by Rose, Renee
For a second I pity our little quarry. She’s determined and smart, but stars, her craft is no match for ours. We could have incinerated her with long-range weapons the first second she took off. It will be child’s play to apprehend and board her craft. An unfair fight.
But my body is eager for it. I want to grapple with her again. Look into those angry green eyes. Hear that sweet, husky voice. Watch her pant under me—
“She’s changing course.” Archer points at the screen. We’re already in the no-man’s land of the galaxy, where ships rarely obey intergalactic accords and piracy is on the rise.
“To?” Domm leans forward, interest in his face.
Archer adjusts the controls. “Toward Techna. Local planet that sells craft parts and repairs them.”
“What’s that?” Something on the screen makes me frown and a strange feeling swirls in my gut. “What’s going on with her craft?” I lean forward, hands on my thighs. “Look at the vibration. It’s like her gyro doesn’t work.”
To be sure, her craft jerks and stutters, flops around. Rights itself.
“She’s fighting that rudder hard.” Domm’s voice is impressed.
Archer nods. “She knows she can’t make it all the way to Jesel. She tries to go through the Massin Asteroid clusters like that, her craft will vecking fly apart.” He pauses.
I rub my ear. “Take her before she lands on Techna, or after?”
Domm considers. “An aerial link with her craft will be simple.”
I agree. “And we’ll avoid ground interference from any being on Techna.”
Archer shakes his head. “I say wait until she lands, then do a surgical extraction for all three. Fast, invisible, silent. I’m not confident her hull can handle the magnetic pull when we overtake her. Don’t want to risk losing atmosphere. It’s worth the hassle of dealing with the Technians. They always look the other way when it comes to squabbles.”
We nod our acceptance of this command and prepare our ship for entry, the three of us working together effortlessly. We know this routine by heart.
“Company.” Domm’s voice is taut. “Starboard, three ticks, closing fast.”
Veck. My fingers dance over the air screen. “Ocretion pirates, outlaws. They’ve locked onto our ship and hers.”
I’m not letting those gray-skinned lumps anywhere near our humans. Yes, I consider them ours already. Because the little warrior is mine. Mine and Domm’s, if he wants to share.
“They know she’s got human cargo?” Domm’s voice rises.
“Don’t know, but they’re flashing the signal for takeover,” I reply.
“Model?” Domm asks.
“They’re got one of the newest Ocretion fighters. Veck, I’d like to get my hands on that and reverse engineer it,” Archer remarks.
I shove back my impatience. Archer should be more worried about the females than the vecking craft. “That’s what they want to do to us. Plans?” I ask.
“I say we grab her and the other humans, and jump. They’ve got a new warship but it can’t best ours in speed.” A beat.
“We can take them if we’re surgical,” I agree. Adrenaline spikes. “If we do it right, we can take their ship, too.” I know Archer’s fingers itch to examine their control system. Figure out what they do with their jump drive. But it’s the little female I crave. Leaving her behind, to the cruelty of the Ocretions? Not possible.
“Agreed.” Domm sets the controls and the G-forces nearly flatten us as our ship instantly presses forward, but our training and our physiology make us able to withstand it. “I was curious to see what’s happening on Techna.” Domm works the controls, deftly maneuvering us around an asteroid belt.
“Another time.” I glance at my holo readout. “The Ocretions are messaging.”
The signal comes up on our screen—a hostile warning to back off or suffer fire. Our shields can handle their fire, even with their newest warcraft—at least a few rounds.
We ignore it. Don’t reply.
“Shields up.” Domm adjusts our cloaking. “Prepare to board the human craft.”
Chapter 2
Domm
I watch Lanz’ fingers tighten around his sword. One tussle with a female and he’s lost. It only surprises me because he didn’t express the least bit of interest in mating or homesteading when King Zander decreed the repopulation effort had begun. All around us, warriors fought to form alliances and claim the limited number of human females available, and Lanz just shrugged. He and I were content to continue running missions.
