Dark Ice (Mercenaries Book 2) Page 13

  "Your signal is light. Are you calling from that shuttle—”

  "Yes. Bring me back."

  "Why would I want to do that? Last I recall, you're my enemy."

  The man had a point. Phyla definitely had a punch waiting for Gage the next time she saw his face. But there were conditions that superseded her anger. Like imminent death.

  "I met Bakr. In the freighter. He doesn't want to keep you around," Phyla said. "He's insane."

  C'mon, Gage. Let's hope you haven't met the guy. That you're pliable.

  "Bakr has a strong reputation," Gage replied. "The terms we agreed to are favorable to him. Besides, even if I wanted to, this freighter has nothing that could pull you back. Enjoy your flight."

  Phyla almost screamed as Gage cut the communication. Turned back to the console. Think, Phyla. Bakr's weapon would have sent a high charge through the component, probably tripped a fuse. Broke the circuit. Where would that fuse be?

  In an emergency shuttle, there weren't many places to hide things. In the center of the floor, a meter away from her, sat a panel labeled with the universal sign of mechanics, a yellow wrench wrapped in a circle. Two small hinges sat on either side, easy to open. If the shuttle wasn't tumbling in circles. Undoing the straps here wasn't a good idea, but that panel looked like her only shot. Phyla took a breath, finger on the release for the straps, and pressed the button.

  There was no gravity, but the panel moved with the rotation. The outside of the shuttle turned faster than Phyla was, in the middle, so she had to increase her own spin to match the panel's speed. The straps! Phyla's lower straps were hanging there in the shuttle's air. Phyla grabbed them as they blew by and tugged. As soon as the spin caught up, the straps pulled Phyla forward, sped her up to match the shuttle's spin. It was dizzying, but Phyla kept her eyes focused on the panel until it felt like she wasn't moving anymore. Adjusting her grip, Phyla pulled again on the straps, propelling her forward towards the panel.

  "Hello out there!" Phyla's comm crackled. "That you on that shuttle, Phyla?"

  The sudden noise made Phyla twitch, her eyes looking at her comm and nearly missing her contact with the panel, but her hands caught on the raised outside. Then, getting a grip on the hinges, which were built into notches on the floor, Phyla finally focused on her comm.

  "It is. Who's this?"

  "Your favorite fighter jockey," Merc's voice coming through clear. "Flying this hulking boat of a ship. Tell me, Phyla, how can you stand it? The Jumper controls like mushy—”

  “Shut up,” Phyla said. "Are you coming?"

  "Fast as this thing can go," Merc said. "We got a problem though. Looks like you'll hit atmosphere in one minute. We won't reach you for five. By then you'll be too deep for us to follow."

  "Get Trina."

  "Trina?"

  "Do it."

  "You got it," Merc said, clicking off.

  Phyla looked at the hinges, pulled on the top one. The panel swung out. Phyla pulled on the other handled and released her grip. The cover floated out from under Phyla, helped along by push from her hands. Beneath was a big collection of wires, and a small panel blinking that a fuse popped. Problem was, where was the fuse?

  "Trina here."

  "Where's the fuses on an emergency shuttle?"

  "Depends on the model. You have a few different variances, based on the year."

  "Don't care. I opened the mechanical panel. Looking at a bunch of wires and a box telling me the fuse is blown."

  "Oh, that's easy. Just pull back on the screen."

  Phyla reached towards the blinking screen. It pulled up, showing a rack of fuses. One, labeled 'Flight' was popped out. Phyla pressed it back in, shut the box. Looked to her right and saw the shuttle's flight console glowing with life.

  "Trina, you're a genius."

  "Helps when you're right there," Trina replied. "But, uh, captain? You'll want to change your trajectory or you're going to slam into Neptune and explode all over the place."

  "Thanks for the warning," Phyla said, swinging herself back to the flight stick. Plenty of fuel in the tank, seeing as the shuttle had just been using Neptune's gravity up till this point. Phyla tapped on the burners and, first things first, stopped the maddening spin. She felt a slight tug on her legs now, the touch of Neptune's gravity. Meant she was getting to where Neptune's atmosphere would roast the shuttle, where doing any big move would cause friction far above what the shuttle could stand and send the whole thing towards Neptune's core in a meteor shower.

