While nowhere near a top-notch Valk pilot, regular practice flights had given Marissa a great deal of confidence with the suits. After that first flight, Barnes had taken the suits out several times a day, regularly rotating out one of the pilots to include Marissa. She didn’t get to fly every time, but it was clear that Barnes was letting her try the suits more often than the trained pilots. He really did seem to see potential in her, and Marissa was happy to live up to it. She grasped the basics of flight quickly, as he’d said she would, and after only a week, she could dart and weave through space almost as well as the other pilots. She joined in a couple of their games of tag, and although she hadn’t caught anyone yet, she came just a little closer to out-manoeuvring them with every attempt. It was exhilarating, like learning how to fight all over again, but without the spectre of death looming so close by.
She’d expected the other pilots to be cold to her, seeing her as an intruder among their ranks, but they welcomed her in and out of the suit. Even Samson, the pilot who’d been grounded on that first flight, didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She sat with them during meals, and they would bombard her with jokes and stories of their previous missions. It was a lot like being with her friends back on Aegis, and she began to wonder whether this was a subtle scheme devised by Barnes to recruit her. Flattering, if it was true, but Marissa wasn’t optimistic about the mercenary lifestyle. She just wanted to get her current life back in order.
The last couple of flights had become a tad more challenging. While flying through space was relatively simple due to the lack of gravity, Barnes insisted the pilots needed to practice with actual flight. This was easier said than done; they were in the middle of nowhere, with no planetary bodies large enough to provide a strong centre of gravity. This left the Valiance’s artificial gravity, and the only space remotely large enough to allow room for flight was the cargo hold, which was already packed. They tried anyway, clearing as much space as they could without chucking things outside.
Marissa still struggled with walking in the Valk, and it became even more of a chore with the metallic wings spread out behind her. They threw her off balance, making her legs wobble when she tried to stand up straight. She watched the other pilots for guidance, but none of them seemed to agree on a method for standing. Orson stood as straight as he could, feet spread so far apart that a wrong move might cause a nasty accident, while Deltis remained in a sort of crouch, as if she meant to break into a sprint at Barnes’ call. The rest were similarly awkward, so Marissa didn’t feel too bad as she wobbled and tried to stay upright.
Take-off was a nightmare, and it had taken a muscle-pulling jerk of her body to keep from flying straight into the ceiling on her first attempt. Only one pilot was allowed in the air at a time, which seemed to be the only safety precaution Barnes took in this insane endeavour. The adjustable thrusters and flex of the wings allowed for quite a bit of control, but Marissa still struggled with several near-crashes in her short flight.
When she’d landed and Barnes helped extract her from the suit, she had to ask. “What would you have done if I’d crashed, or broken a hole in the ship?”
Barnes answered with a grin, “Well, you didn’t.”
Marissa shook off the last of the suit and took a deep breath, running her fingers through her sweat-dewed hair. “But what if I did?”
“There was no if—I made sure you knew enough to avoid killing yourself,” Barnes replied as he moved on to help Black out of his suit.
They tried the same stunt the next day, and Marissa nearly broke her neck on the floor after looping backwards to avoid the ceiling. Her heart had jumped into her throat and her lungs seized up as she pulled out of the dive. Once she’d landed, Marissa had stepped out of the suit to find a scratch on the helmet where it had grazed the floor. They stopped the indoor flights after that, not just for safety reasons, but because Fredrichs had been in the hold to witness the whole thing. Barnes had stood there and let the Commander chew him out, and it was the only time Marissa had seen him not even trying to smile. At dinner he apologized to Marissa and the pilots, saying he’d put them at unnecessary risk. No one berated him for it, even if it was true.
They made another hyperspace jump a couple of hours later, and Marissa once again confined herself to bed, trying to keep her food in. It was said that regular spacefarers, the people who spent their whole lives on ships, were completely unaffected by hyperspace. Could such creatures really be called human anymore, or had they evolved into a new sub-species like the Rashani? Either way, Marissa wished she had their fortitude. Once the jump ended and her head cleared, she fell into a deep sleep.
A sudden, sharp beeping noise came blasting from somewhere nearby and startled her awake. She stumbled out of bed, unsure of the time and hoping she hadn’t missed the next Valk flight. She was in the process of dressing when the beeping gave way to Cassandra’s voice, broadcast over the ship’s communications system.
“Could Commander Fredrichs and Lieutenant-Commander Barnes please come to the bridge? There’s a situation I’d like to discuss with you.” The captain’s voice was as calm as always, but her voice scratched something in the back of Marissa’s mind. Rarely was something good called a ‘situation’. She dressed and headed for the bridge. Cassandra may not have called for her, but anything that that required both Inferno commanders was probably important. She wouldn’t let the captain pretend she didn’t exist again, not if something might be going wrong.
The bridge of the Valiance fit the standard model; a wide, circular floor with a captain’s chair in the centre and a handful of crewmen sitting at various computer consoles around it. Each console dealt with a different part of the ship, such as the engines or the power generator, meaning no one person had to worry about dealing with two problems at once. At the far end of the bridge was the wide window of the starshield, providing a glimpse of the universe outside.
Cassandra was too occupied to comment on Marissa’s presence when she arrived. She was leaning over the shoulder of one of the bridge crew, the two of them focused on the steady flow of information on the screen before them. The Zulkar uttered a small hiss, her claws digging into the back of the crewman’s chair. Fredrichs and Barnes stood together off to her side, both impatiently craning their necks to see the screen that Cassandra’s back blocked. Marissa went to join them.
“Something going on?”
“Sensors are picking up a ship,” Barnes said quietly, as if fearing to spark the seething captain’s temper.
Marissa felt her heart jump. “Arc?”
“Unless the coordinates we’ve been following are off by a few light-years, no,” Cassandra answered, yellow eyes glancing towards the stars outside. “We should see it soon.”
Marissa waited, her breath coming short and quick. The Valiance had come to a complete stop while she’d been asleep, and they hovered in one of the many debris fields that filled this portion of space. Large asteroids turned in slow rotations miles away, pock-marked with craters from smaller meteors. She stepped closer to the starshield, trying to pick out a ship from all the space junk.
When she spotted it, the vessel was alarmingly close, its long snout poking out from behind one of the largest asteroids. The rest of its spindly body followed a moment later, its dark grey hull marked with unsettling red patterns. In many ways it resembled the debris around it, dented and worn, yet still carrying some menace. Though not quite a match for the Valiance in size, it wasn’t to be taken lightly; a pair of long-barrelled cannons rested under its chin, and six beetle-like fighters hung from its underbelly, like a brood suckling from their mother.
Marissa flinched back reflexively. Something about that jagged shape, that scarlet war-paint sketched onto its hull like violent street art, clawed at Marissa’s memory and unearthed her deepest nightmares: a shadow overhead, a woman whose face she couldn’t remember clutching Marissa’s younger self to her chest, tight as a life-preserver. It wasn’t the same ship; the one she faced in her dreams was so vast that it blotted out the sun, its engines screaming and belching crimson flames. But this was not so different, carrying that same unspoken promise of danger and ruin. She closed her eyes, fighting against the numb feeling that spread through her.
“Pirates,” Cassandra spat. As if any of them needed to be told.
“Have they seen us?” asked Fredrichs.
“Don’t know, but I’m not going to take any chances.” Cassandra moved to the next console over and nudged the crewman aside as she swiftly ran her claws across the controls. The lights around the bridge snapped off, leaving only a small pool of light produced by the console screens. The constant hum of the ship’s engines, a sound that Marissa had stopped noticing days ago, made itself known through its absence, making a silence that was too complete for comfort.
“Engines and all non-priority power systems have been cut,” Cassandra announced, glaring back to the passing ship. “Our energy output has been minimized. The only way they’re going to notice us is if they’re already looking.”
