Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Page 20

  “I don’t like that. I want them to go smoothly. No ruffled feathers, no stepping on toes. Between the people of this city and the Angleseyu themselves…all too easy for a newcomer to get himself in trouble,” explained Rex.

  Lako stared at him for a long moment, examining him. Then he nodded simply.

  “You save yourself a lot of trouble coming to me directly,” he informed. “Most newcomers get steamed enough having to pay the locals their pound of flesh, get doubly upset about having to pay me.”

  Rex shrugged. “I’ve been trading for a while now—in the Quarter, inside and out. I know how this all works.”

  “Sit then,” said Lako. “Let’s discuss this in more detail.”

  ***

  Lucius sat at the edge of the booth, listening half to Rex’s conversation with Lako, half to the hum of the bar around him. Lako may have been a crime lord, but Lucius had the distinct feeling that was due to the nature of the city around him. He was remarkably hospitable, ordering a round of drinks and appetizers. And he knew the local scene. Were it not for the thugs surrounding him Lucius could imagine himself sitting with any ordinary Terran salesman.

  “…the main export here has always been garnet. There are a half-dozen mines for the stuff within twenty miles of this city. Not that I’ve ever seen the mines myself, being a ‘paley’ and all. But they dig ’em out and sell them through me to foreign buyers. Big industrial market for it as an abrasive, and a good garnet, cut right, makes for a nice gemstone,” lectured Lako.

  “Gemstones you say? There might be potential there,” said Rex, playing his part as a trader.

  “Aye, but to find enough gem-quality garnets to fill the hold of your ship would take years,” said Lako.

  “You know my ship?” asked Rex.

  “I know every ship that comes through here,” Lako said matter-of-factly. “Besides, fancy as they are, garnets ain’t no diamonds.”

  “Doesn’t mean there’s no profit there. Especially with my buyers,” Rex informed.

  “Your buyers? I just told you they dig them out of the dirt here. How could you possibly have buyers already?” Lako said with a laugh.

  “My buyers are always on the lookout for the next expensive novelty. And Europan lords always pay well,” Rex declared.

  This caught Lako by surprise, and Lucius. He supposed it shouldn’t. They were here to try and learn more about Europan interest in this planet, after all.

  “And how is it a void-weary trader like you has connections to the empire?” asked Lako.

  “They gotta sell their goods, same as us puny mortals. I sell for a Lord Manius Tudor. He’s an arrogant bastard, but he pays. We got a deal, see. I sell his stuff for a small percentage, and I sell him stuff that he turns around and sells to his fellow nobles,” Rex explained.

  “At a marked-up price, no doubt,” Lako surmised.

  “Oh, of course. And since those Europan high and mighties like shiny things, I’m betting your garnet gemstones will be a big hit…”

  They went on, Lucius blocking out the particulars. He glanced around the bar one more time, probably his thirtieth time that night. It remained a busy hive of activity, full of rough-looking characters. He briefly noticed a new figure at the bar, a bald, tan-skinned man who stared intently into his beer. But that was it. The city, so far, was not living up to the reputation the interpreter had given it.

  He finished off his second beer, still feeling no effects. It wasn’t the strongest thing he’d ever imbibed, but it passed through him like an actual beer.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up. He made his way to a small side hallway. It was long, ending in a string of doors. He looked for the one with the male symbol atop it. Finding it, he went in and took care of nature’s call.

  When he stepped out again he felt something hard jab into his side.

  “Make no noise,” a cold voice ordered.

  He glanced out of the corner of his eye, seeing the bald man from the bar. He had a large pistol in his hands, the barrel of which was pressed against Lucius’s ribs. He froze, his mind racing. He had an armored shirt beneath his jacket, made of ceramic plates impregnated with non-Newtonian fluids. It was supposed to be bulletproof, but the man had the gun literally right up against him. Anything shot out of it would hit him at full velocity. Would the armor hold against that? He didn’t know.

  “Start walking to the last door,” the man ordered.

  Lucius did as told, his mind racing to find a solution. The hallway was too narrow for him to try and dodge his way around the man, and any attempt of fighting would get him shot. They approached the door, Lucius still scrambling for ideas.

