Vicious Circle Read online

  The other ephem allowed itself to be expelled from Kila’s body on an exhaled breath, snaking into the ship’s ventilation system before it could be spotted by any of the drunken revelers. It traced the ductwork, following the metal shafts, turning at sharp angles, until it arrived in Captain Vargas’s darkened quarters. Under the bunk it waited, but not for long. The laughing couple came through the hatch and paused in the sitting area, not bothering to raise the lights. Vargas pressed the assassin against the bulkhead for a fierce kiss. She in turn rolled him so she held the controlling position. They groped at each other’s clothing in the shadows cast by the dimmed recessed lighting.

  Various fabrics hit the floor, some kicked onto the furnishings, others remaining where they fell. Soft grunts, whispers, and sighs followed.

  The ephem left its hiding place and darted around the one called Cor, attracted by her tempting drunkenness and the tang of lust but wary after its last encounter with the assassin’s powerful mind. Unwilling to risk oblivion, it entered the pirate captain instead and set about tapping into Vargas’s thoughts and plans.

  Distracted by Cor’s darting tongue and stroking hands, Vargas’s hidden agenda lay unprotected against the ephem’s search.

  Deviousness and betrayal tasted sweeter than intoxication. Vargas proved to be a being worthy of admiration in that regard, one to be introduced to He-Who-Had-Created-It under other circumstances.

  But not now.

  The ephem found itself in the unlikely position of undoing misdeeds, or at least attempting to do so. It tried to alter Vargas’s mind, change his course, but other factors more threatening than anything the spirit could fake were involved. If the pirate captain changed his path now, he would be punished by outside forces, perhaps to the point of death.

  The ephem could not convince him to take suicidal steps. Man’s will to live overrode all else. Unless Vargas already had a death wish, he could not be coerced to place himself in assured mortal danger.

  Instead of affecting Vargas, the ephem would have to work with Cor. But it couldn’t risk entering her again.

  By now the twosome had reached the bedroom and flopped onto the wide, thick mattress. They rolled, vying for the top position, slick skin sliding and breaths coming fast. Cor won the dominant seat, straddling the wide girth of the pirate captain and lowering herself to sheath him within her. She braced herself with her palms flat against his hairy chest while he rocked his hips upward in a gentle rhythm. Cor’s groan of pleasure rippled through all three of them, including the entity within Vargas.

  Somehow, Cor needed to gain an advantage. Between her drunkenness and the physical exertion, she’d sleep hard and sound for hours after their lovemaking. She’d be weakened and oblivious to the actions around her.

  Vargas was not nearly as inebriated as he appeared. The ephem knew he’d taken an antitox tablet before the feast, reducing the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed. Regardless of the sexual activity, which currently looked like it might last hours, he’d awaken and be fully functional long before Cor.

  A plan formed in the ephem’s consciousness. It found Vargas’s memories, sorted through them, and sent specific images to the forefront of the pirate’s mind: a time he’d walked in on his heavyset mother, naked; a painful three days he’d spent recovering from a sexually transmitted disease that left red lesions on his penis; the time his religious and overly strict father caught him masturbating in a storage closet.

  To his credit, Vargas tried to bluff his way through it, but after a few more pumps of his hips, he groaned in exasperation, and his flaccid member fell from within its sheath. Through his eyes, the ephem watched Cor’s face, a mask of annoyance, frustration, and disappointment. She rolled off, mumbled slurred words of insincere condolence, and attended to her own needs with a few strokes of her deft fingers. Then she sank into a deep sleep.

  Vargas cursed into his pillow and slept as well, first setting an earbud alarm to wake him in two hours without disturbing Cor.

  Satisfied Cor now had at least a fighting chance of getting enough rest to be alert when she needed to, the entity abandoned Vargas’s snoring figure and seeped back into the ventilation system to rejoin its companion in Kila’s body.

  A bump and shudder in the Regiment 1’s frame woke me. At first, I thought we’d docked with an orbital station.

  Intercourse with Vargas proved short and unsatisfying. Contrary to popular belief, size wasn’t everything. Since little time passed, intoxication still muddled my brain. I tried to concentrate on my surroundings and failed. Warning bells sounded in the back of my head, but I couldn’t identify the cause.

