Poledri stepped down from his command chair.
“Move, Mr. Boyd. I’ve got her from here.” Poledri was moving to sit in the pilot’s seat, his hands on the flight console, before Boyd had cleared out. “And throw more power into the grapple, Thresh!”
Thresh was darting from the weapons console to the engineering station, her hair falling loose from where it had been tied up and secured with a length of stiff conduit wire. She looked completely in control of everything except her hair.
Boyd was pushed out of his seat by Poledri, breaking into a run and beating Noland off the deck.
Boyd ran mostly because he wanted to be sure to give the impression he was at least half as excited about this act of space piracy as the captain was. It wouldn’t look good to appear at all reluctant, but Boyd was reluctant. This was a Union ship he was about to board, a ship crewed with a handful of hard-working Union civilians. Boyd knew they weren’t paid enough to deal with pirates.
Since the Skarak had appeared in the Scorpio System and attacked shipping, the Union Fleet was too preoccupied with patrolling the outer system. Any transport running between the planet Extremis and the belt was too far from support. The fleet carrier, Titan, was stationed at the central Union world of Terra. The fleet’s other two carriers, Goliath and Able, were patrolling the far side of the sphere, outside the system, watching for any Skarak incursion.
This Union freighter had entered the danger zone. If the Odium Fist hadn’t found her, another raider would have. These were happy hunting grounds for the Faction.
“He’s only sending me to keep a watch on you, Boyd,” Noland said, panting as he ran.
“Maybe he thinks you need the exercise.” Boyd turned into the kit locker. His personal locker held his suit, which he maintained himself. He didn’t trust a Faction maintenance drone, and he needed this suit to be in the best condition. His life depended on it, not only because it protected him against deadly environments, but because he was currently using his locker to hide the covert device he was using to maintain communications with Major Featherstone, his Union commanding officer.
Boyd was no pirate. He was a sergeant in the Blue Star Marines. Acting like a pirate was just part of the undercover mission he had been assigned.
“Hurry up, Boyd,” Poledri’s voice came over the helmet communicator as he pulled it on. “They shut down their drive after Thresh gave them a salvo of spitz rounds. Faction control reported a Union cruiser in this region of the belt only a few days ago. So let’s move quickly. And, Noland, keep an eye on Boyd.”
Noland grinned through his scratched, murky faceplate. He nudged Boyd hard in the ribs.
“See? Captain doesn’t trust you.”
Boyd ignored Noland’s grinning and exited the kit locker. The main airlock already had four Faction troopers standing by, ready for some piracy, pulse pistols in hand.
Noland stepped in behind Boyd and hit the inner door panel. It slid shut with the screech of a poorly-maintained mechanism. Boyd knew Thresh would have this ship back to factory specs in a few weeks of drydock time, but Poledri loved the free run of piracy now that the Union was preoccupied with alien invaders. He was hardly giving any of his crew a chance to breathe, let alone conduct some basic maintenance on non-vital systems. Boyd hadn’t even had a chance to contact his boss, Major Featherstone, in several days.
Noland was just about to activate the airlock pump, to bring the airlock pressure down to vacuum, when Poledri’s voice crackled over the group channel.
“Wait up. Wait for me. I’m coming. The ship can run on autopilot for a bit.”
The troopers exchanged looks. They looked at Boyd and Noland.
Boyd looked at Noland and shrugged.
“Guess the captain wants to get his pulse pistol out of its holster,” Noland said with a grin.
“Guess so,” Boyd said.
The inner door opened and Captain Poledri was standing there. His suit was a new Marine unit, traded with a fellow Faction captain only recently. The pulse pistols, however, were old. Boyd could see they were clean, well maintained, and with fresh power cells, but these pistols had the battered, well-worn look of the pirate’s favorite weapons.
“Okay,” Poledri said, stepping into the airlock. “Open her up and let’s steal some Union kit.”
The troopers saluted and greeted the captain. There was nothing a Faction trooper admired more than a captain who went into the fight personally.
