Killbox

“Be discreet,” I warn.



Hon raises dark brows. Okay, that was stupid. He stands over two meters, with lovely dark skin, a shaved head, and two gold-alloy teeth in front. People are going to remember him, no matter what he says or does.



I sigh. “Never mind. Let me know if you find anything.”



First off, I call Dina. “You feel like some shore leave?”



“Sure,” she says. “Where should I meet you?”



I give her succinct directions to the garden market, adding, “And do me a favor—can you read the Tarnusian characters on the wall on the way in from the docks?”



“You think it’s important?” Surprise colors her voice.



“The patterns rang a bell for me, but I can’t say where I saw them before. I thought maybe the accompanying message might clear it up.”



It could be as simple as partisan propaganda. Regardless, on a station full of raiders, smugglers, freebooters, and Farwan loyalists, it doesn’t hurt to sniff out the political climate. If a revolution is boiling up in the pot, I’d rather get in and out before we’re caught in the middle of it.



“Got it. I’ll input it word for word on my handheld. Anything else, boss?” Her tone carries a mocking lilt, but she’s called me that before—and meant it. We both know it.



On impulse, I say, “Yes. Bring Loras.”



People mill past, circulating through the marketplace. They’re talking and shopping, making plans for later. I find myself watching them with envy because they don’t have to worry about what goes on in the wider galaxy. Nobody’s looking to them for help or guidance. Unless Perlas Station is attacked, they just don’t care. Usually, I don’t regret any of my choices, but for a moment, I can’t help but wonder what that would be like.



But I have to be honest; I’d be bored stupid. I need the constant rush that comes from leaping from one catastrophe to another. I grin and content myself with experiencing a quiet life vicariously, via two girls talking about some guy they like.



By the time Dina and Loras catch up to me, I’ve bought a jaunty new hat, which thrills me because it’s the first time I’ve used my own credits for anything in ages. The old Jax wants to proceed to the nearest bar and buy drinks until I’m the most popular person in the place, everybody’s best friend. Ruthlessly, I crush her dreams.



“I have your translation,” Dina says by way of greeting. “ ‘You heard my call once. Here I die until you call me again.’ It’s signed ‘The oppressed shall rise.’ That’s this symbol.” She indicates three wavy lines with a dot beneath them.



“What does it mean?” Loras asks.



We both glance at Dina, who shrugs. “If it’s related to recent upheaval on Tarnus, I wouldn’t know. I don’t even look for updates on the vids.”



Well, I can understand that. Dina was a princess in her former life, until revolutionaries deposed her family and exiled her from her homeworld forever. I wouldn’t keep up with what was going on back home, either. Though I don’t say it aloud, I hope there are no dissident factions waiting for us to hit the mix like spark to dry kindling.



“Maybe it’s not relevant. Where should we start looking for Evelyn Dasad?”



“She won’t be in the directory unless she received permanent status,” Loras muses.



Dina runs a hand through her fair hair, thoughtful. “I don’t think she’d still be in the infirmary unless her injuries were really severe.”



I shake my head. “Vel made no mention of it.” It goes without saying, he would. He’s nothing if not thorough and precise. I didn’t like leaving him on the ship, but we would attract less attention by doing so.



“A bar is the logical place to start,” Dina says knowledge-ably. “Let’s ask a vendor which one has the best gossip and go from there.”



CHAPTER 20



The consensus in the market is that we need to visit Rafferty’s on the second level of the promenade. As soon as we hit the second level, the crowd and the flashing red signs point us the way to the “Pearl of Perlas.” I’m partial to the animated clam accompanying that particular advertisement.



Music thrums from inside the bar. This is the kind of place I would’ve loved once—too bad I have work to do. I school myself to ignore the dancers and fall in behind Dina, who’s best suited to shoving her way toward the bar. Her solid strength forges a path for Loras and me. When we shoulder up beside her, she’s already ordering drinks.



Loras looks a little overwhelmed by the place, but he’s drawing attention from all comers: male, female, and other. The man is simply too pretty for it to be otherwise, even now. I grin as one of them tries to chat him up.



Handing over her credit spike, Dina pays for our booze, and I snag mine, a pale amber something. If I know her, it’ll put me on my ass if I’m not careful. I take a sip. Yep, it’s potent, but I don’t sputter as it blazes down my throat. After the homebrew I drank in Wickville, this is smooth in comparison.



When the servo whirs down the counter toward me, I tap the “personal service requested” button. Bots can efficiently mind a bar, but they’re not good with questions, unless they’re preprogrammed. Like, Where’s the hydroponics garden? or Where can I get a new shockstick?



Dina leans over and whispers, “Should we rescue him?”



The woman who cornered Loras has a shock of bright red hair running in a striped tail down the center of her head. She’s humanoid, but I don’t think she’s wholly human. Maybe she comes from a colony that interbred with the native population because she has heavy epicanthic folds and webbed fingers. Humans are wonderfully adaptive.



