There was nothing wrong with that sentiment insofar as Cato was concerned. But his attention was focused on the headlights that grew brighter with each passing second. The objective was to trigger the explosives at exactly the right moment and destroy the vehicles before the occupants could broadcast a distress signal.
So as the lights grew brighter, and the first vehicle changed lanes in order to avoid the utility truck, Cato already had his thumb on the button. He was about to detonate the charges when he realized that the oncoming headlights belonged to a delivery van! A bread truck which, based on appearances, was making the usual rounds in spite of the fighting. At some point the driver had pulled out in front of the Vord convoy and unknowingly taken the lead.
Cato was careful to lift his thumb as the bread truck rolled by, then he eyed the following vehicles and counted four sets of headlights. As the second combat car, the one Cato figured the commissioners were in, approached the manhole, Cato pushed the button. Nothing happened. A second passed. Then two. He swore. “God damn it. . . . You—”
The rest of what Cato was going to say was lost as a series of powerful explosions pursued the Vords. The detonations started farther back, where the convoy had been, and blew a series of huge holes in Commerce Avenue. One of them consumed the maintenance truck as steel manhole covers soared into the air, underground pipes were severed, and a geyser of water shot straight up.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The sound reverberated and echoed between the buildings as the sequence of explosions caught up with the speeding vehicles, and an abyss opened up directly under them. One moment they were there, speeding along, and the next they were gone, as if snatched into some other dimension.
There was a loud clang as a manhole cover landed twenty feet away, followed by a muffled thump as one of the vehicles caught fire below street level and the far-off chatter of machine-gun fire as the battle for the city continued. Then came a couple of seconds of complete silence before Cato gave a low whistle. “Damn . . . That was incredible. Who set those charges anyway?”
“Her name is Lola,” Arrius replied. “And she’s a mining engineer. I told you everything was under control.”
“And you were right,” Cato conceded. “I’d like to buy Lola a beer. But first we need to get our convoy onto Commerce before that air car circles back to see what’s going on. There were four cars in the real convoy. We have three cars and two trucks. We’ll leave one truck here. Let’s hope the Vords don’t notice the difference.”
With Bif bringing up the rear, the two men ran back to the fake convoy, where they hurried to jump aboard the first vehicle. The engine was already running. “Hit it!” Cato ordered, and the driver obeyed. Tires screeched as the car pulled out. With the exception of the second truck, which Arrius ordered to hang back, the rest of the vehicles followed.
“All right,” Cato said over the radio, as the driver made a left, then a right onto Commerce. “Stage one was a success. But stage two will be even harder. Lock and load. The Vords won’t let us aboard that ship without a fight.
“I understand we have a naval officer with us,” Cato continued. “Please identify yourself.”
“My name is Tracius,” a male voice said. “I was a naval officer, a Captain to be exact, but I came here to retire. Good choice, huh?”
Cato chuckled. “I don’t know about that, sir, but we’re lucky to have you. Assuming all goes well, you and your crew people will board the shuttle and the ship last. Once we take control of the Annihilator, I’m counting on you to make sure that the Vords don’t drop any bombs.”
“Roger that,” Tracius answered. “But there are only six of us . . . So we’ll need some help.”
“You heard the Captain,” Cato said over the radio. “Once we have control, he will assume command, and the rest of us will report to him.”
There was a flurry of acknowledgments followed by radio silence as the convoy sped toward the airport. As Cato peered up through the windshield, he saw the lights on the front of the Vord air car coming straight at him and knew the pilot had seen and/or heard the explosions. Would he accept the fake convoy as real? Or would he notice the fact that one of the cars had been replaced by a truck? If he did, the convoy would be under attack soon.
There was a moment of suspense as the air car flashed overhead—followed by a feeling of relief as it circled around and took the lead. The Vords were buying it!
The spaceport’s lights became visible three minutes later, and thanks to the fact that the guards were expecting the commissioners, the gates were open wide.
