The Gilded Cage (7 page)

He had the build of a man who spent a lot of time and energy on the right nutrition, the right drugs, and the requisite number of hours at the gym daily.

Fanatic, in all the wrong ways.

Hadiiye’s tits sheltered her. None of the three men at the table appeared to even notice she had a face as she approached. The one woman sitting with them looked closer, but said nothing.

She was a stranger, dressed like a banker but still in good shape, if thickening with age. Hadiiye would have guessed her to be in her well–preserved fifties. She could see the older woman’s beauty slowly aging, like the best wines, even as she wore little makeup and kept her hair buzzed to perhaps three or four millimeters long.

Her eyes, though. They had the intelligence of an alpha predator, but the warmth of a human, something missing from the three men here. Four, with Navarre.

Tamaz nodded, mostly at Navarre.

“Captain Navarre,” he said carefully with a semi–formal nod. He did not rise, but the body language suggested it diplomatically as he gestured for them to join his party.

Dominance games. Two springboks about to joust for supremacy. Local boys unsure of the stranger and willing to play nice for now. At least until he showed weakness. Sharks waiting patiently.

Wilhelmina was aghast, deep inside, as Hadiiye used her well–honed perceptive skills so ruthlessly.

Tough
.

“Captain Tamaz,” Navarre replied, equally politely.

Bodies shifted around, making a space for Navarre to sit next to Almássy, with Erckens between him and Tamaz.

The woman chose to slide out of the booth and stand.

“Tamaz,” the banker said. “I will check my inventory and get back to you in a day or so. I’m sure we can deal.”

She looked up and eyed Hadiiye from close up, almost a head and a half shorter but massing a similar amount.

She nodded with the ghost of a smile, and departed without another word.

Hadiiye could have slid in, but chose to remain standing.

Bodyguards, professional ones, didn’t limit their movement like these men did. She could probably successfully assassinate Tamaz, if she was suicidal. There were enough guns around her that she’d never make it out alive.

That wasn’t necessary. Yet.

For all the noise on the dance floor, it was quiet enough to talk here. Hadiiye suspected a sound–dampening field, but didn’t bother looking for it. It would be concealed, along with pop–up stunner turrets a bar like this would certainly invest in.

“I do not believe we have met,” Tamaz said, dangling his tone like bait.

Useful, if you wanted to catch a megalodon.

“I rarely work this sector, Captain Tamaz,” Navarre replied. Not evasive, but not particularly descriptive. “This was a special trip.”

His smile could have sliced bread.

“And your interest in the woman?”

Navarre’s smile turned winter.

“I owe that woman more pain than you can possibly imagine,” Navarre purred.

“Professional,” Tamaz asked, “or personal?”

“Or?”

“I see,” Tamaz said succinctly. “Almássy tells me you inquired about a front–row seat for her execution.”

“She’s cost me too much money,” Navarre said. “I can’t afford to buy her from you outright.”

“Oh ho, so it is professional.”

“No,” Navarre replied. “With Sokolov, it’s professional. With her, it’s very much personal.”

A single raised eyebrow asked the obvious question. Navarre nodded, warming slightly to the man.

Hadiiye tensed, wondering if this was the point where things would get out of hand, or whether Javier was about to change sides.

Did he have a side
?

“They cost me a very expensive, very custom ship.”

“I don’t remember you, Captain Navarre,” Tamaz said sternly. “And I would.”

It was Navarre’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You served with Sokolov? With Sykora?”

She watched Tamaz lean back and smile, almost preening.

“I was
Storm Gauntlet
’s Executive Officer,” the man announced. “Before I decided to go make my own fortune five years ago. They dreamed too small for me.”

“Five years?” Navarre asked. “Then my backers would have no beef with you. Only them. Him, mostly.”

“So you aren’t really that interested in the woman?”

Hadiiye saw something in the man’s eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Wilhelmina might have discounted it. Another man would have missed it entirely.

Hadiiye was a woman. A hard, brutal, lethal woman. Keyed up for violence and studying all the men about her as victims in waiting. But still a woman.

There was something oddly possessive about the way the man spoke, the way he smiled. Something at odds with the situation. Both Javier and Navarre would miss it.

