The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) Read online

Yes, school, exactly what Jamie wanted to do. “I know. And then they’re prepared for things that come up. They don’t have to look everything up in the middle of an emergency.”

  “You’re doing fine. You’ve more than earned your share of the company.” Ankari smiled. “Which is turning profitable now, shockingly enough.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that. That’s why—well, I’ve been wondering. I don’t really fit in on the ship.” Jamie scowled at her hands. She was doing a horrible job of this.

  “Not many women do.” Ankari smiled again, glancing back at Sergeant Hazel. Fortunately, Hazel was watching or reading something on her tablet and didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation. “But I didn’t realize—are you unhappy there? I know I didn’t take a vote before negotiating for the shuttle and our current lab space on the Albatross, but that was born out of desperation.”

  “I know.” When Jamie, Ankari, and Lauren had first crossed paths with Mandrake Company, they’d had a bounty on their heads. The captain had meant to turn them in until Ankari had convinced him that the real criminal was the finance lord who had placed the bounty. At some point, she had also managed to hire the mercenaries in a sense, garnering protection and space to work in exchange for a share of the company. Jamie thought it had been smart. It was just her own situation that made things uncomfortable. She didn’t know how to deal with all the male attention she received on board, and she spent a lot of time hiding in the shuttle or in the tiny cabin she shared with Lauren. “The ship is fine. And for you, I’m sure the crew is really nice and, uhm, polite.” Nobody would dare cross the captain, or his girlfriend.

  Ankari’s smile shifted to a scowl. “Is someone bothering you?”

  “No one specifically. I wouldn’t want… I mean, it’s nothing that the captain should be bothered about. Nobody’s tried to hurt me or force me to do anything. It’s just that…” She glanced back. Even if Hazel was reading, and Lauren and Sergei were too far back to hear the conversation, this wasn’t something she wanted to talk about in public. This was why she had hoped to catch Ankari alone. “What it’s really about is that I’d like to go to school, to a real university, so I could learn the things I’m just playing at now. Engineering, probably. I like piloting fine, but I like tinkering more, trying to fix things, make things sometimes.”

  Ankari leaned back in her chair. “Oh. I hadn’t realized.”

  “It’s nothing about you or Lauren or the captain. You’re great. I just feel like I don’t know enough, and that I should fix that, especially when people’s lives might be at stake.” It was a partial truth, but it sounded good, or at least plausible, she thought. In truth, the on-the-job training she was receiving from Lieutenant Sequoia and Lieutenant Chang was probably at least equal to what she would learn in school. They had already taught her a lot about engineering and piloting that wasn’t mentioned in the books.

  “Of course,” Ankari said. “I should have realized that might be an aspiration for you. You should go to school, study whatever you like. I’ll miss you, of course, but you are young to being running around with a bunch of grumpy, middle-aged mercenaries, and you certainly don’t have a combative personality.”

  No kidding. Someone had finally noticed she would rather shy away from confrontation and avoid trouble with people altogether.

  “I won’t hold you back, if that’s what you were worried about,” Ankari added.

  That was part of it, but there was also the matter of money. What would Ankari think about Jamie’s plan to sell her share of the company to pay for tuition and board?

  “Thank you,” Jamie said. “I also wondered about—”

  A bleep came from the control panel.

  “Proximity detector,” Sergeant Hazel said.

  Jamie bit back a grimace. She would have known that without help. “There’s a ship coming toward us, a one-person fighter. Judging by its trajectory, it originated on the planet and not on one of the cloud cities.”

  “The planet?” Hazel asked. “I thought the government made sure they didn’t have spaceflight capability down there. Or even a way to get to the aerial cities. Are they going to pass by us, or is it—”

  “An interception course,” Jamie said, watching the monitors. Another warning beep sounded. “His weapons are hot.” She had the presence of mind to flip on the shields, but her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. The only other time she had been fired at, their craft had been destroyed. What little she remembered of the crash flashed through her mind. Her breaths sounded in her own ears, too fast and hard. She forced herself to slow them down. Hyperventilating was never good, especially when one was the pilot.

