Chain Reaction

“He’s got to be inside with Marek.” She returned fire.

“Then that’s where we need to be,” answered Nils. He also shot back at the PRAXIS troops. Quickly, he glanced down at the tracking device. “The disruptor’s in there, as well.”

She smiled grimly. “One-stop shopping.” He frowned at her, not understanding, and she shook her head. “An ancient expression. Someone used it in a history vid.”

Three PRAXIS guards to two 8th Wing soldiers. Unbalanced, but she’d been in worse spots. She shot as fast and accurately as two ordinary soldiers—resulting in a stalemate. She and Nils kept trading fire with the guards, unable to advance. There was no other way into the i

“Marek could be finalizing the deal right now,” Nils said through clenched teeth. Frustration tightened his words. “He might directly upload the plans for the disruptor to PRAXIS. Which means it doesn’t matter what we do out here.”

“A download isn’t instantaneous. We’ll get in.”

Glancing around, she looked for something, anything, she could use to their advantage. Her gaze fell on the metal panels that lined the corridor. She’d seen plasma blasts ricochet off the panels, so they had to be reinforced, or made with a special alloy that resisted plasma fire. She hoped that a different metal was used to bolt the panels to the walls.

“Got anything to remove rivets in that pack of yours?”

“Ion cutter. Why?”

She flicked a glance toward the panels, and he gave a little smile of understanding. “You lay down cover,” he shouted above the gunfire. “I’ll take care of the metalwork.” He snapped on a pair of goggles and got to work.

She continued to shoot at the PRAXIS guards, hoping the charge in her blaster lasted long enough. Sparks cascaded as Nils used his ion cutter to take down a large panel.

He appeared at her side with the broad sheet of metal. She thought about telling him that he still wore his goggles, then decided against it. He looked dashing in them, like a sand corsair.

“Ready to move in?” she asked.

He hefted the panel. “This stof and tand game is pissing me off.”

At her signal, with him in the lead, they rounded the corner, putting them directly in the firing line. But the PRAXIS plasma blasts bounced off the makeshift shield. She followed Nils, firing at the guards as he slowly advanced down the corridor.

A guard went down. Leveling the odds.

Nils planted the shield down and fired, as well. He took out another PRAXIS guard. Leaving only one.

The remaining guard immediately threw down his weapon, then lifted his hands in surrender.

She kept her blaster on him as Nils took the PRAXIS trooper’s gun, then pushed him to the ground. Nils pulled a length of touw cord from his pack and quickly tied up their captive, feet bound, hands behind back.

Stepping forward, she knocked the trooper unconscious. Nils stared at her, brow raised.

“Added security,” she explained. “Don’t want him wriggling free while the mission is ongoing.”

He muttered something about bloodthirsty pilots as they collected the fallen guards’ weapons. She had a gun for each hand. They readied themselves outside the door to the i

He worked to hack into the final control panel. Voices sounded on the other side of the door. Marek and the PRAXIS officer shouted at one another.

It took Nils several minutes before he managed to crack the control panel—attesting to Marek’s extreme paranoia. As Nils labored to break into the system, the yelling inside grew even more heated.

Finally, the last door slid open, revealing the man they had traveled millions of miles to find.

And he had a massive plasma shotgun pointed right at them.

Chapter Eleven

Nils stared up the length of the gun, fury vibrating through him. He’d been thinking of this moment ever since he learned Marek was the one behind the disruptor’s creation. Now, here he and Celene were, face to face with the traitor.

Marek kept his weapon pointed at them, but Nils and Celene did not lower their blasters. They stepped in a chamber crammed full of equipment, walls covered in monitors and control panels, spare components littering the ground. The room smelled of stale body and electricity. Empty ration plates stacked in the corner, food drying into crusts. Clearly Marek seldom left this chamber, despite the size of the compound.

As they entered, both Nils and Celene caught sight of the PRAXIS officer escaping through a small hatch at the back of the chamber. Nils took a step forward, intent on pursuit, but Marek’s shotgun held him back.

In the middle of the chamber stood a tower of circuitry and blinking lights. Judging by its configuration, the tower had to be the disruptor. It seemed like a harmless collection of electronics, yet it was the most powerful weapon he’d had ever beheld, capable of crippling the 8th Wing.

“Delightful,” Marek sneered. “Stainless Jur has come to pay a visit.”

“She’s come to kick your ass,” Celene answered.

“Calder,” Marek said, his gaze flicking over him. “Didn’t expect to see you outside of your Engineering cave. But I suppose if anyone would have found a way to track me, it would be NerdWorks’ golden boy.” His mouth curled into an ugly approximation of a smile. “Doesn’t matter. Neither of you will be leaving this planet alive, and then PRAXIS will chew up and shit out the 8th Wing.”

“You piece of lunc,” Celene spat.

Marek shrugged, though he looked far from relaxed. A film of sweat coated his waxen face, and he clutched the plasma shotgun tightly. “The 8th Wing pension can’t buy me a single-chamber dwelling in the Makell System, let alone a spread like this.”

“Except you keep yourself prisoner in this shithole,” Nils snarled.

Marek barked out a laugh. “Language, Lieutenant Calder. Spending time with this Black Wraith hotshot has ruined your pristine vocabulary. Besides,” he added, his eyes burning and manic, “I like this shithole. The devices I build here appreciate what I do for them. Unlike the 8th Wing.”

“That is why you built the disruptor? That’s why you’d throw the 8th Wing into PRAXIS’s jaws? Because you felt unappreciated?” Celene scoffed. “Calling you pathetic would be a compliment.”

Rage tightened Marek’s features as he stepped closer, shortening the distance between them. “There are two of you. One of me. You could rush me at the same time. But I’ll turn one of you into subatomic particles before the other can get a shot out. So…who will it be? Who will cross over into the Starfields of Eternal Bliss? Or,” he added, almost cheerful, “you could lay down your blasters and put your hands up. Surrender.”

Nils glanced back and forth between the shotgun’s barrel and Celene. The weapon could blast a hole in her that no medical tech could fix. Slowly, he set his blaster on the ground and put his hands up.

“What the hells are you doing?”

“Just do it,” he growled back. His eyes sent her a message. Please trust me.

She scowled at him, then, with a curse, did the same, laying down her weapon and raising her hands.

Marek’s brows raised. “How unexpected. I would have thought that perhaps Calder might take the path of least resistance, but not Stainless Jur.” He clicked his tongue. “Seems your reputation is hardly worth the digi-ink.” Marek smirked at her. “I heard you were almost sold for ninety thousand creds. Hopefully, your value hasn’t depreciated.”

Instinct impelled Nils, forcing him to move with what felt like supercharged speed. He quickly twisted to the right, striking the muzzle of the Marek’s weapon away from his body with his forearm. He made sure that he knocked the gun away from Celene. Stepping forward at the same time, he grabbed the upper handguard of the shotgun with one hand, and its stock with his other hand.