by Natalie Grey
The rest of the citizens seemed happy enough to interact, build businesses together, and spend their free time on games of chance and eel races in the local marsh.
Carter never went to those. There was some mosquito-like thing in those marshes that loved his blood. He was still saving up money for forcefields around all the doors of the bar so he could have a mosquito-free oasis. In the meantime, he hunted the bastards with a single-minded determination that had given him several injuries.
He called them war wounds.
Elisa just rolled her eyes.
Speaking of Elisa, he heard her voice. Carter frowned as he looked around, then pointed to one of the Ubuara on a nearby roof. “Leibura, you want my place?”
The Ubuara chittered and ran down the roof to leap lightly onto the wall. She bared her teeth at him in a tiny grin. “With your luck? You haven’t given me much to work with.”
Carter laughed as he hopped down. “My apologies. May the dice favor you more than they favored me.”
“Now you’re wishing me bad luck,” Oemuga grumbled.
“Never,” Carter promised.
He waved to the Ubuara and jogged toward the main street, where he found Elisa looking for him. At the sight of him, she peered curiously down the alley and grinned when she saw the Ubuara.
“Dice again?”
“On a cold streak. That’s three games in a row. I’m starting to get nicknames.” He looped his arm around her shoulders as they strolled down the street. “Carter the Unlucky. Carter, the Dice’s Bitch.”
Elisa gave a shriek of laughter. “No Ubuara is going to say something like that.”
“Okay, I made that one up. But I promise you, one of these days I will be Carter DiceBane.”
“Very impressive. I’ll have to beat the ladies off you with a stick.”
“Could you? I’ll probably need a bodyguard. I’m sure I’m going to be quite the celebrity.” He smiled as they walked. “It’s nice to have these last few days of relative anonymity.”
Elisa thumped him on the shoulder and grinned. “Stop it, you’ll give yourself too big a head to fit in the door. Anyway, I came to find you for a reason.”
“Oh. Right. Yes?”
She gave him a look. “There was a Shrillexian in the bar.”
“Has he caused trouble?” Carter asked anxiously. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He didn’t start a fight and he didn’t… You know, it’s just kind of weird and I wanted you to know what was going on.”
“That is weird.” Carter considered. “Okay, no more bartending for you today.”
“Carter.” She gave a laugh. “He’s gone already.”
“Still.”
“Stop being so crazy. Look, you can come back and hang out with us if you’re worried, but he already left. He doesn’t seem to like Coke. He said someone recommended it to him, but he just burped a lot and left without finishing it.”
“Yeah, because Pepsi is—”
“Not so loud!” She thumped him again.
“Okay. So he came in and didn’t start any trouble? You served him a drink he didn’t like and he still didn’t start anything? And he paid for the drink, even though he didn’t finish it?” Elisa nodded to all of the questions and Carter shook his head. “You’re right. The whole thing reeks of trouble. I don’t like peaceful Shrillexians.”
“Do you prefer them when they’re being violent?”
“No, I just really don’t like the trouble they bring. Hmm. Well, we’ll see if we can get a few Brakalons to just hang out and keep the peace. Aebura might know someone.” He shrugged. “You head back—don’t go in if he’s there again—and I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Okay.” She kissed him and jogged away, and Carter hightailed it back to the alley.
“Carter.” Leibura gave him a look. “Did you want to come back now that the dice are hot again?”
Carter laughed. “No, this is a very different matter. Elisa just told me there was a Shrillexian in the bar who was behaving very oddly.”
All of the Ubuara took notice. Everyone was wary of Shrillexians.
“Anyway,” Carter finished, “just keep an eye out, okay? If he does anything weird—or if he heads out of town toward the mine—we should know about it.”
As he walked back to the bar he told himself he was being stupid. There were tons of new people on High Tortuga these days. There were probably a bunch of Shrillexians and he just hadn’t noticed them.
But for some reason, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had about this one.
He’d been in good spirits when they’d left Virtue Station, but by the time Fedden got to the cave that served as the base’s mess hall he was in a foul mood.
He and Tagurn had landed on Zahal over three hours ago, but a piece of landing equipment had buckled when they set down and they’d spent the time since then fixing it. Fedden was dirty and hungry, and he still didn’t have a contract or the information he’d wanted to sell.
And their Luvendi contact was taking his sweet time getting here.
He could feel the other ship captains staring at him. Unlike the parts of the syndicate that were planet-based the ships’ captains roved all over, taking jobs wherever they could. They came back between jobs to pay the syndicate leaders or just take a break and swap information on potential jobs.
Normally, this suited Fedden. He hated the idea of living on a planet the way Jutkelon had. What if the economy went to shit? What if the mines ran out? Jutkelon had found out the hard way what happened when things changed. On a ship, you could just go somewhere else and find work there.
Theoretically.
Fedden had just been here two days ago, though. Everyone knew he hadn’t had time to complete a job since then. He’d been on a cold streak for months, truth be told.
He’d hoped to blow in here, have the Luvendi land within a couple of hours, and head out with a long contract in hand with everyone knowing he’d been the one to find Crallus’ precious information, but no such luck.
