“That’s fine.” A lift came into view down one of the corridors, and Makkon directed his prisoner toward it.
“Brax said we should question them to make sure we’ve found everyone and to see if there’s anything else here that might be useful in your talks with GalMil.”
“Question them or interrogate them?” Makkon stepped into the lift with the woman. He was going to have to ask for her name. It seemed he should know the name of the person who had shot him twice.
“He wasn’t specific on the particulars, sir.”
“I bet. Just tie them up for now. They’re our bargaining chips. Don’t hurt them if you don’t have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Same doesn’t go for soldiers, I guess,” the woman said.
“Sorry,” Makkon said. He truly was, but wasn’t surprised when she snorted with disbelief. “We’ve got the station. You cooperate, and there’s no reason we need to kill you.”
“Cooperate, turn traitor, funny how the definitions of words change, depending on which side you’re on.”
He said nothing. He couldn’t blame her for being bitter. In her situation, he would be too. And he would resent that he had lived when all of his comrades had died. The fact that he didn’t particularly want her as an enemy didn’t matter. That was the fate he had chosen when he and his men had agreed to come on this mission. Killing and most likely their own deaths, as well. A pity, but sacrifices had to be made.
The lift stopped on Level One, engineering. He’d pressed the button for Ten, the level with the communications station on it. Makkon lowered his rifle and pulled the woman back into the corner with him, prepared in case the door opened to an enemy.
Dornic stood there, his rifle equally at the ready, though only held with one hand. He had a toolbox in the other hand. They grunted at each other and lowered their weapons.
Dornic stepped into the lift, his thin blond braids dancing around his shoulders, a contrast with his brown skin. He lifted an eyebrow at the woman. “Keeping one for yourself?”
“Don’t be crude,” Makkon said. “She’s the communications officer.”
Dornic raised his bushy eyebrows, looking at her neck, or perhaps his hand wrapped around it.
“She didn’t want to be captured,” Makkon added.
“No? Odd.”
The woman only glowered as the lift started rising again. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes determined. Hoping for a chance to escape? Makkon suspected she would be trouble if they let her live, but he couldn’t imagine shooting her. Funny, since she’d had no problem shooting him, but he’d always respected people who put up a good fight, men or women. Of course, he was unlikely to become attracted to the men.
“Who are you people?” the woman asked. She was staring at Dornic’s tattoo. The fanged countenance of a tunnel wolf marked the left side of his face.
“Send my message, and you’ll find out,” Makkon said.
The lift stopped at Level Three, and she chose not to answer.
“Comm station needs some repairs,” Dornic said. “Might have to wait.”
The woman’s lips pinched together in what might have been a smile.
“We found the grenades already,” Makkon said, watching her face. “Unless Brax managed to set them off.”
“No, but he was putzing around with the computer, trying to keep a report from going out, and tripped something else. A few circuits burned.”
The woman’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.
Dornic hefted his toolbox. “I’m on my way.”
“All right. Let me know when it’s fixed.” Makkon stuck his foot in the door. “This is where Zar’s putting the prisoners, right?”
Dornic nodded. “Lounge at the end there. There’s only one door leading in. Easy to guard.”
“Got it.”
Though Makkon was tempted to take his prisoner up to the comm station and breathe down Dornic’s neck while he worked, he decided he had better check in and make sure no interrogations were going on. While he was there, maybe he could find a first-aid kit.
“Out,” he told the woman.
She complied silently. Scorch marks lined the walls of the corridor. He wasn’t sure whether his men had battled someone down here, or if the station had been attacked before. It’d had a larger complement of soldiers guarding it than his team had expected, and he still wasn’t sure they had found everyone.
“You have a name?” Makkon asked as they walked.
Most of their uniforms had surnames stitched on the chest, but she still wore a TacVest. He supposed he should remove that—he’d only been focused on weapons earlier—and then he could find out. He’d rather have her first name, but he would take anything.
He got nothing, at least not from her lips.
Since she hadn’t tried to escape for nearly three minutes, he lowered his hand from her neck and gripped her only by the back of the arm. She did not react, but even from the side, he could see the calculation glittering in her eyes. She’d probably already done the equation and decided she couldn’t come out on top with him, but he couldn’t guard her twenty-four hours a day. The rest of his people were as strong as he was, but assuming nobody had been killed, they still had only ten men. They would be spread thin watching all of their prisoners over the next several days. She might find an opportunity to slip away. And then what? Whoever was on guard would catch her and shoot her. He had to accept that might happen, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure why.
Because you think she’s pretty and like the way she shot you, idiot.
He snorted at the words from the all-too-frank back of his mind, loudly enough that she glanced at him. He decided not to mention that he was chatting with himself.
Makkon stopped when they reached the lounge. A loud voice—someone giving a lecture about what would be done to anyone who tried to escape—seeped out through the closed door. He should have gone right in, but he stopped the woman and turned her to face him. There was nothing friendly or welcoming about her set jaw and cold glare, but he still found himself thinking inappropriate thoughts as they finally faced each other, only a few inches between their noses. Between their lips.
