Vanquished

Evernight Publishing ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2015 Allyson Young

 
ISBN: 978-1-77233-402-9

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Jessica Ruth

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
 
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters,
and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

VANQUISHED

Allyson
Young

Copyright
© 2015

Chapter One

The shudder of the big ship threw
her from her bunk, and Neira Grekov rolled across the narrow floor space before
coming up short against the stack of cabinets holding her meager belongings.
She sucked in a draught of air against the bruising pain in her shoulder and
hoped the drawers wouldn’t open and tumble their contents on top of her when
the ship actually yawed this time. Vessels this size shouldn’t
flinch
.

A reaction of this nature could
only mean an attack, and her body reacted both atavistically and in the manner
it had been trained—not such a dichotomy as one might expect. She curled in on
herself, drawing up her legs and folding over her arms to protect her
vulnerable organs and head even as her mind searched for a more aggressive
manner to react, then accepted her current defensive position was the best she
could assume at the moment.

“Lights.”
Forcing her voice to sound crisp
and collected, the word passed dry lips, her mouth sour with adrenaline.

The room lit in blind obedience,
both the overhead lights and lamp by the bed turning on before they flickered
into emergency mode. But it was enough to see, and Neira braced against the
cabinet, tugging open the drawer to her left, managing to secure a pair of
leggings and her loose black tunic.

As the ship shuddered to a dead
halt, evidenced by the shifting in the gravitational integrity, she held
herself hard with the expectation of being set adrift, but the field held.
Wasting no time attempting to analyze a situation she was hardly experienced in
as a passenger, Neira yanked her nightwear off over her head and struggled into
the clothing she’d procured. She blessed the fact she’d worn briefs to bed, and
if her breasts were unbound beneath the shift, at least the material was
opaque. A bound chest was better for combat but perhaps this precipitous event
wasn’t going to involve any form of fighting. With a grimace, she shoved that
hope down—her luck didn’t run that way.

Crawling toward the door, she
searched for the small satchel holding the weapons of her previous trade, and
the relief upon finding the bag offset the impetus of the adrenaline, making
her momentarily weak. She felt carefully into the wide mouth and extricated a
sheath containing her favorite dagger, then found her
palka
. The short, heavy piece of hardwood, long since extinct on
the Home World, fit into her hand in a manner akin to a lover’s cock.
Irreplaceable, it had been passed down through the generations in her family,
and she’d be the last Grekov to honor it. She had little enough to take with
her to her destination but couldn’t leave her weapons behind, not when they’d
been thoughtfully retrieved by the team that had found her and Petrov.

A memory flickered and she easily
suppressed it, focusing on touch, scenting the stale recycled air of the vessel
and waiting for the next unexpected event. The ship groaned like a live thing
as it recovered its equilibrium. Neira allowed herself a moment’s hope. Perhaps
it had been a collision with a rogue asteroid or an accident with the new star
engines, rather than an attack. Well, there was no point in hiding in her
quarters like a cornered rat in the more likely event that her optimism was
futile. She stood, grateful for the correction of her inner ear perception, and
hit the control that opened the door to her quarters, taking care to stand well
to one side.

Instead of sliding open with its
usual alacrity and accompanying hiss, the heavy panel inched aside with a
grating sound, the tiny increments of corridor it revealed making Neira’s pulse
spike. Drawing on her past training, she calmed herself. She ensured her dagger
was secured at her hip and hidden by her tunic,
then
hefted the
palka
. She nearly laughed
with the release of tension when the door opened fully and there was nothing
but the dimly lit hallway to be seen.

Stepping out, she looked first
right, then left. The biggest threat, if there was one, would come from the
right where the lift was located.
Nothing.
She ran
lightly in her bare feet along the heavily gripped floor. The material sprayed
there and halfway up the walls was an excellent deterrent to slipping and
falling, but it was a horrible surface to pull or push luggage along. Wheels
and fabric alike tended to catch on the material and bring the owner up short.
Boots, anything with gripped soles, almost guaranteed a twisted ankle, hence
her bare feet. But then, the
Astris
had been first and foremost a troop ship, hauling those men and women bearing
duffel bags to offload them in far off places, the better to protect the Home
World’s interests in this part of the galaxy. The politicians now appeared to
believe previous possession meant nine-tenths of the law and set up settlements
on those interests even after learning the hard way that archaic rule didn’t
necessarily apply any longer.

In any event, the
Astris
had been transformed into a
passenger liner, carrying workers to planets still held by the Home World.
Mechanics to manipulate and maintain the machinery that mined some
of those planets.
Workers to replace and support those
who toiled on the farms.
This wasn’t a luxury transport, but the people
it carried didn’t possess the packs and weaponry of the former passengers, and
Neira thought the owners might have spent a few more notes on basic comforts.

Her brain allowed the vagrant
thoughts as she neared the lift, mentally discarding the usual noises of the
Astris
learned over all these weeks on
board, now homing in on the others—assessing foreign sounds. Thumps, a faint
ring of steel against steel, the distinct hollow
crump
of a phase
weapon—
inside
a fucking space ship!
Fear cramped her belly and she picked up the pace. Someone was either really
stupid or desperate. Neither assessment boded well.

Other panels along the corridor
opened. She could hear them behind her, and two ahead, starboard, hitched wide.
A woman’s head poked out of the first, a man’s from the second and Neira
halted, her feet squeaking audibly against the floor’s surface.

“Do you have weapons?
Training?”
She snapped out the questions, and the wild-eyed
regard of both of her fellow passengers became focused.

“No. I’m a farmer,” the man said.
She’d seen him around, in passing.
Yuri somebody.

