Polaris Rising (Consortium Rebellion, #1)(38)

I took a fairly straight path out of the central district. I wasn’t headed in the direction of the house, so I was not concerned about covering my path just yet. I had nearly made it when three men stumbled out of a building in front of me. They weren’t Rockhurst soldiers, so I ignored them.

They did not return the favor.

“Hey, buddy, got any creds?” the one in front slurred. “Help a brother out. That bastard kicked us out.” He was stocky, with dark hair, and he reeked of the distinctive chemical odor of cheap synthol and tobacco. His two lankier buddies were in even worse shape, leaning against each other just to stay vertical.

Whoever “that bastard” was, he or she should’ve kicked them out a long time ago, even though the night was still young. They were all six sheets to the wind and it wouldn’t take much to push them over the edge into violence. Especially if they got kicked out because they were broke. Nothing made a drunk meaner than taking away the booze.

I kept my head down and stepped around the men. Stocky didn’t appreciate my lack of enthusiasm. “Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you!”

“Sorry,” I said gruffly.

“If you’re not going to help us out, I guess we’ll just have to help ourselves,” he said. He pulled a wicked-looking blade and suddenly his companions looked a whole lot more sober. Fantastic.

I backed away but Lackey One flashed a blast pistol. Running just became a non-option. “Hey,” I said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

Stocky squinted at me. “You a woman?” A lecherous grin spread across his face. “Looks like our luck’s changed, boys.”

I stood straight, throwing off my invisible persona. It hadn’t protected me, so I needed a new plan. “I do not have time to deal with you right now. Move,” I said in my most commanding tone.

Stocky took a half step back before straightening his own spine and closing the distance between us, waving the knife in his right hand. It would’ve been more threatening if he came up higher than my chin. Still, I could work with this.

I ignored what his mouth was saying—it was hardly polite—and watched his body language. The next time the knife came my way, I struck. I clamped my left hand onto the wrist of his knife hand and pulled it across my body to the right. Without releasing his wrist, I used my right hand to deliver a fast, sharp blow to the back of his hand. He dropped the knife.

The synthol reek must not have been entirely fake, because his reflexes were slow. I pulled him the rest of the way between me and his lackeys, then transferred my grip to the back of his collar. I drew my pistol and jabbed him in the kidney with it.

It took less than five seconds.

The lackey with the pistol gaped at me. He tentatively raised the pistol, but lowered it again when Stocky frantically shook his head.

“Now you’ve made me late,” I said, “and I hate being late.”

“We didn’t mean nothing,” Stocky whimpered.

“Oh, I think we both know that’s a lie. And you know what else I hate? Liars. So, this is your last chance to get in my good graces. Tell your friends to drop their weapons.”

I could tell by the way he stiffened that he had a plan that didn’t involve dropping the weapons. I mourned in the second before he moved. Then I let him go as he dropped down toward the knife on the ground. Lackey One brought his blaster up, but not fast enough. I shot him through the chest.

Lackey Two broke and ran. I let him go. It was a bad tactical decision, but I just couldn’t shoot him in cold blood. And unless he had reinforcements in the next block, I’d be gone before he returned.

Stocky lunged at me with the knife. I shot him point-blank. The energy bolt punched a hole through his head.

I scanned for new threats. No one had come to investigate, but that luck wouldn’t hold for long. I steeled my emotions and quickly searched both men, being careful not to leave fingerprints. I took the blaster and extra energy cells from the lackey. Nothing else was worth stealing.

I left the two men sprawled on the ground and faded into the shadows.





Chapter 11




After checking myself for trackers and coming up clean, I slid down the wall. I was in a hidden alcove far into the abandoned section of the city. Control slipped away and hot tears flooded my eyes. I bowed my head to my knees and let them flow.

Those two weren’t the first people I’d killed, but it was cold comfort. And while it was tempting to push the pain away, to bury it deep, I knew that way lay demons. Taking another person’s life, even in self-defense, was an event worth mourning. If I lost the ability to feel that pain, then I lost myself.

I poured the pain out one tear at a time until I was empty inside. Then I dried my eyes and pieced myself back together. By the time I stood, I had myself under control. Sadness still pulsed in time with my heart, but my outer armor gave away none of my inner turmoil.

In a High House only the facade mattered, so we each became experts, in our own ways, of hiding behind serene faces and sharp eyes. It was a skill that served me well now.

I worked my way home, being extra careful. The little bedroom was just how I’d left it, but tonight it felt especially empty. I mentally went through rescue scenarios. None were great and all depended heavily on information from Veronica. If she double-crossed me, I was sunk.

When I could no longer keep my eyes open, I gave up and dropped into a fitful sleep.