by S M Briscoe
One of Sierra’s opponents snarled a curse as his third jot landed on a black fate pad, which had been a forty point space only a moment earlier. The ninety point round he had been on track for vanished along with half of his current score. The smirk on Sierra’s face did nothing to improve his mood. Kern knew this was strategy on her part, as she was far too disciplined to reveal her emotions to any opponent unintentionally, which gave him all the more reason to be concerned. She would know, as well as he did, that her opponents were only a few bad throws away from completely losing their composure. The fact that Sierra was purposely egging them on told him that she was looking, if not hoping, for a fight. If things continued the way they were going, he had no doubt she would get what she wanted.
Though Sierra was hardly a pacifist, and at least partially enjoyed what she did, he knew that it was not in her character to go out looking for trouble like this. The uncertainty of their situation was affecting her as well. This was her way of blowing off some steam. Kern had a different, less dangerous approach to dealing with stressful situations. Drinking down the last of his beverage, he turned back to the bar and waved the server-mech over.
“Give me another one,” he said, when it arrived.
The mech hadn’t yet returned with the refill when an alert tone began to chime from inside his jacket pocket. He quickly withdrew the small remote device and glanced back to where Sierra had stopped her game, mid turn, and was staring back at him while holding her own identical remote.
The breach detection device they had installed in the entrance of their rented living space had been tripped, indicating either a break in, or more hopefully, the arrival of their guests. Kern felt an electric charge grip him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It was the same feeling he got when behind the controls of a ship, just before entering the frag storm. The thrill of excitement that quickened his heart rate and gave him that extra boost of adrenaline. He nearly jumped out of his seat, signaling Sierra that it was time to go with a quick gesture of his head toward the exit.
Sierra nodded in return and dropped her remaining jots on the nearest table, her earlier playful demeanor replaced by a look of cold, no nonsense resolve. When she turned to move towards the exit, one of her opponents stepped into her path.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he protested. “We’re in the middle of a game.”
The look Sierra gave him could have burned a hole through a wall, the man not appearing bright enough to heed the warning it was meant to communicate.
“The game’s over,” she answered him, her voice like ice. She turned to walk away and the rather large man grasped her arm, holding her in place, causing Kern to cringe. Not for Sierra, but for what she might end up doing to the man for laying a hand on her.
“Not with all those credits still up for grabs,” he said, motioning to the stack of credit chips on the table that had collected through the game rounds.
“Keep them,” she offered. “You can use them to buy you and your friends some decent Domjot lessons.”
This raised a bout of laughter from the surrounding spectators, but only served to further agitate her opponents, the other two men crossing the floor to stand around Sierra and their comrade. Kern remained where he was, casually leaning up against the exit doorway while watching the scene unfold.
“That’s very funny,” the man said, keeping his firm grip on her arm. “But, I’ll be taking those credits and the rest you took from us. You can play us for them or just give them over. It’s your choice. Either way, you’ll be giving them back to us.”
Sierra struck so quickly, the large man hadn’t even begun to react before her thumb had been driven into the small of his throat. His eyes shot open to nearly the size of his gaping mouth as he gasped for a breath of air that could not pass his injured windpipe. More gurgling than coughing, he fell to his knees while grasping his throat.
Sierra’s attention moved to her remaining two opponents, who both looked shocked. “If there’s anything I can’t stand,” she began, “it’s a sore loser. What about you two?”
“Yeah, me neither,” one of the two men answered quickly.
“Can’t stand them,” the other added.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said.
Kern simply grinned from his position against the doorway, watching one of the strongest, most intimidating women he had ever known do what she did best. He was just grateful she was on his side.
Chapter 10
The residential accommodations were about what Jarred had expected from this area of Trycon’s core. The filthy walls and half powered lights in the corridor made the place look more like a prison than a residence. Here and there, squatters sat on the floor, passed out from drunkenness or some other form of inebriation. The air was stale and pungent with the rotting stench of something he didn’t care to put an image to.
Elora and Ethan were staying close on his heels as they made their way down the corridor, not appearing overly taken with the setting themselves. Unfortunately, this would be the kind of place they’d find residence in as refugees, though Jarred didn’t feel the timing quite appropriate to say so.
“This looks like the place,” he announced instead, stopping in front of one of the numerous, evenly spaced apartment doors, this one matching the designation on the access card he was given. He held the keycard up to the door’s scanner, hesitating briefly before swiping it.
The scanner gave an affirmative chirp and the door’s locking mechanism disengaged with a thud before sliding open. Jarred held a hand out for the others to stay back as he cautiously poked his head inside the apartment, giving the room a quick scan, and finding it empty, but for a few simple pieces of furniture.
