Overdrive (34 page)

Logan wondered how
the Shepherds got hold of the ship in the first place, let alone getting it past
Gitanian security and down onto the planet’s service. He was pretty sure the
Gitanian authorities would take a pretty dim view towards any other group who
possessed such a ship but then again, Ram Terry did say he had some contacts on
the planet.

He took a moment
to look behind him. Through the open pressure door of the cockpit, Ram Terry,
Felix and Crystal had settled themselves into the spacious lounge.

The area had been
designed to comfortably seat 20 with deep leather upholstered couches as well
as individual seats. Five seats at the rear of the lounge were taken up by grim
and slightly disheveled Shepherds, the only loyalist survivors following
Tardieu’s attempted coup. Below the deck was a storage hold as well as a small
but well equipped armory.

Before settling on
the bridge, Logan had given the armory a quick inspection, discovering a
variety of hand held plasma weapons and well as some standard sets of assault
armor. Horatio had made sure the ship was prepared for any eventuality and had
certainly not skimped when it came to kitting it out. Logan gave a silent
prayer of thanks to the recently departed flock master for his foresight. He
chose to ignore the irony of an atheist praying to a nondescript deity in the
presence of Ram Terry.

“Everyone alright
back there?," he asked. Crystal gave him a slight grin, still looking
beautiful in spite of her recent physical exertions. Felix gave him the thumbs
up. Ram Terry was curled up on a couch and didn’t bother to look up.

The ship continued
its slow assent and had now risen 100 meters above the spaceport. His AI gave
him a clear picture of the area having formed a link with the sensors on the
outer hull. The thick brown mist had all but dissipated as the systems sun rose
above the planet’s terminator.

Logan turned back
to the bridge’s flight panel just as his AI informed him of a priority message
from the spaceport control. A mans face appeared on the forward screen. He was
middle aged with thinning dark hair and a thick mustache.

“
Puritan
,
this is Gauches spaceport control. Why haven’t you filed for departure?”

Logan knew he’d
forgotten something. He grinned in what he hoped was a winning fashion.

“Sorry about that.
We had a few problems with our crew that had to be sorted out.”

The minor official
seemed unmoved. His facial expression remained stony.

“Yes. That’s great
Puritan,” his AI program interpreted the French into English, even managing to
include the sarcasm, “but we do have rules and regulations that must be
observed. Land immediately and then file for departure through the proper
channels. We’ll send over a security detail to check you over first.”

That was the last
thing Logan wanted. He was surprised that the disturbance outside the ship
hadn’t already been reported. If he landed now and the security detail saw all
the dead bodies around the docking cradle then he was pretty sure the only
place he’d be going was a maximum security cell.

“Sorry Gauches,"
he said, trying to sound sincere. “We’re in a bit of a rush here. Maybe it’ll
be easier to grant us clearance considering that this is an official church
ship. I’m not meant to tell you this but we’re actually carrying the Holy Ram.”

The last sentence
was delivered with a conspiratorial wink hoping he could win the man over by
making him privy to some important information. Logan was disappointed. The man
didn’t even blink.

“Hold your
position please Puritan."

The screen went
into a holding pattern showing the holograph logo of Gauches spaceport. Good,
thought Logan. He’s obviously checking with his superiors. With Ram Terry’s
connections we’ll sure to be granted departure. Hope they give the contemptible
little bastard a slap on the wrist.

Logan sat back in
his command chair with a satisfied expression on his face. Two seconds later,
the official’s face appeared. He was looking pretty pleased with himself. Logan
sat forward and assumed a more serious face.

“Puritan. Be
advised. You are to land immediately. Failure to comply will result in your
ship being targeted by a PDS…”

Logan didn’t
listen to the rest. He engaged the infiltrator mode and instructed the AI to
take evasive action. Bracing himself in case the AG compensators couldn’t
handle the increased G force, he idly wondered if there was anyone in the
galaxy that wasn’t trying to kill them.

◊

Captain Richard
Tate was only slightly drunk. That would be rectified shortly thanks to the 5
shots of cheap local whiskey now lined up on the bar before him. God knew there
was nothing else to do with the time.

He picked up the
first shot and drained it with a quick flick of his wrist, slamming the glass
back down onto the counter. Two of his crew were sitting at the bar with him,
the rest having left earlier seeking a more salubrious establishment.

With more girls
, he thought sourly. Despite extensive
cosmetic alterations, Richard Tate was still a very ugly man. It was more than
skin deep as the many girls he’d try to bed had quickly found out. He’d given
up trying it on with any of the station girls as word had quickly spread.

