Along the way, they encountered pirates and former prisoners locked in gun battles that Victor and Gaz decidedly ended with vicious bursts of fire from their weapons.
As they got closer to the control center, however, the pirate resistance became more entrenched, and dead prisoners began outnumbering dead pirates.
Victor and Gaz had used up all but one of their grenades, clearing one pirate checkpoint after another, until they reached the door to the command center.
“Lena, cover us while we try to open this,” Victor said.
“On it,” she said, directing her crew to cover the corridors leading toward the control center.
Cormac went up to the door’s control console and pulled on it, ripping it apart.
“Can you open it?” asked Victor.
“Just a moment,” the starchild engineer said tersely. He pulled out optical wires and examined them. They were all dark. Cormac shook his head. “They shut down the door. There’s no way I can hack it.”
“Then we do this my way,” Gaz said, opening the satchel where he kept his breaching charges.
“How many you need to open this door?” asked Victor.
Gaz shrugged. “I was just goin’ to put all of ’em on and see what happens.”
“Right.” Victor wasn’t in love with the idea but didn't see a better alternative. He turned to Lena. “You and your people may want to take cover.”
“Yeah, I got that impression.” She turned to face her crew. “Come on! Let’s get out of here before those fireworks go off!”
By the time Lena’s crew had cleared out, Gaz had attached six of the conical bombs to the door.
“You fuckers may want to find some cover too,” Gaz said, smiling wide enough to show every one of his spiked teeth.
Victor found Gaz’s anticipation to be more than a little disturbing. “Yeah, good idea,” he said, turning a corner and pressing his back against the bulkhead. Cormac came up beside him, the helmet visor shut.
Another good idea, Victor thought, closing his own visor in anticipation of the overpressure from the blast.
Gaz rounded the corner soon afterward, his visor wide open to show off the unmistakable glee on his tattooed face, not concerned in the slightest at the loud bang about to happen.
“Fire in the ’ole!” he yelled and then pressed the detonator.
A flash bloomed around the corner, and a helmet-muffled bang echoed through the corridor. Victor hefted his shotgun and turned the corner to see the heavy door blown off its hinges, embedded into the opposite wall of the control center.
Victor ran inside the control center and activated his suit speakers. “Hands up!”
The pirates not too injured to do so raised their hands. Except one, a woman, with short black hair and the overlarge eyes of a nightperson. In her hands was a familiar-looking handle.
Victor eyes went wide as he recognized the handle. A variblade!
He swung his autoshotgun around, but the nightwoman launched herself toward him, her jump made long by the low gravity. Just as Victor brought his weapon to bear, she swung the variblade, forming the morphmetal into a heavy curved blade. The blow was aimed right for Victor’s head.
Reflexively Victor blocked the variblade with his autoshotgun. The morphmetal blade cut cleanly through the plastic construction of the gun and buried itself in the weapon’s barrel, almost cutting it in half.
Victor shoved away the shotgun, off-balancing the swordswoman. He then reached for his revolver, but, as he drew it, the other pirates jumped him, grabbing his arm and prying the pistol from his grip.
Victor slammed his helmet into the face of the pirate holding his right arm, knocking him to the ground.
Another pirate, the one who took his pistol, raised the weapon to fire. In one smooth motion, Victor drew the cutlass from his back and severed the pirate’s arm at the shoulder with a downward cut.
His pistol, and the arm of the pirate who stole it, fell slowly to the deck in the low gravity as Victor stabbed and sliced with his cutlass until he was free of the pirates who jumped him, just in time to see the swordswoman’s variblade flying toward his face.
He lurched back from the blow to his helmet. The blade neatly cut through the reinforced plastic visor, disabling its display and leaving Victor’s sight line half-blinded. He slashed wildly with his cutlass and backed away to give himself time to hit the release on his helmet and pull it off, throwing it aside.
“Get him, Lucille!” called out one of the pirates.
