Salvage Mind (Salvage Race Book 1)

by Jones, David Alan

  Giving himself no more time for second guessing, Symeon bolted from his spot to take up the rifle. It felt odd in his hands, like a dangerous beast he had read about but never seen in the flesh.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kavya, her eyes still glassy with tears, blanched at the site of her seneschal carrying an oxbrana rifle. Her expression spoke of deep shock, disappointment, and disbelief.

  “Whatever I can to protect us.”

  “Stop this instant!” Duke Lev started to rise, his silver-blue features taut with incredulity.

  “Please sir,” Fang said, addressing the duke. “Stay behind cover. Let the fool slave get himself killed if he must.”

  Uncertainty flashed in Lev’s eyes, his gaze locked on Fang’s. He looked like a child who has been scolded for doing what he thought right and proper. Without another word, he shifted back to plop down beside Kavya.

  Fang, his lips set in a hard line, gave Symeon an encouraging nod as if to say, “Do what you can, boy.”

  Uncertain how to use the rifle beyond knowing to pull the trigger, Symeon rested its business end on the table.

  Snug the stock against your shoulder.

  “You know how to use one of these things?” Symeon whispered. “I thought the Luxing were peaceful in your day.”

  Not always, and don’t forget, I downloaded five thousand years of Shorvexan history when their people attacked my ship.

  “That was a long time ago.” Now that he stood with the gun pressed to his shoulder, his heart thrumming in his ears, Symeon felt the enormity of what he was planning. Doubt squeaked through the cracks in his bravado like atmosphere escaping a damaged space freighter. “We don’t even know if this thing will fire for me. And even if it does, these rifles didn’t exactly prove effective against the Doormen for the oxbrana.”

  True, but look at the neck plating around that one Doorman’s left shoulder. See the flaw?

  Symeon narrowed his eyes. At some point in the fighting a bullet or perhaps one of Lieutenant Serov’s blades had managed to chip a centimeter-wide gap in the Doorman’s armor. The damage didn’t seem to bother him. From the look of things, he toyed with Serov, taunting him, dancing in and out of range of the oxbrana soldier’s blades only to pummel him with armor-rending blows whenever Serov committed to a swipe with his weapons.

  Hit that point and you might change the tide of this battle.

  Insanity. What had Symeon been thinking? Yes, he wanted to protect his liege, but did he believe firing a gun for the first time in his life the best way to accomplish that goal? The chance of him hitting so small a target seemed infinitesimal.

  A series of thought-images blossomed in his mind—a thousand soldiers wielding rifles of all sorts throughout the long history of man. Some showed him actual memories, others instructional archetypes, drill sergeants tasked with training young soldiers in the art of battle. Many of the weapons used favored the one in Symeon’s hands. Programmed to work in tandem with the user’s helmet targeting system, its three dimensional reticle supposedly made aiming the thing nearly foolproof, not that it did Symeon much good. He would have to rely on old-fashioned point and aim. But after seeing so many examples, he felt he might have a chance.

  Take a breath, hold it a moment, then shoot between breaths as you squeeze the trigger. Fire a burst, not a continuous stream of bullets. Ensure the muzzle remains level—don’t let it rise. And kill that Shorvexan bastard. Now!

  Symeon did as Yudi commanded and squeezed off a burst of five rounds, the rifle’s default setting. The gun imparted little more kick than a toddler shoving against Symeon’s shoulder, but the sound gave him a start. This close up, it rattled his bones as it thrummed through him, which made him jerk upward slightly on the last two rounds. Luckily, the first three found their target.

  The Doorman playing with Serov convulsed when the bullets entered the back of his neck. Blood and dislodged pieces of suit armor flew from the impact point, and the man collapsed.

  To his credit, Serov wasted no time sinking his uninjured arm’s blade into the remaining Doorman’s back, providing his trooper the opportunity to finish him with a stroke that bit through the Doorman’s armor from mid-chest to throat. He hit the floor with a decidedly final boom.

