Victor pressed his back against the wall, noting he was breathing easily, though his suit warned his rebreather pack was damaged. It must have absorbed the worst of the second shot. He flexed his left arm. At least one of the flechettes had made it through his suit, but he could still move the fingers of his hand. A flesh wound, he guessed.
“I don’t know who you think you are, going into a gunfight with a sword, but I’ve got the advantage. Drop your weapons and come out slowly,” Warwick said.
Victor lifted his visor. “I think you’re the one who should surrender, Warwick.”
“Victor?”
“Surprised?”
“You stole my reward.”
Victor needed to distract Warwick until Gaz reached them. “No, I finished the mission you abandoned, along with your crew, you coward.”
Boots clumped on the deck as Warwick approached him. “I have to say, I was a bit surprised to learn you took down that pirate base.”
Victor attempted to use his radio to contact Captain Gale, to see if her people on the other side could help. However, the status light on his radio was red. It must have been damaged by the same shot that hit his rebreather.
All Victor had was his variblade, although time was on his side.
“It’s over, Warwick. The
Waynesburg
is mopping up your little fleet, and Gaz is on his way here. Do you think he’ll be happy to see you?”
Victor’s former captain answered with a blast of his shotgun, blowing away a chunk from the corner Victor took cover behind. “Gaz works for you now? No wonder he cut through my crew so fast. He always was a savage fighter.”
“Drop your weapon, and I’ll tell him not to kill you,” Victor said.
The sound of Warwick’s approaching boots stopped. “Not a bad offer,” he said a moment later. “But I think I’ll just go down fighting. I’m not nearly the coward you think I am.” He walked closer.
“Shit.” Victor got up to run, only then realizing he was in a dead end corridor.
Who designed this ship?
Cornered, his only option was to stand and fight, variblade against shotgun.
Victor turned and charged, forming his variblade into the longest, thinnest sword he could. Warwick stood a distance away, clearly expecting Victor to attack him with a sword but did not take into account the variblade’s ability to change shape.
Before Warwick would bring his shotgun to bear, the tip of the elongated variblade punched through his chestplate. Victor’s momentum drove Warwick into the bulkhead, driving the blade deeper.
Warwick tried to raise his shotgun one-handed, but Victor twisted the blade.
“Ah, shit!” Warick coughed, blood splattering the visor of his helmet. His weapon fell to the deck.
Victor shortened the variblade as he walked forward, until he was close enough to Warwick to kick away his fallen shotgun.
Gaz and his team arrived at that moment.
The pit fighter flipped up his visor and locked his eyes on Victor. “You got ’im.”
Victor pulled out the variblade, causing Warwick to yelp in pain and slide to the deck. “You can finish it.”
Gaz walked up and glanced at Victor’s shoulder. “You’re wounded.”
“Not badly,” Victor said.
Warwick flipped up his own visor with one hand, covering his wound with the other. Blood seeped from his mouth. “Hey, hey. It wasn’t personal. You know that, right? It wasn’t personal. Just a judgment call.”
Victor retracted his variblade and reholstered it on his thigh. “I never took it personally.” He pointed a thumb at Gaz. “He did, however.”
Gaz leveled his assault rifle at Warwick’s face.
“Wait! Wait! Wa—”
A three-round burst silenced Warwick’s protest.
Gaz sighed, his armor bloodied. “Thanks,” he told Victor.
“Don’t mention it,” Victor said.
Taborian crewmembers appeared through the ruined bridge hatch.
“You give them the all-clear?” Victor asked.
“Fara did,” Gaz said.
“Well, let’s make our introductions.” Victor turned to greet them, but a spasm in his shoulder stopped him.
“Maybe introduce yourself to their doc first, Cap,” Gaz said.
Chapter 14
“Ouch!” Victor said when the
General Ian
’s doctor pulled the flechette from his shoulder. He was bare to his waist. His damaged and bloodied combat suit rested in a pile in the corner of the sick bay.
The doctor, whose name Victor didn’t catch, dropped the thin needle into a tray, which
plink
ed next to the two other needles that he had pulled out. “That’s the last one, Captain,” he said. “You’re lucky. Those rounds went out of their way not to hit any bone or nerve tissue.”
“Well, good for me,” Victor said. He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’d rather not have to replace any more parts.”
The doctor glanced at Victor’s artificial hand. “If those replacements come from the same place your black hand came from, I would almost be happy to lose a limb.”
Victor grunted and looked at his “black hand,” flexing its fingers.
“It looks like you have visitors,” the doctor said.
Victor looked over his shoulder. Approaching him were Harlan Quill, a dark-skinned woman in a Taborian military uniform, and a heavyset man wearing colorful robes.
Victor turned to face them, indifferent to his bare chest and bandages. “Captain Quill.” He nodded to the woman. “Captain Gale, I presume.”
The woman nodded. “Indeed. And may I present to you—”
“Chancellor Abu Ibin Salah Forsythe of Tabor’s illustrious parliament!” said the big colorfully dressed man. “I wish to extend my deepest gratitude. The arrival of your ships was most opportune.”
“You can thank the planet Guthrie for that,” Harlan Quill said.
“Yes, the timing of their trade conference and your visit couldn’t have been better,” Chancellor Forsythe said.
Oh, you have no idea, Chancellor Forsythe
, Victor thought, keeping his face neutral. “I’m just glad we could help before you came to harm, Chancellor.”
“Well, you and Captain Quill showed great magnanimity in helping us not long after my world refused to join your alliance,” Forsythe said.
