Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty-Three

On a hunch, Connor checked the lounge. Vicente was sprawled out on a couch, snoring, a dozen empty beer bottles lined up neatly on the deck beneath his head. More importantly, one of the shiny black VR booths was sealed, and the power light blinked silvery in the dimmed light.

That would be Mosiah.

Connor sank onto a recliner almost directly across from the booth and closed his eyes. It was cool and quiet in the big compartment, despite all the electronics. People often came here to watch old movies together or to play games. When that happened, it grew warm and took on their smells.

Now all he could smell was the beer.

Before long, he found his eyes growing heavy, then he drifted off.

His paddle stroked the crystal blue waters of the river, and in the prow, Toshiko had finally pulled a shirt on to protect her skin from the brutal sun.

She twisted around. “Did you have enough?”

Her smile made his heart flutter. “Of the tea or lunch? Or you? Because I could never have enough of you.”

Color spread across her face. “Of the lunch.”

“I can’t even remember it. It was good, but…” He pulled his oar out of the water. “Nothing will ever fulfill me again.”

“You’re being a silly man.”

He was. There was no escaping that. She owned him heart and soul now. Even a swim in the cold water hadn’t been enough to keep him from begging her to return with him to the shade. All he could think of was her kisses, her flesh—

The boat shook, then he looked around and realized he wasn’t in the canoe at all but sitting on the recliner in the Lucky Sevens.

Mosiah was hunched slightly, smiling. “It seemed unlikely you came down to the lounge to sleep close to your drunken machine gunner.”

Vicente’s snores would have shaken a small building.

It had been so real—the dream, the memories of Toshiko.

But now something more real demanded Connor’s attention. He got up with some effort and stretched his legs. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

The old man’s white hair was damp and pressed against his head, and he smelled like the VR booth—cleaning spray and recycled air.

And whisky.

Mosiah sucked on his bottom lip. “I was ready for bed, to be honest.”

“I won’t keep you long.”

“We should leave your giant to his slumbering peace, don’t you think?”

Connor waved for the man to lead them out, then followed.

Mosiah stopped in the weapons locker area and leaned against one. “My assumption is that you’re interested in what we’ve seen since our arrival.”

“I am. I don’t think we were properly prepared for this.”

“Hardly. It’s a failing on my part, but it wasn’t intentional. This place is nothing like I remember it.”

“You came here with three ships. There were weapons aboard.”

The old man held up a big hand. “One second, if you wouldn’t mind. My comrades and I always traveled with weapons. And because of our line of work, we usually had bodyguards and even security details.”

“That you brought to a planet in the middle of nowhere?”

“Not many bodyguards can do the job from a parsec away.”

“How many did you lose?”

Mosiah gaped, then he rubbed his chin. “To be honest, that’s beyond my ability to recollect. Personally, I lost no one.”

“No one?”

“I can recall a bodyguard and maybe two people in my security detail. The way I remember it, we all departed without serious injury. Admittedly, this was all decades ago, but I feel confident with this.”

“Then whose corpses did we find in those ships?”

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve given that some thought. I believe those skeletons were most likely from sometime after we left the planet.”

“After? You mean they weren’t part of your group?”

The corner of Mosiah’s lip rose when he squinted. This was more than thirty years ago, so I could be wrong, but—no. I don’t believe so.”

“They were nothing but tattered clothes and skeletons.”

“Have you considered the possibility that something inside those ships killed them?”

“Killed…” This wasn’t going at all like Connor had expected. “The airlock was sealed.”

Mosiah frowned. “A complication, but it’s still explainable. Someone survived fighting whatever was aboard the ship and sealed the thing outside the ship, then later escaped. Or possibly someone sealed the thing inside the ship and escaped.”

“There were no signs of anything like what we’ve seen inside those ships.”

“Skeletons, you mean? Or a carapace?” The old man shrugged. “Then the first theory stands.”

“And these people…?”

“The survivors? Maybe there’s another ship out there somewhere.”

“We haven’t seen one.”

That drew a chuckle from the older man. “We’ve seen how much of this planet?”

“Fine. So, why would some group of people come all the way out here for those two ships? They don’t look worth much.”

“They weren’t. Mostly, we transported supplies and some of our security people on them. As to the why, it is quite possible my partners might have wanted to reclaim the ships.”

“You said they weren’t worth much.”

“Value is relative. Ships weren’t quite the commodity then that they are today. And even as commodities, given the general disrepair of your ship, I assume I have no need of explaining the burden of ownership of such a craft.”

Connor paced, sneakers squeaking on the deck. “You don’t.”

“There is always the possibility that the ships contained something valuable I had no idea about.”

“Something your partners were carting around?”

“We shared information about as well as you and Selen do.”

“I—”

Mosiah wagged a finger. “Communications requires two people. But I owe you an answer that provides clarity. What I mean is that strange things have happened for years among my partners, and they’ve been getting stranger.”

“You kept secrets?”

“Inevitable in our line of work.”

That seemed a reasonable answer, unfortunately. Even mercenary groups restricted some information flow. “What about this archaeological team? How could they have known about these ruins?”

“I haven’t given that much thought. It’s possible that one of my old partners funded a research effort before meeting his untimely demise.”

“Archaeologists?”

“As I said, things were becoming strange. Wouldn’t you seek answers?”

Connor wasn’t sure exactly what was meant by strange, but he was getting the sense that Mosiah’s former associates weren’t being assassinated by rivals or former victims.

What did that leave, though?

The old man yawned. “I really do need my sleep, I’m afraid. The cost of aging.”

Connor stepped aside and waited until he was alone again before heading to the galley for another beer. He needed sleep, too, but Mosiah’s answers had made things less clear, not more.

What was needed now was answers. Without them, more people would die.