“Really, Jason?” he addressed the redheaded, mid-forties man, who was sporting a long beard—a new addition. “Now you’re working with that bitch?”
The ginger beard rose a fraction with the disingenuous smile. “Sorry, Remy, you know how it goes.”
“Larker’s an idiot if he ever thought I was angling for his position.”
“I told him that. But too many crews were starting to question his orders, turn down his jobs.” Jason eyed him. “Mostly because of your influence.”
“I never told anyone to follow me. I just don’t take kindly to having Feds on my ass.”
The UNSF had doubled its presence in the Belt six months ago. Remy had taken care to pull jobs that were less likely to ruffle any feathers, and thus keep flying longer.
He glanced at his external view display, where the command blade still hovered menacingly nearby. He obviously hadn’t been low-profile enough.
“Yeah, well, Larker didn’t see it that way.” Jason’s gaze lowered. “Sorry, man.”
“Out of idle curiosity, how large is that bounty on me?”
The other pirate captain sighed. “A quarter billion.”
“Hard to turn down that kinda money.”
Jason didn’t answer. Just preened his beard.
A quarter billion credits, even split between three crews, was a shit-ton of money. Enough maybe for a pirate to retire on. Hell, he could see why Jason had sold him out. It didn’t make the guy any less of a bastard, though.
“Well, Jason the Red, it was good while it lasted,” Remy said with a curl of his lip.
Jason leaned closer to the camera. “Remy, if you want any of your crew to live through this, just do what she says, okay? Larker told her he wanted the ship and crew.”
Remy cocked an eyebrow. “But me…?”
“Yeah, uh, how she disposed of you was her choice.”
“Well, I don’t reckon she’s planning on pampering me to death.”
The pirate king Larker Max had played his hand well. He’d unleashed his UNSF attack bitch on the R.L. Johnson, confident her hatred for Remy would know no bounds. Her command blade, supported by two formidable pirate crews, would make it tough for even a skilled captain like Remy to escape the confrontation alive and unscathed.
Jason’s shoulders tensed and his eyes darted nervously to the left. “Crap, she’s hailing me now… so, I… Remy, I… gotta go.”
“Do what you gotta do,” Remy snapped, and then cut the link.
Do what you gotta do. Fitting words. Jason the Red would always do what he felt he had to. The two of them were pretty similar, cut from the same tough pirate cloth. But how would Remy himself have acted if the tables were turned and it was Jason’s head bearing such a massive bounty? Remy knew the answer: he wouldn’t betray a friend for the sake of money, unless his own crew were at risk.
He hit the shipboard comms again. “Any update on when we might have power?” he asked, all nice and polite.
“I need a couple of minutes,” came Dreyla’s voice, ragged at the edges.
Poor girl was feeling the strain. But minutes were getting just about as scarce as loyalty in this cursed universe.
Chapter 2
DREYLA
“Damn. Seriously?” Dreyla said, her voice muffled in the tight, dark compartment behind the engine control panel.
It was suffocating in here, smelling of burnt rubber and hot as all hell. With so many wires running in and out of the system, she was having a tough time identifying the ones she needed.
Tosh’s footsteps padded across the engine room. He stopped somewhere nearby. “What’s wrong?”
She poked her head out so she could see him. Gulping a few breaths of cooler air, she wiped sweat from her hairline with her sleeve. “Abrams really did a number on this. Look, all the leads are ripped off.” She held up a flexible, three-inch-wide tube containing over a dozen wires. “And it’s difficult to tell what lines were spliced in where.”
Tosh’s watery blue eyes widened as if he understood the damage, but then he shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but something tells me it’s not good.”
“Nope, it’s not good.” She picked through the wires, straightening them. “Remy needs this working an hour ago. These all need to be reconnected to power the converters. No connection, no reaction from the Teez… no power from the dark matter generator.”
Don’t panic. You can do this.
