“Which means what? My experience in black-market freighters is limited. What did you say you do for the Commune military, again?”

  He smirks. “The point is, they aren’t going to abandon the prize. Why don’t you go down to the hold? Find somewhere out of sight to watch them and lay low until they’ve left the area.”

  “And then?”

  “Once you’re clear, get onto the Yellowjacket and kill the pilot.”

  “Just like that?” I ask. I don’t particularly like killing. It’s a lot less personal from inside a Skirmisher.

  “You have the easy job. I need to get from here to wherever they lock-in not long after they move out.”

  “What about the third ship?”

  “Whoever’s closer will cover.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Good, get moving.”

  I head off the bridge and hurry to the elevator. Rozik stays behind to watch the approach until they activate their tractor beams to latch onto the freighter.

  “Odin, do you copy?” Rozik says, testing the comm.

  “I copy.”

  “ETA one minute to lock-in.”

  “Wilco. I’ll be in the hold inside of thirty seconds.”

  I take the elevator to the bottom deck, emerging into another corridor. The door to the hold—another heavy blast door that can be sealed tight in the event of an emergency—is a short distance ahead. I hurry to it, grateful to find it unsecured.

  I move through the door, closing it behind me. The cavernous cargo hold takes up at least seventy percent of the ship’s area. A quick glance provides an overview of some of the equipment Rozik alluded to. Three Alliance Army APCs are lined up near the outer bulkhead, along with a handful of smaller, more nimble transports. A variety of unmarked crates, boxes and large containers—all of it held securely in place by a strategically arranged series of mooring wires hanging from the ceiling and anchors jutting from the floor—rest in every corner of the room. A number of unwound lines strewn around what little empty deck space there is suggests at least a quarter of the cargo has been unloaded at a previous stop.

  I start walking toward the center of the room, ready to break in whichever direction makes the most sense once the pirates arrive. There are a lot of places to hide in here, which is good.

  “Rozik, I’m in the hold. Ready for lock-in.”

  “Copy that,” Rozik replies. “Standby. Twenty seconds to lock-in.”

  We’ll have about a minute, maybe less, after the Yellowjackets lock-in to a landing spot with their tractor beams to get into position to deal with them. We’re outnumbered any way you slice it, but I find I’m not concerned. I saw what Rozik did on Warrick, and I think his plan is sound. Our success hinges on our execution. At least I’ll have total control over that part.

  I make it to the center of the hold and bring the carbine up, holding it level and facing the bulkhead. It’s possible the invaders might try to use the docking collar to save themselves the trouble of having to cut through. I’ll know for sure in a few more seconds.

  “Odin, we have lock-in,” Rozik says. “Approximate twenty meters forward of the docking collar.” He pauses. “Standby.” Another pause. “Be advised. Second jacket is redirecting your way. They were playing it safe, making sure we didn’t fire the scattershot.”

  “Copy,” I reply. “Positioning?”

  “Unknown. I’m headed off the bridge. I’ll get down to cover you as quick as I can. Remember, stay out of sight. Once they’re clear of the hold, the Jacket pilots will be easy pickings.”

  “Wilco. Odin out.”

  I stand alone in the hold, my eyes shifting to the estimated breach position on the left side of a closed hatch, the only part of the docking mechanism visible from inside the ship. I’ve got less than a minute to find somewhere to hide to wait out the initial invasion.

  I scan the hold again. There’s no lack of places to hide. The key is finding the one that’s least likely to be discovered, easiest to defend or both. Making my choice, I run across the deck to the first of the three Army APCs. The vehicles are high and wide, heavily armored and bulky, with thick, knobby airless tires and a pair of turreted railguns mounted on top. Each one can probably transport an entire platoon.

  Right now, it’s only me. I open a hatch on the side of the APC just as I hear the dull reverberation of metal-on-metal when the first Yellowjacket makes contact with the hull. I close the door behind me, moving forward toward the cockpit. The gunner’s station is positioned between the front and back of the truck and I slide into the seat, eyeing the controls.

  It isn’t hard to find the power switch, and I flip the weapon system on. The display in front of me lights up, showing me a split-screen view from the cameras mounted to the top of the turrets. They’re both pointed forward, giving me a view of the front turret’s backside and the bulkhead from the front. I glance down, wrapping my hands around a pair of joysticks. Turning the stick rotates the turrets, allowing me to reposition the front one to point at the lock-in point or back to face the other direction.

  The only thing left to do is wait.

  Chapter 6

  I don’t have to wait long. Less than a minute after I turn on the turret cameras, the unmistakable blue-white flare of high-density, high-heat plasma begins pouring through the hull at half a dozen separate points, each of the burns sliding toward one another to create a cutout in the bulkhead.

  About twenty seconds after that, the second Yellowjacket latches onto the ship about thirty meters from the first. While one of the ships has a head start over the other, they manage to synchronize the overall work and complete the job at almost the same time. The plasma torch flares dissipate, and for a moment everything returns to normal again as if the pirates have a sudden change of heart. Then the sliced-through portions of the hull—each is about two meters in diameter and nearly twenty centimeters thick—are shoved forcefully inward and land on the deck at almost the same time. The crashes echo through the hold.

