“There’s one small problem,” said Nate. He hadn’t reached for his blaster. The thugs paused, looking at the man in black, because this was the point where people would scream, or run, or shoot at them. Nate didn’t figure them for the intellectual persuasion, so they still had to spend compute cycles wondering: what the fuck is going on.
The man in black was a step ahead. “You do not seem concerned by your predicament,” he said. “That sounds like the Nathan Chevell we are looking for.”
Nate winced. “Captain.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s Captain Nathan Chevell,” said Nate. “I’ve got a Guild license and everything.”
“Captain Chevell,” said the man in black, “it is now time for you to die.”
“Now,” said Nate.
“Yes, now,” said the man in black.
“Now,” said Nate.
“That is what I am saying,” said the man in black, a single eyebrow raised in puzzlement.
“NOW!” said Nate. There was a short whine, then the window behind Nate ruptured in a shower of glass. Red light cascaded over one thug, his entire body painted in ochre, then the man exploded into wet chunks, the pieces on fire as they sprayed across the room. Nate covered his face with an arm, already rolling to the side, as the remaining thug pulled out a sidearm and fired at where he’d been standing. Plasma cracks tore hunks out of tables, the wall, random passers-by outside. Nate kicked over a table, huddling in the lee it provided. No real safety, not against blaster fire, but not being able to see their target would make those fuckers work for it. He pulled his blaster out, firing wild over the top.
“Captain,” said the man in black from somewhere deeper in the bar. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Your crew can make it out alive.”
There was another short whine, and the pop-splat of meat falling somewhere, coupled with a background sizzle. Screaming came to Nate before the smell of barbecue. A big shape looked in through the window, led by a heavy laser carbine. “Cap,” said Kohl. “You good?” He paused, looking at something behind Nate. Nate spared a look over the top of the table, taking in the second thug — trying to scream again, eyes wide, but no sound coming out. His left arm was gone, the flesh there smoldering. Harlow was nowhere in sight, having vacated his chair for some safer location. Kohl hefted the carbine, sighted, and pulled the trigger. The thug was colored red before he erupted in a shower of meat and fire.
Nate stood up, his metal leg creaking with the motion. “What part of ‘now’ do you not understand?”
“Aw, Cap,” said Kohl. “Dramatic effect, you know?” The big man frowned, moving his torso sideways a fraction. The snap of a blaster spat plasma past Kohl into the street behind him. More screaming. Kohl squeezed the carbine’s trigger again, and red light lazed across the bar.
Silence.
“You get him?” said Nate.
“Don’t think so,” said Kohl. “Slippery fucker, isn’t he?” Kohl swung a leg through the shattered remains of the window, stomping inside in a crunch of glass. “Lemme go find him.”
“I’ve got him,” called Grace, from the back of the bar. “Also, asshole, watch where you’re firing that thing.” Nate watched as she walked the man in black towards them, her sword at his throat.
“Gracie,” said Kohl. “I figured you would, you know.”
“You figured I could dodge light?” she said. “I’m flattered, but … how?”
“You’re just so … talented,” said Kohl.
“Anyway,” said Nate, to no one in particular, “here we are.” He considered the blaster in his hand, then the man in black. “You’ve found me. Nathan Chevell. Captain of the free trader Tyche. How can I help?”
The man in black gave a thin smile. “Could you die?”
“Not my preference,” said Nate. “I’m kind of curious about why you’re so hot and sweaty about that particular outcome.”
“Cap,” said Kohl. “We should take this outside.”
“Where all the screaming people are?” said Grace. The sword against the man in black’s neck hadn’t moved a millimeter. “Clever.”
“Please do take this outside,” said the man in black. “My people will see you with me, and cut you down like the traitor to humanity you are.”
“You what now?” said Nate. He tossed a nervous glance out the broken window. The thing about Earth was, with this many damn people, there were as many people running towards you as away from you. Outside that window? Chaos. Even with drone support, they had a few moments. Unless these assholes have backup close by.
