by Delia Roan
He raised the butt of a rifle and pounded on the door. “Hatch!” he bellowed. “It’s Syrek. Open the cursed door, woman!”
Sweat beaded on his brow while he waited for a response. His ears strained for any noise, either from the other side of the door, or from the corridor behind him. The darkness seemed to wrap itself around him, growing heavier with each passing moment.
After an eternity, the lock groaned, and the door slid aside. Syrek entered and breathed a sigh of relief when the lock engaged. The bridge had a separate power supply, and the lights were on.
“Thanks, Hatch.”
Hatcher scowled at him. “What are you doing here? There was a ship-wide evac.”
Syrek shook his head. “Ship-wide, Hatcher. That means you lot down in Mechanical, too.” A thought crossed his mind, and he blanched slightly. “Any of your kids here?”
Hatcher snorted. “Course not. I sent the hatchlings off on the evac ships, and the grandbabies, too.”
“So why did you remain?”
She stared at him as if he had sprouted flowers from his ears. “Well, where else would I be? This is my ship. When she goes, I go.”
Syrek wanted to shake her, but he felt a glow of kinship with the old battle-ax. “You mean my ship.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “No offense, but you’re just the renters. My people have lived on Haven since the time of the Hautk. There’s always been a hatcher. There’s always been a Head of Mechanical.”
“Why is the Head of Mechanical here on the bridge?”
She considered his question. Even in the balmy environment of the bridge, she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. The baggy coat made her appear smaller, frailer, and for the first time, Syrek realized that despite her booming attitude and muscular exterior, Hatcher was old.
“This is my ship,” Hatcher muttered. “Couldn’t step aside and let the bugs overtake it.”
Syrek narrowed his eyes. “The real reason.”
With a snort, Hatcher spun around. Syrek followed her to the bridge. The wide port showed the vista outside. Flecks of light sped away, while heavy freighters chugged away slowly. A lump formed in Syrek’s throat. The caravel was one of those distant lights. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and ran his fingers over the ribbon there.
“The real reason,” Hatcher said, pointing to the stars, “is out there. I can’t save Haven. She’s gone. Never coming back. But my children are out there. And you can bet the Ykine aren’t going to let them go peacefully.”
“What are you saying?”
“Think about it. If you were pissed off at someone, would you settle for a hollow victory? Would you take an empty ship you cannot use? Or would you destroy them and everything they love?”
It didn’t take him long to answer Hatcher’s question. His father would have done the same, and often had. Total annihilation was the only victory. Let history forget their names.
A beep from a scanner caught Syrek’s attention. He peered down at the screen and frowned.
“What’s wrong now?” Hatcher asked.
“A ship is approaching Haven.” His eyes widened. “The caravel. Why are they…” His fingers danced over the keyboard. “They’re going after the Sykorian ship.”
Mara.
He should curse her, but instead he felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest. She wouldn’t meekly accept her fate. She had fight in her, and she was taking that fight to the Ykine. If she believed he wouldn’t keep his promise, then she would protect them herself.
“I think the Ykine figured out something is up. Look.”
Syrek’s eyes flicked back to the port, then down to a screen showing the exterior of Haven. The Ykine vessel sat like a tick on their hull. The heavy plates across the engines began to shift, venting heat as they warmed up. “They’re starting to launch.”
“That ship is fast,” Hatcher said. “Quick and quiet. They snuck up on us.”
“They could do it,” Syrek whispered. “Their warship could take out our evac vessels.”
Not the caravel. It’s too fast.
What if it’s not fast enough to outrun the warship?
The Sykorian ship definitely wouldn’t.
What if Mara stays with her people?
Hatcher spoke. “I’ve got seven hatchlings out there, and between them, I’ve got another thirty-two grandchildren. I’m not letting the Ykine have them.”
“I’m not losing Mara,” Syrek said. “Got a plan?”
“I’m booting up the cannons.”
“How long?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Two or three ticks?”
