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Zack spent a long time in the shower scrubbing off Nihao's scent, but he couldn’t wash away her ugly accusations. How she slipped from cold and distant to hot and passionate had done much to throw him off kilter.
Unable to figure out what he should do, Zack tried his damnest to stay away from situations where he was alone with either woman. It was easy enough with Raisa: duty kept her busy, and it wasn't too hard to make sure they exercised when someone else was in the gym. Nihao was another matter.
Sharing a cabin became a distinct chore. He tried to make sure he came off watch when she was already in bed, but sometimes, she either waited for him or woke, and then would seduce him with frightening ease. Marines were often accused of thinking with their gonads, and Zack Decker did the Corps proud.
*
Shokoten soon neared the Shield Cluster and Captain Strachan put the ship on heightened vigilance. He was even more nervous than on the way in, and Zack decided that the ship's owners attached a lot of importance to the cargo they were bringing back. Knowing who they were, he could understand Strachan's anxieties. Failure was a capital sin on Pacifica.
On the other hand, the heightened vigilance kept Zack out of Nihao's clutches by giving him an excuse to work twenty hours a day either standing watch, drilling the crew or keeping the ship's armaments in peak condition.
It also brought back him in closer contact with Raisa, and his deep-set guilt at cheating on her. If the Arkanna sensed his confusion, she hid it well and asked no probing questions, though he sometimes caught her looking at him with unspoken worry in her eyes.
*
A few light years short of Commonwealth space, but still in the badlands, Shokoten emerged for a routine hyperdrive recalibration and so the navigator could plot the next jump.
While the engineer's crew worked with unusual speed, Zack scanned the surrounding area most carefully, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach making him very uneasy. They were in the prime marauding country, just out of reach of a Fleet constrained by law. Why Strachan chose this spot to emerge for course corrections was beyond Decker's understanding.
The bridge buzzed with quiet activity, but Strachan's fingers danced impatiently on the arm of his chair as if he were expecting something.
Suddenly, Zack's eyes were drawn to the lower corner of his tactical screen.
“Captain,” he called out, voice calm but loud enough to break through the hubbub of the bridge. “I have an emergence trace about a million kilometers behind us.”
“Identify.”
“Still too far out, sir.”
“Very well, Gunner,” he replied, calmer than Zack had expected. “Go to battle stations and keep me advised of developments.”
Zack turned his attention back to the interloper, leaving Strachan to egg on his navigator and engineers. The unknown ship was on a direct intercept course, and its speed matched that of an over-engined pirate. Decker had little doubt about its intentions. When it was about three-quarters of a million kilometers away, the other ship fired.
“Captain, they've just put two missiles up our wake. At that range, assuming she hits us, it'll only rattle the shields. Must be a new crew out there, to fire so early and give themselves away.”
“Thank you, Gunner,” Strachan nodded, still calmer than he should be. If Zack hadn't known any better, he'd have sworn the man relaxed when he heard the reiver had fired. “Nav, are your computations final?”
“Aye, sir. Ready to go.”
“Engineering had given the all-clear,” First Officer Darhad reported.
“Helm, lock in the course and engage.”
The stars blurred as the hyperdrives took Shokoten beyond light speed. A familiar nausea rose in Zack’s throat but it vanished within seconds as the ship's speed stabilized inside its bubble. He searched for signs of pursuit, but in vain. The distortion of the hyperdrives blanked out any signals.
They ran for an hour, then two in silence. Eventually, near the end of the watch, the navigator announced that they had entered Commonwealth space again, an announcement that brought subdued cheers and broad grins from the bridge crew. They weren't quite home yet, but at least they now sailed where the Navy's writ protected merchant ships.
The relief proved to be short-lived. A distant explosion rattled the ship, and they tripped back into normal space, giving the crew an unexpected dose of disorientation. Zack swore over the whoop of the alarm siren and searched for the reiver's emergence trace on his tactical display. He didn't see the small smile play on Strachan's lips. Darhad, however, did, and she sensed a kind of tense amusement in him.
“Got him,” Zack broke through the din of voices. “Eight hundred thousand kilometers off our starboard bow. Turning towards us. All our weapons are powered up and ready to fire when he gets within range. I suggest nav plot an emergency micro jump.”
“Thank you, Gunner. I will take your suggestion under advisement.”
Decker looked at Raisa, surprised by the reply, but she shrugged, as mystified as he was. He returned his attention to the attacker and prepared to repulse him with all Shokoten had.
