Mercenary Courage (Mandrake Company) Read online

  Now, why did he find that thought so depressing?

  He swallowed and put on his shirt, reminding himself that he was dressing and spying, not wallowing in the bowels of his mind. He had missed Ankari’s response, but her mother was talking again, and he leaned his ear toward the door.

  “I worry about you out there,” the woman said. “I don’t understand why you’ve set up that lab on a spaceship. A mercenary spaceship at that.” Her tone grew dry. “Yes, your brother did some research. I don’t appreciate that you implied that you were still sailing around out there of your own volition.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I thought you would worry if you knew.”

  Viktor frowned as he lifted his foot to the chair to fasten his boot. He had assumed Ankari had filled her family in on the details, though he supposed he could see why she might have hesitated. It didn’t surprise him that her mother worried for her safety with her on his ship—hadn’t he been contemplating the same issue?

  “I am worried. We just saw the news. That ship was involved in the Nimbus debacle.”

  “We weren’t there for that, Mom. We’ve been on Midway 5 for the last couple of weeks.”

  “Midway 5?” her mother asked sharply. “The station that’s in quarantine now?”

  Viktor grimaced. It shouldn’t surprise him that the news had made it to the inner core. Everything made the rounds more quickly on this side of the system.

  “Yes, but we’re staying out of trouble. I’m sure it will end up being nothing. But in case, uhm. In case it does turn into something, that’s why I want to make sure you and the others will be all right. I’ve put together a will and—”

  “Ankari.”

  A long moment passed with neither woman speaking. Even from the other room, even without seeing their faces, Viktor sensed the tension between them.

  “Yes?” Ankari asked warily.

  “I commend your thoughtfulness, but we—I am not ready to lose you. You’re twenty-seven years old. That’s not—” Her words grew tight around the lump that must be sticking in her throat. “Whatever possessed you to run around out there in the first place, ’Kari? A couple of times, you’ve mentioned or I’ve read between the lines—you haven’t been giving me nearly enough details, dear—that there’s a man. I can only assume someone on this mercenary ship. Why else would you agree to have a medical clinic in such a place?”

  “I made a deal with the captain that we would do our work aboard, because the mercenaries helped us deal with a problem in exchange for a percentage of the company, and they’re still acting as security for us.”

  Viktor hung his head. As part of their agreement, he had stipulated that Ankari’s team set up their lab on his ship. At the time, he’d had altruistic motivations—he had worried that if that Felgard wanted to kidnap them for their work, then others might attempt blackmail or worse. But they could afford their own security now, if they needed it. Security on a safe, inner-core planet. He should have already rescinded that part of their bargain.

  “They’re partial owners,” Ankari continued. “I mentioned that. And I told you about the finance lord who was trying to strong-arm us too. They protected us. We owe—”

  “It to yourselves and those who could benefit from your services to stay safe. Living on a military ship, one that frequently goes into war, is not safe. You wouldn’t be out at that station, either, if not for them. You would be somewhere safe, where quarantines aren’t needed, damn it.” The last few words came out in an emotional slur.

  “Mom, it’ll work out. These precautions are just in the very remote event that things don’t work out. And because I want you to have a better life, regardless. Quarantines may not be frequent on Novus Earth, but our neighborhood isn’t any less dangerous than a mercenary ship. You can’t really deny that.”

  “Oh, Ankari.” Her mother’s voice came out muffled, as if she was wiping her face—wiping away tears. “I just thought you were in a better place now, that you’d earned the right to be. Please tell me you’re not making these choices because of a man. It’s not worth dying to be with some... mercenary.”

  Some mercenary. When Viktor had been in the Fleet, a mother might have approved of him—even if Crimson Ops had a reputation for doing the dirty work for GalCon, few people spoke badly of them. Fear might be part of the reason, but for the most part, they were respected. That was true of Fleet officers and soldiers as a general rule. But mercenaries? What parents bragged about their daughter’s engagement to a mercenary? Not that he had been thinking of asking Ankari to marry him. But the idea that her mother might give her a hard time about their relationship... It had not occurred to him before. Maybe because it had been so long since he’d had a mother of his own who worried about him.

  “Some people are worth dying for, Mom,” Ankari whispered after the silence had stretched for several moments.

  Viktor had expected her to deny that she was having anything to do with any mercenaries—he would not have begrudged her that—so this proclamation caught him off guard. The heartfelt utterance stirred gratitude in his heart and made him appreciate her all the more, but it also made him doubly certain that he could not keep her at his side. He didn’t want her to die for him, or to die or be harmed at all.

  “Not somebody who kills for money, ’Kari. That’s not... Look, I’ve never tried to butt in on your relationships, but this one doesn’t make sense. It’s not healthy. You’re smart and successful. You don’t need to settle.”

  “Trust me, Mom. I’m not settling. Viktor is...” She hesitated. Then a click sounded, and the door slid shut.

