Blood and Metal
by Nina Croft
Copyright © 2015 by Nina Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Prologue
“She’ll burn in Hell’s fires for this.”
His father’s words seared into his mind. Fergal swallowed a sob as his gaze fixed on the lifeless body of his mother. She looked almost at peace—if he ignored the blood pooled on the floor and the cuts like bracelets around her wrists.
He sniffed, digging his nails into his palms, until the pain dried his tears.
Since the last time they’d been brought back, she’d turned in on herself, shutting him out. He hardly saw her and never alone—his father made sure of that, using them against each other as hostages to ensure their good behavior.
That’s why she’d done this. She’d known they would never get another chance to run. At least not together, and neither would leave the other behind. But wasn’t that exactly what she had done in the end? Left him behind with his madman of a father?
Without her, he might find a way to escape, and a boy alone would have a far greater ability to stay hidden. She’d given him a chance at freedom. But he was only eight, and he didn’t want his freedom. He wanted his mother.
“Have you nothing to say, boy?”
He shook his head. What was the point? His father never listened.
“For now, you will pay her penance.” He snapped the strap at his side, and Fergal held himself very still so as not to wince. “Or would you rather burn in Hell’s fires when you die?”
“No, sir.”
A shiver ran through him. He didn’t want to believe in Heaven or Hell or a god who would make a monster such as his father, but he’d had this beaten into him all his life. He resisted the urge to rub his arm where the old burn scar still itched. When he was six, his father had decided he needed an example of just how much the fires of Hell would hurt. It was something Fergal never forgot. That was when his mother had first tried to take him away. And failed.
“Well, boy? And how will you prevent it?”
He stared into his father’s cold gray eyes, and heat surged inside him until his face burned as though already bathed in Hell’s fires. He knew the expected reply; he’dbe a good boy, follow the Church, obey his father.
He gritted his teeth. He had a much better answer.
“I’ll make sure I never die, sir.”
Chapter One
Someone prodded Fergal in the side. He didn’t budge. No one had said anything for the last five years that was worth listening to, and he wasn’t expecting that to change any time soon. The truth was, however gilded his cage, he was a prisoner and had been for a long time. His only trips out of this room were when they performed another set of intrusive and often painful tests on him. And he wasn’t interested.
He should have left when he had the chance. Not that he’d ever had much of a chance. When he could have left, it would have been a death sentence without the anti-rejection drugs he’d been given on a daily basis. Once that had no longer been an issue, things had changed, and walking out was no longer an option.
Whoever it was nudged him again. “Wake up, Fergal.”
That got his attention. No one called him Fergal anymore. Well, no one except Stefan. He rolled onto his back and blinked into the harsh light.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he snapped, sitting up and running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, rubbing his scalp. There was a dull ache in his head, but he was used to that now. It had been getting worse since they’d given him the final stage treatment two months ago. That had been the last time he’d seen Stefan.
Stefan was the head scientist at Cybercom, and this whole project was his baby. He was also the closest thing Fergal had to a buddy in this place—he’d never made friends easily, but they’d clicked.
“I’m being watched,” Stefan said. “I didn’t want to bring attention to you.”
Fergal gave him a sharp look. His brain felt blurred, now he forced himself to concentrate, sensing Stefan had something important to say. “Who’s watching you?”
Stefan didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Do you know what’s been happening outside?”
“Yeah, of course I do. Not.”
They told them nothing. It was enough to drive a nosy bastard like him insane. In the beginning, it had been okay—they’d had access to the comm streams, and he’d been able to keep up with what was happening on the outside. Back then he’d presumed his stay here was only temporary, that once he no longer needed the drugs they would let him out into the world. They’d monitor his progress, but he’d be free to come and go.
Then everything changed.
The last news he’d heard officially had been over twenty years ago. Callum Meridian, the leader of the known universe, was missing, the Collective was in disarray, and the Church was attempting a takeover. After that, everything had gone dark, their access to the comms cut off overnight. At first, Stefan had fed him what information he could. Although he’d refused to discuss company business, he’d kept Fergal up-to-date on what was going on. But for the last five years—nothing.
The only positive in this whole damn thing was that the treatment was obviously working. As far as Fergal could tell, he hadn’t aged a day since he had walked into Cybercom all those years ago.
“When the Church came into power, the company tried to stay under the radar,” Stefan said. “That was when we had the shutdown. It was considered too risky for any of the volunteers to be out there.”
