Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (30 page)

Behind Sierra, a ways down the corridor, he noticed a glowing Jazzie Mike’s sign—the saxophone “J” and kelpburger dot of the “i” in “Mike’s” gave it away.

“Can I buy you a kelpburger?”

Her face tightened in disgust.

“It’s better than it sounds. I swear.” He took her by the hand and led the way.

* * *

Davin and Sierra sat across from each other at a table bolted to the floor. The tabletop screen shifted from one advertisement to another, for Macy’s one minute and Modern Threads the next, then Smoothie Shack—all places in the mall. Sierra held the drippy kelpburger in her fingertips as she chewed contemplatively. Davin watched and waited.

Finally, Sierra swallowed and stared at her burger in disbelief. “How do they make kelp taste like that?”

Davin laughed. “See? Good, right? Finest kelpburger in the galaxy.”

“It’s . . . unique,” Sierra said. “Better than I expected. A little messy though.”

“Comes with the territory, sweetheart.” Davin crammed a bite into his mouth. “S’why the g’Lord invented napkins.”

He should’ve swallowed first. Sierra took another small, dainty bite, making Davin feel like a barbarian.

“I like the sauce,” she said after a period of silent chewing.

“Jazzie Mike’s Secret Sauce,” Davin said. “Everybody likes it.”

“So you came here often as a kid?”

“You mean the mall or Jazzie Mike’s?”

“Either one,” she said. “I want to hear about your life. What it’s like to grow up on Agora.”

Davin sat back and thought about it. It felt like a big request. “Okay. Yeah, I came here sometimes with my friends. Not often. We had to take the ferry. Pretty expensive for a Flotsam kid.”

“Your parents let you go wherever you wanted?”

Davin almost laughed. “You could say that. My mom was kinda hands-off. Being out with my friends worked out best for both of us.”

“I guess your dad was hands-off, too?”

“Never knew my dad. He disappeared when he found out my mom was pregnant. So, yeah, the ultimate hands-off dad.”

Sierra’s eyes sank. “Sorry for prying. That was insensitive.”

“No big deal,” Davin said. “Never knew the guy. From the things my mom said, I probably wouldn’t want to know him.”

A foursome of twenty-something girls with flowery wrist tatts sat down at the table next to them, chatting like morning birds. Davin ruled out the possibility of them being the buyers.

“I thought it was bad having a prime minister as a father,” Sierra said. “Guess we’ve both got those kinds of families.”

Davin couldn’t withhold a laugh. “I can’t see how our families are the tiniest bit similar.”

“We’re both distant from them,” Sierra said with sincerity.

Davin crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know. I think of family as whoever you can’t imagine your life without. My crew is my family.” It surprised Davin to hear himself say that, as if he hadn’t realized it until that moment.

Strange’s voice piped through Davin’s earpiece: “Aw, that’s sweet as hell, Cap.”

Davin hid an embarrassed smirk. He’d forgotten the others were listening in.

Sierra stared off at nothing like a forlorn puppy. “If that’s what family is, my family’s not very big.”

Davin’s smirk turned to a real smile. “Always time to add to the ranks.”

For a quiet moment, the world moved around them while they sat in stillness, eyes lingering on each other without shyness or embarrassment. Subtle warmth welled in Davin, a pleasant lightheartedness. Sierra looked at him like no one ever had. In that calm, delicate moment, he felt something new and different. He felt valuable. Admirable. When Sierra looked at him, he felt like a good man.

Over Sierra’s shoulder, a woman walked by, eyeing them. Just a brief glance, but Davin noticed. He recognized her. It was the hard-faced, sharp-nosed woman who had walked by while they hung necklaces at the stand. She wore normal clothes, but something seemed off about her. She didn’t fit in here. She walked across the food court toward nothing in particular, just zigzagging through the tables.

Maybe it was the buyers, maybe it wasn’t, but Davin sensed it coming. They were close. He looked around, trying to be inconspicuous. No one else stood out, but he sensed others nearby, watching.

The lump in his throat returned with a vengeance.

Sierra noticed. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he said, then hesitated. New thoughts flooded his head, things he never thought or cared about before. “Sierra, let me ask you something. Without you in the picture, everybody thinking you’re dead, what are the odds Carina goes to war with the Sagittarians?”

