Black Dawn (6 page)

There was no relaxed conversation at this meeting. For all
they knew, this was one of Schiff’s endless drills. But you couldn’t
tell by their faces. Drill or not, they were primed and ready. Coy felt a
wave of… was that pride?

“We have our first job,” Lamont announced. “There are ten
people being held on a space station we assume by professional terrorists. Our job is to get them off safely.” Butler and Vennefron entered
from Intelligence and Security, a small room dedicated solely to the
gathering of information. Lamont had recently discovered Venn’s talent for sifting large amounts of data for relevant information and had
assigned him to help Butler whenever necessary. Butler nodded at
Lamont to indicate the information was ready and sat down. Coy returned a nod of thanks and continued speaking as it pulled it up onto
the vidcom. “How many of you are aware of the Trojan Horse scenario?” Every hand went up. They had better. It was standard BlackFleet
drill. They had been over it dozens of times in theory and practice.
“We are going to offer them something they can’t refuse to open their
gates for.”

“Yes. And we’ll allow them to keep track of us. The
Raven
will continue on its present course, at moderate speed, alternating
shield frequencies. Hopefully, at least one of those frequencies will be
read by them so they will believe they are tracking us. It will be
manned by Bon’s staff and the bridge team. Everyone else will be on
the
Blackbird
.
It may look like a yacht, but it has full jump capabilities. We will leave the
Raven
and jump beyond Melan, then head back
to it at full speed. If they are keeping
their eyes on Bon, hopefully they won’t expect so blatant a trick.
We’ll simply knock on their door and offer our gift.”

“Melan Station! Come in please!” the desperate voice called
over and over.
“What the ....” the terrorist manning the com network punched
on an audio only channel. “This station is not in operation. Move
along or be used for target practice.”
His comrades chuckled at that, but the pilot of the small ship
didn’t give up. “Look, this stuff is gonna blow anyway if I don’t get
help. This is not worth my cut, I mean commission.” He paused, perhaps reading a gauge. “Come on, man! It’s getting hotter!”
“What is?” the terrorist couldn’t resist asking, despite orders.
“This stuff. The Duromite. It’s more unstable than they said.
It’s not worth any fortune to me if I’m dead or maimed.”
“Duromite,” one of the other terrorists breathed. “A fortune is
right. Get the commander up here.”
The com man spoke to the pilot again. “Hold your current position. We’ll see what we can do.”
“I can’t....” he began, then swallowed. “All right,” he said
shakily and cut off communications.
Within moments the senior officer had joined them. “What do
you think you’re doing? You’re not up here to play traffic control.”
“Sir, this guy has a load of Duromite.”
The commander whistled. “That stuff’s not due to be out of the
labs for months.”
“He’s a smuggler. Gave himself away. He’s scared to death
it’s unstable and he’s going to die before he can collect.”
“Hmm,” the commander rubbed his chin. “Where did he come
from?”
“Can’t tell. But his engines are over heating according to the
sensor trace. He’s been running flat out.”
“And what about our BlackFleet friends?”
“Still coming,” another man answered. “Two hours at present
speed and course. They’re being real cautious.”
“Two hours. Okay. Get me the smuggler on vid.” A holo image came up of a young man, sweat trickling over his pilot tattoo. “ I
understand you want our help?”
The pilot nodded. “I’ll never make it to my buyer. This
stuff’s worth a lot. If you’ve got a lab there to contain it....Look, I’ll
sell it to you. Cheap. Just let me dock.”
The commander smiled and cut the audio. “Do we have anything to contain it here in case he’s peeing his pants with reason?” he
asked his people.
“Yes, sir. These folks built a pretty decent lab.”
He flipped the audio back on. “Very well, we’ll give you one
percent of what your buyer was.”
“One percent!” the pilot yelped, then glanced at his gauges.
“Okay, okay. Where do I dock?”
“My officers will direct you.” He cut the link and turned to
those officers. “Shoot him as soon as he hands over the stuff. It could
be worth more than our guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ship came to dock, the flex tube attached and the hatches
opened. The terrorists watched from the vantage points, waiting for
their opportunity. At last someone stuck his head out of the hatch. It
was the pilot from the transmissions.
“You guys want this stuff? Help me!” he called then ran back
in.
The officer in charge nodded to one of the snipers. Weapon
still at ready, he approached the hatch. Without pausing he went in.
The weapon discharged and then a voice came over the helmet com.
“Got him!” And then, “You should see all the stuff he has in
here! Crates and crates!
Grinning, the officer and his snipers slung their disrupters
across their shoulders and headed for the hatch as well......

