Dragonfly (20 page)

Comfort, my ass. Maybe the system was malfunctioning. Or maybe I was just overwrought.

Without the uniform, I felt naked. I’d lost my Axis ident, my shatterjay, my backup weapon. I had only my ESE, still tucked into the seam of my shorts.

I unclipped the pistol in its holster from the discarded uniform and strapped it around my thigh, where the nano-elastic adjusted itself to my muscle movement so it fit perfectly and didn’t slip. The pistol’s charge was half-empty, the diodes along the cartridge glowing only dimly. I spent a few tense minutes rifling the drawers in the desk for anything useful, and finding nothing.

But all that was just to avoid thinking about the mess I was in.

I had to get a defenseless civilian off a hostile ship, and I had no way of breaking her from her cell, no transport, and only one weapon. Dragonfly already suspected me, and Lux was no idiot. And the admiral’s deadline for action was only a few hours away. If Spider didn’t come to kill her sooner, he surely would then.

I wiped my sweating face on my forearm. Would they rape her, as she feared? I suspected not. Spider had an ethical screw loose, but he wasn’t random, and it was Admiral Verenski he wanted to torture, not his daughter.

I, on the other hand, had no such safety net if they found me out. And, of course, saving the girl meant abandoning my mission to entrap Dragonfly.

Unless I took him with me. Or killed him before I left.

My pulse quickened, and in my heart that black, vengeful creature stirred.

I could kill them all. Improvise a dampener for my plasma pistol to mask it from the battle sensors and shoot the evil-hearted pricks as they slept. Pick them off one by one. Rescue the girl, and return this stolen battleship to the fleet.

I’d be an Imperial hero. More importantly, I’d be assistant director of operations at black ops, and I’d never have to impress Renko or think about Dragonfly again.

Tempting. I was sick of moral ambiguity. These rebels were the enemy. End of story. Right?

But my chances of killing all five before I got caught were slim. I wasn’t an infallible assassin. Not yet.

I straightened and addressed the valet. “Show me the crew.”

Obediently, the valet flashed up a video projection divided into six oblong windows. Security camera footage, taken from high vantage points, the panoramic lenses distorting the images like a bubble. Foxy Lady, on a bench beside a blacked-out clearview, stripping her rifle across her knees. Vish on the bridge, the cat on his lap and his feet propped on the nav station, a stardrive diagnostic flickering green across the display. Lux at a mess hall table, his head resting on his forearm, pistol clasped loosely in his hand. He wriggled in his sleep, his lips moving. And Spider, drying himself in the hot-air draft after a shower, water beading on his naked body.

Uh-huh. I peered closer. Professional curiosity only, of course. Hmm. Very nice. Remind me never to get in an argument with those thighs. His skin was clear and smooth, his limbs long. Maybe he was younger than I’d figured.

A scar roped the length of his spine, angry and pale against his dark coloring. Too neat for an injury. More like a surgical wound poorly healed. I remembered Dragonfly’s scarred shoulder, and frowned. You might keep a battle wound for sentimental reasons—I could understand that. Some kept them to remember fallen friends, or mull over their own mortality. But who didn’t get their surgical scars erased?

Someone who ran out of cash for the cosmetic work?

Or someone who didn’t get a say in it?

Someone, even, who fled before the surgery was finished?

I remembered how Spider had heard me outside the hotel room when I’d made no sound, how he’d jumped me ultra-fast. Dragonfly’s words to him on the bridge repeated on me, ricocheting with extra meaning.
What they did to you can’t be undone.

I shivered. Maybe Spider’s enhancements were more sinister than I’d thought.

He stretched, flexing long brown muscles, and I bit my lip and looked away.

The fifth screen showed white noise, and the sixth a dark empty corridor. So there really were only four in the crew.

“Where’s Dragonfly?”

Unknown
.

“You know. The other guy who came on board with us.”

Unknown
.

I cracked sore knuckles. Lux had said the life support was off in parts of the ship. Maybe some of the security was down too. “Okay. Turn that off. Can I access the lockdown from here?”

The screen dissolved and metal clamps clicked.
Door locked
.

I sighed. “No, idiot. Unlock the door.”

Door unlocked.

“Thank you. I mean the voice lockdown across the corridor. Can I access it from my console?”

Lockdown is activated by authorized personnel only.

