At Empire's Edge (2 page)

That was too much for Cato. For first time since the session had begun, he allowed his eyes to come down and make direct contact with Sivio’s. “Innocent? You must be joking, sir. When the Beta Team arrested Verafti, he was crouched next to his most recent victim, gnawing on the poor bastard’s arm!”

There was a stomach-flipping lurch as the
Umana
exited hyperspace 2,070 miles sunward from Nav Beacon INS4721- 8402, and began to prepare for the next jump. “That makes no difference,” Sivio said pedantically. “As you are well aware! Which is why I’m going to . . .”

But Cato never learned what Sivio intended to do, because that was the moment when the ship lurched violently, and he was thrown into a bulkhead. A host of Klaxons, buzzers, and other alarms went off as the PA system came back on. “The ship is under attack,” the NAVCOMP announced calmly. “All weapons systems are under centralized control, nonessential personnel will report to their emergency duty stations, and Centurion Sivio will report to the bridge.”

“God damn it to hell!” Sivio said vehemently, as he rose from his chair. “Get down to the cellblock and make sure Verafti is secure. What we don’t need is to have that murderous bastard running around loose while we fight the Vords.”

Cato was tempted to remind Sivio that Verafti was innocent until proven guilty, but thought better of it, and said, “Yes, sir,” as he came to attention. He brought his right fist up over his heart, received a similar salute in return, and did a picture-perfect about-face. The meeting was over.

 

 

Most of the light in the
Umana
’s control room originated from the hundreds of multicolored LEDs that surrounded Captain Simy Hong and her bridge crew as they struggled to understand what was taking place and react to it. “It looks like there’s only one of them,” Flight Officer Peter Umbaya said, from his position to Hong’s right.

“Thank God for that,” Hong said evenly. She was thirty-six years old, wore her hair pageboy style, and was pretty in a no-nonsense sort of way. “What kind of ship are we up against?”

Umbaya eyed the data that was scrolling down the screens in front of him. The combined glow lit his dark features from below and gave the officer’s face a spectral appearance. “It looks like a Vord M-Class Destroyer, Captain.”

Like everyone else aboard the
Umana
, Hong knew that the tall, long-faced Vords, and the sluglike parasites they were hosts to, controlled an empire of their own. Some said it was equal in size to the 1,817 worlds that constituted the Uman Empire, but others claimed it was even bigger. Regardless of which group was correct, everyone knew that the aliens were nibbling at the edges of the Uman Empire. There hadn’t been any full-scale battles as yet, but hit-and-run raids on the Imperial rim worlds were becoming increasingly common, as were individual encounters with the M-Class Destroyers, which were widely believed to function as long-distance reconnaissance vessels. Was the ship that had launched a flight of missiles at them on such a mission? Yes, Hong thought it was, because Vord recon vessels had demonstrated a persistent interest in Nav Beacons like the one orbiting the local sun a couple of thousand miles off the port bow. Not that the reason made much difference as three torpedoes struck the
Umana
’s protective screens, blew up, and sent a shudder through the ship.

The
Umana
was a prison ship, and as such she didn’t carry very many offensive weapons, but Hong felt the command chair lurch as the screens went down long enough for a pair of Mark IV missiles to race away, before coming back up again. It was a reasonably potent response to the unprovoked attack, the problem being that the ship carried only six of the ship-to-ship weapons, and would soon be entirely reliant on four batteries of medium-duty energy cannons for its defense. Only two of them could be brought to bear on a single target at any given time.

The most obvious strategy was to make an emergency hyperspace jump because almost anywhere would be a better place to be than their present location. But, since they had exited hyperspace only minutes earlier, it would be a quarter of an hour before the
Umana
’s accumulators could launch the ship into the never-never land of FTL travel once again. And that was an eternity in a space battle, especially when faced with a larger and better-armed foe.

“Captain? You sent for me?” The voice came from Hong’s right, and the naval officer turned to find that Centurion Sivio was standing on the other side of the railing that circled the command tub, holding on to the metal tubing as the ship took another hit.

