Damned If You Don't (Chaos of the Covenant Book 5)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Okay. There’s more than one way to take out a guard.”

  Abbey shifted herself, moving from her seat and putting herself on Phlenel’s lap, wrapping her arms around the Hurshin’s shoulders and leaning in close.

  “Don’t tell Gant about this,” she said. “He might get jealous.”

  Phlenel smiled. They remained in that position until the pod began to slow on approach to the terminal. Then Abbey leaned in further, putting her lips against Phlenel’s. It was weird to be kissing a male that she knew identified as female. It was even weirder to be kissing what to her was an alien, another species entirely, and one she knew was almost literally an evolved form of primordial ooze.

  The pod came to a stop, the side hatch sliding open. She couldn’t see the guards, not with her face pressed to Phlenel’s, but she could hear their movements.

  “What the?” one of them said.

  Abbey pulled back, looking at them. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. I’m sorry. This isn’t the cruise port. Sweetie, what did you do?”

  Phlenel made a surprised face.

  “This is a restricted area, miss,” the guard said.

  “I’m so sorry. Can you help us? We aren’t from around here, and I’m having trouble working the controls.”

  The guard stared at her, slightly suspicious. She did her best to look harmless.

  “You can’t be here,” the guard said. “Get out of the pod. I’m going to have to report this.”

  “What? It was an honest mistake. I swear. We just want to go to the cruise port. It’s our honeymoon. Right sweetie?”

  Phlenel nodded in agreement.

  “Just help me get this thing pointed in the right direction, and we won’t trouble you.”

  The first guard glanced over at the second, who shrugged.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let me set it for you.” He started leaning in.

  Abbey lunged toward him, grabbing him and yanking him hard into the pod, slamming his head against the top. Phlenel grabbed his sidearm at the same time, picking it from his hip and pointing it at the other soldier.

  “Don’t move,” Abbey said while the first man crumpled to the ground. She climbed out of the pod, standing in front of the other guard. She grabbed his sidearm, shifting it in her hand. “This is going to hurt later.”

  She slammed it against the side of his head, knocking him down, too. Phlenel joined her on the platform, and they hurried up to the pad. A large, square hauler was resting on the launcher, nearly ready to go. Three loading bots were making a final trip up the wide ramp into the back of it, pulling large metal crates behind them. She thought there might have been more soldiers nearby, but it seemed as if they had already made their way on board.

  They paused to make themselves invisible again. Then the two of them crossed the tarmac to the starship, joining the loading bots and ascending the ramp. A Trover was directing traffic inside, telling the bots where to leave the cargo. He didn’t see either of them as they broke away, peeling off and taking position behind one of hundreds of crates that were already on board.

  Abbey released the Gift, feeling a slight tingle as she did. She had used a lot of energy and had no means to replenish it. At least not yet. Phlenel solidified beside her, retaking the male form from the pod. She smiled at Abbey, giving her a thumbs up.

  “Nothing to do now but wait,” Abbey agreed.

  21

  The trip in the hauler was shorter than Abbey expected. Only fifteen minutes had passed in FTL before the cargo ship dropped, the commotion in the hold beginning the second it did. The loading bots reactivated, and an entire crew of workers appeared from the decks above, quickly taking up positions beside the crates and coming to attention.

  Abbey peered out from behind one of the crates, remaining visible but tucked away, trying to conserve her energy. She was already a little nervous her growling stomach might betray her, and she kept her hand on it, hoping it would behave. She watched as the Trover moved out from a second hatch to her right, taking big steps to the center of the hold.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” the Trover said. “This shipment isn’t going out to the yard. Once we dock, all of the crates will be transferred to the Nautilus.”

  “Aye, sir!” the workers shouted in unison.

  “Once payment has been made we’re going to rendezvous with the main fleet for reassignment.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “This is a glorious day for the Nephilim Empire,” the Trover said. “This is a glorious day for Gloritant Thraven. This is a glorious day for the coming of the Great Return!”

