Prisoners of Darkness (Galaxy's Edge Book 6)

by Jason Anspach

  Then blaster fire.

  And more blaster fire.

  “It seems things might be going spiral,” Jory whispered.

  “This is why we needed a plan first, Captain Desaix,” lectured the admin LT.

  The rear doors to the sled were flung open, and Rocokizzi appeared. “Casso’s creating a diversion,” he said breathlessly over his armor’s amplified voice system. “He says for us to move out to the ship.”

  Desaix led the others out into the orange-lit maintenance pool. Vehicles, ranging from HK-SW mechs to light sleds and heavily armored fighting vehicles the likes of which Desaix had never seen in the Republic’s arsenal, waited in various bays. A dead shock trooper and two dead techs in gray coveralls were sprawled on the ground nearby.

  Suddenly the base klaxons whined to life. Out beyond the massive overhang of the concrete bunker that was the maintenance pool, searchlights cut the blue twilight.

  “She’s over there, sir,” said Jory, pointing toward the forward command section of a hammerhead corvette that rose up above a few bunkers off to the southwest.

  “I’ll take point,” said Rocokizzi.

  The whine of distant blaster fire sounded beneath the wail of the klaxons. Hopefully it was Casso’s.

  They hustled through the darkness, avoiding the brightly illuminated areas, waiting as white-hot searchlights swept the streets and dark alleys created by stacks of military supplies still encased in their shipping pallets and nano-wraps. Shock troopers were starting to assemble into teams, and at one point the escape team had to crouch behind a folded HK-SW and wait as a patrol swept an adjoining street. In the distance, an explosion lit the night.

  At last they reached the landing area. On the wide pad a hammerhead corvette waited, her hatches and cargo doors thrown open in standard disembarkation configuration.

  More blaster fire sounded in the distance.

  “Can you raise him on your bucket?” asked Desaix as he scanned the landing pad. The maintenance teams seemed unbothered by the chaos and continued to go about their work in and around the corvette. The massive cargo holds were brightly lit and empty.

  “Negative,” Jory replied. “We can listen in on the traffic though. They’re still not sure what’s going on. They think it’s an attack out along the perimeter. A raid even. One of their AIs is estimating a platoon-sized element inside the perimeter. They have no idea it’s just one guy.”

  “Good,” whispered Desaix. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

  He turned to the admin specialist. “Lieutenant Nadoori…” he began. The look on her face, even among the dark shadows of their hiding place, indicated the complete surprise he was sure everyone else shared. “You’re going to walk out there,” he said, “board that ship through that forward cargo door, and enter the loadmaster’s office just off the main access passage. Do you know where that is?”

  She nodded. Her face still betrayed her shock. Her mouth was already forming some kind of protest when Desaix continued.

  “Once you’re aboard I need you to use the special systems and personnel override all you admin types have and access the forward gear maintenance tube. Open that and stand by for my next move.”

  “Ummm… how am I supposed to get out there without being identified and blasted?” That was Nadoori’s opening protest. There seemed to be more coming, but Desaix cut her off with a hand and turned to Rocokizzi.

  “She’s your prisoner. You’ll engage with the maintenance teams via audible; I assume they’re not on the internal shock trooper comm these guys use, if it’s anything like the Legion’s L-comm.”

  “Why am I taking her aboard?” Rocokizzi asked.

  “Because she’s flipped, and she’s unlocking some weapon codes each corvette carries.”

  Rocokizzi shrugged, indicating this worked fine enough for him.

  Nadoori, on the other hand…

  But Desaix ignored her.

  “Once you’ve got the forward gear maintenance tube open, we’ll cross the pad over there where it’s darkest, and climb up inside. That takes us up three decks to the bridge, and I’ll have total control of the ship once we reach it. Jory, I need you to run sensors and comm.”

  Jory gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “Squiddy…” Desaix turned to the cute little Raptor pilot. “Atumna. Can you fly my ship?”