I shrug. “Not unless he looks to us for help, or she tries to drag him off.”



We nurse our drinks for five minutes, waiting for someone to answer my page. In that time, two men and a woman try their luck with Dina. She puts them off politely but firmly. Good on you, Your Highness. You really do love Hit. For a few span, I consider teasing her about twu wuv, after all the shit she gave me about March.



Dina interprets my expression correctly, and her eyes narrow. “Don’t start.”



Before I can decide whether it’s worth the risk, a man jostles me. I think he wants to order, so I ease back from the counter. When it happens a third time, I spin to face him.



“Do you need something?” I ask, trying to be polite.



We can’t afford to get kicked out of here before we ask a few questions, but I can’t stand being manhandled by strangers. My muscles are coiled, ready to knock a few of this guy’s teeth out as an object lesson against hassling random women.



“Hey, it is you,” the idiot exclaims.



“Huh?”



“You’re Sirantha Jax.”



A groupie. I would’ve thought people had a shorter memory. I’m not on the vids anymore. Shouldn’t there be somebody who’s replaced me by now?



To my dismay, he waves his arms excitedly until he has the attention of the whole room. “Guess what, folks? We have a celebrity here tonight!”



Oh, shit. I’d nearly forgotten about this.



My face heats as so many eyes are trained on me. Once, I gloried in this. I’d have jumped up on the bar and done a dance, given them what they wanted, until they were cheering me with wild enthusiasm. I give a half hearted wave and step a little closer to Dina. Dammit, I wanted to be discreet—I mentioned it to Hon, for Mary’s sake—and it turns out I’m the mission’s weak point.



“Show us your tits, love!”



“I saw ’em on the vids,” a drunk says. “They ain’t so great. Not big enough.”



Another agrees, “She’s kinda old now, too. I bet they’re starting to sag, unless she’s getting Rejuvenex regular.”



“Which one are you banging? The pretty bloke or the butch?” somebody shouts.



A wiseass near the back answers, “Both, if I know Jax!”



But they don’t know me. None of them do.



I don’t know how to defuse the situation because I can’t give them what they want, and the mood seems to be getting uglier. They begin rumbling about how I was the one that put half of Farwan’s people out of work, easy prey for raiders and the like. So now I’ve arrived in—and some would argue it’s richly deserved—my personal hell.



“Give us a kiss.” A guy nearby gets grabby, and his arms go ’round my waist.



I fight him back with an elbow to the sternum. “Hands off!”



My temper’s barely in check at this point. With a hum, Dina’s shockstick goes live, and the way she handles it clears a small circle around us. The music has stopped, and we’re ringed in half-drunk nulls. I don’t see a way for this to end well.



Until a tall man in black comes striding through the crowd.



He has long silver hair and a weathered, brown face, but he looks vital and vigorous. A goatee frames his mouth, which is compressed in a thin, angry line. Behind him come a couple of Peacemaker units, and the other patrons decide it’s not worth the hassle. With a low rumble, they return to their business.



“Are you prescient, Ms. Jax?”



I raise my brows at the question. “Excuse me?”



“I just thought you might be, as you rang for assistance before the trouble started. Maybe you saw it coming.” The stranger flashes me a white grin.



“With her around, it’s not prescience,” Dina mutters. “Just a simple matter of playing the odds.”



“Let’s retire to the VIP lounge, and you can tell me what you need.” The tall man leads the way.



As long as it gets me out of here, I’m all for that. I glance back to make sure Dina and Loras are with me, then I pass through the automated door at the back of the bar. A short hallway connects to another area, one that’s smaller and quieter. The music is cool rather than raucous. The VIP lounge is decorated in shades of silver and blue, with a lush carpet underfoot. There are only five other people present, and they don’t look interested in our business. Excellent.



Our rescuer indicates we should have a seat. Once everyone is comfortable, he says, “I’m Erul McTavish Rafferty . . . but everyone calls me Mac. I own the place. I gather you’re not here to enjoy the ambiance?”



“The liquor is good,” I assure him. “But I’m looking for a friend.” I’m not keen on lying to someone who pulled me out of a tight spot, but I figure Evelyn and I would be friends if she had any idea who I am. “We heard this is the place to get information.”



He mulls that over. “Maybe I can help. What can you tell me about this person?”



“Her name is Evelyn Dasad, and she’s with the Science Corps. She survived a Morgut attack, and a freighter picked her up. They dropped her off here. I came as soon as I could.” All more or less true.



“Seems like someone as close as you purport to be would’ve heard from Evelyn, saying where she was, if she wanted you to know.”



Crap, he’s smart. I was hoping he wouldn’t realize that. I’m not going to be able to lie to him, so I don’t bother.