Fringe Station (Fringe Series Book 2) Page 2

  Honorless: Rainmaker, report.

  .

  .

  .

  Maelstrom: Have visual of debris. Looks like we lost Rainmaker.

  HONORLESS: Maelstrom, verify.

  .

  .

  .

  MAELSTROM: Rainmaker took a direct hit. Hull is fully breached. Will send out a search party, but it doesn’t look good.

  HONORLESS: Maelstrom, search for survivors. Everyone else, proceed to tango to verify crew and ship is secure.

  .

  .

  ARCADIA: We have secured all operational areas of the Matador. It is now safe to disable transmission dampeners and switch to broadcast network.

  As the radios came alive, Reyne’s lips thinned. “We lost Rainmaker. Robo’s crew is searching for survivors.”

  “Rainmaker? Wasn’t that Geena’s ship?” Sixx asked, frowning.

  Reyne nodded. “Yeah. She had four crew members. All of them were from Spate.”

  Sixx grimaced. “Pity. She was a hell of a cage fighter. First woman to nearly beat me in the cage.”

  “She beat you?”

  “I said nearly beat me.”

  After a long moment of silence, Sixx continued. “Losing a ship is rough, but you have to admit those losses are low considering we went up against a CUF ship.”

  Reyne nodded and sighed. “Throttle, get the Gryphon ready to dock on the Matador. Everyone’s coming in to make sure the ship and her crew are secure. Then, we’ll refuel.”

  “Good. We’re practically running on fumes.”

  “If Heid’s intel on what the Matador’s carrying is good, we’ll have enough juice to keep the fleet flying at jump speeds for a year,” Reyne said.

  Ships could run off solar sails indefinitely, but when your enemies had jump speed, you needed jump speed. And going that fast burned juice.

  A light blinked on his panel. “Ah, hell. They must’ve had some EMP-shielded systems. They just fired off a distress call. We’re going to have company.”

  Chapter Two

  Hunting Party

  “This is the Arcadia. We have encountered pockets of resistance during suppression activities. At least one distress call has been broadcast from an unknown location on board the Matador. We request additional support in searching the craft and neutralizing remaining threats post haste.”

  “Sounds like I’d better grab my gear,” Sixx said.

  “Good plan.” Reyne checked the photon pistol holstered on his thigh, while Sixx unbuckled from his seat and headed from the bridge.

  “You heard ’em, specters,” Critch’s voice broadcast over the network. “Get on that ship and find the assholes jeopardizing our juice run. Once you’re on board the Matador, use comm frequency three-five-six-eight. And fire up those viggin’ jammers again so our tango can’t get an RSVP back from their pals.”

  “I can have us docked in no time,” Throttle said.

  Reyne felt a surge in the ship’s speed. He reached for the comm and eyed Throttle as he pinged the Gryphon’s mechanic. “Boden, we’re docking at the Matador, which is mostly under control. Sixx and I are going on board. I need you and Throttle to stay back to refuel and fix us up for jump speed. I have a feeling we’re not going to have much time to hang around and socialize before our CUF buddies show up.”

  “What do you mean by ‘mostly under control’?” came Boden’s reply.

  Reyne answered, “You’d better plan on expecting trouble.”

  “I always do.”

  “How soon do you think the CUF will respond?” Throttle asked.

  He shrugged. “It depends on how close their nearest ship is. Could be ten hours, could be ten minutes.”

  She stiffened. “Let’s hope it’s ten hours.”

  Throttle had the Gryphon docked at the Matador in less than five minutes, latching on to one of the supply ship’s twenty or so docking tubes. Reyne and Sixx bypassed the decon chamber and jogged into a massive hallway, where they met the heavily scarred Critch along with the slim Birk and the roughhewn Chutt, who’d entered the hallway at roughly the same time.

  While the large hallway was noticeably smaller than those on warships, the floors and walls were the same drab tan color that the interiors of all CUF ships were painted with. As they turned a corner, Reyne found an ex-dromadier from the Arcadia standing guard while several of her counterparts escorted the CUF crew into an escape pod. She turned as Reyne’s group approached, and rushed to meet them.

