The rest of their trip to Orron III wasn't that bad, all things considered. Syal Antilles and Korlo Brightwater were stuffed into a cabin the size of a closet and the food was terrible, but at least they had food to eat, and they weren't freezing cold either. The interrogations weren't that bad either. At least, that was what Brightwater said.
After their captors had marched them to the room and tied them both to a pair of chairs with flexi-cable, they'd promptly disappeared. Several hours later they returned: the same blue-skinned humanoid and his gun-toting felinoid companion, plus a decidedly obese red-haired human. Syal recognized him from the cafe on Corsin, and after a second remembered the blue-skinned humanoid had been with him too.
The fat man pulled in a seat from outside the cabin and sat his bulk down in front of them. The other two closed the door and remained standing. They both had blaster pistols holstered at their hips and hands at their sides, but didn't seem ready to draw. Syal wondered if they had any actual rifles on this ship, or if pistols was all. She wondered if they had any more fighting-ready men besides these two.
The fat man leaned forward, right elbow on right knee, and looked them over with his small blue eyes. They went to Brightwater first, then Syal, then back to Brightwater. Then he said, "Give me one good reason not to flush you out an airlock right now."
"That would be murder," Syal said.
"I said a good reason." He kept his eyes on Brightwater.
The other man shifted in his seat the best he could with his hands tied to the back of his chair. "If you kill us, you're a dead man. I guarantee it."
"And why is that?" the fat man sounded amused.
"Because I'm a special operative working under the direct command of Imperial regent Ysanne Isard."
The fat man flinched, but covered it quickly. He put on an amused smile and said, "Really, now? And why would Madam Isard's elite agent stow away aboard my ship?"
"I was pursuing a fugitive."
"Her, I take it," the fat man nodded at Syal.
"You have no idea how valuable that woman is."
"She doesn't look like much to me. Tell me, Mister- ah, what should I call you?"
"What should I call you?"
The fat man chuckled, apparently amused. "Call me Phelan Waylox. It's my name."
"And you're the owner of this ship?"
"That's correct. Your name?"
"Daric Marcross."
"And your prisoner's name?"
She opened her mouth, but Brightwater interjected, "You can't guess?"
Waylox scowled. "Don't play games with me. How would I know who this little wastrel is?"
Brightwater gave a dry chuckle and said, "She's Wynssa Starflare."
Syal's jaw dropped. As she glared angrily at Brightwater, Waylox leaned in a little closer to inspect her face with those beady eyes.
Then he tilted his head back a gave a great, big belly laugh. Slapping a knee, he said, "Oh, my young friend, if you keep on entertaining me like that I might not space you. Because for a second, I thought I saw something, something around the chin, or the nose. But no. Do you want to know what I think?"
"Desperately."
"I bet you and your woman ran into some trouble on Corsin. Maybe you decided to steal some money from her father, I don't know, but you had to get offworld before the grandfather-to-be found out, so you grabbed my ship. Maybe you think you can strike it rich in the Corporate Sector. Lots of people do and they're mostly wrong."
"You seem to be doing okay."
"I am not most people." Waylox put on a predatory grin, and Syal was scared again. He looked over his shoulder at the blue-skinned man and said, "What do you think, Olith?"
"Sir, I think his story may be worth considering."
Red eyebrows drew together. "How so?"
"When we took his belongings, he did have multiple identicard cases on him. One of them was like nothing I've ever seen before. It had the logo for the Imperial Security Bureau faintly embossed in one corner. I couldn't find any card with his name on it, but I found one for the woman. It said she was from Imperial Center."
"I don't support her name's really Wynssa Starflare?"
"No, sir."
Waylox turned a newly-intense gaze on Syal and Bright-water. "What else did you find, Olith?"
"He had two blasters on him. One looked like a civilian hold-out model, but the other was an Imperial-issue DC-22 service pistol."
"Well, that is interesting. Tell me, Mister, ah, Marcross, what were you doing in the auxiliary communications room?"
"Oh, that's where we were? Wynssa here, she needed to use the 'fresher but we took a wrong turn."
"You were calling someone. That's how we found you. Who was it?"
"Would you believe Ysanne Isard herself?"
"No, I wouldn't." Waylox tapped a thick finger against his chins. "Olith, what kind of job did he do on that comm system?"
