Triggerfish (108 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Magicaddict (View user info) at 2006-11-05 17:26:19 EST
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"GC One, GC Three. Copy?"
"GC Three, GC One. Receiving - what've you got, Twitch?"
"Docking ring over The Divide. Five ships in formation about to receive two more. Combat craft. Want me to have a look?"
"Go right ahead".
JT sat in total silence, waiting for the response. Unable to get his sensors round the other side of the planet, where Twitch was currently peering around the curtains on this set of seven light fighters that might...just...be their targets, he couldn't do much else. Save possibly consider the notion that this may end before one of them died of boredom.
"Signatures match. Yeah, it's him".
Halle-fucking-lujah.
"Stay on them".
JT switched to multi-beam.
"GC Wide, GC One. Okay, boys and girls, we've got them. Coming out of the docking ring over The Divide. Twitch has got them on track and will guide us in".
"Better than on track - in sight. Sending co-ordinates now. Home in on me...here".
"Right".
"Gotcha".
"Ding".
"Arf".
"Yes".
Somewhere in orbit around the planet called Amaethion, five engines fired up and started to quietly guide their ships towards the co-ordinates the pilot of the sixth had transferred to them.
"How much do we know about them?"
"Medium-time. Quite good pilots, quite decent material".
"Looks like a few Banshees, couple of Boguls and one Spectre. That'd be Marius. This is going to be interesting".
"You call it trouble".
"Don't say it".
"He's going to say it".
"I call it sport".
"He said it".
"Of course he did".
"I call it bad news".
"I call you bad news".
"You'd know".
"Hell yeah, I fly around with you on my radio all day..."
JT flew on autopilot, letting his colleagues blow off steam. They argued like any unit that flew together on a regular basis, and did better under pressure when they'd been able to beforehand. Keeping the troops happy took all sorts of methods.
The bandits they had been contracted to bring in had been terrorising the debris field around Amaethion for a couple of months. Under the command of a man called Marius, they picked their spots well, and took absolutely no prisoners - simply blasting transports out of the sky and picking up whatever was left intact - before retreating into the debris and vanishing without a trace. It was pointless trying to find them in the field, like looking for a piece of hay in a large stack of often poison coated needles. The police had finally nailed down a vapour trail and thrown out an open contract to anyone who wanted it.
They'd traced the ordnance supplier planetside using a few of Si's contacts, and watched for when he'd taken a big order of the highly explosive sort of stuff that their targets used. That kind of weaponry is often hot and normally wanted back, so they knew it wouldn't be held on to for long - hours, at most. They'd been staking out the docking rings since they'd known it was there, and sure enough, five hours later two light fighters hopped into orbit. When they were joined by five more, it became more than a little suspicious. These guys were good at hiding themselves, but they obviously weren't aware they'd been made by the police, or that they had informants reporting to Simon Jacks on their case. Just having him around made JT's life so much easier.
Over the noise of the banter, he could see the other members of the Company on his sensors, converging on the rendezvous co-ordinates. They were getting close.
"That's enough. Battlestations".
Instantly, the radio chatter stopped. This was probably not going to be the simple job it could be if only the bad guys would cooperate, so everyone would need to be on their toes for when the firing started. The hardware that the Company had was a little better than what they were up against, and their flying skills were almost certainly superior, but people could always spring a surprise when you weren't expecting them to. By now, the targets would be abundantly aware they were being watched - you don't get six fighters rendezvousing with seven fighters without either prior knowledge or something kicking off, and they hadn't been invited.
Time to go to work. JT switched to open broadcast.
"Bandit crew, this is the Golden Company. You are harbouring the criminal known as Marius and are wanted in connection with attacks on transport vessels around Amaethion".
Opening play. No response.
"Bandit crew, power down your weapons, enter formation and fly to the enclosed coordinates. You will be escorted down onto Amaethion where you will be turned over to the police for a fair trial".
Still no response. They were thinking about it. Surrounded by superior ships and a professional hunting crew, they may actually be considering giving themselves up.
"Attempt to flee, or fight, and we are authorised to open fire with terminal intent. Power down your weapons and enter formation now".
"Power surge from the Spectre...phasing!" interrupted Lex.
Sneaky bastard was trying to get away. Worse, he was hanging his crew out to dry - neither the Banshee nor the Bogul could support a cloak, so it was on Marius' mind to sneak off in the sunset while his guys covered his escape. He was making a mistake in believing they could do so, but such a thing wasn't to be held against him.
"Paint it, Frosty. Everybody, engage".
JT pressed a button his control column. A signal went down a wire to the ship's computer system, where processors registered and understood it, correlated it with pertinent data from the forward scanners that had come in on another wire, and routed the combined signal towards a control box in the bow. The signal travelled along a second wire to the control box, where it gave up its information and the box responded accordingly, upgrading the status of its associated system from 'standby' to 'active'.
