Chapter 6
“Nice ship.”
Wraith sat in the navigator’s seat of the Styx, the sleek little attack craft the hangar crew had called, “The Major’s other ship.”
Golden Boy himself turned to glance at her from the pilot’s chair. Autopilot was engaged, but like her, he seemed to prefer the bridge. That or he just didn’t trust her.
Smart man.
“Thanks.”
It was a nice ship. State of the art, if she were to judge. Certainly way ahead of anything she’d flown back in the War. It was small, designed for only two to four crew, but easy enough to fly solo.
Her fingers twitched, wanting to feel the yoke under her palms, see how the ship responded to her slightest touch.
“So, are you ready to tell me what this field trip is all about?”
He leaned back in his seat, his expression thoughtful.
“We’re headed to a den of iniquity,” he told her eventually, humor crinkling his eyes.
“Golden Boy, you really know how to plan a first date.”
He started and she snorted, the laugh escaping because his shocked face was just that funny.
“Golden Boy?”
She grinned once more, then locked her face back to neutral and counted off on her fingers, “Helios the fucking Sun God. Favored senior officer of SID. And how the hell do you keep that tan in space?”
His lip twitched.
“Genetics. And I picked The Folly for our first date, Hunny Bun, because we’ve had a possible sighting of one of your old teammates.”
Wraith froze next to him. Her face blank.
He’d clocked three reactions when he dropped that line. Recognition at The Folly. The prelude to stabbing him for calling her Hunny Bun—he’d have to do it again. And then unnatural stillness at the mention of her teammate.
“Wraith?”
She didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even blink, but he could hear her heart thudding.
“Captain?” Still nothing.
“Ash?”
She jerked, eyes snapping to his. “Don’t call me that.”
She looked a hair away from violence and fear trickled down his spine as he internally logged the reaction. “Noted.”
“Who?”
Which team member, she meant. “Spook. Formerly Lieutenant Chekova. We have reports of a sighting at the Gray Market.”
He couldn’t read her, but her heart settled into an alarmingly calm and steady rhythm. He wondered if she realized he was modified. Decided that mentioning it right at that moment was probably not a good idea.
“Are you going to give me a weapon?” she asked an interminable time later.
He stared back at her, making sure his gaze was unflinching.
“You don’t need a weapon, Captain. You are one.”
The Folly was still the same hell hole it had always been. Even the War couldn’t change it.
Still overcrowded, still reeking of unwashed bodies, gunpowder, and illegal drugs and booze.
It had been more than a decade since she’d last walked the narrow, crooked alleys, but there was familiarity in every step.
As they spilled into a street thick with noise and heat, she casually swiped a blade from a passing merc. Pocketed it.
Golden Boy may think she was a weapon, but in a place like this every advantage counted.
At least he hadn’t been stupid enough to make them walk out here in uniform.
The simple black jumpsuit with scuffed gray spacer armor fit poorly, but that was actually better. The good Major had done his homework. Or had it done for him.
Properly fitting armor meant you’d survived long enough to afford it. That made you a challenge.
Good armor made you a target. People wanted your gear—or the reputation to be gained from taking it. Wearing it was a statement. One she was happier not making in their current situation.
Was Spook here?
The thought rose against her will and her pulse spiked before she could calm it. Refused to leave.
Funny how five years could shift your perspective.
Spook had always thrown the first punch and had to have the last word. Of all the Ghosts, the two of them had the most difficult relationship.
Spook considered her a rival. Wraith considered her a pain in the ass. Phantom and Spirit frequently commented that they must be related, because only actual siblings could fight that much and still have each other’s backs regardless.
But in her cell, she’d have given a year of her life to argue with Rina again. Hell. She’d have given her life for the chance.
She glanced at Helios in her peripheral vision.
And now, perhaps she was.
He stopped at a crossroad, hesitated.
She grabbed his elbow and pushed him forward. You didn’t hesitate in the Folly. Any weakness shown was an invitation, and she had better things to do than save his ass and prove to the locals that they weren’t worth the effort.
Kael let himself be guided forward, trying to mimic Wraith’s attitude.
The contrasting pink and green neon signs cast strange shadows, but Wraith moved as if she were far more at home here than she was on the Eventide.
Despite the overwhelming mash of people and sounds and smells. He’d been trying not to gag since they disembarked, without appreciable success.
He glanced at her. She kept her grip on his elbow, casual steel. How did this woman have a near-panic attack on the hangar deck, but blend in so well on the foul streets around them?
She’d been a mystery from the first moment he read her file, but instead of unraveling it, engaging with her only added more questions.
“Do you know where we’re going?”
Her file hadn’t mentioned anything of The Folly. Had she been here before? Or was she just a chameleon?
“The gray market is up ahead; the fighting ring is just beyond it. We’ll start there.”
“You’ve been here before.”
He saw her shrug, but she offered no details.
One more question for the file.
The stench improved only marginally as they entered the market with its colored awnings. Whether the addition of food smells helped or hurt was debatable.
He casually looked around.
The awning colors seemed to have meaning. Green for weapons. Purple for armor. Blue for clothing. Yellow for tech.
There were insignia sprayed on the walls at semi-regular intervals.
“What are those?” He nodded to one that had been crossed out and a different insignia sprayed underneath.
“Factions. But I’m a little out of touch on the details.”
He zoomed his optics in. The paint was fresh—the power struggle was current.
A convoluted piece of ceramic tech caught his eye, and he tried to turn, but she held firm, “Shopping later, Golden Boy.”
“That’s MilTech.”
“Well done, you have eyes. And if you go straight for it, then people are going to start taking an unpleasant interest in us.”
“You could use my name, you know.”
She glanced at him, “Why?”
That was a good point, actually. For all that he didn’t consider her a prisoner, exactly, there was no doubt in either of their minds that he was her warden.
He shrugged and kept walking, willing to take her lead. For the moment.
He could hear the roar of the fighting ring now. In a universe of high-tech weaponry, one-on-one unarmed combat had turned into a high-stakes sport.
Every ship, station, and city had at least one. Whether the bets happened in the open depended on where you were.
They climbed a few short stairs to the entryway when he saw Wraith duck next to him.
Only his enhanced reactions saved him from being knocked unconscious, and even so the blow sent him sprawling.
“How dare you?” His ears were ringing, but he heard the voice clearly enough to realize they were in deep shit.
“How dare you come here wearing her face?”