Consorts of the Red King, page 14
He’d done the job for the damned Coalition, even if he couldn’t say so openly. Peacekeepers accomplished the government’s goals in the squeaky-clean confines of the law. Or so they liked people to believe. There wasn’t much credits couldn’t buy, especially on space stations frequented by the society’s worst riffraff. Who in their right mind would seal themselves into a hunk of metal and hurdle through galaxies where one stood an equal chance on next planetfall of striking it rich or dying in horrible ways?
No, honest folks kept to the colonies, leaving manmade worlds to the likes of Van and Tayn.
And the commander. Where the hell was Commander any damned way?
Van took care of business when someone managed to evade the law or pay off the right politicians. He never asked himself what happened to the man he’d retrieved, or any of the others he dropped into the boss’s lap. Not his problem. He’d completed his missions and collected the credits. What more did he need to do?
Did Commander know about Shopsky intercepting him? Van hadn’t sent any messages yet, and wouldn’t till he decided what to do with Dooren, so Commander wouldn’t know whether or not he’d gotten the royal family—or the commander’s spies—off Akiak.
Surely Tayn would have fired off a message before communications shut down, or found a way to override any lockdowns.
No use fretting. The peacekeeper vessel would register his increased breathing and heartrate. They’d no way of knowing the experimental nature of the Cormorant, and they’d never find the sealed life support stations. If they registered two heartbeats, they’d assume the other to be Tayn’s.
As long as they didn’t do a bio scan and detect a non-human presence.
Van slumped back into his chair. The Cormorant jostled when the tow beam engaged, and he cut the engine. No need wasting power, and he’d make hauling him in as difficult as possible.
He performed a quick mental calculation of their distance from the nearest peacekeeper headquarters. Wow. Pretty fucking far.
Being arrested.
Same shit, different day.
Van closed his eyes, sprawled in his chair, and took a nap.
Claxons roused Van from a heavy sleep, and he stumbled to his feet. No use trying to keep anyone out. With any luck, Commander now knew of his predicament and would set the wheels into motion to get him out of this situation.
Not much escaped the boss’s informants. Van wouldn’t question, especially when he benefitted from the boss knowing shit.
A quick check of the monitors showed his location, Space Station Gamma One, located in a relatively uninhabited area of space. Scrolling words across the screen gave further information. The station served as a jumping-off point for terraformers attempting to colonize two of the galaxy’s planets.
Colonies likely be destroyed in the next Federation war.
Ah, the cycle of life. How it sucked, at times.
He clicked open the airlock.
Four uniformed peacekeepers trudged down the corridors, blasters at the ready. They surrounded Van—a pretty good feat given the cramped space—and waited for their leader to arrive.
Dumbass move. Van could have easily set a trap, but Idiot Shopsky likely recorded this encounter with a “dangerous criminal” in hopes of a promotion.
Lieutenant Shopsky strode in wearing full dress uniform, removing his hat and stooping to get through the airlock door. “Quentin Lewis Van Orskey?”
Quentin Lewis? Hell, Van hadn’t heard his full name in so long he’d nearly forgotten.
“Van Orskey, 287430,” he replied, though he hadn’t used his military designation in years. Almost as long as when he’d last heard his full name.
The lieutenant cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t even pretend to be an enlisted man. I know your history.”
“I should hope so, since it was your sorry ass me and Tayn came to save on your accursed backwater home world.” He’d never let this man live down his humble beginnings, or how, despite being humanoid, he’d been passed over for the special assignment given to Tayn and Van: the Cormorant, though the lieutenant hadn’t been told exactly what the special assignment entailed.
The piss poor excuse for humanity hadn’t bothered to ask about others on board, and infrared sweeps would show the location of any passengers.
Maybe Dooren would manage to slip off the ship and become someone else’s problem.
At least they didn’t put shackles on Van. He’d find out soon enough how deep in shit he’d landed.