Approximately three milliseconds after JT had pressed the button, the heavy duty pulse laser that was the primary weapon on his Phantom issued forth in the direction of Marius' ship.
The signal beacon that Lex had snapped onto the Spectre a moment before it faded from existence had been enough to give him something to aim at, and the shield wash that blossomed as the laser found the larger ship's hull displayed to all who were watching that the cloak hadn't worked and this was about to get ugly. Right about now.
JT and Si hit their thrusters and went after Marius, while Lex, Tash, Joe and Pete engaged the other fighters. Navigating their Phantoms through the wash and laser fire that erupted round them, they trained their targeting software on the now fully mobile Spectre, performing evasive manoeuvres while it attempted to get into position to fight back.
"Schoolboy, danger nine!"
JT instantly rolled right into a lazy barrel roll as laser fire piled through the area he had just vacated, closely followed by the Bogul that had fired it. Joe was hot on his tail and his Banshee shot past a little closer than JT was entirely comfortable with.
"Copy, Bouncer - make the fucker go away".
Pulse laser fire linked Joe's Banshee to the bandit's Bogul. Joe walked the laser expertly across the hull as the bandit unsuccessfully tried to move out of the line of fire. The shield wash died down and bits started falling off its hull. That one wasn't going to last long. Si let go a couple of bursts at Marius, but the bandit was good, and flying a very nimble piece of machinery for its size. Its reverse turret threw a volley back at JT but it was wildly off course and he rolled easily out of the way, in time to notice Pete being snuck up on.
"Hardcore, on your six".
Pete cut his engine output and thrust-flipped his Wraith - probably the only one of its kind in the system that could pull such a manoeuvre off - and let go all three bow lasers at once. The Bogul chasing it was caught with nowhere to go and managed to survive for approximately three seconds before blowing up.
"Was that..."
"Don't say it".
"Hardcore anal action".
"Bastard".
JT's sensors recorded the second Bogul going up courtesy of Joe, and Tash passing overhead brutalising another bandit in some Banshee on Banshee action. Lex was dodging and weaving in her Phantom, trying to evade the bandit on her tail and use her shields to take some fire from the Spectre to offer a clearer shot for JT and Si. Neat flying - she was going to be owed the beer if she pulled it off. Pete had reengaged his engines and was powering after the remaining two bandit Banshees, driving them vaguely towards Si's firing arc. This was going quite well.
Until...
"Lex, trailseeker at two!"
Si had been engaging one of the Banshees Pete had been driving towards him and hadn't seen it. The Spectre had cut loose with a vapour trail seeking missile that would phase its way through Lex's shields and right up her tailpipe. Where Marius had gotten hold of those, JT had no idea, but right now something needed doing. He could see Lex curling towards the missile and trying to catch it on the bow or wing where it wouldn't do nearly so much damage, but the missile was already compensating and banking round the same direction, chasing her engines.
Si finished off his choice of two as Pete hosed the other one, leaving only the one Tash was doing over, the one double teaming Lex with the missile and Marius himself.
"Scratch one for...oh shit, Lex!"
"Someone call for the cavalry?"
Having just dealt with her target, Tash pivoted on the spatial equivalent of a dime and went after the remaining bandit with Pete, as Joe appeared from stage right and started opening up on Marius.
"Sweeny, stay on the tango. Frosty, don't move".
"Right".
"Wait...WHAT???"
Si joined Joe in firing upon the Spectre, while JT told his acquisition gear to find the missile. No, not Lex, he berated his equipment, the missile.
"Schoolboy, I'm not entirely certain what you meant by that, so I'm gonna tell you to eat my shit. No offence".
"Hold still. Twitch and Hardcore have got your back, and I'm going to snipe your seeker. Don't, the fuck, move".
"You get this wrong, I'm never talking to you again".
"Too true".
JT's gear finally zeroed in on the missile, approaching Lex's now relatively unacrobatic rear end alarmingly quickly. He'd have one shot and one only. The lock signal sounded, and he engaged the fine fire mode on his wing laser. A second tone sounded above the first, rising in pitch until a second cursor appeared over the missile and started to flash, indicating that there was no way in hell this ship could aim any better than it was right now. One shot.
He fired.
A finger fine beam shot out from his left wing and caught the missile squarely in the nose. It wobbled and exploded harmlessly behind Lex's Phantom, as Tash bagged her second of the day and Si disabled Marius' shields. Joe joined in and cut loose with his missile launcher. The countermeasures failed to put it off and the Spectre went up like a psychotic firework.
"Got the escape pod?"
