Cut to the Bone: Chains of Command Book 3

by Zen DiPietro

  Minho’s opponent was putting up more of a fight, but he didn’t have much more skill than his partner huddled on the floor.

  With a quick right hook, Minho connected with the guy’s temple and knocked him out. As he fell, Minho grabbed him to ease his landing, then cuffed his arms behind his back.

  “Where should we stick them?” he asked.

  Fallon consulted the schematic of the ship she’d glanced at while waiting for it to dock.

  “There’s no good location,” she said. “All the rooms that close off with doors will have voicecoms they could use.”

  “Where’s the closest conduit or emergency ladder?” he asked.

  “One section forward, starboard side.”

  “Grab her.” Minho nodded toward the woman as he grabbed the man by the feet and dragged him down the corridor.

  In the emergency ladder, he used another set of zip cuffs to attach them both to the wall via the cuffs they already wore. They could either stand or let their arms hang above their heads. Either way, they weren’t going to be very comfortable. The man was awake and sitting up when Fallon and Minho descended the ladder, heading for the bridge.

  “Here.” Fallon pulled open an access panel and climbed in, leading Minho toward a place that would allow them to drop into the bridge from above rather than try to get through the door. If their presence on the ship was known, surely the other two crew members would be waiting for that.

  They didn’t have any time to waste.

  “There’s no way to do this quietly,” she said when she had her hands on the access panel above the bridge.

  “Then do it loud and fast. You drop in first, while they’re surprised. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She took a deep breath, tensed all of her muscles, and wrenched the panel off, throwing it free in the same movement. Immediately, she slid forward, dangled her legs down, gripped the edge of the opening, and lowered herself down.

  She dropped two meters, landing on bent legs with only a small stumble. The impact of the landing radiated up her body even as she turned with her fists up to the tall man who had visited the boardwalk.

  “What is this?” he shouted. “Who are you?”

  She intended to answer him with a punch to his throat, but he deflected the blow and her fist glanced over his shoulder as he twisted away.

  She heard Minho behind her, but didn’t take her eyes off the tall guy.

  “Did Missiny send you?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “He’s pissed.”

  “It wasn’t me,” the man said.

  Fallon noticed his hand going to his waist. He had a weapon. A stinger, probably. Too bad. They were the least interesting way to fight.

  On the other hand, she didn’t have one because she hadn’t wanted it to be picked up by any passive sensors, so that made things a little more interesting.

  She found talking and fighting at the same time kind of fun, and since it might distract him, she thought she’d keep going with it. “I’m pissed, too.”

  Moving in while his hand was on his belt, she grabbed his elbow, yanked it back at his shoulder blade, and brought her foot down on the back of his left knee.

  He dropped and she went with him, her hand grasping for the stinger he’d been trying to reach.

  He had his fist wrapped around it. He couldn’t get it off his belt, but neither could she. And she couldn’t let go of that hand or he’d get control of the stinger and this would be all over.

  Using her body weight, she pressed down on him, keeping her hand clenched over his. She heard Minho squaring off with the other guy but couldn’t spare them a glance. She used her left hand to reach for her own belt, and pulled out a small knife, which she jammed into the man’s wrist. His hand went slack and she grabbed the stinger, pointing it at him and backing away.

  She didn’t need him awake right now, so she checked the stinger settings, then gave him a blast to knock him unconscious. She slapped some zip cuffs on him.

  One down, one to go.

  She turned to Minho and his opponent, but Minho already had him on the ground and was zip cuffing him.

  “Him too,” Minho said. “He can only cause us trouble right now.”

  With a careful shot, she knocked him unconscious, too.

  Minho stood up and looked at her. “Is that your blood?”

  She looked at her hand, which was coated in it. “No. His.”

  He nodded. “Good. You can slap a bandage on him and keep an eye on these two while I get us out of here. Once we get some distance, we’ll see what they know.”

  He sat at the helm.

  “I don’t see an emergency med kit anywhere.” She prowled the bridge, looking in all the likely places.

  “Probably doesn’t have one. Make do.” He spoke to her tersely, his eyes on the voicecom.

  The ship’s bridge wasn’t exactly brimming with makeshift bandage materials. The only real options were the clothes the four of them were wearing, and the one the tall guy wore already had a fair bit of blood on it.

  She wasn’t inclined to use her own shirt for him, either.

  Instead, she went to the guy’s crew mate, and cut his shirt off him, then fashioned it tightly around the wounded man’s wrist.

  It would have to do for now.

  On second thought, she wiped her bloody hand off on the wounded man’s pant leg. Sure, it probably added insult to injury, but she was low on options.

  Keeping an eye on their captives, she joined Minho at the helm. Standing over his shoulder, she asked, “Does Asimov know anything’s happened?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not seeing any alerts, and they haven’t contacted the ship other than to acknowledge the intention to depart.”

  “So as far as anyone there knows, everything went according to plan?” Fallon barely dared to hope it could be true.

  “Until they realize we’re not on board. I think they’ll figure something out pretty fast,” he said.

  Fallon wondered how long that would take. “Then our first priority is getting enough distance from them that they won’t find us when they come looking.”

