Mercenary Instinct (a science fiction romance) (28 page)

“You’ve always had a knack for making life
more complicated than it needs to be, Viktor,” Garland said.

Viktor snorted. “Tell me a new story.”

“Other mercenaries don’t worry about moral
issues; they just worry about making money. Keeps things
simple.”

Viktor didn’t think Garland was actually
suggesting he do that—he had been a freighter pilot hauling
livestock before the fall of Grenavine, not some soldier or
hardened killer. Likely, he was only pointing out the difficulty of
their situation and perhaps a frustration with it.

“I don’t know if that’s true of
all
mercenaries, but I didn’t get into this for the money. You of all
people should know that. It was about finding a way to stay free in
an increasingly unfree universe. On a planet or a moon, they can
always find you. Out here...” Viktor gazed out the porthole to the
stars. “Out here, there’s a chance to live freely, to make your
life simple or complicated, in the manner of your choosing, in the
way that suits your nature.”

Garland grunted. “Good thing you don’t say
that poetical nonsense in front of most of your soldiers.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.”

“I don’t know what the girl means to you, and
I don’t care, but this deception of the crew, I think that might
come back to haunt you. You could have been straight with them,
told them how it is, and if they didn’t like it, they could get off
at the next stop. That’s how you’ve usually operated. They expect
that. They’re all too afraid of you to mutiny or even think of
crossing you by stealing your bounty. You don’t need to worry about
the crew. Felgard, now. That’s a problem. If you don’t manage to
cut off the head with one swipe, that particular viper is going to
kill you.”

“I’ll keep your words in mind, Garland.”

His second-in-command ran his hand along the
table one more time, then walked out. Once again, Viktor found
himself wishing for his old friend’s counsel. Perhaps one day, if
he survived the next week, Ankari would become someone in whom he
could confide. But in the meantime, he had better keep his
distance, lest the crew have reason to guess at... too much.

* * *

Ankari stood up, flexing her back and
stretching legs that had been sitting for too long. At least she
was clean and had experienced three straight nights of sound sleep
in an actual bed. So what if the beds were simply set up at one end
of their lab? And so what if their “lab” was nothing more than the
equipment they had been carrying in their backpacks set up in what
was nothing more than an environmental controls room, complete with
an engineer wandering in every hour to check the systems? And so
what if there was a guard who stood outside day and night and had
their meals delivered? It wasn’t the brig.

She had access to the net and all the
information the system could offer. Oh, she would have preferred to
share Viktor’s bed at night, but he came by once or twice a day to
check on them, and during an unobserved hug and kiss had intimated
that he would like shared beds, too, and that he planned to make
that a reality as soon as they were done with Felgard and he could
officially change their status from prisoners to business partners.
A few people seemed to know the truth, but the rest of the crew was
still under the impression that she and the others were to be
turned in for money. So long as that wasn’t the case, she didn’t
mind going along with the ruse. Lauren was twitchier about the
whole situation, and Jamie, despite having a romantic streak,
seemed uneasy, too, as they traveled closer to Paradise, the planet
where Felgard owned an island. Ankari occasionally wondered if she
was being naive in trusting Viktor so fully, so early in their
relationship, but he seemed like someone who preferred blunt
honesty to chicanery. Even if, as Lauren was quick to point out, he
had to be lying to someone: either his crew or her.

But Ankari had come to accept that they had
to face Felgard one way or another, and whether someone got paid or
not probably wouldn’t change much for her team in the end. She had
sent messages back and forth to Fumio, and had done more research
on Felgard on her own, enough to learn that he had seen a number of
doctors in the last couple of years. The tightest security locked
down his medical files, but she could guess that he thought
Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. might have a solution the other
practices hadn’t. Ankari still didn’t know why he had chosen to
kidnap her people rather than simply contacting them to make a
deal.

“How’s it going?” Jamie asked from a pile of
spare parts on a counter. She was trying to build Lauren a
bioreactor for cell culturing using a schematic she had scrounged
off the net, since she had no piloting or engineering duties at the
moment and didn’t know much about the research and experimentation
side of the company. She didn’t seem to have much of a knack for—or
perhaps an interest in—helping Ankari with the marketing and
customer acquisition aspect, either.

