The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (4 page)

“Yes.”

“Ah.” So it wasn’t just about the captain pleasing his girlfriend. “They make decent money doing… that thing they do? Micro-something?”

“More than you would think, and without risking men and weapons. If I were smarter, I’d be in a different business, Zharkov.”

“You’d get bored, same as me.”

“Maybe so.” Mandrake didn’t sound that convinced. Maybe he had retirement on the mind. One couldn’t survive as a mercenary forever. “Either way, I would like to have someone keep an eye on Ankari, go down to the planet with their shuttle for these appointments. I haven’t made a secret of her. Others, outside of the ship, may know she means something to me.”

Something? Sergei raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling that was an understatement. In the years he had worked with Mandrake, first in the Fleet and then in his company, he had never known the man to own a couch. Or teal towels. “You think someone trying to get to you might target her instead? To use as bait? Or to hurt you?”

“It’s crossed my mind.” Mandrake lifted his brows. “You’ll keep an eye on her?”

The question was surprising. If Sergei was signing up to work for the company again, Mandrake could order him to do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t as if there were people to assassinate every day. In the military, Sergei had been assigned everything from peeling vegetables to scrubbing floors to vacuuming ducts on spaceships. It occurred to him that this meant more to Mandrake than a duct or floor. He wanted to ask a favor, not give an order.

“Yes, I’ll do it.” Babysitting the captain’s girlfriend wasn’t quite what Sergei had had in mind, but maybe it would turn out to be his opportunity to pay Mandrake back, after all.

“Good. I’ll let the accountant know you’re on the payroll again, and I’ll tell Ankari that you’ll be around.”

As he headed for the exit, it crossed Sergei’s mind that he would presumably be keeping an eye on Jamie Flipkens, as well. He wasn’t sure that was a good idea, since he was more attracted to her than he should be, but he found himself smiling as soon as the door slid shut behind him.

* * *

The robot rolled up the ramp to the shuttle, dutifully carrying its crate of prepackaged food meals for the trip. Jamie grinned, delighted that the construct was following commands—and that it had stopped that lopsided clanking. She hadn’t been working from a kit this time, and the construct hadn’t come together quite so easily.

A groan came from inside the shuttle. Jamie’s smile faltered, and she ran up the ramp. The robot hadn’t rolled over someone’s foot, had it? Lauren and Ankari were also in there packing.

But when Jamie charged inside, Ankari was merely standing with her fists on her hips, scowling at the robot. She stood near the control console so shouldn’t have been in danger of being run over.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked.

“That.” Ankari thrust a finger toward the robot.

“He’s not coming along. I was just… Sorry, I wanted to try him out.”

“Him?”

“The robot.”

“Oh, I didn’t know it had a gender.” Ankari looked down its blocky body, as if she expected to find anatomically accurate human parts.

Jamie snorted. It wasn’t an
android
. “It doesn’t. I just—was there a problem?”

“That box of those damned meatloaf logs. I specifically ordered meals with a little more diversity. And less logginess.”

“Oh.” Jamie’s worry evaporated. “That would be nice. The egg logs are particularly awful. Was I supposed to look for the special ones somewhere?”

“I’ll find them, though I’m hoping some of our clients might be so moved by our willingness to help them that they’ll take us all out to dinner.” Ankari made a hex sign at the crate in the robot’s hands as she rounded it, then disappeared down the ramp.

The business owner and microbiologist might be taken out to dinner, but Jamie doubted the pilot/engineer would be invited. Just as well. She would prefer to stay in the shuttle and read rather than pretending she had a clue as to what the rich and powerful—or at least older and citified—were talking about.

Jamie ordered her robot down the ramp. The team planned to spend a week visiting three floating cities before returning to the ship, and there were a few other non-food crates to load.

“There’s your answer, Striker,” a man said before Jamie could follow her robot out. She winced and paused inside the threshold. What was Sergeant Striker doing down here? He had been leering at Jamie since the day she was first captured and brought on board, and she hated interacting with him. She glanced over her shoulder, relieved when the curtain stirred, meaning Lauren was inside working on something.

“What answer?” Striker asked.

“As to why the girl won’t sleep with you. She’s got a pet robot to satisfy her urges.”

