Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy) (8 page)

Rok looked up from cleaning and nodded at the picture.

“That girl looks like you.”

Quinn woke up in the dark. He felt his own breath reflected hot and foul off the hard surface in front of him. It made him feel claustrophobic, almost like he was in a cargo crate. Maybe that's where he was...He didn't feel restrained other than that, though. He could work his way out of this with enough time, then. He started contemplating his options.

Quinn decided to take stock of where he was. Seemed like a crate of some sort, solid to the touch. Chrystum, then, perhaps. Or maybe a Quadrium alloy. He didn't want to bang on it, since that would almost definitely alert anyone who was keeping tabs on him, but just lying around wasn't an option, either.

His mech limbs felt like they'd recovered. His digital immune system must have fixed him up while he was unconscious. He flexed his fist, testing its functional viability. It worked. Okay.

It infuriated him when they'd gone on the fritz earlier. He sighed, and had to admit that sometimes things just caught you off-guard, no matter how much experience you had. Well, he'd be ready next time

"The rings," he muttered. They must have had a special virus on them. "Clever." That meant the woman in the bar had set him up. He'd follow up on that later.

Since his mech-limbs were working again, he decided to use some of the special features he'd had embedded by a discreet private contractor a while back. Releasing a catch in his left bicep, he opened a compartment that held a small attachment. He latched it onto the outside of his left fist and squeezed. He was rewarded with the distinctive red light and sizzle of a small but powerful laser. He experimented turning it on and off, hearing the metal around him being damaged by the heat. Good, at least it wasn't Chrystum. Fortunately, his legs were mech, too, so they could handle the temperature if it got too hot.

Slowly, patiently, he burned into what felt like a joint in the crate until he heard something rattle and fall with a heavy clunk. He cursed his luck and sped up. If there was a joint there, then there should be one...there. Good. Another rattle and clunk. He felt sweat on his forehead and his back. If he could get through the last one, he could make it out. He sped up his efforts, but slipped just enough to make things miserable.

The laser was dislodged, and he had to fish around for it and reattach it before he could continue. Precious time lost. By rushing. Rookie mistake. He was sweating heavy now. It was getting hot inside the crate, and Quinn needed to break through soon if he didn't want to pass out from heat stroke.

He heard voices and footsteps outside, and forced himself to keep going at a steady pace. He could tell the owners of the voices were in the room now. One of them spoke.

“Hey, what's that there? That wasn't-”

Before the guard could finish, the final joint was severed and fell to the floor. Quinn used his impressive strength to push the top of the metal crate open and jump up, grabbing the two men by their jackets and slamming their helmets together hard. He used enough force to knock them out, and then let them fall onto the metal floor-grate.

He knelt down and picked up their pulse-guns, one for each hand. Once he confirmed they were both at full charge, he stood up and felt his mouth curl into a cold grin. Time to take the fight to them. He flipped the guns on to high stun. “Game on.”

Quinn walked out of the room in time to see two more crewmembers rounding a corner down the narrow mechanical hallway, and tagged them both without breaking stride. They were knocked back into the walls before crumpling to the floor. Electricity sparked from the now-busted wiring they’d exposed on impact.

The old Knight stepped over them and continued toward where he knew the bridge must be. They couldn't keep him from getting answers now. Not this time. He walked past an open door to what must be the crew quarters, and heard a scuffle behind him. When he heard steps onto the floor-grate from the rear, he fired shots over his shoulders and heard two men drop before he rounded the next corner.

The door to the bridge was closed, of course. How could they not have heard him coming? Didn't matter. He looked to the right and saw a standard keypad with a hand-scan. He put his mechanical left hand on it and used another of the features he didn't get to try out very often...the keygen program. It sent out a flurry of signals until one locked in, and the door opened.

Inside the small command room were two clean-cut men, both armed with pulse-pistols, the older one with a trim salt and pepper goatee. Quinn leveled a gun at each of them as he stepped inside and slammed the panel to close the door with his elbow. It crunched, sending off sparks, and the younger man visibly blanched. After a silent signal from the older man, they both dropped their weapons to the floor and raised their arms in surrender. Quinn stretched his bull-thick neck, eliciting a loud series of cracks, and then smiled at them.

