“Marat?” she asked, peering toward the hole above. Light and smoke flowed into her shaft, but she couldn’t see anything of the fight or the hallway.
She almost started back up again, but a dark shadow blotted out the light. Marat dove into the ladder well. Crimson beams slammed into the already warped frame, all that was left of the hatch. His big figure curled in on itself, tightening into a ball. Eyes wide, Ying realized he could fall right onto her and knock her off the rungs. There was not enough room for him to pass by her in the shaft.
But somehow, he twisted and got his legs under him. He caught the ladder earlier than she had.
“Down,” Marat whispered.
Ying was already descending. She slid down the ladder, her legs hooked around the outside bars, not bothering to use the rungs. She paused once to try an access hatch and almost received boots in her face.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was looking up.”
This hatch was locked, anyway.
Without comment, Ying continued downward.
That android had not been far away, and they would make easy targets when Wolf’s men reached that obliterated hatch and stuck their heads—and their weapons—into the ladder well. Her hope was that they couldn’t see well through the smoke and could not be certain that their enemies had disappeared. They should approach the broken hatchway with caution.
Ying stopped at the next exit. They couldn’t afford to be choosy. This one opened, and she crawled inside. It wasn’t another floor, but some access passage between levels. Conduits snaked along the tight walls.
Marat grunted as he followed her. With shoulders broader than hers, he scarcely fit inside, but he pushed through behind her. She had no idea where she was going, but so long as they put some distance between her and her pursuers, it was a good thing. Probably. As she twisted into the maze of passages, she wondered if she had missed her chance. Why hadn’t she let herself be captured? Pretended she was Marat’s unwilling prisoner? Because she hadn’t been thinking? Or because she was afraid of what would happen to him if he was caught too?
Sighing, she continued deeper into the dark, tight maze, wondering if she was ever going to get her chance to avenge her father.
5
Marat shifted his weight, trying to find a spot where there wasn’t a pipe, cord, nob, or nub poking into his back. Ying, sitting against the opposite side of the four-foot-wide maintenance shaft didn’t appear much more comfortable. A blue glow stick rested on the curved floor between them, the extent of the light in their compact hiding spot. Marat had gotten over moderate claustrophobia during his first ship assignment in the Fleet, but he still couldn’t feel at home in close quarters like this.
“My next shore leave is going to be on a planet,” he said. “With mountains, trees, singing birds.”
“Maybe you’d find your vacations more peaceful if you didn’t spend them attempting to rescue slaves.”
Marat bit back a retort. Soot smeared the side of Ying’s face, bruises darkened her knuckles, and she kept yawning. She had to be feeling as tired and cranky as he was, maybe more so since she didn’t have a weapon or even a change of clothing. He wished he had thought to bring a pistol for her. Just because he didn’t keep a collection on the wall of his cabin the way Striker did didn’t mean he couldn’t have acquired one. Maybe that would have brought a smile to her face. Nothing else had.
It had been over an hour since they had escaped that android, winding so deeply into the crawlspaces between the lower levels of the space station that it would take determination and good sensors to find them. Whether or not they would find their way out in the morning remained to be seen, but they had claimed this spot and eaten their meal without worrying about it for now. The food had been good, despite the interrupted preparation and the lack of plates. Marat had complimented Ying’s culinary skills, but received nothing more than an indifferent shrug in return. He had thought that their time preparing the meal and sharing their backgrounds might have improved her opinion of him, but perhaps not. Or maybe she was just tired.
Marat pulled out his tablet to check the time. It was after midnight on the station. A few more hours, and they could try their plan, assuming Ying still wanted to do it. He was surprised she hadn’t simply let the android capture her back on the lodgings level. Of course, it was hard to surrender to something shooting indiscriminately down the hallway.
Ying yawned again, slumping lower against the rounded wall.
