Stars in the Sand Page 2

   “Lieutenant Orlova’s in the lead shuttle, though I’m going to see if I can beat her to the punch. I think I know these shuttles better than she does. The man you almost knocked to the deck is Sub-Lieutenant Nelyubov, a Hercules hand, and she apparently wanted him for this operation as well.”

   He leaned forward, fiddling with the controls, “Mind if I call her?”

   “Nothing else to do for the next half-hour, I guess.”

   “Lance-Corporal Cooper to Lieutenant Orlova,” he said into the speaker. “Do you read me, Shuttle Two?”

   “Cooper? What are you doing on board?”

   “I didn’t get my invitation, so I decided to crash the party, ma’am. I hope you don’t mind.”

   “Are you crazy? I hate to break it to you, but…”

   “I can fire a pistol with one hand, ma’am, and probably with more accuracy than most of the people you have on board for this one. I'm fit and ready for regular duty, and frankly, I'm the best you've got.”

   There was a pause for a moment, then she replied, “Good point, at that. Go and co-ordinate with Sub-Lieutenant Nelyubov, see what you can do to get whoever you have on board ready for a battle.”

   “Will do, ma’am. Cooper out.” Shutting off the communicator, he glanced over at Barbara with a smile, “Guess they still want me after all.”

   She nodded, then said, “Gabe, I’m not going to do anything stupid like tell you not to go…”

   “Thanks.”

   “...but be careful. Please.”

   “Always,” he replied. She shook her head with a smile as he made his way through to the rear compartment. Nelyubov was sitting at the back, browsing through a datapad, while five others were sitting on couches, holding their rifles, and failing to conceal their fear. He looked at rank insignia; two of them outranked him, but there were no Petty Officers in the bunch, no NCOs.

   “Lieutenant Orlova just told me you were on board,” Nelyubov said, looking up from his datapad. “Perhaps you could assist our strike team in getting ready for action.” Frowning, he continued, “I presume you are planning to go on the mission yourself.”

   “I am, sir.”

   Nodding, he said, “Very well. I will leave you to assess your own capabilities.”

   The youngest, a freckled red-head with ‘Cantrell’ stenciled on her uniform over her left breast, looked up at him, saying, “We’ve all had basic training, Corporal.”

   “Which covered the use of ship-safe pistols and rifles, maintenance and some time on a firing range, yes?”

   “You think they’ll put up a fight?” one of the senior crewmen, Heitz, said in a mild accent.

   “Best to assume they will. That way we are pleasantly surprised if they don’t, rather than taken by surprise if they do.” He looked around the group, trying not to shake his head. They didn’t have the bearing of troopers, were not even a pale imitation of the unit that should be launching this attack.

   “The first key is to use cover. Take advantage of anything you have, and don’t leave yourself out in the open. Now, your weapons are designed to minimize recoil, but in zero-gravity that isn’t going to mean a damn thing. One shot and you’ll be thrown all over the damn place. Get used to the idea, and make sure you don’t fire your weapon unless you have secured your position.”

   Shaking her head, her hair tossing lightly from side to side, Cantrell said, “We know this, Corporal.”

   With a smile, he replied, “I’m sure you did well enough in your basic training, Spaceman, but I’m also sure that my basic training was twelve times longer than yours. Now, I had to make do with Sergeants rather than Chief Petty Officers, but take it from me, they’re not twelve times dumber.” Cooper became aware that Nelyubov was watching him out of the cover of his eye; he wondered whether he was meeting with approval. Or whether he should care, given that his probable future in the fleet was almost over.

   “I’ve fought in these environments before. Anyone want to tell me what the most important thing is?”

   “Hitting the target,” a tough-faced shuttle technician called Grogan said.

   “Why?”

   “Huh?”

   “Why is it important to hit your target?”

   Cantrell replied with a sneer, “Because you want to kill the enemy?”

