The lift passed the midway point to hangar deck. Ana ran a hand through her hair and gave a moment’s thought to the people she was going to help. She’d done some hostage rescue four shipdays back. Hostage rescue had been a regular occurrence back in Xerxes system. But rescuing stranded Peacekeepers? That was not a mission she’d thought she’d ever be doing. It was something that seemed more suited to …
Chipper.
If those bug-creatures had hurt him …
She blew out a frustrated breath.
Big dumb asshole, getting yourself stuck inside an enemy ship.
The lift dinged and she stepped outside to find Umbrano exiting the second lift beside her. He had his Confed pulse rifle strapped across his back as he pushed the tubby Tluaan scientist ahead of him. She couldn’t tell if the distress on Chlalloun’s face was from Umbrano’s manhandling or the prospect of a sudden trip into the heart of danger.
“Giving you trouble?” she asked Umbrano as she hurried to keep step with him.
“Just slow,” the big man rumbled. He gave Chlalloun another shove to make his point.
With three of Assured’s small ships missing, the deck was more open. Nothing blocked her view of the activity around the second skiff where mechanics fitted something to its work arm. Boisterous swearing off to one side drew her attention to where Hecate and Manolo struggled to roll a canister toward the yacht. What the hells was that?
Can’t be maneuvering thruster fuel? How long’s the colonel think we’ll be out there?
Ana jerked her head toward the struggling pair. “I got the little guy if you wanna go help ’em.”
“Fine with me,” he said and veered off toward his teammates. Chlalloun slowed his pace, and she would’ve let him, except it was Chip and Vazak out there on that orbital. She gave him another shove to keep him moving.
Fowler met them at the ramp. He pointed up along it until Chlalloun got the message, dropping his head and slouching on board like a sullen child.
Ana turned and watched with Fowler as the other Tacticals got closer with the canister. Umbrano shouldered the others aside at the bottom of the ramp, getting into the center of the receptacle and grunting happily as he began pushing it up and into the ship.
“Get us another one,” Fowler told the other two.
Manolo marched off immediately while Hecate paused long enough for her expression to indicate her displeasure that Ana was sitting out the task. She stomped off too, commencing a fresh bout of swearing.
“Was that thruster fuel, sir?” Ana asked. “Seems like a lot of it.”
“Can never have enough fuel.”
“Doesn’t the yacht have a belly storage bay for that?” The idea of all that propellant inside the ship with them …
“Storage space at the back of the ship beside the evac tube,” Fowler replied. “Has access to the refuel lines. Easier than going EV to do it.”
Going EV? Why would they even be refueling on a mission like this?
She lost her chance to ask this, as Fowler’s attention turned to an approaching, squeaking trolley and the deckhand pushing it. The trolley had an orange case on it, large enough to be a coffin.
“E-suits?” he called to the man.
The man didn’t reply until he’d reached them, straightening and stretching his back. “Combat versions, yes, sir. I can unload them in the yacht’s lounge.”
“We can unload this from here. You can go.”
“Uh, Captain actually wants me to stay aboard, sir.”
“Won’t be necessary,” Fowler replied and swung his gaze toward Hecate and Manolo, signaling dismissal to the man.
But the man remained, scratching the back of his head, and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Captain says, sir.”
Fowler sighed. He looked both ways along the hangar deck—no one was near them—then peered behind him at Umbrano. Ana glanced back too. The big man had reached the top of the ramp and was turning the canister toward the back of the ship.
“Young man,” Fowler told the deckhand, “my orders are for you to go help your buddies by the skiff. Now.”
“Um, sir. I’m really sorry. I have to do what Captain Pan tells me to.”
Another sigh from Fowler. “I suppose you do. Well, we’ll handle the suits from here. What we also need is an extra spool of EV anchor cable. Can you find us one?”
“Uh, yes, sir. Of course, sir.” The man trotted away.
Fowler immediately found something else to stare at, in the direction of the lifts. XO Chinyama had arrived, fast-walking their way, with Envoy Buoun and some no-name crewer scurrying after him.
“Jogianto,” Fowler purred. “Get the yacht started.”
