Captain Navarre, page 15
Stacia felt the man next to her bristle at Navarre’s words, but he remained silent.
Again, she’d have fallen for all this without knowing Aritza’s secret. And she could see what an expert he was on human nature, to be able to say all these things without pushing.
Not insulting, unless they chose to be insulted. At which point, it was their problem, not his.
Djamila Sykora had taken Stacia to watch in the stands when the tall woman ran a combat obstacle course, mostly to give her an understanding of how dangerous that Amazonian killer was.
Nobody in this room was fast enough to stop the Dragoon killing all of Kovalev’s people. And the pirate herself.
“And who do you plan to attack?” Kovalev asked next.
“My targets are out a ways,” he nodded. “Corewards some, and primarily in the direction of Earth. Older colonies. Some of the oldest, in fact, if you go far enough. Lots of money over there, but generally no great appetite to chase me this far. In fact, lots of them are like Valadris. Independent worlds rather than parts of more powerful stellar nations. As long as the bounties don’t get too high, they won’t band together and bring enough of a fleet to be a problem.”
“Like the Concord?” Orlov asked in a knowing, almost sneering voice.
Stacia was almost exactly behind the Witch Doctor, so she hoped that Suvi had him in focus.
“The Concord is officially pissed at me for Nidavellir,” Navarre-the-killer shrugged, turning serious now. “However, private channels let me know that they appreciated me destroying those people. It was in my best interests to be elsewhere for a while, though.”
“Killing other pirates?” Vinogradov asked in a hard voice.
“They started it, lady,” Navarre scowled. “Twice, as a matter of fact. I got hired to hit a target aboard Shangdu. Folks assumed a mass casualty incident after what I did to that asshole at Meehu. Expected it, even, without paying me for such an outcome. Got pissy when I executed the letter of the contract without killing anyone at all. Nothing worse than a single guard stunned unconscious as I made my escape. As a result, they sent warships after me. Pissed me off, so I put paid to them.” He paused for effect. “All of them.”
Stacia felt the temperature of the room plummet at his words. At the number of people Navarre was acknowledged to have killed, when he had, in fact, killed none of them. Teague did Meehu, according to eyewitnesses Stacia had interviewed. Sokolov and Suvi did Nidavellir.
Everyone forgot Navarre’s team. He’d told her that, but she hadn’t understood at the time.
Not until this moment.
Navarre didn’t take the credit out of an overabundance of ego, but to let everyone else vanish into his shadow.
Because Captain Eutropio Navarre didn’t exist.
He was a fairy tale conjured to frighten children and criminals.
Shit.
He smiled at her now, like he could read her mind. Stacia let her face fall perfectly neutral before anybody else saw. Hopefully.
“So I’m supposed to believe you?” Kovalev asked. “Just like that?”
“You do whatever you think best, Kovalev,” he countered. “Makes me no difference at all. None. I’m here because I’d rather come to a consensus that doesn’t involve me having to destroy you and your people out of hand because you got in my way later.”
The matter of fact way he said that took Stacia’s breath away. Worse, because she didn’t think he was bluffing. The only reason he hadn’t killed the three leaders in the room was that it wouldn’t change anything. Others would rise up and take their places, just as Kovalev had done. Possibly by sunset.
Piracy was a lifestyle, and Kovalev hadn’t formed this gang. Nobody was sure who had, in fact. Zhenya Kovalev was merely the person currently in charge, having killed or forced out her predecessor.
Interestingly, Afia Burakgazi shook things up now.
“So what do the pirates of Syntha need to make them comfortable with the fact that we’re also going to be operating in this region?” the tiny woman asked.
And did so in a methodical, professional voice that reminded everyone listening that she could speak for Navarre, even when he was at the table.
Kovalev took a clue and nodded to her Witch Doctor.
Bosses, handing off the hard work of negotiating a deal. And everything on film for later.
“There are a set of about twenty worlds,” Orlov said. “A rough sphere, more or less centered on Syntha itself.”
“Your current victims,” Afia nodded.
Orlov bristled, then got over himself as Stacia watched.
“Exactly,” he said. “Perhaps another ten that we might wish to hit. Or perhaps even add to our rotation at some point, because they’re growing big enough, rich enough, to be worth the effort.”
“I’ll need a list,” Afia replied. “But as he said, we’re not looking at the penny ante stuff around here. Our targets are well beyond that. And spaceborn, rather than targets on a planetary surface. What about Valadris?”
“What about it?” Vinogradov asked, breaking her silence.
“We’re going to be operating out of there, however quietly,” Afia answered. “They anyone you ever bother? Or have on a future list?”
“Hell, no,” the bulldog laughed. “Most of our commercial and industrial goods are at least sourced out of Valadris at present. We’re got fingers and connections in a variety of places and industries, to the point we’re largely untouchable.”
Stacia wanted to growl. Wanted to slap someone.
At the same time, she’d never been able to prove anything in her research. Never. Anywhere. Witnesses either clammed up or simply disappeared, sometimes turning up dead, face down in the water.
And now a bunch of juvenile delinquents were casually discussing details in front of her. And Suvi.
