Vort stood back and gestured to the man standing at the panel that controlled the cargo bay doors. The big hatch yawned open with a deep, metallic screech, revealing the dim outlines of the dock slip beyond. The ramp extended out and down to the slip and locked into place. Then the guards took up their positions on either side of Sam again and marched him down the ramp. Vort fell into step behind with two more men to watch his back.
This part of the ’dock was deserted and dark, except for the required yellow emergency lighting. Sam smiled. Vort was in such a hurry to get him off the ship and into ConSys hands he was hustling him out during third watch. Or maybe he thought the Shadowhawk crew would stage a rescue attempt. Little did he know the ’hawk was crippled, maybe now for life. No rescue would come from that quarter.
They were at the base of the ramp, turning onto the narrow slip that led back toward the main part of the spacedock terminal when Sam heard the whine of a lase rifle. He turned to see one of Vort’s men drop like a stunned psoros in a slaughterhouse. In their shock the guards loosened their hold on him, so he slugged the smallest one, the one who’d refused to help him. The man went down, surprise on his hateful face. The other looked at him and shook his head, as if to say he’d gone too far, and moved to take back control.
But the rifle whined again, the shot going over their heads. They hit the deck. Then again, and Vort’s second man dropped in the act of firing toward the flash of light that had indicated where their attacker was hidden. The big fighter was alone now at the base of the ramp, and the guard with Sam saw he had a choice. Cursing, he jumped up and ran to his boss, grabbing him up and hauling him toward the safety of the ship.
“No, you shalssiti idiot, leave me alone and get that prisoner!” Vort fought the guard until the sniper put a smoking shot into the cloth of his right arm. Only then did he allow the man to cover him and drag him back up into the cargo bay.
Vort’s curses rang in Sam’s ears as he limped down the slip and into the shadows. He found a narrow slot between two shipping containers and wedged himself inside to wait. He had no strength left, and he knew whoever had wielded that rifle would be down to find him soon. Friend or foe, he wanted to meet the man standing on his own two legs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The work in the loading bays was grueling, relentless, a constant ion storm beating against their depleted shields. Rayna ached in every muscle and bone, the weariness settling in for the long haul. She knew this kind of cell-deep fatigue, knew it was born of too much work and too little sleep, of barely-contained fear and constant vigilance. She knew the only way to survive it was to grit your teeth and bear it for as long as it took. And she could tell her companion knew that, too.
“They carted off another body this morning,” Lainie said as she tugged her end of the crate off the line.
“I saw.”
“But I heard they’re bringing in fresh meat—maybe today.” The kid grinned.
Rayna perked up. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Guards moving the body. Grays just showed up with a ship full of newbies. Emergency stock, they called ’em.”
Shit. “You seen Neko around this morning?”
Lainie paused to look at her as they headed back for another crate. “No. Why?”
“I’d bet my last credit those Thranes who tried to blow up the Shadowhawk arrived with the emergency stock. They have business here.”
Lainie stared, her hands on the crate handles. “What kind of business?”
“That’s what I plan to find out.” She nodded at her partner and they lifted the heavy box, moving it to the mule a few steps away.
As they turned back to the line, Lainie inclined her head. “Hey—look!”
Slaves emerged at the far end of the echoing warehouse in two neat rows, the men peeling off toward the more distant lines for the heavier ammunition crates, the women marching closer to fill in gaps in the lines near Lainie and Rayna. The men were too far away to identify, and as the women drew closer, Rayna could see her job wasn’t going to be easy.
“Perai!” Lainie whispered. “There’s a shitload of Thranes! Which one is she?”
Rayna scanned the passing newbies in disgust. “Fuck if I know.” Not one of the workers passing by betrayed any sign of recognition or interest. They all looked like the good, little mindwiped slaves they purported to be. That was unusual in itself. Thranes were almost never used as slaves because specialized techniques were needed to successfully wipe their telepathic brains. It didn’t pay for owners to use Thranes; so this was either a complete ruse or the Kinz owners were so desperate now they would truly take anything in a mixed lot of slaves.
