Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3)

by Blaze Ward

  “Conundrum, Doc,” she nodded back.

  “No,” he whispered back. “Not really.”

  She weren’t fast enough to catch Doc Crncevic as he surged to his feet and stepped around them into the room.

  “What’re’ya’doin’?” Arlo hissed, flipped the safety off and trying to scan every direction at once.

  Doc stopped and looked at them with all the seriousness of Father Time.

  “Finding the assassin,” he said back. “Moirrey is too important to risk. You need to be able to fire back. We’re all expendable, but I’m the most so. Ergo, I lead. Let’s move.”

  Moirrey bit back a tart retort. Weren’t the place. And the doc were right. Bigger’n all of them. And nobody gots ta live forever, ’ceptin’ maybe Suvi, if they pulled this off.

  She stayed close to Arlo’s shadow, looking back at her flanks constantly, pistol sniffing corners like a hunting dog trying to find the rabbit. He were doing the same, so they probably looked like Cerberus, heads wagging in counter–syncopated rhythm.

  Didn’t do any good.

  But the bad guy did make a right serious mistake.

  Moirrey caught movement on her left.

  “Duck!” she yelled, diving headlong fer cover as she did so. Bad guy didn’t shoot at her. He’d’a prolly killed her this time if he had. Or maybe she moved quick enough and threw off his shot.

  Bastard drilled Arlo dead–center.

  Moirrey found herself half under a cooling array control board. One of those big ones like a sound mixing board from a dance club, with a hunnert dials and matching vertical sliders for tweaking things.

  Even from here, three meters away, she could smell cooked meat.

  Arlo were on his side, dragging himself painfully under some kind of cover.

  It were a stupid idea, but Moirrey had a full three dimensional map of the room in her mind. Second nature fer an engineer in a room like this. Locate every damned things that might be risky and hold your place in the room at all times, so you dinna back yer butt into a button that might make things go boom.

  Dipshit over there were on a catwalk. Dark and nearly invisible, but zero cover. And there were nothing behind him that would cause problems in the next thirty–six hours if she boomed it.

  Moirrey half–stood and popped off three shots in roughly the right direction, spreading ‘em like old–fashioned torpedoes in an aquatic navy game. Catch him moving either way, or staying still.

  And then back under cover before he found her.

  And slide yer silly ass to the left.

  He would be expecting her to close with Doc and Arlo, would be aiming there. She might get around his line of sight and find his catwalk before he got his ass away.

  She owed him. Double so if he killed Arlo.

  “Centurion,” Doc yelled loudly across the entire room. “Arlo is wounded, but it’s not bad. Marines come with trauma plates. This one took most of it.”

  Yup. Paranoid bastard intent on invading Guatemala. Now she had to get the bad guy so’s Arlo could get to a med–bay.

  Moirrey took a deep breath and popped from cover, firing as she did.

  Almost got the bugger, too.

  She had him, dead. And he still got away.

  Moirrey were pretty sure she’d never seen a human move that quickly. She might have touched him with a bolt, but it looked like most of the energy liberated on a rail as he slid off and dove headlong into open space. It were like watching a flyin’ squirrel do his thing.

  She threw herself sideways as well, getting the pistol over the side of the stairwell and firing a shot. Bastard got the hatch closed, er she’d’a drilled him the butt. Instead, she got sparks.

  Crap.

  Moirrey raced back to the boys.

  “Doc, I’m comin’. Where ya at?”

  “Here.”

  She saw a hand emerge from behind a console and ran towards it.

  Doc were doing the first aid thing. Arlo’s eyes were closed. His chest plate had kinda exploded, so there were blood everywhere, but none of it was pumping or pulsing. Smelled like fresh sausage. Moirrey were pretty sure she were never eating meat again.

  “How is he?” she whispered.

  Arlo’s eyes fluttered open.

  “You get him?” he said breathily.

  Good, no fluid rattle in his voice. All the damage were outside the lungs.

  “He got away,” she replied.

