Fools Rush In (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 3)

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Fools Rush In (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 3) Page 18

by Donna S. Frelick


  He exhaled and sat back in his chair. “Looks like you won the big prize, asshole. There’s no one here but me.”

  Vort lifted a shoulder. “Well, I would have taken you both anyway, but I hate dealing with the mulaak Grays. ConSys, on the other hand, is easy pickings—like a vacation on the old home planet, eh, Sammy? Lots of sunshine and fresh air? Oh, but that’s right, guess you wouldn’t appreciate that much after you’ve spent 12 hours a day in the fields growing up.”

  Sam kept his expression carefully neutral. “What the hell are you blubbering about?”

  “Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” Vort wheezed out an unpleasant laugh. “I did some research on you, Captain Murphy. I know where you really come from. Maybe I should check into auctioning you off. ConSys has a fat bounty on you, but no doubt the Grays would be happy to get you back—the former slave who devils their trade routes.”

  Vort stood and gestured to the man who held the laze pistol. Sam was hauled roughly to his feet. His hands were pulled behind him and bound with nerve cuffs, as Rayna’s had been such a short time earlier. Sam couldn’t help but see the irony as he was frog-marched out of the Alpha-C behind the broad back of Drew Vort.

  “I have two contacts on the women’s side of the factory.” Daniel had pulled her into an alley within sight of the Kinz gates for his final briefing. “Neko, a guard on the factory floor, can always get a message to me. He’ll find you as soon as he can. Brilly works in the mess hall; you’ll know her by the missing tooth. She’ll get you extra food, utensils for weapons, supplies of all kinds. You’ll be put on night-shift loading detail at first; new arrivals always get the heaviest work. It will be exhausting, so don’t bother to try to do anything beyond your shift. While you’re working, just keep your eyes open for where they keep the shipping data.”

  Rayna held up a hand. “Daniel. You don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

  He took a breath, nodded. “Yeah. Okay. But this place is different, all right, Ray? It’s dangerous.”

  “Like Riza wasn’t? I can do this.”

  “I know.” His hand lifted toward her face, but dropped before he touched her. “What’s with you and Blackbeard?”

  “What?” She stilled, impatience warring with the feeling that she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  “You know who I mean. The pirate. Is it serious?”

  “His name is Sam, and are you fucking kidding me?” She blew out a breath in exasperation. “We don’t have time for a discussion of my love life. I have a job to do.”

  “So do I. Believe it or not, Rescue pays me to watch out for you. And even if they didn’t I’d still think it was my responsibility.”

  “Your responsibility ends at my cabin door, Daniel.” The look she gave him deliberately held no warmth, no hint of what they might once have shared. “Are we clear?”

  He didn’t look away. “We’re clear so long as you know I’ve always got your back.”

  “As far as Sam is concerned, you can relax. I won’t need your help.” She turned and walked away, forcing Daniel to move quickly to catch up. She was done talking. She was done thinking about Sam or Daniel or anything else. Time to suck it up and go to work.

  They came out of the alley and went to the end of the street. They turned the corner and found themselves outside the Kinz gates.

  Daniel yanked on her arms, and she growled to put on an appropriate show for the gate guards. She heard laughter as the window opened to reveal two tall Ninoctins in the guard house.

  “That you, Xter? Finally got one?” The guard examined Daniel’s captive with interest.

  His friend hung over his shoulder. “Yeah, I figured you was all talk and no bounty after all this time, Pataran!”

  “You don’t know my business, Fowk. Slaves don’t pay enough to keep me in ’shroom ale. I just picked this one up on the street. Heard you were short.”

  “That’s true enough,” the first guard agreed. “We’ve even had amateurs scrapin’ the bilges for bodies, the bosses are so desperate. Just sent one up a few tics ago.”

  “This ’un don’t look like much,” Fowk said with an analytical scowl. “Kinda small, ain’t it?”

  “Oh, she’s got special skills. Some you don’t want to know about.” Rayna could sense Daniel’s tension. This conversation had gone on long enough. “And I’m anxious to get her off my hands. I’ll just go up to the office, okay?”

