“I only wish it hadn’t been necessary,” Alerio said, “but I’m glad we were able to inconvenience your kidnappers.”
“Not as glad as we are.” Geneva slid an arm through Julia’s as she turned the guide toward the door. “Fabulous tour, darling. I can’t wait to do it again—without the highwaymen. That was a bit more entertainment than I had in mind.”
“Truer words, darling.” Julia laughed, a tinkling sound she must have learned from a Victorian debutante. “Would you care for a tour of the Outpost? There’s the most amazing restaurant on the Concourse level, The Dark Nebula. You really must try it. Chef Marie makes a beefer filet over asparagus tips and wild seabloom that’s simply . . .” She kissed her fingers in an extravagant gesture.
“Sounds delightful. But how’s the bar?”
“Fabulous. I recommend the Slingshot Orbit . . .” The pair rustled out.
Glad to be rid of them, Dona turned to find the coachman unhitching his team. Enforcer Pendragon sighed in relief as the human hauled the harness off his sweating back.
“Glad that’s done.” The stallion’s vocalizer flashed blue through the silken strands of his mane. He looked around the cavernous room. “Where’s Frieka? He promised to take me pub-crawling.”
“Hold your horses.” The wolf trotted through Mission Staging’s double doors. “If you’ll pardon the expression.”
“What an amusing little fleabag you are.” Pendragon tossed his head and clipped toward the big wolf, only to break step as if a thought had occurred to him. “I assume you have had all your shots?”
“Kiss my bushy tail, Glue Trap,” Frieka retorted equitably. “Let’s go. Getting you plowed will take all night as it is.” The two wandered out, exchanging good-natured insults as they went.
“Awww . . . Frieka’s found a friend.” Dona grinned up at Alerio as they brought up the rear of the little parade.
“Pendragon would be a good friend to have,” the chief agreed. Ahead of them, the unlikely pair headed for the Concourse level and gods knew what exotic alcohol. “I’d love to have him on staff permanently. We could use him. I’ve put in a transfer request, but since the two previous ones were turned down, I’m not particularly optimistic.”
“Why not? I thought the European Outpost had a whole herd of cyborg horses.”
“They do. Unfortunately, Chief Tadhg hates my guts. I get the distinct impression that he knows exactly how badly I need a horseborg, so he’ll do everything in his power to keep me from getting one. He only agreed to let us borrow Pendragon this time because the situation is so dire.”
“Sounds like a case of Warlord envy.” Some TE commanders actively hated Vardonese officers, viewing them as glory hounds who stole rank and accolades from more deserving agents.
Alerio shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t have the evidence to make a bias complaint stick, but Tadhg does make a point of being a prick.”
“Maybe Frieka could convince Pendragon to pressure his chief for a transfer,” Dona suggested. “The fuzzball can be surprisingly persuasive for somebody with four legs and a tail. He’s certainly talked me into all kinds of things.” She grinned wickedly. “Some of which I shouldn’t have done.”
“I don’t want to know.” Alerio grinned back before his eyes narrowed with calculation. “Though you make a good point about Frieka’s powers of persuasion. I’ll com him and suggest it.”
They walked along for a moment as the chief’s expression grew distracted by his silent conversation. “Okay,” he said at last, “Frieka says he’ll work on it.”
“I’m not surprised. Frieka would love nothing better than to get a new sidekick. Especially with Nick and Riane emitting ‘choking clouds of pheromones.’”
As they stepped into a lift for the ride up to the Residence Deck, Alerio leaned his broad back against the compartment’s rear wall. He gave her a crooked smile that sent a pleasant little zing through her heart. “Would you like to have dinner? I thought we could discuss our next mission.”
Dona opened her mouth to say no, only to hesitate. He was right about the mission. “All right. Let me change out of this armor, and you’re on.” I just hope I won’t end up regretting it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The setting sun backlit the Blue Ridge Mountains in fire. Sitting at the small dining table positioned before the room-length window, Dona listened to the hum and click of the vendser as Alerio programmed their meal. Like her, he’d dressed in duty blues, as though to remind both of them this was a working dinner. Minutes later, he put a pair of steaming, fragrant plates on the linen tablecloth. Rare beefer filets, roasted tul, and a slaw of credwan and pearlies. She smiled across the table at him as he sat. “Looks delicious.”
“With any luck it will be—though you never know with a vendser.” Alerio picked up his knife and fork and started slicing into the thick slab of beefer. “Well, it’s definitely tender. How’s the ale?”
Dona took an unwary sip and gasped at the blazing path the alcohol burned down her throat. “Delicious. It could strip the paint off a warstar,” she wheezed.
The Warlord’s teeth flashed in a white grin against the green and gold of his facial tattoo. “Good. I just got in a case of it.”
“A case?” She took a bite of the pearlies and sighed at the smoky crunch.
“Yeah. Frieka and I killed the last bottle I had.” He grinned at her over a forkful of steak. “That furball can drink. Good thing I’m a cyborg, or I’d still be hung over.”
She laughed. “Sounds like Pendragon’s in for an interesting night.”
“He’s a horse, Dona. I doubt even Frieka could drink him under the table.” He ate the bite of beefer, blinked in approval, and started cutting another.
“Never underestimate the ale-guzzling skills of a cyborg wolf.” Dona paused to enjoy her own mouthful, chewing reverently. Swallowing, she asked, “About this bounty the Xerans are offering. You do realize every asshole with a T-suit is going to be gunning for temporal tourists?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. And you’re right, it’s going to be a problem. We can cover all the tours for a while, but sooner or later the guides are going to realize something serious is up. Judging by what Julia said, rumors have already started to circulate.” He shook his head as he took a bite, swallowed, and added, “It won’t be long before the lid blows off.”
“Yeah.” Dona stared thoughtfully out over the violet-shaded mountains. For a long moment, they were both content to eat and watch the sun sink behind the rolling horizon. “What if we set a trap?” she asked suddenly.
“For whom? The Xerans have a lot more priests than the Outpost has Enforcers. Now, if all we were talking about was Ivar, that we could do. Unfortunately, our real problem is the Victor. How the hell do you trap a god?”
“Well . . .” Dona considered the problem as she ate. “We know the Victor wants the T’Lir pretty damned bad. And Wyatt almost killed him with it six months ago. What if we got Nick another shot?”
“I don’t think the Victor will be that easy to sucker again.” Alerio frowned thoughtfully. “He’s crazy, not stupid. Besides, what if he got away with the bait? I don’t think I want to risk handing the Victor that kind of power. He’s dangerous enough as is.”
Dona glanced up from her beefer. “That’s the gods’ own truth. First thing he’d do is declare war on the Galactic Union. If he could use the T’Lir to actually win, he’d demand we all worship him—and he doesn’t take ‘no’ well. When the Xerans invaded Arania, they tried to convert every town they took, and killed every colonist who refused.”