“Okay, Andi…” There was a little hesitation. Yarra had gotten them all out of some pretty bad fixes before, but that had been in the engine room. Her contributions had usually been her engineering skills. She’d never been part of Nightrunner’s ‘muscle.’

  “You can do it, Yarra. Just stay behind me…and stay focused.” She would have had Gregor take the second bomb, but for all his strength and sheer power in a fight, he was somewhat of the lumbering giant when it came to throwing things. He had a legitimate claim to the title of worst shot on Nightrunner with a gun, and he was at his best in hand to hand combat.

  “I’ll be there, Andi.”

  She was always surprised how so many of the crew deferred to her when they were in action. They still gave her enough shit as the rookie on off times, but they lined up behind her when they were in danger.

  She didn’t understand it, what they seemed to see in her. She was scared shitless, doing all she could to keep herself from running down the hall screaming. She didn’t belong there, and certainly not leading anyone. She was a fraud, nothing but an orphan who should be digging through the garbage in the Gut, looking for scraps to eat.

  But her comrades clearly saw something in her, and even if it was stone cold fantasy, she knew she could use it. To help them all.

  Andi stood just inside the door, listening. She could hear the bots approaching, though it would have been easier without the damned klaxons. She held her breath, trying to catch every sound. If they took the bait, moved into the compartment with the captain and the others, her plan was operative. If they kept coming, or they moved into the room she and her two cohorts were in, she’d have to improvise…and do it damned quickly.

  The bots got louder as they moved closer. The security units might be tough in a fight, but they weren’t likely to sneak up on anyone. For an instant, Andi thought they were going to pass right by the room where the captain and the others were waiting.

  Then, she heard a burst of fire. Her stomach tightened, and for a second or two, she was sure the bots had opened up, that her friends were already dead. But she recognized the sound of that gun.

  It was the captain’s assault rifle. Lorillard had left nothing to chance. He’d had made sure the bots would follow his people into the room.

  Andi knew that was her signal, too. She didn’t know if the bots would open fire at once, or if they would try to secure some kind of surrender. She guessed the captain’s gunfire had lessened the chance for negotiation…and that meant she had to go now!

  She raced out of the room, holding the bomb uneasily in one hand. It was heavy, its shape difficult. But a two-handed throw would be rougher, less accurate.

  Slower, too…and there was no time to waste.

  She swung around in the hallway, almost leaping into the room. Her eyes moved back and forth, locking almost immediately on the closest of the bots. The two units were already reacting, and she could see the turrets turning toward her, even as she hurled the bomb.

  She’d hit the arming switch as she was running in from the corridor, starting the three second countdown. She was cutting it close, maybe too close, but her mind had been awash in the sounds of the bots shooting at her friends, sounds that didn’t exist. Yet. But she didn’t waste any time for one simple reason.

  She had none to waste.

  She hurled the bomb, pushing with her arm, thrusting with all her strength…and then she dropped to the ground. There was no way to get far enough away. He momentum would, if anything, bring her closer to the targeted bot, and the explosion that was perhaps one and a half seconds away.

  Her knees hit the ground hard, and a jolting pain raced up both of her legs. She was still dropping, her arms in front of her to block the impact, when the bomb exploded.

  There had never been any doubt in her mind, the explosive would detonate. Yarra was nothing if not a capable engineer, and a skilled chemist as well. She knew her way around bombmaking gear the way Andi had known the tunnels and back alleys of the Gut.

  Andi fell, more or less face first, until the force of the explosion pushed her back across the room, tumbling over and landing facedown. She managed reach out, to deflect most of the impact of the fall, but she couldn’t see the bots, or the result of the explosion. She didn’t know if she’d disabled the units, or at least one of them…or if, any second, she would feel autocannon rounds tearing into her body, ripping her into bloody chunks.

