Chapter 17

Running was not something Sharine’s family did. Her uncle instilled that in her. After a dozen years of putting freebooters, marauders, and asteroid miners in their proper place she proved she had little to run from.

Sharine ran now, hard.

She bolted down the concourse at Tret III fast enough to make other travelers take notice, leaping over benches filled with waiting passengers, spinning around astonished Tret security, ignoring the commands to stop shouted by Mingle’s henchmen.

Armband sensor indicated Mingle and seven of his burly guns-for-hire were still behind her, though not gaining ground. That was something, at least. But seven. How can she possibly deal with so many?

One shot was managed as she rounded a corner: not a direct hit. Crippling leg wound, though.

He went down and a thug stopped to help. An enraged Mingle yelled, “Leave him. The girl is all that matters. A thousand Solars to the one who stops her.”

Six hired guns still in pursuit, even more motivated to stop her. Never piss off a guy named Mingle.

Her uncle would not approve of anything she did this afternoon. Meeting a crime lord without adequate backup. Not planning an escape route. Not doing proper surveillance and assessing his forces.

Her uncle would have been absolutely correct. This was not a well-conceived plan. Her only hope now was to make it to her brother.

Ternon shouted to her from across the terminal and she bolted in his direction. He stood at the entrance to one of the service corridors that snaked through the station’s cargo holds.

They might be able to lose the remaining five goons. Or, if they got lucky, find an adequate defensive position, and pick them off.

Not much of a plan, but better than her current strategy of run like crazy and hope for the best. This was likely the best. She had no interest in whatever option Mingle offered.

As she ran for the service corridor, she was intensely aware of the distance to her target. At least 40 meters and no cover. Run like crazy and hope for the best.

Ternon—not too bad with an energy pistol either—forced the group to raise their shields and approach in a crouched walk. She made it to the corridor.

A window running the length of the passageway showed a great many passenger vessels and cargo ships. Beyond the ships was the vast, star-speckled darkness. Dalacia was still just a speck at this distance. One dot among many.

It was a shame she could not pause to enjoy the view.

“Thanks for the help, Scuffy,” she said as she followed Ternon down the hall, “what’s your plan?”

“Hide behind cargo and return fire. Try to get you on that ship to Dalacia,” he said calmly.

Sharine was impressed. They were about to square off with the most ruthless crime lord in their galaxy and several huge gunmen. Yet, he was treating this like a hunting excursion. He even smiled.

There were no options. Her ship did not board for hours yet, and she’d have to shuttle to it. They would be on her long before then.

She heard the buzz with dread in her heart.

“We got trouble, Scuffy. Slaughter-bots.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

How could he remain so calm? It sort of irritated her. First, they are greatly outnumbered by henchmen and now assassin drones. Slaughter-Bots. And he still seemed unconcerned.

Well. They had no choice. There would be no reasoning with Mingle. Their only hope was to stand their ground. Still, would it kill him to break a sweat? Or sound a little worried?

The grey walls blurred past, and she worried they would not make it to cover fast enough.

At last, they came upon the huge double-layered doors of the cargo hold, locked against anyone who did not have the proper retinal scan.

Ternon reached inside his shirt and pulled out a heart-shaped locket.

He squeezed it to activate a red beam which he aimed at the scanner. Once hacked, the doors slid soundlessly open.

They dashed inside. She immediately ducked to her right—Ternon to their left—and climbed to the top of a stack of crates a good ten meters high. Ternon disappeared behind several barrels.

These may not be perfect hiding places, but they would have to do. They both fired, the drones their priority.

The two slaughter-bots were not firing on them. Perhaps Ternon hacked them too with that device he wore around his neck? What was that thing? And how should she get one?

Sharine’s training came to her. Control breathing. Concentrate. Fire.

One down. Another blast. Two bots down. Where is Mingle?

She knew she would not be able to kill him even if he were ballsy enough to come this far into the hold. He would be too well protected by personal shields. Such tech was too expensive for henchmen but Mingle would have the very best.

He would come for the game of cat and mouse.

The trick was to take out minions as quickly as possible before they could zero in on her location.

Sweat trickled down her cheek as she waited for someone to appear at the giant doorway.

Three shots took out three men. Nice. Her uncle would be proud. She wondered why Ternon had not fired.

Three more men appeared. Three more shots. “That should do it. Damn, they are dumb.”

Four more henchmen appeared. Followed by another half dozen. Soon the entire doorway was filled with men all shooting in her direction.

Time to get the hell out. Mingle obviously called from more men. Far more than needed to kill her. They meant to surround her.

“That prick. He wants me alive.”

Time to run again.

“Sharine, over here.”

No time to question. She was making a habit of being rescued by him. But what could he possibly do to…

“Well done, Lord Scruffington. I could kiss you.”

“Eww.”

“You know what I mean, pervert.”

He was on a catwalk to a shuttle with its engines at idle, ready to launch. Next to the entrance of the craft was a man counting Solars with a huge grin on his grease-smeared face.

The pilot was urging them to hurry through the window.

“Get in,” was all Ternon managed to say before boarding. From behind inside the craft, he took cover and returned fire, dropping at least six.

“Where is it going?” Sharine yelled.

“Does it matter? Just move,” he shouted.

The pilot needed no further prompting. Sharine and Ternon scramble to take a seat and buckle in. A few more blasts pinged off the hull as they made way.

“Anyone hurt?” The pilot asked.

“I think we are fine,” said Ternon.

“I’ll feel a lot better if we were going much faster.”

“You’re the boss,” said the pilot, “For the kind of money you guys are paying I will strap you to my back and flap my arms to Dalacia.” He chuckled and made the transition to FTL.

“Scuff,” she whispered, “are we really doing this? Are we really going to arrive in Dalacian together? What do I do when we land?”

“Run like crazy and hope for the best.”

“Hope for the best, indeed.”