Tor (Women of Earth Book 2)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  "You should know better than to take a risk like that. You could have been seen."

  "Sorry, Dimi." Ish's use of the Osana diminutive for father told him what she thought, and then she snorted. "There was no risk. No one would notice me, not while she's dancing in the window."

  He wasn't sure what Ish meant by dancing in the window, and wasn't about to ask that, either. That didn't, however, stop the vision in Tor's mind of the second floor sex shows on Celos. He started to grind his teeth.

  "Let's get this over with," he growled. "I don't like leaving Truca alone."

  "Get used to it," Ish told him before she ducked beneath the Goose and took off. Get used to what? Thoughts of Wynne dancing in front of other men or Truca being alone. He'd never get used to either.

  Truca met them one dock slip away from the Sky Hawk. With two ships between them, they were free to speak in whispers.

  "Chubo and Nix are in there," Truca told them. "There are only two guards, at least that's all I saw. I heard them talking about the two, um, well, you know. One said he had to give them another dose."

  Tor's face hardened. "Tell us what you learned." It wasn't much, but it was enough. "Let's get this done. Ish, make sure those eyes are still on Wynne. Take the nose when you're sure it's clear. I'll take the rear and draw his attention. You take him from behind. When the other steps out, I'll take him."

  Ish needed no more explanation. They'd worked so long together none was needed. She pulled one of her wicked looking knives from its hidden sheath and grinned. Blazers made no noise, but their firing would come with a flash of light that was bound to draw attention.

  "Wait," Truca said, raising her finger just like Wynne. "What if Number Two doesn't come out? You'll have to go in. You can't fire, but he can. What does he care if he attracts notice? We're the bad players here. You're trying to steal his ship. Chubo and Nix could get hurt."

  "Get dead, you mean." Ish shrugged one shoulder at Tor. "It's what I'd do. They got caught in the crossfire."

  "The Hawk might be hurt, too. If she's hurt badly enough, she won't fly."

  Tor almost smiled at the way Truca spoke of the ship as if it was a living thing. "Suggestions?" he asked, knowing she had one.

  "Let me draw them both out."

  "No." Sharp and definite, the word brooked no argument. It was usually enough to shut Truca down, but not this time.

  "They know me, Tor." She nodded at his questioning surprise. Her eyes focused on the ground. "They were there. They thought it was funny. I recognized Number Two's laugh."

  Tor didn't have to ask where 'there' was. He glanced at Ish and knew what the Osana was saying with her eyes. Truca needed this.

  "I'm listening," he said.

  From behind the ship, Truca approached the first guard. The knife in her hand was clearly visible, an obvious and foolish proclamation of her intent. Her unfeigned trembling played believably into the image she needed to present; an amateur out for revenge.

  "Remember me?" she asked the guard and in case he didn't, "Maybe not. I was pinned to the floor of Honarie's lair and naked at the time." Amateur mistake number two. Don't stand around and talk. Do the deed and get out.

  He moved toward her. "Yeah, I remember now. Back for seconds?"

  Truca froze, but recovered quickly. "S-seconds? Y-you and your f-friend in there didn't even get f-firsts. N-no one did."

  Tor was sure the stuttering wasn't intentional, but it worked. The guard was becoming bolder.

  "That was Horny's fault, not ours, and Horny's not here." He banged his fist on the forward hatch, the one Truca had seen them use before.

  "What?" came the annoyed answer as the door opened a crack. "If you have to take another shit, that's too damn bad. I'm sick of..."

  "Got something here to get rid of the boredom. The demon from the Devil's Den came to give us another chance."

  "Fuck all, but she's a tasty bit. Don't just stand there. Get her in here."

  "I came to kill you." Truca raised the knife and lunged.

  This was not part of plan. She was supposed to back off and make them come out. The guard immediately went for the wrist holding the knife. Truca fought like a wild animal, scratching, kicking, punching, biting, and gouging at his face with her nails when he turned her and captured her about the waist.

  "Don't let her scream," the guard in the hatchway hissed. "Get her inside."

