Previously: John Andrews, a former pilot in the Navy, has found himself in the center of a dangerous race against time as a brutal pirate captain, Mercer, and his Tiger's Claw gang hunt to find the access codes to an ancient weapon storehouse of immense power.The only lead that John has is now in the hands of the Tiger's Claws. Now, John must race to Terra and find an ancient map before the pirates do...
- - - - - - - -
The body of Webber lay where it had fallen, the sick smell of burnt ozone and melted flesh filling the air. Softly sparking where it had been tampered with was Webber's MobiGlas, and as a chill began to run down John's spine he realized what had happened. Webber was dead, and whoever had killed him had broken into the technician's Glas and stole the one thing that John had and the Tiger's Claw didn't. "Son of a bitch!" John hissed as he ran back into the hallway, looking for the assassin. It was too late, though; whoever had killed Webber was long gone.
Turning back to where his ally had fallen, John felt only numb. Any feelings he had was directed at himself; he had dragged Webber into this without even thinking what would happen. Webber had died because John had gone to him for help. He didn't know how to feel about that just so yet, other than guilt. It would take some time for all of this to be fully processed by John's mind, and he knew there would be time to note Webber's passing later. Even though John had never really known Webber all that well, the technician was a Navy man all the same, and deserved some respect.
In the mean-time, though, John buried all those feelings as deep as he could. He had a job to do, after all, and he didn't have the time to point fingers at himself. "I'm sorry." John whispered as he headed for the door. As soon as he left, the entrance slid shut behind him with a hiss. He walked through the hallways quickly, practically jogging as he navigated the apartment before finding the exit. He couldn't stop, especially since it wouldn't be long before someone discovered Webber's body. John didn't have the time to get arrested.
As John moved through the swirling mists and dim neon lights of downtown Beijing, he heard the echo of sirens behind him. The police had been called, as he had expected, and were likely busily setting up a cordon around the apartment. If it wasn't for the fact that the Tiger's Claw now knew exactly where to go, John would have stayed and helped out the law. But there would be a day and time for that, and today was just simply not it. John left the sirens behind as he kept moving for the Beijing spaceport.
- - - - - - - -
It had taken a frustratingly long time to get all the paperwork in order so John could take off. Every page he turned tempted him further just to screw the rules, kick the engines to full, and burn off Earth as fast as he could, but John knew better. He'd be annihilated before he left the stratosphere if he even attempted to break the law, and if not by the Navy fleet and defensive structures positioned in orbit, then by the dozens of bounty hunters looking for a quick check. All John could do was fly through page after page as he hunted for that elusive green checkmark. When he finally found it, John slapped his hand on it and turned off the MobiGlas as quickly as possible as he started the engines. The Wanderer's systems roared to life, computers whirring and monitors humming. John forced himself to slow down as he moved through the warm-up and pre-takeoff checklist. A mistake here could have fatal mistakes. At least, John thought to himself, no one was shooting at him this time.
As soon as everything was green across the board, John contacted Traffic Control, got clearance, and within five minutes the Aurora was streaking toward the stars, leaving the smoggy city of Beijing, and the tired home of Humanity, far behind him.
Without a doubt, John knew he was running a step or two behind the pirates, and he didn't have a chance in hell of finding out which ship was his opponent. Every starship in the system was clean by necessity: The local security force wouldn't take anything less lightly. That meant that the pirates were aboard a clean ship, and that would make it one of dozens using the jump out of Sol toward the rest of the galaxy. All John could do was hope he reached Hangar Sixty Five before the Tiger's Claw did, and that looked less and less likely by the minute. John edged the throttle forward, pushing the Aurora closer and closer to the maximum legal velocity limit in the system.
As the Wanderer blew past the many planets of the Sol system at break-neck speed, he kept his eyes peeled for any interceptor. There was no unexplored area in the system, sure, but anyone with a bit of skill could hide on the dark-side of a planet and pop out to make a brutal hit-and-run. No attack came, however, and a few minutes later John was in the queue for starships trying to use the jumphole out. "Dammit." John hissed, as he consigned himself to wait. By the time the universe stretched into jump-space, an hour had passed.
