The Soldier: Escape Vector Page 14

  Keeping up the pretense was too hard. It was tripping him up. When in doubt, go back to basics. “No,” he said.

  “Then why all these questions…?” Velia frowned before nodding. “You’re suspicious about Dorian, more than suspicious. What gave him away?”

  “His glassy eyes. That he always wears a hat.”

  “What would a hat have to do with it?”

  “To conceal the antenna sticking out of his skull and signs of a power pack,” Cade said.

  Velia staggered back several steps. She glared at Cade, turned away and opened her mouth to shout—

  “Velia,” Cade said in a commanding voice.

  She turned to him.

  Back to basics, doing what knew: he tapped her chin with a quick strike of a fist, trying to gauge it perfectly. It seemed that he did, for her eyelids fluttered and she went limp, unconscious. Cade stepped forward and caught her, lifting her easily in his arms.

  She’d obviously been ready to shout an alarm, and that could have meant further captivity. Now that he had admitted he knew something was afoul, Dorian—an obvious agent for cyborgs—would control his future once he learned the truth. Velia’s actions had as good as admitted that Dorian was a cyborg tool. The captain had an implant in his head so his cyborg masters could see through his altered vision. The feathered hat implied an outer antenna poking up from his skull, just enough of an antenna so others could see it if given the chance.

  Cade laughed and spoke nonsense words to an unconscious Velia for the benefit of anyone watching. He carried her toward a hatch, pretending to lean in to kiss her. He would deposit her in her room and tie and gag her. Then, he would search the cabin for high-tech weapons.

  Unfortunately, Dorian climbed out of the hatch before Cade could reach it. The captain wore his normal garb and had a jaunty smile. As Dorian stepped onto the upper deck, he eyed the pair—and frowned.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dorian demanded.

  “You tell him, Velia,” Cade said, continuing to approach the captain.

  “Halt!” Dorian cried.

  Cade knew the game was up, so he lowered Velia to the wickerwork deck, but he did so in a way to keep her face from Dorian’s immediate sight.

  The captain must have realized something was wrong, for he shouted, “Warriors to me!”

  Cade straightened, clutching the boot knife. He was done with spy work. It was time to fight.

  Dorian’s head jerked, noting perhaps the glitter of steel in Cade’s hand. Dorian grabbed his rapier pommel and began to draw the slender sword.

  Cade flung his knife with unerring accuracy. The blade caught Dorian in the heart, sinking to the hilt. The captain’s rapier fell from his grasp as he staggered backward, clutching at his chest.

  Cade could see what would happen. The backward stumbling man would topple over the railing and fall to the ocean below. He would never be able to prove why he’d done this. Thus, Cade charged.

  “Stop!” a crewmember shouted.

  A pistol discharged.

  Maybe the shooter didn’t realize how fast Cade could move. The bullet missed, and the soldier tackled the captain, bringing him down just before the railing.

  Now other crewmembers drew their pistols and some cutlasses. They converged upon the duo: Dorian quivering in his death throes, Cade panting and deciding on the best move. The dying captain stared up at Cade, raising an imploring hand.

  “He’s a spy,” Cade shouted at the approaching men. “I can prove it.” He wiped off the captain’s feathered hat and propped up the dying man. Then he felt the man’s skull, searching through the thick hair for an antenna.

  “What’s he doing?” the first mate shouted.

  “That ain’t right,” another said.

  Could he have guessed wrong? He didn’t—“Here!” Cade shouted triumphantly. He stood, hoisting the dying captain with him, using him as a shield against possible shooters. “Look at his head. There’s an antenna sticking out of it.”

  Many of the crewmembers stared at one another. The first mate, a tall man with red hair and a scar across his left eye, approached flintlock-pistol first until he poked the barrel against Cade’s right cheek.

  “Why shouldn’t I kill you where you stand?” the first mate snarled.

  “First, have someone check the captain’s head,” Cade said.

  “An antenna like a bug?” the first mate scoffed. “You’re a liar.”

  “There’s an easy way to tell,” Cade said. “Check his head. He’s a spy for the cyborgs.”

