It was impossible for Domi to turn pale, but she cast her eyes downward.
“Besides,” the big man went on smoothly, “since we are of a kindepidermally uniqueone would think you’d be only too glad to enjoy the company of someone who is a kindred spirit.”
Domi sank back to the edge of the daybed, hands pressed together in her lap, shoulders slumping in despair.
“So, is that settled, then?”
She didn’t respond.
Teague raised his voice and repeated the question.
Domi inclined her head a fraction of an inch in a nod, then slid off the daybed. On all fours, back arched in the way Teague had instructed her, she slowly crawled across the floor. The Pit boss smiled tolerantly and spread his legs, lifting a slab of flab so he could loosen the drawstring that held up his pants.
Then he heard a sound, a rapid electronic trilling. He had heard that rising and falling tone only three times during his stint as Pit boss. Adrenaline rushed through him, speeding up his heartbeat, even causing the short hairs on his scalp to tingle. He bounded to his feet so quickly the chair fell over backward and he nearly trod on one of Domi’s hands. She scuttled sideways out of his path as he made a shambling rush for the far wall.
His fingers scrabbled over the whitewashed surface, nails digging into a thread-thin crack where a piece of board joined with a rockcrete block. He pulled the small wooden panel aside. Behind it, resting in a shallow niche, was a small square box made of molded plastic and pressed metal.
Hurriedly he plucked the trilling trans-comm from the niche and put on the headset, struggling to align the mouthpiece properly and plug the receiver into his ear. He paid no attention to Domi, gazing up at him from the floor.
Thumbing a stud on the side of the trans-comm, he opened the channel and waited through the squawks and crackles of the unscrambling circuit. Then a voice whispered in his ear, a man’s voice he had heard three times before.
“Mags on their way. A PPP.”
“Who?”
“Two you know, Kane and Grant. A cherry named Boon. Chill Grant, and chill Boon if you have to. Leave Kane. Chill Grant. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Repeatchill Grant. Make it messy. Make it ugly. Do it in front of Kane. Very important. Again, chill Grant in front of Kane. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged.”
His ear filled with a hash of static. With trembling hands, Teague stripped off the headset and replaced the trans-comm unit in the niche. His bowels felt loose, and his heart hammered painfully within his chest.
Five years ago, he had been hauled in for questioning.
He’d been detained for days, or at least it felt like it. He wasn’t given food or water, nor had there been any light in his detention cell. Then a Mag in full armor had opened the door. He had expected to be chilled on the spot. Instead of pulling a Sin Eater, the Mag had pulled the trans-comm unit, shoved it in his hands and told him he was free to go.
That very night, Teague had received the first signal, and he heard that cold voice, sounding as if it were whispering across the dark gulfs of space. The voice had curtly told him that if he wished to continue as Pit boss, if he wished to continue to live, he would do what he was ordered. Guana Teague had obeyed and he had continued to live as the Pit boss.
He had no idea whom the voice belonged to, and he was afraid to even speculate. Whoever he was, Teague was allowed to operate without serious Mag interference in his businessas long as he did as he was commanded.
The three prior assignments had been simple and easy to performprovide the names of jolt-walkers, alert the Mags if unusually advanced tech came in from the Outlands and supply the name of the best smuggler.
The last had been the easiest, requiring no research or expenditure of energy. Milton Reeth was the best, the most resourceful, the most clever. He had reported Reeth’s name more than a year ago, and had heard nothing of the man since.