Vigilante (42 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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“Not if we’re on, or outside, the Penrose Fold boundary. And you’d
better hope that Assassinator missile doesn’t destroy the Penrose Fold before the ship drops.
Wait for it. . . .” She paused, shoulders tensed.
He blanched, and sat quietly.
The last transmission—“zero point”—came at the same time as a gentle
push on the capsule. They could hear something hitting the module. It was the chaff, and she
smiled. The ship had pulled the TD weapon into N-space. She felt the tension rush out of her
body.
“Ever wonder why some ships cause a brilliant burst of light in
real-space when they drop out? Their engine is tuned badly.”
“And you made use of excess boundary energy to push us away? Fine and
good, you saved us, just to die from lack of air or worse, radiation.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be picked up and you’ll face justice.” At least, she
hoped
they’d be picked up. She hoped too that Owen hadn’t also
programmed a profile matching
Aether’s Touch
into his
Assassinators.
“Justice? That’s the least of my worries,” he said hoarsely. When she
frowned, he added, “My father’s still out there. If this mission doesn’t kill us, then he’ll
make us wish it did.”
An alarm over the hatch started beeping. It came from the radiation
monitor.
Joyce told the civilians that Abram would use their friends and
coworkers as shields. He also told them they had to kill, maim, or wound Abram’s men, or
everyone would suffer. Some of these civilians were going to be more reliable than
others.
“Stunners are better than using
this
. I
mean, it’s positively medieval.” Carly hefted the portable magnetic bolt grappler while looking
up at Joyce through her lush eyelashes. Her fading and blotching green skindo only undermined
her flirtations a little.
“Well . . .” Joyce carefully pushed the business end of the grappler to
the left so she no longer aimed it at his abdomen. “Those bolts can blow a hole in somebody’s
body.”
He ignored her grimace and looked around at his ragtag team of armed—and
he used that term loosely—volunteers. Being the smallest, Carly had the light,
thirty-five-millimeter grappler with a muzzle energy of no more than one kilo-joule, intended
for personal EVA use. Melissa, who was significantly huskier than Carly, carried their other
magnetic grappler. This grappler fired fifty-millimeter magnetic bolts with five kilojoules and
was the civilian version of the SAL- 50 that AFCAW issued to boarding teams. They’d emptied the
monofilament canisters on both grapplers. Sophi, Paul, and Nikos carried the biggest plasma
torches they had found, as they made their way toward the elevator. They also carried
stunners.
“I still think I should have a stunner.” Carly pouted. “This thing can
only load four bolts at a time.”
“Give it a rest, Carly. And stop batting your eyelashes at him.” Sophi
adjusted the torch tank coming over her left shoulder and checked the charge on the stunner she
held in her right hand. “We’ve only got three stunners.”
“If somebody’s got a flechette weapon, you need to take them out with
lethal
force, before they’ve got their weapon pointed,” Joyce said.
“I don’t care if it’s one of your friends holding the weapon, because a stun doesn’t stop
somebody from firing.”
The three carrying the stunners nodded. Sophi, Paul, and Nikos had prior
military or civilian security experience. With their agreement, Joyce was satisfied that he’d
distributed the weapons correctly. Stunners were trickier to use than the v-plays credited, and
he didn’t want his own people going down twitching due to excess or friendly current. He still
carried the crazy’s flechette pistol and the shotgun loaded with twelve cartridges of
rubber-covered riot-shot. He double-checked the charge; he had plenty. Lack of ammo would be
his problem.
The sound of the elevator’s inner cargo hold sliding into its cradle
stopped all further discussion.
“Take your positions, people,” Joyce said.
Sophi and Nikos went to the maintenance bay on the left side of the
elevator, while Paul and Melissa went to the bay on the right. The elevator airlock was wider
than a standard-size airlock; double sets of doors equalized pressure between the elevator
interior and the station.The elevator opened almost flush on the side of the corridor. Even
though the bays could be used to ambush people coming out of the elevator, they could also turn
into nice little shooting galleries, trapping their occupants.
That’s why Joyce set himself up at the corner of an offset spoke hallway
that met the perimeter corridor. He would try to draw the crazies out of the crate and toward
the right. The converts, he predicted, would run, and he told his team to let them go.
Down the hallway behind him, Carly took cover in an open hatch. In
theory, she was providing him backup, but she was there because he considered her the weakest
link.
It went down pretty much as Joyce predicted.
Abram was prepared for problems on Beta Priamos, perhaps because of the
fracas near the class B docks. Joyce drew back as he heard the doors open. A quick, one-eyed
peek showed five converts forming the first rank. They hesitantly stepped out of the elevator,
obviously knowing their purpose as a shield for the occupants behind them. Three carried
stunners, all tensely pointed into the corridor.
He listened. He heard low mutters and a few shuffling steps. Luckily,
these amateurs didn’t understand the value of being silent and he waited until they were a
meter or two out of the elevator and still unable to see into the maintenance bays on either
side. Behind his corner, Joyce edged backward, breathed deeply, and took the shotgun off
safety.
Quickly leaning out from cover, he fired three blasts with the shotgun,
then pulled back. The advantage of not using a chemical propellant, such as gunpowder, was that
the sound of the shotgun was hard to locate. The kick of the shotgun felt the same, and the
riot-shot hurt badly, particularly within the fifteen-meter range. He heard shouts and
yelps.
