, but Jerem knew it might be the only one he got. He also knew there was no way he could turn and run back the way he came. He had to get past Korvan, off into the main section of the park, where he could (hopefully) lose himself among the maze of derelict attractions there.
So he did the last thing anyone would expect—he ran toward Korvan, dropping to his knees at the last second and scuttling between the Stacian’s legs like a red-eye crab flushed from its hiding place in the rocks.
Korvan let out a bellow and dropped his handheld, reaching down to grasp Jerem before he could make his escape. But although the Stacian’s bulk was impressive, it also seemed to slow him down, and Jerem had sheer terror and agility on his side. Before he could quite register what had happened, he found himself behind Korvan, running toward the heart of the amusement park, feet pounding against the pavement as if a pack of Bathshevan devil-dogs were after him. He couldn’t stop to think. Instinct had taken over, and the only thing that filled his thoughts was finding someplace to go to ground, someplace where the kidnappers couldn’t possibly catch him.
From behind him he heard a confused jumble of shouts, some random pulse fire, and then more shouting, not all of it from Korvan. At some point he must have retrieved his dropped handheld and called in the rest of the goons. Jerem still didn’t know how many of them were out there, and he didn’t know what kind of scanning equipment they had. All he did know was that he had to put as much distance between him and them as possible. The shooting had stopped, so he guessed that whoever the strangers involved in the firefight were, they’d either been killed or captured, which meant he couldn’t look for help from them, either.
You don’t need them, he thought. You’re Eryk Thorn’s son. What would he do?
Well, failing his father’s enormous arsenal, about the only thing Jerem figured he could do was make himself as unfindable as possible. Stall for time. Surely sometime soon his father would be able to track him down and rescue him. Wasn’t he the greatest mercenary in the galaxy? After all the bad guys he’d defeated and bounties he’d claimed, locating his own son shouldn’t be that difficult.
His headlong dash had brought Jerem into the center of the park, where the coated steel forms of abandoned rides surrounded him. They couldn’t rust, of course, but their paint had started to look faded and blotchy, exposed to the sun and wind and salt air. They rose up around him like an odd metal forest, sheltering him, although Jerem knew he couldn’t let himself get too
comfortable.
They’ll figure out where I am pretty soon, he thought. So I need to get someplace where they won’t think to look. But where?
The creaking of a broken gate caught his attention. Most of the rides had been closed off pretty effectively, all their gates chained shut and guarded with electronic barriers, but somehow the entrance to the one nearest him had been compromised. The barred metal gate shifted slightly in the rising dawn wind, and Jerem stared at it for a second, then past it to the looming shape of the ride it had shielded. Sky Tower, the sign read, in faded Anglic characters. It was one of those impossibly tall attractions where you got taken way, way up in a little car and then dropped from the top, free-falling before the repulsor jets kicked in. His mother had avoided things like that, citing a problem with heights, but Jerem knew he sure didn’t have any fear of high places. Good thing, too, since this one was really, really tall.
The car that had taken people to the top was long gone, but the access ladder built into the ride’s infrastructure was still there. Jerem pushed his way past the gate, wrapped his fingers around the ladder’s rails, and began to climb.
The ride to Stony Point seemed excruciatingly long, although Miala knew that they were actually making quite good time. At this time of the morning, the streets weren’t nearly as crowded as they would be in an hour or so. She had instructed the mech driver to stop about a hundred meters from the entrance to the park. It just seemed safer that way.
Mouth dry, she paid off the driver and alighted from the cab, then began making her way toward the large gateway that sealed off the park. The air felt cool and damp, a breeze rising off the ocean. The day was still mainly overcast, but Miala could sense rather than see the sun as it came up to her left.
As she drew closer, the gate swung inward, although there did not seem to be anyone around. The skin along the back of her neck prickled. Even though Thorn had been alerted that she would be here, and even though she knew he somehow had to have this place under surveillance, she still felt horribly vulnerable and exposed as she walked through the gate and on down the road that stretched out past it. In happier times it had led to the parking lots where visiting families could leave their cars, but now she followed it through those empty concrete spaces, on to the area where the main ticket windows had once stood.
They were still there, although shuttered and dark. On one of them she saw evidence of a recent firefight; scorch marks showed dark on the faded paint of its sides. She frowned, wondering if somehow Thorn had already met up with the kidnappers and engaged them.
That hope was immediately destroyed, however, as the immense figure of a Stacian moved out from behind the ticket kiosk, followed by the slighter form of a tall human male, one who appeared to be limping from a grazing pulse blast to the leg. The man held a pistol trained on her, but the Stacian appeared to be unarmed.
“Miala Fels?” he asked.
He used the name she had been born with, the name she thought she’d left behind on Iradia. Obviously he knew all about her past. Just because he was Stacian didn’t mean he was necessarily one of Murgan’s relatives, but Miala had had the feeling for quite some time that this matter was personal. Stacian clannishness was known the galaxy over. It stood to reason that Murgan and Korvan must be related somehow.
There was no point in prevaricating. “Yes,” she said.
The alien’s copper eyes narrowed slightly. She recalled that Murgan’s had been a darker shade, almost dark red rather than true copper, but the two did seem to share a certain similar cast of features—the same high-bridged nose, the same humorless, thin lips. “You have the ransom?”