“Yes,” Hong replied grimly. “A Vord raider has us out-gunned. But, if we can get in close enough, they won’t be able to fire their missile batteries without being caught in the back blast.”

“So?” Sivio wanted to know. “What can I do to help?”

Hong took comfort from Sivio’s calm, unflinching manner. If her extremely unorthodox plan was to succeed, it would depend on Sivio and the men and women under his command. “Once we close with the Vords, the battle will turn into an exchange of broadsides, and given the fact that they mount more guns than we do, the outcome is nearly certain.
Unless
we can come alongside, blow their lock, and board! The only trouble is that we don’t carry any combat troops—and my crew will be
very
busy.”

The
Umana
shook violently, and Sivio was forced to hang on to the railing as something hit the screens, and they flared brightly. “Meaning that you want my team to fight its way onto the Vord ship?”

“That’s right,” Hong confirmed. “Will you do it?”

“We’ll try,” Sivio said grimly. “Assuming you’ve got someone who can blow that lock.”

“I do,” Hong replied. “Get your people into space armor and take them to the main lock. A weapons tech named Raybley will be there to meet you.”

Then, turning to Umbaya, the naval officer gave an order. “Turn the ship
into
the enemy, and accelerate. Even if we die, we’re going to take some of those ugly bastards with us!”

 

 

Having no reason to look like anyone other than himself, Verafti had reverted to what the Sagathi thought of as his
true
form. Like all his kind, the shape shifter had a vaguely triangular skull that narrowed to an abbreviated snout and a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. His green lizardlike body was humanoid, and covered with iridescent scales, which offered good camouflage within the thick foliage of Sagatha’s equatorial jungles, an extremely dangerous environment where his race’s ability to morph from form to form enabled them to survive and eventually rise to sentience.

Now, as Sivio, Cato, and two sections of heavily armed Xeno Corps variants marched past on their way to the main lock, Verafti rattled the bars on his cell in an effort to get their attention. Though he was not privy to Hong’s plan, the fact that his jailers were dressed in space armor told Verafti everything he needed to know. “Take me with you!” Verafti demanded loudly. “You know what I’m capable of. I’ll rip their guts out!” The words had a sibilant sound, reminiscent of the so-called hiss speech that the Sagathies spoke to each other.

Sivio knew that much was true, but he was also aware that once free, the carnivore would kill
everyone
if he could, which was why two of his most reliable officers had been detailed to guard the prisoner.

For his part, Cato was thinking about the job ahead. It was a task that none of them were trained for but which he likened to entering an urban structure occupied by well-armed criminals. They faced a very dangerous room-by-room clearing process in which the defenders would have a distinct advantage. This was an unsettling thought and one he was determined to ignore.

Technician Raybley was waiting for the police detachment when it arrived at the lock. His voice was clearly male, but his face was invisible behind a visor, and, like the rest of the Umans’, his body was sealed in a suit of space armor. The police officers could “sense” his personality, however, and all of them took comfort from Raybley’s calm persona. Cato felt a sudden jolt and struggled to keep his feet as the
Umana
’s NAVCOMP spoke. “Hull-to-hull contact has been made. . . . The boarding party has entered the lock. . . . All crew members will don their helmets and lock them down in case of a partial or full decompression.”

Cato felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of his stomach as he and his companions were sealed into what could turn into a communal coffin, and the air was systematically pumped out of the
Umana
’s lock. Then it was time to question everything that could be questioned, including Cato’s decision to remain in the Xeno Corps despite his so-called disability, his choice of two energy pistols rather than a more powerful rifle, and the time spent preparing his subordinates for battle rather than taking a much-needed pee.

The time for self doubts was over as the outer door cycled open to provide the would-be boarders a clear view of the enemy ship’s gray, nearly black, hull. It was pitted from the wear imposed on it by hundreds of planetary landings and had been scorched by at least one hit from the
Umana
’s energy cannons. The two locks were slightly mismatched, but not by much, which constituted a miracle given the hellish conditions under which the two ships had been brought together. Light flared from both sides as the ships fired into each other at point-blank range. A battle the Vord warship was bound to win unless Sivio and his subordinates could board quickly and seize control of the destroyer.

