“No life forms so far, Captain. The asteroid seems to be solid, mostly nickel and titanium with a fair chunk of iron, gypsum, and trace amounts of hematite. Whatever the Gritloth are so interested in, it certainly isn’t the makeup of the rock itself. There does seem to be an unnaturally high concentration of aluminum and titanium on the far side of the asteroid, so if we could maneuver around to the other side, I could get a better reading on that. Could be some type of structure on the surface of the rock.”
“Bring us around, Timsif,” the captain ordered, and the Pikith pilot pressed buttons on her control panel. Bek’ah watched the display shift as the cameras and scanners built into the hull of the Sniper ran over new angles of the asteroid’s surface.
“There it is, Captain. That structure is most definitely not natural.” Skarper pointed at the display, where a hard-edged rectangular shape stood in sharp relief against the rocky surface of the asteroid.
“It must be some type of storage locker,” Bek’ah said.
“Bigger than that,” Harmbo said over his shoulder. The Tedibian had taken to standing by the stout Rincah’s comm post. Since there was no one they wanted to communicate with on this trip, his only job was to mask their signal. Her signal, specifically, since it was the tracking beacon built into her leg that they needed to disguise. Not that it would matter, she figured. Not like the Gritloth didn’t know where their own stash was. “That ‘locker’ is almost a hundred meters square, and no telling what could be inside. All we know, at this point, is that it’s worth killing over.”
“What can we see, Skarper?” the captain asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Not much, sir. There does seem to be a docking station on one side with an airlock, so I’m assuming there’s some type of atmosphere inside. My scanners can’t penetrate the structure, so we’d be going in completely blind. No idea what kind of reception we’d find.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Doc, Harmbo, come with me. Tenkor, you have the bridge. Let’s get the shuttle down there and see what all the fuss is about.” He looked over to Bek’ah. “Come along, stowaway.”
An hour later, Bek’ah followed Tinbrak into the airlock on the Sniper’s shuttle, stopping in front of the hatch to the Gritloth storage facility. “Do we have any idea what the atmo is like on the other side?” Tinbrak asked into the comm on his spacesuit.
“Nothing I can gauge from this side,” Dr. Skarper replied. She held a small scanner out in front of her. “As soon as we get inside, I’ll know if it’s breathable.”
“Okay, then. Harmbo, cover me.” The captain walked up to the door as the Rincah hefted a laser rifle to his shoulder. Bek’ah pressed herself flat against the side of the airlock, trying to make herself as small as possible and really wishing she knew the air was good on the other side so she could have her claws out. This was one of those times that hanging from the ceiling seemed like a really good idea.
Captain Tinbrak lifted a hatch covering the door controls and pressed a green button on the access panel by the door, then looked at the screen above it. Something flashed on the screen, but she was too far away to read it. He pressed the button again. There was another flash on the display, but the door stayed firmly closed.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her species’ infamous curiosity getting the better of her, as usual.
“Nothing,” the captain replied. “It says the access key is not detected. I’m looking for somewhere to input a key sequence, but there’s no keypad, or visible lock.”
“What if she’s the key?” Dr. Skarper asked. “Or her knee, rather. It gives off a tracking signal, maybe that same signal opens the door if it gets close enough.”
“The Gritloth followed that tracker through a gate, but this door can’t pick it up from three meters away?” Tinbrak asked.
“I’m still jamming the signal, Captain,” Harmbo replied. “I rigged up a portable jammer in case we got out of range of the one on the ship.” He unclipped a small device from his belt and held it up.
“Can you turn it off?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir,” the muscular communications officer replied. He dropped the box to the deck of the airlock and brought a heavy boot down on the jammer with a crunch. The device emitted a high-pitched squeal and spit out a few angry sparks, then went dead. “It’s off, sir.”
Tinbrak just stared at the ram-headed being, then let out a chuckle. “Damned Rincah. You’re direct, if nothing else.”
“When your skull is as thick as ours, sir, you find that head-on is the best way to meet most situations,” Harmbo said with a grin.