  “Right.” The first guard waved him on. “You know the way.”

  “Mind it don’t escape before you get there. Dangerous little thing, it looks.” Fowk punctuated his warning with a nasty laugh that followed them as they entered a smaller walk-through in the four-meter-high tritanium gates of the facility.

  The smaller gate clanged shut behind them, leaving them in a wide quadrangle surrounded by the dark fortress-like hulks of the factory buildings. Inside the quad the constant hum of the factory heard throughout the LinHo dome became a pounding felt in the bones, an ache in the teeth. Rayna couldn’t imagine what it would be like inside the looming buildings. The quad, like the rest of the open areas of the facility, was artificially lit as bright as the surface of any planet and watched from both manned towers and strategically-placed cameras. The contrast with the rest of bleak, sunless LinHo made Rayna’s eyes hurt.

  Daniel led her across the wide, empty space and down a neat path between the larger factory buildings to find the office. It was set off by itself in a one-story block building distinguished by windows and white paint. Outside, a line of miserable beings sat on the ground, watched over by several guards. Rayna saw one of them lift her head and breathed out a curse. What the hell is she doing here?

  Lainie looked at her, then looked away without acknowledging her.

  Daniel whipped around to look at Rayna. “What the hell?”

  “Somebody from the ship. Must’ve gotten scooped up.”

  “Would she blow your cover?”

  Lainie was ignoring her. “No.”

  “Then her problem, not yours. Keep your head in the game.”

  Daniel dragged her inside as if she was resisting and threw her against the cage that separated the staff from everyone else. With her face pressed up against the metal grill, Rayna scanned the interior, noting the location of passcards, alarms, communications and locking controls, before she moved back.

  Daniel opened negotiations. “I hear you’re looking for talent.”

  The Ninoctin inside the cage stood up to look at what he’d brought and grunted. “You call that talent? Should we put her to cleaning the ductwork?”

  “She’s got mech/tech skills and nimble fingers. Just what you need.”

  The clerk growled. “Everybody starts in loading. She couldn’t load her own ass.”

  “She’s stronger than she looks. And if you don’t bust her up too much, she’ll more than earn her way later. I’ll let her go for 1500.”

  “Fifteen hundred!” The Ninoctin threw back his head and laughed. While he was distracted, Rayna checked out the security in the office—sensor-cams at the corners, simple bars and single line lasers on the windows and doors.

  “I happen to know you’re short of workers. Maybe you’re short of your quota for the twentydays, too, huh? And training new ones is a bitch.” Daniel waved at the beaten, dejected creatures hunkering in the dirt outside the window. “You may get one or two line workers out of that bunch. Everyone else will die in the loading bays. You need my girl. She’s done this kind of work before.”

  The Ninoctin perked up at this. “Oh, yeah? Where?”

  “The Orrin assembly complex on Matilla before they went bust. I got a bid on some of the assets. She’s the last of the lot.”

  “I’ll give you a thousand.”

  “Thirteen fifty.”

  “She’s too small, Pataran.” The Ninoctin peered into Rayna’s face. She kept her eyes as blank as possible. “Has she even been wiped?”

  “Of course!”

  Th
e guard folded his arms over his chest and frowned. “She’s resistant, isn’t she.”

  “If she was that resistant, would she be here?” Daniel spread his hands. “You know what happens to resistant slaves—they find their way out or they die.”

  “Eleven hundred.”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Twelve—and that’s my last offer.”

  Daniel smiled. “You have a deal, my friend.”

  The transaction was completed and Daniel left without a backward glance. As she was uncuffed and taken out to join the others, Rayna knew she should be relieved, even happy, that things had gone so well. Instead, she didn’t have to put on an act to fit in with her fellow prisoners. She was every bit as miserable as they were.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The quality of the neighborhoods had been declining steadily since Stephen Kwan had left the bar he’d been drinking in for the one called Alpha C. The neon had made the place easy to find, but now that he’d found it, he almost wished he hadn’t. He paused in the alley across from the bar and considered.