Raybley knew that too, and was quick to step forward and slap a self-adhesive preshaped charge against the other vessel’s lock, before backing out of the blast zone. The silent explosion came three seconds later, followed by a flash of light, and a miraculous transformation as what had been solid metal morphed into a large man-sized hole. The jagged edges were bent inwards as if pointing which way to go.

A squad of six suit-clad Vords had been waiting inside the lock, but the superhot jet of plasma created by Raybley’s demolitions charge had cut through the aliens like a hot knife through butter and scorched the hatch beyond.

Sivio started to advance, but Raybley motioned for the Centurion to stay back as he stepped over a half-cooked body to place a second charge against the inner hatch. Then, having backed away, the technician triggered another explosion almost identical to the first. That was when Sivio shouted, “Now!” and led his eight-person section into the swirling smoke.

Cato saw one of the dead bodies start to sit up, shot the Vord through his faceplate, and saw the surrounding vacuum pull a column of viscous goo out through the newly created hole. At that point Cato had to step over the bodies as he followed Sivio into the ship’s interior, where they came under fire. Such were the close conditions, however, that only a few of the defenders could fire at any given time. Of course the reverse was true as well, which was why Cato tossed an energy grenade down the corridor to his right, and waited for the telltale flash before advancing farther.

Two dead bodies lay where the grenade had gone off, but a third Vord had survived the explosion. A thin stream of vapor shot away from his left knee as the air inside his suit continued to escape through a pin-sized hole. Because each Vord had a sluglike Ya wrapped around his neck, their space suits incorporated large, collarlike extensions that stuck up behind their helmets, and were intended to protect the parasites. That made the aliens
look
clumsy, but such was not the case, as the defender lurched out of a side passageway and knocked one of Cato’s pistols away. Then, having created an opening, the Vord made a grab for Cato’s space armor.

Cato didn’t recognize the significance of the act at first, and was in the process of bringing the other handgun to bear, when he remembered that the release lever for his suit was located in a recess on the front surface of his armor! The Vord was trying to open his suit!

So Cato made use of his free hand to push the alien away, fired the pistol at point-blank range, and swore as the bright blue beam of energy was momentarily dissipated. Strong though it was, however, the Vord armor couldn’t take the punishment for long, and as the alien fumbled for the double-edged battle-axe slung across his back, the space suit gave way, allowing an energy bolt to punch its way through his heart. The Vord’s Ya was still alive, of course, but the parasite couldn’t exert enough control to keep its host upright, so both of them went down. The whole experience scared the hell out of Cato, so he shot the Vord
again
, just to make sure.

Then it was time to rally his section and lead them deeper into the belly of the alien ship. A quick glance at the data projected on the inside surface of Cato’s visor showed that while Ritori was down, Honis, Batia, Tonver, Moshath, and Kelkaw were still on their feet and immediately behind him. Sivio’s section was headed toward the ship’s bow. “All right,” Cato said into his lip mike, “let’s keep moving. Remember, stay close to your partner, and eyeball
everything
. These assholes play for keeps.”

There was a series of double
click
s as the rest of the section acknowledged his instructions. Then it was time to split up into pairs, put their backs to both sides of the corridor, and edge along. There was no resistance at first, which caused Cato to wonder if the aliens had given up, but any hopes of a relatively easy victory were shattered when the passageway opened into an area dedicated to the ship’s life-support systems. From his position at the entry hatch Cato could see the tanks that were required to recycle water, the big rack-shaped air scrubbers, and a sealed climate-controlled hydroponics section in which fresh vegetables were grown. It all made for a maze of machinery and pipes.

Cato was forced to retreat into the corridor as four or five Vords opened fire and ruby red energy beams sleeted his way. Cato removed a “roller” from a pouch at his waist, pinched the device “on,” and tossed the little camera into the area beyond. Video appeared in front of him, turned topsy-turvy, and finally came to a rest. The panoramic shot was somewhat distorted, but crystal clear, and therefore useful, especially when the defenders were stupid enough to fire at the roller, thereby signaling their various positions.