Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1 (77 page)

              “The station’s been paid?” Lorcan asked.

              Xar nodded, his antennae bobbing up and down.  “Yes, we’re ready to go.  I’ll contact the captain and let him know that we’re ready.”  No one was happy with that remark, but then, no one had any new ideas.  He looked around at them all.  “You all look like I’m pulling the plug on this because it might cost us or the ship a few credits.  Going after them
will
get us all killed.  But I’m willing to listen.  If someone can come up with a plan to spring them from their rooms and get us out of the system that has even a remote chance of succeeding, I’ll consider it.  So.”  He paused.  “Now’s the time.  Otherwise, I’m pulling the plug, we’re all back here on the shuttle in six hours and we’re out of here.”  He surveyed them all, dark looks, averted eyes, relief at knowing they weren’t going to have to risk their lives, and even shame for feeling that relief.  But no one spoke up. 

              “Well, all right then.”  He stood.  “Something comes to you in the next few hours, come find me and let me know.  But for now, I’m off to the mess hall.  I recommend you all get something to eat or some rack time.  Who knows?  We might be busy.”  And he turned and pressed the control to open the side exit hatch to the shuttle.  The door pulled in slightly and then slid to the side, opening to the rust-colored metal interior of the hangar bay.  He stepped out and onto the deck and continued on to the main door into the station, leaving them all to look at each other and his retreating form.

              Several hours later, ninety minutes before departure, Ka’Xarian returned to the shuttle.  His team was waiting there for him; they hadn’t moved from the hangar since he’d left.  They’d thrown ideas around, rejected most of them, tore all of them apart and tried to rework them, so far no one had come up with anything viable.  Throughout all the arguing, Lorcan had sat with his portable connected with his tablet, typing away, yet still participating.

              “So, any new ideas?” Xar asked.  “Because we are rapidly approaching time to go.”

              Glum looks came his way, though Lorcan had a puzzled frown on his face.

              “What?” the zheen asked impatiently.  “Now’s the time.”

              “Well,” he began slowly, holding his tablet in his large hands.  “I’ve been working on a knock-knock package for our friends here.”  He flicked his jaw to indicate the station and its inhabitants.  “It’s a whole whack of viruses, worms, Trojans, rabbits and a host of other goodies for them to enjoy.”  An evil smile spread over his face, garnering chuckles from the others.

              Xar’s antennae wheeled in amusement.  Lorcan was a decent software geek, though his build was atypical for someone of that persuasion.  He was just another example of false assumptions.  Though he could sling plasma conduits and heavy girders as well as any knuckle dragger and no one wanted to get into a boxing ring with those iron fists of his.

              “Do you need to be at a console to upload it?”

              Lorcan shook his head.  “Not necessary, though I could if we needed to.”  He paused.  “Though now that I think on it, that might be better.  If we could upload from somewhere away from the hangar, it would delay them from suspecting us, even if only for a little while.  That would give us time to grab the
Emilia Walker
’s survivors and get back here and then leave.”

              “What about the defense ships?” Vakkon asked.  “They’d be all over us as soon as we left the bay.”             

              “The knock-knock will take care of that,” Lorcan assured him.  “It’s programmed to attack the station’s communications and then all of the processing and computing power they have.  If all goes well, no one would be any the wiser until we’re underway.”

              “Okay, what about the station?” Jesma asked.  “Sure, the crew starts scrambling around to try and deal with the software issues, but there are eight hundred people aboard.  How do we get to the prisoners?”

              But Ka’Xarian shook his head, trying to stay focused.  He held out a hand for the tablet and Lorcan passed it over.  He skimmed through the coding.  It was good; almost a thousand varieties of attacks that would hammer the defending computer system every few seconds.  Breaching viruses would tear into the firewall and at the very least create a hole for more of the attacks to get through.  Hopefully the station’s software and protection systems weren’t as good as Lorcan’s knock-knock.

