by Mina Carter
She flicked a glance over him. No unnatural pose or set to any of his limbs, no signs of bleeding and his skin was a normal hue. Apart from the fact he was sprawled out over the floor, he seemed in perfect health.
“What the hell is going on?”
She turned her attention to Lyon sitting next to them. If she hadn’t seen him walking and talking less than an hour ago, she would have sworn he was a living, breathing statue. His chest rose and fell mechanically, the breaths perfectly regulated. Humans didn’t breathe like that, their respiration was more erratic. A cough here or other contraction of the diaphragm, even thinking about breathing, was enough to alter each breath enough from its predecessor that perfect rhythm was never attained.
His eyes were closed, no flicker of movement behind the lids. Were they all asleep? How did cyborgs sleep anyway? She couldn’t believe that they just shut down like little automatons, motionless when the power was cut. No, they were all too human for that.
She dredged up everything buried in her brain about cyborgs. If they weren’t asleep…
“Crap, crap, crap. Electromagnetic pulse.”
Adrenaline surged through her veins as she turned. If they’d been hit with an EMP, then that meant the Valkyrie or another Fleet ship wasn’t far away. She cast a nervous look at the ceiling above her. Perhaps they were already here, ready to cut through the hull. Then there would be marines piling in here…and with Lyon and the others out of it. She paled, heart lurching.
They were defenseless.
Clambering over Archon, she slid into the pilot’s seat and looked at the console spread out in front of her. Half the symbols and squiggles didn’t make sense, but the fact they were there told her one thing. The EMP had been targeted at the crew rather than the ship. Fleet wanted them alive.
Which meant one thing—Lyon’s team was destined for research and development. To be dissected and prodded over until their bodies yielded exactly how the cyborgs had escaped the hold their human masters had over them.
She gritted her teeth at the anger which surged through her. “Over my dead body. Computer, enable audio.”
“Audio control activated.”
She was twisting out of the seat as the computer replied. Somehow she had to fly the shuttle and get them out of there before the Fleet arrived. She didn’t dare think about what she was doing. If she did, she’d panic and freeze.
“Status report.”
She stopped next to Cael and checked her harness. The shoulder loops were already on. Good. Reaching forward, she pulled the straps to make sure they were tight. She wasn’t a pilot, so she was going to have to rely on the shuttle’s flight computer. Even so, this was likely to get hairy and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt while they were helpless.
“All systems online and functioning within normal parameters.”
A sigh of relief escaped her lungs. They had a chance. She clambered back over Archon to get Lyon strapped in. She hissed in frustration as she tried to struggle him into a harness.
“Isn’t that just like a man, eh?” she griped as she lifted arms the weight of small elephants to loop straps over them. “Just lie there and expect a woman to do all the work.”
She managed it and pulled the webbing tight with a hard tug, then addressed the computer again. “Maintain heading, bring secondary shields online and give me a sensor sweep of the local area.”
The computer cheeped at her as it ran the sweep. Checking Lyon’s harness one last time, she broke away and looked down at Archon.
“Come on, big boy; let’s get you in a seat.”
She stepped over him again and crouched to slide her hands under his arms. She’d been a nurse for years, both civilian and in the Fleet, so she was trained in the best techniques for lifting the human body, arguably the most difficult thing to pick up in the known universe after an annoyed feline. So she did everything by the book; back straight, legs bent to provide power and…
“Gnnnnnhhh!”
She pulled until her muscles felt like they were going to pop from their moorings, and her vision started to gray. Archon stayed right where he was, sprawled out on the deck plate.
“Hell’s teeth, what did they put in you? Structural steel?”
Gritting her teeth and readjusting her grip, she tried again. This time her hands slipped and she ended up on her ass between the seats next to Cael. Wincing, she got to her feet. She couldn’t move him, but she couldn’t leave him on the floor like that. One barrel roll and he’d be like a pea in a shaker.
“Sorry, handsome, we’re going to have to do a little bondage,” she muttered as she started to rifle through the overhead compartments. Born on a backwater planet that relied on shuttles for transportation, she knew there had to be some strapping in here someplace. Shuttles like this did dual duty shifting personnel and cargo, which was why the seats at the back lined the walls and there were fixed loops embedded in the floor.
“Bingo.”
She pulled three lengths of heavy-duty webbing straps from the last compartment and knelt down next to the unresponsive man. Within a minute she had him trussed up like an Altarian boar ready for transport. She sat back on her haunches and checked over her handiwork with a sense of satisfaction. Even if the Fleet threw Armageddon itself at them, Archon wasn’t going anywhere.
“Scan complete. Confirm three vessels on an intercept course, bearing three seven seven four mark five eight nine,” the computer informed her in a dull monotone.
Shit. They were being followed. Samara’s ass hit the pilot’s seat at light speed as she tried to recall the flight lessons her father had given her years ago. The crap was about to hit the fan, but at least she had the three guys in here secure. A pang of worry hit her about Eoin. She didn’t know where he was, though, and she’d run out of time to play “hunt the cyborg”.
“Display intercept courses on console. What ID codes are they broadcasting?”
