Collision Course (12 page)

“Positioned and ready.”

He cleaved a path through the mob. Or, rather, people stepped aside to let him through, including some of the toughest and most ruthless lawbreakers she knew, men and women who would trample their aged grandparents to steal an
aurelia
nugget. Yet these coldblooded thieves gave Kell a wide berth.

Mara stayed close, drifting in his wake, and she, too, felt the strength of him, his energy and ferocity. Intoxicating, dangerously alluring. And targeted toward a single goal. Soon, Kell had crossed the length of the warehouse to stand right in front of the dais. She positioned herself beside him, both because it was part of the plan, as well as in response to an instinct that told her it was the safest place.

“We need to find out where they’re keeping Lieutenant Jur.” He spoke low enough so that only Mara could hear. “Following the guards will take us to her, then it’s a matter of overpowering them and decoding the locked chamber they’re most likely keeping her in. Then we—”

She laid her hand on Kell’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about how Gavra operates. We won’t need an elaborate plan.” At his frown, she added, “Trust me.”

She wondered if he would, after everything. Yet, incredibly, he nodded, then turned his attention to the platform.

Gavra stood on the dais, flanked by four armed mercenaries. She eyed the crowd with a strange mixture of disgust and eagerness, as if she despised them but loved what they could do for her cred values. A voice amplifier attached to her shirt threw her voice across the warehouse. “Want to see what you’re bidding on?”

The mob roared its assent, raucous and eager.

Gavra motioned and two mercenaries stepped down from the platform, only to return a minute later. They held a woman between them, their grips tight on her arms as she twisted and struggled. She wore a grimy 8
^th
Wing uniform, torn in places, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders.

“For your buying pleasure,” Gavra shouted, “I offer you Lieutenant Celene Jur of the 8
^th
Wing’s Black Wraith Squad.”

Another roar from the throng. The sound grew rowdy, avid, as the guards tried to tug the lieutenant up the steps to the dais, and she managed to kick one of the mercenaries in his upper thigh. She took advantage of the moment, tugging her arm free from his grip. Her punch landed on the second guard’s jaw, but he did not release her. Three more guards surged toward her. She tried to fight them, but in a moment they had her up on the platform and completely subdued. One guard for each arm, and guards pinning her feet to the floor.

She glared at the mob.

The crowd loved it, bellowing its approval. Her silver eyes scanned the crowd, contempt plain in her lovely, bruised face. Mara tensed when the lieutenant’s gaze moved over Kell, worried that Jur would make some sign of recognition and give them away. A needless worry—the lieutenant’s expression did not alter. Neither did Kell’s.

Whatever Mara felt about Jur, there was no denying the lieutenant was both intelligent and a skilled fighter—just like Kell. Not much of a surprise that he had chosen her.

“Plenty of fire in this bitch,” Gavra crowed. She strutted over and stroked a proprietary hand down Jur’s face. The lieutenant jerked her head away, but the guards held her in place.

Gavra chuckled. “Whoever’s lucky enough to buy her is in for a great ride. Provided you can keep hold of your balls.”

Harsh laughter filled the warehouse. Only Mara was aware that Kell’s hands knotted into fists.

“Let’s start the bidding for the woman,” Gavra continued. “Opening at fifty thousand creds.”

The amount astonished Mara—even top-of-the-line Halu pleasure slaves cost only twenty thousand creds. It didn’t appear that Lieutenant Jur felt flattered, though. Her mouth curled into a sneer.

Despite the astronomical figure, someone immediately yelled out, “Fifty.”

“Fifty-five,” another shouted.

“Sixty.” This from Nalren, the slaver.

Soon, the warehouse shook from the bids flying quick and frenetic, like animals caught in a feeding frenzy.

Gavra looked euphoric, allowing the bids to pile higher and higher. A blissful chaos of rising profit.

Kell adjusted the folds of his scarf, and Mara knew the time had come. She braced herself. Tension tightened her skin as she waited. In a moment, hell was about to break loose.

Sound and percussion rocked the warehouse as one of the walls exploded. Debris, smoke, everywhere, and the panicked shouts of the mob.

“We’re under attack!” Gavra shrieked. “Guards!” Gun drawn, firing wildly, she fled the dais and disappeared through a small door. On her way out, she slammed her fist into a panel by the door, filling the compound with the shrill of an alarm.

No one knew that the explosions had been triggered by Kell as he detonated the microbots scuttling across the wall. Instead, believing themselves under siege and unarmed, people shoved at each other, trying desperately to flee. Mara fought to keep from being swept away by the terrified crowd. It wasn’t a surprise to see that all the smugglers and scavengers fled. Only the mercenaries stayed, their continued presence ensured by the promise of creds. Profit made men brave.

