Starseers

  “You heard my doctor, Colonel,” Farrow said. “Drop your drawers.”

  “You needn’t sound so excited at the idea of getting him naked,” Alisa muttered.

  Farrow ignored her.

  Leonidas regarded the armored men and women lined up in front of him, along with the weapons they carried. Alisa had seen him fight against more people, and she wondered if he was contemplating it now. He might have been thinking to wait and bide his time for an escape, but if the doctor meant to immobilize him with that drug, this could be his last chance to do something.

  His gaze paused on her, and he frowned. She hoped he wasn’t worried that she would be caught in the crossfire. She didn’t want him sacrificing himself because of her. She glanced toward the cockpit, trying to let him know that she would jump up and lock herself in if he took action.

  “Sergeant,” Farrow said, backing up, “have your men grab him and hold him for the doctor. We’ll remove his armor once the drug has been administered.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The ship shuddered again, the deck lurching beneath Alisa’s feet. Farrow tapped his earstar and mumbled a question as four of the armored men surged forward. The doctor lifted the tranquilizer gun, aiming at Leonidas’s head.

  At first, Leonidas did not move. He held his arms away from his rifle, as if he meant to give up. He waited until two of the soldiers were close enough to grab him. Then, using their bodies as cover, he attacked.

  With the soldiers in front of him, Alisa could barely see what happened, but two hulking armored men went flying, crashing into those who had stayed back. Weapons fired, and she jumped, catching the lip of the cockpit. The idea of fleeing from the fight rankled, but without armor, she was like a mouse among stampeding Senekda buffalo. Besides, once inside the cockpit with the canopy closed, she might be able to get the Striker in the air so she could use the weapons.

  She had only managed to pull herself up and sling one leg inside before something struck her in the back and a nimbus of white light flashed around her. Stun gun. Her entire body clenched, muscles spasming in a second that lasted a small eternity, and then everything relaxed. Her eyelids fell shut. She had no control.

  She lost her grip on the hull, and gravity dragged her down. She expected to hit the floor hard. Instead, she landed in someone’s armored hands. Unfortunately, that armor was gray instead of crimson. Someone wearing a uniform jerked her upright, and she felt something cool press against the side of her neck. The muzzle of a weapon?

  Blazers had been going off all around her, but they halted abruptly, and silence fell in the hangar bay.

  It took a Herculean effort for Alisa to wrestle her eyelids open. She had no control over her arms or legs.

  She found herself looking straight at Leonidas, his red helmet back on, his rifle in his hands. He was less than a meter from her, but he froze, staring at her—and at whoever held her. The muzzle of the weapon pressed deeper into Alisa’s neck. She had no trouble feeling it, even though it would take several moments before she was able to move.

  Leonidas did not try to reach her. Regret and defeat flashed in his eyes. Alisa wanted to tell him not to give up for her sake, that the Alliance men wouldn’t kill her, but perhaps it was good that she couldn’t speak, because she was not positive it would have been the truth. If Farrow believed he could get his hands on the heir to the empire, he might believe that sacrificing her was worth it. Bile rose in her throat. She did not know if it was an effect of the stun gun or just how her body felt at this betrayal, at knowing her people would possibly kill her.

  The Alliance soldiers that Leonidas had hurled aside rolled away from him, collecting their weapons and pushing themselves to their feet.

  “Back up and remove your helmet again, Colonel,” Commander Farrow said, his voice beside Alisa’s ear.

  She hadn’t realized he had been the one to grab her. She had no idea what the future would bring, but she hoped she one day had the opportunity to press a gun to his neck.

  “No delays this time,” Farrow added.

  Leonidas met Alisa’s eyes, though she could not read the message in them. Then he stepped back, removed his helmet, and tossed his rifle and the other weapons not built into his suit to the floor.

  “Strip,” Farrow said.

  A soft clack sounded near Alisa, the doctor fumbling to load another tranquilizer dart. She imagined one sticking out of the wall somewhere in the bay. He needn’t have bothered. This time, Leonidas obeyed the order.

