Marked (22 page)

“I understand,” I say, unblinking. “I'm going. Wait for us.”

Benny sighs, disappointed. “We will. As long as we can afford to.”

“Try leaving anyone behind,” Bear says, slipping beside me. “And you'll learn what you can afford.”

Benny ignores the warning. Instead, he reaches into his jacket. He pulls something out and presses it into my hand. A pistol. By the looks, more than a common pulse blaster.

“I already have weapons.”

“You got stun guns,” Benny says. “Not good enough for this little adventure. Take it. High-caliber exo-rattler. Only ten shots, but at close enough range, even armor won't spare the chump who gets on the wrong end of your barrel.”

I look down and feel the weight of it in my hand. Its grip is a bad dream. Benroyal's picture of me. But when Benny closes my fist around it, I take it.

A PANEL CONTROLS THE BLAST DOORS, AND WE PUNCH THEM
open. There is nothing behind the first threshold, or the one beyond it, or the one beyond that. For an hour, behind the fog of our visors, we crawl through lab after lab but find no sign of life, only motion detectors and automatic lights. There are tools and made-up bunks and dead flex walls. It's unnerving, the way every cold white surface blends into the next.

What few windows we find hang like dark patches. Looking through, I sense the slow spin of the station in the silent void of space. We stand on a false star, bright but cold and hollow.

By now we must be halfway around the wheel. I check the safety on Benny's pistol, then nose it into the utility pack at my hip.

“Shh . . . I hear something,” Miyu whispers, lowering her blast shield. We're in what looks like a kitchen when she bolts for the hall. We follow.

Visors down, we gather around her. I close my eyes, straining for sound. And then I hear it too. A rhythmic, muted noise. Machinery. No . . . the pattern falters. This isn't equipment. It's something else.

Hank cocks his head. He hears it too, and runs toward it. The rest of us are fast on his heels, sprinting to follow the commotion. The hallway narrows, and we reach a row of holding cells. Someone's here, beating against one of the doors.

Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I stop, cocking my head. Just ahead. On our right, the last cell. A beat of silence, then the pounding starts up again. Pounding, then finally, a muffled cry.

We round on the door, and the first thing I see is the tiny window inset at eye level. A hand. A face. A hoarse and desperate voice.

Abasi.

We punch the lock and open the door. The old man collapses into Fahra's arms.

Toby Abasi's eyes are cloudy and jaundiced, and his face is a pale, bruised map of misery. He is so weak and gaunt, he can barely stand.

He sees me and reaches out, his hands little more than brittle claws. “Is it really you?” he asks. “Am I dreaming?”

We embrace, and I tell him, “It's real. We're here to rescue you.”

He sobs. “I don't know how long . . . the soldiers stopped coming . . . I can't believe it's really you.”

“Believe it,” I say.

Toby stumbles, but I hold tight. Bear pulls him off me and props him up. “Should I carry him?”

Abasi shakes his head. “I can walk. Do . . . do you have any water?”

Hank pulls a canteen from his utility case and holds it to Abasi's lips. Abasi sucks it down, then coughs and chokes and heaves. Nothing less than sheer will plays across his face as he struggles to hold it down.

“I'll get him back to the ship,” Bear says, taking over. Carefully, he puts an arm around Abasi and steers him toward the landing bay. When the old man stumbles, Hal jumps to his other side. Together, Bear and Hal shoulder Abasi. Halfway down the next narrow stretch, Bear calls back. “Don't go any farther. Wait until we make it back here.”

“We will wait,” Fahra answers. He and Miyu stand sentry with their weapons at the ready. In turn, Hank moves quickly from wall to wall. His eyes sweep over every surface, as if he's taking in the details and analyzing our position.

I am less useful. I pace and pace, for what seems like forever.

And then I hear screaming.

It's him.

His cry cuts like a scythe. I sprint into it before anyone can catch me.

Hank and Fahra and Miyu clatter after me, but I'm barely aware of them now. I'm too focused on the guttural, teeth-clenched howl. I've heard it before, on the clip Benroyal sent Queen Napoor. Cash's cry is unmistakable. I have to find him. I have to pull him from the jaws of whatever trap Benroyal's laid here.

The screaming stops and starts. I keep chasing the echo.

Doorway after doorway after doorway, and the misery in Cash's voice is growing louder. Ten more feet, and another gated threshold. A blast door slams down behind me. Hank and Fahra and Miyu fly against it, but they can't get in. I can hear their beating fists and muffled warnings.

