Shadow Image

[arvg]

The cloaking device, fitted to the Social Credit was a useful tool. A recent wonder of Doctor XiaoBei, Volgograd Industrial, and the technical genius of reverse engineering of old Sol Coalition technology brought back by the Resurgency mission.

It had allowed the Social Credit to slip into the Omicron Theta system undetected, sitting in the sensor shadow of an unsuspecting Zoner Whale that was running supplies into the starbase. The system was crawling with Corsairs, Bounty Hunters, and Outcasts, not to mention the Omicroners who would love to catch a Coalition Storm on its own.

The pilot, however, had flown that ship most of his military career. He'd been one of the few honoured with permission from Commandante Ares to skip straight to gunboat command. The controls of the oldest Storm in active service were second nature to him, each switch and dial a familiar friend.

He'd been given command of the Social Credit after Captain Norman Bethune had found him ready for the command, the aged school master of the Coalition training him in the field operation of the vessel. He in turn had passed it on to Angelica Broch, who in turn had handed it to Jayce Brooks, and Enrico Alvarez. An unbroken chain of service. The Social Credit was a workhorse of the Coalition.

He eyed the station ahead of him, getting aboard was going to be a difficult feat, why Warner had chosen here of all places, he couldn't fathom. But then, Warner always had a habit of picking the most difficult of holes to get into.

However, he didn't necessarily have to dock with the station, to get aboard.

To one side was an old frieghter, moored and awaiting its cargo being unloaded. A few hours for that, combined with a few hours for the cargo to be loaded. Plenty of time for what he needed. He swept the Social Credit down along the hull, finding a spot that was perfect for his needs, the Storm slid into position, the grappling claws extending to take a firm hold. Like an insect grasping its prey. The Storm pulled close with an almost delicate mating maneuver.

The pilot stood, pulling on a relaxed leather jacket.

He was one of the most notorious people in known space, there were posters of him all over Sirius, he wouldn't have long. He grabbed a laser pistol, Zoner made, to be sure. Taking a long sigh as he slipped back through the Credit, down to the second deck, to where the breach-boarding equipment was located.

The twin-laser cutting system switched on, as the umbilical extended to enclose the other ships hull. A flash of light as it spun, carving a hole in the other ships hull, a magnetic lifter pulling the section of hull up, to allow the Coalitioner a chance to slip inside.

A touch of his wrist mounted remote, and the boarding equipment replaced the section of hull, flash welding it closed.

He was in a darkened section of the upper cargo bay, the crew too distracted by the cargo operations to notice the shadow in the upper catwalks, and the Coalitioner slipped away to one of the docked hatches, which had cargo sweeping across to the stations bay.

Keeping his head down, he slipped across using a large box container as cover.

Aboard Freeport 9, he was now in very real danger. But the plan was that he wouldn't stay long enough for them to figure it out. He wound his way through the mooring facilities, till he reached the designated point, drawing his las-pistol and sweeping through the bay, looking for the inevitable trap.

"You called, Benny," Alvin Katz called into the shadows, his pistol up and ready.

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