Hope you enjoy today's chapter!

I'm tired and my brain can't think of anything more to say. Thanks for reading and supporting :)

-Plum

16 – Clearing the Board

Melanie sat on her bunk, her sheet clenched in her fists as she stared into space, listening to the thuds of point-defense cannons echoing through the ship’s frame. The ship shook with distant explosions, and occasionally, she heard the faraway clicks and pops of gunfire. “I should be out there!” she growled, though she knew it wasn’t true; she’d be a liability—someone that had to be watched.

//I won’t repeat what you’re already thinking.//

Melanie didn’t respond to Roxy; there wasn’t any point. Instead, she tugged on her sheet, tightening the knot she’d made with sheer nervous energy. “I wish I could get an update. Do you think Paige was right? Is Hector actually going to board their ship?”

//I don’t know why Paige would make that up. She sounded sure.//

Melanie sighed and flopped back onto her thin gel mattress. She closed her eyes and, as she’d been doing more and more, imagined herself back in her old life—before she was Commander Mathews, before the belt, before signing with the Gray Dogs, before even leaving Tharsis. She remembered the time after Imperial Secondary, when she and George left their home stack and got a place in Kurosawa Tower.

“Those were the days,” she whispered, remembering the park on their level, and how they’d stroll, laughing at the Kawaii pets people took for walks—little rabbits, brightly feathered birds, and even old-Earth-style cats and pocket dogs. George had wanted one so badly—they’d even agreed to skip dinner on Wednesdays to save for the thing.

Something scraped against her door, and Melanie sat up and looked at it. Was someone coming to check on her? More scrapes and then the clatter of plasteel told her something was amiss. “Maybe some ordnance breached the corridor?”

//It doesn’t seem loud enough for that.//

Even as she contemplated getting up to put her ear to the door, the panel beside the door emitted a shower of sparks and then the door slid open. A man stood there—so thin as to be almost skeletal. He wore a skin-tight black bodysuit and his left forearm bulged with an implanted cyber-deck. Melanie’s attention was quickly snatched away by his face, though—a close dark beard framed hollow, black eyes that glowed with pale-green luminosity—aura.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, standing up.

“Who the hell are you, pretty meat?” the man retorted, his voice high and brittle.

Melanie clutched her fists. “If you’re a pirate, you picked the wrong cell to break into, dumbass.”

“Did I?” the man asked, and then, in a startling display of aura finesse, both of his fists erupted with mint-colored aura that rapidly took on the shape of a pair of wicked, razor-style knives.

Melanie smirked, lifted her left hand, and beckoned him. “Come on then, runt.”

The man cackled and charged through the door, his twin blades trailing wispy, almost ghostly green aura steam. He made it two steps into the cell, right in front of Melanie, before the knives sputtered and faltered, bursting apart in a thicker cloud of steam.

“What? Bruja…”

“Null-field, dummy,” Melanie said, and then she grabbed the back of his neck and jerked, yanking his face toward her rising knee. She felt his nose break under the blow, heard his grunt and wheeze of surprise, but then he began fighting back, throwing jabs and jerking hard against the pressure she was applying to his neck.

Melanie was a brawler, though; she’d trained for decades, and her muscles were well enhanced by potentia. Whatever the man’s talent with Aura Blades, it didn’t translate into the brutal kind of sparring she was accustomed to. As he tugged against her grip, she went with him, stepping to the side and switching up her grip so she could throw him back. He stumbled and careened into the wall, and before he could recover, Melanie was there, one hand bracing against the plasteel while she drove her other elbow right into his forehead.

She hardly felt the blow, but she heard the impact and the secondary one as the man’s skull bounced off the wall. Almost to her dismay, he slid down to his butt, utterly still. Melanie squatted before him, grinning broadly, exposing her sharp, chromed canines. She slapped the man’s cheek. “Done already? That was boring!”

//It seems belt pirates aren’t acquainted with sophisticated Imperial tech like null-fields.//

Melanie laughed at Roxy’s droll tone and glanced at the open door. The thought crossed her mind that it would be a hell of a lot of fun to go out there—to wander the ship and look for some more pirates to beat the shit out of. She stood, intending to do just that, but then a wave of vertigo washed over her and she had to lean forward, hands on knees.