  He opened the hatch cover more fully while the guard struggling with the girl tried to cover her mouth. She bit him. Swearing, he raised his fist to strike, but Tor struck first.

  With the hatch fully open, the view of the back of the ship was blocked. By the time the guard in the doorway saw Tor grab the raised fist and twist, it was too late. With his first step into the open, Ish released her poised knife and buried it in his neck.

  Tor dispatched the first guard in the same way, coldly and silently, but Truca wasn't satisfied. She kicked the body viciously and then moved on to the next."

  "Who's. Laughing. Now?" she asked in time to her kicks.

  Tor had to pull her away. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Pressing her head to his chest, he bent his head and whispered. "It's all right, Truca. It's over."

  "No, it isn't over." Truca started to weep. "It never will be because it's taking you away from me, too."

  Ish, watching them, caught Tor's eye. She shrugged as if to say, "See?"

  His nonverbal reply was a disgusted glare. He gently pried the girl from his chest, now unsure if her tears were genuine.

  "Truca, I want you to go with Ish. You need to find Chubo and Nix, and help her gather what we'll need while I clean up out here. Go on now. There's a good girl."

  It didn't take him long. "It's me," he called softly at the hatch when he returned, and opened it carefully. As he suspected, Ish greeted him with her knife at the ready.

  "Not taking any chances," she said as she sheathed the blade.

  "I wouldn't expect anything less. Chubo and Nix?"

  Ish laughed and pointed to the two canvas sacks slumped in the corner. They're fine. Breathing is steady, but they're out cold. Truca was right. They're drugged. We found the sacks hanging from hooks in the cargo hold. Truca wanted to let them loose, but I figured they'd be easier to move if we keep them trussed up."

  She showed him the rest of the things they collected. Com units, a few weapons including the old fashioned handloaders, clothes, and an inflatable trolley were piled on the floor, along with other bits and pieces she thought they might need. They were all ready to be packed in a trunk and carried away.

  The trunk came from the Captain's quarters. It was long and heavy and filled with the sorry sum of his life.

  "We were just starting to dump your shit on the bed. Truca's in there now. I'll get Posy's trunk while you get yours."

  Truca looked up when he entered. She was kneeling in front of the open and half empty trunk at the foot of his bed. There was nothing in that trunk that she would consider shocking or intimately revealing, yet it made him uncomfortable to see her going through his things. She held a holo-cube in her hand.

  "Are these your parents?" she asked, showing him one of the hundreds of active scenes the cube contained.

  This one showed his mother holding a straw lined crate and three decs of chicks. She was laughing at the little balls of peeping fluff as they fell over each other in their attempts to escape the box.

  "Our most recent additions," she said and then the laughter in her eyes turned to something else. Her smile was different, too.

  "Kushma," a male voice chided. "Do you really think Tor is interested in our new hatchlings?" His father's face came into view. "Greetings, son."

  "Of course he is," his mother said to his father, and to Tor, "Of course you are." Her eyes misted. "You can't spend your life jaunting about the galaxy."

  Tor smiled at that as he did every time he watched it. His mother was a strong and practical woman, a shialtek, and like the word implied, she s
aw her target clearly and her arrows shot true. Except when it came to her son. She refused to see him as a military man engaged in war.

  "How many credits have you saved?" her picture asked. "How much longer must we wait for you to bring home..."

  Tor wiped his hand over the face of the cube to shut it down. His mother was about to say "a bride", someone who would smile at him with her eyes.

  "Yes, my parents. They died soon after that was taken," he told her tersely. He'd put those saved credits toward the down payment on the Sky Hawk. He began scooping out the rest of the trunk's contents and depositing it on the bed. "We don't have time for this, Truca. We have to get back to Wynne."

  "Before she runs out of clothes," Truca teased.

  Tor's next thought was of the best way to kill Ish.

