Fortune's Pawn


By Rachel Bach

Orbit

Copyright © 2013 Rachel Bach
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-316-22111-5


CHAPTER 1

You're quitting the Blackbirds?" The shock in Anthony's voice was at odds withthe finger he was languidly sliding over my naked back. "Why? You justmade squad leader last year."

"That's why," I said, swatting his finger away as I pulled on my shirt. "Nowhereleft to go. Squad leader's the last promotion before they stick you in a deskjob."

I stood up, grabbing my pants from the chair. Still naked, Anthony rolled overto watch me dress with growing displeasure. "I don't get you, Devi," hegrumbled. "The Blackbirds are the top private armored company on Paradox. Ittakes most mercs ten years in a lesser outfit before they can even apply. Thefact they let you in straight out of the army should be the miracle of yourcareer. Why the hell are you leaving?"

"Some of us have ambition, Anthony," I said, sitting back down to put on myshoes. "I had five good years with the Blackbirds, made a lot of money, got myname out there. But you don't get noticed if you sit around on your laurels, doyou?"

"If you got any more noticed, I think they'd have you arrested," Anthony said."They were talking about that stunt you pulled on Tizas in the office justyesterday. The duke of Maraday's apparently thinking of offering you a fatcontract with his Home Guard."

I rolled my eyes and combed my fingers through my hair, wrestling the dark brownmess into a ponytail as best I could. My hair never could take mornings. "I amnot joining the Home Guard. I don't care how good the money is. Can youimagine me sitting around on some noble's pleasure yacht playing bouncer for hiscocktail parties? No thanks."

"Home Guard is dull," Anthony agreed, his boyish face suddenly serious."But it's safe." He reached out, catching my hand as it dropped from my hair. "Iworry about you, Devi. You've done eight full fire tours in five years. I knowyou want to make a name for yourself, but that kind of work will kill you, andI'm not talking about taking a bullet. If you got a job with the Home Guard, youcould take it easier. Hell, if the Maraday thing actually came through, the dukenever leaves the capital. You could live here, with me. I'd even let youredecorate, and we could be together every night."

I didn't like the way this conversation was going, but I knew better than to letthat show on my face. Instead, I smiled and gently pried his fingers off mine."It's a sweet offer, Anthony, but I'm not looking to settle down. Here oranywhere else."

Anthony heaved a huge sigh and collapsed on the bed. He lay there facedown for amoment, then rolled onto the floor and started pulling on his boxers. "Can'tblame me for trying."

When he was dressed, we took the plush elevator down to the building café. Ididn't regret turning down his offer, but I had to admit Anthony had a nicesetup. His apartment was in one of the new sky towers that dominated Kingston'sshoreline. Through the enormous windows, the royal capital lay spread out as faras I could see. Enormous skyscrapers rose like silver and glass trees from thedense underbrush of the older, smaller buildings. The sky was hazy with theusual smog and the clouds of commuter aircraft darting between the official skylanes. The café was on one of the sky tower's middle floors, but we were stillhigh enough to see the starport and the towering shadow of the Castle behind itfrom our booth.

I might just be sentimental, but seeing the Castle's shielded battlements andthe shadows of the building-sized batteries of plasma guns behind it alwaysfilled me with pride. It wasn't the tallest building in the city anymore, butthe Castle was still the largest, dwarfing even the deep-space trawlers thatwere waiting their turn to dock in the starport below. It was a good, strongfortress, feared by all on planet and off, and a worthy guard for the SaintedKings of Paradox.

As always, I bowed my head before my king's sacred fortress. Anthony followedsuit a second later. He'd never been as much of a believer in the power of theking as I was, but then, he hadn't taken as many bullets as I had.

Once we'd paid our respects, Anthony called the waiter over. He ordered largeand well, and the spread of food that arrived at our table was a mini-heaven allin itself. Thanking my king again, I fell to with a mercenary's efficiency.Anthony watched me eat with amusement, drinking something red out of a tall,frosted glass that looked like a cocktail. I really hoped it wasn't. Even Ididn't drink this early in the morning.

"So," he said, spinning his now nearly empty glass between his fingers. "Why areyou really here, Devi?"

"Last night wasn't enough?" I said, popping a tiny coffee cake into my mouth.

"Last night was marvelous," Anthony admitted. "But since we've established youaren't exactly pining for my company, I thought we might as well get to thepoint before you crush my ego again."

He was still smarting from the rejection, so I let the comment slide. I'd knownAnthony a long time; we'd been in the army together before he got his captaincyand his cushy desk job with the Home Guard. We had good chemistry, and he wasalways the first person I called when I came home. We'd been friends withbenefits for nearly seven years now, and I'd thought we had a goodunderstanding. Obviously, things had changed. Still, this was Anthony. Anapology would only make him feel worse, so I honored his request and got to thepoint. "I need you to tell me the qualifiers to become a Devastator."

