Jake laughed, a slow, drawn out guffaw that seemed to dissuade Michael from thoughts of violence.
“Aw shucks,” the Nostroma drawled. “I’m flattered, I really am, but my own dance card is pretty full. Got fuckers from Osiris to Pandula with me on their little lists.”
“Then tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” Michael said. Jake raised an eyebrow.
“Alright,” Michael said. “Tell me why I shouldn’t try and kill you.”
“Well,” Jake said thoughtfully, scratching a sideburn. “Way I see things is this. My people have got fingers all over the stars. Tandems, we call ‘em. One cybomancer, like Fashon. One duellist. That’s me. More connected with the material plane, see. Fashon? He has one foot in the Badlands.”
“The Badlands?”
“Yeah,” Jake laughed, sending a gob of spittle into the bracken. “Take me forever to explain, but the mind is capable of seein’ into its own darkness. Just need to be trained. Us Nostroma like to draw our power from there. Dig?”
Michael frowned. “Not really,” he admitted. “Sounds dangerous to me.”
“Oh, it is,” Jake said, flashing a set of yellowed teeth. “Is why I’m a humble duellist.”
Michael considered this. He didn’t doubt that Jake was fairly lethal. In fact, the whole package he presented was downright deadly. It was Fashon that haunted his mind.
“Your brother’s a cybomancer?” he asked quietly.
“Sure as the dick in your pants,” Jake said. “Damn good one, too. Has more tricks in his bag than fleas on a Jussada whore.”
“Where did he go?”
Jake shrugged. He genuinely seemed not to care. “Probably to report to Yashom15. Then on to Ajon Prime.”
“Fashon mentioned that name,” Michael said. “Back at the villa.”
“Full marks for retention, kid,” Jake said. “Ajon Prime is a person. Our leader, in fact. Our home planet is named after him.”
“Must be a nice guy.”
“No, not really.” Jake kicked at the dirt. “Are we movin’ on or gassin’ like a pair of little girls?”
“One more question for now,” Michael said seriously. “What was your mission, Jake? Why did you come to take my sister away?”
Jake grimaced. “Two things. Well. There’s politics, and there’s the Badlands. I told you. My brother was a cybomancer crazy in love.”
Michael’s heart filled with white anger. “Love? You fucking serious?”
“Calm yourself, kid. Love can be everythin’ from a starburst sonnet to boreworm herpes in this galaxy.”
Michael took a deep breath, more to keep himself from hitting the weird Nostroma than anything else.
“Tell me why you went to Solitude,” he said. Jake shook his head and kept walking.
“That’s a story for another day,” he snapped. “If we don’t move now, we’re fried.”
Michael had to take Jake’s word for it. Together they moved through a jungle alive with night sounds. It felt good to set his body in motion after so much emotional trauma, but after a while Michael began to feel hungry and tired. “I’m beginning to see what you mean by ‘primitives’,” he said to Jake’s back. “But I don’t have any money. Aegisi Units won’t work here.”
“They don’t,” Jake said simply, slapping at his neck irritably. Mosquitoes were out in force tonight. “That’s why you should stick with me.”
“But why?” Michael asked. Jake stopped short and turned to face him.
“I mean,” the forager corrected, “why are you bothering to help me? I would’ve let you put a bullet in my head back there.”
Jake seemed to appraise Michael for the first time.
“Truth is I see nothin’ but blood for you,” he said in that slow, provincial way of his. “Revenge is a dyin’ man’s game. Having said that,” Jake spat out a gob of arello tar, “today happened to be the day Jake Le Sondre broke his tandem and stopped being a duellist.”
Michael remembered the horrible smell when that village techie cut the wires under Jake’s nostrils. “So what are you now?”
“Now?” Jake considered for a moment. “Now I’m Jake Le Sondre.”
And with that the Nostroma was off down the jungle path again.
“Does that mean you’ll help me with my kill list?”
“Your kill list is bullshit,” came the distant reply. “You make me talk too much. Shit makes me tired. No more please.”
