Dragon's Honor

by Natalie Grey

  Loki looked around himself. Sure enough, every other Dragon on deck was suddenly engaged in heartfelt conversation, or overcome with the sudden need to clean their weapons. Tersi and Sphinx were still staring at one another, almost shyly, in a little oasis of calm.

  Loki looked down at his tie and found himself smiling. He had come here expecting to be tested and pushed—and he had been. Hell, he had bruises from sparring that probably weren’t going to be gone for weeks, and he went to bed at night with his head spinning from tutoring in languages, knife skills, different weapons specifications….

  He hadn’t expected the way the team looked out for one another. He stared at his face in the mirror and blinked rapidly to keep the sheen of tears away.

  He hadn’t expected that he would ever find another home.

  “Talon.” Nyx leaned in the doorway. “Lesedi on the comms for you.”

  “She can’t possibly have found something already.” But Talon was already in motion, hurrying out the door with his tie in hand. The truth was, if anyone could find out Ellian’s plans in such short order, it would be Lesedi.

  He settled down in front of the screen with a smile. “Lesedi.”

  She looked him up and down and gave a faint frown.

  “What? What’s wrong with my suit?”

  “It’s not a tutu, that’s what’s wrong with it.”

  Behind them, Nyx gave a snort of amusement. She didn’t look at all embarrassed when Talon shot her a glare, just sat in a nearby chair and returned to her paperwork.

  “So what did you find?”

  “Well, it was the strangest thing. You see, I helped you get that message through to Ymir, encoded in another message packet, yes?”

  “Sure.” Talon waved a hand. Whatever wizardry Tersi and Lesedi had done together, he appreciated it without understanding it. He saw Nyx look up with a similarly blank, hopeful expression, and the two of them grinned at each other.

  “Mmm, well.” Lesedi looked incredibly pleased with herself.

  “Lesedi. I have to get back to the city, get Cade fitted for a suit without him spooking and running off, and then go to a party. I don’t have much time.” Talon glared at her.

  “Savoring the moment. Well, not so much the moment as my own cleverness.” Lesedi flashed a smile at him. “I recognized some of the addresses and byways, and I went back to look, and guess what message we piggybacked on? Oh, don’t guess, that could take all day. And you’ll never get it, I promise. Your contact on Ymir is a woman named Samara, apparently.”

  “Which you know because….”

  “Because someone else sent her a message.”

  “Someone else was in contact with her first?” Talon frowned. “We should join forces.”

  “It’s not resistance business—yet—but that may, indeed, be a very good option. And you could. Fairly easily. Because the person who’s contacting her … is Ellian Pallas’s wife.”

  Talon stopped dead in the act of looping the tie around his neck, and Nyx’s head jerked up. She looked at him.

  “Isn’t she the one Cade is—”

  “Yes.” Talon looked over at her.

  “So we’d have a contact in Ellian’s house who….”

  “Yes.” He stared down at the floor, his mind racing. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Is Pallas in on it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lesedi’s voice was measured. “I’m sending you the message, and a video transmission I intercepted later. Pallas seems to have promised his wife that she could keep contacting her friends on Ymir, so he gave her a way to do so. Whether the Warlord knows or not….” She looked deeply uncertain.

  “I’m guessing not.” Talon stared into the middle distance. “He’s got a lockdown on the planet, right? He doesn’t allow transmissions on or off. If he breaks that, even for a woman who can’t exactly run around doing whatever she wants … no, it’s a bad precedent. He wouldn’t allow it. So how’s Pallas doing it without him knowing, then?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Defense satellites,” Nyx said suddenly. She looked over at the two of them. “He provides the Warlord with weapons. I’d bet he got him the satellites, too. They’re probably armed, but they’d be able to transmit data just fine. So he knows the frequencies they operate at. He wanted to make Aryn happy….”

  “He’s not that kind of guy,” Talon said, at the same time Lesedi opined,

  “Ellian Pallas is hardly a touchy-feely kind of man.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nyx gave them both a look. “The odds he got her out of there because they’re really in love are, what, zero? He got her out because he wanted her and she went along with it because she didn’t want to die in a mine. But—but—I’ll bet you he wanted her to love him. Like, really love him.” She spread her hands at the two skeptical stares. “Fine, don’t believe me. I still think I’m right. He gave Aryn that way to contact her friend because he wanted to be the generous husband and he knows she can’t do anything to seriously disrupt … any of it.”

  “And yet, the woman she’s contacting is part of the resistance.” Talon gave her a look.

  “Which suggests Aryn may also have been part of it,” Lesedi chimed in.

  “Oh, I know.” Nyx gave a smile that wasn’t exactly kind. “And now we have a former-resistance-soldier wife who wants to be in contact with a current-resistance-soldier friend … with one of our guys as a bodyguard, inside the house of a man who supplies weapons to Ymir. We basically have an open line to the resistance, and quite possibly a way to find out what the other side is planning.”

