Death Drop (73 page)

“Are you crazy? Feleon’s raised them on the com—the game is up!”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but he’s done no such thing. I figured they’d be down here somewhere an’ prob’ly the only ones—since the Gamorotta don’t seem to be into travellin’ that much—an’ I hacked their com frequency. It’s as jammed as sweet fruit in a jar, luv! Now gimme your gun!”

“When the hell did you do all this?” Dezmara said as she slid the pistol into the open hand behind his back.

“You really didn’t think it was taking me
that
long just to hack into an elevator, did you?” Dezmara stifled a smile as she pulled alongside Simon with her hands above her head. As the pirates got closer, she recognized them both as the sailors at Buego’s in Luxon, and she had the overwhelming urge to snatch the pistol back from Simon’s hands and waste them both. As it turned out, they would probably have been better off if she had acted on her impulse.

The pirates slowed their pace as they drew parallel with the dock Simon and Dezmara needed to get to the Silverhawk. One of them feigned a wave of kind regard as the other drew his guns and opened fire. Dezmara saw the move coming and threw herself at Simon, sending them both tumbling to the deck behind an outcropping to their right as angry sparks from glancing bullets dogged their retreat. When she first saw the odd bumps extending onto the gangway, Dezmara pictured rich Gamorotta higher-ups smoking cigars and admiring their ships from the elevated view, but now she realized the extensions of the upper level were perfect perches where the guards could stand and pick off unwanted visitors. She examined the surface of their temporary shield more closely and then cursed under her breath; except for the smooth heads of the big rivets, its face was featureless—nothing made a good handle or foot hold for climbing.

“What the shite’s that all ‘bout, then?!” Simon hollered over the clanks and pings of ricocheting gunfire.

“I don’t think you—I mean, Fellini—was supposed to make it out of the meeting with Feleon!”

“Well, we’re in a bit of a pinch here, luv!”

“No shit, genius!”

“What I mean is, they’ve already seen us, so I can’t just up ‘n shift into Four Guns an’ order ‘em to stand down—it might throw ‘em for a sec, but they’d figure somethin’ was wrong ‘fore we could get away!”

“Here,” Dezmara said as she slipped the vambrace from her left arm and grabbed the pistol out of Simon’s hand, “take the shield. They won’t kill me, I’m worth more to the Durax alive than dead.” She leaned around the corner, squeezed off two rounds, and pulled her head back as bullets slammed into the curving plates next to her.

“Exactly!” Simon said, and he pushed the vambrace away from him. His body rippled and the hair on the back of Dezmara’s neck stood on end as she stared into her own eyes. “One of ‘em will chase me back toward the guards who should be here in a tick-tock! The other one’ll duck in here to finish Fellini. You take care of ‘im an’ slip into the Hawk without the rest of the crew noticin’!”

“What about you?” she said with disbelief. “I’m not leaving you here, Simon! If Feleon’s men don’t kill you, the Gamorotta will once they find out about Fellini.”

“Take the box an’ dial up the air-lock doors,” Simon said, pointing above them. “There’s no hackin’ needed ‘cause Fellini’s access is still legit—for the time bein’. Now GO!” He stood up to dash onto the thoroughfare and Dezmara snatched him by the wrist. She turned over the perfect replica of her own slender, but callused hand and slapped the pistol into it.

“When it’s time to get the hell out of here, you might need this.” Simon gripped the pistol and gave her a long last look, and then he sprinted into the open, cut left, and was gone.

The heavy barrage of bullets stopped, and Dezmara could hear the excited shouts of the pirates from around the protrusion. “She’s mine!” one of them said. “Take care of Fellini!”

CRACK! A single shot rang out and the sound of her own voice shrieking in pain, followed by the sound of a body hitting the grate floor, echoed back to the alcove behind the outcropping. “NO!” Dezmara screamed. She forgot about the plan and dashed for the main passage. THUMP!

Dezmara collided with something solid as she reached the end of the extension, and she fell hard to the ground. “What the?” a high, nasal voice said.