  Viktor blinked. He hadn’t heard her move—there must have been a command on the computer console for the door. He snorted. Apparently, she had decided that the conversation deserved privacy, after all. So long as she was about to extol his virtues, that was fine with him. But he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, dwelling again on her mother’s objections and the fact that he agreed with them. He would have to talk with Ankari. Soon.

  He was in the same spot when the door opened and she padded back into the bedroom. He offered her an arm, though he could not bring up the topic on his mind. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. She let him guide her onto his lap, looping her arms around his shoulders.

  “You seem glum,” Ankari whispered. She touched his cheek, then pushed her fingers through his short hair.

  Yes, the thought of losing her made him glum. Oh, it wasn’t as if they had to separate permanently—perhaps he could visit whatever station or planet she ended up moving her business to. But how frequent could such visits be, so long as he captained a ship that had to take assignments all over the outer core of the system in order to keep paying the men and to stay afloat? He couldn’t imagine retirement, not yet, perhaps not ever. He had always assumed the job would kill him one day, and he had accepted that, hoping only for a noble end. But something had happened, and he found that less easy to accept now. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. He just knew he would miss Ankari. The more time they spent together, the more time he wanted to spend together.

  “What happened out there?” she asked. “After you sent us away? I’ve seen the news, but...”

  Oh, she thought his glumness was a result of the mission? Well, that had been bothering him, even if it was not the source of his current malaise. He debated whether to share the details or to keep them to himself, as was his wont. But hadn’t he been wanting a confidante? At the least, he would like her to keep stroking his hair.

  “Our employers happened,” Viktor said. “I thought we were signing on to defend homesteaders, protecting them from an army of opportunists trying to steal their resources, groundwater and a forest of prime timber. We researched them, and everything pointed to that.” He didn’t add that they had been druids, and that he trusted druids, because that had been the religion of his people, because so many that he had known had been honest, good men and women. “But what wasn’t in the public records anywhere was that the
ir groundwater had gone toxic and the trees were dying, that the people couldn’t even grow crops on the land anymore. It wasn’t their fault, or anything they had done, just a reversion of millennia-old terraforming. In any event, they couldn’t continue to survive there. They wanted to leave. But they needed insurance money. They needed GalCon to believe they had been victims and to fund their relocation costs and to grant them a place to relocate to. There aren’t many unclaimed plots of land suitable for thousands of people anymore. So... someone decided to start a war, hiring thugs to attack their people, to devastate their homeland—they planned to blame the toxins on the war, side effects of biological weapons. To make everything appear legitimate, they hired a mercenary company to defend them.” Viktor’s mouth twisted. “We thought we were doing a good deed, taking an assignment that was, for once, worth taking. You were there for that.”

  Ankari nodded.

  “We stayed longer than we should have. I made that choice because they led me to believe...” He gazed at the wall beyond Ankari’s shoulder. “I wanted to believe that we were helping hardworking people defend their homes and that we were all that stood between them and death, devastation. We didn’t know that those very people had sold us out. In the end, they used us to buy their escapes, leaving the world as if it was nothing, willing to sacrifice us so they could flee barren land they had intended to flee from the beginning. Oh, the average person didn’t know that the invading army had been hired and paid for by their own people, but I believe they all knew about the insurance grab, about wanting the pity of the system so people would help them resettle. And those news crews never figured out the truth. They showed us as cowards, leaving when there was still fighting left to do, but we didn’t leave until we had already lost men and until we knew we had been betrayed. The reporters don’t mention that GalCon didn’t bother sending any Fleet ships out to help with the battle. They’re only telling the story that they were paid to tell.” He plucked at the rucked up blanket on the bed. “I don’t know why I act like I’m surprised. There’s more corruption in the system than there is good. I guess I’m most pissed because I fell for it. And that I lost men because of it.”

  As he had been talking, Ankari had kept stroking his head, rifling her fingers through his hair and rubbing his scalp. Soothing him. It helped. Telling the tale and admitting his faults agitated him, but her warm, gentle hands smoothed some of the knots in his bunched muscles. It was just as good as whaling on a punching bag. Perhaps better. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, letting her stroking hands continue to work the tension out of his body, but eventually, he remembered how he had wanted to please her instead of simply taking from her. The words she had spoken to her mother, that some men were worth dying for, floated into his mind. He might argue whether he was one of those men, but he appreciated that she thought so. That made him feel guilty about putting off the discussion he knew they must have.

  “You need a distraction, Viktor.” Ankari kissed him on the mouth, then wiggled out of his lap to lie back on the bed. “You said you were open to receiving some instructions?”

  Even though she had dressed, she pushed up her shirt, resting her hand on her bare stomach and tapping it as she watched him through her eyelashes.

  He swallowed. Perhaps he had been hasty in putting all of his clothes back on. They might yet enjoy some time together. But no, he could not continue to spend time with her, knowing what he had to bring up. The message from her mother only convinced him that he had been right, that it was selfish of him to keep her with him.

  “I’m open to instructions, yes, but there’s something we need to talk about. You can decide afterward if you still want to order me around.”

