Renegades (The Eurynome Code Book 2)

by K. Gorman

  She swallowed hard, focusing on the ball. The air went still, quiet. Only the sound of the ball's internal whining, the hiss and heavy breaths of Soo-jin working in the corner, and the rasp of her own breath, roaring loud in the silence, occupied the space.

  For a few seconds, it seemed to be the only thing she could hear.

  A ball of energy crackled out—in the spot she'd stood in a minute ago.

  A smile tugged her lips as it slammed harmlessly into the pod bay's front doors.

  It was working.

  In the corner of the room, Soo-jin finished the line across the other half of the door. Without a word, she picked up the equipment, hauled it over her shoulder, and made for the ball as quietly as she could.

  The smell of soldering metal drew closer. Halfway across, Soo-jin dropped her equipment and, helmet still on, darted to the trunk at the side. A thick pair of insulated gloves appeared in her hand. She half-crept-half-jogged back to her solder rig, picked it up, and approached.

  The gun's point hissed when it touched the ball.

  Karin's light jerked. She cried out a warning—too late. The discharge rippled into the solder tip. Arcs of energy shot out. Soo-jin gave a brief, sharp yell as it touched her arms, and her entire body stiffened. Shoulders shaking from effort, she leaned in as the muscles jerked in her arms, keeping the tip of the gun on the ball.

  The thick, angry line of solder cleaved Karin's light like a volcano track.

  Two seconds later, the ball fell to the floor with a clang.

  Soo-jin chased it down as it rolled, following it with the solder. “Karin, there's a laser knife in that trunk. Get it for me?”

  She hesitated. “The light—”

  “Don't need it now, I think. Go grab it.”

  The room swayed as she stumbled away. It didn't right itself as her light re-absorbed into her skin, but she felt more whole. Swinging her leaden legs toward the trunk, she nearly ran into it. The metal edge dug into her palm as she spotted the knife and leaned in to grab it. Straightening, she gave her head a shake as she turned back.

  “Awesome,” Soo-jin said as she handed it over, brows furrowed in concentration. The welding mask lay on the floor beside her. She kept one glove on and studied the ball. “Let's take this apart, cut some wires, and examine it later. We can put it in one of the mag-trunks when Marc comes in.”

  Each trunk alongside the rim of the hangar had come with the ship. When the hangar bay opened, an electro-magnet in each would keep them on the floor during depressurization. An old, crude design, but it still worked.

  “If you're still feeling perky, you can grab us those space suits.”

  Karin followed Soo-jin's glance to a locker. Several suits hung through a plastic-glass window, the lights on their individual units glowing green. Giving a brief glance to Soo-jin's metal ball surgery, she started over.

  Time was not on their side.

  They worked in silence, shimmying into suits and tying themselves down to two embedded storage anchors in the floor. Karin's fingers fumbled over the edge of the helmet, slipping over the catch, and Soo-jin leaned over to fasten it for her before putting on her own helmet. The world hushed, quieted. Stilled. Suddenly, it was just her and the squeak and rustle of her suit. Lifting her arms up, she stepped into a loop Soo-jin had made in a set of cargo straps. Her breath caught as the she slid the strap over her shoulder and pulled it tight. A moment later, it washed back over her face, rebounding off the inside of her helmet.

  “You know…” Soo-jin's voice came over the suit's comms tinny and distorted. “I bet there's some kind of space porn about this.”

  “What?” Karin turned with a rustle or her suit.

  “I'm just saying,” Soo-jin continued. “I bet there's someone out there with this kink.”

  “I guess.” She glanced down, only to see the bottom edge of her helmet when the suit didn't move with her. “I'm not sure how sexy I feel in this.”

  “I can assure you that we're both very sexy.” Several grunts came over the line as Soo-jin lifted the bulky, awkward leg of her suit up to loop the strap underneath. “Care to hold this?”

  Karin leaned over and caught the end, pulling it tight as Soo-jin walked through, bent down, and clipped the strap in place, then gave the strap an experimental tug. The hook rattled in its cradle.

