by Chris Fox
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1-Payload
Chapter 2- Anomaly
Chapter 3- The Admiral
Chapter 4- Sparhawk
Chapter 5- Coronas 127
Chapter 6- Mining Drone
Chapter 7- A Piece of the Puzzle
Chapter 8- Face to Face
Chapter 9- Admiral Chu
Chapter 10- Sector 12
Chapter 11- Chu
Chapter 12- Turned
Chapter 13- Decision
Chapter 14- Coronas 6
Chapter 15- How Many Rounds
Chapter 16- Complications
Chapter 17- Chaos
Chapter 18- On Your Feet
Chapter 19- Final Confrontation
Chapter 20- Celebration
Chapter 21- Hung out to Dry
Chapter 22- Problem Solved
Hail Mighty Fizgig.
Chapter 1-Payload
Delta's arms clinked as he folded them, a subtle reminder that the arms he'd been born with had been hacked off and replaced with cybernetic implants. They made him stronger, but that did nothing to dull the horror of having lost parts of his own body. Not that he'd had any choice in the matter. None of them had.
"Is the docking complete?" Doctor Reid asked, ducking through the hatch onto the corvette's tiny bridge.
The gaunt man's long blond hair had been tucked into a simple ponytail, and his glasses bore a thin layer of grime. His gaze was even more feverish than usual.
"Almost," Delta said, nodding at the man in the pilot's chair. Man was a general term. Martel had been an excellent soldier, but so much of his body had been replaced with cybernetics that very little of the Marine remained.
The view screen showed a cylindrical station, growing ever larger as they drifted toward one of four docking ports. None of the other ports were occupied, which was hardly surprising. Very few people visited mining stations, unless they were doing a quarterly ore pick up. That was part of why they'd chosen this station, after all. It had just sent its ore back to Corporate three days ago, so it would be off the grid for another three months.
"Docking complete," Martel said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, his mechanical eyes unreadable as he glanced back at them.
"Okay, let's get this over with," Delta said, suppressing a sigh. He slipped past Doctor Reid, trotting down the metal stairs to the airlock.
His squad was already waiting, two cybernetically-enhanced things that had once been Marines. All three carried silenced pistols that fired rubber bullets. They were enough to incapacitate, but not kill. The largest Marine carried a bulky black box with a collapsed hose fixed to the side.
"Follow me," Delta ordered, tapping the red button next to the airlock. It turned green, and slid open to reveal the station's flat grey metal.
Delta tapped the red button in the station's keypad, stepping back as the door slid open to reveal the station's inner airlock. He holstered the pistol that he'd half drawn, breathing a sigh of relief as he stepped into the airlock. It was unlikely that any of the station personnel would have investigated the docking that quickly, but he didn't take chances.
"Winter, you're on point," he said, nodding to a small man cradling twin pistols.
Winter didn't nod, or acknowledge the command in any way. The Marine simply glided into the airlock, tapped the release button, then stepped into the station's hallway once the airlock door opened. Delta followed, scanning the empty corridor for any threats as they trotted towards the center of the station.
They met no one as they approached the oxygen recycling station--which had been the plan, of course. They'd docked at 2 a.m., station time, for a reason. Most people were asleep, and anyone awake was likely to be too lazy to find out why an unscheduled docking had occurred.
"Deliver the payload," Delta commanded, gesturing at the large oxygen processor in the middle of the room. It scrubbed CO2, then delivered breathable air to the entire station. The processor had multiple redundancies, for obvious reasons. It could detect contaminants, but Doctor Reid had apparently found a way around that.
Winter guarded the door while the thing that had once been Davis attached the hose from the box he'd been carrying. He pressed a blue button on the side, and the box began to whir.
"How long until they're asleep?" Reid's voice demanded over the comm.
"Sixty seconds," Delta replied. He pulled his rebreather from his belt, affixing the mask to his face, and watched as the payload left the black box and flowed into the station's air supply.
The Marines around him put their masks on as well. It wouldn't do to be knocked out by their own chemical weaponry.
"Hurry this along," Reid ordered.
Delta ignored him. He might be compelled to serve, but he didn't have to like the guy.
"Winter, take deck one. Davis, you're on two. I want those bodies loaded into the tanks in the next ninety minutes," Delta ordered. It bothered him that both the former Marines were able to keep their names when Reid had deprived Delta of his. Even thinking it would drop him to the deck in writhing agony. He'd learned that the hard way.
Delta ducked out of the oxygen processing room and headed for deck three. Carrying eighty unconscious people to the tanks Reid had set up was going to take the rest of the night. Thankfully, they had plenty of time. It would be weeks before the OFI figured out that something was wrong. Longer, if they were lucky.
Chapter 2- Anomaly
Nolan strode onto the command deck, accepting a tablet from his aide as he approached the half-circle of stations. Each terminal was manned, and all faced a massive screen that covered the entire south wall. A dozen feeds played across the screen, many showing various news stations found on the Quantum Lite network.
"What have we got today, Becca?" Nolan demanded. He trotted down the steps, passing the stations as he approached the view screen.
