Blue Star Marine Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  Faction crews across the fleet would dare not speak his name for fear of being sent to the Fall. Others begged for a chance to join the most notorious and profitable crew in the Faction. Only the toughest, meanest, most aggressive and morally bankrupt needed apply. Many crew and troopers who thought they were built for the Fall soon found that they were not as morally flexible as they had first thought and found themselves sent back home, either in pieces or with a lung full of vacuum after being airlocked.

  Bellini liked the airlock. He rarely let anyone else hit the panel to open the outer doors. He was always present at any airlocking. The price on his head went up dramatically the day he posted a vid to the Union of him airlocking an entire command deck crew of a heavy that had surrendered their vessel immediately, surely in the vain hope that an immediate surrender would give them a chance of some mercy. All it had done was anger the captain. Bellini was usually calm, normal for a psychopath, but he was particularly sadistic when angry.

  It was his aggression that had him deployed out here, deep in the outer system. Alone. Lying in wait for the next Union heavy to blunder into his path.

  Bellini paced up and down the flight deck. The holo-stage was active and showed the Fall’s position in the outer system. A holo-map showed an area from the orbit of Supra to the Sphere. The tiny red point of light signaled the Fall’s position. Around the ship was a sphere showing their current sensor range.

  The Fall was in good condition, one of the latest ships to float out of the Faction’s newest shipyard at a secret location in the Sphere. It was close to a ready supply of black ice and in a remote enough location to be almost impossible for the Union to find. Bellini had not been so close to the top of the list for a new ship, but a number of captains above him on the list had allowed him to cut in line.

  One captain that took a grievance to Kitzov about the fact that Bellini was forcing his way up the list was offered for it to be settled in the ring, an old school, bareknuckle decider of who was in the right. Captains had earned the rights to their ships in this way since way before the formation of the Faction. Kitzov was keen to maintain some traditions as he brought the ragtag group of criminal gangs and pirates under his control. A bareknuckle grievance decider seemed the perfect choice.

  The captain had lost to Bellini. Lost his challenge, his place in the line to a new ship, and shortly afterwards, he had lost his command to a bold young trooper who had taken the ship from its captain in the old way. The captain had taken the only course open to him at that time: an honorable retirement. He activated an electron blade at the side of his head.

  And Bellini made his way to the next in line, and the next raider to be finished was awarded to him.

  Bellini paced around the flight deck, glancing at the holo-stage. He did not like waiting, he was not good at it. It was frustrating and it was possibly why, he reasoned when in a reflective mood, he killed his victims—just out of frustration at having waited. But there was no reason for Bellini’s behavior. He was a psychopath, a coldblooded killer, and he enjoyed it.

  The punching bag that hung to one side of the Fall’s flight deck was wrapped with silver tape that was frayed and worn. Bellini stepped up and delivered a rapid flurry of punches, all short jabs. He held his fist out for his weapons controller to see the blood on his scarred knuckles.

  “The blood keeps them tough,” Bellini said. He kissed his bloody knuckle. “If you can’t win a fight with these—” He stood in front of Ramil, the Fall’s weapons controller. “—you can’t win with any weapon.” He marched up and down the flight deck. “Beat a man to death with these—” He held out his bloody fist for Perov, the pilot, to see. “—and you will know how alive you are. There is nothing like the feel of a skull collapsing beneath your fist. It is life.”

  “When we capture our next heavy,” Ramil said, “we should run a knuckle tournament. Like for like. You take their captain, I’ll take their weapons officer. I reckon even Perov would knuckle up this time.”

  “For krav sake, Ramil,” Perov protested, “I didn’t fight that pilot that time because he was a cripple, and you know it. Only the Union would put a no-legged freak like that in a pilot’s seat. Should have killed the freak and done it a favor.”

  Ramil laughed. “You should have kicked it to death.”

  “And if I had, you’d all be saying I only won because I was fighting a crip.” Perov shook his head. “It would have been better if they had airlocked the freak than let it live on. But I took on that Union Marine, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. He was a big bastard.” Ramil laughed. “He beat your ass good. You were an ugly bastard before he carved your face up. Maybe get another Marine to beat your face and it might straighten it out.”

