Beltheri bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”
Volcair stopped in front of the lieutenant on his way to the door. Beltheri was a good soldier despite her relative lack of experience, and he had no doubt she would earn many honors during her service, but she was only a few months out of the officer’s academy—she undertook every task with a strict adherence to the rules, just as she’d been taught.
It was an admirable quality, but she would have to learn flexibility eventually—especially if she was ever deployed in combat.
“You have my leave to continue reviewing the flagged manifests, Lieutenant. I trust your judgment.”
Beltheri lifted her chin and stiffened her stance to attention. “Thank you, sir.”
Volcair nodded and exited the room. The seemingly endless number of responsibilities tied to his command faded for the first time since he’d come here, giving way to thoughts of Kiara. Excitement sparked in his stomach, mixing with his anxiety and creating something new, something nauseating and uncertain and uplifting.
He knew what he’d feel when he saw her—she is meant to be mine, my mate, my forever—but it wasn’t the truth. It hadn’t been for years. She had moved on.
And he feared he never would.
Volcair proceeded through the corridors at a brisk pace, offering hurried return salutes to the soldiers he passed. The journey from his command center to the bay in which the Starlight was docked wasn’t a quick one under normal circumstances—though Janus Six was remote, it was large—but his anticipation made it feel even longer than usual despite his haste.
He took a military-use-only shuttle to the docking bay and hesitated as he was crossing the upper catwalk. Kiara’s ship was there, docked with its aft portion inside the bay’s protective forcefield. It was a Thrassian-class frigate—a terran version of a popular volturian cargo ship, blending the volturian flare for style with a human practicality.
Just one more time…
Volcair descended the steps and strode toward the Starlight. Massive metal docking arms held the ship in place. That sparked a pang of guilt in his chest; would she think he was holding her prisoner? Was that what she’d thought when she found herself a new mate back on Earth, that she was finally freeing herself from promises made before she was old enough to know any better?
He climbed the ramp to the ship’s aft entry door and drew in a deep breath.
We were children when last we saw one another. We have both changed. Whatever we thought was between us…it was just innocent friendship.
Volcair was unconvinced by his own reasoning.
He lifted a hand and pressed the button on the control panel marked CALL in terran letters.
The small screen above the button flickered on, and a male borian with chiseled features appeared on it.
“Yeah?” the borian asked.
“I am Syntrell Volcair Vantricar, the commander of this space station.”
The borian’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced at something beyond the edge of the video feed. “And? What do you want?”
“I need your crew to disembark.”
“Look, we’re on a tight schedule. We, uh…”
Another individual appeared on the screen—a dark-skinned volturian from the Kolduran qalar, by her violet-red markings. “We’re on a tight schedule, sir,” she said, glaring at the borian. “Cargo isn’t going to deliver itself.”
“And we haven’t done anything wrong. Our manifest is all in order,” the borian added, earning a sharper look from his companion.
Volcair kept his expression neutral; he understood Ensign Korian’s suspicions now.
“I need the two of you and the rest of your crew to come to the aft entry and disembark.” Volcair raised his left arm to access his holocom. He kept it low, hoping it was out of view of the camera relaying his image to the people inside the ship, and flicked his fingers through the control screen to send a message to Lieutenant Beltheri.
Need a boarding crew standing by, DB9-14.
The borian and the volturian exchanged a glance before the former grumbled, “Fine.”
The screen beside the door went dark. Volcair switched off his holocom and waited, the sense of dread in his gut thickening with each passing moment. Either Kiara really didn’t want to see him, she wasn’t here, or…
With a long hiss, a rumbling, and the whir of unseen motors, the airlock door released and swung inward. The interior door of the small chamber beyond was already open; the borian and the volturian stood in the doorway.
“Where is the rest of your crew?” Volcair asked.
“We’re it,” the borian said.
The female volturian frowned. “The others are resting. We’ve had a rough trip so far.”
