Raw Justice Page 17

  “That's the impression I got.”

  He nodded and reached to end the call.

  “Take care, Carter.”

  “Likewise. If you get a chance, pass on our regards to Angel.”

  “Will do.”

  And with that, the image snapped into darkness and I sat back, letting out a long, low whistle.

  “That went well,” said Baz with evident sarcasm. “I especially liked the bit about trusting Argo. Kind of makes me feel like the proverbial gap between a rock and that hard place people keep talking about.”

  “We spend so much time there that we should buy a house or something.”

  “I hear the prices are pretty cheap too.”

  I left the bridge and made my way to the crew quarters, stopping first at Mason's room. I pressed the chime but after a minute or two I got no answer. When I consulted the display next to the door it told me that the room was unoccupied and had been for the last hour or so. There was a good chance he was at the gym so I moved on to Mozzy's room a few doors along. Before pressing the chime I checked to see if he was still inside and hadn't slipped past Baz's careful watch. He hadn't.

  “Mozzy?” I called after receiving no answer from the chime. “You awake buddy?” Nothing. I pressed again, harder this time as if that would make any bloody difference. Still no response.

  “Baz, can you work out the life-sign scanner and tell me if this guy is still alive or what?” I said into the comms.

  “Yeah, can do. I figured it out earlier. Give me a sec.”

  I waited in silence. The hum of the engines was soothing but still the dominating noise on any space-faring vessel, including expensive pleasure yachts.

  “Shit – get in there!” cried Baz. “They're through the floor.”

  I tapped in my override code, miss-spelled it and tried again. The door slid open and the coppery stench of blood filled my nostrils. There, on the bed, lay Mozzy – a knife in one hand and the other pressed loosely against a gaping wound in his neck. Beside him was the implanted disc sat in a drying pool of gore that had soaked into the bed sheets and turned brown.

  “Holy shit!” I said, rushing to his side. “Get a medpack down here!” I called over the comms. “He's bleeding out.”

  Suddenly a warning siren blared across the ship and the lights dimmed. The day had just gotten worse.

  “Carter! I've got two ships approaching on attack vectors. Fast moving F-Class vessels. ETA six minutes.”

  The ship began to pulse with crimson light and an audio warning wailed down every hallway and deck across the craft.

  ALL HANDS – INCOMING ATTACK.

  ALL HANDS – INCOMING ATTACK.

  ALL HANDS...

  20

  Mason reached Mozzy's room with the medpack in seconds. He tore open the seals and began the emergency treatment we'd all been trained in. I helped administer the life-saving drugs that would stop the bleeding and help with blood re-gen and he applied the dressings once he was sure the idiot hadn't nicked an artery. Above our heads, the siren continued to wail and the verbal warning repeated itself over and over again.

  “Is he stable?” I asked.

  “I think so. It's the best we can do for now. We're going to have to leave him here and head to the bridge.”

  Just then Jimmy appeared in the open doorway behind us and coughed to get our attention.

  “Miss Jo said I might be able to help,” he said over the racket.

  “Stay here and watch Mozzy,” I instructed. “If he stops breathing or tries to get up, let me know immediately, okay?”

  “Okay, sir.”

  The little robot walked over to the bed and stood staring down at the ashen-faced man. Then he seemed to freeze in position, barely moving an inch.

  “Let's go,” said Mason and out we went into the chaos.

  Suited in the new armor, we made it to the bridge and found Baz eager to put on his own. We relieved him and I took the command chair while Mason took his place at the guns.

  “They're almost on us,” I said. “They have to be Death Squad. Probably followed us from Sargon. Someone is paying a lot of money to have synthetic hunters come this far after us.”

  “I'm just glad they're only running subroutines and not thinking for themselves yet.”

  “It's only a matter of time before whoever builds them figures that out. Jack did.”

  “I really don't want to go there right now,” he said. I looked at the screen.

  “Here we go.”