In that moment, a thought occurred to him. What if he could make her sympathetic to his people’s mission, or, if not that, make her sympathetic to him? Enough so that she wouldn’t make trouble, that she would work the comm station for the messages he would need to send back and forth to the government. Then he wouldn’t need to worry about her trying to shoot his men and escaping.
Sounds nice. How’re you going to manage it? Helping you would make her a traitor. The military probably still shoots traitors.
Makkon didn’t respond to the inner voice, but he did acknowledge that it would be much easier to knock her out with drugs until they needed her for the messages. If she were a man, he wouldn’t have any problem making that decision. If Dornic found a way into the comm system, and they could send the message without her, then none of this would be needed. He wished that mining craft they had salvaged had a way to contact the government, though even if it had, they would have needed the powerful satellite that this station used to get the signal all the way back to the core worlds.
“Do I have something in my eye?” the woman asked, watching him warily.
He realized he had been staring at her. Thinking perhaps his humor might appeal to her, or at least soften her attitude toward him, he hmmed and pretended to examine her eyes. As if he hadn’t already noticed everything about them, the gray-green that was more gray than green against the backdrop of her dark uniform and that a darker rim ringed her irises, giving them a striking look. “No, they’re fine.”
She glared back at him.
“Listen,” Makkon said, “I meant what I said. If you cooperate, I’ll make sure you’re still alive when your ships arrive.”
“Bite my ass.” She twisted in his grip as much as she could and faced the door.
“Well, I s
uppose that’s a possibility too.” A wild notion that he might somehow seduce her jumped into his brain—possibly the lower brain instead of the upper one.
But from the tense way she stared straight ahead, she didn’t find the idea appealing. Sighing, he waved at the sensor to open the door. He walked in first to make sure his people wouldn’t twitch and fire at the sight of a soldier. Zar’s rifle pointed toward them, but he immediately lowered it.
“Good to see you, sir.” Zar glanced at Makkon’s leg, but he didn’t say anything about it.
Makkon gritted his teeth. He thought he’d been hiding that limp well.
More than thirty men and women in civilian clothes sat on couches, at tables, or against the walls, all with their wrists bound behind their backs and their feet tied together. Most of them were older than forty, with at least half having gray hair. He wouldn’t dismiss anyone on age—Brax was nearly sixty and still fought like a monster—but he didn’t spot any among the scientists who looked like trouble. There were two injured soldiers sitting against the far wall under a porthole that looked out over the shuttle bay doors and the mining ship. He knew the solar storm had kept the station’s sensors from noticing its approach but almost laughed when he realized that if someone had been sitting in here, playing games and looking out the window, they would have seen everything.
One of the soldiers was unconscious, his head lolling against his shoulder and blood smearing the floor under him. The second was also injured, one arm blown off with laser fire. His eyes were open and alert—the laser must have cauterized the wound so he hadn’t lost too much blood—but he didn’t look like he would be much trouble, either. Good. Aside from Zar, Rebek and Kumar were the only ones standing guard in the lounge. Once his team had control of all the necessary equipment on the station, and everyone had been captured, he should get more people down here. He wanted to make sure there were enough personnel to ensure his woman wouldn’t be able to plot up an escape attempt.
When did she become your woman?
He flicked an imaginary finger at the voice and walked the woman to a table. He could have told Zar to search and tie her, but didn’t want anyone else groping her.
“Comm officer?” Zar asked, walking along beside him.
“Yes.”
Zar glanced at his leg again, probably wondering if she was the one who shot him. Fortunately, he didn’t ask. That was good, because Makkon didn’t want to admit that some young female communications officer had been the one who managed to hurt him. He didn’t want to admit to being hurt at all. Once she was safely tied with the others, he would find that first-aid kit.
Though Makkon did not ask for it, Zar kept his rifle pointed at her while he removed her TacVest. He finally got her name, since it was indeed on a patch on her uniform. Pavlenko. The rank designs had all changed since he had last dealt with the system’s military, but from her age, he doubted she could be more than a lieutenant. Or she could perhaps be a sergeant, if she’d gone straight into the service instead of to school, but the fact that the brawny veteran had been trying to make sure she escaped made him believe she was an officer.
He kept his search professional as he dipped into her pockets, though his fingers wouldn’t have minded lingering. He pulled out a small personal computer and dropped it on a table, along with a supply of ration bars. She must have planned to hide out until she could make her way to that auxiliary communications station. He also tossed the weapons he had confiscated from her earlier onto the table.
“Throwing knives?” Zar’s brows rose.
Yes, he’d thought them an odd choice for a comm officer. Of course, he carried an ice axe around for close combat—and because he was strong enough to chop through military-grade combat armor that could withstand laser fire—so who was he to judge?
Pavlenko did not respond. She was staring straight ahead, probably trying to pretend Makkon wasn’t standing so close. He’d spotted her doing a quick scan of everybody in the room when they first entered, her gaze lingering on the injured soldiers, but now she merely focused on a wall panel.
