Jolo closed the door manually, locking everyone on the Argossy side of the vestibule. He checked on Greeley, who was sprawled out on the deck. “That shit hurts. Ain’t doin’ that no more,” the big man said. They had a special battle suit designed just for this occasion. It was heavy, the new Fed suits were light and nimble by comparison, but the big suit could take a ton of punishment before the power was gone.
Jolo pulled the helmet off the closest Fed and put it on. He felt the sensors gently press down on his temples and the heads-up display showed Jolo’s vitals. “Marine 4, this is Command, why was your helmet off? Your heart rate is down and blood pressure is low. Report.”
Jolo held up Koba’s comm scrambler near the helmet and responded. “We’ve got two down and two helmets off. Have a med team on standby. Comm is sketchy. Securing ship now. Two hostiles down.” Jolo motioned for Greeley to put on a helmet.
“Roger that, Marine 4, I have Marine 2 back online, but no comms. Med team on the way. Be safe,” said the Persephony.
Greeley and Jolo quickly stripped the two downed marines and put on their blue armor. The med bot took the two marines in their white tights down to the med bay. They’d wake up later strapped to a bed. The bot would check them out and give them a shot and they’d go back to sleep.
Barthelme limped in, out of breath, then sat down next to one of the marines. “He okay?”
“Bit of a headache,” said Jolo. “Did Hurley and Koba make it out?”
“Yes.”
“You ready?” said Jolo.
“This gonna work?”
“We’re gonna get some face time with Filcher. What he does is up to him.” And then Jolo held up the scrambler to his face mask. “Persephony, Marine 4. The ship is clear. I have one prisoner, a man claiming to be Federation Captain Barthelme. He wants to meet Commander Filcher.”
“Security will escort the prisoner to holding.”
“Roger that, Persephony. Prisoner is threatening to blow his ship if he doesn’t see Filcher.” There was a long pause and after awhile Jolo thought the comm link had dropped, but then she came back: “Marine 2, please confirm prisoner has a black mechanical right arm.” Jolo smiled behind his Fed facemask. Filcher wanted proof it was Barth. They were in.
“Roger, Persephony. Prisoner has a black mech arm.”
Filcher strode into the quarantine room of the Persephony with a security detail, four men in black armor with Fed rifles. Jolo and Greeley, hidden in their Fed blue battle gear, stood on either side of Barthelme, their captive, who had slunk down to the floor. Earlier, Jolo had yelled at one of the grunt deck scrubbers to bring some water, and a nurse came right before Filcher.
When Filcher entered Barthelme stood and saluted. “Commander Filcher,” he said. “Good to see you.”
Filcher just stared at him, took a deep breath. “You look like shit. I’m sorry you got shipped out. It’s Admiral now.”
“Shipped out? Is that what you call it? It’s bad enough they send you to hell, but no one—no one even lifted a finger.”
“I made some calls,” said Filcher. “Come, lets talk. And you need a chair.” He called for a hover chair, then looked up at Greeley and Jolo. “You two report to the infirmary. You know the protocol.”
“Commander, I’d appreciate it if these two marines could come along as well,” said Barthelme.
Filcher tapped on his comm link. “Computer, locate the away team members,” he said. Jolo glanced at Greeley, the big man was scanning for an exit. Jolo shook his head slightly: No. If Greeley ran, they’d shoot him.
“Away team members 1 and 3 are in the infirmary. 2 and 4 have been flagged for bio-authentication errors,” came the computer’s reply. Instantly the security detail surrounded Jolo and Greeley.
For a split second Jolo thought to fight, but instead he put his rifle on the floor, and thankfully, so did Greeley.
Jolo took off his helmet. “Filcher.” And the Admiral stared at Jolo with hard, tired eyes, and then his face softened, a flash of recognition. “We need your help,” Jolo said. “The attack on Duval is real. Barthelme is no criminal. Neither am I.” He stepped toward the his former number two and the guards pushed him back.
“You’re all three criminals,” said Filcher. “Where are my marines?”
“On our ship. In the med bay,” said Barth.
The admiral shook his head in disgust. “Pirates. You guys got balls, I’ll give you that. But damn if you ain’t stupid. Throw them all in the brig,” said Filcher with a wave of his hand, and he walked away.
Two days later Barth and Jolo were brought in front of the admiral. Both prisoners wore neck rings and handcuffs.
“Now I’ve got to decide what to do with these idiots,” said Filcher to his security detail. “Leave the pirates here. Wait outside.” Three left, black armor reflecting the lights on the ceiling. Clean and polished, thought Jolo. Not a scratch. Green.
The team leader of the sec detail was older. He wore the armor from years back that Jolo remembered, small dents from head to toe and dull spots where the suit had been repaired. The man raised his face shield so he could look Filcher in the eye. He wasn’t supposed to leave the commander with prisoners. Filcher’s voice went cold, “Leave.”
Filcher
