The man nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I’ll make sure they’re aboard.”
Verrikoth waved a hand. “Ssend your full report.” He ordered, then cut the connection. He eyed his displays for a moment, watching the icons for the various ships moving near the station. The new section of the station was attached and was apparently receiving power and life support, based on the readings. But two ships caught Verrikoth’s eye.
The first was a converted passenger liner docked with the station. That ship had been in Argos a while based on the number of weapon emplacements Nemesis’s sensors could detect. Indeed, a large number of life signs were being detected aboard that ship, nearly two thousand individuals. What a luxury liner was doing here, Verrikoth had no idea. Amethyst was a freeport, after all, anything and everything was for sale and the ice rings here were well-known. They could be buying or selling, or even coming to view the rings. Tourism wasn’t a high-income business in the Argos Cluster, but the immense amount of water ice was always in demand. That ship and its crew would be one to keep an eye on.
The other ship, by contrast, was the closest thing to a flying scrapheap Verrikoth had ever seen. A big freighter, she sported four large cargo bays, generous crew compartments along the spine and what appeared to be decent sublight and hyperdrive engines. They also appeared to have strapped a pair of starfighters to the bowl to use as fixed weapons.
Of course, none of that accounted for the clear damage to its port side, both cargo bays blown open and exposed to space. Corrosion, pitting and carbon scoring sheathed the vessel on all facings. Small breaches, patches, and microfractures riddled the hull.
Confirming on his sensor display, Verrikoth chittered in disgust. Nemesis’s sensors indicated the ship, whose power signature was extremely low, was emitting dangerous levels of radiation. The zheen warlord found himself feeling impressed. The ship was a death trap, clearly, a danger to all around them. This was evidenced by Primary Yokusk having the freighter dock on the farthest pier from the main area of the station. However, Verrikoth was impressed with a crew that could fly such a vessel, to get it through hyperspace and manage to haul a cargo all the way here. Doing all that, and still managing to turn a profit took guts, as well as a high degree of stubbornness which he found he approved of.
They would make some sort of deal with them later. He pressed a comm stud, opening a channel to the station. A small display window opened up in front of the command seat. On it, first showed the banner of the Warlord, and a second later it shifted, once again showing the ruined form of Primary Yokusk.
“Warlord, welcome back to Amethyst,” the monotone voice stated. “I must say I am very glad to see you returned.”
“It iz good to be back and to ssee my sstation sstill intact. I am pleazed to ssee the consstruction project is well underway.”
“Well underway indeed, Warlord,” Yokusk replied. “The main connections are completed, umbilicals in place, right now we’re just working on setting up compartments. Two whole sections are finished, my Lord.” Even with a monotone voice, he sounded happy.
“Excellent. I leave the detailz in your handz.” He just sat back and took in the sight, switching the view from that of the Primary to the station itself. It was still an ugly, misshapen hodgepodge, but it was still an impressive sight. “But before you go, Nemessiss will be ssending over a data packet concerning the basse we desstroyed. You’ll be receiving another data packet from Gawhilgur in a while. Make ssure that copiez are dissplayed on all vid sstationz and dissplayz every half hour, and disstributed to every ship in the sstar ssysstem. I want newz of our victory to sspread.”
“Understood, my Lord,” Yokusk said. “I am happy to hear of your success. I for one will not be sorry to never see those Committee of Public Safety animals again.”
“They will not be the lasst,” Verrikoth vowed. “But that iz for later. For now, I will be meeting with the variouss commanderz to determine my next movez.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
“I’ll be bringing in Nemessiss and Kopesh for ressupply. Out.” He turned his head toward Commander Tyler, who nodded and issued orders to bring the flagship in closer to the station. He pressed a control on his command seat. “War Leader Vok, get an assault sshuttle prepped. I might have work for you in a sshort while. Make ssure all of your people are ssuited for radiation hazard, sstunnerz all around.”
The zheen nodded. “Yes, my Lord. We’ll be ready.”