  Something else hit the ship, making enough of an impact to be felt through the shields. Farrow cursed softly, his breath stirring Alisa’s hair.

  You’ve provided us a suitable distraction, a voice spoke into her head, the same Starseer who had been communicating with her all along.

  I’m so glad for you, she snarled in reply. Any chance you want to come up here and help us out of our predicament?

  In front of her, Leonidas removed his armor in pieces, unfastening the chest plate and boots as the soldiers looked on, once again stationed around him and pointing their rifles in his direction. Their faces held more irritated expressions than before, and more than one looked like he wanted to club Leonidas in the head—or maybe just shoot him. The doctor edged forward, that tranquilizer gun at the ready.

  “Think you can handle him from here, Sergeant?” Farrow asked, his tone dry as he looked toward Leonidas, who now wore little more than the snug underwear and T-shirt that he wore under his armor.

  Even through her faceplate, the embarrassed flush to the female squad leader’s cheeks was visible. “Yes, sir.”

  Alisa could wiggle her fingers but not much more. Reaching her Etcher was out of the question. Someone might have already removed it, anyway.

  “Doctor?” Farrow asked.

  The doctor leveled his tranquilizer gun toward Leonidas’s chest. Leonidas saw it and tensed, as if to spring, but the gun muzzle gouged deeper into Alisa’s neck. He met her eyes again and sighed. When the doctor fired, Leonidas did not try to dodge. A small dart thudded into his chest.

  Alisa growled in indignation for him as he dropped to one knee, catching himself on the deck with his fingers. They needn’t have dropped him like an animal on the tundra. He would have let them walk up and inject him. Because he worried about the repercussions to her if he continued to fight, he would have let them. She blinked away tears of frustration as the drug took effect, and he tipped onto his side. His eyes found Alisa’s again. Though he did not try to say anything, and there was no betrayed wrinkle to his face, she couldn’t help but feel that he was silently accusing her, blaming her for what was about to befall him.

  Farrow handed her off to someone else and strode toward the door. Alisa sneered after him and hoped he found utter chaos waiting for him on the bridge.

  Her new captor hoisted her over his shoulder. The last thing she saw of the landing bay was the armored soldiers walking forward to pick up Leonidas’s inert body. They lifted him—he was as stiff as a plank—leaving his pile of armor on the floor. She imagined the Strikers returning to their bay, the doors opening, and that armor flying out into the void of space, lost forever.

  Chapter 18

  The mobility returned to Alisa’s limbs as she was carted through the corridors of the vast warship. Careful not to move so much that her captor noticed, she flexed her fingers and toes. She couldn’t see much from her position over his shoulder, but now and then, she caught glimpses of the squad of soldiers carrying Leonidas. They hadn’t bothered to find a hover gurney, and she hoped they were getting cramps from toting his heavy, muscled form. Probably not. Their armor would compensate and give them more strength. Too bad.

  As they went around a corner, she turned her head enough to peer under her captor’s armpit. She could see the uniformed back of someone walking ahead of them. The doctor? She thought she felt the heft of her Etcher still in its holster, but she could not see it from her position. The soldiers either had not considered her dangero
us—or they hadn’t considered the antiquated border world weapon dangerous. She wished she could show them the error of their ways, but she could not see how.

  If she contorted herself quickly enough, maybe she could shoot the doctor, but she doubted her life would continue on for long if she managed to kill one of Farrow’s officers. Without Leonidas, there was little she could do, and he was still stiffer than a corpse back there. She had seen the tyranoadhuc gas used on cyborgs before and believed it would immobilize his machine parts—and effectively his entire body—for at least twenty minutes before it started to wear off. She groped for ways that she might delay the procession and tie up the doctor so he could not simply dose Leonidas again.

  The ship shuddered, and the lights flickered.

  “The Deadelus is down,” one of the soldiers carrying Leonidas grumbled.

