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A loud bang below him drew his attention, and Harper stuck his head down through the hatch. "Hey, big guy, how did traumatizing the locals go?" Personally Harper had no intention of getting off the ship at any point during this particular stop—one pack of Ubers was already one too many, thanks, never mind two of them at odds—but Tyr had disappeared in search of some poor bastard as soon as they'd docked and had been gone most of the afternoon.

There was no sign of anyone below him, though, and Harper frowned. "Tyr?" Tyr moved way too quietly for a guy his size most of the time; if he'd made that much noise it was because he'd meant to. Harper had assumed that it was just a heads-up that he was back, but—

Harper jerked himself back up into the low bay as an Uber—Nietzschean—who was definitely not Tyr stepped into the cargo bay below him, a second visible just behind his shoulder. The first's lips curled into an ugly grin, and he raised his weapon.

"Not good." That was emphasized by the sound of an energy weapon discharging, the blast striking some old crate just past Harper's shoulder, and Harper kicked the hatch shut and flipped the lock, scrambling backwards. He'd gotten most of engineering cleaned up, at least well enough to meet his standards since he was going to have to rip a bunch of it back open to fix things correctly anyway, and had decided to take a break and do a little snooping while Tyr was otherwise occupied. Well, that and finish off the last of the dumplings. They'd been tasty. But not being suicidal, his snooping had mostly involved looking for interesting bits and pieces among the clutter up here, not poking his nose inside every access hatch he could find or searching for weapons or that sort of thing.

He wasn't sure how to contact Tyr, either. Tyr would have taken some kind of communicator with him, and if Harper had time to play around in the ship's systems he'd be able to figure out how to access it easily enough, but he was now on a ship with some number of hostile Nietzscheans and potentially trapped in a cargo hold on top of that. He could already see that time was one of those luxuries that he wasn't going to have. And that assumed—

He cut that train of thought off as a blast impacted the hatch. Worry about himself now, then worry about Tyr. By the time he got to the point where he could do that safely, it probably wouldn't be an issue anyway. Tyr wasn't likely to tolerate the invasion of his ship for more than half a second, and Harper seriously pitied anyone who attacked him outright. Or attempted to take him prisoner. Figurehead. Sheesh.

Harper picked up his backwards pace. Assuming Tyr was right and this bay had been used for smuggling, and given its placement and layout that was no stretch, there weren't likely to be too many entrances. He doubted they'd have limited it to one either, though, not given the kinds of things that could go wrong in space, and Harper had no intention of being here when the Ubers broke through. He didn't particularly want to escape onto the station, though, not without some idea where Tyr had gone since that was just as likely to lead him into trouble elsewhere, which meant finding someplace a little more secure onboard.

He found another hatch leading back down into the ship at about the same time a screech of metal indicated that the Ubers were one good hit short of coming through, and he kicked the dusty latch a few times until it gave way and then let himself drop into the dark space below, snagging the ladder as he fell. He reached up quickly and it only took one good tug to close the hatch again, hopefully giving him a little longer until the Ubers found it and where he'd gone.

Wherever it was that he'd gone. It was pitch black in here, and he climbed down slowly, finding the deck below him with his feet.

He still hadn't gotten the full tour from Tyr, but with the hatch above him closed he felt reasonably confident in flipping on his pocket light and taking a look around. The room, small as it was, was empty, but there was another hatch in the floor and with a mental comparison of the height of the cargo bay versus how far he'd climbed, there was no way that he was more than halfway to the main level.

There was no access panel into the ship's systems from in here, and none of the wall panels that he could see were easily removable. He had a small torch on him and could cut into the walls if he needed to, but without knowing how the main computer was routed he was just as likely to find a sewage conduit as something useful. And he'd prefer to put a little more distance between himself and the Ubers anyway. Nietzscheans. Whatever; he'd worry about being polite later. Right now, if they found the hatch he'd escaped through, there was nothing for him to hide behind.

He pressed his ear to the hatch at his feet and heard nothing, but he was well aware that his senses couldn't compete with an Uber's, and he pulled his shriller out of his pocket and slipped it between his lips, biting down to hold it in place. It would give him away as soon as he used it, but it wasn't like they didn't know he was onboard, and he couldn't afford to let them—whoever they actually were besides Ubers—get their hands on him. With his blaster he could probably take one of them before they were on him, with the shriller….

His teeth bared a little further. A shriller wouldn't take an Uber down permanently, but it would hurt them bad enough to give him a fighting chance, even against several. At least temporarily. If he could get into the ship's lighting systems he could do worse.

Harper held his breath, concentrating as hard as he could, and still heard no sound from below him. He eased the hatch open slowly, shining his light downwards, only to find another empty room. Well, mostly empty. He dropped through again, pulling this hatch closed behind him as well, and scrambled down. A quick check of the crates didn't reveal much of use, mostly nonperishable food items and it wasn't like he could throw a box of food cubes hard enough to do any damage, but that probably meant that he was back on the main level. He couldn't imagine that Tyr had bothered to drag these supplies too far from the galley.

