MindRogue

by Connie Suttle

  "Yeah, and he owns seventy-six scrapyards—they're huge, like scrap warehouses. Several of them occupy small moons, they're so large," Travis said, consulting his comp-vid. I appreciated the fact that he'd skirted the double-dick phase of this conversation.

  "Do we know whether he keeps good records of his sales and purchases?" Trent asked, pulling Travis' comp-vid closer to get a better look.

  "Doubt it," I said. "Charla said he used to work for Jewl. I think that has criminal intent written all over it. Look at it this way—if Jewl misappropriated something, how easy would it be to hide said misappropriation in a warehouse so vast, you'd have to use a shuttle to go from one end to the other?"

  "What about scrapped or disabled ships?" Travis asked the question I wanted answered.

  "We don't know. All Kooper has at his disposal are the legal records Ex'ero keeps. There's nothing to prevent him from keeping other objects, let's say, in case they're called for, or if the right buyer comes along."

  "What if he worked for the other two of the Big Three?" Dori asked. "We know they got killed in the Battle of Campiaa, but what about their assets and hidden employees?"

  "Perhaps we need to pay a visit to Ex'ero sometime," Travis suggested. "Did you tell Miz that Le'Vestar was on Jaledis and part of the robbery at Kend Enterprises?"

  "Not yet. I'll tell him that Mae is safe for now—if nothing else, at least that information should give him some hope."

  "You didn't see where they are?" Trent asked.

  "That's buried in the part of Lev's obsession that's still in place," I shook my head. "That would be the most difficult nut to crack in the Prophet's repertoire, you understand."

  "Damn, that would have made our lives so much easier," Trent rubbed the back of his neck.

  "Yeah. Now, we know where all seventy-six of Ex'ero's scrapyards are. I say we approach the nearest one without delay, and find out if they've had any unusual requests for starship parts or fittings."

  "I'm all for it," Travis agreed. "Now that Opal and Kell are working on the family murders, I feel better about looking into this. Who knows, if we find anything, it could either lead us to the Prophet, or allow us to set a trap for him."

  "Exactly what I was thinking," I said. "And I believe we may be getting some company."

  "Who?" Dori asked.

  "King Rylend wants to send someone who can help us track Jiles Tamber. He says he has someone who is a power-scent tracker. They can recognize Jiles' power residue if he's used it anywhere, without casting a more elaborate spell. After a while, most power signatures deteriorate. The power-scent outlasts that, and this is where the tracker's talents come in."

  "That could turn out to be more than handy," Travis said. "Those trackers are sort of rare, too. I've only heard of four or five who are currently working, and those were born in the last hundred years."

  "If the Prophet gets addicted to having warlocks at his beck and call, then we'll need all the help we can get," I sighed. "Jiles is a Second-level warlock. We don't need the Prophet getting greedy and setting his sights on the more powerful ones. Bel Erland said he'd bring the power-scent tracker to us in time for dinner."

  "I hope he's able to settle in with the crew," Dori said. "Do you think he's been made aware of the particular talents onboard?"

  "I'm sure Bel will fill him in," Trent grinned. He should know; Bel Erland was his nephew.

  "Good. We don't need somebody wanting to pet the Ocelot, now do we?"

  Travis snickered. Every now and then, Dori let the Ocelot loose and patrolled the corridors of XIII. The crew knew to greet the Captain and then get out of her furry way.

  Even I knew not to pet the Ocelot when someone else was watching. "Come back for dinner tonight," I told Travis and Trent. "Bring Sabrina and a few others if you want, to meet the new arrival and share a meal with Bel."

  "We'll be back," Travis rose from his chair in my office and stretched. "Come on, bro, we have time for a sparring session if you're interested," he slapped Trent on the shoulder.

  "Right behind you," Trent agreed. Both folded space at the same time. Only a few seconds passed before there was a knock on the galley's outside door.

  "Come in, Zan," I called out and opened the door with power.

  "Here are the flight plans for Captain Dori," Zanfield handed a comp-vid to her. "Mapping out all of Ex'ero's scrapyards, from nearest to farthest, as requested."

