Part Thirteen
Hamilton lay in his crawlspace, breathing slowly and evenly. He fingered his swollen temple, where he had recently reattached his pilot computer. It was a motley job, and very fragile; but it held well considering that his supplies had consisted of a wire splicer and adhesive bandages.
The confined space was getting to him. He realized that he couldn't survive much longer in the cramped confines of his hiding spot. Despite his frequent exercise, his back and legs ached to stretch out fully again. But Hamilton stayed tensely in control, and continued his measured breathing.
Suddenly the communicator strapped to his arm began to buzz wildly. He caught his breath, and scrambled to unfasten it. Clapping it open, he whispered, "Who's there?"
"It's me. This is it. Listen closely. Open the hatch with the toolkit I gave you. Drop down. Follow the corridor to your left until you reach a door labeled 'S-I42'. Open it, you will find a dark room. Leave the lights off. Stay in that room until I come for you. If you see any guards continue on your way without looking up. Do not attack unless capture is imminent!"
"Ok...now?" Hamilton asked in a quavering voice, but there was no answer. Closing the communicator, Hamilton grabbed his gun, crawled swiftly to the hatch, and pried it open. He looked down, saw the hall empty, and quickly dropped to the floor. Crouching carefully, he listened for any sounds, but all was silent. He sprinted off to his left.
He was running down the corridor at full speed when he saw the door. Stopping, he slipped into the doorway, and carefully tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he entered the room quickly. Only after the door was closed behind him did he relax.
Slowly he crouched down against the wall and tensely peered out into the darkness. His hands clenched tightly around the barrel of his weapon. His eyes flicked around the room, barely discerning that it was some kind of an office. The only piece of furniture was a small metal desk littered with papers.
Suddenly he heard a noise outside. His breathing quickened, and a trickle of sweat made its way down his grease-smudged face.
The door swung inwards, and a cloaked figure stepped into the room. It peered about quickly, then saw Hamilton crouched by the door. Beckoning, it slipped out of the room again.
Hamilton stood and followed. The hallway was still deserted except for his mysterious savior. He followed the figure as it slipped through doors and rooms, sometimes crouching in the shadows to let pirates saunter past. For an eternity they stealthily made their way through the station. Finally they reached a small hallway opposite of a large metal door. It seemed to be the entrance to a docking bay. But waiting outside it were two tired pirate guards, each holding an automatic pistol.
The cloaked figure whispered to Hamilton, "Do not look up, keep walking with me. Don't respond to their questions." Then he stood and walked quickly towards the guards, nodding in greeting. Hamilton followed closely, staring at the ground and almost running to the door.
"Hey! Stop! Who the hell are you?" grunted one of the guards at Hamilton. He ignored it and followed the cloaked man through the door and into a spacious docking bay. He heard a muffled curse and then the guard shouted, "Freeze!"
By then the cloaked man was sprinting towards a small vessel docked in the center of the bay. It was a shuttle, battered and welded over with odd parts. Hamilton ran towards it as fast as he could, ducking low as the guards opened fire.
The high whine of bullets sounded in his ear as a ricochet flew of a nearby bulkhead. Turning, Hamilton continued to run backwards and sent a rattle of machine-gun fire at the guards. They dove for cover, and Hamilton dove through the hatch and into the shuttle, closely behind the cloaked man.
As soon as he hit the deck, the man slammed the hatch and ran forward to the pilot cabin shouting. Hamilton heard the roar of thrusters and felt the ship shake as it accelerated out of the hangar bay from a dead standstill. The cloaked figure stuck his head back into the cargo bay where Hamilton was standing, and yelled, "Get up here!"
The pilot sprinted forward, and saw a strange, scruffy little man at the controls. When he saw Hamilton he smiled, and got up. Hamilton sat down in the pilot's chair and swept his hands over the familiar controls of a shuttle.
The cloaked man looked at the radar, and cursed. "There's a Krait following us. Does this box have any weapons?" he asked the little man.
"Hey! Watcha calling a box! Yeah sure, I've got some space mines lying around somewhere..."
