Chapter Nine: Siren Song

Chapter Nine: Siren Song

Amidships

            Alison Shepard was doing her utmost not to die. Granted, such a thing wasn’t easy when you were being pursued by eight pirates with really big guns, but she was doing her utmost. Contrary to the captain’s assessment, it appeared that Beckstrom had sent his cutters to enter both sides of the vessel, and they had fortuitously chosen the armory, where she’d been working. A few of them had been on the wrong end of her assault rifle, but the majority of them had survived, and the sight of their fallen comrades seemed to have galvanized them into violent action. She was currently hiding in a maintenance closet, changing her clip as quietly as she knew how. Then, having reloaded, she stepped out into the open and unloaded, stepping backward with measured caution as she did so. The pirates took aim and fired at her, but her bullets were sending up sprays of sparks as they ricocheted off the titanium plates. Still, the men are quite persistent, she mused. Shooting one or two won’t do the job. That being said, she reached for a grenade. Although she knew it had the potential to damage electrical systems, she knew the corridors were sturdy enough that the blast wouldn’t pierce the titanium hull. Takign a deep breath, Shepard de-pinned the grenade, crossed her fingers, and then gave the casing a good hard kick toward the pirates. The men looked down, and one of them muttered half an expletive that was cut off by the sound of fiery explosion. Well, she thought indifferently, I suppose that takes care of that.

            Bridge

            Dani Watkins had just recently decided that gun bracelets were mankind’s greatest technical innovation in the field of weapons. Having lost her firearm roper in a fight with Sether Beckstrom, she was now doing her utmost to pair her natural martial arts skills with her innate marksmanship. Still, fighting someone wielding a cutlass with your bare hands wasn’t easy, and the pirate captain seemed determined to slice her in half. A few of her small-caliber bullets had managed to pierce his armor vest, and he was suffering from blood loss. The pirate was quite tough, however, and he was slashing and hacking around the girl with deadly speed. She blocked or dodged most of the blows, and yet a few of them came close enough to her to singe her skin.

            “You’re out of your depth,” Sether told her. “I’ve killed better men than you with my bare hands.” He punctuated this statement with a lighting thrust that caught her right shoulder, driving her hard against one of the control panels. He activated the blade’s plasma generators, and she screamed in pain as she felt the superheated, shaped substance cut through her flesh. “Do you really think you stand a chance?” He hissed in her ear. “If you give up, maybe I won’t kill you after all.” With a superhuman effort, the girl forced the arm restraining her left hand back, and she pulled the trigger on her glove, sending a bullet into his left arm and then firing another into his shoulder. Beckstrom yelled in pain and staggered, allowing Dani to catch her breath for a moment before she plunged into the fight again. Sether, however, hadn’t taken more than two steps before Dani heard a loud crack. The man suddenly straightened, swayed, and then dropped like a felled tree. As he hit the floor, Dani saw a long, thin object roll out from underneath him. Tyler Kane stepped through the door, his flechette gun in hand.

            “Thought you could use a hand,” he told her.

            “I had him,” she replied defensively.

            He grinned. “So that’s what they call that nowadays?”

            Cargo Hold

            Stefan saw the bone dagger streaking toward his forehead. Suddenly, a strange, cold resolution came over him, and he was seeing everything. Calculated .7 seconds before impact, he mused. He rolled quickly, and then his left arm snapped out, catching the weapon by the blade. While it bit into the prosthetic arm’s steel plating, he was past caring. Armor is lamellar, meaning a point in the plates will be a weak point. The left wrist snapped forward, sending the blade into a chink in the armor near the shoulder. The alien gave a grunt of surprise and stepped back momentarily, allowing Stefan to throw a prone heel kick into her stomach. Then, he flipped over and turned, running into the corridors. He heard another whistle behind him and ducked, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by another razstar. Rolling into a side passage, he reached for the pistol at his side. Harmless to her, save annoyance. Then, he smiled. Still, I think it wise to bait the hook. Measured footsteps told him that the alien was coming, but she seemed in no hurry.