“Signals — send out a distress call on all frequencies,” the captain continued. “Helm, prepare for defensive maneuvering. Mister Darhad, ask our engineer to move as fast as she can on recalibrating the drives.”
“Aye, sir.”
Zack studied the reiver's cautious approach, frowning. He was too slow and too prudent as if he were afraid of something. Pirates working within patrolled space struck fast and hard. They had little time before a Navy ship might appear.
It turned out to be the same ship that had fired on them earlier but this time, its captain waited to come within range before opening up with his guns.
Shokoten's helmsman made rapid course corrections, trying to throw off the reiver's aim while Zack replied in kind. A few shots struck the shields without causing damage. For a moment, he had the strange notion that they were fighting a sham match, one of those bouts where both boxers were careful not to injure each other.
Of course, it could be that the reiver had a lousy gunner, but that seemed unlikely. Pirate crews whose performance displeased their captain rarely had long careers.
The battle soon turned into a stern chase as the reiver kept taking pot shots at Shokoten while Decker tried as best he could to hit him back with his turrets slewed aft. It fast became monotonous. The pirate shot and struck. Zack fired back and struck. They'd both cover another hundred thousand kilometers or so and shoot again, without causing appreciable damage to each other's shields.
Then, a third ship appeared, plunging out of hyperspace towards them. Decker let out a crow of triumph as he identified it.
“Captain, we have a Navy missile frigate off our port side! Five hundred thousand kilometers and closing fast.”
Shokoten shook with a final salvo, and then the reiver abandoned the chase and jumped, unwilling to relinquish the role of hunter to the frigate.
“Freighter Shokoten, this is Garibaldi, Captain Bezan commanding. Are you all right?”
Cheers echoed through the bridge as the face of a dark-haired officer appeared on the main screen.
“This is Captain Strachan. Thank you for your timely intervention. We’ve suffered no damage, except to our nerves.”
“Glad we could be of help, Captain. It doesn't happen all too often that we arrive in time to scare away the bad guys. Not often at all.” Bezan frowned, his dark eyes watching Strachan with palpable suspicion as if he thought something was funny about this incident. The gunner could relate. He smelled a rat too. A big, fat, rotting rat.
“I suppose we were lucky,” Strachan was looking uneasy, though he still tried to ooze his slickest brand of charm. “It likely helped that I have a good gunner who held the pirate at bay long enough.”
Bezan raised a skeptical eyebrow. The merchant service wasn't known for the quality of its weapons' officers.
“I would like to congratulate this martial paragon if I may, Captain Strachan.”
Strachan motioned Zack over.
“Warrant Officer Zachary Decker,” he said, “is a former Marine Corps Master Gunner and has proven to be quite an asset.”
Zack nodded at the screen. “Sir.”
“Well, well. The universe is small, isn't it, Sergeant, or should I say, Mister Decker? Glad to see you again. And equally happy that you landed on your feet.”
Zack managed to contain his surprise only by a tremendous effort of will. He knew about Bezan from serving aboard Musashi, which patrolled the same area of space as Garibaldi but he'd certainly never met the man in person.
“Glad to see you again as well, sir,” he stammered out, hoping he didn’t sound puzzled. It could have been his imagination, but he seemed to detect a sign of approval from Bezan.
“Captain Strachan, with a man like Decker behind your guns, I can believe you gave the reiver more to contend with than he would have thought. Tell me, Mister Decker, how does it feel to be on the receiving end of piracy?” Bezan smiled, but the smile had a dangerous edge to it.
“If all reivers are like the one you ran off, I don’t figure it’s much of a problem, sir.”
“Easy mark?” That hint of suspicion was back again, if it had ever left. Strachan glanced at Zack, his eyes betraying anxiety at what the gunner would say.
“Not easy sir, but it wasn’t an experienced crew or captain, I’d say. What with the cleanup of the area last year, the reiver clans must be building up from scratch. At least this guy knew enough to break off when the odds shifted.” Zack sensed rather than saw Strachan relax. He shrugged. “Luck’s always in the game too, sir. Guess we were lucky this time around.”
“I suppose you were,” Bezan sounded thoughtful. He rubbed his chin. “Where are you headed?”
“We’re bound for Pacifica with a cargo of assorted minerals, luxury items and samples from Rhada,” Strachan replied, dismissing Zack with a flick of the fingers. The gunner had played his part and was no longer required.
