by Ryan Krauter
Web noticed the hyperspace signature of incoming ships from where he sat in the pilot's chair.
"I'll admit the Primans do have some amazing instrumentation," he said to Senator Navi in the seat next to him."
"As we're just going to hand this over to them?"
"Well, it's worth enough to get us a ride home. So, yes. It's not an ideal trade, of course, but time is wasting here. The longer we float around doing nothing, the more time Senator Dennix has to keep screwing up the Confederation."
The look on Navi's face hardened, and he nodded. Apparently there was no love for the Governing Committee Chair among most of the ex-prisoners. Stands to reason, though, Web thought.
He keyed a tab on the console next to him, which connected to a mobile comm unit Halley had taken with her when she had created her hide in the depths of the Priman ship.
"Looks like two ships incoming," he started. "One about our size, one a lot bigger. Good luck to us all."
Seconds later, an incoming message was announced with a chime on the main control panel.
"This is Beka Dalgas," came the announcement as the video screen popped to life and showed her face. She was a human female, somewhere in her early senior years but also fairly attractive, Web had to admit. She had very close shaved hair and a scar that ran across her forehead. It had been repaired well but she also apparently hadn't done any cosmetics to remove the scar. Probably helped to look a little rough in her line of work.
"I'm Web," he replied. "Is that our ship?" he asked, inclining his head to the left where the smaller vessel approached from ahead of them.
"As we agreed in our preliminary negotiations, yes. A medium freighter, fueled and ready to fly. You are welcome to inspect it, of course."
"It just needs to hold air and stay in hyper for a couple days," Web assured her.
"I'd like to conduct our final negotiations aboard your ship."
"Final?" Web asked, puzzled. "I thought we'd agreed on a price. Our ship for yours."
"Yes; I said that would be a good place to start, and I meant it. I am just curious to see what shape your vessel is in."
"I think we were pretty honest about why we needed a new vessel, but since you asked so nicely, why don't you just come on over then? Use our starboard hatch and I'll take you to one of the holds."
The connection dropped and Web turned to Senator Navi. "We're humped."
"Halley!" Web yelled into the comm pickup. "We need to clear out a space for this meeting; I don't think we really want to let them know we have the majority of the legally elected Senate aboard!"
"On it," was the terse reply.
Senator Navi looked at Web. "What can we do?"
"My first, half-baked, panicked plan, which I must remind you was inspired under duress, is to cram all of you in the lower hold and close the pass-through. We show Dalgas around the upper deck and when we dock the ships together you folks just run through the airlock into our new ship and everyone's aboard."
"What about Lieutenant Pascal?"
"She's our insurance policy."
The large freighter moved in to an almost uncomfortably close distance and released a shuttle, which then docked with the indicated airlock on the Priman transport. A second shuttle followed close behind. The only bright side to this maneuver was that Web guessed there wasn't room for more than five or six people aboard the small ships. Still, if they were heavily armed and in body armor, it was probably a moot point.
Web waited alone at the airlock. Senator Navi was back with the rest in the hold, and along with Senator Thyatt was in charge of the relocation project. Web had also discussed backup plans with Halley and felt confident that they had a reasonable chance of getting through this intact. Well, maybe forty/sixty.
The inner hatch opened and revealed six fully armed people crowded into the compartment. Immediately, they filed out and moved to the next frame in the corridor, securing it to make ready for the boss.
Beka Dalgas walked slowly into the corridor, a holstered Confed SSK at her hip. Interesting fact, since the weapons were DNA matched to a user and wouldn't work for anyone else.
Beka walked right up to Web and held her hand out, which he shook. "Welcome aboard," he stated.
"Thank you," she replied. Web wasn't entirely thrilled with the way she looked at the ship. It was the same way he'd go about inspecting something he was about to obtain; she had a predatory glint in her eyes. Instead of just sweeping from one side of the corridor to the other, she turned her head ten or twenty degrees at a time, took in everything of note, then scanned the next sector until she had finished.
