Part Ten
"This line is bugged. We cannot talk much. Obviously this is a voice distortion program. Follow my instructions exactly," the voice that had answered said.
Hamilton breathed quickly, and sweated with excitement. Maybe he had a chance of escape after all!
"I will supply you with food and water for now. Stay in your location, do not make noise, do not venture out."
"Why...why are you helping me?" asked Hamilton timidly.
"There is dissension among us. That is all you need to know right now."
"Yes...ok."
"Now, I am transmitting a number onto your display. Call it, and we will have a secure line. Goodbye."
"Wait!" cried Hamilton, but it was too late. There was a beep as the other side hung up, and then a number flashed on his screen. He saved it, and dialed eagerly.
It rang for a long time, and he began to doubt its validity. His hands shivered, and he gnawed at his lip tensely. And then, suddenly, came the beep of an accepted call. A rough male voice asked, "Who's calling?"
Doubt overcame Hamilton, and he nearly hang up just there. But he pushed away his fears, and in a trembling voice answered, "Me..."
The man seemed to understand, because he replied, "Ok. For now you must stay in that location. If you try to move, I will not help you. If there is a significant risk of my exposure involved, I will not help you. Therefore, stay in the crawl-way. Don't destroy any circuits, or maintenance workers will come. Conduct regular exercise against the sides of the crawl-way. Keep your legs and arms in good shape, because you will only have one chance at your escape. Above all, be ready at any moment. In your next packet I will include a buzzer attachment to your communicator. Attach it, and sleep with it next to your head. This way it will wake you if I call."
Hamilton nodded dumbly, then realized his mistake and said, "Ok. I got it."
"Good. I have also recovered your piloting computer, and will be including it in the next package. You must find the wire endings in your wound, and fuse them to the wires on your computer. Then bandage the computer to your head. I will provide the tools. Your piloting skills will be needed for your escape."
"Yes..."
"That is all. Follow all my instructions to the word. Do not call me on any lines, but wait for my calls."
And that was it. Another beep indicated the call was over. Hamilton breathed out, and the lay flat on his back. His mind strengthened by his new hope, he began to exercise his legs against the walls.
A quiet beep awoke Stan. Glancing over the improvised readout screen, he saw a small report indicating a nearby ship. Furthermore its relative velocity was increasing, and towards him. Cursing wildly, he typed away madly, gleaning information from the sensors. It was a small-mass vessel, moving slowly in relation to most space-going speeds. Its EM radiation was minimal, indicating a tiny power source. He shook his head in bewilderment. What the hell was it?
Slowly Stan got up and walked into the cockpit. A trace of smoke still hung in the air. Coughing, he reached under his seat and pulled out his custom-made pistol. It used explosive ammunition which could blow a hole through a three foot thick concrete wall. He clutched it in his hands, and made his way to the main hatch, determined to make life difficult for any boarders.
And he was right, because ten minutes later, the ship jarred slightly as something connected to it. He heard the humming of an electronic splicer, and then the grinding of the airlock motors. He tensed, aiming at the inner airlock door. As the outer doors closed, he heard the hiss of the atmosphere equalizing, and then more sounds as the intruder hacked away at the inner door locks.
Stan stared apprehensively. Was this his last assignment after all? An end to his short and successful career? He couldn't believe it. But in any case he resolved to blow the first thing that set foot in his ship to very small pieces.
Slowly the inner airlock door hummed open. Stan aimed, and saw nothing. For a second he stared crazily, then lowered his gaze to where a small, treaded robot was retracting its arm from the door lock. A camera stood out from the top of the robot, rotating slowly. Throwing caution to hell, Stan fired at the robot as it slowly rolled into his ship. The explosion was ear deafening as his highly explosive bullet connected with the fragile probe. Particles of metal filled the corridor, and slowly drifted to the deck.
He heard a muffled scream. Wild clanking came from the other ship, and the inner airlock slammed shut. He heard the cycling of the outer door, and tensed again. As the inner doors opened again, he prepared to fire- but all he saw was a stumpy man in a ragged spacesuit, holding a screwdriver.
"You bastard!" the man screeched. "Do you have any idea how much that blasted robot cost me? Ten grand! And why the hell did you blow it up? Goddamn you pirates, you're all the same! I'll kill you, you bloody imbecile!" He ran towards Stan, brandishing his screwdriver.
