“There were six men in that room,” Val said, “that we saw on the camera. And they have at least three other friends left out here.” She waved to the trussed guard. He had been one of the four who had come out of the lift. “Any chance there was a nearby armory on that map you were memorizing in the closet?”
“No armory.” Gregory offered her the rifle. “But I’ll trade you. I think you may actually have the more disruptive weapon.”
She snorted and eyed her canister. “It does make a pretty cloud of gas.” After a minute of consideration, she handed it to him.
A wise trade. He was likely more comfortable with improvised weapons and unarmed combat than she. He had to admit that she was right and that the odds wouldn’t be in their favor. He hoped they could surprise the guards. Perhaps it would be best not to use the front door.
Chapter 6
If Val had known Commander Thatcher—Gregor, she reminded herself, still surprised he had invited her to use his first name—would drag her into the ductwork behind the freezers, she wouldn’t have hesitated before trading weapons with him. The bulky nitrogen canister couldn’t be fun to drag through the tight passages. Even the rifle was clunky, and she had to work hard to keep it from clanking on the metal sides.
Here and there, they passed vents that allowed narrow slats of light into the ducts, but for the most part, the insides were dark, cold, and claustrophobic and smelled of mildew. Val, trusting Gregor had memorized the route, crawled after him in silence. Besides, nothing was as claustrophobic as being locked in a freezer.
She shuddered at the memory. A career pilot ought to be used to spending time in confined spaces, but between the threat of running out of air and the threat of freezing to death, she had been certain she would end up dead before they could escape. And then who would watch after her brother? No one. Neither of them had anyone else in the galaxy. Funny how being trapped with the threat of death looming brought such thoughts to mind. She was glad Gregor hadn’t been so burdened with doubt. He had acted calmer and cooler than an ice block, as if he had known all along they would escape. Maybe he had as soon as he spotted the liquid nitrogen.
She
hadn’t been so certain that would work. That was, of course, why she had kissed him. Because she hadn’t known if they would truly make it out and because… that was what people did when the end was near. Even near strangers could be so motivated in a desperate situation.
She smiled, thinking of how surprised he had been, the stunned way he had stood there for a moment before responding. She had been on the verge of backing away, thinking he either wouldn’t do anything at all or would, in his haughty and proper way, inform her that this was completely unacceptable behavior, given their working relationship. Then, he had surprised
her
by kissing back. And it had been… nice. All right,
more
than nice. Sweet and gentle, but arousing too. Maybe, because of her traveling lifestyle, she’d gotten too used to meeting men in bars, horny men who pawed at her and were more interested in satisfying themselves than in worrying about her pleasure. That usually worked well enough—after those long months in space, she was often as horny as they, and wanted little more than a release—but Gregor had been almost… reverent. As if she was something special, not another lay in some random spaceport. She was doubtlessly reading too much into his touches. More likely, despite his words to the contrary, he had been worried they wouldn’t escape and he had also wanted to experience the taste and feel of the opposite sex one last time.
Her rifle clunked on the side of the duct as they went around the corner. Val grumbled to herself to focus on the mission.
“What?” Gregor whispered, glancing back at her. He had paused near one of those vents, and slashes of light played across his face. A handsome face with kissable lips. She snorted at her recalcitrant mind. So much for focusing.
“I was wondering if we’re close,” she whispered back.
Gregor nodded. “Yes. Two more turns, and we’ll be behind the generator room. The map didn’t show where all the vents were.” He tilted his head toward the slats next to him. “I hope there’ll be at least one in that room.”
“It was a big room. You’d think there would be.”
Gregor continued on without comment. Val crawled after him, careful not to let the rifle bump again. She hadn’t heard anyone walking or talking in the rooms they passed yet, but there would probably be guards in the hall near the generator room, as well as in the room itself.
After a few more minutes of travel, Gregor stopped at a new vent. He peered between the slats for a long moment. Val itched to see for herself, but there wasn’t room for two people side-by-side in the duct. Eventually, he looked over his shoulder at her, held a finger to his lips, then pantomimed for her to stay there. He crawled away, disappearing into the darkness around a bend.
