Chapter 3

THREE

F elix fiddled with his glove, the fingers of his right hand plucking and poking, settling wires back within the framework of the web encasing his left hand. Beneath, his hand was all but useless. He could just about move the fingers independently, but not reliably and not with any strength. The glove apparatus added strength. He'd modeled it on the old hook principle. Curved, the steel-encased fingers could grip with ten times his strength. They could be locked into place and manipulated to hold things still—a boon in his profession. He'd experimented with adding tools but always fell back to what worked best: simple fingers. And, as a ship's engineer, he had to say no to cybernetics. Biotech and j-space just didn't get along.

The glove said a lot about him—where he'd been and who he was—and as he fiddled with it, Felix could not help but wonder what Zed saw. Did he see the survivor, or did his old friend see right through the veneer, beneath the glove to the twisted ligaments and fractured bones?

Felix forced his hands apart and gripped his knees. Slight pressure above his left stopped the incessant bounce. Then he looked at Zed, who seemed to have been doing much the same as him, gathering himself mentally and physically for what shouldn't be a confrontation but, given their history, probably would be.

"I tried to contact you," Felix began. The words rasped against his dry throat. "Got the same result every time. Access denied. I couldn't even leave a message for you after the war ended. No ripmail box." He gripped his knees a little harder. "I even asked Marnie to try."

Felix closed his eyes in a long blink, and a circle of five young faces smiled from the past. Marnie, Ryan, Emma, Zander and him. The Fantastic Five. After graduation, Marnie and Ryan had dived into the world of military intelligence. Ryan worked the inside, Marnie the outside, making her easier to contact. Despite her skills and connections, Marnie had gotten the same bullshit result, though. The best they could find out was yes, Zed was alive, but even Marnie couldn't get a message through the military secrecy that surrounded him. And Zed hadn't reached out to her. Not once.

The fact all five of them were still alive must be some sort of miracle. That two of them had managed to find their way onto the same station…fantastically coincidental. Opening his eyes, Felix frowned. He didn't like coincidences.

He glanced at Zed again and felt the familiar surge of emotion, though the old lust and desire were muted by time and circumstance. Zander had always been handsome, and age and worry hadn't detracted from his looks. His gaze had a new hardness to it, however, something other than the familiar determination. He saw ghosts on a regular basis.

Felix knew all about that one.

He asked the simplest question he could think of. "Why are you here?"

"Here, on your ship, or here, on Dardanos? Chance. To the first, anyway. As for the second…not like anyone would think to look for me on a mining station." Zed picked at the med bay blanket. "About earlier, Flick…I'm sorry. I—" He rubbed the back of his head. "Shit. I was confused."

"Because I was supposed to be dead. Where have you been that…" That I couldn't reach you…that you didn't notice I was no longer dead. He was staring at his hands again. Lifting his gaze, Felix said, "The Zander I knew didn't get confused."

"The Zander you knew?—"

He didn't have to finish; what he meant was clear enough. The Zander he'd known didn't exist anymore.

"Why is there an AEF bounty on Emma?" Felix asked.

Emma Katze was part of Zed's current plan and apparently worth four hundred thousand credits to him. Were she and Zed involved? Would make sense; they'd gone through the same training, and the one inquiry Felix had made into Emma's whereabouts had met with the same result: Access denied. They'd had years together that he and Zed hadn't.

Felix retreated to the study of his hands. He would not show his heartache to this new Zed. Loop. The client. Hell, his heartache wasn't even supposed to exist. He was dead, wasn't he? KIA. And Zed was an AEF secret.

"She's in trouble," Zed said. "It's classified. The why and the what. I can't tell you, okay? But…she's confused."

"Like you." He didn't have Zed's way with words, so he'd state the obvious. "That's a fucking cheap answer, Zed." Cheap as in free. Access bloody denied.