  Without a pause the Tennar gave him that smoky come-hither look once more and said, “I can fly… anything, Captain.”

  “Good,” said Desaix. He smiled. He liked her a lot. “I’ll get the engines booted up. Roco… you can slave the guns. We’re airborne in two minutes. I’ll get calc started for a low orbit jump. It’ll be dangerous, but I have no idea where those battleships are. If you can get us to the jump window, Atumna, then we’re outta here. Can do, everyone?”

  Everyone nodded or murmured their assent. Even Nadoori, who looked just sick about it. But in the end, she squared her shoulders and looked at the gunner’s mate. He nodded, and they rose from behind their hiding place and marched out of the darkness and into the landing lights of the waiting corvette.

  ***

  “We got boot!” shouted Atumna from the flight deck. She’d already slid into the pilot’s chair, and her tentacles wer swimming across the controls, deftly flicking switches. If she seemed at any kind of loss as she prepared to fly a starship larger than anything she’d ever been trained to fly, it didn’t show as she ran through pre-flight.

  The admin LT and Rocokizzi had made the cargo deck even more easily than anticipated. They’d simply bypassed a maintenance team that was setting up to decon, and there’d been no need for interaction. A few minutes later a hatch had popped open near the forward main landing gear beneath the ship’s wide hammerhead, and that was when the rest of them moved out to board.

  It was a long climb past the lower two decks. Captain Thales had insisted he could make the climb on his own, and he’d gone last, stopping at each deck to rest. By the time he made it to the flight deck the engines were cycling up to takeoff power.

  “I’m sending an admin message over the local maintenance net, which those teams down there should be plugged into,” said Nadoori over the comm net she’d established just for them. “Telling them to clear out while the flight crew runs some tests. Don’t know if they’ll buy it… but let’s see.”

  Desaix was already back in jump calc, attempting to run the solution from the ship’s dedicated nav computer. Of all the things he liked about being a starfarer, jump calc was his least favorite. He’d had to cheat his way through jump calc at the academy just to graduate as a deck officer.

  Halfway through the calc he got a message from the Tennar.

  “Sir, we got company. Shock troopers are staging around the pad. Sixty seconds to gear up!”

  Desaix ignored this and muttered out the last formula inputs. What he wouldn’t give for a nav bot right now. But there wasn’t one, so he continued on, desperately hoping he wasn’t about to send them into a star or an asteroid field.

  They were making for Bantaar Reef. If that had fallen into enemy hands, then it was all over.

  And then there was Casso.

  The legionnaire was buying them time out there, but with the landing pad surrounded there was no way Corporal Casso was getting aboard. There was a part of Desaix that wanted to save everyone, wanted to be the hero that way, and so far, things had gone far better than expected… but there was another part of him that recognized the reality of their narrow escape window—and the thin thread from which hung the lives of everyone else on this escape team.

  It was looking like they would have to leave Corporal Casso behind.

  As if on cue, Desaix got a comm from Jory.

  “Captain,” said Jory, “just got a message from Casso on my bucket because the guys we took the armor from were in the same squad, so we can message back and forth. Didn’t realize that until now. He says he’s on the west wall. Held up in a watchtower. If we can pull him off the roof he think
s that might be nice.”

  Starships were not dropships. That level of finesse was pro. Even for the best heavy starship pilot Desaix knew.

  “Can do,” said the Tennar over the comm.

  Desaix reviewed the calc one more time and hit enter. A moment later the jump window appeared in the nav computer’s readout.

  “Of course she can,” he muttered. And then felt better because he’d been about to leave the brave legionnaire who’d saved them behind. He was glad he wouldn’t have to live with the guy who did that for the rest of his life.

  “Problem, Captain Desaix,” came Nadoori over comm.

  “Go ahead,” said Desaix as he left navigation and headed back to the bridge.

  “Maintenance crews have cleared the ship, but I’m still tracking one tech in engineering. If whoever that is is on to us, I’m pretty sure they can shut us down from there.”

  “I’ll handle him,” muttered Rocokizzi over the comm.

