The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7) Read online

  Trencher played his part in the strange eco-system of the border planets. He was a middleman really, and nothing more. Dannith and the other worlds bordering the Badlands were full of people peddling clues about potential old tech finds. Some of them were of the bookish variety, researchers who examined old records and tried to find traces that might lead to something useful. Others were explorers without the resources or guts to follow up on their own discoveries. It was quicker, and safer, to sell off a lead and take a share of anything someone else found…assuming you could trust anyone else involved.

  That was where Trencher’s value came in. He was a fixture on Dannith’s Spacer’s District. He owned several of its best-known establishments, and he had at least some degree of credibility with both the sellers and buyers of information.

  “Did you make any arrangements with her?”

  “No…I just told her to come back in a few days. She was alone. She had to put together a crew, and I wasn’t sure what to tell her…until I had the chance to speak to you.”

  “Very good. Whatever Captain Lafarge is doing here, I doubt it has to do with resuming old business practices. She…” The man almost continued, but then he stopped abruptly.

  “She…?”

  “Nothing important. The next step is to find out what she really wants.”

  “And, just how do you propose we do that?” Trencher was hesitant. He didn’t have any loyalty to Andi Lafarge, not really. The crazy smuggler had pulled her gun on him…twice. But she’d always dealt with him more or less honestly, and setting her up felt wrong. Besides, he’d seen her when she was angry.

  “You will have your talk with her. Pass on the basics of any leads you may have, anything to catch her interest. Then explain that you have a contact with more detailed information. Tell her you set up a meeting…and bring her to us.”

  “You must be kidding. Andi Lafarge is no fool. She’ll never go along with that.” He stared at the man. He was wearing a long black coat, and Trencher was suddenly aware that any kind of weapon could be hidden under there. Not that the stranger needed to hold a gun to his head. Trencher was deep underwater, utterly ruined…unless his new associates honored their agreement to forgive his debts in exchange for his cooperation.

  “Perhaps she wouldn’t if she were operating the way she did before. But, if we’re right, she’s fishing around for information herself, and I don’t mean vague treasure maps leading to questionable chunks of old tech. She’ll take chances she wouldn’t have before, push harder to get to what she’d looking for.”

  Trencher was confused. He didn’t understand what the man wanted with Andi Lafarge, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to cooperate…and hope his new “friends” kept their word and canceled his debts.

  And that Andi Lafarge didn’t get pissed enough to put a bullet in his head.

  * * *

  “I may have something for you, Andi. Something big.” Trencher’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. The bar was about half full, fairly typical for the time of the night, maybe even a bit light, and the tables right around the booth were empty.

  Andi stared at him, trying to get a read on his expression. She’d always been good at judging people’s motives and intentions, but Trencher was keeping a good poker face. Still, she was suspicious. If he really had something big, would he offer it to her now, like this? Two years ago, perhaps. She had a good reputation on the border, and a number of successes to her credit. But right now, she’d just reappeared after almost two years, with none of her old crew—no crew at all, as far as Trencher knew. She wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but her gut told her it was more than a promising run.

  Which is good, right? She’d spent her career being as low profile as possible, trying not to attract problematic attention. But now, she was looking for trouble, at least in a way. Still, it felt strange, and it only increased her unease.

  “What are the details?”

  “I’m just a middleman on this, Andi. The group that found this came to me looking for a reliable crew. I was going to talk to Mercer or Allante…but then you showed up, fresh back from retirement.”

  Now she was sure something was going on. Tom Mercer and his crew were pretty damned good, but Santiago Allante was another prospector at the top of the heap. His ship, Sombra, was almost twice the size of Pegasus. She had a decent relationship with Trencher, but she knew he’d never give her first crack at a prime job if he could get Allante and his people instead.

  So, it is a trap of some kind.

  But the cold feeling in her gut reminded her of the unsettling truth. She was there to walk into a trap. It was the only way she could get the leads she needed to track down Sector Nine.

  Besides, if he wanted me dead, he could have had one of his people shoot me down right here.

  That made her feel better. A little.

  Very little.

  “So, how do we proceed?”

  Trencher looked back at her. He’d been doing an impressive job of hiding any tension, but now she caught a hint of it. Whatever he led her to, it wasn’t going to be just another expedition.

  “We go meet them, Andi.” He paused. “Now.”

  She felt her insides tighten. Trencher had taken her by surprise. She’d expected him to lure her somewhere else, but she’d figured she’d have a chance to speak with Holsten first.

  “Now? No, that’s no good. Let’s do this right. You get to your people and set up a proper meeting, either here or…”

  “No, Andi. It’s got to be right now. The information is time sensitive. The expedition has to leave quickly.”

  “That’s crazy. Set something up for tomorrow.” She had to at least seem to put up a fight. If she didn’t, Trencher would become suspicious.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Andi. It’s got to be now. They’re very cautious…and the information is that valuable.”

  Andi took a breath and swallowed hard. She almost told Trencher to forget about it. It was one thing to agree to work for Holsten, to come to Dannith and poke around, and quite another to walk blindly into a trap just to see who was behind it. Her eyes darted for an instant toward the door, toward escape. But she’d come here to do a job, and this was the next step.

