Renegades: Origins

by Kal Spriggs

  “I don’t know,” Anubus growled. “I can’t say what options they have. Something simple is best, though, or something easy to repair. Damage the engines, capture the bridge, or just electrical shock to damage the ship’s systems.”

  “Well, the ship doesn’t have any electrical charge beyond a minor static one, but nothing our ship can’t take,” Pixel said. “And we’ve got plenty of guns to prevent a hijack of our bridge. I’m not sure how they could damage our engines, at least not without permanently disabling the ship.”

  Mike frowned, but he nodded. “I’m bringing us in. Port side dock. Rastar, you’re our master of arms, so I want you down there ready for anything.” He glanced at Eric, “I know you want to man the guns, but I think we could use you down there too.”

  “Right,” Eric said. He felt a twinge of unease to step away from the weapons console. Yet then he thought of the Ghornath laser rifle in the armory. That gave him a sudden surge of hope. Maybe he would get the chance to use it. Or if not it, then the nine millimeter Freedom Arms TEK-15 submachine gun that he had selected. It took him a lot of arguments to convince Rastar to give that one up, but the big Ghornath already had four, one for each arm. He just wanted a spare. Granted, Rastar already had two Freedom Arms Rager Twelves and two of the Chxor pump action riot guns. The fully automatic Ragers fired packets of angular pellets, designed for close combat and ship boarding.

  Rastar could unleash hell at close range and a part of Eric felt glad that the big alien only had two of the Freedom Arms Ragers. At least that would limit his fire somewhat. A particularly important fact to Eric given Rastar’s volatile temper.

  Not that he thought the big guy would turn a weapon on him. But he might spray an area and not realize friendlies lay in the line of fire. Eric didn’t hold that against him, too much. He liked Rastar, but he saw the Ghornath as a skilled amateur. The young alien had nowhere near the experience in combat and nothing of Eric’s own professional military training.

  Eric took the lift off the bridge and down to the second deck. The armory lay across the corridor from the elevator. Rastar already had the door open and had drawn his weapons out of the racks. The eight weapons that dangled off of Rastar made him look somewhat ridiculous. Eric gave him a smile though, and stepped past him to pull down his own TEK-15 and grab the Ghornath laser rifle down. “Ready?”

  Rastar nodded. He kept his helmet off for now. Eric felt grateful for that. The helmets made talk difficult, and they had yet to find radios anywhere on the ship. That was high on Eric’s search priority for when they went aboard.

  Rastar sealed up the armory again and Eric led the way to the intersection of the main corridor and the branch that ran from the port and starboard airlocks. They walked down the corridor and Eric held up a hand as they passed the turret work stations. He stuck his head in the narrow room, “Hey, Matvei and Anastasei, you can head back to the engine room and help out Pixel. We can’t fire these turrets with how we’re docked.” They slipped past him without response. He wondered at that, until he looked back at Rastar. Well, ridiculous and scary aren’t too far apart from one another, he thought with a smile, just a matter of perspective.

  The port airlock lay just down the corridor and as they came up to it Eric pressed the intercom switch, “Captain, we’re in position.”

  “Roger, docking now,” Mike said.

  He brought them in smooth and Eric gave a slight nod as he barely heard the faint clunk as they made contact. Mike knew how to pilot, whatever his other faults. Now to see if Anubus was right…

  Just as he thought that, a dull thud passed through the deck plates to his feet. Eric looked up sharply, even as Rastar seemed to sprout weapons from his four arms. Eric looked at the control panel, but beyond some flashing purple and red letters, he couldn’t make sense of the Ghornath writing. “Rastar, what does this say?”

  The big alien kept his four weapons trained on the airlock hatch. His mirror like eyes didn’t seem to move, but he spoke a moment later. “Something disabled the docking clamps after they engaged the other ship. I’m not sure how or what kind of damage.”

  “Shit,” Eric said. He tapped the intercom, “Mike, we’ve got a problem. Looks like Anubus was right, something has disabled our docking clamps, we are locked onto the other ship.”

