The burned out carcass of the C2 Hercules Starlifter lay half buried in the shifting sands of Daymar, lit by the setting sun, the core of the fuselage most of what remained to identify it. Wreckage littered the desert in every direction, but the blackned scar showed me exactly where to put down and start my search after my scans had picked up several surviving crates of Maze.
I carefully hoisted myself up, climbing from jutting spar to exposed rib to jagged fragmentation hole, remnants of a battle fought an unknown time ago. I knew it couldn’t have been that long ago or the desert would have swallowed the wreckage, but no one remained to challenge my presence, so I continued on, breathing heavily in my helmet and keeping an eye on my Oxygen levels. Daymar was beautiful, but unforgiving.
With a final pull up I managed to swing myself up and over the ledge and onto the severely slanting lower deck of the C2, and saw exactly what I hoped to see: a jumble of cargo, crates haphazardly strewn about the yawning compartment, once stacked on each other, now in a great pile.
I pulled out my multitool with its tractorbeam and got to work, pulling out every crate one at a time and disposing of anything I didn’t care about, while setting down the illegal narcotics carefully just outside, within easy reach. The process didn’t take long. As the last shadows stretched into each other and the sun slipped below the jagged mountains I surveyed the wreckage from the inside one last time, then clambered out and worked my way back down.
My Cutlass Black stood ready just to the side, empty and waiting to receive its black market cargo. As I loaded the crates into the rear it was hard to keep the smile off my face- this was a hell of a score, easily worth a million credits, and all I had to do was sell it… and not get caught.
The Black lumbered a little, weighed down with the extra load in her belly, but she was a freighter with oversized engines at the end of the day and handled it gracefully enough, plus I’ve flown with far heavier loads- it wasn’t that big of a deal. My most pressing concern was getting rid of the drugs as fast as possible, as they were extremely hazardous to my long term health prospects in many ways.
Crusader Security, the law around these parts, would lock me up and throw away the key if they caught me smuggling this much, and most other people I encountered on Daymar would be as likely to kill me and take it for themselves as they would be to offer me a glass of water- much more so at Brio’s Breaker Yard, the nearest and best place I knew of to sell my cargo.
Brio’s was a wrecking yard littered with the corpses of naive buyers and sellers that I firmly believed made far more money on the under-the-table goods that passed through there than they did on their legitimate business, but it was no concern of mine- so long as I got to sell and get out of there with my hide unperforated, I was happy.
I set my course and powered forward, intent on doing a fast fly-by to get an idea of who or what might be waiting for me at Brio’s before I committed to landing there (if pirates were already camping there I’d just bug out, hopefully before they could respond), and was just set to jump toward it when an beeping and flashing caught my attention. An emergency contract had just come in.
I lifted my left wrist and tapped on my MobiGlass, entering the Contract Manager to read the details. As eager as I was to dump my load I knew that emergency contracts were often worth it and figured I might head that way as soon as I was done selling, if someone else hadn’t already accepted the contract.
I frowned as I read- Security Post Thaquray, not far from where I currently hovered, was under attack and had sent out an emergency distress call for any and all mercenaries in the area. They were severely undermanned and outgunned, and were facing a coordinated, determined assault from an organized force. Without immediate assistance, they would be wiped out. The reward was sizable, but… also somewhat beside the point.
For several long moments I hesitated, cursing myself and my situation. I hoped the message would disappear, indicating that someone else, a confident individual or an organization, had accepted the contract, but it remained stubbornly up. I thought of the Maze in the back of my ship, and thought of the profits that awaited me, then of the men in that bunker- I knew I couldn’t leave them to die, even though I didn’t know them. I had no desire to go get into a firefight but was confident enough in my capabilities to come out the other side of it at that point. Just the same, this was no walk in the park and would be a life or death struggle- I could already feel the bundle of fear wadding itself up in my gut, threatening to work its way up my chest and throat.
I had a damn good idea who was attacking them- the 9 Tails gang had it out for Crusader Security and attacked on a regular basis, and I had plenty of a bone to pick with the 9 Tails myself, so I had no problem fighting them. I cursed and hit “Accept” at the bottom of the holographic contract, then wheeled the Cutlass around and reoriented it to Security Post Thaquray. I just had to hope no one scanned my cargo bay.
