Fallen Empire 1: Star Nomad (11 page)

“Look, I just want to get to Perun.”

His gaze flicked down to her jacket. “You’re not going to be welcome there.”

“Better than not being welcome anywhere,” Alisa retorted before she remembered that if there was anyone in the galaxy she didn’t want to irk, it was a cyborg.

He did not move, but that stillness no longer looked relaxed.

“You think you’re so fucking brilliant, don’t you?” he asked softly, his voice hard. “Took down the mighty empire, destroyed three hundred years’ worth of order, tradition, safety. And how did you do it? Not with force, not in honorable battle, but through guerrilla tactics, spying, and treachery.” He took a step toward her, his arms lowering, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “As if that’s something to be proud of, as if it hasn’t always been easier to destroy than to create, to build.”

Alisa took a step back, but her shoulders bumped against the hatch. She wondered if Beck was still in the corridor.

“Did you ever stop to wonder if you were doing the right thing?” the cyborg demanded, his voice still soft. “If your people had the manpower and wherewithal to replace a stable government? I sincerely doubt it, judging by what’s cropping up in the empire’s absence. Those sadistic morons down in that junkyard that enjoy cutting on visitors and roasting the pieces they cut off over a fire, those are only the tail of the comet. There’s much, much worse out there. Your
security guard
—” he sneered, putting mocking emphasis on the words, “—found out that the White Dragon Clan rules on Dustor, and they’re not even the worst of the degenerates out there taking advantage of the void, using intimidation and cruelty to cow people, to carve up the system into kingdoms, each more vile than the last.”

He truly looked pissed now, and Alisa wanted to sprint into the hallway and back to NavCom where she could lock the hatch. Not that a pissed cyborg couldn’t tear open a locked hatch. Still, she made herself stay and stare defiantly up at him. She was the captain, damn it. She couldn’t run off with her tail between her legs.

“You think the empire didn’t use intimidation and cruelty to cow people?” she asked. “You’re the fool if that’s the case. Too busy kissing their asses to realize what terror the average person felt. Nobody dared speak their mind. If they did, they disappeared. You walked into the wrong place, talked to the wrong people, and you disappeared. You think we didn’t all know what was happening? That those people were killed or brainwashed? Didn’t any of your loyal cyborg cronies ever say the wrong thing and disappear?”

“Nobody makes a cyborg disappear.”

“Must be nice to be so gods-damned special.”

He was staring at her, far too close for her liking. She couldn’t move back with the edge of the hatch digging between her shoulder blades, but she sure would have liked to. Fury burned in his eyes, and his fists had only tightened as she spoke. She saw for the first time the naked truth in his intense face, that she represented everything he hated. He probably blamed her for ruining his perfect life of being an imperial sycophant, of using his bare hands to kill anyone who dared defy the emperor.

With more audacity than she felt, she made herself lift her chin and ask, “You going to show me the map of the inside of this asteroid, or do I just get to grab my butt with both hands and let the autopilot steer us into a rock?”

Seconds passed without him moving, without him doing anything but staring into her eyes, as if he could make her pay for all the Alliance had done with the power of his mind. She almost told him that he wasn’t a damned Starseer, but she sensed she had already pushed him far enough. She couldn’t assume he wouldn’t hurt her just because she was the pilot. A person could suffer a lot of pain and still be functional enough to fly.

Finally, he stepped back and turned toward the asteroid floating innocuously above the desk. He swiped an irritated finger through the display, and the map grew larger.

“It’s rough, at best, and it may not be accurate,” he said. “I advise that you save the butt grabbing for later and fly very slowly and very carefully. There
is
a way in, but it may be difficult to navigate.”

“Into what?”

He glanced at her, his lips pressing together.

“If you don’t tell me, how am I going to know when I get there?”

“It’s a research station.”

“For researching what?”

“You don’t need to know that to find it.”

She propped her fist on her hip and almost told him that the empire didn’t need to worry about keeping confidences anymore, that the emperor was dead and there wasn’t anyone left in the organization with the time to care about old secrets. But did she want to pick another fight with him? Next time, he might not keep control of his temper, and a pissed off cyborg would be a very dangerous thing.