It was the hunchbacked sailor from Luxon that she had overheard talking about a Human. “Somethin’s a little fishy around here,” he said as he glanced down the passage in the direction Simon had run. “And since I don’t know which little fishy I’ve caught—the one we’re gonna sell at the market or the one we’re gonna flay wide open—I best not butcher you just yet!” He let out a cackling laugh as he tucked his gun back into his belt. His shoulders stooped forward as he lowered his head and looked at her with wild, dark eyes; and then he pounced.

Dezmara put her hands flat on the floor behind her head, coiled her knees to her chest, and kicked up as hard as she could at the attacking pirate. She hit him with a solid blow to the chin, and it stopped his descent but did nothing to improve his mood. He clamped onto her leg with both hands and flung her into the side of the outcropping like a ragdoll. Dezmara crashed into the alloy plates and the metal protested with a deep gong! She hit the floor with her head ringing and her entire arm, from the shoulder to the tips of her fingers, tingling with numbness. The pirate wasn’t big but he was solid and as strong as anyone she’d ever fought. She knew she didn’t stand a chance on the ground so she scampered to her feet before he could lunge in again.

His powerful paw crushed down between her neck and shoulder, and Dezmara could feel the sinews of her muscles begin to pulp and tear apart. The pain was torturous, and she cried out. “What’s the matter, little fishy?” he cackled. “Does that sting a little?” He snickered as he increased the pressure. Dezmara lifted her arm straight up and then turned it in toward her body, hooking the pirate’s arm at the elbow and forcing it to roll over. She clasped her hands together and pulled down as hard as she could. His arm was trapped where he had latched onto her and it snapped with a wretched crunch as his elbow exploded under the pressure of being forced to bend in the wrong direction. The pirate screeched in pain and stumbled away from her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dezmara said as she advanced in an attack stance. “Did I forget to mention this little fishy has big teeth and she’ll take a huge bite out of your ass if you fuck with her?!” She blasted her shin against the side of his head in a nasty roundhouse kick, and the pirate crumpled to the floor. His arm would hurt like hell when he woke up—not to mention the side of his head and face—but he was lucky: he was alive.

She touched the button on her vambrace and watched impatiently as the shield expanded. Once the disk was in place, Dezmara sprinted out onto the main passage and had to stop in her tracks once again. She looked frantically, but Simon wasn’t there, only a horde of Gamorotta thugs, with Jomo and the tiny-headed goon leading the pack, surging down the plank and bent on destruction. The front row raised their guns, and Dezmara put the shield in front of her just in time to feel a slew of bullets rattle her arm. “Goddamit, Simon!” she shouted as she turned to the side and galloped awkwardly toward dock nine with her shield covering her escape.

Dock nine arrived, and the velocity magnet had collected its fair share of rounds in the few seconds it took Dezmara to get there. She sprinted down the deck, and there was enough distance between her and the pursuing Gamorotta that she was able to disappear behind the ships moored on docks six, seven, and eight. She lowered the shield, happy to have her arm back and pumping wildly in conjunction with the other as she flew toward the Silverhawk. Her boots clanged on the metal grates as she raced through the stale air of the dockyard. Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang! Fellini’s ship was moored close to the end. Clang-clang-clang-clang! Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and her mind racing with thoughts of escape and Simon. Clang-clang-clang! She was almost there. Clang-clang-clang-clang—KABOOM!

A ball of fire mushroomed into the air several docks over, and the concussion knocked Dezmara off her feet, sending her tumbling across the deck and over the edge. She clawed desperately at the air as she crested the side and her hand wrapped around something solid. Her speeding body pulled taut, and she slammed into the edge of the dock. Dezmara exhaled loudly as she met the immoveable decking.
“Thank god for mooring cleats,”
she thought as she looked past her boots dangling over the darkness of a bottomless pit below her.
“And Haleonex,”
she added as she took a quick mental inventory for pain. Her armored ribs took the brunt of the impact and everything else was still in working order.

KABOOM! Another explosion erupted from somewhere above her, and her legs swung back from the rattling dock in the shockwave as she held fast to the tarnished cleat in her hand. “What the hell?” she said as she swung her other hand up to the dock and gripped the ledge. She pulled herself back up to semi-solid ground and crouched low to keep from being knocked back by another detonation. She knew Feleon had no respect for the Gamorotta, and apparently, he wasn’t afraid of them either. The
Triton
was blasting ships in the dockyard with its powerful cannons, but Dezmara didn’t understand why. She studied as much of the flaming, smoking hulks across from her as she could, but she couldn’t see much. The two ships were obscured by the rest of the Gamorotta fleet hovering on the docks between her and the pirate ship—and then she noticed the wrecks’ positions. The decimated vessels were directly in line with the Silverhawk. The
Triton
was clearing the line of fire for a clean shot!

