by Ryk Brown
“What about the passengers? Did we capture any of them?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, find out!” Siggy closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to control his frustration. “Colin, Siggy,” he said, speaking into his comm-unit. “Launch a shuttle, have them get a fix on our position, and then jump back to the Antilla and have her join us.”
“You got it.”
Siggy looked at his man at the helm station. “What are you looking at?” he scowled. “Figure out how to unlock the damned thing.”
* * *
Master Sergeant Anwar glanced back and forth between the makeshift patch they had constructed out of a desktop and several cans of construction adhesive, and the pressure level shown on Corporal Rossi’s data pad. It had taken them several minutes to create the patch, and several more minutes for the adhesive to take hold. That didn’t include the time it took for the corporal to open up the control panel and bypass the controls so that they could force the compartment to repressurize. Normally, the Ghatazhak would have simply blasted their way through each compartment, not caring about who might die when the next compartment suffered sudden decompression. But this time, it was different. They had no idea where Captain Scott and Lieutenant Nash were located, and although taking the Mystic Empress intact was their primary objective, saving Nathan and Jessica was a very close second.
The patch they had constructed looked a mess, and the master sergeant was quite sure that it would not hold for long. He hoped it would hold long enough for them to get into the corridor and seal the door behind them. The pressure inside would help keep the patch in place, but if that pressure could not be maintained, the automatic safeties in the door control would lock it.
It’s a hell of a way to build a ship, the master sergeant thought as they waited for the interior pressure to climb to a normal level. Having sleeping quarters against an outside bulkhead, and with a window, no less. However, they were lucky these economy cabins existed on what was otherwise considered a luxury for the elite of the Pentaurus cluster, otherwise, he and his men might not have made it this far.
Finally, the interior pressure reached its normal level, and the corporal gave a thumbs up. They had been comm-silent since leaving the Seiiki, not wanting to alert anyone aboard the Mystic to their presence.
Master Sergeant Anwar went over to the two men standing on either side of the makeshift patch, and tapped them both on the shoulders, indicating they should move to the hatch.
Once all five men were gathered around the hatch, Corporal Rossi bypassed the hatch controls, and the pressure locks sprung open. Sergeant Morano pulled the hatch open and quickly stepped through into the corridor, his weapon held ready against his shoulder as he took aim.
Corporal Rattan was a split second behind him, stepping through and taking up a firing position aiming down the corridor in the opposite direction. Master Sergeant Anwar and Sergeant Vela were next, each of them backing up the two previous men. Finally, Corporal Rossi disconnected his data pad and stepped into the corridor through the hatch, pulling it closed behind him. The corporal quickly broke open the control pad on the bulkhead next to the door and attached his data pad to the controls. A few taps on his data pad display, and the door was sealed again, thus preventing anyone from inadvertently opening the door, should the pressure in the cabin fall below normal and the automatic safeties fail to operate. The last thing they needed was for a sudden decompression to catch them or any other friendlies off guard. Once his work was completed, the corporal tapped the master sergeant on the shoulder.
Master Sergeant Anwar deactivated the seals on the neck collar connecting the bottom edge of his tactical combat helmet to his chest piece. The collar automatically sank down into the chest piece, freeing his head to move normally. He then tapped Corporal Rattan on the shoulder, taking up his firing position as the Corporal deactivated his collar seal.
A minute later, all five men were breathing the Mystic’s air, rather than what was circulated within their own suits, enabling them to communicate without using their suit comms.
“Everyone good?” Master Sergeant Anwar asked. No one replied. “Morano and Rossi, recon starboard all the way forward. Vela and Rattan, take port. I’m going aft and down, to check engineering. Ghost ops, stealth takedowns only. We rendezvous on the bow observation deck in fifteen minutes. If you find Captain Scott or Lieutenant Nash, do whatever it takes to free them and bring them with. Understood?”
All four men nodded.
“Let’s get to work, gentlemen.”
* * *
“I found tools,” Jessica announced, standing in front of an open cabinet with drawers of tools and test equipment.
“If I’m reading these schematics correctly, the control cards are accessible through panel seven C,” Nathan said. He looked around the exterior of the jump field generator in front of him. “Here,” he announced, pointing at a panel on the side. “Give me a nut driver.”
Jessica pulled a small handheld, adjustable nut driver from the cabinet and brought it over to Nathan.
Nathan took the nut driver and placed it onto the first recessed nut. The driver adjusted its socket size, gripping the nut firmly. Nathan gave it a twist to loosen it, then squeezed the trigger to slowly rotate it off. “Remind me to steal a couple of these for the Seiiki,” he said, as he worked his way through all six nuts.
“You don’t have them?” Jessica said, surprised.
“Dalen’s been begging for them for years now, but these auto-adjust ones are too damned expensive for our budget. It figures they’d have them lying around everywhere. Nothing but the best for the nobles.”
Jessica sensed the disdain in his voice, which struck her as odd. Ever since he had awakened with his memories as Nathan intact, she had seen him only as Nathan Scott, and not as Connor Tuplo. But the fact was, he was both men. “But Corinairans travel on this ship as well, right?”