“A long trip.”
“Indeed. But a ship like ours goes where the contract stipulates. If our owners wish to open trading in exotic items with a far-off planet, then who are we to gainsay them.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bezan chuckled. “And here I thought you merchant types were free to roam the star lanes. I guess I’m an old romantic. Anyway, you should be all right from now on. Things have been quiet in the sector. Have a nice trip, Shokoten.”
“Thank you and please thank your crew for the rescue.”
“All in day’s work. Garibaldi, out.”
Strachan looked like he wanted to sigh with relief when Bezan’s face faded from the screen.
“Nav, plot a course for Pacifica. I don’t think we’ll have any more problems.”
“Course laid in and ready.”
“Helm, engage.”
Strachan turned towards Zack and smiled.
“Well done, Mister Decker. Stand down from battle stations. I believe we shall encounter no more troubles.”
The gunner nodded and powered down the guns, shields, and launchers. But his mind was elsewhere. Did Strachan mean well done for the fight, or for snowing Bezan? When he got right down to it, that reiver was shamming, and Bezan could smell the ruse.
A signal on his console caught his attention, ending that particular bit of speculation. One of the aft turrets had overheated during the stern chase and needed his immediate attention.
By the time he’d completed a thorough check of the ship’s ordnance, he was too tired to think. Even Nihao left him alone that night after taking one look at his drawn face.
*
The next day, Zack reviewed his log entry of the incident and, on a hunch, checked the reiver's power curve. Each ship had its own emissions signal, distinct even from a ship of the same class and type, launched by the same shipyard on the same day, a starship fingerprint of sorts. These could be faked, just like real fingerprints, but Zack didn't think it was the case here. The power curve of their mysterious attacker was so close to that of the ship that had met on Ventos Prime that Decker was convinced they were the same.
It only reinforced his belief that the whole attack had been a setup, designed to fool a patrol ship into dispensing with the usual customs check. And it had worked like a charm. Except for one thing. Why did Bezan pretend he knew Decker personally?
Zack found no satisfactory answers to any of his questions and the rest of the trip to Pacifica became an exercise in frustration and patience. His mood did not lighten when Shokoten finally slipped into orbit.
“Captain, we received a message from the surface.”
The signalman’s voice broke through Zack’s bad mood. He perked up to listen. They had been circling the planet for close to six hours, a long time for a developed world that depended on trade, and he wondered why.
“A flight plan, landing coordinates, and authorization to land,” the signaler continued. “Feeding to nav now. There’s also a private message for you.”
“Thank you,” Strachan nodded.
“Sir,” Gareth turned from his navigation console, “the coordinates are not for a spaceport.” He sounded puzzled. “They’re on an island in the South Ocean. The computer lists it as privately owned.”
“Your point being?” The captain asked, unusually sarcastic. Before the young officer could reply, he continued. “Just enter the flight path and take us down there. If our owners want us to land on a private island, we will land on a private island.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Engage.” Then, Strachan left the bridge for his cabin, a move that made Darhad raise her eyebrows in surprise as she slipped into the captain’s chair. Shokoten’s cautious master usually liked to oversee landings himself. He returned a few minutes later and glanced at Zack with a frown, but declined to comment.
*
The island slowly grew on the main screen, and Zack watched with interest. It was approximately kidney-shaped, about fifty kilometers from tip to tip and maybe half that at its widest. The indentation of the kidney looked like a decent natural harbor, with clear blue waters and sandy beaches. A low range of wooded hills ran along the island's spine, ending with an extinct volcano at the southern end. Along the bay's shores, someone with a lot of money had built a sizeable landing strip, surrounded by many low buildings.
When Shokoten had settled on the plascrete pad, its hull pinging and groaning as it cooled down, Strachan rose from his seat.
“Mister Bowdoin, prepare to offload. Container carriers will arrive shortly. We will not load outbound cargo here. Zack, you're with me. There will be no need for your security detail this time.”
They stepped down the gangplank into the bright sunshine. Natural heat and light hit Decker like a sledgehammer after endless weeks cooped up inside the ship. Sweat immediately formed on his brow and ran down his back. He took one glance at the magnificent scenery and whistled.
“Nice resort, Captain.”
Strachan grunted in reply as he set off on a flagstone path bisecting a beautifully manicured lawn. Zack, Pathfinder instincts aroused, examined his surroundings, trying hard to look nonchalant. Guards, dressed in light green battledress and billed caps, carrying short carbines, were patrolling the area. They looked tough, professional, and military. Mercenaries.