"He tried a rewire so we wouldn't notice it was in use. He did the same with a couple doors. He did a pretty good job, but not the best I've seen. Nothing I couldn't have done."
"The work of one of Ysanne Isard's elite agents, then?"
"Probably not, but he could still be ISB."
"He could also be some middling tech from Corsin who eloped with his girlfriend." Waylox gave a big-bodied sigh. "Any chance you can figure out who he was talking to?"
"I'll do my best," Olith said, though he didn't sound confident.
"All right, then. We'll keep them here for now. Post a guard at all times."
"Yes, sir."
Waylox heaved himself out of his chair and look down considerately at the two captives. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Olith and the felinoid walked out the door, and Waylox followed behind him, dragging his chair. The door hissed shut, and Syal heard locks tumbling into place.
"Amateurs," Brightwater said, so low Syal could barely hear. "Didn't even split us up for questioning. Let us know they couldn't trace our call either."
"Why did you tell them that?" she hissed. "Do you realize how dangerous that was?"
"Oh, definitely. But who'd believe it?"
"They still might look into it."
"Well, look on the bright side. If they do find out, at least they won't space you."
"This isn't time to joke! We need to get out of here!"
"Listen, our best chance is that they keep us alive until we get to Orron III."
And hope LaRone and the others would rescue them. Syal still didn't like sitting helpless, waiting for someone else to rescue her. At that point she hardly cared who Brightwater and his friends really worked for; even if he did work for Isard, her priority now was to stay on the right side of Trivigaunte's airlock.
"Listen," Brightwater said, voice still low, "If they come back, they might think to split us up. You need to act like you're Wynssa Starflare."
"What?"
"I said act like her. Not be her."
"You mean act like some girl from Corsin pretending to be her?"
"Exactly. You can act, right?"
"That's what they paid me for," she grunted.
"Good." After a tiny pause, Brightwater added, "I was actually a Javul Charn man, actually. No offense."
"Oh." Syal blinked. "She's nice."
"Really? Good. 'Cause you hear how actors can seem great and then in-person they're total... But whatever. Just be ready."
"What if they trace your call?"
"They'll try, but they won't get it. LaRone won't respond to anything without my encryption code. And that'll make them even more confused."
"Do you want them to think we're runaways or do you want them to think we're…." She almost said the real thing.
"The more confused they are, the longer they'll hold off spacing us."
"Well," Syal breathed, "Sounds like a plan, then."
And just as Brightwater predicted, when their captors returned the prisoners were split up. Olith did most of the questioning this time. Syal summoned the acting skills that had, surprisingly, not dulled at all after six months on the run. She cycled through a bunch of different personae for Olith's viewing pleasure: First she was the wanna-be actress pretending to be Wynssa Starflare, then she was the nervous woman who'd been strong-armed into running from home by her domineering boyfriend, then she went back to being the wannabe Starflare who'd bought a fake ID card just so she could slip off Corsin and seek her fortune, and finally she was turning on the water-works, begging them not to send her back to Corsin because her father would absolutely definitely kill her.
In all honestly, she kind of enjoyed putting on the show. It had been too long.
After they put her and Brightwater back in the same room, nobody came to talk to them for over a day-cycle, though once the guard dropped in and put food trays in front of them, though it was hard to ear with hands bound at the wrists.
Before the ship went into its second night-cycle, Waylox came back. Olith wasn't with him, though the felinoid guard lingered in the doorway with his gun very visible. Syal was starting to hope they were the only three people onboard.
Waylox clasped his pudgy hands on his belly and looked down at the prisoners with dignity. "You two are an interesting case, I'll admit that. So in the end, I think I'm not going to space you."
Syal tried very hard to hide her relief.
"Instead, I'll be doing what ships in the Corporate Sector are legally instructed to do with stowaways. I've put in a call to the CSA defense fleet. They'll be sending a corvette to pick you up once we reach Orron III. After that," he waved a hand dismissively, "you're their problem."
"Director Isard won't like this," Brightwater said angrily.
"Then she can take it up with the CSA. I just want you brats off my ship." Without a word of farewell, Waylox turned and walked out the door. It slid shut behind him, leaving them alone again.
"Well," Syal breathed, "It's up to your friends now."
