by Robyn Bachar
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Ryder shrugged. “Not your fault. I got the ink to tell my story, even if nobody else bothered to decipher it. I know it’s there. It’s like an extra layer of armor.”
“Wish I’d thought of that. We’d know all about my past. Instead I’m a blank slate.”
Ryder traced the line of her jaw and the smooth column of her throat. “We could start one for you. Describe who you are now, and your family here. Big jobs we pulled.”
“Maybe. I thought I knew who I was. Now I’m not so sure.”
He traced his thumb over her lips. “You can’t change your past, but you can decide your future. Who do you want to be?”
Jiang leaned into his touch with a soft sigh. “Who do you want to be?” she countered.
Yours. I want to be yours. But that was insanity. She deserved better than a broken-down merc who had nothing to offer her. She’d had a family once—a husband, a kid, a home. Privateer life had no room for that.
Ryder’s lip curled in a sardonic smile as he leaned away. “Guess I want to be a better man. I’m not quite half the man I used to be. Maybe three quarters.”
She frowned. “Stop it. That’s not funny.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Jiang lifted her chin and stepped forward, then proceeded to drag him into a box step. He blinked as he clumsily followed her lead, off balanced by the booze and her initiative.
“I look ridiculous,” he muttered.
“Deal with it, Chief.”
He scowled as they nearly waltzed into a weight bench. “Why can’t you just let me have my pity party?”
“You wouldn’t let me have mine.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
He paused for a moment as he scrambled for an explanation, and Jiang backed him up against the lockers. She stared up at him as though daring him to argue with her. Oh shit. Would she kick his ass to make a point?
“Because I’m the chief of security, and it’s my job to make things okay.”
Jiang cocked her head. “Well, I’m the pilot, and it’s my job to steer things in new directions. Like away from your pity party and toward...” She trailed off as the example got away from her, and Ryder smirked.
“Is it toward the horizontal mambo?” he asked. “Because I’m in favor of that destination.”
“Not while you’re drunk, Chief.”
“I’m not drunk. Mildly inebriated.” He grinned and then bent to deliver a quick kiss to punctuate his statement, but the contact of his lips against hers struck him like a bolt from an energy pistol.
He stared at her, frozen in place while his sluggish brain tried to process what just happened. Jiang’s expression softened from ready to smack some sense into him, and she placed her palms against his chest. Her gaze dropped as though she was studying the splay of her fingers over his skin. Ryder reached up and caressed her hair.
“This is different,” she said. “I’m not sure why, but it is. If we were headed for just sex, we would’ve been there by now.”
He licked his lips—damn, she was right. This was more. This desire burned bright, hot and hungry, and with an eager growl he fisted a hand in her hair, tugged her head back and feasted on her mouth.
Jiang squeaked in surprise, but then she wrapped her arms around him. He spun her so her back was pressed against the lockers as they kissed. They teased and tested each other’s responses, and Ryder felt guilty because he knew he tasted like the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
He reached for her with phantom fingers and scowled in frustration at his missing hand. He needed to touch her, strip her naked and—
“Whoa there.” Jiang took a deep breath and nudged him away. “You’re drunk, Kalani.”
“Slightly intoxicated.”
“You’re intoxicated enough that it would be dishonorable if I took advantage of you.”
He ached at the mental image of Jiang atop him, riding him into complete submission. “Please do. I’m okay with being dishonored if it means we get naked.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re not. In fact, you’re going to feel embarrassed about this tomorrow and you’re going to apologize profusely.”
“Wow. Are you psychic?”
“Yes,” she deadpanned. Ryder’s jaw dropped, and she grinned as she patted his cheek. “Remember, you still owe me that date. Better be sober for it. Now go take a cold shower, Chief. Good night.”
Chapter Seven
Ryder hadn’t had a hangover since he was a teenager, unable to judge his tolerance and possessed of a lightweight’s physique. Now his head felt like it was about to split in two if he inhaled too deeply. Tomas would never let him live it down if he asked for a painkiller, so Ryder suffered in embarrassed silence.
He’d jumped on Jiang. In theory that wasn’t a bad thing—he’d been dreaming about what it would be like to kiss her, and the reality did not disappoint. But groping her like a lech at last call was wrong. Jiang deserved respect and romance. She deserved a hell of a lot better than a one-armed merc. He scowled at his reflection in the mirror and gave up on discovering a clever technique to tie his dreads back with only one hand. He could barely dress himself with one hand. Without his prosthetic, all he was good at was drinking and being surly, and this was the worst possible time for that. Some crazy commie scientist was out there building a weapon designed to turn the entire galactic map red, and the Soviets were coming after the Mombasa hard. On top of that, the Alliance had put bounties on their heads, blaming them for the massacre of the New Nairobi colony.
He wondered what his family back on Earth thought. Did they believe the lies? Were they in trouble because of him? He hadn’t been able to contact them to let them know he was all right, and worse, he hadn’t been able to send money home like he usually did. Most of his earnings from the Mombasa’s missions went to his mother, even though she said she wanted him to save it for himself. His younger siblings looked after her now, but as the oldest he’d felt a responsibility to take care of her after his father had died, so he kept sending the money.
