John was sent flying from his chair as the whole bridge buckled. He landed on the hardwood paneling of the floor with enough of a thump to force the air out of his lungs. Swearing, he grabbed the brass banister near his command desk and hauled himself back to his feet.
"Mao, what in the hell are you doing to my ship?" John roared, staring at the pilot as he scrambled back up to the helm. "That, sir, was the starboard engine bursting because someone ordered me to put me speed into her than she has!" Mao yelled back, his hands dancing back and forth across the switches in front of him.
"I know the Hermes, I know what she can take!"
"Then you know she can't take this!" Mao shot back, his voice starting to reach into the upper register of hysteria. "See these flashing lights? That's what they're telling me. We're going to die, we're all going to die, if they don't shoot us down then we'll fall apart and we're going to die!"
Another explosion lit up the view-screen and John had to cover his eyes but he could still here the distinctive thrum as the Hermes's engines powered down. He turned to Mao, a stream of invective forming on his lips, but it died in his throat when he saw the pilot's face.
"I'm not dying for you, John." He said, his voice returning to normal but still with a hard edge. John managed a half-smile. "We'll see."
John opened up communication channels to negotiate docking with the Confederates, while in his head the thought that he would never see Penelope again echoed back and forth.
"Ah, it seems out quarry is giving up the chase. Pity."
Captain William Hawk stood straight-backed and tall with his hands clasped together behind his back. His uniform was freshly pressed, as always, his hat was set perfectly straight on his head and his boots gleamed in the fluorescent glow of the Orion's bridge.
The Orion was a freshly minted middle-class frigate, designed as a compromise between the indomitably heavy Behemoth-class Battlecruisers and fighters such as the Wraith. William was already coming to love the result. Informally dubbed a Hunter-class gunship, it was fast enough to keep pace with anything bigger than a wraith and had enough punch to outgun them too. This was the dream vessel for pirate or smuggler-baiting, and its first mission appeared to be an instant success.
The vaguely female figure wired into the comms desk next to William whirred and turned to face him; "The Hermes is transmitting a white flag sir. They have surrendered."
"Thank you adjutant." William replied. Being polite to the adjutants wasn't at all necessary, as there wasn't enough human left in them to feel snubbed, but William always felt better when treating them like a normal person. "Open up a communication channel to the Hermes for me, but first put me through the PA to address the crew. Please."
"Yes sir." The adjutant replied, and then beeped to inform him that the line was open. William smiled. The things were so much more efficient and professional than a fully human officer would be. It was a marvelous invention.
"Attention personal, this is Captain Hawk. We have closed with our prey and are about to dock in time minus one minute. Marines are to be prepared to board and secure in that time. I want this run by the book: the mission has gone perfectly so far and this is not a time for mistakes. You will have thirty seconds to ensure the security of the vessel and bring all its human content on board for interrogation. I expect perfect results."
William signed to the adjutant to cut him off and then settled into his captain's chair, pressing a button to bring up picture from the Hermes. The image flickered into being, and he was greeted by a monstrosity.
Two massive, multi-faceted, bulbous eyes stared at him from the vid link, hanging above a pair of enormous spiked mandibles. Despite himself, William pushed further back into his chair.
"What in God's name… Starship! I demand you identify yourself!"
There was a burst of static which contained something that could, conceivably, be a human voice, but if it was it did not say anything decipherable. The… Thing in the image did not move at all.
Zerg. It had to be zerg. The ship was infested! And he was about to dock with it!
"Adjutant!" William yelled, far louder than necessary, "Open up a new PA channel! I have to-"
William stopped. The image in the vid-link still hadn't moved at all, and now that he was looking at it closely… "Belay that adjutant." William said, and stood up. "Captain John Pilgrim, kindly remove the grasshopper from in front of your vid-link and cease the audio distortion so we can establish the terms of your surrender."
There was a pause, then a burst of static and the monster vanished, to be replaced by a lean, olive-skinned face with massive bags under its eyes, grinning desperately. "My apologies captain, my pilot collects insects as a hobby you see, and one must have, quite accidentally, been left… Well, it was a decent effort, you must admit."
