Songs of Love & Death (41 page)

Nic studied Captain Serri Beck, standing in the
Pandea
’s airlock, and knew without a doubt that he was courting trouble. It wasn’t just her tone. It was the lethal Z9 in her hands. Best to get right to the point.

“Filar’s Bruisers are on the way here,” he told her as she stared at him,
her dark eyes hard and cold. He remembered lights dancing in those same eyes, her demeanor playful, impish. That playfulness was gone, but her ability to spark his emotions wasn’t. He forced his focus from her to the shadowy airlock. “We don’t have much time. You can shoot me when this is finished.”

“Ammo’s pricey these days. Spacing you would be cheaper.” But she motioned him through the airlock with a hard jerk of the rifle’s tip.

He hesitated, a thousand things he wanted to say dying on his tongue. Things he should have said six years ago. Things he still couldn’t find a way to say now. He stepped past her into the freighter’s interior—the usual gray serviceable bulkheads with yellow-striped conduit crisscrossing overhead. His bootsteps clanked in time to hers on the decking gridwork. Something trilled and beeped farther down the corridor.

“I can help, but you need to trust me.” He knew that was asking a lot.

“That’s up to Quin, not me.”

He nodded, and moved on with the feeling that if it had been up to her, she would have shot him on the rampway.

It didn’t surprise him that Serenity Beck had hooked up with Quintrek James of Daq’kyree. Nic knew Quintrek’s history, and the rumors surrounding the former royal adviser’s resignation a decade ago. He couldn’t bring the details of the scandal to mind, only that Quintrek had walked away from a powerful and prestigious position on the Skoggi High Council.

Serri, like Quintrek, had a strong sense of justice. But, unlike Quintrek, she hadn’t waited to review all the evidence. If she had, her life might well have been different.
Nic’s
life… He pushed the thought away. He couldn’t change the past. The only thing he could do was to help her and Quintrek now—and try not to blow the mission in the process.

“Quin, this is Nicandro Talligar,” Serri said as they stepped over the hatch tread and onto the bridge.

Nic inclined his head in respect to the Skoggi perched in the command sling. “An honor, Esteemed of Pride Daq’kyree.”

A wide paw resplendent with furry white tufts waved dismissively. “Piffle. Little honor in being caught in Filar’s claws. Tell me what Rez Jonas should have, but didn’t.” Quin turned toward Serri. “Cargo Four won’t lock.”

“On it.” She swung away, pushing the rifle to one side as she dropped into a chair in front of a console.

“Wait. You have to let Filar take the cargo,” Nic said, as Serri angled back toward him. “I know that’s not what you want to hear. Think of it as a temporary inconvenience on the way to solving a larger problem.”

Dark narrowed eyes peered up at him. “The larger problem is Filar’s
threatening to impound this ship, Talligar.”

“He won’t go that far. Trust me.”

“He will, and I don’t trust you. Neither does Quin.”

“Dumping cargo doesn’t engender client loyalty,” Quin intoned.

“There won’t be clients shipping anywhere in Sector Three if we don’t find out what Filar’s up to,” Nic countered. “You’re not the first to get hit with this scheme. But we tagged your cargo and can track it to whoever Filar sends it to—which is who we suspect is behind this.”

Quin’s whiskers twitched, but he was nodding. “I take it ‘we’ is more than you and Rez Jonas.”

Nic had briefly considered using that as cover, and probably could have convinced the empathic Skoggi that it was the truth. That was, after all, part of his job. But Nic’s lies to Serri—and the way Rez Jonas used her—always haunted him. She deserved honesty this time.

“Jonas has no idea I’m here. I’m a special agent with the DIA’s organized crime squad.” Cover blown. He could almost hear his boss roaring in anger from her plush offices at HQ, more than halfway across the Dalvarr System, adding his name next to Brackton’s on her list of incompetents.

He heard Serri’s snort of disbelief instead. “That’s a great pickup line, but we don’t have time for—”

“Trouble,” Quin said harshly, pointing to one of the screens on an opposite console where a line of hulking red-suited Breffans shoved through the freighter bay’s hatchlock, ram-cannons in hands. “Filar’s Bruisers have arrived.”