  “Aye, sir!”

  The Trover tapped his communicator, checking the time in the projection. “Two minutes to lock. You know what to do.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  The workers changed position, aligning themselves to move the crates with practiced efficiency.

  Joining the master fleet? Was that why Thraven was coming here? For reinforcements? Abbey wasn’t convinced. The few remaining ships that were powered by the Gift hardly needed more than a skeleton crew. So why else would Thraven be close?

  “We have to ping the Faust,” she whispered to Phlenel, who responded by altering her transparency.

  Abbey considered doing the same but decided against it. She had been in situations like this before she had the Gift. She didn’t need to use it for everything.

  “See if you can create a slight distraction,” Abbey said. “I’ll make a break for the exit.”

  Phlenel nodded again, the slightly shifting air the only indication of the motion. Then she moved away, vanishing around the corner of one of the crates.

  Abbey turned her attention back to the hatch the Trover had emerged from. He had moved to the other side of the hold and was speaking with one of the workers there, pointing and making angry faces. Clearly, the worker had done something wrong. Good. She stepped lightly around the crates, pausing to watch the faces of the workers before she crossed the narrow columns. She had gotten across two of them before Phlenel’s distraction became apparent.

  A loud siren blared from one of the crates. A loud clang followed a moment later as the magnetic seal on the door suddenly failed, causing it to drop open and nearly killing one of the workers in the process.

  “What the frag is going on over there?” the Trover yelled, rushing in that direction. The other workers broke rank to follow him.

  “Nice work,” Abbey said, even though Phlenel couldn’t hear her. She sprinted to the edge of the last crate, pausing to look around the corner. A long corridor leading deeper into the cargo ship. She slipped through it, glancing back at the commotion as she did.

  The Trover was cursing and shouting, pointing at the mess of smaller boxes that had poured out of the crate when it opened. It had been packed so tightly that the door was the only thing holding some of the contents in, a development that was less than innocent. Something had held the door in place while it had been sealed. Something would hold the smaller packs in place when it was opened.

  Something like the Gift.

  It was more than that. The rectangular containers that had fallen out of the larger module were instantly familiar to her by the size, shape, and Plixian writing on the sides. The ship was transporting guns. Thousands of guns, at least some portion of which were Emgees. The Trover had said they would be shifted to some other ship named the Nautilus. It was a Republic name, but not one she was familiar with.

  If Thraven was giving thousands of weapons to anybody, it was sure to be bad news.

  She moved down the corridor, speeding up as she got further from the hold. Most of the crew beyond the officers were probably already in there at their stations. The rest would be closer to the bridge or near engineering, handling the maintenance of the ship and preparing to dock. They had one minute remaining.

  She came to a stop as she reached the first viewport in the side of the ship, a small square that gave her a look at the expanse beyond. She could see the corner of
the station through it, a small portion of the ring the composed the outer edge of the factory. It looked like any other stardock, except for the number of ships already attached to the docking arms.

  They weren’t just any ships. They were warships. Republic designs, but not marked with RAS tags, as though the schematics had been used, but the ships had been built somewhere else. They each had a simple emblem on the sides in the form of a flaming sword.

  A light tap on the shoulder caused her to spin quickly, throwing her fist out and nearly connecting with Phlenel’s head. The Hurshin had anticipated the reaction, standing on the opposite side of the touch. A soft buzz escaped from her, not a vocalization but an emission of sound. Laughter.

  “Do you know those symbols?” Abbey asked.

  Phlenel shook her head.

  “I’m going to assume one of those is the Nautilus. They have an entire armada out there, and I’m willing to bet it’s in league with Thraven. We can’t let them get all of those guns.”

  Phlenel nodded. Abbey started down the corridor again, stopping when she heard someone coming their way. She scanned both sides of the corridor, but they were in an open stretch. She looked at the walls. Not enough time to cloak herself. She looked up. The top of the space was a few meters away. She jumped, turning herself flat and gripping the smooth metal, the naniates extending and gripping in. She pulled herself in as much as she could, wishing she were bald again. Hopefully, she was high enough they wouldn’t notice her hair.

