by Robyn Bachar
“Your certainty is comforting,” Gabriel mumbled.
Diesel and Lindana each grabbed an arm and threw it over their shoulders. They dragged Gabriel to the nearest acceleration couches and strapped him in.
“Give me an update, Diesel,” Lindana said as the countdown continued.
“Charlie team and the first group of prisoners got to Mama Mo before the pirates attacked. Ryder resealed the hull and the Mombasa detached.”
The Novosibirsk leaped into hyperspace, ending further discussion.
Chapter Seven
“He lives, Tomas,” Lindana said as her brother approached.
“So I see.” Tomas looked weary and a bit filthy, but otherwise okay.
“I mean it.”
Tomas met her gaze, then nodded. “Understood.” He approached Gabriel and frowned. “I see your first aid continues to suck.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t suck if you spent less time trying to sneak into the engine room and more time teaching proper first aid techniques to the crew,” Lindana countered.
“Yeah, yeah. So noted, Captain. Go on, I’ll take good care of Sleeping Beauty. I promise.”
Lindana squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder, then rose and grabbed her brother in a quick hug.
Tomas rubbed her head. “You need a haircut, Lindy.”
“Also noted. Diesel, keep an eye on them.”
“You got it, boss.”
Lindana made her way to the Novosibirsk’s bridge. Soviet ships were needlessly complicated due to a long history of spaceship design by engineers who mistrusted pilots. Soviet engineers automated everything, leaving as little to human error as possible. The result was a bridge crammed full of data stations providing readouts of a million different ships’ systems.
Ryder silently studied Raiya as she barked orders at the surprisingly compliant Soviet crew. “She reminds me of Jiang,” he said.
“It’s the training,” Lindana said. Raiya and Jiang had both been through the Soviet flight program, which was efficient and unforgiving. “Status?”
“We’re proceeding to the rendezvous point. The Mombasa was holding her own when we jumped.” Ryder rolled his shoulders. “The Novosibirsk’s bridge crew seemed happy to see Raiya. Most of them have already asked to defect. Other than that, we have an unknown number of pirates aboard and a KGB agent on the loose. Raiya really wants to find him.”
“I bet. We’ll see what we can do. I want to have this ship under our complete control before we reach the rendezvous point.”
“Do you trust her?” Ryder nodded toward Raiya.
“She’s been honest with me in the past. I trusted her enough to get naked with her.”
Ryder stroked his goatee. “Fair enough. It would’ve been nice to know she was our mission objective.”
“Gabriel’s going to answer for that after Tomas patches him up. Though really being gut shot seems like punishment enough.”
“True,” Ryder agreed. “Do you trust him?”
“That’s...complicated. We’re still trying to access his service record.”
“We can’t afford complicated right now.”
“Don’t I know it.”
* * *
Gabriel hated being shot. Oh, he hated being wounded in general, but a bullet wound was particularly vexing. He’d take a cutlass slash or a taser burn any day over the trauma one tiny ballistic missile left in its wake. Bullets rattled around your guts and redecorated your insides, and right now Gabriel felt as though his entire abdomen had been demolished. He had been shot with an incendiary round, judging by the faint smell of singed flesh and melted armor that lingered in his nostrils. Dragon’s Breath, pirates called it. Animals. He said a silent prayer of thanks for the continued good health and fortune of his armorsmith and cautiously opened his eyes. The face he saw staring back at him made Gabriel squeeze his eyes shut again.
“Are you going to kill me?” Gabriel asked.
“You’d be dead if I was. My captain ordered me to make sure that you lived. Not one of her better calls.”
“Oh?” Gabriel quirked a brow and peered cautiously at Dr. Tomas Nyota. The man had an impeccable service record before the C3 rebellion, but the trauma of the war had left a permanent mark on the man’s heart and mind. The Alliance had abandoned him—a shameful tragedy in Gabriel’s opinion. Too many good Alliance soldiers who suffered from mental and physical trauma had been dishonorably discharged instead of diagnosed and treated. In short, it was more cost effective to cut ties with the soldiers than to aid them. Tomas had been fortunate to have the support of his sister, but many others did not. One of Gabriel’s fellow agents had committed suicide, consumed by dark memories and regret.
