Star Runners 2: Revelation Protocol (24 page)

“Heading in now.” Josh adjusted course, following the trail of the damaged fighter. “Might want the guys ready downstairs in case of a welcome party.”

“I’m heading down now.” Waylon turned, but hesitated. “You got this?”

Josh waved him off. “I got this. Go.”

Waylon grinned, his teeth shining in the midst of the red beard, and marched off the bridge. In the cargo bay of the
Traveler,
a light transport, four of the beefy Barracudas waited with the best weapons the smuggling group could afford. Josh snorted at the thought. Or rather, the best weapons they could pick off derelict spacecraft located throughout Quadrant Eight. This boarding party had been Waylon’s idea in the event the Tyral Pirates left a welcoming crew of their own. Having less experience with the pirates and with Quadrant Eight in general, Josh deferred to Waylon’s expertise.

“Flanking your position now,” Rist grumbled as the fighters surrounded the transport.

“Copy,” Josh said.

Even over the gamma wave, Rist’s disgust for this mission—and for Josh in particular—came through loud and clear. Josh knew Rist’s attitude came from years of dealings with the Legion, and tried his best to let it go. Still, the man’s voice bothered Josh like nails on a chalkboard. If Waylon trusted him, Josh had no choice.

The transport lined up with the slow rotation of the asteroid, providing Josh’s first glimpse of their destination as the faint starlight flickered. The light revealed a hangar bay large enough to house a burning wreck of the fighter they just shot down and a freighter stripped of half its hull. Another smaller secondary entrance to the hangar revealed stars and the asteroid field a few hundred yards away from their current entrance. Nothing moved in the hangar bay except for the flickering flames of the crashed fighter. As the
Traveler
passed through the energy shield protecting the hangar from the void beyond, Josh scanned the area for anything familiar. Was this the same place they had been held for so long? After all, a rock is a rock.

His eyes fell upon the back of the hangar just to the right of the secondary entrance, and he jolted back.

An airlock door.

He buckled over, wincing. The families … the families the pirates had sent through the airlock. The families who died because Dax Rodon had decided to steal their freighter and strip it for scrap. Josh remembered their eyes, wide with terror, pleading with him to help just before the airlock door closed. Delmar had prevented Josh from doing anything to get himself killed the very same day.

Looking away from the airlock, he saw the control room Rodon disappeared into after torturing the prisoners. He remembered the man, his arrogance, his complete disregard for the passengers released through the airlock. Rodon never seemed to pay attention to the comings and goings of the freighters brought in for stripping, the innocents killed. He always moved away from the hangar, his attention on other matters.

Josh blinked and cleared his throat. “Waylon,” he said into the ship’s intercom, “we’re at the right place.”

“How do you know?” he asked after a pause.

“Believe me, I know.” Josh shook his head, the image of the families staring at him flashing in his mind. “Where do you want the ship?”

Waylon grumbled and thought in silence for a moment. “Any sign of resistance?”

“Just the wrecked fighter and a stripped freighter.” Josh brought the
Traveler
to hover over the hangar floor. He brought the ship in a slow turn to survey the entire room. “I don’t see anything.”

“Then land wherever you want.”

“Copy.”

Josh lowered the landing gear, ignoring the voice in his mind disbelieving the pirates would simply abandon this base. The transport settled onto the deck, gasses hissing while the engine whined. He flipped a dozen switches, shutting down the systems and placing the ship on standby. Grabbing the ancient gas powered projectile rifle Pa had given him back at Sanctum, Josh hurried to the cargo bay.

The five men checked their weapons, some slapping fresh energy packs into their lasers while others checked the latches on their makeshift armor. The largest of the four, Tocol, a man who rivaled Waylon in terms of his size, slid a curved sword into a sheath hanging at his belt with one hand and put on a steel helmet with the other. None of the others—Lark, Moda or Drad—looked up as Josh entered. With his torn rags hanging off his body, Josh did not have much in terms of defense.

“Still nobody out there?” Waylon asked, staring down the sight of a wicked black laser rifle.

“Not yet,” Josh said just above a whisper. “You’re heavily armed for businessmen.”

Waylon produced a crooked grin. “All business can get hostile.”

