by C. G. Hatton
NG shook his head and cheated, using the physical contact to give Devon no choice but to concede the argument.
“Give me everything you’ve got on the Order,” she said.
“I just did.”
There wasn’t much else he could say. And it wasn’t like there was a file he could hand over.
She moved closer, stroking her hand along his bare skin to the bicep muscle and the second scar. “You heal fast,” she murmured.
“I’m invincible.”
‘You’re soft, Nikolai,’ the dark voice whispered maliciously, ‘and you shouldn’t have told her a thing.’
Chapter 13
The disbelief deepened. “He knows the council to be a fabrication? Why, in all of this, why would you want him to know he is alone?”
“He is alone. It does him no good to live a lie.”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “The concept of a council of elders has served us well. Why can it not serve Nikolai? You are hard enough on him. You say he protects his own, does he not deserve his own form of protection?”
“He is not like any other, any of us, any of his own. He is alone and it will do none of us any good if he is cosseted to believe otherwise.”
She was his conscience, this woman sitting opposite him, staring and so unimpressed. “You put the pressure of the entire guild on him,” she said, “the full weight of the special projects, the responsibility for the future of a whole race…”
“And he thrives on it.”
“Does he? Does he not get closer to cracking every time the handle gets cranked another notch?”
“He gets stronger. He has no choice.”
•
They walked off the ship into a snowstorm and an armed guard. NG pulled his collar close. He was wearing black, not exactly business clothes but not exactly combat gear, body armour and warm weather layers and he was still cold. Banks and Martinez stayed close, flanking him on either side.
They’d used guild-seeded corporate IDs to gain entry permission, old and hard-earned IDs that had extensive authentic provenance.
It was a difficult decision to expose such an established corporation that had been so useful for such a long time but it was one the Merchants were familiar with, one that had no discernible link with the guild, and he couldn’t risk using a less stable cover. It was risky enough just to be here.
They’d scanned the security system from orbit before they’d committed to landing and he’d calculated the risk to be worth it. The terminal’s auto-visual ID system was down, as it had been for years – few visitors to Redgate wanted to be readily identified – they had a mobile disruptor to knock out any real-time camera feeds, and there was no reason any of the staff here should recognise him. The only danger was Ballack himself and his immediate personnel, Ingarssen excepted. NG had never met the guy. He just needed to avoid Ballack, get in, get what he needed and get out.
He blinked snow off his eyelashes, nodded to the officer in charge of the escort and received a curt welcome. They were taken across the runway and into a terminal, fast tracked through arrivals and led into a lounge. It looked like power was on emergency back up, lights flickering and heating struggling to keep up with the drop in temperature. The whole place was more run down than he remembered from his last visit, years ago. No wonder Ballack wanted to pull the plug.
The armed guard left them there with a handful of other travellers who were waiting to be processed, all corporate types, a few bored regulars and a couple of nervous newbies. Life carries on whatever the rebels were planning and Redgate needed to maintain its supply chains.
Martinez pulled coffees from a vending machine, extra sugar masking the tang of the artificial flavour.
In most Merchants’ Guild facilities throughout the galaxy, the coffee was real, straight from Earth, no expense spared. The Merchant’s airfield on Redgate had every look of a place that had been low priority for a long time and was fast reaching the end of its effective life span.
A far off rumble echoed through the building.
One of the nervous women clutched at her companion. “It sounds like thunder,” she said.
“Sounds like fucking artillery to me,” Martinez muttered.
NG hid his grin behind the coffee cup.
A Merchants’ Guild official scurried in after a while, waving the others to wait and smiling at NG’s group, so their IDs must have checked out.
“Orientation talk is basically this: don’t leave the perimeter of the airfield if you want to survive this business trip,” he said and laughed. “No, seriously, you’ve requested passage to the south. That’s fine. You’ll be able to leave in the morning, probably. I’ll have someone let you know. This isn’t a good time to be visiting Redgate but hey, I’m sure your competitors daren’t chase up trade here right now so why not take advantage, huh?” He handed over a bundle of documents. “Keep these with you. Snowstorm is due to let up some time soon. Hostilities to the north are getting worse. Check in at the desk if you want to book an armed guard. You all have rooms booked at the Wellbeing and they can sort you out with transport if you need it. Have a good trip.”
NG went through the motions of checking the documents. He had no intention of leaving the airfield.
The official watched until NG nodded his approval then led them back out into the cold and pointed them in the direction of the Wellbeing, an array of lights that cut through the white out of the snow.
Banks clapped his hands together as they walked. “Jesus, why the hell do people fight over this place?”
“Money and power, bud,” Martinez said. “Imagine how hard the bastards would fight if they had year-round sunshine.”
Badger was already waiting in the suite of rooms they’d booked for the night. He’d ordered enough room service for them all and brought in a load of kit that he’d spread around the lounge.
He didn’t look up as they walked in, dark glasses perched on top of wild hair and a handful of tortilla chips on the way to his mouth as he ran data through five boards at once with the other hand.
NG dropped his bag and perched on the arm of the sofa, reaching for a beer. “I want you on something new.”
