“To that lift,” the mercenary—Hazel, that had been her name—said. She pushed Ying toward the end of the corridor. One lift ride and two levels up, and they would reach one of four docking bays on the station, the one where Wolf’s ship waited. Ying knew that well.
“Wait,” Ying said.
Hazel didn’t. She pushed again, the toe of her boot kicking the back of Ying’s bare heel, and forcing her to keep walking.
“I intend to kill Wolf,” Ying said. “Trust me, I’m not looking to escape, but I would appreciate it if you would let me make a quick stop along the way.” She tilted her head toward the kiosk. “Let me take something useful that I could use on him.”
“You come armed like an assassin, and he’ll be suspicious of the company,” Hazel said, but she did pause to look toward the kiosk.
“Not if he’s dead. Besides, I don’t want a pistol or even a knife. Just a capsule full of powder.”
“His people will search you, find it.”
“Only if it’s an extremely thorough search.” Ying arched her eyebrows over her shoulder.
“Ew.”
Ying almost laughed, mostly because the childish word sounded so inappropriate coming out of such a tough woman’s mouth.
“Does your captain have a reason to want to keep Wolf alive?” Ying tried to think of a way to sway the woman into helping, because unfortunately, she did need help. She had no money on her, so she would need to borrow some to make a purchase.
“No, Wolf has rubbed him in the wrong way in the past.”
“So give me the tools to make him go away.” Ying took some comfort in the fact that Hazel hadn’t resumed walking yet. “If I survive, I’ll pay you back. Maybe I’ll even sell Mandrake Company some of the medical equipment on the ship at a steep discount.”
“Medical equipment?”
“Marat seemed to think your captain might be interested in it.”
“Marat, huh?” Hazel grumbled with disapproval.
Ah, perhaps she should not have admitted to such familiarity. She had mostly started to think of Marat by first name because it had been shorter and easier to remember than his last.
“He spoke of some girlfriend of the captain’s who might have a use for it,” Ying said, pushing on.
“Do you really intend to kill him?” Hazel turned Ying around to look her in the face.
Though she hated being manhandled, Ying resisted the urge to try to punch her and pull away. “That was always my goal. And it will happen whether you deliver me naked or not.”
“Explain.”
The mercenary had the clipped tone of someone used to giving orders, and Ying did not care for it, but she forced herself to do as told. If there was a chance, Hazel could be convinced to help...
“He killed my father,” Ying said. “I will kill him.”
For a long time, Hazel stared at her, her face as hard and unyielding as ever. As Ying was accepting that she wasn’t going to get help, not from the flinty mercenary, Hazel surprised her by pointing at the kiosk.
“Go. Show me what to buy.”
Ying rushed to the kiosk. With every passing minute, more people entered the shopping area, proof that a new day was coming. All it would take was security—or Wolf’s androids—to catch sight of her, and she would be dragged back to that ship by her fingernails.
The kiosk didn’t sell anything that was designed to kill anyone—given the administration’s lack of policy on weapons and murders on the station, she didn’t know why not—so she selected three drugs that she could combine to make a deadly substance.
Hazel swiped her finger along the chip sensors to pay for the packets. “You get caught with your drugs, and I don’t know a thing, got it? Neither does Mandrake Company.”
“Mercenaries remain ignorant. Got it.”
Hazel squinted at her. “I’m going to regret this, I can tell.”
7
Marat hated the idea of leaving Ying to face that pirate by herself. Even if that had been her plan all along, it had been flawed from the beginning. Who set themselves up to suffer first before finding an opening to exact revenge? Someone thinking with her feelings instead of her head.
Yeah? Like you’re doing now?
Marat scowled at the voice from the back of his mind, especially since it sounded a lot like Striker. That was the last person he wanted playing the role of his conscience.