“So you locked us up. Like prisoners.”
“You signed the agreement.”
Yeah, he had. But back then, he would have signed anything to get into the program. “So what’s changed?” He presumed something had precipitated this visit.
“Five years ago, the Church found out about our existence. At that time, they were still busy wiping out the Collective and the Rebel Coalition, but now they’ve turned their attention to us. I have every belief that within the next few days they will be taking control of Cybercom.”
That wasn’t good news. The Church of Everlasting Life claimed that all genetically modified beings, or GMs as they were known, along with all Collective members—the old ruling class—were abominations against God. He doubted that the products of Cybercom, including himself, would fare any better in the classification. But he still had no clue what Stefan wanted of him. “Come on, spit it out. Why are you here now?”
“I have an…offer I would like to make you.”
“What sort of offer?”
He pursed his lips. “Let me ask you something first. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
A small smile flickered across his face. “Elucidate.”
Fergal considered ignoring him—after all, that’s what Stefan had been doing to him for the last five years. But his gut instinct was telling him something big was going down. It had been years since his gut had anything interesting to say, but he’d always relied on it in the past—it had led him to many a big story.
“My head aches. It started when you guys forced that last treatment on me, and it’s been getting worse since.”
“Like something is trying to take over your mind, perhaps?”
Fergal gave him another sharp glance. He didn’t like the sound of that one damn bit. His body, okay, he could accept the changes. But his mind? He was happy with that the way it was. “Look, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Perhaps it would be better for me to show you.”
“You’ll let me out of here? What makes you think I won’t make a run for it?”
“Because we’re friends—I hope. And because you’re curious. You were a reporter, you can’t help yourself.”
Fergal’s eyes narrowed. So Stefan knew exactly who he was. That was surprising. He’d signed into this place with a false name and background. “How long have you known?”
“Since you made your initial application.”
“And you still let me in.”
“It was unimportant, and in every other way you were a perfect applicant. Besides, even back then I thought a reporter might come in handy one day.”
Now he was definitely intrigued. It appeared Stefan had singled him out for a reason, and not because of his sunny personality. He pushed himself off the bed, pulled on a T-shirt over his black drawstring trousers, and he was ready to go. “Lead the way.”
“Follow me,” Stefan said.
Truth was he’d do anything to get away from this room.
Outside was a wide corridor, brightly lit with doors on both sides every few feet. The doors all had little glass windows, like his, but when he peered inside one, the room was empty.
He hurried to catch up. “So Stefan, what’s really going on?”
Stefan gave him a sideways glance as he halted in front of a set of double doors. “No one but the board has seen what I’m about to show you.”
“I’m honored,” Fergal said. “But get the fuck on with it.”
That slight smile came again, but Stefan stepped forward and put his face to the retinal scanner. A second later, the doors slid open onto a huge room full of people. Except no one was moving. They all stood in ranks, row upon row. There must have been five hundred. Fergal peered closer and recognized one of his fellow volunteers. A frown formed between his eyes. “Are they drugged?”
“No. This is a result of the final phase of treatment.”
“The final phase that I was given two months ago?”
“Yes. You’ve resisted longer than most. Only a handful of you are still functioning.”
Fergal rubbed his head, where the dull ache had suddenly become a sharp stabbing pain. “So what’s wrong with them?”
“The cybernetics have taken over their brains. In effect, they’re mindless drones. We can input information via an external feed and they react, but they’re unable to think for themselves.”
“And that’s what’s happening to me?”
“Yes. I warned the board this might occur. I was still working on the auto-feedback suppressant. But they insisted we go ahead. I think there were outside forces at work, but I wasn’t in the loop.”
“Shit.” Panic clawed at his guts. Being a mindless drone was not part of his plans. He breathed slowly, forcing himself to calm down. There was a reason he was here.
Stefan wanted something from him. “So what are you doing about it?”
“Come with me and I’ll explain.”
Stefan led him through the ranks of men and women, and none of them even twitched as he passed. He recognized many of them. It was only in the last few years that the volunteers had been isolated. Before that, they’d been allowed to mix. He wouldn’t say any of them were friends, but he did know them, and seeing them like this sent a ripple of primordial fear through him. To be mindless…
On the other side of the room, a smaller door took them into a laboratory. Stefan gestured to a chair, and Fergal sank down into it, trying to be patient. Stefan cleared his throat and began talking. “As I said, I’ve been working on an auto-feedback suppressant, which should result in the brain being able to override the cybernetics rather than the other way around.”
