Obsidian Fleet: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Omega Taskforce Book 4)

by G J Ogden

  Cursing, Sterling kicked the man out of pure frustration, then tried to get his bearings. He spotted the stairwell and maintenance door that Banks had pushed through earlier, in pursuit of the first attacker, and set off at a sprint.

  “Mercedes, come in!” Sterling called out in his mind, but the link was still down. Tapping his interface again, he reached out, trying to fight through the pain and fatigue to form a connection, but he had no success.

  Cursing again, Sterling charged up the staircase and kicked open the door, weapon held ready. It was clear and he hurried on, moving into a larger area, filled with humming machines and flashing consoles.

  “Mercedes, do you read me?” Sterling tried again through the link, but still the connection would not form.

  Up ahead, he saw the bodies of more factory workers on the ground. Staying low, he crept closer to one and kicked the woman onto her back. Her neck had been broken, but Sterling could clearly see the ‘77’ tattoo under her eye. Moving deeper into the room, he saw three other bodies on the ground, some with blast wounds and others with twisted and fractured limbs – the hallmark of Mercedes Banks. Then the mass of thrumming machines began to clear and he spotted his first officer. She was on her knees, hands pressed behind her head with her fingers interlaced. Two men stood to her rear with old-style firearms held ready. Off to the side was the man with the ‘77’ jacket who had entered Amy Camargo’s room and set the chase in motion. A chase that Sterling now knew was a set-up for the ambush that he’d so far evaded.

  “That’s close enough,” the man wearing the ‘77’ jacket called out, pressing the barrel of his firearm to the back of Banks’ head. Sterling could now see that this worker also bore the same tattoo under his eye. “Who the hell are you anyway?” the man demanded.

  “Who am I?” Sterling answered. The question made no sense. “Why the hell are you attacking us if you don’t even know who we are?”

  “Just answer the damn question!” the man roared, jabbing the barrel of the weapon into Banks’ skull. If it were anyone else on their knees before the gunman, Sterling would have feared for their safety. However, he could see that Banks’ eyes were wild. If the gunman didn’t kill her, Banks was ready to tear him limb-from-limb.

  “I’m Fleet Captain Lucas Sterling of the SIB, here to investigate the disappearance of three missing factory workers,” Sterling replied, keeping half an eye on the other two men. “Now tell me who the hell you are, and why you're trying to kill us.”

  “You’re Fleet?” said the man. The worker was not feigning surprise; Sterling could see that he was genuinely shocked.

  “Yes, so put your weapons down and let my officer go,” Sterling replied.

  As Sterling spoke the words, he dabbed blood from a cut to his face with the back of his hand, brushing his neural interface as he did so. With the men guarding Banks distracted, Sterling saw that she also managed to unlock her fingers and brush the palm of her hand across her interface. Finally, Sterling felt the neural link between him and Banks solidify.

  “Get ready to take them out, Mercedes,” Sterling said through their secret connection.

  “I’m ready.” Sterling could feel that Banks was in discomfort, but more than anything he could feel her rage.

  “Damn it, I told the guy that we don’t deal with Fleet,” the man in the ‘77’ jacket complained.

  “Someone paid you to do this?” Sterling asked.

  “It doesn’t matter now, what’s done is done,” said the man, brushing off Sterling’s question.

  “Who was it?” said Sterling. “Give me a name and you might still walk out of here alive.”

  The man in the ‘77’ jacket laughed. “That’s not how this goes down, Fleet,” he hit back. “I was just curious who you were. I’ve never seen two people fight like you. I was worried you were a new gang, but since you’re Fleet, I don’t have anything to worry about, other than asking for another twenty percent on top of my usual fee.”

