Page 22 of Shielded in the Shadows

I could try to access the maintenance shaft and get to her, but she might be counting on me to clear a path to the ship or provide a distraction. Or both. And if that was the case, I had a job to do.

And I’d have to do it naked, armed with only a backup gun and a small personal shield.

I looked down at L’mel and grinned. Make that a backup gun, a personal shield, a J’noran crossbow, and two good daggers in forearm sheaths.

It took me only moments to confiscate L’mel’s weapons. After a brief debate, I took his kilt as well, strapping it around my waist before depositing his nearly naked body behind a stack of crates.

Then I headed for docking port 14-Epsilon, crossbow in hand.

The area around the hatch had cleared the moment the firing began, but dock workers, maintenance crew, and ship personnel emerged when things went quiet again. I felt conspicuous given how few beings were on this level, especially compared to the much-busier Deck 8 or the promenade, but it did make it easier to spot potential adversaries.

My gut, meanwhile, roiled with unease. My body was instinctively rebelling at walking away from my mate. Each step felt heavier than the last the more distance I put between myself and the hatch she’d locked behind me.

She wouldn’t still be there now, though. She’d be on her way somewhere else, moving through the station’s interior unnoticed, making her own way to our rendezvous point. Or so I hoped.

Every minute we were separated crawled by like hours.

I’d just passed the halfway point between the hatch and docking port 14-Epsilon when the personnel lift in front of me opened. Kitna and Boorginamai emerged, along with a half-dozen unsuspecting bystanders going about their daily business.

We locked eyes.

I saw the moment they both registered the weapons I was carrying and the kilt I wore and guessed what had befallen their crewmate. Their reactions were predictable and probably understandable given the circumstances.

Bystanders scattered with a chorus of alarmed shouts in a dozen languages as Kitna and I fired simultaneously at each other. The impact of the plasma bolt from my crossbow sent him flying back into Boorginamai, who staggered as he fired. His shot went wide, burning a hole into the deck behind me.

Kitna’s bolt hit my shield dead on. The energy displacement knocked me back and punched the breath out of my chest. I braced myself and let off two more bolts, hitting both males center-mass in the chest before they could return fire. Kitna went down and didn’t get back up.

Boorginamai’s bellow of fury probably traveled halfway around the docking ring. His reflexive attempt to return fire missed, and my third shot caught him in the face.

At the same moment, a massive blast of plasma from behind me impacted against my shield and sent me sprawling.

I twisted as I went down, knowing by the sound of the weapon who was behind me even before I took aim at the red flesh and familiar face twisted in fury.

Jonor.

I fired three bolts with the crossbow, thankful for L’mel’s modifications—which he’d bragged about many times—that had enhanced its auto-targeting ability. The first two hit Jonor’s personal shield, but three shots in the same place overloaded the device. The final shot got through, sending Jonor skidding across the deck, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. He hit the wall next to a personnel lift.

With a howl of rage, Jonor staggered to his feet and swung his pulse rifle up, taking aim with his uninjured upper right arm.

My next two shots severed his upper right arm at the shoulder and punched a hole through his left thigh. His arm, with the rifle still gripped in his hand, hit the deck as the force of the impacts sent him sprawling backward into the lift compartment. The doors closed, cutting us off from each other, and the lift began to ascend.

In less than fifteen minutes, I’d killed at least three of my former crewmates from the Fancy. Four, if Jonor succumbed to his wounds, which seemed likely.

Given my undercover role aboard the ship, I’d expected my assignment to end abruptly and probably violently at some point. If my cover had been blown, I would have been lucky to simply be spaced out the airlock without being tortured first. The other most likely scenario was something similar to what had just transpired, where circumstances pitted me against them.

In my wildest imaginings, I couldn’t have predicted those circumstances would be a battle for the life of my mate.

Regrettably, I had to leave Jonor’s powerful weapon where it had fallen. Unlike L’mel’s less-powerful crossbow, the pulse rifle had biometric controls, so I wouldn’t be able to use it.

As I turned my steps back in the direction of my rendezvous with Keela, an anxious warble behind me and a tug on my kilt made me spin and raise my crossbow.

A tall Engaren female I’d never seen before fluttered her hands. “Please,” she trilled, her eyes wide with fright.

I turned the crossbow so it no longer faced her. “What do you want?”

She gestured at the small antigrav sled at her side. On it was a single crate labeled Textiles in both Engaren and Alliance Standard. “To’vok,” she trilled.

How the hells did she know my name? “What is this?” I demanded.