Death Dealer

by T. G. Ayer

  She pushed the lab-pod to sit near the suite’s entrance—just in time for the porter-bot’s arrival with an a-grav platform. The platform lowered and the bot guided Nerishka’s precious cargo onto it, strapping it into place.

  As soon as the pod was secured, Nerishka dismissed the bot and headed out the door. Moving briskly Nerishka followed the route to a suite one level up. Traveling with the a-grav pad proved to be a little complicated as the corridors began to fill with disembarking passengers bearing their own luggage.

  Nerishka received a good many glares and muttered complaints, which she ignored, making it all the way to the suite without incident.

  Once inside, she asked Lyra,

 

  asked Nerishka with a grin.

  Lyra paused for a few seconds, then added,

  Nerishka muttered as she smoothed down the dark fabric of her grey pants. She lifted her hand and primped her blonde hair, then laughed and shook it out, lengthening the strands and returning it to its normal blue-streaked state.

  To ensure she covered her tracks well, Nerishka spent a little time in front of the holo, bemoaning the fact that she didn’t have the kind of tech that would allow her to change her underlying features at will. Now wouldn’t that be something?

  She changed into in a long-sleeved gray dress that touched the floor and considered her hair for a moment before shifting its color once more to dark black. The long strands framed her face—which she’d made up to appear hollow-cheeked and dark-eyed.

  Anyone looking at Nerishka would likely feel a pull of sympathy at her emaciated frame. She appeared to be weighed down by something dark, like grief or persecution, or perhaps extreme poverty—an appearance that discouraged intrusion, and likely even any attention altogether.

  Well, she thought, looking herself over once more. Good-bye Kiarra, hello Andrea.

  SUBTERFUGE

  STELLAR DATE: 10.12.8948 (Adjusted Gregorian)

  LOCATION: Belshazzar, approaching Nimrud Station

  REGION: Xerxes, Ayra System (Independent)

  Lyra asked Nerishka, her tone revealing her curiosity, and admittedly a little confusion.

  She’d watched Nerishka prepare her disguise, the concentration on the agent’s face bordering on comical. Still, her attention to detail, her efforts to achieve exactly what she intended, was admirable.

  And fascinating.

  Nerishka smiled at the question, but Lyra detected nothing in her bio stats to indicate she was amused.

  Nerishka replied, clearly taking the question seriously.

  asked Lyra.

  Nerishka nodded as she adjusted the shadows in her face.

  Lyra considered that for a moment. It had never occurred to her to project her own failings onto another being, AI or organic. she asked, still confused but feeling as though she may understand if she considered the concept a little more.

  Nerishka admitted, the dryness in her tone coming through loud and clear.

  Lyra admitted it seemed an illogical leap but the organics she had met in the duration of her existence had proven thus far to be very much prone to illogical leaps.

  Nerishka made a face at Lyra’s comment.

  Lyra mused.

  Nerishka groaned, eliciting a fond smile from Lyra.

 

  Heaving a reluctant sigh, Nerishka replied,

 

 

  Lyra’s avatar grinned, then turned serious.

  Nerishka shook her head.

 

  Shaking her head, Nerishka said, Lyra watched as Nerishka leaned closer to the holo-mirror and pulled her bangs lower onto her forehead.

 

  Lyra considered her pairing with Nerishka so far—they’d developed a comfortable rapport, both in thought and method of tackling problems. She didn’t have a hard time admitting that she had grown to like Nerishka, becoming fond of her. And that’s likely where Nerishka’s reluctance lay.

  Nerishka let out a soft groan.

  Lyra’s tone wary as she sent a worried face.

  Nerishka waved a hand and smiled.

  Lyra found herself filled with a reaction which she interpreted as a form of joy.

  Nerishka’s eyebrows rose at the revelation. Lyra’s confession had blind-sided her but given that Nerishka had likely only been thinking of her own emotional vulnerability, that was no surprise.

  Lyra was taken aback for a moment.

  >

 

  Nerishka shook her head and Lyra hid a guilty smile. She did tend to segue all too often. Nerishka continued,

 

  Nerishka’s lip rose in a sad smile.

  Lyra asked, curious.

  Nerishka nodded.

  Lyra paused for a moment. It wouldn’t have been an unusual thing, especially when most Hand operatives are supremely mission-focused.

 

  asked Lyra, knowing she was treading on uneven territory.

  Nerishka stiffened and then let out a laugh.

  Lyra responded with her own chuckle; one that was devoid of amusement.

  Nerishka sighed. Then she paced a few feet and rolled her shoulders.

  Lyra said, her tone gentle now. She had read them, but she had refused to interpret them in any way, not until she heard Nerishka’s version of the events.

  Nerishka’s face slackened, all evidence of emotion fading.

  Lyra sent a hugging avatar. Lyra said with a cheeky wink.

  Nerishka snorted.

 

  Nerishka didn’t reply.

  Lyra studied Nerishka’s physiological reaction to the mention of Valkris; her gut had tightened with nervous anxiety. Whatever had happened when she’d left home more than two centuries ago, still haunted Nerishka. How bad could it have been to stay so fresh for all these years?

  Nerishka would tell Lyra about it one day. Of that she was certain.

  VALKRIS

  STELLAR DATE: 07.15.8758 (Adjusted Gregorian)

  LOCATION: Maitreya, Valkris

  REGION: Vela Cluster, Transcend Interstellar Alliance

  One hundred and ninety years ago…

  Nerishka’s reputation was one of strategist, problem solver and calculated killer. In fact, she almost preferred things to go wrong. It added a little spice to the mission. Who would want a boring kill anyway? May as well pull the trigger from a convenient rooftop a kilometer away.

