A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4

by Michael Kotcher

  She shook her head, handing over the device. “No, to give you this.”

  The bodyguard took the small box and examined it from various angles. “What is it?”

  “A lockbox,” Tamara replied. “That ship you’re going after is old. I remember it from back in the old days. And, it’s very old Federation technology, tech I happen to be familiar with.” Seeing the impatient look on the lupusan’s face, she hurried on. “Long story, tell you when you get back. Anyway, you won’t need to blast your way in. You get to an airlock or cargo hatch and that little baby will slice right through their access codes. It won’t access the mainframes, but it should open any door on that ship.”

  Ekaterina looked at first the device and then Tamara with new respect. “Thanks, Boss,” she said. She placed it in a pocket. “I’ll be sure it gets used.”

  “And here,” she said, presenting a data card to the wolf, “Is the best layout Magnus and I could mock up for you for that ship from my own memories and what we had on various databases. It won’t be fully accurate, but it should give you a general idea of where to go for the most critical and vulnerable areas.” Ekaterina nodded. “Good hunting,” Tamara said, patting her arm, awkwardly. Then she stepped back.

  Ekaterina yipped. “Boss, if I get back alive, then you, me, Chief Nymeria, the Serzhant and Nymeria’s sister need to go on a hunt. A proper hunt.”

  “You’d bring a lowly human, a prey animal, on a hunt with a bunch of scary predators?” Tamara demanded, aghast. “I mean, I’m flattered, really, but I don’t want to be someone’s dinner.”

  “Aw, come on, Boss,” she replied with a grin, flicking her ears. “It’d be fun.”

  “Get back here alive and I’ll consider it,” Tamara said, hardening her face, refusing to tear up.

  “Let’s go!” Marat shouted from the cockpit.

  “Gotta go, Boss,” she said. She gave a lazy salute and then jumped through the hatch, which slid shut behind her. Tamara watched as a moment later the shuttle lifted off and screamed out of the bay. Turning, she walked out of the hangar, bringing up her implants and accessing the station communications.

  Pulling off into a small alcove, she accessed her HUD and a window with the face of one of the Vision pilots appeared. “Pilot, this is Tamara Samair.”

  The human started. “Ma’am! Nothing to report. My flight and I are holding position near the tank farm above the mine.”

  “Good,” she replied. “I’m changing your tasking.”

  “Commander Korqath ordered us here,” the man said. “We’re supposed to guard the tank farm and the fuel.”

  “It’s important, yes, but I have a strike mission for you,” she told him. “And it’s vital to the security of the system.”

  “I understand,” the man said, straightening in his pilot’s couch. “What is it you want us to do?”

  She’d just finished with the instructions to the fighters when a call came in to her from Magnus. “Tamara, Tiyaana Moreetz is trying to contact you.”

  She pulled up her HUD, accessing the Operations Chief’s display up in the command center directly. “What is it, Tiyaana?”

  Tamara could see the other woman. She looked haggard. “Ma’am. The Angara. It’s gone.”

  Tamara blinked. “Gone? What?”

  “The cruisers have closed with the battlespace,” she explained, tears running down her cheeks. “The bigger one got close enough and caught Angara before she could get away. They just blasted her apart, Ma’am.”

  “Damn,” Tamara swore, leaning one hand against a bulkhead to steady herself. It wasn’t like it was a surprise, not really. The ships and crews had been built and recruited to fight and defend FP’s assets. There was always the hope that they wouldn’t die in the line of duty, but of course, it was always a remote possibility. And she was an old Navy hand. Death was expected in battle, especially when fighting a superior force like this one. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  “What’s the status of the battle?” she managed to ask.

  “Cavalier and Eridain are still together and they look as though they’re heading back our way.”

  “Probably to take advantage of the defensive cover from the turrets,” Tamara said.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Tiyaana nodded. “But those two light cruisers are racing along behind. They’re going to catch them just before they get in range of our defenses.”