“You can either be helpful or dead. Your choice. I'd suggest you start talking.”

“We don't know-”

“Quiet. Let me handle this,” the older man said, stepping slightly in front of his flustered counterpart. Quinn looked over at him. He was just after intel, not some crazy bloodbath. A closer inspection revealed they were probably related. So let him protect the boy. Fine.

“You can start by telling me who hired you,” Quinn prompted.

The man bit his lip and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We can't. We responded to a ghosted listing. Simple transport of potentially dangerous cargo. Looks like that was true, at least.” He regarded Quinn warily.

“Then who carried me to the ship on that stretcher?”

The man shrugged. “Another company. I didn't ask for names. They were just where the listing said they'd be, and at the right time.”

Quinn let out a sigh of frustration. “This ghosted listing. Show me your copy,” Quinn pointed his gun at the console, and the older man nodded, moving over and starting to type. “That's an old system,” Quinn noticed. “You still use keys?”

“Hard copy serves us well,” the man replied, then sighed. “Or at least it has until now. Here we are.” He turned the display to show Quinn the file.

No name, just a coded credit account sequence. Strange, but not unheard of. He was usually on the other end of these things, and didn't like being in the hot seat, here. Felt backwards to him, but he shrugged it off as he continued to read. The older man coughed, and Quinn looked over at him. “What?”

The man took a breath, and spoke. “While I can't claim that I'm completely innocent in this, I would like to offer my apologies about the situation. We really didn't know we were transporting a person. I hope you understand that.”

“Then why guard the crate?” Quinn asked, looking back at the file and starting a download of the ship's registry code and manifest, just in case he needed to follow up with them later.

“We were told there was something dangerous inside. What would you have done?” the man implored him. “Look, we can set down at a station nearby. We aren't far from Kirlian's Rest, and it'd be easy enough for you to lose whoever's on your tail while you're there. I can give you some credit if you need it. It's the least I can do.”

Quinn considered, shaking his head. Another dead end. Yes, he could torture them to see if they knew anything else, but the ghosted listing looked legitimate. He'd verified it through his earbud while he'd been reviewing it on their system, and there'd been no mention of the specifics of the cargo, only the payment that no self-respecting smuggler or merchant could pass up without losing a significant amount of sleep over it. Besides, he had their registry code and manifest on his earbud now. He grunted and looked over at them.

“Just don't make me regret not killing you,” Quinn said as he leaned against the wall. “Because if I do, I won't regret it for long.” The younger man coughed and swallowed nervously.

“I promise we'll do right by you,” the older man said, signaling his son to transfer the credit to Quinn. He also got on the intercom and told his men to stand down, and for them to check in with the medic before getting some rest. Once that was done, Quinn spoke.

“Alright, let's move.”

The captain sighed, but nodded in consent. He clearly didn't enjoy taking orders on his own ship, but he and his son got into in their flight chairs and went about the business of mapping their warp vector. Quinn had to admit he was impressed with their skill. They had old gear, almost obsolete, and did much of the work manually. Small operation, apparently. Still, it spoke volumes to their competence. At least as pilots, if not as smugglers.

They snapped into the warp and the spectral storm surrounded their ship. Quinn was used to it from doing so many jumps, but it still set his teeth on edge knowing that if the ship's warp-signal-cancellation probe didn't work perfectly, they'd all end up stuck in this limbo forever. Few things made him nervous, but this was one of them. Give him a dragon fight instead of this eternal lightning storm any day, he thought.

The flight was short. It only lasted a few minutes, and then the probe was out. An instant later, they were in solid space again. Quinn could see the station looming ahead of them as they began coming in to dock. He smiled, remembering his last time at Kirlian's Rest. Right before a dragon campaign that took him all the way out to the icy heights of Cristos. That'd been the most epic battle of his life, even received news coverage on the intelliNet.

