Imminent Danger: And How to Fly Straight Into It (35 page)

When they reached the communications deck, the Ssrisk lobbed several stun grenades into the control room, knocking out the technicians manning the consoles.

“Spread out and find the controls for the comm interrupter,” Grashk hissed as he led the way inside.

“Come on,” Eris said to Miguri. “The sooner the Psilosians come to our rescue, the sooner I’m
not
executed by that stupid admiral.”

After a few minutes of searching, one of the Ssrisk called, “Is this it?”

Grashk strode over to the console and peered at the controls. Peeking between the two large reptiles, Eris saw a screen displaying a glowing purple triangle.

Grashk pushed a button beside the screen.

TROOOoooop.

Eris watched as the purple triangle turned gray and stopped glowing. “Did it work?”

Then an alarm blared to life.

WEE-ooo. WEE-ooo.

“That does not bode well,” Miguri observed.

“Draw your weapons,” Grashk commanded his squad. He shoved Eris and Miguri behind one of the consoles. “Stay there and stay quiet,” he hissed. “You may survive longer.” Then he crouched behind the adjacent console while the other Ssrisk found cover where they could.

Twenty seconds later, a Rakorsian security team burst into the room. “Find the intruders!” the leader shouted.

“Attack!” Grashk bellowed, firing his strikers. “No mercy for the Rakorsian scum!”

As the mortal enemies blasted at each other, Eris and Miguri huddled behind the console. The Ssrisk battled bravely, but they were outnumbered three to one. Within a matter of minutes, Grashk was the only Ssrisk still alive, holding off the Rakorsians with a desperate stream of striker fire.

“Surrender!” one of the Rakorsians shouted. “Surrender, and the admiral may show you mercy!”

“You are a fool if you think I believe that!” Grashk
rat-tat-tat
-ed.

“Here’s a better deal!” Eris called to the Rakorsians. “All of
you
surrender, and we won’t have to send you home in body bags!”

There was a sudden pause in the striker fire.

“The Ssrisk has the human!” one of the Rakorsians roared. “Inform the admiral! And get another squad up here now!”

Eris winced.

35

V
arrin was disturbed.
What is wrong with that girl?
he thought as he strolled through the corridors of Kratis’s ship.
It’s obvious that option two was the only acceptable choice for either of us.
He absently noted the Rakorsian security teams that ran past him every few minutes.
What did she expect me to say?
He knew that no matter which option he had chosen, Eris was going to die. And he’d figured that the least he could do—to make up for dragging her into this mess—was to assure her a quick death rather than have her face decades of torturous enslavement.

And what was it she said? Oh, yes—“You’re the same insensitive, self-serving jerk you were the day you kidnapped me
.
” Preposterous.
Varrin had been roaming the galaxy for five years since leaving Rakor. During that time, he had expended a great deal of effort figuring out exactly what he wanted from life and had developed a very effective formula for getting it. But all that had fallen apart completely the moment he had met Eris.
My moral code has been turned on its head trying to appease that girl’s irritating conscience
. He wondered if she realized she was the only person who had ever stopped him from doing something once he’d set his mind to it.
And all it takes is that ridiculous, endearing pout of hers.

Varrin strode down the hall lost in thought until he passed the mess hall. The tantalizing smells drifting into the hallway pulled him from his reverie and into the room. Finding it empty, he opened a cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Black Eye whiskey, and poured himself a large mug.

How am I going to get her off my mind?
he wondered, sitting down on one of the hard metal chairs. Nursing the liquor in one hand, he rubbed his temple with the other.

“It was either a lifetime of torture or a quick death,” he mused. “She should be grateful, not furious. So why do I feel guilty? Rakorsians don’t feel guilty. Besides, I’m doomed too, unless I can pull off another daring escape, so she can hardly get off calling me self-serving.”

“This is pathetic,” said a voice from the doorway.

Varrin didn’t bother looking up—he knew who it was. “Fino’jin, this really isn’t the time.”

The huge, scarred Skin Slicer clomped over and took the seat across from Varrin. The chair creaked loudly in protest from the combined weight of the beefy Rakorsian and his crimson body armor. “I have known you for a long time, Prince Varrin,” Fino’jin said brusquely, “and never once have I seen you give up as thoroughly as you are doing now. Your sniveling is an embarrassment to the entire Rakorsian race.”

