“Not if we offer to bring it to him.” Bonita tapped the comm to open the channel again. “Captain Rache? This is Captain Lopez.”
“Captain Rache is unavailable,” a woman said.
A woman? Somehow, Bonita had never imagined women on the fearsome mercenary’s ship. Maybe she was as cyborged-up as the men.
“I need to speak with him, please. About our deal.”
“He’s unavailable,” the woman said firmly.
Because he was interrogating Casmir?
“Fine,” Bonita said. “Let him know we’re getting the case out of the safe and that I’ll have someone bring it over.”
“I’ll tell him. Chen, out.”
Once the channel was closed, Bonita asked, “Will you do me a favor, Qin?”
“You’re my captain and commander. For however much longer you live.” Qin’s lips quirked into a smile, but it was a fleeting one.
“Find some drugs in sickbay to make you feel better, and go out there and get me some fuel, just in case we’re able to pull away from this refinery in one piece. Look for whatever remains of the crusher too. If there’s any chance it’s still ambulatory and I can convince it to take an order from me… we’ll send it to deliver the case.”
Casmir woke up groggy and confused and in a different place than he expected.
The wall beside him and ceiling above him were white. Everything on the mining ship had been gray and blue. His helmet was off, but his body was restrained, strapped to a bed. For what? Some mercenary’s medical experiments?
Panic surged through him, cortisol and adrenaline clearing his brain from the after effects of the seizure. Yes, the seizure. He recognized what it had been, even if it had been a couple of years since his last one. But seizures didn’t knock out his brain for more than a couple of minutes. Not long enough to be moved to another ship. At least they never had before.
“Are you awake?” Kim asked from somewhere underneath him.
Casmir turned his head, grimacing at the dizziness that washed over him. His hair floated around his face, in need of cutting. In need of gravity to stay put. Were they still docked to the refinery? They were somewhere with air and heat.
“Yes,” he rasped. “What happened?”
“You had a seizure.”
“I know about that part.” His words sounded a little off as they came out, not quite right to his ear, and he made himself focus on articulation. “What happened after that? Why was I out for so long? How did we get here?”
“They got through your robot in short order—I think a couple of them stayed back to fight it while the others stormed navigation. One of them ripped the hatch right off the hinges. From what I’ve seen, they’ve got some cyborgs here, so add superhuman strength to whatever their combat armor gives them. They ran in, and I didn’t get a chance to bring up the literary merits of Moby Dick before they stabbed a needle bigger than a katana through our suits and drugged us. My suit has patched itself back up, but my shoulder hasn’t. It stings like crazy.”
As he grew more aware of his body, Casmir realized he’d also taken a puncture in the shoulder. He was too numb to do more than acknowledge the pain. He felt lucky that whatever they had given him hadn’t started a cascade of seizures. But that was the only thing he felt lucky about.
He craned his neck to look around and spotted two empty bunks on the opposite wall. Thick silver-blue bars and a gate barred the exit from what he realized was a brig cell. He couldn’t see Kim. She had to be strapped to a bunk below him. His fear of medical experiments appeared to be groundless—as if mercenaries were into neuroscience research. They’d simply been strapped to the bunks because of the lack of gravity. How thoughtful of their captors to care that they stay in one place instead of floating up to the ceiling.
Casmir wondered why Rache hadn’t killed him outright. Was he the one who’d issued the bounty? Or was he some middleman? No, if Kim was right, Pequod Holding Company had to be linked to Rache’s ship, the Fedallah. But why would mercenaries want him?
“I have a headache,” Casmir announced.
“From the seizure?”
“Among other things.”
“Someone flashed those lights on purpose,” she said.
Casmir swallowed. “Yeah, they did, didn’t they?”
He hadn’t had time to consider what it was or why it was happening then, but it wasn’t as if a mining ship had a reason to flash bright lights before departing. He supposed it was a possible feature, like a truck on Odin buzzing before it backed up, but he’d never heard of such a thing. It was more like—
“Someone knows your weaknesses,” Kim said.
