A blow smashed into Wing’s cheek and he felt the bone crack as his head was thrown back. He sagged in his seat, too stunned to understand Greon’s words. He groaned and the leader’s roaring came into focus.
“…said they’d die. I want them dead. Your course should have been into that black hole. Into, not around! You lied to me. You failed me. You betrayed me-”
Greon’s ranting sprayed Wing with spittle and he knew that another blow was imminent. “No,” he croaked, and winced at the fire in his cheek. “Did my best. That leader was smart. Must have checked my course and laid in another. I certain-sure sent them in. At least tried to. He was smarter than me. Sorry, sah.”
“It was a safe course out,” Greon snarled with undiminished fury. “You told them such. You said-”
“Course I did, sah. Your plan would have failed if I’d told them the truth. Their leader must have checked though… smarter than I thought.”
Greon paused and regarded his Senior thoughtfully. “Yes, he was much too smart for you, Nightwing.” Greon’s lips smacked together as if he was savouring the words. “Too smart for Nightwing,” he repeated loudly and nodded gravely, but his apparent sympathy couldn’t hide the delight in his silver eyes. They glinted when he decompressed a regen pad and spun it across the nest.
“You’re dismissed, Nightwing. I’ll make the next passage. Go and seek rest.”
‘Thank you, Sah.’ Wing pushed himself stiffly from his chair and floated toward the link.
“You’re all relieved,” Greon announced and waved his arms expansively. The nest was briefly silent and then abruptly filled with jostling bodies, each pushing to escape. Despite their hurry, they all remembered to thank the leader, and he smiled smugly. “You’ve earned it. I’m well pleased. I’ll stand early with the shift crew.”
Won’t they be thrilled, Wing thought bitterly as he waited to enter the crowded link.
“Hazleean, not you,” Greon called to his DS just as she reached the safety of the corridor. “You need further instruction.”
Hazleean stopped and Wing sensed her panic, before she slowly turned and drifted back to her console. He hesitated too, watching the inept Data Senior while she slunk into place amongst her still-active display. That solicitous glance was enough to freeze him in place. He clamped one hand around an emergency gravity strip while his body was buffeted by the hasty exit blasts of the main crew. He hung alone at the edge of the nest, appalled by the vision above him.
Four ships had entered the system from its far passage point. Wing’s gut tightened, although the Bandit was clearly not their target. They were not kres at all. They were mercenaries and he could guess who they were hunting. He kept his face calm and his fronds flat against his chest, but his mind raced. The attackers were growing larger in the display and he knew that Greon would notice them the moment his attention shifted from the cowering Hazleean. Wing was out of time and out of options. He tapped his com once.
“Jileea, we’re go. Feed Greon’s extra power to my com and lock down the nest. Keep everyone out from now.” Wing made no effort to repeat the order. Jileea was either ready or not. If not, they were both dead, but he dismissed that thought. Despair had no place in his plan. His fronds bushed and his pupils dilated when his com shifted to combat mode and adrenaline flooded his system.
Greon finally saw the intrusion alert and gave a startled exclamation. He triggered a general call to arms and Wing kicked hard against the curved wall of the nest to hurtle toward its centre. A com thrust hurled him even faster, but, just before impact, some instinct warned Greon and he turned.
Wing had a brief glimpse of his Leader’s astonished expression before his shoulder drove into the mermaridian’s throat. Greon’s bellow of rage became a croak and he flew backwards, one arm flung wide and the other swinging viciously for Wing’s head.
Wing ducked forward and his head tucked under Greon’s wild punch. The kres kept diving, curling into a forward roll, so that his leg rose behind him, the heel hammering into his enemy’s face.
Greon’s cry was little more than a rasp, but he kept flailing at his attacker while they spun across the nest. They collided with the navigation console and were thrown apart, but one of Wing’s hands held its death grip on Greon’s neck. The Senior’s fingers ground deep into solid muscle, locking tight to cut off oxygen.
Greon’s eyes went wide and locked on Wing, who stared back unblinking. He hung on each gasp from his victim, willing them to stop and finally felt the pulse that hammered under his rigid fingers start to slow.
Greon sprayed spittle in Wing’s face and the kres had to blink. He focused on his Leader again in time to see his eyes dim while something rattled under Wing’s hands. The pirate stopped struggling and his fists stopped squeezing Wing’s to float away to either side. Everything went very still and very quiet.
Wing sagged too, but he didn’t let go. Not yet, although such caution was needless. He knew with primal certainty that he’d done it. He’d challenged the monster and won.
That second of triumph was obliterated by an explosion. Wing was hit in the back by a blast of heat and light. And pain. Horrible, unexpected pain. He was thrown away from the flaccid Greon and sent writhing across the nest, half-blind with agony and the glare of the com blast that had hit him.
