by Ryan Krauter
Web surfed around and found the directory; the safe's lockout was right where Two-Swords had said it would be. Web then turned to the captain.
"It's all yours," he said, looking in the man's face for some sort of sign. Was he supposed to go through with it? The man had given him no guidance, but since he'd obligingly told him how to get into the system, he assumed the man wanted Web to open the safe for starters.
"Once it's open," Two-Swords said slowly while looking right at Web, "it won't matter what happens to us. Things will change."
"So dramatic," the Trin said as he waited for Two-Swords to walk over to the console and input the combination. The door clicked and popped open a crack, and the pirate grabbed the captain and pulled him away from the spot on the deck, letting the man fall to the ground. The Trin got down on one knee and pulled the door open, peering inside.
Contrary to what the pirate thought, Web realized the captain wasn't being dramatic. As best as he could figure, the captain was telling Web that once the pirate saw what was in the safe, all bets were off. There was no need to worry about playing the game; they'd have to take matters into their own hands.
Web took the opportunity to strike. The pirate watching him made it too easy, and he knew he'd catch hell from Halley for taking advantage of such easy prey, but as they said: in a fight, the only rule is that there are no rules.
The man was standing just a step behind Web, peering over his shoulder to see the screen. Web took the opportunity to ram his left elbow back into the man's throat as hard as he could, and he immediately knew it was a successful attack. The human's physiology was the same as Web's, so he knew exactly what was happening. The man's carotid sinus was shocked by the blow, and in addition to interrupting blood flow the confused baroreceptors told the brain to have the heart drastically reduce blood flow and pressure. Combine that with the collapsed windpipe and the man was on the floor without a fight.
Without missing a beat, Web spun as the pirate fell to the floor. The Trin pirate just a few steps away was in the process of standing up and trying to bring his weapon to bear, and Web pivoted his hips slightly and delivered a roundhouse kick with his right foot. The toe of his boot tagged the man on his jaw, and he managed to spin in place as he fell to the deck. Web was on him in an instant, but the fight was over. He'd only be out for a minute, so Web had to work fast to secure the room.
"Get something to tie and gag these two," he commanded the captain. Two-Swords pointed somewhat nervously to the first pirate that Web had dealt with, who had stopped thrashing around. Web knew what that most likely meant. "Okay, then, we'll just tie and gag this guy here. Hurry."
Two-Swords hurried as best he could, but Web could see the man was on the edge of shock. It was a sad commentary about the life he was living that Web had built up a tolerance for what he'd just had to do, but he'd worry about his eternal soul once he was no longer in danger of death himself.
As he tucked the fallen man's scarred blaster into his back waistband, Web quickly checked the first pirate and confirmed he was dead while the captain worked on securing the Trin. He didn't want to wait for the captain to try and spin what he might see in the safe, so he just went ahead and looked. Inside were a few data pads and even some low-tech bound notepads. Web gathered them up and gave them a quick once-over. It seemed that every data pad had a corresponding notebook. It also seemed, Web noted with increasing displeasure, that the data pads matched the port-of-call on the ship's itinerary and showed what was supposed to be transferred in the way of cargo, while the matching notebooks indicated other items and data that was to be passed on or received.
Web stood up holding the materials in his hands to see Two-Swords nervously holding the Trin pirate's handgun. It wasn't pointed at him, but it wasn't hanging loosely at the captain's side, either.
"It appears we have a situation," Web said in a low voice.
"We don't need to," the captain said almost pleadingly, "Just give me a minute to explain."
Halley made her approach to the First Officer much the same way Web had done so with the captain. The young Drisk FO, Lirik Daemon, carried a demeanor much different than the rest of the crew. She seemed too calm, despite her emphatic instructions to Halley earlier to just leave everything alone so events could run their course. If Halley believed her years of experience and training, she'd say that Ms. Daemon had good reason to not fear the pirates. She took an opportunity to catch the First Officer alone in a corner as she was checking on her personal data pad.
"Engineer Carib," FO Daemon began to say abrasively, using Halley's chosen alias. "What are you doing hovering around here? Shouldn't you be with your department?"
"Engineering's all under control," Halley said smoothly. The FO studied her for a second, but Halley continued before she could be interrupted. "We were thinking of trying to jettison some cargo pods and make a run for it." She wanted to see what the FO did.
"You can't do that!" was Daemon's excited reaction. She managed to keep her voice to a stage whisper, but she was suddenly very agitated.
"Well," Halley continued, "something's rotten here. They've taken the captain, and they're swapping cargo pods, not just taking them." Halley knew she was taking a leap, since she didn't know for sure what the cargo pod situation was, but she needed to play this hunch. "I think they're going to do something very bad to us, and most of the folks in the back half of the ship are ready to take our chances fighting rather than be blown up, kidnapped and tortured, or whatever else they have planned."
She stared at Daemon, stone cold glare daring the other woman to react in some way.
"That would be stupid, for one," Daemon countered, "and illegal since I gave you orders to stand put."
"But the captain didn't give any such order, and as far as I know he's still in command."
Lirik Daemon studied Halley's impassive look. "Just leave it be," she cautioned darkly.
