Songs of Love & Death

“Quin, broadcast an emergency get-clear on the freighter channels,” Serri was saying without turning from her console. “We need to get as far away as we can in ten minutes. I don’t want to plow through anyone in the process.”

“Sending,” Quin said.

Nic did a quick mental calculation as Quin’s vest flickered. “Will we be out of range of the cannons in ten minutes?”

“It’ll be close.” Serri fired the lifting thrusters. The ship vibrated. Plumes of dust and debris swirled past the viewscreens.

Close could be fatal, and Nic again damned the fact that his hands were tied by his undercover status. It looked as if this plan could fail as miserably as the one six years ago that was meant to keep Serri in his life.

“We could always tell the chuffers that Filar’s onboard. Without mentioning you, of course,” Quin added, with a quick nod to Nic.

“Then we’d be dealing with pursuit craft,” Serri pointed out. “I’d rather take my chance dodging the cannons. They have a finite range.”

Serri redirected the thrusters, easing the freighter out of the bay. Nic silently lauded Serri’s skill as she wove her way around bulky tankers that didn’t have the Pandea’s maneuverability.

Then three shrill bleats erupted from her console.

“Short range. Incoming.” Her voice was tense. “Not cannons. Security drones. Could be standard procedure,” she continued. “Or they’re realizing that the cannons don’t work and this is their second-best.”

Nic hoped that was it. Unmanned security drones weren’t difficult to evade with someone of Serri’s expertise at the controls. Plus, drone’s lasers had limited range.

“Increasing aft shields to counter,” Serri said.

“Those chuffers at traffic control are getting quite vitriolic.” Quin sounded amused.

The Pandea shuddered. Another alarm trilled. Serri slapped the disconnect as she checked ship’s status. “Drone just bit us in the ass. Shields are holding.”

She had the ship dodging and darting, trying to avoid any more hits from the drones, but they were persistent.

“Shield down to seventy-two percent. Three minutes to outer beacon.”

Suddenly the bridge filled with a rapid high-pitched series of tones. “Shit!” Serri’s fingers moved with new intensity over her console. “Targeting sensor warning. They’ve got a lock on us. It’s the cannons.”

Nic’s heart hammered against his ribs. They’d misjudged or someone had overridden Serri’s program. Why and how no longer mattered. Staying alive did.

“Hang on.” Serri dropped the freighter into a roll and, after that, into a curving dive. Nic could feel artificial gravity straining to maintain stability; little pockets of weightlessness making his ass rise off the seat as the shields’ power draw drained ship’s systems.

Serri’s screens—and the wailing of alarms—confirmed two near-misses but the second was close enough to damage the shields. “Shields down to sixty-one percent.”

“Quin, patch me in to the comm,” Nic said suddenly, angling the console’s mic toward him.

Serri shot him a quick glance. “You tell them Filar’s onboard, they’re going to send pursuit ships. I can’t outrun those and avoid the cannons.”

“They won’t send ships when I tell them he’s in DIA custody.”

“But you said your mission—”

“Screw the mission.” He meant that. This was about choices—and not just life-and-death ones. He made his. “Quin, patch me in.”

“Mic and speakers are live,” Quin said.

“Jabo Station, hold fire. This is Special Agent Nicandro Talligar, Dalvarr Intelligence Agency, onboard the Star of Pandea. Cease fire or we’ll put your station under full lockdown.”

“Talligar, this is Jabo. We have no proof—”

Nic was already working the console. “Transmitting identification now.”

His console clicked and beeped. His heart pounded. He could hear Quin breathing heavily, and though she tried to hide it by dropping her hand into her lap, he could see Serri’s fist clench.

“Talligar, this is Jabo. Ident confirmed. We’re holding fire. However, we should have been informed of your presence and any investigation.”

“You can take it up with the agency. In the meantime, be advised that I have your stationmaster, Gop Filar, onboard and under arrest. A DIA enforcement ship is at your outer beacon and will counter any moves against this ship. Talligar out.”

The alarms cut off in mid-wail. Jabo had stopped firing. Nic leaned back in his seat and scrubbed at his face with his hands. When he opened his eyes, Serri had swiveled her seat partway around and was looking at him.

“You’re going to be in real trouble over this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, and flexed his left wrist. Time to talk to those voices in his head again. They were not going to be happy.

SERRI SWIVELED THE high-backed chair around in the ready room, very glad that the room was now empty. She hadn’t been through a debriefing since she left Widestar, but that had been the corporate version. The DIA version was frightening—almost as frightening as their shadowy stealth ship.