Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 (2 page)

Unable to breathe at all, she struggled against a body hard as durosteel.

“Yield.”

“No!” What should have been a loud vocal belt of indignation came out as a pathetic squeak.

“I could sit here all day, Mary. Yield.”

She wanted to let fly a string of expletives, but she couldn’t get enough air. In the end, she nodded.

He got off her and offered her a hand up. She stood, grabbed his wrist, turned, but he’d expected her move. He twisted his body the same direction until he stood behind her.

Wrapping his arm around her neck, he squeezed.

Her vision swam gray. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and blackness edged her consciousness.

“You’re good.” He released her and let her slump to the floor. “You’ve been studying fighting for what, five years?”

“Ten.” The one word came out in a squeaky, pained gasp. She’d studied the forbidden books but rarely had the opportunity to put her forbidden arts into actual practice. Just her luck to run into a man who put them into practice on a daily basis.

“Ten?” He sounded surprised. “I’ve been doing so for twenty.”

He offered her a hand up. She pushed it away and stood, brushing herself off. Not that a tumble on the pristine floor could do more damage to her battered clothes.

Commander shoved his desk back into place and settled into his chair behind it. From the way he moved, her blows hadn’t hurt him much, if at all.

“Now, tell me why you liberated my goods.”

“Those goods don’t belong to you any more than they belong to me.” Unwilling to meet his incisive gaze, she kept her attention on the gold-veined marble floor while using her peripheral vision to find the nearest exit. Over sixteen guards blocked her path to the ornate double-hung doors.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but how do you figure that?” Commander’s voice sounded like velvet-covered gravel, rumbling and smooth.

“You’re not a member of the InnerWorld Government,” she said. “You’re not IWOG.”

“No.”

“Those goods are.” She looked at him then, full in the face. “If I’m a bandit, so are you.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” He leaned back. “You’re the one who has a hard time admitting what you are, not me.”

“And just what are you, Co-man-dur? I don’t know any bandit with enough script to hire a triple-platinum Runner.”

“Let’s just say I’m a very successful bandit.”

“Yeah-huh. How good can you be when I’ve been picking your pockets for five years?”

Commander almost snarled as he gripped the edges of his desk. “You really think it’s wise to remind me of how long you’ve been a thorn in my side?”

She looked around his vast office. Wealth and power oozed from every corner. Holoplas screens for windows, banks of sensors, hand-carved mahogany furniture, gilded frames around genuine oil paintings, barely trod oriental rugs, and guards practically up her ass.

Pointedly, she asked, “How much of a thorn could I have been?” She eyed his guard and considered a blitz. If she could get her hands on a gun, she might be able to fight her way out.

As if he read her mind, Commander said, “Duster, give her your gun.”

With a grin, the dusty blond tossed her his rifle.

She caught and inspected the weapon. Slim-Shot Thirty with hollow-point ammunition—rounds designed for horrific destruction of human flesh. Coffin fillers. Too bad the goods she’d swiped from him had never included any of these.

She considered. Too easy. He wouldn’t just hand over her salvation like this. She inspected the grip of the gun more closely. “Smart guns.” Shaking her head, she tossed the rifle back to Duster. Handing her the weapon had been no more dangerous than handing her a pointed stick.

“Correct. Every weapon on my planet is smart. If you’re not authorized, it won’t operate.”

His planet?
“I know what smart guns are.”

“Just wanted to clarify.”

“You mean rub it in.” She folded her arms.

“That too.” He leaned back in his chair with a smug smile on his arrogant face. “Nothing like having your ego taken down a notch. Or in your case, about two dozen.”

His comment stung and she blasted back, “At least I’m doing something with my life. I’m not sitting around a prissy office with a handful of boot-licking toadies doing my dirty work.”

She must have hit a nerve, because his jaw clenched so hard his face turned crimson. If he didn’t kill her, he’d kick her out. Most folks couldn’t stand her vicious tongue after five minutes.

“Mouthy little thing,” Duster said from behind her, his gun once again secure against his shoulder.

“I should have whacked you over the head with your rifle when I had the chance.”

“You’re not going to get the chance now.” Commander stood. “And, since you obviously have no intention of telling me who you’re working for or why, I’m going to have to keep you here until you do.”

