Dark Ice (Mercenaries Book 2)

by A. R. Knight

  A strangled, high-pitched noise cried as a shape blurred into Merc's peripheral, jumping on the woman like a child looking for a ride and pushing her into the side of the room. The woman yelled while the attacker, a short man in the dirty garb of an Eden engineer, bit at her arms and tried to throw her to the ground. Merc stood and ran at the woman's shotgun, still waving in her hand. Just as the woman tried to knock the engineer off by slamming her back into a wall, Merc reached her, grabbed the shotgun, and tore it free.

  "Stop!" Merc yelled in her face, though he wasn't sure really whether it applied to the woman or the engineer. "I'll shoot either of you if you move."

  Merc's side exploded in pain, a rippling agony that wiped away all thoughts about what he would say to his captives next. And then Merc was flying down the hallway, back towards the door that'd opened to bring all this crap to him, and he hit the floor and bounced once before settling. The big man. That's who'd kidney-punched Merc and thrown him like a sack of potatoes.

  First rule of fighter flying was that you always watched your back. Remember the basics, man.

  Speaking of. Merc noticed his sidearm sitting there on the ground a meter away. A quick glance back towards the room showed the big man taking the engineer off the woman's back and slamming him into the ground. Fighter flying rule number two; always cover your wingman. Merc scrambled for the sidearm, feeling any second like he might vomit up all over the place. Gripping the handle, Merc rolled onto his side, aimed, and fired.

  The laser was true and hit the big man in the center of his back. Right where the laser would do all sorts of nasty things to a man's nerves. Big'n'Scary collapsed in a heap while the woman traced the shot back to Merc and stared, then raised her hands.

  "Nice shot," The woman said.

  "I'll do the same to you if you move," Merc said, lying there. "The little guy alive?"

  The woman, keeping her hands up, looked at the engineer.

  "Punk's still with us."

  A groan came from over that way, and the smell of charred flesh and clothes hit Merc's nostrils. Problem with actually being in atmosphere when shooting someone with a laser is you had to deal with the scents afterward. Hair, clothes, chemicals subjected Merc's nose to sickening waves of smell. And it was the kicker his stomach was looking for.

  "Gross," Said the woman, watching.

  "Don't," Merc said between heaves. "Move."

  "You want me to put you out of your misery?" The woman said. "Cause you look pretty terrible right now."

  "Hostages aren't supposed to be so cocky," Merc replied, wiping his sleeve across his face.

  "Why not? When Bakr gets here, he's going to turn you into a pile of ash. Same with this guy," The woman said, sounding bored. "So if you're gonna shoot me, do it now. Cause you don't have much time left among the living."

  23

  Mechanical Offensive

  The first thing Trina told Erick was to blast the doors. The ones leading into the bay. Erick opened the Jumper's turret and aimed it at the doors. Or rather, around them, and fired a few test shots. They flew into the control panels and demolished them in a shower of sparks. That at least would prevent the attackers from getting quick entry into the bay. And give Trina time to do what she needed to do.

  "Erick, I'm going down to set up a defense, keep me covered," said Trina.

  "Got it," said Eric.

  Trina ran down the Jumper's ramp as soon as it opened. There wasn't going to be much time. Trina had to make it as hard as possible for the attackers to get to their ship. One nice thing about being in a giant freighter was that there's plenty of stuff to use. All around them in the bay were fuel canisters, batteries, cargo containers both empty and full of supplies meant to be shuttled down to the Karat if the mission went longer than planned.

  "Erick, I'm going to move some of these canisters," Trina. "Let me know if they're breaking in,"

  The doctor clicked the comm to acknowledge. Trina ran over to the first set of canisters, old-style fuel meant for old-style ships, ships like the shuttle that had been taken by Davin and the others down to Neptune. Hit it with enough concentrated energy and they would go boom.

  Lifting them wasn't possible. A hundred kilos or more apiece. So Trina leaned against the cylinders and knocked them on their sides. Rolled them over to the door and pressed them up against the wall.