  “Their weapons are hot,” said Mason. “They're getting ready to make a firing run.”

  I glanced at the engine status. They were almost in the red, burning at maximum thrust and it was clear that Baz had tried to outrun them. Even though we were sailing in a luxury craft it was clear that our pursuers had anticipated a chase and got themselves some swift vessels. The only plus to that was the speed versus firepower equation – more in the engines, less to shoot.

  “Fusion reactors are maxed out,” I said. “We should bring her around and make a stand.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he replied. “Use the Anderson-pattern flightpath and put them in front of our guns. Let's see what we can do before they try and board us.”

  “Inputting it now, if I remember it rightly.”

  My fingers flew across the console, recalling the delicate high-speed manoeuvre made famous by Mark Anderson during the Lunar conflict. It was used so often because it offered very few counter-manoeuvres and only a truly skilled pilot could avoid the fatal last-minute showdown with a broadside.

  “That's it,” said Mason, glued to his screen. “We're coming about.”

  “One of them is shifting, attempting to break off,” I said. “Engaging in three... two...”

  “Got 'em!” he cried. “Multiple hits on the first vessel. Damage to forward shields. Hull breach on their upper decks. One forward lancer is down, another badly damaged.”

  “What about the other?”

  “Nothing. He managed to break away in time.”

  I looked. Behind that red blip was a skilled pilot or an expensive AI control unit because the ship had now shifted to our port side and was bearing down on us. The craft we'd hit broke away and put some space between us.

  “Incoming!” said Mason. The ship rocked as we took a barrage of fire and impact icons flashed across my console.

  “Damage report,” I said over the comms.

  “We took a beating, Carter,” said Jo. “Port shields have failed and we've got hull damage on the lower decks. Port broadside is offline and there are fires on decks three through eight. Automated systems are tackling the blazes and the shields will be back up in two minutes.”

  I took the ship downwards, banking hard to starboard to protect our weakened side from the enemy ship now turning to make another pass. I plotted a flight plan, one that would close the gap between the Hikane and the damaged craft and set us on it.

  “You're thinking about destroying the other ship?” asked Mason. I nodded. “Good call.”

  “If it's Death Squad then they won't try to stop us. They'll use the destruction of the other ship to their advantage.”

  “But?”

  “But at the last minute, I want you to change the firing pattern to target them as they come about. Use the forward plasma lances to cripple the wounded ship instead.”

  “It might work.”

  The engines fired and the Hikane sped towards its target with the other vessel on our tail. If I was right then they'd bank hard to port and bring their full broadside to bear on us as we made our pass. That was the moment when we'd strike, offering them our full weight of shot in a direction they wouldn't expect. I just had to hope that the other vessel was more crippled than it appeared.

  “Thirty-six seconds,” said Mason. “Firing pattern A is locked. Firing pattern B is ready to go on your mark.”

  “Understood,” I said. Then, watching the delicate movements of the red markers on my screen, I judged the timing as
best I could. I wasn't an AI control unit but sometimes the human element was the best kind of advantage.

  “Okay, hold on,” I said, sweat collecting on my brow. “Here we go. On my mark...” I waited. One wrong move... “MARK!”

  The ship rocked again as we exchanged fire in the blink of an eye. More damage icons raged across my console but as I still had a chair beneath me I guessed that we hadn't been turned into space debris just yet.

  “Report!” I cried.

  “Engines are offline!” yelled Jo over the sirens behind her. “We're dead in the water. Direct hit. Shields failing.”

  I looked at the display in panic but was relieved to find that one blip had vanished and the other had come to a halt just beyond our prow. The crippled ship was gone and the other listed where it was, navigation controls lost and judging from the exhaust plumes venting from its rear, the core was about to blow.

  “They're launching boarding pods, dozens of them. They're heading this way.”

  “Shit,” I said, getting up. “Jo, is Thor with you?”

  “Yeah, he's here.”

  “Prepare to repel boarders. A lot of them.”

