No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
CONTENTS
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Toby Neighbors
ONE
“AN AUTOMATED SCAN WON’T SET OFF ALARM BELLS, ” HUTCH DECLARED. “STOP whining.”
“Your knee is jacked up,” Kitt added. “We’ve got to make sure it’s not broken.”
“It’s just a bruise,” Big Candy grumbled, although his knee was still swollen and he couldn’t put any weight on it.
“Don’t be so cantankerous,” Hutch said. “We’re trying to help you.”
The trio of brothers limped along the corridor toward the automated diagnostic booth that was part of the spaceport in Mede City on Darius Three in the Taxila system. There were people everywhere, and none paid them any attention whatsoever. Big Candy, as his name suggested, was a large man. He was a full head taller than his brothers. Kitt was on one side, Hutch on the other, supporting Big’s full weight as he hobbled along. They had been on world for almost a full day trying to convince Big Candy to get his leg checked out after the gambler had been tortured by the thugs that worked for the Rosenshield family.
“I don’t need help,” he complained.
“So we should just leave you here then?” Hutch argued.
The look on Big Candy’s face was part surprise and part resignation. He knew that if they left him he wouldn’t get far. So he focused on moving toward the med booth. There were big display screens built into the walls of the spaceport corridors. Videos played,
and high-resolution images flashed. Mede City was a thriving metropolis on one of the oldest terraformed planets in the galaxy. Darius Three had once been little more than noxious rock that just happened to be orbiting in the habitable zone around Taxila, a bright yellow star in the beta arm of the Milky Way galaxy. But decades of constant growth had brought millions of colonists to the planet, which had flourished with the help of atmospheric processors and an aggressive seeding program that turned the dull, barren landscape into a lush world with varying ecosystems that supported thousands of species. Humans farmed large swaths of rich land, while saving over half of the planet’s surface as protected forests. New Mede was by far the largest city, with nearly twenty million people living and working in the metroplex.
“I’ll get my knee checked,” Big Candy finally said. “If that will make you feel better.”
“We’re trying to help you feel better,” Kitt said.
“Yeah, no one is enjoying waiting on you hand and foot except for you,” Hutch added.
“I told you all to let me see to myself,” Big argued, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.
The truth was, after being rescued from Mace Sinclair on Varsog, Big had some mental trauma to deal with. His usual jovial manner was becoming more vicious. Big loved his brothers and was thankful they had risked their lives to save him, but he felt overwhelmed by the fear and pain that still plagued him.
“We’re here now,” Kitt said. “Let’s get you seen to. I’m guessing you tore a tendon in that knee.”
“I wish I could have been there to see Easy in action when he took down Oslo Djokovic’s goons,” Big said. “I’ll have something to say to that bastard when we meet again.”
“Let’s hope we never do,” Hutch grumbled.
“Yeah, let’s keep our eyes on the prize, as dad used to say,” Kitt said. “Once we get you fixed up, Big, we can finally do what we set out to do.”
They were talking about mining quartzite crystals on the planetoid in the center of an asteroid field known as the Fanning
Belt. It was dangerous and illegal, but technically in contested space, which meant it wasn’t officially under the Galactic Union or the Independent Coalition of Planets. Not that it would be easy. Just getting there would require running the GU blockade, and then navigating the asteroid field, which would be impossible without the course that Hutch had discovered in an old navigation computer. He’d installed it on their ship the Saturday Night Fever, though it was really Big Candy’s ship, an elegant, old Endurance class space yacht that was fully restored with new hybrid quad engines. The Fever was well-built and solid, but none of that mattered if the coordinates in the old nav computer weren’t accurate. And the only way to find out was to run the blockade and actually test the intricate course through the asteroids.
“Alright, alright, I understand,” Big said. They had reached the booth. It was a simple automated system. Big had to duck to get into the hatch, but once inside he stood up straight, holding onto a handle in the ceiling. The autodoc ran a full body scan. Healthcare was free on most civilized worlds since the invention of automatic diagnostic machines. Medicine was now the domain of robots, advanced pharmaceuticals, and medical engineers.
Outside the booth, Hutch went for coffee while Kitt waited on his brother. The diagnostic scan took only a couple of minutes, but if the damage wasn’t too bad the automated system could actually do laparoscopic surgery to repair Big’s knee. At least that was what Kitt was hoping for.
Inside the booth, a ring of scanners slowly descended. Big didn’t like doctors. He was one of four brothers crewing the SaturdayNight Fever, and he was the eldest. At fifty-seven years old, he would have been a prime candidate for age reduction therapy. But that kind of medical treatment cost millions of credits. Big had just enough money in his banking accounts to support his bachelor lifestyle. He was a professional gambler, although he didn’t compete in sanctioned tournaments. Instead, he contracted with various resorts and casinos where he traded room, board, and stake in the games he played for a very generous cut of his winnings. His last stint on
Esbe Four had taken a wrong turn though. He had beaten Desmond Rosenshield, the public face of the very old, unbelievably wealthy family. The kid had taken it hard. It wasn’t about the money, but his ego. He’d sent his goons to send Big Candy a message, and things had escalated from there.
Big and his brothers’ father, Eustace McCoy, had died at fifty-six years old, which meant Big Candy was already a year older than his father had been. Death was a near constant specter in Big’s life, yet he didn’t want to be dependent on medication and worse yet, moderation of his overindulgent lifestyle. The scan by the autodoc lasted ninety seconds, and now that it was over a list of issues that had been discovered appeared on a small screen. He was overweight, pre-diabetic, at high risk for heart disease, had too-high blood pressure and too-low vitamin levels. He could tap the screen for a prescription of various drugs to help negate the issues. He was also, as expected, a prime candidate for age therapy. And finally, he needed to spend more time outdoors in moderate climates and regular exercise. Big Candy ignored the warnings and the prescribed therapies. His focus was on his knee.
Olso Djokovic’s thug had smash-kicked Big’s knee. The pain had been nearly overwhelming and still flared when he moved his leg the wrong way. He could neither straighten his leg nor bend it completely. Putting weight on it was absolutely out of the question. The pain from his other injuries was minor in comparison. The autodoc showed that he had torn his patellar tendon, damaged the cartilage, and bruised his knee cap. There were two treatments available, the first being a quick laparoscopic surgery that could be done right then in the booth. It would repair the tendon, but would only be a temporary fix. The other would be to schedule a full knee replacement at a local surgical center where he could have the operation performed and receive post-op care and physical therapy.
Big Candy groaned and opted for the laparoscopic procedure. He had to unfasten his pants and lower them down to his ankles. It was strangely embarrassing to the gambler. The booth was private, but he knew the entire operation was being recorded. Fortunately, a sedative gas was sprayed in the booth. As Big stood up straight and
took hold of the handles above his head, he felt slightly dizzy, but no longer concerned about anything. The raging pain in his knee dimmed to a dull ache. Then his thigh was injected with eight quick shots of local anesthetic. It was painful, but not bad, and the sedative kept him from caring too much. A few minutes later a robotic arm extended. It cut open the side of Big Candy’s leg. A small tube began to suck the blood and fluids that were released from the cut-away. Big was looking down and saw the operation begin, but couldn’t feel anything. It was like watching it happen to someone else’s body. The robotic arm extended into the cut, doing its work to patch the torn ligament and doctor his damaged knee. The entire procedure lasted less than ten minutes. The cut was sealed with some type of glue and covered with a small self-adhesive bandage.
A message indicated that he should pull his pants back up. More gas was sprayed into the booth to help negate the sedation. He fumbled with his pants but managed to get them pulled up. His knee was still swollen, but much less than before the operation. A small bottle was ejected into the booth’s medication chute. Inside were narcotics for pain and antibiotics in case of infection. Big took the pill bottle, stuck it in his pocket, and read the final instructions.
He needed a leg brace to help steady his knee. One could be purchased in a medical supply store or ordered for delivery. He was to avoid exercise for two weeks, then follow a carefully prescribed physical therapy regimen that would be sent to his PCL. Big pressed the button that opened the booth's door and found his brothers sipping coffee.