- - - - - - - -
It took a while for John to navigate his way to Terra. With customs out of the way for jumphole usage and velocity caps non-existent, John pushed the Wanderer as hard as she could go as he tried to make up for lost time. All the while, John ran through in his head what he'd do when he got to Terra. The pirates outnumbered him, and he had no idea how many of them there exactly were. They would probably be armed, as smuggling weapons past customs isn't unheard of. John didn't have the contacts, resources, or criminal know-how to do the same, so he'd be entering this with absolutely no weapons but his brains and fists.
As much as John would like to go to the cops, he didn't have the time for a police response team. It'd take them far too long to get mobilized and in position to stop the Tiger's Claw, and by the time they did get there, the pirates would have found the map and got out. This meant that he'd have to operate on his own, with no back up or support whatsoever, against a whole band of the brigands.
"What the hell am I getting into?" John muttered as the final jump ended with a rattle that shook the whole ship. The swirling blue of jumpspace dissipated and realspace reasserted itself. The Wanderer's systems beeped softly as they scanned the system for contacts, and came back with dozens. The Terra system lay before John, and somewhere out there was his target.
John pushed the throttle forward, and the Aurora responded dutifully. Ships passed by the small vessel, heading out of the system for parts unknown. Others blew past John, heading straight for Terra to do their business. Patrolling the system were some Navy ships, and closer to the world itself was elements of the Terran Security Force. Together, they kept Terra safe, although the TSF had a reputation for being just a touch more stringent than perhaps was reasonable. It was to keep up the planet's reputation as the "face of humanity", but that was little comfort for anyone being ticketed for pushing just a bit over the velocity cap.
John navigated the Wanderer to Terra, and talked his way past Traffic Control. He was navigated in turn to Hangar 119, which John set a course for. As the Aurora pushed its way through the atmosphere of the garden world, John's mind raced. His target, and that of the pirates, was Hangar 65, seven stories beneath where the Wanderer would be parked. Suddenly, John realized that he hadn't put any thought into what kind of security that the starport had. He lacked any equipment to get through anything other than a padlock, and if the hangar had anything more advanced, John would be stuck out in the cold.
"Dammit, John." He hissed as he slowly touched the Wanderer down on the deck of the hangar. He was mad at himself for not thinking things through enough. "Of course they're gonna lock the door!" John got out of the seat as the Aurora's systems began to spool down, and clambered out of his suit. He needed a plan, a real plan, but he was coming up with absolutely nothing. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder if he ever really did have a plan.
Climbing down the Aurora's ladder, which furled up behind him as soon as he began to walk away from the vessel, John tapped his Glas in order to get the paperwork out of the way as he walked. He couldn't afford to stop moving, but he definitely had to fill it out, lest he wanted the TSF to show up with badge and gun in hand.
The spaceport's upper floors looked about as utilitarian as one would expect. While the rest of the buildings on the planet put aesthetics before practicality, the port had been built with the express purpose of dealing with the immense traffic that Terra received on a daily, even hourly, basis. The hangars themselves were large and industrial, but the hallways that circled every level of the structure were smaller and well lit. Elevators were along every practical inch of the inside wall, leading down to the lobby and to other levels. Pilots waited impatiently for the elevators to come up so they could clamber uncomfortably inside, queues forming as men and women all were forced to put their lives on hold for machinery.
John didn't have to wait long for an elevator to arrive and, along with the others in the line he stood in, walked into the lift. He could feel that ancient human instinct, being uncomfortable around strangers in a small room, in force, and tried his best to resign himself to a horribly long ride down. Leaning over to the panel near the doors, John pressed the button labeled "6", and scrunched back up to the little corner of the lift that he occupied as the doors began to slowly close. The complex machinery that ran the machine shuddered, and then the elevator began to slowly move down.
