Mississippi Sector, Midwest Station
“I invoke your wrath.”
Those four words turned the Jayhawker’s blood to ice. He raised his hand, a call to his bodyguards on the tip of his tongue. Kill him! But a claw wrapped around the back of his neck, and a second stilled his hand. ‘Too late,’ a hot, rancid breath washed down upon him.
Stars. The vice on his neck tightened, near choking him. Its talons were cold and sharp, each a knife poised to slit his throat. Still, none of the guards had moved. They can’t see it. Terror crawled up his spine. It’s going to kill me, and they can’t even see it. Their gaze was focused out the windows behind him, mouths agape with shock.
‘Dismiss your guards,’ it growled into his ear, splattering his skin with hot saliva.
A panic rose in his body, an irresistible urge to flee – to run as fast and far as he could from the thing that held him in its clutches. But its grip tightened even further, claws stabbing into the skin on his arm. ‘Say it.’
“G-guards,” he said shakily, “you’re dismissed.” They stared at him strangely, but he paid them enough not to hesitate.
‘Good little roach,’ the voice behind him crooned.
Calm as ever, the Admiral watched them go, even as the opening and closing of the door allowed the cry of alert sirens to spill briefly into the room. The Lieutenants on the couch in front of him were fixated on something behind the Jayhawker, jaws hanging open. The Admiral glanced to them, then to Cinderella as she stood on the other side of the room in her evening dress. “Knock them out.”
There was no force in the words, just a simple instruction, but to the Jayhawker’s horror, he saw the two Lieutenants deflate like a plug had been pulled. They simply collapsed onto the couch. Cinderella was slower to fall, but soon enough she was sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Only then did the Admiral move, stepping across the room to stand beside one of the hand carved tables that held a decorative, rod-iron lamp. He studied the Jayhawker for a long moment, reading the depth of his fear. “You can release him.” The man was no longer a threat.
‘Hmph.’ With a sigh of amusement, the talons disappeared from the stationmaster’s neck.
Coughing, the Jayhawker staggered over to his daughter. Trembling, he rolled her limp form over and tried to rouse her. Her chest shifted with soft and shallow breaths, but she didn’t wake. “Bastard,” he snarled at the Admiral, “what did you do to her?”
At least he cares about his daughter. Regardless of whatever else he was, even what she had become, they were still family. “She will not be harmed,” the Admiral told him, “but she will remain unconscious for now.” Cinderella was a notorious assassin, but she mainly worked in the underworld circles. Their infighting wasn’t something the Admiral concerned himself with.
The Jayhawker set his daughter down carefully, unnerved by her unresponsiveness. Still, on the other side of the couch, he could see that the Admiral’s men had suffered the same fate. Interesting. Slowly, he stood and dusted off his white pants.
Beyond the windows of his office, death sat and waited, long gun barrels raised and aimed. The Jayhawker could see their massive shadows from here. A seething anger radiated off the Singularity’s scarred hull. Wrath, yes, that was the word for such an emotion. The feel of it awed him as much as it terrified him. “A subspace jump.” That was the only explanation for her sudden appearance. “That’s impossible.” No ship could make that jump. The station’s coordinates were constantly changing. “How?” How had he managed to summon the ship here?
“I do not owe you an explanation, Mister Gadwood.”
Rage began to boil in the Jayhawker’s thoughts. “The hell you don’t!” None of this made any sense. “You can’t pull off the impossible, and then walk away like it never happened.” Not again. “I could feel it, that star-forsaken demon. It damn near took my head!”
“It still might, little roach.”
Frantically feeling his neck for evidence of a wound, the sound of that voice stopped him cold. It was familiar. Why was it familiar? Slowly, he turned his head to the creature behind him. He expected a monster, some incomprehensible nightmare, but all he found was a strange woman with white hair. Disgust tainted her expression, but there was a degree of eagerness to it, the eagerness of someone yearning to squish an annoying insect. She didn’t move. She didn’t have to. The Jayhawker stumbled back instinctively. “Demon.”
His fear was so very satisfying. The Admiral relished it for a moment. “Here is the deal, Mister Gadwood. You will allow me and my team to leave unharmed with our coordinates, and in exchange, the Singularity will not sink this station.”
