Buccaneer: Starship Renegades, Book 4

by S. J. Bryant

  The next stage of her plan was straightforward, if not easy. She just had to go through the ship, kill the pirates, and release the prisoners. Simple.

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had to keep absolutely still until the very last minute. Then she'd have to be quick. As soon as the pirates saw her moving, they'd raise the alarm. And how many of the bastards were there on this ship? Based on the size and the number of different people that had brought them their meals, Wren guessed there had to be at least a hundred. A small mercenary army. Nothing she couldn't take provided she had some element of surprise. And a weapon.

  Wren shifted her legs. No knives in her boots or tucked into her belt. Okay, she'd have to improvise. But with what? It's not like she could use the crates as a weapon. She could try breaking in and seeing what they held, but it was probably food or something equally useless and she'd waste precious time opening them when she should be out, killing.

  That's what she needed, blood on her hands.

  For weeks—ever since she'd seen the Guild job on her head—she'd been wallowing in a pit of despair. The Guild was her life, her identity, and without it… she felt like a piece of debris floating through space, useless and utterly alone. Sure, she had Kari and the rest of the crew, but they would never understand her, not like her fellow Guild members. Kari and the others would always look at her as a weirdo, an outsider, dangerous. And could she blame them? She'd tried to kill Kari, so how could she expect trust? But then where the hell did that leave her now that the Guild had kicked her out?

  Wren tried to drive the thoughts away, but they kept swarming back to her, like a plague of bugs. But she could always wash herself clean with blood. That was the way of life—it always ended in death. And she was meant to kill. No one did it better than her, it was her calling, her life, and she knew deep in her heart that if she could just get back into it, then she wouldn't feel so damn lost.

  Now was as good a time as any. There were a hundred pirates out there just waiting to feel the sting of her knife, or the crushing force of her hands if she couldn't find a knife in time.

  Wren drew shallow breaths that barely disturbed her chest and she tensed each of her muscles in turn, without actually twitching or moving anything. This way they'd be warmed up, and hopefully somewhat recovered from her almost death, when she did decide to move.

  Nothing in the room gave any indication of what floor she was on, or where the prisoners were. She'd just have to take a gamble and kill anyone she came across until she worked out how to free Kari and the others. Fine, if she was meant to live, she would, and if not…

  Wren braced herself, counted to three, and on the last beat she tore the body bag open and lurched to her feet.

  Her knees wavered, threatening to give out under her weight, but she didn't stop, instead diving for the door. She leaned hard on the handle before her legs collapsed and used it for support as she shoved it open.

  A hallway led off in both directions from the storage room. She glanced left, then right. No signs or anything to indicate which way to go. She turned left and ran in an uneven jog down the corridor. Her legs burned as if she'd run a marathon and a sharp pain pierced her left temple, like a drill being driven into her skull.

  She ignored it. Pain responses were for the weak and the dead, and she was neither.

  Cameras blinked from the ceiling. It was only a matter of time before they spotted her. It all depended on how vigilant their lookout was. Hopefully he'd be too busy watching the porn channel on a different screen to take any notice of her.

  Her legs quaked, and she stumbled against the left-hand wall. Dammit! She hated feeling weak. She'd spent her whole life training and honing her muscles, she hadn't done it so they'd give out at the first hint of poison.

  She pushed herself upright and kept running.

  Twenty feet further down she came to a door that hissed open as she approached. Long lines of shelves created dark corridors in the room beyond. A man in a puffed white shirt and black leather boots glanced up at her from a hand-held computer. He opened his mouth but whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips as he saw her. He fumbled with the computer, no doubt trying to call for help.

  Wren lunged at him, knocking the computer out of his hands. It clattered to the ground and a spiderweb of cracks burst across the screen.

  She wrapped one arm around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides, and twisted her other arm around his neck.

  He let out a startled croak before she crushed all the air from his windpipe. He strained to get free but his thin arms couldn't break Wren's grip.

  Dizziness washed over Wren but she forced herself to squeeze tighter. If she slipped for even a second, the man would have the chance to call for help, then she was as good as dead. She clutched him tight against her body and the sour smell of sweat overlaid with cheap cologne leaked out of him.

  His face turned red, then purple. Tiny blood vessels stood out in his eyes then burst, tainting his eyes pink which made Wren's own eyes water. A trickle of spit leaked out of the corner of his mouth, before he went limp in Wren's arms.

  The sudden weight of him dragged her to the floor but she kept a tight grip on his neck to be sure he died. She felt for a pulse at his wrist with her other hand. Nothing. Only then did she release his head. It flopped to the side, banging against the metal floor.

  Wren stood over the body, breathing hard.

  Strangling was a messy way of doing business. She needed a knife, or at least something sharp, or it was going to be a very long day. They'd probably already raised the alarm, had perhaps watched her kill the man and were waiting on the other side of the door.

  She straightened and looked around. Another storeroom, only this one was filled with stuff. And there, just three shelves over, exactly what she needed.

