by L. E. Thomas
“Captain,” Austin said, snapping off a crisp salute.
Towers glanced at him. “No need for that, Lieutenant. I’m about to be a lowly civilian freighter captain, remember?”
Austin nodded. “Of course, sir. I didn’t know you spoke Zahl.”
“Prerequisite for a man in my line of work.”
Slapping a fresh energy pack into a repeating laser rifle, Towers stood and put on his helmet. Faint silver lines covered Towers’ black suit like veins, shimmering under the hangar’s lights. Austin recognized the shroud technology interwoven into the fabric, remembering how the Serpents had used personal shrouds to confuse and delay the Zahlian Marines in the Wraith encounter. On his wrist, Towers wore the reverse-engineered bracelet the engineers on board the Formidable had created to jam the implant.
“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?” Towers said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “Don’t you have a Trident to board?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well?”
Austin shifted his weight and rubbed his chin. “I wanted to, uh … on the mission—”
“Yeah, about that,” Towers said, his mouth forming into a full grin, “don’t be too good a shot out there, okay? I’m not sure about your acting ability, but don’t lose yourself in the role.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s not about that.”
“Spit it out, LT.”
“There’s a Star Runner on that station that has been there longer than the others.” Austin swallowed, pursing his lips. “Much longer than the others. I don’t know what mental state she’ll be in or if you’ll have to subdue her, but … I would be indebted to you if you brought her back to me.”
For the first time since Austin had approached, Towers focused on him and not on strapping weaponry to his body. The Serpents’ Captain stepped forward, his eyes locked on Austin’s.
“She means something to you?”
Austin nodded. “Very much, sir. She’s everything.”
“Her name?”
“Captain—”
“No, no,” Towers said, shaking his head. “Her name?”
He took a deep breath. “Ryker. Her full name is Ryker Zyan.”
Towers looked at the deck. “She’s the Star Runner who dropped my men in to save you, right?”
Austin smiled. “The one and only.”
Nodding as if he was coordinating a plan in his head, Towers stared at the freighter. When he looked back at Austin, the cold steel in his eyes had returned.
“Not sure I’d be here if it weren’t for you, Lieutenant,” he said. “I owe you my life. You get me onboard that station and I’ll bring back the Star Runners—including Ryker. They all come home. You hear me?”
Austin smiled. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll see you out there.”
“That you will.”
The rectangular bulk of the civilian freighter maneuvered in front of the line of Scorpions, two thousand MUs from the Formidable. Austin stared at the glow of the engines, offering a silent prayer for the Serpents on board and the success of their mission. They had to be successful. Failure meant the loss of at least two dozen Star Runners and he would never see Ryker again.
“Predator One, this is Lure,” Towers said over the gamma wave. “We are ready to active the Lutimite Drive at your command.”
Holding his breath, Austin glanced at the Trident piloted by Captain Manami Senza at the front of their formation. Since Senza had provided the approved operation, Wilkos authorized her to lead the Scorpions. Wilkos would remain in the CDC with Major Jonathan Nubern and Commander Mitchem Horace. After a pause, her voice transmitted with authority over the gamma wave.
“I copy, Lure,” she said. “You are cleared for your first waypoint. We will depart after you as scheduled. Happy trails.”
“Copy Predator One,” Towers said with confidence. “We have started the countdown. Lutimite Drive going hot in twenty seconds.”
Austin tapped his fingers on the stick. The freighter, or the Lure for this mission, would accelerate to speeds faster than light and fall into the space lanes of the Zahl Empire. For its trip to Nesteel, the freighter would use a false transponder and counterfeit codes.
Then the Scorpions would play their part.
“Ten seconds,” Towers said, his voice rising. “See you on the other side, Predator One.”
“Roger, Lure,” Senza said. “We’ll talk to you when we return.”
