Dance the Ballroom

[Veroe]

((Closed for Myself and EroticLiteracy))​

IC: Sierra

Refueling Depot 363B was a defunct space platform just a few thousand kilometers Solar west of the gas giant Jupiter. Forty years ago it had been a vital and bustling spot in the pipeline of material and resources flowing from the outer colonies towards Old Earth. However after the Colonial war for Independence ended the oppressive economic exploitation by the unified government in Geneva. Having freighters ship cargo all the way from the outer colonies to Old Earth ceased making dollar sense. So in the forty years after the war Refueling Depot 363B became a ghost floating dead in space.

However it didn't stay dead. It found new life as a private auction block for the interplanetary genetic slavetrade. It served as a vital waypoint for the fly by night mining outfits littering the asteroid belt notorious for high-volume needs for a constant labor force and no regard for safety regulations. Or any number of tin-pot dictators in the outersystem needed a steady supply of cheap labor to prop up their oppressive regimes.

Which was why Sierra and her team were here. She and the six others of her Team One were in unpowered surplus military skinsuits with only the magsoles of their boots and gloves activated so they could crawl along the outside of the refueling depot like spiders the two hundred and thirty meters from where their Freighter, The Spartacus, was docked and the airlock at the end of the central corridor of the station.

They had to keep their suits unpowered because even though the station had scanners that were forty years old there was too much of a chance even sensors that out of date would pick up on their skinsuits' power sources. Unfortunately that meant no heaters or air-circulation for the seven of them. So they had twelve minutes to get from their ship to the airlock before they started suffering hypothermia.

Fortunately they reached it after only seven minutes. Sierra then took the risk of activating her minicamp on her wrist. It booted up her hacksaw program she had designed specifically for this mission. Against the depot's forty year old OS it took all of six seconds for the program to slice through the firewalls and own every gigobite of the station's central computer. From there it was childsplay to close all the blastdoors between where the mercenaries providing security for the auction and central communal area where the auction was set to take place.

Her and the six members of Team One powered up their suits' systems safe in the knowledge that the mercs in the depots operations center had no clue of their presence. Once all her suit's systems booted up she activated the radio. "Team One first objective clear."

The other teams reported in immediately. Team Two had reached the first Silo containing one thousand of their fellow slaves packed in like sardines in a can, and once the station's OS was spoofed they had commenced defusing the explosive charge placed by the mercs on the exterior of the silo. If they didn't get that bomb taken care of on both silos all those people would be blown to smitherines the instant the Manpower Salesman thought they'd take all that product.

Team Three needed another minute to reach it. She gave them until her team reached the main door to the Communal area. Team Four had disembarked from the Sparty with thrusterpacks and was pulling the umbilical they'd use to safely rescue all of those fellow slaves from the silos once the bombs were rendered harmless.

Her team comprised of the best shots on her crew pulled out the cases containing the military surplus weaponry. They weren't the newer versions capable of firing in both vacuum and atmosphere. These older versions worked only in atmo-not a real problem inside a space station. At the fourteen minute mark her hacksaw program opened the door leading them into the communal area where the auctioneers were plying their trade.

On the stage stood a dumbstruck blonde girl. She looked exactly like Sierra albeit ten years younger. They were selling another Sierra model-one of her sister clones. Sierra looked at the girl as she surveyed the perverted men betting ludicrous amounts of money for her. She couldn't understand what was happening. The bastards at Manpower that made them genetically engineered her to be too stupid to comprehend it. Afterall what good was a brain in a sexslave.

Sierra herself was the only one where they're mastery of the human genotype backfired on them for she was smart, smart enough to realize what was happening to her and despise them for it.

Someone gasped as they noticed them. The Manpower Sales Rep holding the auction stopped his riff on the features genetically designed into her sister-clone to boggle at the sight of seven armed people.

Her suit's speakers carried her voice across the large room announcing the Audubon Ballroom's battlecry, "Let's Dance!"

Her fellow freedom fighters/terrorists behind her opened fire into the crowd for the favorite targets the ballroom like to shoot at behind the fucking Manpower bastards that sold genetic slaves was the fucking bastards that bought genetic slaves.

The auctioneer began to reach into his pocket either for a commlink or the detonator to the charges outside the silos. Whatever it was Sierra couldn't let him pull it out of his pocket. In a split second she had calculated the angles, the air resistance, the weight, and fired their makeshift grenade of a jury-rigged jammer. It slammed straight into the bastard's face.

She pulled down her grenade launcher and pulled out the flechette launcher spraying razor sharp discs into the business suited mercs trying to get beads on them, with their tazers-the mercs had to worry about punching holes into the hull of the spacestation and causing an explosive decompression of the entire compartment. Something military grade weaponry may actually do. Unfortunately Sierra and her team being already in skinsuits and not caring so much about whether everyone in the room died or not didn't have that worry.

The mercs on the other side of the two blastdoors to the communal area had access to military grade weapons too though, and it was only a matter of moments before they used a cutting torch to slice through those doors and swarm her team.

She kept firing the flechette gun on full auto effortlessly rending human flesh to bloody ribbons indiscriminately in a sweeping swath. Sierra and Team One was the diversion. All they needed was to keep everyone occupied for sixteen more minutes long enough to defuse the bombs, connect the umbilicals and rescue all the slaves from the silos.

They were the Audubon Ballroom, and this was their dancefloor.

Watch them waltz!

 

[EroticLiteracy]

THREE MONTHS AGO

EARTH UPPER TERRANCE

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea”

A pair of chocolate brown eyes rolled in response. If his friends warning meant anything to Zavr Axtin the young future CEO didn’t show it. Instead he continued to throw his clothes into his suitcase packing with a determination that mirrored his infamous father. His hair black and long was tied behind his ears with a simple leather thong. The clothing he wore was non-descript a simple pair of black pants a white shirt and red vest. His features were handsome tailor made by genetics to give him strong masculine features and a handsome pointed chin.

“You can ignore me all you want” His attendant growled crossing his hands over his chest as Zavr continued to pack “But I will go to your father about this”

Zavr finally turned his eyes assessing the attendant with contempt and disgust. He sneered at the man dismissing his threat with a shake of his head before going back to his suitcase.

“My father” He said with a hint of a European accent “Will not care what his son is doing my father is to busy with his tenth wife and his honeymoon to be bothered with the likes of me. Surely even you know that?”

The attendant wilted under the comment. He knew it to be true, knew that his father would care less about what the boy was doing. Yet the attendant didn’t back down.

“It won’t change anything” The attendant insisted “no one wants to stop this!”

“I refuse to believe that” Zavr said zipping up his suit case and going over to the double doors leading out to his balcony. He threw them open stepping out into the mountain air and casting his gaze across the mega city that was home to the rich and the famous. The skyline was dominated with sky scrapers some as tall as his fathers and some even taller. The sky was filled not with stars but of giant TV and balloons reporting the news, stock, and playing the latest in entertainment. Far off in the distance Zavr could see the wall, the massive structure that ringed the entire city and kept the elite away from the lower dredges of society.

