by Eric Thomson
“A real walking arsenal, aren’t you?”
“Let's just say I collected them along the way. Only this gun and one of the knives is mine.”
Ducote took the blaster and pointed it at him like she knew how to use it. Zack raised his hands, palms outward.
“I’m still not sure whether the smart move would not be to hand you over to the local police, Mister Decker.”
“It is, Captain Ducote,” an arrogant voice replied behind Zack, on the other side of the security gate. “He’s a very dangerous man, a killer wanted by the government. He killed an agent of the Commonwealth and two innocent citizens tonight, and has committed serious assault on another, a mere child. I would appreciate your handing him over so I can make sure he faces the law.”
Without turning around, Zack said, “Funny guy, aren't you. My tally isn't nearly as impressive as you make it out to be. I don't know if the Sécurité Spéciale is a government agency, but if it is, it has strange loyalties and even more bizarre ideas about what's good for the Commonwealth. From where I stand, your agent was a murderess herself. She shot an innocent computer freak right in front of my eyes. She probably also killed my predecessor aboard Shokoten, Harwan Lokis, and she killed my mate, Raisa Darhad. In my book that makes her a ripe target for retaliation. So I gave Nihao Kiani the deathblow. She was going to die anyway after Raisa sank her claws into the bitch. The only guy I shot down was a mob enforcer who was about to do me in from behind. As for the child,” he laughed humorlessly, “he direly needed disciplining.”
Decker’s eyes bored into Ducote’s as he said, “You have the choice, Captain. Believe this creep and you condemn me to death.”
As he spoke, Zack had loosened his knife in its forearm sheath and tried to pinpoint the voice's position behind him. If Ducote saw his movements and the knife, she ignored him.
“My, my,” she commented caustically, “two different stories. Which one will I believe? Why not join us, mister? If you work for the government and have official identification, I think we can come to an agreement.”
Her right hand kept the gun pointed steadily at Zack's midriff while she moved sideways to the security gate. Before she could reach it, the other man did something to the gate's keypad and unlocked it, easy as you please. He swung the metal barrier aside and took one step forwards, pointing an ugly plasma pistol at Zack's back, while an unpleasant smile distorted his otherwise bland features.
“This is the end of the line, Decker. You'll pay for Kiani's death and your meddling. Just keep your paws up. I know your tricks. Captain Ducote,” he glanced sideways at the frowning woman, “I believe you have Mister Decker's gun in your hand. I need it as evidence. Please give it to me.”
“What? So you can kill her too,” Zack interjected, “just in case I told her too much.”
“Silence,” the agent snarled. “The gun, please, Captain Ducote.” He glanced over at her.
“Don't do it Captain!” As he yelled out his warning, Zack whirled around and threw his dagger at the agent. The blade had barely left his hand when he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding death. As Zack had expected, the agent pulled the trigger a fraction of a second after he moved, but the plasma only grazed his left thigh.
The dagger, however, found its target and the force of the throw buried the slim blade into the killer's neck, severing his carotid artery. The agent collapsed, bleeding to death. It was as clean a kill as Zack had ever made with the knife.
Ducote, startled, cursed as she stepped backwards, the gun no longer pointing at Decker. The security gate slammed shut with a clang as the man, still pumping blood, slumped to the ground.
“I guess that makes two deaths this evening if I believe your story, Mister Decker.”
Zack picked himself up, grimacing at the burn mark on his leg. It hurt like the devil but was nothing more than a flesh wound. He glanced at Ducote and grinned when he saw her aim the blaster at him again.
“You realize you'll have serious questions to answer when they find the body here.”
“I do, Mister Decker, and I don't think I’ll thank you for them. Right now, I wish only to rid myself of your troubling presence and leave.”
She frowned and stared at the agent's lifeless body.
“Would he have killed me?” Ducote sounded dubious.
