James Axler - Dectra Chain

"Get out the poxing way!" Captain Quadde shouted from behind the iron bed.

"Hurt me, he has, he's hurt me!" Jehu moaned.

At last, after an eternity of sluggish seconds, the handle turned and Ryan faced the corridor and the companionway that led to the deck. He caught the sound of Doc Tanner's voice, bellowing a warning to someone, which was followed by the echoing boom of the big Le Mat pistol.

He felt someone clawing at him from behind, and heard the plaintive shrilling voice of Jehu in his ear. Nails tore at his jacket, holding him helpless in the doorway. Ryan tried to reach around with the razor and cut at the sailor's face, but the constricting space trapped him.

"Let me go!" he raged.

The flat bang of the short-muzzle .44 interrupted him, and he felt Jehu thrust hard against him, propel him into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Done me," the seaman gasped in a small, frail voice, slipping to his knees like a lad at his first communion, hands clasped in front of him. Blood dripped steadily from his hands and mouth. As he toppled at Ryan's feet, the dark hole in the back of Jehu's sweater showed where Pyra Quadde's bullet had hit.

There was an eerie screech of frustrated rage from behind the cabin door. Ryan heard three more shots as he dodged toward the steps, and three chunks of white, splintered oak flew across the passage.

He glanced to the rear, saw the absurdly tiny head of Jehu roll. "Done me, she has. Oh, dear, dear."

It wasn't a time to hesitate. Ryan leaped up to the top of the steps, seeing from the open hatch that the mist wasn't quite as thick. Alongside the Salvation — coming up on her port quarter — was another tall-masted sailing vessel, with cables already hooked to the rigging of the Salvation . Several men, faces only blurs in the dim light, lined the bulwarks of the stranger, though none of them seemed to be taking any part in the fight. A tall, grizzled man stood on the other ship's quarterdeck, watching the scenes on board the Salvation .

Ryan cautiously stuck his head above the coaming, scanning the deck, seeing that the battle — such as it was — seemed nearly over. The evidence of a short and bitter firefight was all around him.

He counted nine bodies — two still moving — crumpled in the coiling mist. As he looked on, he saw a slim boy with a mane of stark-white hair, bound from left to right, holding a gun that looked too big for him.

"Jak!"

"Ryan?"

"Here."

The teenager appeared alongside the hatch, kneeling on the deck. There was a bruise on the boy's left cheek, and his camouflage jacket was torn across the shoulders. But he was grinning like a hunting wolf, eyes glowing like lasered rubies.

"You well?"

Ryan nodded. "You all here? Krysty? Nobody been hurt?"

"Far's I know. Donfil's up front. J.B. an' Lori chilled his sec guards."

"Got my blasters with you?"

" On Phoenix."

"What?"

Jak gestured with his thumb to the whaling ship that was moored alongside them. "That's Phoenix there. Stole it. Captain's okay. Said he'd help if we chilled bitch-woman."

J.B. spotted them and darted along the deck. His mini-Uzi was in his right hand, and the fedora was pushed to the back of his head. His glasses were rimmed with tiny beads of condensation.

He nodded to Ryan. There wasn't any need for anything more. They'd known each other too long for wasted words.

"Ship's taken," he said. "None of us hurt. Some chilled. Rest gone into the room up the bow there. Like living quarters."

"Fo'c'sle," said Ryan.

"How's that?"

"It's called the fo'c'sle."

"Sure. That's where they are. Can't get out under our feet, can they?"

Ryan shook his head. "No. There's no way out. Once we get everything safe we can offer them terms. I'm sure they'll accept once they know we got the queen bee of the bastard hive."

"Where is she?" Jak asked.

Ryan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Down there with an Astra .44 and a lot of real bad temper."

"Best we move some," J.B. suggested.

They crept quickly through the fog, just a few yards, to take shelter behind the bulk of the mizzenmast, close to the stern.

Krysty's figure loomed out of the mist, holding Ryan's SIG-Sauer P-226, her long red hair cascading behind her like a torrent of purest fire.

"Hi, lover," she said, showing no surprise at finding Ryan crouched behind the mast. "Want your own blaster?"

"Yeah. Be good to have something. I feel kind of undressed."

"We got everything on the Phoenix . Donfil's stuff, too."

He leaned across and kissed her quickly and gently on the cheek, feeling how cold her skin was. "Good to see you, lover," he whispered.

"You, too," she replied with a hint of a catch in her voice.

"Who's minding the store up front?"

"Lori. She's got your Heckler & Koch. Blown away four of the crew with it already. Don't think they'll try and rush her."

"Seen a short guy? Fluffy white hair and a charming smile? Quiet-spoken. Looks like everyone's favorite uncle?"

"Yeah," Jak said. "I seen him, Ryan. Was going blast him. Patted me on head and wished luck. Went down hatch."

"That's Cyrus Ogg. First mate. After the woman, he's the one we want. Watch for him."

The Salvation was quiet now, only the gentle lapping of the sea under her stem breaking the fog-muffled stillness. Still snug behind the mizzen, the reunited friends heard boots on the deck and the creaking of knee joints.

"Upon my soul, Ryan, my dear chum. I am so delighted once again to renew our acquaintance."

They shook hands. Doc had his Le Mat strapped to his belt, and he carried his sword stick in his right fist.

"These rogues have taken to their lair. Dear Lori guards them and will vent her spleen upon any that attempts escape." Adding, a little ruefully, "And it must be said, my dear fellow, that the child has been exhibiting a touch more spleen toward my good self than is tolerable. But let that pass."

"Need a hand?" shouted the white-haired man from the quarterdeck of the other ship. "We can make out little through this murk."

"We have the Salvation , Captain!" Krysty answered. "A few minutes more and we can take the rest of the crew prisoner. But they aren't a threat anymore."

"What of Captain Pyra Quadde? Where be she?"

"In her cabin," Ryan replied, "awash with blood and corpses."

"Is she injured? Or chilled? Or held close as a prisoner?"

The note of caution was unmistakable. It reminded Ryan of the time the Trader had wiped out a small ville of cutthroats in a wooded valley near the wide Mississippi. Their leader had been a giant, more than eight feet tall, and blind in one eye. He'd so terrified the locals that they wouldn't even come and look at his dead body. In the end they'd used some of their valuable gas from the store wag and burned the baron's massive corpse.

It was the same with Pyra Quadde.

The same terror that would only end when she, too, was safely chilled.

When they searched the Salvation they discovered that one of the whaleboats was missing. Cyrus Ogg was no longer on board the ship. Nor was Pyra Quadde.

"Slipped the cable and away in the fog," Deacon concluded. "Be damned to it! There's scant hope of picking her up by the dawn. The mist clears but slowly."

"Which way will she have gone?" Ryan asked. "To shore?"

"Aye."

"Can the two of them handle the boat on their own?" Donfil asked.

"On such a sea!" Deacon laughed bitterly. "My eight-year-old nephew and his pet rabbit could scull to the shore in such a calm."

"Can we man the other boats and go after her? We've got enough men, surely?" Krysty suggested.