Michael was content to fall silent, but wasn’t convinced that following Jake was the best option in the medium term. Of course, their first task would be to survive the next forty-eight hours. Getting off the island would be another step in the right direction.
The wider political situation was difficult to read. Michael had access to his wrist pad but the reception was weak on this sparsely populated world. Besides, would using his wrist pad give his location away? There was literally no one he could trust. Certainly not Jake Le Sondre. No, the only thing he could do right now was follow in Jake’s slipstream and hope that didn’t get him killed.
The Nostroma seemed a chaotic character, but he had broken his programming and augmentation with the apparent intent to save Emilia’s life. Sure, it hadn’t been the only reason, but it hinted at someone who wasn’t a complete enemy.
Settled in his mind, at least for the short term, Michael followed Jake up a rippling sand dune dominated by a ramshackle bungalow on stilts. Raucous laughter and the clink of glasses drifted from within. The crash of surf beat a lazy rhythm in the background.
“Watch yourself in here,” Jake warned. “Humans can’t drink. This is one of the Great Truths.”
The smell of roasting meat wafted through the trees. Michael’s stomach lurched and he was overcome with a feral desire to eat.
“Primitives,” Jake said. “Two or three hours and we’ll be new men.”
13
The pair walked into a lively bar filled almost exclusively with humans cradling steins of foaming beer. The general merriment died a few notches as the tall Nostroma pushed his way to the central bar.
A fat man in a sweaty singlet stood behind the salty slab of driftwood.
“Thanks for ruinin’ the vibe,” he said thickly. “Now why don’t you just turn around and crawl back to that villa?”
“My friend and I have some basic needs, Ranne Du,” Jake said. “First, a little food and drink. Then we can start talkin’ about an off-world transport.”
Ranne Du frowned at this but grudgingly pulled a couple of beers for the newcomers.
As Michael sipped on his brew, the hubbub of the room petered out completely. The Nostroma sighed and turned laconically to his audience.
“Yeah,” he said in his best, most condescending drawl. “What?”
“Jake Le Sondre,” said a voice from the back of the bar. The patrons parted to reveal a rough-looking human by the wall. He was dressed like a trawl fisherman. These guys seemed to operate without the aid of much tech. Michael suspected the extreme heat precluded the use of some machinery.
They were certainly a tough breed, these human survivors. Perhaps one day they would rise again. But for now, this particular human had picked a fight with an armed Nostroma duellist. Had to be mentally impaired in some way. On cue he swayed on his feet slightly. Drinking didn’t really play a meaningful role in Aegisi culture. Michael’s father had always told him that not all courage was wise, and the alcoholic kind was the worst.
“Name’s Fyman,” said the fisherman. “You don’t usually find me in this place. I had a wife and two daughters out on the north reef.”
Fyman’s eyes were raw with tears. Michael shot a warning look at Jake, but the Nostroma was oblivious.
“Your brother paid me a visit,” Fyman continued. “Must’ve been round four in the morning. Dragged my women out to the boatyard and savaged all of ‘em. Used weasel words on me, convinced me everything was gold. Was like a lasso round my waist. ‘Mancer finally left at dawn. I found my wife and oldest daug
hter chopped into little pieces. The youngest had been penetrated so far she could barely walk. Hung herself in the yard within days. Them’s my credentials, off-worlder. Fair-making credentials to see you strung by your entrails.”
Several murmurs of agreement greeted Fyman’s emotional story. It seemed Jake had the entire establishment against him. From what Michael could tell he was good, but not that good. He felt his body tensing, knowing he was now a target. He wasn’t sure if Jake would protect him if it came to a fight.
“Well, I know all about families,” Jake said, idly scratching his nose with one hand and resting the other on his right pistol butt. “For instance, I know that brothers share the same blood, but that don’t make ‘em the same person.”
Silence filled the bar.
“We all know you both been running your dirty business here on Samalar for weeks,” Fyman protested. “Don’t start telling me you ain’t in tandem with that violent motherfucker.”
Jake took a step forward, causing half a dozen otherwise hard men to flinch.
