The Thirteenth Man (34 page)

Zsutaka snarled, “Is this a double cross?”

“No,” Dieter shouted. “That's one of my enemies coming in.”

“Then tell your corvette to hold her position.”

Dieter complied, then pleaded, “But we all have to get out of here. That warship has my corvette badly outgunned, and they're not going to be friendly to either of us.”

Delilah grinned, though the side of her face had begun to swell and it was a bit lopsided. He wanted to hit her again, but that would have to wait.

“All right,” Dieter said, waving a hand at the open airlock. “Get out. Get out. We're both on our own.”

Zsutaka and his spacers backed carefully out through the airlock, and they lost more time separating the two shuttles' airlocks without damaging the seals.

As the shuttle pilot firewalled its engines, Dieter ordered the corvette to come in and pick them up, and no doubt Zsutaka was ordering his freighter to do the same. Dieter ordered the corvette to fire upon the freighter and its shuttle; Zsutaka and his crew were scum anyway. The freighter fired back with what little firepower it possessed. The shuttle pilot took evasive action, costing them even more time.

“D
own-­transition.”

Charlie closed his eyes and waited, listening to the bridge chatter.

“We're clear, drones out.”

There was a delay as the drones gathered and fed them scan data.

“Captain, I've got a small de Satarna corvette off the starboard bow, ranging at one million kilometers, apparently rendezvousing with and picking up a shuttle. There's also an unidentified freighter off the port bow, same range and apparently rendezvousing with and picking up another shuttle. And they're firing on each other.”

Matula said, “Targeting solutions on both. I want shots across both bows soonest, and remind those gun batteries the princess is out there somewhere, so we don't start shooting anything until we know where she is.”

“Targeting solutions set, sir.”

“Fire.”

The destroyer's hull thrummed as her main transition batteries slammed shells into transition.

“Com, broadcast a message to both to cease fire, or we get serious. And tell them to stand down and prepare to be boarded. And if they try to run, we shoot to kill.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Things calmed down at that point and the shooting stopped.

The captain of the corvette said he didn't know anything about Delilah. It took some convincing, but the captain of the freighter admitted transporting Delilah, and delivering her to Dieter. “But we didn't know she was being held against her will,” Zsutaka said. That was probably a lie, but the main thing was that she wasn't on his ship either.

At that point Charlie personally took over and spoke directly with the corvette's captain. He never got the man's name, but the captain was clearly scared. “You do know that Nadama is dead, the de Satarna forces are withdrawing, and Goutain's remaining forces are heavily outnumbered, correct?”

The man said, “I do. And we'd like to withdraw under the same terms.”

Charlie smiled, but it was purposefully an unpleasant one. “I wouldn't have a problem with that, except you're in possession of the person of Her Royal Highness, Delilah, being held against her will, which is a hanging offense.”

“Not us,” the man said frantically. “Not me and my crew. We're merely transporting Lord Dieter. It's he who kidnapped her.”

“And you aided and abetted him.”

“No. No. We didn't know what he was coming after.”

“Then turn the two of them over to me.”

The man thought about it for several seconds, his eyes blinking fearfully. Charlie let him have the time necessary to realize he had no choice. He finally nodded and said, “Okay—­” But before he could say more Dieter's image appeared next to his. He stood behind a console in the cramped confines of a shuttle cabin. Del stood in front of him, held there by his left hand gripped in her hair pulling her head back and exposing her throat. His right hand held a knife beneath her chin. Her left eye was badly swollen, a nasty bruise forming around a jagged cut high on her cheek, a trickle of blood inching its way down her face. She looked more angry than scared. “Come and get her yourself, de Lunis,” Dieter said, grinning, “or she dies.”

 

CHAPTER 33

MANO-­A-­MANO, SORT OF

T
he corvette had a small ser­vice bay for its shuttle, but it wouldn't accommodate the destroyer's gunboat, and in any case Dieter was holed up there with Delilah. So they mated the gunboat's airlock to a personnel hatch on the side of the corvette. Matula's executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Jackosa, boarded the corvette first, accompanied by twenty armed marines in light body armor. They insisted that Charlie remain behind in the gunboat with the twins until Jackosa had secured the corvette. No sense giving some fool the chance to become a dead hero by killing the de Lunis.