Hadiiye decided to gamble.

“You could always let me have her,” she said with a slow drawl, just loud enough to be heard, just cold enough to convey a very painful point.

Every head turned her direction. Eyes met hers and stayed, for the first time, instead of wandering down her front.

She had just become a person instead of an object.

The tension shifted, bled sideways. Navarre scowled, blinked, processed, grinned.
Good
.

Tamaz studied her closely. His eyes took her in entirely, from the high–heeled fighting boots to the bronze–ringed gap that showed the shadows of her breasts as she breathed, to the long, long arms ending in blood red nails.

She smiled, catlike at him, watched him lick his lips unconsciously.
Better
.

“Interesting,” Tamaz said.

Either he was a better poker player than Javier, or he had just bought the identity of Hadiiye.

She wondered if either Javier or Navarre realized how much Tamaz was in love with Djamila Sykora.

“After dealing with Sykora,” Navarre said into the silence. “I went and got my own version.”

“Is she as good?” Erckens suddenly spoke up, having been silent until now. He had a tenor voice. It might have been pleasant, if it wasn’t dripping with frat–boy innuendo and lust.

“Maybe,” Navarre said. “She’s killed everyone I’ve wanted her to, so far.”

Maybe, Navarre? You don’t think Hadiiye could take Sykora?

Wilhelmina spoke up from her quiet corner, offered a memory of Djamila working out. The muscles rippling as she lifted huge weights, did hand–stand pushups against a bulkhead, punished the sparring dummy Wilhelmina held for her.

No, probably not. You three, however, would be meat
.

Hadiiye settled for a predator’s smile. Big cat.

She
had
killed everyone Navarre had asked her to. That turned out to be nobody as yet, but perhaps he would demand Tamaz and the other two be first. That would please her, after experiences with these men that she would never tell Javier or Djamila.

“Killing Sykora isn’t really necessary,” Tamaz purred.

Again, that soft undertone. Wilhelmina, the Shepherd of the Word, spoke up, offered all the experience of a doctorate in human psychology. Helpfully pointed out the set of the eyes, the posture, the way the lips held that smile.

He wasn’t going to kill her, but he was never letting her go. He was going to break Sykora. Shatter her. Make it impossible for her to say no to him.

That would be enough. Tamaz was a glass–half–full man with Sykora. Not just simple conquest, but also willful acceptance. Something Djamila would never give him willingly.

There was no more dangerous creature in the world that a thwarted lover plotting his revenge.

Wilhelmina wondered about Javier’s posture. It was different, but not different enough. The opposite of love is apathy, not hatred. Javier was not apathetic here.

Navarre watched Tamaz and the others for a second. He nodded, mostly to himself.

“In that case, gentlemen,” Navarre said. “We probably can’t do a deal. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”

He began to slide out of the booth, but Tamaz stopped him.

“Actually, Captain Navarre,” he began, much more politely. “We might be able to. Sokolov ought to be here in another few days. We can certainly find a happy common cause around his death.”

He dangled the bait skillfully.

Hadiiye watched the play of emotions across Navarre’s face. She knew Javier well enough from across a poker table to see how much of it was false detail. Hatred. Hope. Vengeance.

Navarre cocked his head.

“Sokolov’s coming for her?” he asked, voice dripping with anticipation. His smile gained several degrees of warmth.

“I sent a messenger to draw him in,” Tamaz replied. “She had a slow ship, so we have a bit of time to prepare.”

“She?”

“One of Sykora’s crew. She’ll scamper home and undoubtedly bring the cavalry, like it was some boring melodrama. They will expect a trap. I will serve them up one they can escape. They will rescue Sykora. I’ll use her to kill them all.”

Tamaz was preening again. Butter would not melt in his mouth right now.

Navarre reached out a hand and grabbed the glass of wine that had been in front of the woman banker. He made a production of toasting Captain Tamaz with it.

“To vengeance,” Navarre said seriously.

The others scrambled to grab their glasses and rattle them together awkwardly. “To vengeance.”