“Uhuh.” Badger spun a board around and pushed it across the low table. “You need to see this.”
The image wasn’t clear but it was clear enough. “Is that Hil?”
“On Aston. With at least five sets of bounty hunters after his ass. They didn’t catch him as far as I can tell. But he’s pushing it.”
“What about LC?”
“Nothing since Palmio.”
Banks and Martinez were at the dining table, spreading out cloths to clean weapons. NG popped open the beer. It was good to see Badger again. It had been too long just hearing the reports from him second-hand as the field-ops brought the intel back.
“What have you got on the Merchants?” he said.
“Nothing new. Ballack threatening to pull out is trash talk. He’s in full negotiations with this corporation that is ploughing so much into making more of this place than it’s worth.”
“Is it Zang?”
Badger looked up, curious. “Why?”
NG took a swig of the beer. It was cold and reminded him of old times on tough assignments where the only alcohol was cheap beer that you always hoped like hell was cold enough not to taste like ditch water.
“It was Zang that had Mendhel killed,” he said carefully. “They probably posted the bounties on LC and Hil.”
Badger looked down, fingers flying across his boards. “What about the Assassins?” he said.
“That’s what I want you on,” NG said. “We don’t know. I want you to find Ki and Brandon, and some guy called Sceznei.”
Badger laughed and cursed at once. He finished what he was doing then pushed the boards away, grabbed a beer and another handful of chips and sat back. “What’s going on, NG?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. We have a breach in security and I have no idea where.” He n
odded towards the table stacked with boards. “I want you to wrap up here, get that intel back to the Alsatia then go find the assassins. Do anything you have to do.”
The fact there was a Black Rogue Seven out there causing mayhem flashed across Badger’s mind. He looked at NG with a bemused, questioning expression.
NG downed another mouthful of beer. “Whatever it takes.”
Alek Ingarssen was tall and thin, sitting with legs stretched out, confidently sprawled in the shabby armchair. He held his hand up and rubbed his thumb and fingers together, smiling. “That’s what it’s all about,” he said. “You can do well here.”
NG held up his tumbler of whisky and nodded. The Wellbeing was struggling to live up to brand standards but no one could complain considering the circumstances.
A sealed package left at the desk for Ingarssen didn’t take long to illicit a response and as they sat negotiating an under the table deal packed with backhanders, NG read the guy’s mind as easily as if the jerk was recounting every thought out loud. He was arrogant, blatantly self-interested and had no problem in assuming that his visitors were as corrupt as their bribe had suggested. He’d arranged a meeting according to their request, private, discrete, no need to mention their presence to Ballack.
It had been a calculated gamble but Ingarssen turned out to be exactly the type of right hand man they had anticipated – one who watched his own back and feigned loyalty only so long as it met his own ends.
And he was proud to be Order. It resonated through every fibre. He was even considering inviting NG to a meeting of the Low Guard, some introductory low grade recruitment organisation used to feel out potential future members.
NG had said everything Ingarssen wanted to hear and kept back just enough to sound like he was cautiously secretive – exactly the kind of upcoming merchant operator the Order saw as a future asset.
The booming noise of the distant artillery ebbed and flowed, the low lighting in the room flickering as the back up power struggled. They were sitting in a private chamber, an inner sanctum that was warm, much warmer than the rest of the Wellbeing. Rank has its privilege and Ingarssen was milking it to its extreme.
Banks and Martinez were waiting outside and they were all hoping that Ballack would keep his distance. Ingarssen certainly had no vested interest in his boss being privy to this meeting, they’d made sure of that with the offer they’d presented.
“You’ll do very well,” Ingarssen said again, more than contented with the deal, leaning forward and offering his hand.
NG took the bony hand in a firm grasp and took everything he needed, freezing the moment, gently teasing out the information and leaving Ingarssen undamaged but reeling as if the alcohol had suddenly taken its toll.
‘You should melt his brain,’ the dark voice whispered.
It wasn’t worth the risk. They needed to walk away from this one quietly with no trail blazing behind them.
Ingarssen blinked and laughed, sitting back and shaking his head slightly. The man of the Order had no idea what had happened and NG had a lead that went right to the heart of the Earth Empire. Easy.
He opened his eyes to darkness, adrenaline rushing and heart pounding.
‘Enemies at the gate…’
NG sat up reaching for his gun. He was still fully dressed. Badger had left. Gone to secure his den and bug out. They’d decided to stay the night to maintain their cover, taking turns at watch.
It looked like that had been a mistake.
It took a second to scan around and focus in. Martinez was at the door, gun out, about to open it, hostiles in the corridor outside, Banks asleep in the other bedroom. NG sent a fast sharp warning to them both. He ran out into the main room, hauling Martinez aside as the door exploded inwards.
Debris rained down on them. They both twisted round, firing at the armoured squad that was bursting in. NG picked their orders from a mind that was clear and focused – it was an advance team, four guys, night vision kit, expecting their shock tactics to catch the target unawares. All four hit the floor with a bullet through the throat. Martinez was up and pulling NG to his feet before the smoke cleared.
