Sureblood Read online

  The staffer in charge of that foul-up paid for his carelessness with his life. It wasn’t the only thing that had gone horribly awry that month. Like when he sacrificed one of his oldest, ready-for-scrap freighters as a decoy to cause a Sureblood/Blue clash and Drakken fighters came out of nowhere to attack it, most of the pirates escaped alive. Who would have dreamed Surebloods and Blues would cooperate instead of killing each other?

  But Nezerihm prided himself on his recovery from that disastrous day. It certainly couldn’t have been swifter. The incident itself led to the gathering and from there, things went better than he’d ever hoped.

  Now this.

  As the captain continued to stand at attention, Nezerihm gripped the railing and looked out over his domain. “I feel so alone sometimes, Captain. So attacked. So…surrounded by people who make mistakes. If I’m not proactive, I risk losing all of this—my empire, everything my ancestors built from scratch. Your little incident has convinced me that something’s going to have to be done about Val Blue and her band of brigands. The end of the war has changed everything. The world, my dear Captain, has shifted. I need to shift with it. It’s time I legitimized my power in the eyes of the rest of the galaxy.” He threw a jovial glance at the captain. “I’ve long fancied the title governor.”

  The captain’s gaze was trained straight ahead. His mouth was a firm line as he patiently awaited news of his fate.

  Nezerihm sighed. “I suppose you’re anxious to know the consequences of your failure.”

  The captain swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  Nezerihm made a complete circle around the man before he stopped in front of him. “Would you like a refreshment before we get started?”

  The captain’s gaze flashed with surprise as he focused on Nezerihm, then annoyance before he managed to bury it.

  It didn’t matter. Nezerihm saw it and shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard that Prime-Admiral Zaafran of the Triad wants all of us to be kinder and gentler in our approach to the piracy problem. That includes me. Kinder, gentler Lord Nezerihm.”

  The guard posted by the door snickered. Nezerihm in fact found the topic anything but funny. “The clans will never leave their homes voluntarily, Captain. They’ll have to be exterminated, starting with that arrogant Blue bitch. The one you let fly away with my ore.” Grunting, he swung the back of his hand across the man’s face, snapping back his head.

  The captain dabbed his knuckles at some bloody spittle, then resumed his at-attention stance. Why didn’t he act afraid? Why wasn’t he simpering like all the others before him, pleading for mercy?

  It was all so disappointing. Fear in others excited Nezerihm. It aroused him—sexually, intellectually and emotionally, and made him feel powerful. Addicted, he fed on human terror like a drug.

  This man so far gave him nothing to work with.

  Nezerihm pulled out his pistol and pressed the muzzle to the very center of the captain’s forehead. “Look at that. Not even a flinch from you. No fear at all.”

  “I’m not afraid,” the captain agreed quietly.

  Nezerihm’s cheeks flushed hot with anger. He’d felt fear every day of his life. Fear and hate. That this worm of a man didn’t show a whit himself enraged him. He refused to allow this man or a lowly pirate whore to make him feel inferior!

  The flare of plasma fire and the sound of a skull coming apart startled Nezerihm as much as it did the guard posted at the door. And the dead captain, too, judging by the wide-eyed stare of surprise as the body fell backward.

  Nezerihm let out a breath and almost immediately felt better. “Get someone to clean up this flargin’ mess.”

  “Kinder and gentler, my lord?” The guard’s eyes gleamed.

  “I could have aimed for his testicles first.” Nezerihm pocketed the still-sizzling weapon and returned in a much-improved mood to the meeting room.

  ON THE UNITY, DAKE threw his gear on the bunk in his assigned cabin. It was excruciatingly sanitized like everything thing else on the ship, and felt cramped when he wanted no reminders of any of the cells he’d lived in. He wasn’t going to spend another second staring at four walls.

  A drink…he was desperate for one. Five-years desperate. He went in search of the ship’s bar.

