by Reagan Woods
Lacy’s reaction was a swift back kick to his face that snapped his head back. He wiped the blood that gushed from his nose on his shipsuit, letting the intelligent material soak up and dispose of the fluid. With no way to tell her what he’d done, Zocan shrugged and backed away. Bram had a much better chance of survival now.
Lyon shot him a pointed look as he lit the pyre of bodies. “Let’s hustle, love.”
Z’cari and Ssszit snuck away first to secure the ships. Half-hour later, the rancid smoke from the burning bodies gave ample cover as the rest of their small cadre followed.
Running down the docking ramp, pushing the burdened wagon from behind while Lyon pulled, Zocan felt moved to promise, “Perhaps we’ll find a female like Lacy for ourselves when things are more settled.”
Natar, jogging backwards as he guarded their retreat butted in, “She’s bold and isn’t afraid to fight for what she wants. If there are more, we want one, too. Only – maybe - ours doesn’t need to be so violent.” His golden eyes shot to the gleaming weapon still buzzing in Lacy’s hand.
“I’ll be certain to send you an order form,” Zocan told him dryly, thankful the discomfiting female couldn’t understand their repartee.
Chapter 31
It was understood that if a powerful enemy put the crew of the Nom’magata in their crosshairs, the pirates would mitigate the threat and scatter. Handling the assassin had gone swimmingly thanks to a stroke of genius from Zocan. Using Bram’s knowledge of the Warriors and their training was nothing short of brilliant.
With their network of contacts, running should have been the easy part. Now, dodging a barrage of laser blasts and percussion-stick fire, Lyon wondered how such a simple plan could get so fucked.
The priests’ private dock was really like a giant metal cylinder around a series of twelve platforms connected by thick ramps. There was a vast amount of room in the circle for small transport ships to maneuver and very little to hinder their flight. That meant no walls or handrails and a simple tether system for the actual docking process. The only large ship in the whole of the dock was the ceremonial bark the priests travelled in.
“Take the female and the Doranos and go!” Lyon shouted to Ssszit, dropping to a knee on the wide, open-air ramp. Z’cari mirrored his movements on the far side of the ramp and together they opened fire on the pursuers charging from below.
Zocan and Natar remained on foot, guarding Ssszit’s retreat as he wheeled the cart carrying the Doranos and the female up the ramp at a flat out run. They could have used the Doranos’ body to distract the crowd, but Zocan was the boss and he’d vetoed the move out of hand.
“Fall back!” Zocan commanded.
Lyon jumped to his feet and continued to fire, flinging the end of his percussion-stick toward a group of males who fired at him from a switch-back on the ramp below. The wave of force knocked several of their pursuers back, sending others plummeting to their deaths. He jogged backward at a fast clip, scanning left and right for threats that inched too close.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Z’cari take a laser strike to the shoulder. Cutting sideways, he caught the other male by his bloody jumper before he pitched off the side of the ramp to the waiting mass of angry cannibals below. A quick glance showed him Z’cari was out – if not dead. Lyon couldn’t leave his comrade behind, so he threw the other male across his shoulders and began to run.
His magnaboots pounded against the metal ramp as he ran to catch Natar and Zocan. Natar, eyes wild, hung back to wait for him and Lyon knew he feared for his mate.
“Go!” Lyon shouted at the shaken Natar, urging him toward Zocan who had seen the hit and was rushing to the nearest ship. Natar nodded, darting to help Zocan pry open the portal to the Ashwameic priest’s ceremonial barge.
The barge’s matte black finish was adorned with shining onyx runes spelling out words of praise for the bloodthirsty goddess. They wouldn’t exactly be incognito in the death ship, but they were down a fighter and didn’t have the luxury of being choosy.
Ahead, Zocan held open a hatch in the side of the ship and was laying down cover fire so Lyon could haul his burden safely aboard. Lyon heard footsteps pounding behind him. He dug deep, thighs screaming for mercy, as he poured on the speed.
