She was finished with Vulcan City, with all of Parsephon and its putrid cities and corrupt government. She would go to the spaceport, and find this freighter…Belstar, the Marine had said. She would leave the foul world upon which she was born, and where she’d lost everyone who’d ever meant anything to her. And, when she escaped, she was never coming back.

  She didn’t know what lay ahead, where fate would take her, but just then, anyplace but Parsephon was okay with her.

  But she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  No, first, she had one last task, one thing to do before she could move on. One achievement she needed if she was going to live with herself, find a way forward. One last goal to fulfill before she started her new life.

  Revenge.

  Chapter Four

  “The Gut”

  Vulcan City

  Planet Parsephon, Obliesk II

  Year 298 AC

  Andi crouched down on the roof, watching the street below. It was a good spot, a great vantage point, with reasonable cover to hide behind. The crumbling masonry at the edge of the roof wasn’t something she’d count on to protect her from heavy gunfire, but it served well enough as a hiding place.

  She’d been scouting the area for days. She wasn’t more than a quarter of a kilometer from her home of the past three years, but she knew she would never see that place again. It was about fifty-fifty whether some kind of authorities would ever discover the Marine’s body and dispose of it in some fashion or whether it would be left to rot where it lay. Andi had seen death often enough—everyone in the Gut had—but the thought of staring down at the lifeless body of her friend—or even the place he had died—was too much for her. She’d added it to the list of places to avoid, right next to the street where her mother had died so many years before.

  It would be easy enough to stay away from both spots, since she never intended to see anyplace on the whole miserable rock that called itself Parsephon. Not once she’d finished what she had to do.

  The Marine had trained her physically, put her through grueling exercises, and he had taught her how to fight. But scouting and surveillance had been subjects for brief discussions, only. She wondered, if they’d had more time, if he would have taken her out into the streets of the Gut, taught her how to track targets, how to seek out and find cover and vantage points for ambushes.

  She’d listened to the talks intently, soaking up all he would teach her, and her own experiences as an accomplished thief combined with the Marine’s advice, to make the whole thing feel natural, like some kind of carefully planned orchestration.

  It all made tracking down people she intended to kill feel like a normal thing.

  The Marine had once been a capable man, devoted to a cause, trained to the highest level, part of an organization shrouded in pride and commitment. She’d never known that version of him, of course. The man she’d come to know, and love almost as a father, had been broken, discarded, wallowing in misery, both self-inflicted and caused by unfairness from outside. Her companionship had brought him some happiness in his last years, or at least the closest he was still able to come to true contentment. She was sure of that. But the more she thought of how he had died, how whatever miserable amount of time he might have had left before his own addiction killed him had been stripped away, the angrier she got.

  She had images in her mind, moments they might have shared that she knew he would have enjoyed, reading the books in his meager and worn library, splurging on some real food and not the nasty Synth that most of the Gut subsisted on. Such miserable little pleasures, and even that modest bit of joy had been stolen away.

  Andi’s rage had been fiery hot right after she’d found the Marine dying, but it had cooled since, though not in the normal sense, not in any way that reduced its intensity. It had morphed into a frozen hatred, as cold as space itself. She was going to leave Parsephon, just as the Marine had begged her to do—and good riddance to the miserable place. But first, she was going to find the men who had killed her only friend, and whoever had sent them as well.

  She was going to find them, and she was going to kill them. All of them.

  Tracking down the actual killers hadn’t been difficult at all. Their faces were branded into her mind, and her continued analysis shook loose old familiarity. She didn’t know them, nor really recognize them, not exactly. But she was sure she’d seen them around the area.

  Blast addicts weren’t exactly uncommon creatures in the Gut. She hadn’t been sure if the men she was seeking were low level bagmen or street dealers, or if they were one step above, enforcers sent in when problems arose, but either way, she’d bet it wouldn’t be long before she spotted them again.

  She’d been right about that. It had taken less than a week, four days in fact. She’d raced along the rooftops once she’d spotted them, keeping tabs as they went about their routes. Her assessment seemed to be correct. They weren’t regular mules dropping off drug shipments and collecting money. Their jobs were to lean on delinquents, and to make sure regular business went on uninterrupted. Of course, when just leaning on a deadbeat didn’t work, they took things to the next step, which generally included sending a message for others to see.

  As they had done with the Marine.

  It took all she had not to drop down behind them and kill them all then and there. She wanted them dead so badly, she could taste it. She’d imagined tormenting them, killing them slowly, as they had done to the Marine. But she knew that goal was likely beyond her reach. She was looking at a three to one matchup to begin with, and even if she caught them in an alley or a side street, she doubted she’d get them anywhere private enough for the slow carving job she’d fantasized about.

  However she eventually did it, however, she couldn’t move yet. She wanted the men who’d actually killed the Marine, and she would have them, see their terrified expressions as they died. But she also wanted whoever had sent them, whatever wealthy druglord had dispatched his minions to kill her friend, sitting back, dripping arrogance as he’d uttered the words that ended a life.

