by C. G. Hatton
“I need to contact Mendhel,” he said abruptly, out loud, interrupting his own train of thought.
“Not until we reach the guild, unless you have some other way of communicating.”
Hil detected a hint of sarcasm. “Skye, help me here. I honestly don’t remember where we were supposed to be going,” he said. “Where do we usually...?”
“Honey, you just rest your cute butt until I get us to an airfield and a repair yard where we can get some of these systems back online. Then you can worry about getting back and signing in to check your status.”
Checking his status. That sounded familiar. Status meant all green, safe and sound, home straight. He’d never had an alert on him. Of course he’d never outright crashed before. So maybe this was what it felt like when the guild put out a red or black. He’d seen poor suckers tagged with alerts before and had felt smugly superior with his spotless record, vying for the top spot, not scuzzing around waiting for an extraction team to haul him back in like he’d seen some of them needing. He’d always been package delivered, thank you very much and onto the next. No matter how tricky – the trickier the better in fact. Thing was, he vaguely remembered thinking that this should have been a walk in the park. Or was that the last job? It was enough to make his head spin. He closed his eyes and let the minutes fly by.
There were two kinds of planet-bound space port that were worth visiting – the big, extravagant, old-Earth style supersizers where you could catch the latest gambling crazes, try out the newest biowares and get cosy with just about any fantasy you could imagine, and the seriously hi-tech Wintran machine shops that were on the fringes of reality, crossing military hardware with upgrades that hadn’t even seen a field test yet. He’d spent his fair share of time R&R’ing at the first and spending his hard-earned credits at the second, treating himself and Skye to anything that could keep them a second ahead in the race.
Unfortunately for both of them, this was neither. Skye found them a way in and managed to haggle permission to land at a repair bay. They were dwarfed by a cargo ship on one side and a courier on the other. Both looked to be trash end of the market and Hil felt his skin crawl at the thought of going out there.
“All repairs booked in and authorised,” Skye declared. “You go get seen to.”
Go get seen to? He didn’t want to go anywhere here. Hil didn’t move. He couldn’t see anything that matched the signature of the ships that had been following them. But that didn’t mean they weren’t in here somewhere.
“You’re still bleeding all over me, Hil honey. I’ve made a reservation for you at a Wellbeing. It just looks like a small one but they should be able to patch you up.”
“Cancel it, I can wait,” he said, thinking of the package and trying to remember what the hell he had to do with it.
Skye was a mind reader at times. “They’ll help,” she said. “You have a concussion and I don’t know where we’re going so I need you to go get seen to, let them spark that short-term memory of yours back into shape and by the time you get back, we’ll be fixed up and ready for go. And the package will be fine in storage.”
He weighed up his options. Having full control over life support, Skye could make it impossible for him to stay. Wellbeing it was then. Normally a stay in a Wellbeing of choice was a much anticipated post-tab treat. But even at some of his favourite haunts, there were Wellbeings he’d avoid. Chances of this one being above par were slim but this was purely medicinal, being mid-tab and all, so a quick fix-up wouldn’t hurt.
Hil checked that the package was still secure and left the ship on shaky legs, still light-headed and more than a little shocked to see the state of the ship from outside. There were massive scorch marks etched across her hull, Skye’s sleek form and elegant wingspan battered from impacts he couldn’t remember. Her landing gear was standing crooked and debris littered the floor beneath her. Hil kicked absently at a piece of twisted metal. It was the first time they’d ever got their fingers burnt. But she’d got them here and she’d get them home. Somehow.
He was halfway across the concourse when he got an urgent recall from Skye sounding in his head. He turned and spotted two uniforms making their way towards him, too rapidly to be routine. He turned again, expecting trouble from the other side and saw a guy in a dark business suit standing, just staring at him and intimidating as hell. Hil stumbled slightly as he back-peddled and tried to look nonchalant as he headed back to the ship.
He glanced back and the two uniforms broke into a run so he did too but his flat out was more of a limping ramble. Their outright sprint, guns up, intercepted him before he was anywhere near Skye’s on ramp. He stumbled as one of them grabbed hold of his arm and the other wheeled around in front of him. They were probably just grunts from customs, he thought as they forced him to his knees. He could buy his way out of this, but as he opened his mouth to speak, a blow to the back of the head sent his already scrambled senses spinning into darkness.
Chapter 2
Breathing in the heady air of the Man’s private office was giving NG a headache. He sat bolt upright, waiting for the Man to continue.
The Man stared straight ahead, his eyes glinting like tiny black gems catching the light from the many candles that sent shadows dancing around the nooks and crannies of the chambers.
The guild had never before had to deal with a situation like this, one that threatened its very existence. NG kept his breathing calm. It was one that he should have averted. And one that was still not resolved and still had the momentum to inflict more damage.
The fact that their operative, one of the best operatives in the history of the guild, was still missing was unnerving; never mind the financial cost of losing such a valuable asset, losing anything didn’t settle well with anyone inside the Thieves’ Guild.