  “I gave that Marine everything. Bit his ear right off, didn’t I? I’d like to see you take on someone bigger than you for a change. You just check out the opposition and if it’s some Union farm kid, fresh out of tactical college and manning the weps for the first time, you are all like, ‘hey Captain, let’s challenge them to knucks before we airlock them all.’”

  “Okay, I’ll call it now,” Ramil said. “I’ll take on two of their flight crew. You pick them, I’ll fight them. And you can dodge having to fight again.”

  “I never dodge a fight. If Captain says it’s knucks, I’ll do it. That Marine knocked out a tooth before I went down. Did I complain? No, I went in for more, and I’d keep going in until one of us went down for good.”

  Ramil laughed. “For a little guy, you like to talk big.”

  “Yeah, I’ll talk. I’ve got credits to back it up too if you want to add some flavor.”

  “Sure,” Ramil said. “Pick the two biggest Marines and whoever can stand up to them longest wins the pot.”

  “Sure.” Perov stood up from his seat and went to shake on the deal.

  “There won’t be knucks on this one,” Bellini said. He shoved Perov back into his pilot’s seat. “There won’t be no plunder neither. The next freighter we see is going down in flames. We don’t board her, take captives, no plunder, no knucks, no nothing. Get me?”

  “What a waste, though, Cap,” Ramil said. “Just to destroy the thing. It will probably be loaded with ice, more besides, and Union scum for us to airlock.”

  “Are you kravin thick in the head, Ramil?” Bellini said, striding across the deck toward the weapons console.

  “No, Cap, it just seems wrong to just destroy it.”

  “Kitzov said destroy it, so we destroy it. If I tell you to destroy it, you will. Get me?”

  “Yes, Cap,” Ramil said, his head turned away from Bellini, who was leaning in close.

  “Why do you want to listen to Kitzov anyway, boss?” Perov said. “If you challenged him, you could take him down. You’d be Leader of the Faction.”

  “Who said I want to be? I don’t like being in charge of you two scroats as it is. Imagine if I had another thousand like you to deal with. I’d airlock every last one of you.”

  “You’d make a great leader, boss,” Perov said.

  “You think?” Bellini walked around behind Perov and grabbed his greasy hair. “When I can’t even get a little scroat like you to shut the krav up.” Bellini threw Perov’s head forward.

  “He’s just saying, is all, Cap,” Ramil said. “Just saying you’d be good.”

  “You saying I should challenge Kitzov, genius?” Bellini said, turning on Ramil. “You want me to tell him you said that?” Bellini marched over to the communications console and shoved the operator aside. “I’ll tell him now. One of my flight deck crew, a particularly punchy weapons controller, is telling me I should try and take over leadership of the Faction.”

  “No, Cap, I’m not saying that,” Ramil said. “Just a hypothetical is all.”

  “Hypothetical? That’s a big word for a tiny mind. You eat a book today, you knuckle-dragger?” Bellini said. “Try an adult word on me again, Ramil, and I’ll make you eat a book for sure. But if you are suddenly some sort of
intellectual, try and comprehend this: we attack the next Union heavy on sight. We attack with all weapons and make sure the thing is a burning wreck before they have a chance to send a distress call. Get me?”

  “Yes, Cap. I get you,” Ramil said.

  “What about you?” Bellini pointed at Perov. “You got some philosophizing you want to do, you little rat?”

  “No, boss.” Perov looked dead ahead, remaining perfectly still.

  “Good,” Bellini said. He walked over to the heavy bag and delivered a series of punches and followed up with a kick.

  Bellini walked over to the holo-stage and sat against the edge. He studied the knuckles on his right hand. They were badly scarred, and fresh cuts lay over the scar tissue. Lying in wait out here for so long was driving him crazy. If he didn’t get to fight something soon, he’d be setting up a bareknuckle match between his crew. Any pent-up tension and festering grievance could all be let out. He let himself imagine who his opponent would be.