  “This should be fun,” said Baz. “They'd better not ruin the décor.”

  The modified escape pods were the bane of any craft that found itself under attack by Death Squad ships. Synthetic killers didn't really go in for self-preservation so whenever they found their vessels crippled beyond use they were more than happy to launch themselves directly at their targets in the hope of latching on to the hull and boarding. Most would die in space, blasted to dust by lancers and low-yield missile launchers, but some would always find a way through and burn great holes in the sides of the ship, opening crude entrances into vital areas. As our shields were down and subsequently our weapons and engines, every one of those pods had a clear run towards us.

  “It's going to get busy,” said Mason, handing me my rifle. “They'll try and sabotage the ship, maybe even take it over. They'll know that they can do little against these suits.”

  “Kind of like whack-a-mole then?” asked Baz. “See one, hit one.”

  “Yeah, perfect analogy,” I groaned. “Look, just kill them and kill them completely – even injured they'll try to wreak as much havoc as they can. I've sealed Jimmy and Mozzy in their room. Now that he's removed the implant maybe it won't lead them right to him.”

  “They're here for him?” asked Baz.

  “And us; they’ll expect him to have talked so they won’t risk leaving us alive too. I want you on their deck, guarding those hallways. Mason, hold the upper decks and most importantly the bridge.”

  “And you?”

  “I'm going to have to manually seal the hull breaches myself, killing as I go. Thor should be able to protect the engine decks by himself but if he gets in trouble then I want you to back him up. The bridge is useless without the engines anyway.”

  “And me?” said Baz.

  “Protect Mozzy at all costs. If he dies, then Angel dies with him.”

  I slammed in a fresh magazine of anti-boarding rounds and checked that my combat rig was loaded with as many as I could carry. Then, activating the full helmet, I saw my vision vanish behind overlapping plates to be replaced with a high-definition HUD.

  “Good luck,” I said before heading for the nearest breach. My stomach rolled inside the suit and I strained to suppress the fear welling up the way it always did before an engagement.

  There was a surreal feeling to stomping along carpeted corridors in full exo-shell armor. I followed my HUD to the nearest breach on deck four. Before leaving the bridge, I'd locked down the entire ship and door control was one of the few systems that ran on emergency power. They would only open for us now and the boarding party would have to either hack or cut their way through them if they wanted to complete their mission.

  As I rounded a corner a stitch of laser blasts skimmed across my chest plate and refracted into the wall. I didn't stop moving. I'd already raised my weapon and I fired off two bursts, killing the nearest target and wounding the other so that it fell back behind a smouldering doorway. The entrance had been made using breaching charges and most of the arch and surrounding wall were fused into a molten mass of plastic and metal.

  I stepped through, sweeping my rifle left and right. The wounded figure on the floor wore an environment suit with SINKO plating, a kind of metallic weave that would stop most rounds but not the kind loaded into my weapon. This wasn't my first engagement with synthetic boarding parties and like most machines, they fell into predictable patterns very easily. I blasted the crippled synthetic skull open, splattering white liquid onto the wall behind it. Then, approaching the next corridor, I saw two more emerge from the gaping wound in my ship. No hesitation, no fear, they raised their weapons and fired at the same time I did. The one on the left found a hole the size of my fist open up in its chest cavity, the other lost its head from the shoulders upwards.

  “Sealing the first breach,” I said into the comms, approaching the sizzling mass of metal that looked like a kind of mouth into another dimension. The pod on the other side was barely functional and air hissed out into space where it hadn't properly sealed.

  I popped the control panel located a little further down from the opening, keyed in the correct codes and felt a shudder run beneath my feet. Magna-locks in my armor clamped onto the deck as the hull plating separated from the ship. The bodies of the Death Squad and the pod they'd come in were sucked out into space along with an ugly painting in a gold frame that was torn off its fixings by the vacuum. I pressed the green icon on the display and a replacement panel slid into place, overlapped the hole and fired self-guiding rivets into the skin of the ship. It was a temporary fix, one that cast my mind back to the space above a frozen planet not-too-long-ago. I shook it off and made my way to the next breach.

