Starcruiser Polaris: Blood of Patriots

by Richard Tongue

   Again, that would only help. Though if a Starcruiser appeared alongside Hanoi, their only option would be a quick surrender and an attempt to negotiate the best possible terms for the crew. Not that he'd expect any deals he made to be kept. The man was a crawler.

   The file on Keranos was a near-blank, even with the information the Underground had managed to scavenge over the years. Just another petty criminal, exploiting his contracts to make a dishonest living on the frontier, occasionally shipping from one system to another as ColSec decided to belatedly notice his activities. Finding Polaris must have been a dream come true for him, a passport to plenty. Though one that made him a target for every significant power in Known Space, if he handled it badly.

   “Want a suggestion?” Tom said, as the shuttle swooped towards the station. “Don't head for one of the usual docking ports. Go for Airlock Nine-Nine, down in the Underdeck. Much better class of criminals hangs around down there, and none of them of the uniformed variety. And don't bother logging it with traffic control. Remember that we're pretending to be working for the Political Directorate. You think they ever ask permission?”

   With a smile, Curtis entered the course change, guiding the shuttle into position, drifting out of the normal traffic flow. Dozens of shuttles were flying back and forth, transporting raw ore from a hundred different citizen collectives to the waiting transports, others heading out to the distant mining stations in the outer belt. He looked up at the sensor display, absorbing the view of local space. This would be a fantastic place for an ambush. A single, large super-Earth, an ocean world with a scattering of settlements on the surface, one station that housed the bulk of the commercial activity, and an immense asteroid belt, untold millions of rocks drifting through space, thousands of potential hiding places.

   He paused, a smile spreading across his face. After all these years, it was all flooding back to him. He was beginning to think like the officer he had once been again, and it felt damned good. The shuttle gently slid into position on the lower ring, docking clamps locking into position, and the twin hatches opened onto a deserted corridor, the walls smeared with graffiti as Tom stepped onto the deck beyond.

   “Nice and quiet,” he said. “Just what we wanted.”

   Curtis followed him onto the station, then replied, “ColSec will be down here pretty quick.”

   “They'd have to negotiate with the local underworld first,” Tom said. “Not as easy as it might look. Trust me on that.” Stepping quickly down the corridor, he added, “Elevator at the end of the corridor. Should take us where we're going. At least now we know that we've got an escape route if we need it.”

   Footsteps echoed down the corridor towards them, and the two men looked at each other, both reaching for the pistols at their belts. A woman raced around the corner, panting for breath, raising her arms as she saw the weapons raised at them.

   “You with the Underground?” she asked. Shaking her head, she said, “Never mind, I know you won't answer that question. Keranos is dead. Saxon killed him. She's taken the rest of my operations team prisoner and is going to execute them for the crime.”

   “Who the hell are you?” Curtis asked.

   She paused, glanced back nervously at the corridor, and said, “Flight Lieutenant Diana Voronova.”

   “A Commonwealth officer?” Tom said. “And you know about Keranos?”

   “We came here to find him. To try and track down what he knew about Polaris before you could get here.” She looked around again, and said, “If I'm right, Saxon's going to try to grab the two of you as well, or at least make sure that you don't find what you came here for. I'll make a deal with you. Help me rescue the rest of my party, and I'll help you find the data you're looking for.”

   “Give me one good reason to trust you?”

   A loud crack echoed down the corridor from the rear, a pair of black-uniformed ColSec operatives racing towards them. On instinct, Tom turned, firing a quick shot from the hip that scattered the two of them to the side.

   “Good reason,” Curtis said. “Safehouse, Tom, on the double!”

   “This way,” he replied, sprinting down the corridor, firing a second shot over his shoulder as he raced away from the cowering gunmen. “As long as he's still in business.”

   The three unlikely allies raced away from their would-be assassins, Curtis and Tom periodically taking shots to cover their escape. Skidding to a halt by a service elevator, Voronova stabbed at the controls, cursing as they failed to respond to her commands.

