The fact that it's from the Homeworld system tells me that it's no coincidence that it's here.
My mother's going to get rid of her little problem—me.
31
RUTH
I'm starting to get a little worried. Straik pulls up a screen and another ship shows up, a sleek and rather deadly-looking type of thing. He curses under his breath at the sight of it, and that frays my nerves a little more.
Straik hammers a finger onto the comm, leaning in. "Evade her. Head into deep space, but don't use the usual routes. We're abandoning Risda III for now. I don't care where we go, just get rid of that keffing ship before she locks in on us."
"Understood, Captain." The comm chirps out, and the ship's engines surge underneath my feet.
I've been on here for long enough that I know what the normal acceleration feels like, and this isn't it. When she turns hard, I hold onto the edge of Straik's desk as he zooms in on that ship, staring at it with a hard, angry look on his face. "What's going on?" I ask. "Who's on that ship?"
"Don't know," Straik says, and then moves across the room. He heads for a painting that looks like nothing more than a bunch of splashes of color, and pulls it off the wall, revealing a set of metal doors with a computerized pad underneath. He types into it, then presses his hand against the panel and it swings open, revealing an absolute fuckton of guns, knives, and even a strange-looking sword. He considers quickly, then grabs one of the smaller guns and holds it out to me. "You take this."
"You're arming me?" I choke out, holding the gun awkwardly. It's not built like human guns and I don't see a trigger anywhere. "I thought we were enemies."
"No." Straik points at the screen, wild-eyed. "That is an enemy. I'm just your sparring partner." He takes a weapon for himself, shoves it into his belt—
—which falls to the floor, along with his tunic.
"Why the kef does that keep happening?" he growls, furious, and snatches the blaster up once more. He grabs a holster from the wall, belts it to his hips, shoves the blaster in, and then proceeds to shove two more after it, followed by a knife.
"Can I have a knife too?" I ask quickly. He immediately hands me one, and I know we're in deep shit. "Who are those people?" I ask again.
Straik shuts the cabinet, locks it, and then puts the painting back over it again. "Either my mother has sent assassins, or my uncle has. Either way, someone wants to dispose of me, and I'm not of a mind to let that happen."
Assassins? Seriously? "Is there anyone in this universe that doesn't want to kick your ass right now?"
He barks out a harsh laugh, then gestures that I should follow him. I do so, kinda wishing I hadn't trashed all his clothes. Then again, it wasn't as if I'd known we’d get boarded by assassins. "Where are we going?"
"To a secret room. I'm going to have you hide there, and don't come out until I return to get you. If someone finds the room and it's not me, shoot them." He storms down one hall after another. "I trust you won't have any problems attacking someone other than me?"
"No, I can do it," I assure him, trying to keep up with his longer strides.
The ship jerks hard, and it feels like we're in an elevator briefly, my feet lifting off the ground. Straik grabs at the railing along the wall, still moving forward, and I barely keep my balance as I try to follow close after him. Everything tilts, and a voice over the intercom calls out, "Taking evasive action. Secure your footing!"
That's the only warning I get before the ship turns on its side and I'm flung onto the wall. The railing smacks into my back, sending pain up my spine and knocking the breath out of me. A moment later, we flip back to “upright” and I face-plant onto the ground, my gun skidding across the floor.
I expect Straik to give a smart remark as I pick myself up off the tile, but he just moves quickly to my side and helps me to my feet, then snags my gun and hands it back to me. "Are you hurt?" he asks.
I shake my head. I am, but I can whine over bruises later.
"Come on." He grabs my arm again and races toward a side hall with writing on one of the doors. He opens it, and I catch a glimpse of bots, powered off, and what smells like chemicals. Storage closet? He pushes past the shelves lining the walls and moves one of the bots aside, then runs his hand along the edge wall where it meets the side. A moment later, the wall shifts and moves back, disappearing like a pocket door into itself. It reveals a compartment inside with a cushioned bench long enough for three people to sit on and a machine of some kind on the wall, along with what must be a rudimentary toilet of some kind.