Scourge: Book Two of the Starcrown Chronicles by Jon Gerrard
* * *
Bruce Stone swept the muzzle of his gun back and forth as he moved. He played the infrared beam from the light mounted below the barrel of his assault rifle on the deck in front of him. Although invisible to an unaided eye, the wash from his light was clearly visible to him in his headset, allowing him to move easily through the inky blackness.
He went silently, the soles of his electrostatic boots keeping him firmly anchored to the decking now that the ship’s artificial gravity was off. He had made his way down to the ship’s lowest level and turned toward the starboard companionway. When he reached the intersection he cautiously peered around the corner toward the aft end of the passage where his tracker told him the four tangos were located. They were there, less than ten meters from his position. He slipped silently into the passageway and centered his sight reticle on the back of the closest pirate. His weapon had been fitted with a muzzle suppressor which shifted the wavelength of the rifle’s discharge out of the visible range. It also dampened the sound of the burst so that the faint clicking of the firing contact would be the only sound the gun made. He could pick them off one at a time and they would never know he was even there.
Bruce carefully brought his weapon up to sight at the back of the pirate’s head. They were making their way blindly through the passage, slowly pulling themselves along by a series of handholds set into the bulkheads. As they moved they spoke to each other in hushed whispers that were too low for him to make out, but they definitely seemed rattled by the sudden failure of their ship’s systems.
Scratch four bad guys, he thought to himself as he slipped his finger into the trigger guard and made ready to squeeze off his first shot. Just as he started to tighten his finger, the target turned in his direction and Bruce recognized him as the same man who had pistol whipped Lucky earlier. He made a split second decision and released the trigger. His orders gave him the flexibility to either eliminate the pirates or subdue them, if it were safe to do so. He had no trouble with killing the pirates. They were murderers and slavers and the universe would be a better place without them. But the way this pirate had viciously clubbed Lucky in the face was an act that called for a more personal touch. Their nervousness at the unexpected power failure gave him an idea. Bruce slung his rifle across his back and began creeping silently up behind them. With his headset adjusted to IR the pirates showed up clearly as red tinted shapes so he didn’t need the light attached to his gun to stalk his unsuspecting prey. As he drew near he began to make out their conversation.
“Hey, Francois, what do you think is going on?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Do you think it’s serious?”
“Stop asking me stupid questions, Fungai. You’ll find out the same time the rest of us do. Now stick a sock in it!”
“But, Francois, don’t you want to know what happened?”
“I know what’s going to happen if we’re not ready to bring that cargo aboard when the captain gives the word. Haven’t you found the manual release for the hatch yet?”
. . .
“Fungai?”
At that moment Fungai was struggling to free himself from the iron grip of an arm that had suddenly locked itself around his throat. With his breath choked off by the invisible arm and a hand clamped tightly over his nose and mouth, Fungai couldn’t make a sound. Moments later, as his unknown assailant increased the pressure on his throat, Fungai felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.
Bruce kept applying the choke hold for several seconds after he felt the pirate go slack in his arms to be certain the man was unconscious. Then he secured his wrists behind his back with a self adjusting binding strip and sent him floating down the passageway with a gentle push before turning to the next man in the group.
“Fungai?”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“Geez, Sanchez, I wish you guys would stop asking me that! I’m not psychic, and I sure as hell can’t see in the dark. Let’s just get into the cargo bay so we can grab a couple of torches from the emergency rack. Dammit! I can’t find the bay door. Can you find the hatch release from where you are?”
. . .
“Sanchez?”
When Sanchez didn’t answer, Francois felt his heart surge into high gear.
“Joachim?” Francois called to the fourth member of the group in a voice barely above a whisper. When the last man failed to answer him he felt himself beginning to tremble uncontrollably. He began searching frantically for the cargo bay hatch. After several seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity he encountered something soft and warm on the bulkhead. It took him a few moments to realize that what he was touching was a hand placed protectively over the release handle he had been searching for.
“Sanchez?” Francois asked meekly. “Joachim?”
The silence stretched out for a long time during which he felt his heart beginning to pound even faster. It was hammering so hard that it felt like it was trying to tear itself right out of his rib cage.
“Who ... who is it?” he finally managed to force himself to ask.
“Your worst nightmare,” a strange voice answered quietly in his ear.
Before he could finish drawing a breath to shout, Francois felt something suddenly snake around his throat.