Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2 (17 page)

              It was loud, hot, dirty work, and work that required precision as well as a goodly amount of elbow grease.  No amount of the spent algae matrix could mix with the still good batches.  This meant that everyone was working in a proscribed drill, to make sure no contaminants remained in the tank or the scrubbers, and that nothing got into the other batches.  Someone also had to monitor the computer to make sure that the tank was properly isolated from the ventilation system. 

              And that’s what Ka’Xarian was doing while the full change out of the tank was going on.  He was still keeping one compound eye on what the team was doing, but at the same time, he was isolating the ventilation and command and control system.  It was a delicate balancing act, keeping the system closed while trying to finish his work while
also
trying to keep the pirates from figuring out what he was doing.  He was sending a fake feed to the bridge, in case anyone was checking, though he doubted that.  The bridge watch up there consisted of only one crewman, and they were only there to keep a Mark-One eyeball on the displays in case anything went wrong.  So far, nothing and the pirates hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary being up.

              Finally, he made a low blat of relief, but forced himself to remain calm and nonchalant.  Yukrix, the zheen pirate tech was hanging around, always watching, some sort of scanning device or datapad in his hand.  He was looking at everything going on in the Environmental space; his compound eyes allowed him to do that, but he wasn’t raising any alarm or giving any indication he was finding anything unusual.  He was persistent and he was good; Xar was forced to admit that in a moment of honesty.  It was too bad, really, that someone of his talent would have to be a soulless murderer, Xar reflected.  They could use someone of his skills on the
Grania Estelle
, but even if he should surrender to their custody and agree to obey by their rules, they could never trust him again.  A shame.

              He pressed a button on his wrist communicator twice, then continued to monitor the procedure going on, all the while watching Yukrix, whose antennae made circles over his head, amused at the Environmental crew taking care of the spent matrix.  Ka’Xarian had an idea for handling the good technician, one that might keep him quiet long enough for the crew here to secure him and move on to other sections of the ship.

              Xar clacked his mandibles in mirth, the noise covered by the din of the work party.  If it worked, he would enjoy it very much.  Yukrix probably wouldn’t.

Chapter 6

              And suddenly, almost without knowing how it all happened, everything was moving forward and with ever increasing speed.  Vincent Eamonn stepped into the brig, his hands behind his back and the two pirate guards looked up as he entered.  They were pugnacious fellows; that seemed to be a requisite to be a part of Verrikoth’s band, though these two were human.  There was a fair number of zheen and other races in Verrikoth’s employ.  These two were dressed in mismatched armor, though really all they had were wrist bracers made from heavy plastic, meant to protect the arms if they got into a fight up close.  Some of the others had a variety of body armor, but these two, strangely, did not.  Perhaps there was more armor and equipment to be found in the berthing areas or stored in the lockers at Security, but these two were wearing only gray ship suits, the bracers and their weapons.  Each of them was outfitted with a sidearm, a stun pistol and at least two blades, a very lethal combination.

              “What do you want?” one of them demanded, sneering at the captain as he approached.  In the passing weeks, the pirates had made no attempt to hide their scorn for the civilians who ran the ship. 

              “Come to see his bitches again,” the other one replied and then guffawed. 

              “No, I decided to come by to see if I could persuade you to let me see my officer,” Eamonn answered, flicking his head in the direction of Tamara’s cell. 

              “Ooh, listen to ‘im, Drang,” the first one said, chuckling, slouching a bit more in his chair.  “Per-swade us!  How very civilized of ‘im!”

              But the smile was wiped from his face as Eamonn produced a bottle of booze from behind his back.  “Rogerian firebrand,” the captain told them, as he saw their eyes bulging.  “Would this be enough to let me see my officer?”

              The first one was watching the bottle in Eamonn’s hand greedily.  “I reckon it might, Captain.”  His voice was oddly strained, yet respectful.  “What do you say, Drang?”

              “I say,” the other replied, his voice shaking a bit in wonder, “Why the hell are you wasting time?”  He gestured for the captain to hand the bottle over.  “Give it here.”  Eamonn handed it over, the other man snatched it out of his hand.

              “Oi!” the first one cried.  “Easy!  Gentle you git!  Rogerian firebrand!  Dat’s the good stuff!”

              Eamonn stepped past them toward Tamara’s cell.  Drang had already gotten the bottle open and was tipping some back into his mouth.  He gasped as the fiery liquid seared his throat.  “Ahhh!  That’s lovely.”  He passed the bottle to his fellow and closed his eyes to savor the taste. 

