by Susan Grant
“You won’t get the Blues to agree to anything without a fight. They’ll convince the other clans to resist peace efforts, too. It will get ugly, and that’s exactly what the Triad wants to avoid, yes? Bloodshed,” he said. “Captain, I can get you the zelfen the Triad needs without the war nobody wants. And I can do it quickly.” In his excitement, Nezerihm’s cheeks finally showed a little color. So the man was alive after all.
“Really. To say you’ve captured my interest is an understatement.” Frank stirred more sugar into his coffee although it had already cooled down more than he liked. If this eccentric could deliver peace, Frank was game. “How do you suggest we do it?”
“Reconstruction, from the top down.”
Frank stopped stirring. “Meaning?”
“First, we eliminate the biggest instigator of disobedience—Val Blue, the Blue clan leader. She’s unpredictable and irrational, a loose cannon.” He looked from side to side and whispered, “Utterly mad. She’s costing me millions. Millions. Robbing my transports on land!” Nezerihm seemed to catch himself and forced calm back into his voice. His hands stopped wringing and spread over his thighs. The right hand, though manicured, was a lacework of scratches up to the wrist that looked fresh, like work of fingernails. Signs of a struggle? Frank narrowed his eyes.
Nezerihm grasped at the fabric of his pants to keep his hands still. “Captain, I have nothing to gain by generating more unrest in the region, and everything to gain by creating stability. Val Blue has made it very difficult for me to get zelfen to your shipyards. She’s the problem. The solution is simple. Remove her immediately and install a new, responsible leader in her place. Zelfen will flow free once again.”
Frank’s hopes for a constructive dialogue plummeted. “Assassination is against Triad directives, Lord Nezerihm.”
“Oh, no. We don’t kill her. We simply put someone…more accommodating in her position. It will be easier than you think.” Nezerihm leaned forward. “I know just the man. Remember, I have allies inside the clans.” He was back to rubbing his anxious hands over the thighs of his expensive trousers. “I’m not the only one upset about Val Blue’s land raids, you see. Her own clan is on the verge of rebellion over them. It won’t take much at all to fall over the edge. After the mutiny, she’ll be delivered to you alive and well. No one gets hurt. I give you my word.” Nezerihm sat back in his chair for the first time, waiting for his response. One finger rapped against the armrest. A foot tapped on the carpet. He was always in motion.
Was it nerves, Frank wondered, or a physical issue? Living this far out in the Borderlands, the hinterlands of the settled galaxy, could make anyone a little crazy. The backwoods of the United States sure had their share of hermits and mountain men over the years, but for Frank there was an undercurrent of malice in this individual that leeched the humor from his eccentricities.
It warranted further investigation.
“You bring up an excellent point,” he said at last. “It might very well be beneficial to work on the situation from the inside out.”
“It will be. Trust me in this. So, do I have your blessing, Captain Johnson?”
“Lord Nezerihm, I want to give this some more thought before I decide how we will proceed.”
“Of course.” Nezerihm’s expression was a study in impatience, disgust and then acceptance. It was clear he’d wanted to get started immediately. “I completely understand. I’ll wait for your word, then.”
“I’ll be in touch soon,” Frank promised.
They said their goodbyes and the mine owner departed.
Frank swore as Gwarkk closed the door behind him. They regarded each other, incredulous. Then Frank drove a hand through his hair. “Did you hear that?”
Gwarkk nodded. “He wants to force a coup.”
“I could use a shower after listening to all that.”
“I don’t blame you, sir.”
“The idea actually excited him. He wanted to get started on the overthrow today, and install his own puppet leader.” Frank scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “It would certainly speed things along if we could pull it off, but no way am I going to try.” He was an Earth officer in a position of potential historical significance for the entire galaxy. The temptation of the easy way wasn’t how he got there. “I’m going to find a solution acceptable to the Triad where the pirates can keep their homes.”
At the risk of failing in his mission.
And ending his career.
“As well as find a solution acceptable to you, sir,” Gwarkk guessed correctly.