“Such a waste…” the Voice said.

//Melanie? Are you okay?//

“Him!” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Fuck you! Get out!” Suddenly her life became pain—white-hot, inescapable pain that erupted about four centimeters behind her eyes. Melanie gasped, clutched her skull and collapsed, falling forward onto her face. When the bliss of oblivion beckoned, she practically ran into its embrace—anything to escape the pain.

###

Hector considered Molly’s threat. After just a moment’s hesitation, he kicked the door open, only to see ten meters of empty corridor and to hear the click as the next bulkhead was sealed. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” he said, striding forward.

Molly’s voice crackled through the ancient speaker again: “I just executed five of that pretty ship’s crew. Open the next door and I can promise everyone on the bridge is going to die, hero.”

“I told you—you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I’m no hero.” With that, Hector’s Aura Blade flared to life, and he drove it into the bulkhead housing, dragging it down toward the bolt.

“So you want them to die?”

“Either way, you’re still mine. If they’re alive, you’re worth something. If they’re dead—your life has no value.” Hector grunted, grinding the impossibly sharp blade against the hardened alloy. It was no small feat, cutting through something like that. The effort burned through aura twice as fast as usual, the blade cracking against the hardened alloy and reforming over and over.

When the last millimeter of alloy severed, the sound was like a high-pitched sigh, and Hector let his blade flicker and die. He stood there, chest heaving, and gave his pool a moment to regenerate while Molly continued to bargain:

“I don’t know what they told you, killer, but I won’t go down that easily. You think I’m alone here? By the way, we just executed two more crew members.”

Hector put his boot against the door, yet again refusing to take the bait; he had to trust Burton and the others. “At least you got it right this time.”

“What?” She sounded genuinely confused.

“What you called me—killer.” With that, he kicked the door and stepped through into the last stretch of corridor, only to come face to face with a pirate who was more machine than man. He was built up with hardened ablative armor panels. His arms and legs were cybernetic, with massive electromagnetic slug throwers mounted on the former.

The guns crackled with arcing electricity and the hypersonic slugs boomed, but the sound was behind them. As Hector’s ears registered the sound, one slug shaved a centimeter of flesh and bone off his right ribs; the other hit his left shoulder like a wrecking ball, throwing him back, head-over-heels through the bulkhead door.

Pain at that level didn’t need to be ignored; Hector’s lizard brain tuned it out—it was a fight-or-flight situation and agony would only distract him from survival. He hit the deck on his face, sliding and leaving a smear of blood as evidence of his passage. His mind was already working, though; he heard the whine of the guns and the click of the servos in the cyborg’s legs; more shots were coming.

Hector activated Ghost Reaver. Should have done it earlier—too damn cocky.

Evie seemed to agree: //Not like you to banter—//

The guns thundered, but the slugs only managed to mangle the distant elevator car. Meanwhile, a crimson blade flared to life, seemingly hovering in the air, and swiftly advanced on the cyborg. To Hector’s surprise, he felt aura flare, and an amber shield appeared in front of the big mechanized pirate. It wasn’t a full bubble-shield, though—more like a kite shield that needed to be manipulated.

Hector feinted up, and the pirate lifted his glowing shield, but then the crimson knife swooped down, severing a bulky cybernetic leg at the knee. The pirate grunted in surprise and threw his hand out, driving buzzing claws into the plasteel wall to keep himself from falling. Meanwhile, he chased Hector’s blade with his aura shield, and Hector had to take a step back lest he get bashed by the construct—he was immune to physical objects, but aura could reach him in the veil.

The distinction was about to become moot, in any case; his Ghost Reaver was nearly over. Hector had plenty of aura left, though, so as he flickered with a crimson glow and faded back into the world, he summoned his Ghost Blade. While he distracted the hobbled pirate with his Aura Blade, slashing it against the amber shield, Hector’s secondary weapon appeared behind his foe.

