Chapter 13

Her Name

“This is Flame Dancer.” Ines pressed the icon on her Silverside’s control screen to transmit her credentials. “Let me through.”

Ines Valentin—that was her name, but she could count on half a hand the number of people alive who knew. She left it up to everyone else to figure out what to call her, whether it was a code name for a particular job or a descriptive epithet. Tenebrarum called her “Flame Dancer.” Pretender had dubbed her “Silver.”

Most people on Travan Float knew her simply by some variation of “the lady merc with the silver armbands.” Her appearance changed so often that those armbands, trophies from her first kill, were the only way to identify her. She only donned them when she wanted to be found.

The operator verified her identity and transmitted the coordinates of Gate I, a Sei tunneler whose counterpart, Gate II, followed Asylum, which had no star to bind it in place. Ines punched the coordinates into her Silverside’s central computer. Once a day, Gate I and Gate II would create an interstellar bridge between them. Neither Asylum nor Gate I was ever in the same place twice, and the locations of both were closely guarded secrets, given only to Tenebrarum members.

With the autopilot set, Ines opened a compartment beneath her dashboard and retrieved a miniscule remote. To the Klistosians, for whom she had last been working, she was the woman with short, black hair and green eyes. She kept her appearance consistent for her employers. Otherwise, her look was as malleable as a snitch with a knife to his throat. The nanobots implanted in her scalp and irises made changing her hair and eyes a matter of pressing a few icons.

Ines swiped the remote’s touchscreen and selected her options. When she finished, she pressed “alter” and turned to the mirror by the ship’s controls. Her hair changed from black to platinum blonde and grew twelve inches in length. She’d decided on a high braid and pale blue eyes for that day. The following day, she might sport red curls, for all she knew. It depended on her mood.

She tied her new hair up into her chosen style. When she finished, she reached under the dashboard again and considered her various cosmetic options.

By the time Ines finished re-coloring her face, her complexion was so pale, the shadows beneath her cheekbones made them appear to jut out like razors. If she held herself differently, her birdlike features would make her seem rather delicate. But with her piercing glare and icy lips, she resembled an unholy wraith who’d escaped the depths of Hell.

That should do it.

Ines examined her reflection and tilted the corner of her mouth into the vaguest hint of a smile. That troublesome Pretender probably didn’t remember the face of the black-haired woman he’d confronted on Kydera Major, but he’d have a hard time forgetting the frost queen she was at present.

Never underestimate the power of presentation.

As she got up from the pilot’s seat, she caught a glimpse of her back in the mirror. Long, pale scars ran down her neck and into her low-backed tank top, reminders of how she’d ended up in the profession. She’d chosen to keep them so she would never forget the universe’s cruelty. After all, scars never healed. They could be made invisible, but they were always there.

She’d been barely twelve when her worthless addict of a mother sold her to a disgusting pimp. Ines had been a street dancer on a middle-of-nowhere Fringe planet, pirouetting day in and day out so her mother could get another week’s worth of Surge injections. A pimp had spotted Ines and offered her mother a year’s supply. The choice had been simple.

Ines traced a finger along the scars of her initial resistance. After she’d given up on violent outbursts in favor of a long-term plan, she’d become a popular attraction, known for her ribbon-dancing routines, in which she’d suggestively coil long silks around red-faced johns. The boss had been present at each performance, eager to auction off his star.

One day, Ines brought a new set of ribbons, a set made of lasers. It had taken her over a year of careful planning to procure them. “I have a special show for you tonight, gentlemen.”

They’d cheered so loudly. It must’ve been a stunning sight: a young girl twirling brilliant yellow beams of light, drawing waves in the air, skillfully swirling them around her slender body. The wires containing the lasers had the same weight and air resistance as the ribbons Ines had known so well. They’d been like extensions of her own arms, and she’d almost felt with them as she wrapped them around the pimp and tore him in half.

The memory burned in Ines’s mind. May God forgive me.

By the time she’d finished her performance, bloody bodies and severed limbs had littered the lounge. She’d collapsed in tears, her rage blown away by horror. God commanded that one must strive never to harm another living being. She’d burned her last bridge to Heaven.

She had no escape plan; all she’d wanted was revenge, and she’d been prepared for the brothel guards to burst in and take her down. Instead, Striker had rescued her. Turned out, the pimp was on the hit list of a crime boss, and Striker had been watching from the vents. Ines had done the job for him before he could take his shot.

Ines hadn’t hesitated to embrace her new role as Striker’s apprentice. Tenebrarum operated on a code of honor: they only accepted assignments if the target needed killing. Such as her captor and torturer. Such as a million men like him.

