The Fringe Wars

2.2

Hunting Party

"This is the Arcadia. We have encountered pockets of resistance during suppression activities. At least one distress call has been broadcast from an unknown location on board the Matador. We request immediate support in searching the craft and neutralizing remaining threats post haste."

"Sounds like I'd better grab my gear," Sixx said.

"Good plan." Reyne checked the photon pistol holstered on his thigh, while Sixx unbuckled from his seat and headed from the bridge.

"You heard 'em, specters," Critch's voice broadcast over the network. "Get on that ship and find the assholes jeopardizing our juice run. Once you're on board the Matador, use comm frequency three-five-six-eight. And fire up those viggin' jammers again so our tango can't get an RSVP back from their pals."

"I can have us docked in no time," Throttle said.

Reyne felt a surge in the ship's speed. He reached for the comm and eyed Throttle as he pinged the Gryphon's mechanic. "Boden, we're docking at the Matador, which is mostly under control. Sixx and I are going on board. I need you and Throttle to stay back to refuel and fix us up for jump speed. I have a feeling we're not going to have much time to hang around and socialize before our CUF buddies show up."

"What do you mean by 'mostly under control'?" came Boden's reply.

Reyne answered, "You'd better plan on expecting trouble."

"I always do."

"How soon do you think the CUF will respond?" Throttle asked.

He shrugged. "It depends on how close their nearest ship is. Could be ten hours, could be ten minutes."

She stiffened. "Let's hope it's ten hours."

Throttle had the Gryphon docked at the Matador in less than five minutes, latching on to one of the supply ship's twenty or so docking tubes. Reyne and Sixx bypassed the decon chamber and jogged into a massive hallway, where they met the heavily scarred Critch along with the slim Birk and the roughhewn Chutt, who'd entered the hallway at roughly the same time.

While the large hallway was noticeably smaller than those on warships, the floors and walls were the same drab tan color that the interiors of all CUF ships were painted with. As they turned a corner, Reyne found an ex-dromadier from the Arcadia standing guard while several of her counterparts escorted the CUF crew into an escape pod. She turned as Reyne's group approached, and rushed to meet them.

Critch stomped up to her. "What was that stunt your captain pulled out there—dropping out of stealth early?"

She cowered under his glare. "Stealth burned up the last of our juice faster than projected. We were forced to drop out."

Critch glared. The scars that crisscrossed his face whitened and puckered more than usual. "That miscalculation cost me a good ship and five souls."

The guard swallowed. "There was nothing we could do—"

"We'll have plenty of time to debrief later," Reyne interrupted. "Now, I need you to give us the current situation. What are we up against?"

"We've verified the bridge is fully secure," the woman replied, looking relieved to no longer be under Critch's scrutinizing glare. "Same with the engine room. Those are the only two locations with known long-range comms. We're running scans for portables, but it's a big ship and our numbers are thin. We've only had a chance to perform cursory checks through the crew quarters and central holds so far."