[05] Elite: Reclamation (12 page)

Gerrun bowed again, gesturing wide with his arms. ‘The Empire is a mighty force, Master of Chione. The Loren’s may have overstepped the boundaries of decent conduct, but the reasons for their interest remain as cogent as before.’

‘What is it you ask for?’

‘Merely a reliable and regular shipment of Tantalum.’

‘At what price?’

‘We are prepared to pay the market rate plus a consideration for your favour.’

Vargo straightened.

‘A consideration?’ he said, slowly. ‘I’ll give you something to consider, lackeys. We are backed by the Federation. A task force is already assembling. The Imperial vessels in this system will leave within a single week or they will be destroyed. Your illegal occupation of this world is at an end. If you wish to be considered for a trade franchise in the future I suggest you come up with a more compelling offer.’

‘You’d defy the Empire?’ Zyair said, a twitch in his cheek.

Vargo laughed and gestured to the bodies of the Loren’s behind him.

‘You know, I do believe I would.’ His short laugh fell into an aggressive sneer. ‘Now get out of my sight and take your trash with you when you leave. Dalk see to it that these cronies are encouraged to depart.’

Vargo turned and strode away, leaving Zyair and Gerrun with Dalk.

Dalk waited until the doors to the hall had closed behind him.

‘Admirable restraint, my friends,’ Dalk said. ‘I congratulate you.’

‘I’ll be sure to attend his execution. To treat representatives of the Empire with such disregard …’

‘I thought you made a magnificent toad, Zyair,’ Gerrun said, ‘You seem to have a natural talent for grovelling.’

Dalk laughed. Zyair shot him an unfriendly glance.

‘And you’re prepared to work with him, Dalk? I grow less convinced of your loyalties, daily.’

‘I do not expect to have the pleasure of his acquaintance for an extended period,’ Dalk replied. ‘The Empire will not have long to wait.’

‘We will take our leave,’ Zyair said. ‘We will arrange for the bodies to be given appropriate Imperial honours.’

‘I shall ensure that appropriate respect is given,’ Dalk replied.

‘Respect,’ Zyair almost spat. ‘These Reclamists don’t know the meaning of the word.’

Chapter Four

Starlight glimmered faintly from darkened hulls as the phalanx of pirate vessels, accompanied by the shattered bulk of another ship, slowed their approach. Thrusters fired in a co-ordinated sequence, the vessels velocity reduced to a mere drift. Ahead, a minimum of navigation lights could be seen shining out from a huge, slowly rotating silhouette hanging against the starry backdrop. Gantries and docking ports jutted out into space, as if to snare unwary vessels. Behind it, a rocky dwarf planet split the ghostly light of the Milky Way in two, slowly turning on its own cratered axis.

A searchlight blazed out from the sombre black shadow, brightly illuminating the lead Asp. Unseen to the approaching ships a dozen heavy ballistic turrets swung around, their computers calculating targets, vectors and trajectories for the entire group of vessels. Assured destruction was awaited at the whim of the operators within.

The narrowband comms crackled and a rough, deep voice spoke.

‘Identify.’

‘Commander of the
Malcontent
,’ the lead pirate answered. ‘With clan
Tiber
, here with salvage. Open the gates,
Basilica
.’

The search light flickered rapidly between the five vessels, with the battered
Caduceus
held immobile in their midst.

The convoy of vessels briefly fired retro-thrusters, now coming to a complete halt relative to the enormous facility before them. For a long moment there was no response.

Light cracked out from an opening, bathing the convoy in radiance. The pilots squinted into it, trying to make out the various docking bays they knew were housed within. As their eyes adjusted they could make out the immense locking mechanism that protected the
Basilica
; a series of interlocking panels that dwarfed the vessels waiting outside; huge constructs of metal a hundred metres thick. Inside, a cylindrical void was revealed, lit by a fierce electric-blue glare. Picked out at intervals across its surface were the gaping dark mouths of docking ports, each one numbered, looking small and insignificant at this distance despite easily being able to accommodate a vessel apiece.

‘
Basilica
to
Malcontent
and convoy. Proceed. Docking in berths eighteen to thirty.’

