Codename: Night Witch (14 page)

The plasteel doors of the warehouse buckled and burst apart as the lorry plowed into them. It was all she could do to hold the wheel, fighting for control as much as to stay conscious. The warehouse's far wall was only meters ahead. She spun the wheel hard, skidding in a complete hundred-and-eighty-degree slide before coming to a stop.

For a moment, she simply sat there listening to the hiss of the truck's overtaxed engines. She pressed a hand to her side, wincing and cursing her foolishness for letting herself get shot. She'd allowed herself to be distracted. And it was all because of those girls.

Extracting herself from the seat was difficult. Using the seat back and the wall for support, Sigrid lurched, dragged and heaved herself into the back of the lorry. The girls were alive, thank goodness. The freelancers, not so much.

The man she'd kicked in the chest had expired, dying from his injuries. One of the men pinned under him was dead as well; though not from anything Sigrid had done. It was the girls. They had done this. They had strangled him while he'd lain on the floor unconscious.

The last of the freelancers was still alive, though the smallest of the girls was kneeling on his neck. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but she was on him and twisting with her knee, applying all the pressure she could. Though she stopped when she saw Sigrid and stared at her in the most peculiar way.

Half kneeling, half collapsing beside them, Sigrid used the knife from her belt to cut her free.

"Are you hurt? Can you walk?"

The girl nodded.

Sigrid passed her the knife. "Here. Free the others."

The young woman from the limousine was in rougher shape. The wound in her forehead continued to bleed freely. Sigrid tore a long scrap of cloth from the shirt of a dead freelancer, wrapping it tightly about her head and applying as much pressure as she dared. This girl needed medical attention and quickly.

Grimacing and nearly passing out from the pain, Sigrid reached down and scooped the girl up in her arms. It was at that moment that something extraordinary happened.

On Alcyone, thirty-two very unique and special girls had been chosen for the Academy program. Identifying and locating those thirty-two girls had taken decades of research and cost the Kimura Corporation untold billions of dollars.

One in sixteen million. That was what Dr. Garrett had told her. That was how rare an occurrence it was to find a girl with the correct genetic structure.

Sigrid had it. Suko had it.

And so did the young girl in her arms.

And so did the others, as well.

Sigrid's eyes widened as she scanned them. The data was incontrovertible. They were all of them exactly like her.

Freed from their bonds, the girls came to kneel in a circle around her. Could they sense it too? Did they know?

Looking down at the bodies of the dead freelancers, Sigrid finally understood. These men weren't on some run to pick up slaves. They were bounty hunters, and these girls were their prey. These girls were worth millions. Any corporate researcher in the Federation would kill to get their hands on them. Sigrid might have just saved their lives, but those lives—as they'd come to know them—were over. They were going to be pursued and hunted for the rest of their lives, and they would never, ever be safe. She couldn't allow them to remain in the Crossroads. Not even on Earth. She had to get them back to New Alcyone, the only place they would ever be truly safe.

Outside came the loud squeal of tires as Tomás's van pulled up. The doors were thrown open and Jaffer leapt out, rushing toward her. Struggling to her feet, Sigrid stumbled to him with the girl held in her arms.

But Jaffer and the truckers weren't the only ones to arrive. Two armored personnel carriers roared toward them, along with a military ambulance—and one black sedan. The four vehicles pulled up just outside the warehouse. Two platoons of Dalair mercenaries spread out, taking up positions around her.

Barely conscious, Sigrid knew she couldn't fight them. It was all she could do to keep from dropping the girl, holding her in one arm while raising her recoilless in the other.

"Sigrid, wait!"

Jaffer stepped in front of her wavering pistol, blocking her shot—and nearly getting shot for his troubles.

"It's all right. We called them!"

"You?"

From the sedan stepped a familiar face. It was the port master, Franco Alvarez, and he was striding calmly towards her.

"We'll take it from here, Ms. Rodriguez," the port master said. He gestured to his men, and four EMTs rushed forward to retrieve the girl from her arms.

For a moment, Sigrid clung to her, but with Jaffer's help they pried the girl from her fingers. "They're only here to help. I promise."