“A few, yes. But only those who have elevated themselves to the same status, and regularly rub elbows with their Takaran counterparts. The idea of ‘noble houses’ has spread beyond the Takar system, starting with Corinair and Ancot, since they’re the worlds that have the most interaction with Takara.”
“You don’t like them much, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” Nathan paused a moment, thinking. “You know, I’m not sure which part of me doesn’t like the idea of societal ‘classes’. Nathan or Connor.” Nathan continued undoing the last of the nuts. “Both, I suppose. Although, I suspect it is more me than Connor.”
“You talk of Connor as if he is not you.”
“Yeah. I like to think of Connor as someone I was pretending to be, but I was so good at it that I forgot who I really was. It makes it easier to deal with, psychologically.”
“Makes sense.”
“That’s the last one,” Nathan said, placing the nut driver on the deck. He carefully removed the panel, revealing a row of at least a dozen palm-sized control cards. Each of their host slots was lit from behind, indicating they were active, and there was a low hum coming from the entire system, now more prominent with the service panel removed. Nathan could almost feel the energy flowing through the device, even though it was idle at the moment.
Nathan sighed.
“What is it?” Jessica wondered.
“When I pull these cards, some alarm is going to go off somewhere. The bridge, engineering, jump control, someplace. And someone is going to come to investigate. Maybe we should pull the cards from the backup units first, and hide them somewhere, before we pull this one. Otherwise, they’ll likely just activate the backups and be up and running again.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jessica agreed.
“Grab another nut driver. We’ll take the service panels off the other three field generators too,” Nathan instructed.
* * *
Sigmund Daschew anxiously paced back and forth across the deck of the Mystic Empress’s bridge, his gaze shifting between the ship’s unconscious captain, his henchman trying to unlock the jump drive, and the view across the forward half of the luxury liner’s bow, afforded by the row of windows across the front of the bridge. This job was his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Taking the Mystic Empress by force, even outside of the Pentaurus sector, would normally have brought the long reach of the owner’s consortium of security forces down upon them in short order. He had seen it before, but with lesser value vessels. Such security operatives were ruthless, stopping short of the savage execution for those involved. Just like Sigmund and his ilk, such men operated outside the law, doing whatever was necessary to accomplish their assignments…which was precisely what Sigmund was planning. Whatever it took.
It had taken him nearly a week to put this job together. Seeking financial backers, negotiating payment terms, securing ships and crew, and hiring mercenaries to do the dirty work. It was the most complex job he had ever planned, and during most of it he had felt as if he were in over his head…and considerably so.
He and his men now controlled the Mystic Empress, the finest passenger vessel in five sectors. And with that control, Siggy felt incredibly powerful. Until ten minutes ago.
But he was getting impatient. “Have you made any progress?” he demanded of his henchman at the helm.
“I’m sorry, no.”
“What the hell am I paying you for?” Siggy exclaimed in frustration.
“You’re paying me to fly this ship,” the man reminded his irritable employer. “I’m a pilot, not a hacker!”
Siggy said nothing, only growling and returning to his pacing. “When is that idiot going to wake up?”
“Gorston has medical training,” one of his Siggy’s henchmen suggested. “You want me to call him to the bridge?”
Siggy turned, glaring at the man. “You’re just now thinking of that?”
The man raised his comm-unit to his mouth, discretely calling for his cohort. “Uh, Gortie, you need to double-time it up to the bridge.”
“On my way,” his comm-unit squawked.
“Siggy, Estellen,” a voice called over Siggy’s comm-unit.
“What is it?”
“We found ten prisoners still in their escape pods on the port side, aft end, economy section. They didn’t manage to eject before we jumped. They’re refusing to come out of their pods.”
“Access their control panels next to their hatches,” another voice called. “Plug in a data pad and override their environmental controls. If you suck the air out of their pods, they’ll come out.”
After a slight pause, the first man called, “Siggy?”
“I’m still here,” Siggy replied, annoyed.
“You want me to do that?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m on it.”
“Thank you,” Siggy responded, shaking his head and looking upward. “Do any of you people think for yourselves?”
* * *
Master Sergeant Deno Anwar moved swiftly from corridor to corridor, checking the tactical display on the inside of his helmet visor as he moved. If confronted with approaching targets, he immediately took up a hiding position. He knew that eventually he would need to kill all of the intruders, but until he had a better understanding of what they were up against, it was to their advantage to go undetected.
Luckily, Commander Kamenetskiy had gotten decent scans of the luxury liner, which had very little protection against interior scanning designed into her hull. Therefore, he had a fairly detailed interior layout loaded into his tactical computer. Without it, he would have been wandering blind, limited only by the short distance that his helmet’s sensors could penetrate through the interior structure of the ship.
A small red icon suddenly appeared on the far edge of his sensor range. A single person, moving toward him in a parallel corridor. The contact was moving at a fast walk, indicating that the person was confident that they were not in danger. It had to be one of the intruders.
