Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 (17 page)

“You don’t think she’d try to take one of the shuttles at the guard posts? If I were her, that’s what I’d do.”

“No. Too small. If she was going to try it, she’d have taken my shuttle.” Michael considered the map again.

“You mean
my
shuttle,” Duster said.

Michael readied a nasty retort but realized Duster only needled him a bit. “A minor point.” He laughed. “Mary would have swiped the shuttle I took her out in. She didn’t.”

“Is there any way she could have gotten the bracelet off?”

“If she did, we’d still be able to track it.” Michael again eyed his hidden bar. “Somehow, she’s managed to block the signal. For the life of me, I can’t fathom how.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We should be able to read that thing through two hundred miles of solid durosteel.”

Duster snickered.

Michael whirled around. “Just what the hell is so funny?”

“Her name.” Duster scratched his chin. “Remarkably Average Mary.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “You ought to sue her for false advertising.”

“Actually, I did think of tossing Harper in a locked room with her. He’s the one who filed the report that said she had average intelligence.”

“Average my ass.” Duster laughed again. “How the hell did she get that pathetic nickname?”

“Idiots at Pine Glenn pinned it on her.” Anger surged every time Michael remembered the story he’d read in one of the reports.

“Why?” Duster asked.

“When she enrolled for grammar school, the administrators tested the students. On a list, beside each name, everyone had something like ‘high verbal skills’ or ‘shows promise in mathematics’—everyone but Mary. Across from her name it said remarkably average. Some cruel bastard posted the list at a local tavern so the whole town could see. Mary all of seven. A little kid.”

“Harsh.” Duster winced.

“It didn’t stop there.” Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

“I’m afraid to ask.” Duster pulled a chair back, flipped it around and straddled it, his arms looped across the back.

“Since she was abandoned, a foundling on the courthouse steps, they also said she had no last name.” He lowered his hands to his sides and clenched them to fists.

“Remarkably Average Mary No-last-name.” Duster sighed. “She’s had to put up with that crap her whole life?”

Michael nodded and let out a long, frustrated sigh. Her background explained a lot of her hostility and her suspicious nature. She expected to be mocked and rejected, but the harsh treatment hadn’t broken her.

Mary didn’t care what anyone thought of her, because she knew herself. He admired that quality and wished he had more of it himself. Reputation mattered a great deal to him, but Mary didn’t give a rat’s ass. In fact, she turned her disparaging nickname to her advantage by using it to waylay people into not expecting anything from her.

“Why did she stay there?” Duster asked. “Hey, maybe that’s why she stole from you, so she could get away from Taiga.”

“I don’t think so. All she wants is to go home. For the life of me, I don’t know why.” Michael thought of the reams of nasty reports. “If I were her, I’d want to go home with a fully loaded Gatewin Gusher and take out the whole malicious town. Twice. Just to make sure I’d wiped them all.”

Duster pulled back, clearly shocked. “Care to explain that?”

“I could bury you in scornful tales of her.” Michael pointed to a stack of reports on his desk. “That’s what her own people, the folks of Pine Glenn, have said about her.”

Wide-eyed, Duster reached for the two-inch-deep stack of reports but hesitated. “All of that’s about her?”

“And all nasty.” Michael nodded. “Think of the worst falsehood ever spread about you, now think of that exponentially. Just so big and nasty it never ended. That’s what she’s been subjected to her whole life.” Michael let his sympathy bleed into his voice. He wanted Duster to understand why he cared so much about Mary.

“Then why does she want to go back there?” Duster fished some seeds from a vest pocket.

“Good question.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “I doubt she’ll answer. She won’t even tell me why she liberated my goods.”

“Maybe she has something to prove to them.” Duster kept his gaze on the stack of reports.

“What? That she can put up with more of their abuse?” Every time he thought of how badly she’d been treated, he wanted to stomp his way into Pine Glenn and start bashing heads together.

“Dunno.” Duster considered the map. “Did you mean it?”

“What?” Michael felt jittery and out-of-sorts. He wanted to be angry with Mary, but he was more worried about her than anything.

“What you said earlier about Mary.”