Sierra shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know. There are others who don’t want war. My father is one of them. At least he was. But if he thinks the Sagittarians killed me . . .” Her eyes met his again, sober this time. Gloomy. “There’ll be war. It’s just be a matter of time.” She paused. “That’s why it’s so important I get back to Baha’runa. They need to know I’m alive. They need to know who did this.”

Behind Sierra, across the food court, two men in dark coats joined up with the hard-faced woman. Then a third man appeared. He had a gray and black mustache-goatee combo, dark hair, and a commanding aura. His piercing black eyes turned and looked straight at Davin. The moment was unmistakable. They recognized each other. The Abramist grinned, a thin curl of the lips that said,
That’s right, I caught up to you
.

Instantly, Davin saw two futures unfurl like scrolls in his mind’s eye. In one: war and destruction and fabulous wealth from thousands of new wreckages to scavenge, not to mention the ransom money for Sierra. Wine, women, and song on a hundred worlds. A happy crew. Strange lounging on a beach somewhere with her lesbian bitches. Jabron in a different VIP room every night. Jai . . . probably going back to university. Davin starting his own metalworks company on Agora. All for the price of Sierra’s life.

In the other future, Davin saw the war avoided, the galaxy at peace. Probably being forgotten. Going back to the grind. More breathing in the air of a dank spacesuit in desperate need of a wash. More prying apart the rare wrecked freighter. More haggling for better prices. More living off cheap kelpmeal and soybeans, meal after meal after meal. But Sierra would live, and the galaxy would be a better place.

For the first time in his life, Davin felt like he had the chance to change the fate of the galaxy, for good or for evil. For the first time, he felt—
really
felt—like good and evil applied to him. The weight of it bore down on him like a superplanet’s gravity. His breaths came short. His blood rushed hot. Sweat condensed on his forehead.

Sierra’s eyes narrowed. “Davin? What’s wrong?”

“Heads up, boss,” Jabron buzzed in Davin’s earpiece. “Looks like them.”

The Abramists moved closer. Four of them. More closed in from other angles—six, eight, ten. All fit, military types with faces far too serious for Rothbard Heights Mall, faces that didn’t fear death, wouldn’t flinch at killing, staring straight at them. Not hiding anymore.

Time slowed. Davin heard his heartbeat hammering over the racket of the food court. The Abramists approached with swift strides and tenacious confidence, pride swelling in their faces as they approached—the pride of a feral animal having cornered its prey.

A heavy truth hit Davin and sunk in. Sierra would die because of him. She would bleed and scream and breathe her last because he had delivered her into the hands of her executioners. That same thing would happen on a massive scale around the galaxy, but at the moment, he didn’t care about that. He cared about the innocent girl sitting in front of him. Her big, pure eyes searched him, on the verge of connecting the dots.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Davin said. “Conscience is a bitch.”

Davin grabbed Sierra’s hand and yanked her up from the table, rushing toward a hole in the closing circle of Abramists. Sierra tried to rip her hand away, but Davin gripped it hard.

“Davin, what are you doing?”

“Follow my lead,” he commanded.

The Abramists moved faster, collapsing the circle around them as they fled.

“Boss, the
hell
you doing?” Jabron boomed in Davin’s ear. “It’s them! Jimmy Powers just confirmed it!”

“I know it’s them, dammit,” Davin replied. “She can’t go with them.”

“It’s who?” Sierra asked from behind.

The dark-haired Abramist leader called from across the food court. “Sierra!”

Sierra stopped and jerked around, immediately recognizing the man. “Oh, God. Oh my God.”

“It’s time to come home,” the Abramist said.

Davin felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder. His eyes followed the arm to a thick-necked thug with a chiseled jaw. A breath later, the dominoes started to fall. Davin ducked away from the Abramist, twisted his hand around, and shoved him into his outstretched foot, knocking him over a young couple’s table—straight through their food. The couple recoiled, yelling. People turned in their seats and stared. Davin tightened his grip on Sierra and ran. The Abramists sprang into full-on chase.

“Strange, Jai, get back to the ship!” Davin yelled. “Bron, cover us.”

“Shit, Cap!” Strange chimed in. “What’s your deal?”

“They were gonna kill her!” Davin exclaimed as he broke into a sprint. “That’s my fucking deal!”

People leaped out of the way as Davin weaved around tables and stands and advertisement barriers. Behind, the Abramists shoved their way through the crowd, forming a long line, steamrolling anyone in their path. They gained ground fast.

