Olympus Becons

This story takes place in the universe created by fellow writer farbeyondourstars.

Olympus Beckons - Part 6: "Battle Stations."

The smoking crater blasted in the barman's chest was big enough to shove a mans fist through.

Lopez had just flattened one of the bouncers with a fairly savage roundhouse kick. He had tried to batter her with a stun baton, and she was clearly having none of it. Seeing this, the second bouncer snarled as he reached for her, only to scream as Callahan broke his arm.

That was when the barman pulled a riot gun out from under the counter and racked a round.

Now maybe it was loaded with a stunshot, or maybe not. The fucking thing could have been loaded with a twelve-gauge armour-piercing slug, or even a mini frag grenade, and Jeff's mom hadn't raised no fool.

Besides, listening to Helen being stripped and abused in the back room had left him in a bit of a mood.

The Barrington Max-Power was what folks in the trade used to call a "boarding pistol". It was an older sidearm, not used much these days. It didn't have any fancy computerised sights, and it wasn't fitted with a cookie cutter to avoid friendly fire. It couldn't do any of that fancy newfangled shit.

But what it could do was blow a hole straight through the carapace of an armoured vac-suit. Plus, it had enough heft that in a pinch a fellow could merrily bash someone's skull in with it, and the damned thing was so reliable that a cargo loader could step on one, and the fucking thing would still work.

Jeff loved them.

So, when the barman produced a riot gun, Jeff didn't even blink. He just pulled the Barrington from under his jacket and shot him.

The heavy blaster bolt instantly burned straight through the man's chest and exploded the mirror behind him.

There was a sudden silence, broken only by the sound of the barman's burning corpse slumping to the floor. Callahan dropped the bouncer he was beating into unconsciousness as Lopez met his eyes.

She gave a snort, "Well, that escalated quickly."

The four thugs sitting in the booth stared incredulously at the deadly tableaux for a stunned moment, and then, almost as one, they went for their guns.

And that was when all Hell broke loose.

One of the thugs almost managed to clear leather when his head literally exploded, plastering the booth and his companions with bits of charred bone and burning meat. Then, livid, sizzling bolts of high energy plasma crisscrossed the bar in a furious display as the other three opened up. The explosive bolts detonated on impact as they hit the walls or blasted great burning holes straight through the flimsy tables some of the either less experienced or more wildly optimistic patrons had upended to use as cover.

But it was a one-sided massacre; brutal and brief. The hoodlums, firing wildly, barely managed to kill the jukebox, which took a stray blaster bolt and blew up in a discordant shower of sparks, before the three marines returned fire with deadly accuracy and ruthlessly slaughtered them where they sat.

The last body had barely hit the floor when the security door to the back room slid open, and Drake rushed out, pistol in hand, only to be confronted by a scarred giant with a truly murderous gleam in his eyes.

A hand the size of a shovel grabbed him by the hair, but he only had a second or two to squeal in terror before that same hand viciously drove his face into the edge of the bar. There was a crunch of breaking bone, and a spatter of blood and shattered teeth sprayed across the countertop. The man flopped like a dead fish and Jeff casually dropped him, stepping over the body and into the room beyond.

Callahan spun to the gangbangers who, with the reflexes of the young, had desperately leapt under and behind the pool table when the shooting started. Pointing his blaster at them, his face twisted as he snarled, "You fucking want some?"

They didn't.

He nodded to Lopez and indicated to the bodies, "Check them."

Stepping close, she took one look at the smoldering, blaster-riddled, corpses sprawled about the still burning booth and snorted, "They're fucked."

Helen's head was clearing as the nanites did their work, but she was still a little woozy when Jeff entered the back room. Wyatt had drawn a blaster and moved close enough to use her for cover, but the bossman held up a restraining hand, as he spat the cigar from his mouth. His jowls were red and there was a spray of spittle as he blustered, "You got any idea who you're fucking with? I got connectio-"

The blaster bolt that slammed into his chest blew him backwards out of his seat, sending the charred, still-twitching corpse spilling to the floor.

Outside in the van, Selene watched as her attack programs quietly dismembered the last of the electronic guardians protecting the network she was hacking, and with a smile she leaned back, humming a little tune as the stolen data began to flow. She chuckled, "Got you..."