  “Open the door, step out,” said his attacker.

  Lucius turned the nob and pushed the door outward, into the alleyway. As he did an idea jumped into his mind, and he snapped into action.

  As the door swung to the top of its arc, he hooked his left heel around its edge and jerked his leg backward. He pitched right as he did, diving toward the ground as the door flung back, smashing into the man’s face. He stumbled back, hitting the doorjamb, fighting for balance.

  Lucius shot up and rushed the man. But as he closed to land a blow the man’s hand flashed upward. He slammed the gun hard into Lucius’s stomach, his full body weight behind the blow. Then he squeezed the trigger. Lucius jolted backward hard, the air knocked clear of his lungs as the slug hit his armor. He stumbled and fell to the dirty concrete alleyway. His chest screamed at him, struggling to inflate and draw breath. For frantic seconds he felt nothing, and then the painful ballooning of his lungs as they finally managed to draw breath.

  A shape loomed over him: his attacker. The man had his gun firmly in hand and pointed directly at Lucius’s skull. His attacker’s face was bloody from the impact, but he was still alert and ready.

  Bloody hell…

  “Get up,” the man said simply.

  Lucius struggled to get to his feet. When he did he stared at his attacker, the man’s gun aimed directly between his eyes.

  “I am tasked with bringing you back alive,” the man said. “That doesn’t mean unhurt.”

  “How compassionate of you,” Lucius sneered.

  “Move,” said the man.

  The started down the alley, toward the front of the building.

  “So what kind of bounty are they offering you for me, Mr.—”

  “Barv,” said the man.

  “Mr. Barv,” said Lucius.

  “Just Barv. And before I turn you over to anyone, you’re going to tell me where Vermella is,” Barv declared.

  Lucius stopped, turning to face the bounty hunter.

  “Vermella? You’re here for her?” Lucius asked. A cold realization filled his mind as he said the words. If he was doing this for her, if she had him enslaved, then no amount of reasoning or money would dissuade him from his mission.

  “Did I tell you to stop walking?” Barv growled.

  “You poor bastard. She infected you, didn’t she?” asked Lucius.

  Barv raised an eyebrow in confusion. He shook it off and pressed the gun against Lucius’s forehead.

  “I said ‘keep walking,’” Barv fumed.

  Lucius once more started for the front of the building. The main street was drawing near. There would be more people there, possibly somebody who would notice what was happening. Whether they would do something or not was another question. From the interpreter’s words, and the rundown state of Brynoer, Lucius doubted this was the type of place where good Samaritans stepped up to save the day. And God knew how long it would take for Second and Rex to notice how long he’d been gone.

  They reached the street, turning toward the spaceport. Barv lowered the gun, pressing it into his back once more.

  “Your armor may save your life, but it won’t keep you on your feet if I pull this trigger. Then it’s one quick shot to the head to finish you, so don’t even think about trying anything else,” Barv informed.

&n
bsp; “Would not dream of it,” Lucius said sarcastically, raising his arms up in surrender.

  “Put your arms down and start walking. We’re going to the spaceport,” said Barv.

  Lucius complied. Barv positioned himself slightly behind and to the right of him, so to any outside observer it just looked like two men out for a walk. But he kept the pistol in his left hand, its barrel snug against Lucius’s spine.

  Lucius’s eyes darted about, looking for some potential distraction or weapon or escape point. He saw people going about their way, keeping to themselves. This wasn’t a city where politeness was common, so few made eye contact, much less paid him any close attention. He couldn’t expect any help from—

  Then he saw her. A blond woman approached. She was tall, young, curvy, and beautiful. His eyes went wide, not in awe but in recognition. He’d seen her before—no, not her personally, her breed. He was looking at a Newington, a breed of bed serf present in dozens of harems across the empire. The telltale markers were unmistakable. The light-green eyes, graceful neck, radiant golden hair, and hourglass figure all screamed “Newington.”

  He was staring at a freed serf.

  “Aidez-moi!” he cried in French.

