Soldier of Fortune (2nd ed)

by Kathleen McClure

  “Under the circumstances, yes.”

  Ellison, through the film of pain, saw the other man’s smile, a brief flash of teeth in the torch’s light.

  Then he saw Mia look down at him. “You gonna kill him, then?”

  Ellison felt himself shrinking under that unforgiving regard.

  “That,” Quinn said, “is up to him.”

  “To him?” Mia glared up at Quinn.

  “T-to me?” Ellison asked at the same time.

  “It may be,” Quinn said, glancing down, “that Fagin Ellison has an urge to relocate.”

  “M-m-maybe?” Ellison stuttered, grasping at any possible future that had him in it.

  “Far away from Nike.”

  “I hear Tendo’s nice, this time of year.” Ellison suggested.

  “Farther,” Gideon prompted.

  “I’ve—always wanted to see Stoli in winter?”

  “In which case,” Gideon said with a nod of approval, “I don’t see the need for another death, today.”

  “Another?” Ellison’s brain appeared to sputter over the thought of any deaths that day. “No. No need. None at all,” he agreed.

  For her part, Mia looked as if she had another view, but then the draco swooped down from the rafters, buzzing the cringing Ellison, before coming to land on her shoulder.

  Mia looked at the draco, who seemed to meet her gaze.

  To the fagin’s desperate relief, the cold fury in her eyes seemed to abate under the draco’s calm regard.

  “I suppose not,” she said, finally deigning to spare a glance for her newly former fagin.

  “So it’s all settled,” Ellison said. “Soon as I liberate my hive from them keepers.”

  “Your hive is forfeit,” Gideon said shortly, pressing on the blade just enough to bite at the tender flesh of Ellison’s neck. “Not a one of those kids is going with you. Consider it an early retirement,” he suggested with a lightness that belied the weight of the knife in his hand.

  “But, I’ll have nothing!”

  “You’ll have a pulse,” Gideon reminded him.

  Which, as far as arguments went, Ellison had to admit was a good one.

  49

  Later, Gideon and Mia watched as Ellison, still with his pulse, steamed away on the Amber Queen.

  The crew of the riverboat, including Juban, their giant friend from The Old Man and the Sea, weren’t particularly impressed by the fagin, but allowed that he could work off his fare to Upper Allianz, which was as near to Stolichnaya as the Queen sailed.

  Once Ellison was aboard, Gideon took Juban aside and asked which Avonian cities the Queen would be stopping in, along the way.

  As the boat followed the river’s curve under Dickens bridge and out of sight, it was Mia who spoke first. “So,” she said, looking up at Gideon, “now what?”

  “I think that’ll be up to them,” Gideon said, turning to where a Corps green sedan with CIOD insignia was pulling up at the end of the pier.

  At his side, he could feel Mia stiffen with the dodger’s instinctive response to authority. He couldn’t say much, though, as he was just as tense as she was.

  Even Elvis, back in his habitual spot on Gideon’s right shoulder, had gone still.

  The three waited, a triad of anxiety, as the car came to a stop under the glowing lamp at the end of the dock.

  Scanning the vehicle, Gideon felt a tug at the corner of his vision when his eyes passed over the silhouettes in the front seat, but then General Satsuke was emerging from the back, along with DS Hama, and drew his attention from the featureless shape of the officer riding shotgun.

  “I see you found our young friend,” Hama called as he jogged up to the waiting threesome, leaving Satsuke delivering an order to someone inside the car. “Tiago would not have been forgiving, were I to have lost his friend,” he told Mia with a formal little bow before turning to Gideon. “Dare I ask what became of the fagin?”

  “By all means,” Gideon said, “dare.”

  Hama waited, but when it appeared Gideon was also waiting for his cue, he sighed and asked, “What happened to the fagin?”

  “He just shipped out on the Amber Queen, sailing northeast to Upper Allianz,” Gideon replied.

  Hama stared. “Did it not occur to you that by allowing him to escape, you are also allowing him the opportunity to set up a new hive elsewhere?”