Too weak to fight, Sigrid let her slip from her arms into the waiting hands of the EMTs.

"Take care of our hero, as well," Franco said, with a nod to Sigrid. "See that she gets the best of care."

"Hero?" Sigrid asked, then winced as one of the EMTs started cutting away her shirt to gain access to her wounds. "What the hell are you talking about, Franco? I'm no hero."

"Aren't you?" The port master leaned forward, leering meaningfully. "And how else would you describe the woman who just saved the magistrate's daughter?"

"Magistrate's…?"

"Yes, Ms. Rodriguez. That girl you just saved? She is none other than Lady Roos Van de Berg. Heir to the Consortium and all the Free Southern Territories."

CHAPTER TEN
A Girl For Hire

Sigrid awoke with a jolt. For the briefest of moments she managed to forget where she was, and she rose in a panic, casting off her sheets only to tangle herself in the many medical telltales and probes attached to her head and torso. Medical monitors, instruments and bedpans—everything within reach of her flailing arms was sent clattering to the floor.

"Morning. Sleep well?" said a smiling nurse.

Naked and wide-eyed, Sigrid stood there panting, staring back at her.

"Hungry?" the nurse asked. "I hear they're serving eggs this morning. Not real, of course, in case you were wondering."

Glancing around, it was slowly coming back to her. She was in the emergency ward of the Consortium's medical building. They'd transferred her here last night. Feeling the fool, Sigrid climbed back into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin, doing her best to ignore the toppled equipment.

"Shall I fetch you some?" the nurse asked. "Breakfast, that is?"

Sigrid placed her hand on her stomach; she was indeed hungry. Of course, she was always hungry. "Yes, please."

"Excellent. I'll have the orderlies put through your order."

Glancing under the sheet, she saw that her abdomen and chest were bound with white sterile bandages lightly stained with blood. An internal scan showed that the last of the shotgun pellets had been removed during the night. No vital organs had been damaged. At least nothing permanently.

"Ah, Ms. Rodriguez," an elderly doctor said upon entering. "Good. You're awake. And looking no worse for wear, I see."

Sigrid sat up and leaned on her elbows. The doctor was only half-looking at her in that way that doctors do—probably already thinking of his next patient or more likely what the cafeteria was serving for brunch. Though as he flipped through the data in her chart, his doctorly disinterest vanished in an instant and his eyes widened substantially.

"Why, Ms. Rodriguez, your capacity to heal, it's…well, it's simply uncanny! You must tell me your secret."

"My mother made me eat all my vegetables."

Sigrid tossed the sheet aside. Her stolen riding leathers were folded and sitting on a chair beside her. Not surprisingly, her weapons were gone. She reached for her trousers. "Then you won't mind if I leave?"

"I'm afraid I can't advise that. You were shot, Ms. Rodriguez. Forty-eight hours for observation is the minimum I could allow—"

"I've never known a hospital that didn't suffer from bed shortages, Doctor. I'm sure you can find someone more in need of your care than me."

"Ms. Rodriguez! Please!"

The doctor and nurse tried to help her sit back down, but Sigrid pushed them away—gently, if not purposefully.

"That girl you brought in with me," Sigrid said, pulling the plastic tank top over her head. "How is she?"

"Girl? Oh! You must mean Lady Van de Berg. No, I'm afraid she's gone. Some men came for her in the night. They took her—"

Took her?

Sigrid was on her feet in an instant. Grabbing the doctor by the collar of his smock, she lifted him from the ground, rattling his old bones like some anatomical skeletal model.

"Where? Where did they take her?"

Dammit!
She
knew
she couldn't trust them! And blast herself for letting herself get shot in the first place! Now the girl was gone, and who knew what had happened to the others. Probably sold to any number of private interests. They were probably experimenting on them right—

"Ms. Rodriguez!" the nurse squealed. "Please! She wasn't
taken!
She's in a private facility! Her injuries were more serious! She'll receive only the best of care, I assure you. She's quite safe. I promise!"

The nurse was frantic, clutching to Sigrid's arm and trying to pull the doctor free, but she was also earnest. She was telling the truth.

"Safe?"

