Read Online Black Dawn by Morgan Brautigan - Free Book Online Page A

over.
“What the ....” the terrorist manning the com network punched
on an audio only channel. “This station is not in operation. Move
along or be used for target practice.”
His comrades chuckled at that, but the pilot of the small ship
didn’t give up. “Look, this stuff is gonna blow anyway if I don’t get
help. This is not worth my cut, I mean commission.” He paused, perhaps reading a gauge. “Come on, man! It’s getting hotter!”
“What is?” the terrorist couldn’t resist asking, despite orders.
“This stuff. The Duromite. It’s more unstable than they said.
It’s not worth any fortune to me if I’m dead or maimed.”
“Duromite,” one of the other terrorists breathed. “A fortune is
right. Get the commander up here.”
The com man spoke to the pilot again. “Hold your current position. We’ll see what we can do.”
“I can’t....” he began, then swallowed. “All right,” he said
shakily and cut off communications.
Within moments the senior officer had joined them. “What do
you think you’re doing? You’re not up here to play traffic control.”
“Sir, this guy has a load of Duromite.”
The commander whistled. “That stuff’s not due to be out of the
labs for months.”
“He’s a smuggler. Gave himself away. He’s scared to death
it’s unstable and he’s going to die before he can collect.”
“Hmm,” the commander rubbed his chin. “Where did he come
from?”
“Can’t tell. But his engines are over heating according to the
sensor trace. He’s been running flat out.”
“And what about our BlackFleet friends?”
“Still coming,” another man answered. “Two hours at present
speed and course. They’re being real cautious.”
“Two hours. Okay. Get me the smuggler on vid.” A holo image came up of a young man, sweat trickling over his pilot tattoo. “ I
understand you want our help?”
The pilot nodded. “I’ll never make it to my buyer. This
stuff’s worth a lot. If you’ve got a lab there to contain it....Look, I’ll
sell it to you. Cheap. Just let me dock.”
The commander smiled and cut the audio. “Do we have anything to contain it here in case he’s peeing his pants with reason?” he
asked his people.
“Yes, sir. These folks built a pretty decent lab.”
He flipped the audio back on. “Very well, we’ll give you one
percent of what your buyer was.”
“One percent!” the pilot yelped, then glanced at his gauges.
“Okay, okay. Where do I dock?”
“My officers will direct you.” He cut the link and turned to
those officers. “Shoot him as soon as he hands over the stuff. It could
be worth more than our guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ship came to dock, the flex tube attached and the hatches
opened. The terrorists watched from the vantage points, waiting for
their opportunity. At last someone stuck his head out of the hatch. It
was the pilot from the transmissions.
“You guys want this stuff? Help me!” he called then ran back
in.
The officer in charge nodded to one of the snipers. Weapon
still at ready, he approached the hatch. Without pausing he went in.
The weapon discharged and then a voice came over the helmet com.
“Got him!” And then, “You should see all the stuff he has in
here! Crates and crates!
Grinning, the officer and his snipers slung their disrupters
across their shoulders and headed for the hatch as well......
    Moving quietly down the corridor, the only sound Coy could
hear was its own combat armor ventilation unit. Even the footsteps of
the rest of the team were muffled by the soft soles of their boots. In the
event the terrorists decided to turn off the artificial gravity, those soles
would stick to almost any surface for a few precious seconds. Theoretically time enough for a trained soldier to orient themselves. Trained
soldier. Theoretically. Of course if they chose to blow a hole in the
side of the station and let space itself deal with the BlackFleet, what
boots they were wearing wouldn’t matter at all.
    That