"Tracing, tracing, tra...yes. Got him!"
"Bring it in. Everyone else okay?"
"GC two, check. JT, I want your fucking children".
"GC three, check. Pod stowed".
"GC four, check. Better late than never".
"GC five, check. Nice one".
"GC six, check".
"Alright, stand down. Let's go get paid".
He radioed a signal down to the planet's surface. The six ships dropped through the docking ring over the city of Merris, landed, and their occupants met up with a delegation from the police force. Money and an escape pod changed hands, and The Golden Company went to find a bar.
************
"It's a masturbating elephant", said Si.
"No, a wedding ring", suggested Tash.
"Two bananas", insisted Joe.
"Wearing wedding rings, being eaten by a masturbating elephant", completed JT.
"It's an indelible sign of beer crime", commiserated Lex. "Who's guilty?"
"That would be me", Si admitted. "I select sleeping with you as my punishment".
"Are you saying sleeping with me is a punishment?" She asked, very coolly.
Si was blushing. "Ye...no. Not at all. In fact it's pretty cool. Very cool, in fact. To be fair, I'd..."
"Less talk. More refill", she laughed.
"Then can I sleep with you?"
"Depends. If you're quick, I'll think about it".
Si stood up and headed for the bar, being reminded not to come too soon with Lex's next drink. JT's phone rang.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Terrell?"
"Depends. Are you a tax man, debt collector or representing a charity?"
"None of the above, Mr. Terrell. I hire bounty hunters for people".
"You'll do. Gimme a second to get somewhere more private".
Mouthing 'business' to the other members of the Company, JT stood up and headed outside. The night was cool after the heat of the bar, and he wished he had his jacket with him.
"Right. What's up? And out of interest, who are you and who gave you my number?"
"I represent a security firm, Mr. Terrell, who are currently addressing transport logistics. Call me Jacob, and I got your number from a Mr. Sanders in Tellerin on Arianrhod. Do I check out?"
That figured; Sanders was a busy man and owed JT a caller. The voice on the end of the phone sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Whoever this was had dealt with hunters before - probably a member of whichever firm's law department.
"My security people say I can probably talk to you", said JT. "You need my help moving something sensitive?"
"Someone, Mr. Terrell", replied Jacob. "My client is looking to quietly transport a prisoner from Bran to Amaethion to stand trial".
Little far out of the way, he thought. That far in-system would take a couple of weeks each way, to say nothing of any complications they'd have with border controls. JT was puzzled - it was a little unusual for Byron Sanders to drop the ball. Unless there was some kind of big payoff or major angle, this was a pretty dead in the water job from the outset.
"Jacob, With all due respect, that's a long way for a simple transport mission. I'd like to compliment your choice of people, but couldn't you find a crew already on Bran to carry out the transport? It would probably save you money, and you could effect the transfer a couple of weeks before we could".
"I thought you might say that, Mr. Terrell", answered Jacob, "but I believe you might be interested in the job for more personal reasons. My clients are certainly interested in hiring you because of them".
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but it was getting seriously cold, and his drink was getting warm.
"Look, Jacob, I thank you for your interest, but if all you have is a long trip to Bran to offer, I fear I'm going to have to..."
"The prisoner's name is Matthew Fisher".
JT stopped dead in his tracks. Jacob continued.
"I understand you and he used to be...uneasy colleagues...in Gwethyr's armed forces. He has finally been tracked down and is being quietly held on Bran awaiting transport. I hear he has become even more unstable than when you knew him, Mr. Terrell".
Trigger-mad Matty Fisher. The man had been under ever since the incident that ended both their careers some ten years ago. Jacob kept talking.
"When I said that Mr. Sanders gave me your contact details, I didn't say that he suggested you for the job. I was asked to approach him on behalf of my clients with a view to finding you - they wanted to offer you the pleasure of his company before looking to find anyone else".
With that, he paused. JT felt stunned, and very, very intrigued. "How did you manage to track him down, and who are your clients that they knew to get in touch with me?" he asked.
"Am I to assume that from that, that you would be interested in the proposition?"
Too damn right, but he couldn't say that.
"If I were, what would be the terms of the agreement?"
"Your crew would be hired as a unit, flat rate of a hundred thousand credits, half up front with which to fund your expenses, the other half upon transfer of the cargo into the jurisdiction of the Amaethion police. The cargo would need to be transported intact and alive, and must be kept conscious throughout".
"Why?"
"The health of his heart has deteriorated further from when you last knew him as well. He would not survive the freeze-thaw process".
That would make things interesting. They'd need to convert the cargo hold of either Pete's Wraith or one of the Phantoms. There was no way he was going to be kept in anyone's cockpit - he'd drive them crazy.