He stepped around his desk and slipped a plastimetal bracelet on her wrist. Once her flesh warmed the cool gray link, it molded itself close, seamless and smooth.

“Let me guess.” She sighed. “Combination locator and locker?” Even if she managed to get into a ship, it would do her no good. The ship’s computer would scan the bracelet and instantly lock down. Give her location too.

“Locator, locker and luller.”

“Luller? That’s a new one on me.” She scrutinized her bracelet. Keeping up with technology had never been her strong suit. On a backwater world like Taiga, she didn’t even have electricity in her cabin, but she knew weapons. Far as she knew, a plastimetal bracelet wasn’t a weapon.

“You attack me again, and it’ll pump you full of Baka.”

Swallowing hard, she looked down at her bracelet with horror. Baka was the most dangerous drug in the Void. One dose would make her screaming crazy, but only in her own mind. To the outside world, she’d become a drooling vegetable. Nothing guaranteed her passivity more than the threat of Baka.

“I think you and I are beginning to understand one another.”

She hung her head. “I’m beginning to understand that you’re a ruthless bastard.”

Commander cupped her chin, lifted her face and peered at her for a long time. He just stood there looking down, breathing deep and steady. She didn’t dare flinch. Baka hung on her wrist. He lowered his mouth a breath from hers.

“What did you call me?”

She trembled, partly with fear, but also with a strange flush of excitement.
Do I have some twisted submissive bent in me?
Something about his dominance excited her. In turn, her excitement embarrassed her. He’d succeeded in doing exactly what he set out to do. He made it perfectly clear who was in charge, and it sure as spit wasn’t her.

“I called you a—Commander.”

“You’re a quick study.” He pulled back, flashing her a quirky half grin.

“Death is a remarkable motivator.”

“Tell me what you live for.”

“I may be a bandit, but I am not a traitor.”

“We’ll see.” He leaned close. If he moved just a bit, he would kiss her.

Simultaneously, lights and alarms went off. At first, she thought they were in her mind, but the entire office surged with activity.

“Get her out of here, Duster. I’ll take care of this.”

As Commander turned to the operational panels, Duster hustled her from the room. Side by side, they walked down a wide hall paved with polished blue-veined marble. Duster’s sharp-shined boots clacked cadence to her silent bare feet. At the middle of the hallway, he turned right, strode forward and stiff-armed aside a set of doors twenty feet tall.

Mary entered a vast room that looked like a grand ballroom from a medieval picture book. Huge pillars held up a fifty-foot-high, fresco-laden ceiling from which crystal chandeliers dangled on thick, golden chains. Sumptuous velvet-covered couches and chairs flanked dark wood tables. Clusters of them littered the sides of the room. Between each massive pair of pillars loomed a huge, elaborately rococo door, eight of them, pastel hues hinting at the colors beyond. Across from the row of pillars and doors stood a line of twenty-foot-high windows that reflected the room back at her in wavy shapes.

“What the hell is this place?” It was the most disgustingly opulent room she had ever seen.

“Your prison.” Duster yanked the doors closed.

“You scum-sucking sycophant!” She twisted and pulled on the gigantic gold doorknobs.

“Access denied,” a lush female voice said.

Mary looked around. “Hello?” Her voice echoed.

“How can I serve you?”

“Who are you?”

“I am House. How can I serve you?”

“You could let me the hell out of here.” Commander must be the most successful bandit in the Void to have a techno-house.

“You are not permitted to leave.”

She glanced at her bracelet. Would it inject her if she tried to smash her way out? It might. Any aggressive move might trigger a dose of Baka. “I can’t do a thing if I’m dead.”

“Are you in need of medical care?”

“No. Shut up, stupid House. I need to think.” Everything had gone to hell in two days. She’d had a bad feeling about that last haul, and her intuition had been dead-on.
Who leaves 5K of goods unattended? Someone setting a trap, that’s who
. But she’d needed the goods so badly, she’d decided to take the risk.

“And now, it’s all over.” Five years, a hundred plans, the fate of millions… Her shoulders slumped with the weight of her obligations.

Commander wanted to know who she was working for and why. As soon as she told him, he wouldn’t have a compelling reason to keep her alive. Therefore, she would live as long as she didn’t tell him, and all she had to do was escape.

