by P. N. Elrod
“Darden, take the back way round again and bring him in, but careful, it might be an act, there could be more. Don’t risk yourself.”
He left with a brisk nod. Eily brought her gun out to cover Kella. Better odds, but she was too far away to try anything yet.
On the screen Farron took one step too many and tripped the motion sensor. He froze, looked down the hall he’d come from, and saw Darden step out.
“Hallo.” He coughed pitifully. “D’ye mind if I give myself up?”
“Face the wall, put your arms out, and lean on them.”
“If I can,” he mumbled. He turned and raised them, groaning when his blanket slipped off.
Darden darted close enough to kick his feet apart.
“All right, I’ve got him,” he called.
Eily motioned for Kella to stand, hands on her head, and go through the doors. Once in the hall she cut the alarm again and covered them both while Darden searched Farron for weapons. He found an auto-healer and dropped it on the blanket.
“Clean,” he pronounced.
Farron looked deathly. “I don’t feel at all well,” he murmured in a subdued tone.
“Probably a hangover,” Kella said acidly. She could smell his breath even at that distance.
“No, I mean I really don’t. Who’re these two? They with that other fellow?”
“You’ve met Alard?”
“Friendly sort. I think. No. I’m not sure. It’s kind of fuzzy. . .”
“Where’d you see him?” Eily demanded.
“Back there.” Farron half-heartedly indicated the way he’d come. “Only I thought he was ahead of me. Thought sure he was. Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
Or he let you get ahead to act as a decoy. Kella and Eily must have shared the same thought; as one, they looked back down the corridor, but it was empty.
“We’re out of here,” said Eily. “Move it.”
“Give us a hand,” Farron gasped. “I don’t feel well. Don’t. . . don’t. . .” His head drooped and his legs caved. He slipped to the floor with a solid thud.
Darden jumped back in surprise, ready to trigger his blaster.
“What’s the matter with him?” Eily snapped.
Kella knelt and felt for a neck pulse. “Fainted.” Her eyes caught a peripheral movement at the first corner at the far end of the hall. She had a brief impression of a crouching shape.
Alard.
She dropped flat.
Darden yelled and spun as a blast struck his side. Diving against the wall, Eily sent a half-dozen wild shots into the ceiling. Kella took advantage of the distraction to scramble to the cover of the shield door and roll through, then was up and bolting for the ship. Eily shouted after her and sent two more blasts in her direction. Kella just made it up the ramp to the open side hatch when something heavy buffeted her arm, the force of the blow pushing her inside.
She stumbled, recovered, and raced forward to the bridge. Eily was aboard in seconds, but by then Kella ducked through the last door and cranked it shut.
Then she went hot-cold sick and ready to drop in her tracks like Farron. Her right arm hung useless and numb; blood dribbled down its length, spattering the scuffed deck with bright color. She listed away from the door, dizzy, her stomach upside down. Behind her there was a loud snap and a crack appeared where her head had been. That stupid tech bitch had her blaster up to full power.
“Eily!” she bellowed.
Another shot, lower. She was crazy, blasting away inside the ship like that. Crazy or shit-scared by Alard’s killings.
“Eily—do that again and I’ll set off the ship’s weaponry!”
That bought a little time. Kella glanced at the controls, but the stress of the present situation brought on the old pattern again. Lights and buttons merged and danced, there was no time to sort them; finding the right one was impossible for now. Discarding that option, she looked for weapons. Nothing obvious offered itself, only a basic aid box and another fire extinguisher. She tore the box down and fumbled out a pressure bandage for her arm.
“Come out,” Eily called through the door. “I know you’ve been hit, I don’t want to have to hurt you again.”
“I’m not that hurt,” she lied, trying to ignore the terrible mess she was leaving all over the deck.
“You’ve nowhere to go.”
“Exactly, but you do. Get off this ship or I’ll destroy it. I’ve had the training; I know how to access the firing controls. One blast in the hangar bay and we’re all cooked.”
