Easy Prey Read online

  But it held together and the move was successful in that the scout ship just missed them, all but scraping a line along their underside as it flew past.

  "Nice reflexes, Cap'n," the scout said over the hailing frequency. "Good instincts not to turn the other way." Damon saw, after the fact, that the scout had aimed just a little lopsided and Damon had lofted the right side.

  "Are you insane?" Damon shouted.

  "Is that a trick question?"

  "You're not going to try to tell me that little ship could survive punching a hole through mine."

  "Likely not," the scout laughed, "But I had faith you'd make an effort to save yourself."

  "You're playing chicken with a war cruiser?"

  "Winning, too, though I'm just a dainty thing, ship-wise." The scout over the intercom sounded smug as hell. "Tag, you're it."

  "Helm, follow that bastard," Damon growled at his helmsman already adjusting the ship for proper burns. "As for you, Scout, you really think you can outrun a war cruiser with two extra engines?"

  "Name's Bryder," the scout returned. "And, sure, if we were going for the straight away, you could catch me, but you decided to play tag around a lovely gas giant with eleventy-dozen moons. Think you can keep up with me?"

  That smug little bastard. Damon glanced over at West who gnashed his teeth at being taunted, but nodded. Damon hesitated. Moons weren't just obstacles but also ways of getting a boost of speed and a new direction, which could be hard for a pursuer to predict. They had more power but it took more power and time to change directions with their behemoth than it took Bryder's nimble little ship. West seemed eager to take him on and Damon trusted West, but it was good to have a backup plan. Damon fell back to his own seat and pushed the button that sent the fighter pilots on alert. Normally, they weren't necessary, but, if things got too hairy, he could always send up his own nimble forces. That little twerp was going to punch a hole in his ship? Time he learned who he was dealing with.

  Damon's smile split his dark face and he saw answering smiles, the kind that go with taking on a challenge, in the others around the room. Someone was overdue for a humility lesson. Damon let his laughter, deep and rich like fine wine, laughter that had thrilled many a woman and struck terror in many an enemy, ring out and over the frequency. "Bring it, dainty scout. Let's see if your skills are half as impressive as your arrogance."

  West was already gaining ground on the smaller ship despite its head start.

  "You took my line, Buddy," Bryder said with a chuckle. "And nice laugh. I bet it scares some people." There was a brief pause and he added, "So, what's you're beef with the Empire such that you go after us instead of something more lucrative. People targeting government ships have a short life expectancy."

  "This is war, Buddy, and I won't stop until I've brought Rand to its knees."

  They were approaching a small moon and West throttled back, perhaps to get a bead where the ship was going next and head it off instead of trying to adjust in the midst of a gravity assist.

  "So, bloodthirsty," Bryder said. "Will you hang me from the highest yardarm?"

  "You see if you can live through the next few minutes, and we'll talk about your fate."

  Sure enough, Bryder's dainty ship skimmed very close to the airless orb but barely changed direction, using the slight umph to make for another larger seismically active moon in the opposite direction from where West was thinking he was going. Or so Damon surmised from the furious keyboard action.

  "Gunner, you have him sighted?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Hit him with the blasters. I think he's gone too long without a little bit of scare."

  Sil didn't hold back and eight banks of blasters shot small but very dense projectiles at exceedingly high speed, too fast to be seen with the naked eye, but they could see the ship's response on the screen, shaking and rolling, wobbling in its course. West was already gaining on him again, but they weren't close enough to see the ship in detail on the big screen.

  "How many hits, Gunner?"

  The gunner swallowed. "None." He was watching the replay on his monitor under magnification. "He dodged them all. He's got an odd shield that seems to bleed them of their speed, then he just moves the ship away enough to be missed."

  "Son of a bitch. Hit him with the Limnal pulses. If we can disable him for even a few minutes, he can't adjust and we can pick him up easily. He's not in a crash course for anything and he's been playing us for fools." Sil began to charge them up.