As Marat marched along, he eyed the sergeant out of the corner of his eye. Though Striker had put away his stun gun, it—and plenty of other weapons—remained close at hand. Marat might be able to trick Striker and then overpower him, but to what end? If he ran into the station and caught up with Hazel as she was handing Ying over to the pirates, how would that help? He would only get both of them killed. He needed more of a plan.
Unfortunately, the only thing that popped into his mind was clubbing Striker and running. Would Mandrake bother coming after him if he disappeared into the bowels of the station again? Especially if he was bright and left his comm-patch and tablet behind, so he couldn’t be tracked again?
Maybe not, but he found himself strangely reluctant to turn his back on the company. There was no job, no future waiting for him back at home, and he doubted Fleet would take him back after he had served as a mercenary. Even if he helped Ying kill Wolf, what guarantee did he have that Ying would want anything further to do with him? The universe felt like an empty place. As odd as it was to admit, Mandrake Company was the closest thing to a home he had at the moment.
They walked past a lift with a map of the public areas of the station bolted to the wall next to it. With all the different wheels and domes and levels, it almost looked like a schematic. That made Marat think of the countless schematics he had stored in his brain, not for space stations but for the various models of Fleet ships. He remembered the Mercy well, the Fleet medical cruiser he had served upon. Even if Wolf had modified his craft heavily, Marat knew he could find his way around if he could get inside. He also knew the infrastructure front-to-back, including the fire suppression systems.
With that thought, an idea flashed into his mind. But he and Striker were less than fifty meters from the airlock the Albatross was hooked up to. Once he was back on the ship, his odds of getting off again would be nil. He envisioned the captain standing there in his leather duster, his face as cool as chiseled granite as he glowered at Marat and asked him what idiocy he had been about.
“Striker,” Marat said, coming to a stop.
“What?” Striker asked warily, his hand resting on his stunner again.
“Did the captain just say to bring me back, or did he mention the message I sent?”
“What message?”
Marat grimaced. What if the captain hadn’t even read it yet? Would it matter? Probably not. He, like Striker and Hazel, would see this as some kind of thinking-with-his-penis ridiculousness and judge him—and maybe punish him—appropriately.
“About Ying’s cooking skills and the fact that she’s Grenavinian,” Marat said.
“She’s Grenavinian?” Striker asked. “You sure she didn’t just tell you that? She doesn’t have green eyes, and she doesn’t look like she knows a plant from a gun.”
“Not every Grenavinian has altered eyes. Sergeant Hazel doesn’t. And she knows a lot about plants, such as how to cook them. And how to poison people with them.”
“Grenavinians are supposed to love nature and be peaceful, not run around poisoning people.”
“The captain is from that planet, and he runs around shooting people.”
“Yeah, people like us, if we don’t get back.” Striker jerked his arm toward the airlock. “Come on.”
“What did he say exactly?” Marat stood his ground. He was tempted to comm Mandrake, even if it was the middle of the night, and he was probably sleeping. How much more trouble could Marat get into right now?
Striker spun back around, exasperation stamped on his face. “He didn’t say anything, you dense ox. That’s why
we’re trying to get you back before he knows about everything and has a reason to come down on your ass.”
Marat blinked. “I thought he sent you.”
“No, I told Hazel what was going on, and she agreed to help me get you. Haven’t you figured it out yet? We look out for our own around here. We’re trying to keep you from getting kicked out of the company, or worse, and we don’t want the ship attacked because of some pointless squabble with a pirate known for underhanded fighting.”
Another time, Marat might have found the sentiment noble, but nothing but irritation filled him now. He was being dragged back even though nobody had ordered them to do so?
“What if I could get rid of Wolf without any threat to the company?” Marat asked.
Striker squinted at him. “What’re you thinking?”
“I know his ship. I know how to stop fires from breaking out on his ship. And I know how to start one and to make sure the suppression systems don’t come on line to stop it too.”
Striker’s jaw shifted back and forth as he contemplated this. At least he hadn’t shot down the idea right away.
