(Posted on 02-20-2001)
This story takes place in the EV Override universe created by Peter Cartwright. All the names and places are Š by him. Having said that, I hope you enjoy this story.
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Author's Note: This story's kinda long, but, the people that proofread it for me seemed to enjoy it, so I hope you do too.
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Chapter 1
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The Earths only moon hid behind the cover of storm clouds, leaving the world below shrouded in a cloak of darkness and rain. The flash of lightning briefly illuminated the darkened master bedroom of the empty house. Its companion, the roar of thunder, followed close behind, waking William Morgan from a deep sleep.
He looked around the bedroom; all was dark and the soft pitter-patter of the rain had returned. Morgan -- a member of the United Earth Council -- was not comforted by this -- he was terrified.
He sat up in his bed. Theyre here, he whispered to himself. I know that they are.
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Six black-clad men silently crept through the shadows of Morgans house. Each was dressed in black from head-to-toe. The only part of their uniforms which broke the pattern was a small gold badge that each wore over their left breast. The badge was a polished gold with a black omega printed on it.
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Councilman Morgan glanced over at the other half of his bed -- where his wife usually slept -- it was empty. He was all alone. Morgan let his thoughts drift to a few days ago, when he had last seen his wife and family. They were on a vacation, while he finished up some business with the Council. The children believed it, but his wife, however, knew the truth; Morgan was going to be killed for knowing too much.
His wife was taking the children to Huron, where they could start new lives, and where they would be safe. He had given his wife a disk with brand new identities on it -- and he made sure that they would not be able to trace it. The councilman had called in all his favors on this one, but it was not as if he would need them in his grave.
What was that? he whispered, having sworn that hed heard a floorboard creak in the corridor outside his bedroom.
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The intruders were near the master bedroom now. The man in the lead raised his hand, a silent signal for the others to stop. They did. He pushed a button on the doors control panel. A red light turned on -- the door was locked. This did not deter the assassin, however. He produced a data-pad, and, using a wire, connected the hand-held computer to the doors control panel. With a few swift movements of his fingers, he heard the soft whoosh that told him the door was opening. The black-clad assassins entered the bedroom, only to find that Morgan was sitting up in his bed -- he was waiting for them.
The councilmans face was expressionless, and he was trying his best not to show any fear. He heard the soft whining of a blaze rifle powering up, and closed his eyes. Morgan, who had not even been to church since he was in elementary school, decided to accept his own mortality and make his peace with God.
The bolt of blaze energy hit the councilman in the chest, and he died instantly.
The black-clad assassins disappeared once again into the dark and stormy night. They were a squadron of the Task Force Omega, the United Earths secret police force. Councilman William Morgan, like many others before him, found out the truth about Task Force Omega, and, for this reason, he was killed.
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The Next Morning
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The storm of the previous night had passed, and sunlight filled the master bedroom. It was a grisly contrast, as the houses owner lay dead in the middle of the floor in a pool of his own blood. Detective David Clark surveyed the scene. Police officers were searching the room for even the smallest pieces of evidence, but they were finding nothing.
Clark turned to the policeman next to him. Who found the body? he asked.
The housekeeper, he replied. She opened the door to clean the bedroom and found him -- he gestured at the body with his hand -- like that.
What about his wife and kids? They dead, too?
No ones been able to locate them. They left for Paaren a few days ago, but nobodys been able to find em there.
This place has got a security system, right?
The policeman nodded. I suppose all the big guys on the U.E. Council or in the Parliament would have ample protection. Im surprised he wasnt surrounded by body guards.
Did it pick up anything? asked Clark.
The policeman shook his head. Nope. There was a -- what did that guy call it? -- oh yeah, a hiccup in the security system around the suspected time of death. The cameras and alarm system went off for about five minutes, then came right back on. This guy was in and out -- must have been a real pro.
Yeah, said the detective, seeming rather distracted. Clark was thinking over all of the facts that the policeman had given him. He had a habit of analyzing everything to death. It had to be a pro -- blaze weaponry was rather expensive and civilians rarely had it. Old fashioned guns that fired bullets were common among the civilian population. Clark had heard that even some of the U.E. Marine units used them during the Voinian War.