“I’ll stand guard,” Marat said, “if you want to—” A hint of movement in the shadows caught his eye. He grabbed the light stick and thrust it in that direction, thumbing up the illumination level.
A spider almost as big as his hand was sauntering along the floor of their shaft. He grimaced and reached for his laser pistol.
“Marat,” Ying said with censure, as if he were contemplating killing a baby.
“Yes?” He didn’t take his eyes from their unwelcome intruder.
“You’re not going to shoot it, are you? Spiders are a sign of luck.”
“Luck? Spiders are venomous, and that thing’s big enough to take a chomp out of your leg.”
“That’s a Mercrusean Hooded Tarantula. It won’t chomp on anything bigger than a beetle or another spider. Maybe a small lizard.”
“Then why is it stalking my ankle like an assassin on a mission?” Marat growled, eyeing the thing’s hairy legs. He didn’t like spiders of any size, shape, or predation, but the big ones with the hairy legs were the most alarming.
“Your furry, white ankle is doubtlessly in its way.”
“Oh, of course. I didn’t realize I was blocking the way to a spider convention.” Marat was tempted to zap the thing, anyway, but he shifted his legs back, scooting into a crouch, so he couldn’t be in the creature’s path. Earlier, he had been thinking of turning off the light stick so they could sleep, but if the spider was a representative of the inhabitants of the ductwork, he wanted a light on.
“I can’t believe such a big, strong man is afraid of spiders.” Ying smirked at him.
He had wanted a smile, but that wasn’t what he’d had in mind. “I’m not afraid of them. I just prefer they remain in their natural wilderness habitat, not in spaceships, space stations, shower cubicles, or my equipment locker.” Marat scowled at the memory of recent pranks he had suffered, thanks to the word getting out that he did not care for spiders. “It’s not going to find many beetles or lizards to eat in here.”
“You might be surprised. I’ve noticed that a surprising number of the ecological niches get filled on stations,” Ying said as the spider sauntered closer to her. She wasn’t bothering to scoot her legs or body out of the way. “Rats in particular are a universal constant. No matter how much technology you use on them, they seem to find a way to adapt and survive. On the Death Knot, we kept a couple of cats to keep them in check.”
The spider reached her and started climbing the side of her gray robe. Marat’s fingers twitched, and he looked away. How could she stand that? He took several deep breaths and tried to think of something else.
“According to Chinese folklore, a spider brings happiness in the morning and wealth in the evening. Maybe this means everything will go according to plan with Captain Wolf tomorrow.”
He wondered if she actually believed that superstitious stuff. He wasn’t going to look at her face to check if she was being serious, not until that tarantula had ambled off into the darkness. Just knowing it was climbing over her made him break out in a sweat.
“Do you really fight fires for a living?” Ying asked, that smirk lingering.
“Yes. In a strong, brave, and manly way too.”
“Oh? I’ll look forward to seeing that then.” She raised her brows and gave him an appraising look.
The attention made him flush, especially since he had not been expecting it. “I hope you don’t see it,” he said, looking away from her. “Fire is always dangerous, and in space, it’s usually deadly.”
&nbs
p; She gazed at him thoughtfully.
“As I was saying before,” Marat said, not wanting to explain anything further, “I’ll take the first watch if you and your fuzzy friend want to turn in for the night.”
“It looks like he’s off to hunt—” Ying picked up the tarantula and set it on the other side of her, letting it continue its slow saunter through the shaft, “—but I’ll accept that offer. I trust you’ll stand watch in a strong, brave, and manly way, so that I’ll be safe.” She turned onto her side, putting her back to him.
Marat told himself that her teasing didn’t matter, that he didn’t need to prove his virility to her, but he did find himself wishing that the spider hadn’t strolled through. Or that he hadn’t reacted to it. If she was used to having a strong, fearless father and being surrounded by tough pirates, maybe she thought his quirk was a weakness, one it was ridiculous for a man to have. It was probably too late to mention that a spider’s bite had almost killed him once and that his wariness around them was perfectly normal.
