Hello once again, everyone. I hope everything that celebrates it is enjoying their 4th of July weekend, and that life is treating you all well. My own life's been pretty manic of late (the wonderful life of the associate in the law office, and the perpetual concerns of whether or not you're doing a good enough job), hence the somewhat….well…sporadic….update schedule. I hope you can all forgive me for that, and you have my most sincere thanks for your patience. I've also be reworking some of my Jak and Daxter stuff, hoping to get Risen Demon in a more….readable…condition in the coming future, given that I wrote that one up before I had any formal writing training.
As it stands, I hope that this chapter is decent enough, and worth the wait. I want to thank Atlan, Orsai, Swordsman, Boondock Jake, and everyone else who's been helping me out along the way with this thing. You guys have been a big help. And of course, a special thanks to all of you as well, for taking time out of your busy lives to read this story. :)
Chapter Ten: Things Get Complicated
Angela felt the ship rumble as it started to take off. The past couple of days had been frantic, redistributing the cargo and getting the convoy together had wound up taking far more time that she had initially suspected it would, leaving her with no time to sit back and relax. Still, they were leaving at long last. She sat back on her bunk as she felt the Arcturus rocket up out of Ichar-III's atmosphere, leaving the planet behind. Up in orbit, it would join a dozen other freighters, two intergalactic cruise-liners that were taking well-paying passengers on tours of the more untamed regions of space, and a quartet of Independent Trader vessels.
The Lombax nodded to herself as she thought about the procedure. It was fairly straightforward. They'd procured scan-proof, dummy copies of the containers holding the alien's body, his armor, and his weaponry, and spread them around the merchant fleet that they'd be with. The idea was an elaborate shell-game to keep potential thieves and pirates guessing and off balance. It was no secret that Megacorp had been at a dig-site for half a standard year, and that there had been unusual difficulties in getting into the buried facility. That sort of information was likely to make anyone on the black market (or other mega-corporations) rather curious. By hiding the "goods" among other ships, it turned into a complicated guessing game where the odds weren't in a raider's favor. Only she, Arden, and the higher-ups in Megacorp knew that the objects in question were still really on the Arcturus, even the freighter's crew was being kept in the dark. On top of that, the presence of the cruise liners would serve as additional "bait." Why waste a chance that you'd guess wrong on some corporate dig that might or might not actually be valuable, when you could go after one of those floating palaces and hold the lot of them for ransom?
Angela winced for a moment as she thought about it, and she sighed bitterly as she thought about the very real possibility that those ships, with their masses of civilian passengers, could well become targets for that very reason. Hopefully, the Independent Traders would be able to dissuade any attacks.
The life of an Independent Trader (or simply "I.T." for short) was one fraught with risk and danger, taking high value goods out to the "wild" and less civilized regions of the galaxy, where no government or mega-corporation held sway. The profits to be had as the sole suppliers to some of the more remote regions were immense, with the tradeoff being that it put you outside the boundaries of any assistance. For that reason, I.T. vessels were bristling with high-powered (and often borderline illegal) weapons, armor, and extremely overpowered engines that made them less mercantile vessels and more private warships that just happened to have large freight capacities. Those features often allowed the ships to make a good secondary income serving as convoy escorts and "muscle" for civilian ships traveling in dangerous areas.
Also helping matters was that it going to be a short trip, just a couple of hours. The Lombax turned over in her bunk, her ears twitching. She remembered earlier trips, ones where she'd hid herself among the huddled and disheveled passengers, clad in hologuises to cover her true nature and where she half expected every trip to end with Tachyon's troops finding her.
She tried to shake that thought from her head and focus on something else that was just as disturbing. She reached into the cubbyhole where her bag was and pulled out her PDA. It didn't take her long to flip it back on and go back to the article that she'd been reading before they took off.
"Planet Arcadia Attacked! Unknown Aliens Responsible!" the article screamed in large, bold typeface, while underneath it, pictures of the aliens in question were shown, along with images of their ships and the absolute devastation that they'd wrought.
The first part wasn't news so much as the second one. While there were areas of Bogon that were relatively untamed, there was hardly any place, even in the outer rim regions, that hadn't been explored. Where could an entire civilization that was advanced enough to construct weapons and ships like that have been hiding? More and more, Angela was beginning to believe that Ratchet, Clank, and the others were correct in their belief that these aliens were extragalactic in nature. That answer just spawned more questions, though. Where did they come from? How many were there? Were they all this aggressive, and if so, what were they after?
Then there was the body count. Civilian casualties had been surprisingly "light," given the extent of the bombardment that had been conducted, but they still numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Evacuations could only do so much, and as she scanned over the article again, she winced as she read about the Narada, one of the Arcadian orbital defense stations. The initial attack had disabled, but not destroyed the platform, and it had been literally blasted back into Arcadia's gravity well. The resulting impact had been responsible for the largest number of civilian deaths, and untold billions in damages.
If the article was correct, though (and Ratchet hadn't said anything to the contrary in their talk the other night), it was the military, particularly the groundside PDF, that had taken the largest beating. Entire divisions had been wiped out wholesale by precision orbital bombardments. She shuddered and remembered that Ratchet and Clank were both there at ground zero, surrounded by all the devastation. Angela wondered what they were going through. They'd seen death on a large scale before, during Nefarious's twin uprisings, and their personal war against Tachyon as he tried to secure himself as the self-proclaimed ruler of the universe. Did they grow numb after a time? Did it just not bother them anymore?
She shook her head and rolled over onto her back again, placing her PDA onto her stomach as she felt the ship transition into warp.
Corta Ikona crossed his large arms over his chest, a hissing breath escaping between his fangs as he ordered his fleet in closer. Another day, another run for the "bosses". This job was going to be a little rougher than most, if their intelligence was correct. A quartet of I.T. ships wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but he was confident in his ships' ability to fend them off long enough for the crew to get onto the ship in question, secure the goods, and clean up any loose ends. Push came to shove, they could always try to tow the prize ship away and secure it in a more isolated location. Plus, the payment they were getting from this run should have been more than enough to cover most losses to men and material.