“We don’t have that long,” Syrek replied. Mara didn’t have that long.
Hatcher cursed. “We have to stall them.”
Syrek narrowed his eyes. “We need to blow up that ship, correct?”
“Yeah, boss.”
What would Father do?
The weight of his decision pressed down on his shoulders. He studied the room around him. His earliest memories were of this place. The quiet murmur of voices as his father conferred with his second-in-command. The burning smell of the docking bay as ships departed.
Some of his best memories too. Cyn’s laughter on the day he finally beat her in a foot race. His mother’s fingers, running through his hair. The day his colors had settled, and he had entered adulthood. His father’s hand resting on his shoulder in pride after his first kill. Unlocking the shock collar from around Ancain’s neck.
The slide of his skin against Mara’s…
So I do the opposite.
Syrek closed his eyes. “Hatcher, what would happen if we restarted every system on Haven?”
“That’s a huge strain on the system, boss. We’re talking catastrophic systems failures.” She paused for a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You want to blow up Haven?”
Words seemed to fail him, so he simply nodded.
“You’re crazy.” Hatcher shook her head. “Boss, I’ve worked with you, your father and his father before. I know how you Ar’Zathis think. You don’t want the Ykine to have Haven, so you would rather destroy a ship that is the last of her kind.”
“I’m protecting my people.” The stricken expression on his face made him soften his tone. “It’s just a ship, Hatch. Ships come and go, but if I asked you to replace one of your kids, which one would you choose?”
She paled. “I see your meaning. What do we do, boss?”
First, they shut down the systems. It would be faster to go from a dead stop. The ever-present hum of the vents died, leaving Syrek in the silence of his own breathing. Hatcher’s eyes went wide, but she spun the manual keys, setting the computer systems back into operations mode.
The lights flared bright, and after the stillness, it seemed like the ship roared at them.
“We got about half a tick before they’re all running at full-speed,” Hatcher said. She sighed, and leaned back, her eyes fixed on the departing ships.
“Perfect.” Syrek unwound the bandage holding his injured arm to his side. He flexed his muscle. His muscles ached, but his arm responded. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Docking bay,” Syrek responded. He took Hatcher’s elbow. “Ship-wide evac means you, too, Hatch.”
She stared at him, but let him steer her to the door. “We got any ships left?”
“Nope, but we got escape pods.”
She laughed at that. “Those pieces of crap haven’t been operational in years.”
He smiled at her. “Good thing we’ve got Head of Mechanical with us.”
Despite his carefree attitude, Syrek knew they prepared for a fight. It was a long haul to the docking bay, and pretty much every Ykine would converge on their location.
Let them come, he thought, picking up the weapons Daves left for him. If Mara can fight, so can I.
Hatch swung her wrench. “All right. Let’s go.”
They enco
untered the first Ykine forces shortly before they reached the hover quad. Syrek tore into them effortlessly, and Hatcher held her own, swinging her heavy tool with ease.
“Easier than I thought it would be,” Hatch said with a grin.
“Just wait until there are a thousand of them,” Syrek replied, loading up the hover quad. The compact machine listed under Hatcher’s weight, and if it could have read their sense of urgency, it might have tried to move a little faster.
“How much longer?” Syrek asked.
“I wouldn’t stop to brew a cup of tea,” Hatcher replied.
Syrek leaned forward, urging the machine onward.
Their luck held until they neared the docking bay. Syrek slammed on the brakes hard enough to drive the handlebars of the hover quad into his ribs. In front of the docking bay doors writhed a pile of Ykine workers. They ripped insulation out of the walls, and did not turn at the quad’s approach.
Sliding his feet to the sides, he inched the vehicle back until they were around the corner. Hatcher’s grip on his upper arm was almost painful, but he didn’t have the heart to complain. Her eyes were round with fear, but her hand was steady.
“What do we do, boss?” Hatcher’s mouth was pressed against his ear, but he felt like every word was shouted at top volume. He jerked his head, indicating she should climb off. She slid off with an audible thump. They both froze in place as an Ykine raised its head, then returned to the insulation.
