The needle on the VH indicator reached the green line on the dial and I activated the hyperdrive. The vidscreens all went dark. “It’s not the ships so much as the pilots that fly them,” I said in a very smug tone. “I just threw a big rock at it, really.”
I checked the nav comm: we were on course for the Gala Tec Inc development facility. “I think I deserve more coffee,” I said to no one in particular. The thug left the flight deck without a word.
*
The gleaming doughnut shaped space station reflected a million points of light from the stars. The logo of Gala Tec Inc, a stylised image of a nebula of stars, with the company name emblazoned across them, was everywhere. As were the words: Restricted Area, No Entry and Keep Out. “Not the most friendly and welcoming of places, then,” I observed to Portal’s thug.
“Secret Research and Development Laboratories are not noted for welcoming random visitors. Find Docking Bay Seven, please. It will be marked.”
I let the Speedbird drop into an orbit around the doughnut. At various points, matching the tunnels and passageways that, together with the central hub, kept the doughnut’s shape rigid, were docking stations. Although the spacestation was lit up at every window or porthole, there was only one small interstellar freighter docked. That was at Bay Seven, of course.
“All right, take Bay Eight, then.”
The Speedbird drifted slowly around the spacestation, until we reached Bay Eight. We gently kissed the port and I waited for the automatic docking sequence to engage and attach us safely. It didn’t.
“Is this deliberate?” I asked.
Portals’ thug was frowning. He leant past me and engaged the comms system: “Gala Tec Station Theseus. Engage docking, Bay Eight: override code Port Ninien.”
Nothing happened. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
“No kidding,” I replied. “You sure this is the right place?”
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s see if we can do it remotely.” I called up the navcomm and entered a series of commands. Once again, nothing happened.
“I think we should get out of here now,” said the thug.
That really surprised me. This man, one of Portals’ personal enforcers, did not strike me as someone who would cut and run easily. My fear quotient rose significantly: but not yet so far as to outbid my greed factor. Getting this device and getting my old job – or a better one – in The Free Union’s Space Force was just too attractive. I balanced danger and desire, and desire just about came out on top as no one had fired at me – yet.
“Maybe there’s a technical problem?” I suggested. “Seeing as nothing nasty has happened. Surely if they didn’t want us here, there is a defence system that would make that very clear?”
“Oh yes. There’s a defence system all right. I’m surprised it hasn’t been in touch to warn us off. But I’m just as worried that it didn’t respond to my over ride codes. That’s a sign something’s wrong. Very wrong. My personal code gets me in everywhere.”
“Well, let’s at least have a look before we run away, shall we?” I left the flight and went down to the airlock. The ship used to have a manual docking routine – I was relieved to see that the new airlock installed by Gala Tec’s maintenance still had this capability. I ran the routine, and the airlock indicated that we had safely attached ourselves to the space station, that the atmosphere on the other side was acceptable, and that the spacestation door was now open for us. I picked up my personal weapon from the rack on the wall beside the space suit locker. The thug’s weapon appeared as if by magic in his hand, and I opened the door.
There was a small hissing noise, as the atmospheric pressures equalised. We stepped out of the Speedbird, and I carefully closed the doors behind us and set the locks. “Can’t be too careful.”
The thug wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was down on one knee in a firing crouch, checking out the passages. Three of them led away from the dock. Two curved around the doughnut, and one led off across the void towards the central hub. The space station was eerily silent; the corridors lit by a blue tinged light that enhanced my unease. Colour therapists might explain at great length how wonderful blue light is but my experiences (mainly, I confess, brushes with Law Enforcement Agencies that seem to adore flashing blue spectrum lights right across the universe) have never been much fun.
I kicked the thug gently on the leg and nearly got shot for my pains.
“Do that again, Russell, and I’ll blow your head so far down the corridor that you’ll need binoculars to see your body.”
“Sorry. Listen, I need to know your name. If we are going exploring, I need to be able to call you something.”
“It’s Thomas.”
“Thomas Something, or Something Thomas?”
“Just Thomas.”
“Strange first name. Which way do we go, Just?”
“I said, just call me Thomas. That’s all. Now, the laboratories are set around the rim. The control centre and administration is in the Hub. Let’s try there, first. If nothing else, I might find out what’s happened here to report back to The Boss.”
That seemed sensible. We stared down the blue-lit length of the corridor, and suddenly sensible seemed such an inappropriate word. Still we set off. I let Just Thomas take point. Even though the corridor seemed to be entirely empty he walked, or rather proceeded, down it in a series of fighting stances. I wasn’t sure if he was being professional or deluded, to be honest. Twice he spun round and aimed past my ear. The first time I panicked and dived to the floor. Just Thomas just sneered at me as I lay there and carried on.
After a minute or five of this nonsense, we arrived at the Hub. It was clear that this was central to the operations here, not just because it was, well, central: but also because lots of the rooms were labelled with name plates with titles like ‘Facilitator’ ‘Deputy Assistant Co Ordinator’ ‘Strategy and Planning’ ‘Director of Services’ ‘Management Team Access’ and so forth. The essential jargon of a modern, forward looking business, although what any of them actually did (if anything) was anyone’s guess. We tried one or two of the doors. They were all unlocked, and the rooms behind them empty. As we progressed into the Hub, Just Thomas grabbed my arm and halted our progress.
