The pilot gripped the control levers as if they were attached to a lifeline. Air friction rocked the ship as it knifed into rapid deceleration. Bridge crew members were strapped to their chairs…except the captain, whose chair was occupied by Tunnal. The other hijackers held onto whatever they could to maintain their balance through the heavy jostling of a high-speed descent.
“We’re losing the central turbine,” announced the pilot.
“Compensate!” The captain held on tight to the back of his chair while Tunnal looked on stone-faced.
“32 percent deceleration,” said the engineer. “Increasing reverse boosters.”
“Initiate flank attitude thrusts,” ordered the captain. “That should aid our decel.”
Alita sat at the astrogation station observing the hijackers. She noticed how focused they were on the forward display screen, their faces wrought with trepidation. Her gaze slid to the bridge exit less than twelve feet from where she sat.
“Central turbine output is reducing.” The engineer paused to check a reading. “Damn! It’s shutting down…”
The ship took a gut churning dip, knocking most of the hijackers off their feet.
Alita seized her opportunity. She quickly unstrapped herself and shot out of her chair toward the exit. The door slid open and shut behind her.
One of the hijackers tried to go after her, but was upended by the ship’s wobbly motion.
“Forget about her,” Tunnal ordered the hijackers, forestalling their pursuit. “She’s on borrowed time.”
Alita made her way to the engine room, deftly maintaining her footing on a quaking ship. As she advanced further into the room a huge hole in the bulkhead brought her up short. The floor was littered with debris and smoke spiraled from a pair of severely damaged generators. Half the engine room lay in ruin.
Alita looked around, moving tentatively toward the hole. Was Dern down here?
A faint noise caught her ear. She whirled about, finding herself in the shadow of a towering figure in scorched armor. A mirrored faceplate retracted, revealing a familiar dark skinned visage.
“Dern…thank God!” She brushed over his armor. “What happened to you?”
Dern placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just say I was on the wrong end of a very powerful explosive. Are you all right? How’d you get away?”
Alita grinned in spite of herself. “I ran…as fast as I could.” Horror displaced the grin. “Dern, this Tunnal is an animal…a murderer. He killed our comm officer. Shot him down like it was nothing!”
“They’re all murderers,” Dern stated harshly. “The passengers are dead. They were massacred.”
Alita stepped back, her mouth and eyes agape. “No…”
An alarm blared from a status board above the nearest generator. Alita looked up at the board, skimming its data. “We’ve got less than five minutes of airborne time. It might be a hard landing!”
“Then we need to get you to safety.” Dern lifted the woman and draped her over his shoulder.
“Wait! Where are we going?”
“The stasis level. The tubes are crash fortified. I’m putting you in one.”
“What about you?”
Dern moved swiftly through the hole in the bulkhead and sprinted toward the cargo section exit. “I’m sure I’ll be able to withstand a hard landing.”
Alita gasped when she saw the stasis level corridor clogged with bodies. “Put me down!
Dern zeroed in on the first stasis room. “No time.”
“Put me down,” the technician repeated insistently.
The former SD soldier huffed impatiently but acceded to Alita’s request.
She slid off his shoulder and eyed the corpses around her in stunned, horrified silence. “I thought we left this behind.” Alita struggled to hold down her bile.
“I did too,” Dern said soberly. He tapped her elbow. “Come on, we’ve got to get you in a tube.”
Alita started forward, but paused. She bent and plucked an RI4 rifle from the cold, grip of a dead hijacker. She looked up at Dern with a sordid gleam in her eye. “Been a while since I held one of these. I’m going to enjoy this reunion.”
The sleeper ship screamed past a jagged mountain peak, avoiding a collision by inches.
That was expert maneuvering on the pilot’s part. The rest lay in the hands of fate as the ship lost power and fell into a perilous glide toward a rocky valley. It touched the ground, bouncing once, twice then sliding a half mile, dredging up a gusher of dirt and gravel, pulverizing rock outcroppings in its path. Finally it slowed to a grinding halt.
The crew faired well enough in the landing since they were strapped into chairs. A few hijackers were sprawled on the deck, having suffered minor injuries from falls or collisions. The captain held tight as he could to his chair, almost losing his grip on the ship’s second bounce. He let go, massaging a right that felt as if it had been pulled from its socket and reattached.
Tunnal released the chair straps holding him in place and rose. “Not a bad landing,” he remarked to the pilot in a tone more mocking than complimentary. To the engineer: “What’s the status? How banged up is this bucket?”
The engineer examined damage readings on his console screen. “Four generators and two turbines are down. Five coils, fractured…”
The hijack leader waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t need details just tell me if the ship can be fixed.”
The engineer shrugged. “It’ll take time since this planet likely lacks the fully equipped maintenance facility a ship of this class requires. I’ll need spare parts assembled to specs.”
“Routh’s maintenance accommodations may not be first class,” said Tunnal. “But the man running it’ll have whatever you need to make decent repairs.” The forward display caught his attention. “Speaking of which…”
Twenty-five Terrain Variable Vehicles sped toward the downed space vessel, whipping up voluminous clouds of dust in their wake. TVVs were large, thickly armored personnel transports, equipped with forward turrets, and flank mounted rocket pods. These were essentially discard vehicles, distributed throughout the colonies after their replacement by upgrades. They were not intended for illegal settlements. And yet, here they were, in the hands of a crime lord with the resources and tenacity to acquire the very best hardware that he possibly could.
Tunnal smiled admiringly. That’s why he enjoyed doing business with Hooper. And with Hooper’s added muscle, this Dern Lowtower’s chances of survival just decreased drastically, armor or no armor.
Tunnal turned to the engineer. “Get your techs together and get started on the repairs.”
The captain stepped in front of Tunnal, anger radiating from his eyes. “We have done what you wanted, yet the price we paid for our cooperation resulted in the death of my officer, a good man. The very least you can do is release us immediately so we can figure out a way to reach our original destination.”
Tunnal’s arm whipped out with expert precision, delivering a vicious chop to the side of the captain’s head.
The captain stumbled sideways, plopping on the deck when he tripped over his feet.
Several outraged crew members rose from their chairs, but guns thrust in their faces curtailed further movement.
The hijack leader stood over the groggy captain. “The passengers are dead, Captain. So don’t you dare presume to make demands of me. I’m already pissed off about the condition of this ship. Maybe I’ll let you and your miserable crew live after I have this Lowtower’s head in my clutches. If that be the case then you will spend the rest of your lives as Hooper’s slaves. That may or may not be a merciful outcome for you. Either way you’ll be in no position to report us to Coalition authorities.”
The shock in the captain’s eyes appeared to have accelerated his recovery from Tunnal’s abuse. “You killed the passengers?”
“End of discussion,” Tunnel growled, pointing his Viper at the captain’s head. “Open the emergency exit doors. We’re all leaving, except the engineer and his techs.”
“What about Lowtower?” Welch queried with bloodthirsty relish.
“Hooper’s people will handle him. And we’re going to help.”
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