Free The Belter's Story (BRIGAND) by Natalie French, Scot Bayless Page A

arms and we threw a high voltage surge into him. His hands opened reflexively and she fell to the floor. As she crumpled, we saw her eyes slit open just the barest bit. She was looking for an opening.
    Even at our best, we’d never been a fighter. Before we could react, the Trand was on us, his massive hands gripping our head, lifting us into the air. In moments, our skull would be a bloody sack of mush plucked from the stalk of our neck.
    Then we noticed the little knife embedded in the Trand's throat, no doubt left there by the dark haired woman as she'd fought him. If we could grab that and find another conductive spot, we might have a chance. In desperation, we reached out again with our extensibles. We gripped the knife with our left and shot the right one straight into the Trand's mouth. This time, the electrical surge went through his medulla and he spasmed, falling backward, releasing his grip.
    The marine hooked his hand around the Trand's neck as he fell, slamming him down onto his knee. We didn't doubt the move would have crippled, maybe even killed, a normal human. But our skeletal augments had made that impossible. The Trand might be stunned, but he was far from dead. We had built him too well for that.
    And then the goddess made her move. We never even saw her coming. One moment, she was a tangle of naked limbs on the floor. The next, she was straddling the Trand's torso, her other knife at the ready. Unfortunately, the Trand had the advantage of his augments. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to drop her weapon, but then, almost as if they had planned it, the marine caught the blade and drove it into the Trand's good eye. He went limp.
    Still astride the Trand's massive chest, she smiled and leaned forward, wiping her thumb over her companion's upper lip. "You had a little bit of blood on your face." Her humor and affection brushed over him leaving faint vortices of pale blue.
    Before he could respond, the marine collapsed, unmoving, on the floor.
    "Oh no." The woman moved quickly to his inert body, rolling him onto his side and checking the pulse in his throat. She lifted his eyelids, first one, and then the other.
    "He's in trouble. I need to get him back to our ship. Do you have something I can use to carry him?"
    "We —" With no idea how to proceed, we paused, calculating odds of his survival against odds of our escape, against how long it would be until the Trand recovered enough to kill us. Patterns and probabilities raced through our head, but a single certainty remained — she must live. We stuck with that.
    "You must live."
    She fixed her steel gaze on us. "I'm not leaving without him."
    "The Cruase can help transport him to your ship, but we cannot guarantee his recovery. If we assist, you must promise to see to your own survival first. We will attend to the —"
    "His name is Roy. And yes. Now hurry. Please."
    We retrieved the float lift Trand used for heavy equipment. It wasn't easy, especially with her right arm, which was broken, held uselessly against her abdomen, but we managed to get him draped over the floater's bed and covered with one of the coats they'd been wearing.
    Once he was secured, she lifted the other coat and struggled into it. Then, before we could react, she reached out and touched our hand. It was too much to bear. We could feel her. Just one taste. Just one little tug and we would know the essence of the goddess. We wanted her so much, but we knew that, once we started, there would be no stopping. Ever. We quivered with the struggle inside us but, with that struggle, emerged. A hint of something we hadn’t felt for a very long time. Something that felt remarkably like happiness.
    "Thank you for helping us. We'd have been done if you hadn't stepped in. I'm Trig."
    We had had already been dead, for so many years, but now elation overpowered us and we laughed aloud. Of course she didn't understand. Her scowl was to be expected. We, on the other hand, were ecstatic just to be