The nightwoman with the variblade charged him.
So you’re Lucille, Victor thought, as he parried her attack and followed with an instant riposte that Lucille hopped away from.
The other pirates picked up their guns and leveled them at Victor, but then a machine gun roared. Gaz stood at the entrance, gunning down pirates.
Lucille reacted instantly, jumping in the low gravity, flipping midair to plant her feet on the ceiling and pushing off, executing another midair flip to land on her feet, putting Victor between her and Gaz.
Victor followed her jump and was ready to parry another attack from her variblade.
“So you’re familiar with a blade, a rare talent,” Lucile said. He had heard her voice before. She was the one who’d given the Corsair landing clearance. Just before shooting it down.
“Victor, give me a clear shot!” Gaz said.
Victor tried to sidestep, but Lucille followed him. “If you want to kill me, mercenary, you’ll have to do it with that sword of yours.”
Victor gritted his teeth. Lucille was skilled and agile, and, if he’d had a variblade of his own, he was confident he could best her.
But he didn’t have a variblade. He had a cutlass he had bought from a shop.
In the corner of his vision, he could see the chips in the edge of his blade where it had met Lucille’s sword. And that was just from relatively light parries. The variblade would probably cut through his cutlass with a hard-enough blow.
“In case you haven’t noticed, your base is lost. Even if you kill me, my friend back there with the machine gun will shot you down,” Victor said. “Do us both a favor and surrender.”
“Surrender?” She chuckled. “I think not. Of all the planets that would hire you, none of them are terribly gentle with captured pirates. Which world was it, by the way?”
“Mustang,” Victor said. No point in hiding the fact.
She nodded, smirking. “Makes sense. What was your plan when you infiltrated my base?” She lunged forward, shifting the variblade midswing into a thin straight blade, aiming for Victor's neck.
He knocked aside the attack and launched a counterthrust, but Lucille backpedaled from the short blade.
Victor sneered. If he had had a variblade, he would’ve skewered her with his longsword.
“So was this your plan? Infiltrate the base and start a prisoner revolt?” asked Lucille, lunging again.
Victor slapped away the blade again. “Didn’t know about the prisoners. The plan was to drop a bomb and run.”
Lucille chuckled. “A risky gamble. You would’ve been better served dropping the bomb from orbit.”
“I think things worked out pretty well, all things considered.” Victor attacked with a series of high and low slashes, pummeling his way past Lucille’s defenses.
She wasn’t even fazed, blocking and parrying each attack before shifting her variblade back into a curved sword and slashing at Victor’s chest.
“Gah!” He spun away as he felt something bite into the side of his chest. The variblade had cut through the armored chestplate and pressure suit to get at his flesh.
“First blood.” She giggled.
Victor gritted his teeth. She had formed her blade too thick; a thinner blade would have gone through his armor and given him a fatal cut instead of just a flesh wound.
Lucille glanced at his cutlass. “Your blade is looking a little worn.”
Victor grimaced. His sword looked more like a curved sa
w now. “Gaz—”
“Can’t help you!” Lucille said. She brought her sword over her head and then brought it down in a two-handed swing.
Victor didn’t even try to block it; he sidestepped instead, letting Lucile’s sword cut through the air, leaving her exposed.
Now I got you! Victor swung his cutlass, intent on decapitating Lucille. But as he swung horizontally, Lucille pulled up her sword, the morphmetal of her blade reversing its curve and slicing cleanly through Victor’s forearm, severing it between the wrist and elbow.
Victor looked at his severed hand in shock while Lucille spun around and stabbed her blade through his chest.
She smiled right in his face. “I win.”
Victor reached out and grabbed her by the throat with his left hand. Her eyes went wide with shock as he choked off her air. “Not yet.”
In low gravity, he easily lifted her off her feet and threw her. Lucille landed a couple meters away, right in Gaz’s line of fire.
Without preamble, the ugly man ended her with a burst from his machine gun.