Boyd watched as the timer on the outer door began to count down. The pump screeched and whined until the air pressure fell to virtual zero and the airlock was at vacuum.
Poledri looked at Boyd, an excited look on his worn face.
“Open her up, Mr. Boyd,” Poledri said.
Boyd stepped up to the outer door panel and hit the flashing red button.
The door slid open noiselessly to reveal a startling view.
The side of the Union heavy freighter was just a few hundred meters off, but all around there was nothing but deep, dark space. Boyd stepped out of the airlock and into the void. Whichever way he looked, he had the feeling he was about to fall. But he hung in space, floating alongside the outer hull of the Odium Fist.
Boyd hit his suit’s thrusters and began his traverse to the other ship. He picked a suitable landing spot on the silvered composite hull, just a few meters away from an airlock. He moved forward, upright, and after completing half the traverse, he turned so he was falling, slowly, feet first towards the hull now below him. Projecting a rear view on his faceplate, Boyd looked at the Fist behind him. The troopers were all streaming across space behind him, Noland amongst them, but standing out from them in his new environment suit was Captain Poledri.
Boyd touched down on the hull of the Union ship and walked over to the airlock. He hacked the panel and popped the hatch. And then, without waiting for instructions, he dropped into the dark airlock.
Boyd had boarded the Union ship.
He was a pirate now.
2
The inner hatch opened, sliding back noiselessly on a well-maintained mechanism. The interior showed a clean and well-ordered industrial vessel.
The crew was nowhere to be seen or heard.
“Just look at the size of this thing.” Poledri stepped out into the corridor.
A trooper, a small quick man, darted to cover Poledri from one side of the corridor. Noland took position on the other side. The pair of flank guards aimed their pulse pistols along the corridor, guarding their captain and watching for the Union crew who may at any moment attack.
Poledri ignored the pair falling in alongside him. He looked to Boyd, his cold blue eyes sparkling like ice. The scar over his right eye appeared deeper, redder, in the blue light of the corridor.
“She’s a prize alright. Boyd, get up to the command deck and secure the vessel. Noland, go with him. The rest of you, stay with me. Let’s go and see what this heavy is hauling. Go.”
Poledri ran off along the corridor, his arm held in front of him as the image on his wrist-mounted holo-stage showed him the way to the cargo hold.
Noland looked at Boyd. “You first.”
Boyd shrugged and led the way, sending a micro drone along the corridor in front of him to scan for any defenders. As the micro drone raced ahead, it showed Boyd and Noland that the corridor was empty.
It was not unusual for a freighter to run without onboard military guards. Not every company guarded every ship. It was a simple matter of cost. The Union moved millions of tons of freight every day back and forth across the system. If a ship was lost here or there, it was a matter for insurance. If the crew was lost to hostile Faction troopers, it was simply a matter of hiring new crew.
The Union was too big to care about individual ships or individual crew. As long as the Union Fleet destroyed Faction raiders at a reasonable rate, and regularly hung a Faction captain or two in front of the capital building on Terra, then the civilian population was satisfied that everything that could be done was
being done.
Noland moved behind Boyd, keeping in cover. Boyd kept to the side of the corridor, darting from one recess or hatchway to another, making use of the limited available cover. He slowed as he approached a cross-corridor—a perfect spot for an ambush. If Boyd was defending the ship, this was exactly where he would position himself, along with few more well-armed troopers and possibly an automated spitz gun or two.
“Move, Boyd,” Noland said. “The captain will want to hear we have the command deck before he can unload the plunder.”
Boyd stopped, ducked into a shallow recess, and looked at the cross-corridor ahead. The drone reported the way was clear.
“If you think you can go any faster,” Boyd said and offered Noland the position on point.
Noland glowered at Boyd but held his place at the rear.
“That’s what I thought,” Boyd said. He stepped out of the inadequate cover and pressed on.
