Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Afterword
Perilous Hunt
(Fallen Empire, Book 7)
by Lindsay Buroker
Copyright © 2016 Lindsay Buroker
Chapter 1
Alisa’s arm itched.
She reached for it, nails ready to thwart the fiendish tickle, but her gauntleted fingers clunked against the hard shell of her new combat armor. It encased her from head to toe, including that itchy spot on her arm. She curled a lip, irritation mingling with the sense of claustrophobia that had started as soon as she donned the helmet. Her scalp crawled where the probes from the neuro-reader poked through her hair.
As much as she liked the idea of being able to shoot and order different displays on the heads-up display without having to do more than think about it, the probes felt intrusive. As did the sound of her own breath echoing inside the helmet. Was it too quick? She was surprised she wasn’t fogging the faceplate. Some technology probably kept that from happening. She had already accidentally turned on the exterior cleaning system that removed moisture such as rain. Or the spattered blood of one’s enemies.
Her arm itched again, and she glowered at it. The armor had a layer of padding as comfortable as a baby’s blanket swaddling her arm, and the self-contained climate system kept the suit at her preferred temperature, just as it filtered and recycled air to provide the optimal environment. Nevertheless, she felt like she was suffocating and badly wanted to tear off the entire contraption.
“I may not be meant to do this,” she muttered as she unfastened the helmet and sucked in a huge breath of air.
It wasn’t as if the recycled air of the Star Nomad’s cargo hold smelled like fresh grass and spring flowers, but in that moment, it seemed much more refreshing.
“How’s the fit?” Leonidas asked, coming up behind her.
Alisa flinched. She had been too busy paying attention to her claustrophobia to watch the camera displays inside the helmet. She should have seen him come in. With the cargo hatch wide open to the busy docks of Caravan Circle Station, someone ought to be making sure strangers didn’t wander inside. Mica was busy on the hull, wearing a newly purchased spacesuit to install the e-cannons Leonidas had ordered, so she wouldn’t notice intruders. Yumi was sitting with the Starseers in the corner near the chicken coop, where a training session of some sort was going on between Ostberg, Young-hee, and the five other Starseers who had stayed aboard instead of disembarking on Arkadius. Beck had left the ship to shop for supplies, hopefully including chocolate, and Admiral Tiang and Alejandro were having doctorly conversations up in sickbay, where Durant was still recovering from his coma. Alisa had no idea where Abelardus and Stanislav were.
“The fit is perfect,” Alisa said, turning to face Leonidas. Earlier, he had been helping with the weapons installation, but Mica had needed more parts, so he had gone to buy them. Judging by the sack in his hand, he’d acquired what they needed.
“Perfect?” Leonidas raised his eyebrows, no doubt having heard her muttered comment with his superior cyborg hearing.
“Perfect. I just need some time to get used to such perfection.” The last thing she wanted was to complain about the armor or give up on the idea of learning to use it, not when he’d been the one to buy it for her. Oh, she had shot a couple of the mutant dinosaurs whose bounties had funded the purchase, but her life had been so busy lately that she might never have gotten around to buying it if he hadn’t placed the order. “I’m not accustomed to the finer things in life, you know.”
Leonidas looked around the cargo hold of the seventy-year-old freighter, but wisely did not comment on its lack of fineness. A fat, brown chicken squawked and strutted away from the Starseers. Ostberg rose to his feet, his wrists sticking out below the cuffs of his black robe—apparently, the gangly kid wasn’t done growing yet—and shuffled after it. The chicken ruffled its wings, looking like it might take off at top speed, but he cooed at it, and it stopped in its tracks. He picked it up, patted it, and returned it to its coop, tinkering with the netting stretched over the top that was supposed to secure its residents. For secured chickens, they escaped often, unable to resist the allure of the rest of the ship.
“Are you ready to try some sparring?” Leonidas asked.
“Sparring? Is that what you call it?” Alisa quailed at the idea of locking her head in the helmet again, but she forced a smile. “From what I’ve seen of your battles, they mostly involved hurling people against walls.”
“Unarmed combat escalates to ferocity quickly when both participants are well protected.”
“Is it technically unarmed combat when guns and knives can pop out of your sleeves at any moment? The first time I tried to scratch an itch, a razor burst out of my arm. Startled me so much I almost wet myself.” She would have cut herself, but of course, the gauntlets had protected her digits from damage.
“I hope you have the waste elimination system hooked up then.” Leonidas smiled. Since he usually wore a serious, professional expression, Alisa always appreciated such gestures from him. He rarely made jokes, and when he did, she treasured them.
Except when her arm was itching and she wanted to rip off the rest of her armor. Her idea of ensconcing herself in the suit so she could share a bed with him—and not have to worry about him lashing out when he had nightmares—now seemed ludicrous. How could one possibly spend an hour in all this, much less a night? He wore his like a second skin, but that was after twenty years in the military.
“No,” Alisa said, “I declined its offer when it cupped my nether regions and asked for permission to do so. That seemed awfully personal, considering we haven’t known each other that long.”