  Even the corridors of the ship were a wonder, longer and wider than any ship he’d flown in, and filled with happy, busy crew members dressed in perfect uniforms. It would be something, having a ship like this. He tried not to appear like a little boy in his amazement. It was so bright and clean, and that repelled and fascinated him. In spite of the sameness of the uniforms, the three civilizations that crewed the Unity were obvious if he looked hard enough at the differences: the Drakken had their body ink and ear jewelry; the Earthlings walked in groups, their body language foreign and speaking in their strange tongue; the Coalition stood out by not standing out.

  Outsiders all, he reminded himself. Distrust of them was bred into his bones. Yet he’d never gotten a close look at them outside prison. Here they were, putting aside countless years of war to pursue the dream of peace. It began to give him hope that his dream of unity between the clans was attainable, too. If Val hadn’t already accomplished it in his absence, he thought. But the prison official said the region was unstable, and it worried him.

  It was noisier in the bar. Dozens milled around inside. Here the crew of the Unity could let loose. Once again his hand went for a dozer that wasn’t there. No need, he thought, scanning the large, nicely lit space. It might be more chaotic in the bar than the rest of the ship proper, but it was far more civilized than any Borderlands haunt he knew. No dead bodies to trip over, no dock whores draping their perfumed arms around him, no filth under his boots.

  He didn’t exactly like it, but he’d have to make do.

  The tempting scents of alcohol and food drew him farther inside. Savory scents made his stomach growl. He’d choked down one too many bowls of gruel in his recent past to ignore the aromas tantalizing him.

  He waded through a sea of unfamiliar faces to the bar. They watched warily as he passed by. Word must have gotten around about his ex-con status. Or it may have been his size.

  He slid a couple of the chits that served as money across the bar table. The last time he stood at a bar was with Malta, tasting her moonshine. “Whiskey.” He’d heard the Coalition liked to drink the stuff. It was a likely beverage to try first, though he had no intention of getting drunk. He was too much in the habit of wanting to stay alert for opportunities to escape.

  The bartender eyed him curiously as he gave him the drink. “Welcome back to real life, mister,” he said.

  “If that’s what you call it.” Dake sipped the liquor. It tasted like water compared to moonshine.

  “I can get you a girl.” The bartender motioned to several pretty female crew members casting interested peeks in Dake’s direction as they huddled over their drinks. One was tall with curves like Val. She even had long, wavy brown hair. “I expect you haven’t had any in a while. If you want an introduction, let me know. You won’t have any problem getting takers.”

  “No, thanks.” Dake turned his back to the women. He didn’t want them. He wanted Val. His Blue girl. He wasn’t nearly done getting to know her. They’d only first met when fate ripped them apart. Even now he could see her as she’d looked as they escaped the slango dance: her face flushed with excitement, her eyes twinkling with mischief, sharing his anticipation at their chance to be alone together. Poised on the threshold of the rest of their lives. Or so he’d thought.

  You never know what life’s going to hand out. Like everyone else, Val would assume he was dead. She’d have no reason to wait for him. The probability that she’d married by now was high. Yet she’d been determined to stay free, unhindered by marriage and children. Free as the wind. Had she stayed so? The need to find out burned in him.

  A crewman joined them at the bar. “You’re a Sureblood, aren’t you?” As if Dake was a novelty, he sized him up knowingly. “You’ve
got to be, mate. Look at you.”

  Dake stood a little taller. He had nothing to gain hiding his past, and not much to lose admitting to it. Piracy wasn’t what had gotten him locked up in the first place. “Aye, I am.”

  “I thought so, given your size and the fact you’re heading to the Channels. I heard you’d come aboard. Hitching a ride to the Borderlands.” At Dake’s surprise, he smiled and lifted the drink the bartender poured for him. “Rumors get around fast on this ship. You’ll be getting home just in time to help them pack up and leave.”

  “Leaving? No one’s leaving.”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  The man was beginning to irritate him. “I haven’t heard much of anything in the two hours I’ve been out.” Dake was in no mood for making small talk.

  “Operation Amnesty. The Triad wants to turn you pirates into fine, upstanding citizens. And we on the Unity get to convince you what a good deal it is.” Oblivious to Dake’s deepening scowl, he clinked his glass against Dake’s. “And it is, mate. In exchange for agreeing to relocate, you get free housing, education, food and clothing. Tax-free. Forever.”