Volcair shifted his gaze between the two. Something darted across the corridor behind them—something silvery and low to the floor. A moment later, a familiar inux peered at Volcair from just within one of the side doorways, revealing only two of his eyes, part of his narrow snout, and one large, backswept ear.
Volcair’s heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen Cypher—the only creature in all the universe he considered a true friend apart from Kiara—for nineteen years. Why was the inux acting so skittish?
It took all Volcair’s willpower to keep from outwardly reacting to the unexpected sight. He lifted his arm, activated his holocom, and summoned the ship’s manifest. “You have how many aboard?”
“Seven,” said the borian.
“Six,” replied the volturian.
Expressions darkening, the pair glared at one another.
Volcair was suddenly aware of the holstered blaster on his belt but dared not lower his right hand toward it.
“I see. There are six listed on the manifest for this trip.” He clicked his tongue, watching from the edge of his vision as Cypher silently crept into the hallway and approached, metal scales standing up and vibrating as though in alarm. “I will need to speak with the owner of the ship. If there is an error on the manifest, it will need to be resolved before we can move you into the departure queue. This sort of thing happens often.”
“He’s not on board,” the borian said. “He, uh…he backed out at the last moment. Other business. Above our paygrade. That’s why I was confused for a second.”
Volcair frowned and dismissed the holocom’s projected screen. “Oh. That is unfortunate. I will have to have my team contact the owner to straighten this out. That can take some time from this deep in space. If I could have you and your fellow crew members disembark…” He stepped backward, turning so he stood perpendicular to the borian and the volturian, and gestured to the bay floor behind him.
Neither crewmember moved; their gazes were hard and calculating, the gazes of people who regularly faced death and no longer knew how to flinch away from it.
A familiar calmness settled over Volcair. He’d been here before, many times. For a long while, he’d thought he liked this state because it was simple—either you survived, or you didn’t—but he knew better now. It was the emptiness he had appreciated. He didn’t feel that emptiness now; Kiara would not leave his thoughts, and a thousand what-ifs spiraled through his mind.
Volcair slowly shifted his right hand to his blaster, keeping his gaze locked with the individuals before him. “We will get this sorted out as quickly as possible.”
Everything moved in a sudden burst of speed. He drew his blaster as both crewmembers—pirates, undoubtedly—reached behind their backs to pull blasters of their own. Volcair fired the first shot, hitting the borian in the chest in the same instant that Cypher, scales shifting to form long, wicked spikes, leapt at the female volturian.
She screamed as Cypher slammed into her back and fired several wild shots that hit the floor, ceiling, and wall. Volcair stepped back and squeezed the trigger of his blaster again, hitting the borian—who was still on his feet—in the neck.
The female fell, writhing and thrashing to dislodge Cypher.
“Alert! Shots fired in docking bay nine near gate fourteen,” declared a computerized voice through the overhead announcement system.
With a choked grunt, the borian dropped. Volcair turned his blaster toward the downed volturian, intending to fire, but she was already still. Her blood glistened on the metal floor paneling.
Cypher reverted to his prior form—that of Kiara’s favorite animal, the fox—and looked up at Volcair.
Releasing a heavy breath, Volcair activated his commlink. “We have hostiles on the Starlight with a potential hostage situation. I need a strike team down here immediately.”
As the comms lit up with chatter, Cypher stepped off the dead volturian and hurried to the borian, pawing open a pouch on the pirate’s belt. Keeping his blaster ready and an eye on the corridor, Volcair crouched beside the inux.
Cypher backed away, tugging something out of the pouch with his teeth.
It was a white gold chain with a familiar pendant attached to it.
Volcair’s chest constricted. He held out his hand, and Cypher lowered the balus stone necklace onto Volcair’s waiting palm.
If Cypher hadn’t been evidence enough, this was all Volcair needed to know Kiara was here. Was she safe, or had she been harmed?