“Let’s get some real food for lunch,” he said enthusiastically.
“How’s the knee?” Kitt asked.
“Fixed it right up,” Big said. “I don’t see how you two can drink that swill all the time. It’s bad for you.”
“You’re one to be talking,” Hutch said.
“It’s rude to criticize someone’s dietary choices,” Kitt said with a grin.
Big leaned onto his brothers, but he could now put some weight on his bad leg. The local anesthetic was still working. His knee was
completely numb. There was no doubt it would hurt later, but Big Candy was ready to take advantage of the brief window of feeling no pain.
“Alright, I saw a kiosk selling tacos,” Hutch said. “Come on.”
They led Big Candy forward. “I love tacos,” he said. “I may eat ten of them.”
“He must be feeling better,” Kitt said.
“Some things never change,” Hutch chimed in, and they all chuckled.
TWO
EASY MCCOY MOVED TO THE DOOR OF HIS BERTH ON THE SATURDAY NIGHT Fever. His hip was aching, and his ribs hurt with every breath. But the pain was just a reminder of his victory over Mace Sinclair. The security man had challenged him to a fight, and Easy had taken his lumps. Mace was strong and skilled, but ultimately Easy’s thirty years of experience in the Navy as a RAKE Operator had turned the tide.
In the center section of the ship, the salon as Big Candy called it, Tiffany was busy in the galley. Easy watched her for a moment, just smelling the coffee she had brewing. For a young woman on her own, she had grit. Not long ago she had been a slave, forced to do whatever her masters desired. She had been abused, overworked, and traded back and forth. It was more than enough to cause a person to give up on life. Yet Tiffany seemed completely unfazed by the horrors of her past.
“Morning,” Easy said, still in the doorway of his cabin.
“Oh, hey, you’re up,” she said. “We’re on Darius Three. Kitt and Hutch took Big Candy to get his leg worked on.”
“That’s good,” Easy said, feeling a stab of fear about his brothers being on world without him there to watch out for them.
The truth was that Mace Sinclair was still alive. Easy had broken his arm, and when Mace pulled a knife on him, Easy turned the blade on Mace, cutting his face and ruining his eye. That had been the end of the fight, but it didn’t mean the threat was over. Perhaps
Mace would accept defeat and move on. It would be the smart thing to do. But Easy had a feeling neither Mace Sinclair, nor the Rosenshields, would let bygones be bygones.
“You made coffee?” Easy asked.
“I don’t drink it. Too bitter for me. But Kitt said you would want some.”
“Thank you,” Easy said. “That’s very kind.”
He walked over to the counter and sat down on one of the barstools. He was moving slowly and carefully. Easy took some pride in the soreness after a fight, but he didn’t want to make the pain any worse. By the time he was settled Tiffany had set a coffee cup in front of him and was filling it from the pot. Easy could tell that she was accustomed to waiting tables. It was just one of the many jobs she had been forced to do as a slave. And despite the fact that slavery had been outlawed in civilized societies for centuries, it was still a blight on the galaxy. Mankind had conquered space, but was still prone to the darker side of its nature.
“I love this ship,” she said. “It’s sort of retro cool.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what Big Candy was going for,” Easy replied, sipping the hot brew.
She leaned against the counter. She was still in the tattered clothes she had fled Trajan Station in. They were low-cut and revealing, but one of Easy’s brothers had given her a jacket. It was too big for her. She had to roll up the sleeves and fold the opening across her body like a bathrobe, which was cinched up with someone’s belt. Easy felt a pang of regret. They had let her shop on Varsog, but the clothes had been cast aside by Mace Sinclair’s people, and there had been no time to retrieve them. In fact, they had barely escaped the Zimmer system alive. The reinforcements Mace Sinclair had called in had been right on their heels as they raced off world and out of the system.
“We need to get you more clothes,” Easy said.
Tiffany looked down at the coat she was wrapped up in. “I’ve worn a lot worse,” she said.
Easy was sure she had. The girl was maybe eighteen years old if she was lucky, although he would have guessed sixteen just by
looking at her. Easy was old enough to be her father. And he knew what his brothers wanted to do. They were on a civilized system. Tiffany would have to be handed over to the authorities to get her life back on track. It was the Galactic Union’s law, but Easy wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t her legal guardian, and four retirees certainly couldn’t give her the life she deserved, but he wasn’t sure the authorities on Darius Three could do any better.
“How come you’re not out there exploring the city?” he asked.
She smiled, and he could see a shadow of fear in her eyes. “I’d rather be here with you, I guess.”
“That’s crazy,” Easy said. He tried to keep the conversation light. The last thing he wanted to do was criticize her. “I’m an old man, and I’ve never been good company.”
“You might need help,” she said, wiping down the counters that didn’t really need to be cleaned. “I can do that, you know. Cooking, cleaning, picking up after you, doing laundry. I can be helpful.”
“Sure you can,” Easy said. “But there’s not much that needs doing. We’re all used to looking after ourselves.”
She tried to smile but failed. Her lower lip was trembling, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Please don’t,” she said in a quiet voice that sounded more like a child’s than a teenager’s.
“Don’t what?” Easy said. “No one is going to hurt you on this ship.”
“I know,” she said, a little enthusiasm rising in her voice. “That’s why I want to stay.”
It was Easy’s turn to feel worried. What did he or his brothers know about raising a girl? Easy had been in a few romantic relationships during his thirty years in the Navy, but he was always on the move, going from one mission to the next. Things never got serious and certainly never lasted long. And he didn’t have romantic feelings for Tiffany. In his eyes, she was just a child. Her hard life had rushed her maturity in some areas, while leaving others completely behind.
“You’re young,” Easy said. “You have a long, wonderful life ahead of you.”
“I ran away from Sitlik,” she admitted. “He won’t stop looking for me.”
“You’re ninety light years from Trajan Station,” Easy reminded her. “You can have a life here. Darius Three is a good planet. There’s opportunity here.”
“You don’t know what it’s like in the system,” she said, looking down and wrapping her skinny arms around her body. “It’s bad.”
Easy leaned back and thought about what she was saying. The truth was he didn’t know what it was like in the welfare system. But he had heard stories–everyone had. Some were good, most were bad. Tiffany would need to establish her identity just to get a job. Without that, she would fall right back through the cracks into an abusive situation.
“We’re going to help you,” Easy said. “Big Candy knows people. We can get you some documents. A new name. It will be legal, and you’ll have options.”
“I’ll be all alone,” she pointed out.
Easy was beginning to think the kid should be a lawyer.
“Well, I don’t know,” Easy said. “We’re going off grid on a mining expedition. It’s going to be dangerous, hard work. There’s no guarantee we’ll even survive the trip.”
“Sounds like an adventure,” she said, flashing him a smile that made him feel something he had rarely experienced.
Easy had grown up without a mother. She had died giving birth to him. Raised by his father and older brothers, there wasn’t a lot of compassion in his world. It made him a perfect fit in the military. The Galactic Navy provided discipline and purpose, but not compassion. Yet when Tiffany looked at him, a part of his heart seemed to light up. It felt like the love he had for his brothers, only more tender. He barely knew her, and yet from the moment he had laid eyes on her he had felt a strong sense of protectiveness spring up inside him. Easy had no clue what it felt like to be a father, but he thought it must be similar to the way Tiffany made him feel.
“It could be,” he said. “And I can’t promise anything.”
“But you’ll let me stay,” she said eagerly.
“I’ll talk to my brothers about it.”
“Oh, thank you!”
She dashed around the galley workstation and threw her arms around his neck. He was sore, his muscles stiff, his ribs throbbing, but his heart felt full at that moment. Making the young girl happy somehow made him happy too.
THREE
“WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM, ” KITT SAID, HOLDING UP A TORTILLA CHIP.
