Derelict: Halcyone Space, Book 1

by Lj Cohen

  "So really, how screwed are we?" Barre asked.

  "We?" Ro laughed. "Not we. Me. You were technically a stowaway. I'm the one who stole the ship." And took the weapons. A deep clang reverberated through the ship. "Ah, our company's here. Shall we escort them to the bridge?"

  Barre glanced at Jem, frowning.

  "Never mind. Stay with him. I got this."

  "Are you sure?"

  Ro wasn't sure of much, except that Jem needed to get medical help. "Yeah." She made a futile effort to look less like she'd been in the same clothes for three days and more like the captain of a ship. Lifting her chin, she strode out to meet the skimmer crew.

  At the airlock, she paused and took a deep breath. She got them all this far, she could take the next step. Peering through the porthole, she saw the shadow of the skimmer flush against the transport ship. She placed her hand against the door controls. At least Jem would be okay. A deep thunk reverberated through the corridor, a sound she could hear and feel as the crew on the other side of the lock mated their port to Halcyone's.

  She studied the readout, keeping her eye on the cycling lights — green for a good seal, red for you're screwed. She looked up for the AI's pickup. "Barre?"

  "What's up, Cap?"

  It didn't bother her quite as much to hear him call her that now. "Keep your ears tuned for any signs that our friend is getting agitated, okay?"

  "Will do. All quiet right now."

  The airlock lights fixed on steady green. Ro let her breath out in a long, slow whistle. Relief mingled with a prickle of fear as the skimmer's port door unlocked. The hatch opened with excruciating slowness. Two survival-suited figures stood back to back in the tiny airlock proper. One held a supplies bag. Both were armed. A coil of dread curled around her stomach.

  The seconds ticked by as the skimmer's door dialed shut and Halcyone checked the pressurization before starting to open the transport ship's side. Green lights flashed in the airlock and both of the crew members from Hephaestus flipped up their visors.

  Alert bells rang through the corridor.

  "Airlock door opening. Prepare for arrivals."

  The two crew nodded, saying something to one another she couldn't hear. One of them looked up. Ro couldn't swallow the dry lump in her throat.

  Her father stood in the airlock staring back at her. A loud clunk broke her paralysis and Ro slapped her hand on the airlock controls to abort. The hiss of air taunted her. She was too late.

  He strode aboard Halcyone and stood, towering over her.

  She shivered, looking down at his sidearm.

  "Hello, Rosalen. I've been concerned about you."

  Concerned about what she might have done with his cargo, was probably more accurate. She ignored him and turned to the medic. "We have an injured boy on the bridge. Follow me."

  "And you need some care as well," the medic said, ignoring the tension he must have sensed between them.

  "I'm stable. Jem is not." She pivoted on her heel and headed away from the airlock, her back tingling, imagining the potential of weapons trained on her.

  "I'll need to examine everyone on board."

  "Jem first," she insisted, as the bridge doors hissed open.

  Barre stood and Ro envied the look of relief in his eyes.

  "Over here," he said.

  The medic picked his way across the detritus strewn about the bridge. As he knelt beside Jem, Barre leaned in and started throwing medical terms at him. A tightness pulled across her chest. Barre's face perfectly captured the expressions she'd seen in Jem's so often. Ro wondered why she'd never noticed that before.

  Ro's father stood in front of the door, facing in. Did he think she planned to escape? He met her gaze and strode through the bridge as if he owned it. She stood her ground, refusing to look away.

  "I found your toys. Nice trick with the seals. Your handiwork or the senator's?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "You've changed since I saw you last."

  "You haven't."

  "Touché," he said, giving her a mock bow. "Good work, here, by the way."

  "Don't think you can walk in here and steal my ship."

  "Your ship?" He laughed and both Barre and the medic looked up at him, frowning. They lowered their voices to intense whispers. "What about my cargo?"

  "I think you'll find the cargo already claimed," she said. Maybe Micah had done her a favor after all.