The air car banked away as the convoy sped up the access road and out onto the tarmac beyond. Three shuttles were lined up side by side, but only one of them was lit up with the boarding hatch opened. “Remember,” Cato said, as the car began to slow. “Surprise is critical. If we allow the shuttle crew to warn the Annihilator, we’re screwed. So move quickly and use your knives.”
There wasn’t enough time for a response as the car stopped within feet of the shuttle. By the time Cato rounded the front end of the vehicle and arrived at the hatch, two Vords already lay dead on the ground. Olivia Arrius had just wiped a bloody blade on one the bodies as she came to her feet. “Shani and Bif are already aboard,” Olivia said woodenly. “So the pilots are either cooperating or dead.”
“The first option would be best,” Governor Arrius said as he placed an arm across his daughter’s shoulders. “We want things to appear as normal as possible.”
“That’s right,” Cato agreed. “Let’s get everyone on board and out of sight. It’s dark, but if one of the Vords sees a Uman hanging around the shuttle, alarms will go off right away.”
It took less than three minutes to bring everyone aboard and get them strapped into the oversized Vord-style seats. The single exception was Captain Tracius, who, along with an experienced merchant-marine engineering officer, had gone forward to take over if it was necessary to kill one or both of the pilots. The Vord-style controls would be different from what they were used to, but as Tracius put it, “At the end of the day, a bicycle is a bicycle. And handlebars are handlebars.”
Cato wasn’t so sure about that but welcomed the chance to brief the boarding party as retros fired and the shuttle lifted off. He stood at the front of the cabin with his back to the cockpit and scanned the faces in front of him. Most of them looked a little bit scared, which was completely understandable. “Believe it or not, I had an opportunity to board a Vord ship once before,” he began, “although it was smaller than the Annihilator. And both sides were wearing space armor. So this situation will be different.
“Still, I can tell you that the Vords have an understandable preference for energy weapons when fighting on one of their own ships since they are less likely to puncture the hull. And you may face a battle-axe or two. Not because of a need to hack a hole in armor we aren’t wearing—but because they will be widely available.
“And don’t underestimate the bastards,” Cato added. “The Vords are smart, they’re brave, and we’ll be fighting on their ground. Oh, yeah, and did I mention they’ll outnumber us ten to one?”
One of the resistance fighters groaned as the shuttle continued to gain altitude. “Great . . . Maybe we should surrender the moment we board!”
That got a chorus of chuckles, and Cato grinned sympathetically. “Let’s give this thing a try first. We have some advantages, too . . . including surprise. But remember, we don’t have enough people to take and hold prisoners. Not off the top, anyway. So it’s going to be necessary to kill every Vord who shows any sign of resistance. And if that makes you feel queasy, remember this: The bastards are getting ready to kill thousands of their own people as well as millions of ours. Questions?”
There weren’t any questions, and a sober silence settled over the passenger compartment as the citizen soldiers checked their weapons and prepared to take part in a battle none of them had ever imagined possible.
Cato took a seat next to Governor Arrius and wonde
red if it had been wise to let the politician come along since there was a very real possibility that he would be killed. But, given the reality of what would happen if the attempt to take over the Annihilator failed, Cato concluded that it wouldn’t matter much.
Then his thoughts turned to Alamy. Was she still alive? And if so, what sort of horrors had she been forced to endure? There was no way to know, but the questions continued to haunt him as the ship entered space and Cato felt his body float up against the six-point harness.
But then, as Tracius came on the PA, it was time to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, people,” the retired naval officer said. “The Vords are expecting a shuttle, so once we catch up with the Annihilator, we’ll be allowed to land inside the ship’s launch bay. Then, because they think the commissioners are on board, they’re going to pressurize the compartment. Which is a damned good thing because we don’t have any space armor. What happens after that will be part skill and part luck. We’re about fifteen minutes out. That will be all.”