“Fine,” Alisa said. “You didn’t answer my other question. Are we dropping you off there?”

He hesitated. “I may need a ride out again. If the person I seek isn’t there or isn’t—” He shook his head. “I may need a ride to Perun.”

It occurred to Alisa that she might have the opportunity to strand him on this asteroid of his. If there weren’t any ships and pilots docked at this research station, he could be stuck there for a very long time. One less cyborg to go back to Perun and help the empire try to reestablish itself. One less cyborg to get in her way.

An alarm blared, making her jump. She cracked her elbow on the hatch and scowled.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Proximity alarm. We’ve got company.”

Chapter 7

When Alisa reached NavCom, Mica was still there, though she was standing now, frowning as she looked back and forth from the sensor display to the view screen. Alisa turned off the alarm and slid into the pilot’s seat. The asteroid field still stretched before them, but a massive ship had come into view in the distance, flying parallel to the edge of the belt. The huge craft stretched miles in length, with all manner of equipment protruding from its hull. It reminded Alisa of all the tools in a dentist’s office, if they had tumbled from their drawers and stuck to a giant rectangular magnet. With an engine.

“Corporate mining ship,” Alisa said. “We shouldn’t be of any interest to them.”

Mica waved at the view screen. “So, it’s just a coincidence that they came out from the asteroid field and are heading straight toward us?”

“Uhm.” Alisa peered at the sensor display, hitting a button so it would play in reverse.

“Perhaps it’s attracted to the scrap potential of this freighter,” the cyborg said, coming to stand in the hatchway.

Having him behind her made Alisa’s shoulder blades itch.

“I hope you’re not implying that all this ship is good for is scrap,” she said, “or I might arrange to have it land on you once we’ve let you out to snoop around on your secret station.”

“Snoop?” Mica glanced back at him.

“I get the impression from the vague directions I’ve been given that our cyborg friend here isn’t an invited guest.” Alisa grimaced as the sensor displayed the last fifteen minutes of readings, readings that showed the mining craft angling toward them until it was close enough to trigger the proximity alarm.

“I’m not
un
invited,” the cyborg said.

“Just so long as we don’t get shot at on the way in.” Alisa lowered her voice to mutter, “I’ve gotten more than I bargained for on this trip already.”

“It’s possible there’s no need to head for a secret base in an asteroid field to get shot,” Mica said. “If that ship gets much closer, he’ll be able to shoot us right here.”

“Mining ships don’t have weapons.” Alisa was about to make a comment about her engineer’s pessimism, but the cyborg spoke again.

“That one does.” He stepped forward, leaning past them to point at some of the protrusions on the big ship that Alisa had assumed were mining equipment. “Torpedo launcher, mega blazer, e-cannons, and that’s a new DZ-468-A, less than two years out of the factory.”

“Asteroids must be getting feisty out here for a mining ship to need all that,” Mica remarked.

Alisa slumped back in her seat. “I take it that pirates or something of that nature took over that ship.”

“Pirates would be my guess.” The cyborg lowered his arm and stepped back.

Alisa turned off the autopilot and grabbed the flight stick. “Mica, head down to engineering, will you? Just in case there’s trouble.”

“How can there
not
be trouble?” Mica slid out of her seat.

“Unless they’ve ratcheted up their engine in a big way, we’ll be faster than them.” Alisa angled them away from the mining ship and toward the asteroid field. They had to go in anyway, and there would be plenty of hiding spots among the rocks. Maybe they could even hide in the cyborg’s secret research facility.

“They’ve ratcheted up their weapons,” Mica said. “What makes you think they won’t have put a new engine or six in there?”

Alisa shook her head and flicked their shields on, though she still hoped the pirates wouldn’t bother with them. “We’ll still be more maneuverable. Piloting that hulk must be like flying a planet.”

“They’re launching a torpedo,” the cyborg said, watching the sensors. “Ship-rated.”

“I see it.”

Alisa dove, twisting the bulky freighter as if she were back in her one-man Striker. She headed toward a small asteroid on the periphery of the belt. The torpedo blew up behind them with a flash of white that lit the view screen. The
Nomad
shuddered, experiencing the shockwave even though they had evaded the explosion.