              “All right then.  Lorcan, you and Jesma go and find a good place to deliver your parcel.  The rest of you, we need to fake a thruster failure that will require us to stay on until they get back.  We get to work up a plan to get into the guts of the station in the knock-knock’s confusion.”  Everyone nodded.  “Real cool, people.  Don’t sneak around, no furtive glances.  Just a normal pain in the ass maintenance job.  Got it?”  More nods.  “Move.”

              The station seemed much more hostile now that they had decided to act against its inhabitants.  As Jesma and Lorcan walked through the corridors heading for the secondary hangar on the far side of the fueling station, they passed crewmen and station security, nodding at them in what they hoped was a nonchalant manner.  No one questioned their presence, in fact, no one seemed to care about them much at all.  They had been aboard the station long enough that two freighter crewmembers didn’t attract any attention, especially here in the public areas.  They weren’t carrying any weapons, at least, nothing visible, and they weren’t walking around with large crates or boxes or computer components, doing nothing to draw attention to themselves.

              It didn’t take them long to make their way over to the other hangar, the station wasn’t all that big, though they moved at a leisurely pace.  Once there, they saw tugs and shuttles parked, one of which was taking off, and about thirty or so crewmen here working on the shuttles, loading and unloading cargoes and in a few cases, simply standing around.  The two of them made their way to the customs terminal at the rear of the hangar.  It was currently unoccupied, because the local officials were off in other parts of the hangar, making inspections and working with the crews of the various ships.  There were only three officials on duty here, which made Lorcan feel a bit better.  Jesma watched the room while he strolled up to the console.  Connecting his tablet to the terminal with a cable, he watched as the progress bar increased. 

              “Come on,” Jesma muttered urgently, trying to look unconcerned.

              “Can’t go any faster,” he said back.  “Almost there.”

              No one was looking at them, thankfully, but the both knew it would only be a matter of moments before someone became interested in their presence.  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the upload was complete and Lorcan quickly extracted the cable and started walking for the door.  Jesma followed behind, then lengthened her stride to catch up.

              “I think we did it,” she whispered, barely heard over the sound of the hum of the station.

              “Don’t jinx it,” he warned.

              “Hey!” a voice bellowed from behind them.

              Lorcan grimaced, shaking his head only slightly.  “Damn it.”

              “What do we do?” Jesma asked, clearly starting to panic.

              “Keep calm.”

              “Hey!” the voice repeated, accompanied by the
clunk-clunk-clunk
of booted feet on the metal decking.  “Stop right there!  You two!”

              Jesma visibly paled and started to hyperventilate.  “Stay cool,” Lorcan commanded in a low whisper.  She nodded, trying hard to control the trembling.  He turned to the approaching voice.  It was one of the customs agents, dressed in his gray uniform with red sleeves and gold piping.  It was both bland and garish at the same time, Lorcan decided.  He was a tall, thin man, but one who looked like he had seen everything and was less impressed with the new stuff that kept coming in to his station.  Holstered at his hip was a stunner pistol, but as the man approached, Lorcan noticed that his hand was covering the butt of the weapon, ready to draw at any provocation. 

              The heavy-worlder wasn’t scared.  He’d taken on more serious opponents in the bars on Yullankla than this man.  He was sure he could take the man down with a good punch to the gut if it came to that.  He hoped it wouldn’t because he knew the minute he struck this official, the jig was up and it would be all over but the running.

              “What?” he said to the man, planting his rocklike fists on his hips.  Jesma turned with him, looking spooked and guilty, but Lorcan poured menace into his own expression, trying to keep the man’s attention on him.

              “I saw you over at my terminal,” the tall man said, looking down at the squat engineer.  “What the hell did you think you were playing at?  Trying to mess with my schedules?”

              “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Cockroach,” Lorcan growled.  “Leave me and my comrade alone.  We didn’t touch your damned terminal.”

              “Oh, yes you did,” the man replied, poking a finger into Lorcan’s very solid chest, as if daring the shorter man to do something.  “You plugged your tablet there,” he gestured to the device in Lorcan’s right hand, “into my terminal.  What were you doing?”

