by Linda Gayle
“Thank you.” He grimaced and slid out after her into another woodsy room. The alarms sounded sharp again. This chamber contained no trees, only low-growing flowering bushes and long tables set with seedlings. “Which way to the healing room?” he asked, rising and wiping leaves from his damp, chafed chest.
“It’s on another level. We need the lift.” She grabbed his hand, and they ran across the huge room.
“Look out!” He threw his arms around her and rolled with her to the floor and under a table. A laser pulse coughed over their heads. A tray of seedlings went up in smoke and a flurry of leaves. “What the fuck was that?”
“The automated defense systems have come on.”
He dragged her farther under the platform, his hands over her head for whatever protection they could afford. “Now what?”
“I don’t know. If we move, they’ll track us and fire.”
“All right.” He looked about him and saw the weapons spaced at even intervals around the walls, the sensors sweeping blue beams to detect any sudden movements. “Let’s catch our breath and consider our options.”
“Yes.”
The problem was…they didn’t have any options.
Sayal stiffened beside him.
“What is it?” He was almost afraid to ask.
She paused, tilted her head. Then she smiled. “It’s Kels. He’s awake, and he’s looking for us.”
The Nova was in trouble. Alarms jangled in his head, but he couldn’t get to the com fast enough. Elion and Sayal were going to die, and his legs were like lead encased in heavy water, and Kels couldn’t stop the ship from exploding.
With a gasp and a shout, he sat up. And saw wires coming from his body. Tubes containing fluids. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled and ripped them out. Some blood dripped from his veins, but that was the least of his worries. Where in the seven hells was he?
An automated servant rolled toward him and picked up the needle end of one of the tubes, apparently wanting to reinsert it. Kels kicked the machine over and got off the table and onto his feet, then ran his hands through his hair. The drones. Elion. He stared about the room, taking in the sophisticated equipment, the expensive durasteel walls…
It had to be the Prime’s ship. They’d been caught. And where were Elion and Sayal? And what were those alarms? He felt about his hips, but his belt had been lost or removed. No com. No, of course not; that would be easy.
He’d been stripped to his waist. His shirt had been folded at the end of the slab he’d lain upon, and he put it on hurriedly. He shoved his feet into his boots. The thrum of distress alerts vibrated the air. What did they mean? How long had he been here? Fuck everything.
Fortunately the door slid open when he touched the panel, and he shot into the corridor.
Nothing looked familiar of course. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, except that many ships had the same basic layout—corridors, wall panels, running floor lights. This had none of those, save corridors, endless lanes stretching into the depths of the ship. He couldn’t even tell from where the illumination came. The whole place just seemed to glow. And wail. The first alarm was joined by another, deeper in pitch, more of a howl than a scream. What could that mean? He walked cautiously toward the left—he’d had to pick a direction—but it appeared he was all alone.
Something bothered him, though. He felt as if there was something he should be remembering. What the fuck was it? He stopped and clasped his hands to his head. If only those alarms would stop, he might be able to think. Pressing his palms over his ears, Kels tried to concentrate—and an impression of Sayal formed in his brain, almost as if she stood before him.
Startled, he took his hands from his head, and the impression evaporated. Well, that was interesting. He tried it again, and again an…impression, for that’s all it was, took shape. It must be the bond. Well, this could be very good. He flattened his hands against his ears and closed his eyes. The impression expanded into a sense of direction. She was trying to guide him to where she was. Hopefully to where she was with Elion.
He had to open his eyes to walk, but he found that if he kept the shriek of the alarms blocked, he could sense her pulling or pushing him along. He ran through a maze of corridors. Once he came up against a solid wall. Frustrated, he closed his eyes again and understood, as if by magic, that a panel lay hidden beneath the smooth durasteel. He waved his hand over it, and just like home, the door shushed open. Astounding. He entered a lift and pressed some alien symbol that felt right to him.
When he exited the lift on another level, he realized she hadn’t led him to her location, but to a machine room. Automated servants whirred about their business, but none bothered him, and he walked past them without making any of them miss a beat. Sayal’s mind-push directed him to a huge power array, floor to towering ceiling, six meters across, alight with flips and switches, and Kels said, “Now what?”
