Shadow of Oblivion

by Richard Tongue

  Chapter 17

  Corrigan stumbled along the darkened corridors, choosing to fumble his way in the gloom rather than advertise his location any more than he could help. The pistol at his belt seemed scanty protection from whatever might be lying in wait ahead of him, and the ship somehow seemed far larger than it had appeared in the light of day.

  It had been ten minutes since the lights went down, the power systems knocked out. Ten minutes of fumbling through corridors, cranking open the airtight doors that had automatically sealed when the systems failed, tugging at the recalcitrant manual release mechanism in a bid to release the hatches, then progressing to the next one.

  Time was not on their side. It wouldn’t take long for the enemy, the ships orbiting out beyond the moonlets, to work out that Avenger was in trouble, and he knew precisely what they would do. What he would have done, if the circumstances were reversed. Probes to check that it wasn’t a trap, a long-range flyby to lure them out. The final stage would depend on the courage of the enemy commander.

  Destroy at range, or storm and capture.

  This was an experimental, cutting-edge ship. Unless the enemy were sure that this was a trap, they’d do everything they possibly could to capture Avenger, take her back home and dissect every advanced system to install in their own ships.

  And those shuttles could already be on the way. A fast transport, perhaps carrying only a couple of men, might be able to make it across the void in less than a quarter of an hour. A callous commander could even use that as the test flight, watching and waiting to see whether the shuttle was destroyed, rather than wasting time with automated probes and sensor sweeps.

  He paused, pondering for a second. He had to put himself in the mind of that Belter commander, to consider what he would do in his case. More specifically, to where he would direct his boarding party. All of this had been planned. There’d been advance warning, so none of this would have been simply improvised. Not with the precision that the campaign had been fought with thus far. He had to assume that the enemy had plenty of inside information, intelligence they could use to pick the best path to the target.

  And he was already there. The docking port closest to Engineering. Not the bridge. That could wait until they were established. More important to secure the drive systems, make sure Avenger couldn’t break orbit, couldn’t get away. That had to be the highest priority. Which meant Docking Port Three, one deck down from his current location.

  Unless they tried somewhere else, assuming an ambush, but he couldn’t start to think that way, couldn’t operate on the basis of move and counter-move, not at this stage. Besides, as far as the enemy knew, they might restore power at any time, and the internal defense and security systems were more than capable of shutting down any boarding action if properly employed.

  Though, of course, he’d managed well enough, a couple of days before. With plenty of preparation and using a host of stolen access codes, but if the Belters had prepared as thoroughly as he feared, there was no reason to doubt that they might have exactly the same abilities that he and his team had possessed when they had stolen Avenger.

  He moved to the nearest access port, fighting with the recalcitrant locks to force it open, then swung inside onto the ladder, sliding down to the deck below, listening for any sound of activity, any sound of life in the funereal gloom. As he reached the bottom, his knees bending to soften the force of the impact, he heard the sound he had feared. The clunk of docking ports engaging. The enemy were here.

  Reaching for the hatch controls, he drew his pistol, his hand resting on the release lever, knowing that he would be bound to make a noise, that he would immediately attract the attention of the boarding party. They’d shoot him in a second. That wasn’t necessarily a problem. He’d expected not to come back from his mission, but if he was going to sacrifice himself, he wanted there to be some reason, something worth dying for. Being gunned down in a corridor while a pair of Belter bandits stole his ship wasn’t part of the plan.

  There had to be another answer, but he couldn’t think of one. Any trickery he could employ with the ship itself demanded power, access to the ship’s network, and he had neither. He had to think of something else, and he had to do it quickly. There wasn’t time for him to make his way to a more distant exit, and even if he did, he wasn’t familiar enough with the ship’s internal layout to guarantee that he could beat the bad guys to the punch.

  Then, at last, it hit him. They had friends here. Someone working on their side, and it only made logical sense that the saboteur would attempt to link with the boarding party as soon as they docked. It might have happened already, but they’d only just arrived. He had to take a chance. He aimed his pistol back up the shaft, dialed down to low power, and fired, twice.

