cruisers moved towards Procyon. For a moment he thought they were about to launch assault shuttles, but they didn't. Keita had something no one else did-the complete blueprints for a Capella-class dreadnought- and the battle-cruisers' short-range batteries stabbed into Procyon's hull. It was over in less than two seconds; long before the renegades could have realized what was happening, every one of Procyon's fusion plants had become an incandescent ruin.
'As I say, Admiral,' Keita said with cold satisfaction, 'they wont be blowing those plants.' He paused a moment, then nodded as if to himself. 'Another thing, Admiral. I don't know if it'll be possible to salvage that ship. If it is, however, she's yours. My word on it.'
Monkoto sucked in in astonishment. Badly wrecked as Procyon was, she was far from beyond repair if a replacement Fasset drive could be cobbled up, and the thought of adding that eight-million-tonne monster to his fleet …
'But now,' Keita said more briskly, 'my people have a job to do. Ill speak with you again later, Admiral.'
Tannis Gateau closed her armor's visor. The soft 'shusssssh' of a solid seal answered her, and she checked her battle-rifle's servos. Many drop commandos preferred plasma guns or lasers for vacuum. Energy weapons weren't very popular in atmosphere, where their range was drastically reduced, and even in vacuum a well-timed aerosol grenade did bad things to lasers, but the laser's lack of recoil made it popular in zero-G. Of course, lasers had horrific power requirements, and plasguns could hardly be called pinpoint weapons, especially in the confines of a starship's passages, yet most seemed to feel their advantages more than compensated. Not Tannis. The battle-rifle was a precision instrument, and using her armor's thrusters to offset the recoil had become instinct years ago.
She shook off her woolgathering thoughts with a wry smile. Her brain always insisted on wandering in the last moments before action was joined … unlike Alley, who only seemed to focus to an even greater intensity.
She pushed that memory away quickly and watched the troop bay repeater as the assault shuttles formed up. At least Alley had gotten away. She hadn't been killed by her own, and there was still hope-
The last shuttle slid into place, thrusters flared, and they swooped across the kilometers towards Procyon's savaged hulk.
Monkoto felt his stomach tighten as the silvery minnows darted towards the wounded leviathan. They were such tiny things-little larger than an old pre-space airliner-and if he'd missed even a single energy mount… .
But no weapons fired. The Bengals snarled down on their prey, belly-mounted tractors snugged them in tight, and hatches opened.
Tannis ducked instinctively and swore as a blast of penetrators spanged off her armor. One of her headquarters section reared up between her and the fire, staggering back a meter as the heavy-density projectiles slammed into him. They were from a standard combat rifle, and fiery ricochets bounced and leapt as his armor shrugged them aside. His weapon rose with the deadly economy of tick-enhanced reactions, and Tannis winced as a gout of plasma spewed up the passage, silent in the vacuum. The rifleman vanished-along with twelve meters of bulkhead. 'Prisoners, Jake,' she said mildly. 'We want prisoners.'
'Sorry, ma am.' The hulking commando, a third again Tannis's height, sounded almost sheepish. 'Got carried away.'
'Yeah, well, thanks anyway.' Her lip twitched as her team picked its way past the glowing wound. Jake Adams sometimes forgot how drastic the consequences could be when he got 'carried away.' Combat armor gave anyone the 'muscle' to use truly heavy weapons; Adams also had the size, and his 'plasma rifle' was the equal of a shuttle cannon.
Her amusement faded as she focused on her display. Boarding assaults were always ugly. Even though they knew every nook and cranny of their battlefield, there were still too many places for die-hards to hole up, and no pirate had any illusion about his or her ultimate fate. Her HQ section's circuitous route had been planned to reach their real objective while her other people distracted the enemy rank and file to clear her path. They were doing it … but they were taking losses despite their equipment.
She peered about her, checking corridor traffic markings against her display, and grunted in satisfaction.
'Beta Company, Ramrod has cleared route to Tango-Four-Niner-Lima down Zebra-Three. Form on my beacon.' Captain Schultz's acknowledgment came back, and she tucked away her display and swung her rifle into fighting position.
'All right, Jake. You see that hatch down there?'
'Yes, ma'am. I surely do.'
'Well, this piece of shit's flag bridge is on the other side of it.' She smiled up at him and waved a hand with the tick's dance-like fluidity. 'Feel free to get carried away.'
James Howell crouched behind his useless console in his vac suit. The laser carbine was alien to him, clumsy- feeling in his grip, but he waited almost calmly, his mind empty. There was no room for hope, and no point in fear. He was going to die, and whether it happened in a few minutes or a few hours-or even in a few months, if he was taken alive-didn't matter. He'd betrayed all he was sworn to uphold to play the great game; now he'd lost, and his own stupidity had brought all of his people to the same degrading end.
Echoes of combat quivered through the steel about him, and he glanced across the bridge at Rachel Shu, small and deadly behind a bipod-mounted plasma rifle. Others crouched with them, waiting, eyes locked on the hatch. Any moment now-
The heavily-armored hatch shuddered. A meter-wide circle flared instantly white-hot, and a tongue of plasma licked through it, a searing column that leapt across the bridge. Someone got in its way and died without time even to scream as the heart of a sun embraced him.
Another bolt of fury blew the hatch from its frame in half-molten wreckage, and the first drop commando charged through it.
Howell braced his laser across the console and squeezed the stud. A dozen others were firing, flaying the armored figure with tungsten penetrators and deadly beams of light, and the invader staggered. His battle-rifle flashed white fire as he went down-an unaimed spray of heavy-caliber penetrators that chewed up consoles and people with equal contempt-and then Rachel's plasgun fired, and what hit the deck was a less than human cinder.
Tannis Gateau swallowed a curse as her point man went down. It was her fault. Other teams had already taken heavy fire; hers hadn't, and she'd let herself grow overconfident. Now she slid forward, hugging the bulkhead and trying not to think about Adams and his monster gun behind her. Her racing mind rode the tick, and she reached out through her armor sensors. She couldn't get a clear reading, but with a little help …
A hand signal brought her HQ grenadier up on the other side of the passage, and she unhooked a small device from her armor harness, then nodded.
The grenadier opened up on full auto. It was a mixed belt, mostly smoke and pyrotechnics with only a handful of light HE, for they wanted prisoners, but it did its job. Anyone beyond that hatch was hugging the deck as flash- bangs and anti-laser vapor exploded in his face when she tossed the sensor remote with a smooth, underhand motion. It bounced across the deck, unnoticed under the cover of the grenades, and she smiled the cold, distant smile of a drop commando as she keyed it alive.