She glanced at the old man to ensure he was okay, and still lucid. Of course, that judgment call wasn’t easy to make, since Tosh’s face was awash with its default, stoned expression. Even in the middle of performing complex surgeries, such as reattaching an arm to one of the crew… he always wore the same dazed look. But damn, he was a good doctor. Tosh had mad skills; he just had a propensity for various addictions and a disregard for any local laws that might attempt to curtail his habit. Alcohol and narcotics were his vices. But what of it? People had much worse faults than that.
“What?” Tosh’s eyes narrowed inquisitively, making him seem less vague.
She’d been staring at him. Zoning out. She shook her head to clear it. “Nothing… I need you to run to the cargo bay and get the hand torch Abrams kept in his green toolbox. By the supply room door. I need it to reattach these.”
“Hand torch? Got it.” Tosh trotted out of the engine room, as if happy to be useful for something.
She finished straightening the wires, separating the red, blue, and yellow so she could easily melt them to their correct plates when she got the torch. She crawled back behind the panel where the air seemed hotter than before. Sweat ran down her face in rivulets now.
Just as she’d fastened the wires in place with little metal pins, Tosh’s head poked around the corner.
She jumped, banging her head on the ceiling of the compartment. “Whoa, nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“That’s okay, I’m a doctor.” Tosh grinned down at her.
While the old man was perhaps the nicest person she’d ever met, he still had a scary face, even when he smiled—or especially when he smiled. The deep lines of age, the sunken leathery cheeks, and the wiry eyebrows conspired to make him seem forbidding. It didn’t help that he was now flushed from his sprint to and from the cargo bay.
She grabbed the torch from him. He cradled one of the TZ107 chips in his other hand. That single Teez chip could’ve powered the Jay for six months, and there were currently fifty thousand of the infernal things in the cargo bay. They’d stolen them on a job for Larker Max, the same pirate king now trying, via his ruthless minions, to double-cross them.
“Too bad we can’t send a package of these over to those ships and blow the hell out of them,” Tosh remarked with a rueful smile.
She nodded impatiently and turned her focus to the job. But a few seconds later, she stopped mid-weld and stared at him. She reached out and grabbed his forearm with her free hand, clutching tight.
“What?” the old man asked, his eyebrows at full tilt.
“You’re brilliant!” Dreyla said, laughing.
“Well, if you say so,” Tosh said. “But… maybe remind me why?”
Instead of answering him, Dreyla tapped her comms. “Captain,” she blurted. “Don’t tell them that Joss and Abrams are dead. Tell them you’re in the middle of a mutiny… that should give you more time.”
“What are you talking about?” Remy’s voice was curt, his tone suspicious.
“Also, don’t try to bring the power back online.”
“But—”
“Trust me, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“But, Drey—”
“Please, Captain!”
She switched off the comms and met Tosh’s startled gaze. No time to explain further—to either of them. Remy would give her an earful for that later, but he just had to trust her. Or else they’d all be in even deeper shit.
Dreyla finished welding a red wire to its plate. She tested it with her voltmeter to m
ake sure the lines were connected, but she didn’t bring the main power back online. Not yet.
Tosh looked at her quizzically, tapping his fingers against his whiskery cheek. “Did I miss something? I’m quite sure I must’ve. At my age, I do find it hard to keep up sometimes.”
“We need to do a little more surgery, Doc.” She took his arm and guided him back toward the cargo bay.
This was gonna be gross.
Chapter 3
LILLY
Instead of taking one of the patrol vehicles, Lilly set off on foot to the Red Lady. She needed some air. Despite the aridness of the planet and the mixed bag of odors in the overcrowded city, it was still better than being cooped up in her office, breathing in the processed air of the sheriff’s station.
She worked her way down the crowded sidewalk. Trapped in her thoughts. Taking little notice of those around her. The encounter with Yercer had left her feeling queasy.
He was getting on her nerves, complaining about the view from his cell, demanding special meals due to his “dietary requirements,” and ruthlessly teasing the weakest link in the chain of command: Deputy Brand. Luckily, Davis was in protective mode around his new colleague, fighting back whenever Yercer got too nasty. Otherwise, Lilly couldn’t have left the station at all.
