Epilogue
The cold was a physical assault. Not the biting chill of space. This was the deep, marrow-freezing cold of utter helplessness. Of being prey.
Nick Corso knelt on the hard, metal deck, with his hands bound by security cuffs in front of him.
Two goons – one human, one Collectivist – in black pants, shirts, and boots flanked him on either side.
A viewscreen hung on the wall in front of him, and to its left was Julear K’Shaa, the Sensoori who commanded this ship, looking irritated.
That as a good sign. If his request had been denied, if they were just going to execute him, the captain would have been looking smug or gleeful.
He tried to keep his hope to a minimum. It could be extinguished easily, and if he was going to die, he didn’t want to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing Nick despair.
“Today’s your lucky day, Corso,” the Sensoori said, as though he were trying to form the words around a mouthful of shit. “My employer has elected to grant you your requested audience.”
Without further preamble, before Nick could even think to react, he pressed a button on the wall, and the viewscreen flickered to life. The image that filled it stopped Nick’s heart.
A bloated Sensoori, with faded-blue eyes and a yellow fin, sat in a luxurious chair. His belly was swollen and threatened to drag him out of his seat with its weight. His orange skin was sallow, and the mottling on his neck looked diseased rather than natural. Nick recognized him at once:
It was Ronaal C’Aard, President of the United Planetary Alliance.
Oh, shit. Nick had known that the XenX female’s master was a high-ranking government official. But the highest-ranking official? The fucking president? Holy hell, Maltese had made an even bigger mess than Nick had believed.
And that bitch, Díaz, kept pouring more fuel on the fire.
“You’re the asshole who lost my Xena,” C’Aard said.
Nick’s eyes went wide. C’Aard was a politician. Nick had expected some sort of throat-clearing introduction, some indication consistent with the gas-bag persona the president always conveyed in public. This was different. This was the direct approach of a cold-blooded criminal.
“Uh, no, sir,” Nick replied, trying to show strength without sounding cocky. “I’m the man who’s been trying to find her.”
C’Aard appeared unimpressed. He gazed on Nick with bored blue eyes, as if he were wondering why his time was being wasted.
“And yet, you don’t have her,” he said.
“With respect, Mr. President, I would have if your trained attack dogs hadn’t come along. I had the ship she was on in my sights. We were about to disable her, take the Xena from them, and deliver her to you.
“Instead, your Agent K’Shaa eviscerated my ship, murdered my crew. And the thieves escaped with your property into the Forbidden Zone.”
K’Shaa’s face twisted into a scowl. He looked as though he wanted to blast Nick then and there.
But he did nothing, offered no defense of his actions. Nick supposed he’d already had that conversation with his boss.
“Why are we talking, Mr. Corso?” C’Ard asked. “I told Agent K’Shaa to eliminate everyone who had knowledge of or contact with the Xena. You begged for this meeting. Why?”
“Because you need me, Mr. President.” C’Aard guffawed derisively, but Nick ignored it. “You need me, because I know the woman who has your property. I know exactly how she thinks. Where she’ll go. What she’ll do.”
“I don’t need you to find her, you piece-of-shit pirate,” C’Aard snapped. “We know where she’ll go.”
“No, you don’t,” Nick countered. He injected every ounce of conviction he could muster, leaning into his bluff.
“You send your ghost ship in there blind, and the Kovoids will blast it to slag before you get within a lightyear of her. Or Díaz will vanish into some smuggler’s den you’ll never find.
She knows the fringes. She knows how to disappear. ”
He paused, letting the implication hang. Nick would have laughed at his lies if his life didn’t depend on them. There was no chance Díaz knew shit about the Forbidden Zone.
The expression on C’Aard’s face changed. He was thinking, considering.
“But I can find her,” Nick pressed, his voice dropping, becoming colder, more persuasive. “I know her routes. Her contacts. Her weaknesses.” He let a cruel smile touch his lips. “I know what breaks her.
“You want your asset back? Alive? Or just proof she’s erased?
I can deliver either. But you need someone who can move in the shadows she knows.
Someone she won’t see coming until it’s too late.
Someone …” he met C’Aard’s eyes squarely, “… who wants her broken just as much as you want your toy back.”
Silence hung thick and heavy. The hum of the stealth ship’s systems was the only sound. C’Aard stared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Why?” C’Aard finally spat, the word loaded with suspicion. “What’s this woman to you?”
“Because she cost me my ship, my crew, my reputation. I want her crawling. I want her begging.
“And then I want her dead.” The raw hatred in his voice was genuine, a furnace blast. “You get your asset. I get my revenge. Our interests align, Mr. President.”
Another agonizing pause. C’Aard looked away, his fingers steepled before his face, trembling slightly. He knew he was cornered. Nick could see it in his eyes. He couldn’t risk his career, his life over this.
“Listen, Mr. President,” he added, twisting the knife one more turn, “you send these assholes into the Forbidden Zone, and they mess it up again, it’ll all come back on you. A government stealth ship in Forbidden space? Good luck explaining that to the Senate and the press.
“But a smuggler? A pirate? I’m easy to cut loose. You can tell everyone you had nothing to do with me. Hell, if I screw up, I won’t even be connected to you.
“All I need is a ship and a free hand. I’ll get your prize back for you. And I’ll make the woman who took her from you pay.”
C’Aard met his gaze. Nick knew in an instant he’d convinced him. The last line had done it. Ronaal C’Aard wanted revenge, too.
“Fine,” the UPA president said. “Have your vengeance. Just bring me my property.”
The viewscreen went dark. K’Shaa looked pissed.
A wave of cold triumph washed over Nick Corso. He’d turned death into opportunity. He’d bought himself a ship, a mission, and another shot at Carmen Díaz.
This time, he wouldn’t miss.