by White, Gwynn
Despair pressed at her until she could scarcely take the weight. Could scarcely breathe past the fact that everything had, once again, changed irrevocably.
And for the very, very worse.
This was her new life now; transportation to the prison world of Halgrek, on a ship full of hardened criminals and a gangrunner determined to inflict as much pain on her as possible. If Breggy didn’t kill her, the other prisoners or the harsh conditions in the ice mines would.
The floor beneath her feet thrummed as the engines ignited, and her breath caught in her throat. No escape, now.
“All hands, strap down for liftoff,” a sharp-edged voice announced through the comm system. “Prisoners, secure yourselves to your bunks.”
Diana stumbled back to her cot. Lying down, she pulled the shock webbing over herself and hooked it onto the other side. It would be adequate, she supposed. And if any of the prisoners didn’t strap in properly and were injured during takeoff, they were no doubt considered expendable.
The ship shuddered, then lurched up, the sturdy Frauke straining against gravity. Diana closed her eyes, imagining Director Quinn standing at the viewing window.
I’m here! she wanted to shout. But no one would hear. No one would know where she’d gone, or what fate she was bound for.
As the ship rose, the vibrations juddering through her bones, she imagined Southampton falling away beneath. Nails, striding the gleaming corridors of the spaceport. Tipper, stirring a pot of stew in the kitchen of the White Owl. And Derek, walking the streets of West Quay.
All of them would look up as the ship she was on blasted away, out of Earth’s orbit. None of them would ever guess that she was on board, being taken away from them. Forever.
The force of the Valiant’s acceleration pushed down hard on her chest. She could barely breathe as hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. As her past once more burned to ashes behind her.
24
We have to go after that ship,” Derek said, his chest tight as he watched the Valiant disappear into the blue.
“Hurry,” Tipper whispered, slipping his small hand into Derek’s.
Derek squeezed it, then turned to the director. Despite the clamor of his thoughts, he forced his breathing to slow, forced himself not to scream at the man to do something. Anything.
“Spaceport Security is already after them,” Director Quinn said. “And my personal transport is being prepped for liftoff. Come.”
“What about him?” Derek nodded to Lord Atkinson, who had slowly risen to his feet.
“Me?” The nobleman shot Derek a glare and began sidling toward the lift. “I’m bringing charges against you for assault.”
“Will that be before, or after, your trial for kidnapping?” Derek asked coldly.
Lord Atkinson’s only answer was to turn and bolt for the exit. Unfortunately for him, a trio of blue-uniformed security guards burst out of the lift, just as Derek activated the stun cuff.
The nobleman fell to the ground, writhing, while the guards surrounded him. Silently, Derek handed the cuff control to Nails, who had led the charge.
Director Quinn pointed to Lord Atkinson. “Guards, take that man into custody. Nails, you’re with me. We’ll sort out the rest of this when we return. Le, you’re in charge.”
The secretary stood up from behind his desk, his face pale. “Very good, sir.”
To Derek’s surprise, instead of heading for the lift, Director Quinn led them to the back of the suite. He pressed one of the carved panels on the wall, which swung open to reveal a hidden elevator.
“It’s an indulgence,” the director said, “but in this case, a very useful one.”
The four of them—Derek, Tipper, the director, and Nails—crammed into the small space.
“It’ll be good to have two of you with combat experience,” Director Quinn said. “Just in case.”
“Can we catch up to the Valiant?” Tipper asked, looking up at the director.
“Yes. My personal ship is faster than nearly any other craft. We can certainly reach the Valiant before the Yxleti Drive kicks in and boosts them light years away.”
The lift doors slid open, and the director led them into a private hangar. A blade-shaped silver ship sat in the middle of the floor, crew members bustling about it.
“It don’t look very big,” Tipper said, eyeing the vessel.
“Her name is the Vesper, and she’s big enough,” Director Quinn said. “Will you sit up front and help me navigate?”