So, of course, these guys had to be professionals. They obviously had some connection to someone in the military or the police... Clark realized that the policeman was still talking to him.
What do you think was the motive? Politics? asked the policeman. Yeah, he answered his own question, it had to be politics. I mean, who else would want to kill this guy?
Could have been politics, replied the detective. But you never want to start your investigation with a theory like that. Youll only be looking for clues that make the motive fit politics, and you might miss the clues that say he was sleeping with someones wife or something.
I guess youre right.
These guys may have been professionals, thought Clark, but Im going to find them and make sure they find their way on to one of the prison colonies. The detective continued to analyze the situation before him.
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Chapter 2
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The spaceport bar on Gorky was a rather dirty place. All of the tables and chairs were nailed to the floor, in a vain attempt to keep them from being hurled during the frequent brawls between renegades. It smelled of vomit and burnt hair, and the bar was filled with the smoke of cheap cigars -- a smell that Special Agent Octavian Augustus hated.
Octavian had been under deep cover for about six months. His mission: using the alias Erik Williamson, he had to infiltrate renegade bases, both known and unknown, and learn about planned raids on United Earth worlds. It was a dangerous mission, but only if he was caught. Which wont happen, he constantly reassured himself.
Before joining the U.E.I.A. (United Earth Intelligence Agency), Octavian had worked as a mercenary. His rough appearance enabled him to fit in rather well with the renegade gangs that he was around. He stood about six feet tall, and his head was entirely shaved -- it had been like that since he was a teenager. His left eye was entirely black, with no iris or pupil that could be seen. This was perfectly normal with prosthetics, but it gave the intelligence agent an appearance that could only be described as inhuman. Despite his appearance, Octavian was much more than a brute, he was very intelligent. This was another good quality that helped him survive on missions such as this one.
He sat in the back of the Gorky spaceport bar, casually sipping a synthetic ale, but being as nervous as a kitten on the inside. He put his drink down on the table and placed his hand on his blaze pistol. Only three energy cartridges, he noted. If he set the pistol to kill, he would get off about forty shots with that much ammunition. He took another sip of his beer, and watched the door -- his renegade contact would arrive at any moment.
Octavian heard the soft whoosh that let him know the door was opening. Through the door walked Hammer, a notorious space pirate. The name Hammer came from a fight long ago, where the renegade killed the captain of the vessel he was serving on and took it as his own. He did not kill the captain with any type of weapon, however. He killed him with his bare hands, which pounded upon the captains face like a hammer.
Hammers appearance was much different than the man described in that story, which had become common lore among the other renegades. He had grown rather pudgy, and seemed an easy target. Everyone knew better, though. Over the years, Hammer had grown more and more powerful. His renegade fleet was large enough that he might have been able to take on the Captains of Freeport and win.
The gruff renegade made his way over to Octavians table and had a seat.
Youre late, noted the intelligence agent.
Im terribly sorry, Erik, my boy, he replied. I have been --, he paused to choose his words carefully, busy, he finished, deciding that this was all that he needed to tell the man.
I see, said Octavian, pointing at a blood stain on Hammers shirt.
The renegade opened his mouth to speak, but Octavian waved him silent. He knew that the story would be rather long, and, in the end, it would not help him in the least.
That doesnt matter, the intelligence agent explained. Why have you called me here?
Hammer lit up a cigar and deliberately blew the smoke into Octavians face. Octavian put his hand on the blaze pistol again. One shot, he thought. But he knew that, if he killed the man, he, too, would be dead. Renegades always got their revenge. And a man like this had enough friends that Octavian would get ten-times the revenge.
My, my, he said, you are quite a stickler for efficiency.
I, too, am rather busy, remarked Octavian.
If I am taking up too much of your valuable time... began Hammer.
No, no, said the intelligence agent. Please continue -- at your own pace.
He took another few puffs of his cigar before saying anything. Hammer knew much about Erik -- he was rather intelligent, and he was also very impatient. He enjoyed toying with him, because he knew that Williamson, a much larger man, would not dare lay a hand on him. Have you ever heard of Outpost Omega? asked the renegade.