  “Do your best to evade them.” Ankari didn’t sound nearly as panicked as Jamie felt. “The Albatross will see that we’re in trouble.”

  Evade them. Sure. The shuttle was still in the planet’s gravitational pull, following a higher orbit than that of the new ship, but Jamie didn’t know enough to judge how different pulls would cause the respective ships to react. She turned off the autopilot and took the helm, hoping her instincts would be enough to get them through this, and promising herself that she would start working on the giant file of navigational math problems that Commander Thatcher had sent her, so long as they survived this.

  A shudder ran through the shuttle. The fighter had fired its lasers. It was too far back to do any damage, but that might not be the case for long.

  A shadow loomed at Jamie’s shoulder. Hazel had unstrapped her harness and stood. She gripped the back of Jamie’s seat. “This is still a combat shuttle, even if it’s pink.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a combat pilot. I’m not even licensed legally yet.”

  Ankari glanced at her. “I thought you were licensed on your planet.”

  And so her fibs had finally caught up with her; she would have done anything to escape her family’s restrictive rural life, especially after her mom had died. She had spoken fast and lied faster when she had promised Ankari she was qualified to be her pilot and engineer. “I am. To fly crop dusters. You want your cornfield fertilized, I’m your girl.”

  “We have bigger engines, more power,” Sergeant Hazel said. “Push us to maximum. You should be able to stay ahead of him. Markovich, you didn’t have the missiles taken out did you?”

  “No, all of the weapons are still there,” Ankari said.

  “Good, either start shooting them or let me in there to do it.”

  Ankari slid out of the seat. “Show us how it’s done.”

  Jamie did her best to ignore Hazel and located the Albatross on the sensors. It was coming toward them. Good. She only hoped it would reach them soon enough. That fighter… “He’s gaining on us. I can’t believe how much fuel he’s burning. This is going to be a one-way trip for him. And he must know it.”

  “Damned straight it is.” Hazel hammered her palm on a firing button. A soft clang-thunk came from beneath the deck, a missile launching.

  Jamie watched the sensor screen with one eye, hoping that would be all it took. The missiles had a guidance system, didn’t they?

  The fighter fired its lasers again, not aiming at the shuttle this time, but at the missile. The hot crimson beam cut into the projectile. Jamie winced, expecting a fiery explosion. But the missile must have been armored, because it blasted through the laser without faltering. The fighter threw one of his thrusters into over-burn, and the craft dipped, skimming beneath the missile.

  “He’s going to burn out before he even reaches us,” Hazel muttered. “Suicidal bastard.”

  “The Albatross is getting closer,” Jamie said, her eyes locked to the sensors.

  “Good, but that missile’s not done yet. We’ll get this kamikaze fool.” Hazel tapped the weapons panel.

  The small blip on the display that represented their missile curved, its own thrusters firing to bring it back around. But inertia had taken it far, and Jamie didn’t know if it would escape the planet’s gravitational field and get back
to the fighter with any fuel to spare.

  In space, she couldn’t see the face of the other pilot, not the way she could have in an air battle in the atmosphere, but she wished she could. She wanted to see into the man’s—or woman’s—eyes, to try and figure out whether craziness or a plan motivated the person.

  The fighter’s lasers fired again. A bunch of short bursts hammered the shuttle. Less power than she would have expected from the blows, and the shield strength barely dipped.

  Hazel fired a second missile. “That’ll give him something to think about besides shooting at us.” She prodded the comm panel. “Lieutenant Frog, are you still on duty over there? Any time you want to swoop in and display some cunning heroics, we’d appreciate it.”

  “We are en route,” came Captain Mandrake’s dry reply.

  Hazel looked sheepish when he responded personally. Her tone was considerably more respectful when she said, “Appreciate it, sir.”

  “You have my cargo?”

  “A shifty fellow in black? Yes, sir.”