“Natar is clearing the ship and searching for a medical facility,” Zocan told him as he slammed the hatch closed. The unlucky pursuer made an audible thud as he bounced off the metal. “I intend to hijack the bridge. Join me as soon as possible.”
Panting, Lyon gave a sharp nod. “I’ll keep my eyes open for cannibals, but you’re right, Z’cari needs help now.”
Inside, the barge was aged if macabre opulence with three dimensional paintings of horrific sacrificial scenes that appeared to leap out of the mirrored corridors as one walked past. The illusions would make clearing the ship a veritable nightmare.
Thirty minutes later, after a tense firefight with the priests’ followers on the docks, Zocan piloted the barge into deep space using the codes he’d forced from the now-dead captain while Lyon and Natar collected the bodies of the crew for disposal. For minor priests, the crew had been quite troublesome even for their experienced team of pirates.
Z’cari was sedated and under a healing lamp. He would heal, but his wound was serious and would take time to mend. The lamp was no regen bed, but it was the best the barge had to offer.
“I will handle this part, Sir,” Natar volunteered as they piled the cadavers before the incinerator. “Perhaps you should check the locked door across the way. The one with the rivets set in the shape of a skull,” he gestured toward the open doorway. “It was the only one I couldn’t open. I can’t imagine what treasures the High Priest must have hidden in there.”
It was well known that the Ashwameic priests owned one of the largest collections of battle-used weapons in the universe. Using a weapon of renown was almost as good as eating a legendary fighter to a follower of Ashwamei. After several hours picking the manual and electronic locks, Lyon expected to find a treasure trove of historic weaponry.
Instead, the archaic black door slid back to reveal a tiny cabin. It was lucky he expected the priests to have booby trapped the room. He quickly ducked to avoid the metal bowl that came hurtling through the open portal. Shock had him rocking back on his heels and slamming the door securely closed.
He ran several steps down the hall of gory vignettes in search of the little black skull he’d noted earlier. Slapping his hand against the old-fashioned com, Lyon buzzed until Zocan answered.
“What?!?” Zocan sounded irritated.
“You need to come here.” He said flatly. “Now.”
Whatever Zocan heard in his voice had his mate at his side within moments. “What’s wrong?” Concern lit his golden eyes.
Silently, Lyon led him back to the skull-studded door. He took a deep breath and held it as he hit the lever to open the door.
Nothing physical came through the portal this time, but the savage scream was almost deafening.
“Is that what I think it is?” Zocan yelled, hands going protectively to his ears.
“It appears to be a Yurther,” Lyon confirmed seriously, wincing as more shrieking erupted from within the room. “I think we should keep her.”
Zocan’s golden eyes widened. “Er – fine. You tell her that.”
Chapter 32
The actual escape from Xani was a blur. Lacy’s whole focus was on Bram. She’d known they wouldn’t travel any further with Zocan and Lyon, but their parting had been abrupt. Her last glimpse of the four Lyarans had been of them setting up a kind of blockade on the dock outside the ship Ssszit helped her load Bram onto.
A smelly, violent crowd of aliens had rushed the four. She had no idea if the pirates made it out alive. Lyon had given her the creeps, but she liked Zocan. At least, she had until he’d stabbed Bram.
“Zocan activated Bram’s healing implants,” the creepy Lizard Man told her. She didn’t know what that meant, and the oily feeling
of having someone else in her head made her shiver and gag a little. She ignored him in favor of checking out their new home.
Finally, she was on a ship type thing with windows. Okay, a window. Sort of. If she’d been responsible for naming the tin can with wings, she would have called it a death trap. It literally looked like a soup tin someone had slapped wings onto before plopping a cone on the front. The scaly, onyx alien, who apparently could talk into her head (and wasn’t that a treat), called the ship a skimmer.
“My name is Ssszit, female,” the alien corrected, sharp claws sliding over the narrow controls. “That is a viewscreen. It projects what is outside. Not as handy as the holoscreens we had aboard the Nom’magata, but it will do.”
“What’s a Nom’magata?” Lacy wondered aloud, her gaze returning to Bram’s still figure on the pull-down cot. He had to live. He had to.