“The governor one of yours?” Bethany asked, suddenly leaning forward and bringing her amazing mind to bear on the conversation. “Our concern had been whether or not we needed to bring down the entire government, or at least the current administration, in order to have peace while we operated.”
“Not him, but a few folks in his inner circle,” Vinogradov replied. “The man himself is a pretty moron. Great on camera. About as dumb as a mud fence post most of the time. He’s largely a front for a number of different criminal organizations. Or groups that would be criminals, but they’ve successfully twisted the laws around in such a way that most of what they do is technically legal.”
“Really?” Navarre asked. “I might want to ask someone a bit more about that. Makes my life so much easier if I only have to buy off a few folks and not engage in certain activities while hanging out at Valadris. All the shit I intend to pull will be elsewhere, so none of the locals have to worry. In fact, if you want to get me some names to contact when I get home, I’ll happily cut you in on a finder’s fee, because you’ll already be saving me a lot of bribes and hassle before I ever set foot on Valadris again.”
Stacia wanted to scream. Tilt her head back and let half a dozen years’ worth of rage out in a sound that might shatter glass and eardrums.
And lives.
Instead, she had to remain perfectly still. Perfectly quiet. Utterly at peace as a group of criminals discussed subversion and revolution right in front of her.
She knew that Aritza was doing it on purpose, but she never could have imagined that it would actually work.
Then she caught a profile of Mila Vinogradov with a glance. Turned her own head while keeping the camera still, so she could watch the Second-in-Command.
Kovalev was dominant. Dominating. She had the personality, as well as the looks.
Vinogradov had the brains. Had the growl that made her a good leader.
She didn’t have that beauty that caused men to pant. Stacia knew she was cute, but not stunning. Short and petite, when most men wanted long and buxom. Like Kovalev. Hips and chest and a perfect nose.
Stacia wondered how open-minded the top woman might be, but decided that Navarre was probably setting himself up to seduce her. To get inside her mind as a way of getting inside her organization.
Setting them up for the fall.
But for a moment, Stacia saw the rage in Vinogradov’s eyes. Never pretty enough, so she’d had to be tougher than all the men. Meaner.
Stacia’s mother had talked about such women, and the butch, bitch role that a male-dominated society would often thrust upon them. Usually Stacia learned those things as part of a lesson on deportment. Fashion. Makeup. Carriage.
Something to make men notice you. Ogle you. Lust after you.
Underestimate you, because that had been Mother’s game. Let the men think they were in charge, while twisting their minds with her whispers, until they did what she wanted, never realizing that it wasn’t their own idea.
Stacia had never seen a man—even one like Navarre—understand that. Let alone execute it.
While she watched, Orlov turned to Kovalev. The bitch in charge nodded, and Stacia could see a list of names with pirate connections suddenly taking shape in the man’s head, where it would be handed over to Navarre-the-killer with nothing more than a promise of future bribes.
Because money under the table was how society worked more often than not. Even Valadris.
Maybe especially Valadris, since she was getting her mind expanded about how corrupt outsiders saw her homeworld.
“Finder’s fee?” Vinogradov asked leadingly.
Her eyes had held a promise of contained rage. The knowledge that she had to handle all the work while Kovalev got the credit.
“That, and your thirty worlds you want marked off limits,” Afia replied. “Won’t promise anything without seeing the list, but if they are all local to you, I doubt any of them are on our scanners. As Navarre said, we’re going long-sailing for big whales in the deep water. Our need is Valadris remaining neutral to us, and not having to constantly watch our backs about other pirates. As he notes, there’s been some bad blood with other fools, and he generally has a low trust. Still, nothing personal, so nothing you have to worry about.”
Stacia wondered how many of the people who had traveled here on Excalibur could teach college or graduate level courses, were someone to open a university of criminal behavior. These were not skills one just picked up on the streets. They had to have come from hard work and harder lives.
Even Bethany admitted to being something of a babe in the woods, compared to Aritza or Sokolov.
And then there was Stacia McNulty.
“How long are you staying on the ground?” Kovalev asked.
All heads turned to Navarre.
“Depends on you,” he replied with a half-shrug that carried no emotional weight at all. “We could remain exactly long enough to get data from your Witch Doctor then depart. Or stay overnight if you wanted to throw a banquet. Not looking to hang around long enough to join you on some raid, unless you were planning to take off in the morning. Then I might be open to negotiating.”
The way he stressed that last word made Stacia want to take a long shower with a lot of soap and a brush to get the ickiness off her skin. Him and Kovalev fucking as a way of sealing a deal, like a pair of wild animals in spring, coming together long enough to mate before heading back to their own hunting grounds.
And about as much emotion as buying a bottle of tea at the corner shop.
She wondered if the pirates really were that primitive and brutal.
At the same time, Mother’s lessons on social power bubbled up. Neither Kovalev nor probably Vinogradov could have any sort of physical relationship with any one of their underling pirates, lest that one get a swelled head at their own importance.
Maybe she had a harem, like Navarre seemed to be dangling in front of everyone with all the women who accompanied him?
No men beyond the six killers outside and Mr. Smith piloting.