Syrek sent another blessing Daves’s way as he pulled the pack of explosives from the bag she had left for him. He handed the bag to Hatcher, and she swung it onto her shoulder, watching silently.
With steady hands, Syrek set the timers on the bombs, placed them on the seat of the hover quad, and leaned toward Hatcher to take back the bag of weapons. “When I say run, make a break for it.”
He pulled the ribbon from his pocket, brought it briefly to his lips, then tied it around the controls, locking them in place. Forgive me, Mara. The irony of sacrificing his only memento of her for another woman was not lost on him.
He flicked on the timer, and kicked the machine into gear.
The quad raced off, heading toward the docking bay doors. Syrek and Hatch pressed their faces to the corner, watching its progress down the hallway. The slight hum of its engines made the Ykine look up. But it was too late. The quad plowed into them. A fireball rose out of the wreckage.
“Move, Hatch!”
“Good thing the heat don’t bother me,” Hatcher said, lumbering around the corner and heading for the doors. Any time she spotted movement, she swung her wrench, knocking back Ykine as they tried to rise to their feet. Where the quad had hit, the air reeked of burning flesh, but Hatcher pushed onward.
She breached the doors and ran for the rescue pods. Syrek easily kept pace with her, even burdened with the weapons bag. However, he stuck close to her, keeping his head up and watching for movement behind them.
When they reached the pods, Hatcher cursed. “Not all of these are functional, boss.”
“Figure out which ones are,” he ordered. He dropped the bag of weapons and pulled out a grenade launcher. “Daves is getting a raise.”
Alerted to their location, the Ykine began pouring into the docking bay. Syrek raised the weapon. A slow smile spread across his face.
His father died peacefully in his sleep, denied the honorable Ennoi death he sought his whole life.
Guess I’ll do the opposite.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MARA
They entered the Sykorian ship with ease. Luall simply attached them to their original access point, and Ancain led a team off the caravel.
“What do the scans show?” Ancain asked into the microphone strapped to his collar.
“Only one cluster of Ykine on the scanners,” Luall said, her voice tinny on the speaker. “Up front by the cockpit.”
“It should be easy,” Ancain said.
“You should be safe,” Luall said. Once the mercenaries who were willing to fight were off the caravel, they would be leaving, so the freeholders who had refused to get involved could be taken to safety.
“I will,” Ancain replied.
“Fly safe,” Luall said. “It’s been a while since you piloted anything.”
From the tilt of his head in the helmet, Mara guessed he was rolling his eyes. “I have not forgotten my training, woman.”
The mercenaries had suited up as best as they could. They were a mismatched group. Only Ancain wore his proper gear. Mara wore a suit she was certain belonged to Ancain at one point, but no helmet. Bene Laupe had squeezed into Clez’s old suit. Oyoyoi had been forced to remain aboard the caravel, due to her slow nature.
Mara’s fingers gripped a metal bar. She dropped her hand to check on the knife on her hip. At first, Ancain had offered her a gun, but she had turned it down. Her sheltered upbringing meant that they were a familiar sight on her father’s bodyguards; she had never handled one herself. At least with a knife, she knew what to do. However, when it came to bashing Ykine, she trusted heavy metal.
They walked through the ship, which remained eerily silent. Mara’s palms grew slick. Sand coated her tongue, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose. When they reached the corridor that had been painted with Sykorian remains, she blanched, but she kept her head up. The floor and walls had been smeared with a white powder, which had absorbed the gore. Instead of the vile scent of Sykorian blood, she smelled a harsh chemical that made her nose burn.
Has it only been a few weeks since Syrek carried me over this mess?
Syrek.
A lump formed in her throat, but she pushed it aside. Now was not the time to brood. Later, when she had Dannica by her side, a quiet space, and a lifetime supply of Ben & Jerry’s, she would spill her guts to her best friend.