  Damon was tired of being laughed at. West caught his eye, the question clear. "Yeah, I know what he said about the Limnals but I'll bet a weekend of bar fees that little shit bluffs like a son of a bitch at poker. And his ship has got to have weaknesses. But, just in case, tell the fighters to ready for launch. Get 'em in their ships. If the Limnal doesn't stop him, let's not play with him anymore. He's too slippery."

  West sighed, and his chair spritzed him. "I'd feel better if we knew what those weaknesses were. Seems like he knows too much about us."

  "Agreed on all counts. Gunner, is he within range of the pulses?"

  "In three...two...one, pulse!"

  A cloud of luminous purple blue plasma soared forward like a mini-nebula. When it impacted the shield of the small ship it paused, and crackled, the color edging down toward green before, without warning, it bounced back toward their ship.

  "Evasive maneuvers," Damon shouted, knowing it was already too late.

  "It's keyed to a frequency that won't affect our ship," the gunner offered, stunned as the plasma slammed into them.

  The ship lurched violently as the plasma shorted out gravity generators and inertial dampers, sent arcs through several consoles on the bridge and who knew how many elsewhere in the ship. The lights flickered out but the screens, both on consoles and around the room, stayed lit, eerily bright in the muted emergency lighting.

  "I don't understand," the gunner said. "That shouldn't happen."

  "Changed frequency, you see the color?" Damon said, holding the back of his chair to keep from floating off. Should have webbed back in before. "Hopefully, it didn't take out every system. If your system is still up or when it reboots, give me a status: what's up, what's coming back up, and what's down for the duration."

  "Gravity and inertial dampers won't come back up without a rework, probably tripped 'em."

  "Fighters were surged. They are restarting systems now and will tell us when they're checked out."

  "Main engines are offline since their controller rebooted, but should come up afterwards. We'll run a diagnostic before lighting them."

  "Shields are completely down, both battle shields and debris shields. May require repair."

  "Still have attitude controls. RCS system wasn't affected."

  "I did warn you," Bryder said on the intercom. "I so love a light show."

  "Comm—" Comm and Track offered

  "Yes, I got it. Comm works," Damon said, irritated. "Look here, Bryder, you're really pissing me off."

  "Oh, and I thought we would be friends," Bryder mourned. "I was being so helpful."

  The ship disappeared behind the moon and Damon shook his head. "Well, that's that. He can go any damn place and we can't track 'im and, by the time we get up and running, he'll be nothing but an ion trail. How long on the fighters?"

  "Minimum four minutes, could be as long as ten."

  "Damn it!"

  The mood had altered notably for the worse, but they were professionals and worked diligently to return the ship to working order. Most of the repairs, if any, would be simple.

  "Scout ship at twelve o'clock!"

  Bryder had slung around the moon, picked up even more speed, and was now heading directly for them. Wait, slightly off center. "Pitch and roll it 180 degrees starboard and don't dawdle, Helm."

  West didn't but did almost fling Damon across the room. At least everyone else was strapped in. This time would be closer. As the ship slid past, it fired a single laser bolt at a spot on
the Orca's exposed belly.

  "Lost all contact with aft," announced Electrical.

  "Y'see, the Menellian ships had a fatal flaw," Bryder told them. "Because they were built in a modular fashion, they ran all their lines through one spot to facilitate connection. Pneumatics in one place, hydraulics in another and this one is electrical. Gonna take a few hours to repair but I suspect y'all can live through that. The hulls should be sound, but you'll need to go EVA to fix it. Now you know how Rand defeated 'em."

  Damon thought about his fighters, revving up right now. They were every bit as nimble as the scout ship though not as fast. With eight, their numbers might…

  "Now, if you're thinking of sending some of your internal armada out to fetch me, let me tell you that would be a bad idea. So far, I've just been playing with you, but I could not guarantee their safety if I thought mine was actually at risk. Right now, you'll break even, if you don't count your pride. No sense throwing good ships away when you know they won't come back."

  No mistaking the threat there. Damon cursed, long and hard and loud.

  "Those are some nice ones," Bryder said via comm, apparently uncowed. "Got a name, Pirate? In case I stumble across you at a bar. You could buy me a drink."

