“Looks empty,” she heard one voice say.
“Open up six,” the same voice who reported the force field as being up called down the hallway to the man at the control station.
The force field came down for a moment, and a man dressed in Terran Gael Force black combat fatigues, holding an automatic plasma rifle stepped into the room. His black battle helmet was only about a foot underneath of where Beauregard was pinned up against the ceiling. She was just about to spring into action when the TGF soldier knelt down, checked under the bunk, and then turned as he rose and strode out of the cell.
“Empty,” he said to one of his fellows.
Beauregard allowed herself to start breathing again, although she did it in controlled quiet breaths. What in the world was going on? Why were TGF forces on board the ship of Anastasia Petrova and why did they seem to be attacking the crew? She pushed these questions out of her mind as she allowed herself to drop nimbly back to the floor of her cell. She chanced a quick look outside the corridor of the cell block and she saw it was empty. Fortune smiled on her again. The TGF had not only done her the courtesy of opening her cell door and missing that she was in it, but they had apparently also completely removed her captors and themselves.
Before she could leave her cell though, the Grey Vistula gave a sudden shake and then lurched, sending Beauregard falling onto the bunk. She felt the ship’s course stabilize as the inertial dampeners kicked in. There was no hum of engines however. Every ship had a background hum of the engines that drove it, but the Grey Vistula was completely silent. It was being towed, she realized. She needed to find out what was going on.
Moving quickly down the cell block, she found a weapon that had previously belonged to one of her jailers and she picked it up, putting it into the pocket of her black pilot’s jumpsuit. At the end of the corridor, there was a security substation and the only egress from the cells behind it. The door was currently open. Settling into the chair at the substation, she punched a few commands into the computer and the door behind her slammed shut and locked.
Feeling a lot less exposed, she started typing new commands into the computer. Annoyingly, the computer did not have access to the main bridge, engineering or log functions, but it was wired into the ship’s onboard Nucleus, so she spent about ten minutes hacking her way into the Grey Vistula’s other functions. It would have been faster, but apparently someone had tried to put a lockout on the main computer. It was hastily done, but it still took Beauregard a few minutes to circumvent.
What she learned answered a few questions, but raised many more. The Grey Vistula was currently empty of lifeforms, save for herself, and it was being towed by a TGF vessel in the direction of Barnard’s VI. She also discovered that the cell bays were shielded from sensors, which explained why she was not found in the sensor sweep the TGF vessel almost certainly did before boarding the Grey Vistula. Apparently, Petrova valued keeping her prisoners private. That made sense, Beauregard supposed. You never know when some crazy maniac, like Matthew Jennings for instance, might try to break into your ship to rescue someone you have captured.
Things became murkier from there. The Grey Vistula had set down on an asteroid where Michelle Williams was supposedly taken by Captain Matthew Jennings, and Petrova had ordered her men into the mines where Jennings and the girl were hiding. Sensor logs showed the arrival of a TGF runabout, which did not surprise her. Petrova might have sold the location of the girl to the Gael and then had tried to capture Williams herself in order to squeeze a few more dollars out of them. What surprised her was the next turn of events though. The TGF forces had suddenly stormed the Grey Vistula and had arrested everyone on board. Then they had decided to tow the ship away and left the system. They would only leave the asteroid if Williams was in custody, but the arresting of all of Petrova’s men made little sense to her.
There was no one around to ask questions of though, so she put those thoughts out of her mind for the time being and started focusing on the Grey Vistula’s communication system. Sending a direct missive would have been tantamount to attempting to simply commandeer the vessel and escape, being foolhardy and certain to end up in her death. (Not that she had not originally considered it, but based on the Grey Vistula’s speed, shielding and weapons compared to the runabout that was towing her, she would not have stood a chance.) Instead, she kept a close eye on the transmissions going from the runabout to the main TGF carrier. Every fifteen minutes, the runabout spent approximately three minutes on the horn with the carrier, updating position and logs for safe keeping. She loved TGF precision. All she would need to do was wait for the next transmission, piggy back off its signal, and she could get a message through. She typed in a series of commands and waited for the next transmission to begin before she executed them.
After spending about one minute on security challenges, the face of Major Geoff Paulsen appeared on the screen. “Selena?” he barked out in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you ever again.”
There was a note of threat in the last part of his sentence, but she ignored it and said, “I’ve got less than two minutes, so listen fast. The TGF has Michelle Williams.”
Paulsen gritted his ugly teeth and muttered, “Damn.”
“But I can tell you where they’re going,” she said.
“Probably some impregnable military installation,” he muttered.
“A single TGF carrier,” she said. “You would have to move quickly, but if you truly want her dead, it may still be an accomplishable task.”
Paulsen seemed to consider this for a moment. “Where is this ship?” he demanded.
“You’ve yet to ask my price,” she pointed out.
“I would think that this piece of information would go a long way to earning the forgiveness of the Resistance,” he pointed out. “We’re not generally understanding when our contract employees bungle an operation so badly. Some may have even been known to disappear.”