The heat of anger began to crawl through the haze of jumbled emotions that had held Felix all but immobile for the past half hour. He pushed against his knees and stood, leaned over Zed. "I talked Elias out of dumping your ass because I made you a stupid fucking promise twelve years ago. I'd always be your best friend, no matter what." He flicked at the air with his right hand and winced as pain spangled through his bruised wrist. "But you know what? I'm supposed to be dead and you're some AEF file not even Marnie can unlock. We're not friends anymore, Zed." A lump rose in his throat. Felix swallowed it, but the strain was evident in his voice as he continued. "We're not even close to friends. So, I think you need to find another damned ship to carry your secret ass to wherever it needs to go, and you can take your fat wad of creds too. I don't need it." A half lie. "I don't need you, Zander Anatolius." A lie that would never be quantified.

Felix turned and stalked toward the open med-bay hatch, already plucking a multi-tool from his belt.

"What was I supposed to do?" Zed didn't yell; he actually sounded sort of defeated, a tone Felix had never heard from him. "After they declared you killed in action, what was I supposed to do? My—" His voice broke. "My heart was broken. I grieved, I mourned, and no one fucking knew why I hurt so bad. So I shoved it down, I went to war, I threw myself in as deep as I could because that was the only thing left that had any meaning for me." He cleared his throat. "Covert ops. Five years of it, deeper for the last two. That's why you couldn't reach me. I don't have a wallet, haven't since I started with the teams. I haven't spoken to my family in four years. Fuck, I've hardly spoken to anyone."

Felix's shoulders rounded. Fighting the urge to draw into himself, he turned to face the man sitting on the med bay bed.

A muscle in Zed's jaw ticked. "I'm out. Officially, my team and I are enjoying a well-earned retirement. Unofficially…they cut us loose. Emma is in trouble because of that, and I owe her, Flick. I promised her everything would be all right."

The promise wrenched. Felix wanted to fling it back at Zed, remind him that he had given that promise out before and that he had not kept it.

Not his fault, Flick.

The old nickname stabbed and poked. Felix made a fist around the multi-tool…and then breathed out. What was the use? His anger drained away, only to be replaced by the weight of lost years. By the painful edge of truth he heard in Zed's tone, by the desperation, and by the tiny voice inside, the one squealing beneath the press of invisible fingers banded around his heart. He'd been loved, lost, and replaced. And that hurt. But he couldn't fault Zed for wanting to keep one of his promises. Sounded like that was all the guy had left.

Felix remembered what it felt like to be cut loose. His medical discharge from the AEF had been a final slap, the last act in a tragedy that had all but claimed his life. He'd had four years to put that, and the reason for his discharge, behind him. Zed had the air of a man tipping toward Drunk Station.

The cut was still fresh.

"This isn't how I imagined it." Felix stared down at the tool he was gripping so tightly. "Not that I ever expected to see you again, but if I did? I thought I'd be happy. I thought…I thought the years wouldn't matter, that our promises…" Trailing off again, he shuffled backward, hoping the shadow of the hatch would hide the blush he could feel crawling across his cheeks. He held up his tool. "I need to go…and fix the fridge."

Zed dipped his chin in a slow nod. "My gear still in the mess? I'll grab it and go."

Hoisting himself off the bed, he glanced at Felix as though he wanted to say something, something that didn't want to work its way past his lips. Was his throat tight too?

"Fix?"

Felix jerked his gaze away from Zed and tapped his bracelet. "Here."

Elias's voice whispered through, stretched and tinny. "We have a problem."

Eyeing Zed, Felix replied, "When it rains, it pours."

"Remember that deal on Leto?"

Felix's blood tried to drain out of him for the second time that day, taking his organs along with it. They'd brokered a deal through a guy who knew a guy, and when they showed up to take delivery of the goods, everyone had been dead. So they took the goods and left, quickly and quietly. Dead people couldn't use two thousand doses of antibiotics, but a colony lurking on the far side of the galaxy could and they'd pay dearly for it. Given that Felix and crew had left the warehouse with payment still in their pockets, they'd been able to cut a deal with the colonists too.

"Shit." Felix turned away from his past and walked through the med bay hatch, driven by the need to tend his present. Zed would have to find his own way off the ship.