The buildings were two-storied and, while the smaller ones had large, polarized windows, the three larger ones presented only blank walls. An antenna array poked out of the palm-like trees further inland, and Zack recognized a sophisticated communications system with satellite uplink. Another array came briefly into view and the gunner nearly stopped in surprise.
Now, why would a private island have an aerospace defense command and control system?
He looked for hidden sensors, automatic weapons, and other defensive arrangements and it didn't take the former reconnaissance trooper long to find well-placed and well-hidden military-grade ordnance. There were likely much more he couldn't see. Either the owners of this island were paranoid, this far inside the Commonwealth, or they had something here worth the expense.
If the island belonged to the Amalis, it made little sense. They were said to own most of Pacifica, and what they didn't own, they controlled through others. Even the Fleet had no business on this planet.
Strachan led him off the main path, and they headed towards a sprawling, flat-roofed villa reeking of luxury. It was covered almost entirely with polarized glass that kept out the glare of the sun while affording the people inside absolute privacy.
Carefully trimmed shrubbery surrounded it, as did extensive flower beds and exotic statuary. The rose quartzite walkway ended at a recessed porch flanked by two crouching, life-sized jade tigers that probably cost as much as a small warship complete with crew. A black door silently slid aside at Strachan's touch, and they entered the house. The cool dimness momentarily blinded the gunner.
A servant in green livery greeted them in silence and led them down a carpeted hallway lavishly decorated with modern artwork, energy fountains, and slowly undulating, potted pseudo-shrubs in full bloom.
At the end of the corridor, another black door slid aside, and they stepped out onto an enclosed patio. An ornate fountain burbled merrily in the center of the flagstone-covered area, the beautifully sculpted mermaid at its top spouting blood red water. Comfortable looking chairs were arranged in small groups around tables hewn out of single blocks of blue stone.
A tall, slim man of indeterminate age rose and smiled at their approach. He held out his hand for Strachan.
“My dear Captain. I am most pleased to see you back in good health from your long and strenuous trip. I trust all went well.” He spoke with an educated Pacifica accent, his voice deep and pleasant.
“Very well, sir. Very well indeed.” Strachan looked like he was about to fall over himself with obsequiousness. “May I present Warrant Officer Zachary Decker, Shokoten's gunner? He is in no small part responsible for the well-being of the ship.”
The man with the patrician nose turned his gaze on the former Marine and examined him from head to toe. Zack returned the look measure for measure, noting the rich cut of his clothes, his perfectly set blond hair, carefully manicured hands, dark tan, and cold eyes.
“So this is the man you were telling me about, Diego. Mister Decker, I am Walker Amali, head of the Honorable Commonwealth Trading Corporation. You may know it as ComCorp. I own Shokoten through one of my holding companies.” He said it without affectation. The man who controlled the richest private company in the Commonwealth seemed utterly unimpressed with his own power.
“Sir.” Decker snapped to attention and nodded.
“Your captain has reported many good things about you. He thinks you are an asset to his ship and our business interests.”
Zack didn't know what to answer, so he remained still.
“A man of few words, I see,” Amali continued, still smiling, but the smile never reached his watchful, cold eyes. “I forget myself. Can I offer you gentlemen a drink? It will be some time before we finish offloading your ship. Scotch, Gunner?”
“Thank you, sir.” Good guess. Or do you have a detailed file on me, Mister Amali?
A few moments later, another liveried servant brought a tray of drinks. When he had left, Amali raised his glass.
“I would like to propose a toast, to a successful voyage.”
It could just have been Decker's imagination, but there was a hint of jubilation in Amali's tone.
The scotch was excellent, of an age and mellowness a mere warrant officer could never afford. Zack relished every drop, yet he remained uncomfortably conscious he was drinking with one of the Fleet's most elusive and corrupt adversaries, a man whose family had proven they would stop at nothing in their pursuit of power and profits.
He could lash out now and kill the man with a single blow, doing more damage to the Amali empire and the Coalition than entire battle groups had done in years. Of course, his own death would follow soon thereafter. He mentally shrugged. As one of his former commanders had often quoted, 'Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.' Unwilling to die just yet, he sipped in silence.
Walker Amali looked at him strangely, and Zack suddenly feared he had let his thoughts show in his eyes. He looked up at the clear blue sky and emptied his glass, smacking his lips.