I had his full attention now.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" he cried. "That's why you quit yourjob?" He flopped back against the booth's deep cushions. "Devi, you can't beserious. The Devastators are the king's own armored unit. They're abovethe best."

"Why do you think I want to be one?" I said. "I'm sick of wasting my time on theedge of civilized space crashing pirate camps for corporate money. Devastatorsserve the Sacred King directly. They get the best armor, the best guns, they goon the most dangerous and important missions. They have power you can't buy;even the nobility listens to them. I was the best in the Blackbirds—"

"This isn't like the Blackbirds," Anthony snapped. "I can't even tell you thequalifiers, because there are none. You can't apply to become a Devastator. Theyask you, not the other way around, and they don't ask anyone who hasn'tspent a minimum of twenty years in active field service."

"Twenty years?" I cried. "That's ridiculous!"

"They want experience—," Anthony started.

"What do you think I spent the last nine years getting?" My shouting wasattracting weird looks from the other diners, but I didn't care. "I got twelvecommendations in four years when I was in the army. You know, you were there.And I've gotten five promotions in five years in the Blackbirds. I'm notexactly fresh meat."

"Devi, you're not even thirty." Anthony's voice was calm and reasonable, thesort of voice you'd use with a child who was throwing a tantrum. It made me wantto punch him. "You've already proven that you're exactly the sort of suicidallybrave, workaholic lifetime soldier the Devastators look for. They'll comecalling, I'd bet money on it, but not yet. Not until you've got at least tenmore years on your record."

"In ten more years, I'll be dead." I said it plainly because it was a goddamnfact. The average life span of an armored mercenary was just shy of twenty-five.I was two years past that. After thirty, survival rates fell to almost nothing.Shooting for cash was a game for the young. You either got a desk job, appliedto the Home Guard, or went back to your parents in a body bag. A desk wouldn'timpress the Devastators any more than it impressed me, but I couldn't do crashjobs and pirate clearing forever.

"I'm good enough to serve the king right now," I said, lowering my voice. "I'veseen Devastators in their thirties, so I know they make exceptions to theexperience requirement. I want to know what and how, and I'm not letting you outof here until you tell me." And just in case he didn't believe me, I kicked outmy leg and slammed my boot onto the booth beside him, blocking him in.

Anthony glanced at my foot with a deep sigh. "You're impossible. You know that,right?"

I didn't answer, just leaned back, crossed my arms, and waited for him to cave.

It didn't take long. Less than a minute later, Anthony shook his head and pulledout his ledger. "It just so happens you picked a good time to have your crazyidea," he said, tapping the screen with his thumb. "Here."

I took the ledger he offered, squinting to read the glowing screen in the brightsunlight. It took me a few moments to recognize the short paragraph for what itwas, a job listing from the general employment boards. A tiny one, too, barelythree sentences long, but what I saw was enough to make me think Anthony wasseriously trying to jerk me around.

"This is for a security position on a trade freighter."

"Not just any trade freighter," Anthony said, smiling for the first time sincewe'd gotten out of bed. "That's Brian Caldswell's ship."

"I don't care whose ship it is," I said. "I am not doing guard work."Guard work was just above deep-space mine clearing for crap armor jobs. NoBlackbird would be caught dead on a freighter, even an ex-Blackbird like me.

"I wouldn't have shown it to you if it wasn't something you'd be interested in,"Anthony said. "Have a little faith, darling."

When I finally relaxed my scowl, Anthony went on. "Caldswell's a bit of a legendin trading circles. They say his ship is cursed. He gets into more trouble onone route than an entire fleet could find in ten years, and he goes throughsecurity teams like tissue paper. That's where you come in." He leaned closer."Don't spread this around, but the Royal Army considers one year with Caldswellto be worth five anywhere else. If you can survive a full tour on that ship, I'mpretty sure even the Devastators would sit up and take notice."

I glanced down at the ad again. It looked perfectly normal, the sort of short-noticegrunt job that kept army dropouts in beer money, nothing like the deadlygolden ticket Anthony was painting it to be. "You're not putting me on, areyou?"

"I wish I was," Anthony said. "Maybe you missed the part about how quicklyCaldswell uses up his people? I like you as you are, all in one piece."

It was mean to laugh at his concern, but I couldn't help it. "And maybe you'veforgotten who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten," Anthony said, his voice deadly serious. "I've seen youfight, remember? That's not something you forget. But this is the fast anddangerous route, Devi. I know you're ambitious enough for any five normal mercs,but there's nothing wrong with a life of being safe, prosperous, and happy."

"I am happy," I said, pulling out a pen and writing the dock number from the adon the back of my hand. "And the faster I get to be a Devastator, the happierI'll be." I handed his ledger back. "You'll tell them, right?" The Devastatorsdid whatever the king told them to, but they were technically part of the HomeGuard. Anthony worked for them sometimes, which was why we were having thisconversation.

