FLETCHER

Each of Serengeti’s planet headquarters facilities includes a section for militia-central with central facility monitoring, weapons storage, barracks, and incarceration chambers. When crimes are committed against the cartel, such as fraud or theft, it is at the cartel’s discretion whether Serengeti handles the matter internally or engages the local governor’s militia.

When a non-commerce crime, such as assault, is perpetrated by one cartel retainer against another, it is Serengeti’s policy to adjudicate internally wherever possible. For annihilation-level crimes, such as murder or acts of anarchy, the governor’s militia must be informed. ~ excerpt from Serengeti Group Operations, Serengeti archives

Clarice was falling, the cliffs rushing past as she dropped toward the rocky shore. She awoke with a start to find herself on the guesthouse bed, Fortuna’s watery dawn light filtering through the windows. A soft snore made her aware she was not alone. Fletcher was sprawled next to her. Relaxed in sleep, his face showed a few faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, etched by laughter but deepened by pain.

His eyes opened and a small smile formed at the sight of her, quickly morphing into a concerned frown. “How fare you?”

The night gone, Fletcher had used the flyer to transport her to the stellar transit center and the militia clinic. Once the healers had finished treating her, they gave her a sedative. She had vague memories of Mrs. Tasha, a Serengeti transport, and Fletcher carrying her into Serengeti House, but nothing more. Cautiously, she flexed her arms, setting off aches along her back. Flexing her legs made her aware that her skirt had done little to protect her backside. “Sore, but the headache has ceased.”

With a gentle finger, Fletcher traced the outline of the sealant patch covering a quarter of her temple where her head hit a stone. “The knot is all but gone.” His expression hardened. “That vile servant of anarchy will pay for every bruise and scratch.”

‘They caught Milo?”

“Within a bell.” He cupped her face. “I was terrified when I learned you were missing. Even more so when I saw you struggling on that cliff.” His lips pressed hers. “I will have ill dreams of it for the rest of my life.”

It was not the first time Clarice had fought for her life, but this time had been different. “I was terrified I would never see you again. I did not want to go over that cliff without knowing romance. With you.” She turned her face to kiss his palm. “You promised a grand romantic gesture, but I did not expect it so soon.”

He laughed and gathered her against him. “Is that what you meant? I feared you were delirious.”

“It was more that I was giddy with the joy of your arrival.”

His arms tightened. “That almost sounded like a declaration.”

Was it? She did not misspeak when she said she wanted romance with him. But she had not spoken the full truth, fearful of what the words might bring.

His voice rough, he said, “For the honor of the Five Warriors, woman, say something. I am madly in love with you, and I must know if there is any hope for me.”

She could have died on the cliffs and yet she was more afraid at this moment than ever before. But risking all to join Lilian’s cadre of apprentices had brought her a family. She had been forged in Mulan’s flame. She was stronger than fear. Lifting her head, she met his intense gaze. “You need not hope; be certain that I love you.”

Seigneur Marco and Rigel were already in the small windowless chamber when Fletcher arrived with Clarice. Seigneur Marco had postponed the freighter tests in favor of discovering the details of Koralia and Milo’s scheme. Fletcher’s presence was not required, but he had spent the most time on Fortuna and might have insight the others did not.

If it had been Fletcher’s decision, Clarice would yet be abed. But the woman was adamant about rising, pointing out that the lump beneath the two-inch circle of green sealant on her temple had already receded as had the swelling beneath the streak of sealant along her jaw. Green sealant also braceleted her wrists and ankles and covered the tips of eight fingers. Hidden by her suit, her back was a patchwork of green stripes and daubs. The medic had assured them that her injuries were minor and would heal in a few days, the sealant turning gray and flaking away.

Marco turned and his gaze swept over Clarice, his jaw hardening. “Once we have what we need from Milo, you are welcome to reproduce those injuries on his limbs and head.”

Taking the indicated chair, she shook her head. “Thank you, Seigneur, but if he continues to prove recalcitrant, I doubt he would notice the discomfort of these minor injuries when Mr. Clyde is finished.”

Fletcher settled next to her and said, “I, on the other hand, would be delighted to reproduce those injuries on the man.” He flexed his left hand. “I have not fully explored the strength of my prosthetics. It would be interesting to learn if they can crush bone.”

Clarice smiled at him. “If the Seigneur pleases, I would like to have Fletcher act on my behalf.”