  “Pixel?” Mike asked

  He didn’t answer for a moment, “Yeah, uh, something fried the circuitry. Possibly the motors too. There’s a mechanical crank on third deck we can use to open those. I can go down there-”

  “No,” Mike interrupted. “Send one of the space hands we’ve got, tell them what to do. How long will it take?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, those things aren’t designed to disengage quickly, they’re designed to lock down in an emergency. I’d guess fifteen minutes at the soonest, probably closer to thirty,” Pixel said. Eric bit back a curse. That would give whoever it was plenty of time to draw close.

  “Alright, change of plans,” Mike said. “Rastar, I’m sending Ariadne and Anubus down. You, Eric and Ariadne will move to the Sao Martino‘s bridge. Anubus will provide security on our side of the airlock. Primary mission is to get us a star-map Eric, I know you’d rather be on weapons, but I can man those, since we can’t go anywhere right now.”

  Eric nodded before he realized that Mike couldn’t see them, “We’re standing by, make sure Ariadne brings her angry side, we might need it.”

  “She’s already in the lift, tell her yourself,” Mike said. His humor in the situation made Eric frown. It reminded him too much of another man he had trusted… only to find the humor at his own expense. He knew Mike thought for their safety, but at the same time, he flashed back on the last time he had given that level of trust. What did he really know about Mike?

  * * *

  He first heard about Blackthorn on, of all things, a rescue mission. The briefer had mentioned their call sign. The counterintelligence team called the major out mid brief for a huddle. When he returned, he informed them that even the name ‘Blackthorn’ was classified as Secret Compartmentalized Information, with pass phrase authorization.

  Essentially, they had not heard the word Blackthorn. If someone asked them about it directly, they still had not heard of Blackthorn. If someone gave them the pass phrase, they could admit to having heard the call-sign in a brief.

  None of that seemed particularly odd at the time, the Centauri Commandos dealt in layers of the black. Most of their missions had SCI level security. A pass phrase just meant their mission probably oriented on the rescue of some Parliament Member’s mistress or something equally public sensitive.

  “Your objective is to secure Blackthorn Five at this location where he and his escort have holed up in their safe-house due to a conflict with local gangs,” Major Neubauer continued. “Your insertion will take place from high altitude release, with inertial damper arrival. Lethal ammunition is fully authorized. Intel estimates enemy activity limited to mostly gang level violence, but this is a hostile world, so expect that to escalate once you are observed. Priority of effort is the security of Blackthorn Five and retrieval to landing zone alpha or beta, with secondary effort the destruction of all classified materials at their compound to prevent spillage when the locals overrun.”

  Sergeant Schill spoke up, “What about the objective’s security detachment?”

  “Their mission coincides with yours,” Major Neubauer said. He glanced at the counterintelligence team and then shrugged. “They’re MoJ security, plainclothes. If it comes down to it, your priorities are the survival of the objective, destruction of classified materials, members of your team, and lastly the security detachment.”

  Eric had tuned out as soon as they said the security detachment were cops. He respected them for their jobs, but between their survival and that of his team, they didn’t have a hope in hell. “Understood, sir. Ready for deployment.”

  The mission went without a hitch, right up until they fell out of the sky and the inertial dampers
kicked in fifty meters above the rooftop and brought them to a gentle landing. Then the entire world seemed to open up. He lost Meyerdahl and Krebinsk to enemy fire. Enemy jamming blocked their long range communications, which meant they couldn’t call for aerial support. They made it down into the building, only to run into an ambush two levels down that killed his point man Timovich.

  He pushed through, and they killed most of the Seppies who got in their way, and then passed through the perimeter and into the ‘safe’ area of the building.

  “Sergeant Striker, good to see you,” Lieutenant Colonel Andreysiak said with a broad smile. He didn’t duck or flinch at the crack of small arms fire that ripped through the corridor only a meter away. “Welcome to the party.” The light colonel wore tactical armor and had a slung SKL-15 assault rifle which, other than an attachment or two, looked identical to Eric’s.

  “Thank you, sir,” Eric said. “We were told minor gang violence, we didn’t expect their militia and law enforcement on scene. What happened?”

