Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1 (11 page)

              It was not the worst EVA job she had ever done.  At first, the techs were very careful and conscientious, but after she showed them how to cut away the erratic, ragged edges of the holes, carefully placing the cut pieces into a storage bin for recycling, then tack up a patch plate over the holes and then weld them down, they started to get a bit overconfident.  After one of the men got sloppy with the plasma cutter and accidently punched a hole in the leg of his suit, the others calmed right down.  Being exposed to vacuum was never a pleasant experience, even in a small way like on one part of one’s leg. 

              They worked in the vacuum of the compartment for a full shift, everyone taking their time, doing things at about half speed to make sure there were no more accidents.  Also, there were over twenty holes that needed patching, some that were as large as a man.  But they persevered and by the end of the shift, the first compartment was sealed and ready.

              “Damn,” one of the techs complained.  “When we go do that again, I need a damned sweat band.  My eyes have been burning for hours.”  It was a well-lodged complaint, one that had been voiced many times. 

              “Very good work,” Tamara congratulated them as she peeled the suit off.  Apparently there were no taboos here, and since she wasn’t the only woman Tamara didn’t feel self-conscious about stripping down to her underclothes in front of these people.  She pulled on her coveralls, fully intending to go back to her quarters and shower after this.  “Make sure, all of you that you plug in your suits to recharge.”  Following her own order, she picked up her suit and plugged the atmo unit into the charging station.  The others did the same, then they all dispersed to get cleaned up. 

              An hour later, Tamara, the captain and the work crew stood in the “new” compartment.  “I haven’t been in here in ten years,” the man marveled.  “I remember it used to be a recreation area before the micrometeors tore it up.” 

              “I figured at much, seeing all the broken computer consoles, and those couches there.”  Tamara pointed at the furniture.  “It’ll be a while before we can spare the teams to really get this room back in order again, though.”  Her words were apologetic, but her tone wasn’t.

              “A problem, Moxie?”

              She shook her head.  “Just a matter of priorities.  Though I suppose the crew might be able to come in here and relax.”

              “Very good work, Moxie.”  The captain looked around again in wonder.  “Get this compartment cleaned up and I’m sure the crew
will
come back in here for gatherings.”  He turned to her.  “How many more compartments do you think could get sealed before we’re out of hyperspace?”

              Tamara shrugged.  “Probably two more.  The one on deck three and the one further up the corridor on this deck.  I’d like to get one of the big cargo bays done, but there isn’t time.  We wouldn’t even get one of those done in the time we have before breakout.”

              The captain nodded.  “A shame.  Oh well though.  Still, good work.”

              The time in hyperspace had been well spent.  The ship had a new set of wiring, and almost half of the power conduits had been replaced.  The life support system had been overhauled and over a dozen maintenance bots had been built or restored and were busy making small fixes or cleaning the ship.  Three compartments had been sealed and there was a general uplift in ship’s morale.  It was paired with a sense of complete and utter exhaustion in the engineering crew, who had been working very long hours to get all that work done.

              Tamara stood on the bridge, at the back out of the way, while the bridge crew prepared to exit hyperspace.  The bridge was small and cramped, like every compartment aboard the cargo ship, except for the main bays.  There were five main control stations, with the captain’s chair situated right in the middle, all stations manned.  The equipment was antiquated, with a few of the stations looking as though the original equipment had been replaced, but with components that weren’t intended to do those jobs, repurposed and reconditioned.  It was the way of things nowadays, but those things were changing, especially now as the crew gained more experience in the better way of operating. 

              The captain had finally relented and told her where they were going, though Tamara had easily figured that out by getting into the navigation logs.  Instow Star System wasn’t much to look at, a small colony on the moon of a gas giant, the only habitable world in the system.  The system boasted only two planetary bodies, a frozen rock and the gas giant.  There was a very thick asteroid belt, however, perfect for Tamara’s plan, to go prospecting for the materials the ship would need.  Hopefully, Instow didn’t have much in the way of space forces, because if they did,
Grania Estelle
would have to go rock-wrangling in another system, for they certainly didn’t have the funds to purchase any.