Hadiiye scanned Tamaz and his crew expectantly. They might have Sykora, but they were toasting retribution with Javier Aritza, even if he was portraying the role of Captain Navarre.

Who was doomed here?

BOOK SEVEN: DJAMILA

Part One

It wasn’t
Mielikki
, but it was still an improvement over that short–range airborne autonomous remote Javier had hidden her in when the pirates first captured them. A girl could stretch her legs out in here.

Suvi completed an inventory of her upgraded suite of toys. The new remote was eighty–three percent faster to process and had nearly forty–three times as much non–volatile memory. Javier had even added a whole library of new movies and musicals for her to watch when she had time.

The shell had been reinforced, as well. After she had cracked her egg killing the bad man, the remote’s frame had never been the same. She could compensate, but having to was a pain. The new shell was much tougher, with a layer of charcoal gray painted hull metal padded underneath with nearly a centimeter of good sprayed–foam material, double wrapped in cloth. She was hurricane–proof now, too, instead of just rain–proof. Bigger batteries, more lift potential, refined sensors.

It almost made it worth it.

Still, she missed being a starship. She’d have to convince Javier to buy or steal her a ship one of these days, upgrade the hardware, and pour her soul into it. Oh, to feel the solar wind on her face again.

At least she’d finally met Dr. Teague. Finding out Javier had given that woman all of their reward money from the mine field treasure above
A’Nacia
, that he’d added years to their sentence of servitude, that had hurt. She had been all set to hate the woman, especially after finding out that now she wanted their help to rescue the big, mean dragoon, Sykora.

I mean, really, the nerve of some people
.

But Wilhelmina had turned out to be good people. Really nice. Probably good for Javier in ways Suvi couldn’t manage, unless they built her an android body with big boobs.

Pygmalion be damned. A girl could dream
.

Dinner and talk and stories and plans, plus a lot of food. Javier obviously trusted Wilhelmina with his life, with both their lives, so she must be good people. Really nice, too.

And now, a costume party. Well, for the organics. Actually, no, her too. Nobody would realize that the little remote had a person inside.

And other surprises.

Suvi cycled her attention back down to the new entries in her encyclopaedia entitled
Q–section
. Javier had added some new capabilities when he updated the hull of the new remote. It wasn’t her old dorsal twin pulsar turret on
Mielikki
, but she could still take down a moose with the little pop–up pulse turret she had now.

Were there any moose in space?

Suvi made a note to update her xeno–biology and seeding histories to look for programs to introduce large ungulates on terraformed planets. Or, alternatively, to locate bio–equivalent creatures on non–seeded worlds. You never knew when you’d need that kind of information handy.

Q–ship
. A very boring–looking freighter in a war zone, sailing happily along as bait for an enemy raider. Armed and armoured, but hidden. Prepared to absorb lots of damage. All set to sink the poor bastard who thought he was all that and a bag of chips.

Suvi envisioned dancing a happy jig before she climbed down into the flight seat of her little flitter, at least in her mind, and started the power–up sequence to bring her little assault fighter on line.

Scanners: active. Currently tracking one target: Javier, currently costumed as Captain Navarre, with a little ping transmitter in his belt–buckle that apparently even Wilhelmina/Hadiiye didn’t know about.

Flight systems: warming up. I can outrun a cheetah. And out–marathon a saluki. And out–climb a Stellar’s Sea Eagle.

Fear me, I am awesomeness itself
.

Batteries: ninety–nine point three percent. No solar power around here to recharge, so I’ll have to rely on standard indoor fluorescent lights. Estimate nineteen days to critical discharge, two if I use the guns on anything. Assume trouble.

She made another note to have Javier relocate the standard plug–jack closer to her waldo claw, so she could find a power socket and get to one hundred percent without relying on him.

Cavalry needs to be able to cavalry, damn it.

PING!!!

Suvi nearly dropped her iced tea. Well, she envisioned one in her hand so she could almost drop it. Then she added a cup–holder on her console, to hold her new glass, and finished her power–on sequence. Javier would only push that button when he was ready for her to follow them to the bad guy’s lair. And since Wilhelmina/Hadiiye didn’t know about it, that meant Suvi needed to come running.