He closed his hand around the necklace. Under different circumstances, he might have wondered why she still carried the balus stone after she’d chosen a path separate from him years ago. Why would she still have it when she’d already taken another male as her mate?
But with Cypher and the necklace here, all he could think about was Kiara’s safety. There were undoubtedly other pirates on this ship. Kiara had to be somewhere on board, too. There were soldiers inbound, but it would be at least a minute before they arrived, and that wasn’t soon enough. Not when Kiara was in danger.
“Take me to her, Cypher,” he commanded as he rose.
Cypher stalked forward, and Volcair followed the inux through the interior airlock door, taking a two-handed grip on his blaster.
Fear roiled in the back of Volcair’s mind—fear for Kiara, the girl, the woman, who was supposed to be his mate. The woman he’d taken too long to go back to.
“How many more pirates?” he asked as they neared the end of the corridor, where a doorway opened into a perpendicular passage.
Cypher’s scales rattled, his color darkening for a moment. While most of his scales reverted to their normal silver, one section remained dark for a few seconds—in the shape of the terran numeral seven. Cypher flattened himself on his belly and shimmied forward. He paused just before the entry into the next hallway and raised his ears.
Heavy footsteps sounded from around the corner, and someone shouted in a gruff voice, “Brazzik! Falka! What the hell’s going on out there?”
Volcair halted several paces from the entryway and dropped to one knee. He aimed his blaster at the opening.
“Moerg,” a voice called through the ship’s overhead comm system, “there’s a soldier in the aft entry corridor!”
At the same instant, a burly azhera with a tangled mane and an auto-blaster in his hands stepped into the doorway.
The azhera—presumably Moerg—met Volcair’s gaze as Volcair fired. The blaster’s high whine was amplified in the relatively tight corridor.
Moerg grunted, flinching back as the first bolt sizzled through his shoulder. Volcair’s immediate follow-up shot struck the left side of the azhera’s chest. Maintaining a one-handed grip on his auto-blaster, Moerg squeezed its trigger and sent a burst of plasma bolts into the wall. Flecks of molten metal splashed at Volcair, who thrust himself aside to avoid the stinging debris. He fired again as he fell against the wall.
Volcair’s third shot landed between the previous two, and the azhera crashed to the floor.
“Commander?” Lieutenant Beltheri said through the commlink. “Commander, the boarding team is inbound. They will breach in two minutes. Please fall back to await reinforcement.”
Volcair glanced down at Cypher as the inux walked around the fallen azhera and entered the next corridor.
“Get the merchandise out of storage,” said the voice on the ship’s overheads. “We need some meat shields.”
If the pirates were allowed the chance to hide behind hostages, this would become a prolonged incident almost guaranteed to end in the loss of innocent life; Dominion protocol did not favor negotiation with criminals, outlaws, and terrorists, even in these circumstances. It was a desperate move on behalf of the pirates—which meant Volcair needed to make his own desperate move, no matter how stupid or dangerous it was. He had to press on alone.
Not alone. Cypher is here.
Cypher looked back, meeting Volcair’s gaze, and nodded.
Volcair shoved himself to his feet and advanced, hesitating only long enough to fire another bolt into the azhera’s head before he followed Cypher into the left branch of the next corridor. They soon arrived at a recess in the hallway’s corner which contained a ladder leading down to a lower level.
The inux halted at the edge of the opening and glanced over his shoulder at Volcair, producing a series of soft clicks. Then Cypher bounded forward, scales flickering as his front paws elongated into hook-like talons to grab hold of the rungs. He descended out of Volcair’s sight.
“Open the door and get them out,” someone said from below. “You heard Yaril. We got company.”
“Knew this was a bad idea,” another person said. “Should’ve just towed this thing.”
There was a loud, reverberating clang on the lower deck, followed by a deep rumbling. Volcair knew the sounds well—a heavy-duty cargo hold door was being opened below. The noise was an opportunity—it could mask the sound of his movement—but it was also a dire warning.