"Get them ready!" shouted the man. The little owner of the shuttle smirked and climbed aft.
Meanwhile, Hamilton had coaxed the shuttle to a decent speed and was throwing worried glances at the rear sensors. The Krait was hot on their tail, and preparing to open fire.
With a flick of his hand, Hamilton turned on his pilot computer. A HUD filled his vision, and he settled back with his hands around the piloting stick. The computer projected probable firing vectors of the enemy in lines across his vision. Flinging the ship back and forth, he desperately began to evade the bursts of blaze fire. Every now and then the ship shook as a stray bolt caught its shields.
His hands moved in a flurry of motion, throwing the ship through insane maneuvers and somehow keeping it together. Finally a shout came from the rear, "Fly straight!"
He leveled out carefully, and watched the Krait pull close behind them. Suddenly he heard a loud click, and then a clump of dark objects drifted across his vision. But nothing happened. His hopes sinking, he threw the ship into an evasive maneuver again...
Just as the Krait disappeared in a blinding explosion. "Woohoo!" came a high-pitched scream, and the little man charged back forward. "Did you see that? And who says Biddy ain't good with weapons! I rule! Oh yeah! And that'll be ten thousand credits, mister, for a highly successful escape," he said, turning to the cloaked man, who procured a cred stick and paid him.
Hamilton wearily stood and let the man sit down. He hit a few buttons and and brought up a small holographic display with radio channel numbers. Calibrating it, he aimed the ship in a certain direction and upped the throttle, chattering constantly. "Well I don't have a hyperdrive on this little ship, but I know of a guy, he's stranded on the outskirts here somewhere, he can get us out of this system, 'cause I'm bringing him a power core. But I'll have to leave my good old ship behind...Oh well, it doesn't matter, I can probably buy a freaking scoutship with my money now! Yeah, Biddy has it MADE!"
Hamilton looked at his rescuer carefully, curious who he was. His appearance was completely average, a gaunt face with dark eyebrows and graying hair. His skin was scarred and weathered. The fuzz of a beard was growing on his chin. He noticed Hamilton looking at him and nodded carefully. "We'll talk later," he said, indicating the little pilot.
Part Fourteen
Kraine stood in the open-top hovercar, and looked out at the assembled soldiers. The Gamma Battalion displayed its mercenaries very prominently, showing off their perfect precision, discipline, and training. Kraine nodded to the agent next to him. "Very good. Can I see a combat demonstration?"
"Of course, sir," the Gamma agent replied and said a quick code over the radio. Immediately a squadron of soldiers marched off towards a nearby building that Kraine suspected was used solely for this purpose. They advanced swiftly, running from cover to cover, and firing at the building while their squadmates moved. The first two members reached the door, and took up positions on either side. The remainder of the team took crouched directly across from it, and then the forward marines smashed the door in. They stepped aside, and allowed a stream of fire from the others to pour into the doorway. The moment it abated, the two marines ran in, their pulse weapons leveled. Quickly the squad followed, throwing grenades through windows and moving swiftly into the gutted building.
Thirty seconds later the roof hatch of the building exploded into the air and the squad ran out onto the roof, where they assembled into a rigid formation and stood at attention. A short message came over by radio. "Units in place, SIR!"
Kraine nodded, astonished at their professional expertise. He told the agent, "So, I would like to hire one regiment with tanks and artillery support for three months."
The agent smiled, and led him into a small building where the fine points of the contract would be hammered out.
Stan looked up sharply as his ship jarred. The scavenger was back! He raced to the airlock, slipped into a pressure suit, and opened the inner doors, closing them quickly so only a little oxygen would escape. Then he looked out of the open outer airlock door, and saw the junk box of a shuttle slowly clamping to his hull. He noticed three fresh blaze scars on her hull.
A magnetic grapple shot out and connected to the airlock. Three figures in suits slowly pulled themselves over. The lead one was obviously Biddy, because he was quite short and pulling a bulky container that could only be a power core along behind him.
