Shades of Gray (23 page)

“Don’t know that I can power down until we’ve fixed the fault in engineering,” said Mrowan. “A meteor hit us, holed our hull ...”

“I know,” the official interrupted. “You’ll have to take your chances with the Commander of the
Kz’adul,
then. I’ll pass your message over to him.”

“Take my chances?”

“
Kz’adul’s
there to ensure no ships behave in a way that could be construed as a threat to the Orbital. You act in a suspicious manner, break any of the new regs, and he’ll torch the
Profit’s
ass, blow you right out of the sky. Between you and me, you sneeze around here and it’s taken as a plot against our new Emperor,” said the official, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level.

“Like I believe that,” retorted Mrowan. “He’d put a hole in the Orbital if he did that! I thought you guys were pacifists.”

“Won’t harm the Orbital unless you’re hooked up to our umbilicals, and you can’t do that with your engines running,” he pointed out. “Least that’s what the new Security Chief on
Kz’adul
says.”

“So who ...”

“Copy that,
Profit
,” he was interrupted loudly. “I’ll pass the information concerning your engine problems to our Security Chief. We’ll withhold the umbilicals until such time as you have fixed the problem and can power down. Be advised we have reports of a meteor storm heading this way. Be alert for possible hull breaches until we activate the force fields.”

“Someone must have come in,” murmured Tirak. “Probably one of those enhanced people J’korrash told us about.”

“Thank you, Orbital. Making our approach now,” said Mrowan.

“In one way, I’d hoped not to be right beside the
Kz’adul
,” said Kusac. “Solves one problem but creates others for us. Good to know Kezule’s meteors are arriving on schedule. We better join the others in the cargo area.”

Tirak nodded, and as one, they turned to leave.

 

Of the Cabbarans, only Annuur and Naacha were unarmored.

“Some skills of our own we will use. Put them at their ease at first,” said Annuur.

“Surely you’re very vulnerable without armor,” said Kusac, accepting his assault rifle from Banner. He’d already stowed his handgun in its recessed holster on the outside of his thigh and made sure his vibro sword was firmly attached to his belt.

“They will keep to the rear as soon as any fighting starts, don’t worry,” said Tirak. “They’re used to combat situations. I told you that the Orbital has never seen any Cabbarans before and that Annuur and Naacha would go out first to lead attention away from us.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Kusac said, lifting his helmet and putting it on. As it met the locking ring, he gave it a slight turn, then, as it sealed, he heard the suit’s air supply start up.

This helmet, unlike the Sholan ones, was larger, giving him more room inside for the necessary TAC and status displays. Immediately, the HUD lit up, showing him the positions of all his armored team on the right, and on the left, a scrolling status display of his suit. Keeping an eye on it, he turned on the comm system.

“You on-line, yet, Red One?” Banner was asking.

“On-line now, Red Two,” he confirmed. “Red Team, check in now.”

He waited while they all acknowledged their presence on the comm net.

“Accessing layout on HUD now,” he said. “Red Two, Blue One, pull up yours.” Having the Orbital’s layout at hand throughout the mission would be of immense tactical advantage to him, Banner, and Tirak. They’d split their forces into two teams, each of them leading their own people.

On his HUD, the ghostly green outline of the loading bay and the concourse beyond it appeared. He scrolled through it, accessing the other levels with a punch of his chin on the controls inside the helmet. This had all been checked and rechecked during their flight here, but it never hurt to put it through its paces one more time. In his opinion, technology was wonderful—when it performed as expected.

“Take up positions behind the cargo,” he said, satisfied, as the hollow thumps and bangs of the docking umbilical corridor being extended and locking onto the Orbital reverberated through the cargo chamber.

 

The elevator descended with Mrowan and his crewmate Rroshan. External pickups heard every sound, amplified to the level each individual preferred, so Kusac had no problem hearing Mrowan telling them all had been settled, and though the
Kz’adul
was monitoring them carefully, his crew was clear to start unloading the cargo not already on their own shuttle while he worked on the engine problem.

