Starship Insurgent (The Galactic Wars Book 6)

by Tripp Ellis

  40

  Emma

  “Mosaav is different,” the detective said. “You don’t have the same rights and privileges here as you do in the Federation. Especially as a foreigner.”

  Emma stared at him and said nothing.

  He was a thin man with dark hair, dark eyes, and had a mustache that seemed a little too big for his narrow face. He was probably in his 50s. He was holding a manila folder full of paper. He set it on the table, but didn’t open it. "I have the right to keep you in custody until you are formally charged. We have up to three years to bring official charges."

  Emma’s eyes widened.

  "Like I said. It is much different than the Federation.” He surveyed her for a moment. “As it stands, three upstanding Aldebarani citizens are dead because of you."

  Emma scoffed. "Upstanding?"

  "Do you have evidence to suggest otherwise?"

  Emma remained silent.

  “Not to mention the destruction of property that is ranging into the hundreds of thousands of credits.” The detective leaned in and stared into Emma’s eyes. "Why are you here, Ms. Castle?"

  “I’m part of the regional security office.”

  “I can read your documentation. I want to know why you’re really here.”

  “To protect our diplomats and embassy staff.”

  “So, that’s why you were racing through the streets, discharging your weapon? Can you enlighten me as to why you were chasing these individuals with reckless disregard for the safety of our citizens.”

  Emma said nothing.

  “You know what I think? I think you are not a regional security officer. I think you are a UIA agent looking for terrorists without the consent of our government.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a security guard.”

  The detective smiled. “You might be fascinated to know that we have our own intelligence agency here on Aldebaran. The Planetary Security and Intelligence Bureau. Sure, we don’t have the budget or the resources of the Federation, but our agency does a pretty good job.”

  He opened the manila folder and slid it across the desk. It was Emma’s complete dossier. It contained every detail of her military background and UIA service. It had her college and high school transcripts. A list of friends and associates, along with her entire family tree.

  Emma glanced at the documents and tried to act unimpressed. The detective studied her eyes for any sign of acknowledgment.

  “Clearly your intelligence agency isn’t very good,” she said. “This information is incorrect.”

  “Hmm. Interesting. Well, you can tell the PSIB that directly when one of their agents arrives.” He reached across the table and closed the folder, then pulled it back across the desk. He stood up and strode toward the door. He craned his neck back just before he left the room. “You’re in for a very long and unpleasant stay. I suggest you take this time to think about telling the truth to the PSIB.”

  Emma grimaced and muttered under her breath. She knew she was in a lot of trouble, and this little escapade of hers was going to bring the heat down on Graham and the agency. The Aldebaranian government wasn’t going to start a war with the Federation—they were just one planet. But this was exactly the type of thing that could make cold relationships even colder.

  Aldebaran seceded from the Federation almost a decade prior. The planet was just outside the region that the Saarkturians had deemed their Holy Land. As such, they had no qualms with the Aldebaranians. Because of their neutral position, they were able to establish trade agreements and avoid military conflicts with the Saarkturians. It had become a haven for those who shared an anti-Federation sentiment.

  Emma knew that Federation citizens didn’t do well in Aldebaranian prisons. She was tough, and could handle herself in a fight. But the odds of making it past the first week were slim.

  A burly guy in the corner was eyeing Emma. He was 6’3”, 260 pounds, and solid muscle. He had a crazed look in his eyes, and seemed quite at home in a correctional facility. He was covered in prison tattoos that extended to his neck, and even his face. All of the other inmates kept their distance from him. He looked like he could snap at any minute.

  Emma had been transferred to a holding cell with a dozen other inmates. It was probably a temporary situation until the PSIB agent arrived, but nothing about her future was certain at this point.