"Not much in the last six hours, Commander," Becca answered. The stocky soldier leaned over her terminal to peer at him. "There was an anomaly. I'd have ignored it, but you asked us to keep a special eye on the stations in the periphery."
"What have you got?" Nolan asked, setting the tablet on his desk, then turning back to Becca.
"The power usage has dropped forty percent over expected in the last eight hours," Becca said, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. "There could be a lot of reasons for that, but it was one of the metrics you flagged for monitoring."
"Put it up on screen," Nolan ordered, turning expectantly to the massive view screen.
The screen shimmered, and all the currently displayed data was replaced by dozens of data feeds from the X station, including the one tracking power. That data was normally used for billing purposes by Coronas Corp--they technically owned the station's reactor, and charged residents for power.
"It looks like the power curve has been flat since about ten PM," Nolan said, thinking out loud. He pursed his lips as he studied the data. "Overlay normal power usage. I want to see a graph."
A green line appeared over the red. They paralleled each other from ten p.m. to six a.m., which made sense. People used less power when sleeping, and most people were in bed. The red line stayed flat after that, while the green spiked a little after six a.m. People were waking up, and that dramatically increased the power consumption. That hadn't happened this morning, and Nolan was positive it wasn't a reporting error. He'd seen exactly the same anomaly at the last two stations that had been hit, and its meaning was clear: those people weren't waking up, because they were either dead or taken.
"What is it, sir?" Becca asked. None of the rest of his command spoke, but they were all eyeing him curiously.
"Alert the admiral," Nolan ordered, picking up his tablet and opening a new document. "Tell him I'll be filing a report within the hour. Coronas station 127 has been hit by the same pirates that took out 19 and 89."
Chapter 3- The Admiral
Nolan rapped three times on the door, though he knew the man inside was already aware of his presence. The security in OFI was beyond top notch; it set the standard the rest of the galaxy followed. Admiral Mendez would have been aware of Nolan the second he left his command deck.
"Enter," called a slightly accented voice.
The door slid open and Nolan stepped inside. He'd never seen the admiral's office, though he'd spoken to him often during the previous year. Admiral Mendez sat behind a massive mahogany desk, flanked by bookshelves. A potted plant sat in the corner, and it looked real from a glance at the soil. There was little in the way of decor, just three Tigris bayonets on one wall.
"I've read your report," Mendez said, gesturing at a chair on the other side of the desk.
Nolan sat, shifting in the too-soft chair. It looked ancient, the type of thing Abraham Lincoln might have had in his office.
"Sir, was there some point in the report that you wanted clarification on?" Nolan asked. He forced his breathing to remain regular, though he was more than a little terrified to have been called into the admiral's office. The wreckage of careers littered the hallway leading into this room. Admiral Mendez was universally feared among the OFI.
"I want your hypothesis, Commander," the admiral said. He opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a thick cigar. Nolan could smell the tobacco from where he sat; it had to be fresh. "Someone is hitting our stations. Why? Human labor is cheap. The sex trade isn't profitable enough. So what makes it worth the expense of outfitting a crew?"
"They're remote," Nolan answered, almost without thinking. He'd been rolling this case around for days, and already had his own theories. "No one goes to most of these stations, except when they're dropping off supplies, or picking up cargo. By the time OFI hears about the attack, they're long gone."
"Yes, but what do they get out of it?" the admiral pressed. He snipped off the end of his cigar, and clamped it between his lips. A lighter flicked, and a curl of pungent smoke wafted toward the ceiling.
The admiral's question was a good one, one that Nolan had considered for a long time. "I don't know."
"Then I need you to find out," the admiral said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke.
"Yes, sir," Nolan said, automatically. He paused. "Sir, I'm not sure how to go about that. Our data is limited."
"Extremely limited. I realize that," the admiral said. He leaned back in his chair, studying Nolan. "I'm impressed that you put together the bit about power usage. If you're right, we can get to the stations these pirates are hitting within hours instead of weeks."
"Has a team already been dispatched?" Nolan asked.
"No," the admiral said, tapping ash into an impeccable ashtray. "Because you're on the team. Report to the Sparhawk. She's docked in aft. I'm giving you operational authority."
"Sir, I'm not a field agent," Nolan said. He straightened in his chair, wishing the back was more firm. He kept sliding.
"You've had OFI training, and you're obviously a quick thinker," Mendez said. He took another puff from the cigar, then met Nolan's gaze. "More importantly, I trust you. That trust is a rare commodity these days. What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room."
Nolan's heart was thundering. Whatever this was, it was big. "Of course, sir."
"I think there is a rogue agent within the Admiralty," Mendez said. He paused for a long moment, finally speaking again. "I believe this operation is a part of that agent's agenda. This is our chance to smoke them out. If we can stop whoever is doing this, we may expose the rogue."
Chapter 4- Sparhawk
Nolan ducked through the hatch into the chaos of a busy interstellar port. Dozens of ships were coming and going, ranging in size from tiny four-man corvettes, all the way to capital ships that held thousands of Marines. He hoisted his duffle over his shoulder, and started walking down the wide metal platform ringing the docks. Docking tubes extended from it like the spokes of a wheel, and a steady stream of traffic walked to and from along those spokes, coming and going from the vessels.