  The words caught her attention, as he knew they would. Outside of serfs, and the actual earthly nation of France, not many people spoke French. But serfs did, and would probably think he was a former serf just for speaking it.

  “Be quiet and keep—” Barv began.

  “Aidez-moi, s’il vous plait!” Lucius repeated. “Mon maître embauché cet home!”

  He’d just told her that his master had hired this man, creating the idea that he was about to be dragged back to the empire. The woman reacted immediately. She pulled a pistol from her hip holster with practiced speed and pointed it at Barv. Barv jerked behind Lucius, pressing the barrel harder against his back.

  “Let him go!” demanded the young woman, in lightly accented English.

  “This is no concern of yours,” Barv said coolly.

  “You hunt my people, it is my concern,” the woman snapped. Her voice was all confidence. For a moment it shocked Lucius. Had a serf ever spoken to him with half that strength back during his imperial days, he probably would’ve had her beaten for her insolence, and then thrown her to the warriors to be their barrack’s whore for a fortnight. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t new to freedom, and clearly had taken well to it.

  “He’s not one of yours,” Barv informed. “He’s a nobleman.”

  The woman did not move her gun, just stared warily at him.

  “He’s a traitor to the empire,” Barv added. “I am bringing him to my employer for the reward.”

  “A traitorous nobleman…” the woman spoke. “There’s only one man alive who has betrayed the empire and lived to tell of it.”

  Lucius’s eyes widened. The woman’s tone was decidedly neutral. He had no idea what she thought of him.

  “Baliol…” she said.

  “His name is not important. He’s my quarry, and I’m taking him in,” Barv insisted.

  “No,” said the woman, a coldness coming to her stare. “You’re not.”

  “The emperor will be the one to deal out justice to this man, not you,” said Barv. “I don’t care what his kind have done to you; I am not letting him go.”

  The woman smirked and said, “You think I want to hurt him? Torture him and all that?”

  Barv cocked his head, staring confusedly at the woman.

  “Foolish man, I would never dream of hurting Lucius Serf-Friend.”

  Lucius couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. For a moment he forgot he was at gunpoint, and just stared in disbelief at the Newington woman.

  “This man gave up everything for the love of a serf. He loved a serf as a wife, and killed his own “noble” wife and father to avenge her and their daughter. Oh bounty hunter, we all know that tale of Lucius Baliol. Were it any other noble, I would let you take him back to torture and death, but this one…well, this one is under my protection.”

  For a long moment, Barv said nothing, trying to make sense of this sudden turn of events. Then Lucius felt the gun press harder against his back.

  “I do not care what you think of him. He is my prize, and I will not let you take him, little girl,” Barv growled.

  Another long silence as the two tried to stare each other down. Lucius couldn’t help but think of the shoot-out at the end of The Cool Roan Rider, except there nobody had been in the middle of the duelists.

  In the middle…

  An idea popped into his mind, and he instantly disliked it. But he grit his teeth and looked at the woman.

  “Tirez-moi!” he cried.

  The woman’s eyes went wide.

  “Dans la poitrine! La armure!”

  Recognition flared in her eyes. The barrel of the gun dropped and flashed as she fired. The round slammed hard into Lucius, right in the middle of his sternum. The impact hurled him and Barv backward, slamming them to the ground. Barv didn’t have time to fire before Lucius’s greater weight crushed down against him, knocking the gun free.

  Lucius’s mind swirled in pain, the armor burning against his skin where the round had hit. But he still felt his foe wriggling beneath him and instinctively flung his head backward, smashing the back of his skull into Barv’s face. He felt cartilage crunch under the blow. A muffled scream filled the air, but the wriggling didn’t stop. Barv pushed violently against him, muscling him off.

  The mercenary struggled to his feet, spotting the gun several feet away. He moved for it, and then stopped dead. Lucius looked up. The blond woman had her gun pointed at him.

  “Walk away now, and you’ll survive this,” she said bluntly.

  Barv held his ground, eyes flitting from the woman to his weapon.

  “I cannot fail her,” he said.

  “I’m not going to warn you twice,” said the woman.

