And then all the pieces began to move, and the painting became alive.
The jump-ship shot out of the hangar bay and tore across the battlefield, ducking and rolling through debris and floating bodies.
12
He’d been alone for six months when he was stabbed for the first time. He was seven. There would be more stabbings before Drummond Bayne left the streets, but it was the first that left the biggest scar, both literally and figuratively. The blade stuck in the back of his shoulder and then pulled down three inches. To this day, he couldn’t lift his right arm all the way over his head.
It wasn’t the act that scarred him. He understood the violence even at that early stage in his life. It was the perpetrator and his motives. A boy less than a year older than him, Samuel Midas had grown up next door. Drummond didn’t think themselves friends necessarily, but they were playmates when one was required and couldn’t be found elsewhere, companions when companionship was needed and they were near. They never sought the other out.
After their street was bombed, they drew closer. Samuel was the weaker of the two. He cried for two weeks, when Dummond’s tears had dried after three days. Samuel would have wept himself to death in an alley had Drummond not pulled him along toward survival. After teaching himself to steal, Drummond taught Samuel. After teaching himself to use a blade, Drummond taught Samuel, and it was with that knife that Samuel stabbed him.
The teenagers preyed on the younger kids. Tyler Crow was one of the more devious. He took the kids in, made them part of his gang. Made them want to be part of his gang. He offered protection, as close to a guaranteed meal as any kid was likely to find. But he made kids earn it. Drummond looked after Samuel. Kept him alive. Taught him to survive. Then Samuel stabbed him in the back and left him bleeding on a pile of trash.
A fighter exploded just meters off the jump-ship’s bow. The force of the burst hit the jump-ship and knocked Sig off his feet. He hit his head on the wall, leaving a nasty gash in his forehead. Delphyne helped him back to his feet. Her hands came away bloody.
“Thirty seconds!” the pilot yelled. “Make ready!”
Bayne couldn’t tell if Sig was unsteady because of the blood running into his eyes or the rocking of the ship. He grabbed his security chief’s elbow and held him upright just the same. The away team was on its feet, locked and loaded, ready for action, though the green in Delphyne and Hep’s cheeks suggested that some were readier than others.
“Making our approach!” the pilot yelled. She brought the jump-ship up to the hull of the station and turned so they were parallel. Once steady, Valoriae extended the walkway. It was a secure tunnel that suctioned to the hull, forming an airlock. Then two members of her team set about with torches, cutting a hole in the station.
Within half a minute, they’d cut their way through. The section of hull fell inward with a thud. The entirety of the team filed in and formed a perimeter.
Chaos. Sparks rained down. Fires ignited in the walls before automated suppression systems kicked on. Personnel ran screaming down the halls.
“Guard this exit,” Valoriae ordered two of her men. “We can’t lose this exfil. The rest on me.” She made to head down the corridor toward the north.
“XO,” Bayne said, stopping her short. “If I may?”
Valoriae looked irritated, even under all her gear. “In our short time together, I’ve learned that you will regardless, so out with it.”
“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Bayne said. “Your team can hit the rep’s last-known location. My team will move to one of the probable locations in case he isn’t there. A redundancy to ensure success.”
Valoriae eyed him suspiciously but took no time in deciding. She wasn’t one to waste time. “Fine,” she said, though it clearly was not. “But I’m not responsible for your safety, Captain. If you aren’t with me, then you’re on your own.”
“Understood,” Bayne said. “Good luck, XO.”
“You too.” She led her team north.
Bayne led Sigurd, Delphyne, and Hep south. “Heads on a swivel, team.”
They moved through the chaotic corridors of Triseca Station like a singular organism held together not so much by training and discipline, but by tension. Sigurd was in his element.
Delphyne had clocked as much time on an away team as any of the crew, but she never fully grew used to it. She was skilled, more capable than most in a combat situation, but she hated combat. She preferred the bridge.
