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“Captain, they’re coming up the corridor!”
“Ensign Starks!”
The petite blonde turned from her watch on the starboard hatch.
“Captain?”
“Get down there and help Lieutenant Luehrs! We can’t let them get up to the bridge.”
“Aye, Ma’am.” She ducked past her and out the portside hatch.
“Ensign Saxton, guard the other entry. You’re not doing any good on helm, not with the bridge controls cut off.”
“Ma’am.” He tapped a few commands out of habit before taking station where Starks had vacated.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered Auburn, checking her ship’s speed and heading. They were still on course for the Federation’s habitat, but the engines had shut down when the shit hit the fan so they weren’t accelerating. That reminded her.
“Walker.”
“Go ahead.”
“Situation?”
“Well, they’re not getting into Engineering, but we might need an assist to get out.”
“Oh?”
“We sealed the hatch and disconnected the overrides, but one of the bright boys on the other side must have liberated a laser, because they tried to burn their way through. All it did was warp the hatch.”
“Great. Can you kill our momentum?”
“Sure, if they haven’t cut the control runs.”
“You think they did?”
“They cut yours.”
Auburn couldn’t argue with that, but Walker was still talking.
“Harmon was one of the bastards who turned on us,” Walker said. “He commed me, trying to get me to ‘come back to Artemis’. I told him where he could put Artemis, and then he was less polite.”
“Damn.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
It was supposed to have been easy. Over the past Lunar, Young’s crew roster had been thoroughly churned, with nearly three quarters being transferred out, including Auburn’s XO and Chief Engineer. The reason was made clear a scant two days earlier when she’d been sketchily briefed by Captain Newling of the ANS Averroes about the plans afoot.
“Are you in?” she’d been asked.
It was a simple question for her but she’d temporized.
“My crew?”
“You and another ship have been chosen to serve as, well, lifeboats. Without telling you too much, you’re not going to be safe in Artemis in forty-eight hours. Your crew has been chosen with that in mind.”
It had been a crash course in bonding, with a graduation exercise kicked off when the Averroes had suddenly defected, broadcasting their truth back to the rest of the assembled fleet.
There were only about a dozen loyalists and MinSec plants left aboard, but in a crew of fifty that was plenty to scramble plans. Now, by her best estimates, there were less than half that number.
Sounds of gunfire echoed up the portside corridor.
“What stupid shits brought a gun into space?” Auburn said.
“MinSec,” answered Saxton without turning from his post.
“Point,” grunted Auburn.
“Attention approaching Artemis frigate, respond or be destroyed,” announced the speaker.
“And there’s another problem.”
The one system the loyalists held was communications, and Auburn was sure they were screaming bloody murder back to Artemis for help. She didn’t expect any of the other ANS ships to turn; they were wholly outclassed by the Federation’s Starfleet and were running for home as fast as they could. On the other hand, she couldn’t communicate with the Federation to tell them to please not blow her tin can out of space, thank you very much.
If they could just stop, show they weren’t going to be a threat, they might have a chance to deal with the loyalists.
She heard a scream from port.
“Luehrs!” she yelled.
There was another scream, abruptly cut off.
“Saxton, with me, now!”
She pulled the three-shot laser from its storage.
“I’ve got high. You get low. On two.” She waited for Saxton’s nod. “One, two!”
She pushed through the hatch, laser pointed down the corridor, and dashed a few meters to her ‘office’ and ducked in. Saxton followed, staying low.
Nothing.
She gestured that she’d take high again, flashed the count on her fingers, rushed forward again, around a corner, and then diving for cover as her mind registered the group facing him and the bodies of Luehrs and Starks. Behind her Saxton rounded the corner a hair too high and caught a laser bolt squarely in his chest. He fell to the deck, releasing his grip on his laser.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Auburn swore. Her people were down, and all she had were three shots to take out at least four loyalists.
“Give up and you don’t have to die,” one of them called. Marcels, she thought, though it was hard to hear through the roaring in her ears.
“Fuck you and fuck the Primus!” she yelled back. Maybe not the most original, but certainly heartfelt.
“There’s only one of you left.”
Silence. Auburn thought furiously. Four targets, three shots. Wait. Saxton’s gun?
“Fine.”
There. Just a meter away, but out from cover.
Shit.
Maybe she could...She wished Walker were here. Engineering wasn’t her skill set.
“Wait!” she called, stalling, turning the laser over in her hands and searching for the charging port.
“For what? You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time.”
“It’s a big decision,” she said, stripping the cover off.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before betraying the Primus.”
