by Jody Wallace
But the instant the door closed behind her, Steven attacked.
The first blow caught her in the mouth, shoving her into the door with a thud. Pain blossomed in her already scratched face. He got his hands around her neck and she screamed.
But he just laughed. “Soundproof, bitch.”
Briar wasn’t helpless, and she doubted Jenna Banu would have been, either. She drove her knee between his legs. Steven gasped out a throttled groan, but instead of releasing her to cradle his nads, he bashed his skull into her face.
Her head struck the door again. For the second time in a short while, stars exploded in Briar’s vision. Steven crammed his body against hers, trapping the gun in her pocket between them.
Pumpkin! Mighty! she called in her head. Surely the soundproofing wouldn’t affect telepathy. As his fingers tightened on her neck, she used Jenna’s sharp nails to impale his face.
Just the way she’d always imagined.
She dug in, one fingernail nicking his eye, and it was his turn to scream. The fingernail sank in, and sank further, and her stomach rolled over. Steven smacked outward with his arms, striking her forearms away from his face. Blood spurted from his eye socket, and on her fingernail was…
Nope, just blood. He still had the eye. Briar fumbled at her pocket for the weapon, but Steven jerked them both sideways. They hit the floor, hard, with her on the bottom.
She used every bit of self defense she’d learned to strike, punch, and squeeze at Steven’s vulnerable areas. To snake the gun out from between them. To kick him off her and gain the leverage she needed.
Unfortunately, he had more knowledge of hand to hand than expected, and this wasn’t her body. It didn’t work quite the way she was used to, and she was only able to get in a few good blows. He caught her face in his hand, snarling down at her, a horrific vision of blood and rage.
“I am going to kill you,” he snarled.
Now! Mighty yelled in her head.
Now what?
KLUNK! A thud issued from the opposite corner of the office. Soundproofing meant it had come from inside.
She boxed Steven’s ears to deafen him and jabbed at the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. If Mighty needed something now, she was in no position to offer it. Steven growled and pried at her cheeks until her mouth opened.
She bit at his fingers. “Fuck y—”
He slapped his signet ring across her mouth. Bitter powder spewed from the ring onto her lips and tongue, foully sweet yet searing through her sinuses. Tears burst involuntarily from her eyes. The smell was reminiscent of…
Chefo bushes. Native to Trash Planet. Ubiquitous. Beloved by bushbugs and gimbalopes. Highly poisonous.
She spat in his face, but already her mouth had grown numb, her limbs heavy. In her watery vision, he scrambled away from her, wiping at her saliva. “I told you, bitch. I told you not to mess with me.” He laughed, halfway between a croak and a cackle. His eye had swollen shut, blood seeping from beneath the lid.
“How are you…” Words were hard to form when she’d lost the sensation in her face. Mighty needed her, perhaps Lincoln, and she’d failed them. But if they could break the part out of the safe, at least hers would be the only death today. “How are you going to explain this?”
“I won’t have to. Nobody will realize it’s chefo. But for now, I don’t think that was enough. Let me make sure you’re properly served.” Steven braced himself on his desk, heaved to his feet, and stumbled over to his refrigerator. She angled her head so she could see him, but her arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate.
The fridge was canted sideways, halfway torn out of the wall. Was that the noise they’d heard?
“What the fuck happened here?” Steven said. “Where is my poison?” He began hurling things out of the fridge, swearing and yelling. A slurp packet splatted into Briar’s chest and bounced off.
Vomit, whispered a very faint voice in her head. Vomit a lot. Now.
She gagged and spat, responding to the command. Her stomach roiled. What did she know about chefo? Never eat chefo berries, that was what. Was there an antidote? Would her nanobots save her?
Would vomiting save her?
It seemed she was going to find out. Briar coughed out a stream of red bile. After the heaves ended, she was able to lift herself, barely, to her hands and knees. Her fingers were dead…but her arms sort of worked.
She immediately crawled for the door.
“Shit, that is so disgusting. Shit.” Steven kicked her in the ribs, and she pitched to the side. Something inside her cracked. She vomited again. “The old lady didn’t do this. What is wrong with you?”