How he hated it

“I have to do something” Zavr murmured more to himself than his attendant “I’ve got to make some kind of difference”

He turned on his heel pushing past the attendant and grabbing his suitcase. He threw it over his shoulder and without another word moved walking out of his suite without a second thought.

………………………………………………………………
PRESENT

Zavr was going to die

He hid under the table trying to make himself as small as possible. He could hear the gunfire going off all around him as well as the screams of victims being cut into ribbons by one of the terrorist guns. Who created such weaponry?! Who turned it on innocents?!

Well they were far from innocent….. Everyone in the room was here with some connection to slavery. They were either buying or selling which probably had something to do with why they were being targeted.

That battle cry…. “Let’s Dance” it sounds familiar even though the young CEO in training couldn’t place it. Not for the first time today Zavr cursed his naïve intellect and knowledge of the slaving underworld. He was a fool to think this was going to work! A fool to think he could sneak into the slaving ring and write an expose on it. Zavr was nothing more than a rich boy playing reporter! A man stumbling and trying to expose something no one cared about.

Well no one but the terrorist shooting up rich people.

“Got to get out of here” Zavr murmured inching to the edge of the table he was under. His eyes tracked the group taking note of the mysterious terrorist and their positions. What he saw only further pushed the young man into despair. There was no way out not with the terrorist blocking the door. They were all still firing filling the room with such a flurry of bullets that he could see a small haze of gunpowder slowly filling the room.

“I’ve got to get out of here!” Zavr shouted to himself. His eyes scanned the room once more trying to find anything…….

The stage!

It was a longshot but perhaps there would be some kind of escape hatch set up! If not he could at least get into the backstage area and try and find a way out there. All he needed was an opening…. A chance to run to the stage without being cut to ribbons……

He watched and waiting inching as close to the stage as he could without being seen. He forced his body to be calm waiting for just the right moment to tear out of the table and get to the stage. When the time came he carefully slid out from under the table and took off as fast as he could towards the stage.

“Shit” He murmured noting his high-tech camera and recording tab cut to ribbons next to the table. It was hard to believe 24 hours ago he thought he was a reporter, thought he was going to write a thrilling expose that would get the attention of the earth government. Now he was nothing more than a scared man a man currently running as fast as he could to the stage where… hopefully his freedom would be obtained.

Then he tripped.

He tripped over the mutilated remains of a dead body and went crashing to the floor. His hands reached out trying to grip the wooden stage and pull himself up. His hands missed but his head didn’t and his vision blurred as his forehead slammed into the stage and he went stumbling onto the ground. He laid there surrounded by the dead unable to move as his vision swam in and out of focus.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

She kept firing the flechette gun on full auto effortlessly rending human flesh to bloody ribbons indiscriminately in a sweeping swath. Sierra and Team One was the diversion. All they needed was to keep everyone occupied for sixteen more minutes long enough to defuse the bombs, connect the umbilicals and rescue all the slaves from the silos.

They were the Audubon Ballroom, and this was their dancefloor.

Watch them waltz!

The mercenaries had taken cover behind a pillar and a low barrier wall on the perimeter of the common area. There they were firing their miniature tazer pistols from cover and Sierra staggered back as the electrified darts slammed into her shoulder. They were meant to control any unruly behavior from the auction goers without actually harming valued customers, hence why they were armed with only riot control weapons like the tazers right now. They would work against civilians in plain clothes but against military grade uniforms they might as well be shooting spitballs at them. For instance she should be lying on the floor twitching from the current the darts in her shoulder were shooting but the insulated layer of her skinsuit kept the current from putting her down. She kept firing mowing down the rent-a-thugs.

Finally the last guy was a short balding Asian guy barking into his radio commset, but only getting static due to their jammer lying on the stage. She silenced him with a single flechette burst.

That was the last of them. The Common area was theirs until the Mercs tried to burn through the locked blastdoors. Walking over to the cowering auction-goers she reloaded her weapon with a fresh canister of flechettes.

Sierra noted how many men there were among them and her pussy clenched at the sight of them. In her current condition of being in heat the sight of men made her mind travel down the well worn path Manpower had engineered her for. There was one lying near the stage that was young and handsome, and her mind raced with images of what they'd do to scratch that persistent itch she felt courtesy of those sick bastards at Manpower. Unfortunately these were all perverted soulless slave-buyers and she'd rather die from her heat derived protein deficiency than give any of them one iota of that satisfaction especially that cute young one.

So instead she unsealed and lifted her faceplate so they all could see her face, and how very similar she looked to the young slave they all had been betting on before-obviously because they were both clones of the same donor. To drive the point home she stuck her tongue out showing them all the genetically imprinted barcode and serial number Manpower had branded her with from birth.

She pulled her tongue back inside her mouth and pulled her younger identical sister-slave before them, "Gentlemen, I believe the betting stopped at fifty-four million six thousand for this Sierra unit. Do we have a Fifty-four Seven?"

Timidly looking at the others and wondering what on earth the infamous ballroom terrorists were going with this someone raised his hand. Sierra promptly shot the hand off. The man fell to his knees clutching with wide eyes the bleeding stump that ended at his wrist shrieking in horror and agony.

She continued unrelentingly, "Fifty-four million Seven thousand going once...going twice...doesn't anyone wish to purchase a prime sexslave?"

No one was stupid enough to make another bet.

So Sierra shrugged pulling the trigger and ending the miserable slaver's life. "Sold."

She let go of the younger version of herself and tracked the muzzle of the flechette gun across them. "Next up for bidding...your own lives."

Someone panicked and got up running away. Sierra didn't hesitate gunning him down. To the rest of them she continued in her aloof and seemingly uncaring tone, "Come now, gentlemen, you were so willing to put a price upon her life." She nodded towards her sister-slave. "Seems only fair to consider the value of your lives too."

She pulled her tongue back inside her mouth and pulled her younger identical sister-slave before them, "Gentlemen, I believe the betting stopped at fifty-four million six thousand for this Sierra unit. Do we have a Fifty-four Seven?"

Timidly looking at the others and wondering what on earth the infamous ballroom terrorists were going with this someone raised his hand. Sierra promptly shot the hand off. The man fell to his knees clutching with wide eyes the bleeding stump that ended at his wrist shrieking in horror and agony.

She continued unrelentingly, "Fifty-four million Seven thousand going once...going twice...doesn't anyone wish to purchase a prime sexslave?"

No one was stupid enough to make another bet.

So Sierra shrugged pulling the trigger and ending the miserable slaver's life. "Sold."

She let go of the younger version of herself and tracked the muzzle of the flechette gun across them. "Next up for bidding...your own lives."

Someone panicked and got up running away. Sierra didn't hesitate gunning him down. To the rest of them she continued in her aloof and seemingly uncaring tone, "Come now, gentlemen, you were so willing to put a price upon her life." She nodded towards her sister-slave. "Seems only fair to consider the value of your lives too."

"Shall we start the bidding at Fifty-four million Six thousand like hers?" Another nod to the younger version of herself.

No one was stupid enough to make a bid again.

"You're right ofcourse," She smiled evilly her flechette gun tracking over each of them as if playing duck, duck, goose with them all, "Your lives aren't worth a damn."