Moving quietly down the corridor, the only sound Coy could
hear was its own combat armor ventilation unit. Even the footsteps of
the rest of the team were muffled by the soft soles of their boots. In the
event the terrorists decided to turn off the artificial gravity, those soles
would stick to almost any surface for a few precious seconds. Theoretically time enough for a trained soldier to orient themselves. Trained
soldier. Theoretically. Of course if they chose to blow a hole in the
side of the station and let space itself deal with the BlackFleet, what
boots they were wearing wouldn’t matter at all.

That had been the choice. Battle armor or space armor. Coy
had made the guess that the lives of the hostages were important
enough that blowing that hole would not be their first reaction.

Choices. Guesses. All these lives depending on Coy making
the right ones. And what if....No. This was not the time to indulge
in more
self pity. Gritting its teeth and firmly ignoring the voices from the
past, it moved on.

“Skipper,” came
Vennefron’s voice from the present. “They
know omething’s up. Their coms just went silent.”
“Understood.” Alright, so having Venn stay with Pedula on
the
Blackbird
and monitor the internal communication lines had been a
good choice. “Randy, how close..?”
Sweggert stared at his hand scanner. “We’re right above
them.”
“Team one, cut through right here. Team two, we go down a
deck and go in the front door. Team three should be nearly to the
command center.”
The only acknowledgment of the orders was the silent movement of team members as they got into their positions. Ken Butler was
in charge of the actual rescue through the ceiling. Coy led the frontal
attack, but was connected to all three teams via its command helmet.
Lamont’s team came to the tubes. Stepping in they let the flow
take them gently downward. At the next level they swung out of the
portal and landed on the deck. Even with their silent boots, it made a
thud when three bodies wearing armor, hit the floor.
They heard a voice from around the corner, “What the...”
Pierce and Sweggert immediately took up positions on either
side of the “T” in the corridor. Before long, one of the terrorists came
cautiously around the bend.
“Hey big fella,” Pierce crooned in a sultry tone.
He turned in her direction. “Huh..?” and received an expert
kick to the groin.
Randy got him point blank with a stunner. As the man crumpled to the floor, he held up the weapon and showed it to Pierce. “As I
recall the plan....”
Pierce shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Move,” Coy growled at them both.
Another voice floated down the corridor to them. “Nes! What
the hell you doin’ down there?”
Coy froze. The readout on the inside of its command helmet
faceplate showed a steady countdown until Butler would need the diversion. The seconds ticked by as Coy and its team waited. 3..2..1..
“GO!”
Lamont, Sweggert and Pierce blasted around the corner, weapons firing. One door guard fell, dead before he hit the floor. Another
crouched and returned fire, but without armor he didn’t last long.
Sweggert straightened from his firing stance and stepped up
next to Coy. “Some fun now, eh Skip.....”
The shot hit him square in the chest. He flew backwards and
slammed into the wall behind them.
One minute he was my only
friend....
Furious, Coy raised its weapon and shot blindly in the direction of the attack.
Through its rage, it heard Butler’s account of rescue in progress. “We’ve cut through… Watch it! Don’t let it fall in… Drop
down. I’ll cover you…We’re in, Skip...Damn! They’ve cut the air!
Terrell, get those masks...Have we got enough?.....”
Another voice was heard, muffled since it was coming over the
channel from outside Ken’s helmet, “Please, my aide...No, no, he was
alive just a moment...”
“ It’s okay. We’ll take care of him...” There were sounds of
voices, some moaning, “Captain, we’ve got them,” Butler spoke to
Coy. “One for stasis, one float pallet, everyone else is walking. We’re
on our way back to the ship.”
“Understood.” Coy spoke through gritted teeth, firing all the
while. That left only Schiff and Knepp’s mission up in the control center of the educational station. It concentrated on the information coming on the other channel. A short bit of static which it took as someone
hotwiring the access panel. A surprised yelp and then a lot of stunner
fire. Schiff’s team couldn’t afford to use hot weapons in the control
room and risk damaging essential equipment. Their only objective was
to secure the commander and command station to keep anyone from
firing on them as they left.
Its thoughts were interrupted by a steady stream of swearing in
Randy Sweggert’s voice. Coy stopped firing and looked over at him.
It closed its eyes briefly in relief. “Welcome back, Mr. Sweggert. Can
you travel?”
“Yeah. Just knocked the breath...” More swearing as he tried
to straighten up.
“Damn fine armor, Captain,” Pierce checked the readings on
Randy’s medical telemetry. “Just gave him something to complain
about.”
“We’re clear!” Schiff reported in.
“Alright!” Coy broadcasted to them all. “Everybody out!”
The three teams each made their way back to where the
Blackbird
was docked, encountering some half-hearted opposition now and
again. Upon the loss of their commander and further orders, the terrorists seemed to care little about anything but personal survival.
By the time Coy reached the bay, Butler already had the released hostages on board. Lamont stood at the end of the tube and hurried its troops through. Upon a last hasty look around, Lamont spotted
a lone terrorist standing in the shadows. They stood, weapons raised,
staring at each other for a long moment.
“Who are you?” the man asked, desperately. “This was supposed to be so easy... No one around...”
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Coy suddenly felt
weary. “I’m Captain Coy Lamont. Commander of the BlackFleet,” it
answered literally. While they continued staring at their mutually
deadly weapons, Coy quietly pulled out a small ornate stunner with
its other hand and fired. Once on board, it called to Pedula up in the
little ship’s command center. “All in. Go.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. We’re gone.”

