Renegades

by Kelly Gay

  Rion left the market through the massive hangar doors and headed out into the night. As she started for the dark canal bridge, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked back at the Flintlock.

  Yes, she wanted payback, but she also knew that letting Gek ‘Lhar get away with codes to a Harvester might end up hurting a hell of a lot of innocent people. There wasn’t time now, but as soon as she was airborne, she’d alert the UNSC. Hell, maybe she should tell Agent Hahn—that might get ONI off her back for a while. The Sangheili commander was a prize no matter how you looked at it.

  As Rion turned back toward the bridge, she already knew she could—

  A hood slid over her head. “Hey! What the—”

  Gloved hands gripped her wrists together, restraints binding her in a flash before she was lifted off her feet and hoisted over a shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  Rion had never felt it coming, too distracted and rushed to sense the presence behind her. One second she was formulating a plan; the next the world went black, the hood pulled over her head, arms grabbing her from behind. . . . By the time understanding dawned, she was being carted away.

  Her first instinct was to struggle, but when she felt the bounce of the bridge over the muddy canal she quieted. The last thing she wanted was to cause a tumble into the canal. Many a Komoyan had fallen into the clutches of the planet’s muck and never resurfaced.

  Instead, she focused on her other senses—she might be blind, but she could still hear and feel and smell.

  No words, just footsteps, quick and sure. Her captor’s breathing was similar; it didn’t sound labored with her weight at all. Next was smell. Definitely human. Relatively clean. The scent of Komoya hadn’t yet settled through her captor’s clothes and skin, which suggested this wasn’t some pirate or merc.

  While she couldn’t do much with her hands, she could feel the arm locked over the back of her legs and the occasional bump of gear against her shin, a holster and weapon no doubt. With every jarring step her gut tightened, and her head began to pound.

  Gradually the smells and sounds changed. Noise reduced in favor of the low drone of an engine, the scent of fuel, and finally the metal clang of boots on a cargo ramp as she was carried onto a ship of some kind.

  As her captor finally set her on her feet, the pressure in her head faded, leaving behind a touch of dizziness. She wobbled, trying to find her balance in the darkness. Now that movement had stopped, the environment inside the hood took precedence. It was musty and damp, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly things got very claustrophobic. Rion tried to stifle the rising panic, but knew she was fighting a losing battle.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder and steadied her, then guided her backward until her legs hit something solid, and she fell onto a hard seat or bench. “Take it off!” she managed. “I can’t brea—”

  The hood came off. An instant wash of cooler air met her damp skin.

  Second time tonight she’d been manhandled and nearly suffocated. Her neck still ached, and she was tired of gasping for air and feeling broken glass in her injured throat with each breath, swallow, and word she spoke. Unfortunately, the night had taken a turn at the worst possible time. And her composure was starting to crack.

  She took note of the pilot ahead in the cockpit, and then leveled a glare at her kidnapper.

  Beyond the fact that she was on a utility bench in the back of a UNSC Pelican, it didn’t take much to figure out her abductor was on the Office of Naval Idiots’ payroll. Even in his nondescript black uniform, light gear, and face mask, which covered everything but his eyes, the man standing in front of her screamed special ops—if special ops was in the business of employing giants. The guy had to be just shy of seven feet, built like a ton of bricks, and probably about as intelligent and fun.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered, her adrenaline at recent events giving way to anger. “You spooks had to pick me up now? Unbelievable.”

  The Big Guy—as she decided to call him—frowned, though there was more curiosity in his gaze than anger at her comment. He’d probably expected a little shaking in fear or crying in panic or begging for release. His gaze dropped to her neck. No doubt, from his lingering look, her skin was already starting to show signs of bruising.

  So the spook had a heart.

  And if she’d been picked up, then it was highly probable that her crew was next or already in custody.

  Perfect.

  And the night had been going so well.

