Deb Chambers lounged in the passenger seat of the truck, a rifle lying casually across her knees. Danny Ermine, a childhood friend, was in the driver’s seat, going well over the speed limit for the road between Vale and Hilard. The Syndicate was running something or other between the only two things that passed for cities on Tantaline. Given the fact that this was, in fact, Tantaline, it was probably food or medical supplies or something-the official Republic shipments, while free, were few and far between, in addition to being generally bland. The Republic typically tolerated these illegal operations, or at least, didn’t think it worth their time to put a stop to it. There had been rumors lately though... Someone new had taken command of Tactical in the last few months, and they were aggressive as hell.
General speculation had it that that someone was Isabella Shishani, the daughter of the First Citizen, which was fascinating, as for the past eighteen years the younger Shishani had projected a public image that was nothing if not obnoxiously aristocratic. Perhaps that was why she was supposedly so tough on the job-to separate the previous harmless image from the new one.
The truck they were driving was only a truck in the loosest definition of the word-its trailer was occupied by a magnetic Drone Launch system, several of said drones, and consoles to fly them. Quite clearly things that should still be on the decommissioned Cruiser that the Syndicate had removed them from, but, well, no-one would really ever need to know.
“So, Deb,” Danny said, “You’re eighteen now... Next time you get caught, it’s the real slammer, huh?”
She smiled. “Please. They only ever caught me because of other people’s mistakes.”
“People like me?”
“Ehh... You were always one of the more competent ones of us. In fact, you were almost something close to a fraction of being as good as me at times.” Talking to Danny always made her feel... Tense. In a good way, but... It was distracting.
“Oh please. Who was the one to figure out how you could switch on the safety’s on the PlanSec Officer’s weapons remotely?”
“Not you.”
Danny made a face. “Maybe not, but I did help.”
“By which you mean you were the dupe that they got to get himself shot at.” She said, laughing.
“Maybe...” He said, smiling back at her. “You know though, jokes aside... If you keep taking Syndicate jobs, you’re going to get caught.”
“So what? It’s not like getting put in some prison somewhere will be that much worse than being stuck here.”
“Is Tantaline really that bad though? I mean... We complain, we gripe, and it really isn’t a particularly exciting place, but... Look around you. This savannah, the wide, open spaces... The jungle... This is home. The corridors of some space station? They’re not. I mean, we’ve both done time behind bars, but now we’re both able to get offworld, we should consider that as an option.”
“What are you suggesting? Getting offworld with the syndicate?”
“Or just one of the Republic freighters. Get some work-for-hire on one of those, or even just barter some work for passage. Get to Saray or Kapteyn, get a job on a private one.”
“We’ve got records, Danny. The Republic has records on us-it’s not just PlanSec. We can’t get legal work anywhere in the Republic.”
“There’s the Spacers-this is exactly what they are. People on the outskirts of society, people like us, the kind who never got a chance. People from Tantaline, or Tridentine, or Innes Star. The people who might just have a chance if it wasn’t for a damn Republic governor, and their Fleet and Marines, and-.”
“Shut up.” Deborah hissed. “Look, I don’t give a damn about the Republic, but please, don’t say things like that. Eyes, ears everywhere. Back in the System, remember how they’d shunt us from house to house? I saw the dossiers they kept on us-even at the lowest, most wretched levels, the Republic pays its informants. And can you honestly tell me that you’d do anything different, given that chance? Yes, the Republic is a failure, especially at the lowest levels, but the Imperiata would have been too, or the old Federation, or whatever comes next. But you don’t survive something like this by being noticed-you survive by doing the best you can to be unnoticeable.”
“So what, you intend to lie low by joining an organization that literally calls itself ‘the Syndicate’?”
“I don’t know, I-.” The cabin of the truck waas split by a loud, frantic, beeping sound. Deborah swore. “Danny, open comms to the rest of the convoy. Make sure the other Drone Truck is getting this alarm-we’ve got something inbound. It’s probably just a Fleet Recon drone, but... Well, you know. Abundance of caution and whatnot.”