  “Help!” he yelled, as loudly as possible. “They’re on my tail!”

  He cranked open the hatch, careful to stay in the shadows, then fired again, this time aiming close, setting the dispersion as wide as possible. Wide enough that the blast wouldn’t even melt butter, but the effect would be bright, bright enough to ruin the night vision of anyone close by. Turning, he saw two men standing in the corridor, hesitating for just long enough to take his shot. In one smooth move, he aimed his pistol and pulled the trigger, his little finger sliding down the settings to concentrate the blast into one deadly, savage pulse.

  The stench of roasting flesh filled the air as his shot struck home, catching the figure in the chest and sending him collapsing to the deck, arms wildly flailing as he screamed his last breath. His comrade dived to the ground, seeking whatever cover he could, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as the unknown gunman raised his pistol to fire, Corrigan unable to reply in time. He was dead, and he knew it.

  Until he wasn’t.

  A second blast caught the remaining intruder in the back, and a figure stepped out of the shadows, pistol in hand, illuminated only by the flashlight strapped to his chest, casting eerie shadows into the gloom. It was Crawford, shaking his head as he walked down the corridor towards the body.

  “That was a lot closer than I like,” Crawford said. “Are you alright, sir?”

  “Crawford?” Corrigan asked. “What are you…”

  “I’m on your side, Commander. I was from the first, though I couldn’t admit it, not until things started to play out. I’m a deep-cover operative with Fleet Intelligence. Have been for three years, and I hold the rank of Technical Officer in the Republic Fleet.” He smiled, then said, “I have a feeling you aren’t going to immediately trust in my good intentions, sir, but I assure you that we are fighting the same cause.”

  “The two dead bodies on the deck provide at least a reasonable level of proof,” Corrigan replied. “Brief me, Tech, and make it quick.”

  “There is a saboteur on board, though I don’t know who. I know that someone tried to kill me, presumably because he or she was aware of my real identity, but I was out of the detention cell first.” He glanced down the corridor, and added, “I had all of the access codes. I could have got out at any time, but that would have overplayed my hand. I knew there was someone on this ship working for the Belt, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I had been identified. I know that the Security Officer on Vostok was planning to arrest me after the battle, though neither Clayton nor Martin were aware of that. Are they still alive?”

  “Drugged, but they were fine,” Corrigan replied.

  Nodding, Crawford said, “We’re going to want to question them at some point, sir, but I think we have more important things to do. I managed to get to an airlock with a hand scanner. There were two shuttles, one of them docking here, the other on the far side, down by Auxiliary Control. They can’t take over the ship from down there, but they can stop us bringing primary systems back on-line.”

  “Then I guess I know where we’re going next,” Corrigan said. “How much charge have you got left on that pistol?”

  “Enough.” He reached into his pocket, and tossed a couple o
f spheres towards the commander, saying, “Choke bombs. Effective, and safe as long as you stay downwind. In a confined space, they’ll knock anyone inside out in less than three seconds.”

  “Nice little toy. Intelligence?”

  “Of course,” he replied with a smile. “This way.” Crawford raced down the corridor, Corrigan swinging through the hatch onto the deck and sprinting after him. “Jones was hoping to capture this ship, take it intact. He had all of us going over the deckplans while we were waiting at Triton.” Glancing back at Corrigan, he added, “Yes, we had complete deckplans of this ship. Everything we might have needed to capture it.”

  “Wait a damned minute,” Corrigan asked. “If the Belters had such thorough knowledge of this ship, such details, why the hell did they care so much about capturing it?”

  “That’s a good question, Commander, and the only answer I can give is that I don’t know. Except that we were instructed to do as little damage as possible. Jones was hoping right to the last second that you’d just surrender. Maybe he thought the saboteur was going to strike. He certainly did a good enough job of it here.” Reaching for a control, he pulled a lever to release the door, his knuckles white on the handle, and added, “Though I’d love to know where the bastard is now.”