Davin yanked Sierra sideways into a jewelry store covered in glass and chrome and white stone. The Abramist leader snapped out a handgun from an inner jacket pocket and fired. Davin and Sierra ducked as glass shattered, bullets split stone walls, women screamed, and the store manager yelled. The entire mall erupted in a mad chaos. Crouched bodies rushed in every direction, and a shrill roar masked the sounds of Davin and Sierra’s pursuers.

Up ahead, the skittish crowd had cleared away to the outer edges of the corridors. In the middle stood two military-shaped figures, a man and a woman who looked equally impassible. They held handguns with both hands, rigid arms pointing straight down. Davin reached around his back and whipped out his own weapon. The Abramists reacted with unnatural speed, ducking away as Davin fired, busting out the lights of a display barrier.

Sierra hid inside an empty stand while Davin exchanged potshots the other direction. Glass splintered and scattered over the tile. The Abramists’ bullets blasted disturbingly large holes in the display cases, forcing Davin to shrink further into the stand. They were using fragmenting rounds, designed to split apart on impact and tear off as much flesh as possible. These bastards meant business.

Davin popped a mini flashbang from his jacket pocket, primed it, and tossed it over his head. An explosive sound like a giant balloon bursting went off at the same time as an eye-burning camera flash. Davin stood and fired at the few staggering Abramists in the open, dropping them instantly. Had the others seen the flashbang and taken cover
that fast?
Damn.

More shots from ahead and behind ripped holes in the stand. It was beginning to look like a piece of metallic swiss cheese. Product boxes and electronic devices spread over the ground in pieces. Davin leaned to the side and took potshots every few seconds, either around the side of the display case or through holes already torn in them. He heard the Abramists moving closer. They must’ve been using whisper-tech, or else they had the training and experience to not need communication. Either way:
damn
.

“Bron, a little help here,” Davin said into his nexband.

Hunkered down in the corner, Sierra stared at Davin with a mixture of fear and betrayal.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Davin shouted between gunshots. “I didn’t go through with it!”

“But you were going to!” she shouted back after another exchange of fire. “Did you know it was them?”

Davin
really
didn’t want to deal with this right now. The Abramists were closing in. At any second a quarter of his bodyweight could be blown off.

“I didn’t
know
.”

“Did you suspect?”

“I—the thought
might’ve
crossed my mind.” Davin ejected his empty clip and shoved in the new one with practiced hands. Sizable openings in the display cases gave him a rough picture of where to shoot.

“How much were they going to pay you?” Sierra demanded in the next brief silence.

“Geez, princess, let it go!” Davin exclaimed. “I changed my mind!”

Sierra clenched her teeth and slid toward him through glass and debris. “For the millionth time—” She thrust her hand into his jacket pocket and produced another mini flashbang. “I am
not
—” Her thumb found the primer button. “A damn—” With surprising force, she threw it over the display counter and cried, “
PRINCESS!
”

For a second after the bang, Davin sat with his jaw loose in astonishment. Where had this version of Sierra Falco been hiding? He pushed himself up and wheeled around, firing at every muffled grunt and possible cover spot in the corridor.

At the same time, Jabron rolled out from behind a planter down the corridor and popped off a succession of rapid, well-aimed shots. More grunts preceded bodies crumpling or crawling away. Jabron went back and slaughtered the crawlers. But the dark-haired Abramist leader showed up behind him, charging and firing just as Jabron ducked back behind cover. Jabron leaped at the Abramist and knocked away his gun. They grabbed each other and struggled for Jabron’s weapon.

On the other side of the stand, the other two Abramists rushed forward, guns blasting, pinning Davin and Sierra down, shredding the tattered remains of the display cases. Davin fired back, but the Abramists kept zigzagging. He could never tell where the rat bastards were. One second they were twenty feet from the stand. Then fifteen. Then ten.

Down the corridor, a strange humming sound picked up, getting closer, coming toward them. Davin trained his gun at the display counter, breath clenched in his chest, waiting for the Abramists to appear. Seconds went by. Where were they? Davin’s arms quivered as the oxygen in his blood dwindled. He heard more gunshots, but the stand wasn’t being hit. Then a barrage of metallic snaps responded, echoing in the cavernous space. Through a hole in the display paneling, Davin saw a swarm of frisbee-sized security drones zipping around in the air, flinging zapper rounds at the Abramists, who had their backs turned.