“What Fashon did after hours is not on me, fisherman,” Jake said firmly. “You keep on like this and your health might be affected.”
“I don’t think so,” Fyman said with a confident grin. He pulled a shotgun from his polymer gators. It was a rudimentary piece but at this range it would smear Jake’s head all over the bar.
“Such a shame,” Jake said, shaking his head ruefully. “I’m tellin’ you, fisherman, you’ll be dead before you get to think about your favorite god.”
Tense seconds dropped heavily through the hourglass. Michael clasped his sweaty palms together and inched away from his companion.
When the duel reached its inevitable crisis point, much was lost to the naked eye as Jake’s body became fluid with motion. The fisherman was surprisingly quick, but not quick enough. Jake had his pistol leveled at the man’s heart in less than a comfortable instant, squeezing the trigger before the target could return fire.
Fyman was thrown backwards against the wall where he left a fresh blood smear. It wasn’t much, just the blood that’d been pumping through his heart an instant before. The shot was so clean that everyone knew Fyman the fisherman was dead before he hit the floor.
But Jake didn’t stop there. He had both pistols in his hands all of a sudden, turning their lethality on Ranne Du. The burly proprietor was thrown back with a galaxy of holes in his chest. The man had been wearing body armor but Fashon’s pellets had burned straight through the material.
Now the silence that filled the bar was made of shock. Shock that would soon turn to anger.
Jake seemed to know that he didn’t have much time. He holstered his weapons and swung an arm down on the counter, breaking it clean. Exposed underneath, drawn halfway from a leather sheath, was a much better shotgun than the one Fyman would go to his grave with.
“Brave men come from the front,” Jake said to the assembled patrons. “Clever men hit you from behind. Late men come from the side. I’m never late.”
Jake took Ranne Du’s shotgun and blew a hole in the roof. Several patrons held fingers to their ears.
“Looks like I’m the new owner,” the Nostroma said belligerently. “Anyone gotta problem with that?”
None in the room felt that it would be a problem.
“Then get the fuck out of my way,” Jake muttered as he pushed through to the open spit where a side of wild pork was ready to carve. The ‘primitives’ taking over, Michael could only think about meat as he slotted in alongside the duellist. The men loaded wooden trenchers with pork and gravy before finding a low seat by the door.
Michael had never eaten so heartily, and it wasn’t due to his exhausted delirium. There was simply no food like this on Solitude. Larger game animals had not been established yet. As he slurped his way through the meal, Michael felt a modicum of stability return to his mind. He didn’t speak until he was certain Jake had finished eating. In this part of the galaxy there was nothing more sacred than a man’s primitives.
“Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked the Nostroma.
“Here we go, talkin’ again,” Jake said with a grimace. “You wanna be a pistoleer?”
“Well, no…”
“Thought so. Each weapon is different, kid. Best you find someone else.”
So much for that conversation.
“I heard you mention an off-world transport,” Michael prodded.
Jake laughed bitterly. “Ranne Du had a face like glazed ham. Could read it like a book. The Cava05 have been through Samalar. Slapped an embargo on off-world travel. Somethin’s cookin’, that’s for sure.”
Michael sat back in thought. “We’re trapped here? But the Dilettante is still in orbit. The Cava05 should be halfway to Lio by now.”
Jake grunted. “Stop assuming, boy. Makes you look stupid.”
Michael blinked, but saved his anger. Especially since Jake was probably right.
“Do you think Fashon got away?” he asked.
“Sure. Why not. Smart enough.”
Michael half hoped Fashon was still on Cerulean. So he could kill him. It was a surprising discovery. Just two days ago he would’ve run a million miles from a psychotic cybomancer like him.
“So what do we do?” Michael asked, slightly exasperated by Jake’s nonchalant manner. The Nostroma picked at his teeth.
“Well,” he began, “Now we taken care of some primitives, we turn our gaze to distant shores.”
“Too cryptic,” Michael said irritably. “It’s time you told me what you’re after.”
Jake cocked his head in mild curiosity.