  She would see him die, too, before she left. And the three killers were her guides to that end result, her only lead to find whoever had decided the Marine would die. She’d watched them for several days now, forced herself to stay hidden and uninvolved, even as they beat their terrified victims in the street. Even as they had killed another addict.

  Andi sympathized with the victims, on some level, but she had her job to do, and she was focused. Life on the streets of the Gut was hard, and there was little room for such things as charity and sympathy.

  She was a killer herself, and vengeance was her master. If she tipped the thugs off, even to help one of their helpless victims, she’d never find their master. Her deadly justice would go unfinished.

  That was unthinkable.

  She crept along the edge of the roof, following quietly as the men moved back toward the decrepit gateway that marked the entrance to the Gut. It had been a busy day for them, and they’d left a trail of bruised and battered victims in their wake. Andi had never been more than ten kilometers from where she’d been born, but she was worldly enough to understand that drug dealers weren’t patient with slow payers. They might advance a hit or two on a primitive form of credit, but the collateral was always the same. A borrower’s health, his bones and his tolerance for pain.

  And, ultimately, his life.

  She’d seethed as she had watched, at the injustice of it all. To a point. But what really fueled her rage was the arrogance. Those bastards knew they were untouchable. Everyone in the Gut knew who they were, and no one had the courage to stand up to them.

  That was about to change.

  She moved along the roof until she got to the far edge. There was another building just across a narrow alley, and her mind raced, doing quick and informal calculations. Yes, she could make it across.

  She thought.

  She picked up the pace, breaking into a run over the last couple meters, and she hurled herself over the three meters or so of the alley. She landed hard on the other roof, rolling forward a bit more clumsily than she’d intended, and with a little more pain, but more or less unhurt.

  She continued following the men walking down the street, until she reached the end of the road, at least the end of the roofs. She climbed quickly down a rusted old ladder and landed on the cracked pavement of a tiny side street. She stepped quickly but cautiously out to the main avenue. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself by moving too quickly, but she wasn’t about to lose sight of her prey, either.

  She turned the corner, her eyes darting back and forth, seeking out those she was following. They were about ten meters ahead, just walking through the wrecked old gateway. She stepped out into the street, trying to keep a few others between her and the three men. She didn’t know if they’d recognize her—to them, she was probably just be some kid passing by—but if there was one thing the Marine had pounded into her head, it was never to be careless, not in life and death situations.

  She followed the men as they continued walking, through the Fairmont now, then stopping for a few minutes at a tavern that looked, from the outside at least, just a cut above any of the gritty establishments in the Gut. That was about all she could say, at least everything positive. In a less relative sense, it was clearly a shithole, filthy and no doubt peddling the worst cheap liquor available, not to mention a number of other things, of a quality also pretty close to the bottom of the barrel.

  She thought about going inside. Technically, sixteen-year olds weren’t allowed in bars in Vulcan City, but the idea that anyone really cared almost made her laugh. No, it wasn’t that. But the Marine had taught her more than simply fighting. He’d pounded the idea of tactical analysis into her head, of gathering intel and going into a possible fight as prepared to win as possible. She didn’t know how big the place was or how many people were inside, what the layout was, or if her prey had friends in there.

  And she suspected slicing up some uninvolved asshole who tried to proposition her would draw more attention than she wanted.

  It was safer to wait. She did a quick scout around the building, making sure there was no back exit the men could use to escape from her. Then she sat down on the crumbling remains of an old half wall, far enough away not to draw attention to herself, but near enough to keep a close watch on the door.

  Her hand moved down to her side, checking the knife. It was something she did frequently, almost without conscious thought, and she’d gotten quite good as disguising it, making it look like she was scratching an itch or something of the sort.

  Another lesson from the Marine, one she suspected he’d learned in the Gut and not at the Academy. It was always wise to keep people from knowing just how ready you were to fight. Surprise was an ally you wanted, and not an enemy you wanted to face.

  The men stayed inside for over an hour. She might have gotten impatient, but she was hunting, and it felt strangely natural to her. She was focused, and she would stay where she was as long as it took. She didn’t know if the fools inside were downing drink after drink, or if they were spending their ill-gotten swag in the rooms that no doubt existed above the bar. It didn’t matter. Either way, they’d be buzzed, distracted, tired…more vulnerable when the time came. When they’d led her where she wanted to go and, in the process, outlived their usefulness, any distraction would just make her work that much easier.

  She watched them walking out, and while they weren’t falling down drunk, she sensed they were a little impaired. That was perfect. The difference between victory and defeat, between life and death, often came down to slight differences in reaction time.

  That was another thing she had learned from the Marine.

  She waited a few seconds, allowing a few small groups to move by. She’d been following the men for a while, and even one of those fools might suspect if they noticed her. It was a little more stressful, following from farther back. She had to keep her eyes open, pay attention. She wasn’t going to lose them, not if she could help it. She’d spent days following them around the Gut, but today was the day. The day she would avenge her friend, the day she would make those responsible pay.

