Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2 (20 page)

              “And then there’s this here,” Serinda said, pointing.  On one window on her console display, out of line of sight of the pirate, there was a status update, showing that bridge control was in process of being transferred away from here to Main Engineering.  Apparently the Captain and the Chief had decided that enough was enough and were taking steps.  “Just a diagnostic,” the woman lied, trying to sound casual, but the flat wave she made, hidden from the pirate’s sight confirmed Kutok’s suspicion.  “Should be done in another ten minutes.”

              Kutok nodded.  “I understand.  I don’t imagine it should hinder my watch any.”

              “No, probably not,” Serinda said, her relief quickly muffled.  “So, I’ll just get out of your way.”

              “Yes,” the hak’ruk replied with a small sigh.  “Go and get to the mess hall, get something to eat, dear.”

              Serinda eyed the zheen anxiously.  “Are you going to be all right, Kutok?” she whispered.  “He’s been eyeballing me for the past six hours.  But he didn’t say or do anything else.  But you come in and suddenly he’s suddenly giving off a very different vibe.”

              “Different how, dear?” Kutok asked, knowing perfectly well what Serinda was implying.

              “He’s going to try and hurt you,” she said simply.

              Kutok hissed.  “He very well might, dear.  But you can’t stay up here forever and the rest of the crew is busy.  You’ve been up here long enough.  Go.  I can take care of myself.”

              Serinda eyed her colleague dubiously.  “I don’t know…”

              “Go, Serinda,” the black carapaced female answered.  “I will be all right.  And I know you want to get with some of your friends away from him.”  The zheen clicked his mouth parts in response, able to clearly pick up everything they were saying.  Kutok didn’t care.  “Go, dear.”

              Serinda laid a hand on top of Kutok’s left.  She gave a very light squeeze and then headed for the bridge hatch.  With one last backward glance at the zheen and then over at Kutok, the young woman fled. 

              Kutok let out a breath.  She
would
have preferred Serinda stay here, even knowing how much the girl was terrified of the soldiers and thugs who had invaded the ship.  While it might not have stopped this brute from trying something, having a witness, or in the very least someone else to help fend him off might have cooled his passions a bit.  But now she was alone here with him.  And as soon as the bridge hatch closed, he pushed off from the bulkhead and stalked over.

              “Go away, little pest,” she said, as though she was shooing a bug off her console.  “I have a watch to stand.”

              “Nothing going on right now, little lady,” he replied, his tone a bit high pitched for a thuggish pirate.  “Nothing that needs your attention.  You and I could have a little fun.”

              Kutok looked straight at him, feeling herself starting to emit a very low subsonic pulse every few seconds.  She did this as her anxiety grew, similar to the high pitched noise she made when she was in pain.  “Stay away from me, worm.  There is nothing you have that I could possibly want.”             

              He blatted laughter.  “Oh, it isn’t about you, little lady,” he replied smugly.  “Armsman has kept us on a leash for so long.  And you’re
very
pretty.  Love to have a little fun.”

              She brandished her two true hands, her long wicked talons flashing in the overhead lights.  “Stay back!” she ordered, as he continued to slink forward, moving around the console.  Kutok tried to maintain a brave front, but her courage was failing her.  They’d already proven once that they would only hold off for so long on a threat.

              The zheen’s mandibles were quivering with excitement.  “No closer,” she warned again, her voice starting to trill with fear.  What was she thinking of, sending Serinda away like that?

              “Or what?” he replied bluntly.  “Oh, I see those claws there.  They’re not likely to hurt me very much.”  He stepped around the console, causing her to jump up from the seat and skitter (completely undignified) away from him.  She stumbled, one of her legs caught on the edge of the console as she tried to get away, but she didn’t go down. 

              He was there, grabbing hold of her true hands in his own hard, armored hands, forcing them away from her thorax.  Kutok screeched, not in pain, but more in fear, and he recoiled, but only for an instant.  Releasing her with his right hand, he swung, landing a backhanded fist against her head so hard that the sleek, shiny carapace on the side cracked.  She bleated in pain as fluid seeped from the wound.  She raked her free hand across his face, trying to get his eyes, but he easily batted her hand away.  A well-placed kick with one of his legs sent her sprawling; he twisted his body as she went down, her four legs splaying out beneath her.  Suddenly, she was on the deck and he was behind her, her left true hand grasped firmly and painfully in his left.  Her four legs slid helplessly on the metal deck plates, she couldn’t get traction to lift herself up, and she was completely vulnerable to him. 