  I rolled over, muscles sore from Derrick’s weight, though I hadn’t let him be on top long. The dim cabin lights cast everything in shadows, but it didn’t take much time to figure out the captain was gone. Sirens screamed in my subconscious.

  I threw off the thick coverlet, as black as the carpeting. The ventilation system blew chilled air over my naked form, sending shivers through me. I padded out of the sleeping area, steadying myself on the doorframe. Disjointed images of hasty stripping, fevered kisses, and frantic groping floated in my mind’s eye, and I groaned. What the hell had I been thinking? My clothes lay scattered about—pants on the chair, shirt on the love seat, boots, jacket, socks, and undergarments on the floor.

  My weapons were missing.

  I double-checked everything. I hadn’t worn my pistols to dinner, but Vargas found the knife I’d had in one boot, just in case, and another concealed in the lining of my jacket. The concerns dulled by the alcohol snapped into clear focus. Lissex didn’t have an orbital station. It rested too far out to warrant such an extravagance. That bump I’d felt earlier meant we’d docked with another ship.

  I grabbed my clothes, yanking them on in jerks and fits, trying to maintain my balance as I stagger-stepped into my pants and pulled at my boots. All the while I fought blurred vision and a growing nausea. Suspicion gnawed at me, and I wondered if Vargas drugged my ale. Not that he’d needed to with the amount I’d drunk, but I felt unsteadier than I should with adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  Moving to the hatch accessing the central corridor, I palmed the opener pad. Nothing. I tried the internal comm system by the door and tapped in a request for a connection to the guest quarters. Static blared from the tiny speaker.

  Shit.

  I scanned the room, searching for something I could use. One of the erotic paintings hung askew. I grabbed it with both hands, wrenched it from the wall, then brought it down over the back of an armchair, shattering its glass and its frame. My old arm wound ached, but I ignored it.

  My breath came hard and fast. I dropped to my knees and sifted through the debris, coming up with a long shard. Standing, I dug it under the control panel for the hatch, barely noticing when I sliced open my palm and blood ran down my arm. The protective covering snapped free, and I threw it across the room to clang off the bulkhead. The glass I tucked under my belt. It was the only weapon I had besides my bare hands, and although those could be formidable, until the ales wore off, my martial arts skills were more than suspect. Burying my wrists in the wall, I grasped handfuls of conduits and dragged them out where I could examine them.

  “Lights!” I shouted, then almost sobbed when even those failed to brighten from the dim glow of ship’s night. Dammit, now he wasn’t playing fair.

  This wasn’t another raid on some new unsuspecting passenger liner. I could think of no reason why Vargas would drug and disarm me and lock me in his cabin. No reason, except one.

  Cold dread pressed against my rib cage. I’d underestimated Derrick, but it made sense now—the shabbiness of the ship, the need for repairs, the lack of funds, our chance encounter in the first place.

  Someone tipped him that I was on the passenger liner. Someone like the slavers, or perhaps another contact of his on Deluge. Derrick sold me out. He’d contacted the Guild.

  The Guild had arrived.

  Chapter 9
r />   HOT-WIRING A door always looks easier in the vids. Usually I used this skill for entering, not escaping—not that it made much difference. Even with Guild training, it took me longer to open the hatch than I would have preferred.

  I forced myself to stare into the bright corridor lights until my eyes adjusted. All the while my heart raced, and my muscles stretched taut for action. When I could see, I slipped out of the captain’s cabin, keeping close to the wall and getting as far from the bridge as fast as I could.

  Kila. What had that traitorous bastard done with Kila?

  If he’d left her in the guest quarters, I could retrieve her, pick up my spare weapons, and try to get us both to an escape pod. With the Guild, I’d built up a tolerance to many knockout drugs, and since I’d left, my stamina for alcohol had increased. It was quite likely I’d recovered consciousness faster than Derrick expected. Maybe he hadn’t bothered to move my new friend.

