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Mercy and Morphix turned their ships over and gently eased them down to the bottom of the crater. Above them, Ironstar and Surbius eased the frontal docking mount to mate up with Mercy's and Morphix' and started to increase thrust in tandem . . .
Kinky.
Kinky.
Nice face surb. ;)
Thanks for the support guys. Life has been.... difficult. But we'll keep on trucking!!!
Kudo's to surb for the self-portrait, and even more to the good Dr. for finding the one passage that I almost deleted when I re-read it. However, I thought you'd have fun with it.
As always, Enjoy:
Chapter 45
The smoke was thick on the ground from the incendiary device that had been used to break down the defences of the insurgents, the air full of different smells, panic gas, vomit, faeces, burned... well, a lot of things. The flickering light from the few existing light sources oozed through the haze like coffee through a drip filter, adding to the general confusion and panic. William moved carefully across the debris-filled floor, taser in left hand and trusty straight-razor in the other hand, scanning the faces of the too young men and women that were either lying on the ground or still positioned in their chairs. Most of them were covered in their own blood from the multiple wounds the grenades had caused, a few were still moving albeit slowly and very obviously in pain.
There, blond-haired youth, hoarse from screaming and with pleading in his eyes. William helped him to escape the pain with a swift cut across his larynx.
There, black-haired girl, starring at the torn and ripped remains of her left arm. William turned her face towards his own and then opened her jugular. The relief in her face as life pulsed out of her was gratifying.
There, fat older guy, intestines spread across his legs, staring incomprehensibly at the carnage that was his lower torso. William let the razor slide almost caressingly inside his inner thigh before closing the now-dead man's eyes with index and pinky of his blood-spattered right hand.
There, the target. William called the picture file up, allowed for lighting and shock and came up with a 99% match. No apparent life-threatening damage, only minor fragmentation wounds to the back and a fierce looking, but harmless scratch to his scalp. Excellent. The target looked up at William, started to look away again and then realised something. He turned back and fixed William with his one good eye, the other closed by what looked to be the result of his face impacting with the terminal.
"Lycu."
He looked away from William to a girl that was slumped against the bulkhead, left leg bent at an unnatural angle. William bent over her and checked her pulse and felt a strong steady beating. She had apparently fainted from either the trauma or the pain but didn't seem to be that hurt. William started to bring the razor towards the girl's leg when something inside him clicked. A tear appeared in his left eye and suddenly he didn't remember why he was in the room at all.
"Lycu."
The voice behind him tore him back to reality. He looked out towards the main entrance. The very distinctive crackle from lasguns drowned out the moans of the wounded and dying. It was time to leave before the rent-a-cops arrived. William turned back to his target and pushed the taser into his neck. The gun made his target convulse and faint instantly and William dropped the one-shot gun next to the thermo-baric sensor mine, he had brought as a present for the cops. He absolutely hated the pigs and if he could kill off a few of them, bonus. He grabbed the young man and slung him onto his shoulder, turned to walk out and then stopped. He needed to do something; he needed to take the young girl out of here as well. He knew better than trying to quell his needs and instead of thinking it through, he merely grabbed her by the belt and dragged her out of there as well. He was probably going to regret it but now it was done.
###
The emergency panel opened with a small popping sound from the pressure equalisation that at the same time sent fumes from Hortan's ship into Mercy's. Fumes of alcohol, of the finest Helio Mists actually. Loud music poured through the opening like a torrent of rain through a gutter, unstoppable and immense. Mercy peeked down on the light stubble on top of Hortan's head and couldn't help smiling. Hortan was singing along to the lyrics at a too high-pitched voice and horribly out of key as well, completely unaware of her presence. She reached down and tapped him gently on the crown of his head and smiled even more at the complete confusion it resulted in. Hortan leant forward and turned the music off and then looked up a giant smile plastered across his face that faded slightly as his eyes met her.
"Oh, hi Mercy."
"What, expecting someone else?"
"To be honest, yes. I am getting kinda used to having John or Chi save me that I kinda assumed they would... ehm, but I am also glad to see you Mercy."
Mercy stifled a laugh.
"Sorry I couldn't bring the others. You'll just have to make do with me, k?"
"Yes Ma'am. I am almost out of water here so I sure am happy that you came now. Only another half hour and I'll have distilled all of it and then I am ready to go."
"What do you mean?"
He pointed the bubbling zero-g still that was incorporated in the cockpit and she followed the snaking copper tubes down to where a plastic nipple-bottle was slowly being filled with what could only be Helio Mists.
"Made almost a whole crate of the stuff while I waited. But I am out of water now so I cannot distil any more."
She shook her head.
"Hortan, do you even know what has been happening outside your ship the last weeks?"
He shook his head solemnly and with a sigh full of trepidation she started updating him.
###
The restraining clamps on Strat's fighter unlocked and the door to open space revolved propelling him outside of the station at 20 m/s. He immediately pushed the throttle to all-forward and started scanning for Niut's body. The powerful radar of the Centurion came back with clear echoes of all the rock around the station but the ship filtered the known reflections away. There, the smallest of echoes near the hole on the station bulkhead with a very dense core surrounded by a soft outer shell; a microcomputer with a body around it. His radar picked up another reflection; that of a fighter-type ship emerging from the station. The matte-black Valkyrie exited on a metre long flame of bluish-white flame, only switching the fusion blade off momentarily to conduct defensive dodging to avoid the station's meteor defences that fired heavy slugs at the fighter.
Strat turned his ship so it faced the fleeing fighter, following it all the way out to the jump point on the other side of the asteroid system. He then opened the miniscule cargo space dock underneath his fighter's cockpit and scooped the battered and torn remains of Niut into the ship. He docked the fighter again and stayed seated while the emergency medical personnel carried Niut onto a stretcher and further on into the station. Strat gritted his teeth and launched his fighter again, thundering after the pirate ship. He had an idea where that fighter was going and he was going to get even.
Kudo's to surb for the self-portrait, and even more to the good Dr. for finding the one passage that I almost deleted when I re-read it. However, I thought you'd have fun with it.
As always, Enjoy:
Chapter 45
The smoke was thick on the ground from the incendiary device that had been used to break down the defences of the insurgents, the air full of different smells, panic gas, vomit, faeces, burned... well, a lot of things. The flickering light from the few existing light sources oozed through the haze like coffee through a drip filter, adding to the general confusion and panic. William moved carefully across the debris-filled floor, taser in left hand and trusty straight-razor in the other hand, scanning the faces of the too young men and women that were either lying on the ground or still positioned in their chairs. Most of them were covered in their own blood from the multiple wounds the grenades had caused, a few were still moving albeit slowly and very obviously in pain.
There, blond-haired youth, hoarse from screaming and with pleading in his eyes. William helped him to escape the pain with a swift cut across his larynx.
There, black-haired girl, starring at the torn and ripped remains of her left arm. William turned her face towards his own and then opened her jugular. The relief in her face as life pulsed out of her was gratifying.
There, fat older guy, intestines spread across his legs, staring incomprehensibly at the carnage that was his lower torso. William let the razor slide almost caressingly inside his inner thigh before closing the now-dead man's eyes with index and pinky of his blood-spattered right hand.
There, the target. William called the picture file up, allowed for lighting and shock and came up with a 99% match. No apparent life-threatening damage, only minor fragmentation wounds to the back and a fierce looking, but harmless scratch to his scalp. Excellent. The target looked up at William, started to look away again and then realised something. He turned back and fixed William with his one good eye, the other closed by what looked to be the result of his face impacting with the terminal.
"Lycu."
He looked away from William to a girl that was slumped against the bulkhead, left leg bent at an unnatural angle. William bent over her and checked her pulse and felt a strong steady beating. She had apparently fainted from either the trauma or the pain but didn't seem to be that hurt. William started to bring the razor towards the girl's leg when something inside him clicked. A tear appeared in his left eye and suddenly he didn't remember why he was in the room at all.
"Lycu."
The voice behind him tore him back to reality. He looked out towards the main entrance. The very distinctive crackle from lasguns drowned out the moans of the wounded and dying. It was time to leave before the rent-a-cops arrived. William turned back to his target and pushed the taser into his neck. The gun made his target convulse and faint instantly and William dropped the one-shot gun next to the thermo-baric sensor mine, he had brought as a present for the cops. He absolutely hated the pigs and if he could kill off a few of them, bonus. He grabbed the young man and slung him onto his shoulder, turned to walk out and then stopped. He needed to do something; he needed to take the young girl out of here as well. He knew better than trying to quell his needs and instead of thinking it through, he merely grabbed her by the belt and dragged her out of there as well. He was probably going to regret it but now it was done.