The terms were pretty good. A hundred thousand, after expenses, would still leave each of them on the happy side of twelve or thirteen grand. That kind of money would upkeep their ship for a year, or even buy a Ghoul or Bogul if they fancied having a spare for if something went wrong.
On top of that, he got to nail Matt Fisher to the wall. He'd wanted to do that for years.
"Let's say that I'm interested. How would I go about accepting such a job?"
"You would reply to the secure communication currently being sent to your ship's computer in the positive, citing an account number or numbers for the money to be paid into", Jacob replied. "That's about it".
"Give me a while to talk to my people".
"Certainly, but my clients would like an answer to their request, one way or another, within twenty-four hours".
"I understand. Thank you for your offer, Jacob".
"My pleasure. I look forward to the possibility of working with you - my number will remain on your phone if you wish to clarify anything with me". He rang off.
Well, fuck, thought JT. He went back inside.
"No way! Matt Fisher? THE Matt Fisher?" Si couldn't believe it.
"The very same, trigger mad, balls of titanium, career fucking, psychotic little prick. They've got him, and they want us to transport him".
"Correction, JT, they want you", chimed in Lex. "They want you, because they want to ego wank over putting the two of you in the same place. Do you actually buy the 'can't be frozen' angle?"
"I've got to, if I'm going to accept the job. Sixteen grand a piece for a month's jaunt in-system and back here. The only one who's got to even speak to him is me. We'll keep him in my hold - all you guys have to do is make sure that nothing happens to us on the flight back".
"I don't know, JT", said Tash, looking unconvinced. "He's got to have a crew looking to set him free somewhere. Someone like that doesn't roll by himself".
"So, we do what we normally do", he answered impatiently. "Look out for each other, fly as a team, and don't fuck about when business is on. There might well be a crew waiting to spring him at any point in time. If we all do our job, we'll be on top of it".
"Look", Pete held his hands up. "It's your choice. We follow you. You don't need our permission to go places and take jobs, but if you're asking, I say yes, and I imagine everyone else will as well. We just don't want you to take the job for the wrong reasons". The rest of them nodded.
"If you say go, we go", said Joe. "Do you say go?" Everyone looked his way.
He was going to nail Matt Fisher to the wall.
"Tash, we're going to need some fuel for the trip back".
"I'm on it".
************
"Straight".
"Read 'em and weep, girl. Full house".
"FUCK!"
Joe turned Lex over for the fourth time that evening. JT lamented the fact that people hadn't been drunk enough to make this a strip game.
They'd booked rooms on a Very Large Transport vessel heading towards Bran from Amaethion, stowing their ships in the hold. Tash had used her logistical contacts to arrange full fuelling on Bran before they left, as well as in orbit around Arianrhod, half way back.
Fisher was to be transported to a numbered docking port on the Continental Divide on Amaethion, where he would be tried, most likely convicted, and transported under exceptionally high, and public, security all the way out to the edge of the system and the penal colony on Gwynn. Apparently, he'd been caught arranging for the trafficking of illegal drugs between Bran and a base of operations and distribution on Llyr. If all went to plan, he'd get to see it one more time from space as he was carted past it on his way out-system. Joe, a native of Llyr and reformed narco, had been especially interested in getting to say hello to Fisher before he was dropped off - 'say hello' being a metaphor for 'beat about the head with a metal object'. He didn't like anyone who dealt in drugs since he'd managed to kick the habit. JT just wanted to see Fisher go down for what he did to him. If it was a drugs bust that would get the wheels turning, he was happy with that. There were plenty more charges where that came from.
"Your bottle, JT", said Joe, counting his chips.
"Deal me out for this game. Queue looks quite long".
"Cheap-ass bastard. Same again".
JT got up and headed for the bar. They cash they were being paid for this job was allowing them to live quite well for the moment, and the Drax was in full flow - this was going to be the fourth bottle. Tash was swaying heavily on her seat, insisting to everyone's amusement that she could handle it and grimly avoiding staring at anything too long. Si and Joe were showing the effects, Lex and JT were alright for the moment, and Pete barely registered that he'd had anything. How he did that, no-one knew.
There was quite a bit people didn't know about Pete van Damme. Looking at his physique, it was pretty obvious why he went by the handle of Hardcore, but how he came to be piloting a Wraith as his personal spacecraft was shrouded in mystery. He claimed he won it in a bet with someone during a poker game at home on Bran, but he never said with who, or what he'd put up as collateral. It was certainly a big piece of kit to have won off someone - the only class bigger than a Wraith that could still reasonably claim to be a fighter was the Spectre, the Vampire and anything larger firmly fitting into the category of corvette. It wasn't typically rated very highly as a squadron fighter, as while it possessed awesome firepower in the form of its bow lasers, it didn't have the manoeuvrability of the slightly smaller Phantom or even the slightly larger Spectre. Pete had managed to counteract this by laying his hands on some tricked out military grade thrust boosters, which increased the movement of the ship up into the realms of nippyness that any privateer would jump at the chance of having. JT had met him on a job planetside on Bran, working as security for a shipment he was moving. They'd got drinking one night, and Pete had ended up carrying JT home to his place. JT felt obliged to offer him a job on the back of that, and he'd ended up never leaving.
