Diffraction

by Jess Anastasi

  Colt had suggested a bar just off base, one frequented by mostly the military crowd blowing off steam, the other half of the patrons the kind of people looking to hook up with said military personnel. He’d been there a few times in the past while he’d still been IPC himself and all respectable-like. He considered that it might be some sort of trap, thought about replying with a different location.

  But wherever they ended up, this wasn’t his dirt, and the risk of being captured or taken out was already astronomical. So he returned a confirmation, hoping this latest risk didn’t screw him like the last one had.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The bar hadn’t changed one bit since the last time Rian had been there—five years ago—just before he’d given up his commission and struck out on his own. During the day, a lot of military personnel came to eat or play pool, and though the interior seemed to absorb the sunlight, leaving the room dim, it was still hard not to notice the stains here and there on the floor or that the furniture had seen better days. At night, with the liquor flowing, music thumping, and lights turned down, it was exactly the kind of place a soldier wanted to be to get himself lost.

  Callan had wanted to ride shotgun on this little jaunt, but he’d ordered him to stay back. If something went down, he needed to know the guy would be there to get Jensen and Nyah to safety.

  As for Ella, her well-being was all on him. The rest of his crew wouldn’t be a target if Ella wasn’t with them—the Reidar wanted the two of them, and anyone else was collateral.

  When he’d told her she was coming with him, she hadn’t said a word or even looked surprised. She’d simply nodded serenely and come along like they were on a frecking Sunday picnic.

  Considering that he’d been working so hard to avoid her, and she’d so recently gotten another glimpse of how thoroughly the Reidar had bent him over and ruthlessly screwed him, one-on-one time was about the last thing he wanted with her.

  But the surprises just kept coming, because she didn’t say a single word—no cleverly disguised platitudes, no sanctimonious advice cloaked in innocent conversation, not even a tension-breaking comment on the weather. Her distant indifference pissed him off more than if she’d tried talking to him. With little to no resistance, she’d seemingly given up on him.

  She’d vowed once to help him even if he didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it. He’d warned her, but she hadn’t listened, and he’d formed a weird kind of hate-love for the fact that she believed there was something inside him to be saved.

  It was like he’d been in the dark, only to be given a single candle. And when the wick had burned out to plunge him back into the darkness, he was left wishing he’d never seen the light in the first place.

  The bar was less than a quarter full as he entered with Ella and swept a gaze around the room, cataloguing every person, weapon, and their combined prospect of threat in the single glance. Colt wasn’t here yet, not surprising since Ella and he had arrived fifteen minutes before the agreed time.

  He picked a seat in the far left corner of the room, cutting around the outer side of the tables to make his way over. Halfway there, a soldier staring at him snagged his attention. He knew the face, but couldn’t remember the man’s name.

  The soldier’s expression hardened as he stood. “Rian Sherron.”

  Silence dropped over the room like plunging into a void.

  Making sure Ella stayed behind him, he stopped and turned to face the man, four tables separating them. It was the first time he could ever remember another soldier addressing him without adding his former rank or without a note of awe or admiration.

  He didn’t answer the guy, but let his shoulders relax and stared him straight in the eye as he set his palms on the grips of his holstered guns.

  “It is you.” The man stepped out from behind his table, and tension all but rippled through the other dozen or so soldiers in the bar.

  “I’m not here for trouble, just looking to meet an old friend.”

  The man laughed, but the sound held a note of incredulous contempt. “Well, I guess the rumors are true. You must have some serious metium-lined balls to meet an old friend in this bar, right outside an MTB, considering you’re a wanted terrorist.”

  “Come on, Newberg.” Another soldier at the bar spoke up, swiveling on his stool to face them. “You know those charges have to be a load of shite. Whatever Major Captain Sherron did, there had to be a reason. No one really believes he’s a terrorist.”

  A few others chimed in with opinions, but Rian kept his gaze fixed on Newberg. Captain Garvin Newberg, at least he’d been a captain years ago when Rian had still been with the IPC. Judging by the stripes on his uniform, it looked like Newberg had risen to lieutenant marshal. One step up of rank in five years was pretty pathetic, but Newberg had always been more brawn than brain.

