ë Archer - Collision Course

“Which will leave us unarmed, as well. Making for a difficult rescue.” Impossible, actually.

“I’ve got a plan.” He said this with confident authority. He went to his duffle and began pulling out items, which he set on the galley table. Then he outlined for her what he intended to do, their respective roles and how the rescue of the lieutenant and her ship would be effected. As he spoke, her admiration for him grew. Gods curse it.

“Quite an ingenious operation you have planned for us,” she murmured. “Provided it succeeds.”

“It will. I have faith in us both.”

Damn him. He kept demolishing her defenses.

“Mara.” His voice gleaming and dark, his eyes the same. He was fierce, burning, and she could no more turn away from him than she could escape the fatal gravity of a sun.

“Be ready,” he said. “Because, when this is over, I’m not letting you go.”

Her heart squeezed tightly. “You’re assuming we will still be alive when this is over.”

“We’ll make it.” Again, that unshakable, quiet confidence.

“Not everything is going to survive this mission.” She gestured to the space between them. “This won’t.”

His expression darkened. “Nothing is certain.”

“Some things are.” She turned away, unable to look at him. “8th Wing and scavenger scum don’t mix.”

His boots pounded the metal floor. Large and strong, his hands covered her shoulders and turned her around to face him. Anger tightened his features. “Neither of us fit into shiny little boxes.”

“So tell me,” she fired back, “what’s the flight plan, Commander? You fly missions for 8th Wing while I wait at the base, weaving plasma pistol cozies and hoping you make it back alive? Or maybe you keep the Arcadia clean while I do scavenging runs? Or, how about this,” she pressed on, relentless, “we live for brief windows when we can meet up, maybe on some resort planet for a few solar days, fuck like crazy before it’s time to go, time for goodbyes, never knowing when we’d get another chance to see each other.” Her mouth firmed. “All of those scenarios are punishment.”

Frustration hardened his jaw. “You’d rather have emptiness. The ache, here.” He dug his fist into the center of his chest.

She felt that ache now. “I already see it, see what I become. Thinking about how much time we have left together, or worrying that you’ll find some nice 8th Wing medical officer and send me a Dear Jane comm.”

“Join 8th Wing.”

Longing flared within her, but she crushed it as ruthlessly as she had once crushed hope of returning home. “They’d laugh me out of the station. Or throw me in the brig.”

“You keep seeing things that aren’t going to happen.”

“And you don’t know they won’t.” She twisted away from him. “Just—can’t we have this?

There’s so little time. And then…when the mission is over…if we’re still alive…we just…” She hated that she couldn’t even complete the sentence, let alone the thought.

Yet he knew where she was heading. “We walk away,” he finished, hollow. “No.”

“We have to.”

For a long while, he said nothing. Then, “You continue to surprise me, Mara Skiren.”

“Surprise?”

“I made my judgment early. Scavenger. Then I learned. You were so much more than that. But never, until now, did I think you were a coward.”

She couldn’t speak, not even when he sat at the table and began to work on assembling the necessary components to the rescue mission. He worked silently as she stood nearby, frozen with hurt.

After several moments, she went to the cockpit and sat, staring out the window. It had always been her place of refuge, where she had complete control, complete safety. She felt none of that now.

For the first time in many solar years, tears welled in her eyes, and she let them fall noiselessly down her cheeks as the world passed by below.

Gavra’s compound sprawled in the middle of the Kueng Steppe, an uninviting stretch of scrub and stunted trees. Cold western winds scraped across the Steppe, making it inhospitable to any but the most dedicated recluse. Settlements were sparse, so that the compound was the only notable feature for kilometers, and that was precisely the point. Nowhere to hide out here. No surprise attacks.

As Mara piloted her ship toward the compound, she directed Kell’s attention to the patrol drones circling. “Gavra likes a show of force. Getting past them on the way out is going to be a difficult dance.” Assuming she, Kell and the lieutenant lived long enough to attempt an escape.

“Programming can’t match a good pilot’s instincts.” He barely gave the patrol drones a glance,

instead focusing on the nearing compound. Nearly fifty ships of different sizes and makes filled a stretch of plain just outside the compound. “Popular ticket.”

“The lure of profit.” She recognized most of the ships, though some were unknown to her,

newcomers in the business of disreputable trade. “That belongs to Nalren.” She pointed toward a large frigate bristling with guns. “Slaver.”

Kell’s jaw hardened. “Celene won’t see the inside of that ship.”

Mara wondered at his use of the lieutenant’s first name, but occupied herself with following the queue of ships to the designated landing area. More patrol drones here, and even some piloted guard skiffs. Manned quad-barreled plasma cannons ringed the compound. Only PRAXIS installations were better guarded. The beginnings of apprehension tightened her nerves as the danger of what she and Kell were about to attempt truly sunk in.

A tough call, deciding what she feared most—the upcoming rescue operation, or facing the tension that snapped and splintered between her and Kell. His anger was a palpable thing, sharp-edged and ferocious, and it slashed to tatters whatever tenuous connection had existed between them. He wanted more than she could give. His words had cut, and the pain continued to throb long after they had been said.

She brought the Arcadia down, engaging the landing gear, knowing full well that the feel of the ship touching the ground marked the end of her time alone with Kell. Once they set foot off the ship, the mission would take over. She would not feel his arms around her, his mouth on hers, his body within her own. Never again. Her throat tightened.

