"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?"
Ayan 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 comi
ng 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.
"Hold your fire," Sgt Cumberland ordered. There were no signs that the shield was about to diminish, and he realized why. The energy field most likely absorbed the energy exerted against it and recycled it into useful power. "Unit C Theta, we've forced about six or seven of the enemy into retreat and can't pursue. They're headed in your direction."
"I hope not, we're busy with a big push in our section. We’re finally gaining ground, not going to stop now. Any chance of pursuit, Unit G Alpha?" asked the commander trying to take the next section. He had been given command of a full unit as well, five squads of ten.
The enemy crewman looked straight at Major Cumberland with large, glistening green eyes and after a moment he nodded, as though in respect.
Sgt Cumberland returned the gesture and watched the issyrian disappear before his eyes. He was the only one wearing a black vacsuit with ranks on his cuffs, marking him as a Lieutenant Commander.
"Negative, they've erected a confinement field," Sgt Cumberland replied at last. It was like an admission, like he'd failed to complete his mission. "All right, get the wounded back to the secured section, the rest of you, with me. It’s time to see what they were protecting."
The group moved ahead, crossing the fifteen meters that had been a no-man's-land only minutes before. A pair of heavy doors had been scorched and scarred from end to end during the prolonged fire fight. "All right, get this open Loman. Everyone else, cover our rear and work on getting that field down."
Sgt Cumberland took the time to check on the status of Unit C Theta and regretted it. They had taken cover i
n some kind of night club observatory, a sign against the wall said; Oota Galoona, and discovered more trouble than they could handle.
It looked empty at first, but when half of the Unit's remaining fighting men and women made it through the door it slammed down so quickly no one had time to react. What followed wasn't a fire fight. A number of issyrians and massive nafalli ambushed them using the bar and several booths as cover. They took no prisoners, raking the soldiers with pulse rifle fire until the nafalli moved in and literally tore them to pieces with traditional blades machined from deck plating and laser cutters.
When the slaughter was over the Triton crewmen took cover again. None of them had stealth suits, but they only opened the door, as though inviting anyone else who wanted to try and take that compartment. He didn’t know the commanding officer of Unit C Theta, but was relieved to see that he was about to order the doors to that section sealed, instead of taking it with the twenty-three troopers he had left.
As soon as welding torches were in hand, three side doors opened and a flood of the lesser armoured Triton crewmembers rushed what remained of the Unit. The issyrian appeared right behind the commanding officer and fired several rounds into his back as his own personal energy shielding absorbed the bolts of energy fired at him by frantic soldiers. A moment later, the issyrian was gone, having served his purpose, to cause a distraction and kill the commanding officer. The rest of the crewmen were rough around the edges in comparison, in thinner, lower quality vacuum suits than the rest of the crew with no ranks on their cuffs, and many had long hair, stubble or looked more haggard than the others they had encountered. Still, they were armed with what seemed standard weaponry for the Triton, heavy pulse rifles or pistols that could super heat his men's armour in two shots or less.
The fire fight lasted less than twenty-four seconds, and there was no hint of mercy. A message was being sent; go back the way you came.
He was only seeing the footage because Command had intercepted it on the local Triton crew announcement band. The enemy’s morale just leapt up several points, and he was sure at least a few officers would be having second thoughts about the boarding operation in Command. Or at least, he hoped they were having second thoughts.
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