Ryder checked the chrono and cursed. He was running behind, and he hated being late. He hustled out of his quarters but lost time waiting for the lift because he didn’t trust trying the ladders with one hand. The conference room was full by the time he arrived, and he shot the captain an apologetic smile as he hurried to his seat.
Captain Nyota nodded and rose to address the room. The group had grown over the past few weeks. The Mombasa’s command officers were joined by Sveta and her officers from the Novosibirsk, and several new faces. One he recognized as Prudence Stryker herself—she was a black woman in her late fifties, with an iron will and a glare that struck fear into the hearts of her opponents. Having Stryker on their side was a political victory because the Stryke Zone provided a safe haven to work from. Safety was in short supply right now.
“Because Captain Takei is new to our group,” Captain Nyota began, “I’m going to begin from the beginning. Or rather, Captain Grinkov is.”
Ah. Ryder thought he’d recognized Ken Takei, the leader of a group of pirates who had splintered from the Yakuza after the war. The man was ruthless, but fair. Not many pirates exhibited his restraint.
Sveta rose, and she made a hell of an impression. Once she’d been the notorious Soviet pirate Red Raiya, a bombshell with curves for days crowned with her trademark long red hair. Ryder wasn’t usually crazy enough to try to tap enemy ass, but for Raiya he would’ve made an exception. Sadly she’d only had eyes for Captain Nyota on the few occasions their ships crossed paths. But the woman who stood to address the group was a pale shadow of her former self. Sveta had been captured, tortured and interrogated by the KGB, and she had the scars to prove it. Her head was shaved, her knockout smile was now missing te
eth, and her sallow skin was mottled with a patchwork of still fading bruises. Ryder’s hand clenched into a fist as his blood boiled. If he ever got a hold of the sick bastard who’d done this—
“Greetings, comrades.” Sveta’s tight smile concealed her missing teeth. “A few months ago I raided a small, independent cargo ship. It seemed harmless at the time. Most of the cargo was typical colonial equipment. Atmosphere generators, components for prefab buildings, that sort of thing.” Her expression fell and turned haunted as she grabbed a metal mug and swigged its contents. “There was one piece we could not figure out. It was enormous, clearly part of a larger machine, but it was like nothing we’d ever seen before. We were still puzzling over it when the KGB attacked. They hit us hard, without mercy. We couldn’t run, and it was clear they meant to destroy us. A few of us made it to the escape pods, but I am the only survivor. The KGB spread news that I was dead, but instead I was interrogated. They wanted to know how we found the ship, who tipped us off. I had no answers for them. If Captain Nyota hadn’t come to my aid, I would have died in custody.”
Sveta motioned to Captain Nyota, who rose to continue the story. The captain looked tired, dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes, and Ryder’s gut twisted with shame. It was his duty to protect the Mombasa and its crew, and he’d abandoned that duty when he left with Jiang. At the time it seemed necessary—Jiang needed him more than the rest of the Mombasa’s crew. But losing her chief of security and her pilot at the same time had to have been hard on the captain, particularly during such a stressful time. Ryder silently promised that he would do better.
“We didn’t know we were rescuing Sveta until we arrived aboard the Novosibirsk. We thought it was a simple job, in and out. But Alliance Intel wasn’t looking for loot, they were looking for Sveta. They wanted us to hand her over. We politely declined.” The captain smiled, but her expression was haunted. “We tried to head home to our port of call, but when we got there the colony was in flames. We managed to save some of the colonists.”
“The Soviets attacked the colony?” Captain Takei asked.
“No. The Alliance did. And they blamed us for it.” Captain Nyota sighed and shook her head. “As far as we can tell, there are two factions in Alliance Intelligence right now. One side wants to find out what Sveta knows, and the other side wants to keep it hidden.”
Captain Takei nodded. “You suspect a traitor.”
“Yes,” she said. “My intel officer is investigating that, but we haven’t made much progress. We have made some progress in discovering the secret Soviet weapon.”
“You’re certain it’s a weapon?” Takei asked.
“We’re not certain of anything at this point, but the data we’ve found supports that. We infiltrated a Soviet communications station and accessed their network. We’ve been decrypting what we found, and we’ve uncovered the names of several different figures involved with this project, including researchers, officers and Party officials. For now we’re calling it Project Blood Money because they’ve killed to protect it, and none of us can agree on a better code name.”
Prudence Stryker chuckled. “I’m still in favor of Project Oh Shit. Has a better ring to it.”
“Noted,” Captain Nyota said. “We’ve made progress in uncovering the project. The data remnants and vid footage provided by Lieutenant Chen and Chief Kalani contain code numbers that are connected to the piece of equipment that Sveta found. And here’s where it gets bad. We initially had no idea what sort of weapon they were developing, but the types of equipment in the lab Chen and Kalani raided are used for medical research. Bioscanners, tissue analyzers, that sort of thing.”