  So long as the floor didn't give way, they'd be secure.

  A different crackle came over the comms this time. For a second, it made the sound of an old radio aerial adjusting. Nick's voice followed. “You guys look ready. Are you?”

  “About as ready as we can get.” Karin glanced toward the door, then spotted the crowbar she'd left on the floor. “Shit. We left some tools out.”

  “Don't worry. As the ship's engineer, I can guarantee you that we're due for some new shit, anyway. They're probably thirty years old down there.”

  “More like fifty or sixty if you check the logbooks.” Christops overlapped Nick, clearing his throat. “Nemina's in range, and Caishen's boys are getting kind of antsy. I'm going to open the door before Hopper shows up. Make your exit fast.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And don't forget the fuel rods. I put them in the third trunk,” Nick said.

  “I saw them,” Soo-jin said. “I'll be sure to grab them.”

  “Good. Opening the doors in three... two... one...”

  A clunk sounded throughout the hangar, followed by a grinding sound and a hiss of air that vanished within a second. Karin skittered off balance, flailing her arms out as the gravity shifted—then jerked to a stop as the cargo strap snapped tight. Pain lanced through her ribs at the sudden hit, and her teeth rattled together from impact.

  Taking a cue from Soo-jin, she lowered herself into a squat, putting her weight behind the suit's boots as their magnets clung to the floor. Her shins ached, and a growing bruise formed as the straps dug into her armpits. The wind pulled her head forward.

  For several long seconds, it felt like she couldn't breathe. Her throat closed up so tight, she could feel her heart beat through it.

  But that was a false instinct, and her flight training had taught her better. She drew in a slow, ragged breath, then another.

  Slow and steady, she raised her head.

  The star field twinkled beyond the lip of the hangar, cold and distant. Her stomach dropped at its sight. The hush of the hangar pulled at her senses, making her more and more aware of the sound of her own breath, the slight hiccup in her throat. She tried to silence it. Cold brushed her skin, finally penetrating through the outer layers of the suit, and she felt a whir at the small of her back as the suit compensated.

  Gravity shifted again. She lifted up, weightless, no longer pulled forward, and her stomach did a slow, nerve-wracking flip.

  Oh, gods. Don't throw up in the suit. Don't throw up in the suit. Don't throw up in the suit.

  She swallowed it back and held her next breath. The door yawned wide.

  Then the Nemina came into sight.

  Part of her sagged. She had never been so glad to see any ship as she was to see her. Rising up like some kind of angular metal insect, nose tipped forward and her wings, useless in space, flaring at her side, the ion burn on her thrusters lit up bright blue behind her. It switched off a moment later, leaving her dark except for the running lights on the underside.

  Karin frowned. She was coming in fast.

  Memories of Enlil flashed through her mind. The lurch of the Nemina's floor, the crack and scratch of trees against her underbelly, the sight of the forest canopy racing below her as she finally wrested control from Marc and pulled them up.

  Oh, Christ. Don't crash.

  But, as if he had heard her, the Nemina braked. A jet of vapor flared as her fore thrusters fired, slowing them. Her nose tipped up. A second later, the auxiliary lights switched on, and Karin winced back at the glare before the suit's auto-tone glass corrected.

  The Nemina pulled in delicately, if a bit high and angled. More thrusters fir
ed from the top. As she moved to the floor, three ports opened in her underbelly and unfolded her landing gear.

  She touched down hard enough to shake the metal plates below, but the magnets held.

  The doors behind them closed.

  Chapter 27

  With her instincts screaming to rush out of her suit, she barely registered when Marc and Cookie came down the ramp. Rolling up on an elbow to fiddle with the straps—gods, they must look ridiculous—her breath straining in her ears with effort, her heart gave a jump as she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her visor. Then, as Marc’s hands dropped into sight, she went still. Scratches and squeaks sounded as he fiddled for the catch. For a second, it felt like it was just him and her, isolated from the rest of the hangar in the muffled silence of her suit.