“Got it. Get back to the Consoles-I’ll handle the truck.”
Nodding, Deb crawled back, over the seat, into the rear or the truck. The two Consoles sat in the back, wedged behind the massive feeder belt, loaded with four last-generation military Crossover Interceptors. As Crossovers, they could fly in the atmosphere as well as in a vacuum, but it was miserably bad in both. Sliding into one console, she switched on the comms, putting her in contact with the other three pilots.
“This is Chambers, signing in.” She said, toggling her console’s view to show the radar picture from the Comms truck. “Do we launch?”
“Yeah-even if that’s just a Fleet Recon drone, it’ll have picked up on the fact that something’s out of the normal here-you don’t see a half dozen large trucks traveling through the desert in convoy like this every day.” That was Mr. Jackson, the man who had organized this job. He was from offworld, and, apparently, didn’t know the difference between a desert and a savannah.
“Copy that.” She said, and hit a button to get Danny to initiate the launch sequence. “And we’re airborne.” She said a moment later as an indicator light switched on, and she heard the rumble of the truck’s roof sliding open.
A roar filled the truck, and the drone was away, its magnetic launcher getting it far enough away from the truck that it could safely engage its rocket booster and atmospheric wings. Her Console switched to the drone’s point-of-view, and she swung it round, getting a visual on the Recon drone. It had wide wings, and turbine engines-clearly optimized for the atmosphere, not space. Accellerating her own aircraft upwards, she brought the Fleet drone into her sights, then fired the Sabot Cannonn. A good half-dozen of the metal sabots connected with the Fleet drone, sending it pinwheeling down towards the ground.
“Hostile intent confirmed. This is United Terran Republic Tactical Services Force Eleven, calling Syndicate Convoy. You have thirty seconds to surrender, or be terminated.”
Deb swore again, banking her drone, trying to see where the hostile message had come from. The other three drones from their convoy were still circling upwards, their pilots either not as good or not as reckless as Deb.
Even as she reached for the comm button though, Jackson’s voice filled the Console. “Do not stand down. The radar is free of any Tactical forces, and this cargo is lucrative enough to make it worth the small risks involved to any of you.”
Nervous-but really, what was she going to do?-Deb moved the drone into a holding pattern, trying to cover as much airspace as possible over the convoy. She had never been formally trained, but she had flown civilian drones before, both legally and illegally, so she was familiar with the general principles.
Something flashed down, a vertical line across her field of vision. A blazing pillar of red, followed by an explosion when it hit the ground, a half-mile in front of the convoy, easily destroying the road, despite the lack of a fireball.
“KKV!” Someone shouted over the comm. “Kinetic Kill Vehicles inbound! Dammit, this is Tactical!” Below her, she saw-and felt-the convoy screech to a halt.
A pair of wide black fighters swept in from the eastern side of the road, weapons blazing-and they weren’t outdated Sabot Cannons like on Deb’s drone. The outline of a Tachyon-class fighter was unmistakable-they had been in service for the past thirty years, and, while outdated, variants upon that frame still were viable as crossover fighters.
“Probably dropped in from a troopship in orbit?” Deb asked, dropping her fighter towards the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid what looked like a plasma cannon of some variety.
“Dunno, don’t care!” The KKV voice shouted back, as there was a flash out of Deb’s field of vision, and another indicator flashed ‘Drone Down’.
Pulling her drone out of the nosedive, Deb swung it around, flying low over the savannah, trying to build some altitude. Another alarm flashed-’Hostile on six’.
What the hell? She briefly wondered, before seeing a beam of plasma flash past her drone’s camera. She spun, taking the drone upwards, away from ground, the fighter in hot pursuit.
Golden grass, blue sky, light of sun, golden grass-flash.
Deb cringed as the explosion filled the console, before realizing that it was just the death of the camera. She slammed a button down, launching the second drone. Even as the launch rail swung up into position, another jet of plasma slashed through it, damaging the truck too this time.