You’re not a lost sixteen-year-old kid fleeing Argenti any more. Take your hits. Fly on.

For a moment, they both sat in the cockpit, the silence thick. Several times during the flight, they had gone over and reviewed the plan. Which left them nothing else to talk about.

She drew in a breath, released it. She rubbed her palms on her pants to dry them, then began to rise from the captain’s chair. Kell’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

“I fought my way off Sayén.” His gaze fixed her just as surely as his grip. “I fought my way into the 8th Wing. I’m tenacious.”

“Obstinate.” Still, his words sent a dark thrill through her.

He released her, his expression opaque. In the galley she watched him arm himself not just with plasma weapons, but with his soldier’s bearing and vigilance. His other face, his other self, hard as terasian armor. She almost believed that the man he had been with her—the fierce, tender lover—had never been, so complete was his transformation. He handled his plasma pistol comfortably, yet with the same hand that had touched her and brought her the most extreme pleasure she had ever experienced.

Warrior, lover. Which was he?

She needed the warrior now, to fight and win the oncoming battle, and then she and the lover would never see one another again.

Kell wrapped his scarf loosely around his neck and finished gearing up. At his nod, the ship’s door opened, and they stepped out to face the impending dangers, leaving behind unwinnable battles.

They followed the jostling crowds heading toward a security checkpoint. In addition to the manned cannons surrounding the compound, the structure’s borders were demarcated by towers transmitting a plasma signal. Anyone foolish enough to walk between the towers would be vaporized.

The only entry in and out of the compound, as far as Mara could see, was through the security checkpoint, guarded by half a dozen armed sentries. Mercenaries.

As she and Kell stepped through the gate, a stiff-faced guard aimed the barrel of a plasma rifle at them.

“Remove all weapons!”

Wordlessly, she and Kell did as they were told, unholstering their plasma pistols and handing them to a waiting sentry. They watched as the sentry carried their weapons to a nearby outbuilding.

The door to the outbuilding opened, and she caught a glimpse of tables loaded down with firearms and weaponry of every variety.

“That was my favorite plasma pistol,” she said.

“You’ll get it back after the auction is over.” Another guard handed her a chit as if she had just checked her coat at a nightclub. “Walk through the scanner.”

She recognized the scanner as a plasma-detection instrument. If anyone tried to smuggle in a plasma energy-generating device, the guards would be alerted. She complied, and Kell did the same, impassive. He seemed utterly unperturbed. Reminding herself that a person’s attitude was the biggest giveaway, she forced herself to relax and look like any other smuggler trying to land good merch. It was tough, though, knowing how vulnerable she was without weapons, and what she and Kell had planned.

When he sent her the tiniest wink, she let out a shaky but relieved breath. She wasn’t doing this alone.

They started to walk toward the large structure at the center of the compound, but a commotion behind them had everyone turning to see what was happening. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Two guards held a man while two more guards mercilessly pummeled him. Blood splashed down his shirt and into the dust, along with some teeth.

“I swear,” he panted, his mouth ruined, “I didn’t know I had it!”

It, Mara guessed, was the plasma pistol another sentry now held.

“Someone tried to bring an advantage to the party,” Kell murmured.

It did not take long before the man lolled between the two guards holding him. They dragged him back through the gate and threw him to the ground like rubbish. As he lay in the dust, groaning, the guards gave him several kicks to the ribs and legs for good measure. Even from a distance of dozens of meters, Mara heard the crack of bones shattering.

She winced. Displays of merciless violence were nothing new to her, but Gavra seemed to be paying her mercenaries extra to ensure they inflicted the maximum amount of damage.

“I’m shocked they didn’t kill him,” she whispered to Kell.

“Sends a stronger message if they don’t. A walking cautionary tale.”

“A crawling cautionary tale.” She watched the man trying unsuccessfully to drag himself away.

“Everyone keep moving,” one of the sentries yelled.

Putting aside the image of the brutalized man, Mara fell in step beside Kell as they continued on to the main building. She didn’t want to think of herself, or Kell, lying bloody and broken in the dirt.

The main building was a filthy warehouse, rusted and grimy, empty of anything except throngs of people and a dais at the far end. A short flight of steps led to the top of the dais. As she and Kell pushed their way through the crowd, Gavra climbed the steps, her stocky body making her resemble a red-headed sarvikpotemus.

“Fifteen solar minutes until the auction, swine,” she bellowed. “Fifteen more minutes to check out the Black Wraith before it gets locked up.”

Kell and Mara exchanged a look. Adhering to their plan, they followed the crowd through a side door to an alley between storage buildings. Armed mercenaries lined the alley, which led to a hangar that had doors wide enough to accommodate a light ship. Security panels kept the doors sealed, and people could only go inside through a small entry, monitored by cameras and sentries. She had never seen so many security precautions in her life, not even in Skiren Palace.

Once inside, she understood why. Her first glimpse of a real Black Wraith ship. Kell clenched his jaw as if just barely holding in a curse, but she gave a soft gasp of amazement. “It’s beautiful.”

A sleek, dark knife of a ship, the Black Wraith gleamed beneath the sodium lights. It seemed formed of a single piece of seamless metal, even the guns projecting from beneath its curved wings.