  The helmet came free. Re-pressurized air flooded in, pressing against her clammy cheeks. She squinted against the sudden light—Nemina’s outboard lights were still on—and resisted the urge to grab it for herself. Following Marc’s lanky arms up to his face, she paused to give him a study.

  A sheen coated his skin, making it almost gleam under the lights. For a second, she remembered back to Enlil, when he’d come out from the Nemina’s interior and away from his renovation project, shining with sweat.

  This had a different tinge to it. Less a healthy strain of muscles than an unhealthy, stressed, long labor. Two lines gouged into the skin under his eyes accentuated that, combining with the puffiness in that area and the bloodshot remains of his sclera. The skin crinkled at the edges as he squinted, and traces of concern raised his brows as she saw him take a deeper, assessing look at her. The corners of his mouth pulled into a tight, grim line.

  Then Soo-jin ran past, shoes pounding on the floor. “Going for the fuel rods.”

  That snapped them out of their moment. Karin scrambled to shed the suit. Marc made a gesture as if to help slide it down her body, but by the time he had hesitated, she had already pushed it over her hips and knees and was hopping out.

  “Get the other suit,” she said, walking to the locker.

  A light pressure pounded in her head as she went through the motions. She forced herself to breathe deep and push it back. The Nemina’s ramp rang under her feet. She swayed as she reached its top, a moment of dizziness passing through her head, but she levered off from the wall and forced herself to march toward the bridge. Near the end, Marc ducked through ahead of her.

  “Excuse the mess.”

  A muggy, stale smell pressed over her as she passed the threshold. The first thing her gaze caught on was the mass of wires snaking out from under the center console and leading to three separate computers that… was that tape?

  She paused, staring.

  Yes. Cookie had taped his computers to the second dash, to the left of the pilot’s seat. Probably for zero grav and creative flying. Her jaw tightened at the thought, picturing lances of laser bolts shooting at them through space, the Nemina’s computer screaming in warnings as Marc strained at the controls.

  Gods. Someone had mentioned fighters. Just what had she sent him into?

  All screens were active. Two displayed a series of windows scrolling through what looked like data and some kind of cartoon-themed interface on one program, some of which the Nemina’s holoscreen above mirrored. The third pulled its screensaver through several images, all of dolphins.

  She frowned, her gaze catching on it. Were those cybernetic augments patched along its head?

  Soo-jin had said something about that, too.

  The quiet pressed in on her. Aware of Marc’s stare, she pulled her gaze away and took another step in, only then noticing the nest of used bedding on the floor and the piles of empty Mess hall packages.

  “It’s been cozy.” Back in his usual cross-armed stance, he stood partway across the room, near the gap between the piloting seats and the sensor station.

  She tilted her head up from a crumpled pile of stimulant drink packages. “Did you guys sleep much?”

  “On and off. Mostly off.”

  She’d figured. It explained the shadows that tinged his features, and the blotchy outlines in his cheeks. It would also explain the sheen and the odor of the room. Cutting the secondary sani systems bypassed a line in the extended life support module. They could eke a little extra power into the system—either for thrust or shields. Cookie could have done that. Marc, too, now that she thought about it. He had worked on the Nemina for the better part of a year before finding a more competent mechanic.

  “What happened with the fighters?” she asked. “Nick told us about them.”

  “Gave us a glancing blow off the shields. Warning shots.” He rubbed at an eye. “Caught us just before Amosi.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I—”

  “Not your fault. I knew what we were getting into.” He lifted his gaze, and his lips tightened, the smile thin and sharp. “Their next shot won’t be a warning. Cookie uploaded a jamming Trojan into their systems when they hailed us. Embedded it in the video feed. It won’t work a second time.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Marc had often referred to Cookie as a hacker, but, since most of the exploits he’d bragged about involved messing with arcade games and buggy phone systems, she’d assumed it had been a joke. What hacker would bother finding scrounge sites for them when they had much more fruitful jobs to work?

  But then, perhaps that had her answer. Who else would find sites for them? Who else with the knowledge could afford the kind of casual work a lone scrounge set-up provided? Cookie’s apartment on Enlil hadn’t been luxurious by any standard, but it hadn’t been wanting, either.