Again, he reminded himself that what she thought of him shouldn’t matter. By the time he helped her with Wolf, his shore leave would be over, and he would probably never see her again.
As these thoughts strolled through his mind, his gaze lingered on her. He caught himself admiring the curve of her waist in the dim glow of the light stick. She was barefoot, with only the robe for covering, and several inches of her calf were on display, a shapely calf enhanced by the tail end of that dragon tattoo. It would be quite pleasing to run his hand along her smooth leg, and it would be easy to do so, since he was sitting against the opposite wall of the narrow passage, no more than a foot from her. Except that she would doubtlessly lurch upright at his touch and punch him. She hadn’t given much indication that she thought of him as anything more than some strange mercenary who had tangled up her plans. Still, despite their contentious relationship thus far, there had been moments of civility, of pleasantness even, and he didn’t like the idea of never seeing her again.
Marat sighed and shifted his weight, making himself look away from the flesh on display. He took out his tablet and checked his messages. A priority one from Captain Mandrake was at the top of the list. Uh oh. Marat had muted his comm-patch earlier in the night, not wanting to be bothered again by Striker. He couldn’t have guessed that the captain himself would want to contact him. He could guess that the captain wouldn’t be pleased that he hadn’t answered.
Since he didn’t want to wake Ying—or, if she wasn’t asleep yet, have her hear the message—Marat opted for a text translation. The words floated into the air above the tablet, the background dark so he could read them without seeing the wall behind the holodisplay.
What the hell are you doing down there, Azarov? I got a message full of threats from Teneris Wolf. Says you stole his slave. Mandrake Company doesn’t need any trouble with pirates. There’s no money in that fight. Get your ass back on the Albatross by morning. Alone.
Marat sank lower against the wall. He had been worrying about Striker saying something to the captain. It hadn’t occurred to him that Wolf himself would figure out that Mandrake Company soldiers had attacked his android. The pirate must have assumed him responsible for the kidnapping and gotten Marat’s identity from the auctioneer.
He groaned, letting his head clunk against the bulkhead behind him. By morning, Mandrake had said. Marat should report in and explain himself as soon as he could—Mandrake had probably received the message from Wolf just after Marat had made his supply run to the ship. He must have just missed being detained. But “morning” was somewhat vague. What if he could deal with Wolf first?
But dare he continue with his plan now that Wolf knew who he was? Was there any chance that the pirate would believe the lampshade story? Probably not. Marat risked much if he showed up with Ying in the morning. Not just trouble with Wolf, but trouble with Captain Mandrake too. Marat wondered if there was any chance he could talk Ying into forgetting her revenge plan and coming with him to the Albatross. Captain Wolf wouldn’t attack Mandrake Company over a three-hundred-aurum slave, surely. But maybe he would. And the last word of the captain’s message hadn’t exactly invited Marat to bring back company.
Marat rubbed the back of his head. What had he and his impulsiveness gotten himself into? He hated to admit it, but he should have listened to Striker and turned his back on the whole situation.
He looked over at Ying’s form—she was definitely sleeping now, her side rising and falling in the easy rhythm of rest. Even though she hadn’t asked for his help, nor shown enthusiasm for his offer, he frowned at the idea of abandoning her, especially when he had screwed up her plan. But what other choice did he have? If he disobeyed Mandrake, he risked being kicked off the ship and left here. Worse, he risked getting the company into a battle with pirates. Mandrake might do much more than kick him off the ship if any of his people were injured in such a fight. Unless Marat could somehow give the captain a reason to want to fight with Wolf.
Was there some way that fighting the pirates could be profitable? Pirates usually broke far more laws than mercenaries. How could there not be bounties out there for Wolf’s head? Maybe if bringing him or members of his crew in was worth a decent amount of money, the captain could be enticed to involve the rest of the company.