"No."
Daemon's right fist was balled up like she was ready for a fight, and Halley suddenly welcomed the possibility. This woman was holding out something on the crew; something that could very well be a life or death matter. She was resigned to having to beat it out of the woman, not caring if it made a scene.
"This doesn't affect you," the FO finally said, budging a bit by her admission that there was something going on.
"It sure as hell affects me," countered Halley. "It affects every last person on this ship. Does the captain know what you're doing?"
"He doesn't know anything about whatever it is that I am not doing."
"You should be a politician," said Halley as she squinted. "Alright; I'm going back to my people and I'm going to tell them I didn't get anything out of you. Are you going to help us escape or not?"
Daemon was overcome by a new wave of agitation. "You can't do anything, you fool! Just stand there and let things be!"
"Cough it up, now," demanded Halley. "You never know; I might think your plan is just wonderful and offer to help in any way I can."
Still, Daemon said nothing, so Halley turned and walked away. The FO grabbed Halley by the upper arm. "Stop. I'll tell you," she said softly.
Halley turned and they headed back to the corner and a semblance of privacy. Halley just crossed her arms and waited.
"The pirates are going to replace some of the missing cargo pods with duplicates. Not all of them are in on it; just a handful. The pirate group gets their loot, and another group gets to put some things aboard with nobody the wiser."
Halley nodded as she processed the information. It made sense, actually. Have the pirate captain or First Officer in on the plan. Take the valuable cargo pods, replace them or some others with pods carrying your own payload. That's why all the external video feeds and the computerized inventory were disabled and locked out. But what was worth crippling the system for?
"What are you smuggling down to Callidor?" Halley asked, making the connection.
"I'm just a cog in the machine here," said Daemo
n, and Halley's warning bells went off again. If the woman was trying to distance herself from the situation, it probably wasn't charitable donations to local orphanages.
Halley's withering glare finally got Daemon talking again. "They're all for the resistance," she said in defeat.
Halley was actually relieved. Sure, whatever organization she was part of was potentially risking the freighter's crew even though they weren't part of the plan, but it could have been worse. This might still be manageable.
"Ok," said Halley, "that's not so bad, actually. What are you delivering? Weapons, food?"
This time, Daemon looked at the deck plates as she talked. "Some of the pods the pirates are leaving alone, yes. The ones they're replacing are filled with explosives. Once we're in orbit, they'll be transferred to the surface to their intended destinations via the company's orbit-to-surface operation. And once they land..."
"They'll detonate," finished Halley. Suddenly, this wasn't a good plan at all. "Other than the fact that you'll probably kill a ton of locals who aren't involved, have you considered that once the Primans realize this ship was responsible, they'll follow her itinerary until they find her and destroy her? And that's if you're lucky. Pray they don't try to take prisoners. You'll get every last person onboard killed."
Captain Two-Swords stood across from Web, the pirate's pistol shaking in his hands. "I can explain what's going on," the captain began, "but we can't stay here. Give me your gun," he commanded Web, who simply stood there and gave him a glare that could have melted the bulkheads. "I'll shoot you if I have to."
"No you won't," Web said instantly. "You're not a killer. You can barely hold back the shakes you're getting from pointing that gun at me. You've probably never shot one, either, have you? You have no idea what sort of travel that trigger has, which direction you're going to pull the shot because your grip is worthless, and when it recoils it's going to fly out of your hands."
Two-Swords took a breath and began to compose himself, though the effort fell short of complete success. "Let's have this conversation elsewhere. I promise I'll tell you everything. But can you just drop your gun first?"
"No." Web remained stock still.
"Oh, fine," the captain replied with an air of resignation. "We'll probably get killed for what you just did here anyway. What do we do?"
Web thought for a second. "We stash these two in a room near here. My cabin isn't far off, actually. It'll probably buy us some time while the rest of these pirates wonder where we went and if we're cutting our own deal with the guys in here. Pirates are a suspicious lot. So, we'll hide these two, and then you and I are going to have a nice sit-down and you're going to explain yourself in thirty words or less."
"You're giving what to who?" Web asked in astonishment. He and Two-Swords were in a vacant crew quarters, the only light coming from the backlit door control panel and a few dim escape path lights that led to the hatch. The pirates were in the tiny bathroom through the hatch on the opposite wall from where they sat; the Trin leader bound and gagged, the other not requiring any such devices.
"I'm delivering information and material to the Primans," the captain said softly, but with some manner of conviction.
"That's what I thought you said," said Web ominously. While they were sitting in matching chairs at a small table dividing the room in half, Two-Swords was the only one armed. Web had promised to keep his gun in his back waistband for the time being, and was starting to consider making a grab for it after hearing what the captain had admitted to.
"So those manifests are exactly what I thought they were," confirmed Web as the captain nodded. "You just go along the route your company filed, and where appropriate you offload information and supplies to the Primans at your destinations? Who's in on this?"
Two-Swords only paused a minute before admitting the rest. "There are a handful of high level people in the company that feel like I do. They build the routes and make sure people like me get the assignments."
Web knew they didn't have time to dig deep, but he had to ask. "Why?"