  No sooner had the thought come and gone, another spook entered; this one was also abnormally tall, but more slender than the Big Guy—a woman in identical gear, strong enough to carry in a struggling, pissed-off kid without much effort. “Caught this one fleeing the shipyard,” she said casually. “Wily little bastard gave me quite the chase.”

  “Screw you!” Niko yelled beneath his hood.

  The woman dropped him on the bench next to Rion.

  “Cool it, kid,” Rion said in a low voice, bumping her shoulder to his. He went still, head coming up and tilted in her direction.

  “Oh no,” he whispered, realizing she had been caught. “No, no, no—hey! Where’s my sister? I swear, if you hurt one curl on her head, I will—”

  The woman leaned forward and yanked the hood from Niko’s head. He jumped. Poor kid was red-faced and sputtering, eyes wide, scared and livid.

  From what Rion could tell by the woman’s body language and from her eyes, the only part of her visible in the mask, she didn’t seem fazed by Niko’s unspoken threat. In fact, she seemed to regard him with a dry humor that Rion knew all too well. “What?” she asked. “What will you do?”

  Niko leaned forward, mouth open, obviously ready to lay into her, but managed to control himself; he sat back and ignored her.

  She laughed. “I like you, kid. Maybe you are as smart as they say.”

  The woman straightened, turned away, and approached the Big Guy.

  “Well, I don’t like you!” he yelled after her. “And, yeah, I am smarter!”

  “Other two are secure on their ship,” she informed her partner. “We’re all set.”

  “Wait!” Rion jumped to her feet. The Big Guy immediately shoved her down, but she popped right back up, fury rising swift and hard, her first instinct to lash out and repay the rough action in kind. Any other time she gave as good as she got, but her desire to see Gek ‘Lhar pay in some way—now that her plans were going up in smoke—won out instead. “You can’t just leave Komoya.”

  His brow rose, and he seemed to regard her with some thought, a calm intelligence in the brown eyes, making her rethink her earlier assumption about him. Maybe not a total pile of bricks, then. “Orders are orders, ma’am,” he said with finality, and turned toward the cabin.

  Rion swore under her breath and grabbed his arm. Her entire night had been ruined by ONI. All her plans might be over before they’d really begun. But one thing was certain—if she wasn’t getting off Komoya scot-free, then neither was Gek. “Do you have any idea where I was? We can’t leave. Gek ‘Lhar is here.”

  At that, the Big Guy stilled, glancing back at her with a quiet kind of judgment as though, if he searched deep enough, he could see the truth or lies in her claim.

  “Look, he just won an auction for a Harvester.” No reaction. “With a working plasma drill. Are you hearing what I’m saying? A Sangheili with an axe to grind against humanity is about to leave Komoya with a goddamn plasma drill, if he hasn’t already.”

  “You two lug-heads know what a plasma drill can do, right?” Niko asked, leaning past Rion. “If left long enough, the thing could eventually cut clean through to a planet’s core. Destroy worlds. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  After a pause, the Big Guy gave a curt nod and the woman immediately slid into the copilot’s seat and bent over the controls, communicating with whatever ship they had in orbit, her voice muffled. It took just a few seconds before she was don
e and leaning out of the cabin. “Only ship that’s requested launch codes is the Ace of Spades.”

  “What are you, amateurs?” Niko said, sitting back and shaking his head. “A roach like that doesn’t request codes.”

  Rion shot him a quick warning to behave, and then faced the Big Guy. “He had to pay first—the money had to clear. Elld puts every auction winner in lockdown until funds are confirmed and transferred, then he’ll hand over the codes and coordinates to the Harvester’s location. Tell your people to look for a Covie war freighter in the West Glades Airfield. His ship might still be there.” And if by some miracle it was, it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  The Big Guy turned to the woman. “Tell Turk to run a sweep of the area. See if her story checks out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Another muffled conversation, and about thirty seconds later, the woman announced: “Turk’s confirmed—there’s a vessel matching that description in West Glades Airfield.”