   “Wrong. You need to hit your target, Spaceman, because hitting almost anything else is likely to break something important, and at best that means that maintenance technicians like you get to spend hours tidying up the mess. Worst case, we all end up swimming home.”

   “I thought the guns were low-powered?” Grogan said, glancing down at her rifle.

   “They are, but that just means you probably won’t cause a hull breach.”

   “Probably?” Grogan said, her eyes widening.

   With a grin, Cooper continued, “That doesn’t mean that you can’t damage something critical. Quite the reverse – Murphy’s Law is alive and well when it comes to boarding actions. You will always destroy the one thing that you can’t do without.”

   “What are you trying to say?” Cantrell said. “Don’t shoot?”

   “Only if you are damn sure that you are going to hit what you are aiming at. At least I don’t think that you will be going up against anyone with armor on this battle. It’s unlikely that the transport would be carrying combat troopers – but don’t underestimate your opposition.”

   “Good advice at any time, Corporal,” Nelyubov added from the rear.

   “Cooper, I want you up here to pick a docking airlock,” Barbara’s voice echoed through the overhead speakers. He looked over at Nelyubov, who shrugged with a smile.

   “You’re the expert, Corporal. We might as well use you while you are here.”

  He walked into the cabin, sliding down into the couch, a frown on his face. Barbara looked at him, shaking her head.

   “That bad?”

   “I just hope none of them gets killed as a result of their ignorance.”

   “This whole plan is a bit on the desperate side.” She patted her hip, and Cooper saw the unmistakable bulge of a holster, “Don’t worry, I’ll be going along too. I’ve fired a gun in anger before.”

   “I hope so.” He peered forward at the console, looking over the view of the freighter as the sensors gained resolution. “Where do you want us to go in?”

   “Our goal is the hendecaspace drive, right?” he said. “As near as possible to their engineering deck.”

   “We’re not trying anything clever, set up a decoy or anything like that, then?”

   “The cleverer the plan, the more likely it is to get everyone killed. We’re better off going with something that is likely to work, especially as we only have a matter of minutes to carry it out.”

   “You’re the expert, Gabe.”

   “Are we going to be the first ones in?”

   Barbara glanced down at her scanner, then looked back up at him, “We are if I’ve got anything to do about it. Hang on, I’m going to set us up for turnover.”

   As the shuttle turned around, the engines briefly pulsing off as the shuttle pivoted around on its thrusters, Cooper felt his stomach churn. He reached down for the pistol, feeling the weight in his good hand, then placed it back in the holster. Ten minutes to contact. Ten minutes to worry about what they were about to encounter. Ten minutes too many.

  Chapter 3

   Orlova stood by the shuttle airlock, bracing for the docking, a rifle held in one hand, her other hovering over the hatch controls. The autopilot was handling the final few seconds of the docking, homing them in to the airlocks Cooper had selected. She allowed herself a quick smile, noting that despite the best efforts of Spaceman Bradley, her shuttle was going to dock first, if only by a handful of seconds.

   “Brace yourselves,” she said to the waiting, nervous throng behind her. All her hopes were for an easy victory here. At her bac
k was a gaggle of eager amateurs, none of whom had fired a weapon since basic training, and her only consolation was that her opposition was likely facing the same problem. One quick glance at her watch – there were only seven and a half minutes for her to take the drive room and prevent the Ouroboros from jumping out of the system, or Alamo would be forced to fire its missile salvo.

   With a near-crash, the shuttle slammed into the side of the freighter, the docking clamps locking into place, sirens sounding to warn of a collision. The hull was intact, but it had been a close thing – the pilot must have tried to swat them away with the bulk of his ship at the last minute. Taking a deep breath, she slammed the hatch control and, without looking, swung through the airlock, catapulting herself into the corridor, rifle out and ready to fire.

   Waiting for her in the freighter were a couple of confused-looking crewmen, and she snapped a couple of shots in their direction, pushing herself away down the corridor. Neither even threatened to get near their targets, but they dived dramatically out of the way into cover; the bullets harmlessly smashing into the hull.