As if in answer, he received a distinct impression of moving to the right. He nearly pressed a greenish panel until an almost electric tingle ran down his hand. “Not that one, eh?” He moved a little lower, and the tingle flushed with warmth. Interesting. Saints, could she see through his eyes? That was a bit disconcerting. Nevertheless, he pressed the panel and several others after that in succession. Then he got the signal to leave the room and take the lift again.
He wasn’t far into another corridor when he heard running footsteps, more than one set. Kels pressed against the bend in the wall and waited—
Elion flew around the turn, Sayal at his heels.
“Kels!” Sayal hurled herself into his arms, and he hugged her to him; then Elion joined in, sticky and half-naked, scabby with many small wounds. Flush with relief, Kels kissed them both, then pushed them off before they suffocated him.
“Fill me in,” he said to El. His mate did, swiftly and efficiently.
“The Nova still has power,” Elion said. “I shut down the grid before the PDs could smoke it.”
“Good man.”
“Not much fuel, but enough to get us to Savoonga.”
“All right, then.” Kels rubbed his hands together and glanced at Sayal, who wore Elion’s shredded, bloody T-shirt and apparently nothing else. She must have a tale to tell. No time for it now, though. “Which way do we go?”
“The direction you came in, to the lift,” she said. “From there we can reach the cargo bay.”
“As long as Sorush doesn’t shut down the lifts,” Elion noted.
“He won’t, at least not for a while,” she said. “I had Kels lock the controls at the same time he shut down the automated weapons.”
“Well done,” Elion said.
“Sorush must be investigating the intruder,” Kels said as they jogged toward the lift. “Think it’s Lowan?”
Elion said drily, “Let’s hope. Otherwise it might be the armada, and then we’ve got two problems on our hands.”
They located the lift just as the ship heaved. The grav controls jerked them down, then slipped off so Kels’s stomach roiled and his boots barely kept contact with the floor. Just as suddenly the controls righted, and the soles of his boots kissed the ground once more. Hands pressed to the wall, Sayal gazed around wildly. Elion clutched her arm. The alarms went abruptly dead. Into the shocking vacuum came a deep and encompassing groan, then a tortured popping, as of steel buckling under enormous pressure. The corridor glow dimmed.
“Dear, oh, dear,” Kels muttered. “I think the old girl’s feeling poorly.”
As if in answer, liquid flame suppressant burst from the ceiling, soaking them in seconds. Kels dragged his wet sleeve across his wet face. “This can’t be good. Do you think the lift’s safe?”
Sayal shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s our only way unless we want to take the emergency passages, but the docking bay is twelve levels down. It might take hours.”
As if to remind them they probably didn’t have hours to spare, the ship screeched, and the grav knocked off again. Droplets of suppressant
hovered around them, a trillion tiny silver balls, and Kels thought he might puke a second before the fucking gravity sucked him down again along with gallons of the suppressant, which splashed and crashed over their heads.
“We have to get out of here,” Elion said, and he slammed his hand over the panel that opened the lift.
The lift, at least, was dry. Dripping, Sayal pressed a symbol, and the device jerked and sputtered, but then the flashing lights indicated they were moving. Kels swiped at his eyes. “I think our intruder means business. The hull’s breached.”
“How long, do you think?” Elion asked.
“Impossible to tell.”
His mate asked, “Sayal, what sort of defenses are in place in the cargo bay?”
She shook her head. “Kels disabled them all.”
“What would it take for Sorush to reactivate them? We don’t want to open the door to laser fire.”
The lift lurched, and they floated. Kels clutched his sick belly. He’d never have made it on an Old Earth sailing ship. “I think that might be the least of our worries.”
El caught his gaze. His mate knew, as did he, that no gravity meant the Prime’s ship was close to dead. Life support would be the last system to go. Oxygen still seemed plentiful, but with the hull ripped, it wouldn’t last long. They’d last about two minutes before hypoxia set in, a horrible death as their bodily fluids boiled away in the vacuum of space.
