I did not set any off.
We forced our way through the cold but warming air, toward the double revolving safety doors of the command area. I ran up to the exit, my steel-tipped boots clanking on the grates.
Wren and I dove for the command room, TK lagging behind, puffing for air, his breath coming out in steamy gasps. I got off a few shots, but I wasn’t going to trade ammo with the vague figures emerging from both ships and become instant space fodder.
“Into the command bay! Quickly,” I hissed. “Let them fall prey to our traps.”
“If we don’t have a ship,” cried TK, “what good will it do?”
I waved a hand. “Messenger shuttle may still by salvageable.” Better to give them hope than futility.
“We don’t have time—”
“Shut up and move!” I cried.
Wren herded the old man on, grumbling for him to tough it up. “We go to plan, TK. Think ‘plan’.”
I could see the terror writ in the old man’s eyes. Under that dim swath of emergency lights, his broken, defeated look mirrored the inevitable, the shadow of looming death.
“Use minimum fire,” I barked. “Draw them out with the explosives. Don’t give away our positions.”
I looked back and Baer and two dozen of his men were pouring out of the first vessel with laser-guided AKs—remodeled blasters with stun capability. Swift, capable men, garbed in loose black fatigues, like modern ninjas, dark skull caps tucked over their ears. I knew in an instant those killers meant to capture us and torture us for the information leading to the amalgo. I was under no illusion that this round of torture would make the last look like a kindergarten picnic. Under no circumstance must any of us get captured.
A group of five of them branched off to search Starrunner. Good, keep them busy. The rest moved in after us.
Chapter 20
My eyes dilated, adjusting to the murk. The command area of Belisar One was a rubble-strewn sprawl just as we’d left it. A pool of blue-black shadows with lots of places to hide showed itself, rigged with enough booby traps to kill an elephant and several lions thrown in. The place had been looted by bandits over the decades, as evidenced by the hodgepodge of overturned consoles, smashed component boxes, spilled circuits with wires showing. The pillars that supported the honeycombed ceiling had whole sections eaten out of them. By machine gun fire. Wedges were cut out as if drunken bandits had aimed a thousand shots and chewed holes into the walls. At least the idiots had left the port door alone.
The light was so dim as to make it difficult to see. Only a faint ambient bluish glow spilled from the windows overlooking the interior of the station.
I motioned to TK and Wren, urging them to the side wall to duck behind the random wastage while I staggered in a bent-kneed crouch over to the opposite wall to lure the others out and activate the explosives. Good thing the heating and air systems had powered on during our last mission, eliminating the need for suits. I made quick time to the back corner where the paneled glass looked into the interior: a place of silence, brooding and mystery. Below, the lower level showed massive ore bins, sorting stations and holding pods. A vast tangle of machinery, piping, docking stations, catwalks and inky depressions lurked in those confines. The emergency lights dimmed, then cut out. The unearthly blue glow flickered back on again, so recently activated by human presence after many decades.
Despite what I’d told TK about Starrunner, I felt sick at the loss of her. In her state she was of little use. We were marooned here—like castaways, stuck out in nowhere with no hope of rescue or little chance of making repairs. I thrust that anxiety out of my mind.
A dozen and a half enemy, lean and silent as weasels, came slinking in low on a wide sweep of the area. Their laser sights gave away their position while ours remained dark. We had an advantage, but they had the superior numbers.
I signaled Wren with my silent communicator: lie low. The plan was for me to draw them out, pick off stragglers with explosives, and rely on the camo qualities of my guerrilla suit to keep them at bay.
I chucked a piece of broken circuitry toward the first plant of explosives by the lower level ore carts. Several green laser sights lanced to the spot and eager figures split up to investigate.
My sweat-beaded face curled in a cold grin. I saw a line of them moving toward the sound. Fools. My body tingled with expectation. Imminent slaughter was moments away.
Just as the pack was within blasting distance of the far wall, I pinched my thumb on the detonator. Flesh and sinew erupted in a crimson mash. The force took out six of them, shredding them like ripe carrots in a blender. Bloody shreds of arms, legs and torsos sprayed in the immediate vicinity.
Baer’s voice rumbled over the flames. “Fan out, you stupid fools! That fuck Rusco’s got the place rigged! He wasn’t so dumb after all. Flush him out. Quickly. Now!”
“But boss—”
“Shut the fuck up! What am I paying you for, blockhead? Move!” He thrust the man forward. “Don’t cluster in too tight and let him take you down.”
I pressed the left detonator. Kabam. Another bright blast took out four more of the black-masked bastards, leaving a
