Why are you even thinking about her? And these things?
“Thanks for the idents,” he murmured. “I owe the Guild.”
“No,” she said. “Not this time, Tyrus. And not because it’s on me, either. Archangel is giving you full Guild support on this. Unofficial of course. But full support. A lot of bounty hunters are former Legion, and the rumor was a bunch of them were planning on teaming up for a one-time op to pull those guys out. Suffice it to say, Archangel knew that would get pretty messy and… probably bad press for the Guild the way the media is playing the outrage card every six seconds these days. So, he’s hoping you’ll make things easier for everyone. And he wants you to know… he’s hoping you get them out.”
Tyrus said nothing. Made no promises. He’d seen this type of situation before. It could go bad way too easily. If the captors were wired a certain way and sensed anyone getting close to their prizes, they’d kill the hostages. He’d have to hit like lightning. Surprise them all at once. Best-case scenario. Only way it could be done. Even now his mind was running and refining the plan he’d come up with. Flexible enough to adapt, absolute enough to ensure success when the moment came.
“Thank you, Gabriella.”
“It wasn’t me, Tyrus.”
“I know… but thank you all the same.”
A long awkward pause fell between them.
Gabriella cleared her throat. “The situation is getting worse by the hour, and this delegate who’s enabling things, using her position to lend credibility to thugs, she’s… well, I won’t say what I think of her. But she’s typical. Not as smart as she thinks and zero common sense. Got into all the right schools for all the wrong reasons. More looks than brains. Lucked into the House of Reason. She’s going to make things worse on the ground, Tyrus. Much, much worse.
“As of an hour ago she defied the House of Reason’s governing council and left for Detron in a show of solidarity with the Soshies. Her words. She’s only looking to score political points by turning a powder keg into a fireworks display featuring her. The rioters on the ground are already whipped up into a frenzy and looking for a fight. She’ll give them legitimacy.”
Rechs had been researching all the players. Or he thought he had. He had no idea who this opportunist was.
“And who is this clown?” he asked, opening up a file.
“Name’s Syl Hamachi-Roi. They call her the Ghetto Queen. Except she’s not really ghetto. Came from a rich immigrant family that ended up on Utopion. Was elected as junior delegate from the sector of space she once lived in—despite not actually having lived there in two decades. Plays the accent of her home world when she needs it. Best schools, like I said…”
Rechs detected a little bit of jealousy. He guessed that perhaps Gabriella hadn’t gotten into the right schools. Probably had the bitter dreams of a hardworking kid who knew she could have aced those schools on talent, brains, and work ethic. Rechs believed it, from having worked with her. If only she’d gotten the chance.
Working as the contract admin for the infamous Bronze Guild, though… that was not a bad landing spot for someone with brains and skill. It surely wasn’t a position people vied for out of their higher educations, but the money was far better than anyone knew. Better than anyone was allowed to know. That was the Guild. Talk just wasn’t done. Information was power.
“My plan is to get on the ground, get a lead, run them down. Fast as I can I’ll pull them out and get them into friendly hands. And if I can… I’ll do it without the Repub having me arrested. I’m not planning on getting involved.”
“I know,” she said softly. “It’s just that this is turning into a typhoon, Tyrus. It’s getting messy and everyone’s making it about way more than the missing leejes and the marine. She’s making it all about her and her agenda. She’s a pot-stirrer, as my…”
There was a micro-second pause.
“… as my grandma used to say.”
Personal information. They didn’t do that in the Guild. And when it was done… it meant something. Trust. Care. This is me.
“I’ll be careful.”
Gabriella hadn’t said that. Hadn’t told Tyrus Rechs, the most wanted man in the galaxy, to be careful. She’d said that too many times before.
But it was always there.
They both knew it.
Then the connection between them went dead. And Tyrus Rechs was gone.
11
The light freighter out of Ankalor was granted clearance to land on Detron, Dock Sixty-Five. The captain of the Accadian Comet signaled his acknowledgement of the landing instructions and cut the link as he flew the tight corridor through the interdiction blockade.
Approach Control took the handoff from the Republic Navy commercial traffic coordinator aboard the destroyer Castle. For all intents and purposes, the Obsidian Crow, masquerading as the Accadian Comet, was just another inbound merchant dropping off goods for the marines. Running with an approved and fully vetted supply contract. Headed for the central massif that supported the city itself, and which was surrounded on all sides by the Docks.
That giant rock, over two hundred kilometers wide and just as long, rose up over three thousand feet above a sprawling desert plain of burnt rock and enormous fissures that ran in all directions away from the massif. And within these canyons were the once-fabled shipyards of Detron. Each canyon had been outfitted with a state-of-the-art shipbuilding works that had long since turned to little more than rusting gantries and collapsing hull-assembly scaffolding. In some canyons the remains of half-completed battleships still lay, forever turning to rust, never to be finished. For a while work continued in the smaller factories, and in a very few it still did—sending parts to Tarrago. But Detron was on economic life support for anyone not lucky enough to have a hand in off-world interests.
The Docks, built during
