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“Halt!” the human woman in the lead shouted.
Getting arrested and thrown in the brig for violating station laws would likely be a death sentence. I’d be trapped in a three-meter-by-three-meter cell while whoever had paid off Vinian sent more soldiers after me.
I dove through the hatch into my ship as the plasma bolt from the security team leader’s weapon scorched the hull right where my chest had been less than a second before. It was a low-level blast designed to injure and incapacitate rather than kill, but the next one might not be.
“Siber, seal hatch!” I rasped.
As the hatch slid closed and locked reassuringly behind me, I rolled to my feet, dropped the bloody tentacle on the deck, and ran for the cockpit.
Or at least I tried to run, but it was a stumbling, staggering journey on rubbery legs. Adrenaline and determination had gotten me on my feet, but blood loss and shock meant I had to lean on the hull to stay upright. I left a thick smear of blood the entire length of the corridor leading from the hatch to the cockpit. My vision had gone gray around the edges.
I dropped into the pilot’s seat and smashed my fist into the emergency harness activation on the armrest. The straps snapped into place in a blink, criss-crossing my torso and securing me in place.
With its engines and navigation systems already activated by the Shadow two-five-eight-seven protocol, my ship automatically launched from the docking bay into the vast silence of space. The abrupt acceleration crushed me back into the chair and made my stomach rebel as if I’d left half my internal organs back at the station. Normally launches—even abrupt ones—didn’t affect me much, but I was hanging onto consciousness by a thread.
“Captain, incoming hail from Daventi Station security,” the ship’s AI Siber said, her voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears and my racing heart.
I gritted my teeth. “Ignore it.”
My harness and my control over my digestive system got another test when the ship made three abrupt automatic evasive course changes to avoid the station’s tractor beam and several pulse cannon blasts.
“Activating shadow mode,” Siber said, still following the emergency protocol I’d activated in the docking bay. “Hyperdrive engaging. Destination, pre-selected coordinates alpha nine-seven.”
The lights dimmed, signaling the ship had gone into shadow mode. No beacon, no locating signal, no comms, and no recognizable shield harmonics that might give away my ship’s identity or location.
Alpha nine-seven was my designation for Kevii, an uninhabited moon orbiting a quiet Outer Rim mining planet. It was a good place to lay low long enough to recover and plan my next move.
The ship vibrated, the stars blurred, and Daventi Station vanished from my scanners.
I slumped in my chair—at least as much as the harness allowed—and took a deep breath that turned into a gurgling cough. Everything hurt. I heard blood dripping onto the deck next to my chair.
“Captain Wren, your vital signs are reaching critical levels,” Siber said. “Loss of consciousness estimated in two minutes. Recommend immediate use of the emergency medpod to avoid cessation of basic life functions.”
I’d been avoiding cessation of basic life functions for as long as I could remember.
“Activate medpod,” I groaned. “Maintain course and shadow mode protocols while I’m sleeping.” Sleeping sounded so much more pleasant than unconscious.
“Affirmative, Captain. Rest well.”
With one last, blurry look at the stars streaking past, I released my harness and hauled myself out of the seat. I stumbled my way past my quarters, the unused crew cabin, and the galley to the ship’s medbay, which was in the rear of the ship’s main compartment next to the door leading to the cargo bay.
I kicked Vinian’s disembodied tentacle as I went by. It hit the wall with a satisfying wet thud.
My medpod was the second-most advanced—and thus, second-most expensive—bit of tech on the Nivilus after its shadow mode systems. The pod hummed and beeped and began flashing red the moment I got within range of its scanners.
“Yeah, I look like shit,” I muttered. “You don’t need to rub it in.”
I toed off my boots and dropped my bracer to the floor next to them. The jumpsuit was a loss already, so I didn’t care that the pod would disintegrate it during treatment. At the moment, the only things I cared about were that I was alive and my ship was putting light-years between me and Daventi Station.
I hauled myself into the pod, flopped on my back, and stared blearily at the medbay ceiling.
My nanobots’ hum changed tone as they synced with the medpod. The vibration was a familiar sensation, one that offered welcome reassurance. I’d survived Vinian’s betrayal. If I were to be honest—which I generally avoided as a matter of principle—until my ship reached hyperspace and my exhausted, wounded body landed in this pod, I wasn’t sure I would.
A frisson of energy danced over my skin as my clothes disintegrated. The medpod began listing injuries aloud, noting my vital signs, and describing what procedures were taking place. The words were indistinct, but I got the gist.
One item did register through the fog in my brain: Vinian’s blade had been doused in an anticoagulant. No wonder I’d lost so much blood so fast. Bastard. I should find a place of honor for that tentacle I’d taken as a trophy.
Something warm pressed against the side of my neck with a familiar and very welcome tingle. All my pain faded, swept away by a pleasant warmth that flooded my battered body. Bliss.