The reptilian creature turned towards the center of the bridge, gazing at another figure. At just over two meters tall, the Contact, as the black armored figure was known, leaned back against a wall and gazed around the bridge. Its arms were against the walls as well, the four digits of the left hand drumming out a steady beat.
"Don't suppose you're going to tell us what we're after?" Corta ventured, raising his eye ridges. The visored helmet turned towards him and the pirate captain felt as though that hidden gaze was piercing right through to him.
"No." It said, its voice heavily distorted, hiding any hint as to whether it was male or female. "Trust me, 'Captain,' this is an instance where ignorance truly is bliss." It pushed away from the wall and strode casually over towards him. "You've 'danced this jig' before. Get in, disable the target, secure it, and then you'll get paid." It cocked its head to the side just slightly. "You've been a good business asset so far…" It stopped speaking abruptly and turned back around.
"So far," Corta muttered under his breath. He didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what the Contact had implied with that statement.
Secrets, lies, more secrets. Hell, he didn't even know which mega-corp that his crew had been working for all this time. On the other hand, did he really care, so long as the money was good? Since they'd taken this "contract" seven years ago, the profits that his crew had been earning had been tripled, and they'd never once had to resort to something as low as settlement raiding. Yeah, that was right, he thought to himself. Focus on the money, just another simple smash and grab with more security than normal.
The pirate captain nodded to himself as he set about final preparations. Wouldn't be long now. He walked over towards his command chair, which creaked under his weight as he sat down in it. He scratched at the scales on the side of his face, muttering under his breath as he pulled up communication channels with the rest of the fleet.
"Listen up, scumbags, we're up to bat soon," Corta growled into the mic. "This raid's going to be a tough one, and I want a nice, smooth operation. Anyone, and I mean, anyone, who feth's their part up, you'd better hope the I.T.'s or the freighter security takes care of you. Because if you survive, I will personally toss you out the nearest airlock." He took a breath, and noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. "If your screw up actually has an impact on the mission… well… I'll leave you in the capable hands of our contact."
He reached down and took a slight pull off of a hipflask that was in his belt, just enough to calm his nerves a bit. Corta winced as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. "I don't have to remind you how important this business venture is. That means no side business of any kind. No personal looting, mugging, or 'alternative' forms of stress relief. I find anyone doing that rather than their godsdamned jobs, I'll shoot you myself! There will be plenty of time for that in the post-victory shore leave."
With that, he killed the link and leaned back in his chair. His hands were still shaking a bit, and he thought about taking another hit from his flask, but shook that thought from his head. The Contact was watching, among other things. The pirate captain's tongue flicked back and forth across his fangs and tightened his left hand into a fist. Time to go earn a paycheck.
"Captain, we're picking up pings on the scanners," one of his bridge hands said. "Matches the convoy description."
Corta looked over at the other man. It was Jentry, one of his lieutenants, an alien whose features seemed a strange combination of reptilian and insectoid. The captain nodded to him and cleared his throat. "All hands to their stations, then. Prepare for interdiction and boarding." Corta said, narrowing his eyes.
It took only a few moments for the raiding ships to get into their proper positions, and the fleet made ready. As one, the half dozen pirate vessels activated their gravity projectors, concentrating their fire into a single area. Gravity projectors were akin to high-powered tractor beams (and indeed, many of them were supercharged ship-tethers) that could create massive gravity wells at extreme range. Not very effective as a weapon of war, but when you suddenly threw one up into the path of an oncoming fleet…
Corta grinned savagely as he watched the convoy suddenly materialize in front of him, the ships banking about as automated subroutines began evasive action. The sudden appearance of a gravity well had thrown the navigational computers into disarray. Automated systems had assumed that there was a rogue planet in front of the ships and had engaged their failsafes, dropping the crafts out of FTL and activating maneuvering thrusters to try and get the ships clear before they impacted on the obstacle.
By the time the crews of the convoy realized what had happened, the raiding vessels were already streaking in towards their targets.
"Launch fighters! Harass the I.T. vessels and cut the target off! I want her FTL drives taken out before she can escape!" Corta barked. "Saber and Long-Nine are to get into position for diversionary attacks."
The pirate fleet began to bank around, dozens of fighters launching off the larger vessels and streaking in. Corta could see the target, sixty thousand kilometers ahead, as his own ship, the Nova, started to open up with missiles and ion cannons. The Arcturus turned head on to try to bring more of her point defense guns to bear and present a smaller targeting profile. At the same time, the Independent Traders were already coming into the fray. A barrage of green tinted disruptor fire filled one of the display screens as Saber caught a few across her bow. A few of his fighters disappeared in bright flashes of light and plasma.
"Oh well, that's why they get paid more," the Captain muttered as the attack continued.
Angela groaned as she pulled herself up off the floor, trying to check herself to see if anything was broken. The sudden, screeching deceleration from warp had thrown everyone out of their bunks and slammed them against walls, floors, and each other. She shook her head and looked around the cabin. The Novalian family that was sharing the cabin with them seemed okay, but Arden was bleeding heavily from his forehead, green blood splattered from where he'd been catapulted against a bulkhead.
"Sartanus!" she screamed, trying to stand up, only to slip and fall down. She cursed and started crawling over towards him.
"Why am I so allergic to pain?" he muttered quietly, his eyes moving in and out of focus as he stared up at her. "How bad?"
"You've got a gash across your forehead, about three centimeters, looks deep," Angela said, before looking up at the Novalians. "Bring me the medkit, now!"