  I listened to the ship’s vibrations, felt them through the deck plates. The engines idled, at low use for station-keeping. We’d reached orbit around Lissex. A pod wouldn’t need to travel far to safety.

  Nice, neat plan. Nothing is ever that easy.

  My path would take me past the airlock. I couldn’t accurately estimate the amount of time that passed since I’d felt us bump another ship, but the Guild representative or representatives had to be aboard by now. The question was, where?

  Silence hung heavy in the corridor. I slid by several open cabin doors, their dark interiors like mouths straining to engulf me. From some of them, I heard snoring, at others, moans and cries of pleasure. The crew had drunk as much as I had or more, which didn’t explain Vargas’s resilience. I could only guess he’d taken an antitox tab before attending the feast. Right now I’d kill for one of those. In fact, I even knew whom I’d kill.

  I tried to think like a pirate as I continued to move. My headache returned full force, and a bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I brushed it away with a swipe of my sleeve. Vargas would want payment before turning me over to the assassin. The best place to conduct business on the Regiment 1 was the lounge, located amidships. I stood two meters from its hatch now, and it was open, flooding the corridor with additional light. Shadows crossed back and forth, as if one of the occupants was pacing impatiently. If I controlled my breathing and held still, I could make out voices.

  “Everything is in order. The transfer is complete.” Alek, one of the three masters who’d found me with Micah’s body. The one who’d gotten me in the leg with his poison-dipped blade back on Sardonen. Unlike most of us, Alek enjoyed killing, not for the good it did others, but for the act itself. He hid it well, but I saw it in his eyes, in his very being on the couple of assignments we’d worked together before I refused to work with him again. A shudder passed through me, and my thigh ached at the memory.

  “It’s half what we agreed.” Vargas. Rage burned inside me, boiling the acid in my stomach and creating a bitter taste in my throat. Up until this moment, I’d clung to some hope they’d tricked or coerced him, but no. It all centered around credits, and I was an idiot. I hoped it was a lot of credits, at least.

  “You’ll get the rest beamed to your account when my ship is clear. You’ve incapacitated her?”

  Derrick snorted. I winced. “She did it to herself. Quite the habit she’s acquired since you parted company.”

  I didn’t think I could feel any smaller. I was wrong.

  “I want two-thirds up front,” the pirate continued.

  “The Guild does not negotiate.”

  Heh. If Derrick Vargas had been Guild, this would never have happened. I’d saved Vargas’s life when I released him from that jail cell. In Guild terms, I’d incurred a life debt from him. Save an assassin’s life and he owes you his eternal loyalty.

  Save a pirate’s life, you get screwed.

  I heard someone large cross the floor and the creaking of furniture as he sat. Had to be Vargas. Assassins don’t weigh much, and Alek was no exception. “You’d better start negotiating,” the pirate countered. “You’re alone on my ship with my crew. I don’t appreciate alterations to the original deal.” After a prolonged silence, the pair began to haggle over my ownership.

  The wall held me up, because my knees wouldn’t have. Somehow I had to get past the open hatch, find the only friend I had, and steal a pod, and all I could think about was how I would prevent myself from vomiting and giving away my location.

  Approaching footsteps jerked my head up and cleared the disorientation, at least for the moment. I drew the piece of glass from my belt, prepared to defend myself with it as best I could. The shallow cut on my palm had ceased bleeding, but gripping the jagged shard reopened the injury, and I swore under my breath at the stinging pain.

  I couldn’t afford a close-in fight. That would bring the lounge’s occupants running, and they’d outnumber me three to one. However, I could throw the glass like a dagger. Something flying that fast across the doorway might go unnoticed, and the right hit would drop the new arrival with minimal noise, if I were very, very lucky.

  I raised the makeshift weapon, prepared to hurl it with as much force as I could muster.

  Kila rounded the curve in the corridor, both our bags over one shoulder. I’d underestimated Vargas, but he’d underestimated my friend.

  Stopping the throw brought physical pain. Every muscle in my arm tightened with the effort. I threw my free hand out in a halting gesture, nodding with satisfaction when she froze in place. I raised a finger to my lips, then pointed to the open hatch. A wave of dizziness hit, and I pressed the cool, smooth side of the glass to my forehead.