Within moments I quantum jumped and was plowing ahead through the atmosphere, my ship roaring its way through Daymar’s thin air at top speed, only a touch over 20 km out from the Security Post. As I approached I lowered my speed and dropped my landing gear, scanning the Anti Air turrets as soon as they came in range to see if they were hostile or friendly (friendly, thankfully, the contract I carried identified me as an ally).
I landed heavily in a cloud of dust just to the side of the entrance and sprinted for the rear of my ship as my engines spun down with a whine, grabbing my P8-SC SMG out of the rack as I raced by. While I often prefer a heavier weapon and armor than I had with me, I would have to make do with what I had. I was dressed for a light cargo run, not for an assault. Dressed head to toe in a dusky blue armor set with a black undersuit with more ammo than a small army was likely to need strapped onto me, I slapped the “Door Close” button as I ran down my rear loading ramp and took one last passing glance at the Maze as the ramp slowly began to creak back up.
See you again soon… I wished the unmarked gray crates a fond farewell.
My feet left small craters in the sand as I fought to sprint in the low gravity toward the entrance of the bunker, finally gaining some real purchase as I entered the building and the gravity plating took over. Below my feet I heard the rapid rattling tat-tat-tat of automatic fire, answered by smaller, slower pistol fire. I slipped through the entryway, through the double doors, onto the freight elevator, and slapped the “Sub Level 1” button.
The elevator seemed determined to go as slowly as possible, rocking slightly back and forth as it descended. I quickly dropped my magazine, checked the round count, and slapped it back into the magazine well, reassured. The entire time more gunfire echoed up at me. After a small eternity Sub Level 1 came into view and with it several Crusader Security personnel, all laying in various degrees of consciousness and capability, bleeding, being tended to by another that knelt over them and moved from one to the other as I exited the elevator.
I raced forward, not bothering to introduce myself to the men by the elevator, and rounded the first corner, taking in the sight before me:
Crusader Security personnel, several of them, had formed a staggered defensive line that was being steadily pushed back toward the elevator shaft. They were huddled behind barricades and crates near the entrance, all in plain uniforms without any body armor or weaponry heavier than their pistols. In the misty atmosphere I could see figures darting this way and that, silhouettes that emerged just for a moment, squirting out of cover to go merge into more behind a crate, support beam, or great pipe.
I was familiar enough with the layout of the place, having been in similar facilities in the past. These were mass produced off-world and transported in, so there was only so much variation between them. I sprinted forward and slid into cover behind a crate of unknown equipment, slamming into it with more force than intended, startling the blonde uniformed security guard that was also crouching behind it, reloading his pistol.
“Hey, I’m Rana,” I introduced myself to him in as friendly a manner as I could, “I’m here to help.”
The man looked at me with wild eyes, flushed with adrenaline and fear. “Fucking shoot something!”
“Roger that.” I grinned. No need to let them know I was nervous too.
I peaked around the edge of my barricade to the right and spotted a man in white and purple armor turning to sprint from a much larger crate than mine to some support structure by the edge of a catwalk. I snapped my P8 up to my shoulder and ignored the little voice in the back of my head that marveled at how quickly the SMG reacted compared to the heavier weaponry I was much more used to using. He took a step out from cover as my optics crossed over his form, my finger squeezing the trigger. A controlled burst of bullets issued from my P8, the suppressed gun thumping back politely into my shoulder, the lower caliber bullets causing hardly any recoil. Again I caught myself marveling at it- this time at how easy it was to keep the sites on target. Speaking of which- the man spun and crumpled, shot several times through the center of mass. Before he hit the ground and came to rest I was already scanning for my next target- there, to the right of the crate the man had hidden behind, in an alcove containing an open door, I could just make out enough to tell that men were using the partial wall as cover, but not enough to get a good shot on them. As I watched one poked his head around the corner, gun first, and fired a burst at the crate I was sheltered behind. I ducked instinctively as bullets smacked into my barricade, tucking myself back into cover and cursed, knowing they’d use the opportunity to move to a more advantageous position- at least, that’s what I’d be doing.