Hep was a wildcard. Bayne assumed the boy had seen plenty of action, maybe more than his crew—certainly a wider variety of hostile situations—but he couldn’t get a read on the kid. He seemed like a quivering mouse one second, and the next moment, he was saving Bayne’s life from an exploding deep-space mine.
Regardless, Bayne was happy to have them at his back when a squad of pirates came up behind them.
“Hostiles!” Sigurd shouted. His cry was cut short by the sudden eruption of blaster fire. By the time Bayne had spun around to face their attackers, Sigurd had already dropped one with a shot to the chest. Bayne, Hep, and Delphyne opened fire and took down another two. The remaining two ducked inside a maintenance room for cover.
“Move,” Bayne ordered. Delphyne and Sigurd guarded the rear as they pressed forward. The pirates didn’t reemerge before the team rounded the corner, but the sound of their voices and footsteps floated after them like bats once they were out of sight.
“They’re coming,” Sig said, daring a peek around the corner. “They’ll have backup soon.”
“Then we need to keep moving,” Bayne said. “The checkpoint is just up this way.”
“That’s our way out, sir,” Sig said, pointing back toward the building wave of pirates. “If they blockade this corridor, then we’re stuck. The more ground we give up now, the harder it will be to fight our way back to the jump-ship. You get the VIP. I’ll hold this position.”
Bayne sometimes thought of his chief of security as a reckless man. The sort that knowingly put himself in danger for the thrill. Officially, he’d commented on the fact in Sig’s evaluations. It may have kept him from commendations he rightfully deserved. Unofficially, Bayne admired it. He understood it.
The two halves of Bayne warred with each other. The captain against the Ranger. Protocol against instinct and desire. The mission against self-interest. The subordinate against the friend.
Bayne removed what grenades he had and handed them to Sigurd. “Five minutes,” Bayne said. “Just give us five minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” Sig said.
Delphyne nodded at Sig and tried to smile, but the expression just looked pained.
Bayne, Delphyne, and Hep continued down the hall. The sound of blaster fire rang out behind them.
They soon reached the end of the corridor. It split in two, one path leading left, one right. Delphyne veered toward the right, not noticing that Bayne was headed in the other direction.
“Sir?” she said, calling after him. “The potential VIP location is this way, sir.”
He stopped and turned to look at her. He was tired of veiling his motivations, of making excuses, of explaining himself. He was tired of being questioned. “Follow me, Lieutenant,” was all he said. He offered no explanation, and, being a good officer, Delphyne didn’t push for one. Though, she moved with less zeal than before and her eyes darkened.
Two pirates rounded a corner a few yards ahead of Bayne. They weren’t expecting to step into the path of opposition. Their weapons weren’t even raised. Bayne shot them both down before they had time to react. He stepped over their bodies and scanned the adjacent hallway. It was clear, so Bayne took the opportunity to relieve the dead pirates of their swords. He slid both scabbards onto one belt and fastened it around his waist.
Delphyne’s eyes darkened further, but she said nothing.
Hep took one of the dead pirate’s radios and scanned the frequencies. He passed over several channels of chatter before stopping on one. The conversation sounded l
ike nonsense.
“Code?” Bayne asked.
Hep nodded and held up a finger, trying to focus on the conversation. It was a common practice among pirates. They often couldn’t afford the tech to scramble their frequencies, so they would speak in code instead. A captain could still reach his crew without his plans being intercepted.
“They’ve changed it some, I think,” Hep said. “But I’ve got the gist. They’re going to blow the station.”
Bayne knew it was Parallax’s likely objective. Beyond sending a message that the United Systems’ allies weren’t untouchable even this far into the center of the system, it made tactical sense. Shatter an alliance before it began. Prevent Central from gathering intelligence on Ore Town. Deliver a blow to the Byers Clan’s operations in the area. Take a Navy ship out in the blast. A hit to several of his enemies at once. Parallax was nothing if not economical.
“When?” Bayne asked.
“They just started the countdown,” Hep said. “Called all hands back to their ships for evacuation. Twenty minutes.”