  “It did,” Gideon agreed, “but as the Amber Queen will be stopping in Faraday in two days, I’m sure the local police will be able to collect him on your behalf.”

  At this point, Mia made a noise that almost managed to sound like a cough.

  Hama ignored her. “Would it not have been simpler to hold him here, that the Nike police might take him under warrant?”

  “Simpler, yes,” Gideon said, looking out over the dark ribbon of the Avon. “But this way Ellison has two days of hope, two days to plan how he’s going to start over. I’m also willing to bet he’ll put a few brain cells into contemplating a return to Nike to even the score.” He turned back to Hama. “And after two days of building up his ideal future, the Queen will dock in Faraday, and he’ll find the police waiting, and realize that future is never going to happen.”

  At which point Hama hoped never to be on Gideon Quinn’s bad side.

  “Perhaps,” he said after a beat, “this conversation should also have never happened.” At Gideon’s raised eyebrow he shrugged. “I want nothing to add to the amount of paperwork your presence has already generated.”

  As he spoke, he heard the tread of boots on the dock and looked to see General Satsuke approaching. “Speaking of paperwork,” he continued, “I don’t see my cycle anywhere, and you’ve no idea what the requisition forms are like, should I need a new one.”

  “No worries,” Gideon said, tossing the magnetic key to the detective, who not only hadn’t objected to Gideon haring off after his frantic draco, after Mia had gone missing, but had loaned Gideon his own official vehicle to do it. “Parked her between the incoming cotton and outgoing steel, and Mia has the torch.”

  “My thanks,” Hama said, pocketing the keys. He looked to his left, where Satsuke was now waiting, then at Gideon. “Perhaps Mia can use the torch to show me to the cycle?”

  Mia gave a start, and then looked at Gideon.

  “It’ll be okay,” Gideon told her. “And Elvis can go with you,” he added and, with a click and a gesture, sent the draco hopping from his shoulder to Mia’s.

  As before, the draco’s presence seemed to steady her, enough that she was willing to head out with the detective.

  Gideon, in his turn, strode over to where Satsuke waited. “If you want your knife,” he began, referring to the combat blade she’d tossed to him as he raced off in pursuit of Mia, “you might want to wait until all the fagin’s been cleaned off.”

  “Consider it a gift,” she said, not missing a beat, then she simply stood, hands clasped behind her, watching him.

  “So,” Gideon said after a suitably tense silence, “now what?”

  “A loaded question, Mr. Quinn,” Satsuke replied. “But to begin, there is this.” And she pulled from behind her back a lump of fabric which, when Gideon took it, turned out to be his coat.

  “You found it,” he said, then cleared his throat.

  “One of my officers did,” Satsuke told him. “It was in a chest at the foot of Rand’s bed, along with a few other—souvenirs—from her various conquests.

  “A lucky discovery for us, as many of those items are unique enough to be traced to their owners.”

  “I’m not sure they were conquests so much as victims,” Gideon said, looking up. “Given her abilities, manipulating emotions the way she did, I’m not sure how much of a chance they’d have had against her.”

  “As much as you, at least,” Satsuke pointed out. “And regardless of where the blame falls, these people have all been compromised by a foreign agent.”

  There wasn’t much Gideon could say to that—though he wondered, if Sats
uke had been on the receiving end of Celia’s focus, if she would find the issue so cut and dried.

  Either way, it was out of his hands so, rather than pursue the matter, he slid into the coat.

  The second it settled over his shoulders, Gideon felt himself relax, possibly for the first time since he’d settled into a bathtub at the Elysium.

  Of course, if he were really being honest, he hadn’t been truly relaxed for close to seven years, but that was just too depressing to dwell on, now that the real Odile had been uncovered, and his name cleared.

  Assuming his name had been cleared.

  He looked up to see Satsuke watching him, and her expression said she’d not only followed his entire thought process, but anticipated it.

  “There is also this,” she said, holding out a folded document, several pages thick, and bearing the seals of the Corps Internal Operations Division and United Colonial Judicial System.

