The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (27 page)

Sergei had reached the table, and they paused their argument to look at him. Both wore exasperated expressions. Maybe he should have waited to report until
after
Mandrake called him over.

“Gardening druids?” he asked mildly, hoping to deflect their irritation away from him—and maybe from each other too.

Neither answered for a moment. Jamie was still standing where he had left her, maybe waiting to see if he was invited to sit before coming over.

“I talked to a local sect when we were on Orion Prime,” Mandrake finally said. “Found a couple of old Grenavinian volunteers to come show the farmers down there how to do forest gardens up in the mountains, plant perennial crops that don’t take much maintenance but that grow edible berries and leaves and starches that the finicky cloud city people won’t want. The volunteers can give the downsiders some advice for improving the soil under their fields too. They’re mono-cropping down there right now, relying on fertilizers to keep up with demand.”

Sergei blinked a few times during this explanation. He knew Mandrake had come from Grenavine and the planet had been full of druids and back-to-basics farmers, but he found it exceedingly strange to hear his former-Crimson-Ops sergeant—and his current mercenary company commander, too, for that matter—talking about crops.

“It’s a noble thing you’re doing, Viktor,” Ankari said, waving away Mandrake’s I’m-not-doing-anything-noble-it’s-just-good-business look, “and I’m not denying that, but the government may not be that pleased when they find out about it, especially if they misunderstand what your gardening druids are doing. For our business, it would be better to come in and make a deal
before
your scheduled drop-off. Besides, I don’t know if the senator would be willing to reschedule the appointment.”

“There’s something fishy about that appointment,” Mandrake said. “Why does the government care about bettering the gut health of those people if they’re against letting them keep enough food to stay healthy in the first place?”

Ankari sighed and sat back in her chair, as if they had already gone over this a few times. “They didn’t tell me their motivations. But we made a deal with the government-run hospital, and nothing bad came of that.” Unless she counted the people trying to steal her briefcase on the way back. “It makes sense that the government would want the workers healthier, and if we can get a large-scale deal with the senator, quite frankly, it would earn us a nice bonus that we hadn’t anticipated. Maybe we can
buy
our next set of research equipment instead of raiding medical facilities.” She smiled up at Mandrake.

“It was an illegal medical facility,” Mandrake said.

“Of course. That makes it completely fine.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and pretended to whisper to Sergei alone, “Is it any wonder there’s a bounty on his head on every other planet we visit?”

“Only three,” Mandrake growled. “And those aren’t bounties. They’re simply police warrants or shoot-on-sight bulletins.”

“Oh, much better,” Ankari said. “So, Sergei, about the largest bounty on my love’s cheeks—” she reached up and gave Viktor a subtle pat on said cheeks, even though his glower hadn’t diminished and it had to be akin to patting the ass of a Deruvian saber tooth tiger, “—are you still planning on taking Jamie down? Viktor said you might take an engineer instead.” She waved for him to sit across from her.

“That was what I wanted to talk to you about.” Sergei sat down, ignoring Mandrake glowering at his shoulder—it wasn’t that hard to do, since Sergei had seen a lot more glowers from the man than smiles. “Jamie said—” he paused to give Jamie a come-over-please head tilt, “—your friend was making fake IDs with the two of us in mind? Or at least with a male and female in mind?”

Ankari nodded and pulled out a tablet. “They’ve been done. I can send you the details.”

Jamie slunk over and sat next to Sergei, setting her untouched breakfast log on the table. Her coffee didn’t look that touched, either, though her eyes focused on it as she mumbled a, “Hello.”

“Morning, Jamie.” Ankari sounded puzzled and glanced at Sergei as if he might be responsible for her shy slump.

Her look made him feel chagrined. The last thing he wanted anyone to think was that Jamie had
suffered
through a night with him.

“Everything all right?” Ankari added.

“Yes.” Jamie lifted her eyes slightly, searched Ankari’s face, but didn’t seem to see whatever judgment she had expected. She stole an extremely quick glance at Mandrake.

Mandrake hadn’t stopped glowering, but it had grown somewhat resigned. He didn’t react to Jamie’s glance.

“Male and female IDs?” he asked. “You didn’t mention this last night, Zharkov.”