  “Exactly. Let’s see how fast this ship can go.”

  “Move over.”

  He glanced up at her. “What?”

  “If you want to squeeze all the power we can from of this bucket, you should let me handle it.”

  He smiled suddenly. “You’re right. And also, that was really cool the way you said that.”

  She laughed. “This is a strange time for compliments.”

  “If not now, then when?” He got up and gestured grandly to the seat. “For all we know, we’ll get blown up by some crony of these guys, and this will be my last chance to say something flattering.”

  “Oh, nice,” she said sarcastically. She spared him a look of disgust before focusing all of her attention on the ship’s systems and how she could bleed out as much power as possible without damaging the propulsion system too significantly.

  Minho went to check on the captives. “They’ll be waking up before long. I’ll go clear some quarters so they can’t make trouble and stow them there. I’ll also make absolutely certain there are no other surprises on board.”

  “Good,” she said distractedly.

  “Stay aware while I’m gone, just in case,” he said.

  “Hardly needs to be said.” Like she was going to get so lost in what she was doing that she missed the baddie holding a pipe over her head until it was too late. This wasn’t a holo-vid.

  “I know,” he said as he got to the door. “But I’d rather regret saying something than regret not saying something.”

  “I thought you were going,” she said.

  He left the bridge.

  Fallon gazed at the pea-sized sphere.

  It was strange to think that the past several months of her life had been for this.

  It was stranger to think that this tiny little lump could have destroyed all of Asimov Station, had it be
en activated.

  However, its reveal had explained why Captain Lydecker would risk his career and his freedom.

  The promise of unimaginable wealth had a way of seducing people into taking terrible risks.

  “How much do you suppose this is worth?” Fallon asked Minho. The sphere was nestled inside a soft lining, which had been secured in a small priyanomine box that could fit in a person’s pocket.

  The presence of the priyanomine had made her laugh. There was a certain ridiculousness in encasing something so volatile in something that couldn’t hope to contain it that struck her as terribly funny.

  “More than you and I will ever make in our lives, that’s for sure.” Minho knelt next to her and peered at the sphere. “I’ve never seen brivinium in person.”

  “Probably because it’s all supposed to be on Briv, and even among the Briveen, I bet few people have been in the same room with it.”

  “True,” he agreed. “They probably stow it all away in some insane underground bunker.” He paused. “It’s kind of pretty.”

  It did have a shiny, iridescent quality that reminded her of Briveen scales. Though it was mostly an oily dark gray, if she moved her head one way or the other, she could see an emerald green hue moving across the surface.

  “At least these idiots didn’t try to deny knowing what it is,” Fallon said, tilting her head to indicate the four captives who remained imprisoned in the quarters next door, which Minho had fashioned into a makeshift brig.

  “Actually,” Minho countered, “it could have been kind of amusing to watch them try.”

  She smiled. “I guess. But what do we do with it? We can’t exactly take it back to Jamestown. Or anywhere within the vicinity of life of any kind.”

  Brivinium wasn’t particularly volatile, until it was detonated. But it only took a very small explosion to do that. A mere projectile bullet could do it.

  “Yeah, there’s a good reason the PAC has banned this stuff for anywhere but the Briveen home planet. I’ve called for a rendezvous with a ship that will switch places with us. They’ll take this ship and its crew to be dealt with, and we’ll continue in the other ship to deliver this to the Briveen.”

  “To Briv itself, or will someone meet us and take it? Because I’d like to share living space with this thing for as little time as possible.” She raised her forefinger and extended it toward the sphere.

  “You’re complaining about being near it, but you’re going to touch it?” he asked, amused.

  “Touching it can’t do anything,” she said. It was true. She knew it was true. But there was a long, deep chasm that divided academic knowledge and a gut feeling.

  Her gut told her not to touch it.

  She lowered the finger.

  He grinned at her hesitation. “I haven’t gotten anything back from command yet, so I don’t know how we’ll hand it off.”

  “Maybe they’re busy arresting Lydecker,” she suggested. She tried to imagine what was happening on Asimov.

  “We can hope. Since there was no senior staff in the vicinity. Orders will have to be given for Lydecker’s own crew to take him into custody. That’s awfully messy.”

  She murmured in agreement. “A shame we couldn’t have handled that before we left.”

  “Yeah. It just didn’t work out that way.”

  “When is our rendezvous with our new ride?” she asked.

  “Two days. I had the PAC base on Bennaris send a security team and the best ship they had available.”

  “Oooh. I like the sound of that. What is it?” She sat up straight, waiting eagerly for his reply.

  “Class-six cruiser,” he said.

  “Oh.” She felt slightly deflated. A class-six was a powerful, maneuverable vessel, but it lacked some amenities and was nothing special to pilot.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” he said. “You didn’t let me finish. It’s a Kiramoto class-six.”

  She stared at him. “Shut up.”

  He stared back at her mutely.

  She realized what she’d said. “It’s just a phrase. I didn’t mean it. Say more words.”

  “What more is there to say?”

