[05] Elite: Reclamation (27 page)

Zyair signalled to the captain of the
Aegidian
and the boarding ramp closed. Both patrons retired within the luxurious vessel. As they walked towards the take-off lounge, Zyair sighed deeply.

‘Time grows short.’

***

Consciousness returned and with it, pain. Dalk struggled to remember what had gone before. His head throbbed and something was bound tightly across his eyes. More pain registered, his arms were pulled above his head and his legs were bound. He twisted his wrists, attempting to free them. At once a burning haze of agony and cramp flashed down his arms. For a moment he panicked, biting down on instinct that surged in revulsion at being restrained. The bonds were tight, he was going nowhere. He relented for a moment, concentrating on his other senses.

The faint hum of the life support systems whirred above him. A faint smell of dampness and sweat reached his nostrils, mixed with grease and a metallic tang that eluded him. Whatever he was bound to creaked slightly when he moved. The air around him was warm and humid; his clothing was damp, soaked in sweat.

Gravity too, something near one-G. They must be planetside or aboard a sizable station. Still in the Ferenchia system or not? Where were they now?

His movement caused another nearby. Dalk felt someone stir beside him.

‘Who’s there?’ a voice called, tremulously. ‘Who is it? Talk to me damn it.’ Dalk could almost smell the fear. He recognised the voice of the youth he’d snatched aboard his ship.

‘Quiet,’ he said, sharply.

‘That you, bounty hunter? What happened? Where are we?’

The sound of a door opening, footsteps clinked on flooring. Dalk raised his head, focusing his attention in the direction of the sound.

He sniffed. A waft of perfume drifted on the air. It was subtle, feminine, expensive, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, laced with pheromones. He felt his body react to it despite his best efforts to remain stoic.

That answered where he was.

His head was jerked roughly backwards, the device in his mouth removed. A hand slipped under the material bound across his eyes, pulling it free.

Bright light dazzled his vision, forcing him to squint. For a moment he could see nothing but vague figures standing in front of him. Slowly they resolved into people. He heard a shriek from beside him.

‘Get your hands off me … oh god, oh god … shit … no.’

‘Welcome aboard the
Retribution
, gentlemen.’ Octavia’s voice was sure and steady, with a hint of amusement. She stood languidly, flanked by two of her guards. Dalk recognised one from the briefing he’d attended. He was wearing an unpleasant grin.

‘You will become …’ Octavia smiled demurely and paused for a moment, ‘… intimately familiar with the name of my vessel. It was named for a reason, to carry a message to those who ought to know better.’

Octavia stepped aside, turning her back on the two helpless men. Dalk could make out that he was bound against a side bulkhead in an otherwise featureless chamber. It looked like a hold compartment originally designed for carrying small merchandise, packages and mail. Hassan was bound beside him.

Dalk quickly looked around, his eyes adjusting to focus on the other side of the room. The metallic tang was explained. Blood had pooled on the floor. Above the stain hung a body, no … the carcass of some unlucky individual. The body hung by only one arm, soaked in sweat and partly congealed blood. The other arm was severed, but still chained at the wrist, bone and ragged flesh hanging from it, ripped and torn. It looked to have been a woman given a dark streak of long hair, but it was otherwise difficult to tell. Dalk was no stranger to the sight of a mutilated body, but this wasn’t a time of war. It was pure sadism. He felt his lips tighten.

Hassan was also staring at the body. Dalk could just see his gaping mouth open, his head shaking from side to side in rapid twitching motions.

Octavia, dressed in flight overalls, walked across Hassan’s line of sight, her heels clicking sharply on the flooring.

‘You’ve seen my previous guest. Her name was Melissa. She thought she could renege on a deal. She was wrong.’

Dalk saw Hassan try to speak, but only a brief moan escaped him.

‘I explained the situation to her,’ Octavia went on. ‘A lesson had to be learnt and a message needed to be sent. Sadly, she died before either was achieved …’

She smiled and looked at Hassan, he recoiled.

‘… so I’m sending her back to her family instead. Communication has to be clear and precise, wouldn’t you say? People might doubt my reputation. Business might suffer. That is not acceptable. Which brings me to you.’

She moved closer to Hassan. Dalk felt him shiver beside him.