But Stan let out his breath in a relieved sigh, and exclaimed, "Oh, thank god! You're a ship scavenger! Let me tell you, I'm no pirate. They blew my systems and left me stranded here! Jesus, I thought you were one of them!"
The man stopped. "Great way of repaying me, isn't it! You're buying me a new one, or my name isn't Biddy!"
Stan nodded, and grinned. "Yeah, sure. Got a spare power core? I need to get up and running. I've got places to go, people to meet...and the pirates aren't in that list."
"Ha! Why would I lug an extra reactor around? Nah, I could get one on Pariah, but it's too much effort. I think I'm just gonna leave you here! Yeah, that'll be fitting punishment-"
"Here!" shouted Stan, grabbing for his wallet. "Here's twenty thousand credits, now get me a goddamned power core! Please, man, you can't just leave me stranded here!"
Again Biddy stopped, and slowly nodded. "Yeah, ok. Twenty thousand will do it. I'll be back in a couple of days. Let me just get you a nav beacon so I can find you again..."
With that, the man ran back into the airlock, and two minutes later he appeared carrying what looked like an oxygen tank. "Keep this in your airlock, with the outer door open. Set it to channel three-one-oh-oh-nine. I'll find ya in a week. And don't worry, I won't cheat you, Biddy deals fair with his clients! Ask anyone on Pariah, they'll tell you."
Stan nodded skeptically, and put on a pressure suit. He walked into the airlock, and opened watched the strange man leave to his ship. Looking through the viewport, Stan saw that it was a rather dilapidated shuttle! Shaking his head, he set to work welding the beacon to the floor.
Part Eleven
Kraine stood in the officer's mess of the Star Lance. Behind him, his entire group of gathered mercenaries as well as his senior bridge crew was gathered. He was staring out into the depths of space, deep in thought. Finally, he turned and addressed the group.
"We've suffered a serious defeat. In one battle, we have taken serious damage to the Star Lance that will require at least three weeks of dry-dock to repair, as well as a large amount of funds. Furthermore, we have lost a Helian equipped with very expensive scanning equipment. We have alerted the pirates to our presence. On the other hand," he continued, "we have dealt them a fair amount of damage.
"From now on, there will be no operations conducted without at least half of our available ships involved. We will focus on efficiently wearing the pirates down, losing as little as possible ourselves. The recent battle provides ample evidence of the value of large amounts of smaller ships. All of you," Kraine said, looking in turn at each of the mercenaries, "will be involved in combat before the week is up. We will follow an intensive schedule of raids that are designed to disrupt pirate organization and frighten them as well."
Kraine took out his pocket computer and touched a few keys. One of the walls of the room lit up with a star map, highlighted with different arrows and icons representing the ships under Kraine's disposal.
"Firstly," he said, "we will set a trap for the pirates in the Iothe system. To accomplish this we will hire a freighter, fly it out, and fill its cargo bay with Kraits. Manned Kraits, of course. Several Helians and Freight-Couriers will be hidden in nearby shipping lanes. The freighter will give out a call for help, reporting a faulty solar panel and a lack of power. Hopefully this will cause any pirates hiding in-system to attack.
"This operation should be a complete success. Its main purpose is to cause dissension among the pirates as they realize that their raids will carry a high risk of combat with us. This should keep their raids contained to large forces they feel safe with. The more ships they send out, the less they have to defend Pariah. And then we can land on the planet.
"To this end, I am looking into the hiring of the reputable mercenary organization ‘Gamma Battalion'. As you are probably aware, they are a highly trained, fully independent battalion of marines. They are completely equipped for a full-scale ground war, and have been employed by the U.E. on several occasions. Each time they have proved their excellence. If we could find the money to do this, we could hire a regiment of Gamma soldiers to assist us, or rather to execute, the storming of the pirate base on Pariah.
"That is all for now, gentlemen. I need to see all combat pilots at 0900 hours in the primary briefing room for more details on the trap we are setting. Dismissed."
As the congregation broke up, and the men filed out of the room separately, engaged in their own conversations, Kraine sat down heavily. He sank his head into his hands, and rubbed his eyes. Just what had he gotten himself into? What if he did not succeed in a quick and stunning victory over the pirates? They would send bounty hunters after him, and he could never be safe. No family, no settled life. He sighed. He would have to somehow pull it off.
