She rummaged on the floor until she found an old boot. Wishing the Felineans had upgraded to a wireless form of currency, she took the wad of cash Dugan had given her from her jacket pocket and stuffed it inside. There was no point in carrying it around with her. To be safe, though, she hid the boot in the very back of the closet before closing the door.
Then the events of the last forty-eight hours caught up with her, along with the lack of sleep, and she yawned. The bed beckoned and she had no will to resist. Laying down on it, only to rest a bit, she fell fast asleep.
* * * * *
Nicoli considered his current situation. His plan was little more than a calculated gamble. He’d had no doubts the Harvesters would take his body from the beach. Tall, well-muscled from years of rigorous training and, if what others said was true, attractive. Nicoli fit the physical profile for desired sex slaves. It wasn’t vanity; it was fact. A fact that made the chances of recovering his body at one of the Harvesters’ nefarious black market auctions better than good. That was the crux of his plan.
Losing Richardson had been a blow. Nicoli had personally selected Richardson for his piloting skills and vast field experience. He needed someone seasoned in battle by his side as he infiltrated and destroyed the Harvesters. While Yanur would do anything for him, Nicoli refused to let the older man endanger himself. Now, instead of a warrior, Nicoli was stuck with a boy. Not an ordinary boy, that was apparent. This young upstart had kept his head during a terrorist attack, shown resourcefulness in stealing Nicoli’s own ship, demonstrated charity by taking Yanur aboard rather than leaving him behind, and then piloted an unfamiliar ship through a nearly impossible course into open space with skills Yanur claimed were exemplary.
All the guts and raw talent in the universe were useless, though, if the boy couldn’t accept and follow orders. Whether Nicoli could change that or not remained to be seen.
He checked the ship’s progress. They had entered The Forty-Five, a wormhole discovered decades ago. Wormholes provided shortcuts across the fabric of space and this one led to a lesser-known quadrant.
From inside the wormhole, there was no way to judge their proximity to the target. They were gaining on it, but not fast enough to suit Nicoli. He hadn’t lied to Yanur when he’d said he didn’t fear death. The thought of living forever inside a computer, however, scared him considerably. No thank you.
He increased the ship’s speed.
* * * * *
It was her fifteenth birthday and life had never been so good. She and her parents gathered around a picnic and while they ate, her father told more of the wonderful stories that made her laugh, and made him smile.
Suddenly, his body jerked and the smile turned into a grimace as a red stain spread across his chest. He began to fall away from her. Reaching for him, Angel managed to grab a handful of his shirt, but she wasn't strong enough to hold onto him. Before she could do anything more, he'd slipped away from her into the dark.
A shadow appeared then, looming over her, and she looked up to see her grandfather standing there, scowling down at her. Beside him was Angel's mother, wearing a black mourning robe. She offered Angel her hand and Angel stood to take it. The picnic and yard where they stood blurred and faded. When her surroundings came back into focus, Angel was standing beside her mother and grandfather in the family cemetery, before a freshly covered grave with a headstone bearing her father’s name.
Sorrow as she'd never known it before overwhelmed her so she could barely breathe past the pain in her chest. She turned to her mother, hoping for comfort but at the very least, needing answers. She got neither as her mother turned and walked away.
Left alone, Angel tried to follow, but her leaden feet refused to move. The sound of her grandfather's dark laughter caught her attention and she turned to see his claw-like hands reaching for her, an evil smile upon his face.
Terror banished her paralysis and she ran for her life, not daring to look over her shoulder. Before her, a house materialized from nowhere.
Seeking refuge within, she fled down the main hall, the sound of heavy footsteps following her. Her grandfather had killed her father and now he wanted her.
The doors along the hallway stood closed. Trying one at random, she found it locked. She ran to the next. Locked also. Again and again she tried, until finally one opened.
Sanctuary?
Inside, she ran to the window, but found it barred. The footsteps from the hallway grew louder. Sweat dripped down her face and into her eyes. It was so hot. Wildly, she looked around. There! The closet.
She rushed forward and tried the knob. It opened.
She ducked inside, pulling the door shut. There was no lock, so she gripped the knob with her hands. Trying to quiet her breathing, she listened for the sound of her grandfather’s approach. His footsteps sounded louder. Now they were just outside the closet door.
He'd found her!
Beneath her clinched hands, the doorknob moved, but she held on tightly. He pounded on the door and her body shook with each strike. The inside of the closest grew hotter and she felt smothered. She dragged air into her lungs, unable to get enough. The banging on the door grew violent. How much longer could she hold it shut?
Angel came awake with a start. Covered in sweat and shaken from the dream, she sat up in bed and tried to regain some semblance of calm. The nightmares were coming more frequently and getting worse each time. And more realistic. Even now, wide awake, she found it hard to breathe.
No, it wasn't her imagination. The room really was hot.
Something was wrong.
The ship lurched, nearly knocking her from the bed. It was accompanied by the muted sound of an explosion coming from outside the ship.
Jumping to her feet, Angel tore, barefoot, out of the room and headed for the bridge. It was empty.
“What in the five Hells is going on?” She yelled, knowing the computer could hear her.
