The Gilded Cage (12 page)

Neural lash.

Crap. Someone over there was playing rough.

There was nothing like getting tagged with a beam of coherent sound designed to scramble all your brain cells. Easy way to take prisoners, especially the kind you might sell on the open market later.

Not that Javier figured Tamaz would be selling him, if it came to that.

Another round of incoming fire.

For one giddy moment, Javier considered venting all of engineering to space. It would end the threat of the neural lash, at least until someone went back for something heavier, something that would work without atmosphere. And he’d be long gone by then.

Javier made it to cover and turned back to check on everyone. Afia had apparently been in his hip pocket the whole time. She was already past him and back to the far deep end of the airlock. Piet was right behind that.

That left the girls.

They had both paused midway to provide covering fire for the rest of the crew. There were already half a dozen men down over there, but more were pouring into the room from other doors every second.

Wilhelmina moved first, apparently responding to commands from Sykora. That one was a black widow spider. ’Mina’s movement drew several men from cover to take a shot.

Sykora got most of them.

Did that woman actively worship Death, or something? Were these human sacrifices to appease her harsh mistress? How could anybody be that good?

Sykora was off like a jack–rabbit as everybody over there ducked, perhaps cowed into submission by the havoc she had just wrought. The body count was certainly impressive.

Javier watched her move. The ballerina of death.

Slow–motion.

She had a smile on her face that looked almost orgasmic for a moment.

Someone got lucky.

Sykora’s hair haloed around her head as a beam found her.

Her face screwed up in pain, slackened into nothingness.

She toppled, fell, slid, halted.

Javier was off without hesitation.

“Cover me,” he yelled frantically at Wilhelmina as he ran past her into the valley of death.

There was no time for thought, just action.

Zig.

Fade.

Beams.

Drift.

Race.

Javier slid into home with the game–winning run, grabbing Sykora’s pistol and firing three shots randomly before stuffing into a pocket as he grabbed Sykora’s belt and used her mass to anchor him in his slide.

Somewhere, Wilhelmina was pouring fire back up–range at the bad guys. Nothing fancy, just keep them ducked.

No time to think. No time to breathe.

Javier hoisted the massive woman up into a fireman’s carry and staggered to one side, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Tamaz would not be a pleasant captor. Not like Zakhar. Not even like Sykora.

Somehow, he made it to the airlock.

Wilhelmina went to close the airlock hatch, but he grabbed her hand before she did.

“Keep firing,” he said.

’Mina nodded and leaned out, randomly potting panels and catwalks as quickly as she could pull the trigger. The charge pack wouldn’t last very long at this rate.

It didn’t need to.

Javier dumped Sykora full out before him. He squatted long enough to peel an eyelid, both eyelids.

Unconscious, but not permanently scrambled. Hours recovering, instead of months.

It happened, from time to time. Instead of just fuzzing everything, the beams would hit something important and scramble it like an egg. That was like suffering a medium–sized stroke. Curable, but months in rehab learning to walk and talk again. Most unpleasant.

It was his lucky day. Or hers. If you could call it that.

Javier would have liked to take the time to put on a proper space suit on Sykora for what was coming next. This would shortly qualify in the top ten dumbest things he had ever attempted.

They’d all be dead if he took the time.

Outside, the room grew quiet.

Javier considered his options. None of them were good. Conversely, not all of them were suicidal.

“Navarre,” Tamaz yelled from somewhere outside. “I’ll give you credit for style and balls. You almost pulled it off. If you surrender right now, I promise to kill you and the girl quick. I know Sykora is done. Let it go.”

Wilhelmina muttered a word under her breath that would have made Javier’s career–navy father blush.

Javier nodded at her, with a hard smile. He reached into the bag and pulled out the vial of green liquid, weighing its immense gravity with one hand.

“What are you doing?” Wilhelmina whispered fiercely as she glanced over at him.

“It’s not enough to escape them, ’Mina,” he murmured back. “It’s not enough to rescue everyone. He must be stopped, destroyed.”

“There’s no other way?” she asked.