The door to the lift opened without their asking it to, and they slammed to the floor as the grav overcompensated. “Fucking Prime technology,” Kels muttered, forcing himself upright, taking Sayal’s arm. Elion pulled himself up by the side of the door.
The Nova sat off center in the bay with shit all over her, stuff that had been tossed and floated and dropped on her. She had a tough hull, tough enough to withstand repeated entries and exits from atmospheres, so a little clutter wouldn’t harm her, but it still offended him to see her in less-than-sterling shape. The sooner they were on board, the better. They started forward, but Elion grabbed his arm. “Look,” he said and pointed.
Huge wings paddling the air, Sorush dropped between them and the ship. He glowed with holy fury, quite an amazing sight in his righteous golden nudity. Kels couldn’t help but step back. “I see what you mean about the wings,” he muttered aside to Elion. El had described the creature on their way to the bay.
“Do you think to rob me?” Sorush’s rumbling voice boomed over them, filling the huge bay like the beating of a monstrous drum.
“She’s free,” Elion yelled back. “You don’t own her.”
“She is mine, my creation, and I am a jealous master.”
He appeared to carry no weapon, but the air around him bristled with all hells’ fury, and a whirlwind surged about the bay like a solar wind, whipping up dead leaves and loose objects. Sorush strode slowly toward them, his muscled arms outstretched, his wings spread to their full, impressive eight-meter span. Sayal dug her fingers into Kels’s arm, and he pushed her behind him.
His ears rang as the whirlwind increased, throwing grit into his eyes, tearing through his hair. The leaves on the vines rippled, then shredded, adding to the debris. “You’re nothing,” he shouted into the melee, shielding his face with his arm. “You’re all alone here, Sorush. You’re outnumbered; face it. We’re leaving.”
“I have devastated nations,” the Prime intoned. His voice came from every direction, filling Kels’s head, pressing against his skull from the inside out. He clapped his hands over his ears. Sorush roared, “I have shattered worlds, for I am death and life eternal, yet still you do not listen.”
Sayal grabbed Elion too, and something she did eased the pressure behind Kels’s eyes a little. The bond. Kels linked arms with her and dragged his team forward. They had to reach the Nova, no matter what.
Over the rush of the wind, or under it, more like, a basso throb shook the floor. Even Sorush paused. “Your ship’s dying,” Kels shouted. “It’s over, Sorush.”
The Prime raised his arms and threw back his head, and a burst of fiery gold shot from him like a vengeful aura. The force of it threw all of them back, but there was more. Kels couldn’t breathe—none of them could. A massive invisible force shoved upon them, a crushing, angry hand. Sayal lifted her hands, her face twisted in concentration, and he knew it was likely only her parapsychic powers that kept them from being ground out altogether.
Then a dark shape, graceful as a diving raptor, plunged from a catwalk high above them and fell upon the wrathful Prime.
Lowan.
Elion stopped trying to breathe as the assassin plummeted toward the golden alien in a beautiful, lethal arch. At the last moment, the Prime spun, but it was too late. Lowan drew twin swords from sheaths at his back and attacked.
Fast as thought, the Prime blocked the blow with his wrist braces. Blades flashing, Lowan pressed him, and the whirlwind fell away. Elion drew a breath at last and jumped to his feet along with Sayal and Kels. “We have to help him.”
“He’s a trained assassin,” Kels said, clutching at him. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. We have to leave. Now.”
“But he’s risking his life for us.”
“Elion.” Kels stared hard at him, his eyes huge beneath wind-tossed hair. “He’s risking his life so we can escape. Let’s not disappoint him. Besides, we have weapons on the ship. What else are we going to do, throw rocks?”
“Good point.” He broke into a run behind Kels, his hand tight around Sayal’s. He couldn’t take his eyes from the ferocious battle Lowan and Sorush waged, their swift movements fluid, blades, arms, legs whirling. A terrifying grin lit Lowan’s lean features. To fight an elite Prime, the great enemy—it must be every EFC agent’s fondest fantasy.
