"Now, to find safe harbor and a place where I can ditch this ship before Edgars gets around to looking for it," he said. He knew it made him sound a little off, but he often talked to himself out of habit. In his line of work, he would be isolated and alone for months on end, and the need to hear a human voice, even his own, made him sometimes have entire conversations with himself.
After determining a destination, Hollick punched in the course correction and went back to the galley. A man like Edgars would almost certainly have some quality booze aboard his private launch, and after the day he'd had, Hollick felt like he deserved it.
22
"I'm assuming you can track the ship?"
"Of course. We know exactly where it is and where it's likely going, but we don't have the resources to do anything about it."
Jacob had been sitting in an interrogation room in the ship's security section for the last five hours, and the metal chair caused his ass to go completely numb, and he was getting leg cramps. Edgars and his second officer were taking turns questioning him, each asking the same questions in different ways to try and trip him up.
"Call it in to Fleet Ops," Jacob said. "Or NIS. I’m sure those guys wouldn't mind taking a crack at one of their more infamous traitors."
"So, you're still denying you're working with him?" Edgars asked. "I just find it oddly convenient that you, a NAVSOC scout team, just happened to have been posing as smugglers bringing that data core all the way from the Concordian region of space."
"It wasn't coincidence, it was design," Jacob sighed. "We needed a way to get out here so we could scout the fleet and pick out the Talon. After that, we were just supposed to call it in. I assume Hollick had much the same plan, but we swiped the data core out from under his nose. Believe me, I'd like to kill him more than you, and if you'd put him in the same cell with me and my team, we'd have torn him apart with our bare hands."
"Likely story."
"You ever hear of an officer named Ezra Mosler?"
"I've heard of him," Edgars confirmed. "He'd been in since the beginning, and the fleet still isn't a very big place."
"Hollick was largely responsible for his murder," Jacob said. "He also killed one of my Marines on this mission. Tortured him to death on Colton Hub. If I get the chance, I'm taking him out."
"So, what are you suggesting? That I just let you go so you can go track him down?"
"That's a viable option," Jacob said. But our ship is—"
"Repaired," Edgars interrupted. "I had my people go through it. They replaced the bus junctions Hollick rigged to blow when my security people were going through it, looking for any nasty hidden surprises." Jacob just blinked in surprise at that.
"I promised I'd turn you loose," Edgars said. "I'm not giving you one of my few slip-space capable shuttles when I do it."
"So, cut us loose now, and we'll go after your launch," Jacob pressed. "Once we leave, you'll just move, anyway, so when I call it in—like I'll have to do—the taskforce won't find anything when they get here."
"Until I'm certain there's not an angle here that I'm missing, you'll remain in our brig." Edgars stood up and slipped his service jacket back on. He made a motion to the camera in the corner, and two Marines immediately came in. "Take Lieutenant Brown back to his cell. Let him rest and get something to eat, and then we'll start this all again tomorrow."
"You're wasting time, sir," Jacob warned. "Hollick might be a bit nuts, but he's not stupid. He's going to ditch your ship as quickly as he can."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant."
The walk back to the brig was excruciating as the pins and needles started to work along Jacob’s numbed legs. He was frustrated by the fact Edgars, now spooked and paranoid, was dragging his feet. The captain seemed to be crippled by indecision, and by fear now that he'd seen for himself that his ship had been infiltrated by One World.
"Still nothing?" Murph asked.
"He's not going to let us go," Jacob said. "He'd dragging this out, convinced we're part of the plot. He did let it slip that he fixed our ship."
"Trap," MG said.
"What?" Jacob asked.
"It's a trap." MG swung his legs off the rack and sat up. "He just lets it slip that our ship is flight-capable, and then sits back to wait if we'll manage to pull the same trick as Hollick. Then he catches some more traitors on his crew and has all the excuse he needs at that point to airlock us."
"That makes sense, LT," Mettler said. "He had to give you some motivation to want to escape."