The pirate vessel continued on its way, swerving to pass beneath a twirling piece of debris in its path. It had a whopping six primary thrusters protruding from its back in a circular formation, each firing off at its own interval, as if they were all propelling different ships. Its course was uneven, the nose wobbling one way or another at the whim of the thrusters. It carried on this way for several minutes, crossing the span of the Valiance’s starshield while Marissa and the others held their breath and hoped. They were all rigidly still, as if the smallest movement might betray their position.
Cassandra pointed to a large asteroid looming to their right. “That should block some of their sensors once they pass behind it. When the ship’s out of sight, we’ll just tiptoe around it using the low-power thrusters until we’ve put some distance between us.” She made another hissing sound. “Damn, that’s going to put us back a few days.”
That was not what Marissa wanted to hear. She peeled her eyes from the pirate vessel and turned on Cassandra. “Isn’t there anything else we can do? Why don’t we just gun the hyperdrive and jump out of here before they have time to react?”
“You can’t ‘gun’ a hyperdrive—not if you want to keep the ship in one piece,” Cassandra replied in an aggravatingly condescending tone. “We’re talking about bending the laws of physics, not taking a joyride down a highway. Besides, I turned it off along with the other systems, so we’d need to wait for it to recharge anyway.”
Marissa clenched her fist. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because the energy dispersal from our last jump might have been what brought the pirates here in the first place!” Cassandra snapped. “Keeping the drive on could lead them right to us.”
Marissa stepped close to Cassandra, glaring up at her. “I thought you knew this sector. You said you’d been avoiding pirates for years, so what happened?”
Cassandra’s face shifted to an angry purple, and she bared a row of small, pointed teeth. “Pirates don’t have permanent homes, and they tend to move around. I can only guess at where they might be, and everyone makes mistakes, so how about you back off?”
Barnes’ voice suddenly cut their argument short. “Cass, did you turn off the energy shields?”
Cassandra started. “I usually keep them on the lowest settings. They’re an unnecessary drain on the generator.”
“Well turn up the strength, now!” Barnes barked.
Marissa turned back to find the pirate vessel bearing in their direction, a halo of light blazing behind it as all six thrusters fired in unison. The cannons on its underside slid forwards, extending past the nose before firing, right then left.
Cassandra and the crewmen threw themselves at the controls, but the first metal sphere was already hurtling towards the Valiance. Marissa grabbed hold of the captain’s chair and braced for impact, shutting her eyes tight as gold streaked across her vision and the projectile erupted in a blinding flash of light.
* * *
The impact knocked Sorin from his seat and filled the dark interior of the Chariot with white light. He scrambled back across the floor, then grabbed hold of his chair and hoisted himself up, just in time to see the Valiance’s energy shields envelop the ship an instant before the second torpedo hit and filled his vision with another dazzling flash. He breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back into his seat.
The Chariot had taken a direct hit, but Deus technology was sturdy, and all systems were still operational. That was good; he hadn’t considered what kind of danger he might have been in when he threw his ship in front of the projectile. He’d seen the other vessel open fire, and his hands had done the thinking, his promise to Fulmus foremost in his mind. It was a step further than he’d thought himself willing to go to protect mortals, potentially putting his own life at risk, and he was sure Lutus would’ve been livid if he’d seen it. Sorin wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
Outside, the attacking vessel was approaching the Valiance rapidly. One of the smaller fighter ships clinging to its underbelly detached, and six wings unfolded from its back like the petals of a blooming flower. This smaller ship closed the distance in the blink of an eye, swooping low over the Valiance’s hull as if to taunt the larger vessel. The lower wings, marked with the same red patterns as the mother vessel, skimmed the shield, leaving a momentary crease through the energy field in its wake. Then the fighter looped down beneath the Valiance, around the time a second and third ship flew free of the pirate vessel.
One of the Valiance’s turrets swivelled to attention as the fighter passed, its barrel following the attacker’s trajectory. A moment later, a bolt of light lanced into the centre of the fighter’s main thruster and out the other end. The ship careened off its course, and a brief burst of fire exploded from the cockpit before the vacuum snuffed it out. The death of a mortal was never a happy occasion, but Sorin was glad to see that the Valiance could defend itself.
The two new fighters had been flying side by side at first, but the destruction of their comrade encouraged them to split off and go their separate ways. One flew dangerously close to the cloaked Chariot, prompting Sorin to seek out a new observation point. He followed behind the fighter, far back enough to avoid detection, flying just above the hull of the Valiance.
The two turrets atop the cargo vessel sprang to life, their barrels glowing with building energy. It was impossible to dodge a laser once it let loose, but this pilot was clearly skilled, pulling up a split second before the turrets fired. The shots passed uselessly beneath the fighter, succeeding only in giving Sorin a surprise as they crossed above the Chariot’s dome. He nearly hugged the Chariot against the Valiance, the energy shield fizzling harmlessly against its underbelly. The turrets couldn’t detect him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get caught in the crossfire. He found a point near the middle of the hull and set the Chariot down, its bottom magnetizing to the larger ship.
The main pirate vessel unloaded the last of its fighters, which swarmed around the Valiance, darting about to avoid laser fire. It was only a matter of minutes before the first turret expended its battery and its barrel began spewing feeble red sparks. Two fighters circled above like carrion birds around a dying animal, then swooped in. One took a hit from a still-charged turret, a wing shredded off its body, but such parts were more for appearance than function in zero gravity, and it continued on its course unhindered. A metallic claw lowered from the fighter’s bottom, snagging hold of the body of the turret as it passed overhead. The second fighter dug a claw into the barrel, and then both pushed their thrusters to their limits. The turret held against the combined pull longer than Sorin expected, but then the joint connecting its body to its magnetic base gave and the fighters rocketed away from the hull, carrying the weapon’s remains between them.
The other fighters continued their mocking flight around the Valiance for a few more minutes, but Sorin could tell they were just buying time to allow the larger ship to get closer. A fortunate shot clipped the engine of another fighter, knocking it off course and into the debris shield, which arrested its momentum and sent energy crackling over its hull. If the pilot was lucky, he might have survived that crash.
The turrets expended the last of their firepower, leaving the Valiance without a means of fighting back as the main pirate vessel came to a stop beside it. Sorin had a vague sense of how pirate crews operated; if they knew what cargo their prey was carrying, they’d simply punch a hole in the hull and collect what they wanted, leaving the crew to suffocate. But then a docking bridge extended from the side of the vessel and connected to the Valiance’s airlock, which suggested this was not a planned attack. In that case, Sorin assumed the pirates planned to force their way in and subdue the crew, maybe even commandeer the ship. That was good; Fulmus’ daughter had a better chance of survival that way, maybe even a chance at repelling the pirates with all the mercenaries aboard. It also meant Sorin might be able to do something.
He grabbed his Guise before he disembarked from the Chariot and floated down the side of the hull, then propelled himself towards the docking bridge with a burst of flame from his palm, searching for a way inside. One of the fighters flew dangerously close to him, silent and lightning-quick. It came up beside the docking bridge, and Sorin noticed a circular port in the bridge’s side yawn open. The pilot emerged from his ship, wearing a spacesuit that looked like it had been cobbled together from other spacesuits. The colours and designs on the arms didn’t match, and the legs were bandaged with numerous patches of silver tape, while the helmet was a relic from of a previous century with its bulbous bubble shape and small circular visor. The hand-me-down astronaut floated into the open port and passed out of sight.
Sorin followed the pirate, pushing himself harder to pick up speed, while also programming the Guise to mimic the mortal’s suit. He looped an arm into the airlock as his appearance began to change and pulled himself in before the port closed shut. The pirate was thankfully turned the other way, standing in the middle of the small chamber as it filled with air. The Guise identified him as human, or possibly Aquila; it didn’t really matter, so long as it could match the suit. Sorin crouched behind him, and became as still as a stone.
