Her orders had to have involved something critical, because the trip was dangerous, and required a full load of precious duranium.
Her last conversation with the emperor came back to her. “I need you to infiltrate the dark side of the moon, where the mining transports are loaded. Once you’re inside the station, assassinate the leaders, evade capture until the troop transports arrive then facilitate their landing, and report to me.”
Imperial conditioning mandated total obedience to royal orders. She bit her knuckles to keep from howling.
Goddess have mercy. I’m here to kill Diablo and Gunn.
She strained to recall the rest of her encounter with Prado, but further details eluded her. Considering what she remembered, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know more. She searched for her mates in the organized chaos of soldiers preparing for battle, wanting reassurance they were safe. Diablo ran skynet, so he was easy to spot. She studied his dear face, thank the Goddess no compulsion to murder him seized control of her.
A sigh caught in her throat as she checked the crowd for Gunn.
He straightened up, towering over the others, and turned toward her as if her thoughts had called him. A reassuring grin softened the harsh lines of his familiar features.
She clamped down on an impulse to fly to him and cover his face with kisses, contenting herself with an answering smile.
Apparently her unbreakable imperial conditioning had been broken.
Her love for Diablo and Gunn was more powerful than Prado’s command. She sagged with relief. At least she’d be spared the agony of being compelled to execute her lovers.
She wanted to fight by their sides. Thanks to them, she was stronger than she’d ever been. As an assassin, she was deadly, but those skills were best suited to dark corners, not the brightly lit arena of battle.
If she knew how to shift, then her dragon would change everything. Of course, she based her excellent rescue fantasy on her inner beast being as fierce as legend claimed and her wielding the fabled magic power with finesse. Those were big—scary big—assumptions.
She had no idea how to shift. When she pictured herself as a fearsome beast, she felt sick, or rather sicker than she already was. The headache she’d woken with continued to pound and every inch of her body ached. If not for the demons’ donated strength she would’ve curled in a ball of misery and whimpered in a corner.
Knowing her mates couldn’t afford the distraction of worrying about her fueled her determination to stay upright and hide the throbbing pain.
“Come here a second, babe,” Diablo called.
Ignoring her pounding head, she hurried over, scanning him for trouble. “What is it? Are you all right? Do you need more food?”
“No.” He lowered his voice so only she heard him. “Kiss me. It’ll help with your pain.”
“You’ve already given me too much,” she protested.
“Not if you’re still hurting.” Diablo scowled at her.
He didn’t wait for further discussion, capturing her arm and tugging her close. While keeping his attention focused on skynet, he covered her mouth with his.
His spicy, dark chocolate flavor was impossible to resist. She opened for him, sucking greedily on his tongue. The hammering in her head receded to a dull, background beat.
Fortified by the power transfer, she tried to shift.
He gave her a small shake. “Stop that. The change can’t be forced. All you’re going to do is exhaust yourself. Now is about the worst possible time for your transition. The first shift is especially hard. It’ll weaken you and hurt like the fires of all seven hells.”
Zaynah nodded unhappily, knowing he was right and hating being weak and useless.
The medi-droid wove through the defensive pockets being hastily assembled.
“Excuse me, Miss Zaynah, my master requires me to escort you to safety.”
That was too much. She narrowed her eyes at the innocent droid. “Is that so?”
“Yes, miss. I’m not programmed to lie,” the bot added helpfully.
“Of course not.” She softened her tone and added, “I’ve got a much better idea. Get some first aid supplies, find a nice quiet corner, and help me set up a triage station. We can use the watch commander’s quarters. Come with me.”
The droid’s top swiveled completely around. “Are there wounded?”
“There will be soon.” Zaynah’s lips pressed into a grim line.
Chapter Nine
Gunn stayed conscious of Zaynah’s position through every second of the controlled chaos of preparing for battle. The stupid droid he’d sent to move her to the relative safety of the underground medi-unit disappeared, leaving her unprotected and alone.
The quick-changing projected views of their air space and the surrounding sectors that usually flickered around the command center had been shut down to minimize distractions. Only Diablo watched the surface and sky for threats.
Xeth directed his troops in building temporary bunkers from containers filled with loose rock—something they had in abundance—a by-product of mining duranium. The stacked boxes formed thick barriers between vulnerable bodies and killing blasts.
“Enemy crawler entering dock five, detonating the bay in three seconds.” The harsh warning came from Diablo.
An echo from the blast shook the room. Gunn let out the breath he’d held.
Diablo scanned the feed as the dust and debris cleared.
“Got ‘em.”
The men cheered.
“Unauthorized access in bay four.”
Gunn peered over his shoulder at the ground carrier. A thin probe extended from the sealed vehicle, accessing the dock’s controls.
“Fuck, I can’t blow four. The compartment is already pressurized. I’m locking the tubes,” Diablo growled.
The systems didn’t allow detonation once the bay filled with breathable air. This was a standard safety measure, which made sense back when they’d embedded the protocol. At best, blowing a bay took out one crawler. The imperial forces had plenty more.
Locking the high-speed transports made access to the command center more difficult, but wouldn’t stop the royal troopers.
