Mercenary Instinct (a science fiction romance) (10 page)

“Probably not,” the second diner said,
scooting his chair back. “Here, let her sit in my lap until the
captain comes. She’s cute.”

Cutty sighed, turning Ankari around. “Why do
I have a feeling you get in trouble everywhere you go?”

Ankari did her best to hide the new bulge in
her own pocket. “That’s not... strictly true.”

“Come on.” Cutty pushed her toward the door.
“I’ll take you to wherever the captain is. I’m
supposed
to
be off shift now.”

Ankari looked for an unsuspicious way to tell
the man she would be happy going back to her cell. The longer she
wandered around with a tablet in her pocket, the more likely
someone would notice it. Or the mechanic would notice it missing
and realize what had happened during the dogeater discussion. But,
after trying all day to arrange a meeting, Cutty would know she was
up to something if she suddenly lost interest in it. He was already
talking to someone over his comm and getting information on the
captain’s whereabouts.

“He’s in the cargo bay. This way.”

Hm, what of interest had happened in the
cargo bay to make him forget a date with his favorite prisoner?
Ankari trailed her guard down to the bottom deck, the ladders
awkward to navigate with the handcuffs, not that Cutty cared. He
huffed and grumbled as he waited for her, then led her to one of
the doors she had passed by the day before.

The grunts and smacks coming from the chamber
inside surprised her. A hoot and some jeers followed. It sounded
more like a boxing arena than a cargo bay.

Cutty led her out onto a grate platform with
stairs leading up to a catwalk and down to a floor covered with
friction matting. A woman was already on the platform, leaning
against the railing and looking down. The noises were coming from
the floor. A couple of crew members were using weight-lifting
equipment set up in one corner, but a dozen others were gathered
around a knot of barefoot men alternating between throwing punches
and trying to ensnare each other’s limbs for take-downs. Two were
topless and two others wore short-sleeve black T-shirts. At first,
Ankari thought the wardrobe choices might represent who was on
whose team, but it soon grew apparent that three of the men were
ganging up on one. Granted that
one
could take care of
himself; his hands and feet were a blur of motion as he avoided
being trapped between the others and dealt damage of his own at the
same time. Even if most of Ankari’s own training had been with her
father and her siblings, and she’d only had to defend herself on
the streets a few times, she recognized a skilled practitioner when
she saw one.
All
of the men were fast and agile, but the
solo figure did an amazing job of anticipating attacks and
responding, almost before they were launched.

“He can’t keep that up forever.” Cutty sighed
and leaned against the wall beside the door.

Only then did Ankari realize they were
watching the captain. From up here, the gray sprinkled in his dark
hair wasn’t noticeable, nor was there any sign of what had to be
forty years in his movements as he fought off all those attackers.
More than that, he was getting in numerous good blows of his own.
One man tried to jump him from behind, only to take an elbow in the
solar plexus with enough force to go flying backward. He rolled to
his feet quickly, so he wouldn’t be vulnerable to further attack,
but it was clear from the way he grasped his chest that he’d had
the wind knocked out of him.

“I’m sure he’ll have time to interrogate you
soon,” Cutty added.

Interrogate? Disgruntlement replaced her
admiration for the captain’s speed and strength. Was an
interrogation what Mandrake had planned for her? Not the acceptance
of an apology? Even if she had lobbied for this meeting all day
with the sole intent of stealing his tablet, she found herself
disappointed that he’d had military matters in mind when he had
agreed to see her. The emotion confused her—what else could she
have expected? She ought to be more worried about what this
interrogation might involve. Last night, he had seemed amused by
her escape, almost amiable in his rumpled nightclothes, but maybe
that had been an act. Maybe he had secretly been furious that she
had fooled his people, and he now intended to extract every iota of
information from her in whatever manner possible.

The woman at the railing turned at the sound
of voices behind her. It was Dr. Zimonjic. Her expression grew wry
when she saw them. She must have been informed about the syringe.
Maybe she’d been disciplined for her carelessness. Ankari didn’t
know whether she should approach or not.

Zimonjic touched the front of her
black-and-silver wrap. “No pockets.”