  Though Jamie was trying to focus on the fighter and varying her route so it couldn’t close to fire again, she glanced back at their passenger. She hadn’t thought him shifty. He had been quite polite when he had rushed to her assistance, and unlike so many of the men in the company, he had looked at her face while talking to her.

  He was still standing in the back, leaning against the hull casually, watching the situation through calm hooded eyes. He either had a lot of faith in her or had been in a lot of space battles, because he looked like he could doze off at any moment. However, he did give her a slight nod when their eyes met. Ankari gave Jamie a nod, too, maybe thinking the look back was a request for support from the boss.

  Jamie nodded back to both of them, but jerked her attention back to the console when more laser fire splashed against the shields.

  Hazel growled. At the fighter, Jamie hoped, and not her. She didn’t know what else she should do. Commander Thatcher would doubtlessly flip around to face his opponent and engage in a cockfight, but she didn’t have as much confidence in her abilities.

  “Why isn’t he sustaining fire?” Hazel wondered.

  “It’s almost like a pattern, isn’t it?” Jamie watched the lasers pitter-patter against the shuttle. A dangerous pattern, she reminded herself, observing the percentage of remaining shield power take another dip. “Is he toying with us? Why would he? He must be aware of the Albatross approaching.”

  “Not for long. Our missile’s almost back on his ass.”

  On a whim, Jamie checked the flight recorder to make sure the incident was being preserved. What if—

  She sat up straight with a start. “Does anyone know Morse code?”

  Hazel frowned over at her. “Why would an enemy fighter be trying to send us a message with lasers?” She waved at the console. “The comm channel is open.”

  “Would someone from the planet know our frequency?”

  “The pilot could blast a message on all of the common frequencies if that was his intent. We would pick it up.”

  “And would the cities pick it up too?”

  Hazel looked at her sharply. “With the satellites in orbit, yes.”

  “I can read it,” spoke a quiet voice from behind Jamie’s seat.

  She hadn’t noticed Sergei’s approach, but she was quick to lean to the side so he would have a view of the exterior cameras. But the laser fire had stopped. She tapped a couple of buttons, so the flight recorder would repeat the sequence, even as she checked on the fighter’s position.

  “His thrusters are finally burning out,” Jamie said.

  “Missile’s almost on him,” Hazel said.

  “Maybe we should call it off. Until we figure out—”

  The sensor display lit up with a burst, and Jamie sagged in her seat. “The missile got him?”

  “Actually,” Hazel said, “I think that was—”

  “Y’all are welcome over there,” came Lieutenant Frog’s chipper tenor.

  Jamie turned to meet Sergei’s dark eyes. “Was it my imagination? Or was there a message?”

  “Morse code, yes.”

  “And could you tell what it said?” Jamie asked. He might not have had time to decipher it yet. He hadn’t pulled out a tablet to make notes.

  Sergei hesitated.

  Hazel sighed. “Spit it out, Zharkov. I don’t want to have to run it through the computer.”

  “We are in trouble. Your assistance requested. We can pay.”

  Chapter 2

  Several moments passed with Sergei standing outside the captain’s door, not waving at the sensor. Mandrake knew he was coming and would expect him to report, but at the same time, he would have heard about the incident with the fighter, and he might be wrapped up trying to figure out who had sent the craft. There were a number of countries and nomadic factions on the planet, all fighting for the few resources that remained after GalCon-protected freighters came down to pick up crops, botshen crystals, and petroleum. Sergei didn’t know more than that. He had merely been passing through on assignment.

  It was strange being back on the Albatross, in the same gray corridors, seeing many of the same faces, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He never would have expected the weird feeling in his belly, but it was there, nonetheless… the feeling that he had come home. But did “home” still want him?

  Sergei took a deep breath and waved at the sensor. It wasn’t so much that he feared interrupting Mandrake; more that he was reluctant to share his news. What if Mandrake thought Sergei wasn’t here to report that bounty but to collect it? Fifty thousand aurums would solve a lot of people’s problems. Sergei wished something as simple as money would solve his.