“Oh, please, Captain,” said the man in black. “This is not the time for false modesty! You, the downfall of the human race. Treating with aliens. We know all about it.”
“Cap,” said Kohl. “You want me to waste this lying motherfucker?” The big man held his carbine like it weighed nothing. “There wouldn’t be enough teeth left to identify him, you know what I’m saying?”
“Blood,” said Grace. “They can always use his blood.”
Kohl gave her a hard look. “You do kind of take the joy out of a day’s work.”
“You know,” said Nate, “I’ve been accused of being a lot of things. I’ve been called — I believe unfairly — a lousy lover. All manner of players say I cheat at cards. There is a city on Gala Nine where there is a warrant out for my arrest for falsifying my identity on port paperwork. That one,” Nate shook his finger at the man in black, “is at least a little bit true. But the downfall of humanity? That’s a tall order. I’m more of a short order cook. Could you, uh, help me out? It’d help. You know. I’d like to learn — specifically — why you think I’m the downfall of humans.”
The man in black gave an expression that was half surprise, half disgust. “The last messages from Absalom were quite clear,” he said. “You set them up to die.”
“Huh,” said Nate. “That’s how this will play?”
“What?” said the man in black.
“If you had the actual messages from Absalom — the ones that were ‘quite clear’ — you would have a few more details,” said Nate. “Still. The Republic’s never one to let facts get in the way of a good ol’ fashioned witch hunt.”
Nate’s comm chirped. “Cap,” said El, “I’m getting some distressing radio chatter. The kind that indicates you’ve done a little more than run out on your check.”
“How distressing?” said Nate.
“I think there’s some kind of party coming your way,” said El. “Hope’s having trouble breaking into their comm lines, even with Penn’s codes.”
The man in black was smiling large now. “Ah,” was all he said.
“Can you come get us?” said Nate.
“You want me to fly the Tyche into an area of hostile action on the core Republic world?” said El. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Worth a shot,” said Nate, flicking the comm off. “Where the hell is Harlow?”
“Went out the back,” said Grace.
“He’ll be dead by now,” said the man in black.
“You sure?” said Nate.
“I gave the order myself,” said the man in black.
“Okay,” said Nate. “Best you be off now.”
“I … what?” said the man in black.
“Go. Shoo.” Nate waved his blaster.
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“Not yet,” said Nate. “Could always change my mind.”
The man in black gave him a cautious look as Grace lowered her sword. He took a quick couple of steps sideways, waiting for the rain of death. No rain of death came. He turned, scuttling for the back of the bar.
“You know that’ll come back on you,” said Kohl.
“I hate to agree with Kohl,” said Grace, “but that wasn’t wise.”
“I can’t shoot a man in cold blood,” said Nate. He was watching the man in black’s exit. “My moral compass isn’t that flexible. I need … a really good reason.”
“Like wha
t?” said Grace.
The man in black had made it to one of the fallen thugs. He reached down, grabbing a fallen sidearm. Nate could see it all play out, the spin, the shot, either getting him, or Kohl, or — and here, he felt a peculiar twinge — Grace, or some poor fool bystander outside. Hell. “Like that,” said Nate, leveling his blaster. He fired, plasma bolts tearing the man apart, sending his body backward in a rain of burning chum. “Let’s get moving. But first…” He moved towards the fallen body, searching the remains.
“Where to, Cap?” said Kohl. “Could try and blend in outside.”
“I think we need Harlow,” said Nate. A few good Republic coins on the body, a small comm device, and not much else.
“But he’s dead,” said Grace.
“Harlow?” said Nate. “Nah. Harlow’s not dead.”
“But the … guy,” said Grace. “He said.”
“The guy was Republic black ops,” said Nate. “They lie. It’s like their default setting.”
“How do you know?” said Kohl.
“You don’t hire black ops people to broadcast the truth,” said Nate.
“No,” said Kohl. “I mean how do you know he’s black ops?”