  "I don't drink with Randian scum."

  "Technically, I'm Pendan."

  Penda, one of the planets browbeaten into submission by the Empire. Damon would have spit, but it would likely backfire in zero g. "I don't drink with Randian scum or their spineless allies like Pendans that bowed their heads to those monsters," Damon said through clenched teeth. "You should destroy us while you have the chance because I'll chase you to my dying day."

  "'Cause I'm 'Randian scum'? Or from a planet that didn't want to be destroyed like its twin, Rellimar? And you'll let your crew die with you in your thirst for revenge?"

  "They knew what they signed up to. Some of them crawled through the ashes of Cesil with me. Destroy the empire or die trying."

  "Pity about the drink. I am sending the schematics for my ship and its systems over your packet line."

  "What?"

  "That way, next time you feel like picking off a scout ship, you might fare better." Bryder paused. "Knowledge is power."

  "What?" He glanced at his command crew, but everyone looked just as befuddled as he felt.

  "I think you can repair everything yourself. But, if you can't, you can quietly make repairs at a station on orbit about Rellimar. Ask for Venir. He'll get you in and work on your ship without asking questions."

  "Rellimar? Why the hell would you tell me that? Or send me schematics—did he send me schematics?"

  "Yes, sir!" Several of his crew were already looking over Comm's shoulder, oohing and aahing.

  "You want to capture a scout ship, right? I don't blame you. Damn fine vessel. I just don't want you to have my scout ship. You do understand."

  "And why would you do that? Why wouldn't you destroy us or bring us in to the nearest station or at least call for them to haul us away? Why would you betray the Empire?" Damon said, his head spinning. Or maybe that was the zero g. That always made him feel loopy.

  Bryder chuckled. "You clearly hate the Randian Empire and want to do it harm. You think the only way to do it is from the outside? Really, man, you're not thinking big enough."

  "You're a subversive?" he choked out.

  "I grew up on Rellimar. Father was part of the resistance but he sent his family to Penda for their safety," Bryder said, his voice dryly matter-of-fact. "When they carpet bomb your planet, not much use in resisting."

  Shit! He should have known. "You're a subversive! All the scouts in the universe, I got to tangle with a subversive!" Damon laughed. He couldn't help it. It was too funny, too perfect. He lost his grip on the chair and floated up near the ceiling, laughing, tears escaping his eyes and floating in small spheres around him as he laughed his ass off. When he'd calmed, he said, "You know subversives like you have a short life expectancy. They'll take you out if they even sniff you're not their loyal dog. Best get out while you can. You could join us!"

  "Yeah, but I can't leave without my girl. Not that she knows she's my girl yet, but she will be. Well, gotta fly. Remember, you owe me a drink for saving your ship."

  "The name's Damon, you sorry reprobate," he said to the Comm pick up as Bryder headed out of range. "And you're buying."

  Out of the Box

  Nayna scrolled through the data: accessible resources, environment, and nearest neighbors of a dainty little rocky planet called Gallus 7. The planet wasn't particularly valuable but did have sizeable portions of several heavy metals. It also had the advantage of no near neighbors to claim it and no sentient—or other life—on it since it had a runaway greenhouse effect going and a hot and caustic atmosphere.

  Every time she evaluated a planet where there was no one to subvert, overthrow, or destroy, she breathed a sigh of relief. And she hated what that meant about the work she did and what it said about the government she'd worked for all her life.

  "Hey, beautiful."

  Nayna was irked that she jerked in surprise. She was frustrated that the only one who could sneak up on her was Bryder. Coincidentally, he was the only one who would sneak up on her while she was working in the analysts' room. She schooled her face to neutrality and froze her scrolling screen.

  When she turned to face him, he was much closer than he needed to be. Again. "Hello, Bryder."

  Bryder grinned at the irritation she hadn't managed to keep out of her tone. "Only you could look like a goddess in these god-forsaken lights. Or scroll your data that fast. Most people couldn't even read it and I bet you absorbed every word."