“Fair enough,” Tinbrak agreed. “Now let’s see if that accomplished anything besides giving me a chuckle.” He turned back to the door and pressed the green button again. Something flashed across the screen, and the door slid open to reveal a second door. That one slid open in sequence, and Bek’ah peered around the captain’s shoulder to see into the storage facility.
“Stand back,” Tinbrak said, giving her a little push on the shoulder. He and Harmbo stepped through the door, laser rifles raised and sweeping the room. The captain peeled off to the right, bringing his rifle across that half of the space in front of them, while Harmbo came in and swept left, clearing the door and checking for attackers on that side. Bek’ah was surprised to see Dr. Skarper step up to the doorway with a laser pistol in her hand, scanning the center of the room for any trouble.
“Clear,” the captain called seconds later, echoed by Harmbo and the doctor. Skarper holstered her pistol and pulled out a portable scanner, holding it above her head and turning around in a circle just inside the door.
“Atmosphere is breathable. A little heavier on the nitrogen than we keep the ship, but nothing we’ll notice in the short term. You might feel a little short of breath if you exert yourself, but you’re not—there is about eighty-five percent of the oxygen you’re accustomed to. Radiation levels at zero, temperature is nineteen degree Centigrade, so it should be perfectly comfortable.”
“Comfortable to beings that don’t wear fur,” Bek’ah muttered. Nineteen degrees was fine; she was used to living a few degrees warmer than her preferred fifteen. By unspoken agreement, Dr. Skarper removed her helmet first, as the one who announced the safety of an environment was always the first one to get to test it. When she didn’t die, the rest of the team followed suit, and peeled out of their bulky spacesuits as well, Harmbo covering everyone with his rifle until they were ready, then the captain covering them while Harmbo changed.
As the Rincah got out of his protective suit, Bek’ah took a look around the facility, stunned at what she saw before her. “Oh dear Bast, what have those bastards done?”
“If I’m right, and I am, they’ve done exactly what you think they’ve done,” Dr. Skarper replied.
Stretching out from the airlock entrance, running at least a hundred meters before them and thirty to each side, stood rows and rows of five- to nine-foot tubes, all with umbilicals of wiring descending from the ceiling and power humming merrily along. Each tube, at least the half dozen Bek’ah could see from where she stood, had a display on the front with a readout. She quickly glanced across the few displays she could see without stepping forward into the technological maze and saw that each display read a different temperature, all well below freezing, along with readouts for nutrition, hydration, neuromuscular stimulation, and waste removal. Her mind swam as she realized what she was looking at—a cryogenic stasis farm.
“They’ve…stored beings here in cryo-sleep like they’re…frozen food!” she exclaimed, looking in horror at Dr. Skarper, who now stood in front of a nearby pod.
“Yes,” the doctor replied. “This is a state of the art cryo pod, designed for lengthy space travel where even using gates will take years. I’ve never seen so many of them in one place and can’t imagine why the Gritloth have so many here.”
“Isn’t it obvious, Doc?” Captain Tinbrak asked, disgust heavy in his voice. “They’re storing
slaves until there’s an order for them. They buy, steal, or kidnap these beings, bring them here, and keep them on ice until someone wants to buy them. If there isn’t a market for Rincah this year, they just store the excess beings until demand exceeds supply and they can maximize their profit. That’s what they meant when they called this their Vault. It’s where they keep excess inventory to maximize profits at a later time. It’s a genius move, if you’re soulless scum like most slavers.”
Bek’ah felt nauseated. She knew her old boss Corvan Dax was mixed up with some terrible enterprises, but freezing beings for slavers was beyond even her wildest imaginings. Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she walked over to a tube two rows over and one back. “I know this female!” she cried, her claws coming out unbidden as rage flowed over her.
“Who is she?” Harmbo asked, putting a solid, comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Her name was Cin’drah. She danced at the club with me until…”
“Until she didn’t show up for work one night?” Captain Tinbrak asked, stepping up to her other side.