Michael remembered very well what he’d said in a moment of passion. He kept his eyes on the map. Damn it all, Duster didn’t drop his knowing, razor gaze for a second. Michael straightened and returned his intense glare.

“Mary is anything
but
remarkably average.”

“Oh, I got that. So did you.” Duster popped a seed apart with his teeth. “Her breach in security makes that crystal clear. You and I both know that isn’t my point.”

“You always have a point, don’t you?”

Duster rolled his eyes and let out a great guffaw. “Kraft would’ve accused you of dancing a very tight two-step, not with me, but with the truth. Maybe with yourself.”

“I told you to stop bringing her up.”

“Sure. Glad to. You just get rid of the morbid shrine to her on the base tarmac first.” Duster leaned over and tapped the op-pan until an audvid of
Whisper
popped up.

Michael glared first at the ship, then at Duster. “Not pulling our punches, are we?” He cut off the audvid. “I’ll get rid of
Whisper
if you get rid of that.” He pointed to Duster’s hand.

“What?” Duster plunged his right hand in his pocket.

Michael forcefully pulled out Duster’s hand and touched the slender band of platinum that encompassed his third finger. “Widows wear the wedding band on the right ring finger. Widowers might too, depending on the culture, but you can’t wear that ring at all.”

“You prick.” Duster yanked his hand away but didn’t bother to hide it. This was familiar ground for an argument, one they’d stomped many times.

“Granted. You started this round of truth time, not me. If you’re going to remind me of the truth, the least I can do is return the favor.” At his command,
Whisper
popped up on every holoplas screen in the room. Amber lights cast the needle-shaped ship into sharp relief. “I may have a morbid shrine, but at least I don’t delude myself into thinking I married Kraft.”

“You
unbelievable
prick.” Duster turned away, exuding the scent of fresh bread.

“Granted. You never married Diane. She left you in a shuttle with less than an hour of air. Not at the altar, as is customary for brides of her…ilk. But long before you ever got to the church to seal the vows you swore to in the depth—”

“You don’t know anything about me and Diane.” Duster thrust himself up, shoving the chair forward. “Nor should you, as my Commander, acquaint yourself personally with—”

“The massive pomposity flowing from your lips,” Michael interrupted him, and laughed. “You want to point out my foibles but slap up fences when I attempt to point out yours.”

Duster dropped his gaze to the floor. “Torment me about Diane, and I will torment you in the same measure about Kraft.”

“Equal ammo,” Michael said.

Duster lifted his chin, ready for battle.

They could lob verbal bombs at each other for days on end. They knew more about each other than they did about themselves. A best friend, a truly intimate friend, could become a dangerous opponent.

“I concede.” Michael bowed with formal dignity.

Duster took a step back, his brows lowered. “Who the F are you?”

“I am Michael Parker. Not Overlord, not Commander, just a man named Michael Parker.” As soon as he said it, he realized the truth of his words. He didn’t want to be Overlord, or Commander, or some young-girl fantasy that Mary held up so high over his head. He wanted to be himself, just a man, one who didn’t always do the right thing. Not a hero by any stretch but not a vicious villain, either.

“You won’t make Mary a stand-in for Kraft?” Duster asked.

“No.” Michael killed the audvids of
Whisper
and sighed. “In some ways, she is like Kraft, but not really. Mary is…” He trailed off. “I don’t know how to describe her, how to put into words why she attracts me the way she does.” Michael considered the search map on the desk again. “Unique. Remarkable. Compelling. The game you set afoot is no longer a game. She’s more than the elusive Bandit of Taiga, more than a challenge that took my mind off mourning Kraft.” Feeling the fear, yet admitting the truth anyway, Michael softly said, “I think Mary is the woman I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

Chapter Sixteen

Mary ripped out the lining of Commander’s black leather jacket so she could compress her swelling ankle. At the first touch of silken fabric, she passed out.

Regaining consciousness, she discovered her foot had swollen to five times normal. Her leg looked as if a huge, lumpy ball had swallowed her foot. She realized she never should have taken the boot off in the first place, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now. She left off trying to compress her ankle and turned herself around on the hill to elevate the most massive screw-up in her short life.

