Oz took several shots at them and scored hits in the nearest ones chest and it fell face down awkwardly, kicking up a small cloud of sand. The other two kept coming, ignoring the failure of their comrade.
Jason started running with his friend right behind, half turned towards their perusers, firing bursts for cover. His shots missed until they reached solid ground in the shadow of the sheer polished cliff surface. One of the servants took three hits across the thighs and was rendered immobile. Oz dropped to one knee and took aim at the third. At a range of less than twenty meters, a little close for Jason's taste, Oz put two dozen holes in the machine that started at its head and ran all the way down to its knees. It clattered to the stone paved ground and slid to a stop just in front of Oz's feet, completely inert.
The sounds of high energy weapon strikes hitting the sand surrounded them. One struck Jason and both men swerved to hide behind another large stone jutting out from the sand.
“You all right?” Oz asked.
“Fine, my comm kit and extra C and C are done though.” he said as he dropped the smouldering equipment pack off his back and unslung his rifle. “Over a hundred meters left to the doors and no guaranteeing that they'll open for us.”
Oz picked up a smouldering piece of equipment from the pack Jason had dropped and tossed it in the air. Streaks of light filled the air above their heads, several of them striking the target Oz provided before it landed several meters up the beach. “Damn, those aren't serving bots. They must have hidden under the sand just in case someone decided to come out here. There's cover up there but we have to deal with whatever's got a bead on us first.”
The sounds of treads and running feet filled the air. Jason and Oz leaned into their stone cover with weapons at the ready. They waited for their pursuers to come to them, they had no other choice.
Trust and Responsibility
The first drill of the day was just wrapping up and Frost was watching a tall armoured loader take an awkward backward step right on top of an empty ammunition magazine. The black and grey box was crushed underfoot with a terrible grinding screech. He activated his proximity radio and spoke to the armour's operator. “God dammit Ferrin, crack that machine open an' step out so someone whose ready ta run 'er can get in. You're back to sims.”
“Just a weak moment Chief.”
“If that magazine was loaded with high explosive rounds you'd 'ave killed yerself, yer gunner an' at least two mechanics. Prolly woulda disabled two other guns while ye were at it.”
“What magazine?”
“Just step outta the armour,” Frost repeated, at the end of his patience.
“Yes sir.”
For some reason he glanced behind him just then, and regretted it. Even across a depressurized gunnery deck, even with her blacked out transparesteel faceplate up, he could tell Stephanie was absolutely enraged. Her shoulders were square and her stance was set firmly, as though she were ready for a fight, or spoiling for one.
“Lildell, take over here, I've got a meeting,” Frost ordered.
“Aye, sir,” came the reply from his second in command.
Stephanie wasn't setting foot on the deck and he read that as meaning she didn't want to say whatever she needed to in front of his crew. He strode to the heavy express elevator, large enough for heavy equipment, and stepped inside. As soon as his foot cleared the doors she closed them and sent the car downward, towards the command deck.
“Thought we weren't visiting each other on shift,” Frost said, trying to bring some levity into the large express car.
“Not here,” she said flatly over proximity radio as she activated the pressurization systems so they could step out of the lift as soon as it reached a section of the ship with full life support.
He waited for the car to finish its short trip to the command deck and repressurize before breaking the thick silence. She was out of the express car before the doors were finished opening and continued on right across the hall into one of the smaller briefing rooms. Frost followed right behind her.
When the door closed behind them she deactivated her headpiece. The faceplate rolled down into her collar and the rest folded down into a small hood between her shoulders. “You don't even know what you did wrong, do you?” she asked quietly.
“Burke? He had it comin',” he said simply as he stopped to stand behind the chair at the head of the short black top table. There were eight chairs around it all together, and no windows in the dark blue walled room.
“Had it coming? This isn't the Samson, Shamus. You don't get to decide who has what coming to them.”
“Most o' the time, sure, but not for him. Samson, Triton, hell, even on the bloody Queen Mary, I get my sights on 'im and his ass is mine,” Frost said calmly. He was being honest, he wouldn't do anything differently if he had to make the choice all over again. “He alive?”
“Barely. They had to treat him with nanobots and the first thing the automated medic did was take off most of his fingers and a whole foot. He'll need to have them grown for him and without a doctor aboard, well,” she threw up her hands. “I know Burke burned you, and I got your message about him giving up the Samson for Wheeler, but tell me you understand why you shouldn't have gone around me on this.”
“You'd have had 'im all cozy in the brig before anyone got anythin' out of him. Bet you wouldn't 'ave gotten anythin' out of him either.”
“Damn right I would have! Do you think Captain gave me this post as some kind of reward? I've led some of his hardest boarding actions, even when he knew not all of us were coming back! He knows I can handle this and even though he's been running jobs for half as long as either of us, he's a better judge than both of us combined!”
“Sorry lass, you've never been the interrogating kind, not that I've seen.”
“That's just it, I'm nothing but a wee lass to you, am I? Tough enough behind a rifle, sure, but when I'm face to face with someone you don't think I'm smart or hardened enough to handle you get in my way.”
“I've no problem givin' you a chance at bringin' info outta someone, just not Burke, got it? He took everythin' I had, betrayed Captain, the crew and he had what he got comin' an' worse!”
“Give me a chance?” she shouted in furious disbelief. “I don't need a chance, Shamus, I'm running the show! I don't care how badly he pulled one over on you, and it couldn't have been too hard, but you don't get to play police whenever you want to! Trust me to do my job, I'm good at it.”
“Aye, and with anyone else-”
“Fine, so you'll let me do my job until someone else steps on Shamus Frost's toes, then you'll get angry and prove once again that you're nothing more than a brainless thug!”
“I just don't think you should handle my business. It's my business!” Frost shouted.
“You're just… guhhh! ” she shouted at him in exasperation.
“This was between Burke and I, he crossed me and I got him in turn, that's the way he and I always ran.”
“You see where that landed you? Maybe you should try doing things some other way?”
“What, your way? What would you have done?” Frost asked impatiently.
There were a dozen responses to that question, but she couldn't seem to pick one so she just stared at him crossly and folded her arms.
“If the interrogation was anythin' like this, he'd have talked by now, so maybe I should have just handed 'im over!” Frost laughed.
“That's it. We're done,” Stephanie marched for the door.
He grabbed her arm. “Done?”
She freed herself, put her foot behind his and elbowed him in the chest just hard enough to knock him into the nearest chair. He fell perfectly seated. “Don't come calling tonight, don't follow me to the pub, and don't try to force your way back into my good graces. Ash might have put up with it for a year from a distance but I won't deal with your crap at point blank.” Stephanie finished before storming out.