Codename: Night Witch (25 page)

Sigrid's instincts about Niklos were bang on. Not only was the deckhand no threat, he was quite eager to help. Very eager! Any chance to stick it to the Merchantmen who'd enslaved him. He was also proving a valuable source of information. The freighter had been stuck here for a better part of eighteen months. Most of the crew had long since fled, abandoning ship. Only Thuan Lai and his most senior and trusted crew remained. The rest of the ship was crewed by indentured slaves like Niklos.

"What about her brother?" Sigrid asked. "Where is he?"

"Hector," Nuria said. "His name is Hector."

Niklos nodded. "I know him. They've got him working the night shift. That means he'll be in the billets about now. Come on. I'll take you there."

"Wait," Sigrid said. "What about the rest of the crew?"

Niklos turned back to her and grinned. "Oh, I don't think you need to worry about them. They're all hiding on the bridge. They're afraid of you, you know. I doubt they'll come out—least not until the CTF arrives."

"When?" Sigrid said.

"Last I heard they were expecting them by 22:00. That's eight hours from now."

Eight hours! Blast, that didn't give them much time.
"All right. We better get a move on."

Sigrid only needed to take out seven crewmen on the way to the billets. She left their bodies bound and slumbering, stuffed into utility closets and maintenance shafts.

The crew billet was on the deck just above. The door was locked with a rusted padlock.

"They lock them in?" Nuria said, horrified.

"They don't have enough crew to guard them. Not for a long while," Niklos explained. "They only let them out for their shifts."

Sigrid scanned the lock, wondering how she might hack it. Then, instead, she smashed it with her fist, eliciting a startled gasp from Nuria. The shattered padlock clattered to the floor and the door swung wide and—and then it was Sigrid's turn to gasp.

"
Joder!
" Nuria cursed.

The billet wasn't much more than a closet. Just a cluster of mildewy mattresses. The sheets, for those who had them, were yellowed and stained. The odor emanating from the cramped accommodations stung Sigrid's nose. The Merchantmen hadn't bothered with proper toilet facilities for their "crew." Two brimming buckets sat in the far corner. The stench was unbearable.

Seventeen men and women—few of them more than teenagers, just young boys and girls—sat up in their bunks. They were gaunt, pale. They rubbed their bloodshot eyes, blinking at her in the dark.

A voice called out from the shadows. "Nuria?"

A particularly frail-looking boy of fifteen leapt up and ran for her, throwing his arms around her and holding her tight. "Nuria? Are you crazy? What are you doing here?"

"Saving you, you fool." Tears streamed down Nuria's face, though they were tears of joy. She sniffed loudly. "Come on. We're getting you out of here."

She took him by the hand, but the boy planted his feet firmly on the deck plates, staring hard at Niklos. "What's
he
doing here?"

"
He
is
helping us," Nuria said. "Niklos is going to get us out of here."

"Him? Really?"

"Don't be like that, Hector. He is."

"And what about her?" Hector asked. He was staring at Sigrid, and not without some skepticism. "Who's she supposed to be?"

For an answer, Nuria cuffed him soundly across the back of his head. "You will show your respect. This is Sigrid Novak. Lady Protector of the Free Southern Territories, named by the magistrate herself!"

"It sounds fancier than it is," Sigrid said. "I only just got the title yesterday."

"She is the Night Witch," Niklos said, causing Sigrid to roll her eyes. "And you will do as she says."

"
She
is?" Hector said. "Her?"

"Me," Sigrid said. "At least, that's what they keep telling me. Now, if it's all right with you, I think it's time we took our leave."

"Wait," Hector said. "What about the others? We can't just leave them here."

Sigrid stared back into the crowded billet. Sixteen pairs of hopeful eyes blinked back at her.

Niklos shook his head. "Forget it. I can get the three of you out. Maybe. But the others? No way. It's too dangerous."

Too dangerous?
That simply wasn't part of Sigrid's playbook.

"Sorry, Niklos," Sigrid said. "Danger or no, Hector's right. We're not leaving anyone behind. All of you. You're not slaves anymore. You're going home. Tonight."