Fear gnawed at her guts. His hand was so cold in hers. They’d wrestled him into a pair of loose fitting pants, but his chest remained bare, so the various devices could do their work.
“The freighter Zocan captained.”
This skimmer was nothing like the freighter. There was zero room for moving about as Ssszit sat in the only seat just in front of where she held vigil, cross-legged on the floor, while Bram occupied the cot right next to her. There was a privy/sonishower tucked into a corner and a small cabinet of rations. That was where the tour ended.
“You were on Zocan’s ship?”
“I already explained this.”
Lacy found it hard to believe that she was having a conversation with a towering, scaly alien –
“My kind are known as Tixerian.”
Who could, for all intents and purposes, read her every thought.
“Forgive me if I’m a bit slow on the uptake,” she relieved her chaotic emotions with a spate of sarcasm. “I’m trying to process the fact that I’ve met a psychic being and been catapulted into the cold depths of space with – er – you/him/it, choose your damned pronoun –.”
“I’m male,” the mental words were accompanied by an audible chitter.
“Whatever you say, pal.” Lacy shot his back a thumbs-up and her most expressive eye roll. “Back to me. I’ve had a big day. Met my first psychic lizard guy, went full-Kill-Bill a few hours ago, oh, and my sort-of boyfriend is fighting for his life with nothing more than a glorified AED and some oxygen rather than full healing facilities because, apparently, he looked really tasty to a bunch of cannibals. Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”
“And here I thought you were giving this survival thing a real go,” he rejoined. “Weeping all over the Doranos when he started breathing was obviously helpful. And,” he paused and turned so she could see herself in his black, bulging eyes, “that colorful t’man’ga blood slathered under your festive coating of humanoid gore is really a good look. You’re nailing the take-control-female role today.”
“Screw off.” She added an indignant middle finger for clarity’s sake.
“Go shower,” he pointed one nasty, sharp talon at her. “Your stench is offensive and so is your attitude.”
“Yeah. That’s a big no.” Lacy wasn’t leaving Bram’s side until he woke. Who knew what Lizard Man might do to him in her absence.
“There are three of us. In a one-person shuttle. Don’t make me strip you down and throw you in there.” Ssszit rose from his seat to loom over her.
Lacy gulped audibly. By her reckoning, he was well over six-feet and built like a supervillain. Long, muscular legs, led up to an anatomically ambiguous pelvis, a rippling abdomen (sans belly button), and a set of swimmers’ shoulders supported killer arms. All that terrifying musculature sported shiny black scales. “You’re pretty big for a Lizard Man. I guess you work out, huh?”
“I’m average for a Tixerian and, indeed, I do work out. After the day you’ve had, do you really want to fight over this? We both know I can make you shower.”
Wisely, Lacy reconsidered her position on the matter. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She swayed a bit when she gained her feet but still had the presence of mind to tap his hard, scaly abdomen with an index finger. “But, if you harm one hair on his head…” She let the threat hang, too exhausted to come up with something good. This once, she’d rely on his imagination to supply adequate motivation.
Before she stepped through the sliding portal, she turned back and gave him her most fierce glare. “The shower is a private space. You will not read my thoughts while I’m in here, nor will you mind-speak to me.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
Pleased he hadn’t dismissed her demand, Lacy nodded magnanimously, “Fine. You can mind-speak if the situation is urgent.”
“Like, say, if the assassin is still floating around out here and somehow realizes we’re from the ship he hunted?”
Christ. Lacy had totally forgotten about the assassin. “Er – yes.” Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath. There was no need to panic. He was just trying to see how badly he could rile her. “Why? Are your Spidey Senses tingling?”
The chirr rippling through the air might have been a laugh. “You were right to be worried. He’s still out there, but he’s not a factor right now.”
“How did you – oh, yeah, you said you were there.” She stepped into the shower, the lead ball in her stomach only marginally lighter than it had been. It was important to look at the positives here: Bram was still alive, they’d made it off Xani, she wasn’t alone trying to care for him and to learn to fly a skimmer, the assassin didn’t know exactly where they were right now…yeah, her positive-thinking skills needed some work.
