Hughes looked upwards with disgust through the Gladius’ main viewscreen at the ugly world suspended above. He’d heard stories about Tal Rho’an, and all of them had been bad. It was a lawless hole in space populated by the decrepit refuse of the galaxy. Every Military trainee held the dream of being the hero that cleaned Tal Rho’an out, and saved the galaxy, but that was only a fancy that trainees clung to in order to survive boot. Hughes never held that dream, but knew those that had, and the memories flashed back to him. His frown deepened.
“Damn this ship is fast,” helmsman Abigail Richmond said from her post. “We got here almost as quickly as the prey.”
“That’s because they weren’t in a hurry,” Hughes remarked turning to look at the young ensign, his frown easing a touch. “But you do have a point, this ship is fast.”
The ensign smiled with pride. “We’re in parking orbit sir, and the Camouflage System is running within expected values. I’d wager my next year’s salary that they can’t see us.”
“A whole year’s salary, ensign?” Hughes laughed. “Let’s not get too crazy, shall we?”
“Aye, sir,” Richmond answered.
“Captain, we’re ready to begin,” Deckert said from behind Hughes, having just come up on the hook line from the hangar deck.
“Well, let’s begin, shall we?” Hughes said. “Open a comlink to the Tower, please Mr. Dawson.”
“Channel open,” Dawson, the communications officer, replied quickly.
“To my dear friends on Tal Rho’an. My name is Major Evan Hughes. I have a business proposition for you,” Hughes said, enjoying the moment.
“Who the hell is this? Where are you broadcasting from?” the controller asked, anger and surprise thick in his voice.
“I answered your first question already, as to your second,” Hughes turned to Deckert and whispered “disengage camo.” Deckert nodded and the lights came up on the bridge from the dull blue glow they had been. Hughes imagined the frenzy of activity in the control tower as the Gladius suddenly appeared before them in hexagonal segments as the Camouflage System disengaged revealing a sleek and deadly warship of the Military well within striking distance. “As to your second question,” Hughes repeated, “we’re right here. Now, about that business proposition?”
After several long minutes of silence, the controller came back on the channel, “I’m listening.”
“That was easier than I expected,” Deckert said as the gravity beams ‘caught’ the hull of the Gladius and gently laid her to rest upon the landing platform.
“These thugs are all the same,” Hughes said as he clung to the hook-line. In heavier gravity, the line still worked, but required more effort to use. “It’s all about the money. Once you understand that, negotiations are brief.”
“Yes, sir,” Deckert said, following Hughes from the shaft and striding across the main bay towards the rear loading ramp where Carter and two other men dressed in Phantom Armor were waiting.
The plan was for Hughes to lead the two men out to stealthily sneak aboard the Praetorian. The tracker beacon was still reading strongly, and Hughes had negotiated the Gladius to land just out of the Praetorian’s view. It was only a precaution considering the thieves had no idea the Gladius had been trailing them, but surprise is an immense advantage, and not one to give up too readily. As backup, Carter and his men would be standing by in their Lancers ready to fly out at command. It would take ten seconds to reach the Praetorian’s platform. If Hughes was unsuccessful in taking control of the Praetorian, they would destroy it.
“You have the ship, Commander,” Hughes said as he shrugged into the snug Phantom Armor which was comprised of a mesh bi-weave of durable materials and fibers that, when operable, acted as though it were muscle. It was snug so that it could detect the minute electrical impulses fired off from the user’s brain and react accordingly as if it were real muscle. Users often likened it to a second skin and it allowed the user to run, jump, and lift with superhuman ability.
In addition to the suit itself, was a poncho made of ghostweave. The mesh fabric was comprised of hundreds of thousands of hexagonal LEDs with a tiny camera at every vertex. The camera would transmit what it viewed directly before it to a set LED on the opposite side of the wearer. With the hood up, and the ghostweave active, the wearer, as long as he stood motionless, would disappear entirely as the LEDs displayed what was behind the cloak. When in motion, however, the LEDs have trouble keeping up with the movement and would proceed to graphically ‘tear’ giving a hazy, translucent outline to the wearer, making them look ghost-like, which is how the fabric derived its name. Under the cover of shadow, even while moving, Hughes and his men would be nearly invisible.