The six-story facade of the Red Lady cast a long, cooling shadow across her path. It was around this time of day when she and Tim had first arrived in Naillik—when the shadows slanted nearly horizontally and bathed everything in pinkish orange. Romantic colors, for people who were that way inclined. She and Tim weren’t.
Tim had been all fired up about his new job. He’d gotten hired by the main council from the planet Naillik, the home world of humans and the town’s namesake. In those days, she and her husband felt they’d discovered the secret to happiness: a decent job on a planet boasting an enormous mining boom. Yep, they’d been pretty young and stupid.
Two years in, they were more realistic. Money was tight, and the town was showing its ugly side, but they still had ambitions. When Tim came home from work one day and convinced her to buy a stake in the Red Lady, she’d had her doubts. But the saloon, hotel, and brothel combination had ultimately been a solid investment. Plus, they could take up residence there, which was at least better than the three-hundred-square-foot apartment the council had provided.
She ran her fingers along the porous wall. The faded red had once been lavish—something Tim had reinstated once they bought their third share in the business. The previous owner had failed to maintain key aspects of the building, and now, without Tim’s work ethic, she was being equally slack in keeping the place looking respectable. She could easily imagine his disapproving voice: “Look at the state of the wall. It’s just laziness, Lilly, that’s what it is. Civilization starts with keeping things looking like someone cares.”
Well, she had to choose her battles.
She stepped through the main entrance into the relative gloom of the lobby. A heady, spicy aroma hit her nostrils, clearing her sinuses of any lingering odors from the streets of Naillik.
Billings, one of her business partners, lounged behind the counter at the center of the room, talking into his headset. He was the one who’d convinced Tim to invest. In all likelihood, he’d hoped that partnering with the sheriff would keep out the riffraff and prevent having to pay off the law for any violations the establishment might incur. After all, Tim was the law.
Smart move.
Billings was middle-aged and in reasonable shape. Any bodily imperfections he might have had were camouflaged by a crisp, dark suit. Lilly had never seen him in anything else.
“Robert.” Lilly stepped closer, aware that she was leaving a trail of sand on the polished floor. Nevermind. The bots would get it.
He nodded and offered her a genuine smile, showing off his straight teeth.
By the sounds of the conversation, he was in the middle of a difficult negotiation with a hotel guest. He offered her an apologetic shrug.
Lilly signaled “OK” with a wave and slipped past. He would have engaged in more conversation if he’d been free to talk, but honestly, she wasn’t in much of a talking mood.
After Tim’s death, many of the employees believed that the two of them would end up together. Robert was a good guy and all, but he wasn’t her style.
Maybe she just didn’t have a style anymore.
Lilly headed through the saloon doors. She was still on the clock and wanted answers.
Just as her boot stepped onto the glassy blue floor, she spotted Reanda behind the bar. The female dworg was her other partner in the Red Lady. She had signed on to run the saloon and the brothel. No mean feat for someone who was only three and half feet tall, but like the men of her race, she had powerful muscles and an impressive beard. The muscles helped her maintain order with the customers, and the beard, which she kept braided, added to her general aura of badassery.
Lilly had once witnessed Reanda lift and toss a full-grown human man ten feet through the saloon’s front window. A costly repair, but the guy had had it coming, and it had established Reanda’s reputation as someone not to be messed with.
Naturally, the diminutive dworg had her soft side, too. She mothered the working girls, who could all count on her to keep them safe and happy in a profession that rarely offered such guarantees.
Reanda slid down off the shelf that surrounded the bar, designed so she could keep an eye on things from an elevated position, and folded Lilly into a hug. Even though she only came up to Lilly’s chest, her hugs still felt all-encompassing. Basically, Reanda mothered her as well.
“Heard you ran into some of Darkbur’s men.” The dworg released her and took a step back. “You gotta be careful dealing with that scum, Sheriff.”