One of the older children got to her feet and rushed over towards the medical aid kit that was bolted to the side of the wall. The girl ripped it open and brought it over. "Thanks," Angela said as she took it out of her hand and unsealed it. It was a standard medical kit, loaded up with coagulants, emergency anti-infection medications for a number of common species, and other such things. Angela quickly grabbed one of the tubes of coagulant and some anti-infection drugs that were compatible with Arden's biology and began to apply them to his forehead. He probably had a concussion, too, but there wasn't much that she could do about that sort of thing. She'd just have to make him comfortable and try get him to an aid station as soon as they got things under control.
"All hands, this is Captain Sebastian Enblanc," A voice said over the P.A. "We've been interdicted and are currently under attack by unidentified raiders. All noncombatant personnel and passengers seal yourselves inside of you cabins and wait for the all clear!"
"Fething hell!" Angela snarled. Pirates, just great. She looked over at the civilians across from her. "You guys, get a pillow under his head, keep him comfortable. If he falls asleep, that's fine, just make sure his wound doesn't get reopened." She said, standing up and not even bothering to wipe the blood off of her clothes. She got up and scrambled over to her bunk, ripping open the cubbyhole and yanking out her carry-on bag.
"Angela, what are you doing?" Arden muttered as his head was propped up.
"First thing I learned when I was on the run, fortune favors the prepared," the female Lombax growled, her eyes narrowed as her normally beautiful face took on a savage, feral look. "Second, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean that someone isn't out to get you." She felt in her bag for the seam, ripping it open and turning the bag over. She heard gasps as the Novalians scrambled back. "Third, I got really good at smuggling contraband past security sensors." She held up a suit of armor-weave and quickly stripped out of her attire, slipping the suit on. The armor-weave's undersuit warmed up momentarily, and then molded its interior to her body.
Arden's face was pale, despite his orange pallor. "You can't seriously mean…"
"That I plan on making a stand if it comes to that?" The Lombax shot him a look as she started putting on a series of duraplast armor plates, similar to the attire she'd worn when she first gone on "rogue" when Qwark had hijacked Megacorp. A face concealing combat helmet and a wrist mounted SDU completed the ensemble. She activated the storage deck, and an Inferno class submachine gun appeared in her hands. She held the weapon tightly as she double-checked the readouts and data. Power cell feeding properly, capacitors online, heatsinks operating within acceptable parameters. As she finished, the Arcturus rumbled again as more shots struck her.
She flicked a switch and pulled the stock out a few centimeters from the rest of the weapon, and made one minor tweak to the tactical foregrip on the SMG. It was ready to go. Pirates, she thought bitterly, it's not like I've got enough bad things happening in my life. No, no, now some drek-heads have to go and try to steal the only thing I've got to show for months of hard work, and if I'm lucky, only kill me once this is done with.
"You're… seriously going to go out and fight them?" the young Novalian that was tending to Arden said.
"If I have to," she growled. I did not come this far to die now, the Lombax thought to herself.
Captain Sebastian Enblac grimaced as his ship shook under yet another salvo, a squad of a dozen fighter's buzzing by a few thousand klicks off, their energy torpedoes ravaging his ship's shields as they swooped away to prepare for another run.
"Shields down to thirty three percent, Captain, we can't take another salvo like that!" one of his officers called out.
"Would you make a memo of that and entitle it 'List of Things I Already Know'?" he said. "Take power from the auxiliary systems, secondary generators are to be diverted to charging the shields." He turned to one of his other officers. "What's the status on MSD?"
"We're trying to get clear, but the pirate vessels are still projecting the gravity well, it's going to be close."
"Damnation!" Enblac growled, drawing a deep breath of super-cooled argon from his rebreather. He pulled up another data readout, looking over the status of the battle. Their escorts were holding their own and even as the Captain watched, a dozen hostile fighter craft disappeared, intercepted by the point defense systems of the I.T. vessels. Two of the raider capital ships were also taking heavy fire. One's starboard side shields were down and part of her hull armor had been boiled away. While the other one rocked about, a sudden flash of light illuminating the darkness as her bow was blown clean off. A stream of white fire and gases streamed away from her even as the Trader vessel continued to exchange blows.
Enblanc frowned behind his mask as he watched the rest of the civilian convoy move away. A few fighter craft followed them, launching a salvo here and there, a dozen or so missiles each time. His eyes narrowed. Even the two cruise liners were taking just enough fire to keep them jinking around and in constant maneuvers. "They're focusing on us," he muttered. "Something tells me that we're carrying something a hell of a lot hotter than I thought."
"Another flight, incoming!" a bridge officer screamed. Point defense cannons leaped into action, spraying beams of crimson death into the stars beyond them. Enblanc nodded somberly as he watched one of the pirate craft get caught in a crossfire from three of the Arcturus' automated point defense turrets. The ship spun about for a split second before the fusillade ripped it to pieces. The reactor cooked off and there was a flash of light, followed by the glow of super-heated dust and debris.
Moments later, a second ship suffered the same fate. But there were still four ships left. The computer screamed alarms as missiles and torpedoes streaked away from the raiding craft. A few torpedoes were taken out or had their guidance packages thrown off by ECM, along with one more of the fighters as it tried to finish its pass, but more than two dozen singularity missiles and hyper-matter torpedoes impacted along the freighter's shields. Warning lights flashed and there was a concussive "bang" throughout the ship as the energy sinks of the shields overloaded.
"Warning, shields disabled. Beginning emergency energy dumping protocols," the main computer said.
As if smelling blood, two of the corsair ships moved in. Ion cannons pounded the Arcturus, slashing into her hull and frying electrical systems. Two of the Trader vessels dove down, their forward weapons blazing as they did so. One of the raiding ships broke away to intercept them, joined by another one of its fellows.
"Full power to engines!" Enblanc ordered. "Bring us around to point zero-five-three, try and keep our escorts in between us and the raiders!"
