She tried to kick his feet, but he had on leather boots and her light shoes did nothing. He dragged her backwards into his room, his arm cutting off her windpipe. “You should have been smarter, little girl! You should have played your cards right and been more cooperative. You should have had a better strategy!”
Strategy.
Strategy.
Snap!
A rush of voices washed over her, deafened her, smothered her. Whispers of wise men, coarse shouts by warriors, soft words by aged generals, couched in many accents from many nations and planets. Battles raged in her mind, hordes clashed in vast battlefields. Military stand-offs, gun fights, and solitary men and women battling in silent desperation poured over her brain. Surprise, deception, and the fog of war all settled into her mind and found a home. She was surrounded by shadowy figures, the great fighters and generals of the ages.
A man with thick eyelids and a silken robe counseled her, “Know your enemy and know yourself, and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.”
A rough man with his arm tattooed spat on the ground and growled, “Hear me! A good plan executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.”
A short round man with curly hair and his hand in his braided coat nodded. “One jumps into the fray, and then figures out what to do next.”
A tall woman with gold bands on her upper arms reached out to Cosette and grasped her shoulders. “Cosette! Wake up! Your own battle is underway!”
My own battle?
With great effort, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a cot, her arms and legs unresponsive. Garale had his back to her, closing the door. She struggled to get up, and couldn’t move.
Too many voices shouted at her in her mind.
Just one voice! Just one! Tell me what to do!
The generals and the princes hushed as one small wiry man took over. “You are a weapon,” he whispered. “You need nothing else. His strength will be yours.”
Garale turned from the door and stepped back, his eyes startled. Cosette was on her feet, her knees bent, her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, please,” he said. “I liked you better unconscious. It would be easier for both of us.”
She didn’t move, but she scanned the room, looking at surfaces, angles, loose objects that might be useful as weapons.
He thinks I am small and harmless and that he can force himself on me. When I strike, I will move fast. I will be the wind.
The fighter in her mind reminded her that the floor was not the only surface, that the desk and the dresser could also support her, and that Garale would not expect her to move there. Unexpected height, unexpected moves, that was the way to defeat the larger, stronger Lieutenant.
Anger replaced her fear, anger rising up like a snake. He had intended to harm a little, defenseless girl. She tightened that anger inside of her, wound it up, and waited.
He reached a careless hand out to grab her, and she exploded.
Her right hand knocked his arm up, and her left hand caught his elbow in the fork of her thumb and fingers. She pushed him sideways, twisting him off-balance. Then she leaped onto the desk, scattering the junk that lay on top of it. Garale was not a neat person.
He turned towards her and caught the tip of her shoe in his throat, a foot in his ear, and a solid heel in the face.
He fell back onto the cot, but quickly pushed himself back up again. “You want it rough?” he snarled as she balanced on the desk. “That’s fine with me! I’ll love hearing you beg for mercy!”
He jumped at her legs, but when his arms closed he had nothing but air.
She was crouched on the dresser behind him, and when he turned around, her feet slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the desk. She landed on the floor, balancing on the balls of her feet.
My fists are too small to do any damage, but I can get my weight behind my feet.
His round face turned red, and he shouted curses, his nose dripping blood onto his neat uniform. With his hands balled into fists, he charged at her, swinging. She ducked one fist and leaned to let the other pass harmlessly. She jumped and kicked him in the stomach with both feet, doubling him over. She landed and bounced in place, poised.
Make him angry, the voice whispered. He is a man and if you humiliate him he will lose all judgment.
Garale jerked his face up, his teeth bared, and she slapped him on the side of his face as hard as she could. His mouth opened in shock, and she backhanded him on the other cheek.
This time when he charged he had no finesse, no aim, just flailing fists and an incoherent roar of rage. She side-stepped, pushing him head-first into the door, and then kicked him in the posterior.
He spun around as she kicked and managed to grab her right leg.
They fell to the floor, his fingers digging into her calf. He was male and strong, and for a moment she felt fear, knowing that she could never wrestle with him and hope to win.
He has anchored your leg, the voice whispered inside her. Now your other foot can punish him.
She pulled back her left foot, and kicked him squarely in the face. Blood now streamed from his nose, and although he dug the fingernails of both hands into her leg, there was nothing he could do to prevent her from kicking him again, and again.
He let go of her leg and staggered to his feet, one hand pressed against his nose. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the cylindrical metal key, and pressed the button that set off her bracelet.
Pain flared as she stood. She stepped back, her wrist on fire.
There is no pain, the voice whispered. Set it aside, and let it dwell by itself. Let him know by the calmness of your face that it is meaningless.
The bracelet does no damage, she told herself. It’s just pain.
She exhaled with a shudder, letting the pain gather into a halo around her wrist. She straightened her prisoner’s coveralls and glared at Garale, her chin firm.
Garale pressed the button harder, extending the key towards her, waiting for her to scream.
