by S. J. Bryant
CHAPTER 21
Wren stood in the middle of a room of bodies. Blood coated her arms up to the elbows and pulled on her skin when she moved her hands. A metallic tang filled the air and streaks of red broke the dull gray of the walls.
She stood heaving, her chest pumping and the blood pounding behind her eyes. How many had she killed? A dozen? A hundred? She'd lost count. It was as if she'd been spinning in the eye of a storm. All around her plasma blasts and blades had swirled, but her own mind had stayed frozen in place. Cold. Emotionless.
The ventilation whirred—the only noise in the room of bodies.
Wren reached up and wiped a drop of warm blood from her cheek. It added a brighter layer of crimson to her fingertips.
What had she done?
She looked around at the bodies, at the mangled corpses piled against one another. She didn't remember there being so many people, so many pirates, but here they were. The bright splashes of blood made a mockery of their garish clothes, soaking through the puffy white sleeves. Severed fingers and hands lay about the room between the grinning smiles of slit throats.
Wren knelt and wiped her bloodied dagger on the nearest body's shirt, leaving it streaked red. Only when the blade shone silver did she return it to her belt.
She'd done what had to be done. She'd had a mission: find a way to save the others. And she'd done it, hadn't she?
During the killing she'd been numb and for the first time since she'd discovered the Guild's price on her head, she'd been free of the sadness. Now it returned with the fury of a thousand storms and her knees quaked, threatening to drop her to the floor amongst the sea of bodies she'd created. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She should have been relishing in the kill, and she had—briefly—but how could she enjoy it properly when the Guild wasn't there to support her? When if the Guild knew where she was… she'd be as dead as the useless bastards around her.
She swallowed, trying not to let the lump in her throat suffocate her. She just wanted things to go back to how they had been. But they never would.
So what the hell was she going to do about it?
Wren stared up at the ceiling, at a spatter of blood that had somehow reached the roof and arced across it like a rainbow made just of red. She flexed her fingers and the dried blood tugged her skin.
She had two choices.
Everything in life came down to choices in the end. People chose to learn to fight, or they died. Now Wren had a choice. The toughest choice she remembered facing since putting up her gun when chasing Kari.
Either she had to accept that the Guild had turned its back on her—or she'd turned her back on the Guild to be more accurate—and she had been punished exactly as she deserved to be. She'd have to spend the rest of her life running, and she'd have to learn to live without the Guild. She'd have to find meaning beyond the contracts.
Or, she could kill herself right now and join the rest of the corpses.
Wren caressed the hilt of her knife where it protruded from the sheath. She could make it quick. Hell, she could probably kill herself and not even feel it. Then she wouldn't be so damn lonely. And it was what she deserved. She'd promised to dedicate her life to the Guild. She owed it to them because if not for them she would have died before she was five. But she'd broken that oath, and broken the contract. So death was what she deserved.
But dammit, now that it came to slitting her own throat. It was harder than she'd ever thought. She'd spent her whole life believing in the Guild's motto: 'atoms to atoms' and yet here she was. Afraid.
She gripped the hilt tighter and pulled the knife a half inch from the sheath. Didn't her struggle prove that she didn't deserve to keep living? She'd lost all direction, all sense of what to believe in.
A scream bubbled in the back of Wren's throat. Frustration and rage and a hundred other suppressed emotions surged in her stomach until they threatened to burst out of her in a single keening wail.
What the hell was the point? What was she clinging to?
She should just—
The faintest flash of movement caught the corner of Wren's eye at the far side of the room. She spun and at the same time pulled the knife from its sheath. She threw it across the layer of bodies and it plunged into the neck of the man who'd just leveled a plasma pistol at Wren's head.
Blood spurted around the blade and the man collapsed onto a cushion of corpses.
Wren straightened, staring at the new body and breathing hard.
She could have let him kill her. That would have solved her problem. All she'd had to do was nothing. But she couldn't… hadn't. Instead she'd killed.
And it felt right.
Wren stepped over the bodies, placing her feet between a severed finger and the burned remnants of someone's leg, to retrieve her knife. She held it up to the light to watch a drop of blood dribble down the smooth metal.
So that's how it would be.
A weight lifted off her shoulders.
She wouldn't die. Refused. But not because she'd lost her way, simply because she chose not to. Hadn't she spent her whole life learning to defend herself, learning to survive on her own in even the most terrible situations? Then dammit, that's what she'd do.
Why did she need the Guild? They'd only raised her to be a soldier for them. It was Guildmaster Silvan and the others who had lost their way. They were working for the Imperium, so they weren't holding up their end of the oath either.
The realization was like a chain snapping from around Wren's neck. It wasn't her fault. If the Guild had kept to its word and only taken independent contracts, then she would never have been asked to kill Kari and none of this would have happened. It was the Guild's fault.
Wren ground her teeth together. The drop of blood reached the knife's handle and pooled at the base. Perhaps if she could somehow tell the other Guild members, they would listen? But no… Look how long it had taken her to realize and she'd already broken her damn oath. There was no way someone still under the Guild's influence would listen to her. They'd keep taking Imperium contracts until the perks and the money ran out.
That wasn't the code.
