ship and surrender the Agmoiria, or you will find yourself blasted into a million bits without me losing a second of sleep. You have one minute to comply.” The transmission ends.
M'anu makes a sound of deep, dark irritation. Can't say that I blame him. We don't have a choice though, and the next thing I know we are making our way through a gangplank that reminds me of the boarding decks used at airports. The only thing between us and space is a giant suction cup affixed to our ship. At least it's not a transparent tube. I don't think I could have handled walking across “nothingness”.
The door on the other ship slides open. We're in another hangar, a lot bigger than the one we just left. M'anu keeps his blaster at his side and I follow his lead, standing at his right and just slightly behind him. Above us, hanging onto rails of an upper deck, is a row of the ugliest looking cutthroats I have seen in a long time.
And that is a hell of a number of guns pointed our way.
The guy in the middle, an older man with gray hair (and a serious resemblance to all the actors in black and white pirate movies I used to watch) lifts his brows in surprise. “Well well,” he says. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
I frown. He's not talking to me.
xxxxx
“ M'anu,” Zarek greets with a nod of his head.
I return the gesture. We have worked well together in the past. There is a slim—almost nonexistent—chance that he will take our professional relationship into account.
He doesn't holster his weapon.
Neither do I.
“ I should have known you would be the one to get to the Agmoiria first.”
I widen my stance. “Yes, you should have.”
“ This might make our future dealings a little awkward,” he muses.
“ Then you don't intend to stand down.” It's not a surprise.
He shrugs. “Well, thirty million is a little hard to pass up.”
“ Thirty million ?” the Agmoiria shrieks loud enough to make my ear ring. “The president doesn't even make that much!”
My head whips around and I snap my teeth at her in warning. Has she no idea how much of her identity she's given away?
She jumps at my aggressive display before she can catch herself, but the white flash of surprise quickly gives way to annoyance. “Oh, fuck this.” Suddenly she primes her laser pistol and aims it right at Zarek's head. “You've got two choices, dude. Stay and be blasted or go and live another day. And just so you know, I'm trigger happy.”
Zarek eyes the gun and grins. “So am I.”
He fires.
I know before his pistol comes up what's going to happen—I've been in too many firefights on Zarek's side not to know the signs. He won't risk killing the target, but he will have no compunction about burning a few holes in her first.
I push the Agmoiria on the shoulder a millisecond before the blast. My strength sends her flying sideways and crashing into the metal siding of a shuttle with a substantial clang. Pain lances through my arm. The smell of burning flesh and synthetic materiel fills the air an instant later, but I've already raised my weapon and returned fire while I bend and pull my dagger from my boot. It's long and wicked, the blade designed to claw at flesh going in and out, maximizing the level of damage exponentially. It was my coming of age gift, and it fits into my palm as easily as a extra limb. I let it fly.
Zarek ducks, the lucky zimtam , and the knife buries itself in his comrade's chest with a squish and a squeal. I roar, the challenge echoing off the walls with raw power.
People freeze, but not Zarek. He dashes forward, still firing from his higher position. I run to meet him in the middle, my speed faster than many can see, my blood pumping with the thought of the battle. This is what I am built for. This is the reason for which I am intended.
Carnage.
The call of war thrums through my system like a siren's drum. I hear the sound of blaster fire in the distance, my concentration reserved for more
M'anu makes a sound of deep, dark irritation. Can't say that I blame him. We don't have a choice though, and the next thing I know we are making our way through a gangplank that reminds me of the boarding decks used at airports. The only thing between us and space is a giant suction cup affixed to our ship. At least it's not a transparent tube. I don't think I could have handled walking across “nothingness”.
The door on the other ship slides open. We're in another hangar, a lot bigger than the one we just left. M'anu keeps his blaster at his side and I follow his lead, standing at his right and just slightly behind him. Above us, hanging onto rails of an upper deck, is a row of the ugliest looking cutthroats I have seen in a long time.
And that is a hell of a number of guns pointed our way.
The guy in the middle, an older man with gray hair (and a serious resemblance to all the actors in black and white pirate movies I used to watch) lifts his brows in surprise. “Well well,” he says. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
I frown. He's not talking to me.
xxxxx
“ M'anu,” Zarek greets with a nod of his head.
I return the gesture. We have worked well together in the past. There is a slim—almost nonexistent—chance that he will take our professional relationship into account.
He doesn't holster his weapon.
Neither do I.
“ I should have known you would be the one to get to the Agmoiria first.”
I widen my stance. “Yes, you should have.”
“ This might make our future dealings a little awkward,” he muses.
“ Then you don't intend to stand down.” It's not a surprise.
He shrugs. “Well, thirty million is a little hard to pass up.”
“ Thirty million ?” the Agmoiria shrieks loud enough to make my ear ring. “The president doesn't even make that much!”
My head whips around and I snap my teeth at her in warning. Has she no idea how much of her identity she's given away?
She jumps at my aggressive display before she can catch herself, but the white flash of surprise quickly gives way to annoyance. “Oh, fuck this.” Suddenly she primes her laser pistol and aims it right at Zarek's head. “You've got two choices, dude. Stay and be blasted or go and live another day. And just so you know, I'm trigger happy.”
Zarek eyes the gun and grins. “So am I.”
He fires.
I know before his pistol comes up what's going to happen—I've been in too many firefights on Zarek's side not to know the signs. He won't risk killing the target, but he will have no compunction about burning a few holes in her first.
I push the Agmoiria on the shoulder a millisecond before the blast. My strength sends her flying sideways and crashing into the metal siding of a shuttle with a substantial clang. Pain lances through my arm. The smell of burning flesh and synthetic materiel fills the air an instant later, but I've already raised my weapon and returned fire while I bend and pull my dagger from my boot. It's long and wicked, the blade designed to claw at flesh going in and out, maximizing the level of damage exponentially. It was my coming of age gift, and it fits into my palm as easily as a extra limb. I let it fly.
Zarek ducks, the lucky zimtam , and the knife buries itself in his comrade's chest with a squish and a squeal. I roar, the challenge echoing off the walls with raw power.
People freeze, but not Zarek. He dashes forward, still firing from his higher position. I run to meet him in the middle, my speed faster than many can see, my blood pumping with the thought of the battle. This is what I am built for. This is the reason for which I am intended.
Carnage.
The call of war thrums through my system like a siren's drum. I hear the sound of blaster fire in the distance, my concentration reserved for more
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