Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2

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Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 Page 2

by Anitra Lynn McLeod


  “Mouthy little thing,” Duster said from behind her, his gun once again secure against his shoulder.

  “I should have whacked you over the head with your rifle when I had the chance.”

  “You’re not going to get the chance now.” Commander stood. “And, since you obviously have no intention of telling me who you’re working for or why, I’m going to have to keep you here until you do.”

  He stepped around his desk and slipped a plastimetal bracelet on her wrist. Once her flesh warmed the cool gray link, it molded itself close, seamless and smooth.

  “Let me guess.” She sighed. “Combination locator and locker?” Even if she managed to get into a ship, it would do her no good. The ship’s computer would scan the bracelet and instantly lock down. Give her location too.

  “Locator, locker and luller.”

  “Luller? That’s a new one on me.” She scrutinized her bracelet. Keeping up with technology had never been her strong suit. On a backwater world like Taiga, she didn’t even have electricity in her cabin, but she knew weapons. Far as she knew, a plastimetal bracelet wasn’t a weapon.

  “You attack me again, and it’ll pump you full of Baka.”

  Swallowing hard, she looked down at her bracelet with horror. Baka was the most dangerous drug in the Void. One dose would make her screaming crazy, but only in her own mind. To the outside world, she’d become a drooling vegetable. Nothing guaranteed her passivity more than the threat of Baka.

  “I think you and I are beginning to understand one another.”

  She hung her head. “I’m beginning to understand that you’re a ruthless bastard.”

  Commander cupped her chin, lifted her face and peered at her for a long time. He just stood there looking down, breathing deep and steady. She didn’t dare flinch. Baka hung on her wrist. He lowered his mouth a breath from hers.

  “What did you call me?”

  She trembled, partly with fear, but also with a strange flush of excitement. Do I have some twisted submissive bent in me? Something about his dominance excited her. In turn, her excitement embarrassed her. He’d succeeded in doing exactly what he set out to do. He made it perfectly clear who was in charge, and it sure as spit wasn’t her.

  “I called you a—Commander.”

  “You’re a quick study.” He pulled back, flashing her a quirky half grin.

  “Death is a remarkable motivator.”

  “Tell me what you live for.”

  “I may be a bandit, but I am not a traitor.”

  “We’ll see.” He leaned close. If he moved just a bit, he would kiss her.

  Simultaneously, lights and alarms went off. At first, she thought they were in her mind, but the entire office surged with activity.

  “Get her out of here, Duster. I’ll take care of this.”

  As Commander turned to the operational panels, Duster hustled her from the room. Side by side, they walked down a wide hall paved with polished blue-veined marble. Duster’s sharp-shined boots clacked cadence to her silent bare feet. At the middle of the hallway, he turned right, strode forward and stiff-armed aside a set of doors twenty feet tall.

  Mary entered a vast room that looked like a grand ballroom from a medieval picture book. Huge pillars held up a fifty-foot-high, fresco-laden ceiling from which crystal chandeliers dangled on thick, golden chains. Sumptuous velvet-covered couches and chairs flanked dark wood tables. Clusters of them littered the sides of the room. Between each massive pair of pillars loomed a huge, elaborately rococo door, eight of them, pastel hues hinting at the colors beyond. Across from the row of pillars and doors stood a line of twenty-foot-high windows that reflected the room back at her in wavy shapes.

  “What the hell is this place?” It was the most disgustingly opulent room she had ever seen.

  “Your prison.” Duster yanked the doors closed.

  “You scum-sucking sycophant!” She twisted and pulled on the gigantic gold doorknobs.

  “Access denied,” a lush female voice said.

  Mary looked around. “Hello?” Her voice echoed.

  “How can I serve you?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am House. How can I serve you?”

  “You could let me the hell out of here.” Commander must be the most successful bandit in the Void to have a techno-house.

  “You are not permitted to leave.”

  She glanced at her bracelet. Would it inject her if she tried to smash her way out? It might. Any aggressive move might trigger a dose of Baka. “I can’t do a thing if I’m dead.”