Shriller still clenched in his teeth he repeated his check at the door hatch and once again heard nothing on the other side. He shut off his light and returned it to his pocket before easing it open, a little more carefully this time, and was rewarded by light spilling in from the passageway outside. The empty passageway outside, and he stepped out and closed it behind him again. Who knew if he'd need to escape back up into the cargo bay at some point. He was pretty sure the galley was around the corner, and for a moment he was tempted to go borrow a few of Tyr's cooking knives since all he had besides a pocketknife was the one in his boot, but he hadn't thrown many knives since leaving Earth. Not even on Seefra. And if a throw wasn't immediately fatal…well, experience had taught him that giving knives to Ubers never ended well.

Command probably wasn't the wisest place to go either, though, since if the Ubers wanted the ship it was the first place they'd head. Engineering was a possibility since from there he could do just about anything, but that was another likely Uber destination, and it wasn't well laid out for one defender. Especially one with only one blaster.

The obvious occurred to him, and he began to move opposite the galley. He had no idea where the weapons' locker was—or, more likely, weapons' lockers were given who the ship belonged to—but there was no way that Tyr didn't keep at least a few guns in his quarters. And knowing him he'd have a direct computer link to Command too.

Tyr's quarters weren't marked with anything in particular, which was both just as well and not really a surprise when Harper thought about it, and he overrode the persona lock and let himself in quickly. Tyr could threaten to beat him later for it.


The communicator on Tyr's belt chirped, and he started in surprise at the code that flashed. Harper was a lot of things, but a fool wasn't one of them. Tyr had never even considered that the little man might break into his quarters while he was out.

His frowned deepened and he checked his surroundings. Harper wasn't a fool. Tyr hadn't felt any searching eyes on him during his walk around the station—his less-than-fruitful walk, thus far, which had made him somewhat irritated—but if whoever had planted that bug on his ship was still here, someone who knew that his ship was supposed to be elsewhere but had seen it dock, they may have attempted to implement some kind of contingency plan.

He should have gotten an alert the instant that someone had tried to force an outer hatch, but an intruder may have taken precautions there that they didn't find necessary once inside the ship. He checked his guns, his teeth baring slightly and ignoring the reaction from the stall keeper nearest him. If they had, they would find that they were greatly mistaken.

For a brief moment he debated using his communicator, but it would only open a general channel with the ship. He could still do it, pretend it was some commonplace communication, but if someone had invaded his ship and didn't yet know that Harper existed, it would give him away. And if Harper did manage to respond…the little man was not discreet. He would undoubtedly try to give Tyr a warning that he neither needed nor wanted.

Tyr should have spoken to Harper before he left, set up a more secure communication line, but it hadn't even occurred to him that he might need it. Maybe it should have, but he'd been on his own for the last three years and the habits he'd learned as a mercenary in the years before Andromeda had come back with a vengeance.

He moved quickly back towards his ship but kept a wary eye out as he did so. Any sensible intruder would have set a watch, and the last thing Tyr wanted was to let them know that he was coming. Of course, it was possible that there was no intruder and Harper had changed more than he'd thought since they'd last seen each other, but it wasn't an assumption that Tyr cared to make.

Still, it was almost a relief when Tyr spotted the first likely candidate at the entrance to the docking bay he'd been assigned, the man's posture far too casual to be anything but the opposite. Nietzschean, but unlike most he wore nothing to indicate pride affiliation. Tyr let himself fade into the shadows as he looked around. There was a second entrance to the bay, but it was likely covered as well, and even if he could find an accessible airlock Tyr had no inclination to try a spacewalk and come in from that way.

The fact that it was a Nietzschean waiting for him wasn't precisely surprising, but it was marginally concerning. Not that he had any particular worry about facing some number of his own kind if it turned out that that was who had invaded his ship rather than one being hired as a lookout, but Harper trapped alone on a ship with any number of Nietzscheans was not a good situation.

He looked at his communicator again and then shook his head. Harper was a survivor several times over. Most likely he'd either escaped the ship entirely or gone to ground somewhere that no one would ever find him.

Or they'd caught him elbow-deep in whatever bit of circuitry had captured his interest, completely oblivious to what was happening around him.

Tyr shook himself. The Nietzschean watching those who approached the docking bay had been intelligent enough to position himself so that Tyr had no way to slip around behind him, but he'd clearly been at his post for long enough that his attention had started to wander—fool—and Tyr got closer than he should have before the man noticed him. When he did his first instinct was to go for his weapon rather than calling for help, and Tyr was on him before it even cleared the holster.