“Better believe it, lady. These people have one hell of a thing going and can't afford a single peep out of anybody. That little cocksucker didn't know whether I had told you anything or not, but he couldn't take that chance. You'd have died moments after me. Either you take me in your ship or shoot me right here and now because my life isn't worth a rat’s ass on Pacifica. They'll catch me in a matter of hours, and I'll probably end as human game for a pervert's hunting party after they squeeze me dry of everything I know. That or I'll become a living organ bank.”
Zack's voice had taken on an edge of harshness that made her look at him again. She made a snap decision, based on what her confused instincts were telling her.
“Very well, Mister Decker. I shall take you, but on my terms. And if you give me any trouble, I shall not hesitate to space you. I'm not a killer as you are, but I’ve had my share of troubles and know how to handle them.” Her eyes strayed to the agent’s corpse. “Have you any idea how to dispose of this body?”
“Sure,” Decker replied. “The solution's right in my bag. A Shrehari disruptor.”
“But that's illegal!” Ducote sounded shocked.
“Yup,” Zack grinned, clearly unashamed and relieved now that he had a way out of this mess. “But there's no better way to remove damning evidence. If it makes you feel any better, I bought it only a few hours ago, to make sure my mate's body didn't fall into the hands of people who'd show it less than proper respect. I wouldn't dream of using it on a living person.”
“Once again, Mister Decker, I wonder whether I believe you.” She dropped to one knee and rummaged in Zack's duffel bag, always keeping the blaster aimed at him.
“It this it?” She held up the battered weapon.
“Yeah. Just aim it at the scumbag's body and pull the trigger.”
She looked at him with suspicion.
“Perhaps I will use it on you afterwards. That way I have no problems at all.”
Zack shrugged.
“Suit yourself, lady. With Raisa gone, I have little to live for, except getting my information out to the Fleet. But if you're going to spare me, can you retrieve my dagger before you zap the bastard, please? It's a souvenir from my time in the Corps.”
She looked at him for a few heartbeats, as if debating whether to tell him to sod off or not, then squatting by the body she yanked the knife out of his throat, wincing at the wet noise it made as it broke free. She wiped the blade clean on the agent’s clothes and dropped it in the duffel bag.
“Thank you, Captain.”
Without replying, Ducote disintegrated the corpse, then dropped the disruptor back into the bag with a grimace of distaste.
“An efficient machine, Mister Decker. Now listen carefully because I won’t give you a chance to correct mistakes. You will walk on board the ship ahead of me and do everything I tell you. I will lock you in a cabin where you will stay until I decide to let you out. If you try anything funny, and I mean anything at all, I will space the cabin, and you will die. Understood?”
“Sure, Captain. Though spacing the cabin won't do much for the interior decorating.”
“No attempts at humor, please. I'm in no mood for forced levity. Keep your hands in sight at all times. Turn around and walk towards gangway.”
“Thanks, Captain. You've saved my life.”
“Just do as I tell you. I would rather not regret my momentary folly,” she snapped back, unhappy with her choice and wishing Decker would vanish into thin air.
Fourteen
“Strip.”
Zack gave Ducote a crooked grin, his hands still held up at shoulder level, palms outward. The trader did not smile back. Though outwardly calm,
her washed-out blue eyes betrayed anxiety and irritation. Decker had ruined what should have been an entirely normal lift and thrown her life into turmoil and she resented him for it.
“Why, Captain, we barely know each other,” he replied.
“To borrow one of your expressions, Mister Decker – funny guy. Now strip so I can see you have no hidden weapons.” Her voice was as hard and sharp as freshly hewn quartz.
“And put me at a psychological disadvantage. A stark-naked man with his privates flopping about will feel embarrassed, or humiliated, or just plain uncomfortable, which from your point of view is dandy. Good move, Captain.”
“Indeed, Mister Decker. I’m glad you approve.”
Her sarcasm bounced off Zack without leaving a trace.
After climbing aboard the ship, she had steered him down a narrow and short corridor to a tiny cabin aft of the cockpit. Everything seemed small aboard Demetria, except her cargo holds. From what he had seen, the ship's living area was smaller than an average bungalow. But she looked to be in good repair and was spotlessly clean, for all that she showed signs of wear and tear on her bare metal bulkheads and decks.