  “Go back a moment.” Talon felt a grin starting on his face. He looked at Nyx, and then back to Lesedi. “I was wondering if I could turn Ellian, bribe him to get weapons we bought to Ymir, but that was entirely the wrong angle.” His grin widened. “The right question was, could I get him to help me without knowing that was what he was doing? And with Cade in place and Aryn being who she is … we might actually have a shot at that.”

  There was a knock at his study door and Ellian looked up.

  “Come in.”

  Christian Cordev eased the door open and slipped inside with a respectful nod. At 24, he was young enough that Ellian had worried he would be impulsive and unreliable, but the young man had a good head on his shoulders. He was deferential, clearly ambitious but did not want Ellian’s place.

  Ellian could always smell those. He used them, occasionally, until they outlived their usefulness, and then he disposed of them.

  Christian, however, simply wanted to rise. He followed orders and received his rewards. He was happy with that life. He did not like the uncertainty of finding clients and watching deals fall through—especially not in this line of business.

  That made him perfect for tonight’s task.

  He sat, with a pleasant expression on his face. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “There is apparently an attempt to make a weapons deal in the city tonight.” Ellian toyed with a silver pen.

  Other lackeys would protest that no one would dare do so, that Ellian was too feared for anyone to risk such a terrible thing. Christian, however, thought seriously about this. He did not suggest that Ellian’s intel was flawed. When he looked up, it was with an expression of calculation that he did not bother to hide.

  “Are they desperate, or are they stupid?”

  Ellian smiled. “I have the same question. No one seems to know anything about the identity of either the buyers or the sellers. You will find out for me.” He saw the half-second of worry in Christian’s eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to figure this out from scratch. We have a location—a party. You will go and determine who is there to make the deal. Then you will learn the rest of the details from them. I give you complete freedom. Use whatever resources you need.”

  Christian’s quiet satisfaction was evident, and he betrayed no signs of unease or worry. He nodded to Ellian. “I will present a full report in the morning.”

  “B
ring me the information whenever you have it,” Ellian corrected him. “I’ll wait up.”

  A weapons deal with new dealers was almost certainly someone stupid.

  But Ellian hadn’t managed to survive this long by relying on ‘almost certainly.’ He had survived this long by being careful—and assassinating anyone who had ideas of taking him out.

  7

  New security initiative. Title: Blackout. Believed to be against resistance. New officer assigned to Io District, India Quince. Surveillance installed on communications routers at secondary guard headquarters will allow us to monitor official communications and give you advance warning of strikes.

  I have included schematics for a device that can be installed, parts should be on hand. Will let you know when I have a stable connection.

  Move soon.

  Samara scrolled down to the schematics and frowned. That was priority one.

  “Stefan.” She beckoned him over. “Make a list of these parts and find me someone who could build me this. Maybe Nura.”

  Stefan took out a grimy pad of paper and began noting down the items. “Nura hasn’t been around much.”

  “Then get me someone else.” Samara heard her voice rise and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … you know what to do. Get her if you can, though, she’s got a good touch with electronics.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Stefan gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I mentioned Aryn to her. And … showed her the email.”

  “So am I, but there’s no sense crying about it.” Samara shook her head. “If she’s going to storm off, I’d rather she do it now than in the middle of a battle.”

  Stefan nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Maybe by the time you get back. Although….” Samara checked her watch. “Your shift is soon. Go straight there after talking to Nura, I’ll do what I need to here.”

  She looked around herself wearily as he left. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed that the shifts had gotten harder lately. The guards were more brutal, and the quotas kept creeping up. Some people weren’t meeting them anymore, and there were families who had nothing at all without the wages they used to buy food at the commissary.

  Samara’s lips tightened. The commissary was a farce just like everything else on this planet. The wages were imaginary, they never truly existed, there was never a coin or a bill in anyone’s hand. They were just there nominally so that the Warlord could say they weren’t slaves—as if it fooled anyone.

  And there was no way to feed anyone on the wages they made in the mines. The prices of grain and protein blocks couldn’t possibly be as high everywhere else as they were on Ymir. All citizens were in debt to the commissary, which was a pointless cruelty on top of everything else, just another way for them to hound people.

  There wasn’t anything to buy but food and clothes. There wasn’t medicine, not really. There weren’t even goods like plates or sheets. People were making do with what had been on the planet when the Warlord arrived, and it hadn’t been an affluent place.

  Thinking about it right now was pointless. The only thing there was to do, really, was figure out what was going on with India Quince—whoever she was.

  Samara sighed. Specifics might be important, but they might not. Whenever a new officer was assigned to a district, a crackdown followed. The only thing they could hope for was to figure out what this one was planning, and get in the way.

  They needed to survive until Talon Rift and his fighters could come. Samara’s lips shaped the name like a prayer.

  They needed to survive. She would do anything to make sure Io District was safe while they waited. Like hell were they going to die just when people were coming to save them.

  India Quince settled into the chair behind her desk and gave a grim smile as she looked around the room. It was ugly as sin, this place: shoddily built, the windows grimy, and vents stuck half-closed so that it would be too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer.

  But that didn’t matter in the slightest. What mattered was that this was her first war room. The old table, rickety and covered in stains she’d rather not know about, was going to have her map of Io District with her markers moving over it and her red Xs over targets.