“You’re piloting?” Derek asked, glancing at the gray-haired man and trying to keep his doubts to himself.
“Haven’t you heard of Quantum Quinn?” Nails raised her brows at him. “The director might not be flying the space routes in record time any more, but he’s still one of the best pilots in the galaxy.”
“Thank you for that, Nails. I still get my hours in, as I can.” The director ducked through an oblong hatch into the belly of the ship. “Tipper, with me. Nails and Officer Byrne, grab a seat and strap in.”
There were only three chairs to choose from, set in an area just behind the round-windowed pilot’s bay. Derek took the one on the left, while Nails settled in the middle. Up front, Director Quinn helped Tipper buckle in, then pulled on a pair of goggles, perching them high atop his head.
“Helps me see the displays once we get out into the starlight,” he said, strapping in with the ease of long familiarity. “Ready?”
Derek nodded, his fingers tight around the armrests. He hadn’t imagined his first time out into space would be like this. To be honest, he hadn’t really imagined it at all. His path had been to atone for his past and fight for Ireland—not to leap off the planet in a tiny metal ship in pursuit of the woman he loved.
The hangar doors opened, letting in the bright light of day.
“Here we go.” Director Quinn flipped a few switches, and the ship roared to life.
It felt to Derek as though the engine was located right under his feet, vibrating up through the soles of his boots. Before he could take another breath, the Vesper shot out, then up. In the cockpit, Tipper squealed with delight, but Derek felt like he’d left his stomach somewhere in the vicinity of West Quay.
Director Quinn was steering, saying something to Tipper, but Derek couldn’t hear them over the noise of launch. The sky was white, then blue, then darkest indigo. He pulled in a shuddering breath. Only a thin metal skin between himself and the nothing.
Beside him, Nails shot him a sympathetic glance. “First time up?”
He managed a nod.
“It gets easier. Try watching the stars.”
He faced forward, trying to focus on the pinpricks of light shining in the black. A silver coin quickly grew into the shape of the moon. Before he could fathom it, they’d zipped past. Mars, red and round, floated like some child’s lost ball off to their right.
“We’ll catch them around Jupiter,” the director called. “I’m radioing the Valiant now to prepare for a boarding party.”
“Are you sure it’s wise to go in, sir?” Nails asked.
Director Quinn shot her a glance over his shoulder. “What other choice do we have?”
There was no answer to that.
Derek swallowed. What if he’d been wrong? What if Diana wasn’t on board, and this pursuit was for nothing?
What if she was lost to him, forever? He felt like ripping his heart out of his chest and sending it spinning into the darkness outside. It might be less painful than allowing it to continue beating beneath his ribs.
“I see ‘em.” Tipper leaned forward, pointing to something shining ahead.
Bigger than a star, and getting rapidly larger. The director’s hands were busy on the controls, and the Vesper’s vibration slowed.
“Not easy, docking in space,” he said. “Have to match the velocities point on.”
Diana would be good at that, Derek thought, his gaze fastened on the bulk of the Valiant.
Slowly, too slowly for his
taste, their ship crept abreast of the transport. Then they were there, hovering what felt like a hand’s breadth above the mottled exterior. The director nosed the Vesper over the pitted surface, then dropped them down with a lurch.
Derek nearly choked on his fear before he realized they’d entered a docking bay. The clang of the bay doors closing reverberated like thunder as Director Quinn landed his ship with a soft thump inside the Valiant.
“That was a grand flight.” Tipper’s grin was the widest Derek had ever seen.
“They tried to refuse us entry,” Director Quinn said, glancing over his shoulder. “I used my authority to override. But be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
“Can we get out now and find Di?” Tipper asked.
“Give them a moment to reestablish the atmosphere,” the director said. “They’ll signal when it’s safe to disembark.”
Derek unbuckled the straps holding him securely to the chair, and was glad to find that his legs supported him when he went to stand. Beside him, Nails gave him a wry look.