The lumbering freighter started to turn as the crew carried out their captain's orders. But a Helios class was not designed for rapid maneuvers and space battles. She was too slow, her ECM suites not as advanced as the raider's countermeasures. Enblanc winced as he watched a hundred meter long energy bolt slam into his ship, followed shortly by several more. The lights on the bridge flickered, and another warning came over his console. He sucked in a breath as he read it. The warp drive had just been knocked out. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. For a moment, he thought about ordering a crew down to try and repair it, but that would take at least fifteen minutes to get the spare out of storage and hooked up. That was fifteen minutes his ship didn't have.
He looked back up at the display, listening to the frantic calls among the other ships and their escorts as the raider vessels continued to close in. The corsair ship that had had its bow destroyed suddenly erupted into a ball of super-heated plasma and disappeared from the sensors. At the same time, though, one of the I.T. vessels ate a missile salvo that blew one of its starboard engine nodes clean off the ship. As if entering a berserker rage, the stricken vessel charged towards its opponent, every forward facing weapon mount firing in a blazing fusillade of disruptor beams, ion cannon shots, and torpedo salvos.
The Captain brought a hand up to his rebreather, ignoring the cold chills that it sent down his hands. There was another faint rumble as the massive ship was pummeled again and one of his own engine displays went dark. Long range comms were being jammed, and it was clear that the I.T. ships simply weren't going to be enough. He nodded his head and flicked a few switches on his communications console.
"This is Captain Sebastian Enblanc of the Arcturus, calling escort ships." He said.
"Arcturus, this is Glory of Ebberon, we read you, what's your status?" the lead Trader ship responded.
"We just lost our warp drive and these bastards are about to make us dead in the water," he said, somewhat surprised at how calm his own voice was. "They're after us, whatever it is they want."
"Hang on, we're going to try and clean them off you," the Glory's captain responded. Even as he said that, though, Enblanc watched a missile salvo slammed into the lead escort ship, hammering her shields.
"Don't bother. Get your asses out of there and get the rest of the convoy to safety. Once you're clear of their jammers, radio the position of our ship on a general distress frequency. With luck, one of the nearby military patrols will pick it up and they can come in and bail us out."
"You realize what you're asking us to do…" the response was quiet.
"I know." Enblanc nodded. "We'll be sure to try and give them a black eye." He flicked another switch on his communications console, activated the ship wide P.A. "All security teams to the access ports. All hands stand by to repel boarders."
"All security teams to access ports. All hands stand by to repel boarders."
Angela let out a quick breath upon hearing that, the Lombax gripping her weapon a little tighter. She looked around the room and took stock of what they had to work with. None of the bunks would work as suitable covers or barricades, even a hold-out blaster would cut right through them. Still, no need for the Novalians or Arden to just be sitting out in the open.
"Everyone, get back into the corners, try and stay low and out of sight," she said as she temporarily returned the Inferno back to her SDU. She walked up to Arden and carefully placed her arms underneath his head. "You two," she gestured to the Novalian that had been helping her and the one that was presumably her father, "help me move him out of the way. Grab his head and hold it and his neck steady."
The blue-skinned humanoids moved quickly and did as instructed. "Three, two, one," Angela said, before picking up her friend and slowly, carefully moving him over to the far end of the room. The Skirathi moaned softly as he was placed down, his eyes becoming momentarily unfocused. Angela placed a hand on his shoulder and then pulled her SMG back out. She let out another short breath and checked the weapon again. She remembered the times she'd had to fight berserk protopets, YETIs, and even a pirate incursion or two when she'd been with Apogee. This would be no different than those times, she tried to assure herself.
She chewed on her lip, letting out another breath to try to calm herself. Short controlled bursts, center-mass if lightly armored, headshot if heavily armored, and don't forget to use grenades if you've got the room for them, she thought to herself.
Corta winced as he watched another one of his corsairs go up in a flash of light and plasma. The I.T. vessels were pulling away from the stricken Arcturus, but they were still firing back at his small fleet for all that they were worth, apparently determined to destroy as many of his ships as they could. A moment later, another half-dozen of his fighters disappeared from his sensor grid. He slammed a large, meaty fist down on the armrest of his chair, and glared over at the Contact. It was one thing to lose some fighters and such on these raids, that was expected and the pilots knew it. But capital ships? Those were significantly harder to replace.
The corporate representative shrugged its shoulders. "Casualties of war. You will be compensated for their loss," it said.
"Money might not be as important as a breathing crew. If these little ventures of yours get to be too dangerous, it's going to be difficult to recruit replacements." Corta said with a glare. The entity simply shrugged again.
"With enough credits, anything can happen. My superiors can offer new recruits a generous sign-up bonus." The armored figure said as nonchalantly as ever.
"Must be nice to have bottomless pockets," the pirate captain muttered, shaking his head as he looked at the space battle going on before him. "All hands, move the Nova in and prepare for docking. All boarding crews make ready, get ready to breach and bang." Then he reached down to his side, feeling the massive, customized N-60 "Storm" blaster that he had strapped to his right thigh, and the power-saber that he had on his left. He also had a kinetic blade discharger slung over his back. It was a bit unorthodox to have them out in the open, rather than stashed in an SDU, but Corta felt the intimidation factor of having that kind of firepower on display was worth it. All in all, the bristling weapons, combined with his enormous size, gave Corta a fearsome, imposing look that was perfect for both cowing his victims and keeping the somewhat rowdy crew in line.
It would feel good to use them after a while. It'd been so long since he'd killed someone that his trigger finger was getting slow. He licked his lips in anticipation as he watched the Nova slide up next to the stricken freighter's portside as it lay utterly helpless before them. One of his remaining ships moved in from the starboard side as well. Between the two of them, it would be easy to overwhelm the security teams and capture their loot. And after that, well, with the money that they were getting from this job, he could look forward to a nice, relaxing shore-leave at some of the seedier stations in the sector.
Lear might not have been able to understand the local dialect or see outside the ship, but it did not take a master strategist to figure out that the ship was under attack once he started to feel the faint rumbling and the unmistakable sound of internal explosions and electrical systems overloading. He silently cursed and started to bring up his active sensors, while his armor's internal computers jump from drone feed to drone feed. The images were mostly the same, civilians and ordinary crew evacuating the common areas, cafeteria and the like, and hastily retreating to their quarters and sealing themselves inside, while the security teams buckled on armor, grabbed weapons, and got themselves reading in a curious display of organized chaos.