They were at a small cantina not far from the autodoc that had patched up Big Candy’s leg. Hutch had purchased the big man a knee brace, which he had dutifully strapped around his injured knee. Then they had taken seats outdoors and ordered lunch.
“Is it how we’re going to pay for this little feast?” Hutch asked. “Because I’m running pretty low on credits.”
“I can pay for lunch,” Big Candy said. “Never fear, oh brother of mine. You can even have dessert.”
“We don’t have enough?” Big Candy said. “Didn’t we fill the tanks on Esbe Four?”
Kitt nodded. “We did, but we’ve burned through half of the hydrogen.”
“So power up the converter,” Hutch said. “We’ll split water atoms into air and hydro. Problem solved.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Kitt said. “The converter is slow, and we could easily run out of water. If we head off grid with only half a tank of hydrogen, we could end up stuck somewhere in space.”
“The Saturday Night Fever has back up power cells,” Big Candy said proudly. “I’ve used them for years.”
“Yes, it does,” Kitt agreed. “But the batteries won’t keep the engines running long enough to get us from contested space to the
nearest system. And even if they could, we’d have the same problem we have now. No money.”
“But we’ll have quartzite,” Big Candy insisted, even though he mouthed the final word instead of saying it out loud.
The brothers all looked around. There was only one other table being used. A young couple was waiting to board a ship. They sat close, their heads together, their eyes bright with love as they whispered to one another. They had luggage at their feet, and halfeaten entrees were ignored on the table.
There were people passing through the concourse, but none paid the three brothers any attention. It was a busy place, but it seemed safe enough to talk about their plans.
“We could have a hold full and no way to sell it,” Hutch said.
“Exactly,” Kitt said. “Do you have a place in mind, Big? Somewhere we could move the ore without getting us into trouble?”
“I know a guy who brokers these kinds of deals,” Big said, munching on a tortilla chip. “He’s in the Argos system. Works in the Trinity shipping hub. He can get you what you need or move goods around.”
“That’s on the other side of the galaxy,” Kitt pointed out. “How are we going to get there?”
They all sat looking at each other.
“How many credits are we talking about?” Big finally asked.
Hutch pulled out his PCL and brought up the commodities exchange rate on Darius Three. “Liquid hydrogen is going for two hundred credits a liter.”
“Unbelievable,” Big Candy said, pointing a chip at Hutch. “How is anyone supposed to afford fuel at that rate?”
“It’s not any better anywhere else,” Kitt said. “I paid two-ten a liter on Esbe Four.”
“Outrageous.”
“It’s the cost of doing business,” Hutch said. “It’s what makes what we’re after so valuable.”
“If we get it, could we use it ourselves?” Big Candy asked.
Kitt and Hutch looked at each other. It wasn’t the first time they had considered the idea. Quartzite crystals, in the right
configuration, could be used to build a dark matter coupling isolator or perpetual generators that drew in free isotopes that were present everywhere, but especially in space, and convert them to usable energy. The Galactic Union had strict mining regulations specifically to keep people from having generators that produced free energy. The generators weren’t illegal, but mining without permits and selling unlicensed ore was, which made the quartzite crystals the most valuable mineral in the galaxy. It was incredibly rare and difficult to mine since it was only produced in high-heat, high-gravity environments like the planetoid at the center of the Fanning Belt, an asteroid field that was almost impossible to navigate.
Hutch had found an old nav computer that charted coordinates through the Fanning Belt. That computer was currently on the Saturday Night Fever, and if it was legitimate, it could get them to the planetoid where the brothers hoped to mine the crystals. But it was all a gamble. The coordinates might not be correct. They had picked up a couple of surplus military drones to check the route and make sure it was safe. But even if they successfully got to the planetoid, there was no guarantee they would find the crystals or be able to mine them. But if they did? Could they use them to build their own free energy generator? It would be a major game changer. They could fly anywhere in the galaxy with no concerns about running out of fuel. Not to mention the fact that it would prolong the life of their ship exponentially, since it would replace the dangerous fusion reactor that most ships used for power.
“It’s possible,” Hutch said. “If we had the right equipment.”
“And it would take time,” Kitt said.
“Time is on our side,” Big Candy said. “The longer we’re off grid the better. What do you need to build a new generator?”
Hutch looked at Kitt. “A mineral cutter, and not a tiny one used for jewelry either. Some basic stuff to polish the crystals, and industrial grade epoxy. I’ve got everything else we would need.”
“Sounds much less expensive than refilling the hydro tank,” Big Candy said. “In fact, I’ve got enough for those things.”
“No,” Kitt insisted. “No, no, no, we aren’t going off grid with half a tank of fuel. It’s madness.”
“This entire enterprise is a risk,” Hutch said.
“Indeed,” Big Candy said.
“Look, the first rule of space aviation is safety,” Kitt said. “It’s the most dangerous environment imaginable. No air, no gravity, freezing temperatures, and no guarantee that anyone will be able to help if you have problems. That’s why you never leave atmo without full tanks and all the safety system checks. I won’t fly us anywhere with half a tank of hydrogen. It’s irresponsible.”
“He’s talking responsibility,” Big Candy chuckled. “You sound just like dad.”
“He was right about things like this,” Kitt said.
“Well, I don’t have it,” Hutch said. “My savings are gone.”
“Mine too, and my apartment isn’t selling as fast as I had hoped,” Kitt said.
They both looked at Big Candy. He smiled. “I could get it, but you may not like howI get it.”
“This is ridiculous,” Kitt said. “I can’t believe I ever agreed to any of this.”
“Come on,” Big Candy said. “Tell me this isn’t the biggest adventure of your life?”
“You’re talking about gambling, right?” Hutch asked. “I mean, we’re not talking about breaking the law.”
“No, we’re talking about risking everything we’ve got,” Kitt said.
“It’s not as big a risk as you think,” his older brother said. “I’m pretty good at what I do.”
“It’s still a risk,” Kitt said.
“What choice do we have?” Hutch asked. Kitt sighed. He didn’t like the idea. “The last time you played you lost all the money and got yourself abducted.”
“No, I won,” Big said. “How do you think we paid for the mining equipment?”
“Let’s try to avoid that again,” Hutch said.
“Is there even a game you can play in?” Kitt asked.
“Oh, there’s always a game, my friends. You’re in my world now, boys. Buckle up, this is going to be fun.”
FOUR
SPECIAL AGENT LEXA LITTLE HATED RECRUITING ASSIGNMENTS. THEY WERE ALL the same. Either by imploring a soldier’s patriotism or touching on their financial need, her job was to get them on board with the GU’s counter-intelligence program. Sometimes she had to plead, and sometimes she had to flirt, but one way or another she got more former commandos into the program than any other agent. Which only made her all the more valuable in a job she didn’t like.
The report from Esbe Four was clear enough. The target, one Edgar Zacchaeus McCoy, retired Master Sergeant of the Space Navy, RAKE Commando, with a list of commendations that filled up her data screen, had left the Skara Brea system in an old Endurance class ship called the Saturday Night Fever. The name of the ship should have tipped her off, but the vintage craft took her by surprise. Among the angular vessels and blocky space ships, the sweet curves of the Saturday Night Fever were surprising. She couldn’t help but smile as she walked around the space yacht. It had been well cared for over the years. The paint had some patina showing through, but no rust, and the hull didn’t look patched like most of the ships in the Mede City spaceport.
She decided to watch from a distance for a while. The ship had left Esbe Four over a week prior to landing on Darius Three, where she had been assigned to make contact with McCoy. With any luck, it would take off again before she had time to recruit the former
commando, although if the truth be told, she wouldn’t mind a tour of his ship.