The minutes passed slowly as people poured in and out at every level. Finally, the doors closed for the last time as it began to dip toward the sixth story. John tapped his feet impatiently as he tensed himself for anything.
The last thing he expected was the elevator to grind to a sudden halt as the lights flashed to emergency red.
The stop threw everyone inside the lift off their feet, and they all tumbled into a pile on the floor. "What the hell?" John shouted as he climbed off the floor.
"What happened?" Someone asked, confused.
"Did someone push something?" Another barked, understandably upset. "Swear to Christ, I don't have the time for this!"
"No one pressed anything!" John replied, getting his bearings. "I think something else stopped us." He eyed the console, the lighted buttons now completely dim. Something had completely wiped out the electronics on the elevator, and the emergency systems had activated immediately. It wasn't too hard for John to piece together what had happened. "Fucking pirates." He hissed under his breath as he began to look around. "The electronics have been fried."
"By what?" Another passenger asked, surprised. "This couldn't have been an accident."
"It wasn't." John replied as he finally spotted what he was looking for. Stretching, he grabbed a small handle on the ceiling and gave it a hard tug. With a groan, the panel it was attached to swung down, revealing the emergency exit. Climbing onto the ladder on the exit, he began to climb.
"Where the hell are you going?" A pilot shouted at John.
"Out." John replied, before he kept climbing.
- - - - - - - - -
The elevator shaft was massive, larger than John had imagined that it would be. It stretched far above and far below. The latter distance was the more intimidating, as a fall from here would be a fatal one. Hangar 65 wasn't too far below, maybe just a couple of meters of climbing. Suddenly, an idea began to form in John's mind, an absolutely insane one. There were air vents that acted as emergency smoke run off through the entire spaceport, leading from individual hangars to the shaft, where it would be sucked down by massive fans beneath the shaft that would dispel the dangerous gases. The elevators themselves were hermetically sealed, of course.
Getting to those shafts was no easy proposition, of course. Not only were they closed grates, but the only way to get to them without specialized equipment would be by using ladders that circled the outer wall of the shaft. It was going to be a grueling climb for John to find the right grate, but at least they were all marked for convenience's sake. "God, I never get a break, do I?" John muttered as he reached for the first set of rungs.
The red emergency lights cast the entire shaft in an otherworldy glow. Shadows felt longer, and the distance between every rung as John went slowly around the walls felt longer and longer still. John's body strained to keep up as gravity tugged incessantly down, and his arms and legs struggled against the force of nature to maintain their grip on the service rungs. As he moved, he passed by grates that lead into different hangars. Sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six all passed by as John kept moving.
Finally, the numbers "65" filled John's vision, emblazoned in white paint fading slowly away. The grate was closed, but a handle beneath it betrayed the mechanism to open it up. Carefully, John let one hand go of the rungs, his other hand and his feet locking tight, and pulled the handle. The grate slid down with a metallic clash, revealing a vent barely large enough to fit John. "Here we go." He said to himself as he carefully slid closer to the hole.
Slowly, John clambered inside, his heart pounding in his chest as he made every move tenderly. Every time he moved an inch, he felt as if he was just a single slip away from falling to the dark, red-lit abyss. Once he was in, John took a second to catch his breath before carrying on. The vent was thankfully cool and well ventilated, so he had no risk of burning himself. Thanks to how the vents were designed, they weren't going to drop off at the end at the ceiling of the story-high hangar. Instead, the vent's hangar-side entrance would stop only about a meter off the ground, a small enough distance that John could survive any fall he made from it. He would make a lot of noise if he wasn't careful landing from that height, however, and stealth was very much the key to survival.
As John went further down the vent, he could hear the echoes of people talking, and heavy objects being moved. Slowing, John perked up to see if he could hear what they were saying, but the echoes of the vent made it unintelligible. All the same, it told John that he wasn't the first to get to Hangar 65: The Tiger's Claw was well along the way in its search for the map. John frowned as he started to pick up his pace. Trey, in his message, had said that the map had been hidden in the fish tank. How could it be so hard to find a big blue aquarium?