  “Apparently the local crime boss didn’t like his payment, and figured he’d turn us over to buy himself some leniency with the locals,” Andreysiak said. “They arrived just before you made your drop. Is there a problem, staff sergeant?”

  “Negative, sir,” Eric responded. “Once we confirm destruction of the classified documents my squad will lead the breakout along axis corridor three, and we’ll move to the building vent shafts for rappel to the seventeenth floor. The landing pad on the north side is designated LZ Alpha. If we cannot secure that location we will move to LZ Beta, which is located-”

  “Change of plans,” Blackthorn Five said. “I have a team with classified mission essential package located off site. The package in their possession cannot be destroyed and must be retrieved.” Lieutenant Colonel Andreysiak paused and glanced down at his wrist computer and rattled off a grid coordinate. He smiled the whole time, as if he recognized the absurdity of the situation.

  “That’s not in my orders, sir,” Eric said. On his team net, Sergeant Schill reported the enemy had brought up heavy weapons.

  “Well, consider it an addition,” Andreysiak said. “We will move to the team’s location and conduct retrieval, then we withdraw to my prepared extraction location.”

  “Sir,” Eric took a deep breath, “Without authorization from higher-”

  “Override code is Seven Seven Juliet Seven Juliet,” Andreysiak said.

  Eric closed his eyes and thumbed on his team net. “Change of mission. Complete destruction of classified materials. We have a secondary retrieval mission, our primary objective will accompany us. Jenkins, prepare to move to the vent shafts, we will utilize inertial dampers to move to the ground floor and push to the final grid, 42 SMZ 54789 31234 and retrieve the package. We will then withdraw to a LZ specified by the primary. Any questions?”

  He had good people, they might swear and bitch in the privacy of their own minds, but they didn’t waste time doing it on the net. They trusted him, and Eric hated himself for what he’d ordered them to do. This kind of harebrained mission would get too many of them killed.

  “Classified material destroyed,” Jenkins drawled. The earth-born sergeant always sounded odd on the net, but his ‘cowboy’ attitude never failed to get the job done. “Ready for the breakout.”

  He glanced at their primary, who gave him a nod and his well humored smile. Something about his smile seemed off, almost like he laughed at Eric and his team. For just a moment, he considered the option to disregard Andreysiak’s orders. The other man wore the rank of a Centauri Army Lieutenant Colonel, but that in the world of black operations, that meant little. Besides, as the commander on the ground, Eric had the final say. He might face a court-martial, but he could probably just pull for a letter of reprimand. He had enough of those that one more wouldn’t hurt his career any more.

  But whatever Andreysiak’s real rank, his title as Blackthorn Five was classified. His very call sign had higher clearance than his team’s identities. Whatever the man’s mission here, it had to have profound importance and maximum secrecy. Eric had to decide between the potential deaths of his squad and the impact of a failure of Andreysiak’s mission on the Confederation.

  “Execute,” Eric said.

  * * *

  Ariadne’s arrival brought Eric out of his memories. “Hey guys, ready to go save some people?”

  His decision still haunted him, and her good cheer and optimism for a moment incited instant rage. “Are you ready to kill the pirates who plan on killing us?” Eric said. “If you really believe there’s anyone over there to save you’re either an idiot or Run slipped you something special in your breakfast.” He bit back an apology as he saw the hurt on her face. She needs to learn that just because she thinks things will work out, that the universe won’t follow her plans, he thought sourly. He remembered Ivanna’s death, yet again, he would not allow Ariadne to make those same mistakes.

  They piled into the airlock and Eric ran a functions check on his suit and then his weapons, even as Rastar and Ariadne checked theirs. Eric tapped Ariadne on the shoulder and had her turn so he could check hers then. She hadn’t missed anything, and Eric gave her a nod, even as Rastar began to check Eric’s own suit. Their checks complete, Eric hit the switch to cycle the airlock.

  Eric grimaced as the airlock cycled to reveal a dark compartment with a tangle of floating debris and a bloated corpse, its face distorted from explosive decompression. From the way he lay tangled in an environmental suit, he had not quite managed to get it all the way on before the damage to the engine area.