The console started burning. Deb grabbed for the handle on the inside of the door, twisting it open. She stumbled out, just in time to see another fighter roar overhead, and something smashed into the truck, rolling it over onto its side.
Suddenly Deborah couldn’t hear anything, could barely see. She knew she must have been flash-blinded, but that didn’t help the symptoms much.
Through the haze, she crawled to somewhere that looked relatively enclosed, and huddled up. As hearing began to return, she heard tantalizing snippets of battle, the sound of at least one rotorcraft, gunfire, at least one heavy plasma weapon in play somewhere.
Even once her hearing had returned, she stayed huddled in the corner, wishing she had a sidearm of some kind-anything. She had always used to carry a knife, but had stopped over the past year. It just hadn’t seemed worth the effort. Well, anything would be better than nothing now.
Eventually, she saw the first Tactical. The man was alone, arrogant, helmet off, strolling through a warzone, an expensive Directed-Energy Weapon of some kind slung across one arm.
“Insurgents!” He shouted, in Deb’s general direction. “Stand down, and we guarantee that you will be given a trial and sentencing under the laws of the Re-.”
He was interrupted by gunfire-someone emptying a clip into him from the front of the truck. It didn’t do anything, of course. The bullets stopped a good three inches away from his armor, dropping into the dirt with marginally less force than their spent shells did upon being ejected from the gun.
Sister Regina, who had run one of the homes Deb had once been housed in, had explained, in whispered tones, how Tactical had learnt that trick from a she-devil they had fought somewhere on the other side of the universe. Deb didn’t believe that, but she did agree with the comparison-if there was anything in Terran space approaching hellspawn, it was a Tactical Agent.
The man shook his head, and whipped his weapon up to his shoulder, firing into the cabin of the truck. She heard Danny scream.
“Is there anyone else in there?” He asked, sweeping the gaping opening with his weapon. “You have one final chance to surrender, before we come in after you.”
“Wait!” She shouted, rushing out of her cover, raising her hands above her head. “I surrender-don’t shoot!” Please, please don’t shoot.
The Agent swung to face her, weapon pointed directly into her chest. Then, seeing that she really wasn’t a threat, he lowered it. “Damn... You’re all just kids.” The man said, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder and taking a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
As he approached her, she realized that he was alone, and functionally unarmed. He had several weapons, obviously, but she had been streetfighting for years, and could probably overpower him for long enough to get her hands on that pistol he had...
As soon as the Tactical drew close enough to actually cuff her, she lashed out, kicking him in the knees. The man stumbled backwards, fumbling for a knife. She grabbed for it, but felt a cold arm snap around her neck. She grabbed for it, glancing down-there was nothing there.
No... A faint outline of an armored hand was visible, the light shifting prismatically around it. She struggled, but was forced to her knees, and cuffed.
A needle slid into her wrist from inside the cuff, and the last thought she had was that they really did seem like devils.
She awoke in near-darkness. She was lying, horizontal, in a space that she could clearly tell was small, enclosed, and filled with people.
She snapped her eyes open-years of being more or less on the streets had taught her that being anything less than fully alert was always, always dangerous. She swung herself off of the bunk, climbing down. “Anyone here?” She whispered, voice still seeming loud in the darkness and silence.
“Shut up.” Someone hissed. A murmur of assent filled the room, far more people than should be in such a small space.
“Where are we?” She whispered, dropping her voice even lower.
“Republic starcruiser. There’s been hits all across the sector-Tantaline, Kapteyn, and everything in between.”
“So what shape’s the Syndicate in?” She asked.
The voice laughed. “Kid, there is no Syndicate. There’s an Imperiata remnant that’s been simmering for the past ten years under a fancy name-at least, that’s what the loud man with the gun kept insisting, and none of us felt like disagreeing. Whether you believe that or not is your choice, but when the Agent comes for you, I’d suggest that-.”