  Arlo nodded.

  “Problem, boss.”

  She looked at the doc.

  He reached up and pushed a red button on Arlo’s collar. It had been hidden under a flap.

  There was a hiss and Arlo’s went limp almost instantly.

  “Massive pain killer, Centurion,” Doc said authoritatively. “I wanted him awake long enough that you could see. He’s badly hurt, but nothing that can’t be fixed in a med–bay. I can do much of it, but he will be immobile and I cannot leave him.”

  She nodded. Curse o’ command.

  She spotted a wheeled cart locked down nearby and pointed.

  “Can you get him to a drop pod?” she asked. “You’ll both be way safer on the surface. I gots to save Suvi.”

  He looked closely at her for a second.

  “Yes, sir,” he responded.

  “Go.”

  Moirrey made good her own words and stood up. She’d made bad guy go sideways this time, so she could get past him. T’weren’t much time, but Suvi didn’t need time.

  She needed hands.

  Moirrey could do that for her.

  Then she was going to kill the bastard that’d hurt Arlo.

  Chapter L

  Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard

  Jouster checked the line one last time. It might be da Vinci’s team today, but he got to make the call.

  Everything looked good.

  He was still sitting on the outside flank and would lead everyone to port when they took their shot. Bitter Kitten had the starboard wing. If the bad guys turned right now, she’d be on point. She could handle it. And she had the two crazy–ass kids with her.

  “Flight wing, this is Jouster, we are inside the envelope,” he said suavely. Let’s have everyone listen to what a stud I am today. Too bad it was encrypted and the Imperials can’t listen too.

  “Starfall, Damocles, Necromancer, give me your targeting status.”

  Green lights came on next to each icon on his board.

  He looked down–range, picked out the two smaller vessels, almost silhouettes against the big battleship.

  Time to get stupid.

  “Flight wing, fire at will.”

  Moirrey had assured them that the flash protection on their cockpit windows, plus the filtering built directly into his flight helmet, would protect his eyesight.

  Still, there was a difference between going blind and seeing stars.

  He knew better than to be looking to his right when all hell broke loose. But there was still enough trace atmosphere, even at this distance from the planet, to fluoresce.

  Five Primary beams lit out at almost the same instant. Three hit, lighting up that little escort like a blowtorch against a snowman.

  “Mayday, mayday,” a woman’s voice suddenly came over the comm. Her stress levels were off the chart. “I have an emergency.”

  Jouster recognized the commander of Damocles’ voice, Flight Centurion Liela Ketevan.

  He looked over.

  Damocles was tumbling on a corner axis. A significant chunk of her port side and rear was just gone, boiling away in a cloud of flames and out–gassing.

  “Damocles,” he called. “Shut everything down and go dark right now.”

  “Not a lot of choice about that, Jouster,” Liela said. “Anybody know what happened?”

  The commander of the Gunship Necromancer answered.

  “Damocles,” Anastazja Slusarczyk said, “your port primary shell detonated on the wing instead of firing. And, much as Gaucho would love to com
e get you, this is about to be the center of the battlefield shortly.”

  “Roger that. Going dark. Send help when you can.”

  Jouster could hear the sound of a solitary death in Liela’s voice.

  Ξ

  The voices on the comm filled her with melancholy for a second. Jessica knew that Damocles was probably doomed. It would be insane to send the DropShip into the middle of that to try to rescue the survivors of the bomber, if there were any by the time Gaucho got there.

  And yet…

  “Bridge, this is Keller,” she said quietly. This wasn’t the squadron flag calling. This was the Command Centurion responsible for the warship Auberon looking after her own.

  “Go ahead,” Denis replied instantly.

  “How quietly can you launch Cayenne, if we mask him with a full barrage of missiles and primaries from everyone?”

  “Church mouse, Commander,” he said.

  Good. She knew Hollis was fuming at her right now. Crazy pilots always wanted to be in the thick of things. Gaucho was worse than most.