  Relocate. Dake’s hand clamped around his glass. “Is that what you meant by us leaving?”

  “That’s the catch. You’ve got to move out to get the full incentive package and the pardon.”

  Dake snarled, “My people didn’t do anything to warrant a pardon.”

  “The hijackings, maybe? Or maybe it could be the zelfen stealing, black marketeering or kidnapping? There’s a rap sheet a light-year long on you folks. Now it’ll all be wiped clean—if pirates agree to the terms.”

  Dake blinked, trying to sort out the information being thrown at him as if it weren’t the most disturbing, confounding news he’d ever heard. Had he been given his freedom only to learn a different kind of imprisonment loomed?

  Who was leading the Surebloods now who would agree to this? Weren’t they healthy and prospering? Wasn’t the alliance between his clan and the Blues strong? “We Surebloods will never leave Parramanta! We’ll fight until the last man, woman and child.” People looked up at Dake’s shout. He didn’t bloody care.

  “The Surebloods were singing a different tune last I heard, my friend, after we showed them what we could offer versus the hard times they’ve fallen upon. What I don’t get, Sureblood, is how come the little Blues were able to stand up to our mediators, and you big ol’ Sureblood giants sound ready to leave your planet without a fight. You used to be the big bad asses of the Channels. Now you’re the teddy bears.” The Blues. Val. He nearly grabbed the man by the neck to demand more information, but outsiders weren’t like pirates, yelling and pounding fists. They spoke more…civilly. He clenched his jaw until his muscles ached, holding back. “Did they speak to the clan leader? Val Blue?”

  “Yep. We sent two mediators to the Blues to introduce the program the other day, and she threatened to blow them out the airlock.” The crewman slurped some whiskey. “Val Blue. The vilest she-captain in the Channels, mate. Beautiful, I hear, but mean. She’d rather bite off a man’s head than kiss him.”

  The shock of hearing Val’s name after all this time and in those terms sent both relief and alarm careening through him. She was apparently alive and well, just as plucky as he remembered, and apparently temporarily safe from Nezerihm’s claws.

  But she was up against Triad pressure. The pirates would never win by force. He shelved the idea permanently. He had to warn Val what she was up against, that she couldn’t fend off the Triad like they did their enemies of old. The Triad was smarter, and now the clans had to be, too. He’d find her and work out what they were going to do about it. And she’ll know you’re alive. With a wishful image of him stripping off all her clothes in a passionate reunion, he knew he’d have to rush back to Parramanta to help his clan before it was too late. But how to get to Artoom…? “Isn’t the Unity sending out mediators for another try?”

  “I heard we were. Captain’s trying to decide what to do about it—”

  “Take me. I can help you with the Blues.”

  The crewman laughed. “Like they’d let a Sureblood get anywhere near them after your clan assassinated their last leader.”

  Dake reared back. “We didn’t murder Conn Blue.”

  “Ha. Tell that to the Blues. I don’t think you’d get them to agree.”

  Dake’s head was spinning. He’d left the two clans on the verge of unity. Now they were at war, not with Nezerihm but with each other. Yarmouth must not have made it back to tell the others about the ambush and to warn them to watch Nezerihm. How else could it have gone so bloody wrong?

  The crewman took a sip of whiskey as Dake’s alarm spiked. “I guess it got old being ostracized by all the clans. No one in the Borderlands will be sad to see you Surebloods go—”

  Dake snatched the man by the collar. “There’s an assassin, but it’s not us! It’s not us!”

  A hand landed on his shoulder. “Easy,” someone said.

  Dake shoved him away. Others were grabbing for him now, trying to pull him off the man he’d pinned to the bar. He threw a punch at someone, not sure who. “Your clan murdered Conn Blue.” The crewman’s charges rang in his mind. Not his clan. Not the Surebloods. He had to set things straight and save his people from leaving.