The hatch at the other end of the chamber swung open with a hiss, and the pirate stepped out onto the docking bridge without even noticing his fellow occupant. A crowd of equally makeshift-suited mortals, comprised of multiple species, came storming down the walkway and swept the fighter pilot up in their charge. Sorin used that commotion to exit the airlock unnoticed.
He could hear the cheers of warriors ready to fight echoing from the pirates’ end of the docking bridge, and the far more alarming sound of battle—the clash of blades, rattle of gunfire, and cries of distress—from the Valiance’s side. Something had to be done; even if the mercenaries could repel the pirates, too many casualties might leave them unable to continue their journey or too undermanned when the time came to confront Shodus. He shouldn’t care about all that as a Deus, but he’d come this far and wasn’t going to see it end like this.
Another group of pirates emerged from the attacking vessel with a cacophony of dissonant battle cries. In the heat of their excitement, they scarcely glanced at Sorin as they passed. Some were so eager that they’d already drawn their weapons, waving them above their heads like overly excited children with new toys. Sorin stepped aside to let them pass and acted as if he was adjusting his suit.
He needed to be indirect about this, to help in a way that wouldn’t expose him. Throwing himself into the battle was out of the question, and would have gone against every belief he held dear. A Deus was far more powerful than a mortal; it would be like an adult man fighting a crippled infant. The less direct involvement he had, the better for everyone. Maybe he could sneak aboard the pirate vessel and disable it somehow, but that didn’t solve the problem of the raiders already aboard the Valiance. Disabling their ship now would only keep them from retreating, and perhaps even push them to fight harder to take the still-functioning cargo ship. What Sorin needed to do was end the battle.
The only way Sorin could think to do that was the intervention of an outside force, other than himself. Another pirate squad roared by as he thought over the possibility. Was there anyone this far out that would come to the Valiance’s assistance? There were probably only more pirates out here, but maybe those pirates were not fond of these pirates. It was a slim chance, but even the possibility of another ship might get the raiders to retreat.
Sorin jogged to catch up with the squad that had just passed, stepping into line behind them without attracting attention. The pirate leading the charge, a grey-skinned Darem with a yellowing set of protruding teeth and a blue-dyed mane, paused at the Valiance’s threshold to give the others an encouraging wail before charging in. The rest followed behind with their own cries, and Sorin wondered if he’d made the right decision.
The Darem got about three meters into the ship before a hail of needles struck him in his unprotected legs, sending him staggering to the floor with a howl. Sorin was surprised to see projectile weapons; the risk to the ship’s hull seemed too great a threat to use them. He ducked low, passing by the incapacitated but shrilly shouting Darem, and noted that the needles had only punctured flesh, not armour. The guns the mercenaries were packing probably lacked the punch to do any serious damage to the ship.
He glanced ahead as the rest of the squad charged on, undeterred by their fallen leader. A small barricade of crates and furniture had been erected across the hall, with a pair of mercenaries crouched behind it. They lifted their rifles as the first pirate drew near, then bombarded him with rapid-fire needles. The human pirate shrugged off the brunt of the attack, but one needle found the exposed flesh just beneath his chin, and he fell to the floor spluttering.
Sorin wove in among the pirates, ducking behind them to avoid fire. There was a break in the barricade on the left side, where the bodies of a couple of pirates and one mercenary lay, and where the shooters focused most of their fire. Someone had gotten through, though, and he could hear the clash of blades from further down the corridor. If the pirates were as numerous as the mercenaries, then this barrier would soon fall entirely. All the more reason for him to hurry.
A giant of a man took his chances and rushed towards the opening with a loud bellow. Sorin kept pace behind him as needles rattled against the pirate’s makeshift armour. He latched a hand onto his Guise controls, wanting to be ready for when he crossed. The giant reached the barrier, shouldering aside more crates to widen the opening, and Sorin dove through as the mercenaries focused their fire on the raging behemoth.
Sorin crawled across the floor, hoping he hadn’t been seen, and input a command into his Guise. When he rose to his feet, he wore the red-white uniform of the mercenaries, along with the bald-headed human appearance he’d been growing fond of. He turned back to the barricade, just as one of the mercenaries left his position to jab his bayonet into the giant’s stomach through a small split between armour plates. The mercenary then pushed his foot against the pirate, pulling the bayonet free and sending the dying giant toppling to over to partially fill the break in the barricade.
The mercenary dropped back to his knees, then looked right at Sorin. “What the hell are you doing?”
The shock left Sorin speechless. After so long being invisible, he wasn’t sure how to behave when seen.
The mercenary made a waving gesture. “Someone’s going to take your head off if you just stand there. Find the Commander and tell her we need help, or this barricade isn’t going to last!”
Sorin nodded dumbly, then spun around and hurried down the corridor. If everything went according to his plan, he wouldn’t have a chance to find this Commander, but he kept his eyes open just in case. He didn’t know where the bridge was exactly, but the ship seemed to have only one looping corridor, so he was bound to find it eventually.
Sirens wailed across the ship, warning of a threat that everyone could already hear. Up ahead, the mercenaries had given up on the needle guns in favour of swords, clashing with pirates in the middle of the corridor. Their metal was stronger, cutting through the pirates’ armour with hardly any resistance, but the pirates had a larger variety of weapons. Every one seemed to be unique and imperfect, as if they’d been personally crafted by their owners, and that unpredictability was a sort of strength. Sorin winced several times at the brutality of the pirates, but he reluctantly ran by, not wanting to waste time getting caught in the skirmishes.
Fortune did not favour him that day. He skirted by a club-wielding Darem seemingly occupied with beating the crumpled body of some poor human, and Sorin thought he’d gone unnoticed. But the second he turned away from the ghastly sight, he felt a heavy weight strike his back and he toppled to the floor out of surprise. The Darem’s boots clopped closer, and Sorin turned on his back to find the pirate leering down his snout at him. Sorin tried to stand, but the pirate shot forward, butting his head into the centre of the Deus’ chest and knocking him back down before stomping down firmly on his arm. The Darem let out a loud snort, displaying a toothy grin, then raised his club. Sorin readied himself for the blow, unsure if it would cause serious harm, but certain it would hurt.
The spear seemed to fly out of thin air, as if it had materialized from the Aether, appearing at the top of Sorin’s vision to strike at the Darem. It pierced the chest plate as if it were cloth, and the Darem stepped off Sorin’s arm with a whinny of pain. The spear pulled free with a single twist, robbing the pirate of his balance. The Darem crashed to the floor next to Sorin, blood gushing from the hole in his chest.
Sorin sat up reflexively, the sight of the crimson liquid unsettling him. Blood meant pain and death for mortals and Deus alike, and seeing so much of it flowing freely made his skin crawl. He pushed himself away from it as quickly as he could, backing himself up against a wall.
A hand closed around his shoulder, steadying him as he tried to stand. He lifted his head to look his saviour in the face and felt an icy sensation in his middle. He was face-to-face with Fulmus’s daughter, who looked on him with a cautious smile. She was clad in the same armour she’d been wearing at the stadium on Aegis, and she stood her spear on its flat end, the blood-soaked tip nearly brushing the ceiling.
“You OK?” she asked between unsteady breaths.
Sorin gaped at her for a moment, finding himself cornered. He had wanted to avoid this meeting. He had to keep away from her, to extricate himself before he muddled things for her mortal existence any further.
“I-I’m fine,” he gasped, finding his voice. “The barricade down that way isn’t going to hold much longer. They need help!”
Fulmus’ daughter nodded. “I’ll get there when I can, once I’ve gotten rid of these other jerks. But you look like you could use a sit-down. Keep going that way—nothing’s gotten past me yet.”