  The two soldiers turned the corner, moving down the hallway. They were looking over a report of some kind and arguing about the numbers. They didn’t look up, and they didn’t notice Phlenel as they walked right past her.

  Abbey dropped behind them, motioning Phlenel to follow. They turned the corner as the ship shuddered and clanged, the impact with the docking arm shaking them slightly. The arm would guide the rear of the hauler to the loading airlock, where the cargo would be quickly moved from one ship to another.

  The vibration was a signal that they needed to hurry. Abbey ran down the corridor, reaching an emergency stairwell and vaulting down it six steps at a time. Phlenel kept up easily, her form able to slam into walls and bounce off surfaces without pain or damage. They dropped three decks and spilled out into another long, silver hallway, much closer to engineering and the comm link.

  They ducked into a corner as the shuddering subsided and a group of soldiers emerged from their stations, likely headed to the ring station. Abbey and Phlenel swung out behind them, quickly crossing to the comm room and entering. A single tech was still on duty there, and he almost had enough time to open his mouth before Phlenel grabbed him and quickly knocked him out.

  “Watch the door,” Abbey said, reaching for the terminal.

  She activated it, and then reached out with a thin strand of her shardsuit that vanished into the device. The commands appeared ahead of her eyes, and she quickly ran the protocols to hack into the hauler's aged system. The position was trivial to retrieve, and she entered the Faust’s Galnet subchannel, getting an immediate connection.

  “Imp, do you copy?” she said.

  “This is Imp, Queenie,” Bastion replied. “I copy.”

  “I’m sending coordinates now. The factory is huge, and there’s an entire fleet docked here. Not haulers, either. Warships. Ask Gant if he’s ever seen a symbol of a flaming sword before.”

  “I heard you, Queenie,” Gant said. “Let me think.” He paused for a few seconds. “No. I’m not familiar with it.”

  “You mean there's at least one thing you don’t know?” Bastion said.

  “Do you want me to tell you something I do know?” Gant asked suggestively.

  “What’s that?” Bastion replied.

  “Not the best time for this,” Abbey said, cutting them off before they could really get going. “This hauler is toting guns. Advanced weaponry. Emgees at least, and probably some heavier shit. Combine that with a fleet of unidentifiable ships, and it adds up to nothing good.”

  “Agreed,” Gant said.

  “I’ve got the coordinates in,” Bastion said. “We’ll be there in fifteen. How are we planning to frag up their day?”

  “Any way we can,” Abbey said. “Watch your six on the ingress. Queenie, out.”

  22

  Abbey left the comm terminal, passing back into the hallway without a word to Phlenel. She knew the Hurshin would follow as she returned to the stairwell and began to ascend, going back up and retracing her steps to the cargo hold. She could hear the activity within from down the corridor, the crates being quickly lifted and moved by the bots and the workers, passed onto the ring and across to the docked warships.

  “Whatever’s happening here, we need to stop it before Thraven shows up,” she said. “There’s got to be enough ordnance on this ship to blow the entire factory to stardust. If the Gate is nearby, the impact from the death of the station should be enough to knock it out. If it isn’t, we’ll have to circle back later. They won’t be able to finish the Gate without the station, anyway.”

  Phlenel didn’t respond, but Abbey could feel her presence at her back.

  “Are you ready for this?” she said, turning to look at the Hurshin when they neared the hold.

  Phlenel had changed form again, taking on Abbey’s monster visage. The form that the Shard had helped her to avoid. The sharp, spiked tail swung side to side behind her, while she spread her long claws menacingly.

  They had spent the trip to the station in hiding, but they hadn’t come to hide.

  They had come to fight.

  Abbey lifted her Uin from her shardsuit, holding them closed in her fists. She looked through the doorway into the cargo hold, where the workers had already gotten more than half of the crates onto the station. She reminded herself that they were at war and that armed and armored or not, these individuals were still the enemy.

