The Veritian Derelict (Junkyard Dogs)

by Nolte, Phillip

  "We need to send this information to all of our forces. Inform the Captain of the Minotaur. We will rendezvous with him and the others near the Santana Nexus in three days. Our raids out here and elsewhere will have drawn off the Federation forces and our attack on the Nexus should face little opposition. We must now proceed with our current task. Go now, Fahada, and get prepared for this next mission." The old man gave her a half-amused look. "And for the sake of my sanity get rid of that hideous tattoo on your face!"

  Though it looked genuine, Fahada's Spacer tattoo was actually only temporary and could be readily removed with the application of the proper cleansing solution.

  "As you wish, my Sheik," said the woman.

  "And do be careful," added the Sheik.

  She said nothing but smiled at his concern as she left the bridge of the old man's yacht and went to clean her face before getting suited up.

  ***

  Two hours later another of the Sheik's bold plans was put into action. A load of provisions and other cargo items was scheduled for transfer to the Tunisian destroyer. Security on the loading docks was somewhat lax at the remote outpost, even on a good day, and the cargo access codes that Fahada had obtained enabled the entire operation to proceed without sounding any alarms. The additional insurance of a bribe negotiated with an underpaid dockworker had also eliminated any number of complications. One of the dockworker's previous clients had provided Fahada with contact information. The dockworker had been told that he was helping to smuggle unauthorized goods on board for transport to the destroyer's next port of call. Such transactions were not at all that unusual, corruption ran rampant among the workforces at many of the small stations and, indeed, within many of the Navies of the smaller Governments in the Quadrant as well.

  That was the cover. In fact, there was a highly trained squad of five heavily and lethally armed men and one woman concealed in one of the shipping crates with the express purpose of capturing the small warship. The timing for this operation had been carefully planned. Roughly half of the destroyer's normal crew was enjoying shore leave, leaving only about twenty-five men currently manning the ship. In addition, it was very early in the morning at the peaceful, remote station tucked away in an obscure corner of the quadrant and none of the crew would be particularly vigilant, let alone armed. Against the small group of stealthy and dedicated fighters the skeleton crew would have little chance.

  Provided everything went according to plan.

  ***

  Mining Ship Donegal, outside Piedmont Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System November 29, 2598.

  On the bridge of the Donegal, Captain Seamus O'Connell was running through a preflight checklist in preparation for his ship's departure back to the zone in the system's extensive asteroid belt where he and his companion Captain Niall Patrick of sister mining ship Glendaloch were currently mining. While the ship's computer was running through a series of subroutines as part of the pre-flight check, he absently watched a loaded transport utility sled as it docked with the old Tunisian destroyer. It was maybe a little early in the day for such activities but ships could and did transport out of the system at all hours and it didn't strike O'Connell that anything particularly unusual was taking place. He continued with his preflight preparations.

  ***

  On board New Tunisian Warship, Mahdia, outside Piedmont Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

  Within minutes after the crate containing the infiltrators was shoved over into a corner of the dimly lit cargo bay of the destroyer, the invaders within had shed their spacesuits and readied their weapons. The top of the crate tilted silently up and shadowy figures flowed up and over the lip of the container before fanning outward. In the weightless hold of the destroyer, the woman operative launched herself at the single Marine guard from behind, wrapped powerful legs around his head and silently broke his neck with a lethal scissoring motion of her legs. The three bored cargo handlers, one of them the very man who had been bribed, were the next to die. All three were dispatched swiftly and silently. No alarm had been raised.

  The deadly ensemble then began moving stealthily through the rest of the ship, killing as they went. Several solitary crew members were approached from behind and had their throats cut before they could make a sound. In two crowded sleeping rooms of six men each, a canister of deadly gas rolled into each of the rooms followed by the closing and sealing of the hatch swiftly accomplished the grim task.

  Everything had gone like clockwork up to that point. But no plan is perfect nor can any plan be perfectly executed. As the intruders approached the bridge they had their first brush with trouble. The officer on watch was young and eager, new on the job, and he had not only remained alert but he, along with the other two personnel on the bridge with him, was staring intently at the monitors of several of the bridge computers. They were about halfway through the process of running a complete ship's diagnostic.

  "Thruster circuits, normal," the young Ensign read from his display. "Reaction drive?"

  "Everything in order, Sir," replied his assistant on the engineering console.

  "Whitney overdrive?"

  "Overdrive readings normal as well, Sir."

  "Okay," said the Ensign, "that completes the drive systems. Now let's run the diagnostics on the weapons systems." He and his two companions prepared to begin the routine.

  "Sir?" said the communications tech, frowning at one of the displays. "Something isn't right. I've got security cameras going down all over the ship!"

  The young Ensign went over to check the security display. Indeed, within the last few minutes about a third of the screens had gone blank. As they watched the screen from one of the cameras that was still operating, he and the communications tech saw a crewman frantically running down the corridor only to be cut down by a pulse beam bolt from a hand weapon. Seconds later, an armed and masked intruder calmly looked into the security camera before it too ceased to send a coherent signal.

