Chapter 40
The cockpit of the CORE freighter gleamed black and beige. Mace strode to the pilot’s seat, Grey beside him. Nervousness exuded from the techies as they took their places on the narrow bench at the back. A bulky beast, the freighter was made for transporting cargo, not passenger comfort.
Cache’s eyes assessed her techies as she sat in one of the two crew seats on the side, Spiro taking the other. That left Betel to slide between Newton and Callista.
Mace touched the control for the comm, keeping it audio only. “We’re ready to depart, Admiral.”
It only took a moment for Krispin to respond. “Safe journey. Out.”
Grey monitored the ship’s systems while Mace engaged engines. Once fully powered, Mace flew them away from the fleet, trying to keep his focus. They hit maximum speed, and an alert stillness settled over the eight of them.
The resulting silence made Mace’s mind wander. Ever since he’d realized Nia’s transport had departed, his chest ached. If it hadn’t been for this mission and his fear for his sister, he would have been a useless mess—whether it acknowledged a weakness or not.
The urge to find Nia wherever she landed and ask her to return consumed most of his thoughts. If she would even consider the possibility, she could come back on her own terms, ask for amnesty and receive sponsorship from Admiral Krispin. Then Mace could ask her to marry him properly.
His body stilled. Shit. He hadn’t divorced her when she was emancipated. Why hadn’t the processor said anything? He wiped a hand over his face. It probably had to do with the threats he’d given her if she spoke of Nia’s emancipation to anyone.
Obtaining a proper divorce was as good a reason as any to go after his wife. A small grin stole over his face.
Cache spoke over his shoulder, jerking him from his thoughts. “Radio silence in five people.”
Mace nodded, then cut the feeds. Time to focus on the mission.
Over an hour later, the Mercenary dropped out of maximum speed behind them. Its first shot hit them dead-on, the sound cracking through the cockpit. The freighter shuddered. The Destroyer fired again, a terminal popping with sparks beside Mace.
“Shit.” Grey tapped at the controls. “I know you told Ionadi to make it look good, but come on.” They all rocked with another hit.
Mace tried to keep the ship steady and on course, but the navigation systems were out of whack.
“There’s something off in the engine room,” Grey said. “Not getting clear readings.”
“Betel, Grey, go check it out,” Cache ordered. She took Grey’s spot when they’d left. “Environmental is on the fritz.” Her fingers ran over the terminal.
Five minutes later, Grey signaled the cockpit. “It’s not good. We’ve got a leak in the engine casing, and we’re venting atmosphere.”
“Can you fix it?” Cache asked.
“Betel’s using sealant right now. It’ll slow the air loss, not halt it altogether. The only way to fix this behemoth is at a space dock.”
“Do what you can, then return. We need to close all the hatches to save air.” Cache leaned back. “At least she stopped firing.”
The Mercenary hit them again, everyone bucking forward.
Mace raised an eyebrow at her. “You spoke too soon.”
She smiled, her green eyes ablaze, then laughed outright. “I probably should have let Ionadi win poker last night. She’s always been a sore loser.”
Grey strode through the hatch and Cache rose. She didn’t return to her seat but remained standing between theirs. Once all eight members of the crew were accounted for, Mace sealed the door, and rerouted all the oxygen to the cockpit.
“How much atmosphere do we have left?” Callista asked from the bench, her voice wavering slightly.
Mace checked the environmental panel. “Enough to get us there, but just barely. No deep breaths people.” He accelerated them away from the Mercenary, and the warship followed.
He kept his hands on the controls, hoping the Mercenary wouldn’t take another shot. From the warnings flashing along the panel, he didn’t know if the freighter could take it.
Their aggressive escort kept pace until the two Guardians in front of the minefield came into visual range. The Mercenary immediately broke of its pursuit. One of the Guardians pursued it, the other aimed its weapons at the freighter.
“Callista, you’re on,” Cache said in a murmur. The young techie’s fingers were already flying across her palette.
Changing course, Mace headed directly toward the remaining Guardian. The panel beeped, wanting a security code. He turned to Callista.
“Um. Just a sec.”
Cache whipped around to her. “We don’t have ‘a sec’.”