Octavians face went blank. He had not expected this. The intelligence agent learned of the outpost from his days as a mercenary during the Voinian War. No, he lied, as best he could. He could tell that, for an instant, his expression was shocked. He hoped that Hammer hadnt noticed. What is it? he asked, already knowing the answer.
A secret frontier outpost, replied the renegade, hidden inside the Proxima Nebula. I know what youre thinking, said Hammer, how can it be hidden inside the nebula, if we cant penetrate anything more than the outer edges?
No, Im thinking, How the hell did the renegades find out about this?
The nebula hides the jump points from the ships astronavigation computer, explained Hammer. The ships scanners are unable to detect them unless they know what to look for. And I do, Erik. We found a hypertrail leading into the nebula, and the astronav computer was able to lock on to a jump point.
The Captains of Freeport sent several scoutships in to investigate, but only one ship returned. A scoutship sent by the Nadir made it back.
The Nadir? Hes even more powerful than Hammer! thought Octavian. Keep calm, he told himself. This guy can smell fear. So whats your plan? he asked. A raid?
Hammer nodded. The Nadir and his fleet are combining with the Captains of Freeport and a few mercenaries. Theres all kinds of stuff to loot -- nuclear weapons, ship designs... You name it, theyll have it. Hell, you imagine it, and theyll probably have it. Within weeks, well be ready to take on the entire United Earth Space Navy -- maybe even the Voinians.
Octavian made his decision. U.E. Intelligence wouldnt like him knowing all this -- he would most likely be killed. He wouldnt contact them -- he would contact an old friend...
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Chapter 3
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The Goliath silently glided through the heavens, away from the gravity of Huron, and towards the jump point that would take it to the Omm system. This ship was a Turncoat, outfitted with every weapon and upgrade that would fit on it. Her skipper, a bounty hunter named Duke Bullwhip, needded a tough ship that could take a beating.
The Goliath had two fighter bays and five Krait fighters. The sixth spot in the hangar area went to the Journeyman -- Duke's personal escape vessel. Bullwhip, a paranoid man, did not trust an escape pod -- anyone (be they good or bad) could pick up an escape pod. He needed something he could feel safe with -- something with a hyperdrive. The five Krait fighters were piloted by Marauder Wing, five mercenary pilots hand-chosen by Duke.
Marauder Leader was the call-sign taken by Chris Quinn. Quinn, a former member of a renegade fleet, chose to spend some time aboard the Goliath rather than on one of the United Earth prison worlds. With years of experience as a pirate, Quinn is easily the best pilot in Marauder Wing.
Marauder Two was the call-sign taken by Mike Pearson. Mike Pearson was a lieutenant in the UE Navy -- and a veteran of the Voinian War. He was also a rather odd man. At the first Battle of Vorik, Pearson was captured and placed into a Prisoner of War camp. His memories of the camp were very vague, and came to him only in his dreams. Everyone said he had changed after the tramautic experience, but they could not blame him. Mike knew that his mind was like a cloth, unraveling thread by thread as his nightmares (flashbacks, really) of the camp grow more and more frequent and more and more tramautic. The only time Mike could escape the pain and memories was when he was in the cockpit.
Scott Kennedy took the call-sign Marauder Three. Kennedy, a loner and academy drop-out, joined the crew of the Goliath for one reason: money. Being a bounty hunter, while being dangerous, is rather lucrative when a fugitive is caught. He was saving his money for his own ship, so he could work as a mercenary and small-time trader. Besides having a bad work ethic, Scott chose to leave the United Earth Navy because he valued his freedom and would not sign it over to the government.
Daniel Wright took the call-sign Marauder Three. He was only a temporary part of Marauder Wing, working in the fighter squadron to pay for transport across the galaxy.
Stephen McNamara took the call-sign Marauder Four. He was a quiet man who kept mostly to himself. Occasionally, Stephen would join in one of the poker games, but, for the most part, he enjoyed staying in his quarters and reading.