Atoms to atoms.
So be it.
If the Guild wouldn't keep to the code, then Wren would. She would be the best damn assassin in any of the known systems. She was faster, smarter, and she'd trained for it. What did it matter if she didn't have the Guild's support? That didn't make her any less. She could still skin a man without killing him. She could still tell the difference between a knife and a sword by smell alone. She would still strike fear into the heart of anyone who knew she had a contract on them.
People might be reluctant to go around the Guild at first. But, so what?
It was time to break the cycle. And when she was recognized as the best, then people would listen, and she'd reveal the Guild for the hypocrites they were. Then she'd find Guildmaster Silvan and tear out her lying tongue.
But first she'd have to find the rest of the crew.
Wren turned to go but a strange smell caught her nostrils. She frowned and tilted her head. She knew that smell.
Gas.
CHAPTER 22
Wren drew another poisoned breath and staggered down the hallway. Her fuzzy vision turned the sharp lines of the corridor to blurry masses that made it hard to navigate. What the hell was going on? Had the ship chosen this exact moment to crack a major leak? The coincidence seemed unlikely, and the maintenance monitor would have picked it up before it got this bad. But Wren had been stumbling for five minutes at least and yet the cloud of gas hadn't got any thinner. If anything, it was worse, filling her lungs and choking her.
Most people probably wouldn't have even been able to smell it until it was too late, but Wren's enhanced senses had picked up the scent before it could kill her. Not that it had done much good seeing as she couldn't seem to outrun it. She had to get to an independent air supply, then she could breathe while she came up with a way to save the others. It was damn sure the p
irates wouldn't think of saving the prisoners until it was too late, and that was if the idiot pirates survived.
Wren had already passed one body lying twisted on the floor, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Wren's stamina had kept her alive this long, but her body had already taken a battering and she could feel the strength in her muscles fading.
Don't be weak. She could hear Guildmaster Silvan's voice in her ear as if the other woman stood right behind her shoulder. Even though Wren had given up on trying to please the Guild, the memories she'd got there wouldn't leave so easily. But hell, if it kept her alive, then so be it.
She rounded a corner and shuffled to a stop. Ghost should have been there. This was where they'd parked when that traitor Taylor had brought them here. But the airlock was empty.
Wren's heart seized, straining, and starved of oxygen. She'd have to breathe again soon. How many more doses of poison could her body take? Not many. But dammit! The ship should have been here! She could have gotten inside and used the air supply. Perhaps some bright pirate had had the same idea and then decided to fly off while things were going well.
Coward.
Wren's head spun. She leaned against the wall to steady herself. Not much longer. She drew a ragged breath and it burned her throat. The acrid smell of engine fuel scorched her sinuses and made her eyes water. The small puff of air brought little relief; her body yearned for more oxygen.
After everything she'd been through, she would not suffocate like this.
She turned away from the empty airlock and ran in a stumbling, sideways shuffle down the corridor. There had to be somewhere inside the ship that was safe. Ships were filled with oxygen. If only she could find some.
Three corners later, she spilled into a larger room with two men and a woman kneeling on the floor, gasping for air like desperate animals. Purple tinged their faces and the blood vessels in the woman's eyes had burst, turning the whites a bloody crimson. She looked up as Wren entered, her red eyes pleading.
The man closest to the doors stared at Wren, then tried to say something, but his voice failed and he sagged a little lower. He made a half-hearted attempt to reach for his gun, but his arm gave out halfway there and fell to the ground.
Wren's gaze passed over them like the roving beam of a sniper rifle and moved on. They wouldn't pose any threat to her. They'd be lucky if they stayed conscious in the time it took her to cross the room.
High-pitched ringing sounded in Wren's ears. She couldn't tell if it was an alarm, or just her own body shutting down. Her knees wobbled as she stepped around the three choking pirates, but she managed to get to the next door and fall through. Based on the vibrations coming through the floor, she was close to the engine room, but her thoughts kept getting jumbled and she didn't trust herself or her own perceptions.
What the hell was going on? How had Blanchard managed to get herself and all her people killed? Ships were supposed to have safeguards against this kind of thing and now Wren and all the others would end up dead because of Blanchard's stupidity.
Somehow through the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears, Wren felt rage. If she stumbled across Blanchard before they both died, she would make her pay. Even if it used up the last of her strength, she'd make sure Blanchard suffered.
Wren's thoughts drifted down to the cell where Ryker and Kari and the others would be sitting, most of them probably dead by now. She wished she could have done something to save them, but atoms to atoms. The best she could hope for now was to save herself. Then she might get the chance to wreak vengeance.
Why was it so hot?
Sweat poured down Wren's face and made it even harder to see.
She staggered through another door and a bright, burning light filled her blurred vision. It moved and danced, although she couldn't be sure that wasn't her dizziness playing tricks on her. What was it? It gave off so much heat, like a hot wind crashing into her, making her skin burn although she barely felt it through the numbing effects of oxygen deprivation.
A dull roar filled the room, accompanied by the heat.
It was pretty; like looking into the heart of a sun. That wasn't a bad way to go. Better than crouching on her hands and knees staring at the floor. She took a half step forward but the heat of the thing pushed her back, flicking stray strands of hair against her singed face.
