Vanquished

by Allyson Young

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Allyson Young

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-402-9

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Jessica Ruth

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  VANQUISHED

  Allyson Young

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  The shudder of the big ship threw her from her bunk, and Neira Grekov rolled across the narrow floor space before coming up short against the stack of cabinets holding her meager belongings. She sucked in a draught of air against the bruising pain in her shoulder and hoped the drawers wouldn’t open and tumble their contents on top of her when the ship actually yawed this time. Vessels this size shouldn’t flinch.

  A reaction of this nature could only mean an attack, and her body reacted both atavistically and in the manner it had been trained—not such a dichotomy as one might expect. She curled in on herself, drawing up her legs and folding over her arms to protect her vulnerable organs and head even as her mind searched for a more aggressive manner to react, then accepted her current defensive position was the best she could assume at the moment.

  “Lights.” Forcing her voice to sound crisp and collected, the word passed dry lips, her mouth sour with adrenaline.

  The room lit in blind obedience, both the overhead lights and lamp by the bed turning on before they flickered into emergency mode. But it was enough to see, and Neira braced against the cabinet, tugging open the drawer to her left, managing to secure a pair of leggings and her loose black tunic.

  As the ship shuddered to a dead halt, evidenced by the shifting in the gravitational integrity, she held herself hard with the expectation of being set adrift, but the field held. Wasting no time attempting to analyze a situation she was hardly experienced in as a passenger, Neira yanked her nightwear off over her head and struggled into the clothing she’d procured. She blessed the fact she’d worn briefs to bed, and if her breasts were unbound beneath the shift, at least the material was opaque. A bound chest was better for combat but perhaps this precipitous event wasn’t going to involve any form of fighting. With a grimace, she shoved that hope down—her luck didn’t run that way.

  Crawling toward the door, she searched for the small satchel holding the weapons of her previous trade, and the relief upon finding the bag offset the impetus of the adrenaline, making her momentarily weak. She felt carefully into the wide mouth and extricated a sheath containing her favorite dagger, then found her palka. The short, heavy piece of hardwood, long since extinct on the Home World, fit into her hand in a manner akin to a lover’s cock. Irreplaceable, it had been passed down through the generations in her family, and she’d be the last Grekov to honor it. She had little enough to take with her to her destination but couldn’t leave her weapons behind, not when they’d been thoughtfully retrieved by the team that had found her and Petrov.

  A memory flickered and she easily suppressed it, focusing on touch, scenting the stale recycled air of the vessel and waiting for the next unexpected event. The ship groaned like a live thing as it recovered its equilibrium. Neira allowed herself a moment’s hope. Perhaps it had been a collision with a rogue asteroid or an accident with the new star engines, rather than an attack. Well, there was no point in hiding in her quarters like a cornered rat in the more likely event that her optimism was futile. She stood, grateful for the correction of her inner ear perception, and hit the control that opened the door to her quarters, taking care to stand well to one side.

  Instead of sliding open with its usual alacrity and accompanying hiss, the heavy panel inched aside with a grating sound, the tiny increments of corridor it revealed making Neira’s pulse spike. Drawing on her past training, she calmed herself. She ensured her dagger was secured at her hip and hidden by her tunic, then hefted the palka. She nearly laughed with the release of tension when the door opened fully and there was nothing but the dimly lit hallway to be seen.

  Stepping out, she looked first right, then left. The biggest threat, if there was one, would come from the right where the lift was located. Nothing. She ran lightly in her bare feet along the heavily gripped floor. The material sprayed there and halfway up the walls was an excellent deterrent to slipping and falling, but it was a horrible surface to pull or push luggage along. Wheels and fabric alike tended to catch on the material and bring the owner up short. Boots, anything with gripped soles, almost guaranteed a twisted ankle, hence her bare feet. But then, the Astris had been first and foremost a troop ship, hauling those men and women bearing duffel bags to offload them in far off places, the better to protect the Home World’s interests in this part of the galaxy. The politicians now appeared to believe previous possession meant nine-tenths of the law and set up settlements on those interests even after learning the hard way that archaic rule didn’t necessarily apply any longer.

  In any event, the Astris had been transformed into a passenger liner, carrying workers to planets still held by the Home World. Mechanics to manipulate and maintain the machinery that mined some of those planets. Workers to replace and support those who toiled on the farms. This wasn’t a luxury transport, but the people it carried didn’t possess the packs and weaponry of the former passengers, and Neira thought the owners might have spent a few more notes on basic comforts.

  Her brain allowed the vagrant thoughts as she neared the lift, mentally discarding the usual noises of the Astris learned over all these weeks on board, now homing in on the others—assessing foreign sounds. Thumps, a faint ring of steel against steel, the distinct hollow crump of a phase weapon—inside a fucking space ship! Fear cramped her belly and she picked up the pace. Someone was either really stupid or desperate. Neither assessment boded well.

  Other panels along the corridor opened. She could hear them behind her, and two ahead, starboard, hitched wide. A woman’s head poked out of the first, a man’s from the second and Neira halted, her feet squeaking audibly against the floor’s surface.

