Starhawk Chronicles Book II Chapter 1

Halting at the corridor junction, Cairn Mazel pressed himself up against the wall, the blood rushing through his veins making it difficult to hear if his pursuers were still on to him. The sound of footsteps down the far corridor was distant, but growing louder. Another few minutes and they would be on him.



Fortunately for me, they don’t have another few minutes. Two more turns of the corridor, another few hundred meters, and he would be safe. He started down the corridor again.



They had bravado; the Rycan gunrunner gave them credit for that. Not only had they infiltrated his base, but were able to outwit and out-fight the best of his men, coming within meters—meters―of getting their hands on him. Had his first lieutenant not been so unfortunate as to wander into their line of fire, they might have succeeded.

Of course, the fact that he had pushed old Boruus into their line of fire made no difference to Mazel. After all, that’s what he paid his people for.



Another corner, another turn, and Mazel could see the open hangar bay door and his escape craft waiting beyond. The sight gave him a burst of hope, spurring him on faster.



He reached the hangar bay doors just as they opened fire on him. Ducking around the corner, out of harm’s way, he slapped the door controls. Mazel laughed at the looks on his pursuers faces as they realized they had lost. A desperate volley of laser fire followed just before the doors shut with a boom that shook the walls around them.



Mazel allowed himself a chuckle. He would like to see them try to blast through that door. Triple-layered cerama-steel alloy. Military-grade projectiles would be hard-pressed to dent it. Mazel was safe.



Turning to his ship, a small but swift Harkonian freighter, he took his time strolling up the gangplank and into the cockpit. Even if the hunters had decided against cutting through the doors and tried to get in another way, they would have to double back through the maze of corridors to find another route. Mazel would be long gone by then.



He fired the ship’s engines, taking solace in their strong, steady thrum. It was a fast ship, built for speed and maneuverability. Once off planet, he could make a run for any number of alternate bases known only to himself and a few trusted others.

Once he got confirming green lights across his control boards, Mazel activated the overhead doors. They irised open, revealing clear blue sky above. Smiling to himself, he keyed in the freighter's lift jets, and the ship began to rise.



Focused on his instruments, Mazel almost failed to notice the shadow that was blotting out the sunlight coming through the hangar opening. Peering up through the cockpit canopy, he saw a shapeless, shimmering blob forming in the sky above the hangar. As the apparition took on more definite form, he realized it was another ship, disengaging a cloaking shield, and blocking the way out of the hangar.



In a panic, Mazel primed the ship’s dorsal gun turret. A few quick bursts ought to scare the interloper off long enough for him to get clear. His targeting screen came to life, and he began to track upwards.



With a curse, he realized that the turret would not elevate at that great of an angle. He began to tilt the freighter upwards to compensate, when he noticed, too late, that the hovering ship was swiftly descending.



He fired a round from the cannon, hoping to forestall this lunatic. The shot went wide, striking only clear sky. The phantom ship, now fully decloaked, continued its descent, landing gear locking into position.



The impact of the two ships colliding rocked Mazel in his seat. The ship above rose a few meters, and dropped again, striking with even more force. It repeated the maneuver a third time, and now Mazel’s freighter began losing ground. Warning sirens began sounding throughout the cockpit. The aggressor was now pressing steadily downward atop the freighter, forcing it toward the hangar floor. Mazel hurried to cycle his own ship’s landing gear back down. There was no way his smaller craft could win this contest.



The shriek of tearing metal sounded throughout the ship, and Mazel knew it to be the sound of the landing struts being forced upward into the hull as the ship above came to rest atop it. Something from the rear exploded, shaking the ship further, and Mazel could hear the hiss of escaping steam or coolant somewhere in the living section. Several panels flared and shorted out filling the cockpit with smoke.



Something clattered against the canopy and Mazel saw that a thermite charge had adhered itself to the window. With a blinding flare, the charge blew a neat meter-wide hole in the clearsteel viewport.



As the smoke lifted, Mazel saw two figures standing atop what was left of the canopy, weapons pointed in at him through the gap. The smaller of the two, a brown and white furred Warwick, was unfamiliar to him, but Mazel had seen the taller human too many times before on the news circuits. The shaggy mop of sandy hair, piercing blue eyes, and weary, yet boyish good looks were a little too familiar to the galaxy’s criminal element as of late.



Of all the bounty hunters in the galaxy, Mazel thought, a sudden nasty ache beginning to pound inside his skull, I have to get the celebrity.



The human pointed matching Colt Seventy-Seven laser pistols through the shattered viewport and favored Mazel with a grin that the Rycan could almost have found disarming under other circumstances.



“Cairn Mazel,” Jesse Forster addressed him with a hint of humor in his voice. “As a duly appointed representative of the Corinthal Hunters Guild, I hereby place you under arrest. Anything you say can be used against you, and ain’t gonna be worth squat anyway, so just keep your trap shut.”