Shaking the fear from his hands, the Jayhawker refused. “I won’t agree to that, you bastard.” The tables hadn’t turned on him entirely. “If you thought you could walk out of here unharmed, you would have done it already.” He glared at the Admiral, reading his silence. “I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t have any way to mitigate security unless I tell them to stand down and let you leave.” Whatever method had been used to knock out Cinderella, Jazmine and Gaffigan didn’t work on the guards. That was why they’d been ordered out of the room.
Admiral Gives regarded him calmly. “That may be true, but you also cannot keep us here.” Not with the Singularity here. “If you kill us, she kills you.” Mutually assured destruction. “But, hold us here for too long, and I will let her do whatever she wants to you.”
The stationmaster risked another look to the creature. Hunger was alight in its eyes, a cruel grin creeping across its expression. Pure darkness radiated from its presence, filled with only malintent. He shuddered. What is that? That creature, it was nothing but evil. There was a degree of chaos within it, a shade of madness to its very presence. “You’re in over your head, Admiral, with that demon.” It was a poison to the air around it. The fate of the one bound to it would be nothing so kind. “Even you can’t expect to control it forever.”
“Whoever said I did?”
He’s mad. “Do you even know what that thing is? What it’s capable of?” What had he bound to his ship and unleashed upon the worlds?
“I hardly think that should be your concern,” the Admiral countered. “Now, make your choice, Mister Gadwood. How do you want to die?” Did he wish to be blown to bits with this station? Left to the whims of the so-called demon? Or, did he want to live out the rest of his normal life?
A long silence answered, and it was then that Montgomery Gaffigan came to. He woke gently, the world fuzzy and distant, but it shifted slowly into clarity like a telescope finding its focus. The softness of the sofa cradled him. Voices had drifted by, their words unimportant, until he recognized the decorative lighting and suave surroundings. Midwest Station. He was still on the station. What the hell? This was no time to be passing out.
Ahead of him, he could see the Admiral’s stocky stature. That’s right, he remembered. The Admiral had come to bail them out on the mission. He remembered the man’s arrival, but everything after that was a haze. He started to pull himself up, then he saw the woman standing behind the Jayhawker.
White hair. Monty felt his breath catch, then he forced himself to remain limp. Hell fires in heaven. There she was. All his theories, all his suspicions, and there she was, a twisted smile resting upon her lips. I was right.
Monty felt no satisfaction from that realization, just a horrible, horrible sense of dread. There was an AI on the ship being hunted by the Erans, and it had taken Admiral Gives as its host. What do I do? At the moment, Monty could think of no better plan than to play dead. I can’t let it know I’m onto it. That thing would not have come here without some means of escape. That should guarantee his, Jazmine and the Admiral’s lives. Disturbed, Monty forced his eyes closed as the conversation in front of him continued.
“I’ll let you go, Admiral.” The Jayhawker finally said, conscious of that presence behind him. “I know I don’t have much of a choice. But I want something in exchange.” He would make this worth it in one way or another.
“This is not a negotiation,” the Admiral answered. “I offered you a choice. Pick one.”
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Feigning exhaustion, the Jayhawker stepped back to lean against the sofa’s curve. “Those weren’t very good options, Admiral.” He fixed his jacket once again as it rode up on his waist. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t sink the station if I let you go?”
“None,” Admiral Gives replied. “Only the assurance that I, unlike you, am a man of my word.”
“Tsch.” How insulting, the stationmaster thought. “My reputation was built on honesty. Yours was built on carnage.”
“You lied your way onto my ship thirteen years ago, and you have violated the deal you struck with my men.” That was dishonesty in its raw, ugly form. The Admiral on the other hand, preferred not to lie. He would avoid the truth, neglect it, but he did not lie. Lies were far too easy to be caught in.
“Their safety was not a part of that deal,” the Jayhawker said. “Jazmine knew the risks of operating aboard this station under false pretenses. Midwest Station does not deal with Command.”
“We are no longer a part of Command, and their safety was implied.” None of the station’s other clients had to fear detainment and execution. That would have been just as damaging to the stationmaster’s reputation as failing to complete a deal. “I doubt your trade would survive if you executed participants on a whim. Like it or not, the information we traded was legitimate. A deal was struck, and if this station is impartial in these matters, we have a right to leave with the information we traded for.”
