I turned the DS to the right and entered the damper system. It didn’t register my ship as I was shorter than the exiting Patrol Boat. The tail section of the DS cleared the net just as the other boat cleared it on the way out.
A dampening field cancels radio waves, electronic signals, and light rays. Each of the energy sources were met at the net with a counter force 180 degrees out of phase from the originating source. This in effect canceled them. The net was active between a series of satellites. When, set line of sight, they formed a complete dampening field. It wasn’t cheap hardware. The one surrounding this raft city seemed an excessive expense for a scruffy band of Pirates. Who had paid for it?
Inside the net, exterior collision lights helped identify individual ships. My passive scanner picked up very little chatter. I expected more. Rafting up, I guess was for face to face conversations.
A Yacht was the center ship. Just a Stone Angel surmised, it had a clear escape route to open space. Stacked around it were a collection of space crafts. A small Tramp Steamer sat behind it and other ships were around and behind the Tramp. Other clusters of ships were stacked above and below those.
I nudged the DS and began a circuit of the interlocked ships. Hoping to locate the recon pods, I kept the power low and used visibility optics. They could be tucked in almost any space between any of the ships, so I wasn’t worried when I didn’t find them.
The entire raft city was composed of about fifty ships. Once I’d looked over the far side, I turned the DS. A Sloop was latched onto this side of the Tramp and there was a wide gulf between the bulky bodies. It seemed a good hiding place to settle the relatively diminutive DS GunShip.
It fit with a wide margin on either side. I let her settle until my exterior hatch came on line with a port on the Sloop. The plan was to wait for a signal from the Striker Team. Whether for a pickup or a gun battle, whatever Warlock needed. Even though, I wasn’t planning on personally visiting the raft city, I wanted access to it. My airlock tube extended out and anchored to the Sloop’s hatch.
The anchor was designed to facilitate Strike-Kill teams boarding enemy ships. One of its features, besides creating a hard point attachment, was the electronic listening devices on the end. When the tube locked on, the devices tapped into, and began sending me, information from the Sloop. Among the data were the chatter on the ship’s phones. I sat back to eavesdrop.
“Bridge. Can someone get me a sandwich?” a man on the Sloop asked.
It reminded me that I had skipped a meal. Maybe I’d go below and fix myself a sandwich while I waited. I wondered where the man was positioned, if he’d called the Bridge with the request.
“What? Are your legs broken?” came the reply.
It was a typical shipboard response. Asking for another body, when you could do the action yourself, was always met with a condescending answer.
“I can’t leave,” the man pleaded, “One of the freaks is coming up. I’ve gotta wait here.”
Mari almost tripped me as I stepped down from the pilot deck. He had placed his big body across the aisle blocking my way and tangling my feet. The talk of food from the Sloop made my stomach growl.
“Why don’t they just toss the five interlopers out an airlock and be done with it?” the woman on the Bridge asked.
“Sounds good to me,” the hungry man replied, “But it’s not my call. Captain said watch them until one of the big folks has a chance to question them.”
“Be glad you’re on our ship. I visited them once and held my breath the entire time,” the Bridge answered, “I don’t know how you can eat when one of them is breathing on you.”
“I’ve got a cast iron stomach, 1st Mate,” he said, “Now, how about sending a steward up here with some grub?”
“On the way,” the woman said, finally agreeing to get him some food, “Bridge out.”
I froze. Five interlopers being guarded. A freak who was big, has bad breath, and was on the way to question five people. I kneeled down and ran a hand through Mari’s thick fur.
‘Our Strikers?’ I thought to the cat.
‘Iñaki,’ Mari sent back.
Felines were solitary hunters and didn’t relay concepts such as a whole five-person team. They did recognize a single dominate male. Iñaki was that and would be Mari’s idea of ‘Our Strikers’.
‘Bugs, spiders, web, hunt,’ he added as I pondered the possibility of the Striker team being taken captive.
This time there was no confusion in translating his thoughts. Bugs and spiders were prey. Naming both meant a variety, but, it definitively decoded as enemies. Web signified a trap. And hunt? Hunt was self-explanatory.