She kicked his hand, knocking the key away. The pain disappeared as she spun around. She hit his knee with the side of her foot and struck the small of his back with her left fist. Her right hand dipped like an expert pickpocket.
He tried to grab her with his bloodied hand, but she danced away from him, his disruptor in her hand. “Don’t move.”
Garale stared at the gun and fumbled at his empty holster. He hesitated, red-faced with anger but unable to attack someone with a disruptor gun aimed at him.
She tilted her head towards the mess on his desk. “If you want a tissue for your nose, go ahead.”
He grabbed a handful of tissues and pressed them against his nose, muttering curses.
“Remember,” she said with a cold smile, “if you try to run, I’ll cut you in half.” She picked up the key from the floor and put it into her pocket. There was a surge of pain as her fingers contacted the key, but she let it dwell by itself as the voice had taught her, and the gun aimed at Garale didn’t waver. “Now turn around and open that door.”
He stared at her as though hoping she would faint from contact with the key. She lifted the gun meaningfully, and he wilted and opened the door.
Cosette ordered him where to go as they walked down the corridor, turned, and went to the stairs that led down to the prison cells. “Don’t think of hitting an alarm,” she said as they descended. “You’ll be dead, and I’ll be gone before anyone would arrive.”
They stopped at a terminal. This one had more capacity than the monitor in her cell, and she was able to find the location of the cell that held Major Dyson. It was only a few doors away from hers.
“I’m not going to give you the pass code to the door,” said Garale, trying to regain control of the situation as they walked to Dyson’s cell. “And shooting the keypad will only freeze the door locks.”
Cosette looked at the keypad on the wall next to Dyson’s cell door, and reviewed the schematics in her head. She made an
adjustment to the gun and blew a small hole in the metal wall beside the keypad. Turning the gun towards Garale, she reached inside, felt the back of the keypad, and pulled a wire free. As she knew it would, the pulled wire circumvented the alarm system and disabled the lock.
The door slid open.
“You ought to read the plans for this station sometime,” she said as she turned off the sound field. It sparkled as it disappeared, revealing Major Dyson in his cell, also wearing a yellow prison outfit.
He rose, his mouth open in astonishment. “Cosette?”
“Partly,” she said.
“What?”
The Cosette part that is me is a tiny thing compared to everyone else that is in my brain.
The warrior in her whispered, this is when your opponent will strike you.
She turned and looked Garale in the eyes. The look of determination on his face died. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, keeping the gun aimed at his midsection. “You saw what this setting did to the wall.”
Dyson stepped into the corridor, but Cosette kept her attention on Garale. “How did you get loose?” Dyson asked. “Where did you get a gun?”
“Later,” she said. “Garale, we’re all going to go down this corridor, and we’re going to turn left at the end.” Garale started walking slowly, and Cosette jabbed him in the back with the gun. “Faster!”
Dyson trotted alongside her. “Where are we headed? What about Rasora?”
“Rasora isn’t in a cell. He’s working kitchen duty.” They turned left. “We’re headed to the bay where our fighter is parked.”
“What good will that do? The bay doors will be closed, and the air shield will be in place.”
“Here,” she said as they arrived at the doors that opened into the bay. It had a palm print recognition screen, not easy to disable. “Garale, put your hand on that screen.”
“I will not,” he said, turning back towards her. “You can’t make me open that door. You don’t dare shoot me no matter how tough you pretend to…”
She fired a shot between his knees, shredding his pants. He screamed, fell back against the door, and slapped his palm against the screen.
The doors opened. She gestured with her gun, and Garale stumbled into the bay, his hands anxiously rubbing the bare insides of his legs.
She pressed the control pad and the work lights of the bay came on, showing three fighters and a cruiser parked in the bay. All bore Union insignia except one.
“There’s our fighter,” she said. “The Alliance ship.”
The bay was deserted. She was grateful not to have to deal with more Union soldiers.
“Spinner,” she called, hoping the little service robot was in the bay and functional. She turned to Garale and pointed to a corner. “Sit.” He slumped down and pressed the wad of tissues against his nose.
With a clatter, the robot named Spinner emerged from behind a ship and walked up to them. “May I help you?”
“Spinner,” said Cosette, “are you okay?”
“I am functional.”
That wasn’t the right response.
Dyson bent over, looking at the robot carefully. “Model forty eight triple oh seventeen, his nameplate says. This is Spinner all right. Don’t you remember me?”
“You are Major Dyson. May I help you?”
“Are you happy to see me?”
“I am functional.”
Cosette whispered, “Does he still have his EM chip?”
Dyson lifted a tiny panel on the side of the robot’s circular body, and then snapped it back down, his face pained. “They pulled it out. That’s like doing a lobotomy.” He patted the side of the robot. “This isn’t really Spinner anymore.”
“I am functional.”
Cosette exhaled slowly, trying to control her emotions. She handed the gun to Dyson. “Keep Garale under guard. I need to figure out how to get us off this station.”