  A restraint slithered around his wrists, cinching tight. He fought to pull free. His very life depended on it. His clan’s lives. And Val’s. The cuffs only got tighter. He roared in outrage and had just about kicked the last person out of his way when the crack of a dozer and a hit in the back sent him sprawling over the whiskey-splattered floor.

  FRANK JOHNSON WALKED across his office on the Unity with a cup of coffee and settled down at his desk.

  “Sir, he’s here,” his first officer informed him. Facial tattoos and an ear rimmed with tiny black diamonds told of the lieutenant’s Drakken origins. In his case, however, one couldn’t judge the book by its cover. Gwarkk was as steady and quietly efficient as they came.

  Frank nodded. “Send him in.”

  He used the intervening moments until Gwarkk returned with the mine owner who’d requested a meeting to scan his data pad. The Triad dossier revealed that Lord Viro Nezerihm oversaw the production of all the zelfen in the area and seemed eager to cooperate in keeping the supply lines open.

  At least someone was willing to cooperate, Frank thought. For all his efforts trying to work with the pirates for their sakes, all he’d gained was a threat to blow his two best mediators out an airlock. He took full blame. The fault was in his method of approach. He’d have to work with the clans if he were to have any chance of achieving his goals here. It meant understanding them—the people, the culture, their age-old ways. So far he’d failed miserably.

  Captain Valeeya Blue ran the most powerful of the six main families. It was imperative he gain her trust, at least enough to have meaningful talks. Maybe Lord Nezerihm would have some ideas.

  Frank skimmed through the intelligence data gathered on the mine owner. The Nezerihms moved into the Channels region from parts unknown and started a mining company. Indigenous clans—the pirates—saw the Nezerihm family as thieves and trespassers. Attacks on the Nezerihm fleet and company headquarters on Aerokhtron were frequent and bloody. Then zelfen was discovered and sought after by both the Drakken and Coalition. At that point the clans and the Nezerihms joined forces to keep them from helping themselves to the ore. A treaty was signed regarding use of the mines, but details were sketchy. Frank transmitted a task note to Gwarkk to research it further, then wrapped up his review.

  Wasn’t much more to see—Viro Nezerihm took over company operations after his father died and relations between the individual clans spiraled drastically downward to where they were now: rock bottom. Coincidence or—?

  “Sir,” Gwarkk said. “Lord Nezerihm.”

  Gray was the word that popped into Frank’s mind upon seeing Nezerihm: a pale gray cloak, silver hair and brows, matching eyes and deathly white skin.
He crossed the office like fog rolling into San Francisco. “Captain Johnson. A pleasure to meet you finally.”

  “A pleasure likewise, Lord Nezerihm.”

  The man declined all offers of food and drink, wanting to get right to business. Frank poured a second cup of coffee and got comfortable at his desk, but Nezerihm perched with prim intensity on the edge of a smart seat and said, “Your Operation Amnesty plan is a humanitarian one, but you’ll waste countless hours, money and manpower trying to negotiate with the pirates. Trust me, I know.” The man punctuated his apparent frustration with a dramatic sigh. “Look at what happened to your mediators on Val Blue’s Marauder. They barely made it out alive. She wanted to eject them out the hatch. Your mediators had to beg for their lives.”

  “How did you hear that?” A vague unease prickled Frank’s neck. This man knew too much.

  “I have trusted contacts in all the clans. They’re men like me who want peace. Men like you and me, Captain Johnson.”

  Frank doubted he and this Borderlands ore lord were anything alike but he’d leave it at that, reminding himself that he was a diplomat now, kinder and gentler. Or at least he was supposed to be.

  “Captain, my company is the sole legitimate source of zelfen in the Channels, and your Triad is the sole consumer. But we’re bombarded by barbarians on all sides who would rather keep the place the way it always was—lawless and dangerous. If we want any chance at assuring a legal, reliable supply of zelfen, we need to work together, you and me.”

  “I agree we need to work together.” Frank wasn’t as sure about Nezerihm Mining Company being the sole legitimate supplier, however, not without knowing what that treaty said. “That’s why the Unity is here, finding a solution.”