Finally, John reached the grate and got his first real look at the hangar. Sitting in the middle of it all was an old, beat-up Freelancer. John could make out carbon scoring where plasma weapons had impacted against the hull, and he could almost make out bullet holes, though from the distance he was at it was hard to say. The hangar was a cluttered mess, things piled all over the place as the pirates discarded them in their search.
"Where the hell is it?" One brigand shouted in frustration. "Mercer won't be happy if we don't find that thing, and fast!" John took note of this pirate, standing in the middle of the hangar: He was the leader of the search crew. Next to him was a bulky-looking device that sparked softly. Without a doubt, that was an EMP device, the one that had fried all the electronics on the floor. Indeed, the only lights running were the dim red emergency ones. "The TSF is going to be right on our asses any second now, so hurry the fuck up!" The leader barked. "It's gotta be in one of these crates."
"Crates?" John whispered, before he figured it out. Trey, or someone else, had put all of his belongings into storage crates. It's possible that it was just some overzealous hangar crew's idea to keep the place organized, but it was possible that the dead pirate himself had hid his possessions inside to delay any searchers. The time that maneuver bought ended in a heartbeat as an excited shout rung out from the back of the hangar, past the Freelancer.
"I found it!" A pirate shouted. "It's over here!"
"Stay there!" The leader replied. "Everyone don't move, and get ready to leave!" The pirate started to move away, and John had a look at what was right below the exit of the grate. Just below him stood one of the brigands, standing anxiously as he gripped his SMG tight in his hands. In front of the pirate was several overturned crates, all which would act as decent enough cover. John braced himself for what he was about to do next, and slowly opened the grate.
The pirate beneath him did not notice the vent behind and above him opening slowly, and it would be his mistake to pay for. John turned himself about in the vents, getting his feet first, before pushing himself off and out. With a thud he landed right on the thug, slamming him to the ground with a loud bang. Surprised, the pirate couldn't move fast enough to defend himself, and John incapacitated him with a swift and heavy blow to the back of the fallen pirate's head, knocking him out in a single hit.
"What the fuck was that?" A pirate shouted, flashlights being suddenly lit all around the room as all eyes were turned in John's direction. John snatched up the SMG and gave it a quick one-over as he hurried behind the improvised cover. It was a plasma weapon, quick and flashy but not terribly accurate. Meant for knife-fight distance more than it was for a firefight across a mostly open hangar.
"You okay over there?" One of the thugs shouted over. John gripped his newly-acquired weapon tightly, and as he raised himself to crest the lip of the crates, he gave his reply.
- - - - - - - -
The opening barrage by John was one-sided and about as ineffectual as he thought it would be. Still, the colorful exclamations by the pirates as they suddenly took fire was a nice consolation prize. The returning volley was equally one-sided, and far more devastating. Plasma bolts streaked across the hangar before splashing against the crates, burning a definitive mark against the boxes where the energy had immolated everything it had touched before dissipating. Despite this fusillade, the crate cover seemed to be holding up just fine. John figured that it would hold together for another few minutes of continued fire before they would finally be worthless. At least, that was what he thought before a kinetic round went right through the box just inches from John's face.
Quickly, John started looking around for better cover. There were larger crates not too far away that would probably stop a bullet far better than the smaller ones John was already using did. Bracing himself to sprint, he popped his SMG over the lip of the crates and blindly fired a long suppression burst. The incoming rounds paused, and it would have to be opportunity enough. As quick as his legs would let him, John ran as fast as he could, bullets and plasma passing just inches away from hitting him before he reached the relative safety of the next group of cover. John leaned around the corner of the tall boxes he was against and fired another burst, this time more precise. He tracked the bolts of green arc toward a shadowy shape before impacting, and a pained yell was confirmation enough that he had hit.