"This compartment at least seems to be in great shape. How is the rest of the ship?"
"Well, it's as advertised. I'll show you the upper cargo hold, then we can head to the cockpit. You're probably aware how good Priman sensor technology is; all of that is fully functional. The engines, not as much."
"Hmmm," was all she offered, then turned to head off in the direction Web had indicated with a wave of his hand. As they walked, Web could hear the airlock cycle as a muted thump ran through the bulkheads. The second shuttle was docking on the other side of his ship.
"So what are you carrying?" Beka asked as they stood in the middle of the vacant upper hold among the rows of empty seats. Web had led them on a merry tour of the ship, from engine spaces to airlocks to quarters and even the galley; they were finally in the upper compartment.
"Something that fits in the lower hold," Web replied. She gave him a look, the kind his instructors at the academy used to do when he gave what was technically the right answer but didn't offer an explanation of how he had arrived at the solution.
"I don't think you really expect me to tell you what I'm carrying, do you?" Web asked, a look of surprise on his face.
"You have to admit this is a hell of a situation, no?" Beka asked. "You, alone in a Priman ship in what you probably figure is unpatrolled space. Do you have any Primans down there?" She hooked her index finger and pointed it down at the deck, indicating the level beneath them.
"I can tell you with confidence there are no Primans aboard. If there were, I'd have the bodies stacked in the galley to sell off to anyone who was interested once I got home. You take a side in this war?"
"We're not talking about me, Web," Beka said, eyes darkening a bit. "I'm just saying that I can't help but be interested in your story. So interested that maybe you should stay here and tell it to me before we part ways."
So there it was, Web thought. That didn't take long. Time to go right up to max effort.
"I'm a Confed operative, SAR to be exact," he bluffed, hoping Halley didn't take offense to him using her branch of clandestine service but also knowing everyone knew how dangerous those people were. "I had some, let's just say business, in Priman space. I stole this ship and a few odds and ends which I've hidden aboard. My pickup is expecting to meet me shortly but this tub got all shot up. If I don't make it in time, they'll head this way; they knew where I was coming from but I'm obviously not going to make the meet in this ship. Their sensors are very capable and I've dropped a few messages into the Data Net on the way out. If I don't get there, they'll head right this way and look for me. They'll find all of our drive signatures and even the hyper trail if you go FTL. They have an open mandate to complete their mission and their rules of engagement are, let's just say 'flexible'. It's of course a little embarrassing personally if I have to enlist their help in dealing with folks like you, but I know who's on my side."
"You're bluffing," said Beka with a grin, not taking even a moment to digest Web's story. She did, however, lean close to one of her men and whisper something into his ear; he nodded and jogged down the corridor.
"My ship is the CSS Avenger."
Web couldn't miss Beka's reaction. Her eyebrow twitched a bit and this time her face did show something, though it flashed across quickly and was replaced by her game face almost instantly. Still, he was buoyed by the fact that even out here these
folks knew his ship. Loren and the captain would be happy to hear that. If he ever got the chance to tell them.
Eight
"Wonder what's taking so long?" asked the shuttle pilot. He and his cohort were back in the small shuttle, pulling security while their troops patrolled and Beka Dalgas negotiated with the poor fool who captained the Priman ship.
"Who cares?" replied the copilot. She hated being on guard duty like this, especially with the creep with the wandering hands who she was forced to fly with. Oh, she'd put him in his place a while back, but wondered how long that would last before another lesson was required.
"Well," he countered, "the longer it takes, the more likely she's dealing with him and not just shooting him. Which means less of a cut for us. So, I'm a little disappointed I haven't heard any blaster shots and screams yet. He must have some sort of leverage."
"Hey there," they heard, a female voice from behind them. They both spun around, at a disadvantage because they were seated and not standing in the hatch like they were supposed to be.
"Who the hell are you?" the woman asked as the man scrambled out of his seat, clawing for his sidearm.