   “I've got this,” Tom said, entering a twelve-digit access code, the doors sliding open to reveal a long shaft. Reaching into his pocket, he clamped a magnetic cable to the wall, gave it a hard tug to test it, then dropped the other end to the bottom. “Two floors down,” he said, before diving down the cable, hand over hand. Voronova followed, Curtis hanging back, emptying the rest of his clip into the corridor behind them before taking his own place on the cable, bouncing from the walls in long leaps as he ate up the distance, desperately attempting to outpace their pursuers.

   Hands reached at him, tugging him into a side tunnel, and as soon as he was safe, Tom carefully twisted the cable, releasing the clamp at the top, letting it drop away to the bottom of the shaft.

   “Hey, we could have used that,” Voronova protested.

   “Foreign object in the shaft,” Tom replied. “They'll have to clear it before they can call the elevator. By now it's stuck fast, blocking the way. That should buy us some time.” Gesturing into the darkness, he added, “Come on. We're going to see the doctor.”

  Chapter 7

   “Attention,” the overhead speaker blared. “All hands to alert stations. I repeat, all hands to alert stations on the double!”

   Cordova looked at Haggard, sitting at her status panel, and said, “Let me out of this.”

   “I can't do that,” the paramedic replied. “There's too much danger of you injuring yourself. That arm is still in a pretty bad way. If you stay where you are...”

   “There's something wrong up on the bridge,” she replied, “and if I don't get out of this bed to deal with it right away, none of us might be here in the next few minutes. With Curtis off the ship, I'm the most experienced combat commander around. Let me put it this way. Either let me out of this bed, or get ready to see all the rest fill up.”

   Haggard sighed, then walked over to her, reluctantly releasing the restraints, and saying, “Just be careful, and don't do any thing crazy. I went to a lot of trouble to patch you back together, and I'd hate it to go to waste.” Reaching for a sling, she added, “Keep it immobilized, don't try and use it under any circumstances. Got that?”

   “Understood,” Cordova said, stretching out as the paramedic gently secured her arm in position. “Honestly, I don't feel a thing.”

   “Only because I injected half the painkillers in the ship's pharmacy into you,” Haggard warned. “When they wear off, you'll know about it.” Gesturing at the door, she said, “Watch yourself.”

   With a smile, Cordova jogged into the elevator, almost running into a startled Sokolov as he worked the controls. He looked at her sling, shook his head, and tapped the button for the bridge, the mechanism grinding into life to send them hurtling down to the far side of the ship, a third of a mile distant. She reached up for the status panel on the wall, bringing up an image of local space, and frowned in confusion. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary, nothing unexpected.

   The doors slid open, and she led the way onto the bridge, Rojek turning in his chair as she stepped inside, only just beating Hunter as she raced into the room from the other door. Norton rose from the command chair, looking at the two of them, finally offering the seat to Cordova, who gratefully dropped down into it.

   “Situation report, Roxy,” she said.

   “Are you sure you should be out of bed?” Norton asked. “You look terrible.”

   “I lo
ve you too. Now, what's the crisis?”

   “We had a message from Saxon a few minutes ago. Apparently Commander Curtis failed to turn up to his appointment, and she's claiming that he's been captured by Commonwealth agents on the station. I've stalled as best I can, but she's rather anxious to speak to someone in charge over here.”

   “That had better be you,” Hunter said, “given that I'm supposed to be ill.”

   “Hey, something's happening out there,” Montgomery said. “That Commonwealth freighter is on the move! Heading for the gravitational threshold at top speed.” Working his controls, he added, “She's barely half-loaded. Leaving shuttles behind. Whatever's happening has her scared, Major.”

   “I'm with her,” Norton said, moving to the helm. “Orders?”

   “Put me through to Saxon,” Cordova said. “I think that it's about time we got some answers.”

   “Do we even know the questions?” Montgomery asked, as the image of the fuming security chief winked onto the display, operatives moving around behind her, racing from panel to panel.

