“Your transcomm’s off line.” He kept his voice low.
Not off line. She yanked it out. “Quin,” she whispered, handing it to him.
He listened for a moment, nodding, then tugged her forward, his free hand on her wrist. “All right. We’ll come up underneath the ship. Use the rampway as partial cover. Did you get the targeting programs skewed?”
“We have about forty-five minutes before they’ll reset. What happened with Quin?”
“Filar and three guards were in the
“That’s when he called me.”
“He should have stayed onboard.”
She heard worry and frustration in the tight tone of his voice. “He’s Skoggi. He can sense you. He doesn’t want us locked out of our own ship. If he’s on the ramp, then he’s telling us it’s time to break dock and leave.”
“I have every intention of granting his wish. He’d just better not mind an extra passenger.”
She didn’t want to know why his words made her heart beat faster. “I assumed you were coming.”
“Not just me. Filar.” He slowed as they neared a set of tall servostairs, then motioned her behind him. “I’m on point. Set your pistol to stun only. I want that bastard alive and spilling everything he knows about Rez Jonas.”
They were going to kidnap the Jabo Station dockmaster? “You can’t possibly be—”
“The Crystal Flame scenario, Scout-and-Snipe.”
She remembered. “Nic, we never got past level seven in that one.”
“This time, though, we’re going all the way.” His wry grin was confident even in the low lighting. “Trust me.”
She had to. They were out of options and almost out of time. The ion cannons would come back online in forty minutes.
THE SERVOSTAIRS WERE rickety and, once Nic reached the halfway point, no longer lit by the dim illumination of the pit’s emergency lights. Overhead a series of movable hatchways were crisscrossed by cables and pulleys and dangling things that—in spite of the narrow light offered by his handbeam—managed to gouge his shoulders and his back. Serri didn’t fare much better. More than once he heard her sharp intake of breath.
He was leading a civilian into a potential firefight, violating a half-dozen DIA regs he could quote from memory, but his distinct uneasiness had nothing to do with those regs. It wasn’t that he doubted Serri. Serenity Beck could be tough when tough was needed. It was that she was Serri, and he would do everything he could to protect her.
Even if it meant his own life.
There was a reason the Crystal Flame scenario was so difficult to complete. It was because level eight set up a do-or-die situation: sacrifice a team member or go back to level one.
The top of the servostairs widened into a platform. He clambered up, then guided Serri next to him. She had the transcomm to her ear.
“Status?”
“Quin’s switching between Trade and Skoge. It’s making Filar’s trans-lang crazy. But it sounds like Quin’s trying to bribe him.”
“Keep listening. Some of what he’s saying is likely aimed at us.” He ran his fingers over the gritty, pitted metal panels inches over his head, feeling for a manual release. He found it, pulled, and was rewarded by a soft double click. It was open. His heart hammered. He took a deep breath. He had to forget for now that Serri was Serri. This was the mission; he was a professional. Personalities—hell, his heart’s desire—could not come into play.
“Quin’s telling Filar that he has a collection of Nonga vases he can show him onboard.”
Nic glanced at her. It was exactly where he wanted the Nalshinian dockmaster: locked in the
“You know as much about the Skoggi as I do.”
“Is Filar going?”
She was silent. Then: “Sounds like it.”
“Here’s what we do. Crystal Flame, level seven. We stun whatever Bruisers are outside the ship. Then you watch in case backup arrives. I’ll take care of Filar and his escort.”
“Wrong, Talligar. It’s my ship. We take out the guards, then
“You could tell me—”
“We’re wasting time. Thirty-five minutes before those cannons come back on line.”
Shit. He’d forgotten about that. He pointed to her transcomm. “Anything more?”
She was frowning. “Signal’s disconnected. I don’t like it.”
Neither did he, but rushing into this could be fatal. He carefully slid the portal panel to the left, pinpointing the locations of at least two guards by their noises. “Now,” he whispered, and shoved himself through.
The freighter bay seemed almost dirtside-daylight bright to his eyes, even with the large ship hulking above him. He assessed his position immediately, spotting the two guards about twenty-five feet from the end of the rampway, just inside the bay’s safe zone. Good. They’d be locked behind a blast wall when the ship powered up. He crouched quickly next to a landing strut, feeling Serri behind him. He motioned for her to take out the one on the left. A quick glance showed her pistol raised. He took aim. They had to fire at the same time or risk retaliation.
“Now,” he whispered again.
He fired, aware of the low hum from her pistol in tandem with his. He hit the guard on the right center mass, but Serri’s guard turned and her stun charge hit him in the shoulder. His guard dropped like a crate of unsecured cargo, but hers twisted, falling to one knee as one hand raised a pistol and another punched something on his transcomm.
Serri fired again, taking the guard center mass this time. The big Breffan landed on his back, pistol and transcomm clattering beside him.
Nic lunged to his feet, swearing silently. “We have to assume he set off an emergency signal,” he said as Serri appeared next to him. “Tell me where Quin—”
“No time.” She pushed ahead of him and ran up the rampway.
He caught up with her at the airlock.
“Stand clear.” Her fingers tapped a pattern into the lockpad’s small screen.
“Filar’s got a Bruiser with him.”
“Then he’s coming for a ride too.”
The airlock doors groaned shut behind him. He grabbed her arm. “We could end up with a hostage standoff.” Just like Scout-and-Snipe. “They’ve got Quin.” And the Nalshinian and the Breffan were both much larger than the Skoggi—probably the sole reason, other than greed, that they’d agreed to come onboard. “I know how to handle this,” he continued tersely. “You don’t. Where are they?”
She hesitated for half a breath. “Either his quarters—lower deck, starboard forward—or Cargo Two, starboard aft. I vote for the latter. It has a null-field generator for hazardous cargo. Kills transcomm signals so Filar can’t call for help.”
Quin’s signal had ended abruptly. He hoped that it was because of the null-field. He moved past her for the ladderway. Then she was right beside him, damn it, reaching the small compartment at the base of the ladderway before he did. She poked at a control panel set into the bulkhead and motioned him forward. She kept her voice low. “Cargo holds have a refrigeration option.”
And freezing temperatures put Breffans into hibernation mode. “How long until—”
“Five minutes on temperature, thirty on cannons.”
He could hear tension in her whispered words; saw anxiety in the thin line of her lips. He held up one hand. “We go barreling down that corridor, we could both get killed. Wait.” He crouched down and edged around the corner. The corridor ran most of the length of the ship, with access to Cargo Four the closest to their location. He damned the fact that he hadn’t brought a thermal sensor or miniature spybots. But this was just supposed to be a preliminary mission to make sure the tagged cargo left the station. Amazing how many things could go wrong in so
