“What do we do?” Stephan asked. “Do we leave?”

Quintilla held up a finger. “Do you see a timer?” she called back up the stairs.

“Four minutes!” Kurko returned.

She nodded with a satisfied smirk. “Okay, good. No reason to worry, then. Our schedule’s been moved up a little, that’s all.”

“They locked the hatch behind them, buncha cowards,” Yin said. She kicked a sturdy metal cover which concealed the staircase leading down to the cargo hold.

“No problem,” Torch said. “I’ve got just the thing for that.”

He retrieved a clump of plastic explosives from his coat and applied it to the hatch. Everyone else stood back a healthy distance, while the pyromaniac remained a little too close for comfort.

He held up a detonator attached to the load of explosives by a wire. He stroked the red button on its top affectionately, waiting for the order.

“Yin, be ready to jump in,” Quintilla said. “Go for the captain.”

Yin nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Torch. Hit it.”

A dense explosion shook the floor. Shrapnel bounced off walls. Torch threw his arms out and laughed as deadly projectiles rained all around him. Once the smoke cleared, the hatch was in fragments.

Yin was the first through the gap. Within a few moments, gunshots sounded, orders barked in Attean.

Quintilla and Torch rushed after her into the cargo hold. Stephan came last, pistol drawn.

Stephan kept his head low as he passed from the staircase into the wide room. Yin’s acrobatics were taking up a lot of attention from the Concordians, while Quintilla ducked behind a stack of boxes.

At a quick count, about ten Concordian soldiers were making their stand behind a straggling line of cargo at the other end of the room. The captain, distinguished by his long, blue coat, was directing his men, telling them to divert their focus away from Yin and towards the newly arrived pirates.

Quintilla shot a man in the throat over her cover, then put her back against the boxes to reload. Stephan scrambled over, bullets whizzing by, and slid behind cover next to the captain.

Torch skipped around without cover, unloading his pistol into the crowd of Concordians. He took a bullet to the midsection and stumbled back with a gasp. He looked down, mouth slack with shock, then he laughed. Falling back against the wall, he grabbed one of the last grenades from his belt and hurled it among the enemy soldiers.

One of the soldiers picked up the grenade to throw it back, but it went off in his hand. The man’s hand was blown clean off, reduced to bloody mist, and several others were riddled through with shrapnel.

Those enemies that remained standing were thrown off balance, and Yin exploited this opening without hesitation. She leapt from the ceiling, straight towards the captain.

The blue-coated man jumped out of the way, and her sword caught only the edge of his clothing. He rolled onto one knee and discharged his rifle, but she hopped out of the way and landed back on the ceiling.

The captain took one hand off his weapon and raised it towards the girl.

“Ila Knuph!” he called.

A vortex of nearly invisible force spiraled towards his palm, pulling in dust and debris. Yin tried to dodge out of the way of the spell, but was caught in its influence as an area of several meters in circumference was affected.

She was pulled from the ceiling and fell back to the floor, landing heavily on her back.

The captain aimed his rifle at her head, but she lashed out with her blade and cut the weapon clean in half. The man dropped the useless rifle and leapt on top of her, moving them both out of sight behind those boxes.

A pair of the Concordians got a bead on Stephan and fired on him, forcing him to duck behind cover.

Yin’s in trouble, Stephan thought. What do I do? Can she really get out of that?

Judging by her practical know-how of everything murder, he doubted that anyone would actually be able to kill her, but she was only a child. He couldn’t risk it. He had to protect her.

Somehow.

Whatever he was going to do, it had to happen fast.

His legs shook. His stomach twisted. He was working up a cold sweat.

“Captain, Yin needs help,” Stephan said. “What do I do?”

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“Trust her to take care of herself,” Quintilla said. She stood up, fired off two rounds, then squatted back down. “She’s tougher than you think. Just keep your head down and focus on taking these guys out. We’re on a clock, remember?”

Stephan licked his lips. He contemplated it.

It didn’t feel right.

“Help!” Yin cried over the thumping gunfire.

Stephan’s body moved on its own. He jumped out from behind cover and set into a sprint, straight towards the line of soldiers.

“Dammit, Stephan!” Quintilla called.

Stephan was met by a torrent of gunfire. Something hot and loud streaked by his neck, drew a lance of pain up the side of his throat, all the way into his jaw.

Most of the few remaining Concordians trained their guns on Stephan. One of them took a bullet to the dome and slumped over a wooden crate.

Stephan raised his pistol. The adrenaline helped clear his doubts and cramped his finger down on the trigger.

Shooting while in motion threw off his aim. The first bullet didn’t hit anything. The recoil shoved the pistol grip hard into his palm, left it aching. He fired again. This time, he caught a man in the arm, who dropped his weapon with a scream.