Austin’s stomach turned. If we return …
Flying to Nesteel, a world deep within the Zahl Empire and far from Legion space, under a shroud was difficult enough. Doing the same mission and planning to stage a simulated attack was something else entirely. But this type of mission behind enemy lines was the reason the Scorpions had been formed, and flying a Trident was all he knew how to do.
And, ever since hearing her voice on the gamma wave, living without Ryker for even one more day had become simply unacceptable.
The freighter shuddered, its engines glowing. The vessel flashed into infinity and disappeared.
“All right, Predators,” Senza said, using the code name for the mission, “I’m starting the clock. We need to time these curves. Once we’re through, remember to target the rear shields of the Lure. You have no missiles and very little power for the lasers. Make it look good, but don’t get too zealous. Interceptors will be on us in seconds. We only have enough energy to dogfight for about two minutes before we need to return and rendezvous with the tanker. Be sure to conserve your power until then and make sure you come back alive.”
Several Scorpions acknowledged. Austin sat in silence, watching the synced counter tick down on his HUD. Out there, Towers and his Serpents were driving hard for Nesteel. If one leg of the journey went wrong or if one Zahlian officer caught a whiff of something odd about the freighter, this entire mission would be a failure and Ryker would be lost to him forever. A cold sweat formed under his flight suit and trickled down his back. He looked down at his gloved hands, saw them trembling slightly. With his pulse racing, Austin took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
“Predator Three, this is Predator Five,” Skylar’s voice buzzed into his earpiece. “Stay frosty.”
Austin’s face warmed, and the tension eased. “Thank you, Predator Five. You, too.”
“Thanks a lot, guys,” Bear said, disdain in his voice. “Don’t worry about me. We’re going deep into enemy territory on a dangerous mission. But, hey, don’t worry about me.”
“You’re always frosty,” Austin said with a smile. “We don’t need to remind you.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Senza said, her voice calm and amused. “I suppose I should have given a proper speech, but I don’t think you need it. Ever since we first met back at the Scorpions’ Nest, I knew I was flying with the best group of Star Runners ever assembled. Nothing that has happened since has changed my mind. On behalf of Major Wilkos, who is undoubtedly monitoring this transmission, I want all of you to stay frosty. Let’s play our part so Lure can play theirs.”
With his nerves calming, Austin leaned back in his cockpit. He looked to the other unmarked Tridents on either side of him. Somehow, he knew every moment of training and testing, all of the days from Tarton’s Junction to the Formidable to the Omeya, had led to this mission. Cracking his knuckles once more, he rested his hand on the stick as he watched the counter tick down.
“Prepare to commence our first curve,” Senza said. “Here we go.”
With a flash of light and shimmering space, the Tridents passed through a synched curve linked to Senza’s drive. Tracing the path Austin had taken on his recon mission, the fighters zipped through and arrived at the barren moon of their first waypoint. He glanced at the emerald world in the distance.
“Curvature drive cooling and the next waypoint is loading,” Senza said. “All Predators report in.”
The sixteen Tridents sounded off. When the curvature drive was ready, they curved to the next waypoint
over the beautiful ringed world and then onto the Naroovian Salvage Yard.
As the space around his Trident normalized, Austin stared into the endless sea of dead ships awaiting their final fate. Unlike the first time he had been here, no salvage team worked amongst the ships. Instead, the Scorpions had curved in the middle of the dead ships.
“This is downright unsettling,” Bear said. “What is this place?”
Austin laughed, appreciative of the easing of the tension. Senza, however, did not sound amused.
“From this point on,” she said in a low voice, “we need to cut the chatter. Our next curve is it, people. We will be emerging into hostile territory. All fighters operating normally?”
The Scorpions acknowledged.
“Good. We are right on schedule. Remember, you only have about two minutes at the target area before you’re bingo fuel. If we timed this properly, the Lure should be right in front of us. Get in. Get hits. And get out.”
Austin nodded. The timer on his HUD for the curvature drive activated. He held his breath.
“Here we go,” Senza whispered into her microphone.