Her second mate grabbed her arm. "Save the cockroaches for later, boss." She nodded her head towards the blast door. The mercs were starting to use a cutting torch to slice through the thick titanium.

She walked over to the edge and dropped a grenade right between the legs of the handsome guy lying against the stage. "Don't move, scumbag. That grenade is motion activated. Don't move. Don't even breathe. That goes for all of you too."

She closed her faceplate and hurried over to find cover behind a thick solid column of steel combination while her teammates set positions behind other columns widespread to give them a classic crossfire situation on the mercs as they breached through the door.

-------------------------------X

IC: Mikhail Sabotino

"God damn it," Mikhail pulled his sated cock from the Sierra's throat. It had stopped moving. He quickly reached down loosened the belt he'd buckled tight to strangle it. He reached over to the bunkside table for the hypodermic injector in his emergency kit. "Just my fucking luck. I finally snag a Sierra and I wind up breaking it in the first month. Way to fucking go Mikhail."

He injected the drug designed to restart someone's heart into the side of its neck beneath the red band that his belt had made constricting it and began performing CPR on it.

He and Oshimura were onsite supervisors in Syndicated Security Services, Tripple S for short, one of the premier private para-military/security firms operating throughout the system. When they took this job for Manpower they had been pleased to find that one of the perks of providing security to this auction had been a generous discount on their choice of one unit each. They'd paid for Beta units ofcourse, but who the fuck wanted a heavy labor model, when there had been thirty-six Sierra Entertainment models to choose from in this auction. All it took was some rather creative misfiling and inventory-keeping, and greasing the palms of the Manpower asshole sent to oversee the auction. And Voila, he and Oshimura both had one sexslave each at a bargain price.

That first night he'd actually been gentle with it. He'd never been very confident with women, especially beautiful ones, but then he'd realized his Sierra was not the same as a person. Those sick fucks at Manpower had mutilated its mind from inception. First it was unbelievably stupid. The Manpower fucker had said they'd capped its intellectual capacity at the same level as that of a seven year old. And totally fucked its long-term memory. Afterall no one wanted to buy a sexslave if it could remember what you did to it and form grudges.

So the second night he'd gotten rougher, and the third night rougher still. The fourth he'd tied it down to the bunk and really let loose on it. That had wasted three days as it spent the time in the medbay as quickheal repaired the bruises and cuts and broken bones Mikhail given it. He'd gotten a lot smarter since then. He'd been finding and coming up with new and inventive ways to hurt it. Once the door had been opened more and more deep dark fantasies came to him needing to be realized with his new sextoy. This Sierra was the vehicle for the exploration and realization of a new and exciting facet of his sexuality. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to now that he'd started. Which was why he'd come back to his bunkroom in this can while he was supposed to be on duty right now.

Finally it came to coughing up the throatful of his semen.

In relief he began untying it from the ropes he'd strapped down. Someone chimed for admittance at the door. Fuck! He was supposed to be in the control center for the refueling depot. Oshimura was down there supervising the security of the auction. He had ditched his role of watching over it from the control center to get his rocks off with his Sierra real quick. It wasn't as if he had left completely unmanned. The ancient piece-of-crap OS in this dump could run autonomously for an hour or two, and no one knew this auction was being held in the ass end of nowhere to care anyway.

His door slid open and he growled at the underling, "What?"

"We can't get ahold of Oshimura's team at the auction," One of the lieutenant's of Bravo's team replied trying not to stare past him to see the naked and brutalized state of the Sierra still on his bed. "And the doors aren't opening for us."

"Did you even check the cams in the control center," Sabotino bit out caustically neglecting to note that had been his responsibility.

"They show everything's normal inside-"

"-Then what's the fucking problem," He cut him off.

"The doors aren't opening," He explained, "And all we get on the radio is static."

That made Sabotino pause. "Fuck," He reached for his own commset and keyed it on. Wincing at the loud burst of static. "Fuck!"

"We have my team at the starboard door now and its locked tight too."

"Fuck!" He roared, "Get a cutting torch and suit up a team in the armory. Then get somebody to the ship and do a radar and lidar sweep."

He grabbed his suit the half tied naked slave on his bump forgotten. "I'll head to the control center and see what the hell is going on."

"You think someone's hijacked the auction," The lieutenant asked.

"Pray to fucking god I'm wrong," He replied, "I'm not going to be the one to tell Manpower we blew the seal on this, if I'm right though. I like all my parts and pieces where they are."

He left then the lieutenant going off to see to his orders and Sabotino off to where he should've been in the first place.

 

[EroticLiteracy]

The screaming all around Zavr pulled him out of the inky black sea of unconsciousness. His vision blurred as he opened his eyes and he immediately groaned as he felt the dull drum like pounding on his temple. His hand went up to clutch his head and when they came back he found them stained with the red of blood. His mind scrambled to connect the dots between the blood on his hands and his pounding head, how a rich heir to a fortune five hundred company found himself on the floor and surrounded by the bodies of the dead and the still living.

Oh right….

It was his own damn fault.

Zavr slumped back against the carpet of the stadium. The desire to run rushed out of his body giving way for a bout of depression and feeling sorry for himself. He imagined his father seated at his throne in his office and the disapproving glare he would give. He could hear him clearly his tone the usual amount of boredom and contempt.

“You couldn’t even do this right” His dad said shaking his head in disgust.

“It’s not my fault there are terrorist” Zavr grumbled shaking the memory of his dad. Yet his words remained eroding at Zavr and feeding his self-doubt.

He barely registered the leader of the attackers… At least not until she was right in front of him. Even then all he did was stare up at her his eyes blank as he took her in. Something connected in the back of his mind, some revelation or news he thought important but couldn’t be bothered to properly analyze. Instead his eyes were drawn to her gun wondering if she was going to use it and if his last thought would be of his dad being an asshole to him.

When the grenade fell between his legs things suddenly changed. The grenade was nothing more than a black ball something simple yet deadly. Adrenalin and fear rushed through him burning the icy grasp of self-doubt away as self-preservation kicked in.

“Shit shit shit!” Zavr murmured over and over again as he lifted his upper body. He struggled to sit up ignoring several glares aimed his way as the rich people around him tried to get him to be still. Once he was up he cocked is head forward studying the grenade and trying to discern anything that would save his life. His mind worked over time as he contemplated the entire situation from the terrorist themselves to the type of equipment they used.

“Wait a minute” He murmured to himself as understanding dawned in his handsome eyes “She was one of them… She was a Synth!”

It was a long shot but if she was a synth it meant she was working outside any law order agency or corporate black ops team. The only group of people who would be mad enough to take a synth on and give them a gun would be extremist. Zavr couldn’t place their “battle cry” but it sounded like something a group of possible terrorists would say. Terrorists who wouldn’t have access to the high funds or cutting edge tech that official soldiers would be carrying.

Which meant the grenade could be a dud.

