Free Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) by John Hindmarsh

we can drive them harder.”
    *****

Chapter 9
    As an ambush, it was effective. Steg stepped around a corner of one of the starship’s long corridors and was confronted by six of the rejected prisoners armed with knives and heavy metal bars. One man had a projectile weapon, an old handgun, unsuitable for use on board a starship. He held the weapon against the temple of one of the female crew, who appeared to be terror-stricken. Steg didn’t know her name or duties, although he’d seen her in the mess arranging refreshments for on-duty bridge officers.
    Rippin, his arms bandaged, was standing in back of the small group. He nudged his immediate companion and said, “That’s frekin’ him. He’s the one I want you to kill. Do it, now.”
    “All right,” Steg said. “I want you to release this girl, disarm, and return to your cabin.” While he understood the possible futility of his instruction, he had no alternatives. “Go, now.”
    Monty whispered in his ear. “I’m disconnecting gravity in your section of the corridor and switching off the lights. Ten seconds and counting, from now.”
    Steg braced himself, grabbing hold of a stanchion as Monty cut the gravity and extinguished the lights. Steg used the sudden release of gravity to launch an attack. He tackled the armed man who, startled by his sudden weightlessness, lost his grip on the hostage. Steg grappled with the man, struggling to gain control of the handgun. He was confident the hostage had escaped in the confusion. Meantime, as Steg was fighting his attackers, Monty synchronized resumption of gravity and lights with the arrival of an armed squad of troopers, who charged along the corridor.
    The prisoner was stronger, probably a heavyworlder, and Steg was unable to gain the upper hand. When gravity resumed, they both tumbled to the floor of the corridor, and Steg lost his grip on the firearm. Someone, in the melee, fired the gun. He heard an explosion and felt a crushing blow to the back of his head. He collapsed, unconscious.
    ###
    Underlying the strong odor of medical disinfectant was a more subtle trace of a familiar perfume. It reminded Steg of something or someone far away, a memory that he was unable to trace, yet he knew was wrapped in sadness. His head was throbbing again. Someone had hit him. Another someone, he thought, had shot him. Steg opened his eyes. He was on a hard bunk in the starship’s medical unit, and a nurse was taping a pad to his right temple. At least, he thought she was a nurse; her clinical uniform certainly gave that impression. When she finished her task and stood back, he raised his head and looked around the room. Three nurses solemnly regarded him.
    “We think you’ll survive—it’s a small crease,” commented the nurse who had applied the pad. “You have a nasty bump on the back of your skull; it’ll go away after a day or two.”
    “You seem to be collecting scars,” the second nurse said. “Although this one will not be as bad.” The first nurse was wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. She was tiny, almost elfin, and her figure was lithe, even sensuous. He was not misled; he suspected her apparent softness disguised a hidden strength. Her hair was black, cut short, and brushed away from her eyes. He looked again. The three nurses were almost identical in appearance.
    A synapse triggered.
    “Fain,” Steg whispered. “Fain. You’re all Fain.”
    Fain was a planet known for its female humanoid constructs. Their origins were mythical, disguised in rumors. Visitors were allowed on Fain only to make a purchase, and they were few. He knew each Fain was designed to give pleasure, to care for her Fain-master. The most terrible of tortures for a Fain was to be alone, deserted by her contracted master. Something was out of line, he thought; these did not appear to be contracted Fain, dependent on a humanoid alien—typically Terran— male.
    He waved the nurse away and sat up. The room spun, and he gripped the side