Page 294 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

From where we were—about twenty feet away from the airlock—I had enough of a view to see the absolute chaos that had erupted there. I could spot Jakar in the mess of milling bodies, his big frame with its four arms and his bright red skin making him stand out like a sore thumb.

It looked to me like there was a stampede of humans rushing into that airlock, with Aggy and Abigail ushering them inside while Ziame stood protectively in front of the two women.

I spotted Sunder a moment later, swooping down from above on his leathery wings and swiping a whole row of uniform-clad aliens to the ground.

There was a lot of shooting as well, with laser fire pinning down Jakar, who was using the giant metal lid from one of the industrial shipping crates as a shield to protect the vulnerable people.

“Whoa, it looks like they managed to free at least a dozen humans from the pods. That’s amazing!

” I exclaimed, and then I yelped. “Hey, that’s my pistol!

” But it was no use, Eoin already had it in his hands and was returning fire.

I was pretty sure he was laying down what Camila would call ‘suppression fire,’ pinning the enemy shooters so that our people could get to safety.

I resorted to folding my hands over Novalee’s ears so that at least her hearing would be protected from the noise of the fighting.

“It does. They’re almost in, but I’m seeing more guards arriving.

Looks like they pissed off someone important.

” Eoin sounded grim as he spoke, his shots a little slower now, sparing the small pistol’s charge to make it last. “Do you think you could make a run for the airlock?” he asked, but by the dubious tone of his voice, it was obvious he didn’t think that was a viable option.

This was also no place for misguided pride—just to prove to him that I could—especially not with my baby in my arms. Judging the distance from our hiding spot to the safety of the ship, I winced when a crate shattered and splintered apart along the way.

No, not enough cover. Eoin would soon be out of power for that pistol. We wouldn’t make it.

“No,” I said, just as Da’vi, the Vagabond’s gifted mechanic, charged out of the ship with his huge two-handed sword in hand.

He had a cylindrical object strapped to his back, which was throwing out an arc of energy that coalesced into a bubble several feet in diameter around him.

The portable shield generator he’d created was just big enough to safely block off the airlock so that the last people could scramble into the ship without getting injured.

Would that make enough of a difference? I didn’t think so.

We still had to cross far too much empty space to get there.

Most of the gladiators weren’t great shots, with the exception of Eoin and Thorin.

Even when Camila followed Da’vi out with her laser rifle and started laying out the attackers with quick, precise shots… no, there were just too many of them.

“Ziame, just get everyone on the ship. Tori and I will hide on the station; you can pick us up when it’s safe,” Eoin said into his com.

I spun to look at him in surprise. Had I heard that right?

Was he taking me and my baby back into the station?

What about how it wasn’t safe? How I shouldn’t be out in such a dangerous place, where simply being human drew unwanted attention?

He was right, though, there was no way we’d make it to the safety of Da’vi’s shield.

He’d have to come to us, but that would leave the ship open for attack.

I took the hand Eoin offered me, and the two of us ducked low as we scrambled from crate to crate along the dock, away from the Vagabond.

Shots were ringing out behind us; one even cracked into a crate far too close for comfort.

“Affirmative. Stay safe. We’ll keep them distracted long enough for you to get away,” Ziame responded through Eoin’s com. The captain’s impressive voice was hard to hear over the noise of the fighting.

“Almost there, Tally, just a few more and we’ll make a run for it,” Eoin said, his hand around mine, tight like a vise.

We scrambled around a set of crates, then barreled into the three workers crouching there.

I almost lost my grip on Novalee, yanking my hand free from Eoin’s so I could grip her with both hands.

“Go!” I urged him, seeing the same opening he had—the trundling arrival of the station’s lift.

Several small vehicles loaded with cargo shot out of it on automated routes.

Eoin didn’t pause, dodging behind the first and running alongside it.

I kept up, glad that Camila’s thrice-weekly workout meant I was in far better shape than I’d ever been.

This was us working together; this was him trusting me to keep up. It was exhilarating. We were about to make it, the hallway next to the lift that led back to the market district was right there. We’d lose our pursuers in the crowd.

The gap between this vehicle and the next was bigger than I liked, but we were far away from the ship now.

Only a few aliens in the same dark green uniform were following us.

Eoin gambled that we’d make it, but he put his hand on my back, his body between me and the males chasing us.

My legs pumping, thighs burning as I pushed for as much speed as I could muster, we dove across the opening, behind the final vehicle exiting the lift.

Eoin stumbled, then righted himself, and we leaped into the gathered crowd of watching aliens, jostling our way through them thanks to Eoin’s bulk and strength.

I heard shouts go up behind us. Eoin stumbled a second time, but he kept going.

His arm was around my shoulders now, guiding me with him through the throng.

We were going left, right, another left, —ducking, it seemed, completely at random into pathways.

The further we went, the fewer people paid attention to us, and the more Eoin slowed our frantic pace.

Finally, my breath sawing in and out of me—burning my throat as it went—we paused inside the darkened doorway of an empty little alley.

Novalee wasn’t laughing; she’d frozen against my chest, eyes wide as if she instinctively knew she should stay quiet.

“Anyone hurt?” Eoin asked, spinning us so he could run his mercury eyes over Novalee and then my body, checking us for injuries. I shook my head, returning the favor, scanning his wide shoulders to make sure he had gotten away unscathed, too.

There were pockmarks along the front of one shoulder, visible through the half dozen holes in his shirt, but no blood.

Something that looked like a furrow arrowed across his left cheekbone.

When I yanked on his arm, pulling him around so I could inspect his back, he let me with a deep sigh.

Blood was oozing from one shoulder, and he had several more holes in his shirt, with little pockmarks denting his skin; those told me just how many times he’d been hit.

He’d healed himself, but that last one was still bleeding. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“Damn it, Eoin—this looks bad.”