###
The emergency panel opened with a small popping sound from the pressure equalisation that at the same time sent fumes from Hortan's ship into Mercy's. Fumes of alcohol, of the finest Helio Mists actually. Loud music poured through the opening like a torrent of rain through a gutter, unstoppable and immense. Mercy peeked down on the light stubble on top of Hortan's head and couldn't help smiling. Hortan was singing along to the lyrics at a too high-pitched voice and horribly out of key as well, completely unaware of her presence. She reached down and tapped him gently on the crown of his head and smiled even more at the complete confusion it resulted in. Hortan leant forward and turned the music off and then looked up a giant smile plastered across his face that faded slightly as his eyes met her.
"Oh, hi Mercy."
"What, expecting someone else?"
"To be honest, yes. I am getting kinda used to having John or Chi save me that I kinda assumed they would... ehm, but I am also glad to see you Mercy."
Mercy stifled a laugh.
"Sorry I couldn't bring the others. You'll just have to make do with me, k?"
"Yes Ma'am. I am almost out of water here so I sure am happy that you came now. Only another half hour and I'll have distilled all of it and then I am ready to go."
"What do you mean?"
He pointed the bubbling zero-g still that was incorporated in the cockpit and she followed the snaking copper tubes down to where a plastic nipple-bottle was slowly being filled with what could only be Helio Mists.
"Made almost a whole crate of the stuff while I waited. But I am out of water now so I cannot distil any more."
She shook her head.
"Hortan, do you even know what has been happening outside your ship the last weeks?"
He shook his head solemnly and with a sigh full of trepidation she started updating him.
###
The restraining clamps on Strat's fighter unlocked and the door to open space revolved propelling him outside of the station at 20 m/s. He immediately pushed the throttle to all-forward and started scanning for Niut's body. The powerful radar of the Centurion came back with clear echoes of all the rock around the station but the ship filtered the known reflections away. There, the smallest of echoes near the hole on the station bulkhead with a very dense core surrounded by a soft outer shell; a microcomputer with a body around it. His radar picked up another reflection; that of a fighter-type ship emerging from the station. The matte-black Valkyrie exited on a metre long flame of bluish-white flame, only switching the fusion blade off momentarily to conduct defensive dodging to avoid the station's meteor defences that fired heavy slugs at the fighter.
Strat turned his ship so it faced the fleeing fighter, following it all the way out to the jump point on the other side of the asteroid system. He then opened the miniscule cargo space dock underneath his fighter's cockpit and scooped the battered and torn remains of Niut into the ship. He docked the fighter again and stayed seated while the emergency medical personnel carried Niut onto a stretcher and further on into the station. Strat gritted his teeth and launched his fighter again, thundering after the pirate ship. He had an idea where that fighter was going and he was going to get even.
so... far... behind....! I need a offline version, hurry up and get done so i can make a full version and send it to my kindle! <_<
Chapter 46
The rats were fleeing as fast as they could turbo, their ships battered and torn and definitely not up to the task of defeating the new arrivals on top of the two Viper pilots. Atice tried to find some extra energy in his batteries to make his ship fly just a bit faster, but the situation was in reality a draw. The Atlas he was chasing sustained almost precisely the same acceleration as he could force out of the engine and the target stayed an elusive 850 metres in front of him. His ship's sensor suite pinged softly as an indication that the jump-engines on the Atlas had been engaged and the tell-tale ring of blue-white particles started forming at the nose of the ship. Atice fired his remaining flare towards the ship, silently cheering it on. The rocket thundered away and detonated the warhead, when the proximity fuse detected the rear end of the Atlas. The shaped charge fired a jet of plasma and shrapnel into the escaping cargo ship an instant before the underspace hole swallowed the ship completely. Atice disregarded the Atlas, disengaged the turbo and flipped his fighter over.
In a few seconds he was drifting slowly away from his starting point with his targeting radar searching for potential threats. None, a series of exotic matter rings was the only evidence of the fleeing pirates with a cloud of debris strewn among the roids like shattered tombstones for their crews. The TGFT pilots that had been excavating the buried bright yellow Behemoth had gathered around the icy remains of the roid the ship had been hidden in. From another set of exotic rings, Cat's heavily pockmarked Vulture boosted over and assumed position on his wing as casually as if they had just launched from headquarters. Atice felt the adrenaline rush of combat give way to calm serenity of slow space flight and noticed for the first time since they had entered combat that his thermo cup of Koffee had at some time fallen out of the cup holder and onto the decking. He grabbed for it and opened the lid. Still hot. His radio crackled.
"Are you ready to go back Flight Leader?"
"Lets just fly by the TGFT pilots, hear if they need help."
"Their two Centaurs are at 90+% combat efficiency Sir, and at the state we are in, I'd doubt we'd last more than a few seconds against even the feeblest of enemies."
Atice looked at his system panels and flinched at the amount of amber and red light indicating malfunctions or catastrophic faults. At least none of them had been really bad or he wouldn't have been able to check them. Cat was right; they would probably be more of a hindrance than help if the pirates came back. But he couldn't just give in to her cold logic, no matter how much sense it made.
"We'll fly past and ask them. Common courtesy after all."
"You are in command."
His radio went silent again. Had he detected a sliver of annoyance in her voice or was it just something he wanted to hear? There would be plenty of time to find out when they were safely back home. For now, he needed to make a slow fly-by of the TGFT pilots, if nothing else, then to honour the old miner. With a twist of his controls, he turned his ships to the roids.
###
Nikan watched Neagoth wipe his slender blade clean before re-sheathing it in the scabbard on his back. He raised one of the three cups of Koffee he had acquired from one of the ATT guys that had been standing outside while the trio cleared the interior, catching Neagoth's attention. Neagoth shuffled over to him and sat down wearily before accepting one of the three cups. He sipped from the hot liquid and smiled at the taste.
"Just what I needed Nice. And with just the correct amount of mists man."
Nikan nodded and sipped from his own cup, savouring the complex flavours that rose from the liquid before sipping the scalding Koffee. He nodded over towards the ruined entrance.
"Where is Ato?"
Neagoth sipped again before answering.
"Ehm, something with some medicine that needed freighting. Humanitarian aid and stuff like that."
Nikan almost choked on his Koffee. He knew very well that the medicine in question would probably be highly illegal pharmaceuticals and he would be best off not asking. He was about to ask something else when his pager called. He put his Koffee beside him and grabbed the annoying device. HQ. Naturally. And priority at that. He considered leaving it and just lean back, but the moment was lost.
"’Goth, gotta go man. Business and stuff, priority apparently."
"Everything is these days Nice. Listen, if you need help, give a call, yeah?"
He nodded and got up. Grabbed a couple of Quick-me-ups from his hip pocket and swallowed them with the remainder of his Koffee. It would have to do. He called HQ.
###
Commander Fletholm tossed the half-used cup of tea at the wall where the cup exploded in what should have been a satisfying crash but only amounted to a wet thump. Instead of getting some relief from the destruction, all he got out of it was a fairly large tea-stain that seeped into his carpet.
"How the fuck could this happen?"
Eggert had never before seen his boss this mad, had never before heard him swear either.
"Dunno boss. Seems like they were better connected than we assumed."
Fletholm grabbed the report and read aloud from it.
"..blah blah blah, whereupon seizing the border defence turrets, the PUPK initiated a lockdown on all in and outgoing traffic resulting in at least nineteen Serco and/or Itani nationals dead. The turrets were only captured after several hours of intense hand to hand fighting by elite UPK Anti-Terror troops. There were no prisoners."
He looked up at Eggert again, "and now for my favourite part. One of the insurgents was reported to have a USN press card with senatorial level clearance. We need to get on top of this situation and do it fast. This Provisional UPK is more resourceful than we dreamed of possible."
Eggert shuffled his feet and decided that now was as good a time as any.
"Sir, I have... Ehm, there has been reports of Serco and Itani nationals being hunted from Dau as well as at least nine killings in Nyrius. All are claiming to act in the interests of PUPK. I am afraid we have underestimated the extent of this badly Sir."
Fletholm glared at Eggert, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck... Right. Damage control. Get a hold on the UPK wetworks division, get them on the senator and the marshal. This time I do not want to see any half-assed incriminating solutions. I want to see good old-fashioned heads rolling. Secondly, assure the major guilds in the UIT area that we WILL provide for their security. Send escorts to them if necessary. Third, get that broadcast chick we usually employ and get her to spin a story of us being the good guys and the PUPK being evil baby-killing terrorists."
Eggert nodded and walked out of the office. Fletholm grabbed the wastebasket and started putting his ex-favourite cup into it, cutting himself twice in the process. This was going to be messy at best!
###
John pushed the cover away from the manual controls to the airlock, grabbing the handle inside. The lever could be pulled repeatedly to pump out the air or screwed open to let air come in. Next to it was a small wheel, that when turned, unlocked the pressure door. John started turning the lock until an audible clunk signalled that the lock had been withdrawn. He grabbed the large vacuum-suit-friendly handles and pulled hard. The door swung open and John walked slowly into the filthy and damaged airlock where a large battered xithricite containment container was covering the OUT-side of the room, his heavy gauss gun held at the ready. He checked his weapon's readiness status as well as his suit's integrity and when satisfied, walked over to the container. The reinforced heavy door had been almost torn off its hinges before slamming back against the container, only leaving a small opening where he could peek in. The inside was mostly covered in crashfoam that was cracked and torn with discarded hair lying where the beast had been trapped inside. He glanced up at the containment field and nodded slowly. An older stasis unit of Serco construction, at least a century out-dated but probably fully functional. Or rather, had been before the beast had torn the door half off. Satisfied that nothing was inside, he turned and walked out of the room again before opening his faceplate.
