Page 10 of Star Cruise Captain's Story

He reclaimed his spot in the bunkroom—only the boss and his direct subordinate had the luxury of their own cabins on this ship—and stretched out, hands behind his head, thinking about next steps. Excitement at finally being close to seeing his brother again coursed through him, coupled with determination to accomplish the rescue he’d come all this way to carry out.

The voyageto the rendezvous was smooth. Gil passed his time in his bunk, in the rudimentary gym on board the ship, or playing endless games of cards with his fellow mercenaries. He was damn good at all forms of gambling and won his share of the pots, although he’d let others win if necessary to placate one of the higher ranking men. He didn’t need any enemies here. There wouldn’t be any allies, much less friends in this crew, but he couldn’t afford to irritate anyone until this job was done. It would be a tragedy to get thrown off the job or worse, get killed in a pointless drunken brawl on board the ship, as one unfortunate already had been. The body was spaced, the killer was penalized a hefty chunk of his pay for this job and life went on.

Within a few hours of landing on Radihe Two, Gil and the others were ordered out by Arturo’s number one henchman, deploying into a small fleet of groundcars which showed up at the landing pad. There was also a large cargo hauler, empty for now.

Arturo addressed the assembled mercenaries. “Here’s what you need to know. All three of my suppliers for this deal have brought their merchandise to Radihe in the last few days. We’ve got a meetup out in the desert to the north, away from any prying eyes. We’ll take custody of the cargo, get them into the truck and haul ass back here. I want to be off this planet before sundown and on our way to the Jlonngi system. Word is the Sectors authorities might be taking an interest in what we have going on today and I don’t need any involvement with law enforcement. Get me?”

Gil nodded along with the others.Too little too late from the Sectors,he thought bitterly. He’d welcome a task force if it showed up but Arturo was running a big crew for this, heavily armed and ready to go to war if required. He guessed the three suppliers, whoever they might be, were equally on edge and prepared. And if the Sectors law enforcement did show up, the hostages would be the first to die. Praying to the Lords of Space for a smooth, uncomplicated transfer, Gil took his place in the assigned groundcar. On the long drive to the designated meeting place, his fellow mercenaries debated who or what they were going to pick up. The general consensus was women, being trafficked for the sex trade on the border with the Hinterlands although a few speculated it might be gladiator candidates.

“Naw, this is too big for either of those. Main handles those kinds of deals all the time,” said one of the older thugs eventually. “I’m betting on political prisoners. You know, hostages. People the Jlonngi can make a profit off of, ransoming them to their planetary rulers or the Sectors.”

Bingo.A feeling of triumph swept over Gil and he had to fight to hide his exultation.Only in my brother’s case at least, the time for doing a ransom deal came and went months ago and the Sectors screwed it up. So what do the Jlonngi want him for?He had been thinking the sect’s leader Baxtir wanted Daveed to enact revenge for one of his brother’s past missions but then why were there going to be other hostages involved as well?

The groundcar slowed and turned off into a barely marked, dusty road.

A few minutes later the convoy pulled up on the edge of a dusty field. Main’s men got out of the vehicles and waited, hands close to their weapons.

“Great place for an ambush,” Gil said to the man next to him.

“Nah, the people we’re meeting with are getting paid a hell of a lot of credits after the delivery’s been made and the boss signals everything’s ok. Which he ain’t going to do until we’re safe in the ship again.”

Dust plumes on the horizon signaled the impending arrival of the other participants in this exchange. Stirring up choking clouds of the red dirt, the oncoming convoy braked to an abrupt halt about ten yards away from Gil’s position and armed men poured out of the vehicles, taking up positions with guns drawn.

Arturo walked forward calmly. “Let’s get this done so we can all go home and drink.”

A woman emerged from the lead truck and strolled to meet him. She had twin blasters on her hips and a massive knife strapped to her thigh. Gil tried to imprint her face on his memory because if he ever got out of this mess, he planned to provide every detail possible to the Sectors authorities. She and Arturo conversed briefly in voices too low to be heard before shaking hands. The woman gestured impatiently to her own forces and several of the men ran to open the cargocompartments on the two cargo haulers and roughly remove their prisoners.

Gil was surprised to see women among the captives. All of them were hooded, hands bound behind their backs, and were made to kneel in the dirt in a line. Arturo walked slowly down the line, yanking the hoods off each person and comparing their faces to whatever data readout he had on his handheld. Visibly amused by the whole thing, the woman leaned on the side of her truck and smoked a feelgood, blowing lazy circles of smoke into the air.

“All right, this lot is satisfactory,” Arturo said. His right-hand man gestured for Gil and the others assigned to the cargo trucks to come forward and take custody of the hostages.