              “Counting down,” the pilot said, her hands on the flight controls.  “Ten seconds to breakout.”

              “All hands, this is the Captain,” he said, sitting himself up straighter in his chair.  “Prepare for breakout.”

              The pilot counted down and then pushed the lever forward, deactivating the hyperdrive.  The ship bucked as though it had crashed into an asteroid.  Tamara, prepared this time, was flung off her feet but her hands clung desperately to the handle anchored to the outer edge of the operations console.  She had wondered what those were for when the Captain had brought her to the bridge at the start of this hyperspace trip and now she knew.  Her feet regaining the deck, she continued to hold on as the ship shimmied and vibrated.  It took more than a minute for it to subside.

              “That was a
violent
translation,” she gasped.  The others on the bridge only laughed.

              “That?” the ops officer asked with a grin.  “That was about middle of the road in intensity.  We’ve had a lot worse.”

              And when something actually
did
strike the ship, they all knew that they had found something worse.

Chapter 4

              “We’ve taken a hit to the engine section!” the ops officer screeched, losing his cool in the tumult of alarms that blared throughout the bridge. 

              “I’ve lost helm control!” the pilot reported, frantically working her console.

              “What happened?” the captain demanded, holding on tightly to the arms of his chair.

              “Something hit us, Captain!” the ops officer replied, desperately scanning his sensor feeds.  There wasn’t much to see, though, the sensors on the
Grania Estelle
were so myopic they could barely see more than two kilometers in any direction.  It was on the list of things to be upgraded, but like everything else, it required materials, manpower, access, power and time.  And so far, there just wasn’t enough of any of those things to fix the sensors.  It would get done though.  And it wasn’t as though having perfect sensors right now would have made any difference.  Within a minute from reversion to realspace, they’d been hit. 

              “I can tell we’ve been hit, George,” the captain said, trying to keep his calm demeanor.  “What was it?  An asteroid?  Is someone shooting at us?”

              “I can’t tell, Captain!” George Miller, stabbing at his operations console cried.  He was a short man, hearty but with a dull pallor.  He was a spacer, born and bred, but the time on the freighter, and Cookie’s fine food had caused a slight thickening in his middle areas, something his girl liked to tease him about.  “I can’t see anything!”  Then something else hit them, and everyone jerked to the right.  “Shields are out!”

              “Two direct hits that just happen to take out our engines and shields?” Tamara asked, her gut filling with ice.  “Not a chance that is coincidence.”

              The captain appeared to come to that same conclusion.  He pressed a stud on the arm of his chair.  “All hands, this is the Captain.  We are under attack by unknown forces.  Watch yourselves, and prepare to be boarded.  Security, assemble armed parties in the boat bay.  That’s the most likely place they’ll try to get in.”

              He and Tamara shared a look.  “We can’t see anything.  Who’s out there?  How many?”

              “My fighter has upgraded sensors,” Tamara said.  “Certainly better than any of the sensors on the ship.”  She waved a hand to indicate the big cargo freighter.

              The captain nodded, turning to the operations station.  “Go.  Report back as soon as you have something.”

              Tamara left the bridge at a run.

              Outside the
Grania Estelle
, three ships were closing on the big freighter.  Two small vessels, warships, were flanking a larger vessel, a cargo ship about a third the size of the
Grania Estelle
.  The cargo ship was hanging back, half a light second away.  The warships were moving in, one above, the other below the crippled freighter, their weapons trained on the bulk freighter just for insurance.  Neither the captains nor the crews were terribly worried about the decrepit ship, though they kept their shields powered, just for insurance. 

              The warships were small, classified as corvettes, which would have crews of no more than eighty, which meant they didn’t require a massive crew pool.  They were fast and agile as well as armed with decent weapons, though the ships were meant more for escort duty or commerce raiding than any serious Fleet engagement.  Both the Republic and the Federation used such ships, but these ships were serious firepower in a galaxy of independent nations.  Cargo vessels, even armed ones, wouldn’t be able to stand off against dedicated warships, even small ones like these. 
Grania Estelle
did have weapons, but they were little more than popguns used to deflect incoming meteors.  It would be highly unlikely that they could breach the shields of the corvettes, much less damage either of them.