  “Damn it.” Breaking into a run, Tamara headed back for the compartments for the missiles. They needed to get those birds ready and in the air, now. “I’m heading for the fabrication floor. Let them know I’m coming.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But what are we going to do? Those cruisers won’t be stopped by our fixed defenses. Not for very long anyway.”

  “No, not by themselves. We haven’t got long. Maybe half an hour before those ships get here. We’ve got to move.”

  Hukriss was laughing to himself. He’d cut his mic so that his hisses and war whoops wouldn’t disrupt the squadron channel. But now he was having the time of his life. This was better than the fight with the Leytonstone. He was dodging those weird but agile little egg-fighters, missiles, energy bolts, even clouds of metal (shrapnel and kinetic kill rounds). Everywhere there was danger and death, and the more he and the rest of the Aploras savaged the enemy (and oh my were they) the more of them there seemed to be. He was in his element.

  “I love this job!” he crowed, cutting a very tight turn around the blasted out remains of one of the pirate corvettes. His lasers peppered one of the last remaining gunboats, as it tried for an attack run on the Maitland. His shots didn’t do a hell of a lot of damage to the gunboat, but every little bit helped and it had the desired effect of getting the attacker to break off its attack on the FP ship.

  But then he saw it. After all the time waiting, there it was. He keyed his mic. “Lead, Hukriss. I got that big cruiser. It’s coming in. Vectoring for a shot on Maitland.”

  There was a slight delay as Korqath undoubtedly verified on his own display. “I see it. Do not engage, Hukriss. That thing is bristling with weapons. It’s a goliath blitzer. You get anywhere near that thing and it’ll rip you up.”

  “We took on the Leytonstone, Lead. This punk just thinks he’s meaner.” Hukriss was clacking his mouthparts wildly. This is so much fun!

  “Hukriss, I am giving you a direct order. Stay away from that ship.”

  “Lead,” the zheen said, jinking his fighter randomly, as a turbolaser blast just happen to fill the space his ship had just left. “Woo, little dicey out here.”

  “Hukriss! Break off! Now, szkiniizik! You’re straying into the heavy cruiser’s engagement zone!”

  Korqath was overreacting to the danger, but he was right about where Hukriss’s flight path was taking him. The space around him now was filled with point defense laser blasts, with the occasional heavier gun trying to shoot him down. These gun crews were pretty good, he was forced to admit that to himself. Of course, that made it only more challenging and worth the risk. But he had to admit to himself that his own Zlk’vzn didn’t have the punch to breach the cruiser’s shields, much less the hull, not even if he dumped his three remaining throat-rippers into it.

  He let out a long buzz of frustration. “Copy that, Lead. Disengaging.” Another series of random evasive moves, miraculously getting clear of the heavy cruiser without his fighter taking a single hit. He hummed and it was joyous.

  This truly was the best time in his whole life. Hukriss only hoped he’d live long enough so he could enjoy the spoils of it.

  Chapter 3

  This was going to be close, Ekaterina thought, as the shuttle continued to accelerate. The small ship was piling on as much accel as it could, which was overwhelming the inertial compensators. It was an uncomfortable feeling, suffering through ten gravities of acceleration. Sadly, this little ship was a cargo shuttle, meant for hauling goods, not an assault vehicle meant for landing troops on a hostile vessel. Ten gravities was the highest acceleration th
is ship could manage, with its rather weak inertial compensators, but it would suffice for their purposes.

  Only because we didn’t have anything else ready. When we get back, it’s going to be something I discuss with Samair. Ekaterina contented herself with such thoughts during the journey. The pilot knew his business, and was driving the ship with reckless speed and abandon, which suited her just fine. The faster they got there, the more time the strike team would have to get on board the transport and attempt to disable it. She squirmed slightly in her seat, trying to find a position that was more comfortable with what felt like a screech-rhino seated on her chest. There was nothing really new to think about during the trip. She and Marat were sending messages back and forth via their wireless implants, planning their entry and the actual strike. Samair’s schematic diagrams were up on their HUDs and they, along with the other security deputies, were discussing their possible areas of attack.