“You’re not that desperate.”
“Eily, think hard on this: I’ve been in a System political prison with only System interrogators for entertainment. I’m never going back to that, so believe me when I tell you I am that desperate!”
Hopefully, Eily would be put off by the convincingly shrill pitch in Kella’s voice. Not all of it was bluff. Kella was shit-scared herself. No time to conjure mental images to keep the fear locked away, all she could do was shove it to one side and hope it didn’t rush back and trip her.
She got the bandage on, more or less. The blood soaked through the dressing before the thing tightened around her arm and slowed the worst of it. The loose end dangled. Had to trim it before it caught on something. Wasn’t there anything in this damned box with a sharp edge?
“All right,” Eily called. “I’m backing off. Just take it easy.”
A blunt-nosed cutter with a safety blade. Great for slicing away bandaging, worthless as a weapon. Kella dropped it back in the box and grabbed a packet of stimulant patches. She ripped it open with her blood-slicked fingers and slapped one on her throat. It’d take a minute to act.
“Listen to me,” said Eily. “We need to help each other. Alard’s a threat to us all. He will kill both of us. You’re better off with me. Together we can stop him.”
The tone and inflection were uneven as Eily moved around. What the hell was she up to?
“He got Darden, he’s probably got your friend. We two have to cooperate!”
Kella took the fire extinguisher from the wall and held it ready. Compared to Eily’s blaster it was useless, but she had to have some kind of weapon in hand. The solid weight of the chemicals inside provided a visceral comfort. She checked the ship’s controls again. They weren’t dancing so much. In fact, they were in sharp focus now. She hoped she hadn’t overdone it with the stimulant.
“We’ve got to pool our resources in order to stay alive.” Eily’s voice was unnaturally loud, the words were running together. She wasn’t thinking about what she was saying, yet there was a purpose to it.
Kella’s arm burned. She was ready to fall down. Damn it all. Even if she got control of Eily and thus the ship, then what? Kella could force the woman to play pilot for only as long as the stimulants held. It wouldn’t be long, either, not with this arm, not in the shape she was in.
From outside the door came more nonsense as Eily preached about their common enemy. Yes, she was a proper little System robot, mouthing fatuous nonsense. . .
That almost covered the faint hissing. . .
Gas.
Kella made a frantic grab for the aid box. She’d caught the first whiff of the stuff—something pungent—then stopped breathing. Heart pumping painfully, she clawed for a respirator mask, hastily fitting it over her nose and mouth, thumbing the flow valve open just in time. The seal wasn’t perfect; some of what flooded the bridge seeped in, adding to her dizziness. She left the valve wide open and slowed her intake. That helped. Now air was escaping from the mask, reducing the chance of contamination.
What was that crap, anyway? Not tri-crynide or she’d be dead by now except for reflex twitching. Somose, maybe? No matter, as long as she could still move and think . . . which wouldn’t be for long given the circumstances.
She put her back to a wall and sank to the floor. Bad move, that. Too tempting. She might shut her eyes and never open them again.
But she’d have to do just that. Only for a minute or
two, or however long it took. . .
She jerked her head up, shaking it hard, blinking hard. The mask slipped a bit. Somose gas it was, then. Must be part of the bridge intruder defense control. Just the thing to subdue a dangerous Resistance terrorist; just the thing so the poor misguided creature could be humanely captured and ultimately rehabilitated into something more to the System’s liking.
Not this one, she thought, not today, not ever.
Kella found another stimulant patch and slapped it against the other side of her neck. It wasn’t the recommended thing to do, except for emergencies. This more than qualified, what with gas filling every corner of the compartment.
Her heart raced faster; blood hit the top of her skull and pounded there, burning for a moment before dispersing throughout the rest of her body. Tremors ran up and down her wounded arm. No need to worry about dropping off now; her nerves were galloping from the stim.