She’d carried those laser ribbons for seventeen years, and she would carry them for twenty, thirty, forty more, or until Hell claimed her. Deactivated, they looked like a pair of black batons strapped to her belt.

Ines went into the back of her Silverside and opened a storage closet. A pair of light guns should do it.

If Pretender presented a threat to her, her main advantage over him would be her speed and agility. Unfortunately, his advantage over me is that he’s fucking suicidal.

Tucking her guns into her belt, she returned to the pilot’s seat. According to the chart, half an hour remained until she’d have to switch to manual piloting. She reclined in her chair. She’d only met Pretender once before until he’d contacted her, asking to meet, and since she had time, she might as well replay the encounter in her mind. Perhaps she’d catch some detail she’d missed previously.

Ines had answered the Klistosians’ call for private contractors several weeks before. They’d hired her under the condition that she carry out her assignment with no questions asked. Accepting such an agreement was usually beneath her, but her options had been limited since she beheaded her last employer, a crime lord who’d hired her to take out a woman he claimed was a murderer. The woman was actually his wife, an innocent girl who’d been forced into marriage and who’d fled at her first chance. Disgusted, Ines had stormed back to the crime lord’s headquarters with the intention of punishing him for his wickedness and deception. When she’d learned that he dealt not only in narcotics, but in trafficking girls, his fate was sealed.

Of course, no one wanted to hire her after that. Tenebrarum had struck her off their list of active members. Although the banishment was temporary, it had left Ines unemployed long enough that, with no other options, she’d begrudgingly accepted the Klistosians’ agreement.

The target had been some kid on Kydera Major. Why the Klistosians would want him dead wasn’t her business. Ines recalled her dismay at learning just who her mark was: Adam Palmer, a twenty-three-year-old Via seminary student. She’d peered through the scope of her long-range rifle, which was set up on a low stand, and aimed at the window of his dorm room. The kid had been at his desk, studying.

Another kill, another soul to torment me for eternity. Ines should have shrugged at the thought of death. God wouldn’t allow her to. She could almost hear Him say, “I created those lives. How dare you destroy them?”

Heaven was already lost to her. If she was bound for Hell, she might as well bring as many foul bastards with her as she could, leaving the galaxy a cleaner place for the innocents. Each year, she grew wearier. She couldn’t help hoping that somewhere between her current existence and the abyss awaiting her, she might find something more, perhaps something akin to peace. But she didn’t know where to begin looking, and the years were running out. Lives like hers never ended well.

This is no time to be fucking wistful.

She’d buried her thoughts and positioned the rifle’s crosshairs over Adam Palmer’s head. His was one of those faces that seemed to glow with innocence, a gentle face that spoke of a kind soul. Looks are deceiving. I would know. Pull the fucking trigger.

A noise caught her attention. Ines grabbed the small gun from the holster on her hip and whirled. On the rooftop she crouched on, a few steps behind her, a man stood aiming a gun at her.

Ines recognized him: Black Knight. He didn’t have his signature helmet, and the black outfit he wore could have belonged to any merc. But his face had been revealed eight years before, and she’d been sure to memorize his angular features in case she encountered him. Blue-green Kydera Minor, lighting the night sky, illuminated his tall, broad-shouldered figure, and a mild summer wind blew his dark waves across his forehead.

His gaze met hers. “If you shoot him, I’ll shoot you.”

Ines held her expression still to keep from betraying her confusion. Had someone hired Black Knight to protect the kid? She kept her eyes and gun trained on Black Knight as she reached for her utility belt and unclipped the small bomb she always kept on her person, the one that would go off should her heart stop beating. “If you shoot me, this will blow, and you’ll go down in flames.”

She’d expected Black Knight to back off or at least try bargaining. Instead, he’d said, “Let him go, or we’ll all die here.” The intensity of his glare told Ines he was dead serious.

That had been the moment when Ines stopped thinking of him as Black Knight and started knowing him as Pretender. The real Black Knight was a twisted sonuvabitch who enjoyed toying with his victims. No one could pay him enough to play the hero. Since he hadn’t surfaced to protest someone usurping his name, he must have been long dead.

Ines didn’t break her stare as she stood. She was almost as tall as Pretender and therefore able to look him straight in the eye. “How much did they pay you to throw your life away for Adam Palmer’s? Do you have a family somewhere they promised to take care of?”

“Your order has a code, doesn’t it?” Pretender must have noticed the Tenebrarum crest she wore on her collar. “No innocents?”

“How do you know he’s innocent? He must have done something to end up on the Klistosians’ kill list.”