  “Negative,” said Desaix. “Once we’re gear up, those troopers on the ground will be ordered to fire. If they take out the repulsors we’re done. I’ll need you to keep their heads down with the PDCs. Roger?”

  “Copy that,” replied Rocokizzi emotionlessly.

  “I’ll handle engineering,” said Desaix. He reversed course along the main access through the ship, feeling the gentle vibration of the ship’s repulsors through his boots as the Tennar brought them in to max power.

  “Go for gear up,” she practically whooped over the comm. “Stand by to pull that leej off the tower. Tell him I’ll bring the portside cargo hatch in as close as possible, but he’ll likely have to jump a little.”

  But Desaix was already running for engineering, thinking of the myriad ways this whole thing could end badly in the next two minutes.

  ***

  He found the big galoot sabotaging the main power control station. All the guy needed to do was pull three reactor cards, and the ship wouldn’t be able to talk itself into light speed.

  He already had two out and on the deck, and he was bent over and searching for the third one to pull when Desaix hit him hard across the back of the head with a hydrospanner.

  In hindsight, Desaix realized two things.

  One, he should have just shot the guy from behind with his blaster no matter how cowardly and wrong that seemed.

  And two… the guy was big enough to be a legionnaire. What the heck was he doing as a maintenance tech?

  Desaix pulled his blaster, but the large well-built man batted it away with a quick swipe that felt like a hammer blow, then followed with a devastating right straight into Desaix’s pretty face.

  Desaix sat down hard on the deck, distantly listening to his blaster go skittering off somewhere into engineering.

  The looming giant above him smiled, hands up and ready to box. Daring Desaix to do something about the outcome.

  “Casso says get closer! He’s not a bird!” said Jory over comm.

  Desaix could feel the shifting frequency of the repulsors through the deck. He knew the ship was adjusting to edge in closer to the watchtower Casso was pinned down in.

  He tried to get to his feet, but the big man kicked him hard, sending him rolling across the deck. He heard Rocokizzi calling out targets as he fired the ship’s PDCs at the shock troopers below. Shock troopers who were no doubt firing to disable the corvette.

  Most people didn’t know how vulnerable the repulsors on a hammerhead corvette were. Desaix did, because he’d captained those ships.

  Now the big man grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him upward. Desaix slithered out of the jacket, spun, and kicked the giant in the nuts.

  “That’s as close as I can get!” yelled the Tennar over the comm.

  Why is she yelling, thought Desaix as the big giant savaged him with a right cross and then slapped him in the side of the head with a beefy left.

  Bells banged together and Desaix’s ears started to ring. The roguish corvette captain had been in enough bar fights to know that slapping an ear was a great way to knock someone’s inner equilibrium offline and make sure they stayed down.

  “He’s in!” whooped Jory over the comm.

  Get up and stay up, Desaix ordered himself as engineering tried to fall over on its side.

  “We’re out of here! Closing all hatches,” shouted the Tennar once more. “Heading for the jump window. Throttle up!”

  Please stop shouting.

  Desaix smashed his head into the giant’s nose. That dazed the man, and the captain followed this up by smashing his elbow into the giant wide nose once more. The man involuntarily reached for his face. Desaix danced back, stepped on something, and lost his balance. Then he was sprawled on the deck again.

  The tech got to his feet, holding the heavy hyrdrospanner Desaix had initially tried to brain him with. There was no doubt in Desaix’s mind that the giant was going to cave in the side of his skull with it. The big man lumbered forward, looking sure of his victory.

  “Captain…” said someone over the comm.

  Desaix’s eyes fell on the blaster. That’s what he’d stepped on. That’s what had caused him to lose his balance. That and the slow, sickening spin of his surroundings.

  “Captain, we’re approaching jump… All good down there? Got a warning light on jump calc.”

  Of course you do, thought Desaix as he reached for the blaster. This monster’s pulled the power cards. Not only will we not be able to jump, we’ll fry the nav comp attempting to do so. Then we’ll never get out of here, and those battleships, if they’re still there, will shoot us to pieces.

