StarCraft II: Devils' Due (20 page)

protesting head would let him. “Would you boys mind

closing the shades?”

“Mr. O’Banon is not pleased that anyone is

contacting you on secure channels.”

That irritated Jim. He swung his feet over the bed

and pul ed on his trousers, not caring about his

unexpected audience. That was what they got for

barging in on someone.

“Wel , apparently it didn’t get by his sniffer dogs, did

it? Or else you wouldn’t be here with your panties in a

bunch.”

They exchanged glances, frowning. “Mr. O’Banon

requests that you come with us to—”

“I’l be there as soon as I can. Thank you kindly for

delivering the message so promptly. I’m going to go

get my message, on my secure channel, and you can

tel your boss to … wait.”

He threw on his shirt and vest, tugged on his boots,

and was buckling his gun belt as he strode out the

door, leaving some rather stunned people behind.

“You boys gonna pay for my services for him?” he

heard the girl saying as the door closed behind him.

The site that Mr. Mystery gave was deceptive—

the name wasn’t even on the card, just a code that,

when keyed into Jim’s fone, had given him an

address. At first, it didn’t even look like it was an

actual address, and Jim had to double-check it. There

it was, a narrow aperture between two other

“storefronts,” in a manner of speaking, and Jim

slipped inside into the darkness.

It was very dark indeed, and his hand went to his

pistol in anticipation of an ambush. It wouldn’t be the

first time something like that had happened. As his

eyes adjusted, he saw that there was a dim glow up

ahead at the end of the narrow corridor. Gun at the

ready, Jim moved slowly, emerging into what had

obviously once been the cargo area of a ship. The

faint lighting revealed that smal portable alcoves with

individual partitions had been set up. Jim saw

movement out of the corner of his eye, and he whirled

around to see someone almost as nondescript as Mr.

Mystery approaching.

“Do you have a card, sir?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jim said, handing it to him. “Name’s Jim

Raynor. Was told there was a message for me from

—”

“Yes,” the man said, interrupting him smoothly.

“Fol ow me, please.” He led Jim through the maze of

partitions, and Jim caught brief glimpses of other

patrons here to receive messages. Some of them

were quietly sobbing; some had smiles on their faces.

Al had smal earbuds and were watching holograms.

“Here you are, sir. Your payment permits you to

watch it three times. If you wish to watch it again, there

wil be an additional fee. Please insert the earbuds to

ensure privacy. To activate your message, press this

button here.”

“Gotcha,” Jim said. He was already seated and

reaching for the earbuds. The man slipped away

quietly.

Jim hesitated for a minute. He hadn’t been sure

what to expect. Realizing that he was nervous, he

scowled at himself and pushed the glowing red button

with unnecessary vigor.

The image of Myles Hammond appeared, a mere

third of a meter high. He looked much older than he

had when Jim had seen him last, even though it hadn’t

been that long. Grayer, more stooped, the lines

around his eyes captured by the surprisingly high-

quality hologram.

“Jim. I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. I …

listen. I understand that what I’m about to ask is

dangerous, and a risk. I wouldn’t ask it if … wel .

There’s just no easy way to say this.”

Jim’s gut clenched as the holographic Myles took a

deep breath.

“Your mother’s dying, Jim. She’s been sick for a

long time, but she’s recently taken a turn for the

worse. Doctor reckons she don’t have much more

than a couple of weeks, maybe a month at the

outside. I know you couldn’t be here when your daddy

died, but you didn’t have no warning then. This time

you do. If you want to see her before she passes, you

better find a way to get out here soon. You let me

know when you’re coming, and I’l find a safe spot for

you to land and have clothes and transportation ready

for you.” His voice broke on the last word, and he

cleared his throat. “Take care, Jim.”

The image froze. After a second or two, it reset and

began to play again. Jim paused it and stared blankly

at nothing.

Was this some kind of trick? Had Myles sold him

out? Was this a way to get him to come to Shiloh, by

lying about his mother so that … what? Jim buried his

face in his hands for a moment.

Myles Hammond had been a fixture in Jim Raynor’s

life since he could remember. Hammond had been a

Raynor family friend, at dinner two, three nights a

week, and had attended al of Jim’s derbies. Jim had

been grateful that Myles had been there for his family

after he had left, and even more glad that the man had

been there when Karol Raynor had suddenly become

a widow after an accident on the farm. It was the

years of living on the edge that made him suspect

anything il of that man.

Now she was dying. Dying of what? How? Would

money help? Could he talk her into going to a doctor

who—

No. She wasn’t taking the money he’d sent already.

She would have had plenty to get off planet, go to

some specialist. And she obviously hadn’t done so.

Anger wel ed up in him. It would serve her right, he

thought bitterly. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t

want his money or anything to do with him. Why

should he risk his life trying to get back to Shiloh,

away from the protection of Scutter O’Banon? Hel ,

maybe he’d lost it already, pissing off O’Banon just by

making contact with Myles.

No. No way he’d go back, giving Daun a chance for

easy pickings, just to see a woman who …

Jim closed his eyes, but not before hot liquid had

begun to seep from them.

He emerged, sober and resolute, blinking into

what passed for sunlight in Deadman’s Port. He

wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, so he headed

back to the place where he’d struck up the

conversation with the bartender. She wasn’t there at

this hour, of course; she had the night shift, and the

large tattooed man who was clearly polite only

because he had to be did not invite conversation. Jim

was nursing a shot of whiskey when a large shape

fil ed the doorway.