Wyatt stared in horror at the brutal execution and barely managed to level his gun at Helen as he desperately sputtered, "Hey just hold it right the-"

Jeff took three long strides and shoved the muzzle of his still smoking blaster pistol into the man's face. And at a range of maybe as much as two inches, Wyatt could actually feel the sizzling heat coming off the thing. The hulking marine's voice was a rumbling, menacing growl, and the evil glint in his eyes promised truly dreadful things, "Go ahead, try to use her as a shield. Just fucking try and see what happens."

Licking his lips nervously, Wyatt very, very, cautiously let the blaster slip from his grip. Helen picked it up, and the man swallowed when he saw her expression.

Callahan strode into the room and looked about before shaking his head at the larger marine, "Will you stop fucking shooting people?"

Jeff grunted, "Doesn't seem likely."

He pointed at the hoodlum, "Hey, fuckface, where's the strongbox?"

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

Callahan blinked, and then shook his head incredulously, "I take it back, you can shoot him."

"WAIT! Itsovertherepleasedontkillme."

He pointed to a cabinet, whereupon Jeff strolled over and booted it open to reveal a reinforced steel box the size of a suitcase hidden within. Reaching down, he grabbed the thing and with a grunt lifted it from the debris, hauling it over and depositing it on top of the desk once used by the late and entirely unlamented boss man, "Open it."

"I... I can't"

"He's lying," Helen was putting her clothes back on and looked up at the man's words.

A fist like a wrecking ball slammed into Wyatt's gut, lifting the man from his feet and doubling him over like a wet rag. Reaching down, Jeff grabbed his hair, hauling the gasping, puking figure upright, "Listen friend, if you don't open that box, then I'm going to beat you to death."

"Hold up."

Still half dressed, Helen strode from the room, only to return less than a minute later with a shockprod in her hand. Setting it all the way to maximum, she smiled when it sparked ominously.

She turned to Wyatt, "Open it, or I'm going to fry your nuts off with this thing."

"Wait..."

"Wait?"

Stepping closer, she hissed, "Did you say, 'Wait'? After what you bastards were gonna do to me, you're lucky I don't shove this fucking thing down your throat and choke you with it."

Her eyes blazed with anger as she held the crackling device perilously close to his groin, "Now you either open that box right now, or get ready to start screaming."

...

The bridge was a scene of orderly chaos, with bustling crewmembers moving between stations, checking readouts and readiness levels, while technicians carried out last minute maintenance checks. The air was filled with the muted hum of computers and electrical systems, mixed with the chatter of intercoms as the bridge crew plugged themselves in and readied their stations.

Frances sat in her command chair, sipping from a cup of coffee, her face a mask of professional calm even while keeping one eye on the organised mayhem as it unfolded around her and listening intently as Selene updated her. The image onscreen shook as Selene was bounced about the inside of whatever vehicle the marines had stolen, but her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and all in all it looked like the mercurial lieutenant was having the time of her life, "So, that's about it for now, Captain. We made it look like a robbery, a... uh, rather violent one, I'm afraid. In the meantime, I've used a search A.I. to quickly scan the data we harvested, and it's pulled enough salient points for the preliminary report, but I'll need to go over it all properly when we get back if you want more detail."

The Captain nodded, turning her attention to the stolen data as it scrolled up a secondary monitor on her command chair, "Yes, I'm looking at it now," she pursed her lips, "any chance they'll spot the hack?"

"No," she paused, and then shook her head with a grimace, "well, to be fair, I should probably say that I seriously doubt it, but I suppose I cannot be absolutely certain. The programs I used to syphon the data will basically eat themselves and self-delete within a very short period of time, leaving virtually zero evidence of my incursion, but that's not to say a thorough forensic examination by someone who knows their business won't turn up... something. But if they do, I doubt it would be anything more than a data fragment."

"That's good enough for me, Selene. You did well, you all did," she looked back at the navigator, "any issues?"

The slender, fair-haired navigator looked thoughtful, and she switched the microphone to a more discreet setting before quietly replying, "No injuries on my team, ma'am, but things got pretty rough for Helen. It was much as we anticipated. As soon as they saw her, they took her for an easy mark and made a play. Things got a bit more... intimate than I liked, but the marines pulled her out before things got really nasty."

