Songs of Love & Death

It didn’t surprise him that Serenity Beck had hooked up with Quintrek James of Daq’kyree. Nic knew Quintrek’s history, and the rumors surrounding the former royal adviser’s resignation a decade ago. He couldn’t bring the details of the scandal to mind, only that Quintrek had walked away from a powerful and prestigious position on the Skoggi High Council.

Serri, like Quintrek, had a strong sense of justice. But, unlike Quintrek, she hadn’t waited to review all the evidence. If she had, her life might well have been different. Nic’s life… He pushed the thought away. He couldn’t change the past. The only thing he could do was to help her and Quintrek now—and try not to blow the mission in the process.

“Quin, this is Nicandro Talligar,” Serri said as they stepped over the hatch tread and onto the bridge.

Nic inclined his head in respect to the Skoggi perched in the command sling. “An honor, Esteemed of Pride Daq’kyree.”

A wide paw resplendent with furry white tufts waved dismissively. “Piffle. Little honor in being caught in Filar’s claws. Tell me what Rez Jonas should have, but didn’t.” Quin turned toward Serri. “Cargo Four won’t lock.”

“On it.” She swung away, pushing the rifle to one side as she dropped into a chair in front of a console.

“Wait. You have to let Filar take the cargo,” Nic said, as Serri angled back toward him. “I know that’s not what you want to hear. Think of it as a temporary inconvenience on the way to solving a larger problem.”

Dark narrowed eyes peered up at him. “The larger problem is Filar’s threatening to impound this ship, Talligar.”

“He won’t go that far. Trust me.”

“He will, and I don’t trust you. Neither does Quin.”

“Dumping cargo doesn’t engender client loyalty,” Quin intoned.

“There won’t be clients shipping anywhere in Sector Three if we don’t find out what Filar’s up to,” Nic countered. “You’re not the first to get hit with this scheme. But we tagged your cargo and can track it to whoever Filar sends it to—which is who we suspect is behind this.”

Quin’s whiskers twitched, but he was nodding. “I take it ‘we’ is more than you and Rez Jonas.”

Nic had briefly considered using that as cover, and probably could have convinced the empathic Skoggi that it was the truth. That was, after all, part of his job. But Nic’s lies to Serri—and the way Rez Jonas used her—always haunted him. She deserved honesty this time.

“Jonas has no idea I’m here. I’m a special agent with the DIA’s organized crime squad.” Cover blown. He could almost hear his boss roaring in anger from her plush offices at HQ, more than halfway across the Dalvarr System, adding his name next to Brackton’s on her list of incompetents.

He heard Serri’s snort of disbelief instead. “That’s a great pickup line, but we don’t have time for—”

“Trouble,” Quin said harshly, pointing to one of the screens on an opposite console where a line of hulking red-suited Breffans shoved through the freighter bay’s hatchlock, ram-cannons in hands. “Filar’s Bruisers have arrived.”

SERRI LISTENED AS Quin—being typically Quin—peppered the orange-freckled Bruiser chief with questions. But whether Quin was playing the part that Nic had asked him to, or whether he discounted Nic’s story and was actually trying to save their asses—and their cargo—Serri couldn’t tell.

Serri, being typically Serri, vacillated between righteous anger and an unexpected—and ridiculous—feeling of relief at Nic’s presence by her side. She didn’t know what to make of Nic’s story. But the fact that she didn’t trust him didn’t blind her to other facts: He was intelligent, resourceful, and had a definite talent for unorthodox solutions. They needed one of those—desperately—right now.

Quin’s arguments were changing nothing. The Breffans didn’t care about the legitimacy of the order they served. Not surprising, considering that the broad-bodied, leathery-skinned, freckled Breffans weren’t used in security for their empathy, but for their multilimbed dexterity. The purple-freckled female guard holding a rifle on Serri and Nic also held a pistol and a transcomm in two of her other three hands—if Serri as much as made a twitch for the rifle slung across her back, the guard could shoot her dead with two different weapons. The guard’s fourth hand scratched lazily at her left thigh.

The Breffan chief finally stalked away, clomping noisily up the Pandea’s rampway in counterpoint to the Pandea’s cargo flowing out of her holds.

With a shake of his head, Quin padded back over to where she and Nic stood, then sat on his haunches. Serri knew that he wouldn’t discuss anything in front of the guard. She glanced down at him. He mirrored her frown with a slight narrowing of his eyes. One ear twitched, flattening.

Quin was not happy.

Neither was Serri. For all the things she didn’t know, there was one thing she did: Nic Talligar knew more than he was saying about Filar and Rez Jonas.