  He brought the blaster to bear and pulled the trigger repeatedly, hoping one of the shots would hole the giant about to kill him.

  “Interceptors inbound. Turret’s engaging,” said Rocokizzi, all business over the comm.

  At least he wasn’t shouting. Desaix’s head was still ringing, and the blaster fire echoed in his ears.

  The giant slumped to the deck, and Desaix forced himself to crawl to the reactor cards.

  “Jump window in thirty seconds. Need that status light to go green. Captain, are you on that?”

  On that, Desaix thought as he fumbled to pick up the two cards. He inspected the flat, clear memory sheets. Then he stared into the iridescent green-lit darkness beyond the access panel to power control. Rows upon rows of similar cards waited.

  “Fifteen seconds…” said the Tennar.

  Desaix spotted an open slot. He had no idea which card went with which slot. He stuck one in, and the slot accepted it.

  Maybe that meant it was the right one.

  There was no time for it to be anything else.

  “Five seconds to jump.”

  He saw, in his mind’s eye, the Tennar reaching forward for the jump throttle.

  He found the other slot and slid the other card in. Hoping he’d gotten everything right.

  “Green light. Engaging for jump.”

  And a moment later they were in hyperspace.

  10

  Victory Squad

  Deep Space Survival Outpost Tully 3

  Chhun pumped out picturesque chin-ups one after another until his arms and shoulders felt dead. Until they screamed that they had absolutely nothing left to give. Apart from his bucket, Chhun was in full kit. His thighs ached from the weight of the ration crate he straddled to add weight to every repetition.

  Deep space survival stations were emergency waypoints stationed throughout the galaxy. They were meant to serve as beacons for life pods to home in to, stocked with the imperishable foods and water reclamation and purification systems needed for survival until a rescue could come. The stations and their supplies were spartan, nothing flashy. Nothing to draw the attention of pirates or raiders. The rations were mere tasteless food packs that appealed to no one except those in danger of starvation.

  Which is to say, it wasn’t the sort of place that came equipped with a full gym suite. Further, to save energy, the station didn’t even maintain gravity
at all times—it alternated between gravity and zero-gee every four hours. So when the gravity was on, the team pushed themselves, making do with what they had.

  Bear had wedged an unused piece of conduit between sliding pneumatic doors—that bit of conduit was what now served as Chhun’s pull-up bar. Masters counted off sit-ups as Fish held a foot against the legionnaire’s chest, increasing the resistance and making each repetition a test of endurance. Similarly, every push-up was with a man sitting on your back. A leej at rest or recovery always played drill instructor for another, ready to push the man in front of him violently down onto the deck if he hesitated while performing burpees while in full armor, or slowed down after the five hundredth jump squat.

  They were a man short with Sticks still in recovery aboard Intrepid. They were down two if you counted Wraith’s departure. Chhun had thought about that for quite a while. Replaying that closing scene over and over again in his mind. Second-guessing his own behavior, thinking up alternate paths of dialogue that, somehow, might have resulted in Captain Ford staying with the team. They could use his help.

  And, Chhun thought between grunts as he reached down to pull himself above the bar, he needs us.

  Victory Squad had been on this station for two weeks. It would be two more weeks before another armored shuttle was scheduled to make the trip to Herbeer. Commander Keller had made use of his network of Legion-friendly admirals and captains to get a pair of Republic marine pilots he could trust assigned to the trip. The House of Reason—via Nether Ops—would likely be watching him.

  Keller had strongly protested the House’s decision to make a scapegoat of Major Owens, but at least made a show of acquiescing to it. It was obvious to Chhun that there was no way Keller would let it stand. It should have been obvious to the House of Reason, too. But maybe not. Maybe the act of letting someone else hang to cover your career seemed like the most natural and obvious thing to them. That was their culture. Protecting rears and careers, no concern for lives ruined so long as it wasn’t your own.