  "Thank you, Zanfield," Dori grinned. "Tell Phillip he did a great job."

  "I'll tell him." Zanfield turned to go.

  "Zan, will you inform the crew that we'll have another temporary agent joining us tonight? Ask them to come to dinner in the main dining area, so I can make introductions."

  "I'll see to it," Zanfield said.

  "Zan, did you, ah," I studied the side of his head. He'd added green and red streaks to the yellow and purple, making his head look like a dyed, ripe jori-wheat field.

  "Like it?"

  "It's stunning."

  "Good. Exactly what I hoped for." He grinned, waved as he turned on his heel and sailed out of my office.

  "Do you think he's begging for attention?" Dori asked softly.

  Yes, I answered in mindspeech. Zanfield doesn't know how much we care for him, so he's keeping with his old ways.

  Money isn't everything, I guess, Dori responded.

  Not even close, I acknowledged.

  King's Palace, Karathia

  Bel Erland

  Every time Perri reported to us, she'd change her hair with power. Not just lengths and styles, but colors, too.

  Today, her hair was shaved on the sides, while the top remained a medium length. She'd tied those lavender and pink strands into a neat bun at the top. Dad always said she looked as if she should be working in a clothing-and-jewelry boutique, rather than ferreting out power-scents for the Crown of Karathia.

  At twenty-six, she was the youngest and best power-scent tracker we had. And, as she could detect the power-scent through a touch of her palms, she generally wore fingerless gloves unless she was working.

  "I don't want to wear an ASD uniform," she announced, as if she were conversing with a friend instead of the King of Karathia.

  "I doubt a uniform will matter to Randl Gage," Dad's words were as dry as petrified wood. "What matters to him will be your talent and your ability to get along with the crew."

  "I can get along—if they leave me alone."

  This, of course, stemmed from her childhood. Even among other Karathian children, she'd been different. Her family was quite poor, too, which further ostracized her. It wasn't until she was re-evaluated at age eighteen that the power-scent ability was recorded as a specific talent.

  The Crown offered to pay her way into a prestigious Alliance school. She now held a degree from Le-Ath Veronis University, and had a Vamp U shirt to show for it. All through those four years, however, she'd retained her loner status.

  She'd worked for the Crown for the past three years, and her tracking success rate was the best we'd seen.

  She was eccentric and somewhat disrespectful, but managed to get her work done in spite of it.

  If anybody could handle her, I figured Randl could. He'd take one look at her and know exactly what her troubles were. Dad agreed with me on that.

  "Bel will take you to the ship in three hours. You're to meet the crew at dinner. I hope you can handle that much," Dad said.

  "As long as they don't try to discuss the weather or their cats," Perri sniffed.

  Dad and I turned toward each other, then. Dad grinned. I stifled a laugh. "Be ready to go when Bel comes for you," Dad turned back to Perri.

  This will be interesting, I sent to Dad.

  Big time, Dad replied.

  BlackWing XIII

  Randl

  I found the boxed medallion on my desk after a workout session with Vik.

  For the new member of your crew, was written on the box in Zaria's hand. I recognized her writing, having seen it several times.
Send mindspeech if there are problems getting the new recruit to wear this appeared on the box as I read the initial inscription.

  Dinner was in an hour; Bel would likely send mindspeech before his arrival with the new agent. I wondered if uniforms would be needed.

  "You asked to see us?" Markus tapped on my open door. Right behind him stood Miz, the one I really needed to see.

  "Come in," I invited. "Have a seat. Want a drink before dinner?"

  Miz was immediately suspicious. He stiffened, expecting bad news. "It isn't bad news, Miz," I told him, pulling a bottle of bourbon from my desk drawer and floating three glasses toward my desk. "I'm sure you've heard about the theft from Kend Enterprises?" I asked as Markus and Miz took their seats.

  "We heard it from Vik," Markus nodded.

  "Good. The news I have is this," I began pouring bourbon. "Le'Vestar was a part of that crew, sent by the Prophet. While that may not sound like good news, it actually is. I could see in the images I got that he was in the process of peeling away the Prophet's obsession. It's not halfway gone or even close, but I could see enough in him to know that Mae'Sandar is safe."

