by Susan Grant
Anger and shock ripped through him, clearing away his confusion like a Parramanta wildfire cut through forest in the yearly drought. He whipped his fingers across the screen, calling up the skiffs’ unique signatures. What he saw he’d dreaded. He knew those identifiers by heart.
“Bloody, freepin’ hells. Those raid-crashing louts.” He crushed his hand into a fist to keep from punching out the scope. “It’s Blue clan.” And today they’d gone too far.
CHAPTER TWO
BLUE CLAN DESCENDED around the freighter like a flurry of celestial snowflakes. Up close, the ramshackle Drakken hulk was darker, craggier. A faint shiver slid down Val’s spine at the sight. Everything about the Drakken Horde seemed to reek of evil, she thought, conjuring the monsters of childhood nightmares.
“Boogeyman,” Reeve muttered as if reading her thoughts. He was crouched by the starboard portholes, his handsome face blank of emotion as Val cut the power to coast silently in the shadow of the huge ship.
“Can’t help the way she looks, being Drakken,” Hervor said. “Best not to wake her up early, though.”
“Aye, I’m tiptoeing.” Val took extra precautions to slip alongside the fuselage like a shadow. Drifting the last few clicks, she found her assigned hatch and settled over it.
Soundlessly, she and her team jumped into action. Masks fastened, safety ropes attached and raiding suits checked intact before creating an airtight seal between the two ships. Using plasma and zelfen blades, and centuries of technique, Hervor and Reeve turned the hatch into a temporary opening. On a gargantuan vessel like the freighter the intrusion would show up, at most, as a blip in the environmental systems status that could easily be attributed to a hundred unimportant anomalies. “Pressure’s good,” Val said, monitoring the stream of data on her cockpit display. “Holding steady.”
Holding steady against the void. Sweat prickled on her temples as she tried not to be so acutely aware of the vastness of space outside. The absolute cold. The impossibility of surviving out there. Things went wrong on raids. It wasn’t common, but it did happen. She’d seen a raider get sucked overboard her first month assigned to the Varagon. A ruptured passage port, and out he went. The scene replayed in her mind: his expression of surprise, his mask flailing uselessly, the way his fingers grasped vainly for something to hold on to, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish trying to breathe on the bottom of a boat. It wasn’t the kind of sight one forgot.
Perspiration beaded on her brow despite the frigid air now rushing in through the passage port connecting both vessels. Reeve aimed his tester. “The air’s safe to breathe.”
She tore off her breather—and wrinkled her nose. “Safe, aye, but it stinks.” The hammocks Drakken space hands used—their “sleeping skins”—gave off a peculiar odor that reminded her of bad cheese. It was the only hint that the ship was inhabited. Its sheer size was to blame. But the crew was here; she had no doubt about that. Aye, and they’d kill her in a heartbeat if she gave them a chance.
She judged the opening she’d shimmied through, then sized up her team. “Boarding time, raiders. Give your gear another check.” She looked over her weapons and armor one last time. Just to be safe. You never knew what you might run into on someone else’s ship. Or who.
THE SHOUTS OF OUTRAGED raiders blasted in Dake’s ear comm as the shock of the discovery spread through the Sureblood skiffs. By mere moments, the Blue clan had beaten them to the freighter. Now he was racing in on their tails. He had but seconds to decide a course of action. Everything depended on making the right choice.
Malizarr growled from his station. “Let me shoot them. Come on, boss. It’ll teach them once and for all.”
“Hold your fire,” Dake said sharply to him and all the other raiders in the formation with eager trigger fingers.
Yarmouth spat out a curse. “You’re not going to let them get away with this, are you, Cap’n? It’s time we defended what’s ours. Two raids in a row them Blues stole from us. No one wants to give them a third.”
“Trust me, there won’t be a third,” Dake said, firm. But if he were to give in to emotion and attack the Blues instead of the freighter, his efforts would be expended on other pirates and not the ore-stealing merchants. The outsiders were their enemies, not their own kind. “I won’t abandon the raid to freepin’ either one of them, Blues or Horde.” His raiders wouldn’t return home humiliated. They’d seen enough bad times the past year. He wanted to give them reason to celebrate.