  He gripped her arm with the force and bite of a vice. "Whatever you think you've done, you're dangerously mistaken."

  Ro gripped his restraining arm with her free hand. "If you don't let go right now, I'm going to require the medic's help. Urgently."

  Her father opened his hand and she tumbled away from him, rubbing her arm, hoping the bruising wouldn't be that bad this time.

  The medic broke into their uncomfortable silence. "I'm going to transport this young man back to Hephaestus. Once I get him transferred to our sick bay, I'll come back for the two of you. You've done the best you could with him, given your resources. Your parents trained you well."

  "Is he going to be okay?" Barre's voice cracked. Ro looked away from the pleading in his eyes.

  "We'll do our best." He pulled a small, square packet from his bag. It unfolded into a backboard. "Maldonado, a little help here?"

  "No," Barre said. The medic shot him a sharp look. "He's my brother."

  Her father shrugged and stayed at Ro's side. She shifted a step away from him as Barre stabilized Jem's head and shoulders and helped roll him to the side so the medic could slip the board beneath him. With practiced efficiency, he got Jem secured in the strapping until he looked like an insect trussed in a spider's web.

  The medic stood, flipped a switch on his belt pack, and the backboard rose to hover at his waist height. "Even with the gurney, I can take one more back with me. Do you want the honors?"

  Barre stared helplessly at Jem and then back to Ro. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for being alone with her father.

  "Take Jem first," Barre said. "I started this trip with Ro. I think I should end it with her."

  She snapped her head around. What was he doing?

  The medic shrugged. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way back. Both of you can take the next trip."

  Barre watched the medic tow his brother out the door and into the hallway, his hands in tight fists. She owed him and the worst part was she didn't know why. He should have saved himself. It's what she would have done.

  Chapter 33

  "Halcyone, this is Commander Targill of the Commonwealth Ship Hephaestus. The skimmer will return shortly. All souls aboard will be transferred here immediately. If you are able, assist Chief Engineer Maldonado in preparing the vessel for towing."

  Ro triggered her response, refusing to look at her father. "Commander Targill, request permission to stay aboard Halcyone until we return to Daedalus." The seductive call of a shower and a real meal would have to wait until she figured out what her father was up to.

  "Request denied. You and the other children will be dropped off on Daedalus Station en route to a military repair depot."

  Her father snickered and she glared at him. There were no children here, only her crew.

  "You didn't think they'd let you keep it, did you?" her father asked.

  "You son of a bitch. You set me up. This is my ship. It was nothing but a glorified storage hold before I got her to fly."

  "Really?" His laughter filled the bridge. "And who do you think did all the work on the infrastructure? No, my dear Rosalen, this is my ship. It's always been mine. I just needed you for its final touches."

  "Ro?" Barre said, his low voice cutting through the tension. "I don't understand."

  "You should have gone with your brother," Maldonado said.

  "No. We all leave together or we all stay together."

  A lifetime of painful lessons made Ro an expert at reading even the subtlest of her father's signs. His body betrayed his fury in dozens of small ways, from the tight-
lipped smile to the ripple of muscle across his shoulders, to the slight cock of his head as he examined Barre as if he were just another engineering problem to solve.

  "I think you should wait at the airlock, son. I really do."

  Barre's hands clenched and unclenched. "You have no jurisdiction over me. I'm a civilian and I'm sure as hell not your son." He kept his gaze locked on Maldonado's and stepped forward.

  "Barre, don't!" Ro warned.

  He glowered at her father, unable to see the hard-calloused hand reaching casually towards his holstered weapon. But Ro couldn't look away. A coldness gnawed its way into her gut. He couldn't shoot Barre. He'd never get away with it. Targill wouldn't let him. But Targill wasn't here and if she didn't do something, Barre would be dead and dragging on her conscience like a storm drogue.

  Ro stared at her father's arm as if the weight of her fear could stop its relentless movement. Then her feet moved and she steered herself between the gun and Barre, never lifting her gaze from its deadly metallic shine.