"Leverage."
Halley closed the gap. The man was trying to get out of the pilot's seat and draw his gun at the same time. Halley kicked the gun with a quick right roundhouse kick, then without planting her foot gave him another one to the face, sending him slumping back into the chair.
The woman was up by that time, gun out as well. Halley swept the gun away with her left hand while jabbing with her right. The woman blocked and landed a hit on Halley in return. Halley took a half step back and smiled.
"Finally, someone who knows how to fight."
Beka Dalgas looked at Web, who saw her two remaining men close ranks with her, rifles now held high and ready.
"Let's go look in the lower hold," she said.
Web, unarmed and with few options, walked slowly to the metal gratework stairwell along the outer bulkhead. All he could do was try to buy Halley some time. If she didn't show up soon, though, he'd have to assume she was held up or worse, and just take his own shot while hoping for the best. That was a distraction he wasn't ready for; was something wrong with Halley?
They arrived at the hold and one of the troops pointed his rifle at Web's head from a safe distance while the other tapped the unlock switch on the hatch frame.
The hatch slid open, revealing the lower hold and its rows of seats, room filled to standing room only with men and women who seemed shocked to see Beka.
"What is this?" she asked softly.
"This is the duly elected Senate of the Confederation, locked away by the Primans since the war began three years ago," Web replied neutrally. "I'm taking them home."
"What if I take them home?" asked Beka, her eyes still focused on the people in the room.
"The folks in charge of Confed don't want them to return," Web admitted. Whatever happened from here on out, it probably didn't matter much what she knew. If it distracted her or bought him time, he'd trade that away. "That's why we're sneaking them back."
"What if I offer to make them disappear for these folks, then," she answered coldly.
"They'll kill you too."
She turned to look at Web as one of the captive senators stepped forward.
"I'm Senator Thyatt," he began slowly, cautiously, as he saw the trooper by Beka swing the rifle in his direction. "If you've ever wanted to bargain with Confed, now's the time. Amnesty, friends in prison, whatever it is."
Beka chuckled. "I don't need amnesty; do I look like I fear getting caught? And I don't have any friends, either. No, my problem is figuring out how to make the most money off of this situation. And since your friend Web here isn't in a position to tell me no, I think we'll just go ahead and do things my way from here on out."
Halley and the woman traded blows as they danced around the confines of the small cabin. Halley knew she could beat the woman, but time wasn't on her side. Speaking of sides, her side was killing her; the old blaster wound was shooting pains all the way up and down her body now, and she couldn't kick any more because it just hurt too damn much.
The woman charged, perhaps noticing Halley's decreasing reach. Halley tried to deflect her away and managed to land an open handed shot to her sternum but she was already on her and drove both of them back into the compartment's hull, breath leaving Halley in a rush. She blocked a punch and landed a left elbow on the woman's chin, then grabbed her shoulders with both hands and gave her several kicks to the ribs, her own side screaming in pain with every blow.
The woman desperately grabbed for Halley and latched on to her left shoulder. Halley grabbed the woman's hand with her own right hand, rotating and disengaging the grip. She followed with an arm-bar to the back of her arm as the woman was forced to one knee, then landed a vicious shot to her nose with the back of her fist.
Halley was about to finish her off when she saw somebody else enter the compartment. She grabbed the woman's wrist and leveraged it, forcing the woman to her feet. Halley twisted her grip and spun the woman in front of her as the newcomer fired his weapon.
The shot was an armor-piercing slug and penetrated the copilot's upper chest, then exited as it started to expand too late to lodge within her. The bullet entered Halley's upper right shoulder, fully expanded and stopping just inside the muscle.
Halley grabbed the small survival knife off the woman's belt, flipped it over in her left hand and threw it at the man. She knew it wasn't a throwing knife and it would probably not even hit him blade first, but the distraction was all she needed. As the man batted at the knife and tried to dodge out of the way, he juked to his right and hit his head on the bulkhead, staggering as he did so.
