Wild Nines (Mercenaries Book 1) Page 9

  “The next few minutes is Erick and Trina playing cat and mouse with them,” Phyla said. “His mouth keeps moving, like he’s trying to reach us over his comm, but they had at least one localized jammer.”

  “I don’t understand why they’d be doing this?” Viola said.

  “That’s the million coin question,” Phyla replied.

  Phyla reached over and swiped forward. Now Erick and Trina,still motionless, were in the left engine room. Erick stashed Trina in a corner, then took up a covered position next to the room’s entrance. For a bit there was nothing, only Erick staring down the hallway. Then something made him jump, and Erick looked back at Trina, closed his eyes for a breath, then leaned around the corner and fired. Erick kept shooting, targeted and steady, until the gun flashed a red laser, a marker that there was only one more shot left.

  Erick took another look back at Trina, aimed the gun at her, then shook his head. Pointed the weapon back off screen.

  “He thought they’d kill them both, or do something worse,” Phyla said. “I can’t even imagine feeling that hopeless.”

  Erick fired the last shot. A chorus of replies blasted at the doctor, who ducked away from the lasers. Then a few troopers ran into the room, grabbing Erick and throwing him against the engine housing. When Erick tried to throw a punch, one of the troopers whipped out a knife and slashed Erick along his stomach. Phyla paused the video there, then wiped it from the cockpit display.

  “You don’t need to see the rest,” Phyla said.

  “So they took Trina, but left Erick?”

  “Maybe they thought he would die anyway. So they compromised our ship. All while we were out at the bar, helping you.”

  “Wait, this wasn’t -”

  “I know it’s not your fault,” Phyla said, looking away. “But we should have been here helping them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  A speaker on the left console crackled. Davin’s voice came over, telling everyone to come to the cargo hold.

  “We’re going to get our friends back,”

  20

  Rescue Mission

  Opal sat on the bench, sipping coffee and watching the morning shifters heading into their stores, offices, wherever. Across the boulevard was the one place Eden Prime built to house any offenders it couldn’t immediately banish. Ten cells, laser-locked and arranged in a circle. A lot of effort for drunks that needed sobering up. Getting here was too expensive to risk doing something stupid enough to get exiled. A trooper stood in front, holstered gun visible, though the man spent most of his time staring at his comm.

  “You think that’s where they took Trina and Cadge?” Davin’s voice came over her comm.

  “I’m going to get a better angle now, see if I can spot their heat signatures,” Opal said.

  The prison jutted out from the wall of Eden Prime, stretching to the center of the boulevard that ran the course of the station. The outside walls looked three stories high. Automated security meant nothing so old-fashioned as guard towers stood on the ramparts.

  Above the front door sat a row of windows looking in at the prison’s command center. Tinted, the windows prevented anyone from seeing what was happening inside, but gave a clear view out. A problem for most would-be spies. Opal, however, preferred to play with the less visible spectra.

  With a twist on the left lens of the goggles sitting on her face, Opal tweaked the view to capture infrared rays only. To save on heating costs, Eden Prime built the ventilation to leak into the boulevard,filtering out towards air scrubbers in the ceiling and floors. The prison leaked plenty of heat straight towards Opal, and the two bodies working consoles in the prison command center stood out in red. The hallways behind, where the cells sat, were murkier. Body heat blended with other sources to make a hazy picture.

  “Can’t tell for sure,” Opal said. “If I had to hunch it, though, I’d say they aren’t creative enough to put her anywhere else.”

  “Calling for a break-in on a hunch isn’t exactly my favorite thing,” Davin replied.

  “No time for anything else,” Opal said. “Make the call, captain.”

  Opal braced for a snap back. A reprimand. Attempting to order a captain on Mars with that tone would’ve had her getting crap assignments for a week. Possibly worse.

  “Have to roll the dice sometimes. Get set on the entrance,” Davin commed. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “On it, boss,” Opal said. This wasn’t Mars. Remember that. Now get in position.