~ - ~

There was a moment of panic amongst the indentured workers when Sigrid revealed her plan—a plan that called for them to be locked back inside their cell, at least until the next part of her plan was complete.

"I suppose you'll want to lock us away too," Hector said as Sigrid sealed the door.

"Hector!" Nuria scolded.

"Actually, I need your help most of all, Hector," Sigrid said. "I need you to gather the shift workers, the ones on duty—anyone taken by the press-gangs. Find them and have them gather in the lower cargo hold. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. You too, Nuria."

"But—"

"You can do this, Nuria. I'm counting on you. Just make sure you're all ready. And for goodness' sake, do it quietly. Oh, and don't be afraid to use that," she added with a nod to the eSMG in Nuria's hands. "It's you or them, Nuria. Don't forget that."

"Yes, of course. I understand."

"Good. Now go."

They'd been lucky so far. Sigrid knew it. No alarms had been raised, but that luck wouldn't last much longer. There'd be no slipping away from the ship, not with her growing army of pressed-labor in tow. If they couldn't sneak away, then it was up to Sigrid to make sure the Merchantmen were in no condition to follow.

She headed straight to engineering—more specifically, to the ship's auxiliary control. The Merchantmen, perhaps fearing her escape, had sealed off all the critical parts of the ship, and access was locked and restricted. They'd even gone so far as to cut off all wireless access to the ship's security systems. There were no overrides and no simple way to hack her way in.

"Looks like we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way."

The heavy pressure doors were solid enough. Too strong for even Sigrid's enhanced strength to push aside. But the bulkheads, on the other hand…

With her hands on her hips, Sigrid scanned the walls. The ship was a freighter and never intended for use in combat. The floors, the bulkheads, they were all made of lightweight materials, perfect for keeping the ship's atmosphere in, but never intended to withstand any force exerted against them. In this case, that force was Sigrid's fist.

Balling her knuckles, Sigrid punched through the wall at the critical spot. The thin plastiform wall covering gave way, exposing the hard wiring of the security systems.

"Cross red to blue and… No, wait, or was it red to yellow? Ah, voila!"

The doors slid open. Two crew looked up in startled panic. The fact that Fryer was one of them made Sigrid happier all the more.

They were armed and obviously expecting her. Sigrid heard the bark of fully automatic rounds fired from the slim machine pistols in their hands. Round after round, the high-powered slugs chewed through the bulkhead next to her, smashing lights and ricocheting off the metal deck plates. Fryer and the crewman emptied their clips, reloading with shaking hands, only to resume spraying the floor, the walls, the ceiling, screaming their rage all the while.

Not one of the metal slugs came within a centimeter of her. After all, they couldn't see their target. For Sigrid was gone. Vanished. Disappeared.

Even before opening the doors, Sigrid made a point of tossing her nightgown aside in order to engage her shrouding program. The entire surface of her skin shimmered as the cloaking program took hold. This bending of light around her took a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. All of her reserves were needed. She could only hold the effect for a few moments. But in that instant, and for the duration of the program, to look at her was to look past her. There was nothing to see. Sigrid simply wasn't there.

When the doors slid aside, Sigrid was already invisible and dashing forward.

Too late, Fryer realized what was going on. Wrestling with his equipment belt, he withdrew a motion tracker, waving it before him. He panned it quickly across the room; the tracker's frantic beeping changed quickly to a solid tone as it found its target. "There!" he shouted, pointing toward a darkened corner, and the firing resumed anew. "No, there!" And they fired again.

Adrenaline surged through Sigrid, partly issued artificially by her PCM, but more from the simple rush of combat. Confusing Fryer's motion tracker was easy enough. Her PCM broadcast a steady series of false signals to the device, always directing them away from her. The fact that she had them shooting at vital security and communications systems was purely a coincidence.

Just to confuse things further, Sigrid made a point of picking up and tossing various objects into the mix: a lamp, a portable terminal, a box of welding tools. She hurled any number of things at them, behind them. Fryer and his man seemed happy enough to keep firing.

Finally, Sigrid came to stand behind the crewman. She waited until he finished emptying a third magazine before she rematerialized at his side. The crewman was panting, sweating, and his hands shook violently as he fought to stuff a fourth clip into the stock. It took him a second to notice her standing next to him.

