The Book Of Schemes. Marcus Calvert
“I agree,” Urlich replied with an evil smile. “So why even let them attack?”
The Bismarck came into view of the incoming Raiders.
The twelve-ship fleet was led by the Rasputin and commanded by Captain Noah Vermes. A tall, brown-bearded man in his early forties, Vermes sat in his captain’s chair with an eager look upon his cruel face. A form-fitting black uniform hugged his muscular frame as he watched the Bismarck helplessly drift.
This would be the haul of a lifetime: to capture a spacecraft carrier intact, complete with enough armaments and supplies to keep his fleet running for at least three years. Then there was the ship itself – complete with its pair of fancy new AIs; either of which would net a fine sum on the black market. He already had buyers lined up, with the Interstellar Jihad offering the most money.
Frankly, Vermes wasn’t too fond of selling to terrorists. But any sworn enemy of U.N. Command sat well with him. The idea of a bunch of neo-Muslim fanatics blasting the military with one of its best warships struck him as ironic.
“Launch fighters and boarding pods,” Vermes ordered. “Once the ship’s secured, send the dropships.”
“Aye sir,” replied one of his techs.
Within moments, Vermes could see the various cruisers launch their hundreds of fighter and boarding pod complements.
“Sir,” another tech called out. “There’s still one life sign aboard.”
“Is it our girl?” Vermes asked hopefully. He had placed a few wagers that his handpicked saboteur would still be alive. Arenda was a really good lay – not to mention one of his best “gremlins.” The clever girl was probably waiting around in a spacesuit.
“Negative. The life sign’s male.”
“It’s probably someone in their sick bay,” Vermes replied with a disappointed sigh. “Isolate the life sign and notify the boarding parties to take him alive. Maybe he knows enough classified information to be a useful hostage.”
That would sweeten the deal with our prospective buyers, Vermes thought.
“We’re being hailed through the ship’s main communications array,” a third tech announced with a hint of worry in her voice.
Vermes frowned. There was still one mobile crewmember that hadn’t succumbed to the poison aboard his prize. What bothered him more was that the systems virus hadn’t yet taken down the Bismarck’s communications array, which should’ve gone down with the AI.
“Tell the fleet to prep shields and weapons,” he stiffly ordered.
“Aye, sir,” replied the female tech.
“Put him on-screen,” Vermes commanded as he leaned back into his chair and put on his game face.
The image of Urlich appeared on the screen, still in his marine garb. He sat in the captain’s chair, with his feet propped on Captain Yemti’s balding corpse as if it was a footrest. Ulrich had a lit cigar in his mouth. Jay-Z’s Big Pimpin’, blared in the background. Shit! Vermes thought to himself. He was hoping that he’d be dealing with a spineless ensign with a piss stain in his pants – not a fucking space marine!
“Hi,” Urlich muttered as he exhaled smoke through his nose.
“Sir,” announced the first tech. “The Bismarck’s powering up. Shields, thrusters, and anti-ship batteries are on-line.”
Vermes sighed. So much for the easy way, he thought. Still, they could batter down the Bismarck’s defenses and take the ship. But he’d lose half his fleet doing so. And the value of his prize would shrink with every hull breach. Maybe this jarhead wasn’t that bright, Vermes hoped. A little polite bullshit might just win the day without a shot fired.
“Identify yourself,” Vermes called out.
“Marine Gunnery Sergeant Ned V. Urlich,” he replied with a smug grin.
“Sergeant’s don’t get paid much,” Vermes pleasantly grinned. “Nor is it very likely that you’re ever going to take on my fleet and win.”
“Are you making me an offer?” Urlich asked teasingly.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Vermes replied, knowing that he’d kill this son of a bitch the first chance he’d get.
“Well,” Urlich whimsically replied. “How about you let me fly off in one of the Bismarck’s fuel ships? I would, of course, raid the ship’s Paymaster’s Office on the way out. Then, once I feel safe, I’ll tell you where I left the nukes.”
“‘Nukes?’” Vermes asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Urlich lied with pride. “Booby trapped ‘em myself after I activated the secondary AI core. Did I forget to mention that I’m a demo specialist?”
“Must’ve slipped your mind,” Vermes thoughtfully replied. He had bomb disposal teams capable of finding and disarming nukes. But the Bismarck was four miles long and two miles wide. And the marine had plenty of time to stash them throughout the ship and find nasty ways of hiding them from detection.
“Sorry. I’m forgetful that way,” Urlich shrugged. “Old age is creeping up on me. That’s why I wanna retire early and disappear.”
“One of the colony worlds?” Vermes asked. “Somewhere out past the Rim?”
Urlich nodded.
Vermes glanced at a tactical monitor and realized that his fighters and boarding pods had just entered the Bismarck’s optimal firing range.
“Do we have a deal?” Urlich asked. “Or do I get to have a little target practice before I die?”
“We have a deal,” Vermes sighed. “We’ll wait for you to launch before boarding.”
Vermes signaled one of his communications techs to have his fleet ships, fighters, and pods stand down. He’d have to find those nukes before Urlich got out of the range of his fighters. The pirate didn’t want to any of the Bismark’s crew to survive. He wasn’t a fan of living witnesses: especially this one.
“Very thoughtful of you,” Urlich replied as he glanced at his watch and started to rise. Then, he sat down again, as if he had just remembered something. “Wait a sec. I forgot to mention one more thing.”
“What?”
“About that kickass systems virus …”
“What about it?” Vermes impatiently asked.
“Not that one,” Urlich replied. “I was talking about my virus.”
On cue, all of Vermes’ fighters and boarding pods suddenly shut down. Six seconds later, each of his Raiders suddenly shut down too. Every system went offline – from life support to weapons to reactor cores. Vermes and his bridge crew suddenly found themselves afloat in a darkened bridge, minus their artificial gravity.
Vermes saw Urlich wave a middle-fingered good-bye, a split-second before the Rasputin’s communications systems failed. Then it hit Vermes like a slap in the face. The bastard had a slipped a fast-targeting systems virus into his transmission! Worse than that, when Vermes gave the stand-down order, he had unwittingly infected all of his other ships. Urlich’s virus had somehow bypassed his fleet’s anti-viral systems during their brief chat. The pirate realized that it could take days, perhaps weeks, for his fleet to get back up and running again.
The pirate shook his head at the thought of being outsmarted by a jarhead with a taste for bad music. They’d probably give Urlich a chest full of medals for capturing a pirate fleet single-handed. Vermes ordered his bridge crew to fish out the spacesuits and portable communications gear. They’d have to broadcast a surrender call to the bastard or risk being picked off like skeet.