This caught Varrin’s attention. Looking up sharply, he snapped, “What are you talking about?”

“This,” the old soldier replied, gesturing toward the mug of whiskey in his prince’s hand and the young man’s defeated posture. “Despite your flaws—of which there are many—you are the one person I have always counted on to ensure his continued survival at all costs.”

“I’m flattered.”

“No, you aren’t. And that is what irks me.” Fino’jin peered closely at Varrin. “When the empress tried to draw you into her political plots, you sidestepped every attempt and eliminated anyone that got in your way. When you were betrothed to a creature more slug than humanoid, you demolished half the docking bay in your escape. When the emperor sent ships after you to drag you back home, you destroyed thirteen fighters before making an uncontrolled Pull out of the system, the aftershock of which severely damaged two star cruisers.”

Varrin brightened. “Two star cruisers? Really? Kari, I’m good.”

“That is exactly my point!” Fino’jin snarled, lunging across the table and seizing him by the shirt.

Varrin gave him an unimpressed look.

“You should be in the air ducts by now!” the Skin Slicer continued. “Sneaking around, avoiding the patrols, and doing your damned best to get off this ship!”

“It almost sounds like you want me to escape.”

Fino’jin didn’t rise to the bait. “Of course I don’t want you to escape. I serve the emperor. I exist only to do his bidding, and that bidding is to return you to Rakor.”

“And yet you’re lecturing me on escape plans?”

Fino’jin knocked over the table as he surged to his feet. He twisted the handful of Varrin’s shirt in his fist and heaved him up in the air.

Dangling from the huge man’s grip, Varrin scowled and considered trying to shatter the Skin Slicer’s skull with his bare hands.
I don’t love my chances—that helmet has to be at least half an inch thick.

“You misunderstand me, my prince,” the scarred Rakorsian growled. “I am saying that when I do drag you before the emperor, I want to present to him a son who has retained at least some semblance of noble upbringing. And then, when the emperor decides your fate, I shall gladly carry out his orders.”

“I’d expect no less from you.”

“You still aren’t listening!” Fino’jin bellowed, lifting Varrin higher. “I’ve known you for many years, my prince, and in all that time I’ve never been as ashamed of you as I am now!”

“That’s a little harsh,” Varrin protested. “I haven’t done anything particularly shameful. Not lately, anyway. Well, unless you count my most recent trip to Vekrori Prime. But she never mentioned she was the chief administrator’s daughter, or that she was engaged, so I really can’t be held responsible for that particular blood feud.”

“You’re a
Rakorsian
, for Kari’s sake! You should be breaking your back—or preferably other people’s backs—to get out of this situation, and instead you’re sitting here moping over that pathetic terrestrial!”

Varrin bristled. “I am not moping.”

“No?” Fino’jin growled. “Then what would you call it? Because from what I can see, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“Watch what you say.”

“Why? What are you going to do? Cry? If I didn’t know better, Prince Varrin, I’d say you’ve become as soft as your brother!”

Varrin’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Fino’jin—”

“I used to respect you, you know!” Fino’jin had worked himself up into a righteous rage, his eyes blazing. “Despite your youth, you embodied all the greatest traits of a Rakorsian—intelligence, strength, speed, ruthlessness. The crown prince, heir to the imperial throne—I was honored to guard your life!” The old soldier suddenly fell silent, a look of disgust on his face.

Fino’jin’s words finally triggered something in Varrin’s muddled mess of thoughts. All of a sudden, clarity surged through him, sweeping away the doubts and worries that had, of late, been plaguing him. And with clarity came fury, mostly at being screamed at and manhandled.

“All right,” Varrin announced, clamping a hand over the meaty fist clutching his shirt. “I’ve heard enough of this drivel.”

Before the Skin Slicer could react, Varrin kneed Fino’jin sharply in the stomach. As the man grunted in pain, Varrin twisted up and around and slammed his other knee into the Rakorsian’s cheek. Staggering backward, Fino’jin roared and released him.

Varrin dropped to the floor and immediately drove his foot at the commander’s legs. Only the older man’s prodigious skill in battle saved him from sprawling helplessly across the metal floor.