The Jayhawker brushed his long brown hair over his shoulder, attempting to regain his composure. “Do not mock me with the code of underworld trade. It does not apply to you.” Gives had been a hated enemy of the underworld for decades. “This was an abnormal trade. I began to suspect you were involved, and still, Malibu Flower had a client willing to pay, even for only visual confirmation. They were not usual clients, but they also weren’t you.”
Hatred. Fear. Anger. The worst emotions churned through the Jayhawker’s mind. This situation was on a precipice. A touch of force this way or that would make it explode into violence. The ghost’s presence had evened the balance but could not tip the scales entirely in the Admiral’s favor. She could incapacitate the Jayhawker, but not the security guards, and there were too many of them to make it off the station safely without the stationmaster ordering them to stand down. That was the only reason this conversation was still going, much to the Admiral’s displeasure.
The Jayhawker watched the Admiral’s unfailing calm, trying to ignore the vile presence behind him. “Aren’t you going to ask me who they were?” Who would pay so much for a mere sighting of Singularity? “Especially since you know I don’t deal with Command?”
“Asking for that information would be a waste of my time, Mister Gadwood.” Much like this entire exchange. This debate was consuming precious time that would be better suited for planning the raid on Crimson Heart.
“Because you know I won’t give it to you?” the stationmaster smirked.
“Because he has no reason to ask,” the ghost corrected, watching the confidence slide off Gadwood’s face. “Why should he, when I would happily rip that information from your unwilling mind?” Not so confident now, are you, little cockroach? The Jayhawker stiffened unwillingly as she spoke, and for no other reason than her own satisfaction, she tricked his sensations into the little dance of a spider walking across the back of his neck, smiling as he swatted at it. “Of course,” she said coldly, “even I won’t bother wasting my time with you, since you don’t know the identity of the buyers.” His own memory betrayed that to her. “Only your broker has that information.”
The stationmaster shivered. “Keep that thing away from me,” he told the Admiral, unwilling to look it in the eye.
“I cannot do that, Mister Gadwood,” the Admiral said. “You condemned yourself to that fate thirteen years ago.” He had never liked to consider the Singularity a cursed machine, but that was a close approximation. Every man, woman and child that had set foot aboard those decks was marked. Call it a curse or a blessing, the ghost gained more power over those that had spent time aboard the ship. It allowed her to endow protection, give subtle comforts, but it also allowed her to twist the very memory and perception of those who made themselves an enemy. That power came at a cost, but it was extremely useful in situations like this, limited its targets may be.
The stationmaster backed himself up to the custom-built table that hugged the backside of the semicircular couch. He looked shaken, but the Admiral could read his intention. A comms relay had been built into the table to call security. He had noticed it several minutes ago. Why do they always do this the hard way?
In an instant he thought would be unexpected, the stationmaster scrambled for the button to call security back into the room. Desperation made him fast, but Admiral Gives was faster. Gaffigan and Jazmine’s confiscated sidearms had been placed on the wood table he’d chosen to stand beside. He grabbed one, flicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet caught the Jayhawker in the shoulder and threw him wide of his target. He landed at the ghost’s feet, writhing in agony as he clutched at his shoulder. Blood soaked through his jacket and coated his hand. Then it began to stain the decorative rug. She regarded it with little interest, then looked to the Admiral. “You missed.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he said, lowering the smoking gun. “As much as I would like to, if we kill him, then the entire underworld comes after us, and we enough problems as it stands.”
“If you weren’t trying to kill him, you could’ve electrocuted him.” The fleet’s standard-issue sidearm had an electric function meant to temporarily stun foes.
That was true, he supposed, but, “Some people just need to be shot.” There was something very satisfying about seeing that thieving liar squirming in pain on the ground.
It’ll keep him busy, she supposed, especially if she heightened his pain receptors a little. “Now what? I don’t think he’ll be calling off security now that you’ve shot him, so how exactly do you plan to get off this station?” Judging only from the fact security hadn’t barged in here the instant that gun went off, this room was soundproofed to protect the Jayhawker’s information trade negotiations, but that only bought the away team time. It still did not solve the issue of the station security guards. “I don’t have enough recordings to mimic the Jayhawker’s voice.” She could not fool station security by manipulating their perception, nor could she falsify a stand down order over their comms.