"Karma is a bitch, man. Any-way." Elias drew the word out in a sarcastic drawl. "I recognized a tattoo on the contact's neck. A moth. Our deal wasn't with Agrius cartel. Ness and I ran, but they got people all over the docks. It was a setup."

"You think those drugs belonged to Agrius?"

Of all the cartels to steal from, they'd chosen the most violent. Wonderful.

"Doesn't matter what I think, does it? They're pissed at us and that's the most obvious connection."

"Damn it. Okay…where are you?"

"We hid in a shipping container over at Dock C. Problem is, the door locked on us and I'm not sure banging on the sides will summon the right sort of assistance, if you know what I mean."

Long strides brought Felix to the armory locker. He waved his bracelet in front of the lock and keyed in a sequence of digits. The door hissed open.

Felix grabbed a small stunner. Simple projectile weapons were prohibited aboard stations and he'd rather not carry a laser carbine through the docking area. He checked the charge and shoved the stunner into his belt. A shift of his boot confirmed the presence of the knife he kept sheathed inside. "What's the nearest gate?"

"Twenty-nine."

"On my way." Felix flicked the channel. "Qek?"

His bracelet emitted one of Qek's clicks.

"Running out to pick up Eli and Ness. Ready the drive so we don't have to test the cold jump theory."

"There is no cold jump theory."

"We might need to leave in a hurry."

"Roger that. Ping me when you are approaching the gate and I will endeavor to pull away from the dock with the cargo ramp still lowered so you may perform a heroic leap into the ship."

Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, or maybe because of it, Felix laughed. Without looking back at the med bay, he ran toward Cargo One.

A smart man would leave. Zed didn't have the capacity to handle the emotions rumbling in his chest. He'd barely been able to keep himself from lunging at Flick and throwing his arms around him. All that had stopped him were the little motions Flick had made with his right wrist, flexing it, stretching it, reminding Zed that not too long ago, he'd been on the verge of snapping it for no worse a transgression than an uninvited touch. What kind of person did that?

Obviously the kind of person he was now, which meant it was even more important that he grab his bag and get the hell away from Felix Ingesson. Flick didn't need Zed's bullshit in his life. Whatever had happened to bring Flick back from the dead had left its marks all over him. He didn't need to know about Zed's scars, the ones that were visible or the ones that weren't.

But Elias said there was a problem. Flick had turned as white as the ghost he was supposed to be. And now he was headed out onto Dardanos, alone, and Zed…

Zed couldn't let him go.

He darted into the mess, grabbed his stunner from his bag, and pounded down the cargo bay ramp after Flick. He didn't call out for the other man to stop, since he was pretty sure Flick would just ignore him. Instead, he steadied his breath and his thoughts, and reached for his training. The Zone.

His vision sharpened, as did his hearing. The emotions that had threatened to incapacitate him faded to little more than a nudge deep in his chest. The mission became paramount. Out of habit, he waited for the reiteration of the objectives in his ear. It didn't come, and he remembered that it wouldn't, not ever again.

Not important. He knew his mission: protect Felix Ingesson, former Lieutenant, AEF, current engineer of the Chaos, civilian corvette. Facts and relevant memories streamed by, dispassionately, as Zed's feet pounded into the flooring faster than Ingesson's. Ingesson served in the AEF for five years as a combat engineer. Excellent scores in weapons, outstanding capacity in mastering mechanical systems. Reported MIA 2261. Declared KIA 2262. Unknown injuries, though significant scarring evident on casual observation. Left hand mangled under quasi-robotic glove.

Conclusion: Ingesson would hold his own in combat against an equal force or slightly greater, unless his injuries were worse than presented.

Zed matched his pace to Ingesson's once he reached him. The former lieutenant glanced his way, frowned and fell into a quick walk.

"Don't need your help," he growled.

"You need backup."

"Not from you."

"Situation."

"What?"

Zed stared at Ingesson, taking in the man's flushed features. The run had not been challenging for a man of Ingesson's abilities, which suggested that emotions were the cause of the redness and quickened breath. Incapacitation due to emotional burden possible.

"Situation," he repeated. "I need to know."