Though unarmored, the two Cabbarans were wearing comm sets, hooking them into the battle channels on the suits.

“Move out when ready, Annuur,” Tirak ordered.

“Affirmative, Captain,” murmured the small alien as he and Naacha trotted over to Rroshan at the docking lock.

Now they had to wait until Annuur and Naacha planted the small devices that, when activated, would black out the Orbital’s internal comm system for a precious ten minutes, while leaving their own protected one as well as the
Profit
intact. In pouches on their leather harnesses, the two also carried the gas masks they’d need when he and his teams began releasing the sleep-gas canisters.

Mentally, he followed them, watching as if from a distance, the surprise of the few station crew they came across as they made their way through the curved concourse to the port office on the other side. There, the three of them engaged the official they’d spoken to when they docked in conversation regarding the purchase of spares for the
Profit
.

Finally, Annuur’s voice broke into his concentration. “Devices planted and activated successfully, Red One. Rroshan released sleep gas in office. Naacha does same in mess. Security cameras on five-minute delay to avoid suspicion. I go now to bar area.”

“Acknowledged. Good work,” he said. “Stay outside the Port Office when finished. Have you an estimate of personnel numbers currently on the Orbital?”

“Few. Forty crew, no other ships.
Kz’adul
crew not allowed on Orbital as our scans showed. Three guards, no more. Outside elevators leading up to weather platform. Are implants, members of old Imperial guard, officer said.”

“Wait for us by ship supplies,” ordered Kusac, moving out from behind the cargo crates. “Use stun settings if you can. We want to keep casualties among the ordinary Primes to a minimum. Exiting now, Annuur.”

 

Immediately outside was the Orbital’s air lock, a small chamber about ten feet wide and as long as their half of the docking bay. When they’d cycled through that, they stepped out into the spacious loading area, empty except for a couple of forklift vehicles.

Beyond that was the concourse, the ring shaped corridor running around the Orbital off which were the various maintenance areas, stores, offices, and sleeping accommodations for ships’ crews staying over. Living quarters for the station staff and the scientists operating the weather facility were on the level below, accessed by an elevator next to the Port Office that Rroshan was in the process of disabling.

Cautiously Kusac emerged into the corridor, checking in both directions. “Appears clear,” he said, gesturing his team to follow him out.

A sudden noise from across the corridor made him spin around, lifting his assault rifle just as Banner’s spat. The Prime standing in the open doorway of the public restrooms fell bonelessly to the ground.

“Check it out!” he hissed, annoyed with himself.

Banner, rotating his weapon to gas grenades, was already running over.

“Heading out now,” said Tirak as they began to move in the opposite direction.

Kusac acknowledged him. “Jayza, J’korrash, M’yikku, take Life Support as planned, then join Tirak and his team working their way antispinward. We’re taking the elevator corridor and transient quarters. Remember to isolate the weather platform level from the sleep gas. Red Team, follow me,” he ordered as Banner rejoined them.

“I let off a grenade. If anyone’s in there, they’re asleep now,” his Second said.

Kusac nodded. “M’kou, keep me updated on any Port comm activity,” he said, moving off. “Noolgoi, Khadui, cover our rear.”

“Aye, Captain,” the three Primes murmured.

Slowly, keeping close to the inner wall, Kusac led his team toward the corner where the corridor leading to the elevator up to the weather platform headed down to the Orbital’s central hub. Off it were the entrances to the rec room and the dorm—and one of the three guards.

Just at the junction, Kusac stopped, beckoning Banner forward. Making a couple of Brotherhood hand signals, he ordered his Second to fire a gas grenade down the corridor to disable the guard.

“Khadui, cover me,” ordered Banner before taking a quick look around the corner.

The guard was facing the elevator. A swift hand signal to Q’almo and the young Prime had crossed the opening and was ready to cover him.

Stepping into full view, he fired the grenade then stepped back out of sight.

It landed at the guard’s feet. Startled, the male looked briefly at the object, then, as it began to hiss and release its transparent odorless gas, he turned and charged down the corridor toward them, his gun spraying gouts of energy at the opening.