“Listen,” he hissed.
Faintly I could hear something. I tried to focus on the sound. It seemed to be coming from deeper inside the core of the hub, no doubt where the power source was placed. At first it seemed to be a modulated hum, then slowly it changed and I realised with a shock that it was music. Played on a harpsichord. I was for a moment transported to a realm where a long dead king wrote a romantic song for his lady love on a long vanished world. Bizarre, even in my depth and range of experience.
“Where’s it coming from?” I asked.
Just Thomas led me a little further down the passageway. “It’s one of Gala Tec’s secret security codes. It tells us that all is well. Come on.”
I followed him down the passage, noting that his level of vigilance had reduced considerably. The music grew louder, and Thomas stopped before an unmarked door. He whistled a phrase from the song, then opened the door. And was immediately shot. Once through the chest and once more through the head as he started to crumple and fall to the floor. I flattened myself against the wall and felt for the handle of the door close by. To my relief, it turned. I opened the door, slipped inside the room and mostly closed the door behind me. I left it open just enough to peer through the gap.
The strange music stopped and two men came out of the supposedly safe room and stood over Thomas, who wasn’t moving. I recognised their uniforms immediately – they belonged to Colonel Starker’s Black Ops unit. One of them had captain’s badges on his epaulettes. My heart sank.
“Set the timer,” said the Black Ops captain. “Then we can get out of here.”
The Black Ops marine stepped back into the room. The captain kicked Thomas viciously in his ribs. Thomas made no sound. The trooper returned to the pa
ssage. “Done that, Captain.”
“Then now we can get out of here. The Colonel wanted this one dead, so we should get a contract bonus. Come on.” The two Black Ops marines set off at a run.
I was about to open the door and see if Just Thomas was still alive when I heard a faint sound behind me. Then a hand tapped me on the shoulder. My heart nearly stopped.
“Have they gone?” asked a quiet voice from the darkness behind me.
I opened the door and peered out. “Yes. Who are you?”
“My name is Xzylon. I’m the one The Boss sent you here to meet. I hope you’ve got a way off this facility, because we need to get going.”
I couldn’t disagree with that, but first I went over to Thomas and knelt down beside him. I’m not medically qualified, but the large hole in his chest allowed me to diagnose his condition. “He’s dead,” I said.
“Shame. The Boss liked him. Now, can we go? You do have a ship here, don’t you?”
“Why, haven’t you?” I asked.
“No. The Imperium troops took them all with them when they turned up and took off all the personnel.”
“How come you are still here?”
“The Boss had ordered me to meet you and Thomas and give you this.”
I turned to look. A tall Betelgeusian in a Gala Tec Inc work suit was standing in the doorway carrying a very large briefcase. It seemed to be quite heavy, judging by the way he was holding it. “Are you staying?” I asked.
The blue lighting turned itself off and was replaced by the glow of a rotating orange beacon some yards away at the junction of the passages. Hidden speakers clicked into life and a robotic voice announced: “Warning. This facility will self destruct in five minutes. All personnel to evacuation points immediately.”
“No,” replied Xzylon. “I’m coming with you!”
“Fair enough.” We started running.
“Left!” he shouted as we reached the intersection. I turned left and we were in one of the passages that ran from the Hub to the outer ring of the space station.
“Which Docking Bay?” called the Betelgeusian. He was sounding out of breath already.
“Eight.”
“It’s not too far. I need to slow down a bit.” My heart was beating heavily, and my chest hurt with every breath. I was out of condition for constant running, I realised.
“Four minutes to self destruct. All personnel should now be at evacuation points,” said the robotic voice, helpfully.
“On the other hand, maybe I’ll keep going.”
I reached the outer rim corridor of the space station, and stopped to wait for my new companion. “Hurry up!” I called impatiently.
He joined me, gasping desperately for breath and sounding worse than I felt. “I’m a scientist. We are into physics, not physical stuff.”
“Well it’s close enough. Come with me if you want to live.”
We ran down the corridor. Docking Bay Eight was close by, and I reached it thankfully. To my shock, the Speedbird wasn’t there.
“What is it?” panted Xzylon as he reached me and saw my horrified expression.
“The Black Ops gits have set my ship free. Look, there she is, drifting away!”
“They haven’t stolen it?”
“No, she’s not under power. They just released the docking mechanism. Is there any other way off this place?”
“Three minutes to self destruct. This is the last opportunity to safely access the evacuation pods.” The robotic voice was unemotional. I tried to keep calm as well: I think I failed.
“Pods?” I yelled. “Where are the escape pods?”
“What’s it matter?” moaned the scientist. “We’ve no ship to go to now.”
“Yes we have, you idiot. It’s there. We only have to get there and get on board.”
“The pods are just here.”
He pointed at a hatch set into the floor of the doughnut. I dropped to my knees, and hauled madly at the inset release handle. Nothing happened.
“You need to release the catch,” the scientist said.