  The invaders pour through the holes with practiced efficiency, solidifying themselves into diamond formations.. All of them are dressed in fitted skin-tight starsuits—lightly armored onesies with magnetic boots for zero-g—and sealed metal helmets with night vision visors. They knew what they were doing, coming prepared in case we’ve decided to turn the air and lights off on them.

  They each sweep a different segment of the hold with their rifles, quickly covering the immediate area, They relax slightly when they don’t run into any immediate opposition. A couple of them clamp their magnetic boots down more tightly to the deck, revealing their discomfort with the reduced gravity, which I take as a good sign.

  They’re frozen in position for a moment, probably receiving their orders. Then they begin to fan out across the hold, one of the teams making a direct move for the boxed cargo in the corner and the other heading for the door.

  “Rozik, they’re in,” I whisper. “Two teams designated Alpha and Beta. Alpha counts eight tangoes. Beta…” I hesitate a moment to get a headcount. “Eight. Standard issue starsuits and...” I pause again, leaning in close to the display to get a better look at their rifles. “Those look like PEPs. I can’t tell how high they’re set.”

  The pulse rifles are an excellent choice for raiding a starship, since the lethality can be adjusted and there’s little risk of them puncturing the hull, which is the main reason I don’t just open fire with the APCs railgun turrets and turn the two squads of invaders into pirate soup. I have to assume Rozik didn’t equip us with similar weapons because he never found any on board.

  “Copy that,” Rozik says. “Gamma is go. Ten tangoes on my end. They’ve breached deck one, headed for the elevator to storm the bridge. I’m prepared to move in.”

  Twenty-four in total. Against two. It’s not the first time in my life I’ve been outnumbered, but not usually by this many.

  “Roger. Alpha’s searching the hold. Beta’s on their way to sweep the lower decks. I’ll hit the Yellowjackets as soon as they’ve cleared. Standby.”

  “Confirmed. Standing by.”

  I keep an eye on the two groups, watching them carefully and rotating the turret when they aren’t looking so I can continue tracking their movement. It takes about a minute for Beta to make their way to the exit and vanish while Alpha continues to search the cargo.

  I monitor them through the camera, watching the individuals split up and start disconnecting the mooring lines so they can reach the crates and boxes to open them up. It’s difficult to identify the contents from my position, but I can make out an assortment of guns and ammunition, and what appears to be bottles of liquor and large bags of what I can only guess are narcotics. Whatever the items are, the body language of the pirates suggests they’re happy with what they’ve recovered.

  They disappear deeper into the spaces between the stacked cargo, spending more time looking through them. A minute passes. Another. I expect them to worry a little more about the crew of the freighter and the fact that they aren’t is getting increasingly worrying to me.

  “Odin,” Rozik says. “We’re burning a lot of time. What’s your status?”

  “Alpha’s lingering in the hold. I’m not clear.”

  I can picture him glowering at the news. “We can’t afford to give them more time. If they sweep the ship without finding any crew, they’ll be on higher alert. And they’ll have time to access the bridge.”

  “Understood. I’m open to ideas.”

  We’re both silent for a few heartbeats while we each consider how to solve the problem. The predicament is even more frustrating considering I’m sitting in a heavily armed and armored piece of military equipment that I can’t use.

  Or can I?

  The railgun rounds will punch right through the freighter’s hull. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.

  “I have an idea,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  “Neutralize your target and get down here.”

  “The elevators will be crawling with tangoes.”

  “I thought you were Special Forces or something? You wanted me to trust you. Now you have to trust me.”

  He grunts into the comm. “Very well, Alliance. How much time do I have?”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  “Give me twenty seconds to get to the pilot, and then make your move.”

  I count the seconds in my head. I’m at fifteen when I wrap my hands around the turret joysticks again, rotating them toward the two breaches in the hull.

  At twenty, Rozik comes back on the comm. “Gamma prime is neutralized.”

  “Copy,” I reply, index fingers depressing the triggers.

  The cannon begins belching darts, and I strafe the invaders along the bulkhead, creating dozens of three-centimeter puncture wounds in the hull of the freighter and the skins of the two boarding ships beyond. I continue firing until I’m satisfied the two pilots couldn’t have survived. Then I swing the rear turret around toward the boxes and crates in time to see what’s left of the invaders scrambling to take cover from the unexpected assault.

  I don’t fire into the cargo. It’s too dangerous with the ammo and whatever else in the way of explosives that could be part of the contents. I’m liable to hit a land mine or missile and blow the entire ship to hell. Instead, I abandon the gunner’s station, lunging up to the cockpit and dropping into the driver’s seat. The security chip is already inserted so all I have to do to get her running is press the brake and throw it into reverse.

  Red lights start flashing, a voice through speakers warning of the hull breach, the impending loss of oxygen and a limited amount of time to get out of the area before the whole thing is sealed off. I’m roaring backward in the APC, rushing Alpha squad through a break in the crates. One of the invaders comes into view and starts firing their PEP at me, the invisible laser pulses signaled by the flash of blue LEDs on the side of his weapon, which is pretty much useless against the heavily armored machine. The invader throws himself out of the way as the ass-end of the truck smashes into the front row of crates, shattering them and sending both solid and liquid debris flying into the air.