“Continue!” he bellowed, feeling better already for having said it. For not turning tail and going home. “The raid is a go.”
Squib pushed up on his knees. The boy’s surprise was obvious even with slashes of bright war paint across his face. “But, boss, what about first come, first raid?”
“That rule’s been temporarily suspended,” Dake snarled.
Everyone was shouting now as they blazed toward the freighter. Yarmouth and Malizarr laughed and whooped. Squib looked incredulous. Even Merkury tipped his head at Dake’s order.
“We’re the superior force,” Dake explained. “We’re better trained, better equipped. Even Nezerihm says so,” he heard himself saying despite his aversion to quoting the man. “We can well handle those merchants at the same time as a gaggle of poorly trained, rangy Blues. Surebloods fight to win!”
“Not fight. Unite.”
Dake spat out a curse. He could hear the voice of Tomark Sureblood warning against bloodshed. Urging him to choose a course of unity.
“It is my dream, son, to see the clans as one.”
It was almost as if the old man were sitting beside him, offering advice like he used to do on Dake’s first skiff flights. But his idealist father never had to deal with this, a rogue clan wanting to squeeze out all the others. If Conn Blue was allegedly so eager to get along, why in hells did he keep sending his raiders to steal from all the others?
No matter who thought they were right, neither clan would be willing to give up this prize to the other. Would it lead to a stalemate or bloodshed?
Or something else entirely? he thought as an idea hit him. Why settle for lose-lose when win-win was within their reach? Aye, they could split the prize between them. It was bloody well big enough. Problem was, those Blues didn’t strike him as the kind who’d care to share. Well, he’d find out soon enough, he thought as the massive freighter speckled with Blue clan’s skiffs filled his screen. Here we come.
HUGGING THE WALLS, weapons at the ready, Val and the men moved away from the skiff in a wary but steady lope. The endless corridor was cavernous and dimly lit. Cold, bone-chilling cold, making her glad for the all-clime suit under her armor. All the mining crates felt this way, operating without a specken of comfort. She couldn’t imagine a life caged inside one of these ships, especially one so foul.
An odor wafted by, worse than the sleeping skins. “Flargin’ nasty, that,” she whispered to the men. “I don’t want to know what’s making that smell.”
“Dinner.” Hervor tipped his chin at a pair of double doors. “I think we found the galley.” Sure enough, the cloying odor of Drakken food, stale Drakken food, seeped out from under those doors. There’d be no feasting today as part of the raiding. If this were a Coalition freighter, it’d be a different story. Those ships were prime for good eats. Her mouth watered thinking of all the delectable treats they’d stuffed into their mouths and pockets on previous raids and would have to go without today.
Hervor slowed at the doors. “Wanna see if there’s any sweef? Drakken rotgut. Can’t handle it straight up myself, but there’s a mixed drink I had once—Hordish heartbreak, or something like that. We’ll bring some back with us and force-feed it to Ayl.”
With a snicker, Reeve offered, “I volunteer to help. Wouldn’t want my buddy Ayl to go thirsty. Especially after a day stuck on bridge duty.”
Val grinned, thinking she might join them in quenching Ayl’s thirst. The men’s banter was one reason she liked being assigned to Skiff Six so much.
Malta’s steady presence was the other. Today Malta wasn’t here to keep them in line. That responsibility had fallen to Val. She had a lot on the line. “Forget it, Herv. No side trips today.”
Laughing, he kicked open the doors anyway. A blur of movement from inside the galley. Then a crash. Weapons swinging around, Val and the men took aim.
A wrenching heartbeat later she lowered her weapon. Squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, then felt like kicking something, namely Hervor. “A box.” A freepin’ empty box. It had fallen off a shelf and cracked open, spilling some sort of gray slime. Shaking mad, she turned on Hervor. “It could easily have not been a box. It could have been a galley hand, and he might have called for help and given our foolish asses away. Or worse, he might have been armed and shot at us.”
“Sorry, Val—”
“You’d better be glad fate’s kind to you, because if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have been sorry, Herv. You’d have been dead. When I give an order I mean for you to obey it. The same as you’d do with Malta. You got that?”