Now, as the shuttle began to close on the larger ship, Cato began to have serious misgivings about his plan. Trying to take over an entire battle cruiser with a handful of people was an act born of desperation. Or was it? How much did the Annihilator’s captain know about what Commissioners Narth and Oomo planned to do?
Maybe he had been briefed, or maybe it had been the commissioners’ intention to give him the order to nuke Therat after they boarded the ship, to lessen the possibility of a leak. So maybe the bombs were prepped and ready to drop, or maybe they weren’t. But one thing seemed certain. Once the Annihilator came under attack, the commanding officer’s primary concern would be for the safety of his ship. His natural reaction would be to secure the bridge and control room before turning his attention elsewhere.
So what did that suggest? One possible answer was to try to take control of the engineering spaces rather than the bridge as originally planned. Because if the Umans could control the battle cruiser’s life-support systems, they could force the ship’s crew to do whatever they wanted!
Zero-gee gravity wasn’t a problem for most of the resistance fighters, but some were feeling sick, and globules of vomit drifted around the cabin. The smell of if was making even more people ill, and Cato waved some beige-colored droplets away as he began a hurried briefing in which he told the boarding party about the new strategy. “So,” he concluded, as the shuttle came alongside the battle cruiser, “the immediate objective is different, but the tactics are the same. And please keep Captain Tracius and his crew alive. We’re going to need them.”
Then the time for talking was over as the seconds ticked away. The Annihilator was more than a mile long, and, because she was too large to negotiate a planetary atmosphere, her designers had been free to let form follow function. So no effort had been made to streamline her wedge-shaped hull.
As Cato and the others looked out through the view ports that lined the shuttle’s starboard side, they caught glimpses of cooling fins, weapons blisters, and dozens of other dimly lit installations. Then, as the little vessel banked and passed through a rectangular opening, the passengers had a momentary view of the brightly lit launch bay. Space-suited figures could be seen moving around below as they went about the endless task of servicing the ship’s fleet of fighters, shuttles, and other auxiliary craft.
Suddenly, gravity was restored as the smaller vessel came under the influence of the Annihilator’s argrav generators. Something the spacesick Umans welcomed, but the shuttle’s pilot had to compensate for, as his previously weightless ship was pulled down toward the steel deck.
But with Shani’s knife pressed against his very frightened Ya, the Vord had every reason to perform well, which he did. As the shuttle settled onto its skids, there were a number of routine radio interactions to take care of as the massive doors closed.
It was going to take at least ten minutes to pump an atmosphere into the bay, and Cato could “feel” nervousness and fear all around him as the boarding party was forced to wait. Governor Arrius couldn’t access emotions directly the way the empaths could, but he knew how he felt and made it a point to crack a few jokes.
Having made his way back from the control compartment, Captain Tracius offered Cato a small sphere. He was of average height and had a full head of white hair, which he kept military short. There were deep lines in his face, but his eyes sparkled with intelligence. The empath couldn’t “feel” any fear around him, just a sense of excitement. “Here,” the other man said with a grin, “check this out.”
“What is it?” Cato inquired as he examined what appeared to be a chromed ball.
“Squeeze it,” Tracius instructed. “You know how you can download a map of an Imperial city when you land at a spaceport? Well, the Vords thought of that, too, and they sent this to the commissioners seconds after we arrived. Section Leader Shani forced the pilot to make a copy.”
Cato gave the sphere a squeeze and was rewarded with an explosion of light motes which immediately coalesced into a 3-D cutaway image of the Annihilator. All of the most important spaces were clear to see, as were the corridors that connected them. And that included an area toward the stern that had to be the engineering section!
“Nice job, sir,” Cato said admiringly as he eyed the most direct path from the landing bay to the engineering section. “Let’s pass it around. I want everyone to memorize the route.”
Five minutes later, Tracius announced that the bay was pressurized, and the boarding party could depart. That was Cato’s signal to take charge again. “All right,” he said grimly. “Open the hatch. Let’s do this thing.”