  If they ran, she wouldn’t chase them. But if they didn’t…

  She resumed her walk toward the hold, striding confidently over the threshold and into view. The Trover happened to see her first, his eyes narrowing in angry surprise at her sudden presence among them.

  “Intruder,” he bellowed, a large hand reaching for a large sidearm. “Sound the alarm.”

  He raised the weapon. Abbey spread the Uin, feeling the Gift tickling the underside of her flesh. The workers had frozen at the Trover’s cry, and most of them shifted direction, heading to their commander’s side. Meanwhile, a dozen of them rushed to one of the remaining containers, smacking the controls to open the door, eager to reach the arms within.

  “Pudding, cover the weapons,” Abbey said, flicking her wrist as the Trover fired his hand cannon.

  The large rounds hit the Uin, the Gift flowing along it and creating an energy shield that deflected them away one after another.

  The Trover’s weapon ran dry a few seconds later, and Abbey used the opportunity to charge, rushing right at the large humanoid, her feet skipping along the floor. Phlenel had reached the container to her right and was digging into the workers there, stabbing them with her tail and raking them with her claws. They tried to fight back but they weren’t prepared for an attack, and their flailing attacks were easily batted aside by the experienced fighter.

  The alarm sirens began to sound, not only in the cargo ship but also in the loading dock beyond, alerting the entire factory to the intruders. Abbey ignored it, continuing her sprint at the Trover commander, who was in the process of reloading his gun.

  He had just loaded a new magazine in when Abbey reached him, slapping the weapon away before he could aim, spinning and kicking him in the head. He was six times her weight, but his neck still snapped at the impact, the loud crack echoing across the space.

  She landed smoothly, turning and raising her Uin as the sharp report of rounds echoed across the hold, a group of soldiers from the factory moving into the area. They were dressed in dark red lightsuits, the flaming sword emblem clear over their chest, their precise a
im testament to their training. She slipped the Uin across the path of the projectiles, catching them with the weapon and knocking them away.

  A high-pitched whine sounded to her right. She ducked and rolled instinctively, coming up in time to watch the Emgee tear the soldiers in the loading bay to shreds and send the rest of the workers scattering for cover.

  Abbey glanced over at Phlenel, who was holding the weapon against her hip, letting it wind down when the targets disappeared.

  “Nice,” Abbey said. “But try not to puncture the outer hull. I kind of like breathing.”

  Phlenel dropped the weapon, joining her as they charged toward the bay. A hatch opened at the back of it, soldiers in heavy battlesuits stomping out, opening fire as they entered. Abbey closed one of the Uin and raised her hand, bringing the rounds to a stop as they hit the sudden shield. They hung there for a moment, and then with a flick of her wrist she sent the missiles back in the opposite direction.

  She expected the soldiers to move, or for the rounds to strike the armor but not make it through. She was surprised when the projectiles never struck the targets, curving away and hitting the wall beside them instead.

  What the hell?

  There was only one thing that could do that to a bullet. Abbey scanned the area, but she didn’t see an Evolent anywhere. Were they hiding among the already unloaded containers?

  Wherever they were, she didn’t have time to worry about it now. The soldiers were spreading out, trying to flank and overwhelm her.

  She broke to the left, bouncing toward a group of soldiers angling for one of the crates and cutting them off. Her Uin spread wide again as she reached them, sidestepping a punch that would have broken every one of her ribs and slicing into the armor, finding the weapon wasn’t up to the task. She folded it as she slipped away from another blow, going up and over the soldier, coming down behind him and punching him hard in the back. The force pushed him into a second soldier, knocking him down and clearing a path to the remaining one. He fired his wrist-mounted cannon, but Abbey managed to twist out of the vector, coming up, grabbing the wrist and breaking it before getting her hand up under the soldier’s helmet. She extended the naniates into claws, running them up and through the man’s skull.