Austin wondered for an instant if the captain had meant to transmit her last gamma wave, but he focused his attention back on the timer.
The timer flashed, and the curve opened in front of his fighter. He eased through the curve, wincing as the colorful light shot into his eyes.
And he was through.
Checking his sensors, Austin watched the Lure freighter scream away from the Tridents at eight hundred MUs—just as they had planned. Beyond, tucked into a high orbit around Nesteel, was the familiar spindle shape of the station and the docked ARC he’d encountered on his previous journey. Two Interceptors flew in formation in low orbit, apparently unaware of the emergence of a squadron of Tridents.
“Predators,” Senza said, excitement filling her voice, “commence the attack on the freighter. Keep your eyes open and take your shots.”
The Scorpions masquerading as Predators from the Fringe acknowledged, forming up to the rear of the freighter. The aft turret cannon on the Lure activated, filling the space near the Tridents with sporadic laser fire to signal the start of their show.
“This is the transport Powla Prize,” Towers said in Zahl, transmitting on the frequency commonly utilized by the Empire. “We have come under attack by marauder forces. We aren’t going to last long. Request assistance. Repeat: this is the Powla Prize. We are under attack.”
The Scorpions commenced their attack runs, strafing the rear of the freighter as planned. Some of the laser bolts went high, just missing the Lure. Lining up for his attack, Austin fired into the stern. The bolts splattered against the shields, sending a wave of energy rippling around the hull. The return fire shot across his nose. He pulled up, flying away from the freighter.
“Powla Prize, this is Nesteel Station. Transmitting coordinates to you now. Proceed to this location. Assistance is on the way.”
Using the Whisper, Senza transmitted, “Predators, form up and be ready for another attack run.”
The Tridents pulled into a tight formation away from the Lure. With his pulse racing, Austin lowered his crosshairs once again on the freighter’s stern.
The HUD flashed red: New Contact.
“Fighters! Launching from the station!” Senza yelled. “Predators, take another attack run!”
Austin glanced at his sensors. Twenty-four Interceptors launched from the station and were driving hard on their position currently at six hundred MUs, but they weren’t alone.
“Predator Lead, Predator Three,” Austin said. “We have an incoming ARC.”
“What?” Senza asked, panic filling her voice. “Oh, no. All right, Predators, commence those attack runs and get ready to bug out!”
The Tridents looped around and shot back toward the Lure. By the time they finished the attack run, the Lure’s shields had collapsed as planned. Another wave of Interceptors appeared on the sensors, this time launching from the incoming ARC.
“More Interceptors at two hundred MUs!” Senza yelled. “Bug out, Predators! I say again—bug out!”
Taking one glance at the Interceptors gleaming in the distance, Austin yanked the stick away from the Lure and flew toward deep space. He checked the curvature drive, verifying the coordinates for the Naroovian Salvage Yard.
“Predator Lead! This is Predator Seven!” Diego “Sunshine” Marcos yelled. “My curvature drive is a no go. I have to reboot.”
“Moving in to cover him!” Hazel “Topper” Treuchel yelled without hesitation.
Austin watched as two Tridents moved away from the group.
“There’s no time!” Sensa yelled. “Predator Eight, fall back into formation. Seven, evade until your drive is rebooted.”
“You got it, Predator Lead,” Marcos said. “See you on the other side.”
Treuchel’s Trident broke formation, moving toward the incoming enemy. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Go without me!” Marcos yelled. “I’ll evade them. I need sixty seconds.”
Treuchel fired into the collection of Interceptors. “You wouldn’t leave me. I’m not leaving you. I’ll get your sixty seconds.”
Austin gripped his stick, preparing to assist his comrades as the closest Interceptors unleashed a flurry of missiles.
“All Predators, this is Predator Lead,” Senza said. “You are ordered to curve out. Repeat: curve! Now!”
