The Planet Thieves (6 page)

The whole left side of the ship was made up of these corridors stacked atop each other, with rooms crammed in between them. A number on the wall showed this was level six. Level two held the theater. Levels four and five held the gym. Most of it was crew quarters, though: the Egypt was equipped for battle, but it was also the ship you took when you wanted to move a lot of ESC troops from one place to another. Though she was only packed with a couple hundred crew at the moment, the Egypt had room for two thousand.

They passed an adjacent, empty corridor, and Mason heard the faraway buzz of talons. Orders were being shouted. The battle was on. Once he had a gun, he could fight his way to the bridge and … Susan was still alive. She had to be, and he'd save her.

The armory was up ahead; the door was open. Crisp white light flickered from within.

It was quiet and still. Mason held up a hand, and they slowed their approach, making their footsteps silent on the carpet. He smelled burnt metal and something that reminded him of Steak Tuesday in the galley. The smell of charred meat. His stomach churned.

Tom was too dazed for caution, and he muscled past Mason's outstretched arm and stepped inside, no hesitation, almost like he didn't care about whatever danger lay within. So of course Mason and Merrin were right behind him.

The armory was destroyed. The walls, floor, and ceiling were once panels that gave off soft white light. Now they were cracked and sputtering. Now ESC soldiers littered the floor, eight of them, just lying there, smoke still rising from their uniforms. The walls, once lined with weapons of every kind, were mostly bare. The weapons were scattered over the floor, destroyed.

Tom spit on the ground and bent over, like he was about to throw up. Merrin put her hands over her mouth. Mason wanted to do the same things they were doing, but he recalled his sister's voice as it was cut off, and he didn't. Instead, he crouched and began going through the weapons, looking for one that was functional. They couldn't all be broken. The nearest armories were sub-armories—small caches hidden in the walls—and Mason doubted even Tom could access them.

“What are you doing here?” a man said behind them, softly. Mason spun around, almost tripping over one of the bodies.

Ensign Michael, a portly recruit not much older than twenty, stood in the doorway, frowning at them. Mason remembered him from the crew meet-and-greet when the Egypt left port two weeks earlier. He had two black eyes and a patch of burned skin on his neck.

“I know for a fact you're not supposed to be roaming the halls,” he said, so calmly Mason wondered if he was in shock.

“We're last years,” Mason said. “My sister—” He was about to say his sister was captain now, and he was going to help her no matter what, but that would've sounded terrible with Tom standing right next to him. “We need weapons.”

Ensign Michael nodded and entered the armory, stepping carefully over the fallen soldiers; Mason hadn't quite looked at them yet, and he didn't plan to. Ensign Michael unlocked one of the still-glowing panels on the wall and swung it open. There were more weapons inside, unscathed.

“Hand P-cannons,” he said, pulling out three handheld photon cannons that resembled ancient handguns, back when humans made their weapons out of explosive powder and projectiles. The plastic barrels glowed, a swirling mixture within that shifted between green, white, blue, and yellow. “They pack a punch. But promise me that if I give them to you, you'll hide and use them for defense only. We should have these Tremist dogs cleaned up shortly.” His voice was watery and he was sweating through his suit. The black fabric was stained darker under his armpits and around his neck.

Mason hoped he was right, but he didn't see anyone around to help carry out that threat. They were on their own.

“Promise me,” Ensign Michael said again.

“We promise,” Tom said. The lie came so easily that Mason wondered if Tom had a lot of practice.

“Good. Now go hide.” He looked down at the floor. “I have to take care of this.”

Mason took his P-cannon and left with a nod to Ensign Michael. He needed to find his sister. Now. Tom and Merrin followed him, turning on their P-cannons. The handheld devices whined to life then quieted. Mason could feel the heat of it in his hand. The trigger was touch-sensitive, so pressing harder would create a more powerful energy burst. He planned on squeezing as hard as he could.