“Perhaps it’s good that I ordered you an enhanced armor case. It comes with modest self-repair capabilities, as well as an upgraded sanitation treatment cycle.”
“Sanitation treatment? You anticipated me wetting myself?”
“I was thinking about if we encountered extreme radiation again and needed to decontaminate, but you can use the system however is necessary. Armor cases don’t judge.” His smile broadened.
“You’re in a good mood today. Installing weapons must make you perky.” She waved to the sack.
“Yes, but I’m also pleased to see you in armor. Given all the fighting we’ve seen these last few months, I’ve worried that a stray blazer bolt or bullet would find you.” His face sobered, his eyes growing serious. “I would hate to lose you.”
“I would hate to be lost.” Alisa smiled, always more comfortable saying something flippant than admitting to her emotions, to how much the concern on his face warmed her heart, how much it mattered to know that she once again had someone who cared deeply about her. And someone whom she cared deeply about.
He nodded, not appearing as confused by her humor as usual. Maybe he was coming to understand her.
Impulsively, she stepped forward to hug him. It was easier to admit to feelings with gestures than with words.
“If I ever was lost,” she said quietly, aware of the Starseers murmuring in the corner, even if they weren’t looking in her direction, “would you keep loo
king for Jelena for me? To make sure she’s safe, that she’s not…” She frowned over at the black-robed figures sitting cross-legged in a circle. She wanted to ask him to make sure that she didn’t become one of them. But it was probably too late for that, since she had developed Starseer powers during Alisa’s time away during the war. “To make sure she’s safe,” she finished.
“I will,” he said, “but you’re not going to be lost. And we’ll find her soon. We’ll finish here in a couple of hours, and then it’s straight on to Sepiron Station, right?”
“Yes. No more delays. And thank you.” She kissed the side of his neck and squeezed him, her new chest plate making the hug awkward—she couldn’t imagine how they would hug when they were both in combat armor.
“Be careful doing that with people,” Leonidas said dryly as her arms tightened around him. “You’re strong when you’re wearing that.”
Alisa released him with a lurch. “I forgot. Did I hurt you?”
Three suns, what if she was hugging someone and one of those razors popped out of her sleeves? She needed to have a chat with the AI that kept pestering her to figure out what would and wouldn’t trigger the weapons to come out.
“No. Most of my spine is synthetic, and there’s a lot of muscle protecting my organs, but with someone more fragile, it could be a problem. You’ll learn the strength of the suit eventually. If not, I can teach you needlepoint.” His eyes glinted with humor.
She snorted, remembering he had once confessed that the empire had ordered its newly minted cyborgs to study crafts that used fine motor skills to learn to control their strength. “That doesn’t seem like a useful skill. If you could knit, you could make sweaters for birthday gifts.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t hang a needlepoint scene in your cabin if I made it for you as a gift?”
“It depends. Is the scene depicting something serene? Like a stream meandering through a flower-filled meadow? Or is it a battlefield full of blood and gore and dead bodies?”
Leonidas considered this thoughtfully for a moment. “What if the battlefield had flowers in it?”
She swatted him on the chest. “I’d laugh and nod approvingly about you developing a sense of humor, but I fear you asked that question in earnest.”
He shrugged and set his sack down on the bottom step that led to the walkway. “Why don’t we spar a little? Being active in the suit will help you forget about your itches and get acclimated.” He removed his jacket and gun holster and hung them on the railing. “You’ll appreciate your armor more once it’s protected you from some broken bones too.” He nodded and faced her.
“You talking about broken bones doesn’t get me overly excited about sparring with you.”
“What if I take my shirt off?”
“I’m ready.” She gave him a leer that she hoped he would appreciate greatly once they talked Admiral Tiang into performing his surgery. Even without any interest in sex, he had figured out that she liked seeing him shirtless. Pantsless, too, but she probably shouldn’t ask for that in front of the Starseers and the chickens. “Though technically, shouldn’t you be wearing combat armor too? Won’t it hurt you to punch someone wearing it?”
“I do knuckle hardening exercises.”
“How is it that ladies don’t drape themselves over you everywhere you go?”
His forehead wrinkled in a faintly perplexed expression.
“Never mind.”
“You in armor and me without will even our abilities out,” he said.
Even, sure. Alisa had seen him take down trained soldiers in combat armor while wearing less than he wore now. But she trusted he would be gentle with her. He always was.
Leonidas removed his shirt and draped it over the railing with the rest of his belongings. Alisa caught Young-hee and the two other female Starseers watching him as he walked toward her, and she tamped down a smug smile, though she couldn’t help but think, Mine.
“How does this work? Like Daratha sparring?” she asked, naming the unarmed combat discipline that was currently taught to soldiers, an amalgam of many styles brought from Old Earth. “Chest and head are legitimate targets and first to ten points wins?”
His expression grew faintly bemused, but he recovered and nodded. “That’s fine.”
Right. It had probably been a long time since he had fought for points. He fought to survive, to attain objectives, and to kill, if necessary.