  Sterling knew his time was up and didn’t wait for the man to kill Banks. Adjusting his aim, he blasted one of the gang members behind Banks, blowing a hole through the man’s sternum and melting his heart. At the same time, Banks butted her head into her captor’s gut, sending him staggering backward. The firearm slipped from the worker’s grasp and fell through a metal grating into the fast-flow gutter system. The remaining gunman returned fire moments later, but Sterling had already ducked into cover. Bullets pinged off the humming metal vat he was hiding behind, but unlike plasma weapons, Sterling knew that the old-fashioned firearm would not penetrate his cover. He also knew that the man had fired his last shot.

  A wail of pain told Sterling that Banks had already sprang into action. Peering out from behind cover, Sterling saw Banks lift the gunman off the ground by his throat. The gang member’s arms were already broken and hanging limp at his sides. The man in the ‘77’ jacket then recovered and drew a blade, but Banks was ready. Pivoting and using her immense strength, Banks threw the gang member at the man. Sterling didn’t know what was more satisfying – the look of unabridged terror on the gang member’s face, or the thud of flesh and crunch of bone breaking as the two bodies collided.

  Sterling moved out from cover and stepped up to the man in the ‘77’ jacket. Banks had already advanced and had her boot pressed to the gang member’s neck.

  “Tell me who paid you to kill us,” said Sterling, peering down at the gang member. Blood was pouring from the man’s nose and mouth, and Sterling could see that several teeth had been knocked out, with more hanging by loose threads.

  “I don’t know,” the man mumbled, spitting blood and teeth out as he struggled to speak, “and I didn’t ask.”

  “That’s unfortunate for you then, isn’t it?” Sterling said, glancing at Banks and nodding.

  “Wait!” the man cried, as Banks added pressure with her boot. “They had uniforms!” he spluttered. “Dark uniforms, and boots just like yours. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Sterling said before nodding to Commander Banks, who continued to increase the pressure on the man’s neck. The defined muscles in her thigh were practically bursting through the fabric of her pants. The gang member croaked and spluttered and fought Banks as best he could, but it was futile. Finally, after a minute of struggling, the gang member’s efforts, along with his life, expired.

  “Commodore Wessel and I are going to have words when we get back to A-COP,” Sterling said, shoving his plasma pistol back into his jacket pocket.

  “Can’t we forgo words and just tear that bastard’s throat out?” Banks replied.

  Sterling knew that she hadn’t forgotten his directive to treat their new commander with the respect afforded by his rank. However, on this occasion, he let it slide. He felt exactly the same way.

  “Why the hell would he set us up like this?” Sterling wondered, inspecting their new location more closely. “Even if he’d succeeded, an investigation would have still shone the spotlight onto him. It makes no sense.”

  Then he spotted some equipment set up against one of the large metal vats. It was newer than the other tarnished gear in the room and didn’t look like it belonged on New Danvers. He moved over and inspected it more closely.

  “Any idea what this is?” he asked as Banks approached and crouched at his side.

  “It's the water purification system for the residential zone,” said Banks, looking at the collection of vats in the room. She then knelt down and inspected the equipment that Sterling had seen. “This gear is attached to the inlet pipe that feeds the chemical purification compounds into the entire system.”

  Sterling felt a knot tighten in his stomach and began to increase the speed of his inspection. Then his fears were confirmed. Integrated into the equipment was a container filled with a white salt-like substance. The letters “KCN” were written on the side.

  “Cyanide?” said Banks, scowling at the container.

  Sterling nodded. “Isn’t it convenie
nt that they neatly labelled the container so even the dumbest investigating team could figure out what was going on,” he added, sarcastically. He reached inside his jacket and removed his pistol. “We’re being set up,” he added, bitterly. “Wessel doesn’t just want us dead, he wants to frame us as ‘aides to the emissaries’. Then he can imply the connection to Griffin and take her down too.”

  Banks cursed, then collected one of the firearms that a dead gang member had dropped. “We have to get out of here,” she said, looking around the room with anxious eyes. “If you’re right then we don’t have much time.”

  Heavy bootsteps then filtered into the room and seconds later a squad of commandoes in black SIB uniforms stormed the space. Banks raised her firearm, but Sterling moved quickly to deflect her aim, pushing her arm down to the deck.

