Angel, who had been standing by with the prince throughout this exchange, cleared her throat to speak.
“I would offer one exception to that plan, Molon,” Angel interjected. “If I may?”
Apparently whatever Angel was about to share was not part of the silent conversation she had ongoing with the admiral and Prince Halberan, as both of them turned a quizzical look in her direction.
“What exception is that?” Molon prompted.
“With your permission, I would like to join the crew of Star Wolf.”
Molon’s ears flattened and his brow furrowed. Was this the hook into his ship and his business he had missed before? It seemed unlikely. Apparently Prince Halberan and Admiral Wentzler were equally shocked by her request.
“You want to what?” Admiral Wentzler asked.
“They are short one pilot,” Angel explained. “I not only have an excellent rating on frigate class ships and a Class A pilot’s license, but I also happen to be a trained undercover agent, which may come in quite handy if they are heading for the Occupied Worlds.”
“I daresay,” Angel continued, turning toward Molon, “you will be hard pressed to find a more qualified replacement crewman elsewhere, even on Zaros.”
Prince Enoch Halberan stammered as he tried to collect his thoughts.
“B-b-but you have not cleared this with the Angelicum Host. Don’t you need to debrief with them on your last mission, and receive your new orders? You are a member of the Watchmen, aren’t you?”
Angel smiled sweetly at the prince.
“I am. My mission was to infiltrate GalSec and stay as close to Senior Interrogator Simmons as possible while gathering intel on project Firelake. I have done this. My report was forwarded as soon as we hit this system.”
“Don’t you need to wait for new orders?” Wentzler asked, his face showing he was not sold on the idea of Angel whizzing off to Lion knows where on a privateer vessel.
“Unnecessary, James. Now that my presence has been exposed, I am unable to continue my primary assignment. Given the strong leadings of the importance Star Wolf will play in Theocracy affairs going forward, I am following the guiding of the Spirit in making this request. After all, what better place for a Watchman than on a vessel prophesied to change the course of history?”
Molon saw her logic, but having an Angelicum on board would carry its own set of complications. Aside from everything else, Mel’s shenanigans were nothing compared to the havoc this full-fledged telepath might wreak.
“Are you sure?” Enoch asked. “What will your superiors say about this?”
“I have complete peace about it,” Angel replied, “yet will certainly take leave should the Spirit lead elsewhere in the future. The Watchmen are not hierarchical, Enoch: we follow the leading of our one true commander.”
“So just like that,” Molon said, his brow furrowing. “You are leaving everything behind and coming with us? That makes no sense. You have no idea who I am, where we’re going, or even what the pay is for the position. Why would you just offer to join my crew on a whim?”
“I assure you it is not a whim,” Angel answered. “I actually made this decision the moment we left Revenge. It was just not appropriate to discuss it with you until now.”
“And as captain of Star Wolf, don’t I get any say in this?”
“Of course! You can always refuse to accept my offer of service.” Angel smiled sweetly. “But you won’t.”
Molon shook his head and thought to himself:
When you are caught in a current you can’t fight, it’s best to just turn and swim downstream.
“You know,” he said to Angel, “with what you did to pull the former high abbot out of his catatonia, maybe I can use you after all. Twitch may not be able to pilot anymore, but unless she proves completely unfit for duty, I have no intention of relieving her as XO. Doc say she is going to need someone to help her even if he finds the cyber-gizmos to restore a lot of her functionality. Are you willing to room with Twitch and help me keep an eye on her mental state?”
Angel’s smile faded.
“Are you asking me to spy in your executive officer’s mind, captain?”
“No, I’m saying you told me you can’t help but listen. So I’m just asking you to listen and let me know if you see any danger signs. Beyond that, be a nursemaid when she needs one and a pilot when I need one. You okay with that?”
“Aye, captain, I am,” Angel replied.
“Well then, welcome aboard, Angel.”
Molon turned to Prince Halberan and Admiral Wentzler.