Wonder if this is the first time they've done this. He thought quietly. Then he frowned. He had no idea what was attacking them, and against a capital ship, his weapons might as well have shot spitballs for all the good they were going to do. Still, if this ship was blown up, he'd go up with it. It was imperative that he defend it. There was a crack as he teleported a few decks up into one of the empty maintenance corridors. Then he looked at the upper corners of the walls, where a handful of security cameras (at least, Lear thought they were security cameras) moved back and forth. There was no indication that they'd spotted him and he nodded to himself before contemplating his options. He had no idea how effective his weapons would be against the armor that these aliens wore, nor did he know how potent their weapons were. The alien that he'd viewed in the combat feed the other day had weapons that put his to shame, and his armor was more than capable of standing up to Shartan laser rifles, but was that the norm for this part of the galaxy or was the alien's gear a high end, custom job? He supposed he'd find out soon enough.
Shaking his head, Lear reached down and pulled one of the two FST-47 out of the leg holsters he wore them in, switching the gun over to his left hand. The weapon synchronized with his armor, displaying a full forty shot pack, while its smart-link appeared on his HUD, the targeting reticule dancing around his holographic displays. The tight, cramped corridors of this freighter made the pulse rifle a less ideal weapon choice, and the Revenant shuddered at the thought of even attempting to wield the LRAM rifle in here. What he really needed was a put that thought aside and checked the sensor feed from the small drones that he'd spread throughout the ship, slowly making his way towards the starboard side of the ship, where several squads of security troops were clustering up around the airlock door. They ducked into hatches and open bulkheads off to the side, their weapons held at the ready.
Then Lear heard a faint rumble, piped through his speakers, and the unmistakable sound of another ship latching on to an exterior docking collar. Company was about to knock on the door, so to speak. About thirty seconds passed as Lear continued to move silently up the hallways, and there was a grinding noise against the airlock doors. A second or two later a cacophonous bang roared through the corridor and fragments of the inner airlock door sailed down the hallway, ricocheting off metal bulkheads and pipes. One security team member screamed as shrapnel sliced deeply into his arm, sending bright yellow blood spurting through the air. The man collapsed to his knees, his weapon forgotten, roaring in pain.
Small, spherical devices rolled through the smoke, clanking along the floor. There was a flash, a pop, and Lear winced as the feed from that drone transformed into static. A combination flash-bang/EMP grenade, he realized. Smart move. Deafen and disorient anyone who wasn't wearing the right headgear while simultaneously knocking out anything not sufficiently hardened against an electromagnetic pulse. He linked into the battle-net, directing another drone into position. There was a reason that the standard issue Wasp-Nest was filled with scores of the things, they did tend to be a little fragile.
At the same time, he decided to risk turning on his active sensors once again and simply hoped that none of the nearby security systems noticed the spike. The walls of the ship became transparent and Lear could see in every direction for a couple hundred meters. The starboard side was being overwhelmed quickly as the pirates moved in with a combination of scatter-weapons, automatic grenade launchers, and some sort of heavy repeating blaster. One of the security team members leaned out from behind his cover and fired off a quick double tap. It caught one of the pirates in the head and blew it apart like an overripe melon. The heavy repeater's operator returned the favor a moment later and the unfortunate crewman was reduced to a half-vaporized mess, everything from his waist up gone in a flash of light and steam. Another defender rolled a grenade in, and the lead group of pirates were disintegrated by the blast.
However, there was another group coming in right behind them. The front members of the group were armed with a projector-styled energy shield on their left wrists and a pistol, while more scattergun and repeater wielders came in just behind them. The dozen or so remaining defenders fired at their opponents and some of the shots bounced off or were absorbed by the shields. A lucky couple got through. One of the raiders dropped with a steaming hole in his chest, the other one grunted but kept on fighting, his armor glowing from where the shot had impacted. The shield carriers took a knee while the heavy weapon operator started to open up. Hundreds of energy bolts filled the corridor, slashing through the bulkheads and killing two more crewmen. The rest of them hunkered down behind what cover they could find. Classic suppression tactic, Lear realized with a frown.
He didn't know how many attackers there were on the other ship, but it was becoming clear that the initial line of defense was simply not going to be able to hold up.
He teleported another hundred meters further up and then cut his active sensors as he finally got another drone into position at the starboard side battle. He started cycling through the myriad of feeds as he continued to head for the upper levels where the firefights were taking place. His four eyes roamed over the images, absorbing and downloading details, logging things for later review. Enemy armor systems seem to lack shields, weapons are energy based, moderate power, hostile attackers seem well-versed in boarding and room-cleaning tactics. Creative stratagem necessary.
Lear switched his view back to the drones situated at the docking collars and studied the two holographic displays appearing on his HUD. He couldn't be in two places at once, no matter how quick his teleportation systems might have made travel on this ship, it still took it time to recharge, especially if he teleported to his maximum range. He was going to have to pick a side and hope the others could fend for themselves in the meantime.
He watched the initial starboard side resistance crumble, the last of the crewmembers falling victim to that heavy repeating weapon. The Revenant narrowed his organic eyes and made his decision. The telltale crack of his teleport systems engaging was the only hint of his passing.
The enemy was pouring through the airlock, dozens of them, scores of them, spreading into smaller six man teams as the freighter's corridors branched off into a maze. Defensive teams were rushing to intercept them as Lear rushed up a stairwell, and the battle quickly dissolved into pure chaos. Close assault weapons turned corridors into steaming, slag-filled messes with ambient temperatures so high that they'd have cooked an unarmored individual alive. Grenades reduced defender and attacker alike to piles of blood-soaked gore, and some of the attackers actually drew blades. Lear got a look at one, a short, thick-bladed affair with a crackling energy field over it that reminded him very much of a Tribunal warrior's Serendo. The raider wrestled with one of the defenders, before swinging the weapon twice. The first blow hacked off an arm, the crackling energy field around the blade sliced through the crewman's armor with ease, and the pain filled screamed turned into a choking gurgle as the second slash cut through his chest.