“One hell of a scotch, sir, if I may say so.”
“Indeed, Gunner. Do you wish another glass?”
Almost before Zack could answer, the servant was back with his tray and a full tumbler of the amber liquid.
“Tell me, Mister Decker, that is a Master Gunner's badge on your uniform, is it not?”
Zack felt an irrational stab of fear and tried to cover it by shrugging.
“Aye, sir. A little souvenir of my time in the Corps.”
“May I see it?” Decker knew it wasn't a request but an order.
With a leaden hand, he removed it from his tunic and handed it over. Amali turned the golden insignia in his fingers, examining it with interest.
“Very nice, Mister Decker. I believe it represents a nineteenth-century field piece.”
“Yes, sir.”
Amali nodded, his eyes locking with Decker's for a moment.
“A most appropriate award for a man who can outwit and out-gun pirates with a mere merchant vessel.” He handed the badge back.
They spent the next few minutes in idle conversation, and Zack studied his host with half-closed eyes, trying hard to look like a tippler enjoying an excellent drink. He doubted that it fooled Amali, and was relieved when the magnate called a servant to lead him back to the door. Amali wanted to speak with Strachan in private.
*
Zack took a few deep breaths when he stepped out of the house and tried to shake the alcohol fumes from his head. The scotch had been potent, more so on an empty stomach, and Amali's servant had given him generous servings.
Eyes narrowed against the glare, the gunner wondered again about the extent of Amali's little colony. His instincts told him that this was a well-planned, easy to defend installation. It reminded him of nothing so much as a luxury version of a Marine outpost. Even then, Marine outposts weren't blessed with so much modern equipment. He slowly walked back to the landing strip, forcing himself to memorize everything he saw.
Armed guards watched him with the same interest as bodyguards showed a potential threat, and Zack knew that if he walked off into a direction other than the ship, they'd make sure he changed course.
When he turned the corner around one of the windowless buildings, Shokoten came into full view. Ground effect flatbeds were busy hauling the containers off to a hangar at the far end of the bay. There, they vanished down a ramp, confirming Zack's impression that at least parts of the structures were underground.
He could see no other crewmembers on the tarmac, not even on the belly ramp, getting a bit of fresh air. Zack wasn't surprised, when he climbed aboard, to find that all outside cameras had been switched off, on orders from the captain. Someone didn't want the entire crew to see what was happening. Why then, did Walker Amali ask the one crewmember who was ex-Fleet, into his home?
He must have known Zack was the only one aboard the freighter who could take a quick look at his setup and figure out it was more like a fortified camp than a rich man's private resort. Curiosity perhaps.
Twenty year Marines who helped their new civilian employer flout the law weren't common. In the mind of a wealthy sociopath like Amali, it either made him a scumbag without morals, or an infiltrator. A Fleet infiltrator. For the first time, Zack wondered about the exact circumstances of his enlisting aboard Shokoten.
The thought gave Zack a shiver as if someone had walked on his grave. The peril of his position suddenly became apparent. Amali had only to believe he wasn't merely a senior noncom who had retired under a cloud to seal his fate.
He returned to his cabin and pulled out the data chip on which he'd encoded his findings in the cargo hold. If Strachan found out, Zack was a dead man.
Decker stared at the chip for what seemed like an eternity, unable to decide. Then, he changed into coveralls, grabbed his toolbox, and crawled into turret three's access tube. Once inside, he started the self-diagnostic routine, hoping the electronic activity would make him look busy.
He slipped the data chip into his sensor and turned it on. Then, calmly and in a logical sequence, he described Amali's island, drawing a plan of the enclave, marking each building, in particular the one that had swallowed the containers. With that, there was no turning back. This chip would mark him as a spy, no matter what.
He still didn't know what he would do, but meeting Walker Amali seemed to have triggered something within him.
Nobody questioned his twenty-minute stay in turret three, though Raisa sensed something new in Zack when they met in the wardroom for a belated lunch. She didn’t pry but made sure, with glances and keywords that she felt something had changed. Zack didn't know whether to feel scared or reassured.
They left the island later that afternoon, headed for Hadley Spaceport, the planet's main terminal. Nihao Kiani, as usual, was the last on board and seemed disinclined to give an account of her activities.
The trip was short and uneventful, and they berthed near the massive Hadley terminal building. Strachan gave the crew liberty until they loaded the cargo for their next trip.