“Yeah, but from this console?”

Lockdown is activated by authorized personnel only.

I glared into the air. “Okay, I get that. Who’s authorized?”

Lockdown is activated by authorized personnel only.

In other words, not me. “Thanks. You’re a big help.”

You’re welcome.

I wiped my sweating face, frustrated. Some Imperial ident codes could be broken. Maybe I could fool the lockdown and get Natasha out. But maybe not. The doors were battlegrade septurium alloy. They couldn’t be stormed with a plasma handgun. And I didn’t have much time.

I needed Dragonfly’s magic touch, or at least his magic hyperchip. And then there was the matter of stealing the shuttlecraft. If I killed him, I might get stranded here, and Spider would soon discover his pet was missing and come looking for me with a gun.

I scraped my hands through my hair, ruining my ponytail. Damn it. Escaping was a much surer thing with Dragonfly on my side. He wanted off as badly as I did—this ship wasn’t big enough for two massive egos—and I could probably convince him to help me. But he’d never consider taking the girl with us. I knew that now. He despised all Imperials like the hate-blind monster he was. It was either Dragonfly or Natasha.

A laugh caught in my throat. The mission or the girl. A fine cliché I’d gotten myself into.

I swallowed, and made up my mind. Cliché or not, I was acting way beyond my orders here. I needed assurances. That there’d be a job for me when I got back. That whatever I did, Renko and Surov wouldn’t take what I’d gained for them and kill me to cover it up. In any case, Dragonfly had screwed with my mind. I wasn’t thinking straight. I needed fresh eyes on this mess, and I only had one person I could call.

“Is this cabin under video surveillance?”

There is no active visual surveillance.

“How about audio?”

In-room valet service is monitoring audio.

“Apart from the in-room valet.”

There is no other active audio surveillance.

“Fine. Deactivate the in-room valet.”

Deactivating
.

A diode on the console blinked out. I rattled the door to be sure it was closed, and dug my ESE from the hole in my shorts. Sub-ether was theoretically secure, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. I could only hope we weren’t too far away.

“Nikita, you there?”

“Carrie.” A stretch of warm muscles slipped down the sub-ether band, shivering silken heat down my spine. He’d been sleeping. “What’s up? You’re agitated.”

Only a short delay, but noise filtered in and out. We didn’t have much time before the comms broke up. “I need a sigma-level ident for a Raven Three. Can you do it for me?”

“I’m sorry, did I miss the part where a battleship got involved?”

“Long story. I got him back. You were right about Spider. But there’s a problem.” Quickly I recounted what had happened, leaving out my squabble with Dragonfly. Let Nikita think I’d kept my head all along. “So now I’m screwed,” I finished. “They’re gonna kill this Natasha, and I need the ident to get off the ship.”

“What about Algebra Boy? Isn’t that his specialty?”

His suspicion sweetened the tip of my tongue. I swallowed. “He won’t come if I bring the girl.” Or even at all.

“Aragon, get a grip.” Cool disdain, like ice on the insides of my wrists. “Have you lost your wits in the last forty-eight hours?”

“No, I told you—”

“Then use them. Leave the girl behind and get Dragonfly the fuck out of there. He’s far too valuable to waste on this.”

My pulse leaped: either his urgency or my own. “But what about the admiral’s daughter?”

“A fourteen-year-old girl. I’m sure she’ll be a great loss. You’ll get over it. Dragonfly is your prize. Don’t give him up now.”

My mind shivered under his reason’s smooth caress. He was right, of course. Just what a good Axis agent would do. Assess the facts, weigh up the odds, make a rational decision. The mission, not the girl. But there was one fact Nikita didn’t have.

Without his help, I was screwed. I had no choice but to trust him.

Amusement feathered my spine, a breath of icy laughter. “Aragon? Is there something you’re not telling me? Say it’s not so.”

I sighed, and gave it up. “There’s one more thing,” and I told him about Surov the cat-man’s job offer.

An empty pause like space, devoid of emotion. “You do realize what you just said to me?”

“I know. Do me the favor, Nikita. I realize it’s a lot to ask. But this is my chance to get Dragonfly, don’t you see?”

“Carrie, if Dragonfly even breaks a nail, Renko’s going to blame you. If you kill him, she’ll have you gutted.”

