Dern initated a sequence, opening the stasis lid’s cover.
Alita rose and hopped out of the tube. She gave Dern a quick appraisal. “Are you all right?”
“It was a rough landing,” Dern commented.
“I barely felt it. Great idea throwing me in one of these.” Alita patted the side of the stasis tube in amused gratitude. What’s next?”
“There’s an emergency hatch in the ship’s rear compartment. That’s where we’re headed. Once outside I’m going to do everything I can to rescue the crew.”
“We’ll go out together.” Alita checked her rifle’s round clip.
Dern shook his head. “No. This is what I need you to do…”
The hijackers prodded crewmembers down the protruding ramp leading from the forward exit hatch. Tunnal was the last to emerge from the ship. He breathed in a lungful of warm, crisp, clean planetary air and with uplifted spirits proceeded down the ramp.
The TVVs assembled in a semi-circular laager twenty yards from the ship. Their desert camouflage colors perfectly blended into the desert backdrop.
Armed men in gray one piece active garb, black helmets and flak vests poured out of the vehicles’ side doors. There were anywhere from fifteen to twenty men per TVV. They carried duel purpose Venom 12 assault rifles with directed energy emission capability. A smaller segment wielded portable fusion launchers. Clearly they knew what they were up against and equipped themselves accordingly.
A large black bearded man strode toward Tunnal with a launcher cradled in his arms. Scowl lines wrinkled his forehead highlighting his displeasure. “You should make a habit of checking passenger manifests before you steal sleeper ships.”
“That wouldn’t make a difference,” Tunnal retorted in his defense. “You can’t expect ex-military to announce themselves as such. I don’t. Let’s just get rid of this fly in our soup and call it a day.”
Hooper thumbed a control on the fusion launcher, activating its scope. “I would hardly refer to a person with an SD background as a fly. But as you say, let’s get to it.”
A commotion rang out among Hooper’s enforcers and the hijackers.
Tunnal and Hooper pivoted at the same instant to see a person in armor standing at the rear of the ship.
Tunnal instinctively reached for his sidearm, but Hooper raised a hand. “Wait.” He elevated his voice to everyone. “Hold your fire!”
“What are you doing?” Tunnal demanded.
TVV turrets whirred ominously in figure’s direction.
“I think he wants to talk,” Hooper replied.
Tunnal’s face reddened with fury. “I say let our guns do the talking. Blast the son of a bitch!”
“Relax,” the crime lord said wryly “We can at least hear him out.”
“Who’s the leader here?” Dern called out, using his suit’s voice amplifier.
“That would be me,” a large, bearded man next to the exit ramp responded. “My name is Urias Hooper, Administrator of Routh Settlement.”
Dern observed the vehicles and the armed men, taking their measure like a hawk studying its prey. The fifteen crew members sat huddled on the ground with hijacker guns trained on them.
He began walking toward the procession and could not only see the armed men tensing, but felt their disquiet.
A rush of Flare tickled his senses, heightening his urge to shed blood. He reveled in these criminals’ fear.
“I have no quarrel with you,” Dern explained, though it made him queasy to say those words. This so-called administrator’s association with a group of murdering thugs made him every bit as much a target for Dern’s contempt as the hijackers themselves. “Since you are an administrator that means the prisoners taken by that man…” Dern indicated Tunnal with a raised chin. Any hand gesture was likely to provoke a response from nervous men with itchy trigger fingers. “…have fallen under your custody.”
“They have,” replied Hooper.
Tunnal shifted, hissing a virulent whisper. “Like hell.”
“Shut up,” Hooper ordered. “This is my show now.”
“You also have the power to release them,” Dern reminded.
“Is that what you want? The prisoners?” Hooper asked.
Dern nodded. “Yes. I also want you turn the hijackers over to me so that they can be punished for their crimes. You can keep the ship.”
“You’ve clearly lost your mind, Lowtower!” Tunnal mocked with a burst of scathing laughter. “I’ll tell you what you can do. You can kiss my ass and walk away. We’ll keep the prisoners!”
Hooper favored the hijack leader with a long suffering glance. He returned his attention to Dern. “You can have the prisoners. As to your other request, no deal. I reside over a sound and effective judicial system. Tunnal and his people will be tried before a judge and jury. If found guilty, they will be punished in accordance with our laws.”
Dern wasn’t surprised that Hooper turned down the second part of his demand. But he figured it didn’t hurt to make the demand. As for Hooper’s claim that Tunnal and his minions would be tried…well he chose not to justify that fiction with a response.
“There are three crew persons aboard doing repairs,” Tunnal protested. “They can’t go anywhere until those repairs are complete…at least two of them can’t go. The engineer is with us.”
Dern bristled. The engineer. He was the traitor, the hijackers’ inside man. It would have taken a crew person with intimate knowledge of ship operations to change the ship’s coordinates, redirecting it and everyone on board to this godforsaken corner of the Coalition frontier. Reprehensible as the hijackers were, Dern reserved special enmity for the person who betrayed his own.
“Agreed,” he bit off. Dern sent a signal.
Seconds later the top of the sleeper ship retracted. A small globular craft with a flat bottom rose from the ship.
“That’s an evacuation pod,” Dern said, allaying Hooper’s concern. “The pod will pick up the prisoners.” Through the pod’s mildly tinted panoramic window, Dern saw Alita at the control. The facility with she handled the craft demonstrated her better than average proficiency as a pilot.
The pod made a gentle touchdown a few short yards from the crewmembers. The hijackers looked to Tunnal who offered a reluctant nod. The prisoners were ushered to their feet by their captors and practically shoved into the pod.
Dern accessed a private link. “Alita, as soon as the crew are onboard and secured I need you to get out of here at maximum acceleration.”
“I’ll push this thing as hard as I can,” Alita replied.
The last crew person stepped inside the pod and its hatch hummed shut. A few seconds later, the small craft shot into the air at full power.
Hooper tapped his subdermal. “Open fire, open fire!”
Turrets on half the TVVs redirected on the fleeing evac pod and spat searing bursts of tungsten shells. Flocks of rockets followed, screaming in pursuit of the pod like a horde of rabid insects.
Alita wrenched the control lever, forcing the pod into a tight swerve that it barely possessed the tolerances to withstand. The maneuver enabled her to avoid a cluster of rockets. Fortunately, the rockets were dumb munitions so she didn’t have to worry about shaking target locks. Tungten shells were a different matter, being far more numerous.
The smaller projectiles peppered the pod’s hull, striking seven crew members. Three died instantly as shells turned their bodies to bloody tatters.
A shell swished inches past Alita’s head, exiting through the window just left of her view. Alita tried to gain altitude, but the control lever seized up. Damage alarms clamored and the acrid stench of burnt relays filled the pod. Through a spider webbed view Alita saw a rocky plain below give way to a maze of deep canyons. The pod was going down, and she struggled mightily to control its descent…