"Indeed." William said, cutting his syllables like a professional gardener. Smug was how he should play it now, not irritated. He couldn't let off that such a stupid trick had very nearly fooled him.
"So what seems to be the problem, captain?"
"It's a little late to play dumb, I'm afraid." William replied. "The problem is that your ship is loaded to the gulls with contraband bourbon. The problem is that over the last fortnight while we have been tracking you and repeatedly signaling for you to halt and dock, that you have instead been making every effort to avoid or disappear from us. I therefore have you down under counts of illegal acquisition of alcohol, illegal avoidance of tariffs, and avoiding arrest."
A light from overhead signaled that the Orion was now abreast of the Hermes and docking. "However, in lieu of recent events that you may not have been abreast of, I have been authorized to make what one would call, in colloquial parlance, an "offer you cannot refuse." Which is hyperbole, I must admit. It remains within your rights to refuse the offer, just as it still remains within mine to blow you and your crate into the void right now."
"Crate? Crate? Now listen here you old-blood son-of-a-"
"Thank you captain," William said in a calm but rather loud voice, a more genuine smirk playing across his lips now, "we shall resume this discussion on my quarterdeck shortly. My men will escort you here."
William signaled for the adjutant to close the channel before John could continue, and allowed himself to lie back in his comfortable chair. Today was going to be an excellent day.
John felt alive.
His past had already finished flashing before his eyes, and now he was beginning to see several different versions of his future drop with all the certainty of steal into place. He could die. He could die in many different and creative ways, most of which revolving around schemes that he created to avoid dying. But then…
The damned Confederate with his damned ship (whatever the hell it was, it was a real beauty) had been on their tails for two weeks and nothing that they'd tried had thrown him off. He was obviously sharper than he seemed, even if that grasshopper stunt had nearly thrown him. But marines he'd met before. They let anyone into the Marines, simply because they died so quick that for them to be effective they had to let everyone into the marines. Most of them were re-soc, and that did a serious number on your head. They could be trusted to follow orders and to shoot things, which was all the Confederacy ever wanted them for, but that was about it. That would be the weak-spot for this brilliant captain.
John had run through the options for himself and his crew several times now. There was no chance that they could fight off the Marines. Just one of them, with those damn huge Gauss rifles and massive powered suits could probably take down the whole crew (well, minus Miranda), and they would be outnumbered anyway. They probably couldn't hide from them either, much as that idea appealed to John. Looking for someone was not a complicated job, and marines were very good at simple jobs. Besides, the Hermes was a tiny ship when it came down to it. There were plenty of good nooks and crannies, but none that would keep them hidden for long.
So, instead, he'd called everyone to the docking bay to wait to be captured.
Mao was looking mutinous which, John considered, was not that surprising seeing has he had practically just mutinied earlier on, but there was a desperate edge to his posture which John saw as meaning he'd rather go with anyone other than the Confederacy. John knew Mao already had several outstanding counts of joy-riding: his new ones, even if he argued it down to accomplice, could easily see him hang. This played right into John' hands. Mao would have to stick with him. Mao was a good pilot, which was several sights better than no pilot at all, so if he and Hermes were going to get out of this, they would need Mao too.
Devon didn't look much happier, but Devon never looked happy. Even since taking him on as engineer he'd done nothing but constantly deride the Hermes capabilities, in spite of the fact that John knew damn well it was worth. He'd have never hired Devon if he hadn't badly needed someone to maintain the ship, but the problem remained that he did badly need someone to maintain the ship, so he'd have to maintain Devon. Unless something better came up.
Kate the cook and cheer was here. John didn't doubt she was the soul of the Hermes. He also didn't doubt that she wasn't nessecary to his escape, not really. But there was no way he was leaving the girl behind. He'd never live with himself. Besides, if he was stuck with Devon and Mao then Katie would at least make life bearable. Her expression right now nearly broke John' heart.
And then there was Miranda… Even John never knew what to expect from her. She took his pay, never asked for any more, rarely spoke to anyone, and calmly and methodically took apart every human being she had been told to 'deal with' to date. She seemed to know how to use every gun ever made, even antiques, together with grenades, plastic explosives, charges… Hell, even home-made, chemistry-kit stuff. Give Miranda half the equipment that one of the marines had, and John had no doubt she'd be able to take down an entire squadron of them.