"All clear."
The person outside nodded and spoke softly into his communicator before returning to John.
"Okay, I have sent the boys back inside. They should be here shortly and then we can see what we can find."
Outside, on the vacuum side of the airlock, Trulo's mechanics had been waiting with large demolition charges if the container hadn't been empty. They had already seen what a Beardog could do and none of them were keen on having another one lose on the station. Rather blow a hole in the side of it then. They would dismantle the charges and come back inside when they were finished. John took off his helmet and hung it on the cling-piece on his belt before walking after Trulo back into the room.
"Reckon you'll find anything?"
"Maybe. The container stores more things than most people believe. Ah, there it is."
Trulo indicated a small green box on the back on the container where the mating cables to the ship that had carried it here, were fastened. They looked like they had been disengaged in a hurry; several of the connectors were still in the sockets. With a silver-gleaming power tool, he cut through the protective cowling and grabbed the small black box underneath. He pried the lid off and gingerly extracted the small crystal beneath the crashfoam insulation it had been lying in. He showed it to John.
"Lets see who dumped that critter on us."
John grinned toothily and nodded.
The rats were fleeing as fast as they could turbo, their ships battered and torn and definitely not up to the task of defeating the new arrivals on top of the two Viper pilots. Atice tried to find some extra energy in his batteries to make his ship fly just a bit faster, but the situation was in reality a draw. The Atlas he was chasing sustained almost precisely the same acceleration as he could force out of the engine and the target stayed an elusive 850 metres in front of him. His ship's sensor suite pinged softly as an indication that the jump-engines on the Atlas had been engaged and the tell-tale ring of blue-white particles started forming at the nose of the ship. Atice fired his remaining flare towards the ship, silently cheering it on. The rocket thundered away and detonated the warhead, when the proximity fuse detected the rear end of the Atlas. The shaped charge fired a jet of plasma and shrapnel into the escaping cargo ship an instant before the underspace hole swallowed the ship completely. Atice disregarded the Atlas, disengaged the turbo and flipped his fighter over.
In a few seconds he was drifting slowly away from his starting point with his targeting radar searching for potential threats. None, a series of exotic matter rings was the only evidence of the fleeing pirates with a cloud of debris strewn among the roids like shattered tombstones for their crews. The TGFT pilots that had been excavating the buried bright yellow Behemoth had gathered around the icy remains of the roid the ship had been hidden in. From another set of exotic rings, Cat's heavily pockmarked Vulture boosted over and assumed position on his wing as casually as if they had just launched from headquarters. Atice felt the adrenaline rush of combat give way to calm serenity of slow space flight and noticed for the first time since they had entered combat that his thermo cup of Koffee had at some time fallen out of the cup holder and onto the decking. He grabbed for it and opened the lid. Still hot. His radio crackled.
"Are you ready to go back Flight Leader?"
"Lets just fly by the TGFT pilots, hear if they need help."
"Their two Centaurs are at 90+% combat efficiency Sir, and at the state we are in, I'd doubt we'd last more than a few seconds against even the feeblest of enemies."
Atice looked at his system panels and flinched at the amount of amber and red light indicating malfunctions or catastrophic faults. At least none of them had been really bad or he wouldn't have been able to check them. Cat was right; they would probably be more of a hindrance than help if the pirates came back. But he couldn't just give in to her cold logic, no matter how much sense it made.
"We'll fly past and ask them. Common courtesy after all."
"You are in command."
His radio went silent again. Had he detected a sliver of annoyance in her voice or was it just something he wanted to hear? There would be plenty of time to find out when they were safely back home. For now, he needed to make a slow fly-by of the TGFT pilots, if nothing else, then to honour the old miner. With a twist of his controls, he turned his ships to the roids.
###
Nikan watched Neagoth wipe his slender blade clean before re-sheathing it in the scabbard on his back. He raised one of the three cups of Koffee he had acquired from one of the ATT guys that had been standing outside while the trio cleared the interior, catching Neagoth's attention. Neagoth shuffled over to him and sat down wearily before accepting one of the three cups. He sipped from the hot liquid and smiled at the taste.
"Just what I needed Nice. And with just the correct amount of mists man."
Nikan nodded and sipped from his own cup, savouring the complex flavours that rose from the liquid before sipping the scalding Koffee. He nodded over towards the ruined entrance.
"Where is Ato?"
Neagoth sipped again before answering.
"Ehm, something with some medicine that needed freighting. Humanitarian aid and stuff like that."
Nikan almost choked on his Koffee. He knew very well that the medicine in question would probably be highly illegal pharmaceuticals and he would be best off not asking. He was about to ask something else when his pager called. He put his Koffee beside him and grabbed the annoying device. HQ. Naturally. And priority at that. He considered leaving it and just lean back, but the moment was lost.
"’Goth, gotta go man. Business and stuff, priority apparently."
"Everything is these days Nice. Listen, if you need help, give a call, yeah?"
He nodded and got up. Grabbed a couple of Quick-me-ups from his hip pocket and swallowed them with the remainder of his Koffee. It would have to do. He called HQ.
###
Commander Fletholm tossed the half-used cup of tea at the wall where the cup exploded in what should have been a satisfying crash but only amounted to a wet thump. Instead of getting some relief from the destruction, all he got out of it was a fairly large tea-stain that seeped into his carpet.
"How the fuck could this happen?"
Eggert had never before seen his boss this mad, had never before heard him swear either.
"Dunno boss. Seems like they were better connected than we assumed."
Fletholm grabbed the report and read aloud from it.
"..blah blah blah, whereupon seizing the border defence turrets, the PUPK initiated a lockdown on all in and outgoing traffic resulting in at least nineteen Serco and/or Itani nationals dead. The turrets were only captured after several hours of intense hand to hand fighting by elite UPK Anti-Terror troops. There were no prisoners."
He looked up at Eggert again, "and now for my favourite part. One of the insurgents was reported to have a USN press card with senatorial level clearance. We need to get on top of this situation and do it fast. This Provisional UPK is more resourceful than we dreamed of possible."
Eggert shuffled his feet and decided that now was as good a time as any.
"Sir, I have... Ehm, there has been reports of Serco and Itani nationals being hunted from Dau as well as at least nine killings in Nyrius. All are claiming to act in the interests of PUPK. I am afraid we have underestimated the extent of this badly Sir."
Fletholm glared at Eggert, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck... Right. Damage control. Get a hold on the UPK wetworks division, get them on the senator and the marshal. This time I do not want to see any half-assed incriminating solutions. I want to see good old-fashioned heads rolling. Secondly, assure the major guilds in the UIT area that we WILL provide for their security. Send escorts to them if necessary. Third, get that broadcast chick we usually employ and get her to spin a story of us being the good guys and the PUPK being evil baby-killing terrorists."
Eggert nodded and walked out of the office. Fletholm grabbed the wastebasket and started putting his ex-favourite cup into it, cutting himself twice in the process. This was going to be messy at best!
###
John pushed the cover away from the manual controls to the airlock, grabbing the handle inside. The lever could be pulled repeatedly to pump out the air or screwed open to let air come in. Next to it was a small wheel, that when turned, unlocked the pressure door. John started turning the lock until an audible clunk signalled that the lock had been withdrawn. He grabbed the large vacuum-suit-friendly handles and pulled hard. The door swung open and John walked slowly into the filthy and damaged airlock where a large battered xithricite containment container was covering the OUT-side of the room, his heavy gauss gun held at the ready. He checked his weapon's readiness status as well as his suit's integrity and when satisfied, walked over to the container. The reinforced heavy door had been almost torn off its hinges before slamming back against the container, only leaving a small opening where he could peek in. The inside was mostly covered in crashfoam that was cracked and torn with discarded hair lying where the beast had been trapped inside. He glanced up at the containment field and nodded slowly. An older stasis unit of Serco construction, at least a century out-dated but probably fully functional. Or rather, had been before the beast had torn the door half off. Satisfied that nothing was inside, he turned and walked out of the room again before opening his faceplate.
"All clear."
The person outside nodded and spoke softly into his communicator before returning to John.
"Okay, I have sent the boys back inside. They should be here shortly and then we can see what we can find."
Outside, on the vacuum side of the airlock, Trulo's mechanics had been waiting with large demolition charges if the container hadn't been empty. They had already seen what a Beardog could do and none of them were keen on having another one lose on the station. Rather blow a hole in the side of it then. They would dismantle the charges and come back inside when they were finished. John took off his helmet and hung it on the cling-piece on his belt before walking after Trulo back into the room.