Knowing I had little choice I emulated my opponent, poking around the corner gun first, firing as I went, trying to match the aggression I was receiving. By nature I’m not an aggressive person and I’ve had to learn to push that aside in my fighting and to develop a much more aggressive, unnatural mentality.
My gun rattled against my armor as it fired, unnoticed. I sprayed toward the wall hiding my opponents and was pleased to observe (for a split second) that everyone appeared to be staying under cover due to the hail of bullets, so I made a gut decision and grabbed for another magazine from my belt with my left hand as I launched myself forward, firing inaccurately with just my right hand, sprinting for that larger crate while tugging that spare magazine free. As I threw myself forward I heard the man behind me with the pistol open up, firing at someone- I had to trust that he’d cover me well enough, there was no way I could cover all sections of the bunker at once- my honest to goodness plan was to move fast enough and hard enough to avoid getting shot in the first place, and to trust my body armor to mitigate any bullets that DID happen to fly my way. It took several steps to cover the distance to the larger crate, during which I dropped my first empty magazine and slapped in my new full one, racking the P8 as I slammed into the larger crate, then spinning off it and bounding around the corner, face to face with three 9 Tails gangsters in plain clothes, armed with SMGs of their own, each shocked to see me then and there. I didn’t stop moving, only one of them managing to get their gun pointed toward me before I took them down, emptying my entire magazine into the group of them back in that corner in just about a second and a half.
As the bodies slid to the ground I slipped in another magazine and glanced down the open doorway- it looked like an elevator shaft, catching my breath for a moment, but I had no idea where it led or what it connected to, much less how the 9 Tails had gained access to it.
I didn’t have time to ponder such things and turned to push onward, coming around the back side of that wall and having a flanking shot on two men in teal armor that were using the support structures on the opposite side of the catwalks from the entrance as cover. I carefully lined up my shot and took the rear one first, then the one nearest to me, to avoid them noticing, each one dropped with two shots through the helmet. I peeled right and pushed back into a large storage room with an elevator at the far end, split down the middle with a mesh wall with shelving on either side. I swept first one side, then stepped past the mesh wall and swept the other side and was about to leave the storage room and consider it clear when the elevator opened.
Four men stood with their guns at low ready, clearly eager to exit the elevator. My P8 was already at my shoulder and I was firing into their midst almost before I realized it, and they were firing right back as I sidestepped behind a sturdy looking green crate stacked at the entrance to the room. Bullets whizzed by as two of them crumpled, but two remained standing. One sprinted forward, trying to get out of that killing box while the other focused on lining up a shot on me.
I squeezed my trigger and got a “click” for my efforts, then threw myself down behind the crate as hard and fast as I could, groping for a new magazine. This was the downside of these smaller, lighter weapons- smaller magazines.
I slammed the magazine home and rolled to my left just in time to see boots slam into the metal deck plates and disappear, so I rolled back to my right, hoping that they wouldn’t expect me to be laying down. I rolled around the edge of the crate as my opponent burst around his side of it, his gun pointed exactly where I would have been if I’d crouched behind it, my gun lined up directly on him. We both fired at the same time, but of course only my shots connected, his slamming into the deck plating above my head.
The man that had run out of the elevator first was now on the other side of the mesh wall from me, hidden behind some of the shelving. We could go right or left around it and run into each other, or keep circling the middle and never run into each other, but we both knew the other was there.
For several long moments I froze, eyes flicking from left to right, one side of the shelving to the other, waiting for my opponent to pop out, my breathing coming in diminishing gasps as my heart pounded a heavy cadence in my ears- I pushed the wad of fear back down my throat and kept my focus on the situation at hand, trying to think of a way around this. Whatever I was going to do, I needed to do it fast.
I grabbed my empty magazine and crept to the right, to the edge of the shelving. I took a deep breath and tossed the magazine down, making a loud clatter as it slid out into the open where he could see it, waited for one beat, then stepped out to the right with my gun up.
Exactly as I’d hoped he’d seen my obvious diversion, looked the other direction to catch me as I came around the left, and I’d come around the first corner to the right. I shot him in the back of the head. His body fell like a puppet with the strings cut.
