Dark Angels Rising Page 13

  “And hopefully they won’t blow us to bits in the meantime.”

  “Hopefully not.”

  “What could possibly go wrong?”

  In the final hours before they emerged from Rz, Drake excused himself from ops and headed down to the cargo hold. He and Leesa had run the plan past the rest of the crew, being entirely frank about the risks involved, and no one had any objections; nor did anyone have any better ideas. So by the time they emerged into Barbary’s space, the Ion Raider would show up as the Lion of Lincoln.

  For the plan to work there was one final piece Drake needed to put in place, and in order to do so he would have to visit the artefact room; not a prospect he relished.

  He had been avoiding the coat and hat ever since returning to Raider and the Dark Angels, telling himself it wasn’t necessary just yet, but the truth went deeper than that. Even though he’d assumed the responsibilities of being Cornische once again, he hadn’t felt at home with the role, not completely, and donning the costume would have made it too real, too inevitable.

  Now, though, there was no choice, not if they were going to pitch up in a disguise as thin as this and hope to convince the authorities on Barbary that they were the real deal. Otherwise, the Dark Angels return was likely to be a lot briefer than intended.

  The door to the artefact room slid open and he stood on the threshold for a moment, contemplating the dramatically posed figure immediately inside – the first thing to greet anyone who entered. He felt certain he had never looked as dynamic as this in real life, nor so athletic, but he couldn’t fault the figure’s impact.

  Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, he stepped inside and crossed to the mannequin. The moment he slipped the grey coat off the figure and felt the familiar weight in his hand – which was not, in truth, as great as might be expected from the heavy-looking garment – memories stirred. He slipped first his right and then his left arm through the long sleeves and shrugged the coat into a more comfortable position, flexing his shoulders, feeling the material’s give. Then he took the twin smartguns in their tough-weave holsters and strapped them around his waist. Finally he lifted the hat, a tired-looking wide-brimmed excuse for a cowboy hat, and placed it on his head. A few years back he had suffered a recurring dream about this moment, in which he put the hat on again after many years only to find that it no longer fitted, it was too small. Reality delivered no such dramas; the hat fitted snuggly, just as it always had.

  Ironically, Cornische was unique among the Dark Angels in that his identity and abilities were not reliant on Elder technology. His smartguns had been developed entirely from human know-how, likewise the privacy screen which dropped down when required from the rim of his hat, to obscure his face and disguise his voice.

  He was happy to leave the spectacular to others, reckoning the rest of the crew had more than enough Elder tech wizardry going on between them to go round.

  Before leaving the artefact room, he placed his cane – such a hallmark of Drake – with the now naked mannequin, leaning it against the figure’s alabaster legs. Purely a symbolic gesture, perhaps, but it felt the right thing to do. For the first time since Leesa had saved him from suffocation on a distant world, he no longer felt like Corbin Thadeus Drake, registered agent of First Solar Bank. Once again he was ready to be Francis Cornische, captain of the Ion Raider.

  Jen was the first to see him as he returned to ops. She cheered and started to clap, with Mosi joining in a fraction later.

  Leesa just regarded him with critical eye, as if assessing a new outfit on a friend. “The good news is that it still fits,” she said at length. “A little tighter than it used to be, perhaps, but we’ll just have to work with what we’ve got.”

  “Thank you so much for that confidence-boosting appraisal,” Drake replied. “Not all of us have suits that adjust to our changing physique, you know. Some of us have to work at staying in shape.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting that Leesa doesn’t, Captain,” Jen said. “I mean, if you were looking to piss off one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy that would be a great way to start.”

  “He’d have to do better than that, Jen,” Leesa assured her, “a lot better.”

  “All right. Now, if you’ve all had your fun?” Cornische said.

  “For the moment, but don’t get complacent.”

  “Raider, how long until we arrive at Barbary?” he said, ignoring Leesa.

  “I’ll be bringing the ship out of Rz in ten standard minutes, Captain. We should be in range of their scanning systems almost immediately. Our ident has been reconfigured to present as the Lion of Lincoln, as requested.”

  “Thank you, Raider. Ten minutes, everyone. Take up your positions as soon as we’re out of Rz.” He wanted to make certain that when he contacted Barbary Control he did so with a full complement of highly visible Angels behind him: Hel N, Shadow, Geminum and Ramrod, which ought to go some way to convincing the inevitable doubters at Control precisely who it was that had come a-calling. Or at least buy them enough time to convince said doubters,

  Cornische timed the message carefully, wanting to give Barbary the chance to register this new arrival’s supposed identity and realise it was a false one. Three minutes after they emerged from Rz, and Raider confirmed they had done so close enough to Barbary for Control to be aware of them, he sent the message: audio and image. He kept it simple.

  “Barbary Control, this is the Lion of Lincoln, under the command of Captain Francis Cornische, seeking permission to land at Worley Central.”

  The unavoidable delay proved as interminable as ever, but at last the response came through.

  “Barbary Control to the Lion of Lincoln, if this is someone’s idea of a joke there’s going to be all hell to pay. Please confirm identity of both your ship and your captain.”