  “I cannot fail her. I cannot…I cannot…”

  Lucius jerked himself up on his side and then wrenched around on his hip, lashing out with his leg. It clotheslined Barv’s ankles, sweeping his legs away. The hunter fell backward with a surprised yelp, slamming onto the hard road beside Lucius. Lucius’s leg flashed upward and then smashed downward. His heel crunched into the man’s windpipe, crushing it.

  Barv gasped and clawed at his throat, unable to draw breath. Lucius pushed himself to a crouch, and finally managed to get to his feet.

  He half-expected to see the woman’s gun pointed at him, despite her story. But she had her weapon trained at the dying Barv. The bounty hunter clawed futilely at his ruined throat for a handful of moments; then his head lolled sideways and he was still.

  Lucius looked at his rescuer. He could only glance at her for a second before the burning pain in his chest forced its way back into his mind. He clutched at the dented armor, folding into a crouch to try and ward off the agony.

  “Are you okay, Baliol?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. And the name is Alvadile,” he managed.

  “You are not Lucius Baliol? You look just—”

  “I am, I am,” he said, straightening up despite the pain. “I was. I took my wife’s name when I married.”

  “Your wife’s name?” she said.

  “Yeah. It’s a nobler name than ‘Baliol,’” he replied.

  The woman shrugged.

  “Well, I’m Kate,” she said, sliding her gun back into her holster. “And I figure you must know how I came into this life.”

  “Hello Kathryn, and thank you—”

  “No, no. Just Kate,” she said. “Kate, daughter of Keith.”

  “Kate, right. And yes, I knew what you…well, what they bred you to be.”

  “Yes,” Kate said, her voice darkening. “Luckily the ship taking me to Westergaard was ‘diverted’ from its course.”

  “Westergaard…you were on Baron Radonjic’s transport?” Lucius said, remembering the story from his early teenage years. A sh
ip carrying Baron Radonjic’s stable stock had disappeared en route to the baron’s new estate on Westergaard. It had never been seen again.

  “I was. Eleven years old,” Kate spoke.

  Lucius let out a breath of relief. If she had only been eleven, then she had never been made part of a harem, never made to “service” a noble, and never sent off to the stables to be bred. Given the look of her, he suspected she had lived almost half of her life away from the empire.

  Thank God.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Good to hear. I…I’m glad you got out.”

  “As am I,” she said with the insouciance of a young person.

  “And all that stuff you said, about ‘Lucius Serf-Friend’? Was any of that true?” he asked.

  “All of it,” she said.

  “Really?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Yes. Why do you ask? Did you not stand up for your lover? Was she not a serf?”

  “Yes, yes, I did. But that doesn’t erase what I was before I met Yvette—”

  “‘Yvette?’” she said, a hitch in her voice. “You gave her a name? A real name?”

  “Yes, well, I told her some names, and she chose one she liked,” Lucius informed.

  “Oh,” said Kate, looking momentarily troubled. “Well, I know what you were. We all do; you were a lord. But you did change your ways; and you did sacrifice everything for the memory of your serf lover.”

  “Wife,” Lucius said. “She was my first wife—my first real wife. And what do you mean ‘we all do’? There are more of you here?”

  “Many. On the Reservation,” said Kate. “It’s quite an amazing coincidence that you ended up here of all worlds.”

  “Yeah…coincidence,” Lucius said with a shake of his head.

  “What?” asked Kate. “You had some purpose for coming to Anglesey?”

  “I did…I do,” he said. As if to punctuate his thoughts, he heard running footsteps. Turning, he saw Rex and Second sprinting up the street. Both had their guns out and ready.

  “Kate, there are some friends of mine I think you should meet…”

  ***

  Rex followed Kate into the cargo bay. He had his gray long coat open, so he could rest his hand on his hip, near his pistol. He had no reason not to trust this woman, but that didn’t mean he could, so he stayed cautious. Lucius assured him she was a freed serf, which, if true, was a great break in their favor. Not two hours on the planet and they’d found something that could explain Europa’s interest in this world. But it was a big if.