“No need,” the Admiral said, setting the gun down. “There’s always Plan B.” He used his foot to roll the stationmaster onto his stomach. Despite the roughness of it, the man gave no resistance, too preoccupied with the pain of being shot. “He looks like a perfectly willing hostage.”
She reconsidered the stationmaster’s blubbering cries. “Yes, I suppose he does.” Shock rendered his mind into a perfectly pliable putty. “He won’t give you any trouble, and he won’t remember a thing when he comes to.” Nothing important, anyway.
Admiral Gives looked around for something to bind the stationmaster’s hands. In the display cases of jewels and artefacts, he found nothing. Typical. Been here before. Without giving it another thought, he yanked the plain black belt off his waist and pinned the Jayhawker’s hands up high and uncomfortable on his back. The movement twisted his injured shoulder, and the stationmaster screamed and thrashed as Admiral Gives bound his hands.
Satisfied with the binding, Admiral Gives turned to the ghost. “Wake the Lieutenants, if you would.” It was time to move.
She moved as if to nod, then disappeared a little too abruptly. He tensed instinctively, ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her now-invisible presence.
Her systems had found an anomaly. ‘Gaffigan’s already awake.’ That should have been impossible.
‘How long?’ How much had Gaffigan seen or overheard?
‘Not sure.’ Something like that should have registered. She should have easily perceived that, but she hadn’t.
That’s a problem, the Admiral knew, but now was not the time to deal with it. They had to get off this station first. He heard the two officers start to move. Jazmine sounded considerably more dazed, but Gaffigan was focused and alert. “Lieutenant,” the Admiral called, tossing over the second sidearm. “Grab your pilot and our info. We’re leaving.”
Monty caught the gun and readied it by taking the safety off. He asked no questions, just stood up, put the folder with Crimson Heart’s coordinates into his jacket and grabbed Jazmine by the arm.
Admiral Gives readied his own gun, then reached down and hauled the stationmaster to his feet. The Jayhawker screamed as the wound on his shoulder strained painfully. Only then did Jazmine bolt fully alert, eyes going wide as he recognized blood staining the Jayhawker’s double-breasted jacket.
Admiral Gives didn’t give him time to ask questions. With one hand, he shoved the Jayhawker forward, the other holding the gun level with his hostage’s head.
Security was waiting for them in the hallway, but though the Jayhawker did little more than cry out in agony, they lowered their weapons. No words were exchanged. The threat was clear. If they fired, their boss would die and take their generous paycheck with him.
A dozen security guards in their black suits and red dress shirts shadowed them as they made their way back toward the endcap of the station. Admiral Gives used his hostage to escort Gaffigan and Jazmine to their transport and he stood at that airlock until their ship had safely detached from the station. His aim on the Jayhawker’s head was unflinching, so the guards only watched, waiting for an opportunity.
It wasn’t graceful, but the Admiral shuffled to the airlock his own craft had docked at, managing to keep the Jayhawker between him and the guards. They studied him carefully for a mistake, but none seemed eager to make a move. Good. This was always the tricky part.
He waited a moment in the airlock connection, letting the guards tense, then force themselves to relax. Then, without warning of the movement, he shoved the Jayhawker forward and slammed the station side of the airlock closed. With the stationmaster freed, the guards yanked him to safety and fired just a second too late. The bullets clanged off the metal of the hatch.
Admiral Gives wasted no time sealing off the Warhawk and overriding the station’s docking controls. Then, he hopped into the pilot’s seat and hit the thrusters, distancing himself from the station. And then, only then, as he reengaged the main engines and boosted onto a course for home, did he allow himself to relax. “I should’ve been a pirate,” he sighed. He had too much experience getting out of situations like this.
“You would be the worst pirate I have ever seen,” the ghost said, appearing in the copilot’s seat. “You walked willingly into a situation where you knew you’d be a hostage.”
“In the process, I rescued two crewmen, got the coordinates for Crimson Heart, and stole back the FTL key, all in less than three hours.” He figured that risk had paid off. “You’re welcome,” he snarked.
A cold, unamused chuckle escaped her. “Oh, we will talk about this when you get back.” Reckless idiot.
He tried not to wince.