  Critch stomped up to her. “What was that stunt your captain pulled out there—dropping out of stealth early?”

  She cowered under his glare. “Stealth burned up the last of our juice faster than projected. We were forced to drop out.”

  Critch glared. The scars that crisscrossed his face whitened and puckered more than usual. “That miscalculation cost me a good ship and five souls.”

  The guard swallowed. “There was nothing we could do—”

  “We’ll have plenty of time to debrief later,” Reyne interrupted. “Now, I need you to give us the current situation. What are we up against?”

  “We’ve verified the bridge is fully secure,” the woman replied, looking relieved to no longer be under Critch’s scrutinizing glare. “Same with the engine room. Those are the only two locations with known long-range comms. We’re running scans for portables, but it’s a big ship and our numbers are thin. We’ve only had a chance to perform cursory checks through the crew quarters and central holds so far.”

  She continued. “Since your ships are jamming their comms, we’ve switched focus back to our original plan. We’ve nearly completed the decoupling of the systems from central CUF Command so they can’t take remote control of the ship. As soon as we’re done with that, we’ll reboot the systems and plug in jump coordinates.” She motioned to the Matador’s crew. “We’re also prepping the crew for loading into the escape pods.”

  “Obviously not the entire crew, or else we wouldn’t be having to divide our numbers to hunt when we need to be refueling and making jump speed with our prize,” Critch argued.

  She bristled. “Captain Heid would send over more support if she could, but she needs as many hands as she can retain on board to hold off any CUF ships that arrive.”

  “I’d much rather we are all out of here long before they arrive,” Reyne said.

  Critch glanced down the hallway. “My team will start in the crew quarters. Some rich techie could have a portable long-range comm in his room.”

  “Sixx and I will work our way through the hold,” Reyne said.

  The soldier pointed down the hallway. “The elevator is straight ahead, but the power grid is still down, so you’ll have to take the stairs next to it. Crew quarters are one level up on Nine. The cargo holds can be accessed from all the even-numbered levels. Just turn left at the elevator, and you’ll see the entrance.”

  “Keep an eye out for the remaining crews as they dock,” Critch said. “Route them as they arrive to spread out coverage. We have to neutralize this threat before we make jump speed or else we could be leaving breadcrumbs all the way back to base. You have the comm channel to report anything.”

  “Yes, captain,” she replied.

  The five men headed down the halls.

  “Move fast,” Reyne cautioned. “Who knows how much time we have before these guys’ pals show up.”

  “You do the same,” Critch replied as he shoved open the door to the stairwell.

  As Critch and his team disappeared up the stairs, Reyne and Sixx made a left and came to a set of double doors. The entrance had no windows, so there was no way to see what lay on the other side. He tossed a quick glance in Sixx’s direction to find the other man already had a pistol in his hand.

  “Let’s go hunting,” Sixx said, sounding much more nonchalant than Reyne felt.

  Reyne drew his pistol and pulled open the door.

  The younger man stepped through first, sweeping the immediate area with a broad movement
. Reyne followed through to stand at Sixx’s side.

  They stood in an open-framed hallway that encircled the massive storage area. The tank for scalar refueling filled the central space, Pallets of supplies and modular workrooms took up the surrounding perimeter. Unlike the Gryphon, which had crates lining every open centimeter of wall space, most of these walls were bare—evidently, the CUF didn’t have to worry about efficiently using open space.

  “There are too many places to hide around here.” Sixx motioned to the levels of open hallways and stairs. “Too easy to see someone coming.”

  Too easy to take someone down with a single shot, Reyne thought to himself, but said instead, “It’s safe to say that if anyone’s in here, they’re watching us as we speak. Let’s keep moving. Start on one end and work our way around the tank, and keep eyes on the exits at all times.”

  Sixx acknowledged with a nod, and took the lead. They moved quickly to the stairs and headed down eight flights to the landing below.