Come back, Phee. Come back.

Ahead, the doorway on the right. I race through it into a white room.

He is here. Trapped in a nightmare.

I run to the table where Cash is lying. His bare chest is slick with sweat. His jaws are clenched and every muscle is tight and twitching. He'd fall from the table if he weren't strapped down at the ankles and wrists. The stim wires attached to him dance, pulsing at an agonizing pitch high enough to drive an animal mad. I reach for one of the leads, but the moment I touch it Cash flinches, and I'm afraid I'll electrocute him or worse.

I glance up at the flex screen behind the table. It's a control panel, with levels and readings. The largest bar's at eighty percent; the others are climbing. I gamble, swiping them all down to zero, and the pulsing squeal dies. The wires stop dancing. Cash thuds against the table. A shivering groan melts into hard, sucking gasps. Frantic, I detach the wires and peel the leads off his body.

There are dozens of them, fastened over his arms and his neck and his chest. He flinches as I pull. His sweat's loosened the adhesive under some of the leads, and it's a small mercy.

He's quieter now, but even as I fumble and unbuckle
his restraints, his eyes roll back and forth behind his lids. When he's free, I'm desperate to scoop him into my arms, but the way he's trembling, as if every nerve ending's been plucked to fever pitch . . . my touch might be torture. Instead, softly, I call to him.

“Cash . . .”

He convulses, but less violently than before.

“Cash . . . I've got you. I'm here.”

He blinks. His eyelids flutter against the light. I keep trying. I keep calling his name, over and over, until his pupils remember to focus. He looks at me.

“Phee,” he croaks, shuddering harder. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Now I'm crying too. I can't breathe. I'm covered in plating and gloved from chin to toe, but I need to get skin to skin, just to know the moment's real and not an illusion. Cautious, I lean over. His hand rakes the back of my neck, but he's weak, and can't hold me for long.

I want to tell him he doesn't have to. He doesn't have to work for this. Still, he tries to pull me in. Our lips brush, but I can see even that's too much, so I turn aside, and rest my cheek against his. And it's enough. He's here. He's alive.

Finally, he lets go, still shivering and worse than exhausted. I straighten and suddenly, I'm full of anger and disbelief. “How could they leave you like this?”

Cash struggles, shakes his head as if to clear it. Blinks
and swallows. He tries to sit up but can only manage a lopsided elbow lean. A second later, fear kindles in the dark glimmer of his eyes. “You have to leave,” he warns. “You have to get out. Right now. You shouldn't have come.”

As a wall slides back, I understand why.

I LEVER MY BLAST SHIELD INTO PLACE THE SECOND I SEE THE
hidden door opening. I leap in front of Cash. My exo-suit will have to protect the both of us now. Benroyal personnel pour in, dressed in white uniforms. They look more like orderlies than IP, but I don't wait to find out. Forearms crossed and locked, I lean back and hold both thumbs over the trigger pads of my gloves. Voice control. “Weapons on.”

The sound of my guns charging halts their advance.

“Stay back,” I snap.

The uniforms hesitate. There's a half dozen of them. They fan out, keeping their distance. A suit walks in behind them. The sight of him pries a hiss from Cash. I'm almost certain it's the man from the clip I saw at the palace. The torturer.

The man steps through the line of white shirts.

“Stay back or I'll shoot,” I say.

“Miss Vanguard . . .” he soothes. There's a needle in his hand.

It is him. I recognize the bastard's voice.

“Don't try me,” I growl through the panic. “You make a move, and I'll clear this room.”

“No need for threats, Miss Vanguard. Just safety your weapons, and let's discuss this. If you come with me now, then I'll put this away”—he gestures to the needle—“and all is forgiven. Mr. Benroyal's offering a generous deal. If you agree to surrender, he'll allow you both to live.”

My vision swims, and I blink to anchor it. My aim's shaky, but I pretend it's only the laughter. “You'll put that away if I surrender?” I mock. “You'll have to do better than that.”

He takes another step toward us. “No one's going to hurt you, Miss Vanguard.”

“You're right,” I say, caressing the triggers. “Not anymore.”

The stun catches his neck; the whiplash jerks his chin. As he drops, the scrubs try to rush us. I shoot left and right, crossing streams from both weapons' ports.

I don't have to be the best marksman. I just have to spray the room.

I brace against Cash as the kickback hammers through us. I tap the triggers and keep it coming in an ear-piercing rain of rapid stun signal. Cash shifts behind me. One arm reaches for the pack at my waist. Cash finds Benny's pistol. Sluggish, he angles around me, aiming for the two goons I manage to miss.