“You don’t think it was chance?” His voice came out small, and that was how he felt. Small and scared. He couldn’t imagine what he’d ever done to deserve some bloodthirsty mercenary’s attention. But it seemed this Captain Rache had decided to add him to his list of hated Kingdom subjects.
“No.”
He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, to calm his body. A therapist he’d had as a kid, before the doctors had found better medication to control his seizures, had suggested that he do that whenever he felt stressed, since stress and fatigue had been triggers for him. Little good that did when someone flashed lights in his eyes.
A clang sounded somewhere, and the distant thud of footfalls followed, magnetic boots clomping on the metal deck.
“I wish you’d stayed on the Dragon, Kim,” Casmir said.
“You’d be bored if you were stuck in a cell by yourself.”
“It doesn’t sound like I’m going to be here long enough to get bored.”
“They may just be coming to feed us. Or to unstrap us so we can pee.”
“Somehow, I doubt mercenaries care about the biological needs of their prisoners.”
“Whichever one is responsible for cleaning the cells does.”
Two armored figures stepped into view. Since Casmir could see their scarred and cruel faces, he assumed neither one was Captain Rache. The media had never managed to get a photograph of him, but they spoke often about the mask he wore. Like some tortured villain from one of Kim’s classics.
“Greetings, fellows,” Casmir said with as much cheer as he could muster. “We were just debating how to attend to our biological needs. Are you here to assist?”
“I’m also available to debate penises and symbolism in ancient Earth texts,” Kim said.
The men looked at each other.
“Why do we always get the failed comedy teams?” one asked.
“Lack of seniority.”
One of them slapped a control panel that Casmir couldn’t see, and the gate swung open. One guard stayed in the corridor, his rifle pointed loosely toward Casmir, and the other approached his bunk. Neither glanced at Kim. On the one hand, that might be a good thing—maybe they would decide they had no reason to bother her and would let her go—but on the other, she could be extremely useful if an escape opportunity presented itself. Maybe she could even win over Captain Psychopath by talking books with him. Or at least gain some lenience.
“Are we going somewhere?” Casmir asked as the guard unstrapped his legs.
“For a chat with the captain.”
“Will maiming and torture be involved?”
“Seeing as how you’ve got a Kingdom accent, that seems likely.”
The guard unstrapped his arms and tugged Casmir off the bunk. He still wore his galaxy suit, with the helmet retracted, but they had taken his belongings, including his borrowed oxygen tank. No chance of him stomping on a guard’s foot and escaping out an airlock. Not that foot-stomping was likely to work in zero-g.
The guard dragged him into the corridor and started to close the gate. He must have received a message on his chip because he paused, glancing back into the cell.
“Captain wants her too,” he said.
“Yeah? She’s kind of cute. Can we grope her on the way?”
Casmir clenched his jaw, wishing he had t
he strength to fight the armored brute. With only two of them, there might never be a better chance to escape.
“You can ask Rache that if you want.”
“That might not be healthy.”
“Irking him rarely is.”
The guard unstrapped Kim without groping her. One small mercy.
Casmir did his best to look around for inspiration as his captors strode up a corridor to a lift, up uncounted levels, and down another corridor. It was hard because the guard stuffed him under his armpit, limiting his view along with his feelings of masculinity. It was even more distressing to know the cybernetically enhanced brute could have managed the same maneuver in full gravity.
They passed an open area full of stations—the bridge—with men and women secured by pods like the ones on the Dragon. They all looked over, many of their faces scarred or modded with tattoos, piercings, and more exotic deformities. Casmir couldn’t tell if they’d paid for them or if they’d been inflicted during a torture session. A couple of the men didn’t even look human. One had a half-machine face with a red camera-lens eye. Another was covered in fur that made Qin’s fur accents seem like a light dusting.