Of course, that was an incredible gamble to take. If he was wrong then he would potentially be signing his own death warrant. At the same time, there was no guarantee that the grenade wouldn’t have a secondary fail safe that activated it after a certain amount of time passed. Zavr also didn’t know what the group was planning, they could be moving now to blow up the entire station!

Zavr felt his courage return along with the innate primordial flight or fight system humans had carried with them since the dawn of time. His hands begin to tremble as he placed them palm down on the plush red carpet of the room. His body coiled like a snake ready to spring into action as he cocked his head back and spotted the service hatch that was his target.

“Here it goes” Zavr murmured.

“Three two….”

He jumped on two letting his body over ride rational thought and launching himself at the top of the stage. He hit the steel stage and rolled trying to put as much distance between him and the grenade as possible. He heard the people around him screaming and scrambling all around him and kept going reaching the service hatch in a matter of seconds and grabbing the release handle.

He was halfway through it when the grenade finally went off.

The explosion caused him to fall into the service tunnel. He fell for a few minutes before he finally stopped his shoulder slamming into one of the rungs and sending a fresh bolt of pain through his body. His mouth tightened into a snarl as he let out a string of curses bemoaning his situation. Once he finished his long string or curses and accurately coloring his situation he moved grabbing the handlebars and pulling himself up slowly. The maintenance corridor was expansive and large with subdued yellow lighting and rows of heavy thick electrical wiring. Above Zavr could still hear the action from the stage a mix of gun fire and the blood curling screams of people who never thought they would be in danger.

Zavr moved stooping down to a crouch as he started crawling through the tunnel and deeper into the station. He did his best to ignore the screams above pushing forward and listening to his own self-preservation. Every hair on his body stood on end, every thump of his heart beating felt like it could be the last. His knuckles were white as he moved through the underbelly of the massive space station. Every breath could be his last, at any moment the crazies could be blowing up the station or destroying it in some way. The idea that he could die in the tunnels terrified the young heir to a dynasty and it was all he could do not to panic right there in the dark suffocating tunnels. Still he pushed on his body moving even as his mind free fell into despair. He moved through the tunnels as fast as he could pushing deeper and deeper as he tried to follow the signs to the hanger bay as best he could.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mikhail Sabotino

"Fucking Jesus Christ," Sabotino swore viciously. Some bastard had hacked into this dump's central computer core with some sort of sophisticated adaptive program-they were called hacksaws on the black markets. This one had virtually neutered the depot's piece of crap OS and replaced it with a dummy that would show Mikhail whatever the bastard wanted him to see, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"Motherfucker." While he knew a couple things about programming he wasn't some code monkey that could tap a few keys and fix what that bastard had done to it, but if he can't get on top of this right now...Manpower would blame him for this shitstorm...and then...his life would be worth as much as a pile of rat shit.

Bravo team was cutting through or so they told him. As long as those fuckers were jamming the comms into the interior of the depot he was totally blind here. He was relying on runners to keep him informed like he was some general back in the bronze age or some shit.

Swearing a long line of choice colorful invective he grabbed his commset. It could patch to their ship independent of the stupid compromised depot's computers. With it he could at least talk to his people outside the range of whatever the assholes were using to jam the comms.

"Hopkins," He called into it, "You in the ship yet?"

"Just got in," Came the reply, "Booting up the systems for a radar and lidar sweep now."

"Tell me what you get," He told him, "These mother fuckers have to have a ship out there to bug out in."

"Coming out now." Hopkins said after a minute or two, "We have an old unregistered piece of crap freighter out there docked to the exterior ring...and shit! we have people EVA out there around the silos!"

"Shit!" If they were near the silos then they had some way past the bombs they'd put on the outside of the silos...which meant they must have known about it. Maybe it was an inside job, or maybe the fuck up wasn't on their end. Either way if those fuckers manage to steal all of Manpower's merchandise right out from under Sabotino's nose...he'd be worse off than rat shit...he'd be a corpse out there floating in the deep black...tossed out like trash.

And the worst was there was very little he could do to stop them. Except...

"Send Charlie team out EVA to light those bastards up." Yes...that was it. Take action..decisive action...that would look good when Manpower heard about this..wouldn't it? He had Bravo cutting through the doors to take care of the fuckers that hijacked the auction...and... "Prepare the ship to release and shoot down that freighter...and before that send Delta team to reinforce Bravo at the auction."

There was one more move he could make, but he hesitated. He had thought Oshimura was being a paranoid asshole setting up the nerve gas canisters inside the silo's as a backup to the bombs...now if those bastards tried stealing the merchandise from him it would be the last measure he could take to stop them...but would that be enough? Would Manpower let him off the hook if he ruined their product just to ruin these bastards' efforts to steal from them?

Sabotino didn't know. Okay he'd hold off on that. He'd hope Bravo, Charlie, and Delta teams could help him pull this whole thing out of the shitter, but keep that nerve gas as a trump card up his sleeve in case it goes further downhill on him.

------------------X

IC: Sierra

She closed her faceplate and hurried over to find cover behind a thick solid column of steel combination while her teammates set positions behind other columns widespread to give them in a classic crossfire situation on the mercs as they breached through the door.

The mercenaries were cutting a large circle into door. She made a quick double check of the flecchette gun. It was two-thirds full, plenty enough ammo left to take down a pig or two. The circle was almost complete now.

She gestured for her team to get ready and edged further behind the cover of the steel combination pillar. Then there came the loud sound of the circular section of the titanium door hitting the floor. She and her team let loose then as the first merc rushed through the hole.

She snarled with vengeful joy as that Merc reeled back and fell into the hole wounded or even better dead, either way he was momentarily blocking their entry way. The second merc threw in a flashbang when he was pushing the body out of the way, but her suit filtered out the glare of the light and the burst of sound and after a second to adjust she and her team were laying deadly waves of tiny razor sharp discs into the mercenary, slicing through the protective layers of his own skinsuit until there was nothing left.

Death by a thousand cuts.

She was rocked by an explosion from behind her. Guess that young, cute, little slave-buying bastard budged a muscle and set off the grenade. She'd shed a crocodile tear for him later.

The burst of static vanished as the jammer was caught in the explosion.

Might as well see how well the rest of her crew was doing. "Team one to Sparty, do you copy?"

"Copy, Captain," Came Shadow's voice, "You okay? We weren't supposed to hear from you yet."

"We lost the jammer," She told her, "How is team two and three doing?"

"Still hooking up the tubes," She was told, "But we're getting signs of power from the Mercs' ship."

"We're going to have to speed things up," She ordered, "We need to be pulling out before that ship can target the Sparty and I want every last one of our brothers and sisters packed into those silos on board her when we do."

"Copy that," Shadow replied, "I'll light a fire under some asses to get happening."

Sierra signed off and began laying into the mercs climbing out of the hole in the door roaring the Ballroom's battlecry, "Let's dance!"

 

[EroticLiteracy]

For what seemed like hours he crawled on his hands and knees through the tight maintenance shafts. Some times through darkness and sometimes with the help of faint glowing overhead lights. Every once in a while he would pass an exit shaft but kept pushing on. He knew the tunnels were safe, knew that as long as the station remained whole HE would remain whole. Going out of the tunnels would mean facing the unknown. There was no telling WHAT those mad terrorists would do to him if they caught him.

