Battle in the Belt (Stark Raven Voyages Book 3) Page 2

  "This lady pays for nothing!" he declared to the room at large. "It's all on me." He came over to stand behind her chair. "She saved us," he said. "When no one else would. When it seemed as if even God had abandoned us." His arms waggled in the air, his hands miming spaceships. "Their big black ship came swooping in out of the darkness of space, and we were saved."

  The dealer frowned up at him, her gaze going to a burly man watching alertly near the entrance to the card room.

  Liz stood quickly and took Edward by the elbow. "Thank you, Edward. Say, did you know they have real fresh coffee in the Copernicus Lounge just around the corner? Maybe you should have a cup."

  Just like that, his drunken expansiveness vanished and his shyness came crashing back in. He peered into her eyes with the solemn intensity of the thoroughly plastered and mumbled, "You think I'm drunk, don't you?"

  "Yes, Edward."

  He shook his head as if wounded by such an unjust accusation. Then his hand went to his temple. "The room spins when I do that. It must be the Coriolis Effect."

  "Must be," she agreed. "Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me? Let's go."

  "Oh, no, no," he protested. "You're playing cards." He favored her with another shy smile. "Don't worry. I'll go have a nice quiet cup of coffee." He glanced at the nearest waitress, mumbled, "Remember, she pays for nothing," then shuffled out under the watchful eye of the security goon. Liz smiled at his back, then sat down.

  "That was kind of you," said the blond man beside her. "I'm afraid I'm just like him when I drink."

  Liz chuckled at that. He seemed much too buttoned down to get messily drunk.

  "My name is Marcus," he added. He indicated the dark young man beside him. "This is Phillip. He's almost the only person I know on the station. He works in traffic control here on the station."

  Phillip nodded, and a wave of introductions went around the table. Liz forgot the names of the two women as soon as she heard them. The loud man's name was Alastair. He was trying to explain what he did for a living when the dealer interrupted him with a fresh round of cards.

  "What was that about?" Marcus asked, gesturing toward the doorway where Edward had disappeared.

  "We picked up a distress call," Liz explained. "A bunch of religious pilgrims, or something. They had a private station, and there was some kind of accident. We picked them up in a life pod."

  One of the young women looked up from her cards. "Was that the Iscariot Station? I heard about that."

  Liz nodded. "I guess they're with the Church of Judas."

  Alastair snorted, but made no other comment. Not everyone liked the C of J.

  "They're nice," Liz hastened to add. "Well, you saw what Edward was like. Anyway, we picked them up and brought them in. It was certainly the least we could do." That brought several nods from around the table. "Edward seems to think it was a big deal, but what were we going to do? Leave them out there?"

  "That's what you should have done," Alastair muttered. "Good riddance to them."

  Liz pondered a few choice insults. If she could get him to try something, she'd be able to deck him, maybe even get in a few kicks while he was down, without getting into too much trouble. She held her tongue. He still had money. She'd clean him out first, she decided. Then deck him.

  "I heard it was sabotage," Phillip said. "The station, I mean. A Solar Force cutter went out afterward. They said it looked like a bomb."

  That sparked a dark mutter from everyone except Alastair. Air was precious in the belt. You didn't just vent someone else's atmosphere into the void, no matter what you thought of their religion.

  The game resumed. After a couple of hands an argument sprang up between Alastair and the two ladies. When everyone's attention was on Alastair's bombastic declarations, Phillip leaned past Marcus and murmured, "Liz."

  She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

  "I wasn't sure if I should tell you this," he said. "I mean, I saw your ship. It looks like something pirates would fly."

  Liz felt her hands tighten on her cards.

  "But you helped those people. That's not something pirates would do." He looked in her face, and flinched at what he saw there. "Sorry," he said. "I hadn't met you. I didn't know."

  "What," she said coldly, "is your point?"

  "We got a message," he said. "Some corporation back on Earth. They're looking for your ship. They had descriptions of the crew, too. They're offering a reward for information. An even bigger reward if we seize your ship and arrest you until they can send a ship."