“What happened to his face?”
“He ran into my boot.”
Major Dyson raised an eyebrow and looked at her with heightened respect. “I see.”
She activated the bay’s terminal and called upon her memory of how the station’s computer operated, wormed past a couple of firewalls without triggering alarms, and began snooping. She found that the leaders of the Union forces, the generals and others, were living on this heavily guarded space station, and then she found their current plans of operation.
She almost swore but caught her breath. There was no way that she was going to take up swearing like a drunken fish monger, but it was tempting.
Dyson glanced at her. “What?”
“They’re planning a surprise strike on the fishing villages where I was recovering. They’re going to strike as soon as it’s dark. Garale told them that some of the villagers were Alliance soldiers in disguise, so they’re going to kill everybody, men, women and even the children without warning.” She tapped a few keys. “And it’s almost dusk there already. The attack takes place within the hour. That’s why we aren’t seeing people in the hallways. They’re in their flight gear and getting briefed.”
Dyson did curse, colorfully and with anger.
Cosette thought about the children sleeping innocently in their bunks and the sudden rain of death that would land on them in the night. “No!” she shouted, slamming her fist on the desk.
“What?”
“That tears it! I have had it with the Union! I have had it up to here!” She knifed her hand across her throat.
“What are you going to do?”
What am I going to do?
She thought quickly. Any minute now, the damage to Dyson’s cell would be discovered, or flight crews would begin coming to the bay. She and Dyson and Rasora needed to leave, but even if they left, the fighter she had repaired would have the same problem with the guidance unit having an override. She would have to do something more drastic. “Major Dyson, may I have permission to join the Alliance?”
He laughed grimly. “You’ve got it. Plus a field promotion to the rank of Captain, which will become official if we ever get out of here.”
“Thank you.” She exhaled, releasing tension. “Renée Chevalier once wrote, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman that’s been done dirt.’”
He smiled. “So what are you going to do?”
The voices inside her began to whisper and a plan condensed, a dangerous and lethal plan. She lifted her chin.
“Watch and see.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cosette activated the bay’s computer terminal while Dyson guarded the sullen Garale. If nothing had been changed, she should be able to interact with the station’s main computer as though she were on the command deck.
She tapped the keys, tested systems, and found everything operational.
She ran her hands through her hair nervously as she reviewed her plans. From everything she knew about the station, her strategy seemed sound. She hoped her tactics were sound also. Every step depended on the previous step to work. There was no room for error.
She glanced at Dyson, who even in his yellow prison outfit managed to look handsome. “Major?”
“Yes?”
“I’m about to record something, so don’t make any noise. Garale, if you try to say something I’ll just re-record this, so don’t try to play the hero by interrupting me.”
Garale glared at her through his puffy eyes and muttered something unrepeatable. His face was swelling and turning colors.
She looked at the clock, pressed a key and spoke with what she hoped was an authoritative voice. “This is not a drill. You must evacuate this entire station immediately. Run, do not walk, to the nearest escape pod. Missiles will explode in three minutes within the confines of this station, and it will be destroyed. You have three minutes to evacuate this station or die.” She paused, watching the second hand.
“This is not a drill. You now have only two minutes and thirty seconds to evacuate this station. Check the missiles in the cruiser in B
ay Three; you will see that they are armed and counting down. They cannot be stopped. You will die if you do not run to the nearest escape pod and evacuate.
“You now have only two minutes to evacuate this station….” She continued recording until the three minutes had elapsed, and she pressed the key again. She set the recording to play over the station’s loudspeakers when she ran it.
She next made sure that the loudspeaker system around the station could not be shut down by the central command, and that they could not override the proper release of the escape pods. With the knowledge burned into her brain about every system in the station, and with the help of the voices whispering to her, she tried to anticipate any maneuvers the ruling officers might attempt.
She reached above the keyboard and pressed a button, connecting her microphone directly to the station’s speakers. “Cadet Rasora, you will report to Maintenance Bay Number Three immediately, and I mean immediately.” Her words echoed in the bay and, if she had the settings right, throughout the station.
She called to Dyson as she ran towards their captured Union cruiser. “Major, when Rasora gets here, shoot the keypads on both entrances.”
“That will lock us in. Are you sure?”
“It will also lock everyone else out. I’m sure.”
She opened the cruiser’s lower bay where the missiles were kept and climbed inside. She opened the side of a missile and inspected it carefully. These were the blockbuster missiles, the ones that could take out a city, not the small tactical missiles that the fighters carried. She shivered at the power that lay in the long thick cylinders.
Inside her brain lay the schematics of the missile, and she inspected its circuitry to see if it had been modified. Seeing no changes, she put her hands on the timer.
Five minutes. I need to do it all in five minutes. I can’t take longer; they might break in and disable these missiles. I’ve got to time this right.
Captain Cosette Page 15