  “If there’s a warrant with Sherron’s name on it, then it’s our duty to hand him in,” Newberg said over the low swell of chatter. “Whether or not he’s guilty, they can sort it out when he gets to Erebus.”

  Rian tightened his grip on his guns, resisting the urge to simply yank one out and solve his problems the easy way by putting Newberg down.

  But the soldier at the bar—couldn’t have been more than a second officer—stood up, and was joined by several others. “You try to take him in, you’re going to have a fight on your hands.”

  Newberg glanced over at the small group, expression tightening in disapproval. “You said something, officer?”

  “With all due respect, sir.” The last word sounded more like an insult than a deference to rank. “I think most of the men in here would agree that if Major Captain Sherron wants to have a drink and catch up with an old war buddy, then he’s got every right. And we’re all off duty, so if we happened to see him, then there’s a pretty good chance that by the time we return to base, we’ll have forgotten all about it.”

  Newberg’s posture became even more rigid, obviously realizing he was outnumbered. “Well I sure as hell don’t have to stay in the same building as some terrorist piece of shite.”

  Rian jerked out his pulse pistol as Newberg stepped away from his table.

  “Sorry, Newberg, but I can’t have you heading back to the MTB and telling the first person with two ears and no brain that you saw me here.” He steadied his aim, thumbing the setting to stun. “So, sit the hell back down, and I’ll buy you a brew. Your other option is unconscious on the floor, and we both know a pulse pistol blast can make even seasoned soldiers piss their pants at the most inconvenient times.”

  Newberg’s taut expression had gone from pissed-off to enraged bull. But he sat without a word, and Rian flicked a hand at the bartender as he put his pulse pistol away. Stepping to the side, he ushered Ella ahead of himself to the table he’d picked out earlier.

  Just as they sat down, Colt walked in, nodding a greeting to another table of soldiers as he came over. Rian stood, accepting Colt’s handshake but dodging a buddy-buddy man-hug.

  “Rian, man it’s good to see you.” He slid into a seat, passing an entirely not-subtle, curious glance over Ella. Not surprising. Ella was damned gorgeous, and people noticed wherever the woman went.

  “She’s an Arynian priestess, so keep your tongue in your head or she’ll melt your brain.”

  Instead of seeming abashed, Colt simply grinned. “The way I’ve heard it, she could melt my brain and I’d love every minute of it.”

  “You never did have a lick of sense when it came to women.”

  “Any man who claims sense around a beautiful woman is a pathological liar.” Colt reached over and wrapped his fingers around Ella’s. “Commodore Captain Colter Routh. But call me Colt. The rest of it’s too much of a mouthful.”

  Ella sent him one of her signature still-as-frecking-frozen-water smiles. “Miriella Kinton, but everyone calls me Ella. Nice to meet you.”

  The bartender set a tray of drinks on the table. Beer all around, but no Violaine to be had. Nope, no illegal liquor i
n this goddamned upstanding corner of the universe.

  “So, Colt, we couldn’t maybe have had this catch-up in a more inconspicuous place?” Rian glanced over to where Newberg sat, untouched beer in front of him and baleful expression on his face.

  Colt followed his line, looking over his shoulder and sending Newberg a sardonic wave. “Newberg, you’re not being a douche-bucket toward the IPC’s most infamous war hero, are you?”

  Newberg’s expression hardened. “No, sir.”

  “Because Sherron is an old friend of mine, and I’d be mighty unhappy if I found out any fellow officers weren’t being polite.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, sir.” Newberg started going an interesting shade of red, and Rian wondered if it’d be worth pushing him a little farther just for entertainment’s sake, but Colt had turned his attention back to him.

  “It was a calculated gamble, meeting here. I haven’t got much time between sessions with the recruits, and I figured you still had enough supporters in the military that you’d be safe enough showing your face.”