‘You stole from me,’ Octavia said, frowning as if only mildly puzzled. ‘Audacious, but foolhardy. You must learn not to do that. Nobody steals from me. That is not how things work.’

‘What do you want? I’ll do it, anything you ask,’ Hassan’s voice stuttered out.

Dalk closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Be quiet,’ he whispered, ‘don’t give …’

Octavia moved up close to Hassan, now mere inches away, pouting in mock sympathy. ‘You’ll do anything? How sweet you are, little boy. What would you do for me?’

Dalk watched as Octavia looked down on him, clearly enjoying her height advantage. She raised a hand to Hassan’s face, stroking his cheek, enjoying the fierce trembles that wracked his body as she did so.

‘Anything …’ Hassan managed to whisper, from between cracked and parched lips.

‘You don’t have anything I want, little boy,’ Octavia said, her mouth curving into a grimace. ‘Except your screams perhaps …’

She punched him in the stomach. Hassan yelled and lurched against his restraints.

‘… or your tears.’

Another blow, this time to the face. Hassan was flung back, his head smacking against the pole. He collapsed, flopping forward, shrieking with pain. Octavia pushed his head back up.

‘I like blood too,’ she said, wiping her finger across his forehead. She pulled it back revealing a fingertip stained with red. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. ‘Ancient holy books say that without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness. Blood purifies us all. We can learn much from old customs I think.’

She smiled for a brief moment then her face became cold and callous.

‘Forgiveness takes time … and sometimes the blood runs too quickly ...’

‘Please …’ Hassan managed.

‘Theft, sweet little boy,’ Octavia said, gently stroking his hair. ‘Wrong acts cannot go unpunished. Justice must be served. Don’t you agree?’

Hassan crumpled, sobbing, his chest heaving.

‘No? You stole from me. I must take something from you. Then order is restored and all is right with the void.’

She pulled a dagger from a clip in her waistband. Hassan’s eyes focused on it as she turned it slowly around. He panicked, bucking against his restraints, but powerless to escape.

‘An eye for starters perhaps,’ Octavia mused holding the dagger before his face, ‘or a finger. A soupçon of retribution to be going on with. They used to cut off the hands of thieves so it’s said.’

With a fast strike she jammed the dagger towards him. He yelled; clenching his eyes closed as he anticipated the impact, but she hadn’t stabbed him. Dalk saw him open his eyes to stare at where the dagger stuck point first in the bulkhead between them, its jewelled hilt glinting in the lights of the compartment just inches from his head. Dalk saw his fellow captive’s eyes were wide with terror, his face grey.

Octavia pulled Hassan’s head around and looked straight into his eyes.

‘You’ll decide what you will sacrifice by when next I return. Choose well little boy.’

Hassan’s face crumpled into a whimper. Octavia let him go with disgust and turned to Dalk. He was taller than her, so she stepped back half a metre, crossed her arms and regarded him.

‘You’re so taciturn, bounty hunter.’ Her voice was no longer teasing, but firmly business-like. ‘You can drop that stupid drawl. Simeon Harfitt isn’t your real name. It was a convincing ID. Somebody did their work well.’

Dalk looked at her and then looked up at his restraints.

‘Not the hospitality I’m accustomed too,’ he said, giving the restraints a tentative pull. ‘Your standards seem to have slipped.’

Octavia smiled. ‘I have various classes of accommodation. Some are better than others.’

Dalk nodded. ‘You know, I expected to be paid rather than shackled. Unless this is how people are rewarded in your organisation? Slightly kinky, I’ll admit.’

‘I reward those who do as I bid.’

‘I found your cargo, I was in the process of retrieving it ...’

Octavia stepped in and slapped him around the face. It was a firm blow. Dalk took it, surprised at the power it contained, her hand felt like a club. The woman certainly knew how to hit.

‘You take me for a fool?’ Octavia said, quickfire. ‘Your hyperdrive was locked on Haoria. You had no intention of returning the girl to me, which means you knew who she was all along. You’re a liar and a thief, and mostly likely an Imperial lacky. Would she have earned you a fortune in ransom? Was that your plan?’

Dalk tasted blood on his lips but smiled anyway.

‘You don’t have her do you?’ he asked. ‘She got away.’