During the search, he found a compact knife that he had missed earlier, one in a sheath strapped to her inner thigh, underneath her trousers. It took some artistry to remove the blade without removing her trousers—a subtle flap in the material was what allowed her to access it. He supposed he could have removed her trousers, but that seemed an unnecessary indignity. Besides, he got to slide his fingers across smooth flesh in order to unbuckle the sheath.
Pavlenko’s jaw clenched so tightly, she was in danger of breaking teeth, so he couldn’t pretend that she enjoyed the search. He pulled the sheath out and dumped it on the table alongside several other piles of weapons and personal items that suggested the civilians had already been searched.
Zar chuckled at the knives. He was watching Pavlenko with curiosity and appraisal that Makkon didn’t like, but he doubted the kid would treat her with anything but respect. He wasn’t much older than she, and he had an earnestness-to-please about him that Makkon couldn’t translate into someone who would maul women. Rebek was more likely to be trouble. He was eyeing her chest instead of her knives.
As Makkon finished his search, his comm beeped.
“What?” he answered, stepping back from Pavlenko. “Tie her,” he mouthed to Zar.
“Yes, sir.”
“You find that woman, Makkon?” came Brax’s voice over the comm.
“Just dropped her off with the others.”
“Took long enough. Get your ass up here to the top gun turret. We’ve got a soldier who’s locked himself in here with enough explosives to blow up half of the station.”
Several of the scientists straightened in alarm and murmured tensely to each other. Yes, this level qualified as being on the “top half of the station.” Pavlenko didn’t react overtly, though she was probably pleased with the act of defiance rather than worried it would get her killed. Makkon sighed, wondering if his thoughts of winning her over were in vain.
“I’m on my way.”
Before leaving, he pulled Zar aside. “I told the woman we’d keep her alive if she cooperated,” he said quietly.
“Oh? Is she?” Zar quirked his eyebrows toward the now-tied Pavlenko, then glanced at Makkon’s injured leg. “Cooperating?”
“Not yet, but she will,” Makkon said with more conviction than he had. “She locked up the comm before running, so we at least need her to get into the system and send our demands. Don’t let anyone harass her. You know I don’t care to go back on my word.”
Zar paled. “Yes, sir. I’ll watch her.”
“Good. Stay alert.”
Makkon strode out, wondering how he was supposed to keep some suicidal veteran from blowing up the station.
Chapter 5
Captain Porter wasn’t there. Tamryn had counted all of the scientists as soon as she’d had a chance and knew two of them were missing, as well, but she didn’t know if they had escaped... or been killed. She distinctly remembered that blood she had walked through down on the animal lab floor. She also didn’t know if Porter had escaped or been killed.
If she had died... Damn, what a senseless act it would have been to shoot someone with such a brilliant mind. Someone who was also the closest thing Tamryn had to a friend on the station. Since it would have been unseemly to spend recreational time with the enlisted men, she had gravitated toward the one other female officer. Even if Porter was usually distracted by her work, she had been friendly and willing to chat after hours. Had she been there to chat now, she might have shared some knowledge of the intruders. She had seemed to know something about them, about the tattoos at least. Tamryn needed information if she was to come up with any kind of plan.
Her gaze skimmed across Corporal Powell, who was now missing one arm. He was staring back at her, his eyes full of pain but also holding a smidgen of hope. Did he think she could somehow get him out of this? She didn’t see how. Maybe he knew about her family and thought she could
wave her hand and have Daddy send out a private fleet. Unfortunately, she had the same problem as everyone else here, a days-long delay between the time a message could be sent and any ships could reach them out here. Also, she worried that her captor’s buddy might have figured out a way to keep her report from going out.
“You there, pirate,” she said to the young man who’d been helping Dragon Tattoo. Makkon, she’d heard the others call him. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to think of him by name or not. She certainly did not want to encourage any feelings of familiarity toward him, not when he had killed Wu and countless others.
“Pirate?” The young man walked closer and looked down at her. He had a broad face that had been friendly when he was gazing up at Makkon, almost adoring. The tattoo—some huge, shaggy animal—and his muscles, as brawny as every other invader’s, had made him seem older, but when she looked at him more closely, she decided he was probably her age.
“Whatever you are,” Tamryn said.
“I’m Zar.”
“Fantastic. Look, Zar. There are people in here who are injured. You’ve got us tied up, and your leader said something about hostages, so I’m guess you don’t want us to die. Got a first-aid kit in here? Mind if I try to patch them up?” She glanced at Powell and the unconscious Cox beside him. Some of the scientists had injuries too.
Zar scratched his jaw and looked at Powell and Cox. “I don’t think anyone cares if the soldiers die.”
Tamryn ground her teeth. “I care.”
She barely knew the men, but she found the words to be true. She doubted the sentiment would sway the pirate, but she had gone to school to be an officer. Even if she had chosen the technical track instead of the command track, never thinking of herself as someone who would easily order people around, she was supposed to be able to lead men, to take care of them. She might be the only officer left alive on the station. It was her job to keep the few people she had left alive.
Zar must not have had an opinion either way, because he shrugged, said something to one of his colleagues, and walked out of the room. To retrieve medical supplies, Tamryn hoped.
Frost Station Alpha 1-6: The Complete Series Page 5