   “I'd like an explanation,” Saxon said. “There are Commonwealth agents running around over here, and one of my men has been shot. Reportedly by someone with your commanding officer, a man tentatively identified as Tom Krieger. The footage I've seen suggests that Curtis was going along with whatever it was they were doing.” Leaning forward, she said, “I'm moments away from declaring your ship a public threat.” Looking Cordova up and down, she added, “Who are you, anyway? You're profile isn't listed on the crew database. Neither was Curtis, come to that.”

   “My name is Hanson,” Cordova lied. “I'm with the Political Directorate, and...”

   “Don't give me any of that crap,” Saxon said. “It doesn't fly. I've got enough contacts in the Directorate to know when someone's paying special interest in my station, and none of them have so much as uttered a word.” Looking down at a datapad, she added, “It might interest you to know that Juan Keranos is dead, by the way. Shot in the gut by enemy agents. You were too late.” Looking at her with a sneer, she said, “I'm sitting with my finger on the trigger of our orbital defense network. One touch of a button and I'll have three mass drivers opening up in your direction. Don't think I won't do it. I want to see you over on the station, and I want to see you right away, and I won't take no for an answer!”

   “Very well,” Cordova replied. “I'll be over in ten minutes. Which docking port?”

   “Number Two, right by my office. I'll be waiting. With friends. Saxon out.”

   As the screen snapped off, Rojek turned, and said, “You can't be serious. Teddy was mad enough to head over there by himself, but you'll be walking right into a detention cell.”

   “You heard her,” she replied. “If I don't go over there, she'll destroy Hanoi. For all we know she's captured the Commander.” Glancing at Norton, she said, “I need a squad on the double.”

   “A squad of what?”

   “Troops. Anyone with a gun. I'm going over there, but I'm not going alone, and I'm not staying for long. As soon as we dock, I want you to alter course to keep us as far away from that defense network as you can. Try and make it look like a normal maneuver.” Glancing up at the screen, she added, “Have there been any recent transfers to that Commonwealth ship?”

   “Nothing for the last hour,” Montgomery replied. “There were two shuttles on their way over, but they've left them behind. Both cargo loaders, and the manifests claim that they're loaded with ore. Flight profile suggests they are, but that doesn't mean that they might not have sneaked a few passengers on board.” Looking up at his panel, he added, “Both of them are turning back towards the station, and if they hold their current course, they're on their way back to their launch points. Down on the Cargo Ring.”

   “Track them,” Montgomery said. “Felix, fancy some exercise?”

   “I think I still remember which end of a gun the bullets come out of,” Rojek replied, rising from his station, Alvarez moving in to take his place.

   “Hunter, you're in charge while I'm away,” Cordova said.

   “You've decided to trust me?” the freighter captain asked. “I was under the impression...”

   “Bluntly, we're running out of options, and you at least know how to handle the ship in a crisis. Just make sure that you're still here when we get back.” Looking up at the station, she added, “If they have captured the Commander, and Keranos is dead, we might have to abort the mission.”

   “How do we do that?” Montgomery asked.

   “Let's cross that bridge when we come to it,” Norton said. “Shuttle Five is ready for you, Major, and I've called as many reserve crewmen as I can find to report on board with weaponry. We're not going to be a match for their ColSec forces, though.”

   “I'm not planning to go toe-to-toe,” Cordova replied, wincing as she rose to her feet, her arm brushing against the side of the chair. “Watch our backs, Hunter.”

   “Will do,” she replied, as Cordova left the bridge, trying not to show the agony she was beginning to feel from her aching arm. Rojek hurried to her side, jogging to catch up with her as she made her way towards the docking ports, the murmur of conversation from the waiting crewman drifting towards them.

   “I think I know what you are planning, Major, and you don't have to go.”

   “Saxon will be expecting to see me, and if I'm there, it might buy us the few seconds we need to make this plan work. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing.”