  Chapter Twenty

  Free Trader Nightrunner

  Docked at Imperial Station

  Orbiting Zensoria, Osiron VI

  Year 301 AC

  The clang was loud, and it reverberated through the ship. Tyrell ignored it at first, though he knew what it was. Nightrunner was powered down—mostly—but he’d managed to keep the passive scanners operational. He’d watched the one—what were they, rivals, enemies?—ship dock with the station, doing it rather more clumsily, he thought with some random flash of pride, than Nightrunner had managed.

  Still, graceful docking or not, the ship was close, and enough time had passed for its occupants to reach Nightrunner’s docking point from inside the station. He ignored it, for a moment at least, but he’d never found that a useful way to deal with a problem.

  And certainly not a problem that was likely to blast through the airlock if he didn’t open up. He grabbed a rifle from the small storage locker in the corridor, and he moved toward the hatch. The weapon was pointless, he knew, useless for anything but maybe a suicide attempt, but going down unarmed seemed too much like…surrender.

  He stopped at the small comm unit next to the inner door. He flipped the switch. “This is Tyrell Stone, acting commander of Nightrunner. Who are you, and what do you want?” There was attitude in his voice, probably not the smartest way he could go, but on some level at least, the only way he could live with himself. He knew he was about to allow the enemy in, to surrender Nightrunner, something that would have seemed almost inconceivable even a few hours ago. But the enemy ship still had the vessel in its sights, ready to blow it away at any provocation. That made the composition of the force waiting outside largely irrelevant. There could be a hundred soldiers, or one old lady with a pot of soup. Either way, he would let them in, and when his delaying tactics ran out, he would turn over control of Nightrunner to them. There was no other alternative, at least none he could think of.

  “Open the airlock immediately.” No identification, no statement of intent. But the threat in his man’s tone was clear enough.

  Tyrell reached out to the controls, pausing for a couple seconds, as if waiting for some brilliant plan to appear in his head, something hatched from the frustrated helplessness that dominated his thoughts.

  But there was nothing.

  He heard another series of clangs, louder this time, more insistent. He couldn’t imagine they were all that far from blasting their way in. That would serve nothing. The enemy would still take the ship, and if some chance did develop to seize it back, better it was in full working order, and without a gaping hole in its side.

  He turned the dial, unlocking the airlock apparatus, and then he hit a series of three buttons. He heard a brief swish—the airlock was pressurized, but the atmospheric pressure in the station was slightly higher than the Megara standard 1,025 kPa maintained inside Nightrunner. As soon as the minor adjustment was complete, the outer door opened.

  Tyrell heard the sound of heavy boots clanging on the metal floor. Two of them, he thought, about eighty percent sure he was right. A few seconds later, he heard the same clang as before, this time on the inner door.

  He slid the rifle over his shoulder. If killing the two people in the airlock would have accomplished anything but Nightrunner’s almost certain destruction, he’d have gone for it. But that kind of resistance was pointless.

  Nightrunner was the captain’s. If anybody was going to get her blasted to dust, it would be Lorillard himself, and damned sure not Tyrell.

  He reached out for the controls, and as he did, he leaned forward and looked through the small, clear window. There were two—men, he guessed—though they were so loaded up with combat armor and weapons, he wasn’t sure.

  Those are no frontier prospectors. They’re not even Spacer’s District gangsters.

  He heard the clang again, and the impatience behind it. He reached out toward the controls, even as a single thought pounded in his head.

  What the hell are these guys?

  * * *

  Andi could almost feel the heavy depleted uranium rounds tearing through her body, spilling her blood and her life onto the cold hardness of the deck. She’d come so far, lightyears from the filthy streets of the Gut, to a place with friends, comrades, men and women who fought at her side, who had her back.

  Only to die out in the cold depths of dead imperial space.

  But she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even shot.

  There was nothing. No fire, no bullets. No blood pouring from her body…at least not from anyplace it hadn’t been already.