Chapter 36
After a quick trip to the lower deck for a fist full of protein, my clan strap, body armor and a vacuum suit, I returned to the command deck. Everything got powered down to keep the DS hidden if my excursion to the Sloop raised an alarm. I also set an automatic breach for the hatch and the port on the Sloop. If I didn’t make it back, Mari could cross before the DS GunShip self-destructed. The Pirates and their Freak friends might get five Strikers and me but they absolutely couldn’t have the DS.
The interior airlock closed behind me and once sealed, I opened the DS’s hatch. Gravity was above nil so I partially walked and crawled to the port. Sloops are working vessels and have access doors all around their cargo sections. Crewmen needed to reach areas during the loading and unloading process so opening the hatches from either side was a requirement. I spun the lock and the port opened.
Gravity grabbed and pulled me down towards the cargo deck. Snagging a rung, I swung in midair. My feet searched until I touched a lower rung on the ladder. The climb down to the deck was about three meters. The cargo section was empty. Not a profitable use of a Sloop, I though as I shrugged off the vacuum suit. I left on the body armor, anticipating the need for it.
The man guarding the five captives had said, ‘send food up to him’. This placed the brig on a level above the Sloop’s Bridge.
Across the cargo hold, I located an interior ladder. Placing a foot in the lower rung, I began the climb to the Sloop’s center tunnel. While not the radius of a Clipper’s cargo sleeve, it was still a long way from the cargo deck to the middle of the transport.
So far I hadn’t encountered any of the crew. The possibility increased now. I was in the tunnel and moving towards the fore section. My goal was a ladder or staircase beyond the Ion Wall. One of those should lead to storage and crew quarters on the upper levels. I almost made it.
Sparks flickered in the distance. As they grew brighter, I judged them as radiating from the ceiling of the tunnel. On either side of the tunnel were storage containers filled with block and tackle, straps and buckles. Items the crew needed to tie down the cargo. On the floor of the tunnel were two widely spaced tracks. I rested a foot on the tram rail aligning with the oncoming sparks and single head lamp. It vibrated.
My options were to attack the advancing crew cart. Or, stuff my body between two storage containers and hope the crew passed by me. Before wedging in, I withdrew my Knight fighting sticks. The head light drew closer and the sparks from the overhead hot rail intensified. I lowered my head so the light wouldn’t reflect off my faceplate.
Two men were leaning back in the four-man cart. As they passed, I heard laughing and a few words from a story. Bad jokes in a tall tale saved their lives.
Once the cart disappeared towards the aft of the Sloop, I squeezed out of the body-hugging space. Resuming my journey towards the Ion Wall, I glanced back every few steps to be sure they weren’t returning.
The tram rails bent and met in a turnaround, completing the tram system. The tunnel ended two meters beyond the rails. Steps to either side led to passageways around the Ion Wall. If the tram ran in a circle, the logical side for anyone coming to use it would be the left side. I took the right hand steps.
Beyond the Ion Wall where the passageway ended, I located a ladder. It passed through a hole in the deck and rose for three more levels. I d
ecided to start on the upper most deck. It would be easier to search my way down or fight from the high ground. If it came to a confrontation.
The top of my helmet at eye level poked out at the first level. I searched the hallway and saw only closed doors. I climbed to the next deck. At first, I overlooked the tray. A cloth napkin covered its content. I was half way up the ladder to the final deck when I remembered the hungry man.
I had to have a look at that tray. Room service wasn’t normal on a working ship, unless it was for the Skipper. None of these doors looked as if they led to a Captain’s suite. Most were storage rooms according to the signs above the frame. Why would a food tray be placed in the hall outside a storage room? I backed down and stepped off the ladder.
A ham and cheese sandwich with lettuce and tomato, I knew this from the bits and pieces left on the plate. There was also a place for a coffee pot, a damp spot identified that the pot had been there recently, plus the lunch had either a side salad, or a dessert, but those holders were empty. The storage room demanded an investigation however, I needed more intelligence before waltzing in unprepared. Listening at the door was out. Unfortunately, a combat helmet makes it impossible to place your ear against a door or wall.