Despite the larger crates being able to take more punishment, they were not a safe haven. The pirates outnumbered him, and they were no longer surprised. It was a matter of time before they would try to flank John, and then that'd be the end of it. He needed to end this firefight, and fast, if he had any hope of surviving. "Come on!" He hissed as he scanned the room, firing quick bursts to buy him time and keep his assailants pinned down. His eyes settled on a small grey bulge against the wall, and suddenly he had a plan.
Leveling his SMG straight at his target, John pulled the trigger. The plasma weapon screamed as bolts of green streaked out toward that small metallic fob. As soon as one smacked right into it, the world seemed to be shut out by the screech of a high-pitched alarm, the red emergency lights now flashing and spinning while the sprinkler system running along the ceiling turned on with a hiss. The room became drenched in an otherworldly storm as the fire alarm blared and the fire suppression system took over. John couldn't hear what the pirates were saying, but he watched them as they collectively stopped shooting and sprinted as fast as they could for the exit. John fired a burst in their general direction, but he didn't care too much if those shots landed or not: He was too busy sprinting toward where he had heard the thugs shouting earlier.
- - - - - - - -
The tank had been shattered, but the water had been drained a long time before when it had been loaded into the storage crate. In the middle of the broken glass was the block-like shape of a portable storage device. More to the point, the device was humming as a blue image floated above it, projected by the machine. It took a second for John's mind to process what he was looking at, but soon enough he recognized the errant lines and strange misshapen figures to be the basis of a topographical map. John scanned the map quickly for any identifying features, but failing to find any in the three second inspection, he decided he was out of time. The pirates were already cleared out of the hangar, hurrying to whatever ship carried them down to Terra, and they seemed to know where to go.
By now, emergency services would be en-route to respond to the effects of the EMP blast, if not the firefight in the hangar. It'd be a matter of time before the entire space-port was shut down for security reasons. This wasn't Min, where John could get away with burning out of orbit; if he didn't get the papers filled out, the Wanderer would become debris burning up in the atmosphere of the garden world if he tried to pull the same stunt.
John picked up the device, dropped the SMG, and started running as fast as he could. The instant he grabbed the machine, the image faded away into the flashing red emergency lights, dissipating. John thought as he sprinted: There was an access stairway adjacent to the defunct elevators that would get him back to where John had parked his ship, and it would be the fastest, if not the only, way up. The weight of the heavy device made running more and more difficult as John streaked out of the hangar, the sound of klaxons and sprinklers behind him, and up the winding stairs. He could feel his lungs start to burn as he finally reached the eleventh floor, and caught his breath as the door automatically opened before him. It was a quick run from there to Hangar 119, where the Wanderer sat patiently for him.
John breathed raggedly as his body struggled to overcome its oxygen debt, his depleted lungs and cells desperately gobbling up every molecule of the stuff he inhaled. As he recovered, the Aurora automatically lowered its access ladder. Once he could stand up straight again, he climbed up into his ship and retracted the ladder, sealing the ship up. He tapped on a wall console, and the Wanderer began to hum to life as it went through its start-up sequence. John, meanwhile, took the storage device he had cradled desperately and walked over to a small panel behind the cockpit. It slid open with a whoosh, revealing a small wire. The end of the wire was a plug meant to connect with any universal port. A quick check confirmed that the storage device had such a port, and John quickly connected the two. The machine beeped as it interfaced with the Aurora's systems, and it would be a matter of seconds before the contents of the storage device would be copied and ready to be called up on the starship's systems.
John quickly clambered into his flight suit, sealing it up carefully as he worked. Like his almost-neurotic checking of starship systems, the Navy was responsible for John's suit habits. The training had been indented in the former pilot's mind: Better safe than sorry, better vented in a suit than vented in your skivvies. The fact that you had to wear a suit to fly a Navy sortie had only helped solidify the habit into John's mind: He never left a space-port without wearing it. Usually, he only put it on because it was habit, but for the last couple of days he had been putting it on because he was being put in the crosshairs. There was always a very real possibility that the Wanderer could be destroyed, and John would be stranded until a rescue ship arrived. Even over possibly the most secure system in the Empire, there was always the chance of being spaced, and that was a death John never wanted to face.