“Yeah.” Turning away, Frank folded his hands behind his head and gazed at the plaque he’d mounted on the wall. The same plaque he’d hung above every desk in every office he’d ever occupied. He made himself pause to reread the quote attributed to Davey Crockett, seeing his budding political career destroyed because he supported the Cherokees’ bid to keep their land. “‘I’d rather be honestly and politically damned than hypocritically immortalized,’” Frank recited. Amen to that.
He dropped his hands and turned around. “Lieutenant Gwarkk, research the treaty signed between the Nezerihm family and the clans. See if there are any records of what, exactly, they agreed to.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“What’s next on the schedule, Lieutenant Gwarkk?”
“You wanted to speak to the passenger about the fistfight in the bar. Dake Sureblood. He’s on his way up from the brig now.”
“Oh, yeah. That brawl. Send him in.”
FREEDOM HADN’T LASTED long, Dake thought, his left cheekbone and right knuckles throbbing from punches thrown and received. Not even a half a day free before he’d wound up back behind holobars.
Don’t screw up out there. You’ll be in for a real long time if you come back….
Like hells if he’d ever let that happen. Handcuffed and escorted by a guard from the brig down below up to the bridge, Dake exited the lift. “The captain’s office is this way,” the guard said.
As they turned, a gaunt, pallid man in a gray overcoat strode past to board the elevator. His pale eyes lifted to Dake’s and went wide. He almost tripped, his skin turning even more chalk white at the sight of him.
Dake stared back. Bloody freepin’ hells. Nezerihm!
He’d long ago learned to keep his feelings hidden—in prison any reaction could lead to unhappy consequences—and he kept them hidden now. Nezerihm, on the other hand, had no such discipline. He gawked at Dake, utterly dumbfounded and shocked. No joy at the realization Dake survived, no relief, just fright.
As if seeing a ghost.
That reaction told Dake everything he needed to know. It was the proof that he never was supposed to have survived the Drakken ambush. Nez had wanted him dead.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GWARKK OPENED THE DOOR to Frank’s office. With his firearm drawn, he allowed the detainee to walk inside. A big, good-looking man, the Reboot passenger didn’t appear cowed in the least despite his cuffed wrists. On the other hand, he didn’t appear threatening either, as if he understood the odds against him if he tried anything violent.
The ex-con looked the part, sporting a day’s growth of stubble and a prison haircut, and not an ounce of body fat on him. The cliché stopped at his eyes. They were a startling color, or more accurately a patchwork of colors, and they fell upon Frank with anguished purpose. “Cap’n,” the man said. “I don’t like the company you keep.”
Now, that was some opening. Frank leaned back in his desk chair and tapped a pen against his chin. “Who—my first officer?”
“No. Nezerihm,” he snarled quietly, pointing out to the corridor. “He almost didn’t recognize me. When he did, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Because I’m supposed to be dead, that’s why. Dead because of him.” His eyes flashed with agony he either didn’t try to conceal or couldn’t. “Why the bloody hells is he on this ship?”
“He asked for my time the same as anyone else can. I keep an open office, Mr. Surebl
ood.”
“Cap’n Sureblood,” the big man corrected fervently but respectfully. “Dake Sureblood. I’m leader of the Surebloods. Or I was until the day I was ambushed by Drakken and conscripted into their army.” His glance at Gwarkk revealed no blame for the atrocities the first officer’s people had inflicted before the war’s end. “I always suspected Nezerihm set it up, sicced them on my ship. Now seeing his face out there, I know I’m right.” Sureblood’s jaw pulsed, his bound hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been locked up ever since with no cause until someone finally figured out I belonged outside a cell, not inside one. I’ve been out less than a day. And what do I hear? That my clan is accused of murdering Conn Blue! Nezerihm did it—not us. Nezerihm took him out, and left us Surebloods to take the blame. He’s a murderer. A bloody assassin. And he’s running free on your ship. Hells, he’s been free the entire five years I’ve been behind bars!”
As Frank absorbed the enormity of what had just been told to him, Sureblood fell silent, his chest heaving. The sheer intensity of his gaze coupled with his accusations raised the hackles on Frank’s neck. The mine owner had been all too eager to dismantle Blue clan’s leadership. It seemed he had prior experience tinkering in clan politics. Sureblood politics.