  It was like any other holding tank in a big city. There was a hodgepodge of assorted characters. There were the two teenage girls that were in for shoplifting, despite having enough money to pay for the goods. The happy drunk, the belligerent drunk, and the kid busted for possession. There was the car thief. The two bar room brawlers, a guy arrested for breaking and entering, and the big burly guy. Rumor had it he was out on parole for aggravated assault when he got picked up again. Apparently he had beaten a guy who died later.

  Emma learned all of this information from Charles who had been in the holding cell for almost a month now. He had fallen through the cracks. He should have been moved out of the holding tank to a housing pod by now. No charges had been filed, and he hadn't even spoken with his attorney yet. There was no telling when he was going to go before a judge. He wasn't even sure what he was going to be charged with. And like everyone else in this entire prison system, he was innocent.

  Charlie was a gruff old man with stark white hair and a narrow face. He had bags under his eyes and rosy red cheeks from the broken capillaries under the skin. His eyes used to be blue when he was younger, but they lost their vibrancy and were more grayish now. Despite not having a drink in almost a month, he looked a little hung over.

  The cell was contained by a glowing red beam. It pulsed slightly. In her experience, that was indicative of cheaper quality force shields. Emma probed it for weaknesses. Most beams excelled at stopping blunt forces. But occasionally, slow steady pressure could permeate the membrane. Attempting such a feat wasn't without its risks. You might be able to wedge a finger through the beam, but an abrupt move could activate the quantum shield, severing a digit.

  "Don't waste your time,” Charlie said. "You're not getting through it. Trust me. Even if you do, you're not going to make it past the guards in the hallway.”

  Emma craned her neck over her shoulder to look at him. Charlie was sitting on the grimy floor, leaning against the wall. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

  The burly guy’s eyes were still glued to her. She knew he was going to be trouble.

  Emma finally gave up with the force shield and took a seat next to Charlie against the wall. The thought of sitting on the grungy floor made her cringe. But she had been in worse places. The burly guy finally stood up and marched toward Emma. She sprang to her feet, anticipating the worst.

  The rest of the inmates grew silent. All eyes fell on the two as they squared off.

  "Sup?"

  Emma shrugged. "What's up with you?”

  The two locked eyes with each other, like two predators sniffing each other out.

  "You don't look like you belong in a place like this.”

  "Neither do you," Emma said in a dry sardonic voice.

  The big guy let out a booming chuckle. “If you need protection in here, just let me know. I’m sure we could work out some type of arrangement.” He had a lascivious glint in his eyes.

  “Thank you, but I think I can take care of myself.”

  He looked skeptical. “I don’t know. It can get pretty rough in here.”

  “I like it rough.”

  The big guy chuckled again. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

  Emma smiled. She was good at diffusing situations.

  "I like you. You've got spunk. The name is Vynx. You let me know if you need anything." He strolled back to where he was sitting.

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't really looking forward to getting in a fight with a guy of that size. But she was never one to back down either.

  "Well, aren't you the charmer," Charlie whispered. "I damn near pissed my pants when he w
alked this way. He got in a fight yesterday. One punch sent the other guy down to medical with a traumatic brain injury.”

  "I'm not worried about him. He's all talk. It's the quiet ones you've got to watch out for."

  The force field turned from red to orange, and the guards pushed in a new prisoner. As soon as he cleared the shield, it turned back to it's glowing red color. When the shield was orange, it allowed a one-way passage. A green rectangular portal opened up in the force shield, and the prisoner pushed through his wrists. The guards removed his cuffs, and he pulled his hands back through the opening. The green portal turned orange, then red. The new inmate was quick to clear his hands of the shield. He knew that if he left them in the path of the beam when it turned red he would lose his hands. That action alone let Emma know this wasn't his first time in prison.

  He had long scraggly hair and narrow beady eyes. He scanned the holding cell as if he was looking for someone. Emma studied him. He wasn't a particularly large man, but he was solid. Carved of stone. He had a dagger tattooed on his right cheek, next to his sideburns. It was a common symbol among Aldebaranian assassins, though most were more discrete about placement.