The last pilot in Marauder Wing, Jack Lawrence, took the call-sign Marauder Five. Jack came from a wealthy family, which gave him plenty of experience in piloting ships in the atmosphere. When he first flew in space, Jack was a natural. Had he been born a few years earlier, Jack would most likely have been a fighter pilot during the war. By the time he reached the age to join the navy, the war had ended.
Duke Bullwhip, the skipper of the Goliath, sat in his pilot's seat, and stared at the astronavigation computer. A stream of numbers trickled down the monitor, eventually all becoming zeros -- the computer was making calculations for the jump to hyperspace. Duke was a tall man, whose dark eyes and hair contrasted his pale skin. He wore the usually FRA (Fugitive Retrieval Agent, more commonly known as bounty hunter) uniform: a black jumpsuit and black boots. Around his waist, he wore a hulster with a blaze pistol, and carried a few extra energy cartridges. He glanced over at his copilot, Tom Hunnicut.
Tom, whose hair and eyes were much lighter than Duke's, sat in the copilot's seat to the right of Duke. The only other seat in the cockpit was the seldom-used guest seat which was behind both the pilot's seat and copilot's seat. Tom glared out into the infinite universe, seeming to be hypnotized by the stars. The floor began to shake beneath him, and he strapped himself in -- the ship was going to enter hyperspace. The stars before him -- the infinite view of the universe -- blurred in front of him, and the Goliath was hurtled through hyperspace at unimaginable speeds.
Within a few moments, the stars snapped back into position and the Goliath returned to real space. Duke struggled to hold his head up as he looked around the cockpit. Jump shock had set in. Duke had no idea what caused it, but he seemed to remember hearing that jump shock was caused by the fluids in the inner ear being mixed around. When the pain in his head subsided, Duke removed his seat belt and walked out of the cockpit. He silently motioned for Tom to follow him. The ship was on auto-pilot to the next jump point.
Since the Goliath ran with a skeleton crew, there was a lot of leftover space. One left-over living area for crew members became known to the crew as "the lounge." It had a holo-screen, a billiards table, and many other things to keep the crew occupied. On journeys to deep space, this room helped to keep morale up. When you leave the bridge, it is simply a matter of walking down the corridor to get to the lounge. Duke led Tom down this corridor, and into the other room. As Duke suspected, the Marauder Wing pilots and several other crew members were gathered in the room.
"Deuces and snowmen wild, right?" asked Stephen.
"Yeah," grunted Chris Quinn.
Stephen glanced back down at his cards. The pilot threw his chips into the pot. "I'm in," he remarked.
Duke Bullwhip cleared his throat and everyone glanced in his direction. He saw that he had everyone's attention and began to speak. "Many of you may have heard of a renegade who goes by the name of 'Needle' Edwards. But," he glanced around, making eye contact with several crew members, "for those of you who have not, I will give you a bit of background information.
"Needle Edwards is a genius. He revolutionized the weaponry used by the renegades, making our jobs, and those of the UE Navy, much harder. He works with the Captains of Freeport, so, when we do track him down, they're going to put up a fight. In a few hours, we'll be arriving at Freeport in the Riomor system. It's not a very safe place so --" began Duke, but Chris Quinn cut him off.
"-- Marauder Wing is going to be on active duty," he finished. "Great," he threw his cards down on the table. "You couldn't have done this when I had a losing hand? A full house," he said.
There was a chorus of "I fold"'s and, grinning, Duke Bullwhip left the room.
The poker-players had the holo-screen on, and they were watching vintage horror movies from the thirties at full volume. Tom Hunnicut grabbed the remote control and changed the frequency.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" object Chris Quinn.
"Oh, shut up. You've been watching this rubbish all month," replied Tom.
"Yeah," said Jack Lawrence, "and all last month you watched those stupid documentaries. 'The Mating Habits of the New Rome Flying Shark' nearly made me vomit."
Everyone began to laugh. Tom, deciding to leave them be, placed the remote control down. "Go ahead," he said. "Rot your brains with this grabage. I don't care."
