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For the first time, Rafe was thankful for the damage losing Actaeon had done to his emotions. Without those scars, he’d be in a panic—worried that he didn’t have the information he needed, worried that he might not be enough to hold off whatever goons had arrived from Triptych until help could arrive. Not that he could be absolutely positive that the crime syndicate was on Secundus. But given the lack of large predators, someone had to have tripped the perimeter alerts, and they were the most likely party.
Also, if he was honest, they were the worst possibility. If being a soldier had taught him anything, it was to always prepare for the worst. Murphy’s Law loved soldiers, and never strayed far from their side.
He moved to his ditty bag and pulled out the near-black ODUs he’d brought with him. Every item seemed ready. Nothing out of place, just as he’d packed it. Even though time was important, he had to go through the checklist. The one time he hadn’t...
The memory of Actaeon’s death burned in his throat with fresh grief, and he fought against the urge to find his picture on the wall again. He already did too much to comfort himself. He finished checking his gear for ops, then barked out, "Shut off external lights. Close the storm shutters. Like you're holding up against a storm."
"What? So you can go out there and sacrifice yourself?" Nafisi took a step toward him.
"I'm not sacrificing anything. But until we know how many people we’re up against, I’m not going to be able to plan efficiently." He stripped off his shirt, ignoring the tug of his stitches, and pulled on a clean black undershirt. His dispersion mesh went on next—it wouldn't be perfect against a plasmacaster, but anything was better than being nothing. He buttoned up his ODUs over the mesh vest. "I'll be back. Just make sure the wolves are safe. And yourself."
She didn't look like she believed him, but she accepted his quick kiss before he slipped out the door. As goodbyes went, he’d had worse. Maybe, when this was over, he'd find a way to make it up to her. Or maybe he’d do the smart thing and disappear from her life.
Outside, he bypassed the old ranch-runner that was parked under a small roof next to the house. He’d be slower on foot, but chances were whoever was on the planet would be scanning for vehicles. If his experience with Triptych’s factions had taught him anything, it was that they tended to let ego get the better of them. One person on foot wouldn’t be a threat, so they wouldn’t even be looking for him. He broke into a jog and headed toward the break in the perimeter.
Triptych was the closest the TriSystem Joint Forces came to having an actual nemesis. Clever, violent, and with their hand in most if not all categories of illicit activity, the crime syndicate had engaged with the TJF for the better part of two decades. While the TJF were more military than police force, they were responsible for fighting interplanetary crime, piracy, and trafficking. All areas where Triptych’s cells operated frequently.
On the plus side, cells mostly operated independently. Rivalries between the lower-level lieutenants could be fierce, especially as they competed to win favor with the syndicate’s mysterious leaders. With luck, that meant only one cell knew where the wolves were being raised. If several cells were cooperating, that meant very bad news indeed.
Rafe turned on the light-amplification on his helmet as he jogged. The perpetual night meant that he wouldn’t get much light going forward, but at least the lowlight systems took his view from pitch-black to twilight. More than enough to avoid the worst of Secundus’s pitfalls while he ran.
He slowed down as he approached the site where the alarm had been triggered, and clambered up onto some nearby rocks. In the low light, he couldn’t get much magnification, but he also didn’t need it.
A Percheron-class heavy transport sat on its six stubby landing struts, forward ramp open. He couldn’t fault their choice—though they were officially retired from service, the Percy’s reliability kept them in circulation with a number of independent operators and mercenary units throughout the three systems. The large cargo area, configurable hardpoints, and above-average speed in-system for their size also made them popular with well-funded, well-equipped pirates.
Fortunately, like him, they’d found landing on Secundus to be difficult without using their underside floods. He could see eight people milling about in the effort to secure their landing zone, which meant he could expect they’d brought the ship’s full crew of sixteen, and maybe a few more. Not the best odds for the ranch, if they made a serious assault.
At least there was no question about their affiliation—every one of the thugs he'd seen wore a red scarf somewhere on their person, proudly displaying Triptych’s triform skull logo.
As of yet, the raiders hadn't moved outside the safe circle of their lights. Rafe hoped against fate that meant they weren't sure they had the right place. It would be hard to pick the energy signature of the ranch out from the natural fluctuations of the planet. As a result, they might decide they had false intel and beat a hasty retreat.
So long as he didn’t tip his hand and let them know they had the right place, everything might end up okay.
The low-pitched whine of a slow-moving hoverbike reverberated through the rocks and tightened Rafe’s throat with fear. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Nafisi cruising toward a different ridge on the beat-up ranch-runner he’d left behind. Worse, he wasn't the only one who’d heard it. In the ship’s floodlights, he could already see the pirates organizing a pair of squads to cut her off.
He fought to keep his breath steady. Idiot woman. She was going to get herself killed. Why couldn't she have laid low like he’d asked?
He eased himself down from the rocks and quietly moved to intercept. With the floods around the bottom of the ship, the pirates would be partially light-blind in the darkness beyond. He had to hope that would work to his advantage.
The sound of plasma fire changed his slow sneak to a full-out run. His senses went into overdrive—eyes scanning the ground, ears tuned for any additional clue. A laugh. A cry of alarm. Anything that might let him know what to expect. His stomach clenched against the adrenaline flooding his system. Another shot sounded, and this time he couldn't miss Nafisi's yelp of pain.
He rounded the rocks almost on top of one of Triptych’s goons. Rafe's sidearm was in his hand and firing before he could even think. Three plasma bolts hit the man’s center of mass and dropped him. Part of him knew he should have stuck with his combat blade, kept silence and surprise on his side, but his primary focus was getting to Nafisi as quickly as possible.
The sharp report of the plas-pistol sent the other goons diving for cover. Rafe squeezed off another shot at the rocks to keep their heads down as he ran up. Nafisi writhed on the ground, one arm hanging useless and her shoulder blackened by plasma fire. Rage filled the space where worry had been, and he fired off another set of shots before lifting her onto the back of the runner.
One of the goons got bold, stepping out to line up a shot while Rafe’s arms were full, and was shot dead for the trouble. The violence sent another thug ducking back for safety, scurrying like the cockroach he was.
Rafe jumped on the bike, hand resting on Nafisi’s back as he fired the remainder of his clip into the rocks. "You'll be okay, baby. Just let me get us out of here." He spun the bike on its lev-cushion and ripped on the throttle with a twist of his wrist.
"Didn’t want you in danger," she said. "In case you needed backup. Damn that hurts." She winced as the runner hit a bump.
"Sorry. This isn’t the smoothest ride on the planet." He couldn’t stop touching her, wanting to assure himself she was alive, to let her know they’d be okay. That somehow it would all work out.
He just wished he could believe himself.