“No,” I rasp. “Not yet.”

He nods against my shoulder, and I take the last two down. Seven bodies on the floor, all stunned. The ones who hit the ground hardest are waylaid and bleeding. Don't know if they're still alive or not. Either way, they're not getting up.

Terror washes through me, and I can't shake the knock of dread and adrenaline hammering in my chest. Wildly, my mind reaches for everything Hal and Mary taught me.
Focus. Stay focused. Count down in deep breaths. You can't make this go away. You can't deny it's happening. You can't pretend it isn't real.

But you can get back up. You can get through, if you learn to ride it out.

I have to get us out of here. Now. But Cash is still weak. Lit up and panting, I wait for more personnel to rush through the door. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . more sharp exhales and they come. This time, a pair of IP soldiers, geared up in exo-suits just like mine. At last, I'm outmatched.

Cash aims for the first one. One pistol shot, and the bullet tears into the plating at his ribs. Not deeply enough, I guess. Stumbling back, the soldier recovers. If anything, all we've done is rip his armor and scorch him off.

“At close range,” I say to Cash. “You have to—”

Furious, the IP yanks me away from the table and tosses me into the arms of his partner. But I kick out of the second's grip and lunge back at him, just as he's barrel to barrel with Cash. Cash rolls off the table and fires; the second bullet rips into the guy's shoulder. I leap on the wounded soldier's back just in time. His weapon misfires against the wall, and the errant pulse fire smokes up the room.

My dance partner growls and tries to heave me off. We slam into the wall, and I'm caught behind him. A third pistol shot. I glance up. Cash shot the second IP in the thigh, but the bastard's getting back up. He lunges at Cash, and they crash into the side of the table. Again, the first IP slams me against the wall.

Breathless, I fumble and rake my hands over the front of his visor. He slaps my gloved hand away, but not before I hook two fingers around both his collar levers. A quick, knuckle-breaking pull and I let go completely, swinging out and landing hard. I'm back on the ground. But now so is the sap-hole's armor. His visor snaps back, and his plating shoots off, clattering to the floor.

Before he can react, I stun him right in the face. He drops, and I grab a piece of his exo—a right breastplate. I stumble through the tangle of bodies to get to Cash. The second IP's got him pinned against the side of the table. They're grappling for Cash's gun.

In an eye-blink, Cash takes an elbow to the jaw, and then a fist. The pistol flies from his hand, but he scraps his way up as it clatters against the floor. Snarling, Cash rallies. He reaches for the soldier's collar. But this goon's wiser to the game. He blocks Cash's offensive, and goes for the throat. His hands find Cash's neck.

Frantic, I leap, heaving the breastplate at the IP's head. The hit isn't good enough to crack his visor, but it buys Cash a breath. It shakes the soldier loose and sends him sprawling. I drop him, but not for long.

The IP's back on his feet. He raises his wrist, aims his weapon's port at Cash, but I slide in front of him, to shield him. Pulse fire hits me square in my chest plating. It's enough to knock me off my exhaust, and I tumble. Groggy, I try to get back up. Cash dives for the gun and comes up fast. Straining, he lunges forward, until it's in close enough range.

Boom. Boom.

Cash lowers the pistol. The last IP won't be getting up. Cash stumbles back and sags against the table. It took
everything he had to make that shot, and now he can barely stand. Exhausted, we lean on each other.

Suddenly, footsteps and shouts and weapon noise. More figures run through the door.

Bear, Hank, and Fahra. Benny's with them, plus four of the smugglers.

The cavalry is here.

They gape at the bodies at our feet, but don't bother asking what happened. The soldier I stunned in the face begins to stir. Ever efficient, Bear stuns him again. Twice.

“C'mon,” he says. “Let's move out. They'll all start waking up sooner than later.”

“Not all of them,” Cash says, the pistol still in his hand.

Fahra moves between us. “Allow me, Your Highness,” he says, reaching out. “I will carry you.”

Cash shakes his head. “I can walk.”

“Then I will help you,” Fahra replies.

Cash nods wearily, and I take back the pistol. Still good for a few more shots. I stuff it back into my hip pack. Quickly, Fahra and Hank commandeer a few essentials from one of the soldiers. Cash gears up, taking a gun, a jacket, and a pair of boots.

“Everyone else okay?” I ask.

“Hal and Miyu stayed back at the ship, to take care of
Abasi. And we need to get there now,” Bear warns.