  Without thinking, Symeon ejected his rifle’s magazine, cleared the chamber, and placed it on the floor. He backed away slowly, conscious of every eye in the room staring at him. He raised his hands above his head and waited for whatever punishment would soon find him.

  Kavya flew into Symeon’s arms, hugging him tightly about the waist, face buried in his shoulder. “I thought you were dead, you stupid fool!”

  Eyes wide, heart in his throat, Symeon embraced his princess, aware of nothing besides the warm softness of her body against him and her fine hair tickling the underside of his chin. “I couldn’t stand by and let them take you. I’d die first.”

  She looked into his eyes, her silver-blue gaze never wavering. For one exquisite moment, Symeon thought he might kiss her, and she might accept, but then Czarina was there, clutching at Kavya’s wrist.

  “We must go, Princess. There will be more Doormen coming.”

  Reluctantly, or so it seemed to Symeon, Kavya withdrew, following after her handmaid, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned. A look of confusion passed across her expression.

  Fang, eyebrows lifted, favored Symeon with a sardonic smile that appeared neither scandalized, as Symeon might have expected, nor angered. “Well done, my boy. You saved our lives.”

  “And my own,” Symeon said as he followed after the others headed for the far exit.

  “Yes, but it’s mine I care about.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 19

  Lieutenant Serov took point, his trooper trailing after the group as they wound through a maze of hallways and access points at the heart of the imperial castle. Several times, the sounds of gun and plasma fire reached them, close enough to make Symeon’s heart lurch, but they encountered no more Doormen. By the looks of the bland cement floors and walls, he surmised they must be following servants’ hallways to avoid the more luxurious, and likely highly trafficked, Shorvexan areas. His guess proved right when a group of frightened Luxing scattered before them like chickens when they rounded a corner at the east end of the palace. Symeon wanted to offer them the chance to join their group, but he doubted Duke Lev would allow it.

  “Is there some way we might assist you?” Kavya asked Lieutenant Serov, whose breathing sounded labored beneath his helmet.

  “No, Princess. Thank you. My armor’s nanites are doing what they can. They’ve sealed the wound, and I’m healing, but they aren’t magic.” Serov’s voice came out strained, but he limped along gamely, uninjured hand gripping his rifle should he have need of it. He glanced at the screen on his vambrace. “We haven’t far to go.”

  True to Serov’s words, the next corner they rounded opened onto a large docking area fitted with three bays for unloading ships. Robotic stevedores, little more than hydraulic jacks with articulated arms and grasper hands lined either wall. Forbidding steel doors sealed the right and left bays, but the center one stood open onto the storage area of a ship. A dozen oxbrana soldiers clad in pristine suits of powered armor guarded the entrance while a couple of Luxing busied themselves directing robots loading cargo onto the ship. Most of the containers looked like they held food though Symeon noted some were marked with the warning imprint reserved for hazardous materials, weapons, and powered armor.

  “About time you showed,” said the lead oxbrana, a captain with the name Guyford stamped on his breastplate.

  “Had a run in with the Doormen,” Serov said.

  “I see that. Get aboard and find the doc. We’ll handle things from here.”

  Serov and his trooper boarded the ship, leaving their charges to Captain Guyford who turned to Fang. “Are we ready to board?”

  Fang shook his head minutely, and Guyford reoriented his gaze on Duke Le
v.

  Something strange is happening here.

  Symeon felt it too. Oxbrana soldiers didn’t look to Luxing, not even seneschals, for guidance, especially when there were other Shorvex present.

  “Yes, Captain,” the duke said brightly. “I suggest you take off immediately.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” Kavya’s silvered brow knitted in confusion.

  “I’m afraid not, Princess. I’m needed here. Grand Duke Kamenev instructed me to take command of our air support the moment you were safe. I’m to make my way across the palace to the imperial command room.”

  “Alone?” Kavya turned to Captain Guyford. “Surely, you can spare some men to protect the Duke.”

  “No!” Duke Lev appeared momentarily scandalized, but quickly schooled his expression. “That isn’t necessary, my Lady. I know the palace well, and our combined forces hold the majority of it already. The guards are for you—I won’t see their strength diminished. Now, you had better make haste. Your chances of leaving the moon are better during this initial chaos.”