  “Enter,” came Mandrake’s voice over the speaker as the door slid open.

  Sergei stepped inside and gaped as soon as he crossed the threshold. The corridors might have been the same, but Viktor Mandrake, the man who never sat down, had a couch and coffee table in the middle of his cabin, occupying a space that had always been open for a punching bag that could descend from the ceiling. The woman. Ankari, wasn’t it? This had to be her influence. A few other feminine touches had been added to the sparse cabin—perky teal towels for the kitchenette, a lush white rug covering the friction mat flooring, and bright flowering plants peeping from the grow system that housed Mandrake’s beloved dwarf apple trees. His weapons collection and family portraits were still on the walls, otherwise Sergei might have thought he had entered someone else’s cabin.

  “You met Ankari,” Mandrake said from the standing desk next to the porthole, guessing what Sergei had been thinking.

  “Yes. She’s pretty.” A vapid compliment, but Sergei hadn’t spoken to the woman during the flight, everyone being rather distracted by the attack that turned out to be an attempt to communicate. Besides, against his better judgment, he had been spending more time paying attention to Jamie.

  Mandrake grunted. Still as garrulous as ever. A few flecks of gray were sprinkled into his dark hair, but other than that, he hadn’t changed much. He still had that dense armoring of muscle that, at first glance, gave the illusion that he might be slow in a fight. Sergei knew better. Sergei’s lean wiry build and fast-twitch reflexes let him dance circles around most opponents in the boxing ring, but Mandrake’s muscles twitched just as quickly. He rarely got hit. And when a man did land a blow on him, he was lucky to do any damage. Sergei almost smiled, remembering how cocky he had been as a young private, fresh from his assassin’s training. And how he had gotten angry and challenged then-Sergeant Mandrake to a brawl. Sergei still had a scar from that battle. Rather than having a medic repair it, he had kept it as a reminder of the lesson learned.

  “You looking for your old job back?” Mandrake asked.

  That wasn’t exactly what had brought Sergei to the Albatross, but out of curiosity, he asked, “If I were, would it be available?”

  “Always available for you.”

  “But not for others with my sk
ills?” Sergei doubted Mandrake Company employed an assassin, a dedicated one, anyway. Once upon a time, Sergeant Mandrake hadn’t been tickled to have one added to his squad, especially one who had lied about his age and entered the service at fifteen. Funny how Mandrake had been the first person to figure that out. Sergei had always been tall for his age, and he had sprouted chin hairs young; even if the ones he had worn to the recruitment office had been glued on, he’d had a decent set of his own by the time he had finished training at sixteen.

  “Kept the job for you. Figured you’d get bored and be back. Twenty-five was young for retiring.”

  “I was older than that,” Sergei said dryly, though he hadn’t been much older, he admitted. He still had a couple of years to thirty, but at times, he felt old enough to have some of Mandrake’s grays. Because he’d never had a childhood maybe, or because he’d seen so much of the dark side of human nature, so much of his own dark side. More than a man ever should.

  “And the rest?”

  “You’re right. I was bored. I tried not to be. Didn’t want to miss the job.” The killing, Sergei added silently and gazed wistfully toward the porthole and the distant stars. “Didn’t like what it said about me that I did.”

  Still leaning against the end of the desk, his arms folded across his chest, Mandrake gazed back at him without judgment. He was one of the few people who did. Maybe because he had killed as many people, if not more, in his day. The difference was that he shot men in the chest, not in the back. Sergei supposed it didn’t matter in the end, the result being the same, but society said one act was brave and one was cowardly. Sergei had looked a few men in the eye and killed them in a fair fight, but it was the challenge of the hunt that drew him, the stalking, the seeing without being seen, the striking out of the ether, a phantom never heard, never sensed.

  “I might take the job for a while, as long as you’re offering it,” Sergei said, “but there’s another matter that brought me here.”

  Mandrake’s gaze did not waver. If he had a curious bone in his body, it never showed.