As I charted our course to catch up, while checking and rechecking our rendezvous with Jasmel, something gnawed at me. I knew we’d never make that destination. Why? Call it the voice of intuition that speaks in the dead of night when one wakes in a lucid moment. Everything was in order, and yet that disturbing hunch beamed like a hooker’s red light. Things had been barely smoothed over with Pazarol an hour ago! Raez had done his best to highlight how botched our job had been under my direction and we possessed only a portion of our cargo. I explained to Pazarol how it was impossible to go back to Gizren and get the rest of our freight without incurring casualties and risking the rest of the shipment. The Gedra would cap our asses and we’d have nothing to show for it, without less than an army to cut through that rat swarm.
Long story short, the deal would proceed as planned, but with a third less payout. Okay, I could run with that, as this was our highest paying gig thus far, even split three ways, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. Raez didn’t seem to care much at the lesser payout; he seemed to be in it for the kicks. A strange sentiment—but a hell of a lot more interesting than hobgoblining around that gloomy warehouse on Tarsus.
I stayed on the bridge. The others had gone off to their quarters, and my tired eyes were seeing fuzzy shapes while the ship stayed steady on Molly’s autopilot.
As I was making for my cabin while we kept up with Urgon, I heard voices down the corridor. Wren’s husky voice was raised, an audible murmur.
I crept down the passage, paused before the next corridor, my jaw set.
“How about it, Fox?” came a familiar weasely voice. “What’s say you and me slip between the sheets, keep each other warm? I know you and the cap may have something going, but no worries. He isn’t about to hear it from me and I won’t ruin your gig.”
I caught the pregnant pause, then guessed Wren, for a second, had considered the sleazy offer and had almost given in.
Then I heard her stony hiss. “Buzz, off, creep. I don’t like your smell or your oily smile.”
I smiled at that. Raez put up a fuss and spewed a bunch of spuriously offensive words, like ‘sloe-eyed bitch’, and ‘pissy dike’, so I stepped in, putting on a look of innocent concern.
“Everything all right here? Wren, you okay?”
Raez’s face lit up in a mocking grin. “No worries, cappie. Me and the bosomy lady were just getting to know each other better, weren’t we, Wren? I like to get under the skin of the people I’m working with.” The man’s patronizing, piss-licking grin made me want to plow him.
Raez was one of those ungracious, low-class weasels who hung out at the casinos looking for easy lays—not that there was anything wrong with that—I’d done a few myself. Those feel-good-about-yourself screws, but there was a way to do it, with a certain modicum of class. Everything in this schmuck’s aura spoke of loutishness. A regular wise guy with some black and white around the edges. Irritant Raez, egging for a rude awakening. This little soap opera reminded me of some cornball vid back in that ancient earth collection I used to watch when having nothing better to do.
Raez put up a bit of a fuss, me muscling into his game, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. He stomped off with a bruised cheek and some ruffled pride to his hidey hole.
I followed Wren back to her cabin, keeping an eye on the lady. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“No.”
In the end we had a little nightcap, featuring some gin she’d snuck from the hamper. “Didn’t think you’d mind, Ruskie, one bottle missing.”
I shrugged. “What do you think of our unwanted guest, Mr. Raez?”
“A bottom feeder.” She grimaced. “I’ve known sleaze bags like him before. Think he’s trouble.”
“Agreed. He almost got us killed.”
She snuffled out a noncommittal sound.
“So you think we should—”
“Forget that rat, let’s think about us.” She crept closer and undid her tight leather then my shirt, her lashes fluttering, full lips parted in a breathless purr.
“Good plan,” I murmured.
Wren’s tomboyish energy was more feral feline tonight and I had trouble keeping up with her. After a rousing interlude, I stumbled back to my cabin, a bit bowlegged. On contact with the hard foam, I sighed and went to sleep.
I awoke in the middle of the night, victim of a bad dream. Aliens, or some sort of freaks—those shoulder-high walking mantises that TK had described so eloquently—walked unseen. Mixed with that terrifying glimpse I’d seen out on the journey to nowhere with the phaso, it was a lethal combination. I shivered and shook off the memory, sitting up on my bed, wiping my dry eyes. A cold sweat had broken out around my neck. That bad feeling resurfaced, that larger-than-life feeling that something vastly unpleasant was brewing. It seemed contagious. I reached for my bottle of redneck Black Bull gin stashed under the bed and chug-a-lugged. Made my gut sour. Winced. Took another swig. That didn’t go down well either. My gut was burning.
I donned my brown captain’s leathers and did my patrol rounds, making for the bridge. The console lights burned brightly and I caught the old man hunched over one of the command tables, deep in concentration. Billy was at his side, making little grunting sounds like a curious chimp.
TK jerked up and gave me a guilty look. “Hey, Jet. How’s the night watch?”
“What the hell are you doing?” I cried.
