Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"Somewhere on the upper levels," said B'Tul. "And the guards are gone."

The thick gray door slid open and the lights came on. As N'Trol and B'Tul turned toward the door, squinting, a tall man in a torn, blood-splotched uniform stepped into the room. "Commander?" he called.

"Here, S'Lei," called A'Tir, leading her group toward the new corsair. A few of Implacable's crew started to block her.

"Let her by," said S'Lei, raising the long-barreled Ml 1A he held and waving it casually.

"Let them go," said N'Trol.

"Report," said A'Tir, walking past N'Trol without a glance.

"Tower's bedlam," said the tall corsair. "Commandos came in, Security pulled out, then Tugayee infiltrated and took on the commandos. Fighting's concentrated on the upper levels."

"How'd you get out?" A'Tir asked.

"There was a running firefight through our confinement level-commandos and Tugayee. An M32 blast took out the door- along with K'Ona and S'Al." S'Lei waved his hand over the bloodstains. "We came down here, found the guard posts deserted and set your security lock to open."

"Where's the rest of your group?" said A'Tir.

"Right behind me. I sent them to liberate an armory."

As he spoke, more corsairs came into the room, all with holstered pistols on their belts and spares slung over their shoulders.

"Orders, Commander?" said K'Lal, taking one of the spare Ml 1 As and belting it on.

"We're still in Prime Base perimeter-we'll grab a shuttle from the Tower depot, take over a ship and run for it."

"Line will stop us," said S'Lei.

"No," said A'Tir, arming herself. "Line will challenge us. It won't stop us if we're not a direct and immediate threat to the security of the planet. Which we aren't, as we're leaving it."

A'Tir pointed to where Implacable's crewmen stood in a silent knot. "Kill them and let's go," she said. "The engineer's mine," she added, drawing her sidearm and thumbing the beam down to its cutting setting.

"You're stupid, A'Tir," said N'Trol, stepping in front of his crew. "You haven't enough crew to man a ship that will get you past the Fleet pickets. Most you can run is a destroyer. You need at least a cruiser."

"We'll take our chances," said A'Tir. "Hold him," she ordered. Two corsairs grabbed N'Trol's arms as A'Tir took careful aim at his eyes.

"With us," said the engineer, "you can have Implacable."

There was a murmur of protest from N'Trol's crew.

"Let him go," said A'Tir, lowering the blaster. "What did you have in mind, Mr. N'Trol?" she said.

"We're in the same situation," said N'Trol, adjusting his cuffs. "Prisoners for whatever reasons. Our mutual interests lie in escape

…"

"But, sir," protested B'Tul, "to join up with these scum…"

"What do you want, B'Tul, to stay here and face court-martial for performing your duty? How many times have we saved the fat asses of the ground-hugging slobs? And this, this is our reward." His hand swept the room. "Freedom"-he pointed to the door-"or the Tower?"

There was a brief, whispered consultation, then B'Tul turned back to N'Trol. "We're with you, sir. As long as they put us off at first planetfall," he added, looking at A'Tir.

"Agreed," said the corsair commander. "Provided we take Implacable. Otherwise, you stay here, we'll take up where we just left off, you and me."

"Fine," said N'Trol. He held out his hand.

"Now, if we could have some weapons…"

"Not just yet," said A'Tir with a tight little smile.

The distant blaster fire was suddenly punctuated by the dull KRUMMP! of an exploding grenade, the echo rolling through the Tower.

"Let's go," said A'Tir.

Filing from the detention bay, the new allies moved in a quick double file down the empty corridors, past the deserted guard posts and out into the night.

Implacable was a grand sight at night, the winking of her red and green running lights reflecting softly along her silver hull. She sat alone in bright-lit splendor, one of the last of the Imperial cruisers.

"Two guards," whispered K'Lal, ducking back behind the white supply modules stacked next to the cruiser. "Corporal and a private."

"That's it?" said A'Tir.

"Yes."

"Sloppy," she said. "Should have two squads for a capital ship, not two men." She turned to N'Trol. "Still want a weapon, Engineer?"

N'Trol saw what was coming. "Not just yet," he said, mimicking her tight little smile. The light wasn't especially good, but she saw it.

"Here." The corsair slipped the commando knife from her boot sheath and wrapped

N'Trol's fingers around the haft. "Take it and go kill those guards. Or we'll do it ourselves and leave your bodies on the duraplast."

"You've persuaded me," he said, slipping off to the left, where the module stacks ended. Snapping shut the weather flap on his holster and slipping the knife blade up his sleeve, N'Trol stepped from behind the stacks and into the light, walking purposefully toward the boarding ramp and the two gray-uniformed sentries.

"Evening," he said as the guards brought their rifles up to order arms.

"Halt," said the corporal. "Who goes?"

N'Trol halted. "Commander N'Trol, Engineer, Implacable," he said, gambling that these two hadn't been told about the arrests. It wasn't likely, given Fleet's mania for security.

"Advance and be recognized," said the corporal.

N'Trol closed the distance between himself and the foot of the ramp, stopping an arm's length from the corporal. The sentry was young-a kid, really-almost old enough to shave. "Here to do some tinkering," said N'Trol easily.

The corporal frowned. "Sorry, sir. We've no orders to admit…"

N'Trol sucker-kicked him, knee to the groin, then hit him on the chin with the knife pommel as the kid doubled over. The soldier folded silently, crumpling to the landing field.

The private tried to bring the big M32 around, but N'Trol grabbed the weapon's stock with one hand and pressed the knife blade against his throat with the other. "Drop it or die," he said. He'd no idea what he'd do if the other continued to struggle-fortunately, the trooper dropped the M32.

"Turn around," said the engineer.

As the private turned, N'Trol brought the pommel down behind the soldier's right ear. He collapsed as silently as the corporal.

"Well and mercifully done, Mr. N'Trol," A'Tir said as her corsairs charged across the landing field and up into the ship, Implacable's crew following. "You may board."

Last one in but for A'Tir, he'd stopped to look at the distant flames of the Tower and the circling firecraft, when two blaster shots sent him whirling, looking down to where A'Tir stood, holstering her blaster beside the dead sentries.

Gripping the safety rail in white-knuckled fury, N'Trol waited for A'Tir to reach him. If he'd been beside her when she fired, he knew he'd have broken her slim neck. "Why?" he demanded coldly when she appeared, his emotions under control.

"Why?" She smiled. "Why, because you wanted them to live, Engineer. So I wanted them dead. Now check your engines and prepare to lift ship, mister."

A hexagonal honeycomb of a building, facility 19 had once held over six hundred star-ships. But the war had reduced that number to less than two hundred: Ship after ship had been deeded to the Confederation to pay the death taxes of monied officers. Now green "Available" lights glowed softly over most of the berths on level 9.

Oblivious to the green lights, L'Wrona moved quickly down the long empty duralloy corridor, pistol in hand, looking for berth 9-42-A. He found it after two turnings-one of only five red-lighted berths in that stretch of level 9. Standing before the entry, he pressed the access button.

"Access code, please," said a resonant, masculine voice.

"There is no code," said L'Wrona. "Wrong," said the voice. "Right," said L'Wrona. The door slid open. "Hello, H'Nar," said the voice.