  She hurt all over, there was no denying that. Aches and bruises and, she guessed, and more than likely a couple fractures as well. She’d done what she could to break the fall, but that had proven to be little enough, and she was pretty banged up. Still, she scrambled up, pushing through the pain, trying to get to her feet as quickly as she could—or as close to a standing position as she could manage.

  There was still no shooting, at least not for a good five or ten more seconds. Then she heard the captain’s gun again, an odd difference to the sound this time, almost like an echo.

  She finally managed to get to her feet, more or less. She still had one knee on the ground, and, gritting her teeth against the pain, she pushed herself completely up.

  She was standing, sore and hunched over, still trying to fully recover her balance. Not an ideal fighting position by any means, but at least it gave her a decent view of Lorillard’s rifle, shoved deep into the side of the downed bot as he continued to fire.

  Sparks and glowing chunks of half-molten metal flew all around the downed robot as the superfast projectiles slammed into it at such short range. One of them barely missed her, whipping by close enough that she could feel the heat.

  Then, with a loud crack, the bot split in two, the now-separate sections falling to the deck. Andi didn’t know enough about imperial security bots to be absolutely sure it was dead, but she’d have given odds of five or ten to one. In other words, a pretty damned good bet.

  The best they were likely to get in the current circumstances.

  Her eyes moved to the side. There was a greater worry, however…the other bot.

  The explosion had pushed it hard, knocking it off its—feet wasn’t the right word, but she didn’t know what was—and slamming it into the wall. It was damaged, there wasn’t much question about that, but she didn’t have to look past its continued movement to realize it wasn’t completely out of action.

  “Watch out,” she shouted, as she saw the thing turn itself over, opening fire as it brought the autocannon turret to bear. One of the dual barrels had been badly bent, and it blew apart when the firing started. But the other one functioned well enough, sending a deadly blast of projectiles across the room.

  She watched as her comrades dove in different directions, off to each side, getting as far from the spray of gunfire as they could.

  The aim was off, she realized with a small bit of relief, probably minor damage to the functional barrel. But the rate of fire was still withering, and that made the thing dangerous as hell. The bot was still on its side, struggling to rise. Once it righted itself, its arc of fire would no longer be restricted. It could sweep the room in a few seconds, and perfect aim or not, it would cut them all down like stacks of cordwood.

  “Yarra…the other bomb. Now!”

  The engineer looked terrified, frozen for an instant, transfixed, unmoving.

  Andi had an urge to race over to her comrade, to take the explosive and throw it herself. But there wasn’t time.

  “Now, Yarra…now!” Andi raised her voice, dredging inside herself for the deepest, most authoritative tone she could manage. The sound that poured forth out of her mouth was so hard, so commanding, it startled even her.

  It had an effect on the engineer, too. Yarra poked at the arming switch, still a little clumsily but well enough, and she hurled the bomb through the air toward the bot.

  Her toss was two-handed, and quite a bit uglier to watch than Andi’s had been.

  But it was close.

  Hopefully close enough, Andi thought, as she ducked down again, throwing her hands over her head to protect herself from the expected blast.

  She hit the ground, the pain from her knees almost unbearable this time. Her face clenched, waiting for the explosion, as her eyes watered and teared from the agony of the impact.

  Nothing.

  Her mind raced. That had to have been three seconds. She felt her stomach heave, even as she got ready to pull herself back up, to do what she could to stop the bot before it shot them all.

  Then the bomb exploded, giving Andi a lesson in just how long three seconds could be.

  It was loud, louder even than the first one, and this time, a small chunk of—very hot, if not molten—steel grazed her arm, sending a fresh wave of pain up toward her shoulder. She howled, her effort to hold back the yell coming just an instant too late.

  She glanced down at her arm. There was a long mark, maybe five centimeters, half deep cut, half bad burn. It hurt like hell, but somehow, she ignored it and brought her eyes back to the bot.