Now the debate began in Bayne’s head. The same argument he’d been having for what felt like his entire life. Which direction to go? Which path to take? That of responsible Navy Captain? Complete his mission and get his crew to safety? Or risk their lives going rogue?
“Delphyne, rendezvous with Sigurd,” Bayne ordered. “Get back to the jump-ship and keep that exfil secured. If we aren’t back in fifteen minutes, you leave without us.”
Her face didn’t give anything away. Bayne reckoned she was so conflicted that she just turned to stone, so many things trying to happen at once. She opened her mouth and her jaw just hung for a moment, unsure what to do. Then she said, “Aye, sir,” and ran down the hall.
Bayne thought that might be one of the last times he saw Lieutenant Delphyne. Even should they both survive the day, he was heading down a path that he would not ask her to travel.
“Let’s move,” Bayne said, charging down the hall. They wound through a series of corridors that eventually led to an office suite. The executive offices, to be exact. Bayne expected a heavy pirate presence but hoped the call to evacuate would have pulled them away by now.
As usual, his hopes were for naught. Blocking the entrance to the office suites was a squad of five very hostile and anxious pirates.
13
The pirates smiled like they were in on a joke. Bayne felt left out, especially since it felt like he was part of the punchline.
“If you gentlemen would be so kind?” Bayne gestured for them to step aside.
They drew their blasters in response.
Hep plucked a shield grenade from his belt and tossed it a few feet in front of them. It burst with a flash of blue light and left behind a thin energy shield. Bayne and Hep pressed against it, taking refuge from the onslaught of blaster fire. Hep plucked another grenade from his belt and threw it at the pirates. This one left behind a bloody stain. Four of the pirates scattered in time, leaving one poor soul in thousands of tiny pieces.
Bayne charged from cover before the pirates could regroup. He dropped one with a shot to the chest and tagged another in the shoulder. Once he was in close, Bayne drew his recently-acquired swords. He impaled one with such force that he pinned him to the wall. He slashed another across the chest, painting the hallway with a spray of red.
The pirate with the hole in his shoulder raised his blaster and managed to get Bayne in his sights, but couldn’t pull the trigger before Hep pulled his, putting a hole in the pirate’s head.
Taking no time to regroup, Bayne opened the door to the executive office. A solitary pirate had been left inside to guard the prisoners. Bayne dispatched him with a dagger, hurled from twenty feet, that stuck firmly in the man’s throat.
Four well-dressed civilians were huddled in a corner. And one man stood defiantly a few feet to their left. He was broad and looked uncomfortable in his three-piece suit. His bushy black beard was flecked with stray white hairs. He stood unflinching, his arms folded across his barrel chest and resting on his bulging belly.
“Elvin Horus,” Bayne said. “You need to come with me.”
Horus grunted. “And who in the hell might you be?” Recognition washed over his face the moment the words passed through his lips. His eyes widened, tightening the wrinkles in his cheeks. “I know you. Bayne. A Ranger. What are you doing here?”
“I serve in the Navy now,” Bayne said. “I’ve some questions for you.”
Horus stepped forward, seemingly to oblige, but then suddenly locked up, like he’d just remembered something else. “Questions about what?”
“Now’s not really the time, sir,” Bayne said. “This station is rigged to blow in about fifteen minutes.”
“Captain?” Hep said as he peeked out the suite door into the hallway. “Company.”
One of the executives shook so hard it looked like he might crumble to dust. “They were just holding us here until a team could come collect us.”
Bayne cursed. “How many?” he asked Hep.
“Eight,” the boy answered. Hep closed the door and stepped away from it. “They saw the bodies. They’re taking up positions.”
They wouldn’t wait long, Bayne reasoned. They were all running on the same clock. Fifteen minutes and it was sudden, fiery death for all. Best chance was to wait for the pirates to charge in, try to funnel them, and pick them off one at a time. It seemed like they wanted these VIPs alive, probably to ransom back to the Byers Clan, so, hopefully, they would breach with some caution. Though, they may just cut their losses, toss a grenade in the door, and pick over the bones.
