Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2

by Michael Kotcher

  “Ha!” York crowed in triumph. “I have a smoker.”

  But Garank just finished tying his injured arm, covering the wound and securing his hand to his belt. He couldn’t properly immobilize the appendage, but it was the best he could do on short notice and without proper medical supplies.

  “Smoker’s good,” Corajen said. “That’s going to have to be the plan then. Pop smoke, then try and rush them before they get into Ops.”

  “Not a great plan, Chief,” Garank hissed.

  “No, it isn’t,” the lupusan acknowledged. “But I’ll hit them with this,” she indicated the slimer grenade, “and hopefully that will sew enough chaos that we can burn them down.” She hefted the captured rifle. “Ready? Good. Let’s go.”

  Down in the hangar section of the station, Korqath and the rest of his Aplora Squadron pilots were nearly climbing the walls out of frustration. The station had been boarded and the twit up in Ops had locked them down. So they’d been down here in the hangar bay spinning their wheels for hours now. Hukriss had managed to hack into the internal cameras on the station using his datapad and they’d been watching the ongoing attack.

  “Well, Chief Nymeria sure can kick ass, huh, Boss?” the zheen asked.

  Korqath hissed a chuckle. “Yes, Hukriss, she surely can. But I’m going mad being stuck down here with nothing to do, watching as those bastards are cutting a swath.”

  “Boss,” Hukriss said urgently, pointing one blunt finger at the datapad’s display. On it was a large group of the aggressor soldiers bunched up around the edges of the connecting junction just outside of Environmental. There looked to be a half-dozen of the security types just inside of the Environmental compartments, exchanging fire down the corridor with the soldiers. As Korqath watched, one of the deputies took a round in the chest and fell over backward. The pilot hissed. “Boss, we need to get over there. Help those deputies out.”

  The leader’s antennae straightened and his mouthparts worked frantically. If he was human, Hukriss would have said that his boss was grinning maniacally. “What do we have in the way of weaponry?” Korqath asked. He patted the 10mm pistol holstered at his thigh. “I only have this and one extra clip of ammo.”

  Hukriss nodded. “Me too, Boss. I don’t have any other weapons. We were always told we needed to request them from the security people, down at the security office.” The other pilots had gathered around at the second’s initial call. They all began to comment on their own weapons, but as Korqath quickly discovered, the only firearms any of them had, the Aploras or the few Delphon pilots on the station, were hand weapons. Nothing heavy; only stunners or pistols. But, it would have to do.

  “Have to be good enough. Besides,” Korqath said with a hiss, “The connecting corridors between here and Environmental will allow us to attack them from the flank. We can get the drop on the bastards.” There was a rumble of assent from the gathered pilots, all of whom had drawn weapons and were moving towards the hatch.

  Hukriss unhooked his datapad from the security feeds and rushed over to the hatch. Popping the panel for the door controls, he attached the device and within seconds had hacked the door controls. The hatch slid open without any fuss. “All set, Boss,” he said, rewrapping the cables up and tucking the datapad into one of his pockets. “Ready?’

  Korqath nodded, drawing his own pistol. “Ready. Ready?” he bellowed to the other pilots, all thirty in the hangar. There were fifteen technicians in the room as well, they all growled their agreement, brandishing pipes, wrenches, and other improvised weaponry. “All right, try to keep it down. We want to try and ambush them. Move!” The pilots and mechanics rushed out from the hangar bay, enthusiastic, but trying their best to move quietly.

  “Can’t hold on much longer!” Deputy Jenelle Miller yelled, squeezing off another round from her rifle. “I’ve only got two more rounds,” she said in a lower voice.

  “I’ve got five,” Bi’yan Misresh, a female Severite said next to the young woman, holding her own rifle. Jenelle’s stunner pistol was on the deck, damaged, having saved its owner from a bullet strike. She’d pulled the weapon from the holster and tossed it away, not wanting it near her in case it started sparking or something else equally horrible.

