The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (20 page)

Chapter 11

Sergei stepped out of the ladder well closest to sickbay, ready to dodge a laser beam if need be. But the door Ankari had promised was guarded… wasn’t. The corridor stood empty.

“Nobody’s there,” Sergei said.

Ankari let go of the ladder and joined him. “Strange. Did I break you out of prison for no reason?”

“Oh, there was a reason,” he said.

“You were tired of ab crunches?”

“Among other things.”

She took a step, but Sergei held out a hand. He would go first, in case there was trouble.

“Technically, I’m still your bodyguard,” he said.

She gave him a flamboyant version of a military salute and waved for him to go first.

When the sickbay door didn’t open automatically for him, Sergei placed his palm on the lock pad next to it. It felt oddly warm to his touch, as if some sunbeam had been shining on it for the afternoon, and the door failed to open. “I was keyed to the ship’s system before we left last week,” he said. “This should open for me.”

Ankari tried it with the same result. “Me too.”

She pulled out the master key and waved it at the sensor. The door still didn’t open.

“That’s unexpected,” she said with a frown. “Jamie, where are you?”

“Maybe you should try her comm-patch again?” Sergei put his hand on the pad, trying to figure out what that warmth signified. He leaned close and sniffed a few times, wondering if—

He pulled back, jerking his head up.

“What is it?” Ankari asked.

“Something’s burning. Or was. I wonder if someone melted the lock.” He looked at Ankari—she wore a suede jacket that covered her belt. “Any chance you have a weapon? They took my pistols shortly after I was stuck in my cabin.”

Ankari slipped her hand behind her back, then held out a compact laser pistol. “Given what’s been going on, I thought it would be a good idea to walk around armed.”

“Yes.” Sergei accepted the weapon and waved her back a few steps. “Mind if we blame you if I’m overreacting and there’s nothing wrong?”

“I don’t know. How much damage are you going to do?”

But Sergei was already shooting the panel. If someone had just melted the lock from the other side, there might still be time, but he worried that they were already too late. How long did it take to kill an injured man wired to a bed in sickbay? Especially if someone on the inside had helped ensure that injured man was in a sedated stupor…

Sparks and melted chunks of the wall flew in all directions. Smoke filled the air, and Sergei winced, knowing a fire alarm would go off before long. The panel melted into a gooey mess, its innards dripping to the deck. The air stank. But the door still hadn’t opened.

“Here.” Sergei stopped firing and handed the pistol to Ankari. “I’m going to try to force it.”

He placed the flats of his palms against the door and tried to slide it sideways, hoping the destruction of the lock panel might allow it to release more easily. His muscles strained and his joints creaked, but he didn’t make any progress.

Instead of shooting at the wall some more, Ankari poked her nose into the new hole in the bulkhead. He had almost burned through it. He
had
burned far enough to see damage that had been made by whoever had been cutting in from the other side. If this were an old-fashioned door, they almost could have reached through and unlocked it from the inside.

Ankari prodded something in the smoking wall with the tip of her pistol. The door released so abruptly Sergei almost flew to the deck.

Later, he would lament that all of the girls on this ship were smarter than he was, but he was still afraid time was of the essence. Without a word, he leaped inside, landing in a soft crouch, ready to charge in any direction. Three empty beds stuck out, perpendicular to the wall ahead of him, one with a rumpled blanket atop it and the holodisplay active above it.

A thump came from Sergei’s right. He lunged in that direction, rounded the end of a bed, and almost tripped over two figures wrestling on the floor. One was Mandrake, and the other was a stranger clad in a black sensor-scrambling suit. Something cracked. Bone? Someone’s head? The men were writhing in a blur that Sergei had trouble following.

He crouched, ready to pull the man off Mandrake as soon as there was an opening. If he’d had his knife, he could have ended the confrontation much more swiftly. Or maybe not. Everything was moving so quickly, it was like cats fighting. The men rolled, slamming into the bottom of the bed, then twisted, nearly knocking Sergei off his feet. He finally got his chance, as the intruder’s arm came back for a punch. Sergei pounced, grabbing that arm and yanking.