              A quartet of shuttles raced away from the corvettes, all four headed for the wallowing bulk freighter, staggering their approaches.  While the
Grania Estelle
’s weaponry was no match for a warship’s shields, it should be more than enough to take out a shuttle, even if they only were hit by a lucky shot. 

              All of the ships, warships, freighter and shuttles all sported a symbol painted on the hull, in red, which stood out in contrast against the gray metal of the hull.  It was a bird of prey of some sort, its wings outstretched and its taloned feet flexed as though swooping down to snatch up its prey.  It made the ships all appear to be much more fearsome, and certainly identifiable.  Though in independent space, with no regular Navy patrols, having identifying marks might be a boon to the pirates, for it would spread fear into their victims and perhaps make them more pliable when they dropped in to pay a visit on a cargo ship.

              Pulling up alongside the bulk freighter, two of the shuttles moved up toward the forward section of the ship.  The very fore of the freighter was the ovoid shaped, with personnel airlocks on each side.  The shuttles eased up to the sides, matching the movement of the
Grania Estelle
.  The shuttle on the left side of the ship deployed an access tube, less than two meters long made up of three steel rings connected by heavy cable with the tube skinned with an airtight synthweave.  Once the tube mated with the ship, it formed and airtight seal.  Seconds later, the airlock on the shuttle opened and two people rushed across the gap.  One was holding a box which immediately magnetized when he set it against the hull.  Popping open a small access cover, he connected three cables into ports on the ship.  Override programs in the box began working their magic and within seconds, the ship’s airlock moved back and then slid to the side.  After that, a score of people armed, wearing skinsuits and mismatched body armor rushed through the opening.

              The shuttle on the other side wasn’t having the same luck.  The airlock controls were burned out.  Undaunted, the assault team brought out plasma torches and began cutting through the hatchway.  It was taking longer, but the team knew their business.  While the first team was streaming into the ship, the second team continued cutting.  Four minutes later, the hatch clattered to the deck inside the ship.  The second shuttle began sending teams through into the ship.

              The second set of shuttles pulled up just outside the
Grania Estelle
’s boat bay, whose doors were sealed.  Without any finesse whatsoever, the shuttles blasted the doors open with their plasma cannons.  Strategic hits straight to the middle of the main door blew the metal apart, leaving a gaping hole the size of a shuttle craft.  An additional pair of shots widened the hole, damaging the shuttle inside and raining superheated shrapnel throughout the boat bay.  There were screams from inside as the atmosphere
whooshed
out through the breach, loose equipment, random bits of junk and eventually shrieking crewmen were sucked out into the void.  Six security officers were among those tossed out into space.  Once the bay was fully depressurized, the invader shuttles flew in through the gap.

              Once landed, the occupants piled out into the empty boat bay.  One of the invaders, clearly the leader, pointed to the hole and said something over the radios.  Within minutes, a portable generator was rigged up to a force field projector and the hole was sealed over with an energy barrier, which allowed the life support units in the boat bay to refill the bay with atmosphere.  A few short moments passed until there was sufficient life support ready for the invaders to open the hatch to the inside and rush through.

              The invaders spread throughout the
Grania Estelle
, either knocking back crewmen, or outright shooting them.  They were brutal, shouting their war cries and either brandishing or using their weapons.  Three crewmen were coming out of the galley after hearing the alarms, to be summarily gunned down by a quartet of invaders.  They rushed into the mess hall and then into the galley as some crewmen screamed in terror, a group from the late lunch crowd who ducked behind the tables or cowered in the corners away from the pirates.  The invaders ignored them and headed straight for the pantry area.  They loaded up a hover palette with goods from the pantry; fresh foods, canned goods and other things, taking about a quarter of the food stores and then hustled back out, a couple of the big cans falling off the palette and onto the deck.  The pirates didn’t waste time picking them back up, three of them kept their weapons trained, the fourth drove the palette.