  “Commander better break this off soon. HQ was spaced sending us out to fight Starseers.”

  “Can’t have them skulking about, making trouble right here on our planet. Besides, our fighters are through their shield, last report I heard. Their little fortress is about to be dead in the sky. If it isn’t already.”

  A boom echoed through the warship, followed by a jolt much stronger than the previous ones. The man carrying Alisa stumbled as the lights flickered again, then went out completely. This time, they stayed out for a few seconds before emergency lighting popped on, the reddish illumination dull by comparison. An alarm siren went off.

  “What?” came a surprised blurt from behind Alisa’s captor, followed by a gasp of pain.

  As she lifted her head, trying to see what was happening, the man carrying her whirled around. Her feet struck the wall. She found herself dumped off his shoulder like a bag cast aside. She curled up, trying to protect her face as she hit the floor. Her captor sprang away, grabbing his gun and shouting.

  Keeping her back to the wall, Alisa reached for her Etcher as she rose. It wasn’t there. Damn it, they must have disarmed her, after all. Her legs wobbled as she straightened fully, the muscles still stiff. The sounds of blazer fire burst out, filling her veins with adrenaline. Thumps, clanks, and cries of pain mingled with the weapons fire.

  Between the poor lighting and the press of gyrating bodies in the corridor, Alisa could barely see what was happening, but Leonidas had to be free. Later, she would wonder how the drug had worn off so quickly, but for now, she was torn between wanting to get out of the way of stray energy blasts and wanting to help.

  A uniformed figure ran toward the fray. The doctor. She lifted her fists, wishing she had a better weapon.

  He glanced at her even as he lifted his tranquilizer gun. He was aiming at the snarl of armored men ahead of him, doubtlessly hoping for a shot at Leonidas, but when he saw her, his weapon shifted toward her.

  Though she was still muzzy from the stun gun, she reacted quickly, distracting him by lifting a hand as if to grab his gun, then lashing out with a straight kick. She caught the bottom of his fist with the toe of her boot, cracking him hard. The tranquilizer gun flew free, clanging off the bulkhead behind him. He reached for a stun gun at his waist, but she attacked first, wading in close. She curled her fingers and launched the palm of her hand at his face for a heel strike. His head jerked to the side to avoid the blow, even as he grabbed for her with one hand. Better than grabbing for the stun gun.

  She whipped up a block to avoid the snatch and drive his arm wide, then curled her fingers further, this time for a punch. Her knuckles plowed into his unprotected belly. She followed that with a knee to his groin and a stomp to his instep. Picking on an aging medical officer probably wasn’t a great test for combat prowess, but she wasn’t above taking down an unchallenging target. He should have had the same basic training that she’d had, after all.

  Under her barrage of blows, he stumbled back to the wall, his shoulders striking it. She grabbed the stun gun off his belt and yanked his medical kit out of his hands. What she planned to do with the latter, she did not know; she just knew she did not want him to have it.

  With the stun gun in hand, she whirled toward the fight. As with so many weapons, combat armor would deflect its force, so she did not know how she would help or who she would shoot. The question soon became moot. Leonidas stood in the center of the corridor, still in his T-shirt and underwear, with two rifles slung over his torso on straps and two more in his hands. The armored men were on the deck, either lying still or rolling around, groaning. Some of their faceplates were cracked. All of the neck guards were dented, several in exactly the same spots, making Alisa wonder if he knew of some vulnerability in the armor that he had exploited.

  “That shouldn’t be possible,” she said, dazed by the sight. “I know you’re a cyborg, but combat armor—”

  “Doesn’t make a man invulnerable. For the most part, it’s designed to withstand impacts. The neck is particularly vulnerable to twisting pressure, assuming you’re strong enough to apply it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever start carrying a hydraulic press on my back.”

  “This way.” Leonidas jerked his thumb back the way they had come.

  “You don’t want to stay around for the tour?” Alisa forced her legs into motion, her feet coming down in sync with the wailing of the alarm. The red emergency lighting stayed on.