Two peacekeepers strode ahead of him, boots thunking on metal deck plates as they passed out of the ship and down the corridor. Once they stopped probing the ship Tayn would lock systems down.
Van trusted very little in life.
He trusted Tayn.
Too bad Tayn wasn’t here with him, silver tongue talking them out of whatever fate awaited them. Tayn brought the brain, Van the brawn. Together they made a good team.
Van’s entourage took many twists and turns in the corridors leading from the docks. Metal bars surrounded them, offering peeks into hangars and bays, an occasional doorway marking an entrance. Though the space between the bars appeared open, he knew from experience the power of the forcefields keeping space on the outside of the barriers.
The corridors were chilly, the station using only minimal resources on areas not constantly occupied.
The station formed a giant wheel, each spoke capable of securing medium-sized vessels. Larger craft moored farther away, shuttles bringing supplies. A few small, sleek starships huddled together, their wealthy owners no doubt enjoying one of the illegal casinos officials were paid to deny existed.
Inside the wheel, concentric rings separated the station for various purposes. The first contained businesses, the second official offices, the third, fourth and fifth housed station residents. The closer to the inside, the cheaper the space, until one reached the workers’ dormitories.
At the very center the peacekeeper headquarters awaited, along with a penitentiary housing temporary… guests. Some inmates managed to find family or friends to pay their bail, others wound up on work planets, while still others disappeared without a trace, used for experiments or determined not worth anyone’s time and shoved out of a freighter’s airlock.
He’d come across more than a few frozen bodies floating in space.
Occasionally a passerby stopped and stared, but mostly any lifeforms they encountered kept eyes trained elsewhere. Better to not ask questions, especially when a man so obviously a prisoner moved through their midst.
Ports swarmed with those best advised to avoid a peacekeeper’s attention.
Finally, they passed through the port’s gates, residential areas, and into the inner workings of the wheel. His unwanted escort propelled Van into an interrogation room.
Oh shit. This must be worse than he thought.
Shopsky didn’t follow them into the room of doom.
Jorvik swayed on his feet, still weak and disoriented from his out of body experience. He stepped from the sanitizer and donned the finery he’d hoped to wear again one day, but hadn’t held out much hope. Gone from home a short time, and he’d declared his title. Tiny red pinpricks marred his arms, points of entry for the wires and tubes he’d awoken to find receding from his body.
“Damn, but you clean up nice.” Shrill blasts split the air, something Jorvik used to hear from admirers in bars. “Knock ‘em dead,” Tayn blared through the ship’s speakers when Jorvik stepped up to the airlock.
“Why would I want to kill them? Are they bad men? Don’t I need their help?” Maybe he should search the ship for a concealable weapon.
“It’s just an expression. It means go get them.”
“And do what with them?” Tayn’s unusual way of communicating defied logic. None spoke like him during Jorvik’s school days, nor on Akiak.
“Never mind, Your Highness. Just go show ‘em who’s boss.”
“Boss” Jorvik understood.
The four guards took up positions around the room, weapons holstered, but hands hovering within a heartbeat of drawing.
Van stood in front of the first, getting up close and personal. “Gods, you’re ugly.” No response. Shopsky commanded androids? No, the private’s chest rose and fell with each quiet breath.
He made his way to the second one. “Where the hell did your worthless excuse for a boss go?” Again, he received no response.
No windows, just dingy white walls and a single door. Four chairs. One table. He’d seen similar interrogation rooms in dozens of other ports. With nothing better to do, for the next half hour, he occupied himself hurling insults—they might as well have fallen on deaf ears. Fucking piece of shit translator.
Finally, Shopsky entered the room, casual, unhurried. He’d likely gone and taken a break to give Van time to sweat. It’d take someone with a whole lot more clout than a lieutenant to get a rise out of Van.
The preening little peacock leered. “I’ve waited years for this chance, knowing sooner or later you’d fuck up so badly you couldn’t talk your way out of prison time.”
Prison time?
