Mandrake Company- The Complete Series

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  “Well, I’d like to thank him for his generosity.” Ankari waved at the packs. “Maybe he’d let me do that over lunch or dinner.”

  Jamie’s face grew skeptical. “If you can make that happen, I’ll be impressed. I’ll be even more impressed if you can get something better than an egg log out of him.” She lifted her unopened breakfast package.

  “I will.”

  “Better stop glaring so hard at him then,” Lauren added without looking up from her work. “I’m pretty sure he knows you want to fry his balls off for blowing up your ship.”

  “Er, was I that obvious about that?” She had been trying hard to be civil the day before...

  “I don’t know. Maybe only to people who know you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  Viktor was changing into his exercise togs when his comm chimed. Just when he thought he was off duty for the day...

  He didn’t recognize the face that popped into the air above his desk, along with the request to speak. The unshaven man had a nose as pointy as a spearhead, wore a bandana over greasy dark hair, and his eyebrows had been pierced twenty or thirty times, each little ring sporting a small colorful gem. Wryly, Viktor wondered if any of them were made from aliuolite. The man’s scruffiness—and jewelry choices—meant he wasn’t fleet, but didn’t proclaim much else. Viktor called up the communications and intelligence station before answering.

  “Yes, sir?” Lieutenant Thomlin asked.

  “Someone’s calling my private line. Any idea who?”

  “No, sir, but I can find out.”

  Viktor could find that out for himself in about two seconds, but he said, “Do that and trace where he’s calling from too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Viktor answered the request—the caller had waited rather than leaving a message. “Captain Mandrake here.”

  “This is Captain Goshawk.”

  The name was vaguely familiar. A bounty hunter? That sounded right.

  “I reckon you’re a busy feller, so I won’t take much of your time, Mandrake. You’ve got some prisoners that Lord Felgard wants right now. Actually he wanted them last week.”

  Viktor folded his arms over his chest. He hadn’t told anyone outside of the ship about the prisoners except for Lord Felgard himself. It was possible he had a spy on board—it wouldn’t be the first time—but it seemed even more possible that Felgard had put the word out in an attempt to hasten Viktor along his course.

  “So?” Viktor said.

  “You’re a man of many words, aren’t ya, Mandrake? The so is that I’m willing to offer you eighty percent of what’s on their heads, take them off your hands right now, and deliver them straightaway to Felgard while you finish your business on Sturm. You’ll get paid right away, and I’ll take over the risk in delivering them, for a fair percentage of the bounty of course.”

  Interesting. Had Felgard suggested this to Goshawk personally? Or had he merely made Mandrake Company’s cargo and coordinates known to those who might be able to get him his prisoners more quickly? Either way, it pissed Viktor off.

  “Risk in delivering them?” Viktor asked. “They’re three academic women. They’re not much of a risk.” No need to mention that one of them had already escaped a couple of times.

  “Even if they’re not a threat, there are always external risks, Mandrake. You know this. Space is dangerous. You never know what obstacles might fall out of the stars and into your path.” A smile spread across Goshawk’s face. It was as greasy as his hair.

  Viktor knew a threat when he got one.

  Lieutenant Thomlin’s face popped up in the air beside Goshawk’s, and he made a keep-him-talking hand motion. He must be close to pinpointing the location of the bounty hunter’s ship. Good.

  “Do you even have eighty percent, Goshawk?” Viktor asked. “That’s a lot of money, and you look like you can’t even afford razor blades.” Or soap.

  “Not everyone likes that military look, Mandrake. I’m surprised you, of all people, keep it up.”

  “What does that mean?” Viktor asked, though he already knew. Anger welled in his chest in anticipation of an insult.

  “It means I know you’re a deserter, Mandrake. Everyone does. And nobody would miss you if you were to disappear. I also know your people are trying to trace me, but you know what? I don’t care to have you showing up on my doorstep uninvited. Think about my offer. I’ll be in touch again.”

  His face winked out, leaving only Thomlin staring back at Viktor. Actually Thomlin was frowning down at his control panel. “He’s got a scrambler, sir. A good one.”