He glared at the other captains as he sat down. The food was getting worse these days. Crallus was a tight-fisted old bastard, and every year he was talking about raising the buy-in rates for his captains.
He hadn’t done it yet, since he knew better than to annoy that many captains at once. But he was greedy, so he was pinching pennies in other ways. The food, for instance, might or might not be packing material. Tagurn poked it with his fork and took a hesitant bite, as though he half-expected to drop dead.
“Struck out, huh?” Namkelon, a Brakalon with skin so deep a gray that it matched the cavern walls, sat down on the other side of the table. When he leaned forward the whole thing tilted.
Fedden grabbed his tray back as it slid toward the Brakalon. He was in no mood to talk. “Got a client coming to negotiate. Needs more than one crew. Piss me off and I won’t recommend you.”
“Hey, hey.” The Brakalon shook his head. “Things going wrong for you isn’t my fault, guy. Anyway, I’m thinking of getting out.”
Fedden stopped eating in surprise. “Why?”
“Why do you think? Crallus is talking rate hikes again.”
“He always talks rate hikes,” Tagurn replied. “He never does it.”
“Nah, this time he’s gonna. He’s got that Torcellan helping him.”
“Which Torcellan?”
“I don’t know. If I knew I’d say, wouldn’t I? Some Torcellan. Pale skin.” Namkelon shrugged. “Promising him all kinds of shit. Watch your back.” He nodded to both of them and stomped off.
Fedden looked toward the roughly-carved ramp at the far end of the room, which led to Crallus’ office.
“I don’t like this. Crallus sent us off to find information about Devon, and while we’re gone he talks more rate hikes?”
“He’s not going to pay us for the information,” Tagurn predicted. “I bet you anything you get in there and he just takes it as a favor. He’s got other people who can go get i
t, so you’re only going to get money out of him if he thinks no one else can figure it out.”
“What do you know?”
Tagurn leaned forward. “What you should know—that Crallus is a piece of shit. He just gets things because he takes them. You want him to give you what you’re worth, you gotta take that. Who knows, maybe you don’t give him a cut on this job.”
“Keep your voice down,” Fedden growled.
But he had to admit it was an interesting idea. A very interesting idea.
“I’m glad you came to me.” Farfaldri Kat poured a cup of tea and handed it elegantly to Rald before sweeping back to his chair to sit.
In the Luvendi custom, he did not have servants to show his wealth. Instead, his surroundings showed it. The floors were of imported stone, the walls were paneled in lacquered wood, and there was cloth draped around the windows.
Rald frowned at that. It actually seemed to be there on purpose, not as a spur-of-the-moment choice.
Well, there was no accounting for taste.
He sipped his tea and tried not to grind his teeth. He needed Kat. Very few people had mentioned anything to do with the mines, and when he mentioned Jutkelon people got a wide-eyed look and shut up hastily.
So he had gone to see Jutkelon’s compound—or what was left of it. After almost a month it was still smoking faintly.
That was when Rald had decided he needed more information from people who might have been Jutkelon’s allies.
“So what happened at the compound?” he asked. It was too direct a question, but he was getting impatient. He was about to start smashing china, and Kat wasn’t going to like that.
“I assume you mean what kind of bombs. No one knows.” Kat looked displeased. “Everyone there was already dead, however. They were just making a point. And as you can see from the fact that the buildings around it are intact, they made a very precise point. I’m told the humans refer to it as ‘salting the ground.’”
“So it was a human.”
“Of course it was a human. Everything that’s gone wrong here has been due to humans.” Kat shook his head regretfully. “Lan just had the bad luck to be in their sights. I’d have helped him, of course, if it weren’t obvious that it would be a futile gesture.”
Rald nodded. His mind was racing. “And you don’t know the human’s name?”
“I do not, but someone at Lan’s old mine might. It’s owned by the workers now.” Kat’s tone was so bitter it was a wonder he didn’t choke on his words. “I’m sure they know their hero’s name.”
“And if one or two of them suffered you wouldn’t mind?” Rald asked. He saw the flash of satisfaction in the Luvendi’s eyes and smiled. “Good. I’ve been wanting a fight. Thank you for your help.”
He left, smiling broadly. As he strode toward the edge of town, he noticed one of the large marsh rodents keeping pace with him on a wall. It chittered at him before it bounded up and onto a roof.
Weird place, this. Far too quiet—like a grenade with the pin still in.
Rald was going to fix that.
8
“I’m really not sure about this plan.” Gar adjusted his hat nervously.
“I think it’s hilarious,” Shinigami supplied.
“He was talking about its chance of success,” Barnabas told her, “not your personal enjoyment. For the record, I also have reservations.”
“You’re just stuck up. You don’t want people to think you’d be someone’s assistant.”
“I have no qualms about being someone’s assistant. You, however—” Barnabas broke off. “What was that noise? You said you’d handle landing.”
“Did I? I thought you were piloting.”
Barnabas swore and took off for the bridge.
Shinigami snickered from the speaker by Gar’s ear. “I actually am piloting. That noise came from one of the refineries outside. This day has been fun so far! I got Barnabas good, and he’s got to pretend to be your assistant and do your errands and stuff. Make him do annoying things while you’re there, and record it!”
