Sloane frowned. “Let me guess. You know who falsified approval documents in your name to wake up some non-critical personnel.”
“Salarian by name of Falarn.”
Sloane nodded. “And?”
“And,” Addison sighed, “the bastard and about ten of his friends just stormed the hangar and surrounded a shuttle. They’re demanding that we let them board it and then clear the hangar, or they’ll start shooting.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kandros met her at the hangar door accompanied by four of the team, including Talini. Good. Her biotics would no doubt come in handy.
All of them had come prepared as she’d directed, wearing Initiative-certified Elanus Risk Control Services gear and carrying just enough firepower to put down the problem without risking casualties.
“Did you talk to info-sec?” Sloane asked Talini.
The asari saluted. “Yes ma’am.”
“And?”
“They’re on it.”
Sloane nodded her thanks. What she was asking info-sec to do would probably seriously piss off Tann, to say nothing of Addison and all the others, but security was her job. For now, until everything settled, every access to secure networks would be recorded. Visuals and all. If nothing came of it, great. But if something did…
Something like this?
Next time, she’d catch it before it reached this point. The privacy implications were worth never having a hostage situation again.
Kandros eyed the door through a modified Kuwashii visor, which fed him enough data to keep his shots accurate and his intel sharp. “Info-sec has all ten arrayed outside the ship, with the hostages still holed up inside. Everyone else has been evac’d.”
“That should save on time.”
He nodded. “We move in on your order.”
Her blood already surging into adrenaline-fueled clarity, Sloane primed her Avenger. “Shoot to take in,” she ordered clearly, “but do what you have to in order to ensure the safety of the mission. I want all of you upright when we’ve taken these bastards down.”
She couldn’t care less how many of the would-be thieves remained upright at the end of this, but she couldn’t say that out loud. If these traitors had intended to hurt the people of this facility—pioneers like them—then they deserved whatever was coming.
Various degrees of salutes and nods met her order. Kandros’s mandibles tipped up in approval.
Turians. It’s like they had a weakness for women in charge. She’d never met one who didn’t get all… turian-eyed when she started calling the shots. Except maybe Kaetus, but he’d joined one of the arks. Sloane rolled her eyes, and glanced at Talini. “Shields up when we open the door. Find cover, then lay down hell.”
“You got it,” the commando replied. She rubbed her un-gloved hands together with glee. “Say the word, ma’am.”
Sloane checked her team. They all faced the doors, weapons ready. Faces set behind visors.
“Save that ship. Bring in those hostages.” With a last breath, she gave the word they waited for. “Move.”
Manually overriding the door took only seconds. As the panels swooshed wide, a rippling field of blue biotic energy spread in front of them, absorbing the first bolts of firepower. Sloane never really got used to visuals through a biotic shield, all distorted and slightly off, but it got the job done, and that’s what she needed most.
The crew split, finding cover behind crates and gear and the stockpiles of stuff hauled out of the ships to make room for personnel to bunk down. Sloane ducked behind a row of tarp-wrapped blocks. Kandros plastered his back against a tall stack of crates. The shield in front of them rippled as cries rang out.
“Get them!”
“Cover the ship!”
The reports of enemy assault rifles echoed through the hangar. A quick glance over her cover showed Falarn at the back rear, eyes wide and rifle spewing uneven bursts of fire. Obviously not trained to fight.
“Get down,” she heard. One of hers, too late. She jerked as a stray bolt slammed into her shoulder, triggering her shields. Sloane ducked, unable to give the enemy a rebuttal.
Instead, she locked in on comms. “Talini, drop a surprise for that back row. Kandros, take Gonzalez and circle right. I want that back entry covered. Keep them away from the hostages inside that ship. Someone lay down cover fire!”
“I’ll keep them pinned!”
Sloane acknowledged the volunteer with a short, “Do it,” and waited until she heard the volley of cover fire. “Go, go,” she called through the comms, leaping over her own cover.
Just as she did, the space behind the thieves distorted, bulging inward and then blooming out in a vivid purple-blue wound of space and time. Falarn’s expression cracked into sheer panic as the vortex caused by Talini’s biotics sucked him off his feet, stripping away his gravity.
Two more yelled as they collided with the spinning distortion, and Sloane couldn’t help but grin as Talini yelled, “Eat that!” in the comms.
Sloane landed hard on her feet, Avenger aimed and finger squeezing the trigger. Short bursts, that was all this one needed. Anyone lucky enough to escape the asari’s singularity scattered, many finding cover behind elements of the shuttle. Smart, really. They knew it was as much an asset as those inside it.
“Get the hostages!” someone yelled. In her peripheral, she saw a would-be thief in a Nexus uniform dart toward the ship. Kandros was too far away. Talini was busy. Sloane swung her weapon around and let loose a short burst of firepower. Blood spurted as the human went down—leg and side, probably not fatal. Probably. But at least he wouldn’t be going near the hostages.
“I could have taken that,” she heard in her comm.
“Too slow, Kandros.”
She grinned at his snort, then ducked as the butt of a rifle arced over her head. A millisecond later, Gonzalez let loose a sharp yell. “I’m hit!”
“We got bogeys in back,” Kandros added.
And one in front of her—the owner of that rifle.
“Busy,” Sloane gritted as a big human woman, all muscle and thick neck, dropped a heavy hand onto Sloane’s helmet. Before Sloane could wrench loose, strong fingers found purchase in the crevice around the neck, then shook. Hard.
Her Avenger went flying, her sense of balance shattered under a wash of vertigo as she was jerked bodily off her feet. Pain slammed into her back as the woman swung her into what had once been cover. The kinetic barriers didn’t help physical damage. Not nearly as well.
The enemy heaved her back up into the air and slammed her against the next closest object. She didn’t know what the hell it was—just that her head rang like a gong, her neck strained from the pressure, and she’d bruise from knee to ribs tomorrow.
Swearing, out of control, she flailed at the fastenings of her helmet as the woman jerking her around grunted with effort. Just as the world spun at peak speed and momentum, Sloane’s helmet gave way.
She went sailing ass over elbows, barely remembered to protect her now uncovered head, and slammed into the side of the ship. That rang like a gong, too. A big one.
Anything Sloane might have said was lost in a groan of effort as she collapsed to the floor in a tingling, throbbing mess of aches and battered limbs. Fortunately for her, the bruiser of a woman hadn’t expected to suddenly lose Sloane’s mass. By the time she got her balance back, Sloane surged to her feet and charged.
Armor met muscles—which, Sloane reflected as her entire body jarred, were thick enough to act like armor anyway. The woman grunted again. Sloane mirrored it, legs straining, arms clamped tight around her opponent’s middle.