  “So glad you were willing to risk me ending up in prison on the capricious opinions of people who don’t know how to do anything except follow orders.”

  Colt took a swig of his beer. “Hell, Rian, so inconsiderate of your old compatriots.”

  “You would be, too, if they wanted to see you buried,” he muttered into his own bottle.

  “It’s not like that.” Colt’s expression became more serious. “There are people working to get the charges dropped. Having the IPC’s most respected war hero charged with intergalactic terrorism doesn’t look good for anybody, especially when the accusations are totally unfounded and coming from the private sector.”

  Though he’d heard a similar rumor two weeks ago, he hadn’t put much stock in it, given the source had turned out to be a lying sack of Reidar shite.

  In all truth, he didn’t get why a bunch of people he didn’t know and had never met had such a hankering to see his name cleared. So he’d turned the tide of the war and made sure the IPC had their victory, and all the boys and girls could go to bed at night knowing their every move was governed across all the known worlds. That single suicidal act he’d pulled off to the finish the war had worked as effectively as a ball and chain, keeping him tethered to the IPC military no matter how many years went by or where he went in the galaxy.

  “What do you think they’d say if they knew I didn’t give a shite? Maybe being a wanted criminal is working real nice for me. Maybe if people think I’m a regular asshole they’ll stop lining up to see my ship dock wherever I go.”

  Colt shot him a grin. “Talk about ungrateful. What’s wrong? The fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

  He glared over a mouthful of beer. Colt knew full well what he really thought about his ill-gotten notoriety. “Anyway, if you’re so short on time, we should get down to business.”

  Colt seemed even more amused, and he waved a hand magnanimously as he leaned back in his seat. “By all means, change the subject. I won’t call you on it, and I’m sure Ella here won’t, either.”

  A quick smile flashed across her face, a more genuine expression than any he’d seen on her features since they’d left the Swift Brion. The thought that Colt might be charming her turned the beer in his stomach to acid. He swallowed down the unpleasant and unwanted sensation in annoyance, setting his half-empty bottle on the table and sliding it away.

  “I didn’t risk flying into the central systems just to catch up with old friends, Colt.”

  “Yeah, I thought as much,” he replied, picking at the edge of the ever-changing micro-crystal display label on his beer. “So what is it you need, exactly? I’d actually thought you might be looking for someone to help you get those terrorism charges cleared.”

  “Believe me, the charges are the least of my problems.”

  Colt gave a disbelieving laugh. “Intergalactic terrorism charges are the least of your problems? Jezus, you must be into some serious shite.”

  “You can’t imagine the half of it,” he muttered, clasping his hands on top of the table, the beads on his wrist digging into his recently stripped flesh. “So when I tell you exactly what I’m after, I need you to believe that the only ones who are going to get hurt are the ones who deserve it.”

  “Well now, I’m positively enthralled. Just what are we talking here?”

  He pulled his commpad from his pocket and tapped the screen, bringing up the list of specs. “I need these items, in bulk.”

  Colt took the comm. As he read down the list, his eyebrows got higher and higher. “Freck me, Rian. I’m assuming you’re full well and good on exactly what a person gets when they put all this together in a certain configuration?”

  He nodded, taking a sweeping glance around the bar to make sure the lay of the land hadn’t changed and that no one seemed overly interested in their conversation.

  “I’m aware, but the kind of configuration we’ll end up with won’t hurt anyone.”

  Colt handed back the comm. “If it’s harmless, then what’s the point?”

  He leveled a sharp eye on his buddy. “If I tell you—”

  “You’d have to kill me?” Colt picked up his beer to finish off the dregs, grinning like a moron.

  “Yeah, you’d probably end up dead, but not by my hand. For now, the less you know, the better.”

  Colt’s amusement morphed into an unimpressed glare. “Don’t pull that less-you-know crap with me, jerkwad. And I mean that in the most agreeable way possible. You know as well as I do how hard these items are to procure in bulk. So tell me what the hell I’m putting my career and freedom outside of Erebus on the line for.”