I retreated from the tray, two doors down, and I entered another room. It was unoccupied. The practiced steps for removing body armor soon had me standing in my long johns. I unthreaded the webbed belt and sling it and the MP 45 over my head. After adjusting the belt so the pistol hung properly, I pulled on the black trousers and the Knight doublet.
With the Knight sticks in one hand and the 45 in the other, I left the storage room. The tray sat unmolested. I picked it up. Holding it shoulder high, I rapped on the door, hard.
“Who’s there?” a voice responded to my knocking.
“Get rid of them,” another voice, deeper and accented, ordered.
I recognized the clipped accent of the second voice. It matched the crewmen from the converted torpedo Clipper ship.
“Steward,” was all I said.
“Take the tray and go,” the first voice answered.
I hammered the door harder and said louder, “Steward.”
“I said, take the tray, and go,” the man yelled.
I waited for fifteen seconds. In fifteen seconds, the nervous system settles and the mind returns to the task that was interrupted. It also created additional ire when the disturbance returned.
“Steward,” I said hammering on the door after fifteen seconds.
The accent grew thicker with more agitation and he ordered, “That man. Make him gone, now.”
“What do you want?” a man demanded as he opened the door.
I shoved the tray towards his face with my open hand and wrapped my fingers around the pair of fighting sticks. My wrist followed the angle of the tray except they controlled the sticks in a downward trajectory. The terminus was the crown of his head. He dropped.
The pistol floated into the room about a meter over the prone figure. A giant stood over another prone figure. I ignored the bodies. My focus was the electronic Prod in big guy’s hand. The weapon swung in my direction. Previous experience with the Prod, left me no choice. I fired four kinetic rounds into his neck. They ripped away the flesh to either side of his throat and one side of his jaw. Still he jabbed the arcing tip in my direction. I danced to the side to give him time to bleed out. It didn’t take long.
Warlock stirred and I knelt down. She was spotted with nasty burns all over her torso. Which, if I wasn’t a gentleman…I went to the crewman. After making sure he didn’t wake up, I stripped off his shirt.
Warlock came conscious, struggling and fighting to remove my hands. The shirt wasn’t buttoned but it did cover her.
“Come on you dragon breathed monster,” she said still groggy and not fully awake.
I stood back as she rolled over and pushed to her feet. She weaved in the air and needed two steps back and the top of a crate to get her balance.
I pulled back the cowl and she blinked away the dampness from her eyes. Master Sergeant don’t cry. They called it a watery representation of emotion. Given enough pain, we were all subject to W.R.E.
“Where’s the rest of your team?” I asked knowing she’d respond better if questioned about her charges.
“Next room,” she replied but her eyes were studying my attire, “Lieutenant?”
“Standby, Master Sergeant,” I said walking to the only door in the room.
Inside, the remainder of the Strike-Kill team were chained up back to back. Blind folded, stripped of their armor and anchored to the deck, they were fighting the restraints.
“Strikers, relax,” I said stepping in, but not too far.
Heavy Rain swept the deck with his leg. Even tied down, he’d managed to generate a lot of power in the restricted movement. Lucky for me, it hadn’t connected.
“Corporal Shigeko Amaya. You want to hold off attacking me so I can get those chains off you?” I asked.
Four blind folded heads turned in my direction.
“J-Pop? Get these things off me,” Heavy Rain said straining against the alloy, “Sorry about the leg.”
“No harm done,” I said stretching my arm out and flipping the blind folds off one by one.
They didn’t know the current situation. Their experience so far had been as captives and until I was sure they knew me as friendly, I wasn’t getting within kicking distance.
Warlock came in behind me. I turned as she finished tying the shirt at her waist. She jerked back as I reached around her for a set of keys hanging on the door frame.
“At ease, team,” she said staggering deeper into the room.
The four settled and I began working on the chains.
“What went wrong?” I asked as I unlocked the chains.
“Not sure. We entered the net and everything went black in my Pod,” Warlock reported with a fragile tone, “They were waiting for us. We woke up here. Than the big guy shows up and begins to use sparky on me.”
