Soldiers baring long rifles and wearing heavy, plated armour topped by darkened, angular helmets stepped onto smaller skiffs and began deploying around the fighters. They look as intimidating as the Triton security teams must to outsiders. This isn't going to be easy. Ayan thought to herself as she fought down rising nervousness.
"I understand why you're singled out, but what am I doing in white?" Laura asked in a low whisper as she watched a squad of fourteen Triton soldiers rush to stand in formation behind them. In the hazardous environment armour, covered in thin, horizontal metal slats, they looked as imposing, if not a little more strange than the Carthan soldiers.
"I think you're here for support," Ayan muttered back, watching the lead official draw closer by the second. She didn't seem bothered by the rain in the least, even though much of it was spattering against her uniform jacket. "I'm guessing this isn't a typical reception Jake?"
"No, it isn't, but they’re probably pretty wary these days, considering the way the last couple months have being going."
"I know, I'll do my best."
"Just remember what we need. Transportation for the deserters, somewhere we can make repairs, bargain for parts, supplies and a privateering contract would be nice. Stay focused.
Ayan didn't acknowledge that she'd taken his instructions in, the skiff carrying the Customs official stopped within two meters of her.
The Customs Officer's cold grey eyes regarded Ayan passively. "I am Carthan Colonel Miriam Davies. Before we discuss anything I must inform you that if any more of your fighters attempt to traverse our air or orbital space without clearance before powering up, they will be destroyed. You are also not permitted to use any of these ships for general transportation until we've completed our inspection."
"I am Commander Ayan, we-"
"Do you understand my instructions?" interrupted the Colonel.
"Aye, you were perfectly clear," Ayan let her British accent slip more when she was irritated, and the woman hovering in front of her was instantly frustrating to speak with. She'd dealt with commanding officers exactly like her, and consciously decided to keep her temper in check. "We'll be sure to get clearance for any departures."
"To be clear, your pilot acquired clearance; he just waited until he broke the hundred meter ceiling before requesting it. In my book, that’s backwards thinking, and people who operate like that don’t go far where I come from. Now what is your business here?" The Colonel said as she coolly ran her gaze across the myriad of ships behind Ayan.
"Our first priority here is to provide these refugees an opportunity to visit a civilized port where they can try and get home, or contact relations."
"These people don't look like refugees, they're too well dressed, too well taken care of."
"We took care of them and in return they worked with our staff."
"There isn't enough room in these ships for these people. Is there another ship we're not seeing? Something outside the solar system or in another port?"
"What you see is all we have left. Most of these people are refugees, we had to make do until we could make it to the nearest civilized system. That led us-"
"Where are your refugees from?"
"We have refugees from Enreega, Pandem and a slaver ship."
"That leads me to my next question; are you aware that one of these ships was stolen from a Carthan ship yard five years ago? It was last in the possession of a Captain James Gammin, registered to the Palamo, a carrier wanted for piracy."
Ayan was genuinely surprised, even though she knew she shouldn't be, and she kicked herself for not checking the names of each of their ships in the Carthan Port database. She had only checked the Clever Dream and the Samson. "I had no id-"
"Clueless. I hope you're not the real leader here. Then again, it might explain why you're so anxious to dump these people off onto the Carthan government. Corporal Lakam, lead a team onto the Jolly Holler and take possession. Assess its flight worthiness."
Ayan knew the ship she was talking about. It was a forty-two meter long ship in fairly good condition, one of the few ships that surrendered before taking serious damage in Ossimi Ring. "Colonel, my people have done work on that ship to make it space worthy and have left personal possessions aboard."
"We're taking that ship, Commander. You're in no legal or tactical position to stop us."
"Fine, just give us some time to get our things and some of the materials we used so we can use them to repair our other ships."
The Colonel looked at the long, irregular hauler and nodded. "I can't see how you could make things worse. You have fifteen minutes, and don't take any fixtures, regardless of when they were added."
"We're on it," Jake said over her personal comm. Seconds later most of the loyal crewmembers arranged in lines started running to the Jolly Holler."
"Begin a high powered sensor sweep of the ships and the individuals here," the Colonel ordered to one of the soldiers at her side.
He pressed several buttons on a pad affixed to his thigh and nodded. "The teams are on it."
"Thank you," the Colonel turned back to Ayan and asked; "Now, is everyone here requesting refugee status?"
"No, only the people in that line and that group there," Ayan pointed to the deserter line and the milling crowd at one end.
"So the majority, I see." The Colonel seemed to ponder the situation as she looked over the gathering of starfighters and more heavily damaged ships.
"We're also looking to-"
"How did you come to command this group?"
Ayan's temper flared, but she kept it in check - mostly. "I can't see how that's any of your business."
"Really?" asked the Colonel, focusing her attention on Ayan again.
"None," Ayan said flatly. "We have needs, and I'd like to see if we can be attended to. These refugees aren't without means, only access. Most of them have accounts with reputable banks. They only need secure access to finance their own transport off this moon to a more familiar place."