His caution quickly dissipated, giving rise to annoyance instead and he stepped into the small, cramped apartment, walking from the door to the opposite wall in only a few strides. He stood in the center of the apartment module, as it was, and placed his hands on his hips as he looked around.
What now? If he’d come all this way for nothing . . .
“There’s nobody here,” Elora announced from behind him, having entered the room behind him with the others.
“Yes,” he replied, sarcastically. “I noticed.” He turned around to look at Orna. As always, her expression betrayed no emotion. “Well? Any ideas on where this friend of yours might be?”
“I am afraid that my ignorance of the situation matches your own,” Orna answered him, simply.
Jarred eyed her for a moment, unsure of whether he should have taken offense to the reference of his ignorance or not, but decided to settle on the latter. Orna’s responses were always cryptic, leaving him to question their true meaning, but it did not seem in her nature to cast insults. Though, it would be no insult to reveal one’s own ignorance to them. Jarred shook his head at himself. Even in his own thoughts, he seemed unable to escape Orna’s presence and now, to his growing dismay, it was starting to look like he never would.
“Maybe they got tired of waiting for us,” Ethan suggested.
“Yeah, maybe,” Jarred replied, trying to figure out just what was going on. He had been trying to prepare himself for the unexpected. All he had was a name to go on, so any number of things could have been waiting for them. He’d considered numerous ambush scenarios, as he always did when entering into an unknown situation. Their hosts could have been few, many, hostile, he had no idea, but it had never occurred to him that they just wouldn’t be here.
“So, what do we do now?” Elora asked, a bit of annoyance in her tone.
“Not much we can do,” he answered, taking a seat in an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room. “I guess we just wait. They should show up eventually.” He turned towards Orna before continuing. “Unless they met the same fate as your other friends.”
“What fate might that be?”
Jarred was about to leap up from his chair, but decided against it and raised his hands instead, when he saw
the source of the new voice, and the nasty looking Mark II disruptor she was aiming in his direction. The rest of the group seemed to have come to the same decision as they all stood frozen, looking to the two strangers filling the doorway.
Jarred may have been struck by the woman’s beauty if not for the fact that she was threatening his life. Her long black hair fell down over her shoulders, framing her sharp facial features which were dominated by a dark set of eyes, both fierce and world weary. Her clothes were functional, but close fitting enough to flatter a shapely figure, though he was more curious about where she might be hiding the extra weapons she was sure to have on her.
Simply by the way she held the military grade sidearm that was being held steadily on him, he could tell that the woman was an experienced marksman, and felt no urge to test the theory. From her stance and body language, it was apparent enough that she was a professional at whatever it was that she did, as she seemed to be perfectly comfortable threatening strangers with deadly weaponry. She’d done this kind of thing before, and with her fiery eyes shooting laser beams at him now, it didn’t look like it would take very much to make the transition to the real thing.
Jarred let his gaze drift to the slightly less threatening man standing behind the woman, who was also holding a weapon. Her pilot, he assumed from the spacer garb he was wearing. As opposed to his female counterpart, it was obvious that he wasn’t as experienced or comfortable with this kind of thing. Where she would easily blend into almost any crowd, he would just as easily stand out like a sore thumb.
Jarred let his eyes fall back onto the woman on point in the doorway. “Sierra Lore, I presume?”
The woman nodded. “You presume right. Who might you be?”
“A friend of a friend,” he answered, cautiously reaching one hand into the vest of his tunic. When Sierra raised her gun to discourage any hostile action on his part, he slowly and carefully removed the chain he had been given by the dying man at Wasteland for her to see, holding it out on display.
Sierra’s eyes focused on the trinket and Jarred noticed a flicker of recognition flash across her faced before she returned her attention to him, questioningly.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded.
“From your friend,” he answered evenly. “At an outpost on Isyss.”
“Where is he now?” she asked, with enough edge in her tone to let Jarred know he was being threatened.
This was the part he had been worried about. He wasn’t sure how this woman was going to react to the news, but lying to her wouldn’t improve the situation and she would most likely see right through it anyway.
“He was killed,” Jarred began, pouring as much respect and sympathy into his words as he could. “Along with the woman he was with.”
Sierra seemed to let his words sink in, her expression slowly darkening, and he feared for a moment she might shoot him right then and there. A brief glance at Elora’s concerned expression let him know that she had come to the same conclusion.
Jarred rubbed his fingers against his palm, ready to trigger the hidden plasma gauntlet into his waiting hand. He wouldn’t be quick enough to beat her to the shot if she took it, but maybe he could avoid a lethal hit and take the two of them out. He doubted it, but he was running out of options.
“How did they die?” Sierra asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide whatever mix of emotions she was feeling, her disruptor locked steadily on Jarred’s face.
