Stark Surrender (15 page)

“I’m Kiri te Nawa,” she said breathlessly. “I was kidnapped.”

The officers were brusque and suspicious. What if they didn’t believe her, and left her here? Danger aside, she couldn’t bear the humiliation of being forced back into that apartment. What would Logan do to her if he caught her? She winced away from this, focusing as one of the officers working a holotablet.

“She’s legit,” the officer said, her voice echoing through her helmet. “Here she is in the database.”

She was safe. Sagging with relief, Kiri glanced up the street again. The tall man was gone. She let the officers bundle her into the slider, where she immediately asked if she could use her com to let her family know she was safe.

“Kai?” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s me, Kiri. I’m okay, I’m with the police.”

Chapter Seventeen

By the end of the night, Lode had lost count of the number of chartreuse jackets that had fallen before his weapons. Killing them was the only thing that felt real, worthwhile. One scourge of the city ridding it of others—poetic justice.

Blood spattered his leathers, the coppery tang overlaying the smell of his own sweat. The pain in his head was somehow outside him now, as if it was a shadow of him, stalking the streets with him, or maybe he was so exhausted he simply couldn’t feel it anymore. He felt distant from himself, as if he were watching from above while a tall man stalked the garishly lit streets and shadows that lined them, hunting.

He tried to remember if he’d used another illegals patch. No … this was different. His body giving out? He couldn’t bring himself to care.

As the first faint light of dawn breached the canyons between the towering buildings, Lode was somehow unsurprised to have two of the gangers slip into the alley where he’d stopped to rest, or collapse, more like.

He squatted on his heels, back against a dirty, damp wall, head bowed because his body was no longer willing to support him. The pavement beneath his feet stank, but not enough to drive him to his feet.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, eaten or drunk. Lost in his violent quest, he’d forgotten that his body was a machine, a system that needed to be fueled. Now his legs trembled with weariness, and his arms felt almost too heavy to lift.

Letting himself sink this low was a mistake, he knew dimly. It had been only a matter of time until the gang finally noticed how many of their low-level enforcers had fallen through the night, and began an organized search for the man responsible.

“That’s him. He asleep?” one of the gangers asked.

“Maybe wounded,” the other one replied. “So we just finish the job.”

Lode remained as he was, letting them think him too weak to move. Close enough to the truth to look real.

These two were alert, rested. In his state, he’d never be able to get close enough to use his blade, so it would have to be his laser.

His aim would be poor, with his arms so weak. He remained where he was and reached deep inside himself to gather what little strength he had left. The Serpentian was the most dangerous, as they had lightning fast reflexes, so he’d take him out first.

Then, when they were only a few paces away, he fired through the narrow gap between his body and his knees. Red streaked across the few meters between them, striking the Serp in the chest. He cried out, falling back as Lode fired at the human.

But fire seared his own shoulder, a red flash nearly blinding him. A grunt of agony ripped from his throat, his body bowed. He’d been hit.

It took a few secs for the pain to subside far enough for him to force his eyes open again.

Both gangers lay on the wet pavement. He’d killed them both, then, or wounded them badly enough that they couldn’t attack him further.

But could he gather enough strength to walk, or crawl out of this alley?

What made him turn his head, he wasn’t sure. Some waft of cold, damp air on his face, or perhaps some slight sound.

The two gangers had only been decoys, distractions to keep him busy while real danger arrived on silent wings, like one of the huge and deadly hawks over the Frontieran plains ... from above.

There were at least a dozen of them, drifting down on hoverplats. They must have been waiting on the roof. The nearest, a Gorglon from his great size and ugly orange visage and bare skull, stepped onto the pavement to stand before Lode, huge booted feet apart and a hideous grin baring his teeth.

He grated something in a deep, gargling voice.

“So, you’re the annoying little gnat that has been buzzing around our ears,” a pleasant voice translated in Lode’s ear. “Time to swat you. And then use some bug spray, to be sure you’re dead.”

The two men who stepped up behind the Gorglon laughed uproariously at this.

“Gonna leave our boss’s signature on you, we are,” one said with relish. “Sign our work, like.”

“You can try,” Lode said, tipping his laser up to fire as he spoke.

His shot struck the Gorglon across the top of his shoulder. The being let out a bellow of pain and advanced on Lode, his boots shaking the ground under his feet.

“Now you’ve made me angry, little gnat.”

Lode fired again, but it didn’t stop the huge boot that swept his way. The kick struck his weapon away, and a crack of bone reverberated in his skull just before pain shot through his forearm. His arm fell useless, the bone broken.

The next kick sent him sprawling on his side, open to the third boot, which struck him full in the ribs. Another crack of bone and agony tearing through his vitals.

So this was how it ended. Alone in a dark alley … he’d lost his dream woman for good.

At least the gangers were smart enough to work as a team … not like him. This was his last conscious thought, as another kick cracked his skull, and sent him down into the darkness.

He didn’t feel the gangers’ final act of viciousness.

* * *

“Boss, y’know how you said to bring news of the GloJacs activity?” Ajah’s voice was hushed.

Tal stilled his hand, which had been drumming idly on his leather clad thigh as Dalg piloted them through the concrete canyons above the nearly empty streets. The night over, Flash closed, he was taking his lady out for a late supper—or an early breakfast, depending on how one looked at it. “Yeah?”

“Well, I got two dead GloJacs in an alley ... along with another guy. Only I don’t think he’s quite dead.”

“Who is he?”

“Human, that’s all I can tell. He’s in bad shape. Real bad. Weird thing is, there’s something sorta familiar about him—what’s left of him anyway. Armored cop patrol just came through the area, must have scared the rest of the gang away.”