“All right?” she asked.
“Aye.”
A sharp signal echoed through the hangar, and Director Quinn went to release the hatch. He slipped out, with Tipper right behind him. Derek followed, one hand on his stunclub. Whatever trouble lay ahead, he was determined to extract Diana from the Valiant. Even if he had to fight the entire British Galactic Army to do so.
25
The sound of footsteps thudding down the corridor brought Diana upright. After the turbulence of liftoff had faded, she’d lain in the cot, trying to imagine her way forward. No matter how much she turned the possibilities about, she feared only shadows and fog lay ahead.
And Breggy.
Though he wasn’t accompanying the red-coated guards now approaching her cell.
“You there.” The taller of the two redcoats beckoned to her. “Smythe, is it?”
There was no point in denying her name. “Yes.”
“You’re to come with us.”
Her lungs squeezed tight. Breggy was moving even more quickly than she’d anticipated. At least she’d pulled the banknotes from her corset and put them someplace more reachable. In addition, she’d worked one of the metal corset stays free and stuck it down the side of her boot.
As weapons went, it wasn’t much, but it would do. Much like the makeshift knife she’d left in her bolthole in West Quay. Not terribly deadly, but just knowing she had it helped steady her nerves.
The taller guard unlocked her cell. “Come on, then,” he said.
When she stepped out, he grabbed her elbow. She was surprised they didn’t stun cuff her. Was she really perceived as that little of a threat? The thin piece of metal in her boot jabbed against her ankle.
As soon as they rounded the corner and were out of sight of the cells, she halted.
The guard holding her tugged her forward. “We’ve no time for this.”
“I’ve got money,” she said, pulling the banknotes from her sleeve. “All I’m asking is a few minutes at a comm. Or someone to send a message for me. Please.”
The guard shook his head. “No need for that, miss. We’re taking you to see the colonel.”
By all the stars, had Breggy already corrupted the commander of the Valiant? The taste of fear was sour in her mouth.
To her surprise, they escorted her to a bustling control room beside what looked like a hangar inside the ship. A man with several shiny medals pinned on his scarlet coat straightened from the control panel and gave her a piercing look.
“Miss Diana Smythe?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Colonel Blake.” He looked her up and down. “Excellent—you’re unharmed. We were informed you were on board as a victim of kidnapping.”
Her knees went weak with relief and she grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. They’d found her. Somehow, Derek—for she guessed it must be him—had discovered where she’d gone.
“Thank heavens,” she said softly.
“Unfortunately, the rescue party is planning to dock immediately.”
She glanced at the colonel. “Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because the Valiant is close to initiating the Y-drive blast sequence for Halgrek. Military policy doesn’t allow any ships within a wide radius of any transport engaging the drive, as the blowback can be deadly. I’m afraid they’ll be grounded here for the three months it takes to reach Halgrek.”
She glanced at the pitted metal walls, and shivered. “Can’t you simply wait until we’re gone, and fire the drive then?”
“No—the sequence is hard-coded into the system. It can’t be altered, not even by myself, in case of mutiny or prisoner uprising. No matter what, this ship is bound for the prison world.” He glanced at the readout above the control panel. “In fifteen minutes.”
“Can’t the other ship pick me up and then take off again before the Y-Drive engages?” she asked, mind scrambling for alternatives.
He shook his head. “The Vesper is fast, but even the quickest craft won’t be able to outrun our wake. The turbulence will send you spinning—probably right into Jupiter.”
“Might I have something to work calculations on?” she asked, her pulse racing. There had to be another solution besides being trapped aboard the Valiant or crushed by Jupiter’s atmosphere. “Also, might I speak to one of your navigational engineers?”
“Johnson there is a navvie.” The colonel gestured toward a dark-haired woman further down the control room. “I’ll introduce you.”
He did so, and also procured pencil and paper for her, handing them over with a bemused expression, but she did not have time to explain. Luckily the navvie knew the answers to most of Diana’s questions about the velocity of the Valiant and the effect of the Y-Drive.