  The biggest man on board was one of the engineers down in the drive room. A big guy, but he knew his way around the drive room and Bellini couldn’t risk killing him. Then there was the rat, Perov. A half-decent pilot, and a clever little thief. He had come up with a plan to raid a Union settlement in the belt right between Union patrols. It had been a good plan and a great score. Bellini didn’t want to kill a natural and cunning thief, plus he was too small, so it was too easy.

  He looked over at Ramil, who was studying his weapons console. Bellini knew he was just avoiding his captain’s stare. He was clever enough to not want to anger the boss twice in one go. But he was big and a great fighter. It would be a good fight and Bellini knew he would have his work cut out for him to take down the weapons operator. The more Bellini stared at Ramil, the more he thought that Ramil had challenged his authority several times—always under the guise of support. Maybe Ramil was that clever, maybe he was as strong as Bellini. Maybe he was the one true threat to Bellini’s command.

  Once this deployment was over, there would be a ship-wide bareknuckle tournament, and Bellini would challenge Ramil. It would be a good fight—one the crew would talk about for years. And at the end of that fight, only one of them would be standing. The other would be airlocked.

  “Ramil,” Bellini said, calmly and quietly. “When all this is over, once we get back to the belt, you want to show these amateurs how Faction men fight? You and me, knucks in the Fall’s cargo deck.”

  Ramil looked up. Calm, quiet, relaxed. “Yes, boss. Six rounds of knucks with you, Cap, a true champion. It would be an honor.”

  Bellini walked over slowly and held out a hand for Ramil to shake. “It’s a deal.” Bellini smiled.

  Ramil took the captain’s hand. “You’ve got it, Captain.” And Ramil knew he had just entered into a contract that would either see him Captain of the Fall in a few weeks’ time or dead.

  Bellini walked over to the holo-stage and leaned against it, looking at the image of the Fall alone in space. Ramil looked down at Perov. Perov stared up at Ramil, knowing that he might be the new captain soon, but more likely he would have his head caved in by the current one.

  The silent contract was signed and agreed. The witnesses across the flight deck all knew. And Ramil was, for now, the safest man on board. Bellini wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep, it just wasn’t his style. No one on the crew would move against him, because it would rob the captain of his fight and his chance to solidify his command. No one would piss off Ramil because he might be the newest captain. In an instant, Ramil was elevated to a new status of challenger. He was the safest man on the ship, safer even than Captain Bellini himself.

  A chirp from the sensors drew Perov’s attention away from Ramil and back to his console. A signal had entered the sensor range.

  “Signal, dead ahead. We’re right in its path. Getting some clarity now. Putting in on the holo-stage.”

  Bellini walked over to his command chair. He climbed up and dropped into the seat. The hazy image of a ship appeared. Its outline became clearer as more sensor data was gathered. The dimensions came through, and it was clearly a Union heavy.

  Bellini opened a ship communication.

  “This is Bellini. Union heavy, dead ahead. All systems power up and get ready for action. We go in quick and hard and take this heavy down. Bellini out.”

  Bellini looked down at Ramil.

  “Ramil, looks like we’ll get our knucks sooner than either of us thought. Make sure you take that heavy down quick and then we can get out of here.”

  Ramil nodded once. He was ready.

  “There are more,” Perov said. He turned and looked up at the captain with a grin. “Lots more. A convoy.”

  The image appeared on the holo-stage: a block of Union heavies flying in tight formation.

  “Oh yes,” Bellini said, rubbing his bloody knuckles. “Target one of the lead ships. All weapons. Let them come into kill range.” Bellini turned to Ramil. “Make sure you have the next target mapped into the system. I want to take as many of these down as quickly as possible. I can’t wait to tell Kitzov the numbers on this one. He might even give me two ships.”

  “Lead ship is in range, Cap,” Ramil said, excitement rising in his voice.

  “Ready to maneuver, all drive power to flight,” Perov said.

  Bellini relaxed back into his command chair and gave the order to open fire.