These mercenaries fanned out to meet the assumed threat. As one of the mercenaries stood at the edge of the platform, Kell pulled the scarf from around his throat and whipped it toward the guard. It struck the sentry across the face, leaving a bleeding, angry welt. The scarf snapped again with a sharp crack. The guard lost his grip on his gun, and Mara grabbed it before the firearm could hit the floor.

It wasn’t a damned ugly scarf after all, but a weapon. A lash, with a jagged, cutting edge that deployed only when in motion. And Kell wielded it masterfully, beating back mercenaries charging across the floor toward him. She wanted to watch his fluid, deadly grace, but other things needed attention. Like the half dozen guards headed in her direction.

She ran to the side of the platform and took cover. Then, careful to draw fire away from Kell, shot at the advancing guards. Three went down, and Mara kept up her assault. As she continued her cover, Kell leapt up onto the dais. With brutal efficiency, he used both his whip and his fists to mow down the mercenaries trying to take him down. She had witnessed fights both sanctioned and spontaneous from one end of the galaxy to the other. Nothing and no one ever fought as beautifully, as capably as Kell. He was action and purpose, a blur she could barely track. Something primal within her heated to see him transform fully into a lethal warrior.

Mara continued to hold back advancing mercenaries, giving Kell the time he needed to free the lieutenant. Though, she confirmed with a quick glance, Jur seemed to have the situation in hand—she took advantage of the confusion to kick free of most of the mercenaries holding her. Nobody could match Kell for fighting skill, but Jur made an impressive sight as she grappled with the last guard holding her.

As the guards fell back to regroup, Mara sprang up onto the platform. She picked up another dropped weapon so she held two pistols. She fired a plasma round into a mercenary lunging for Kell, then slipped behind the guard still struggling with Jur.

One gun barrel pressed to the back of the guard’s head, the other jammed up between his legs. The mercenary froze.

“Good boy.” Mara nudged the pistol she held between his legs. “Let go of your shiny toy.”

His hand opened, releasing his grip on Jur’s arm. The moment he did, the lieutenant punched him in the jaw and he slid to the ground, out cold.

Shaking out her hand, Jur said, “I’m not complaining, but who are you?”

“A friend of Kell’s,” seemed the easiest, and shortest, explanation.

“Thank you, Kell’s friend.” Jur looked toward where Kell fought three guards. “Let’s give him a hand.”

Gods curse it, she really didn’t want to respect the lieutenant, but it was a challenge. She and Jur shared a nod, then sprang into the fray. Between Mara, Lieutenant Jur and Kell, they cleared the platform in less than a minute.

Kell turned to Mara and Jur. “Appreciate it.” His dark gaze moved over Mara, quick and attentive. “Hurt?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“Feels like old times.” He grinned, and her chest constricted at the sight. His smile dimmed a little when he looked at Jur, finally acknowledging her torn and dirty uniform, the bruises on her face. “Which of these fuckers hurt you?”

“Just a few knocks, Commander.” She waved off his concern, but said, more gently, “The next time we meet, it should be under better circumstances. Maybe at the mess hall on base. Though the food’s better here.”

The contraction in Mara’s chest tightened. Kell and Jur bantered easily with each other, revealing a long history—far longer than Mara could claim.
It doesn’t matter now.

Kell seemed satisfied that they were all in one piece, then leapt off the dais. “Weapons,” he said over his shoulder.

They followed him out of the warehouse, darting through the chaos of the panicking crowd outside. Smugglers, scavengers and slavers were trying to cram themselves through the gate to get to their ships. A small, smoldering pile of debris indicated that at least one hysterical smuggler tried to run
through
the plasma fence rather than go through the gate.

No one ever said a scared smuggler was a smart smuggler
, Mara thought.

She and Jur caught up with Kell as he took down the guards outside the weapons storage structure. Kell grabbed the decoder from an unconscious guard’s belt and pressed it to the control panel beside the door. It opened with a hiss, and then he, Mara and Jur stepped inside.

All three of them smiled.

“It’s like Solstice Morning.” Mara sighed.

“And Lunar New Year, and Birth Celebration all rolled into one.” Kell’s smile widened into a grin.

Weapons of every size, shape and variety were lined up on tables and hung in cases on the walls. Pistols, rifles, plasma shredders, heavy and light guns. Plasma grenades. Ion muskets. Even a surface-to-air blaster.

