She would have preferred to stand, but her legs still felt weak, so she lowered herself down onto the rough bark, trying to look stronger than she felt. “Are we still on Shenshido?”
“Everyone’s still on Shenshido. For two years now. That’s kind of the point.” He poured himself a vial of the yellow stuff.
“What happened here?”
“Let’s just say if there is a God, he fucked this place over good.” He swallowed his test tube’s contents in a single long gulp and winced.
“And the atheist explanation?”
“Idiots upstairs were playing with something they shouldn’t have, and it bit them on the ass. At least that’s the story I was given. I’m not a scientist myself, so this is all second hand.” He poured himself another drink as he talked. “People in one of the main labs went crazy. Got violent. The few that weren’t affected fled from the crazy ones. Some fled the station, but they didn’t make it far. Or maybe they did make it, but never told anyone in the outside world what was going on here.” He paused. “Or maybe no one in the outside world gives a fuck what happens here. Communications are out, so once the last ships left, everyone else here was fucked.”
The communications equipment in the engineering center looked functional enough when I was there, she thought. Granted, she hadn’t tried to contact any other stations, but still. Something in his story wasn’t adding up.
“You said a ship would be coming for you,” he said. There was an edge to his tone now, cold and hungry. “That seems a strange arrangement. I’d think you’d want it docked here, ready to go.”
“The docking ring’s a mess,” she said. That part was certainly true. She didn’t trust him enough to tell him the rest of it—that she was here alone and her ship was moored to the station, unguarded. Never mind that if he got to it he wouldn’t be able to get through her security; it was what he might do to get to it that worried her. “My pilot didn’t trust the mooring options, so he offered to keep her in a holding pattern until I found our target.”
“And did you?”
“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some leads pan out, some don’t.”
“He’s dangerous, this guy?”
“Killed a few members of his family. Bloody mess.” She looked at the test tube in her hand. What the hell. She really could use a drink. The alcohol tasted acidic, and it burned her throat going down though it felt good spreading through her veins. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation.
“You can call the ship back when you’re ready to leave? Or what? Is there some kind of schedule you set up?”
Too curious, she thought. The echo of desperation in his voice wasn’t an issue—if he’d really been stuck on this crazy station for two years, what else would one expect?—but there was something else there, a darkness behind the words, that made her doubly wary. You’d hijack my ship if you could, I’ll bet. Fly off and leave me here, stranded with the others. It was just a feeling, but years of outriding had taught her to trust her feelings. “We made arrangements,” she hedged.
“And I suppose when you get home you’ll tell the Guild what happened here? So they can send out a rescue team?”
Was that what she would do? Tridac owned the place and should be in charge of rescuing anyone stranded here. But would they do that? Or would they find it cheaper and easier to just cleanse the place, making the whole problem go away? If the scientists here had been working on any kind of secret project, the latter seemed more likely. If she told the Guild first, instead, Shenshido’s situation would at least become part of the public record. Tridac would no longer be able to act in the shadows, and fear of negative publicity might save some lives. “That seems the best way to go.”
He leaned forward intently. “And what if someone wanted to get off the station before they arrived?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning, I’m sure there’s room on your ship for at least one other person. Meaning, if you take me with you when you leave, I’ll make it worth your while. Cash, contraband, labor debt. Name your poison.”
“You know that I work for law enforcement,” she said quietly.
“I know that you’re working for them now. One job.” He poured himself another drink. “You’re a mercenary, same as me. And don’t worry, there’s no price on my head. Check it out, if you want. I’ll wait.” He leaned back in his chair again, drinking from his test tube as he gave her a moment to access the innernet. Was that a bluff? An independent station was unlikely to have up-to-date records from Gueran law enforcement, so even if she couldn’t find anything in its files that mentioned Ivar, that didn’t mean anything. She bluffed back, staring into space for a moment as if she were communing with the station’s data system; let him worry about what she might discover.
“Whatever they’re paying you for this job,” he said finally, interrupting her fake reverie, “I’ll pay you ten times that much to take me with you to wherever you’re going, and drop me off first thing.”
“And the other people here?”
He shrugged. “A few more days of waiting won’t kill them.”
So much for group loyalty. What’s your connection to them? She was burning with questions, but sensed that if she interrogated him too directly he might shut down. What are you so afraid of, that you need to get away before the rescue team arrives? His offer of labor debt in payment—slaves—suggested some pretty dark dealings, and blatant interrogation might rub him the wrong way. And she needed his help. The station map didn’t distinguish between the various sections of the lower levels, so without someone’s help she wasn’t going to be able to get back to her ship. Hell, she couldn’t even find a flight of stairs, other than by walking around randomly and searching.
“Let me think about it,” she said carefully.
He didn’t look pleased by her response, nor did he look surprised. A man who traded in contraband and slaves was probably used to people not trusting him. “Well. I suppose with that said, it’s time you met the others.”
About time. “Can I get my gear back first?”
He considered for a moment, then nodded toward the table. She put her coat back on and stowed all her accessories where they belonged, piece by piece, while he watched.
“My gun?” she asked.
“Consider it the cost of being rescued.”
She opened her mouth to protest . . . but hell, he had saved her life. Fair was fair.
He led her to a path that cut through the forest. Most of the trees and brush were evenly spaced—obviously planted—but now and then she saw dense thickets of brush flanking the path. Probably blinds. “You expecting an attack?” she asked.