Sorin nodded. “Thank you, good woman.”
She tilted her head. “Have we met? I swear I’ve seen you before.”
Sorin stared back with wide eyes and a sinking stomach. Hadn’t he worn this same face at the spaceport when he’d planted the Echo? Of course, he’d used a similar phrase as well. Idiot! How had he become so careless?
The demi-god shook her head. “Not important. Maybe we can catch up later.”
A loud roar erupted from down the way Sorin had come, and they both turned to find its source. A Phal pirate was stomping his way towards them, pressing his knuckles into the floor to leverage himself forward. Fulmus’s daughter lowered her spear and stepped forward.
“I’d hurry if I were you,” she said over her shoulder.
Sorin glanced from her to the bulky Phal. It didn’t look like a fair match-up, and he wondered if he should intervene. But Marissa Rhapsody was part Deus, so maybe the Phal was the one at a disadvantage. He bowed to her, then ran off before the pirate could reach them.
There were no pirates in this part of the corridor, as Marissa had said, and the mercenaries were still setting up, loading weapons and setting up more barricades. They hadn’t been prepared for this, and those in the frontlines had simply been the ones who were quickest to react. A few asked him about the situation as he passed, not seeming to notice his unfamiliar face. He waved them off, insisting he was in a hurry, but telling them to be ready. No one outright stopped him, at least, and the rest of the run to the bridge went smoothly.
He found the Zulkar captain and the two commanders inside, arguing over the best course of action. Sorin slipped through the doorway, giving them a wide berth. They were too busy issuing commands over the ship’s communications to notice him, and the crewmen at the controls were absorbed in monitoring their vessel. Quietly, he sat down at the console used for off-ship communications, and began programming a simple distress signal. He was one button press away from sending it when he was noticed.
“Hey!” the Zulkar shouted. “What are you doing over there?”
Sorin froze, weighing his options. If he explained what he was doing, would they let him do it? Was there time?
He broadcast the signal with a flick of his finger, then stood to go. The Zulkar was fast, though, and he found her blocking his way. Even at his current height, she looked down on him. “What did you just do?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I sent a distress signal,” he replied, trying to stay calm. There still might be a chance he could get out of this.
“To whom? The only ships out here are carrying more pirates!” the Zulkar exclaimed, glaring towards the commanders. “Who gave the order to send it?”
“No one—I acted on my own,” he answered, not wanting to pass the blame onto anyone else.
The human woman approached, her expression shifting from furious to confused once she got a better look at him. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”
Sorin said nothing. Any lies he told now would only cause more trouble. The woman turned to the male commander. “Do you know this man, Barnes?”
The man called Barnes shook his head. “I know all our guys, and he isn’t one of them. I haven’t seen him before.”
The Zulkar narrowed her eyes. “A stowaway, then. Maybe even a pirate in disguise.”
Sorin took a step back, realizing how badly this could go. “I am not a pirate. I merely wished to help.”
“So, who are you then?” Barnes asked.
Again, Sorin did not know how to answer. He read expressions of confusion, anger, and fear on their faces, and it occurred to him that getting off this ship was going to be significantly harder than getting on.
“We don’t have time for this now,” the human woman said. “If you’re not a pirate, then you’d be smart not to resist being restrained.”
Sorin considered her words. The distress call had been sent, and there was little else he could do without breaking Deus law. He’d prefer not to be taken prisoner, but if it meant concealing his identity, he could wait a while longer before escaping. He held out his arms in a gesture of surrender.
The Commander produced a pair of cuffs and slapped them on his wrists, binding them together. Barnes escorted him off the bridge and into a small side room. Sorin took a seat in a chair as the door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. He would wait as long as it took. His only fear was that his actions wouldn’t be enough.
* * *
Marissa kept an eye on the disoriented mercenary as he went running off. Where he was going in such a hurry, she couldn’t say, but she hoped he got there. She looked away as he rounded the corner, facing the new challenge coming towards her.
The pirate was a pretty typical example of a Phal, with large forearms and thick, squat legs that he used in tandem to propel himself at surprising speeds for his size. His fur was dark brown with a few black stripes around his face, tufts of it poking out between the plates of armour he wore, which was focused mostly around his lower half. He had no helmet at all, but the bony dome of his head made up for that.
He was approaching quickly, and Marissa faced a dilemma; should she try to fight the Phal in this confined corridor, or should she lure him towards the mercs somewhere behind her? A direct fight would put her in reach of the Phal’s powerful grasp, but the latter would bring more of the crew into the fight, and there were already a few uniformed bodies on the floor. All of this was assuming that the Phal wouldn’t just charge right over her.
She stood her ground, spear at the ready. It hadn’t been that long since she’d fought Zurn, and while she knew her friend had been going easy on her even when he’d said he wasn’t, she still thought the experience would help. She straightened her helmet in anticipation and braced for the impact with the Phal. If she was lucky, she’d spear him and still have time to get out of the way.
But the Phal slowed, stepping over the bodies and snorting with irritation when he leaned down to examine them. He looked at her, his orange eyes failing to hide his surprise. “When I first laid eyes on this vessel, I naturally assumed it was a mere cargo ship that had gotten quite lost,” he grumbled in a deep baritone. “Clearly there’s more to this, though.”
“You’re right about that,” said Marissa, tightening her grip on her spear. “Since you’ve obviously made a huge mistake, how about you tell whoever’s in charge on that ugly-ass ship to leave with you and your friends? We’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
A grin split the Phal’s lips, revealing a broken canine. “I am in charge. I am Narsh, captain of the Night Terror, and I’m not so sure I have made a mistake. Who are you, and what is this ship?”
“None of your business,” Marissa replied, refusing to relax for even a moment. There wasn’t all that much space between them, and either could close it in a second. If the Phal tried it, she didn’t want to be surprised.
“These are Inferno mercenaries,” Narsh said, undeterred. “Quite a few of them, as well. Why would anyone need so many?”
Marissa didn’t bother to repeat herself, settling for an icy glare instead.
“I’d say that they’re either here to guard something very valuable, or they’re on their way to carry out some sort of attack,” Narsh continued. “So, which is it?”
Marissa had no intention of telling this pirate their true purpose, but maybe saying something might get him to leave. “We’ve got nothing of value on the ship.”
“I disagree,” Narsh said, grinning slyly. “These Inferno goons are carrying some fine equipment, much better than what my men are using. Even if that’s all you have, I’d say it’s certainly worth a look.”
“You’ll get a look all right, but you’re going to have a tough time taking anything.” Marissa angled her spear to point at the Phal’s face.
Narsh let out a grumbling chuckle, then rose off his knuckles to stand upright. He was nearly twice as tall as Marissa standing like that, his broad shoulders filling out most of the corridor. The spines on his back fanned out behind him, only adding to the impression of size. He struck a closed fist against his chest plate; the typical Phal attempt at intimidation.
“Are you threatening me, little human?” he bellowed. “I don’t know who you are, but you must think highly of yourself to challenge a Phal. I’ll put you in your place—a smear on the floor!”
Marissa was barely listening. Her attention was focused elsewhere, at the sizable gut that protruded between his chest plate and his armoured lower body. It had been hidden and protected in his hunched stance, but now it was a very visible target. A few steps closer and a single thrust might be all it took.
There was a sudden cry from down the hall, and five more pirates appeared behind Narsh. They spotted their captain and formed a wall behind him as Narsh dropped back onto his knuckles, grinning smugly. There went Marissa’s opportunity for the moment. The pirates stepped around the Phal, brandishing their weapons: clubs and swords that looked shoddy yet deadly. Marissa took a few steps back, pointing her spear at whichever pirate was closest at any given moment. Taking on a Phal had been an ambitious prospect; taking on the same Phal along with five other pirates would get her killed. She began a gradual retreat backwards, the wall of pirates following at the same pace.