  It almost seemed like he was put in the cell to do a job. Prison guards in Mosaav were notoriously corrupt. The man had a focused intensity about him. Every other inmate in the cell had a look of terror hidden somewhere in their eyes, uncertain about their future, wondering when or if they would get out of prison. But this man didn't have that. It was like he knew he wasn't going to be in this holding cell for very long.

  Emma saw the tip of a shank barely poking out of his shirt sleeve. It confirmed her suspicions that he was there to kill someone.

  41

  Ryan

  Third Phase kicked off with intense classroom training, introducing the recruits to the War-Tek™ T-6000 Advanced Tactical Battle Armor. It was a self-contained suit, offering protection in the most extreme environments. It was fully networked, had active camouflage, the advanced optical warfare interface, multiple Hughes & Kessler mini thruster ports for ease of navigation in Zero-G environments, advanced atmospheric processing technology that provided days of oxygen, and composite plating that could withstand direct hits from small arms fire.

  Over the course of Third Phase, the recruits would have to become proficient in using, maintaining, and repairing the suit. They would learn how to precisely navigate in open space—not just for short walks, but for long insertions. It was not uncommon for Reapers to travel several thousand kilometers in open space during an operation. Hitting the target would require pinpoint accuracy. Because of their stealth capability, the T-6000s were excellent for recon missions.

  Despite having made it thus far, Third Phase often saw a few DORs because some recruits couldn’t overcome the claustrophobia. Spending long durations in the confined suit proved too much for some to handle. It was like getting sealed inside a coffin—and for many Reapers, the suit would serve as one if things went wrong. A malfunction in the thrusters could send a Reaper spiraling into space for all eternity. Failure, or insufficiency, in the atmosphere processing system could result in hypoxia, and asphyxiation.

  When the suits were connected to the network, and in range, they could be remotely controlled in case of emergency. But on long distance operations, the Reapers were on their own.

  The Naval Special Warfare Command fell under the jurisdiction of the Joint Planetary Operations Command. As such, they reported directly to the Secretary of Defense and the President. They were answerable to no one else. They had their own line of funding as well. The Reapers had an almost unlimited budget for new toys and gadgets. Anything that might give a competitive advantage on the battlefield was approved. The Reapers never had to suffer through the budgetary constraints that the Marines and other branches of the service had to deal with. There was no congressional oversight. And due to the top-secret nature of operations, budgets and the inner workings of Naval Special Warfare were never made public. It afforded luxuries like the Combat Space Simulator. A massive training facility that could replicate the weightlessness and deep cold of space. And while the T-6000 had thermal regulators, the recruits were going to learn a new definition of cold. All of that training in the frigid water had a purpose.

  Ryan latched his helmet on, and the heads-up-display came to life. A status bar gave a readout of vital statistics, location, status of the suit, power and oxygen capacity, and a multitude of other pertinent information. The front visor also served as an optical interface for access to computer data, videoconferencing, or to see the feed from other members of the team. The suit also offered protection from cosmic radiation.

  The recruits marched from the dressing area into an airlock of the CSS. Instructor Duke was suited up with the class. He pressed a button on the bulkhead, and the oxygen was sucked out of the airlock. He pressed another button, opening the hatch to the simulation chamber. Then Duke did a back flip off the platform and somersaulted three times, then came to a perfect stop, floating in the air. He had the precision of an Olympic gymnast. The suit was operated by neural activity. It was like an extension of your body. Maneuvering the T-6000 was going to take practice, just like any other type of highly athletic skill.

  “This evolution is going to be simple,” Duke said. “All you have to do is navigate to the derelict ship, deploy the hull mine, and return to the airlock. You will have 5 minutes to complete the evolution. Remember, always stay within 6 feet of your space buddy. If you get in trouble out there, you don’t want to be alone.” He surveyed the class. “Hunter… Parkes… you’re up."