That’s why he came
here. The Escargo bar was situated on one of the lowest levels of the huge PDS
station, conveniently located near the docking bays and as such, popular with
many of the ships crews killing time while waiting for their ship to be granted
clearance down to the planet’s surface. It was also markedly seedy; its once
fashionable décor now a couple of decades out of date and in serious need of a
makeover. Given the nature of the bar, there weren’t many available women, not
that any of them would have looked at him in any case.

He put women from
his mind and concentrated on more important issues. Like drinking, getting
drunk and getting off this shitarse station. The first two shouldn’t be a
problem, it was the third that was proving troublesome. All 12 of Gitane’s PDS stations
had declared a combat alert thus making it impossible for all currently docked
ship’s to leave. An old contact at the station couldn’t tell him what was going
on or how long it was going to last for.

He’d been coming
to this station for 26 years, making the 86 light year round trip from the
Rosart system every two months or so with his cargo load of cheeses. His ship,
The
Star Tripper
, was a 500 meter interstellar cargo freighter capable
of carrying in excess of 20,000 tonnes. Gitane, with its population of 2.3
billion disposed of 20,000 tonnes of exotic Rosart cheese ludicrously easily.
In fact, he was thinking of buying a bigger ship just to keep up with demand.
Well he was until today.

If he didn’t get
his cargo down to the planet’s surface within the next few hours, the importing
company were threatening to use a different carrier for the next Rosart run.
One with an Angel on board. He grabbed another whiskey and swallowed it in one
gulp. If only they’d lift the alert.

He glanced
despondently around just as three figures scurried in. One was very tall with
an ebony muscular build and rugged good looks. Just the sort that wouldn’t have
any trouble picking up women he thought bitterly. His companions were a
shorter, chubby, red faced man and a gorilla carrying a long cylindrical
package under his arm. Both men were dressed in plain coveralls. The gorilla
had no clothes to speak of, just a utility belt around his waist containing a
number of bulky items.

The trio hurried
in and sat in a dark, unobtrusive booth in the far corner of the bar. He gave
them no further thought and turned back to his whiskey. Even a transplanter
raised little interest as the type were fairly common on his home planet.

He was about to
have another drink when the holoscreen behind the bar emitted a priority
warning signal. The volume of the screen immediately increased. Those engaged
in private conversations found that the noise from the holoscreen was drowning
them out. Only two people didn’t look up, having overdosed on whatever
substance they were in to and as such, incapable of such action. The rest of
the bar patrons turned towards the holoscreen with various degrees of interest
and annoyance.

A suave looking
Gitanian Captain appeared on the screen.

“Attention. All
staff and residents to be on the look out for three men wanted by the
authorities." A visual came on line displaying holoimages of the three
men. One was a transplanter. A gorilla no less.

“If you come in
contact with these individuals, then contact security immediately. Thank you.”
The signal finished to be replaced by a Snareball game. Most of the crowd lost
interest and returned to nursing their drinks.

Tate cast a
surreptitious glance towards the corner booth. The gorilla had disappeared. The
two men were talking to each other with quiet urgency. No one else in the bar
was paying them the slightest bit of interest. Not surprising really
considering the nature of most of these punters. Many would not relish an
encounter with the PDS security crew given their less than wholesome
backgrounds.

Normally Tate
wouldn’t have bothered either but he had a nagging suspicion that these three
were the cause of the current state of emergency aboard the PDS. If the alert
was lifted, he could leave and with him his precious cargo and carrier fee. He
ordered his AI to open a priority link with the PDS command.

◊

Walter was a bit
concerned. As the
Dirty Little Minx’s
activity coordinator, his duties
involved keeping every paying guest happy within the boundaries of Hedonistic
and interstellar law. Lately he’d been finding himself on the other side of the
law.

It wasn’t a state
of affairs that he was too happy about either. Not that he could do much about
it. Every time he thought that they were finally in the clear, someone else
would find out about the Overdrive and all hell would break loose.

When he got to the
PDS, he thought that things were finally starting to come right. Of course he
was wrong and now they were on the run again. This time from planetary
officials.

After fleeing the
crew lounge and almost loosing a few appendages to stray bolts of plasma fire
in the process, Tarquin had suggested they find a quiet corner to hide in until
they could rendezvous with the others. He’d led them to a seedy bar at the very
bottom of the massive PDS station, his logic being that the equally seedy
residents were highly unlikely to hand them in. Once ensconced in a corner
booth, he’d told Bruce to take the Overdrive and make himself scarce until they
called for him.

PDS security would
probably be staking out the docking platforms and a station wide search would
take some time to co-ordinate. With any luck they would remain at large until
Logan came and picked them up.

Walter had started
to relax and almost thought about ordering himself a drink when the priority
signal from the authorities had come through on the holoscreen. Walter was all
for running for it but Tarquin quietly grabbed his arm and told him to stay
where he was.

“Why?,"
protested Walter. “We must leave at once."