              “You mean this tablet?” the engineer asked, holding it up.

              “Yes, that one!” the customs agent declared, reaching to take it.

              But Lorcan pulled it away, and the man’s fingers closed over empty air.  “I didn’t do anything to your precious terminal or your oh-so-important schedules.  I was just synching this up to station time.  I needed a console to do that; yours was the closest.”

              The agent studied him, studied his face.  Lorcan was as impassive as stone.  Not one iota of emotion or tell so much as flicked across his features.  He knew that Jesma was on the verge of collapse from pure anxiety and terror.  But she was holding it together.  She was on the verge, she hadn’t toppled over it yet.  Lorcan found his fists tightening, and he had to slightly loosen his grip on the tablet for fear he would break it.  He didn’t know if the man was starting to get suspicious, but then the agent’s face brightened.

              “Mister Truelove,” he said jovially.  “Showing excellent timing as always.”

              Jesma gasped, elbowing Lorcan lightly on the arm.  “Lorcan,” she warned.

              The heavy worlder turned to find himself face to chest with a very well-muscled man.  He was dressed in a shipsuit that was extremely form-fitting, with pupils so dark they were black.  His sleeves were rolled up, displaying hard and very tattooed forearms.  He had a stun pistol holstered at his belt as well, though it looked as though he had no interest in using it.  The scars on his arms and face gave testimony to a man who liked to work with his hands.

              Lorcan wasn’t impressed.  He’d gone toe to toe with a lupusan before and come out on top, and still found time to spar with the security people on the
Grania Estelle
despite his duties.  This man was tall, but height wasn’t enough to intimidate him.

              “Security is on their way, sir,” Truelove said.  His voice was very nasal, which didn’t seem to fit with his physique.

              “Excellent.”

              “Wait a minute,” Lorcan demanded.  “You can’t detain us.  We haven’t done anything.”

              “Oh, we both know that’s a lie,” the agent replied.  “You did something to my terminal.”  He flicked his gaze over to Jesma, who was so pale she looked as though she would pass out.  “And clearly you’re nervous about something.  I think she’s intimidated by your… size, Mister Truelove.”

              The big man shrugged, an evil grin on his face.  “Most women are.  But that’s just the way I am.”

              Jesma shuddered, and Lorcan knew that time was running out.  If they examined his tablet, they would find the specs for the knock-knock and they’d be done.  There was no constabulary in this system, local law would be used.  And since the fueling station was Goris Hana’s own private little domain, it would be unlikely any leniency would be shown.  If they were
really
lucky, only the two of them would be arrested and charged and the rest of the team would be left alone.  That was unlikely, he knew.

              He struck.  His left hand whipped outward in a chopping motion, and the edge of the tablet smashed into the agent’s throat with a crunch.  The man went down, gasping and clutching his throat, eyes bulging.  Whipping around, he saw Truelove had been stunned by his actions.  Clearly, he had thought that he had intimidated the shorter engineer, and was simply standing there, slack jawed.  Balling up his fist, Lorcan drilled it into the tall man’s stomach, throwing all his weight and strength behind the punch.  With an “
oof
,” Truelove doubled over.  Driving his knee upward, he connected with Truelove’s face.  Blood blossomed from the man’s shattered nose and he went sprawling backwards, thumping against the bulkhead, sliding down and unconscious to the floor.

              Jesma just gaped at the scene before her, cringing at the agent’s panicked gurgling sound.  Lorcan went over to Truelove, pulling the stun pistol from his belt.  Clicking off the safety, he fired two shots into the tall man’s chest, then pumped another two into the customs agent.  The gasping stopped, but it was clear the stun blast hadn’t actually solved the man’s problem.  His windpipe was crushed from the force of Lorcan’s blow with the tablet.  Now he would just die in his sleep as opposed to agonizing pain and terror.  For that Jesma was thankful, but she glared at the engineer accusingly.