  5

  Featherstone leaned forward in his command chair as the Faction raider lit up on the holo-stage. The Resolute was currently in position high above the convoy, slightly to starboard. The raider was in front of the convoy and just below. She had already opened fire with her hail cannon.

  “Attention, Resolute. Faction raider has broken cover and is attacking the convoy. The Resolute will move to intercept. The raider is using outlawed weaponry. Defensive systems, configure to deflect kinetic hail shot. Power to all weapons. Let’s take her down fast.”

  The Resolute powered up the drive field and headed directly for the raider. A heavy at the front of the convoy erupted in a ball of plasma fire. The explosion ripped back along the huge freighter and connected with the cargo of black ice, the resulting explosion engulfing the freighters on either side.

  “The convoy is breaking up,” Knole said. He relayed the convoy data to the holo-stage. The eruption from the black ice threatened to set off a chain reaction through the convoy and all ships were taking their preplanned evasive maneuvers.

  The Resolute dived down, punching through the fire. She burst out the other side, closing in on the raider.

  “Raider is targeting a second heavy,” Knole reported. “Should I send a warning transmission, sir?”

  “She hasn’t seen us,” Featherstone said, stepping down from the command chair. He walked toward main holo-stage. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  The image of the raider was at the far side of the holo-stage. She was turning to chase a heavy that was drifting away to the starboard flank. The Resolute was bearing down on the exposed starboard flank of the ship.

  Featherstone looked at all the data on the raider. She was well armed and moved cleanly on her drive. There was no fluctuation usually associated with a raider, their drives all old and poorly maintained, certainly not up to Union standard.

  Looking at the data from the raider, Featherstone could see this was something new.

  “Entering weapons range. I’ll have her in the spitz guns sights in a moment, sir,” Cronin said.

  Featherstone adjusted his collar. He really wanted a closer look. The raider fired again, a huge gout of kinetic hail blasting from her forward battery into the next heavy. As curious as Featherstone was, he couldn’t let this raider destroy the convoy so he could gather information.

  “Take her down, Doc,” Featherstone said. He turned to Knole. “Gather all the data you can. If you can hack her database, do it. If we can find out where she’s been, we might find the point of origin.”

  “The Faction shipyards?�
�� Sergeant Dorik asked as he stepped up to the holo-stage.

  “Exactly,” Featherstone said. “We’ve heard rumors of new Faction ships. This is the first one any Union craft has encountered as far as I am aware.”

  “Opening fire,” Doc said. “Strafing her with spitz guns now.”

  The raider took the fire from the spitz guns, hull composite erupting away into vapor in seconds. Tiny, super-heated pinpricks all across her starboard side glowed white hot, cooling fast.

  The raider turned and moved away from its target.

  “She’s seen us now, sir,” Knole said. “She’s making a run for it.”

  “She’s not getting away.” Featherstone leaned on the holo-stage. “If she shows you her drive, put a mass beam on it. That should slow her down.”

  “A combat drone should take her out of the fight if we can target her drive,” Dorik said.

  “Agreed, but this ship might be a key to unlocking the Faction fleet’s power. Load a combat drone. If she looks like she is going to get away, you have my permission to obliterate her.”

  “She’s throwing some crazy moves here, sir,” Hemel said from the pilot’s seat. “She is not making it easy for me to keep her in range.”

  “Stay with her, Jim,” Featherstone said. “Doc, how is that mass beam coming along?”

  “Powered up and ready to activate, sir,” Cronin said. “I just need to get a bit closer.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Hemel said, his hands moving across the flight console in front of him as he fought to maintain contact with the raider.

  “Data coming through here, sir,” Knole said. “She is the Faction raider known as the Fall. I’ve got some flight data coming in. She’s been in space for months, attacked a few heavies. Her captain is Bellini. He’s got an active Union warrant on him. Dead or alive.”

  “Log it all, Yan,” Featherstone said. “Something tells me this pirate won’t be taken alive, but if we can knock out their power, we might have a chance to bring him in and watch him swing.”