DEATHRUN
Racing around a corner at top speed, they were greeted by a hail of gunfire. Rock splinters flew everywhere and one of her women went down.
While the others dived for cover, Palsonia ran to the woman, heaved her over a shoulder and staggered back, firing blindly behind her with one hand, while balancing her wounded charge with the other.
Shedding her robes to reveal skin-tight body armor and belted weapons, Venatora shouted orders. Meanwhile, Marta and the others laid down covering fire, driving back a squad of armored bots Skink had sent to block their escape.
Clew grabbed her arm. “There’s a back way,” she shouted. Venatora and the others followed, staying low to avoid the withering fire laid down by the bots.
The corridor broke out into a wide chamber, where the mouths of a dozen or more tunnels offered more possibilities of escape than they had time to explore.
“To the right,” Clew cried, indicating a narrow passageway.
Venatora hesitated. “Why are you doing this, Clew?” she demanded. “You don’t have a reputation for sticking your neck out for anyone.”
“There’s a whole new game in play,” Clew said. “Something that Lord Wichman has spent a good deal of money to cook up for the Tahn. It’s called Project Demeter.”
“What’s that all about?”
A hail of gunfire shattered the momentary calm. Molten metal spraying everywhere.
“Come on,” Clew urged. “We don’t have time for this.”
Venatora came unstuck. If Clew was part of the trap, so be it. They could all stay here and fight until they were overwhelmed, or they could take their chances.
An inveterate gambler, Venatora rolled the dice and they came up Run Like Hell.
So that’s what she did. Shoving Clew forward. And taking off in a dead run, Marta and the others close on their heels.
They leapfrogged down the tunnel. One group hanging back to confront their pursuers, while the others moved ahead, found cover, then returned the compliment as their sisters raced to rejoin them.
Zig-zagging as they ran, bullets pinging the surrounding rock.
Clew led them to the door of a chamber, fiddled with the lock and the door irised open, revealing a changing area, with lockers and freshers and row after row of white spacesuits and bubble helmets.
They threw themselves to the floor to escape the withering gunfire that followed them in. It was so intense that it was almost impossible to raise their heads.
Their attackers were spraying indiscriminately, rounds peppering the walls and lockers, and ripping spacesuits into useless shreds.
Venatora flopped over on her back, fumbled out an incendiary pellet she’d stashed in her belt, then hurled it into the hallway.
A deafening explosion rocked the chamber. Flames scorched the hallway leading into it and she heard the satisfying screams of her attackers. Bots didn’t scream when they were hit. Which meant that Skink’s gunnies had joined the fight.
There was a pause in the gunfire long enough for Venatora to shout, “Block the door.”
The number of pursuers must have doubled, or even tripled since their first encounter.
Palsonia jumped forward with several other women and muscled the door shut. Stray rounds found their way through, but finally the door was closed. Meanwhile, Marta and a few other women warriors ripped the lockers from the walls and piled them against the door.
Clew pointed to an exit at the far end.“We go that way,” she said. “Half a klick or so and we can get to the tarmac and your ship.”
Venatora didn’t hesitate. She’d made up her mind to trust Clew and there was no going back now. She’d learn Clew’s motives soon enough—and what this Project Demeter business was about.
If they lived long enough to find out.
An explosion rocked the door, hurling several lockers aside. Palsonia and several other women piled up more, while Marta fired blindly through the gap the explosion had forced open.
“Suit up, everybody,” Venatora shouted, grabbing two suits off a rack and handing one to Clew.
More blasts hammered the door as they all pulled on their suits. Moments later, Clew was forcing the door on the other side, using her claws to rip wiring from a panel next to the door.
A few sparks shot out as she manipulated the wires, then the door gave a groan like a tired old woman, then slowly, but surely, opened.
“Don’t forget your helmets,” Venatora cried, as she grabbed one for herself and hooked it to a belt loop.
Palsonia and Marta cautiously checked the corridor on the other side.
Nothing.
The way looked clear.
Another explosion sent lockers flying and then they charged out of the chamber to face the unknown.
Venatora was last. She paused, slipped another grenade from her belt. Ignoring Marta’s pleas to run.
She counted. One… Two… And then another explosion blew the far door wide open. A torrent of gunfire poured in. But still Venatora didn’t move.
“Come Highness,” Marta urged. “Come now!”
Then Venatora underhanded the incendiary grenade and she turned and ran, nearly bowling Marta over.
As they raced down the corridor, she heard the grenade go off and there were more screams as the attackers were hit with the full force of the blast.
The smell of death followed Venatora as she and her women raced along the corridor, with Clew leading the way.
It wasn’t easy an easy escape route. A work in constant progress, Tortooga was a warren of tunnels and chambers bored through solid nickel alloy.
Twice Clew took wrong turns and they had to backtrack.
Then she came to a place where a pair of tunnels beckoned in opposite directions.
