The Truth of Valor (43 page)

He should have known it would come down to the payout. He not only made the hard choices, but he was the only one who had any foresight. “If Big Bill controls the market, Big Bill controls the price.”

Nat opened her mouth in the pause, then closed it again without speaking, indicating that he should go on.

“The whole concept of the
free merchants . . .
” Cho sketched quotes around the words. “. . . means more to Big Bill than money, so he has to get the weapons into the right hands. The weapons change everything. This is the one time Big Bill is not going for the immediate payoff.” He cut Nat off with a raised hand. “Yes, he’ll get his fifteen percent, the fukking universe would be imploding before he gave that up, but he’ll get fifteen percent of one fuk of a lot more if his plan works. So Big Bill is screwing you out of part of your payoff because Big Bill is setting the prices.”

“Okay, so . . .” She stared into her mug as if it might have the answers, then up at him as if it actually had. “In order to get the payoff we’re entitled to, we need to set the prices.”

“Yes.” And because Nat had come to it herself, she’d sell it to the rest of the crew. As often as possible, Cho believed in giving orders he knew would be obeyed. Greased the way for those times the orders were less palatable.

“How?”

It all came back to the weapons. “We get the weapons off the station, out of the territory Big Bill controls—it’s hard to take a stand when the person you’re standing against can turn off the air—and we renegotiate based on how important we know the weapons are to Big Bill’s long-term plans.”

“Yeah, but if we set the prices, Big Bill can just suggest no one buys.”

“He won’t. The weapons change everything.”

“Okay.” She nodded slowly, forehead folding into well-defined lines. “I can see that. But we can’t get the armory off the station with the gravity on. Big Bill controls the gravity.”

“The armory doesn’t matter.”

Nat rolled her eyes and slapped both palms down on the table. “Damn it, Cap, I thought the armory was the whole fukking point!”

“The contents of the armory are the whole fukking point. When Nadayki gets the seal open and we have three hours Big Bill doesn’t own to unload everything onto the
Heart
.”

“So Big Bill’s station, not the
Heart
, took the risk of Nadayki blowing the armory,” Nat said slowly, “and we end up free and clear with a load of weapons.”

It sounded good. Simple. Foolproof. Profitable. “And we renegotiate a better price. Our price, not Big Bill’s.”

“Why, Captain Cho,” Nat grinned, bloodshot eyes gleaming, “that’s practically piracy.”

Nat made him feel good about command. Always had. She was never obsequious the way Huirre could be and she always, eventually, understood what he was doing and why. For the first time since that gunnery sergeant had clued him in to Big Bill’s betrayal, Cho felt back in control.

The weapons were his, not Big Bill’s.

He might sell them to Big Bill’s people, he might not. His final decision would be based entirely on whether or not they could pay the price. That was what kept the system they had out here working.

Cho didn’t begrudge Big Bill his fifteen percent—not of the weapons, not of the price he got for them—the canny bastard kept the station running, a safe haven in a universe that tried to choke a man with rules, but Big Bill had to learn he didn’t control the other eighty-five per . . .

“Ryder.” He managed to stop before slamming the salvage operator to the deck. His eyes were red, face was still bruised, his hair was wet . . . the man looked like shit. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for you.” He swayed in place and laid a palm against the bulkhead. “You think Big Bill’s trying to screw you, right?”

“Go on.” No point in denying it Cho realized, Ryder had been right there in the pod when Big Bill had tipped his hand.

“Okay, suppose Big Bill thinks that the hard part’s done. The CSO seal is the hinky one; the Marine seal is straightforward in comparison. He convinced a government that this station didn’t exist; surely he can get through a Marine seal. Why should he settle for fifteen percent when he can have the whole enchilada?”

“What the hell is an enchilada?”

“When he can have the whole thing,” Ryder amended.

“Why do you think . . .?”

“Weapons change everything,” Ryder interrupted flatly.

Cho’s eyes widened. His own words, thrown back at him.