Zack was changing into his favorite civilian clothes when Kiani walked into the cabin. She had spent the time since landing at Hadley closeted with the captain.
“Going out, Zack?”
“Yeah. I thought Raisa and I would take a breather in town. It'll be good to step off the old tub.”
“Be careful. I mean it.” Their eyes met, and Zack thought he read genuine concern in hers. Her warning, well-meaning as it seemed, irritated him.
“I will. Nothing on Pacifica's going to get me. I don't intend to visit the wrong spots.”
“You know what I mean.”
Decker shrugged and closed the door to his locker.
“See you tomorrow.”
*
He met Raisa at the head of the gangway. She looked ravishing in her long black skirt, high, sleeveless red blouse, and carefully done crimson hair. Darhad smiled at him, bloodless lips parting to show her white, pointy teeth.
“It has been a long time, and we have much to discuss.”
She took him by the hand and led him out of the freighter. The late afternoon sun bathed Hadley with indecently lurid shades of red and orange. An acrid tang seared the back of Zack’s throat as he took his first breath of city air.
Around the spaceport, buildings crowded out the horizon. Towers of glass, steel and concrete reared up high, higher than on any other human world except Earth itself.
But the man-made beauty of the skyline hid another reality, as Decker well knew. Slums, tenements, and welfare islands clustered around the prosperous business center of the city, ghettos where many Pacificans lived a dull, mind-numbing existence of entertainment, drugs, and destitution.
Pacifica and the other worlds controlled by men and women such as the Amalis represented the Commonwealth’s rotting core. Zack hated this place with a passion. He only stepped ashore to be with Raisa and to find answers to his questions.
When they had left the spaceport behind and walked down a street teeming with cars and people, a street that nestled among the tall buildings like a river at the bottom of a canyon, Zack thought it safe enough to speak.
“We have to find ourselves a public terminal that’ll give us info on Ventos Prime. I have to know what the hell we brought back to Amali. The bastard’s up to no fucking good. Not with that setup of his on the island.”
“Old Marine instincts resurfacing?” She asked, her right eyebrow raised in question. He glanced at her for a few moments, but she wasn’t mocking him.
“And what if they are?” He finally replied, remembering Nihao’s accusations.
“Nothing wrong with that, darling,” she murmured. “As I have said before, we are bonded, and I will fight your battles at your side.”
Her eyes searched his expressionless face.
“You are confused.” She sounded hurt. “You have been confused since we left that accursed planet.”
“You can sense it?”
“Yes.” The admission held no regret or anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were an empath?” Zack’s tone was sharper than he wanted it to be.
“I did not wish to frighten you. Very few people know about my abilities, which incidentally are natural among Arkanna females of mating age. I have never tried to influence you. Read your emotions, yes. Mated Arkanna females are sensitive to their mates’ moods. It’s instinctive.” Her face and voice expressed sincerity, and Zack desperately wanted to believe her. Especially now.
“Nihao Kiani knows.”
Raisa’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Our dear purser seems to know too much. She should be careful.”
Zack’s heartbeats thudded in his ears. He felt helpless to prevent his next words.
“She also told me you killed Lokis.”
“What?” Raisa stopped and grabbed his right forearm with her strong left hand.
“Nihao told me you had an affair with Lokis and killed him when he tried to break it off.”
Instead of laughing off the accusation, she looked Zack in the eyes and frowned.
“Why would she say such a thing?”
“You tell me.”
“Zack. I never touched Lokis. He was a secretive man who seemed to be interested only in Kiani. Nor was he my type, to be frank. There was something about his manner that I did not like. In any case, I was on board the ship the night he disappeared.”
“Nihao showed me pictures taken of his body by the Pradyni Guard. He looked slashed to bits by someone with fangs and talons.”
“Do you really believe I would kill someone in a manner that could be traced back to me? Am I that stupid in your eyes?”
“People do stranger things when they believe themselves wronged or are enraged.”
“True,” she nodded. “But you must believe me. I had nothing to do with Lokis’ death. Whatever Nihao Kiani told you were lies. If anyone wishes you harm on the ship, it is she. You and I are mated, and I could no more harm you than harm myself. Understand, Zack, that when I say Arkanna females mate for life, it is an absolute.”
The Command School axiom came back to Zack: wrong or right, make a bloody decision. He went with your gut instinct.
“I trust you, Raisa. I have to because I love you.”