  He saw Rastar ahead of him, already halfway down the compartment. The flashlights he’d strapped to his helmet and his weapons swept the compartment and cast crazy shadows. Ariadne hung motionless next to Eric in the airlock. She seemed to stare at the dead man. He nudged her, and she gave Eric a nod before she pushed off. He figured if the corpse bothered her then she would check her suit more carefully in the future. A good safety lesson there, he thought. He made a note to try to get Simon or someone else to get a picture for that purpose.

  Eric sighed at the lack of gravity. Rastar seemed to handle himself well and Eric imagined that the extra set of limbs helped in that regard. Ariadne seemed to drift without any issue. He saw her shift direction mid-flight to avoid a tangle of detritus. Of course, he thought, she’s a psychic so she cheated.

  Eric pushed off and he immediately veered into a bulkhead. He managed to catch himself and when he looked forward he didn’t think either of his companions had noticed. Eric’s microgravity training lay years in the past and he knew he had gone rusty in that area. He more cautiously pulled himself along the bulkhead and made good progress. He swept the compartment with his sub-gun, and peered into the deeper shadows of the compartment.

  This area seemed to be some kind of auxiliary storage area or perhaps the crew’s cargo share. Eric seemed to remember that cargo ships sometimes paid their crew with spare cargo space for their own trading. He would have to ask Mike or Crowe, the pair had more experience on merchant ships than the others. That kind of information had not seemed important before, but it might prove more applicable in the near future.

  Rastar paused at a set of hatches at the far end of the room. He traced two of his flashlights across the stenciled letters on the hatches. The right side said cargo hold and engineering. The left said lift. Before Eric could catch up, the big alien tried the lift access hatch, and then pulled the emergency release lever to the side and slid the hatch open along its track.

  The bottom of the ship’s lift hung a meter above the floor. The cage lay open, without a door, clearly designed for freight as well as personnel. Rastar squeezed up into it, and a moment later he disappeared above. Eric grimaced at the big alien’s quick movement. Rastar technically had command of their little team. However, Eric hated that his friend had left him behind and had even drawn ahead of Ariadne.

  They did not want to get spread out.

  Eri
c glanced at his suit’s chrono and grimaced. He wished the Chxor had not removed the radios from the suits before they issued them out. They had a thirty minute count before Mike planned to disengage from the freighter. Eric doubted Mike could leave the system without Ariadne, but he might well put some serious distance between them if some other threat materialized. Eric had no intention to spend the rest of his life on this airless hulk.

  Ariadne floated up into the lift and out of sight.

  A moment later, Eric reached the lift and pulled himself up. He saw that the top of the car opened up to the sides, which was how Rastar had managed to move further up the shaft.

  He saw the big alien had stopped at the top of the lift. Rastar braced his four legs against the sides of the lift shaft and pulled on the door with his left set of arms. His right arms held two weapons ready. Eric approved of that caution.

  The door came open and Rastar moved through. Ariadne drifted through a moment later. Eric felt suddenly uneasy, and then remembered the mission on Altaria Three, where his team had gotten separated on a recon mission in the planet’s tunnels. The rebels had attacked them from behind to cut them off. Only he and Piotr had made it out of those tunnels alive.

  Eric kept his weapon trained on the lower door they’d come in. He would not make the same mistake. He wished yet again for a radio, this time to caution Rastar. He would have to get Pixel to cobble something together, and soon.

  Coming in here without communications was a mistake, he thought, a mistake that will get someone killed if I’m not careful.

  He reached the top door. Eric saw Ariadne just ahead of him. The upper deck seemed oval shaped, and the corridor curved around to the right. The bridge should lie close by, he knew. Eric pulled himself down the corridor, careful to give himself a good field of fire at any hostiles that might emerge from the elevator.

  He glanced back to see Rastar and Ariadne paused outside a strange construction of plastic panels and what looked like a hatch torn from somewhere else. Ariadne moved back next to Eric and put her helmet against his, “Looks like someone survived to rig up a makeshift airlock to the bridge. Rastar is too big to fit in it, though. You and I can go in, one at a time.”