Marco nodded with a dark smile. “It will be an interesting test.”

Fletcher knew that the Serengeti militia had apprehended Milo within a period of his escape from the cliff. “Has he been in an interrogation chamber all night?”

“He has, with enough noise and light to ensure he did not slumber. Seigneur Trevelyan’s instructions were to wait until his operatives reviewed the man’s communications and accounts.”

Clarice glanced at her slate. “It appears that our retailer was sending regular payments to Milo. Koralia’s accounts show nothing unusual, but Rebecca is certain there is a hidden Hebrides account.”

Rigel looked up from his slate. “Mr. Clyde is ready.”

At Marco’s gesture, Rigel activated the wall reviewer to display an interrogation chamber. Naked, Milo was bound to an interrogation table set in the upright position. One of his knees was swollen and there was shallow puncture wound in one thigh. His mouth was scabbed where the lip had been split. His gaze was fixated on the table holding a variety of interrogation tools.

Marco made an approving sound. “Fair amount of damage given you were bound hand and foot.”

Clarice shrugged. “I did not wish to die.”

The rage that was coiled in Fletcher’s heart almost broke free. “I will crush every one of his fingers.”

Clarice smiled at him. “If that will give you peace.”

Clyde entered the chamber, jacketless and with his tunic sleeves rolled past his elbows. Facing Milo, he slouched against the instrument table and crossed his arms. “You will tell me everything. The only unknown is how much pain you are willing to endure before speaking.”

“What do you want to know?”

Rigel snorted. “That was too easy.”

Clyde said, “Who do you work for?”

“Koralia. She arranged everything. My role was to forge the commerce approver’s seal on the contracts and approve the penalty payments.”

Clyde tsked. “You are not telling me anything I do not know. Koralia was acting for a commerce interest. Which one?”

“She never said. Always referred to ‘our sponsor.’”

“You were not curious?”

“Yes, but she told me to take my payments and not ask again. If I persisted, she would have me dismissed.”

Clyde stood and walked to the far side of the table. He ran his hand over a whip. “You are disappointing me.”

Milo’s eyes widened, and his voice rose an octave. “I do not know!”

“Whose idea was it to kill Mistress Clarice?”

Clyde scoffed. “A woman in the healers’ enclave?”

“She has her slate. We were in danger of being found out and it was all Koralia’s fault! Racing her transport along the First Hill transitways as though it was five years gone and no one was out after dark of night.”

Fletcher shook his head. “At this rate we will be here all day. The man cannot stay on topic.”

Clyde picked up the whip and sent the long tail snapping toward Milo. The man shrieked. Clyde chuckled. “I have yet to strike you. But I will. You admitted to Mistress Clarice that your sponsor was intriguing to acquire a position in Bright Star. You must have some idea which enterprise.”

Milo shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

The whip flashed out and Milo wailed. A long red line bisected his chest.

Clyde lifted his wrist and Milo cried out, “Wait. Koralia said that our sponsor did not tolerate failure. That was why we had to get rid of Mistress Clarice. It was her or us. And it needed to be dramatic. Something to distract attention so we could complete our sponsor’s plan.”

Clyde raised an eyebrow. “How would throwing Mistress Clarice off the cliffs accomplish that?”

“It was to be suicide. Once I tossed her over, I was to send an alert to the media with a suicide note.”

Clyde laughed. “No one acquainted with her would believe that, and such a forgery is readily exposed.”

“It would not matter. The note would claim she was despondent over being discarded by Monsignor Hercules. The media would cause a furor.”

Marco leaned forward. “That might have worked. Any scandal implicating a Serengeti governor would dominate the media for a sevenday.”

Clarice shook her head. “Seigneurs Trevelyan and Herman knew all about the fraud and my suspicions about the larger goal. They would have known it was foul play and moved against Koralia and the retailer before they could act.”

In the interrogation chamber, Clyde was still chuckling. “Somehow, I doubt you could craft a believable suicide note.” He raised the whip.

“No! Do not. It was not me. Koralia sent me what to write.”

Marco looked at Rigel. “Was that in Milo’s slate?”

Rigel’s fingers raced over his slate. “It is not in the report.”

“Demon spit.” Marco lifted his slate. “Alert Clyde to hold for a moment.”

“A secondary slate,” Fletcher said. “And Koralia has one as well.”

Marco was tapping. “She has it at the healer’s enclave. I am ordering a militia search. It is unfortunate we cannot interrogate her, but the healers will not allow it.”