“Why didn’t you tell me first?” I snarled back.
“Two minutes to self destruct. The time for departure to a safe distance has now passed. Thank you for listening to this message.”
I twisted the catch, and the hatch sprang open. Below was an escape pod, with enough room for us both. I dived in and started the evacuation routine. The onboard computer came to life. “Get in!” I yelled.
“I’m claustrophobic. I don’t like small boxes.”
“If you don’t get in right away, your relatives will be packing your remains in about a million teeny tiny boxes!”
“Well, if you put it like that.”
The Betelgeusian joined me in the evacuation pod. I stowed the briefcase safely – no I didn’t. I slung it in a spare corner. He winced. “That’s delicate, you know!”
“So am I.” I pulled the hatch shut and locked it. Then I hit the largest button on the small control panel. With a hiss of compressed gas, the pod detached from the space station, and the tiny engine fired, pushing us away from the doughnut. I grabbed at the joystick control and tried to aim our trajectory at the Speedbird. It wasn’t easy. The pod had been designed to eject from the space station and get as far away as possible in a short time. I had to cut the drive as soon as it fired, and then use the manoeuvring jets to get close to our real escape vehicle.
“You do know you might have damaged the equipment when you chucked the case over there?” asked Xzylon.
“Shut up,” I replied. “I’m concentrating.”
I managed to align our attitude with the Speedbird, and slowly we closed in. The pod had a docking routine and a basic universal airlock fitted: I assume this was in case anyone actually managed to escape alive. The rudimentary specification of the equipment installed suggested that this wasn’t a common experience. We slid closer and closer to the Speedbird – and the space station exploded. The shock flung us at the Speedbird, but fortunately also impacted with my ship so that the closing impact was not too harsh. I triggered the docking routine and held my breath while the scientist screamed in Betelgeusian. Most space scout pilots and independent traders pick up a working knowledge of invective in several languages, so I understood a lot of it.
“Done it!” I yelled over the swearing. “Grab your bag and let’s go!”
“You what?”
I ignored him and dragged the hatch door open. It swung down and hit my companion hard on the backside as he bent over to grab the briefcase. He swore even more as his head banged into part of the internal hull bracing, then he fell to the floor. I swore too then, and as the Speedbird’s outer hatch slid open managed to get a hand on the briefcase and swing it up and into the airlock. Then I climbed up after it. “Come on!” I shouted.
The locking system holding the escape pod to the Speedbird made a frightening groan as he metal was placed under immense strain by the tumbling motion induced by the continuing explosions from the space station. The scientist made a burbling noise, and failed to sit up, let alone stand. In a moment, the connection was going to give way: I half leant back into the escape pod and took hold of whatever bits of the Betelgeusian I could reach. I hauled on them as hard as I could, and he yelled again. We fell back into the airlock, and I closed the outer door. Just in time as the docking mechanism failed under the stress, and the escape pod twisted away from the Speedbird. The sudden exposure to the vacuum of space pulled debris from the pod out of the still open hatch and sent it out into space on an unending voyage amongst the stars.
“What were you doing?” demanded Xzylon.
“Saving your life, stupid. Now, there’s one of Starker’s ships out here somewhere. I’d better get to the flight deck.”
“Starker? Who’s Starker?”
“The man who runs the Imperium’s Black Ops unit. The one that just blew your research facility apart.”
For once, there was no snappy rejoinder. I left him to have fun opening his
briefcase and messing with whatever the contents were, and climbed the spiral stairs to the living quarters as fast as I could. The living area was a mess. The tumbling caused by the exploding space station had scattered my things everywhere. It was good to be home, I thought, stepping over a pile of dirty laundry and heading for the flight deck.
As soon as I planted myself on the pilot’s seat and fastened the harness, I opened up the vidscreens and the combat computer. Next I fired up the defence screens, then started searching for the freighter that had recently left the space station. There it was, but as the Speedbird was still tumbling, it was not easy to keep track of it. There seemed to be some substantial hull damage to the freighter. As the flight controls came to life my hand hovered over the flight stabilisation control, and then I changed my mind.
“Can’t you stop this bucket of bolts bouncing about like this?” The Betelgeusian had made it to the flight deck. He looked sick. To be honest, the motion was so wild that I didn’t really blame him. “Look!” he shouted, pointing at the vidscreen.
I had been running the start up procedures and had not been watching the freighter. Segments of the hull seemed to be detaching, breaking away, as we watched. Then I could see tell-tale puffs of gas. “That’s not disintegrating,” I said slowly. “That’s a disguise!”
And so it was. More hull sections split away and revealed a Viper class scout ship in the colours of the Imperium Black Ops Unit. I opened the combat screens at once, and a glowing green target appeared over the image of the Viper – but wouldn’t stay there owing to the random movement of the Speedbird.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” said Xzylon, wildly.
“Patience. They might think we are non operational and ignore us.”
Fat chance. The comms system immediately burst into life. “Imperium Command ship to unidentified craft. You are under arrest. Standby to be boarded.”
“I don’t think we can permit that,” I told the Betelgeusian, casually.
Interstellar Mercenary Page 12