"Reckon you'll find anything?"
"Maybe. The container stores more things than most people believe. Ah, there it is."
Trulo indicated a small green box on the back on the container where the mating cables to the ship that had carried it here, were fastened. They looked like they had been disengaged in a hurry; several of the connectors were still in the sockets. With a silver-gleaming power tool, he cut through the protective cowling and grabbed the small black box underneath. He pried the lid off and gingerly extracted the small crystal beneath the crashfoam insulation it had been lying in. He showed it to John.
"Lets see who dumped that critter on us."
John grinned toothily and nodded.
Chapter 47
Strat's fighter materialised in an asteroid filled part of the station sector, effectively masking him from the station's traffic control. It wasn't that they didn't know that a ship had entered the system, the residual particles from jumping were too powerful to stealth on a fighter-class ship, but at least they didn't know who he was. Using only his correction jets, he positioned his ship so it would point directly at the main in-point for the station itself, put the radar on immediate hold and waited. Waited for the exotic matter rings that would disgorge the pirate fighters if his hunch were right. As on cue, three rings appeared and Strat turned the nose-mounted radar on with full power. An Atlas, a Vulture and a Ragnarok heavy bomber, all with severe damage to their armour pushed themselves into real-space. Strat pushed the throttle all the way forward and engaged the turbo switch almost instantly propelling his Centurion towards the three ships at 220 m/s. The range closed to 900 metres and Strat let his right-hand middle-finger gently depress the trigger twice, sending thundering rockets from his left side weapons port, towards the trio at almost 300 m/s.
The Atlas was the first to notice and immediately dodged up and left to get out of the weapon's lethal cone. The Ragnarok tried to dodge sideways but was not fast enough and took one flare as a direct hit on the dorsal armour, tearing chunks of xithricite off with ridiculous ease. The Vulture never saw the second flare and disappeared in the fireball, winglets and engine tumbling in separate directions, the fuselage spewing fuel and atmosphere. A secondary explosion forced Strat's reactive cockpit coating to blacken out as the Vulture's battery overloaded and disintegrated. When the cockpit had cleared, he had lost the Atlas, but had the Ragnarok dead in his sights. 700 metres or so, perfect range for his weapons and outside the threat cone of the heavy bomber's swarm missile target acquisition radar. He depressed both weapons studs and let the actinic beam of positrons gouge deep lines in the other ship while another flare rocketed almost point-blank into the bomber's flank. He couldn't miss, and he didn't. The shaped charge warhead of the flare tore a fist sized hole metres deep into the Ragnarok, destroying vital internal systems before it had expended its energy. The heavy bomber shook with the impact and had almost recovered, when the next flare impacted slightly closer to the engines.
The armoured cargo doors opened and emptied at the same time as the cockpit's chainglass dissolved, letting the rescue pods from the cargo space float into space with all the grace of dropped rocks and the pilot’s own pod riding away on blue flame. Strat turned his fighter away to minimise his profile to the coming explosion and once more was blackened out from the universe as the Ragnarok complied with the expected outcome and exploded. Minor hull breaches on the left side, nothing that would impair his fight in the slightest. He turned while twisting the ship and got a good radar fix on the entire sector. The Atlas was just about to dock with the station and a trio of station guards were boosting, like there was no tomorrow, towards him. He glanced down at the comms board; nineteen general hails and warnings from the Corvus ATC. He did a quick calculation and decided he couldn't attack the Atlas in time to avoid the guards. Even though they were probably Corvus employed Rent-A-Cops, he had no quarrels with them. He engaged the turbo and boosted out for Viper HQ.
###
The "Hunter Green" corridors of the TGFT parts of the station, was like soothing balm on Hortan's fragile mental state. It had been a quiet flight back and he had docked without problems in his usual bay, but he had worried about John and Chi all the way back. The safe green colour assured him that everything was going to be okay. Everything.
"Remember to hand in the correct forms to cover your extended leave and declare the customs on those Helio Mists, young man."
Yes, everything. Even Surbius' kind gruff reminder was welcome. Hortan smiled at the Dark Master of Forms and replied with a small bow. Surbius frowned at the gesture and started to turn away, before raising a single finger.
"Oh, yes. Almost forgot."
Which was a complete lie. Surbius forgetting something was about as likely as getting a star to stop shining by peeing on a sunray. It was, however, Surbius' special way of informing people that the next task they were about to receive was a special task that was, in all likelihood, uncomfortable or dangerous. Hortan winced, the cockiness drained from him as thoroughly as if he had been pushed through an industrial scrap-metal compressor.
"Since John hasn't reported back yet, you get to sit in on the guild meeting in three hours. Questions?"
"No Sir. Why do I have to stand in?"
Surbius smiled a perfect predator's smile.
"You cannot say no and then ask a question. But since I am in a good mood, I'll tell you. We have to elect new leadership. Three hours Hortan, full dress."
With that he turned and left Hortan staring at his back.
###
The wall screen cuts away from the too loud and too flashy commercial that tries, through displays of naked women, clips of extreme tube-racing in cartoonish ships with their unlikely-muscled pilots and thundering synth-metal music, to convince the younger, and probably male'r, audiance, that their collective lives would be so much better if they bought this particular brand of Serco-testosterone enhanced beer and over to the obviously gene-tailored news anchor of the Dau Senate Public Network's evening news. She looks up from her papers, collects them and beats them softly against the table to gather them in her hands while assuming a "serious" expression.
"This just in."
Artificial pause and she looks down at her papers again for effect.
"DSPN has just been informed that there has been a serious terrorist attack in Azek with multiple deaths and perhaps even massive structural damage to the station itself."
Switch to pictures from inside the Azek station, where emergency crew are carting dead and wounded out of the former operation's centre, through a torn and battered opening in the xith-metal doors. Several yellow-clad first-responders are busy with methodically spraying a fire with some kind of foam while others are assisting wounded Dau Security officers.
Voice of news-anchor: "The attackers struck in the early morning, possible using highly illegal bio-chemical weapons with scant regard for civilian casualties. At least thirty terrorists briefly possessed the Azek border monitoring station and tried to assume control of the automated defence stations before they were stopped by the actions of the Elite UPK anti-terror unit. We have our reporter on scene, over to you Eloen Yulani."
The camera swings around from the carnage to another gene-tailored beautiful young woman, with platinum blonde hair and dressed in a sufficiently "catastrophe-response" smart business suit, standing next to a young lieutenant, who has a very dramatic looking bandage around his head.
"This is Eloen Yulani for DSPN, reporting live from Azek. We have been lucky enough to catch the leader of this crack outfit, the UPK anti-terror unit, Lieutenant Bilko. Lieutenant, can you tell me what happened here?"
It is apparent from her voice that the young man is much too junior to be called Sir, and that she, as a reporter, is entitled to complete disclosure. Bilko looks dazed for a second, his eyes flicking from the reporter to the camera and back again not really understanding what is going on. The microphone hangs in front of his mouth like a tiger in front of a lamb, ready to pounce on him if he doesn't say something clever.
"Mmmwhat happened where?"
The reporter points to the burned-out bulkhead opening behind Bilko.
"Oh, that. Well, we attacked the terrorists and managed to liberate the support centre."
"We have had reports that many civilians were injured due to excessive use of force and that the leaders of the terrorists has escaped. What is your comment?"
"Uhm, I don't think that we hit any civilians inside the operations cell. And I don't think that anyone got away, we had both exits covered by troopers the whole time."
"How long time do you estimate will pass before you are up and running as normal?"
"Ehm, ah, I think they already have the auxiliary systems up and running. Listen, I have to go, we have wounded troopers to take care off."
He points with his thumb over his shoulder towards the wounded troopers and the general mayhem. The reporter turns around and looks directly into the camera, her face set in a "serious" facade, voice a bit too eager and slightly too shrill.
"This is Eloen Yulani, reporting from Azek command centre, where UPN troops apparently have the situation under control. Over to you Mira."
The news anchor looks up from her papers, a picture of serene beauty and calm.
"I am certain we haven't heard everything in this story yet." She looks directly into the camera, confiding in the viewer. "We will follow the story as it unfolds."
Strat's fighter materialised in an asteroid filled part of the station sector, effectively masking him from the station's traffic control. It wasn't that they didn't know that a ship had entered the system, the residual particles from jumping were too powerful to stealth on a fighter-class ship, but at least they didn't know who he was. Using only his correction jets, he positioned his ship so it would point directly at the main in-point for the station itself, put the radar on immediate hold and waited. Waited for the exotic matter rings that would disgorge the pirate fighters if his hunch were right. As on cue, three rings appeared and Strat turned the nose-mounted radar on with full power. An Atlas, a Vulture and a Ragnarok heavy bomber, all with severe damage to their armour pushed themselves into real-space. Strat pushed the throttle all the way forward and engaged the turbo switch almost instantly propelling his Centurion towards the three ships at 220 m/s. The range closed to 900 metres and Strat let his right-hand middle-finger gently depress the trigger twice, sending thundering rockets from his left side weapons port, towards the trio at almost 300 m/s.