“You don’t know what she looks like?”
“She’s seen me, but I haven’t seen her—not her face, anyway.” In body shape, the five Thrane women were enough alike to be sisters—any one of them as tall and athletic as the figure she’d seen fleetingly in the Shadowhawk’s Sickbay and shooting at her from a catwalk in the ship’s cargo bay. Rayna cursed again.
“Damn, where did they get those girls—the Amazon gladiator store?” Lainie was staring open-mouthed. “You’re going to need backup.”
Rayna exhaled and went back to work. “The good thing is I only need to fight one of them.” I just need to figure out which one she is. Where the hell is Neko?
--You will never guess who I saw today on the factory floor. Zetana didn’t bother to shield her anger and frustration from her bondmate. She let it flow with her thoughts across their bond, joining them though they lay in different bunks in the separate men’s and women’s wings of the Kinz facility, far from each other.
--Who could you have possibly recognized, k’taama? Rex sounded tired after his first long shift on the floor. He was a strong male, but the only hard labor he had ever experienced was in combat training.
Zetana squelched her impatience and sent a mental slap his way to wake him up—an image of the small, dark-skinned figure she’d seen as she’d passed the work line.
Shock came back at her. The ConSys agent? But the Shadowhawk was destroyed. She would have died with the others.
--We have no confirmation of that. If they discovered the explosive in time—
--Impossible!
--Apparently not. The agent lives; I have seen her. And now we know what she was doing on the Fleeflek with us.
--Not so distracted by the captain after all.
Zetana allowed herself a smile. The woman was smarter than she appeared, then. That kind of intelligence could be dangerous.
--I have to find a way to get rid of her as soon as possible. My ‘sisters’ won’t provide cover for long.
Amusement rippled through his mind. Did I not tell the captain of the Tifan anything could be found on Paradon for the right price?
--On Paradon. And among the Blood Legion. Pay that house of vipers enough and they will kill their own bondmates. Zetana usually tried to avoid the secret society of Thrane ultraminds. In truth, she feared them. For that reason, she would have refused their help with the mission, but Rex had insisted they would somehow prove useful. And so they had. Now our little agent will waste time trying to discover which of five Thrane women is the assassin bent on killing her. And while she ponders that question, I will slip up behind her and quietly slit her pretty throat.
Sam Murphy huddled on a narrow strip of cold thermocrete between two shoulder-high shipping containers and tried to control the sound of his breathing. He was shivering, the effect of the drop in adrenaline from his escape from Vort, the lack of adequate clothing in the vast, unheated space of the ’dock and his injuries. His teeth were clacking together in his jaw as he shook. But it was his breath, sawing in and out of his laboring lungs, that he feared would give him away to the one who’d shot two men and left them lying on the ramp outside the Master of the Octagon. Sam had no desire to be the next victim.
“Hey, amigo.” The voice was a whisper of sound at the far end of the opening between the two con
tainers. A familiar whisper. “If I show my face, will you promise not to shoot me?”
Sam got up and scrambled toward that end. “An easy promise since I’m not armed. I could maybe spit at you for scaring the shit out of me.”
The man who met him at the end of the row was little more than a tall, muscular shadow, his black body armor and stealth paint obscuring everything but his mahogany eyes. Still, Sam could fill in the details of his friend’s face from memory—the aristocratic angles, the strong jaw, the white smile flashing in tan skin. Gabriel Cruz, half-Cuban/Terrene, half-Thrane, all focused hardass. Cruz was the best extractor in the galaxy—as he’d now proved yet again.
“I just saved your ass and you’re whining?” The man’s lips curved just enough to be perceived in the dark. “You can walk, can’t you?”
“Yes, no thanks to you.” He just wasn’t sure how far.
Cruz considered him. He pulled out a hypogun and punched it into Sam’s shoulder. Warmth flooded through Sam’s body, followed by a surge of energy.