Callista swallowed. “Try six, six, seven, two, B, P, H, one, nine, Q.”
Grey punched it in. Everyone waited, silent, as Mace flew alongside the colossal ship.
The comm crackled. “Gamma Niner Charlie Foxtrot, we do not have you on any work orders. Please re-confirm your code.”
“Callista.” Cache’s tone was a low warning.
“It should work. Try it again.”
Grey sent it again. Everyone held their breath.
In the rear viewer, the second Guardian returned to its position in the mine corridor having broken off its pursuit of the Mercenary.
The comm channel returned to life. “Please proceed to docking bay B3. Land and await inspection. Out.”
Mace severed the comm connection.
“Good work,” Cache said to Callista. “But fuck, we wanted Section A.”
“Be glad they’re letting us land.” Mace said as he flew them through the mine corridor and straight to Orion.
They all stared silently at the two Guardians flanking the oblong station.
“That’s just wrong,” Grey spoke, his tone drenched in disgust.
Cache leaned forward, her face between theirs. “There’s so much more wrong with this situation than Guardians docked with Orion.”
They passed through Orion’s outer shielding and under one of its docking arms. Another shield and they entered the bay, the deck thick with defenders.
Cache dug her fingernails into the headrests of Mace’s and Grey’s seats. “Anytime, Krispin. Anytime,” she muttered.
The freighter settled to the deck with a thud.
The world shuddered around her. Nia tried to move, but her body ached like it had been put through reclamation. A moan echoed around her before she realized it was her voice. Where the hell am I? Her head pounded. Her back throbbed. She coughed, moist air choking her.
A bulkhead curved in front of her, shiny. Uncomfortably warm metal pressed against her body. Caustic steam swirled around her, making her eyes water and her throat close.
A hum reverberated around her, a familiar noise she couldn’t place. On the heels of the confusion came bone-deep dread. Her body stiffened. The agent.
She lifted her head and heat speared through her leg like she’d broken something. Pushing the pain aside, she twisted as best she could, searching for where she’d landed. She was in some sort of cylindrical shaft, a meter wide, water sloshing beneath her through a metal grate. Her clothes and hair were soaked, and moisture dripped down the bulkheads. Looking up, she peered at the opening of the shaft meters away. The glow of the engine core shone bright.
Stars above.She was in some sort of reactor containment. The water may have broken her fall, saved her life, but it couldn’t be good for her to be down here. She would need to be treated for radiation.
Her first urge was to scream, to call for someone to get her out. But what about the agent? She didn’t know how far she’d fallen. Maybe he thought she’d died. It wasn’t much of a stretch. If she’d seen someone thrown over the railing, she would think them dead too. This tube was probably full of water when she’d landed—a fluke she hadn’t drowned.
Using the bulkhead as support, Nia rolled to her knees, every joint groaning in protest. When she tried to put weight on her foot, she gasped, pain making tears prick her eyeballs.
Bracing her spine against the bulkhead, she rolled up her soggy pant leg and found her skin turning purple around her ankle. A sprain or a break? Either way, it would be impossible to climb out of this tube. If she didn’t want to die here, she’d need to call for help, whether the agent was near or not.
“Hey!” she shouted, her throat dry, making her wonder how long she’d been out. “Is someone there?” Her voice ricocheted inside the cylinder, then echoed back to her.
A ker-klunk answered, the noise so loud her eardrums ached. The sound of rushing liquid followed. The cylinder began to fill with scalding water. It rose over her feet. Panic squeezed her chest so tight, she could only take gasping breaths of chemical-filled air.
Tipping her face upwards, she shouted, “Help!” The water was already at her thighs. She couldn’t swim well, having only a couple lessons at a lunar resort when she was a child.
The water at her shoulders, she frantically splashed, trying to stay above the rising tide. Her feet lifted off the metal grating, and she kicked, her injured ankle spiking in pain. She sank below the waterline and got a mouthful of the foul liquid. It dripped down her face as she surfaced again. Her eyes burned. The opening of the cylinder rushed toward her. The water pushed her up and out, but it didn’t stop rising.
Now she was in a bigger vat of liquid. Eddies pulled at her, trying to drag her lower. She kept kicking, her ankle sore and tired. The engine core loomed above.
