by Glenn Smith
“He told you?” she asked, surprised. Dylan nodded.
“What happened this morning, Eric?” Verdai inquired again, undeterred. “If no coupling took place between you and Stacy, then what was she referring to? What did you two start?”
“Attention everyone,” Geoff called over the intercom. “We’re now on final approach to the Trident Jumpstation and preparing to jump.” The announcement was strictly routine. There wasn’t anything special for anyone to do.
“Nothing happened,” Dylan assured the Naku, wondering if he might be experiencing a little bit of jealousy despite himself. “We didn’t start anything.”
“Damn, Verdai,” Nicole interjected, smiling. “For a religious man, you sure have a lot of interest in other peoples’ sexual exploits all of a sudden.”
“Ah hah!” the Naku exclaimed triumphantly. “You refer to ‘sexual exploits!’ So Eric and Stacy did engage in a coupling!”
“Relax,” Nicole said, laughing. “I’m just teasing.”
“So am I, so quit judging me all the time,” Stacy demanded as she walked back into the galley, obviously still upset. She’d pulled on a pair of cutoff blue denim shorts but was still only wearing the same loose tank top for a shirt, and when Nicole didn’t bother to say anything more about it, she stepped over to the cabinet to get her breakfast.
“I don’t mean to judge you, Stacy,” Nicole finally told her after a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence. “And that’s not the kind of teasing I was talking about.”
“Can we please not talk about this now?” Stacy asked as she turned, tray in hand, and walked over to the couch.
“I agree,” Verdai added.
The deck suddenly pitched forward as though the ship were a truck that had just driven headlong into a ditch, tossing Stacy into the forward airlock doors like a ragdoll and scattering everyone’s food across the galley. Verdai yelped as he leapt out of his chair and then fell to the deck and slid forward, crashing into Stacy as he tried to hold his scalding, coffee-soaked shorts away from his lap.
“What the hell?” Nicole yelled, picking herself up off the couch.
“Hold onto something!” Garcia hollered over the intercom. “We’re taking fire!”
Nicole glared at Dylan briefly, then hurried to help her sister.
Chapter 58
Ensign Packard closed his eyes and listened intently for several long moments, switching rapidly back and forth between the three or four channels he thought might be the right ones, but he didn’t hear anything further on any of them. Despite the silence that reached his ears now, he could have sworn that, just for a moment, there had been something more there. He felt sure of it. Sure enough, in fact, to report it to his commanding officer. “Captain?”
Captain Leslie turned first her head and then, upon seeing the bewildered expression on the tactical officer’s face, her entire chair toward the young man. “Yes, Mister Packard?”
“Something just spiked on one of the civilian emergency channels a minute ago. It was only there for a split second, but...”
“Is there anything there now?”
“No, ma’am, nothing. But...”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just random background noise?” she asked, reminding him as covertly as she could that it wasn’t at all unusual for the occasional sun flare, pulsar pulse, or any one of a dozen other natural phenomenon to flash briefly across any number of communications channels before the noise suppression protocols could identify and filter out their signatures.
“I’m not completely sure, ma’am, no,” he answered honestly. “It definitely wasn’t a live voice message, but I’m not ready to rule out some kind of automated signal just yet. I’ll run a computer analysis on it, if I can f...”
The captain waited to give Packard a chance to finish his sentence, but not for very long. “If you can what?” she asked after only a few seconds.
“Captain, we’re receiving a priority one call from the Trident Jumpstation.”
“On the screen,” the commanded.
The view of empty space ahead of them vanished, replaced by the concerned visage of a young bald-headed man in the green-on-black uniform of the Solfleet Marine Corps. The rank pins on his shoulders identified him as a lieutenant. “Who’ve I got?” he asked urgently. The image brightened to an uncomfortable level and became distorted, then settled down again.
“Captain Denise Leslie of the Sentinel. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“Captain, we’ve got an emergency situation on our hands!”
