Mercenaries (26 page)

The cockpit canopy began to heat as the fighter hit the atmosphere. A soft whistle sounded as the air thickened, the sound swiftly escalating into a howl. In minutes the gentle cherry glow of friction built to a hellish blaze. Finally the light abruptly cut off as the canopy went opaque, but the howl of the wind continued to build.

A glance at his sensor readouts told him the enemy fighter was still shooting along ahead of him, pitching and rolling wildly as its pilot fought for control. Rune admired the man's skill even as he tried to get a weapons' lock.

It was only a matter of time. Even if the mercenary survived the landing, he'd be an easy target on the ground.

The planet zoomed closer. Blobs of green and sand brown resolved themselves into land masses, then into forests, then finally into trees. A patch of blue glittered in the sunlight, became a lake. The enemy fighter headed for that blue shimmer, apparently intending to land in the clearing on its leeward side. Rune followed, reverse engines thundering as he slowed his craft for the killing pass. Deceleration sent his body surging against the harness.

The enemy's port nacelle dipped as he approached the ground, and for a moment Rune thought he wouldn't have to kill the man after all.

No such luck.

Somehow the pilot brought it back under control, the craft rocking furiously as he played force against force in a desperate bid for life. At last all three wheels touched, and the fighter slid to a neat stop.

“Very nice,” Rune murmured regretfully. “You really are good.” To his computer he added, “Fire . . .”

Before he could get the rest of the command out of his mouth, something boomed. His fighter rocked wildly.
“Warning!”
the comp howled.
“Tachyon torpedo hit to the fuselage. Control systems failing!”

Blazing angels, the bastard had hit
him
! Swearing, Rune fought to regain control of the fighter as it shot helplessly past his enemy. The nose dipped, and the ground spiraled toward him. He commed order after order to the ship, forcing the craft to stabilize right side up just long enough to . . .

Light exploded in his skull. Metal shrieked. Rune tasted blood as he bit his tongue, and his torso slammed with bruising force against the straps. The crash seemed to go on and on, an endless kaleidoscope of pain and brutal sensation as the craft pinwheeled around him. He knew he was dead.

And then . . .

The fighter rolled over once more and stopped, rocking a moment before it went still. Metal creaked and groaned. Cautiously Rune opened his eyes. He was hanging upside down in his harness. Only a dim bloodred emergency light illuminated the cramped interior of the cockpit.

He could sense the power dying. Only seconds left.
“Computer,”
Rune commed,
“activate Tach Pulse.”

Static roared white-hot in his head, blinding him as his sensors picked up the savage tachyon pulse that blasted from the ship's systems.

Then everything went black. Even the emergency light was gone.

Grimly Rune hauled off his helmet; the Pulse had killed his suit's internal oxygen system. If the planet hadn't had breathable air, he wouldn't have dared use the weapon, last ditch or not.

Reaching over his head to the cockpit release, he grabbed it and jerked down with all his considerable strength. The canopy plummeted to the ground below. Freeing his shoulder harness, Rune dropped a few centimeters before the webbing caught him, then quickly twisted his way free and fell.

He landed in a crouch, looking around for the enemy pilot. The bastard's fighter sat demurely a couple of dozen meters away, despite its scorched nacelle. To his irritation, it had emerged from this engagement better off than his own craft.

At least until he'd fired the Tach Pulse. At close range, the blast of tachyon radiation was powerful enough to punch right through the shielding that would normally protect electronics. Now every power supply for every piece of equipment on both fighters was dead, including those of any beamer pistols or energy weapons.

All of which ensured the bastard wouldn't be shooting him.

Rune's nanotech computer and muscle enhancements alone survived, since they were biological rather than electronic. So had the enemy pilot's, of course, but the odds were that Rune now had the advantage. Dharani nanotech was generally superior. In any hand-to-hand battle, he had the edge.

Drawing the knife from his boot, Rune started off to find the enemy.

BLOODY hell, the bastard had Pulsed her! Cassidy jerked her helmet off and started flicking the manual switches, but everything remained stubbornly dead.

Maybe—
maybe
—she could set up the solar collectors to recharge the main batteries, then use the batts to recharge her suit, communication system, and weapons. But that would take hours.

What if the
Starrunner
left the system before the process was completed? How the fuck was she supposed to get rescued if she couldn't send a com message? Her internal implant couldn't punch a signal much farther than orbit. And the nearest town was on the other side of a mountain range that would block her transmission.

What's more, her foe was in the same boat. The Dharani really were nuts.

Growling to herself, she grabbed the canopy release and popped it, then levered herself out of the cockpit. With a surge and flex, she vaulted over the side and dropped to the ground.

Straightening, Cassidy took a look around. She could have landed in worse places. Just as sensors had indicated, Dallas was more than habitable. The lake was a clean, clear blue under the crystalline sky, and the leafy lavender-tinted vegetation underfoot reminded her of Terran crabgrass. The air felt just right—warm without being hot, scented with a medley of alien perfumes from God knew what plants.

All of which was why they were fighting this war to begin with. It was very rare to find two naturally habitable planets in the same star system. Usually only one was located at the right spot for a temperature range humans could stand. Dallas, however, orbited at a screwy angle to the rest of the system. The local star must have captured it at some point in the distant past. It wasn't a stable arrangement; computer simulations said eventually Dallas and New Galveston would collide—in a few million years. Until then, the colonists intended to take full advantage of the situation.

Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones. The inhabitants the next system over had a yen for a little empire building, and Galveston and its settlement here had looked like easy pickings. So the Kalistans had mounted an invasion force, hiring three Dharani Tribeships to give it some muscle. The Galvestonians didn't have a navy big enough to defend themselves against that kind of attack, so they'd called in several mercenary companies, including the
Starrunner
.

Enemy approaching,
her computer whispered in her mind.

Cassidy whipped around. A tall male figure stalked toward her around the curve of the lake. Dammit, she'd hoped the bastard had been hurt in the crash. No such luck.

Jesus, he was big. She took a wary step back. Easily the size of Captain August, maybe a little bigger, tall and broad-shouldered in his skin-tight black body armor. There was some serious muscle under that suit, too, backing up whatever implants he had. From the look of all that beef, he was probably even stronger than she was. Dammit.

Adding to the stark, menacing look created by the suit, he wore his hair in a stiff black brush that emphasized the stark lines of his angular face. As he moved closer, she saw that his eyes were very pale against his tanned skin, a smoky silver. Their expression was cold, flat. As deadly as the big knife he carried in one hand.

His features were strong and intensely male, with broad, high cheekbones, a hawkish nose, and wide, full mouth. She'd have considered him handsome if he hadn't been planning to kill her.

Cassidy crouched and drew her own knife from her boot. If he wanted a fight, she'd give him one.

T
HE enemy pilot was female.

Rune stopped in surprise, his Tribeship instinct to revere women warring with his training against giving an enemy quarter.

She was tall, long-boned, and lean-muscled, her white-blond hair braided in an intricate arrangement designed to accommodate a helmet. She met his gaze without flinching, her expression professional and wary, her grip on her combat knife steady. Very different from the pampered, voluptuous
Mahiris
who ruled the women's deck, dispensing pain and pleasure at whim.

Even so, her lean body had some very lush, pretty curves not even combat armor could hide. Her eyes were an exotic green in her heart-shaped face, and her mouth looked soft, kissable, despite its grim line.

Desire closed a hot, tight fist around Rune's balls. It had been too long since his last visit to the women's deck. It was too bad he couldn't have encountered his pretty foe under better circumstances.

Unless . . . A daring idea made his eyes widen. He stopped as his heart began to pound.

Though a male warrior with her intelligence and skill could not be allowed to live, a woman with those traits would make an invaluable addition to his tribe. And Rune had no doubt this one would breed magnificent warriors.

What's more, she would be his. His as no other woman ever could be.

The problem, of course, was that any female fighter worthy of being Claimed would slit a warrior's throat for the attempt. Which was as it should be. A woman who would yield easily was not worth having.

Slowly Rune began moving toward her again, evaluating the grim determination in her eyes. No, she wouldn't go down easily.

She would have to be captured and disarmed, then courted and seduced. Trying to force her would be profoundly stupid. She'd either fight him to the death, or pretend to yield and kill him when his guard was down. That would be what he would do himself, faced with an overwhelming foe.

And Rune fully intended to overwhelm her. In every sense of the word.

He began his campaign when he reached a respectful distance, his slight bow wary as he watched her pretty face. “I am Major Rune Alrigo of the Dharani Tribeship
Conquest
. I offer challenge to a Claiming Duel.”

Rune could tell by her lack of reaction that she had no idea what he meant. She probably assumed he simply intended to kill her. She gave him a short, sharp nod in return. “Lieutenant Cassidy Vika of the mercenary warship
Starrunner
. What the hell was the business with the Tach Pulse? I don't know about you, but I'd actually like to get rescued.”

“As would I,” he told her coolly. “After our business is completed. My people do not duel with beamer pistols.”

Her pretty mouth tightened. He wondered how it would feel against his. “Look, asshole, this is not a duel—it's war. There's no time for whatever elaborate ceremonies you lunatics have constructed to entertain yourselves when you're bored. This is for real.”

“Oh, most definitely.” He would have to teach her about the nature of honor. Not surprising; the Dharani conception of honor was a difficult one for those not of the Tribes.

Her expression went even colder. “Fine. Let's dance.” Holding her blade in a competent knife fighter's guard, she advanced, light and graceful on the balls of her feet. Rune fell into a crouch, his attention focused on her eyes. If she felt fear, it didn't show. Good.

Cassidy stopped a little more than a pace away, her hands moving in hypnotic patterns designed to confuse. Rune waited, knowing she'd find his stillness more unnerving.

Without warning, he lunged with a hard slash designed to test her strength and reflexes. Even as he attacked, Rune prepared to pull the blow; he had no desire to kill her.

She did not disappoint him, slipping aside like a ghost. Her return slash scored his tough armor, but didn't penetrate it. “Very good,” he told her, pleased with her speed.

“Condescending prick,” she growled, and came after him in a flurry of steel that forced him to retreat, blocking knife thrust after knife thrust with flicks of his own blade. Her nanotech implants made her strength something to respect, though he still had a considerable advantage in muscle.

Assured she could handle herself, Rune launched another series of attacks, moving faster this time, pushing harder. He wanted to wear her down so he could get in close enough to begin her seduction.

Close enough for the secret weapon in his erotic arsenal to take effect.
If
she was susceptible. It would certainly simplify matters if she were.