The Atlas was the first to notice and immediately dodged up and left to get out of the weapon's lethal cone. The Ragnarok tried to dodge sideways but was not fast enough and took one flare as a direct hit on the dorsal armour, tearing chunks of xithricite off with ridiculous ease. The Vulture never saw the second flare and disappeared in the fireball, winglets and engine tumbling in separate directions, the fuselage spewing fuel and atmosphere. A secondary explosion forced Strat's reactive cockpit coating to blacken out as the Vulture's battery overloaded and disintegrated. When the cockpit had cleared, he had lost the Atlas, but had the Ragnarok dead in his sights. 700 metres or so, perfect range for his weapons and outside the threat cone of the heavy bomber's swarm missile target acquisition radar. He depressed both weapons studs and let the actinic beam of positrons gouge deep lines in the other ship while another flare rocketed almost point-blank into the bomber's flank. He couldn't miss, and he didn't. The shaped charge warhead of the flare tore a fist sized hole metres deep into the Ragnarok, destroying vital internal systems before it had expended its energy. The heavy bomber shook with the impact and had almost recovered, when the next flare impacted slightly closer to the engines.
The armoured cargo doors opened and emptied at the same time as the cockpit's chainglass dissolved, letting the rescue pods from the cargo space float into space with all the grace of dropped rocks and the pilot’s own pod riding away on blue flame. Strat turned his fighter away to minimise his profile to the coming explosion and once more was blackened out from the universe as the Ragnarok complied with the expected outcome and exploded. Minor hull breaches on the left side, nothing that would impair his fight in the slightest. He turned while twisting the ship and got a good radar fix on the entire sector. The Atlas was just about to dock with the station and a trio of station guards were boosting, like there was no tomorrow, towards him. He glanced down at the comms board; nineteen general hails and warnings from the Corvus ATC. He did a quick calculation and decided he couldn't attack the Atlas in time to avoid the guards. Even though they were probably Corvus employed Rent-A-Cops, he had no quarrels with them. He engaged the turbo and boosted out for Viper HQ.
###
The "Hunter Green" corridors of the TGFT parts of the station, was like soothing balm on Hortan's fragile mental state. It had been a quiet flight back and he had docked without problems in his usual bay, but he had worried about John and Chi all the way back. The safe green colour assured him that everything was going to be okay. Everything.
"Remember to hand in the correct forms to cover your extended leave and declare the customs on those Helio Mists, young man."
Yes, everything. Even Surbius' kind gruff reminder was welcome. Hortan smiled at the Dark Master of Forms and replied with a small bow. Surbius frowned at the gesture and started to turn away, before raising a single finger.
"Oh, yes. Almost forgot."
Which was a complete lie. Surbius forgetting something was about as likely as getting a star to stop shining by peeing on a sunray. It was, however, Surbius' special way of informing people that the next task they were about to receive was a special task that was, in all likelihood, uncomfortable or dangerous. Hortan winced, the cockiness drained from him as thoroughly as if he had been pushed through an industrial scrap-metal compressor.
"Since John hasn't reported back yet, you get to sit in on the guild meeting in three hours. Questions?"
"No Sir. Why do I have to stand in?"
Surbius smiled a perfect predator's smile.
"You cannot say no and then ask a question. But since I am in a good mood, I'll tell you. We have to elect new leadership. Three hours Hortan, full dress."
With that he turned and left Hortan staring at his back.
###
The wall screen cuts away from the too loud and too flashy commercial that tries, through displays of naked women, clips of extreme tube-racing in cartoonish ships with their unlikely-muscled pilots and thundering synth-metal music, to convince the younger, and probably male'r, audiance, that their collective lives would be so much better if they bought this particular brand of Serco-testosterone enhanced beer and over to the obviously gene-tailored news anchor of the Dau Senate Public Network's evening news. She looks up from her papers, collects them and beats them softly against the table to gather them in her hands while assuming a "serious" expression.
"This just in."
Artificial pause and she looks down at her papers again for effect.
"DSPN has just been informed that there has been a serious terrorist attack in Azek with multiple deaths and perhaps even massive structural damage to the station itself."
Switch to pictures from inside the Azek station, where emergency crew are carting dead and wounded out of the former operation's centre, through a torn and battered opening in the xith-metal doors. Several yellow-clad first-responders are busy with methodically spraying a fire with some kind of foam while others are assisting wounded Dau Security officers.
Voice of news-anchor: "The attackers struck in the early morning, possible using highly illegal bio-chemical weapons with scant regard for civilian casualties. At least thirty terrorists briefly possessed the Azek border monitoring station and tried to assume control of the automated defence stations before they were stopped by the actions of the Elite UPK anti-terror unit. We have our reporter on scene, over to you Eloen Yulani."
The camera swings around from the carnage to another gene-tailored beautiful young woman, with platinum blonde hair and dressed in a sufficiently "catastrophe-response" smart business suit, standing next to a young lieutenant, who has a very dramatic looking bandage around his head.
"This is Eloen Yulani for DSPN, reporting live from Azek. We have been lucky enough to catch the leader of this crack outfit, the UPK anti-terror unit, Lieutenant Bilko. Lieutenant, can you tell me what happened here?"
It is apparent from her voice that the young man is much too junior to be called Sir, and that she, as a reporter, is entitled to complete disclosure. Bilko looks dazed for a second, his eyes flicking from the reporter to the camera and back again not really understanding what is going on. The microphone hangs in front of his mouth like a tiger in front of a lamb, ready to pounce on him if he doesn't say something clever.
"Mmmwhat happened where?"
The reporter points to the burned-out bulkhead opening behind Bilko.
"Oh, that. Well, we attacked the terrorists and managed to liberate the support centre."
"We have had reports that many civilians were injured due to excessive use of force and that the leaders of the terrorists has escaped. What is your comment?"
"Uhm, I don't think that we hit any civilians inside the operations cell. And I don't think that anyone got away, we had both exits covered by troopers the whole time."
"How long time do you estimate will pass before you are up and running as normal?"
"Ehm, ah, I think they already have the auxiliary systems up and running. Listen, I have to go, we have wounded troopers to take care off."
He points with his thumb over his shoulder towards the wounded troopers and the general mayhem. The reporter turns around and looks directly into the camera, her face set in a "serious" facade, voice a bit too eager and slightly too shrill.
"This is Eloen Yulani, reporting from Azek command centre, where UPN troops apparently have the situation under control. Over to you Mira."
The news anchor looks up from her papers, a picture of serene beauty and calm.
"I am certain we haven't heard everything in this story yet." She looks directly into the camera, confiding in the viewer. "We will follow the story as it unfolds."
Ooh, an update. Glad to see that you're still working on this. I take it summer has kept you occupied? :^)
Anyway, it looks like Lieutenant Bilko is in over his head, as usual. Poor, green bastard. ;^)
Anyway, it looks like Lieutenant Bilko is in over his head, as usual. Poor, green bastard. ;^)
Cool! Thanks for the update. :)
"Surbius forgetting something was about as likely as getting a star to stop shining by peeing on a sunray."
Good line.
Good line.
Chapter 48
William grunted with effort as he tossed the heavily sedated body of Asahel onto the twin-wheeled stretcher and turned to pick up the girl. She had awoken sometime during the flight and was lying with an uncomprehending look on her face. Her mouth moved as if to say something, but no sound passed her lips. She tried to reach her face but the restraining plastic cuffs kept her arms at her sides. In desperation, she tried to get up simply by bending at the waist with what little leverage she could get from her restraints. William gently pushed her back by putting his hand on her forehead. His hand left a bloody print, the remains of one of the security guards that had tried to stop him and his captives from leaving.
"Rest, nothing will harm you now."
She looked at him confused, a look that turned to fear as William produced a syringe with a faintly blue liquid in it The standard method of administering drugs had for centuries been self-adhesive drug patches but William liked the syringes much better. Some special forces soldiers were known to have an extra layer of synth-skin on top of their own skin to stop touch-pads from working, give protection against electrical weapons or for camouflage purposes and the needle bypassed that defence every time. The added terror he could induce by actually plunging a long needle into the target's body was just an added benefit.
She reacted like most of his targets and tried to get away from it. She bumped her leg against the doorframe and promptly fainted from the pain. William injected her anyway; he didn't want her to wake up before he had moved her inside.
William grabbed her slight frame and lifted her onto the stretcher, taking great care to avoid hurting her leg anymore than it already was. The splint he had put on it was only a temporary solution but hopefully it would keep the bones from cutting anything vital. William muttered to himself.
"I won't let her go baby. I'll save her for you."
He lifted the handles and started pushing the stretcher into Bractus and his own small apartment.