Lexa didn’t wear the typical business suit most agents wore. She found more casual clothing gave her the chance to get close to a target without them forming immediate suspicions about her. It wasn’t the type of undercover work she would have chosen for herself. She was an intelligence agent after all, and she was certain she could have penetrated any number of groups sympathetic to the Independent Coalition of Planets. It wasn’t hard to pretend she agreed with the concerns most people had with the ICP, since she had those same issues with her own government’s treatment of anyone who wanted to live outside their authority. But she had chosen her side. The GU offered much more to a person wanting to make a difference in the galaxy. Things like a steady paycheck, legitimacy, and the opportunity for career growth, although Lexa had to admit she had hit her glass ceiling.
It was partly because of her looks. She wasn’t young anymore–at forty-two she was undoubtedly middle-aged–but she kept in shape and looked good. She kept her hair short and usually in a ponytail that made her cheekbones stand out, and her green eyes caught the light. Being attractive helped bridge the gap with people she had never met before, especially former soldiers who were looking for someone to give their life a sense of purpose. She tried not to lead them on, but she couldn’t control what her recruits thought about her. And if they joined the intelligence service in the hopes of being close to her, they were naive. The GU wanted rough and ready commandos who could join the ICP’s militias or spy agencies. They were all sent to fringe worlds across the contested zone. Lexa never saw and rarely heard from any of them ever again.
She settled at a spaceport restaurant with large windows overlooking the ships. The SaturdayNightFeverwas easy to keep an eye on. The other ships may have blended together, but the Fever was different. It had a sense of style that the others lacked. And as Lexi sipped lemon water and picked at a salad she wasn’t really interested in, three men returned to the ship. She took photos with
her agency PCL, zooming in on the men to get a good look at them. It was clear they were brothers, but none of them was her target.
She made a notation in her PCL along with a few screenshots for her report, then returned to her salad, hoping the ship would lift off and climb for orbit. Instead, she was forced to pay for her meal with her agency credit card, then look for a new place to monitor the ship. The spaceport had an endless variety of coffee shops, cafes, souvenir shops, and outfitting stores. Keeping tabs on the ship in that environment was the easiest of assignments; in fact Lexa felt almost as if she were being punished. She could have watched the ship from the spaceport security office, which had cameras all over, but sitting in a cramped room for hours and hours wasn’t her style. She needed to get up and move, to practice the art of blending in with the crowd and tailing her subject.
Only her subject never left the ship. She would need an excuse to get on board maybe. She was lingering near a coffee kiosk when Easy McCoy, one of his brothers, and, to her surprise, a young woman got off the ship. They moved toward the row of shops where Lexa was loitering. And despite the fact that she was a professional and completely confident, she felt a thrill as her quarry drew nearer. Recruiting was beneath her, but she still enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, even if she wished she were targeting someone of real value to the GU, and not just another retired jarhead with no idea what to do with himself now that he was out of the service.
The trio went into a women’s clothing boutique. It was almost as if they were making things too easy for her.
FIVE
“I’
M STILL NOT CONVINCED THIS IS A GOOD IDEA, ” HUTCH COMPLAINED.
Easy was scanning the crowd of tourists and crewmen from the many ships in port. The locals were easy to spot. They were as bored as the tourists were excited. If any were Mace Sinclair’s people, they were doing an excellent job of blending in, unlike the woman with the ponytail who had meandered into the clothing store a few minutes after the trio from the SaturdayNightFever. She only had eyes for Easy, despite pretending to look at the clothes.
“We have to do something,” Easy said. “I’m nearly dead broke.”
He said it louder than he had to, just to see if the woman would react. She did, which was a good sign. She gave the tiniest of smiles, and Easy had to admit she was very attractive. The kind of woman who could make a man throw caution to the wind, which made him almost certain she was a GU spook. The smile had given it away. They wanted him under their thumb, but he couldn’t go to work for the government and help his brothers mine quartzite crystals.
“Which is another reason we should find a place for the girl,” Hutch whispered. “I’ve always heard kids are expensive, but this is getting out of hand.”
“You can’t blame her for losing the clothes you bought her,” Easy said.
“I don’t,” Hutch said. “I don’t blame anyone for anything. I’m just saying, we don’t have the resources to do everything we want to do.
Not yet anyway.”
Easy nodded. He understood his brother’s reluctance. Easy had spent thirty years in the Navy, which had provided all the resources for every mission. Hutch, on the other hand, had gone to school to become an engineer and had worked good paying jobs, but it had taken him over two decades just to pay off the loans for his education. None of the McCoys were wealthy, but they were all practical. After investing all their savings into the Saturday Night Fever they needed to find a way to earn enough money to resupply the ship, and while they all had skills, Big Candy’s was the most likely to turn a fast profit.
“Which is why we’re letting Candy do his thing,” Easy said.
“What happens if he loses?” Hutch pointed out.
Easy couldn’t deny that it was a possibility. Poker was a game of skill, but there was also an element of luck. Big Candy couldn’t control the cards he was dealt, but the gambler knew what to do with the cards he received and how to read the other players.
“We’re not talking about wealthy businessmen on vacation with money to burn,” Hutch said. “He won’t be the only pro at the table.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Easy said.
“We don’t need another incident,” Hutch complained.
“There’s no need to rehash the same arguments,” Easy said. “Not out here anyway.”
Tiffany stepped out of the little dressing room with a pair of baggy pants and a sweatshirt with the name Mede City in big block letters across the front. The clothes fit, but they didn’t hug her frame too closely the way her old clothes had.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Looks comfortable,” Easy said.
“Perfect,” Hutch said. “You’ll blend right in.”
They walked to the counter and paid for the clothes. Then Tiffany took her old garments–the low-cut top and skin-tight miniskirt–and threw them into the waste receptacle. There was triumph on her face. Easy knew she might have preferred more stylish clothes, but the tourist garb was a good start.
“That felt good,” she said.
“Let’s find out if Big got a lead on a game,” Hutch said.
“You two go ahead,” Easy said. “I’m going to grab a coffee.”
Hutch looked at his brother with suspicion, and for a moment Easy thought Hutch was going to argue with him. It was Easy’s suggestion that they don’t go anywhere alone, not even to get a cup of coffee. And they had plenty of coffee on the ship that was free, while the cafes and kiosks charged a premium. Still, Easy’s reassuring nod was enough to convince his brother that he knew what he was doing.
They left the boutique, with Hutch and Tiffany walking back to the landing field, while Easy wandered over to a nearby cafe with outdoor tables and sat down. It only took the woman a minute to find a table nearby. Easy wanted to laugh and point out the fact that she had just bought coffee at a kiosk. He had seen her trying not to be too obvious as she watched him with his brother and Tiffany going into the clothing store. Normally he would have noted her presence and moved on, but there was something about her that made him feel hopeful. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t just that she was pretty, but he was no saint. Easy didn’t consider himself to be a sucker for a pretty face, but an attractive woman who showed interest in him was hard to dismiss. Even if he knew her interest was merely professional, there was always a chance, be it ever so small, that there might be more.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked.
The woman seemed a little surprised. There were people moving along the thoroughfare, but no one else in the cafe. Easy had to turn in his seat to see her, but the shock that registered on her face was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry?” the woman said. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes,” Easy said. “Why don’t you join me?”
She looked uncertain, but then she stood up and walked over. “When did you make me?”
“At the kiosk,” Easy said, waving to the chair across the little table from him. “Please.”
She sat down just as a serving droid trundled up.
“Drip coffee,” Easy said. “Black.”
“I’ll have the same,” the woman said.
The droid rolled away toward the automated dispensary. Easy leaned back in his seat, while the woman sat up straight. She wasn’t happy, but that didn’t make her any less attractive.
“My name is Easy McCoy, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
She nodded. “I do, and I guess I’m getting sloppy if you marked me so quickly.”
“Well, you’re an attractive woman,” Easy said. “Most men notice you, I would assume.”
“But you did more than notice me, didn’ you?”
Easy shrugged. “It’s not like you’re the first agent to approach me. The only question is, what side are you on?”
That got a reaction from her. The woman stared hard at him. Easy stared right back. He was a killer on the battlefield, but not much of a ladies man. Still, he liked her attention, and catching her by surprise sent a jolt of excitement coursing through him.
