Dark Space: Origin (17 page)

“I’m going, too,” Atton said.

“No, you’re not. Your mother would never forgive me if you got yourself killed. I’m granting your father’s request because I’m hoping he
will
get himself killed.”

“What?” Destra asked.

Ethan gave the admiral a sardonic smile. “Don’t hold your breath,” he said.

“I won’t need to,” Heston replied. “But
you
might—if you live long enough for me to throw you out an airlock.”

“Hoff
Heston!
” Destra said.

He turned to meet her flashing eyes with a bitter smile. “We have to go. I need to get to my ship and plan this operation before Brondi restores power to the
Valiant
. If he sees us coming, it’s going to make things much more difficult for us.” As they watched, Heston activated his comm and began snapping orders. A moment later he ended the call and said, “We’ll leave as soon as my guards arrive.”

Chapter 12

“A
re you skriffy? I’m not opening the core!”

Brondi glared at Sergeant Gibbs. “If you don’t, the reactor is going to overheat and explode.”

Gibbs shook his head, and servos whirred in his zephyr’s neck. “This mech doesn’t have enough shielding. If I open the core while the reactor is on, it’ll kill me.”

Brondi drew a bulky plasma pistol from his Zephyr’s thigh and put it to the sergeant’s head. “Better you than me. You’ve got three seconds before I pull the trigger.”

Sergeant Gibbs stood there for two of those three seconds before he turned and snapped at one of his subordinates. “You heard him, open the core!”

“Frek you!”

Gibbs drew his own pistol and took aim on the man’s vulnerable faceplate. “Open the core, Fentin.”

“Yes, sir,” that man replied and reluctantly started off.

Brondi shifted his aim to the man they’d singled out. “We’ll take cover on the other side of the core,” he said. “If you can force the control rods into the fuel element quickly enough, you shouldn’t be burned. If you are, don’t worry, we’ll take you to the med bay first thing.”

Fentin didn’t reply.

Brondi, Gibbs, and the other three soldiers trapped in the reactor room with them hurried to the far side of the core and waited while their sacrificial lamb walked steadily toward his fate. By now the dymium core was glowing a hot, molten orange. Without either working power conduits or shields there was no way for the core to dissipate any of the energy being produced, and the reactor was melting itself to slag.

“Krak, I can feel the heat through my armor!” Fentin said.

“Don’t think about it!” Brondi shouted to be heard above the loud whirring of the core. “You’ll be just fine!”

 They watched over the top of the core as Fentin took a hesitant step into the orange light cast by the glowing dymium dome. Fentin’s zephyr appeared to shimmer in the waves of heat pouring off the core.

“You’ve gotta move faster than that!” Gibbs called out.

Fentin covered the rest of the way in one quick stride, and then he reached out toward the core. Brondi braced himself to hear the man scream, but nothing happened. Fentin turned the lever to unlock the hatch and then swung it open.

Suddenly the light pouring from the reactor multiplied and the room was brightly lit. Now Fentin screamed. Still screaming, he reached in and forced the control rods into their guide tubes. A second later, the loud whirring of the reactor died, as did most of the light, but the dull orange glow of superheated dymium remained. Fentin stumbled away from the core, his screams louder now that the whirring of the reactor had been silenced. He held up one of his Zephyr’s arms, the one which had reached into the reactor. That arm was glowing bright orange like the core, and to a lesser extent, so was his entire mech. Fentin spun in a dizzy circle, screaming and staring at his glowing arm, as if simultaneously horrified and mesmerized by the sight of it. Abruptly he tripped and fell over, and his screams grew ominously quiet.

“Get the man some help!” Gibbs snapped.

“Don’t waste your time,” Brondi said. “He’s dead. Go get the doors open so our greasers can fix this mess.”

Gibbs turned to look at him.

“Well?” Brondi demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, Sergeant Gibbs and the remaining three men headed for the doors. Brondi glanced back at Fentin’s steaming zephyr where it lay cooling on the deck.
Better you than me,
he thought.

*  *  *

Destra strode down the hall, flanked on either side by her husband and daughter. A pair of armored sentinels went ahead of them, pushing Ethan and Atton along, their hands bound by stun cords once again.

“Where are we going?” Atta asked.

Her question went ignored by her parents. The situation was too serious and time was too short to stop and deal with her innocent curiosity. They were leaving Fortress Station for Hoff’s flagship, the
Tauron
, just in case the
Valiant
went from mysteriously derelict to guns blazing. If that carrier turned its guns on the station, they’d make short work of it, and the admiral didn’t want his family aboard if that happened.