“I am glad to have met you, your grace, admiral, but if you will excuse me. As we travel I will be sure to keep you informed if I come across anything the Theocracy should be aware of.”
“Your efforts will be greatly appreciated, captain,” Prince Halberan said.
Molon and Angel left the sanctuary and headed towards Star Wolf to finish their business at the highport. There was a great deal to do on Furi, not to mention preparing an STS for the trip to Zaros and the Last Call Bar.
Thirty-Three – Last Call
They had been in the Furi system three days. Top-notch starport facilities and senior shipwrights assigned by Prince Halberan had, under Dub’s watchful eye, completed repairs and refits in record time. Star Wolf was fully fit and ready to head spinward as soon as Molon and the senior officers hired the replacements. Thanks to Dub rigging up a remote camera, monitor, and transmitter, Molon had even convinced Twitch to play a role in selecting crewmates.
Twitch hadn’t been happy at the suggestion, preferring to sulk and brood over all the technological toys Dub and John were adapting to her physiology. Thankfully Molon knew which buttons to push to trigger Twitch’s stubborn streak. He used her own comments about being able to spot traitors and rogues to convince her she was a necessary part of selecting new crew.
Voide was also using her human-camouflage tech and colored contacts for this recruitment drive. No sense stirring up the locals with a Prophane’s presence in their local watering hole.
Besides the odd-and-ends assortment in front of him, plus a couple of choice recruits he had managed to pull out of the Spacers’ Club, there were three others officially seeking to join Star Wolf’s ranks. First was Dr. John “Doc” Salzmann who had been their de facto chief medical officer since his rescue. Second was Stellan “Pounder” Brannock, the former Empire Army soldier turned unwilling Dawnstar Security guard whom they had liberated from Ratuen. Finally there was the enigmatic Malak agent, Shamira, with the call sign “Angel”. All that was left was to sort through the motley crew of applicants at the Last Call and they would be on their way spinward.
They had a recruitment table set up inside the Last Call with Molon in the center, Voide on his right, and Mel on his left. The monitor and camera rig for Dub and Twitch, joining remotely from Star Wolf, took up the table space between Molon and Mel.
Two days before, they had posted notices around the bar that a merc vessel would be hiring spacers and marines for various positions. They were to submit their service and skills records and show up today for interviews.
There was a line out the door and halfway around the building, of dubious looking rabble, shifty characters who could have passed for the usual suspects in any police lineup. Molon was second-guessing the admiral’s advice. Too late now. They were here, and Star Wolf needed replacements, so he would try to pick the best of the bunch.
The applicants here at the Last Call, however, looked like as rag-tag a bunch of recruits as he had ever seen, and he had seen some dregs. He had checked their submitted service and skills records. Those that weren’t heavily redacted showed most to be experienced soldiers, engineers, spacers, scientists, commandos, and communicators with a vast range of experience. Their one common denominator, the one element that likely landed most of them here rather than serving in a military berth somewhere, was an aversion to following orders.
Almost to a person, this collection of s
ophonts had write-ups, disciplinary actions, and a stack of demerits high enough to post a sniper on to go along with their list of skills and accomplishments. They would be a challenge to command, but Star Wolf had more than its fair share of ex-military shining stars. Where Molon was headed, they were going to get more than a little dirty, and a crew who wasn’t afraid of a little mud-wallowing might be the difference between life and death.
However, the first few candidates were quickly dismissed. Most were local gang-bangers or thugs looking for a way to get paid to do what they were inclined to do anyway: fight.
Next in line stepped up a man who looked to be in his mid-forties with just-below-shoulder-length, dark brown hair tied back into a pony tail. He was wearing a tattered denim jacket, and had several days of stubble on his face. The only thing that set this man apart from the rabble Molon had just dismissed was a high tech-level laser pistol strapped low on his thigh. A slight bulge under the man’s jacket suggested a second weapon.
“Name and preferred call sign?” Molon asked.
“Sivio Rayce,” the man replied. “And I go by ‘WW’ when I need something other than a name.”