Jarred took a deep breath, keeping his eyes locked with Sierra’s. “There was a Sect raid on the outpost. They were both shot trying to escape. Your friend asked me to help them . . . to bring the person they were protecting here to you.” He held the chain out again. “He told me to show you this, so you would know he sent me.”
Sierra reached out and took the chain, examining it for a moment.
“They died to get her out,” Jarred continued, watching the woman’s expression closely, her eyes tracking across the room to where Orna was standing calmly, as usual.
Sierra took her in for a moment, as if trying to get a read on her. “Orna?” she asked.
Orna simply nodded once in affirmation, but gratitude and reassurance seemed to pour outwards from her very being.
Sierra pulled her attention from Orna with some obvious effort and let it drift over to Elora and Ethan before returning to Jarred. “Who are the other ones?”
“Stowaways,” he answered, relaxing a bit. “Do you think you could lower that cannon now? I get a little nervous when people are leveling guns in my face.”
Sierra reluctantly obliged, lowering the disruptor, but not putting it away. The man behind her looked relieved as he did the same.
“Sorry, everybody,” he piped in to everyone in the room, looking genuinely apologetic as he holstered his own weapon. “It’s been a stressful couple of days. The accommodations here are terrible. They have a small infestation problem. A big one, actually. I haven’t slept. At all.”
Jarred stared at the man for a moment, unsure exactly of what to make of him. “No need for apologies,” he assured him. “I would have done the same thing.” He turned his attention back to Sierra. “Maybe you should come in and close the door.”
* * *
Over the next half hour, Jarred recounted the events of the past two days, describing the Sect raid in detail along with the presence of the High Commander, which Sierra and Kern, her pilot counterpart, seemed especially concerned to hear.
They had been reluctant to disclose very much in the way of details regarding Orna’s importance to them and of their thoughts on the raid at all, though Jarred didn’t really want to know. They could keep their secrets. It was none of his business and he had no intention of becoming involved. As far as he was concerned, his part in this was finished, and not a moment too soon.
“You’re a bounty hunter?” Sierra asked, skeptically.
“That’s right,” Jarred answered her, starting to become annoyed with hearing the question, for more reasons than he cared to admit.
Sierra eyed him closely, obviously suspicious of his motivations. “So, you risked your life to help Orna escape and brought her all the way here . . . why?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea,” Jarred admitted, shooting Elora a look. “Someone twisted my arm.”
“Well, then I guess we owe you our thanks,” Kern interjected without hesitation, obviously trying to serve as some kind of example to his female counterpart.
Sierra didn’t seem totally convinced, but her expression softened slightly as she conceded with a simple nod, which Jarred took to be something at least close to gratitude.
“There’s no need for that,” Jarred protested. “I’m just glad we found you. Taking her off my hands is all the thanks I need, believe me.”
The conversation was cut short by a quiet persistent ringing coming from a remote device on Kern’s belt, which he immediately reached for.
“What is that?” Elora asked, also seeming to note the concerned expressions that had suddenly come to Kern and Sierra’s faces.
Kern’s wide eyes came up to meet with Sierra’s as he spoke. “Proximity alarm. Someone’s boarded our ship.”
A new, much louder alarm began to sound out, making everyone in the room jump, this one from the hotel itself. The comm system built into the apartment module, as well as those out in the corridor, sang out repeatedly for a few moments before an authoritative voice recording cut in.
“Attention, residents of living quadrant 121-Alpha. A police patrol is in progress. Please, remain in your living assignments and await further instructions. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“This isn’t good,” Kern announced, as he and Sierra both stood up simultaneously, removing their sidearms.
“What isn’t good?” Elora demanded, taking hold of Ethan’s arm as she herself stood up. “What’s going on?”
Jarred slowly got up out of his seat, the automated security system continuing to repeat its message over the comm. �
�I think our friend, the High Commander has arrived.”
“That’s impossible,” Sierra countered, shooting him a look. “How could they know . . .” Her words trailed off as her expression became accusing, and Jarred didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking.
“Don’t look at me,” he responded to the unasked question. “If they’d been following us, which they weren’t, they would have had plenty of opportunities to ambush us before now.”
“Unless you were leading them to us,” she implied, her hand drifting back down towards her sidearm.
“If they’d captured Orna in the first place, they could have done that on their own. They wouldn’t need me to do it.” Jarred was sure to remain still and kept his voice calm and unthreatening as he defended himself. “Think about it. They could have just as easily been the ones waiting for you in here. And how could I have led them to your ship?”
Sierra seemed to think about this and Jarred could see her eventually come to the same conclusion, though her mood didn’t improve much as a result. “Either way, they still had to have tracked you here. How else could they have found us?”
Jarred had to admit that she did have a point, but how could he have been followed? He would have noticed if they had been being tracked. That was his business. Plus, the Sect weren’t exactly known for running discreet operations. No, there had to be another explanation.