She felt a sudden bump as she backed into the curving wall of the corridor, and then the first pirate—a human—charged at her with a serrated machete. Her instinctive reaction would’ve been to jab him with the spear, but she held off a moment longer and struck him across the face with the side of the haft, sending him reeling back. That saved her precious seconds she would’ve spent pulling the spear free of him. She turned and bolted down the corridor, pushing herself as hard as she could. The pirates would be after her shortly; she could hear their shouts behind her, carrying tones of bloodlust she hadn’t heard since she’d left Augerium. They would kill everyone on the ship, regardless of their cargo; it was the sort of act first, think never behaviour that she had faced in the fighting pits countless times. Unless they got the pirates off the Valiance, they were all dead.
* * *
Vis sat silently in his corner, holding his thoughts close. He didn’t want Nue or Mela picking up his feelings, drawing their suspicion with his guilt. Nue was already curious, and Vis could feel her occasionally prodding at his mind, trying to get him to open up. He ignored her as gently as possible, keeping her away without lashing out; overreacting would tell her something was wrong.
Behind his mental barricade, Vis wrestled with his conscience. Rashani Reborn, the most reviled heretical text in recent history, occupied a couple of megabytes on his personal computer. For most Rashani, possessing such a text was grounds for direct attention from the Council, and possible reassignment to somewhere the offender could do no harm. But Vis’ very existence was considered a heresy by some in the Enclave, and his punishment might be significantly worse. He would lose his right to become a Rashani, without a doubt, and expulsion from the Enclave wasn’t out of the question. Execution? A tad harsh, but Syla would be all for it. Simply put, he would be in deep shit if he was found out. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to delete it; the promise of an insight into his mother was too tantalizing to discard. He had no interest in becoming a heretic or rebel, but his heart told him there was more to learn from the book than mere blasphemies. He just had to plunge into its depths and find it—find the heart of Zira.
He was cautious with the book, and usually only read it when the others were asleep. But there were times, like now, when the monotony of their voyage had him skimming a couple of paragraphs, trying to find the author’s soul hidden between the lines. He hadn’t found it yet, but he was learning, although it wasn’t the sorts of things Koyla would’ve wanted him studying.
The Council in its current state is a joke—a joke that’s been told so many times that it has begun to stagnate and stink, its humour lost long ago. A perusal of the records shows that most councilwomen, once appointed, keep their seats until decrepitude or death demand they give it up. In the last hundred years, only five have been outright removed from the Council for misconduct, yet I can assure you that there have been far more than five instances of wrongdoing and corruption on the Council’s part. The Council makes no decision without an internal vote, and when scandal strikes, they use that democratic fog to shield the guilty party. This is by far the worst thing to do, and ensures that councilwomen who put forth and foster bad ideas continue to do so, hindering the Enclave in ways both big and small.
Such a bold claim to make; Vis couldn’t help but admire her. Defiance was something he understood quite well. It was the method he’d used to survive all these years against Rashani hatred. Had he inherited that from her? Was that even possible?
He felt another of Nue’s pokes and his heart leapt in surprise as he closed the document. He’d almost lowered his guard, and the crafty girl had nearly gotten through. What would she have thought if she sensed his guilt? Vis didn’t like to think about it.
He set his computer aside and met Nue’s gaze. “Did you want something?”
Nue shook her head. “Just wanted to know if you’re OK.”
Vis smiled, pushing aside his fright. He appreciated her concern, even if her attention was unwelcome at the moment. If anything, he was angry with himself for being such a sneaky bastard.
“I’m fine,” he said, then reconsidered. “Maybe a little bored.”
Nue gave a laboured nod. They’d spent the last two days on the trail of Mela’s supposed quarry, but they’d found nothing yet. The radiation trail was strong enough for Othus to follow, at least, but that left his passengers waiting for a discovery that might never come. Even Mela, who was normally calm and stoic, was showing signs of fatigue, her brow often wrinkled with worry. Vis had a feeling they’d be heading back to Croish if they didn’t find anything soon.
Even with the book, the tedium was beginning to grate on Vis. “Why aren’t you practising with your Lucidil?”
Nue frowned. “I thought it bothered you.”
Vis shrugged. “I’d rather be bothered than bored. Come on—show me what you can do with it.”
With an unsure air, Nue removed her Lucidil from its satchel and held it between her palms. The lights above reflected off its silver surface, so that the top shone like a rising sun. Vis’ chest tightened at the sight of it, but Nue’s look of pride offset that; she was happy, so he should be happy for her.
“What should I make?” she asked, a hint of daring creeping into her voice.
Vis already had an answer ready. “A rose.”
“All right,” Nue said, perplexed. She closed her eyes, and the silver ball began to elongate, the majority of its mass pushed to one end by the delicate touch of her hand. She tapped the end of that mass with her finger, and it unfurled into a breathtaking imitation of overlapping petals. She opened her eyes and held the silver flower up to her nose. “Pity it can’t copy smells. What next?”
She did it so easily. Add a sense of shame and impotence to the emotions he was already holding in. Nue needed something more practical, he decided, trying not to look too hard at the perfect shaping. She could do with something to defend herself with. Vis had taken a short blade with him, but the only weapon Nue had—the only one she should need—was her Lucidil.
“A sword,” he said.
Nue hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. She pressed the flower back into its ball shape to start over, then stretched it out longer than she had with the rose. She wrung a hand around one end to make a grip, then pinched the other end into a point. The end result was longer than her forearm, and she gave it a few half-hearted swings through the air to show it off.
Mela suddenly cleared her throat. “Those edges are too blunt. Make them sharper.”
“But why, Sikkat?” Nue asked, clearly put off by the idea.
“Do you mean to bludgeon your enemies to death?” Mela asked. “A sharp blade makes for a clean, quick kill. What you have there would be both ineffective and cruel.”
Nue lowered her head. “I’d prefer not to kill anyone, Sikkat.”
“You may not have a choice,” Mela said. “Rashani are often hired to fight, Nue—killing is inevitable.”
“I know, Sikkat,” Nue said, meekly.
Vis’ temper flared. “We don’t know what we’ll find. I think it’s very irresponsible for a Sikkat to worry her pupil like this.”
“I’m preparing her,” Mela said, irritably. “Since you’re here, you should be prepared as well.”
“I am,” said Vis, lifting his shirt-front to reveal the blade sheathed at his belt. “But you were making it sound like Nue has to do everything by herself. That’s not true—if there’s need for fighting, all three of us will fight.”
“Perhaps,” Mela said. “I doubt you could match the work of two Rashani, though.”
“I’ll do my best,” Vis replied, forcing a smile.
“You’ll stay out of the way and not get yourself killed,” Mela snapped. “I’m sorry—that was harsh of me, but I don’t want you doing anything brash. The same goes for you, Nue. Both of you are too precious to lose.”
Both Vis and Nue blushed. What a thing to say! A full-fledged Rashani was worth more than a couple of trainees. Besides, they weren’t children that needed to be protected; they could stand on their own. Thankfully, Othus called from the cockpit before the three of them could descend into an awkward silence, his voice high and excited. “Sister Mela, I think I’ve found something.”
Mela nearly jumped to her feet, probably thankful to end the previous conversation immediately. “Could you be more specific, please?”
“Sorry, Sister—what I meant was that I’m picking up a distress signal.”
Mela looked unsure. “Where’s the ship?”
“No idea,” Othus replied. “All I’m getting is the signal—no message or ship ID. Seems like it was sent in a hurry. I’m already pinpointing the coordinates.” He was silent for a moment, then let out a wordless exclamation. “It’s not far—maybe a couple of hours, and no need to tax the hyperdrive. Should we investigate?”