  Suddenly all was confusion on the bridge as a perfectly aimed pulse from a silenced pulse pistol took out the man at the communications console. The young officer belatedly recognized that his ship had been boarded and was under attack from within! The man at the navigation console was also cut down before he could react. The Ensign ducked down behind his command console and reached up to key the ship's intercom. "The ship has been infiltrated!" he shouted. "Emergency Protocol number 333A!" He barely got out the order before two well-aimed pulses from Fahada's pulse rifle silenced him.

  Though the young officer's warning came too late to save any lives, dedicated crew members stationed in the pulse beam weapons emplacements on opposite ends of the ship had time to initiate "Emergency Protocol number 333A" before the infiltrators broke in and dispatched the gun crews as well. The bewildered attackers could do nothing but watch as the capacitor banks for both fore and aft main batteries cycled up to full charge and released the pent up energy internally, fusing the vital capacitor banks to worthless slag. The capacitors for all of the secondary batteries sequentially destroyed themselves in similar fashion shortly afterwards.

  ***

  Mining Ship Donegal, outside Piedmont Orbital Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

  Seamus O'Connell, still concentrating on preflight preparations, was brought out of his routine by an audio alarm as his sensor panel recorded several intense pulses of energy that seemed to emanate from somewhere within the old destroyer he had been casually observing. He thought that was more than a bit unusual and he immediately called Niall Patrick, his counterpart on the other mining ship.

  "Niall? This is Seamus. Are you on the bridge right now?"

  A reply came back in the time it took for Niall Patrick to key the communications toggle next to the Captain's chair on his ship. "Yes, Seamus, I got back about twenty minutes ago. Did you just record some energy spikes from that old destroyer?"

  "That's what I was calling about. It looks like somet
hing out of the ordinary is going on over there. Should we be ready to lend a hand or something?"

  "I haven't heard any kind of distress call or anything. It could be some kind of drill, for all we know. Maybe somebody just hit the wrong switch or something?"

  "You're probably right, no need to get overexcited unless there's a good reason. How long until you can be ready to disembark?"

  "Not for quite a while yet. I've got hatches open and conveyors connected all over the ship. That and we've barely started to transfer supplies. We'll need an hour just to disconnect everything. You?"

  "We're good. I'm going to keep an eye on that ship though."

  "I agree. We need to be ready to lend a hand if we're needed. This whole situation makes me nervous, Seamus. I'm gonna see if I can speed things up a little bit. My overflow hold is only about a quarter full, maybe we can just leave it that way. That would save a good half hour."

  "I'd say you'd better do whatever you can, Niall." O'Connell paused for a moment before continuing. "There was something about that energy spike that looked familiar. Let me do some more checking."

  The two miners continued with their departure preparations but each kept half an eye on the old destroyer. They didn't have long to wait before there was more activity. With the old vessel secure, the Sheik had called upon another faction of his forces, waiting in the nearby yacht, to proceed with the next stage of his plans. With little fanfare, the Sheik's trained personnel boarded the yacht's two shuttle craft. One of the shuttles headed for the mining station and the other, after negotiating the short transport from the yacht, boldly approached the old destroyer. The two miners watched as the shuttle docked with the destroyer and began to disgorge its occupants.

  "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" radioed O'Connell.

  "Yeah, this doesn't look good at all! We'd better notify station security."

  "I'm on it!" came the reply.

  Seconds later, O'Connell radioed the mining station.

  "Piedmont Station Security? This is Seamus O'Connell, Captain of the Donegal, I can't be sure, but it looks like somebody is trying to hijack this Tunisian destroyer over here in the docking area."

  After a short pause O'Connell got a response.

  "Deputy Security Director Hartmann, here. Did I hear you right? Someone is hijacking that old destroyer?"

  "Affirmative, Deputy Hartmann, at least it sure as hell looks like it!" replied O'Connell. "There were several big energy spikes from that destroyer on our sensors about ten minutes ago and now there's a shuttle from that yacht unloading people onto it."

  "Yes, I can see them on my monitors."

  "There's another shuttle from the yacht heading for your station, Deputy Director."

  "Got it! Thanks for the info, Captain. I can't do much about the destroyer but I can sure batten things down here on the station. If you were getting ready to depart, I suggest you do so as soon as you can. We'll try and hold out here. There's not much you can do in any case."

  "Negative, Deputy Hartmann," said O'Connell. "The Glendaloch can't leave for at least an hour yet. I have to do what I can for them."

  "I certainly can't force you to leave, Donegal. Good luck! I've got to get moving, looks like I might need to repel boarders. Hartmann out!"

  Patrick radioed O'Connell again. "I remember where we saw that energy signature, Seamus. That skirmish back at Hileah, thirty years ago. You and I were on the Spitfire when our task force surrounded a Kuwaiti destroyer that had fired on a Kiwi freighter. We had him outnumbered four to one and..."