  Viktor grunted, never enthused with excuses.

  Thomlin rushed to add, “I can tell he was calling from a ship, though, and that it’s in orbit around Sturm, not on the planet or any of the other moons.”

  That was more information than Viktor had expected. Did Thomlin think he’d wanted to know the pub Goshawk would be drinking at that night? When he’d been in the fleet, his unit had possessed equipment that would have allowed that sort of precision, but Mandrake Company couldn’t afford anything that sophisticated, so Viktor kept his expectations realistic.

  “So he’s waiting for us,” Viktor said.

  “Maybe so, sir,” Thomlin said.

  Goshawk might have been in the area for other business when Felgard had contacted him, but for the promise of a hundred thousand aurums, he would have made this his only business. For twenty thousand, he might not have, but Goshawk probably hadn’t been sincere when he’d made that offer.

  “Get me everything you can on Captain Goshawk, and pass the word to keep an eye out for him, but we’ll continue with our mission on Sturm.” Viktor stopped himself from saying “as planned,” because he decided, in the middle of that sentence, to change one thing.

  “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as Thomlin’s face disappeared, Viktor called up his second-in-command, who was on shift at the moment.

  “Yes, sir?” Commander Garland asked from the bridge, his short gray hair and leathery face coming into view.

  “Our shuttles are scheduled to dock at Morgan’s Rest tonight. Cancel that. We’re going to go down unannounced. Pick a spot in the jungle, somewhere close to Sisson’s camp. Don’t tell anyone except the pilots.”

  Garland’s brows rose. He clearly wanted an explanation—Viktor would apprise him later—but all he said was, “Yes, sir.”

  In case there was a spy, Viktor wouldn’t make these updates widely known. He would also make sure they left some good men behind on the ship, in case Goshawk decided to come knocking on the door while most of the crew was gone. The Albatross had weapons and shielding enough to defend itself, even with a minimal crew, but bounty hunters tended to be crafty. The ones who survived in the business, anyway.

  Another chime came in as soon as Garland disappeared from view, and Viktor grumbled to himself. He was supposed to join some of his men for a workout, and the need to pummel people was building in him like water set to boil.

  “Sir? It’s Cutty from the brig. One of the prisoners has been bugging me all day, saying she needs to talk to you. I didn’t want to bother you when you were on shift, but she harassed me until I promised I’d at least ask you. Says she wants to thank you.”

  To thank him? For the return of their equipment? That was all Viktor could think of, and he promptly assumed it was part of some ruse. She probably wanted to steal his tablet so she could check to see if that acquaintance of hers had replied. Viktor found himself curious about what that acquaintance might have come up with too. And he wouldn’t mind talking to her, to get answers to some of the questions he had, of course.

  “Sir?” Cutty asked. “Should I tell her you’re busy?”

  “Is it Ank—Markovich?” Viktor wasn’t sure why his brain wanted to insert her first name. It wasn’t as if she had invited him to use it. He was probably the last person she would invite to use it.

  “Uh. I don’t know. It’s the one with
brown hair, dimples, and a mouth you wish she’d use for something other than talking.”

  Viktor snorted. So, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Markovich’s attributes, the ones the jumpsuit didn’t hide anyway.

  “All right.” Viktor checked the time again. He needed his exercise session, and people were waiting for him, but after that, he was off duty and free of expectations until they reached Sturm. “Take her to the mess hall in an hour. I’ll meet her there.”

  “You will?”

  Viktor didn’t know how to respond to the shocked tone, but felt he had to say something, lest rumors get started about how the captain was rolling one of the prisoners. He supposed it didn’t really matter, but some might question his professionalism. He had flaws enough for an entire army, but he wasn’t one to take advantage of his position when it came to personal desires. He had already seen Markovich more often than he had seen any other criminal they’d turned over to the law—or the highest bidder—and the crew might be wondering about it.

  “I have questions for her,” Viktor finally said.