“Go.” He readies the controls. “Docking systems engaged.”
I flash up the holo screen that shows our craft and hers, the distance magically shrinking as we advance upon her. Our ship has the latest in Zandian technology, where we can magnetically connect to another craft and board it in space.
“She see us coming?” There’s a tightness in Lanz’ voice. He respects the female. Hell, I do, too. What she did back on Shirtang, what she’s doing now, is unheard of.
“No. Not even for a vecking moment. But she does see the Ocretions. Look how she’s swinging her course, hoping to get into Technan airspace faster.”
Our link system, enhanced by a human/Zandian team back on Zandia, is so sophisticated we barely notice a bump as our craft touches hers and the external equipment locks into place, lasers burning a door into her craft. We’ll tow it back or affix an auto-drive so it can follow us as a drone back to Zandia, if it’s worth salvaging—for interest sake, even.
The next few moments are controlled chaos.
Holographic imaging provides us with a real-time map of her craft from our wrist units, and we step through the newly created portal into the dim, cramped cargo bay of her craft. The smell of melted metal and burned carbon fiber from the laser elicits a response in my warrior-trained body—every nerve on end, alert. I take a deep breath into my nostrils.
Lanz leads the way and I follow, a rhythm we’ve built together as a team over the solar cycles together as warrior partners. When we reach the main cabin, we both peer around the segment wall.
Lanz’ horns stiffen and I see her. The human—Lanz’ little warrior. Yes, I definitely see the appeal.
She’s beautiful—a mess of thick red hair tied over one shoulder reveals the slender column of her neck. Lanz’ fingerprints still stand out on it, as a gut-dropping reminder of her fragility.
She’s seated at a control panel intently watching three screens at once, her hands playing the controls. She’s intent on the Ocretion ship, which causes flashing red weapons go alerts to spring up on her monitors. Our craft, masked beyond the capabilities of her rudimentary navigation equipment, doesn’t even show on her screen. If she had better tech, she could find us with visual tracking.
Archer’s slaves—the ones she stole, huddle together on the floor, snuffling, the mother’s arms wrapped around the daughter. The area reeks of unwashed bodies and acrid fear, of old metal and heated electronics.
I assess her equipment at a glance. Some of the oldest tech available, cobbled together.
Veck. She doesn’t even have auto to help avoid asteroids! I raise my eyebrows. The skill that it must take for her to do this—
She senses us.
Her body stiffens and she leaps onto her feet facing us, so fast I barely see her change position. “Where did they come from?” she asks the sniveling humans.
Before they can answer, her ship shudders and lurches, and then the sound of the warning torpedo explodes in our eardrums.
“Brace yourself!” she cries out to the other humans, before she tumbles to the side, leaping into the air to avoid colliding with her archaic flight panel.
Lanz strides forward. “The Ocretions are attacking. That was their notification blast.”
Alarms blare, one loud and raucous, and red lights flash. An insidious hiss tells me the ship’s taken fatal damage. “Oxygen leak. We have eighteen minutes max before blackout.” My pulse pounds. “The human lungs have barely
five.”
“My craft isn’t built to withstand even a warning shot.” Her voice is tight. “This is a transport vessel, not a fighter.”
Archer’s order sounds, taut but calm, “Take the humans and vacate immediately to our craft.”
I’m face to face with her and I see what Lanz must’ve seen—forest green eyes, a bowtie mouth. Stark beauty on a fierce fighter. I could easily grab her, overpower her with my strength, but something in me wants to give her sovereignty—for at least a moment longer.
“There is no time for battle, little warrior.” I stare into her eyes. “Come with me immediately, or you will die.”
Intelligence flicks in her gaze, and she gives a curt nod. She turns to the slaves. “It’s all right. Go with them. It’s our best chance.”
Within moments, she and I are back through the opening, then Archer comes with the mother and daughter. But as Lanz adjusts the controls to close our portal, my heart drops.