  The others had fallen. They were the only ones left defending the Environmental compartments from these people. A few of the crew in here had offered to take up some of the fallen weapons and help out and up until now, the deputies had refused. But at a look from Bi’yan, three of the techs rushed forward and picked up weapons. They weren’t skilled in their use, they were trained to deal with algae matrices, scrubbers, and other air and water filtration systems to keep the people onboard the station alive. But, all they needed to do was point and shoot. It would be great if they could wound or kill any of the invaders at the end of the corridor, but all that was needed was to keep them pinned down.

  One of the men fired a shot from a borrowed pistol and then pulled the trigger again but the gun clicked empty. “I’m out!” he said in despair.

  Jenelle fired again, reserving her last bullet, though truthfully she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with only one bullet against a large group of soldiers. She shared a look with Bi’yan, who flattened her ears and blinked in despair. It would be over soon, she knew. Hopefully, their deaths would be quick.

  There was a sudden roar from down the corridor. A general level of noise rapidly increased in volume, as though a horde of people were racing pell mell down the corridor, followed by the barking of many weapons. There was a cry of dismay from the soldiers who suddenly were under attack from the side as more than a few of them keeled over as they were shot dead. The fire against Jenelle, Bi’yan and the few Environmental techs slacked off nearly completely as the soldiers turned to the side to face this new threat.

  Bi’yan’s ears perked up as hope was rekindled. There was a deafening thunder of shouts, gunfire and booted feet on the deck plates and the soldiers were quickly swept under. The Severite kept her weapon pointed down the corridor, but raised up one hand to hold the rest. “Identify yourself!” she shouted.

  “Korqath!” a voice came back. A hand stuck out from around the edge of the corridor, and waved. The hand was purple, like all zheen and Jenelle nearly sobbed with relief. “They’re all dead. Don’t shoot! We’re coming out!” The pilot stepped out around the corridor, his hands raised, weapon back in his holster.

  Now the young woman did actually start to weep. Bi’yan hugged her across the shoulders as the pilots began to loot the bodies of the dead soldiers, and in some cases making sure that they were all dead. Korqath came over to where the two deputies were crouching low in the hatchway. “Are you all right?” he asked, then his compound eyes swept over the many dead just inside of the Environmental spaces. “No,” he said after a moment. “No, of course you’re not all right.” He turned his head back toward the other pilots, who were standing and waiting for him now. Hukriss was flicking his antennae in impatience. “You going to be all right? We need to head up to Operations and try to find Chief Nymeria.”

  Jenelle hiccupped once, then rose to her feet, wiping her streaming eyes on her sleeve. Bi’yan was on her feet right next to her. “We need ammo, or more weapons.” The pilot immediately handed over his pistol and the young woman accepted it. She popped the magazine, noted that it was more than half full and slapped it back in place. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Korqath sketched a sloppy salute. “You both okay? Because we’ve got to move.”

  Fighting had spilled out away from Operations, much to Corajen’s relief. Unfortunately, the mercenaries had cut their way into the habitat areas of the station where the civilian workers were huddling together, trying to keep the soldiers locked away, to stay out of the fighting. The mercs, however, weren’t particularly interested in the civilian workers themselves, but going through the habitat areas would provide a way to circle around past the station security forces and get back to Operations.

  Cor
ajen and her forces were racing to catch up. She wasn’t able to try and head them off because if they got out of sight, they might turn toward the Engineering spaces or simply start shooting their way through the habitat areas. Unfortunately, her tactics really weren’t working. She was following the mercenaries, popping off shots whenever she could, but so far they were leapfrogging back, forcing her and hers to hold their fire for fear of shooting civilians.

  “No,” she growled, sighting down the barrel of her captured weapon. “No, you are not getting away,” she vowed. She couldn’t get a shot. Either the mercs were hiding around corners, or else an idiot would go dashing through the corridors, trying to get away from the fighting. For the most part, the mercs were ignoring the civilians, only firing at those stupid enough to try and attack them with wrenches or pipes or other such improvised weapons. Corajen signaled for her small team to advance, carefully moving forward while trying to keep out of the fire the mercs were sending back their way.