Tyr made no attempt to be subtle; he drove them both back into the bay before whoever was watching at the other entrance could catch sight of him. It wasn't as if brawling Nietzscheans were a particularly usual sight on this station. The man turned out to be as useless in a fight as he was on watch, and Tyr stuffed his remains behind a convenient stack of discarded parts and then hurried towards his ship. He wasn't going in the main hatch, obviously, but there were other options, and he swung up to the inspection entrance of the cargo bay. The one conveniently facing the far wall, away from any prying eyes.

Something flashed on his belt as he did so, and it took him a few minutes to decode the series of lights into 'If the Ubers onboard are friends of yours, you've got crappy taste.' He ignored the brief flicker of relief, made a mental note to smack Harper for the slur and then a second to make sure that it wasn't too hard under the circumstances, and then waited. Sure enough, lights began to blink again. '6. 1 engineer, 2 at hatches with guns, 1—'

The lights stopped, and when a full minute passed without them resuming Tyr frowned. This was not a good turn of events. Harper hadn't used verbal communication, which was a good indication that he should refrain as well, but it didn't give much in the way of tactical information. Another minute with nothing from Harper and he decided that he number of intruders was useful enough as a starting point. Although it would have been nice if Harper had bothered to mention which hatches they were at with guns. He drew his gun and entered the code for the inspection hatch.

It opened just above a narrow walkway that ran around the back half of the bay, and Tyr fought down a grunt of pain as flashing from the overhead panels inside his ship drove a spike of pain into his brain. Somehow—Harper's fault, no doubt—they were flashing at just the wrong frequency, leaving his head pounding as his eyes struggled to adjust. He fumbled for the protective glasses that he carried, relieved when they dulled the lights enough to allow him to focus again, but there was still an unpleasant ache immediately behind his eyes.

He dropped down onto the ledge carefully in the flickering light, shutting the hatch behind him quickly. There was a railing, but it was only a thin metal bar and he didn't care to test its sturdiness. He could just make out a guard at the person-sized hatch that exited into the docking bay, and he shifted his gun onto his shoulder and swung down to the floor, landing as silently as he could manage. The man didn't twitch, and Tyr leveled his gun and made him pay for his inattentiveness.

It was hard to say in the lighting, but this one didn't seem to be wearing anything to indicate Pride affiliation either. Tyr positioned himself at the interior hatch, listening carefully for footsteps, and then let himself into his ship proper. He was debating between engineering and Command as the echo of a footstep alerted him to his next opponent incoming, and he pressed himself to the wall and waited. He needed have bothered with such careful preparation, this one had not only glasses on but also something wrapped around his ears, and Tyr shot him before he could even bring his gun down off his shoulder.

The man had come from the direction of Command so Tyr decided to try engineering first, but when he reached it he found no sign of Harper. Just an extremely irritated Nietzchean male cursing kludges and banging on a half-open panel, and while Tyr could appreciate the sentiment given how the lights were continuing to flash in that horrible pattern and his headache wasn't getting any better, he appreciated invaders on his ship even less. He shot the man in the back.

There was still no indication that any alerts had been raised as he moved quickly down the hall towards Command, but he smelled blood when he passed his quarters and waved the door open quickly. A Nietzschean lay dead on the floor with his head and one arm under the bed, and when Tyr grabbed a boot and pulled him out he found a knife stabbed through the man's outstretched hand and most of his face blasted away.

A glance under the bed told him what had probably happened: Harper had hidden there and opened the wall panel below Tyr's command panel to hack into the ship's systems—not a bad idea, but nowhere near enough to save him from a Nietzschean's senses if he decided to search the room—the Nietzschean had reached under to grab him, and Harper had come out fighting. As best he could, anyway.

If the burns on the wall were any indication he'd gotten off a few more shots after that, but whether he'd gotten away there was no way to say. Considering the blood on the wall opposite the bed and the broken remains of one of Harper's demonic little whistles not far away, Tyr doubted it. That might explain why the one he'd killed coming into the bay had had his ears covered, though.

Tyr left the body where it lay and stepped back into the hall, continuing towards Command. He could hear shouting as he approached, a repeated order to fix the lights, and then there was the sound of a discharging weapon and Harper screamed in pain.

Without thinking Tyr leveled his gun and slammed a hand against the opening panel, but as it slid aside he found not the two Nietzscheans he'd expected from Harper's count but three starting to swivel towards him. His first shot took the one who'd been screaming at Harper, the second the other nearest the door but the muzzle of the third's gun was already trained on him and—

A string of absolutely filthy suggestions—filthy to the point that Tyr, who as a Nietzschean had absolutely no delusions about an afterlife, could almost see his mother rising from her lack-of-grave to wash his mouth out with soap for even thinking them—came from a shaking voice in the far corner in flawless High Nietzshe. For an instant Tyr's opponent started to jerk back in Harper's direction, and that was more than enough time for Tyr to take him down.