“At least you’ve stopped the blubbering,” Ssszit’s voice pushed into her head. “I was starting to worry.”
“Out!” She shouted, slapping the shower on somewhat harder than necessary.
The annoying lizard was right, though, she needed to get her shit together. Bram had protected her when she was hurt and in need of healing. Hell, he’d gotten hurt because he’d been trying to keep her safe. The least she could do was buck up and give him her best effort in return.
After they were out of this, though, she was sleeping for a week. This life-and-death stuff was exhausting.
Chapter 33
Ssszit whirred aloud with relief. Spying on Lacy’s thoughts was admittedly rude after she’d asked him not to, but he needed to know her mental state. He’d heard her accept that Bram would live, and that faith was something she’d need in the coming days.
Flying the shuttle, avoiding the assassin, and getting the destinies of these two on track were important to what came next. Being precognitive was both a blessing and a curse. Ssszit couldn’t see everything, but he had enough knowledge and moxie to influence the future toward the good.
He was acutely aware that there were those who actively worked to thwart the outcome he sought. Tonight, the High Priest had tried and failed to hijack the future by killing Bram and Lacy. The little Earther’s potential for violence had been called forth much sooner than Ssszit had anticipated. It stepped up the time-table for his own end, and, yet, he couldn’t be unhappy with the results. These two would help free his people from millennia of living in the darkness of slavery.
When the Tixerian Elders, the keepers of ancient knowledge, had sent Ssszit into the Universe, he’d made a solemn vow to push every Earther he encountered towards his or her greatest destiny. According to prophecy, the more their barbarian genes (weak though they were) were spread, the better the chances of ending Hash-Han’s tyranny over the Universe. The prophecy baffled Ssszit, but it was not his place to worry over that. His was but to serve. And, sooner rather than later, he would be a martyr to the cause.
These last hours had been tense. It had required a lot of poking and prodding to reach through the fog over Lacy’s mind. Part of the problem was the obvious concussion she’d suffered when the t’man’ga rattled her cage. Then, the fugue-state she fell into when she killed the priests of Ashwamei changed her on a pivotal level. The
re was a rough window during which Ssszit wasn’t certain if her mind would harden enough to push through the trauma, to become the female she needed to be.
“Female, you can’t possibly still be showering,” he sent, knowing it would rile her.
She came out of the small shower alcove at a clip, the delightful temper he’d caught glimpses of on the Nom’magata on full display. “Look, Lizard Man, I don’t need your bullshit right now. I’ve got a sick – er – friend and, frankly, I’m not in a great head-space.”
It was time to get to work. Ssszit hadn’t been teasing her, no matter what she thought. The High Council’s assassin still stalked his prey – all of them. The Corian hunter didn’t know the odd life signs he sought were an Earth female and a brother Warrior. He simply saw targets.
Ssszit used his unique ability to skim others’ thoughts to keep her focused on him. “Actually, we Tixerian are universally referred to as ‘bugs’. Lizard Man is new.”
“That’s fascinating,” she said flatly, strange blue eyes locking on Bram’s struggling shell. The fear and hopelessness she experienced was potent. If she were to form a true bond with the Doranos, she had to suffer through it.
Ssszit had to lure the assassin to Opu in short order, so he needed to start Lacy on her path this very night. Otherwise, the assassin would kill Bram and Lacy, and likely Ssszit, and hunt down the remaining Lyarans before turning his murderous sights toward the double agent on Opu. It would be a shame to see the Corian hunter murder his own destined mate.
“Female, you can’t possibly mope any more tonight. Do something useful and work on this simulator,” he sneered. “Not that a lowly female like yourself could hope to learn to pilot a space craft. It is male’s work, after all.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Lacy told him calmly, shoving him out of the pilot’s chair with a hip. “You’re trying to get me to focus on something other than Bram. That’s fine. I’m more than happy to work on the sim. You can kiss my ass when I’m able to fly this tin can better than you are, though.”