  Pulling up on the stick, Phyla swung the shuttle's viewport towards the stars. Triggering the rockets, Phyla watched the fuel drain as she pushed every ounce of power the shuttle could generate from its engines. Had to stop the descent, then pick up enough speed to bounce off the atmosphere.

  "Lookin' good, Phyla," Merc's voice came from the comm. "Keep doin' what you're doing and you'll be back our way for an easy pick-up."

  The shuttle shook. It was still descending into Neptune's gravity, and right now it would belly flop into the atmosphere. Not good. Fuel was at twenty percent.

  "Not going to make it," Phyla said, continuing to press the burn. "Need you here faster."

  "Can you EVA?" Merc asked.

  "No suit."

  "No suit? The hell you doing, Phyla, getting into an evac shuttle without a suit?"

  "Long story," Phyla said. Ten percent.

  "Trina's telling me there's another way. Keep burning. Save two percent of what you got."

  That wouldn't be hard. Five percent left and the shuttle was still falling too fast. Phyla let the burn go for another couple of seconds and then cut the engines. Console still had her dropping towards Neptune, even if, out of the window, the only thing Phyla saw was space. Trapped between two environments that would wipe her from existence in a few seconds. Out of fuel. Depending on a fighter pilot trying to get a freighter in atmosphere it wasn't meant to handle. Davin would definitely freak out right now.

  "What's the plan?" Phyla said after a few seconds of silence. "Or did you forget about me?"

  "Phyla?" Trina's voice came over the comm. "I need you to do exactly what I say."

  "In your hands."

  "Tap the red box on the right side of the console screen."

  "The one labeled 'Emergency'?"

  "That one."

  "OK, I've got a few options here."

  "Is there one for fuel dump?" Trina's voice said she knew there was, and more, exactly where it was on the screen.

  "I don't have much fuel to dump," Phyla said.

  "It'll be enough. On three, you're going to hit the button. It'll open your fuel tanks. We'll shoot them, and you'll blow up."

  "Say again?"

  "Upwards. Away from Neptune, sorry. The shuttles can handle a lot of violence before they'll leak. It should kick you up far enough for us to grab you," Trina said, as though describing to Phyla the principles of simple math. "Three."

  "Not a fan of this one, Trina."

  "Two."

  Phyla steadied her finger over the button, stared straight ahead out at those twinkling stars. If she would be incinerated then damn it, she would appreciate the view one last time.

  "One."

  The shuttle made a shunting noise, a clunk as the fuel tanks opened. And then Phyla flew back, crashed against the back wall of the shuttle as everything flew forward with too much force. Some part of her, several parts, cracked on impact. Phyla tried to yell, scream anything but the air would not come through her lungs. Her mouth stretched back, vision blurred, everything in various states of pain or numb shock. She was going to die.

  Only the shuttle's viewport didn't show the stars anymore. Or at least, not all of them. A large shape blotted out the view, getting closer by the second. The pressure dropped as the acceleration fell away, and Phyla floated off of the wall, again in near zero gravity. The shuttle's console was flashing and beeping at her, declaring all sorts of impending hell if Phyla didn't get herself out soon.

  "Yo
u still alive in there?" Merc asked over the comm. "Cause that looked rough."

  "Here," Phyla whispered, lungs still grabbing at any air they could hold.

  "There we go!" Merc said. "Get ready, cause you're comin' home."

  The Jumper filled the viewport, and Phyla saw the ship turn, angle its docking bay towards her shuttle. Phyla did not know how fast the shuttle was moving, but if it hit too hard, it would thrash the Jumper. Ruin the ship. Phyla crawled, moving her sore arms and legs to grind her way to the front.

  "Merc, you have to deploy the webbing," Phyla said. "I'm going too fast."

  "Yeah, that was the plan. Only now that I'm looking around, I don't know how to do it from here."

  "The only trigger is in the bay, and if someone doesn't pull it, we're all dead!" Phyla said, the Jumper blotting out the last of the stars in the shuttle's sky.

