M. Planck - The Kassa Gambit

Released, they flew into action. Kyle knelt over the guard, rifling under his clothes, until he found the sensor patch. It was held on by staples instead of tape. As painful as it must have been going in, taking it out would be twice as bad. Not that Prudence cared about that. Now that Kyle knew where the sensor was, he could safely begin stripping the guard. He got no further than tugging on the trousers before the guard moaned in pain and voided his bowels.

Kyle stood up in defeat. “If we move him, he’ll die.” Prudence didn’t care about that, either, in the long run. But for the next few minutes it was important.

Lying in his own filth, gurgling, the guard wasn’t intimidating anymore, merely pathetic. Prudence looked down and allowed herself to pity him. This would be her last memory of the man, and she chose pity over hate.

Kyle was already planning the next move. “Sooner or later, the other guy is going to get worried. He should call for backup, but that means admitting he broke protocol in the first place. So instead, he’ll open the door to see what’s taking so long. Try not to kill him, Pru. You can cripple him, but try not to kill him.” While he spoke, he cut the tape from her hands with a knife from the crippled guard’s boot.

He hugged her and kissed her ear. She wanted to melt into his arms and stay there, forever. Instead, she stood against the wall, on one side of the door. Kyle took his post on the other, the knife reversed in his hand so he could club with the hilt. And they waited.

Long, long minutes, but so much easier to bear. The memory of Kyle’s embrace clothed her, resting on her bare skin like armor.

The door whined.

“Fucking fuck, Holbing, what the fuck are you…” Jobson’s voice trailed off into silence as the empty room came into view. Like the idiot he was, he leaned forward to get a better view, his head coming through the doorway.

“Hey,” Kyle said.

Jobson turned to look at Kyle. Realizing it wasn’t Holbing, he pointed his splattergun at him. Finally realizing the naked man was not a danger, he whipped his head around, just in time for Prudence to reach up and touch his face.

She slid the knife in between his eyes. Just a few centimeters and out again, straight and neat, like she had seen the operation done on old medical vids.

Jobson stood there, staring at her.

“Give me that,” Kyle said gently, taking the gun from him. “And that,” unbuckling the man’s utility belt with its little pockets of ammunition and key cards. “That’s a good boy,” he said, unclipping Jobson’s microphone from his shirt pocket. Methodically he stripped the man down to his underclothes, claiming his trousers and boots for himself. “Now just sit down here and be quiet for a while, okay?” Kyle guided the passive guard into the room, and pushed him to the floor. Jobson, his brain no longer fully functional, stared in amazement at the dull metal floor.

Touchingly, Kyle draped the guard’s shirt around her, where it hung like a badly fitting mini-dress. Prudence shrugged her arms into it and fastened three buttons. It was romantic, or would have been, if it had been his shirt. And less sweat-stained.

Kyle had already stepped out of the cell and swept the control room with his gaze and the barrel of the splattergun. Prudence followed him, unconcerned. The room was obviously empty. If it weren’t, they would have already died in a hail of gunfire.

Kyle found a leather jacket hanging off a chair. He put it on, but had to zipper it closed to hide his bare chest. Wearing a jacket inside a spaceship looked ridiculous. She almost gave him the shirt back, but she didn’t. Not that she cared; but she did not want to expose what he had chosen to keep private.

He fumbled at his new belt, made a selection, and touched a key to the cell door. It whined shut.

“Their shift has to end soon.” She let his voice wash over her, grateful that it spared her the effort of trying to speak. “Otherwise they would have spent longer talking themselves into trouble. I can kill the next shift as they come in, but after that, I don’t have any more plans.”

She walked to the main door.

“No,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “The guards suck, but the ship designers don’t. That door won’t open from the inside. Only from the outside. Those idiots were as much imprisoned in here as we were.”

How could he be so sure? She looked at him in wonder.

Grinning, he guessed her question. “I recognized the brand name on the cell key. The brig locks were made on Altair. I’ll give them that much: Dejae knows quality when he sees it.”

So it was up to her expertise now. Pacing around the room, she tried to guess how the ship would be laid out. She picked a corner of the room, out of direct sight from the main door. Opening the knife again, she cut a hole in the floor itself.

The plating dropped a dozen centimeters, clanking on the grav-plating underneath. Carefully she cut through that, trying to avoid any wires or data feeds.

When she pulled the knife away, Kyle hauled the junk out of the hole. Reaching in, he grabbed the bottom layer of mesh by the steel spine that ran along it.

Carefully she cut around his hands, releasing the ceiling mesh from the deck below them. He pulled it out of the way, glanced down briefly, readied his splattergun, and stepped through the hole.

Watching him fall out of sight was wrenching. The soft thud from below was reassuring only because it was not accompanied by gunfire. She had to force herself to wait three seconds before following him.

She couldn’t hang from the edges and let herself down gracefully, because they would be too sharp. She had to step into freefall.

He caught her at the bottom, his hands strong and hard. They were in a storeroom, crowded with half-open boxes of machine parts.

“We’re going to the engine room, aren’t we,” he whispered, his eyes alive with delight. “To cause a right piece of trouble, no doubt.” Striding to the door, he opened it, and walked through it like he owned the place.

She followed him as they wandered through the corridors, tapping his shoulder to steer him. They went down three more levels before they encountered resistance. Two soldiers stepped out of a doorway. The older one looked over Kyle and frowned. Kyle’s disguise had failed, no doubt compromised by his concern for Prudence’s modesty.

“Who the hell are you?” the older one demanded. The younger one raked Prudence’s body with a feral gaze, his eyes trapped by her exposed legs.

“R and R delivery. Boss thought you might like to have some fun.” Kyle grinned and jerked his thumb in Prudence’s direction.

The older soldier glanced at Prudence, and she arched her shoulders back, exposing an immodest amount of cleavage. Surprised, the guard hesitated. Kyle took advantage of his distraction, stepping in close and bringing the butt of his splattergun swinging up in a vicious arc into the soldier’s jaw. The man fell against the wall and slid to the floor.

The young one finally stopped staring and started to move. Prudence stepped forward and held the knife at his throat, threatening him. But she had forgotten it had no pressure. The soldier brushed against it, unknowing, and his throat opened under the invisible edge of the knife. Blood sprayed over her and him and the corridor and he stumbled and fell.

Lying on the ground, clutching his throat and losing consciousness, he stared up at her. She remembered the look in his eyes when he had heard Kyle’s words, and felt nothing.

“Come on.” Kyle pulled at her arm and they ran. Behind them a door opened and voices shouted.

Another elevator. It had a red flashing light and did not open to Kyle’s touch. He fumbled through the utility belt, trying card after card until one opened the doors. Inside she found the symbol they had been searching for.