  "Thank the gods," Miz blew out a breath. Markus handed him a glass of bourbon, which he emptied in one swallow.

  P'loxett

  V'dar

  The two spheres in my left hand clacked together softly as I turned them over repeatedly while thinking. More and more, I was finding the new captive, Lev, quite useful. He and the female—both engineers, had done more to get my ship up and running than all my remaining pilots and workers combined.

  Too, he'd been the one who'd pointed me in the proper direction, without realizing it. Scrapyards and recycling plants were everywhere, and many of them held parts, pieces, hulls and disabled ships in their inventory.

  With the machine recently stolen from Kend Industries, we could manufacture what couldn't be found, and we'd have a fleet of ships again—enough to pull the Alliance fleets into another battle.

  Only this time, they wouldn't find it so easy to defeat me.

  Yes, I had plans. My recent experiments with food items were quite successful. Many of my workers were engaged in furthering that endeavor, while I watched over it carefully.

  Time to pull back on the deaths of innocents, perhaps, letting Alliance Directors think I'd turned my thoughts elsewhere.

  Soon enough, I'd initiate my plans against both, and they'd never know what hit them.

  As far as my main enemy, Randl Gage, went, I still searched diligently for him. He'd turn up sooner or later, or I'd convince the Alliances to hand me information in exchange for—wait.

  Ah—that was it. I could let them know that I'd curtail my efforts to murder innocents, in exchange for information on Randl Gage. Yes. If I killed one more family, then made my offer, they'd be more than willing to give me whatever I wanted.

  "My Lord," Varok approached me with a comp-vid in his hand.

  "Yes, Varok?" I stopped rolling my spheres and gave him a smile—I was feeling magnanimous suddenly. You'd have thought I'd given Varok his fondest desire, he was so pleased by that small gesture.

  "Randl Gage, my Lord." He handed the comp-vid to me. I blinked at the news distributed by a reputable news conglomerate.

  One of Alliance's most-wanted, Randl Gage, is now in charge of the BlackWing fleet, reliable sources report, the headline read. The BlackWing Pirates, scourge of the shipping lanes, are now more dangerous than ever, the following text began.

  "Hmmph. We shall see who is more dangerous," I sniffed and handed the comp-vid to Varok. "I have plans to make," I told him. "Randl Gage has ships I wish to take—along with his head. See that I am not disturbed."

  "Of course, my Lord."

  I resumed the clacking of my spheres.

  BlackWing XIII

  Perri Wilker

  A fucking BlackWing Pirate ship? What the hells was going on? The Crown Prince smiled at my confusion and didn't say anything in explanation.

  He'd given me a list of crew members to study, but I hadn't bothered to look at my comp-vid, yet. More than anything I wanted to know why the Crown of Karathia had anything to do with the BlackWing Pirates.

  "Welcome," the man said as Prince Bel steered me into a spacious office. He stood behind a solid wood desk that would bring thousands—if not hundreds of thousands, if it were as old as I suspected it to be.

  "The desk belonged to Jewl Yarro before I stole it," the man said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned.

  I took a closer look at his eyes—and blinked.

  He was blind.

  "You know, that's the first thing everybody notices when they meet me," he said, pointing to chairs before his desk. "Please, sit."

  "Perri, this is Randl Gage, who works undercover for the ASD and CSD," Prince Bel said as he sat comfortably on one of the offered chairs. "The entire BlackWing fleet is an undercover operation for the ASD, and occasionally operates in conjunction with Jett Riffler's department. The one they're hunting now is a threat to both Alliances. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you can't repeat this information to anyone else outside the BlackWing fleet. That includes other ASD or CSD operatives."

  "Are you saying you don't trust them?" I frowned at the Prince.

  "They may have been unwillingly compromised," Randl said.

  "Unwillingly?"

  "By a Sirenali's talent. Are you familiar with that race?"

  "Not really."

  "Dad told you that we were hunting Jiles Tamber," Bel explained. "He has been obsessed by a Sirenali's talent, to serve the Prophet."

