Hunter

by Sharon Partington

  As soon as Androsian intelligence reported that she had been seen at the Ansaala refugee camp, the High Command made a formal request to the GSF, asking that she be arrested and returned to Orlakhan. Only before we got there, Delta Six’s resident rat told her we were coming, and she fled.

  She could have surrendered. She should have surrendered.

  Not my fault.

  Hers.

  I called up the old vid-link reports from both the Terran and Androsian news agencies for the weeks and months surrounding the incident at Ansaala. Kenny and I had missed out on most of the initial excitement as we slogged our way back to Lachra. The massacre of civilians, unarmed relief workers, and an entire unit of highly trained Elite troopers played huge on the news, and there was plenty of video of flag draped caskets being returned to Earth. Diplomatic relations between the Androsian and Terran systems had been strained to the breaking point, and all military and humanitarian aid had been suspended.

  And then, of course, there was the public inquiry.

  Andrew Lansing had been interviewed and interrogated by press and politicians alike, but he always insisted he had done nothing wrong. He stuck to the story that Delta Six had been ordered into Ansaala based upon Androsian intelligence believed to be reliable at the time. Still, he couldn’t dodge all the shit flung at him. He resigned as the head of the Gold Band Strike Team and dropped from sight. I tried, for a while, to find him after Antonio Briani pulled my ass out of the fire, but one body had led to another and, well...yeah.

  There was no shortage of news coverage of the event itself, but there was precious little on Corin Raas and what had happened to her after it was over. I searched the database, looking for anything on her after the camp was destroyed, and although there were a few oblique references, there was nothing substantial. It was like she’d dropped into a black hole and vanished.

  Somebody, somewhere, had to know what happened to her.

  ◆◆◆

  Bellissima returned to Jaraslad a month later, and Kenny met me in the Orion. Kayla poured his drink at the bar and pointed him in my direction. He carried it to my table, chuckling as he sat down across from me.

  “So, it’s Jack Dennis this week?”

  I shrugged. “Neil Owen suffered an unfortunately fatal accident. He was kind enough to leave me all his assets. Nice guy, huh?”

  “It helps to have friends like that.” He offered a toast. “To the recently departed Neil. May he rest in peace.”

  We each took a sip of our drinks.

  Kenny smiled as he saw Joanna emerge from Korsin’s lair with a loaded tray. “How’s she doing?”

  “All right. Korsin doesn’t pay as much as the Arcturon, but at least I don’t have to worry about her, and anyone who tries to get near her will have to go through Rachmar first.”

  Kenny chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

  He took an envelope out of his pocket, laying it on the table. “I got that information you asked for. Looks like GSF intelligence got it wrong.”

  A twinge of excitement raced through me. “Corin Raas is alive?”

  “I don’t know about that, but she did manage to flee the planet six years ago. According to my guy, the captain of the GSF patrol ship Stellar Wind stormed and boarded an Ilion freighter after it fired on them when they ordered it to heave to so its cargo could be inspected. The freighter captain was killed, and most of the crew had no papers. Those that were uninjured were placed in confinement until their planetary origin could be verified. One of them was a young Androsian woman.

  “She told them her family had been killed by the rebels when her father was suspected of being a government informant. She feared for her life if she was sent back—same old bullshit story. They’d heard about Ansaala of course, but even if they’d suspected her of something there was no way to prove it, and they couldn’t hang on to her indefinitely. The nearest GSF detention center was five hundred light years away and the captain of the Stellar Wind wasn’t about to go that far out of his way on the off chance her story was bogus. He gave her the benefit of a very large doubt and cut her loose. Took her back to Norbrand and continued his patrol.”

  As easy as that.

  “When was this?”

  “A couple of weeks after the camp.”

  Right in the middle of all the hoopla and bullshit. While Kenny and I slogged through swamp, bog, and jungle up to our ass on the way back to Lachra, she’d slipped under the radar and vanished.

  I looked at the envelope. “What’s this?”