  [There are two areas we need to consider hitting.] Ekaterina was firm. [There are four large hangar bays, two on a side. We need to figure out a way to stop them there. Destroy a few of the shuttles maybe, cause some chaos.]

  [Could do that.] Even Marat’s text messages were laconic. [Set some charges there. But if we can trash the ship? Cut the power?]

  [Seems we need to do both.] One of the deputies, Hama, pointed out. [Can’t let the ship with all its troops get too close to the mine where they could just jump down. Can’t leave the shuttles intact where they could launch.]

  [There are only six of us.] Ekaterina texted with a frown. [It will be difficult enough to take out one of those objectives with this many effectives.]

  [Stop whining, Ekaterina.] Marat actually sounded irritable in his text, which was two amazing events delivered with only three words. [It will be difficult, but we can do this. We have to do this.]

  [Right. Hew, Konnair, you’ll be with me. We’ll go after disabling the ship.] The female bodyguard turned commando ordered.

  [Very well. That means Hama and Gaskon are with me.] Marat put in.

  Ekaterina smiled in her seat. [Guess you’ll actually have to talk this time, Marat.]

  Right on form, the male didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

  Ekaterina switched her HUD over to the shuttle’s forward sensor feed. There were ships far off to the right, flying around each other, shooting and dodging around one another. Thankfully, for the moment, they were several million kilometers away from the shuttle but of course they were heading into the fighting. The pilot was taking a curved route around the worst of the fighting to bring them up to where the transport was chugging along toward the gas giant. The transport itself wasn’t in the fighting; the FP ships were a ways away from that area of the battlespace. Even the fighters were more concerned with other targets. She frowned. That brought up a point.

  [I’m sure someone’s talked about it.] She wrote. [No one has told us how we’re supposed to get through the shields of that ship.]

  [Boss is taking care of it.] Marat replied. She glanced over at him, but he had his eyes closed. [I know you’re glaring at me, but I don’t know how. Samair said she’d take care of it and I believe her. I’m not really sure what we’re going to do if what she has planned doesn’t work.]

  Well, that certainly didn’t help, she thought to herself. She mentally started cataloguing what weapons and equipment they had aboard the shuttle that could possible breach the shields of the assault transport. I’m not sure we have anything powerful enough, short of us bailing out and then ramming the shuttle into the side of the ship at the highest rate of speed possible. Even that might not be enough to open a big enough hole. Though, enough mass with enough accel… Something as a last resort, I suppose.

  Her musings were cut short by an incoming communication. “One vision!” the voice screamed, the call coming through in the clear. Everyone in the system would hear that voice, eventually, but more importantly, someone had abandoned comms discipline.

  Korqath, you idiot. What are you doing now?

  “All right, form up,” Kalzee ordered his small flight. The four Vision fighters screamed away from their position near the tank farm, which was in very high orbit above the gas giant. Ms. Samair’s orders were clear: get around the fighting, don’t engage any of the enemy ships unless the flight was fired upon first and escort the shuttle to the assault transport. There were no other priorities. If these pilots saw another FP pilot or ship that was about to be destroyed and they could step in and save it, they were to ignore it and carry on with their mission. It went against the grain to have to follow that order, but Ms. Samair was adamant. That ship posed the greatest threat to the system and it could not be allowed to launch its troop shuttles. That meant that nothing else mattered but getting that strike team aboard.

  The flight zorched past the shuttle, following roughly the same course as it was to reach the transport. Kalzee didn’t have the greatest feeling about abandoning his post, protecting the tank farm, but the boss said move, so he was moving. But he knew that Ms. Samair was right, hitting that transport was a priority.

  He didn’t have a briefing about the ship they were going after. Ms. Samair had uploaded a small packet of data about the assault transport, but it wasn’t great news. It was a big, lumbering beast, but that was obvious from the satellite sensor feeds. It was essentially barracks for a huge number of soldiers, plus shuttle bays for dropping said soldiers into combat, be that in space or on a planet’s surface. It had military grade shields and decent armor, but only rail guns and point defense lasers for armament. The transport relied on the other ships in the fleet for protection, mainly, and luckily the bulk of those defenses were out dealing with the rest of the FP ships here. Which gave Kalzee and his flight a small window of opportunity to strike.