“We’re under attack,” it responded, sounding stressed.
“No kidding.” She didn’t try to hide the sarcasm as she took the pilot’s seat and studied the status reports scrolling across the screen.
What she'd heard had been the sound of radon torpedoes. Fortunately, the shields had auto-activated as soon as the torpedoes crossed the proximity sensors. Unfortunately, the shields hadn't been enough to prevent damage. The rear port shield had sustained damage and was showing signs of buckling. She wasn’t sure how much more damage the ship could take.
Then she noticed their coordinates on the navigrid. “How’d we get to the Darwin Zone so fast?”
“I increased our speed.”
“You should have notified me first so I could be on the bridge, watching for danger.” Now that she knew where they were, she had a better idea of who was attacking them.
“I tried.” His tone was cold and hard.
“Oh.” Belatedly, she remembered turning down the intercom.
“I altered the environmental controls in the sleeping quarters, hoping that might wake you.”
That explained why it had been so hot. She glanced around the bridge. “Where’s the old man?”
“His name is Yanur. And I don’t know. He’s not responding to my summons.”
The news worried her, but she didn't have time to go look for him. Not while the ship was under attack.
Activating the all-angles view screen, it was hard to miss their attacker. The ship was four times the size of theirs, almost definitely with four times the number of crew members. That alone was reason for concern, but it was the red crisscrossing lightning bolts across the black hull that sent shivers racing up her spine.
Free Rebels.
Pirates that “sailed” outerspace, attacking the unfortunate ships that crossed their path. They took what they wanted - cargo, supplies, even the ships themselves. They never backed down - and they never took hostages.
Angel checked the status of the on-board weapons system knowing they had a long, hard fight before them.
Malfunction icons lit the screen indicating their little ship had sustained more damage than she realized. The weapons on the port side were disabled and the rear propulsion tube was inoperable, rendering the ion torpedoes useless. That left the single remaining starboard electromagnetic pulsar and the pulse canons mounted at the front of the ship.
A flash of light across space caught her attention and Angel grabbed the controls. She tried to navigate out of the path of the oncoming barrage of pulsar blasts, but the ship failed to respond.
“What the f..." she hissed. "Computer - give me control of the ship."
"Too dangerous. I need to assess our situation."
Angel's attention stayed focused on the bright lights soaring toward them. "Our situation is that if you don't release the ship right now, we're fucked."
There was a tense moment of silence. “Take it.”
Angel didn't hesitate. With the touch of a lever, the ship rolled to the side, putting their stronger shields toward the attacking ship. A defensive posture, she thought disgustedly, just as the blasts struck them.
Angel gripped her seat to keep from being thrown to the floor as the ship lurched violently. The bridge lights flickered, then went out, leaving the entire bridge in the eerie green glow of the emergency lights. Then all was quiet. Abnormally quiet.
“Computer - verify engines are down," Angel demanded.
"I would prefer you not address me as computer. My name is Romanof. And yes, the engines are down," came the steely voice from the console. "And it's going to take some time to get them back online."
"Well, Romanof," she put special emphasis on the name. "I don’t think we're going to outrun them - and I’m pretty sure we're out-gunned.”
“I have a plan.”
It was more than she had. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m overriding the ship’s diagnostics. When the Rebels scan us, it will appear that we’re totally disabled and all life forms have expired. For this to work, we need to maintain absolute silence. If we're lucky, they'll lose interest and go away.”
And if they don’t? Angel sat and looked out the viewport. The longer the rebel ship sat and studied them, the tighter the knot in her stomach became.
A sound from behind drew her attention. Yanur stood leaning against the entryway, blood streaming from wounds on his head, arm and leg.
“Oh!” She rushed to help him into one of the passenger seats. "How bad are you hurt?” She bent over the older man to get a better look for herself.
“I think my leg is broken,” he said, surprising her. Getting to the bridge must have been extremely painful.
"Quiet," Romanof hissed.
Angel shot the console an annoyed look then, turning back to Yanur, whispered, “What happened?”
She touched her finger to her lips to signal he should speak quietly and then while he explained, she found the bridge's first aid kit. Removing a sterile wipe, she cleaned the cuts on his forehead and shoulder.
“I was taking a nap," he whispered. "I didn’t know the ship was under attack until the rocking woke me. I got up too fast and lost my balance.”
“Quiet,” Romanof said more insistently. “Not one more sound.”
Worried the older man might be going into shock, Angel took the thermal sheet from the first aid kit and unfolded it. After wrapping it around his shoulders, she glanced out the viewport.
“I don’t think your plan worked.”
The rebel ship was coming towards them. With the engines down, they were sitting ducks.
Angel moved to the side viewport as the ship pulled alongside them. The cold chill of fear raced up her spine at the sight of a space tunnel emerging from the side of the Free Rebel ship and extending out toward the hatch of the Icarus.
“We need to get out of here, now,” Angel shouted, punching the button that would start the engines.
Nothing happened.
"The systems are damaged" Romanof said, answering her unasked question. "It’s going to take approximately ninety seconds to recode them and fix the problem.”