They passed windows on the way back, but they only showed more dark space. It was impossible to see the Tremist ship from this angle. Mason was heading toward the bridge, since that was the most logical place to find his sister. Merrin and Tom seemed on board, since they didn't ask where he was leading them. This part of the ship was quiet, but he could hear shouts from many corridors away and the constant background hum of weapons. The air moved hard, briefly, ruffling his hair; an energy weapon had probably cut through the Egypt's hull, creating a hole that sucked at the atmosphere until the auto-sealer could plug it. They'd been told on day one not to panic if there was a stiff and sudden breeze.

In the elevator, Merrin stepped to the front. “I should go first. I'm the best with a P-cannon,” she said. “Last year I won the competition.”

That was true, but Mason had come in second by 1.5 points, and he figured they were about equal in skill. The night before the contest he hadn't slept well because David Schatz, the cadet who slept in the bunk above him, was snoring loud enough to vibrate the water in the glass Mason had on his shelf. He wanted to go first, but if she truly was a better shot, it wouldn't make sense.

“We move fast,” Mason said. “Once we're in there, take out your targets as quickly as you can. Don't hesitate.” It wasn't much as far as plans went, but Mason didn't know what to do besides assaulting the bridge while they had surprise on their side.

“Worry about yourself,” Tom said.

The door opened on the corridor that allowed access to the bridge, the same one Susan had dragged him across not so long ago. The first doorway to the bridge was just twenty feet away, across the hall to the left. The angle was too deep to see inside. Mason held his breath, listening. He heard a man's voice inside the bridge, too faint for any details. No way to tell how many Tremist there were, and how many ESC.

Merrin stepped into the corridor first, but Mason stayed with her; they could go together. He reached the opposite wall first, and pressed himself to it, then inched closer to the door. The man spoke again: “Who is captain here?”

“I am,” Susan said.

Mason peered around the corner.…

And saw his sister, face bruised, on her knees, along with a few other officers he'd seen earlier on the bridge.

His sister's eye, the one that wasn't swollen, found him peeking around the doorway, and the sadness and defeat he saw in it was enough to steal the resolve from the strongest ESC soldier.

But that wasn't what made his blood freeze.

Standing among the Tremist, talon at the ready, was the Tremist King himself.

 

Chapter Six

Of the Tremist King, Mason only knew that he wore a long black cape, and that his oval mask was not mirrored like the others', but rather a perfect black. Like staring into a black hole. His armor wasn't the standard shimmery purple-black, either, but dark red, like he'd been dipped in blood and left to dry. An image of him had circulated through the ESC with a kill-on-sight order. There was a rumor he once boarded the SS Italy and killed every crew member with his bare hands. When Mason was a first year, an older cadet told him the king liked to eat human skin to become stronger, but Mason hadn't believed him. Human skin probably wasn't any more nutritious than anything else.

And now here the king was, in the flesh, or whatever Tremist were made of underneath their suits. Mason ducked back quickly before the king saw him.

“What do you see?” Tom whispered, almost too quiet to hear. The three of them were crouched in the corridor, out in the open.

Mason shook his head. A choice lay before him. If he could kill the king, that might change the entire war. Like cutting the head off a snake. Yet better soldiers than him had tried and failed over the years. Would the element of surprise be enough to win out? The rest of the Tremist would certainly kill Mason right away, but wouldn't that be worth it?

In the ESC they always talked about self-sacrifice for Earth's cause, but he'd never thought about what that actually meant until now. Susan had told him once that bravery was when you wanted to pee your pants, but you kept fighting. You did the right thing, no matter how much your hands shook.

Mason could do that. He could try. Peering around the corner again, he saw no one had moved. The king had turned his back, showing his cape.

Merrin and Tom leaned around the corner above him, so if anyone looked, they'd see three heads stacked together. When they resumed crouching, Merrin and Tom were doing their best impressions of statues, wide-eyed like gargoyles.

The king!
Tom mouthed.

“Here's the plan,” Mason whispered. “You run back to our room and get the other cadets to the escape shuttles.”

“You're not coming?” Merrin said a little too loudly, before clapping a hand over her mouth, which also made too much noise.

Mason winced, but there were no pounding footsteps heading for them; he was thankful for the continual background thrum all ESC ships made while powered up.