With the storage room clear I swiftly turned and ran back toward the entrance, out of the storage room, pausing as I came to the intersection with the rest of the upper story and looked to the right, past the bodies of the men in the teal armor. I saw no one obvious. A quick glance to my left showed me that Crusader Security forces had now moved up to the large crate I’d first moved to, to the right of the entrance, retaking the ground as I cleared it.
Good.
I pushed ahead at a brisk walk behind my leveled P8, toward the stairs at the far end of the facility, knowing that if the 9 Tails had pushed up this far there were surely more down there. As I rounded the top of the stairs a man in heavy blue armor stepped around the corner on the landing at the middle of the stairs, carrying an FS9 LMG- my traditional weapon of choice. I knew exactly what kind of danger it posed. We saw each other at the same time, but my gun was already up while his unwieldy weapon was still coming up to his shoulder. Still, I had to get mine on target before it would do me much good and his was already pointed in roughly my direction.
I knew better than to push my luck and wheeled back around the support pillar at the top of the stairs, spinning into cover, but continued right around the pillar bringing my P8 around with me and lifting it over the top of the railing. The man in the blue armor had expected me to at least pause behind the pillar and was still pointed resolutely at the top of the stairs, stepping out to get a better angle on where I’d likely emerge, but in this case stepping further from cover and into my line of sight. I lined up the shot in a split second and squeezed the trigger before he could react, my bullets chewing a line from his mid-left chest up through his right shoulder with their suppressed thump-thump-thump, each one splashing a new divot into his armor.
His FS9 roared in impotent response as he spun, arms flinging wide, hitting the ground with a clatter.
I kept my P8 pointed down toward the corner of the staircase that the man in blue armor emerged from and walked backward and around the pillar, making my way down the stairs and onto the landing midway down where the stairs turned to the right, facing the split doors on the landing, the freshly-dead man to my left. I stepped wide around the corner, exposing as little of myself as possible as I worked my way around it, gun at the ready- and was rewarded for my caution by a hail of bullets coming up from the base of the stairs.
From the glimpse I’d gotten it looked like there were two of them behind a heavy workbench of some sort just beyond the base of the stairs, well covered and having a commanding view of the lower half of the staircase.
I stepped back, an idea taking root in the back of my mind, then decidedly slung my P8 onto my back and stepped over to the dead man in blue armor and unclipped his spare drums of ammunition and clipped them to my belt before picking up his FS9.
This has a way of keeping people’s heads down… I thought to myself as I stepped back toward the corner, shouldering the familiar weight of the FS9. Unlike the P8 it wasn’t suppressed, but it did have a compensator on it which would dramatically help with the stability when firing bursts and longer with it… such as now.
I squeezed the trigger as I came around the corner once more aiming at where I knew the top of the workbench was before it came into sight. The gun leapt in my hands and bucked against my shoulder, every bullet sounding an unmuffled explosive blast as it fired on fully automatic. I caught another glimpse of one of them as he dove back behind the workbench, but am quite sure that I missed everyone with that first burst.
I sprinted forward as fast as I could with the gun up and focused on the top of that workbench, over the landing and down the stairs, firing another burst as one of them started to stick a gun up and over the edge. Before they could figure out their next move I was coming around the left hand side of the work bench, flanking them, firing that fully automatic FS9 directly into the two of them at point blank range.
Aggression. They should have moved.
Speaking of which.
I was once again gun-up, scanning over and around my sites as I panned rapidly across the room, sidestepping as I went to be a worse target, trying to steady the heavy weapon against my increasingly desperate breathing and ever insistent heart rate.
The center of the room was dominated by the gargantuan piece of machinery the entire facility was built around, its purpose a mystery to me, the leaky, massive pipes leading up from which lent so much to the foggy atmosphere and cover from which the attackers had assaulted. To the left of the machinery stood an open area, then another alcove. Beyond the machinery it looked like there might be a doorway, and to the right it looked like there was a walkway of some form around the machinery.
I saw no one immediately.
I spun to the right and pushed forward, glancing at the drum magazine to get an idea of my round count in the FS9- still more than 40 rounds, far from time to reload. Firing sounded from above me and from the other side of the great machinery in the middle of the room, indicating that at least Crusader Security was covering the top floor and attempting to shoot down into the second floor when they saw a target, and those targets were shooting right back.
