Inherit the Stars (11 page)

“Bitch! Ya don't plumb fuck with me like that!” Orstaav spat on her. The door opened. All three pirates raced inside, swords raised.

“He's going to steal Shekelor's ship! Quick—stop him!” Her heart sank as the three snorted and laughed. “I'm serious, he's going to—”

Kivita rolled aside as Orstaav fired. The pistol made a whizzing noise. The round blew a hole in the stone wall. Masonry shards stung her backside as she jumped up at him. His fist glanced off her right shoulder, but Kivita rolled with the blow and tried to get behind him.

A pirate rammed a knee into Kivita's right leg; a sword pommel struck her shoulder and knocked her back down. She gritted her teeth and tried to rise, refusing to register the pain throbbing through her body.

Orstaav wiped blood from his face. “Fucking get her up! We'll all four plumb ram her until she can't flaming walk!”

One of the pirates choked. The crack of a snapping neck echoed in the room, and the man collapsed. Behind the dead pirate stood Seul, who snatched his sword.

Surging with energy, Kivita rolled to her feet. A sword jabbed at her, but Seul parried the weapon and slapped aside its wielder.

Orstaav backhanded Kivita to the floor, then fired at Seul. The shot clipped Seul's shoulder armor. Shrapnel cut across the Aldaakian's left cheek.

Shouts from the doorway alerted Kivita a split second before two new pirates entered and aimed their pistols. Adrenaline obliterated her pain as she plowed into one pirate, clawing at his throat. Orstaav tried to fire at Seul, but the Aldaakian elbowed his chest, then whipped around and gutted one of the original pirates. The screech of metal jabbing through polyarmor mixed with the intake of sharp breath.

“Bitch!” Orstaav punched Seul's jaw; she wobbled but slashed his chin. Both landed powerful strikes on each other's armored bodies.

The pirate Kivita had grappled with rammed his fist into her right side. Kivita jammed a thumb into his eye and slapped his pistol down as he fired. The round blew off the man's foot. She cut his scream short by crunching the apple of his throat.

Orstaav yanked Kivita by the hair and brought his pistol up to her chest. She kicked his legs, then punched his face until her knuckles bled. Right before he fired, Seul slammed a pirate into Kivita, knocking her from Orstaav's grasp. The kinetic round ripped into the pirate's stomach instead. Orstaav thrust the dead man aside and yelled a curse.

Kivita kicked Orstaav's knee, knocking him off balance, while Seul grabbed his neck. A pop and a gurgle, and a lifeless Orstaav slid from Seul's grasp.

The last two pirates struck at Seul with blades; her polyarmor absorbed the first blows. One man pierced her right vambrace, drawing blood. Seul shoved her sword though his throat.

The final pirate raced for the door, but Kivita seized and fired Orstaav's pistol. The kinetic round went straight through the man's back and out his chest. He tumbled into a gory heap.

Blood pounded in Kivita's ears. Every muscle ached; every bruise and scrape flared. She wanted to vomit as her gaze swept over the twisted bodies. Yeah, she'd been in spaceport brawls and a few firefights. She'd even killed in defense, but never enjoyed it. Those times she'd been able to leave the scene and get on with her life. Trapped on Umiracan, she knew only more blood awaited her and Seul.

Standing in the center of the room, Seul appeared as calm as a pool of frozen water. Blood wept from the cut on her cheek and over her bruised jaw.

Kivita rose, rubbing her shoulder. Blood leaked from her right nostril, stinging her busted lips. She checked the pistol's magazine: three rounds left.

Seul shut the door, barred it with one of the pirate's swords, and waited. “I hear no one coming.”

“Damn. We're both luckier than a blind spacer in a zero-G toilet.” Kivita winced as adrenaline faded and more aches stung her body. Spots appeared in her sight, and the room blurred.

A firm grip encircled her waist. Kivita shook her head, and her vision cleared. Seul stood beside her, providing support. Respect glinted in the Aldaakian's white-within-azure stare.

“I saw you leave the pirate's hall. Orstaav followed you. I didn't like the look on his face. I suppose Sar and the Ascali are still being entertained by that abomination.”

A cool sensation rippled through Kivita. Did Sar have anything to do with selling her to the Sarrhdtuu? He'd always talked about secret allies. It would explain his recent behavior, as well as him rescuing her on Vstrunn.

“You think they betrayed us,” Seul said.

“I . . . I don't know. We've got our own problems.” Kivita pointed at the antenna outside the viewport. “Can you send a signal to your people? I want my ship back. Your commander can have this damn gem for it—I don't care. I've had enough of this craziness.”