  “One minute to target, Kalzee,” Rokek called out over the channel.

  “Right,” Kalzee said, sitting more comfortably on his pilot’s couch. He was one of the newer additions to the Aplora squadron, but per Korqath’s preference, all of the pilots in that squadron were zheen and Kalzee was no exception. “Target the transport, we’re going to hit them on the port side. There’s a main hangar hatch, we’ll aim for that. Hopefully our salvo will do some damage on the hangar deck, maybe we can get some secondary explosions.”

  He pressed a control, linking his missiles to fire four at a time. The combat load out on the Zlk’vzn starfighter was twelve throat-ripper missiles and the pair of laser cannons on either side of the cockpit in the nose. With a quick change, Kalzee could fire off his entire missile load, throw twelve missiles at the transport in one go. Forty-eight missiles could do a lot of damage to the big ship, most likely could destroy it. But Ms. Samair had been adamant. She didn’t want the ship unable to function, or destroyed.

  Kalzee had mulled over that during the trip from the gas giant. Certainly destroying a ship full of pirate assault troopers could only be considered a good thing. But on further reflection, if the ship was damaged and screaming for help, the pirates might pull back from this attack, perhaps even flee rather than lose too many of their ships and personnel. He was still wiggling an antennae about that. He wasn’t sure if he entirely believed that would work. I mean, these were pirates, right? Pirates didn’t really care all that much about preserving life. The commanders of the pirate force might be upset over the loss of forces, if not the people.

  Of course, if he and his flight went too far, or if the strike team did too well and the transport was destroyed, there might be no check on the pirate’s rage. Verrikoth and his cruisers might burn down everything they could find out here, every piece of FP real estate, every Seylonique citizen.

  Hence this plan. “Coming into range,” Kalzee said, his thumb over the trigger. There came a chorus of acknowledgements from the rest of the flight. His HUD let up red and began emitting a solid tone, the targeting reticule locked on the center of the transport.

  “Missiles away!” he cried, depressing the trigger. Four missiles dropped
from the fuselage and rocketed forward. On his screen he saw twelve more weapons streaking ahead toward the transport.

  A second later, a voice chimed in over the communications channel, in the clear. “One vision!” the voice yelled. It was Leader Korqath, but what the hell was he doing?

  “Strike flight, break off,” Kalzee ordered. “Stay on station, but keep out of the transport’s engagement range.” He watched as the missiles came under fire from the transport’s point defense.

  Typhon checked his displays, nearly salivating in anticipation. Illuyanka was nearly in range of that annoying pair of local corvettes, two of the ships that had blasted apart his own vessels. He gave the commanders and the gunners of those ships credit, though. He hadn’t been this fired up over an engagement in years. The rush of combat, feeling his ship’s engines firing, seeing space flying past for more than just a transit or an exercise. It was intoxicating and something he’d never stopped craving. It was that same rush, that same feeling that had brought him to join the Federation military in the first place. It got him into the Grenadiers, then through the war, through the ranks until he finally was in command of the Grenadiers and his small squadron. The war ended, the Federation closed its borders and pulled its forces back to protect the Core Worlds. There wasn’t as much room or need for warriors like his wolves.

  But now he was on the hunt. He was actively on the hunt again. It felt so good! Ten more seconds…

  “General!” the tactical officer called.

  He whipped around to glare at the wolf in the tactical station. “What is it?” he snarled.

  But the communications officer beat the tactical officer to it. “Incoming transmission in the clear, sir.”

  He pressed a control, and a voice came over the speakers. “One vision!” the voice cried.

  Typhon frowned. “What the hell is that?”

  The tactical officer broke in. “General, four of the local fighters have maneuvered around the main battlespace and are launching a strike on HT-626.”