“I didn’t know about it then, sir. Jamie is the brains of the outfit. She just tells me the plan in time for me to poke holes into people.”

Jamie flushed at his admission—Sergei decided he found her cheeks quite attractive when they were that shade of pink.

“I don’t doubt it,” Mandrake grumbled.

“I think I was just insulted,” Sergei told Ankari.

She nodded back at him.

“You want to go down there, Flipkens?” Mandrake asked.

With him talking directly to her, Jamie had to look at him. Sort of. Her focus rested solidly on… his chin. “Yes, sir.”

Sergei would have to ask her later if Mandrake had tattoos anywhere except on his arms.

“All right, then Delta Shuttle can carry you down this afternoon, since it’s apparently going to an appointment.”

Ankari beamed up at him. “
Ladybug
.”

“Delta Shuttle,” Mandrake said firmly.

“
Ladybug
?” Sergei mouthed, glancing at Jamie. She shrugged back at him.

“You agreed to the rename last night,” Ankari said. “Temporarily of course. As long as we’re leasing it from you.”

“I would have agreed to anything last night when you were—” This time Mandrake did let a glance toward Jamie escape, though he quickly turned his attention back to Ankari. “When I was under duress.”

“Duress.” Ankari sipped from her coffee cup. “Really.”

“Since the downside drop-off isn’t until tomorrow, I will accompany
Delta Shuttle
down to the capital city for its appointment,” Mandrake said, giving Ankari a stern I-shall-brook-no-objections-on-this-matter look. “A small infantry team will accompany me. If there’s trouble on Salt Cloud or in this finance woman’s city, we’ll be there for backup.”

“Good,” Ankari said cheerfully.

Mandrake looked like he had expected an objection, so her response made him pause. He finally returned her, “Good,” if less cheerfully, then left, dropping off his coffee mug in the dish-cycler on the way out.

“You have to let them feel that they win some of the time,” Ankari explained to Jamie.

“Aren’t you relieved to have him come along with some fighters?” Jamie asked. “In case there’s trouble?”

“Oh, yes. I’m not sure why he thought I would object to that. I love having him standing at my back, being manly and fierce.”

Jamie gave Sergei a shy smile, and he straightened in his seat. Yes, men enjoyed being manly and fierce behind their ladies. The smart ones, anyway.

“Perhaps I’ve been obstinate of late,” Ankari mused, gazing toward the door. “Do you think
Ladybug
was too much?”

“I think it’ll be worth the cost of the ticket to see Mandrake and a brute squad, carrying all of their weapons and wearing battle armor, walking out of that pink shuttle,” Sergei said.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” Jamie smiled at him again—she had relaxed noticeably since Mandrake left.

“Oh, I felt emasculated all week, trust me.”

“It didn’t show.”

“Thank you.”

Ankari sipped her coffee, looked back and forth between them, and said nothing. Though she did smile.

* * *

Jamie waited in line, her coveralls on and the pockets bulging with tools, in front of a pavilion manned by bored recruiters playing games on their tablets while earnest applicants explained why they should be hired. So far, nobody had gone over to the floor-cleaning robot in the back that had its front panel open and a box of parts resting next to it. She hoped that meant Sergei was successfully finding the competition and scaring it off before it got in line. Hundreds of people were milling around the job fair, chatting to recruiters in the dozens of colorful pavilions set up in the center of a sports stadium. Fortunately, the aspiring maintenance people were obvious since most were carrying toolboxes around. Jamie hadn’t wanted to risk losing her favorite tools, so she only had a handful of second-rate ones. She hoped they would do the job.

“Next,” a recruiter called, and the line shuffled forward.

The number of women waiting surprised Jamie. At the moment, there were only two men in line. She hadn’t looked at what the other jobs on the list were, but could only assume they didn’t involve heavy lifting or other labor where having manly muscles was useful. Maybe Laframboise—her name floated in bright letters above the pavilion—had a reputation for preferring women.

The line moved forward again, leaving only two people in front of Jamie. She searched the surrounding area for Sergei. If he didn’t show up soon, she would either have to apply without him or go to the end of the line. It wouldn’t be much use getting accepted alone, because she didn’t think she could arrange anyone’s death, not even someone who was trying to have the captain killed. She still had nightmares about that assassin that had accidentally fallen on his own knife as a result of her actions.