Hell there was no telling what the security force on the station would do either.
So he pushed on moving like a rat through the tunnels. Eventually the tunnels began to slope down and widen giving him enough room to crouch and stand up as he navigated the tunnels. He passed rows of high tech machinery the very parts that kept the station up and running. Eventually he found a wrench that was discarded in the tunnel and he picked it up holding it out in front of him like a sword as he moved forward.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Not that he had anyway of actually knowing what time it was. He knew however that his time in the tunnels was running out. That he would have to either step out and try his luck or find a craft to leave the station in. Not for the first time he cursed coming here with the others on a ferry ship. If he brought his own ride he could at least attempt an escape in that.

But alas it was back home… where he belonged.

He turned another corner and suddenly his foot his air. He barely had time to scream before he was plummeting down disappearing into the darkness as his hands slapped the wall for a hand hold. His body hit a grate and seconds later it tore off dropping him onto a steel walkway that sent a jarring THUD through his whole body.

“Frak!” He screamed unable to stop himself. Anger coursed through his body as he got up rubbing his sore shoulder and swearing up a storm with little regard to his safety. Eventually he began to calm down remembering where he was and hurriedly crouching down in case someone was going to return fire at him.
Nothing came however and so he poked his head out trying to get a bead of his situation. Relief burst through his body as he took in the ring of ships attached to the bay he was currently standing in like umbilical cords. He was at the docks! And there didn’t seem to be anyone in here either!

He quickly made his way down still crouching as he moved to the ground deck. His eyes constantly scanned the area double and triple checking that no one was coming after him. He reached the deck and continued moving scanning the ships around him as he tried to figure out which one he could take. He began to panic when he took in the locked doors of the docking tunnels knowing he didn’t have the skill in hacking to try and crack them open. He was just starting to have another panic attack when his eyes landed on the last one in the row which had doors wide open inviting him in.

He rushed to it slipping inside and moving through the docking corridor. He felt gravity dip as he moved out of the station and began to float ever so softly as he reached the door to his getaway ship. He moved in and pushed his feet down to the deck looking around and taking it all in.

It took him a matter of moments to realize where he was.

The signs were all there from the logo painted right at the entrance way to the stacks of weaponry and armor. His heart seized in his chest as eh floated back realizing with some fear that he was on the one ship he didn’t want to be.

The terrorists ship.

He turned making to move out of the ship and back onto the dock. However the image of the locked tunnels floated back to his mind as well as the realization he didn’t have the skill to hack into them. This was the only one that was open which meant that it was truly his only escape route.

Zavr swallowed his throat suddenly as dry as sand paper. He turned back to the ship eyeing it as he tried to figure out the best course of action. He didn’t know where the terrorists would be going after they finished. More than likely they would be going back to their own base and not landing in a public area. If he stayed on here he might be trapped and they already showed a willingness to kill him.

On the other hand….

He knew that there was every chance they would blow the station up when they left. They were after all terrorists and judging by the fire power just in the air lock they had the means to do so. If he stayed on the station he could simply die vaporized in an instant.

He didn’t want to die.

He pushed himself through the airlock and into the ship. Once he was in he kept pushing through the wrench in front of him and ready to come down at the first sign of someone. Eventually he found a cargo hold and with a sigh or relief pulled himself up between a few crates. He settled in clutching the wrench close to his chest and waiting to see what happened next. A few minutes later he cursed realizing in hindsight that he should have grabbed some food or something.

“I’m fucked” He bemoaned closing his eyes.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

They were falling back now. Sierra held at the door they had entered for the airlock to the central corridor laying the last of her flechette ammo into the advancing mercenaries. She was slowing them down, forcing them to take cover at the least, but her ammo was getting dangerously low and the mercs were using military grade explosive bullets that chewed through the titanium combination of any cover they could take.

Her team filed into the airlock and she followed suit the mercs shooting behind punching dents into the closing airlock doors. AS the airlock cycled Sierra pulled out the last canister of flecchettes she had. One hundred shots and that would be it. After that the only weapon she'd have is her razor sharp wit. However she did have the last of her motion-activated grenades wired together as surprise for the mercenaries that would come through the airlock after them.

The doors opened to the long central corridor and they pushed off floating down it. They didn't have time to dawdle. It would be only a matter of seconds before the Airlock would cycle again and the mercs would rush in and the grenades would explode.

They floated down the corridor in null G giving Sierra time to check in with how things were going outside.

"Boss," Came Shadow's voice over the radio, "We have the tubes hooked up to the silos and should be getting the people inside out in a few min-wait!"

"What's happening," She asked.

"There's a team of mercenaries out there and they're shooting at our people."

"Damn," As she made a textbook braking landing on the corridor's outer airlock. She could see the airlock they had just left was beginning its cycling process once again. She told her teammates, "Brace yourselves."

The hooked arms around mooring bars along the walls waiting for the grenades to go off. Nothing happened for several moments. Were those grenades defective? They were forty years old but should still be functional. Did the arms-dealer that sold them to the Ballroom know or were they cheating them by selling them a set of duds.

Minutes passed and Sierra fretted looking at her suits dwindling air supply. "We have to get going." she moved to activate the airlock outside. The inner doors opened and cautiously her team filed inside it. The mercs still hadn't gone through the interior airlock. She couldn't blame them. One hearty mercenary was probably trying to defuse her grenades. Even if they were duds they could not just leave them in there.

The airlock doors were just closing when the explosion happened. Most of the blast was funneled into the depot common area they had just left, but there was enough to punch a hole in the airlock doors and send a concussion waves that forced them to bounce around like beans inside a baby's rattle.

------------------X

IC: Mikhail Sabotino

"What do you mean Bravo team's a loss," Sabotino bit out. This kept getting worse and worse on him. The mother fuckers that had slaughtered their guests for the auction were getting away and his people walked straight into a booby fucking trap.

Then Captain of Charlie team piped in. "We have engaged the hostiles over the silos. They have evacuation tubes hooked up to the tops of them."

So that was their plan. Straight up theft. Well he could fix those fuckers good.

He lifted up the remote activator of the nerve gas cannisters inside the silos that idiot Oshimura had set up. Before he keyed the activation code though he paused. If he did this he'd be admitting to Manpower the situation had gotten out of his control completely. That wouldn't look good when they were looking to blame someone. However...if he didn't and these assholes got away with Manpower's merchandise...it'd be his ass on the chopping block no question.

"Fuck you all you bastards," He growled activating the nerve gas to neutralize every single one of the units crammed inside both silos, "You get nothing from here today."

 

[EroticLiteracy]

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as the wayward corporate heir sat in the terrorist’s cargo hold. He was pressed as far back in the mess of weaponry and crates as physically possible. The hum of the massive twin engines of the freighter were the only company the young man had. Its gentle hum pressed against his back providing some modicum of comfort with the promise of escape it offered. He managed to find some rations in one of the cargo crates closest to him but hadn’t dared to open it yet. He was accurately aware of the fact that anyone at any time could barge into the room and hear him eating.

