The Envoy Read Free

something this important.
    Who hated him enough to want him out of the picture for good? He sighed. The list was potentially endless. He knew many of the Backlash feared that Reetor’s high profile would eventually lead the Enforcers to The Bunker.
    He would probably never know who had sent the file. The whole thing made him feel suddenly, terribly alone. Even more alone than he already felt out in deep space, leaving the peculiar safety of Tyver for an uncertain assignation on Hydra.
    After seeing the file, he knew he couldn’t return. As ludicrous as it was, The Bunker had been the first place in Reetor’s twenty years he had ever been able to remember feeling a degree of safety. Where could he go next? He knew there were other outposts of The Backlash; he had found his way to Tyver via one of them. But would they take him in? He shook his head to banish the thought.
    The mission first; worry about the future later. He focused on the starcharts in front of him, going over the circuitous route for the thousandth time.
    Was there enough stealth in it to avoid detection by The Enforcers?
    He hoped so. He could really use a break today.
    ***
    Later, Reetor tried to work out why he hadn’t felt the jolt of her arrival, the slick shudder as the beam engaged. He was sure it wasn’t just the after-burn head-fuckery of that damned file; more likely the tricky path he had been picking through the asteroid belts at the lip of Sector Seven. No doubt she had planned her entry to coincide with that moment.
    The first he knew, a white-hot blade sizzled near his right ear, burning his short hair where it curled just above it. Her voice was very soft and deep for a woman; so different from X’s high, commanding lilt. ‘You do know not to move, right?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He knew, alright. In fact, he knew so well he was worried to even utter the word lest the slight vibration of it in his mouth caused the thing to graze his face. Avengers knew more about weaponry and the races that wielded them than anyone else on New Earth. Almost anyone, he corrected himself, thinking about The Bunker.
    A hand ran gentle fingers over his scalp. ‘I like your hair,’ the disembodied voice crooned as Reetor tried to stay as still as possible at the mercy of the petrification blade. He had tended his foster-mother’s body. He knew what they could do.
    â€˜Thanks,’ he said carefully, again terrified to speak but knowing he needed some intelligence about what he was dealing with.
    Someone had beamed onto his pod.
    Someone was holding the most terrifying weapon in the universe close to his brain.
    But he wasn’t dead yet. And someone seemed intent on chatting about his hair.
    He could think his way out of this; he had to.
    He closed his eyes and thought about what another woman had said: Kyntura, his old Magister, and the soldier he was en route to meet. She had liked his brain, relished it, when others in the Avengers had doubted it would benefit him.
    The best warriors are smart , she had said. It’s another weapon; use it.
    â€˜Sure would be nice to see your hair.’
    â€˜You’ll love it,’ she countered, her voice playful, but with a dark edge that sent a chill skittering down his spine. ‘The Temerites think I’m magic.’ She paused, testing his hair under her fingers again. ‘That’s why they didn’t kill me.’ She paused again, swapping hands neatly as she transferred the blade to the delicate skin just above his other ear. ‘Although I often wish they had.’
    Reetor’s mind raced. The Temerites had killed his foster mother. They were slavers. Had they taken this one? Is that why she used their weapons?
    â€˜They buddies of yours?’
    â€˜Buddies?’ He heard the frown he couldn’t see while sitting carefully erect in his seat.
    She didn’t know the term? Where had she been living, under a rock?
    â€˜Friends,’ he