  What mattered was that from here, she was going to prove herself. She was going to go beyond the drudgery of the mercenaries who just phoned it in. She was going to show the Warlord what she was worth.

  “Sergeant Quince?” A man with gleaming black hair opened the door. His uniform was not well cleaned, and India felt her lip curl at the sight of the wrinkles and staining on the edges.

  “Yes?”

  “We wanted to welcome you to Io District.” He gave her a bright smile. “I’m Jeremy Sandon, assistant to Captain Eddis. We’ve been instructed to give you any and all resources you require, so let me know if—”

  “Why did the captain not come to greet me?” India stood up, letting her fingertips trail on the desk.

  “Well, he—he’s very busy, Sergeant.” Sandon was stuttering slightly. “He’s presently meeting with his patrol leaders to….” His voice trailed off in the face of her stare, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Is there something you’d like to discuss with him?”

  “I would like this initiative to be shown the respect it deserves.” India stared him down. “I am here to root out the resistance cells and eliminate them.”

  There was barely a flicker on Sandon’s face, but she saw it. “Do you have something to say?” He shook his head, but she did not budge. “Go on. I insist.”

  “It’s just, ah….” He cleared his throat. “The resistance cannot be eliminated, ma’am. I commend your ambition, but it is best to be realistic.”

  “The resistance has not been eliminated,” India clarified, her voice crisp. “That does not mean it cannot be done. The measures taken so far have clearly been insufficient.”

  “Ma’am, I assure you, we have followed the Warlord’s orders fully.” Now there was a touch of anger in the younger man’s voice.

  “Then you won’t object to me doing the same,” India said simply. She let her gaze rake over him, and felt only contempt. In this world, there were predators and there were prey, and this man was prey. It was good that he was not on the streets, responsible for enacting justice—but he should not even be wearing the uniform. He should be back in Kell District with the rest of the noncombatants.

  He swallowed again. “And what did the Warlord order?”

  India smiled. She leaned over the table, planting her hands. “He said to do … whatever it takes.”

  He said nothing. He was frozen, watching her.

  “So, for a start….” India straightened up again. “Bring me dossiers on every suspected resistance fighter and their family members.”

  “Their—their family members, ma’am? I don’t think we have dossiers on them. There would be too many.”

  “Then get people in the streets and make them,” India snapped.

  “But why their families?”

  “Mr. Sandon, are you unaware of the Warlord’s edict? The life of a resistance fighter is forfeit—as are the lives of their family members. Whatever they may know—and whatever information their family may choose to give us in the hopes of freeing them—is ours for the taking.”

  “But, Sergeant Quince—”

  “The dossiers, Mr. Sandon.” India went behind the desk and sat. “Promptly. And send a patrol leader. No, two. I’ll be forming my own squad for surveillance.”

  8

  “This is ridiculous.” Cade looked himself up and down in the mirror as a tailor fussed around him, pinning up the hems of his pants.

  “Relax, you look fine.” Talon leaned against the doorway. “You’ve kept yourself in shape. That’s good.”

  “Not that kind of ridiculous.” Cade gave him a look. “You’re spending how much on this suit?”

  Talon waved a hand negligently.

  “Well, I care,” Cade muttered. “I’m g
oing to pay you back for this,”

  “Consider it back pay,” Talon said, wisely abandoning the plan to make it a gift. “You’re owed it as a veteran, you know.”

  “And you know why I haven’t taken it.” Cade tried to keep from studying himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to enjoy this suit.

  “Yes. Because you’re a stubborn bastard, displaying the calling card of all stubborn bastards: screwing yourself over in a way no one will notice. Do you think anyone’s pulling out your file in the Veterans’ Benefits office saying, ‘hmmm, I wonder why Williams hasn’t submitted his paperwork’? No. They aren’t. Meanwhile, you were prepared to freeze on the streets.

  “Face it, Williams, if you don’t want to be a Dragon, right now that means being a bodyguard, and that means presenting as if you can be part of polite society.” Talon’s snort said what he thought of that last bit.

  Cade gave him a quelling look and jabbed a finger at the tailor. Her spiky blonde hair was very much the fashion these days, but the vibrancy of her tattoos and hair seemed to be matched by calm professionalism; he caught himself forgetting she was here. Apparently, Talon had as well. One might be known to be in the Dragons—enough people knew to look for the obvious signs—but one never, ever admitted it.

  “What, Miranda? She works for Intelligence. How do you think I get half my intel on New Arizona?” Talon raised his eyebrows.

  Miranda looked up at Cade. She looked, for all her tattoos and piercings, like she couldn’t keep a secret or tell a lie if her life depended on it, and Cade was sure that those full, rose-colored lips and innocent eyes had spurred more than their fair share of illicit confidences. Now, as if sensing Cade’s thoughts, she smiled sheepishly.

  He tried to smile back, but could hardly summon a twitch of his lips. This was what he had hated most in Intelligence: the veiled smiles, the poisoned daggers, the lies that spiraled and layered without end.