“All he has to do is open the exterior hatch,” Ryder continued. “Any crew by the pod has sweet fuk all in the way of time to get to the air lock and into the ship. They’re sucked into vacuum. Nadayki’s brain is explosively decompressed pudding. Result—Big Bill’s the only one with the mad skills to get the seal open. And you know what they say: possession is nine tenths, not fifteen percent.”

“Fuk him!” Cho snarled. He could see Big Bill spreading his hands and smiling and saying exactly that.

“You can’t stop him,” Ryder pointed out, and kept going before Cho took off his whole fukking foot for being obvious. “But you can screw him in return. There’s a suit hookup right by the storage pod. You put suits in it and they’re just hanging there, charging behind closed doors, not giving anything away if Big Bill comes down. But, if the exterior hatch opens . . .”

“There’s no time to get into a suit.”

“Those are big heavy doors with a big heavy seal. There’s not much time, but there’s time.”

“Could you do it?” Cho looked him up and down. Right at the moment, Ryder didn’t look like he could get into a bunk without falling on his face, but before Almon had started in with his fists, Ryder’s body had worn the marks of long hours suited up. “Could you get into a suit in time?”

“Hell, yeah! Why do you think I’m telling you? It’s as likely to be my ass on the line as anyone’s.”

Cho thought for a moment while Ryder sagged against the wall. “Take two suits out and hook them up,” he snapped at last, using his voice to jerk Ryder vertical. “One for you, one for Nadayki.”

“Oh, no.” He actually had the balls to wave a dismissive hand. Cho glared it back down to his side. “Huirre said he was relieving me, that I could get some sleep . . .”

“That was before you got useful. Nat’s in the galley. Have her pull you a stim and, Ryder, if it comes to it, make sure Nadayki gets into a suit or as you float by, I’ll let Almon use you for target practice.”

“No, Gunny,” Ressk scrubbed a hand back over his scalp. “Big Bill’s got code set up like he expects people to try and crack it. It’ll throw alarms. Bastard doesn’t trust anyone.”

Torin sagged against the bulkhead. “So what you’re saying is . . .”

“I need more time.”

“Gunny.”
Werst’s voice out of the comm panel. “
Big Bill’s heading across the Hub.”

“Toward the docking bay?”

“There’s really no way of telling where the hell he’s going until he’s gone too far for us to stop him.”

“Right.” She pushed herself up straight. “Delay him.”

“Tell him you want to talk to him?”

“No. He won’t wait. He’ll expect me to find him.” Given it was Werst and Mashona, Torin could think of only one solution. “Start a fight. Make it inclusive.”

ELEVEN

THE WAVE OF SOUND HIT
the moment Torin cracked the hatch from the docking arm. Yelling. Screaming. The soft slam of flesh on flesh and the slightly louder, moister noise of flesh making contact with a harder surface. Given the numbers, a couple of the bars had to have emptied and it looked as though every warm body in the Hub had gotten involved. Those not actually fighting screamed encouragement and made bets. As Torin stepped out of docking arm and the door closed behind her, a di’Taykan with scarlet hair came flying out of the melee horizontally and took out three of the watchers. All four of them threw themselves back into the fight.

Big Bill stood untouched, chaos bending around him like he was a rock in a stream. He didn’t look pleased. Torin caught a glimpse of Mashona over by the falafel cart but couldn’t see Werst. Given his size, that wasn’t surprising. She couldn’t see the Grr brothers either but didn’t doubt there’d be a few people using the mayhem to try and get their own back.

“About to charge in and rescue the boss,
trin
?”

“Doesn’t look like he needs rescuing.” She took another step into the Hub, making more room between her and the bulkhead.

“I need to talk to you,” Alamber murmured, sliding into it, his hands on her hips.

“Turn up your masker.”

“What?”

Torin would’ve sighed, but taking a deep breath with the young di’Taykan all but plastered against her back and attempting to influence the situation with unmasked pheromones would have been the definition of a bad idea. “If you want to
talk
, turn up your masker. And make it fast,” she added. “I have things to . . .”