Frances sighed, but when she looked up, she met the navigators' eyes unflinchingly, "That's what she was there for."

Selene stared at her commander for a moment, "Bait?"

The Captain's face may have been carved from stone, "A distraction. Was she hurt?"

"No, Captain, but it could have gotten pretty..."

"I'll speak to her when you get back. Anything else?"

The navigator considered saying more, but one look at the Captain's eyes told her the subject was closed. With another sigh she shook her head, "No, ma'am."

"Very good, repair back aboard with best speed, Selene, and again, well done."

Terminating the call she turned towards her second in command, "Damon, status on the shore parties and resupply?"

The man didn't even need to check, "Resupply virtually complete, and all shore parties have been recalled. Most of the crew are back aboard, though there are a couple still unaccounted for."

"The usuals?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am. I suspect they may have removed their communicators while they were engaged on... personal business."

"So, they're in a brothel getting blown or fucking some poor soul's brains out. Very well, we don't have time to bugger about. Track their comlinks and dispatch a marine escort to reacquire our lost lambs. Any crewman not back on board within the hour will be docked a week's pay and spend the night in the brig."

Damon nodded, "Aye aye, Captain."

Turning back to the display, she sat there for a long moment, studying the display with something of an intense, almost brooding look on her face.

He moved close enough to murmur, "An issue, Captain?"

She looked up, "Hmm? Yes, there is." she pointed at the display, "this is Selene's preliminary findings. Most of it's fairly prosaic, so I'll cut to the chase. Basically, it shows that a cargo of stolen people was trafficked out of Vesta Station less than thirty-six hours ago aboard the freelance transport vessel "Pistolero." Their destination is apparently Scorpius Sigma II, which our nav data shows is a gas giant with a significant asteroid belt situated in a system out in the back of beyond. Once there, they will be met by another vessel and transfer their victims, exchanging them for a cargo of minerals and mined isotopes. The slaves will then be taken to be sold somewhere out on the frontier, at which point they will in all likelihood be lost forever"

"Shit..."

She sniffed, "In the meantime, this also shows that these people have been busy. They've already begun accumulating a replacement cargo, and even as we speak there are a half-dozen girls and young women incarcerated in a cargo container down in the lower docks. Once a sufficient number of new victims have been kidnapped or stolen from among the dispossessed on this station, they'll become the next shipment to go."

Damon growled, "Bastards. Do we know where the container is?"

"We do, but if we seize it then they'll know we're on to them, and they'll almost certainly change their plans."

The XO didn't quite throw up his hands, but it was obvious he was more than just a little troubled, "Look, Captain, I know we're in a bit of a hurry and all that, but we can't just leave them. You said yourself it's likely these guys have contacts with security. Even if we pass them the word, it's not certain the girls won't just vanish."

She nodded, "True, what we need is another option, something that doesn't leave our fingerprints all over the place."

For several long moments she sat there, stared into space, fingernails drumming in a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest of her chair. Then she paused.

Swinging her chair round again, she eyed him, "Damon, you brought me a report earlier, a routine update from the harbourmaster that caught your attention. Can you bring that up for me again, please."

He blinked, "Uh, certainly, Captain."

Tapping a few commands into his comlink, he swiped the results to her console.

She studied the data for a moment before pausing the screen with a grunt, "Aha... Remember those two ships on the edge of Tiberius a while back?"

He frowned, "I remember the Destroyer..."

With a grin she nodded, "Well, can't say I blame you there. But it's the other one I'm thinking on. It was some kind of armed transport, a Raptor if you recall?"

Pursing his lips, he nodded, "Ah, yes, the escaped hookers. Not exactly the Galaxy's "Most Wanted". What about them?"

She pointed at the console, "Well, this report from the harbourmaster shows that same Raptor is docked in a ring just off one of the lower levels, and it's registered with the same owner."

Damon whistled appreciatively, "She must be one Hell of a hooker if she can convince those syndicate jackals not to steal her ship. What was her name again? Cas-something?"

With a grin, Frances looked up at him, "Well, it's either she can suck a golf ball through a garden hose and fuck like a bunny on steroids, or just maybe she has connections, potentially useful connections."

He pondered, "Would it be greedy if I hoped for both, Captain?"