While Charlie waited he monitored the reports on the battle still raging a half light-­year away. The de Satarna forces had withdrawn completely, leaving Goutain and the Syndonese to face overwhelming odds, which had quickly turned into a rout. The Syndonese forces ran, and Charlie gave orders to pursue them until they reached Syndon.

When they got the all-­clear from Jackosa, Add and Ell boarded the corvette and led Charlie through the ship past de Satarna crewmen who wouldn't meet his eyes. The last vestiges of the anesthesia had worn off and the pain in Charlie's side had become a nagging reminder that he was only hours out of surgery. They'd pumped him full of accelerated healing drugs, which meant that in another day or so he'd be as good as new, but not today. Add and Ell led him directly to a hatch leading to the shuttle ser­vice bay, where the corvette's captain waited flanked by two of Charlie's marines.

“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing his head and averting his eyes. “As the heir to the de Satarna ducal seat, Lord Dieter has access codes on this ship that not even I can override. He's locked himself alone with Princess Delilah in the ser­vice bay. He says he'll open this one hatch briefly, but if anyone but you comes through it, or if we don't allow it to shut behind you, she dies.”

There was some heated discussion between Add, Ell, and the marines about how they might storm the ser­vice bay, since of course it was unthinkable that Charlie would go in there alone, even for the princess. As they argued, Charlie thought about the POW camps and the chain. He knew it was an irrational thought, but he'd always felt that he'd let three thousand men die on that chain, that somehow he'd let them down. And while Add and Ell and the marines were confident that Dieter was bluffing, they didn't know Dieter like Charlie knew Dieter. No, he wasn't going to let Del down too.

“Enough,” Charlie said. “I'm going in. That's the end of it.”

Ell spoke in an icy tone, “Absolutely not. You can't—­”

Charlie cut her off. “The decision's made. It's done.”

“I won't let you.” She stepped in front of the hatch and stood there facing him, fists on her hips. “You'll have to go through me.”

Add calmly approached her, put a hand on Ell's shoulder, and said, “It's time we trust that little brother has learned his lessons well.”

Ell looked dumbfounded; Add, always the critical one, and never satisfied with either of them. Add continued, “Sister, I always knew that one day he'd have to kill this Dieter, and that day has come. But he doesn't have to go in there unprepared or unarmed.” Her lips curled upward in a very menacing grin.

Add and Ell both retrieved knives from various places on their own bodies, planted one in each of Charlie's boots, one up his left sleeve. Ell then rifled through a medic's kit, retrieved an injector and several vials. “I can see in your face the pain is back. This'll fix that.”

She pressed the injector against the side of his throat and pulled the trigger. Mercifully, the pain disappeared. “But any new wounds will hurt, and any exertion will tear open your old wounds, which'll hurt like hell, and you'll start bleeding out. So if you do tear them open, you have to finish it soon after that.”

Add just stood by, nodding her approval. When Ell was finished, she stepped back and looked Charlie up and down. Charlie had a thought and said, “One more thing. Give me a kikker.”

Everyone there looked at him skeptically, but Ell didn't question him, again searched through the medic's kit and found another vial. She loaded it into the injector and shot it into his neck.

As the flood of combat drugs washed through his system, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, had to force his own control over the aggression hypes that made him feel like some sort of super human. To the two of them he said, “As soon as that hatch closes with me on the other side, get a plast torch and start cutting your way in. Either I and Del will be dead and you'll need to cut your way in to kill Dieter, or Dieter'll be dead and you'll need to cut your way in to let us out.”

He turned to the corvette's captain. “I'm ready.”

The man spoke to Dieter through his own implants, and moments later the hatch cycled open with a soft hiss. Charlie pushed it open and peered carefully into the cramped confines of the ser­vice bay. The shuttle filled most of the bay, a squat, ugly shape with only a few meters of space around it, the walls lined with tool cabinets. The large access hatch through which the shuttle had passed was at the far end of the bay. Once Charlie was in the ser­vice bay, Dieter could end it quickly by opening that hatch, venting Charlie to space with he and Delilah protected inside the shuttle. But Charlie wasn't worried about that. Dieter wanted to do this personally. That was Dieter.