The pang in her chest told her it would take a lot more than girl talk, a sugar rush, and tears to get over Syrek.
You’ll never get over him, her heart whispered as they reached the cockpit door. He’s your Avowed.
“Take the left,” Ancain murmured to Mara. “Enter once I’ve cleared the doorway.
She tried to ignore the fact that Ancain was treating her as his best fighter. They were a pathetic group and if the Ykine put up any sort of resistance, they were all likely to die.
What a cheery thought.
She pressed her back against the wall as Ancain laid out the plan for the rest of the crew. Once he was done, he unstrapped the automatic jack from his back and slid the prongs between the seam in the door. The hydraulics forced it open, and the device fell to the floor with the clang of metal-on-metal.
Ancain hopped over the jack and slipped inside, his weapon drawn. Mara girded her loins and followed. Ancain’s gun emitted a few soft snaps, and the Ykine in the room began to fall to the ground. Sweeping his weapon from side to side, Ancain edged to the side of the room, placing a wall at his back.
A couple of Ykine charged toward the door, and Mara met them with her bat raised. After the hangar, she was more confident in her Ykine killing abilities, but her heart still thundered. Like Ancain, she moved aside, letting Bene Laupe enter. He carried a polearm with a blade on the end, and attacked with a jabbing and hacking motion. The battle was short and bloody, but at the end of it, the freeholders stood in a circle, panting.
The enemy lay at their feet.
Mara approached the carnage, carefully stepping over bodies. She stopped to study the only corpse clad in clothing. Ukali stared lifelessly to the side. The top of his head was missing, excised by Ancain’s weapon. Shuddering, Mara kept moving, giving the body a wide berth. Ukali had been creepy, but she wasn’t about to cheer that he was gone.
Ancain hauled the corpse of the pilot out of his chair and took the controls. He paged the caravel. “Mission accomplished, my dear. Rerouting the bounty to New Trades.”
Luall whooped. “Any injuries?”
Bene Laupe had managed
to nick one of the other freeholders with his polearm, and he shrugged apologetically when all eyes turned to him.
“None worth mentioning,” Ancain replied. “What’s the status on Haven?”
“Hang on,” Luall replied. “I’ve got… Oh. Ancain, look sharp. We’ve got movement in the cargo pod.”
“What?” Ancain frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Certain. At least one enemy.”
Ancain looked uncertain, but Mara stepped forward. “You fly. I’ll handle it. I know the way to the cargo pod. And if it’s just one, I’ll take it down easy.”
“Go for it.”
Mara hoisted her bar onto her shoulder and broke out into a trot, heading for the cargo pod. All the time she had spent visiting the sleepers had paid off. She found her way easily.
Once she entered the cargo pod, she lifted her bar, and stepped inside slowly. Only the glow from the PETL Cells illuminated the dim room, but harsh shadows filled the corners. She licked her lips, and tried to quiet her footsteps. The hidden panel leading to the secret room holding the cryo-sleepers sat ajar, and Mara felt a surge of panic at the thought of the Ykine sabotaging her friends.
Caution thrown to the wind, she raced to the door and yanked it open. Her eyes scanned the rows of beds, looking for trouble. Her eyes caught on the sleeper she had lain inside, the lid flung aside, but the interior was empty. She kept looking, and she froze when she spied an askance lid on the sleeper beside hers. The panel on the front was black.
No.
Dannica.
She ran forward, slamming into the sleeper. The window on the top of the sleeper remained empty.
Where is she?
A noise from the cargo pod made her spin around, and she ran to the door. Bar raised, she yelled as she stormed the room. “Give her back!”
A slender figure cowered in the center of the room, its hair slicked against its skull. When it saw Mara, it raised a hand and flinched away. Mara skidded to a halt, and slowly lowered her weapon.
“D-Dannica?” Mara stepped closer. “Is it really you?”
Dannica looked up, and wiped a hand across her face. The scab on her chin stood out against her pale skin. When she spoke, her voice grated. “M-Mara?”