There’d been something in his tone. She hesitated.
“Go up the ramp and get the yacht started. Now.”
“Copy, sir.”
She strode up the ramp, shaking her head at all the weirdness. She hadn’t even gotten to ask about riding the skiff instead of the damn yacht. She had just reached the top when she heard a commotion on the deck below her. Fowler was suddenly at her back, pushing her out of the way, slapping at the ramp controls to raise it.
“Sir, what’s—?” Above the moan of the ramp hydraulics, she thought she heard weapons fire. An alarm blared. Five staccato notes.
Oh, shit …
“Help Umbrano secure that canister and the scientist,” Fowler snapped and headed forward toward the cockpit. The ramp clamped shut, sealing with a hydraulic thunk and cutting off the noise from outside. “We’re leaving.”
“But Hecate and Manolo …?”
But what the hell’s happening?!
Fowler wasn’t listening.
And for some reason, when he reached the cockpit entry, he had his handgun in hand.
The elevator carrying Buoun and Commander Chinyama stopped one level from the bridge to pick up an Able Spacer named Rogers. The man, Chinyama explained, had experience in extra-vehicular rigging and tethering that they might need on the mission.
When the lift opened a second time, Chinyama said, “Follow me” and marched ahead. The instruction was quite unnecessary, Buoun thought. Where else was he going to go?
Buoun wasn’t really concentrating at first, his eyes on the floor ahead of him as his mind churned with anxious thoughts. Then Chinyama gave a shout. Buoun raised his head to see the XO diving forward onto his stomach and elbows, his sidearm in his hand. One of the Xerxian Humans was out in the middle of the deck. She also held a weapon, a pulse rifle. It discharged, flashing bright energy over Chinyama’s head. The XO rolled to his left, squeezing off a shot.
What is this?!
Buoun stumbled forward as Able Spacer Rogers grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic and bustled him toward the rows of equipment and boxes at the back of the deck. He heard another crackle of weapons fire. Rogers swore and pressed deep into cover, pushing Buoun ahead of him along the tight aisle between the storage stacks and the cargo cages along the wall. From the far end of the compartment came the shouts and shrieks of frightened people. This had happened before. Not so long ago. This horror. This terror. This ambush.
Humans against Humans? he wondered as Rogers shoved him against a box, then shifted his grip to the top of Buoun’s head and pushed him down into a crouch.
More weapons fire sounded, followed by a bellow of pain from out on the deck.
Rogers released him and—stupidly in Buoun’s mind—poked his head over the boxes, standing on his toes. “Sweet! The XO got her.”
Her? Buoun thought, both hearts hammering. Who were these attackers? And how many were there?
He needed a hiding spot. A better one. Rogers was sidling along the boxes, back the way they’d come. Buoun could see that if an attacker came into this makeshift aisle and fired along it, both he and Rogers would be completely exposed. For a moment, as things fell quiet around them, he considered making a dash back to the lifts, but there was open space between the end of these boxes and those doors.
&nb
sp; Instead, he kept his head down and scampered in the other direction, hoping Rogers would find better cover himself. Chinyama shouted something. Buoun didn’t catch it. Instructions to him? A challenge to another attacker? He found a space between stacks, tried pressing his shoulder in, but couldn’t get inside, so moved on.
Were the attackers Xerxians? It would be the only thing that made any sense to him. For the first time, he noticed the deep thrum of a ship’s drives spooling up. He thought, Colonel Fowler is stealing Chris’s yacht. And Chlalloun with it!
And there was a possible reason for this: the same way Domains Moon and Surface had tried to capture and steal Human tech, the Xerxian faction were doing the same with Tluaan tech and knowledge.
He had reached a gap in the row. More boxes lay beyond it. To dart across would expose him, so he turned back. The scuff and scrape of a boot behind him stopped him, whirled him around. A Xerxian stood there, not two arms-lengths away. Buoun recognized her from gatherings and mission images. Hecate.
The woman’s ballistic pistol was pointed at his chest. Buoun’s blood pressure surged, his hearts trying to outpace each other. And yet he couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He was a moment from death and he just stood there, looking it in the eye.