She studied the panel in front of her as she waited for the computer’s reply. They were in trouble. Big trouble. The screen in front of her was lit up with red lines from the Fleet vessels, creating a cage she couldn’t see a way out of.
“Vessels are confirmed as CFS Valkyrie, CFS Vengeance and CFS Jenias.”
Her heart plummeted.
“We are so screwed.”
Chapter Eight
“Computer, bring us about and head for this sector here.” The sound of a nail tapping against console glass filled the cabin. “Full speed.”
Lyon could tell from the small catch in Samara’s voice as she gave the computer orders that she was scared. He didn’t blame her. In her shoes, he would be too. What was she doing? The EMP had done its job and they were all safely contained. All she had to do was sit pretty and wait for her people to pick her up… Why was she setting a new course at full speed? That sounded very much like an escape attempt.
She tied me to the fucking floor!
The sound of Archon’s furious voice in his head announced the fact his internal communications relay had rebooted.
That’s because she couldn’t move your fat ass, airhead.
Cael’s feminine tones joined Archon’s griping and eased some of Lyon’s worry. At least those two were okay, even if he was going to have to lock them in a confined space together for a couple of days sometime soon. They’d either kill each other or screw each other’s brains out. Either way, he’d get some peace.
Eoin? How you doin’, bud?
Frozen stiff as a freaking Popsicle. What’d they hit us with? the other Gemini grumbled. I got eyes on company headed our way and they’re packing serious hardware.
Great. Just what they needed. When the computer had listed the vessels on an intercept course, Lyon had hoped it was coincidence and they just happened to be in the area. Eoin’s words shattered that illusion. Hell was coming for them.
We changed course. Who’d the EMP skip? Eoin asked suddenly, breaking into his train of thought. There was eagerness in the q
uestion, which was understandable. Eoin was one of the team of engineers working on the EMP shielding. The four of them had slightly different shield configurations, so they all had different reactions to the EMP. At least Eoin’s config allowed him to actually see.
No one, Lyon replied. Samara’s piloting.
Silence met his announcement.
The same human you accused of betraying us less than an hour ago?
He winced at Eoin’s quiet comment. Despite his…physical issues, Eoin was still his second-in-command and as sharp as a boarding laser. Where his twin joked around and laughed, Eoin was serious and got right to the point. And he was the only person Lyon would allow to speak to him that way.
Aye, that’s the one.
He was going to be eating humble pie. If they got out of this alive. Even with the best will in the universe, Samara was a nurse, not a pilot.
Crap, they’re right on our tails, Cael announced, which meant her uplinks to the shuttle were coming back online. He checked his internal clock, trying to estimate the time he had left until full reboot. Cael was a Cancer class, so her onboard was more complex and sensitive. In the event of something like this, Cancers always came back online first.
All conversation ceased as the alarm klaxon filled the small cockpit. “Collision warning, impact imminent. Please change course to avoid collision,” the computer advised.
“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do? Give me manual control,” Samara snarled, which elicited a snort of amusement from Cael.
She’s got guts.
He had to agree as the shuttle lurched a fraction. It was almost imperceptible, but to a cyborg it was like dropping off a cliff. Immediately the shuttle rolled to the side and a heavy thud reverberated through the space frame.
“Sorry, bud, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
What’s going on? What’s she doing?
Worry surged through him. That thud could have been any of a number of things. His chief concern among them would be a boarding tube locking on. Green flickered behind his eyelids, lighting the darkness as his implant reinitiated the heads-up display across his field of vision. He sighed in relief as it started to relay information again. He still couldn’t move, but it was a start.
I don’t believe it… She’s bouncing us off their damn shields!
Three more thuds followed in quick succession as the alarms filled the air in the cabin with collision warnings. Another thud and the scream of metal sounded as the shuttle went into a spin. He gritted his teeth as Samara swore. Come on, babe, you can do this.
We’re clear. She’s gunning the engines and heading for the asteroid belt.
He didn’t need Cael’s running commentary to feel the tension in the shuttle. The viselike grip on his body eased a fraction and allowed him to open his eyes. Instantly he rolled his gaze toward her. She was hunched over the pilot’s console, her face set in a determined grimace as she stabbed delicate fingers at the display.
“Come on, come on. Can’t this freaking thing go any faster? Cyborgs, meanest SOBs in the galaxy…but a shit ride. You guys seriously need to get this thing tricked out,” Samara informed the cabin in general. She didn’t know if they could hear her, but she needed to talk to someone.
The console in front of her was alight with so many warnings it looked like a Christmas tree. Panic hovered in the back of her mind as she tried to clear as many as she could and escape the clutches of the Fleet ships closing in around them.
Her eyes were trained on the panel in front of her like a hawk. There had to be a way out of this. All she needed was one little gap in the ships circling her…
As soon as she thought it, she saw the opening. Holding her breath, she punched the coordinates in and sent the shuttle hurtling toward it. The two Fleet ships tried to maneuver to cover the small alley of opportunity. Gritting her teeth, she tried to coax a little more out of the engines. If she could just get past them, they’d be in the asteroid belt.