Tash was being carried to the ladies by Lex, who was waving the guys off from another hand. Looked like she couldn't handle it after all.
Lex Foster was getting on for as different from Pete was it was possible to be. She, like JT, had gained her tolerance for alcohol in Gwethyr's military. Originally from Amaethion, she had decided that she didn't want anything to do with the planet's agricultural industry at an early age, and had set off in-system to Bran to become a fighter pilot. She'd quickly built a reputation as the hardest girl in the outfit, whichever outfit she was in at the time, whipping the 'candy ass' of many a marine who dropped the wrong comment anywhere near her and earning the handle Frosty for her trouble. She and JT had done a mutual lifesaver on each other one day in a mass dogfight over Llyr, they'd shared a bottle of Drax that evening and had ended up in bed together. It never went anywhere, but the two of them had stayed friends. When JT had been discharged for his part in what had happened with Fisher and had gone looking for people to privateer with, she had handed in her notice without too much convincing. She'd been the one who had sourced herself and JT a pair of bashed up Phantoms, and the pimp job had been going on ever since.
Tash Hegstrøm was every bit as different once again. JT had met her when she was a corporate pilot working in the transport logistics division of SynthFoods on her home planet of Arianrhod. She had been assigned to escort a shipment of grain in-system to Bran, for which JT was flying the freighter. They'd been set upon by six bandits in identical Banshees who had obviously been waiting just too far away from civilisation to run for help. The freighter was dire in combat, and the other two escorts were taken by surprise and blown up before they knew what was happening. Rather than drop the cargo and run, Tash, in her lone Banshee, had taken all six bandits on in a display of the most sublime piloting that JT had ever seen. While he had fought to keep the freighter in one piece while being pounded from all sides, she had bobbed, spun, pivoted and rolled around him, doing things that he hadn't known as possible in such a compact fighter. It was entirely down to her that he, and the shipment, had survived. Later, when they had arrived on Bran, he had asked her about what happened and found that she'd been flying that same Banshee - hers, not the corporation's - since her father left it to her when she was six. Putting her behind the controls of anything else rendered her very average indeed, but inside her baby, there was no-one who could touch her. He'd offered her a job more fitting her talents, and she'd accepted, amused that her acrobatics had prompted him to suggest she went by Twitch. Her system-wide logistical contacts were invaluable to the Company, always managing to pop up with fuel and supplies when they needed them.
"JT!" Si called from the table, "Tash has just started feeling like crap and Lex is going to put her to bed. You want to call it a night?"
Simon Jacks, along with Joe Dalton, formed a wise-cracking dynamic duo that JT managed to encounter one day when he, Tash, Lex and Pete had found themselves on the wrong end of a bad deal with Arianrhod's police force. He'd known it had been slightly dodgy when the two crews that had been hired arrived at the rendezvous to find no police contact in sight, and had got even worse when sub-orbital bombs started dropping from nowhere. The four of them had managed to get to their ships and away without being killed, but the other crew weren't so lucky. On the back of the bombs, a Deathknight had descended into view, opening up with its heavy turrets and blowing half of them away. Joe and Si were the only two of the five who had managed to get off the ground, negotiating a heavily customised Banshee and Phantom respectively into the air. Both crews had assumed that the Deathknight was there for the other one, and the screaming match had gone on for all of five seconds before Pete had pointed out that the assailant craft was getting its act together and would kill everyone stone dead if they didn't start pulling together. The six of them had combined to take the giant corvette down before high-tailing it out of there like they'd just stolen something. Later, Joe and Si had sworn up and down that they had no idea that the attack was coming, even at gunpoint, suggesting they were either very cool customers or they genuinely weren't anything to do with it. JT had eventually agreed after he was reminded that the other three in their crew had just been killed, and they needed a job. They hadn't let him down since. Si had originally come to privateering from law enforcement, went by the handle Sweeny and had a wealth of informants on Amaethion and Arianrhod. Joe had gone into it from a rich family background, giving his father the finger and disappearing off to find himself a decent second-hand ship. He'd never explained why he liked being referred to as Bouncer.
JT waved them on. Everyone had had enough, even Pete, and they had a big couple of days coming up. He left the bar, a followed the rest of them towards their rooms, the floor moving pleasantly underfoot.
