Dragon's Rescue Read online

  She ambled like any unconcerned passenger would to the boarding lanes. Security was much lighter outbound. Starfire didn’t care if you smuggled weapons off the station. They only cared if you brought trouble with you. Grace jostled in the treacle-like departure line, feeling the close press of other sweaty travelers.

  Be calm.

  A thousand emotions battered her, but almost all were the same repetition of boredom/hungry. Almost, but not quite all. Grace felt a twinge, a pull at the back of her mind. It made her turn.

  Hunt/kill.

  Hunger/hunger.

  Those were not the normal feelings of travelers. They were faint but growing stronger. It wasn’t just one person, but twenty or more. In amid the feelings was easy prey/rend, and a glee/chase or two. The feelings made her heart hammer, blood rushing in her ears.

  A group of people were coming this way, bent on murder.

  Grace began a slow walk away from the departure lane. She nodded her apologies, tossing I forgot something or my comm chimed in her wake. Her nerves vibrated, and she wanted to run. Hold the course. Draw no attention. Be the ocean.

  She made it out of the line, the cloying press of people behind her. Grace practiced a good spacer saunter toward a wall. The wall held no people, because it was an emergency evacuation site. STAND CLEAR was painted in big yellow lettering taller than she was. On a station or spacecraft, you never ignored these signs. Universal rules all spacefarers followed were the ones that kept you alive.

  The site held doors for pods, emergency air breathers, and suits. Grace paused by the suits, looking at the massive airlock gating the departure lounge. If those shut, and there was a vacuum on this side, she’d never make it out.

  Grace pulled down a ship suit. There wasn’t time to do this casually, perhaps dragging one into a toilet stall. She felt the hunters were close, their thirst for battle massive. Where are they? A guard walked toward her, stun rod held ready. Grace had her feet in the ship suit. Universal size, self-sealing. She got her shoulders in, holding the helmet under her arm as the guard reached her.

  He had a nice, open face. Used to smiling, unhappy about what he had to say. “You can’t take those suits.”

  “Listen to me.” Grace put as much urgency as she could in her tone, keeping her voice low. “Someone is coming. Pirates. They’re going to attack.”

  “Uh huh.” The guard hefted the stun rod in a movement meant to inspire caution. Grace felt no fear. She’d been trained to fight far worse foes. Besides, this man wasn’t the enemy. “Where are they?”

  “I…” Grace trailed off, closing her eyes for a second. Not here. She couldn’t see them. Grace’s arm pointed, and she opened her eyes to see where. Her fingers jabbed at the bulkhead.

  The guard laughed. “Ain’t nothing out there but the hard black.”

  They’re going to blow the station. Grace jammed her helmet on as the side of Starfire’s departure lounge ruptured. Metal and ceramicrete sprayed through the room. Grace ducked, a piece of hull impacting the wall a half meter above her head.

  Howling, sucking horror followed as the departure lounge vented in explosive decompression. The mighty airlock rumbled closed. People screamed, tumbling toward the hole in Starfire’s hull. Grace held onto the ship suit’s rack, the metal straining under her fingers.

  It didn’t take long for the entire room to vent into the hard black while she breathed easy in her suit. A few people made it to her, the hardy, clever ones with eyes already bloodshot. She handed out emergency breathers as fast as she could, the guard at her side helping one-handed as he held a mask to his own face.

  Cables fired through the rent in Starfire’s hull. Suited figures slid inside with noiseless efficiency. They fired plasma rifles.

  Time to go. She wanted to help the people around her, but Grace also wanted to live. She stepped back, hurrying away from the blaster fire and the people dying. Sword in one hand, she crouched low, heading for the only logical way out.

  Grace hurried toward the gash in Starfire’s hull, ready to jump into space.

  The hard black yawned before Grace. She stood with feet planted on the ruptured breach of Starfire. No one looked in her direction, because it would be madness for anyone to head this way.

  A corvette drifted in the darkness. It had no running lights. The drive was dark, the ship holding steady two hundred meters away. Grace didn’t know how it got so close without Starfire’s Dock Control noticing. Maybe it cut thrust a long way out. She’d bet her sword it didn’t have a transponder. No hull markings betrayed its name or port of origin.