  “That’s him,” Rion said with urgency, hoping Gek hadn’t switched vessels or left behind some phony decoy signature in his wake. Either way, ONI leaving them alone was a very good thing. “That’s his ship. If you don’t get to him before he jumps, you’ll have a radical Covenant zealot out there with the capability of destroying cities, if not an entire planet. And I know we’re not worth more to you than that.”

  “Yeah,” Niko added, holding his hands up like scales weighing his next words. “Small time salvagers.” His left hand dipped low. His right hand went high. “Psycho hinge-head. Take your pick.”

  Rion touched the man’s arm with her gloved left hand, her fingers splaying over the forearm unit he wore. “We’re small time salvagers well under your pay grade and not worth the big catch about to slip through your fingers.”

  The man grabbed both of Rion’s shoulders and pushed her to the bench, wordlessly producing a knife. He cut her restraints and then produced more of the thin carbon-fiber ties from his back pocket, which he looped around her wrists and attached to the bar behind her. Then he did the same for Niko. Once that was done, it was as though Rion and Niko no longer existed as the two operatives loaded up on gear and weapons in a clean, efficient manner.

  Rion watched them with interest, noting the way they moved and interacted, the unrattled, confident aura. They could do this with their eyes closed. She’d been around enough military and ex-military to see that these two were the cream of the crop. More than special ops, much, much more. . . .

  They spoke low into their comms, telling their buddy Turk to provide eyes from above and standby support.

  As they filed out of the Pelican, Rion called after them. “Wait! What about us?”

  They didn’t acknowledge her, but the ramp started to close and the pilot began initiating takeoff. “No, no, no. Damn it, this is not part of the plan,” she muttered, shifting in her seat to study the restraints.

  As Niko turned her way, she managed to get to her knees on the bench and then angled her hip toward his tied hands. “Back pocket.”

  “On it,” he said. “Total amateurs. What do they think, this is our first kidnapping? So full of themselves. . . .”

  “Niko—this is your first kidnapping,” she replied with impatience. “Hurry it up. We need to get off this boat.”

  He twisted enough to reach into her back pocket and pull out the small knife she kept there. And then he fumbled it. It clanked to the deck. As the Pelican lifted off, it slid to the end of the cargo bay, completely out of reach.

  Niko winced. “Sorry.”

  Rion sat back and gave a defeated sigh. Her knife probably wouldn’t have put a dent in the carbon fiber anyway.

  She’d been so close. . . . They’d had the luminary, for God’s sake.

  Now it was in ONI’s possession and would probably never again see the light of day.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  UNSC Taurokado, 400 kilometers above Rostov, Sverdlovsk system, five minutes earlier

  “Sir, we have the salvagers in custody,” Turk informed Agent Hahn as he stood at the tactical table on the bridge, eager for an update. “Two in their ship, the Ace of Spades, and two restrained in the Pelican and ready for transport.”

  “Good. Have a team meet me in the hangar bay.”

  Agent Hahn paused to stare out the prowler’s viewscreen at the murky brown moon hovering above Vitalyevna’s planetary ring. Komoya was one of the gas giant’s twenty-seven moons, and it was a dim and dirty place, the very definition of backwater—though, with well-defined radar, defense, and commsat systems, it was a backwater that took its protection very seriously. In order to keep a low profile, the Taurokado had stayed out of Komoya’s orbital range, using its nearby neighbor, the uninhabited moon Rostov, to run signal interference.

  As Hahn turned to leave, the bridge’s comms officer caught his attention.

  “Captain?” The comms officer paused to listen intently; then: “Apollo reporting. . . . Salvagers are claiming Gek ‘Lhar is on the ground. . . .” He listened again as Captain Karah moved to the tactical table.

  “Turk, patch me in,” she ordered, holding up a hand to silence Hahn before he had a chance to argue in favor of his mission.