  I drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. I'd read about the Prophet and his dealings on Campiaa. A criminal like that terrified me.

  "He can order almost anyone obsessed," Randl said. "Only the most powerful can hope to deflect that power. Don't worry, hunting him is my problem. We're only asking you to sniff out warlocks or witches that he's taken."

  "Doesn't he have power, too? That's what I assumed when I read the reports on Campiaa City."

  "He does. Terrible power, actually," Randl said. "That's why I'm going after him, rather than anyone else."

  I frowned again and a derisive statement almost left my mouth.

  Almost.

  "Randl is the only one who's ever faced off against the Prophet and survived," Bel said. He'd read my reaction quickly.

  "He thought he killed me. You see I survived," Randl held out his hands. "He knows it, too. I'm at the top of his hit list, now, because we beat him back on Campiaa."

  "Why isn't that in any of the reports?"

  "Because we're undercover, remember?"

  "Hmmph."

  "I have something for you," Randl slid a small box across his desk. "Wear this at all times, including in the shower. Never take it off."

  "What is it?" I couldn't keep the suspicion out of my voice.

  "A gift from a Larentii," Zaria appeared at Randl's side, all eight feet of her, blue skinned and blonde-haired. "If you wish to survive on this mission, then wear it. Ultimately, the choice is yours. It will only work for you and nobody else," Zaria added.

  I stared at the female Larentii in shock, afraid to blink while thinking that the vision would disappear.

  "I'm really here," Zaria said gently. "That medallion is of my own making. Wear it. For me, if nobody else."

  With a nod to Randl and Bel Erland, Zaria folded away.

  "You know a Larentii?" I stumbled over the words.

  "Zaria is the one who brought my Quin back to me," Bel Erland sighed. "The Crown of Karathia owes her much."

  "Zaria has helped me greatly in my search for the Prophet," Randl declared. "Wear the medallion as she asked. I have a feeling it will prove a necessity before this is over."

  Randl

  With shaking fingers, Perri draped the fine gold chain over her neck, tucking the medallion beneath the white shirt she wore. Leather pants and boots rounded out her outfit; clear evidence that she admired the Falchani, much l
ike another I knew.

  I didn't want to tell her that not only was Ilya Ironsmith known to me, he was one of Zaria's mates. Ilya was Karathian, like Perri, and, like Perri, he admired the Falchani. Unlike Perri, however, Ilya had actually fought beside the Falchani.

  I would enjoy introducing her to Travis and Trent. If she wanted to learn bladework, they'd probably volunteer to teach her.

  Perhaps they could convince her to come out of the shell she'd built around herself, too. When time permitted, I'd have a private conversation with the King of Karathia about her background and upbringing. For now, that would have to wait.

  "I believe dinner is waiting for us," I said, rising from my chair. "Shall we?"

  Perri

  I knew who he was the moment he sat at a nearby table.

  Zanfield Staggs. The man who was so rich, he could buy planets. What the hells was he doing here? I thought this was a dangerous undercover operation, which, in the natural order of things, would exclude anybody rich enough to keep their hands clean of it.

  Zanfield is a valuable member of this crew. I received mindspeech from Randl Gage. I expect everyone in the BlackWing fleet to treat their coworkers with civility and respect.

  How did he know what I was thinking—from the beginning?

  "Randl knows everything," a smiling Falchani—a real Falchani—sat across from me. Then, another, identical to the first, sat beside him. The woman who sat next to the second one? I knew immediately that both were hers.

  Damn. Always the way.

  "Captain Travis Tetsuya," the first identified himself. "Captain Trent Tetsuya," he introduced his brother. "Sabrina Kend," he indicated the woman.

  "Related to Ruther Kend?" I asked, sounding ruder than I intended.

  "His daughter. She's working with us, designing new weapons and such."

  "Why are Falchani working with the ASD?" I suppose I still hadn't worked through my spiteful thoughts.

  "A better question would be why are Queen Lissa's twin sons working for the ASD," Sabrina said.

  This one could bite back if bitten first. Good to know.

  Civility and respect, or this will be the shortest assignment you ever had, Randl informed me.