Wing spun into the field Jileea had used to trap the crew in the link. He bounced off with his eyes awash and the score of faces pressed close to that shield seemed to be staring through a rain storm. Their eyes were wide and expressions ranged from shocked to delighted.
Wing belatedly realized his fronds could offer more than his sight and lifted them high, seeking the person who had shot him in the back. A fuzzy red and orange figure floated above the data console. Hazleean. Her com arm was outstretched and supported by her other arm, but both were shaking.
Another blast hurled Wing across the nest. He felt heat again and then sharper pain when his com exploded. He slammed into the field guarding Darsey’s cell and had a brief impression of her horrified face before skidding on to collect the lip of the cell above hers. He scrabbled desperately at its slick edge. His fingers found purchase and he gripped fast, struggling against shock.
Wing was bitterly aware that every second he needed for recovery gave similar relief to Greon. He could only hope that sheer willpower was enough to offset the mermaridian’s advantages of com and physical resilience. He drew in a breath that was sharp with pain and the stink of something crisped by the blast. Most likely him. He was still shaking, but managed to turn back toward the nest. Greon was gone.
Adrenaline hit Wing again, more muted this time, even as a fist closed on the back of his neck. A huge hand nearly circled his throat and he reacted instantly. His heel and elbow swung back viciously, one striking Greon’s knee and the other slamming home beneath his heart. Both blows were useless.
They rebounded from Greon’s active field, jarring Wing from toes to teeth. His body started to shudder, slipping deeper into shock, and the last of his strength couldn’t stop it. The hand holding him tightened and his own shaking was dwarfed by a neck-snapping wrench from Greon.
“Should kill you now,” the Leader rasped, “straight and brutal. Too quick, though, an’ it won’t be quick, kres. Not quick at all.”
Greon hauled Wing toward him and then casually slammed his ex-Senior against the cell ledge before dropping them both toward a prison chamber that had started to glow beneath Darsey’s.
The Leader’s breathing was still ragged and he leaned against the wall while they wafted lower, resting briefly before he had to swing Wing into the cell. The kres swayed helplessly from the grip around his neck, but the expected toss and release never came. Instead, his gaze was drawn from the approaching prison below his feet by an unexpected gurgle from Greon.
Wing twisted his head desperately, trying to sight his suddenly choking foe. Greon’s face was purple, but with fury rather than asphyxia. He was trapped against the front of Darsey’s cell and the
human’s arm was somehow through that barrier and around Greon’s neck.
Wing wasted no time wondering how Darsey had managed to reach through the field. Her bare arm looked ridiculously puny and, as Greon reached to rip it away, Nightwing kicked out as hard as he could, slamming the soles of his combat boots against Greon’s side, his chest, his free arm – anything to distract the pirate.
Greon gasped in outrage, but it was the last sound he ever made. Darsey’s other hand appeared, passing through the prison field in a shower of sparks to grip the Leader by his hair. She braced her feet against the field and it supported her solidly when she pulled back hard.
Greon slipped and Darsey dragged his head into her prison, where he gaped up at her in utter disbelief. There was a frozen moment while he seemed to be trying to comprehend such an impossible attack and then Darsey let go. She released Greon and the strangely permeable field snapped back to full strength. It reinstated itself neatly through the pirate’s neck.
There was an explosion of sparks and a curious sigh, then silence. Greon’s body drifted slowly away from the cell. Wing floated with it, still caught by the death grip on his neck and suddenly too limp to care. He wafted toward the consoles, held tight by all that remained of Greon on this side of Darsey’s cell door. He stared blankly at the crew, still trapped in the link, and they gazed back, just as shocked. There was sound now, a low, despairing moan that grew to a desperate litany.
“No, no, no, no. Oh gods oh gods,” Hazleean wailed with rising hysteria.
Wing tried to lift his head and failed, which was unacceptable, because he still had unresolved business. He tried harder, although moving was agonising and he had to use all of his remaining strength to pluck Greon’s hand from his throat. He pried at each finger and managed to twist them aside. He shuddered and kicked out at the corpse so that it flew free and he drifted in the opposite direction, toward Hazleean.
She watched his slow approach in suddenly frozen horror. Her eyes and mouth were wide with shock, caught in mid-wail. She made no effort to run and simply stared while he wafted toward her. She seemed beyond panic, sitting there stasis-stiff when he gripped her hard by each wrist.
“Com,” Wing ordered, and Hazleean surrendered her only protection without protest. Her silver com snapped open to float free from her arm, but only briefly.
Wing snatched it from the air and stretched it into place on his own wrist. The relief was instant and he grimaced, then relaxed while energy flowed through his battered body. Pain disappeared and his attention returned to Hazleean. She gazed back, rapt and terrified.