Charlie looked right and left, leery of a possible ambush just inside the hatch, stepped through it and allowed it to cycle shut. The bay was silent, the shuttle's airlock wide-­open.

The situation was all wrong. If Dieter just dropped the whole matter, released Del, claimed he was only obeying the orders of his now dead father, the Ten would have no alternative but to let him inherit the de Satarna ducal seat. But provoking this situation, there was only one way this could end: with Dieter dead. The only thing he could hope to gain was to take Charlie with him. Was giving up his own life actually worth that? Charlie feared the de Satarna heir was willing to do exactly that.

I'm dealing with an unstable personality,
he realized,
the most dangerous kind.

He glanced briefly into the shuttle's open airlock, keeping an eye over his shoulder at all times. Dieter and Del weren't there, and as he glanced around the shuttle bay again he heard a feminine grunt and footsteps on the other side of the shuttle, so he started edging his way around it, moving slowly and carefully, alert for an attack. He'd just passed behind the tail section when he heard a rustle of fabric up ahead, another muted grunt and what sounded like a brief struggle. He moved toward the commotion, edging along the curved side of the shuttle. Again the sounds of a struggle, then Del shouted, “He's not alone, Charlie.”

Charlie ducked and dove to one side just as something hit him between the shoulder blades with an excruciating thud, knocking him to the deck. A heavy wrench clattered to the deck beside him, would have killed him if it had hit him in the back of the head. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain high on his back and struggled to climb to his feet, but a hand gripped his hair, lifted him, and slammed him face-­on against the side of the shuttle, his chest and face pressed heavily against it. He heard the sharp, characteristic hum of a power knife, then his attacker yanked his hair and jerked his head back. The fellow placed the paper-­thin blade a hair's breadth from his throat. “You know what this is,” the man said.

Charlie froze. With the cutting edge of the blade enhanced by power, the knife could cut through steel or plast effortlessly. Even a child could cut Charlie in two with no more than the flick of a wrist.

Dieter called, “Don't hurt him too much, Thraka.”

Del growled, “You bastard.”

He heard them struggling, then Dieter and Del stepped into view, Del held in front of him, a knife at her throat.

Holding the power knife at Charlie's throat Thraka searched him thoroughly, found every weapon the twins had given him, and in short order disarmed him completely. Then, holding his left arm in a lock behind his back, Thraka pulled him away from the side of the shuttle and stood him in front of Dieter.

“Well, well,” Dieter said happily. “I always knew I'd have to kill you, de Lunis.”

Del struggled against him. He said, “Don't struggle, my dear betrothed, or I'll have Thraka cut him up slowly, piece by piece.”

Del stopped moving, though there was no fear on her face, just anger and fury.

Dieter's left hand reached in front of her, gripped the neckline of her dress and ripped it downward, tearing it and exposing one of her breasts. She stood rigidly in his embrace as he massaged it clumsily, like an untalented sculptor crudely trying to shape clay. Dieter smiled at Charlie triumphantly, and there was clearly a bit of madness and hysteria in his eyes. “She's mine, you son of a whore, always will be. You'll never touch her. She's all mine, and I'll use her as I see fit.”

Still clutching at her breast with one hand, with the other he lifted the knife high and clubbed her in the side of the head with the hilt. She crumpled to the deck unconscious. He stepped over her and walked toward Charlie saying, “There. We can get to her later.”

As long as Thraka held the power knife at his throat he could do nothing. Behind Dieter, the first hint of a cherry-­red glow formed near the bottom of the hatch he'd come through. He had to stall, give them time to cut their way through. “Give it up, Dieter,” he said. “You haven't done anything yet that can't be undone. Give it up now and you can still inherit the de Satarna ducal seat.”

Dieter looked him up and down scornfully. “You're a sorry excuse for nobility.”