Val inched forward. She peered through the vent to a dirty tile floor smashed with wads of old gray gum and had to drop to her belly to get a view of anything more interesting. She was straight across from the green base of a big piece of equipment. That generator? Had it been green? She tried to remember what the camera had shown them, but it had only displayed the room for a couple of seconds before it had been shot down. Ah, there was a chair—and a human leg—at the edge of her view. It
was
the generator room. Her duct must be on the side wall, perpendicular to the one with the double doors. They and the table full of men would be to her left, the way Gregor had gone. The admiral, if he hadn’t been moved, would be to her right, at the back of the room. Was Gregor trying to find another entry point closer to the guards? How were they going to push through the grates covering these vents, anyway? They were screwed to the wall with the screw heads facing the room. Gregor might be strong enough to throw an elbow and break through, but she was afraid she would only hurt herself—and make noise. It would be hard to find any leverage in the tight space.
“How much longer?” a man asked from the table. Val couldn’t see the speaker, or anything except the one person’s leg, bland khaki pants and brown boots.
“… think twenty minutes,” someone answered. The machinery across the room was humming, and Val had to lean her ear close to the vent to hear the second man’s words.
“Good. I’m tired of sitting down here, especially now that we’re getting visitors.”
“I’m tired of drugging an old man every couple of hours. What if his heart gives out and he dies?”
“He’s not
that
old. He’s around sixty, isn’t he?”
“That’s old. And you didn’t answer? What if he dies? We might not get paid.”
“We’ll get paid. The Orenkans were probably just going to shoot him anyway.”
His comrade grunted.
Intent on listening to the men outside, Val didn’t notice Gregor making his way back to her until his face was only a few inches from hers. She twitched in surprise but kept her head from banging on the duct ceiling. A good thing, because the men at the table probably would have heard that.
Gregor pointed at her ear, then crept closer. She knew he had whispering orders in mind, not kissing or nuzzling, but a flutter of anticipation stirred in her gut, nonetheless. Not the time for that… Val turned her ear toward him.
“There’s another vent near that table,” he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek. “I’m going to break out of it and attack them. While they’re distracted, I want you to break through this one and go to the admiral. I think he’s unconscious, so you won’t be able to drag him back here, but at least try to drag him behind the generator and cover him until the fight is over.”
Val grabbed his arm before he could pull away. She leaned close and whispered, “You’re going to fight a bunch of armed men with a canister of gas? That’s crazy.”
“I would prefer a more elegant—and less dangerous—solution, but if the admiral is due to be picked up in twenty minutes, I don’t see that there’s time to hunt for better weapons.”
He tried to pull back, but she didn’t let him go.
“Wait,” she whispered. She wanted to tell him that it was foolish, that they could try to get the admiral at another point, that he shouldn’t risk himself… but realized she would have sounded like some lovelorn woman rather than a mercenary speaking to another mercenary. A commanding officer mercenary at that. Besides, she wasn’t lovelorn. They had kissed. So what? “How am I supposed to open this grate?” she asked instead.
“You have a laser rifle. I’ll trust you to figure it out.”
Oh. Right.
This time, when Gregor backed away, Val let him go. Time to do her job, get the admiral, and hope being stuck in a freezer had qualified her for a combat bonus.
Val scooted back in the shaft so shrapnel wouldn’t hit her when she fired. She wedged the butt of the rifle into the hollow of her shoulder and waited. Blasting the grate wouldn’t be the most silent way to enter a room, so she would have to hope Gregor’s distraction was enough. And that he wouldn’t get killed making that distraction.
Seconds drifted past with nothing happening. Had he changed his mind? Or maybe he was having trouble getting his own grate off without announcing his presence prematurely. In the room, the men grumbled about cheaters and speculated on women. Val rubbed the trigger with her finger. If whoever was picking up the admiral came early, such as while she and Gregor were fighting people in the middle of the room, they might find themselves dealing with twice the number of enemies.