“Okay. I’ve got your location on the link. We’ll be there in a few.”

“Three minutes,” Dalg rumbled, already spinning the cruiser into a tight turn. “Right around the corner.”

“Sit tight,” Tal said to Ajah. “And douse your light. ‘Cause the GloJacs will be back for their dead.”

“Unless we take the bodies,” Scala suggested from beside him. “That’ll rezz someone.”

“You,” Tal murmured, “are not a nice person.”

“Which is why you love me,” she returned. They grinned at each other, then got busy fastening up their leathers and pulling gloves on.

“You have all your weapons?” he demanded.

“Of course I do,” she said. “You know I always accessorize when I go out.”

A laser at her waist, another in her boot, small flashbombs in her pockets guaranteed to blind an enemy for a few secs, and burn like hells if they contacted skin, and a blade in her other boot. She’d no more leave them in her dressing room than she’d forego clothing in this horrid climate. And of course she had her own lethal body.

The cruiser slid around a corner and into a dark alley. The headlight illuminated Ajah crouched over a fallen man and picked up the fluorescent glow of the jackets on the two other bodies farther along. There was some kind of glowing symbol on the wall above Ajah and her find, also.

“You can stay here,” Tal said as Dalg set them down close to Ajah and turned off the outer lights on the cruiser.

Scala snorted. “You know me better than that.”

She slid out of the open hatch after him, grimacing at the stench in the cold, damp air. She wished alleys weren’t such convenient places for beings to piss. She aimed her wrist light at the ground as she followed Tal. He might be able to see in the dark, but she couldn’t, and she smelled things worse than piss in this alley.

“He still alive?” Tal asked before aiming his own wrist light at the man huddled against the wall.

“Barely hanging on,” Ajah replied. “They beat the hells out of him, and then did this.”

Scala sucked in a breath as Tal’s light illuminated the side of the man’s head. It was nothing but raw, scarified flesh. The hair had been burned away as well. That explained the smell—or some of it.

“What did this?” she asked, horrified and disgusted.

“Acid,” Tal snarled. “Mordacity’s signature. Along with that.” He jerked his chin at the wall. The symbol that glowed there was a large galactic ‘M’, Scala noted, before looking back at the victim.

“Goddess, his eye is gone.” Her stomach turned. Poor creature, whoever he was.

Tal reached under the man’s head, and turned it so the damaged side was hidden. The other side was badly bruised, but unruly brown hair was visible, and a bold profile.

“Tal,” Scala breathed, grabbing his broad shoulder as her knees went weak with shock. “He looks just like …”

Tal nodded slowly. “Our old friend.” His voice was full of dark emotion.

Scala shook her head, unable to believe her eyes. “But it can’t be. Down here? And wearing leathers. Why would St—”

“S-shh,” he hissed. “No names, not out here. Hurry, let’s get him in the cruiser. Ajah, you hop in with him. Snake eyes, you’re pilot.”

Scala followed his instructions, because when Tal used that tone everyone jumped, but she scowled at him from the pilot’s seat. “And where are you going?”

“You’ll take our passenger straight to the stronghold, to the medcenter. We’re going to arrange a little surprise for whoever comes to pick up these bodies.”

And with that, he and the hulking Mau disappeared into the darkness.

Scala hissed her displeasure, even as she lifted the cruiser off and headed back out into the street. In the quiet cabin, their rescue’s breath rattled wetly in his throat. Didn’t sound good.

“The boss will be all right,” Ajah said from the back seat. “He knows these streets like his own ink.”

“He’d better be all right,” Scala muttered. “Or I’ll kill him myself.”

Ajah laughed quietly. “I believe you. So, you gonna tell me who our guest is?”

Scala shook her head, disgusted with her own imagination. “He couldn’t possibly be who we thought—that’s crazy. Just some poor fool who got wrong with the GloJacs.”

“I’ll say he did. Gah, he smells like a roast terra goose gone bad.”

She was not wrong. Tal’s cruiser was going to need a complete cryo-cleansing.

***

He fought his way up through layers of darkness like a creature emerging from a Pangaean swamp. The layers of ooze held his body fast, but his mind awoke.

There were others in the swamp. He could hear their voices, flowing over him. But when he tried to move, agony seared through him. With a moan, he sank again into the darkness.

The next time he woke, he was more alert. This time he floated on top of the waters, cocooned in pain-free comfort. He opened his eye and peered around him.

He lay in a small, bright room, light gleaming off cerametal and paint. The covers over his lower body were white too, as were the bandages across his ribs. He lifted one arm with an effort—it bore a tight, white casing surrounded his forearm and wrist, a strap extending between his thumb and forefinger.

As he shifted, the water billowed under him. No, it was a bed of some kind. An airbed.

He turned his head enough to see that his left shoulder was bandaged as well. And why could he see out of only one eye? He lifted his left hand to his head, and felt the left side of his face—just bare skin, but the right side of his head and face was covered with bandages.

His heart began to pound, perspiration breaking out over his skin as anxiety penetrated the mist in his mind.

Why was he here? Where was here? What had happened to him?

The door opposite the foot of the air bed opened, and a man walked in. His long braids, his leathers, even the ink on his face were ebony, as if all the shadows in the dark passageway outside had coalesced and swept into the white room with him.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and smirked, the chill in his pale eyes belying the smile.

“How the mighty are fallen,” he said in a cold, soft voice. “Found you bleeding out in an alley, Stark. You’d have died there, wasn’t for me.”

Stark? Who was that?

After a moment of silence, the man in black raised a sardonic brow.

“Nothing to say? You’re not gonna thank me for saving your sorry ass?”