“What sort of emergency situation?” she asked calmly, hoping it would rub off on the overly excited young officer.
“There’s a civilian yacht of Federation registry under attack barely twenty-one thousand kilometers from our position! According to our scanners...”
“Send me the coordinates.”
“Sending!” the man said as he looked down at his console and complied.
“Helm, lay in a course as soon as you’ve got the location. Make best speed.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Can you identify the hostiles, Lieutenant?” she asked, addressing the marine again.
“Not as yet, Captain. There’s too much interference from their weapons energy.”
“Not even a guess?”
“Afraid not.”
“All right, we’re on our way there. You’d better take your station to alert status as well. Twenty-one thousand kilometers is a lot closer than it sounds.”
“Already done,” the man assured her. “Good luck, Sentinel.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Sentinel out.” She looked over at Packard once more. “Sound General Quarters.”
* * *
Dylan hurried aft toward the small weapons locker attached to the bulkhead beside the sleeping cabin’s door, falling against it at the last second when the ship shook and pitched back once more. “Hull structural integrity down by fifty-seven percent!” he overheard Geoff report as the heavy floor plate that isolated the flight deck from the rest of the ship suddenly slid open. He opened the locker and pulled all six pistols from their holders, tossed two of them up to the flight deck as he passed the gangway on his way forward, and then handed three of the other four to Verdai, who distributed them. Then he returned to the chair he’d been sitting in while he ate, spun it around, and crouched down behind it, holding his weapon at the ready.
The ship shuddered violently, but not like before—not like when they had been taking fire. The lights dimmed and flickered, then thankfully brightened once again.
“Here they come!”
* * *
“I’ve got ‘em, Captain!” Packard exclaimed. “It’s... Captain, it’s a Marine attack shuttle!”
“What?” she exclaimed, looking over at him. “That can’t be right, Ensign!”
“The computer has positively identified the vessel’s silhouette, Captain,” he advised her. “Solfleet Marine attack shuttle bearing three-one-five mark two-six, approximately seven-point-nine thousand kilometers from our current position.”
“Raise them!” Leslie rose to her feet and took a step toward the helmsman while Packard hailed the Marines. “Reduce speed,” she ordered calmly. “I don’t want to overshoot them.” Then she faced Packard again. “What about the civilians?”
“No response to our hails from the Marines, Captain,” he prefaced first. Then, in answer to her question, he reported, “Civilian yacht, as the lieutenant reported. Old Comet-class, heavily modified. No armaments. Jump nacelles and secondary drive systems are offline and their hull is badly weakened.” He looked up from his board. “Captain, that Marine shuttle is right on top of them and they don’t even have thrusters. If you ask me, it’s a miracle they’re still in one piece.”
“Whoever’s on the shuttle might want them that way,” Commander Galloway opined as he walked onto the bridge.
Leslie turned to him as he approached his chair. “Pirates?” she asked. “Flying one of our ow
n Marine Corps attack shuttles?”
“That’s my guess,” he told her as he sat down. “Three of them have been reported stolen or missing in the last month. If it is pirates, they’ll board that yacht and take what they want first, then destroy it before they leave the area. Unless they want the yacht itself, though I can’t imagine why they would.” He turned to her. “Have you tried hailing them yet?”
“Yes,” he replied as she looked over a Packard once more. “Mister Packard?”
“Still no response, Captain,” he reported, having anticipated her question.
“Are you sure they’re receiving?”
“Yes, ma’am. Their jammers are screaming at full-power, but they’re only blanking the civilian channels. I’m transmitting across the spectrum, so I know they’re hearing us.”
“Then maybe we’re just not speaking the right language, Ensign. Power up the armor and lock weapons on their ship. Helm, move to intercept. Put us between them and the yacht.”
“Too late, Captain!” Packard warned. “They’ve already grappled!”