Then, like someone had turned off a tap, the water began to drain. Heart beating like she was plugged into a stimulant, Nia thrashed. She wouldn’t get stuck in one of those cylinders again. Her feet hit something solid. Her fingers connected with metal. She gripped it tight. The water kept draining, gurgling, then quieted until the only sound was the hum of the engine core above her.
Caught on the metal between two of the cylindrical drains, Nia rolled and exhaled a relieved breath. She had to move, couldn’t stay here, but exhaustion kept her in place. Water dripped from her body, tinkling as it hit metal. Steam rose around her.
The thought of the water rising again made her clamber to her knees. Her ankle screamed when she stood, and she almost fell inside the tube.
Carefully, she shuffled between the cylinders to the edge of the chamber. Her heart sank. How was she supposed to get out of here? The bulkhead was solid, smooth metal, the first railing a dozen meters above her.
Before she had time to think of other options, another ker-klunk echoed. Water sloshed below, and in no time at all, it rose to her ankles. Swallowing her panic, Nia stayed close to the bulkhead. There had to be a way out of this thing.
Far above her head, grooves were etched into the metal, then above that, the first railing. When the water reached her shoulders, she kicked, keeping close to the bulkhead and her eyes on the indentations. She floated upward, but not far enough before the water began to recede.
Terrified she’d be stuck forever, she pushed against the bulkhead with her good foot. Her fingers caught the edge of the groove. She held on tight, but as the water lowered, her body became heavy. If she fell, she’d probably break her neck.
By the time the water had receded past her body, her fingers ached with the effort to remain where she was. One slip and she’d fall. When the gurgling stopped, she knew the water had finished draining.
The worst idea I’ve ever had. She wouldn’t be able to stay here long.
Then, weightlessness overtook her body. For a second, she thought it was because she’d slipped. But in the next moment, she lifted like a gentle hand was carrying her upward. The droplets around her rose in bubbles.
Artificial gravity is suspended. Was the Phalanx traveling at maximum speed? If it was, she didn’t know how much time she’d have before gravity would return to non-essential areas.
Using the grooves in the bulkhead, she pulled herself upward as fast as possible. The first railing within reach, she pushed herself over, then used the overhead to guide herself to the nearest corridor. Righting herself, she tried to remain close to the deck.
When gravity returned, it felt like she’d gained a thousand kilograms. The deck rushed to meet her good foot, and she tumbled the rest of the way, landing on her knees, then hands. Behind her, the water returned to its cylinders in a thundering splash.
Wincing, Nia stumbled to her feet, and limped her way to the closest lift, tension in her spine at the thought of the agent resurfacing. Her shoes squished and sloshed with each jerky step. She needed a med kit to heal her ankle.
The lift door opened. Find Mace. But he wouldn’t be on this ship anymore. He’d said they were taking back Orion. She had to find someone in command to tell them about the agent.
She pressed the control for deck one. A message appeared on the screen: Access Denied. Snarling, she tried deck two, but the same thing happened. It didn’t allow her to go anywhere above deck five.
“This is why Tellusians need voice activated systems!” she screamed at the overhead.
She would have been able to tell the computer it was an emergency and to contact the necessary personnel.
Fine.She pressed the control for deck six, and the lift finally moved. When it stopped, the door slid open. Someone wearing blue ran past the lift like the ship was on fire. Nia stepped onto the deck.
Boom.The sound was so loud it felt like it came from inside her head. Yellow emergency lights pulsed along the corridor. There weren’t a lot of people on this deck, but the ones she could see were rushing here and there.
The ship rocked with another blast, and Nia braced her hand on the bulkhead. What was happening outside?
“Excuse me,” she said to a passing technical officer, but was immediately ignored as the woman continued on her way.
“Can you—?” Nia stopped speaking when the next person did the same thing.
Frustration choked her. She couldn’t go above this deck on her own, and everyone was too busy to help.
Nia hobbled along until the door on her right opened. For the first time since she’d lost her palette, she recognized where she was. It was the hangar where she and Mace arrived. And there sat the Condor they’d flown in.
Wet and shivering, Nia limped her way toward it, not seeing any other options on how to get off this ship.