  “Are you in need of medical care?”

  “No. Shut up, stupid House. I need to think.” Everything had gone to hell in two days. She’d had a bad feeling about that last haul, and her intuition had been dead-on. Who leaves 5K of goods unattended? Someone setting a trap, that’s who. But she’d needed the goods so badly, she’d decided to take the risk.

  “And now, it’s all over.” Five years, a hundred plans, the fate of millions… Her shoulders slumped with the weight of her obligations.

  Commander wanted to know who she was working for and why. As soon as she told him, he wouldn’t have a compelling reason to keep her alive. Therefore, she would live as long as she didn’t tell him, and all she had to do was escape.

  She looked around. “Who am I kidding?” Flinging herself down on a puffy velvet couch, she dropped her head into her filthy hands. “I have no chance at all.”

  If she managed to get the bracelet off without getting killed, she had to find her way to a ship without getting killed. Then, she had to get the ship airborne without getting killed. After that, she had to get home to Taiga without getting killed. Never good at math, she didn’t think she needed it to calculate the odds.

  “A billion to one. In favor of me getting killed.”

  Chapter Two

  “Commander, an IWOG ship has breached the first perimeter,” one of his guards informed him after Duster hustled Mary out of base command.

  “Just one?” He considered the news as he gazed at his favorite painting. Vivid strokes of bold color conveyed a battered and bloody warrior in the midst of carnage. There was such a look of Pyrrhic victory on the conqueror’s face.

  “Yes, Commander. One IWOG scout ship.”

  “Course?” he asked, still immersed in his prized painting. Casual swipes of thick oil paint in crimson, orange and black captured a simultaneous moment of victory, defeat and revenge in the making.

  “Parabolic course.” After checking another scanner, the guard added, “The ship will sweep past Windmere by way of Midas.”

  As all his guards riveted their attention to the multitude of sensors, he pondered why the IWOG would send only one scout ship. Kamikaze or reconnaissance?

  Duster entered the room and scrutinized the displays. “Suicide run?” He leaned over the nearest op-pan. Scanners tracked the vessel approaching Midas, one of the two moons orbiting Windmere.

  “Indeed.” One blast could obliterate the ship into powerless fragments. Stroking his chin, still considering his painting, he rolled his eyes as a burst of insight struck. At his command, a face popped into focus on the main holoplas screen.

  “Commander?”

  “IWOG scan attempt. Implement EMF pulse.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  From Midas, a powerful electromagnetic force blasted the ship with radio frequencies. Consumed with high-tech trickery, the IWOG had forgotten to protect themselves from this ancient, low-tech device. The EMF jammed everything electronic onboard their ship.

  “When you figure they’re gonna realize they’d best leave off messing with us?” Duster deployed a crew to capture the disabled ship.

  “Never. I think they like bashing their collective heads into a brick wall.” He looked at his painting again. Pyrrhic victory; triumph gained at a ruinous cost. His quest for independence had come true, but the price had been enormous.

  The interruption annoyed him. He wanted to play with his latest p
uzzle, the ever more perplexing Bandit of Taiga. In the face of overwhelming odds, she’d been fierce, aggressive, and determined to fight to the bitter end in an effort to protect herself and her secret goal. He’d never encountered such an infuriating spitfire, or a woman who so fully embodied the concept of a Pyrrhic victory.

  “You’d think they’d get sick of being made fools of and go away.” Duster popped a crackleseed between his teeth.

  “They’ll come at us until we surrender.” The InnerWorld Government lusted after the riches in heavy metals on Windmere. The IWOG also wanted his head and offered a 20Mil bounty for the capture of Michael “Overlord” Parker.

  He was wanted for murder, piracy, book smuggling, and a host of sundry nastiness. But the IWOG didn’t have any idea what he looked like. Not even a sketch graced the warrants posted throughout the Void.

  “You’re the only man to ever successfully fight off an IWOG invasion,” Duster said. “On the OuterWorlds, the WAG holds you up as a hero.”

  “Villain or hero. I guess that about sums me up.”