One by one, the Tridents blinked off his scope. Austin watched Treuchel’s Trident flying toward the impossible odds. He thought of the previous times he’d disobeyed orders, and he remembered the consequences. Grinding his teeth, he lingered as he watched the situation unfold.
“Predator Three, are you having trouble?” Senza asked.
Except for Austin, Senza, Marcos, and Treuchel, all Tridents had left the system. Austin took one last look over his shoulder at Treuchel’s Trident. She had somehow been able to dodge the majority of the incoming missiles, but Austin saw a trail of gasses spewing from her starboard engine. Laser blasts filled the space as the Interceptors swarmed over his comrade’s fighter. He heard Marcos screaming as he watched his girlfriend’s Trident being pummeled by the superior force.
“Predator Three?”
“Predator Three,” Austin said, pulling back on the curvature drive lever. “Leaving the system.”
As the space around his Trident shimmered and popped, he saw Treuchel’s Trident vanish from his scope. Powering his fighter through the curve, he watched as Marcos disappeared as well.
Pursing his lips, Austin leaned back in his cockpit as the Trident’s drive opened the space within the Naroovian Salvage Yard and he passed through to safety. He sighed. The Scorpions had played their part in the ruse, and two perished because of it.
The Serpents now held Ryker’s fate—and the fate of all the captured Star Runners—in their hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Lure passed through the green squares transmitted to the freighter’s navigational computer by Nesteel Station’s flight control. The hangar deck bustled with all the expected activity of a system station with the exception that most of this traffic appeared to be military in nature. Captain Reece Towers eased the freighter over a line of Interceptors and troop transports to the indicated area at the rear of the hangar. Spinning the ship around to face the doors, Towers eased the civilian craft to the landing zone. Closing his eyes, he hovered his hand over the gamma wave transmit button and prepared for his performance.
“Control, this is Powla Prize,” he said, feigning being out of breath. “We are settled into the designated landing bay. Boy, we sure are mighty pleased you agreed to grant us an emergency landing. Don’t know what we’d a done without that help.”
“Powla Prize,” the unamused and monotone voice of the station’s control tower came back, “you are instructed to remain in your vessel for the entirety of your stay on Nesteel Station. Failure to comply with this regulation will be dealt with to
the fullest extent of the imperial law.”
“But what about our shields?” he said with a grumble. “They ravaged our electronics on board. Our navigational charts are fried, and the flight control’s blasted to hell.”
The control tower attendant sighed, openly disgusted with dealing with civilian traffic. “Listen, Nesteel Station is under martial law. This is not a commercial port at the moment, and you were only authorized to land because it was an emergency and your transportation permits are current. All available engineers are handling other issues at the moment.”
Towers smiled. Time to put this one to bed. “Well, how long’s that going to take? We have things to do, Sonny. Lots of—”
“Your ship has been placed on a priority list and will be addressed on a first come, first served basis. It should be at least a few hours until an engineer is dispatched to your location.”
“Oh,” Towers said, leaning into the microphone, “what should I do in the meantime?”
“Take a nap, Powla Prize,” the man sneered. “Control out.”
The gamma wave ceased.
Smiling, Tower turned the pilot’s chair around to face his second in command, Bo Tommasino.
“And that is how it’s done,” he said, switching back from speaking Zahl and offering a shallow bow.
Tommasino frowned, his square forehead wrinkling in thought. “That accent of yours worked. I can’t believe it.”
Towers looked at the man sitting to his right in the two-person bridge of the freighter. Tommasino had been a member of the Serpents for six standard cycles—three less than Towers. The man had served with Towers on numerous assignments, from the farthest dark world to deep within the Zahl Empire. With his beard dark as ink and thick eyebrows, the man could kill with a look. In fact, Towers had seen the man frighten soldiers with one good stare. Of course, his bulging muscles and six-foot-five frame didn’t hurt his ability to intimidate. Towers shrugged. “These guys get dozens of freighters coming in and out of here every day. They wouldn’t care if I spoke in song.”