Deno saw an opportunity. A single man, caught off guard. A chance at an easy takedown, possibly alive, so that he could be interrogated.
The Ghatazhak master sergeant moved quickly forward, turning right at the next corridor and moving to the next intersection. He safed his assault weapon and swung it around to his right flank, where it automatically secured itself. He watched his tactical display, ensuring that the target had not changed course. He turned and put his back against the wall, waiting until the target was near him, then swung his arm out, stiffening it as he struck the man in the face, knocking him backward off his feet.
Deno spun around, punching the man in the face as he tried to get up from the deck. He quickly stripped the man of his weapon, then pulled him into the side corridor while he was still too dazed to fight back.
By the time the surprised man regained his senses, Ghatazhak Master Sergeant Deno Anwar was squatting confidently in front of him, his tactical visor up, staring boldly into the man’s eyes. “Do you know what I am?”
“What the fuck?” the man sputtered.
“Do you know what I am?” Deno repeated.
“You work for the nobles?” the man assumed, unsure of his answer.
“Hardly,” Deno replied. “I am Ghatazhak. Do you know what that means?”
“That you’re a member of a Takaran military force that was put into stasis years ago?”
The master sergeant did not like the disrespectful tone the man had taken, and punched him again, although not as hard as before.
“Okay! Okay!” the man agreed, grabbing his nose. “You’re Ghatazhak! What the fuck do you want?”
“What are your numbers?”
“What?”
“How many of you are aboard this ship?”
“You’re joking, right?” the man laughed. “Siggy would kill me.”
“I will do far worse, believe me,” Deno promised. He cocked his head to one side. “What is your name?”
“Uh… Gorston. Gennar Gorston.”
Deno drew his combat knife from its sheath on his thigh armor as he spoke. “Your only chance at leaving this ship alive, Gennar, is to tell me what I wish to know.”
Gennar looked at the knife, then back at the master sergeant. He had never seen eyes that cold and confident, and Gennar had known some very dangerous men in his time. “If you kill me, you will learn nothing,” he replied, trying to show the Ghatazhak that he was not afraid.
“At the very least, I will learn your tolerance for pain,” Deno replied calmly. “You see, your death will take some time. Admittedly, it will hardly be worth the effort, but it will tell me something about the character of your cadre. That, in itself, will also be of value.”
“You don’t really think I’m going to just sit here and let you carve me up, do you?” Gennar said.
“Oh, I am quite sure you will try to resist, but that will only increase your level of suffering, and the end result will be the same.”
Gennar lashed out at the master sergeant, punching at him as he tried to get up, but the Ghatazhak blocked both attacks, returning with one of his own, followed by a quick lunge of his blade into Gennar’s left lower abdomen.
Gennar cried out in pain as his left side opened. He grabbed at his opponent’s left hand, which was now clutching Gennar’s throat, making it difficult for him to breathe, and impossible to move. But the Ghatazhak’s grip was like steel, and his arm was unmovable.
“Next, I will make an incision into your right lung, causing it to deflate,” Deno explained as he held his prisoner immobile. “With any luck, a tension pneumothorax will develop, which will make you feel as if you are suffocating.”
Gennar continued to struggle for several more seconds, eventually giving in to his captor. “You will let me live?”
“Tell me what I wish to know,” Deno replied, moving the tip of his blade up to Gennar’s right side.
“Okay, okay, okay!” Gennar begged. “Thirty of us came aboard. Twelve in the breach boxes, the rest in the shuttles.”
“And the ship? The larger one that was blocking the Mystic from jumping?” the master sergeant asked.
“It carries anti-ship missiles, rail guns, and twenty more men.”
“Their level of training?”
“What?” Gennar said, confused by the question, and distracted by the searing pain in his left abdomen.
“What level of training does your team have?”
“Only the twelve who came in the breach boxes have training. Palee militia, mostly. The rest are just common hoods for hire.”
“If you are lying to me…”
“I swear, I’m not,” Gennar insisted.
“And you?” Deno wondered. “What level of training do you possess?”
“I’m just a medic,” Gennar promised.
Deno stared at the man.
“I swear it.”
Deno placed his knife back into its sheath, purposefully appearing to divert his attention from his prisoner, as he simultaneously loosened his hold on the man’s neck.
Gennar fell for the trick, revealing that his level of training, and likely that of his comrades, was greater than he had led Deno to believe. He shoved his left hand up to the Ghatazhak master sergeant’s hand on his neck, knocking it aside, then swung his hand back at the Ghatazhak’s face.
Deno feigned being taken off guard, falling backward as Gennar tried again to get to his feet. But it was only an act. The master sergeant rolled back onto his upper shoulders, both hands planted on the floor at his sides. In one fluid motion, the Ghatazhak arched upward, his body stiffening as he launched feet first toward the man. He wrapped his legs around Gennar’s neck, sitting upright and driving both his fists into the man’s ears, stunning him. He then leaned back hard, pulling Gennar forward and down to the deck, twisting his head around and snapping the man’s neck as they both hit the floor.