“We gonna sit here or sing a song,” Tocol grumbled, holding his rifle across his broad chest.

“Hold on.” Waylon stepped over to the gamma wave transmitter. “Tima, Geo, you copy?”

“Copy, Waylon.”

“I want you both outside flying cover. Any of these pirates come back, I want you to let us know and cover our escape.”

“We got it. Moving out now.”

Waylon nodded at Tocol. “Let’s do this.”

The servos of the landing ramp squealed, the walkway lowering. The musty smell of sweat and rotten food mixed with oil shot into the transport. Josh sucked in the repugnant air, thinking of the countless days he and Delmar spent toiling in these conditions to fill the pockets of the Tyral Pirates.

Waylon coughed. “Definitely the right place.”

They descended down onto the hangar bay spotted with black puddles and discarded engine parts. The smugglers swept through the room like a trained SWAT team, moving with purpose and covering all angles with their weapons. His head still spinning from the physical ordeal of the past few days, Josh brought up the rear as they agreed would be part of the plan. He aimed his rifle toward the glass windows of the room he assumed served as air traffic control for this nest of pirates.

Two Barracuda fighters, their triangular craft hovering behind the
Traveler,
descended to the hangar floor. The engines whined to a halt. Brandishing a flashy laser pistol, Rist ran toward the center of the hangar, followed closely by the small woman named Matta. Rist slowed, flashing a disgusted look in Josh’s direction, before coming to a stop at the nose of the transport.

From the other side of the hangar, Tocol kicked back burning metal covering the Tyral fighter, a modified Trident fighter. Josh’s stomach soured at the sight.
Another stolen Legion craft.

“No pilot!” Tocol yelled, adjusting the rifle to sweep the hangar. “What about the holding pens you mentioned? Caves down in the tunnels?”

“Right,” Waylon said, hurrying over to the fighter. “Secure the hangar and we’ll move in that direction.”   

Waylon glanced at Rist. “Okay, let’s do this.” Waylon pointed toward the room encased in glass. “Josh, Tocol and I will check out the room over there. With any luck, it’ll provide some answers as to why exactly we’ve found this base nearly emptied.”

Josh nodded and glanced at the glass room. Perhaps the mystery of the way station would be solved inside that room. Then they would know exactly what dark world had been targeted by the pirates—if it wasn’t too late.

“Rist,” Waylon said, turning to face the tunnels leading to the prisoner holding pens, “I want you to take—“

A laser bolt flashed through the hangar. The energy burned into Rist’s chest, sending sparks showering around his body. He fell to the floor like a sack, a fire crackling on his chest. For a heartbeat, the group stared at their fallen comrade.

“Cover!” Waylon yelled.

The group scattered. Josh tumbled behind a discarded metal crate. Matta scrambled next to him. She fell to the hangar floor with a loud grunt. Blue laser bolts seared the air over their heads. A bolt exploded into the crate. Golden sparks showered onto Josh’s head. He stretched his neck to peer to the side of the crate.

A bolt sizzled into Tocol’s shoulder. The large man stumbled behind the burning fighter, grabbing Waylon to the floor with him. Lark fell to the ground. He writhed in pain until another bolt hit the back of his head. Moda and Drad stood in the open, returning fire. Their repeating laser rifles fired until the muzzles glowed orange. One enemy bolt smacked into a Moda’s face. The man spun like a top, falling still next to Rist’s body. Drad sprinted out of the line of fire, finding cover next to Waylon and Tocol.

“Stay down!” Waylon yelled as Tocol fired over the crashed Trident.

Josh nodded. He raised the ancient rifle over the crate and fired blindly. The projectile weapon crackled like a thunderclap.

“Here!” Matta handed him a laser pistol. “Get more shots this way!”

“Thanks!”

Josh hesitated before rising over the crate. He fired until the charge ran dry. The bolts hit near the tunnel opening. Tiny, candle-like fires formed in the rock. Two fallen pirates, their bodies contorted into strange positions, littered the tunnel entrance.

At least some of their fire had found its mark.

Return laser fire filled the air. Fires erupted across the hangar. He ducked behind the crate. Matta tossed him a charge pack. He reloaded. She fired toward the tunnel.