  “Okay, we’ll do it your way. But my new crew knows I’m here, and if you pull anything, they’ll…”

  “Everything is legit, Andi…and this looks promising enough to be that final score, the one that really lets you—and me—retire from all of this.” He slid out of the booth and stood, waiting for her to follow.

  She hesitated for an instant. It was against every impulse she had to willingly walk into a trap. Finally, she stood up and nodded, and then she followed him toward the door.

  “Where, exactly, are we going?”

  “Just down the street. There’s a transport waiting.”

  Andi stopped. “A transport. This whole thing stinks like garbage, Drake. What the hell is going on?”

  “I told you they’re cautious, Andi. They’ve got a lot of resources committed. This is no ordinary run for a few scraps and parts…it’s the real deal. And, it’s their way or no way. You want to walk, walk. But if you want to hear about what could be the biggest haul of your career, we do it their way.”

  She listened, impressed by the sincerity Trencher managed to put into his words, even though she knew it was fake. She could sense the stress below it all. And something else. Fear. Drake Trencher was scared.

  “All right, let’s go,” she said, trying to inject clear discomfort into her response. Which wasn’t hard at all since she was well beyond uncomfortable.

  The two of them walked out onto the main road and down several blocks. Then, Trencher turned down a side street. It was a particularly dumpy section of the Spacer’s District, one frequented mostly by hardcore addicts and drunks, and lined by the absolute bottom of the barrel in terms of bars and other establishments.

  There were at least a dozen people passed out on
the walkway, sleeping off whatever inebriation afflicted them. About a dozen vehicles were parked along the street. They were mostly ancient, dumpy trucks, more than one of them looking abandoned. One large black transport was parked at the next corner, new and gleaming. And expensive. Very out of place.

  “There they are,” Trencher said, extending his arm and pointing toward the vehicle.

  She glanced over at Trencher, trying to hold back the anger she felt. The bastard was setting her up. All the times they’d worked together, the money they’d both made…and he was selling her out. True, things had almost come to violence between then a couple times, but never due to outright betrayal. Besides, I wouldn’t have really shot him.

  Probably not, at least.

  She walked down the street. It was taking all she had not to duck into cover in some ally, or at least to put Trencher down like the miserable backstabber he was. But she held it together and walked up to the transport, standing quietly as Trencher knocked on the shaded window.

  The door slid open a second later. It was mostly dark inside, but she could see it was a large space, and as plushly configured as the vehicle’s exterior.

  “Get in.” Trencher was standing behind her, gesturing toward the open hatch. She angled her head back, her eyes catching his for an instant. If the son of a bitch though he was going to muscle her into the transport…

  But she remembered why she was there. Whatever was inside the vehicle, it was at least a step closer to what she’d come to find. She took a deep breath and stepped in, sliding into an empty seat just past the hatch.

  “Welcome, Captain Lafarge. I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last. We have much to discuss.”

  The man speaking was sitting directly across from her. It was almost dark in the cabin, and his face was hidden in the shadows. Not that she’d recognize a Sector Nine agent anyway, if that was what she was dealing with. And she’d decided she was almost sure about that, at least.

  “And what might that be?” Her voice was hard, but she held back as much of the caustic tone as she could manage. She needed to get information from these people…and get out of this meeting alive, if at all possible. Needlessly antagonizing them wouldn’t help her cause on any of those counts.

  “We’ll get to that soon enough. But, first, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Ricard Lille, Captain Lafarge. Very pleased to finally meet you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Hall of the People

  Liberte City

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV

  Union Year 219 (315 AC)

  Desiree Marieles sat on the cold metal chair, waiting, tapping her feet nervously. She’d come as soon as she’d gotten the call, but she was still concerned she was late. There had been no time specified for an appointment, just a brief instruction to “come immediately.”

  She’d waited now for more than a year since she’d gotten back from the Alliance…waited for Gaston Villieneuve or one of his lieutenants to contact her, to bring her back into the fold. Or for his killers to show up on her door.

  She’d watched the orgy of bloodletting that had accompanied the former Sector Nine head’s transition from entrenched government apparatchik to revolutionary leader. The totalitarian regime he’d served, of which he’d been an integral part, was gone now, almost totally destroyed. Yet, Villieneuve remained, head of a new order that had an iron grip no less powerful than that which had preceded it.

  Marieles had always respected Villieneuve, even considered herself one of his protégés, but now she had a new perspective on the depth of his genius. He’d somehow reinvented himself in the eyes of the mob that had murdered most of his former colleagues, and he’d done it with stunning success.

  She moved around on the chair, trying to get comfortable. She’d wrestled with how to dress for the meeting. First, she’d put on her black leather outfit, the one that fit her so well…the one she’d used to successfully seduce countless men and women in her previous missions. But then she’d had second thoughts, and in the end, she took a cue from Villieneuve himself, donning an ill-fitting set of gray factory clothes, the kind of proletariat garb he’d worn every time she’d seen him on the vid.