“You’ve been approached by the ICP?”
“Sure,” Easy said. “Isn’t that why you’re interested in me? I mean, why you were assigned to me?”
“I didn’t get the full memo,” she said.
“Well, I appreciate the GU’s interest in me, but I’ll pass.”
“I haven’t even…someone else has already recruited you,” she said, shaking her head.
“Don’t be put out,” Easy said. “The GU sees me as bait, nothing more. They want me to draw out their enemies.”
“That’s not how the agency works,” she argued.
“Of course it is,” Easy said. “Did you get a file on me?”
“That’s classified.”
Easy laughed. “I think information about me and what I’ve done should be classified, but it seems a little silly to cut me out of the loop. There’s nothing in that file that I don’t already know about. But I’m guessing you got a highly abbreviated version of my file.”
“I’m not comfortable discussing it,” the woman said.
“Do I at least get to know your name?”
“Special Agent Lexa Little,” she said.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” Easy said. “You can tell your boss that I heard your pitch and decided to pass.”
“But you haven’t heard my pitch,” she said.
“I’ll listen as long as you want to talk,” he said, just as the serving droid returned with their coffees.
They took the drinks and held them for a moment, just watching each other. Easy couldn’t tell what the woman was thinking. He found himself enjoying her scrutiny. He was a bit on the scruffy side. His body ached, and he hadn’t bothered shaving. It was a small thing, but one he would have never skipped while on duty. His hair was a bit longer than usual too, and his civilian clothes were scuffed from his fight with Mace Sinclair, but he only had one set of nonissue clothes to wear.
She, on the other hand, was perfectly made-up. Her hair, a tiny bit of makeup, and her civilian clothes, were all spotless. But it was her green eyes that captivated him. They seemed to sparkle in the light from Taxila’s sun. He felt like he could get lost in those eyes.
“You served your government for thirty years,” she said. “Why stop now?”
“I’ve earned my rest,” Easy said.
“You don’t look like the kind of person who would be happy without something to do.”
“I’m not, but I’m ready to decide what my mission in life will be.”
“Even though you’re needed,” she said.
The combination of patriotism and beauty was incredibly alluring. She knew how to push the right buttons, and Easy wanted to say yes to her offer. It wasn’t logical, but his emotions were rising up to meet the call, just as he had done so many times as a RAKE Operator. Patriotism was sacred to the men and women serving in the special forces. And the look on Lexa’s face seemed to plead that she needed him.
But Easy took a sip of his coffee, then glanced around. He wanted to say yes to her for all the wrong reasons. And while he was tempted, he wasn’t in danger of committing himself to her cause. In fact, it wasn’t really hers to begin with. She was just another agent sent to recruit him. And it was the sight of a second
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
CHAPTER III MYSTERIES
It was still dark when Gonzales entered the room with a candle and shook the caballero until he was awake. The rider of the highway found that his clothes had been brushed and neatly folded, that his boots had been greased, and that a huge stone basin filled with cool water stood ready
He plunged his head in the water, dried his face, and went to the adjoining room after dressing, there to find a table heaped high with food. The caballero ate ravenously, scarcely speaking. An Indian entered and spoke to Gonzales in whispers.
“Your horse is ready, señor,” Gonzales said. “It is a fit animal, able to cover many miles during a day. I have no wish to bereft myself of your companionship by sending you on your way, yet perhaps it would suit your purpose best to be well on the road to San Juan Capistrano by daybreak.”
“Your idea is an excellent one, señor.”
“There is nothing more I can do to serve you?”
“You have been kindness itself.”
“There is, perhaps, some message?”
“Nothing of prime importance at this time, señor. I am eager to reach San Diego de Alcalá at the earliest possible moment.”
“If you need an Indian——”
“The highway stretches plainly before one, señor, and an Indian would but delay me.”
“I understand that these are turbulent times——”
“So the good Fray Felipe said at San Fernando. No doubt it is a true word.”
“You mystify me, señor, in a measure. Yet a man should not speculate regarding that which does not concern him.”
“Very true, Señor Gonzales. I might mention that another traveller may journey along El Camino Real at an early day, as soon as he can procure a horse at Santa Barbara, where I left him behind. I doubt whether he will receive cordial welcome from Fray Felipe—as you say, the good padre is an excellent judge of men. It would not desolate me much if this person were delayed now and then.”
“Ah! His name?”
“He travels incognito with a pass signed by his excellency, I believe.”
“Then—?” There was a puzzled expression on Gonzales’ face.
“I travel in such manner myself.”
“Still, I do not see——”
“It is not for me to criticise his excellency, yet I may say that on a busy day he might issue a pass by mistake, or without having proper investigation.”
“Can you not speak to me as man to man, señor?”
“I regret that I have no information that may be given you. And I must be on my way. Here is a piece of gold——”
“Not from you, señor.”
“Perhaps you are making a mistake. Perhaps you think me a man I am not. I have given you no reason to believe——”
“If I made a mistake, señor, then Fray Felipe of San Fernando makes one also, and I have learned to trust his judgment.”
“Then I thank you for your hospitality and kindness,” the caballero replied.
Gonzales led the way out of the house to where the horse was waiting beside the adobe wall. He held a stirrup while the caballero mounted.
“You know the way?” he asked.
“Until this journey, I never have been south of Monterey,” the rider answered.
“Once you are away from the pueblo the highway is plainly to be seen. I have had my own horse made ready and will accompany you for a short distance.”
“I thank you again, señor.”
The Indian led out the second horse. Gonzales mounted, and they started out across the plaza, to follow a tiny trail that ran from one side of it between two rows of Indian huts. No word was spoken until they were a mile from the pueblo. Daybreak showed the dusty highway stretching toward the south, twisting like a great serpent across the land.
“Here I leave you,” Gonzales said. “I wish you good fortune, señor, and am yours to command if there are things you wish done. If the times are indeed turbulent, as has been intimated, perhaps my old trade of pirate will stand me in good stead. Adios, caballero! My blessings go with you!”
“Having been blessed by both padre and pirate, I can scarcely go wrong,” the caballero replied.
He raised his hand in salute, whirled his horse, touched the animal with his spurs and galloped toward the south, sending up great clouds of dust behind him. Gonzales watched him for several minutes, then, shaking his head in perplexity, turned and started back toward Reina de Los Angeles.
Now that he was on the highway again, the caballero became alert, watching the trail whenever he topped a hill, hand on pistol-butt where brush edged the road and made an ambush possible.
Sixty miles to the south was San Juan Capistrano, and the caballero did not spare his horse. During the morning he saw few men, either
red or white. In the distance, at times, he could see the white buildings of some rancho, and grazing herds, and frequently a small orchard.
Then, as he neared the mission, he came upon scenes of activity, oxen-drawn carts loaded with grain, carreta, squads of Indians working on the highway as punishment for some trivial offence.
The miles flew beneath his horse’s hoofs, and in time he could see the mission building glistening in the sun, throngs of neophytes at work, scores of children playing about the walls. The children scattered at his approach, to stand, half in fear and half in curiosity, some distance away and regard him thoughtfully. He dismounted stiffly, but no man gave him greeting. Leading his horse he walked to the door of the nearest storehouse. A fray came out and faced him.
“I am journeying to San Diego de Alcalá, and have need of a fresh mount,” the caballero said. “I will trade or purchase.”
“I have no horse for you, señor.”
“Nonsense! San Juan Capistrano is well known for its breed. At Santa Barbara they told me you were to send them steeds within the month, in exchange for fruit and wine.”
“We sell and give horses to whom we will, señor, and withhold them from others.”
“What is the meaning of that?” the caballero demanded. His face had flushed with sudden anger, for he did not like the fray’s tone or manner. “I have a pass here signed by His Excellency the Governor. You will scarcely refuse to accommodate me now, I take it.”
The fray read the pass and handed it back.