  “Mary seems inclined to think of you as the former.”

  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary.” Michael touched his chest, his chin, wondering if the bruises from her blows were visible yet. “Hell of a fighter.”

  “Not as good as Kraft.” Duster munched crackleseeds with neat efficiency.

  “I’m not as good as Kraft.” Michael admitted the truth without one bit of shame. “She’s the one who taught me.”

  “Do you still—”

  “Let’s find out if Mary is enjoying her palatial prison.” He cut Duster off the touchy subject of Kraft with practiced finesse. “House, show me Mary.”

  An audio and visual link, audvid, sprang to life and filled every holoplas screen in base command with the image of Mary sleeping on one of the burgundy fainting couches in the main room of House. Even asleep, she looked ready for a fight. But when he ordered House to zoom in, he discovered smudged hollows below her eyes and aristocratic cheekbones. Exhaustion and hunger darkened her refined beauty.

  “Nash said she didn’t sleep for the two days he had her on the Damn You.”

  Michael pondered the concern he heard in Duster’s voice. Leaning near, he took a wide sniff to read the scent from his Master-of-Arms. Lavender distress. Over Mary.

  The emotional scent of Duster clarified when he added, “Nash said she didn’t eat, either.”

  “Do you have a point?” Michael injected ice into his tone, as if he hadn’t noticed her vulnerable state. He was a cad for even thinking of challenging her to a fight, let alone doing so.

  “This isn’t a game anymore. This is a woman.” Duster dropped his voice a notch. “I never should have bothered you with something so minor.”

  “You bring her to my attention as a challenging puzzle, then think I should give up before I solve it?” Michael chuckled as he leaned against his desk. “You know me better than that.”

  “You want to know why.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Can’t you just give her the old sniff test?” Duster asked. “You’re the emotichemical perceptionist. Read her.”

  “Her scent is…conflicted. I can’t read her. Besides, there are other ways to unravel the mysterious Mary.”

  After a groan, Duster said, “Trust me, I’m sorry I brought her to your attention at all. You had to spend at least five times what she stole to hire Nash.”

  “Granted.” Actually, he’d spent nine times. “Your point?”

  “The math on that sucks, which makes me think your ego is bent over the fact she eluded you for a year.”

  “She taunted me for a year.” Michael turned his gaze to the small holoplas screen embedded in his desk. “Sneaky little bandit. Stealing table scraps from all the ships in the black-market trade route.” He traced his finger along her face, and he smiled a bit when she turned her head closer, as if she could actually feel his caress. “Clever little bandit. Five years of getting away with her scheme, and then, when finally caught, she remains at large. For I still don’t know why.”

  Whatever her cause, she would rather die than give up her secrets. Her stalwart stance fascinated him. She’d been terrified, yet couldn’t stop antagonizing him. He’d never met anyone with a mouth like hers, and he wanted to seduce the scowl right off her determined face.

  “I think you just wanted to find out what kind of a person could best you for so long.” Duster popped a seed and tucked the spent pods into a vest pocket.

  “Indeed.” Michael offered no argument. He’d pursued the Bandit of Taiga because of blatant curiosity, a puzzle to distract himself from perpetual mourning.

  “Wanna explain to me why you offered to fight her?”

  “I don’t know.” Mary had a gleam in her velvet-brown eyes, something longing to surrender, and it called loudly to that part of him longing to control. Not in a brutal, vicious way, but in a deeply sensual way. He never expected her to take him up on his offer, let alone attack him in a sudden, screaming burst. Like a caged animal suddenly free, Mary fought harder than anyone he’d ever known. What she lacked in skill, she more than made up for with ferocity.

  “What if she would have kicked your ass?” Duster asked.

  “I would have let her go.” Michael didn’t believe his own words. Her scent—floral, citrus, dark earth and a shock of conflicted spices—confused and compelled him. Mary was unique in being the first person he couldn’t read.

  “You shouldn’t have fought with her in the first place.”

  Unmistakable concern in Duster’s voice compelled Michael to take another deep breath. Lavender mixed with narcissus clarified that Duster felt responsible for Mary since he presented her as a puzzle.

