Unshackled (Rise of the Peacemakers Book 9) by Casey Moores & Jamie Ibson

Author:Casey Moores & Jamie Ibson [Moores, Casey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Seventh Seal Press
Published: 2021-09-27T22:00:00+00:00

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Ruxandra caught her breath at level 12, before making the final ascent. Somewhere around level 15, she became aware she was slowing down, getting tired, and she didn’t reach the height she needed to catch the railing. After a panicked kickoff, she’d gotten her feet under her on level 16, and had to slow her ascent to one level at a time instead of two. She shook out her hands and claws, which were cramping from the exertion, rolled her head a few times, and hopped in place to psyche herself up. Then one-two-three-up! She jumped to the railing, bounded for the opposite wall, pushed off, and soared up to the railing for level 11. She caught the railing and pulled herself forward explosively, rolled into a tuck, and came up with her claws unsheathed and fangs bared, ready to do battle again—against no one.

The deck, the bulkheads, the ceiling were splattered with gore in a multitude of colors, and the floor was piled high with the bodies of the dead.

There are so many dead.

She hadn’t remembered them all—she didn’t remember most, in fact—but wall to wall, aliens of all sizes, shapes, scales, fur, and feathers had bled and died. A boxy thing glinted on the floor, and Ruxandra checked it. Splattered with blue blood, she found one of the pistol magazines she’d given Melissa. A few feet away, the pistol poked out from under a dead Duplato, the magazine half ejected, and the slide locked back. She didn’t know what she felt. Rage? Pride? Sorrow? All three?

These Science Guild scum had broken nearly every rule in the book when it came to civilized warfare, right down to somehow turning otherwise nonviolent sapients into raging, suicidal cyberzombies and sending them out to die in alien waves. And they’d had the gall to attack and kill her friend, a noncombatant, a care aide, damn them to Hurnatta!

But Melissa had died on her feet, fighting. Since she was a cub, the Pushtal of Roxtador had remembered their warriors who died in battle, pirate raids, fighting other clans, or those who’d worked as mercs a century before. Hr’ent had cut right to the heart of it, all those years ago—Pushtal culture, Pushtal belief—was a death cult of sorts. After all, all sapients die. Why not make one’s death as meaningful as their life had been?

She vowed to celebrate Melissa as she should be celebrated, with stories told around the clan’s firepit as meat charred over a grill, potent drink in hand. She’d talk to Januia, see if Melissa could be inducted posthumously into the Clan itself. Melissa would have declined the honor, she suspected, but Ruxandra knew Melissa had the heart of a warrior and deserved her respect, even if age had caught up to her after all these years.

But she’d miss her, too. Her soft jabs, good-natured snark, and needle-like wit was always good for a laugh. And she genuinely cared about her charges. When Bull had delivered the Regulators

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