  “Control, we would prefer to keep our presence as low key as possible, so the Lion of Lincoln is all we’re prepared to admit to, but please feel free to draw your own conclusions. As for confirming who I am, you know full well. We’re communicating with you in audio and visual. You can analyse both aspects to your hearts’ content and make comparisons with data that you must have on record. All of which will confirm that I am Captain Francis Hilary Cornische. This is no joke. The Dark Angels are back, but we’d rather our return did not become public knowledge just yet. We will be happy to explain further in person, once we’ve landed.”

  Again the lag, during which time he had the opportunity to review what he’d said in his mind and wish he’d said it better.

  “Control to the Lion of Lincoln,” the reply came at last, “please proceed to designated berth at Worley. We’ll guide you in on approach. You will be met on landing. And… if you really are who you claim… welcome back.”

  Leesa snorted. “If we really are… Who else does he think we are? I mean, this would be one heck of an elaborate ruse.”

  “Can’t blame them for being cautious,” Cornische said. “It’s been ten years, after all.”

  The welcoming committee was there as promised. A car, a bloated giant of its kind, with opaque tinted windows that could have hidden just about anything, up to and including a ship-busting energy cannon. Standing alongside the car and facing the Ion Raider’s berth were two burly men in crisp black business suits, with smartshades masking their eyes and hands clasped in front of them.

  “Glad to see the Barbarians – can we call them that? – aren’t going in for any clichés,” Leesa murmured.

  “Maybe they feel intimidated,” Jen suggested. “Perhaps they feel obliged to put on some sort of show given that we’re all costumed up and what with us being living legends – just to prove to us that they’re the ones in charge, sort of thing.”

  “Maybe,” Cornische conceded. “Raider, any life signs from inside the car?”

  “None. The vehicle is unoccupied.”

  “So, what are we thinking?” Leesa said. “We get in, and they ei
ther drive us somewhere, attempt to gas us, or…”

  “… It’s to be a virtual conference in an environment they feel in control of,” Drake finished for her. “Raider, if needed, are you able to hack the car’s controls?”

  “I believe so. Would you like me to make the attempt now?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “There’s no point in antagonising our hosts unless we have to. It’s just good to know the option is there.”

  Having made sure his privacy screen was properly in place, Cornische headed for the airlock with Leesa, leaving Jen in charge of the bridge. She and Raider would monitor them throughout.

  Outside, the two men in black – who were surely there more for show than because anyone thought they would be needed – stood aside and held a door to the car open, allowing the two Angels to enter.

  The vehicle was more bus than car – Drake barely had to duck when climbing in. His hat stayed in place as it was designed to, without the need to be held, maintaining the privacy screen.

  They sat beside each other on a long comfortably upholstered seat that could have readily sat three or four more. Opposite was an identical seat, facing theirs. Once they were in, security shut the door. Soft light suffused the cabin, filtering in through the tinted windows.

  Abruptly, and perfectly synchronised, four figures appeared in the seat facing them. Two men, two women, with ages varying from a little younger than Cornische to a good deal older, or so he reckoned.

  The man directly opposite him – who looked to be of similar age – had a prosthetic ear. That caught Cornische’s attention, and he stared at the man’s face more closely. It would have been a simple matter to blend a prosthetic like this into a person’s face so that no one would ever guess it was there. It took a special kind of obstinate to wear such a thing openly, or someone with a point to prove. Now that he had that clue, Cornische could see it in the man’s face: fuller, older, more worry lines and less hair than there used to be, but…

  “Seb?”

  Seb Watkins grinned and the laughter lines multiplied. “Okay,” he said, “now we’re getting somewhere. Yes, that looked like you in the contact message, and it sounded like you, but none of that was conclusive given all the scrambling you’ve got going on through that screen of yours. I wanted to see you face to face.”

  “Or projection to face, at any rate,” Leesa said.

  “Hello, Hel N. Ten years away haven’t cured you of being a smart ass, I see.”

  “Amazing how quickly it came back to me.”

  “Are you going to introduce us, Watkins?” said the other man, who looked to be the oldest of the quartet. “Or did you just want us here to witness this touching reunion?”

  Watkins favoured the man with a glare, then waved a hand in the direction of Cornische and Leesa. “Ruling Council of Barbary, meet the Dark Angels. Dark Angels, meet the Ruling Council.”

  “How would we ever have coped without you?” Leesa said.

  “You’re sure it’s really them?” the younger woman asked, staring intently as if she hoped to penetrate their disguises with willpower alone.

  “Pretty sure, yes,” Watkins confirmed.

  “If you’d like any further proof, I could always punch a hole through the roof of this snazzy car of yours,” Leesa said.

  “Actually, I’m not so sure you could,” Watkins said. “This limo is deceptively well protected, armoured with the toughest alloy… Hey!” he shouted, holding out a restraining hand between Leesa and the ceiling. “That wasn’t a challenge.” He drew the hand back quickly, perhaps realising what an empty gesture it was, given that he wasn’t physically there.

  “Sounded like one to me,” she said, lowering her fist all the same.