  “Don’t give them a reason, Mercedes,” Sterling said, meeting his first officer’s eyes, which were burning with hatred and resentment.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain Lucas Sterling and the freak-of-nature, Mercedes Banks.” Commodore Vernon Wessel stepped out of the shadows. His hands were pressed to the small of his back and a smug, self-righteous smile curled his lips.

  “Or should I say, ‘Emissary Sterling and Emissary Banks?” he added, with mock suspicion.

  “This equipment is from the Invictus, sir,” one of the commandoes called out. Another group had begun to inspect the equipment attached to the vats in the room. “The serial numbers match.”

  “Isn’t that a surprise?” said Sterling, sarcastically. “I have to admit that this is low, even for you, Vernon.”

  “Don’t speak to me, you turned traitor!” Wessel spat back. “I always suspected you to be an aide or an emissary. All that time in the Void, out of contact with the Fleet. Very suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Go to hell, you piece of shit,” Sterling hit back.

  The Commodore’s smile widened, revealing rows of pristine white teeth.

  “You first, Lucas.” He turned to one of his commandoes. “Take them away.”

  Chapter 10

  A choice with only one option

  Sterling and Banks were frog-marched through the narrow corridors of the residential sector, bookended by a pair of SIB agents to the front and rear. They each had their hands bound together in front of them, though Sterling guessed this was more for show, rather than as a genuine precaution against them escaping. Commodore Wessel was proudly marching at the head of the formation, barking at any factory worker who crossed his path to get out of his way. It was like the head of the SIB had just captured the most-wanted criminals in the known universe and was parading them for all to see.

  “I need to activate my interface so I can contact Shade,” Sterling whispered to Banks. “Can you break your binders?”

  Sterling felt the butt of a plasma rifle hammer into his back. “No talking!” an agent barked at him.

  “I can, but I have another idea,” Banks whispered back. She then jolted forward as the agent thudded the butt of his rifle into her back too.

  “I said no talking!” the commando growled.

  Sterling could see that Banks was about ready to break the binders and strangle the man, but instead she glanced over at him and mouthed the words, “Go with it…” Sterling frowned, wondering what “it” was before Banks barged into him and pinned him against the wall.

  “This is your fault!” Banks snarled at Sterling. He was so taken aback that he was paralyzed with shock. Banks then reached up with her bound hands and tried to grab Sterling around the throat. However, as she did so she tapped Sterling’s neural interface to activate it. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Grimaldi because of you!” Banks yelled, as two of the agents attempted to pull her away from Sterling. It took all four to finally drag her off him.

  Commodore Wessel marched up to Sterling, who was still pressed against the wall in shock. Banks had played her role a little too convincingly for his liking.

  “Oh dear, it appears that loyalty is a fleeting commodity in the ranks of the precious ‘Omega Taskforce’,” the Commodore said, smiling like a Cheshire cat. Wessel feigned surprise for a second time since he’d captured them. “Oh yes, Captain, I know all about Griffin’s little taskforce now, as does the War Council.”

  “I don’t care what you think you know, Vernon,” Sterling hit back. It was a glib response, but his mental energy was focused on contacting Lieutenant Shade. The distance between him and the Invictus made this a considerable challenge.

  “Now that we’ve discovered you to be ‘aides to the emissaries’ or even emissaries yourselves, Griffin will be implicated as a traitor too,” Wessel went on. “Finally, her meddlesome influence will be removed from the War Council and we can focus on ending this war.”

  Sterling laughed in Wessel’s face. It was telling that the Commodore had said “ending” rather than “winning” the war.

  “Ending the war by bending your knee to the enemy, Vernon?” Sterling hit back. “This war ends one of two ways. Our annihilation, or theirs.”

  “Enough!” Wessel snapped. He turned to the agents who were still struggling to restrain Banks. “Keep them from killing each other, but pick up the pace. Next, we take command of the Invictus.”

