by JC Cassels
THE BLACK WING CHRONICLES
Book Three:
BARRON’S
LAST
STAND
JC CASSELS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidence.
Cover Art Designed by JC Hicks
Copyright © 2017 Jayne C. Hicks
ASIN: B0722X1FZY
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted by the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in any database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
http://jccassels.com
Author’s Acknowledgments:
I would like to thank my editor, Laurel Kriegler, for giving me the kick in the butt to keep going when I was ready to give up. I would also like to thank my beta readers, Robin Murphy and Renee Stewart for their valuable input. Thanks also to my proofreader, Jessica Kramer, for keeping me straight with her eagle eye for detail. You ladies are the best friends I could ask for.
Thanks also to TM “Todd” Hunter for applying his engineering expertise to the problem of catching up with a 6’2” 200 lb. man in free-fall from the edge of space.
I’d also like to thank my brothers, Brad and Clay, my sister Wendi, my daughters Natasha and Nicole, my cousin Chris, Jim and Louise Nixon, Paul and Pat Shannon, Mike and Nena Hurlburt, and the irreplaceable best friends, Michelle, Robin and Renee for so kindly and lovingly taking care of me while I nursed my father through the last days of his battle with cancer.
Thanks to my dad, Monte Cassels, for nagging me to write when I least felt like it. I’m sorry I didn’t get finished with this one in time for you to read it as you’d asked.
As always, a huge thanks to my husband Dale Hicks – my hero, my champion, my best friend – for not minding terribly when bits and pieces of our lives together end up in the pages of a book. And a big thank you to my kids who have patiently shared their mom with her readers, and her crazy fictional universe.
For Bubba
CHAPTER ONE
Akita, Third Sector Detention Center
“Commander Bo Barron, Scourge of the Seventh Sector, I hereby arrest you on the charge of treason against the Commonwealth.”
Bo stared hard into his eyes, hooded by a protruding brow. The natural armor that passed for his skin made a rippling pattern underneath the fabric of his uniform when he moved.
“Treason? Why…that’s old news. I’m wanted for murder, extortion, sedition, smuggling and a bunch of drunken and disorderlies too, by now.” She canted her head at him. “Why do you think they call me ‘Scourge of the Seventh Sector’?”
Bo mentally ticked off everything she knew about his species. Akitan. Planetary native. Burrowing ancestors. Warriors. Sensitive between the overlapping plates. No teeth. Sharper than hell claws on upper and lower extremities. Stubborn and tenacious.
She glanced at the rank on his tunic and trousers. Sub-Commander. Great. Her arrest could mean his promotion. Not good. Her eyes flicked over the other six soldiers in his squad. One stroked the trigger guard of his NS-10 energy rifle in silent warning.
They had every right to feel confident. They had the Commonwealth’s Most Wanted cornered on a catwalk six levels above the main floor of the detention center. Cornered wasn’t the same as helpless, though. All she had to do was stall for time.
“I can see I’ve underestimated you, Sub-Commander,” she said. “How did you know I was here? I know for a fact I didn’t trip any alarms.”
“Experimental bio-sensors we’re testing,” he said. “You couldn’t have known about them.”
Fat lot he knew. Edge had warned her about product testing in the Third Sector. Typically, she hadn’t been listening. Oh, well. Not productive to worry about that now. If she got out of this one, she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“So, are you going to run me in, or are you going to carry out sentence here and just blast me to hell?” she asked.
“Lay down your weapon, Commander,” said the Akitan. “Come quietly.”
Bo spread her hands in a gesture of surrender, and tried a benign smile. “Don’t worry, Sub-Commander,” she said. “I know when it’s over.” Bo relaxed her hold on her Capre and slowly knelt down, as if to set it on the platform grill. Mentally counting off the seconds, she strained to listen for her signal.
Right on schedule, the charges she had set at the munitions bunkers began exploding. The building rocked with the force of it. The guards, taken by surprise, struggled to maintain their footing on the wildly-swaying platform.
Bo fired at the grill just below her. The Capre blasted a perfect, meter-wide hole in the fuseform. She dropped through it, landing hard on the catwalk below.
Ignoring the jolting pain in her knees, Bo rolled onto her back and fired four quick bursts at the rear catwalk supports for the structure above her. The horrifying screech and groan of metal bending into new and exciting shapes drove her to her feet and over the rail. She dropped to the next level of platforms a split second before the catwalk fell, smashing into the spot she had just vacated.
Bodies fell past her. Bo ignored the screams. The catwalks shuddered and swayed drunkenly with transferred kinetic energy, straining the limits of their construction and design. The structure above creaked and moaned in protest. Bo dove over the rail, and fired her wrist rocket at a fuseform truss above her. The rocket-propelled grappling hook spread its talons and sank deeply into the fuseform, holding fast as the shimmersilk line ran out. Her downward plunge shifted into a graceful arc, and she dropped gently to the solid floor below, releasing the hook and retracting the shimmersilk line with a quick flick of her wrist.