“Smugglers and scavengers aren’t always smart.” Mara stroked a plasma shredder. “But they are well-armed.”

Kell threw her another devastating grin, before he made his way up and down the rows of firearms, loading himself down with as many weapons as he could carry. She and the Lieutenant followed his example, and soon they bristled like a very small, very dangerous army. Even so, there were only three of them and dozens of mercenaries waiting outside.

“How’s my Wraith?” Jur asked.

“Unbreached, for now.” Kell checked the power supply for a long-barreled plasma rifle before slinging it over his shoulder. He tucked a few grenades into his belt for extra measure. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

They stepped outside the storage structure, then flattened against the wall as a volley of plasma fire erupted around them. Mara cursed when she saw the mercenaries positioned in the alley between the weapons structure and the building that contained the Black Wraith. Clearly the guards had been ordered to protect the ship. The alley was a long, vulnerable dash, hemmed in on every side.

Though the route to the Black Wraith was heavily guarded, none of the mercenaries were focused on the way out of the compound, and the ships docked there. Provided one could push through the still teeming, frenzied mob, all that remained was a fairly straight shot to an escape.

More plasma fire burst around Mara, Kell and Jur. They crouched low and shot back.

Kell’s mouth flattened into a determined line. “Mara, you and Celene head back to the
Arcadia
. Blend in with the others and you can get through. Take off immediately.”

“What about you?” Mara demanded.

“I’ll go for the Wraith.” He glanced at the treacherous path leading toward the ship. “If I can’t fly it, I’ll be sure to destroy it.”

Jur’s eyes widened, but she nodded with understanding.

Mara was less understanding. “You’ll be stranded.”

He fired off several rounds at the mercenaries. “There are other ships.”

“If you can reach them.” Mara gritted her teeth. What Kell proposed meant his death. He was beyond capable, but the odds against him were monumental. It would take more than skill and brains to survive. Only the intervention of the gods could keep him alive.

She wasn’t certain if she believed in the gods. But there was something she
did
believe in.

“I’m staying with you.”

Mara threw Celene a quick glance. “How are you at piloting modified trawlers?”

“If it has wings,” she answered, “I can fly it.”

Turning back to him, Mara said, “Your odds go up if you’re not alone, but you can’t risk two Wraith pilots on this mission. Jur gets to safety first. She flies herself out of here and I give you backup.”

“She’ll pilot the
Arcadia
.” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“And I help get us to the Black Wraith.” Mara held his stare coolly, almost defiantly.

He felt gut-punched. She’d made it abundantly clear on many occasions that she’d suffer no one but herself to take the
Arcadia
’s controls. The ship meant everything to her, weighted with her sense of freedom and self. She hadn’t even allowed him to pilot the ship through the dangers of Ilden’s Lash or the energy storm. Now, she was poised to hand off control of the
Arcadia
to someone she had met just minutes ago. Someone she didn’t like very much.

To help him.

He relied on other members of the squad. They watched each other’s backs, trusted each other. But that was part of being in Black Wraith Squad. Unquestioning loyalty to one another. Mara owed him nothing—less than nothing, actually. But the enormity of what she proposed stole his breath and made his heart pump as if he’d run a dozen geomiles.

Now wasn’t the time to wonder at it, or her. If they survived this mission, then, and only then, could he sit down with a bottle of Deianeiran whiskey and figure out what it all meant.

“Any way I can talk you out of this?” The route to the hangar was a dangerous one. He wasn’t even certain that he’d make it, not without taking some hits. The thought of Mara being hurt, or worse, felt like ice in his veins.

“Not a damn chance. The likelihood of your getting to the Black Wraith is much better if you aren’t alone.” She raised a brow. “You
do
want the mission to be a success, don’t you? Think of the consequences if it fails.”

Fuck.
She knew his weakness and exploited it ruthlessly. He’d admire her for it, if he didn’t want to throttle her. And, unfortunately, what she proposed made sense. The possibility of reaching the Black Wraith went up if he had additional eyes and firepower. He just wished it wasn’t
her
providing them.

There wasn’t a choice. He nodded. Something like happiness flared briefly in her eyes before she hid it behind cool detachment.

Quickly, Mara explained the security code to get into and operate the ship. Mara also advised Celene on how to navigate the energy storm using the spectral resonance filter.

“That sounds fun.” Celene grinned, then winced from the bruising on her face.

“It is.” Mara drew a breath. “Take good care of her.”

“I will,” Celene answered, solemn now, understanding right away the attachment Mara felt toward her ship. “Take good care of him.”