Why were they still here? As far as Zavr could tell the ship wasn’t moving or engaging in any evasive maneuvers that could blow his brains out. The minutes continued to stretch out and he wished he had bothered to bring a data pad or watch. He could have been in here for a matter of seconds and he wouldn’t know! The only sense he could rely on was his own body which would surely feel the change in acceleration when they did finally get moving.

He was about to get up and let his imagination get the better of him when an explosion rocked the ship. He shouted out and dived down crawling deeper between the two crates as he waited for the end to come. With a rumble the ships heavy engines kicked on gravity tugging on him and adding more weight to his body as he struggled to move. He worked through the gravity pushing his sluggish body in between to crates and bracing himself. If there were any sudden movements and gravity increased he would be in trouble. There was no crash harness for him to plug into or a hook in for the gravity supplement drugs that were needed to handle such maneuvers. All it took was one sudden rush of gravity to turn his body into paste.

Zavr didn’t grow up in a praying family. The only thing his family believed in was cool hard cash. He knew of the concept of religion but it was never something he bothered to understand or even contemplate.

Now he wished he had

Without any sort of spiritual understanding he simply closed his eyes and wished for his survival. He said it like a mantra chanting it under his breath as the ship moved. Every time the ship pitched to hard he said it louder only remembering to quiet down after the ship was down with whatever maneuver it was engaging.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

The airlock doors were just closing when the explosion happened. Most of the blast was funneled into the depot common area they had just left, but there was enough to punch a hole in the airlock doors and send a concussion waves that forced them to bounce around like beans inside a baby's rattle.

Bruised and beaten Sierra managed by some miracle to grab hold of a grab-bar on the lip of the airlock doors. She held out her hand for Archimedes to grab ahold of before he tumbled off into space. She cried out from the strain as she stopped the larger Beta's momentum and pulled him back up to the grab-bar. The rest of her team managed to stop themselves without tumbling out of the airlock.

Unmolested from anymore pursuit by the mercs they exited the airlock and began climbing up the skin of the depot's central core. As they did they could see the Sparty still docked to the docking ring and the fuel silos her team was hooking the emergency evac-tubes to the tops to free all the slaves held within, but there was none moving through the tubes to the Sparty's holds. There were also bright flashes between two groups of space-suited people near the tops of the silos.

She keyed her comlink, "Shadow, this is team one, report."

"Boss," Shadow replied emotionally from the bridge of the Sparty, "They're dead...all dead...the bastards! They had some sort of nerve gas device inside the silo and set it off...all of the people inside are all dead..."

Sierra tamped down on a surge of irrational and righteous anger towards the monster that would consign so many people to such a gruesome and inhumane death.

Instead she asked Shadow, "And what of our people?"

"They're in a firefight with those mother-fucking murderers," Shadow growled with an echo of the righteous fury she had just pushed down.

They were almost halfway there, and she could see the underside of the Spartacus as her team climbed for all they're worth.

"Have them pull back and return to the Sparty," She ordered.

"But boss," Shadow protested.

"Pull them back and detach from the docking ring."

"But then the only way they'll be able to get back on board the ship is single file through the topside emergency airlock." Shadow exclaimed, "They'll be sitting ducks out there."

"Open cargo hold one," She told him, "Once all the stuff inside is vented out they'll all be able to go in at once. Then initiate the Housewarming Party."

Shadow complied and as Sierra and her team climbed as much as two-thirds of the length of the depot in the next few minutes they watched the old freighter detach from the docking ring and under thrusters pull away from the depot. Then the doors to cargo bay one began to open. The air began to rush out. The boxes and shelves of supplies tumbled out into space in the process...and was that someone desperately trying to hold on inside the cargo hold?

"Shadow," She called, "Do we have anybody in cargo hold one?"

"No," Came the reply, "Everyone is accounted for. It should be completely empty."

"I am looking at someone in there right now," She exclaimed, "Whoever it is he's not in a spacesuit either."

"Well even if I close the doors now," Shadow replied, "He'll be a dead man before I can get it repressurized...whoever it is his only hope is if he jumps in the emergency suits in the evac lockers right away."

 

[EroticLiteracy]

Things went bad

And when they did they went bad SPECTACULARLY

The first inclination that Zavr masterplan was going bad was when the cargo bay began to flash with striking red lights. If that wasn't enough a warning Klaxon began to blare out via powerful speakers inside of the spacious cargo bay. Zavr eyes practically popped out of his head as the warning awakened the fear of adrenalin in his body. There was only one thing it could possibly be.

Imminent depressurization!

Zavr forgot about wedging himself between the cargo crates and ran across the deck. their was a pair of lockers by the door that contained an EVAC suit. Zacr kicked himself mentally as he ran for not having put it on the minute he entered the cargo space.

He was almost to the locker when the door began to slide open. The air in the bay began to suck out immediately tugging on him as it tried to take him with it. From teh corner of his eyes he saw a trio of cargo crates not buckled down fly out. He ducked as they whistled past his head but the last one clipped his shoulder before he could dodge out of the way.

"Shit!" He shouted as he went crashing to the gray metal deck. His body began to drag across the deck pulling him closer and closer to the black death of space. Zavr hurriedly dug his fingers into the deck finding any hand hold or irregular raised edge that he could.

"Come on come on" He growled pulling himself forward and finally reaching the locker. He pulled himself up hanging onto the locker for dear life as he opened it and grabbed at the glaring orange suit. He pulled it out pushing himself into the locker and closing the door behind him.

"Thank god" He said hurriedly pulling on the suit. He felt the air getting thinner and went faster securing the helmet and sealing the suit up with a quick tap of the suits wrist PDA. It beeped and air rushed into the helmet choking him slightly as the cargo bay doors finished opening up.

He sunk to the floor of the locked and began to laugh slash cry. He was delirious on his own save and his vision swam as he continued to laugh and cry.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

"I am looking at someone in there right now," She exclaimed, "Whoever it is he's not in a spacesuit either."

"Well even if I close the doors now," Shadow replied, "He'll be a dead man before I can get it repressurized...whoever it is his only hope is if he jumps in the emergency suits in the evac lockers right away."

Team two and three was bobbing and weaving as they pulled away from the pursuing mercenaries. She wanted to help them, but her team were carrying the old style flecchette guns. The forty year old weapons were not designed to function in total vacuum. Even if she had the new generation flecchette guns at this range she'd likely hit her own people along with the mercs. Sierra had to just hope her people could handle themselves.

She pushed off the hull of the depot and started careening for the Sparty's open cargo hold doors. Her skinsuit did not have the accompanying flightpack so she had to save the minimal thrusters built into it for braking or her momentum would send her uncontrollably colliding into the bulkhead of the cargo hold.

After some time shooting across the space between the depot and the Spartacus they reached the cargo hold and she braked her momentum firing the entirety of her suit's thruster fuel. She touched cargo hold's interior bulkhead as soft as a feather. Then she and her teammates only could stand there and wait for Team two and three to perform the same maneuver to get back to the safety of the ship.

