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  The Shrillexian fell to the floor, dead, and Barnabas returned to his chair. He looked at the other captains and felt their fear. It was the fear of those who had followed bad leaders, who had believed that the innocent might be punished for the mistakes of the guilty.

  “I knew that he intended to lie to me,” Barnabas verified. “I know as well that the rest of you intend to meet my demands. There will come a time when it will be easier to take the well-paying job and not ask a question. There will be a time when you are tempted to tell people what you know of Devon. Do not. I will know.”

  The captains nodded, terrified.

  “You will go now, and you will take the mercenaries who are in the landing bays with you.”

  More nods.

  “One more thing,” Barnabas said. “These two prisoners. Who are they? Don’t speak,” he told the two of them.

  “Drakuz picked them up,” one of the captains offered. He cleared his throat. “He took their ship, and they were the survivors. He hadn’t decided what to do with ‘em yet when he got called to the base, so he just brought ‘em with him.”

  “I see.” Barnabas looked around at captains. “You may all go. Leave this place, and never return to it.”

  They almost ran, they were so eager to be gone, and Barnabas turned to the two prisoners.

  He studied them, testing the surface of their thoughts. The one in the robotic suit—a Jotun, Shinigami had told him—had thoughts that even felt like jello, though Barnabas wondered if that was just his mind tricking him based on the creature’s appearance.

  It was smart, though. He would have to remember that. Its mind was buzzing with schematics and plans, however strangely those thoughts might manifest.

  Tafa Boreir was a problem. More accurately, she was a question. The more time she had to be alone with her thoughts, the more Barnabas saw images flashing through them—strange landscapes, stylized portraits, abstract splashes of color so vivid that he almost got the sense of music from them.

  Still, he could think of any number of reasons she might hate Mustafee, and having an artist’s soul didn’t mean she was incapable of cruelty.

  Not by a long shot.

  He would have to question her further at some point, but for now, she was injured with nowhere to go. His course of action was clear—he would take both Tafa and the Jotun onto the ship, heal them, and determine their allegiances.

  If they were truly innocents who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would let them off at a safe station or base with enough funds to get back to where they wanted to be.

  If they weren’t…

  That wasn’t something he needed to think about just yet. Why waste time worrying about the future before the facts were known?

  Barnabas stood and nodded to them and Gar. “We should go.” Shinigami, is there anywhere else you can dock while the mercenaries are leaving?

  There’s a docking port that leads directly out of Crallus’ office. Pretty clever, though you’d have to be desperate to use it as an escape. I’ll put down there. Gives me a better angle to keep an eye on the other ships anyway.

  A few minutes later, Barnabas led the two former captives to the med bay. The Jotun simply needed maintenance on its suit, which Barnabas would attend to later with Shinigami’s help. He led Tafa to the Pod-doc, however.

  “If you lie down in here, we will fix your injuries and disable the control device implanted in your brain.”

  She gave him a look that was far too shrewd for comfort. “What if I’m your enemy? You didn’t seem sure before.”

  “I’m still not sure,” Barnabas told her. “But I’m not the sort of person who weakens my enemies with control devices and imprisons them.”

  “What sort of person are you, then?” she challenged him.

  Barnabas didn’t blink, though he sensed that her mind was suddenly flooded with images of torture. The methods were very inventive and had the weight of old memories, not just imagination. She had seen these things done to people.

  If she was part of Mustafee Boreir’s family, he wasn’t surprised.

  “If you are dangerous enough that I would need to take such measures,” he said gravely, “I will simply kill you.”

  This seemed to reassure her, and she nodded. “I’d prefer that.”

  “You’ve thought about this before.” It wasn’t a question. Barnabas stared down at her in the Pod-doc and read that she had decided this at a very young age.

  “My aunt had my parents punished when I was young,” Tafa told him. The images that accompanied this memory were brutally clear in Barnabas’ mind. “They weren’t executed until a few years ago, though.”

  “You miss them.”

  She turned her head directly toward him, and he realized that for a Yofu, that was the equivalent of a human looking away. With her eyes on the side of her head, she could not see him when her face was pointed right at him.

  “I don’t think about them,” she told him by rote. Her thoughts had closed off entirely. “I don’t really remember them. I just know I don’t want to die like they did.”

  Barnabas had the suspicion that Tafa had become an artist to make herself unworthy of notice. She had worked hard to make sure she was not a threat to Mustafee, and she had also spent a great deal of energy not thinking about the parents she couldn’t save.

  To his surprise, he felt a lump in his throat. Catherine’s decline had been relatively quick, but if he had been forced to live for years or decades knowing that she was in pain every day—

  The wave of black across his mind was sudden and strong. He swallowed and fought his way back from it. He would not go back to that place.

  “I do not indulge in cruelty for its own sake,” he stated, both to Tafa and the Jotun. “There are crimes for which I would judge you, but I would never do so without cause. Rest. We will heal you, and then we will determine what to do next. You will not be a captive or a slave no matter what happens.”

  He left before his thoughts could get the better of him.