  Not that there were great sniping options in the open boulevard. The closed store behind Opal had a second story and a few windows. Perfect, if only she could get in. The one window on the first floor peered into a blank interior, everything of value removed to pay the owner’s debts. Still, Opal figured the window tied into the station’s alarm network. A smash and she’d have troopers swarming her within a couple of minutes. The door, however…

  Opal stood and went to the door. The flat metal sheet had a red light on the right. Key card access, programmed to allow the new owners in and nobody else. Thing was, the Wild Nines had cards that gave them emergency access anywhere. Necessary if they were policing the whole station. Opal still had hers. Maybe they hadn't been deactivated yet.

  “Can I help you?” said a man’s voice behind Opal. “This store's closed, and I noticed you’ve been out here for a while.”

  “Sorry, I used to come here. I was trying to figure out why it was shut down,” Opal said.

  “Sure. I scanned you, and it looks like you have quite the weapon in your pack. Want to talk about that?” The voice said.

  Opal stared at the trooper. “No, I don’t think I do.”

  “Too bad,” the trooper said. “Cause I’m going to have to confiscate it. Not allowed on Eden Prime, you know.”

  “That’s Eden for you. Always changing their rules,” Opal said, slinging her pack off of her back. “Can I get it back when I leave?”

  “I’ll submit it to holding. When you leave Europa, you can go ask for it from them at the entrance to the bays. You don’t cause any problems, they’ll give it to you,” the trooper said, keeping one hand on his sidearm.

  The trooper wasn't accosting her, the guy was only doing his job. Which made the next part tougher. But random chance had no mercy. Taking out the jumble of parts that made up her rifle, Opal handed the armful to the trooper, who took it.

  “Oh, you’ll want to be careful with this part.” Opal said, reaching towards the guard and pressing the rifle’s magnetic assembly button. The charge kicked and the parts slotted together, matching their precise strengths, and pinching the guards fingers, and arms in between pieces.

  The trooper screamed and shook his hands out of the rifle, which finished snapping together, just in time for Opal’s kick to land in the trooper’s chest. The guard fell backward to the ground, groaning, and Opal reached for the rifle. As her hand came close, a bolt screamed from the prison and glanced off of the floor in front of her.

  Screams rang out along the boulevard as people ran away for cover. Opal dove, rolling behind the bench and sneaking a look at the prison. The tint across the windows had changed color, a filter to let the lasers through. Behind it, at least two more silhouettes aimed at her.

  “Captain, about that help,” Opal said into the comm, her eyes tracking to the rifle, sitting meters away, out of reach.

  “Yeah?” Davin’s voice.

  “I'll take it now.”

  21

  Outnumbered

  The guards didn’t bother shooting at Opal behind the bench. Not that the metal was much protection, but the troopers were probably waiting for their friends to flank her. Opal could see the one she’d kicked climbing back to his knees, favoring his hands.

  Opal reached into her waistband, along her inner thigh to where, wrapped around, was a beam knife. Her fingers flipped the tiny latch and the band curled around itself, rolling into a small cylinder and clicking together in her waiting hand. The knife e
mitted a small, direct laser a few inches out in front. Good for poking an eye out, or severing ties.

  “Davin,” Opal said into the comm. “Where are you?”

  “On our way,”

  “I have a little knife, and a bunch of troopers with guns coming. I wasn’t planning to die today.”

  “You won’t,” Davin replied.

  She’d hold him to that. The front door to the prison opened with the audible whoosh of air moving from one spot to the next. Opal peeked through the gaps in the bench, saw four troopers running towards her, and took a deep breath. They’d be on her in a three-count. Opal watched the shadows on the closed store, broadcast there from the prison’s bright lights.

  One. The tops of the trooper’s heads appeared, rising up the wall like ghosts. The sound of their boots hitting the floor of the boulevard was audible, a mismatched pattering of thumps.