  "Out of the way." His gun arm lifted. She raised her head to stare him in the eyes. He swept the gun across the small space that separated the two of them. Ro heard the crunch of the metal against her shoulder before she crumpled, flung across the room by the power in his muscular arm. A sharp cry rang out, her own, familiar voice echoing in pain.

  Barre screamed out her name.

  The smallest sound caught at her fading consciousness — a whisper of air that she knew was important, even if she couldn't think of why. She heard her name again, but this time in Micah's voice. An energy bolt crackled through the bridge. The sizzle of burning hair and flesh assaulted her sinuses. And then she remembered that soft sound and what it signified: the whoosh of the bridge doors opening and closing again.

  A giant's hand pressed down on her battered shoulder, wrenching another scream from her sore throat. The floor growled beneath her. Everything went black.

  ***

  In the darkness, the burn seemed to go on and on. Barre's arm lay twisted beneath him at an awkward angle and he wished it would just go ahead and break already. If he still had two functioning arms when the crazy ship stopped again, he was going to strangle Maldonado. If anything had happened to Micah or Ro, he'd kill him, broken arm or no.

  He couldn't even draw a full enough breath to shout for either of them. Halcyone was pulling at least three or four gees. It wasn't a huge hardship when you were in an acceleration couch or even lying flat on a beaten down old cushion. But Halcyone hadn't waited for them. She just bolted again and doused every source of light on the bridge in the process.

  At least Jem was safe.

  Barre could have been safe. But if he'd gone with his brother, he would have been heading back to Daedalus and mandatory rehab.

  He triggered his neural and opened up a link to Halcyone. A burst of chaotic, discordant sound reverberated through him. His stomach roiled. Bile flooded his mouth and leaked through his clenched teeth. Pain roared across the connection in raw arpeggios he was powerless to silence.

  The pounding in his head and the screaming in his shoulder became part of the song, amplified by the AI's panic until Barre couldn't separate his fear from her fear. He could feel his body's pointless struggle against the gee forces, but it seemed a distant thing.

  He breathed out a silent prayer. Please. Please. Please. His neural blazed, burning like a distant star in a corner of his mind as the music kept pouring through. Please. Please. Please. The rhythm of his cries added a soft counterpoint to Halcyone's furious song. The AI paused to listen, a nanosecond of blessed silence that Barre sank into, his body trembling. Please. I can't. It's too much.

  A single note echoed in the emptiness. Barre took a shaky breath. When the high bell-like sound died away, another overlapped it. Again and again the note pealed through his mind. A cry or warning, he didn't know which. The pressure against his body eased just enough so he could roll away from where his arm had gotten pinned beneath him.

  He sent a silent thank you to the AI. Its brooding quiet filled his mind.

  The ship continued to accelerate. He lay panting on the floor of the bridge, his cheek pressed against the floor. The sour reek of his own bile nearly made him retch again.

  Stop. You've got to stop. He sent a few tentative notes, wincing in anticipation. The same notes whistled back at him, matching his volume and intensity. The pressure against his chest softened. The growling engines slowed to a high pitched whine. Barre groaned as the blood flowed back into his arm, the sting of pins and needles traveling the length from shoulder to hand.

  A sharp cry came from the far side of the bridge followed by a dull thump. "Ro? Are you all right?"

  The bridge door hissed open and closed. Barre blinked furiously against the darkness. "Damn it, I can't see!"

  Red emergency lights cast muddy shadows across the consoles. He pulled himself up to standing and scanned the room. There was no sign of Maldonado or Micah. He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. "Ro, where are you?"

  A groan came from someplace behind him. He scrambled over to the sound, cursing as he banged his shin on the base of the command chair. Ro lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving, her cheek dripping blood. "Shit."

  He knelt beside her and checked her pulse — rapid, but steady. A roll of Micah's row cover lay at his feet and he tore off a length, folded it into a thick bandage, and pressed firmly against the cut on Ro's face.

  "No!" she cried out, batting wildly at his arm.