  “My source outdid himself,” said Kenny, with a grin. “He managed to snag a copy of the original interrogation report of that mysterious Androsian woman. It has her picture on it.”

  I reached for the envelope and tore open the end, drawing out a single sheet of paper. My heart almost stopped, and for a second I had to remind myself to breathe. The world seemed to contract as I stared at the picture, the sounds around me diminishing to a dull hum at the edge of my awareness. I didn’t read the name printed on the sheet. It didn’t matter.

  “Are you okay?” asked Kenny. “You look a little freaked.”

  “I know this woman,” I said softly. “She’s married to the president of the Rigian system, she calls herself Wynn Delaren.”

  “Huh. Well, with connections like that it explains why the Androsians can’t find her.”

  It explained a few other things as well. Like why Vance kept his marriage such a big secret, and why he hid his wife away in a one-room loft in the slums of Dasrajhi.

  “So,” Kenny said. “You know where she is. Now what?”

  “Looks like I’m going back to the Rigian system.”

  “And then?”

  “I want to know who told her we were coming. I want to know what she was doing in the camp in the first place. I want to know how much of her past her husband knows about. I need to know why, Ken. I promised them I’d find out why.”

  “Will you kill her?”

  Good question.

  “I don’t know, yet.”

  ◆◆◆

  I couldn’t sleep. Corin Raas was there every time I closed my eyes. I tried to equate the image of the Wynn Delaren who had taken care of me with the ruthless rebel leader who had deliberately allowed a camp full of innocent civilians to die so she could escape. I had a hard time making the connection, even though I knew they were the same person.

  Her marriage to Delaren wasn’t that big a surprise; of course she’d be attracted to a man like him. They shared the same ideals. The same principles. Hers might be a little more warped and twisted, but they were close enough to give them some common ground. I got up and went to the data terminal, typing in a query. Asking for all the information it had on the Rigian president.

  Vance Delaren had been a professor of Interstellar Law and Political Science at the University of Dasrajhi before resigning to pursue the presidency. His mother had died when he was a child; his father was a physician. He grew up in the streets of the Iron District where his father practiced medicine.

  The elder Delaren was a rarity among his profession, choosing to live and work among the poorest of Dasrajhi’s citizens. Many of his patients could barely afford to feed themselves, never mind pay to see a doctor when they were sick, and young Vance was taught that the measure of a man had very little to do with his social station. He saw firsthand the inequities in the Rigian social structure. Saw how the Guilds controlled everything from the selection of food in the local markets to the cost of dream crystals sold in the alleys. He saw the corruption. The greed. The leeching away of hope. He decided he wanted to change it. To make it better.

  Then along came Corin Raas.

  I understood her attraction to the Rigian president, but I had to wonder what Delaren had seen in Raas that he couldn’t have found in a nice Rigian girl. What had she told him about herself? About her past? Did he know the truth?

  It looked like I was on my way back to Dasrajhi. Not exactly the safest place in the galax
y, considering the Guilds were probably still looking for me. This time I wouldn’t have Delaren to protect me if things went sour. I’d been unconscious when they carried me to Wynn’s apartment and I’d never left it except when Delaren and his men took me to my ship as I was leaving the planet. Finding it again would be a bitch.

  But then, I was always up for a challenge.

  Kenny left Jaraslad for the Ilion sector and I arranged to meet him back on the station in three months. I’d come full circle and was heading back to where it had all started.

  Back to the Rigian System.

  The asshole of the galaxy.

  Chapter 16

  I still found it hard to believe that Corin Raas was alive. I’d seen her. Spoken to her. I’d even recognized her, just hadn’t known it at the time. The incident the night before I left Rigis Prime made much more sense now. No wonder the shooter had looked so confused when I blathered on about the Guilds—he had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I remembered, now, where I’d seen that tattoo—the snake coiled around the lightning bolt. It was the symbol of the Androsian Secret Police.