"So, do we think the ship isn't fixed? Or that it has a bunch of detachment Marines sitting in it waiting for us to make an appearance?" Jacob asked.
"I'd say it's fifty-fifty if they bothered replacing the blown bus junctions," Murph said. "But he definitely let that information slip for a reason."
"Well, we can't just wait here forever," Jacob said, raising his voice. "You have me, 707?"
"I hear you just fine, Lieutenant," the battlesynth's voice came through the speaker.
"Where are you guys?"
"We are currently hidden in a spare parts locker on engineering deck twelve-bravo. Do we have an execute order?"
"You do," Jacob said. "We need to get out of here, so do whatever it is you're going to do, but remember the restrictions I placed on the op."
"I have not forgotten. Standby, this will take some time to make certain it is done correctly."
The team sat around the cell, tense as they waited for…something. Jacob didn't count on the fact their communications with the battlesynth trio were truly secure, so he made sure they never openly talked about specifics of the plan. If the Talon's technical team had figured out how to listen in on their conversations, too much chatter would lead Edgars' Marines right to where the battlesynths planned to hit, and there would be a fight that would certainly result in human casualties.
It was a few hours later, after their midday meal had been delivered, when Jacob noticed his people yawning and looking bleary-eyed. He could feel a certain fatigue coming on himself, but it looked like everyone else slipped into a trance. A quick look at his fingernails confirmed his suspicions. The darker-than-normal color indicated he was hypoxic. The battlesynths must have decided that reducing the oxygen content in the air and disabling everyone was the quickest way to secure the ship. Before sleep took him, Jacob wondered how they managed to work around the failsafes.
"Oxygen concentration drop was quicker than I would have preferred, but effective," 784 said.
"I detect no alarms," 701 said.
"The system was not difficult to fool," 784 said. "We are holding steady at thirteen percent oxygen concentration. Some people will still be conscious, but any lower and I risk permanently injuring them. Some could even perish if I lower it too close to ten percent."
"This is acceptable," 707 said. "Those that are still awake will be in no shape to pose any threat to us. Lock out this panel, and we will go free Obsidian and make our escape."
The battlesynths had infiltrated Engineering-3, the cavernous bay on the starboard side of the ship that housed the primary environmental systems. One of the spacers there had been easily persuaded to help them tamper with the main system and had even shown them how to make sure the secondary systems didn't kick online when the atmospheric composition deviated from norms. 707 had been disgusted at how readily the human had agreed to help them disable his own ship, but he had to remind himself that not everyone who served aboard a warship was a warrior. A lowly, unarmed technician couldn't be expected to fight a hopeless battle after the battlesynths had made a point of promising they weren't going to kill anyone.
On the way out of the engineering spaces, 701 grabbed five respirator sets, and they started up towards the brig. 707 was in the lead when they rounded the first turn and was hit full in the chest with a plasma blast. It was the low-power charge typically used when aboard a ship, so all it did was scorch his armor, but it knocked him back and put him in full view of the three Marin
es wearing respirators and advancing on them.
"Get on the ground! Now, I won't tell you again!"
A sharp pop/whine could be heard over the background noise of the ship, and 707's eyes glowed a brilliant red. His integrated arm cannons deployed, and his powerplant ramped up. In full combat mode, the battlesynth was capable of engaging a whole platoon of similarly equipped troops. The only thing saving the Marines was his promise to Lieutenant Brown and his natural aversion to needless killing.
707 raised both arms and let loose with a short volley from his cannons, which had been set to one of the stunner modes. The high-energy blasts hit the body armor of the Marines, the current arcing across their bodies and overloading their nervous systems. One managed to squeeze off one more shot before he fell, blasting two of the lights out overhead. The other two battlesynths, also now in combat mode, came around the corner.
"I am impressed," 701 said. "Some of them had the presence of mind to properly equip themselves and correctly assume they were under attack."
"It does not make our job easier, however," 707 said. "We must hurry."
