Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Vicente followed Connor back down the ladder chute, then down the ramp into the cargo bay, then after he opened the loading hatch, the big man trundled down the wide ramp used to roll cargo up into the hold. The whole way, he rattled on and on, oblivious to the threat of the open space and all the parked starships. Any of those vessels could contain a desperate bounty hunter waiting to take a sniper shot.

For five million wings, why not?

“So, what was it, Boss? Gregor get his butt chewed out? You?” The heavy weapons expert chuckled in between each stream of queries.

At the bottom of the cargo bay ramp, Connor dropped to his butt and breathed in the cooling, fuel-thick air.

What else could he do at that moment?

His troubled thoughts must not have been apparent to Vicente, who guffawed. “It was you, huh? She read you the riot act? I couldn’t hear nothing when you closed the hatch. That’s when I figured it was you.”

The laughter went on for a while, rolling out over the tarmac.

When it stopped, Connor bowed his head. “I’ve got to leave the team.”

A little chuckled bubbled up from Vicente. “What?”

“There’s a bounty on my head.”

“Heh. Everybody knows that. You were part of that big rebellion.”

“Nyango.”

“Right, right.”

“Don’t blow this off.” Connor ran trembling fingers through his hair. “I killed Directorate soldiers.”

“Who wouldn’t like to?” The heavy weapons expert let out a clipped snort.

“You’re too young to know what happened.”

“Nah, Boss. I heard. Some guys got wind of this Corporate Freedom Initiative and protested. Killed a bunch of government people. You were all religious radicals. Right?”

“No. We wanted to protect humans from corporate excess.”

Vincente tilted his head. “Well, that didn’t work.”

“What mattered was that we tried. We fought the good fight.”

“Nah. Boss, you gotta win. That’s what matters.”

“I guess we never had a chance. Zacharias—our leader. Zacharias Wentz. He taught us the value of decency and how we all belonged to a single family.”

“I like that.”

Connor closed his eyes against the memories of all the dead. “That family died. All of them, even Zacharias.”

“Sorry to hear it. But we all got our problems. You’re not special.”

“This is five million problems, Vicente, and it’s about to go all over the network.”

“Five million—” The heavy weapons expert whistled. “Wait now—you got a five mil bounty?”

“I’m the only one who survived the final slaughter. I know too much.”

“What’s that? Big secrets?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do. You gotta tell me.”

“One day.”

“Before some bounty hunter kills you, okay?” Vicente winked.

“The Security HQ in Sang is requesting approval for a citywide lockdown. Even if they don’t get approval, that bounty is going to be advertised, and every bounty hunter in a hundred kilometers is going to take a shot at me.”

Vicente chuckled again, but it died with a rattle. He sat next to Connor. “You got it wrong, Boss. Not every bounty hunter. We’re a team.”

“We can’t be. Not anymore. I’ve put you all at too much risk.”

“Nah. You ever see Gregor open up full auto with that old Kelneky Pincer assault rifle of his? That puts us all at too much risk.” The big man raised an imaginary rifle and rocked around wildly while making a sound like a gun chewing through its ammunition.

“I won’t be responsible for any of you getting hurt. I made a…decision years ago. If I have to pay for it, that’s fine. None of you will.”

“We’re mercenaries.”

“And you’re my friends—my family.”

“That’s right! We’d all die for each other. Family forever, Boss! All of us!” Vicente slapped Connor on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

Connor coughed. “No. Not for this. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Getting hurt’s the job.”

“This isn’t the job. You’d just be collateral damage. I can’t let that—”

Something thumped against the ramp above, and Connor jumped.

He looked around, searching for any sign of a shooter, then flinched when something bumped against his back.

It was a tight-packed and scuffed gray duffel bag with the owner’s name stenciled on it: Yemi Obasanjo.

Yemi was their driver, mechanic, and co-pilot.

Connor glanced up the ramp as a heavy booted stride rumbled through the surface. A few steps from the top, a rangy black man in urban camouflage cargo pants and matching heavy shirt paused. His wild, graying hair and thick beard and mustache glowed in the light of a match that he cupped with a hand before setting it to the end of a cigar. The burning tip reflected off his mirror shades, then he resumed his descent.

He stopped beside the duffel bag and blew out a thick puff of cloyingly sweet and earthy smoke, which rode away on the gentle breeze. “Yemi just heard about this not having the job.”

The man knew seven languages, but six of them were from old Earth tongues. The peculiarities of the common Coil and Talon tongue were tough for him.

Vicente scowled at the bag. “Where you think you’re going?”

Yemi stooped to grab the duffel bag handles. “Yemi goes to find a job.”

“Hey, hey—we’re family.” Vicente clamped a big hand over the other man’s hand.

“Yemi has family. Family just want Yemi’s money.” The rangy man yanked his bag away. “Yemi wants his money, too.”

Vicente glared at Connor. “You gotta talk to him, Boss. We need him.”

A part of Connor knew that Yemi was irreplaceable. He was good enough with any of his technical skills to demand top dollar, and he was an experienced soldier who didn’t freeze up when things turned ugly.

Connor pushed up from the ramp. Vicente was right: They needed Yemi.

They needed everyone, or there wasn’t going to be a team anymore.