  She was uncomfortable in her new clothes, both because the fabric was stiff and course, and because the bulky unisex outfit hid every curve and contour of her body. She didn’t like hiding any of her assets, though her looks and seduction skills were far from the only tools in her arsenal. Marieles was a stone-cold killer, a brilliant operative with an enormous skillset ranging from a fair hacking ability to expertise in a half dozen styles of personal combat. But she hated being without even one of her weapons.

  She was also nervous, unsure what to expect when Villieneuve walked in. She doubted the absolute ruler of the Union would waste his time calling her into his office just to have her killed. There were far easier ways to see to that, if he’d finally decided to do away with her. But, she still wasn’t sure he was going to offer her what she truly wanted…a way back in, a return to her former life as an operative.

  Sector Nine was gone now, the buildings—the ones that weren’t very well-protected secrets, at least—burned or pulled down brick by brick. Thousands of the agents had been killed, most of them betrayed to the mob and murdered in the streets. The blood of so many of his operatives had greased Villieneuve’s route back to power. Marieles knew many people would find that appalling, disgusting…they would hate and despise the man for such callous treachery and disloyalty. But she saw only brilliance in all Villieneuve had done, and she admired her former—and future?—boss immensely.

  She indulged a small spark of optimism. She had achieved considerable success in her mission against the Alliance, almost single-handedly provoking a war between the Palatians and the Krillians. Tarkus Vennius had refused to call back the fleet deployed against the Union forces at the Bottleneck, so in that regard, her mission had failed. But any reasonable analysis would show that she had been as successful as she could have been, especially working with as few resources as she’d been given. She’d created a serious threat to the Alliance home world. Vennius’s steadiness and courage in facing that danger, and overcoming it, had been a factor beyond her control.

  Still, her own opinion didn’t necessarily extend to Gaston Villieneuve, and she’d been more than a little concerned when she came back, unsure how much blame for the war’s failure he might heap upon her. Her worries had proven to be well-founded. Villieneuve had scapegoated many, shifted the blame from himself to whomever best served his purposes. Marieles had been left alone, though it was unclear whether that was because Villieneuve didn’t blame her, or just because the worst of his rage and massacres occurred while she was still making the long journey back.

  She’d been uncertain what to expect when she arrived. At first, she’d cowered in a small apartment, one of her safe houses, feeling a wave of fear at every sound from the hallway. But, as time went by, she’d begun to see cause to hope that she’d escaped the wave of terror that had swept across Montmirail.

  Survival had been her initial concern, of course, but eventually, she’d begun to worry about a future beyond just another day drawing breath. She had hidden resources, of course, as most agents did, but the widespread crash of the Union’s currency had reduced the value of her reserves to almost nothing. She’d eked out a tolerable existence the past year, certainly better than most of Montmirail’s inhabitants had managed, but she knew she would have to do something soon. Tolerable had never been Desiree Marieles’s target.

  Then, she got the message to report to Villieneuve at once. The fact that it hadn’t come along with armed guards was cause for some hope, she’d realized almost immediately, but now, sitting there waiting, she was getting edgier as each minute slipped off the clock.

  “Desiree…what a pleasure to see you again.” The words pulled her from her thoughts, and she stood up, turning toward the door as Gaston Villieneuve stepped into th
e office. He looked vastly different than she’d remembered, thinner, for one thing, and clad from head to toe in factory worker’s clothes, his pants stained, his worn leather boots covered in mud. She remembered him as perfectly groomed and tailored at all times, but now he sported a three-day scruff and his hair was long and tousled.

  “Minister Villien…”

  “Please, Desiree…I am merely Citizen Villieneuve now.” He moved toward her and extended his hand, grasping her arm in the style that had become commonplace on Montmirail since the…revolution.

  “Yes, of course, Citizen Villieneuve. I’m so glad that you sent for me. I know how busy you must be.”

  “There is far too little time in the day. Yet, those in the factories work long hours as well, doing their part to bring prosperity to our People’s Union. I can do no less.”

  “I’m impressed, sir…by all you have accomplished.”

  “Thank you, Desiree. But there are no ‘sirs’ here. Only two Citizens, both loyal and committed to the new future.”

  “Indeed…Citizen.” Marieles was a little surprised at Villieneuve’s intensity. For a moment, she almost believed he had sincerely turned into the people’s leader his propaganda had so widely promoted. But then, he sat at his desk, a barely perceptible wince on his face as he landed in the hard and unyielding chair. He pressed a button on his desk, and the door slid shut. A few seconds later, a small yellow light on the desk turned green.

  “We can speak more freely now, Desiree.” He gestured toward the small device on the desk. “I still have political enemies out there, I’m afraid, and caution is always warranted. The room is secure now.”

  “I understand…” She wasn’t sure what to call him now. “Sir? Citizen?”

  “Citizen will do, Desiree. There is no sense in making things more complicated than they need to be, and we certainly don’t want to risk carelessness in public now, do we?” He paused for a moment. “I wanted to speak with you about something important.”