“They’re dug in there like lykers,” she said, coming back to one knee. Return fire blasted the crate. “One of them’s has one eye.”

“We can’t stay behind this crate for long!” Josh blinked. “Wait, what did you say?”

“One of those men tryin’ to kill us,” she said, her steel-colored eyes wide. “He’s got one eye and a big beard.”

Josh’s stomach turned. “Stay down.”

He leaned to the side of the crate. Waylon reloaded as Tocol fired like a madman over the burning tail of the Trident. Drad aimed and fired slower than Tocol; his method precise and methodical.

“Waylon!” Josh yelled over the chaos of the firefight. Waylon ducked behind the fighter and looked in his direction. “Cyclops!”

Waylon nodded. He smacked Tocol on the back and said something Josh couldn’t hear.

“What is a Cyclops?” Matta asked.

“Bad news, that’s what,” he snapped.

“I’m hit!” Nubern’s voice strained, crackling over the gamma wave.

“Pull up!” Moving away from his burning target, Austin searched the sky for Nubern’s Trident. “I’m coming!”

“Ah! Too late! I’m—“

The gamma wave screeched.

Banking the Trident left, he brought his fighter on a descending angle and viewed the Pacific Ocean littered with debris. Through the deadly fur ball of altered Tyral fighters and F-18 Hornets, Austin watched a burning Trident skip across the blue surface of the ocean. He flinched, and looked away.

Nubern.

“Talon, this is Rock. Do you copy?” He paused before whispering, “Talon, come in.”

A warning signal boomed in his earpiece. Laser fire had dissipated his rear shields. Austin yanked the stick, forcing the fighter into a stomach churning downward corkscrew. The Gs pressed him into his seat. With his free hand, he diverted the engine power he could spare into his lasers.

Ignoring the thought of Nubern sinking to the bottom of the Pacific, Austin steadied his descent and checked his sensors. The reality of being the only remaining Trident hit him as he deciphered the situation. The Hornets dropped fast; the Tyral modified fighters were simply too well equipped. A dozen pirates broke off from the dogfight and headed west, firing missiles into the water.  

Not good. 

“Atlantis, Rock. If you are still receiving, I’m alone except for our local friends.” He thought of the missiles the pirates fired into the water. “Prepare for some chop.”

“Copy, Rock,” Brannen said after a short delay. “Activating outer defense measures. Do not approach Atlantis. Repeat, do not approach.”

The sky filled with Tyral Pirates fighting the Hornets. He didn’t want to look at the sensors for a count. He knew they were outnumbered.

“Grumbler, Rock. Do you copy?”

“Still here,” the F-18 pilot said.

Austin rolled his fighter, laser bolts passing beneath him. An unlucky pirate fighter soared in front of his crosshairs. Austin squeezed the trigger hard, the lasers exploding into pirate’s cockpit. The nose of the fighter ripped apart.

“If you can, Grumbler,” Austin said, grunting as the gravity pressed him into the seat, “you and your men break off the attack. Head for those bandits to the west. Bombers. See them?”

“Copy. Where’s your wingman?”

“Gone.” Austin swallowed. “Go in guns blazing. I’ll cover you.”

“Copy, Rock. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Austin watched the remaining Hornets break away from the scrap with the pirate fighters. A laser bolt clipped one Hornet’s wing, sending the fighter into a twirl toward the ocean’s surface. The pilot ejected, the parachute opening a few hundred feet over the water. The lead Hornets fired their guns at a thousand yards, igniting the sky with tracer rounds.

“Hurry, Grumbler,” Austin said.

Moving away from the fight as if he retreated back toward San Francisco, Austin watched his scope. The Hornets turned and moved west towards the fighters bombing Atlantis. The F-18s attracted pursuers, the remaining bandits they had been battling closing in behind them. Austin swallowed, hoping his laser banks would charge quickly enough.

Austin rattled his fingers on the stick. He focused on the pirates closing in behind the Hornets. The lead pirates fired, too ignorant to know their lasers couldn’t hit at that range. He watched his gauges as the laser banks topped seventy-six percent.

That’ll be enough.

He looped his fighter, the world turning end-over-end. Rolling, he brought the horizon around until the ocean stretched out beneath him. He brought his crosshairs on the unsuspecting Tyral pirates as they formed up nearly in a line behind the Hornets. They may have somehow acquired state-of-the-art equipment, but these pirates had no training.