“Yeah,” Bek’ah replied. “I didn’t think much of it. Girls come and go. It’s not like dancing in a cage is what we dreamed about when we were kits, you know? But I never dreamed Dax would do something like this…”
“He did,” Tinbrak said. “And now we have a chance to undo it.” His voice was hard, and every hint of the cocky, swaggering space cowboy image he’d portrayed even in their firefight with the Gritloth was gone. This was the captain these beings signed on to fly and fight with, and now Bek’ah understood why. There was a fire in his eyes and a set to his jaw that told her she could follow this lithe Yalteen to the ends of known space.
“Harmbo, call back to the ship and have the Smilps assigned to clearing out every space inch of the cargo hold. Call your contact on Bith and get him to notify you the second the Gritloth come through the gate into this system. We need as much warning as we can get. How much of a lead do you think we have on them?”
“Perhaps three days, Captain. Less if they push their engines and jettison any unnecessary ballast.”
“Okay, let’s count on two days. Doc, get started waking these beings and telling them where they are and what’s going on.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Bek’ah said. Everyone froze and turned to her. “But what exactly is going on?”
The captain looked her in the eye, and a hint of his cocky grin returned. “What does it look like, stowaway? We’re rescuing everyone on this rock and planning a nasty surprise for the Gritloth when they get here.”
* * *
Two days and four hours later, Bek’ah was aboard the Sniper when all the lighting in the cargo hold went red and Harmbo’s voice came across the ship-wide comm system. “Alert. Battle Stations. All hands to battle stations. Gritloth have cleared the gate and will be within missile range in twelve hours. I repeat, twelve hours until contact.”
The next twelve hours were a blur of activity in the cargo hold, engine room, dining room, sleeping compartments, and everywhere else beings could turn into temporary berths. It had taken every hour since they first set foot on the asteroid, but the crew of the Sniper had set to with a vigor Bek’ah had never seen, and as more of the Gritloth’s victims awoke, they lent a hand, claw, or tentacle to the rescue efforts as well. Finally, as the lights all through the ship flashed red again, and Harmbo announced the Gritloth were in missile range, she dashed to the bridge to see exactly what Captain Tinbrak had up his sleeve.
“Oh good, you made it. I wouldn’t want you to miss the show, Stowaway.” Apparently her name was just “Stowaway” now. She didn’t mind. It felt like she was part of the crew, in her own small way.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain. But would you like to tell me exactly what the show is going to be?” she asked.
“And spoil the surprise? Not a chance. Just watch the radar,” the captain replied, his cockeyed grin twisting up one side of his mouth again.
She did as he said, turning her attention to the Gritloth ship, a red triangle on the radar. Timsif, her hands dancing across her control panel, kept the asteroid between the Gritloth ship and their own, hugging the surface to keep their presence hidden from the slavers. Bek’ah didn’t understand why they hadn’t hauled tail for the nearest gate the second they had the last victim aboard, but all Tinbrak would tell her was that he had it all under control.
“Harmbo, you’ve got that tracker jammed, right?” Tinbrak asked.
“What am I, Captain? New?” the Rincah replied, mock-offended. Then he chuckled. “Yes, sir. Her signal’s been blocked since the moment we got back on the ship. The only time that signal went out was when we needed it to open the door.”
“Good deal. Now we can just watch the show. Put the display up on the main screen,” the captain said.
Harmbo tapped his control panel and a view of the empty storage bunker came into view beside the radar display. Bek’ah watched as a smaller red triangle streaked from the Gritloth ship to the asteroid’s surface, then she saw the expensively dressed form of Puneet Vashindo, flanked by half a dozen Gritloth bodyguards, step into the bunker. She watched as the thugs fanned out, searching each cryo-pod, looking for their occupants. It took only seconds for them to return to the fuming Vashindo, shaking their heads. Bek’ah watched in horror as the furious slaver took a pistol from one of his bodyguards and shot two others in the face in a fit of temper.