The convoy proceeded inwards. The escorting ships peeled off to the respective docking bays, airtight doors closing in sequence as they entered. Those ships still towing the silent bulk of the
Caduceus
carefully arranged themselves in order to allow the damaged vessel to coast into another bay, releasing their grappling hooks in a practiced efficient sequence, easing it into the bay. It was a tricky manoeuvre. From the centre of the cylindrical void, every direction was down. The ships grappled with the increasing coriolis force as they lowered themselves and their prey into the bay, compensating by matching the rotation as they descended.

Hassan watched the operation silently, impressed despite himself. The procedure was accomplished without fuss or error. To their rear, the heavy gates slowly wound themselves back in, stars eclipsed from view as they cycled closed. Hassan braced himself for a heavy thump as the massive parts interlocked, but there was nothing to be heard in the vacuum.

He followed the towing ships, gently thrusting his small vessel neatly in behind as they came to rest on the floor of the bay. From his perspective the floor was a ‘wall’, with the
Caduceus
and its captors perched precariously against it as if they were mounted trophies. Choosing your frame of reference was better done before starting a manoeuvre, not during one. Space sickness could be very unpleasant. Hassan made a quick mental adjustment and the ‘wall’ became the floor.

That was all very well, but now his vessel was pointing directly downwards and hanging above the ground. Quickly he adjusted his ship’s attitude by ninety degrees, triggered the undercarriage and allowed his vessel to descend. The docking bay closed above him, now serving as the ‘roof’. A gentle nudge indicated his vessel had come to rest. Magnetic clamps secured the ship in the bay. He felt the gentle tug of artificial gravity and a slight sensation of nausea before he acclimatised. He powered down the drives, power plants and avionics, looking out of the forward view to where the
Caduceus
lay, canted slightly to the right on its damaged nacelle, directly ahead of him. He could already see the pirate leader standing defensively beyond the ship, arranging for the docking bay to be opened.

Now comes the hard part.

The internal doors from the bay into the interior of the
Basilica
remained closed. The pirate leader and his two most trusted accomplices gathered at the bow of the
Caduceus
, weapons drawn. Each acknowledged the other’s arrival with a brief nod, but nothing more. The remaining pirates, Hassan amongst them, had been instructed to remain aboard their ships for the time being. The finer points of negotiating the illegal tended to go more smoothly if fewer guns were present.

‘Good luck with the “Vice”, boss,’ one accomplice said.

The pirate leader nodded grimly. This was an unusual mission for a customer with a fearsome reputation. He wasn’t aware of how she’d come by her nickname, maybe it was for the stranglehold she had on the trading in this group of systems. Nothing went through this region of space without her taking an interest and, more often than not, a cut.

The internal doors clunked, hissed and then snapped back into the adjacent bulkheads. Three people walked into the dimly lit bay. The pirate leader quickly sized up the two flanking men. They were tough no nonsense bodyguards, armed with semi-automatic pressurised rifles; guns that worked in a vacuum. They were dressed in dark grey fibre-reinforced fatigues; material that was pretty much impermeable. Theirs looked smart and new, suggesting a well-heeled operation.

But it was the woman standing at the centre that commanded everyone’s attention. The pirate leader swallowed before stepping forward, raising his hand in acknowledgement. The woman was tall, as tall as her guards, with an athletic build framed by a smartly tailored maroon gown embroidered with gold embossing that fell elegantly from her shoulders. Blonde hair streamed backwards from a face that would have been beautiful but for the penetrating stare and harsh set of the firm mouth. Her chin was ever so slightly raised, giving her an authoritative stance, which was further enhanced by a fashionably chrome-plated and heeled set of magnetic boots which glittered and clicked noisily as she strode forward into the bay.

She stretched out her arms slightly, pointing a finger of both hands outwards with a subtle sideways twist of her head. The gown parted, revealing a trim but voluptuous figure. A sidearm was secured at her left side. The pirate leader recognised it as a Lance and Ferman Widowmaker. An old-fashioned weapon, inaccurate at range; lethal, messy and brutal close up.

Her guards snapped to attention and stood stock still.

Octavia Quinton.

Owner and boss of
Basilica
, a decommissioned military installation, now appropriated for more clandestine, but no less violent, operations. Her minions called her ‘Domina’, a word of honour from some ancient language. Only up close could signs of her age be seen; skin that was no longer firm and wrinkles across her face. She glanced around at the motley collection of pirate vessels, her eyes then sweeping across the forlorn Imperial Cutter and then finally to the pirate leader.