Pretender shook his head. “The Klistosians have gone mad. Vang has killed thousands for being ‘inefficient.’ A few days ago, he gunned down nine of his own soldiers for no apparent reason.” He locked his gaze onto hers. “I don’t know what could have possessed him to put Adam Palmer on his list, but trust me, the kid’s done nothing to deserve death.”

Ines wondered whether to take Pretender’s timely entrance as a sign. If her own doubts hadn’t been enough, his presence seemed to confirm that she’d been right to hesitate. She wouldn’t risk her life for a regime she had no loyalty to. Also, her honor was all she had to separate her from the bastards she hunted. That she’d been willing to risk it for money left her with a sense of shame.

She kicked her rifle off its stand and over the edge of the building. It clattered as it landed on something below. “There.”

Pretender kept his gun aimed at her. “Swear that you won’t try again. Lie to the Klistosians. They won’t risk sending someone into an IC system to confirm your kill.”

Good point. I can still collect. She considered taking Adam Palmer to Asylum, where he would be safe if the Klistosians sent someone else after him. No need. He’s Pretender’s problem. “I’ll leave the kid alone.”

“Swear it.”

Why does he care so much? “I swear by God.”

Pretender lowered his weapon.

Ines had kept hers aimed at him as she approached. She’d pulled one of her small silver infodiscs out of the pouch on her belt and held it up. “If you hear of anyone who needs killing, this is how you’ll find me.” She’d pressed the disc into his hand and whispered, “You owe me.”

She’d left with an uncanny feeling that she’d be tangling with Pretender again, even though she’d known the chances of him contacting her were slight.

Yet he did. This had better be good.

The call had been brief. Pretender had only stated that he had a job for her, and that he wanted to meet her in person to discuss it. Ines had told him to meet her at Mek’s bar on Asylum. Since she hadn’t known how long it would take for her to finish her latest assignment, she’d told him to go there as soon as he could and wait for her to show up. She took his willingness to accommodate her, even though he’d have to hang around Mek’s bar with no idea when she’d actually appear, as a good sign. He must have really needed her.

She mentally ran through what she’d been able to glean from him. He may have masqueraded as Black Knight, but he didn’t belong in the profession. What it was that set him apart from the others, she didn’t know. Maybe it was something about those dark eyes of his. He’d kept them hard, like everyone else, but she’d seen enough to know it was a front. Or maybe it was the way he spoke, the absence of nastiness or disdain. His accent, so close to the ideal standard for Set, indicated that he was from the IC and had probably been decently educated.

Maybe he’s a privileged vigilante.

Her mind itched with questions. Whoever he was, she’d have to learn a bit more about him before she’d take on any kind of job. She sensed interest creeping up within her, a hint of hope that she’d get to work with the fascinating stranger. I’m sick of the Klistosians and their bullshit.

She split her lips into a slight smile. Besides, tall and dark is my type.

 

Ines strode toward Mek’s bar. She’d contacted Pretender when she’d arrived, telling him where and when to meet her. The star-filled sky covered the transparent dome containing Asylum’s artificial atmosphere. Gate II, visible as a blue speck of light in the sky, winked in the distance.

Asylum only held one city. Many came, but few stayed. Ines passed an old man who looked curiously at the buildings, none of which were especially tall, since the majority of the city was underground. The man had to be a recent arrival, likely a fugitive with a price on his head. As long as he found work and didn’t cause trouble, it didn’t matter how high that price was. He would be safe as a civilian of Asylum.

At the center of the city stood the Palace of Tenebrarum. Built of white stones and illuminated by pale blue lights, it glowed above the dim metropolis. Round towers with pointed roofs rose in layers, like hands climbing over each other to reach the white Tenebrarum crest at the top. The illuminated crest—three curved blades arranged in a triangle—shone so brightly, new arrivals often mistook it for a moon.

The palace held many memories for Ines. In its training rooms, she had perfected her craft. As she walked past the tall, metal doors, which were decorated with intricate swirls, she could almost see the vaulted ceiling and high columns that lay behind them. Only the Tenebrarum and their apprentices were allowed to enter.

The streets of Asylum were so narrow, Ines could have touched the concrete walls of the buildings on either side of her if she stretched her arms. She turned into a doorway and approached the third elevator.

The elevator took her deep underground. The doors opened on the lowest level, revealing Mek’s bar. A long screen, flat against the ceiling, displayed the bar’s name, which changed every few weeks, depending on Mek’s whims. That day, Mek had decided to call the place “Vivace.”

Other than the screen, only a few slivers of orange lights along the walls and a second monitor above the bar lit the joint. A stage stretched across the back. Standing upon it, a curvy singer with a mass of dark curls sang soaring high notes. Various types loitered by the bar and around the tables—Tenebrarum members unwinding, civilians seeking comfort, outsiders looking to hire.