And there was the problem. Of course, Miranda did not have half the standard-issue equipment of a marine. She didn't have one of their Gauss rifles with the rounds specifically designed to pierce their armour, or the armour herself to help against the counter-fire. And there was only one of her which, sooner or later, a bullet would find. In this situation, John had decided, where fighting was not an option, Miranda was more of a liability than an asset. She had to be kept under close watch.
"Ok everyone, we've been got pure and simple." John said, holding his hands up. "I hope to come out the other end alive, but if there's to be any chance of that then all of you are to do exactly as I say and make no trouble. If there should be a situation on which I have not briefed you, it's important to make no trouble first and foremost. Confederates like to shoot first and don't bother asking questions. Don't give them a reason. Also, Miranda, I see you decided to bring Samson along. I'm going to have to take him off you, or we may all die."
Miranda looked down at the sawn-off shotgun she was resting on one shoulder and then back up at John, but otherwise didn't move. An insistent beeping behind them told John that the bay doors were about to open.
"I'm serious Miranda. You try anything they'll kill the lot of us. And I'm not letting that happen. Give it to me. Now."
The beeping was getting louder: someone trying to open a comms channel. Miranda narrowed her eyes at John who felt sweat beading on his forehead. She knows he thought, somehow she knows. And she's going to get the wrong idea and kill all of us oh God.
The huge woman swung the gun down at John, who flinched, but then handed it carefully into his arms. John sighed, heard the rest of the crew sigh, and tried his most charming smile. "Thankyou dear. There'll be a raise in this for you when we get out."
The beeping suddenly stopped, and was replaced by a loud hissing noise. John didn't turn around, but knew that if he did there would be the blinding light of a welding iron melting its way through the bay doors. And they were tiled too! He closed his eyes and allowed himself a groan before summoning his courage again. "Alright, the same goes for the rest of you. We need a pile of everything shiny, sharp and/or shooty over by the door by the time they get in or we will have been violently resisting and the penalty is immediate death. Chop-chop."
As Devon and Mao reached into nearby nooks to remove their side-arms and place them down, John could feel Miranda's stare boring into him. He turned to her, thought the hell with it and gave her a wink.
As John turned the glowing red line around the door met the other side, and the bay door crashed inwards. The figures on the other side were massive and dome-headed, the colour of their powered armour lost in the glare behind them. The moment it went down two jumped through the entrance and swept the area with their huge rifles. John immediately put both his hands on his head. The rest of the crew seemed paralysed from the sudden movement until the third marine entered, the nozzle of his gauss rifle pointed right at Devon, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"NOBODY MOVE! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD AND ALL OF YOU ON THE FLOOR NOW! I SAID NOW! GO, GO, GO!"
His voice crackled through the intercom of his helmet and the whole sentence came out in one breath. John immediately fell to the floor hard, keeping his hands on his head rather than using them to steady himself, and felt the impact on his knees. Why did they always shout? Did they ever communicate in any other way? You'd think the Gauss rifles would be enough to do the talking for them, but no. They screamed everything.
The third marine made a motion with his hand and the other two went running with heavy thuds down the corridor. John could imagine the massive scuff marks those huge boots were going to leave across all of his mopped floors. Two more Marines came through the door and aimed their massive guns directly at the heads of those on the ground.
"We got ourselves four turkeys, trussed and ready." The third marine drawled into his radio. He looked down over Katie's petite frame. "Mmmm… And some of them look ready to eat to, I reckon."
There was the sound of a distant radio response. John couldn't make out any of the words.
"Still awaitin' it sir." The marine's eyes swept over the pile of weaponry in one corner. "Aw, they brought us a gift! Smart move, maggots. Turkeys are unarmed sir. Should we bring 'em aboard?"
Another muffled command.
"Yessir. On your feet maggots." The marine said, and reached down, lifting Katie from lying into a standing position. The other two on either side likewise hauled up John and Mao. Devon scrambled to his feet on his own.