  "Shh, Ro, it's okay. It's me. Barre." He kept even pressure on her cheekbone as he spoke.

  Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him, blinking in confusion for several seconds. "Barre." She grabbed his arm in both of her hands. "Where is he?" Her voice shook and he didn't have to ask who she was talking about.

  "Gone."

  Ro winced. "He shot Micah."

  "I know." The smell of burnt hair still hung in the air. "I think he took his body."

  "We're going to die here." She turned her head away from him. "And it's all my fault."

  Barre let the blood-stained cloth drop from his hand. A chill slithered down his spine. "Are you just going to lie down and die for him?"

  "You don't understand." Her voice was flat, dull.

  "The hell I don't." Barre wiped his hands against his pants and stood. "You can stay here, but if he wants us dead, I'm damned well going to make him work for it."

  "You don't understand," Ro repeated. "He has an army's worth of weapons."

  Barre listened to the quiet humming of the AI in his head. "But we have the ship."

  ***

  You weren't supposed to be nauseated when you were dead. Strange logic, but it made sense to Micah. Therefore, he realized, he had to be alive. Something tugged on his ankles and his body lurched forward. His head bounced on the floor and pain arced across his forehead and along the top of his skull. The cooked-meat smell of his own flesh made his stomach heave, but there was nothing left to empty.

  He tried to shout, but the sound came out as a low groan. The jerky motion stopped and his legs thudded to the ground. A shadow fell over his body.

  "Your father thought he could burn me, but now I have his cargo and his son."

  Alain Maldonado stared down at him. Memory flooded through Micah and he flinched. The bastard shot him. He reached his hand towards his forehead. Pain knifed through his arm as Maldonado kicked him.

  "I can't risk you getting an infection."

  "But you shot me." This conversation made no sense and it wasn't just because Micah happened to be lying on the floor after being dragged halfway across Halcyone's corridors with a burn wound across his skull.

  "You surprised me." He reached an arm down toward him. "Get up."

  Micah grasped the hand on automatic pilot and gasped as Maldonado jerked him to his feet.

  "Move," he said, the ugly weapon sitting too comfortably in his large hand.

  The blood drained from Micah's head and the cor
ridor spun around him. He sagged against the wall, fighting the dry heaves, half expecting to hear the whine of Maldonado's gun.

  "Get inside," he said.

  Micah risked opening his eyes. The corridor wavered, but didn't spin.

  "After you." Maldonado gestured toward the open doorway that led into the storage bay. And the weapons.

  "Where's Ro?" Micah asked, limping across the threshold.

  Maldonado pointed to an unopened crate set against the far wall. "Sit."

  He couldn't have shot his own daughter. He couldn't have. Micah struggled to remember what had happened on the bridge. Everything fell apart. Maldonado was here and he had the weapons. And if Ro and Barre were dead, he had the ship, too.

  Maldonado rummaged through the opened crates, humming to himself. He walked back to Micah and dumped a bundle of medical supplies at his feet. "Clean yourself up and make sure you do a good job."

  He glanced down at the sterile gloves, cleanser, and antibiotic-laced bandages and figured Maldonado really did want him alive. "This would go a lot easier if you helped."

  The man's steady gaze never left his face.

  Micah swallowed hard and bent over to pick up the supplies. Maldonado hadn't given him anything for anesthesia. He snapped the gloves on and leaned over, squirting the cleanser over his head. It stung almost as bad as getting shot had and Micah had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from passing out again. He sat there panting as the liquid blazed a path through his burns and dripped off his face onto the floor. Blood, skin, and bits of hair pooled at his feet.

  It was good he had nothing left in his stomach to hurl. Micah probed his forehead, wincing at the tenderness. If he survived this, he'd have one hell of a scar to talk about. The wound stretched from the center of his eyebrow across his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. His hands shook when he thought of how close the burn came to taking his eye.

  He snapped off several small segments of bandage and one at a time pressed their adhesive ends to his forehead, moving from his eyebrow up. It wouldn't look pretty, but it would keep the wound clean. "Now what?"