She began her way down the ladder, the Tyche bucking and shaking around her. There was the crunk of a torpedo launching from the Tyche’s belly, firing at God-knows-what in space. The groan of the ship’s reactor as more power was poured into a subsystem. Whatever El was doing up the front, shit was getting real — the Tyche did another spin, Grace’s boots holding her fast to the metal plates of the ladder, her torso knocking against the railing. One of her boots knocked free and for a moment she was hanging sideways, one hand on the railing, one boot stuck to the ladder, and her blaster went spinning across — or was it down? — the hold. The saw it tumble through the air for a half second before it impacted against the bay doors, bursting into a handful of bright pieces, metal and plastic spraying in at least five directions.
“That looks bad, huh?” said Kohl’s voice.
Grace turned, tried to get a glimpse of the man, but she couldn’t see anything. Lights casting shadows, shadows hiding almost anything. Empty crates and containers were still lashed about the hold, the trailing end of their ties streaming this way and that as the Tyche sailed the dark sea of space. She twisted back around, making ready to move for the sword.
Turned, and found herself face to face with Kohl.
His face was twisted into what might have been a smile, if it weren’t for the drool making its way down his chin. His eyes were looking off-center, like they were looking through her, past her, into her.
Then he hit her in the stomach.
She doubled over, still one hand on the railing, thought move, move! and slammed her foot down. Her magboot whirclunked towards the decking, and caught one of his feet under it. Enough magnetic forced to keep her weight to the deck under hard burn pulled her boot to the floor, right on top of his foot, and there was a crunch of bone.
Kohl didn’t even blink. He just pulled back and hit her again.
This time she was ready for it, turned her body into the punch, stealing its optimal impact point. It still hurt, but it wasn’t a true strike. It wouldn’t leave broken ribs or a punctured lung. Grace kicked off from Kohl’s foot, and at that moment the Tyche’s engines screamed loud and terrible, the ship whirling, the PDCs hammering into the void.
Kohl was tossed free, joining the remains of the blaster at the back of the hold. Grace fell forward, on boot still on the ladder, her body hitting the decking. She scrabbled as the Tyche roared through space, the sickening movement of the ship like the worst rollercoaster she’d ever been on. Grace knocked her chin as she fell, tasting blood as her teeth bit her lip. She wanted to scream, but the air was knocked out of her by another barrel roll. The ship was pulling so many Gs as they pulled around and down at the same time she was sure she would be sick. Grace sucked in some air, just in time for the ship to whirl the other way. She was yanked to her feet, magboots still clutching at the decking, Kohl’s body tumbling to the ceiling of the cargo bay.
Move, Grace.
The sword was maybe ten paces from the base of the ladder. Ten paces in good gravity, under easy thrust. It looked like twenty of the baby steps she’d be able to make in this environment. Better get started, then. She moved one boot forward, the cthunk as it grabbed at the decking a comfort, a feeling rather than noise as the ship rolled and raged around her. Another crunk as a torpedo launched, then crunk crunk crunk as the Tyche spat nukes at something out there.
“BRACE!” said El’s voice over the comm, the PDCs all going loud at the same time. All firing on something.
Then, light. Noise. Sensation, all at once. Her stomach, without pain. Her lip wasn’t bleeding. It was whole, and perfect. Her mind, a thousand times larger, her body, tiny. She could feel the pores of her skin, each one of them an individual presence. She could feel her connection with her sword, its new soul forged from the body of the Tyche. Her sword was her. She was everything. She was the universe.
They jumped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
If Nate had known what was happening in his hold, he would have flipped. He would have gone down there, blaster in hand, and set that fucker Kohl on fire. It was good, then, that he didn’t know what was happening. But also bad, in a way, because his own circumstances were real and personal.
They’re trying to destroy my goddamn ship!
This wasn’t part of the deal. The deal was that the bugs would let them off because they’d tricked them. The bugs would let them into space, and they’d be able to jump to somewhere safe, where shit wasn’t crazy, where rocks the size of destroyers weren’t flying at them.
El was working the controls, her face clammy with perspiration.
Great, let her do her job, you do yours. Nate pulled up the fire controls, the holo between them picking out the tens of rocks in space, the number growing. The ship noted the effect on the planet below them as one meteor impacted the planet with the energy equivalent of a 20 kiloton weapon. Ash and fire was expanding into the atmosphere behind them, the Tyche noting changes in weather, atmospheric density, calculating the likely kill radius for life.
That was one of the rocks the Ezeroc were dropping.
He flicked the Tyche’s attention forward, pointing her out at space. “What’s behind us isn’t important,” he said.
“Whassat?” said El.
“Nothing,” said Nate.
“Then shut up. Busy,” she said. Her hands were on the sticks, pulling the Tyche around into a turn. The rocks the Ezeroc were tossing their way were smaller, faster. What really got to Nate was that he couldn’t tell where they were coming from. They seemed to break off from the surface of the Ezeroc ship, no drive plume marking their origin. The Tyche wasn’t used to this kind of fight. Sure, the ship’s RADAR and LIDAR were still painting space, bringing back the echoes of things coming at them. It’s just that those systems weren’t designed for this kind of situation.
So, turn the tables.
He keyed a firing solution into the console, marking the Ezeroc ship. The Tyche wanted a specific target site, but a rock that big? Didn’t much matter. Best to check it with a probing shot, see what kind of reaction they got from it. He tapped the system, said, “Firing,” then selected the big go get some button.
The crunk of the firing torpedo shook the hull, and he watched the contrail as the weapon shot off into the hard black. The holo said COLLISION WARNING. El was hauling on the controls, the ship doing a barrel roll as tiny rocks came at them, one hitting the hull. The sound was almost musical, but it made Nate wince. Rocks on the hull were never good, because rocks could go through the hull, and then they’d all be sucking on space dust instead of oxygen.
The PDCs fired, bright lines of fire reaching out into the void, shattering rocks that came close. Nate lost sight of the torpedo as El spun the Tyche around, the planet coming into view above them through the cockpit, only to be lost again as she kept the ship turning and burning.