As he undressed, Zack examined Captain Ducote. A tall, strong-boned woman, she was handsome rather than pretty, with a square face, strong chin, hawk nose, and pale skin. Her long, straw-colored hair was pleated and draped into a crown at the back of her head. Pale blue eyes sat beneath eyebrows so light they seemed bleached. She wore clean, dark blue coveralls that molded her body like a second skin.
Noticing his speculative gaze, she snapped, “Make it quick, Mister Decker. I have a lift window to meet, and you’re delaying us. Remember what I said outside. Disobey me once and I space you. Or down here, throw you to your enemies.”
He knew she didn't mean it. For all her coldness, she didn't look like a killer. But Zack knew she would kill to defend herself, and with the same sangfroid, she had shown so far. He obeyed, dropping his clothing, item by item, into a small pile at his feet, until he was stark naked. The bare decking felt cold under his feet, but he repressed a shiver, standing nonchalantly, as if his nakedness in front of a strange woman didn't matter. Decker grinned again.
“Like what you see, Captain?”
She made a face. “I've seen much better, Mister Decker.”
Zack shrugged. “Then you’re a lucky woman.”
Ducote ignored the reply as she picked up his clothes, the gun still pointing steadily at Decker. When she was done, she stepped back into the corridor.
“You should lie down during lift-off. Demetria is much more maneuverable than Shokoten, and I enjoy piloting her. I shall bring you food once we’ve left orbit.”
With that, the cabin door hissed closed. Zack didn't bother trying it. He knew Ducote would have made sure it was locked. He shrugged and stretched out on the bunk, oblivious to the chill and discomfort.
The immediate danger had passed and now, like a proper Marine, he took his rest while he had a chance, and fell sound asleep, his body and spirit exhausted by the events of the long and tragic day.
*
The cabin door whooshed open. Decker, who was lying on his back, hands behind his head, glanced over and smiled.
“Had a decent lift-off?” He had woken briefly, while the pressure of climbing out of Pacifica's gravity well had tried to mash him into the bunk, but had fallen asleep again when Ducote had switched to artificial gravity. It had been a smooth departure, professionally executed.
She tossed him a bundle of clothes.
“Get dressed, Mister Decker. I’ve decided I would rather risk losing the psychological advantage I hold over you than seeing you naked all the time.”
Zack bit his tongue, repressing a smart comeback that would not have endeared him to the dour woman. But his smile grew larger.
“Thank you, Captain. And you can call me Zack.”
“I think we should forego familiarity, Mister Decker. After all, your recent behavior has not given me any cause to consider you friendly.”
He gave her an amiable shrug. “Suit yourself.” Without further comment, he pulled on the clothes under Ducote's watchful eyes and unwavering blaster.
He checked his trouser and shirt pockets. Ducote had emptied them. When she noticed his gestures, she said, “I will return your property when I put you ashore, minus, of course, the price of your passage.”
“And when will that be?”
“On Santa Theresa; or if you fear for your life there, at the port of call after that one. A free trader lives on a narrow margin, and I cannot afford to make a detour only to drop you off.”
“It'll be a long trip, under the circumstances, keeping a virtual prisoner under watch and under lock. I'm not about to hijack your ship because I wouldn't know how to sail her. I'm just a Marine gunner with some naval skills, and I don't go for rape. If a woman doesn't want me, there are always others who do.”
Ducote cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him.
“You have a high opinion of your charms, Mister Decker,” she said in a dry tone. “Come. We will break our fast. The ship is on autopilot until we reach the jump point.”
“Listen, Captain, not that I'm impressionable, but could you stop pointing that gun at me? It'll help lower the tension in here and help my digestion.”
She glared at him with her cold eyes and then glanced down at the blaster. With a shrug, she tucked it into her coverall's cargo pocket.
“I suppose you have a point, Mister Decker. You will have to tell me how you came to own an Imperial Armaments fifteen millimeter in such good condition.”