  I slam on the brakes and switch from reverse to drive, returning my foot to the accelerator and pulling away. I take a wide path from my position toward the entrance hatch. the flashing lights and noise only adding to the chaos. According to the warning, we all have twenty seconds to get the hell out of here before the whole section is sealed tight.

  The tangoes hear the warnings too. At least one of them has to speak English, because they all run for the hatch. I’m chugging my way toward it too, my vector intended to put the APC between them and safety from catastrophic decompression.

  A couple of them start shooting projectile rounds at the truck as if they can pop through military armor with pea shooters. I almost feel bad for them in their desperation, but not really. They made the decision to take the freighter. They deserve whatever they get. It’s funny in a way. I can almost guarantee they weren’t expecting to butt heads with a madman willing to put his entire cargo haul at risk. Only it isn’t my cargo, and I don’t care about the freighter. It’s a means to an end. And now it’s going to be the end of them.

  I grab the lever for the truck’s adjustable suspension, pulling it toward me to drop the body too low for them to roll or crawl under. I don’t know what will happen when we all get there, but I’m sure it isn’t going to be pretty.

  I ease off on the accelerator, coasting the APC toward the door. One of the invaders gets the bright idea to get into the path of the truck trying to convince me to stop or at least slow down.. I look away when the angled front knocks him down and throws him under the wheels, the body barely a bump in the ride.

  The klaxons are flashing like strobes now, and a high-pitched squeal insists that we’d better get the hell out of the hold. One of the tangoes makes it to the hatch and hits the control to open it. He’s one step out and on his way to freedom when his body shakes and he tumbles back inside, bullet wounds from Rozik’s carbine bleeding him out. The other invaders slow up and bring their guns up to shoot back at Rozik.

  Too late. I pull the APC to a stop in front of the exit, lining the hatch of the truck up with the opening. I pull the security chip and run to the hatch hoping Rozik doesn’t shoot me by accident.

  I jump through. Rozik closes the door behind me. Then I hear the bolts sink into it, ensuring it’ll stay that way.

  “They wanted the cargo,” I say. “They’ve got it.”

  He smirks. “I never doubted you. But this isn’t over yet.”

  I nod in reply. “Let’s fix that right now.”

  Chapter 7

  We start at the bottom, hunting down tango Beta first. I don’t expect it will be hard to locate them. Not when the freighter isn’t all that big and the cargo hold is out of play. The harder part is sneaking up on them or staying out of sight until they arrive. The difference between the invading pirates and Rozik and me is that we’re trained military. I might be a pilot, but even officers at the Naval Academy are put through their paces in hand-to-hand, and I’ve kept my skills sharp both through the VORN and in realspace by sparring with my fellow Astros. I might be an old man, but I could still hold my own against the best Spindle had to offer.

  And Rozik, he’s…I still don’t know what he is. All I know is that he’s not a soldier as much as he’s a killer.

  He didn’t see any of them on the way down, though he says he cut down two tango Gamma—with a knife I didn’t know he had—who were guarding the elevators. Our first sweep is through the small section forward of the hold. It’s mainly secondary storage filled with extra rations, water, cleaning agents and other boring necessities. The pirates must know how worthless the area is too because they haven’t stuck around. We return to the stairs without an engagement.

  “We can’t burn time sweeping the entire ship,” I say when we reconnect. “We don’t know if they have friends or if the tangoes have noticed their coordinators are offline.”

  “I’m sure they noticed,” Rozik replies. “But what are they going to do about it? None of them are pilots. They’re on alert, tense and scared because they haven’t seen anyone else on the ship. Are there two of us? Ten? A hundred?” He offers his familiar, somewhat arrogant smirk.

  “They could still have friends, and if they get onto the bridge they’ll have access to the comms.”

  “Then we should head to the bridge. Do you want the stairs or the elevator?”

  “You want to take the elevator?”

  He nods. “Stay in sync. One of us distracts. The other destroys.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  He shrugs. “I thought you understood that by now.”

  “What I don’t understand is what someone like you was doing beyond the Disturbance scavenging an alien starship?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you later. Maybe not.” He smirks again. “We have business. Do you trust me to take the elevator?”

  I glance at him and nod. Right now I do. I cross to it, calling it down. When I look back toward the stairs, he’s gone.

  Son of a bitch. Where did he go?

  I turn back toward the elevator, just as a pair of tangoes come around the corner at the far end, rifles already trained on me. I don’t expect them to ask questions before they start shooting, and I pivot and drop, lowering my profile while bringing my carbine up toward them.

  I shouldn’t have bothered. I hear two cracks behind me, and the faceplates of each of the targets shatter. Their heads snap back and their bodies collapse to the deck.

  My head whips back toward Rozik as he comes around the corner. “How did you know they were there?” I ask.

  “They knew where the elevator went. They were waiting for someone to try to board it. But I didn’t know they were there. If you got on without incident, then I would have run up the stairwell.” He walks over to them, taking their PEP rifles and tossing one to me. “This might be a better choice. Less risk of damaging something critical.”