  Liz set her cards down and leaned forward in her chair, getting her feet under her, ready to move.

  "We don't do that," Phillip assured her. "But someone has probably sent them a message by now. I thought you would want to know."

  She leaned back in her chair. This was bad news, but the sheer size of the solar system meant that it wasn't urgent. She could still spend a night or two in the hotel. Even if someone had sent a message to Earth the moment the Raven arrived, even if the shadowy corporation had a ship in this part of the belt, it would take days, if not weeks, for a ship to arrive. The Raven would be long gone.

  "Let's play already," Alastair said, as if he hadn't been the one to derail the game in the first place. "I don't got all night."

  Liz picked up her cards, then glanced at Phillip. "Thanks," she said. "I guess I'll be heading out in a day or two. Better safe than sorry." She glanced at her cards, and felt a thrill of excitement. Three eights! She did her best to sigh in mock disappointment. Beside her, Marcus snorted his disdain of her acting skills and folded.

  "You might not have that long," Phillip said softly. "Some of the guys in the machine shop heard about the reward. Some of them aren't above breaking a few rules. Or a few arms. And it's a big reward."

  Liz cursed under her breath and pushed a pile of chips into the center of the table. Her luck was finally heating up and she was going to have to leave the game. Someone had to warn Chan and Joss.

  Phillip and the ladies folded. Liz, in her impatience, couldn't decide if she was glad or disappointed. Alastair studied his cards, then peered suspiciously at Liz.

  "Let's go," she said. "I don't have all night either."

  He flushed, scowled, and raised. Liz grinned, pushed out a matching pile of chips, and laid her cards on the felt. She stood, scooping chips into a tray to cash out. "Thanks, folks. I have to go."

  "Not so fast," Alastair snarled. "I need a chance to win my money back."

  Liz ignored him, dropping the last of her chips into the tray.

  Alastair stood, his face red. "I said, not so fast." He started around the table.

  The urge to stay and teach him some manners was strong, but if casino security arrested her she might not be able to get a warning to her crew. "Goodbye, Alastair," she said. "Better luck next time."

  He rounded the corner of the table, and Marcus stood.

  "I can handle this," she murmured to Marcus.

  "I know." He gave her a devil-may-care grin. "But you're in a hurry, so allow me." Then, as Alastair reached a restraining hand toward Liz, Marcus punched him in the face.

  Liz, smiling her thanks, stepped around a couple of security guards as they converged on the fighting men. She shoved a credit chit into a cashier station, poured her chips into the hopper, and reached for her phone as she pulled the chit free.

  Chapter 2

  Joss sat in a darkened theatre, watching Humphrey Bogart gently breaking Ingrid Bergman's heart. She had seen the movie before, but there was nothing quite like the experience of a big screen.

  The man beside Joss stiffened in his seat, then tilted his head and made typing gestures over his lap. Joss suppressed a sigh. She would never get implants, she decided. The chance to enjoy a movie without interruption was too precious to give up.

  Ilsa and Laszlo made their departure, Rick and Renault began a beautiful friendship, the music swelled, and the lights came up. Joss stood, lurching a bit as her feet momentarily le
ft the floor. The theatre was on B-Section, and she wasn't used to the lower gravity. She took out her phone as she shuffled toward the exit.

  She frowned. Nine messages from Liz, and no fewer than 23 missed calls from Rhett. He seemed to be trying to contact her every two minutes. Well, robots were nothing if not methodical.

  She stepped into a niche off the corridor and lifted the phone to her ear. All of Liz's messages were terse and similar. Call me back immediately. If you can't reach me, call Rhett. Joss tried to tell herself that it might be good news. They had a lucrative new contract and needed to leave immediately. She didn't believe it, though.

  Her thumb was reaching for the dial button when a strong, thick-fingered hand plucked the phone from her fingers. She looked up. Three men surrounded her in a half-circle, a hulking giant with a thick chest and shoulders and a pair of shorter men with the lean builds of zero-g spacers. The giant tucked her phone into a pocket while the skinny one on her left grabbed her wrist and twisted. She felt her body turning, pain shooting through her elbow and shoulder as he brought her wrist up between her shoulder blades.