“You really wanna know?”
“I do.”
“A good duellist knows about completion,” Jake said tiredly. “You Aegisi are all the same. You get some worthwhile thoughts but then you get distracted by the first shiny thing that floats along.”
“I’m not like that, I-”
“Shut up. You had a thought just after your sister died. That you would kill anyone remotely responsible. We Nostroma revere strong minds. I would see you finish what you started. Make the storm in your mind real.”
Michael wasn’t sure how to take that. Was Jake offering to help him even the ledger with the Cava05, the Aegisi, Fashon Le Sondre himself?
“Why would you do that?” the forager eventually asked. Jake’s grin was genuine.
“Cos my people will be after me now I’ve broken my tandem. Figure huntin’ with an Aegisi whelp is better than waitin’ around for more cybomancers to arrive.”
Michael wasn’t entirely sure he needed that kind of heat, but the reality was that he wouldn’t survive on Cerulean without Jake. Not in the short term, anyway. He extended a hand to the man he’d hated with a passion only that morning.
“Partner?”
Jake barked with laughter. “Whatever, kid,” he said, turning away.
Michael withdrew the empty hand, but he wasn’t angry or embarrassed. For the first time he actually felt safe with this strange alien. To mark the occasion, he yawned strongly.
“Ranne Du has a room up top,” Jake murmured. “I’m taking the bed, kid.”
Again, Michael was too tired to argue. Ranne Du’s room turned out to be a squalid little chamber with one tiny window, but Michael was more than happy with a tatty blanket to lie on. The heat from the bar room below roasted the edge of his mind as he drifted into much-needed restorative sleep.
14
The forager woke to murmuring voices. His first thought was that the islanders had regrouped and mounted a stealth attack. He was only slightly relieved when he realized where the sound was coming from. Up on the bed a dumpy human woman was straddling Jake and mouthing various obscenities.
Shaking his head, Michael found a lavatory in the corner and went about his morning ministrations. He watched the woman out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Jake had needed to head back down or if this barfly had come looking for him.
In a strange way he could see the
attraction. Jake was tall, charismatic and had more than a whiff of danger about him. He had a whiff of other things too. Namely, drugs and poor hygiene. In any case this woman was rather plain-looking but had heavy breasts and strong hips. Michael wasn’t sure how long Jake’s play time would take so he fastened his weathered amphibious suit and headed downstairs.
The bar room was blessedly empty and silent. Michael made himself a cup of steaming hot coffee, sat by a window, and watched the relentless crash of surf on Samalar’s western reef.
Emilia was, of course, a crushing weight on his soul. He couldn’t get the image of her broken body out of his mind. He figured he must either go crazy or eventually forget what it looked like. The former option wasn’t particularly appealing, but the latter prospect saddened him in a way.
To take his mind off such matters, Michael forced himself to address the current situation. If the Cava05 had imposed a travel ban on the scattered human settlers of Cerulean, what would be their next move?
Jake had helped to crystallize Michael’s primary objective - the demise of those responsible for his sister’s murder. That felt right. That felt just. It was also far, far easier said than done.
The crucial next phase would be the expected arrival of the Aegisi Navy. Two of Michael’s targets belonged to that strike force - Captain Tilder and Major Shaw. Michael wondered if it would be possible to get himself aboard the Dilettante. If the targets were still on the planet’s surface, even better. If they could be drawn to him, perfect. The forager’s major advantage was that the Aegisi soldiers didn’t know about the darkness he now harbored within him. For all they knew he was still a loyal civilian.
While he waited for Jake to appear, Michael set about a little physical work. He dragged the corpses from the bar room and buried them in the sandy foreshore outside. Only then was he able to eat the leftover roast meat hanging from the still-smoking spit.
The sun was bright and warm by the time Jake appeared, seedy and beady-eyed.
Michael told the Nostroma about his vague plan to send out a distress signal to the Dilettante. Hopefully Tilder and Shaw would be dispatched as part of a patrol to secure him.
The Blue Corsair (Five Empires Book 1) Page 9