  "What you doing, Trina?" commed Erick.

  "These canisters will explode. You'll shoot them when they start to come in," Trina said. "It should buy us some time."

  Erick didn't say anything else. Which was fine. Trina knew what she was doing. Working with this kind of material was something that she handled a lot as the Jumper's mechanic. Knowing what fuel would do in various situations was important when you have a lot of it stored on your ship. As Trina rolled the third canister over, a thunk sounded from the other side of the door. Someone testing it.

  "Keep those turrets trained," Trina said.

  "They’re ready to fire, I'd just prefer you weren't in the way," Erick said.

  "The Jumper's worth more than me," Trina said. "We lose her there's no way out of here."

  "Then we won't lose her,"

  After a couple more thoughts trial knocks, the smell of burning electrical wires filtered into the bay. Laser cutters. Trina only had a few more seconds. Enough for one more canister. Four should be enough. She kicked it over, rolled it along the ground, the ridged surfaces making it rumble as it went along. The middle of the bay door glowed amber. Heat coming through from the other side. It was going to be tight.

  As she got closer, a bright yellow beam burst through the skin of the doors, continuing on for a meter before petering out to nothing. Trina gave one more shove and left the canister rolling. Turned back towards the Jumper and its lowered ramp and ran.

  "Get ready!" Trinity yelled into her calm.

  "I am, just get yourself on the ship," Erick replied.

  "Don't shoot until their clear of the door," Trina continued. "The canisters will be more effective if we let them get past. We'll catch more that way."

  "I'll handle it."

  Trina hit the ramp at full sprint, boots clanging against the surface. At the top of the ramp, she turned back to the door in time to see the middle section fall away, a glowing orange outline traced through the metal. On the other side several faces look back up at her. They weren't friendly.

  The first two stepped through the broken door as Trina raised the ramp. She heard Erick fire. Too early. No way enough of the enemy would've poured through already. Trina paused the ramp's process, leaned out to look. A pair of the attackers were being dragged back through the door, a cloud of bluish smoke hanging over the area. No bodies on the floor.

  "Too early," Trina said.

  "I fired when I needed to," Erick said. "I'm not a killer. Especially an unnecessary one. Your trap has them pulling back. We bought us some time."

  Trina heard the words. They were logical. The attackers almost certainly wouldn't let them go. Wouldn't just stop on account of kindness. But at the same time, she respected Erick’s choice. The idea that he couldn't give up who he was even when dire circumstances compelled him to. Trina turned towards her cabin, to grab her rifle. Just because the doctor didn't want to kill anybody, didn't mean she wouldn't have to.

  24

  Paralyze

  Phyla ducked into the bunk as lasers flashed through the corridor behind her. Naturally, the crew cabin was a one-door trap. Phyla glanced at her sidearm, the little energy left in it was enough for a couple more shots. And there were at least three attackers after her. Had been since she'd left the bays, chasing and firing with the kind of abandon Phyla saw at practice ranges. Either they didn't really care about blasting up the freighter, or had so many back-up battery packs that ammunition wasn't a worry for them.

  The bunk room had the requisite cot, unmade stained with bits of oil, grease. Someone working in the dirtier side of the ship and not willing to keep his own quarters clea
n. Maybe Van, that long-haired engineer, or the surly short one.

  A standard Eden display built into the wall, for watching movies and other entertainment on long voyages. And one side dedicated to the locker, a combination-sealed box where the guy stored his things. On the wall above the bed was a series of markings. Phyla took another second to look and realized they were days, a line for every single Sol on the ship. Given the number, the engineer had been on the Amerigo for longer than just this mission. Had this bunk the entire time.

  Now, when he came back to his room, the engineer might find a burned out corpse. Phyla gripped the sidearm and stared at it. Before, there'd always been options. Fly away, run and gun out of the situation. Call in reinforcements. But all the logical next steps were gone and here she was, thinking about using one of those last shots on herself.