  “No.” Leonidas ran ahead of her, leading the way around a corner.

  “How did you come back to life so quickly?” she asked, grunting when the deck lurched as the ship took another hit. “I thought you’d be out for twenty minutes.”

  “I would have been. If the doctor had actually hit me.”

  Alisa frowned at his T-shirt. “I saw the dart sink in.”

  “Yes. I thought he was more likely to hit me in the neck, but I couldn’t have prepared for that. The heart was my second guess. My chest is a big target.”

  “No kidding, but didn’t the dart go in?”

  Leonidas juggled the rifles so he could reach under his shirt and pull something off his skin with the faint rip of a bond breaking. “Do you want your gauze back?” He held a wad of gauze and bandages toward her, his eyes gleaming.

  “Uh, no. Especially not if it’s full of drugs and cyborg sweat.”

  “The drug wouldn’t harm you. Tyranoadhuc was created with us in mind.”

  “What about the sweat?”

  “I can’t promise that’s innocuous.”

  She snorted. “So you didn’t absorb any of the drug at all?”

  “No, it was a ruse.”

  “I had no idea cyborgs were such good actors.”

  “I had a brief acting career in school,” he said as they rounded another corner. He fired at someone who jogged into an intersection ahead, faltering and gaping when he saw them. Leonidas’s blazer bolt streaked past the man’s ear, and he dove out of sight.

  “What kind of acting career?” Alisa asked. He’d mentioned studying engineering before signing up for the army.

  “I agreed to play the part of a tree in fourth year. To get out of penmanship class.”

  “A tree?” She eyed him up and down, wondering if he had been tall even as a kid. “I guess that explains your convincing topple to the ground.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Did you use the Torovax?” she asked, still wondering why he had wanted it.

  “No, I still have it. I was hoping that if the doctor shot me in the throat or jabbed me in a vein in the arm, I might have a chance to inject myself with a large dose before it took effect. In theory, it’s not supposed to have any effect on cyborg implants, but we found through unscientific methods that some of the men taking the muscle relaxer for pain shook off the effects of tyranoadhuc gas more quickly. So I might have come out of it after fifteen minutes instead of twenty.” He shrugged. “It could have made a difference.”

  “Where are you storing it?” Alisa flicked her hand toward his bare legs and fitted underclothes. It wasn’t as if he had any pockets.

  “Where it would have b
een found in a thorough search but perhaps not in a quick pat down.” Leonidas glanced toward his crotch.

  “Ah.”

  “I was hoping for luck.”

  “And that whoever searched you wasn’t enthused at the idea of groping cyborg bits?”

  “Bits?” His eyebrows rose.

  “You prefer more anatomically correct terms?”

  “I prefer terms that don’t imply diminutive proportions.”

  “Oh? I would have thought that a man mature enough to be a colonel would be beyond being concerned about such labels.”

  “Not really.”

  She grinned as the hangar door came into view. He handed her one of the rifles and ran ahead.

  There was not a window in the door. He waved the rifle at a sensor on the wall. When the door did not open, he switched tactics, turning a stream of fire onto the panel. Alisa jumped at the noise and destruction, then put her back to the wall and watched down the hall while he worked. The door did not respond well to having the sensor shot up. It bleated angrily at him. The panel smoked and sputtered.

  “Problem?” Alisa asked.

  When the door did not open under this barrage, Leonidas shouldered his rifle, gripped it with both hands, and pulled sideways. It opened with a moan, sliding into the jamb.

  “No,” he said, holding it open with his back as he readied a rifle and checked the hangar bay.

  Alisa edged closer, afraid the Strikers might have been recalled and the bay would be full of men. Whatever was going on out there, this warship was in trouble if it was on emergency lighting. The soldiers had implied the temple had been defenseless with the shields down, but maybe the Starseer darts had found some way to harm this craft.

  The bay was still empty, Leonidas’s armor in a pile where he had left it. Alisa spotted her Etcher next to it.