“I will.” The gravity in Mara’s voice heated Kell more than a plasma burst.

“Next round at the officers’ club is on me,” Celene said to him.

“Lieutenants aren’t allowed in the officers’ club. Senior officers only.”

“In my case, they’ll make an exception.” She glanced toward Mara. “You’ve got some good firepower in your corner, Commander.” With that, she sprinted toward the gate, blending in with the fleeing crowd.

He watched Mara’s expression as she stared after Celene, the slight tension in the corners of her mouth that betrayed how much it cost her to let anyone fly the
Arcadia
. He wanted to reach for her, but knew that if he did, he’d lose his concentration. So he kept his hands to himself, and when she looked back at him, signaling her readiness, he was ready too.

“Reconnaissance first,” he said. “Then we move.”

“Agreed.”

They both peered around the corner of the weapons containment structure. Four mercs guarded the alley that led to the hangar. They crouched behind storage crates, ready to take on whoever was stupid or brave enough to charge the alley. An intersection lay beyond this, full of unknown variables, such as more hired guns or something more dangerous. After the intersection, the next building on the left was the hangar. To reach the hangar meant passing through that gauntlet. A cheerful stroll through the hydrogarden it wasn’t.

“We need to flush those mercs out,” he said.

Mara glanced toward the grenades hanging from his belt, and grinned. “Got a few ideas about that.”

Incredibly, he felt himself smile in response. Yes, the fight ahead was dangerous and dirty, but he couldn’t think of another person he wanted beside him or watching his back. Only her.

Screw it.
He leaned close and kissed her, hard. She responded at once, meeting his fierce hunger with her own, and it was like a taste of forbidden nectar, fleeting and sweet.

Then, all too soon, it was time to jump into the conflagration.

At his nod, Mara lobbed grenades. She had a good throwing arm and tossed them right behind mercs staked out in the alley. Explosions shook the alley. One merc went down with a scream. The others managed to avoid the blasts, but in order to do that, they jumped out from behind their cover into the open.

Kell went to work. He dropped the mercs with kill shots to the chest and head. Mara provided additional firepower, finishing off anyone who tried to shoot back.

In moments, the first section of the alley was clear. He sent Mara an approving nod—she’d been fast and efficient, as unflappable as any 8
^th
Wing senior officer.

Weapon drawn, he eased into the alley. His gaze never halted, assessing every position, gauging all possibilities. Mara, sleek as a silver cat, moved beside him, plasma pistols in both her hands. They both fired at and took out a merc peering around the corner of the intersection. Hard to know whose shot did the trick, but all that mattered was neutralizing another threat.

The intersection ahead bothered him. He and Mara had decent cover between the buildings now, but they would be exposed and at risk in the junction.

“We go through back-to-back,” he said. “Guard every angle.”

In wordless agreement, she turned and pressed her back to his. Even this brief contact felt damn good, regardless of the circumstances. Which meant he needed to stay particularly sharp, to keep her safe. He recognized, too, her unprecedented trust in him, giving him her back.

They made a strange but fitting creature, edging sideways into the intersection. His fears were well-founded. Knots of mercs hid there, around the corners. Kell fired into the group he faced, feeling Mara do the same behind him. He couldn’t turn to check on her progress. A moment’s distraction meant a moment’s vulnerability, so he kept up his barrage. Mercs went down. He didn’t hiss or wince when one guard’s shot grazed his thigh. He simply shot back, and the merc fell to the ground, motionless.

The moment happened quickly. It happened slowly. He was aware of himself and Mara working in perfect accord, clearing out the threats, trusting one another. It was a dance—fluid motion, synchronicity. It seemed, unexpectedly, the most intimate thing in the world, to fight alongside Mara.

Past the intersection, and both still alive. Now they only needed to sprint toward the hangar door ahead. Mara followed his unspoken command, and together they ran.

They were yards from the door when a new contingent of mercs appeared from around a nearby building, firing.

“Hold them off long enough for me to get us inside,” he shouted above the blasts.

“Done!”

Using his tech implants, he triggered the microbot he’d planted inside earlier. He helped her hold back the mercs, firing into the group, while simultaneously guiding the bot into the hangar’s defense system. The system was complex—clearly a heap of creds had been spent on getting the latest and most secure tech—but it took less than a second for him to breach it. A satisfying hiss and sizzle as the bot overrode the protocols.

The door slid open, and just in time. Fresh reinforcements joined the fray, adding a whole new barrage of plasma fire to an already tight situation.