Mela folded her arms across her chest, hanging her head as she began to pace across the floor. It was the most indecisive Vis had ever seen her, and he couldn’t see the reason for it. Someone was in danger; wasn’t it their duty to go help them?
“Which way does the trail go?” Mela asked, clenching her sleeve in a tight fist.
Othus’ voice took on a note of irritation. “A whole other direction, but we wouldn’t be going too far out of our way. Lacus radiation lingers for awhile—we could pick up the trail again easily.”
“Still, I must say no,” Mela stated. “We have a mission, and we must stick to it.”
Nue leapt to her feet. “But why not, Sikkat?”
“We have a Sister in peril, and a possible war if we can’t find her,” Mela said with feigned indifference. “We can’t waste time on frivolities. I don’t see why any legitimate vessel would come out here anyway—it’s probably a pirate trap.”
“And if it isn’t?” Vis asked, anger smouldering beneath what he hoped was a calm facade.
Mela sighed, ending with a frustrated groan. “If it was just me, and this mission was not so critical, I would investigate. But I refuse to put you two in unnecessary danger—if any of us were hurt helping this vessel, our mission becomes that much harder.”
Vis wasn’t sure if it was the book he’d been reading or some long-buried spite, but he suddenly had a mouthful of venom and wasted no time in spewing it. “I didn’t know you were such a coward, Sikkat. Rashani have been fighting pirates since we first began serving the galaxy—do they really scare you that much? To think I almost respected you!”
He felt Nue’s hand on his sleeve. “Vis, please stop.”
Mela had set her mouth in a thin line, her clenched fists held at her sides. That was as close to a warning as she would probably come, but in the heat of the moment, Vis found it laughably ineffective.
He looked at Nue and pointed a finger at the seething Rashani. “Is this what we have to look up to? The Council gave you far too meek a Sikkat—you should demand a better one.”
Nue’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. Vis could sense her feelings, a turmoil of shock and disbelief.
He wheeled back on Mela. “We can take care of ourselves, Sikkat, and we don’t need you worrying for our sakes.” His temper began to subside, and some of the things he said came back to him as quite nasty. Guiltily, he softened his tone. “We can spare a few hours, can’t we? If it’s payment you’re worried about, I’m sure the crew will give us something for helping them.”
Mela stared at him with reddening eyes until it became uncomfortable. “We take money because we have to, not because we want to. I would not charge what they would not be willing to give.” She turned away and stepped into the cockpit, out of sight.
Vis dropped back onto his seat, feeling fatigued from his spurt of anger. He’d said too much, and most of it was things he hadn’t really meant. His words had been chosen to inflict pain, but he didn’t feel the same satisfaction he got from stinging someone like Syla. Mela didn’t deserve his vitriol.
Nue remained standing, gazing at the closed cockpit door. “You went too far.”
Vis cringed. “I know, but I didn’t know any other way to get through to her.”
She looked down at him, narrowing her eyes. “You could have started with a ‘please’ and seen where that got you.”
Vis flinched under that look and the anger he felt beneath it. “I should apologize.”
“Yes, you should.” Nue’s voice was unusually firm.
Vis stood once more and fled from her anger into the cockpit. Mela stood beside the pilot’s seat, looking over Othus’ shoulder to read the console screen. She turned at Vis’ approach, eyes full of hurt. Vis’ heart clenched. Could he make this right? He lowered himself to his knees, being sure to keep eye contact with Mela. He’d seen this done only a few times, and he’d never done it himself, so it felt a little awkward. “Sikkat, I have offended you, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the floor at Mela’s feet. A response was supposed to follow, some words of forgiveness from the offended party, but he heard only silence. After about a minute, Vis’ position was becoming uncomfortable, but it was disrespectful to rise before being forgiven. There were tales of fights between Rashani ending with one party being prostrated for a whole year, the other too bitter to pardon her offences. Vis wondered if his simple, thoughtless words had managed to hurt Mela that badly.
“You’re supposed to place your palms down as well,” Mela said, at last.
Heat washed over Vis’ face and he corrected his mistake, pressing his palms against the floor. “I’m sorry, Sikkat.”
“I forgive you for your inability to apologize properly.” There was no humour in Mela’s voice. “As for what you said to me… Rise, Vis.”
He obeyed, standing up slowly. He met Mela’s eyes and saw that the pain was still there, just as apparent. He waited for her to speak.
“You displayed quite a bit of anger, and I do understand why,” Mela said, “but if you are going to be a Rashani, you must put that aside. It takes a calm mind to use a Lucidil.”
“Of course, Sikkat,” Vis replied, perplexed. Why the sudden lesson? He didn’t deserve one. “I will try my best to keep my temper in check from now on.”
The hurt began to fade from Mela’s face, and she became more like her usual self. “In that case, I forgive you for everything. I will choose to believe you said those things in the heat of the moment, and not because you meant them.”
Vis bowed. “Thank you, Sikkat. May I ask about the distress signal?”
Othus, strangely quiet throughout the exchange, suddenly piped up. “I already set the course while you were cleaning the floor with your face.”
Mela gave a tiny smile. “It is the Rashani thing to do. We must at least investigate the source. We won’t do anything rash without knowing what we face, but you and Nue must be prepared. Go tell her.”
Vis was already heading for the door when he stopped to meet her eyes again. “Thank you, Sikkat—truly.” Then he went running to tell Nue, his thoughts a step ahead of him.
* * *
The pounding thrummed in Marissa’s ears, drowning the sounds of stomping feet, the explosions of needle rifles, and the brief, curt orders the mercs hollered at each other as they pulled back down the corridor. It was the sound of her own heart, a mighty roar for such a tiny piece of her. It was like the hammering she felt after an adrenaline rush, the internal rhythm that assured her she was still alive, still in the fight. But the pounding was also something cowardly and desperate, telling her that she had done all she could and should run away and hide. Marissa hated that part of herself and wanted to ignore it, but here she was, crouched at the back of the defences with nearly thirty mercs between her and the pirates.
The crew had erected more barricades, pulling smaller crates from the hold to give them some cover, and it seemed to be working; since the initial boarding, they’d managed to keep the pirates at bay for nearly two hours now. But Marissa still felt anxious; how long until the pirates grew bored? Would they give up and leave, or would they forfeit the notion of preserving potential loot and blast their way into the hold out of spite? That would mean death for all of the Valiance’s crew.
She wanted to be at the frontlines, fighting with all her might, but reason told her to let the mercs handle this. When it came to fighting pirates, Inferno Company had experience, while she was a complete amateur. It would be a pitiful thing for her to die at the hands of a band of pirates before she even laid eyes on the guys who’d taken Arc. This decision was reinforced by both Fredrichs and Cassandra insisting she stay out of harm’s way. Normally, she wouldn’t have dignified their warnings with a response, but her brief brush with the pirate captain had shown her just how easily the tide could turn when fighting was restricted to the tight corridors of a ship.
Although out of the fight, she was ready to jump in if needed. She was standing a few feet back from the final barricade, where three mercs—two human, one Phal—crouched with rifles pointed through spaces in the crates. Her armour seemed to weigh heavier on her shoulders than normal, as if her anxiety was draining her strength. She held her spear upright beside her and kept her eyes forward, ready to lower the weapon if any pirates came lumbering down the corridor.
She heard a short whistle and turned to see Barnes exit from the bridge behind her. He saw her and gave a weak smile as he strolled over.
“Everything holding up?” Marissa asked.
Barnes shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “The first barricade managed to keep the pirates occupied and push them back to the airlock, but the reports don’t sound confident. First sign of another breakthrough, I’m telling those troops to retreat.”
A smart and compassionate decision; Marissa had already seen a few too many bodies today. “How about the turrets?”
