“Yeah, I’m going to take that to mean you’re going to miss me.” Nolan’s smile returned. The words she’d just said sounded a damned lot like a program’s version of the way he felt about his parents.
“Would you like me to play your ‘Nolan’s Hype Mix’ playlist to boost your mood?” The screen on Nolan’s wall flicked on and the first strains of a high-energy EDM song pumped through the speakers.
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Nolan shook his head, and the music shut off. “Just give me a visual on Bex.”
The image on the screen changed, replaced by the video feed of his living room. He had every inch of the apartment wired—even the bathroom—so Taia could see and help him with any tasks he needed. The hidden camera set above the entrance to the kitchen looked directly at the couch where Bex sat. She hadn’t moved, but lounged on the couch, trapped somewhere between exhaustion, anxiety, and worry.
At least she didn’t make a break for it, Nolan thought, grinning. There’s that, at least.
He took only a few seconds to throw on a clean shirt, pack a change of clothing, spray on deodorant, and splash water on his face. The wounds he’d sustained in his battle with Wolfe and the White Sharks hadn’t fully healed, but he’d have time to rest and recover on the trip to Moabus. If he was lucky, maybe even take a shower and grab a meal better than MREs. Feeling better due to being in clean clothing, he wheeled back toward the bedroom door and pulled it open.
Bex sat up straighter as he rolled into the living room, wary lines of tension etched into her face. Quite a beautiful face, Nolan had to admit, despite how the overuse of Blitz had wasted away some of the musculature. The attractiveness of her high forehead, small nose, wide-set eyes, and high cheekbones were complemented by the fade haircut, though the blonde dye made her pale skin and the dark circles around her eyes appear even darker. Once she had fully recovered from the Heavy Detox protocol and sustained drug use, she would look much more like the strong, stunning woman from the photograph in Agent Styver’s dossier.
“I’ve got to leave, and I’ll be gone for a few days.” Nolan spoke with no preamble; better to reassure Bex sooner rather than later. Anxiety and stress would only make it harder for her to recover from the Heavy Detox and near-fatal epileptic attack. “But you don’t need to worry about me turning you over to the Imperial forces. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to believe you might not be guilty of the crimes you’re accused of.”
Bex stiffened, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Just like that?” she spoke in a harsh, rasping voice. “Why?”
“Why believe you?” Nolan couldn’t give her a definitive answer to that question. It wouldn’t be the first time the Protection Bureau had given him incomplete or even misleading information on a target. And, after learning from Wolfe that Agent Styver had provided him with IAF-grade weapons and armor, Agent Styver had lied to his face. At that moment, Nolan was far more inclined to believe Bex than the Protection Bureau, even with that damning footage.
But he couldn’t say any of that. He couldn’t tell her anything about his true identity—not just as the wheelchair-bound former Silverguard she saw, but as Cerberus, the Imperial assassin-for-hire, the one who wore the cutting-edge combat suit and stocked a small army’s worth of weapons not five meters from where she sat. That would raise a host of questions he didn’t have the time or desire to answer.
He simply shrugged and said, “Because you’re a Silverguard.” He lifted his forearm, showing her the tattoo of the dagger inked on its underside. “Team looks after team, right? Even just giving them the benefit of the doubt.”
That proved to be an answer she could understand. “Team before all,” she said quietly, nodding. Her left hand went to the tattoo on her right forearm, feeling the metallic ink—and the needle marks in the crook of her elbow.
Nolan knew that feeling all too well. There’d been a time when his body had been similarly marked up, when he’d have done anything for a fix. It had taken Tanis’ death for him to finally make the decision to get clean. Given Bex’s circumstances, he’d guess she was about to hit rock bottom herself.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said. To illustrate his point, Nolan drew out the blaster pistol, turned it to grab the barrel, and held it out to her.
Bex’s eyebrows shot up. She reached for the gun, hesitant and wary, as if expecting him to pull away and shoot her before her fingers closed around the metal.
Nolan made no sudden moves, letting her take the pistol. Had he been in her situation—weak, hunted, in a strange place with a complete stranger—a weapon would have gone a long way toward giving him a sense of control and safety. Silverguards could do a whole lot of violent things with even an empty gun.
He studied the woman sitting on his couch, gripping the pistol as if it was the only solid thing in her world. “No one’s going to find you as long as you stay here and out of sight,” he told her, his voice gentle. “Regardless of what that video looks like, I’m willing to believe you’re not scheming with Sic Semper Tyrannis.”
“Please!” Bex snorted. “Even if I was some sort of terrorist, I wouldn’t be caught dead working with those SST assholes.”
Nolan’s estimation of the woman rose a fraction. Even in her predicament, wanted by the Nyzarian Empire for crimes that warranted execution, she could still manage grim humor. The mark of a true soldier.
“If it’s true that you’re not a terrorist,” he said, “then I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help you figure the best way out of this.”
And if she is a terrorist, Nolan thought, she’ll be exactly where I can find her to put her down. Terrorists were the antithesis to elite soldiers like Silverguards, going after soft civilian targets and perpetrating acts of mass destruction and violence against noncombatants. Warbeast Team had taken down more than their fair share of Terran League radicals, breaking up the terror cells before they could inflict their brutal brand of violence on the Nyzarian Empire’s subjects. He wouldn’t hesitate if he had to do the same to Bex.
But nothing about the woman made him believe she really was the terrorist Agent Styver’s dossier claimed she was. Unless she was the world’s best actor—even while drugged and passed out on the stairs outside Nolan’s apartment—there was something else going on here. Something Agent Styver wasn’t telling him—or covering up. Nolan intended to find out the truth. Even if it meant tracking Elden Croyle, the other “terrorist” accused of breaking into the IAF armory, back to Moabus.
“In the meantime,” Nolan continued, “there’s food in the fridge—”
“No, there’s not,” Taia corrected. “The fridge is empty.”
Nolan gritted his teeth. “There will be food in the fridge.” Then, he added in his mind, “Right, Taia?”
“I’ll take care of it,” the AI said.
“And there are some clothes in the bedroom closet,” Nolan continued. “They belonged to…a friend of mine.” His gut tightened at the memory of Tanis, the Silverguard that had found him on the streets and taken him in, helped him get cleaned up. He hadn’t had the heart to throw out her clothing. “They might be a little big, but they’re better than nothing. Oh, and don’t hesitate to use the bathtub. It’s bloody magical.”