“Wait outside and don’t let anyone in,” Frank told the guard blocking the office entrance. “Lieutenant Gwarkk, come in and shut the door.”
Frank got up and walked around to the front of his desk and sat on the edge, his arms folded as he studied the big pirate. “Is the accusation against your clan what caused the brawl in my bar?”
“I caused it. Your crewman said the Surebloods were fixing to leave Parramanta because they couldn’t live with the shame anymore. I overreacted hearing the news. Cap’n, my people don’t know I’m alive. All these years and not a single word of me. The day we were ambushed, I sent my first mate home to tell them what happened. He got out in a skiff before the hunters boarded, but by the sound of it, I guess he never made it back.”
The pirate’s facial muscles contracted as he seemed to struggle to maintain some sense of dignity and control in light of his clear anguish. When he began again his voice was measured and even. “I’ve spent too long in other people’s cages to stay in one of my own making. I’ll bloody well prove we aren’t responsible for Conn Blue’s murder if it takes me the rest of my days.” He pulled against the wrist restraints as if desperate to use his hands to express himself. “Give me the chance. I’ll prove Nezerihm’s the cold-blooded killer. And that he’s been pitting the clans against each other to splinter any chance of unity.”
“Disarm the cuffs,” Frank told Gwarkk. His first officer hesitated for a moment, as if wondering if it were safe to do it, then did as Frank asked. Hands free, the pirate flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing again. “Having freed you, I’m compelled to issue a disclaimer. Make no sudden, threatening moves. I’ll kill you.”
“Or I will,” Gwarkk said quietly, his earrings and dark eyes glinting.
The pirate hardly reacted. “I’d expect no less,” he said.
Frank folded his arms across his chest. “Do you know anything about a treaty your people have with Lord Nezerihm that allows him to mine the asteroids?”
Sureblood thought about it and shook his head. “For as long as anyone knows, the Nezerihms mined those rocks.”
“And reap all the profit,” Frank pointed out.
“Aye, but my people don’t dig dirt to survive. We sail the stars. Now providing protection for the mines for pay is something we don’t mind. If there be ore stealers, we hunt them down for him. Nezerihm sells the ore and gives us a cut of the profits as bounty.”
“Did give you a cut,” Frank corrected. “The Drakken and Triad aren’t competing for zelfen anymore. There’s only one consumer now—us, the Triad. Nezerihm Mining no longer needs to pay for protection. That leaves you out in the cold. The company’s making money hand over fist, but the only avenue for the clans to share it is to steal it. And that’s what’s no longer going to be allowed, by pirates or by anyone else.” Frank waited a moment for that to sink in, then said, “I respect the fact that your culture looks down on the dirty work of mining, but I didn’t know it meant not sharing in the spoils. They’re your rocks after all. Unless that treaty says they’re not.”
The Sureblood searched his face for a stunned moment, making it obvious he’d never heard the facts put to him that way. “No one’s ever talked about it.”
“Maybe someone should start.”
Sureblood nodded slowly, dragging a hand over his shorn hair. “First thing, I need to meet with the other clan leaders, and tell them. We’ll find out who knows what—and who owns what—if we have rights to those mines or not.” Then his lips compressed. “In the bar I heard about your trouble with Val Blue. I can help. She’ll listen to me.”
“She thinks your clan assassinated her father,” Frank warned.
“Once she hears what happened to me, she’ll know my clan had nothing to do with the murder. Give me a chance to fix the situation. I have the means to end the feuding.”
Nezerihm said the same thing, Frank thought, exhaling. But the mine owner suggested a coup, and this pirate offered dialogue. Or did he? Did he risk trusting the man? Or would he use the opportunity to take care of old grudges? “If you go out there and cause more fighting, the Triad will consider the zelfen mines at risk. We won’t ask the clans to leave the Channels. We’ll tell you and then back up the order with force. Am I clear? This ship may be tagged for a diplomatic mission, but don’t let that fool you. The Unity has enough firepower to make your eyes water, and the permission to use it. I really don’t want to see that happen.”
“We’re of like minds on that, Cap’n. Let me go to her. I’ll talk to her.”
