Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1)

by Richard Parry

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the man in black, tugging at his suit jacket. He turned back to his thugs. “If you would be so kind?”

  The thugs looked at each other, gave each other the universal whatever-the-fuck-but-this-guy-is-paying-the-bills look, and let Harlow go. Harlow didn’t run, just kind of sagged in his chair, still trying to suck air in through a few broken teeth.

  “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 puzzled look on his face.

  “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 rom. Nate covered his face with an arm, already rolling to the side, as the remaining thug pulled out a sidearm and fired 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,” said Grace’s voice, 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 consider 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,” and 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 the human race.”

  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 real good reason.”

  “Like what?” 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 backwards 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 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.”

  • • •

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