airlocks, and at first the pilots were surprised to see more crates and bags than people. After seeing the irritated, lost and weary faces of their passengers, they abandoned any efforts at informing them that personnel were their priority. “This is a rescue mission,” one was overheard saying.
“This is an eviction,” shouted an incensed crew member. That drew attention, and few of the dozens of Triton crew who turned their heads cared about who said it. They regarded the pilot, who quickly realized that he could be in real trouble if he said or did the wrong thing. Wisely, he quietly returned to the airlock, and took refuge in his cockpit. After all, most of the remaining Triton crew were armed and fresh from a fight they universally felt should have won them the ship. All of it happened as Oz supervised from the sidelines. He, like most of the crew, was in shock. They had narrowly won the day, but an entirely different set of circumstances from a completely different entity were forcing them to surrender. As he checked to see if Ayan or Jacob were in communications range again, he asked himself what he’d do if he were in command of a law abiding fleet and ran across a crew running a stolen ship. He wouldn’t dare say the answer aloud, but it nested in his consciousness like an infected sore. The law says this ship should have been turned in as soon as it ran into any large law enforcement or military organization. If it came into the Freeground Docks, it would have been cleared of crew and reported to Sol Defence. If they didn’t pick it up after three years, it would either get absorbed by the military, decommissioned, or stripped of arms and put up for auction. He shook his head and watched as one of the airlocks closed and the transport detached, filled with cargo and crew. He was told they’d be holding position near the Triton while everyone finished loading. Then where will we go?
The constant, slight changes in air pressure resulted in a stirring that felt like a swirling wind. It felt strange across the stubble forming on the top of Oz’s head. The smell of ozone, a sure sign of a heavy fire fight, was carried through the air. Surprisingly, most of the other evidence of the violence that had taken place in the main hangar had been removed. The three ruined fighters, damaged equipment and dead crewmen had all been cleared away. The scorch marks on the deck and bulkheads were superficial. Most of them could be wiped away thanks to the resistant surfaces.
Assistant Deck Chief Paula directed the maelstrom with the assistance of the remaining deck crew. Oz tried to picture everything on its way out onto transports on the ground. He could see that the short Deck Chief had a method. She was setting all the packed crates into a certain order, and made sure a couple of her people would stay with each transport to carry her instructions out when they arrived. It was his officer training that kept him from getting involved with the minutia, but it was difficult not to when the alternative was supervision, which sometimes allowed for enough time to think about the long range implications of what was going on.
The arrival of Frost and the gunnery crew on the main hangar was a welcome surprise. They came down over the aft side of the ship carrying bulk containers. Oz watched as they came up one of the secondary elevators leading to the servicing hangar. There were over thirty loading suits left, and Frost wore the taller, armed encounter suit. The machine was pitted and scarred by projectile and heat weaponry, the cost of Frost unrelentingly leading the charge on the Enforcer. It carried heavy cargo containers in both arms, and limped, just like Frost did thanks to his prosthetic leg.
His people had done their part in collecting everything they could carry. Oz’s scanning systems informed him that Frost alone carried over four and a half tons of cargo, the rest carried half as much or more each in cargo and ammunition cases. A crowd of lesser armoured crew from the upper decks elevated into the main hangar next, they carried even more equipment between them, and all of it was from engineering stores. Parts, smaller fabrication machines, portable power units, and other semi-portable systems were carried off to the side in haste.
“Feels wrong looting our own ship, lad,” Frost said to him over a private channel.
“I know. I’ll do everything I can so we’re loading all this back up before you can climb out of that suit.”
“Aye.”
“How are things going on the upper decks?”
“Commander Everin’s gang are almost finished getting all the footlockers registered to living crew together, they should be down the shaft in a minute. Then they’re heading back up to clear weapons lockers and survival gear out of storage. He plans on working until the last minute. There’s not going to be much to look at when he’s finished. He should be down here soon. Said his people don’t need much help on the ransack.”
“What about the rest of the crew?”
“They’re takin’ armfuls from Everin’s people, when they get here things are gonna get stacked right quick. Need anyone to head into the ship and pick up some of the heavier gear? We’re all finished taking what we could from the upper decks.”
“Paula’s got operations here covered. Head into the manufacturing section and see if you can get one of the medium materializers or mass converters ready for transport.”
“That’s going to be murder to get out without pulling a few hundred bolts.”
“Cut the deck out from under it if you have to. Consider it a timed challenge. You have twenty minutes, tops.”
“Aye, we’re on it. Makes me wish Chief Vercelli were here, he’d have some idea how that’s done.”
“I’m just glad we still have Paula.”
“She’s a bit of a screecher, but I haven’t seen much better, fine replacement.”
“Oh, while you’re in the manufacturing bay, have any extra hands you see take finished work and stuff it into containers, we’re taking everything we can.”
“Aye, I’ll watch for guns and ammunition first.”
“Good thinking, Chief. Get to it.”
“Aye, Commander.”
The main freight elevator arrived with the third or fourth load of people from the lower decks, engineering and the Botanical Gallery. Everyone was laden with bags, personal items wrapped up in blankets, footlockers and bags of all different shapes and sizes. Just watching them join the growing mass of civilians and crew members was enough to emotionally exhaust him. Few people paid attention to Oz, standing about twenty meters away from the growing crowd. He served for such a short time on Triton that few, if any of the crew members had a chance to get used to him. Before the defence of the ship began all of the respect he enjoyed was borrowed, on loan to him from Captain Valance. Since then he’d managed to gain the respect or the security and gunnery staff.
If Frost didn’t have a bond with his people before, it was evident that he’d developed one since they started fighting. To watch them, loaders, mechanics and gunners, move from one task to the next like one coordinated unit was to see plain evidence of how they had come together. Chief Grady had united his technical teams, and led them in maintaining the security and functionality of the Triton’s critical systems. In situations where Oz was forced to use man power and firepower Liam Grady found ways to use doors, energy fields, and impassable traps. Trying to penetrate into the core of the engineering section of the ship became so dangerous, that the enemy had no choice but to turn their attention to the bridge. Agameg Price, not a Chief, but a versatile Lieutenant Commander, had gained the trust and allegiance of all the slave volunteers. Oz would have to find out where the shape shifter learned advanced ship combat tactics and how to keep so many people motivated under potentially confusing and terrifying circumstances.
“Is it all right if we begin grouping the civilians up so we can move them to the transports Commander McPatrick?” Asked one of the security staff from behind.
Oz thought for a moment. There was no contact from Jacob, Ayan, or anyone who had gotten free of the Triton early on. “Start organizing people into familial groups if you can. Don’t let them board the transports.”
“Familial groups?”
“Don’t split up families.”
“I know, but at most I think there are a few married civvies, not many whole families.”
“If people look like they want to stick together, make sure they stay together.”
“Aye, aye sir.”
The Triton soldiers he was seeing were a far cry from what they were before the fighting began. Those who survived had seen ship board combat that made everything any of them had ever experienced pale in comparison. The fighting was beyond Oz’s experience as well. Not even Pandem was as relentless, or as painful. The memory of his particle rifle rattling against his shoulder was so vivid that it was like a phantom sensation, real the instant he conjured it. The feeling of being shot, and the emergency medical technology kicking in at the same time as the emergency stasis drugs was at the top of his mind as well. He understood Jacob Valance more clearly than ever before. The man had died at least twice, and it must have been a mind blowing, life changing thing each time. The