They reached the airlock, and Stan closed the outer door. As the pressure equalized, he stared warily at the two newcomers. Fleetingly he remembered his pistol, left next to the computer terminal. Could the little man have come back with pirates to take control of the Storm Cloud?
But as the inner airlock cycled open and they unfastened their helmets, his fears were washed away. The tallest man among them was a young pilot, grease smeared, and with a bloody bandage surrounding his head; the other was an experienced, yet fearful looking older man; and Biddy was grinning wildly and holding out the power core. They looked more like fugitives than boarders...
Stan nodded, took the core, and slipped into the engine room through a very conveniently located hatchway. He liked to be able to administer firsthand repairs on any part of his ship as quickly as possible. Ten minutes of hammering and clanking later, he emerged again, considerably more dirty. Nodding to the men, he said, "Well, thanks, Biddy. I'll be leaving system now...I assume you all want a ride?"
The little man nodded, and indicated the old fellow. "This guy here came when I was landed on Pariah, and offered me ten grand to take him and a pal off of the station and out of here. So I thought of you right away, you know?"
Stan looked at the pilot, and noticed the haunted look in his eyes. "Who are you two?"
The older man seemed to think a while, and then answered, "I am Boris Kobolewski."
Part Fifteen
Kraine smiled to himself and looked rather proudly at the assembled Gamma forces. A full regiment of soldiers numbered eight hundred marines, forty tanks, and twenty pieces of heavy plasma artillery. A formidable fighting force, to be sure. What could a couple thousand pirates do against that?
They stood in the main plaza of the Gamma Battalion's private complex. Kraine had eight freight couriers incoming to act as transports for the soldiers. It was vital to use them as quickly as possible to cause more fear among the pirates. The first invasion of Pariah would soon begin.
A major distraction would be needed to allow the transports to land. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. What could cause the pirates to leave their planet undefended by any type of fleet?
He remembered seeing something in the holo-news lately about a blood feud among the pirates reaching new proportions...And then he had it. He would disguise several of his ships as those of a rival pirate clan, fly them to the edge of the system, and send taunting messages out. What pirate could resist, especially in view of such incredible odds? The pirates would stream out by the dozen to battle their hated enemies in face of such definite victory. And then the transports could slip through and destroy the base.
The problem, therefore, was the ship battle. How could a small force win against the combined forces of the pirates? The only answer, although he gritted his teeth at the thought, was to approach the rival pirates with a proposal of military alliance. Then they could jump in and surround the Kobolewski pirates...
He sank into deep thought, staring ahead without expression. Johann led him to the waiting hovercar, and sat him down, shaking his head.
Stan choked and coughed. "What the hell? Boris freaking Kobolewski?"
The man nodded.
"Jesus Christ! What are you doing here?"
"I have lost control of my organization. And I am tired of pirating. So I helped this UE pilot here escape. It will get my amnesty with them."
Stan shook his head. "Well, I think first you should come along with me. My boss is gonna be shocked out of his mind when he sees you!"
The infamous pirate shook his head. "No, I am going straight to the nearest UE controlled planet and handing myself in with this pilot."
"Unfortunately, this is the only bus leaving the system, pal. And I'm bringing you to my boss," laughed Stan. As the pirate reached for his gun, he added, "And letting the guy you rescued witness you hijacking a ship isn't gonna help your case with the UE..."
An incredibly colorful curse came from the man, and then he sat down resignedly. "Very well. But lets get out of here before the pirates arrive."
Stan looked to the pilot. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Hamilton," the man replied, and looked away. The hunted look never left his eyes.
Shrugging, Stan moved up to his cockpit. Looking back, he said, "And remember- don't try anything funny, I wasn't born yesterday."
With that, he goosed the Storm Cloud's tired engines and slowly moved to a jumpoint. Just before he left, he cranked out the sensors and completed his planetary scan.
Then, with an incredible feeling of relief, he hit the hyperjump button and zipped off to safety.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 07-15-2002).)
(This message has been edited by llegolas (edited 07-21-2002).)