Banks was already at the window. “Shit,” he said and turned.
NG scanned around quickly. There were vehicles pulling up outside, more troops piling out to surround the Wellbeing, heightened emotions and slick communications. There were more moving rapidly through the building. Whoever had called this in knew what they were doing. According to the information he’d dragged from A’Darbi, the Order wanted him alive. But surely there was no way they could have known that he’d be here. Even if they’d found A’Darbi’s body and made the connection.
He ran back into his room and grabbed his armoured vest, shrugging into it and running back out.
“The corridor,” Banks said. “Up.”
The roof was going to be the only way out. They moved fast, evading an increasing force assaulting the hotel with no regard for collateral damage. NG had no idea who’d given them away. Definitely not Ingarssen. And he’d been scanning every individual they’d encountered from setting foot on the planet. Nothing. He was absolutely sure that no one had recognised him.
‘Someone did. You screwed up.’
He ignored the doubt niggling deep inside and ran.
They reached the roof and crouched in the shelter of the doorway, watching troops land, dark shadows spilling out of gunships and into the snow, spreading out into search patterns. From the look of them and their equipment, they were probably a mercenary unit rather than local militia.
‘You’ve really blown this one.’
“We need to move,” Martinez murmured. She had a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t had time to grab his coat and the driving sleet had soaked quickly into his shirt. Martinez was worrying that everyone and their dog was going to hear the commotion and come join the party. She wanted him out of there. He wanted out of there. So much for quietly in, quietly out.
Artillery strikes were still hitting the north shore off in the distance. They gauged their move and ran, jumping across to the adjacent building and rolling to their feet, Banks a shade behind and Martinez veering left to cover. After that, they made their way steadily around the complex, leaping gaps between buildings and running across rooftops to the main terminal, avoiding the massive spotlights that began to flash in sweeping arcs.
More gunships were starting to close in, thrusters roaring, shouts from the ground echoing through the night. A shell hit close by, the blast sending out a shockwave that shook the building beneath their feet.
“Oh shit,” Martinez sent, glancing round as they ran, “they’re attacking the airfield. Does the whole fucking planet know we’re here?”
‘Well done, Nikolai.’ Deep inside, that dark niggling voice was laughing. ‘You’ve just thrown a spark into the powder keg.’
A gunship raced overhead, swooping down and skidding to a halt on the rooftop up ahead. Troops piled out.
“Who are these guys?” Banks muttered and sent tight wire, private, “Shit, Martinez, we need to go to ground, girl. This is getting out of hand.”
He was right and NG caught the unease in Martinez’s reply, listening in to their exchange as easily as if he’d been included in the loop. He didn’t resist as Banks grabbed his shoulder and herded him towards the edge of the roof. As good as NG was – he’d looked after himself far longer than he’d known any one person in the guild – keeping him alive was their job and they’d proved themselves to be very good at it, many times. He had no reason to doubt them now.
They ducked low and worked their way round to a point where lower buildings edged onto the main terminal, dropping down and jumping from roof to roof until they were low enough to climb down to ground level. They moved fast, using the cover of the buildings and stacked transport containers. An icy cold wind whistled viciously through the narrow alleyways sending the snow and sleet into wild flurries, sucking out any residual heat he had left in his body.
> They could hear sounds of fighting close by. An outright attack had been initiated on the neutral airfield simply by the presence of so many armed soldiers attacking the Wellbeing. That was all it had taken. Ballack would be furious.
Martinez stopped suddenly, gesturing them to get down. Banks closed in defensively, instinctively sensing danger as NG detected the presence of a figure emerging from the darkness behind them.
He turned.
Martinez spun, gun up.
NG read the intention and time seemed to slow as the figure moved in a fluid dance, the knife flowing from graceful fingers to cut through the storm in a perfect trajectory. An incendiary shell hit the building to their left, the bright flash of flames illuminating the figure. NG started to twist away. He was fast but he knew he wasn’t going to be fast enough, the knife flying straight and true towards his throat.
Except that Banks shoved him aside. The knife hit home and Banks fell.
NG stumbled to his knees, feeling the shock of the stabbing pain second-hand. Martinez was firing but the figure had vanished.
Another artillery shell hit near by.
More figures were appearing at the edge of his senses, far too many to determine individual intentions. Gunfire started to ricochet along the narrow gap. A shot punched into his chest sending him tumbling backwards, crunching into a wall, breath forced from his lungs.
Martinez was scrabbling to get to Banks and for a second NG couldn’t move, sharing the effects of the toxin from the knife as it slowly spread through Banks, paralysing.
He shut it out and staggered to his feet, staring across at them, glancing left and right, watching as Martinez dragged her partner to the opposite wall, leaving a dark smear in the snow. She crouched there shielding him and holding one hand against the ragged wound in his neck, returning fire with the other.
NG covered them, firing towards the shadows at the far end of the alley, heart sinking, chest on fire.
Banks coughed, trying to reach his gun, unable to move his legs. “C’mon Angel, help me here,” he muttered.