She needed a conductor. She always wore her hair nearly shaved, but maybe...She stole a glance back at Starks; her hair was pinned back, and she was out of sight of the loyalists. Silently she crept over to her and, thinking an apology, ran her hand through Starks’ hair.
Ha.
She pulled out a pin. Flexible. Good.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she called, jamming the ends of the pin into the charging point. She felt it start heating immediately and hoped it would last long enough before melting.
“Toss your weapon out,” Marcels called.
“You want my weapon?”
“What, do you think I’m stupid?”
Yes, she didn’t say. The pin was nearly glowing; it couldn’t be much longer.
“Fine!” she called, and slid the gun down the corridor toward them.
“Smart move, Auburn. Stand up. I promise we won’t shoot you.”
Why hadn’t it blown yet?
She stood, hands behind her head.
Marcels was standing in front of four other loyalists. Three had their three-shots aimed at him, while one held what looked to be a projectile weapon. That must have been what she heard earlier.
The laser she’d tossed lay at Marcels’ feet.
“I charge you, Lieutenant Joy Auburn, with mutiny and rebellion against the rightful government of Artemis. You will be held until the return to –”
The short-circuit Auburn had jury-rigged finally reached a critical point.
Lasers are incredibly energy-intensive weapons, which is why even the largest ships carried capacitors to provide power for firing. Laser rifles typically used replaceable cartridges, much like the magazines of old, to provide their power. The power packs used for the rifles were large and bulky, unsuitable for use in sidearms, so they had integral and rechargeable power cells which provided enough juice for a few shots. As with most power cells, though, they reacted badly to being cross-wired.
The equivalent of a kilo of TNT exploded in front of Marcels, wiping out whatever he was about to say, most of his body, and a fair portion of the deck and bulkheads. The explosion continued to knock three of the others backwards, one slamming bonelessly into the bulkhead and all three being shredded by fragments of durasteel.
Auburn and the fifth loyalist were both blown to the ground but were otherwise uninjured.
She scanned the deck. Where was that other laser? There!
She scrambled to grab Saxton’s gun before the loyalist recovered.
Got it!
Auburn turned, levelled the gun, and fired. The stunned loyalist caught the bolt in his gut as he tried to rise. It staggered him but he still tried to lift his own weapon to fire.
She shot again. This time the loyalist dropped.
“Damn,” she panted. “That sucked.”
She stumbled up the corridor to check on her fallen crew. Saxton’s eyes were wide and unseeing; the bolt had probably stopped his heart, if it hadn’t hit it squarely.
“Sorry, Scotty,” she said, closing Saxton’s eyes. She moved over to Sparks.
To her surprise, Sparks was breathing.
“Mel?” she asked.
No response, so she raised his voice.
“Mel?”
“No, Peggy,” she heard and spun. Lieutenant Luehrs was sitting up, even if she looked dazed.
“Luehrs, where are you hurt?”
“Hurt?” She seemed confused.
“Are you bleeding?” She didn’t see anything, but she hadn’t paid much attention on her way past.
“Bleeding?”
“Just sit there, Peggy. I’ll help you in a minute.” She returned to Starks.
“Mel?” she said a third time, and turned her over.
She groaned.
She checked Starks over. Her leg was bleeding, but not too badly, and there was a burn mark across her cheek.
“Lucky girl,” she said, pressing a torn piece of cloth against the leg wound.
“Captain?” Luehrs asked.
“Lieutenant. Back with me?”
“I – I think so, Ma’am. What’s going on? Why am I on the deck, and why does my back hurt?”
“What do you remember?”
“Shouting. Someone fired a gun? Yes, someone fired a gun, and Ensign Starks fell down, I bent over to look at her and then, nothing.”
“I think checking on your fellow rebel saved your life,” she chuckled. “It sounds like you caught the bloom from a laser bolt but not the full effect.”
She stood. “Can you stand?”
“I think so, Ma’am.” She wobbled to her feet, steadied herself on the bulkhead, then finished pulling herself erect.
“Stay with Mel. Do you have your sidearm? I think there are a couple more loyalists outside Engineering.”
She handed Auburn her pistol. “One shot left, Ma’am. Sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t apologize. You held them off long enough.”
Her eyes scanned the corridor, then settled on the loyalists’ bodies and their weapons. It didn’t take long to determine which ones still held charges, and she took those before returning Luehrs’ to her along with the projectile gun.
“Same mission, Lieutenant. Keep them off the bridge.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I’m going to finish this. Wish me luck.”