Wing watched her closely while he slowly and deliberately made the gestures to reprogramme her com. However, she made no effort to intervene while he claimed the device for himself. He linked it to his console and an image of Pertwing appeared at his wrist when his personal program took control of the com. A thought reactivated the cell that Greon had been planning to torture him in and he simply pointed at the newly lit prison.
Hazleean was shaking now and her first effort to push away from her seat hardly moved her. She floated just above it and had to kick against it again as hard as she could in order to reach the cell. She gained just enough momentum to cover the distance. The prison’s gravity claimed her the moment she entered and she thumped painfully to the floor. She turned forlornly to face her captor, who watched her bleakly.
“Why?” Wing demanded, and Hazleean swallowed hard.
“It was Greon.” She gulped. “Greon! He all-times wins. Every time. And mad. He would’ve been so mad. He would’ve h-hurt me. Wing? Wing, please…”
Her plea trailed off and Wing turned away without answering. He looked toward the crew, still crowded in the link, and they stared silently back, each calculating what this change in leadership might offer. Jileea was in the front row now, pressed close to the energy barrier she had activated. She offered Wing a feverishly bright smile before opening a single space in the door field, a space that would allow entry to only one person at a time. The kres was about to thrust off to meet her when a soft call claimed his attention.
“Hey,” Darsey said calmly, and Wing looked her way. “Let me out. Now.”
“No.”
She held Greon’s head up by its hair without flinching. “You owe me.”
“Ye, thanks,” Wing agreed, before turning away. He could feel her outrage, but ignored it and took off toward the Leader’s chair. He reached it while Jileea was still crossing the nest. He gripped the back of the chair and spun toward his accomplice, throwing out a hand in her direction. His fingers flicked and the com he had lent her dropped off to fly straight back to him. He smiled and slammed the nest lock-down back into place. She looked over her shoulder at the solid shield and her lips twitched.
“All-times got back cover, ye, Wing?”
“Ever-all.”
She looked around for Greon and Wing pointed to Darsey’s cell.
Jileea’s mouth creased, before she pursed her lips in disbelief. “How could a primitive alien defeat a commed mermaridian?” She frowned at the graphic evidence of the slave’s success and a minute passed before she looked away from that grisly proof of Greon’s death.
“So,” she finally sighed, turning back to Wing. “We’re free. What now?”
“Now we fight,” he stated grimly, but raised a calming hand when Jileea tensed in response. “Not each other. I want our best attack against those.”
He gestured toward a warning visual of four mercenary ships, but when he did so the scene erupted in an explosion of color. A ball of flame filled the nest and three of the attacking ships were ripped apart. A shockwave logo rippled across the scene and debris seemed to scatter from the hologram.
“Yes,” Wing breathed. “Yes, yes. Good move, Free.”
He spun back to face Jileea, still gripping the back of the leader’s chair. “This seat is yours, as-said, but first I claim my lift. Not Rimwards, as I thought, but only to that kres ship. Will you deal, Leader Jileea?”
The mermaridian chewed her lip and studied the hologram doubtfully. “It’s poor dealing, Nightwing. Your fleet ship will soon be destroyed. The last mercenary is stronger and faster than its prey. And if the kres some way defeats it, then they'll likely destroy us too.”
“No,” Wing protested urgently. “I promise not. My cousin is leader and I can keep you safe. He’ll be grateful too, once we save him from that last ship.”
“Save him?” Jileea crowed derisively. “Save him? We’d not save ourselves from such an attack.”
“I’ve a plan,” Wing promised, and Jileea’s smile disappeared.
Her eyes narrowed and she hissed softly. “You’ll kill us all, kres.”
“Mayhap. Do you claim this seat, or do I?”
Jileea hissed again, but she was already moving. She had to launch herself from a series of consoles, but, despite her lack of com, she was quick to reach the central chair. She glared at Wing before turning and dropping onto its gold and pink padding. Huge cushions settled around her and she sighed before looking up to scowl at the kres, but he was gone.
Wing swung into place at his usual console, calling up full-function control before settling into his seat. He set the Bandit moving in the same instant, surging back toward the battle.
“Leadership for a mere half minute was not my wish, kres.”
“Relax and enjoy,” Wing answered distractedly. “I calculate ninety seconds before we reach the enemy’s weapons’ globe.”
Jileea hissed in response, but he ignored her. He turned all of his attention to the challenge of tagging the still-distant ship. He had a radical idea that might keep them all alive, but it would take the most difficult passage jumps of his life. While his hands readied a stream of exotic matter, his mind hooked into the Bandit's scanners.
Wing reached out to the enemy ship and felt his scan strike its hull. He could sense that smooth curve and he held tightly to its image while releasing a stream of exotic matter. His mi
nd directed it straight to the enemy and it rode the mini passage made by the scanner with ease. He breathed out hard in relief and realized that Jileea was talking to him.
“How did you place a trace in mid-travel? And why? We already know exactly where they are.”