Her pace didn’t slacken. She walked straight past him and on under the battle scared lower hull of the
Caduceus
. After a moment, he turned to follow her, hurrying to keep up.

‘You weren’t followed?’ She wasted no time in getting down to business. Her accent was curious, a mix of exotic Alliance tones with a slight Federation cadence.

‘All the escorts were destroyed, no escape pods were released.’ The pirate leader didn’t use her assumed title.

‘You know I’ll be reviewing the flight footage to check,’ she said.

The pirate leader smiled by return. ‘I thought you might. I’ll have it prepped.’

‘Any survivors?’

‘Hull’s blown. We spotted a couple of Imperial goons getting spaced. We’ve not been aboard to look.’

The line of her mouth hardened. ‘Then I suggest you check.’

They’d reached the rear of the
Caduceus
. The docking bay ramp, though slightly buckled from the fight, had lowered into place.

‘Ladies first?’ The pirate leader asked.

‘Men just before,’ Octavia replied.

He stepped up onto the ramp, pulling out his own sidearm and ventured inside. After a moment, Octavia followed.

The inside of the bay remained more or less intact. A couple of the cargo canisters had dislodged slightly; the starboard side of the ship had taken the most damage and one of the internal structural bulkheads had been breached. Cracks in the overhead conduits signalled a major repair job would be required before the ship might be flight worthy again. Crushed against the bulkhead near the breach was a body. The pirate leader holstered his sidearm and turned the body over with his foot. It was an older man, with a heavy grey beard. His face was pale, his lips blue and his eyes bloodshot. His hands were locked at his throat, his tongue protruding.

‘Must have been in the bay when it blew,’ he said.

Octavia gestured for him to step back. Quickly she searched the man’s uniform, pulling out an identity tag. She queried it.

‘Doctor Rafe Reinhardt,’ she said. ‘Looks like you got the right ship. Congratulations. Find the pod.’

It didn’t take them long. A horizontally stored canister in the centre of the bay had the correct ID code. It had been carefully stored, giving it maximum protection.

‘This is what you wanted?’ He looked at the pod, baffled as to what it might be. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Just a little piece of Imperial decor to adorn my chambers,’ Octavia said, with a faint grin. ‘Rather exceptional and difficult to come by.’ She looked up. ‘You’ll want paying, I suppose? What did we arrange?’

‘Two hundred thousand credits,’ he responded immediately.

‘One hundred and fifty is what we agreed. Even that sounds exceedingly generous for a tatty old wreck such as this.’

‘The ship was heavily defended,’ the pirate leader responded. ‘I lost a ship.’

‘The battle is not my concern; you should have paid for better pilots. I agreed to a salvageable vessel and its cargo,’ Octavia replied easily. ‘Does this look salvageable to you? The hull’s blown, the cargo bay is compromised and I’d take a guess that you’ve written off that starboard drive given it’s hanging by only a couple of conduits. It will cost me a fortune to make this serviceable again.’

She gestured to the shattered bulkhead where the Doctor’s corpse lay. The structure had partially collapsed under its own weight.

The pirate didn’t answer he just went for his gun. He pulled it in a smooth and practiced motion.

‘Two hundred thousand,’ he repeated. ‘The cargo’s what you were after. I know that much.’

To his surprise Octavia didn’t respond in kind or even flinch backwards.

‘You’re going to kill me? Do you really think that’s wise? Here in the midst of my stronghold? Do you think you’d get out alive?’

‘I’m guessing you want to live just as much as I do. I just want my price. No one needs to end up shot.’ The pirate tightened his grip a little. ‘My price, lady.’

Octavia looked him up and down briefly and then raised her hands slowly in submission.

‘You’re right about the cargo.’ She shrugged. ‘Shall we shake on it?’ She lowered her hands and held her right one out towards him. It was empty.

The pirate leader hesitated. Too easy. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Nothing seemed amiss. Maybe she wasn’t as fearsome as he’d been led to believe, just a carefully crafted reputation. She was unarmed, he had the upper hand. Satisfied, he holstered his weapon.