“For me?” Ankari asked. Lauren was working
two feet away from her, reviewing blood and stool samples more
modern than the twenty-thousand-year-old alien ones acquired in the
ruins, but she didn’t seem to hear the question. “Good. We’ve
already got a few customers signed up, and several people have
given their financial information to prove they’re willing to pay.
Of course, I can’t charge them until we arrange a way to perform
the procedures or figure out a way to ship specimens so their own
doctors can do the insertions. Being on a ship is tougher than
having a static clinic, but it may actually be a boon in the end,
since it’ll allow us to service more worlds.” Ankari had spent the
last two days building a virtual clinic, listing services, and
marketing their company, something made easier by the publicity
Lauren’s work had already received.

“That’s impressive,” Jamie said. “I thought
it would be years before we made money.”

“It’ll be years before the
alien
angle
is ready to try, I think.” Ankari glanced at Lauren. “But there are
plenty of people with health issues that can be improved, if not
absolved altogether, by a microbiota transplant. There are already
clinics that do that, but those who sign up to perform the service
with us will have early access to the alien microbiota when we’re
sure it’s safe for human implementation. There are people signing
up now who want children they haven’t even conceived yet to be able
to take advantage. I find it interesting that those from
fundamentalist religions who won’t consider the benefits of genetic
engineering are willing to consider this. Maybe it’s a workaround?
I don’t know. Oh, and we have some interest in the Grenavine human
strains we may be able to introduce shortly. It’s widely known that
the inhabitants adhered to a natural lifestyle on a world with a
rich and varied eco system, and that they were relatively
disease-free compared to the galactic standard.”

“I can’t believe you got Captain Aloof to
give you a sample.” Jamie grinned, pointing toward the refrigerator
that held recently acquired specimens.

“He’s not aloof; he’s just reserved with who
he opens up to.”

“Mmhmm. So long as he lets us—”

The door slid open. Instead of the expected
environmental-systems engineer, Dr. Zimonjic walked in carrying her
medical bag and wearing her sweater with the stuffed pockets.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Ankari said with a
friendly smile, though the woman’s presence made her nervous. She
wondered if word had reached her that Ankari and Viktor had spent
some time together on Sturm. Even if it wasn’t as much time as she
would have liked, she had definitely gotten the impression that
Sergeants Hazel and Tick had connected the dots. Ankari sat down
and propped her arm on the counter, trying to look casual, but she
doubted she managed it.

“Good evening.” Zimonjic looked around the
lab. She had been a skeptic when Lauren had first explained the
research in the brig. Had something changed?

“Are we getting another check-up?” Jamie
asked. “I feel fine now.”

“No, not unless someone needs one. I’m on my
way to the station to pick up medical supplies.”

A couple of hours earlier, faint clunks and
shudders had reverberated through the
Albatross
as it docked
at the space station where repairs would be done, the last stop
before the ship continued on to Felgard’s home world.

“And you came by to ask if we needed
anything? How thoughtful.” Ankari smiled, though she doubted that
had anything to do with the doctor’s visit.

“No. I came to...” Zimonjic glanced toward
the door, but it had shut behind her, so there was no chance of the
guard or anyone else in the hallway overhearing her. “I heard you
were collecting fecal samples from Grenavine natives and that there
might be payment down the line if they were used.”

Ankari sank back in the chair. Oh, that was
what Zimonjic wanted? Extra cash? Nothing to do with crushes on
Viktor and dark feelings toward the one who was getting all the
hugs from him?

Lauren, who had heretofore ignored their
visitor—and the rest of the lab in general—spun around in her
chair. “That’s right. Are you interested in making a deposit? Oh,
are you Grenavinian? Not that we wouldn’t consider samples from
those of other origins, but Ankari said—did you tell her how much
interest there’s been?”

