Drifters' Alliance, Book 3 (22 page)

“It’s a maintenance run,” Macon explains, oblivious to my paranoia. “They’re all over the place. Believe me, if you’re running parts or service, you don’t want to get stuck in the crowds on the spokes.”

“How do you know?” Baebong asks. “You ran service here?”

“No. But I had friends who did.”

“Had?” Baebong prompts, in a way that suggests he’s not sure he wants to hear the explanation.

Macon’s ominous tone does nothing to make either one of us feel better about the past tense he’s using. “Friends come and go. You know the gig. Don’t fall in love because you never know when your best friend will become your executioner.”

That comment is no doubt for me, but I ignore it. He obviously woke up on the wrong side of the bunk today, but I’m not going to let it interfere in the success of this mission. But later? We’re going to have some words, he can believe that. If he thinks he’s going to crew with me with that attitude, he can forget it. He’d better just step off the dock right now. My righteous anger fuels my passion for this mission, pumping more energy into my legs as we jog along. As soon as we know what Tremblay’s all about and assess the risks, we can get the hell out of here and start drifting.

We take several other hallways and more ridiculous stairs, to the point that Baebong’s having a hard time keeping up and I’m starting to feel a burning sensation in my thighs.
So much for righteous anger fueling anything.
I probably should have stuck with caffeine.

“You know we’re going to see Tremblay, right?” I finally say, slowing to a walk. I probably should have verified that Macon knew this before I followed him for ten minutes into the bowels of Centurion 4.

“Yes, of course I know. Beltine told us. Commed it in before she walked over to see you.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “Where else would I be taking you?”

I shrug, the sound of my heart beating loud in my ears. “I don’t know.” The challenge is there in my voice.
Are you taking me to be ambushed, my old friend? Or are you really here to help?
He never did give me all the details about what he knows, about that givit game and about Tremblay’s intentions. Maybe his whole plan is to get to this unit Beltine told us about and shut Tremblay up before he can expose Macon’s part in the whole scheme. Maybe he’s an assassin. Maybe he’s …

“Come on,” Baebong says, nudging me with his arm, “we don’t have time for all this bullshit. Let’s just get there and get this done. We have people waiting on us.”

“Yeah. Right.” I stop my mind from racing. For shitflake’s sake, I was actually entertaining the notion that my friend is a freaking killer for hire, which is completely nuts. When I’m killed one day, it won’t be by a man who cries over burned fritters.

Macon points to a door up ahead. “That’ll bring you out into the corridor for Section 4, Level 4, Quadrant 5. You need to go one level up from there to find the right area and then search out that unit number. I assume you’ll go left, but watch the numbers.”

Baebong looks suddenly suspicious. “What do you mean,
we
have to do it. Aren’t you going?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I can’t let him see me.”

I fold my arms over my chest as my suspicions kick into gear right along with my lieutenant’s. “Here we go.”

Macon won’t look at me. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on Baebong. “Tremblay won’t talk if I’m there. He’ll think he’s got an ally in the room. You need to intimidate him. Use violence if necessary.”

“More like he’ll be able to tell us your role in the whole thing, and you won’t be able to run away from the truth anymore.” My heart feels like it’s being ripped in half. I hate how much I care about what Macon’s doing, and that he’s choosing to save his own butt instead of doing what’s right for my crew and the Alliance.
Do I deserve this?
I did almost kill him, and I did make him eat dusty food pellets and burned fritters.
Would I be able to forgive me for what I’ve done if I were him? Probably not.
I can’t hate him for doing what I’d do under the circumstances. It takes most of the fight out of me.

“Comm me in and I’ll tell you whether he’s being truthful or not if you want.” Finally Macon’s looking at me. Too bad it’s with a mean old stink-eye. “When are you ever going to trust me, Cass?”

My eyebrows are practically in my hairline. “Uhhh, how about when you finally start telling me the whole truth and not just parts of it? How about when you stop disappearing when shit gets real?”

His jaw bounces out as he grits his teeth, trying to control his temper.

“Listen, guys …,” Baebong sighs, “I know you’ve got a lot of unfinished business between you … but now’s not really the time for this.”

I shrug. “Fine. I can wait. I’ve waited this long.”