  And the problem was she was running out of room and running out of time. She had no one covering Operations and her very small security contingent was trailing behind. Even if she could catch them, she wasn’t sure she could actually dispose of them. But she wasn’t going to psych herself out. She had a job to do and people to protect and she’d be damned if another installation would be lost to a hostile force on her watch. Not again.

  Glacis nodded to himself. “I can see the entrance to Operations,” he said to the rest of his squad, none of who responded. They’d made it to the nerve center of the station, though with only the few soldiers he had left, Glacis was concerned about how exactly he was going to hold the station once he got inside. “Hold here!” he ordered, and his men formed up into a phalanx while he stepped up to the door. Pressing the button on the comm panel, he opened a channel to the crewmen inside. “Open this hatch, or I will blast it open!”

  It took a moment, but then a woman’s voice responded. “Don’t! There are sensitive control consoles and linkages in here. You’ll kill us all.”

  Glacis shrugged, though the woman inside couldn’t see. “Your security forces have been trying to kill me all day. I’m dead either way so killing you makes little difference to me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You have thirty seconds to open this hatch. That’s the time it will take me to get the explosives out of my pack to get the door open on my own. After that, I’m coming in.”

  As he was reaching into the pack of one of his shoulders to extract the breaching tape, the woman responded. “All right. I’m opening it up.”

  He allowed himself a small smile. “An excellent choice. All right, everyone look sharp. Blaavis, Usten, you’re with me. The rest of you, hold tight.” The two indicated soldiers turned toward him, their weapons trained on the hatch. A second later it slid open. Glacis and his two fellows rushed inside.

  The workers inside had risen up from their consoles, hands raised, terror on all of their faces. Except one. One woman was still seated at a console, and signed off from whatever she was doing.

  “Get up!” Glacis demanded, walking over and showing his rifle in her face.

  She swallowed hard, her face pale, and raised her hands. But darting her hand out, she slammed down on a large black button and all the computer displays changed from active screens to displaying the word “lockdown” in blood red lettering. She turned back to face him, with a look of smug triumph and without a word, Glacis smashed his rifle butt into her face. The woman crashed to the deck, after first bouncing off the control console and thrashed there as blood fountained from her face.

  “You’re a fool,” he told her, as she thrashed in pain, clamping a hand over her broken jaw and shattered teeth. “A stupid fool.” He gestured to one of his men. “Blaavis, get on it. See what you can do to get around the lockout.”

  “On it, sir,” the man said, pulling out a datapad and connecting it to the console. Glacis turned away, and saw that Usten had rounded the workers and shoved them against the far hatch of the Operations control compartment. The control panel to the other hatch was disabled so that they couldn’t escape that way.

  Blaavis was still working on his datapad when Verone called out from the corridor. “Boss! The wolf is back, she’s hiding around the corner and keeps popping off shots at us. Should we hold or pull back?”

  The mercenary commander considered this for just a moment. “No, pull back, inside with the rest of us. The control center is large enough to hold us all we’ve got a few hostages that the good wolf won’t want to risk hurting.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “They’re pulling back!” Corajen noted. Grabbing her last flash grenade, taken off one of the dead mercs, she leveled the rifle, popped the spoon on the explosive and hurled it down the corridor. She raced forward and the others were just behind. She clamped her eyes shut and ducked her head, her ears folding flat against her head, though she knew that this was going to hurt. She squeezed the trigger firing at what she hoped was the last position the soldiers were in before she closed her eyes, though she could easily hear them just ahead. One of them shouted something half a second before the grenade went off.

  It felt like a metal plate had slammed her into the top of her head, since she had put her chin down. A searing pain ripped through her ears and she could feel something trickling out of them. But she ignored that. Opening her eyes, she brought the gun around and fired. With a roar that she knew she couldn’t hear, though she could feel her vocal cords straining, she closed the distance incredibly fast. She looks of disorientation turned quickly to terror as they recognized the lupusan bearing down on them, weapon firing, and her free hand swiping at them with her claws.