Still, ick.
“Negotiating?” Kovalev asked in that long, drawled way that just oozed sex and carnality all over things.
Yet another type of social combat?
Hopefully, nobody would demand her skills as a pornographer tonight.
There were limits, even if she had only now discovered one of them.
“You know,” Navarre purred at the woman. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?”
“We’ll see,” Kovalev said. “For now, let’s banquet and toast new deals and new beginnings. Then maybe we can discuss other things.”
Stacia waited a long beat, but things seemed to have hit the perfect emotional crescendo. Or something. She still wanted a shower.
“And, CUT!”
Part 4
Javier was in a suite that Kovalev had assigned him. Big central chamber for hosting and talking. Half a dozen sleeping chambers, two of which had en-suite bathrooms to go with a third by the front door.
Enough space to contain all his folks comfortably, with Del having flown back up to Excalibur for now.
Sascha and Hajna had taken out a pair of hand scanners Javier had originally designed and were giving the place a good going-over. Suvi had better tools, but he wanted that to be a surprise, assuming that there were bugs and cameras in here watching and listening.
Not that he planned to break character in any way. Still, he’d like to relax a little.
Hadiiye stood in such a location that she covered the best sight lines for killing things, but Djamila would have done that anyway. Iqbal and his crew were spread out and alert, already working into rotations for pairs to stay awake all night on guard duty.
Stacia looked like she’s swallowed a live goldfish, but he already knew that she was far too innocent for the life she’d chosen.
Part of the reason he’d picked her out, at the end of the day. The other reporters—the older ones—tended to start cutting corners. Maybe making deals with some of the folks they were supposedly investigating. Maybe ignoring friends that gave them evidence and clues to destroy enemies.
Yeah, he knew how that cutthroat business worked.
Afia and Bethany sat side by side on the couch, more or less facing him. He could tell that Stacia wanted to sit, but she had a role to play, so she was still filming, hand camera on him while Suvi just happened to be in a place where she could cover things as well.
“Captain Navarre, why would you simply accept a list of worlds not to hit?” Stacia asked in her interviewing voice.
Playing a role.
“We aren’t in competition with Kovalev’s people,” he replied with a nod that would look good in her later footage, even blurred out some. “They come out of jump low, dive quickly into an atmosphere, and hit the ground at some target before most folks can react.”
“Wouldn’t a planetary militia be able to stop them?” she asked earnestly.
Gods, he couldn’t ever remember being that innocent.
“Like a volunteer fire department, McNulty,” he growled, staying in character himself. “The alert goes out, and folks gather up to do something. But fires don’t shoot back. Aren’t trying to kill you. If you were constantly facing pirates, you’d be better off hiring killers. Guns are tools, but killing someone is a skill. A way of thinking that most people aren’t prepared to deal with. The pirates have no qualms about shooting someone, so they’ll generally win.”
“So a militia…?”
“Might work,” he shrugged. “If the pirates landed where the locals could gather up and hit them fast. Maybe if you had a good colonel in charge, and a budget for gear better than the pirates. Both expensive propositions. I’m guessing that most worlds on that list are primarily farming. Thin economic margins. Thin population density, spread out over huge swaths of the countryside for ranching or farming. World gets larger, cities start forming. Those population centers need cops, which can also deputize folks and maybe get dangerous. Those thirty worlds are likely all primary economies. Mining, extraction, farming. Maybe a little light industry, but no factories of any note.”
“Would they move on to bigger worlds?” Stacia asked.
“Risks go up quickly,” he nodded. “Maybe the payoffs are better, but chances are you start suffering significant casualties on any given raid. Farms are easier, because you can overwhelm someone. If you don’t plan to kill anyone, landing a few hundred armed yahoos is a good way for a few families to stand around while you steal some of their cattle.”
“Only some?” Stacia asked, surprised.
He shook his head.
“Pirates are parasites, in the most technical sense of the word, McNulty,” he said, turning back into a Doctor of Botany for a moment. “If they kill the host, they starve, because you won’t see big herds of cattle or pigs around here. Those will get slaughtered as quickly as they can and frozen. Maybe there’s a mobile slaughterhouse that travels with them. Similarly, if you steal all their tractors and such, the farmers can’t make any more food and have to leave. Eventually, the planet stops being viable. It is a delicate balancing act, which is why they have some twenty places they hit in rotation. Maybe every four to eight weeks for the next target, but so many means years might pass. Long enough to recover.”
“And your plan to hit freighters?” she asked.
“Whales,” he replied. “Big ship where everything is already packed for me. Not all the equipment aboard will be useful, but the mass alone means I can sell it to fences on Valadris for a tonnage fee, after pulling out the valuable things for individual negotiations. Hell, the hulls alone will be worth a lot of money. That’s why getting a list of names from Kovalev will save me so much time. Don’t have to bribe little players until I work my way up to the ones that can digest an entire cargo ship. Happy to cut her in on that. I could go hit someone and drag that whale’s carcass to Valadris and sell it immediately. Win/win.”
“What about the crews?” she asked.
Javier felt his face turn hard. And his voice.