Because an Ocretion climbs through it, behind them and jams a shock stick into the mechanism to prevent it from closing.
“Veck. Get rid of him.” I grab for my stun gun, next to my dagger.
Lanz raises his voice, “They lazed an entrance in the other side of her craft. They’re boarding it now.”
There’s no time to say how clever that is, because several more Ocretions burst into view behind the first one, the sulphurous stink of their sweat stinging my nostrils.
I’m about to fire, but the small child messes everything up. The small human slave.
Terror glazing her eyes, her body jerking like she’s having a seizure, she pulls away from her mother and runs. I watch in horror as the Ocretion scoops her up in his thick arms.
“Cassie!” the mother screams.
“Go.” He gestures to his crew. “Go. Go prepare.” They dissolve like smoke, fast, leaving only the one.
He holds up the child like a shield and laughs. “You’re mine now.”
I could kill him, but the child would die too; she covers his head and chest.
“Don’t hurt her!” The mother is beside herself. She runs to the Ocretion and grabs for her daughter, and utter chaos erupts.
The other Ocretions are back with short range weapons; it’s clear that they’ve chosen stunners— like ours—to avoid damaging our craft. Even in the midst of the fray, I can see that they want our craft. Badly.
“Shoot to kill.” Archer raises his voice to be heard over the clamor, but it’s something I’m already doing. I drop the nearest Ocretion, the stench of his thick blood like perfume now, smelling of victory. Dodging stunner blasts, the yellow and blue scarring the air and leaving trails of ozone behind, I come up behind a second and slice his throat with my dagger. The razor-thin edge cuts his scabrous, gray skin like flower petals.
I whirl around; see that Lanz is taking care of himself, and Archer has felled two more. Their bodies lie like sacks of trash, their chests still pumping, but slowly, slowly.
And by the stars, Mirelle—I was going to rescue her—holds her own. She screams now and again, doing that twirl kick that felled Lanz back on Shirtang, and the speed of her attack stuns the Ocretion. I hear the crack of his cheek bone, and then his ooph grunt as her other boot breaks ribs. A lot of them, based on the way he collapses, oozing air and color. Dying. Without wasting a movement, she bends down and grabs his weapon, flipped the switch from stun to kill a nanosecond before blasting a hole between his eyes.
And she doesn’t hesitate. No looking. No crying. No sucked in breath to indicate shock or horror, or even surprise, at what she’s done. No, like a true warrior, she’s back in her fighting stance, holding the phaser out, eyes scanning the area.
Normally, in battle, my focus is clear—I have a rhythm with Lanz and we work without thought. With the female, I’m distracted—worried for her safety despite the fact that she holds her own.
“Behind you,” she shouts to me, and I turn just in time to fend off two of them, using my own kicks, my dagger, to disarm and then slay them.
Breathing hard, I turn to see we’ve killed all the ones in the area, except one Ocretion.
He’s holding the child in his arms still; she’s bloody now, although I don’t know if it’s from her wound or that of another.
“Give up your ship or I kill the slave.” He smirks at us.
I wipe my brow and flare my horns.
“You will never get our ship.” Archer advances.
Despite the fact that there are four of us and one of him, the Ocretion doesn’t flinch. Instead, he laughs. “First I’ll toss her to the crew back on board, let a few of them have their way. They haven’t had a pleasure slave in a while.”
The mother’s scream is so high and shrill, she must be ruining her vocal chords. She runs at him again, like a force of nature.
He grabs her hair and slams her into the wall, an easy conquest. “This one, too. She can watch first, then she’ll please a few. Maybe we’ll cut off a few fingers and toes for fun, show them cooperation is key. Humans. No good for anything but flesh sacks.”
His words are vulgar, but he can’t possibly think we’d budge. We’re warriors; no matter how vile, we don’t respond to threats and as far as he knows, the humans are nothing more than slaves to us. Why would we care?
Our little warrior steps forward, her shoulders quivering. “We have to give them what they want. Please. Don’t let them hurt her. Please.”