  “Roger that, Denis,” she said. “You are authorized to let the church mouse out of his cage. Time it to the next salvo. Warn Jouster on the flight wing channel so he can distract if he needs to.”

  There were two ways to maneuver the two closing forces right now. Both had advantages and flaws. Neither outweighed the other. One of them would let Auberon rescue one of her downed hawks in the middle of the battle.

  Good enough.

  “Sensors, this is the flag,” she continued, firm again. Hard–charging, nail–chewing bad–ass warrior in charge. “What’s the score on SturmTeufel?”

  “Leaking badly, Commander,” Giroux replied. “Stralsund and Rajput both concentrated enough fire on her to collapse her rear shields, even at extreme range. It wasn’t like the escort got, but there was enough left over to draw blood. He’s running away fast enough to burn out his engines at the moment.”

  “Acknowledged,” she said.

  It wasn’t going to be enough to drive the Red Admiral off.

  Nothing but death would likely do that now. But he was going to have paid a terrible price when this was done. Two of three escorts completely destroyed, likely with very few survivors, unless the battle moved far enough afield, quickly enough, that she could order rescue units into the area. The light cruiser had been hammered enough to knock her mostly out of the battle, unless her captain was suicidal.

  So, a battleship, a battlecruiser, and a single escort, against a battlecruiser, a Strike Carrier, two destroyers, CR–264 and her flight wing. Even with Moirrey’s few remaining rabbits, it was too close. If she hadn’t badly hurt the light cruiser, she might have to order Ballard’s militia wing into a charge, rather than holding them back to protect Alexandria Station against the risk of one of the Imperials deciding to launch a ballistic shot at Suvi when Jessica might not be able to stop it.

  As it was, the casualties were only going to get worse from here.

  “Flag, sensors,” Giroux called. “Blackbird is turning inward. Repeat, Blackbird’s coming around towards us.”

  And there it was. She had finally made him angry. Now, he was coming to kill her.

  Do your worst, Emmerich.

  Chapter LI

  Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard

  The map in her mind were highlighted with safe paths, questionable routes, and crazy things she might have to do if the assassin got ahead of her again.

  Moirrey checked the charge on her pistol. At least she could give him a good fight, were it to come to that.

  She were mostly across the big cooling room now, head on a swivel as she skittered.

  If she knew how, she’d’a spun up the lights and the air system, make this look like it were supposed to be. You know, bright and friendly. This ominous crap were getting on her nerves. Too many sounds, any of which could be a footfall, or a voice, or a shot out of the dark.

  Suvi could have fixed it. Hopefully she weren’t dead right now already.

  Moirrey paused at the last big gap. It looked like the kinda place had been a lift down to a lower level. Probably once upon a time when there was a hangar deck close by and you wanted to move big bits around. Nothing heavy there now, just boxes stacked kinda randomly. Great fer ominous. Terrible for her nerves.

  She thought jackrabbit thoughts about hawks. She took a deep breath.

  Moirrey surged out of cover and ran across the first open space to a stack of ancient wooden shipping crates. She threw herself into a slide and went as flat as she could.

  Good thing, too.

  The box above her exploded with wood shrapnel as the first shot missed her belly button.

  Bastard had circled back and were waiting.

  Somewhere on her left, but she weren’t sure. Still, rabbits and hawks. Fast flyers, good eyesight. Dumb as rocks.

  Moirrey tucked the pistol back into her pocket with a wicked smile.

  All that adrenaline surged into her butt muscles as she stood up suddenly and shot–putted the half–burning box across the room to her right. She let the inertia push her to the left and scampered sideways.

  Another shot rang out.

  Blowed that box up but good.

  The pillar she found her butt up against were cold. That might be her running at a hunnert–ten percent right now. She drew the pistol again and put two quick shots into what might have been the old elevator console.

  It went boom real good too. This time, the station systems got smart. Smoke and heat detectors went off.

  Sirens and silliness.

  Any moment, emergency sprinklers. Bad for flames, even worse for guns.