“I know you’ve got that background,” Striker said, “but wouldn’t you have to be on his ship to do that?”
“To start a fire, yes, but some of the old Fleet override codes might work, if he hasn’t thought to alter them.” Marat wasn’t sure how much to gamble on that—he would certainly think to change all of the codes if he stole a ship, but the factory stuff that was hardwired into the equipment wasn’t that easy to change. If Wolf didn’t have an expert on board, he might not have bothered. It wasn’t as if Marat could ignite a self-destruct sequence or anything like that. “I could probably set off a test cycle or an alarm that tells them there’s a fire somewhere in the ship. Looking for it would distract them and…” He was thinking as he spoke, the words coming out quickly as the idea formed. “And what if a couple of fellows from the station’s fire-fighting squad showed up, demanding to go aboard to check on the alarm, since the pirate’s ship is docked here?”
“Station’s fire-fighting squad?” Striker asked slowly, looking around at walls decorated with scorches from laser blasts and dangling ceiling panels that had never been replaced. “What makes you think this hole even has such a thing?”
“It might not, but that’s even better for us. We’ll borrow a couple of maintenance uniforms and show up at the ship to do a search.” Marat eyed Striker’s grenades. “I think I can modify a couple of those and use the chemicals to quietly start a fire in some back cabin, and then we can get Ying and deal with Wolf while his people are trying to put it out.”
“We?” Striker jammed a fist against his hip. “We?”
“I assumed you would want a part of the heroics, Chief of Boom. So you could write about them in your comics.” In truth, Marat did not expect Striker to help—he would settle for Striker turning his back and pretending not to see Marat escaping into the station. Still, though he spoke calmly, his plan daunted him, and he wouldn’t mind help. If Wolf’s crew was even half the size of Mandrake’s, sneaking around the ship and getting to the captain would be challenging, even if he managed to send smoke billowing down the halls.
“Sergeant Hazel would shoot me if I went along with anything you’re saying. And the captain would do worse than shoot me. You ever seen him lose his temper? He’s killed crew members who have crossed him. With his bare hands.”
Marat had heard such stories, even if he hadn’t seen it for himself, but he kept his face sturdily optimistic. He knew that had happened before the captain had met Ankari, and he doubted he would kill someone with his bare hands in front of her. Marat would just have to make sure she was around when he returned to receive his punishment.
“How can he be mad at the two men who are going to bring his girlfriend the cook she’s been dreaming of?” Marat asked.
Striker snorted. “As if that crazy girl is going to want to join the company.”
“I think she will. She doesn’t have anything else left in the world.” A feeling Marat could empathize with. He wished he had already made Ying the offer, not that he had the power to do so. Still, Mandrake might feel differently about someone who wanted to sign on versus what he could only assume was a fling on a space station.
“Shit, Azarov. What exactly were you doing in that tunnel when we came up? You didn’t tame that she-tiger, did you?”
“Of course not.” As if anyone could “tame” Ying. He wouldn’t even want to try. Earning a smile was much more appealing.
“Huh. You think she’d let me have another good look at that tattoo? For my comics. I want to make sure it’s realistic.”
“I think she’d jab a pen in your eye if you tried to lift her hem.”
“Oh, I know that, but I thought you could lift it, and I could stand back.” Striker sighed and peered over his shoulder toward the airlock for a long minute.
Sensing the decision he was making, Marat kept his retort to himself.
“Too bad I left my flamethrower in my cabin,” Striker said.
Marat grinned. “You’ll help?”
“I’m not promising anything,” Striker said, pointing a finger at Marat’s nose, “but you show me that you can make some trouble happen on that pirate’s ship without him knowing who did it, and maybe I’ll go with you to start some fires. This is my shore leave, after all. I’m supposed to be having a good time.”
Since Striker was agreeing to help, Marat wouldn’t question the morality of someone who considered lighting fires a good time.