Stim, thank the gods. Sam’s vision cleared.
“Come on, mi hermano.” Cruz slipped a hand under Sam’s elbow and guided him through the dark rows of silent containers.
They weren’t headed toward another dockslip. “What, no ship?”
Cruz chuffed out a laugh. “I thought you had one.”
“Not at present.”
“Yeah, that’s a problem.” The extractor turned toward an exit at the end of the long row of stored goods. “The Shadowhawk is on its way, but it’s not here yet. I’m taking you to a safe house.”
But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Just as they were crossing the open area between the cover of the last of the containers and the safety of the exit, the flash and whine of lase rifles lit up the thick, black space around them.
Gabriel pushed him. “Run!” The extractor turned to open up on their attackers, spraying blue lase fire in an arc from right to left.
Sam didn’t wait to see if Gabriel had hit anyone. He just gathered what inner resources he had left and ran for the door. It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen meters, but in his weakened state, his goal seemed to stretch out in front of him like distant mountains seen across a plain. He moved so slowly, expecting any second to feel the scorch and sear of the laser on his back.
But Gabriel kept up the covering fire and Sam’s stubborn body kept moving and somehow they both made the exit doors. By another miracle, the doors were unlocked; they crashed through into an empty corridor. Gabriel found a chair in the passageway and jammed one of its plasteel legs through the door handles. They could hear their attackers rattling at the doors as they made their escape down the passage to the ’dock’s outside exit.
By that time, spacedock security was streaming in the direction of all the noise, ignoring the two men walking through the facility at a calm pace. Despite the stim, Sam fought to keep his feet, to keep moving under his own power as a wave of weakness threatened to take him under.
“You okay?” Gabriel maneuvered closer and clamped a hand around his bicep.
“How far is this safe house?”
“In the city. We have to take the train, then a taxi.”
Sam nodded, exhaustion blanking his vision for a moment. He let his friend guide him through the spacedock terminal to the maglev train and onto one of the cars, nearly deserted at this time of night. He faded out as the train left the station, headed for Amara, the capital city of Madras III.
When Gabriel woke him again at their station stop in an older part of Amara, he was even foggier and more disoriented than he’d been when they started out. He barely noticed the night streets they passed through in the taxi, or the low-lying housing clusters that seemed integral with the rock formations that made up the mountainous area around Amara. He felt the pull of gravity on his body as they climbed into the hills; he looked out and saw the lights of the city spread out below him. And at last the taxi left them in front of one of many round-roofed, dug-in dwellings in a complex like any other in that part of the city.
Sam stood and waited for Gabriel to open the door to his house. His gaze was drawn up, to the millions of stars overarching the city, in a deep, black sky still unsullied by the pollution of sentient habitation. He oriented himself and found the infinitesimal spot in that sky where his heart could be found. And he prayed that heart was somehow still beating, back on LinHo.
Gabriel caught him just as the sky began to tilt and wheel above his head. “Inside. You need to lie down.” His friend steered him into a well-kept living/kitchen area and deposited him on the couch. He sank into the cushions and heaved a grateful sigh.
Gabriel left him there. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
Sam lay in a sort of warm, surreal haze while Gabriel clanked and shuffled around in the tiny kitchen. The sounds of cleaning and food preparation provided background to the formless thoughts running through his head—his imprisonment, his rescue, the Shadowhawk, Rayna. There was something important he needed to remember, but it would not come to mind; something that had grabbed at him when he thought of LinHo and Rayna. Rayna . . .
Gabriel appeared in front of him with a plate full of hot food in one hand and a big glass of water in another. He dragged a small table around with his foot and arranged his offerings on top. He pulled out the injector and jabbed Sam’s shoulder again.
The stim took hold and lifted Sam out of his haze. “What the hell?”
“Need you awake enough to eat.” Gabriel gestured at the food.
Sam sat up and sniffed. “Smells good. What is it?”
“Rice and beans, just like my mama used to make.”
