“Quit blabbing and start shooting! Do I need to coach you? Is there no compliance in this universe?”
“You been praying to the wrong gods, Rusco,” gibed Wren. “Maybe you should quit squawking.”
I whirled on the old man whose arms were trembling. “TK, man the auxiliary starboard guns. Wren, you take the port. We’re going to have ourselves a dogfight before this is all over.”
“We’ve got multiple bogies on our tail,” she called.
“The manuals are in the console, if you need them,” I said.
“Warp out of here,” she cried.
“Can’t. That’s a gas giant down there in case you didn’t notice. Gravity galore. I have to clear another 100k miles away before I can even think about Varwol.”
“He’s right,” TK groaned.
Wren stared in disbelief. “Why is this happening? How could we have warped in within orbital distance—”
“Shut up. Fire!”
Other ships burst from their stalls, some of them hopelessly damaged and catching fire in the process. I winced as they became incendiaries, ripe prey for the enemy stealth ships bearing down on them. Some tried to jump to warp too soon and became stretched discs miles long before they shimmered blue and winked out of existence forever. I saw a Vega 6 ultra light cruiser go up in flames, drowned in pulse fire. Others followed suit. Fat pulse beams whipped so close to Starrunner they almost tagged her flanks as the black and grey starfleas bombarded us with every weapon they had. All I could do was urge every ounce of speed out of Starrunner before I could trigger the Varwol.
I pondered the motive of any man to unleash such wholesale slaughter. Target: all the refugees from that doomed planet. Truly a vengeful bastard in the extreme, this Mong character. On the chance it was the same Mong I’d heard dropped on Hoath, we’d better be wary. My thoughts were interrupted as a larger, blue wasp-enemy came vaulting out of the ether with fareons locked. What were the chances it was the same Mong?
“Molly, give me live feed and max juice.”
“Affirmative.”
The holo display came up. A target zoomed in and possible missile trajectories for intercept. I targeted it and smashed it broadside on the rear thrusters, near the heat-sink. “Die, fucker.” But my mouth sagged. The wasp-like fuselage flared in a red aureole then faded down to standard gray. I whacked my fist on the weapons console. “Why don’t you die, fucker?” I launched another fareon. Now those stealthguard cannons were aiming straight at us. No wonder those bee-stinging, bitch-faced flydirts had defeated an entire planet. “Molly, we’d better be getting out of here pretty damn fast!”
“Affirmative. ETA T-1:36 before Varwol can engage.”
“That’s an awfully long road to hell. Molly. Snap it up!”
I whirled on Wren. “Give that bitch your best shot. If we combine blasts, maybe our attacks can penetrate those crypto-shields.”
“10-4! On the count of three. Three—two—one. Now!”
Our blasts coordinated at the same point, a four-foot square on the underbelly of the approaching, offensive craft. The thing glowed for several seconds, one baleful crimson, then began to flame around the edges. My mouth quivered for a second, then curled in triumph. “Hot damn! Wallow in oblivion, you bandit shitweasel—”
Fareon beams came arching from the two attacking ships at the flaming ship’s heel which I dodged as other escaping craft died in our rear sights. Shields held but upper panels began to smoke and the Varwol was beginning to shiver and kick in.
Maybe, just maybe. Multiple beams arced out across the gulfs, but Starrunner blinked out in a haze of nothingness as the Varwol, miracle of science, kicked in.
Chapter 10
We all took a time out, and celebrated over a bottle of gin I had tucked in the forward bulkhead I called the ‘back hamper’. Starrunner was off to the Norios belt or some never-never land, and I hoped to hell the Barenium would hold. After the backslapping and congratulations were over and Billy had finished his powdered milk and munched his synthetic cookies, we sat down for a fireside chat at the circular conference table on the bridge. “I see the Varwol’s already degraded 2.5%.”
“Sad thing that,” muttered TK.
“We survived this round, but next time might not be so pretty. I’m not saying that was a typical day in the life of an honest crook, but if you’re running with me, it’s not going to be easy.”
Wren shrugged her sinewy shoulders. “All the same to me, dads. I’ve been dodging mad boys and dervishes most of my life, so this just felt like home.” She adjusted her Uzi on her shoulder at a better angle.
“First of all, I’m not dads, and it’s not grey hair, it’s purple, in case you didn’t notice.”
She reached across the tinted tabletop and patted my hand, as if to console my feelings. “There, there, Rusco, just horsing around. Don’t take it the wrong way.”
It was a nice addition, even if it was a touch condescending. “Forget it, Wren. None taken. Now, way I see it, we can run scams and cons up and down the populated worlds, starting with the most prosperous planets. I got one in mind now, where we play tag team at the rich dives and the casinos, looking for manageable marks. We showboat them around, give them a good time, make ourselves out as easy marks, then take them for all they’re worth.”
Wren shrugged. “It sounds easy, but I got a better idea. Why not fake a shipwreck, set up a distress signal, and let them come to us, then we nab their ship and goods.”
TK muttered, rubbing his chin, “It has potential, but too many variables and violent possibilities. I don’t have that many years left in my old bones and don’t feel like cutting them short, lying in a pool of blood.”