A door swung open, illuminating the room. The light was blinding, highlighting a human figure standing in the doorway, light bending around it. “Good morning! How’s the oxygen you’re stealing off of this otherwise fine ship of war?” The man in the door shouted. “Welcome aboard the United Terran Fleet Ship Warden! I am Recruit Instructor Anderson, and I'm the one you answer to for the next three months. You’re all transfers from what I’m led to believe is the worst pit this side of a black hole, but we’ll whip you into shape around here. You belong to the fleet now-so get up and on your feet!”
The truck they were driving was only a truck in the loosest definition of the word-its trailer was occupied by a magnetic Drone Launch system, several of said drones, and consoles to fly them. Quite clearly things that should still be on the decommissioned Cruiser that the Syndicate had removed them from, but, well, no-one would really ever need to know.
“So, Deb,” Danny said, “You’re eighteen now... Next time you get caught, it’s the real slammer, huh?”
She smiled. “Please. They only ever caught me because of other people’s mistakes.”
“People like me?”
“Ehh... You were always one of the more competent ones of us. In fact, you were almost something close to a fraction of being as good as me at times.” Talking to Danny always made her feel... Tense. In a good way, but... It was distracting.
“Oh please. Who was the one to figure out how you could switch on the safety’s on the PlanSec Officer’s weapons remotely?”
“Not you.”
Danny made a face. “Maybe not, but I did help.”
“By which you mean you were the dupe that they got to get himself shot at.” She said, laughing.
“Maybe...” He said, smiling back at her. “You know though, jokes aside... If you keep taking Syndicate jobs, you’re going to get caught.”
“So what? It’s not like getting put in some prison somewhere will be that much worse than being stuck here.”
“Is Tantaline really that bad though? I mean... We complain, we gripe, and it really isn’t a particularly exciting place, but... Look around you. This savannah, the wide, open spaces... The jungle... This is home. The corridors of some space station? They’re not. I mean, we’ve both done time behind bars, but now we’re both able to get offworld, we should consider that as an option.”
“What are you suggesting? Getting offworld with the syndicate?”
“Or just one of the Republic freighters. Get some work-for-hire on one of those, or even just barter some work for passage. Get to Saray or Kapteyn, get a job on a private one.”
“We’ve got records, Danny. The Republic has records on us-it’s not just PlanSec. We can’t get legal work anywhere in the Republic.”
“There’s the Spacers-this is exactly what they are. People on the outskirts of society, people like us, the kind who never got a chance. People from Tantaline, or Tridentine, or Innes Star. The people who might just have a chance if it wasn’t for a damn Republic governor, and their Fleet and Marines, and-.”
“Shut up.” Deborah hissed. “Look, I don’t give a damn about the Republic, but please, don’t say things like that. Eyes, ears everywhere. Back in the System, remember how they’d shunt us from house to house? I saw the dossiers they kept on us-even at the lowest, most wretched levels, the Republic pays its informants. And can you honestly tell me that you’d do anything different, given that chance? Yes, the Republic is a failure, especially at the lowest levels, but the Imperiata would have been too, or the old Federation, or whatever comes next. But you don’t survive something like this by being noticed-you survive by doing the best you can to be unnoticeable.”
“So what, you intend to lie low by joining an organization that literally calls itself ‘the Syndicate’?”
“I don’t know, I-.” The cabin of the truck waas split by a loud, frantic, beeping sound. Deborah swore. “Danny, open comms to the rest of the convoy. Make sure the other Drone Truck is getting this alarm-we’ve got something inbound. It’s probably just a Fleet Recon drone, but... Well, you know. Abundance of caution and whatnot.”
“Got it. Get back to the Consoles-I’ll handle the truck.”
Nodding, Deb crawled back, over the seat, into the rear or the truck. The two Consoles sat in the back, wedged behind the massive feeder belt, loaded with four last-generation military Crossover Interceptors. As Crossovers, they could fly in the atmosphere as well as in a vacuum, but it was miserably bad in both. Sliding into one console, she switched on the comms, putting her in contact with the other three pilots.