But Hecate did not kill him. She leaned around him, appeared happy the aisle was otherwise clear, then pushed past without sparing him another thought.
She didn’t shoot me!
Like any Tluaan warrior might do, she had dismissed him as a non-threat, unimportant to her goals, background noise. Buoun’s relief gave way to a sudden rush of resentment.
Past Hecate, Rogers had kept on the way he’d come, his back to her. Her weapon held in front of her, she sneaked forward, crouched over, closing on Rogers, but more likely intent on circling Commander Chinyama.
No, he thought. No, I won’t let you.
He could have shouted. He could have run into the open and pointed out her position. But Buoun did not do that. Feeling as if some other person had suddenly inhabited his will and his body, he charged after Hecate, colliding with her as she began reacting to the noise at her back, wrapping his arms around her midriff as tightly as he could. They fell together, Buoun sprawling on top of her, her handgun flying free to bounce off a cage gate and clatter away. When she impacted the floor beneath him, Buoun heard the snap of a bone breaking and could only hope it wasn’t his. She shrieked. She bucked beneath him. Slipping forward over her shoulder, he cracked his forehead against the hard decking, seeing spots. And yet, he clung to her, shouting first in Tluaan then in English then in Mandarin.
“Help! Help! Help!”
Hecate bucked again, twisting. Something slammed into Buoun’s throat, slackening his grip. Hecate’s writhing and wriggling freed one of her hands enough to take hold of his left ear and tug it. He felt it give a little where it met his head, felt hot blood flow, let out a screech of his own. And Hecate was free, scrambling out from under him, rising with one arm held awkwardly against her side. She kicked at him, striking him in the cheek and flinging him back in a tumbled sideways sprawl. The spots in his eyes turned to patches of white and yellow. Something began humming within his skull.
And then the woman was squawking again. Through the spots, he saw her down on her stomach with the XO’s knee in her back and his gun at her head. He was calling instructions to other Humans around them. The situation, Buoun thought, had resolved.
He could relax now.
And so he did.
And passed out.
18
Five staccato notes blared through the bridge speakers while Pan swore and crewers scrambled to check data. Westermann raced from the room without waiting for orders. Grace watched the corridor with her hand on her pistol grip.
Gregory asked, “What the hell is going on?” It couldn’t be the Tluaanto. Could it? Only Buoun and Chlalloun were on the ship. Or had more Domain Moon or Surface warriors somehow stowed aboard?
Sintopas threw a grid of hangar deck video feeds onto the mainscreen. Gregory saw what everyone else saw. A gun battle between the XO and someone hiding behind a line of netted-down crates—there was no clear view of Chinyama’s opponent, but they looked too compact to be a Tluaan warrior. Enforcer Manolo was down out in the open, which prompted the question. Was she a defender? Or an instigator?
It can’t be Fowler’s lot. It can’t be.
His yacht was moving. At the very moment he noticed it, sensor operator Esana announced, “The ambassador’s ship is maneuvering toward the atmos-shielding.”
Pan said, “Hail them.”
A moment later, Sintopas reported, “Not responding.”
“Goddammit!” Pan’s attention snapped to Gregory. “It’s the Xerxians.” The captain’s face had often been flushed with fury lately. This time he looked positively apoplectic.
“Fooled us why?” Gregory replied. “Why would he steal my yacht?”
“Not the yacht. The scientist.”
“He’s stolen Chlalloun?” Pan just stared back at him, teeth bared. Movement on one of the mainscreen feeds drew Gregory’s eye. “Oh, God! Look at the feed on the left. Someone has to warn Buoun.” The envoy had sheltered in a makeshift aisle formed between storage cages and a long row of cargo. And a shooter had just come into the aisle at his back.
Sintopas was on comms immediately. “XO, active shooter has moved behind the cargo to your left. You have Tluaan friendly between you and her.”
It was a her, Gregory saw now. Hecate. The enemy was the Xerxians.
Chinyama was up and moving. Surprisingly, Hecate had brushed by the short Tlu, ignoring him when she might have used him as a shield.