In the meantime Sierra using the magnetic souls on her boots stepped over to the emergency locker she'd seen their apparent stowaway take refuge in earlier. She opened the locker door to find him crouched down quixotically doing both crying and laughing at the same time. She recognized him. This was the kid that had caught her eye at the auction.

That sealed his fate. Sneering at the kid she put her flechette gun and pressed the muzzle against his helmet's faceplate and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. It couldn't be the vacuum, at point blank range and securely planted with her mag-boots to the cargo hold's floor. She looked at the ammo counter on the flechette gun. The canister in the gun was empty.

Angrily she pulled the gun away and grabbed the god-damned slaving bastard from the locker. Hauling him out Sierra gestured for one of her teammates to end this kid's miserable life.

 

[EroticLiteracy]

The locker ripped open and before Zavr could even say or do anything he was staring down the muzzle of a gun. The gun clicked empty saving Zavr from what would have been a death blow. Later when it was all said and done he would realize that he would have died right then and there if the gun hadn’t been empty.

And there would have been nothing he could do.

He was ripped out of the locker he found safety in and tossed at someone else. His arms flailed as he tried to punch and or kick his way out and find some kind of safety. His flailing limbs hit hardened armor plating doing nothing as he saw another gun muzzle.

“WAIT!” He shouted his eyes practically popping out of his head “Wait wait wait”

He didn’t have any way of saving himself so he let his mouth run wild.

“My real name is Zavr!” He shouted out as fast as he could “You know that name! You know who my father is! I have valuable information about his company and the synthetics! I can be used as a ransom! I was there trying to write an expose AGAINST the use of synthetics! I’m on your side! I’m on your side!”

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

Angrily she pulled the gun away and grabbed the god-damned slaving bastard from the locker. Hauling him out Sierra gestured for one of her teammates to end this kid's miserable life.

In response RJ, the Sparty's second mate, grinned raising her flechette gun to take aim at the slaver's head. Even in no atmo and also in zero G conditions at this range a flechette burst from her gun would decapitate the young man.

“WAIT!” He shouted his eyes practically popping out of his head “Wait, wait, wait.”

His voice couldn't be heard over the airless vacuum, but being in an emergency evac suit it broadcast his voice across all frequencies automatically so they heard every word he made. Pleading for his life. Sierra sneered at the cowardly slaver. He deserved to die. There was nothing he could say to change that fact.

“My real name is Zavr!” He shouted out as fast as he could “You know that name! You know who my father is! I have valuable information about his company and the synthetics! I can be used as a ransom! I was there trying to write an expose AGAINST the use of synthetics! I’m on your side! I’m on your side!”

Sierra's sneer deepened, but she raised her arm signaling RJ to hold. Holding the son of one of the CEOs of one of the biggest mega-corporations for ransom, did have a certain appeal. Besides Team two and three were already arriving into the opened cargo hold.

The pursuing mercenaries had turned and headed back to the safety of the depot the moment they say the exterior ports of cargo holds three through six slide open and military warship class gatling guns capable blowing them out of space with a hail of bullets.

Those guns rotated on the mounts lifted and began targeting the depot itself as was part of the housewarming party contingency plan the ballroom had devised for this mission. It aimed and began firing shredding holes through the depots hull like swiss cheese.

 

[EroticLiteracy]

Zavr faltered as no one reacted to his words. Was the suits COM Working? Everything on his end was saying that he was broadcasting to everyone in the group.

So did they just not care?

That thought killed the last bit of bravery he felt in the situation. Zavr mouth opened in a silent scream and he moved a sudden burst of energy giving him the added strength he needed. He managed to break free of his captors pushing them back and sending them scattering as he furiously tried to get away.

His body running on pure Adrenalin Zavr pushed forward with his legs and catapulted straight towards the door. Above him the sound of heavy gun fire only further spurred his fear. He moved as fast as he could to the airlock trying in vain to just get away as his life flashed before his eyes.

Then everything went black.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

Sierra's sneer deepened, but she raised her arm signaling RJ to hold. Holding the son of one of the CEOs of one of the biggest mega-corporations for ransom, did have a certain appeal. Besides Team two and three were already arriving into the opened cargo hold.

Then in a burst of motion the boy pushed off of her and RJ and fled in a panic-that was the phrase for it-careening like a bat out of hell for the airlock door. Sierra swore pushing off after him. He had pushed off the floor at full force his speed and momentum would cause him to never be able to stop himself before slamming into the bulkhead wall with concussive force.

He didn't even try to brace himself. Sierra watched as his body collided into the airlock's doors and bounced off.

Turning her hips she caught him and was able to control the momentum and catch them safely on the opposite bulkhead.

Her crew was back on board and Archimedes was closing the cargo hold's exterior doors.

She looked down at the boy and sneered at their new hostage.

"Get him to the medbay," She told RJ.

She protested, "Why not just let the fucking bastard fade out."

"He may be of use," She told her, "At least we could record his execution to warn anyone else who'd buy genetic slaves."

"Captain," Shadow's voice called over the comms from the Sparty's bridge, "The mercenaries' gunship is pulling out of its hangar."

"Shit." Sierra swore, "Pull back beyond weapons range."

The Spartacus was an armed freighter with no armor and forty year old weaponry. The Mercs' ship was a state of the art military grade modern warship. they had no business getting in a slugfest with it. She had counted on it being caught with its engines cold. It seems the Mercs' commander was a smarter opponent than she had first credited.

--------------X

IC: Mikhail Sabotino

Fuming Mikhail sat down into the captain's chair of the bridge of the Gunship loftily monickered, Sword of Suleiman. Strapping himself into the seat and sealing his skinsuit for battle he spat out at his beleaguered bridge crew, "Status."

"Exterior bay doors clear." The helmsman called out, "Engines igniting to full efficiency."

"Weapons," He asked in a don't-fuck-with-me tone.

The rating at the tactical station was still flipping switches and desperate to catch up, "Uh...Coming online in five seconds....We should be able to fire at the freighter when we clear the depot."

"Sir," The lieutenant of the ship's crew spoke up, "What about our people still out there?"

Sabotino glared at the mealy mouthed moron. Anyone who went into outerspace ops knew the risks in this situation. They should have the fucking brains to get clear when the Sword of Suleiman started tearing into these bastards. "They'll have to fend for themselves. I want these mother fuckers nailed hard, and I want them now!"

 

[EroticLiteracy]

Zavr was officially out of the count and oblivious to the danger all around him. The danger all around him was officially a problem he couldn't even contemplate.

His safety rested on them.

.................................................

Meanwhile

The expensive top of the line cruiser was officially locked stocked and ready to burn the terrorist into space dust. Any regard of safety for its own people was nothing more than afterthought.

It was currently moving away from the depot. It's massive auto canons were spinning to life tracking and sighting in the freighter. Lasers painted the Sparty washing its hull with red.

"I want everything on them!" The captain Sabotino said small flecks of spittle flying from his shaking mouth. If anyone was listening they would clearly hear the nervousness in his own voice.

Failure wouldn't be good for any of them.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

Sierra pushed her way up to the bridge. Shadow swung her head to look over her shoulder at her from where she sat in the navigation console. "Report."