  Two. Beneath the noise, Opal thought she could hear them talking to each other. The shadows split, a pair to either side of the bench. Close now. Opal tensed her legs, shifted her feet to give maximum lift. A single chance at surprise.

  Three.

  The first guard sliced by Opal’s beam knife in his hands yelled and backed away. The other three paused, keeping a meter of distance between them and Opal, who stayed at a crouch behind the bench.

  “It’s just a knife,” one of the troopers said. “Stun her.”

  As though flipping a switch, the troopers seemed to remember that they had that setting on their guns. Opal, watching the shadows, saw the trooper behind her slip the gun from his holster. In a single motion, Opal turned and swung her right arm around, letting go of the knife just as her arm passed the apex of her swing. The beam blade turned in the air for second, before bouncing off the trooper’s face, hilt-first.

  “Crap,” Opal said as the trooper guard rubbed his face, looking confused.

  Opal felt the arms of the other two guards grab and pull her to the ground. The binders went on, clasping around her wrists and dialing to a tightness that prevented movement but still allowed circulation. One trooper pressed her face hard into the floor, the icy metal biting up through her cheek and into her teeth. And then the pressure vanished as the trooper pulled Opal to her feet, turned her around to face him

  “I think I recognize you,” the trooper said. “You’re one of the Wild Nines, right?”

  Opal said nothing, stared at his face. Breathe. Ignore her racing heart and pumping adrenaline. Stay calm.

  “Hope you called your friends,” then trooper continued, a loopy smile crawling on his face. “Sooner we nab all of you, sooner we can stop trying so hard.”

  “You’re in way over your head,” Opal said to the guy pushing her.

  “Says the one in cuffs,” the trooper retorted.

  Opal’s comm buzzed, a single clicking noise.

  “Not for long,” Opal muttered.

  22

  Dashing

  Merc saw the bright lights of the prison flooding into the boulevard and, as he ran, pulled a pair of small discs with rubber caps in the center from clasps on his belt. With a press of the button in the center of each one, Merc primed the discs. Electric current running through and building up energy in the center of each one.

  As Merc continued around the curve, the scene came into view. Five troopers, one a meter away from the prison door with Opal in tow. The other four standing around, watching, weapons holstered, at ease. Hope they liked surprises.

  Still in stride, Merc side-armed the two discs, releasing the button as he threw. The discs bounced and slid along the ground towards the four troopers. A hot second after that, as the troopers were looking at them, the grounding rubber on the discs retracted and lightning struck.

  Charged bolts of electricity leapt from the discs at the troopers, arcing through the air and into their guns, their hands, any possible conductor to try to reach the ground. Lightning struck the four troopers in milliseconds, overloading their nerves and causing them to collapse, twitching, to the ground.

  The trooper holding Opal stared, open-mouthed, at his companions, and kept his mouth open as Opal elbowed him in the stomach, then turned, sweeping low with her leg, and tripped him. He hit the ground hard and didn’t bother trying to get up. Merc caught up to his discs, their currents discharged and sitting inert on the ground. The surrounding troopers were moaning, eyes closed and curled up, nerves still twitching. If the residual shocks worked as advertised, these guys should be out for the next thirty minutes or more.

  “Am I awesome?” Merc said, grabbing the discs. “Cause I think I’m pretty awesome.”

  The laser from the prison window caught Merc full in the chest. The burning sensation of the blast hit and spread through his body, fire crawling over kindling. Nerves roasted. His arms and legs went numb. Merc fell to his knees, trying to put himself back together.

  There were things he should be doing. Should get up, cut Opal from those cuffs, should get the second disc and then break into the prison. Save Trina. Oh man, Opal would be so pissed he’d been shot. Always telling him not to show off. Reminding him every second that fighter pilots didn’t know how things worked in the trenches. That training was nothing compared to the real thing. Guess she was right.