“No!” Frustration makes me harsh. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“We can’t let them die now!” She turns to me in supplication, and her shaking hands drop her phaser. “Please!”
“Stop…” I begin, horrified at her transformation from fighter to victim.
Then I see her expression. Just out of view of the peripheral vision of the Ocretion, she gives me a sly smile and drops the lid of one eye. It’s a signal of some sort, although I don’t understand it.
“I can’t!” she wails, and drops to her knees, wraps her arms around herself. “Please, please, humans are frail and weak. You must protect us!”
I look at Lanz and tilt my head ever so slightly to the left. That’s our sign for attack on command. Archer steps back just a bit; that means he agrees.
And then it’s like a dance, almost like we choreographed it ahead of time, even though it unfolds second by second.
Lanz rushes to Mirelle’s side, leaving the path open for the Ocretion to advance. “Get up,” Lanz barks, grabbing her arm. “There’s no time for this. We need you focused.” He pulls her to her feet. “You’re our most valuable possession. We need you on task. Now.”
Archer turns his head to look, giving the Ocretion time to consider this. “Lanz is right. You have all the skills we need. Use them.”
I keep my eyes on the Ocretion, hoping he’ll take the bait. The main flight panel is completely open now. He’ll go for that, or the human—I know it.
“Drop the human young,” I growl, stepping forward, giving a nervous look to Mirelle and the others. “Now.”
“Perhaps I will.” The Ocretion smiles. Then he moves, serpentine. They always act so quickly; compared to their sluggish bodies, their motions never cease to amaze. He drops the girl next to the mother.
Then he’s in, through the path Domm and Archer cleared for him, grabbing for our little warrior.
Yes. This is what we needed.
She allows him to seize her, slumps in his arms. He puts the stunner to her head. “I’ll take this one instead,” he says, backing toward the door. “And we’ll destroy your ship if you don’t willingly give it over. Surrender.”
I know it’s all tactics. He probably has a host of them ready to board our ship this minute. Tech this precious? They’d rather lose a few of their own to get it, rather than destroy it out of spite.
But all I can see is that stunner at our female’s head. It’s set to the highest setting, which will fry her brain if he uses it, essentially killing her. A roaring starts in my ears�
��emotion I barely recognize pouring into my chest—fear. Rage. I want to twist this Ocretion’s neck. How dare he? Perhaps I misunderstood her signal. Perhaps she is as weak and afraid as she appears. I need to rescue her, but I can’t risk it, not now.
She’s docile, soft, whimpering to herself, like he’s broken her will. Then she makes eye contact with me and mouths, “On three.”
“We’ll never give you the ship!” I shout, playing the role of the unstable, angry Zandian.
The Ocretion laughs. “You don’t need to. We’ll take it.”
He puts his finger to the trigger. “I’ll give her back, too.” He wiggles it. “When she’s dead.”
Mirelle doesn’t stop looking at me. One, she mouths. Two.
I take a breath.
Three.
Then she’s just a blur of motion, even faster than the Ocretion, twisting in his arms so her head is free of his stunner. The blast hits her shoulder, hard, and I smell the acrid odor of burning skin and blood as I raise my weapon. I look right into the Ocretion’s face and fire, barely missing Mirelle, but I’m a good shot. I watch as his head disappears in a pulse of fire.
“Seal, detach, and jump. Now, now, now.” Archer’s command sets us into action.
Domm takes over the panel and Archer himself goes to the weapon station.
“They’re aiming at our hyperlock. We need to go.”
I see the flash as their missile deploys; brace for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, the G-forces and the wash of space-time flow into and through me as we leap into the fabric of the universe, disappearing from the Ocretions’ view so completely that they can never find us again.
Chapter 3
Lanz
“Check for damage. Deploy auto-repair bots,” Archer commands.
“Bots deployed,” Domm replies.
“Check seals and atmosphere.”
“Seals and atmosphere at 100 percent,” I report.