              The subsonic pulses were increasing in intensity and frequency.  She was terrified now, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t reach him, she couldn’t get up, she couldn’t throw him off.  She had no idea what he was actually going to do to her, but judging by the crack in her skull, it wouldn’t be good.  All of her vulnerable places were on her back, normally covered by her sleek black carapace, but in this position, he’d be able to get at her and violate her in the most horrible and intimate ways possible.

              And he knew it.  He buzzed with pleasure, reveling in the helplessness of his victim.  He hadn’t even needed any of his weapons, not even the sonic disrupter attached to his belt, designed to specifically affect species like hers. 

              Kutok was making noises she couldn’t control as he pushed and peeled away her armor on her back, in spots where her segmented body connected together.  “Nnnnooo!” she managed to speak, but that was the only coherent word.  The rest was lost in a flurry of other noises she was making, running through a whole range of frequencies, her fear making her scream as much as she could.

              “Shoulda been nicer to me,” he hissed at her, only raising her terror.  “Coulda been nicer to you.  But I think thiss iz much… more… fun…”  He dragged out each of the words, putting a hiss into his sibilance.  

              Kutok’s legs were scrabbling against the deck in terror, but his weight on her lower segments was pinning her down.  She couldn’t do anything and he just continued on, taking his time, savoring her terror like honeyed nectar.  Then she screamed, a note of pure agony and violation.

              And he buzzed with laughter.

Chapter 7

              Tamara stepped up to the hatch for the boat bay, her HUD activated, weapon at the ready.  Her heart was pounding at what felt like a million beats per minute.  Her implant sensors were warning her of the dangerous stress she was putting on her body, an indicator was flashing red directing her to stop and rest.  She ignored it, knowing she couldn’t afford to rest.  Not yet.  Tamara shook her head, and with a thought command, ordered the sensor to stop flashing unless she was into critical stress levels.  If she was honest with herself, she knew she was already there, but she didn’t need the distraction, not now.

              Peering around the hatchway and into the boat bay, Tamara swept her vision around the bay, not really taking much time for her mind to recognize what her eyes (and more importantly her implants) were seeing.  After less than five seconds, she pulled her head back in, leaned against the bulkhead and activated her HUD’s replay. 

              There were the three shuttles, all of them locked down for now.  The external hull work had been stopped and all the engineering teams had been brought back into the ship to rest and eat.  They would going out for three more times for hull work, but for now, Quesh had called them all inside.  Tamara saw her
Perdition
fighter locked down to the deck, pushed off to the far side of the boat bay, out of the way of the normally busy shuttles.  Tamara could see that the fighter looked to be in decent condition, though she was sure she’d need to a couple of hours of work to get it back up to snuff again.  But that, of course, was a problem for a much later time.

              A problem was arising.  No one was here.  And this was a problem, because
someone
was supposed to be on duty in the boat bay, in the very least one of the boat bay attendants, even if none of Jax’s thugs were present.  Double checking her replay, she confirmed she’d seen no one in the bay.  But before she stepped in, she checked the regen tube over her left arm.  She hadn’t been able to remove it and her bones had healed days ago.  The slightly blue liquid inside had lost its sheen and its healing properties.  In fact, being in contact with her skin for as long as it had had turned the liquid to a dull gray.  It needed changing days before, but Jax had decided nothing but food and water was going to be put into the cell and leaving the regen tube on Tamara’s arm would just be that much more inconvenient and degrading, especially as the liquid in the tank had caused the skin on her arm to itch as the liquid became spent and contaminated. 

              But she couldn’t get it off her arm.  It would have to be taken down to sickbay where the bonding to her arm would be undone, breaking the seal.  She probably
could
smash the container and rip the container off of her arm, but she wasn’t willing to risk the damage she would cause to her arm in doing so.  So, for now, she was stuck with this cylinder of plastic covering her hand.  She ground her teeth in frustration and turned to the hatch.  Raising her weapon in her free hand, she stepped through.

              Doing a sweep of the bay confirmed her initial sweep.  It was in fact empty.  She checked in each of the shuttles, even verifying that her fighter was closed and locked before going back to the hatch, sealing it behind her as she left.  Now the question remained, where to go from here?  Tamara had no idea how many of the pirates were left, where they were or where she would be most needed.  Jogging over to one of the comm panels on the wall, she activated it.