Alisa just wanted to be able to stay alive and find Jelena. She would prefer not to kill anyone.
Is there a reason your cyborg is naked? Abelardus’s voice sounded in her mind.
Alisa frowned and glanced upward. He and Stanislav had come out onto the walkway and were looking down at her. When had they started spending time together? And why had they come here? She didn’t need an audience.
He’s only half naked, Alisa thought, glowering at Abelardus. Go away. I’m going to learn how to fight in this armor, and I don’t need you butting into my mind and distracting me.
Won’t you be distracted by your cyborg’s rippling muscles?
“Problem?” Leonidas asked quietly, his eyes narrowed as he looked from her to Abelardus.
The irritation on her face always gave away their conversations.
“Abelardus finds your rippling muscles distracting,” Alisa said.
“Ah,” Leonidas said, as if this were only natural.
Abelardus scowled down at her. Stanislav said something to him—a chastisement, Alisa hoped—and walked down the stairs.
“Alisa,” he said, inclining his head. “It is good to see you taking measures to protect yourself.”
She didn’t thank him. She didn’t trust him, or want him on her ship. He was the one who had, according to him, plucked the location of the children out of Durant’s mind, but she had no way to know if he was telling the truth. She couldn’t help but suspect that he was here spying for his brother, especially since, when she had met Tymoteusz, he hadn’t seemed to be on bad terms with Stanislav. She hoped Durant would recover enough to confirm or deny the Sepiron Station location soon. It had been three days since the Nomad left Arkadius and he had woken from his weeks-long coma, but talking to him was still frustrating since he remembered so little.
Not obviously perturbed by her lack of response, Stanislav walked over to join the group of Starseers. The chickens, which had been heretofore quiet, aside from the sole escapee, squawked as he walked by. Alisa couldn’t tell if they were agitated by his presence or excited to see him, but it seemed more the latter. Maybe he had been feeding them on the sly. It was definitely Ostberg’s favorite pastime, and the chickens had grown noticeably rotund.
The group of Starseers fell silent as Stanislav approached. They exchanged a few looks, then stood as one, leaving only Yumi sitting. Young-hee waved to her to follow. The group strode for the stairs. Ostberg looked back as they walked, seeming a little confused as they left Stanislav behind.
Stanislav watched them for a moment, a sadness lurking in his eyes, then sat down and rested his hands on his knees, as if all he had meant to do was meditate. The chickens went back to scratching at the bedding in their coop as he closed his eyes and seemed to tune everything out.
So, Dad was an outcast. Well, that was what he got for sleeping in the enemy camp.
“Ready?” Leonidas asked quietly.
Alisa pulled her helmet back over her head, determined to concentrate. Shirtless or not, Leonidas had all kinds of experience, and she should let him teach her whenever he was willing.
She assumed a fighting stance, trying to relax her legs and arms, though she couldn’t help but be aware of her new bulk. The suit didn’t weigh as much as it looked like it would, but she still felt like a Medieval Earth knight preparing for a joust. Every time she walked around without clanking, she was surprised.
“I’m ready,” she said, lifting her hands for defense. The material under her fingers and palms was thinner than anywhere else on the suit, more like padded cloth th
an the hard shell everywhere else, and she could make a solid fist.
She let Leonidas take the lead. They had sparred a few times before, and he stepped easily into the role of teacher, knowing how fast he could attack if he expected her to block.
With her first attempt to knock a punch aside, her arm moved faster than usual, and she missed him, completing the block before his fist reached her.
“Oops.”
“We’ll keep going,” he said, throwing more identical punches, quick jabs all at the same speed. “You’ll get used to your new speed.”
It took many tries, but she did. She started to appreciate the armor for more than the idea that it could deflect a blazer bolt. After Leonidas picked up the speed of his attacks and she successfully matched many of them, she grew excited and started to bounce around, getting more into the match. For the first time, she initiated an attack, using her new speed for a jab-punch combination, hoping to get close enough to him to hit. He blocked, not fazed by the swiftness of her punches.
He let her continue to be the aggressor, though he never gave ground. He remained in place, light on his feet and adjusting when necessary, but his defenses were like a wall she couldn’t get past. Even though she was accustomed to this from him, his comment that they would be more “even” now had led her to believe that she might actually slip past one of his blocks if she was clever enough and fast enough. And her speed definitely impressed her—the servos in the suit let her move her legs faster, her lunges feeling as if she were jumping off a springboard instead of the hard textured deck of the cargo hold. She grew frustrated when she couldn’t land a blow. If she could once plant a fist on one of those broad pecs, she would feel that she had a hope against a trained soldier in a fight.
Trying for surprise, she punched twice at his chest, then jabbed at his face, drawing his hands upward to defend. She followed up with a roundhouse kick, thinking to get him focused on her legs so she might slip a punch past his defenses. To her surprise, her leg flung at his abdomen so quickly that she nearly fell over backward. The speed startled Leonidas, too, and though he managed to deflect the attack, he gave ground, skittering back for the first time.