Chapter 40
From the bridge of the Ex-Factor, Exel watches Slake kill his favorite toy in Credenzo's flight group. The boy with the pure white skin everywhere.
Then she kills Price, the best remaining pilot in Obsidian. He's stunned by Slake's speed, her ferocity, in that awkward-looking Interceptor. How she uses Nixus' relentless pull to increase her velocity, weave through laser blasts. She's decisive and cunning. Far more dangerous than he ever anticipated.
He's ordered Credenzo to go out and fix this mess now. How exactly one forgets to take the one fucking fighter of the one fucking person who's planning a god damned REBELLION on HIS PROJECT, is a sonuvabitching conundrum, Exel can tell you that.
Exel's spirits plummet when he considers that if this is a suicide mission, Slake's already won. All she needs to do is fly her fighter into one of those gravity shields, and that's it for the mining platform and all the darkfuel aboard it. The vast majority of his fortune swallowed up by some idiot cosmic demon.
Panic takes hold and Exel surveys the bridge of the Ex-Factor looking for any fixer remotely competent enough to help him out of this transport-wreck of a day. Evaluating the bridge crew, he sees ten people he barely knows—in roles knows even less about—standing between him and utter financial ruin.
There's a pilot. He can see the controls on his station. The comms officer is a very hot blonde that he promoted himself. Another dude who's maybe a radar intercept guy? Or is that the bombardier? The rest of them? Fuck knows what they do. He sent his assistant to attend the introductory briefing after he bought this hunk of shit from the Empire.
But then Exel fired the assistant a few months ago for forgetting to pack his stash of death-sticks before the last trip out here. Never replaced him. Shit.
He speaks to the bridge, "Can someone, anyone, get me a report of what's happening on the Profundity?"
The comms officer calls up from her station. Her uniform barely contains her chest. "It's under attack, sir." The woman's voice shakes. "We're hearing that the indentures have taken the armory. Vice Admiral Virta is dead."
"That's terrific. Thank you. Quick performance note: It would be even better if WE DIDN'T ALL GET THAT UPDATE TWO FUCKING MINUTES AGO!" Exel roars and pounds the terminal he's standing behind.
"Yes, but…"
"Pack your shit. Get out of that chair. You're fucking fired. Your final task in my employ will be to find me a replacement who can FUCKING COMMUNICATE in the NEXT TWO MINUTES, or I will kill you the EXACT SAME way I killed that Rebel cunt."
The woman, not much older than twenty-two, stares at him, shocked.
"Tick tock, bitch." Exel taps his watch.
She scurries away. The rest of the crew stares at their screens, looking busy, but clearly having no fucking clue on how to remedy this horrific situation.
Think! Exel scolds himself. He considers the options he has. Slake is out of pocket, but he's deployed all the fighters he has, and that will just have to do for now. And while the Ex-Factor has weapons that can help defend the platform, he's not about to bring himself any closer to Nixus, who must be furious with him.
He sighs. If Slake kills the platform, she kills it, and that's just a bad break. The most important factor is to secure his own safety. His money makes money after all, and while the Empire will send him a massive bill for the loss of the platform, and Virta, and the Profundity, Exel will be alive. He'll be able to get to the top again.
Exel begins to see a way out of this disaster. If he can contain the revolt on the cruiser, and if Credenzo can do her job and win a 6 on 1 fight, there may be a chance to emerge victorious. Exel is aware that he doesn't know much about fighters, but everyone knows that the Interceptor is not a capital asset attacker. It's a fighter-to-fighter combat unit, a bomber-killer.
Inspiration strikes. He sees Slake's idiotic, bleeding-heart plan. She's not crashing her fighter into the platform. She's not even attacking it. Slake is acting as a diversion to protect the indentures.
He addresses the pilot. "Put the Profundity between us and the black hole, but stay within weapons range. It's got no shields, no weapons, so if those indentures take the bridge, I want to blast that ship into oblivion. No matter what, when the battle ends, that cruiser either belongs to us or Nixus."
"Understood, sir. Shall I place us at missile range or laser range?"
"Both, you fucking idiot!"
"Copy," grumbles the pilot, a twink with sharp cheekbones. He barely fills out his black Triple-Ex security uniform. Exel recalls maybe spending a spice-addled night with him ten or so months ago. The boy presses a series of buttons on his terminal, and Exel feels the frigate rumble under his feet as the Ex-Factor burns engines, yaws starboard, and comes to a halt a mere klick away from Profundity's portside.
"Damned genius," Exel congratulates himself for cracking Slake's plan. He checks the comms officer seat, still empty. "Hey, you!" he shouts to a nearby crew member.
"Me?" stammers a young man in smart spectacles. He looks eighteen at most.
"Yes, you, what do you do on this bridge?"
"Astrogation, sir. I manage the hyperdrive calculations."
Exel throws up his hands. "Infinite good that's doing us right now."
"Well, sir, it may be important to begin calculations in the event of an emergency-"
"Absurd. The Profundity is facing an emergency, not us. Get in the comms chair. I want to hear it the moment our troops quell this little uprising."
The pilot speaks up. "Master Exel, we're within range. Awaiting your orders."
"Hold your fire. Let's give our troops time to mount a defense. Show their superior training. Their imperial pedigree." He grins at his staff to make a show of confidence. Their backs are to him. No matter. They can hear the certainty in his tone. He will win this battle. And with Virta dead, there won't be anyone with whom to split the credit. The Emperor will be very pleased. And impressed.
A voice taunts in the back of his mind. Exssellll…
The voice is familiar. But not his own.