“This ship is horribly designed,” Maxim complains. Even with Gabe’s enhanced sensors, they’ve had to double back twice when confronted with an inexplicable blockage in a corridor.
“Indeed, whoever built this vessel was either a genius or insane. I am unsure which, but likely the latter,” Gabe replies guiding them through the maze of corridors, avoiding the massive battleship’s crew whenever possible. “I am unfamiliar with the design. I should have asked Jurrella who the shipbuilder was.”
“You know, killing her won’t have—” The entire ship rumbles, the lights dim then return. “—any impact on droids rights, or even likely their treatment on Werdlow Three, or this ship, if it survives.” Maxim ducks into a small maintenance closet behind Gabe. Two well-armed crew march past; one Hulgian, on Sylban.
The droid looks at his friend. “True. However, killing her will not have a negative impact on droids either. Plus, her own abuses of droids have now come to an end.” He leads the way out of the maintenance closet that the two are hiding in. “We are almost there.”
As they exit, the overhead speakers erupt. “They have killed The Duchess! Intruders are aboard! Find them, kill them! Vengeance for the Duchess! Long live Werdlow Three!”
Maxim looks up. “Rather dramatic. We should hurry.”
“The Children are taking heavy losses!” Zephyr reports. “There are fewer than half the number that came back with us left!”
The Ghost narrowly dodges over the top of one of the smaller Children, bringing its guns to bear on one of the captured Behemoths—first destroying the single blaster cannon mounted on its dorsal section, then blowing several holes in it. Cynthia is nearly as good with the weapons as Maxim, rapidly dealing devastating blows on the enslaved beasts. Where did Jurrella get enough people to crew all these ships? he wonders. On the main screen, two of the larger Children are smashing a captured behemoth between their hulls.
The Berserker is right in the middle of the fray, firing on the Children while trying to fend off ramming attacks.
“Something just left the Berserker!” Zephyr says. “Looks like a small scout craft!”
“Heading?” Wil asks.
“Away from us.” She looks over at Wil, the question clear on her face.
“Max? Gabe? What’s going on? Is that you that just left the Berserker?”
“Negative, Captain. That must be Xarrix. We were too late to stop his departure,” Gabe replies.
“Go after him, Wil!” Maxim shouts. “We’ll be okay.”
Wil looks at Zephyr, her face a mask of concern. She looks up and nods.
Wil pushes the ship hard over, following the fleeing vessel.
The flight deck of the massive Berserker is deserted, no doubt due to the ship being under-manned, having crewed every single captured Behemoth. The enormous hanger doors are still open after Xarrix’s departure, and rows of shuttles stand ready for passengers off to the side of the ample space.
“Be careful over there!” Wil shouts, closing the channel.
“Affirmative. We need to get control of this ship, help the Children. Barring that, we need to destroy it.” He looks at Gabe. “And ideally, not die in the process.”
Gabe nods. “Agreed. I must access the main computer core. Help me find a terminal—someone has shut down the wireless network, no doubt hoping to hinder us. Someone on this ship is smarter than I gave them credit for.”
Maxim looks around. “There!” He points. In the corner of the hangar is a ladder up to the flight control booth. Maxim rushes to the ladder, just as Gabe takes flight, lifting effortlessly up. “Show off,” Maxim mumbles under his breath.
“Hail that thing,” Wil says, as the Ghost closes in on the fleeing craft. It is clearly a modified scout vessel, as his sensors have identified several weapons emplacements. The battle of the Behemoths is millions of miles behind them already. The fleeing craft is almost clear of the gravity well of Werdlow Three—almost. Even damaged, the Ghost is able to close the distance between them.
The comms system beeps and the main display changes, showing Xarrix in the cockpit of the small vessel. “Well Human, you’ve cost me a fortune. Again.”
“Icing on the cake,” Wil says through gritted teeth. “It was one thing when you hired us to rob and kill other criminals to grow your empire. It’s another thing entirely to willingly aide in the murder and enslavement of a sentient species. Not to mention standing by while that monster tortures droids.”
“My, you’ve certainly gotten a thicker noble streak since finding your little band of misfits, haven’t you?” He looks Wil in the eyes. “What is it you want? Return Lorath and her crew, and we can go about our lives, no retribution. I wouldn’t frequent Fury though after this. Honestly I expected trouble from that diminutive psychopath Follux Sul, but I should have known better.”
“Oh, I’m definitely planning on reuniting you with your henchwoman.”
Xarrix looks over Wil’s shoulder, to where he had become used to Cynthia sitting. “Got tired of the Tygran flobin already?”
From Maxim’s station, Wil can hear Cynthia growling. The tactical station is just out of range of the video pickup.
“And you wonder why people don’t like you,” Wil sneers, casting a glance at the tactical sub-display. The Ghost is almost in weapons range. The fleeing ship drops several missiles behind it like mines, forcing Wil to maneuver around them. One explodes against the shields and the Ghost loses speed momentarily.
“What is it you want from me, Human? An apology? More money? Some type of ransom for Lorath?” The small craft turns abruptly, bringing its weapons to bear on the Ghost, raking the forward shields with blaster fire. Wil pushes the controls, dropping the Ghost below the oncoming fire. As the two ships pass, the Ghost’s aft weapons stitch hot plasma across the lower shields of Xarrix’s craft. On the screen, sparks shower the crime boss momentarily.
“Nice move. Speaking of Lorath, I’m sure she’d be touched you even considered paying a ransom,” Wil says.
“Past tense? What have you done?” Xarrix is glaring now, his reptilian eyes narrowed to slits. The Ghost is back on a pursuit vector for the smaller craft. Xarrix is clearly pushing the engines beyond their tolerance range.
“Oh, Lorath is dead. Shot her myself. They’re all dead, that crew you sent with her to take over my ship. Clever with that virus you planted, and the activation code in the payment data stick. When did you do that? When you installed the stealth systems, or before that, when you made repairs?”
“Dead?” Xarrix seems taken aback.
“As a doornail. You’ll be joining her soon. I’m not a religious person myself, but if there’s an afterlife you can chat with her for the details, it’s a good story. Well, not from her end—ends tragically and all that.”
“I will kill you, Human. How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you?” Xarrix says, in a tone of voice Wil has never heard him use. “I swear to the gods you will wish Lanksham had never found you. You’ll wish—”
“Bye, Xarrix. It’s been fun knowing you—well, that’s a lie, it’s been pretty crappy knowing you. But at least you can die knowing you did one good thing; you brought this crew together.” He nods once, knowing Cynthia is watching him and will know what he means. She does, and from deep inside the ship comes the tell-tale sound of the missile launch system cycling, then firing two missiles, then two more. As the rockets streak their way towards the fleeing craft, plasma blasts leave the forward weapons, striking the shields, depleting them enough for the missiles to do their jobs.
The small craft does it’s best to destroy the incoming ordinance, taking out two of the inbound missiles, but not the final two.
“You’ll regret this!” Xarrix shouts, frantically working the controls of his small craft, as sparks and smoke fills the screen, alongside more than one klaxon.
“I doubt it.” Wil smiles now, as the screen dissolves into static. Xarrix screams, then the display switches to a view of the small expanding debris cloud that used to be one of the most powerful gangsters in the Galactic Commonwealth.
Wil turns a full circle, looking at his three remaining crew. “Let’s go get our friends,” he says.