ACT TWO
Time was running out.
Ensign Nathaniel Hayes forced back the lump that was in his throat and checked the power settings on his pulse rifle yet again. It was unnecessary - the settings hadn't changed in the forty seconds since he had last checked them - but it gave him something to do that didn't involve looking at the transporter. Less than a week on the Endeavour and he was already going on an away mission.
He had expected more time, had expected to be slid into the duty rotation gradually after he had gotten to know the capabilities of the men and women he was to lead. It wasn't that he was afraid; in the three years that had passed since he had been recruited into the Section, he had already participated in five covert operations, two of which had devolved into combat. Though he loathed playing the role of the "new guy," it wasn't hard to appear at least a little concerned; he was barely checked out on half of the equipment he carried, and hadn't qualified or even test-fired the rifle they'd issued him. In addition, there was the exhaustion that came from having not slept in the last twenty hours. And yet, despite it all, he was excited, eager to live up to the expectations of the Section, to finally prove his worth to Starfleet.
There were five other members of Third Squad present and, though he outranked them all, they still managed to make him feel like the new guy. At a glance, he could tell that all of them had seen combat; it was in their eyes and the casual way they stood waiting for orders. To them, the transporter was just another tool, just another technological marvel that allowed them to complete their mission even more quickly. None of them even spared the engineering crewman a glance, trusting her expertise with the equipment in a way that Hayes realized he couldn't. He swallowed again, and his eyes drifted toward the machine before he could stop himself. He had no desire to think about being dissassembled, piece by piece, molecule by molecule, atom by atom. No desire whatsoever.
From where he stood, Nate had a clear view of Lieutenant Commander Eisler and took a moment to study the man. Despite his broken ribs and an ugly bruise that covered most of his face, the commander was at his station to coordinate the coming assault. He appeared to take his job as senior tactical officer absolutely seriously, and Hayes was convinced that the cold-eyed German hadn't cracked a smile since coming aboard Endeavour. In the wake of Eisler's escapades aboard the station, the ship's rumor mill was working overtime and fully half of the Roughnecks seemed convinced that the TAC was an ex-spy.
Nate knew better.
"Contact," the voice of CPO Luckabaugh whispered across the intrasquad frequency. He and PO2 Elliot were kilometers away, carefully concealed in an overwatch position above a docking berth. Contained within that docking facility was an Orion gunship.
Tentatively identified by documents seized during the assault on the bar in Green Sector, the gunship officially did not exist. According to station records, Docking Berth TK-4-21 was empty and undergoing renovations. Eisler had suggested holding off seizure of the gunship in the hopes of nabbing additional members of the Orion Syndicate, and Captain Tucker had signed off on the plan immediately.
"One-four hostiles approaching target zone," Luckabaugh continued his quiet report, and Nate frowned at the thought of facing fourteen aggressive Orion legbreakers. "All are armed with disruptor pistols. Two have rifles." The chief petty officer paused briefly. "No sign of armor."
"Acknowledged," Eisler said in reply before quickly triggering the intraship comm. "Bridge, Eisler. Third Squad ready for insertion. Recommend standard defensive dispersal." He turned toward the transporter and the squad took their places; Hayes found his breath coming fast as he climbed onto the machine platform. He really didn't want to do this.
A chime sounded and Hayes felt his stomach lurch. Though he was facing the rear of the transporter, he knew what that meant. The captain had given them the go-ahead. He was about to be torn apart at the subatomic level and reassembled in an entirely different location. For a long moment, he would be nothing more than a data stream. Oh God, I don't want to do this! he thought, and thenEisler's voice cut through his fear.
"Energize."
It was like diving into a pool of icy water while stark naked or cold-shirting through the hard vacuum of space in nothing but his underwear. Only seconds elapsed but he hated every single moment of it. Was it his imagination or could he actually feel his parts disappearing as he stood on the pad? He blinked - or tried to blink - and suddenly found himself facing the wall. Embarrassment flooded through him as he realized that the TAC had placed him in the safest spot available. Stop acting like a damned rookie, he snarled to himself as he glanced around.
Already, two of Third Squad had moved to the connecting airlock to cover it as two others advanced to the entryway leading to the docking berth. At Nate's side, Crewman Wakulich shifted quietly as he loaded a grenade into the under-the-barrel launcher that was attached to his pulse rifle. Hayes gave the five Security personnel a quick once over, noting the complete lack of worry on their faces with approval.
"This is Three Alpha," he whispered into his comm. "Good to go."
"Bravo good," Luckabaugh's voice came at once.
"Charlie good," PO2 D'Agostino reported, indicating that he and Crewman Hawkins were ready in their sniper position. Having two sniper teams in position above the cavernous docking berth had been another of Eisler's suggestions, one that Nate was more than happy to see implemented.
"Go to night vision," Eisler commanded from Endeavour, and Hayes pressed a button on the side of his helmet. At once, the transparent face shield seemed to darken as the light enhancement technology built into the helmet activated. Despite being based on centuries-old technology, helmets had only recently made a reappearance in the standard gear issued to a soldier. "Stand by," the TAC officer continued. A tense moment passed before the entire corridor was suddenly plunged into total darkness. "Execute," Eisler ordered.
The two Roughnecks that had moved to cover the airlock - Hernandez and Hoffman - wheeled around and rejoined the rest of the team as they rushed through the opening hatch that led to the docking berth. Like the corridor, it too was pitch black but that had been part of the plan; Hayes wasn't sure who was responsible, but someone on Endeavour had killed the power to the berth lighting system.