            “You can’t hide, boy. You know that, don’t you? I will find you.” The Russian smiled at that. So the bait is irresistible, he reflected. First, catch your fish. He aimed the pistol at the titanium plating on the starship walls, running through a rapid series of calculations. Then, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet whizzing into the corridor. Then another and another, listening to the sound of the bullets striking organic matter. Reel in your catch. He moved out now, and what he saw came as a surprise. Anya had a long, slender whip of some translucent material in her hands, and she twirled it before she cracked it across his chest. He felt something sharp tear through his shirt, and he realized that she had somehow managed to train and weaponized an electric eel. The realization came late, as he felt a thousand volts spread across his chest. He staggered, and she drew a second bone knife, which she slashed across his right cheek.

            “Idiot,” she growled. “You should know better than to irritate me.” And she recoiled for another strike

            He stepped back and popped his neck. Still, it is wise to mind the teeth. The alien cracked the eel-whip several more times. Upon the last of these, Stefan caught the animal-weapon in his left hand and pulled. As the animal was apparently stuck inside in her armor, she was pulled off her feet toward him. Once the fish is snared, get it into your boat. She came in close, and he hammered her with fore and reverse elbows preceding a savage palm-strike uppercut with his prosthetic arm. Then, as she staggered, he performed a leg sweep followed by a pivoting lateral elbow, slamming her into the metal floor. The alien didn’t move for approximately two seconds, allowing him to draw and ready one of his knives. Then, Anya was back on her feet, knives of her own in her hands.

            “Think you can beat me?” She asked. Stefan’s eyes narrowed.

            Once you have the fish, begin by gutting it. Her first attack was a sweeping slash with the right-hand blade, which he dodged. The next was a thrust from the left, and he deflected the blow instead of dodging it. She came again with a thrust from the right hand, and he suddenly lashed out with his own knife, the energy-covered blade ripping through her armor. She winced, and he took the opportunity to land a vicious slash in her side. The plasma blade cut a fiery swathe through her armor and flesh, but the alien stubbornly stood her ground. A new approach necessary, he thought. Then be sure to skin it. After all, scales don’t go down smoothly. He snapped his wrist, getting his blade between the armor and the mesh underlay she was wearing. Then, the Russian jerked the blade upward, tearing a massive hole in the suit. Anya screamed, but Stefan thought it seemed that the armor itself might be screaming, too. She lashed out with one of her knives, catching his right shoulder with a shallow cut. Then, she punched him in the face as hard as she could. His jaw cracked, and his vison went all manner of brilliant colors. Reaching into his belt, he felt around until he found a flashbang grenade. With that out of the way, be sure to blind him. Or her. The pin dropped to the floor, and Stefan drove a back-fist into her face. The alien gasped, but she was still standing. Stefan wedged the explosive into the plates above her chest, ducked into a side passage, and shut his eyes. The blast was brilliant, and he heard a surprised exclamation followed by the sound of the armored being falling. He stepped into the hallway, only to go to his knees as she opened her mouth and unleashed a deafening shriek. Stefan’s hand’s went to his ears, and he felt a piercing headache rip all conscious thought from his mind. She stood now, keeping up the devastating sonic assault. However, her reserves of respirable water were not infinite, and she paused momentarily to regain her breath.

That was all he needed. Now, add flour…he lunged for her, slamming a quick right hand into her stomach. As she doubled over, he followed with a roundhouse kick into her jaw. Salt. A haymaker to the side of the head came next, a brutally concussive impact by any measure. Eggs. He spun, launching a reverse heel kick into her side. The alien collided with a wall, and she sank to the ground. She was on her feet, but her block was faltering, and he could tell. Beer to taste. The kicks came faster now, and Stefan had no intention of stopping or letting up. He aimed them all at the hole he’d sliced in her armor, and the effect was devastating. Coat thoroughly. He changed his offense, coming at the girl from all direction with his attacks instead of targeting the gap. Once fried, serve with parsley garnish and a liberal sprinkling of lemon. Stefan threw the coup de grace, a palm-strike hook, which connected solidly with her head. He heard something snap, and the alien went sprawling on the metal floor. Bon appetit, mon cheri, he thought with a touch of bitterness. Lunch is served.

Amidships

Psyn was busy trying to best a Lufein pirate hand-to-hand, not an easy thing to do when facing the equivalent of a bipedal humanoid dog. His claws were his greatest asset, and he was using them to keep her at length. At such close range, a shot from her shock rifle would most certainly kill them both, and she had no intention of dying. So, she’d drawn her knife and taken to a close-quarters battle. Her telepathy allowed precognition of most of his attacks, and as such she had landed several shallow blows inside his rather sloppy guard.

