Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

  So far the only clue was an audio recording handed to them by loyalists in a merchant fleet. There was no information other than that they had found the item on a transport heading from Kerberos. The destination was unknown though Teresa suspected it would be either the Rim or the inner planets, possibly Prometheus. They were the most violent and also the least policed parts of the Proxima Star System, the best places to hide all manner of goods, people and business.

  As she sat there in silence she lifted up a headset and listened to the small segment of audio the technicians at Naval Intelligence had managed to salvage. At first the audio appeared to be just noise, it was more like the wind sound you could hear when lowering a window on a car. As the microphone adjusted for the ambient noise however the sound lowered until the clip became almost silent. Then the voices of three men started in low tones.

  “Come on, they’ll be back to check on him any second, pass it...” said a voice before it distorted in a loud crackle.

  There was a loud roaring sound as the person evidently spoke directly into the unit, before the software adjusted the recording level again to compensate.

  “This is General Rivers of the Confederate Fleet. I am with Private Keller and Sergeant Spartan. Forces in collusion with the separatists have imprisoned us on Kerberos, following their assassination of the President. We are being transported to an unknown destination.” Others voices then started trying to hush him.

  Teresa listened closely, trying to pick out t heir voices. She had listened to the clip dozens of times but even now was finding it difficult t o pickup any of the individuals in the room. Naval Intelligence had already confirmed there were three voices, one positively identified as General Rivers. She was listening for Spartan and couldn’t tell one way or the other. The voice continued.

  “We have not performed planetary re-entry, I repeat, we are not on a planetary...” again the voice cut out.

  A loud thud could be heard followed by shouting. Nothing intelligible could be heard though it was obvious a struggle was going on in the room or storage space that the prisoners were being held in. As the noise became louder she could hear occasional words from other people, not all were in English and some of the accents were Kerberon and Promethean. Naval Intelligence has been able to confirm the accents but not where they were being held.

  Teresa concentrated even harder now and the last part, and for her the most important part, of the audio played. The sound in the room lowered, presumably because they had been overcome. Somebody must have been getting closer to the recording device.

  “...will co-operate or die, the choice...fight...” and then the voice faded.

  A short burst of static followed and then the file stopped.

  Teresa had listened to the last line so often it felt as though it had burnt into her mind. The most important line to her though was the “co-operate or die”. It was surprisingly clear and the accent was definitely from the Rim territories. Intelligence hadn’t been able to identify the individual speaking but they had done the next best thing, they had found the man’s voice on other recordings taken from surveillance the previous year during a narcotics operation. The group had been broken up but it was known they were still running guns from Kerberos to Prime where their weapons had been used in the insurgency and eventually the mass uprising.

  It didn’t matter to Teresa though what had happened, all she wanted to know was where they were and more importantly to her, where Spartan was. She hadn’t realised how important he was to her until the news had hit her on his arrest and then sudden disappearance. She had decided weeks ago that being reunited with Spartan was her single goal and she would not stop until she had him back. If that meant going against the Fleet’s orders, so be it. Luckily for them all, the mission they were on had so far proved compatible.

  The latest information had suggested that a weapons trade would be conducted anytime in the next twenty-four hours and this point was a strong candidate for the loading of the goods. The debris field followed a steady orbit around the burning star but of more importance to traders and dealers it provided an unlimited source of hiding places. Their current course would take them directly to a recently used drop off point platform, a small but spacious manmade station about a hundred metres in diameter and perfect for storing goods to be collected by a buyer. There were hundreds of similar storage spots, many more out on the Rim, but intelligence confirmed that members of the group associated with who had taken General Rivers and his team were supposed to be heading this way.

  To maintain the element of surprise they had to slip into the area avoiding all manner of black market dealers and pirates. Their ship was after all only a heavily modified cargo hauler, not a ship of war. It had taken them over a week to get into position in this treacherous area without using the main shipping lanes. The only chance they had of reaching the small drop off platform, without alerting the many spies loyal to the separatists, was to slip past the security patrols with no running engines and most of their systems offline.

  The great hulk of the derelict craft continued to tumble its way past them, though from where they sat its course appeared to take a lifetime. Anderson watched it move along the thick, reinforced window before it continued on to the left of the ship. As it moved to a safe distance the crew breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Bloody hell, that was close.”

  “You don’t say, Bishop. Are we likely to run into more derelicts on this route?”

  Bishop pulled up a navigation chart on the computer system and rechecked their position.

  “Well, Sir, we’ve managed to avoid the main shipping lanes for the last week. We should drift into position about five hundred kilometres from the drop-off platform. Assuming we make it that close without being detected, we should be able to land a boarding party via the shuttle before they can get their people onto their ships and away.”

  A red light started to flash on the tactical display, shortly followed by a low tone.

  “What the hell?” Teresa muttered.

  “Sir, we’ve got trouble. I’m picking up two vessels, ten kilometres out and moving fast,” said Bishop.