              Just as Drang leaned back to take a big swig, Eamonn exploded forward.  A knife was in his hand, not a combat knife, just one of Cookie’s steak knives.  In one swift, practiced movement, he had the pirate by the hair, yanked his head back, and drew the blade across the man’s throat.  Blood washed over the captain’s hand and gushed onto the table.  The first pirate opened his eyes, hearing his fellow’s gurgling noise, about to rib him for choking on the booze.  He was about to say something when Eamonn lunged forward, plunging the blade into the man’s chest. 

              His hand, slippery with the hot blood, slid up the handle, slicing his forefinger on the weapon.  It wasn’t made for stabbing, it was meant for cutting meat for dinner.  He swore as his own blood was spilled, but it didn’t stop him.  Tearing the blade free of the astonished pirate’s chest, he plunged it again and again into his chest, until finally, the man was still.  The knife remained in the man’s chest, gummy with the crimson liquid.

              Eamonn was breathing heavily, feeling slightly nauseous both from the pain of his injury and the violence of what he’d just done.  Pressing a button and tossing people out into the void was one thing.  Actually murdering them with your own hands, feeling their death throes and their blood wash over you was quite another matter.  Tearing a strip from the sleeve of his ship suit, he wrapped it tight around his finger.  Stepping forward to the dead bodies he grabbed the bottle, which miraculously hadn’t shattered when he’d sliced the man’s throat, though a great deal of the alcohol had poured out onto the deck.  Bringing the bottle up to his lips, he gulped down the firebrand as though it was a life giving elixir, not caring about the searing throat and burning stomach that came with the drink.

              Once the alcohol was in him, he could feel his head clearing, and the throbbing of his hand eased a bit.  Eamonn splashed some liquor on his finger, which burned like acid causing him to hiss with pain, but he didn’t falter.  He set down the bottle and helped himself to one of the soldier’s stun pistols.  Walking over to one of the cells, he keyed it open his gaze flicking over his shoulder to the main hatch, looking to make sure no one was coming.  No one did.  Gripping the access handle, he twisted hard and heard a number of metallic clicks from the cell door.  A second later, the door slid to the side.

              Corajen immediately stepped out, her sister one step behind.  “You did good, Captain,” Corajen said without any humor or mirth.  “Took them completely by surprise.”

              “I say he got lucky.  But, all things considered, not too bad, me-…” Saiphirelle started, then grunted and changed what she was about to say.  “Uh, I mean, not bad, Captain.”

              “Arm up,” he ordered, ignoring the jibe.  “Then get your asses up to Security and deal with who’s there.”  Eamonn looked right at the younger of the two siblings.  “I hope your time stuck in there hasn’t blunted your edge.  Because I want my ship back.”

              “Better weapons,” Saiphirelle said in reference to his earlier comment about the Security office, taking one of the sidearms, ignoring the rest.  Corajen took one of the stunners and a datapad.  At her sister’s incredulous look, she only said, “More shots.”  With another look back at their blood-splattered Captain, both wolfwomen nodded and then hustled off down the corridor into the ship.

              The captain slumped hard against the bulkhead, just outside of Samair’s cell, his hands shaking.  They wouldn’t stop.  His breathing was ragged and he stood there for a long moment, just gulping in air.  He didn’t mourn for those men that he’d just killed, far from it.  They were a blight, murderers and rapists themselves, most likely.  The spacelanes would be better off with them gone.  But it wasn’t as easy as the holos made it out to be, to kill someone.  Finally, he got himself back under control and stood up straight.

              He stepped over to the other cell.  Steeling himself, he spoke up.  “Moxie, it’s me.”

              “Yeah, it’s you,” her voice came back, dripping with anger.  “Captain,” she said belatedly.

              He blinked.  “You ready to get out of there?”  He put his hand on the controls to open the cell, but he hesitated, didn’t open it.

              “What’s the holdup, Captain?” Tamara asked, scorn still filling her tone.  “I thought you were going to let me out?”

              “I’m sorry for what-,” he began, but she cut him off.

              She rushed the door, slamming her palm of her free hand at it, making the metal ring like a gong.  “You’re
sorry?
” she shrieked.  “You just sat there and let him torture me!  You
fed
me to that bastard!  To all these bastards!”  Tamara hit the door again with her hand.  “And you’ve been hiding away in your stateroom drinking yourself stupid and I’m supposed to just forget everything that’s happened because you’re
sorry
?”

              “I never meant…”

              But she cut him off again.  “And now that you’ve finally grown a spine and decided to get your ship back, I’m supposed to be grateful?  Let me out of here,” she demanded, taking a step back from the door, though their eyes were locked through the small slot at head level.  When he hesitated again, Tamara laughed in derision.  “So now you’re just like them.  Afraid that I’m going to go and do something that you won’t like, so you keep me in this box.  You bastard.”  She slumped back down on the bunk.  “You bastard,” she repeated, her eyes blazing with fury.  Eamonn didn’t respond and he actually took a step back.  Tamara shook her head.  “You piece of trash, you
are
a coward!  You’re going to leave me in here!”