The wail of a deep-space drill grinding through metal started up, adding to her sense of impending doom - as if she wasn't already stressed enough. “That’s ninety-one seconds longer than we have. They’re drilling through the lock on the outer door!”
Angel raced from the bridge. If the rebels broke through the door, it would be twenty or more bloodthirsty pirates against a computer, an invalid and her. Not great odds.
If she wanted to take the rebels by surprise, she didn't have much time - but facing them without a weapon was suicide. She raced to the supply closet she noticed on her earlier tour of the ship, praying it would have something she could use.
Inside it, she found an odd array of items and, unfortunately, not a single laser or pulsar weapon.
On impulse, she grabbed a T120 fire-gel and a timer before racing off toward the airlock. She was halfway there when she stopped and hurried back to the closet. She'd thought of a plan - or rather, she'd been struck with the merest glimmer of an idea. Grabbing an oxygen mask, a docking-harness and a tether, she raced toward the airlock.
“Are they through yet?” She shouted as she ran, knowing Romanof could hear her.
“No.”
Time was critical. Reaching the outer doors, she palmed the control plate. The doors opened on a silent swoosh of air.
The shriek of drills tearing into the metal of the outer hull filled the small airlock chamber. She slapped the inside control plate, closing the doors and sealing herself inside.
Setting everything on the floor at her feet, she went to work. Starting with the docking-harness, she put it on and pulled the straps tight across her chest. Then she connected one end of the tether to the harness and fastened the other end to a wall hook. She strapped the oxygen mask to her face and took a few breaths to regulate the flow. If everything went according to plan, the tethering and oxygen would be unnecessary, but she knew better than to count on luck.
Finally, she connected the timer to the fire-gel and set it for thirty seconds. Now came the real fun.
With a quick mental count to three to calm herself, she started the timer and set the fire-gel on the floor in front of her. She hit the control that raised the outer hatch door.
Caught off guard, the rebels stopped their drilling. When the door had cleared less than half a meter, Angel kicked the fire gel under and slapped the control again, lowering the door. That was when her luck ran out.
One of the rebels shoved his drill under the door, preventing it from closing. She watched in horror as he squirmed through the gap and when he stood before her, Angel got her first up-close look at a Free Rebel. He was humanoid, but resembled nothing human.
Fathomless black eyes peered at her out of a chalky, white, cadaverous head, sizing her up. Angel knew the precise moment when the rebel decided she was easy prey; it was the same moment he smiled at her, revealing multiple rows of sharp, jagged teeth.
Another rebel slipped his hand beneath the door, intending to come through as well, but just then, the gel bomb exploded. The impact knocked the drill out from under the door and it slammed shut.
The rebel whose arm had just been crushed cried out in pain, but Angel spared him hardly a thought beyond an acknowledgement that these creatures could be hurt.
Grabbing the fastener on her harness, she tried to free herself, but couldn't get it to open. With the tether securing her to the wall, she was trapped; a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. The rebel knew it too because he chose that moment to attack.
The first blow caught her in the side of the head and she fell back. Blinded by the sharp sparks of light brought on by the pain, she lashed out with a front kick that connected with the rebel’s stomach.
He doubled over, falling back a step and Angel tried again to free herself. Her fingers fumbled unsuccessfully with the buckle and too soon, her unwanted guest straightened, this time holding a knife.
Angel jumped back as he slashed at
her, but the wall stopped her retreat. With the next sweep of his hand, the tip of the blade sliced through her harness and Angel hissed at the sudden sharp sting that told her the tip of the blade had penetrated the shirt to her skin.
It was a scratch, nothing more. That's what she told herself, at least, so she wouldn't look, wouldn't get distracted in case it was a lot worse than a "scratch."
She braced for the next attack but instead of attacking, the rebel stood there, staring at her. It was then she became aware of her ripped shirt hanging open and the cool air brushing against her bare breasts.
As the Rebel’s eyes widened and his smile grew feral, a new fear gripped her. Assault was one thing; rape was another.
“Michels, report in. Michels!” In the background, Romanof’s voice called to her.
Before she could even think to call out, the Rebel attacked, this time pinning her against the wall. She struggled against him, but he laughed at her efforts. Dropping his knife, he placed one hand against her throat and grabbed her breast with the other. She winced when he squeezed it painfully.
“Michels, are you all right?”
“Open the outer door,” she screamed; bracing her back against the wall, she shoved the rebel back a step. The outer hatch door opened and immediately everything not anchored down was sucked out into open space, past the mutilated remains of what had once been the rebels’ tunnel.
Fighting the pull, the rebel grabbed for anything he could hang on to, in this case, Angel. As he lost to the drag of outer space, he slid down her body until he clutched her ankle. Angel watched a scrap of her ripped shirt sail across the room and disappear through the open doorway. As the pull of space increased, her feet slid out from under her and she was lifted off the floor.
She began to slip out of the broken harness and quickly crossed her arms, locking them in front of her, holding on for dear life.
With the rebel still clutching her ankle, Angel was pulled off balance and dangled from the end of the tether like a streamer in a strong wind. Outside, she saw the last of the tunnel break free of the Icarus, pulling the rebel ship with it to drift away.
Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) Page 4