  “They’re trying to get the internal systems up and running up on the bridge,” Corrigan replied. “If we can retake Auxiliary Control, we win the game. This round, anyway.” Gesturing behind him, he asked, “The fleet, here…”

  “I don’t know,” Crawford replied. “But if they wanted us dead, we’d be dead. End of story.” He gained speed, sprinting along the corridor, adding, “Maybe we’d better get this done before they change their minds.”

  “I think you might be right about that,” Corrigan said, pistol in hand. The two men continued their dash through the decks, Corrigan snatching a flashlight from a wall locker as he went, any thought of secrecy and stealth now dispelled. The enemy would have taken their target, would be emplaced, and would be ready to face them. By the book, storming a fixed position was deemed an act of insanity. A look at the tactical situation made it clear why. Auxiliary Control was designed to be defended, as the final redoubt should the ship be boarded. Most of the protective systems were still off-line, no blast doors, now autocannons, no smoke generators.

  They paused at the corner, and Crawford asked, “How do you want to do this, Commander?”

  “We’ve got no time to be clever. Let’s be bold.” He gestured down the corridor, and said, “I’ll take the lead. You follow me three seconds later and give me covering fire. As soon as I get close, I’ll throw the grenade and hope for the best. That’s all we can do.”

  “Pity we can’t fix bayonets with a plan like that,” Crawford quipped. “I’m with you, sir.”

  Corrigan looked down the corridor, hefting his flashlight in his hand before throwing it under-arm towards the target, a pair of laser bolts hurling through the air towards the spinning light as he began to sprint. It was less than a hundred yards. He had to live only for a few seconds to reach his goal. He weaved from side to side, laser blasts all around him, firing a pair of wild shots in the hope more of distracting the enemy than actually scoring a hit.

  Behind him, Crawford began his move, pistol in hand, and Corrigan belatedly realized that he was wide open to a surprise attack if the erstwhile prisoner proved to be a traitor. The shot never came, Crawford instead providing the promised covering fire, opening up with a series of devastating shots that pinned down the enemy for just long enough for Corrigan to throw his grenade, the sphere bouncing off the wall and through the open hatch.

  There was a short thud, and clouds of thick, viscous smoke billowed out from the deceptively small sphere, spilling in all sides, yielding a paroxysm of choking, the two men inside gasping for air. They raced out of the room, pistols in hand, tears streaming from their eyes but still ready for the fight, giving Corrigan and Crawford two easy shots, the two would-be hijackers dropping onto the deck.

  The gas rapidly began to disperse, and with stinging eyes, Corrigan raced into the control room, hastily resetting the manual overrides enabled by the saboteur. Underneath the control panel was a note, crumpled into a ball, and Corrigan snatched it from the ground, stuffing it into a pocket before activating the lifesystem scrubbers, purging the toxins from the air.

  “Got it,” he said. “We should be clear now. Crawford, see if you can open up a link to the bridge.” He paused, then asked, “Agent or Fleet first?”

  “Fleet first, sir, but my record was purged.”

  “What did you train as?”

  “Gunnery specialist, sir.”

  “Music to my ears, Tech.” Crawford tossed him a microphone, and he said, “Internal communications should be back up now, bridge. The bad guys have been neutralized. Get primary systems up and running as fast as you can. As soon as the Belters realize that we’ve ruined their whole day, they’ll do their best to ruin ours. I want us ready to hit them hard when that happens.” Turning to Crawford, he said, “Fancy some weapons practice, Tech?”

  “Anytime, anywhere, sir.”

  “Come on, then. I’ve got every gunner’s dream. A target-rich environment. Let’s see just how many ducks we can knock down before they start shooting back.”

  “Firing ranges sure have changed a bit since training.”

  “That’s fine, Tech. It’s more fun that way.”