Victor fell to his knees as the sound of Gaz’s gun roared through the command center. He raised his severed forearm to look at it. Shouldn’t there be more bleeding?
He then noticed something cold inside his chest. Looking down, he saw the hilt of Lucille’s variblade, still sticking from his chest. Oh, that. He fell to his side.
“Cormac! Victor’s hurt!” yelled Gaz.
The lanky starchild ran into the command center just as Victor’s world went dark.
Chapter 11
Alex giggled and ran into the vineyard, disappearing among the trellises. Victor followed, his gray uniform jacket scraping against the vines as he chased the boy.
Why am I in my uniform? he thought.
Turning the corner, he saw his son standing between a row of trellises. The boy waved at him, the Guardian figure clutched in his hand, challenging his father to keep up before disappearing into the vines.
Victor followed the sound of the boy’s laughter, calling out, “I’ll get you!” while thinking, Why am I here?
It was familiar yet surreal at the same time. He had often chased his son through the vineyards before, just like his father did when Victor was a boy. Though Victor never recalled his father doing so in his uniform, staining it with dirt and crushed grapes. It would be a pain to wash.
Following Alex’s laughter, Victor burst from the vineyard and saw Alex run into his mother’s arms.
Gina picked up the boy, smiling at him and laughing with him. Lake Valor glistened in the midday sun; a fresh breeze blew off the water to cool Victor’s face.
Gina looked at him while she cradled Alex in her arms and gestured with her head to invite Victor over.
He smiled, despite the sense of wrongness. A part of him knew this wasn’t supposed to be happening. But he didn’t care.
He ran, covering most of the distance, when a flash of light over the western horizon nearly blinded him, stopping him in his tracks.
Gina and Alex were silhouetted against the fireball as the turned to look.
Victor reached out and screamed, “No!”
Then the shock wave blew away the dream.
***
Victor woke up with a gasp, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. Where was he? What was he doing here? Where were his wife and son?
They’re dead, said a voice in his head. His voice.
He tried to cover his face, brushing the bandaged stump of his right forearm against the ragged beard on his face. The sight of his missing hand shocked him back into reality.
Victor sighed. He was getting tired of waking up in places he didn’t know.
Cormac walked in. “I see that you’re awake. Are you in pain?”
He was, but, aside from a tingling sensation coming from the hand he no longer had, he didn’t feel any physical pain. “No,” he said, looking at his stump. “You couldn’t save my hand.”
The starchild frowned, shook his narrow head. “I’m afraid not. The variblade in your chest took priority. By the time I removed it and got you stabilized, it was too late to save your arm.”
Victor nodded. “Thanks for saving my life.”
Cormac bowed his head. “It was the least I could do. You got us all from there alive.”
Victor looked around the room. “Where are we?”
“On a ship,” Cormac said. “This is the sick bay of the Daisy Mae, the formerly captured freighter belonging to Captain Lena Dryer. We are currently on our way to Mustang.”
“What happened to the pirate base?” asked Victor.
“Destroyed. After we put all the survivors on the ships we were liberating, Gaz collapsed the dome with demolition charges he found in the armory,” Cormac said.
Victor lay back down; he felt tired. “Mission complete then.”
“Yes, and, thanks to you, we also rescued three hundred captured merchant crewmembers, took prisoner about thirty surviving pirates, and recovered hundreds of millions of credits’ worth of stolen cargo,” Cormac said.
“Huh, well, that’s something,” Victor said. “How many casualties?”
“Just over one hundred merchants. Half fatal,” Cormac said.
“At least they died fighting,” Victor said.
Gaz walked in through the sick bay’s hatch. The tattooed pit fighter looked at Victor. “I see you woke up.”
“Hey, Gaz. I see you’re no worse for wear,” Victor said.
“Just got some bruises from the bullets my armor stopped. That was a hell of a fight back there,” Gaz said.