Although Asylum had been conceived as a base for Tenebrarum and a haven for repentant fugitives, it had mostly become a way station for those on the run and a place for Tenebrarum members to vet prospective employers. One had to be pretty reputable to have an employer actually come out to Asylum. Prior to Pretender, Ines had only convinced two others to make the journey.

Pretender stood at the end of the bar, eyes fixed on the muted screen above it. Ines glanced up to see what so captivated him. An entertainment channel was in the middle of broadcasting a concert replay. Sarah DeHaven, the popular singer, filled the screen with her delicate face. From the longing in Pretender’s eyes, he had to be pretty taken by her.

Like every male in the galaxy. Why do they always fall for manufactured perfection?

Deciding to teach Pretender a lesson in awareness, Ines drew her gun and approached. Pretender whirled and grabbed her wrist. He quickly pivoted so that he was beside her and locked down on her arm. Ines doubled over from the force. Pretender grabbed the barrel and twisted to face her, then yanked the weapon out of her grasp.

Ines reached for her other gun. She stopped when Pretender lowered the weapon.

He handed it back to her. “Hello, Silver.”

How did he recognize me? I wasn’t wearing my armbands when I encountered him on Kydera Major. Ines took the gun back. “Who do you think I am?”

Pretender leaned back against the bar with an amused glint in his eyes. “Yours isn’t a face I’d forget.”

Arrogant bastard. “If I didn’t think you had a good offer for me, you’d be dead. You’re only the second person to take my weapon and live.”

“Who was the first?”

It was Ines’s turn to be amused as the memory returned to her. “Club performer on Travan Float. Girl with big eyes who liked to sass-mouth. She ‘borrowed’ my gun to get some shithead pimp to leave her alone. I let her have it.”

Pretender knitted his eyebrows. “When was this?”

“Why do you care?”

“That girl, was she about five-six with dark, wavy hair?”

How did you know? “Why the fuck do you care?”

Pretender smiled to himself. “No reason.”

He must’ve been in the club. Ines tucked her gun back in its holster. “Before we go any further, I need you to answer some questions.”

Pretender brought his attention back to her. “Yes?”

“What’re you doing masquerading as a Fringe merc? Why’d you come back after eight years?”

Pretender’s expression hardened. “Black Knight and his cohorts killed my mother, and they tried to kill me. I turned his game around, and I took his identity so I could avenge her. Once her murderers went down, I had no need to be him anymore. I came back because I needed a job.”

The last sentence sounded sarcastic, but the rest rang with truth. Instead of assuaging Ines’s curiosity, his answers only fed it. “What’s your name?” The question left her mouth before she realized it. What does it matter?

Pretender raised his eyebrows. “You first.”

“I don’t have a name. Not anymore.” Striker had been the last person Ines trusted enough to confess her name to. Never making that mistake again. She approached the bar and waved at a hovering bartender bot.

“That’s the thing about this profession, isn’t it?” Pretender sounded contemplative. “You have to leave behind everything you were and let it become everything you are. It turns you cold.”

“Not cold enough, if you’re thinking about it.” The bartender bot approached Ines. “One Vesper.” The bot acknowledged her order with a ding-ding and floated off to make the alcoholic cocktail. She found that having a strong beverage handy during negotiations helped her intimidate the other party, especially since they usually took it as a sign to join in. Not everyone could hold their liquor as well as she could, and it never hurt to soften up her prospective employers. “All right. What’s all this about a job for me?”

Pretender glanced around. “Do you know of a place where we won’t be heard?”

The bartender bot returned with Ines’s drink. To her disappointment, Pretender didn’t place an order. I guess he knows better. Either that, or he’s a stiffback who doesn’t drink. She took the glass, grabbed a card from her pocket, and swiped it against the bot. The bot acknowledged the payment with a ding and floated off.

Ines took a quick swig of her Vesper. It didn’t burn as much as it once had. Like so many things, its effect on her had dulled. Her gaze fell on the open door to one of the bar’s private rooms. She nodded at it. “There. The rooms are dead zones. But before I bother Mek for one, I want to know what kind of deal we’re talking about.”

Pretender leaned toward her. “I promise it’ll be worth your time. Hell, I’ll even give you my name. The job’s probably more complicated than what you’re used to. If you don’t like what you hear, you can always refuse.”

Sounds like the stakes are higher than a simple point-and-shoot. Might be nice to be challenged for once. She drained the rest of her Vesper, then placed the empty glass on the bar. “Wait here. I’ll find Mek.”