“Save the threat,” she spat. “I’ll be dead pretty soon in all likelihood anyway without some help, so here’s the price. I tell you which ship she’ll be on. You send a rescue party for me.” She glanced at the clock counting down on the computer and then added, “I’ll contact you again in twelve minutes for your answer.” She then signed off without giving him a chance to respond.
Thirteen minutes later, she was reconnected with Paulsen who looked as excited as the normally calm Englishman could be. “You have a deal,” he said immediately. “Your location and the location of the girl?”
“She’s in a TGF runabout being taken to the TGF Intrepid, currently in orbit around Barnard’s VI,” she answered. “I’m in a commercial vessel being towed behind it at the moment.”
“How long until you reach Barnard’s VI?” he asked.
“A few more hours,” she said.
“I’ll do what I can to get you out of there,” he said. “But if they get you aboard the carrier before my strike force can get there…”
“Once your attack begins, I will steal this ship, a shuttle, a life pod, something, anything,” she said. “You’ll just need to cover my escape if I’m in a ship or pick me up if I’m in a pod.”
“Very well,” Paulsen said. “I’m sending you a coded communication channel to use to communicate with the Resistance strike fleet should you need it. I will pass along orders that you are to be aided in every way possible.”
“Very good,” she responded as she signed off and then leaned back in the chair. “Very good.”
2
A few hours later, Beauregard was starting to feel anticipation creep up in her. They had dropped out of light speed and were approaching Barnard’s VI. Sometime soon, she hoped, the Resistance would be launching an assault on the TGF Intrepid, and she was running through possible scenarios in her mind. The easiest solution was to wait aboard the Grey Vistula until the shooting started and then make her way out of the Intrepid’s hangar. If for some reason, they decided to search the vessel, she planned
several avenues of escape. From there, once the shooting started, she could easily steal a fighter, a shuttle, or an escape pod.
Her planning was interrupted by a flashing light displaying an airlock opening. “What the hell?” she muttered to herself as she called up the internal sensors. Sure enough, there was one life sign in the corridor on the command deck. It couldn’t be a rescue attempt from the Resistance. They would not take a chance revealing themselves before starting the battle. She took a look at her external sensors and was still reading no vessels, but even as she stared at it, she noticed that a small sliver of the Grey Vistula itself had disappeared from its sensors.
Some kind of cloaking device? That was the only explanation. She looked back at the internal sensors and saw that the one other person onboard the ship was headed down the lift now, headed for the bays. That person’s presence aboard the Grey Vistula was already risking being noticed by the TGF if they decided to scan for lifesigns, so she did not think anything of pulling the pistol out of her pocket and leaving the shielded cell block.
Rather than taking the lift, she found a ladder well and slid down the rungs until she arrived at the bottom of the ship where the cargo and hangar bays were. Emerging from the ladder well, she saw that the hangar bay doors were open and another ship was coming through. Some of Petrova’s people, trying to mount a strange rescue operation, she wondered to herself.
Not wanting to take any chances, she used the noise of the arriving ship to cover her movements and snuck up behind the man who was standing at the bay’s control system. As soon as the ship had landed and the bay doors were closed, Beauregard placed her plasma pistol into his back and told him not to move.
Chapter 27
1
“What do you suppose all that was about not wanting any evidence?” Vosler asked in a forced calm tone.
Anastasia Petrova had been pacing about their tiny cell for several hours, ranting about the unfairness of it, cursing in Russian, ranting some more, plotting her revenge and more than once trodding on Vosler’s feet. On the latter front, she either did not notice or did not care to apologize. After being wounded by Captain Jennings, Vosler had decided that it was best to sit and rest in their cell as there was nothing they could do about their present situation anyway. He found that less taxing than attempting to engage his boss on any of her diatribes, but as this had been going on for hours, he finally had felt obligated to say something that might lead to something more productive than curses and threats.
“Vhat did you say?” Petrova demanded, her accent as always thicker when she was upset.
“When they dragged us away and took the Grey Vistula,” Vosler began. “The Gael said something about wanting to get rid of all the evidence.”
“The evidence of vhat?” Petrova demanded.
“That is my question,” Vosler said. “It seems a little extreme to arrest and… dispose of everyone involved in a simple terrorism case,” he pointed out. “None of us had anything to do with her crimes, and none of us care about what the Resistance is doing. Plus, we’ve captured dozens of Resistance fugitives for the Gael. Now, all of a sudden, we’re no longer useful… We suddenly know too much.”
“I don’t see how they can think that,” Petrova said with a sigh as she collapsed into a seated position on the bunk next to Vosler. “Ve don’t know much of anything apparently.”
“Bastard Gael,” Vosler spat angrily. “Can’t even have a civil business relationship with them based on mutual interest and loathing?”
Petrova laughed quietly. She allowed silence to develop between the two of them for a few minutes before she asked a question she already knew the answer to. “They are going to kill us, aren’t they?”
“Probably,” Vosler answered. “We’re of no use to them and clearly whatever they want that girl for is a lot more important than any of our lives.”
“Vhat could she be that you vould kill everyone that knows of her just to keep the secret?” she wondered.