  “Cyborgs?” the first mate asked. “Are you daft? There aren’t no cyborgs on Coad. That’s a Tarvoke space rumor, ’tis all. Boys, what should we do with the captain’s killer?”

  “I’ll tell you,” a woman shouted.

  The armed crewmembers turned to an unsteady Velia. She touched her chin as she wobbled toward Cade and her dead second cousin. She kept staring at Cade as she closed the distance between them.

  “He’s dead,” Cade told her.

  Velia didn’t say a word until she reached Cade, the first mate and her dead second cousin. “Lower your pistol, Regor.”

  The first mate stared at her, nodding a second later and lowering his flintlock.

  “Set him on the deck,” Velia told Cade.

  Cade saw something in her eyes, and he did as she commanded.

  Velia knelt beside a dead Dorian Blue. She put her hands on his chest. Was she considering her options? Finally, she slid toward his head and used her fingers to probe his hair and skull. Her hands stopped, and she looked up at Cade in horror.

  “I feel an antenna,” Velia whispered.

  “He’s a cyborg spy,” Cade said, following her lead.

  “No,” Velia said, her voice rising. She faced the armed crowd around her. “I’ve suspected for some time that Dorian was a Rhune spy. Here’s the proof: an antenna sprouting from the back of his head. Cade thinks there’s a power pack inside the head. What do we do if Cade’s right?”

  None of the armed men had any idea, or if they did, they couldn’t say it.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Velia said, rising. “I’m the captain of the Day Star now, as I have the same father as our former captain and am just as noble as Dorian Blue ever was. And I say that we should turn around and head toward Lord Magnus’s camp. Let Lord Magnus decide what we should do to Cade.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the armed crowd.

  “What do you say, Regor?” Velia asked.

  The first mate nodded. “You want to be captain, Velia, that’s fine with me. But I still say we gut this foreign devil for what he did.”

  “No!” Velia said. “We won’t kill him. But I’ll chain him in my quarters and question him myself. By Cletus, you can be sure I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “You still want him after he killed your brother?” Regor demanded.

  Velia laughed darkly. “I’ll peg him to my wall as a trophy. Believe me, this foreign devil will wish he’d never been born.” With that, she yanked Cade’s boot knife out of the corpse and slashed Cade across the chest, making him bleed. “On my brother’s blood, I swear this to be true,” she said.

  At that, the armed crowd murmured their approval. At Velia’s orders, they bound Cade’s hands behind his back, marched him down the steep steps and brought him to her cabin. There, the men secured him against the stoutest bulkhead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cade eyed Velia as she checked his bonds. At her command, the men had cleated his spread-eagled hands and feet against the wickerwork bulkhead and joined Regor as the first mate departed the cabin. That left Cade alone with her. The quarters were double the size of his cabin and contained several wooden chests, her bunk, a tall wooden wardrobe and a box of…ointments, makeup and a mirror, he supposed.

  The situation had not gone at all as he’d envisioned. Dorian Blue certainly had a tiny antenna sticking from his skull, and that had proven the old cyborg trick they
played with people. That meant cyborgs were on Coad. Yet, the airmen had scoffed at the idea. What did that mean? Cyborg troopers should have easily swept the planet, tumbling everyone into chop shops or converters as some named the cyborg-creating machines.

  Velia stepped back and put her hands on her hips as she eyed him. “Mounted on my wall—you’re just another hunting trophy, Marcus Cade. What did you tell me earlier? You’re the predator? Wrong. I’m the hunter, and you’re the prey. Perhaps I should tear off your clothes and gaze upon your nakedness. What would your precious wife think of that?”

  Cade did not respond.

  Velia laughed, and she reached out with a hand as if to begin stripping him. She watched him and might have found his apparent indifference disappointing.

  “Not just yet,” she said, dropping her outthrust hand. She put both hands on her hips again. “You slew my cousin, my lover.”

  “If that’s true,” Cade said, “you must have known about the antenna before this.”

  Velia shrugged.

  “That means you must also be a cyborg spy.”