“Same,” answered the woman. She
was a young, pretty blonde, and fear twisted her features.
Victoria,
or Vicky. Neira liked her from what she had gleaned during their brief
conversations at meals. Not impressed with herself, despite her beauty and
attractive figure, and ambivalent about her destination. Most everyone on the
ship appeared to be, but there was little enough to keep them on the Home
World.

“Then stay inside and lock up.
We’ve either been boarded, or someone’s lost their fucking mind. I heard a
phase weapon.”

Blinking, Yuri nodded and
withdrew. Vicky followed suit but far more slowly.
Civilians.
Neira wondered if she should stay on this deck and guard them until the ship’s
escort noticed they had lost their plump sheep and flew to the rescue. If her
instincts were correct, the
Astris
was under attack, and probably from pirates. The only thing those cursed beings
were interested in was booty.

They’d take the shipments
intended for the colonies. The healthiest and strongest of the men would be
sold as work slaves. If they were lucky they’d be sold to the Shadalla,
although with the treaty that alien race could now offer gainful employment, so
perhaps there were other buyers that didn’t immediately come to mind. The rest
of the men might be murdered or left on a crippled ship to fend for
themselves
. The women… Neira had heard tales about the
pirates, and after discarding the usual seventy-five percent of embellishment,
she was still appalled by what she recalled. The abuse and torture… Another
memory flickered and this time surged to the surface. She battled it back,
swallowing against the bile. Her face twisted in response. She thought she’d
become adept at repressing.

Thinking again about the female
passengers, Neira recalled the briefings by her commanders. There was evidence
the Shadalla also bought and kidnapped women in the past and were said to crave
Home World females. None had ever returned, despite the treaty. Neira didn’t
know if that was because they chose not to, or weren’t able. She’d be inclined
to believe the latter. Her past experiences had polished her natural cynicism
into a sharp, ever-present reminder.

Turning back to survey the other
people cautiously peering from their quarters, she asked the same questions of
them—could they arm themselves and fight with her? Negative headshakes answered
her and she told them to take cover and lock down. Primarily women, all but one
followed orders. The slight form pattered toward her, unfettered breasts
bouncing beneath the loose fabric of night apparel, and with a broken off lamp
base clutched tightly in one hand.

“What’s going on?” It was Toya,
introduced as a master mechanic and destined for the far planet of Bloor where
the environmental machinery was giving them fits. Neira had heard Toya’s
musings and plans for repair often enough, having also met her during meals or
the long walks around the decks most took to stave off excruciating boredom.
Neira walked to keep fit when she wasn’t exercising in the privacy of her
quarters, not for socialization, but she was forced to mingle sometimes. Toya
seemed to want to interact with her more than the others.

Surveying the improvised weapon,
the connective wires removed and the heft already making the smaller woman’s
arm droop despite the wiry muscles developed by her profession, Neira couldn’t
help but experience a glimmer of humor. It was tempered by admiration that Toya
didn’t plan to go down without a fight. In truth, she hadn’t found much to like
or admire about the master mechanic, who was far too nosy and intrusive for her
taste.

“I think we’ve been boarded.
Attacked, certainly.”
She referred again to the phase
weapon.

“On board?”
Toya’s voice was incredulous and
her green eyes grew enormous. “Are they fucking nuts?” Perhaps Neira wasn’t the
only one who’d spent time among the rough and ready.

“I’m gonna stand watch at the
lift until I can raise somebody in charge.”
If there is anyone in the ship’s
roster left,
Neira thought grimly. Apparently Toya had the same thought.

“If it’s pirates, they’ll be
routing the bridge, taking control. We should make our way to the pods, get off
while we can.” Toya shifted her weapon to the other hand as she scrutinized the
palka
intently.

“They’ll pick us off.”

“Not all of us. You should come
and we’ll ask some others to take pods too. It’ll make killing all of us more
difficult.” The redhead bounced on her toes.

So Toya wasn’t a hero.
Smart girl.
And Neira wasn’t either, not anymore. But the
idea of running didn’t appeal. She knew whoever was ballsy enough to attack a
Home World vessel wouldn’t scruple at destroying or disabling all the pods to
keep anyone from escaping and telling the authorities the fate of the
Astris
. She’d rather go down fighting
than imploding in space or suffocating from lack of oxygen. Toya obviously had
something to live for, and Neira winced at the bite of envy. Maybe one pod
wouldn’t be noticeable.

“Suit yourself. I’ll take my
chances here.” She gestured Toya away.

Visibly hesitating, the little
redhead changed her grip on the lamp base. For an incredulous moment, Neira
thought Toya meant to
strike
her
.
She shifted automatically into defense
mode. Then the other woman relaxed. “Okay. I’m going. I’m not attached to any
of my possessions. I’ll make do with what’s in the pods.”

Neira watched as Toya ran
awkwardly in the opposite direction, overbalanced by the makeshift weapon, to
where a few of the emergency transits were fitted into the bulkheads. She
struck each door of the cabins with the heel of her hand as she passed, and
several edged open, the occupants’ heads poking out of the openings at various
heights.

“I’m taking a pod,” she called
out as she ran.

Almost as one, the heads turned
to look at Neira, who stood without giving them anything. They should make
their own choices. She didn’t command any longer, having lost that privilege in
the
most vile
manner possible. Some with a shake,
others without any noticeable response, they all withdrew in jerky increments.
Toya gave Neira a look over her shoulder that she couldn’t interpret. She
wished the other woman luck with a stare of her own.

Turning her attention back to the
lift doors, she then longed for cover, feeling as exposed as a
ryba
out of water.
Though
that probably wasn’t an accurate analogy.
Rybas
tended to adapt quickly, their multichambered lungs capable
of breathing both air and fluid. Neira thought she might be drowning.