This time Barnes shook his head more firmly. “The batteries are sapped and will need about a day to recharge. I don’t know about you, but I’d like the pirates off the ship before then. Right now, we’re to hold the line and try to wear them down, then we’ll strike when the Commander gives the go-ahead. Hope it works.”
“Do you think they might break into the hold?” Now seemed like the best time to voice her concerns.
The skin around Barnes’ jaw tightened. “Let’s hope not.”
The rattle of rifles sounded from down the corridor, putting Marissa even more on edge. She needed to block it out, before it drove her to do anything drastic. “I overheard one of your men saying you found a stowaway.”
Barnes furrowed his brow, his mouth twisting into a frown. “Didn’t notice him until he was on the bridge. He had the uniform, but I remember the face of every man and woman in this company, and he was a complete stranger to me. I thought hard about this too, but I don’t even recall seeing him before today, and we haven’t docked anywhere in over a week. I must not have been looking hard enough.”
“What does he look like?”
Barnes closed his eyes. “Tall, black, bald. I’m not the best at describing people—it might be easier to go down to the cells and see him for yourself.”
“No need,” said Marissa, bitterly. “I think I met him. I saved him from getting his brains splattered by a pirate a couple of hours ago. I thought he’d come from the barricade by the airlock. He seemed familiar, so I didn’t think to stop him.”
“I’m not blaming you,” Barnes replied, scratching the stubble-like hairs on his head. “While I wouldn’t doubt these rock-headed scumbags could potentially kill one of their own by mistake, I have my doubts that he’s a pirate. We shouldn’t worry about this now—there’ll be plenty of time for answers if we get out of this alive.”
“We will,” Marissa said, firmly. As of now, they were succeeding, and she didn’t want to jinx that. There was always hope in any situation, and she refused to consider defeat.
Barnes’ communicator suddenly began to beep on his belt, and he raised it to his ear. “Hold on,” he told her, turning away. When he turned back, his mood had taken a turn for the grim. “I think it’s time you prepared yourself. The pirates just broke through the first barricade, and it sounds like they’re not going to stop. I’m going to pull everyone back and have them form up around the bridge and the entrance to the cargo hold. I know this isn’t strictly professional, but we’d stand a better chance if you’re with us.”
“No problem.” Marissa breathed in, mentally preparing herself. She could have used a pep-talk just then, maybe a visit from Coach. It had been over a week since his last visit, and she was beginning to miss the old hard-ass.
A squad of mercs came running around the bend, nearly tripping over themselves. Odd, Marissa hadn’t realized Barnes had given the order to fall back yet. She glanced to the Lieutenant-Commander and felt a chill run through her when she saw her confusion mirrored on his face. Barnes stepped towards the barricade to meet them, but a thundering bellow brought him to a halt.
A hairy bulk rounded the corner, hot on the mercs’ heels. It was Narsh again, this time wielding some kind of large hammer. He struck out at the backs of the retreating mercs, knocking them all to the floor with a single blow. He charged over them without a second glance, heading straight for the barricade.
“Shit!” Barnes exclaimed, grabbing for his sword. “How the hell did he get through?”
With the fleeing mercs out of the line of fire, their comrades manning the barricade peppered the charging Phal with needles. Most bounced off his armour and bony head without leaving a dent, and none of it slowed him down.
Marissa tensed. “He’s angry.”
“I noticed,” Barnes snapped. “I’ve got to call Fredrichs and tell her we need a new plan.”
“No, I mean he’s really angry,” Marissa repeated, watching as Narsh closed the distance to the barricade. He didn’t slow, but he shifted his weight, pulling back his arm to swing his hammer.
Marissa moved quickly, shoving Barnes aside as the hammer blow demolished the barricade. Crates went flying in every direction, with one headed right for her. She lifted her arms in front of her and braced herself. The crate struck her hard, but she held her ground as it broke against her body and spilled gun parts onto the floor. She lowered her arms, shaking off the ache from the impact, and readied her spear.
Barnes had hit the wall, startled but unharmed. The barricade had fallen, and the mercs manning it had been knocked out cold or pinned beneath the crates. Narsh stood in the centre of the broken defences, flaring his nostrils in triumph. When he noticed Marissa, his expression was a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
“You again,” he snarled, giving her another look at his broken tooth.
“Yep,” Marissa replied.
Somehow, that seemed to make Narsh even angrier. He pounded a fist on the floor, sending a resounding clang ringing through the corridor. “This ship is proving more trouble than it’s worth. Every one of you seems set on throwing yourselves in my way, and it is getting quite irksome.”
“Irksome?” Marissa repeated, cracking a smile. “Is that a step above or below irritating?”
Beside her, Barnes righted himself and drew his sword. “Below, I think. Damn, guess I’ll have to drill the troops harder next time.”
Narsh slammed his heavy hand against the floor again. “I will not be mocked!”
“Tough shit,” Barnes said. “If you wanted respect, then you shouldn’t have become a pirate. I don’t know where a scumbag like you gets a sense of pride from.”
Narsh’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m going to crush you.”
“Me first!” Marissa quickly stepped forwards. Narsh would see it as a challenge, but she mostly did it to put herself between the Phal and Barnes.
“What are you doing?” the Lieutenant-Commander whispered.
“Saving your ass,” Marissa replied, keeping her eyes on Narsh. “Get back to the bridge and grab anyone who can carry a weapon. If one pirate got through, then others will. I can handle this one.”
“By yourself?” Barnes asked, incredulously. “Rhapsody, don’t be crazy.”
“Trust me!” Marissa hissed. “I can handle him. Now go!”
Barnes hesitated a moment, standing by her side with his sword raised. He met her eyes, and there must have been something in her expression to change his mind, because he turned and fled down the halls, barking into his communicator as he went. Hopefully he could bring back something helpful before things got any worse.
Narsh brandished his hammer, slowly rotating its heavy head. “You still want to fight me? Did you see how easily I subdued your comrades? A little girl isn’t going to stop me.”
“I’m nearly thirty, asshole,” Marissa replied. “Y’know what? I have a Phal friend back home, and I can’t believe how much uglier you are in comparison.”
Narsh didn’t so much as growl as he darted towards her, swinging at her with a quick fist. Marissa jumped back, just out of the fist’s reach, then grabbed hold of the wrist with her free hand.
Narsh’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?” He tried to tug his arm free, but Marissa dug in her heels and held strong. She leaned her spear against the wall, then took hold with her other hand and began to slowly twist.
“I’m giving you a chance,” she said. “Take your boys and leave, or else I break you.”
Narsh laughed, high and nervous, still trying to pull free. “You’re in no position to be making threats. If you seriously think you have the upper hand, you’re sorely mistaken, little girl.”
Marissa just smiled and twisted. There was a sharp snap, followed by an agonized bellow from Narsh. She let him go, and the Phal slunk back, nursing the broken limb.
“I’m pretty sure I have the upper hand now,” she said, raising both her arms to prove it.
“You bitch!” Narsh snarled. “I was planning to ransom you, but now I’m definitely going to kill you.”
“Those are pretty big words for someone who hasn’t laid a finger on me,” Marissa replied.
Narsh adjusted his grip on his hammer with his good hand, then swung at her. Marissa ducked beneath it, then turned to grab for her spear. She nearly had it when a second swing slammed the hammer into her back and sent her sprawling. She felt the breath pushed out of her lungs all at once, and lay still as Narsh came lumbering towards her.
“Have you ever heard of ‘tossing’?” he asked. “It’s an old pastime aboard the Night Terror. When we find someone we particularly dislike, we give them a suit and a little oxygen tank, then toss them out the airlock to spend the next hour regretting their choices before they suffocate. I’d say that’s a fitting punishment, wouldn’t you?”