  Kavya started to argue, but Czarina slipped a guiding hand about her waist to drive her toward the ship. “We must away, Princess.”

  Symeon followed after the woman, expecting Fang to remain behind with his master. To his surprise, the old Wuxia leader came along. Without another parting word, Duke Lev spun on his heels to jog from the loading bay back into the palace proper.

  As they boarded the ship, all twelve armor-clad oxbrana joining them, Symeon cast a questioning glance over his shoulder at Fang. The old man guessed his question.

  “Duke Lev has no need for me in this hour. What do I know of military tactics?”

  Far more than you let on, I’d wager.

  Symeon nodded as he entered the ship’s storage area, which was far larger than the palace’s loading bay. Dozens of Luxing hurried to tie down sealed boxes of goods, steel canisters filled with potable water, and the mysterious hazardous materials containers while robots continued to stack items in neat rows. The bay door shut behind Symeon and Kavya with a hiss of compressed air, and the screen next to it pronounced it ready for space travel.

  “This way.” Captain Guyford led them to a flight of stairs made of steel and into a forward passenger bay partitioned from the ship’s cockpit by a see-through Plexiglas divider. The compartment smelled of grease and stale air. Its many seats, upholstered in dark blue material, looked threadbare but serviceable.

  Did the captain expect the daughter of a grand duke—possibly now an emperor—to travel in such paltry accommodations? Symeon started to ask that very question when something more stultifying caught his attention.

  A woman and a man, both Luxing, sat in the pilot and copilot seats engrossed in a holo display of ship’s systems. It looked to Symeon as if they were going through a pre-flight checklist, but that couldn’t be right. Yes, some Luxing slaves assisted their Shorvex masters when it came to maintaining a ship—most were mechanics—but the law forbade them from ever piloting even an air-bound craft anywhere in the Phoenix system.

  You mean the same way the law that forbids you from firing a rifle?

  Symeon could have done without Yudi’s sarcasm. He needed to think, but time and circumstance appeared allied against his doing that. He had no sooner spotted the Luxing pilots than Captain Guyford turned to face Kavya, a pistol in his gloved hand.

  “Sit down.” His command seemed to split the air.

  Kavya narrowed her eyes at the gun, her upper lip drawn back in a near snarl. “What did you say to me?”

  Without warning, Czarina twisted sideways to fling Kavya by the arm into one of the seats. “He said sit down.”

  Kavya slammed into the cushioned backrest like a sack of sand, her face agog at her ill treatment. The look of hurt that creased her expression sent of a jolt of anger winging through Symeon’s chest.

  “How dare you!” He stepped forward, ready to lay hands on Czarina, but two of the armored oxbrana blocked his path as surely as a vault slammed before him.

  “Not like that, Czar.” Fang tutted at the handmaid. “No need to harm the princess.”

  “Are you men going to stand by and let them treat me this way?” Kavya stared around at the oxbrana crowding the passenger bay. “Where’s your loyalty?”

  “I’m afraid, Princess, their loyalty is with me.” Fang made a gesture at Captain Guyford. “Show her.”

  Guyford unfastened an airtight seal at this throat which hissed for a moment before he removed his shiny helmet to reveal a stoic Luxing face beneath. He stared at her unblinking, the deep epicanthic folds above his eyes, more pronounced than most Luxing, made it appear as if the man was squinting.

  Kavya gasped. “Impostor!”

  That made Guyford smile. “Yes, as are we all, lady.”

  A voice interrupted the conversation before Kavya could reply.

  “Chairman Fang, we’re ready for departure,” said the female Luxing pilot who had turned in her seat to observe the passenger compartment.

  “Strap her in,” Fang said to Czarina who set about cinching a five-point harness about Kavya’s torso.

  The princess tried to resist, and Czarina slapped her across the face with a resounding blow.

  Incensed, Symeon shoved against the men holding him back with almost no effect. One of them casually backhanded him on the jaw, sending him spinning into the opposite row of seats from Kavya. The pain of that blow—of the steel hand striking his flesh and bone face—left him reeling. He sprawled across the seats, momentarily insensate. The oxbrana—

  Not oxbrana.