“No ID,” said Nate. “Let’s go find Harlow.” He wiped his hands on the man in black’s suit, standing up, his metal leg giving another creak. He held a hand out — that way — offering Grace a smile. “After you.”
CHAPTER TWO
EARTH.
Grace hadn’t been to Earth in a long, long time. Last time she was here, she’d walked out on her so-called family. Grace left them hunting her. She knew it wasn’t Grace they were hunting, but rather their asset. Mongrel she may be, but she was still cursed with amazing gifts by the standards of norms.
If only they knew what it was like to have everyone shouting at you all the time.
That’s what it felt like. Being on Earth was like being surrounded by a thousand DJs at the world’s biggest party, except they all had bad taste in music.
When she’d left her family’s house in Ise, it had been dark and quiet. She’d had the snapping fangs of the Republic at her heels ever since. They didn’t know her, but they also didn’t know what her father was capable of. Hopefully they never would. If they found out, humanity would have a worse enemy than the Ezeroc.
“You good?” It was Nate, calm voice at her ear, touch on her elbow.
“Yeah,” she said. “It helps having just one guy to focus on. With the noise.”
“Harlow’s still alive?” said Nate. “You’re sure?”
“Looks like a duck, walks like a duck,” said Grace. Since Harlow had run out of his bar, sprinting away as fast as his bartender’s physique would allow — which wasn’t fast at all — she’d been watching him with her mind. It took focus to keep his feelings — run/fear/betrayal/fear/panic/fear — in her head, but that focus helped to drown out the thousand or more mouth-breathers around her. Grace kept Harlow’s fear in her mind, watching it like a beacon. She could see it, if that was the right word, through walls. It was so bright that the usual tapering of distance kept it fresh. It was so loud.
She missed space. The hard black was … quiet.
“But, like, alive alive,” said Nate. “Not—”
“There’s only one kind of alive,” said Grace. “He’s not dead. Although he’ll give himself a heart attack. We should get after him.”
“Probably didn’t help,” said Kohl, “that you made him think you were selling him out.”
“That?” said Nate. “Naw. Harlow knew I was playing with them. Right?”
“Right,” said Grace. “That’s why he’s terrified.”
“Shit,” said Nate. “We best be off then. Lead on.”
“Best bloodhound money can buy, is our Gracie,” said Kohl.
Grace eyed the thug. “Asshole.”
“Sure,” said Kohl. But he said it with a grin, not a leer, and she caught nothing hostile coming off him. Maybe people can change. People like her father? When it was a cold and frosty day in hell, maybe. Kohl, by comparison, was wet clay, ready for shaping.
Grace sheathed her sword, the blade whispering back into the scabbard. She held it low and ready. Being armed was a Republic right, but walking through city streets with a naked blade would cause more than a little concern. She led Nate and Kohl out the back of the bar. Grace hadn’t caught the name of it on the way in, not that it mattered. They left by way of a kitchen empty of workers, none of the induction surfaces bright and ready to cook. No food smells, just the faint odor of another person’s fear. The alley door opened to her touch, swinging free. The lock hadn’t been set, just more evidence that Harlow was running blind.
People who ran didn’t think right. Grace knew this from her own experience — it was only when she’d stopped running she’d found this small family to call her own. A family where only one person — Kohl — had tried to kill her. Her luck was improving.
Tyche. Their ship, their home, named after the Goddess of Luck. Maybe names had power.
She squinted at the light of the alley. Despite the gray clouds threatening to rain again, the sky glared at her. Grace paused, turning left and right. Definitely left. Not that Harlow had left breadcrumbs, but there were more people that way, panicking and screaming, that would be useful for them to hide among while they moved. Just three more people in a crowd. The Republic’s survey drones would be less likely to mark them as of interest if they were just more stray human chaff in the wake of a random shooting. Say what you will about Kohl, but the man had a way of making a situation … more impressive.
Grace paused, but didn’t turn. “Kohl?”