With this thought, Marat returned to his tablet, closing the message and pulling up the network interface. It was time to research Teneris Wolf.
* * *
The bomb lay nestled beneath the table in the small bistro at the sidewalk cafe deep within Salvation Locks, the domed space station that mimicked the earth and sky, with a faux sun setting in the distance. Ducks floated in the canal that ran past the “outdoor” patio, and couples chattered, celebrating anniversaries or enjoying first dates. Ying and her father weren’t celebrating, but they were taking a moment away from work, drinking to the grisly anniversary of Mother’s passing and the loss of family and friends on Grenavine.
By pure chance, and because two bottles of sake had necessitated it, Ying headed to the restroom after dinner. She was on her way back when the explosion occurred. Even from dozens of meters away, the shockwave hurled her to the ground. Her father and the other diners disappeared in a fireball that swallowed the patio. She could only stare in stunned horror until she glimpsed a hooded figure fleeing the scene.
Before she knew what was happening, she yanked out her pistol and raced after the man. She ran down a promenade, leaped a canal, and chased the figure through alleys. He was too fast, and though she fired a couple of shots, she couldn’t catch him. Still, she tenaciously stuck with him, closing the distance as he ran onto the docks, toward a ship that Ying had encountered more than once in the years she had traveled with her father. The stolen Fleet medical cruiser, retrofitted to bristle with armament, belonged to Captain Teneris Wolf. Wolf himself met the assassin in front of it, shaking his hand, then placing a stack of physical aurums into his palm.
Ying could only stare from the rooftop of the port authority building several ships away. She was too far from them to shoot, and there were too many people passing in front of them on the busy docks. There was no time to hunt for the police, for Wolf was already disappearing back onto his ship.
The assassin seemed to have believed he had lost Ying, for he strolled away, no longer glancing back or fearing that he was being followed. Ying stalked him, taking her time now, careful not to charge about, firing her weapon. Not until she had followed him to his hotel and to his room did she strike, and not with a weapon. She slipped one of her poisons into the meal that he’d ordered from room service, trusting that he would eat it. She had checked back the next day to ensure he was dead. He was. But so was her father.
When she returned to the bistro, the authorities were there, cleaning up the mess—and the bodies. As she had been chasing the assassin and dealing with him, she had hoped that she might return to find her father alive, that he had escaped somehow. But she recognized his charred r
emains by the platinum chain he had always worn about his throat, a gift from her mother.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, feeling she should have known this would have happened, should have saved him from it somehow.
She reached out toward him, as if she could bring him back, but when her fingers touched his blackened body, it disintegrated, turning to ash in her hand.
Ying woke with a gasp, her heart racing. She gaped around her at the dimly lit shaft, disoriented and confused as to why she wasn’t back at the Salvation Locks, back in the artificial sun.
“Are you all right?” came a soft voice from the other side of the tunnel.
The illumination from a tablet display highlighted Marat’s face. Ying rubbed her own face and tried to wash away the remnants of the dream. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t experienced it before. She usually woke from it in bed alone, without the need to explain anything to a stranger.
No, not a stranger, she amended. She may have only known Marat for a few hours, but they had been an eventful few hours, and his face had stopped feeling “strange” sometime between “I’m rescuing you from that pirate” and “Astrophysicist jokes show a preoccupation with rockets and missiles.”
He was frowning at her now with concern in his eyes. Something about the sympathetic expression melted away the walls of ice she kept around herself. For a moment, she was tempted to shift her position and to lean against him. Aside from the faint hum of some distant generator, there wasn’t a sound down here, and it was as if they were alone on the space station. Who would know?
Ying did not act on her impulse. She did not make a habit of flopping into the arms of men she had just met. She never even flopped into the arms of men she had known for years, not for emotional support, anyway. Sex on occasion, but she had never been the type to weep in someone’s embrace. Not after Grenavine. After that, nothing had affected her so deeply that she fell apart. Until now, perhaps.
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