   “Come on!” she yelled through the hatch, and her troops piled out into the corridor, spreading around into a loose clump. Seeing that they were outnumbered, the two freighter crewmen pushed away, a salvo of wild shots chasing them as they retreated.

   “Fire discipline!” Orlova said. “Don’t waste your shots, and only shoot if you have a target!” She’d have been happy enough if the rest of her group contented themselves with simply looking menacing, leaving the shooting to her, but admitting that would probably have had a bad impact on morale.

   Another clang echoed down the corridor, and as she watched, a second airlock slid open, Nelyubov and Cooper bursting through it almost before it opened. Cooper reacted quickly enough to turn his pistol on one of the fleeing crewmen, causing him to spin out of control and smash into the wall. Nelyubov grabbed him, securing him with his arm, then turned to Orlova with a grin.

   “Looks like we’ve found a tour guide, Maggie.”

   “Where’s the drive room?” Orlova asked. “Quickly.”

   Cooper held his gun close to the man’s temple, his face a mask of iron, and the crewman looked up, trying to blink away tears of fear, his gaze switching from one to the other. They wouldn’t have shot him out of hand, but the crewman didn’t need to know that.

   “Deck Five, aft,” he said, his voice trembling. “They’re making a last stand there.”

   “Think he’s telling the truth, Lieutenant?” Cooper asked.

   “We’ll find out soon enough. Secure him in the shuttle, and let’s get on with it.” She turned to see Durman drifting out of her shuttle, the last one out, shaking his head. “Problem?”

   “It’d be nice not to keep fighting my own people. That’s all.”

   Looking around, she said, “Take charge of the rear guard. Six men to guard the shuttles.”

   “Thanks.”

   “The rest of you, follow me!”

   There was no time for a tactical plan, no time to really think about what they were doing. All they could do was race for the drive room – or at least, where they hoped the drive room was – and see if speed could compensate for skill. She kicked towards the nearest elevator, presuming that her strike team would select itself. Those who reacted fastest would make it in time, the rest would have to wait in the corridor.

   Not waiting to see who that would be, she slammed her fist on the control for Deck 5; Nelyubov, Cooper, and a trio of maintenance technicians were with her – Cantrell, Grogan and Manning. All of them from Cooper’s shuttle, she noted. Evidently he had a talent for quick training that she hadn’t considered.

   “Don’t try for cover when we get down there,” she said. “Just go for it. We might be able to take them by surprise, and we can’t afford a battle of attrition, we just don’t have the time. Cooper, Nelyubov, give us covering fire as we advance.”

   The two veterans exchanged a glance, both of them knowing what that order meant. They – and Orlova – were the only ones who might reasonably be expect to hit what they would be aiming at. The first group would be charging headlong into opposition as a distraction while the rest secured the position.

   “Remember,” Cooper said, “don’t just head forward in a straight line. Use any hand-holds you can find to change your trajectory. If they know where you are going they will shoot you. And try not to slam into the wall.”

   Orlova braced herself, glancing left and right at the technicians, and inwardly sighed. They weren’t trained for this, and should be back on Alamo working on getting the ship back into one piece. It didn’t seem fair to throw them into the fight, but if this freighter could alert the Cabal of Alamo’s hiding place, they’d be just as dead at the end.

   The doors opened, and they burst out into the corridor, swinging out towards an obviously hastily prepared series of barricades swung across the ground to provide cover. Behind her, carefully placed shots cracked, sending the enemy forces down into their hiding places; she used the first barricade as a handhold, twisting herself onto a new trajectory – only to reach up to swing off a light fitting when she saw herself on a collision course with the ambling Cantrell.