The single sun of the Iothe system shone glaringly off of the polished metal surfaces of the orbital shipyards. Like strange exoskeletons of some gigantic space insect, they hung in space, surrounding the often burnt-out hulks of huge capital spaceships. Next to the Star Lance, the U.E. had commandeered a shipyard to refit the carrier Chicago, which had been severely damaged in a vicious firefight with half a dozen Voinian frigates. The work on the destroyer itself was proceeding slowly, because the electronics teams had to check every circuit aboard the ship to make sure it was functioning.
And it was costing him a fortune, thought Kraine. Already his account had been drained down to fifteen million credits. The addition of a Gamma regiment to his arsenal could cost as much as ten million by itself, not to mention the costs of the transport ships.
It was clear that an alternate source of income had to be found. Rubbing his eyes, Kraine searched through the pile of paperwork on his desk. He was inside the Star Lance, of course, for he could not leave his vessel in such a wounded state; but the inner command centers had been left largely undamaged, so he could work without interruption. He flipped through the reports his subordinates had assembled for him: investments in Stellar Corp., stocks in Frontier Express, sponsoring a captain who wanted to explore new economical frontiers in Miranu space...
Sighing, he put down the papers, and his head sank to the desk. Slowly he drifted into blissful sleep...
Part Twelve
The Iothe system was not a large one, as far as solar systems go. Aside from the single planet orbiting its sun, the only satellites were asteroids. This meant that the shipping lines to and from the planet were fairly direct from the jump points to the planet; and consequently they were packed with trading ships. A run to Iothe was well worth their time, and the local militia rigorously defended the traders from pirates.
The S.S. Boreal, a huge freighter dating back to the first interstellar trading ships, plodded slowly along, powered by her huge solar panels. The ion engines were slow, energy efficient things; and although they produced very little thrust, they could run entirely off the solar panels. The Boreal's gaping cargo bay was open, and inside were eight strangely shaped canisters, each one mounted a good distance from the next.
To the casual observer they would have seemed like some exotic substance that required extra care, but a closer scan would have revealed that they were Kraits. Powered up, and completely combat ready Kraits, in fact. Six were outfitted with the normal blaze cannon, while the other two had no blaze weapons and instead sported needle missile launchers, obviously for damaging larger vessels.
Suddenly the Boreal's engines cut. She spun slowly, lazily, and one solar panel went dark. A call was broadcast across all channels, saying, "Hello, hello, this is the Boreal requesting assistance. Repeat, Boreal is requesting assistance. We have solar panel trouble and are losing power. Requesting assistance to return in-system."
No ships reacted, since everyone seemed to be in a hurry to continue their own business. But almost one cue, four Helians and a Freight-Courier detached themselves from the normal shipping and flew with maximum acceleration towards the freighter. When it hailed them, their response was a garbled message filled with profanities that threatened death and torture unless the ship shut of its power and surrendered.
As they came closer, the Helians opened up with their blaze cannons. The particles exploded soundlessly against the freighter's shields, sucking away energy as they impacted.
And suddenly, eight Kraits launched simultaneously from the Boreal's hold and latched onto the Helians' tails. Blaze fire swept across the pirate vessels, and one of the missile Kraits emptied its ammunition into a Helian, causing it to explode.
Just as suddenly, three Helians burst out of the shipping lanes and closed fast on the pirate Freight-Courier. Their missiles and blaze fire converged on the helpless vessel, detonating it before it could escape.
Two surviving pirate Helians turned to fight the Kraits, while the last one flew directly towards the nearest jump point. A steady stream of needle missiles shot after it, but no ship made any move to pursue. With a flash of dimensional twist, it was gone, warping off towards Pariah.
The eight Kraits roared towards their pirate opposition, cocky and excited, firing blaze cannons haphazardly. They deftly dodged the missiles fired at them, and continued to pour fire into the pirate vessels. As one of the Helians exploded, the other one turned and sent a stream of missiles into the nearest Krait, destroying it utterly.
Like a pack of wolves, the remaining seven fighters converged onto the pirate ship, filling the air with glowing blaze particles and the delayed explosions of missiles. Finally the last debris had dispersed, drifting off into the endless void, a burnt and blackened hulk of what was once a proud spaceship.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 06-24-2002).)
(This message has been edited by llegolas (edited 07-21-2002).)