“Perhaps easier said than done. I already know what Blue clan thinks of the Triad. I’m pretty sure they won’t be too welcoming if the Unity shows up in orbit around Artoom. I’d rather not see torpedo damage added to the list you’re racking up on my ship, starting with the broken barstool from your brawl…”
“I’ll fly to the Blues, alone. I know where they hunt. I’ll dangle myself in front of them and they’ll pick me up.”
“And kill you, if they consider you guilty of murder.”
“Not right away.” The Sureblood’s eyes glinted with self-deprecating humor. “We pirates like to play with our prey before wolfing it down. If I know that woman, she’ll want to punish me first—make me pay. I’ll have time to set things right. Give me a shuttle. I’ll go right now.”
“A shuttle. One of my shuttles.” Frank cracked a skeptical smile as he shook his head. “How the hell will I explain to Zaafran when you don’t come back with it?”
Sureblood turned serious again. “I give you my word, pirate’s honor, that I will. You already have my people and my world—Parramanta—as collateral. I want them back.” His tone turned pleading. Whatever pride this man had, he’d left it at the door. “Give me this chance. It’s all I ask. I promise you I won’t fail.”
Frank weighed his options. This former leader of the Surebloods offered a second, more moral solution to the Channels problem than Nezerihm had. A shuttle was a small price to pay for bringing peace to the region once and for all, wasn’t it? A low-risk gamble. If the pirate chose to make off with the craft, the tracking device hidden inside wouldn’t let him get far. It was an invisible leash.
“All right.” He was game to see what this Sureblood could do before Nezerihm returned wanting to create a mutiny. “In exchange for your word, you have mine that I’ll delay the evacuation of Parramanta. Your people stay put. For now.”
The pirate’s gaze reflected a far deeper gratitude than words could convey. They regarded each other for a moment longer. The Sureblood had put everything he cared about on the line to give Frank what he wanted. Frank was just as crazy, just as willing to risk it all and give the Sureblood what he wanted. It seemed they’d just gotten a crash course in each oth
er’s character.
And liked what they saw.
Frank turned to his first officer after the pirate left. “I have a suspicion things are about to get interesting around here, Lieutenant Gwarkk.”
VAL WALKED WITH GRIZZ around the Bull Dog to survey damage from a recent raid. Scorch marks scarred the fuselage from front to back. Luranium had a distinctive odor when burned to a crisp. The air around the hull stank of it. They stopped at the aft engine pod and appraised the damage. The Bull Dog wasn’t even attacking when it was hit, just moving close for a sniff. The damage was from a Triad warning shot. It could have been worse—they could have aimed to kill. Everything coming in and out of the Borderlands was under escort now. Worse, Nezerihm had tightened ore transport procedures, which threatened to put the skids on her dirt-side raids. All while the Triad kept up the pressure on her to move the Blues to a “better life.”
“She’ll fly again,” Grizz said, “but she’s gonna need downtime. We’ll be one ship short for a while. One good ship.”
Val hunched her shoulders and frowned. “Everything else is short around here—food, armor, fuel. We might as well add ships to the list.” At least winter was months away. There was still time to preserve the fruits and vegetables flourishing in the expanded gardens. But with no money for weapons, armor or new zelfen blades for hatch busting, they’d eventually lose the ability to raid. And then she’d lose her position as leader. Her back was to the wall like no other time in memory. She closed her weary eyes for a moment, her entire body aching for the rest that wouldn’t come.
“You can’t go on like this much longer, Val,” Grizz warned gently. “You need sleep.”
“Sleep? Hells.” She swore. “It’s a waste of good thinkin’ time.”
“You need it to keep your edge.”
“I’m fine.” She avoided his warm, worried gaze. Grizz was right. She wasn’t as sharp as she used to be. Her insomnia had become chronic. When the dirt-side raids started going well, she’d gotten a few hours sleep at night, but now with a decision to be made about marrying Ayl, she was back to lying awake. Not that he’d care if she wasn’t a perky bride. She could grow a second head and he’d be just as eager to seal the deal. “I’m fine,” she repeated for Grizz’s benefit.