“Yeah, I’m not doing that again if I can avoid it,” Victor said.
Gaz smiled, showing his spiked teeth. “You say that, but I haven’t seen close-quarter fighting skills like that since my days as a pit fighter.”
Victor sighed. “Swordsmanship was always a hobby of mine. Though it never occurred to me that I would actually need to use it in a real fight.”
“Well, you certainly know how to use a blade.” Gaz reached behind his back and pulled out Lucille’s variblade, its blade retracted.
“Got yourself a souvenir, I see,” Victor said.
“Not a souvenir, a prize.” Gaz held out the hilt to Victor. “Yours.”
“Mine? You shot her.”
“Yeah, you threw her after she cut off your arm and ran you through. As I said, I ain't seen fighting like that since my days as a pit fighter,” Gaz said. “You’re one tough fucker. Plus I don’t know how to use a variblade. You do.”
Victor took the variblade from Gaz’s hand. It was a less sophisticated model than his family’s heirloom weapon. This one made after the Fall, mostly likely. “Hrmm. I’ll need to unlock this.”
Gaz pulled out something hanging from a string. Victor realized it was the blade’s reset key. “I found this on Lucille’s body.”
Victor set down the variblade and took the string from Gaz’s hand. All he needed now was a new hand to hold the blade. “Thanks, Gaz.”
“No, thank you. You got us out of that mess and finished the mission,” Gaz said.
“I was just trying to get myself out of there alive,” Victor said.
“Yeah, but you took charge, and we all followed you. Despite the fact you were just a step above snake shit on the totem pole,” Gaz said.
“I don’t know about that,” Victor said.
“Spare me the humble bullshit. You’re a trained leader, better than Warwick ever was. I don’t know where you came from, Victor, but you’re clearly a man who knows how to lead in a shitty situation. That’s the kind of man I want to follow.”
“I concur. We could not have survived without your leadership,” Cormac said.
“So are you voting for me to become captain or something?” asked Victor.
“It’s hard to be a captain without a ship,” Gaz said. “But I think, after we get back to Mustang, we’ll have enough money to solve that particular problem.”
***
&
nbsp; Victor moved from the Mae’s sick bay and into one of the freighter’s passenger cabins. It wasn’t a large cabin, but it did have a comfortable bed, a small desk with a seat, and a shower stall tucked in a corner. The most comfortable accommodations Victor had been in since he had woken up in the room on the Stone. That had only been weeks ago, but it felt as distant as the Fall of the First Civilization a millennium ago.
He spent most of his time sleeping, not only to let his stab wound and stump heal but also the slew of bruises which covered his body, left by bullets stopped by his armor. A particularly large purple discoloration was over the right side of his chest where Toren had shot him at close range.
Even with the slow-release painkiller patch Cormac had attached to Victor’s arm, he felt like a slab of meat worked over with a tenderizer.
The worst of his physical pain came from his stump or, more accurately, from the hand he no longer had. He could still feel it there and had, more than once, tried to pick something up, only to have his phantom fingers pass through it. The first thing he would do as soon as he returned to Mustang was get outfitted with a prosthetic.
A knock came from his cabin door. Victor propped himself up on his left arm, letting his bandaged stump rest on his chest. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Fara limped in with a cane. A cast wrapped around her broken leg. “Hi, Victor. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” He pointed at the padded stool adjacent to the cabin’s small desk. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks,” Fara said. She sat down, carefully setting her immobilized leg against the deck. When she was settled, she brushed back the blue strip of her hair and looked at Victor with her large black eyes.
Not for the first time Victor marveled at how striking she was and immediately felt guilty about being attracted to another woman while the death of Gina was still so fresh.
“So how’s the leg?” asked Victor.
“Better than your arm,” she said, half smiling.
Victor grimaced. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“I suspect you’re plenty aware of your missing hand,” Fara said.
“Yeah, especially since I can still feel it.”
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