Probably by Nikita. I shivered. “Not if Surov comes to the party.”

A chilly laugh. “I do adore your trusting heart, but once again it’s screwed you over. Surov doesn’t need an A-D Ops. He’s already put someone in the job.”

Stunned, I sat. On the table, my hand shook.

Watch your back,
Surov’s invisible, atomflash-wielding aide had told me.
You’re not the only one who wants the job
. Seemed he was right. And if Surov no longer required my services …

“Aragon? You still there?”

I swallowed. “Who? Who did he get?”

“Electra. Long-time black ops, already tested and cleared for mods. Better qualified than you.”

My heart sank. Electra. I knew of her. Blonde, beautiful, aristo Russiyan, laser crystalsights cut into her irises and a reputation for ruthlessness. Not an enemy I wanted to make.

I sighed. “That cat-man is a lying bastard.”

“Listen, if I’d known, I’d have had words with his pussy-striped ass, once I’d finished kicking yours. But you can’t … just because …”

Static clouded in my mind like a stinging nanobug swarm. The bandwidth was fragmenting, the transmission torn apart by oblique slipspace velocity.

“I’m losing you. Nikita, please, give me a chance to sort this out. I’ll call you.”

Just a hiss of empty ether. He was already gone.

Shit.

22

I jammed my ESE away, my nerves itching. So much for fresh eyes. Now Nikita knew I’d been planning to defect, but I’d gained nothing in return. And someone already had my job at black ops, which meant Surov had no reason to protect me from Renko’s wrath.

There was no profit for me in killing Dragonfly any more. Just personal gratification. Was it worth it?

I struggled, layers of complexity smothering me. Dragonfly had seemed so sensible, so driven. Like he had right and wrong all sorted out in little compartments in his head. Pity they’d turned out to be the wrong compartments.

Determination firmed in my heart. His kind didn’t deserve to live. If he died, a hundred others who might get in his way—the way Mishka and my friends had got in his way, plus a thousand innocent others who never meant anyone any harm—might live. Killing him might mean my job, but Renko could stick me in a dustbin in Analysis for ten years for all I cared. Mishka would be avenged. There’d be one less murdering asshole terrorizing the spaceways, and at least I’d sleep with a clear conscience. And if Renko tried to have me killed, I wouldn’t go down easy.

Fact was, Dragonfly had ruined my life. He’d taken my lover, my friends, my zeal for my career. Since Urumki, I’d drifted, stagnated, harboring no hope for anything but more of the same meaninglessness. I’d tried to lose myself in the job, tried to climb the Axis ladder like a good agent should, but it hadn’t worked. Everything that was good and clean and pure in my life, I’d lost because of him.

Was killing him worth it? Hell, yes.

I jumped up, resolute. I’d give him one last chance: help me save the girl, or die. Either way, his life was in my hands. And he shouldn’t be too hard to find. I knew he wasn’t on the bridge or in the mess hall or in the shower with Spider. Hell, maybe I’d just ask someone.

Swiftly, I jammed my boots back on and slicked the chemical fastenings tight. Swiped my hair back into a tighter ponytail. Whipped out my pistol to check the contacts, and slipped out the door.

“Where you going with that?”

My breath crunched tight on that musical sound. Spider leaned against the opposite wall, one hand shoved in his pocket. The corridor lights shone dim for ship’s night-time, and the red shadows clung to him. His knotted locks still glittered damp from the shower, jeweled beads sparkling.

Shit. Just a couple of fucking seconds to put the weapon away, Carrie. Wouldn’t have killed you. But not taking the time might.

I swallowed. Spider had the disruptor strapped to his left thigh, ugly metal curves gleaming. Probably another weapon inside that bulky vest. And he was a hundred and twenty kilos if he was a pound. Verdict: I’d lose. My only chance was to talk my way out of it.

Casually, I clicked my pistol back into its clasp. “I could ask you why you’re lurking outside my room.”

“Never know what you’ll hear.” He jerked his head toward Natasha’s cell. “Hope you weren’t thinking of visiting her.”

How much had Lux told him? I shrugged. “Nope. Just can’t sleep. It’s damn hot in there.”

“And damn lonely. If you’re looking for Sasha, he’s sulking.”

“So he fucking should be.” No harm in keeping up the act. “What is it with you two anyway? Unrequited lust?”