He closed the channel and then opened another to the freighter. A rather tired-looking male human (based on the fur on his jaw) picked up the call. His face was pale and malnourished, though the Warlord was the first to admit (only to himself) that he had little knowledge of human facial expressions.
“This is Shotgun Bob, TrinaMarie. You want something.” It wasn’t a question.
Verrikoth looked at the man for a long moment. Most curious. The man exhibits no fear. My heavy cruiser is within easy firing range, and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Thiss iz Warlord Verrikoth aboard the heavy cruiser Nemessiss. You are correct; I do want many thingz.” He paused, but the man only sighed. “I am interessted in that sship and what it can do for me.”
“Do for you?” Bob asked.
“For me, yess,” the zheen replied calmly. “I am in the market for sshipss and trained crewz. I have cargoez that need moving from one ssysstem to another and while that vessel iz… well-uzed,” he said diplomatically, “With ssome work, it could be usseful.” Make that a lot of work.
The man’s expression remained flat. “It’s a heap. Ship is barely operational. You would not want this ship.”
Verrikoth’s mandibles clacked. “But I do. I will offer compenssation, or hire on what crew would wish to sstay on.”
But the man shook his head. “Cannot accept credits,” he said immediately, his eyes growing wide.
Verrikoth leaned forward toward the vid pickup display. “I urge you to reconssider.” He was smooth, though his tone quickly darkened. “Becauze in sshort order, you will turn over that sship to me for nothing.”
“We are independent traders,” the man stated stubbornly and then cut the connection.
Verrikoth stayed silent for a long moment and then keyed his comm. Of course you are. Independent traders? More like a fringe pirate ship very down on your luck. “Vok, you have a go.” He ended that call and then turned to the communications specialist. “Open a channel to Gawhilgur.”
((--[][]--))
Megan Tremere grabbed at Robert Darling’s sleeve and pointed insistently at the display, silent as ever. An icon was flashing, moving from the icon labeled Nemesis toward the TrinaMarie. He nodded and sighed.
“I see it, Megan. Warlord looks like he will try and take the ship. Ready the crew. Repel boarders.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
She gave him a light punch in the arm then dashed off, holding a hand on the sling of the shotgun over her shoulder.
Binary decision. Work with the Warlord and cede the ship to his control, maybe getting paid in the process or refuse and probably die. He knew what the smart option was: sell the ship. But he couldn’t. Even after liberating the ship and the intervening months, Robert still couldn’t bring himself to leave the TrinaMarie’s bridge. It was his prison now as much as it had been for the last nineteen years, but it was also his safe space. He knew this place better than anyone, but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t cross the threshold. He knew the old captain instilled this agoraphobia, but he couldn’t find the strength to try and break its hold on him.
“We fight,” Robert declared. He pressed a control on the command console. “All hands,” his voice boomed over the public address system throughout the ship. “We have some armed guys coming to take the ship. Arm yourselves and be ready to fight.” He clicked the comm off. He began typing commands into the console, watching as screens changed and macros activated. There were things he could do from the bridge that couldn’t be done from anywhere else. And any boarders would fin
d surprises they wouldn’t enjoy.
((--[][]--))
A score of soldiers burst in through the damaged airlock hatch on the port side; stunner pistols held ready. They moved in using small fire teams, in groups of four.
Megan was waiting for them. She’d tried to get others to join her, but Robert’s order had come too late for her to get anyone motivated. Of course, her inability to speak hampered things further, so in the end, she grabbed up weapons and rushed down to where the invaders were docking. She hurled a frag grenade into their midst. Three of the soldiers in one of the fire teams went down in a heap. They didn’t even scream. The remaining member was shielded from the blast but toppled backward against the bulkhead from the concussion. Megan followed up with fire from her shotgun, taking that one out and one other.