  “Do you have weapons? Training?” She snapped out the questions, and the wild-eyed regard of both of her fellow passengers became focused.

  “No. I’m a farmer,” the man said. She’d seen him around, in passing. Yuri somebody.

  “Same,” answered the woman. She was a young, pretty blonde, and fear twisted her features. Victoria, or Vicky. Neira liked her from what she had gleaned during their brief conversations at meals. Not impressed with herself, despite her beauty and attractive figure, and ambivalent about her destination. Most everyone on the ship appeared to be, but there was little enough to keep them on the Home World.

  “Then stay inside and lock up. We’ve either been boarded, or someone’s lost their fucking mind. I heard a phase weapon.”

  Blinking, Yuri nodded and withdrew. Vicky followed suit but far more slowly. Civilians. Neira wondered if she should stay on this deck and guard them until the ship’s escort noticed they had lost their plump sheep and flew to the rescue. If her instincts were correct, the Astris was under attack, and probably from pirates. The only thing those cursed beings were interested in was booty.

  They’d take the shipments intended for the colonies. The healthiest and strongest of the men would be sold as work slaves. If they were lucky they’d be sold to the Shadalla, although with the treaty that alien race could now offer
gainful employment, so perhaps there were other buyers that didn’t immediately come to mind. The rest of the men might be murdered or left on a crippled ship to fend for themselves. The women… Neira had heard tales about the pirates, and after discarding the usual seventy-five percent of embellishment, she was still appalled by what she recalled. The abuse and torture… Another memory flickered and this time surged to the surface. She battled it back, swallowing against the bile. Her face twisted in response. She thought she’d become adept at repressing.

  Thinking again about the female passengers, Neira recalled the briefings by her commanders. There was evidence the Shadalla also bought and kidnapped women in the past and were said to crave Home World females. None had ever returned, despite the treaty. Neira didn’t know if that was because they chose not to, or weren’t able. She’d be inclined to believe the latter. Her past experiences had polished her natural cynicism into a sharp, ever-present reminder.

  Turning back to survey the other people cautiously peering from their quarters, she asked the same questions of them—could they arm themselves and fight with her? Negative headshakes answered her and she told them to take cover and lock down. Primarily women, all but one followed orders. The slight form pattered toward her, unfettered breasts bouncing beneath the loose fabric of night apparel, and with a broken off lamp base clutched tightly in one hand.

  “What’s going on?” It was Toya, introduced as a master mechanic and destined for the far planet of Bloor where the environmental machinery was giving them fits. Neira had heard Toya’s musings and plans for repair often enough, having also met her during meals or the long walks around the decks most took to stave off excruciating boredom. Neira walked to keep fit when she wasn’t exercising in the privacy of her quarters, not for socialization, but she was forced to mingle sometimes. Toya seemed to want to interact with her more than the others.

  Surveying the improvised weapon, the connective wires removed and the heft already making the smaller woman’s arm droop despite the wiry muscles developed by her profession, Neira couldn’t help but experience a glimmer of humor. It was tempered by admiration that Toya didn’t plan to go down without a fight. In truth, she hadn’t found much to like or admire about the master mechanic, who was far too nosy and intrusive for her taste.

  “I think we’ve been boarded. Attacked, certainly.” She referred again to the phase weapon.

  “On board?” Toya’s voice was incredulous and her green eyes grew enormous. “Are they fucking nuts?” Perhaps Neira wasn’t the only one who’d spent time among the rough and ready.

  “I’m gonna stand watch at the lift until I can raise somebody in charge.” If there is anyone in the ship’s roster left, Neira thought grimly. Apparently Toya had the same thought.

  “If it’s pirates, they’ll be routing the bridge, taking control. We should make our way to the pods, get off while we can.” Toya shifted her weapon to the other hand as she scrutinized the palka intently.

  “They’ll pick us off.”

  “Not all of us. You should come and we’ll ask some others to take pods too. It’ll make killing all of us more difficult.” The redhead bounced on her toes.

  So Toya wasn’t a hero. Smart girl. And Neira wasn’t either, not anymore. But the idea of running didn’t appeal. She knew whoever was ballsy enough to attack a Home World vessel wouldn’t scruple at destroying or disabling all the pods to keep anyone from escaping and telling the authorities the fate of the Astris. She’d rather go down fighting than imploding in space or suffocating from lack of oxygen. Toya obviously had something to live for, and Neira winced at the bite of envy. Maybe one pod wouldn’t be noticeable.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll take my chances here.” She gestured Toya away.

  Visibly hesitating, the little redhead changed her grip on the lamp base. For an incredulous moment, Neira thought Toya meant to strike her. She shifted automatically into defense mode. Then the other woman relaxed. “Okay. I’m going. I’m not attached to any of my possessions. I’ll make do with what’s in the pods.”

  Neira watched as Toya ran awkwardly in the opposite direction, overbalanced by the makeshift weapon, to where a few of the emergency transits were fitted into the bulkheads. She struck each door of the cabins with the heel of her hand as she passed, and several edged open, the occupants’ heads poking out of the openings at various heights.