“Sounds good. So why are there a whole load of mindless people in there?”
“The suppressant isn’t ready yet. It still needs to be tested. And then it will take six months to complete in situ.” And by that time Fergal would no doubt be one more mindless drone. “After that,” Stefan continued, “it can be applied to the rest, and I’m hoping it will kick them back into…life.”
“Hoping? You don’t know?”
“No, I don’t know.” For the first time Stefan sounded angry. He took a deep breath, and Fergal could see him pulling himself together. “I’d normally have spent years testing this in vitro before the final phase was ever given, but it was taken out of my hands.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I’ve run out of time.”
“And what do you want of me?”
“You’ll help?”
“I don’t have a lot of fucking choice, do I? Just promise me that if I turn into one of those…things, you’ll finish me off.”
Stefan nodded.
Shit, he didn’t want to die. While he had lost any belief in Heaven and Hell long ago, he still wanted to stand in front of his bastard of a father and say, Look, I won. Your fucking devil is not going to get his hands on me. “Tell me what you need.”
“I expect this place to be taken over any day now. I want to input the suppressant into your system and get you out of here. It will either work or it won’t. Then you have to stay out of trouble for six months.”
“And after that?”
“You come and find me.”
Some of his fear receded, replaced by a slow burn of excitement. He was getting out. “How will you get me away from here?”
“You’re going to die. It won’t be unexpected—a lot of people have died recently. The stronger the mind, the more it fights. Some have literally imploded rather than give in. After your death, your body will be disposed of, and I’ve arranged for someone to pick you up.”
Sounded like Stefan had it all worked out. But once Fergal was away from here, he’d decide what happened in six months. Maybe he’d come looking for Stefan. Or maybe he wouldn’t. “Let’s do it.”
Stefan nodded. “Good.”
Fergal perched on the edge of a seat and watched as the doctor stuck a needle in his left arm and wired him up to a console and monitor. After pulling a pink vial from his pocket, he inserted it into the injector mechanism. Fergal held his breath as the liquid entered his veins. Icy cold flooded his system, shooting along his nerves, up his spine, into his brain. The dull ache shifted, and he had a moment of perfect clarity.
“What?” Stefan asked.
Fergal grinned. “My headache just vanished.”
“Now one last thing.” He took Fergal’s wrist, stretched out his arm, and inserted a second needle into the blue vein. This time he felt nothing. “Time to get you back to your cell.”
Fergal followed him back out through the room with the drones. He hadn’t realized how dulled his brain had been. Now it was crystal clear, racing ahead. He had a chance. If this worked, he could still succeed, could still beat death. His pulse raced, excitement thrumming through him as Stefan opened the door to his room and gestured to him to enter.
“When will this happen?” he asked.
“Now.”
As soon as Stefan said the word, Fergal’s legs shuddered, and his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the bed behind him. “Shit.”
Presumably, this was him dying. But there was one thing he was curious about. “So how do you know you can trust me?” he asked. “How do you know I won’t disappear into the sunset and you’ll never see me again?”
“I don’t, but let’s just say I’ve given myself a little insurance.”
Fergal’s eyes narrowed on Stefan as a tremor ran through the muscles of his arms. His brain might be clear, but his head was a weight on his shoulders. He needed to lie down. “You have?”
“That second injection was a poison I developed.”
Fergal tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. “You’ve fucking poisoned me? I thought we were friends.”
Stefan ignored the outburst and continued, “There’s no cure, but there is an antidote. Which you will need to take every day. Listen to me, Fergal.” He hunkered down in front of him, holding out a bottle of pills. “There’s six months’ supply. Keep them with you at all times. And take one every day, or you will die.”
“Bastard.” But the word lacked conviction. Fergal was actually impressed. Pissed off, but impressed.
“Then come and find me.”
He tried to nod as Stefan reached across and slipped the pills into Fergal’s pocket. The room was growing dim, the light shrinking to a pinprick.
“I’ll see you in six months, Fergal. Don’t let me down.”
Then darkness.
Chapter Two
The bridge smelled of blood. Fresh blood.
Hot and oh so sweet.