************
He'd never thought he would have this chance. Not after all this time.
The six of them had disembarked at the orbital dock around Bran and piloted their ships planetside, picking up the fuel Tash had arranged before hopping over to the rendezvous that Jacob had directed them to. Now they stood in front of a Vampire as its cargo bay door opened, waiting to take charge of the man who had ruined JT's life a decade ago.
Chained hand and foot, and beginning to lose his hair, Matt Fisher wasn't quite the dashing figure he'd cut during his, JT's and Lex's years working for the Gwethyr system's equivalent of the Man. He eyed JT with a resigned grin.
"Schoolboy".
"Triggerfish".
"You look great".
"You look like shit".
Fisher laughed.
"That isn't polite", he said.
"No. It's not", JT agreed, approaching the armed guards holding Fisher's elbows. "He ready?"
"As he'll ever be", one of the guards said. "He's gone fucking crazy".
"No", replied JT, looking at Fisher's eyes and seeing the familiar malevolent spark, "He was always that way".
Without further conversation, he was transferred to the small hold in JT's Phantom, and the Golden Company headed up and out of Bran's atmosphere, through the docking ring and out-system towards Arianrhod. It would take about a week, and considerable periods of auto-pilot for everyone, sleeping in shifts.
JT managed to resist for about two days before going to see his prisoner.
"Hi, Schoolboy", Fisher piped up with a grin the moment he walked in.
JT looked at him. Eventually he spoke.
"There really are no words to describe precisely how much I want to beat you to death right now. Really, right about now. What did they catch you doing? Drugs?"
Fisher snorted. "Nothing you wouldn't have done in my place. Hell, I did worse shit with you in the forces".
JT booted him solidly in the ribs. Fisher doubled over onto the floor. JT waited for a few moments before asking the question he'd wanted to know the answer to for over a quarter of his life.
"Before I kick the shit out of you, tell me why you did it".
"What, the drugs?" Fisher asked with a smile on his face. JT kicked him again.
"Fuck you, Schoolboy. You never did understand me", he said after a while, wheezing slightly. JT wasn't sure he wanted to. "Do you remember the day? Is it clear to you, Schoolboy? The day I proved I was both twice and not one half as crazy as everyone thought I was?"
JT wanted to kick him again, but looking at his former cohort on the floor, pale and quivering, he couldn't, not just yet.
"I'll tell you why, Schoolboy. Think about it".
He did. He remembered it like yesterday.
...
"Okay detail, look alive, shuttle leaving dock. Be ready to accept".
"Razorbuzz, check".
"Triggerfish, check".
"Sundance, check".
"Schoolboy, check".
"Diamondback, check".
"Wildcat, check. Last man".
Star-Admiral Thomas Bates, Commander-In-Chief of the Marine Corps and second highest ranking soldier in the system, was being ferried from standard orbit around Arianrhod down to President Cross' birthday party in Telluia. His personal shuttle, the SS Briana, was only a little thing, completely defenceless in the absence of the six elite marine core flyers in state-of-the-art Spectres surrounding it and briefed to guard it with their lives. It was all ceremonial, of course - no-one would be stupid enough to make a try on a single craft surrounded by enough firepower to hack a battleship to bits, with the SS Alesis, the single largest and most powerful entity in the system, backing it up.
Yeah. They'd be real stupid.
"Alesis, Triggerfish. I've got a six Vampires coming in on intercept. Hauling ass".
"Roger that, Triggerfish. Keeping an eye".
"Now they're slowing down. Computer suggests trajectory will have them stopping around...here".
"Chewing on it now, Triggerfish. Do your job".
"Alesis, Razorbuzz. Those things are getting awful close. Abort?"
"Negative, Razorbuzz. Detail, keep your thoughts on the game. The ball is entering formation with you. Don't drop it".
"Alesis, Schoolboy. Can you not at least ask them what they want?"
"We are doing, Schoolboy. You're on point. Lead the Admiral away".
"Roger that, Alesis. Move out, all units".
It was at that point that things started going wrong. They heard the Alesis hailing the Vampires, ordering them to halt, to no avail. They just kept coming towards them. They heard the Alesis demanding that the Vampires halt or they would be forced to open fire, getting slightly worried.
Then they stopped, signalled an apology, and waited a thousand kilometres off the Alesis. JT breathed a sigh of relief and carried on leading the Admiral's shuttle in formation.
"What are they doing now???"
The Vampires were opening their cargo bay doors. There was something inside them.
"What the FUCK???"
Rail torpedoes issued from five of them before they turned tail and hit the gas. The sixth gunned both engines and thrusters and came in towards the shuttle at a full gallop. The Alesis was broadside on to five anti-capital ship torpedoes, with no time to engage them - the rail launchers made them cross the thousand kilometre gap in a matter of moments.