  Ryan and Piper exchanged a glance, then leapt into the simulation chamber. They glided toward the derelict ship that was hovering in the center of the cavernous expanse. The thrusters on the bottom of their boots pushed them forward as they flew like super heroes.

  Duke had made it look easy. But it was far more challenging to fly straight than it looked. Ryan and Piper began to drift apart.

  Dukes voice crackled over the comm system. "Tighten up. 6 feet!”

  “Aye, sir," Ryan replied.

  He used his palm thrusters to adjust his vector and narrow the gap between them. As they neared the derelict ship, he used his palm thrusters again to decelerate. He somersaulted around and activated his mag boots and clamped onto the hull. He pulled a dummy det-charge from his pack, knelt down and affixed it to the bulkhead.

  Ryan’s eyes glanced at his HUD—they were right at the two minute mark. He set the timer, armed the device, then launched back toward the airlock.

  Ryan and Piper completed the evolution in 4:47.

  "Not bad," Duke said, almost sounding impressed.

  There were no slackers left in Class 276. Everyone that was here was more than qualified, and all the recruits completed the evolution within the allotted time frame.

  Duke had a devious grin on his face. "I told you that would be easy. Now let's try something difficult. I want you to do the same exact thing, but without optics. You will complete the evolution with no visual reference, using instrumentation only. That means you need to be able to place and set the charge by feel."

  The T-6000 had sensors in the gloves which provided tactile feedback. But it was like screwing through a condom. It didn't quite feel the same.

  "How long do we have for this evolution?" Ryan asked.

  "Five minutes."

  Ryan looked shocked.

  "Don't tell me you thought the hard part was over, Hero?”

  42

  Emma

  Emma felt her heart jump in her chest. She was certain this man was there to kill her. She was a nuisance in the eyes of the Aldebaranian government.

  "Charlie, I think something is about to go down,” Emma said. “Watch yourself."

  "Don't get involved with other people's drama. That's the first rule of prison politics."

  "Unfortunately, I think this is my drama." Emma slowly stood up, trying not to draw attention to herself. The new inmate hadn't
made eye contact with her yet.

  The other inmates sized him up, and most decided to keep their distance. His dark eyes and stone face gave off a disquieting vibe. He slithered through the cell and leaned against the wall for a moment. Then he waited for everyone to get comfortable with his presence. It didn't take long—people have short attention spans. But Emma kept her eyes fixed on him, and the makeshift knife he was hiding in his shirt sleeve.

  The air felt electric, and Emma’s skin tingled with anticipation. The new inmate was like a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike.

  There was a common toilet in the holding tank. There weren't any privacy barriers. The toilet was just sitting there in plain view for all to see. There was a small sink above the toilet that provided the only water spigot in the entire cell. If you got thirsty, that's where you had to take a drink. It was particularly unpleasant if someone had gone nuclear in the bowl.

  Like most intergalactic prisons, there was no segregation between male and female populations. It simplified things, especially for Xerflucian populations who had both male and female reproductive organs. Criminals were criminals, and they were all thrown in together. For the most part, prison officials didn't care what the inmates did to each other. Though, if an inmate died, it did affect the amount of funding the facility received. So that was a slight incentive to keep prison population alive and well.

  Vynx stood up and ambled toward the toilet. He made it a few steps when the assassin lunged for him. Like a magician adept at the art of sleight of hand, the makeshift blade dropped from the assassin’s sleeve, into his palm. The blade glimmered in the harsh light as he swiped at Vynx. The big guy grabbed the assassin’s forearm, blocking the strike.

  The rest of the inmates backed away and circled around the two, watching them fight.

  Vynx swung a hard right cross. He had fists like a sledgehammer. If he would have connected, you’d have been able to hear bones crunching in the next precinct. But the assassin blocked the blow. With lightning speed, he kicked Vynx in the groin. The big man doubled over, and the assassin finished him off with a knee to the face.