“I would have spaced you after we left Tortue. I still might, if you hurt her again.” Tomas glared down at his patient.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m not here to hurt her.”
“Why are you here?”
“Redemption, perhaps.” He smiled weakly, though it quickly turned to a painful grimace. “Might I trouble you for more painkillers?”
“I’m still debating whether or not you deserve them. Why didn’t you tell us about the prisoners?”
“It was classified, and I was ordered not to.”
“This isn’t an Alliance warship. You can’t use that excuse here.”
“I’m still an Alliance officer, and the Alliance holds your marque. I can’t ignore a direct order.”
“Their asses aren’t on the line out here,” Tomas said. “You need to choose a side. You either work for them, or for us. You can’t do both. We lost two members of our crew because we weren’t prepared for the reality of this mission. Those deaths are on you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell that to their families.” Tomas turned to walk away, and Gabriel caught his arm.
“Wait. You’re right,” Gabriel admitted. “I should have been honest, but this information was classified for a reason. There’s a leak aboard the Mombasa. I found and neutralized a transmitter, but I don’t know who planted it.”
“If you neutralized it, then someone higher up the food chain must’ve leaked our mission. Kowalczyk wasn’t gunning for the Novosibirsk by accident, and he’s going to be pissed as hell that we got away. We have Raiya, his men and his main boarding shuttle.”
“I need to get to the bridge.” Gabriel struggled to rise, and Tomas easily nudged him back down.
“Not yet you’re not. You need a few more hours to mend. You’ll only freak Lindy out if you faint on her.”
“My intentions toward her are honorable,” Gabriel blurted out. He winced—the pain was affecting his judgment.
Tomas folded his arms, his expression skeptical. “She’s too good for you. Though she used to see it the other way around. She thought you used her because she was only worth a fuck for your twisted game. Made her feel like a whore.” A vein throbbed in Tomas’s neck and he flexed his hands as though considering throttling Gabriel. At the moment Gabriel would let him.
“She is too good for me,” he agreed. “That’s why I want to be a better man for her.”
Tomas scowled. “Damn, that’s a good answer. You’d better try a lot harder. Next time you screw up I won’t save you, no matter what she says.”
“What did she say?”
“She just demanded that you live. She was a bit busy at the time. Still is, presumably, since she’s not here hovering over you.” Tomas sighed and picked up his data tablet. “I have other patients to tend to. I’ll give you something for the pain. Get some rest, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” Gabriel said.
He closed his eyes as the soothing medication eased the worst of the ache in his gut. Lindana wanted him to live. Progress.
* * *
Lindana and Raiya invaded the former captain’s ready room and sat staring at each other over steaming cups of black coffee.
“Begin at the beginning,” Lindana advised.
“I lived, I died, I became a pirate,” Raiya said. Lindana quirked a brow, and Raiya chuckled. “As I understand it, your story is much the same, comrade.”
“You died?” Lindana asked.
Raiya nodded. When Lindana had seen her last Raiya had a thick braid of crimson hair. Now only her carrot-colored eyebrows and lashes remained as evidence of her ginger past.
“My entire unit was killed during the war. Acceptable loss, command said. I was left for dead. Scavengers found me. They were going to sell me into slavery. I had other ideas. Theirs was the first ship I sacked.” Raiya grinned her gap-toothed smile. “Command thought I was dead, and I decided to keep it that way. I wanted to stay out of their politics. Turns out their politics found me.”