  The gravity on the ship was greater than the point seven gravity he kept the EM generators at on the Gryphon, and the increased stress echoed through his arthritic joints with each step. He missed the last rung and landed hard with a grunt. Embarrassed, he straightened and washed the wince from his face. Fortunately, Sixx hadn’t noticed, or at least wasn’t in the mood to heckle him about his age.

  As his partner weaved fluidly around pallets, Reyne made a mental note to use the gravity booth more often to help combat the arthritis he’d acquired from too many years spent in low gravity.

  Sixx paused to peer into a small workroom before continuing onward. He led the way across the floor, slowly and steadily, checking out every pallet and workroom. He came to a hard stop in the doorway of a larger workroom. “Well, hello, gorgeous.”

  Reyne followed his friend into the room, his weapon raised. When he saw what the other man had seen, he relaxed and smiled. Heid’s intel was spot-on, making the entire mission worth the risk. “You’re right. She sure is gorgeous.”

  Before them was a black rilon device that stood ten meters tall and ten meters wide. The back end was small—not much more than a panel for entering design inputs. The front end was easily fifteen feet wide, the largest Reyne had ever seen on a 3D printer. With access to the right source material, they could print any part imaginable.

  After the Uprising, 3D printers had been outlawed for private ownership because they had made it too easy for the torrents to produce their own weapons. Though, the bigger reason may have been that the Collective didn’t like not being able to make a profit off anything the fringe produced for itself.

  “If she would fit on the Gryphon,” Sixx began, “I’d be hooking her up to the crane and moving her on board this very minute.”

  Reyne’s lips parted. “The crane.”

  “I was joking. Sort of. But if you’re all for trying it, I’m in. I’m just not sure we’ll be able to get it moved over before the rest of the CUF is up our tailpipes.”

  Reyne thumped his head. “I should’ve thought of it before. On most ships, the bridge is the only location with external comm panels.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Except on supply ships, the boom operators need external comms so they can resupply the ship when it’s still at central docks, before the crew comes back on aboard.”

  Sixx’s gaze shot outside the workroom. “We need to get to that crane.”

  They bypassed searching any remaining pallets and workrooms, and hustled to make their way around the gigantic fuel tank and closer to the ship’s crane. As they jogged, they were careful to stay within the tank’s shadow for cover.

  Reaching the crane proved to be a bit more of a challenge than Reyne had anticipated. He’d expected to see the crane above him with a metal stair going straight up to it. Instead, the machine was built into the far wall with no visible ladder.

  “I’ve got movement in the box,” Sixx said.

  “How many?”

  “Just caught a glimpse. At least one, but could be more.”

  Reyne counted from the floor up to the level where the crane was built nearly flush into the wall. The boom was locked in against the wall below it. They could climb the boom, but it didn’t look easy.

  He hit his personal locator beacon. He spoke softly into his comm. “This is Reyne and Sixx in the central holds. We’ve located the likely source of the distress call. One—possibly more—drom is holed up in the crane. We can get to them from the hold, but it sure would be nice to have someone cut off their escape route on level Four, directly above my current position. Are there any teams in the area?”

  “This is Critch. We’re moving into position right now.”

  “Don’t go in,” Reyne added. “Not until you get my signal.”

  No response.

  “You know he won’t wait,” Sixx said.

  “I know.” He motioned to the boom. “Better start climbing.”

  Sixx climbed the boom quickly and easily, while Reyne struggled. He pulled himself up, climbing in smaller increments. If Critch tried to break through the crane’s door, chances were the dromadier would try to escape out the front—right into Sixx’s and Reyne’s arms, which would likely cause a deadly fall for anyone involved.

  If the guy managed to escape without getting anyone killed, then Sixx and Reyne would end up having to chase him around the holds. They didn’t have the time, and Reyne certainly didn’t have the endurance.

  Adrenaline helped him climb faster to reach the box before Critch’s team.

  Sixx had nearly reached the top when an explosion blew out the crane’s windows. Reyne lowered his face just before shards of clear plastic pelted him.

  “Damn it, Critch,” Reyne muttered as he brushed plastic pieces off his shoulders.