-{}-
Hand of Judgment arrived in the Orron system two-thirds of a standard day before Trivigaunte did and spent those spare hours hiding on the dark side of Orron III's second moon, trying to hail Brightwater. Their calls went unanswered the entire time, and when Trivigaunte finally did drop into Orron III's outer orbit, they gave it one last try. Once again, Brightwater didn't answer, and that meant he was in trouble.
That was bad news, but the one upside was that they'd had two-thirds of a day to prepare for an extraction mission. All things considered, they could have been in better shape. They still needed Quiller to fly their ship and Marcross wasn't good for anything except manning the gunnery controls, which meant it was up to LaRone and Grave to actually board the ship, retrieve both Brightwater and Starflare, and get out. If Brightwater was still able-bodied enough to run and gun, it was still probably doable. If not-
Well, LaRone would think of something if it came to that.
When Trivigaunte dropped out of hyperspace it kicked in its retro-burners and slowed its approach. For some reason it seemed like it wanted to hang in upper orbit instead of beginning its descent to the planet. LaRone didn't bother to worry about the why of it. It was the exact opening they needed. He ordered Quiller to charge.
Hand of Judgment swung around the moon and accelerated at full power toward the hauler. Quiller hailed Trivigaunte, ordered its crew to stand down, and fired a pair of warning shots across their bow. The ship responded with a volley from its defensive cannons, which were easy to avoid even as Hand of Judgment tore a straight line to intercept.
Marcross was manning the gunner controls, and even though he was a little woozy from the anti-pain medication, Trivigaunte was a big target to miss. Blue energy blasts shot out from Hand of Judgment's forward ion cannon and hit the freighter's forward control cabin. Blue lightning arced around as Quiller shot past their bow and pulled a steep turn for another pass. This time Marcross pumped three ion shots into the hauler's rear engines. Two of the three went dark and the third blazed brighter to compensate and keep the ship from falling toward Orron III.
For good measure, they made one more pass. Manning the forward laser cannons himself, Quiller blasted both of Trivigaunte's defensive turrets clean off the hull, rendering the ship completely helpless. Finally, Marcross targeted their long-range communications array with his ion cannon and overloaded its systems with one more burst of blue energy.
It took all of ninety seconds to render Trivigaunte helpless from the outside. Next came the hard part.
Quiller swung Hand of Judgment around to couple its ventral airlock with the hauler's starboard portal. Even with their comms and sensors blinded, there was a good chance the ship's crew would expect a boarding party and be ready to meet them.
Even before Trivigaunte dropped out of hyperspace, LaRone and Grave were geared up and ready to go: BlasTech E-11 rifles DC-22 service pistols, Merr-Sonn flash grenades, synthex grappling cables, utility vibro-knives, and of course, full suits of white stormtrooper armor.
Strange as it seemed, it felt good to be inside a full kit again.
Trivigaunte wasn't going to casually open its airlock for the intruders, but it didn't matter. Once their ship coupled ports, Grave and LaRone began laying a line of charge-wire along the edge of the ship's sealed door. That took less than a minute, and once it was done they fell back to the vestibule and set off the charge. Sparks flared all around the border as the superheated cable burned through the reinforced dura-steel portal. The breach was marked by a loud pop and a rush of wind as air pressure matched between the two ships.
LaRone and Grave charged in at the first noise, plunging through the smoke and still-leaping sparks and into Trivi-gaunte. LaRone clung to the left wall, Grave to the right as red laser-blasts flashed at them through the smoke. Unlike the hauler's crew, LaRone and Grave could summon infra-red scopes through their helmet visors, and they could easily pinpoint the three defenders at the far end of the hall.
One was confident enough to try to step clear out from behind his cover; LaRone dropped him with a single stun blast. That distracted another crewman, who Grave managed to wing with another blue bolt. The crewman- some kind of felinoid alien- reeled back and dropped his gun. LaRone switched to full power on his E-11 and sprayed red blasts low across the deck, catching the felinoid in the legs and knocking him over.
The third crewman ducked behind a bulkhead and didn't return fire. Grave and LaRone strode steadily toward the end of the hall, weapons ready and level just in case there was a surprise waiting. There wasn't: only a T-shaped intersection, empty in both directions. Grave jumped forward and kicked the felinoid's pistol out of reach, even though the crewman was too busy clutching his legs with both paws and generally writhing in pain to notice.