“I will tear you to pieces,” he growled, advancing on her. “And I will use your insides to decorate my quarters.” She focused on the last thought she’d seen, expecting a blow. It came, a high slash, which she ducked. Retaliating with a quick knife thrust, she followed with a wide slash that sent the pirate to the floor in a pool of blood. Another stepped into the hall just then, and Psyn threw her knife at him. The blade connected with the man’s chest, and his knees buckled. She carefully stepped over the first corpse, withdrawing the blade from the second and returning it to its sheath with a quick snap. Then, she followed the markings on the wall, which were barely visible in the backup lights, to reach the cockpit. She hoped sincerely that she would make it in time.

Engine room

Four pirates were standing around the engine, their plasma blades ready to eviscerate the device. They had orders to cripple it, as a ship incapable of movement was a prime target for the Jackdaw Ripper fleet. And this crew, though they were good, couldn’t deal with an entire army of pirates.

“If they can’t get away,” one said, “We win.” Another nodded.

“Even so, don’t start hacking yet,” he told them. “If you screw this up, the whole thing will explode. And a hyper-light engine exploding is a really good way to get incinerated.”

The first man looked down. “Oh. I suddenly don’t feel like playing with this thing so much.”

“Probably not,” a third said. “But come on. How hard can it be?”

“I’m no tech,” The fourth said. “It seems rather foolhardy to go in not knowing what you’re doing.”

“Right,” the first one said. “I think…” his words stopped abruptly as the others heard a sharp crack, and the first and second pirate suddenly dropped to the floor. The other two turned in the direction of the door, and in doing so sealed their own fates as Arthur Brooks squeezed off a second shot. It went directly through both their chests, nailing two hearts in a single streak of bloody death. The men gave a final mini-gasp of surprise and shock before they fell, lifeless to the metal floor. There would be little blood, Brooks reflected. He’d killed enough animals to know how little blood would result from a cardiac injury. He turned and walked out of the room, the pirates already forgotten as he sighted new prey. He relaxed, sighted the target, and pulled the trigger. Like his compatriots, the pirate never saw the fatal shot that entered his forehead coming.

Amidships

Ali was watching the pirates coming, in distress at the immanent prospect of death. The six pirates that were still alive were pursuing her, and she knew that the one with the shotgun was going to certainly kill her. One shot at this close range would gut her for sure. She turned her right wrist, frantically struggling with her computer system. She got to the screen she was looking for, and she hit the switch, muttering a quick prayer for forgiveness. You had to feel sorry for him, she mused. The words on the screen stood out to her. Protocol Engaged. Standby for Emotional Override. That done, she put her hand inside the fuse box and sent a surge of energy through the wires, feeling satisfaction as the powered systems engaged and the blast doors slammed shut, cutting the pirates off from her. At least she wouldn’t be dying now, and hopefully Stefan would be safe from the effects of what she’d done.

It hit Stefan on the way to the cockpit; the pain came in waves, like a torrent of migraines. The headache drove him to his keens, and his hands went to his skull as the agony spread to every corner of his body. The twinges came next, knives of pain in the midst of a torturous inferno. What was happening? Why was he feeling this? What…they hit him then, all at once. A torrent of images, words, sounds…and they struck against the memories inside his head like a cannonball. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. So he wasn’t awake when Anya came up behind him. The Possadean recovered faster than most species, and she was far from happy about the beating she’d received. She drew her bone knife and knelt down beside him, raising the blade above her head for a killing blow. Suddenly, Stefan flipped over and his metal hand went around her throat, squeezing it with brutal force.

“You…” he managed to gasp. “What…what did you do?”

Anya’s eyes were wide with surprise, and they got even bigger as Stefan climbed to his feet, holding her several inches off the floor with his hand. She did, however, manage to gasp out, “I…don’t…understand…”

“I see it,” he whispered, his voice strangely soft. “All of it. I see...” he let her go, and she collapsed to the floor. Then, without any explanation, he turned around to run…only for the power to come on and cause the blast door in between them to slam shut on his right leg wit ha sickening crunch. Anya got up, her eyes wide in shock. What was wrong with him? The door hadn’t shut all the way because of the leg, which remained attached, as impossible as it seemed. On the other side, she could hear the man’s voice.