  Yarra’s bomb had exploded just to the side of the thing. It had taken damage from the blast, it seemed, and more, when it slammed hard into the wall. There was a large crack in the wall’s previously perfect whiteness, and the bot lay on the deck just below.

  Andi could see chunks of the thing missing, blasted parts laying on the ground all around it.

  She could also see that it was still moving.

  The turret was completely knocked out, at least, but she had no idea what other weapons the thing had. And she wasn’t going to wait to find out.

  She pulled her rifle from her back, even as she gritted her teeth and forced herself up to her feet once again, with no less pain than last time. She flipped the weapon to full auto, and her eyes moved to the bot, searching for what seemed the most vulnerable spot. She’d taken one step forward when she heard the captain’s voice.

  “Hold up, Andi, I’ve got this.” He moved forward, jamming the muzzle of his hypervelocity rifle into a crevice between the two main sections of the thing. He fired, one small burst at a time, perhaps four or five in total, until the bot split in half, as its twin had done.

  Add finishing off damaged imperial security bots to the crew’s skillset…

  Lorillard stared down at the thing, even as Andi did the same, the two of them checking to be sure it was dead. Then, he looked up, his eyes finding his youngest crew member. “These things are tough as hell…” He pulled up his rifle. “Makes this thing almost seem worth the not so small fortune I paid for it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Free Trader Nightrunner

  Docked at Imperial Station

  Orbiting Zensoria, Osiron VI

  Year 301 AC

  The soldiers stepped into the corridor, each of them turning and facing a different direction, huge assault rifles held out in front of them. They were big, stocky, but not as large as Tyrell had thought. It was their combat armor bulking them up.

  “Drop your weapon. Hands behind your head.” The command was simple, to the point. And the tone left little doubt the soldier would blast Tyrell into strawberry jam if he didn’t comply at once.

  He slid the rifle from his shoulder, letting it drop to the floor. Then he put his hands around his head, clasping his fingers together in the back.

  “Pistol and knife, too.” The soldier’s tone was unchanged, but somehow it seemed even more threatening. After stepping toward the back of the ship and looking around the empty space, the second man returned. He stood there, his rifle pointed at Tyrell.

  “Okay, okay…take it easy…” Tyrell moved one hand down from his head, slowly, trying any way he could not to provoke the soldiers. He reached around and unclasped the belt that held both of his remaining weapons. It slid slowly off his waist, and fell to the deck.

  The one soldier gestured to the other, a roll of his head. The second man moved forward and collected Tyrell’s weapons. He stepped back, setting the two guns and the knife down on the deck behind him.

  “How many aboard?” The same tone. The same voice, exactly, though Tyrell could have sworn it had been the other one speaking before.

  He felt the urge to lie, to say he was alone. But that would be stupid. There was zero chance the two soldiers would accept his word and not search the ship. Tyrell had no moral problem with lying, not to an enemy especially. But it was stupid telling a lie when you were certain to be caught almost immediately. All he could do was get himself—or Doc—killed.

  “One other. Forward, on the bridge.” He gestured with his head down the corridor.

  “Go, secure the bridge.” It was the other soldier again. The two of them were freaking him out. He couldn’t tell them apart, and Tyrell had always considered himself an expert at dissecting peoples’ words, their affectations. He’d been the best poker player on Nightrunner before Andi had arrived, and he could still give her a run for the title.

  But these two soldiers sounded like twins. No, more than twins. They sounded exactly the same.

  “Come.” The remaining trooper gestured toward the back of the ship.

  Tyrell turned and walked slowly. He was alone with the soldier. If he could jump his captor, take him by surprise…but no, he knew it wouldn’t work. The soldier was behind him, a good meter away, his extremely nasty looking rifle aimed right at Tyrell.

  He sighed and walked back slowly, sitting in one of the chairs around the large table in the middle of the room. The soldier stood just inside the doorway, his weapon unwavering as it pointed right at Tyrell. A moment later, Doc came in, the second soldier moving behind him, almost exactly as the other had done.