“I tagged them for good purpose,” he answered tersely. “Where are they going, Jileea?”
“That’s clear too,” she snorted. “They follow the fleet ship.”
“Ye, but to where?”
Jileea checked the main display impatiently. “The first course was back to passage point, but now it veers to the black hole.”
“Exactly,” Wing agreed. “They’re headed for a singularity and I’m going to jump them straight in.”
“What?” Jileea protested. “You can’t jump another ship. Not from the outside.”
“Watch,” Wing ordered, and turned back to his console. The information above it looked very different now. It no longer showed the mercenary ship, but instead offered pursuit vectors and a clear view of the kres ship. He had tapped into the navigation console of the mercenary ship and they were watching their enemy’s main display.
“You’ve made an intelligent trace,” Jileea whispered, and he grunted in response.
“Got the idea from Darsey,” he admitted. “When she used my com, it left traces of ExM in her cells. They were porous to it, most strange. Now her body can passage. Just a little, just past energy fields, but even small-as jumps are enough to get free, or enough to break in.”
“You’ve broken in,” Jileea shrieked with delight and bounced in her seat. “You’re in the enemy systems. That truly is their data stream we can see. Take control. Order a crew lockdown and stop that ship, Wing.”
“I can't,” he said grimly and his new Leader quickly calmed. “We can watch, but no more. There’ll be only one chance to use their command channels and I’ll take it when needed. Until then, we just look. Once the black hole is close, I’ll initiate a jump. I’ll send them past its horizon.”
“Perfect-” Jileea began, but she was interrupted by a streak of light from their stolen visual.
It was the bright trail of a torpedo fired by the mercenary toward the fleeing kres. The weapon arced after the fleet ship, which lurched awkwardly aside. The explosion was close and the view of Free’s ship was lost in a fiery cloud. Icons stolen from the enemy nest showed more missiles being readied and Wing swore softly. He was out of time and could only hope the singularity was close enough for his plan to work.
He took a steadying breath and reached into the console display before him as confidently as if it belonged to his own ship. The response was instant. The helm came smoothly under his control when he initiated passage contact. It locked onto the massive singularity ahead and Wing released exotic matter from his stowaway tracer.
He sensed resistance now, as the ship’s real nav senior tried to regain control. Warning icons showed red and gold while flashing wildly. The mercenary vessel lurched and a shock speared up Wing’s arm and across his chest. He leaned into the pain, bending forward with hands thrust out to force through the command to jump. His mind and body flooded the console with a single, overwhelming order and it worked.
One moment the nest was filled with images and figures from the enemy vessel and the next it was dark. All information vanished, along with the ship. The hijacking worked and the mercenary jumped straight to disaster. The Bandit’s normal display returned, but the attackers were missing from it, unimaginably lost in the heart of a black hole.
The reality of what Wing had done suddenly hit home and he groaned.
In stark contrast, Jileea snorted with unashamed delight. “They didn't jump, they were pushed.” She guffawed and bounced in her seat again. “Wing, that was lovely. I most wish you’d stay.”
“That was gross,” he snapped, and had to bite down against bile.
Jileea hissed and slapped the arms of her chair in exasperation. “It was truly good, especially the part where we survived. Kres are most odd, even you, Wing. On re-think, it’s best for you to join your people. But will they take you?”
Wing looked up from his glowing com. “I just got an invite-in. They’ll have me.” He pushed away from his seat in sudden impatience. “I can go. Now.” They looked at each other awkwardly until Wing bowed to Jileea, not a full obeisance, but deep enough to offer real respect. “My thanks to you, Lady. You backed me well and stood true. If you ever have need, I’ll do the same.”
“Thanks, Wing, and for the ship, most thanks. Go with Luck.”
“You too, Leader.” Wing turned to leave, but another voice stopped him.
“Nightwing,” Darsey called clearly, but he made no effort to turn around, just tilted his head slightly to show he was listening. “Don’t you leave without me. Don’t you dare.”
Wing hesitated, but there was truly nothing to be said. He was still in-mission and Darsey needed to be sent home safe, but convincing her to trust him again and stay with the Bandit would take more than a minute.
“Sorry,” he said shortly, keeping his back to her and that was all he offered, before turning to face Jileea instead. “I bartered a better deal with the human’s buyer. The meet co-ordinates are in my console. He’ll pay sixteen thousand for delivery. You’ll see it done?”
Jileea offered a tight smile in response. “At sixteen kay credits, I’d be foolish not to.”
“Good.” Wing had scarcely uttered the word before his com fired and hurled him across the nest. The field blocking the link switched off just before he hit it and the crew still clustered there had to scatter when he dived past them.
“Wing,” Darsey called after him, but he ignored her.
Her cry faded and he kept his attention on the passage ahead. He had things to do and his time with Darsey would fade as surely as her voice.
32
Future Deal