Zack grinned. “You seem to know your guns pretty well. I'm impressed. Few people would recognize Shrehari hardware.”
“One sees many things as a free trader and hears much more. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to take you off Pacifica because your story didn’t sound as far-fetched to me as it would to the master of a company ship. However, my opinion could change when you tell me more over breakfast.”
Ducote led him next door to a small galley and told him to squeeze his bulk between the table and a bench fixed to the bulkhead. She might have put the blaster away, but in the time it would take for him to get out of his tight seat, she'd have a chance to empty the gun's magazine into his body.
She shoved two plastic covered packages into an auto-chef and programmed it. They did not speak in the minute or two it took the machine to produce a healthy, nutritious, and to Decker, bland meal. He ate with appetite nonetheless, savoring excellent coffee served in battered tin mugs.
“Thanks. That hit the spot something fierce.”
He pushed the empty tray away and slumped back against the bulkhead, sipping the black, bitter brew. Ducote grunted in reply, chewing on the last of her soyburger. When she was done, she cleaned off the small table, refilled their coffees, and sat down, hard eyes on Zack's face.
“Story time, I believe, Mister Decker. What is this danger that has you turned into a fugitive?”
“Well,” he started, “I guess it all began when they threw me out of the Fleet...”
*
“...and then I figured your ship was my best chance off Pacifica.” He concluded. “The rest you know.”
She had listened to him in silence, asking few questions. Ducote now stared into the dregs of her coffee, digesting Zack’s tale. He had told her everything because he needed her help, and she could feel that he had been entirely truthful. Or at least told her the truth as he believed it to be, which could differ from reality. What had touched her most was his expression and tone when he spoke of Raisa Darhad, his dead mate. If nothing else, that small, vulnerable part of Zack Decker had convinced her to keep an open mind.
“Have you ever thought, Mister Decker,” she said, frowning, “that you might have been maneuvered into Shokoten by Intelligence? That your friend Tren Kinnear has not completely retired after all?”
He looked thunderstruck at the idea. Then, he chuckled. But the sound was far from amused.
&
nbsp; “You know, Kinnear always was an operator. By the gods, but that would explain a lot, including my predecessor’s death.”
“A Fleet agent who they unmasked.”
“Who Kiani unmasked. And to think she tried to make me believe Raisa did it.” He shook his head in disgust. “So the Fleet took advantage of my situation by putting me in Lokis’ place, hoping I’d be loyal enough to the old Corps to pass the word if something looked really wrong. Boy, if I ever get my hands on Kinnear, I’ll fucking kill him for sending me in blind. We always used to hate the Navy brass who did that to us when we were both in the Pathfinders.”
“Assuming you’re right,” Ducote asked, “how will you prove it? You no longer have your data chip with the sensor readings. Somehow I doubt the Fleet will try an operation against the Amalis based on your say-so, even if they put you on Shokoten to ferret such a thing out.”
“You have a point,” Zack said in a resigned tone. “With my record, no officer in his right mind will take me at my word. But before I even try to convince someone, I have to contact the right people. I can’t just walk onto the nearest base and tell them my story. They’d either throw me out on my ass or take me into protective custody as a nut case, especially without proof. What a mess.”
He fell silent and stared off into a corner of the galley, trying to control his frustration. Ducote observed him in silence and wondered what to do with him. Extraordinary as it seemed, his story was so smooth and logical that it was believable.
She had always prided herself on her ability to make quick personal judgements. It was a vital asset to a free trader whose livelihood depended on her negotiating skills. Her guts told her she should trust this man, and help him as much as she could.
“Okay, Mister Zachary T. Decker, although I don’t understand myself for once, I’ve decided to take you at face value,” her features hardened for a moment, and her voice took on an edge of steel, “for now. I will drop you off at any port you choose, provided it’s on my route. Though I will take your money for the passage, I can use another pair of hands around here. Free traders have no room for idlers. You say you know your way around a starship. I shall give you occasion to prove it.”