“What’s on your mind?” he said. “Harlow still ahead?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking. About being conspicuous.”
“I’m big, I know,” said Kohl. “I can’t do much about that.”
She gave him a look over her shoulder. “What about the gun?”
He blinked, then looked at the laser carbine. “This?”
“You carrying another gun?”
“Well, actually—”
“I mean, another huge gun that’s big enough to see from space?” She waved at the sky. “Drones.”
“Lots of people have personal protection,” said Kohl. “Republic made it law that a person could carry something to defend themselves. We live in dangerous times. Hell, someone just shot the ass out of a bar. Goddamn, you know what I’m saying?”
“I think what Grace is driving at here is that it’s a little … too defensive,” said Nate.
Kohl eyed Grace’s sword. “And that thing’s not?”
“This thing,” said Grace, holding the scabbarded sword up — blade ever sharp, since Hope had recast it for her in the heart of the Tyche, “hasn’t been used to blow the windows out of a perfectly good bar.”
“I’m not sure Harlow’s place is good,” allowed Nate. “I mean, I’m on your side here Grace, but I think we need to be honest about Harlow. He’s—”
“Nate,” said Grace, “I’ve got this.” She looked back at Kohl. “Could you maybe compromise? Meet us half-way?”
“Like what now?” said Kohl. She was picking up genuine confusion/confusion from him, but the look on his face mirrored that. You didn’t need to be an esper to see he was having trouble processing the conversation.
“If you didn’t point it at everyone, you wouldn’t look like you were about to shoot them,” she offered.
“Oh,” said Kohl. “Right. I get you.” He let the gun fall on its sling, slipping it behind him. It dangled off his shoulder, barrel towards the ground. “Better?”
“Better,” she said. “Now don’t shoot yourself in the back of the leg.” She turned back towards the mouth of the alley, street panic ahead. Grace tried to ignore the drunk passed out under a pile of trash. The glare of daylight above the gloom around her made her want to squint. Just focus on Harlow. The man’s scent was getting fainter as he put some distance betwee
n them, but it was still out there, bright as a shiny new Republic coin.
They breached the alley mouth and hit the crowd, people still moving, shouting, cursing, and milling about. Perfect. An air car blasted overhead, rounding the corner to the front of the bar. That worked — they were headed in the opposite direction — but it also suggested the man in black hadn’t lied. He’d been connected, he’d asked for backup, and — lo! — here was the backup. Grace lowered her head, wishing for something to hide her face, but they hadn’t come here expecting to start a war.
Although: Kohl might have.
The tide of humanity was ebbing back out to sea, away from the Republic air car and the troops that implied. People weren’t stupid. Even tax-paying normals knew it was just a bad idea to be caught in the affairs of the powerful, even if you were a card-carrying sympathizer. There would be at least ten shock troopers coming out of that air car, primed to ask questions in a way that encouraged honesty. No matter how honest you were, they’d ask a couple more times just to be sure. Grace hadn’t been caught by them, not yet, and today would not be that day.
She set off at a steady walk, not hurried, but with a purpose. You hurry, they see that. You stop, they see that too. The trick was to move somewhere in the middle, not be one of the aberrant movement patterns that drew the eye of a careful watcher. A man ran past her from behind, jostling her shoulder, and she stumbled. If she hadn’t been so focused on Harlow, she might have felt that one coming. She’d need to be more aware, more alert.
Her head hurt. It did that sometimes when she had a lot going on. Her father had said it was all in her mind, and she would have laughed at the unintended irony if it wouldn’t have resulted in repercussions. Her father wasn’t a man with a shred of humor in him. She paused, closing her eyes. Just breathe.
“Hey.” It was Nate, his hand on her arm. She felt her shoulders relax at his presence, and wondered if this was how the rest of the crew saw him. Someone safe. Someone who stood with them against the terrors of the night. “You okay?”
Grace nodded. She looked out at him through a curtain of her hair, offering him what she hoped was an easy smile. “It’s … a lot.”
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