  Above him, Sixx leapt into the box, and he hustled to catch up. He could hear the ensuing scuffle as he climbed. By the time he reached the window ledge, the crane room had fallen silent. He found Sixx holding a single dromadier in a chokehold. Critch stood facing them between Birk and Chutt, who had their pistols aimed at the prisoner.

  “Sending a message out to CUF Command wasn’t a smart idea,” Reyne heard Critch say as he climbed over the ledge.

  The dromadier’s chin jutted outward. “I was doing my duty.”

  “You’re a fool if you think you’re serving the Collective.”

  “Better the Collective than filthy scum like you,” the man retorted.

  Critch smiled. “You know the whole ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ thing?”

  The man’s gaze narrowed. “Uh, yeah.”

  Reyne pushed to his feet, a rock forming in his gut. “Critch, don’t…”

  Critch unholstered his pistol. “You see, I’ve never abided by that philosophy.” He shot the dromadier.

  Sixx dropped the man and stared wide-eyed at Critch. “You could’ve hit me, you damn pirate.”

  Critch ignored him as he holstered his pistol.

  Sixx continued. “A little warning next time would be nice.”

  Chutt gave a toothy grin. “Quit complaining. You didn’t get shot, you pansy.”

  Sixx’s lips thinned and he took a step toward Chutt.

  “Bring it on,” Chutt said, still smiling.

  “Enough!” Reyne turned a hard glare onto Critch. “That kid didn’t have to die. Sixx had him under control. He posed no risk to us.”

  Critch strolled over to the comm panel and spoke without making eye contact. “The rest of the crew is already loaded onto escape pods, and none of us have the resources to take care of a prisoner in our brigs.”

  “The Arcadia could’ve taken him.”

  “You know as well as I do we don’t have the time right now to deal with loose ends.”

  Reyne glowered for a long moment, his jaw clenched.

  Critch typed several commands, then looked up. “He was only able to fire off the one message, though one was enough. I’ve locked this panel. No one’s sending anything else from h
ere without hacking through my protocols.”

  “Attention, specters,” a male voice came over everyone’s wrist comms. “We are tracking incoming ships on jump speed. Estimated time of arrival is eight minutes.”

  “Well, that’s faster than I expected,” Critch said before tapping his comm, and his voice broadcast on all comms. “Initiate Scatter immediately. You know the drill. If you’re not where you need to be, then you’d better get there. All ships better be ready for jump speed in five minutes.”

  Reyne motioned to Sixx before telling Critch and his crew, “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “You know I did the right thing. We’re already dealing with too many risks. We can’t afford a prisoner escaping our base and reporting back to Ausyar.”

  “I know,” Reyne said quietly. He paused at the doorway. “Good luck with Seda.”

  Critch grunted. “I think you’ll need more than luck with Lincoln. Watch yourself.”

  Reyne gave a small nod. He and Sixx jogged from the room and back toward the Gryphon. On the way there, he pinged Throttle. “We’re on our way back to you. What’s your status?”

  “We don’t have time to finish refueling, so juice is only at forty-six percent. Still, that’s enough to make jump speed a few times. Boden has given the thumbs up on the hull and systems, so we’re good to go as soon as you slackers get back here,” she reported.

  “Good,” Reyne said. “Start up the engines. We’ll be there in under two minutes.”

  “ETA of incoming traffic is six minutes,” the same male voice from the earlier broadcast returned.

  Reyne ran as fast as he could, and Sixx easily kept pace next to him. They met a couple other torrent crews running to their own ships. The pair sprinted through the docking tube, and Reyne hit the switch to disconnect from the tube the instant the Gryphon’s door closed and the pressurization seal flashed green.

  “Sixx, take the guns. Throttle, take us out,” Reyne said as he entered the bridge.

  “Buckle in,” Throttle said. “I’m pulling out of the dock now.”

  “ETA of incoming traffic is four minutes.”

  Reyne strapped in and pulled up the grid. “Keep an eye on your nine o’clock, Throttle. It looks like the Nighthawk is trying to cut into our personal space.”