  “Have they spotted us?” asked Commander Anderson, the senior ranking member of the crew and leader of their operation.

  Bishop clicked his fingers to get the attention of Kowalski who was already scanning the electronic signals emanating from the approaching craft.

  “I’m on it!”

  He flicked between each page of data, checking for their power levels and readiness of weapon systems. From the look on his face he looked less than happy.

  “This isn’t good, this isn’t good at all. The sensors show the transport is prepping a shuttle. There’s a lot of activity coming from inside, I’d say there are a number of people on board and they are getting ready for something. No major power systems switching on, doesn’t mean they won’t have projectile weapons already loaded and waiting though.”

  He then brought up a detailed schematic of a civilian ship. It rotated about on the screen and several pages of data and specifications scrolled upwards. Kowalski read a few lines before turning to the rest of the crew.

  “Right, I’ve got the ship’s specs. She is a Centaur Class transport. A light hauler used mainly on the shipping runs from the Rim to the refineries and industrial colonies. According to the data she has a crew of three and can transport up to a dozen passengers plus assorted cargo. The other vessel has the same electronic signature but there’s a lot of interference coming from her engineering coils. Either she’s damaged or her power plant has been upgraded in some way.”

  “Engines? Maybe it’s a modified version, like a tug?” Bishop suggested.

  “That isn’t really necessary though, unless she’s been altered with more substantial manoeuvring thrusters of course. Either way we’ll find out soon enough, the transport is moving into a position alongside us. They’ll be here in less than two minutes!”

  The public wideba
nd channel on the emergency communications panel flashed to show an unencrypted transmission had been picked up on the emergency transponder. Without intervention the equipment transferred the data to the screen. At first is showed a simple arrangement of coloured bars before fading away to show a man’s face. It was a one-way signal, presumably from the approaching vessels and didn’t use the normal communications system present on board the Tamarisk.

  “This is Ramillies, your transport is encroaching on a private meeting. We can only assume your intentions are hostile. Open your cargo bays for inspection and prepare to be boarded, resistance will be met with accordingly.”

  Commander Anderson gave the screens a quick look before turning to his small crew. His face showed concern but he was far from panicked.

  “They aren’t coming to inspect us, if they knew who we were though they’d already be shooting. I’ve seen the reports on these groups in this area. You’ve seen the wreckage of the cutter as well. They seize the ship and tow it to the nearest yard where they strip the tech, move the goods and then usually kill the crew. If you’re lucky you get sent off to the slavers on the Rim or Prometheus. The carcass of the your ship will then either but towed away for scrap or if it is a military vessel they usually dump it.”

  “Bullshit, they’re not taking us!”

  “I never suggested otherwise, Teresa. I don’t think any of us is in the mood to just hand over such a sweet ship as ours,” he said with a wicked smile.

  Barca, who until then had been silent, joined in. “Now we find out if those modifications are worth the effort the tech guys put into them.”

  He was the shortest of the marines, with the exception of Teresa, but had the broad build and attitude of a man who had been bullied and harassed over the years for his size. After several years service in the Marine Corps he was as tough as they came, even if that came at the price of his less than inspiring social skills.

  “Bishop, get on the weapons platform and make sure you’re ready. Barca! Teresa! Break out the weapons and then get down to the hangar bay. If any of them manage to get inside it’s your job to make sure they get no further. There are carbines and thermal shotguns on the rack, you know where they are.”

  Teresa nodded and immediately started to untie herself from her position in front of the computer system. As she extricated herself Commander Anderson then turned to Kowalski.

  “Can you jam their transmissions once the shooting starts? If we lose our cover we might as well have not bothered coming here.”

  “Can do, Sir, when we get within one hundred metres I’ll drop a dampening net in this section. Nothing will get in or out until we power down the field. There is a problem though, the kind of power we’ll be putting out will make us stick out to any other vessels in this area. If they have friends they’ll be onto us in minutes.”

  “Perhaps, but once the shooting starts that will happen anyway. The trick is to keep it short, fast and violent.”

  Kowalski snorted to himself, “Fast and violent huh? That’s my speciality!”

  He shouted after Bishop who was already pulling himself along the inside of the ship towards the weapon control console that was a few metres further back in the habitation section.

  “Bishop, do not under any circumstances start the targeting matrix up until I give you the word. Once they know we are armed and ready they’ll know the game is up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s not my first time, Kowalski.”

  He pulled himself over to the weapon control system and strapped himself into the chair. Directly in front were a dozen screens as well as the manual overrides for the mechanical weapon systems. Though the Tamarisk was a civilian transport she had been heavily modified into what was known as a ‘Q’ ship. By removing sections of the cargo areas a variety of weapon systems had been fitted. Hinged plates and shutters covered the weapons and the additional armour that had also been installed. The middle part of the vessel, and by far the largest, was the central spine onto which six large containers ran lengthwise along a hexagonal joint. From the front it looked like the ship was almost cylindrical due to the containers that were fitted to the top, bottom and sides. The containers were the parts of the ship that had been modified the most, though from the outside she just looked like an old, slightly out of date haulage vessel. In reality she had the firepower to take on a ship of the same size, possibly even larger, even more importantly she had surprise on her side. At least, that is what they hoped.