  Chapter 26

  The sled-like trolley was so overloaded with trunks and bags, the bottom scraped floor. Mohawk looked like a sausage stuffed in the casing of a First Mate's shirt that was a size too small. He towed the inflatable sled behind him. Posy had forgone his robes to don a pristine Captain's shirt. The shirt, cut in a bib style, had two rows of shining gold buttons that tapered downward from shoulder to waist. The alignment of the buttons made his shoulders seem wider while narrowing his waist. Multicolored braid secured by gold stars where shoulder met sleeve, proclaimed his civilian rank. Combined with his narrow legged trousers, he looked every inch of his seven-foot frame. He steered the trolley with a touch of his finger at the rear.

  Wynne, dressed in finery and covered by a light silk cloak, walked beside it. Ish wore her usual leather garb. As the mordata cosma's Companion, she was fully armed and looked ready to test each one of her weapons on anyone who stepped in their path.

  "Can't we hurry this along?" Wynne whispered.

  "Do you see anyone else hurrying?" Ish asked.

  "No." But she doubted any of the people wandering the streets of Imperial City were carrying trunks with people inside who might be suffocating with the lack of air. They weren't carrying two others stuffed in what looked like mail sacks and who might wake at any moment.

  Wynne's concern grew when they turned down a side street and parked the hovering trolley alongside a table at an open air cafe. Posy, ever the gentleman, held her chair for her. He then made a short but formal bow and walked away, taking the small bag she knew contained his robe with him.

  "Don't watch him." Ish leaned in as if pleasantly conferring with Wynne over the short menu. "He's your pilot and no concern of yours."

  "How long will this take?" The question was purely selfish.

  While Alamandria wasn't much taller than Wynne, she was definitely narrower at waist and bust. Tightly corseted to make the dress fit, Wynne felt like she couldn't breathe. Her breasts billowing up and out of the square cut neckline made her feel self-conscious. She should have picked one of the other outfits from her impromptu fashion show, but Tor had made her angry and she picked this one out of revenge.

  "I thought we agreed. No parading half naked in front of other men."

  "What did you want me to do? I couldn't keep marching back and forth in front of the ship like a wind-up toy. I decided to pretend I was deciding what outfits to take with me."

  "You've got two big trunks and a dozen sacks. You'd take it all," he grumbled as if she had no sense.

  "You obviously haven't taken a good look at Alamandria's closet. There's no way she could fit all of it in the Goose without taking over the holds," she huffed back. "Posy told the Dock Master he'd been flying me for quite a while. It only made sense I'd seek his opinion. No one saw anything they weren't supposed to." Though she made sure to come close several times to make them believe it was possible. "You were gone a long time. I didn't know where you were or what you were doing. My job was to keep their attention. That's what I did."

  "Next time, don't."

  "Next time, I'll do what needs to be done just like I've always done."

  Thinking about it later, Wynne saw what an eye opening statement that was. Since the war on Earth began, she and Mira had both done what needed to be done to give their children a stable home. Their strengths were different, but both were necessary. She was the yin to her sister's yang.

  She should have left it at that, but because she was hurt, she took it another step. "What does it matter, anyway? You're the one who said I should find another man. These clothes will attract a whole slew of them to choose from."

  "I said to find a man who sees you as I do, as more than a good fuck in a silk dress."

  "You mean one that loves me so much he's willing to throw me away so he can commit murder? We have a saying on Earth, Tor. Been there. Done that. I'm not interested in doing it again."

  "This isn't for me. It's for Digger and Lusomo."

  "Fine. I hope that helps when you're all alone, floating around the galaxy, with no purpose but avoiding your own death."

  She'd been perfectly happy to slam the lid on his trunk and while she didn't want him to suffocate, she hoped he was very hot and sweaty, and the inside of the trunk smelled awful.

  Their waiter brought a plate of pastries and a silver pot of cavic, the spicy equivalent of coffee, to the table. Mohawk, at a separate table – no self-respecting mordata cosma would share her table with a co-pilot – dug into his food as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Ish, with a great deal more restraint, ate heartily as well.

  Wynne couldn't swallow a bite. Her stomach was tied in knots. It always happened after any confrontation, but the one with Tor made it worse. She couldn't eat. She couldn't drink. There was nothing she could do to correct the situation except to sit and wait.