  —pinned him in place with all the effort of parents dressing an infant. By the time Symeon regained enough consciousness to resume his struggle, he couldn’t move besides to squirm from the pain of an armrest digging into his lower back.

  “Let us go.” Kavya stared boldly at Czarina as if daring her to deliver another slap. “Kidnapping me and my seneschal is a far graver mistake than you imagine.”

  A heavy rumble shook the ship. It quickly flattened into a steady thrum as the engines came fully online.

  “Strap in,” Fang ordered, and his people took their seats, the oxbrana clamping the harnesses over their powered armor.

  The two holding Symeon slammed him down and strapped him in with practiced movements. He gave them no resistance. What good would it do? Leaning his head back to one side, he could just glimpse Kavya, her expression pained, confused, and heartbroken.

  “What is this, Fang?” Symeon shouted over the sudden roar of the engines. The view outside the cockpit showed him they were climbing away from the palace and the city at large.

  “This is progress, Symeon. You’ve helped that cause immensely though I doubt you know it.”

  “You know him?” Kavya asked, her shrewd eyes boring into Symeon.

  “You never said anything about kidnapping the princess, Fang.”

  “You were in on this?” The princess’ skin blanched from blue to pale silver in an instant.

  “And let you jeopardize our aims?” Fang asked, ignoring Kavya. “That would have been foolish beyond repair.”

  The ship’s roar grew to a crescendo before all but dissipating as the view outside first darkened then morphed into the void of star-strewn space as gravity released its eternal hold on their bodies. Except the space around Bastrayavich was no void. Immense ships-of-the-line, dozens of them from what Symeon could see, hung in orbit, disgorging small fighters and salvos of missiles at one another. Symeon gripped the arms of his seat as their pilot performed a barrel roll to avoid a blackened chunk of half-melted iron larger than her ship. Laser fire lit the darkness as fighters whirled around the larger craft through clouds of debris and wobbling plasma blasts. Eerie, the silence of it all, though Symeon knew the crews aboard those ships could hear the voice of battle through the outgassing atmosphere and rending metal.

  “Oh!” Kavya cried. She too had seen one of the ships spewing its precious air into space along with haples
s crew members unable to hold against it.

  A few wayward laser and plasma blasts shot past their ship close enough to briefly illuminate the pilots’ faces, but nothing hit them. In seconds, they spun away from the main battle, headed into space.

  “Initializing gravity,” said the pilot. “Prepare to have your stomachs drop.”

  For one dizzy moment, Symeon felt himself falling at breakneck speed despite the fact that he remained strapped into his seat. Kavya’s fine hair, which had come unbound at some point during their headlong flight, whispered as it fell about her shoulders.

  With the danger of death by space battle at least momentarily behind them, Symeon turned back to Fang. “Where are we really headed? Are you actually taking us to Phoenix?”

  Fang unstrapped his belts and motioned for his armored guards to do likewise.

  “Yes, my boy, we’re Phoenix bound. Now shut your mouth while I see to our honored guest.”

  Czarina, who had sat next to Kavya for the takeoff, unfastened the princess’ belts and pulled her to her feet. Kavya jerked her hand away, but one of the guards pressed a rifle into her back and she subsided.

  “Take her to the brig.” Fang raised an admonishing finger to Czarina. “And see you treat her well. She is not our enemy, Czar. She suffered banishment for our people.”

  “No Shorvex is our ally until they’ve proven themselves,” Czarina said, her voice cool, but she made a show of gently pressing Kavya toward the ship’s hold.

  “Symeon.” Kavya’s voice spoke her fear and confusion. “What’s happening? Are you a part of this?”

  He wanted to lie, to say he knew nothing, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. He started to unbuckle his harness, to follow after her, but one of the guards shoved a rifle against his head and he subsided.

  “No more talking, Kavya. Walk!” Czarina drove the princess before her, more soldiers surrounding her with their guns leveled until they had exited the cabin.