She couldn’t answer. The numbness from her face had spread to her throat. Her shoulders. Chefo poison incapacitated you, shutting down your body centimeter by centimeter, until it reached your internal organs. And then you died.
“If you’re going to puke everywhere, you can do it somewhere else.” Steven grabbed her by an arm, dragged her to his door, and peered into the foyer. After a few moments, he towed her along the polished floor outside and to the restroom next door. “I’ll tell the others you drank too much alky celebrating your new job.”
Vomit again, said another voice in her head. A stronger and more dear one.
Mighty Mighty. Was he still here? Before she could ask, a convulsion raked her body and she spewed toxic bile onto the cold tile of the bathroom.
Steven laughed as she twisted on the damp floor. “You thought you could come to my planet and trick me, bitch?” he said. “You thought you could sweep in here and threaten me? I’m going to take your money and your life.”
As villainous rants went, it wasn’t very imaginative. Steven knelt beside her and started sorting through her pockets. The sweet-rotten scent of vomit and chefo berries torched her nostrils, but that might be a good sign—because her nose was working. Steven had withdrawn his gun when a stall door clapped open, and a tall, menacing figure stomped into the room.
“Vex?” Steven said in a shocked voice.
Briar had never been so happy to see such an ugly, blurry, watery sight in all her life.
“Told you I had to go,” Lincoln rumbled. Vex’s grey, lanky hair straggled around his face like—like a chefo bush in the dark season, all twigs and no leaves. He wavered in her vision as her body spasmed again. “But you didn’t tell me you were gonna do this here where we could get caught.”
Steven huffed. “We’re not going to get—”
The bathroom door creaked open again. “What is going on in… Oh, my ghostly bones, what is wrong with that girl and why are you holding a gun on her?”
In two steps, Lincoln could wrench the gun from the smaller man and shoot him in the head. Briar was poisoned, perhaps dying. And Mighty was gone. Skipped into the safe, somewhere, Lincoln couldn’t say. Had he stolen the power converter? A cat in a box, but no way to confirm if the cat was alive. No way confirm if the goal was achieved.
So many lives depended on one black cat. But Briar’s life depended on Lincoln.
When Lincoln crashed open the stall door, Steven stiffened with shock. “Vex?”
“Told you I had to go.” The anger surging inside him was hard to contain, even knowing what was at stake. He had no idea how to force Steven to give him the power converter. But Briar Pandora, the woman he was coming to love, didn’t have much more time.
What should he do? Focus on the part or the woman? Though she’d obviously given Steven a rough time—blood coated his cheek and his eye was swollen shut—Briar was in bad shape. Her body spasmed weakly as the chefo poison demolished her system.
Lincoln shouldered into Steven’s space, intimidating him with his height. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna do this here where we could get caught.”
What antidotes did chefo have? What could he do? Would Director Vidal know what to do since it was his poison?
Steven pointed toward Briar with his gun and glared at her with his one good eye. “We’re not gonna get—”
The door swung open again, and one of the older ladies from before toddled into the restroom. “What is going on in… Oh, my ghostly bones, what is wrong with that girl and why are you holding a gun on her?”
“She overindulged in alky when I gave her the job.” Steven shoved the gun into his suitcoat pocket. “And I wasn’t going to shoot her. I just want her to get into the toilet.”
“She drank that much that fast?” the old lady asked. “And is that what happened to your eye? Hey, Vidal, get the others, we have to help this poor girl.”
The tall old man poked his head into the restroom, exclaimed, and backed out again. Lincoln called after him. “Director Vidal? Can you come in here? I think she’s been poisoned.”
“What the hells?” Steven exclaimed, lurching toward Lincoln as if he wanted to attack, but he turned his movement into a stretch. “Of course she’s not poisoned.” His expression promised vengeance, and he started tapping furiously at his chrono.
“What do you mean, Vex?” Vidal popped back into the restroom. “Did she get bitten by the ship rats?”
“I’m here…” Briar croaked. She coughed again. “Help. Buy a. Part.”