  “Have you been on a Kiramoto six?” Kiramoto cruisers were luxury liners, usually either for private ownership or private charter, and always used only by the rich and the elite.

  She’d sure never seen one in person, much less gotten to pilot one. Her skin tingled with anticipation.

  “I could tell you,” he began.

  She held up a hand. “Enough. Fine. I will just be in awe of it all by myself because you’re too cool to say anything.”

  He put his hand on her arm and gave her a jiggle. “Don’t pout.”

  “I never pout.”

  “Fine. I haven’t been on one either. Happy?”

  She smiled. “Incandescently.”

  “Good. You can take the first shift on the bridge. I’m confident that those four are secure, but from here on out I want one of us on the bridge at all times. I’ll relieve you in four hours.”

  She used his shoulder as a prop to push herself up to her feet. “Make it six. You look tired.”

  He smirked, but whatever response he had, he thought it instead of speaking it. He reached for the box that held the brivinium sphere.

  “Wait!” she shouted.

  He jerked back, startled. “What?”

  “Thought I saw a spider,” she said. “Never mind.”

  She laughed all the way to the bridge.

  11

  Fallon felt a disproportionate sense of relief when handing off the smugglers and their ship for someone else to deal with.

  Boarding the Kiramoto class-six cruiser, on the other hand, reminded her of going to the pastry shop when she was a kid and wanting to order one of everything.

  It even smelled good. Like the faintest hint of cinnamon and something…expensive.

  She had a hard time locking such a magnificent thing down to mere words.

  “Look how happy you are.” Minho smiled. “Want me to take your bag?”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re going straight to the bridge, right? I need to visit the necessary, and I’ll drop our bags off in our quarters.”

  She paused then ducked her head under the strap of her bag and handed it to him. There wasn’t much in it. It wasn’t as if they’d had a chance to pack. Fortunately, the ship had been fortified with supplies they might need.

  Was he giving her a chance to see the bridge alone? She searched his face, but saw nothing to convince her one way or the other.

  “I’ll see you up there,” she said.

  He nodded and turned toward the ship’s quarters and she continued alone to the nose of the ship.

  Ah, the bridge of a Kiramoto was a thing of beauty. It was all sleek surfaces, elegant lines, and the best of materials.

  Kiramotos weren’t built with a budget in mind.

  She indulged herself by taking slow steps around the entire space, sliding her hand over consoles and bulkheads.

  Even the bulkheads had an understated sophistication to them.

  Letting out a long sigh, she lowered herself into the pilot’s seat at the helm and indulged in a long, satisfying stretch.

  “Now this is a ship.”

  With great pleasure, she plotted and laid in a course to their next rendezvous—a handoff of the brivinium to the Briveen.

  She’d received few details of what had happened on Asimov, except that the situation was under control. She didn’t know if the lack of transparency was a matter of PAC intelligence not giving out information that wasn’t strictly needed, or something more personal pertaining to her specifically. Wanting to keep her focused on her own duties, perhaps. At least they’d told her that Katheryn and Priestley had escaped it all unscathed.

  So, whatever. If her job was now to fly this gorgeous ship, she wasn’t about to complain that others had to deal with the trash fire Lydecker had started.

  What an idiot. He’d
had everything he’d needed to have a good, productive life, and he’d thrown it all away.

  “Are we there yet?” Minho arrived, looking fresh. He’d changed into a simple black shirt and pants that must have been left in his quarters. She suspected he’d also taken a quick shower.

  The amenities on the smuggling ship had been lacking, to say the least.

  Actually, she could use a shower and change, too.

  “Yes. ETA four days, two hours, and twenty-eight minutes.” She stood and gestured at the seat. “Try it out. It’s a pretty sweet ride. I think I’ll go freshen up.”

  “Good idea.” He crinkled his nose slightly, as if to suggest she had an aroma to her.

  She snorted and accidentally-on-purpose bumped him with her shoulder as she passed by.

  “I can’t decide what I like more about this ship,” Fallon said later, “the smoothness of the control functions or the autopilot.”

  She sighed in contentment. The past three days had been a delight. Outside of playing with the Kiramoto, she worked out, slept, played Go with Minho, and looked forward to reuniting with Hawk, Peregrine, and Raptor.

  That reunion was going to be epic, and it was getting so close she could practically feel it under her skin.

  “Why does everything have to be one thing or another with you?” Minho asked with good humor. “Why can’t you just let things be what they are, without naming and sorting them?”

  “That would be disorganized.” She looked up from the helm to grin at him. “I like tidiness.”

  He smirked at her. “You’re in the wrong line of work, then.”

  “Am I? Or am I about to bring a level of awesomeness to Blackout that has never been seen before?” She opened her eyes wide and stared at him.

  They both laughed.

  “One of these days,” he announced grandly, “you’re going to be a very big problem for PAC command.”

  “In a good way or a bad one?”

  He straightened from his relaxed position in the copilot’s seat. He shifted so he sat sideways, his knees pointed at her side. He leaned forward and waited until she turned to look at him. “Undecided. But for some reason, when I look at you, you always remind me of the ancient quote, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’”