For a moment, Lear wondered how his EF-knives and bayonets might hold up against such a weapon, and then decided that he did not wish to find out. The enemy was still some distance away, though, and he knew he had to close the distance quickly.
It was the waiting more than anything that got to Angela. The Lombax felt herself sweating, despite the temperature control of her armor. There hadn't been an all clear, and Angela knew it would probably be some time before it came, if it ever did. The ship had stopped rumbling and shaking, and even the hum of the engines had died off. A few decks away, just a couple hundred meters, there had to be ferocious battles raging, but she couldn't feel or hear a single hint about their nature. The multi-million ton ship wasn't about to groan, creak, or shake because a few plasma grenades were cooking off.
She was tempted to stick her head out the door, see what the status of things were, but that just raised a good chance of it getting shot off. And to think, I dared to hope that my days of fighting were behind me… she thought to herself. Another set of memories flashed before her eyes. She saw Drophyed soldiers closing in on her, bursts of laser and plasma fire filling the air. She remembered the fear that she had felt at first, and then the anger, firing her lancer pistol at the strange, aquatic aliens, blasting a few of them out of their power suits.
Now here she was again. Only this time, there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to fall back to. Max Apogee wasn't about to come flying in to save her this time, and there wasn't some suped-up starship that she was going to be able to clamber into to make her escape from. She had a eight by twelve meter room with one door in it, an injured friend, and one absolutely terrified civilian family.
Distantly, the young woman wondered if this was how Ratchet must have felt most of the time. Then she shook her head and leaned back against the wall closest to the door. She thought that she could hear something approaching. There was a faint, vibrating clanging coming from the wall, like the sound of a multitude of footsteps approaching the door. She pressed the side of her head against the wall, adjusting the audio sensors on her helmet just a bit. The footsteps were drawing closer, stopping at one of the other units. She could hear voices, but couldn't make out what was being said. There was the sound of a lock being blown up, followed by screams, shouting, and gunfire. Then it grew deathly quiet.
"They're not taking prisoners," she whispered to herself and then licked her lips. The footsteps started up again, each one sounding like a thunderclap as they drew up next to the door that she was in.
"Hurry up and blow it," she heard one of the voices say faintly.
"Working on it," came another one.
There was a loud bang and the lock, part of the door, and a chunk of the wall turned into white-hot molten metal. A shower of superheated sparks filled the room, and Angela found herself grateful for the protective insulation of the armor that she was wearing. The door was ripped open and she saw one of the raiders step into the room. He leveled a large blaster rifle as he saw the Novalians and Arden lying in the back of the room.
Angela was a blur as she lined her Inferno up with his head. He saw the movement and started to turn, but the pirate was no match for the Lombax's lightning-quick reflexes. Angela squeezed the trigger and fired off a four shot burst. The alien's head exploded and he collapsed to the ground.
"Holy fething hell!" she heard another one scream as she summoned a sonic grenade from her storage deck and hurled it out the door. There was screaming, the sound of footfalls trying to stampede away and then the hallway shook as the device exploded.
Even through the wall and the protective suit that she was wearing, her bones rattled and her brain ached like someone had picked her up and shaken her. The sound of a couple of bodies slamming into the walls and then collapsing to the floor filled her ears, and then a myriad of crimson and blue bolts sailed past the doorway. The Lombax snarled, stuck her weapon out through the open portal, and fired blindly in the direction of the enemy. There were panicked shouts and hasty footfalls, and she hurled another grenade.
It went off, but the pirates continued to shoot. She could hear them shouting over the roar of the firefight.
"Situation on Corridor Twenty Eight," the voice rumbled, and she recognized an Agorian accent. "Lost Hutch, Raz, and Dori, one of the passengers is armed!"
She couldn't hear the other end of the line, but she suspected that whoever was running this operation was probably not amused to hear that three of his or her minions had been taken out by one of the civilians. More worrying was whether or not they'd send reinforcements. Her power cell still had several hundred rounds left in it, and she flicked the firing toggle over to fully automatic and unleashed a hailstorm of plasma rounds down the corridor. She could hear the hissing of the steam from the bulkheads that she was slagging, and swore that she could smell the stench of the burning metal and wiring even through her helmet's filtering systems. Nonetheless, she continued to fire as she saw the barrel of her weapon begin to heat up and glow.
She paused and pulled her hand back inside of the doorframe. There was a second or two of silence, and then the remaining pirates returned fire. She heard the clanking sound of grenades and instinctively rolled away from the door. There was a deafening roar and the flash of blue-hot plasma, and part of the wall started to melt away. Footfalls slammed down the corridor and she distantly wondered where in the hell the security teams were. The civilian passenger areas should have been more heavily defended than this. She grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes as she watched the doorway. A moment later, the Agorian that she'd heard speaking round the doorway. The massive reptilian creature was covered in gray armor, hiding its crimson-orange skin. It leveled an oversized shard reaper at her and Angela leaped out of the way, firing at the monstrosity as she did so. The lower two bunks that she'd been just in front of disintegrated as the flechettes ripped through them, but Angela got lucky. A quartet of plasma bolts struck the weapon, blowing it apart. The Agorian roared, its muscles visibly bulging under its armor, and it charged towards her. It cocked its right arm back and huge claw-like blade that was part of the traditional Agorian wargear gleamed in the artificial light and swung into position.
Angela squeezed her weapon's trigger and the compact SMG roared, its sound amplified by the echoing of the small room. The blue tinted plasma rounds slammed into the Agorian as he came in. Two struck his head and made his helmet glow softly from the heat. The massive alien staggered backwards and charged forward again, cocking back and swinging with tremendous force.