"If Caldswell takes you, yes," he said. "Don't know if they'll listen, theymostly don't, but I'll be sure to tell everyone what a reckless glory hog youare."

I grinned and dropped the leg that had been fencing him in. "You're a prince asalways, Anthony," I said, sliding out of the booth. "Thanks for the breakfast,and the job tip."

"I'll put them on your tab," he said. "You can settle up next time you're intown."

I kissed him on the cheek one last time and walked away. The last thing I heardbefore I squeezed into the crowded elevator was Anthony calling the waiter foranother drink. I worried about that as the elevator whipped me down, but twentyseconds and seventy floors later, I had more immediate concerns.

The crowd on the street level was brutal, and I had to throw my weight around tobreak through the rush to the cab stand, something I enjoyed more than I shouldhave. I'm five six on a good day, and between that, my bird bones, poofy brownhair, and the fact my face looks closer to thirteen than thirty, normal peopletend to underestimate me. It used to piss me off to no end, but that was beforeI cultivated an appreciation for watching the patronizing look fall off abusinessman's face when the little girl he was trying to push aside elbows himin the stomach hard enough to knock his wind out.

After a few minutes of unnecessary roughness, I'd made my way to the front ofthe taxi line and flagged down a ground cab. Air would have been quicker, but Iwasn't in enough of a hurry to justify the cost. Fortunately, my cabbie was astereotypical Kingston driver, utterly insane. Despite it being rush hour on aworkday morning, we made it to the starport in less than twenty minutes.

He offered to take me into the departures plaza, but one look at the traffic andI told him to drop me on the street. I tipped him well for not getting us bothkilled and ran up the pedestrian ramp, ducking through the enormous mirroreddoors with the rest of the morning crowd before taking a sharp left toward thelockers where I'd bunked my gear when Anthony had picked me up late last night.

I found my locker and opened it with a thumbscan, pulling out my duffel. Myhandset was on top, right where I'd left it. I flipped it open, working fast. Itrusted Anthony, but only an idiot applies for a job without doing her researchfirst. A quick search for Brian Caldswell turned up surprisingly little, butAnthony hadn't been kidding about the prestige of serving on his ship. Afterfive minutes of searching, I'd found no fewer than seven of his former securitygrunts who were now enjoying fantastic positions, including one who'd gone on tobe a Devastator.

But my digging also showed that Anthony hadn't been exaggerating how dangerousCaldswell's ship was, either. The number of crew deaths and disappearances hehad on file with the Trans-Galactic Trade Union was staggering for any vessel,but it was especially bad when you considered that Caldswell captained a ten-manfreighter on a fairly safe route through the major systems. From his numbers,you'd have thought he was helming a battleship on a bloody front. All of thisshould have made me think twice, but I'd made my career by beating impossibleodds. As soon as I'd verified Anthony's tip to my satisfaction, I got to workhauling my armor case out of the locker.

In addition to my fast elbow, I'm a lot stronger than most people think, aproduct of spending all day in armor with my resistance turned way up. Somemercs let their suit do all the work. Why bother with flesh-and-blood muscles ifyou're in powered armor all the time? But I don't like being weak in any way ifI can help it, and real muscles come in handy when the most precious thing inyour life folds up into a hundred sixty-pound case and all you can get is a toplocker.

Bracing my knees, I heaved my armor case down and set it on its wheels. When itwas balanced, I slung my duffel over my shoulder and started walking toward thedock number I'd written on my hand.

Considering its black reputation, I expected Caldswell's ship to look sinister,but the freighter sitting at dock C23503 was disappointingly shabby. Its bellysat directly on the ground, while its hull rose in an old-fashioned, ungracefulbeige block six stories into the air. The whole ship was spotty with patches,but thanks to a fresh paint job I couldn't tell if the repairs were from cannonfire or just the usual wear and tear you saw on older vessels.

Old or not, though, Caldswell's ship was still an impressive hundred and fiftyfeet long from nose to thrusters, with the vast majority of that in its cargohold. The ship's nose was boxy as the rest of it, a squat thrust of metal withits windows covered by steel shutters coated in high-burn plastic against theheat of entering the atmosphere. The tail of the ship was all engine, a pair oflong-haulers and a hyperdrive coil that looked pretty new.

That gave me hope. Hyperdrive coils weren't cheap. If this Caldswell couldafford a new model, he could certainly afford a top line Paradoxian armoredmercenary with an exceptional record.

Like all the noncommuter ships, Caldswell's was docked in the overflow landing.But, despite being in a good spot relatively close to the main port, no otherships were docked around him. That didn't surprise me. Spacers were asuperstitious bunch. Docks would have to be pretty scarce for a captain to riskleaving his ship where Caldswell's curse could reach it.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Fortune's Pawn by Rachel Bach. Copyright © 2013 Rachel Bach. Excerpted by permission of Orbit.
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