Songs of Love & Death

A slight exhalation of breath whispered behind her. She flinched, fear spiking, her fingers fumbling for her pistol just as a hand covered her mouth. An arm wrapped hard around her midsection, pinning her arms. Heart pounding, she twisted, trying to free one arm so she could—

“Serri.” Her name, hushed, in her ear.

Nic’s voice.

Nic?

The arm loosened, the hand pulled away. She spun, right hand fisted, her breath coming in hard gasps as she stared at the familiar lines of Nic’s face in the dim lighting. Relief poured through her. “Why didn’t you answer my message?”

“Your transcomm’s off line.” He kept his voice low.

Not off line. She yanked it out. “Quin,” she whispered, handing it to him.

He listened for a moment, nodding, then tugged her forward, his free hand on her wrist. “All right. We’ll come up underneath the ship. Use the rampway as partial cover. Did you get the targeting programs skewed?”

“We have about forty-five minutes before they’ll reset. What happened with Quin?”

“Filar and three guards were in the Pandea’s airlock when I got there,” he explained as they trotted toward the far side of the bay. “Quin refused to leave the ship until about five minutes ago.”

“That’s when he called me.”

“He should have stayed onboard.”

She heard worry and frustration in the tight tone of his voice. “He’s Skoggi. He can sense you. He doesn’t want us locked out of our own ship. If he’s on the ramp, then he’s telling us it’s time to break dock and leave.”

“I have every intention of granting his wish. He’d just better not mind an extra passenger.”

She didn’t want to know why his words made her heart beat faster. “I assumed you were coming.”

“Not just me. Filar.” He slowed as they neared a set of tall servostairs, then motioned her behind him. “I’m on point. Set your pistol to stun only. I want that bastard alive and spilling everything he knows about Rez Jonas.”

They were going to kidnap the Jabo Station dockmaster? “You can’t possibly be—”

“The Crystal Flame scenario, Scout-and-Snipe.”

She remembered. “Nic, we never got past level seven in that one.”

“This time, though, we’re going all the way.” His wry grin was confident even in the low lighting. “Trust me.”

She had to. They were out of options and almost out of time. The ion cannons would come back online in forty minutes.

THE SERVOSTAIRS WERE rickety and, once Nic reached the halfway point, no longer lit by the dim illumination of the pit’s emergency lights. Overhead a series of movable hatchways were crisscrossed by cables and pulleys and dangling things that—in spite of the narrow light offered by his handbeam—managed to gouge his shoulders and his back. Serri didn’t fare much better. More than once he heard her sharp intake of breath.

He was leading a civilian into a potential firefight, violating a half-dozen DIA regs he could quote from memory, but his distinct uneasiness had nothing to do with those regs. It wasn’t that he doubted Serri. Serenity Beck could be tough when tough was needed. It was that she was Serri, and he would do everything he could to protect her.

Even if it meant his own life.

There was a reason the Crystal Flame scenario was so difficult to complete. It was because level eight set up a do-or-die situation: sacrifice a team member or go back to level one.

The top of the servostairs widened into a platform. He clambered up, then guided Serri next to him. She had the transcomm to her ear.

“Status?”

“Quin’s switching between Trade and Skoge. It’s making Filar’s trans-lang crazy. But it sounds like Quin’s trying to bribe him.”

“Keep listening. Some of what he’s saying is likely aimed at us.” He ran his fingers over the gritty, pitted metal panels inches over his head, feeling for a manual release. He found it, pulled, and was rewarded by a soft double click. It was open. His heart hammered. He took a deep breath. He had to forget for now that Serri was Serri. This was the mission; he was a professional. Personalities—hell, his heart’s desire—could not come into play.

“Quin’s telling Filar that he has a collection of Nonga vases he can show him onboard.”

Nic glanced at her. It was exactly where he wanted the Nalshinian dockmaster: locked in the Pandea’s brig. “You sure Quin’s not telepathic?”

“You know as much about the Skoggi as I do.”

“Is Filar going?”

She was silent. Then: “Sounds like it.”

“Here’s what we do. Crystal Flame, level seven. We stun whatever Bruisers are outside the ship. Then you watch in case backup arrives. I’ll take care of Filar and his escort.”

“Wrong, Talligar. It’s my ship. We take out the guards, then I’m on point. I think I know where Quin’s leading Filar so we can trap him.”

“You could tell me—”

“We’re wasting time. Thirty-five minutes before those cannons come back on line.”

Shit. He’d forgotten about that. He pointed to her transcomm. “Anything more?”

She was frowning. “Signal’s disconnected. I don’t like it.”