* * *
A shot rang out and Garcia came tumbling down the gangway to land in a heap on the deck. Dead or unconscious, Dylan didn’t know. Dylan then rose up from behind his chair and, aiming his weapon toward the opening in the ceiling, carefully approached the gangway, feeling more than seeing Verdai move in behind him and follow on his heels. He waited while the Naku checked on Garcia’s condition and then pulled him away from the gangway to relative safety, then started slowly, cautiously, creeping up the stairs. Geoff suddenly cried out from above, so Dylan vaulted to the top where he found the pilot struggling to escape the grasp of a muscular Naku warrior clad in full battle regalia. He raised his weapon, but before he could squeeze off a shot the Naku whirled around and threw the man right into him and they both tumbled backward down the gangway to the lower deck.
Dylan landed hard on his back and then felt the wind rush from his lungs when Geoff fell across his chest. He rolled onto his stomach beneath the other man, barely able to see anything past the thousands of tiny spots of light that were dancing in front of his eyes no matter where he looked. The cabin door was open and he thought he could see Verdai lifting Garcia into a bunk, seemingly oblivious to the two Naku warriors who were rushing toward him from behind, but he couldn’t draw a breath to warn him. Where the hell had they come from? The head? Yes, they had to have come in through the head. that was the only possible way. He tried once more to yell out, but he simply couldn’t draw a breath.
Suddenly the weight was gone and he could breathe again, but too late to warn Verdai as the warriors pounced on him from behind at that same moment. Somehow, Verdai managed to spin on his knees and fire his weapon, striking one of the warriors dead center in the chest and knocking him backwards to the deck, but the other then slapped the pistol from his hand before he could fire again, grabbed it out of the air when it bounced off of the lockers, and then hurled it away behind him. Verdai struck the second warrior hard in the groin. The warrior jumped back and howled while Verdai took full advantage of his good luck. He jumped to his feet, kicked the warrior in his gut, and then scissor-kicked him in his face all in one smooth motion. The warrior staggered back, bounced off the door to the head, and then dropped to his knees. Verdai grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face down onto his knee, probably shattering his nose, then shoved him aside and moved to retrieve his pistol, but the warrior he’d shot suddenly grabbed his lower leg and twisted, forcing him to the deck.
Dylan struggled back to his feet and turned to find another warrior holding Geoff at arm’s length by the throat, strangling the life out of him. He grabbed the warrior’s gauntleted wrist and struck the back of his elbow as hard as he could, popping it out of joint, then kicked down on the side of his knee before he could react, forcing it to bend against the joint with a satisfying crack. The Naku released Geoff and spun away, roaring in pain, but instead of falling to the deck like a human likely would have, he reeled completely around and struck Dylan across the jaw with a backhand that felt like a mule’s kick, bouncing him off the lockers. Dylan recovered quickly, but by the time he’d regained his footing the warrior was charging, dagger in hand.
Dylan raised and crossed his arms to block the downward thrust, but only succeeded in deflecting it slightly to one side. He screamed as the blade sank deep into his biotronic shoulder, shorting out the circuitry and sending tidal waves of searing pain across his back and through his head. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted off of the floor and carried away.
Whoever was carrying him took him forward and tossed like so much refuse into a chair.
The pain was excruciating. He opened his eyes to assess their situation as best he could. Nicole and Stacy were sitting across from him on the couch, looking unharmed for the most part if slightly worse for wear. He looked to his right through thin wisps of acrid smoke that made his eyes water, emanating from his damaged shoulder, and saw that he and they had been left under the watchful eye of yet another Naku warrior, clearly the youngest of the bunch. No, wait. He wasn’t a Naku at all. He was human! He was fairly muscular and wore his hair like the Naku warriors, and even dressed like them and carried the same equipment, but beneath that exterior he was every bit as human as Dylan was. And the more Dylan stared at him, the more he realized that although there was absolutely no way the two of them could ever have met before, there was still something slightly familiar about him. What that was he couldn’t say, but he’d figure it out eventually... if he survived this encounter. For now the human had their pistols stuffed into his belt and was holding his own weapon—a matter disrupter from the looks of it—in his hand, no doubt prepared to use it should he need to.