Kell pushed her through the open door, stepped inside the hangar, and sealed the door shut behind them.

Gunfire met them inside too. He took out the two guards before either of them could fire another shot.

Red filmed his gaze when he saw the wound on her shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Nothing some Lulani rum can’t fix.” She scowled, though, when she noticed his blood darkening his pants. “Or maybe we both can kill those bastards.”

“Sounds satisfying. I’d rather just get us the hell out of here.”

“I like that flight plan.”

They jogged up to the Black Wraith. He used his implants to activate the ship. A hand-shaped indentation appeared in its side, and he placed his hand within it, synching his thoughts with the ship’s systems. He ran a quick diagnostic and was gratified to find that no one had been able to tamper with or breach the Black Wraith while it had been in the smuggler’s custody. Once, long ago, he had been disturbed by the idea of aligning his mind with a machine, becoming part of its matrix, just as it permeated his consciousness. But soon he had come to learn the process, even welcome it. Elegant and streamlined, without the divide between pilot and ship.

The hatch opened, revealing the narrow cockpit. Mara eyed the ship cautiously.

“Am I supposed to sit on your lap?”

He concentrated, and couldn’t help but smile when Mara gave a startled yelp. The ship responded to his mental commands, actually shifting and reconfiguring its interior. A process both liquid and mechanical as components altered, remade themselves. No longer did the ship seat just one person. At his directive, the Black Wraith could now accommodate a pilot and a gunner in a rotating turret, and all within a few seconds’ work, rather than losing days on making modifications.

“No wonder PRAXIS wants its claws on these ships” Mara reverently touched the ship’s hull.

He disengaged from the exterior control panel. The door to the hangar shook with the force of heavy plasma gunfire. It wouldn’t be long before the mercs breached the door.

Mara didn’t complain when he boosted her into the gunner’s position, then slid himself into the pilot’s seat. It felt familiar, exactly right. He hadn’t been in the cockpit of a Black Wraith in almost a week, and he missed it.

Before he grasped the controls, he drew his pistol and shot the security panel beside the wide hangar doors. They slid open, giving the ship a way out.

Almost as soon as the doors open, mercs came pouring in. He fitted his hands to the ship’s controls, and the cockpit and gunner position closed, sealing him and Mara within the Black Wraith’s protective shield. Plasma fire bounced off the ship’s exterior. But he had more than just plasma pistols and rifles.

He and Mara blasted the mercs with the Black Wraith’s guns. The controls of the turret were intuitive for someone as skilled as Mara, and the result was a pile of debris where mercs used to be. But the damn slime kept coming. He saw mercs running for small, armed ships. It was going to be a fight the whole way.

“Buckled up?”

“All in.”

“Hold on to your balls, Skiren.”

They took off to the sound of her husky laughter.

Kell loved the pitch, deep in his gut, that arose from overcoming gravity’s hold. It didn’t matter if he was on patrol, training, or on a mission—the sensation of flight, of breaking free never stopped delighting him. Even now, with mercs on his tail and an energy storm to navigate, he savored the sense of forcing his way to freedom.

Mara felt the same. He heard it in her continued laugh as they shot into the sky.

“Damn. These Wraiths have a kick to them.”

“Best fucking propulsion systems in the galaxy.” He patted the control panel.

“No wonder you 8
^th
Wing hotshots are so eager to fly them. A thrust like this is better than sex.”

“Better?”

“Close second. With one exception.”

He wanted to ask who that exception might be, but the mercs were closing in and the Black Wraith neared the bottom edge of the storm. The mercs fired. He avoided the pursuers’ blasts, guiding his ship in quick, tight evasive patterns.

“Gods.” He took a deep breath. “Feels good to fly again.”

“Feels good to be flown,” Mara replied, then cursed as she squeezed off several rounds at pursuing mercs. Two went down, but more kept coming. And only a handful turned around when they saw that Kell headed straight for the storm. The lure of profit overrode their sense of self-preservation.

The ship bucked as it pierced the thick energy clouds. He engaged the filters and rode the storm. What had been a painful, shuddering trek in Mara’s larger, less advanced scavenger ship felt far more sinuous and fluid in the Black Wraith. He had only to
think
where he needed his ship to be, and it slid perfectly into place.

But it wasn’t an easy glide. Lightning and plasma fire streaked around them as mercs kept up their pursuit. He did not flinch when a bolt of lightning struck a close-flying merc ship. Hunks of metal went everywhere as the ship tore apart. Mara cursed at the explosion, then cursed once more, this time in exultation, as more pursuers dropped back, daunted by the storm.