              Another team headed for engineering.  Quesh was waiting for them with a security team.  A firefight ensued, bullets, needles and plasma bolts firing back and forth.  The attack on the main engineering was stalled, but certainly not stopped.  The pirates knew their business, but the security team was fighting for their home.  Quesh had a pair of pistols, one in his lower left hand and the other in his upper left.  His right hands were holding up a large sheet of plate steel which he was using as a shield to protect both himself and one of the security officers, both of whom were using it for cover.  A security woman took a plasma bolt in the chest which blasted clean through; she dropped to the deck without a sound.  The Parkani roared, firing wildly, dropping two of the pirates, one with a shot to the throat and another in the groin.  The first grabbed his throat and collapsed, gurgling as blood bubbled up from the wound, the other flopped on the deck, screaming as his femoral artery was severed.

              “Pour it on!” the Parkani shouted, continuing to fire. 

              Red lights were flashing in all compartments now as Tamara raced through the ship.  Another hit struck the ship, causing her to stumble, but she kept on.  She made it to the cargo bay where her starfighter was still resting, secured to the deck with tie downs, undamaged.  Some of the crates had fallen over when the ship had been struck, some of the junk pile had scattered around.  But no one was in here. 

              She could hear the sound of gunfire in the corridors, which caused her to flinch.  It was still confined to the area around the boat bay, though based on what she was hearing, the invaders were moving out from there.  Her mind was racing a kilometer a second.

              This was insane.  Pirates?  This was
Republic
space!  No pirates would
dare
strike this close to a Republic outpost, especially a full blown shipyard like at Hudora.  Patrols would be going through this area like clockwork and it would take far too long to hijack a ship right at the hyper limit, especially if there was a patrol nearby.  There would be no place for them to scurry off to and hide.

              And then it hit her.  It staggered her as her knees went watery and her heart sank to thump on the deck.  She fell forward two paces, catching herself on the nose of the
Perdition
.  Her breath started coming in gasps. 

              This
wasn’t
Republic space anymore.  Not for decades.  Centuries even.  There was no shipyard at Hudora.  There were no patrols out this far away from the Core.  There was no help coming.  There was no more Navy out here, no more Fleet.  Just the poor people living out here, they would have to look out for themselves.

             
I’ve been lying to myself
, she realized.  This wasn’t just an escape from prison and a form of purgatory out here on this ship.  No.  She wasn’t going to find a little life out here, perhaps return vindicated to the Fleet.  She wasn’t going to return home, meet up with her family.  No, they were gone, dead.  All of them.  She was alone now, even more than during her trial. 

              “Well, well,” a gruff voice came from behind her.  She whirled to see a man in a spacer’s suit standing in the hatchway of the cargo bay.  He was human, with a long scar running down from the corner of his eye to under his jawline, as though a drop of acid had rolled down his face to then drip off.  He was tall and muscular, and his skinsuit was adorned with a set of navy blue police-issue body armor over his chest, shoulders and back.  His face was filled with a mix of lust and pure malice, and in his hand, aiming at the deck, was a very high-powered pistol.  “Very nice.”

              Tamara backed away.  She was less than twenty feet from the man, but there was no real place to hide in here.  This cargo bad did have crates and barrels of freight, but a lot of it was neatly stacked around the edges, or else was strewn on the floor.  She couldn’t lose him in here.  And with the
Perdition
sitting right in the middle of the bay, there was a very large open space. 

              “No.  No, no, no, no, no, no.”  She was whispering this as she backed away, moving around the fighter’s landing struts as the man approached her. 

              She was panicking and she couldn’t stop.  The look on his face was utterly malevolent but now there was a degree of joy that was creeping into his features.  “Come here, little bird,” he growled at her.  The gun was still in his hand but it was his face that Tamara couldn’t tear her gaze from.  “Too bad I don’t have time for a proper job.  Guess we’ll just have to work quick.”  He was grinning now.

              “No, no, no.”  Her voice was a normal tone now, though she could not stop herself from repeating that word.  Her brain realized she needed to stop and cool off, but her mouth just wouldn’t stop.  Just as her arms and legs kept moving herself away from him.