  “You sure Cap is here? In this dump?” Javin Darto was a good fellow to have along in a place like this, but he wasn’t what you might call tactful.

  “Stow it, Javin. What he’s doing here is Cap’s business, understand? And what we see and hear stays between us. That’s an order.”

  The big man nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Kwan regretted he hadn’t brought a few more of his drinking companions along with him on this trip. From the looks of the place, he and Darto could use the backup. Doc Berta had been with them—Cap would need her if he’d been here drinking synthohol for long. Kwan sighed.

  “Come on,” he said, and started out across the street.

  He pushed open the door of the bar and wrinkled his nose at the blast of warm, sour air that rushed out. It smelled as if the beings inside had been caged there for half a circuit; as if the room were a prison with rations of ’shroom ale and synthohol. Kwan edged in to stand against the wall, Darto at his side, and scanned the crowded tables for his captain.

  “Do you see him?” The crewman stood a head taller than Kwan, but apparently was having no better luck.

  “No. Let’s go.” Kwan led the way through the maze of tables to the bar, where a surly bartender was pouring ale for a single harried bargirl. He nodded to the man, who simply stared in reply. “We’re looking for someone.”

  “Ain’t we all. You drinking or you leaving?”

  “Two ales. The man we’re looking for is human, tall, dark hair, square jaw. Might have come in with a short woman, dark skin.”

  The barkeep set up two ales, cloudy and frothy. Kwan sniffed, and when it didn’t smell too offensive, drank. The earthy taste was tolerable. Beside him, Darto coughed once, then drank his down.

  “I mighta seen him earlier.”

  “Not here now?”

  “Does it look like it?”

  Kwan held on to his patience. “No. That’s why I’m asking.”

  The bartender’s lips twitched. “Musta left then. Not sure I remember exactly.”

  Kwan drew his datapad out of his pocket and entered a figure. “Suppose we add a tip to the bill?” He turned the pad in the bartender’s direction. “Now, memory a little clearer?”

  The man smiled. “Yeah, but you ain’t gonna like what you hear.” He got out his own pad and they accomplished the transfer, then he put his elbows on the bar and leaned in. “Your boy comes in with the girl, like you said. Meets a Pataran and makes some kinda deal for her. The Pataran leaves with the girl and your man starts in on the syn hot and heavy. Not too long after, a guy shows up you don’t wanna know and before you can say whatthefuck your boy is trussed up like a Norian pig and hustled out the door.” The barkeep straightened and spread his hands. “That’s the story as I seen it.”

  Kwan glanced at Darto and saw the same look of horror plastered on the kid’s broad face that he was struggling to keep from his own. “Who was this guy you say I don’t want to know?”

  The bartender started to turn away; Kwan grabbed his shirt at the throat and pulled him close. “Maybe you don’t realize who you’re dealing with here. My captain—Captain Solomon Armstrong Murphy of the Shadowhawk—is missing. You’ve heard of the Shadowhawk, haven’t you? I’m tired of pissing around. Tell me who took him.”

  “Shit! Okay.” The words came out in a strangled squeak. Kwan let go and the bartender fell back, rubbing his reddened throat. “But he owns this place. He owns half of LinHo. It can’t get back to him that I told you.”

  “Who. Took. Him.”

  “Drew Vort.”

  Darto’s eyes got wide and round. “Holy perai! The fighter?”

  Kwan shot him a look. “Ex-fighter. He’s been a blackjack for years.”

  “Why’s he want the captain?”

  The bartender leaned forward to hear the answer, so Kwan didn’t give it. Instead, he asked his own question.

  “Where did he take him?”

  “That I don’t know.” The man stepped back out of reach. “And I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. I don’t want to end up dead, too.”

  Darto looked to him, but Kwan shook his head. He knew their captain was in little danger of being killed as long as there was a possibility Vort could claim the bounty on him. Sam Murphy was wanted alive, for his knowledge of the blackjack galaxy in which he was a rare shining light. Vort had no fear that knowledge would lead to his own arrest—the fighter paid protection credits in too many high places to be worried.