He leaned out again. Two of the men were down, writhing in pain. One was
firing his stunner down the corridor in the opposite direction. He fired four more blasts, then
leaned in. This time, two stunners fired back and hit short. They knew that hitting the wall
would spread the charge along to the corner, even when covered with display material.
That
was why he wasn’t snuggled up against the wall for cover,
thank you very much.
The air crackled with ozone and various ionized particles, causing that
specific odor from stunner fire that Joyce could never describe well. The mélange of stunner
effluent, fried sweat and blood, and melted plastic from the display material on the deck and
walls was overwhelming—then his nose shut down all input, in self-defense.
He’d hoped to make the converts run before this. He leaned out as he
fired rapidly, and saw seven more men coming off the elevator. Their living shield was reduced
to two men who were wavering; one had already run away and the two overwhelmed by the riot-shot
were crawling away. His shotgun took down the final waverers.
The seven new targets carried flechette pistols. Joyce pulled back
behind cover, dropped the spent shotgun, and pulled his own pistol. As expected, only Abram’s
men, the
real
crazies, had flechette weapons.
His team members in the maintenance bay, bless their civvy hearts, held
their fire as he used his shotgun. As instructed, they waited until the crazies exited, then
dropped two of them with stunners. Now, however, two men split off to close with the
maintenance bays. There were screams on both sides as flechettes met bursts from plasma
torches.
Three of the crazies were in emergency environmental suits, including
the center one who turned toward Joyce. The suits gave partial protection against stunners, but
only the faceplates would protect against flechettes. Joyce got a glimpse of wide,
crazed-with-hate dark eyes before unloading a round of flechette ammo into the chest of the
advancing suited man. As designed, the round expanded into twirling needles, hit the chest, and
shredded the suit. The man’s steps faltered from the impact, but he kept coming.
That bastard’s got body armor, at least in the
chest area.
Joyce was sure he was Abram. So far, nobody had been equipped with armor,
but this changed things and made Joyce’s current tactics foolhardy.
Abram aimed his pistol. Joyce pulled back behind the corner quickly, but
something slammed his shoulder. He heard a scream from Carly and, looking down, saw what was
left of his right shoulder.
Now
the pain welled up and his sight
blurred. As he backed away from the corner, he managed to get the flechette pistol into his
left hand. He shouted, “Fall back,” over his shoulder.
Abram came around the corner with the false confidence that armor gives
nonprofessionals and Joyce fired his flechettes at Abram’s lower arm and hand. Abram yelled and
dropped his weapon.
“Fall back!” Still backing up, Joyce glanced over his shoulder and
caught sight of Carly’s backside. She was running in a full-fledged dangerous retreat.
You were supposed to fall back with your weapon pointed at the bad
guys.
Simple enough instructions, he’d thought, but now he had no hope of getting cover
fire from her.
Damn civvy
. He was fucked. But he knew Carly
might crumble, and that’s why she wasn’t in one of the maintenance bays. Turning back, he was
astonished to see Abram already had the pistol off the floor and in his other hand. Abram shot
before his pistol rose above knee level. The flechette round took out Joyce’s right knee and
left behind ground meat.
Please, Carly, turn around and shoot!
As he
fell, he brought up his left hand to fire the pistol, but that was also the arm and elbow he
needed to cushion his fall. He pulled the trigger as he hit the floor and his shot went wide,
up toward the ceiling where the flechette needles stuck in the display material.
Abram leapt forward and kicked the pistol out of his hand.
Carly, for the love of Gaia, shoot!
He tried
to grab Abram’s leg but missed. Abram stomped, pinning his left hand and wrist. He felt a spike
of pain as something broke. He looked up into Abram’s faceplate and saw a rictus formed of hate
and teeth.
Abram aimed his pistol at Joyce’s unprotected neck, a killing shot.
Abruptly, he staggered backward, a small magnetic bolt protruding from his chest. His other
suited hand, the wounded one, flailed at it.
Good, Carly
.
You gotta
hit him again
. Abram was still standing, trying to get his shot off at Joyce. His armor
had slowed the penetration of the small bolt.
Joyce’s sight was fading as Abram’s chest exploded above him. A shower
of bloody viscera sprayed outward, bits landing on Joyce’s face. The business end of a
big
magnetic bolt protruded and pushed Abram’s rib cage outward.
Abram’s hand jerked, and the flechette round missed Joyce’s neck and flayed the right edge of
his chest.
Good civvies, good Melissa . . .
He passed
out as Abram sagged forward and fell on him.
The Minoan ship screamed and writhed in pain. Matt would have covered
his ears, if he could have used his hands. As it was, his arms and legs pinwheeled about in an
effort to protect his body. He wedged himself into a corner, with no time to consider that
oddity in an originally oval room.
“Ooof!” David Ray suddenly pressed against his side.
“What the—”
The corner tightened and the ship held them, squeezing them into
jelly—no, they were surrounded by jelly. Matt couldn’t breathe.
“What’s going on with the Minoan ship?” Aquino asked. “How come they’re
suddenly showing on our sensors?”
“Not sure, sir.” Captain Stavros magnified the trace display, which
showed the Minoan ship suddenly taking an erratic vector. This was the first time they could
clearly detect the ship.
“Chief Warrant Officer Marinos on the
Rhapsody
reports one explosion has resulted in casualties—sending full report
to Damage Assessment.” Lieutenant Kozel turned to look at the trace of the Minoan ship. “Do you
want me to query the Minoans regarding their course?”

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