Even as the outer doors of the hangar opened, admitting a thin silver ship, Diana bent over her equations, calculating. She didn’t stop until Colonel Blake interrupted her.
“Your rescue party has arrived,” he said.
Diana shoved the paper in her pocket, thanked Johnson for her assistance, and then followed the colonel out of the control room. Her heart hammered in her chest—at the imminent rescue, at the imminent danger. The air in the hangar was cool and smelled of engine fumes.
The colonel ushered her to one side.
“Wait here,” he said, as people began to disembark from the small ship.
To her surprise, Director Quinn emerged first, goggles perched on his head. Tipper slipped out next. Catching sight of her, he pelted forward with a glad cry—just as a spray of lightpistol fire pulsed out from the other side of the hanger.
“Tipper, drop!” the a voice called, even as Colonel Blake bellowed for assistance.
“We’re under attack!” he yelled. “Protocol seven—stat!”
Tip went down, and Diana’s throat closed with fear. She started forward, only to have the colonel grab her arm and yank her out of the line of fire.
“Back in the control room,” he said. “Now.”
She wanted to argue—but there was little she could do. A corset stay was nothing compared to the deadly blasts of light flying at them. Ducking low, she scurried back toward the safety of the glass-enclosed room.
And then Breggy was there, blocking her way, his teeth bared in a glinting smile.
“I see I’ve acted just in time,” he said, sinking his fingers into her shoulder when she tried to twist away. “How rude of you, to try and run away just as I was taking over the ship.”
“You won’t succeed,” she said. The panic in the back of her mind ratcheted up with every passing second.
“Won’t I? It’s amazing what the lobsterbacks will do, given sufficient motivation.” His gaze slid to the silver ship in the center of the hangar. “Although this is even better. My own escape vehicle. Oh look, there’s Officer Byrne.”
She wrenched free of Breggy’s grip and whirled, to see Derek fighting a group of red-coated soldiers, Nails at hi
s side. Lightpistol fire streaked across the hangar, the short-wave blasts bringing down Colonel Blake’s men.
Director Quinn crouched beside his ship, returning the deadly pulses of light, his goggles reflecting the bursts. And Tipper was elbow-crawling toward the renegade guards with the lighpistol, staying close to the wall… She clenched her fingers tight and looked away, trying not to draw attention to him.
“Maybe I ought to bring you with me,” Breggy said, reaching for her again. “To provide a bit of amusement.”
Part of her wanted to encourage him to take the smaller ship—her too, if he had to—and fly out of the Valiant. Directly into the Y-Drive’s deadly blast sequence.
But an even bigger part of her wanted to live, to fight, to join her friends at any cost.
She ducked under Breggy’s fingers and pulled the corset stay from her boot. Before he could react, she jabbed it at his throat. It penetrated the skin, and his eyes went wide.
“Bastard!” He yanked the metal free.
Damnation—she hadn’t hit either his windpipe or his jugular, though a thin trickle of blood crawled down his throat from the puncture wound.
Then she was scrambling away from his fists, trying to find cover while deadly bolts of light pulsed across her vision. He caught her by the hair, and she kicked savagely at him, feeling her metal-toed boots connect with his shins.
It wasn’t enough to make him let go, though.
“You’ll pay for that,” he said, twisting fingers more tightly in her hair.
“Surrender!” Colonel Blake cried.
Diana looked up, to see him standing beside Director Quinn, the director’s pistol trained on them. Behind them, Tipper grinned triumphantly, while Nails stayed on the alert, her weapon at the ready. But where was Derek?
Heart clenching, she scanned the bodies on the floor. Not all of them wore uniforms, but of the others—prisoners, she assumed—none were Derek Byrne.
“I don’t think so,” Breggy called. With his free hand, he flicked a knife from his sleeve, then brought it to Diana’s throat.