“Sit!” Shopsky grasped Van’s shoulder and pushed downward.
Van shook off the offending hand and sank to a hard-assed chair at the table. Where the hell was his boss?
A commotion arose outside. Annoyance crossed the lieutenant’s face. “Wait here!” he barked, charging from the room and slamming the door. “What is the meaning of this?” Wow! He shouted so loudly his voice carried into the interrogation room. He must be pissed.
Whoever crapped on Shopsky’s day became Van’s new best friend. Hey, they shared a hobby. Dare he hope Commander even now ripped Shopsky a new asshole?
More raised voices, and one eerily quiet.
The extended conversation gave Van plenty of time to consider his likely rather short future. Maybe he should call Tayn on his comm link.
He raised his wrist toward his mouth, and promptly lowered his hand to his lap when a guard aimed a blaster at him. At least he’d proven the guards were paying some attention.
The door opened again.
The red-faced lieutenant strode in, hands folded together behind his back and glare in serious danger of lasering a hole in the floor. The commander followed. Van let out a relieved breath. Next came a man wearing the sun and stars symbol of the Coalition on his formal uniform. Fuck! The station governor? Not good.
All parted, forming lines down the walls, leaving Van sitting alone at the table.
Oh shit. What now?
The vision sweeping into the room commanded attention, authority radiating from him with the force of a supernova. What the hell? Dooren? Tayn let him off the ship?
Why did he suddenly remind Van of someone else?
The lithe body Van first saw in next to nothing now wore heavily embroidered silk breeches and silk robes, hair gleaming nearly silver in the harsh light of the interrogation room, a topknot secured on his head. He’d donned a fashionable eye shield to cut the glare of artificial light.
Daaaaaaaaaaaamn. Body parts took notice. A wet dream to satisfy the horniest barracks cadet. And he’d hit that!
“What is the meaning of this?” Dooren asked, the iciness in his controlled tones hitting harder than a mining drone. Van never would have guessed someone so small could be so damn scary.
Lt. Shopsky never learned when to shut up. “This man has been arrested for violations of codes 664—”
Dooren sneered, voice, while still soft, positively dripping with scorn. “You cannot arrest this man on any charges. He is bound by diplomatic immunity.”
Diplomatic immunity?
“Your Highness,” the coalition governor cut in, “while a high-ranking citizen of Akiak such as yourself is granted limited immunity, this man is not of your world.”
High-ranking citizen? Just who the hell was Dooren?
The lieutenant flashed an oily smile.
Dooren folded his arms across his chest and glared, simply glared. The lieutenant, a full head taller and many pounds heavier, slunk back.
With a nod Dooren dismissed the threat to Van’s career as a lesser being. He addressed the government minion in pure condescension. “I beg to differ. He has full immunity from your laws, granted by Jorvik, Red King and rightful leader of Akiak.”
The room went totally quiet.
Red what? Jorvik? As in, Prince Jorvik?
On the third try to regain control of his wide-open mouth, the governor stammered, “K… king?”
“Red king,” Jorvik corrected.
What. The. Fuck.
Whatever the hell he meant.
“Still, by what provision does this man claim immunity?” The governor came a close second on the stupid scale, right under Shopsky.
Out of the corner of his eye Van caught the commander’s thumbs up sign—given with all six thumbs.
No shy, timid youth now, Dooren, or rather, Jorvik stared down his nose, the haughtiest being Van ever encountered. Damn, but he wanted to fuck the guy again.
He managed to reel in his lust enough to focus on Jorvik’s words. King? Not servant, not even prince. King Jorvik?
Motherfucking king?
Van’s heart stuttered in his chest. A king? Granting Van immunity? How?
As self-important as any planetary minister, the former bread server who’d upended Van’s entire world stated in commanding tones, “I am Jorvik, Red King of Akiak, and you have dared to detain my consort.”
Chapter Sixteen
Space Station Gamma One
Consort?