She started down the one on the left, but was met with a barrage of gunfire. She staggered back, one limb bleeding.
Marta ran to help, but Clew waved her away. “It’s nothing,” she said. “All I need is a suit patch.”
Clew fished one out of a utility pocket. Pressed it against the suit. There was a hiss and a few tendrils of smoke. She winced from obvious pain. Then it was over, the smell of burning plas and flesh fouled the air.
“That should do it,” Clew said.
But she stumbled when she started toward the exit and Marta caught her by an elbow.
“Maybe you’d better hang back a bit,” she advised. “Until you recover.”
More gunfire erupted. Blasting through the tunnel with greater intensity than before. Everyone flattened against the nearest wall. The direction of the fire changed as the enemy tried to get into better positions.
But Marta and Palsonia—taking shelter on opposite walls—took turns leaping out, triggering bursts from their battlerifles, then jumping back to safety.
It was a momentary stalemate, with neither side gaining an advantage. But slowly the enemy forces grew, giving Marta and Palsonia fewer chances to return fire.
Then Marta shouted “Majesty!” and Venatora turned to see a grenade come bouncing into the room. Coming at an angle and heading straight for her.
She watched in awful fascination as it bounced toward her. Once... Twice... And Venatora hurled herself to the side, desperately trying to get out of its path.
Luck seemed to have deserted her because the grenade caromed off a wall and bounced in her new direction.
“Not a chance,” Palsonia said, stepping into its path and kicking it back toward the entrance.
It hit the edge of the doorway, bounced up, and then exploded in midair, blinding and deafening everyone on both sides of the door.
Venatora was the first to recover. “Let’s go!” she shouted, shoving a still-dazed Clew toward the exit. “Get us out of here.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself. Clew came out of her shock and stumbled for the exit. She paused, looked left, then right, then said, “This way!” and disappeared.
Palsonia and Marta took up covering position, firing through the ruins of the doorway, holding the enemy back long enough for the others to escape.
Venatora was the last to go. As soon as she vanished, the two women hurled incendiaries through the doorway, turned and sprinted after their queen.
The last airlock closed behind them. Palsonia disabled the locking mechanism and then they all raced out onto the tarmac.
Dark, airless space all around them. Grav boots keeping them from floating away as they ran for their ship. It was like running through mud, the grav boots sticking as she pulled each one free for the next step.
Then there it was.
The Takeo!
Venatora thought she’d never seen her ship look more beautiful. Sitting there gleaming in the starlight.
Their last hope.
The first of her women reached the ship and had the doors open, while the others fanned out on either side. Battlerifles at ready. Muzzles looking for the enemy.
For a moment, it looked like the enemy hadn’t found them. Then in the darkness a humped back turret stirred.
Long barrels smoothed out on oiled bearings.
Red laser beams speared out and the turret swiveled slowly… slowly…
And then it found Venatora and opened fire.
Spent uranium rounds chewed up the tarmac, stitching their way toward Venatora.
Two of her women charged the big gun in a futile effort to shield their queen with their own bodies. And they went down in a welter of blood.
Venatora didn’t have time to move. Only the blink of eye stood between her and certain death.
And then a sleek missile flashed out of nowhere, hitting the big gun square on.
A massive explosion rocked Tortooga. Venatora and the others clung to anything close at hand to keep from being swept off the surface into uttermost space.
And then Venatora came out of the shock of suddenly being alive, when she should have been dead.
She gathered up Marta, and then Palsonia and Clew. Together, they rounded up the other warrior women. Bruised and aching from head to toe.
They stumbled onto the Takeko. Pulled up the ramp and then closed and locked the door.
By the time Skink and a horde of other pirates came tumbling out onto the tarmac Venatora was long gone.
* * * *
Sitting off in his little Viper a short distance away, Sten watched with amusement as Skink argued with two other pirate captains.
They were waving their arms. Punctuating remarks with chest-stabbing fingers.
Meanwhile, their various crews gathered around—taking sides. With Venatora gone, they no longer had the unity of a common enemy. Any minute now and the first blow would be struck and the pirates would be fighting each other.
He recorded all their images for Mahoney to identify later. Then slipped away unnoticed in his little ghost ship.
Sten shook his head in amazement. A minute ago he could have carried out Mahoney’s kill order by just letting nature take its course.
If he hadn’t fired that missile Venatora would be dead. And it wouldn’t have been his fault.
Not really.
He wouldn’t have had to actually pull the trigger and kill her.
But when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure if he could have carried out that order.
Mantis training or no Mantis training.
On the other hand, would he have really been able to just sit there while Venatora was gunned down? Could he allow that amazing woman be turned into a smear of gore on the tarmac.
Sten sighed. He wasn’t sure he could have done that, anymore than he could have rationalized his responsibility away.
But Mahoney had changed the order. The Eternal Emperor was reviewing the situation and didn’t want her dead.
Not just yet.