“Why don’t they just loosen the mooring lines and hover for a clear shot?” she thought while she dashed for the end of dock nine. “Maybe it has something to do with the fairings you and Rilek shot to shit!” she answered herself, and she couldn’t help smirking a little as she charged on. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She could hear the zip of bullets cut the air around her, and she knew the Gamorotta thugs had turned the corner and now had a straight shot at her back. The Triton was on the inside of dock twelve—three docks away—and had already destroyed two ships, which meant there were only two more left between the Silverhawk and an open nautilus door packing some serious firepower. KABOOM!

Dezmara wasn’t knocked over this time; something about the arrangement of the ships between her and the explosion had diverted the concussion in a way that spared her. But she was forcefully pushed to the left as she ran. She watched in horror as two ships in front of her to the right tilted violently up onto the gangway. The dock groaned as it twisted, and Dezmara tiptoed along its shaking edge past the wayward craft with only half of her boots on the grates and the other half floating dangerously over the abyss. The good news was that the blast had leveled most of the Gamorotta behind her; the bad news was only one more ship remained between the Silverhawk and the
Triton.

KABOOM! Dezmara jumped for the open side door of the Silverhawk as it careened over the top of the dock, swept sideways like a feather caught in a tempest, and her chest slammed into the bottom of the opening. Dezmara clawed at the slick floor, but the pitch was too steep and she slid out, catching herself on the bottom lip of the portal and dangling above the dock. An uneven clang sounded from the deck, and she looked over to see Jomo’s ghastly figure limping quickly up the gangway in pursuit. Blood was streaming from his leg—from flying debris, most likely—and his dreadful lips were scratching at the air in anger. Jomo was the last Gamorotta she wanted to have a close encounter with, and Dezmara was about to pull herself up when she noticed something. The blast had shredded the dock around the mooring cleat: it was hanging on by a thread.

She hoisted herself into the Silverhawk and scrambled to her feet. It was a two-seater and she was practically sitting in the cockpit when she stepped through the door. The engines were already warmed up and she grabbed the yoke in both hands. Dezmara veered the craft right; then she hit the throttle and yanked the controls hard to the left. The powerful, hand-made turillian engines bit into the air, and as Dezmara whipped the machine over the dock to break the mooring line, something thudded into the doorway. She turned around to see the horrible head of Jomo in the exact position she had been in just seconds ago, his arms clawing frantically to get in. She looked around for anything she could find to repel boarders. Fortunately for Dezmara, Leonardo Fellini was a dangerous man, and she found a loaded pistol under the low-slung pilot’s seat.

She spun around in her chair, took dead aim at Jomo’s revolting mouth and pulled back on the trigger. BOOM! The Silverhawk rocked back and tilted on its side, jarring the gun from Dezmara’s hands as she fell toward the open door and Jomo’s waiting jaws. The beast reached out with a shiny, armored claw and grabbed her around the neck. She waited for her throat to be crushed or to be dropped to her death in the chasm below the docks, but instead of squeezing, the claw became warm and furry and started pushing to hold her up. “For bloody hell’s sake, do somethin’, luv!” Simon shouted. Dezmara looked down, and Simon was staring at her with terrified, yellow eyes.

She sprawled her legs out and reached for the sides of the door. The ship righted itself with a circus of beeps and warnings from the instruments, and Dezmara grabbed Simon’s shirt and hauled him in. “Don’t know if I’ll fly this airline again if that’s the way you welcome your passengers aboard.” Simon was breathing heavily and clutching his bloody leg. It had a bullet wound in it where the pirate had shot him. “Quick, get me up an’ strapped into a chair. I’ve a feelin’ I’m gonna need it!”

“Don’t be silly!” she said sarcastically. Dezmara pulled him into the copilot’s seat before another explosion sent her tumbling backward into her own chair. “What the shit are those bastards tryin’ to do?!” she hollered as she buckled her harness and punched the throttle.