Jamie’s grip tightened around the control box, and heat rushed into her cheeks. She thought about hitting the panel by the exit hatch to bring in the ramp and close the door, but Ankari would be coming back with the food and would wonder why she couldn’t get into the shuttle. Besides, Jamie had things to load.

Sighing, she walked down the ramp, tried to ignore the two men talking and snickering ten feet away, and headed straight for the stack of crates and luggage.

“Evening, Jamie,” Striker called, ambling in her direction, his hands in his pockets. “We just got off duty. Heard you were packing for another trip. Thought we’d see if you needed any help.” His gaze dipped to Jamie’s chest.

She didn’t get it. She was wearing coveralls and boots, the same as she usually wore. What could possibly be capturing his fascination? Was it just that there were so many more men on this ship than there were women? And that the
Albatross
rarely stopped anywhere long enough for the mercenaries to have relations? Lauren didn’t get this much attention. Not that Lauren would notice if she did. Boys had come around the family farm back on Mercruse and a few had tried to court Jamie, but it wasn’t as if hordes of young men had been serenading her outside her bedroom window every night. Of course, her father would have cut the nuts off any who tried. She had always thought him overprotective and overbearing, but sometimes found herself missing his cold aloof presence on this ship.

“We can handle it.” Jamie waved to her robot—it was idling on its treads, so she gave it a command to pick up a pair of suitcases.

“You’re sure?” Striker ambled closer. He was a big, brawny man, with a broad face and short hair that he wore spiked up. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t handsome, either. Even if he had been, his assumptions and lack of respect would have made him seem less so.

“Positive.” Jamie drove the robot through him, not apologizing when it almost ran over his foot.

Striker jumped back. He glanced at his buddy, an infantry sergeant Jamie didn’t know by name, who gave him an encouraging wave. Jamie frowned at him. Like Striker, he seemed oblivious to the fact that she didn’t want either of them loitering around.

Before Striker could make a move, or whatever it was he was planning, Jamie rushed up the ramp. “Lauren,” she called so the men would know someone else was around, “where do you want your suitcase?”

Lauren mumbled something, her voice too low for the mercenaries to hear, and Jamie sighed. She put away the suitcases, taking her time in the hope that the men would get bored and go away.

Unfortunately, when she turned around, she found Striker at the top of the ramp with a suitcase in his arms. “Where would you like this?”

“I’ll take it.” Jamie wished Lauren weren’t out of sight behind that curtain. She came forward, took the suitcase, then backed away quickly, as if he might grab her. He didn’t, of course—the men were never that blatant. She had heard the captain had made it clear that physical harassment wouldn’t be tolerated. They merely ogled her and managed to bump against her in the corridors often.

Striker leaned his shoulder against the side of the hull and watched her when she bent to store the suitcase. She was wondering if she should bring her robot up to ram him in the backside—accidentally—when a throat was cleared on the ramp behind Striker.

He turned lazily, then stiffened and jumped to the side. At first, Jamie expected it to be the captain, coming down to see Ankari off, but it was Sergei Zharkov. He stood on the ramp, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Zharkov,” Striker said. “What are you doing here?”

“Bodyguard.” Sergei wasn’t as tall or broad as Striker, but when he smiled up at the bigger man, the smile far more wolfish than genuinely pleased, Striker stepped back and glanced around nervously. “What are
you
doing here?” Sergei asked, ice in his voice that chilled Jamie even if she wasn’t the recipient of the question.

Striker licked his lips. “Helping the girls pack.”

“Did they ask for your help?”

“Nah, but I knew they’d want it. I can carry lots of heavy stuff.”

Sergei met Jamie’s eyes, lifting his brows slightly. She shook her head.

“I’ll take it from here,” Sergei said.

Striker looked at Jamie, frowned at Sergei, and said, “She’s not available.”

Jamie closed her eyes and shook her head again. What den of animals had the man grown up in? Or had he simply been hit on his head too many times as a soldier?

“Leave,” Sergei said, staring into Striker’s eyes. “Now.”

“But—” Striker looked at Jamie again, as if she might countermand Sergei and invite him to stay.