  He looked from the document to the general, but didn’t reach out for it.

  He was, perhaps, less relaxed than he’d originally thought.

  “Trust me,” she said, “you’ll want to take this.”

  He wasn’t so sure he trusted her, but he did take it.

  Holding his breath, he broke the seals.

  It was a long time before he let that breath out.

  “It’s a bit late, but I hope you will accept this full acquittal, and the accompanying reinstatement of your rank, and all honors earned in the service of the United Colonies,” General Satsuke said formally, while he stared down at the document. “There is also a provision for six years of back pay, to be delivered upon your acceptance of the terms.”

  “Terms?” he asked, staring at the repeal of every crime for which he’d been convicted, all laid out in black and white. Then he looked up.

  “The unwritten terms,” she said.

  “Which are?”

  “No one can know the truth about Odile.”

  50

  “I beg your pardon?” Gideon asked in a voice that said, quite clearly, You’re smogging kidding me, right?

  “Hear me out.” The general held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. “The war is over,” she explained, “and for the most part in our favor. But what would happen to what is, in fact, a very delicate peace, if it became known a Coalition agent had not only been siphoning intelligence from under the Corps’ nose for at least twelve years, but was still doing so? The public wouldn’t stand for it. They would demand action—sanctions at best, and renewed conflict at the worst.”

  “I’m not a fan of going back to war,” Gideon said, “but do we really want to negotiate with a power that, by their own spy’s admission, doesn’t think the war is really over?”

  “No, we don’t.” Her admission was rueful. “But even less do we want to risk a renewal of hostilities. We can’t,” she said, her voice dropping lower, “because if we go back to the field against the Coalition states at our current strength, we will lose. The victories at Allianz and Santander were far from decisive, and both cost us dearly. The best that can be said is that both battles led the Coalition to believe we were in better shape than they, so they sued for peace.”

  Which was not what Gideon expected, or wanted, to hear. “What are the chances,” he asked, “that Odile has already passed that information on?”

  “It’s not impossible, but—given the very small circle of individuals aware of the gravity of the situation—the thinking is, that if the enemy knew, they’d have taken action by now.”

  Gideon nodded, though it all felt a little optimistic. “We were really losing?”

  “One more major engagement—two at the most—and the Eastern colonies would have begun to fall like dominoes.”

  “And what about them?” Gideon nodded to where DS Hama and Mia were rolling his cycle to a stop under the pier’s lamp.

  “They weren’t privy to Odile’s confession. He knows as much as I have been willing to share, which isn’t much.”

  Somehow, Gideon doubted it’d be that simple. “So, if I can’t talk about Odile, what are we saying happened at Nasa?”

  The relief on her face was unnerving, and made Gideon realize how very precarious the United Colonies’ position must be.

  “It was a crime of passion,” she said. “Celia Rand, in revenge for your refusal of her advances, misled her husband into believing you had assaulted her, leading to his actions at Nasa. Tawdry, I’ll admit, but close enough to the truth that we should be able to make it fly.”

  “Make it fly?” Gideon said, “Twenty starbucks say it’ll be on the center stage at the Circus inside the week.”

  “I don’t believe I will take that bet,” she said with a small smile, which quickly disappeared as she asked, “And will you do it? Will you keep this secret? I can’t say the Corps deserves your silence, but—”

  “I won’t tell,” he said, cutting her off. “Anyway, I’m not sure my truth is any more plausible than your fiction.”

  Her smile returned and, as one, they turned towards the dock, and started walking. “At least you’ll have your freedom, and your reputation.”

  But not those six years, he thought. And those five soldiers were still dead.

  He didn’t let himself think of Dani.

  “You also have your rank,” Satsuke was saying, “if you want it. The Corps still needs people who think… differently.”

  By now they were at the landward end of the pier. On the dock to Gideon’s left waited Mia, with DS Hama, and to his right, the general’s staff car.

  Her driver was already at the door, holding it open.