Victor shrugged and nodded toward Harlan Quill. “You should thank him. It was his idea to render aid. I'm just a hired escort.”
“You are much too modest, Captain Victor,” Forsythe said. “Is Victor your surname by the way?”
Victor shook his head. “No, it’s my first name. I don’t have a surname.”
“Don’t have one, or don’t have one you want to share?” Captain Gale asked.
Victor glanced at her. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose it doesn’t,” the chancellor said. “But it does seem a little unseemly for a starship captain to go by his first name.”
Victor shrugged and winced at the pain from his left shoulder. “It’s worked out well for me so far.”
“Yes, well, as a man who knows a thing or two about image and reputation, I can think of a more appropriate name for you,” he said.
“And that would be?” Victor asked.
Forsythe smiled and glanced at Victor’s prosthetic. “Blackhand.”
Victor held up his prosthetic and glanced at it. “A bit much, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I think it has a certain ring to it,” Harlan Quill said.
Victor resisted giving the son of his employer a hard look.
“See, Captain Blackhand?” Chancellor Forsythe said. “It’s already catching on.
***
A week later, the
Alexander
and
Waynesburg
escorted the
General Ian
and the captured
Fortune
back to the Tabor system.
Interrogations of the few surviving pirates and the evidence found aboard the
Fortune
uncovered a Lysandran agent had been responsible for the attack on the
General Ian
.
Victor, the newly christened Captain Blackhand, was publicly rewarded by Chancellor Forsythe, as well as covertly rewarded by High Councilor Quill.
News of the Lysandran Empire’s attempt to assassinate Tabor’s head of state spread quickly through the world’s news feeds, creating a wave of anti-Imperial sentiment, particularly among the down-and-out, who generally blamed the empire for their economic troubles.
And, therefore, just as Quill had planned, the negotiations restarted, only this time the Taborians were much more amenable to joining the Free Worlds’ Alliance.
Victor’s services were no longer needed, so he was contracted to ferry a message back to Mustang and then “take some leave,” as Quill put it.
Two weeks after “saving” Chancellor Forsythe and the
General Ian
, the
Alexander
landed in Waynesburg Spaceport to deliver Quill’s messages and Victor’s crew to their vacation.
“So, Captain Blackhand…” Gaz said. He, from all of Victor’s crew, got the most kick from Victor’s new nickname. “What orders do you have for us?”
Victor shrugged. “Be back here at this time in three weeks, or I’ll replace you. Otherwise, do as you wish.”
Gaz made a toothy smile and departed, followed by the entire crew of the
Alexander
, save for Victor, Cormac, and Fara.
The starchild was staring at the frigate with a contemplative look on his face.
“What’s on your mind, Cormac?” asked Fara. She had a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
Cormac turned his head toward Fara. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that’s it’s been two years since I’ve spent an extended period of time off this ship. That is all.”
“I know what you mean,” Victor said, walking up beside Cormac. “She’s been a good home for us, I think.”
“Yes,” Cormac said. “A good home.” He turned to depart. “But not a large one. I think I’ll start my leave by stretching my legs.”
The starchild left, leaving Fara and Victor alone at the boarding ramp.
“So how do you plan on spending your leave, Captain?” she asked.
“Me? Getting a room at an expensive hotel and sleeping in it,” Victor said.
She arched an eyebrow. “That’s all?”
He shrugged. “More or less. This is the first time in two years where I really have the chance to do nothing whatsoever.”
Fara brushed back the stripe of blue in her black hair and smiled coyly up at him. “Well, would you like some company?”
Victor cocked his head to the side and looked Fara up and down. He always thought of her as attractive, with her black hair, thin frame, and her large black eyes. And it had been so long since…
“Sure,” he said, smiling. “Why not?”
***
Sunlight crept through the shades as Victor woke from a dreamless sleep. He sat up and stretched his arms.
He felt…good. He was more than a little astonished by that, as well as feeling a bit guilty. Were the passage of two years and one night of sex enough to make him feel better about the death of his family and the loss of his world?
Probably not. His brain was just swimming in endorphins left from the night before. He sighed and turned to look at the woman lying to his left.
Fara rested on her side, naked, facing toward Victor, giving him a full view of her lithe body in the morning light.
He couldn’t help but compare her to his dead wife. Gina had been a classic beauty. Olive skin, brown hair, tall, with a curvy, well-proportioned figure. Fara, on the other hand, was an exotic beauty, with her single blue stripe running through her black hair, pale skin, and petite figure.
He couldn’t tell which he found more appealing, and that made him feel even guiltier.
He reached out with his right hand, his black hand, as he called it, and gently touched Fara, running the tips of his fingers over her smooth skin.
The prosthetic was remarkably sensitive and dexterous, and proved to be especially useful during the previous night’s activities.
Fara stirred at his touch but did not wake up. She was a deep sleeper, which surprised Victor, given their line of work, although he envied her the ability to switch off so completely.
He let her sleep. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Victor headed to the bathroom of the luxury suite.
The bathroom alone was twice the size of his cabin on the
Alexander
, with a large ceramic bathtub and a separate shower stall.
After relieving himself, he elected to use the shower. He hit the button and a spray of luxuriously warm water came pouring out. He wasn’t sure what algorithms governed the temperature settings, but whoever wrote them must have been a genius of the first order.
Victor was luxuriating in the shower for he-didn’t-know-how-long when the glass door to the shower stall opened, revealing Fara in her naked beauty.