“It passes my understanding that you possess such a paper,” he said. “Yet, on the other hand, it is not a matter to excite wonder. It is understood that the Governor is not particular to whom he issues passes.”
“I shall take it upon myself to see you punished for your insolence, fray! A man who wears a gown should know more of courtesy.”
“There is no horse here for you, señor. I have spoken.”
“You are not the only horse owner in San Juan Capistrano!”
“No man here will sell you one, nor give it you, nor make an exchange.”
“And why is that?”
“Need you question?”
“Most certainly I question. This is the first discourtesy I have found along El Camino Real. Even the soldiers at the Santa Barbara presidio aided me on my way, gave me food and wine. The good fray at San Fernando recommended me to a friend in Reina de Los Angeles. And here, it appears, one cannot even buy a horse with gold. I await your explanation, fray.”
“I have no explanation to give you, señor, nor do I recognise your right to one. If the frailes to the north have been misled, I have nothing to say. We of the south, however, have scant courtesy for men of a certain stamp.”
“Now by the good saints——!”
“The good saints are better off your lips, señor!” cried the fray angrily.
Neophytes had been crowding about, drawn by the quarrel. The caballero whirled upon them, to find some grinning. His hand dropped to his sword-hilt.
“The road stretches toward the south, señor,” the fray resumed. “And we are crowded here in San Juan Capistrano.”
“You are ordering me away, perhaps?”
“I am leaving it to your good judgment to go.”
“I am not a man to be trifled with, fray. This discourtesy is like to cost you dear!”
“I pay my debts, señor. If it costs me, I pay.”
“You refuse to respect the Governor’s pass?”
“I refuse to recognise your right to have it,” the fray replied. He turned about and started inside the storehouse. The caballero took a quick step forward and clutched the other by the shoulder and whirled him around.
“Cloth or no cloth, no man treats me like this!” he exclaimed. “A horse—immediately!”
The fray uttered an exclamation; the neophytes crowded closer. Releasing his man, the caballero drew his sword and turned upon them.
“Back, dogs!” he cried. “I do not like your stench! And you, fray, fetch me a horse, before I run you through!”
“You——!” The fray seemed to grow taller in his sudden anger. “You dare to threaten me, señor? A man of your stripe——”
“I have had enough of this mystery!”
“Out of my sight! Take your way to the south, or the north if it pleases you, but quit San Juan Capistrano this minute! Else I will not be responsible——”
“For what! For what may happen to me?” The caballero laughed aloud, half in anger, half in jest. His sword described an arc. But the neophytes did not fall back from before him; the fray made a sign and they closed in.
His back against the wall of the storehouse, the caballero swept his blade through the air again, and held his pistol in his left hand. The Indians hesitated a moment, the caballero advanced.
“Back!” the caballero cried.
Again they closed in, rushed. A screech of pain came from the first he touched with the blade. His pistol spoke and a man fell wounded. In that instant, as they hesitated, he was among them, his blade darting here and there. Purposely he avoided clashing with the fray, always keeping neophytes between them, for to wound a fray, he knew, would be to make bloodthirsty wretches of the red men. Foot by foot he fought his way to where the horse was standing with lowered head.
He drove back those nearest, then sprang to the saddle and dashed away. The guitar had been fastened to the saddle, and now it snapped its cord and fell to the ground. Laughing loudly, the caballero turned his horse, galloped back among the neophytes, scattering them right and left, swung down from his saddle and caught up the instrument, waved it above his head in derision, and was away again.
A pistol spoke behind him, a bullet whistled past his head, but he rode unscathed. A mile away he stopped the horse to wipe the bloody blade on his cloak and return it to its scabbard.
“A courteous reception indeed!” he muttered, and gave his horse the spurs.
A journey of twenty-five miles stretched before him to the next mission in the chain, San Luis Rey de Francia. He did not urge his mount to its utmost, for he did not want to exhaust the beast, and he knew better time would be made travelling a level gait.
Here the highway ran along the sea, and for a time the caballero allowed his horse to walk knee-deep in the tumbling water. Anger still flushed his face; his eyes still were blazing. With a fresh horse procured at San Juan Capistrano he would have been able to reach San Luis Rey de Francia long before nightfall; whereas, because of his reception at the last mission, he would reach it after dark, if at all, for the hills were near, and common report had it that even daylight riding there was perilous enough for a gentleman unattended.
He drove his horse up the slope and to the highway proper again and looked ahead. A dust cloud was in the distance, and in time he made out a herd of cattle being driven along the road. He saw, as he neared them, that there were two Indian herders, and stopped to recharge his pistol. They might prove to be harmless neophytes; they might be thieving gentiles running off mission cattle, and ready to give battle to a traveller.
He stood his horse at one side of the highway as they passed, alert for trouble. They were talking, he could see, and pointing at him, but
he could not hear their words. Long after they had gone by, the two Indians turned frequently to look in his direction.
The caballero rode on, with some speed now, since it was growing late in the afternoon. Overhanging crags, jumbles of rock, clumps of scrawny trees cast shadows across the highway and furnished cover for bandits, but he met with no adventure. Through the twilight he galloped, stopping before each hidden curve to listen, straining his eyes to discern the presence of a foe.
Night came, and in the distance he saw lights at San Luis Rey de Francia.
“Let us hope there are men of brains to be found here,” the caballero muttered. “I must have food, drink, rest. It does not matter so much about a horse now, since my own will be refreshed by morning.”
Now there were huts beside the highway, but all in them seemed sleeping. Dogs howled as he approached. Ahead of him, a door was thrown open, and a streak of light pierced the darkness. He rode toward it.
An Indian stood there holding a crude torch above his head, an aged Indian with scraggy hair and wrinkled face.
“I want food, rest,” the caballero said. “Where sleeps a fray that will awaken easily?”
The Indian stared at him in astonishment.
“You seek a fray?” he asked.
“Else I would not ask the whereabouts of one.”
“It is a bold thing to do, señor. It would be better, would it not, to accept the hospitality of my poor hut, and be sure you are with friends? Scant welcome will you get from a fray. Enter, señor, and honour my poor dwelling. I have food and wine, and a couch. I will see that your horse has attention, and all night I’ll watch, and before the dawn comes I’ll awaken you and send you on your way.”
“This thing passes my understanding, yet I am weary enough to accept the quickest relief,” the caballero said. “If you attempt
treachery——”
“Then may I die, señor.”
“That probably would come to pass in such event.”
He dismounted and began taking off the saddle. The Indian ran to help him and got a halter for use instead of the bridle. The horse was picketed beside the road and thrown hay and grain. Then the Indian led the way into the hut.
It was of adobe, small, round. A table was built into one wall, a bunk into another. While the caballero sat on the bunk to rest, his host put out cold meat and wine and dried wheat-paste. The guest ate, and not sparingly, and then removed his boots and threw himself down on the couch.
“I will sit outside and watch the door, señor,” the Indian said. “You may sleep without fear.”
“But with a pistol ready at my hand,” the caballero growled.
After the Indian had gone, he arose and extinguished the torch, and listened for a moment at the door, until he was sure his host was squatting there. It was troubled sleep he had, for the surroundings were peculiar, and he did not fully trust his host.
A step beside the couch caused him to awaken and spring to his feet, pistol held ready.
“Within an hour, señor, it will be dawn,” he heard the voice of the old Indian say. “I have more wine and food ready, and water fresh from the spring. It is better that you are gone before others awake, then none will know of your passing.”
The caballero ate again, and followed his host outside, carrying saddle and bridle. When the horse was ready, he mounted, then tossed the native a coin.
“No, señor—not from you, if you please,” the Indian said. “It has been a pleasure——”
“White man and red—both give me hospitality and refuse payment,” remarked the caballero. “At times I think myself the most fortunate of
men, at other times the most unlucky One fray aids me and another refuses to sell me a horse. It is a peculiar world!”
“The señor will not forget me—that is all I ask,” the Indian muttered.
“Be assured I will not! Adios!”
“’Dios!”