  Kila set the two bags down against the wall on her side of the door. She reached in the pocket of her skirt—Kila had changed clothes as soon as I’d let her discard the ruse of being my apprentice. No one believed it anyway, and our other charade worked just as well, perhaps better, for putting the pirates off guard. A tiny item flew in my direction, above the top of the hatchway. I caught it by reflex, closing my hand around the smooth capsule. Opening my fingers, I stared first at the antitox tablet, then at Kila, who shrugged one shoulder and grinned. At that moment, I could have kissed her.

  I downed the pill in one dry gulp, then suppressed a groan of relief as the rapid-release meds shot through my bloodstream. The tab’s chemicals scoured the remaining alcohol from my system, cleared my head, and quelled the nausea. The adrenaline component heightened my awareness to a fever pitch. I felt supercharged, though it wouldn’t last long. Whatever I was going to do, I’d better do fast.

  “What’s the penalty for people who break Guild rules?” Vargas asked. His voice carried into the hallway. He had to know they planned to kill me. Maybe he wanted the grisly details.

  I figured Alek would think himself above answering, but the master assassin went for the scare factor. “She murdered the Guild Leader. That requires a public execution, stripped naked in front of the entire Guild, the apprentices, the masters, and the new Leader, as a lesson to all.” Yes, assassins loved their traditions.

  Kila’s eyes widened at Alek’s pronouncement. I locked gazes with her, shaking my head slowly and firmly. Whether she believed my innocence or not, I couldn’t tell, but her posture relaxed.

  Before I could do a thing to stop her, she stepped into the open doorway.

  “Captain Vargas,” she called, no trace of tremor in her voice but a little higher pitched than her norm. “I was looking for Cor. Have you seen her?” She walked into the lounge. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  Assassins don’t kill innocents, I reminded myself, swallowing hard. Newly formed sweat ran down the back of my neck. The hand clenching the glass trembled. I couldn’t see her, couldn’t help her, couldn’t do a damn thing except listen to her soft steps crossing the room. I offered a prayer to whatever omniscient beings others believed in, any deity that might help her now.

  “Oh, is that your ship?” She padded farther away. Her flat sandals slapped on the deck pla
tes.

  It was a distraction. She drew their attention away from the door. I blurred past the hatch opening. When no sound of alarm rose from within, I knelt by the bags Kila left and pawed through mine, trying to identify the items while making as little noise as possible. I dropped the piece of glass and replaced it with a proper knife in my belt. A blackout bomb went into my pocket. I fastened on my belt holster and checked the charge on the pistol tucked snug within it. I eased the safety off the laser, muffling the click with my thumb.

  Standing, I took three deep breaths, letting each one in and out as slowly as my racing heart could manage. I listened to the voices, pinpointing each person in the room. They clustered together, presumably at the viewport on the far side. Judging from the muffled conversation, they faced away from the entry.

  Gun in hand, I stepped through the doorway.

  Taking a shot with a laser on a starship involves great risk. Even a tiny hole in a hull results in atmospheric loss, and my pistol packed some serious power. With both my targets and Kila against the viewport, the concerns outweighed the advantages.

  Alek sensed me before I opened my mouth to speak. He turned to face me, Vargas following suit a moment later. I watched with some satisfaction as the blood drained from the pirate captain’s face. Kila tried to ease away, but Vargas seized her by the wrist, holding her firmly in front of him.

  Wonderful. Now they had a hostage.

  The barrel of my pistol did not waver, but Alek’s expression was unconcerned. He looked from me to the viewport and back again, shaking his head. Before I could close the gap, he had his own laser out of its holster. I dove behind one of the four low couches in the lounge as he opened fire. Facing away from the hull, he could do so without much concern.

  Everything erupted at once. Alek’s first shot splintered the armrest of the couch and sent stuffing flying. My targets took cover as well, Vargas and Kila behind the bar and Alek behind a second couch. I kept moving, my head low and my body in a painful crouch. Every few seconds I popped up to fire at my former Guild mate. We were effectively dismantling each other’s barriers, taking the seating apart piece by piece with every blast.