Another succession of explosions rocked the building. Klaxons raged throughout the compound, and the lights died. Bo stayed where she was, ignoring the rising ache in her left shoulder. She counted backward from three. On cue, the emergency lights flared on.
Now to break the kid out and get back to her ship before the picket ships got wind of her extracurricular activities.
Her sharp eyes flicked over the area, surreal in the dim amber glow, hunting for the guard’s cage before it sealed shut.
Spotting it three meters to her right, Bo sprinted for it and slipped inside, just ahead of the sliding door. In the silence that followed the thump as the door closed, Bo scanned the monitors and readouts. Her hand hovered over the vast control panel as she looked for the emergency manual override switch.
“Come on, Barron,” she chided herself, “you’ve done this before. Think.”
Relying more on feel and memory than sight, she found it and keyed the release of all cell doors. Immediately, the vast chamber echoed with hollow thumps and hisses as scores of magnetically sealed doors opened. She hit the release lever on her own door, then left the cage and headed for the temporary holding cells.
The corridors leading to the temporary holding cells filled quickly as life forms took advantage of their freedom. Now and again, Bo heard her name called as prisoners recognized her. Precious seconds ticked away as she pushed through the living stream of body odors looking for Nix.
“Bo!”
He caught a handful of her right sleeve just as she turned. Bo looked up and caught the mischievous gleam in his gray eyes. Nix raked his hand through his short, kinky black hair and flashed her an impish smile. A week’s worth of patchwork beard shadowed his jawline. On an older human, there would have been a full growth, but Nix only managed to look li
ke he had forgotten to wash.
“I knew it was you,” he hollered over the din. He bounced in his excitement. “Nobody else could pull this off. It’s just your style. Boom!”
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said wryly. “I make things go boom.”
***
Well, that was unexpected.
Blade Devon peered out into the rapidly filling corridor. Explosions, a loss of power, and all the cell doors opening at once could only mean that someone was executing a heavy-handed prison break. He doubted it was for him. It wasn’t Adin’s style. Since someone had gone to so much trouble to arrange a break, it would be rude not to participate. Besides if someone had planned an escape from the facility, the odds were better than average they also had a way off the planet.
If the scuttlebutt he’d overheard from the guards was correct, he was needed back in the First Sector. As much as he hated going back, he had to find a way to Trisdos – immediately. The Akitan authorities had been disinclined to respect claims of diplomatic immunity, and going through proper channels would take precious time he couldn’t afford.
He slipped out of his holding cell and into the raucous flow of prisoners heading for the exercise yard. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was the likeliest escape route. He scanned the faces around him, looking for someone out of place, some hint as to who might be orchestrating this event. One way or another, he was getting off this rock tonight.
He stepped out into the middle of a riot. His eyes flicked over the high walls and immediately dismissed the rescue coming from that direction. All around the perimeter, soldiers hefted NS-10s and fired at random into the writhing sea of life forms. Flames from the bunkers rose a good thirty meters into the sky above the walls.
His lips twisted in a wry smile. He had to hand it to whoever had planned this melee. They certainly had style, not to mention a flair for destruction. Now if only he could figure out a way past that wall…
He almost missed seeing her.
His mouth went dry. She moved like a dancer. She was quite probably the most beautiful female he’d ever seen – and that was saying something. She was as tawny and as exotically sexy as any female coey on the Aveen Plains of Kah Lahtrec. His heart gave that old familiar twist in his chest.
Like the ancient heroine of myth she had been named for, Bodhile Laidan Caitre Marissa Barron-Devon stood casually unconcerned in the midst of chaos, carefully eyeing a section of the wall. Blade followed her gaze, but couldn’t see anything on the shadowy surface to warrant her attention. Knowing her, she had something big up her sleeve. She raised her wicked-looking blaster and adjusted the setting. In one fluid move, she took aim and fired.
A narrow crimson blast flashed from the barrel of her pistol. For a brief second, the dark spot flared into flame. Almost immediately, the target exploded. The ground shuddered. The prisoners standing nearest were thrown from their feet. A dust cloud billowed up around the ruins.
On cue, the mob surged through the hole in the wall. She waved her blaster, gesturing for the boy beside her to follow. She plunged into the thick of the mob, scrambling over the rubble, struggling to keep from getting trampled.
Blade smiled to himself. Bo would have to be the person responsible for this fortuitous escape. Tahar had assured him they would follow their destinies together. Their paths crossing here and now could only mean it was time. The auric threads tying them together tugged at him.
Keeping a careful eye on her, he followed her. Energy blasts struck the remnants of the wall, leaving hissing pockmarks and sending up sprays of molten fuseform. Bits of burning material stung his exposed skin. His clothing smoldered in several spots. Blade caught a whiff of burning flesh and hair, and other organic matter.
Once on solid footing on the outside, she glanced back to make sure the boy still followed her, then sprinted across the wide clearing toward the dense woods that offered some cover. Blade made haste to follow. He had to keep them in sight, but he didn’t want to tip her off that he was tracking her. He doubted she would be as pleased to see him as he was to see her.