Raiya sighed and leaned back, propping her worn black boots on the table. “There are two factions in the Soviet Union. Those who think we should attack the Alliance first, and those who don’t. It’s gotten worse since the war. For centuries our two governments existed in a stalemate. We spied on each other in anticipation of an attack that would never come, because if it did, both sides would lose in the destruction that would follow. But the rebellion...” She grimaced. “The rebellion made things so much worse. Our military commanders were furious—most of their propaganda is based on the Soviet Union being an unconquerable force. We were the first to launch a satellite, the first to put a man in space, first to the moon, so on and so forth. Losing our own colonies to the Collective was the greatest blow to our pride that we’ve been dealt in ages.”
Lindana nodded. “The Alliance didn’t take it well, either.”
“I don’t doubt it. Traditionally the party wanted to destroy the Alliance, but the war showed them the futility of destroying territory, infrastructure and equipment that they want to gain. They’re developing other options now.”
“Bioweapons?”
“Too unstable. You risk infecting your own people, spoiling water sources and crops.” Raiya shook her head. “They’re building something new. They want to regain our colonies, and then conquer everything else.”
Lindana shook her head. “I need more than rumors and scary stories.”
“I have a piece of it—had a piece of it. No idea what it was. I’m no engineer, and my techs died when our engine blew.” Raiya rubbed her face, looking old and weary, and then she took a long gulp of coffee. “We nabbed the piece by accident. We hit an independent freighter expecting foodstuffs. Instead it was a cover for some experimental tech project. The KGB came after us hard. They destroyed my ship. A handful of us got to the escape pods, and we were captured. Interrogated. As far as I know I’m the only one left alive, because I wouldn’t break. They were transferring me to a new facility when you arrived.”
“I had no idea we were after you. My intel officer neglected to mention it.” Lindana was going to strangle him if he wasn’t already dead. Her stomach rolled at the idea—Tomas wouldn’t let Gabriel die. The image of Gabriel’s gray face was stamped into her mind, sure to reappear in her nightmares.
“Is probably best. Loose lips sink ships.”
And there was a leak somewhere aboard the Mombasa. God, she didn’t want to believe that was possible. She needed to look at the transmitter Gabriel found, and let Maria analyze it.
What if Maria built it?
Impossible, she chastised herself. Maria would never do anything to jeopardize Mama Mo. The ship was her baby as much as it was Lindana and Tomas’s.
“We’re meeting the Mombasa in six hours. What do you want to do when we get there?” Lindana asked.
“Most of the Novosibirsk’s crew has agreed to join me. I’m somewhat of a folk hero.” Raiya blushed. “And they’re underpaid. Piracy seems glamorous in comparison, especially to career spacers without family. I’d like to put the prisoners and the loyalist crew off at a safe location. From there...” She trailed off and studied Lindana.
“You want our help,” Lindana said.
“I assume that’s why your government sent you. They want to know what I know. Unfortunately for them all I have is a vague description of the piece of machinery. But—”
“I knew there was a but attached.”
“I know enough about the project to track down information about it. If I can access a Soviet military database, I could find more.”
“Those are unhackable.”
“No, they are remotely unhackable,” Raiya corrected. “I could do it if I had direct access to their network.”
“You want us to storm a Soviet military facility so you can directly access their network for files on some mysterious super weapon? Sure, sounds like fun,” Lindana said dryly. “I’ll talk it over with my officers. And my intel officer is going to want to talk to you.”
“We need to locate the KGB agent before we leave hyperspace,” Raiya said. “He’ll find a way to expose our location otherwise.”
“My people are looking for him. I’ll keep you advised.”
“Now if you don’t mind I’d like to borrow your doctor. I have a few cracked ribs that need mending, among other things.”
“Tomas will take good care of you,” Lindana promised.
Raiya rose to leave, but she paused beside Lindana and lightly touched her shoulder. “Thank you, comrade. You saved my life. I owe you a great debt.”
Lindana touched her hand—Raiya’s abused skin was rough and dry. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re alive. I... I mourned for you, you know? When the word got out that you’d been killed, I took it hard.”