“It doesn't make sense for all of us to get captured.” He didn't add
or killed
.

Merrin shook her head. “We all go, or we all stay.”

Then, from the bridge, Mason heard someone say, “Captain, I've given you three minutes to confess.”

“I don't care how much time you give me,” Susan said.

“Tell me where the weapon was moved to.” It was the king; Mason was sure. His voice came out oddly cold and crisp, like a computer-generated voice; it was possible he spoke the Tremist language, and the mask was translating. Two seconds later, Mason realized what the king had actually said. Judging from that sentence alone, the king was looking for a weapon aboard the Egypt. What kind of weapon, Mason had no clue.

“Kiss antimatter,” Susan said.

“If you make me search, I will scatter your atoms in such a way that it will be like you never existed at all.”

The same way his parents had died.
No
.

Mason started to move for the door, but Merrin grabbed him. She was strong, her grip like a vise. “Wait,” she hissed in his ear.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Susan said to the king.

Mason heard something smack, and Susan moaned in pain. He wanted to move so badly, but the timing had to be right. He would know when. He had to know when.

Slowly, Mason edged around the corner once more and saw the king looming over his sister. He spoke English perfectly, with a slight accent that sounded British. The Tremist language was supposed to be guttural, and sounded like Ancient German.

“Very well,” the king replied, sounding resigned. “I will ask the new captain after you're dead.”

Mason watched the king lift his talon and point it at Susan's face.

 

Chapter Seven

Mason didn't think about what to do next; it was automatic. He stepped onto the bridge and raised his P-cannon with both hands. He was vaguely aware of the other Tremist on the ship, standing behind the other kneeling ESC soldiers.

They didn't matter. All Mason saw was the king.

Relax, breathe, aim.

He squeezed the trigger, and a ball of hot yellow light burst from the gun and slammed into the center of the king's cape, setting it smoking.

The king didn't even flinch, just slowly turned his head until Mason could see into the deep nothingness of his face. There were no visible eyes, yet Mason could
feel
them on his skin.

He fired again; this time the ball crackled greenish as it hissed across the bridge. The king sidestepped and the ball dissipated on the clear dome harmlessly.

“And what is this?” the king said, sounding amused.

He lowered the talon from Susan, who screamed, “MASON, RUN!”

Mason fired again with shaking hands, trying his best to hit center mass. The king seemed to know exactly when Mason was about to fire, though, and he simply leaned to the side. The ball shot past the king's arm, almost hitting a Tremist behind him.

Before Mason could fire again, two yellowish balls flew in from the doorway. Merrin and Tom were there, P-cannons raised. They both hit the king squarely, but he took no notice. His red armor seemed to drink in the energy; remnants of it crackled down his arms and legs before fading.

The Tremist King was gigantic, easily seven feet tall, but lithe, like one of the huge cats you could once find in Earth's jungles. The king reached over his shoulder and grabbed his cape, then tore it from his back and waved it in front of him. It caught fire as two more photon balls smashed into it.

“Grab them!” the king shouted.

Two Tremist rushed in from the sides and ripped the guns from Tom and Merrin, then pushed them to the floor.

Mason fired again, and the king dodged, dancing a step closer. The P-cannon was getting hot now. He waited, letting it cool so the next projectile came at max power. He felt the vibration building against his palm:
Almost there.

“This must be what passes for a soldier of the Earth Space Command,” the king observed, taking another stride. He turned his head toward Merrin and Tom, as they tried to struggle to their feet. Which was difficult, considering they both had a Tremist boot on their backs.

So Mason fired a final time …

And hit the king right between the eyes. The black oval swallowed the ball whole, not even a spark or a sputter. Much like the previous shots, it seemed to do no harm. The armor was still thirsty. Then the king was behind Mason, twisting the P-cannon away and crushing it in his palm. The gun released a small puff of blue-green light that left tattoos on Mason's retinas. The smell of the king's burnt suit filled the room, like hot, charred plastic and scorched metal. He grabbed Mason's shoulder and dug his fingers in until spears of pain shot down Mason's arm.