Khadui began to shoot, changing his load to energy pulses when he saw the stuns were having no effect.

Stepping into the opening again, Banner let loose two precise shots to the rampaging Prime’s chest, felling him only feet short of the entrance.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded, kicking the prone alien with the heavy toe of his boot to make sure he was dead.

“I have no idea,” said M’kou, venturing around the corner in Kusac’s wake to look down at the leather-clad body.

Bending down, he flipped the dead alien over onto his back. Bulking about twice the size of the average Prime male, this one was even larger than Kezule. Lurid tattoos depicting a scene of violence covered the green-skinned skull. The clothing was just as atypical, consisting of a scuffed leather jacket, trousers, and heavy boots.

“One of K’hedduk’s gene-altered monstrosities, no doubt,” said Kusac, moving past him and the body, rifle held ready.

“Excuse me?” asked Banner.

“There was one on that broadcast from the Prime world. Banner, Jayza, take the rec, M’kou, the dorm. If there’s anyone in there, they’ll certainly know something’s going down,” he said, watching the elevator. “Khadui, Q’almo, guard the concourse.”

He watched as they hit the access panels, then, as soon as the opening was wide enough, fired gas grenades through it.

“Empty,” reported Banner.

“Three, huddled in their beds,” said M’kou.

As the door on the dorm closed again, reversing his rifle, Banner hit the access plate hard, smashing it. “Should keep them in there for a bit once the sleep gas wears off.”

Kusac grunted approval and, hitting the comm button inside his suit with his chin, called Tirak.

“Finishing up here, Red One,” said Tirak. “All stores and supply offices are closed. Place is deserted, it being station night and us the only ship with station leave. Should be at your location in five minutes.”

“Copy that. Red Seven, report.”

“Are done, Captain,” said Annuur. “Bar had six people in, all asleep now. Mess had ten, again sleeping soundly.” The little Cabbaran chuckled. “Rroshan returned to ship. We wait for you.”

“Join us at the elevator. Red Five, report.”

“Red Five. We’ve finished, Captain. The station general store had only the shopkeeper in it, and he’s now sleeping the gas off at the rear. We closed it off. Life Support is pumping the gas through the station except for the weather platform level.”

“Red Five, join us at the elevator. Good work, everyone.”

“Captain,” interrupted M’kou. “Someone on the
Kz’adul
is trying to reach the Port Office. They’re going to get suspicious when no one answers.”

“Then reply. You’re the diplomatic one, use your skills and wing it,” Kusac ordered, tuning into the Orbital’s channel. “I’ll monitor.”

“Aye, Captain,” M’kou answered, a tinge of apprehension in his voice.

The call concerned the approaching meteor storm. The
Kz’adul
wanted to be patched through to the weather staff for an update on whether they were triggering the force field and if they would need to undock prior to this.

“Negative,
Kz’adul
,” said M’kou, his voice now holding all the confidence Kusac could want. “We have a problem with one of the force field generators right now. Our engineers are dealing with it. It’s not anticipated the storm will come close enough to cause any damage to the station.”

“Thank you, Orbital, but our Security wishes to confirm this with the weather staff.”

“Not possible,
Kz’adul
. Weather staff has advised us not to disturb them at this time. They have their hands full right now.”

Kusac could hear angry low-level voices discussing the matter at the
Kz’adul’s
end, but eventually the comm operator came back with, “Thank you, Orbital.
Kz’adul
out.”

Around him, the Prime members of his team let out a collective sigh of relief.

“You should have more faith in M’kou,” chided Kusac, grinning. “Nicely handled, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Captain,” M’kou murmured.

He felt the other’s surge of pleasure at his mild praise.

“Your opinion matters to me, Captain,” said M’kou quietly, triggering a private channel to him.

He started and looked around at the young male, surprised the other had read his body language so easily even when he was wearing bulky battle armor.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

 

Leaving Tirak’s team to guard the lower level, Kusac and his group headed up to the next one where the Orbital’s main power, avionics, scanners, and life support were located.