"Here," Sigrid said. "You forgot to lock the bolt before sliding the charging handle back. It's easy. I can show you if you like?"

The crewman spun around. Sigrid's roundhouse kick caught him square in his jaw, launching him into the air, head over heels. He landed hard, crashing into a cluster of control consoles. Sigrid plucked the machine pistol from the air before it hit the ground. Slapping the fresh clip all the way in, she pulled the bolt back and disengaged the safeties.

"Told you it was easy."

The merchant crewman merely groaned his response.

Sigrid turned to Fryer next. He was having his own troubles. His ammunition was depleted. He'd wasted five clips, blasting monitors and control panels; the air circulation fan spun sickly in its mounting, grinding noisily.

Red with rage, Fryer pulled the trigger of his machine pistol over and over. Sigrid heard the futile
click, click, click
of his finger on the trigger.

"Here. Try this one. It works. Trust me."

She tossed the freshly loaded weapon to him. She lobbed it high in the air, where it performed a gentle arc between them. Fryer allowed himself one startled look before growling his rage and leaping for the gun. All his attention was focused up at the weapon. He reached for it with outstretched fingers. Grasping it, he aimed it at Sigrid—who was just completing a textbook-perfect split handstand.

Standing on her hands, with her legs split high above her head and her toes pointed perfectly, she held the pose, enjoying the moment, before transitioning seamlessly into a double-front walkover. Sigrid was quite proud of the move, and she was certain her gymnastics instructors would approve.

Her front foot connected firmly with Fryer's face. Her trailing foot completed the follow-through, clubbing him soundly on the top of this head, and he crumpled satisfyingly to the floor.

With her hands on her hips, Sigrid came to stand over him. "And here I thought you Merchantmen were masters of the deal. You should have taken
my
deal, Fryer."

Fryer looked up at her. His nose was bloodied and he was half-dazed from her clubbing, but he was also smiling, and he chuckled. "You think you're getting out of here? You're wrong. You'll never leave here alive."

While the threat might sound hollow—the desperate words from a doomed man—Sigrid caught the pings from her alarms; a new set of signals were moving her way.

Blast.

"Ms. Novak, whatever you're up to"
—a familiar voice sounded over the comm system—
"I advise you to stop."
It was Thuan Lai, of course.

"Stop? Hardly, Mr. Lai." Sigrid leaned over the auxiliary control terminal, setting to her task. "I'm only just getting started."

"You will find the controls quite locked out. The engines are shut down. This ship will never reach orbit."

"That's fine," Sigrid answered back. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Lai, I had something else in mind."

Her fingers flew over the console's controls—controls that were indeed locked and encrypted. She'd hardly been expecting otherwise. Still, she cursed. Whoever was working on the other end was doing a masterful job keeping her out. For every firewall she shattered, two more appeared in place.

The alerts flashing in her HUD were more persistent as well: sixteen guards moving her way. She looked up briefly at the door, but there was no way to seal it. Between her and Fryer they'd done an admirable job smashing the walls and doors into tattered ruins. There would be no locking anyone out. She had to gain access to the ship's computer now, or it was all over.

Blast it, Suko, where are you when I need you!

If Suko were here, they'd be done with this already. Suko always scolded her for not studying encryption harder at the academy. She should have paid more attention. But pistols were her thing. Guns! Not math.

But slowly, she was catching up. Eight barriers to the ship's controls remained. Sigrid used each and every one of the decryption protocols her PCM could access. Four barriers. Then two. One.

The last one melted before her. Sigrid was in. She had direct access to all of the freighter's systems. But she was also out of time. Fifteen very out of breath armed sailors landed in the control room's doorway. They crowded in, pushing and shoving against each other, falling through the shattered remains of the bulkhead and doors. It might have been comical were it not for the dozen or so heavy automatics leveled at her bare sternum.

Thuan Lai arrived next. Two of the merchant sailors carried him in an open
kiệu
, or litter, not much more than a chair with two carrying poles attached. After lowering the litter to the ground, they helped the old man to stand, lifting him by his thin elbows.