Marissa rolled onto her back and glared up at Narsh’s leering face, then kicked her heels against the floor to push herself away from the Phal before she sat up. “Is that what happened to you?” she asked, jeeringly. “You’re certainly brain-dead, but I think they should’ve waited a few more minutes before reeling you back in.”
Narsh chuckled darkly. “On second thought, I’d rather just crush your tiny skull and get on with the plundering.”
He lunged at her, raising his hammer over his head. Helmet or no, that hammer would kill her with the strength of a Phal behind it. She thought quickly, only seconds away from her death. The spear was out of reach, and there wasn’t enough room to use the thing anyway. That left her with her hands, which weren’t going to do a whole lot against that hammer.
Narsh was nearly upon her, rising to his full height to put his whole strength into the swing. Marissa made as if to rise herself, then lurched forward, rolling beneath the Phal’s arms. Without even looking, she sprang out of the roll and punched upwards, jamming her fist into Narsh’s exposed gut. It felt like punching a flabby brick wall and sent a jolt of pain through her arm, but it halted Narsh, a loud gust of air whistling from his mouth. She lashed out with her foot next, kicking his thick legs out from under him. Narsh toppled forwards, gasping for air, and Marissa rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding being crushed under his weight. He hit the floor with a crash, and his domed head added an extra thump sound when it struck metal.
Marissa stood, stepping around Narsh’s crumpled form to grab her spear. The Phal groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbow before snatching up his hammer. Marissa pointed her spear at Narsh’s middle as he stood and faced her, sweat trickling down her neck. They’d switched places in that little scuffle, and Marissa was all too aware that more pirates could come rushing at her back at any moment.
“You,” Narsh panted, holding his broken wrist close to his chest. “Who are you?”
“Marissa Rhapsody,” she replied. Did pirates know that name? She didn’t see any recognition in Narsh’s dumbfounded face, but that wasn’t all that surprising.
The spines on Narsh’s back bristled, scratching against each other to produce a sound like a light rain. “Well, Marissa Rhapsody, tell me this—what are you?”
“Pissed off,” Marissa answered, humourlessly. “Get off this ship.”
A line of yellowing teeth split Narsh’s face in a grin. “It’s my ship now. Your mercenary friends drop at the slightest poke, and one girl—not matter how strong—cannot keep this vessel from us. You’ve lost.”
Marissa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d handed Narsh’s ass to him, yet he still thought he was winning. How thick was his skull?
Narsh craned his neck at the sound of approaching reinforcements, and Marissa followed his gaze. More pirates, about ten of them, came running around the corner, brandishing their weapons. They slowed at the sight of their captain and Marissa, eyes darting quickly between them.
“Ah, my capable crewmen!” Narsh exclaimed. “You’re just in time to assist me. Have you dealt with the mercenary dregs I left in my wake?”
The pirate at the head of the group, a Darem with an old gash over his right eye, looked furtively over his shoulder before speaking. “We tried, Captain, but they cling like shit on a boot. We thought we had them, but they regrouped and pushed back once the Night Terror disconnected.”
The gleeful expression on Narsh’s face slowly drained away, much to Marissa’s delight. “The Night Terror did what? When? Why?”
“A couple a’ minutes ago,” the Darem said, glancing back the way they’d come again. “This ship showed up outta nowhere and hooked up with the docking bridge. It totalled one of our fighters to do it, too—just plowed right into it and sheared it in half.”
Marissa was beginning to regret not asking Barnes for a communicator. That way, she would already know all this, and not be as surprised as Narsh was. Being on equal footing with this particular Phal felt humiliating.
Narsh slammed the head of his hammer into the floor, which seemed to be a habit of his. “That’s no reason to disconnect! What kind of ship? Who else is out here?”
The pirate at the back of the group let out a small shriek, suddenly pushing at the others, trying to get through their clustered bodies. “Rashani! Rashani!”
Rashani? That couldn’t be. Rashani never ventured this far into no man’s space; they waited for the pirates to come to them, not the other way around. There couldn’t be a Rashani here. The pirates, being uneducated and gullible, must have been mistaken.
Now the sound of feet came from the opposite end of the hall, and Marissa grinned at the sight of Barnes leading a squad of heavily armed mercs towards Narsh. The pirate captain acknowledged their presence distractedly, but his attention was clearly on his own men.
“S-stop jumping at shadows!” he barked, a little too forcefully. “There can’t be a Rashani out here. It doesn’t make sense!”
Barnes pointedly unfolded his blade, angling it so the ceiling lights reflected off its sharp edge. “Well, whoever they are, my guys say they’re not on your side. I’ve got reports they chased most of your men off the ship and are coming this way. You’re surrounded, creeps—you want to surrender, or do I have to put you out of your misery?”
Narsh’s eyes darted around the corridor, his hard-headed bravado dissolving into dread. The pirates were just as well armed as the mercs, but fear shone in their eyes. He glanced back to his injured hand, hanging limply at his side, before staring Marissa right in the eye. She gave the Phal her most confident, defiant smile.
Narsh’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Men, lay down your arms.”
The pirates looked at him in disbelief, but also something like relief. Narsh snarled and threw his hammer to the floor, and the pirates followed suit. Then the mercs swarmed over them, restraining their arms and securing the weapons.
“Will we be allowed to return to our ship?” Narsh asked. He winced as the cuffs closed over his broken wrist, but didn’t resist.
“Your ship took off with most of your crew,” Barnes said.
Narsh sneered. “Cowardly bastards. I’ll toss the lot of them once I’m free.”
The pirates at the other end of the corridor suddenly fell very quiet and huddled up against the wall. A moment later, Marissa saw why. A squadron of beaten-up mercs rounded the corner with a blue-robed woman striding confidently at their front, a silver blade in her hand. The mercs walked in a loose circle, and Marissa spotted a pair of similarly garbed girls peeking out from the centre.
Narsh whimpered at the sight of them. “It’s true! Rashani witches—keep them away from me!”
Marissa grabbed hold of his restraints and yanked him to his knees. “Keep quiet, don’t move, and they won’t touch you.”
Narsh bowed his head, his whole body trembling. What sort of superstitions must have sprung up out here? Marissa had never met a Rashani, but what she’d heard about them didn’t sound like a cause for fear. The pirates looked like they might die of fright, though.
The Rashani leading the group, a calm-faced redhead, barely seemed to notice the cowering pirates. She held her sword between her hands and the blade rippled like water before its length collapsed into a sphere. She tucked it into a fold of her robe, then broke away from the mercs with the two girls in tow. She bowed to Marissa and Barnes, which the shorter of the two girls mimicked. The third simply stared, eyes the colour of steel wandering between the two of them. When Marissa met her face, the girl gave a curt nod.
The lead Rashani spoke. “I am Mela, Daughter of Donia. We received your distress signal and came as soon as we could. I believe these are the last of the pirates on board.”
“You have our thanks,” said Barnes. “I’m sure Captain Cassandra will want to thank you as well.”
“We were merely doing our duty as Rashani,” Mela replied. The taller of the girls, wearing a blue shirt embroidered with a rose instead of robes, cracked a crooked smile at that. “I would be glad to speak with your captain, though. I have many questions about your presence here.”
“Yeah, I think we’ve got questions of our own,” said Marissa.
Mela looked at her, her head tilting to one side. “Have we met? Your face seems familiar.”
The shorter girl gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. “By Rasha’s grace! You’re Marissa Rhapsody! Vis, you remember that gladiator fight we watched a couple of months ago? That’s her, isn’t it?”
The taller girl shrugged and opened her mouth. The voice that came out was deeper than expected, and clearly a boy’s. “Could be.”
“I-I am.” Marissa was a little surprised that Rashani watched her fights. Didn’t they have more wholesome things they had to do?
“Rhapsody?” Mela furrowed her brow. “Well, that answers at least one of my questions. I think we all need to have a talk.”