  37

  Dodge Kick

  Alpha's first hit caught Opal on her left arm as she moved it in front of the punch. The second one was a low left. Trapped against the shuttle, Opal took the shot to her stomach. Another right to her face and again Opal caught it with her arm. Pain blossomed along her wrist, up towards her elbow. One or two more and she wouldn't be able to get her arm up in time.

  "Ya know, I don't feel bad about this," Alpha said, then switched tactics and delivered a kick to Opal's right side. The blow pushed her over near the crack in the shuttle. Her back half against the opening.

  "Hitting a woman?"

  "See, that's it. You're not a woman. You're just an enemy," Alpha replied, then leaned in with another right.

  Opal didn't raise her arm this time, instead jerking her head to the side. Alpha's swing carried through the space where Opal's arm would have been, carried through the space where her head had been, and flew on into the empty space splitting the shuttle halves. Following his punch, Alpha overbalanced, leaning forward and reaching out with his left hand to catch himself. Opal rolled onto her side and kicked with her right leg, hitting Alpha in the knee. Without his hand supporting him on that side, Alpha's leg bent and the man fell over. Opal jumped on him.

  "You're right," Opal said. "I'm just an enemy."

  Pressing Alpha's back into the floor, Opal used the leverage to pop herself back upright. Again with her right leg, Opal delivered a quick kick to Alpha's head, the man grunted and fell limp. Two unconscious hijackers. Opal glanced around. Not a lot of options here. She could raise the bay again, shove them out through the magnetic shield. Opal looked at the prone bodies and shook her head. Even if she could move them in their outfits the whole way . . . no. There were enough bodies in her past, didn't need to add any more.

  Beta, still out from the shotgun beating, had a sidearm. Opal grabbed the gun, noted it was already on the stun setting. Taking off their helmets, which felt more like full-cloth masks, Opal shot both of them. Should keep them out for hours. Long enough to either take the Karat back or die trying.

  Puk was a fried mess. Opal picked up the dented bot and saw nothing. No spark, no sound of any activity. The bot's body didn't look entirely worthless, though. Viola probably had a back-up, could restore Puk once they got back to the Jumper. But there wasn't any room to carry the body with her now, so Opal dropped Puk's shell near the hallway door. Shotgun in one hand, sidearm slotted into a waist holster, Opal wandered down the hallway.

  Using the comm might've been a good idea, but that would've meant talking. Would've meant giving herself away, just like Beta and Alpha did earlier. So Opal stayed silent, slipping around the corner and looking at the broken up elevator. Aside from the Karat's running noise, a steady hum punctuated by occasional clanks and shudders whenever the ship executed a shift, there wasn't a sound. Opal crept closer to the elevator, setting her feet heel to toe to kill the noise of a normal footfall. Nobody jumped out, nobody fired a gun, nobody threatened.

  Looking down in the elevator, Opal saw a ladder, circular rungs clinging to the side of the shaft, which was lit by the same pattern of in-wall lights illuminating the hallway behind her. It wouldn't be hard to drop through the hole, climb down the ladder and see what was waiting for her. Doing that would make her vulnerable, though. The shotgun would have to go over the shoulder, while the sidearm, in a holster on her waist, would be difficult to draw with her arms on the rungs.

  A smart ambush would wait until she was on the ladder, an easy target.

  Only, what choice did she have? Opal swung the shotgun over her shoulder and slipped her feet through the hole. Angling them over, her feet found the rungs. Then, left hand gripping the base of the elevator, Opal dropped through. Immediately, her arm pulsed in pain, Alpha's punches causing Opal's grip to slip. She stepped one leg to the next rung, then the other. Just one more and Opal would be able to grab on with her right. C'mon. Left leg down another rung. Right leg. Opal leaned to grab a rung, left arm holding the base of the elevator and aching like it was going to pull itself apart. The shotgun, looped over her shoulder, slid as she leaned.

  Unbalanced. The strap caught on her right wrist. Opal's left hand slipped, her right not yet gripped. Had to lose the weight. Opal moved her right hand as she slipped off of the ladder and the shotgun and strap fell. Snapping her lightened hand back, Opal steadied herself on the ladder. The shotgun bounced from rung to rung, landing on the lower floor with a ringing bang that ran up the shaft.