“We had it under control.” Lilly fought to keep defensiveness out of her voice. “But you’re right about the scum part.” She scanned the room. “Have you seen my brother?”
Reanda glanced at her sharply. “What’s he done now?”
“Plenty.”
“Haven’t seen him. Sorry.”
Reanda shifted her gaze toward the far gambling table where several patrons were playing Crimson Eight, a tricky game using eight-sided dice with ambiguous rules that, after all her time in Naillik, Lilly still didn’t quite grasp. Of course, all that mattered to her bank account was that it favored the house.
“Teal,” Reanda called in a voice that sliced through the air.
The tall, thin aflin turned away from the game he was running and acknowledged his wife’s call with a single upward nod. Given that dworgs and aflins came from two separate star systems and their people had waged a war that only ended just before Lilly’s arrival on Vox, everyone was surprised by their relationship. Apparently, love had no limits.
“Yes, darling?” Teal asked in a thin, wavering voice that seemed to suit him.
The only conflict the inter-species couple had ever had was whether they would learn each other’s language. Neither was easy to master, or even to speak passably. In the end, they’d opted to stick with the common tongue, which luckily they both knew. Lilly couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard either of them speak their native language.
“You seen Nate?” Reanda asked as he approached.
“What’s he done now?” Teal asked in exactly the same manner his wife had done seconds ago. But then seeing the look on his wife’s face, he answered, “No, but Tryst is upstairs. Maybe she knows where he is.”
“Which room?” Lilly asked.
Reanda scanned through a small display by the bar. “410… you want me to come up with you?”
“No, thanks, I got this.” Lilly patted Reanda on the shoulder and smiled at Teal, then headed for the elevator.
Chapter 4
SHAW
Commander Tara Shaw clicked her silver fingertips rapidly against the console. “He’s claiming their comms are damaged,” she muttered in as neutral a tone as her acting skills allowed.
; “And you believe that?” Larker Max asked. Onscreen, her boss cocked his egg-shaped head at her, creating an effect every bit as irritating as in real life.
“I stopped believing anything Remy Bechet says right about the time he took my arm.”
Her gaze trailed to her right arm, now a mechanical replacement. She flexed her fingers. It was the best money could buy—Larker’s way of putting her even further into his pocket—but it didn’t feel the same as the left one and never would. How many times had she dreamt that she had her old arm back and then awoken to twist her head on the pillow and see the mechanical one instead?
“Give him enough time and that asshole can get himself out of anything,” Larker said, in a thinly veiled attempt to rile her further.
“If you’d listened to me,” she replied, tilting her chin up, “I could’ve taken their ship at Yertie Commons.”
“You have your orders. Get me that shipment, and their ship, but no matter what, Captain Remy Bechet dies.”
The screen blanked out. Larker had cut off the communications.
No matter what.
She liked “no matter what” much better than all the chitchat that had already taken place. She’d try, maybe not very hard, to capture the ship and its shipment intact. But no matter what, she was killing Bechet.
Shaw rose from her seat and paced around the small bridge.
Damn Larker Max with his superior attitude and orders.
Who was he anyway? Just a pirate king of delusions.
She curled her artificial fingers into a fist, imagining the damage it would do to Larker’s long, sallow face. In many ways, the prosthetic was better than the original—a fact that Bechet didn’t fail to point out a year after blasting it off with a plasma rifle. “Looks like you got a better one,” he’d said. He was charming like that.
The memory from that original encounter nearly five years ago was still fresh and painful. She had nabbed that little brat of Bechet’s and was promising to let her go if he just surrendered. (That was back in the days when she wasn’t on Larker Max’s payroll.) The girl overheard her telling the snipers to take the shot as soon as Bechet was in range. They hadn’t gotten the chance. The pirate’s crew had found their locations and taken them all out.
Galactic Blues - Box Set Episodes 1-3: A Newton's Gate Space Opera Adventure (Galactic Blues Box Set) Page 5