"Detail! Get the Admiral the fu..."
One torpedo managed to impact before the Alesis had raised its shields. Communication was cut off in a hail of static as the ship listed badly. It was going to survive, simply on the basis of how big and well-armoured it was, but it had been hurt badly. JT was commanding the formation toward the docking ring at best speed when Matt did something he wasn't expecting.
He floored his engines towards the sixth Vampire, directly over the top of the Briana, dropping a mine as he went.
Oh fuck, thought JT.
He opened fire on Matt, but he had been left for dust and facing in the wrong direction. The Spectre was both fast and nimble for its size, but Matt was in one as well, was every bit as good a pilot as JT and the rest of the detail, and had got the drop on them. He was heading towards the sixth Vampire, which had its cargo bay door fully open and was reverse thrusting for all it was worth.
The mine impacted on the Briana and blew it to smithereens. He didn't even have time to get into the escape pod.
Surely he couldn't.
He did.
They must have had a thousand layers of crash foam and impact fluid sitting waiting in the hold. Matt jettisoned his ship at the last moment and let the momentum of his escape pod, reverse thrusting along with the Vampire, take him into its yawning mouth. The Vampire put down a punishing bed of covering fire as it closed the door and ramped up to full speed, heading out-system in the general direction of Llyr. The entire operation had taken eight seconds from the moment the six Vampires had started opening their doors. Admiral Bates was dead, the Alesis had been given a seriously bloody nose, and the five remaining marines were left sitting there motionless, with no idea what had just happened - other than the fact that they'd just been taken to the cleaners.
They were dishonourably discharged from the Corps. They weren't even court martialed.
...
"Why did you think I did it, Schoolboy?"
Fisher looked at JT like he was an idiot. Like it was so obvious. All JT wanted to do was hit him.
"Humour me, Triggerfish. Why did you do it?"
Fisher looked down, smiling.
"Because I felt like it, Schoolboy. Because I felt like it".
JT thought he'd missed a trick.
"You felt like it? You felt like organising a hit on the system's flagship and killing our commander? Like..."
"Like shaking up the system a bit? Having a little fun? Making the al-high-and-fucking-mighty Marine Corps sit up and take notice of what happens when you get complacent?" Fisher sounded more crazed with every question. "Yeah, Schoolboy. Because I felt like it, and no, I didn't give two shits that you and the rest of those fucks would take the blame. Fuck, you WERE to blame!"
JT started swinging. When he stopped, Fisher was a bloody mess. Still alive, but a bloody mess.
"That was it?" he asked, breathing heavily. "Just to show that security wasn't up to scratch? Next time, send a fucking memo, you fucking lunatic!"
Fisher was laughing. He was actually laughing. JT couldn't believe it.
"Schoolboy, look at you. So angry, so lacking peace. You've spent the entirety of the last ten years remembering how you fucked up one of the most important jobs in the system. Me? I've been making money and having a fucking good time at it. Look at yourself, and tell me - did I not gain, compared to you and the rest of society?"
JT couldn't hit him any more. He sank down against the opposite wall, staring at Fisher like he'd grown a second head. The crazy bastard actually believed he was in the right.
"So what now? End of the road?" he asked.
"I doubt it". Fisher looked up and smiled. "Either someone will kill you and the Company and bust me out, or you'll kill me before we get to Amaethion. Either way, I'll have robbed the system of the chance to do away with one of its most infamous traitors...again".
Fuck this, thought JT. Fuck this with a shovel.
"It's going to have to be the former, you psychotic fuck. I'm not going to kill you. Sit in my cargo hold and rot".
He got up and left. Fisher was chuckling again.
************
Refuelling around Arianrhod proceeded without incident. They started the home stretch feeling quietly confident. JT hadn't gone back down to the cargo hold, save to throw food into Fisher's cell after he'd checked he was asleep. He didn't want to talk to him again, even to hit him again. He just wanted the crazy fuck off his ship as soon as possible. The rest of the Company noticed he was being quiet, and made concerted attempts to get him to talk when he wasn't due to be asleep.
"Have you spoken to him?" asked Pete.
"Once".
"He give you any answers?"
"Some insane bullshit about exposing flaws in security that made no sense. Worse than telling me nothing. Tell the truth, I don't think he even fully remembers".
"I'm sorry. I know you expected more from this".
"I don't know what I expected, Pete. We all knew he was crazy".
"Tough break. Get some sleep, Schoolboy".
"Don't call me that. Not for the moment".
"Fair enough, JT. Get some damned sleep".
"What did he say?" Tash enquired, one boring stretch midway between the two planets.