S
ERRI LISTENED AS
Quin—being typically Quin—peppered the orange-freckled Bruiser chief with questions. But whether Quin was playing the part that Nic had asked him to, or whether he discounted Nic’s story and was actually trying to save their asses—and their cargo—Serri couldn’t tell.

Serri, being typically Serri, vacillated between righteous anger and an unexpected—and ridiculous—feeling of relief at Nic’s presence by her side. She didn’t know what to make of Nic’s story. But the fact that she didn’t trust him didn’t blind her to other facts: He was intelligent, resourceful, and had a definite talent for unorthodox solutions. They needed one of those—desperately—right now.

Quin’s arguments were changing nothing. The Breffans didn’t care about the legitimacy of the order they served. Not surprising, considering that the broad-bodied, leathery-skinned, freckled Breffans weren’t used in security for
their empathy, but for their multilimbed dexterity. The purple-freckled female guard holding a rifle on Serri and Nic also held a pistol and a transcomm in two of her other three hands—if Serri as much as made a twitch for the rifle slung across her back, the guard could shoot her dead with two different weapons. The guard’s fourth hand scratched lazily at her left thigh.

The Breffan chief finally stalked away, clomping noisily up the
Pandea’
s rampway in counterpoint to the
Pandea’
s cargo flowing out of her holds.

With a shake of his head, Quin padded back over to where she and Nic stood, then sat on his haunches. Serri knew that he wouldn’t discuss anything in front of the guard. She glanced down at him. He mirrored her frown with a slight narrowing of his eyes. One ear twitched, flattening.

Quin was not happy.

Neither was Serri. For all the things she didn’t know, there was one thing she did: Nic Talligar knew more than he was saying about Filar and Rez Jonas.

Minutes later, noise from the
Pandea
’s airlock drew her attention. The orange-freckled Breffan chief clomped back down the rampway, cannon in one hand, datapad in another, his remaining two arms stiffly at his side.

With an annoyed grunt, he went down on one knee so that his face and Quin’s were almost level. “Paw print here.” He held out the datapad.

“I shall read it first.” Quin’s voice held a haughty tone that Serri knew went back to his council days. “If you’d like to sit—”

“I’ll wait,” the chief said. “It’s only the basic one-page transfer of ownership.”

Transfer of ownership?
Not transfer. Impound. Shock roiled through her. They’d already given up the cargo as Nic told them to. And now… this. Serri felt sick. She’d trusted Nic again. And been betrayed. Again.

Quin’s whiskers quivered as his paw hovered over the screen. “This is beastly. We shall be filing a criminal complaint against this station.”

The chief shrugged. “Boss says since we got the cargo, he can be generous. For a mere hundred fifty thousand, he’ll drop impound charges and you can keep the ship.”

Quin’s paw jerked. “Bugger!”

Nic stepped forward. “Deal.”

“Deal?” Serri’s voice rasped as she swung toward him. What kind of game was this now? Or maybe not a game at all, but the truth coming out. Nic wasn’t trying to help them, he wasn’t a DIA agent trying to stop Filar. He was working for Filar, extorting as much as he could out of Quin.

“But we need time,” Nic was saying, “to transfer the funds.”

The Breffan tapped his datapad. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Two hours.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Hour and a half.”

“Hour.”

“Deal.”

More taps on the datapad. “Paw print here confirming payment at the dockmaster’s office in one hour,” the chief said to Quin.

Quin glanced at Nic, then, with the slightest of nods, slapped his paw down.

“Don’t even think about trying to leave without paying,” the chief said, shoving the datapad back into his utility belt. “Cannons’ll pick you off before you’re even halfway to the outer beacon.”

“Understood,” Quinn said.

The chief nodded and, with purple-freckles in tow and the rest of his team filing out behind them, headed for the corridor.

Serri waited until the airlock door groaned closed. “What in hell’s going on? We don’t have a hundred fifty thousand credits!” She glanced from Nic to Quinn then back to Nic again. “They took the cargo. Deed done. Now go arrest them or whatever it is you do. And get us our ship back.”

Discomfort colored Nic’s features, his brows angling down. “I can’t do that. I’ll catch hell as it is because you know who I am. But it would jeopardize the entire mission if station admin finds out.”

“I take it that means the DIA isn’t giving us a loan.”

“I don’t have the authority—”

“Then what in hell are Quin and I supposed to do? Rob a bank?” She didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of her words.

