Her target shifted slightly on its axis, protecting its aft belly from her. Just as it should.
The Outlaw wasn’t big enough for torpedoes, but Wren and Kellis had created a little something special for her, retrofitted for the Outlaw’s rescue beacon. Sure, she had no beacon now, but if she ended up in the shit, it wouldn’t be of any help anyway.
She made another pass, scraping close to the ship and launching the beacon. Except it wasn’t a beacon that flew toward the other ship and lodged itself right on that tender spot on the belly. The device sat there, and within seconds the ship went dark.
She whooped with delight. Cabot probably hadn’t expected her to use his electrical-killing “ancient good luck charm” this way, but it had sure worked. The ship was still a threat, but its crew would be occupied with restoring its oxygen flow and inertial dampening systems for the next, oh, fifteen minutes or so. Which was fine. She didn’t need to destroy these ships—and would prefer not to. They were only mercenaries. Criminals, sure, but not the kind who deserved an instant death sentence without a trial. All she needed was time to get on board Jamestown. She needed to disable the small ships to pave her way, and that of the Nefarious, assuming it took out the lead ship. She’d circle back if necessary.
As she made for the wild-card ship, her voicecom came to life on an open channel. “Outlaw, this is the Stinth. I can handle these two small birds.”
Fallon adjusted her trajectory, swooping out and around the ship. “That wouldn’t be Arlen Stinth, would it?”
“You got it, Chief. Cabot Layne called in a favor, so I’m here to assist.”
Fallon laughed. Now that was unexpected. Someone who had once gotten into a fight with two buffoons on Dragonfire’s boardwalk was coming to her aid. Every now and then, the universe was funny like that.
“Understood, Stinth. I’ll go help the Nefarious, and hopefully we’ll manage to get our asses on Jamestown.”
“Understood, Chief. Good luck.”
Fallon closed the channel. As she circled back to the Nefarious she saw a new ship appear on her sensors, closing on their location.
That was good news though. The call sign of the P.A.C.S. Roosevelt was broadcast loud and clear. The military flagship would flush out the mercenaries with relative ease.
“Outlaw to Nefarious and Roosevelt. The Stinth is on our side, so please take care of it. I’m preparing to board Jamestown.”
“See you there, Outlaw.” Ross sounded entirely professional, but that didn’t mean the ship had suffered no damage. She could only hope for the best.
“We’ll keep you covered, Outlaw.” The voice from the Roosevelt wasn’t familiar, but there was no reason it should be.
“Grateful for that, Roosevelt. I’m your new biggest fan. Outlaw out.”
She’d already maneuvered her ship wide of the melee, out of weapons range. No sense in getting taken out by a potshot now. She focused on what she’d come to do—end this madness once and for all.
The docks were locked down. She’d expected that. Raptor had written a handy little program to gain access. The airlock pressurization had been disabled, but she’d come prepared, wearing a pressure suit.
She needed only a few minutes to force the airlock to open. Once on the other side, she had to put it into emergency containment mode so it would close itself again.
Her first discovery was finding that this part of the station had been repressurized. She wondered how much of Jamestown had been. The lights were on, in emergency mode to conserve energy. As she moved through the station, lights turned off behind her when they sensed an unoccupied area. It was an odd thing, the lights snapping to life ahead of her and clicking off behind. She existed in a small radius of light that adjusted itself to her as she made her way toward the heart of Jamestown.
As the first on board, her job was to get to engineering and assess the station’s situation. Once the single-channel comport in her ear let her know her team had arrived, she’d switch tactics and head to crisis ops control. Colb was almost certainly hiding out there. It was where she’d be in his position—the most protected place on the station.
She was glad he’d pressurized it. It would make her work easier. It was chilly though. Temperature bled off quickly in space, only to be regained by time and great effort. In another ten degrees it would be comfortably livable.
Being on the empty station was eerie, but no more than during her first visit. At least it was more hospitable to life now. She was surprised when she made it to engineering with no issues. She’d expected to encounter resistance, but no one had blocked her way, and Colb apparently hadn’t wanted to booby-trap the thing he was trying to repair.
She shed her pressure suit and replaced it with her stinger dissipator. Now she was ready for a fight.
A survey of the station’s systems showed that the place remained a husk. No communications, no information systems. But Colb wouldn’t have needed much more time to lock out the other PAC officials. Which would give him the upper hand with the PAC, allowing him to establish himself as the de facto leader of the entire alliance.
She’d been worried that she was already too late, but now she’d made it aboard and she wasn’t leaving without him.
She studied the engineering readouts, trying to figure out what all he’d done and how she could thwart him. Lock him out somehow. But she was a fighter and a pilot, not an engineer. Security systems were nothing like systems operations. She needed an engineer.
Her earpiece came to life with Raptor’s voice. “Docking now. Expect