“Did he ask questions?” I asked seeing Fire Dove nod that the second recon pod had suffered the same fate.
“He wanted to know where the DS GunShip was hiding,” she said sounding a little more like her old self, “And how big a Navy force was inbound.”
“Hold on a second. How’d he knew we had an active DS?” I asked, “Sorry it was a rhetorical question. They have spies on Construction Station. And I assume on the Tres el Fuerte, as well. How did they know the DS was coming here?”
“Don’t know, Sir,” Warlock replied to me then to her team ordered, “Thunder Eagle watch the door in the other room. The rest of you slackers, see if you can locate our gear.”
There was a door on the far side of the room. Heavy Rain, Stone Angel and Fire Dove disappeared through it.
“Now, about the PJs?” Warlock inquired with her words and her frown.
“These are a long story and I’m afraid not for public consumption,” I said pointing to the black silky outfit, “As in, you and the team never saw the pajamas.”
We walked into the room with the giant and crewman. Thunder Eagle nodded at us from the hallway door but didn’t leave her post.
“What’s the plan, now?” Warlock asked, “We’re no secret, but, I’d still like a look at that Yacht. Or should we run for it and call in the Navy?”
“The inquisitor asked when the Navy would arrive. Don’t you find that odd?” I asked, “They expected the Navy to find this place. No, I think we need a look in that Yacht. If your team is up to it?”
“The team is fine and you know it. It’s me you’re worried about,” she said holding up both arms and displaying spots with bruises and burns, “Don’t be, I’m able. How do you see the operation going forward?”
Before I could reply, the three missing Strikers strolled in carrying Warlock’s and Thunder Eagle’s equipment. They’d already geared up.
“Nice of them to take such good care of our stuff,” Heavy Rain said offering the body ar
mor to his Sergeant.
“Are we going to get some payback?” Stone Angel asked as he handed over Thunder Eagle’s armor and weapon.
“Lieutenant Piran,” Warlock said locking eyes with me.
There was no kindness in those eyes. She wanted revenge and I wanted answers.
“That depends,” I said, “How much does the Navy charge for a lost set of body armor?”
“Sir?” four Strikers responded.
“About 150,000 Pesetas,” Fire Dove replied.
I could afford it. The question was just to get the team’s attention. If I were going to get on the Yacht, I wouldn’t be dressed in battle armor. Still, I hated to leave the Pirates a fine set of fish scale armor.
“Your team is going to give me a ten-minute head start,” I said as I linked our PIDs together so they could locate the DS GunShip, “Enough time for me to get behind your targets.”
“Our targets?” Warlock asked.
“You’re going to fight your way to the Yacht,” I instructed, “Sneak and peek time is over. It’s time to unleash the Strike-Kill team.”
Chapter 37
I yanked the cowl down once I was in the hallway. No sense in giving away the real secret of my Knight Protector of the Clan gear to the Striker team. With my camouflage engaged, I headed for the Bridge. Warlock and her team would follow my trail and I wanted the Sloop’s command out of the fight. Wouldn’t they be surprised when the Strike-Kill team dropped in for a brief visit?
The air curtain from the Sloop’s Bridge led me to a long airlock tube. It connected to the Tramp so I detoured to their Bridge as well. With both the Sloop and Tramp command less, the ships stacked around the Yacht wouldn’t be going anywhere.
My trek across the Tramp’s Bridge continued down a long hallway to another airlock tube. I pushed the air curtain aside and a muted odor of antiseptic and ketone greeted me. The raw aroma increased as I walked down the steep airlock tube. Another air curtain concealed a closed hatch.
Around the hatch, the exposed exterior skin of the ship was an alloy I didn’t recognize. It was duller in tone then Galactic Realm material, as if there were more iron in the mix. The hatch, thankfully was Realm regulation, so I spun the locking wheel. A cloud of the antiseptic and ketone stink rolled over me. My eyes watered, I gagged, and my nose and throat burned. It took a few heartbeats for me to get control of my senses. I forced a few deep breaths and didn’t experience any dizziness or shortness of breath. It was breathable, not pleasantly, but I’d survive in this environment.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 30