“Don’t have to,” Nic said. “Filar can’t extort money from you if you’re not on station.”

Abandon the
Pandea? “You’re asking us to walk away—”

“Not walk. Climb. Six levels up to the auxiliary maintenance grid so I can disable the station’s weapons’ system.”

This was beyond unorthodox. The man was insane. “You’re going to dismantle an entire bank of ion cannons?”

“Nope.” He pulled out a thin microcomp from an inside pocket of his jacket. “I just have to shut down the station’s ability to fire them.”

Serri’s mind whirled. “Not you.” She pointed to herself then to Nic. “Us.”

“I can’t. You’re not trained—”

“Weapons systems, computers? Sure as hell am, Talligar. Or are you forgetting who was your study and sim partner in the university?”

“Serri, this is dangerous.”

“And this is my ship, and Quin’s my partner. I’m not stupid enough to let
you stroll out of here with only your word as guarantee. I had a taste of your trustworthiness six years ago, thank you very much.” She tugged her rifle forward. “I’m going with you or you’re going nowhere.”

He looked hurt. “Quin trusts me.”

“I feel your plan has merit,” Quin admitted. “And empathically I sense no duplicity from you. But I agree with Captain Beck. We have far more to lose than you do.” He nodded. “I trust you will do all you can to keep her safe. And I trust she will do all she can to keep you honest.”

Serri raised her chin and looked at Nic in triumph. It meant something that Quin believed him. She wasn’t ready yet to grant him that luxury though.

“F
ILAR MAY HAVE
watchers out,” Nic told Serri as they strode for the stairwell. He kept his voice low and even. Which was more than he could do for his emotions. He was annoyed. He was angry. His own career be damned, the one thing he did not want to do was put Serri in further danger, and now he had. It didn’t make him feel any better that he was armed and so was she—though she’d left the larger rifle with Quin, opting for a more easily concealable pistol. “We need to let them see us enter the bank as if we’re securing a loan. Then we slip out the side door and use the maintenance core catwalks from there.”

“Just like Scout-and-Snipe.”

He huffed out a hard laugh at her comment. “A bit more dangerous, but yeah.” He’d met Serri playing the holosim game while at the university. Impressed with her skills, he recruited her to his team—the best decision he ever made. A year later, he recruited Rez Jonas. The worst decision he ever made.

“Why does the DIA care about Filar? Okay, he’s dirty, but Jabo Station’s had that reputation for decades. What are you really doing here?”

Definitely not what he’d been sent to do—including blowing his cover. He waited until two human dockworkers and a Kortish male in garish yellow robes clambered down the stairs and out of earshot. “It’s one thing when pirates get into pissing contests with rival factions. It’s another when legit haulers get hit with an extortion scam. And yes, I really do work for the DIA. They recruited me a few months after you left.” Serri never even said good-bye, never gave him a chance to explain why he’d kept her busy and away from Jonas all those months. He glanced over at her as they climbed, chancing a bit of honesty, as painful as he knew it was going to be. “There was no reason for me to stay at Widestar. You were gone.”

Something flashed in her eyes. “I’m sure Rez had other infidelities you
could have helped him cover up.”

They’d reached the next level—one more and they’d exit into the corridor then head for the bank. Nic kept his senses tuned to anyone coming up behind them. It was in Filar’s best interest to let them retrieve the supposed funds, but this was Jabo Station. Filar wasn’t the only thug. Just one of the bigger ones.

Given that, he’d picked one hell of a time to initiate this discussion. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.” She pushed ahead of him.

He kept to the right side of the heavily trafficked passageway, tucking them as much as possible between larger groups as they headed for the bank’s main entrance off Corridor Supreme. If Filar had his Bruisers following them, Nic didn’t see any.

That Filar could be following them on security vidcams was a definite possibility. It was the reason Nic chose Sector United. The vidcams in Corridor Supreme were the least effective and not just because of the crowds, but because two popular pleasure houses there paid good money not to be recorded.

Sector United was crowded—it was the only bank on-station that was multi-species-friendly, including a private office for methane breathers and decking-level teller terminals for four-legged patrons like Skoggi. He guided Serri past the currency-exchange kiosk, then spotted a vacant space along a side wall. He nudged her quickly in that direction. They needed to look as if they waited for a loan officer.