“Aye, Val. Same as Malta.”
She turned, her long braid whipping around her shoulders. “Search the room. Make sure no one’s hiding.” She kicked over containers and threw open cabinets to peek inside, her dozer ready to fire and stun. This had almost gone bad—and still could. She so wanted to please Conn, the man who was everyone’s hero, and especially hers. She wanted him to be proud he’d agreed to let his only daughter train as a raider, not ashamed. She wanted him to revel in the deeds of at least one of his offspring.
“Come on. Let’s do what we came here to do. Let’s gouge these outsider muckers,” she told the men, stalking forward. Then they were back in the corridor, jogging to make up for lost time.
WITH HIS TEAMS ON THE WAY to take over the bridge, Dake and his handpicked few went hunting. The advancing Blues had started out as separate teams, then coalesced into larger groups. Dake doubled back to check for stragglers, while the bulk of his raiders formed a human blockade around the bridge. These Blues may have gotten aboard, but he’d keep them from taking control of this ship.
It belonged to his clan and no other.
Silence…utter stealth… The Surebloods might be large of frame, but they were undetectable. Not only didn’t Blue clan know they were about to be ambushed, but there was also no sign anyone else on the huge freighter was aware they were aboard. Aye, but they’d be woken up to that fact soon enough.
The sound of something falling brought Dake to a halt. The disturbance came from a room down the corridor. He held up a hand, stopping the raiders behind him. Merkury crouched down flat in that curious way of his breed. Sharp ears detected voices, hushed arguing, before silence enveloped them once again.
So, there seems to be some foot-dragger Blues fooling around in the galley. Sweet. Dake already had the advantage of surprise and numbers in his favor; now he’d take these stragglers hostage to negotiate with their raid leader.
He’d force a peaceful end to this debacle, even if it killed him. He wanted the wealth this freighter promised, not bloodshed. He couldn’t afford to lose a single member of his clan. There had been too much death in recent years, too much loss. He’d made a silent vow with his father to turn the tide, and by the stars he would.
He’d escort the Blues to their skiffs and give them a push in the direction of their mother ship. If they cooperated, he’d even offer them a small share of the haul. Aye, a little grease on the skids of possible future teamwork. He’d take the high road, even if these greedy, mangy interlopers insisted on playing in the mud. He’d win either way.
Get ready. Dake flattened his hand, pushing it palm down. At the signal, his raiders melted into the shadows, prepared to act. In seconds, they were invisible. The old ship had more hiding places than termite-infested hack pine.
The Blues emerged from the galley. Dake assessed his prey. Two men, lean, compact, nowhere close to the size of the Sureblood raiders but of a size that gave them the advantage of quickness and agility. If he let them escape, he’d probably be hard-pressed to win a second chance to catch them. He had to make this work on the first attempt.
Then, a third Blue raider appeared, closing the galley door behind them. “Why, it’s a wench,” Yarmouth whispered very low near his ear.
Aye, that she was. Comely, too. He made a quick, instinctive assessment: all long legs and feline grace that he could detect even under layers of leather and armor; a braided hank of shiny brown hair reached halfway down her back. Her armor was far from fully etched, yet she acted with authority. It was a skiff team, and she was the one in charge. Until, that was, he relieved her of command.
Dake cocked a small smile. Her dawdling would cost her.
Yarmouth whispered, “A right pretty one, too. Forgive me for sayin’ so.”
“Nothing says a man can’t appreciate the enemy.”
“If that’s what you call it, boss. I volunteer to handle her.”
Dake gave his head a single shake. “We’re sticking with the plan. The skiff commander’s mine.” With a trace of a grin lurking at the edges of his mouth, he lifted his hand and circled it. Move out.
CHAPTER THREE
VAL HADN’T GONE MORE than a few steps outside the galley when she sensed something was wrong. She froze, her hand coming up in warning to the men behind her.
“Hold it right there, little Blues. Weapons down.”
Too late. Heart plunging, adrenaline spurting, she jolted at the unfamiliar male voice. Little Blues—it sure as freep wasn’t something a Drakken ore hauler would say.
