We moved maybe five hundred meters, always through wide, empty corridors, always going deeper into the yard, leaving four wards behind us. The corridors were still huge, and dark, and empty. Every so often, they opened into halls, also empty. Some of the internal walls had been removed, revealing other halls, other corridors. No equipment, no cover.

  I imbued a razor ward and realized that the gray-and-white spots I saw jerking before my eyes weren’t reflections from our flashlights.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I need to rest. If I try to imbue another ward, I’m going to faint.”

  “Why do you do it?” Hao said. “The wards are on a straight line. Anyone coming in will figure out the pattern.”

  “I’m counting on it,” I said.

  “Say again?”

  “I’m counting on it,” I said again. “They’re not going to send their mages into combat. They’re going to send the grunts. The grunts will do grunt work, disarm a few grenades, maybe stop on our mine. Then they’ll hit the wards, and unless they’re better equipped than a Navy deep raiding team, they’ve got nothing to protect them. They get fried. Then they hit the next ward. They get fried again. By the time they’re hitting wards three and four, they’re screaming at their captain to send in the mages to shatter any wards they might find. Mages come, we kill them, we run.” I smiled at her, then realized she wouldn’t be able to see it. “Easy,” I said.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “It is,” I said moving away down the corridor. “Now we find a spot to make our stand, and make sure it’s got a back entrance or five.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hao said. “Especially to the ‘or five’ part.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  I laughed, despite myself. Great minds think alike. Time to find somewhere to hunker down, get some rest, and wait for our pursuers.

  My com blinked faint yellow. Someone was broadcasting on an open band, a wide broadcast, uncoded. I tapped the readout, hooking into the cast.

  Silence. No, not quite. Someone breathing, softly. Waiting. Giving us time to decide if we wanted to listen in.

  They waited for thirty seconds, according to my readout. Then they spoke.

  “To the owner of the Bucket of Diamonds, registered to Numenor Prime.”

  It was a deep, masculine voice, with a bit of a rasp. My subconscious summoned the vision of a middle-aged, rugged man. White hair, or maybe bald. Unshaven, but not sloppy. Someone you wouldn’t want to play cards with.

  “This is Captain Vaduz Dordolio of the Syndicated Trader Gold and Carnelian. We know you have left your ship. We have not touched your ship. We are willing to deal.”

  The voice fell silent.

  “Wha—” Hao began, but I silenced her with a raised hand. Bringing my face plate to touch hers, I shouted, “No transmissions, unless we have to. They might not know exactly where we are.” She nodded, curtly, without breaking contact with my helmet. This way, we could speak without any revealing emissions, even tightbeam. Who knew how sensitive Dordolio’s sensor ward was. With a good sensor net and a powerful mage to run it, it might be able to pick up unidirectional microwave over short distances.

  We waited. The seconds ticked on.

  “We will not approach,” said Dordolio. “Your ship is safe. We know where you are, and that you have a void wyrm infant with you. We are willing to pay twenty percent of market value for the wyrm. Under the circumstances, I would consider that generous.”

  So would I, if I had any inclination to selling the hatchling, or trusting a Syndicate pirate’s word.

  “These are your coordinates,” Dordolio said, followed by a beep. My com readout flashed a series of meaningless numbers – a code-string. They might have been our coordinates in three-dimensional space. I had no way of knowing, without knowledge of the underlying coordinate system. Dordolio had to know that. But either he was stupid, or he considered us stupid and wanted to bait us into replying.

  A gentle vibration shook my feet, traveling up through the magnetic soles of my boots. Someone had found my first pair of grenades. So much for leaving us alone while we came to an agreement.

  We had to move, and find somewhere to make a stand.