Ingesson leaned forward, his brow furrowing more deeply. "Your eyes, man. They're…weird."

"Irrelevant." Zed glared at him. "I need to know what we're walking into in order to plan accordingly."

"You sound like Qek."

Qek. Ashushk name? The pilot of the Chaos was unaccounted for; did Idowu employ an alien? Confirm upon return to ship.

"Elias said there were Agrius all over the docks. We might have stolen one of their shipments. By accident," Ingesson reported. "He and Ness are hiding in a cargo crate that's been locked. It could be moved in preparation for shipping at any time."

"Not ideal."

"No shit."

"You can track them?"

"When I get close enough, I'll be able to find them," Ingesson said. "It's getting close enough that might be an issue?—"

Zed grabbed Ingesson and shoved him into the shadows of a pair of crates. The slam of flesh against toughened plasmix sounded loud in his ears though it would not echo for others in the vicinity. He held Ingesson in place with a forearm across his chest.

"Hold," he ordered.

"Zed, you are acting really fucking?—"

"Hold means still and quiet."

Zed craned his head around the corner, searching for the people who belonged to the shadows he'd spotted. He lifted his nose, searching for scents that didn't fit, but all he could detect was the metallic tang from Ingesson.

He remembered that scent. That taste.

Review later.

"Clear."

He released Ingesson and stepped out from between the crates. Bending at the waist, he moved soundlessly along the row of containers, keeping his silhouette compact and his shadow from stretching out too far. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Ingesson followed at an acceptable distance.

He paused at the edge of an open area, scanning the entrances to other gates across it. "Which one?"

"Gate twenty-nine."

Zed started forward, only to retreat before taking a full step. Ingesson bumped into him but quickly shifted back. "Company," Zed whispered as two figures drifted into view. A man and a woman. Their hands were empty, swinging harmlessly at their sides. He watched for a moment, focusing on the gap of the woman's open jacket that shifted with every step. After a minute or so, Zed's suspicion was confirmed.

"Armed with stunners," he said.

Made sense. The small handheld weapons were easily concealed and legal to carry on any station so long as they were used for self-defense only. Less messy than a pistol or a knife—at least in public—and less likely to punch an inconvenient hole in an exterior wall.

"Wait here." Zed inched forward, only to be halted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Like hell. I'm not helpless, Zander."

Zed stared at his charge, his mission parameters echoing in his mind. Protect Felix Ingesson. But no, Ingesson was not helpless. Two were better odds against two.

"Stay tight on my six. Use your weapon only if your life is threatened."

"Fine."

"Fine what."

"Fine what? I'm not calling you sir."

Zed blinked. Right. Ingesson was no longer a lieutenant, and Zed was no longer a major. The AEF had released him, leaving him and his team blowing in the wind.

Review later.

They crept forward. Zed gestured at the tango on the right and started for the one on the left. He kept low, to the shadows around the crates, surging upward only when he was sure he could grab the man around the throat and mouth to drag him backward without a sound. The man kicked, but he couldn't break Zed's hold. In seconds, he hung limply from Zed's arms—alive but incapacitated.

A soft grunt drew his attention to Ingesson. He'd disabled his first target, but another had emerged from the shadows. Ingesson ducked low and swept out a leg to upend his opponent. The man tumbled to the floor, gasping as the wind was jolted out of him. Ingesson dropped down to slam a fist into his temple, knocking him cold.

Zed gave Ingesson a thumbs-up and continued deeper into the realm of gate twenty-nine. "Anything?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No, nothing…wait." Ingesson chewed at the corner of his lower lip as he studied the display hovering over his bracelet. Not a military-issue wallet but obviously specialized equipment. Review later. "This way."

Before Zed could grab him, Ingesson darted ahead. Zed followed, his steps light and sure. He watched for more enemies as the former lieutenant focused on finding their targets.

"Got 'em." Ingesson marched up to a blue container. He tapped on the side before starting around, looking for the entrance. Remaining alert, Zed followed. "Eli? Ne?—"

His voice cut off. Zed's attention jerked back to Ingesson. A tango held him around the neck, stunner pressed to his temple.