  The annoying aspect of a boarding pod was its ability to override the automatic hull repair systems which under normal circumstances would've ejected the invader by itself, pretty much the way I was doing. Designers of these things installed nano-mites to burrow into the hull before the cutting torches opened it up, finding the sensor nodes before the ship could register the breach and neutralize them. As this effectively made the bridge controls useless, a manual override had to be performed at the site of the boarding pod. Safety specs wouldn't let anyone just open up their own ship from the bridge, instead, they expected you to risk being sucked out yourself. I guess they figured that if you were that set on destroying yourself you should do it in person.

  “How many per pod?” asked Baz.

  “There were four in this one,” I replied, sweeping the next room. There was another breach on this same deck. “But don't count on that for all of them.”

  “Contact!” cried Mason. “Tango down. I've got three more, possibly four.”

  I moved along, sweeping each corridor with ominously sealed doors on either side. The lights were low but my HUD compensated and a spinning alert light seemed to be the only thing moving.

  “Jo – talk to me,” I said, turning a corner. The next breach was a few meters up ahead.

  “I'm working as hard as I can I-” An explosion over the comms. Gunfire. I heard Jo stifle a scream.

  “Contact!” called Thor. “Who wants a little syn'fetic-flambet?” The burst of his flame-thrower sounded like ripping cloth. “Cam' on ya barstards!” he bellowed. “'Ave some o' that!”

  I quickened my pace, following the line of my display to the next left turn. Already plumes of smoke were billowing out into the corridor. I yanked a WP grenade from my hip, twisted the activator and hurled it around the corner. A few seconds later and a brilliant flash of white light made my HUD dim. I followed it in, rifle humming with life. Nothing. Three bodies lay slumped against the wall near the breach, their suits glowing with smouldering fire. One stood by the control panel; hands frozen on the icons. It looked inactive but I fired anyway, blowing off the top of its skull, toppling it to the ground.r />
  I checked the panel. It'd been trying to access the main system, but the grenade had fried its circuits mid-way. It'd bypassed the lock-down somehow and was about to enter the mainframe.

  “Be advised, units are attempting to hack our systems,” I said. “Stop them at all costs.”

  “Understood,” said Baz.

  “I see that,” said Mason. “Just found one. It's neutralized.”

  Again I ran through the protocol and left before the panel had finished riveting itself in place. I also stomped on the head of the hacker, turning the mech-flesh and quantum brain units into mulch. I was taking no chances.

  “Moving on,” I reported. “Jo – are you okay?”

  “Still here,” she said. “They've regrouped beyond the outer decks. Thor held them off.”

  The next breach was below me and I hurried to the stairwell. I was in that focused place where all other thoughts and worries had been pushed out in favor of the immediate mission. I didn't always like being there but I was thankful for it now. Thinking would come later when the mind and the conscience would put you on trial for everything you were doing now.

  On the next deck, they'd managed to push deeper, already working the control panels that now gave them access to the rooms on that level. As there was nothing vital to the ship down there it wasn't much to worry about for the time being. I guessed that they were systematically hunting for Mozzy now that his locator was deactivated.

  With no small amount of satisfaction, I carved my way through them; six were in the corridor just adjacent to the stairs and three more were moving between rooms. All of them met with the business-end of my rifle. I sealed the first breach I found and saw that the control panel had been used recently. I moved on. Three more guarded the next pod and died for their troubles. As I was changing magazines, two rounded the corner and opened up. Shots bounced off my helmet and one of them even hurled a grenade at me. My HUD identified it as an HE bomb and plotted its course in a heartbeat. Mind and exo-shell worked effortlessly together; my hand shot out and batted the rolling ball back towards its sender. The explosive tore the synthetic apart, splattering a mural of early Earth colonials painted into the bulkhead with white gore.