Fated Blades (Kinsmen #3)(33)

“Did you have fun?”

He leaned toward her, and she mimicked his movement. The space between them was so small now that if he reached out, he could stroke her soft cheek with his fingertips.

“I had loads of fun.” He winked at her.

She smiled and leaned back.

“I’ve seen the entire sector. It was a job, and sometimes it was dangerous, but we always had a good time. People who were bad at their jobs died or got fired. Everyone who was left was pretty damn good. I was one of them, and I was pretty proud of myself.”

“So what happened?”

“The Opus Massacre. I told you about it. Nine thousand miners slaughtered.”

She nodded. “I remember. The Vandals killed the children and marked the body count on their armor.”

“Shortly before the Vandals attacked, the colony had sent out a ship, two hundred and fifty passengers and forty crew. Half of the passengers were recent graduates going to Raleigh III to attend the academy there. None of them older than eighteen. Some of the others needed advanced medical treatment, some were visiting family. The usual thing.”

The tremor in his right hand was back, but his voice remained measured.

“They joined the civilian fleet in Danube System and sat there for a week until it assembled. Fifteen vessels—four Leviathan freighters, some frigates, and the rest random small fries—all going almost all the way across the sector. Three mercenary companies banded together for the convoy, us and two others. With that much muscle, most pirates would let us pass, so it was easy money. Three weeks of being bored, then a nice payday and a few days of liberty to blow the money.”

The tremor was obvious now. He squeezed his hand into a fist.

“We were making a transition between jump points at Nicola. Nine hours of slow flying across a deserted star system to get from one jump gate to another. We were almost to the jump point when the Vandal fleet came out of it.”

He remembered it as if it happened yesterday, the wail of alarms and the sudden armada materializing on the screen.

“I was piloting Wasp, a light patrol vessel. Basically, a scout ship with a jump drive, two cannons, and a crew of four. For the nine-hour run across an empty system, it was just me and the gunner. We were on the bridge. One moment there was nothing, and then the mass signatures started flooding in. A cruiser, three heavy destroyers, ten frigates. The biggest ship we had was a light destroyer.

“The Vandal commodore sent out a message on the open channel, so every vessel in the system heard it. They wanted the mining ship. Just that ship. He wouldn’t say why. ‘Just give us the ship filled with kids, and we’ll let you pass.’ We didn’t know about Opus then, but it didn’t smell right.”

Ramona’s eyes were huge. He looked into them and kept talking.

“Kurt Summers, the man who headed our outfit, was the convoy leader. He knew the Vandals by reputation, which was why we were told to steer clear of the SFR. I had him on one screen and the Vandal commodore on the other. Kurt sent out a battle plan over the secure channel, and then he told the Vandal commodore that they wouldn’t be giving up the ship. He must’ve thought the SFR wouldn’t take a chance on attacking a multisystem fleet. The commodore said, ‘In that case, do not blame me for being impolite.’ I saw Kurt’s face drop, and then his destroyer went supernova. The screen turned white.”

“What happened next?” she asked softly.

“Hell.”

He wanted to leave it there, but a bargain was a bargain.

“They tore us to pieces. We were outnumbered, outgunned, and outcrewed. They launched missile barrages, one after another. The first salvo ripped through the convoy like it was plastipaper. Vessels broke to pieces. Drives exploded. Once they crippled us, they closed in and shredded what was left at close range with particle beams. Pass after pass, even after ships went dark.”

It was playing out in his head again—the blinding explosions of missiles, the debris hurtling past at catastrophic speed, the SOS calls from the smaller barges as they frantically tried to flee only to be chased down, the screaming over the open channel . . .

“How did you survive?”

“I quit fighting.” And there it was. He’d said it. “After the third missile salvo, I spun us around, fired a short burst from the engine, and killed it. We suited up, and I vented the ship. We drifted off through the debris field, our drives seemingly offline, trailing air.”

“You played dead?”

He nodded.

“How long?”

“Four hours. Until the Vandals left the system.”

She clenched her fists. “They couldn’t have gotten away with it.”

“They did. Oh, there was a massive stink. Speeches were made. The SFR was slapped with sanctions and paid some reparations. But in the end, none of the four planets involved in the merchant fleet wanted to pick a fight with militant maniacs armed to the teeth. The SFR makes war. That’s what they do. They train for it. They are prepared. The biggest fight Raleigh III gets involved in concerns whose name will be listed first on the latest research paper.”

“That’s unbelievable.” Outrage sparked in her eyes.

“That’s what happened. We thought we were badasses. And then the Vandals came through and showed us that we weren’t shit. We never had a chance. It was the first time in my life I felt helpless in a fight. Everyone I knew was dead. I came home. I couldn’t protect the merchant fleet or people who fought side by side with me, but my family needed me, so I became the man they required. And now you know.”