The next time her head jerked was in response to a minute change in the hissing. She stared at an air vent as though she could actually see the flow. Any more patches like the last and she just might. No need to look, though, Eily was flushing the place clean, preparing to come in.
Kella waited until the last second—when she actually heard Eily using the exterior manual to crank the door open—before taking away the mask and shoving it out of sight behind her. She bowed forward, protectively cradling the extinguisher in her good arm, hiding it with her body. Then came the hard part: sitting absolutely still.
The door folded open.
“All right, you.” Eily’s voice was thin, wavering, whether with relief or fear was hard to tell. She crept inside. Two slow, soft steps and she was standing over Kella’s apparently unconscious form. The still-warm muzzle of a blaster nudged into an exposed part of her neck. Kella settled more firmly against the wall. The muzzle withdrew. Now a hand touched her shoulder. Pushing. Kella’s slow topple had to look natural. . . right up to the last instant. . .when the extinguisher nozzle was clear and Kella made a convulsive move with her good hand.
The high-pressure spray hit Eily square in the face. She spasmed away, blind, choking. She triggered one wild shot. Kella gave her no time for a second, and slammed the cylinder into Eily’s skull with all her strength. The shock went up her hand, her arm, instantly transmitting the sickening knowledge that it had been enough. More than enough. Eily dropped.
Kella’s whole body shook, she had to brace her knees or fall; the stim and her own adrenaline were playing hell inside her, but it was better than being dead.
Her or me, she thought. Better her than me. She stared at Eily, at the bloodied depression in her temple, at her last, graceless collapse. No regrets for this enemy. One couldn’t afford them.
Where the hell is her blaster?
Eily was on top of it. Kella pulled it clear. It was awkward in her left hand, but she’d be able to use it.
And how soon would that be? Alard was still a problem. Had Eily remembered to lock the shield door? Best to assume she’d forgotten. Assume that Alard was in the hangar and intending to board the ship.
A dull sound, more felt than heard, came through the deck.
Assume that he’s in the ship.
Kella shoved the blaster into her belt, bent, and snaked an arm around Eily’s waist, lifting. It should have been hard, but the drugs racing through her veins were doing their job. A wrench, a heave, and then Eily’s body was in one of the command chairs. Kella unlocked the swivel mechanism and turned it so Eily faced away from the door, then she backed off, wedging flat against the right aft wall. She checked the blaster to be certain that it was charged and that the safety disengaged. She tried to thumb the power back to minimize collateral damage, but her hand froze.
The weapon was tech, just like all the other things that set off her reconditioning symptoms. Pulling the trigger on a non-lethal extinguisher was one thing, trying to use a true weapon was another.
Alard progressed toward the bridge; first she heard his footsteps, then his muted breathing. He paused outside the open door. From there he would see the mess on the deck: blood, scattered extinguisher spray. The stink of the latter was sharp in the air, like fresh vomit. He took his time. Kella breathed shallowly through her mouth and hoped that he couldn’t hear her pounding heart.
He wouldn’t be able to see anything more unless he came forward. It was a fifty-fifty chance who he’d spot first, Kella or Eily, depending on whether he looked left or right coming through the door.
Left, she willed at him. Look left.
Then he was in.
Fast bastard, she thought, having the time to think. He’d looked left.
And his attention had been caught and held by Eily for the critical instant that Kella needed. He must have realized it, too. He tensed as though to spin, then aborted the movement. It came out as a small jump throughout his whole body. Then he went still.
“Smart of you not to risk it,” she said. She liked how her voice sounded. Cold. Measured. In charge. Quite the opposite of how she felt.
She couldn’t shoot him. Her hand shook from the effort of trying. All the other stops they’d put into her brain were nothing compared to this one. Killing him was the most expedient way to end this—and she could not act.
Stall, then, restrain him now and kill him later.
“Put the blaster down and your hands behind your neck.”
He obeyed.
“You’re Alard?”
He nodded once.