Tarquin shook his
head. “If we run now we’ll just draw attention to ourselves. I’ve sent a
message down to Logan. They’re on their way. They’ll be docking with the
station in about 15 minutes. All we have to do is keep our heads down until
then and slip out to meet them on the docking platform."

Walter glanced
around nervously. “I still don’t like it. What if someone reports us?”

Tarquin shrugged,
unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. Walter envied the other man’s calm. How could
anyone be that relaxed in this sort of situation?

“If they do, they
do. I’ll think of something.”

Walter caught the
eye of an exceedingly ugly man at the bar who was looking at them with some
interest. The man quickly looked away. Walter was about to say something when
an officer, followed by a squad of heavily armed Gitanian security marched into
the bar. Most of the bars patrons suddenly became very interested in the
contents of their vessels. All except the ugly man at the bar. He glanced at
the officer and pointed directly at Walter and Tarquin.

The officer nodded
and he and his men moved over to the booth.

“You three will
come with us," he demanded imperiously.

“There’s only two
of us," said Tarquin.

“Where is your
companion?”

“He left”

The officer
motioned with his head and two of the squad moved towards the toilets.

“Very well, you
two will come with us."

“Why?” asked
Tarquin innocently.

“My superiors wish
to talk to you.”

“What happens if I
don’t want to talk with them?”

The officer was
beginning to get annoyed. He pulled out a plasma pistol and pointed it at
Tarquin’s head. “Perhaps this will convince you."

Tarquin nodded.
“Yep, that’ll do it."

The officer
motioned for the two men to rise. Tarquin was just getting to his feet when he
heard a commotion coming from the men’s toilets. There were shouts of surprise,
followed by the unmistakable sound of a plasma weapon being fired and then two
loud thuds. The officer looked around.

Tarquin saw his
chance. With a practiced flick, he knocked the officer’s weapon out of his
hand, years of Snareball giving him hand eye skills that even hardened military
types couldn’t match. Catching it he used the pistol’s butt to hammer against
the officer's temple. The man instantly collapsed onto one of his squad
standing behind him.

The rest of the
squad were aiming their weapons at Tarquin when the toilet door burst open.

A large furry grey
shape flew out and crashed into the rest of the squad. One tried to rise but
was immediately swatted by an enraged gorilla wielding the Overdrive two
handed. The soldier flew against the bar wall, unconscious before he made
contact with the flat surface.

Bruce turned his
attention on the rest of the squad, enthusiastically using the Overdrive as a
mallet. One of the squad members managed to get a shot off, hitting the gorilla
on his right arm. The hair and skin of Bruce’s arm immediately charred, the
plasma eating into the heavy muscle layers beneath. The gorilla screamed but
was not appreciably slowed as he pulped the soldier with his next blow.

Tarquin grabbed
Walter and pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s go,"
he said dragging the portly man towards the exit.

“You alright?” he
said to Bruce. The gorilla nodded and looked hungrily around for someone else
to attack. The entire squad was now fully incapacitated, the majority lying in
contorted postures scattered about the bar. With a satisfied nod, Bruce tucked
the slightly misshapen Overdrive under one arm, grinned at some of the stunned
bar patrons and followed the other two out.

◊

The small starship
accelerated to Mach 5 in slightly less than 6 seconds, changing course
erratically in its desperate attempt to evade the PDS’s weapon lock. Crystal’s
field enclosed her immediately, more as an instinctive reaction rather than any
conscious decision to negate the effects of the suddenly increased G force
within the ship’s lounge. Logan had given them no warning of the sudden
acceleration, hoping that the AG compensators would be able to cope.

Felix was pressed
into the deep folds of the couch, looking like some titan had just stood on
him. Crystal enlarged her field slightly to encompass him, watching relief wash
over his face as the G force immediately dissipated. Ram Terry had also
activated his field and was looking around worriedly. The five Shepherds at the
back of the lounge weren’t faring quite so well. All five had been squashed
back into their seats, stricken features distorted by the immense and sudden
pressure.

The AG
compensators finally came on line and the gravity within the ship returned to
normal. Crystal and Ram Terry shut off their personal fields.

“What happened?’,
shouted Crystal. Logan was too preoccupied to turn around.

“Had to evade a
target lock by the PDS in orbit. Looks like we’re clear. The infiltrator mode
should stop them picking us up again.”

“What’s the
situation up in orbit?," asked Felix.

“The authorities
have rumbled the lads. They’re hiding out in some bar near the docking
platform. I told them to wait for us and then make a run for it when we dock.”

The ship shook as
if hit by a giant invisible hand. Felix was glad he was still in his couch.
“What was that?”

“Plasma cannon
from the PDS. Just clipped us though. We’re OK,” said Logan, interrogating his
AI.

“I thought you
said they wouldn’t be able to see us," complained Crystal.