Hughes pulled the poncho over his head and made sure it covered his person. He then tapped a d-com control patch on the suit’s collar, and the Phantom Armor’s helmet activated. Made from a mimetic pseudo-metal that is normally liquid and kept in a tube at the base of the neck and activated by an electrical current, the liquid would be released from the tube and would ‘mold’ over the user’s head into a pre-determined shape in a matter of seconds. Even though the solidified metal had a pre-determined shape, the helmet would be created differently for each person by differences in skull shape and size, making each helmet unique to the wearer, a personalized death’s head.
With the hood over the helmet and armor, and the ghostweave activated, the assembled Phantom Armor gave the wearer the look of a demon fading into and out of reality. Designed for psychological damage as well as the great bonuses to fighting, Phantom Armor was reserved for the elite fighting forces of the Military, and a handful of troopers wearing it could route, scatter, and annihilate enemy forces of much greater size. It had its limitations, however. It was made remarkably less effective in weather, especially rain, and it had a limited battery life, even though it could be charged by the kinetic energy of a person in motion. Even so, Hughes knew that he had more than enough time on this mission being so close to his target, and it never rained on the Complex. Hughes finished pulling the hood over his helmet as the internal viewscreen became active with active links to his d-com.
“We’ll await your orders,” Carter said while Deckert saluted and headed back for the bridge. Giving a thumbs up that only the two men wearing the Phantom Armor could see, Hughes made for the landing ramp. The people in the bay only saw three indistinct outlines fade into the shadow of the landing platform beyond.
“Good link,” Hughes said over the helmet’s internal vox system watching the tracker beacon pulse every so often from off to his left, superimposed over a hypersonically-created structural map generated by the suit VI. They were close. “We just need to navigate around three platforms. This way,” he said while moving into the warren of pipes and tunnels.
“Roger,” the two men confirmed, following the green blip on their helmet’s HUD that represented Hughes.
Navigating was easier said than done, considering the nature of the Complex. The suit would intermittently let out a hypersonic pulse, much like sonar, that, based upon rate of return, would construct a layout of the surrounding area. Normally the system was fairly infallible, but with the amount of metal ducting, shafts, shear drop-offs and movement filling the Complex, the map was constantly being updated, and therefore changing. They had to backtrack nearly four times, having come to a dead-end, or an unguarded opening onto a nearly endless chasm that reached to the very foundation of the Complex. Finally, the three made their way to platform 332A.
Hughes stopped and stared at the massive construction before him. The platform was far bigger than he anticipated, but the plane, barely fitting on it, was none other than the one he was seeking. The Praetorian with her long gooseneck fuselage and her forward-swept wings, looking every bit a bird of prey even while resting, immediately brought back images of his encounter on Dulabar. Hughes shuttered. He would not fail this time.
Hughes immediately moved behind several large cargo boxes littering the edges of the platform. From the amount of dirt, grime, and bird feces collected on the crates, it was safe to assume they’d been there for some time. His two men fell in behind him, crouching next to him. Turning towards his men, who he could see albeit barely through the specially amplified viewscreen inside his helmet, were staring back at him waiting for orders. He put his arm up and motioned towards the left with one finger, and then towards the right with a second finger. The two men nodded, and split up, leaving Hughes to cover the middle.
Hughes waited for the men to reach their positions as he sat crouched behind the crates. He fingered the blackbox on his utility belt. The ‘key’ as it were to unlocking the Praetorian. All he needed to do was to get to the rear strut access panel and hook in. The VI access code and interface virus would take only seconds to completely sever the main AI from the plane’s secondary systems, allowing for Hughes to take control of all systems. Once that was done, he’d storm the craft, and arrest the thieves.
The strut was several meters away, with no cover between it and his crate. Once he started, he was committed. If the Phantom Armor worked, there should be no reaction. If shooting started from the plane, his two men would create diversions fore and aft of the craft, allowing Hughes to sneak forward in the chaos. Should he fall, the men each had their own blackboxes. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Hughes wanted to enjoy a moment of victory.
Two clicks crackled over his headset. His men were in position. Now, it was all on him. Hughes took in a deep breath, steadying himself, and then left the security of his cover and slowly started for the strut, trying to keep the ghost line from appearing as much as possible.
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