Three Orions were already down as the assault team entered, dropped by well-placed shots from the two sniper teams, and a fourth fell in the seconds afterwards. A fifth and sixth Orion surged toward the gunship despite the darkness and Wakulich triggered his launcher without hesitation; tumbling through the air, the grenade exploded between the two runners, erupting in a goopy mist that enveloped the two before hardening almost instantly. Encased in a rigid but air permeable shell, the two fell, no longer a threat.
Like vengeful ghosts, the six members of the assault team moved toward the gunboat, weapons spitting fire. Seven more Orions toppled to the ground as the six neared the open hatch of the gunboat, victims of the precise aim of the team. Without a word, Crewman Hoffman and PO1 Vera sent a pair of stun grenades sliding into the ship; both detonated with loud flashes and a resulting surprised cry warned them of at least one hostile. Up the small ramp Hoffman and Vera went, weapons at the ready, followed immediately by Hernandez and Simons; three steps behind them, Nate followed.
He heard the shots before he saw them.
Hoffman took a blast to his chest; the brutal kinetic energy of the shot sent him sprawling backwards and his finger reflexively tightened on the trigger of his rifle as he fell. A stream of pulse rounds hammered into Vera, catching him completely by surprise and slamming him into the unyielding bulkhead with bonecrushing force. The petty officer dropped, a victim of so-called friendly fire, and "Doc" Simons moved instantly toward his fallen comrade, corpsman training kicking in and overriding his survival instincts. Caught by surprise, Hernandez lurched to the side and, momentarily overcome by panic, sprayed wildly with his rifle.
Straightening from his crouch, the waiting Orion shifted fire, abandoning his cover to get a steadier grip on his rifle. Taking careful aim at Hernandez and ignoring the wild shots that flashed by him, he squeezed off a single shot; shrieking in sudden agony, Crewman Hernandez fell to the deck of the gunship as the disruptor beam burned through his armored cuirass and into his stomach. Acting as if he had all the time in the world, the Orion took aim at Simons.
By then, Hayes was on him.
It took every gram of restraint Nate had to not break the Orion's neck as he pounced on him. A small part of him - the part remaining distant and logical - knew that it would have been more efficient to simply shoot the Orion but the anger that washed over him came too quickly, and he found himself suddenly in front of the pirate with a need to lash out, to inflict physical pain. He batted the pirate's disruptor rifle away, using his own weapon as more of a melee weapon, then brought the rifle butt up in a blurring attack. It caught the pirate on the jaw and Nate felt the satisfying crunch of broken bone. Limp and completely senseless, the Orion collapsed in a heap.
Kicking the disruptor away from the unconscious pirate, Hayes turned back to his team, his face bleak with the effort to fight down the thundering rage that swept through him. It had been a long time since such a fit of fury had overtaken him, a long time since he had lost control so suddenly and completely, and he struggled to contain himself from lashing out again. He drew a breath, held it for exactly five heartbeats, and released it. His anger faded, exhaled with the breath; it did not completely go away - it never would - but it faded to controllable levels.
Gratified to see the others already assisting the fallen, he pulled the stun-cuffs from his belt and secured the bleeding Orion. If he were a better man, he would have attended to the pirate's broken jaw or given him a painkiller; but he had long since given up thinking he was a good man. PO2 Simons stood up from Vera and shook his head. The calmness that Nate had just found fractured slightly and he focused once more on his breathing. Hernandez was no longer screaming but was clearly in extreme pain, and an unmoving Hoffman drew ragged breaths as Wakulich began to apply first aid. Activating his comm, Hayes spoke.
"Endeavour, Hayes." His voice was flat but he couldn't completely contain the anger.
"Endeavour here." It was Devereux. He didn't want to talk to her. Not right now.
"Inform Endeavour Actual that the target is secure. Two casualties, one KIA, one-four prisoners. Require immediate medical attention for two casualties."
"Acknowledged." The line fuzzed out for a moment and the captain replaced Devereux as the lights flickered back on in the docking berth.
"This is Tucker. Can the casualties be moved?" Hayes glanced at the two; Hernandez gave him a thumbs-up despite the grimace of pain on his face but Simons, who was now checking on Hoffman, shook his head and spoke for Hayes.
"Negative, sir," the corpsman said. "One is critical. I need Phlox."
"All right. Stand by."
"Get the prisoners ready for transport," Nate instructed Wakulich. "Bravo, Charlie, area is secure." A distinctive hum sounded and three figures materialized around them. As the two med-techs began assembling a stretcher, Phlox glanced over the three fallen men. Vera he ignored; from the odd angle that his head hung, the petty officer was clearly dead. Hernandez received a momentary glance before Phlox moved on to Hoffman's inert form and began scanning him. The Denobulan raised an eyebrow and met Nate's eyes.
"This crewman requires immediate surgery," Phlox declared and Hayes nodded, triggering his comm once more.
"Endeavour, Hayes. CMO and patient to beam directly to sickbay. Standing by to begin transporting prisoners." He was barely aware of the acknowledgement as the unconscious pirate began to stir. The anger started to resurface; if he didn't get out now, he might do something he would regret later. "Wakulich," he called out as the doctor and Hoffman dematerialized. "Secure that prisoner," he ordered before turning away. If anything, the insane fury that was always there intensified, heating into a raging volcano.
Being an Augment, he reflected bitterly, really had its drawbacks.