“This is Chambers, signing in.” She said, toggling her console’s view to show the radar picture from the Comms truck. “Do we launch?”
“Yeah-even if that’s just a Fleet Recon drone, it’ll have picked up on the fact that something’s out of the normal here-you don’t see a half dozen large trucks traveling through the desert in convoy like this every day.” That was Mr. Jackson, the man who had organized this job. He was from offworld, and, apparently, didn’t know the difference between a desert and a savannah.
“Copy that.” She said, and hit a button to get Danny to initiate the launch sequence. “And we’re airborne.” She said a moment later as an indicator light switched on, and she heard the rumble of the truck’s roof sliding open.
A roar filled the truck, and the drone was away, its magnetic launcher getting it far enough away from the truck that it could safely engage its rocket booster and atmospheric wings. Her Console switched to the drone’s point-of-view, and she swung it round, getting a visual on the Recon drone. It had wide wings, and turbine engines-clearly optimized for the atmosphere, not space. Accellerating her own aircraft upwards, she brought the Fleet drone into her sights, then fired the Sabot Cannonn. A good half-dozen of the metal sabots connected with the Fleet drone, sending it pinwheeling down towards the ground.
“Hostile intent confirmed. This is United Terran Republic Tactical Services Force Eleven, calling Syndicate Convoy. You have thirty seconds to surrender, or be terminated.”
Deb swore again, banking her drone, trying to see where the hostile message had come from. The other three drones from their convoy were still circling upwards, their pilots either not as good or not as reckless as Deb.
Even as she reached for the comm button though, Jackson’s voice filled the Console. “Do not stand down. The radar is free of any Tactical forces, and this cargo is lucrative enough to make it worth the small risks involved to any of you.”
Nervous-but really, what was she going to do?-Deb moved the drone into a holding pattern, trying to cover as much airspace as possible over the convoy. She had never been formally trained, but she had flown civilian drones before, both legally and illegally, so she was familiar with the general principles.
Something flashed down, a vertical line across her field of vision. A blazing pillar of red, followed by an explosion when it hit the ground, a half-mile in front of the convoy, easily destroying the road, despite the lack of a fireball.
“KKV!” Someone shouted over the comm. “Kinetic Kill Vehicles inbound! Dammit, this is Tactical!” Below her, she saw-and felt-the convoy screech to a halt.
A pair of wide black fighters swept in from the eastern side of the road, weapons blazing-and they weren’t outdated Sabot Cannons like on Deb’s drone. The outline of a Tachyon-class fighter was unmistakable-they had been in service for the past thirty years, and, while outdated, variants upon that frame still were viable as crossover fighters.
“Probably dropped in from a troopship in orbit?” Deb asked, dropping her fighter towards the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid what looked like a plasma cannon of some variety.
“Dunno, don’t care!” The KKV voice shouted back, as there was a flash out of Deb’s field of vision, and another indicator flashed ‘Drone Down’.
Pulling her drone out of the nosedive, Deb swung it around, flying low over the savannah, trying to build some altitude. Another alarm flashed-’Hostile on six’.
What the hell? She briefly wondered, before seeing a beam of plasma flash past her drone’s camera. She spun, taking the drone upwards, away from ground, the fighter in hot pursuit.
Golden grass, blue sky, light of sun, golden grass-flash.
Deb cringed as the explosion filled the console, before realizing that it was just the death of the camera. She slammed a button down, launching the second drone. Even as the launch rail swung up into position, another jet of plasma slashed through it, damaging the truck too this time.
The console started burning. Deb grabbed for the handle on the inside of the door, twisting it open. She stumbled out, just in time to see another fighter roar overhead, and something smashed into the truck, rolling it over onto its side.
Suddenly Deborah couldn’t hear anything, could barely see. She knew she must have been flash-blinded, but that didn’t help the symptoms much.