Seul's eyes widened, and then she nodded. “You activated that signal. My superiors would be honored to speak with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's great. Can you do it?”

“They'll only come if they're already looking for Sar's ship,” Seul replied.

“A chance we'll have to take.” Kivita secured the pouch with the Juxj Star to her slim belt.

Seul keyed a frequency into a terminal. A series of beeps followed the last few keystrokes. Through the viewport, the antenna rotated a few degrees. The
terminal readout displayed a short broadcast in a repeating pattern.

“How long?” Kivita asked.

“If Commander Vuul is searching, then perhaps two Aldaakuun days.” Seul glanced at Kivita. “Twenty Inheritor hours. But only if he traced the trajectory we traveled to this system.”

“Guess what. We don't have that long.” Kivita sighed, then extended her hand. “Listen. I owe you. Those guys would've . . . well, you know.”

“I've fought these pirates before. They steal from my people and take slaves. That makes you more than a worthy ally.” Seul gripped Kivita's hand.

“Now what?” Kivita asked.

Seul stared. “What do you mean? This was your plan.”

“Yeah, that's what bothers me. What did you put in that message?”

“I requested Commander Vuul's assistance with retrieving the Juxj Star from Umiracan.” Seul pointed at Orstaav's body. “You should put on his armor. There's no blood on it. You could fool these scum.”

Kivita grimaced. “Shit. He'd better not be naked under there. Help me put it on.”

After removing the armor—thankfully, a jumpsuit covered Orstaav's still-warm corpse—Kivita stood still while Seul fastened its buckles. She waited for more pirates to burst into the room any moment. Even Seul stole glances at the door. They had little chance of making it. Three kinetic rounds and two swords against dozens of pirates?

“We can do this, Kivita.” Seul snapped a buckle closed. “Focus on the now, not what might happen.”

“Yeah.” Their eyes met. Strength swelled in Kivita's chest. Knowing someone else would stand with her and even die with her eroded much of her fear.

Minutes later, Kivita stood in Orstaav's blue-and-white polyarmor; it stank worse than a farmer's mud socks. She snapped on her helmet and darkened the faceplate manually.

“Well?” Kivita asked.

“Shave your silly hair, and you could be an Aldaakian.”

Kivita snorted. “Will Vuul pick us up?”

Seul frowned.

“Didn't think so.” Anxiety shortened Kivita's breaths for a moment. If Sar had betrayed her, she'd have to leave him and Cheseia on Umiracan. Leave him for good and bury the desires she'd harbored.

Kivita holstered the kinetic pistol in the polyarmor's belt. “Well, I'll just take the Juxj Star to Vuul. Ready to steal Shekelor's ship?”

Together they descended a flight of spiral steps to the other side of the battlement. The dull, distant boom of music from the drinking hall came through the stone walls. At the bottom of the steps, before a small door, Kivita swallowed. Her fingers flexed above the holstered pistol.

Seul nodded, and Kivita opened the door.

A vaulted chamber with a skylight awaited them. A ragged red carpet covered the floor, and pictures adorned the walls. No pirates around, just four women in flimsy clothes on a stained bed. Kivita strode on in. If she crept, it would raise suspicion. Even so, while making for another door across the room, she hesitated.

“We don't have time,” Seul whispered.

“I know, but look at these,” she whispered back.

Kivita pointed at a collection of feudal-style paintings hanging on the wall. Dust caked the brushed-oil canvases, the etched metal frames. One portrait stood out: black hair, strong jaw, heavy brows. It was Shekelor Thal, younger, dressed in the doublet of a Sutaran nobleman. So the throne room hadn't been a total play on the warlord's ego.

A second portrait of a young man resembled Shekelor enough to be his son. The skylight's pinkish glow cast shadows over the teenager's face.

He'd had a child? A family? Kivita shivered, wondering what had caused Shekelor to devolve into the monster he'd become.

The four women regarded Kivita with frightened grins so false, she almost laughed. Wait—it had to be the armor. Orstaav must have sampled every slave girl on Umiracan with rough relish. She'd lose no norm sleep over his passing.

“Come.” Seul took her by the arm and cleared her throat. “Let's continue, Orstaav.”

Kivita took a deep breath and opened the next door. The tingling returned to her head while the pain of betrayal reawakened in her heart.

•   •   •

The grind box's music grated on Sar's nerves as he scanned the counter. Kivita had disappeared into the crowd. A dozen half-naked dancers added further confusion.

Years ago, Umiracan had been a safe haven for rebels and less despicable pirates. Now he feared losing Kivita here if he but turned his head. Shekelor and Orstaav watched her too much, and not just in a sexual manner. He should have taken Kivita somewhere else. No
matter what he did, those he cared about were always placed in danger.