“Dear, are you trying to say something?” The elderly lady, uncaring that there was vomit on the floor, stooped beside Briar and tried to roll her into a more comfortable position. Two directors he hadn’t seen before crowded behind Vidal into the restroom, whispering and muttering.
Lincoln wanted to scoop Briar into his arms, carry her straight out of here and to Javier, but there might be a quicker solution.
“What do you know about chefo berries?” Lincoln asked director Vidal. Beside him, Steven hissed.
“Ah.” The director cast his gaze around the bathroom nervously. Both of his eyes worked just fine. “A dangerous native plant. Nothing to fool around with.”
“Get away from her,” Steven insisted. His fingers twitched over the gun in his pocket, and he rubbed his bloody cheek on his shoulder, smearing red onto his suit coat. “She’s drunk and you’ll get it on your shoes.”
“Screw my shoes,” the old lady snapped. “This is no way to treat a fellow human. Someone call our medic. She’s going to get dehydrated, and I don’t like the looks of her complexion.”
Lincoln didn’t, either. Jenna Banu’s normally tan skin tone had turned pasty white, sweaty, and almost malleable.
“I suspect they’re busy with the rats,” said another director. “Where is the damned robot? It has medical protocols.”
“This girl may be dying,” yelled the old woman. Her white hair practically sizzled with her demand.
“On it.” The director whipped out of the room while Lincoln watched Vidal. Sweat beaded on the old man’s forehead.
“What happened to your face, anyway?” Lincoln needled Steven. He could recognize some distinctive cat claw marks as well as bigger, deeper ones. And Briar had blood on her hands as well as a wound on her shoulder.
“Ship rats,” Steven said. He grabbed a wad of meltaway towels and washed the blood on his face, but there was no helping the eye that had puffed shut. “Look, alky gets contaminated by chefo berries sometimes. Native plants, stupid pickers. What are you gonna do? That’s probably what happened here. I’m sure it’s not enough to matter.”
No, he was not getting away with that. “Director Vidal, you’ve been on this planet your whole life,” Lincoln coaxed. “Is there a remedy for chefo poisoning?”
“I have never heard of the local alky being contaminated,” the old lady said. “Steven, what did you give this young woman? Were you trying to…”
Vidal swore heartily. “Were you trying to seduce her? Did you give her chefo so she’d want to have sex with you?”
“No!” Steven exclaimed. His hand slipped into the gun pocket. Lincoln tensed, ready to dive at him. Steven’s aim wouldn’t be the best with only one eye, but it wouldn’t have to be good in close quarters. “I would never…”
“It’s not to be toyed with,” Vidal yelled at the smaller man. “It’s a personal therapeutic decision one should only make while under the strict care of a medic.”
Steven bared his teeth. “I didn’t—”
Briar moaned. The old lady stroked the drab brown hair out of her face. “He gave me. Chefo,” Briar gurgled. “Kill me.”
“Get the remedy,” Lincoln barked at Vidal. “If you’ve got the chefo, you’ve got the antidote.”
Vidal hustled out of the room. Another director whipped back in with a load of cleansing towels, bottled water, and a blanket.
“I’m here,” Briar gasped. Tried to raise herself out of the floor. Lincoln was at her side in an instant, finally, finally cradling her the way he wanted.
“Honey, this nice man is going to help me clean you up. Gullim Vex, is it?” the old lady said. She accepted some of the damp cloths from the other director and dabbed at Briar’s cheeks and mouth.
He suspected he was supposed to know which director she was. “Yes, director. I work with Steven. On side projects.”
“Vex,” Steven growled. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Briar’s eyes opened. But they weren’t Jenna Banu’s murky eyes. They were Briar’s very own striking blue. Javier’s DNA mask was wearing off.
Fuck. Lincoln glanced surreptitiously at his hands. Still white. His belly was definitely large, his beard and moustache abundant.
“Steven has a safe. Fourth stall. Promised me a part,” Briar groaned out. “Please. I can pay. Desperate, Director Nelda.”