The walkway curved around the machinery to the left- I followed it around and spotted the men firing up at the walkway above, just in time to see one take a hit and go down while I lined up a shot on the other. He dropped without ever knowing I was there.
The doorway past the machinery proved to open into an office area, out of which barrelled a man in bulky light gray armor with blue and purple splotches, his helmet a twisted visage reminiscent of an ancient Japanese mask, horns and all, carrying another FS9, roaring a battle cry. Unlike the previous two, he DID see me and immediately reacted, his weapon swinging around rapidly as I backpedaled furiously, disappearing around the bend behind the machinery before he had a shot on me.
I ran to my left, looping around the machinery the long way, hoping to catch him from behind as he proceeded toward the stairs, hesitating as I came around the corner to make sure he wasn’t simply waiting for me… but no, he’d pursued, moving toward the last position he’d seen me in, moving more slowly than I in heavier, bulkier armor.
Sure enough, I spotted him again as he reached the bottom of the stairs, looking entirely in the wrong direction for me, then spinning to check up the staircase. I hefted the FS9 and lined up my shots, breathing heavily and having to try to compensate for it at that point quite a lot. As my front site passed over his head I squeezed the trigger and felt the gun kick back ferociously, the rapid fire blasts deafening me as they bounced off the concrete walls surrounding me. The man staggered as his helmet absorbed the first burst of the bullets, but nothing wearable was sturdy enough to stand up to a sustained barrage like that. As he staggered he fell to a knee and spun, his FS9 coming around to point at me, my FS9 struggling to stay on target. For a brief moment both of us fired at the other, neither of us with much cover to jump toward, but I had the advantage of having shot first and had a much better site picture.
Finally one of my bullets managed to punch through that armor and get the job done, snapping his head back with finality while his FS9 fell silent. He toppled back with a resounding thud.
I checked my round count- 2 remaining. I shook my head as I dropped the drum and slid another into place. I didn’t know what kind of heavy armor those guys wore or where to get it, but it was damn effective.
I rapidly cleared the rest of the lower floor- the offices that the last man had come out of led to the facility’s server room, which contained no further 9 Tails gangsters to worry about.
As I made my way back up the stairs I met the blonde officer I’d spoken to at the entrance coming down.
“Looks clear down there.” I nodded over my shoulder, cradling my new FS9 in the crook of my arm, still breathing heavily.
He looked past me at the man in heavy armor and the pool of blood slowly growing around him, then glanced back down at my FS9. He frowned slightly. “Did you just end a fight with more guns and bullets than you started it with?”
I shrugged, gesturing toward the body in blue armor on the landing. “Wasn’t like he needed it any more.”
The uniformed man shook his head. “Look, we’ve got a lot of wounded and you got here in something- what did you fly in in?”
I panicked slightly as visions of the Maze in my cargo hold swam through my head, but knew I couldn’t lie here and now. “A Cutlass Black.”
He nodded, “Excellent, that should have enough room. Will you fly the wounded at least to Seraphim, if not Orison?”
I hesitated, worried about the Maze, but in theory it was all in unmarked crates…
The officer misunderstood my hesitation, “Look, I’m not authorized to approve any change in the payout of your contract, but some of these guys need urgent medical attention.”
I shook my head, “I’m loaded right now with cargo, got precious little room, we could squeeze some folks in but it’ll be tight at best. Is a proper Medivac on the way? They might honestly be better off waiting for it.” I at least had to make a stab at pushing back.
“Look, Rana was it?” He leaned in, “I don’t care if we have to stack them on top of each other, we have to get them to care NOW.”
I nodded. “Ok, I’ll help of course.” I didn’t see much of any other option- we both knew damn well that if I said no he’d simply commandeer my ship. Only I knew that would end with me in prison. At least this way I had a chance of flying out of this mess.
We hurried back upstairs and toward the entrance, everyone that remained breathing collapsing back into the entryway. Gently they loaded the wounded (there were four of them, not including those that could still walk) onto the elevator, then headed back for the surface.