Twisting out of his grip, she grabbed the front of his tunic and yanked him down to the deck as a stool moved through the space they’d just been filling and slammed into the bulkhead.

“. . . do.”

Getting a di’Taykan horizontal was never a problem. Torin took the opportunity to turn up Alamber’s masker while they were lying face-to-face. Getting back up again required a jab in a sensitive place.

“Ow!” His hair flattened. “What’s your hurry?”

“I told you. I have things to do.” She held out a hand and, when he took it, heaved him up onto his feet. The di’Taykan were tall but not usually very heavy, and she still had the benefit of the station’s lower gravity. “So talk.”

He twitched his tunic back into place, adjusting the layers until it looked exactly like it had when he started as far as Torin was concerned. “It’s about your implant,” he said, leaning in—although, given the noise level, he could have been shouting and not significantly raised the odds of eavesdroppers.

The Corps installed implants in sergeants and above. As everyone knew who Torin was, the electronics built into her jaw were no secret. She raised a brow.

Alamber’s gaze flicked out over the Hub, settled on Big Bill for a moment, then returned to Torin’s face, his smile as self-satisfied as a cat’s. “I found Nia after you left.” He touched the side of his nose.

It seemed Nia’s scent, even with her masker turned all the way up, had been stronger than her ambient scent in the room. “And?” Torin prodded, keeping most of her attention on the fight.

“What went on between you and Nia—if I’m not invited to join, well, that’s none of my business. But it did make me wonder what you were up to,
trin
, so I checked things out. I could smell Krai by the boards. Not on the boards.” Alamber wiggled his fingers triumphantly at her. “He wore gloves but not boots so I know where he stood, I know how he got in. He’s good, but he doesn’t know the system like I do. I haven’t cracked the wave yet, but you’re using your ship as an SP, blocking the station’s rider. If you’ve got someone on the side who can crack Big Bill’s code—and, hello, you do—I want in on whatever shit you’re doing.” He pursed his lips in a mockery of a kiss. “Or I tell Big Bill what’s up.”

“And you haven’t already told him because . . . ?”

His shoulders rose and fell, the movement all grace and faked nonchalance. “Big Bill’s got this nasty habit of taking bad news out on the messenger. Just figured I might get a better deal from you.”

She didn’t have time for this.

“All right, fine. I have to . . .” Torin yanked him sideways as an unlaced boot slammed into the bulkhead. “. . . prove I’m invaluable right now, so go to the
Star
and wait for me there.”

“Nice try, but I’m going to need the entry codes,
trin
.”

“Nice try, but if you don’t already have the entry codes, you’re of no use to me.” As his eyes darkened and he grinned, telling her everything she needed to know, Torin grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face the hatch. “Go. Ressk’s still at the ship. Tell him I sent you.”

The moment the door closed behind him, she tongued her implant, direct to the
Star
. “Ressk, Alamber’s incoming. Take him out, stuff him in the head. I’ll deal with him later.”

*Take him out? How?*

“You’re an ex-Marine, his balls have barely dropped. Try not to hurt him.” Breaking the connection, she moved into the fight.

Torin could have taken the path of least resistance to Big Bill’s side, read the movement of the brawl and put herself where it wasn’t, but she’d wanted to hurt someone, had wanted to rip Mackenzie Cho into pieces for so long now that she ducked under a wild blow, drove her shoulder into a beer-stained stomach, straightened, and threw the woman onto a pair of di’Taykan, all three of them kicking and flailing as they hit the deck. Close, but not quite. She blocked a piece of broken kiosk being used as a club, then jabbed stiffened fingers into a solar plexus. Spun and smashed her heel into the side of a knee. Cracked a nose with her elbow. Narrowly missed having a piece bitten out of her forearm, drove it instead in under the chin and stepped over the Krai now gasping for breath to stand at Big Bill’s side.