              The message “Unable to Connect” appeared in bright acid yellow lettering.  “What the hell?” she swore.  This panel was set up on a hard line to others of its kind throughout the ship.  She glanced back and forth, up and down the corridor to make sure no one else was coming.  The metal corridors were clear.  Tamara tucked the pistol under her left arm, clamping it in place with her left arm to keep it from slipping.  The last thing she needed would be for her only weapon to drop to the deck and accidently go off.  With her free hand, she pressed her thumb to the data jack, accessing the panel through her implants.

              The panel itself was functioning correctly, but as far as she could see, communications were being scrambled throughout the ship.  Wireless comms were completely out, Main Engineering had set up some sort of interference that was blocking all channels.  The hard line was still attached, but Quesh, she assumed it was him anyway, was blocking the channels throughout the ship using his Officer’s access. 

              Tamara frowned.  It wouldn’t take a whole lot for her to break through the lockout and access the hard line.  She could probably do it here, with just her implants and without any of the fancy subroutines, programs or algorithms she’d stored on her database or datapad.  Her HUD brought up the panel’s coding, anticipating her desire to access the system.  But she refrained.  If Quesh had locked down communications then there had to be a damned good reason, most likely to keep the pirates from talking to one another and coordinating.  There might be only a handful of them compared to the number of
Grania Estelle
’s crew, but there weren’t enough of anyone with military or security backgrounds to effectively take on the pirates.  Which meant that keeping them cut off from one another was the best chance the crew would have to capture or kill them and retake the ship.

              She released the panel and her HUD winked out.  Taking the gun back in her hand, Tamara considered her options.  The boat bay was located at the very bottom level of the ship, slightly aft of center.  Main Engineering was the aft most section, Environmental control smack in the middle of the ship.  The bridge, of course, was at the bow with berthing compartments just behind that.  Security was just aft of those sections and of course there were other compartments and rooms scattered throughout the rest of the interior sections of the ship, with the cavernous cargo bays arrayed out around the central hull.  But where to go?  Corajen and Saiphirelle most likely would have made minced meat out of the guards in Security.  Gideon Jax was most likely on the bridge or in the wardroom.  He tended to lair there when he wasn’t in his rack.  That left thirteen other pirates throughout a kilometer long ship.

              To do the most good, Tamara would need to get to a place on the ship that she could spot where the most trouble was and head there.  That meant Security, going back the very way she’d just come.  She sighed heavily.  Her abused body wasn’t accustomed anymore to this amount of physical activity.  Just the brisk trot from the brig to the boat bay and the tense sweep of the bay had drained her.  She found herself leaning heavily against the bulkhead, but angrily, she pushed herself away from the metal wall. 

              “I am not a weak damsel who is going to leave the retaking of the ship to everyone else,” Tamara chided herself, starting to walk.  “They don’t get the satisfaction of seeing me fail.”  Exactly who
they
were, she wasn’t quite sure, even in her own mind.  Security seemed the best option.  Perhaps there she could find a way to get this tube off her arm, or in the very least find someone or a group of someones she could arm and rally to help Corajen and the Captain.  Tamara’s blood still burned when she thought about Vincent Eamonn and the events of the last few weeks (and his involvement) but she tabled that for a later time.  For the moment, she needed his help in securing the ship and getting out of the void.  Once that was completed, well, contracts would need to be renegotiated.

              Taking a deep breath, Tamara checked the corridor behind her.  Seeing it empty, she started off toward the berthing spaces, her pace far slower than she would have preferred.

              Gideon Jax was seated at the wardroom table in the Captain’s accustomed seat.  He didn’t really need to sit here, it was only a table, after all, there was no particular need to sit there, only that it annoyed Captain Eamonn.  Which Jax found to be reason enough.  He was simply sitting there, just waiting for Yukrix’s report on the Environmental systems.  The crew was supposedly swapping out one of the algae matrices, all part of normal routine.  But Yukrix, and his commander, knew that the crew had been planning something for a long time now, most probably ever since the bulk freighter departed from Ulla-tran.  Jax had permitted the clandestine meetings for two reasons: first, he didn’t have enough soldiers to patrol every part of the ship and second, he needed the crew to run the ship.  While he appreciated Captain Verrikoth’s plan, he cursed his superior’s soft spot for this ship’s leader.  It had hamstrung Jax’s authority on the ship. 