"Because we need order, Mr. Barazian," the captain replied earnestly. "Look at all the various governments up and down this spiral arm. I know; I've traveled clear across the galactic core in my work, and I'll bet you've seen plenty moving cargo, too. So many kingdoms, republics, and empires are a corrupt, disorganized mess. Regardless of whether you believe that the Primans made us all and are returning to complete their work, aren't you at least tempted by the idea that they could eliminate the corruption? They could restore order, get things organized and running like they should be?"
"But who put them in charge?" countered Web. "Who gets to decide that their way is the best way for everybody? Hey, if you don't like the Confederation, then move somewhere else. Go to the Talaran Collection if you want a government that's run like a business. Go to the Carada Monarchy if you want a royal family to call the shots and own everything. There are a thousand different ways to run a planet or federation in this galaxy; go find one you like and try it out. You don't have to help an invading horde tear down everything in the galaxy because you're having issues. What it boils down to is this: if somebody has to force you to act a certain way, it doesn't count as a success. You can't make people act like your ideal, and if you try, they're going to fight back."
"No, you don't see!" said Two-Swords excitedly. "I used to think the same, but then I saw the light. We need someone else to administer things for us; take us out of the equation. We keep screwing it up, so why not give the Primans a chance?"
"Ask the Enkarrans how that went," said Web acidly. "The Primans turned on their allies and stole an entire empire's worth of planets from them."
Before the captain could stammer a reply, Web held up his hand. "I know how to fix this. First, we go to my quarters. Nobody will look for us there, plus I might be able to use some of my own tech to get us access. Because the main thing is that we destroy your top secret Priman data in the computer. Then there will be nothing for these pirates to find. Plus I'll get the personal satisfaction of ruining the Primans' day. And if you're really nice and help me convincingly, I might not even tell your crew what you were doing."
Web let that threat hang in the air for a minute, but he could tell the captain was resigned to following in his wake.
Captain Elco could hear somebody stumbling across the bridge in the pitch black. Boots scraped on the decking, hands patted down hatches and panels until he heard a small exclamation of success. A panel clicked open and Elco heard more noise; finally a bright white light emerged from an emergency flashlight in the hands of his communications officer.
She held the remaining three flashlights from the emergency equipment locker located near the turbolift, and Elco could see the crewman from the station on the opposite side of the bridge do the same. He took the flashlight that was offered to him and clicked it on. With eight of the flashlights now on, the crew could at least see what they were doing.
"How come the emergency lights aren't kicking in?" he heard someone ask.
"Those Priman EMP charges probably fried the batteries or their relays," he replied quickly. "I had Chief Fyr scram the reactor in the hopes that if it wasn't powered, it wouldn't be affected by the weapon. The problem is that he needs to get it restarted ASAP or we're still dead meat." He looked around, pointing at the comm officer and the junior ensign who manned the ship's systems and auxiliary engineering station. "Lieutenant, head to engineering as fast as you can. See what the chief has for me and get back to the bridge. Ensign, get to the hangars. Tell Captain Sosus and Commander Elder to launch their fighters. They can have the deck hands suit up in EVA suits and push them out the doors by hand of the need to, but if those fighters are serviceable they might be the only thing that keeps us from getting pulverized. Go!"
The officers took off, one down each of the steep stairwells in the emergency escape trunks on each side of the bridge.
He heard jumbled footsteps from the starboard side st
airwell and turned to see Lieutenant Commander Sarria Mastruk from C3 come charging out onto the bridge, flashlight in hand.
"C3 is dark" she said quickly, scanning the bridge, "just like you are here. Any orders?"
"Just be ready to work with whatever we get as soon as we get it," Elco said fatefully as he turned to the helm officer. "The maneuvering thrusters should have a supply of reaction fuel so they'll work even with the reactor offline," he began, "but we won't know what to do until we get some sensors back."
He knew his crew was working as hard as they could, and his desperate maneuver might have bought them some time, but it wouldn't do them any good if they smashed into a parked ore hauler while running blind.
Ensign Lya Stryder ran as fast as she dared through the darkened corridors of Avenger. With no turbolifts working, she'd had to use the occasional access ladder or maintenance tubes that were part of the turbolift network. Now, sweaty and grimy, she was on the home stretch to the hangar level. She was pretty sure she was on the way to Captain Sosus and her Warbirds on the starboards side, but she'd never been to the hangars before and couldn't be sure.
She was only an ensign, after all, the lowest rank of commissioned officer. In fact, she'd only been on Avenger for a few weeks, having rotated aboard with a batch of replacement crew all fresh from the academy. She'd been overjoyed when she'd received her posting; Avenger was already famous for her wartime exploits and it was considered a great honor to be assigned to her. People said the captain had a nose for finding critical situations, and they hadn't been wrong. She only hoped she'd live long enough to see the end result of this particular operation.
Finally, out of breath and sweating in a very un-officer-like state, she arrived at the main hatch into the hangar area of Avenger's Intruder squadron, called the Warbirds. The problem was that there was still no power anywhere, and her lonely flashlight beam was the only illumination in the area. Needless to say, the hatch wasn't going to obligingly swoosh open for her as she approached.