It didn't take long to find berth 16, and Nolan caught his first look at the Sparhawk. She was a newly-minted vessel, not more than a year out of dry dock. She was Photos class, the most recent to come out of fleet R&D. Her black curves would be difficult to spot against a star field, and she came equipped with a number of stealth systems to aid that.
Nolan walked into the airlock, tapping the button next to the door. It turned green, and the door slid open with a hiss. Nolan entered the Sparhawk, which had narrow hallways and low ceilings. He paused as the door hissed shut, listening for any signs of crew activity. Nolan wasn't really sure what to expect. Photos class vessels were designed to hold a crew of four, but could be run by a single person since most systems were controlled by a virtual intelligence.
"Welcome to the Sparhawk," came a pleasant voice. Nolan looked around, and realized the voice had originated from the ship itself. "My name is Em. If you proceed to the CIC I'll introduce you to the commanding officer."
A glowing white arrow appeared on the floor, pointing deeper into the ship. Nolan followed it, staring around him curiously as he threaded down the narrow corridor. This ship was relatively small, but packed with state of the art technology. Whoever commanded it definitely had friends high up in the Admiralty.
The corridor ended in a small room with a narrow table and four chairs. One of those chairs was occupied by a woman with dark, curly hair. A familiar woman. Nolan stiffened as he recognized Kathryn Mendez.
He hadn't seen her since the academy, when they'd been fierce rivals. Kathryn had graduated top of the class, and been give the choice assignment she'd been after. Nolan had risen higher since, hitting full Commander while she was still a Lieutenant Commander.
"Hello, Adam," Kathryn said, coldly. She rose to her feet, folding her arms across the chest of her fleet jacket. "Welcome to the Sparhawk. My ship."
A black screen lit up on the wall next to Kathryn, and a blue holographic woman appeared. She had white hair and digitized skin. The woman waved cheerfully. "We're so pleased to have you on board, Commander Nolan."
"Yes, thrilled," Kathryn said, her tone giving lie to the words.
"Hello, Kathryn," Nolan said, neutrally. "Nice to meet you, Em. Where should I stow my duffel?"
"The bunks are up the corridor, toward the bridge," Kathryn supplied. She studied him with those unreadable brown eyes.
"Great. Let's get underway," Nolan said, inching past Kathryn and into the corridor leading deeper into the ship. There wasn't much to it, just four narrow bunks and a room big enough for a pilot and co-pilot. He dropped his duffel on one of the unoccupied bunks, and slid into the co-pilot's chair. Nolan had never flown, but from what he understood Em would do most of the work anyway.
Kathryn entered behind him, dropping silently into the pilot's seat. "Do you have a destination, sir?" The last word was spat with a great deal of venom.
"We're heading to Coronas station 127," Nolan said. He swiveled the co-pilot's chair to face Kathryn. Might as well get this dealt with. "Listen, Kathryn, I know we weren't friends at the academy. I know you don't like having me on your ship. I don't care. We have a job to do. Admiral Mendez put me in charge. If you have an issue, take it up with him."
"My father wouldn't listen and you know it," Kathryn said, tapping a series of switches on the console in front of her. She wrapped her hands around the yoke, and the Sparhawk began inching from the station. "OFI is a boys club, so I'm not surprised he put you in charge. I'm just a little protective of my ship. We've seen a lot, and our record to date is flawless. I just don't want you ruin
ing that."
Nolan gave a soft sigh. This mission was going to be so much fun.
Chapter 5- Coronas 127
"Commander," Em's soft voice echoed through the cockpit. "We're exiting the sun's photosphere and entering the corona now. ETA twenty-two minutes."
Nolan started at the voice, momentarily assuming she was speaking to him. She wasn't, of course. It was Kathryn's vessel, and Em was clearly addressing her. It amused him that the AI respected the chain of command.
"Acknowledged," Kathryn said, releasing the yoke. "Em, take over piloting. Nolan and I have some talking to do."
Kathryn turned expectantly toward Nolan, but didn't say anything.
Nolan eyed her for a moment. "How much did Admiral Mendez tell you?" he asked. He didn't want to assume.
"My father told me that I was to be at dock 16 at 8 a.m.," Kathryn said, mildly. She tapped a button on the console, and the view screen lit up to show the storm of fire they were passing through. "He didn't tell me anything about the mission. Why are we here, sir?"
"We're here because the entire populace of stations along the periphery have disappeared," Nolan said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the arm of the chair. Kathryn had a gift for pissing him off, but he wasn't going to let her attitude get to him. "Yesterday evening, station 127's power consumption fell outside normal levels. That fits the pattern we've seen at the other ten stations that have disappeared over the last five weeks."
"When you say 'disappeared,' what do you mean?" Kathryn asked.
"The personnel are missing. All of them. Rescue teams have shown up to find each station intact, but no sign of the crew. They haven't found any signs of a struggle either," Nolan explained. "Whoever is responsible for this has a way of subduing the populace without bloodshed. We don't know why, or what they're using the people for."