Feeling invigorated, Varrin leaped back to his feet and cocked his fists, giving the Skin Slicer a challenging look. “I must say, Fino’jin, I think you’re onto something. I was so busy being pathetic that I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Fino’jin regained his balance and slammed a huge fist toward Varrin’s shoulder, but the prince swiveled at the last moment to avoid serious damage. For several minutes they fought, careening to and fro around the mess hall, overturning tables and smashing dishware and glasses. Although Fino’jin was nearly double his weight and a foot taller, Varrin managed to take his hits and return them blow for blow. Finally, the old soldier was sent reeling back courtesy of a jab to the throat that narrowly missed his jugular.

“That’s more like it,” the Skin Slicer grunted with a grim smile.

“What?” Varrin taunted, bouncing up and down from the exhilaration of the fight. “Not so pathetic now, am I?” He did a backward flip to dodge a large knife that Fino’jin sent flying at him.

“Indeed. It seems you are back to your regular self.”

“You realize that my regular self is going to kick your ass, right?”

“I dare you to try.”

As the Skin Slicer unsheathed a huge, electrified sword, Varrin did another back flip and snatched Fino’jin’s thrown knife from the floor. He hefted the knife from hand to hand, testing out the weapon’s balance.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Varrin said.

“What is?” Fino’jin demanded.

“Now that you’ve inspired me to get the hell off this ship, I’m going to have to kill you to do it.”

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

“And the only way you will stop me is by killing me.”

“I hope my prince would expect nothing less from me.”

Reflecting on the absurdity of the Rakorsian honor code, Varrin inclined his head to the Skin Slicer he’d known since childhood. “Very well. I won’t hold back.”

“I would kill you if you did. But then, I plan to do that anyway.”

Varrin flashed him a cocky grin. “Take your best shot.”

The two proud Rakorsians clashed blades. Despite Varrin’s inferior weapon, he had the strength and agility to keep up with Fino’jin’s electrified sword. The two parried and thrusted, landing the occasional blow that resulted in a hiss of pain.

As they battled, Varrin realized that the only way to defeat the unyielding Fino’jin would be to first disarm him. The electrified sword was a formidable weapon, and with it, the commander was nigh unstoppable.

Once Varrin had formulated a plan, it took only a few seconds for him to gain the upper hand. Instead of parrying Fino’jin’s blade with his own, Varrin lunged to the side and jammed his knife toward the man’s ribs. Fino’jin pivoted to avoid the attack, unable to move his sword fast enough to block. Varrin saw the opportunity and ruthlessly seized it. A quick up thrust, a flick of his wrist, and the electrified sword was sent flying across the room.

As the Skin Slicer reeled back in surprise, Varrin stepped smoothly toward him and brought the hilt of the dagger smashing down on his helmeted skull. Fino’jin collapsed to the floor.

“While I have no problem with duels to the death in general,” Varrin told the motionless commander, “I will not kill someone who once devoted his life to protecting mine.”

Varrin removed Fino’jin’s armor and put it on, adjusting the straps to fit his leaner frame. He was buckling on the shin guards when the intercom blared.

“Attention! The Ssrisk boarding parties have been contained. The terrestrial has been located and recaptured. All guards, return to your posts. Execution squad B report to the bridge immediately. That is all.”

“So this is it,” Varrin murmured, pulling Fino’jin’s helmet over his shaggy hair. It was too large, so he took it off and tossed it beside the Skin Slicer’s body. “The girl will be executed, and I will escape.”

He glanced at his unconscious opponent sprawled on the metal floor. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolded. “It wasn’t like our mission was guaranteed to succeed. She knew that going in. She chose her own fate.” Varrin groaned. “Then why do I feel so
guilty
?”

36

M
uch to Eris’s dismay, Grashk refused to go down without a fight, especially after the Rakorsians ordered him to surrender.

As more guards poured into the control room, the deadly Ssrisk continued to fire round after round. Finally, a fluke shot from one of the Rakorsians hit the edge of a nearby terminal, knocking free a chunk of metal that ricocheted off Grashk’s forehead. When he reeled backward, his attackers stunned him with their strikers. Grashk collapsed.