There came a storm of hissing and clicking, sounding like a roar of the surf on a pebble beach. Three zheen charged Megan’s position, while two more laid down rapid fire stunner blasts to force her down. Megan obliged up until the last second. She burst out from cover, and three stunner shots struck her square in the chest. She collapsed unconscious to the deck, but not before her own weapon roared, killing one last member of the boarding force. The troops came forward, and her wrists were quickly bound with plasticord ties, and once that was done, she was shoved roughly against a bulkhead. Her weapon was secured, and the boarders continued into the ship.
Resistance inside was much less determined or fierce after that human female was subdued. Humans and non-humans alike popped out of hatch combings, firing wildly. They were easily stunned. In fact, while they had heart, the rest of the crew had little skill in fighting a boarding force.
As Vok’s team continued, they saw the ship’s crew dressed in a myriad of clothing styles, from leather work overalls, to what appeared to be some sort of (what used to be) white military dress uniform, in addition to various types of civilian dress. It was clear the crew was as much a dirty, broken rabble as was the ship.
They split into two groups, one heading for engineering, the other to the bridge. Resistance was light, stun blasts echoing down the corridors and through the compartments. Four zheen and a human male burst into engineering and all of them staggered from the heat and the filth. They would all have been affected by the smell, but their radiation suits were sealed. But if they could feel the heat through their suits, then it must truly be an inferno in here.
“Surrender!” the human, Hanouk, bellowed, his weapon raised. Sweat was beading on his face already, a sickening sensation growing in his gut, even through the radiation suit.
The two zheen, one Severite and the one human female in engineering all turned to face the attackers. They didn’t even have proper weapons. The human carried a section of pipe, the Severite an impact wrench, the zheen had multitools. None of them looked eager to engage armed men in radiation suits, in fact, all of these engineering crew looked weak and exhausted.
“NOW!” Hanouk bellowed. Then he shook his head and opened fire. Stun blasts peppered the engineers, and they dropped to the deck. “Secure the room!”
The others all moved off to carry out his order, but Hanouk moved to secure the prisoners himself. In less than a minute, he all of their hands zip-tied behind their backs and dragged them over to a far bulkhead. He was turning back when he heard calls of “Clear!” being yelled from the rest of his team. “Hanouk!” One of the zheen called. “Get over to the reactor. You need to see this.”
He jogged over, weapon ready. The zheen there nodded to him and pointed with his stun pistol at the reactor. The man looked in the direction he was pointing. The TrinaMarie’s fusion reactor looked similar to many he’d seen over the years; this one was a squat cylinder with some cables and conduits connected to it. This one, however, had corrosion all along the metal right where Hanouk was standing, there were dents and what looked like hammerblows pounded into the metal. Diagnostics and operations displays were open, though it looked as though three whole computer terminals were simply haphazardly connected up to the reactor, repurposed to work with the power generator. And according to those same displays, the reactor was barely functional; power levels were holding at eighteen percent. You can barely run life support and computer systems at that low of power levels. How do they keep the shields up or run the hyperdrive?
But that wasn’t what the zheen was pointing to. Clustered around the base of the reactor, going all the way around, were packets of explosives. “Is that…”
“Barradium disulfide bombs,” the zheen supplied. “And I don’t know how they’re rigged. That explosion, coupled with that from the reactor… It’ll increase it exponentially. And with all the radiation, it would spread all over the area.”
“Excellent. That’s just perfect,” Hanouk said sourly. He raised his wrist comm to his face. “War Leader, this is Hanouk. We’ve secured engineering, but they’ve strapped bombs to the reactor. Tech is looking at it, but for now, he can’t disarm.”
“Understood. We are on the bridge now. Have Tech Wikk take a look at them, but don’t do anything else.”
“Copy that, War Leader.” Hanouk looked to the zheen and gestured. “You heard him.”
The zheen tech specialist buzzed to himself as he holstered his stunner and pulled out his portable scanner.
((--[][]--))
Vok and his squad reached the bridge a moment later, rushing inside. Vok himself shot a Severite who whipped around from his console in a threatening manner. There was only one more person on the bridge, a human male, standing at the central command console. He had one hand on the console but turned slowly to face the invaders, his free left hand raised over his head.