The one who’d beaten Dylan emerged from the cabin dragging Geoff across the deck in one hand and Carlos in the other, then dropped them both in the center of the galley. One of his comrades—the one whose nose Verdai had obviously shattered, judging from how blood-stained his face was—shoved Verdai violently into the chair across the table from Dylan, slapped him hard across the face for good measure, and then dropped a handful of bloodied hair beads along with several strands of long, black hair onto the table in front of him. Verdai lifted his hand to his head and brought it away bloody, then glared at the warrior.
“Your friends did not put up very much of a fight,” the apparent leader of the four said to Dylan. He was the one who’d entered through the upper level and almost killed Geoff—the one who’d sunk his dagger into Dylan’s shoulder. “They must not think too much of you.”
“They barely know me,” Dylan informed him. “If all this is about me, then let them go,” he then demanded. “They’re just a crew I hired. They have nothing to do with what happened.”
“Cortan would not care, and you are in no position to bargain.”
Bargain. That was it. What did he have with which to bargain? What was important to the Naku? “Cortan’s oath was for revenge against me alone,” he said, trying to buy time to think. “Where’s the honor in harming these others?”
The Naku bared his teeth in an evil, ugly grin. “We are not going to harm them,” he said. “We are going to kill them. And you are going to watch. That is the way these things are done.”
Dylan glanced over at Verdai, hoping that he would argue against that last statement. He didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all, but if glaring eyes could emit lasers, his stare would have vaporized the warrior.
“Not this one, we’re not,” the human holding the disrupter clarified, staring voraciously at Stacy. “At least, not yet.” He reached down and grabbed the front of her top in his fist, pulled her to her feet, and held her close in front of him, poking her in her stomach with the muzzle of his weapon. “I might want to play with this one for a while first.” Stacy cringed, apparently due to the smell of his breath. He lifted his disrupter to her cheek and turned her face away, then peered down into the front of her top. “Yeah,” he confirmed, baring his
teeth and nodding. “She will make quite an entertaining plaything.”
“Leave her alone!” Nicole yelled as she jumped up and charged the man. He backhanded her across the mouth with his weapon, knocking her right back down to the couch and spattering the bulkhead wall with her blood. Then he turned his attention back to his prize just as Stacy’s knee scored a direct hit to his groin. He bellowed in pain and threw her to the deck. Dylan jumped up as the warriors roared with laughter at their human companion, but the warrior leader kicked him right in the solar plexus, despite what Dylan had done to his knee earlier. Dylan fell to the deck on his hands and knees, barely able to breath, and coughed up blood.
“There’s no... honor... in any... of this,” he managed to say through the pain as he gasped red-faced for air, blood dripping from his lips, barely able to hold his numb right arm weakly across his gut. Stacy knelt beside him and placed her hands gently on his shoulders, but there was nothing she could do. He spat another mouthful of blood onto the deck, then drew one labored breath after another and added, “Please... just let them... let them go.”
“What do you know of honor, human?” the leader asked as he grabbed Stacy violently by her hair. He jerked her to her feet, then held her head back to keep her off balance. She kicked out at him once and then yelped when he blocked the blow with a slap to her shin. She tried to claw at the back of his hand with her nails, but that effort was wasted as well. His thick leather gauntlet was laced with strands of metal and afforded him more than enough protection against her feeble talons. And when she tried to pry his fingers loose he just tightened his grip that much more, pulling her hair even harder than he already was. “My human friend is quite correct,” he declared, gazing at her lustfully. “Though I find you to be even weaker than you appear to be, you may still prove to be quite the enjoyable little plaything, girl.”
“I said, leave her alone!” Nicole shouted, leaping to her feet once more. But before she could take more than a step toward him, the human intruder grabbed her by the shirt and yanked her back. Then, before she could regain her balance, he threw his arm around her throat and held her tightly against him.
