out.
“You have a problem with that?”
He sat down opposite her. “Not at all,” he said. “But you should listen to him. Grudges are dangerous.”
“I don’t recall asking either you or Ken’an for your opinion.”
“Well, make the most of it anyway,” he said. “Advice is about the only thing you’ll get for free around here.”
“And what’s the price of a little peace and quiet?”
“Quiet I can give you.” He activated some sort of device in his jacket and a bubble of silence enfolded the booth. “Peace, however, will be more difficult.”
De Bruyn’s implants buzzed, warning her of the field-effect he was using to give them privacy. She ignored the alarm, doubting the bubble was anything more dangerous than a toy. Still, her right hand slipped to her thigh-holster and disengaged the safety on her pistol.
She smiled. “Okay,” she said. “I’m looking for someone to watch my back while I go about my business.”
“What sort of business?”
“ My business,” she repeated firmly. “For now, at least.”
“In Sol System?” The words continued to rattle in his throat.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“For how long?”
“Until the job is done.” De Bruyn kept her stare firmly on his gold-flecked irises. “It may require a bit of muscle.”
“And how would you pay for this... muscle?”
“I have influence in the Interim Emergency Pristine Council. What I can’t provide in credit, I can make up in IEPC clearance and access. The breadth of your clientele will increase overnight.”
“ If we survive.” His lips tightened. “Perhaps Ken’an was right: maybe you are a bomb just waiting to go off. Who’s to say you won’t take us with you?”
“There are ways to avoid that,” she said. “And the right person working with me would find out how. But I’ll need more than a handful of people to see this through.”
“Promises and plans are easy to make,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “So who is the target, anyway?”
She hesitated a second. Ken’an hadn’t asked that, nor had any of the others. She’d been glad to assume it wasn’t relevant,
“Morgan Roche—”
She was cut short by a hand under her chin, jerking her head back. She clutched at her pistol, but another hand gripped her wrist and yanked it away. She kicked, flexed, strained—then relaxed when she realized it was futile to resist. The hands were just too strong.
She cursed silently. The privacy field had kept her from hearing her assailant creep up behind her. But she wasn’t at a complete disadvantage yet...
“Call him off, Lenz,” she hissed. “Or I swear I’ll blow this place apart.”
The mercenary smiled calmly at her. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“With the nugget of turcite I slipped under the bar,” she said. “One word, and it’ll detonate.”
“Blowing yourself up in the process,” he said with a slight, forced laugh.
“A risk I’m prepared to take,” she said. “But chances are this thug of yours will offer me some protection from the blast. As for you...”
The mercenary looked nervous and cast a glance at the person holding her. The grip about her neck tightened.
“Tell me why we should help you with this Roche person.” This came from the man squeezing her neck.
“What—?” She attempted to turn around but was barely able to move at all.
“If I’m going to be doing business with you,” he said, “then I want to know what’s so important about her.”
“You’re—?”
Again the grip tightened. “Lenz,” he said. “That’s right.” He released her throat and arm and pushed her facedown onto the table. She reached for her pistol, but he beat her to it and snatched it away, slamming it down in front of her. “Now, no more games; no more threats. You talk.”
He moved a few paces from behind her to where she could see him. He looked much like the mercenary sitting opposite her, but broader, older, and without the
“You have a problem with that?”
He sat down opposite her. “Not at all,” he said. “But you should listen to him. Grudges are dangerous.”
“I don’t recall asking either you or Ken’an for your opinion.”
“Well, make the most of it anyway,” he said. “Advice is about the only thing you’ll get for free around here.”
“And what’s the price of a little peace and quiet?”
“Quiet I can give you.” He activated some sort of device in his jacket and a bubble of silence enfolded the booth. “Peace, however, will be more difficult.”
De Bruyn’s implants buzzed, warning her of the field-effect he was using to give them privacy. She ignored the alarm, doubting the bubble was anything more dangerous than a toy. Still, her right hand slipped to her thigh-holster and disengaged the safety on her pistol.
She smiled. “Okay,” she said. “I’m looking for someone to watch my back while I go about my business.”
“What sort of business?”
“ My business,” she repeated firmly. “For now, at least.”
“In Sol System?” The words continued to rattle in his throat.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“For how long?”
“Until the job is done.” De Bruyn kept her stare firmly on his gold-flecked irises. “It may require a bit of muscle.”
“And how would you pay for this... muscle?”
“I have influence in the Interim Emergency Pristine Council. What I can’t provide in credit, I can make up in IEPC clearance and access. The breadth of your clientele will increase overnight.”
“ If we survive.” His lips tightened. “Perhaps Ken’an was right: maybe you are a bomb just waiting to go off. Who’s to say you won’t take us with you?”
“There are ways to avoid that,” she said. “And the right person working with me would find out how. But I’ll need more than a handful of people to see this through.”
“Promises and plans are easy to make,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “So who is the target, anyway?”
She hesitated a second. Ken’an hadn’t asked that, nor had any of the others. She’d been glad to assume it wasn’t relevant,
“Morgan Roche—”
She was cut short by a hand under her chin, jerking her head back. She clutched at her pistol, but another hand gripped her wrist and yanked it away. She kicked, flexed, strained—then relaxed when she realized it was futile to resist. The hands were just too strong.
She cursed silently. The privacy field had kept her from hearing her assailant creep up behind her. But she wasn’t at a complete disadvantage yet...
“Call him off, Lenz,” she hissed. “Or I swear I’ll blow this place apart.”
The mercenary smiled calmly at her. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“With the nugget of turcite I slipped under the bar,” she said. “One word, and it’ll detonate.”
“Blowing yourself up in the process,” he said with a slight, forced laugh.
“A risk I’m prepared to take,” she said. “But chances are this thug of yours will offer me some protection from the blast. As for you...”
The mercenary looked nervous and cast a glance at the person holding her. The grip about her neck tightened.
“Tell me why we should help you with this Roche person.” This came from the man squeezing her neck.
“What—?” She attempted to turn around but was barely able to move at all.
“If I’m going to be doing business with you,” he said, “then I want to know what’s so important about her.”
“You’re—?”
Again the grip tightened. “Lenz,” he said. “That’s right.” He released her throat and arm and pushed her facedown onto the table. She reached for her pistol, but he beat her to it and snatched it away, slamming it down in front of her. “Now, no more games; no more threats. You talk.”
He moved a few paces from behind her to where she could see him. He looked much like the mercenary sitting opposite her, but broader, older, and without the
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