They reached the end of the hall and Admiral Heston passed his wrist over the door controls of his private airlock. The inner doors swished open, followed a second later by the outer ones. Ethan and Atton were shoved through first, to which Ethan grunted and said, “What’s the point in keeping us prisoner if you’re planning to release us again when we get to your ship?”

“I’m releasing
you,
but only because you’ll be surrounded by your own personal firing squad if you step out of line. Atton is going to stay in the brig until the trial. As for why I’m not letting you two run around loose aboard this ship—I don’t have time to babysit.”

Atton snorted, but said nothing. He was wearing his holoskin again. Hoff had told him to put it back on before the sentinels had arrived to escort them off the station.

Destra eyed the corridor on the other side of the airlock. It was dark and full of exposed conduits. The rough, gunmetal gray bulkheads were unpainted and unadorned. It was Hoff’s private corvette, the
Last Chance
. The ship still served its original purpose as a heavily-armed and armored transport, and unlike the Admiral’s quarters aboard the station, there were none of the homely touches which might have made it more comfortable.

They strode through the station’s airlock and then through a matching one inside the waiting corvette. Atton and Ethan waited on the other side with Heston’s guards, and as soon as everyone was through, the doors automatically shut with an echoing
boom.

Heston pointed to the nearest guard and said, “Corporal, take them below and lock them in the cargo hold until we arrive.”

“Yes, sir.” That man nodded, and then both sentinels turned and marched the two prisoners away.

“Hoff,” Destra began, watching Ethan and Atton as they left, “you didn’t mean what you said about hoping Ethan will get himself killed, did you?”

He rounded on her. “Why? Do you still care about him?”

“He’s not a bad man.”

“Then explain his criminal history. Even if we can trust everything he told us, he still admits to participating with Brondi’s plot and planning to sabotage the
Valiant.
”

“He didn’t have a choice. What would you have done if Brondi had taken me and the only way to get me back was to cooperate with him? Any jury will understand that Ethan didn’t have a choice.”

“He could have gone to the authorities.”

“Brondi would have killed Alara.”

Hoff sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “Destra . . . Ethan
wants
me to send him. It’s up to him whether or not he lives through the assault, but it doesn’t really matter. If he returns, he’ll be subjected to a probe and if that doesn’t kill him, the sentence for his crimes will. He’s going to die either way. I suspect he knows that, and that’s the reason he wants to go.”

“You already heard his story—why do you need to probe him?”

“Because there’s no other way to corroborate what he’s saying! How do we know what his motives really were, or what he was
actually
planning to do? We can’t even ask his copilot, because she’s been slave-chipped and she can’t remember anything.”

“She was chipped by Brondi—that’s proof enough.”

“Or was she chipped by Ethan to shut her up? Maybe Ethan was working for Brondi as a willing mercenary and she didn’t like the idea.”

“That’s a cold thought.”

“Yes, but it is just as plausible as his story. The only way we can corroborate what Ethan told us without using a probe is if we get Alec Brondi to sit in that probe chair instead of him, and that’s if
Brondi survives the assault.”

“Then make sure he does,” Destra said.

Hoff’s eyes narrowed. “You care a lot about your
ex
-husband, don’t you?”

“That’s not fair. I chose you, Hoff.”

“You chose me because he wasn’t there.”

“Not just because of that. I chose you because you’re the better man.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you really do believe that.”

Destra sighed. “I do, Hoff, but I don’t like that you keep secrets from me.”

“Some things aren’t safe for you to know. Not yet. One day I’ll tell you everything. If you’re patient. Try to forget about it for now.”

Destra smiled sarcastically. “I wish I could. Maybe you can help me with that—you’re good at
forgetting
things.”

Hoff gritted his teeth. “You know why I can’t remember Ritan.”

Atta’s little brow furrowed as she glanced from her father to her mother and back again. She hugged Mr. Tibbins, and the louder her parents’ voices got, the harder she hugged the stuffed diger.

“Yes, and I’ve kept that secret, haven’t I? So why can’t you trust me to keep secret whatever else it is that you’re hiding?”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this again, Des! If you’re so unhappy with me, go back to your skriffy outlaw.”

With that, Hoff turned and stalked toward the bridge. Destra stood staring after him with a knot in her throat. She felt a tug on her arm and looked down to see Atta gazing up at her.

“Is Daddy angry because of me?” she asked.

Destra felt a pang of regret. She’d forgotten Atta was there. “No, sweetheart. He’s angry with the bad people who we’re going to fight,” she lied.

“Are they skull faces?” Atta buried her face up to her eyes in Mr. Tibbins’ white fur.