###
Hortan put a finger inside the stiff collar and tried to pull the hard fabric away from his neck where the hard fabric was slowly, but surely, scraping his skin raw. He hadn't buttoned the top button before he stepped out of the transport chute but apparently it was more than enough. He sighed with temporary relief as the fabric gave and sighed once more as he came to the massively ornate doors to the council chambers. He was unsure of how to proceed from there and just stood there contemplating his options. The door opened and Faustie looked out. A wicked grin spread across his face, as he looked up and down at Hortan's dress uniform.
"Damn, that is handsome. Going to a wedding?"
Hortan looked down at himself and then at the dirty and worn flight suit with a badge proclaiming that Dau Slashers had won last year's Blood Games. Confusion arrived in Hortan’s brain and spread across his features like a tsunami of epic dimensions. What little confidence he has managed to scrape out of the minute secret space inside his mind, where he stored courage, confidence and anger, ceased existing, as fast as honesty left a politician once elected.
"But Surbius said full dress?"
Faustie snickered.
"Battledress Hortan, battledress. This is a war council, not a social event."
He opened the door and let Hortan in to the other councillors. They were all dressed ready for battle in their favourite flight suits, comfortably sprawled in high-backed chairs around the heavy wooden table. Only one other person was missing, Ecka. Hortan walked inside and was immediately assaulted by whistles and hoots from everyone inside. Well, not everybody. Surbius was slowly shaking his head while gathering the papers he had lying in front of him. Hortan's face immediately assumed the colour of arterial blood and with a bowed head he walked in and sat down at the only remaining seat. tsreknor leaned over to Hortan and whispered in his low deep voice.
"Damned Hortie, I thought going to war in your dress uniform went out of fashion along with the introduction of the machine-gun."
Hortan tried to bury himself deeper in the chair so he could avoid looking at Surbius.
"Well, now that Ensign Hortan is here, lets get started. First order of business, Ecka's clone is coming along nicely. He should be joining us again in a day or so. In the meantime, we have to discuss how to proceed against KAOS. Since we have two councillors out, I have decided to enrol Hortan for the duration. He will assume the responsibilities of Wild Gramps."
"'Scuse me?"
"Yes Faustie?"
"I don't understand. Why is it taking so long for a new Ecka clone? When I need one it is a matter of minutes, not days."
"When you get a new clone Faustie, it is a pre-made brain-wiped clone they keep on standby. All they have to do is download you into the wetware and prime you before you are fit to go. Thing is, the boss didn't keep a replacement clone on ice. Apparently he is so unused to encountering anything that is dangerous enough, that there is a real threat of him dying, that he figured he'd save the sixty credits a day for storage. Guess that is why he is richer than the rest of us."
Rumours of Ecka's personal wealth had been inflated to such an extent that the only thing larger than the rumoured wealth was, in fact, Ecka's actual wealth. Rumour had it that he could buy the Itani home planet Eo in cold cash. Reality was that he was personally worth more than all of UIT. Faustie grinned and leaned back, sipped his F'Load and asked casually.
"Who is going to take John's job?"
"Since you are kind enough to offer it Faustie, I guess you can have it as well."
Faustie threw his hands theatrically up into the air and pumped his right fist twice.
"Great. I have just been promoted to taking care of the dancing girls."
The councillors grinned at that, well not Surbius and Hortan. Surbius because his sense of duty always trumped his sense of humour, and Hortan because he didn't understand it. Surbius shook his head slowly and gathered his papers once more, in front of him.
"You can start with filing the mining reports young Hortan is going to deliver to you in an hour or so. And then the remainder of the backlog of paperwork that is owed this office. If you find that you can take care of dancing girls after that, by all means feel free to do so."
He looked directly at Faustie who just looked down into his drink again.
"Now, we have found Hortan but we are still in the blind as to these new pirates and we have lost communication with Wild Gramps and John Eldritch. There is a lot of information that points towards the Daltas station and a lot of indications that these pirates have been instrumental in whatever situation has arisen there. We do not know what the link is between these pirates and KAOS or even if there is one. So, I suggest that the guild sends out a combat mission to establish the current status of Daltas Hold and investigate the disappearance of John and WG."
The others nodded in agreement and Surbius grunted in acceptance.
"We will launch in half an hour towards Daltas. I have established what was lost on the last cargo run and we will be bringing those items from the manifests along that I deem are life-essential. Hortan, you will be flying the cargo ship, the rest in full combat load-outs. Questions?"
There were none.
"Right, then, as the boss would say it, move oot."
###
The sounds of the rocket engines preceded the landing ship, as it came in on four blue flames that reached down and scorched the heavy reinforced concrete landing strip. The surrounding low blast walls bore evidence that several ships had gone before it, with only light stripes of new grey concrete marring the otherwise uniform blackened surface. Six spindly legs extended to carry the weight of the ship as the engines turned off. Silence descended on the spaceport once more as if someone had turned a switch. Only the pinging of metal cooling and the sound of soft footsteps broke the silence. Slowly the rear door of the ship opened and unfolded an access ramp to the ground. The welcoming party walked over to where the ramp touched the ground but did not step onto it. The three persons were dressed in a similar fashion, with light blue robes that covered all of their body, light blue gloves and a privacy screen that allowed the person inside to look out but did not allow anyone to see the wearer.
A single person walked down the ramp, aided by an exoskeleton that covered the legs and torso. Once she reached the ground, two of the figures started undoing the fastenings of the exoskeleton and the third person swung a piece of clothing similar to their own robes across her shoulders.
"Welcome to Eo, sister. I am Aeli."
The two other persons supported Chi as Aeli led them away from the landing strip and into the monastery to the Rose
William grunted with effort as he tossed the heavily sedated body of Asahel onto the twin-wheeled stretcher and turned to pick up the girl. She had awoken sometime during the flight and was lying with an uncomprehending look on her face. Her mouth moved as if to say something, but no sound passed her lips. She tried to reach her face but the restraining plastic cuffs kept her arms at her sides. In desperation, she tried to get up simply by bending at the waist with what little leverage she could get from her restraints. William gently pushed her back by putting his hand on her forehead. His hand left a bloody print, the remains of one of the security guards that had tried to stop him and his captives from leaving.
"Rest, nothing will harm you now."
She looked at him confused, a look that turned to fear as William produced a syringe with a faintly blue liquid in it The standard method of administering drugs had for centuries been self-adhesive drug patches but William liked the syringes much better. Some special forces soldiers were known to have an extra layer of synth-skin on top of their own skin to stop touch-pads from working, give protection against electrical weapons or for camouflage purposes and the needle bypassed that defence every time. The added terror he could induce by actually plunging a long needle into the target's body was just an added benefit.
She reacted like most of his targets and tried to get away from it. She bumped her leg against the doorframe and promptly fainted from the pain. William injected her anyway; he didn't want her to wake up before he had moved her inside.
William grabbed her slight frame and lifted her onto the stretcher, taking great care to avoid hurting her leg anymore than it already was. The splint he had put on it was only a temporary solution but hopefully it would keep the bones from cutting anything vital. William muttered to himself.
"I won't let her go baby. I'll save her for you."
He lifted the handles and started pushing the stretcher into Bractus and his own small apartment.
###
Hortan put a finger inside the stiff collar and tried to pull the hard fabric away from his neck where the hard fabric was slowly, but surely, scraping his skin raw. He hadn't buttoned the top button before he stepped out of the transport chute but apparently it was more than enough. He sighed with temporary relief as the fabric gave and sighed once more as he came to the massively ornate doors to the council chambers. He was unsure of how to proceed from there and just stood there contemplating his options. The door opened and Faustie looked out. A wicked grin spread across his face, as he looked up and down at Hortan's dress uniform.
"Damn, that is handsome. Going to a wedding?"
Hortan looked down at himself and then at the dirty and worn flight suit with a badge proclaiming that Dau Slashers had won last year's Blood Games. Confusion arrived in Hortan’s brain and spread across his features like a tsunami of epic dimensions. What little confidence he has managed to scrape out of the minute secret space inside his mind, where he stored courage, confidence and anger, ceased existing, as fast as honesty left a politician once elected.
"But Surbius said full dress?"
Faustie snickered.
"Battledress Hortan, battledress. This is a war council, not a social event."
He opened the door and let Hortan in to the other councillors. They were all dressed ready for battle in their favourite flight suits, comfortably sprawled in high-backed chairs around the heavy wooden table. Only one other person was missing, Ecka. Hortan walked inside and was immediately assaulted by whistles and hoots from everyone inside. Well, not everybody. Surbius was slowly shaking his head while gathering the papers he had lying in front of him. Hortan's face immediately assumed the colour of arterial blood and with a bowed head he walked in and sat down at the only remaining seat. tsreknor leaned over to Hortan and whispered in his low deep voice.
"Damned Hortie, I thought going to war in your dress uniform went out of fashion along with the introduction of the machine-gun."
Hortan tried to bury himself deeper in the chair so he could avoid looking at Surbius.
"Well, now that Ensign Hortan is here, lets get started. First order of business, Ecka's clone is coming along nicely. He should be joining us again in a day or so. In the meantime, we have to discuss how to proceed against KAOS. Since we have two councillors out, I have decided to enrol Hortan for the duration. He will assume the responsibilities of Wild Gramps."
