Sureblood

by Susan Grant

  The Sureblood made a sound deep in his throat, but held the course. Sweat trickled down his temples. His lips compressed.

  One…two…three seconds more.

  Finally, he yanked back on the fly-stick, having to wrap both hands around it to get the control and force he needed to complete the maneuver. Too hard and the freighter would tear apart. Too soft and they’d crash onto the surface of the asteroid.

  “Fighters still on our ass,” Yarmouth yelled.

  “Freep me,” both Val and the Sureblood swore. She fought the urge to grab the stick with him to help, forced herself to trust him with her life, and with all their lives as acceleration built, pressing them into their seats. Violent shaking jarred equipment loose. They ducked as a chunk peeled off from the overhead comm board and bounced across the floor. The jolting was so hard now that she could barely see the instruments.

  Useless to the Sureblood anyway—she knew he was going on instinct now. Aye, and swears and prayers, too.

  She could see every crater, every pebble on the surface. They were dangerously low, dust flying, the freighter roaring and rumbling. At any minute, she expected to hear the horrific grating of the hull scraping a protruding rock. Then it would all be over.

  “Come on, come on,” she murmured to the freighter. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Keep it coming. A little more. Don’t stop.”

  At Dake’s small private smile, she clamped her mouth shut. Blast it. It sounded as if she were in bed with him, coaxing him on. He didn’t seem to mind at all, but she did. His dog observed her with a panting open mouth that seemed to form an approving smile, pink tongue waving.

  “They’re firing up their missiles! Aye, locked on.”

  “What?” Val cried, turning to Yarmouth. One good hit could send them careening into the asteroid that was now passing under the freighter.

  The Sureblood didn’t let up on the pullout. The asteroid dropped fully out of view. In the next breath they’d know if they cleared it.

  And then, finally, they were climbing, the stars above, spinning as they escaped the pull of the asteroid.

  She swerved her gaze to the display. Empty. “Gone,” she whispered. Then, louder, “They’re gone! Those outsider fools.”

  Cheers swept over the bridge. The slave girl cowered, but her eyes were wide with wonder.

  Yarmouth let out a raucous war cry that defined everything Val felt in that moment. “We freepin’ did it!” He bumped forearms with Hervor in a traditional post-raid victory gesture. There were a few distrustful expressions amongst the group, but most were celebrating, uncaring of who belonged to what clan.

  Looking relieved, the Sureblood wiped a hand over his perspiring face as if he were staving off the aftereffects of breathing depleted air.

  She feared the man would drop dead. She feared, too, that she actually cared. “All right, why don’t you use breathers? Tell me.”

  He looked over an armor-clad shoulder at her. “We leave them on the skiffs.”

  “For all the good they’ll do you there.”

  “You have your ways, we have ours. We Surebloods take our chances as we are.”

  She waved a hand at his intricately etched body armor and thick leather protectors crisscrossed with weapon belts and rugged knee-high boots. “If that were true, you’d leave your armor behind, too, and raid naked.”

  He choked out a surprised laugh.

  “Going a-raiding with no breathers is just as stupid,” she argued, unapologetic.

  With the grumbles of his men in the background, the Sureblood was the picture of calm authority. “First you called us dogs. Nezzie’s pets. Now you accuse us of being stupid. You seem to have a lot to say about my clan. Well, do you know what I hear? I hear you Blues are so desperate to fill the skiffs that your clan leader sends his own daughter out to raid.”

  As his men laughed and cheered, she blurted out, “Nothing wrong with that. She’s just as capable as any man.” Then she cursed herself for the defensive reaction. If she wasn’t careful, she’d give her identity away.

  If she hadn’t already…

  The Sureblood’s eyes were newly intense as they scanned her face. “Capable she may be,” he said, “but for her sake I hope she’s more careful with her tongue than you are.”

  “Why should she be, when it comes to her enemies?”

  “I wonder if Conn Blue would agree the clans should stay at odds.”

  “I know he doesn’t agree with violating the law of first come, first raid.”

  “A needless law if we weren’t always fighting each other for the best targets.”

  “Like this old crate?” She laughed. “A nice right prize Nez gave you this time, eh?”