  Pirates.

  Taught lines stretched between Starfire and the enemy vessel. They terminated in the ship’s airlock. Grace grabbed one of the cable runners, gave a final look behind her, and boosted into the void.

  The runner whined in her hand, its little wheels dragging her toward the pirate craft. Two hundred meters became a hundred, then fifty. Before she entered the airlock, she spared a glance at Starfire. The hole in the side was visible here, but the station’s massive bulk loomed above her like a titan.

  Grace turned as she entered the airlock. Weightlessness became gravity as the Endless fields dragged her boots to the deck. The airlock was big, like a cargo bay. The collection of boarder’s cables terminated here. They looked like regular ol’ steel, not mono spun fibers. Tough enough, exactly the kind of thing you’d want tethering your ship to a station you’d boarded. Grace wouldn’t be able to cut them with her sword, and even if she could, it wasn’t wise to slice off your route home.

  Starfire isn’t my home. It’s just a place where I’ve got my stuff. The lie felt easy in her mind, and she wondered when she’d become weak.

  The inner airlock door was sealed, uncompromising metal waiting for her. It seemed to say, your move, punk. Grace squared her shoulders, walking to the outer airlock’s panel. She slammed her hand on the EMERGENCY SEAL control. The door slammed shut, a mouth biting the cables like they were spaghetti. Steel sheared, the frayed ends visible through the airlock’s viewports. So much for not cutting off your escape route. The cables would drift in the hard black, meaning the cable runners wouldn’t work. If she could snare one, Grace would have to get back hand-over-hand, or find another way back.

  She palmed the inner airlock control, the door sliding open. A surprised pirate waited for her. Grace unsheathed her sword and struck in perfect iaido. Her weapon cut the pirates’ plasma pistol in half, then took his life. Grace cleaned her still-cold steel, using the time to look around.

  The airlock opened to a cargo bay. The bay held a few large crates, all carrying different markings. Plunder. Nothing indicated the ship’s name. It was clean of port-of-origin markings. She took off her helmet, breathing the enemy’s air.

  It didn’t smell stale, rotten, or old. The ship was well-maintained. These weren’t the kind of pirates she expected. Hell, they looked after the inside of their hull better than the reprobates on the Immortal.

  Grace shrugged, heading for metal steps at the far end of the bay. She clipped her helmet to her belt. The ship suit fit poorly, but she didn’t want to leave it behind. Nothing would ruin her day like an over-zealous defender venting all the O2 to kill her.

  The top of the steps ended in a simple door. Grace palmed the controls, the door hissing open to reveal a corridor. Left, or right? Left was aft, where Engineering lay, and aboard most starships, the brig.

  I hope Ryan McCabe is alive.

  Grace placed her boots with care, the hard soles not suited for stealth. She held her steel ready for any encounter, listening ahead with her mind. She caught none of the sideshow horror of the boarding party. Grace felt two minds, one giving fear/desperation and the other anger/resignation. She pushed their sentiments aside. She had enough fear of her own.

  Following the feelings was easy. Not for the first time Grace wished for her father’s gift of hearing actual thoughts. He could shape the will of others and know their mind as if they spoke. Grace’s gift w
as stunted, leaving her with bare emotions.

  She didn’t know who was ahead. It was risky. I should find an escape pod and leave.

  Grace kept walking. She found the brig without too much trouble. The inside wasn’t guarded. All the pirates must be boarding the station. It’s not smart to leave your ship undefended. They’re meticulous yet sloppy. What’s going on?

  A single sealed door among many drew her attention. Grace felt the two souls behind it. She paused, hand over the control panel. If she opened it and found desperate people hungry for freedom, she’d have to fight them. Maybe kill them. But she also needed to find her friends.

  Her hand jabbed the button. The door slid aside, revealing a small, dark cell. Inside, Ryan McCabe and a woman Grace didn’t know sat on bunks, blinking in surprise at the light streaming in. The says-he’s-not-a-pirate still had square, unbowed shoulders, despite the circumstances. Ryan did a double-take, recovering with the smoothness Grace expected of a pirate captain. “What kept you?”