“Do you want him to keep doing this to people like you and Sykora?”

He watched the flicker of pain cross her face. He knew there were stories untold about Tamaz. He could guess the script.

Add that to the bill.

Wilhelmina ground her teeth for a moment and closed her eyes.

Javier wondered if it was a prayer, but Hadiiye looked back out of them when they opened.

“Paladins are men and women of the sword, Javier,” she said calmly.

It was almost frightening the way she could do that. But it was enough.

Javier took a second to locate his target.

There. Primary air intake vents for the life–support generator. Suck in all the bad air, pass it through a hydroponics system to feed the fish and plants, push cleaner air up into the ship. Repeat. A lovely, efficient design.

Javier took a step and snapped his arm forward, gunning for the runner coming around third in the bottom of the ninth.

His aim was perfectly timed, dead accurate. The vial impacted on the vent cover with a satisfying thump.

And fell to the deck unharmed.

Javier muttered something that might have made Wilhelmina blush. He dug for the pistol in his pocket, pulled it out, and began to sight.

“Navarre?” Tamaz called. “What’s it going to be?”

Apparently, he had missed the vial flying in the dimness and haze.

Javier felt Hadiiye’s hand on his before he got settled.

“Can you use that thing?” she asked.

Javier shrugged. “Probably.”

“I thought so,” she continued.

Javier watched her raise her own pistol in one motion and fire a single shot that dead–centered the vial. It shattered, spewing a greenish slop that was quickly sucked into the vent.

That was the lovely part of a pulse–pistol, as opposed to a disruptor. It used a force bolt instead of heat. Rupture, without the risk of cooking the green liquid and killing all the nasty bugs floating in it.

Javier watched just long enough to be sure, and then slammed the airlock door closed.

“Afia,” he said, turning. “Deploy the emergency cocoon and get Sykora into it first. You and Piet next.”

He turned to the control panel and emptied three shots into it in a rapture of smoke and sparks.

“What about the suits?” Wilhelmina asked.

“Can you get one on in thirty seconds?” he replied.

“Watch me,” she said, pulling her tunic over her head.

Javier would have liked to watch more as her nudity unfolded, but there was no time. He stripped as well.

Part Ten

The little runabout was quickly packed to the gills as people poured out of the airlock. Javier watched Piet and Wilhelmina carry Sykora’s body to the bed and carefully lay her out.

He went straight to the flight console and brought everything live.

“How much time do we have?” Afia asked from his elbow. With him sitting and her standing, she was barely taller.

“You planning on coming back to
Meehu Platform
anytime soon?” he replied.

“Not on your life, sir.”

“Me, neither.”

Javier pushed a button that triggered the emergency overrides on the docking mechanism.

Every station had one. Usually, the station master would use it to push back a ship in danger of exploding, to keep it from venting nastiness into the interior and killing lots more people than just the crew.

You could set them off from inside a ship if you had to. If you suffered an emergency. Or needed to flee and didn’t mind angering the stationmaster.

Somewhere nearby, bank vault doors were slamming shut and atmosphere alarms would be going off. People were going to be pissed.

Javier was in a stolen ship, fleeing a criminal enterprise, in the middle of a running gun fight, after using biological weapons. He really didn’t care if they were going to give him a parking ticket after this.

The runabout lurched harshly before the gravplates could compensate.

“Piet,” he called to
Storm Gauntlet
’s navigator. “I’ve calculated a course. Take us out that way as fast as she’ll go.”

“Roger that,” the man replied, flowing into the seat.

Javier watched just long enough to confirm they were in safe hands, then he went to stand next to Wilhelmina, seated next to Sykora.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Been kicked by a Missouri mule,” Wilhelmina replied. “Lucky for us she’s tougher than one. Groggy now. Coherent in a few hours. Should be right as rain tomorrow. Assuming we survive.”

“We’ll survive,” he said.

Javier turned around.

“Piet, how long to max acceleration?”

“Oh,” the Dutchman replied sarcastically. “I was supposed to wait for that order?”