In answer she lifted the satchel she held in her right hand. “I want to see my son, Korvan.”
He scowled at her use of his name, but said only, “I’m afraid you’re in a position to demand nothing. Chaddick, take the money.”
Still holding his gun pointed at her, the Stacian’s partner stepped toward Miala and plucked the satchel from her fingers with his free hand. Then he backed away and handed it to Korvan.
He opened the satchel and looked inside, then gave a small, approving nod at the sight of the neatly bundled stacks of shining Gaian currency it held. “I’m glad you decided to be smart about this, Ms. Fels.”
Even though she knew Thorn had promised her that the kidnappers wouldn’t be holding on to their ransom for very long, Miala couldn’t help experiencing a pang at seeing Korvan take the money. Of course it was nothing compared to getting Jerem back safely, but she and Thorn had paid for that money with blood and sweat and toil, and it hurt to see it in that foul Stacian’s hands.
“My son?” she asked.
At her question, Korvan and his compatriot exchanged a half-annoyed, half-amused glance. “Wait here,” Korvan said.
Something felt very, very wrong. Quelling the panic that had begun to rise in her stomach, Miala said, “Look, I’ve done everything you told me to. But do you really expect me to just sit here and wait while you walk away with my money without giving me any indication that my son is even alive?”
A look of anger flashed across the Stacian’s face before his features stilled themselves once more. “As I just said, you’re in a position to demand nothing. But if you insist—” He made a slight gesture with his free hand, and immediately his partner reached out and grasped Miala by the arm. “We can all take a look together.”
Trying to guess what exactly Korvan had meant by that, she stumbled along behind the Stacian as his partner dragged her toward the center of the park. She didn’t bother to make an attempt at freeing herself. The man’s grip was like cold-poured steel.
Once they had reached an open area that served as a courtyard in the center of several abandoned rides, Korvan stopped. Almost immediately two more men came out from behind a small structure that Miala guessed used to be a power substation. Places like this required enormous amounts of energy, and probably the little shack had contained back-up generators in case the main feed from Rilsport’s city center failed.
“How are our guests doing?” Korvan inquired.
The smaller of the two newcomers grinned, showing yellowing teeth that only enhanced his rodent-like appearance. “Just fine, boss, although they probably find the accommodations a little cramped.”
“No matter,” said the Stacian. “In a little while they’ll discover their quarters are the least of their problems.”
Miala briefly wondered who his “guests” might be, and why their problems were apparently going to increase in the near future. Of more pressing concern, however, was Jerem. She cleared her throat. “My son?”
An ugly smile distorting his thin lips, Korvan replied, “Ah, yes, your son. The ever-resourceful and agile Jerem. Apparently he had issues with his accommodations as well, and escaped.”
“Escaped?” she repeated, incredulous. “You mean you don’t even have him?”
“Not exactly,” Korvan said. His head tilted upward, as if he were focusing on one of the rides that loomed overhead. “We have managed to track him down. Unfortunately, he’s not being very cooperative.”
Unease sweeping over her, Miala looked up as well, trying to follow the Stacian’s gaze. To her horror, she saw a small figure inching its way along the gantry that had once suspended small cars for a free-fall thrill ride. A few meters away, a second, larger figure crept steadily closer toward the first one, which could only be that of her son.
She didn’t even realize she had begun to move forward until the wounded kidnapper dug his fingers even more tightly into her upper arm.
“There’s not much you can do,” Korvan said. “At this point, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. If he falls, he falls. We already have the ransom.” And he stared down into her horrified face and began to laugh.
An anger deeper than any she had ever known boiled up from somewhere deep inside, white-hot as a plasma drive. Without thinking, she kicked back at the man who held her, feeling a sense of visceral satisfaction as
the heel of her boot connected with his groin and he let out a muffled groan. Immediately he released her arm, and she lunged forward.
Her moment of freedom was short-lived, however. Even as she gathered her breath so she could bolt off in the direction of the ride where Jerem hung suspended a hundred meters off the ground, Miala felt a heavy hand descend on her shoulder and yank her backward. She collided with Korvan’s massive bulk, and then his arm settled around her throat with crushing force.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear. “Let me applaud your maternal instincts, Ms. Fels. But there’s no way you could get to your son in time to rescue him, and since I have your money, I couldn’t care less whether he falls from that tower and ends up flatter than an Eridani saucer-fish.” The pressure against her throat decreased slightly as he added, “But you—you could be worth a great deal in certain sectors of the galaxy. A little something extra for my trouble, as they say.”
A wave of revulsion swept over her, and Miala raised her hands to claw at the arm that held her in a choke hold. Better to go out fighting than to let him take her prisoner, this monster who had kidnapped her son and was now willing to let him die, who threatened to turn her into a slave.
But even as she prepared to dig her nails into the Stacian’s enormous golden-skinned forearm, a shadow seemed to pass over the rising sun. And out of that shadow shot a bolt of acid-green fire, one which connected with the kidnapper who had stood before her. The acrid smell of charred flesh hit Miala’s nostrils even as the man fell to the ground, his corpse smoking from the intense heat.
About time, Thorn, she thought. Korvan’s grip on her had loosened slightly with shock, and she took advantage of that fact to drop to the pavement, feeling it scrape her palms as she flattened herself to get out of the line of fire. Two more bolts followed, and she heard Korvan’s accomplices cry out in agony.