Stephan leapt over the makeshift barricade and barreled straight into a third Concordian, whose volley of gunfire went wide. Both of them toppled to the floor. Stephan put his pistol against the man’s forehead. The soldier clawed at his arm, pushed it aside, and with his other hand cracked Stephan across the face.

He flew back, colliding with a heavy, metal box. The soldier rose to his feet and drew a knife from his belt, then lunged.

Stephan raised his gun on reflex. It went off twice.

The soldier carried into him with such weight that the air was driven from Stephan’s lungs, but his stab went wide. Before Stephan could get off a third shot, the man sank to his knees and fell to the side.

He looked around and spotted Yin. She struggled against the captain, but he was on top of her, pummeling her with blows of his large fists. With each successful punch, her resistance waned.

Stephan aimed his gun at the captain, but with his lackluster experience and panic-firing nerves, there was no way for him to be sure he wouldn’t hit Yin as well. Instead, he stood up, supporting his weight against the metal box behind him.

Stephan caught his breath while he staggered towards the captain, who was fumbling for his sidearm. Stephan’s foot connected with his ribs. The man rolled off the green-skinned girl, gasping.

She was bruised, bleeding. The sight of it set Stephan’s blood to boil.

He turned his gun on the captain.

“No!” the man cried. “Mercy, please!”

He was blond with a light stubble. His skin bore the leathery creasing of one who has been out in the sun his whole life.

The spitting image of a friend Stephan had once known at the academy. Jamine.

Stephan pulled the trigger.

He fired twice, three times, until the man’s head was surrounded by a halo of blood and gore, three fine holes in his forehead.

The captain stared up at Stephan, mouth gaping dumbly in death.

In that moment, Stephan held no remorse. Only satisfaction and rage.

He spun around and quickly found that there were no Concordians left standing. The room was silent, apart from the occasional groan.

Kurko stood in the doorway. He had reduced the last three of the enemy soldiers to bloody slop with that monstrous shotgun.

“I’m sorry for defying your orders, Captain Wenezian,” he said. “But I believe we are running out of time. One and a half minute until the self-destruct activates.”

“No time to waste, then,” Quintilla said. “Kurko, Mr. Lordling, carry our two comrades back to the ship. I’ll find the intel we need.”

“Yes, Captain,” Kurko said with a nod that could almost be construed as a bow. He hurried over and picked up a weakly protesting Torch, lumping him over one shoulder.

“But…” Stephan said.

“Go!” Quintilla said with a wave of her revolver.

There was no time to argue further. Stephan dropped to one knee and gathered Yin into his arms as gently as he could. She hissed at being lifted but didn’t struggle.

She was lighter even than her slight frame would have suggested.

He hurried after Kurko up the stairs. They passed from the cargo hold, to the gun deck, to the main deck. Kurko leapt back onto the Tits Up with ease.

Stephan tried not to look down as he made it across the chain. He had two lives to look out for, not just one. He couldn’t afford to do something stupid, like slip and fall.

They made it across, safe and well. He looked back, but there was no sign of the captain.

“Hey… Lordling,” Yin spluttered.

“Yeah?” Stephan asked, looking down at his charge.

“Good kill.”

Stephan managed a tired smile. “Thank you.”

Kurko went ahead to the pilot’s cockpit to tell Kazzul to cast off. They had precious few seconds left to spare.

Stephan set Yin down gently against a wall. He watched anxiously for Quintilla. She still didn’t show.

“We will have to cut this short,” Kazzul shouted over the crackling farshout system, “or we’ll be fried in a second!”

Upon his speaking, the great flanges of the drain anchor retracted, and the massive hunk of metal came free of the warship. The chain links clattered against the bottom of the ship as it began to retract.

Quintilla skidded to a stop at the hole in the hull of the Intrepid. Her eye caught Stephan’s briefly, and she grinned.

She backed up, sprinted at the hull breach, and leapt through. She hurtled through the air and disappeared from sight. Stephan scrambled up to the doors and looked down.

There she was, swinging from the drain anchor, one foot on its head. She beamed up at Stephan and performed a mock salute.

As the Tits Up pulled away, the Intrepid went up in an awe-inspiring fireball that crackled with magical energies. The blast knocked Stephan back a step, and he only barely caught himself on the edge of the door.

Quintilla climbed up the chain, and Stephan bent down to offer his hand the last bit. He helped her up, and she crawled to her feet on the main deck.

“That was insane,” Stephan breathed.

“Yes,” Quintilla said. She plucked out a folder that she’d kept tucked inside her belt. “But we’ve just made a whole lot of money.”