“Next,” another bored recruiter called.

“We should be set,” Sergei murmured from behind Jamie’s shoulder.

She jumped—she had
just
looked in that direction and he hadn’t been there. “Practicing your sneaking already?” she murmured.

“It’s a habit.”

He had shaved his beard for the new identity, and his hair was now a dusty blond. Like Jamie, he had also used a theater kit to change his features. His nose, brow, and jaw all seemed wider, though the change hadn’t stolen his handsomeness. Jamie felt like an old maid, thanks to faint crease lines on her forehead, a bulbous nose, and chubby cheeks, though Sergei assured her she didn’t look much older than thirty, a logical age for someone who had robot-repairing experience. But his eyes had gleamed with amusement as he had helped her glue on a couple of moles.

“Want to give me some of those tools?” Sergei asked. “So I can hand them to you convincingly?”

Jamie gave him the multitool she had used to electrocute those thugs on the day she had met Sergei. It was a little scraped and charred from the experience, and the drill had a hitch at faster speeds, so it now rated as a second-string tool.

He smiled as he accepted it. “If I throw it in a puddle at Laframboise’s feet, will it zap her?”

“Only if you remove the safety and cross a few circuits.” Jamie hoped his assassination plan involved more finesse, though she wasn’t sure what he would use to accomplish the job, since he had left most of his weapons in the shuttle, suspecting they would be searched before being allowed to prowl Laframboise’s premises. As far as Jamie knew, he had kept only a utility knife and a laser scalpel, believable tools for a repairman. Lieutenant Calendula, the pilot who had been brought in to fly while Jamie was busy, had watched with bemusement as Sergei piled laser pistols, grenades, smoke bombs, daggers, exploding cuff links, throwing knives, a garrote, and other weapons Jamie couldn’t name onto the control console, promising he would retrieve them later. Neither Mandrake nor his fighters had batted an eye.

“Next,” the recruiter called.

“This is us.” Jamie walked to the table with Sergei at her side. Ankari’s words about the appeal of men being manly and fierce at one’s back floated through her mind. She agreed, but she hoped Sergei could manage to appear meek for this. Or at least suitably entry-level.

“Name?” The recruiter frowned at Sergei and looked like he might object to the fact that he had cut the line and come up with her.

“Melissa and Dustin Strongbow,” she told the man. She hadn’t asked Ankari’s friend to make them a couple, but had decided it worked, since it would make sense that married people would want to work in the same city and live together.

The recruiter’s frown didn’t diminish, but he read something off his tablet. The back of the holodisplay was blurred for privacy, but Jamie assumed it was a list. She had sent over their names that morning, so they should be there.

“Domestic robot maintenance,” the recruiter said. “Good. I was wondering if we’d get any applicants.”

Sergei said nothing, though his expression grew extremely bland.

“You know anything about repairs, Mrs. Strongbow?” the recruit asked. “Lady Laframboise doesn’t pay people to be married.”

Jamie lifted her chin, biting back a reply that would suggest he was an ignorant, sexist prick if he assumed a woman couldn’t know how to use a tool. All right, her reply would have done more than
suggest
it. Fortunately, Sergei touched her back gently before she could spit out something that wouldn’t be meek. And entry-level.

“I can, and I would be happy to show you.” She realized the prick’s assumptions might actually serve their purposes, since he might give “Dustin” a free pass, so long as she proved her capability.

The recruiter gestured to the robot. “Find three things wrong with that unit.”

Jamie had been eyeing the slumping thirty- or forty-year-old Floor Dervish 2000 from the line and could probably give him a list without getting any closer. “Just three?” she asked a little more tartly than was necessary.

“Three,” the recruiter said, showing no sign that he appreciated her sarcasm.

Jamie walked over, picked up a diagnostic tool almost as old as the robot, plugged it into the download port and flicked it on. While she waited for the readout, she peeked into the open panel. “The battery wires are connected backwards; this power supply is corroded; and there’s something smudgy and brown on the network antennae so it probably can’t communicate with the base station.” She wiped off the goop, sniffed her finger, and added, “Something organic.”