Page 8 of Hunted By the Wraiths
The shipyard access came up through a grated service hatch set flush into the floor of a larger tunnel. The air felt different here, hot metal and coolant. We must be getting closer. She cracked the hatch open, peered through the grating. Listened for a long moment. Waved me forward.
I dropped through the hatch after her, landing silently on a narrow metal gantry suspended high above the shipyard floor. The space below stretched vast. A massive cavern. Walls studded with glowing docking clamps. Ships hung suspended. Harsh work lights threw long, distorted shadows across the cavern floor. The air tasted metallic and felt heavy from the heat of nearby machinery.
Five figures moved below. Bounty hunters. Spread out. Searching systematically.
“Cache is secured inside the old primary ore processor housing.” Maris pointed across the cavern floor. A huge, rust-streaked machine sat silent and dark near the far wall. “Panel access on the reactor side.”
Fifty meters, across mostly open floor. Five visible hostiles.
“Another way around?”
She studied the layout. Shook her head. “Not without doubling back. Add an hour, maybe more. They look like they’re closing in on the processor already.”
“Like old times then.” I watched the layout. “Fast and quiet until quiet fails.”
“My kind of plan.” Her lips twitched, just a bit.
We dropped silently from the gantry to the roof of a large cargo container stack below. Moved along the container tops.Reached the stairs leading down to the main floor. One hunter was close, back to us.
Maris raised her rifle slightly. I put a hand on the barrel. Lowered it. She wanted quiet.
I could do that for her, better than any other weapon.
I moved. Silent. Crossed the distance. Four strides. Came up behind him. Claws extended just enough for nerve disruption. He dropped without a sound. Unconscious.
I dragged him. I looked at Maris. “I’ll draw their fire. You get the chip.”
“Like hell,” she snapped. “We do this my way.”
She was already moving. Low and fast.
The ore processor housing stood ahead. Maris reached the designated access panel. Her fingers moved across the keypad override. Heard the faint click as the magnetic lock disengaged. She pulled the heavy panel open, reached inside?—
Shouting erupted nearby as the enemy found the unconscious hunter and raised the alert.
“Got it!” Maris pulled out a small, shielded data chip. Thumb-sized. Secured it inside a protected pocket in her vest. Slammed the panel shut.
Plasma fire erupted, stitching across the ore processor housing near her head. Molten metal sprayed outwards with a sharp hiss. We ran.
Three hostiles appeared from behind a stack of fuel cells to our left, firing as they came. Two more emerged from the maintenance bay of a docked freighter to our right. More poured out from between ships further back.
Maris dropped to one knee beside a heavy cargo lifter, rifle already up. Fired two shots. Left group scattered. One went down. I charged the team emerging from the freighter bay. Grabbed the first one’s rifle barrel, used his momentum, yanked him forward. My knee struck his sternum. He dropped, gasping.Second one backpedaled. I fired. Single pulse rifle shot. He collapsed.
More coming. At least ten converging.
“Out! Now!” I grabbed Maris’s arm, pulled her up, shoved her toward the nearest exit. “Go! I’ll cover!”
We ran. Plasma bolts sizzled past us. Something hit me. High on my right shoulder. Plasma bolt. Searing agony exploded through muscle and bone. Scales blistered, fused together. I stumbled, but kept running. Arm useless.
We went through the passage door. Slammed the emergency lockdown panel beside it. Heard the heavy plasteel door hiss shut, locks engaging. Safe. For now.
MARIS
Behind me, Thoryn’s breathing came in harsh, uneven pulls. The sound scraped against my nerves. Each ragged inhale reminded me he was suffering. His boots dragged slightly every third step. The plasma burn was worse than he’d admit.
The tunnel branched ahead. Left path descended toward the lower mining levels, unused for decades, probably unstable. Right path led to the old secondary fueling depot, abandoned when XyloCorp pulled out. Depot meant shelter. Meant I could stop moving long enough to think.
“Right.” My voice came out flat.