"Very!" the nurse said.

The poor doctor—who was still in Sigrid's grasp with his feet dangling off the floor—was staring at her with bulging eyes. Slowly, she eased him back down. The nurse breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

"I need to see her," Sigrid said. "It's important."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the nurse said. "She's in protective care and under full guard. The magistrate was most specific: she is to be seen by no one."

"I'm sure we can make an exception in Ms.
Rodriguez's
case," a voice said from the doorway, with a familiar trill of the R in Rodriguez. "She is the hero who saved the day, after all."

Sigrid turned to see Franco Alvarez, the port master, standing in the doorway. He had that same Cheshire grin plastered on his face, but there was something extra behind it today, and there was something about the way he said the word
hero
that sent off all her alarms.

Perhaps even more curious, he was holding her missing weapons holster and pistol. He tossed them to her now.

"You'll be wanting those, I would imagine."

Eyeing him carefully, Sigrid fastened the weapons belt about her hips. "Always. Will you take me to her?"

"But of course, Ms. Rodriguez! Straight away. Almost. In a moment. Soon."

Sigrid folded her arms across her chest, waiting.

"As soon as we take care of a small matter of business."

"Business?" Sigrid said.

"It's the magistrate," the port master said. "She wishes to meet with you. Personally."

The instant the port master said the word
magistrate
, two armed guards appeared in the door at his side. They wore full body armor and held their rifles at the ready.

Sigrid stared hard at the two men. Their intentions were clear enough. They wanted her to go with them.

Yet the port master had just handed back her weapons. Sigrid scanned them. They were loaded and fully powered, and she detected no sign of tampering or sabotage.

"This isn't a trick, Ms. Rodriguez," the port master said, as if reading her mind. "You are not a prisoner. These men are only here to serve as escorts."

Protectors? Hardly?

"And if I don't desire an escort? If I'd prefer to walk out that door?"

"Then they will not stop you. Though, to refuse an audience with the magistrate, it would be, how shall I say? Frowned upon. If you will follow me?"

~ - ~

Sigrid wasn't stupid. The two mercenaries escorting her weren't there for protection. Their presence was a not-so-thinly veiled threat. She was to come with them, or else. They walked behind her, careful to keep their distance—not that it would do them any good. She was confident she could disarm them in an instant, but now wasn't the time for violence. Whatever game Franco was playing at, her best bet was to play along. For now.

With Franco at her side, they rode in an open-top car. Like the previous night, the narrow streets of the Crossroads remained largely deserted. The flashing lights of their armored escorts cleared the rest of the rabble out of the way.

The magistrate was quartered in a small villa in the heart of the Crossroads. Armored gates opened at their approach, admitting them into a modest courtyard. Here, she saw the first and only touches of greenery in the trading post, as several potted evergreens lined the drive leading to the main house.

A platoon of Dalair mercenaries stood guard here, and her trigger finger bristled at their sight. She had to remind herself: while they might have been enemies once, that was over another contract long ago, and mercenaries bore no grudge.

With Franco and their armed escort following close behind, Sigrid climbed the stone steps. Tall wooden doors opened for her. A woman in a tailored suit greeted her inside. With a polite smile and a sweep of her hand, she directed Sigrid up another flight of steps. An open door at the end of a long hall beckoned.

Sigrid hesitated. If this was a trap, she was about to find out—the hard way. But she hadn't come this far to turn back now. That girl—the magistrate's daughter—needed her help.

Sigrid stepped through the door.

Inside she found a wide parlor, high-ceilinged and sparsely furnished. Four overstuffed chairs, empty, sat facing a tall picture window overlooking the freight terminal to the south. Unlike the day before, the mammoth lifting cranes sat silent, their shoulders drooping like slumbering giants. News of the war, so close in the north, would ensure they remained that way for some time.

Silhouetted before the window was a woman. She was quite tall and slim. Her light blond hair, pulled neatly back and pinned smartly behind her head, showed the first streaks of gray. Her suit was simple, but precisely tailored. Sigrid knew without a doubt this woman was Lady Godelieve Van de Berg, magistrate of the Crossroads and seigneur of the Free Southern Territories.