  “Ah!” Glacis cried, wincing and turning away from the grenade. He clapped a hand to his left ear, which had been on the side of the door. His right one hurt slightly less but the pain in general was immense. He turned to face the hatch, and through his squinted and streaming eyes he saw the lupusan tearing the throat out of his lieutenant Verone. Her own body armor was scratched and torn through in two places, blood was streaming down her arm but in that same instant, two of his other soldiers were gunned down by the two deputies coming up behind their chief. The others were trying to respond, but it was clear they were completely out of it and their resistance was token at best.

  He raised his weapon, sighted and fired.

  Korqath saw the lupusan take a shot in the neck and spin, then another in a chink in her side armor and she staggered. Bi’yan screeched and ran forward and the others followed just behind. The leader of the Aploras staggered a bit as he saw the invincible security chief bleed like the rest of the mortals. She did manage to tear a chunk out of one of the zheen fighters, ripping through his thorax as though it was made of slushy snow, something that made him wince in empathy. The pilots and their two security deputies crashed into the fray, shooting wildly. It was a wonder that the remainder of Chief Nymeria’s didn’t get shot by accident. His pilots and the Delphon had plenty of enthusiasm, he saw, but he also could see that he would have to increase the amount of time they all spent on the gun range. Their marksmanship in the cockpit was good, but with a hand weapon or a rifle, it left much to be desired.

  But what they lacked in skill, they made up for in volume. The soldiers were riddled with bullets and needles and stunner bolts and in a wave of violence they were down. The others rushed on, into Operations, taking the three soldiers inside prisoner. They all three were holding up their hands in surrender, their weapons tossed to the deck. Hukriss had moved forward with Deputies Jenelle and Bi’yan, looking to take care of the wounded Tiyaana.

  But Korqath didn’t go forward so far. He stopped and knelt by the lupusan’s crumpled form. She was gasping for breath, blood gurgling in the wound in her throat. “Medkit!” Korqath bellowed. An instant later, one of the Delphon pressed one into his hand. He tore it open, grabbed the vial of Combat Heal and jabbed it into the security chief’s jugular on the unwounded side. Then h
e pulled out a patch and slapped it against the wound, the sterile pad bonding with her torn flesh, sealing the wound. He then set to work on her other injuries.

  Her strong hand closed weakly over his forearm. Korqath nodded to her, as he worked to get at the wound in her side. “Don’t worry, Chief. You’re going to be fine. You’ve got some pilots to teach how to shoot. My people are rubbish at firearms.”

  She gulped a few more times and then her eyes closed and she went limp. Alarmed, he checked, but she was still breathing. Her pulse was thready and weak, but she was holding on. “No, Chief,” he buzzed, “You’ve still got too much work to do.”

  Tamara was slumped in her chair in her closet like cabin when a call from the bridge came through. “Captain, we have a communication from the Kutok station. It’s Leader Korqath of Aplora Squadron.”

  She sat bolt upright and cleared her throat. It had been a few hours of pure agony, waiting for some kind of report from the station. There had been no response to hails for a long while and other than seeing life form readings moving in various sections, which didn’t really help. Finally, Tamara retreated from the bridge, going to her cabin to hide her feelings from the rest of the crew.

  Two more of the crew had died in the boarding. One of the wounded didn’t survive his wounds and died on the deckplating of the Kara a few minutes later, and the fourth died on the surgery table in sickbay and couldn’t be revived. This whole encounter had been just a catastrophe. So many dead on the station, so many of those who were trying to board from the freighter that she’d killed. Why hadn’t she seen it? Why hadn’t she figured out that the freighter was actually a troop transport?

  “Put him through,” she ordered, her voice hoarse. There was a click. “Mister Korqath? Report.”

  “Captain Samair? Oh, good, we got you.” The zheen pilot sounded somber, something she wasn’t used to hearing from him. “We have secured the station. Hostiles accounted for, either dead or captured.”