  A cross between Paris and Las Vegas, two cities she'd only visited in pictures, Imperial City was a combination of old world elegance and high tech. It was big and bright. Ornately constructed hotels with sky scraping spires and floating balconies were evenly spaced along the road, each with elaborate gardens. There were even songbirds in gilded cages hung from silver hooks at every street corner. Restaurants, theatres, venues for drinks and dancing, all of it meant to celebrate the wealth of their patrons.

  Everywhere Wynne looked, wealth was on display. Her paltry facial jewels were nothing compared to those she saw on the street. Those women were always on the arms of men who looked like they could afford far more than jewels.

  "Are they all mordata cosmas?" she asked Ish when she was sure she wouldn't be overheard.

  "No. Some are, but some aren't. It's a game wealthy women like to play. A trip to Imperial City is their chance to be something other than respectable mates and mothers. It probably reminds their mates, too. It's an unwritten rule in Imperial City; there are no rules."

  Mira was always looking for commonalities between Earth and the Great Beyond. Wynne couldn't wait to share this one.

  "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," she said.

  Mohawk leaned back in his chair and muttered over his shoulder. "Nothing happens in Vegas. The whole planet's like an empty room with a tile floor. Those people have their righteous poles stuck so far up their asses, they're all constipated."

  Ish snickered. "Peace and tranquility."

  "More like a house of the dead. It's no wonder their population is dwindling."

  Wynne bowed her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. "Different Vegas, Mohawk. The one I'm talking about was made for guys like you."

  "Really? Sounds like it's worth a visit."

  "It would if it was still there." Las Vegas was in the first group of cities to be leveled by the Hahnshin. The need to stifle her laughter was gone as Wynne wondered whether Earth would ever see the like of such a city again.

  Before she could become too maudlin over what her homeworld had lost, Posy returned and greeted her with another bow.

  "Your rooms are ready and I've ordered you a chair."

  She'd seen the silly looking things floating up and down the street, moving so slowly it would be faster to walk. They were nothing more than an open platform wi
th comfortable seating for four and a fringed canopy for protection from the sun. Like everything else she'd seen in Imperial City, they were decorated with elaborate carving gilded in gold or silver. Huge, circular medallions that reminded her of a coat of arms hung from the back of each canopy. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were a way to see and be seen.

  Posy didn't give her a chance to object. He leaned over the back of her chair as if to assist her, and whispered, "This is how it's done." Aloud, he assured her, "Your belongings will be waiting for your arrival," and then to Ish, "Councilor Albermarle."

  He wasn't lying. He and Mohawk were waiting with the trolley outside the hotel that sported the same colors and medallion as her chair.

  A young man in full livery that matched the hotel began to run to assist her before remembering his office. He slowed to a walk and reached her chair with perfect timing. He was cute and looked like a male version of Truca. He also looked very nervous when he held her hand to help her to alight. He bowed and said solemnly, "Welcome to the Gates of Heaven." It would have been perfect had his voice not cracked at the end. It was probably the poor man's first day on the job.

  "Thank you," Wynne said and gave his supporting hand a squeeze. "How lovely to be met with such a warm greeting." She offered him a gracious smile which, after a surprised blink, was returned. She almost laughed when he returned to his post with a happy skip to his step.

  Ish did the talking when they reached the desk. "Piatchu, for the pleasure of Councilor Albermarle."

  Wynne expected a problem, but there was none. Within minutes, they were on their way. A young boy led the way to access tube and pressed the proper buttons. Unlike the Romer II, the access tube was a clear cylinder, and this one was as large as a room. It zoomed to the eighth floor in seconds. The one on the ship was uncomfortable. This one was worse, but Wynne seemed to be the only one affected by its speed.

  She was grateful that her back was to the boy when she entered the room. A hanging jaw and surprised eyes would have given her ignorance away. She'd expected a large and tastefully appointed hotel room. She did not expect a suite of rooms almost as large as Mira and Roark's spacious home on Earth. There was no way all the credit tags they'd found would pay for something like this. She turned to Posy as soon as the boy was gone.