No, Ankari had already noticed that. The
doctor wasn’t carrying any of her equipment, so she must not have
been called down to attend to an injury. Although, with the way the
men were going at each other, it was surprising nobody had cried
out for first aid. Or grunted out. She supposed such fierce
fighters wouldn’t cry, scream, or whine about injuries.

Ankari lifted her wrists, drawing attention
to her handcuffs, and approached the railing. With the tablet
stuffed in her pocket, standing with things in front of her body
was a good idea. “I had to try whatever I could to escape,” she
said apologetically.

“Is that what you’re doing right now?
Escaping?” Zimonjic raised her eyebrows at the handcuffs.

“Apparently, I’m being interrogated now. Or I
will be soon.” Ankari looked toward the captain. He only had two
opponents now. The other one was sitting on the matting beside the
rest of the onlookers, nursing fresh bruises.

The doctor followed her gaze and smiled.
There was that wistful look on her face again. “He looks like a
brute, I know, but he’d have Striker or Liang question you if
violence was going to be involved. They like that sort of work.
Viktor doesn’t.”

“Viktor? That’s his first name?”

“One of them.” Zimonjic’s smile changed
again, from wistful to mischievous. “You’d have to ask him to tell
you the other.”

At that moment, “Viktor” smashed one of those
men in the chest with a kick that launched him into the spectators,
who jeered and whooped.

“He doesn’t like violence, you say?” Ankari
asked.

Zimonjic chuckled. “Oh, he’ll knock you into
the next galaxy if you pick a fight with him, but standing in front
of a defenseless prisoner and inflicting pain on him—or her—he
doesn’t care for. From what I’ve gathered, he used to do that, and
all manner of other unpleasant things, in the fleet. One of the
reasons he left... Well, I don’t really know. He’s never told me
these things, and I romanticize him, I suppose. But I’ve seen his
military record, what unit he was in, the training he received.”
Her humor disappeared, and she shook her head. “I doubt he knew
what he was signing up for when he was a kid—he was probably drawn
by the fact that Crimson Ops soldiers get trained to parachute out
of shuttles, hijack ships, and travel all over the system. That’s
what the recruiting posters say, anyway, but...” She shrugged.
“You’re aware of the reputation of the units, I’m sure.”

A cold hand seemed to wrap itself around
Ankari’s heart. GalCon’s Crimson Ops were trained to be the most
versatile—and deadly—warriors in the galaxy. They were feared as
much as they were admired. The press made sure their deeds were
known and that their reputations for delivering death never faded
from the populace’s mind. If something awful happened in the
system, whispers of Crimson Ops were always made. Some people said
it was just propaganda and fear-mongering by the corporations, and
there had to be some of that, but Ankari had always believed...
There had been those who said the Crimson Ops laid the explosives
that had destroyed her home world. Her family had moved right
before that happened, and she hadn’t been there in the end, but she
had been old enough to remember the images on the news: cities
being blown up, people dying horribly...

“I’m sorry,” Zimonjic said, watching Ankari’s
face. “I meant to ease your concerns, not make them worse.”

Ankari didn’t know what expression had been
on her face, but she tried for a nonchalant visage. It was a
struggle, though. Her body had broken out in a cold sweat. She
remembered the calm way the captain had ordered her ship destroyed.
Could such a man have calmly ordered a planet destroyed twenty
years ago? No... He wasn’t old enough for that. Even if he had been
there, he would have been someone following orders, not giving
them. That thought didn’t reassure her as much as she would have
liked, and the smile she tried on the doctor had to be anemic.

“He won’t hurt you,” Zimonjic added.

Ankari glanced at her guard, wondering what
he thought about the doctor sharing all this information on the
captain, but he was listening, his expression intent, as if he was
hearing it all for the first time. Maybe he was.

“I’m taking heart in the fact that I’m wanted
alive by this Felgard,” Ankari said. “I figure I don’t
really
have to worry until I’m tied up like a parcel and
deposited on his doorstep.”