  “I have to say that you stay in character at all times. You’re a monomaniac about several topics: your wife, cyborgs—what is it with you and cyborgs?”

  “What are your plans concerning me?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I have to make a call first.”

  “A radio call?”

  “Why should that surprise you? You think no one has radio sets on Coad?”

  “The flintlocks show—”

  “Cade, you’re not thinking. Tarvoke sent a message to the Eagle-Dukes. How did the Eagle-Dukes receive it? Through smoke-signals from deep space?”

  “No, of course not,” he said. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. It’s this strange mixture of low and high technology that keeps tripping me up.”

  “Enough about that,” Velia said. “I should torture you to death for killing Dorian. Believe me. I want to torture you until you beg for mercy. But there are others who will surely want you alive. Maybe it’s time to start a bidding war between them.” She nodded. “Hang around, won’t you? I’ll be back in a while.” She laughed, headed out, closed the door and spoke to someone in the corridor.

  After that, Cade heard her walk away. He listened carefully, but didn’t hear anything more but for the normal airship noises: creaks, the chugging engine on the upper deck and clatters, at times.

  On the probability that someone spied on or listened to him, he did nothing for as long as he could, a half-hour in his estimation. Finally, though, Cade tested the special cleats stapled to the bulkhead. He was secured for now, but he might work free with strenuous effort. He studied the cleat on his left wrist helping to hold him spread-eagled. Velia had felt his strength earlier. Did she really think these cleats would do the trick, or did she think that because he a prisoner aboard an airship that he wouldn’t bother to free himself?

  Cade began working his left wrist, straining, wriggling the cleat—it moved just a little—and trying to do so as quietly as possible. He began to sweat, but he didn’t stop. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, he jerked his wrist for the hundredth time, and the hooked cleat pulled out of the bulkhead. He moved his left arm and caught the iron staple before it struck the floor and made too much noise.

  Taking out the right cleat proved simple because he could use both arms and one freed hand. He removed each ankle cleat in a matter of minutes.

  Cade stood in the cabin and flexed his hands before he touched the knife gash across his chest. It was a shallow and had already clotted. He didn’t believe she’d cut him in anger, but for show for the crew. Had she loved Dorian? Cade didn’t think so. Velia had her own agenda, and he hadn’t deciphered it yet. His had become much easier for him, at least in keeping everything straight. He needed weapons and then would fight until he got what he wanted.

  Moving about, Cade opened one of the wooden chests. It held rolled-up maps, a few leather-bound books and some perfume bottles along with pieces of cheap jewelry. The second chest was locked. He strained at it, but the lock held, and the chest had been stoutly built. He went back to the first and searched until he found a bronze pin. With the pin, he tinkered with the second chest’s built-in lock.

  He heard a snick from within, grinning, and then heard gas hiss.

  Cade threw himself back, holding his breath, scrambling to the other side of the cabin. He tried to sink against the wickerwork bulkhead as he tracked a faint cloud of gas as it floated and dissipated into the cabin’s air.

  Dare he breathe in here again?

  Cade spied a tiny porthole and cover. The problem was that it was near the chest. He crossed the room, opened the port cover and stuck his face there, breathing the outer air. He thought he tasted a cloying scent, and he began to feel drowsy. He couldn’t remain at the porthole or in the cabin or he would fall unconscious.

  Was it a knockout or killing gas? It was clearly another indication that Velia De Lore was much more than she seemed.

  Cade exhaled as much as he could and inhaled deeply. It was time to leave the Day Star. He’d worn out whatever welcome he’d had. That would mean a plunge down to the ocean. Sea-beasts inhabited the waters. No. Jumping overboard was foolish. That meant he had to take over or throw the others overboard. Could he defeat the entire crew?

  Probability indicated they would likely shoot him before he could accomplish the feat. What if he threw Velia overboard? Could he claim the captainship then? That also seemed unlikely, as the crew had wanted to slay him, and she’d insisted they take him prisoner. But why secure him in her room?