              Yukrix was late.  One thing the bug could be counted on was his punctuality.  He was an efficient little creature, something that Jax appreciated, and he was technically proficient in most areas of engineering.  Most likely, Jax could have killed the Parkani and Yukrix could have taken his place with little difficulty.  Of course, the crew would have balked.  But after killing a few of them, they would have fallen into line. 

              Jax didn’t care for that line of thought, however.  Trusting a crew to do dangerous and complicated jobs under the threat of torture and death was not a good way to run a ship.  This whole situation had already gone on for far too long.  The Armsman would be much happier once they reached Amethyst.  He would take on a whole new set of replacements for his security detachment, bringing his numbers up to sixty or seventy if the locals could spare them.  He would also bring on replacements for the crew, loyal to Verrikoth that he knew he could trust.  The more of his own people he could stack the crew with, the easier it would be to keep control of Eamonn’s people.  Verrikoth had already expressed a liking in Vincent Eamonn, so Jax knew he would have to keep the man alive and nominally in command of the
Grania Estelle
, but limiting his options and his loyal crew would better keep the man in line. 

              That had been made abundantly clear to the Armsman after that mess in the cargo bay.  He cursed himself for trusting that woman near
any
computer systems.  So many of his men dead.  Then he straightened up.  That was in the past now.  He would
not
sit around moping about it.  The engineering teams were moving along with their fixes, though he was sure they were moving much slower than they could, trying to come up with any excuse they could to delay their arrival at Amethyst.

              Speaking of that.  He picked up his communicator.  “Yukrix, this is Jax, I need a report on the Environmental.  How long are they saying they’re going to be?”

              There was only static on the channel.  Jax frowned, but he got to his feet.  “Yukrix, this is Jax, come in.”  Static.  “Damn it,” he said, pulling his sidearm.  Communications were down, now that they were stationary, out in the void with engineering teams going over all sections of the ship?  No way was that a coincidence.  He cursed his inattention, wondering how long this whole fracas had been going on.  How many were dead while he was sequestered away in the wardroom? 

              He opened the hatch and peered around into the corridor beyond.  It was empty.  He hustled out, gun held ready, heading for the bridge.  It was only a few meters from the wardroom to the bridge and he made it there without incident.  He could hear high pitched noises coming from inside the compartment, and raising his weapon, he stepped inside.

              Looking at the scene before him he made a noise of utter disgust.  There was just a scene of pure butchery before him.  Jax looked to his fellow, the zheen called Kek’rikor, who was wiping blood off of his hands and face with a cloth.  The body of one of the ship’s communications operators lay splayed on the deck, blood oozing from a number of awful, tearing wounds.  He had violated her and then literally torn her apart.  Kek’rikor looked up as his boss entered the bridge, his antennae perking up; a satisfied aura surrounding him.

              “Boss,” he said, working the cloth through his blunt-ended fingers, trying to get the blood out from the cracks in his carapace.  He acted as though he’d been caught with nothing more than one of the bridge panels opened up and its chips and wires strewn out on the deck, rather than what once was a person.

              “What the hell is this, Kek’rikor?” Jax demanded.

              The zheen’s antennae bobbed and he made a very human-like shrug.  “I needed to… what waz the ssaying you humanz like to uze?  Ah, blow off ssteam.  Yesss, Boss, I needed to blow off ssteam.”  He pointed to the wreck of the hak’ruk that was lying on the deck.  “And she was ssso sweet.”

              Jax looked at him with pure loathing.  He felt nothing for the female who had been so brutalized, she’d been a pain in his ass since the beginning.  Her attitude on the bridge in front of the other members of the crew, including the Captain had earned her that shot to hand that he’d given her.  But this?  Jax felt the bile rise in his throat at seeing this.  It wasn’t as though his soldiers, or more of Verrikoth’s hadn’t indulged themselves before.  It wasn’t even that he had never seen what his men, both human and not, had done to their victims.  But this was not something he needed right now. 

              “This is not the best time for this kind of thing,” he chided.  There was nothing to be done about it now.  “Drag that off to the side out of the way,” Jax ordered and the zheen moved over to do his bidding, his mouthparts clicking a bit at the fact that he was being forced to get his hands dirty again.  Jax grimaced.  Getting his hands dirty was something Kek’rikor and his fellows were accustomed to, and they relished it.