Hey INNers! For those of you finding a home in the dark alleys of Brimstone, welcome back – here is part 4. Let the squeamish beware, the blood is starting to fly…

“YO-HO YO-HO, A PIRATE’S LIFE FOR ME”

Deep Space – Garron System

——————————————————————

Dallas paced in the frigid Cutlass, flexing the carbon nanotube muscles in his right fist. He looked out the open back door, his MobiGlas scanning the infinite night for the nine other ships that, like the Ranger, coasted engines-off through the black. Not one bracket flashed up in his augmented vision, a fact that drew a wicked grin. The other sharks hurtling in formation were as near-frozen as the ship in which Dallas, and the pirates around him, now rode.

He looked around the hold at men and women, all bristling with guns and blades. Like Dallas, most had at least one replacement part fused into their flesh; a hand, a foot, patches of simskin covering artificial teeth. Catastrophic wear and tear was an integral part of this line of work.

Bulldog popped the powercell from his Arclight, rubbed the contacts against his trouser leg and slapped the unit back into the base of the gun. Dallas nodded when their eyes briefly met; a mutual affirmation of readiness and bloodlust. They could taste the fight.

Dallas was old school, a slug man. The LH-86 was slung low on his right thigh like an old west gunslinger. He was good with the pistol, but the only job of a handgun was to get you to a long gun. The Kastak strapped across his back was a deck-cleaner, an electric-driven shotgun that could fill a corridor with meat-chewing flechettes. The extra mag of FRAG-8s were for bigger game; high explosive rounds that could kill a forklift.

He walked to the front of the hold, passing under Gordo in the top turret. Dallas opened the cockpit door and shrugged as Keller looked back from the RIO seat. The second-seater glanced at his HUD, then rocked back flashing five, then four fingers. Dallas nodded and closed the door, turning back aft.

Every eye in the hold, real and artificial alike, watched him with a hunger. He flashed five-zero, accounting for the four seconds that ticked away. Bolts slammed forward a final time, bodies bracing against weapon racks and cargo nets. Everybody turned their attention towards the open rear door.

The plan was a violent one, and it would happen fast. Gliding in cold they should be on top of the Co’Ral, a Banu Merchantman, before it saw them coming. With luck they’d get in a free volley from stealth.

The commercial hauler was no pushover, and its response would be fast and furious. The ragtag collection of Cutlass, Hornets and Avengers would have to dodge a lot of fire while power-sliding, ass-doors open, slinging EVA-suited boarders down the length of the Co’Ral. If they were lucky, really lucky, they’d have five or six seconds before every gun on the Banu boat was locked on a target.

That was the hope anyway, because if they failed to draw the Co’Ral’s suppressive fire, the Warlock would be a sitting duck. Like the sharks, the EMP ship was coming in cold, but from the opposite direction. Unlike the black-coated predators that could shoot from the cover of darkness, the Warlock would have to light up like a pinball machine before pulling the trigger on its weapon. Not a gun, not a torpedo, but a magnetic pulse that could knock a ship’s electronics silly without blowing holes through the hull.

Holes are bad; cargo gets sucked out through holes. Put enough holes in a ship and it comes apart altogether. That doesn’t make for a profitable run.

The Ranger’s wall-displays flared to life and Dallas felt the sideways shove of the thrusters.

Game on.

The tail of the Cutlass went into a sick yaw, the wide expanse of the Co’Ral sliding into view. Dallas took one step towards the rear door when an explosion tore through the ceiling, spraying chunks of Gordo and turret-gun across the hold.

Pirates bounced in every direction as the Ranger tumbled from the impact. A burst of Banu CIWS chewed the boat, punching hundreds of narrow-spaced holes down the length of the fuselage. Braxton came apart in a spray of crimson. A leg bounced off the ceiling, it might’a been Vickers’. Adrenaline surging, Dallas shouldered past Bulldog and threw himself through the door into space.

From the sudden openness of space the Co’Ral looked like a wall of gunfire. Muzzle flash burned from far more turrets than a merchantman had any business packing. Just a couple hundred meters away, the Red Revenge took a square hit to the cockpit, hull-metal peeling back like a titanium banana.

Dallas tumbled away from the Ranger, firing suit-jets madly to stabilize his flight. Around him was the black of space, the orange-over-grey of gunfire across the immense starship…

…and a dazzling blue. A ball of cyan so bright it threatened to overload his Mobi. Lightning crackled from the center of the glow, then everything went white as the Warlock pulsed.