  "We know you're in there, lady," called a voice from the hallway. "We're not here to kill everyone. Mostly. So we'd be glad to take you alive. You prove yourself useful, and you could see yourself dropped at the next station we come to."

  Yeah. Give yourself up, Phyla. Just slide that sidearm out and let these fine people decide your fate for you.

  Phyla looked out the door, back into the hallway. Farther down, away from the chasers, were more rooms. Each one spaced a meter apart from the last, alternating sides so nobody bunked directly across from someone else. That meant she only had to go a meter before dashing into cover. But there was nothing in that hallway. For that meter she'd been easy killing even for the worst shot.

  "Yes or no. We're getting impatient," the voice called.

  What Phyla needed was time. Time to think, to get help. She looked up next to the door and slapped the small panel. The door rushed in from the left side and Phyla hit the panel again to lock it in place. Unless they brought something strong with them, or had a master passcode for all these rooms, Phyla had bought herself a moment to breathe.

  "Aw, now, that's not very polite," the voice said, now coming from the other side of the door. "Shutting the door on your friends like that. But that's all right. We have a way in right here, don't we?"

  Phyla heard the crackle, the distinctive popping crackle of a las-tool switching on. The same stuff they used in their guns, only concentrated to a small, tight beam. They'd be through in a minute or two. Break the door's locking mechanism, and the whole thing would pop open. It's not like Eden had a lot of incentive to make their crew rooms durable against break-ins.

  "I've over-charged my weapon," Phyla said. "You break that door, I'll set it off. Friend."

  The las-tool's crackle didn't get any closer. Hesitation. Phyla looked at her sidearm. No way she could get anything more than a loud pop out of overcharging this thing. Not anywhere close to blowing them, or herself, apart. Which meant waiting till they called her bluff. Lina, her childhood friend, would sneer at her. Calling Phyla out for being a unoriginal. Sitting and waiting to die? She'd have figured something out.

  The crackle got closer again. A hissing noise erupted as the laser melted into the door. Phyla gripped the sidearm in her right hand, reached over to the panel and slapped the door open. It shot up and showed the partially-masked, surprised face of one very ambushed man. The guy wore what looked like a rejected costume, torn and stained from mis-use, draping him in shreds of black netting. It was frightening, so Phyla blasted him in the face.

  The man fell back into the other two, barely starting to react to the open door. The burning las-tool, still gripped in the shot man's hand, swung backward and into the body of a woman sporting an eclectic collection of exercise clothing. The fabric burst into flame the moment the las-tool came near the woman's thigh, lighting up the clothes like a firework.

  The last of the trio stumbled away from the pyre, and Phyla emptied a second laser into him. Stepping over the first body, Phyla kicked the las-tool out of his hand, the automatic shut-off causing the machine to shut off as it skittered down the hallway.

  "Sorry, you said you wanted in," Phyla said, looking at the trio.

  Steps echoed through the hallway, further along the crew quarters. Without thinking, Phyla snapped the sidearm up and pulled the trigger. The weapon sputtered for a second, then beeped. Energy exhausted.

  "Thought I was on your side?" Quinn said, stepping forward with his hands raised.

  "Don't know who's on my side right now," Phyla said, but she lowered the weapon. "Except my crew, and they're scattered all over this ship."

  "Then let's get to the bridge. From there, we can find them. Help them," Quinn reached behind his back and pulled out heavy rifle half as long as he was tall. Powerful enough to punch through any door on the ship, or even out through the hull with enough concentrated fire.

  "Isn't that risky?" Phyla said, eying the rifle.

  "I know what I'm doing," Quinn replied. "Ready?"

  Guess that was her answer.

  "They cut off the bays," Phyla said. "Is there another way?"

  "Back through the crew quarters," Quinn said, turning back the way he'd come.

  "Hey," Phyla said. "If the bridge is that way, why did you come back here?"

  Quinn glanced back at her.

  "Because I'm thinking you and your crew are the only allies I have left on this freighter."

