My eyes narrowed as the target filled the display. Every line and contour burned into my mind from the thousands of reconnaissance images I’d pored over. I knew this ship, inside and out, could navigate her halls and compartments from memory.
Which was precisely why I’d been hand-picked to lead this mission. That, and the undisputed fact that nobody had more firsthand experience with the Arudianslave trade than a former captive like me.
A slight twinge ached from the old shackle scars ringing my wrists, but I shoved it aside with a shake of my mane. That was then—a lifetime ago, before I’d earned my stripes and sworn an oath to the Coalition Defense Force. These days, I stalked the hunters, and this slaver scum was my newest quarry.
“Sir?” My com-officer swiveled in his chair, one brow ridge arched. “The word from fleet command. We are clear to engage.”
I flicked an ear in acknowledgment, straightening in my seat as I fixed the slaver craft with a predator’s stare.
“Disengage stealth field and arm forward cannons. We’ll cripple that ship, but I want minimum casualties. Our priority is preserving the cargo—those prisoners come first.”
The gunners’ confirmations rolled back to me, all of them primed and ready to strike. Only then did I rise to my feet, bracing my weight as I bellowed the order they’d been waiting for.
“Fire at will! Let’s bag this scavenger!”
The first volley rocked the bridge, the deck quaking beneath my feet as ruby lances of light split the void. I watched, teeth bared in a savage grin, as the bolts hammered home against the slaver’s hull.
Silver-blue energy shields flared to life, absorbing the brunt of the barrage. But they wouldn’t hold forever—not against the combined firepower of the Coalition fleet.
Even as the first salvo faded, a second blistering wave erupted from our forward batteries, raking the hapless ship from stem to stern. This time, the impacts punched through the weakening shields in a starburst of detonations, shredding armor plating like a claw through flimsi.
The bridge crew erupted in a cacophony of roars and howls, scenting victory. But I held up a stayed paw, silencing them with a look that could cut durasteel.
Not yet. Not until I saw that accursed craft dead in the water, her crew neutralized or surrendering. Only then would I allow myself to savor this triumph.
A third salvo rocked the bridge, then a fourth, until at last the slaver’s ship listed, venting atmosphere from a dozen gaping wounds along her flank. Her shields flickered and died, engines sputtering to silence as she drifted, crippled and defenseless.
Just as I’d planned.
“All batteries, cease fire!” I barked the order, already moving for the exit. “Prepare boarding parties and assault shuttles. We’re going in!”
The bridge erupted in a flurry of motion as my crew scrambled to obey. I didn’t wait to oversee the final preparations—the hard part was already done. Now came the delicate work of extracting the cargo and apprehending the scum responsible for this whole sordid affair.
And that task was mine alone.
I raced through the corridors. Crewmen scattered from my path, snapping off crisp salutes I acknowledged with a curt dip of my head.
By the time I reached the main hangar bay, the first assault shuttles were already powering up, armored hulls gleaming in the harsh landing lights. I sprang aboard the lead craft without breaking stride, weaving between the rows of heavily armed commandos until I reached the cockpit.
“Take us in hard and fast,” I growled at the pilot, an elite member of my personal guard detail. “Gimme a straight shot into that cargo hold.”
He flashed me a feral grin, whiskers twitching. “You know I live for that crazy shit, Raxon. Strap in and hold on tight.”
I shot him a withering look, but did as instructed, sealing the safety harness across my broad chest. As the canopy polarized and the deafening roar of repulsors spun up around us, I closed my eyes and centered myself.
This was it. The moment of truth when the hunter became the hunted, and the tables turned on the vila scum who’d made their fortune in stolen lives.
A slight shudder ran through the shuttle as the main bay doors cycled open, expelling us into the inky void. The pilot angled our approach, lining up the battered slaver ship in our crosshairs as two more assault shuttles flanked us in tight formation.
“ETA to target, twenty secars,” the pilot called out, pulling me from my reverie. “Get ready to get frosty, boss. We’re going in hot.”
I rumbled low in my throat, sighting down the length of my pulse-rifle as the slaver craft swelled to fill the canopy. Energy claws extended from the shuttle’s underbelly, punching through the crippled hull and locking into place with a bone-jarring thud.
The decompression alarms started wailing even before the sealed airlocks had cycled shut behind us. I was already moving, slamming a fresh power cell home and charging the boarding ramp with my team on my heels.
Smoke billowed through the narrow passage, burning my nostrils with its acrid, charnel reek. The stench of vented atmosphere, of shredded bulkheads and ruptured life support. It was a smell I knew all too well from a hundred combat drops.
But there was something else too—something that made me hesitate for the span of a single, ragged breath. A scent that didn’t belong, cutting through the miasma like a plasma blade with its strange, musky sweetness.