“Muh-ther-fucker,” Dallas cursed furiously, trying to blink away the spots that burned across his vision. EMP fucks everything, friend and foe alike. The Mobi was dead and his thrusters were stuttering. A couple of other sharks tumbled nearby, like Dallas caught in the circuit-numbing burst.

On the bright side, most of the Banu guns fell silent. A handful way aft were still barking in random directions, their targeting systems likely pointing at a distant star in pulse-addled confusion.

Gotta move, Dallas thought. That state of disarray won’t last forever. The second wave of sharks would be here in moments, the ones that hung back out of reach of the Warlock.

Dallas watched the hull of the Co’Ral loom larger, a football stadium of sparks and stuttering lights. In an unbroken stream of bitching he pounded his fist against the EVA controls, when a huge ball of metal suddenly thundered just above his head like a mac truck roaring over a rabbit in the road.

Dallas recognized the tail; the Red Revenge. One engine still ablaze, her noseless corpse plowed into the side of the Merchantman. The vacuum of space sucked the fireball into twisting orange ribbons that fluttered and vanished.

What was left was a hole, about the size of a garage door, half-jammed with Cutlass wreckage. But half-jammed was half-open and Dallas got a short burst of jet, enough to push him closer to the ad hoc entry. He slammed into the Co’Ral, grabbing hold before he bounced back into space. Scrambling hand-over-hand, he pulled himself into the gaping wound.

He bit down against the scream that rose in his throat as the jagged knife-edge of a torn hull plate carved a deep furrow through the meat of his thigh. The pain was followed by the sudden nausea of suit decompression before the ring-bladder inflated and pressure-sealed around the top of his leg. An auto-infuser shoved painkillers into his bloodstream. The leg fell numb and a haze wrapped around his brain, but he was still functional.

Dallas snarled through gritted teeth and rolled through the rest of the hole, magboots getting an unsteady grip on the Co’Ral’s deck floor. A quick glance revealed that the demise of the Red Revenge bought him a lucky break. The explosive decompression caught the Co’Ral in the grip of EMP haze so automatic bulkheads up and down the hall had failed to slam shut. Of the dozen crewmen he could see along the length of the dark corridor, none had the chance to get into space suits. They sprawled sightless, mouths agape, with no air in their lungs to scream.

Another man might have found that tragic. Dallas looked at it as ammo he didn’t have to burn. Bummer news for the crew of the Red, but somebody had to take one for the team.

Dallas ambled as fast as a rubber leg would allow, heading down to cargo bay three. That’s where the mercs would be holed up, some kind of elite guard according to the intel Vane had bought. Forty guys, full armor and weapons; whatever it was they were guarding had to be some kind of valuable.

An elevator door opened, revealing half a dozen Banu in EVA suits. Based on the surprise etched across each visor, they weren’t expecting to to find a pirate blocking the door, especially a pirate with a shotgun. The Kastak barked — three rapid blasts — and the elevator door closed quietly, hiding the sight of bloodspattered walls.

Dallas resumed his run, eyes sweeping up to the ceiling as the chatter of small arms began to echo throughout the ship. His brothers were here.

He reached the wide steel doors of cargo bay three, surprised to find them still closed. Any bunch of hardcore mercs worth their salt oughtta be suited up and taking control of the floor.

Something was wrong. The gears in Dallas’ mind spun. Then again…maybe wrong was so very right.

The loss of atmo was unexpected. His eyes narrowed, following the seam of the door from floor to ceiling. If the guys inside haven’t come out, maybe they got caught without EVAs. The door might be closed to keep the air inside. An evil grin drew across Dallas’ face. It would be a pity, a downright shame, if those doors cracked open.

The trample of boots were thudding along the overhead catwalks by the time Dallas had pried the coverplate off the lock. He’d been hot-wiring doors back in Leir since he was a kid but the pain in his leg was getting worse, the sluggishness crawling up into his arms. He was fumbling with the ground wire when a sudden arc crackled and the doors parted. Dallas staggered backwards, his shotgun swinging up to join the dozen or so other weapons leveled at the growing divide.

The vault-like doors slid open, settling into the wall with a dull metallic bang. Dallas stood slack-jawed in front of the first row of silhouettes, the muzzle of the Karstak slowly sinking towards the floor. He looked at Bulldog, who returned a confused shrug.

Dallas stepped forward, extending a gloved hand to tap one of the stone figures on the forehead. Polished jade eyes stared back from beneath the ornate, spiked helmet. The warrior stood at rigid attention, a wickedly curved halberd in his grasp. Around him, another thirty-nine stone figures stood unblinking watch, all rank and file around what looked like an ancient, gilded casket.

“Hey Cap’n,” Dallas spoke softly into the CommLink. “You aren’t gonna believe this…”