Molon and the rest of the senior officers punched up his name on their datapads, which contained all the submitted service and skill records for the applicants. The file was so heavily redacted as to give little more information than the man had just told him, other than the fact he had been with GalSec until about four years ago and had declined to provide any information on what he had been doing since.
“So what’s the ‘WW’ stand for?” Molon asked.
The man adopted a greasy smile and shrugged.
“Eh, you know, Wild and Wooly, World Wide, whatever you want it to mean, man.”
“I’ll take him!” Voide interjected, emphatically.
“Thanks, chica,” Rayce said, beaming a smile at Voide.
Before Molon could inquire how she could make such a quick assessment from an almost totally redacted service record, Twitch interjected through the remote monitor.
“Wet Works,” Twitch remarked.
Rayce’s eyes widened at the sound of Twitch’s voice. He glanced around as if trying to locate the source.
“What?” asked Molon?
“That’s what the ‘WW’ stands for,” Twitch replied. “He’s an assassin, Molon.”
“How do you figure?” Molon asked.
Before Twitch could respond, Rayce stopped looking around and fixed his gaze on Molon as he let out a sigh.
“So you hear that voice too, man?” Rayce said, wiping the back of his hand across his brow. “Whew, I thought it was just in my head.”
Molon’s eyes narrowed at Rayce’s strange behavior. It was true the monitors that allowed Molon, Voide, and Mel to see Twitch and Dub were facing away from the applicants, but the camera mounted atop the monitor was obvious, so Rayce’s reaction was very odd.
“Anyway,” Molon said, putting aside Rayce’s behavior for the moment. “How did you reach that conclusion, Twitch?”
“Easy,” Twitch replied. “The service record devoid of any meaningful details, plus a blank for the last four years. Add that to our sociopathic security chief’s eagerness to recruit him, plus the quick-draw rig on his sidearm, it all adds up.”
Molon looked at Voide who appeared as if she was ready to leap through the monitor and tear into Twitch.
“That right?” Molon asked Voide.
“It was my guess,” Voide confirmed. “If we are going toward the Occupied Worlds, I am going to need some security people who can drop the military spit and polish. If we are going to survive, it won’t be by stand up fights. I’ll need guys like this for things our soldier-boys can’t or won’t do.”
“I’m sorry, Voide,” Molon said, shaking his head. “We are mercs, not assassins. We have no clue what this guy did, or why GalSec ousted him. An assassin is one thing, an assassin who GalSec doesn’t even want, that’s a gamble I don’t want to take.”
“Hey, man,” Rayce interjected. “If you wanna know why I’m not a spook anymore, just ask. I got nothing to hide.”
“Your service record says otherwise,” Molon replied.
Rayce spread a wide grin and nodded slowly. Molon wondered if the man was on some kind of mind-altering drugs or something. He seemed way too relaxed for such a tense conversation.
“That’s a good one, man,” Rayce replied. “You got me there. Well, dig this; GalSec cut me loose because I refused a mission.”
“What kind of mission?” Molon pressed.
“The gnarly kind. Suits wanted me to take out a dude’s family; a wife and three kids, man. The main target wasn’t even going to be home; some kind of psychological move to convince this guy to start cooperating or something. I wasn’t down with that. Real targets I figure got it coming one way or another, but wife and kids ain’t done nothing. So I walked, man.”
“You walked?” Voide asked, her eyes widening. “I was with GalSec also, and I wasn’t aware they just let trained operatives just walk away.”
“Yeah,” Rayce continued, smiling and nodding. “They weren’t too happy, but hey, they taught me how to disappear, so what did they expect?”
“And what about the last four years,” Molon asked. “What exactly were you doing?”
“Gotta make a living, man. I was running the shadows. Been a shade taking private gigs where I could find them.”
“So how did you end up in a merc bar on a Theocracy world? Not exactly the best place to pick up shadow runs.”
Rayce giggled as if laughing at a joke only voiced inside his own head.