Bayne stooped down and took the rifle off the dead pirate he’d stuck in the neck. He handed it to Horus. “You still know how to use one of these?”
Horus chuckled and took the blaster like it was a slice of chocolate cake, and he’d been on a diet for months. “Yeah, I remember.”
“The rest of you take cover back there,” Bayne said, pointing to a block of desks near the back corner.
Bayne, Hep, and Horus took up positions. Hep stayed by the door, ready to toss out grenades. Horus and Bayne both ducked behind an overturned desk and trained their rifles on the door.
“This is about the Rangers, isn’t it?” Horus asked Bayne so that only he could hear.
Bayne didn’t answer. He preferred to focus on the task of staying alive and didn’t welcome the distraction.
“This official?” Horus asked. “How you coming at me? Navy or Ranger?”
Bayne didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t have a chance to, regardless. He heard movement outside. Footsteps, orders being issued, a plan coming together. And then a plan being executed. The door swung open. A tiny cannister rolled inside.
“Concussion!” Hep yelled as he dove away from the door.
Bayne and Horus ducked behind the desk, covering their ears and shutting their eyes. The cannister exploded with a thunderous burst of light and noise that punched Bayne in the chest. His ears thrummed. His head felt like it was being stepped on. The flash still lingered on the air when he raised his rifle and began firing. His equilibrium was off. His shots went wide, hitting the inside wall of the office suite.
Horus didn’t fare any better. He was slow to rise, and his aim was equally affected. But as the bursts let loose from the muzzle of his blaster, he seemed to change. He seemed to shed his three-piece suit and don more familiar attire, that of a Navy captain. He bellowed a war cry, which appeared to help his aim. One of his shots struck a pirate in the shoulder as she tried to enter the room, forcing her back out.
The volley ceased, allowing the besieged to regroup and reassess. Bayne checked himself for holes he should not have. Everything was as it should be. He checked the others. Horus had a small cut across his cheek, likely put there by shrapnel. Hep was fine. One of the VIPs, the quivering man who informed Bayne of the coming pirates, didn’t fare so well. Logic had fled him when the shooting stared. He attempted to run, having nowhere to g
o. He must have realized that as soon as he stepped out from behind the desks and froze in place, his mind and body warring with each other. Now, he lay in a heap, struck several times in the chest and face.
“Won’t survive another one of those,” Horus said. “Even if they charge in here like blind monkeys, and we manage to put down half of them, they still gun down the rest of us. If time’s running out like you say, then that’ll be their next move.”
As much as he wanted to argue the point, Bayne knew Horus was right. They needed to make a move now if they had any hope of making it back to the jump-ship in time. But they needed a miracle if that move was going to leave them alive.
“How many grenades you have left?” Bayne asked Hep.
“Two,” Hep answered.
“All right,” Bayne said, resigning himself to one final, desperate move. “When I say, you throw the first. Then you—” He nodded to Horus. “—start firing high. I’ll rush out, take out as many as I can. If I go down, count to ten and throw the next grenade. Then you all charge out of here and run like hell.”
“That’s a suicide mission,” Horus said.
“Might be,” Bayne said. “So’s sitting here, waiting for something to happen.” He drew his swords and nodded to Hep.
Hep plucked a grenade off his belt and counted down from three. He threw the grenade. The pirates screamed. Then the voices disappeared in the explosion. Horus stood and fired a steady stream of blaster fire into the hall. He aimed high enough that Bayne need only crouch slightly to keep his head intact, just enough to keep the pirates on the defensive. Bayne rushed out.
The first pirate he came to, the woman Horus had hit in the shoulder, was sprawled out on the floor, her face and clothes covered in black soot. She may have already been dead, but he didn’t take the chance. He plunged his sword into her chest.
A second pirate was reeling from the grenade. He rose to his feet, debris rolling off him like a rockslide. He noticed Bayne too late. He tried to raise his blaster, but with a quick slash of one sword, Bayne removed his hand. He brought the second sword across the pirate’s throat, turning his scream into a gurgle.
The Deep Black Space Opera Boxed Set Page 16