“Thanks a fuck of a lot. Now I’ve got Mr. Friendly clinging to my leg.”
“Could be worse. You could have Mr. Follee pawing at it. We’ll get it off,” I grunted at him.
“Yeah, with what, Rusco? Your handy-dandy crowbar back on Bantam that has no warp drive?”
“Shut up! Move.” I shouldered him ahead with a rough hand and he gave a howl of pain as the thing gripped his leg tighter. I shoved Follee along also who’d caught up with us.
We hustled our way back through the corridors to that airlock adjoining the hangar. I smashed the glass housing the spare suits. We pulled down two black, durable sets of space gear at random and tested the breathing apparatus. The flow of cool air on my skin indicated they were operational. I gave a sigh of relief. Blest and I struggled into the sleek coveralls while Wren and Follee helped Blest into his, taking care not to get near the plant thing which seemed to ever tighten around his leg. We entered the airlock, crouched by the exit door with our guns on the ready, not knowing what to expect.
We came charging out, blasting full out. Two Skug guards went down in bloody heaps, caught by surprise. Wren and Noss ran ahead to Bantam.
I gaped at the hopelessness of it all. Another Skug vessel moved on us, its weapons trained.
“Wren, Noss! Get back.”
I turned my head away as Bantam went up in a ball of flames. Wren and Noss were knocked backward, sliding down the metal runway. They picked themselves up.
Shock hit me in a blind fury. Half a shipment of Myscol and a half mil credits of ship up in smoke.
I saw Noss grab up Wren and they hurried to Alastar.
I turned to fire at the ship in the air. Blest tugged at my arm. My mouth dropped when I saw steam coming from the rear thrusters of a Warhawk parked nearby. The ship was stationed beside a Skug craft. My suspicions confirmed.
“How in the name of Jesus—”
“I’d recognize those Warhawks anywhere,” said Blest. “See the eagle insignia on the left side?”
“Must have been our friends, the Skugs. Can always count on them. Mong must have put the word out to even the raiders to keep an eye out for us.”
Blest groaned. “Either way, we’re fucked.”
A rustle came to my left. Not Skug but human. A swarthy, slant-eyed, bushy-browed face of a muscled ball-breaker peering at me. “Weapon down. We’ve got you tagged, Rusco. We don’t want to kill you but…”
I gaped. The three black kevlar-vested figures had ‘bounty hunter’ written all over them. I went kamikaze, spraying fire in their midst, roaring as they ducked back under the struts of the Warhawk. I grabbed Blest, pushed Follee behind the nearest vessel, the beetle-shaped Skug craft.
Blest gave back fire at the enemy, cursing aloud, hobbling on his fucked-up leg.
Looked as if I’d underestimated Mong’s obsession with getting his hands on my phaso.
“The phaso, Rusco!” one of Mong’s men called out in a raspy voice from the curling smoke. “It’s all we want.”
I looked left and right. No options.
“You want the phaso, you fuckbitch?” I called. “Catch.” I snatched at a kerchief and pulled the disc out of my pocket, careful not to let my fingers touch it while chucking it at the foremost attacker. He went to slap it away from his face. But in that split second his body mushroomed into a shimmering halo of heat and flame. The man fizzled out to nothing, as if sucked into a black hole. The phaso had done its dirty work and fell ringing to the ground. All this after shuttling its victim to a far off, dark and deadly universe or some unimaginable dimension. The nearest thug gaped, licking his lips. A section of the hangar roof caved in and fell on his head, crushing him along with the phaso.
The bounty ranger-captain crouched behind the tail of his ship and stared bug-eyed. “You’re dead, Rusco! Mong will skin you alive for destroying that most precious artifact of his!”
“Tough luck,” I yelled at him. “Give Mong a personal message from me that he can go fuck—”
Fire bit back at us, nicking off the metal struts of the Skug’s landing gear. I cursed, ducked back under deeper cover.
We would have gotten away. All of us would have, if not for ill-fated luck.
To my left came a clink and a roar. I dropped to my knees, tagged a grotesque shape with a full head of horns. The thing sagged, snuffled like a bison then fell in a sloppy heap. I ran and kicked the energy gun from the twitching hand.
Skugs, I hated them all, hated the look of them. This mutant was no exception and still alive.
I peered ahead, seeing gunfire lancing from all angles. A regular midnight fireworks show. Follee breathed like an animated doll, still clutching his unfired R3. Blest stared in shock at our unlikely prospects. Wren and Noss scrambled to reach Alastar before she was blown up.
They were fast on their feet, disappearing into Alastar’s airlock, but we were pinned down. Skugs held down the hangar. No way of reaching Alastar without getting shredded by crossfire. Despair crept over me.
I flicked on my com, rasping, “Wren, listen to me.”
“Rusco, there’re too many of them. Alastar’s warp is screwed—”
“Shut up and listen. Take Alastar and get the fuck out of here. Use whatever drive you have. Forget the shipment. Forget I ever got you into this mess. Sorry Wren. Get Noss to fix the problem, if he can.”
“But you’ll—“
“I’ll make my own getaway on another ship. We’ll rendezvous—somewhere—the usual place. I’ll draw them away.” I cut communication and dragged the
