Page 17 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
“Draanthing brilliant,” he muttered, holstering his weapon. “We’re going to be the lead story everywhere before morning chow.”
Covak let out a booming laugh, slapping Ryke on the shoulder hard enough to make the captain wince. “Good for business, boss! Shows we earn our pay!”
Davis sighed, leaning heavily against a wall. He hurt now that the adrenaline was fading away. He glanced down at the blood seeping from under his body armor. Yeah, still bleeding. Fuck.
But he had more important things to worry about than that. He glanced up, looking for Rann. The pilot’s expression was thoughtful, troubled as he looked in the direction the enemy survivors had fled. Something about his posture was off... Questions crowded into Davis’s brain.
Why had these assholes targeted the Reapers?
And why did Rann know exactly how they would fight?
4
The transition from chaos to quiet hit him like a slap. One moment, he was dodging energy bolts in the concert plaza; the next he was walking through the corridors of theLady's Dream, sterile light replacing adrenaline-sharp sunlight. His fingers twitched, muscle memory still squeezing phantom triggers as sweat trickled down his spine despite the ship's perfect climate control.
The last off the shuttle, he’d deliberately hung back to give himself a bit of space. His chest hurt like a bitch but he didn’t want the others to know. He’d been hiding the fact he was human for years, which on this crew meant he was weaker and less hardy. Even though they all knew now, it was a damned hard habit to break.
He spotted Rann up ahead. Even though they should all be heading for the briefing room, the pilot was headed the other way. He glanced over his shoulder and Davis took a quick step to the side so he wasn’t seen. Rann paused for a moment, then disappeared down a maintenance passage.
Davis reached the corner and slowed down, back pressed against cold metal. The wall felt good against his fevered skin, but he barely registered the relief as he took a quick glance around the corner. Ten meters down, half-concealed in shadow, Rann stood with a small comm unit pressed to his ear. His back was to Davis, shoulders tense as he spoke in hushed tones.
"No, they don't suspect anything yet,"Rann's voice carried clearly in the empty passage, bouncing off the metal walls. There was a pause as he listened to someone on the other end."I know. I'll handle it."
Davis pulled back, the pain in his chest forgotten for a moment. Shit. Rannwasworking with someone. His mind raced through implications… was Rann feeding information to their enemies? The M'Suun attack had specifically targeted the Reapers, which meant there was a potential danger to the crew.
To Mira.
He eased back toward the main corridor, planning his next move. Whatever was happening, he needed proof before confronting Rann or Ryke. The captain's relationship with Rann went back years; he'd need more than an overheard conversation to expose whatever secret they were keeping.
Walking forward, he headed for the briefing room without so much as a glance down the side corridor. Like he’d just been on his way up from the shuttle bay. He reached the door and walked in, finding a wall to prop himself up against. He bit back his grimace as the torn chest plate pressed against his wound. Each breath sent fire racing through his torso.Fuck, that hurt.The energy weapon hadn’t been standard merc fare. Whatever it had done was still working its way through his system, and it felt like being electrocuted in slow motion.
The crew filtered in, shedding gear like snakes ditching old skin. Ryke and Rann huddled at the tactical display, bathed in holographic blue glow as they replayed footage from the plaza disaster. Covak sprawled at the briefing table, methodically wiping blood from his gauntlets with one hand while digging a spoon into what looked like a tub of ice-cream with the other. Jex took up an entire corner, using the Scorperio suit’s sensors to sweep the room. The massive war machine's shadow stretched across the floor like a predator ready to pounce.
Boot steps approached from behind. Davis didn't need to turn; he recognized Mira's light tread. She slid into his peripheral vision, blonde hair catching the overhead lights as her eyes darted around the debriefing room, cataloging positions and expressions. Tactical assessment, even here. She was learning.
"Good news first—" Ryke straightened from the tactical display with a smile, "—the client paid. Tried claiming emotional distress until I offered to send Jex to collect personally."
Covak snort-laughed, spewing ice cream particles. "Classic Ryke negotiation technique."
"Now for the bad news." Ryke's expression hardened as he nodded to Anson. "The attack wasn't random. Show them."
Anson's fingers danced across the console, bringing up energy signatures and footage. The screens flashed with overlapping data—targeting patterns, weapons discharge analytics, and finally a fragment of an insignia recovered from the battlefield.
"These weren't random thugs," the B'Kaar said, enlarging the insignia with a flick of his wrist. "They were M'Suun troops. Energy signatures and cam footage confirm clan identifiers."
"M'Suun?" Mira's brow furrowed as she leaned forward, studying the symbol. She shifted her weight, unconsciously moving closer to Davis. "Who are they?"
"Old Imperial clan," Covak answered between heaping bites of his dessert. The spoon looked like a child's toy in his massive hands. "Claim they're princeline descent."
"They're definitely not," Rann snorted from his position near the tactical display, where he was methodically field-stripping his rifle. The weapon parts clicked and clacked as he disassembled them with practiced efficiency. Davis tried not to glare at him. Just what was the pilot up to? How could he betray them… Ryke?
"Princeline descent? What does that mean?" Mira looked up, confusion evident on her face. A stray strand of hair dropped over her forehead. Davis couldn't help focusing on it, forcing himself not to step in and tuck it behind her ear.
"Once upon a time," Covak waved his spoon like a conductor's baton, "before the first emperor, the Lathar were ruled by seven princes. Now, every Tom, duck, and Harry claims royal blood. Trouble is anyone can make that claim, and it can't be proved one way or the other." He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, tongue darting out to catch a drip.
"It's 'dick,' not 'duck,'" Davis corrected, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Covak fixed him with an unblinking stare. "While you might be impressed with it, Davis, I am not interested in your puny human genitalia."