            “I…know…now…what…I did…to your family. I am…truly sorry.” The Possadean, who did not feel very forgiving at the moment, snorted.

            “Then why deny it earlier?” she asked, massaging her neck. “There was no cause.”

            The man tried to get the leg out of the door, but without success. “I didn’t know. I still don’t know…” He grunted as his pulling ripped a large strip of flesh and cloth off his leg. Then, she saw a plasma blade activate in his hand. Before she could do anything more that open her mouth, he slashed the weapon down with brutal force on his leg before he crumpled to the floor on the other side. The door slammed shut with a definitive clang, and she sared at the dismembered appendage momentarily before she rolled through the rapidly closing blast doors and ran for the cutters.

            “All units, this is Foxtrot Mike. We are pulling back, make for your cutters. Over.”

            “We copy, Foxtrot. Moving out. Over.”

            “Roger that. Foxtrot out.”

            Freighter

            Two Hours Later

            The pirates pulled back shortly after the power came back on. After all, with the ship’s security protocols engaged, the freighter’s pivoting turrets would soon blast the cutters to bits. As they left, the cutters were forced to leave their vacuum sealers behind, as they couldn’t take them into space. Dani and the newly-assembled team went room by room, clearing out any pirates that had been unlucky enough to be left behind. It was in doing this that they found Stefan, or rather what was left of him. The others moved on while Psyn stayed behind to tend to him. There wasn’t much she could do with a plasma-burned leg stump, especially one sliced below the hip, but she would try her hardest anyway. She began by disinfecting the wound, which she expected to garner a reaction. To her concern, it didn’t. Neither did wrapping it, which she did quite snugly. Then, she put her fingers to his head and, taking a deep breath, stepped into his mind.

            She was inside a sterile, white walled lab, full of shattered glass tubes and desks covered in dusty papers. There were pipes hanging from the ceiling overhead, and she could see a variety of surgical instruments on the walls. A few hospital gurneys lay in one corner, looking as though they’d been thrown there by a petulant titan.

            Where am I? She wondered. And why does this look like a hospital? Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her, and turned just in time to feel something sharp rip through her stomach. As her vision swam, she heard a voice she recognized say something she never expected.

            “Stay out of this,” Stefan’s voice growled. And a dark, metallic warrior hung over her, a long, dangerous-looking blade in hand. “This is between him and me.” As the man made contact, she felt a debilitating migraine as memories and thoughts of incomparable darkness ripped through her mind. It was like looking into a black hole and then swan-diving in; the evil whirlwind ripped through her mind and ravaged her very soul.
            “STOP!” The yell came from her left, and she heard a series of sharp cracks. The iron giant staggered as a hail of bullets struck him, and she turned her head to see the Stefan she recognized pull a second pistol out of his belt. Still, the metal warrior seemed unharmed, and he was getting back his strength and confidence. “Stay away from her. Don’t touch any of them, you sick murderer. I won’t let you hurt anyone else. Not after all you’ve done.”

            The metal man laughed. “Sick? Am I? Look at yourself and ask whether I did anything you wouldn’t in a heartbeat. I think we both know you’re only doing this for the same reason I did everything. To save your own skin.”

            Stefan squeezed both triggers several times, sending a hail of bullets at the man. “SHUT UP!” He screamed. “Stop comparing us!” He lashed out with his feet now that he was close enough, hammering the man repeatedly with a flurry of kicks. “I’m nothing like you!” The man struck back with a gut punch, followed by a hooked palm strike.

            “Nothing? You’re more idiotic than I thought. You’re like me, boy. Exactly like me. You are me.” And he took off his helmet, letting it drop to the floor. That was what did it for Psyn. Underneath, the face was younger, clean-shaven, and cruelly angular. There was an expression of icy contempt on his face. As her vision blacked, she held onto one final thought.

            There are two of them. By the gods, there are two of them. She heard Stefan say, as her vision faded, “If you’re me, is this going to count as suicide?” The other man shrugged.

"Perhaps," he replied. "I'll be sure they get your name right on the death certificate."

Author's Note

Note spelling and grammar errors. Positive feedback is nice but not requisite.