The cross-corridor ran the width of the freighter. It was so long that its far end was lost in the distance. The corridor was marked with colored strip-lights indicating the way to various operational centers: a medical bay, a maintenance bay, equipment lockers, and the command deck.
Moving fast and keeping low, Boyd pressed forward. He kept to the sides of the corridor until after a few hundred meters, he came across another junction and a short hallway running to the forward section of the ship. At its end was a sealed bulkhead.
“That’s it,” Boyd said. “The command deck is just through that door.”
“Do we knock?” Noland said. He darted across the corridor and took position on the other side.
Boyd looked at the heavy reinforced door. It would take an age to cut through. Maybe he should just knock.
Poledri’s voice burst over his helmet communicator. “Boyd. Thresh is telling me the heavy is trying to break free. How is the command deck looking?”
“It’s sealed shut and well protected.” Boyd glanced around the edge of the corridor. “Looks like a double-plated composite security door. Guess we know why they didn’t have fleet support. They are holed up on the command deck and pretty safe.”
“Well, you had better make them pretty unsafe,” Poledri said. “Crack that hatch and secure the ship. If she breaks away from the grapple field, we’ll lose this cargo, and we’ll all be taken directly to a Union lockup awaiting execution. But not you, Boyd. If you don’t secure that deck, I will personally make sure you spend every second of our transit to the noose in extreme pain. Is that thought helpful to you at all?”
“Yes, Captain,” Boyd said. He knew how to crack this door. For the sake of his primary mission, it looked like he would have to do it.
“I’ll make sure we get inside, Captain,” Noland said.
“You better,” Poledri said, the communicator channel crackling. “Just because you’ve been with me a while doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to burn your fingernails off with a plasma torch one by one. Secure that deck. Are you still listening to me or are you moving?”
Boyd was already moving. He walked up to the large round hatchway, examining it as he went. It was sitting flush with the surrounding bulkheads and there was not even a crack to slip an electron blade through. A small panel on one side was the only means of interacting with the door other than a high-powered particle cutter.
Boyd stepped up to the panel, activating the electron blade on his pulse pistol and slashing down one side of it. The panel fell away to reveal the inner workings.
“What are you thinking, Boyd?” Noland said, his head next to Boyd’s, looking intently over his shoulder at the series of nodes and micro conduits of the hatch controls.
“Get down to the end of the corridor and watch my back,” Boyd said.
Noland remained, studying the circuitry.
Boyd deactivated his electron blade and holstered the pistol on his hip. He turned on Noland and gave him a light shove. The man was breathing down his neck and standing way too close. Boyd didn’t like his attention, particularly because he didn’t want him to see what he was about to do to crack this hatch.
“Okay.” Noland stepped back, hands raised, and walked back along the short corridor. He pulled his pulse pistol and took position at the end of the corridor.
Then Boyd got to work.
The Union circuitry on the freighter was not so different to systems he was familiar with on his Marine ship, the Resolute. With a bit of skill, a bit of knowhow, and some well-positioned force, Boyd knew he could crack this shell. He just didn’t want to give away any of his secrets to Noland.
Within a few moments, Boyd had sent up a cross-system shunt with the door controls. He drew a power cord from his suit’s systems and applied it to the circuit board. A spark and loud crack were the victory chime he was waiting for, hoping for.
He stepped back as the command deck door rolled aside a few centimeters.
“You got it,” Noland said excitedly. He rushed over to Boyd, craning his neck to peer through the narrow gap to the command deck inside.
A crack of a pulse round striking the inside of the door caused Noland to step aside. He grinned.
“They still got some fight in them,” he said. Then he stuck the muzzle of his pulse pistol in through the opening and fired a few random rounds.
Boyd grabbed Noland’s wrist.
“What are you doing?” he growled. He pulled Noland’s hand away and grabbed the pistol.
“Let go of my pistol, Boyd,” Noland said, his former amusement turning dark. “Don’t touch my pistol or I’ll drive a blade through your eye.”