Gar was starting to get used to Shinigami’s sense of humor, so he didn’t take her too seriously. She and Barnabas liked to poke fun at one another. Shinigami was even starting to get on Gar’s case about being too tall, which he understood to be a joke.
He was, however, nervous about this plan. Barnabas was always so calm and collected. Sometimes he ignored the insults people threw at him and his calm nature threw people off. Other times he took the insults very seriously, and they realized as soon as they saw his expression that they had overstepped.
Gar had no idea how to do that. When he had spoken with Fedden on Virtue Station he’d been sweating anxiously the whole time, afraid they’d see through his lies and kill him in retaliation.
He was afraid that what made Barnabas so much better than he was at this kind of thing was the knowledge that even if things went south, he’d almost certainly be fine. Gar had seen some of what Barnabas could do. He’d seen the human take bullets. Barnabas could rip almost anyone to shreds before they could hurt him, and even if they did, between his durability, healing, and the Pod-docs he’d be fine.
Gar was just going to have to pretend he was like that and trust that Barnabas would have his back out here.
He met Barnabas at the airlock. The human looked disgruntled by Shinigami’s trick, but more engaged with the operation than anything else. He was wearing the faraway expression that Gar had learned meant Barnabas and Shinigami were talking silently.
Barnabas nodded in acknowledgment of something Shinigami said.
“Are you ready to go?” Barnabas asked Gar.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Gar ran over the details of his character again and nodded. “Let’s go. I want to get in, get the information, and get out of there.”
Barnabas let the Luvendi precede him down the ramp. At Shinigami’s suggestion he had dyed his hair black, the color it had been until a year or so ago, and used contacts to make his eyes brown. She had claimed the hair dye would rinse out quickly, but he was dubious—and he found it strangely jarring to catch glimpses of himself looking like he had in the past.
He had pointed out that aliens were unlikely to be able to differentiate human features very well, and she had pointed out in return that a few big details would therefore be even more likely to deflect them.
He hated it when she was right.
Their Shrillexian contacts were waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp. Fedden seemed deeply displeased about something, though the feeling did not grow when he greeted Gar. Barnabas scanned him quickly and found that the displeasure related to the syndicate.
“Who is this?” Fedden asked roughly. “A human?”
“Yes, why?” Gar asked, as if confused that the matter was worthy of comment. He turned to look at Barnabas and did a careful examination. “Is there some problem?”
I have to hand it to him, Barnabas told Shinigami. He can act.
Just be careful he doesn’t do that with you, Shinigami advised.
For now, he’s still very uncomfortable when he lies. If that starts to change, I’ll know we have a problem.
“He’s human,” Fedden retorted. “They’re the ones who started that shit on Devon.” He didn’t want anyone here thinking he’d brought in the enemy. His reputation was shaky enough right now.
“I’m not sure if you know this,” Gar drew the words out as if speaking to a child, “but there are a lot of humans. The ones who made trouble on Devon were part of their government.”
Oh, God, he’s starting to talk like you. He’s telling the truth while he lies.
Don’t start.
Fedden looked at Barnabas carefully. “Do any of them have blue eyes?”
“What, humans? I haven’t the faintest idea.” Gar looked around impatiently. “I don’t wish to be rude, but what with concluding our business and discussing the matter you wanted help with, we really don’t have much time.”
Fedden
nodded. He gave Barnabas one last narrow-eyed glance but turned away to walk with Gar in a manner that made it clear he considered Barnabas no threat.
Well, look at that. It’s working.
It is. Apparently, you were correct about the hair and eye color. Thank you.
I just said to change it, I didn’t say to pick colors so unsuited to your looks.
This discussion is over. Actually, no. I’ll have you know that I had black hair for years.
Why? It looks terrible.
Okay, now the discussion is definitely over.
Gar followed Fedden through the tunnels to a small cave that had clearly been turned into a conference room. He was surprised to see Fedden set up signal-blockers. Did Fedden realize what they were up to?
Fedden, with one last, suspicious look down the hallway, closed the door.
“Privacy,” was all he said by way of explanation.
Gar did not dare look over at Barnabas. Was there some problem here? Why would Fedden want to block surveillance on his own base?
Gar figured he might as well continue with the plan, since Barnabas had not given him any signals to abort and flee back to the ship. He took the tablet Barnabas held out to him, doing his best to project the aura that he was the most important person in the room. Powerful people generally did that, Barnabas aside. Barnabas’ quiet confidence wasn’t something Gar could mimic yet.
“Just so we have the particulars out of the way, these are my specifications for the job.” He slid the tablet across the table. “Fifty guards—just to start, you understand. We will be expanding. In the meantime, I assure you that other measures will be taken to ensure you’re not understaffed. Living quarters will be separated so no larger riots can form, and movement will be…controlled.” He smiled the way Lan used to when dealing with people who didn’t like to speak openly about the conditions in the mine. “Having been in this business before, I have seen all the tricks. Workers think they’re clever, but they rarely are.”