Gil was glad the hoods weren’t considered necessary any longer but were left in the dust. He acted as one of the guards and let others manhandle the sullen prisoners into the trucks and secure their chains to eyebolts screwed into the sides. No one was going to escape today. In Gil’s opinion the poor hostages didn’t have enough strength and daring among them to even make an attempt. They all seemed to be in a state of shock, especially the three women.

“Where’s the crown jewel of this lot?” Arturo asked the woman. “It’s no deal without him. Baxtir specifically wants him. The other ten are bodies to fill out the number he needs for whatever he’s planning, or so I was told. But the other guy, that one’s personal.”

“I saved the best for last,” she said, tossing her feelgood to the ground and grinding the half smoked stick into the dirt with the heel of her well worn boot. “Bring him,” she told her man.

Every nerve in Gil’s body tightened and his mouth was dry. Finally, after all this time, he’d see his brother. He tried to prepare himself for Daveed to be in pretty bad shape. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, Gil had to maintainhis self control—he couldn’t allow his rage to gain control. If his brother was to have any hope of being rescued, Gil’s identity as a ruthless mercenary had to remain intact. He prayed to the Lords of Space his brother wouldn’t betray the fact they knew each other. Daveed was a stone cold elite operator but he’d been a prisoner for months now, subject to torture no doubt, and the totally unexpected sight of Gil might shock him into a fatal slip.

Two men brought the final hostage forward. He was limping badly and one arm hung at an odd angle. Gil swallowed hard. The last time he’d seen his brother Daveed had been a big, imposing guy, muscles on muscles, strong and deadly. The prisoner in front of him was a skeleton, maybe not even able to walk without the support from the thugs. The mercenaries sent Daveed to his knees, where he struggled visibly to maintain an upright posture. The woman strode forward and yanked the hood off. “Here’s Baxtir’s prize.”

His brother’s face was gaunt, lined with pain. He was missing a few teeth and there was an angry red slash of a scar on his cheek. Gil focused on Daveed’s eyes, relieved to see his brother staring at him, fire in his gaze. His brother might be debilitated but his spirit was undiminished. Daveed’s scrutiny passed right over him with no slightest sign of recognition. Was his brother’s control still that good? Or was Gil unrecognizable in his current disguise? He’d let his hair grow long and sported a scraggly beard. He’d acquired a facial scar of his own, faux but disfiguring and added tattoos on his arms. Which could also be easily removed if he survived this situation. The longer he watched Daveed, the surer he was his brother did indeed know he was here. Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least the Fleming brothers would face them together.

Grabbing a fistful of Daveed’s greasy long hair, the woman forced his head back and planted a big kiss on his lips. “Shouldhave taken me up on my offer when you had the chance,” she said. “I treat my pets well but your fate is out of my hands now.”

When she stepped away, Daveed spat into the dirt by her feet. “Not in your wildest dreams, bitch. I told you every time you tortured me I’d rather die than touch you.”

“Baxtir is arranging that very thing.” She moved so fast she was a blur, slapping him across the face and knocking him flat in the dirt. A kick to the ribs for good measure and then she stalked away, her men following her to their ground trucks.

Instinctively Gil moved forward to reach for Daveed, helping him to his feet, although he managed enough self control not to say anything or even to allow his emotions to show on his face. Another man moved to help him and together they half dragged, half carried Daveed to the waiting vehicle. Gil allowed the other mercenary to secure his brother’s bonds to the bolt and then jumping off the tail of the truck to the ground as if he didn’t have a care in the world, heading for his assigned groundcar. Nothing more was supposed to happen to the hostages until the group was handed over to Baxtir on Pagettia Three in a few days.

As their convoy rumbled away from the rendezvous, Gil leaned his head against the cushions and worked through possible scenarios for his next steps. Until the ship reached Pagettia he couldn’t make any specific plans but it soothed the anger in him to consider his options in general terms. He wasn’t going to allow his brother to die at the hands of a deranged radical.

Or not without taking said enemy and as many others as possible with them to the seven hells.

The next day…

He hadto brace himself internally for entering the ship’s hold and doing his job handing the poor prisoners their survival rations for the day. All Gil wanted was to pull his blaster from the holster and blast his way through the other mercenaries, take over the ship and rescue his brother and the other ten people. His rational mind accepted the fact there was no way he’d manage the feat but seeing Daveed and the others treated like animals, knowing the fate in store for them and participating in any way was a scar on his soul. He wished he had Maeve with him—she’d take over this damn ship and eliminate the problems so fast the scum wouldn’t know what hit them.

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