Angela ducked underneath the swing as she fired up into his helmet once again. The force of the bolts jerked his head back, and she put another burst through the throat region of his armor. The bolts melted through the thinner throat armor before tearing out the back through his spine. The Agorian gave a wheezing gurgle and cocked his head to the side in what seemed to be confusion, before he toppled to the deck with a cacophony of thunderous clacks and clangs. The Lombax panted softly as she realized that the fourth pirate was down, trying not to look too hard at the all-but decapitated corpse.
"Keneth's down!" she heard one of the survivor's shout.
Angela felt her mind switch, a change come over her as ancient fight-or-flight reflexes came to the fore. She jumped up, rushed to the door and leaned out just far enough to get a glimpse down the hallway. She saw the two raiders standing in the hallway, and could practically see their slack-jawed expression as she leveled her weapon and opened fire on them. They reacted quickly, diving back down the T-junction that they'd come from and Angela pulled yet another sonic grenade out of her SDU. She primed the small sphere and then hurled it like a baseball. The device bounced off the far end of the wall and clanked a couple of times as it rolled down the hallway. She heard the pirates shriek and a moment later she saw the concussion wave ripple past the T-junction, carrying one of the bodies of the remaining raiders.
The corpse hit the floor and lay limp. She stayed tense, eyes narrowed, her weapon covering the entrance. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then thirty, and she slowly started to advance towards the corridor. She passed by the first unit that the raiding team had broken into and had to fight to keep the contents of her stomach where they were. Bodies of men, women, and children alike lay inside, their eyes glassy and unblinking. Some of them still twitched as the nerves of their bodies slowly died.
Revulsion mixed with anger, and the Lombax closed her eyes and let out a breath. It was dangerous to do something like that, but she had to check the rising urge to simply storm down the corridor come hell or highwater, and slaughter as many of the raiders as she could. She was one Lombax, not an army, and while her Storage Deck Unit allowed her to carry a number of weapons, it alone could not compensate for the overwhelming numbers edge that the raiders were going to have. Nor could she simply leave Arden and that family where they were. Not unless she wanted them to end up like the poor sods in the first cabin.
She peeked her head around the corner, her gun shouldered and ready to fire. The other pirate lay still, his armor cracked and shattered by the blast. She couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, and for good measure, she put a plasma bolt through his head. Then she turned around and headed back towards her cabin. The corridor was a mess of half-slagged bulkheads, sparking wires, and acrid, poisonous smoke and steam. Alarms began to blare and automated fire suppression systems kicked in, dousing the area with super-chilled gasses and liquids, making it virtually impossible to see without computerized vision aids. Angela was half expecting some of the other cabins to open and one of the other members of the team, or another one of the "ordinary" civilians to poke their head out and see what was going on. None of them did, but it did bring one other problem to mind. There was no way to engage the lock on the door anymore, no way to put even that fledgling bit of safety between her friend and the pirates. She worked her way around the cabin entrance, taking care to avoid direct contact with the wall, which was still faintly glowing from the heat of the plasma rounds that had been pumped into it.
"Angela!" she heard Arden gasp as she walked back into the room. A couple of the Novalians held him down, stopping him from rising. "Are you—"
"I'm fine, Sartanus, I'm fine," she said, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart inside of her chest. "But you're in a bad position. And I doubt I could get anyone else to open their doors and let you inside." She slammed a fist against her thigh in frustration as she tried to look around and think of a solution. There had to be something, something that she hadn't thought of yet. Should she stay here? Make sure that this area wasn't attacked again?
Oh, who the hell was she kidding? The pirates that had come here had managed to warn their bosses, or whoever was running this show, that they'd encountered resistance down here and if the guy had more than three brain cells to rub together, he'd be getting suspicious when they didn't report back in. She could expect the next wave to be even larger. She looked down at her SDU, cycling through the weapons that she had. A backup Lancer pistol, the Inferno, a blade launcher, and a disruptor rifle, along with a couple dozen sonic, plasma, and cyro grenades. Not the heaviest of arsenals. She might wind up having to scavenge weapons from the dead pirates. Might not be a bad idea to do, now that she thought about it. She couldn't have more than a few minutes before the next batch were going to be coming in.
"Nothing to do but try to hold the line, I suppose," she muttered aloud. She checked the charge on the Inferno as she started to head out to gather what weapons, ammo, and grenades she could.
"What's it matter," she heard one of the Novalians say. She turned around and noticed that it was the one that she'd assumed was one of the fathers. It suddenly occurred to her that during the time that they'd spent on both Argus-IV and Ichar-III, that she'd been so absorbed with her own problems, issues, and worries that she'd never bothered to find out what his name was, what any of their names were.
"What do you mean?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.
"So you manage to fight off six of them. There's six dozen of them, six hundred, maybe. You can't last against them all… and even if you do, then what?" he gestured around, his face a mix of fear, confusion, and bitter resignation. "There's still their ships. What's to stop them from just blowing us all up?"
"I don't know," Angela said with a shrug. "Maybe it won't make a difference. Maybe we're all going to die. I don't know," she shook her head as she spoke. "But I've never given up on anything in my life, and I'm sure as hell not about to start now." Her eyes narrowed behind her helmet. "They want to kill me? They can try. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. But if they do, I'm doing to make sure I drag some of them down with me."
She headed out into the corridor, quickly snatching up what equipment she could. One of the shard reapers was intact, and there was maybe a half-dozen plasma grenades among the raiders. There was also the blaster rifle of the first pirate that she'd killed and the Agorian had had a combuster pistol. All in all, not a bad haul. She looked over at the man as she reentered the room, and saw him conversing with one of the females, talking back and forth in heated whispers. The woman threw her hands up and walked up towards Angela.
"I'm sorry about my brother. He's a bit pessimistic," she said. "Not the best time to be introducing ourselves, I guess… but what can we do to help?"