The Man reached for a large pewter goblet that was resting on the desk. He poured carefully from a glass jug, dark red liquid that was steaming vapour splashing into the goblet and sending more fumes to swirl between them. He gestured absently towards a second goblet as he raised his own to his lips.
Never one to refuse hospitality, NG poured himself a dash of the wine.
“To the guild,” the Man said and drank deeply. “Now tell me everything – from the beginning.”
•
Waking up in a Wellbeing was a warm, cocooned, snug and peacefully slow surfacing to soft cream lights and the gentle awakening of awareness with a nudging from Skye to tell him it was time to get back to work after a well earned rest and rejuvenation. Hil was cold and sore and a pitiful ache deep inside told him he wasn’t connected to the ship anymore. Not in a Wellbeing then. It was also sickening to realise that he didn’t know where the package was. It was the closest to panic that he’d ever experienced. It was the first time he’d ever been forcefully parted from Skye and the void of quiet felt like it was sucking his brain out into a vacuum.
He gasped and tensed, eyes opening to a harsh white light. He could sense someone standing close by to his right but couldn’t move. He was lying flat, wrists and ankles restrained and someone was fumbling to free him. A hand took hold of his arm, pulling it straight, and he was too weak to resist. He felt cold then in the crook of his elbow and a sharp sting followed by a slap to an already tender cheek.
“C’mon Hil buddy, we’re out of here as soon as you can gather your butt to move.”
The voice was vaguely familiar but Hil felt himself drifting back into the dark.
“God, give him some more, we don’t have time for this.” The second voice belonged somewhere else and he struggled to place it, female, aggressive and condescending, the kind of voice that was okay in small doses but one you didn’t want to be around too long. Another jab hit his arm and as the drug kicked in with a rush he almost gagged. Arms were lifting him up then before he could protest and he couldn’t help that his knees buckled as his feet hit the floor. It was distressing to be this helpless but at least he was dressed – coat missing but he was wearing h
is own clothes. They held him, one on either side, both of them wearing black, lightweight combat gear that he recognised from somewhere despite the lack of insignia. The woman leaned in close and said, “Good god Hil, you’re a mess,” and there was something about that voice that rankled somewhere deep down.
They hauled him upright and he tried his best to put one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t see much past the bright glare of spots in front of his eyes so he put his trust in these two somehow familiar figures that seemed to be rescuing him from he wasn’t sure what. He kept trying to reach out to Skye but the void was complete and there wasn’t so much as a whisper from her.
They navigated a bright blur of corridors and steps and he still couldn’t see or stand straight by the time they pushed through a door to a blast of chill air and he was bundled into a vehicle. He lay back on the cold seat and tried not to throw up as they drove fast, veering around corners and accelerating hard.
Nothing else was said until they came skidding to a halt and Hil’s stomach flipped sideways. He could hear launch engines firing up, cracks that sounded like gunfire and someone yelling. There was a sharp metallic impact near his head and he curled up reflexively, rolling off the seat and landing with a groan in the footwell, banging his head and feeling the cut on his forehead open up again. The door near his feet opened and he was dragged out, no apologies, an arm thrown around his shoulders. He was pulled into a run onto an up ramp with bullets impacting around them.
As soon as the arms holding him let go, he sank to his knees on what felt like a loading bay deck and braced his left arm against a cool bulkhead. He heard the ramp slam shut, then footsteps clanging away from him, more yells that he could recognise as the two voices he couldn’t quite identify, then the comforting lift of a ship leaving the confines of the planet’s surface. No guild monkey ever liked to be planet-bound. The more dimensions you have around you to play with the better. And he was with friendlies. As much as he couldn’t place the voices, he knew they were guild and he knew he was in safe hands.
The acceleration was tough. Hil tumbled against the bulkhead as the ship pulled out of the atmosphere. He couldn’t stop himself rolling a ways down the deck, wondering vaguely what would happen to him if they went into jump and he tried not to pass out so he could at least attempt to hold onto something.
He passed out anyway and woke abruptly some indeterminable time later to feel the reassuring tug of a restraining harness against his chest and a pressure building behind his eyes. He could hear numbers being checked off, the two voices joined by a third that he reckoned must be the ship.
They were being pursued from the planet and had fighters on their tail from what he could make out. It didn’t make sense and he couldn’t understand why Skye wasn’t goading him into action. Raising a hand up to his neck he felt with horror that there was a bandage patch taped behind his ear. He tore it off and felt the sting of cold air against a wound that was still tender. His fingers came away red with smears of blood. That hadn’t happened in the crash. The Senson had still been there, still functional, the implant providing a clear connection to the ship. He’d been talking to Skye before they got to the space port. Crap. What the hell had they done to him?
“Hil, calm down, you’re freaking out the ship.” It was the woman again. She rattled off more numbers.
Freaking out the ship? He was freaking out himself.
“I just need to know what’s happening,” he mumbled. “I need to get back to Skye.”