  “I’m taking a pod,” she called out as she ran.

  Almost as one, the heads turned to look at Neira, who stood without giving them anything. They should make their own choices. She didn’t command any longer, having lost that privilege in the most vile manner possible. Some with a shake, others without any noticeable response, they all withdrew in jerky increments. Toya gave Neira a look over her shoulder that she couldn’t interpret. She wished the other woman luck with a stare of her own.

  Turning her attention back to the lift doors, she then longed for cover, feeling as exposed as a ryba out of water. Though that probably wasn’t an accurate analogy. Rybas tended to adapt quickly, their multichambered lungs capable of breathing both air and fluid. Neira thought she might be drowning.

  Anxiety mounting, she peered forward and believed she heard the faint whine of the turbos that dropped the lifts between decks. There had been no announcements. No reassurance from the captain. It was too much to believe there had been such widespread malfunctions that all the communication options were neutralized. So it had to be pirates. Fuck. Maybe she’d given the wrong impression by remaining neutral. Maybe she should have told everyone to head for the pods. Her faith in her ability to command and make good decisions had been so shaken by past events. Unbidden thoughts threatened to flood her brain and immobilize her, and Neira automatically practiced the techniques the therapist had taught her. Concentrate on your feet, remain grounded, feel your surroundings, know you aren’t back in that place. Breathe.

  Slowly the sensation of breathing underwater eased as the tested approach kept her in the present as usual, and while the hair at her temples grew damp and her chest ached, it was enough to push past the trauma and gain control of her body. Neira reapplied her focus to the situation. All she had left was to try to make this a choke point, give any other survivors a chance to fend off those attempting to gain access to their cabins. Maybe buy some time for the Outriders—those smaller but well-armed and nimble craft—to return and engage the pirates and drive them off. Hope was all she had.

  The policy of sending those escort ships racing ahead to clear space, instead of tending the slower vessels like Astris, was another foolish choice in Neira’s opinion. She might not understand astrophysics or gravity infusers, but she did grasp the art of war and the techniques contained within that art. And her opinion had just been supported. The passenger ship was indeed like a fat ewe for the plucking, no matter they weren’t supposed to be at war with anyone any longer. A few Outriders should have been left behind. Der’mo. Not that cursing in her native language was going to change anything, except everything did appear to be going to shit.

  A panel worked open behind her and she whirled, weapon at the ready, too wired to mute her trained response. Yuri emerged, a closet support rod in his hand and a determined look on his Slavic features. Neira wondered if he saw a similarity in her own facial structure as his gaze met hers. They had never exchanged last names—people on vessels like these rarely connected for more than polite social necessities, loners almost always without exception, although she suspected Toya had had an affair with one of the crew.

  “It is pirates,” Yuri announced, clearly having thought things through. When she didn’t attempt to dissuade him, he asked, “What’s your plan?”

  “Hold them at the lift, block the doors, anything to give our escorts time to figure it out and get back to save the day.”

  Yuri arched a brow at the bitterness in her tone but didn’t respond to it. He nodded, then looked at the doors and back at her. “How?”

  “If they use a phase weap
on we’re fucked. But I can’t think they’d be so stupid. It was probably one of the crew who objected to being cut down, slaughtered.”

  “You think the crew…” Yuri’s face paled even more and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  “I don’t think anything, really. I don’t know anything. I’m trying to make some educated guesses and make the appropriate choice to respond. I’m now wondering if this deck shouldn’t abandon ship while there is still time.”

  “They’ll destroy the pods.” His tone was colored with despair.

  “If they have anyone left on their ship to do it, they will,” she agreed. “But they may all be on board except for a skeleton crew, and if so can’t watch all the ejection points. Hard to weigh the odds because we can’t be sure they are really pirates.”

  “Who else?” Yuri blanched. She knew he was thinking again about the possibilities. Being captured and sold as a slave and worked hard was one thing. There was always the chance of escape or a decent life. His next statement confirmed her supposition that he wasn’t thinking positive. “What if it’s the Juxtant?”

  “The Juxtant are scattered,” she dismissed, willing another surge of bile back down. “The Home World and its allies dealt with them, and the Shadalla are cleaning up the dregs.”

  “We can hope that’s all true,” he muttered. “At least the Shadalla treats slaves well, and sometimes they ransom—”

  “The Shadalla don’t buy slaves anymore, Yuri.”

  “So the treaty says,” he agreed, but with true Russian pessimism.

  A thud signaled the arrival of the lift, cutting Yuri off before she could remind him he was lucky he didn’t possess a vagina. As far as she knew, the Shadalla were primarily heterosexual, although that was but a fleeting tidbit of information she’d recalled. An understanding of the sexual proclivities of other species hadn’t mattered back then. But now…the majority of the passengers on the ship were female, and it was a damn good possibility someone had told the pirates that very thing. She knew there were species who’d prefer Yuri. A particularly nasty flash surged up from the guarded recesses in that dark room in her brain, battered itself into oblivion, and she blinked back into the present once again. Breathe. Attend to your surroundings.