  She stood before Kalki, the Grand Matron of Varani, the Ruling House of Valkris, knowing deep down that this had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  Coming home had been inevitable; Nerishka wasn’t the type to break promises, and family had always meant so much to her. She owed her father, Valan, a visit, had promised to come home repeatedly, ever since she’d more or less defected to the Hand.

  But Father hadn’t wanted to see her go—even though he’d understood. He had lost his beloved wife Sirene to the Valkris Espions, and now he faced losing their daughter too. Yet, he’d always put the needs of his loved ones first. Which made neglecting him feel all the more wrong.

  And now Nerishka had to face the woman who had refused to allow her to join the Hand—for reasons still unknown to Nerishka.

  Kalki stood on a carved stone balcony overlooking a valley filled with trees and plants that burst with color. The Palace of Varani was situated on the highest peak of the valley city of Maitreya, a position only afforded to the ruling house.

  The grand matron was tall, curvaceous and dangerous. In her deep purple robe, Kalki was the epitome of regal. She shifted her gaze from the view and studied Nerishka, offering a smile that was both a pleasant welcome and a threat.

  “I see you’ve dressed accordingly,” Kalki said with a smirk as she ran her eyes along Nerishka’s form.

  Though Nerishka was tempted to fiddle with the voluminous folds of her silk dress, she steeled herself against the urge. She had worn the appropriate clothing because it had been expected.

  The crinkled silk of her floor-length royal blue dress hugged her own curves. Miniature flames embroidered with gold and silver thread were woven randomly into the fabric, echoing an element of the coat of arms of House Mitala.

  Everything in Maitreya had a purpose. And everything had to be done just so.

  Nerishka bowed her head. “I hope the choice of garment suits,” she murmured then straightened. “You look well, Matron Kalki,” she said softly, hating this part of the social dance. She’d have much preferred to get right to the point.

  Kalki raised a hand and waved it at the stunning scenery. “Did you miss it? I know you never wanted to leave in the first place.”

  Nerishka’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t that I never wanted to leave, I just never wanted to be an espion.” Nerishka almost shook her head as the words left her mouth. It was all well and good to be a straight talker, but to do so during an audience with the highest ruler on the world of Valkris was risky at best.

  But the woman merely nodded, her features now inscrutable. A light breeze danced around the two of them, tossing hair and fabric into disarray.

  Damn these slits, Nerishka muttered silently as she grabbed the long panels of her skirt as they billowed in the air to reveal her bare legs. She wasn’t the self-conscious type, but Kalki often made things more uncomfortable than necessary. Nerishka had gotten the feeling that the scion of House Varani had been interested in more than just a relationship of servitude.

  Sadly, despite the woman’s beauty, Kalki hadn’t stirred any fires of longing or love for Nerishka. Could that have contributed to her fury when Nerishka had fled?

  “So, to what do we owe the honor of your return?” Kalki asked, her gaze slipping momentarily to Nerishka’s thighs as the fabric flew backward on another gust of wind.

  “I wanted to visit my father,” Nerishka replied softly, “and the Hand wishes to repay their debt to you.”

  “You mean considering you fled Valkris to work for them without my authority? Without a formal contract in place?”

  Nerishka took the question as rhetorical and remained silent. Thankfully the wind had died down, and she no longer needed to protect her bare legs.

  As she stared Nerishka down, Kalki smirked, leaning her hip against the stone balustrade as though she couldn’t be more relaxed. “I hope you’ve seen your father by now.” When Nerishka nodded, the woman continued, “Because you will remain incarcerated until such time as I am satisfied with the deal the Hand offers, both in compensation
for your services to date and in reparation for damages to our trust as a result of your defection. Oh, and of course, in consideration to your future engagement with them.” Kalki’s smile was cold as she spoke the equally icy words.

  “And if the Hand does not wish to negotiate?” asked Nerishka, knowing the answer the moment the question left her lips.

  Kalki sighed deeply, then pouted. “Then, of course, we will move on to the only other option we have available for traitors and defectors.” Her lips shifted into a lazy smile as she raised a finger and drew a line across her throat.

  Seriously?

  Valkris Espions were usually terminated using a lethal dose of toxins. Was Kalki just being melodramatic or did she have a more grand end to Nerishka’s short and rebellious life in mind?

  Nerishka schooled her features and bowed. “If you will give me leave to speak to my liaison at Airtha and relay your term—”

  “No need,” Kalki cut her off, her tone icy. “Rudas has already sent a message on a jump gate courier. No doubt they will be here shortly.” Nerishka was sure that the scion’s AI was most efficiently carrying out his orders, but shortly wouldn’t best describe the length of Nerishka’s incarceration if she had to wait for someone to come. Best case scenario, she’d be enjoying jailtime for nothing short of a month.

  A flick of Kalki’s finger brought a pair of guards out onto the balcony, both garbed in white, their long shifts cinched at the waist by wide black leather belts holding an array of knives. The first guard—a swarthy mustachioed fellow—approached cautiously, his fingers tense as they curled around a pair of alabaster handcuffs.

  Nerishka lifted a brow, her gaze leaving the cuffs and meeting Kalki’s cool grey eyes. “I’m the scion of House Mitala,” said Nerishka, admiring how controlled her own voice was, in volume and passion. “Surely you would not insult our House by throwing me in a cell?”

  Kalki burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear. You are too amusing.” Her laughter faded almost instantly and she tossed her long blue hair back over her shoulder. She pointed a finger at the cuffs in the guard’s grip. “Those…they aren’t for your wrists. Over the last few years, I’ve overseen the development of a few interesting toxins. The cuffs contain a selection of the most potent poisons we’ve been able to manufacture. We’re well aware that you’ve likely developed a certain immunity to some of the poisons of our world—Subash would no doubt have ensured that—so we’ve covered all our bases.”