   A crack next to her ear confirmed that the defenders had managed to get themselves together, and she pulled a pistol out of her belt, loosing off a shot at one of the freighter crewman behind her, the recoil pushing her faster down the corridor towards her destination. The gunshots were coming thick and fast now, cries of pain echoing all around her. Then, with another crack, the lights went out – someone must have managed to hit something vital.

   The corridor glowed an eerie red under the dim emergency lighting, and shots began to wildly fly through the air from gunmen hidden in the shadows. Any thought of a goal other than reaching the drive room was forgotten, and she tried to duck and dive towards her target, unable now to concentrate on anything other than her own progress through the gloom.

   Finally, her hand reached the far wall. The hatch didn’t open, but she hadn’t thought it would; in her hand she held a data crystal loaded with intrusion software, its simple computer mind dedicated to one task only – opening doors. With a single move, she slid the crystal into position, then twisted around behind a tangle of boxes, unknowingly smashing its occupant out of cover into the middle of the corridor – a series of shots fired, and his body grew limp, globules of dark liquid spilling forth.

   Another figure slammed into the wall beside her, and she glanced up to see Cooper, a grin on his face and his pistol in his hand, gesturing down at the corridor.

   “Thought you might like some company, Lieutenant,” he said, panting for breath.

   A ray of light blasted down the corridor as the hacking crystal did it job, the hatch sliding open; she wasted no time in swinging into the room, surprised to see no-one inside waiting for her. Evidently everyone had decided to make their stand in the corridor. Cooper span around to cover the rear, then gestured forward.

   “Where’s everyone else?”

   “Nelyubov’s back at the top of the corridor in cover, taking shots at anything he can see. The rest ended up getting caught by the third barricade, pinned down.” He looked up, peering into the dark, then continued, “He called Durman to send another wave. Help’s on the way.”

  Looking down at her watch, she smiled. They still had three and a half minutes to go, and she turned to look at the drive control mechanism. A series of countdowns showed hendecaspace jump preparations in progress, but she could have guess that already. None of the controls matched those on Alamo, and she held her hand over them, frowning. All the readouts might as well be in gibberish for all she could understand them; she didn’t even recognize the language the control console was displaying.

   “Well?” Cooper said.

   “This isn’t what I was expecting.” Taking a deep breath, she started tapping buttons, and smiled; she’d guess
ed right, and the language changed back to English. Now she could begin to work, but she immediately began to frown; none of her commands worked. She slid a duplicate of her hacking crystal into a reader, but it didn’t even make a dent.

   “Damn,” she said.

   “What is it, Lieutenant?”

   “Locked tighter than a drum.”

   “Can we sabotage it?”

   Shaking her head, she said, “This is just the control room; we’d never get down to the drive systems themselves. At a pinch they could probably engage the drive from the bridge.”

   “Two minutes, fifty seconds,” he said, looking at the door.

  Pulling her communicator from her belt, Orlova said, “Orlova to Alamo. Patch me through to Lieutenant Bailey, right now.”

   Weitzman replied, “Aye, ma’am.”

   A few seconds later, the voice of Alamo’s Security Officer replied, “Bailey here.”

   “You haven’t managed to break through the freighter’s firewall yet?”

   “No, still working on it.”

   “I need your gang to start working on hacking the drive systems. If I splice this communicator into the console, can you crack it?”

   “Can do, Lieutenant.”

   Without further ado, she tugged a cord out of the communicator and fed it into the console, snapping it into position underneath. The channel closed, but the readout on the device started to show datafeed at maximum capacity, the hackers starting their work.

   “How long, Lieutenant?” Cooper asked.

   “Hopefully less than two and a half minutes,” she replied.

   Two more figures burst through the door – Cantrell and Manning, the latter sporting an angry gash down the side of his arm. The red-headed Cantrell spun around, taking a position opposite Cooper as if to the manner born, while Manning lumbered into the room clutching his arm. Orlova gestured towards the first aid kit on the wall.

   “Get that seen to, then start monitoring the hack. They’ll be attacking any minute.”