"Nothing important".
"At all?"
"No. He was raving".
"Guess I expected more from the infamous Triggerfish".
"It wasn't him any more. It was just Matt Fisher, uncovered. There wasn't much to see in the end".
"Oh well. He'll be out of your hair soon. Sorry, JT. I guess this wasn't what you were looking for".
Why did they all think he expected something?
"Yeah. Whatever".
They were almost there, six days out of Arianrhod out-system, less than twenty four hours from Amaethion, when the attack came. JT had been expecting it ever since Fisher had suggested it was going to happen. The longer it had drawn on, the more certain he was that it was just round the corner. When Si gave warning, sighting distant contacts on his sensors, he didn't even need to wait for confirmation of what it was.
"Battlestations. All units raise shields and prepare for firefight".
"What's up, JT?" asked Joe.
"Maybe he did tell me something".
"Who, Fisher? What?"
"He made me think back to what happened".
"So?" Asked Lex. "What did that tell you?"
JT stared at the six recently dephased, fast incoming contacts on his sensors, and wanted to cry.
"How he was going to be busted free".
"What?"
"Those contacts are six battle configured Vampires. Five of them have rail torpedo launchers mounted in their cargo bays. Each of them possess four heavy duty turrets, three bow lasers, and enough thrust boosters that they could have a fair go at outmanoeuvring Twitch. They also possess military grade cloaking devices that will render them completely invisible to our sensors, like they just did until it was too late, and anti-missile lasers that will engage and destroy Lex's homing beacons. It's Fisher's fleet fucking fleet - back from the fucking dead".
They were within five thousand kilometres. They'd be braking now - yes, there it was. They were going to pull up right in the path of the Company's trajectory, about ten seconds before they were due to get there.
"There's no way in hell we can do over six Vampires, JT. What do you want us to do?"
Tash sounded full of hope. They all trusted him, expected him to do something. He was the skipper - the ex-Marine who had been responsible for the safety of Admirals in his time, and schooled more than a hundred bandit ships. GC one. Probably the best all-round pilot in the system.
Except now, he hadn't got a clue what to do. You don't take on six corvettes with six light fighters. You just don't.
"Pull up to a stop".
"What?"
"Just do it".
The Vampires settled into a semicircular pattern, about a thousand kilometres from where JT brought his Phantom to a dead stop, the rest of the Company behind him in a pyramid.
"Schoolboy, long time no see".
"Shut the fuck up, bandit crew".
"Have it your way. Hand over Triggerfish, or we'll blast you and the rest of your colleagues out of the stars. Don't think we can't, or won't".
Yep, that was about the full spread of options available to him. He hated himself.
"Roger that, bandit crew. Standby".
"You have sixty seconds".
JT reverted to the Company's private channel. He had to look after his crew. This was more important.
"GC wide, GC one. Are we all agreed that there is absolutely no point taking on this sort of firepower?"
"GC two, agreed. It's suicide".
"GC three, agreed. Not even I'd try it".
"GC four, agreed. Bargepole, no touchy".
"GC five, agreed. No chance in hell".
"GC six, agreed".
"Right. Pattern epsilon, on my signal".
"Roger that".
It was happening as if in a dream. All so simple.
"Bandit crew, this is the Golden Company. Triggerfish is ready for your collection. Send over a shuttle. You'll understand if I refuse to dock with your ship - we'll be just as dead if we attack your landing party after they've come to get him".
"Understood, Golden Company. Bad luck, Schoolboy".
"Please, and I mean this in all sincerity, go and fuck your grandmother".
"Dispatching shuttle now".
A pod detached from the lead Vampire and headed towards his Phantom. In five minutes, it had docked and Fisher had been taken aboard. In another five minutes, it had been back with the Vampire. JT waited for the inevitable conclusion. He started to smile.
"Told you, Schoolboy. You can't kill me. I'm already dead".
"You forget, Triggerfish", JT's smile was broadening. "I'm still under contract to deliver you intact to Amaethion to stand trial, and I don't back out on contracts".
"You see, I can't allow you to do that, Schoolboy. If you keep that attitude, I'm going to have to mess you up right here".
"This is something I've waited to do for quite some time, Matty". JT laughed. "Epsilon, Go!"
Simultaneously, all six Golden Company craft pivoted in different directions and jammed their engines to full. The Vampires were fairly nimble for their size, but the Company were just as good pilots in even faster craft, and they'd got the drop on the bandits. They were gone in a matter of moments, briefed to find their own ways home via getting lost in the debris field.
"Fuck you very much, Triggerfish. I'll be in touch".
************
Son of a bitch, thought Fisher - so that's how it feels.
User Reviews
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-05 12:21:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2