Halley, meanwhile, had hit the deck and dove for the pilot's seat. She found the gun where it had bounced.
The newcomer spun around, weapon up and searching for Halley. She had the drop on him, though, and fired three shots; two to center mass, one to the head.
"I'm starting to feel old," she mumbled as she struggled to her feet. She checked the weapon's magazine, grabbed another sidearm and all the spare ammo she could find, tucked it all in her pockets and belt, then marched off into the corridor.
She stopped and locked the airlock hatch open, jamming the knife she'd just thrown into the mechanism along the deck. She needed to block this airlock from being used to bring in more reinforcements, and keeping this shuttle docked here would work nicely. Now she just needed to disable the airlock across the hull on the port side and deal with whoever was on that second shuttle. Probably some technical crew to help run the ship, and no doubt some muscle to make sure people like her didn't interfere. She hoped Web could handle the situation for a few more minutes.
"Time to inventory the cargo," Dalgas said as she eyeballed the interior of the lower compartment beyond Senator Thyatt.
Web was at a loss, mind racing as he tried out and discarded his options. Beka and her guards made three armed enemies. Web had himself and no weapons in hand. Maybe the senator as a distraction, but Halley was apparently dealing with issues elsewhere or she would have been here by now. He could only think up one option.
As the guard next to him was concentrating on intimidating Senator Thyatt by waving his rifle around, Web chambered his left leg and kicked out at the man's knee, collapsing it sideways as he completely blew out the joint. The guard fell to the deck screaming as Web took stock. The other guard was just out of arm's reach, so he spun a bit and gave the man a back kick to the stomach. As the guard staggered back, Web dove at Beka Dalgas, spearing her in the midsection as he tackled her. They both went sprawling into the compartment, barely missing the senator as they came crashing to the deck.
"Close the door and lock it!" Web yelled just before Beka twisted in his grasp and smashed her elbow into the side of his head. He saw stars and rolled away, desperate to open up space between them before he got up.
He saw her reaching for her holstered sidear
m as she stood so he charged in, raining jabs and crosses at her to keep her off balance. One hit landed just right; her gun went clattering across the deck as she dropped it. She blocked one of his jabs and tried to wrap him up; he spun away and faced her just as she brought out a small fixed-blade knife.
I hate knives, Web thought as he complained to the galaxy at large. It wasn't like the holo movies; in a knife fight, everyone gets cut sooner or later.
Beka Dalgas knew what she was doing. She didn't reach out and make big swings, didn't get off balance or leave many openings. She took short swipes at him, sharp jabs and kept over her center of gravity. Soon Web was backing up against the bulkhead, running out of room. But there was no pattern to her movements, no rhythm he could pick up. He was just going to have to make a move and live with the ugly fight that would follow.
He waited for her to take a swipe, then blocked her arm towards the outside to keep her movement going. He used his free arm to step in close and deliver an elbow to the face; she absorbed the blow, spun away and regrouped. She was instantly back for more, and this time Web got her as she jabbed the knife right at his face. He caught her in a cross grab, then locked his hands over her wrists. They both pivoted, each trying to toss the other off balance.
Beka slammed into the bulkhead, breath leaving her lungs in a rush. Her head dropped a bit as her muscles contracted, then instantly launched into a headbutt that landed on Web's nose. It was an imperfect blow, but he saw stars as he heard his nose crack. His eyes watered involuntarily and he tried to blink them clear lest Beka press her advantage.
She separated again, though this time it was only enough to step back and rock forward towards Web again, knife coming up to what his pain-soaked brain figured was a jab at his midsection.
He brought his arm up and blocked down, hitting her forearm and driving her arm lower as she made contact. Instead of his stomach, the knife buried itself in his upper leg. Yelling again in pain, Web landed an open palm strike to her solar plexus and she backed off, though she wouldn't let go of the knife handle where it was sticking out of Web's leg.