“Do not shoot me,” the man stated. “I am the captain of this ship.”
Vok, amused, chittered. “And why, Captain, should that make me not want to shoot you?”
“I heard you talking on the comms,” the man replied. “I know you found the failsafe on the reactor. You need to leave.”
“I leave when my Warlord tells me to leave, Captain,” Vok replied. Then he saw flashing lights on the console. “What are you doing? Step away from the console.”
“I cannot.”
“Yes, you will.”
But the man shook his head. “I cannot. The explosives in engineering are on a deadman switch. And I’m holding it. You stun or kill me, or if I release the control, and we all go up.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “And quite possibly the station, as well.”
Vok watched him, then waved a hand to his squad. “Go through the rest of the ship, make sure you find all of the holdouts. I’ll deal with this.”
“I obey,” one of the soldiers replied. They all filed back out of the bridge into the connecting passage. Vok saw the human’s thumb move to a control while keeping his hand on the deadman switch.
“No!” he yelled, raising his weapon. But it was too late. There was a deafening roar from the corridor behind, followed by a few screams, which then ended. Vok risked a look down the corridor, saw all of his men on the ground, bleeding through many points on their ruined suits. He whirled on the human, drawing his long knife. “What did you do to them?!”
The man shrugged. “You boarded my ship. I had flechette claymores planted in that corridor, and it took too long to arm them, so I didn’t have them ready by the time you initially came out here.” He shrugged again. “Worked out pretty well.”
Vok stood and stared at him for almost a full minute without speaking. The man remained standing at the console, not speaking, just watching what the zheen did. Finally, he came to a decision. “Where is communications?”
The man pointed to a console on the starboard side, where a Severite was slumped in the chair. “Right there. Press the green indicator to transmit.”
Vok stepped over and studied the console for a moment, deciding that the man wasn’t lying, and pressed the control. A display indicating external communications popped up and he pressed a few more controls, then opened the channel to Nemesis
. “Warlord, this is Vok.”
Verrikoth’s scarred visage appeared on the display. “Go ahead, Vok. What do you have to report?”
He tapped a finger on the console, then carried on. “My Lord, we have secured the ship, all but the captain is unconscious and in cuffs, and I have techs working on securing the reactor.”
“Well done,” Verrikoth replied, sounding pleased.
“But the crew had anti-mutiny defenses set up, my Lord. Two squads are down and will need immediate medical attention. Resistance was heavy only at the initial airlock, and that was from a grenade strike.”
“Might want to tell him what else you found,” the captain mused. Vok turned and glared at him, but the man only shrugged.
“What waz that?” Verrikoth demanded sharply.
Vok buzzed a sigh. “The crew have packed explosives on the reactor. Barradium disulfide charges and the charges are set on a deadman switch. The captain is holding the detonator.”
“I ssee. Let me talk with him.”
“You’re on with him now, my Lord.” The display rotated so that the two could see one another.
“This is Darling,” the captain stated, leaning against the console.
“You called yoursself Sshotgun Bob before,” the zheen noted. “Am I sspeaking with ssomeone elsse?”
“No, my crew calls me Shotgun Bob,” Robert Darling explained, sounding tired. “It has to do with how I took command of the ship. So why won’t you leave?” he dropped his free hand to his side, resting it on the panel.
“I have already told you, I want your sship in my service,” Verrikoth explained, a bit more calmly than Vok would have expected for a leader who had just lost nine men. “I undersstand you have sseriouss trap attached to the reactor. Barradium explossivez.”
“Needed some way to deal with boarders,” Robert replied. “But that’s not all.” He pressed another control on the console and Vok leaped forward, but too late. Something was activated, and the deck plating shivered from whatever it was. Noise came from through the hatch, but it was indistinguishable over the whine from the blowers. “Uh, uh, ahh!” he said, in a sing-song voice, raising his hand again, and shaking one finger chidingly. “Wouldn’t want to make me let go.” His voice returned to a flat monotone.
The Warlord's Path: Samair in Argos: Book 6 Page 16