"Any of you know how to fire a weapon?" the Lombax ventured, and then twisted her head back towards the corridor. She thought she could hear the sound of more people approaching. Security team or pirates, she wondered. Best to be prepared for the worst, at least that way she wouldn't be disappointed.
One of the other women raised a hand. "I used to be a security officer for Ichar law enforcement." she said.
"Then grab one of these and get ready," Angela said, placing the pile of weapons down on the bed.
"Yes ma'am," the Novalian said. "Name's Samantha, by the way, that's my cousin, Deese," she gestured towards the lady that had spoken earlier. "And the pessimist is Kylian."
"You all family or something?" She arched an eyebrow.
"Yeah," the woman nodded. "Get off world, seek a better life on Yeedil. The usual deal." She looked back over her shoulder at the children, many of whom were clutching at each other in terror.
Angela nodded in understanding. At least she's got a good reason to fight, the Lombax thought to herself, as she heard the footsteps drawing closer. Here we go again…
Lear rounded one of the corners, the sound of the firefights drawing nearer. From what his sensors were telling him, the starboard side attackers were about a hundred meters into the vessel, spreading out in a manner that reminded him of an attempt to establish a terrestrial beachhead of sorts. Half-dozen and full-dozen strong groups were being sent down the corridors where they'd managed to shatter the defending lines. In other places the defenders still hung on tenaciously, taking cover behind whatever they could, making the assaulters pay in blood for every centimeter of ship they took.
The Revenant assessed the situation, noticing where one group of crewmembers were falling back. There were four in total, and two were shot in the back as they attempted to flee. They fell to the ground, twitching for a few seconds before they went still, while another one was clipped in the leg as she rounded the corner. Lear winced as he watched her collapse and continued to crawl, whimpering in pain. There should have been proper fire and maneuver tactics, one or more of the others providing covering fire. A subroutine in his mind reminded him that he was on a civilian ship, and the security detail probably had more in common with the Imperial Law Enforcement's "standard" civilian-enforcers. This wasn't a military detail, or even an Enforcer Special Circumstances Team. His organic eyes narrowed once again. They needed help; it was time that they got it.
He engaged his teleportation system once again, and transported himself into the corridor the two security officers had tried to take cover in. One of them had opened up a door to what appeared to be a supply closet of sorts, and was shouting, gesturing for his companion to hurry up and crawl towards him. She attempted to haul herself down the fifteen or so meters that separated them when the raiders stuck a gun around the corner and opened fire. A torrent of green tinted bolts crackled down the corridor and forced the unharmed crewman back into his makeshift cover. He could see another attacker about to round the corner, one of those close-combat weapons at the ready. Targeting data was fed back into his HUD, icons appearing around each of the hostile targets while active sensors attempted to identify alien organs and suspected weakpoints. The alien leaned around the corner and sighted up the stricken security trooper.
That was as far as he got before a blue-tinted particle bolt seemed to materialize out of nothingness. The hypersonic energy pulse vaporized the alien's head and the corpse slumped to the ground, spasming a few times. There was a shout in what Lear assumed was some form of expletive, and the raider that had been suppressing the corridor leaned out a bit more. The tiny bit of exposed head was all the Imperial needed. There was another roar as his '47 kicked in the palm of his hand and another headless corpse fell back, the heavy repeater blowing a few holes out of the ceiling. Secret's out now, Lear thought to himself. For a moment, he regretted how loud modern Imperial weapons were, as advances in powered body armor and defensive shielding had rendered subsonic, suppressible weapons little more dangerous than a child's laser-tag set.
He started to run forward, ignoring the two baffled looks that the security officers were throwing in his general direction. He brushed up against the wall, careful not to step on the stricken crewmember that was slowly crawling towards whatever safety the supply closet offered. The attackers were shouting to each other, their minds a chaotic mess of blurred images and thoughts, and he could see one of them starting to pull out a small, rounded object. Grenade! He thought. The Revenant was a blur as he stuck his pistol around the corner, the smart-link on the weapon giving him a gun's eye view of what it was pointing at. He fired a double tap, and the twin particle bolts ripped through the alien's armor and blew a hole in its chest larger than a basketball. The alien looked down at its ruined chest, and through the visor of its helmet, Lear could see what he believed to be an astonished expression. Then the thing keeled over dead. Before it had even hit the floor, another set of double taps had silenced all but one of the attackers.
The alien had a bulky, humanoid-esque build and was maybe six centimeters or so larger than Lear was. It let out a scream and rushed towards the corner. The Revenant stepped out, stuck one foot slightly behind himself, and waited. The surreal slowness of the situation let him gauge his oncoming foe and calculate the optimum maneuvers. The alien hip-fired blindly as it charged forward, and Lear watched his shield indicator drop to 94% as the energy bolts slammed into him. Then he dipped to one side, and grabbed the charging alien around its throat. He spun about and squeezed. His biosynthetic muscles, cybernetics, and the dual layer power suit that he wore turned the alien's neck vertebrae to dust and a loud, sickening crunch echoed through the air before he threw the alien down the corridor the two officers had taken cover in. The corpse sailed through the air before it slammed against the floor, rolling over and over several times before finally coming to a rest about twenty meters down the hallway.
He could see the two crewmembers staring at him, or at least, where they thought he was, but he didn't pay them any more attention. They were safe for the moment, but there were others that were dying even now. Old instincts and training were coming back to the forefront of Lear's mind. This was no different from his usual job. Defend his allies, kill the enemy in any way possible, and keep them from securing the primary target.
The Revenant started forward. Time to go back to work.
Alright, hope I did a good job there. Still kinda nervous about the combat scenes, space and ground-pounding alike. If anyone has any suggestions, advice, feedback, or any constructive criticism, I would welcome it with open arms, as it's the only way I'm really going to get better.
Thank you, all of you, for the time you've taken to read this. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you all have a pleasant day. Until next time, be safe, everyone.