"And those who don't have funds?"
"We've provided each with one hundred weight bullion, enough for them to try and get a start. We only need to transport them to a friendly port."
"I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. I'm denying your people refugee status."
"What?" Ayan burst.
"The Carthan government can't afford to take in more strays. You'll have to send them to one of the unofficial ports, like Port Rush. It's just over there. It’s a free port, they can do whatever they want there. I hear you can even get banking services for a price."
"Can we get clearance to begin transporting people there?"
"We'll see what this inspection turns up," the Colonel said as she activated a holographic display that projected from the palm of her hand. Rain drops made small spots in the image for a moment as they passed through. She nodded to herself as she read the information on the Clever Dream, satisfied that it was registered to Ayan and moved on to the Samson. "Sold to you by Captain Jacob Valance yesterday. How is it that his ship is here and I don't see him?"
"I took it while he was in the shower," Ayan sneered. Her patience was already beyond frayed.
The Colonel smiled thinly and looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "You know, I almost believe you. Did you take it in our space?"
"No."
"Then I suggest you get a registry slip printed for each of that and each of your ships. The fighters especially. It says here that they were manufactured for your use on a vessel called the Triton."
"Our larger ship."
"Well, we don't have any record of it, so you'll have to get those tied to you on secure slips so we have something more difficult to counterfeit next time you run into us. Do you have any kind of receipt of sale to prove that you paid for these or had any kind of command authority to order their construction?"
"I'm a senior officer on the Triton."
"Do you have any evidence of that? A manifest? A service record?"
A
yan couldn't stand it any longer, and brought up the senior officer list for the Triton. In the space of seconds it was hovering between them on a large hologram. At the top were Jacob and Ayan.
"Can you pass the record on to me please?"
"No, you don't have the rank," Ayan said quietly. "If you can get me in front of someone who can approve a multi-role close combat carrier and a crew of two thousand or more for Privateering, like a representative of the Governor’s Office, then I'll be happy to cooperate."
"You know, I could revoke your landing rights and send you on-"
"No, you won't. Your government needs privateers with the means and equipment to fight. The Order of Eden is everywhere, Regent Galactic is closing in along with them, and you don't have enough ships," Ayan growled.
The Colonel pretended to ignore everything Ayan said, straightened up and announced; "The scan didn't pick up any illegal materials, only a few weapons that won't be permitted within the city limits of Greydock. Here's a list, along with our laws. Be sure that your crew, even the refugees, gets a copy."
"We need clearance for a ship to go to Greydock so I can negotiate the terms of a privateering contract,"
"You won't be getting it. All your vessels are forbidden to leave this area. If one takes off, we'll be forced to destroy it from orbit. Have a nice day, Commander." The Colonel smirked.
"I was instructed to visit the Office of the Governor upon landing."
"If you come with me I'll be more than happy to provide you with transportation. You and your aide are welcome."
"They come with me," Ayan said, nodding towards two of the armoured Triton soldiers behind her.
"They leave their rifles here. Sidearms only."
"Thank you," Ayan forced.
One of Triton’s security personnel walked to Ayan's side hastily and handed her a courier bag. "Someone said you'd need this," he told her quietly before retreating back to his place beside Jake and Stephanie.
"Follow me please," said the Colonel as her small skiff turned towards the large customs ship.
Chapter 18
Major Cumberland
The constant flaring of muzzle flashes filled the broad outer hallway. Major Cumberland watched as two of his soldiers; Faltia and Mazurek, dragged wounded back around the corner. His helmet command display showed him the desperate scene in all its gore. The enemy were holding the outer hall as though their lives depended on it, firing from side rooms, from behind heavy crates that had been dragged in for cover. They were losing as many or more people as Cumberland was.
How many Triton crew members were left was a mystery to everyone, but each was fighting tooth and nail to keep Major Cumberland’s people from moving towards the interior sections of the ship. "These aren't like the ones on the command or engineering levels, they don't have stealth suits," reported his second in command, a young officer named Loman.
"I know, but they're fighting like I've never seen," Major Cumberland said as he watched his people fall back. He had arrived on the scene with five squads and he had lost sixteen men, reducing their number to thirty four.
“Is it true that you bagged a whole squad of stealthers when you got on board sir?” Asked Sturges, a young private.
“We caught them coming from the fighter deck as we were sealing a section off. A little luck and a lot of cover fire did the job. Keep your head on a swivel and you’ll bag one too, Private,” Major Cumberland reassured with gritty enthusiasm. He knew his people had gotten lucky though. If his scanning officer wasn’t using his sonic system tuned really high, they wouldn’t have noticed the Deck Chief slowly surrounding them. When he fired it was instinctive, and at first he thought his people were panicking, firing at shadows and ghosts. When the Deck Chief’s corpse dropped, he knew better and closed ranks. They filled the corridor with cover fire and when the smoke cleared, Major Collins had lost eight of his people, killing only seven of the stealthed defenders. He returned to the moment as he realized that a few of his men were too busy trading war stories.