  Grace grinned. “The station’s overrun. There are pirates everywhere.”

  “Is that all?” Ryan swung his legs off the bunk. As the light caught the side of his face, Grace saw bruising. A cut lip. One of Ryan’s eyes was swollen shut. He winced as his feet hit the deck. “I need a minute.”

  The woman opposite him levered herself upright. Her skin was smooth, but her face carried cares aplenty. Brown curls with hints of gold sat atop her head, jouncing as she moved. “You can have a minute if you want to die. We need to get off this tub.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Grace felt her heart lift. She’d found them. “Are you Amita?”

  “How do you know my name?” The woman shielded her eyes from the light, peering under her upraised hand. “Hell. After the working over we got, I’m surprised I know my own name. You must be Grace. Ryan’s told me about you.”

  Grace wondered what other secrets Ryan shared with Amita. Her hunch said she was his lover. She waited as Ryan eased himself to his feet. He moved like an old man, careful but steady. Ryan walked to her, clapping Grace on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “What for?” Grace turned her face away. I almost left them to die. I almost didn’t come.

  “You know.” Ryan left the cell, stretched, and breathed a great lungful of air. “Okay, here’s the deal. We need to get away.”

  “I know.” Grace drifted in the pirate captain’s wake. “I mean, it’s why I’m here.”

  Amita left the cell, still blinking in the light. “You don’t understand. The ship’s not safe. I don’t know if the insurgents followed the right protocols.”

  “Protocols?” Grace glanced between them. “Insurgents?”

  Ryan sighed. “Okay, I’ll explain. We sold the data. No problem there.” He put a finger inside his mouth, wiggling a tooth, then spat on the decking. “Amita’s a Guild medtech.”

  “Ex-Guild.” Amita ran a weary hand through her hair, trying to instill order in the unruly chaos. “Politics. You know how it is.”

  “I really don’t,” said Grace. What is going on?

  “Politics is where people at the top don’t want the people at the bottom to succeed, so they steal their work.” Ryan worked his jaw, testing for damage.

  “I know what politics are. Someone needs to make sense. What protocols?” Grace felt adrift, rudderless. She shouldn’t have tried to get these people out, and she’d caught a helping of questions for her trouble. This is why you don’t get involved.

  Amita sighed, rubbing her hip. They must have given her a decent working over. “The data makes super soldiers. You know that much. Put the recipe in a gene fabricator, stand back, and viola.”

  “Super soldiers like Max.” Grace nodded.

  “I don’t know who Max is, but let’s say yes.” Amita nodded. “The kind of folks wanting a really angry army are either the Empire, who have the recipe, or insurgents, who have no coin. I modified the code. It jacks up muscles and neurons like it should, but it doesn’t come with the stem cell generation system.”

  Grace stared at Amita for a long moment, then turned to Ryan. “What did she say?”

  “They’ll break down.” Ryan hobbled to the door, checking outside. “Looks like the coast is clear.”

  “That’s great news.” Grace sheathed her blade. “We just wait ‘em out.”

  “No.” Amita shook her head. “The serum’s carried by a virus. If it escapes … well, first everyone gets strong, then everyone gets dead. I made a key for the virus. If we got paid, we’d give ‘em the key, and the recipe would work like it was supposed to.”

  “We could just use the key, right?” Nothing’s that easy.

  Amita shook her head. “Not on an infected host.”

  “A person,” corrected Ryan. “While the loss of insurgents won’t be counted as a hardship for the universe, there’s a lot of good people on Starfire.”

  “Oh.” Grace looked at the deck, thinking. “We could leave. We’ve got a ship.”

  Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I guess I don’t.” Grace sighed. When did ‘looking after Grace’ become less important than ‘looking after everyone else you don’t know?’ “Ryan, the Empire’s after me. I can’t be here.”

  The pirate captain walked to Grace. “In our short lives we get a couple chances for greatness. One or two. This is one of them.”

  “I don’t want to be great. I want to be…” She trailed off, uncertain.

  Amita touched her arm. “You want to be Grace.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then be it.” The medtech headed for the door.