“What is she talking about, Steven?” Nelda said sharply. Her knobby fist closed on the wet rag, as if she might hurl it at her fellow director. Lincoln hoped she could take out his other eye. “What is it she wants to pay for? Did you accept a bribe to give her Briar’s job?”
“No, it’s nothing like…” Steven shut his mouth, and the skin around his lips turned white. The rusty red of the remaining blood was an unlovely contrast. “I gave her a gift. Directors can give corporate gifts.”
“Watch out,” Briar whispered. “Has my gun.”
Director Vidal hurried back in with a brown glassy bottle and a syringe. “Ho, there. What’s this about a gun?”
“Of course. I have. A gun,” Steven muttered in a slow voice, as if explaining physics to children. “There is a ship rat infestation downstairs.”
Vidal drew a fat syringe full of liquid from the bottle and handed it to Lincoln. The other director helped Nelda spread towels on top of the vomit. “She should swallow every drop.”
“No need for all this drama. She’s just drunk,” Steven exclaimed. The guy had already admitted it could be chefo, and the directors were giving him wary glances. “And where the fuck is Tim, Vex? Where did he go? He’s not answering his chrono.”
“Nelda. Come closer,” Briar whispered. Lincoln and the old woman leaned near Briar’s mouth, their heads together. “Zheng ship part. He steals…sells. Vex can open the safe.”
“What did she say?” Steven demanded, hovering. His hand was still balled in his pocket. Still clutching the gun. How many of them could he shoot before Lincoln could take him down?
Quite a few, considering Lincoln had committed the tactical error of sitting on the ground so he could cuddle a sick woman in his arms.
Lincoln kicked his own ass mentally and gave Briar the antidote. She was able to swallow the medicine and keep it down, but she closed her eyelids and sighed, as if she had no more will to fight.
Without making any sudden moves, Lincoln eased her back onto the dirty floor. She’d forgive him for what he was about to do. He’d probably lost Mighty, and he wasn’t about to lose Briar.
Nelda exchanged a glance with Lincoln, and her eyes possessed the sharpness of a person who had realized there was more at stake than a sick woman. “Vex, help me up. I want to know about this secret safe and this part Steven promised to sell this woman.”
“I gave her a gift,” Steven growled. “You give people gifts all the time.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, but not a dose of chefo.” Vidal loomed up behind the shorter man and clapped a big, brown hand on Steven’s shoulder. “I know where Ficus had her safe. I know where all the safes are. So I know your safe is in that bathroom stall. And I want to see inside it. Now.”
“I will have you know…” Steven heaved a sigh and pivoted like he was going to discuss this with Vidal man to man.
And drew his gun.
And shot Vidal right in the gut.
The old man staggered backward, into the row of sinks. Nelda screamed. Lincoln lurched forward. And the director holding the water reacted just as quickly.
The old person hurled the bottles, one, two, three, straight at Steven Wat’s head. The first missed. The second glanced off. And the third beaned him straight in the face.
It was all the opening Lincoln needed. He plunged into Steven, fists first, and in seconds had punched him about twenty times. The sensation of his knuckles burrowing into Steven Wat’s body was like a massage for his rageful soul.
“Vexxxx!” Steven howled. Lincoln wrenched the gun from him and threw it, he didn’t care where. It clattered. A rush of people entered the restroom all at once, shouting medical terminology and a few vows of vengeance, but all Lincoln registered was how right it felt to beat Steven Wat to a pulp.
Because of Steven Wat, Briar might die. Because of Steven Wat, Mighty might die. Because of Steven Wat, every sleeping person and cat on the Catamaran might die.
“Cease,” said an even, unruffled voice. Powerful hands dragged him away from Steven, who was somehow still conscious. Lincoln thrashed around to see Axel restraining him and knew there was no way he could fight that.
Briar lay on the ground, her head pillowed on towels, while a person in the white coat of a medic knelt beside her with a handheld robo-doc. Director Vidal was being tended by another medic, but it appeared that he’d been wearing a protective vest under his suit. And Director Nelda was beckoning to Lincoln from the fourth stall.