The caballero trotted his steed for a mile, then broke into a gallop. Forty miles more, and he would be at San Diego de Alcalá, his journey’s end. He laughed aloud as the dawn came and showed him the sea sparkling in the distance. His spirits had revived wonderfully.
“Poor self-styled Juan who once owned a mule!” he murmured. “He loses a couple of pieces of gold, I take it, since it is not to be believed that he has reached the goal before me. I wonder what would have happened if I had gone to the inn on the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles?”
He was in the hills again now, yet the highway was seldom masked, and he felt secure in the knowledge that a foe could not approach without being seen. The miles flew beneath his horse’s hoofs. A cool breeze came in from the sea and neutralised the heat of the sun. In the distance he could see a broad valley, and he knew that the end of his journey was near.
Another ten miles, and then, stopping his horse on the crest of a hill, he saw San Diego de Alcalá before him. Near the shore of the bay was the presidio, topping a knoll. Six miles up the valley was the mission proper, and near it an orchard surrounded by a wall, and fields of green.
“’Tis a bit of paradise in the wilderness!” the caballero said aloud. “And there is an angel in it, I have heard.”
He chuckled and urged the horse on. Purposely he avoided the presidio for the time being and made his way toward the mission. Only a few neophytes were to be seen, and even they disappeared as he approached.
The mission buildings formed three sides of a square; the fourth side was an adobe wall nearly ten feet high. Through a space between
two of the buildings the caballero rode his horse. Not a human being was to be seen in the plaza.
“This is mighty peculiar,” the caballero muttered.
He dismounted and let the horse stand in the shade of the wall. Every door was closed, even those of the padres’ quarters, the hospital, the guest house.
“Awake, good people!” he cried. “Is it the fashion here to take a siesta in the cool of the day?”
The door of the padres’ quarters did not open; no big-eyed Indian child ran out to stare at him, finger in mouth, half curious and half afraid; no man or woman appeared from a hut.
He slapped the dust from his clothes and started across the plaza toward the padres’ quarters, determined to pound on the big door until it was opened and the lethargy of the place explained.
Around the end of the wall there came a neophyte stooping beneath a bag of grain.
“Good day, señor!” said the caballero. “I am glad to find someone alive.”
The Indian stared at him, hesitated a moment, then walked on without speaking.
The door of the storehouse opened, and another man walked into the plaza, one who carried a quarter of beef on his shoulder. He followed a narrow path that ran toward one of the huts, so that he had to pass within a dozen feet of the caballero.
“Perhaps here is a man with brains,” the new-comer thought. Aloud, he said: “Señor, it is a brilliant day!”
The man who carried the beef did not slacken his pace, but he glanced at the caballero from beneath shaggy brows, and passed without making a reply. Behind him in the narrow path stood one astonished and angry.
“It is a settlement of imbeciles and deaf mutes, this San Diego de Alcalá!” he growled.
Now there was a burst of laughter from the end of the wall, and into view came an Indian girl of perhaps fourteen, her black hair streaming down her back, her feet and legs bare, her arms filled with wild blossoms. Behind her was a youth a few years her senior. When they saw the caballero they stopped quickly, and the youth said something to the girl, then they ceased their laughter and hurried along the path.
“Señor! Señorita!” said the caballero, removing his sombrero and bowing to the ground.
The youth growled something beneath his breath and hurried on without responding to the greeting; the girl tilted her nose and she would not meet the caballero’s eyes. And so they passed him and continued across the plaza toward the padres’ quarters, not once looking back.
“Mute fools!” the caballero growled, his face flushed because of his embarrassment.
CHAPTER IV
A COYOTE HOWLS
Adjoining the quarters of the padres was a long adobe building used as a storehouse, and sounds indicated that a man was at work inside. It was towards the storehouse that the caballero now hurried, something of anger in his manner, his face still flushed, his dark eyes snapping and his chin thrust out in aggressive fashion.
Seeing a face peering at him from one of the windows, he gave it scant attention, but lifted the latch, and the door of the storehouse flew open at his touch.
For an instant he stood in the doorway trying to see, for the sun outside was bright, and inside there was a semi-gloom. Then he made out a rough counter, piles of skins from cattle and sheep, sacks of grain, casks of tallow, bolts of imported goods, and a man who paced back and forth before a rough desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed on his breast.
“Good day, señor!” said the caballero.
The other stopped and raised his head, looked the caballero straight in the eyes, then, without a word, stepped behind the counter and busied himself arranging some bolts of cloth on a shelf.
“I greeted you good day, señor!”
Still there was no reply, nor did the man behind the counter turn to face the one who spoke.
“Is there man, woman or child in the mission who can speak Spanish, native or the sign language?” demanded the caballero now, angrily, stepping up to the counter and placing both his hands upon
it. “Is this the hospitality of which San Diego de Alcalá has been so proud? Those persons I met in the plaza refused to answer my polite salutations. And you—I take it you are a sort of manager here, or superintendent, or clerk to the padres, or something of the sort— seem to have no word for me, not even the one common courtesy demands you should use in response to a greeting!”
He waited; but an answer did not come. The man behind the counter had finished with the bolts of cloth, and now was taking from the shelf jars of honey and olives and oil, and putting them back exactly as they had been before, showing plainly that he was busying himself merely to avoid making a reply.
“Has life in the bright sun dulled your wits?” demanded the caballero, now thoroughly angry. “Have you all taken a vow not to speak until such and such a time? Could I get your kind attention, perhaps, if I made a purchase? One would think an Indian attack had left you all without tongues in your heads!”
Still there came no reply from the man behind the counter.
The door opened, and a giant of a neophyte entered. He gave the caballero a glance, seemed to throw back his shoulders, and hurried up to the counter.
“A quarter of mutton, Señor Lopez,” he said. “The padre said I was to have it until the grain is harvested.”
“Certainly, Pedro,” came the reply.
Señor Lopez turned and smiled at the man he had called Pedro, and went to the rear of the room, from where he carried the meat. Pedro took the mutton upon his shoulder, and Señor Lopez followed him to the door, opening it and holding it wide so that the other could pass out. For a moment they talked in low tones, then Pedro hurried away, and Lopez closed the door and went back behind the counter.
“So you can use your voice when it pleases you to do so, it seems,” said the caballero. “Suppose you use a portion of it now, in answer to some questioning of mine. If it is necessary, I’ll pay for it. Give me this much voice, Señor Lopez!”
He threw a gold coin down upon the counter so that it rang. Lopez turned slowly and faced him, looked him straight in the eyes a moment, then went back to the shelf and began arranging the jars again.
If the eyes of the caballero had snapped before, they blazed now. He placed both hands upon the counter as if to spring over it and throttle the man who refused to speak, but he seemed to decide against that, and the smile came upon his face again, only the quality of the smile was not the same.
On one end of the counter was a heap of small stone jars, filled, evidently with fruit and oil. The caballero picked up a bar of metal from the counter, walked deliberately to the heap of jars, and crashed the heavy bar down among them.
Señor Lopez jumped as if he had been shot, and turned to see the caballero standing before the ruin, the inscrutable smile still upon his lips. He raised the bar again, and again he crashed it among the jars, sending fruit and oil to the floor.
“Señor!” Lopez cried.
“I thought that would make you find your voice. As for the damage, I’ll pay it. Now suppose you open your lips and explain this strange conduct, before I get genuinely angry and carry on the work of destruction.”
Their eyes clashed for a moment, and then Lopez spoke:
“I open my lips this once, and after that, señor, perhaps you will go back up El Camino Real and admit yourself a beaten man. San Diego de Alcalá has a name for hospitality, it is true, but there is none even here for Captain Fly-by-Night.”
“It seems to me,” said the caballero, “that I have heard that name before.”
“It is known from San Francisco de Asis to San Diego de Alcalá, señor, without credit to the man who bears it.”
“Indeed?”