Daisy’s nostrils flared. If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste the sweetness on her tongue. She swayed in her seat as her mouth filled with a flood of saliva and her gums ached. Somewhere deep inside her, the darkness uncoiled sleepily, easing closer to the surface, wanting, needing… Placing her palms flat on the console, she pushed herself to her feet—
“Daisy!” Rico’s voice broke through the fog of need.
Her eyes snapped open, and she plonked herself back down in her seat. “Sorry,” she muttered. “But I’m hungry.” She hated the whine in her voice and wished she could take the words back as six sets of eyes all turned her way.
Rico strode across the bridge, coming to a halt in front of her, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You okay?”
No. I’m not okay, I’m hungry, and I can’t look at my friends without wanting to eat them. And I’m hungry. And they all pity me. And I’m hungry…
But she swallowed the words and choked down the darkness, though she knew from experience that it wouldn’t sleep now until it was fed. Then she fixed a brightsmile on her face. “I’m fine.”
He quirked a brow. “Good girl. Your control is getting better, but don’t leave it too long. We wouldn’t want you ripping out the captain’s throat. She needs it for ordering people about.”
“Ha-ha,” Tannis muttered. “But I second that—no throat ripping.”
Daisy tried not to feel offended, but it was hard. After all, she hadn’t actually done the throat-ripping thing since the first time.
The crew had made out some sort of roster and Tannis, the captain, was next on the feeding list. They were all immortal, and she couldn’t kill them—even if she did rip out their throats—but she could weaken them if she fed too often.
She had to get her mind off food. Turning back to the console, she started searching through the incomprehensible mass of data.
“Do we have anything yet?” Tannis asked, as she had at least five times in the last hour.
“No,” Daisy snapped.
“No need to get snippy.”
“Well, sorry,” she snarled, “but I’m not Janey.” She curled her lip to show the tip of one sharp white fang. Janey had been their gorgeous and brilliant tech expert. She’d also been Daisy’s best friend until she’d been murdered six months ago. Janey would have found the information they needed within minutes.
Daisy was a pilot—the copilot of The Blood Hunter—not a tech expert, but right now she was the best they had.
“We’ve been looking for six months,” Tannis said. “Jon has to be there somewhere.”
Jon and his wife, Alex, were crew members who had remained behind during The Blood Hunter’s recent trip through a black hole and into another universe. The planhad been to rendezvous with them on their return. Unfortunately, the ship’s return had been…delayed. They’d taken an alternate route home through a wormhole, and by the time they got back, while only a few weeks had passed for them, over here more than twenty years had gone by. They’d gone to the arranged rendezvous only to discover Alex and Jon had been taken prisoner by the Church of Everlasting Life ten years ago. Alex was being forced into her old role as high priestess, while
Jon was held as a hostage—a bargaining chip for her good behavior.
Now they had to find Jon and spring the pair of them.
Except they couldn’t find him.
“Maybe he’s already dead.” Rico spoke the words everyone else was thinking.
“No. Alex would know if he was dead. They’re using him to keep her in line. We just have to follow the trail.”
Daisy muttered under her breath as she flicked through the continuous stream of information, searching for something…anything that might give them a clue, her hunger a constant distraction.
Rico had changed her six months ago in order to save her life, and she’d been hungry ever since. A deep, craving hunger that gnawed at her belly and kept her on edge. A hunger that had awakened the darkness deep inside her, so now she was never free of its presence, never free of the knowledge of what she had become—a bloodsucking monster. Feeding gave her a brief respite, but always the hunger came back like a live thing. Rico told her it would get better with time. But how long? He was over fifteen hundred years old—he didn’t view time the same as the rest of them.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she jumped.
“Relax,” Rico murmured.
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
He leaned down close to her. “You know, you need to get laid.”
Even less likely. “Perhaps the crew could do a roster for that as well.”
He grinned. “Never going to happen, sweetheart. But once we have this out of the way, we’ll head back to Trakis Two and sort something out.”
Rico had told her that the best way to get a grip on the hunger and keep the darkness at bay was sex. Unfortunately, everyone on the ship was part of a couple. She was happy for them, really, she was, but it did make her feel alone.
And what was she supposed to do on Trakis Two? She’d never found it easy to hook up. She was genetically modified, part plant, and the whole green thing had put a lot of men off. Though that was no longer an issue—in the months since Rico had changed her, the color had leached from her skin and hair as the chlorophyll died from lack of sunlight. Now, six months later, she was pale and boring; white skin, almost white hair. Even so, an average guy would very likely find the whole bloodsucking-monster thing a bit of a turnoff.