Jacob's vision slowly cleared, and he became aware that the air was very dry and metallic. When he awoke further, he could tell that someone had slipped a rebreather mask over his head and that he was sucking in a higher concentration of oxygen than normal. The glowing red eyes of a battlesynth in full combat mode peering down at him chased the rest of the cobwebs away.
"I guess I don't need to ask how you planned to disable the crew," Jacob said.
"It was not completely successful," 707 said. "Some were able to find respirators, and others are more tolerant to the lower oxygen content of the air and are awake. This was the lowest we could risk setting the system to. It is also on a timer. In ninety-two minutes, the system will reset to normal."
"More than we should need," Jacob said. "I want everyone heading down to the main hangar bay. Sully, do a quick check and see if our ship is able to fly. 784 and Murph will ransack Hollick's ship and look for anything we can use. 707 and I are going to the bridge to get the tracking information we need to run down the launch Hollick stole. 701, you can take anyone remaining that you need and see if you can disable the slip-drive on this ship. Go ahead and make it something they won't be able to fix without help. We'll still need to call in the taskforce to come collect her and complete this mission."
The human members of the team jerked unsteadily towards the barred door that had been ripped from the frame and left hanging on a single ruined hinge. 784 stood in the corridor and issued the weapons he'd collected from the downed Marines to the three different teams as they came out. Jacob looked his people over one more time, and then ran towards the lifts that would take them up to the command decks.
"You plan to pursue Elton Hollick, despite your orders being simply to locate the Eagle's Talon?" 707 asked when they were in the lift car.
"You disagree with that?"
"Not necessarily. However, if you hope to have a long and successful career within the Navy, it might not be advisable to execute an unsanctioned mission."
"I'm not too worried about my career longevity at this point," Jacob said.
"Perhaps, but I can assure you many of your men do care about that," 707 said. "Would you make the choice for them and damage their military careers as well?"
"Let's talk about this once we have things more secured, huh?"
"As you wish," 707 said, waiting until the lift doors slid open on the command deck. The lights in the corridor were completely extinguished.
"Uh oh," Jacob murmured, checking the safety on his weapon, and preparing to step out. A large, alloy hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him back.
"Allow me." 707 ducked and rolled out of the lift car so quickly that Jacob could barely track his movements. Apparently, the people waiting in ambush had the same trouble. There were some shouts of alarm, a few sporadic shots, and then the harsh bark of the battlesynth's cannons. Jacob could tell that all of the shots were coming at them from the direction of the bridge, so he ducked down low and turned right so he could cover the opposite direction and prevent them from boxing 707 in with crossfire.
As he did, he could see two Marines in rebreather masks making their way forward. The flash from the weapons behind him reflected off their masks and allowed him to take aim in the dark. He opened up with the weapon set to its lowest power setting, enough to splash against their body armor and singe them a bit, but not enough to maim or kill. This was likely the first real action these detachment Marines had ever seen, and live fire coming their way caused them to hesitate for just a moment, enough for Jacob to rush them and close the gap.
He caught the first one flat-footed and slammed an open palm into the side of his head. The Marine stumbled and dropped without getting back up. The second one, now with his head back in the game, grabbed the hose to Jacob's rebreather and ripped it out. He could immediately begin to feel the effects and was barely able to get his arms up to block the punch the Marine aimed for his head. Not having much time, Jacob gave up on minimizing damage and launched himself at the Marine, pinning his weapon between them and sending them both crashing to the deck. When the Marine tried to bring his weapon around again, Jacob grabbed it and ripped it away, the web sling snapping in two.
"Fucking traitor!" the Marine spat at him. Jacob responded by driving the butt of the carbine into the man's forehead, just hard enough to knock him out. Once he knew his opponent was out cold, he rolled off and removed his mask, reattaching the hose, and then slipping it back over his head. The rush of cool, concentrated oxygen cleared his mind almost instantly.
"I see you have finally finished," 707 said. "While you were playing, I neutralized seven opponents."