  Unbidden, she blushed and hoped it wasn't visible in the green light from the screens. "Did you need something?"

  "Y'busy?"

  She'd put up a hand to give herself some distance and indicated her locked screen with the other. "I'm in the middle of—"

  "Good," he said, capturing the hand held to keep him at bay and giving it a little tug. "I need a few minutes of your time."

  She barely had time to close the file with a keystroke before she was pulled from her seat, her hand tucked in his arm. "Where are we going?"

  "Your office."

  "My office? My office? Why not go to your office? You're a lead and have one of your own. Or did you forget where it was?"

  "Certainly not, but I only use it for liaisons. I should probably air it out before bringing a delicate flower like yourself."

  "Which arm would you like broken?" she asked through clenched teeth.

  The shameless bastard's grin never even wavered as he ushered her into her own office, closed the door behind him and locked it. Then, to her surprise, he walked the periphery, his watch held high and then low, glowing blue.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Measuring for curtains," he said, without missing a beat, though there were no windows in this or any of the Center's offices. "You need some color in here."

  "Will you be serious? Why did you bring me here?"

  His face, when he turned back to her, was as serious as she'd ever seen it. "It's Elan. She's cracked."

  "Again? Will they send her to the…" Nayna didn't even want to name the desensitizing protocol that used drugs, brainwashing techniques, and, reputedly, torture to "retune" analysts to the "proper" mindset. As Nayna had been conditioned since birth, she'd only gone through half the regime and was still traumatized. Elan had already been put through the full "treatment" three times. No one had survived a fourth. Nayna shuddered, throttled by her own terror, her heart aching at Elan's torment.

  Elan was a quiet girl, but she came traumatized and was highly sympathetic to worlds they examined—hardly surprising since she'd been taken from one of those herself and had her daughter forcibly removed. Nayna hated that they'd told her her daughter had died and felt that doing so did more damage to her psyche, rather than made Elan less emotional.

  "'They' don't know. And I don't want them to. That'
s why I need your help." Bryder licked his lips before he added, "She's taken control of Emergency Core Seven."

  "EMC7?" she gasped. "But that's…" Of course, she didn't need to explain. All top-level analysts knew there were multiple locations, in case of invasion, where control of the entire Center could be isolated and used. All had backup methods to disable—in case they fell to unfriendly hands—except EMC7. "How did she know? Only top-level analysts with Clearance level Q know about EMC7."

  "I don't know that she knew, before. Belger took her there for some rough nonconsensual sex, y'know rape. Now, he's dead."

  Belger was the oldest analyst, from the generation where they were almost all male and indulged as geniuses. When that was reined in, Belger had started targeting the most emotionally vulnerable to keep feeding his own ego. And libido. The need for power could make people monsters. "Damn predator," she muttered.

  "Normally, I'd say ticker or aneurysm. Maybe his brain tried to eat itself for the good of all mankind. Or maybe Elan killed him in self-defense." Bryder, who seemed to take everything as a joke, was grim.

  "He should have been retired long ago. Someone's had to double-check every analysis for years and he was a menace to the other analysts. And the judgment for this! What was that bastard thinking?"

  Bryder's jaw clenched. "From what I heard over the intercom at the door, he was brutal."

  "How did he even convince her to go? She's too smart to fall for just any line. Did he wrestle her there? Yank her out of the analyst room? Did no one try to stop him?"

  "He promised her she could talk with her daughter if she came with him."

  "He what?"

  Bryder nodded. "Talk about mind games. She's totally hysterical, being mentally and physically fucked and trapped in a tiny room with the dead body of the man who did it. She can't get out without his voice key and we can't get in because he secured it in 'threatened' mode."

  "And in a room where she could control everything if she figures out she can. And she will if she's desperate." Nayna's mind raced. 4,793 analysts and support personnel at the Center. All were in danger. They could be flooded with poison gas or suffocated, broiled alive or frozen out. Communications could be cut off, batteries reverse charged and blown… "We can't keep this quiet. You know we can't." She sat at her chair and pulled up the computer, but was shocked when Bryder pulled her chair away.