“I was telling Jamie that, actually, but,
ah...” Ankari could tell Zimonjic didn’t want the spiel. She was
wearing a long-suffering look. She probably just wanted extra
spending money and was still a skeptic in regard to the business.
“Here, Doctor. The form and more details are on the tablet.”

“I’m sure it’s all fine. And, yes, I grew up
on Grenavine. I was married for a time and never went back to the
typical plant-derived surname.” Zimonjic made a hasty signature in
the air over the tablet, then set her bag down on the cluttered
counter and rummaged through it. “I already took the liberty of
collecting a specimen.”

“Oh? That’s very efficient.” Ankari took back
the tablet with the now-signed form, surprised that a doctor
wouldn’t have wanted to read more details, but maybe she had
already received them from one of the other Grenavinians.

“Yes.” Zimonjic placed an opaque tube on the
counter by Lauren’s microscope and closed her bag. “I’ll check back
with you later and see if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Lauren made sure the sample was dated and
labeled, then stuck it in the refrigerator and returned to her
work. Zimonjic walked out the door without another word. Ankari
found the encounter a touch strange, but she was relieved not to
have been interrogated or denigrated over her relationship with
Viktor and decided not to worry further about the doctor.

She returned to her marketing project, but
was yawning within a minute or two. Odd, she hadn’t been tired
before. The guard hadn’t brought their dinner yet, so it couldn’t
be very late. It wasn’t until she glanced at Lauren and saw her
slumped forward in her chair, her cheek pressed to the counter and
her eyes closed that Ankari realized something was wrong. Very
wrong.

Zimonjic.

When she had set her bag down... Ankari stood
up and almost fell over. Her legs had turned into leaden weights.
She caught herself on the edge of the counter. “Lauren? Jamie?” Her
voice came out in a croak, as if her vocal chords were falling
asleep too.

Neither woman answered. Jamie was slumped in
her chair too. They were both closer to that section of the counter
where Zimonjic had been than Ankari was.

She stumbled toward it, using the counter for
support. A faint gray smoke was wafting from behind a rack of test
tubes. Ankari couldn’t smell anything, but whatever Zimonjic had
left was having an effect. Hers eyelids were heavier than
mountains.

She tried to maneuver around Lauren without
knocking her out of the chair, but her dead legs and numb feet were
useless. She couldn’t feel the counter under her hands, either.
When she tripped over the leg of Lauren’s chair, there was no hope
of saving herself. She struck the deck, the side of her head
smacking down. It would have hurt more than it did if her nerves
were functioning correctly...

Ankari tried to get up, but it was useless.
Her muscles had no strength. She looked for a tablet, a comm patch,
a way to send a message. Anything. But the floor was empty.

The door whispered open.

“Get the gurney in here,” Zimonjic said.

To whom, Ankari had no idea. She couldn’t
move her head.

“These ladies are going for a ride.”

It was the last thing she heard.

“Three thousand... fifty-two hundred... eight
hundred and ninety... Is that everything? No, wait, forgot to
charge you for those...” The merchant cheerfully recited a few more
engine parts for his tablet to compute while a robot puttered
around the shop, sucking wrappers, screws, and other floor detritus
into its built-in trash receptacle. For the third time, it tried to
suck up Viktor’s boots. He hoped the robots that were jetting
around outside the giant view port, welding, scrubbing, and
painting the hull of the
Albatross
, had their bolts secured
more tightly.

“Sure you don’t want to change your mind
about that bounty?” Commander Borage asked. “I told you this was
going to be costly.”

“It’ll be fine. If Cosmos Circuits and Cogs
doesn’t give us a fair price, we’ll torture and kill Cosmos, then
blast our way out of the space dock.” Viktor gave his coolest,
hardest look to the pasty-faced pencil pilot totaling the bill.

“Erp?” The man blinked a few times, cleared
his throat, and said, “There’s not actually a Cosmos. It’s just a
name. I’m Ralph. And we have fierce security robots to deal with
recalcitrant customers.” He pointed to two sleek, black
human-shaped bots standing guard at the door.