Despite the harsh, almost inhuman features of many of the crew, curiosity shone through all of their eyes as they regarded Casmir’s passing. Did that mean Rache didn’t put out bounties for Kingdom roboticists that often?
“Why are they looking at us like we’re the freaks here?” Kim muttered when the guards paused to wait in front of a pair of sliding doors. Her face wasn’t far from Casmir’s.
“I don’t know, but I get that look more often than you’d think.”
The doors opened. The guards walked into an empty conference room. Another set of double doors was on the other side.
Casmir’s guard pulled out flex-cuffs and snapped one around his ankle, then clipped him to a bolt in the deck near a wall. Kim was clipped in a similar fashion.
As Casmir struggled to arrange himself in an upright position, the back doors slid open. The guards snapped to a rigid attention stance.
The figure that appeared in the doorway wore black combat armor with sidearms and daggers thrust into a utility belt of the same color. He did not have a helmet on, but a hood and mesh mask covered his hair and face. It was also black.
Casmir looked at Kim and rolled his eyes.
“I know,” she mouthed back.
“Sir,” the guards said in unison.
“We’ve secured the prisoners,” one added, rather obviously.
“Good. You’re dismissed.”
The guards snapped salutes—Kingdom military salutes—and walked out. Casmir gaped at that. Were salutes the same throughout the various systems’ armies? If so, that startled him, given all the cultural differences out there. But someone who hated the Kingdom wouldn’t adopt their methods, surely.
Their hands weren’t bound, and Kim swatted him. She mouthed something else, but he wasn’t sure what it was this time. Ascent? Accent?
Accent.
Yes, if that was Rache, he had a Kingdom accent. He sounded like everybody else Casmir knew from the capital.
“Let me know when you two are done trading whispers,” Rache said, hooking a foot under one of the conference table seats to stay in place while he faced them. “So we can talk. Actually, wait.” He tilted his head slightly. Sending a message? “My doctor is on the way.”
That sounded ominous. Maybe there would be medical experiments.
Casmir’s eye blinked.
“Are you not feeling well, Captain?” he asked in his best conscientious voice, willing his eye to knock it off. “Because we’d be happy to delay our torture session until you’re fully capable of enjoying it.”
The mask stared at him. How was he supposed to read the man through that?
The stare lasted so long that he found himself fighting not to squirm. No doubt, that was why Rache did it. For some reason, he was completely focused on Casmir. Kim, he remembered, had been an afterthought. What had prompted Rache to remove her from the cell at the last minute?
“I don’t think this guy is going to appreciate your wit, Casmir,” Kim muttered.
“You’re welcome to start discussing penises with him any time.”
If Rache’s eyebrows twitched under that mask, Casmir couldn’t tell.
“Uhm,” Kim said. “All right. I see you’re a Moby Dick fan, Captain Rache. Why did you pick Rache for your sobriquet, by the way? Surely, Ahab would have been more in theme. If a bit on the nose. I suppose that would have been an odd choice, given Ahab’s obsession leading him to a dreadful end. Rache conveys the desire for revenge without necessarily hinting of certain death.”
“What book is Rache from?” Casmir whispered.
Kim shook her head. “It’s an old German word that means revenge. It was also a type of hunting dog.”
“You think he’s furry under the mask? Like the guy on the bridge?”
“Should I be flattered that you’re that fascinated by my name choices?” Rache’s tone was dry.
Casmir tried to decide if that was better than furious. Maybe, maybe not. Rache probably killed people left and right without ever losing his temper. That was typical of psychopaths, wasn’t it?
“If you knew Kim, you would definitely be flattered,” Casmir said. “Usually, she’s not interested in anything with more than one cell.”
“Is that right.” Rache offered Kim a fluid bow. Impressively graceful for zero gravity. “As to my namesake, Ahab would have been fine, as far as his fate goes, but I disliked the biblical connotations. Any of my more well-read soldiers might have believed it indicated I am a poor leader.”
“You believe your actions will lead to your death then?” Kim asked, then glanced at Casmir. “If so, why travel down the path you’re on?”