"The gunship just painted us with lidar and radar, probably infra-red targeting too," The old woman who owned the Spartacus told her captain, "I put the engines at full burn to get us out of its range and evasive maneuvers to throw off its tracking, but the Sparty wasn't built for these kinds of high-speed maneuvers. Hull stress is reaching critical."

"How long until we're out of its range," Sierra asked.

"Five minutes and fourteen seconds," Shadow grimaced.

Damn. That's five minutes where the Sparty will be stuck in a fight it couldn't win. "Ammo?"

"Fifty-one percent," Shadow told her.

A sharp tone erupted. "They shot a torpedo at us. Incoming at 1500 KPM. ETA...uh..."

"One minute and twenty-two seconds." Sierra put in doing the math in her head, "Roll to port six degrees by four degrees. Ready point defense."

The Sparty began to veer in an effort to throw the torpedos guidance systems off. Also its autocannons opened up spraying the space between it and the torpedo with bullets in the hope one would hit it and shred it before it reached the freighter to turn it into a floating debris field in space.

 

[EroticLiteracy]

Sabatino

"Those fools" The corporate captain said his hand forming into a fist and sinking into his cushioned chair "Do they honestly think they can get away from us?"

He watched the sluggish ship continue its mad race to try and get some space from the high tech battle frigate. Behind him his men bustled and moved the might and precision of the corporate navy on full display. It would be a miracle for them to survive even the first round!

Much less the second and third.

Sabatino knew the price of failure better than anyone on this ship. His long years in the navy saw him to many battles between insurgents and so called "activist". He once watched a whole battle cruiser fired upon simple because the captain refused to kill a group of civilians trying to smuggle out one of their workers.

He would not let that happen to his men.

"I want another firing solution" He snapped out "This time unload everything we have!"

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

"Roll to port six degrees by four degrees. Ready point defense."

The Sparty began to veer in an effort to throw the torpedos guidance systems off. Also its autocannons opened up spraying the space between it and the torpedo with bullets in the hope one would hit it and shred it before it reached the freighter to turn it into a floating debris field in space.

The icon of the incoming torpedoes was a flashing red arcing through the space between the two vessels on her screen. Sierra sat back in her seat sealing the last buckle into her crash harness of her captain's chair. Otherwise she was composed, on the outside. On the inside her knuckles were white and she watched the icon of the torpedo like a hawk.

They were heading straight for them. Once it reached one hundred kilometers there'd be no way for the Sparty to escape destruction if it detonated at all. The fragmentations would shred this unarmored freighter like someone getting shot with a twelve gauge shot gun.

As the torpedo came closer and closer to blowing up her precious ship she saw Shadow gasp covering her mouth from the mounting tension.

Fortunately the auto gun mount had plenty of time to home in and Sierra breathed a sigh of relief as first one and then the second icon vanished from her screen replaced by KIA symbols.

"How long until we are out of their range?"

Shadow shook herself and looked over her console. "Uh...Four minutes and uh..."

"Thirty-nine," She put in doing the math in her head once more.

An alarm sounded and Shadow looked over to the tactical screen. "Oh sweet Jesus..." She muttered, "...They've fired...everything at us..."

"I suppose they don't like us very much," Sierra agreed wryly. "Continue evasive maneuvers and program the autogun to fire a wall of fire at the incoming birds."

She watched as twelve new red icons streaked out from the mercenaries' gunships. Not even a dedicated military ship like that one could fire many salvos that dense and remotely control them all. They had to set the torpedos seekers from remote to autonomous mode. It would mean they'd be easier to fool into missing the Sparty, but that many? Also the mercs might not have switched all of the torpedos to autonomous. It could really be a fatal mistake here to assume that they had.

Four minutes. That was all they had to last until they were out of the frigate's range. This was going to be a tight four minutes. Sierra began chewing her lip watching the icons come closer and closer to their destruction.

 

[EroticLiteracy]

SABATINO

"Sir there engaging counter measures" One of his operators said glancing up from the large bay of computer systems and consoles that dominated the bridge. The high tech array of equipment could detect a missile 50 clicks out and was painting the frigate with telemetry data and statistics.

"Of course they are" Sabatino said chuckling and crossing his arms "That'll stop a paltry amount of our ordinance"

"Sir we have a problem" A tactical tactician said glancing up from his own console "our missiles and the bulk of our ordinance is five minutes out"

"That isn't going to work!" engineering said checking their own instruments "The ship will be out of range by then!"

"We won't be able to remote control the missiles either" Tactical said cursing as he continued to type into his console "we're going to lose them!"

"Not on my ass!" Sabatino said shaking his head "I want you to pour our energy into the engines! I don't care where you take it from but we NEED to catch up to them. I don't need to tell any of you guys what will happen to us if we fails"

They nodded fear in each of their eyes as the threat was received. They hurried about their stations with renewed vigor intent on over taking the ship.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Sierra

Four minutes. That was all they had to last until they were out of the frigate's range. This was going to be a tight four minutes. Sierra began chewing her lip watching the icons come closer and closer to their destruction.

The Spartacus poured on the speed as much as its forty year-old engines could muster, rocketing further and further away. She glanced at the g-force meter nervously watching it scroll left towards the red zone. Despite all the best advances in space-going technology mankind had invented there were no silver bullets yet to be found in the realm of physics. So humanity had developed incredible nuclear engines that could theoretically propel a ship up to a high fraction of lightspeed. But then there was the small matter of inertia. The faster the engines pushed the ship the more mass it would acquire to the point where it would counteract the freighter's structural integrity making it break apart at the seams. Not that it would matter to the crew when that happened. The mounting inertia would smush everyone inside into something that looked very much like a smear of toothpaste across the bulkhead walls long long long before the ship broke apart killing them all instantaneously.

Again she looked at the meter they were at 48% of the potential speed the engines could produce. Once they reached 58% the g-forces produced by the acceleration they'd be courting blacking out, and anything beyond 65% were toothpaste numbers.

Sierra looked back to the radar and lidar screens seeing the red markers of the enemy missiles screaming straight at them. The autogun's wall of fire had destroyed five of the birds. That left seven high explosive missiles fast zeroing in on the Sparty.

She did the math in her head factoring in the effective kill range of the most typical type of warhead those missiles probably had, the speeds of the Sparty and the missiles themselves, all to figure out when to order, "Launch decoy, now!"

From a hatch in Cargo Bay 3 fired a drone the size of a school bus glaring out a near-replica of the radar and lidar radiation the seekers of the missiles were programmed to target...if they were in autonomous mode. If they weren't...the human operators controlling them from the mercenary ship would direct their birds to ignore her decoy and home in on the original target...the Spartacus.

She was gambling that enough of the missiles were in autonomous mode and would be fooled by her decoy and that any that weren't or were being remotely controlled by the mercs could be pinpointed and destroyed by her autogun in the 67 seconds they'd have before the missiles reached the point where any detonation of their warheads would mean the destruction of her ship.

Most of any battle could be called gambling in one form of another. Sierra bit her lips as she waited to learn just how the dice that would determine their fates would land.