A screech came from behind the table. Someone shouted, and chairs crashed to the floor. That had to be her cue.
Val fired, the crimson beam lighting up the duct as it bit into the grate. As she’d anticipated, metal shrapnel flew everywhere, pinging off the sides of the duct. She buried her face to protect it. Fortunately, she was far enough back that nothing gouged her. The laser had obliterated the grate.
Val rushed forward, shoving the rifle out first, her finger still on the trigger. A white cloud of gas from that tank filled the generator room. Smacks, grunts, and the whine of gunfire came from the direction of the table. Though Gregor had ordered her to rush straight to the admiral, Val glanced back to make sure the man was there—he was, and he still appeared to be unconscious—then rose to one knee and faced Gregor’s fight.
Thanks to the white vapor, she couldn’t see half of the men, including Gregor, but two of the guards were standing back and shooting into the mess. Knowing she would only get one chance before they noticed her—she was surprised nobody had registered the blasting of the vent yet—she took a second to choose her targets. That one… then that one, yes. The overturned table and smoke made the others too hard to see, and she didn’t want to risk hitting Gregor. Her targets weren’t wearing battle armor, so her shots shouldn’t need to be precise. She fired once, then again, taking one man in the back and the other in the shoulder.
The first guard flew forward and didn’t get up, but the second spun toward her, spraying laser fire. Cursing, Val hurled herself into a roll to the side. She should have anticipated counter fire. The generator was a good twenty feet away, so she couldn’t reach it for cover fast enough. Instead, she shot again as soon as her belly hit the floor, and her perspective was upright again.
The guard’s first shots had flown high—he had probably expected a standing opponent—but he was adjusting quickly. She shot almost at the same time as he did. Something slammed into him a split second before he touched his trigger, and his beam went wide, gouging holes in the wall. Her laser grazed his thigh. He went down hard, less because of her attack and more because a heavy canister of gas had struck him in the forehead.
Only then did Val realize that the fight was already over. The smoke was fading, revealing upturned furniture with several unmoving men scattered around the pieces. Gregor stood, his canister in one hand and a purloined rifle in the other.
“Thanks,” Val said, chagrined that she had only take down one enemy when he had bested five, not to mention saving her life for the second time that day.
“You are welcome.” Gregor pointed toward the back of the room, but walked to the front to lock the door.
Right, her job had been to protect the admiral. Well, he looked all right. Gregor had handled the others before anyone could think of taking a shot at the prone man in the back of the room. A man who was breathing so shallowly, it was hard to tell if he was alive. She frowned at him. He
was
breathing, wasn’t he?
She knelt beside the officer, touching two fingers to his throat as the thugs’ words about heart attacks floated through her mind. He might have gray hair and a weathered face, but he appeared more strong and fit than old and doddering. She found his pulse, but he didn’t respond to her touch. How were they going to carry him back up to the ship without attracting notice? For some reason, the admiral had come in his army blues, his rank, medals, and various other decorations on the jacket. Unless they stripped him, people would remember him if they saw him, especially out in this remote backwater. Even if they did find other clothes for him, he still had a military look about him, thanks to that short hair and a face that, even in unconsciousness, had a hint of arrogance about it, like he had been born expecting that people would obey his orders.
Gregor jogged over and she smiled slightly, thinking of where else she had seen that type of face lately.
“He is alive?” Gregor asked.
“Yes. Are we carrying him out of here?”
“That’s a possibility, but not an ideal one. Let’s take him to another level and wait until the drugs wear off before attempting to leave the station. We can acquire a costume for him, and if he can walk off the lift, he’ll be less memorable. We’ll—”
The doorknob rattled.
Gregor spun in that direction, his newly acquired rifle at the ready. He had abandoned the canister near the table. Maybe it was empty.
“Into the duct,” Gregor amended his order.
“Uh. They’re going to know we went in there.” Val waved at the grate she had blown away, but she stood at the same time, grabbing the admiral’s wrists so she could drag him toward the wall.