“I said they
shouldn’t be able to see us," responded Logan, a note of defensiveness
creeping into his voice. “The Ion drive isn’t really meant to be used in
atmosphere. We’re probably leaking ion particles which the PDS can track. I’ll
activate the AG."

His AI reported a
message coming in from Tarquin.

“We need you here
five minutes ago." Even Tarquin’s AI generated image of himself looked
flustered.

“I’m doing the
best I can. Where are you?”

“Storage locker
near the docking platforms. It won’t be long until they track us down."

Logan sent him
co-ordinates. “Meet us here."

“When?”

“Now."
Logan’s interface with the ship’s AI told him they’d just reached the 300
kilometer minimum safe distance from the planet. He engaged the Slipdrive.

◊

Two 20 meter long
disrupter cannons slid out of their hidden sheaths and targeted the PDS station
3,000 kilometers below the huge Valkyrie. Unknown to the galaxy at large and in
fact, even to other Areopagite factions, the cannons were capable of disrupting
even the most powerful field, having been developed in secret by teams of
scientists on Princess Gabriella’s home planet, Makon. Other panels on either
side of the huge cannons slid aside revealing numerous slipmissile batteries.

The disrupter
cannons fired first, disabling the powerful field surrounding the PDS. 120
slipmissiles leapt from their cradles, hurtling towards the station before
disappearing into nospace. They re-emerged 20 kilometers from the now field
less station, their tiny artificial brains filled with instructions to
incapacitate all weapons, field generative installations, communication arrays,
and attendant military ships.

Traveling at 100
kilometers per second, they took barely a fifth of a second to reach their
target. The beleaguered AI of the Planetary Defense Station had only just
enough time to target some of the slipmissiles and launch countermeasures
before the first of the missiles struck. The huge station rocked as it was
slammed by multiple impacts. Weapon batteries disappeared in exploding clouds
of debris. Emergency decompression doors slammed shut as the AI reported
massive field failure. Some unlucky personnel were sucked out before the
emergency doors could close, dragged out of the gaping holes in the PDS’s hull.
Three frigates, two making their way into higher orbits and one still docked
with the station, were also struck, detonating with an impressive pyrotechnic
display.

The AI took a
picosecond to review its options. They were depressingly few. It ignited its
maneuvering thrusters, making for the next closest PDS in geosynchronous orbit.
Its communications were out but it would only be a matter of time before the
other stations responded. At its current velocity, it would be in range of the
closest station in 20 minutes. Not long at all, it thought optimistically.

What remaining
sensors it still possessed reported another launch of slipmissiles from the
hostile craft. It watched dismayed and impotent as the missiles systematically
destroyed all thruster nozzles dotted around the station, taking out engine
generators for good measure.

The station
continued to coast along regardless, now totally unable to control its vector.
The AI reconsidered its options, not that it had any, and ran predictions on
what the aggressors were likely to do now. They were obviously softening the
station up. If they had wanted to destroy it, they could have by now. It
briefed its commanders and readied its defenses for internal assault.

◊

Knights Captain
Tynan jerked to his feet when the first explosions shook the station. The
lights dimmed, went out and then dimmed again as the backup power supply came
on line. A shrill alarm started and he could hear feet pounding outside his
tiny cell as the crew made for their emergency stations.

He’d been in the
cell for another couple of hours since his interrogation by various members of
Gitane’s upper echelon security.  He’d told them everything he knew about the
Overdrive, holding nothing back. Personal well being was Tynan’s chief
motivation. His own and no-one else’s. He just prayed that Gabriella wouldn’t
find out. He’d been in the process of brokering a deal to ensure just that when
the security team had left. They’d given him no explanations, just walked out,
sealing the door behind them. That was five minutes ago.

The station had
stopped reverberating. It seemed the attack, or whatever it was, was over.
Tynan cautiously approached the door and ordered his AI to activate a Burglar
program. The cell door immediately slid open.

That was easy
, he thought. He cautiously poked his head
out into the corridor. No guards either. Very strange. He slid out of the cell
and slowly made his way down the corridor. His AI requested a layout of the
level he was on. Glowing red dots overlaid the diagram, indicating lift access.

The alarm was
still blaring out in a high pitched wail as he made his way down the corridor
in the direction shown by his AI. Scurrying figures could be seen down at one
end of the corridor. He went back the other way, hoping to avoid anymore
contact with Gitanian security. By the looks of things, they had more serious
matters on their minds.

At the end of the
corridor, he found an AG lift. His AI reported that it could take him down to the
lowest level where the docking bays were. Once there, all he had to do was find
a ship to get him off and take him to the nearest Areopagite controlled planet.
He’d think of what he’d say to Gabriella by way of explanation later. Much
later. It was far too scary a thought to contemplate just now.