"'Scuse me?"
"Yes Faustie?"
"I don't understand. Why is it taking so long for a new Ecka clone? When I need one it is a matter of minutes, not days."
"When you get a new clone Faustie, it is a pre-made brain-wiped clone they keep on standby. All they have to do is download you into the wetware and prime you before you are fit to go. Thing is, the boss didn't keep a replacement clone on ice. Apparently he is so unused to encountering anything that is dangerous enough, that there is a real threat of him dying, that he figured he'd save the sixty credits a day for storage. Guess that is why he is richer than the rest of us."
Rumours of Ecka's personal wealth had been inflated to such an extent that the only thing larger than the rumoured wealth was, in fact, Ecka's actual wealth. Rumour had it that he could buy the Itani home planet Eo in cold cash. Reality was that he was personally worth more than all of UIT. Faustie grinned and leaned back, sipped his F'Load and asked casually.
"Who is going to take John's job?"
"Since you are kind enough to offer it Faustie, I guess you can have it as well."
Faustie threw his hands theatrically up into the air and pumped his right fist twice.
"Great. I have just been promoted to taking care of the dancing girls."
The councillors grinned at that, well not Surbius and Hortan. Surbius because his sense of duty always trumped his sense of humour, and Hortan because he didn't understand it. Surbius shook his head slowly and gathered his papers once more, in front of him.
"You can start with filing the mining reports young Hortan is going to deliver to you in an hour or so. And then the remainder of the backlog of paperwork that is owed this office. If you find that you can take care of dancing girls after that, by all means feel free to do so."
He looked directly at Faustie who just looked down into his drink again.
"Now, we have found Hortan but we are still in the blind as to these new pirates and we have lost communication with Wild Gramps and John Eldritch. There is a lot of information that points towards the Daltas station and a lot of indications that these pirates have been instrumental in whatever situation has arisen there. We do not know what the link is between these pirates and KAOS or even if there is one. So, I suggest that the guild sends out a combat mission to establish the current status of Daltas Hold and investigate the disappearance of John and WG."
The others nodded in agreement and Surbius grunted in acceptance.
"We will launch in half an hour towards Daltas. I have established what was lost on the last cargo run and we will be bringing those items from the manifests along that I deem are life-essential. Hortan, you will be flying the cargo ship, the rest in full combat load-outs. Questions?"
There were none.
"Right, then, as the boss would say it, move oot."
###
The sounds of the rocket engines preceded the landing ship, as it came in on four blue flames that reached down and scorched the heavy reinforced concrete landing strip. The surrounding low blast walls bore evidence that several ships had gone before it, with only light stripes of new grey concrete marring the otherwise uniform blackened surface. Six spindly legs extended to carry the weight of the ship as the engines turned off. Silence descended on the spaceport once more as if someone had turned a switch. Only the pinging of metal cooling and the sound of soft footsteps broke the silence. Slowly the rear door of the ship opened and unfolded an access ramp to the ground. The welcoming party walked over to where the ramp touched the ground but did not step onto it. The three persons were dressed in a similar fashion, with light blue robes that covered all of their body, light blue gloves and a privacy screen that allowed the person inside to look out but did not allow anyone to see the wearer.
A single person walked down the ramp, aided by an exoskeleton that covered the legs and torso. Once she reached the ground, two of the figures started undoing the fastenings of the exoskeleton and the third person swung a piece of clothing similar to their own robes across her shoulders.
"Welcome to Eo, sister. I am Aeli."
The two other persons supported Chi as Aeli led them away from the landing strip and into the monastery to the Rose
Surbius grunts in approval.
Ecka thrust forward [Edited by Whistler] and Surbius grunted in acceptance.
Fixed; nice phrasing re: Surb, tho.
Fixed; nice phrasing re: Surb, tho.
Lecter, only you would find the homo-eroticism in all of this.
Hardly the first time Hortan's work has contained that taint (if you will): http://www.vendetta-online.com/x/msgboard/14/22511?page=8#305821
You referencing yourself quoting the story reflecting your point of view?
My statement still stands.
My statement still stands.
the one passage that I almost deleted when I re-read it.
-Hortan
Yes, I'm the only one. Just grunt and accept it, surb.
-Hortan
Yes, I'm the only one. Just grunt and accept it, surb.
Is that the end? :(
Is there anywhere with all the chapters in the same place right after another? like a wiki?
Don't think there is a wiki, but here's some more stuff from Whytee.
http://whytee.dk/the_pit/stuff_from_vendetta_online/
http://whytee.dk/the_pit/stuff_from_vendetta_online/
Noooooooooooo, it is not the end. I have just had Life happening. Sorry for the EXTREME delay in posting. I'll try to be good and write the last of this soon-to-be-longer-than-LOTR-story:)
Vskye, yes, that is the location where I save the stories once they have finished. You can read them here: http://issuu.com/search?q=whytee as well.
Anyhoot, what you came here for:
Chapter 49
Peytros took a swig from the cold beer he had purchased immediately after landing at the unofficial official Charon’s bay complex. He felt like he had been going for a full sixteen round bout of no-holds barred hand-to-hand combat with a psyched up Serco Marine. Well, minus all the bruises and the broken limbs and the… Well, he was really really tired. He had thought to go straight to bed, but checked the ship status instead. None of his pirate colleagues had survived the ambush they had tried to put in place, except Azrael. And Azrael was probably sitting in his cockpit as usual.
So, here he was, beer in hand, staring at the antiseptically looking white room with the twenty nightmare-cocoons surrounding the central monitoring station, with a sly smile on his lips.
He might have been tired and sore, but someone else was worse off than him. Worse off, and getting even worse in a few seconds. He took another swig and smiled again and indicated with a nod that he wanted the technician to come closer.
"I'll take it from here."
The tech was just about to protest when he saw the 100 cred chit between Pey's fingers and then nodded and left, a mock salute his only comment. Peytros drained the bottle and walked over to the monitor that was connected to the cocoons. The display showed that currently, six of the cocoons were active and contained clones. Peytros dropped the empty bottle into a waste receptacle near the Corvus Devil Lager wall dispenser before walking over to the chair in front of the input field.
"Now, my little ones. Since nightmares are the best clone-mind integration treatment, I'll help you get on your feet again slightly faster."
He inserted his data jack into the interface unit and downloaded the current nightmares to his internal storage, chuckling at the prospect of really messing someone up. He invaded the dreams and started tweaking them into even more horrible forms, injecting persons that Peytros either didn't like or just wanted someone to be mad at. He uploaded the nightmares to the cocoons, overriding the original programming. He then withdrew from the interface unit and grabbed himself another beer from the wall dispenser. Then he sat down to wait and listen for the moans and screams of real nightmares. He didn't have to wait long.
###
"You are aware that we are going to have to pin some kind of medal on that scrawny chest, right?"
Fletholm grunted in acknowledgement but kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. Eggert looked back at the wall-sized news screen that was displaying yet another interview with Lieutenant Bilko. By now he had his story straight, his uniform was correctly worn, with just the correct amount of filth and burns that gave him credibility. Someone had lent him a comb as well. He had to give it to the kid. He might not be much of a soldier, but he sure as hell knew how to spin a good yarn. Another grunt came from the boss and Eggert glanced over, before focusing on the news story again.
Bilko's boss would be proud of the young man. In less than three minutes, he had mentioned the Elite Anti Terror Troops five times and so the unit went from underfunded, and mostly forgotten, glorified border police riot control officers, to genuine special operations forces, with more credibility than most, already established and efficient, actual special forces units could dream of having. Unless Eggert had completely misunderstood the internal workings of the UIT, and the UPK in particular, Lieutenant Bilko's anti terror troops would soon be the best-funded unit in all of UIT space. He wondered how Nikan would take that.
"Hrumpf. Looks like the information operatives down at headquarters managed to spin this story right. We actually came out of this, with a higher approval rating and basically all we had to do, was sit on our hands and say like the walls."
He stretched his hand out to the left where his tea mug used to be before remembering that his beloved mug had been crushed against the wall, less than a week ago. He closed his hand around the styrofoam container instead with slight revulsion. It was not proper, but he needed the tea.
"I am just worried what it is going to cost us in the long run boss. Nikan's boys were never well funded to start with, and if they pull further money from the UPK, to shove up the backsides of this new clueless outfit because of their, albeit excellent, exploitation of the media, I fear we will lose some good recruits. Even regulars like Nikan himself."
"Bah, that is never going to happen. Nikan is not in it for the money, he never was. He is what you might in the good old days call a patriot. And his boys would follow him beyond the Gates of Hell. Our job is to push the penny pinchers down in administration for some extra funds to keep the lid on those terrorists and while we are at it, we'll funnel some of that cash towards the regular UPK. For, lets say, surveillance activities or the like. If we spin it right, we can all come out better, and now we have even found ourselves a fall-unit for next time the proverbial human waste products hit the ventilation system."