There was a loud whirring noise as the hatch cycled open, stairs unfolded, and Cato stepped out into the cold, ozone-laced air. He had a vague impression of a huge space, rows of neatly parked aerospace fighters, and a vast expanse of metal decking as he began to run. The immediate objective was an open hatch located about five hundred feet away.
A number of Vord technicians had entered the bay by then. All of them were wearing bright orange suits and clearly on their way to perform various maintenance activities. There was a delegation of senior officers as well, probably sent down to greet the commissioners and escort them to the bridge. None of the Vords were armed, and they stared in openmouthed amazement as a column of Umans jogged past them headed for parts unknown.
While the Vords rushed to contact the bridge for instructions, Cato led the resistance fighters into a spacious lock and slapped a large button. Precious minutes came off the mission clock as they cycled through, but it seemed as if the Vords were still trying to sort things out because the only people waiting for them on the other side were two very surprised crewmen.
Cato knew he should probably shoot them, but they weren’t armed, and he couldn’t bring himself to kill them in cold blood. He took a right, then a left, and began the long run to the ship’s stern. Klaxons were beginning to sound by that time, orders could be heard pouring out of the PA system, and the first signs of organized resistance appeared up ahead.
When two crewmen stepped out of a side corridor and raised their energy weapons Cato didn’t hesitate. He fired two long bursts from the stubby submachine gun (SMG) the resistance fighters had given him and didn’t even pause as both of the Vords staggered and fell.
As with Uman vessels, all of the corridors were monitored by cameras, so Cato knew that the people on the bridge were watching by then and calling for reinforcements. That made it very important to keep the Vords off-balance and continue to move, lest they establish some sort of barricade. So he yelled, “Come on!” and waved the team forward as somebody fired on them from a darkened compartment, and a resistance fighter went down.
It was tempting to pause and try to give aid, but that was impossible given the importance of speed. So when a man tried to stop, Olivia was there to grab his elbow as Shani yelled, “Keep going!”
Meanwhile, Captain Tracius and his bodyguards were bringing up the rear. And, because of his
age, they were forced to slow down, thereby opening a gap between Cato’s group and the rear guard. Shani was in charge of the tail end of the column. She understood the danger and was quick to warn Cato. “This is Shani,” she said over the radio. “We can’t keep up. We’re falling behind.”
Cato didn’t want to slow down but had no choice since Captain Tracius and his team were critical to success. So he decreased his speed, and was busy wondering why the Vords hadn’t responded to the invasion more forcefully when energy bolts slagged four ventilator grills some thirty feet in front of him. A succession of armed security drones poured out of the overhead ducts. It seemed that some smart sonofabitch was making use of the ship’s air-distribution system as a speedy way to move the machines into position! All the drones had to do was pin the Umans down until reinforcements could arrive.
“Governor Arrius!” Cato shouted, as an energy beam cut one of the Umans down. “Take two men and make a run for the engineering section! If the hatch is open, figure out a way to keep it that way!”
Arrius gave a short jerky nod as a sizzling beam missed him by inches and left a black scorch mark on the bulkhead behind him. Then he and his escorts were off, firing as they ran, even as the robots tried to burn them down.
“Kill those drones!” Cato ordered as he put a sustained burst into one of the machines and had the satisfaction of seeing it blow up. But more drones were arriving, there was nowhere to hide, and the Umans were forced to retreat as three ruby red beams converged on Olivia Arrius. One hit her in the shoulder, one cut a leg out from under her, and the third spilled her brains onto the deck. She went down like a rag doll.
Bif screamed his rage. He was carrying a rotary three-barreled minigun. A belt of ammo was draped over his right shoulder, and his tombstone-shaped teeth were bared as he stopped retreating and began to advance.
The minigun roared, and a stream of empty casings arced away from it as Bif filled the air with bullets. A robot disappeared in a flash of light, followed by another, each explosion being accompanied by a loud boom.
Bones of Empire Page 28