She looked around. “Who am I kidding?” Flinging herself down on a puffy velvet couch, she dropped her head into her filthy hands. “I have no chance at all.”

If she managed to get the bracelet off without getting killed, she had to find her way to a ship without getting killed. Then, she had to get the ship airborne without getting killed. After that, she had to get home to Taiga without getting killed. Never good at math, she didn’t think she needed it to calculate the odds.

“A billion to one. In favor of me getting killed.”

Chapter Two

“Commander, an IWOG ship has breached the first perimeter,” one of his guards informed him after Duster hustled Mary out of base command.

“Just one?” He considered the news as he gazed at his favorite painting. Vivid strokes of bold color conveyed a battered and bloody warrior in the midst of carnage. There was such a look of Pyrrhic victory on the conqueror’s face.

“Yes, Commander. One IWOG scout ship.”

“Course?” he asked, still immersed in his prized painting. Casual swipes of thick oil paint in crimson, orange and black captured a simultaneous moment of victory, defeat and revenge in the making.

“Parabolic course.” After checking another scanner, the guard added, “The ship will sweep past Windmere by way of Midas.”

As all his guards riveted their attention to the multitude of sensors, he pondered why the IWOG would send only one scout ship. Kamikaze or reconnaissance?

Duster entered the room and scrutinized the displays. “Suicide run?” He leaned over the nearest op-pan. Scanners tracked the vessel approaching Midas, one of the two moons orbiting Windmere.

“Indeed.” One blast could obliterate the ship into powerless fragments. Stroking his chin, still considering his painting, he rolled his eyes as a burst of insight struck. At his command, a face popped into focus on the main holoplas screen.

“Commander?”

“IWOG scan attempt. Implement EMF pulse.”

“Yes, Commander.”

From Midas, a powerful electromagnetic force blasted the ship with radio frequencies. Consumed with high-tech trickery, the IWOG had forgotten to protect themselves from this ancient, low-tech device. The EMF jammed everything electronic onboard their ship.

“When you figure they’re gonna realize they’d best leave off messing with us?” Duster deployed a crew to capture the disabled ship.

“Never. I think they like bashing their collective heads into a brick wall.” He looked at his painting again. Pyrrhic victory; triumph gained at a ruinous cost. His quest for independence had come true, but the price had been enormous.

The interruption annoyed him. He wanted to play with his latest puzzle, the ever more perplexing Bandit of Taiga. In the face of overwhelming odds, she’d been fierce, aggressive, and determined to fight to the bitter end in an effort to protect herself and her secret goal. He’d never encountered such an infuriating spitfire, or a woman who so fully embodied the concept of a Pyrrhic victory.

“You’d think they’d get sick of being made fools of and go away.” Duster popped a crackleseed between his teeth.

“They’ll come at us until we surrender.” The InnerWorld Government lusted after the riches in heavy metals on Windmere. The IWOG also wanted his head and offered a 20Mil bounty for the capture of Michael “Overlord” Parker.

He was wanted for murder, piracy, book smuggling, and a host of sundry nastiness. But the IWOG didn’t have any idea what he looked like. Not even a sketch graced the warrants posted throughout the Void.

“You’re the only man to ever successfully fight off an IWOG invasion,” Duster said. “On the OuterWorlds, the WAG holds you up as a hero.”

“Villain or hero. I guess that about sums me up.”

“Mary seems inclined to think of you as the former.”

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.” Michael touched his chest, his chin, wondering if the bruises from her blows were visible yet. “Hell of a fighter.”

“Not as good as Kraft.” Duster munched crackleseeds with neat efficiency.

“
I’m
not as good as Kraft.” Michael admitted the truth without one bit of shame. “She’s the one who taught me.”

“Do you still—”

“Let’s find out if Mary is enjoying her palatial prison.” He cut Duster off the touchy subject of Kraft with practiced finesse. “House, show me Mary.”

An audio and visual link, audvid, sprang to life and filled every holoplas screen in base command with the image of Mary sleeping on one of the burgundy fainting couches in the main room of House. Even asleep, she looked ready for a fight. But when he ordered House to zoom in, he discovered smudged hollows below her eyes and aristocratic cheekbones. Exhaustion and hunger darkened her refined beauty.