‘Your little stunt allowed her ship to jump-out, it won’t take long to …’ Octavia’s eyes narrowed, ‘she means something to you. You care … What are you? Her protector? Mentor? Guardian?’

Dalk gestured to the restraints. ‘Release me and we’ll talk.’

Octavia closed angrily and hit him again. The force of the blow knocked his head back against the bulkhead, pain lanced through his neck. Blood on his lips … swelling …

‘Make no demands, bounty hunter,’ she said. ‘I will find the girl, with or without your assistance. Do not doubt that. I will hear your unspoken truths.’

She pulled the dagger out of the bulkhead wall, turned on her heel and strode purposely away, gesturing to her two guards to follow. They stepped in smartly behind her. The bulkhead door slid shut and locked into place with a dull clank.

Then it was silent save for Hassan’s piteous cries.

***

Noise.

The relentless shriek of a siren roused her to consciousness. Salomé raised her head, struggling to make sense of what she could see. She was slumped in the dislocated pilot’s chair. Before her, the arc of a planet rolled around in the view. She caught a brief glimpse of a red-tinged mountainous landscape before it spun away. She could feel the ship rotating and tumbling.

She shook her head to clear it, clamping down on the bile rising in her throat.

Where was she?

The hyperspace jump.

The siren intruded into her consciousness, stopping her from thinking. She batted at the controls, silencing it. Only then did she look at the console. Most of the status indicators were flashing red. One was particularly insistent.

Warning! Descent vector incorrect. Adjust.

Warning! Life Support failure in ten minutes.

The planet rolled into view again, it seemed closer. A thin curving arc of magenta light above the planet’s surface signalled some kind of atmosphere. The
Talon
was going down. It didn’t matter how she’d got here; she was here and she was going to crash if she didn’t do something about it.

She wrestled the flight controls around. The ship responded sluggishly, but she managed to counter the spin and the yaw with some trial and error. The planet was definitely larger now, she could see those mountains far more clearly. The ship was coming in too fast.

She remembered how Hassan had adjusted course. It was all done by autopilot. She had to engage it. She hunted around for the right controls.

Warning! Descent vector incorrect. Adjust.

Salomé could see the flight direction on the console. It was indicating that the
Talon
was going to intersect the planet. Uncorrected, the ship would slam into the ground at several kilometres per second, assuming it survived the entry into the atmosphere and didn’t simply burn up. She had to slow down.

She found the autopilot controls and switched them on. More red lights flickered across the console. She selected a spot away from the mountains and locked on. More messages.

Warning! Main drive malfunction!

Warning! Lateral thruster damage!

Warning! Undercarriage malfunction!

Warning! Hull integrity 47%!

She pressed the activate control and felt the ship rock in response.

Warning! Rerouting to retro-thrusters.

She was flung forward in her seat, which tilted precipitately. She grimaced as the straps dug into her shoulders. Forces ripped her around, a sickening twisted pain burned in her neck.

No protective gel! Wasn’t it supposed to …

Vibration distorted her vision, she couldn’t see. She tried desperately to breathe, flailing in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure from the straps. A shuddering violent jolt, even worse than before. Blood on her shoulders, the straps cutting flesh.

… stop? Oh god.

Intense light burst around her, forcing her to clamp her eyes closed.

Abruptly the deceleration stopped and the flare faded. Gasping for breath she looked up to see the arc of the planet flattening out below her. Before she had time to move, flickers of ionising gas pulsed over the nose of the ship and a thin scream of superheated air thrummed through the superstructure. She was mashed forward in her seat again and cried out as the pain seared through her.

Warning! Heat shield damage!

Warning! Hull integrity 34%

Warning! Excessive yaw. Adjusting trim.

Warning! Lateral hull temperature sensors off-scale!

An acrid smell assaulted her nostrils. Hot metal, a definite tang of something electrical overheating and burning out. She heard a brief groan, twist and a loud thump. Bits of the ship were breaking off. The
Talon
rocked and dropped with a horrendous mechanical moan. The planet had disappeared from view, now all she could see were flames. The temperature was rising fast, heat prickled her skin. She screamed, helpless, as the instinctive urge to flee overcame her. Burning death, incinerated …