  Chapter 18

  “Come on, come on,” Carter said, her hands frantically dancing across the Flight Engineering console. “There’s no reason for you to stay offline, damn it, so get back up, now!”

  “That voice recognition software is wonderful,” Dixon quipped. “I didn’t know it worked even when the power was out.” He sat back in his chair, arms behind his head, and said, “It’ll come on when it comes on, so you might as well just relax for a moment.”

  Carter slammed her hand on the panel, and a second later, a series of lights came on, the reboot sequence beginning. She clapped her hands together, then turned to the console, Dixon shaking his head as he turned to his work, Novak frantically attempting to bring the navigational systems online.

  “Sensor feeds coming on,” Singh said. “Everything looks good.”

  “I have helm control,” Novak added. “I can take us anywhere we want to go within the system. Warp’s going to take a little longer. At least twenty minutes before we can go translight.”

  “Somehow,” Dixon replied, “I don’t think that is going to be a major problem. Don’t do anything until we know what the situation is. Corrigan might want to play a surprise, and…”

  “When main power came back up,” Carter said, “they’ll have known all about it right away. There’s no way to hide it.”

  “Sure,” Dixon replied. “Though they don’t have any way of knowing just who is currently in the control of this ship. That’s one advantage we can hang onto, at least for a few minutes.”

  Singh looked up from his display, data finally streaming onto his monitors, and said, “That’s strange. That’s damned strange. The enemy fleet doesn’t appear to have moved, not at all. They’re still holding position. There are a few more sensor drones in orbital space, and I’m picking up three more shuttles hovering by Hyperion, but aside from that, there’s no change to target aspect.” Shaking his head, he added, “Either that commander is insanely cautious, or we’re missing a part of the picture.”

  “Take a look at what happened while we were down,” Carter ordered. “We had sensor drones of our own up, and some of them must still be transmitting. Maybe they did something over the last fifteen minutes or so.” She turned to Dixon, and said, “I can’t believe they’d have just sat out there and waited. They can’t have been that confident in the boarding party.”

  “Running through the sequence now,” Singh said. “Playing at sixty times normal speed. I’ve got the launch of two shuttles, fast transport types, directed right at us. No other signs that they attempted any
sort of investigation first, it looks like they just threw their men in our general direction and hoped for the best.”

  “Ruthless bastards,” Dixon replied, shaking his head.

  Singh frowned, then said, “I’ve got something. Eight minutes ago, one of their ships broke formation for a moment, and launched the sensor drones. They’re not in a pattern that makes any sense, not if they’re aimed at us. They look a lot more as though they think someone’s about to come out of warp space in high orbit, maybe thirty thousand miles distant.”

  “Maybe we’ve been thinking about this the wrong way,” Carter said. “We’ve been assuming all along that whatever this plan is, we’re the target. What if we aren’t? What if the Belters are trying something else?”

  “What?” Singh asked. He looked up at his readouts, and added, “There’s some sign that someone is coming into the system, about at the location the drones are aimed at. No idea on size, though. They’re at least ten minutes away from emergence. Lots of chances for this to go very, very wrong.”

  “And just as many chances for everything to go right, Ensign,” Corrigan said, leading Crawford onto the bridge. “Dixon, Technical Officer Crawford will take control of the weapons systems. Patch him through to the enemy command cruiser on a secured line. Use an encryption sequence that we know the Belters have cracked. I want them to hear this loud and clear.”

  Looking up at Crawford, Dixon asked, “Do I want to know why you’ve brought a prisoner-of-war up onto the bridge to take control of the weapons systems? That must be one hell of a reliable parole.”

  “Trust me, it is,” Corrigan said, taking the command chair. “Make sure the focus is adjusted so that it only shows Crawford. Jack, you’re going to need to put on the performance of your life.”

  “Let’s hope those improv classes paid off,” Crawford replied, nimbly sliding into his station. “I take it you don’t want a firing solution.”