'Inta does the Dallas': Part 1
"All teams, status check," Clay Compaan called into his headset comm device, watching several monitors in his ad hoc control room. The furniture in the small passenger cabin had all been pushed against one wall, and the bed flipped on its side to clear enough room for the several pop-up tables covered with communications and monitoring equipment. Two of his men sat at the tables, controlling the various video feeds from the team's body cams, giving Compaan a first-hand view of everything his teams saw.
"Team One spotters in position in hangars D1 and D2, strike team ready," The call back came from Team One.
"Team Two, spotters, and strike team are ready in hangars D3 and D4," another voice called out over the encrypted comms channel.
"Team Three, everyone's ready in D5 and D6. The next team reported.
Compaan's anxiety started to creep up as an uncomfortably long period passed before Team Four reported in. "Team Four in D7 and D8, spotters in position, strike team one minute out," came the report from the final team.
"Move your ass! We need to be ready to execute as soon as they are spotted," Compaan hissed into his microphone. Irritated, he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair, sweeping it back out of his eyes.
Forty-seven seconds later, "Team four, spotters and strike team in position," came the breathless report over the comms.
"Stay alert. Inbound docking will begin in five minutes," Compaan informed his teams. Now that all teams were in position, he relaxed and sipped his coffee as he stood behind the two seated men, watching the monitors intently.
He had received the call for this job less than a week ago; his contact in the Organization said that Cortez wanted a shuttle that had arrived at Penrose Station, so naturally, they contacted Compaan. He had worked hard for the last two decades to cement his reputation as the best hijacker in society's seedier circles. Throughout his career, he had stolen hundreds of ships, many in tighter security areas than he was now facing aboard the Dallas.
He was told that his target was a seventy-meter shuttle of unusual and unmistakable design with tech that Cortez wanted. And what Cortez wanted, he usually got. Compaan had to scramble to get everything into place quickly, but he wasn't known as the best for nothing.
Compaan's plan was pretty straightforward: being a seventy-meter shuttle, they would be assigned to one of the "D" class hangars. He would post a spotter at both port and starboard hangar doors, who would signal the strike team assigned to that hangar, relaying where it would be berthed. As soon as the shuttle door opened, the strike team would rush it, overtake and incapacitate or kill the crew, and race out of the hangar before the ship's security could react. Then, the strike team would rendezvous with his carrier, waiting a couple of light years outside the system for pickup. He had executed this exact plan on multiple occasions and had little doubt as to the odds of his success.
On the monitors, he watched the Dallas Hangar crew prepare to open the doors for new arrivals. "Everyone at the ready," Compaan called out on the comms. The atmospheric force barriers shimmered as they were activated, and the doors opened to the hangars. Through the various monitors, he watched the slow parade of shuttles entering the eight levels of hangars, searching for his quarry.
*******
Several hours passed, and none of the ships that had docked so far even slightly resembled the description given, and he was beginning to grow impatient. Compaan took a breath to calm himself, knowing that the queue to dock was largely a function of when the fare was purchased, and supposedly, the target had purchased their berth late. It stood to reason that they would be among the last to arrive.
"Spotters and teams begin rotating posts on a rolling basis," he ordered his teams. He wanted to ensure that no one noticed that people were loitering for hours in the same spot, so he had his teams swap positions, a few people at a time, to avoid detection.
More time passed, and there was still no sign of his target. The ferries were usually very efficient at loading and unloading, and it usually only took about eight hours or so at each port of call to complete the onboarding. They were now closing in on seven and a half hours; did he miss them?
"Strike teams, send an additional spotter to each hanger, and verify the target is not already on board," Compaan ordered. He was running out of time; once the doors were closed, it would only be a short while later that the ferry would head out of the system and jump to FTL, and his window of opportunity would close.
Several minutes later, "Negative, target is not yet on board," The reports came from the additional spotters. Compaan watched the last ship enter the hangar, and soon after, the hangar doors began to close. "Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his headset to the floor. "Recall all teams, now!" he growled at one of the two men running the comm setup, then stormed out of the tiny passenger cabin and into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. Anger and frustration twisted his face into a scowl as he looked for a nearby bar to get a drink. It was unlikely he had bad information; his contact in Penrose Control confirmed they had left for the ferry. Where the fuck were they?
******
When the docking clamps cleared, June activated the gravity drive and slowly steered away from their slip at Penrose Station. She laid in a course to rendezvous with the ferry 'Dallas', and they were on their way.
Will sat at the console next to June's, Ben sat at one of the wider stations along the back of the bridge, while Interface stood between Will and June, a hand on each of their shoulders, wearing nothing but a smile on her lips.