Vosler shook his head and shrugged. “Whatever they want her for, she’s going to be at the forefront of the Gael’s mind, no matter what,” he pointed out. “Whatever they want her for, it has to be huge.”
“So?” she demanded.
“So,” Vosler responded. “There may come an opportunity for us to slip out of this little trap we find ourselves in at the moment. If that opportunity presents itself, not only should we take it, but I think we should get the girl out as well.”
“Vhy vould ve…?” Petrova began.
Vosler cut her off with a wave of his hand. “If the Gael are so focused on the girl…”
“They’ll be so busy chasing her that they won’t even bother looking for us,” Petrova finished excitedly, before her expression soured again. “A fine theory, but ve have to be given an opportunity to escape,” she pointed out.
“We will be,” Vosler said confidently. “There’s always a moment for every prisoner. It might be nothing short of running when they go to shoot you and hoping that they miss, but there’s a moment.”
“Not much of a moment,” Petrova comment.
“Worked for me once before,” Vosler said quietly, remembering a time that he had escaped from the Gael during the war. They had executed three of his squad members in front of him, and he had just taken off at a run. The Gael had fired at him and missed. They chased him, but he had eluded. After that moment of reflection, he added, “Besides, I have a feeling that Captain Jennings might just give us the opportunity that we need.”
“Don’t speak to me of that annoying man,” Petrova responded angrily. “Besides, he’s almost certainly dead.”
“Didn’t we have a talk about not underestimating him?” Vosler reminded her. “If he’s alive, he’s coming after the girl.”
“Vhat makes you say that?” she demanded.
Vosler thought to the effort that Jennings had expended in keeping Michelle Williams and then the suicidally reckless manner in which he had almost succeeded in he re-capturing her from them. One did not do so in pursuit of a mark. It made no business sense for one. But more importantly, Matthew Jennings was a man of honor. Men of honor allowed criminals to be taken to the authorities even if it meant them loosing out on the bounty. No, Jennings must believe Michelle Williams to be innocent, and it would be a stain on his honor if he allowed her to be captured when he knew that it was unjust.
Vosler did not express any of this to Petrova. As much as he liked his boss, it was something she would just not understand. “Call it a hunch,” he said at last.
2
Salvador Rocca had spent the better part of an hour being yelled at by Vesper Santelli. He knew that it was not going to be a pleasant conversation going into the communication, and he correctly guessed that it would be worse when Santelli answered the comm in his bedroom with a half-naked twenty-something standing around in the background. If she was fully naked, Santelli might have been in a better mood and less annoyed at being interrupted with bad news.
“What do I pay you again for, Rocca?” Santelli demanded, the veins in his neck and forehead throbbing.
Rocca was too savvy to answer the question directly, but also smart enough to know that he could not keep his mouth shut. “My job is to bring you Jennings,” Rocca said. “That job has not changed nor has it been abandoned. The process is just taking a little longer than expected.”
“Don’t attempt to smear bullshit over your mistakes, Rocca!” Santelli roared.
“Of course not, sir,” he responded calmly. “This is merely a delay, not a failure. We will continue to hunt Jennings down, capture him and bring him to you to be killed if that is what you still want.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I want that?” Santelli spat.
“No reason,” Rocca replied. “But I find myself liking Captain Jennings the more I learn about him.”
“Are you forgetting that Jennings crossed me and destroyed my property?” he demanded.
“Not at all. But how many
smugglers do we employ that could have gotten away from twelve larger, more heavily armed and armored ships?” Rocca asked. “How many shipments are lost each year to our captains and contractors being forced to drop their goods and run before they get boarded? Perhaps someone with the natural inventiveness of Jennings could help reduce those numbers.”
Santelli dismissed this observation with a wave of a hand. “Even if I were inclined to let his transgression pass, when the word gets out that not only have I let Matthew Jennings live but that I also have him in my employ, my enemies will declare it open season on us,” he said.
“Very well,” Rocca said quietly.
Santelli stared at Rocca, his eyes narrowed like they were trying to drill down into Rocca’s words. “Salvador,” he said at last. “Why are you so keen on Captain Jennings all of a sudden?”
Rocca allowed himself a slight smile. “I like his style,” he replied. “And there is that other outstanding matter? The one that has yet to be resolved.”
“Yes,” Santelli allowed at last, musing on Rocca’s implied suggestion. After a moment, he said, “Just bring me Jennings, Salvador. No more mistakes!” he thundered as he stood up and walked away from the communications console.
He did not disconnect the line, and Rocca was unfortunately able to see a few minutes of Santelli taking out some of his anger in a rather aggressive posture of love-making to the woman in the room before he could cut out the comm line. Rocca left his quarters and made his way back to the lift that would take him to the bridge. He had no idea how the next few hours would play out, but he was fairly certain that they would be interesting.
3
Commodore Noichi Akira’s dispassionate and severe face studied the information sent to him from Major Geoff Paulsen in the Midway Resistance cell with utterly pure concentration, desperate to not miss any details. His dark eyes scanned every line of the file, his hands subconsciously going to his slicked back black hair to make sure none were out of place.
111 Souls (Infinite Universe) Page 27