They weren’t the only pirates on board this ship.
Her dozer tracked across what appeared to be nothing but shadows. Then she saw a wall of giants who until a moment ago were invisible, their weapons aimed at them.
War paint crisscrossed their faces, concealing their features. Their exposed skin was deeply suntanned, telling her that their homeworld wasn’t cloud-covered like hers. Although they wore no breathers their armor was well fortified with zelfen and heavily tattooed.
“Keep your dozers aimed between their eyes,” she hissed under her breath to Reeve and Hervor. As long as everyone was still aiming at the other, no one was in control and it would give her precious seconds to sort out who these men were.
The apparent leader stepped away from the group. “Your dillydallying cost you, Blue girl,” he drawled, squinting down his dozer. “I thought you’d never come out of the galley. Did you find anything worth taking?”
“I wouldn’t share with you even if we did.” Her dozer remained pointed spot-on between his eyes, and his aimed at her forehead. So much paint streaked the raw angles of his face that only his piercing eyes set him apart from the others. Like opals, they were—green and blue-gray and brown—no color and yet all the colors. A dull glow from the ceiling slithered over the pattern on his armor, tracing the intricate design: a ferocious sea snake, winding over and around his muscled body. And standing at his side, a dog. Not just a camp dog, but one with eyes that almost looked human.
Her heart skipped a beat. That dog—she’d heard the rumors. Some said the animal had magic powers. With alarm, she absorbed the sight of her opponent’s fully etched armor. Not a specken of space remained for anything more, marking this young raider a highly respected veteran. Bah, he was nothing more than a dirt-mucking thief, an insult to the pirate breed—a Sureblood. And, sweet blazin’ hells, the mountain of muscle and armor aiming a dozer at her brains was none other than Dake Sureblood himself.
Amusement lit up his eyes as he noted her revelation. She wanted to blast that slow smirk right off his painted face.
Her grip on her weapon remained steady, but inside she felt as inept as an Artoom hearth hugger. She’d let her team walk right into a Sureblood trap. Now they were outnumbered three to one. With them as hostages, he could force Warrybrook to trade the freighter for Val and her team. That was what she’d do, if the roles were reversed. It was a damned brilliant move, this a
mbush. Nezerihm had always dismissed the Surebloods as dumb hooligans, lazy and boorish, and nothing to worry about. Clearly, he hadn’t seen these Surebloods.
Suddenly Malta’s boots seemed impossibly big. How would she ever fill them? What would Grizz say about her fumble? Her father? That question pained her most of all. She’d spent years trying not to be like Sethen, her brother, but hadn’t she just proven she was no less of a disappointment than he was?
No. She’d not dishonor her clan and embarrass her father.
“I’m not going to hurt you, if you cooperate. Nice and easy now, drop your weapons.”
“Like hells we will,” Val said low and cold. “You jumped us, not the other way around.”
Fully encircling her team, his gang of giants chuckled at that. Condescending bastards, underestimating the Blues. Anger boiled up. “This is our raid—our prize,” she said. “Get your trespassing, raid-crashing clan off the ship before we blow you off.”
“Your raid?” The leader coughed out a laugh. “Now I’ve heard it all.”
“We drilled in first,” she insisted, knowing she was right.
“Because you cut us off. Just like a dozen times before.” The amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by resentment that was shockingly passionate. “But this time we didn’t back down. The days of letting Blue clan steal from us are over.”
“This freighter’s ours, fair and square.”
“We raided at Nezerihm’s request. It’s ours by rights.”
“It’s ours by timing and skill, and by operating independently. Not like you Surebloods, who go fetch when Nezerihm says so. Like dogs.”
“Woof, woof,” Reeve said under his breath.
The Sureblood’s fingers tightened around his dozer, his focus on her and her alone. His strangely colored eyes searched her face, his golden-brown brows raised as if he were stunned that this “little Blue,” would dare stand up to him. His voice was as smooth as pillow talk when he finally spoke. “I’m thinkin’ that maybe my hearing’s gone bad. Did you call us Nezerihm’s dogs?”