Captain Tinbrak leaned forward and pressed a button on the arm of his command chair. “That’s not very nice, Mr. Vashindo,” he said, chuckling as the Gritloth criminal spun around, looking for the source of the voice. “Up here. By the red light. That’s it.”
“If you’re still close enough to transmit planetside, you’re too close to be safe, Tinbrak. I’ll blow you to space dust!”
“But then you won’t get your assets back, will you?”
“I can always get more, and next time I won’t trust my harvesting partner when he tells me he’s got someplace safer than my own files to store the location of the merchandise!”
“I wondered about that,” Tinbrak mused. “Let me guess. Neither one of you trusted the other with the coordinates, so you hid them in Bek’ah, figuring you could just kidnap her when you needed access?”
“Her chip was the only place the coordinates were stored. Neither of us ever made a trip solo, so we could make sure the other one wasn’t trying to screw us. This time, I just followed the tracker, since I knew you’d have to turn off the jammer to get inside and I knew which system the locker was in. It was a simple thing to follow you to Gleekum and wait for the tracker to come back online. Now, do you want to just sit tight and let my ship relieve you of our cargo, or am I going to have to destroy both you and all my resources?”
“How does neither sound?” the captain asked. “I’m thinking neither works for me. How about I blow your ship into a million pieces and leave you on that desolate rock to die a lonely death? Timsif, Tenkor, make it so.” Tinbrak pressed a button on the arm of his chair, and the comm link blinked out.
Timsif pressed a few buttons, and the view from the cameras pointing in front of the ship changed. Where the Sniper had been nose-on to the asteroid for the past several hours, now the surface pulled away from the ship as the Piklith backed away, then rotated on its axis and accelerated until the storage bunker came into view below.
“Tenkor,” Captain Tinbrak said.
“On it,” the weapons officer replied, grasping the joysticks and pressing the red buttons. Lasers streaked from under the nose-mounted cameras, blowing holes in the storage bunker and turning the Gritloth shuttle to scrap in a matter of seconds.
“One slaver down, one boatload of slavers to go,” Captain Tinbrak said. “Timsif, turn us around and get us pointed toward the Gritloth ship.”
Bek’ah watched on the radar as fighters streamed from the bigger ship, and she turned to the captain. �
�How are you going to deal with them? They won’t fall for your fake cavalry and EMP twice.”
“Don’t need them to,” the captain said absently, his attention focused on the displays.
“Then what are you going to do? You said this thing doesn’t carry missiles.”
“No, I said we had no missiles to speak of. What we have is one missile I don’t speak of until it’s time. Well, now it’s time. Have you ever wondered why a freighter is called the Sniper?”
“No, but it didn’t take me more than a few minutes and a look at all the secret compartments all over this place to know this is a smuggler, not a freighter.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” the captain said, not that she had any idea what he was talking about. Must be something else from his fascination with ancient history. “Sometimes we need to get things to places where some people don’t want those things going. And sometimes when we do, people get upset with us. When they do, we need to deal with that. We deal with that the way our namesakes dealt with it back on Earth.”
Bek’ah shook her head. “I’ve got nothing, Captain. Earth history wasn’t taught on Tedib, and I didn’t study my own history, much less that of some backwater planet half a dozen gates away. So what did a sniper on Earth do when people were mad at them?”
“One shot, one kill, Stowaway. One shot…”
The entire bridge crew finished the phrase with him. “One kill!”
“We have a lock, Captain,” Tenkor said.
“A lock with what?” Bek’ah asked.
“I call her Bertha. She’s a blend of high explosives and stealth tech that can dupe any radar into thinking it’s all alone in the universe. Until it’s time to go boom.” He lowered his voice, made it more resonant, and said, “Mr. Tenkor. Engage.”
Tenkor reached forward and pressed a blue button on his control panel, then all eyes turned to the radar. As everyone else watched the display, Timsif rapidly punched in coordinates and got the Sniper moving away from the asteroid and the Gritloth fighters at top speed. The fighters were nimble, quick little gunships, but they couldn’t match the massive engine of the smuggler, and besides, they soon had something else to catch their attention.
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