"This is a niiiiice ride you got here. But I think you'll find the brig just as comfortable. Get movin', and if any of you so much as thinks of twitchin' out of line, you've got a gauss spike with your name on it. Ever seen what happens when one of these babies hits someone at this range with no armour? It's pretty spectacular, let me tell you."
John felt the heavy butt of a rifle prod his back. It was as big as both his fists on top of each other. "The captain wants to talk to you." The marine behind him said.
John was led apart from the others through the corridors of the ship that had bee hunting him for the last fortnight. It was easily twice the size of the Hermes but nowhere near as big as he'd expected: he didn't know the Confederates made vessels this size. All of the corridors gleamed. It was a much harsher, more military décor compared to the opulence of the Hermes but it was clearly freshly minted.
John took careful note of each of the corridors he went through and the final staircase up to the bridge. It was twisted, but not a labyrinthine: there was a good chance he could make his way through there again. It was nowhere near enough of a chance for him to stake his life on if it came to it, but it might be the only one he'd get.
Finally John was led up a steep set of stairs and into the bridge. It was dark: all the lights were turned off except for the flashing display on the view-screen. The confederate captain who had hunted him down was standing before the view-screen, silhouetted against it, but even from here John could make out the decorated uniform. An adjutant whirred away in the corner.
"Thankyou private, you may wait at the stairs." Said the voice that John had heard over the intercom before. Not the usual confederate drawl, this one. It had round vowels and short, clipped consonants: the poshest voice that John had ever heard.
The marine clopped heavily down the stairs backwards.
"So you're the son-of-a-bitch who's been stalking us then."
"Just so. And successfully, as it seems. My name is Captain Hawk."
"So what sort of offer are you going to give me? Hanging or shooting?"
"Ha. No, not quite." Hawk replied. "You're to accompany us back to Tarsonis. We haven't been getting much instruction, but the planet is under attack. Everything with an engine is being ordered back there to aid in the war effort."
"Under attack?" John asked, caught off guard. He hadn't been expecting this. "By who? The Sons of Korhal?"
"To begin with. Both extraterrestrial races appear to have joined in." Hawk replied, his voice as calm has ever.
"Rebels and protoss and zerg? Oh my."
"Your patriotism and concern for your family is heart-warming captain, really. Particularly considering your birth."
John looked up. "How did you know I was Old Family?"
"I'd love to say that your patrician good looks and intelligence shine through any disguise… But I'd be lying. Truth be told, your disguise as an ill-bred thug is foolproof. I know because I was told, by your relatives, before they paid me to come on this mission to find you." Hawk said. You could cut the smugness with a knife.
"As much as I'd love to fulfil my patriotic duty, sir, it seems that you'll be letting me go. Now."
"Oh?" Hawk replied, still not turning around. "And why is that?"
"Because since I gave my weapons up willingly," John said, reaching into his pant leg and pulling out his revolver, "your goons decided not to search me."
Now Hawk turned around, putting his head on one side. "So I see. And what were you planning to do after you shot me?"
"Use your corpse as a human shield to get me out of here. Or maybe as a pillow. I don't know, my back's up against a wall. All that could be avoided, of course, if you just gave the order to let me go."
"Really?" Hawk replied, and that smirk crept back again. "John, I don't think you've thought this through. If I don't cave in to your demands, what are you going to do with six shots and a shipful of marines?"
John grit his teeth and cast a glance back over his shoulder. Hawk kept going "Whereas, now that the chips are down, I can have you executed in a flash just by raising my voice."
"That's as well may be." John said, feeling sweat beginning to prick his face. "But there's one thing you haven't counted on."
"I highly doubt it. But do go on."
"When you're as desperate as I am, you'll shoot just to wipe that god-damn smile off your face" John replied, and pulled the trigger.
Hawk flickered slightly as the bullet passed straight through him. And then John felt the click of a gun against his temple.
"Ah, but a hunter maintains his position of strength at all times." Replied the real Hawk, not a hologram, that John now realised was standing right next to him. "Otherwise he'll become the prey. Private! Take this prey to the brig with the others. He's just volunteered to perform a sterling patriotic duty."