Macon nearly chokes. “You?
You’ve
waited? For how long, Cass? A few days? Try waiting for three
years
.” He turns around and leaves us there in the dark hallway. We lose track of him after he turns a corner and the sound of his footsteps fades out.

I have nothing to say to that. I’m not even sure if he and I are talking about the same thing.

“Daaaamn, girl. You are one serious heartbreaker, you know that? Remind me never to fall in love with you.”

Without even thinking, I punch Baebong as hard as I can, right in his left bicep. He tries to act like it doesn’t hurt, but I know the hang of a dead arm when I see one. His voice comes out high and reedy as he turns to face the door. “Ready to go knock some skulls?”

“You’d better believe it.” I shove him out of the way and push through the portal into the hallway beyond.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A HISS COMING FROM BAEBONG’S direction draws my attention away from a break in the corridor where an array kiosk sits. Its screen is dark, but I’m thinking maybe if I wave my hand in front of it, it’ll show me a map of this damn quadrant …

“Over here!” he screeches in a weirdly loud whisper.

“You sound like my grandmother,” I say when I draw closer.

He’s pointing to the door just in front of where we’re standing. “Here it is.” Sure enough, number 1-1-8 is glowing blue over the portal.

A couple is walking down the hall toward us, so Baebong slings his arm over my shoulder and leans in close to my neck, hiding his face. I think we’re supposed to look like lovers about to enter this unit and get it on.

“If you kiss me, I will kick you right in the sack,” I whisper really softly in his ear.

He whispers back, just as calmly as I did. “If you touch my sack, I will blow up your bunk and everything in it.”

The couple walks past, discussing the latest astroid cloud problems over Gartan, paying us no attention whatsoever. As soon as they round the corner, I shove Baebong away from me.

“What’s that scent you’re wearing?” he asks. “Eau de sweaty balls?”

“No, actually,” I say, trying the handle of the door to see if it’s open, “it’s called put-your-nose-that-close-to-my-face-again-and-I’ll-bite-it-off. Very expensive stuff. You can’t afford it, trust me.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, stepping closer, looking down that aquiline nose at me.

I show him my teeth and then snap them really hard together near his face, making him jump back. I’m still smiling when I wave my hand over the keypad and push on the door. My body bounces up against it, making a loud banging noise.

“Smooth.” Baebong snorts.

“Shut up.” I turn my thumb inward and talk near my hand. “Knock, knock.”

Digitized locks turn and the portal opens on hinges. Alana is standing just inside the doorway.

“Hurry,” she says. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Why? What did you do?” I assume she means the guy’s half dead, but when I enter the main living area of the unit, he’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room and he looks fine; there’s no blood and no signs he’s been touched. He’s got his arms tied behind his back and his legs are trussed up, but he’s smiling. One of Alana’s crewmates is standing behind him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little miss somethin’ somethin’ here to teach old Zed a lesson.” He laughs and then his smile falls away. “You’re outta your league, girly. Better go back to where you came from and call it a day.”

I look over at Alana at the same time that the cold mask I crafted in my OSG training slides over my features to turn me into the cold-blooded killer I was taught to be. I’m no longer the happy captain of the DS Anarchy; I am the warrior who will extract information from this serpent and end his life if necessary. Whatever it takes to accomplish this mission is what I’m going to do.

I recognize the surprise in Alana’s expression, but ignore it. She’ll learn soon enough that you can take the girl out of the OSG, but it’s a lot harder to take the OSG out of the girl. I’m going to get my answers from this dirtbag tonight, and if she says we’re in a hurry, then I’m going to start with the hard way and let him figure out the easy way through the veil of pain I’m about to drop in front of his face.

She speaks up, her voice not nearly as confident as I remember it being before. “He managed to send a signal out to someone, we’re not sure to whom or how detailed it was.”

“Oh, it was detailed,” he says, laughing. Then he spits on the floor near my feet.

“What have you gotten from him?” I ask, drawing my knife out of its sheath.

She shrugs. “Not much. He’s not in a talking mood.”

I nod. “We’ll see about that.” I step up in front of him, out of range for kicking, but a great big target for another glob of spit. I almost hope he tries it.