  I thought about Vance and the promises he’d made. Maybe everything he told me had been a crock of shit. Maybe he wasn’t the mighty savior of the Rigian system.

  Maybe I really had killed the wrong man.

  I had the fuel cells on the Lady Kathy replaced. The trip from Earth had pretty much depleted them, and there was no way they’d take me all the way to the Rigian system. While the engine techs went over the shuttle, I went over Kenny’s interrogation report.

  Corin Raas had fed the crew of the Stellar Wind quite a story, the only thing missing were the violins. Refugees from both sides of the conflict fled the Androsian system on a regular basis even now. And Corin was a smart girl. She didn’t get where she was without being able to read and manipulate people. She’d exploited the little weakness in the Stellar Wind Captain’s flawed efficiency, betting, correctly, that it would be much less hassle for him to just let her go.

  A lot of coincidences had carried me to this crossroad. If Dorbrin Jasser hadn’t wanted Delaren dead. If I’d refused the contract, which I’d almost done. If Gina hadn’t screwed me over and sent me to prison. I would have gone merrily on my way adding more bodies to the total. Kenny and I had discussed the vagaries of destiny and fate once—I didn’t believe Corin Raas was fated to die any more than I believed I was destined to kill her, but somehow there it was, right in front of me.

  There were a few things I had to take care of before I left for the Rigian system. Like I told my dad, I couldn’t predict the outcome of this little adventure, and I wanted to be sure all of my affairs were in order.

  I printed out a listing of my personal accounts, along with what financial institution and planetary system they were in. The total surprised me—almost eight hundred million credits.

  Jesus, I was almost a billionaire. Billion. With a “B.”

  I left instructions stating that if I didn’t return to Jaraslad within twenty-four months, or if I was confirmed dead, twenty-five percent of that money should go to Joanna in the way of an apology for all the crap I’d caused, and the remainder should go to my dad. He’d be able to buy and sell everyone in Meyer’s Landing a dozen times over. I had everything notarized by the clerk in the station manager’s office and gave it to Korsin to put in his safe. Another favor I’d owe him.

  Joanna appeared to be settling into her new life, and I told myself that despite my personal misgivings and sense of impending dread, I’d see her again before long. Truth was it hurt too much to say good-bye.

  I left Jaraslad, laying in a course for the Rigian system. Setting the shuttle on autopilot, I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes as my mind drifted through the events of the past month. It was all pretty crazy. I hadn’t really stopped moving long enough to take a good hard look at what the hell I was doing or where this road was taking me. Probably because if I did, I’d realize how fucking nuts it all was.

  Delta Six. Corin Raas. Joanna and me. Those three things circulated through my head like a toxic tornado. I had no idea what I was supposed to do about any of them. Except hope that somehow everything would work out in the end.

  Great plan.

  ◆◆◆

  I arrived at the outer edge of the Rigian system a little over a month after leaving Jaraslad. I’d made a brief stop at Norbrand to resupply and stopped again at Hawking Station in the Altair system to recharge the fuel cells. I almost detoured to Altair Nine to pay my dad a quick visit, but this wasn’t a pleasure trip—there would be time enough later to rebuild the bridges we’d burned over the years. If I wasn’t dead.

  I spent a few extra days monitoring the more radical, underground communication sites, listening to the curious blend of truth and bullshit that filtered along the criminal grapevine. The assassination of Dorbrin Jasser was still a relatively hot topic considering it had happened over a year ago, and the Guilds were still very unhappy about the fact that they’d been cheated out of a very large chunk of money. They’d been actively looking for me since shortly after Delaren had helped me escape—at least until news of my arrest and conviction had broken. Like the rest of the galaxy they’d have heard by now that I’d escaped. They would have reinstated their search, and here I was, walking right into their arms.

  That nagging little voice in my head told me I should let it go. That it wasn’t worth it. Go back to Joanna. Tell her how stupid you are and how much you love her.

  But I couldn’t do that. Not until I knew why.