  A collection of sharp cooking knives lay stacked beside a pile of pans and a cheese grater. They gleamed in the overhead lights: meat-cleavers, filleting knives, and a dozen steak knives. Whatever else these pirates had planned, they intended to eat well while doing it. She shoved a paring knife into each boot and a few steak knives into her belt. She hefted a meat-cleaver, appreciating the weight of it in her hand. If she swung it right, she'd be able to cut right through Blanchard's neck.

  She sighed and put it back on the shelf. As much as she wanted the cleaver, it was not the weapon she needed. She needed to be fast, mobile, and deadly. The meat-cleaver would do a lot of damage but too slowly. Seeing as the enemy would likely have pistols and all manner of other weapons, the only thing she had going for her was speed.

  She settled for an all-purpose knife with a sharp blade and held it out in front of her as she crept back toward the door. The cameras in every room put her at a major disadvantage because the pirates would know everything she did—provided they communicated. If they were waiting on the other side of the door for her, they'd know she had a knife, hell, they'd know exactly where she was standing and be able to shoot her as soon as the door opened.

  So what the hell was she supposed to do?

  Be unpredictable. That was the only way. The rapid thud of her heartbeat and the rush of adrenalin had flushed most of the poison away and her muscles ached less. Still, if past experience had taught her anything, it was that she'd pay for it all the next day… if she lived that long.

  She crouched behind the door and drew a deep breath. This was it.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wren burst through the door, knife raised.

  A bright flash of light slashed over her right shoulder followed by a wave of heat.

  She ducked out of the way of the plasma blast and dove forward, burying her shoulder into someone's stomach and carrying them both down the corridor. They slammed into a wall and the person she'd rammed into grunted.

  Wren pulled back just enough to bury her knife into the man's chest and then darted away before a stream of plasma blasts lit up the hallway. The stray shots hit the man she'd just stabbed and turned
his skin to smoking, blackened chunks.

  The sharp crack of the guns echoed in the confined hallway like lightning.

  Wren crouched low and ran toward the man with the gun, hugging the wall.

  A young face, a crisp uniform, and he shot from the waist; a new recruit. He wore a large hat at an angle over his face which he probably thought looked jaunty but in reality just blocked his vision.

  Wren ducked into the blind spot created by the hat and knocked the gun aside. She slashed her knife across his throat and a spurt of red splattered the floor around them.

  Shouts and raised voices, accompanied by the pounding of footsteps in the distance.

  These two had been stupid to try to face Wren on their own, but then, they hadn't known what she was.

  With these two dead, Wren calculated at least ninety-eight pirates who were probably on their way to kill her.

  Wren's heart had barely quickened and she took in regular, even breaths. She plucked the plasma pistol from the dead man's fingers and checked the charge. Still good.

  It sounded as though the pirates would come at her from both directions. Not ideal because she couldn't protect her back. But if they wanted to play hard-to-kill, then that was fine with her. She needed the practice.

  Her boot splashed in a puddle of warm blood. She reveled in the way the crimson droplets glinted on the metal floor. This was how it was supposed to be—her killing, and others dying. It made the Universe feel right and a slow smile spread over her face. Let the pirates come. It would only mean death for them because the Universe wanted Wren to kill, and kill she would.

  The first group of pirates rounded the corner to her right. They were already running toward her before they took note of the gun in her hand, and by then it was too late.

  The three women at the front of the group collapsed, their colored silk shirts turned to blackened rags by Wren's plasma pistol. The others tried to back up, to return to the relative safety of the corner but those behind blocked the way and pushed them forward, into Wren's steady stream of shots.

  She killed another six before they had the sense to pull their own weapons. Red and blue streams of energy careened down the passage and forced Wren to dart out of the way. The narrow corridor left little room for dodging and a blast caught her on the back of the arm. Sharp pain slashed through her elbow and into her shoulder. She clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. What was pain? Transient.

  She staggered down the corridor to a small alcove just as the second group of pirates rounded the other corner. They must have heard the gunfire because they entered the hall already firing. Some of the shots skimmed across Wren's alcove but most of them slammed straight into the pirates at the other end of the passage.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "You got my bloody arm!"

  In the confusion, Wren crouched and leaned into the corridor, firing a stream of shots at the newcomers. Two went down with flaming holes in their heads. The rest pushed and shoved against each other to get out of the line of fire.

  Hot pain wracked Wren's left arm but she pushed it aside. She could fight almost as well with one hand, and with a plasma pistol she could have fought with just one finger. Guns really took the finesse out of fighting and killing.

  "You didn't say she had a gun."

  "Why the hell did you think we were shooting?"

  "Because you're obviously trigger-happy?"

  Wren let them bicker. As long as they kept talking, then she knew exactly where they were standing. She listened to the echo of the corridor and then stretched her hand—with the gun—out of the safety of the alcove and fired without needing to look.

  A grunt.

  She adjusted the gun a half inch to the left and fired twice more. Two more gargled screams.

  Guns clicked. She withdrew her arm into the alcove just as a stream of plasma blasts slammed into the wall.

