Disclaimer: I do not own Vandread or any of its characters. Gonzo has sole rights to them.

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Chapter 2: The Hunt

The Nirvana was floating helplessly in space, engines disabled by a potent computer virus uploaded into the system by a group of unknown attackers. And that was their smallest problem.

"Clear the doorway! We have injured coming through!" A group of crewmembers with nothing else to do hauled another stretcher into the crowded infirmary. Duero and Paiway were working on the most badly injured while others used first aid to patch up the more fortunate ones. Duero finished a hasty operation on one patient only to have his hands full with yet another. He'd been working for several hours straight and was starting to worry that exhaustion would start dulling his senses, causing him to make a deadly mistake on any one of the various procedures he had to perform. However, there was no other option. Without any other skilled medical personnel onboard who were capable of relieving him, he had no choice but to continue. I have to do this. These people's lives are in my hands…

An emergency meeting of all senior (or at least important) personnel on the ship was underway. It was taking place in Magno's 'office' of sorts, the same place where she'd met Rabat several years ago. The mood was bleak, with everyone pushed close to the breaking point.

"Gascogne! How far along are you on the cleanup program?"

"We won't be done for a long time. Those guys weren't worried about what they might break. We've got debris and all kinds of internal damage everywhere. On the good side, at least my crew has finally managed disarming the last of the laser mines they scattered in the hallways as they retreated."

Meia shook her head. "Until another crewmember happens to wander into one."

Gascogne glared at her. "Hey. Watch it. My people are doing the best they can."

The Dread pilot did not respond, but gave Gasco a dark look. She was wearing a bloodstained bandage around her head, and did not appear to be doing well. However, she only snapped at people who suggested that she allow Duero to take a look at the injury.

Magno frowned. "Now isn't the time to bicker among ourselves. We have more important concerns. First, who are these people? And how did they know so much about us? And what are they going to do with the Dreads and the data they stole?"

Barnette scowled angrily. "We don't know anything about them. We don't even know who they are! Damn it! Why'd they choose to attack us?"

BC shook her head. "They obviously wanted the Nirvana's technical data as well as the power of the Vandreads. If we want to find out more, though, we'll have to dig up information on these people…"

Gasco grinned. "We won't have to bother. As a precaution, I decided to put a tracer on their ship. We can follow them… if the engines were working."

Meia looked up. "We can't afford to give them any more of a head start. We have to devise another plan to get after them as quickly as possible."

Magno frowned heavily, inspecting her Dread leader more carefully. Meia was never the hasty sort…

"No. These people, whoever they are, have already shown us they are extremely dangerous. I won't allow the crew to be split in an attempt to take back what they stole; it's just too risky."

The blue-haired Dread leader considered it. "We could use Gascogne's supply ship to simply locate and follow them until the Nirvana is ready. We can't allow them to get away."

Magno sighed, suddenly feeling every one of her years pressing down on her shoulders. "All right… I'll put you in charge of it. Take anyone you need."

Meanwhile, within the main raider ship was a scene of organized chaos. A technician had attempted to activate one of the stolen machines, but it had gone out of control, careening into the far wall. A crew was now attempting to remove it from the smoking hole, and the other machines had been heavily restrained to keep anything like that from happening again.

Above the bay where the stolen fighters were being kept, a man stood watching. He was old, with gray hair and a face lined by years of a stressful calling, but he still had straight shoulders and an unbent back. He was Conrad Kurtz, the commander of what had once been the Valkoris 1st, the proudest, most decorated unit from the defense force of the planet Valkoris IV. That had been in the past; now their planet was under the sway of an alliance of neighboring systems who had invaded theirs, intent on conquest. The 1st had fought until they were alone within the shattered ruins of what had been the capital of their home, and in the end Conrad had ordered the retreat. Throwing away the lives of his remaining soldiers for nothing more than foolish pride had been too much to ask from him.

Now, though, he was wondering whether or not his choice had been correct. His soldiers were reduced to common mercenaries, hired dogs fighting at the command of their masters. Worse, he also knew that the men hated it; after being raised in the military of Valkoris, they had grown to adopt the virtues of honor and duty taught to them throughout their training. Now they were little more than pirates, attacking people who had done them no harm and fighting even for tyrants that they would just as soon overthrow.

"Commander."

Conrad turned around to see his captain standing behind him. Renard Gilchrist, formerly a full Captain in the Valkoris defense force; now known unofficially as the Stone Soldier by his men. Their joking referral to him was not a sign of disrespect, however; it was a sign of camaraderie and familiarity. Renard almost never cracked a smile, in part because a close range brush with a flamethrower had damaged some of his facial nerves. The upper left side of his face was horribly scarred from the encounter, and his natural eye had been replaced with a bionic replacement with an additional infrared scanner that made it glow a baleful, red color. Needless to say, very few men or women could match him in a staring contest.

"Yes?"

Renard shifted slightly. "Are we actually going to go through with this?"

"Naturally. We were paid to acquire the equipment and data and we have. Now we hand it over and collect our money. It's none of our business what happens to it after that."

"So we attack a ship, kill everything in our way, and steal their craft."

"They were pirates, Renard."

"And what are we, then?"

"… Mercenaries."

If it was possible, Renard's face grew even grimmer than usual. "Very well, Commander. If we happen to start a new war with this act, it'll only mean more work, won't it?"

The Stone Soldier turned his back and walked away. Kurtz sighed. He was now feeling very keenly the lethargy that had led to his men nicknaming him the Old Man.

Bloody hell… have we dropped this far?

Renard walked into a ready room, heading straight for the bar. A moment later, he'd gulped down two drinks in a row. Damn it all…

He could still remember that ship, the desperate faces of the crewmembers as his men stormed through it in an unstoppable tide. They may have been pirates, but the information they had bought from a ranking Tarak government official showed they were not the cutthroat sort he'd have had no problems dispatching.

Killing people had always had been a distasteful duty for him, although he had always been able to remind himself in the past that the deaths were for the good of his home, that he was protecting his people by fighting. Now he could only tell himself that it was for the good of the unit, that the soldiers needed something to do with themselves after their banishment. Only the determination to see his men through every battle had sustained him through the vicious campaigns they had fought in as mercenaries. Now, though, it was all disappearing… they were no longer warriors, just soldiers. At the rate they were deteriorating, it was possible that soon they would not even be that.

Renard Gilchrist and the Valkoris 1st regiment…also known as reavers and money-seeking murderers.