  Despite the respect he held for Karah and her decisions, Hahn couldn’t help but think that if Rion Forge slipped through his fingers this time, he’d lose her for good. And while Gek ‘Lhar was a high-value target because of his association with Jul ‘Mdama and the Covenant element operating out of Hesduros, so were Hahn’s salvagers. After all, they held the key to an asset far greater than a renegade Sangheili and whatever was left of the Covenant.

  Still, he obeyed her command, staring across the table at the captain. There weren’t very many people who intimidated him, but Netah Karah was definitely one of them. In her crisp uniform and buzz cut that showed just a hint of silver, she was a formidable adversary. No-nonsense, fair-minded, with dark features etched with dignity and authority. Karah carried herself like an aristocrat from the days of old. At just forty-three years old, her accomplishments were equally impressive and hard earned.

  “Understood,” Captain Karah was saying. “Apollo, you have permission to engage. Support inbound. Turk?”

  “On it, Captain. Broadswords deploying.”

  “And the salvagers?” a female voice asked over comms.

  “Send them up immediately.”

  “Roger that. Apollo out.”

  “Relax, Agent Hahn,” Karah said, meeting his concerned gaze across the table. “Your prize isn’t going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 7

  * * *

  UNSC Taurokado, hangar bay

  Rion felt the Pelican rise through the atmosphere, felt the change as they hit the exosphere, the engines easing to a low hum, relying on the occasional thruster burst to provide direction. And then relative silence, broken only by muffled communications coming from the cockpit.

  Eventually, the vessel shuddered and slowed.

  “We’re docking,” Niko said.

  And all Rion could think about was how the rest of her crew and her ship were faring.

  The pilot refused to tell them anything, and after a few minutes the ship set down with a slight wobble. Then he released the bay doors and left the ship entirely. There wasn’t much to see from their position—just steel and titanium and cargo containers.

  Letting her head rest against the bulkhead and closing her eyes, Rion attempted to think her way out of this new situation. There was no doubt in her mind that Hahn was behind their apprehension. He’d made no secret of what he was after—the debris field coordinates and Little Bit—and she had a very bad feeling he was now way past his willingness to barter and deal.

  “What are we going to do?” Niko asked. “You think Less and Ram are okay?”

  She nodded. “They’re not after us, Niko. They’re after artifacts.”

  He sighed. “Little Bit is an artifact to them. What do you think they’ll do to him?”

  �
��I don’t know.” She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. Not much we can do. If they have Ace, they have LB.”

  “But they don’t have—”

  She shook her head, silencing him. ONI might have possession of Little Bit, but they wouldn’t have everything. Rion would just have to figure out her play as the game progressed.

  Eventually footsteps echoed over the metal flooring. Two men in nondescript flight suits appeared, cut their restraints, and then escorted them from the Pelican.

  As Rion and Niko descended the ramp, the enormity of the hold was revealed. She wasn’t sure what make of ship they were in, but it was fancy as hell, and could hold several smaller support vessels.

  “Rion,” Niko said, elbowing her side. Looming next to them was a familiar dark-winged ship, dwarfing the Pelican. The Ace of Spades had been docked here as well and her ramp was down, Lessa and Ram being escorted off the ship. They caught sight of each other and exchanged relieved glances. Less was such an open book. Her cheeks were pink with anger and worry swam in her eyes. Ram, on the other hand, strolled down the ramp with a casual calm—this wasn’t his first run-in with ONI.

  Once on the main hangar-bay floor, they joined up as a four-man team of spooks approached. From the cart laden with tech and scanners, their intentions were clear. They passed Rion and her crew and headed straight for Ace. Both Niko and Lessa stopped, a string of emotions crossing their faces as they watched the team enter the ship. Their entire lives were about to be turned upside down.

  It took everything Rion had to stay put and not run after the team. She just prayed their home would be in one piece when all this was over.

  Ram moved toward her, quietly saying: “We scrubbed her before they got on board.”

  “Navs too?”

  He nodded.

  Good. No need to make it easy for them. Another group headed their way—an officer, by the looks of him, flanked by two crewmembers.