Gunn drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, assessing their odds. Their defenses weren’t ideal, but they couldn’t rebuild while under attack. The narrow access points between the tarmac above and their fortified operations were a plus, limiting enemy movement. No more than three armed men at a time could enter the station.
Their defense was fortified by barricades while maintaining direct line of fire to the only entrance. The small groups of invaders would be easily picked off as they entered the center.
Tension bled from Gunn’s neck and shoulders. They were as prepared as possible. Thanks to the weapon master, they had an actual advantage.
Boom, boom, boom, explosions rocked the station, sending a shower of dust from the stressed ceiling.
Gunn tensed at the first deafening detonation. A whiff of the sweet, pungent air after a thunderstorm brought back a memory from his cadet days on Basilisk Prime before the world became a place of brutal betrayal. Smoke and dust soon overrode the innocent freshness from the blaster discharges.
Bloody dragonheads, the royal troopers had created their own access to the station’s core. Gunn had been wrong. Destroying their lifts hadn’t slowed the royal forces. A ponderous crunch of metal crushing metal confirmed his worst fears. The crawlers were still coming.
His brother retasked interior cameras, providing a live feed of the disaster.
Gunn scrambled for the overhead ducts that re-circulated fresh air throughout the labyrinth mining operation and belly-crept to a point just ahead of the first enemy crawler. Once in position, he dropped a fireball down the vehicle’s breather. The craft ground to halt.
Boom, another explosion sent him tumbling back to the command center. He hit the floor in a ball and rolled. He shrugged off his disorientation with a vicious curse at the mangled ductwork.
/> Fresh blasts rattled his confidence and room’s reinforced outer walls.
The decorative shell covering crumbled. The inner metal substructure heated to red, and then white-hot before melting. Unrelenting assaults ate a massive hole in the heavy beams, clearing the way for men and machines to enter the control center. The north wall disintegrated into smoldering, mangled steel.
An imperial battle-droid high-stepped over the pile of debris.
Twice as high as a man and three times as wide, the bulk of the mech’s form was concentrated on its bulging upper body—heavy with weapons and systems. A hard shell of sophisticated targeting and lethal phasers balanced on four long, triple hinged legs designed to move the death machine over any obstacle.
The station’s squat battle-bots crept forward on their syn-rubber tracks, exchanging blasts with the invader. They fired, as they’d been program to do, at the royal mechanized warrior’s vulnerable articulated legs. Soon the weakened support system buckled at mid-hinge, sending the top-heavy battle-droid crashing.
Immediately, a second killing machine followed the first. When that one toppled a third smart, automated firing unit stepped into the arena through the gaping hole in the station’s defenses.
Ranin Seven’s mechs were quickly overwhelmed. They ground to a halt before exhausting their charged weapons.
With no more bots to send into the fray, one of Xeth’s squads moved forward, taking over the frontline.
The imperial forces had come prepared. A fourth enemy mech lurched into battle. When it too fell yet another followed.
Gunn knew there had to be a limit to how many of the mechanized monsters they had on-tap, but the steady influx of the lethal droids was demoralizing.
Xeth’s men fought grimly, taking out two more killing machines. Another pair of metallic nightmares replaced the fallen units, firing steadily before the human troops had a chance to recharge their blasters and regroup.
The backup squad stepped forward covering the first team as they retreated, hauling their dead and wounded out of the line of fire.
Gunn’s gut clenched. This was way too soon to tap their reserves, but they didn’t have a choice.
When the backup force exhausted their weapons, Gunn stepped in, hurling fireballs. He incinerated two more mechanized monsters and flamed out a third, allowing Xeth’s men time to recharge their weapons, move their wounded to safety, and scramble back to the battle front.
The allied troopers under Xeth’s direction rallied, defeating more of the endless supply of automated monsters. After a tough fifteen minutes, their phasers nearly exhausted, they signaled for relief.
Ranin Seven’s soldiers had begun the fight tired and injured. Now they were ragged, showing their exhaustion as they replaced the allied troops. The station’s veterans moved slower and took more direct hits. When they faltered, more wounded were shunted to the triage station where the medi-droid and Zaynah worked frantically treating the worst of the casualties.
Gunn checked on her as he moved to cover the front, biting back a feral grin of pride.
Her face was pale and her lips pressed into a tight line, but she more than kept up with the tireless mech.
The imperial forces had suffered losses too, though the enemy’s battle-droids took fewer effective hits from his men while continuing to fire steadily.
Gunn gathered his power, calling on the Safara, Goddess of Fire to sustain him. He readied for battle painfully aware the imperial soldiers remained fresh, waiting in reserve to move in after their machines fell.
The top-heavy monsters tumbled and disintegrated under his fiery blasts. He reached deep, finding the strength to incinerate the last of Prado’s mechs.
They had only a few seconds before the first wave of the emperor’s troops attacked. Gunn automatically scanned the room, assessing the arena. Diablo was still on his feet, gripping the skynet controls, but he swayed. In seconds, Gunn was by his side, examining him for injury. The ugly gash from a direct blaster hit bled steadily. He yelled, “Medi-droid to the command console.”
Zaynah responded to his shout, catching Diablo before he fell.