Right, the plan was for Casmir to come up with something clever while Kim distracted the captain. Unfortunately, Casmir couldn’t reach the wall, the table, or anything else. The guards had removed his tool satchel and everything from his interior pockets, including his medications. He might end up having a lot more seizures soon if they didn’t return those. At least his allergies had been better in space. It wasn’t as if there was any pollen up here. Though the furry dog-man outside could be problematic.
“We all die eventually, Ms. Sato. Even the life-extension technologies only get you so far.” Rache faced her fully. “Unless one uploads her consciousness into a computer, though many argue that the essence of one’s humanity is lost without the ability to experience the senses or to have one’s thoughts and actions affected by hormonal changes. What do you think?”
Kim hesitated and glanced at Casmir.
Could Rache know about her mother?
“I’ve got a relative I can ask about that later, if you’re curious,” Kim said. “In fact, if you let us go, I’ll send her a note right away and get her opinion.”
“I don’t think she’s able to receive messages right now.”
Kim’s face lost all expression—and much of its color. Casmir frowned and clenched a fist. He didn’t know what this brute was implying, but he didn’t like it.
The outer door opened, and another mercenary floated in wearing a galaxy suit instead of combat armor. Maybe he wasn’t one of Rache’s men. His skin seemed too bronze for someone who spent his life in space, and he had a handsome, clean-shaven face lacking in tattoos, piercings, or other modifications. He carried a white medical kit.
“Yes, Captain?” he asked.
“Doctor, take a blood sample from the male.” Rache pointed.
“Casmir,” Casmir offered. “Casmir Dabrowski, if you wish, though that’s more syllables. Some find it a mouthful. I went by Caz for a while, but it prompted people to spell my first name incorrectly, with a Z rather than the S. And Cas has a different sound, so that’s not quite right. I like Casmir.”
Rache ignored him, and so did the doctor. Kim gave him a sympathetic look. She knew he babbled when he was nervous.
“Yes, sir.” The doctor opened one of the cases. All of the tools inside were secured so they wouldn’t float out.
Casmir glimpsed a needle and swallowed. He’d had blood drawn often enough that he wasn’t too alarmed by the sight, but he was alarmed that mercenaries wanted his blood. Why?
“What is it that you’re looking for?” Casmir asked Rache. “It’s clear you’re already familiar with my medical issues. I assume you ordered the lights flashed outside?”
“Yes,” Rache said, not explaining further.
The doctor approached with the needle. Casmir thought about flailing and trying to knock it out of his hand, but Rache watched intently. Rache who, according to legend, was part cyborg. Maybe his face was entirely metal underneath the mask, the skin seared off by some horrible plasma burn earlier in his life.
The galaxy suit defied the doctor’s attempt at taking his blood through his sleeve, and Casmir almost laughed.
“Are you as inexperienced in space as I am, Doctor?” He tried to sound friendly rather than mocking. Finding an ally here wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“I’ve been out here for three months. Usually, people take their clothes off for me. In sickbay, I mean. Not because I enjoy seeing these people naked.” The doctor glanced at Rache.
These people. That did seem to imply that the good doctor wasn’t a mercenary by choice. Casmir definitely wanted to chat with him, maybe without his looming captain watching. Not that Rache truly loomed. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Casmir had expected from his reputation.
“Just stab him in the neck.” Rache waved at Casmir’s throat.
“Right,” the doctor said as if that wasn’t a big deal.
Maybe it wasn’t—Kim didn’t look concerned, and she knew far more about medical stuff than Casmir. Still, Casmir couldn’t keep his eyes from going wide with concern as the needle approached his jugular.
Aware of Rache watching him, he strove for nonchalance. “This wasn’t how I imagined the torture going.”
“I can get you paper and a pen if you want to write a request list.”
Kim snorted.
“You’re not supposed to laugh at his wit,” Casmir said as the cold needle bit into his vein. “He’s the villain.”
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