Although Seigneur Marco had confronted the woman, she denied everything. Eventually, they would gather the evidence they needed to prove her complicity, but for the moment, Milo was their only source of information.

At Clyde’s request, Clarice was about to join him in the interrogation chamber. Once it became certain Milo did not know the sponsor’s identity, their only recourse was to have him take them through every step of the intrigue in the hope of unearthing further clues. For that, Clyde needed her expertise.

At the sight of Clarice, Milo’s whining increased. “It was all Koralia’s idea. I did not want to do it!”

Clyde pushed aside a branding iron and pulled a chair over to the table for her. Setting her slate in front of her, Clarice accessed her secure archive.

Clyde began, “When did you first become involved in this intrigue?”

Clarice rolled her shoulders, setting off a series of aches. Milo was a pathetic bully. He would have thrown her over the cliffs without remorse and now he was sniveling and cowering in fear. As Fletcher had noted, he was also difficult to keep on topic.

After three periods they learned that he had approached Koralia after the third contract. He initially claimed it was to confront her about the irregularities, but a second stripe across his chest had him admitting he suspected fraud and wanted a cut. After that, they met at the Water Art Gardens to plot. It was not until the scheme had been running for over a year that he discovered it was part of a bigger plan. He had become concerned when Koralia increased the frequency of fraudulent contracts. There was too much risk that they would become noticeable.

That was when she informed him that their sponsor was intolerant of failure. If he did not continue to assist her, dismissal would be the least of his concerns.

That did not quite ring true. Clarice asked, “Why did you believe her?”

Milo looked confused. “Believe her?”

Clarice addressed Clyde. “Do you think he is truly that clueless?”

Clyde’s arm flew out, striking a backhanded blow to Milo’s face. “No.”

Milo screamed, blood pouring from his split lip. “I had to believe her.”

“Because she showed me a Hebrides account with a balance well beyond what we were getting from the retailer. Or could get.”

“How much of those funds did she share with you?”

His expression turned petulant. “None of it. I was to get my share when our sponsor was satisfied.”

Clyde paced around the bound man. “You have known about the larger plan for almost two years?”

“Not all of it. Only that it was set for when we had at least twenty contracts in place.”

There were eight approved. Clarice said, “You would have reached that target with the two in review.”

Anger flashed. “Until you interfered. We had to get rid of you.”

Clarice looked at Clyde. “He is lying. He knew all about the larger plan last evening.”

Two red stripes crossed Milo’s abdomen, and the man started to sob. “Please, no more.”

Clyde slapped him. “Enough. Another lie and the next strikes will be lower.”

Clarice would not have thought it possible for those tiny balls to recede further.

Shaking his head, snot running down, Milo said, “I figured it out. Not all of it, but enough that Koralia gave me the whole of it so I could provide more help.”

“When was that?”

“A few months ago. Seigneur Okoth was renegotiating our fleet maintenance service contract. The vendor tried to remove the ‘best terms’ provision. That was when I realized that the true goal was to get those penalty provisions revealed.”

Clyde’s eyes narrowed. “Recount this discussion.”

Meeting at the Water Art Garden was the perfect ploy to avoid monitor recordings. The garden captured visuals, but the rushing water distorted conversations. Which meant they had to rely on Milo, an unreliable narrator at best. Although Clarice had no difficulty believing that Koralia had been angry when Milo confronted her about the larger goal.

“I asked her how we were going to get copies of those contracts to our sponsor, so they could use them for leverage. That was when she told me about placing and cancelling the orders. At first, I did not understand, but she explained it would be significant enough for media attention. Serengeti would give our sponsor what it had denied for years, or they would get the governing council involved.”

Clyde caressed the whip. “What else?”

“I realized that could only mean Bright Star. Koralia was trying to take advantage of me. I demanded she triple my bonus. She said our sponsor would not be pleased, but I knew she had to be getting more than she had revealed for an intrigue of this magnitude. She could get more out of the sponsor or give me a bigger share of what she was getting; it was all one to me.”

Clarice wondered if Milo would have survived past the hiccup. She could think of only one cartel that had tried and failed to gain a place in Bright Star. If she was correct, they would not hesitate to murder. It was even possible that they had been the source of Koralia’s plan to murder Clarice. “Mr. Clyde, I need a moment with Seigneur Marco.”