Chilly night air would help slow the swelling, but it also bit into her flesh, making her shiver. She peered up at the star-strewn sky as she drank deeply of cold, damp air that smelled of sagebrush. How could she splint her ankle? A moot point when she realized that, splinted or not, her ankle couldn’t bear her weight. She’d have to drag the stupid thing behind her. Just the thought of bumping it sent a new surge of pain rushing up her leg.

Breathing in shallow, hurried breaths, she checked her pulse by placing her hand at the base of her neck. Rapid and weak. Her skin was cool and clammy.

I’m going into shock.

She tried to remember how to treat someone for shock.

Keep them warm, right? She zipped up the jacket and plunged her hands into the pockets, although without the lining, the jacket didn’t help as much as she’d hoped.

Don’t eat or drink anything. Why? She couldn’t remember. Probably so she wouldn’t strangle on her own vomit. Not that she had a lot to eat or drink at the moment. All she had was a hunk of smelly cheese and an orange. Besides, she wasn’t hungry. Dinner and wine still warmed her belly.

Thinking of the picnic made her think of how good Commander had looked in the double half moonlight. His dark hair shimmered and his teeth glistened. Sorta like a scary, sexy manwolf. It would have been incredible to see his wicked body in the moonlight, all naked and primal. Glistening velvet skin over rippling muscle. Smelling so strongly of citrus and pine.

She should have taken him up on that deal before she ran away. What could one night in his big, strong arms hurt anyway? Whether he let her go or not didn’t matter when she could just run away afterward. Giving in to a base part of her body and being able to justify her actions mattered more.

“A noble sacrifice.” She giggled. “Yes, I would throw myself into his arms to protect my people. I would willingly toss myself upon the sword of injustice to protect the cause and suffer delicious torture at his hands.”

Just the thought of his hot touch and his wicked control raised goose bumps along her flesh. She could feel his mouth against her neck, her breasts, his hands holding her, pinning her against the wall with the whole of his body. All that power in him held in check by his need to taste her surrender. Heaven help her, she wanted to submit.

In the same breath, she wanted him to take charge the way she always imagined Overlord would. His strength would overwhelm her until she had no choice but to surrender to him. Then he would do anything he wanted for, well, what could she do against such a powerful man? Her mind wandered off into just how Commander would claim her if she accepted his deal.

“No, no, gotta stay focused here.” She shivered, snuggling farther into the jacket that smelled like him. “I’m trying to treat me for shock.”

She thought the next treatment for shock was to summon aid.

“Yeah-huh. Therein lies the problem.” She giggled deliriously. “I’m hiding from the man who could render aid.”

Looking at her chunky bracelet, she wondered what would happen if she picked the plastimirror off. Would he come, or would he leave her out here to die?

Swirling cream and sugar into his coffee, Michael asked, “How in the Void did we ever become friends?”

“Mutual goals.”

“I wonder if I ever would have stopped working the slave trade if not for you.” Michael rarely thought of that ugly part of his past when script became an end in and of itself. He’d blinded his eyes to anything but acquiring more money. Even the screams of his cargo could not sway him. He just turned the music up louder on the
Damn You
.

When the smell of misery overpowered him, Michael started drinking. Alcohol made the smell go away, almost made the pain go away. He damn near died in a drunken haze when Duster decided he’d had enough.

“You would have stopped, Michael, eventually. I leapt on board too, remember? I was just as greedy and vicious as you were. We were a brutal team.” Duster peered into his cup as if he could find forgiveness there.

“For six months,” Michael said. “You were the one who called a halt to it. At gunpoint.”

One blurry, drunken day, music blasting over the ship, Michael turned to find Duster standing on the bridge of the
Damn You
with a McWilliam Sneek clutched in his fist.

At first, Michael laughed, but stopped when Duster cocked the gun. So drunk he could barely stand, Michael gave up without a fight, and Duster took over the
Damn You
without a struggle.

Duster tied Michael to the pilot chair, let the slaves go, and escaped with Diane, who later turned on him.

After Michael sobered up and freed himself, he saved Duster from the shuttle Diane abandoned him in, and they agreed to smuggle books. Michael ended up selling the
Damn You
to a Runner named Foster Nash, the man and the ship that dragged Mary before him. Mary had a knack for making everything in his life loop back.