“Just need to find a public terminal I can use.” In case Wolf had some good intel people, Marat did not want to risk connecting to the pirate’s ship from his own tablet. He might know about fire suppression software and hardware, but he didn’t know a thing about hacking or hiding his virtual tracks. “What are the odds that computer time will be reasonably priced here?”
“About the same as the odds of me getting another look at that girl’s tattoo.” Striker sighed and cast a longing look toward the airlock before he and Marat turned down a corridor and headed in another direction.
* * *
Ying took small, demure steps as she approached the airlock, keeping everything clenched so she would not lose her clandestine cargo. Sergeant Hazel walked behind her, a pistol jammed realistically against her spine. So long as she didn’t trip, Ying should be fine. Or so she told herself. That did not keep her heart from hammering against her ribs and sweat from trickling down the sides of her face.
A security android stood beside the airlock, watching her approach with its pale face emotionless, though she caught its lips moving slightly as it murmured into a comm. Ying wondered how thorough of a search it would do before letting her on board. With luck, it wouldn’t expect an attack from a bed slave.
As Ying stopped in front of the android, a shadow darkened the back of the tube attached to the airlock. Captain Teneris Wolf strode toward her, a pleased smile on his hard face. Ying washed all of the expression from her own face, though it was hard not to show the hatred she felt for him, or the fear that churned inside of her. She had hoped to deal with his security people first and have time to prepare herself before she had to face him.
“Well, well,” he said, eyeing her up and down. He clucked with distaste at the shabby robe. “Is my property being returned to me? How thoughtful.”
Sergeant Hazel said nothing.
Wolf reached for Ying’s face, as if to clasp her chin in his hand. Forgetting about the pistol at her back, she dodged to the side and slapped his arm away. That was her intent, but he anticipated the attack and moved even more quickly than she had. Though she managed to get her fists up in a boxer’s defense, he bowled into her, nearly knocking her from her feet.
Afraid she would lose the capsule of poison, she didn’t dance away as quickly as she might have otherwise. He caught her by the robe and spun her, hefting her from her feet and slamming her against the wall beside the android. As his face came i
n, his lips rearing back from his teeth, Ying tried to ram her knee into his groin. She caught his thigh instead, and the blow did not slow him. He pinned her with his weight and leaned in.
She thought he would inflict some kiss on her or maybe bite her, but he stopped with his lips two inches from hers, his eyes gleaming as they stared into hers.
“I looked forward to breaking you when you were just a slave,” he whispered, “but now that I know whose daughter you are, I will relish it even more.”
Even though he was hurting her, his body mashing against her breasts and his hands digging in, she gave him her best defiant sneer. “Been doing research, have you? Impressive. I wouldn’t have guessed you could master using the network.”
“I’ve mastered much. Far more than your weak father ever did.” He grinned, then his head darted in, and a flash of pain came from the side of her head before she realized what he had done. He’d bitten her ear hard enough to draw blood.
She tried to twist away, but he was easily twice her weight. Her toes barely touched the ground, and she had no leverage. He pulled his head back just enough to look her in the eyes again. His grin almost seemed to hold madness this time, and his lips glistened red with her blood. He ran his tongue slowly across the lower one and ground his hips into her.
Ying had expected this, all of this, but she couldn’t quite sublimate the panic that threatened at the feel of his hard cock through his trousers. Worse, she worried that she wouldn’t have the opportunities she had hoped for, now that he knew exactly who she was. He would be aware of her reputation, her education, and what she could do.
As much as she wanted to kill him herself, Ying couldn’t help but glance past his shoulder to see if Hazel was still there and what she thought of him. With his back to her, maybe she could shoot him.
Indeed, Hazel hadn’t lowered her pistol when Ying had lunged away. But she was looking at the android, not at Wolf. It held a pistol aimed at her face, even as hers was aimed at its chest. With them standing off against each other, nobody was in a position to shoot Wolf.
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