  “How long ago did they leave?” Kwan made certain the barkeep could see the business end of his stun gun peeking through the fold in his jacket.

  “Long enough to board a ship and be out of orbit. Why don’t you follow him, and good fucking riddance.” The man turned and ducked behind a curtain into the back room.

  Kwan snatched at Darto’s sleeve. “Come on.” They started toward the exit.

  “Do you think he meant it? Cap’s on a ship heading out?”

  “Pretty likely. Vort’s after that bounty.” They had to find a way to get to the captain before Vort turned him over to ConSys. And that wouldn’t be easy in a ship without a functioning jump matrix. What he had growing in Engineering would take too long to do Cap any good, even with the RES fluid he’d miraculously been able to score earlier using the ship’s last credits.

  He snagged the serving girl as she passed. “Where can I find a game of Slash on this godsforsaken rock?”

  The muscles of Drew Vort’s stomach and abdomen had long since been layered over with fat, the formidable structure of his chest and shoulders and back obscured by excess bulk. But his sheer size was intimidating, and stripped down to boxer’s shorts his arms and legs showed nothing but lean power. Sure, there were scars at the vulnerable knees and elbows, but Sam wasn’t laying any bets that those joints were particularly weak. With enough credits, you could buy servos on the black market that were stronger than real joints, if you were willing to take the risk of certain heavy metals leaking into your body. Vort had the credits, and gods knew he didn’t give a fuck.

  “Like my PT deck, Sammy?” Vort waved at the converted cargo bay from the center of a full-sized fighting ring. “It’s got state-of-the-art equipment. Too bad you won’t feel like using it after I get done with you.”

  The goons on each of Sam’s arms gave him a shove toward the ring. “Aren’t you a little old and out of shape for this sort of thing, Vort? You retired—no, scratch that—you lost your last fight five circuits ago. Got pretty busted up, if I recall.”

  Black rage washed across Vort’s face before he wrestled himself under control. “I won that fight. The judges were paid off.” He forced a feral smile. “Besides, I keep in shape. Don’t I, boys?”

  His goons laughed.

  Sam laughed, too. “Oh, I get it. By beating up on punks and women. Maybe a few Grays here and there? Sure.”

  Vort loosened his shoulders. “Why don’t we find out? Come on up.


  “What, I don’t get any wraps?” He was stalling, angling for any advantage. Vort was going to wipe the deck with him, so he needed all the help he could get. He took off his shirt and his boots and socks slowly, watching as Vort made up his mind.

  “Sure, why not? Wouldn’t want the captain to hurt his soft, white hands, would we, boys?” The fighter gestured to someone on the side, who came to wrap Sam’s hands in canvas bands to protect the knuckles from the blows. Vort’s hands were wrapped in psoros leather—soft, pliable and virtually indestructible. It was going to hurt like hell to get hit with those hands, and Vort wouldn’t feel a thing.

  “So I’m guessing we’ve left LinHo already.” Sam knew they had; he’d felt the vibrations as the dock clamps had disengaged and the engines had kicked in. “Want to tell me where we’re headed?”

  Vort growled a warning. “Enough with the chit-chat. You know full well there’s only one place we could be going—to the ConSys Fleet station on Madras to turn you in.” He grinned. “Fortunately, ConSys doesn’t specify in what condition I have to deliver your ass. Now get up here.”

  Sam climbed into the ring and faced off with the fighter, guard up and vulnerable areas turned away from his opponent. There were no rules to this fight; no refs or timeouts or neutral corners. Sam knew he was just here to take a beating. He aimed only to give as good as he got, to make Vort hurt so much he quit, preferably sometime before Sam was seriously injured.

  His mentor had taught him to be aggressive against a stronger opponent, so he struck first, moving to the outside and attacking the knee with a side kick. But Vort simply picked up the leg to avoid the kick and swiped at Sam’s head with a vicious hook. Sam danced out of the way with no harm done on either side, but his test had given him valuable information. He’d heard the servos whine when Vort moved the leg; that joint was not a vulnerable target.

 

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