“Yeah, man, my last run was a pretty major job against Dawnstar. NHE patron company with holdings in the Theocracy hired me and a team to swipe some key augment designs; cutting edge stuff. Dawnstar was steamed, so I asked for my payment in Theocreds. Figured I’d chill for a while waiting for opportunities. I was staying on the mainworld at the Furi Imperial Island Resort, lounging on the beach, when the bartender here messaged me about your posting. With all the heat from the PI and Dawnstar, spinward sounded like a good direction to go.”
Molon was considering his response when Twitch interjected through the monitor screen.
“Too pat. I’m not buying it.”
Rayce’s smile faded as he glanced around again.
“That’s not very nice, disembodied voice lady. I’m being straight. Got no reason to lie, man.”
“I believe him,” Voide said.
“You would,” Twitch snapped.
“Ladies, please,” Molon said, motioning his hands up as if to keep the two apart. Not like Twitch was coming through the monitor screen or vice versa anyway. “Mel, care to weigh in here?”
Mel nodded and looked at Sivio Rayce. She held out one of her slender, powder-blue hands, palm upright.
“Sir, would you take my hand please?”
“Sure, blue-chica. I’d love to,” Rayce replied.
Without any hint of hesitation Rayce reached out to place his hand in Mel’s. After only a few seconds, Mel jerked her hand back quickly as if she had been bitten by a snake.
“What is it, Mel?” Molon asked.
“Something’s wrong,” she answered.
Molon’s hand casually dropped to his automag and quietly extracted it from its holster. He leveled it at Sivio Rayce below the table, watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he faced Mel.
“What is wrong?”
“Darkness,” Mel replied, sounding a bit dazed as though she had just awakened from a dream.
“I would expect an assassin’s mind to be dark, Mel. Was there anything in particular.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, snapping out of her stupor to focus intently on her conversation with Molon. “I couldn’t sense anything. No emotion. No deception. No desire. Only darkness.”
Molon’s ears flattened as he clicked the safety on his automag to the off position and readied his finger to fire.
“What does that mean
?”
“It means I do not know if he is lying or telling the truth. I’ve never had that happen with a living being. I’ve only seen tactile holograms, robots, or very powerful psionics completely mask themselves from detection.”
Rayce seemed utterly unaffected by the raised tension. He just kept that broad smile, nodded his head again, and tapped his temple with the forefinger of his gun hand, clearly not reaching for his weapon.
“Oh, blue-chica must be one of those mind-readers. Yeah, that don’t work on me. GalSec didn’t want anyone forcing me to tell all their business. So they fixed up my noggin real good.”
Molon mulled over the strange individual. An assassin with a redacted record who had disappeared for the last four years and suddenly wanted to join his crew was… off. Even stranger was the man’s spacy demeanor. Molon could not believe that a top-notch GalSec hit man could be such a basket case. It had to be an act, but to what end?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rayce,” Molon said, looking Rayce in the eye and shaking his head. “There are too many variables. This just ain’t sitting right with me. Twitch, you claim to be able to spot a plant. What’s your call?”
“Honestly, between the pain meds and having to operate through a screen, I wouldn’t trust my judgment right now. But if this guy has been on Furi longer than a few days, it’s unlikely he is a plant.”
Molon could hear the distraction and sadness in his XO’s voice, even through the remote uplink. He knew Twitch was trying to focus and do her job, but everything she was facing with her paralysis had to be hard to push out of the way. Molon would have to walk the line between pressure and responsibility until Twitch had a chance to find her new normal.
“Yo, mysterious lady voice,” Rayce interjected, gazing around as if speaking to the air. “I’ve been catching waves and taking in the suns for two weeks now.”
“Dub, can you check that out with the hotel records?” Molon said, addressing the microphone in the remote setup which connected them with Dub and Twitch back on Star Wolf.
“Hacked in as soon as he mentioned the hotel, Cap,” Dub replied. “His photo is showing him as a guest registered under the name T.C. Head.”
Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy) Page 48