“Probably true. I wonder what Viktor wants to
talk to you about.” The doctor went back to watching him, or
perhaps admiring the way his sweaty shirt stuck to his back. She
had the look of a woman memorizing the body of the man who was
going to star in her dreams that night, something she probably
couldn’t do that easily most of the time, at least not without the
captain noticing. He was down to one opponent now, and their
attacks were less frenzied. It had wound down to more of a coaching
session than an all-out battle.

“Are you two...?” Ankari prompted, even if
she was fairly certain of her guess. There was no reason for her to
ask—this information surely couldn’t be useful in her escape
planning—other than curiosity. Earlier, she had been toying with
the idea of expressing her gratitude toward the captain in the way
of a kiss, thus to get close and pick his pocket, but with a tablet
already in her possession, there was no need for her to lower
herself to such chicanery. It had been bad enough, rubbing up
against the mechanic. Three days ago, she would have told anyone
that she had long since found enough success that she’d never have
to pick another pocket again. What a debacle this week had
become.

“No,” Zimonjic said, lowering her voice so
the corporal wouldn’t hear. “In the three years I’ve been here,
I’ve never known him to be in a relationship with anyone. He seeks
out companionship when he’s on leave, the same as the other men,
but if he ever keeps in touch with any of those brief lovers, I’ve
not heard about it.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“I think he prefers it that way.” Zimonjic
hitched a shoulder. “I asked him once if he wanted to be more than
colleagues. I don’t know if it was just an excuse, but he said I
reminded him of some counselor he had to go to when he was in the
fleet.”

“Counselor?”

“Well, he called her a mind-fucker, but the
GalCon term is counselor. These are the people who do whatever they
have to do to make sure their soldiers are the perfect killers
without a thought toward questioning orders.”

“Oh.”

“I will give you one warning,” Zimonjic said,
her voice returning to a normal tone, “because you seem the type of
woman who could inadvertently—or perhaps
advertently
—irk a
man.”

That prompted a noisy snort from Cutty.

Zimonjic’s smile was a little too knowing.
She waved at the captain. “He’s pretty good at controlling it these
days, much better than when I first crossed his path years ago, but
there’s a lot of rage in there. I’ve seen him kill a man in anger,
one of his own crew. The man had betrayed the ship and deserved
some kind of punishment, but...” She spread her hand. “It’s why
people tiptoe around him.”

Yet more information that Ankari didn’t find
comforting. Had Zimonjic truly meant to assuage Ankari’s concerns
about the “interrogation”? Or had this all been designed as some
mind-game, some revenge for stealing her equipment and using it to
knock out Striker? Because Ankari
hadn’t
been worried about
dinner with the captain
before
this chat. Now, there were
Mercrusean tangleworms wrestling in her stomach. The tablet felt
like an anchor in her pocket. If the captain found it on her, would
he be amused? Or would some of this rage appear?

“They’re done,” Zimonjic said. “I’d better
go. Good luck.”

She
sounded
sincere, friendly even,
but Ankari’s voice was raspy with concern when she uttered a quick,
“Bye.”

“Cutty,” came a cool call from below. “This
isn’t the mess hall.”

“No, sir.” The guard rushed forward, hands
clasping at the rail. The stern, exasperated authority he had been
exuding all day had evaporated. Maybe listening to Zimonjic had put
wrestling worms in his stomach too. “You didn’t show up, and she
was getting into trouble. And I’m supposed to be...” He must have
decided he didn’t want to whine that his shift had ended over an
hour ago, because he switched to, “I just wasn’t sure if you’d
forgotten and wanted me to put her back.”

When the captain’s gaze landed on her, Ankari
kept herself from quailing, though she feared he would immediately
see through the railing to the bump in her pocket. She raised her
chin. “I was
not
getting into trouble. I was merely walking
to a table and stopped to ask a man what a dogeater was.”

The captain’s eyebrows didn’t so much as
twitch, but her comment drew a few snickers from the onlookers. A
couple of men had grabbed towels and were heading for the door, but
one stopped to ask. “Did you get an answer? Because I’ve been
wondering that for years.”

“Apparently it’s a mystery, even to the
mechanics.”