  “Let’s stop pussyfooting around and cut to the chase, shall we?” said the older woman. “So you’re the Dark Angels. Why are you back, and why are you here on Barbary?”

  Much more like it. They’d discussed in advance exactly how much to reveal – which amounted to very little – and Cornische launched straight into the spiel. “For the past few years, an organisation has been quietly hunting down and assassinating former Dark Angels,” he said. “We haven’t kept in touch, so it was a while before we caught on – Hel N caught on, to be precise. Once we realised what was happening, we decided to do something about it.”

  “So you’re putting the band back together,” Watkins said.

  “In effect, yes. Individually, they’ve caught former Angels unawares. Let’s see how they do against a whole ship full of us, ready for them and out for revenge.”

  “Does this organisation have a name?”

  “Saflik.”

  It was clear from their expressions that the name meant something to them.

  “That’s quite an adversary you’ve taken on there.”

  “It’s quite an adversary they’ve taken on as well.

  “Granted.” The older woman seemed to have adopted the role of spokesperson. “Let’s be entirely clear about this, the decision to let you land here was not welcomed by all of us.” Good to know. “The return of the Dark Angels is, of course, sensational news, but we’re not in the business of sensational. We’re in the business of governance, and ‘sensational’ is the last thing we need. Therefore, we’re perfectly happy to co-operate in keeping your brief stay here as quiet as possible, though your choice of ship ident doesn’t exactly help on that score.”

  “That was deliberate,” Cornische said, “a calculated risk.”

  “Presumably chosen on the basis that any of your former shipmates who are on Barbary will recognise the Lion of Lincoln and realise the significance.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Is that why you’re here, then, to find old crewmates and recruit them to your cause?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that and replacing a few salvaged engine parts, if opportunity allows,” Leesa added.

  “That too,” Cornische conceded. “But we’ve come to Barbary specifically because it strikes us as a likely place for former Angels to have settled. We don’t know that for sure, but we’re here to find out, preferably without attracting unwanted attention.”

  Cornische suspected that a hurried exchange of views was taking place off screen, for all that the four projected figures looked pensive and silent.

  After a few seconds’ pause, the woman spoke again. “Trouble used to follow the Dark Angels around, and I don’t suppose that’s changed. Added to which, you tell us that an interstellar criminal organisation is after you. It hardly makes you the most desirable of guests… We’ve no great love of Saflik, but at the same time we wouldn’t want to antagonise them. Also, the longer you stay here, the more difficult it will be to keep your presence a secret. Word’s bound to get out at some point. So, taking all of that into account, we’ll give you three days.

  “After that, we’ll tell the whole world and its mother you’re here, then sit back to watch you cope with the consequences.”

  Three days. It was better than nothing – better than they might have expected, in truth..

  “Agreed,” Drake said. “And thank you. I suppose it would be too much to ask that you leave us to our own devices unobserved?”

  “It would. Meeting you has proven to be… interesting, Captain Cornische. I hope it’s not a meeting we need to repeat. Three days.”

  With that, she winked out, followed by the other councillors. Watkins was the last to leave.

  “A councillor, no less,” said Leesa when it was just the three of them. “You’ve done well for yourself, Seb.”

  When they’d known him, Seb Watkins had been a local ‘businessman’, a facilitator with fingers in multiple pies. A useful contact, but not someone who had ever shown an interest in politics.

  “A lot’s happened in ten years, Hel N. Listen, I know you well enough to realise you’re probably n
ot telling us everything, but don’t do anything stupid. Nobody gets to the top in a place like Barbary by being a fool – present company accepted. If you can conclude your business here in two days rather than three, don’t hang around.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Seb. You take care.”

  He nodded, and with that was gone.

  No sooner were they alone than the door opened and they were ushered out of the car by the men in black, who then climbed into the vehicle before it pulled away, with barely a purr from its engine.

  “Three days,” Leesa said. “Do you think that’ll be long enough?”

  “It’s going to have to be.”

  “Have you seen that?” Leesa pointed to the wall on the far side of the space the car had occupied. Emblazoned across it in tall lettering was:

  Richard Worley: Creator of the Jolly Roger.

  “As fitting a person as any to name a town after, I suppose.”

  “Especially this town,” Cornische agreed.

  “I still don’t get why you weren’t more open with them,” Almont said. The crew had gathered in ops to hear how the meeting had gone. “I mean, we’ve come here to look for allies, haven’t we? Wouldn’t it make more sense to mention the fabled riches of Lenbya as an incentive to recruiting folk?”

  Cornische was shaking his head. “Given what we’re about to face, I want allies we can trust, not those that we’d be afraid to let out of our sight.”

  “This is Barbary, Nate,” Leesa added. “If you’ve done something to be ashamed of and there’s nowhere to go, there’ll always be Barbary. Walk into any bar in Worley and you’ll find more chancers and lowlifes than anywhere else in the human worlds – people willing to risk everything if there’s a big enough profit in it. You’re right, one mention of Lenbya and overnight we could raise a fleet to lead into battle. But they’d spend the entire trip sizing up the competition and deciding on which of their fellows they need to take out first.”