  9

  “It has to be Virtue Station. It’s risky, but we can’t stay on this ship. We have to change over as soon as possible.” Uleq slouched in his seat, feet up on the desk in front of him. Since he no longer needed his hood, he had taken the time to dress his hair and done whatever else it was that Torcellans did with their appearances. Crallus wasn’t sure. He just knew he didn’t think much of it.

  He didn’t even grunt a response.

  “You object?” Uleq asked almost delicately. Crallus could hear the latent order in the male’s voice. If you’re going to object to my suggestion, you had better have a good one of your own.

  Like Crallus gave a damn. He grunted this time and looked away, shaking his head. Please let this conversation be over.

  Uleq didn’t take the hint. His boots thudded on the floor of the bridge, and he leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asked dangerously.

  “We left them to die,” Crallus burst out finally.

  The Torcellan stared at him incredulously for a long moment. His expression said that he could not even imagine someone being upset about this.

  “Of course, we left them,” he agreed finally. “The human was going to kill all of them regardless. We managed to save ourselves, but we could not possibly have saved the others—not with the humans in our systems. The only reason we got out at all was that this ship can be piloted manually. If it couldn’t be...”

  Crallus said nothing.

  The Torcellan’s frown deepened. “You closed all the doors and left the ones on the maintenance level to die.”

  “That was different,” Crallus argued. Guilt twisted his gut, but he pressed his point. “I did it because they couldn’t be saved, but the others might have been.”

  “Precisely. We did the same thing when we left.” The Torcellan looked smug, as if this were the point he’d been making all along.

  “It’s. Different.” Crallus
ground the words out. “I did what I did to save as many of my syndicate as I could. To protect the group. What you did admits that there is no group. That’s a failure. A leader who fails like that isn’t a leader anymore. If that many of their soldiers die…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but he couldn’t escape it in his own head. Then they deserve to die too.

  He could tell himself that he hadn’t really known Uleq intended to leave without the mercenaries. It was even true…sort of. It wasn’t like Uleq had explained the plan. He hadn’t mentioned the mercenaries at all. It was conceivable that he might have had a plan to get the soldiers out, especially when he took them to the second and cunningly hidden set of trams, which couldn’t be vented to the outside.

  He had known what sort of person Uleq was. It had been abundantly clear that Uleq cared only about himself. He had wanted the mercenaries because he believed they could help him capture the Shinigami and take control of the Yennai Corporation. Otherwise, they were expendable.

  Presumably, he felt the same about Crallus. He had probably kept Crallus around half because he couldn’t outrun him on the way to the ship, and half because he thought Crallus would help him find a new group of mercenaries.

  Like hell, Crallus would do that.

  “Those mercenaries were not just pieces on a game board,” he said angrily. “They were my responsibility. Some of them were my friends.” At least, they had been so before he took over the syndicate. No one was really a friend after that. It was a side effect he hadn’t considered—that they would become potential challengers.

  Still, he hadn’t wanted to throw them away for no good reason. He had tried to protect them, no matter what Fedden had said.

  The Torcellan looked at him so blankly that Crallus wanted to laugh. It was almost funny. It really was. The concept of mercenaries as friends—as people—was so far outside Uleq’s thought processes that Crallus’ words didn’t even make sense to him.

  The Torcellan really had just thrown all of them away as a failed gambit; a learning experience that he would account for in his next plan.

  It made Crallus want to strangle him.

  Then Uleq gave that small, superior smile Crallus had always hated. “You left them to die, too,” the Torcellan told him with a shrug. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. You left to save your own skin.”

  He turned to the instrument panel with the air of someone who had won a moral victory and Crallus stared at him, his breath coming in short gasps.

  He hated Uleq. He hated him more than anything.

  But he was right.

  Barnabas bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Gar to attack. After the battle at the syndicate’s base, Gar had showcased a similarity between human and Luvendi physiology: he had fallen asleep so suddenly that he hadn’t even made it out of the shower.

  Shinigami had turned the water off, dimmed the lights, and declared there wasn’t much more she could do. Barnabas, she suggested, could bring a pillow.

  Barnabas had disagreed with this assessment.

  After a good few hours of sleep—enough to fix the subsequent crash after the adrenaline from the fight—Gar had appeared sleepily in the main part of the ship, rubbing a crick in his neck. Barnabas was certain that if he’d had any hair, it would be sticking up straight on one side. The Luvendi inhaled about three times what he usually ate, and passed out again on his plate.

  This time, Barnabas did bring him a pillow.

  There wasn’t any particular rush, after all. They were trailing the unnamed ship that held Crallus and Uleq, having caught up with it after the base had fallen.

  Shinigami had rigged the facility to display a warning message to anyone who tried to land there or take it over, leaving Barnabas to contemplate what to do with it. It wasn’t a very useful location for farming, but perhaps a factory?

  Something to decide later. For now, since Gar was finally back upright, Barnabas would focus on sparring.

  Gar rushed him, surprisingly quick on his feet, and Barnabas nodded approvingly as he rolled out of the way. They circled for a few more seconds before Gar rushed again. Again, Barnabas slid out of the way, and Gar looked around, surprised that his adversary had disappeared.