  Rian glanced at Ella, and she gestured like maybe she thought he should tell Colt the full story. But he didn’t have the time or inclination to give the truth-about-the-dark-corners-of-the-universe speech here. Besides, if Colt knew, they’d more than likely have another defector on their hands.

  While he’d be more than happy to have Colt join their ranks, it was becoming more and more obvious that having someone on the inside might end up coming in handy. Maybe it wasn’t fair on Colt to keep him in with no frecking idea what he was inside of, but the guy could look after himself. If Colt came through on the components, he’d fill the guy in and hopefully convince him to keep his IPC position for the time being.

  He pulled the razar out of his thigh holster, setting it in the middle of the table. “This is what we’re making.”

  Colt picked the weapon up, bringing the razar to eye level to examine its lines then testing its weight. “Nice design, good balance. What does it do?”

  “Technically, it doesn’t do anything. It’s a failed stun weapon prototype.”

  “Then why the hell do you want to mass produce it?”

  He sent Colt the ghost of a smile—the closest he ever got to grinning.

  “That’s a long story for another day.” He held out his hand and Colt returned the gun. “To prove my word.”

  He turned the barrel of the gun and pressed it into his shoulder, letting off a single round with a muffled buzz. The energy passed through him on a low vibration.

  Colt regarded him with an exasperated frown, a hint of conjecture in his gaze.

  “I didn’t need a display of how well it doesn’t work.”

  “Then you won’t mind?” He pointed the razar toward the middle of Colt’s chest.

  Colt gave a lazy shrug. “Sure, go right ahead. I still don’t get what the point of all this is.”

  He squeezed off a round, breath stalling in his chest for half a second as the pulse of energy hit Colt. Nothing happened

  “Wow, tingly. Now will you tell me what the freck, man?”

  Blowing out a low breath of relief that Colt, at least, hadn’t been permanently disappeared by the aliens and replaced by a meat puppet, he shoved the gun away.

  “Get me these components, and we’ll have a conversation. In the meantime, watch your b
ack. Even with all the idiots who apparently want to see me restored to hero status, there are people who want me dead. A lot of people. And they’re everywhere.”

  “Now you sound paranoid.” The gleam in Colt’s gaze proved he’d take the warning seriously, though.

  “I’m down half my crew, so I’m heading to Forbes to meet up with them. That’s where I’ll be if you can get my merchandise.”

  “Going all provincial? I hear its berry season out there.” Colt sent him a grin that was nothing but smart-ass all the way.

  Forbes was one of Dunham’s six moons, all of which were dedicated to specific types of farming, with Forbes being famous for its fruit and wine. Besides the farmers who lived and worked the land, the uber-rich liked to holiday there, taking weekends for winery tours or short getaways at harvest times for the festivals.

  “I’ll be sure to send you a crate,” he replied dryly as he stood. “Thanks for putting yourself out for me. I owe you one.”

  Colt pushed to his feet and held out his hand. “Tell me what the hell is going on next time we see each other, and I’ll call it even. I’ve got to get back to the MTB anyway. Ella, nice to meet you.”

  Ella sent him a polite nod in return. “And you, Commander Captain.”

  Rian stepped away from the table, indicating Ella should go ahead of him. He shot a pointed glance at where Newberg still glared daggers at him. “You mind hanging back and making sure we don’t have company on the way out?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll comm you in a day or two about your shopping list.”

  He headed across the bar, one hand on the butt of his pulse pistol until Ella and he stepped outside. Though he trusted Colt to keep a handle on things, he’d still half expected Newberg to make a move, moronic wanker that he was. No doubt the guy would tell someone, even if it wasn’t in an official capacity.

  Though it seemed the threat of being captured for the intergalactic terrorist BS wasn’t as immediate as he’d thought, he still wanted to get boots off Dunham ASAP. Since Forbes was mostly working folk, farmers, and cashed-up tourists, it was about the best place within the skimmer’s limited reach they could bunk down until the others finished on Barasa and Colt got back to him.