  I docked at the spaceport in Dasrajhi, stopped at a hover-car rental agent in the main concourse, and paid for a car for a couple of weeks.

  The woman behind the counter smiled at me as she looked at my forged ID. “Welcome to Rigis Prime, Mr. Dennis. Your car will be brought to the front of the terminal in a few minutes.”

  I thanked her and walked toward the sliding doors and the street. Midday and hot, a dirty orange haze hung over the city. At the far end of the park across the street, the outline of the theater where I’d killed Dorbrin Jasser rose out of the haze, shimmering like a mirage. A hover car pulled up in front, the man driving it smiled as I showed him my rental agreement and climbed inside.

  Five hours later I stood at a window on the thirty-second floor of the Galaxy Hotel, staring across the city. I’d spent some time at the data-console, trying to dig up anything on Wynn Delaren. Or Corin Raas. I hadn’t found anything. Nothing. Not even a hint that there might be something. No listing in the com-link directory, no notification of name change in the central government data base. I even tried a few backdoor sites and came up empty. Apparently Vance didn’t want her found. But even if I didn’t know where to look, there were people out there who did. People who knew what rocks to turn over. Which shit piles to look under.

  Maybe it was time I found someone who knew this city better than I did.

  ◆◆◆

  The Iron District was a congested, colorful place during the day, but after the sun went down its tourist friendly atmosphere became a little strained. Vance had begun to work on a few of his positive changes and there were improvements since my last visit. The streets were cleaner and there were more security patrols about. The crystal dealers and flesh traders no longer did their business in the open. Homeless children still begged on the street corners, but there appeared to be fewer of them.

  Evening temperatures were marginally cooler than they were during the day, and the streets were noisy and crowded. Music and laughter drifted up from a darkened stairwell, and I descended half a dozen cracked stone steps into a dingy tavern. The faded sign above the door proudly displayed a pair of crossed laser rifles, the name “Gunner’s Retreat” emblazoned beneath them. Ex-military men were a chatty bunch no matter what system they hailed from. Maybe, if I paid attention, I’d hear something worthwhile.

  Filthy glow globes hung from the beamed ceiling, and the air smelled of sour Soldian wine and unwashed bodies. I s
at at an empty table in the back. Judging by its sticky surface, it hadn’t seen soap in quite a while. Or disinfectant either. I’d probably have to burn my clothes after I left.

  A skinny, Terran barmaid elbowed her way through the crowd to my table. She wore a once-white apron over her faded red dress and she’d tied her tangled, brown hair away from her face with a tattered strip of pink ribbon. She looked at me like I was some new species of shit she’d discovered on the floor.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Rigian Liquor, straight up, no ice.”

  She frowned. “We ain’t got none of that. Sold out an hour ago.”

  Perfect. “What have you got?”

  “Soldian wine. Lyrian Bitters, Aeriean Vodka. Might be some Har’Garok down in the cellar if that asshole piss-tank, Jossen, ain’t drank it all.”

  “I’ll have the Har’Garok.”

  “What’ll you chase it with?”

  “Nothing. Straight up.”

  She blinked at me then shrugged. “Your funeral.”

  She moved away and I leaned back in my chair, listening to the swirl of voices surrounding me. Judging by the conversational scraps, people were largely satisfied with Vance and his new deal. At least so far. Taxes were still higher than most folks would like, and The Cartel still abducted women and children to work in its mines, but food prices had come down, and the streets were generally safer. For the most part, things were improving slowly. Nobody mentioned anything about the president’s wife, girlfriend, or significant other.

  The barmaid returned with my drink. “That’ll be fifteen credits.”

  I tossed a fifty credit note on the table. She reached for it and I grabbed her wrist before she could slip it into her apron.

  “Hey, let go! I ain’t for sale!”

  “Relax, I’m not looking to buy. I need someone to run some errands for me. Someone who knows how to take orders and not ask questions. Know anybody like that?”

  She stared at me sullenly, her dark eyes narrowed. “Might be I do. What’s in it for me?”