“XO,” Sintopas commed again, “shooter has passed friendly, advancing toward end of aisle. Friendly still in—”
He never finished the sentence. Many people in the bridge apparently had been holding their breath. It all came out in a collective gasp as Buoun tackled Hecate.
My God!
Gregory’s hands tightened around the railing as the non-military Tluaan and the very military Tactical Enforcer wrestled. Hecate quickly overwhelmed him, although she held one of her arms to her side. She was on her feet, Buoun was down on his back. The XO reached them, knocking Hecate down and putting a knee on her back.
Pan turned to Sintopas. “Get Bradstock and Seroughi down there. And link me to Westermann.”
“Westermann here,” her reply came from the bridge speaker moments later.
“Where are you?” the captain asked.
“Still in the lift, sir. What am I walking into?”
“Two shooters down. But there may be more. Hold a moment. Chief,” he said to Lindberg, “rewind one of those feeds and show me who boarded the yacht. Westermann, all we know now is the XO has one shooter in custody to your left as you exit the lift. Another is down and unmoving in the middle of the bay. Envoy Buoun is near the XO and may be injured. Not sure yet who else is down there.”
“I’ll sweep the deck, sir. There in eight seconds. Do I have support coming?”
Sintopas gave Pan a thumbs up. Pan said, “Bradstock and Seroughi on their way.”
“Copy.” She cut off the lift intercom.
Together, they watched the replay of the minute leading up to the gunfight. It was clear the rest of the Xerxians were on the yacht. Including Ana, a fact that saddened him momentarily. He’d thought she was good people.
We should never have trusted them. I should never have trusted them.
The yacht had just passed through hangar atmos-shielding. And Piers was with them. Just as he realized that, Pan called, “PC lock on that vessel.”
Particle cannon!
“No way!” Grace exclaimed.
“Captain!” Gregory snapped. “You are not vaporizing my ship.”
“Or Piers!” Grace added.
“Exactly. Or Chlalloun.”
The weapons controller’s hand hovered over a board, eyes on Pan.
Pan steamed a moment, then gave the man a terse shake of his head.
“I can try short bursts, sir,” the rating replied. “Overwhelm their shields.”
Pan shook his head again. “It’s not like hitting a capital ship or corvette, son. Ship that size …” He growled wordlessly as he let it go.
“Chase them, sir?” asked Toller on the helm.
“No.” Pan gave Gregory and Grace an apologetic look. “We still have people on the orbital. Damn it, we’ll have to rethink our tactic there. All right. First things, first. Ensign Sintopas, when the hangar is secured, tell the Peacers to get the envoy to sickbay. And get that damned Xerxian up here.”
“She … looks injured, sir,” Sintopas replied. “Perhaps sickbay would be better for her too?”
Onscreen, Chinyama had Hecate on her feet. She was cradling one wrist to her chest.
“I have a bridge full of people with first aid training. One of us can see to the prisoner’s injuries. But she’s not going anywhere else until she’s explained herself and told us where that yacht is headed.”
Ana stood in the corridor by the exit-entry ramp, halfway between the lounge and the cockpit. In the lounge, Umbrano growled threats at the hapless Tluaan scientist, pushing him into a booth with the butt end of his pulse rifle. Fowler was up in the cockpit, locked in a shouting match with the pilot, Piers.
But they were moving, the yacht leaving Assured. She could feel the hum through the decks and bulkhead as standard thrusters engaged.
From the cockpit, she heard Fowler say, “—before the helldamn thing explodes!” And with a chill, she knew instantly what he meant. What he’d done.
“Goddamn,” she hissed. “Goddamn unholy bastard!”
I gotta do something.
During any away-from-ship action, the Peacers made everyone carry small backup comms-tablets. Ana pulled hers from a thigh pocket. Fowler and Umbrano were occupied. Neither was watching her. With her gut turning circles, with a feeling of desolation creeping its way up inside her, she brought up the text-screen. Since the tablet had a direct signal back to Assured’s bridge, neither would see her outgoing message. It wouldn’t show on the cockpit comms either. She had to do this fast—before she was out of range. She typed furiously, squashing herself into the cover of the hatchway frame.
Assured (Envoys Book 2) Page 22