“Are you brainwarp, Alard?”
“Is that what they told you?”
“They said you were killing everyone. You got a reason for that?”
He slowly turned, looking her up and down, his gaze resting briefly on her wounded arm and then on the twin stim-patches on her neck. “They’re System. That’s reason enough for me.” There was contempt in his tone. He was untroubled over those deaths.
“Resistance?”
“Mercenary.”
“What outfit?”
“I’m independent. They had a contract open so I took it.”
The Resistance had no qualms about bringing in outside help, especially if the price was low. “Entailing what?”
His gaze darted from her face to the muzzle of her weapon and back. “I was hired to slip extra programming into the base computers.”
“What kind of programming?”
“Nothing elaborate, but if and when it receives the proper signal, the reactor goes critical. The ship’s my payment.”
Interesting. If true, then the Resistance had made one hell of a bargain. For the price of a little forgery to get him assigned to the crew and one minor spacecraft they could remove the base as a threat anytime they wanted. Of course, the bang would take out Riganth Prison as well and too bad for the prisoners there. Maybe that was the reason behind the Resister raid. Free as many as they could, divert attention from the base . . . she liked the planning behind it. Hell, it was just the sort of thing she might have come up with herself.
But it took talent and training to command the kind of computer expertise needed to get past a reactor’s safeguards. “You botched it.”
“I did not,” he protested. “I completed the job.”
“You left a pile of bodies all over the place.”
“When the captain found out what I was doing I had to shut him down. So?”
“So as soon as the next ship comes in, the first thing they’ll do is check the computers for tampering.”
“I’d have cleaned everything up before leaving. The logs would show all the work done with the tech crew leaving on schedule. Once off-world the ship goes missing.”
Kella’s mouth twitched.
“It’s the truth!” he added sharply.
“But you can’t prove any of it, can you?”
“No, but. . .”
“Go on.”
“I could have shut you and your friend down at any time since you broke into the base, but didn’t.”
“O
r maybe you were hoping we’d provide a distraction you could exploit—and we did.”
“Your friend’s alive, though. Darden is not. I can show you.”
Moving cautiously, he backed toward a monitor and, one-fingered, tapped a few buttons. The monitor came alive. It was linked to the same remotes as the ones jury-rigged in the hangar. The image hopped as he keyed in the corridor pickup. Kella saw two bodies on the floor. One was Darden’s. There was a vast wash of blood around him and he wasn’t moving. Farron lay exactly where he’d fainted.
Alard played with a control and the remote centered on Farron. Numbers began to flow across the bottom of the screen.
“There’s his heart rate, respiration, and temp,” he said, pointing. “He’s in bad shape, but fixable.”
She was unimpressed. “All it means is that you were in too great a hurry to shoot an unconscious man.”
“He could have been faking. If you were me, would you have taken that chance?”
Kella knew that she would not. But it still wasn’t proof, and given the circumstances, there was no way Alard could offer any. The sensible thing at this point was to kill him, thus eliminating a liability she couldn’t afford.
Once more, she tried to trigger the blaster. Her hand twitched.
He flinched, but otherwise stayed in place. “Look, you’re hurt and need help. I’m no threat to you. We’re on the same side in the end. All I want out of this is my skin and the ship. If you want a fast trip off-world, I’ll pilot you there.”
I’ll pilot myself. Or get Farron to do it.
On the monitor, Farron sluggishly moved his arms, then pushed upright. He looked around, clearly confused, then yelped when he saw Darden’s body. Farron backed away on all fours, tangling in his blanket. Where’d he find one of those, anyway?
Focus, dammit. Her stims wouldn’t last long. When they wore off she’d drop in her tracks.
“I can take you to the Resistance cell that hired me,” said Alard. “They’ll get you a new ID. You can report to them what I did here, corroborate it. My stake is that it would get me more work. Having a ship is a start, but I’m going to need help stripping the registry. . .”
All reasonable, perfectly reasonable.