              He backed away and started walking to the door to the brig before he turned back.  He walked straight to the controls and keyed in the door release.  Twisting the handle, he heard the locks click and then hustled out of the brig.  A few seconds later, the door slid to the side and Tamara rushed out.  He could hear her stepping into the main area of the brig, but he didn’t wait, he didn’t speak to her.

              She was free.  She was out from the cell and free from her guards.  But then Tamara touched the device clamped onto her neck and she knew. 
I’m not free yet.  Not while Jax still lives. 
She needed to get to him, to kill him, and to get the remote away from him.  Maybe then, with help from Turan, she could remove the device and finally start to feel normal again. 

              With a sigh, Tamara wondered if things would ever feel normal again.  For a time, she was quite content here, on the
Grania Estelle
.  But now, seeing the Captain for the first time since receiving Jax’s “gift” she knew nothing would ever be the same again.  She’d meant every word she’d said from inside the cell, the captain was a coward and a betrayer.  How could she ever trust him again after that?  How could she continue to work on this ship knowing that he was here?  Oh, sure, he’d probably been threatened with death or torture, or possibly getting to watch as Jax killed or tortured his crew, or possibly even Taja, but Tamara didn’t care.  She wasn’t willing to accept that as an excuse, for that was all it would be: an excuse.  Things could never go back to the way they were before, even when they took the ship back. 

              Oh, she was determined that they would take it back.  Gideon Jax and his fellows had had their days in the sun, now it was time to launch them into it.  Walking swiftly to the corpses lying on the deck, in an ever-widening pool of blood, Tamara helped herself to the other sidearm pistol and relieved the dead man of his spare clips of ammo, which hung from his belt.  The belt was far too big to fit comfortably around her slender waist, so she draped it over one shoulder like a bandolier, wincing slightly at the tacky feel of blood that had soaked into one portion of it.  Tamara checked over the weapon in her hand, nodded in satisfaction and then belatedly followed the others out of the brig.  The pirates were ravagers and scum, but they knew how to take care of their weapons.

              There would be places people needed to go to secure the ship.  The bridge, of course, Main Engineering, Environmental, but Tamara headed instead for the boat bay.  True, they were out in the void, so there was nowhere to go, even if someone did commandeer a shuttle or Tamara’s fighter, not to mention the other fighters in the cargo hold.  She grimaced at that.  She’d never really gotten a look at those ships, and once all this nasty pirate business was over, she was going to enjoy going to that bay to take a look at them.  There really hadn’t been time from Ulla-tran for her to check out the sensor readings and then Jax had imprisoned her and of course she’d had no access once she’d killed half his gang of thugs.

              But that would be fun for later.  For now, she was going to secure the boat bay and then move forward to the berthing compartments.  She’d have to get some help, of course.  Tamara knew that she was a good shot, but she couldn’t hope to take on a compartment full of the bastards alone.  She might get one, maybe two, but then they’d start shooting and she’d get overwhelmed and quickly.  But there would be crewmen that would help.  Maybe some of the cargo people, she mused.

              She picked up her pace, moving to a light jog, but after only a few steps she felt herself get light-headed.  It had been a long time since her last meal, two days, and she hadn’t exactly been living the healthiest of lifestyles in the last few weeks.  Tamara swayed and came to a stop, putting one hand on the bulkhead to steady herself.  Concentrating hard, she brought up her HUD, ordering a full scan of herself.  It took a moment and the HUD flickered a bit, but then the image firmed up.  She was dehydrated and had a mild case of malnutrition, which would certainly explain the light-headedness.  Taking an extra minute for her head to clear, she moved off again, going a bit slower this time, but doggedly determined to see this through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

              When the double click came over Cookie’s communicator, his stomach, already filled with what felt like snakes, sliding all over his insides, filled with molten lava.  His breathing suddenly got very shallow, and he nearly dropped the ladle into the fish stew he was making.  But then he took a deep breath and turned to face the mess hall at large.  There weren’t very many people here, only three crew members over at one of the tables farthest from the main door, and the two soldiers taking up their usual post at the table closest to the door.  Both were zheen, each wearing more casual clothing than the crew of the
Grania Estelle.
  Whereas the crew and a fair number of the pirates wore ship suits, these two were dressed in little more than a surcoat and weapon belts.  Their carapaces were hard and thick enough that they didn’t need to wear boots so they decided to go with as little clothing as possible, and decked out in weapons.