But there were more pleasure providers on Trakis Two than in the rest of the universe. Maybe she could pay someone. What a happy thought. This was what her life—or rather, her death—had come to. She was one sad excuse for a vampire.
Busy wallowing in self-pity, she almost missed the break she was looking for. She slammed her hand down on the console, then trawled back through the information and found the snippet that had caught her attention.
“I think I’ve found Jon.”
His six months was nearly up. Only days to go. After that, Fergal Cain planned never to enter a prison again. He hated prisons, hated the stench of fear and despair that permeated the walls. The murmur of a thousand voices incarcerated behind bars. He’d been spending way too long in them lately, but if all went well, soon that would be over. A new life beckoned. Somewhere far away.
“So you’re leaving us?” The governor’s words broke into his thoughts.
“Yes, sir.” His transfer had come through at last. Helped by a little strategic hacking into the prison system’s database on his part. If his intel was correct, he’d found Stefan, and his transfer would take him exactly where he needed to be. He’d find his friend while keeping his cover intact.
And about time. This prison was worse than most. It had been rebuilt from the old Church headquarters, which had been destroyed over two decades ago by the Rebel Coalition. The parts of the prison aboveground weren’t too bad, but the section underground, where the most dangerous prisoners were housed, was a noisome, dark precursor of the Hell the Church claimed the majority of the prisoners were heading for. Of course, they were given a last chance to repent…
The executions also took place underground. That was why they were here. At least the man had deserved to die. He’d been a rapist and a murderer. Fergal didn’t think he could have stood by while they executed someone for their beliefs, or lack of them, but thankfully most of the “heretics” were long gone. Today, the prisoner hadn’t taken up the Church’s offer of repentance. Not that it would have saved him.
Was the bastard now in Hell?
Fergal didn’t think so. He’d long ago gotten over his childhood indoctrination, or at least pushed it so far down it never bothered him. While he might believe that there was possibly more to life and death than he understood, no way was he buying into the usual crap people tried to pass off as religion. And certainly not the Church of Everlasting Life’s even-crappier-than-normal version.
Up ahead the priest—there was always a priest present at executions—disappeared up the tunnel leading to ground level. “You go on,” Fergal said to the governor. “I’ll do a last check and lock up.”
The man nodded. No one liked to spend longer than necessary down here. The place gave off an air of evil. “You’ll be glad to get away from this place.”
Fergal gave a noncommittal smile. “The prison on Trakis Five is said to be a better, if busier, place.”
“Yes, the Collective may have been tough, but they weren’t unduly cruel.”
It was amazing how most people looked back on the reign of the Collective with something close to fondness and forgot the bits they hadn’t liked. Five hundred years ago, when the human race had arrived at the Trakis system, they had also stumbled upon Meridian. Named after Callum Meridian, the ship’s captain who had discovered it, the substance bestowed immortality—among other things—and the Collective had been born. Rich, immortal, telepathic, they soon ruled the universe with a ruthless hand.
Temperance Hatcher and his cronies made them look like total sweeties.
The Collective had fallen apart with the disappearance of their leader, Callum Meridian, and the destruction of the Meridian supplies on Trakis Seven. No one knew what had become of him—he’d supposedly been kidnapped and then disappeared without a trace. General opinion was Hatcher had arranged his assassination.
At the same time, the Rebel Coalition, the only other force that might have taken on the Church, had lost its own leader, Devlin Starke, and fallen into disarray. Starke was another who seemed to have vanished. Hatcher had obviously been busy. The bastard.
“It can’t be worse,” the governor said. He was a good man. They all did what they had to, to survive in these times. Or at least pretended to.
Fergal waited until the man had disappeared after the priest before heading down the tunnel, which took him deeper underground and finally opened out into the lower level control center. The room was empty, but the monitors were on, and nothing was moving. He exited down the tunnel opposite and checked the first row of cells. Most of the prisoners down here were awaiting appeal or execution for serious crimes. But there were also a few political prisoners. The farthest cell housed one of these. According to the records, he’d been here for twenty years. Why hadn’t he been killed with the rest of the Collective? Burned in Hatcher’s fires?