  “Gave? Hells, woman. We pirates are doing Nezerihm the favor, going after his ore stealers. The more zelfen’s worth, the more the outsiders are going to try to help themselves to it without paying, too. Nezzie’s got himself a problem—he doesn’t have the resources to stop them. He’s got no navy, no enforcers. Except us. He thinks he’s got us under his thumb, dependent on him, aye, but I say it’s the other way around. He needs us. Back in the old days, the clans didn’t fight over scraps. We raided as a pack. United, we were strong. Now, divided we’re weak.” He raked his compelling gaze across the group, as if acknowledging every one of them, as if all the individuals there mattered, Sureblood or not. “Dependency is dangerous,” he warned with contempt. “Dependency is death. I say we decide how we want ships divvied up between us for now on, not Nezerihm. Starting with this one.”

  His raiders and even the Blues let out battle cries. Just like that he’d turned the zelfen issue from one or two clans’ problem to everyone’s problem. An orator in war paint, she thought. The Sureblood had fired everyone up with pirate pride, not just her. It was like one of Grizz’s pre-raid rallies but with far greater scope. “Are you proposing that we share the booty?” she challenged.

  “If our clans can agree to terms.”

  She searched his face for treachery. Blues raiding with Surebloods and sharing the haul: she should laugh at the idea, consider it nothing short of blasphemy, but as described by this startlingly confident and charismatic warrior, it seemed almost a possibility.

  She couldn’t forget that Grizz had almost yanked her off the raid. She was here on shaky terms, and lucky to be here at all. Ought she be wheeling and dealing with the leader of a rival clan, one she probably shouldn’t trust?

  “It’s not my decision to make.” Not even Warrybrook’s, if he were here. Or Grizz’s. Her father was the only one who could. “You and our clan leader will have to decide how we split the booty.”

  The Sureblood’s grin was blinding white. His chuckle was deep and husky, and his manner brash. “If that’s an invitation, I’ll take it.”

  “Six, this is raid leader, how copy?”

  The comm call burst in her ear. Warrybrook! She flew to her feet and slapped her hand over her ear, her joyous gaze meeting Reeve’s and Hervor’s. “This is Six—on the bridge! Go ahead!”

  “Do you realize how many times you’ve thrown me on my ass? My frozen ass. It must be minus fifty back here. We had a passage port half busted through this pressure door when you decided to put ten Gs on this thing. Yelzen about cut Ennille in half with the zelfen blade. What the hells have you been doing up there, Val?”

  She closed her eyes at the man’s scolding, not minding a bit. It felt too good hearing his voice. “Been working on getting your frozen ass home, raid leader,” she said, grinning. Home. Never had the word sounded better.

  THE FREIGHTER WAS EVACUATED via shuttles that transported everyone to the Sureblood mother ship, which was the closer of the two. Giant, bristling Surebloods inhabited Tomark’s Pride and towered over the Blues. While they pounded their returning captain on the back and cheered his return, they regarded the Blues with leery, suspicious eyes. Val blended back in with the others, letting Warrybrook, the true raid leader, take command after her hours in his role.

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sp; In contrast, Dake Sureblood resumed leadership of his entire clan. The gloves that had gently treated her wounds and cleverly drew plans for storming the bridge were tossed away. His hands were the only part of him not covered by angry slashes of black war paint, thick layers of leather or armor. Long, blunt, strong fingers and square capable palms, golden skin with a bit of brown hair… She caught herself staring at those bare hands with the same tingle of forbidden curiosity as she did an unexpected glimpse of a naked, well-made man between the slats in the baths at home on Artoom.

  She forced her attention away. He was Dake Sureblood, the cocky upstart leader of the Surebloods, the troublemaker, the man everyone had warned her about. They were from different worlds. Her people didn’t trust his people, and vice versa. After today, she’d likely never see him again.

  “So, they’re wanting to split the booty,” Warrybrook remarked at her side. His voice had an undercurrent of blame, as if she’d somehow erred in not turning down the Sureblood offer outright. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “For his flying skills alone, we’ll have to give away something of the spoils, and for saving you, of course.” His eyes veered to her, narrowing. “You sure he did the saving, Val? You were knocked out. You wouldn’t remember it all.”

  “There were witnesses,” Hervor butted in, his jaw tight.