  The third time Barnabas did it Gar growled, “Why won’t you fight? We were supposed to fight!”

  Barnabas said nothing, but a little smile played on his lips as he waited.

  He was not going to attack. It was important that Gar learn about frustration. Right now, Gar felt invincible and wanted to use his new physical strength to solve every problem. He needed a reminder to use the skills he’d spent a lifetime learning before his enhancements.

  If he was going to be a part of Barnabas’ team, he needed to learn to fight with his mind as well as his newfound strength. There would inevitably come a time when the odds arrayed against him were so great that he would walk into a trap if he didn’t plan things carefully.

  Gar believed he lost to Barnabas because he didn’t have as much strength and speed, or as much experience. While true, this concealed another truth: he wasn’t planning his fights at all.

  As Gar darted at Barnabas again, Shinigami reported, “They’re making plans to dock at Virtue Station. As far as I can tell, they don’t know we’re behind them. It could be a ploy, but I don’t think it is.”

  Barnabas rolled out of the way of Gar’s charge, but he felt fingertips brush him as the Luvendi went past. Gar, knowing that Barnabas tended to go sideways, had grabbed for him. Barnabas nodded at his opponent as he came to his feet and returned to his circling.

  “Good,” he told Gar. “I think you’re right,” he added to Shinigami and Gar. He’d added in the distraction of mental discussion during the sparring sessions.

  After all, it would be a part of Gar’s experience in combat.

  The next time Gar charged, Barnabas saw him look for some clue as to whether Barnabas would go left or right. Barnabas tapped his sternum as he moved. “Watch the core,” he told Gar. “That’s where all movement begins. Even strikes.”

  Gar might be tired and new to this, but he was willing to learn. He charged again, and this time he managed to follow Barnabas as the man jagged left.

  Unfortunately, he forgot to think past catching Barnabas, and so caught a punch to his chest. Gar’s eyes went wide and he wheezed as he doubled over, hands still clutching Barnabas’ shirt.

  Barnabas allowed him no respite. He hauled Gar upright and punched him in the face. One strike after another, he drove the Luvendi back across the floor.

  “You were winded,” he told Gar brutally, “but the fight doesn’t stop when you get injured.” Another strike, but this time he grabbed one of the Luvendi’s long arms and flipped him onto his back. The distribution of weight was similar enough to a human that the same techniques worked, although a Luvendi’s shoulders were set up differently. “If you stop the fight when you get hit, your enemies will take the opening, and they will kill you. Also, since you got your breath back a few seconds ago, you have no reason not to be fighting back right now.”

  Gar struggled up and landed one weak punch. He made one last half-hearted effort and charged at Barnabas with a battle cry.

  Barnabas didn’t hesitate. He slid smoothly out of the way and let Gar face-plant into the wall. The Luvendi slid down, looking somewhat dazed. Barnabas noticed the Jotun and the Yofu standing in the doorway, staring slack-jawed at the scene in front of them.

  “He’ll be fine,” Barnabas assured them.

  Gar moaned slightly from the floor, though whether it was in agreement or disagreement, Barnabas couldn’t say.

  Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to ask the Yofu more questions. Keep an eye on Gar, would you?

  What am I now, a nurse?

  I hope not. God help your patients.

  I’ll have you know I have an encyclopedic knowledge of human physiology and diseases and the computing power to accurately diagnose problems in seconds t
hat would take human doctors weeks.

  Mmm, and you’ve never once done that, have you?

  Of course not. I have more important matters to attend to. But I’ll keep an eye on Gar for you.

  Thank you. Barnabas wiped his face with a towel and headed out. Time to learn all he could about Tafa.

  10

  Barnabas saw the Jotun lurking as he came into the hall, and that gave him a sudden idea.

  The Jotun species clearly thought they were superior to all other alien races, taking great pride in their intellect. If Barnabas were to question this one—Jeltor, was it?—the alien would be insufferable and take great joy in talking circles around Barnabas. He had already gotten the sense that it masked its true thoughts by concentrating on inconsequential things while he was around.

  That meant he had to catch it off-guard.

  And he was fairly sure he had a good angle—using its obvious condescension to Tafa against it. When he came out of the gym, he spoke brusquely to her.

  “I’d like to speak to you about your cousin.” He gave her a brief, hard look and waved negligently down the hall as he strode away. “I’m going to clean up. Wait for me in the second conference room. The ship will give you directions.”

  The ship? Rude.

  I’d rather they didn’t know everything about you yet.

  Oh. That makes sense.

  Mmm. Barnabas gave a respectful nod to the Jotun as he passed. He took his time changing, and offered a silent apology to Tafa; he’d explain all of this when he spoke to her. Then he wandered back out into the hall with a glass of water in his hand and his hair still somewhat wet.

  The Jotun, as he had hoped, was still lurking.

  He’s trying to get into my systems, Shinigami reported. I’m not sure it’s malicious, per se. It’s his way of learning about us. I’m feeding him false information, though. I don’t think he’s caught on.

  Barnabas tried not to grin evilly. Good. See what you can get from him in the meantime.

  Oh, I am. Their suits are actually very impressive. I’ll be selling this to Jean for sure.