“Hello, Tremblay.” I take the tip of my knife and touch it to the tip of my finger, turning it a little and breaking the skin there.

He watches me, his expression going from cocky to slightly confused.

I smile inside, knowing this is already headed in the direction I want it to go.
Yes, Tremblay. Be scared. Be very scared.
I stop digging into my flesh when I know the blood flow will be impressive yet not anything for me to worry about.

As I walk closer, his eyes refuse to leave my knife and finger. I let the weapon fall to my thigh, but my finger now dripping my blood comes up and hovers right in front of his face.

“What the …,” he starts to say, but I cut him off before he can go any further with his interrogation.

“I like to mark up my projects before I start. That way I don’t waste any time getting to the heart of the matter.” I reach out and draw a bloody line down his cheek. “I’ll start here.”

His eyes roll down and over to look at the dark crimson that now marks his face. His mouth drops open as he turns his attention back to my finger. It’s headed for his chest where I move the material of his disgusting flightsuit out of the way and leave an X right in the center.

“This’ll be my next cut. Do you know how thin the skin is over the breast bone?” I smile. “Very thin, Tremblay. Very, very thin. Stings like a bitch when it’s laid open, trust me.”

His gaze falls to my chest, probably looking for scars. And if it hadn’t been for the overly enthusiastic MI team on the DS Huna, there’d be plenty for him to see, too.

I smile, knowing it won’t matter that I no longer have the scars to intimidate him with. He’s going to talk very soon.

My bloody finger goes lower. Then I look over my shoulder. “How much time did you say we have?” I move my hand to the left, over to his thigh, and lift a brow at Alana, making sure Tremblay can see my questioning look.

“Not that much time,” she says, seemingly mesmerized by my process. She’s staring at my finger like it’s about to turn into a ray pistol and blow the guy’s leg off.

I move my finger to the left so it’s pointed at his crotch. “Alrighty, then. Cut number three will be here.” I lean down to mark an X on his junk, but he pushes the chair back with a mighty shove and then gathers his legs together as tightly as he can.

“You crazy bitch! Keep your bloody finger away from my manhood!”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, old man. You can keep your manhood.” The word in relation to his person almost makes me barf, but I hold the reaction in. “Just tell me what I want to know and you’ll walk out of here whole.” I hold my finger up where he can see it. Blood drips down my hand and falls to the floor.

His face twists up in anger and hatred, and he spits again, off to the side though, which is lucky for him, because if he’d gotten any of that slobber on my new flightsuit, he’d have to pay with at least one body part.

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. You ain’t got no call to be orderin’ me about what I gotta do and ain’t gonna do.” He jerks his chin up at me. “You go ahead and draw your pretty red pictures. You don’t scare me. You’re just a little girl who needs her daddy to throw her over his knee and wallop some sense into her.” His gaze turns decidedly slimy. “Why don’t you untie me and come on over, girlie? I’d be happy to wallop your bottom until it turns as red as a rose.”

I shake my head. “Wrong answer, scumbag.”

Baebong lifts a hand and looks like he’s about to intervene, but it’s too late and he’s too slow. My knife flies over from my left to my right hand and slashes out, catching Tremblay in the cheek, leaving a nice clean line right down the center of my previously drawn blood trail. Now his vein is open and flowing freely, mixing his blood with mine and washing it down the front of him.

“You cut me!” he screeches, drawing his head as far away from me as he can. “You actually cut me!”

Alana backs away, all the way to the door. The girl who was standing behind Tremblay walks backward until she hits her legs on a couch and falls down onto it. She grabs a nearby pillow and hugs it to her chest, her eyes as big as fritter cakes.

“This is gonna be messy,” Baebong says. “Mind if I …”

I shake my head. “Do what you’ve gotta do.” I turn my attention to the man who’d better start talking or my knife is going to do some more damage. “Tremblay, that was me being nice.” I poke my knife in Alana’s direction. “The whore tells me I don’t have a lot of time. I’m thinking about skipping cut number two and going right for the sack, so if I were you, I’d start talking.”

I look over my shoulder to shoot my friend an apologetic look for calling her a whore, trying to let her know I’m doing it to make sure Tremblay doesn’t realize we’re actually friends, but she’s too busy staring at my bloody knife to pay any attention to my words.