Jamie was so pleased that he would be leaving that she gave him a cheerful smile and said, “Have a nice week. Get some shore leave if you can.” During which he could hopefully find someone willing to have sex with him. Whatever made him leave her alone.

Her smile had the unintended result of getting him to smile back, wave, and leave with a bounce in his step. Sergei watched impassively, stepping aside without comment. Damn. She hadn’t encouraged Striker somehow, had she? Was it too late to run him over with her robot?

“Thanks,” Jamie told Sergei. “He’s a pest.” That was probably obvious, but she felt the need to add it in case he somehow thought she hadn’t minded Striker being around.

“Yes.” Sergei gave her that quirky bow he had offered when they first met. “He was when I was a member of the crew last time too.” He lifted the strap of his duffel bag. “Is there a particular place where I should stow my gear?”

Jamie stared at him, his earlier word sinking in. Bodyguard. Did that mean he was going with them? To be bodyguard for whom? All of them? No, Ankari. That must be it. Because of the bounty on the captain’s head. But what about Sergeant Hazel? She had come along on the previous trip, to lend them some muscle and firepower if they needed it. Jamie had liked having an all-female crew. It had been a respite from dealing with the testosterone-oozing men of the ship.

“You didn’t know I was coming,” Sergei said, sounding almost apologetic. His tone was so different from what he had assumed with Striker that it was startling.

“No,” Jamie blurted. It wasn’t his fault. Ankari had probably known about the switch but hadn’t remembered to say something. “I mean, I didn’t know, but it’s fine. Here. There’s room for your bag in this bin.” She waved to it, then stepped back so he could access it. “Do you know if Sergeant Hazel will still be coming with us?”

A flicker of something crossed his face—disappointment? Did he think Jamie would have
preferred
Sergeant Hazel come? Well, she would, but she didn’t mean to offend him by implying he wouldn’t do a good job.

“I wasn’t told,” was all that Sergei said.

The curtain rustled as he walked past, and Lauren stuck her head out, wearing her usual absentminded expression. “Did I hear Ankari?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Jamie said.

“Oh.”

“She’s coming back.”

“Good.” Lauren disappeared back behind the curtain, momentarily revealing a counter filled with microscopes and other medical equipment, as well as cabinets beneath and above.

Sergei peeked in curiously, then shrugged and put his bag away. “That’s all I have. Do you need help with anything?”

“I’ve got it.” Jamie touched her control pad, and the robot rolled up the ramp with another crate.

“Huh.” Sergei stepped to the side, so it could enter the shuttle. “Your creation?”

“Yes. It’s not anatomically correct,” she said, to forestall any jokes he might be thinking of.

His eyebrows arched. “Was that an aspiration?”

“
No
. I just—some people have seemed to think I built it for reasons other than carrying things.” Her cheeks heated anew when Sergei regarded her blandly. Why in all of the stars in the galaxy had she brought that up with him? She barely knew him. He wasn’t
Striker
; he probably hadn’t been thinking anything along those lines.

“Did you build it from scratch?” Sergei asked, watching the stocky robot deposit its load and roll back down the ramp for more gear.

“Yes, from scrap parts in the machine shop.”

“That’s impressive.” He cocked his head. “You haven’t been to a university?”

Jamie flushed, realizing he must have listened to her conversation with Ankari the day before. She had been certain he had been too far back to hear. Had she said anything embarrassing? She didn’t think so, but she had meant it to be a private discussion. “Not yet.”

“You fly, fix machines, and build robots from the ground up? It doesn’t seem like you need four years of sitting in a classroom.”

Her flush deepened at the compliment, but she didn’t smile or do anything to encourage him, other than murmuring a polite, “Thank you.” These last couple of months had made her wary of compliments from men, since everyone seemed to be angling for something in return. Not everyone, she admitted. Just a few who made her time on the ship less than comfortable. If it weren’t for them, she might be enjoying this whole adventure more. She had to admit the idea of sitting in a classroom didn’t interest her all that much—how often had she gotten in trouble back home for skipping out on her studies and running off to the machine shop to tinker? “Building robots isn’t really a career, though. It’s just something I did back home because we didn’t have extra money and had to make do. I remember being about six and helping my mom take a tractor and the CPU of the neighbor’s robot maid to make the homemade equivalent of a Wilshire 6000.”