"Was…was that humor?" Jacob asked. "From you?"
"The bridge hatch is closed and locked, but I believe I can get it open with minimal effort."
"Do it," Jacob said, hefting his weapon. "We're running out of time."
707 ripped an access panel off the bulkhead near the hatch, and then punched through the back of the nook that had contained a first aid kit and two rebreathers. There was a horrible tearing sound as the battlesynth rent the metal of the bulkhead with his powerful arms. Once he had the hole to his liking, he reached into it all the way to his shoulder. Jacob couldn't see what he was doing, but he saw sparks flashing through the gap and heard the whine of what was probably a laser.
It took 707 less than a minute to cut and rip something else loose inside the bulkhead before he emerged. Nodding to Jacob, he gripped the hatch while the human raised his weapon. "Go!" Jacob barked. 707 pulled, and the hatch gave way with a couple metallic snaps and slid back into the recess. Before it was fully open, Jacob rushed onto the bridge, blinking in the harsh light, and swept his weapon around the area.
"As you can see, Lieutenant, we aren't offering any resistance," Captain Edgars said. He stood with two others near the front of the bridge, their hands on top of their heads. They were the only ones wearing rebreathers. The rest of the bridge crew was strewn about on the floor where they had passed out.
"And we aren't wanting to hurt anyone, sir," Jacob said, "but I still have a mission and, unfortunately, we both can't get what we want this time."
"So it would seem," Edgars said, looking at the battlesynth. "And it would appear I was severely outgunned from the start. Do the soldiers of Khepri now fight with Earth?"
"I am here for a personal reason," 707 answered. "I am not a representative for the Kheprian government."
"I need the tracking info on the launch, Captain Edgars," Jacob said. Edgars lifted his chin defiantly.
"And my crew needs breathable air, Lieutenant."
"Done. Give me the tracking codes for the beacon, and I'll have the air turned back on," Jacob said. Edgars still hesitated. "Sir, I'm giving you my word as an officer and as someone who doesn't want to see anyone needlessly hurt." The captain nodded to one of his officers wearing a respirator.
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"Give him what he wants, Commander," he said. "And what of us, Lieutenant? I'm just supposed to wait around for a recovery team to show up? You realize that once my crew is able to stand again, we're going to overwhelm you and simply fly away."
"Thanks," Jacob said, pushing the lieutenant commander away from the display that showed the tracking codes and beacon address for the launch Hollick stole. He subvocalized the command to take a visual snapshot of the data with his neural implant. "I've already thought of that, Captain. I guess I can go ahead and tell you…the air was already set to come back on in another fifteen minutes or so. We couldn't risk keeping the oh-two content of the air so low for too long, so we built in a timer. As I said, I'm not wanting to get anyone hurt."
"Lieutenant, the hangar team reports that both ships are ready to fly," 707 said. Jacob just raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"So, you really did fix our ship? I thought you were just bluffing to see if we'd try to escape."
"I was at first," Edgars admitted. "I ordered it fixed afterward when it was clear you had no connection to Hollick. I had intended to render your team unconscious in your cell, load you up on your ship, and set you adrift. When you woke up, we'd be long gone, and you wouldn't even have a mesh-out vector to track, and we wouldn't have to risk you having some trap to spring if we took you in awake."
"Sensible," Jacob agreed. Now that he had two working ships, a new plan was beginning to form in his mind. "But, ultimately—" he trailed off as something flew onto the bridge through the hatch. "What the hell?" The concussion grenade went off a second later, sending every biological being to the floor in agony. Edgars and his people had been closest to the blast, and Jacob thought he saw the short lieutenant commander that had given him the data go flying into the forward screen.
707, not even phased by the concussive blast, strode over to the hatchway and opened fire. Stunner blasts poured down the corridor as Jacob struggled back to his feet, his ears ringing and his body refusing to work. By the time he was up, the battlesynth pulled the armored hatch back across the opening and welded it closed from the inside.
Boneshaker Page 18