  This was the third complete exhale and inhalation. He pulled his face in and moved in seeming slow motion toward the wickerwork door. He tried the door, opening it, and found himself staring at a surprised, half-dozing guard to the side. Cade grabbed the man by the shoulders and yanked him into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind him. He tossed the guard stumbling to the bed. The man was snoring by the time he crashed upon it.

  Cade opened the door again, closing it quietly. He shut his eyes, squeezing the lids hard, and opened them wide. In a half-daze, he stumbled through the narrow corridor until he reached a hatch leading down. Without hesitation, he took it, finding himself in the bottom cargo hold. It wasn’t vast and damp like a hold on a sailing ship. Rather, it had a low ceiling and a narrow lane with wooden crates piled high to both sides.

  He closed the ceiling hatch and listened as people walked over the tightly woven wickerwork deck. His mind felt sharper, as he was no longer inhaling any of the dissipated gas. Perhaps he should bar the hatch and start a fire until he gained better terms. But they would break the terms as soon as he stamped out the fire. It’s what he would do in their place.

  He began searching the crates, finding bales of clothing, pressed fruits like dates and low-tech weapons.

  With a grin, Cade selected an axe and belted a cutlass scabbard around his waist. He went to the rear of the cargo hold. Above on the upper deck, the diesel engine chugged along, providing the airship with motive power. Spitting in his hands, Cade began to ply the axe against the bottom wickerwork, making a hole.

  The ocean was the same distance below as before. He could certainly jump out, but he saw a sea-beast this time. It cruised just under the surface behind the airship shadow. Several more followed the first and biggest one.

  Cade shook his head. He would not jump. Could he crawl out and use the wickerwork for hand and footholds? He could probably do that, but to what end?

  Staring at the hole soothed the soldier. He had a means of escape. He sat down cross-legged and rested his chin on his fist. The elbow was propped on a knee. He began to consider options and see if he could glean enough to understand the real situation.

  Graven Tarvoke controlled planetary space. A cyborg mobile base orbited the nearest gas giant. The mobile base had a great gaping hole in the outer hull that leaked its last particles. The mobile base also fired Raptor 5000 missiles, which passed through
some sort of field that caused the missiles to shimmer. Afterward, Tarvoke had strikers capture those missiles, bringing them to his giant free trader. On Coad, Eagle-Dukes possessed the means—ancestral railguns—to knock down spaceships but couldn’t prevent sky-rafts from taking their prize. Dorian had had a cyborg implant.

  Cade raised his head. He was no closer to understanding than before. Velia owned a needler, knockout or killing gas and a reinforced wooden chest immune to his tampering. Others finding an antenna sprouting from her cousin-lover’s head hadn’t diminished her quick thinking. She’d admitted to him that she’d already known about the antenna.

  Cade sat very still. If Dorian had been a cyborg spy—

  “You fool,” Cade told himself. He’d once had a cyborg obedience chip in his brain. That didn’t mean he’d been working for the cyborgs, but Earth Intelligence. Did Earth Intelligence have agents here? No. That was the wrong application. But someone on Coad used cyborg technology, or some cyborg technology anyway.

  “Rhunes,” he whispered. Velia had said Dorian must have been a Rhune spy. Perhaps she’d spoken the truth when saying that. The aliens likely used the cyborg tech, and that would mean that Dorian and Velia worked for them.

  That made sense. The Day Star had arrived at the island where the Descartes had crashed—and where Rhune sky-rafts had destroyed the Storm Rider. Velia must have poisoned the Storm Rider landing party because she secretly worked for the Rhunes and was making sure everyone Lord Magnus had sent to the island was dead.

  Velia had said that she planned to start a bidding war for him. He doubted that. She’d gone to radio the Rhunes about him. Tarvoke had told them that the Rhunes ruled Coad. It might be more precise to say that they were the most powerful planetary group and had superior tech to back up their wishes. It would also seem that Rhunes had some cyborg technology in their grasp.

  Cade reconsidered the wrecked mobile base orbiting the nearest gas giant. After a time, he shook his head. It seemed highly unlikely that the Rhunes had pirated or looted the mobile base. They would have needed spaceships, which they seemingly lacked, as Tarvoke ruled space.