Songs of Love & Death

Neither did he, but rushing into this could be fatal. He carefully slid the portal panel to the left, pinpointing the locations of at least two guards by their noises. “Now,” he whispered, and shoved himself through.

The freighter bay seemed almost dirtside-daylight bright to his eyes, even with the large ship hulking above him. He assessed his position immediately, spotting the two guards about twenty-five feet from the end of the rampway, just inside the bay’s safe zone. Good. They’d be locked behind a blast wall when the ship powered up. He crouched quickly next to a landing strut, feeling Serri behind him. He motioned for her to take out the one on the left. A quick glance showed her pistol raised. He took aim. They had to fire at the same time or risk retaliation.

“Now,” he whispered again.

He fired, aware of the low hum from her pistol in tandem with his. He hit the guard on the right center mass, but Serri’s guard turned and her stun charge hit him in the shoulder. His guard dropped like a crate of unsecured cargo, but hers twisted, falling to one knee as one hand raised a pistol and another punched something on his transcomm.

Serri fired again, taking the guard center mass this time. The big Breffan landed on his back, pistol and transcomm clattering beside him.

Nic lunged to his feet, swearing silently. “We have to assume he set off an emergency signal,” he said as Serri appeared next to him. “Tell me where Quin—”

“No time.” She pushed ahead of him and ran up the rampway.

He caught up with her at the airlock.

“Stand clear.” Her fingers tapped a pattern into the lockpad’s small screen.

“Filar’s got a Bruiser with him.”

“Then he’s coming for a ride too.”

The airlock doors groaned shut behind him. He grabbed her arm. “We could end up with a hostage standoff.” Just like Scout-and-Snipe. “They’ve got Quin.” And the Nalshinian and the Breffan were both much larger than the Skoggi—probably the sole reason, other than greed, that they’d agreed to come onboard. “I know how to handle this,” he continued tersely. “You don’t. Where are they?”

She hesitated for half a breath. “Either his quarters—lower deck, starboard forward—or Cargo Two, starboard aft. I vote for the latter. It has a null-field generator for hazardous cargo. Kills transcomm signals so Filar can’t call for help.”

Quin’s signal had ended abruptly. He hoped that it was because of the null-field. He moved past her for the ladderway. Then she was right beside him, damn it, reaching the small compartment at the base of the ladderway before he did. She poked at a control panel set into the bulkhead and motioned him forward. She kept her voice low. “Cargo holds have a refrigeration option.”

And freezing temperatures put Breffans into hibernation mode. “How long until—”

“Five minutes on temperature, thirty on cannons.”

He could hear tension in her whispered words; saw anxiety in the thin line of her lips. He held up one hand. “We go barreling down that corridor, we could both get killed. Wait.” He crouched down and edged around the corner. The corridor ran most of the length of the ship, with access to Cargo Four the closest to their location. He damned the fact that he hadn’t brought a thermal sensor or miniature spybots. But this was just supposed to be a preliminary mission to make sure the tagged cargo left the station. Amazing how many things could go wrong in so short a span of time.

And so right. He glanced back over his shoulder. Serri. He drew a quick breath. “Any noise, hit the deck. Understand?”

She nodded, though he doubted she’d comply. He soft-footed across the corridor, Serri at his back. He hesitated in the hatchway for Cargo Four, then, with a sharp wave of his hand to Serri, moved again. Ten, fifteen strides, watching back and front. Closer now, he heard sounds. Hard sounds but definitely voices.

Which meant the hatchway to Cargo Two was open.

Which meant Serri’s hibernation ploy wouldn’t work. Oh, the cold would slow the Breffan down. But he wouldn’t be woozy on his feet and Nic wanted him woozy. Multilimbed Breffans had an obvious advantage in a firefight.

A sharp clank, like the top of a metal container slamming down, echoed. Nic hesitated.

“No more time,” a voice boomed. Filar’s. “We have not seen anything of value. Your ship—”

“A few more moments, Your Esteemedness.” That was Quin, definitely. “If I can’t find the matched set of thirty-ninth century Nonga vases—which I swear are in here somewhere—then I know I can find… Yes, here they are! Look!”

“Now,” Serri whispered urgently, but Nic was already moving forward. Quin was Skoggi so Quin knew they were there. And if he had Filar peering inside a cargo container, this was going to be the best—and possibly only—chance they’d get to make a surprise entrance.