With suit donned and helmet attached, John quickly pulled up the take-off paperwork on his Glas. He rushed through it as quick as it could, but every second was agony as he imagined the pirate vessel, whatever it was, pulling farther and farther away. They likely had a pilot sitting aboard their ship who had filled the paperwork out the instant the firefight in the hangar had started, leaving John in their rear-view mirror as they burned for orbit. It took a few more minutes before he finally found the green checkmark. As soon as he did, John tapped the comms button, hailing traffic control.
"This is Aurora Wanderer requesting clearance to take off from hangar one-one-nine." John said quickly, powering up his ship's engines and switching on the VTOL mode. He could hear the turbines powering up with a whir to his sides.
"Cleared for departure, Aurora." A distracted-sounding voice replied. Everyone in orbital control was no-doubt trying to get a better picture of what had happened; they cared little for a small vessel like an Aurora heading for the stars. John didn't need much more encouragement, and punched it. The Wanderer roared out of Hangar 119, leaving a blue engine trail as it streaked for the sky. The sun shone on the grey-hulled vehicle brilliantly, and the cockpit windows darkened automatically to compensate for the glare of the midday.
- - - - - - - - -
It didn't take long for the Aurora to finally break the bonds of orbit, and John plotted a course straight for the edge of the system. It wouldn't be a direct course to any jump-hole, but it would give him time to figure out his next move. Tapping on a console, John interfaced with the files that had been stored aboard the Aurora's computers. It took a second to navigate to the one he was looking for, but a second later the display changed to the blue topographical map that John had seen back on Terra.
The first thing that John noticed was that there was something on the map other than mountains and valleys. In the center of the image was a solid blue shape, unmistakably some sort of structure. Beneath the building was small text which read "MC01". The second thing that John noticed was that there was more text, this time on the upper-most borders of the map. It read rather simply: "New Pittsburgh, ca. 2650", followed by a long trail of numbers that marked it for some archaic organization system long forgotten.
"I'll be damned." John muttered as he scanned the map as he noticed the third, and most important, thing on the map. Running along the northern edge of the map was a long canyon that cracked and rolled through the environment. John recognized it instantly: He had seen it every time he had visited the manufacturing powerhouse of the Empire. It was one of many cracks that marked early mining expeditions on the planet, just a few miles outside the city limits of New Pittsburgh itself, and just a mile or two south of that was MC01 itself. For perhaps the first time in this entire crazy chase, John knew exactly where to go.
John plugged in a course for the jump-hole that would lead him to the small system New Pittsburgh was nestled in, and burned straight for it. He pushed the very edge of the Terra system's velocity limit, the Wanderer's engines straining to make up for every second of lost time that he could. Once a ship entered a jump-hole, it was locked into a steady velocity, meaning that his best chance to make up the gap was right then and there. John's radar screen was filled with contacts, none of them marked as out-and-out hostile, but John remembered Min. The Tiger's Claw had the resources to get their ships cleared out, get new IDs slapped on them. Any one of the ships out there could be a wolf in sheep's clothing.
As John got closer and closer, more and more ships surrounded the small Aurora, and he eyed each and every one of them suspiciously, scanning for threats. The jump-hole out of the system was only a few minutes out, and from there he'd have to resign himself to watching the disorientating blue world of jump-space as he planned what he'd do when he got to New Pittsburgh.
Suddenly, his comm panel beeped loudly, announcing an incoming transmission. He was being hailed, and, given how loud the panel was, it was urgent. John tapped his screen and was about to speak when the person on the other end spoke for him.
"Aurora designate Wanderer, cut your engines and prepare to be boarded." A man said, gruffly. "You are under arrest."
- - - - - - - -
Next: The Tiger's Claw knows where the ancient facility hidden on New Pittsburgh is, and John must find a way to escape from the TSF if he has any chance of beating them to the access codes. Unexpected circumstances will change John's desperate race forever, next on Farflung Wanderer.
