“Lyra!” he shouted over the comm. “Tell the autodoc to stabilize him!”
G232 met him at the hatch just as Rechs was starting back down to wade into the firefight.
“Oh, master. So much has been going on since you left! No doubt—”
Rechs waved the bot off.
At the bottom of the ramp, the dog was turning in a circle and wagging its tail. Then Rechs saw the marine sniper, covered in dust like some ghostly tribesman from out in the waste worlds at galaxy’s edge. She stumbled into view, still holding the rifle she’d acquired. She made the ramp just as the leej with the SAB came into view as well, backing toward the ramp, dumping fire in short bursts at multiple unseen targets.
Amanda lurched up the ramp. Rechs grabbed her hand, taking the weapon and pushing her deeper into the ship.
“Where is he?” she gasped.
Rechs knew who she meant. He’d reunite her with the wounded legionnaire soon enough. If they got out of here. First things first.
G232 was still talking as the legionnaire at the bottom of the ramp turned and pulled his SAB upright. Standard procedure for boarding.
Blaster fire chased his heels as he bounded up, coming in hot and fast, striking the boarding ramp and struts. But the kid made it.
Rechs slammed his glove against the close hatch button and shouted, “Lyra, get us out of here!”
The repulsors took over and heaved the Crow upward. Incoming fire struck the outer hull. Engines throttled up. And then they were airborne and streaking for altitude.
“Puncher,” said the kid, taking off his bucket and sticking out a hand. “That was close.”
Rechs shook, but didn’t give a name of his own. The kid laughed. At the absurdity of it all. The closest of scrapes.
The bounty hunter looked over at where the marine had been. Amanda. She was gone. He found her where he knew he would. Standing at the entrance to the medical bay, still covered in dust. Watching the autodoc work to save Lopez’s life.
“He’ll make it,” said Rechs, standing next to her as he studied the status readouts. “Readouts show him getting stabilized.”
She nodded once and then collapsed. Sliding toward the floor and covering her dusty face with the crook of her arm. Her shoulders rising and falling to the deck as she began to sob in great heaving shudders.
It was finally over.
* * *
General Sheehan sent a FLASH priority comm request to the crew of the light freighter that had just pulled out the captured legionnaire and marine, according to a report sent in by Hunter Oh-Two, his best asset in the AO.
His staff had warned him that the captain of that ship was most likely Tyrus Rechs. The freighter matched descriptions of the ship reportedly used by the notorious and highly wanted bounty hunter. Orders were to shoot that freighter down on sight, friendly casualties being considered an acceptable loss.
Sheehan ignored those directives, while understanding full well the consequences of his choice.
“Unidentified freighter,” said the general. “This is General Charles Sheehan, commander of ground forces in-system.”
He made a point of not using Rechs’s name. Of not giving any rope that those ghouls in Nether Ops might try to wrap around his neck. Tyrus Rechs was on that ship? You don’t say?
“I have reports that you have safely procured a Republic legionnaire and Republic marine captured by militant elements in the organization calling itself the Soshies. I’m offering safe passage for you to set down on the destroyer Castle, or, if you prefer, LZ-8 in the marine Green Zone in order to exchange Sergeants Almond and Lopez.”
There was no reply. The ether of comm hummed while out there the light freighter seemed to race for jump.
“We can intercept her,” noted the naval liaison.
The comment showed that not everyone was in agreement when it came to giving a pass to the war criminal Tyrus Rechs. But some did. The liaison’s superior, Commodore Giers, agreed with General Sheehan. The bounty hunter should be offered a chance to turn over the soldiers and depart under a flag of truce.
“It’s the only decent thing to do,” was how Giers had put it.
Sheehan ignored the liaison’s comment and his staff held their breath, waiting to hear if the bounty hunter would respond and hoping that, if he did, he wouldn’t complicate things by naming himself. Everyone wanted things to turn out, but they also needed to CYA. They’d note for the record, when the House of Reason inquiry came down, that they’d advised the correct course of action. Intercept and arrest one Tyrus Rechs. Regardless of the circumstances.
General Sheehan was a middle-aged man turning to old. He held the comm one more time above the holotable in the CIC.
“Freighter pilot,” said the general, still playing the game. Creating a passable veneer of not knowingly defying orders. “You can trust me.”
A moment later the gravelly and tired voice of the fabled ghost that was Tyrus Rechs came back over the comm.
“I have your word, General?”
Sheehan looked around at his staff. Career officers begging with their eyes that he do “the right thing” and save their careers by not persisting in the folly of offering a wanted criminal safe passage.
“You do, freighter pilot. You have my word.”
“Coming in,” said Rechs a moment later. “We’ll set down on the portside aft deck. We have wounded. Request a full trauma team meet us aboard the ship.”
“Copy that,” said Sheehan. He turned to an aide. “Get my shuttle ready. I wanna be there.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later the light freighter Obsidian Crow set down on the open deck of the Republic destroyer Castle. Detachments of marines had blocked every exit. Except instead of facing the ship, as if ready to repel, they were facing out, away from Tyrus Rechs’s ship as it vented gases and lowered its gears.
The message was clear: They would have their marine back. And the legionnaire. At whatever cost. And officially, no one would even