  Warrybrook shrugged. “We’ll take eighty and leave them twenty.”

  “Don’t think they’ll go for that,” she said. “Seeing that they were more than twenty-percent responsible for getting us out.”

  “Seventy for us, then,” the raid leader conceded. “Thirty for them greedy bastards. That’s as high as we should go.”

  Yarmouth overheard and howled. “He’s a funny one,” he told Val and Hervor, then moved on about his business.

  Warrybrook threw them a disgusted look. “Skiff Six’s new friends, eh?”

  “We got out alive because of them Surebloods,” Hervor said. “Both clans working together. United, we’re strong. Divided we’re weak.”

  “You don’t know what the hells you’re talking about, boy,” Ragmarrk, one of the elders, scolded, shooting out the words with disdain, his eyes black-brown under a cloud of curly white brows. “No sense of history, either of you youngsters. The idea’s been bounced about for years, long before your births. Girl, even your father, the great Conn, caught the fever once. Wanna know why it don’t ever work out? Because it can’t.”

  “Ragmarrk’s right,” Warrybrook said. “They may be our friends today, but they’ll be our enemies tomorrow. We’ve got to follow the laws we’ve always known. First come, first raid. Aye, I know what you’re saying, Val, that Nezerihm sent those Surebloods to fetch it for him, but are we going to throw away the basic laws of piracy at the whim of a clanless ore digger? Nezerihm can’t call the shots.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Dake Sureblood wants to change that. He says we pirates should decide what ships go to what clan and how the booty’s divvied up, not Nez.”

  “Good luck to him,” Ragmarrk grumbled. “What do you say we ought to give them, Warrybrook, sixty-forty? An extra ten percent for saving our Val. That’s generous enough.”

  Neither man had been there to see why they were wrong. They’d been trapped and fighting for their lives. Like most of the other Blues, they’d never agree about the circumstances that led both clans to the freighter. She hoped her father could strike a compromise with the Sureblood leader, something neither clan was used to doing.

  “Boss, you got a priority message!” Yarmouth called out over the noise as the last of the stragglers from the freighter were brought aboard Tomark’s Pride.

  Val’s surge of relief and affection upon seeing her father on the big screen chilled instantly. Conn’s face was expressionless, the ultimate poker face, and his brown eyes as cool as winter wood, but as his daughter she was expert in deciphering his mood. He doesn’t look happy. How badly had she screwed up, working in tandem with her clan’s archrivals? She thought she did right in many things but couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t very far out of her space apprentice days. She was still a newbie. She gathered herself into a straight-up stance as if she were about to be called to answer for her actions all the while making sure she was well hidden behind a forest of much taller raiders.

  Her father sat behind a meeting table, his posture erect. She wasn’t used to seeing him look this formal. Not since her brother’s wedding had Conn gone through the trouble. He’d scraped his hair back in a neat ponytail, his favorite gold and diamond earring glittering in one ear. Off-ship leathers covered his lean, still-powerful frame. The outfit of rich and soft brown leather with braided trim was one of his favorites and the most expensive, conveying both his status and the clan’s relative wealth. No one had as much money as the old days, and the threat of hunger was very real, but as Conn had taught her, the art of negotiation was all about appearances. “Conn of the Blues,” he said as if he needed an introduction.

  Dake stepped front and center, shoulders squared, his armor and etched sea snake aglow and breathtaking in the bright lights. He looked every inch a leader but minus any of the swagger Warrybrook accused him of having. To make this work, Val thought, Dake Sureblood was going to have to strike a balance between confidence as a leader in his own right, despite his inexperience, and respect for an elder such as Conn. But, stars, Dake looked so young. She found herself holding her breath for him. It wouldn’t be fun being in his boots right now. “Dake of the Surebloods,” he said, hitting just the right tone.

  Her father was silent for a moment, seeming to take in the sight of this clan captain with whom he’d never had dealings but had heard much, all of it negative. Then he laid both arms on the table, the symbol of having nothing to hide. One couldn’t help noticing the good left hand, and the missing right one—his weapons hand, and why he no longer raided. “My condolences to you and your family on the loss of your father,” Conn said finally. “Tomark was a good man.”