Fahra and I flank Cash. We make it to the door, but Hank stops us. “We'll cover you. Stay behind Bear and me.”

“And we'll bring up the rear,” Benny says.

“So what happened to not risking the crew?” I ask.

Benny nudges the dead IP with the toe of his boot. He grins. “Yeah. Well, I guess I shoulda told you. I'm kind of a liar.”

“Thank you,” Cash says. “We're indebted.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Benny replies. He reaches out and helps Fahra shoulder his weight. “You can thank me later. Let's get out of here. I'd like to keep you all alive long enough to collect my cut.”

We head for the door and I slip next to Bear. “What happened?”

“You were right. They were hiding on the other side of the wheel, waiting to attack. After luring us in and cutting you off, the IP swarmed us. We had to fight our way through to you. Now we'll have to fight our way back.”

Bear turns to me. “Listen. No matter what comes at us, just keep going. Keep running, until you get back to the ship.”

I nod, but it's not enough.

“Promise me,” he says. “I mean it, Phee. Whatever happens, you keep moving. You get out of here alive.”

Benny's calling from the hallway. Telling us to hurry up.

I jerk Bear by the arm and get us going. I don't answer him.

Thirty yards from Cash's room, we stop at a blast door. On the other side, you can hear the pulse fire and shouting. Ahead, there's a war.

I look at Benny. “Is that our crew?”

He shakes his head. “They're holding the bay.”

“Who's fighting here, then?”

“It's guards versus inmates now,” Hanks says.

“Inmates?” I ask.

“The rest of Benroyal's prisoners,” Hank answers. “At least a dozen. We let them all out. No telling how long they've been interrogated and tortured here. I'm guessing the guards moved them to this part of the station, then left Cash and Abasi as bait.”

“How are we going to get through? Can we gas the hall?” I ask. “Put everyone to sleep?”

Bear shakes his head. “There's no gas left. The crew shot most of it at the first wave of soldiers in the bay. We used what was left on our way here to drop the officers in the command center.”

Through the door, yelling and gunfire. By the sound of it, the fighting's getting more intense by the second.

“Get ready to run,” Bear warns.

We nod. Bear hits the command glass.

The blast door rises, and we plunge, guns out, into the chaos.

Sirens blare. A full-on riot's broken out, and it's ear-piercing anarchy. We pass a group of inmates jumping a guard. Behind them, a fellow prisoner huddles at the threshold of his room. I can't exactly blame him. Another detainee bursts past us like a gust of wind. Hank levels a gun and drops the IP who's hot on her tail.

We stick together, a tight little squad, but it's slow progress. Fahra manages to fend off a pair of guards as we make our way down the hall. Out front, Hank's armor catches some bullets, but he keeps charging, giving worse than he gets. Cash is weak, but he's hanging in there.

At the next blast door, a cluster of holdout IP have made a makeshift barricade, keeping up a steady rain of pulse fire. Bear shouts back at me, “Stay behind me. You hear me? No matter what happens, stay behind the line.”

I nod, but I can tell it pains Cash to obey. He shrugs off Captain Fahra and tries to stand on his own. The pain and exhaustion play out on his face. I put my arm around him.

“I've got this,” I tell Fahra. He joins Hank and Bear as they make a run for it, rushing the barricade.

Cash and I limp behind them, struggling, while
Benny's crew brings up the rear. Cash's breathing shallows up. With each step, I feel the twitch of spent muscle and the tiny tremors rippling through his body. It's like holding on to an earthquake. We both stumble, falling against the left wall. Rallying, he pushes off, and we keep moving.

Fahra's just ahead, flanking the rest of our group. His marksmanship drops the gunner at the far left corner of the barricade. It also draws enemy fire, and he absorbs a volley of hits. We scramble to pull him back, but Benny's already on it, moving in to cover him.

Bear and Hank keep pressing toward the barricade, taking hit after hit after hit. Each one lands like a hammer fall, crippling their gait. Over and over, they recover. Just one blast of pulse fire nearly knocks me over, and I'm barely able to shield Cash. More than once, he is almost hit.

Bear's aim takes out two more of the shooters. Only three more gunfire streams coming from the chest-high barricade. Almost there. Almost . . . there.

Benny's the first to breach it. He kicks a section of the barricade down. Too close for rifles now. Around me, pistols fire and fists fly. My mind and my reflexes tunnel down for one purpose.
Get through this. Protect your people. Keep Cash alive.