“You handle skynet. I’ve got him.” She didn’t wait for a response, half-carrying Diablo to the commander’s quarters.
Much as Gunn hated being apart from his brother, Zaynah was right. He had to man skynet or they were doomed.
As usual, he shut out everything, except for guiding the fiery meteor showers, which kept the imperial troop transports circling the moon from landing. After he’d repelled another attempt to break through, he checked the arena again.
Xeth had deployed their combined troops, decimating the enemy’s frontline.
Gunn breathed a sigh of relief.
A ping of warning from skynet returned his attention to the console. A royal transport was making a run at the dark side.
A fortunate natural meteor on a collision course for the enemy ship ignited easily at his bidding, smashing through the invader’s shields. The wounded craft careened and crashed well away from the crowded tarmac.
Gunn had only a few seconds to scan the deep sector displays, three—no four ships still circled Ranin Seven. The vessels were too far for certain identification, but he assumed they were imperial warships.
“Looks like you might have one friendly,” Diablo said.
“What are you doing out here bleeding all over my console?” Gunn growled, keeping his focus trained on skynet.
“Zaynah patched me up. I’m not letting you grab the glory.”
“No problem then, there’s still plenty of royal ass-kissing troopers for you to flame.”
“On my way,” Diablo moved with a deceptively lazy ground-eating stride, making his way to the front.
A warm feeling of pride warmed Gunn at the sight of his brother striding into the fray. With Diablo in fighting shape, they had a chance. A small one, but small was a huge improvement over none.
***
The numbing agent Zaynah had injected into another dragon-cursed phaser wound was already wearing off, thanks to Diablo’s demon metabolism. His right shoulder sent stabs of agony through him with every move as if dragon teeth were taking chucks out of his hide one bite and a time. Fortunately, he healed fast and was left-dominate. He used his good arm to wield a blaster set on max while gathering power. Then he opened his mouth and loosed a giant stream of white-hot flame, aiming for the jagged edges where the north wall used to stand.
Fallen fighting machines from both sides littered the smoking floor, many still loaded with phaser charges.
His blast melted more of the battered wall, raining molten metal on the incoming royal troopers, and eroding the spent bots.
Noxious smoke billowed and thickened, making it hard to see. All around them armor, syns, and human flesh combusted into toxic fumes.
Even harden d’skeku warriors, sobbed and gasped when their skin and bones melted.
A series of crackles and hisses added to the cacophony as the fallen mechs disintegrated in the inferno. The noise level grew as super-heated droids, still loaded with charged weapons, detonated, wiping out the next wave of imperial soldiers, who’d missed the deadly shower of liquid steel.
The station’s frontline fell back to the next barriers to avoid the melting metal. The molten mass pooled, eroding the floor. Diablo let loose another blast, liquefying the last of the heavy girder supporting the ceiling. Slowly the remaining north side crumpled. A chunk of the roof broke free, and then another, until that end of the room was reduced to smoldering rubble. The resulting mess formed a far more formidable barrier than the original plaster and lath over steel framework ever had.
A fast check of the carnage revealed no life signs among the fallen enemy soldiers. The allied forces weren’t much better off, but a few still moved.
Weakened by the power drain, Diablo scrubbed sweat he couldn’t afford to lose from his eyes, keeping his vision clear. He swayed and caught his balance, just missing a graceless header into t
he console.
“Drink this,” Zaynah nudged an uncapped sip bottle into his hand.
He lifted, tipped, and swallowed, grateful for the stream of fortified water soothing his scorched throat. When the first container had been emptied, he accepted chunks of raw meat she urged on him, eating with mechanical efficiency.
She moved to his right side, checking his wounded shoulder.
“Leave it alone. There’s no time.”
She narrowed her eyes, the irises flashing ruby sparks. “You’re hurting.”
“We’re alive,” he growled. “I’m trying to keep us that way.”
“Me too. Now let me fix your wound before you bleed out and make a mess right in the middle of perfectly civilized war.”
He laughed because he couldn’t help it, but dodged her determined fingers, protecting his injured side from her attentions.
“Will you cooperate?” She crossed her arms and glared at sparks at him.
He looked forward to hearing what she’d do to him if he refused.
Before she’d enlightened him, a rumble warned him the third wave of royal troops had arrived and were gearing up for battle. He scanned the video feeds. A d’skeku platoon marched toward them, led by a giant reptile.
A second later, Prado’s well-remembered stench punched his sinuses, pumping ice through his veins.
They finally had a chance to claim vengeance for their slain brothers, but he’d never dreamed killing Prado would mean endangering Zaynah.
He had less than a minute before the imperial forces arrived. The station was more rubble than fortress. He didn’t have time to move her to a safer spot.
“Get down,” he growled at her, urging her against the inadequate barrier of the half wall in front of him. After tucking her into a ball, he moved, planting himself between her make-shift shelter and harm—shielding her vulnerable human form.
No sooner than he’d crammed her into the space behind the barrier, monstrous claws raked through the first barricade as if it had been made of paper. Filler rocks tumbled everywhere. A giant forearm batted aside metal scraps, enlarging Prado’s path.
Flight of Dragons Page 75