  Her brows rose. “Did you hear my conversation with my mom?”

  “Part of it. Enough to realize... No, I had already realized this.” Viktor took a deep breath. Odd that talking to a woman one cared about was more daunting than charging into battle with laser fire blasting overhead. “A mercenary ship isn’t a suitable place for a medical lab. It’s not safe. And you can’t reach clients reliably, working around our schedule. Your business should be set up on a planet or space station, someplace unlikely to be thrust into battle.”

  He stared at his knee as he spoke, but he watched her out of the corner of his eye, concerned she would react poorly, that she would feel rejected. Would she think he did not want her anymore? As if anything could be further from the truth.

  “Lauren has pointed out the same thing a couple of times,” Ankari said, surprising him. Had she already been thinking of this herself? Maybe he was the one who should feel rejected. “Usually when the Albatross is being fired upon, and her test tubes are rattling around like the rocks inside of Striker’s head.” She smiled, but the gesture was fleeting. Uncertainty replaced it. “Are you thinking of cutting us loose?”

  “When we made our deal, I worried that more finance lords or other greedy miscreants interested in your business might be after you, but nobody has bothered you recently. We, on the other hand, have seen several battles since then. I think you would be better off on a planet. Or even in your own ship, if you prefer the option to be ambulatory.”

  If she had her own ship, maybe she would come out to visit him, and their paths would cross more often. He looked at an aquarium resting against a far wall, not wanting her to see the feelings that tightened his face, not wanting to show that the idea of only intermittently crossing paths distressed him. He wanted her at his side all the time. Even with the distraction of long shifts and battles to plan, he had noticed her absence keenly during the lonely nights in his cabin over the last two weeks.

  “Our own ship?” Ankari asked. “We don’t have a ship.” She didn’t mention that he had blown up the last one, not this time. It had been a while since she had.

  “Perhaps in the future, you will.” He thought of offering her the shuttle, but it lacked the fuel tanks for long-distance travel, so it would not be suitable for interplanetary trips.

  “Viktor, we have a deal.” For the first time, she lost some of the calmness in her voice. “You agreed to protect us as part of your twenty percent of the company.”

  “Yes, I did.” Viktor was glad she was arguing now, since it showed him that she cared, that she was not ready to walk away from him. “But by taking you into battle, I put you at risk. Nimbus—”

  “Sounds like it was awful. But you sent us away before the danger began in earnest.”

  “Something that won’t always be possible. We were fortunate that this station was at the edge of Delta Shuttle’s range.”

  “Ladybug’s range.” Ankari quirked her eyebrows at him. “Are you sure you just don’t want your shuttle returned to you so you can repaint it in a more manly color?” This time, the smile was even more fleeting. Her face appeared to be on the verge of crumpling, and that distressed him more than he wanted to admit.

  “No,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

  “How would you protect us from across the system?”

  “Someone could be hired.” He winced, because her point was not invalid. Part of the deal was that his people protect hers. How could he do that from afar? “Or... I could give you back your shares.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She looked like she had been punched in the gut.

  “I—” Her comm unit beeped again, and she grabbed it, looking relieved.

  Viktor regretted bringing this up, but wouldn’t it have been cowardly to have waited?

  “What is it, Lauren?” Ankari asked, rolling to the side of the bed and leaning her elbows onto her knees. She avoided his eyes, avoided looking in his direction at all.

  Viktor caught something about lab rats, but she had lifted the unit to her ear and was not using the speaker.

  “You’re doing what?” Ankari sat up. “It’s five in the morning, Lauren.”

  A moment later, she closed the link and stood up.

  “I have to go. Lauren has talked Jamie into some r
at-acquisition scheme, and I’m afraid they’re both going to end up arrested.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Ankari held her palm out toward him. “Don’t bother. It sounds like I’m going to have to get used to watching my own back again.”

  Viktor rose to his feet, ignoring his sore muscles, and caught her wrist before she could turn away. He wanted to say that he would always watch her back, that she would be able to rely on him for help, the same way he had relied upon her the night before. But he ended up standing there with his mouth hanging open. The truth was that if he sent her—her business—away, he wouldn’t be able to watch her back. Depending on where in the system the ship was and where she settled, he would be weeks away at best, a month or more at worst. What kind of trouble could he help her with if it took a month for him to reach her?

  Ankari waited for several long moments, but when he did not speak, she pulled her hand from his grip and strode to the door. He dropped his arm, his shoulders slumping.

  Chapter 5

  As Ankari strode through the deserted corridors, their lights still dim for the night cycle, a turmoil of emotions roiled within her. Even though having Lauren call at five in the morning would usually be inconvenient, she had welcomed the excuse this time.

  Viktor wanted her to leave. She couldn’t believe it. After last night, she had been certain he had finally come to see her as an indispensable ally, as someone he wanted on his ship—and in his life—long-term, if not permanently. True, they had never spoken of marriage or anything permanent, but as soon as she had found some furniture for his cabin, she had thought to think of it as home. And of him as home. Family.