  "Hey, what are you—"

  Her voice cut off as a wiry hand covered her mouth. She let out a series of muffled squeals, trying to lash out behind her with her free arm. A dozen ploys ran through her mind. She could claim to be a cop, an assassin, a debutante waiting for her four brothers and their friends. With a hand over her mouth she was deprived of her best weapon.

  A hard shove mashed her face and chest into the wall, and she stopped struggling. "That's right," said a voice in her ear. "The more you fight, the more we bash you around. You settle down and this gets easier. You don't, and –" she felt his shrug as a momentary increase in the pressure on her wrist – "Well, you get some bruises on that pretty face of yours."

  He turned, moving her with him so she was facing his accomplices once again. The skinny one was glancing up and down the corridor, which had emptied with depressing speed. There wasn't a witness in sight. The giant looked her up and down in an unsettling way.

  "We're going to take a little walk to a certain storage room we know," the man behind her murmured in her ear. "If we meet anyone along the way, and you make a scene, well, things are going to get ugly. Unless we run into someone as can handle Gregor here, it's not going to help you one bit. You'll just have some pointless murders on your conscience, that's all. Are we clear?" He gave her wrist a nasty little twist, and she yelped, then nodded against his hand.

  "Right, then. Let's …"

  He never got to complete the sentence. A chubby woman with vividly dyed red hair rounded the corner and pulled up at the sight of them. Her horrified eyes fixed on the hand clapped over Joss's mouth, then switched to Gregor as he reached for her. The woman let out a shriek, ducked under Gregor's hand, and fled.

  "Well, sod it," muttered the man behind Joss. "Let's move, boys."

  Joss thrashed in his grip. The woman would be raising the alarm. All Joss had to do was keep them from dragging her away before help arrived.

  The man behind her swore and tried to pull up on her wrist. She squirmed, did her best to bite his fingers, then sagged in his grip. He leaned over, tightening his grip on her shoulder. When her knees were bent to ninety degrees she leaped straight up. In the two-thirds gravity the man's weight counted for less than it might, and she sensed his feet leaving the floor. She twisted and thrashed, and Gregor came toward her to lend a hand.

  The hand over her mouth slipped free and she screamed, then contorted herself, trying to straighten her arm. Gregor's hands landed on her shoulders. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could, achieving nothing. A savage twist on her wrist brought tears to her eyes, and she brought her foot up, drumming at both men's shins.

  In the end they had to pin her to the floor to control her. Gregor thumped her head against the floor hard enough to daze her, then slung her over one big shoulder. He kept his arm locked around her knees, and another man walked behind him, holding her wrists. She couldn't tell which one it was. All she could see was Gregor's back.

  She screamed, howled, and cursed, until a punch in the center of her back drove the air from her lungs. After that she lay, kicking weakly, as the men hurried down the corridor.

  "Hold it." The voice rang with authority and outrage, and Joss felt a surge of hope that vanished an instant later as Gregor unceremoniously dropped her. It seemed to take a long time to hit the floor, and the low-gee impact wasn't as bad as she expected. A skinny knee sank into her back, pinning her in place, and she twisted her head around to see what was going on.

  Two men stood in the corridor ahead, a broad-shouldered man in the uniform of station security and a slender civilian behind him. The security man was reaching for a baton on his belt when Gregor charged. The man got an arm up to block Gregor's first swing, but a moment later a giant fist slammed into the side of the security man's face. He flew sideways, crashed head-first into the far wall, and sank to the floor.

  A hand closed on Joss's wrist, drawing her arm behind her back. Another hand closed on the collar of her jumpsuit and the man hauled her to her feet. She stomped on his foot, and got a nasty twist of her arm as a reward.

  "Run away, little man," said Gregor, nursing his knuckles. "I won't kill you unless I have to."

  Joss was surprised to see the civilian, a young man with blond hair brushing his collar, standing in the hallway wearing an easy grin. "Oh, you have to," he said, and took a step forward.