  "Now I remember. She was the same ship class as this destroyer. Just before the Captain surrendered, the crew disabled the weapons, fused the capacitors. It was the same energy pattern, wasn't it?"

  "That's right, Seamus. What do you want to bet that this destroyer's weapons don't work anymore?"

  ***

  New Tunisian Warship, Mahdia, outside Piedmont Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

  Once onboard the hijacked destroyer, the operatives, all of them former navy in some capacity, went to their respective stations and immediately began the sequence of activities necessary to prepare the vessel for operation. Since the ship had been more or less at standby status, the time required was not excessive. A few minutes later, with a new Captain at the helm, the newly provisioned destroyer with an experienced but somewhat rusty crew began to maneuver away from the mooring area. The yacht began moving at the same time. The second shuttle, filled with another fifteen of the Sheik's operatives, prepared to dock with the mining station.

  ***

  Piedmont Asteroid Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

  Deputy Director of Security for the Piedmont Station, Chris Hartmann, suddenly realized that this was not to be the quiet, routine, early morning shift that he had been anticipating. Without hesitation, he calmly initiated a partial lockdown of all sensitive areas of the mining station, including power and life-support systems. Alarms began to sound. He also knew that with the alarms sounding, he would soon be joined by at least another eight security personnel. Hartmann knew they were all good people, he had taken over their training himself shortly after his arrival. As soon as these men and women arrived, which should be within the next few minutes, they were going to head for the main airlock and prepare to repel boarders.

  Hartmann got up from his desk and strode swiftly down the short corridor to open the weapons locker.

  Chapter 7.

  One Week Earlier...

  "...As Mankind moved outward from Old Earth and began the conquest of space, it was not long before some individuals were born in and proceeded to live their entire lives in space. If they were born on a United Terran Federation facility, a ship or a space station, Law declared them citizens of the Federation. Since these people had not been born on a planet, they were technically known as "Unaffiliated." In daily parlance they were referred to as "Spacers" and were treated as second class citizens by much of the population of the Federation. Recognizing the value of this unique segment of society and the advantages that such a lifestyle brought to a Spacefaring government, the United Terran Federation had embarked on a campaign to better integrate Spacers, and their unique and valuable talents, into society. Recruiting Spacers for both enlisted and officer duties onboard Federation Naval vessels was one of the first activities. The program was new and though it had been mostly successful, there were still occasional areas of friction between the newcomers and the old guard, even at such facilities as the Naval Acacdemy..."

  Hartwell Wristcomp reference note highlighted for further review by Amanda Steuben. Excerpt is from "The Spacer Question" by Harquart Staunton Reeves.

  Naval Academy, Old Earth, November 22, 2598.

  Tamara Carlisle, Ensign in the United Terran Federation Navy and newly minted Ph.D. of Military History, reported as ordered to the office of the Dean and Commander of the Federation Military academy, Admiral James C. Loftgren. She checked in with the Dean's secretary, who couldn't have been much older than she was. The young lady looked Carlisle over perfunctorily and told her that the Admiral was running late due to some unexpected business earlier and that she should have a seat.

  Carlisle looked around the small waiting area and went for the only remaining chair, located by itself in a corner near a large potted plant. The other chairs were occupied by new graduates of the academy who were waiting to visit with the admiral to obtain their first assignment. While most new graduates were simply processed and moved out, those with the highest levels of achievement were personally interviewed and processed by the Admiral himself.

  This sort of special treatment was also reserved for "special students," underachievers and trouble makers. Carlisle felt a small dagger of fear in her chest as she realized which group she was probably included in. She looked around the room. She remembered hearing that there were six honorees going through the ritual today but only five were currently in the room. She deduced that t
he sixth one must be in with the Admiral right now.

  It was readily apparent to Carlisle that all of the honorees knew each other. They certainly should have; they had worked together and competed against each other every day for the last four years. They were all very excited about their future and the posts they were to be assigned to. Aware of the need to maintain some level of decorum, they conversed quietly but enthusiastically with one another.

  There were several covert glances in her direction. Carlisle was a bit of an enigma to all of them. She was one of a small handful of Space-born citizens or "Spacers" who had graduated from the Academy and one of the first to go through the new special program. Not only that, she was a member of an elite group pursuing an advanced degree, which strengthened the barrier between her and the other students. To make matters even worse, rumors that she had single-handedly killed three male enemies, two of them in full battle armor, had circulated through the academy. If her status as a Ph.D. candidate had distanced her from the undergrads, her Spacer background and her recent combat experience had distanced her from the other graduate students. As she had been most of her professional life, Carlisle found that she was mostly left to herself.

  Her thoughts wandered.

  She felt a brief surge that mingled joy, apprehension and confusion in nearly equal amounts as her thoughts turned, as they often did these days, to Lieutenant Ryan Harris.