With unerring accuracy, he followed them into the trees and through the underbrush.
“Hurry up, kiddo,” her throaty voice drifted back to him and settled gently on his ears. “We need to get off the planet, and fast. Knowing Consular Guard reaction time, interceptors will already be en route.”
He admired the lithe grace with which she moved through the dense forest. Barely a leaf stirred at her passing. She easily sidestepped low branches. The boy, however, was not so fortunate. He swore fluently at every shrub that threatened to send him sprawling in the dirt; fortunately for Blade, who found the boy much easier to track. The trick was not getting too close. He didn’t want to spook her.
“What’s the big deal?” the boy groused. “You’re The Barron. You can outrun, outshoot, and outfight any pilot the Consular Guard sends against you.”
“Not if I don’t have time to charge my shields. As a rule, I don’t engage the Consular Guard. It hasn’t been that long since I was one of them.”
Blade smiled to himself. Despite having a death mark for treason, she still held to her principles. He’d always respected her for that.
“Come on, kiddo, pick up the pace.”
The dank smell of damp earth and decaying organic matter rose from the forest floor, churned up by the escapees ahead of them.
At last, they broke through the woods into a clearing. A huge rock ledge rose up from the ground, dominating most of the cleared area. She put out her hand and dragged the boy to a halt. Blade stopped in the shadow of a large tree and knelt down, waiting. She turned and scanned the area for any signs of movement. In the distance behind them, the escapees and the guards brave enough to chase after them lumbered through the dense forest, snapping twigs, tripping, and shouting with enough noise to drown out any sounds he might make.
She reached up and tapped her com-implant just behind her left ear. “Okay, Sundance, drop the camouflage,” she ordered. “We’re here.”
Ahead of them, the rock ledge wavered, as though distorted by heat waves rising from the ground, then flickered and dissolved. In its place stood a Tau-class Consular Guard cruiser. Small by galactic standards, the sleek, wedge-shaped craft filled the clearing.
Blade’s lips pursed, and he barely caught himself before he whistled in appreciation. This kind of camouflage came with a heavy price tag. He’d never seen it outside of Inner Commonwealth covert military operations. Redmaster Blue must be doing well.
The boy gaped at the ship. “Wow! That’s really wild, Bo. How did you do that?”
Bo shook her head and regarded him with amusement. “Holographic projection and artificial atomic signatures,” she replied. “It’s a little something the boss worked up.”
Gesturing for the boy to follow, Bo headed for the ramp that slowly detached from the hull beside the starboard nacelles and lowered into position on the mossy ground. As her boots touched the ramp, the hatch slid up in silent invitation.
“Start the preliminary warm-up, Sundance,” Bo called. “This’ll be one of our more interesting takeoffs.”
“Commander, long range sensors do not detect the presence of any Consular Guard picket ships within intercept range.”
Blade’s ears pricked. She hadn’t changed the artificial speech patterns of her shipboard computer. The voiceprint was still that of her father. He smiled remembering how he’d helped her father program the computer as a prank.
She waited until the boy was safely inside the hatch, then, as if sensing his presence in the shadows, she scanned the tree line again, her brow furrowed. She always did have an uncanny knack for knowing when he was close by. He could usually sense her as well. Apparently satisfied that she was unobserved, she hit the controls to seal up the ship.
The ship’s engines came on line with a whine and a rumble. Wasting no time, Blade raced across the clearing. The ramp folded up against the hull, shutting off that avenue of acces
s. Blade moved quickly to the nearest airlock and keyed in his personal override codes. The panel beeped rudely at him and flashed red.
Yeah, well, it was too much to hope that his access codes still worked. Clenching his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder.
He was running out of time.
His lips set in a grim line, he tapped the center of his right palm three times and waited for a yellow light to flash twice underneath his skin. He passed his hand in front of the scanner, then keyed in a code. The access panel flashed green and the airlock irised open. He was in. He stepped quickly through and sealed the outer hatch behind him just as the engines changed pitch.
CHAPTER TWO
She called out instructions to her ship all the way to the flight deck. “Sundance, get the shields on line right away. I want full weapons systems before we raise ship. How long before the sublights and repulsors are ready for liftoff?”
Already the ship’s engines were rumbling with enough power to set the deck plates into a steady vibration.
“As soon as you strap in, Commander, and run your pre-flight, you may raise ship,” Sundance pertly replied.
Bo’s lips quirked at the subtle reminder to buckle up and run a systems check before even attempting to lift off.
“You’re as bad as Edge,” she chided her ship under her breath. But, dutifully, Bo fastened her g-locks as soon as she’d settled into the pilot’s seat. She scanned the control panel, her brain set to only register anything out of the norm.
“Is there an airlock open?” she asked her ship.
“Negative, Commander.”
“I thought I saw…” she broke off, shaking her head.
She scanned the panel one more time. Satisfied that all systems were go, she waited for Nix to strap himself into the co-pilot’s seat before keying the controls bringing the repulsors and sublights up to full power.