As LaRone stuck the gun in his belt, Grave bent low and grabbed the felinoid by the back of his neck. The alien bared long fangs as Grave bent his helmet right into his face.
"Where are your prisoners? One man, one woman, both humans. Where are they?"
LaRone angled his gun. "Next one's through your cranium, furball. Where?"
Panting through his teeth, the felinoid said, "Two decks down… Storage room..."
"How do we get there?" barked LaRone.
"Go right…. Take lift…. Right down hall…"
He might have been lying, he might not. They didn't have the time for a full interrogation, so Grave dropped him on the deck. He and LaRone pounded down the hall and through the door, leaving him to writhe there.
-{}-
Syal thought something was wrong when the lights started flickering; then she heard the groan of two engines failing and knew it for sure.
"Is that your friends?" she asked Brightwater. They'd both been tied to their chairs again, arms and legs both.
"Either that or pirates, I'd say."
"Well, I hope it's your friends," she muttered, and she really did. She still didn't know who Brightwater worked for or what his plan was. She'd found she kind of liked the man, and that alone was a stupid thing to base trust on, but at this point the only other option was to get handed over to the CSA patrol, and unlike the crew of this hauler they might actually be thorough enough to discover who their prisoner really was, in which case a date with Ysanne Isard was dead certain.
She heard footsteps pounding outside and held her breath. The door slid open too easily; she was unsurprised to see Olith and Waylox filling the threshold. The human had a hold-out blaster that looked comically tiny in his big fleshy hand, but it didn't stop her from wincing when he waved it in her direction.
"They're stormtroopers! Stormtroopers on my ship!" Waylox sounded more amazed than anything.
"Should've listened to me." Brightwater bore his teeth. "Now Isard's gonna flay you alive."
From behind his boss, Olith said, "Sir, we have to move them now. If we can get to an escape pod-"
"I know." Waylox waved the pistol again. "Cut them free! Get them out of here!"
A vibro-blade appeared in Olith's hand and he quickly swung around behind Syal and Brightwater to cut their bindings. They'd been tried to the chairs for so long that standing up was an awkward wobbly process; all the while Waylox kept his pistol raised at them. She knew Brightwater must have been gaming it in his head, wondering if it was worth the risk to lunge at Waylox and go for his weapon.
That didn't last long. Olith pocketed his knife and pulled out his own pistol. "Okay, both of you, hands on your heads and march, now!"
"Where are you taking us?" Brightwater put his hands up but didn't move.
"I said move!" Olith shoved him forward so hard he lost his balance. As he gave Brightwater another push into the hallway, Waylox sidled beside Syal and grabbed her arm with a strong one-handed grip.
"Whoever you are, girl, you must be important after all," he hissed.
"You'll never get away."
He shook his head. "That CSA ship will be here any minute. Once they pick up our escape pod-"
His words were suddenly drowned out by pounding boots and blaring voices. Two stormtroopers appeared at the far end of the corridor, rifles raised, both shouting at Olith and Waylox to throw down their weapons.
Olith stopped dead in his tracks, swore, and threw his gun aside. Brightwater immediately grabbed him from behind, wrenched him into an elbow-lock, and slammed his face against the bulkhead.
"Olith!" Waylox screamed. He didn't drop his gun.
"Put it down!" one of the stormtropers shouted. "Let her go! Now!"
The fat man shifted his grip with the pistol and leveled it at Syal's head. She couldn't hide her shuddering as he hissed, "Let me through or I blow this woman's brains out. You came all this way to get her alive, didn't you?"
"This is your last warning!" the lead stormtrooper called. "Drop it! Now!"
"No! I'm getting off this ship and she's coming with me. And then-"
The stormtrooper fired. A single red last blast flashed down the hall and caught Waylox right between the eyes. His huge body went instantly limp; one hand released Syal's arm and the blaster spilled from of the other. He tumbled face-down to the deck with a muffled thud.
"Okay, let's go!" Brightwater shouted. He forcefully threw Olith across his boss's body, then grabbed Syal by the shoulder. The second stormtrooper scooped up the two blaster pistolss on the floor and took up the rear while the first guided Brightwater and Syal to the turbolift and out of the ship.