That was ironic, Charlie thought, for he'd have said the same thing about Dieter, but for completely different reasons.

“You're favoring your left side, de Lunis,” Dieter said. He reached out, pulled at Charlie's tunic, and sliced it with a quick slash of his knife, exposing some of the bandage beneath it. “Aha! It appears you've been injured. Now where exactly is it under all these bandages?”

Dieter wanted Charlie to see the blow coming so he took his time curling his fingers into a fist and drawing his arm back. Then he slammed his fist into Charlie's gut. Charlie grunted and doubled over, but Thraka kept him from falling. “Be careful, Thraka,” Dieter said. “Get rid of that power knife. I'd hate to end this too soon by accident.”

The hum of the power knife disappeared. Thraka straightened Charlie up and held both his arms behind his back in a painful lock.

Dieter grinned happily. “Now, I don't think I hit your wound with that one. How about this one?” Again he broadcast the punch as he hit Charlie in the ribs, and again Charlie grunted with pain.

“No, I think I still missed. Maybe this one.”

He drew his fist back slowly, and this time the blow landed right on the newly repaired wound in Charlie's chest, and he screamed in agony, nearly blacked out. “Yes,” Dieter said. “I think I've found it.”

Dieter hit Charlie again in the same spot, and again. At some point he blacked out momentarily, awoke lying on his side on the deck curled into a fetal position, his bandages now soaked with blood. Dieter stood over him, Thraka standing behind him, and behind both Charlie thought he caught a glimpse of movement where Del lay in a heap on the deck.

“Come on, de Lunis,” Dieter said, waving a hand at Charlie impatiently. “Get to your feet. I always knew it would come down to you and me, one-­on-­one, and I expected more of a fight.” He grinned maniacally, his eyes practically devoid of sanity.

Charlie realized that getting to his feet might be more than he could handle. Blood seeped through his bandages, puddling on the deck. He coughed and spit more blood. Slowly he rolled off his side onto his stomach, and caught another glimpse of movement where Del lay on the deck. He had to keep Dieter and Thraka's attention away from her and the airlock.

He took his time, knowing that just before he made it fully upright, Dieter would attack. He lifted himself onto his elbows, then pulled his knees up and struggled to his elbows and knees. He paused there for a moment, buying time, then pushed off his elbows to his hands and knees, and glanced behind them at Del. Her eyes were open, calculating.

He moved slowly and got one foot on the deck, paused there for a moment, his left foot, right hand, and right knee on the deck, his left hand clutching at his side, sticky with blood. He took several shallow breaths, readying himself for the attack, knowing he could probably ignore the pain for one strike, but that would be it. Then, slowly, he began to rise, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Del climbing quietly to her feet.

Dieter came in intending to kick him, but Charlie dropped back to the deck in a spin, struck out with a sweeping kick, and caught Dieter in the side of the knee. Dieter went down howling with pain. Charlie crawled over to him as Thraka stepped in to intervene. But behind Thraka, Del rose up holding the wrench Thraka had thrown at Charlie. It was the length of her arm and she could barely lift it, but she swung it high over her head in a long, arcing blow, and with a grunt slammed it into the top of Thraka's head. The wrench impacted with a sickening, meaty thud. Brains and blood spattered all over Del, Charlie, and Dieter, and Thraka dropped to the deck.

Dieter scrambled to his feet, favoring his left knee, circling Del carefully. Charlie tried to rise, fell back to his hands and knees as the deck swayed dizzily beneath him, and he coughed up more blood. Del tried to defend herself with the wrench, but it was much too heavy for her to wield easily. She swung it once, but Dieter stepped inside her guard and punched her in the face, knocking her to the deck. She landed in a heap on top of Thraka's body. Dieter kicked her viciously and she cried out.

Dieter marched over to Charlie, retrieved his knife from the deck, and hauled Charlie to his feet. “You fucking son of a whore,” he shouted, holding the knife to Charlie's throat, spittle flying into Charlie's face. Charlie was helpless as his head spun crazily and pain hammered at the wound in his chest. He coughed up more blood.