  The Sureblood’s hands, hanging palms forward in the equivalent stance of nothing to hide, gave the briefest of twitches. Again, those hands revealed something about the man she hadn’t seen before, or wasn’t supposed to: he still grieved. “Aye, he was,” Dake said, quieter. “A very good man. Your sentiment is welcomed, Conn of the Blues.” He walked forward. “As I told the captain of your mother ship, the Varagon, your clan suffered no losses. We Surebloods were less fortunate, having sacrificed two good raiders to the Ever After.”

  “Our deepest sorrows. Even a single casualty is felt hard. But considering the odds, it’s a bloody miracle any of you got back, in or out of a bio-sack.”

  “Aye. It was the work of both our clans that got us back, Blues and Surebloods. That cooperation is something I hope won’t end after today.” Dake stood facing her father, his boots spaced confidently apart. “To start, we’ll proceed with arrangements to transfer the Blues back to the Varagon. Then, a mixed team of our choosing is needed for escorting the freighter to Nezerihm’s world to be scrapped, the ore off-loaded and our share of both split between our clans.”

  Split between our clans. Everyone went silent at his straightforward pitch. Dake Sureblood didn’t ask. He stated.

  “I hear there are two hostages,” Conn said. “And a slave girl. The hostages we’ll hold for ransom, if they’ll bring us any, and the girl returned to her home.”

  A sudden ripple went through the crowd of giants as the slave girl pushed her way to the front. The spare all-clime suit someone had lent her hung like a sack. She was stumbling in a pair of borrowed, too-large boots. But her pride was the perfect fit and hard to ignore. Gasping, she shoved her wild mane of hair away from her face and shook her head at Conn. Reeve was right behind her, his handsome face hard with worry. When he tried to grab hold of her wrist to pull her back, she gave him a forbidding look that he obeyed, his hands going up in surrender. The girl pointed to her chest, then to Val, Hervor and Reeve. “I think she wants to stay with us,” Reeve said.

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sp; She nodded vigorously.

  Conn frowned. “You don’t want to return to your home, to your people?”

  She shook her head and clasped her hands together as if entreating the gods for extra help. Her wide, vivid blue eyes were heartbreaking, the bright light making her starved and bruised body appear even more fragile. She was mute, but it didn’t matter; she’d more than made her wishes known.

  “You wish to live with the Blues?” Dake asked.

  She nodded passionately. Reeve’s mouth quirked with surprise, then obvious anticipation.

  “Well, then,” Dake said, turning back to Conn. “We’ve something else of value to consider that we hadn’t calculated.”

  “Aye. We’ll have to assign an amount to her,” Conn answered.

  Dake folded his arms over his chest, then remembered protocol and dropped them. “I assign zero as the amount.”

  The grumbles died down as Dake spoke over them. “Zero, I say. Not one Channel cent for the girl. I’m not a slaver. I’ll not have the profit from human flesh on my conscience.”

  “Nor I,” Conn said in his resonant voice. “It is agreed—her price is zero, and she is welcomed into my clan.”

  The slave girl looked to Reeve for assurance that it was indeed true. He nodded and she made two, triumphant fists. Val smiled, thinking she’d make a good raider with that kind of heart and courage.

  Then the two leaders were back to eyeing each other. A decision had yet to be made regarding splitting the spoils. Warrybrook, Reeve, Hervor and all the Blue raiders on Tomark’s Pride waited to see what Conn would do. Their asses were the ones on the line if the decision wasn’t one the Surebloods liked. Val’s hand went instinctively to her weapons belt only to remember that they’d all been disarmed before boarding the mother ship.

  “I hear you saved my daughter’s life,” Conn said.

  Dake’s hands gave an even bigger twitch. She thought she heard Dake swear under his breath as his gaze veered to hers. “You Blues are so desperate to fill the skiffs that your clan leader sends his own daughter out to raid.” She saw the words turn over in his mind. He seemed more amused than he was surprised. His eyes dipped to her pursed lips, then he returned his attention to Conn, saying with the faintest hint of a drawl, “It seems that I did help your daughter, Conn of the Blues. But it was without the knowledge she was your daughter. To me, to my men, she was a raider—and a fine one, too. An asset to my or anyone else’s team.”