  Gregor advanced and threw three quick punches. The blond man, still grinning, swayed left, ducked, and swayed right, and all three punches missed. Then he stepped in close, his whole body twisting as he drove his fists, one after the other, into Gregor's lower ribs. The giant wheezed and tilted forward, and the stranger belted him across the jaw.

  The other two kidnappers went very still as Gregor toppled to the floor.

  "Now, then," the blond man said cheerfully, "who's next?" If the violence upset him there was no sign.

  "Bugger off," said the man to Joss's left, his voice unsteady. "This has got nothing to do with you."

  "You're going to let her go." The blond man didn't sound cheerful now. His voice was as cold as space. "Or I'm going to hurt you terribly, to encourage your friend here." He gestured at the man holding Joss.

  "We'll kill you," the skinny man blustered.

  Gregor moaned and braced his palms against the floor. The blond man took a step back, moving closer to the giant. "You think it's just talk, don't you? That's understandable. Let me show you that I'm serious." Then, without a flicker of emotion showing in his face, he dropped to one knee, took Gregor's right wrist in both hands, braced the arm across his knee, and pulled.

  Gregor screamed, Joss shut her eyes, and the man behind her swore. There was shock in his voice, a kind of sick disbelief. The curses died away as the bones in Gregor's wrist crackled and broke.

  The blond man stood, as calm as a chef slicing vegetables. "I don't actually care about you two," he said. "Let her go and you can leave."

  "Bugger off." The skinny man's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. "Get lost, or else we …"

  "We?" The blond man chuckled coldly. "You mean, 'you'. You'll have to fight me alone." He gestured at the man holding Joss. "If he tries to help, the girl runs away. Then you've done all this for nothing." He advanced a step. "It's you and me, sweetheart."

  The hand on Joss's wrist tightened and pulled upward, and she let out a small squeak. "I'll break her arm!"

  The blond man gave him a single disinterested glance. "Wait your turn. I'll get to you."

  The skinny man edged back, hands going up, palms out. "Now, look here!" He looked wildly from his friend to Gregor's moaning form on the floor to the advancing stranger. "Aw, hell." And with that he whirled and fled.

  The man behind Joss pulled her wrist up another agonizing half-inch. "I'll break her arm," he said, his voice ragged and desperate. "I'll cripple her!"

  "You do what you
have to do. I'm keeping a tally." The blond man advanced another step, and the pressure suddenly vanished from Joss's arm. She let out a yelp as her arm dropped, then yelped again as the man shoved her forward. She crashed into the blond man's chest as running footsteps echoed and receded in the corridor behind her.

  Joss found herself clinging to her savior, trembling, his hands on her upper arms. His chest, she noted, was like so much curved steel under her hands. He was remarkably fit. A warm flush spread across her neck and cheeks, and she stepped back, smoothing her clothes. He grinned down at her, and a wave of reaction hit her. An instant later she was clutching him again, her face pressed against his shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "Oh, God, thank you." And she burst into tears.

  He held her for thirty seconds or so, then let her go as she straightened and wiped her eyes. She stared up at him. He was disconcertingly tall. "Where did you come from?"

  He turned away and knelt beside the security officer. "This guy was just letting me out of a holding cell when he got a call about your little altercation. I decided to tag along." The officer moaned, blinked, and opened his eyes. "Just lie still, buddy."

  He straightened. "I don't feel like any more police interrogations, though. Are you okay?"

  Joss nodded, suddenly afraid that he was going to vanish from her life after entering it so dramatically.

  "Good. Let me walk you to your ship."

  When they reached the nearest staircase they passed a couple of security officers running the other way. The two officers dashed past them without a second glance.

  "Such focus," the blond man said. "Admirable." He smiled at Joss. "Are you travelling on the Stark Raven?"

  She stiffened. "How did you know?"

  "I met your friend Liz earlier."

  "Ah." You and Liz probably hit it off, too. You share her enthusiasm for violence. That wasn't quite true, though. Liz would have tackled Gregor with the gleeful zest of a small child opening Christmas presents, not this disconcerting calm.

  "My name is Marcus, by the way."