  “Oh, about the business? Striker said we might be able to make some piles if we got in on that. Too bad she’s going to Felgard, eh? Or is she still going to Felgard?”

  Striker had a big mouth. And a poor understanding of what pre-revenue meant. But if he had started rumors about that instead of about the captain asking a prisoner to dinner, then that suited Viktor well enough, at least for the moment.

  “She’s going to Felgard,” Viktor said, “but her research may have some interesting applications that might serve us. It’s worth learning more about.” In truth, he was skeptical about her business, but he doubted anyone would question his desire to improve the health and stamina of his crew, if something like that was truly possible.

  Cutty chuckled. “So she goes and her research stays, and we either use it or sell it to someone else? Crafty, sir.”

  Crafty, right. That was him. “Mess hall in an hour, Cutty.”

  “Yes, sir. She’ll be there.”

  5

  The captain wasn’t in the mess hall. A handful of crew members were sitting in pairs, eating from plates of food that looked somewhat more promising than breakfast logs, but not much more. If anyone who served in the capacity of chef or cook worked on the ship, it wasn’t apparent.

  Ankari quickly moved on from inspecting the food to inspecting the people. She spotted a bulge in a mechanic’s pocket that might have been a tablet. Maybe she could accomplish this part of her mission before she met with the captain. Pickpocketing a random mechanic ought to be easier than pickpocketing him.

  Unfortunately, her guard, the all-too-alert Corporal Cutty whom she had been wrangling with all day, had her handcuffed. Her wrists were in front of her instead of behind, so she might still be able to pick a pocket, but it wouldn’t be easy. The flexible material that comprised the cuffs might be pliant enough to conform to a prisoner’s wrists, but it was still stronger than steel.

  “The captain is coming here?” Ankari asked, even though Cutty had already explained that to her.

  “To question you, yes.”

  Not for coffee, eh? “So, I should sit and wait?” Ankari lifted her hands toward a table on the other side of the one where the mechanic and another man in coveralls were dining.

  Cutty shrugged. “Can if you want.”

  All day, he had vacillated between being laconic and being exasperated with her, sometimes both. It had made her long for the witless lust-infused conversational style of Striker.

  Ankari strolled toward the table she had indicated, pausing at the side of the mechanic. She bent to peer at the men’s plates—and to place her hands close to his cargo pocket. She would be disappointed if that bulge was nothing more than some rolled-up gloves stuffed in there. But it had more of a rectangular form. She kept her back to Cutty, hoping to hide the movements of her hands.

  “What are you two eating?” Ankari asked when the men gave her inquiring frowns. “It smells—” good wasn’t quite the right word, “—better than the wrapped bars they’ve been giving us.” A truth, though that might simply be because this food had been heated up. The plates had the lumpy, even portions of a meal that had come out of a box or a bag.

  “This is supposed to be a quiche,” the mechanic said, “and that’s a dogeater.”

  As he pointed at his comrade’s plate, Ankari checked his pocket. Buttoned, naturally. She tilted her chin toward the second plate as she worked to thwart those buttons without touching the man’s leg and alerting him. “A dogeater? I haven’t heard of that, er, dish. What is it?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” the man eating it said. “A meat patty of some kind. It might have been something big enough to eat a dog. It might have been a dog once.”

  Ankari finished with the buttons and slipped her hand into the mechanic’s pocket. Yes, those were the hard corners of a tablet. She leaned closer, touching her chest to his shoulder. She would have made a poor professional thief, because she always felt sleazy using her body for misdirection, but in her experience, men were less likely to notice their pockets being picked if there was a boob pressed against some part of their anatomy. “Wouldn’t the people who supply all of your fine and hearty fare have called it a dog log, if that were the case?”

  “Uh,” the mechanic said, glancing at her chest—and not, fortunately, his pocket— “I think a dog log is something else.”

  “Who are you?” the second man asked and glanced past her to Cutty. Uh oh, if the direction of his glance was correct, Cutty wasn’t in the position she had left him in.

  Ankari smiled and slid the tablet toward her own pocket as she straightened. “I’m—”

  “A prisoner,” Cutty said from behind her ear.