He was running out of time.
Volcair didn’t bother with the ladder; he dropped into the opening and landed heavily on the metal floor three meters below. The jolt of the impact shot up his legs and clacked his teeth together, jarring his balance. He caught himself against the wall. Cypher brushed against his boot, coiling slightly around his shin. Volcair had forgotten how reassuring the inux’s presence could be.
The voices from the corridor—which was at least twice as wide as the one above—were made indistinct by the sound of the opening door.
“Only six left, right?” Volcair asked. He stepped into the corridor before Cypher could respond.
The wide passage was divided into several sections by partially closed, sliding double doors—the sort that would automatically close to seal compromised compartments in the event of a hull breach. It was a standard safety feature on many space vessels. Each section had its own large cargo bay door, all marked with terran letters and numbers. The bay door closest to the ladder was rumbling open now.
One pirate—a green-skinned vorgal—stood at the door’s control panel, his left hand on the switch while his right aimed a blaster into the widening gap. Two more pirates stood between the door operator and Volcair, one of whom was watching the bay door.
The other was watching the ladder access from which Volcair had just emerged.
The pirate made eye contact with Volcair and shouted, “Spawn of a skeks!”
Volcair fired; his enemies did the same. Plasma bolts zipped down the corridor in both directions.
Diving into the only available cover—the recess containing the ladder—Volcair flattened his back against the wall. Plasma pierced the metal around him and darted past the opening. With such limited cover—and so outgunned by his enemies—it was only a matter of time before he was hit.
And it was potentially a matter of moments before the pirates dragged out their merchandise to use as living shields.
The bay door clanged again and went silent; it had opened fully.
He sank down into a crouch, and Cypher moved up to nuzzle his thigh. Volcair showed him the holocom on his wrist. “Can you interface with this?”
The inux’s eyes fli
ckered; he nodded.
“Do it. And climb up on my right shoulder.”
Cypher hopped nimbly onto Volcair’s shoulder, his paws creating almost painful focal points through which his weight pressed down on Volcair’s flesh; though small, Cypher was heavy.
Shifting his grip on the blaster, Volcair opened the holocom’s projection screen. “I need you to patch through a camera feed from one of your optics and extend that optic along the barrel of my weapon.”
Several plasma bolts burst through the wall overhead; Volcair muttered a curse and ducked lower.
Cypher laid himself over Volcair’s shoulder with a series of low buzzes and clicks, stretching himself along Volcair’s arm. His scales rippled, and those around one of his optics peeled back. The electronic eye extended outward on a thin, segmented tristeel wire, trailing over Volcair’s forearm and the back of his hand to settle on the rear sight of the blaster. The holocom screen changed to a two-dimensional video feed—a view from Cypher’s perspective down the barrel of the blaster.
Keeping low, Volcair turned to face the wall. He extended his right arm to move the blaster into the corridor, watching Cypher’s optic feed.
Two of the pirates had moved behind the large compartment doors, leaving only their heads and arms exposed to shoot in Volcair’s direction.
Volcair wasted no time; he fired rapidly, adjusting his aim to correct the trajectory of his shots, which were made more difficult by his skewed, indirect perspective. Whether they thought Volcair was firing blindly or couldn’t resist the tiny target he’d presented them, neither of the pirates ducked behind the blast doors to protect their heads.
The pirate on the left caught a plasma bolt in the face and dropped. The other went down when his weapon was struck by one of Volcair’s shots and its power cell detonated, causing a small but powerful explosion that blasted the pirate’s smoking corpse backward.
Volcair stood up and cautiously emerged from his cover, slowly advancing along the corridor. Only the vorgal remained unaccounted for, and there was only one place he could have gone.
Ice flowed through Volcair’s veins.
“Hop down and give me eyes in that room, Cyph,” Volcair whispered as he neared the opening.
Entwined Fates (The Infinite City Book 1) Page 8