As the four of them hurried through Trivigaunte's shattered airlock and into a second ship, Brightwater said, "LaRone, get us out of here fast. They called a CSA patrol ship. It could be here at any-"
As if on cue, a voice blared over the ship's interior speakers. "Boss, we got incoming! Is everyone aboard?"
"Got the package, got Korlo too." The lead stormtrooper pulled off his helmet. "Grave! Seal that airlock so we can burn out of here!"
As the second stormtrooper followed his orders, LaRone and Brightwater took Syal by the shoulders and hurried her down the hall. LaRone pushed her into a small storage room, the same size as the cell she'd just been busted out of, only this one had a cushioned acceleration couch.
"Brightwater, strap her in!" LaRone ordered. "This could get messy!"
"Got it, boss."
LaRone rushed out of the room, leaving Syal and Brightwater alone again. The ship lurched free of its coupling port and inertia nearly knocked Syal off her feet.
"You need to get in there now," Brightwater pointed at the couch. "I'll see how I can fit the crash webbing."
For a second she thought that voluntarily strapping herself into that thing would be surrendering her last chance of possible freedom to this group of strangers whom she had no reason to trust, who for all she knew really were working for Isard; it seemed more likely now than ever, given the gear they'd barged in with.
The ship lurched again, and she could have fallen onto her stomach if Brightwater hadn't sprung forward to catch her.
"Okay," she breathed against his chest, "Let's do it."
-{}-
The pilot's chamber on the top level of Hand of Judgment was barely more spacious than a starfighter cockpit, but LaRone clambered up the ladder and hung tight on the back of Quiller's seat anyway.
"What have we got?" he asked as the viewport swung away from the glowing gold-brown sphere of Orron III.
"Scanners say one CSA corvette, launching IRD inter-ceptors. How's the package?"
"Brightwater's strapping in your girlfriend right now."
"Run now, jokes later."
Red laser-blasts streaked across their viewport. Quiller swore and wrenched them around to face the planet again.
"Are they blocking our escape route?" asked LaRone.
"Sure looks that way." Quiller tapped his comm console. "Hey, Marcross, you back there?"
"I need a better angle. This turret isn't a full three-sixty."
The ship shuddered as the IRD fighters sprayed laser blasts on their shields. Quiller grimaced and threw Hand of Judgment into a tight spin that nearly smashed LaRone against the starboard bulkhead.
"You get a shot?" Quiller called.
"Think I got one," Marcross said from the deck below. "Plenty more left."
Quiller glanced at his scanners. "They're trying to pin our backs to the planet. That corvette's fast too."
"We want to get away from the planet," LaRone reminded him as Orron III swelled to fill their viewport. "Can we try and punch through?"
"This ship is tough, but if those IRDs have- Oh, damn."
"What?"
"Incoming concussion missiles. Hold on. I think I can launch some chaff-"
Quiller punched a button on the console and wrenched his ship into another series of wild corkscrews. As LaRone locked both arms around the back of Quiller's chair he saw something light up on his console.
"Did we get the missiles?"
"Dunno, something hit the chaff, but-"
The ship rocked more violently; red lights and alarms blared inside the cockpit and LaRone's stomach lurched.
"Just lost one engine!" Quiller announced. "Trying to compensate!"
"Just get us away from that planet!"
"Aw, fierfek, that corvette's swinging around, they're gonna hit our flank!"
"What about the shields?"
"The shields are-"
Something smashed into their stern, sending them into a spin. Quiller was swearing and wrestling with the controls but LaRone hardly noticed as the force of impact knocked his head hard against the bulkhead. As his mind swam through a daze of noise and light and motion the stupid thought flashed through his head: Should have kept the helmet on.
If that was what was going to get him killed, after all he'd been through, after all he'd dragged the rest of his squad through these past four years-
Well, it would prove the universe really did have a sense of humor.
The ship shuddered again. Up ahead, the gold-brown glow of Orron III entirely filled their viewport. It almost looked close enough to touch. LaRone unlocked one arm from the back of Quiller's seat and reached over his shoulder to grab the planet ahead. Then there was another violent motion and he lost his footing, and he was plunging down the shaft he'd climbed out of, down into darkness that wouldn't end.