Heat encompassed her and it was like being burned alive. Not a bad way to go at all.
CHAPTER 23
Ryker returned from fiddling with the lock. "It's done."
"Twenty-three minutes," Piper said. "Not bad."
"You can give him tips to improve later," Kari said. "We have to move." The fact that no guards had come to see what Ryker was doing with the door for the last twenty minutes was a good sign, but she didn't want to take any chances.
The others pushed themselves off the floor. Beads of sweat gleamed across Atticus' pale face. Ryker and Aydin looked resigned. As usual, Kari couldn't read much in Piper's expression. If only she could understand her sister like she had when they were young. But that was a long time ago, and they'd both changed a lot. Not necessarily for the better.
Kari stood over Gerbil and his people. "Are you coming?"
"Are you sure of what you'll find on the other side of that door?" Gerbil said.
Kari glanced at the thick metal that separated them from the rest of the space station. Atticus had fixed the piping so that the corridors outside were being filled with oxygen to replace the gas, but otherwise she had no idea. She expected there would be a lot of bodies, probably purple-faced from suffocation. "No," she said.
"We won't risk our lives," Gerbil said. "I'm sorry."
"There's no one left out there to kill you." Kari didn't think anyone could have survived the levels of gas they'd been pumping into the halls for the last few hours.
Gerbil shrugged. "Perhaps."
Kari did her best to keep her temper down. It was like Ryker said, these people didn't know any better, they didn't know how to fight. But for them to choose to just sit here? It took all of her patience to turn and walk away without saying anything.
Ryker tripped the lock as she approached and the metal door swung open with a soft creak.
Kari flinched and looked around. But no one appeared. If there was anyone left alive, they would have seen what Ryker was doing on the cameras and they'd be here by now. Nothing. She stepped out into the corridor, wishing she had her plasma pistol, and edged toward the next door.
There she paused and listened. She'd been so confident just seconds before, but old habits died hard. And she'd rather take a few seconds to be sure, than open the door onto a room of enemies and get shot down.
Silence, broken only by the breathing of her companions at her back.
Kari eased the door open. The faint smell of gas drifted across her. "Are the levels safe?" she said.
"Without a monitor it's impossible to know for certain. But we've given it enough time, and the smell isn't strong," Atticus said.
Kari nodded. "Right, but if anyone starts to feel faint, tell me immediately. No stupid heroes here."
A short way down the corridor they came to the first dead body: a pirate with a gun at his waist. Red and purple splotches mottled his face and his swollen tongue hung out of the corner of his mouth.
Atticus turned away and stared at the wall, hands clamped into fists. Aydin knelt by the body and tugged the gun free. He hefted it, checked the barrel.
Kari wished she'd been faster and taken the gun first. It made her skin crawl to know that Aydin was the only one of them with a weapon. Sure, he hadn't turned on them yet, and he'd tried to help when Blanchard was assessing them. But that didn't mean anything. They'd been in a desperate situation. What happened when he wasn't locked inside a cell? She kept her face expressionless and tried not to let the shiver at her neck show as she took the lead, knowing that he had a gun right behind her back.
Kari led the way without knowing exactly where to go. Unfortunately, Bla
nchard hadn't put up convenient signs pointing toward the shipping docks. But they found three more bodies around the next corner so Kari, Ryker and Atticus took a gun each. Atticus held his as if it were tainted, between thumb and forefinger and as far from his body as he could reach.
"What are you doing?" Kari said. She knew Atticus could use a gun, she'd seen him fight.
A muscle in Atticus' jaw twitched, moving beneath his skin. "It's wrong. What we've done is wrong."
"Stars protect us," Kari hissed. She snatched the gun from Atticus and shoved it toward Piper. "Trigger for shooting."
Piper took the gun and flipped it so that it spun once around her index finger and landed solidly in her palm, pointed down the corridor.
Kari stopped, mouth gaping.
"I've seen you use enough guns," Piper said, continuing down the hall.
Kari watched her for a few moments, then shook her head and hurried to catch up. Piper had handled the gun like an old pro. Could she shoot as well as she showed off? But how? It's not like they would have given her a chance to practice with weapons in the Imperium facility. Kari pushed the thoughts aside. Piper was a puzzle for another day, once they were off of this ship and safely away.
They rounded the corner and stumbled to a stop. Bodies dotted the floor, but these hadn't suffocated to death. Bright red puddles of blood stained the tiles between them and black soot stains from plasma pistols marked the walls.
"What the hell happened here?" Ryker said.
"Maybe when they started dying they blamed each other?" Aydin said.
"No," Piper said. She pointed to a cleared area in the middle of the bodies with her gun. "There was someone else here."
"Someone else boarded the station?" Kari said. Her heart fluttered. This was unexpected. She doubted that anyone who attacked a ship like this and left so many bodies would be interested in helping her and her crew. What's more, they might have gone to their ship and used their own air supply while everyone on board the space station died. That meant that her and her crew weren't the only ones alive. She shivered and glanced down the corridor from where they'd come. It looked empty enough. But how could she be sure?