Fletcher wondered what Clarice had heard that he had not. She picked something out of Milo’s self-serving narrative to need to speak with Marco. The seigneur must have agreed because the moment the door closed behind her, he demanded, “Who do you suspect?”

“Ayres. That bit he said about Serengeti giving the sponsor what they had denied for years.”

Marco nodded. “It would fit.”

Confused, Fletcher asked, “Denied? I did not know Ayres was considered for Bright Star partnership.”

The seigneur replied, “They were never considered. We could not form Bright Star without Matahorn, but Serengeti was not about to include the second among cartels along with the first. We would have lost control almost immediately.”

At the time, Serengeti had been fourth among cartels, and even with a majority stake in Bright Star would have had difficulty countering intrigues from both Ayres and Matahorn.

Clarice added, “The negotiations for the Nightingale communications markers went on forever. They tried every avenue to force their way into Bright Star in return for those markers. Eventually, Monsignor Horatio threatened to have the governing council audit every Ayres application from signet licenses to militia expansion if they did not cease.”

Fletcher wondered if part of Ayres’ play had been sabotaging the Nightingale. He started to ask and then realized Clarice was not within the security-privilege of that nefarious intrigue.

Seigneur Marco turned to Rigel. “Summon Mr. Clyde. We need to speak with Koralia.”

“Yes, Seigneur”—he tapped his slate—“but will the healers allow an interrogation?”

“Interrogation? No. But we have proof she was committing fraud. We have Milo’s testimony that she planned the attempted murder of Mistress Clarice and was in the employ of a Serengeti competitor. Of the three crimes, the treason will send her into the crevasse for the rest of her life.” He rose as Clyde entered. “Unless she names her so-called sponsor, then some leniency will be provided.”

Rigel rose, slate in hand. “Seigneur, it is too late.”

He gestured with his slate. “The woman is dead. The militia are investigating, but so far there is no evidence of foul play. They have searched the chamber and not found the slate.”

Fletcher was pleased when Clarice was sent back to the Serengeti House to rest. His relief increased when, summoned by Seigneur Marco to a secure conference chamber, Seigneur Trevelyan’s irate face filled a reviewer. “I find it beyond ill, and certainly beyond coincidental, that twice those who could shed light on a dangerous commerce intrigue are suddenly deceased. First that prize-hunter on Genji and now this woman on Fortuna.”

Clyde clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. “Is it possible that Eclipse and Ayres are allied in this?”

“It is not impossible,” Trevelyan replied. “But we do not know with certainty that Ayres was involved in this Fortuna matter. Eclipse setting a prize-hunter on Master Chrys could have any number of objectives. Bright Star is at the forefront of Serengeti commerce, but it is not our only interest that could invite espionage.”

“Mayhap.” Trevelyan continued to glare. “If we could manage to keep a conspirator alive, that would assist our investigation.” He turned his stare on Clyde. “Do you believe Milo is truly ignorant of the sponsor?”

“Probably. Koralia would not have wanted to give him that type of leverage. I believe he is more cunning than clever. It will be difficult to get reliable information from him, even with extreme means.”

Trevelyan nodded. “We have some potions that can be useful, but we need some notion of what questions to ask. You must remain with Fletcher. Someone else will arrive to take over Milo’s interrogation. See to it that Milo is secure in militia central. We need him alive.”

Enticing herbal-scented steam rose from the tub, promising Clarice soothing heat. Leaving his robe on the counter, Fletcher stepped into the heated water. The flex and play of his firm muscle shot little waves of desire through her center. He turned and held out a hand. She set her hand in his, relishing the strength of his arm as she followed him in. His lips sought hers, the light kiss adding to her desire.

His hands moved to her waist, careful of the sealant-covered bruises and abrasions. With the gentle firmness she was coming to expect from this touch, Fletcher lowered them into the water until they were sitting. The tub could seat them side by side, but he pulled her between his outstretched legs, encouraging her to lean back into his chest.

His lips feathered across her temple. “The healers promised the herbs and the hot water would ease your muscle aches. I saw how often you rolled your shoulders when dealing with Milo.”

The warmth that flooded her at the evidence of his attention and care had nothing to do with desire. “Some of the soreness is where the tracker was removed.”

“I wish you would have kept it. You are too precious to lose.”

“Then you will need to hold me close, if that is not too much strain.”

He chuckled at her teasing. “I enjoy having you in my arms.” One of his hands stroked her ribs. “If I could, I would hold you like this forever.”