"I just watched one of the normals break cover,” one was recalling, “He tossed a whole handful of incendiary grenades and dive behind a crate. His face... it was like... I've never seen so much hate in my life,"
Narrow Field Incendiary grenades, they burned for several white hot seconds in a small space and went out, the kind of hardware only a real infantryman knew how to use. "That's what got Gerbagio and Sams. I saw it. "
"An issyrian is leading them. I caught sight for a second. What do we do sir?"
Sgt Cumberland looked at Loman for a moment then checked the energy level on his rifle. Morale was already a problem when they arrived. The boarding teams had won several straight on fire fights and taken over one hundred crew members into custody. For that hundred in custody they had killed fifty. The ship was a death trap. The engineering levels had killed or disabled four squads. The fire fight on the command deck was a day old and everyone was getting paranoid, afraid of the defenders they couldn’t see.
Major Cumberland had been in hard fights before, he'd seen people cut in half by pulse weapon fire right in front of him, but that didn't prepare him for what had been happening around the medical bay. He was listening to Lieutenant Sascha Linares when people from her squad started disappearing. There was no warning, no fire fight, two of her people simply disappeared from all sensors and when they reappeared around a corner several meters up the corridor they were dead, decapitated cleanly.
They held their ground, scanned with sonics and everything else they had and just as their scanning officer thought she glimpsed something Lieutenant Linares was killed. She was standing right in the middle of her squad; and whoever was after them, toying with them, ran a micron thick blade into the top of her head and left it there. He didn’t watch the playback.
Then the assassin left them alone for over an hour.
They almost made it out of the medical section, but as they were just about to enter a narrow service hatch they were killed, two by two. It happened so quickly anything the squad said was unintelligible. It wasn't an explosive; they had a chance to fire their weapons. They had a chance to scream. Medical had claimed more than one squad, and if what he was overhearing from command was any indication, they would be going in full force next time, and he knew when they cleared the hallway ahead, command would be sending them inward, to prepare to take the infirmary.
Someone like Private Loman might crack as soon as he realized they were headed that way. "We're going to rush them. Tell the heavies that we'll need their concussive charges. We can't afford to use anything else or we could break a seal and start venting atmosphere."
"But sir, our suits will protect us from-"
"We don't know what kind of countermeasures this ship uses when compartments lose pressure, I don't want another surprise."
"Yes, sir!"
"We rush in sixty. Heavy one through three, did you hear me?"
"Yes sir, ready to go."
"All squads, form up around the corner, wait for the bang. When it goes off we rush the hallway, we fire until they're all down or are in full retreat."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers moved into position; the most heavily armoured soldiers at the front with small grenade launchers at the ready, everyone else was sorted behind, shoulder to shoulder. Major Cumberland made his way into the middle. It was a necessary evil, without him the charge might not execute properly. Everyone knew that the taking of the Triton was going badly. They were gaining ground, but at the rate they were going they could name each corridor after a soldier who had lost their life aboard and they'd run out of hallways.
The heavies moved ahead, peeking around the corner only as much as they had to in order to launch three concussive grenades apiece. One of them caught a dozen rounds in the side and chest. His armour sparked and smouldered, he was dead before he hit the deck.
The concussive charges went off, sending a wave of pressure down the hallway that would have knocked a few
of the Major’s men down the hall in the opposite direction if they weren't in formation. How those charges must have felt to the enemy, he could scarcely imagine. It was enough to kill a soldier in light protection within two metres.
"Go!" he ordered.
The first three lines rushed into the corridor. The first line knelt, the next stood fast as they opened fire. The third line was in reserve, ready to fire if someone in front was injured, killed or had to rotate out to reload.
Major Cumberland was in the second line, and he couldn't help but let the frustration of the last twenty-four hours wash over him as he opened fire. His particle rifle pounded his shoulder, a familiar, almost comforting feeling, a sensation of exertion, as he lined up target after target, trying to score a significant hit against the enemy who had cost him so many.
The Triton had cost them over a hundred lives, killed several commanders he'd sat down with in the Officer's mess, and destroyed two service people he had long respected. They wouldn't get him; they wouldn't win against his unit. He caught one woman full in the face with a round as she stood to run, another took several rounds in the chest, and as two of them stood to throw a thin circular device, he caught one in the arm and shoulder. The other managed to throw what was in his hand and as soon as it hit the floor an energy shield filled the hallway. It was the issyrian. He was their commander.
The shield stood up to the full force of their weapons fire. Sgt Cumberland could see four Triton soldiers break cover and hurriedly treat the wounded, administering medication with injectors mounted on their wrist units. Two of the wounded were able to stand. Three others were picked up and rushed down the hallway then around a corner.
Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments Page 16