There'd been a beautiful woman he'd met here at one of the station pubs. The Wasted Wagoneer, if he remembered correctly. They'd been stationed at Kirlian's Rest for the month prior to the engagement, and he thought that sounded about right. At any rate, that girl had done a phenomenal job of sending him off in style; the best inspiration to fight for king and country Quinn had ever received. Maybe he could check in on her if she was still here. It'd been a long time, but he hoped he'd see her.

“We'll be docking soon,” the captain said, interrupting Quinn's thoughts. “I can't stay long, but I've arranged for you to enter the station with my men when they go on liberty. They'll pretend you're with them, and they understand the situation well enough not to do anything stupid.”

“Here's hoping,” Quinn said and blinked at the door panel he'd busted earlier. “Hey, you got a mechanic?” The captain looked over, confused. Then he saw the problem.

“Oh, that,” he groaned. He looked at his son. “And this, Risar...this...this is why we never work blind.” The younger man's cheeks flushed, apparently embarrassed about having the situation rubbed in his face, and muttered something about risks being necessary before burying himself in the console.

Quinn just laughed and waited for the mechanic to fix the door. Didn't take long, and soon he was walking into port, well hidden among a sea of people.

The lights and sounds assaulted his ears from every direction, Quinn noticed with satisfaction. This atmosphere reminded him of the rough streets he grew up on, and he let his feet carry him through the noisy vendors down the main boulevard. He looked up through the transparent skydome at the stars, the corner of the orange gas planet just barely visible.

“Hey, mister, wanna buy some time in a pleasure-suite? Can't hardly tell the difference from the real thing!” Quinn waved the slimy pitchman off and kept on toward where he remembered the pub had been.

It was coming back to him now, and he hoped he'd run into that woman again. What was her name? He'd been unable to forget it for five years. Why couldn't he remember it now? Quinn huffed in frustration, startling some children next to him who ran off. He chuckled and turned down a side street that looked familiar. There it was! People were coming and going. Still busy. Good. Maybe that meant she'd be down here after all. At least there was a chance.

As he walked into the pub, memories came rushing back, eliciting a smile as he bellied up to the bar. Then Quinn heard a voice that caused his heart to skip a beat.

“Well, kark me three ways from Sunday,” a sharp alto spat from behind him. “I'll shave my head if that isn't Mr. Quinn Deston himself. I'd recognize those shoulders anywhere, even if you did go gray around the ears. This is just perfect.” He turned around and saw her, definitely older but still beautiful. He got up from his stool and started toward her with a broad smile.

“Kai,” he began, finally remembering her name, but before he could finish, her palm shot out and smacked him across the face. Wow, that actually hurt! She stood there defiantly, eyes filled with fire, hands on her hips. Then a muscled youth of about sixteen walked into the room and saw them.

He walked over and stepped up beside Kai. “What's going on here?” he asked protectively, crossing his powerful arms across a broad chest. “Who's this guy?” he jerked his thumb at Quinn.

Uh-oh. That rugged jaw line looked awfully familiar, Quinn noted with a shock.

“Quincy, that...man...is your father. Talk to him. I can't deal with this right now.” With that, she nudged her son toward Quinn and stormed out of the room.

“Oh,” they said in unison.

Mtumba didn't like how things were going right now. Ever since Commander Tobias had arrived, Old John had grown increasingly distant. He was always working on something, and never seemed to have time to talk anymore. Mtumba missed that. He needed to talk with someone, and it couldn't be Stella or Rok, since it was sort of about them.

Rok. What a dumb name, he thought. As in, dumb as a Rok. He snickered, imagining the golden boy looking at something with that quizzical expression he always seemed to have plastered across his face.

That might be a little unfair, but he was frustrated and didn't know what to do. He sighed as he gathered up the radishes into the bin to carry them in for stew. Their last meal together, Old John had informed them with something like regret in his eyes. Sometimes Mtumba didn't understand people. If you didn't want it to be the last meal, then don't leave. Simple.