“Because you still owed me drinks?” Raiya cocked one ginger eyebrow, and Lindana chuckled. “We had good times, you and I. I’d like for us to be friends, but not... There is someone else. She will be also be glad to know I am alive.”
Lindana smiled. “I’m glad for her. And you.”
“You know, Raiya is not my real name. Red Raiya was only nickname.”
“Oh? What’s your real name, then?”
“Svetlana. Svetlana Grinkov.”
“That is...one of the least moanable names I’ve ever heard,” Lindana confessed. Raiya—no, Svetlana—threw her head back and laughed.
“True. You may call me Sveta. I would like to be Sveta again.”
“All right, Sveta. Off to the med bay with you.”
Lindana watched Sveta leave and noted the hitch in the woman’s walk; she must have been running on adrenaline and fury during the fight. Lindana sipped her coffee as she pondered Sveta’s dramatic physical change. The Soviets had destroyed her ship, killed her crew and tortured her over the theft of one mysterious piece of equipment. What the hell were they building?
Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for her crew. The sooner this mission was behind them, the better.
Chapter Eight
Gabriel drifted in and out of fitful sleep. Lindana had been avoiding him, and he desperately wanted the chance to explain. He should have trusted her and not the judgment of Alliance Command. He had to stop blindly following orders and learn to...
His train of thought derailed as a shadow moved in his peripheral vision. For a moment Gabriel assumed it was part of his dream, but the figure was solid in the darkened med bay—a man, broad of shoulder but average in height, wearing the drab olive coverall of a prisoner. He moved with furtive purpose, and Gabriel’s instincts warned that this wasn’t a person seeking medical aid. A chill tingled down his spine as the invader stopped beside a diagnostic bed. The man disabled the medical sensors, then cut the patient’s throat.
Shit.
Gabriel reached up and silenced his own sensors before his rapid heartbeat set off an alarm. He had n
othing to fight with—no weapons, no armor. He slipped from the bed and dropped to the floor, swallowing a yelp as the aching pain in his gut flared in protest.
Gabriel hurried to his sleeping guard—he thought the man’s name was Diesel—and discovered that he too had had his throat cut. Gabriel grimaced, and drew the guard’s weapon. He turned and fired at the intruder, but the pistol’s recoil sent the shot wide. The bullet slammed into a display panel and it exploded in a shower of sparks.
The man whirled and charged, his face twisted in a snarl. Gabriel shot him in the chest, but he kept coming without even a moment’s hesitation—his assailant must be wearing light armor beneath his coverall. Gabriel would need to score a headshot to take him out, but dead men told no tales and he wouldn’t be able to interrogate a corpse for intel.
Gabriel cursed and dodged as his attacker lunged, and the blade whistled through the air mere inches from where he stood.
Gabriel tried to strike him with the butt of his borrowed pistol but was a second too slow. Damn. The pain meds slowed his reaction time. The man spun and jabbed his blade between Gabriel’s ribs. Gabriel roared in agony as he jerked away, the knife still stuck in his side.
Gabriel fired in reflex and his wild shot caught the man in the knee. Joints were always a vulnerable point in armor, and blood spurted from the wound. Finally, some decent progress. The man stumbled back and cursed in Russian, colliding with a sedated patient who barely stirred at the impact. Gabriel yanked the gun up and took careful aim—this shot had to count because he wouldn’t get another opportunity with a knife in his gut—and shot him in the throat.
His attacker collapsed to the med bay floor in a bloody, gurgling sprawl. It was nearly as quick a death as the man had visited on his victims, but not as clean. Gabriel struggled to stand, leaning heavily against another diagnostic bed as pain lanced through his side with each movement. The bed’s occupant was dead, her throat cut ear to ear. How many patients had died while he slumbered? How many lives had he failed to save?
Reinforcements finally rushed into the room as two Soviet security officers with rifles flanked Dr. Tomas Nyota, who carried a simple stun pistol. Most doctors he had known refused to carry weapons, but a privateer was more pragmatic than a pampered core colonist physician.