Javier smiled back at him. “Nyet, Gospodin. All ahead everything. Full speed crazy.”

Javier consulted the watch in his head.

“Where are we jumping to, anyway?” Piet asked.

“Nowhere,” Javier replied. “Just running.”

“Javier?”

Wilhelmina looked closely at him, one hand holding Sykora’s.

“’Mina?”

“How soon until we know?”

And that was the crux of it. How soon?

“We’re a speedboat. He’s a jumped up freighter. Let’s find out.”

Javier stepped close to the console. He watched Suvi land carefully on her charging ring.

After the mad dash here across open space, he knew her batteries were almost drained. But she had also saved all their lives, doing something no mere human could pull off. Like pulling a full emergency cocoon across the space between the two ships, straight to the runabout’s airlock. Faster than anybody on the freighter or the station could move to intercept them.

One step ahead.

He smiled at Suvi as the little charging blinky thing stuttered. He imagined that was Suvi smiling and winking at him. He winked back.

Javier pushed a button to open a comm channel.

Winter’s mantle draped itself across his shoulders as he inhaled.

“
Salekhard
, this is Navarre,” he said calmly, coldly.

“I’m going to kill you, Navarre,” Tamaz replied instantly.

“First you have to catch me, you amateur punk,” Navarre replied, sticking the knife in and starting to twist it. “Good luck with that.”

“You cannot run anywhere that I cannot find you,” Tamaz continued. “And I will never cease hunting you. You have my honor on that.”

“You have no honor, Abraam Tamaz,” Navarre sneered. “You are the scum crusting the bottom of the barrel, after all the rotted fish have been dumped in a back alley. Right now, everyone knows you’ve lost her. But then, you never could keep a woman, could you?”

Navarre closed the channel with a vicious push. Virtual buttons lacked that hard tactile feedback that would have been nice now. He wished he could slam down a phone receiver, like the old movies did.

It would be more satisfying that way.

He turned to survey the crew around him. And nearly suffered the shock of his life.

Piet was watching him with a jaw dropped open. Afia’s eyes were huge. Even Hadiiye was shocked.

“Piet,” he growled, trying to glaze over the gap between himself and the rest. “How long until we reach those coordinates, if we don’t slow down?”

The navigator just stared at him.

“Piet,” he snapped his fingers. “Wake up.”

“Right,” the man said, tearing his eyes around to the console.

Moments passed.

“Assuming we just blow right by it,” he said after a space. “A little less than two hours. Five if you want to slow down and park there. What is it?”

“A hole in space, Alferdinck,” Navarre replied.

He wanted to be Javier right now. He really did.

That wasn’t possible. Not today.

Today, he could only be Captain Navarre. Killer. Pirate bad–ass extraordinaire. That would have to do.

Right now, he was the captain of this little runabout. The way the rest looked at him right now left no doubt.

Time to make the best of it.

“Afia,” he said, turning the vitriol in his voice down to normal conversation levels. “Could you take charge of making us some coffee? There’s time before the next act.”

“Coming up, sir,” she said quietly.

It would be good coffee. Afia liked it dark, the same he did, especially on a day like this. The others could add cream or something to cut the bitterness down to levels tolerable for mere mortals. He wanted something monumental. This was a day for grand gestures.

Like stealing a prisoner out from under Tamaz’s thumb.

Le Beau Geste
.

“Contact,” Piet said suddenly as a chime sounded on the console. “Looks like
Salekhard
has finally managed to detach from the station and is slowly accelerating out after us. He has weapon’s lock, but won’t be in range anytime soon.”

“He had to behave,” Navarre responded. “We could leave the place like bank robbers.”

“Not complaining, sir,” Piet replied. “Way happier here than there. I’ve got sensors and comm covered for now.”

Navarre was pretty sure that this might be the most words the normally–quiet Piet Alferdinck had ever spoken to him in one setting.

“Tamaz saying anything interesting?” Navarre asked quietly.

The mad energy was beginning to ebb. The tide of the day had pooled, turned, threatened to run out of the harbor dragging him with it.