“There you are,” said Tychus. “Been huntin’ al over

for you.”

“Al you needed to do was ask Cadaver and his

goons where I was,” Jim muttered.

“Which is precisely what I did,” Tychus said mildly

as he sat down next to Jim at the bar, ordered a beer,

and turned to his friend. “Scutter O’Banon ain’t

altogether happy with you right now.”

“Ask me if I care,” Jim said.

“Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this

morning.”

“Someone got rousted out of a warm bed with a

warm girl by a man who looks like a walking corpse.”

Jim downed the shot and gestured for a refil .

“Wel , this’l make you happier. We got our first job,

and it’s a sweet and simple one.”

“Like getting the logs from a scrap yard?”

Tychus frowned as the bartender plunked a

sweating beer bottle down in front of him. “I don’t like

your attitude, Jimmy. We’re sitting on a fine deal here

and you keep acting like you’re doing O’Banon a

favor by breathin’ the air on this planet.”

Who says I
ain’t? The retort came to Jim’s lips but

he choked it back. Tychus was right: Jim might not

like O’Banon, but it wasn’t the man’s fault that his

mother was dying, or that a sicko who liked to make

holographic recordings of his victims had been hired

to kil them.

“Go on,” he said instead.

“Simple retrieval and smuggling mission on

Halcyon. Get something, get back with it. Cake.”

Tychus took a long pul of the beer.

Jim nodded. “Okay. But I gotta make a stop first.”

“What?”

“I gotta go to Shiloh.”

“What the hel you wanna go back
there
for?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tychus regarded him for a long moment. His eyes

had narrowed and gone cold, like chips of ice. “If you

ain’t wil ing to tel me why you want to make a stop, we

ain’t making one. We got a job to do.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Jim snapped.

Tychus rose slowly, stil holding the bottle. Jim was

reminded of just how big the man was. “I give you a

lotta slack, boy. I put up with things I wouldn’t take

from any other man alive. But there are some things I

ain’t taking. Your whole attitude stinks, Jim Raynor. It

has from the minute I brought up O’Banon’s name,

and I’m getting mighty tired of the stench.”

“I’m getting mighty tired of your attitude, too,

Tychus,” Jim said. He slid off his chair as wel . He was

not as big as Tychus—few were—but he was no smal

man, either, and the life he had been leading for the

last few years had made him tough with muscle.

Besides, he was royal y pissed. “It’s
my
life,
my

business, and I am going to make a stop before we

do anything else!”

Tychus took a long swig of his beer. He wiped his

mouth with the back of his free hand, seemed about

to say something, and then swore violently as he

hurled the bottle angrily at Jim. It flew past Raynor,

spewing frothy amber liquid as it turned end over end

to crack against the wal .

Jim’s mouth dropped open.

“You son of a—”

“Hold it right there!” snapped a voice. Hands came

out of nowhere and closed on both men’s arms.

It was a very big mistake.

Tychus let out an enraged bel ow and whirled with a

clenched fist. At the last second he recognized the

man as Cadaver, but that didn’t slow him down one

bit, and his mammoth hand connected quite audibly

with Cadaver’s face. Cadaver let out a yelp and

staggered backward, blood pouring from his

shattered nose. Four others sprang from the shadows

and leaped on Tychus, trying to bring him down like a

bul at a livestock show. But this bul was having none

of it. Tychus shook off two of them almost casual y,

whirling and slamming the other two into the bar. One

of them swung before impact, getting off a lucky

punch that caught Tychus’s jaw.

Raynor, meanwhile, found himself staring at one of

the men who had barged into his room that morning.

He made a fist, putting al of his fear, anger,

helplessness, and righteous fury into the punch as he

swung. He felt the gratifying sensation of cartilage

crumpling beneath his knuckles. Then he was doubled

over as another one of O’Banon’s goons kidney-

punched him. Grunting in pain, he turned, reached out

with both hands, grasped his attacker’s head, and

head-butted him as hard as he possibly could.

Someone sprang on him from behind, pinning

Jim’s arms to his sides and making him lurch off

balance. The arms were like steel bands. Jim

struggled, swearing, but to no avail….

Then abruptly the weight was gone. Jim stumbled

forward, whirling to see Tychus throwing Jim’s

attacker clear across the room like he weighed

nothing at al .

Their eyes met, and Jim grinned.

Then they turned their backs to each other and

began slugging it out for real against O’Banon’s boys.

Approximately five minutes later, the area around the

bar was in shambles and there were ten men in

various stages of pain, trauma, and semi-

consciousness.

Cadaver stared at them, shaking with dissipating

adrenaline and rising fury. He was holding a cloth to

his nose.

“You hab just bade a serious biscalculation,”

Cadaver said, his voice muffled by the cloth, which

was turning bright red.

“No. We did exactly what you knew we would do,”

Tychus growled. “You jumped us with no warning, so

we beat you to a pulp.” He nudged one of the bodies

on the floor. The man groaned weakly. “You’d best be

getting these boys to a doctor’s care if you want to

reuse them. Jimmy and I were about to depart on

O’Banon’s business. I suggest you leave us to it.”