He and Kels nearly slammed against the Nova’s side in their haste. Kels patted his hips and turned to him. “Fuck me. Do you have the locks?”
“Me? No. I thought you had them.”
“Someone took them from me in medical.” He ran his hands over the ship as if she’d open just for him with a little coaxing. “Where’s that hidden panel? It’s been years…”
Elion reached past him. “It’s here, isn’t it?” But it wasn’t. A bone-chilling scream brought all their heads around. A bloodied Sorush had taken flight, mighty wings scooping, lifting, but Lowan had harpooned him with a grappling rope deep in his thigh, and the Prime dragged the assassin over the debris-littered ground like a tenacious anchor.
Panicking, Elion snapped, “You’re the bloody captain. You’re supposed to know every inch of your ship!”
Kels glared hotly even as his hand hit the right spot, and a panel slid open. “Here it is, ye of little faith.” He punched in the code, and the ramp slid down like a royal red carpet.
They charged inside—except for Sayal. Elion spun when he realized she hadn’t followed them. “Sayal!” She ran across the ground toward the fight.
He realized why she’d gone to Lowan’s aid. The Prime was aglow again and working his mind tricks. Lowan, his bleeding hands and wrists twisted up in the grappling rope, seemed barely conscious. Sayal got her weight behind the rope and pulled, but her small frame posed barely a challenge. The Prime dropped to the ground not three meters from her and picked up one of Lowan’s dropped swords.
“Kels! Where’s the pulsar?”
“Here!” Peeling around the corner, for he’d run straight to the gear room, Kels threw it to him. Elion snatched it even as he spun and flung himself down the ramp, screaming into battle.
The Prime raised the gleaming steel like an avenging angel. Her arms wrapped in the rope, binding her to him, Sayal couldn’t flee. Elion aimed, and the hum-voop of the pulsar echoed his pounding heartbeat. The Prime’s near wing evaporated. The fucking weapon was still set to close range. The alien screamed, a sound like none he’d ever heard, a shriek that shook Elion’s bones. Sorush raised his hands, awash with golden fire, and Elion’s skull burst in agony as the alien crushed it between invisible walls. Black
edged his vision, and he tasted blood in his mouth.
Still bound in rope, Sayal hauled back, then leaped and shoved her hands against the alien’s chest. Elion gasped and staggered to his hands and knees as the terrible pressure released.
Sorush didn’t die easily like Corsair. Still shrieking, he gripped Sayal to him in his iron arms. Her face wrenched with terror and pain, she shoved against her creator’s chest.
“No,” Elion whispered. Sorush would kill her, take her with him…
But then the alien’s grip loosened, bit by bit. The scream dwindled to a ringing in Elion’s ears, and at last, the great golden creature dropped over backward, dead.
Kels flew past him to Sayal and pulled her out of Sorush’s death grip. Elion staggered to his feet and limped to Lowan, who seemed to be coming around. He knelt by his friend. “Lowan.” He pressed his hands to the pale cheeks. “Lowan, it’s over. He’s dead.”
A guttural pounding, then ominous buckling and crunching, drowned out anything else he might have said, and the floor tilted precariously. Litter and leaves and Sorush’s body slid across the ground.
“Time to fly,” Kels said, his arm tight around a shaken Sayal.
Elion took Lowan’s arm and helped him up. “Come with us,” he said.
The assassin shook his head. Bruises and abrasions covered every exposed inch of skin. “My ship is nearby. I’ll make it.”
“The liner’s done for; there’s no time.”
Lowan clapped his hand on his shoulder. “I must try. The samples are still on it, along with records I downloaded before the Prime could stop me. It’s all we need to condemn the armada in this nightmare.”
Kels had limped over with Sayal. The assassin narrowed his gaze on her. Fuck. Sayal… Elion gripped Lowan’s arm, but the EFC agent had homed in on her like a bastion tiger on a lamb.
“Her,” he said, low and deadly.
Kels clearly understood the problem, for he put himself between the assassin and his prey and held out one hand. “Now listen. She’s innocent in all this.”