  “This is what I am.” Grace held her sword up. “This is what I know.”

  “But it’s not who you are. Trust me.” Ryan winked, then followed Amita. “One or two chances, Grace. C’mon.”

  Amita and Ryan’s explanation helped. It showed why previously-meticulous military insurgents became sloppy. Their bodies were jacked up, minds wild. Soon they’d decay but take Starfire with them. Thousands of people wiped out by an accident.

  They headed aft. Grace kept her eyes open looking for enemies but couldn’t stop thinking about the insurgents boarding the station. “Why are they attacking Starfire?”

  Ryan shrugged. “My best guess is they figure it’s where the recipe was born. Wipe out all other sources and they control a mighty weapon.”

  “Best guess?”

  “Ah.” Ryan paused at a junction, checking a map painted to a wall. “They kept trying to beat out of us where we got it from. We wouldn’t tell. Only thing that kept us alive.”

  “Cam.” The name left Grace’s lips before she could think. She clamped her mouth shut with a snap. He sold you out.

  “Aye.” Ryan nodded. “This way.”

  The three of them kept going until they reached Engineering. The bay held two reactors, all lights in the green. No one here, though. Ryan sauntered to a reactor, his gait easier now he’d been up and moving.

  “We should blow the ship,” suggested Grace.

  “Definitely. But after we’re off it.” Amita took the sting from the words with a smile. “Ryan’s done this kind of thing before.”

  Grace eyed the pirate captain. Not for the first time, she asked, “Who are you?”

  Ryan ignored her, working the reactor’s control panel. After a few moments, lights cascaded to a less happy amber. “There we go. Let’s move. Up to the bridge.”

  They headed for the top of the ship, but after a little while Ryan eased to a halt, breathing ragged. “I need a moment.”

  Grace shook her head. “There isn’t time.”

  “There’s got to be time, Grace. I’m broke. Can’t be fixed with a smile and a nod of encouragement.” Ryan sagged against the wall.

  “Okay, here’s what we’ll do.” Grace jabbed a finger at Amita. “You take Ryan. Find the ship’s skiff. It should be docked above,” she pointed to the ceiling, “near here.”

  Amita nodded. “With you
so far. What are you going to do?”

  Grace grinned. “I’m going to save Starfire.”

  Chapter Three

  Grace ran. The corvette was about a klick long. Four decks, a decent sized vessel. Used for patrolling a system, not fighting wars. Like most starship designs, the bridge was at the top, near the front, as far from the bottom rear of Engineering as you could get.

  Her breath rattled in her chest, sword slapping her back as her feet beat the deck. Ryan said they had twenty minutes until the reactor blew. That wasn’t a lot of time to get the ship away from Starfire. Less, if it took her more than a handful to get to the bridge.

  So, she pushed herself. Skidding as she rounded corners. Slamming into walls as she slid to a halt. Legs pumping, head down, run, run, RUN beating in her mind. Grace Gushiken, only child of Kazuo Gushiken. Trained as a spy and assassin, now faceless savior of an entire station.

  Grace hit the bridge at a sprint, slid on the decking, hand thrown out for support. She cast about for the Helm console. There. Grace threw herself onto the acceleration couch, fingers already working the keyboard. The holo shivered in sympathy, bringing up the ship’s navigational controls.

  The system’s single star sprang to life on the ship’s main holo. Starfire’s orbit glowed a yellow line around it. Nowhere to hide. Grace plotted a course away from the station. She aimed the ship away from the star. Away from everything, and into the dark.

  Grace checked her personal console. Far too few minutes left. Not enough time to get to the skiff and leave. She slammed her hand on the Helm autopilot controls, the corvette shuddering as the drives’ rumble shook the hull. She keyed the ship-wide comm. “Ryan?”

  The pirate captain answered after only two heartbeats. “Grace? What’s going on?”

  “Go. Launch the skiff.”

  “What about you?”

  “There isn’t time.” Grace leaned close to the comm, needing him to hear her. “You need to go. I’ll make my own way out.” She clicked the comm off. The skiff wasn’t moving. Ryan waited for her.