  She cleared her throat. “I… uhh... Isn’t that the plot for one of the old alien invasion movies? Defeat them with a computer virus?”

  “Yeah… it didn’t quite work out that way. And they’ll be coming in hot next time. We need to be ready.”

  She nodded, jaw tightening again. Inwardly, her stomach did a little flip.

  How in the ten hells could they be prepared for that? Nothing had changed. The Nemina was not, in any way, shape, or form, a fighter—at least, not one that could toe with a cruiser full of Alliance fighters.

  Brushing a wrapper from the pilot’s seat, she dropped down with a wince and picked through the controls, flashing the screen through to the navigation dashboard. The engines still sat hot, with fuel a little under half of what they’d come in with.

  As if on cue, the ramp down the hallway banged. Soo-jin and Cookie’s voices sounded in a hush, accompanied by a series of clanking.

  The fuel rods.

  “All good back there?” she called.

  “All good. Get us the fuck out of here. I’ll put these fuel rods in."

  "Anyone not doing anything should find a crash seat." Karin flicked the switch to close the outer ramp and jerked a finger to the seat next to her. “I want you in co. Make sure you got that gun ready.”

  A creak of pleather sounded as he eased himself down. “As much good as it will do us.”

  "Happy thoughts, happy thoughts," she murmured.

  With full atmosphere, the engines whined as they cycled back up. She relaxed as the familiar vibration rumbled through the floor and into her seat. Manual controls jutted from the dashboard in front of her, already loose from their docking. She guided them closer to her and pulled the seat restraints around her. After a few seconds, she released the magnetic lock and called toward the back again. "We’re taking off."

  The docking magnets released with a clunk. She flicked on the comms and pulled off the Ozark's number, skimming past the Enmerkar's ident on the most recent calls. As she went to engage the thrusters and lift them off, she froze at the face that appeared on screen.

  Hopper.

  Fuck.

  The anger on his face seemed amplified by the largeness of the screen. Her mouth tightened. A part of her wanted to swipe his face into a small, unnoticeable icon at the side of the screen, less important than her navigation system, the same as sh
e did when alerts popped up from insects hitting the front.

  But that wouldn’t solve the problem. If he had popped up on the other side of the Ozark's comms, that meant that he was on the bridge. Which meant the hangar door would not be opening for them.

  As if to accentuate her thoughts, he said, "You're not going anywhere."

  She feigned a smile. "That’s fine. I’m cozy right where I am. Back in my cockpit.”

  “You'll be in a jail cell, soon.”

  "Not if I can help it. Is Christops there?"

  "He can't help you now. This is my station. You are not leaving."

  She broadened her fake smile. “I'll assume that's a yes, then. Tell him that I'm sorry in advance? And to give my regards to Ethan? Thanks.”

  Still smiling, she muted the comms and turned to Marc.

  “Looks like you'll get to use that gun, after all.” She switched on the internal comms. “Okay, party people. Find a crash seat. Now. This is not optional, Soo-jin.”

  Marc's frown deepened as, at the light touch of the controls, she lifted them up, briefly fighting the artificial gravity. The hangar bay spun around them as she swiveled, keeping the thrust low. As the main doors aligned with their nose, the frown dropped from his face. “You don't mean—“

  “I think we can do it. Our cannon's pretty strong. C-Class Laser, right?”

  She chewed her tongue. The doors floated in front of them, swaying as they adjusted. Below, loose parts of the hangar flapped and blew around in the Nemina's wake. The controls hummed through her fingers.

  “Two shots, I think?”

  “Three, at least.” The frown returned to his face, flowing into the downturn of his mouth. He rubbed the skin under his lip as he stared at the screen. Stubble scraped across his chin. “Maybe four. It's solid metal, locked in place, and we need a hole big enough to fit. Clio.”

  At the side of the screen, Hopper had stopped talking to her, probably figuring out she'd muted the stream. Gesturing to someone off screen, he stalked to the side, the snarl in his face evident. Christops appeared in the frame, his face like stone as he watched the place where Hopper had gone.