  “I shouldn’t have fought with her because she’s a woman?” Michael grinned. “Are your issues with women showing?”

  “No.” Duster flashed him a guilty sidelong glance. “Nothing’s more dangerous than a woman with nothing to lose.”

  “Maybe that’s why I did.” Michael sat on the edge of his desk, his arms folded, one long leg swinging easily, his eyes riveted on the main holoplas screen. “I think Mary has an awful lot to lose. She’s on a mission. She’s not liberating my goods for herself.”

  After a chuckle, Duster asked, “How do you figure that?”

  “Look at what she’s wearing.” Michael pointed to the main holoplas. “Homespun brown shirt and pants. The only weapon she had on her was a knife. Nash said she lived in a shack on Taiga that didn’t even have running water.” He shook his head. “If she’s selling my goods, she’s not keeping the money for herself.”

  “Didn’t Nash find out what she was up to?” Duster fished through the stack of papers on the desk.

  “He thought if he caught her, she’d spill.” Michael plucked the bounty hunter’s report out of the heap and handed it to Duster.

  After a quick read, Duster laughed. “Gee, wasn’t he wrong.”

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and uttered a pained sigh. “The only thing she spilled was vulgarity. Remarkably Average Mary has a remarkably vast vocabulary. Nash said he’s never heard such creative use of multilingual expletives in his life. He offered a transcript, but I declined.”

  “How long is the transcript?” Duster asked.

  “Over thirty pages.”

  “Of just her swearing?” Duster sounded shocked and somewhat impressed.

  “Mary only stopped when Nash gagged her.”

  “Is that when she bit his finger?”

  Michael nodded. “Had to pay hazard for that.” He could easily picture Mary spewing foul words as she sat bound in a cell on the Damn You. For some insane reason, he found the image charming. Endearing, even.

  “I get the hazard payment, what with Nash’s bit finger and his crushed cojones, but why did you pay him bonus?” Duster flipped to the payout page and his jaw dropped. “Why did you pay Nash triple the contract total in bonus?”

  “Nash refrained from killing he
r even though he desperately wanted to. He offered me triple if I let him kill the Bandit of Taiga. He didn’t mention the package was a woman at that time. I refused, offering him triple as a bonus if he succeeded. And he did. So I paid him.”

  “You didn’t know the Bandit of Taiga was a woman until—”

  “You hauled her into my office. Bound, gagged and blindfolded.” Shocked delight had filled him when he discovered his vexing target to be a wicked vixen. “When Nash called the package Remarkably Average Mary, I thought he demeaned a man by calling him a Mary.”

  “Surprise, surprise.” Duster tossed aside the report. With a sheepish grin, he used his eclip to request the transcript. “I like the records to be complete, and we might learn something.”

  “New swears.”

  “Knowledge is power.” Duster tucked his eclip to a vest pocket and pulled out a handful of seeds. “What are you gonna do with the foul-mouthed, albeit lovely, lady Mary?”

  “You think she’s lovely?” Michael considered her over the audvid. Disheveled chestnut-brown hair swept over her brow. Even in sleep, a frown darkened her delicately strong face.

  “Seems to have all the right parts in all the right places.” Duster considered her. “A bit young. Obviously not a lady in the true sense of the word but, yeah, she’s pretty.” He paused on a sucking breath. “Oh, don’t tell me.”

  “What?”

  “You got eyes for her?” Duster sounded horrified.

  “Mary is one hell of an enticing puzzle.” And he wanted to unravel every bit of her.

  “She’s a kid.” Cold and low, Duster took a stand with the tone of his voice and the metallic note of his scent.

  “Twenty-five.” Michael nodded to the report. “Four years younger than you. She’s no kid.”

  “She’s thirteen years younger than you.”

  “Let me know when you get close to having a point.” Michael didn’t enjoy reminders of how fast forty was coming at him.

  “For once, do yourself a favor.” Duster popped apart a seed. “Try picking a woman who actually likes you, Michael. One you haven’t fought with.”

 

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