  “You’ll never take my ship,” Sterling spat at Wessel. “They’ll die before they allow a piece of dirt like you on board.”

  Wessel smiled again. “Oh, but I will take it, Captain,” the Commodore replied, the words leaking from his lips like toxic fumes. “You are not the only one who is prepared to go to extremes. Your crew will soon surrender when they discover I have a pistol pressed under your chin.”

  Sterling laughed and shook his head. “If you think that will work, you clearly don’t know anything about the Omega Taskforce.” He chanced a step closer to the Commodore, causing Wessel to flinch like a frightened kitten. “The Omega Directive is in effect, Vernon,” he said, while mentally running through some of the many creative ways he’d considered killing the man over the past few months.

  “What Omega Directive?” Wessel barked. The tone of Sterling’s warning and the fact the Commodore hadn’t comprehended its meaning had clearly rattled Wessel. “I demand you tell me what that means at once!”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Sterling replied, with unreserved malice. He then stepped back and stood tall. “Shall we continue?”

  Wessel growled, then pushed through to the head of the formation again, barking orders at the agents to march on. Sterling closed his eyes and focused on forming a neural link. His brain literally ached from the effort, but finally a connection formed.

  “Lieutenant Shade, ready your commandoes and prepare to repel boarders,” Sterling said through the link as an agent shoved him in the back to get him moving again. “Commodore Wessel has taken us prisoner. The whole thing was a set up to frame us.”

  “My team is already standing by, Captain,” Shade replied. “We monitored the Venator landing six pads across from us. I tried to contact you, but couldn’t form a link.”

  “Understood, Lieutenant. What’s the condition of the Venator?” Sterling asked.

  “Its reactor is hot, and we’ve picked up a squad from the ship heading this way,” Shade replied.

  Sterling cursed, realizing they were already on the back foot. He had to make a decision, one that would set them on a course from which they could never deviate. However, it seemed that he no longer had a choice. It was either go rogue or have his ship taken from him and sit out the rest of the war in Grimaldi Military Prison.

  “If those forces try to storm the Invictus then you fight, Lieutenant, is that understood?” Sterling said. He’d settled on his choice, though really there was no choice at all. Surrender was not in his blood.

  “Aye, Captain,” replied Shade. “So long as I’m still breathing, no-one from the Venator will set foot on this ship.” Despite the weak link between them, Sterling could feel the adrenalin surging through his weapon
s officer’s veins, amping up her senses and fighting instincts.

  “I need you and your two best commandoes to intercept Wessel’s squad and break us free,” Sterling continued, looking up at the location markers on the corridor wall. “We’re passing through residential sector six, section four-alpha. It’s a good bet they’re taking us to the Venator.”

  “I’m on my way, sir,” Shade replied.

  “Put Razor in command,” Sterling quickly added, before Shade closed the link. “Tell her to depart as soon as we’re on board, weapons hot.”

  Shade acknowledged the order and the link went dead. Sterling turned to Banks and nodded. They were all set. Now it would come down to who had the will to fight the hardest, he told himself. And that was a question he already knew the answer to. Sterling then felt the butt of a rifle in his back, this time steering him down an adjacent corridor. He recognized the area and realized they were heading into the docking section. Time was already short. Up ahead, Sterling caught sight of Rhonda Reese, the facility’s administrator. She was with a security detail comprised of four tattooed men, including the two who had accompanied the women when Sterling had arrived.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Reese yelled as Commodore Wessel marched toward her. “I have reports of weapons fire and dead bodies. Explain yourself!”

  “This is SIB business, and none of your concern,” Wessel barked, shoving the woman aside.

  Reese stumbled back, tripped and fell hard to the deck. “Stop them!” she roared; her face flushed red with anger. The order was like a spark igniting a keg of gunpowder. Moments later the tattooed security guards charged at the agents at the front of the formation. The fizz of plasma rifle fire filled the air and once again Sterling was assaulted with the odor of burning flesh. However, the incident was also the distraction he was looking for.