  And then she would leave Parsephon forever.

  The men turned left on the Strasse, one of Vulcan City’s main thoroughfares, and then they headed uphill, to the south.

  Toward the Heights.

  Andi knew the exclusive neighborhood well from her days of robbing houses, but it surprised her to see her quarry moving that way. The residents of the Heights were industrialists, executives, highly placed politicians. It had never seemed like a place some drug dealing gangster would live.

  It also made her pursuit more difficult. It was gated, not with rusting old hunks of unattended metal, like those heralding the entrance to the Gut, but closed, high tech portals, guarded day and night. She’d found ways to sneak in, of course, but now she worried she might lose track of her prey in the process.

  There was a way in, reasonably hidden, and not far from the gate the thugs were heading toward. It required some physical prowess to get over the wall there, but she’d managed it three years earlier, when she was smaller, weaker, and untrained. It wouldn’t be a problem for her now.

  What would be dangerous, however, was making her way through the streets. When she’d come before, she’d tried to look like someone’s domestic staff or servant, but now, she looked like what she was. A street rat from the Gut. She’d stand out in the streets of the Heights like she had a flashing light floating over her head.

  Damn…

  She knew what the Marine would have said. He would have told her to know when to pull back, to give up the chase. To acknowledge the effort had become too dangerous and regroup, try another day.

  Hell, he’d have told her to forget the whole thing, that vengeance wouldn’t bring him back, that is wasn’t worth the risk. He’d have wanted her to just get herself to safety, somewhere far from Parsephon. Someplace she had a chance at a life. A real life.

  But that wasn’t possible. Not for her. No, she had to avenge the Marine. That was the only way she could live with herself, the only road that offered even the chance of a future, at least one free from madness.

  She would stay off the road as much as possible, do what she could to keep tabs on the men she was following. She had to avoid security systems, guards, even some resident shouting out after seeing her climbing a fence or something. But it was the only way. All she could do was stay focused, and hope for the best.

  Chapter Five

  “The Gut”

  Vulcan City

  Planet Parsephon, Obliesk II

  Year 298 AC

  She stared up at the house, her shock growing as her eyes moved over the massive structure, and familiarity hit her like a train.

  She’d been there before. Three years before. The day she’d met the Marine.

  The day she’d been fleeing from the very house looming up above her now.

  Drug dealing was a profitable business, certainly, but the vast mansion was beyond anything she’d expected to find at the end of her search. She’d imagined some kind of wealthy gangster, probably a residence of ostentatious luxury, but situated in a less…prestigious…location. The homes surrounding the one in front of her were owned by the richest industrial families on the planet, and if few of their members spent much time in Vulcan City, they all maintained residences there.

  The more she thought about it, though, the more it made sense. She’d wondered a few times, why the industrialists, so all powerful on Parsephon, had put up with the mobsters and the dealers. The criminals were dangerous, of course, and powerful, but they were nothing on a planet owned lock, stock, and barrel by a dozen or more great mercantile families. Those clans, whose power stretched all the way to Megara, could have shut down the rackets any time they’d wanted to. They could have had fifty thousand Confederation Marines dispatched to root the gangs out of every slum on the planet, if they’d wished, to destroy every hidden stronghold of the criminal cartels.

  Now, however, she understood, and she scolded herself for never realizing it before, for allowing even her own dark view of things stray from being dark enough. The industrial families didn’t do anything about organized crime, because the gangsters worked for them, even as everyone else on the planet did, from factory laborers to police and prosecutors.

  It was a stark realization. The wealth of Parsephon’s ruling families came not just from the mass production at thousands of factories, but from control of the black markets, from illegal loansharking operations, and likely, she thought, from wholesale government corruption as well.

  She’d thought she couldn’t have been more disgusted, more disillusioned with the foul and miserable planet of her birth. But she’d been wrong.

  She hesitated, for a minute or two, trying to get control of her thoughts, to steel her nerve. She’d been ready for action as she’d patiently followed her targets, prepared to do what had to be done. She’d managed to track the three men, to remain hidden as she shadowed their steps. It was no small achievement, and she knew just how great the danger was, how easily one tiny slip up could cost her everything.

  But the sight of the familiar house, and the cascade of revelations it triggered, stunned her, all the more because after that day years before, when she’d barely made good her flight from it, she’d checked around, and determined just who it was she had robbed, who had been so aggressive as to send killers after a thief who’d stolen one insignificant item.

  Niles O’Bannon.

  The O’Bannons weren’t just a wealthy industrial family. They were enormously rich, obscenely so, the most powerful clan in Vulcan City, arguably on the whole planet. And Niles was the head of the family. His sons ran most of the family’s businesses now, at least from what she’d been told. There were four O’Bannon children, all boys, and all but one occupied lofty executive positions and directed tens of thousands of workers, and billions of credits. The fourth son, Ian, represented Parsephon in the Confederation Senate on Megara.