Boyd let go of the pistol. He didn’t doubt that Noland would kill him over a minor disagreement. Noland was a hardened pirate, probably the longest-serving member of Poledri’s crew—certainly since the recent death of Poledri’s second-in-command, Raye.
“Don’t fire blind into the kravin’ command deck. If you hit the wrong system, you could vent the cargo hold into space. Captain won’t be too please if you blast him into the void along with any plunder.”
Noland grinned. “Guess not,” he said. “So how are we going to get in there?” He gestured with his pistol and a tip of his head.
Boyd looked around the rim of the hatch. He saw the secondary locking system in place at the top of the hatch. With the seal broken, there was the slightest gap between the circular hatch and the rest of the bulkhead.
“There,” Boyd said, pointing up. He drew his hip pistol and fired up the electron blade. A half-meter-long fizzing electron beam appeared on the front of the pistol, like a short bayonet. “And there.” Boyd pointed to the spot on the deck directly below the top locking bolt.
Noland activated his electron blade and stood ready.
“As one, okay?” Boyd said. He held his blade close to the locking bolt above his head on the wide round hatch.
“On three,” Noland said.
Boyd counted down and on three, he jammed his blade directly through the fine gap between hatch and frame. Noland did the same.
The blades fizzed and crackled. Molten composite dripped from the frame, burning droplets crackling as they fell. One droplet landed on Boyd’s wrist-mounted holo-stage and burned through the interface. The display went dead.
Then the hatch was free from the bolts and it slid aside.
“Get down,” Boyd said and dropped to the deck.
As the hatch rolled aside, a stream of pulse rounds erupted from inside the command deck. Boyd scurried forward—the only cover from the barrage was inside the command deck itself.
In front of the hatch was the command chair on its plinth. Further into the deck was a line of command consoles, and beyond that sat the large main holo-stage. The image there showed the internal diagram of the Union heavy in a green outline marking every corridor, cabin, and cargo hold. Boyd saw the small number of red dots throughout the green holo-skeleton of the ship and knew they were the marked locations of himself and the rest of Poledri’s boarding party.
Boyd slid into c
over behind the command chair. The defenders were behind the other consoles. They held their pulse pistols over the consoles and fired wildly toward the command chair.
A pulse round fizzed past Boyd and slammed into the bulkhead around the open hatchway. Noland was firing blind, his pulse pistol loosely aimed at the defenders. Boyd stopped him again.
“We want to take the ship intact. Enough with the blind fire.”
More pulse rounds fizzed by and Noland glowered at Boyd.
“So how do we take them?” Noland asked in frustration. “Why don’t you stand in full view and give them something to aim at so I can go and kill them.”
“Or we could use this.” Boyd pulled a concussion grenade off his suit and tossed it behind him so it arced over the command chair. He listened for it to land. The sound of it clattering over the surface of the holo-stage told him he had got it just about on target.
Then the blast wave erupted from the grenade and washed across the command deck. The white wave raced around the chair, leaving Boyd and Noland sheltered from the blast.
Without hesitation, Boyd was up. He stepped around the command chair and walked over to the bank of consoles. Behind them, lying on the deck, was the six-man bridge crew. All were sprawled on the deck clutching their ears in agony. One or two of them had vomited and were rolling in their own puke.
Boyd grabbed the pulse pistols that lay on the deck and tossed them out of reach of the stricken crew. He stepped over to the captain—a civilian, his uniform tatty, his insignia clean, and his pulse pistol still in his grip—took his weapon to toss it aside.
“You are captives of the Faction,” Boyd said. He stepped over to the holo-stage and grabbed the spent concussion grenade. It would need another charge before it could be used again. Boyd tucked it away.
“You hear that, you Union scum?” Noland said, clambering over the consoles to the fallen crew. He grabbed one by the hair and pulled his head off the deck. “Faction got you now.” Noland slammed the man’s face down into the deck.
Blue Star Marine Boxed Set Page 14