Lamont stood in the small medical chamber of the
Blackbird
next to the anxious Tenetian ruler. They both watched Byars and Terrell work on the former hostages. Most sat in a daze, slowly awakening to the fact that they were indeed safe.

At last Ceal joined them. “The stasis prep was textbook . The
other patient is stable and able to be transferred safely to a medical facility.”

King Frederic took her hands gratefully. “Thank you, Doctor.”
She smiled a little nervously. “I’m a med tech, sir. And
you’re welcome.” She pulled her hand free carefully and returned to
the refuge of her duties.

“Thank you, too, Captain,” he said turning to Lamont. “I cannot possibly thank you enough. Whatever price my government
agreed to pay, they got their money’s worth.”

“Actually, Sire, we never made an agreement with your government. We thought our element of surprise would be compromised
had we taken the time for negotiations.”

“Is that so,” the man said in amazement. “Then you did all of
this as a personal favor?”
Certainty clicked into Coy’s brain. Sometimes, the universe
worked, it mused inwardly. “Yes, Sire,” it said without missing a beat.
“And that’s all I ask in return.”
“A favor? What is it you want? My word, you’ll have it.”
Coy smiled. “That’s good to know.”
“And what is this favor you need?”
“Oh, not now. Sometime. Someday, I’ll need something.”
“And I’ll owe it to you?”
In answer, Coy looked around the room at the safe and recovering people. The monarch followed the mercenary’s gaze.
“Yes, you’re right.” He motioned to one of his aides, who
promptly came to them. “Witness this.” He pulled a round disk on a
clasp from his cloak and handed it to Coy. “The commander of the
BlackFleet Mercenaries, bearing this brooch is entitled to whatever
favor they ask of the Royal House of Tenetia.” He looked Coy in the
eye. “Will that do?’
Lamont gave a small bow. “Thank you, Sire. I shall leave you
now to rest. We’ll let you know when we are in range of your vessel.”
Another small bow and Lamont left the chamber.

Sometime later, the
Blackbird
mated in space with the incoming Tenetian ship. Coy went on board and oversaw the hostages being
settled into yet another medical department. Everywhere it turned people were thanking it for averting the war that surely would have been
the outcome had things continued. Coy was persuaded to accept a
modest monetary compensation (over and above the Favor), and was
headed back to the
Blackbird
for rendezvous with the
Raven
.