Suppressing a curse, he reached for the cup of Freen ale before him, but Cheseia grabbed his hand. He shot her a look, but her tense gaze made him pause.

“I see your Ascali beauty acts like the wine tasters of old Naxan courts,” Shekelor said. “They possessed such excellent noses.”

As the music subsided, the dancers cavorted from the hall with a band of drunken pirates. Eight men and women remained. All of them possessed the same olive skin as Shekelor.

Cheseia squeezed his hand, and for the first time Sar realized she'd neither eaten nor drunk anything.

Sar faced Shekelor. “So you use poison these days?” His lips still tingled from the combined alcohol, electric shock, and slight orgasmic reaction from the Umiracan Kiss.

“Only when needed.” Shekelor leaned back in his chair. “You patriotic fool. Did you really expect me to welcome you with open arms? A Thede posing as a salvager, transporting a Savant wanted by the Arm's great powers?”

The eight pirates aimed guns at Sar and Cheseia.

Heat stifled Sar, but he kept his hands on the table. “You son of a bitch.”

“I keep a brain-pulse analyzer above the curtain in my throne room, so I would have known, regardless. But I was already expecting your fetching companion.”

“I wish you had truly listened to me,” Cheseia whispered.

Sar smirked without humor at Shekelor. “So, who gets Kiv? That bald Rector, or the Sarrhdtuu surgeons who green-rigged your callous ass?”

One of Shekelor's coils shot out and wrapped around Sar's neck. The tentaclelike appendage squeezed off his air, its biomechanical ridges suctioning onto his flesh. Cheseia reached for her beam rifle, but two pirates shot her chair from under her. Wooden splinters flew through the air as the chair was atomized by the shots. Cheseia fell into a crouch, corded muscles ready.

“Kivita goes to the one who will soon rule the Cetturo Arm, Redryll. You might as well get used to this around your neck.” Shekelor yanked back the coil, and Sar's head slammed into the table.

Before Sar could rise, rough hands tugged his arms behind his back. Two pirates hauled Sar to his feet, flinging aside his chair and the table. Cheseia finally stood as three closed in with their pistols.

“You Sutaran filth,” Sar said. One pirate kneed him in the gut.

“Toss them into a holding cell. No food or drink for them tonight. I shall join Orstaav in
Fanged Pauper
's courtyard.” Shekelor headed for the hall doorway.

“You might as well have killed Byelor yourself,” Sar muttered.

Shekelor paused but didn't turn around. “My son took my heart with him upon dying, Redryll. Your own was left on Freen with Caitrynn. We both wander the space lanes as heartless wraiths, hoping everything we do might bring them back to us. Thus we cannot be expected to act as men. We act as something worse.”

Chest heaving with angry breaths, Sar told himself Shekelor was wrong. Told himself Kivita would've been captured anyway. Such mental reassurances failed to quiet the screaming rage in his heart.

The pirates led them into the courtyard, where two
turret entrances awaited them. Shekelor entered the right one, and the pirates led Sar and Cheseia into the left. A thick mildew stench rankled the air. Cheseia gagged, while Sar's stomach sank.

The stench of Sarrhdtuu starships.

Inside the turret entrance, a cluster of lockers stood upright against dark-lit walls. Gray-green carapace covered the lockers. Beside them, a table had a pump attached to transparent tubes running with yellow-green liquid. Sar tensed as several shapes moved in the shadows; then he wished they had remained there.

Six more green-rigged pirates, each possessing coils for hands, inserted a tube from the pump into their chests. Right into the skin or armor, like a finger through mud. As the liquid raced through the tubes into them, the pirates grunted and spasmed, eyes rolling back in their heads. Green moisture leaked from their tear ducts.

As a burn victim, Shekelor had repaired himself with Transmutation, but why did these pirates undergo it? Fear thudded anew in Sar's heart for Kivita. The things such madmen might do to her . . .

A dim stairwell led into a corridor lined with metal doors. The pirates opened one and shoved Sar in; then Cheseia's lithe form bumped into him as the door shut. A single, flickering lamp illuminated the five-by-five-foot cell.

Cheseia squirmed against his body and coughed into his shoulder. “I cannot bear that fantastically awful smell. What do you roughly think Shekelor will do with us?”

“Hard to say. He might sell us as slaves. He might kill us.”

Full, eager lips brushed his. “I wish I could magically stop all this. Protect you from what is coming.” Concern and fear warred in her gaze, mixed with something he couldn't identify.

“Not now,” he whispered.

Cheseia looked into his eyes. “Your troubles weigh deeply on my own heart. You have been cold since we landed, especially to Kivita. Why did you not—?”