Michael Flynn - In the Lion’s Mouth

But his vision had brightened, and with it, his spirits. Some of his colleagues liked to talk about “a life unworthy of life,” but when presented with the thing itself, Domino Tight found it always worthy enough.

The tavern door opened, and the banty man stepped into the alleyway. Oh, yes, he was in the Life! Look at the way he stepped, at the way his topaz eyes sought out threats, at the ready manner in which his dazer hunted out hidey-holes and snipers’ nests. And only when satisfied, did he step clear and to the side of Domino Tight.

He walked at an eerily canted angle, but the Shadow recognized that as the way his head was resting on the ground. His common sense, that integrated all of his sights and sounds and kinesthesia into a common image, was not yet in sync. The alley smelled orange.

“Do you wish surcease?” the stranger asked him. He held his dazer to the ready, muzzle pointing straight up.

Domino Tight tried to speak. “Tina,” he heard someone say, possibly himself, though it sounded like another. And why should he call on the young woman in the Gayshot Bo on far-off Dao Chetty?

The stranger’s bristles crinkled with his smile. “No one who calls on a woman is yet ready to depart. Quickly, tell me. Are you with the rebels or the loyalists?” He had reached into his pouch and removed a packet of some sort.

The Shadow gasped, and whispered, “Which do you want me with?”

The other man laughed— and Domino Tight glimpsed teeth sharper than a man’s ought be. He looked to the right, toward Fishbound Street. “I can’t stay here. The smart move is to leave you, but … I don’t like ambushes. Right after you left, the taverner finished his sentence by adding ‘not’ to the end. He laughed, like he’d done something clever. I took care of that for you, in case you need company on the ferryboat.”

The stranger opened a tear in Tight’s spun armor and pulled the rip apart. He placed his packet on the chest of Domino Tight; then he struck it hammer-wise with his fist.

The Shadow felt nothing. His body remained laminated by the concussion, and the blow might as well have struck someone else. But fire ran through his body. A tingling returned to his fingers and toes. “Th-thank you,” he managed to gasp.

“Don’t be too sure I’ve done you a favor. The booster won’t set your broken bones. You’d best get yourself inside a meshinospidal right soon. For now, adieu.” And the stranger stood, looked all directions, and vanished into the night.

Domino Tight found he could move his right arm. His right leg was not so fortunate, as he could see that it lay at more angles than knees and ankles could account for.

What the devil was a meshinospidal? His earwig had not yet resumed functioning; might need to be replaced entirely. It sounded vaguely like …

He snatched the spent emergency packet from his chest and held it to his still immobile face so that he could see the instructions upon it.

Printed in Gaelactic.

His savior had been a Hound of the Ardry.

Domino Tight laughed. He would take help whence it came and not ask too closely after it. He released the packet and the wind funneled by the alleyway caught it and it tumbled away toward Fishbound Street. “Tina,” he said again.

And the air rippled and a woman stood before him, having just thrown a cloak back over her shoulder. Her mouth opened in an O and she knelt by his side, probing for his hurts.

Perhaps he was delusional from the concussion. First a Hound where no Hound ought by rights to be; then a woman appearing from nowhere.

“Tina!” he managed to say.

“I told you to call me if you ever found yourself in trouble. You should not have waited so long, my dearest.” Then she unhooked her cloak and spread it over the both of them, and the darkness enveloped Domino Tight once more.

Oschous Dee Karnatika brought Dark Horse into High Yuts’ga Orbit, watching from the command chair in the control room with Ravn and Donovan to either side. Manlius, now hale, had returned to his own ship and was on his way to the Century Suns to meet with Dawshoo. Yuts’ga was a major node on the network of interstellar “tubes” and the number of ships in port was considerable. It was not a difficult docking for all that, as the Long Moon had plenty of facilities, and long-term parking was shifted by valet over to the First Equilibrium point.

However, no one touches a Shadow’s ship but his trusted magpies. Oschous told Number One to “ping the parking” and see who was on-world.

Domino Tight and Pendragon Jones. Gidula. Big Jacques.

“Awfully crowded,” Donovan commented.

“Yuts’ga is a major node,” said Oschous. “Many pass through.”

“I thought Big Jacques was tracking Ekadrina,” Ravn said.

“He was. Either he gave up, or…”

“Or he didn’t. Is her ship here?”

“Not overtly.” Oschous dropped the screen to the table. “There’s one other ship that didn’t respond to the ping. Courier, maybe, passing through and traveling dark.”

“I don’t like this,” Ravn said. “We’re starting to go straight after each other.”

Oschous swung his seat to look at her. “We’ve turned over glasses ere now. Some on our side; some on theirs. Ekadrina is probably just doing a face-check on Pendragon.”

“I didn’t mean her. I meant Big Jacques. Sure, sometimes, trying to move or to protect an asset brought us into conflict. But Manlius go after Epri, and now Big Jacques go after Ekadrina, and not in pasdarm.”

“It’s the way these things work,” cracked the scarred man. “Gentlemen’s agreements require gentlemen to keep them.”

“Well, Yuts’ga big planet,” Ravn said. “Perhaps not all gone to same district, let alone same township.”

Oschous Dee grunted. “Don’t tempt the Fates, Ravn. They’ll send them there just to spite you. Number One!”

“Aye, master?” The magpie in the supervisor’s chair swung to face him.

“Monitor the channels that Domino Tight and Big Jacques use. Gidula, too. Sift the other channels for sign of Pendragon or Ekadrina. Commandeer the Yutsgar Union’s comsat network, if you must. And look for their personal satellites. Let me know what you catch. I don’t like the way this is developing, and I don’t want to go in blind. Ravn, Gesh, I’ll see you again at lunch. If anything develops before then, I’ll summon you.”

In the gray and gold corridor outside the control room, Ravn slipped her hand through Donovan’s arm. “Coom, my sweet,” she said, leading him off toward the lounge. “Perhaps we will sit and chat and I will let you have your way with me.”

Donovan allowed himself to be led. “Don’t be too wishful of that until you know what ‘my way’ is. Do you expect a big rumble down below?”

“Roomble? Anoother Terran woord? You must mean fight, a passage of arms.” Her teeth showed white against her lips. “Every thing will work oot fine. Once Ooschous pulls Doominoo off task, noo reason he and Pen fight. And Jacques maybe not find Ekadrina befoor she leave. Big woorld, noo?”

But Donovan shook his head. “No, it will all go to shit, and we will be in the middle of it.”

“You are sooch cheerful ooptimist … Boot we keep you out of it. You are too valooable to waste on sooch squabblings.”

“Why do I get the feeling that when you finally do waste me, it will be a really crappy situation.”