The man twisted in the air, slashing at him with a dagger. Sergei reacted instantly, batting the weapon aside. He slammed his forehead into the man’s face, trying to stun his foe before he found his feet and could put up more of a fight. He expected to have to do more, but the man’s body jerked and then he froze, his mouth open in a cry of pain that never came out.

After a second, Sergei realized he was the only thing holding the man up. He let the black-clad intruder tumble to the deck next to the captain. Mandrake was on his knees now, his torso bare, aside from a regenerating bandage stuck to his abdomen. He pulled a bloody knife out of the dead man’s back.

“Thank you, Zharkov,” he said, his voice deadpan, as if this had been nothing more than some training exercise that hadn’t demanded much exertion. “I wasn’t expecting two.”

“Two?” Sergei asked at the same time as a clatter sounded near the door.

Ankari had dropped her pistol and was charging toward them. Sergei scooted back, lest he be mowed down. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Mandrake. He lowered his dagger and returned the hug, his hand cupping the back of her head gently.

Sergei looked away, not wanting to interrupt their moment. He took a few paces back toward the door and, remembering Mandrake’s comment, looked farther. A second black-clad figure lay crumpled on the deck beside the bed with the blanket on it. His lack of movement—and the pool of blood beneath him—suggested he wasn’t going to be a problem again.

“They wouldn’t let me in to see you,” Ankari said into Mandrake’s shoulder.

“I know. That was my order. I apologize.”

She leaned back. “Your order?”

Sergei rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to puzzle out the situation. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. He hadn’t done much to help Mandrake, but he hoped the fact that he had come in late and unarmed would show that he hadn’t had anything to do with this attempt.

“Yes,” Mandrake said. “Thomlin had already run an interior scan of the whole ship and not found any extra personnel—” he waved to the sensor suit on the closest man, “—so I was trying to think of a way to lure the would-be assassin in. I told the doctor to start a rumor that I was more injured than I was. I didn’t know who had programmed the robot, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t an inside job. I wanted your… concern—or was it annoyance at not being let in?—to be authentic to anyone who might be watching.”

“Annoyance,” Sergei said, finally starting to catch on.

“You
wanted
them to come here and attack you?” Ankari frowned at him. “And you couldn’t tell me?”

Huh. Sergei had never seen Mandrake look sheepish before.

“Will you forgive me?” He lifted a hand to Ankari’s face, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, squinting at him. “You may have to paint another shuttle pink and give it to my team to make it up to me.”

Mandrake laughed, though it was short-lived. He grabbed his abdomen and grimaced. That bandage wasn’t
all
for show.

A squad of men ran into the room, battle armor on, laser rifles in hand. They fanned out, pointing around rather uselessly.

“You’re late,” Mandrake observed dryly.

One of the helmets came off, revealing Sergeant Striker’s spiky brown hair. His shoulders slumped. “We missed out
completely
?”

“Uh.” One of the men pointed at Sergei. Noticing that he wasn’t in his cabin where he was supposed to be?

“
He
wasn’t
late,” Mandrake said.

Striker winced. Some of the others probably did, too, though the helmets hid their expressions.

Not certain he was entirely in the clear, Sergei resisted the urge to gloat or look smug.

A gray-haired doctor—Sergei didn’t know his name—poked his head in. His nose crinkled—smoke was still wafting from the destroyed lock panel. “What happened to my sickbay?” He thrust a finger toward the hole in the wall—it was almost as impressive on this side of the bulkhead as it had been in the corridor.

“Accident,” Mandrake grunted.

Sergei imagined him playing dead—or at least heavily sedated—as those two men blew a hole in his wall. He must have really wanted to ensure they got close enough so he could catch them and ensure they wouldn’t escape.

“It doesn’t bother you that your doctor is more concerned about his wall than his patient?” Ankari, an arm still wrapped around Mandrake, touched the edge of his bandage.

“Please,” the doctor grunted. “He’s tougher than the wall.”

Mandrake’s eyes glinted, probably pleased at this judgment.

Someone’s comm-patch bleeped. Mandrake sighed and reached over to a jacket hanging on the back of the doctor’s chair. He tapped the shoulder. “Mandrake.”

“This is Thomlin, Captain.”

“Thomlin, wasn’t there a message put out that I wasn’t to be disturbed?”