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The Proxima Nebula was a forbidden place. The jump points of each system were guarded with vultures -- Human renegades in search of a weak target to prey upon -- and, as rumors have recently been saying, strange alien vessels. While the nebula itself was impenetrable, the fringes of this nebula made the perfect place for a hideaway for all the renegades, pirates, and unwanted scum of the galaxy. That hideaway came to them in the form of a space-station: Freeport.
The station, which was nearly four full miles in length, was made entirely from spare ship parts and debris. There was a seemingly endless supply of these, because the majority of the station's visitors and occupants were renegades. This meant that there was usually a good starship battle going on in the space outside the station, and, even more frequently, a brawl between renegade fleets inside the station.
Space rippled as, with a flash of bright light, the Goliath dropped out of hyperspace. Immediately, alert klaxons began to blare in the cockpit. Renegade ships were approaching on both starboard and port at attack vectors. Duke, still somewhat dazed with jump shock, called for all crew to man their battle-stations, and for all the pilots to get to their fighters. Duke maneuvered the massive Turncoat away from the approaching renegade ships.
He glanced at his scanners; the biggest threat was another Turncoat, called the Hellfire. Speaking into the comm-unit, Duke said: "Marauder Wing, get on the Hellfire and its fighters."
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"You heard the cap'n," said Chris Quinn, clutching his flight stick. "Marauder Two and Three, you're with me. We'll go for the Hellfire itself. Four and Five, do you guys think you can handle the fighters?"
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"Of course," remarked Jack Lawrence. "It will be a piece of cake."
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The fighter wing broke off into the two groups. Mike Pearson, Chris Quinn, and Daniel Wright went after the Turncoat called Hellfire.
Mike Pearson was excited, because he hadn't seen any action for a while. Now, gripping the flight stick and tapping the rudder pedals with anticipation, the pilot could forget about his troubled past; forget about the torture he went through. Flying was, in a way, therapeutic to him.
Bolts of red blaze energy crashed into his Krait's thin layer of shields. Rolling to port, Mike avoided several more shots, while unloading many of his own on the Turncoat. The Krait's blaze cannons slowly ate away at the Hellfire's shields, while its gunners struggled to target the three fighters. Weaving in and out of blaze fire, the Kraits of Marauder Wing did their damage. More blaze fire, from the Goliath, helped take down the shields of the enemy ship.
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Stephen McNamara held his finger poised over the trigger, ready to fire his blaze cannons. The Krait pilot in front of him weaved in and out of his locked. No sense in wasting energy in my blaze batteries if I'm going to miss, he thought. He waited until he heard the beeping confirmation and fired. His shots hit the target, heavily damaging the weak shields of the Krait.
The other pilot cut his throttle, sending Marauder Four right into the enemy fighter's blaze cannon range. Marauder Four rolled to port, narrowly avoiding bolts of blaze energy. Cutting his own throttle, Stephen maneuevered the other Krait right back into his targeting brackets. His blaze cannons unloaded all of their fury on him. The other Krait disappeared in a ball of flame.
A second Krait began to fire on Stephen. "Jack," he called into his comm-unit. "Do you read me?"
"Loud and clear," came the reply.
"I've got a bogie on me," said Stephen. "I can't shake 'im, he's too fast."
"I'm on my way," was Jack's response.
Nervously, Stephen pulled some evasive maneuvers, struggling to survive with such weakened shields. He noted that Jack was coming in on the tail of the other Krait. The other Krait spun around, ready to meet this new attacker, but, while its attention was focused on Jack, Stephen soared up and down, blasting the small renegade fighter. Its pilot could not continue the battle against the other two Kraits. The cockpit to the Krait slid open and, donning a pressure suit, the renegade pilot drifted towards the Hellfire.
With all three Kraits gone, Marauder Four and Marauder Five set their sights on the Hellfire. The Hellfire, which had some rather large hull breaches was badly battered. The three Marauders and the Goliath combined gave it a licking. Duke gave the order to wait, while the Hellfire surrendered and hyperjumped out of the system with its tail between its legs.
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"This is the Goliath," said Duke Bullwhip into his comm-unit. "Requesting permission to land..."
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Chapters 4-6 are coming soon...
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 02-20-2001).)
Glad to see it in the Chronicles.