  “Sixty seconds, Commander,” said Kowalski, his voice slightly higher pitched than before.

  Barca and Teresa were at the main sealed bulkhead doorway that led into the cargo area. They were both wearing their work suits, much like the PDS armoured suits used by the marines but less sophisticated and lacking the communication equipment and defences of the military. The suits were equipped with mounts for a variety of tools, the exteriors of both were well worn and pockmarked with dents and scratches. They had originally been a dark red colour but over time had faded and several repair patches did nothing to enhance the looks of the gear. In reality they were extremely well maintained but to the untrained eye they were industrial and outdated compared to the more recent suits and body armour. Neither of them were wearing helmets, though Teresa was already removing one from the wall mount and Barca was busy checking the seals on his own before he pulled the helmet down onto his head. When on the ship it was fine to have the external automatic visor in the upright position. This just left the reinforced glass visor fixed in place to maintain a full sealed environment in the suit.

  Taking some effort they unlocked the sealed section and then pulled their weightless bodies inside the internal spine of the ship. It was several metres wide, easily large enough for the two of them, and ran the entire length of the ship. As they moved down it they they passed the first entry section where a doorway led into each of the containers. The doors formed a hexagonal ring and they were all sealed with traditional wheeled seals. These ships could carry all manner of containers and equipment, so it was imperative that the connections between the ship and the cargo were both strong and sealed. The worst fear on any of these vessels was that of opening a hatch to find nothing but the void and a painful death on the other side.

  Teresa called to Barca, “Get weapons. We’ll cover the corridors from behind those storage lockers.”

  Just inside the shaft was a locked cabinet which she quickly opened to reveal a weapon rack containing a dozen weapons. Most were ultra low calibre pistols for use on ships, but there was also a modified thermal shotgun and an unusual riot carbine with built in shotgun slung under the main barrel. It had been important from the start that they carried only weapons ever used on the civilian market or likely to have been purchased on the black market. Having a ship full of L48 rifles or carbines would be an easy giveaway that they were a marine party.

  Barca leaned forward and grabbed the shotgun and then one of the pistols that he then stuffed into his belt. As Teresa took her own set of weapons a series of clunks rattled through the hardened metal of the ship. Barca looked to Teresa who was busy checking the carbine.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Sounds like the container motors starting up, they’ll be needed to open the flaps to the weapon systems.”

  A low whine came from the wall as the internal speaker system activated.

  “They are approaching on the port side. I’m opening the clear containers for them to inspect. The armed units will stay closed for the next thirty seconds,” came the familiar voice of Bishop who was still manning the weapon controls.

  “Anderson here. Remember the plan. When I give the order we hit the dampening field. With their signals jammed we will have a small window. Kowalski estimates we will have about thirty seconds, forty top, before they can power up and get far enough away to burn through our blocks with their transmissions. If they can get away from us the mission will be exposed and we’ll be back to square one. Bishop will eliminate the
engines on both craft with the first volleys of fire. Assuming we succeed we’ll proceed with the capture of their ships. Minimise casualties, we need prisoners and intel. Don’t kill them and don’t destroy the ships. That goes for you especially, Barca. Capture, don’t destroy!”

  Barca looked over to Teresa and grinned before pulling down the darkened visor on his helmet. Much like a welding mask the helmet visor could adjust to all levels of light, making them perfect for welding work or accidental exposure to the full burning glare of the sun. They were now both fully equipped, ready for battle and potentially for extra vehicular activity (EVA), movement outside the ship in the vacuum of space. With a final check on the internal doors they moved back and took up positions behind cover, planting their feet inside the railing to anchor themselves down. From this position they had a full arc of fire that covered the entire length of the spine. If anybody managed to board through the cargo or engine areas they would have to pass through this corridor.

  Teresa tapped a button on the wall to activate the ship’s internal communications system.

  “We’re in position, the spine is secured and the doors are locked down. We’re ready!”

  Bishop and Kowalski both turned and looked towards Commander Anderson for the final word on the operation. He in turn looked back and double-checked the range to the approaching craft.

  “Okay, Kowalski, you have the numbers, as soon as they hit the marker you release the field and then help Bishop with the weapons. Ready?”

  Both marines nodded before turning back to their view screens.

  “Okay, both vessels are coming into range in 5...4...3...2...1,” he said as calmly as possible.

  On the screen the tug had changed course slightly and was moving above the crew area at a slow crawl. The transport craft however was in place directly parallel with the Tamarisk and her cargo doors were already starting to open.