The cell’s occupant had no name, but he was obviously Collective. In the dim light, his eyes glowed, inhuman and violet. He glanced up as Fergal peered through the glass pane in the cell’s door, but no expression crossed his face—presumably drugged up to the eyeballs. He looked more boy than man; he must have been young when he took the Meridian treatment.
The other political prisoner was in the cell farthest from this one. At least he was categorized as political, though he actually looked more violent and more dangerous than the worst of the rapists and murderers. He paced the confines of his tiny cell, leashed power in his every move, his tall figure radiating pent-up fury. He glanced across as Fergal peered in and actually growled. Even safe on the outside, a frisson of fear trickled down his spine.
He stepped back. He’d done what was required of him. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. Now he needed to get away from this stench and out into the fresh air.
Back in the control room, he checked the monitors one last time and headed toward ground level. He locked the door to the tunnels behind him with a sigh of relief and turned—
Something smashed into him from behind. A normal man would have gone down under the force of the blow. As it was, Fergal rocked on his feet. He snapped up straight and whirled around. A woman stood a foot away. Medium height, dressed all in black—tight pants, knee-high boots, a shirt, and a silver laser pistol at her hip.
Had she shot him? That would explain the force of the blow. But her weapon was still holstered. A fall of waist-length silver-blond hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head. She had the whitest skin he had ever seen, and dark green eyes. She was both seriously beautiful and seriously scary.
Her brows were drawn together. Obviously, she was wondering why he wasn’t lying flat on his back on the floor after she’d hit him. Hard. Harder than she should have been able to hit.
Her mouth was wide and red and her upper lip curled in a snarl, revealing one sharp white tooth. Too big and too sharp. Where had he seen something like that before? It had been a while ago, over twenty years, but where…?
She moved fast, and he only had a second to brace himself. Crashing into his chest with the force of a blaster, she slammed him against the metal door behind him.
Still clinging, her legs wrapped around his waist as her arms gripped his shoulders. Under different circumstances—very different circumstances—it might have been incredibly sexy.
He took a deep breath, gathered his strength, pried her fingers from around his neck, and hurled her from him. She smashed into the opposite wall, and he heaved a sigh. Then she was up again.
What the hell was she?
With a growl she leaped for him again, white ponytail flying out behind her. This time as she jumped him, she snarled, showing the biggest set of canines he had ever seen—on a human, at least. Shock held him immobile as she kept coming. Her head burrowed itself in the curve of his neck, and those sharp teeth sank into his throat.
He felt the pump of his blood as the vein was severed, then his body’s immediate repair response sending a flood of nanites to the damaged site.
He tried to tug her free, but she was locked on tight. She went still. Releasing her hold on his throat, she pushed away from his body and fell to her knees on the floor.
She spat, and his blood was red against the white tiles.
“Ah, fuck, shit.” She raised her head and spat again. “That is so disgusting.”
He stared at her. What the fuck was going on? He edged around so he could reach the alarm switch on the door panel. If he used the alarm on his comm unit, they would want to know what was wrong, and he wasn’t sure he could explain.
She straightened, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth and staring at him. A frown formed on her face, and she cocked her head to examine him. He inched another step sideways. Almost there.
Her eyes widened. “Holy Hell. Fergal?”
Shock held him motionless.
“Fergal? Is that you?”
He was sure he had never met her before. As he stared into those green eyes, some long-ago memory flickered in his mind, but he couldn’t grasp on to it.
She obviously knew him. Or was it some sort of ploy? But she’d called him Fergal. He wasn’t known by that name here.
He shook his head, trying to make sense of what was happening. Reaching up, he touched his neck. The wound was already healing. Her gaze followed the movement, narrowing on his throat.
Someone entered the corridor behind her, and Fergal tensed. The man was tall, dressed identically to the girl but with a laser pistol hanging loosely from one hand. He took in the two of them and shook his head. “Which part of ‘take him down quietly’ wasn’t I clear on?” he said to the girl.
At the sound of the drawled words, Fergal remembered where he had heard that voice and seen teeth like that before.
“It’s Fergal Cain,” she replied.
The man cast him a sharp look. “Ah.” Then he shrugged. “Sorry.”
Fergal slapped his hand onto the alarm just as the laser pistol was raised to aim straight at his chest. As the shrill ring filled his head, the pistol flashed, thumping him in the middle. He crumpled to the floor, and everything went black.
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