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“Nearest com-link,” said Randall.

Soren stopped and turned, miming a puzzled expression. “But the nearest com-link is back in the roo—” he said, and then leaped.

Randall saw the blow coming and shifted just a little, but still took a glancing blow in the shoulder; they tumbled down to the floor together, rolling back and forth. Randall kicked him hard and then tried to wriggle free, but Soren wouldn’t let go. Randall was faster, Soren knew, but he was stronger. If he just didn’t let go of his hold, he might keep the advantage.

Randall kicked him hard in the face, but Soren was already working his way up the man’s body. Randall kept kicking, trying to work his arms into position for a choke hold, but before he managed, Soren had straddled his hips and locked both hands behind Randall’s back. He gave a shout and squeezed as hard as he could.

Pain shot through his own arms and chest. Randall gave a groan and started to struggle harder, dragging Soren down the hall with him. Hold on, thought Soren. Just hold on. He squeezed harder, burying his face against Randall’s chest as the latter pummeled his arms and head and then tried desperately to reach behind his own back to break Soren’s fingers.

Not the way you’re used to fighting, is it? thought Soren.

Randall was shouting now, then suddenly he went limp.

Too soon, thought Soren, he’s faking, and held on.

But Randall kept still. Partch, Soren realized, was talking to him, pounding him on the back, his face just a few inches from Soren’s own.

“What?” hissed Soren.

“Snap out of it, man. I tranquilized him. Let go of him before you kill him. Let’s get out of here.”

He turned his head to see the tranquilizer dart embedded in Randall’s shoulder. The “faked” limpness. Carefully he unclasped his hands and worked his way free. Randall was fighting the drug, not quite under, but could move little more than his eyes. Soren felt his chest. Maybe a broken rib or two, but probably that was all. And he wouldn’t be out for long.

“Let’s get out of here!” said Partch again and started down the corridor.

Soren took a last look at Randall and then started after him. Partch moved in a rapid walk, fast enough to look to the compound’s AI like he had somewhere he needed to be five minutes ago, but not fast enough to seem like he was running. Soren tried to follow his lead, quickly realizing he was heading toward the compound’s airfield.

“There’s an older Longsword,” Partch said as Soren caught up with him. “It’s pre-prepared and hacked for us, complete with a dumb AI construct that I fast-grafted to convert him to the cause. We make for that and get it in the air, get away from the base, and to the drop point as fast as we can.”

NINE

___________

But before they had even entered the field, alarms started sounding. By the time they were in the Longsword and taking off, a good half-dozen ships were being crewed, ready to take off in pursuit. Plus, thought Soren, the planet is surrounded by Orbital Defense Platforms. This is a crazy idea.

The first warning shot flashed past them before they had even cleared the atmosphere, shaking the ship slightly. It was quickly followed by two more, precision shots, even closer, that shocked the ship from end to end. Partch looked scared.

“Evasive maneuvers, Captain Teach!” he instructed the AI.

The latter flickered to holographic life on the console before them. His construct was a pirate captain, bristling with pistols, with a gold-toothed grin and an ebony beard in braids.

“Have been evading all along, lads,” Teach said. “There’s just too many of the bastards.” He put one hand to his ear, pretended to listen. “Signal coming in—care to hear it?”

Partch, holding on to the arms of the chair with white-knuckled fingers, just nodded.

“Longsword,” said a voice that Soren did not recognize. “You have not been authorized for takeoff. Return to base immediately.”

“Seems like they should have sent out that before they started firing across our bow,” said Soren.

“Well, they did,” the AI admitted. “But I knew you wouldn