"Why, Damon, you space-dog. Has Selene been tormenting you again?"

He drew himself up, but his grin may have belied his serious tone as he tugged down the hem of his tunic, "Nothing a cold shower can't resolve, Captain, but if that girl ever gets promoted, I intend to get some serious payback."

"If you like, I could demote you. Would that help?"

He chuckled, "Ah, Captain, always thinking of your crew."

She smiled innocently, "Trust me, the things you'll do to her pale into insignificance compared to the wringer you're getting put through when you get promoted."

Meeting her eyes with his own, his lips curled in a smile that looked strangely sly on his handsome face as he murmured in reply, "Well now, Captain, all I can say to that, is that in that happy event it might not be me that gets put through the wringer, respectfully, of course."

She blinked, but the wicked expression had vanished, and he was back to being her XO again. But it put her to thinking, "My, my..."

Dismissing the lascivious thoughts mischievously playing in the back of her mind, she rose from the command chair, "I'm going ashore for a moment. Expedite final preparations, I expect we'll be departing as soon as I get back aboard. You have the conn, XO."

He nodded, "I have the conn."

...

"The Naughty Nymph" was one of the busier brothels on Zesta Station. It was clean, charged reasonable rates, and had a growing reputation for good "service". That, and the girls who plied their trade there actually seemed to be happy in their work. And, as the Nymph's owner herself would say, a smile and a kind word were often a bigger selling point than a nice pair of boobs. Well, often enough, anyway.

Cassidy sipped her coffee and surveyed her domain. It was one of the two establishments she ran on Zesta and probably the busiest. She chuckled as a half-naked naked man lumbered by, led towards a booth by an entirely naked young woman,

"See, mother, you don't need to be ashamed anymore, I'm an entrepreneur."

Her smile didn't freeze when she saw what was coming through her door, but her expression did change to something maybe just a bit more wary.

Whenever Navy ships were docked at the station, all the affordable brothels on the lower decks saw an influx of sex-starved customers looking to spend a few credits. The visitor that had just walked in didn't quite fit that profile - she was a middle-aged brunette, and even though she wasn't in uniform, it wasn't hard to guess that she was Navy. From her facial expression to the way she walked, she reminded her of her mother. Mind you, this one looked more curious than disapproving, but still...

Usually, the Nymph would only see higher-ranked officers when someone of their crew misbehaved,and damages needed to be settled, but that hadn't happened, though the three marines who had come in not twenty minutes ago to haul off two customers mid-fuck had been pretty disconcerting. But apart from the naked sailors complaining bitterly, they had all been pretty chill. The marine sergeant had even cracked a few jokes and, watching the two guys literally throwing on their clothes as they were led away, had given a couple of the girls a bit of a laugh.

Cassidy approached the woman, hands raised in mock surrender, "They were all perfect gentlemen. No issues at all. Uh, if it's about those two that got dragged out of here, we don't normally do refunds, but they can finish next time they're back."

She blinked, "That's good to hear, but it's not why I'm here."

"Oh, sorry. I'm Cassidy, how may I help you?"

The woman looked her over from head to toe and nodded. "I believe we met a while ago, well, almost that is."

Cassidy pondered for a moment but couldn't place her. If she had met a Teraxan officer, she certainly would have remembered. Her best guess was that she was trying to reconnect with a hookup of hers - there were plenty of lesbian bars on Zesta, and this one had a bit of a hungry look about her.

"You're probably confusing me with someone. But if that someone showed you a good time, I'll try my best to do the same."

"Cassidy Evangeline Anderson?" she asked.

Despite her generally suspicious nature, and the way her hackles were rising, Cassidy nodded, "Yea? Who's asking?"

The woman held out her hand, which was downright surprising. Normally these types were high on arrogance and damned low on common courtesy, "Frances Frobisher, Captain of the Teraxan cruiser 'Zeus', at your service."

The name didn't ring any bells, "Oh? So, what do you want?"

The Captain's head tilted to one side as she regarded Cassidy, "I was just... interested. One day there's a warrant out, and the next it's like it never existed."

Cassidy shrugged, "That warrant was just a misunderstanding," she crossed her arms under her breasts and raised a brow, "bit like someone charging a Syndicate destroyer with all guns blazing."