His Trident swept into the pirates, dropping three on the first pass with well-placed laser shots. The remaining pirates broke formation, apparently unsure what had hit them, and shot off in different directions. Austin rolled, looped and charged forward like a rabid beast. His Trident fired until his banks ran dry, but he stayed in the chaos, providing a target for the pursuing fighters. He eluded them until his energy banks allowed two more shots. Another Tyral pirate exploded.

“Splash four bombers,” Grumbler said.

His vision blurred. Darkness formed at the edge of his sight. His fingers tingled. Straightening out his course, Austin shook his head and soared away from the fight. His experience flying in gravity had taken its toll; the forces from his maneuvers were affecting his head. The Trident could do things in Earth’s gravity his body couldn’t handle.

He flew in a straight line, blinking several times.

The Trident shook. A laser bolt disintegrated his rear shields. The fighter rattled as another bolt crashed into his wing.     

I can’t do anymore.

Fatigue washed over him. The gravity pressed against him. His head pounded. He wanted to vomit. He felt another hit on his fighter. He eased on the stick, closing his eyes.

This is it. I’m going down.

“Boys, this is Grumbler,” the gamma wave hissed. “See how many you can drop on the next pass. Stay together.”

The gamma wave came to life. Grumbler barked orders at his fighters as the Hornets clashed with the bombers. Maybe they could save Atlantis, maybe.

Austin rolled the fighter, pulling the nose down into a split-S. He took in a deep breath, awaiting the inevitable kill shot.

“Rock, do you copy?”

Austin blinked.
I know that voice.

“Rock, this is Tiger in bound with reinforcements. Where do you need us?”

Braddock.

Austin looked up. Twelve Legion Tridents descended into the atmosphere, flying in tight formation with Captain Ty Braddock at the lead. White contour lines trailed off the wings of the gorgeous ships. Austin grinned, energy surging through his veins.

“Welcome, Tiger. Anywhere you can help!”

“We’ll drop what we can,” Braddock snapped. “Tizona, take’em out!”

The twelve Tridents unleashed a flurry of missiles. Explosions erupted across the sky. Tyral craft rolled, looped, trying to dodge the incoming fire. Hornets intermingled with the Tridents and pirate craft.

“The native fighters are friendly,” Austin said, blinking and still dealing with the effects of nearly passing out.

“Got it,” Braddock said.

Two Tridents broke formation, heading toward Austin’s position.

“You’ve got friends,” a welcome voice said. Mind if I get rid of them?”

Austin blinked. He inhaled at the sound of Skylar’s voice. “Cheetah! My ship’s about spent.”

“We got you covered, buddy,” Bear’s voice hissed through the gamma wave. “Head for the surface. Open up our shot.”

Austin pushed on the stick, the ocean filling his forward view. He slowed his descent and allowed his Trident to dip beneath the waves. Skylar and Bear dispatched his pursuers with well-placed missile shots.

Out of the enemy’s sight, Austin redirected his power to the laser banks and shields. As the power recharged, he allowed the Trident to float down until the blue waters of the Pacific darkened. He caught his breath. Sweat filled his flight suit, his skin feeling slippery under the fabric.

He surveyed the situation above. Braddock and his squadron of recruits joined the Hornets. He listened to the radio chatter, Skylar and Bear calling out kills like veteran pilots. The pirate missiles descending on Atlantis slowed, then stopped completely. Austin checked below and gasped when he saw his readout.

Atlantis must have fought off the submersibles or they had gone out of range, but the damage had been done. The entire main hangar had been completely destroyed. Several of the outer perimeter defenses no longer appeared on his sensors. Long trails of bubbles rose from the entire port, heading for the surface. Only the primary civilian hangar still existed. The fighters above barely had a place to land.

He took a deep breath as his energy banks reached full charge. Balancing his power distribution across the lasers, shields, and engines, he pulled back on the stick and launched full throttle.

“Tiger, Rock,” Austin said through clenched teeth. “I’m heading back into the fight.”  

“Copy, Rock.”

Austin clenched his teeth. “Let’s finish this.”