  Killing without seeing was an important skill, and one she'd taken to with a passion as soon as Guildmaster Silvan had shown her the way. Some people said it was cowardly to kill an opponent without looking them in the eye. Wren figured it was cowardly to let yourself die because of some misplaced concept of honor.

  "Bloody hell, there are twenty of us," said a male voice. "Let's just get this over with."

  Wren agreed. She didn't enjoy crouching in alcoves. Let them come.

  A thunder of footsteps from both directions. She could imagine the two groups of pirates closing in on her. They'd have guns out, but they wouldn't fire until they had sight on her to avoid shooting each other. She had no such concerns, and the closer they got, the bigger target they made.

  From the noise, she judged that she could fire blindly down either direction of the hallway and be guaranteed to hit someone. Not a fatal shot perhaps, although it would do a lot of damage and definitely take them out of this battle.

  She forced herself to wait another second, letting the pirates draw even closer, and then she rolled out of the alcove, firing. Bright sparks of plasma lit up the narrow passage and cast the faces of the pirates into sharp relief. Their fancy clothes and angled hats caught fire as easily as any other cloth and in the first roll, six more pirates went down, howling.

  "Kill her!"

  Safety concerns fell away and both groups started firing on Wren like a bunch of overactive children in a shooting gallery. Neon balls of energy slammed into the floor all around her, searing her skin.

  Wren kept moving, dodging and rolling. Some of the shots got close, more from pure luck and volume than any skill of the shooters, and patches of Wren's skin turned red and blistered. She ignored the pain and kept firing. The narrow corridor forced her attackers to stand close together, several people deep, and it was as easy as shooting rocks in a rock garden.

  A handful of people died, blood gurgling in their throats, before a man near the front, the one who she'd heard talking before, said, "Retreat! Dammit, retreat!"

  Like a dam breaking, the remaining pirates turned and ran from Wren. They didn't even bother shooting over their shoulders, or making an orderly retreat and protecting their own rears. Instead, they turned their backs on Wren and pushed against each other to get out of the corridor. Mistake.

  Wren took her time, lining up the pistol, and fired at the woman closest to escaping around the corner. She collapsed. Wren repeated the process eight times. Each time she got a direct head shot and the person she'd been aiming at crumpled to the floor, blocking the way and tripping those behind.

  If she didn't have to keep changing direction, she could have killed them all. As it was, there were still eleven of this bunch left, and many more on the ship. Probably watching her.

  She still hadn't caught any sight of Blanchard or Taylor and she knew they were around somewhere. Had they realized what she was yet? Did they realize the kind of danger they'd brought on themselves by taking her prisoner? Probably not. No one understood the true danger of the Guild until they stood bare before it with a knife against their throats.

  Thoughts of the Guild made Wren's stomach twist and some of the thrill of battle leaked out of her. This would have been a tale worth repeating, but who would she tell now? Kari and the others might listen, but they wouldn't appreciate the combat mastery, the thrill, the feel of warm blood and cold skin.

  The smile on Wren's face died.

  Killing felt right, it was what she was meant to do. But then where the hell did that leave her if she didn't have the Guild?

  Whispering voices brought Wren out of her thoughts and she cursed her own stupidity. She still stood in the middle of the corridor—surrounded by bodies—with what was left of the pirates blocking both ends of the passage. Any one of them could have darted around and shot her while she'd been daydreaming, and she'd be as dead as the corpses at her feet. Stupid.

  She gripped her gun harder, forcing herself to concentrate. She had to find a way to release the other prisoners and she also had to find Taylor and Blanchard. It would also be good to acces
s the security logs so she knew how many of these bastards she still had to kill. Fifty was a fine guess, but guessing would only get her dead if she was even one person off and assumed herself safe when she wasn't.

  Easy then. She had to take it easy.

  She kept the gun up and strolled down the corridor, toward the corner and the low, muttered voices that crept around it.

  "Hand yourselves in," she said. "And you won't die."

  "We can't trust you, demon," a voice replied.

  Wren sighed and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. A demon? Really. These people were taking the superstitious pirate thing way too far.

  "I don't care either way," Wren said. "In fact, it's much more fun and easier for me if I just kill you. So, by all means, stay where you are."

  Silence followed that statement and Wren could imagine them looking at each other, trying to work out if she was telling the truth, assessing if she could kill them all.

  "Don't be stupid," she said. "Look at what happened to your companions."

  "You're a liar and a witch!" A thin man burst from around the corner and fired at her.

  Wren stepped out of the way, feeling the brush of passing air, before firing a single shot.

  It slammed into the young man's forehead, right between the eyes, and he crumpled backward like a felled tree. His gun clattered out of his hand and skidded a few feet across the floor.

  A rush of adrenalin and excitement flushed through Wren as his body dropped. She always felt a special sense of accomplishment when she got a perfect hit.

  "Anyone else?" she said.

  CHAPTER 19

  "Well?" Kari said, sidling up beside Atticus. She'd done her best to be patient but she could feel their time dribbling away. How long could they have before they reached the slave-trading planet? Not long. Then they were as good as dead. She couldn't let that happen, not to Piper and not to the others.

  "I need time," he said.