  25

  Aftermath

  When Puk told her to dive, to jump into the bathroom, Viola listened. She believed when a machine, built on cold, hard logic, told you something with absolute certainty, you listened. So she dove, and felt Opal collapse into her a second later, the sniper's head landing in her lap as the shuttle split in two. A lance of blue fire that Viola saw outside the lavatory door, shooting through with the whistling whine of materials being separated into their atomic parts.

  If Davin, who poked his head into the lavatory both too soon and far too late afterward, had asked Viola how she felt, there would have been no real answer. Because she didn't know how to describe being utterly powerless. Without Puk's warning, the laser would have cleaved Opal in half. Would have torched Viola's face, burned away her clothes and rendered her blind. Viola processed the thoughts, the consequences a stream of damning data and couldn't find any rational for why she should continue. She was so, so obviously out of her league.

  Viola felt Opal breathing, light but still pushing air in and out of her lungs.

  The fight on Eden Prime where Fournine, an android she'd programmed to protect them, had blown itself up, taking two more of the hostile bots with it, didn't register on the same scale. It'd struck Viola as comical, surreal to see machines beating each other to a pulp while she took pot shots from the sidelines. The idea of real danger never penetrated. The bots weren't after her. But here, these people, they saw her as a target and weren't afraid to shoot.

  "Hey. We should get moving," Puk whirred, hovering near the remnants.

  "I'll carry her," Mox said, the metal man breaking through the rubble and tearing off the shuttle structure that stood in his way. A moment later, he picked Opal up off of Viola, cradling the sniper in his arms. Then he spared a look at Viola, seeking any sign of injury.

  “I’m fine,” Viola said. "Just, shaken up."

  Mox hesitated, then nodded and moved out of the wreck. Puk hovered there, its small orb seeming to stare at her in concern. Which, yeah. The bot should worry. You take a girl out of engineering school and throw her into a deathtrap of lasers and explosions and expect her to take it without flinching? That's the movies.

  "Are you—”

  "I said I'm fine," Viola interrupted the bot, stood. Focused on the narrow aim, the immediate one foot in front of the other goal of getting out of the shuttle. Planting her foot, which Viola realized now was wrapped in the shreds of her boot, whose melted sole landed unevenly on the ground, she stepped around the shards of the craft that minutes ago was the only thing keeping them alive in Neptune's endless tornado of an atmosphere.

  Mox moved across the bay, disappearing into the exit hallway. Viola was about to follow, then glanc
ed towards the back of the shuttle, the other ruined half. Why she looked that way, Viola wasn't sure, except wondering if both halves suffered the same terrible fate. Sitting there, on top of each other, were a pair of small rifles. Spray-and-pray shooters, Davin had called them when he'd put them in the shuttle. One was Viola's. The other, Opal's back-up if the confines of the Karat weren't conducive to kilometer-long sniper shots. Viola grabbed both of the weapons, slinging their straps over her shoulders.

  Just putting on the weapons was a relief. Not the weapons themselves, really, but that Viola had made tangible progress. She wasn't a prone victim anymore. Rather, she was moving closer to the goal. Making a difference. One second away from death, but she did not die. And she was not yet done.

  Viola found Mox and Davin outside the door of an elevator, the call button not yet pressed. They were talking in low voices, and looked up as Viola rounded the corner.

  "It sucks, doesn't it?" Davin said first.

  Viola nodded.

  "My first real fight wasn't that bad. A bunch of idiots we were paid to round up in some lunar slums," Davin said. "They weren't supposed to be more than brawlers, and bad ones at that, but one turned out to be ex-military. Had a gun back when Luna, what with the thin shielding, wanted no one shooting. I was the second one in and watched Cadge get leveled by a laser. Miracle that he lived."

  "Cadge was with you back then?" Viola said.

  "Sure, he left the military way before Opal. Point being, I didn't take it well. Fell back into the next guy and the crew I was with had to figure out a way to disarm the bastard with me contributing a lot of panic. They finally told me to drag Cadge to a hospital and just leave them alone."