"So, we hand the Bilko-kid something flashy, like the Starburst of Bravery, and then sit back and wait for him to fail? Since we have had nothing to do with the unit, we come off it, clean as an Eo monk, and can point to our own prioritized unit and appropriate those funds for UPK, leaving them and us even better off? I like it boss, sufficiently sneaky, worthy of the diplomatic service. I'll go work up a draft."
Fletholm dismissed him with a nod, before he leaned back in his high-backed chair, a smug expression on his face. Looking a bit like someone who ate the cake but still got to keep it would look.
###
John blew some warmth into his hands, covering his hands and face in a white cloud. He had been stomping is feet for warmth as well but that disturbed Trulo. Now he was just suffering in relative silence. Trulo carefully extracted a hair-thin wafer of translucent crystal with a micromanipulator, holding his breath to concentrate. He placed the crystal on a plate reader and exhaled.
"There, now we just have to read the code on it and then I can trace the guy who sent the critter."
"Looking forward to it."
His hands and the heavy cloth across his face muffled Johns voice.
"Are there any news on getting the Tok up and running?"
The Tokomak fusion plant that was the heart of the station, hadn't been working since the control board burned out and Trulo had yet to come up with a solution to fixing it. The ring of engines that flanked the habitation torus and had managed to spin it up to something resembling a standard g at the skin, produced some energy but not enough. The air scrubbers, the ventilation system, the emergency lighting and local power supply were about what it could run. Non-essential things such as heat were only available in emergencies, and only for short durations.
"No, I simply do not have the circuit boards that are needed. No matter what I have tried, the safety system shuts down faster than you can blink. Which in itself is assuring I guess. However, Dietlam and his gang of nutters have rigged emergency power to the comms relay and we are slowly trickling power into it. Expect that we will be able to go super-luminal with messages within a couple of hours."
"Sweet, then we can order pancakes from Soggy's. I bet we can get them to deliver the controls at the same time."
Trulo laughed out loudly at that.
"I was thinking the other way around, but I guess you Free guilders do it differently."
John looked up and over at Rose who was lying completely covered in blankets and fake furs, only her eyes visible like twinkling pieces of shining coal.
"Could do with a couple of dozen of Eo roses as well buddy. Well, that and a shower."
Trulo grunted in acknowledgement and nodded towards Rose.
"You go over there. It'll take me an hour or so to get anything out of this."
John was only too happy to comply.
Vskye, yes, that is the location where I save the stories once they have finished. You can read them here: http://issuu.com/search?q=whytee as well.
Anyhoot, what you came here for:
Chapter 49
Peytros took a swig from the cold beer he had purchased immediately after landing at the unofficial official Charon’s bay complex. He felt like he had been going for a full sixteen round bout of no-holds barred hand-to-hand combat with a psyched up Serco Marine. Well, minus all the bruises and the broken limbs and the… Well, he was really really tired. He had thought to go straight to bed, but checked the ship status instead. None of his pirate colleagues had survived the ambush they had tried to put in place, except Azrael. And Azrael was probably sitting in his cockpit as usual.
So, here he was, beer in hand, staring at the antiseptically looking white room with the twenty nightmare-cocoons surrounding the central monitoring station, with a sly smile on his lips.
He might have been tired and sore, but someone else was worse off than him. Worse off, and getting even worse in a few seconds. He took another swig and smiled again and indicated with a nod that he wanted the technician to come closer.
"I'll take it from here."
The tech was just about to protest when he saw the 100 cred chit between Pey's fingers and then nodded and left, a mock salute his only comment. Peytros drained the bottle and walked over to the monitor that was connected to the cocoons. The display showed that currently, six of the cocoons were active and contained clones. Peytros dropped the empty bottle into a waste receptacle near the Corvus Devil Lager wall dispenser before walking over to the chair in front of the input field.
"Now, my little ones. Since nightmares are the best clone-mind integration treatment, I'll help you get on your feet again slightly faster."
He inserted his data jack into the interface unit and downloaded the current nightmares to his internal storage, chuckling at the prospect of really messing someone up. He invaded the dreams and started tweaking them into even more horrible forms, injecting persons that Peytros either didn't like or just wanted someone to be mad at. He uploaded the nightmares to the cocoons, overriding the original programming. He then withdrew from the interface unit and grabbed himself another beer from the wall dispenser. Then he sat down to wait and listen for the moans and screams of real nightmares. He didn't have to wait long.
###
"You are aware that we are going to have to pin some kind of medal on that scrawny chest, right?"
Fletholm grunted in acknowledgement but kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. Eggert looked back at the wall-sized news screen that was displaying yet another interview with Lieutenant Bilko. By now he had his story straight, his uniform was correctly worn, with just the correct amount of filth and burns that gave him credibility. Someone had lent him a comb as well. He had to give it to the kid. He might not be much of a soldier, but he sure as hell knew how to spin a good yarn. Another grunt came from the boss and Eggert glanced over, before focusing on the news story again.
Bilko's boss would be proud of the young man. In less than three minutes, he had mentioned the Elite Anti Terror Troops five times and so the unit went from underfunded, and mostly forgotten, glorified border police riot control officers, to genuine special operations forces, with more credibility than most, already established and efficient, actual special forces units could dream of having. Unless Eggert had completely misunderstood the internal workings of the UIT, and the UPK in particular, Lieutenant Bilko's anti terror troops would soon be the best-funded unit in all of UIT space. He wondered how Nikan would take that.
"Hrumpf. Looks like the information operatives down at headquarters managed to spin this story right. We actually came out of this, with a higher approval rating and basically all we had to do, was sit on our hands and say like the walls."
He stretched his hand out to the left where his tea mug used to be before remembering that his beloved mug had been crushed against the wall, less than a week ago. He closed his hand around the styrofoam container instead with slight revulsion. It was not proper, but he needed the tea.
"I am just worried what it is going to cost us in the long run boss. Nikan's boys were never well funded to start with, and if they pull further money from the UPK, to shove up the backsides of this new clueless outfit because of their, albeit excellent, exploitation of the media, I fear we will lose some good recruits. Even regulars like Nikan himself."
"Bah, that is never going to happen. Nikan is not in it for the money, he never was. He is what you might in the good old days call a patriot. And his boys would follow him beyond the Gates of Hell. Our job is to push the penny pinchers down in administration for some extra funds to keep the lid on those terrorists and while we are at it, we'll funnel some of that cash towards the regular UPK. For, lets say, surveillance activities or the like. If we spin it right, we can all come out better, and now we have even found ourselves a fall-unit for next time the proverbial human waste products hit the ventilation system."
"So, we hand the Bilko-kid something flashy, like the Starburst of Bravery, and then sit back and wait for him to fail? Since we have had nothing to do with the unit, we come off it, clean as an Eo monk, and can point to our own prioritized unit and appropriate those funds for UPK, leaving them and us even better off? I like it boss, sufficiently sneaky, worthy of the diplomatic service. I'll go work up a draft."
Fletholm dismissed him with a nod, before he leaned back in his high-backed chair, a smug expression on his face. Looking a bit like someone who ate the cake but still got to keep it would look.
###
John blew some warmth into his hands, covering his hands and face in a white cloud. He had been stomping is feet for warmth as well but that disturbed Trulo. Now he was just suffering in relative silence. Trulo carefully extracted a hair-thin wafer of translucent crystal with a micromanipulator, holding his breath to concentrate. He placed the crystal on a plate reader and exhaled.
"There, now we just have to read the code on it and then I can trace the guy who sent the critter."
"Looking forward to it."
His hands and the heavy cloth across his face muffled Johns voice.
"Are there any news on getting the Tok up and running?"
The Tokomak fusion plant that was the heart of the station, hadn't been working since the control board burned out and Trulo had yet to come up with a solution to fixing it. The ring of engines that flanked the habitation torus and had managed to spin it up to something resembling a standard g at the skin, produced some energy but not enough. The air scrubbers, the ventilation system, the emergency lighting and local power supply were about what it could run. Non-essential things such as heat were only available in emergencies, and only for short durations.
"No, I simply do not have the circuit boards that are needed. No matter what I have tried, the safety system shuts down faster than you can blink. Which in itself is assuring I guess. However, Dietlam and his gang of nutters have rigged emergency power to the comms relay and we are slowly trickling power into it. Expect that we will be able to go super-luminal with messages within a couple of hours."
"Sweet, then we can order pancakes from Soggy's. I bet we can get them to deliver the controls at the same time."
Trulo laughed out loudly at that.
"I was thinking the other way around, but I guess you Free guilders do it differently."
John looked up and over at Rose who was lying completely covered in blankets and fake furs, only her eyes visible like twinkling pieces of shining coal.
"Could do with a couple of dozen of Eo roses as well buddy. Well, that and a shower."
Trulo grunted in acknowledgement and nodded towards Rose.
"You go over there. It'll take me an hour or so to get anything out of this."
John was only too happy to comply.