  It would certainly be easy to accept Satsuke’s offer.

  After all, his entire life had been one of following orders. Dodger, soldier, convict… in fact he wasn’t far from the position he’d been in thirty hours and a kilometer back, stepping off the Ramushku onto the Nike airfield.

  As he thought this, a fine rain began to fall.

  “Thanks,” he said, pausing at the foot of the pier, and looking down at the general. “It means something you’d make the offer, but I don’t think this is the kind of war I’m cut out to fight. In fact, I think I’m due for a career change.”

  To what, now, that was the question.

  He could always take ship, like Horatio Alva, and see where he landed.

  He could do as Jinna had done when she left the Corps, and find a nice normal job.

  But see how that worked out for her?

  His thoughts danced over to the Errant, and Pitte’s crew, but even if Jagati didn’t shoot him on sight, there was a bit too much history there.

  He looked at Hama and thought, copper?

  But no, too many regulations.

  And if there was one thing Gideon was sure of, he was through taking orders.

  He thought again of Jinna, and the troubles with Minister Del, and of what he’d learned of the local politics.

  He thought of DS Hama, a decent cop in a very not decent system, then he thought of the issues in Lower Cadbury, where Tiago was fighting the good fight in his own, unique way.

  “What sort of change?” Satsuke asked, no doubt thinking along those same lines.

  “I’m not sure,” Gideon admitted as they came up even with Hama and Mia.

  “Not sure about what?” Mia asked.

  “Colonel—pardon me—Mr. Quinn is having something of a career crisis,” Satsuke told her.

  Mia opened her mouth.

  “I’m trying to decide what to do with my life,” Gideon explained.

  “Oh,” Mia said, “that’s easy.” All three grown ups stared and she shrugged. “You can do what you been doing since you got here.”

  Hama looked a little panicked, and Gideon couldn’t blame him.

  “You can facilitate.”

  Gideon, who’d been ready to protest, shut his mouth.

  He looked at Mia, then at Elvis, curled around the girl’s neck, and then, for no reason he could fathom, to the shadow in
the front seat of the general’s car.

  “I could,” he said after a moment, turning back to Mia. “I could absolutely… facilitate.”

  The general blinked. “I wasn’t aware such a career existed.”

  “Gideon just invented it.” Mia beamed.

  “Keepers preserve me,” Hama sighed, then explained. “As pleasing as it is to have the likes of Clive Wendell, Erasmus Ellison and Killian Del sharing a cell, never mind the notorious Madame Rand, the paperwork you have generated in one night will keep me busy for a month.”

  “Come on.” Mia patted his arm. “It won’t always be that bad.”

  Hama didn’t look convinced.

  “You’re sure about this?” General Satsuke asked.

  Gideon tried on the idea, discovered he liked the fit. “Surprisingly, yes.”

  “Then I wish you well,” she said. “May the Corps’ loss be Nike’s gain.” She turned on her heel and started for her vehicle, but, after three steps, stopped and turned back. “Tell me, as a—private facilitator—would you be open to the occasional military contract?”

  His head tilted as he felt a surge of something too new to recognize. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Gideon’s teeth flashed in not-quite-a-grin. “On whether I like the job.”

  “Fair enough.” She nodded. “Goodbye, Mr. Quinn. For now.”

  Satsuke turned again, this time not stopping until she reached the staff car.

  She climbed in, waited for the Corpsman to close the door, take his seat, and start the engine before she spoke to the officer sitting shotgun. “You were right. He’s not coming back to the Corps.”

  The captain nodded, though she continued to watch Gideon, who was speaking to the detective, and the girl.

  “I wonder, though,” Satsuke continued, also watching Gideon, “if he’d have made the same choice, had I let him know you were the officer who made his freedom a possibility?”

  “I don’t have to wonder,” Captain Indani Solis, whom Gideon had always called Dani, replied. “He would have returned. Out of gratitude, he would have come back.”

  Now her eyes dropped to her left hand, and the wedding band which graced it. “I don’t see that working out well for any of us.”