“You cook?”
“Hell, no. It’s PrePak. But I add the spices. Now eat. If you’re good, I’ll give you a drink of rum for dessert.” Gabriel went back to the kitchen for his own plate and was already helping himself to the rum.
Sam dug in. Either Gabriel was a better cook than he let on or Sam’s starvation made the food taste exceptionally delicious. He had to make himself eat slowly. Even so the food disappeared at an impressive pace. One plate. Then two.
“This your place, amigo?”
Gabriel lifted a shoulder. “One of them.” He glanced around. “Not the nicest one.”
Sam grunted. “It’s an improvement over my previous circumstances.” He paused in mopping up the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread to look at his friend. “Thank you.”
“De nada. I’m glad I was in a position to help.” He gestured at Sam’s plate. “You want more?”
Sam pushed back. “No. That was great.”
Gabriel got up and took the plates to the kitchen. “Rum, then. You earned it.” He brought back a short, fat glass and handed it to Sam. “Spit in Vort’s eye.”
“Thanks to you, brother.” They touched glasses and drank, the fiery liquor warming Sam all the way to his belly and numbing some of the pain of his injuries. “Ah, the good stuff. Where the hell do you get it?”
Gabriel smiled. “You can find just about anything on Paradon, if you’re willing to pay for it.”
“Paradon, shalssit! You’re just as likely to get your throat cut!” Sam started to laugh, then his amusement abruptly cut off. Paradon! And Teliath! “When did you say the ’hawk was due in?”
Gabriel’s brows met, puzzled at the change in subject. “Eighteen hours. Maybe more. They had to make repairs before they could get underway.”
“Not soon enough!” Sam set his drink down and scrubbed at his face. “We have to get a message to Rayna in Kinz.”
“What? Wait a minute.” Gabriel held out a hand as though he could stop Sam’s runaway train of thought. “Who the hell is Rayna? And did you say Kinz?”
“Rayna is . . .” Sam careened to a halt. It was complicated. He simplified. “. . . mine. She’s a Rescue agent undercover at the Kinz factory. And two Thrane spies working for the Minertsan government plan to blow the place to bits any day now. I have to warn her.”
Gabriel sat staring at him, his dark eyes round with shock, his rum glass halted halfway to his mouth.
Sam thrust his hands out. “Ideas?”
The rum glass continued its journey to Gabriel’s mouth and delivered a healthy slug of liquor down the man’s throat. “I hardly know where to start. With the information that one of the galaxy’s most infamous lovers has suddenly decided to become possessive of one woman? Or that said woman is crazy enough to infiltrate the Kinz factory? You could be here all night explaining either one of those things.”
Sam couldn’t help himself; he started up off the couch, only to be brought down again by a wave of dizziness. He shook it off.
“We don’t have time for all that. You’ll just have to trust me that Ray and I know what we’re doing.”
“Dios mio!” Gabriel got up and headed for the kitchen. “I need more rum.”
Inspiration hit Sam, almost bringing him to his feet despite everything. “Daniel! He has contacts inside Kinz!”
“Who the fuck is Daniel?” Gabriel had brought the liquor bottle back from the kitchen with him. He put it on the table and faced Sam. “Look. Calm down. Explain this to me and start making some kind of sense before I think maybe Vort screwed up your head.”
Sam took a breath and one look at his friend’s scowling face and realized he might seem more than a little out of orbit. He allowed Gabriel to pour him another drink. Then he gave the extractor a full debriefing, from the time he’d hauled in the Fleeflek to the minute Vort had sent him down the ramp at Madras spacedock.
Gabriel sipped at his rum as Sam finished his story. “The Thranes hadn’t shown up by the time you’d left LinHo?”
“No. But I’m sure they must be there by now. And who knows what kind of timeline they’re on?” Urgency rose in Sam’s chest again. “I have to get a message to Daniel on LinHo.”
“Rescue has an office in Amara. I can go there in the morning.”
Fools Rush In (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 3) Page 23