“We play at words, señor, and that is not necessary News of your coming was received several days ago. When the news went up El Camino Real that the good Señor Fernandez had gone the way of all flesh and left to his fair daughter, Anita, and her very distant relative, Rojerio Rocha, the fortune and broad acres he had acquired by a lifetime of hard work and danger, you boasted, before the body of the señor was scarcely cold in the ground, that here was a fair maid and a fortune to be won, and that you could and would win them.”
“I boasted that, eh?”
“’Tis well known, Captain Fly-by-Night. You boasted loudly Even when it became known that Rojerio Rocha was to come down El Camino Real from distant San Francisco de Asis and wed his distant relative, and be the head of the great rancho, you boasted that, betrothal or no, you’d win Señorita Anita and the rancho would be yours.”
“Indeed, señor?”
“Many a mission and presidio, and many a rancho, you have visited during your career, Captain Fly-by-Night, always to leave behind you broken hearts and empty purses. Your skill with the cards and dice, it is said, is such as to be almost supernatural. There is another explanation for it, of course. Your way with women, too, has been made notorious. But never did you come near San Diego de Alcalá while Señor Fernandez was alive, knowing well what to expect if you did. Now that he is dead, you dare to come, after making your boasts.”
“I am learning things regarding myself,” said the caballero.
“When we heard of your boast, we considered what to do,” Lopez went on. “Did the padres let the men of the mission whip you and send you back up El Camino Real, as they should, you could say that you had no chance, one man against so many score, and, moreover, the well-known hospitality of San Diego de Alcalá would be outraged. So we decided upon another course, Captain Fly-byNight.
“The country is both long and broad, and we do not say you cannot live in it. But so far as San Diego de Alcalá and its people are concerned—ranch owner, fray, neophyte or soldier—you do not exist, señor. No man, woman or child will speak to you. You can purchase neither food nor wine here. The sweet señorita whose name you have insulted with your boasts will pass within half a dozen feet of you and see you not. You will be a nothing, not given as much consideration as a coyote. Do you understand me, señor?”
“You speak plainly enough,” the caballero replied.
“If you wish to remain under those conditions, we will make no effort to prevent you. When Rojerio Rocha arrives—and he is expected within a few days—and weds our fair Anita, being then in the position of a husband, he may see fit to chastise you for your ill-timed boasts. If you care to admit that you boasted once too often, and wish to return to the north, there is grain and hay for your horse at the end of the wall, and we will not call it theft if you feed your animal. Your absence would be well worth the price of a few measures of grain.”
“That is all you have to say, Señor Lopez?”
“I have opened my lips to tell you how things stand, Captain Fly-byNight. Hereafter they shall remain closed in your presence.”
“If there should be some mistake about that boast——”
Lopez looked at the caballero, then turned toward the shelf and began arranging the jars again. The anger was dying out of the face of the caballero now, and the smile that came upon his lips was more inscrutable than before.
“At least, I leave the coin in payment for the damage I have caused,” he said; and started toward the door.
He heard the quick step of Lopez behind him, but did not turn. He threw the door open wide, and stepped out. Something whizzed past his head and struck the ground before him. He looked at it—the coin he had left on the counter.
As he walked back across the plaza to where he had left his horse, the caballero chuckled like a man well pleased. There was no anger
in his face or bearing now, no resentment, rather lively satisfaction. He passed the giant Pedro talking with another neophyte, and when they turned their backs to him and continued their conversation as if he had not been near he laughed outright.
He led his horse from the plaza and down the slope, and there he removed saddle and bridle and picketed the animal where green grass grew along a trickling brook. Walking some distance from the mission he shot a rabbit, and, carrying the game back to where he had left the horse, he cleaned it with his knife, washed it in the creek, and hung it up on a forked stick.
Then he arranged dry moss and grass for a fire, being particular to build it where it could be seen easily from the guest house of the mission and from the padres’ quarters; and he knew that every action was being watched, that men and women might keep silent, but could not curb their curiosity.
He had no flint and steel, neither did he know how to make fire by the Indian method, and he found himself now facing a predicament. But there were glass buttons on his cloak, and from one of them he made a burning glass, and crouching over the dry grass focused the sun’s beams and in time had a blaze.
He cooked the rabbit, ate it without salt, put more fuel on the fire, then spread his cloak on the ground, picked up the guitar, and began playing softly Presently he sang, his voice ringing out across the plaza and reaching the ears of those in the mission.
Now and then an Indian child came to the end of the adobe wall and watched and listened. Men and women passed from hut to hut, but none paid the slightest attention to him. Smoke poured from chimneys, and there were odours of meals being prepared. His singing and playing over for a time, the caballero sat with his back against a rock, his sombrero tilted over his eyes, and rested.
Presently he saw the door of the guest house open, and out of it came a vision of female loveliness that caused the caballero to catch his breath. Behind her walked an elderly duenna of proud carriage.
“This will be the fair Anita, with some señora in attendance,” the caballero chuckled. “I wonder if they intend paying me a visit?”
It looked it, for the girl led the way down the slope and toward the creek, walking with head proudly lifted, the elderly señora tripping at her heels. They passed within twenty feet of the caballero, but the girl did not look his way. The other woman, however, glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, and he smiled at her curiosity.
They stopped beside the creek, and the girl filled a small jar with water, and began arranging wild flowers in it, while the señora stood beside her, looking down the valley toward the presidio.
“To think,” voiced Anita Fernandez, “that a husband is to come to me up El Camino Real all the way from San Francisco de Asis—a husband and distant relative at one and the same time! To marry a man I never have seen before—is that not a hardship, Señora Vallejo?”
“Rojerio Rocha,” Señora Vallejo replied, “undoubtedly will be a gentleman, a pattern of a man and an excellent husband. There will be ample time for courtship after he arrives; there is no need for rushing the marriage ceremony. You do not have to wed him if he is not a proper man.”
“But my father wished it,” Anita said.
“Your father knew that Rojerio Rocha had been left without much of the world’s goods. He is of a very distant branch of the family; yet your father desired to see him better equipped with wealth. He desired your marriage to Rojerio Rocha, knowing the man’s good blood, but above all things he would desire, were he still on earth, your happiness. You can make up your mind, my dear Anita, after Rojerio Rocha arrives.”
“I wonder what he will be like, how he will appear, whether he can smile and sing, and speak kindly.”
“All of that, whether it be Rocha or Fernandez blood in his veins,” said Señora Vallejo.
“I shall, indeed, be glad to see him. How long it has been since a stranger of quality came to us out of the north!”
The man beside the fire chuckled at that, and got up to walk slowly down the slope toward them. Six feet away he swept his sombrero from his head and bowed his best, and he smiled when he spoke.
“I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Señorita Anita Fernandez?” he said.
“Señora Vallejo, did you speak?” asked the girl, without looking at the man beside her.
“’Twas a coyote barked,” Señora Vallejo replied.
“Indeed, my poor voice may seem like the barking of a coyote to one with a true musical ear,” the caballero said, “though some have said it is near perfect in tone.”
“Are you mumbling, Señora Vallejo?” Anita demanded.
“I am not, Anita, dear. It is the wind whistling through the olive trees.”
“Ah! We grow with acquaintance!” said the caballero, lightly. “At first my voice sounded like the barking of a coyote, and now it sounds like the whistling of the wind through the trees. We grow more musical, indeed.”
Señora Vallejo bit her lip, and resolutely kept her face from that of the man standing beside her.
“Do you suppose, Señora Vallejo,” asked Anita, “that the odious Captain Fly-by-Night will have the audacity to come to San Diego de Alcalá, as he boasted he would do? Has the man no brains at all, no sense of the fitness of things? San Diego de Alcalá is no place for gamblers such as he. He pollutes the plaza if he walks across it!”
“No doubt the creature is senseless enough to come,” said Señora Vallejo. She dabbed at her face with a lace handkerchief, and, in dabbing, dropped it. In an instant the caballero was down upon one knee, had picked up the handkerchief, and, remaining on one knee, tendered it.