The small shuttle slipped between the two bigger ships, the alarm klaxons nearly deafening her as their bulk blotted out the light of the stars around them. Praying fervently, she closed her eyes and squealed as they barreled down the narrow gap. Any moment now they were going to be crushed between the two larger ships.
Fear and misery rose in her throat. She’d tried, she’d really tried, but it just wasn’t good enough. She was a nurse, not a trained commando like Lyon nor a kick-ass pilot like Archon or Cael.
The klaxons fell silent. Hardly daring to believe it, she cracked an eyelid open. A field of stars was visible through the asteroid belt in front of her.
“Woohoo!”
Relief and elation hit her like both barrels from a shotgun as the small vessel roared into the asteroid field at top speed. There was no way the bigger ships could follow them through here, and by the time they went around it, they’d be long gone.
“We did it!” she crowed, turning around to look at Lyon, only to find his eyes open and looking directly at her. He was awake. He’d seen her piloting the shuttle away from the Fleet ships. He had to believe her now.
Then the Fleet ships opened fire.
Cannon fire slammed into the little shuttle, impacting the shields and sending it tumbling through the asteroid belt. They careened and crashed through the huge lumps of rock. One more volley from a cannon array would be it for them. The shuttle’s shields wouldn’t be able to take concerted fire.
Samara swore as she tried to hold on to the main console, but it was no good. She’d made sure everyone else was secure, but hadn’t clipped her own harness into place. The contents of the overhead lockers fell around them, a large box landing on Archon. His cursing over the commlink was enough to blister paint.
Another volley from the Fleet ships slammed into the back of the shuttle, catching the back end as Samara tried to get them behind the cover of an asteroid. They careened to the side and tipped, slamming into another smaller lump of rock.
The shuttle rolled, almost lazily. Samara screamed, a sound abruptly cut off as the console in front of her exploded in a shower of sparks.
No! Lyon roared as they rolled and she was thrown about like a rag doll. Fear for her safety rolled through his body in an unstoppable wave, a fear so complete it would have paralyzed him if he wasn’t already. She was unconscious, unable to protect herself as they tumbled, and she was only human. She wasn’t designed to take the sort of damage he was.
The alarms started up again. This time they weren’t anything as benign as collision warnings. Imminent shield failure. Sliding, they came to a stop against another asteroid, the interior lights flickering as the computer gave multiple system warnings. Samara hit the far wall and slid down it into a small heap across the destroyed pilot’s console.
He latched his gaze on her, and pushed against the lock on his body as though he could break through it by sheer willpower alone. He couldn’t see whether she was breathing or not and there was blood on the side of her face.
His heart stuttered. If she was dead, he’d never forgive himself. She’d offered him nothing but tenderness and comfort…and some very hot sex…yet he’d kidnapped her and accused her of betraying them. Of betraying him.
Despite that, she’d done her best to get them out of the clutches of the Fleet. At the risk of her own life. A large knot of something thickened his throat as he threw everything he had into making his systems boot up quicker.
Aieee, I’m out! Cael announced triumphantly. The shuttle flared to life. The interior lights snapped on, the alarms cut out and the dull roar of the engines filled his ears. And we are…outta here.
The view in the front screen changed. Cael whipped the small vessel around and drove them farther into the asteroid belt. Asteroids shattered around them as the Fleet vessels, unable to follow in the densely packed field, resorted to bombarding it with cannon fire. They didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance of hitting them, not with Cael at the helm. Not only was she a qualified comb
at pilot, but her mental net could sync directly with the shuttle, meaning woman and machine became one entity.
Get us out the other side and jumped before they can get around, Lyon ordered, breathing deeply as the lock on his body eased and all his systems came back online. He didn’t bother with the normal diagnostic checks he should run after an EMP. Instead he launched himself out of his seat, over Archon as he struggled with the webbing straps pinning him to the floor and to Samara’s side.
She was draped over the console like a broken doll, a trail of blood running down the side of her face to drip onto the shattered Plexiglas. He’d fought in wars, been at the forefront of a rebellion and faced his own death many times, but Lyon had never been as afraid as he was now, looking down at the woman he loved, afraid to touch her in case she was dead.
Indecision held him prisoner for less than a second. The fact that he loved her spurred him on. No quibbles, no soul searching about this new feeling. Just acceptance.
Steeling himself, he reached out and wrapped his large hand around her delicate wrist, using his fingertips to search for a pulse. Nothing. His heart stopped, the blood draining from his face. She couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t. Not after all this.
Stepping in, he turned her over. She went easily, like a rag doll. A growl of denial escaped his lips. Lyon pressed two fingers into her throat and willed her to live. If she didn’t, then he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions. He’d find a way back to the Valkyrie and that bastard Marisol–Lees and teach him a lesson about using his own crew as bait.
There. He shifted his fingers as he felt a tiny movement, trying to isolate it. Relief and euphoria hit him like a shuttle at jump speed as he found a weak pulse. It was weak, but she was still alive.
“Archon, get me a med-kit, now!” he demanded, large hands moving over his little nurse, checking for injuries. She was alive and he intended to keep her that way.