Through the haze, she crawled to somewhere that looked relatively enclosed, and huddled up. As hearing began to return, she heard tantalizing snippets of battle, the sound of at least one rotorcraft, gunfire, at least one heavy plasma weapon in play somewhere.
Even once her hearing had returned, she stayed huddled in the corner, wishing she had a sidearm of some kind-anything. She had always used to carry a knife, but had stopped over the past year. It just hadn’t seemed worth the effort. Well, anything would be better than nothing now.
Eventually, she saw the first Tactical. The man was alone, arrogant, helmet off, strolling through a warzone, an expensive Directed-Energy Weapon of some kind slung across one arm.
“Insurgents!” He shouted, in Deb’s general direction. “Stand down, and we guarantee that you will be given a trial and sentencing under the laws of the Re-.”
He was interrupted by gunfire-someone emptying a clip into him from the front of the truck. It didn’t do anything, of course. The bullets stopped a good three inches away from his armor, dropping into the dirt with marginally less force than their spent shells did upon being ejected from the gun.
Sister Regina, who had run one of the homes Deb had once been housed in, had explained, in whispered tones, how Tactical had learnt that trick from a she-devil they had fought somewhere on the other side of the universe. Deb didn’t believe that, but she did agree with the comparison-if there was anything in Terran space approaching hellspawn, it was a Tactical Agent.
The man shook his head, and whipped his weapon up to his shoulder, firing into the cabin of the truck. She heard Danny scream.
“Is there anyone else in there?” He asked, sweeping the gaping opening with his weapon. “You have one final chance to surrender, before we come in after you.”
“Wait!” She shouted, rushing out of her cover, raising her hands above her head. “I surrender-don’t shoot!” Please, please don’t shoot.
The Agent swung to face her, weapon pointed directly into her chest. Then, seeing that she really wasn’t a threat, he lowered it. “Damn... You’re all just kids.” The man said, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder and taking a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
As he approached her, she realized that he was alone, and functionally unarmed. He had several weapons, obviously, but she had been streetfighting for years, and could probably overpower him for long enough to get her hands on that pistol he had...
As soon as the Tactical drew close enough to actually cuff her, she lashed out, kicking him in the knees. The man stumbled backwards, fumbling for a knife. She grabbed for it, but felt a cold arm snap around her neck. She grabbed for it, glancing down-there was nothing there.
No... A faint outline of an armored hand was visible, the light shifting prismatically around it. She struggled, but was forced to her knees, and cuffed.
A needle slid into her wrist from inside the cuff, and the last thought she had was that they really did seem like devils.
She awoke in near-darkness. She was lying, horizontal, in a space that she could clearly tell was small, enclosed, and filled with people.
She snapped her eyes open-years of being more or less on the streets had taught her that being anything less than fully alert was always, always dangerous. She swung herself off of the bunk, climbing down. “Anyone here?” She whispered, voice still seeming loud in the darkness and silence.
“Shut up.” Someone hissed. A murmur of assent filled the room, far more people than should be in such a small space.
“Where are we?” She whispered, dropping her voice even lower.
“Republic starcruiser. There’s been hits all across the sector-Tantaline, Kapteyn, and everything in between.”
“So what shape’s the Syndicate in?” She asked.
The voice laughed. “Kid, there is no Syndicate. There’s an Imperiata remnant that’s been simmering for the past ten years under a fancy name-at least, that’s what the loud man with the gun kept insisting, and none of us felt like disagreeing. Whether you believe that or not is your choice, but when the Agent comes for you, I’d suggest that-.”
A door swung open, illuminating the room. The light was blinding, highlighting a human figure standing in the doorway, light bending around it. “Good morning! How’s the oxygen you’re stealing off of this otherwise fine ship of war?” The man in the door shouted. “Welcome aboard the United Terran Fleet Ship Warden! I am Recruit Instructor Anderson, and I'm the one you answer to for the next three months. You’re all transfers from what I’m led to believe is the worst pit this side of a black hole, but we’ll whip you into shape around here. You belong to the fleet now-so get up and on your feet!”