“Until you dealt with the assassin, yes, sir. I’ve been scanning the ship and have the sickbay camera up. I’m assuming the two dead bodies on the deck next to you mean the issue has been resolved.”

“Word gets out fast,” Sergei murmured.

“Got that right,” Striker said. “Think this means we can go back to bed? I was hoping to thump something.” He looked to his men, then considered Sergei.

“Try it,” Sergei said.

Striker didn’t.

“Two men are dead,” Mandrake said. “There may be others. I’d like to know when these got on and where they came from.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thomlin? What were you doing scanning the ship? Didn’t you already check for extra personnel yesterday?”

“Ah, yes, sir. But one of my men reported that your Jamie Flipkens stole a chip from the disassembled robot and ran off. I was looking for her.”

“Stole?” Sergei mouthed, looking at Ankari. She shrugged back at him.

“Her comm-patch isn’t working?” Mandrake asked.

“It’s working fine, but it’s also lying on the floor on Deck B.”

“I see. And how did she run off in such a way that your man couldn’t follow her and detain her?”

Thomlin cleared his throat. “Delgado said that she… threw Masseter.”

“Threw?” Mandrake asked mildly.

“Yes, sir. A judo throw. He landed on a table, made a mess, and she got away. We’ll find her though. Nothing to worry about, sir.”

Sergei probably shouldn’t have been smiling, especially if Jamie was in trouble and had gone into hiding, but his chest swelled with pride at this admission of men being hurled around.

“
Flipkens
threw someone?” Striker asked.

“That’s the little blonde girl, right?” one of the other men asked.

“The sexy-as-hell blonde girl,” another said, making Sergei want to stomp over, knock his helmet off, and shove it somewhere tight and painful. Maybe he would point the man out to Jamie later, so she could throw him onto a table. He smiled darkly.

“I need to find her,” Ankari said, lowering her arm and stepping away from Mandrake.

“I’ll let you handle that,” he said. “I need to figure out who these thugs were and if they were alone.”

“I have some ideas as to where she might be.” Ankari headed for the door.

Mandrake walked toward it with her and looked like he might change his mind and join her for the Jamie hunt, until the doctor pointed at his bandages and made a throat-clearing noise.

“Zharkov.” Mandrake pointed after Ankari. “Until we’re sure there aren’t any more bounty hunters.”

“Yes, sir.” Sergei had planned to go with Ankari, but he was pleased to officially be given the task.

Mandrake dropped a hand on Sergei’s shoulder on the way past and nodded at him before letting go.

Sergei nodded back, though inside he was even more pleased. They might not have dealt with the source of the bounty hunters yet, but the immediate threat was past, and Mandrake seemed to be saying he trusted Sergei. The rest of the crew might be another story, but Mandrake was all that mattered.

* * *

Jamie was yawning by the time the door to the grow room opened, and lights, which had faded to a nocturnal setting when she had stopped moving around, came up. Two displays floated in the air above her tablet, and she was ready to share her research, so long as someone was willing to listen. The business listed as the purchaser of the chip happened to be a business whose offices had shown up as one of the potential origins for the security camera Sergei had shot down. Another business owned that business, and it had taken some poking around before Jamie had found the link she had anticipated: their finance lady, Cyrille Laframboise, owned everything.

Still sitting behind the trees, Jamie debated on whether she should announce her presence. She didn’t want another battle with Scar.

Although… she hadn’t heard the thud of boots on the deck that usually announced the mercenaries. Aside from Sergei, not many of these big men were light of foot. Was it possible someone had opened the door, looked in, not seen what he was looking for—
her
—and left? Given how much of the room was hidden by the trees and plants, that seemed unlikely. Someone would have to at least walk the perimeter to see all of the nooks.

Jamie shifted uneasily. The lights weren’t falling back into nighttime mode. Maybe someone
was
walking the perimeter. Quietly.

She jabbed the air twice, and her tablet display turned off. She folded the device, stuck it in her pocket, and rose to a crouch, trying not to make a sound. Her current spot against the wall would be easy to find for someone walking around the room. The chip lay on the textured gray deck in front of her, and she grimaced at the idea of putting it in her pocket again, since she hadn’t taken the time to figure out how to deactivate the defensive zap yet. Even in her pocket, it had numbed the entire side of her thigh on her jog to the grow room.