“In a nutshell,” the woman said, “… ten seconds to jump… you’ve been extracted. The guild wants that package… five seconds.”
The package. That cold touch in the pit of his stomach again.
“Three… two… one.”
Then jump. Hil closed his eyes and let the motion of jump pull at his every molecule. He was screwed. He was well and truly screwed.
They made five jumps. And by the time they docked with the Alsatia, they were fairly sure they hadn’t been followed. It was the first time he’d ever been here without Skye. The first time he’d ever lost a tab. But crap, that was nothing compared to losing Skye.
Once they’d edged onboard and were given the go ahead to disembark, Hil shook off the cobwebs in his head as he unhitched the restraints and limped down to the airlock without waiting for either of them to say anything. He knew he was being obnoxious and knew he should be grateful for the rescue and humble and patient in his current pathetic state but the cold and aches had turned into anger and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t yell and scream and, obnoxious as he was feeling, he didn’t want to inflict that onto the two people who had just saved his ass.
He stood and glared at the red light above the airlock and willed it to turn to green before either one of them appeared behind him.
It was a relief to be home. The Alsatia was a massive wandering cruiser owned by the guild that flitted around known trade routes and uncharted shortcuts, both sides of the line, operating in Earth and Wintran space and the Between. No one outside the guild should ever be able to find them if they didn’t want to be found. It had never been attacked, never been infiltrated and it never would be because every single person inside was family, with bonds stronger than blood could ever be. The guild looked after its own and these two people had been sent for him because the guild wanted him back in one piece. And it sucked that he’d screwed up badly enough to need extracting. He’d never needed rescuing from anything.
They’d said the guild wanted the package. The only thing he knew for sure was that the package was with Skye and she was god knows where. He’d lost both of them. Why they hadn’t left his sorry ass there and gone after the package itself was beyond him right now. And he didn’t feel inclined to ask. The only plan he’d been able to come up with was to grab a ride in another ship and go after her. There were a couple of people he thought he could count on and he was desperately hoping they’d be home.
“Hil wait up.”
The damn light was still red.
The guy walked up behind him and caught hold of his arm to twist him around. He resisted because he was still feeling belligerent but it was only half-hearted. He really did appreciate that they’d come after him.
“There’s some things you need to know before you go in.”
Hil stared. He’d thought his emotions had bottomed out, that it wasn’t possible to feel any more cold and sick. He reached a new low at the guy’s tone.
“Do you want to come on back and sit down? You don’t look so good, Hil bud.”
Hil thought he could have been less hostile if he could remember the guy’s name. “No,” he said and gestured toward the airlock and its infuriating red light. “I just want to go in and get this sorted. I need to get back out there and find her. Mendhel will set me up with a ride.” He trailed off at the expression on the guy’s face. He actually didn’t know what the procedure was once someone had been hauled in. His reputation would be screwed and his average would tumble but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get hooked back up with Skye and rebuild it from there. Screw the standings.
“Hil.” The guy looked uneasy as hell. “Mendhel is dead and LC is missing.”
Chapter 3
“Losing Mendhel has been a blow,” the Man said slowly, every word resonating. “The guild must be seen to be invincible – on both sides of the line. I trust that action has been taken.”
NG didn’t answer straight away. He wasn’t sure that an answer was necessary. He held the goblet and felt the warmth of the wine. Mendhel had been more than just one of his best handlers, he’d been a good friend.
“The guild is as strong as it’s ever been,” he said quietly. He swirled the wine gently around the bowl of the goblet and watched the vapours rise. It was true, the guild had survived, but the cost had been far higher than anyone had realised. It wasn’t just that it had unbalanced their standing in the complex and delicate political situation between Earth and Winter
. The guild thrived on the paranoia and hysteria that rumbled between the two. No, it was the repercussions of the conflict this whole incident had sparked within the guild itself that had hurt.
Thinking back, he’d known right at the start how much certain individuals, key individuals, had been tempted by the chance to use the situation to force a shift in power.
The Man smiled and shook his head. “It’s not wise to get caught up on hindsight,” he warned gently and filled NG’s goblet to the brim. “This turn of events was unexpected but such is the nature of man. The greater our understanding of that capricious nature, the more we can exploit its strengths to our own end.” He paused and directed his gaze directly at NG once again. “Tell me more.”
•
Mendhel dead? It didn’t register. Hil felt wide-eyed and stupid as the words simply didn’t register.
“The package was switched on you, buddy,” the guy said. “We have Skye, and the package you put in storage is phoney baloney, bud. NG is seriously pissed. We’ve all been played for fools. The guild has lost its best handler, its best field-op and its second best has been severely fucked with. We were lucky to get you out of there, Hil. We’ve had teams all over looking for you.” He paused then repeated the only bit Hil could grasp. “We’ve got Skye, Hil. She’s as screwed as you are but we’re hoping we’ll be able to recover from the two of you what’s actually happened. Because NG wants that package and he wants LC back.”