  Whoosh, right on schedule.

  Water, water, everywhere. Someone gimme a pelican.

  Moirrey stuffed the pistol in her pocket and bolted for the next hatch. A hand on the red button and it schooshed open. She jumped through as a shot warmed her back and knocked her down.

  All the wet would help, and it had been low enough to not scorch her wet hair.

  Good thing about falling water and beam weapons.

  No time to get to the door lock. He had to be right on her ass. Gotta get to the next door.

  Moirrey threw herself upright and down the hall at a staggering run that strengthened as she found her stride. Just in case, she pulled the pistol and made it to the door she wanted.

  Moirrey fired the first shot back blind. The hallway were only so long and so wide. Not lots of chance to miss, and nothing important here to hit.

  Good thing, too. He were just coming into the doorway when she bammed it.

  Good, get him ducked back.

  Fire another shot about NOW.

  Door sensor panel. There. Bang it with the free hand.

  Come on, damn it. OPEN.

  Moirrey slid through as soon as the door cracked enough to not squish her boobs and threw her hand at the inside panel to close it.

  “Centurion Kermode,” Suvi said. “You appear to be soaking wet and slightly damaged by blaster fire, are you well?”

  “Can you lock this door? Right now?”

  Something went slam inside the wall. Kinda like a bank vault, sounded like a guillotine. Whatever. Keep the bad guy out of this space. At least for a little bit.

  “What happened?” Suvi continued.

  “I’ll explains it all later,” Moirrey said as she let the energy start to bleed off. “Where’s it at?”

  “Right here, Moirrey.”

  On a nearby wall, a panel lit up and slowly opened into the room. It were almost like her ma’s old cast–iron stove door, solid and heavy as it came horizontal towards her.

  Moments like this, celestial music should spin up. Moirrey made a note to talk to the sound crew and see if they could fix that next time.

  And then she giggled to herself.

  Behind her, something thumped. Sounded an awful lot like someone shooting the door. Maybe he’d be dumb enough to blast the lock mechanism. T
hen it’d take him forever to get in.

  She didn’t need long. Just needed to get away afterwards.

  Chapter LII

  Imperial Founding: 172/06/16. Ballard system

  Okay, that was well and truly enough.

  Emmerich’s breath sounded loud in his own ears as his breath rasped.

  The projection did not lie. SturmTeufel had just had a knife stuck in her back by Jessica Keller. The warship might not make it back to civilization, depending on how much time they had after Alexandria Station was destroyed.

  Emmerich briefly considered a tactical assault on the planetary militia station. He had more marine boarding party crew members than they probably had people on the entire station. Certainly he could ransom their lives against repair work on his squadron. That wasn’t quite piracy, according to the written and unwritten rules of warfare.

  First, Jessica Keller needed to die.

  This had gone on too long already.

  “Captain,” he commanded in his most stern voice. “Bring the squadron around and protect the wounded. I want a reciprocal intercept course with Auberon. We are going to go at them now and kill them.”

  It was a mark of the other man’s anger that he merely nodded, apparently unwilling to speak at this moment.

  “Squadron,” Baumgärtner turned to the room instead and spoke loud enough to be heard by the entire room. “All vessels slow to zero thrust, turn to one–three–zero, and prepare to accelerate. SturmTeufel at the rear. Essert in the center. All weapons are cleared to engage at maximum range. Missiles maintain defensive engagement. Primary target for Amsel is the battlecruiser. Primary target for Petrograd is Auberon. Engage the smaller craft purely as targets of opportunity as you bear.”

  Hendrik looked at his admiral with a silent question.

  Emmerich nodded.

  All of Keller’s tricks, and Kermode’s, would avail them nothing now. This would be mass and violence at close range, with vessels that outweighed and outgunned the Aquitaine squadron significantly.

  This was the Reaper, coming to collect their souls. Creator only knew how many men he had lost today aboard Kappel, Baasch, and SturmTeufel. He wanted her blood to balance the scales.