They could take a few direct hits to the shields, but Alisa would prefer not to—they might need that shielding when they were flying through the belt. There would be all manner of debris in there, some of it too small and densely packed to avoid, but dangerous to the integrity of the ship all the same.

A second torpedo shot after them as Alisa took them behind the asteroid. She thought it would act as a shield, but this time when the white light flashed, the explosion blew a new hole in the asteroid, and rock debris hurtled everywhere. Shards ranging from head-sized to shuttle-sized battered the
Nomad
. Even though they did not strike with the devastating force of a manmade weapon, the console lit up with complaints at the assault.

“Ship-rated,” she muttered. “More like asteroid-rated.” An alarm flashed to her right. “Mica, engineering is calling you.”

“As always.” Mica headed for the exit.

The cyborg and his big muscled torso had to turn sideways so she could pass. Alisa hoped he would leave right after Mica did—she didn’t care for critics standing behind her as she flew, definitely not imperial cyborg critics. Instead, he eased into the vacated seat beside her.

Irritated, she hit the comm switch with more force than necessary to call upon the other craft. “Greetings, unidentified mining ship,” she said. “This is Captain Marchenko of the
Star Nomad
, an
unarmed
and
peaceful
vessel on an expedition to gather interesting ore samples for a scientist among us who is seeking a better understanding of the universe. If we’re heading toward your mining claim, we will gladly divert to another location. Please direct us as you wish. Violence isn’t necessary.”

Alisa glanced at the cyborg, half-expecting him to comment on her ruse. It wasn’t as if she expected it to work, but now and then, she had come across men who hesitated to fire on women, some ancient Earth notion of being chivalrous, she supposed. Maybe whoever was at the weapons control console over there would feel that way.

“A better understanding of the universe?” the cyborg asked. “Is that what your female passenger is looking for when she chants to herself in her room?”

At least he wasn’t making comments about Alisa’s wild flying. That flying had kept her and her crew alive many times in the past when they shouldn’t have survived. Only when the odds had been too astronomical, the numbers too great, had she lost battles.

Static spat from the comm. “Puny freighter,” a woman’s voice said, “you’ve entered territory claimed by the Fist of Darkness. Your ship is ours. Slow down and prepare to be boarded.”

So much for finding a chivalrous man in charge of the other ship.

Alisa muted the comm. “Fist of Darkness?” she asked the cyborg. Maybe he had some knowledge of them.

He shook his head. “Must be a new one.”

Alisa flicked the mute off. “If we’ve stumbled into your territory, Fist, we’ll gladly leave.”

“It’s Fist of
Darkness
, and nobody leaves our territory alive.”

“Charming.” Alisa muted the comm again.

“Given how much trouble you get into,” the cyborg said, “you might want to look into installing weapons on your ship.”

“I’m sure my mother would have installed weapons long ago if the empire hadn’t made it illegal for civilian ships to have them.”

“Your mother?”

Alisa had forgotten that Mica was the only one who knew the history of this ship, that it belonged to her family, or it had before she had junked it. She felt a twinge of guilt for that, but reminded herself that the ship had betrayed
her
first, not the other way around.

“This used to be her ship,” she said shortly. This wasn’t the time to explain her background in great detail. “I grew up on it, running freight with her. And we ran into trouble back then too. Weapons would have been extremely useful. Too bad having them could get you thrown into jail. Or worse.”

“The empire kept the shipping lanes safe. It wasn’t necessary for civilians to have weapons.”

“The shipping lanes, usually, but not always. And not everyone wanted their cargo picked up or delivered to places on the shipping lanes.”

“If your mother was a smuggler, then—”

“She wasn’t a smuggler,” Alisa snapped. “Your empire wasn’t as infallible or great as you seem to think it was.”

“Nevertheless, I doubt the Alliance will have the infrastructure to maintain the same degree of order.”

“Fine, I’ll put in an order for cannons as soon as I can get ahold of a catalog from the weapons supply store.” And as soon as she had the money to do so.