The two most badly wounded were placed in my bunks (I tried not to think about having to replace the now bloody bedding), while the remaining two got the floor beside them. One man climbed into my turret while the blonde officer slipped into my copilot’s seat. Several others unfolded the drop seats in the rear with the Maze, clutching at their wounds.
“So what are you hauling?” my copilot asked me as I dusted off, engines roaring.
“Just some scrap from a station,” I replied calmly as I oriented our nose skyward and punched the throttle, “nothing exciting.”
Once free of the thin Daymar atmosphere I set a course for Seraphim Station, locked in geosynchronous orbit above Orison. It would be the fastest emergency medical care these guys could get as far as I knew. Orison General, down planet-side would give them more advanced care, but Seraphim had the facilities to stabilize them and an emergency medical transport from Seraphim to Orison was likely going to get to that hospital faster than I could anyway if it was truly needed.
Seraphim hung over the gas giant of Crusader like a great spindle, rings and arms branching off the main axle at irregular intervals, well lit- it had taken an extra jump to get to the opposite side of the planet, but here it was daytime.
As soon as my quantum jump finished I was busy, accelerating us forward as hard as I dared given the condition of the men behind me, peaking at just over 900 meters per second, then began to gently brake as I came into the station. Just as the spar with the hangars came into view my comms crackled to life.
“Attention! This is Officer Pettit of Crusader Security. I have been authorized to scan your vessel. Please come to an immediate halt and prepare to be scanned.”
I nearly shit myself. That was it. If they scanned me they’d find the Maze.
A Sabre in blue and gray livery soared by me entirely too close, buzzing my cockpit and causing me to duck- for all the good that would have done in a collision.
“Keep going!” urged the voice behind me from the copilot seat, then over the same channel that I’d just been hailed on, “This is Officer Bronson of Crusader Security. This is a medical emergency. This civilian vessel is transporting wounded security personnel and cannot halt at this time. Request immediate escort and medical reception.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I obeyed Officer Bronson, hoping that if it came down to it, he’d have seniority and it would work out in my favor, but doubting it.
For a long moment there was simply silence over the channel, then, “Alright, please continue on your original course, I’ll be right off your starboard. They’ll be waiting for you in the hangar.”
I powered forward, marveling at the situation- a ship full of drugs, cops, and being escorted by a cop into one of the most scan-happy, anti-drug locations in the system.
The hangar doors cracked open below me as I swung into position above them, dropping my landing gear and positioning myself over the center of the hangar, then simply gently strafing downward, pausing for a moment to let the doors clear fully, then continuing on past the energy barrier and into the hangar itself.
As promised, medical and security personnel scurried about, clear of my landing zone but eager to race to the ship as soon as I touched down.
Touch down I did with a gentle thump, my rear loading ramp opening before I’d even made full contact with the ground, and then it was all a mass of medical competence as the wounded were bundled up and off my ship in seconds, not minutes, whisked away toward a waiting green and white emergency elevator on one side of the hangar.
Officer Bronson hesitated before exiting the ship, looking back past the Maze at me, waiting in the doorway to the cockpit. “Hey, Rana.” He started, getting my attention, “thank you for that. We were in deep shit back there. You want a beer? I’m buying.”
I shook my head in what I hoped was a regretful fashion. “Nah, but thank you. I’m already late.” I gestured to my load of cargo.
He nodded. “I understand. But- if our paths ever cross- I owe you one.”
“Thanks.” I nodded back.
The second everyone was clear of my ship, Air Traffic Control had cleared me, and those hangar bay doors had split open once again I was soaring through them out amongst the stars, sweating bullets over that Maze in my hold.
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Officer Bronson watched as the Cutlass Black dwindled into the blackness, beside Officers Cody and Barkley, gathered together in the lounge.
“Scrap huh?”
“Shit that kid’s a bad liar.”
“Yeah well, you just saw what he did in that bunker, you go call him on it.”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Nah, scrap it is.”
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This is a work of fan fiction. All characters, places, events, ships, and ship designs, and other content originating from Star Citizen, Squadron 42, or other content produced or created by its publishers or developers, are the property of Cloud Imperium Rights LLC and Cloud Imperium Rights Limited.