Van sat in the corner on the sidelines, tapping his translation implant and trying to understand what went on. What the hell? Fuck an Akiakian king and become consort? A royal title? Beat the rash he’d gotten from the reptilian alien he’d met on Hell Six.
Tayn once told him he should be more careful of where he stuck his meat.
Commander shot him a few questioning glances, then returned to the fast-paced chatter around the table. At least they’d found a more comfortable room, utilitarian, with bare walls, but with much more comfortable chairs and less of the “you’re going to prison” ambiance.
Was he still in trouble? What the hell did Jorvik mean by consort? Van needed Tayn right now to look shit up.
King or not, every single official bustling into and out of the room bowed and showed deference to the guy Van fucked and who wouldn’t go away.
Wait a minute! King Jorvik? Hot damn! Van collected more bounty.
Jorvik’s father wasn’t someone sympathetic to the old king, he was the old king. Somehow Van must’ve gotten caught in the ship’s circuitry, creating a situation too weird for his mind to accept in human form.
The chattering ceased. Jorvik turned toward the governor, addressing the highest-ranking official on the station like a mere servant. “See to my consort’s comfort. He must be thirsty. Perhaps hungry.”
The governor reeled, clutching the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Certainly, Your Highness. I’ll have one of my men take him to the finest accommodations on the station.”
Jorvik shook his head. “He stays with me, but you’ve no cause to deny him.”
Any more fawning and the odious official would plaster his lips to Jorvik’s ass. A nice ass, but still. “Can we get you something?”
“Just water.”
The governor spoke into a comm link. A few minutes later Van sat on a comfortable couch holding a glass of amber-colored liquid, lacking in taste, but instantly restoring his flagging energy. Jorvik stood up for him, and he wouldn’t question his luck, not when one wrong word might find him back in an interrogation room instead of a formal conference chamber.
Once he finished his drink, Commander announced, “With your leave, Your Highness, I’d like to speak with Mr. Van Orskey.”
Yep, other shoe about to fall. In Commander’s case, four more to go. Jorvik turned Van’s way, though the shield hid his eyes. “Are you agreeable?”
Commander folded his hands together in pairs of two, and gave a slight bow. “He’ll come to no harm, you have my word.”
Gone were any traces of “I barely understand your language.” Van cut his gaze to the commander and back to Jorvik.
“Do you agree?" Jorvik ignored all the life forms in the room well above Van’s pay grade to focus solely on him.
“When I was a soldier, he was my commander. I trust him.” Not much, but Commander doled out credits, and Van intended to cash in on the bounty for saving the prince, and never admitting he’d not known he’d done so. He didn’t dare let anyone in this room know he still worked for Commander.
Jorvik studied Van a few moments and nodded. “He is to be returned to me quickly and unharmed.”
“He will be,” Commander agreed.
“Then, by all means.” Jorvik lowered his eye shield and skewered the commander with a laser glare. “If any harm comes to him, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
What the fuck? Van braced for a booming laugh, but the man who called most of the shots in his life bowed again at the waist. “You have my word.”
“We’ll have rooms prepared for you both.” The governor pushed in front of Commander, but failed to regain Jorvik’s attention.
Eyes nearly completely hidden by the dark shield roved from Commander to the official again. “That will be acceptable.” He trained his gaze on Van. “As long as we have full access to our ship. We are not to be separated.”
Our ship?
Van kept his eyes on Jorvik long after the king resumed his impressive posturing.
Van settled himself more comfortably at a table in the back of one of the cleanest eating establishments he’d dined in since leaving university.
Low tables, soothing instrumentals, and dim enough to hide a less-than-pretty décor. Also, too dark for even Jorvik to need an eye shield.
Any appetite he might muster disappeared when the commander settled his bulk in the opposite chair. “You found a Federation presence on Akiak and you rescued the prince, possibly the next king.” Commander patted one huge hand against the tabletop. Van yanked his plate off the shimmying surface a second before the plexiplastic holding his dinner went airborne.