  His hand clasped about her triceps, and Ankari almost dropped her prize. She fumbled it, caught it, and stuffed it in her pocket, all the while keeping her face bland and friendly and giving no indication that her heartbeat had just tripled.

  “One who’s waiting to see the captain,” Cutty said.

  “Should she be roaming around the mess hall while she waits, Corporal?” the mechanic said, an edge in his tone, along with that subtle snottiness that implied that he outranked a corporal.

  “Probably not,” the second diner said, scooting his chair back. “Here, let her sit in my lap until the captain comes. She’s cute.”

  Cutty sighed, turning Ankari around. “Why do I have a feeling you get in trouble everywhere you go?”

  Ankari did her best to hide the new bulge in her own pocket. “That’s not... strictly true.”

  “Come on.” Cutty pushed her toward the door. “I’ll take you to wherever the captain is. I’m supposed to be off shift now.”

  Ankari looked for an unsuspicious way to tell the man she would be happy going back to her cell. The longer she wandered around with a tablet in her pocket, the more likely someone would notice it. Or the mechanic would notice it missing and realize what had happened during the dogeater discussion. But, after trying all day to arrange a meeting, Cutty would know she was up to something if she suddenly lost interest in it. He was already talking to someone over his comm and getting information on the captain’s whereabouts.

  “He’s in the cargo bay. This way.”

  Hm, what of interest had happened in the cargo bay to make him forget a date with his favorite prisoner? Ankari trailed her guard down to the bottom deck, the ladders awkward to navigate with the handcuffs, not that Cutty cared. He huffed and grumbled as he waited for her, then led her to one of the doors she had passed by the day before.

  The grunts and smacks coming from the chamber inside surprised her. A hoot and some jeers followed. It sounded more like a boxing arena than a cargo bay.

  Cutty led her out onto a grate platform with stairs leading up to a catwalk and down to a floor covered with friction matting. A woman was already on the platform, leaning against the railing and looking down. The noises were coming
from the floor. A couple of crew members were using weight-lifting equipment set up in one corner, but a dozen others were gathered around a knot of barefoot men alternating between throwing punches and trying to ensnare each other’s limbs for take-downs. Two were topless and two others wore short-sleeve black T-shirts. At first, Ankari thought the wardrobe choices might represent who was on whose team, but it soon grew apparent that three of the men were ganging up on one. Granted that one could take care of himself; his hands and feet were a blur of motion as he avoided being trapped between the others and dealt damage of his own at the same time. Even if most of Ankari’s own training had been with her father and her siblings, and she’d only had to defend herself on the streets a few times, she recognized a skilled practitioner when she saw one. All of the men were fast and agile, but the solo figure did an amazing job of anticipating attacks and responding, almost before they were launched.

  “He can’t keep that up forever.” Cutty sighed and leaned against the wall beside the door.

  Only then did Ankari realize they were watching the captain. From up here, the gray sprinkled in his dark hair wasn’t noticeable, nor was there any sign of what had to be forty years in his movements as he fought off all those attackers. More than that, he was getting in numerous good blows of his own. One man tried to jump him from behind, only to take an elbow in the solar plexus with enough force to go flying backward. He rolled to his feet quickly, so he wouldn’t be vulnerable to further attack, but it was clear from the way he grasped his chest that he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

  “I’m sure he’ll have time to interrogate you soon,” Cutty added.

  Interrogate? Disgruntlement replaced her admiration for the captain’s speed and strength. Was an interrogation what Mandrake had planned for her? Not the acceptance of an apology? Even if she had lobbied for this meeting all day with the sole intent of stealing his tablet, she found herself disappointed that he’d had military matters in mind when he had agreed to see her. The emotion confused her—what else could she have expected? She ought to be more worried about what this interrogation might involve. Last night, he had seemed amused by her escape, almost amiable in his rumpled nightclothes, but maybe that had been an act. Maybe he had secretly been furious that she had fooled his people, and he now intended to extract every iota of information from her in whatever manner possible.