The Ghost Blade had the same instincts as its master, and when it recognized the pirate’s back, it went to work—hack, stab, rip, slash—and the pirate fell in a shower of ruined cybernetics and vital fluids. His corpse hung from the wall, where his vibrating claws still buzzed inside the panel. Hector stooped and pressed his hand to the back of the dead pirate’s neck, drawing forth his potentia.

//9 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 347.//

As the slight rush faded, Hector looked at his ruined shoulder—the high-speed projectile had cracked his similite bones and knocked the ball out of the socket. The flesh was mangled and burned from the energy discharge, but he was in one piece. He straightened, used his good arm to position the wounded one so that his elbow was against the plasteel wall, and then he pushed, gasping in pain as he twisted this way and that until the bone slid into place.

“You’re…something, killer,” Molly said, her voice far more subdued than before.

Hector cradled his arm, waiting for his regeneration to do its work—to dull the agony and mend his flesh. At the same time, he studied the final bulkhead door. “You going to make me cut my way in, or are you ready to talk?”

###

“That was Flint,” Burton said, and Kristy ducked down behind their makeshift barrier to look over at him.

“Yeah?”

“Says a shuttle docked and then took off—nobody got off.” Burton shrugged. “Maybe they planted a bomb.”

An SMG rattled and the plasteel wall behind them puckered with twenty new holes. “Is he okay?”

“He’s holding his own. Still ten or so pirates down there.” Burton looked past her to the other side of the corridor where Stinson was hunkered, his shoulder pressed against the wall, pistol raised and ready. “You got aura for a shield?”

Stinson nodded.

Burton looked at Kristy. “Ready?”

Kristy glanced at her rifle’s ammo counter: 40/46. “Ready.”

Burton looked at Stinson again. “Listen, they’re staggered on both sides of the junction, mid-way. My shield’s stronger; I’ll push first, draw their fire. You come behind. When I hunker down, you come around on my left—shield up. I’ll take out the guys on the right, you take the left. Then we both push, shields up.” He looked at Kristy. “That’s when you fire your speed boost and come hauling ass through. We’ll leave just enough of a gap between our shields for you to fire at their main barricade—four bursts and then a concussion grenade. Got it?”

Kristy’s eyes widened; everything sounded complicated when he laid it out like—

“Like we drilled!” Burton growled. “Double snapping turtle!”

Suddenly it all clicked, and Kristy could picture the whiteboard where Burton had first gone over the maneuver. “Why didn’t you say so?” She nodded, shouldering her rifle. “Ready!”

Burton didn’t wait; he roared as a bubble of bright blue aura bloomed around him, and then he leaped over the barricade. Guns roared and a frag grenade boomed, and then Stinson charged after him, a brilliant canary yellow shield flickering to life before him. Kristy felt her heart hammering in her chest as she watched him go, watched Burton crouch down and then start up again as Stinson caught up to him.

Another grenade boomed, but the two men didn’t slow. They reached the junction and their guns roared, and Kristy knew it was time. She triggered her wirejob. The taste of copper filled her mouth, and the world seemed to slow as everything brightened and euphoria took hold; her wirejob was top end, and it worked on many levels, not least of which was mental.

She raced down the corridor, past the smoldering corpses at the junction, then took aim at the pirates barricaded outside the central elevator; they were working hard to bypass Mae’s systems and if they succeeded, they’d be able to access the bridge deck. As the pops of guns and the drifts of smoke and debris reached her senses in slow motion, Kristy took aim and fired four bursts from left to right. Then, as one of the pirates fell, she aimed right at the elevator doors and triggered the grenade launcher under her gun’s barrel.

Her boost wore off just as the concussion grenade thundered. Burton howled with glee, pushing forward, his shield still up. He and Stinson continued to pound the pirates’ barricade with bullets, but it was over. That much was clear when the three remaining pirates broke and ran. Stinson gave chase, and Burton pushed Kristy.

“Go! We don’t want rats loose on the ship!”

Grinning wolfishly, she nodded. “On it!”

###

Hector stared at the bulkhead door for another minute. All the while, his cartilage, ligaments, and tendons regrew; his flesh filled in, and the pain rapidly faded from his shoulder. He knew Molly could see him—knew his healing was adding more pressure than any words he could say. When his aura had recovered significantly and he was mostly healed, he decided he’d waited long enough.