   “I hope so,” Rojek said, patting the gun nestled in his improvised holster. “It's been a long time since I fired one of these things in anger, and I think I can say that for most of the people on this ship. We aren't commandos, Major. We're just freighter crewmen.”

   “Then today we'll be exploring our limitations a little further than we'd expected.” She walked on down the corridor, turning a corner to see a dozen people standing around. Most of them were known rebels, a few among them representing those who had recently changed sides. All were armed with an assortment of pistols and sonic weapons, all with different load-outs, most of them holding their firearms tentatively, as though afraid of what might happen if they pulled the trigger.

   “Listen up, people,” she said. “Tactical deployment on the...”

   “What?” Sokolov asked.

   With a sigh, Cordova said, “Bad people will be waiting on the other side of the airlock. ColSec. So feel free to send them on a one-way trip to Hell, but snatch Saxon. I'll show you recent pictures of you so you'll know who to grab. We need at least one prisoner. Got that?”

   “Shoot to kill?” Rojek asked.

   “They will,” she replied. “Probably as soon as the hatch opens.” With a sigh, she said, “Let them take the first shot, but make sure all of you are in good cover. I don't want our good intentions to cost any lives, still less wreck the mission. Understand that we've all got to make it there and back, and we can't risk any damage to the shuttle. Got that?”

   “Understood,” Alvarez said from the copilot's seat, waving his sonic shotgun dangerously around. “Just point them in my direction.”

   Cordova climbed into the cockpit, frowning as she saw Moretti at the controls. The engineer turned to her with an eager grin as her improvised attack force scrambled through the airlock.

   “Not that many shuttle pilots left on board at the moment, Major, and if you think I'm missing out on all the fun, you're mistaken. My people can handle the Tau drive if necessary, and if Charlie's going to dance the Foxtrot, I want to be there to watch.”

   “Just keep your head down,” Cordova replied, strapping herself into a couch. “Launch when ready.” As the last man climbed inside, the double hatches slammed shut, the shuttle disengaging from the side of Hanoi, engines pulsing to guide them towards their target. She glanced at her watch, frowning at the readout. Three minutes since she'd spoken to Saxon. She'd have a full squad waiting for th
em on the far side, and if she'd guessed that they were part of the Underground, they could expect no mercy, no quarter.

   “Docking in four minutes minus,” Moretti said, her hands dancing across the controls. “I've already plotted our escape trajectory. Assuming I'm not being a little optimistic, we should be back on Hanoi in less than ten minutes.” Glancing across at a side display, she added, “Defense network is coming online, Major. We're in range of satellites three and five.”

   “Have they got a firing solution?”

   “Can't tell. We'll have to wait for them to open up first.” Reaching across to the fine thruster controls, she added, “Preparing random walk course for our departure. I presume you don't want me to do anything yet.”

   “We don't dare.”

   “And if Saxon decides to simply shoot us down and ask questions later?” Alvarez asked.

   “Then at the very least, Spaceman, we won't know a damned thing about it. Everyone get ready. Don't wait for an order. Use your initiative.” As the shuttle dropped into position, sliding into its designated approach path, she moved to the airlock, pistol in hand, and said, “All of you stay back. Those with non-lethal weapons are to fire first. The rest pick off anyone that the sonics miss.”

   Rojek nodded, reaching for his shotgun, keeping his hand close to the trigger, adding, “Low power, for God's sake. The echoes will knock us all down. Moretti...”

   “Way ahead of you,” the engineer replied, strapping on heavy headphones. “Whatever happens to the rest of you, I'll get you back home when the shooting stops. Thirty seconds to contact.” Flicking on her docking camera, she added, “I've knocked out all but a single clamp. The explosive bolts should release us if all else fails. I don't think we want to have to ask permission from Traffic Control before departure, do you?”

   “Remind me to find a way to promote you at some point,” Cordova said. “Once we have some sort of a rank structure, that is.”

   “I'm just a grease jockey, Major. Docking in ten seconds. And from what I can see, there are already people waiting in the airlock. I just hope Saxon's one of them.”