  Opal was right next to him now. Merc looked at her, and realized he was on his side. When did that happen? Tried to ask Opal how bad it was. Couldn’t tell if his mouth was moving. Things were starting to hurt now, twinges of pain coming in from all corners. Just, everywhere. Opal was pulling him behind a bench now. Another laser flashed nearby.

  “Sorry,” Merc said, or thought he did. It was too hard to tell.

  23

  Assault Tactics

  This was why Davin didn’t want heroes on his crew. Get themselves shot and ruin it for everybody. If Merc wasn’t so damn good in a Viper . . .

  Davin and Mox moved along the outside of the prison building, working their way to the front door. It came out from the side of Eden Prime like a bulge, the curved wall slick and polished Europa rock. A few cameras dotted the two-story top, black eyes peeking out. No windows, save the big one in front. Cheaper to put screens inside than drill holes in the structure. A normal morning, the shops around the prison would already crawl with perusers. Laser-fire had a way of keeping things clear.

  Across the boulevard, Opal had Merc cowering behind a bench. Shots lanced out from above the door every few seconds when a trooper thought they had a shot . The cameras would show Davin and Mox coming along beneath, give the troopers time to prepare for a frontal assault. One that wasn't coming.

  “Let’s say hi,” Davin said.

  Mox, without his cannon for mobility, crouched. Then, rattling the ground, he jumped the three meters up to the large front window. Mox, at the top of his jump, swung his right fist forward and shattered the glass. The big man was sporting thick work gloves, meant for welding spaceship hull together, but good at keeping those hands safe from the razor-sharp shards that scattered.

  Davin stepped to the side as Mox crashed down, shards shattering all around the metal man. Man, Davin ought to look into one of those exoskeletons. For now, though, he’d have to make this throw with his puny human arms. Davin unclipped a small sphere from his belt, pressed a button on it with his thumb, and arced it up through the window.

  “Good throw,” Mox said.

  A hot second later, the orb exploded in a crackling flash of bright light. Mox jumped again, this time grabbing hold of the window and pulling himself in. Davin waited for the sounds of gunfire, but there was only banging. A chair flew back out the window, bouncing through the middle of the boulevard.

  “Clear,” Mox’s voice came over the comm.

  “Opal, get him back,” Davin said. “Phyla, Erick?”

  “We know,” Phyla replied. “Already prepping the bed.”

  Davin watched Opal pulled Merc out from behind the bench. There was no way she’d be able to lift the pilot. Drag him back alive. It was lose Merc, or let Mox ha
ndle the prison by himself. Davin looked at the troopers lying on the boulevard ground, still stunned from Merc’s electric discs. If that was the best they had, Mox could handle it.

  “Together!” Davin said.

  Opal nodded, and the two of them held Merc up between them and started the long walk back to the bays. Merc’s pilot jacket, a relic from his Earth training days, was charred around the chest, the burned black looking wet next to the dyed dark of the rest of the clothes.

  “Mox, you’re on your own,” Davin commed. “Bring Cadge and Trina home.”

  “Will do,” Mox replied.

  24

  Ready to Leave

  Viola repacked in record time, Puk spending every second juicing up on its charger. Was she really leaving with Davin and his band of mercenaries? Then again, what else was there to do? The clothes finished falling in the suitcase and Viola pressed the vacuum button. The sunflower-yellow suitcase compressed on itself, forcing the air out. Essential for the tight spaces on ships.

  “You're doing this, huh?” Puk said as it came awake.

  “I know, as a bot, the concept of mortality doesn’t play with you,” Viola said, hefting the suitcase and walking towards the door. “But as a person, I have an urge to feel like I’m making something of myself before I die.”

  “The way to do that is joining a bunch of killers after they’re accused of murder?”

  “Accused doesn’t mean convicted.”

  They went to the hotel lobby. The souls staying there were rising, and the entryway was full of bleary people grabbing coffees, waters, and scattered breakfast food. Viola snagged a raspberry danish - the fruit filling lab-grown in Eden Prime's own greenhouses - and shoved it in her mouth as she walked out the door.