“Have it your way,” he said, and then his shoulders bloomed with crimson flames.

The speaker crackled and Molly cried, “Wait!”

Hector kept his aura on display, but he didn’t summon his blade. “I’m listening.”

“You really want to talk? We can come to an agreement?”

“If you were bluffing.”

“About the executions? I was.”

Hector nodded. “Open the door and tell your boarders to stand down. We can work something out.”

There was a moment of silence and then the door’s locks thunked, and it began to roll to the side. Hector primed Ghost Leap; if a bomb got tossed through the door or someone had a railgun lined up on the doorway, he’d try to phase away before he got splattered. When the door was fully opened, though, all he saw was Molly—he recognized her from when she’d called Gladia—and three other crew members, all of whom were sitting at very dated-looking, beat-up control stations.

He stepped onto the ancient bridge, looking left and right, confirming he wasn’t mistaken.

Molly snorted, shaking her smooth-shaven head. Her black eyes didn’t hint at any actual amusement as she said, “You killed my best men. I’d be mad, but we picked the fight. Damn bastards didn’t tell me the Ventress bitch had a monster working for her.”

“Your pirates standing down?”

“Starting to—they’re not exactly disciplined.” She held up her hands. “Relax, though; they didn’t even make it close to the bridge. I’ve got my comm officer repeating the order, and it’ll sink in.”

Hector looked around the bridge, trying to get a view of the tactical displays, but the visible data was incomplete, and Evie didn’t have the key to the underlying feeds. “You really have mass drivers nearby?”

“Damn straight! Before you came in here, I told my boys that if I don’t check in, they’re to frag this ship along with that pretty Imperial lander with all your friends aboard.”

Hector smirked. “A blaze of glory, huh?”

“That’s right, killer.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. She was surprisingly unarmed—just a slender woman in a pair of dark blue overalls tucked into heavy black knee-high boots. Even so, Hector could see authority in her posture, in her tone, and in the hard lines between her brows as she scowled at him. “So? What’s the play? I admit I messed up, and you folks go on your merry way?”

Ever since Gladia had reported the boarding pods, Hector had been racking his brain for an angle—a way to put the schemers who wanted Gladia and Freddy dead on their back foot. As he’d worked his way through the ship, an idea had come to him, but he wasn’t sure Gladia was going to like it. Considering he was the one who held the key to stopping the pirate attack, though, he figured it didn’t matter.

“No, it’s going to get a little more complicated than that. Let me ask you something. What kind of ship brought you those boarding pods?”

Molly scowled, folded her arms, and stared at him for several seconds before she made a hissing sound and said, “An Imperial frigate—not Legion, but one belonging to a House. I could tell because it was old but in good repair. It just had the look. It was flying dark, though—no crest and no identifier broadcast.”

Hector smiled. “You really think they’re going to let you walk away with Gladia Ventress and keep her ship?”

The line between Molly’s brows deepened. “I mean, that’s what they paid us for, so yeah…”

“Okay, Molly, maybe you’re out of your depth, but here’s what’s happening. Right now, that ship is sitting in the shadow of an asteroid and it’s watching. First, it’ll let Grendel and Maidensong beat each other up; it’ll want to see if you can pull off this job—kill or capture Gladia and all of her people. Either way, when the dust settles, it’s going to come in and clear the board.”

Molly shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I had a scout ship follow them out.”

Hector sucked his teeth, mimicking her head shake. “Maybe. You sure they were alone?”

Molly frowned.

Hector stepped closer to her. “You supposed to report the job done to someone?”

Molly traced the line of her spider tattoo near her jaw with her pointer finger. “Yeah—encrypted dead drop.”

Hector nodded, more and more convinced his plan was the only real option if they wanted to operate without looking over their shoulders for the foreseeable future. Gladia’s going to fight me on this. Start putting together some talking points.

//I’m still not sure what you’re talking about…//

“Listen, Molly,” Hector said, glancing around to ensure no one was sneaking up on him. “How would you like to keep Maidensong and punish the bastards who set you up?”