  Who needed surprise anyway?

  Opal jumped her way down the ladder, holding the outside of the frame and moving multiple rungs at a time. Had to move fast, because if someone came to investigate, there wasn't going to be any chance of her fighting back. The elevator shaft wasn't large, the Karat not being a huge ship and the main point of this elevator being to move people up to the bay loading area. Opal hit the base of the shaft a few moments later, still alone. It would've made more sense to ambush her on the ladder, so she probably had a few moments to breathe. If they weren't covering the only route deeper into the ship, these people were either very trusting in their comrades or not well-versed in common sense tactics.

  Down the hallway from the shaft, Opal passed a series of crew rooms. Decked out in plain beds, with smatterings of person stuff here and there, barely enough space to lie down. One small locker for belongings. The Karat wasn't built for long journeys, then. You'd have a bunch of people going crazy with this little room to themselves for so long.

  After the crew chambers, the hallway angled towards a wider space. Conversation came filtering up out of there, so Opal slowed. Listened.

  "So what do you want us to do with the guy?" Someone up ahead said, sounding tired. "He's got no value? You sure?"

  A pause. Opal creeped on, sticking to the side of the hallway, up to a doorway. The cafeteria blew out into a space with a pair of long tables, chairs, and a back wall full of storage space for the standard bland meal packets small ships held for flights. Along one wall, an altered reality screen flickered between scenes of Earth. Opal could see the edge of a mountain vista, but her eyes were drawn to the center. Tied to a chair was Mox, head up and glaring. One of the hijackers stood near him, a small assault rifle pointed at their captive. The other one, the speaker, stood staring at Mox with his back turned to Opal. Nobody saw her yet.

  "Consider it done. We'll hold the ship until you're ready for us to come up," the speaker said, lowered the comm and turned to the other one. "Shoot him."

  38

  Blue Gold

  The ice diamonds were azure waves crashing together in single stones. Blue and white flowing around each other in mesmerizing tangles, pressurized deep in Neptune's core. Miniature worlds all their own. Viola stared at the piles of them, grouped in large bins in the otherwise gray and featureless Karat cargo hold. Beyond the blue glow of the diamonds, scattered halo lights illuminated the hold with pale, frosty light.

  "Now it makes sense," Davin said. "There's what, a few thousand in here? For all of humanity? These things are going to be so expensive."

  "I want one," Viola said.
<
br />   "I'm sure Eden will give you a discount if we get their shipment back intact."

  "You think so?"

  "Stay focused, Viola."

  True. They didn't have control of the ship just yet. Viola tore her eyes away from the diamonds and moved to the cargo hold exit. Behind her, the intakes poured out into a pair of empty bins, with narrow walkways running between them. Just enough to squeeze by, shift the deposit around and move the next bin along. It looked like, when the Karat was ready to unload, the crew could reverse the intakes. Suck the diamonds out and spit them into a waiting buyer's hands.

  The exit opened into another corridor, the same slat gray with embedded lamps that Viola was becoming too familiar with. After this, she'd go back to her father at Galaxy Forge and demand they never make another ship with the bland hallways again. Paint them a different color, shift the lights around. Add artwork or etched design. Anything to keep the soul-crushing sense of industrial efficiency at bay.

  The two of them made their way out, stopping when the corridor dead-ended in front of an elevator.

  "So we went all the way around the ship to wind up at another elevator?" Davin said.

  "I didn't promise it would work," Viola replied. "But I bet they won't be expecting us to pop out of this one."

  "Not like we have a choice anyway."

  Davin pressed the button and twenty seconds later the doors popped open. Viola had been tensed, ready to dive forward, or run if there was a mess of gunmen hanging out behind those doors, but an empty elevator sat in front of them.

  "Shall we?" Davin said, waving Viola forward.

  The elevator had one option - Main level. Davin gave Viola a glance, then pushed the button. Only sidearms, and they were going right towards a group of people who didn't hesitate to use a giant mining laser to disintegrate them. Viola breathed faster, her arms and legs tightening up. Outgunned, again.