“So it’s a bioweapon,” Stryker said.
The captain nodded. “Most likely. It makes a certain kind of sense. The war destroyed so much infrastructure that some colonies never recovered. If they could deploy something that killed the enemy populace but kept the buildings intact...”
“Right. And here I was hoping for a giant death laser.” Stryker scowled, leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Don’t suppose it matters that bioweapon research is illegal.”
“Very illegal,” Captain Nyota agreed. “Which again explains why someone was willing to nuke an entire colony to keep their secret safe. Those people deserve justice.”
Ryder growled an agreement, because he had friends on New Nairobi who hadn’t made it out. He had been part of the evacuation team, and the scenes he witnessed replayed in his nightmares. The heat from burning buildings, the thick, choking smoke, the scream of frightened colonists—it was too much like what he’d seen during the war. He hoped he’d never experience horror like that again.
“We intend to make them pay.” Captain Nyota squared her shoulders. “We’re going to divide our forces to investigate three points of interest. Captain Grinkov and the Novosibirsk will head a task group to penetrate the Soviet data network again and find out more info on the targets we have names for.”
Sveta nodded. “I will accept volunteers who have experience infiltrating Soviet space.”
“Second, my chief medical officer will form a research group to study the data recovered from the Arzamas-16 research facility. We need to know what this weapon does if we’re going to have a chance to counteract it.”
Tomas raised his hand. “I’m also taking volunteers. If you have any crew members with medical experience, send them my way. Even if it’s amateur experience. I need fresh eyes on this case.”
“And finally, I’m going to send Chief Kalani and Lieutenant Chen on a mission to locate and acquire a Soviet scientist whose name has come up several times in the files. We think he was a key player in developing Project Blood Money, and we need to know what he knows.”
“Just us, Cap?” Ryder asked. He and Jiang exchanged startled glances.
The captain’s mouth was pressed into a grim line as she nodded. “You two have had the best luck so far, and we need to keep a low profile. Two people won’t raise an alarm like the fleet would. You’ll take the shuttle again. It blends better than any other ship at our disposal. I’m collecting names of contacts who can help you on your way.”
“Aye, Captain,” Ryder said. “We’ll find the bastard.”
The meeting continued but he barely heard it, the bickering and sniping muffled by the white noise roaring in his ears like the constant crash of surf against a rocky shore. He was a soldier—point him at the enemy and he’d take care of business. He wasn’t cut out for this spy shit. And why send Jiang? She was dealing with her own shit, and she didn’t need another challenge. Like having a shipmate maul her like a horny octopus. He winced. Was she pissed at him? She didn’t seem angry, but it was hard to gauge while she was in mission mode.
He’d apologize and hope for the best. And then he would check in with Maria to get an estimate on when the repairs to his prosthetic would be finished. There was no way he was shipping out to Soviet space with only one good hand.
* * *
It was an interesting choice. Probably not one she would have made, but Jiang trusted Lindana’s judgment. Jiang and Ryder had experienced success where others had failed to unearth intel on Project Blood Money. It didn’t mean that she liked the idea. Heading into Soviet space where any food or drink could contain orders to betray her found family sounded like an immensely stupid idea. Hopefully they could stock the shuttle with bottled water and tinned goods.
The meeting wrapped and the crowd thinned. Jiang waited as Ryder slunk toward her, head bowed sheepishly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you last night.” Ryder’s voice was low enough not to catch the attention of the other Mombasa crew members lingering in the room.
“While drunk,” she murmured in reply.
“Yes, I... Wait, what?” Ryder blinked.
“You can’t give consent when you’re intoxicated.” Jiang
put her hands on her hips and frowned up at him. “You were thinking with the wrong head. And though we’d have a fun time, I’d prefer that it happen when we’re both sober and sure.”
“I’m sure,” he said, then winced. “Correction, I’m sure we’d have an amazing time. But—”
Captain Nyota’s approach silenced any further conversation. “How bad is it?” Jiang asked her.
“New Leningrad,” the captain said. Her brother was across the room speaking with Prudence Stryker, and Captain Nyota motioned for him to join them.
Jiang’s heart sank like a stone. “New Leningrad?”
“Isn’t that going into the lion’s den?” Ryder asked.
“It is,” the captain agreed, “but we’re quickly approaching the point where we’re not going to get anywhere nibbling at the edges of the Soviet Union. We need to strike at the heart, and your target is a high-ranking Party member. We won’t catch him in a bar on a Swiss station like some mid-level lackey.”
“Who is he?” Jiang asked.
“Dr. Ivan Koslov,” she said. “We identified him as the speaker in the vid fragment you recovered. Dr. Koslov has his fingers in a lot of Party pies, so catching him won’t be easy.”
Tomas nodded. “I located a number of his unclassified research papers. He’s a clever bastard. Real old-fashioned mad-scientist sort.”
“And he operated on my brain?” Jiang asked. “Lovely.”
The doctor shrugged. “I doubt he did the actual operating. He probably stood in the background and cackled maniacally.”