He pulled her into the shade of a litter-strewn alley and quickly told her everything Nihao had said. When he confessed to letting himself be used by the purser, she stroked his cheek and kissed him.
Then she gave him a sad smile.
“I forgive you, Zack. Kiani is a redoubtable adversary, and you are an innocent in her hands. I know you’re mine, not hers. Now let us find what we both want. An answer to the mystery of Shokoten.”
*
With her unerring sense of direction, she led him into the seedier part of Hadley. The less fortunate citizens of Pacifica gave them only a passing glance. Decker, leather clad and stone-faced looked too much like one of the toughs who owned the slums. Though Hadley had no open sewers like Tanira, the stench of the streets was just as powerful, if less barbaric.
They entered an unmarked doorway set in a grimy, concrete high-rise that looked abandoned in the waning light of the day. Raisa took a flight of stairs down towards a dim red light and the odor of rotting cabbage. By now, Zack knew what to expect. The Arkanna seemed to know all the hidden clubs in this arm of the galaxy. Why she did so, he preferred not to speculate.
A huge bouncer passed them through a sensor gate before letting them enter the underground club. The opulence of the place did not surprise the gunner. Patrons were ensconced in the many cubicles lining the walls. He didn’t see a bar, but human waiters of both sexes, soberly dressed, seemed to serve a steady stream of food and drink.
The quiet buzz of conversation meshed pleasingly with the subdued music. Two other doors pierced the far end of the room, light glimmering between the velvet curtains that covered the openings. A woman in her late thirties, hair cut fashionably short, led them to an unoccupied booth. After taking their order, she disappeared.
“Nice club,” Zack commented, eyes taking in the layout of the place, “but I don't see a computer terminal.”
“This is Pacifica. The ruling families wish to keep their control over the planet, and that means control of information. If we walk to the nearest public terminal and ask for a download on Ventos Prime, we would not return to the ship alive.”
“Damn!” He swore. “Good point. And to think I figured you were dumb enough to slash Lokis.” But Zack smiled to turn his words into a self-deprecating joke. An apology of sorts. “It seems I'm the dummy.”
She smiled back and took his hand in hers, kissing his fingertips.
“And I love you too, Zack. To answer your unspoken question, this is, as you may have surmised, not quite a licensed establishment. It serves those who hold power and wealth through other means than the ones approved by the upper classes.”
“Criminals,” Zack said in a flat tone, disapproval written all over his face.
“A relative term,” she replied, eyes twinkling at his almost naïve sense of propriety. “On this planet, the ruling families aren't much different from organized criminals, other than they either legalize what they want or pay others to do it for them. You would be hard pressed to find a place of amusement that was not controlled by someone with dirty claws. For our purposes, this place is suitable.”
A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. “One could argue that this club is probably cleaner than many licensed ones.”
“And how is it you know about a club run by the local mob?”
“I have not always been a merchant officer, Zack. There was a time in my life, soon after I fled Arkanna when I had to do less than palatable things to survive. Since then, I have kept my contacts, as a safeguard, in case I ran into trouble I could not handle. Please do me a favor and ask no further questions. I'm not very proud of those days.”
Decker realized it was a matter affecting her personal honor, and he tactfully changed the subject of conversation. Trust had to be absolute, or it wasn't trust.
“So how are we going to obtain what we want?”
“Wait.”
When the waitress came back, Raisa whispered a few words in her ear. The woman nodded and vanished through one of the doorways. She returned a few minutes later and beckoned Raisa. Zack made to follow her, but the Arkanna shook her head.
She was gone for almost half an hour. When she returned, she slipped into the booth and smiled.
“A friend will make inquiries and put us in touch with someone who can access the information. In the meantime, I have arranged for us to enjoy some privacy.”
Taking his hand as she rose, Darhad led him through the other doorway into warren of carpeted hallways paneled in dark wood. A short flight of stairs took them to a luxurious private room with a large, round bed, a deep roman bath and a mirrored bar containing every form of liquor known to humankind.
There, they made love as if the universe didn't matter.
It was over all too soon when a discreet knock at the door and a whispered message brought a sad smile to Raisa's face.
For a moment, Zack had the awful premonition that this had been their last time together, but he shook off the sensation and grinned.
“We have a bite?”
“Yes. Get dressed.” She sounded almost as wistful as he felt as if unwilling to leave the warmth and safety of their private world. “I have the address of a hacker who my contact sometimes uses. It will cost us a few creds, but I have been assured he is worth the money.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Raisa.”
