The ship rocked violently from port to starboard. Its shields were now gone. There came a cry from the rear of the bridge to shunt power from the bow emitters - they were running, not fighting, after all. A brusque reply was shouted over the din of beeping monitors and the whine of engines pushed beyond even the wildest design limits: there was no power left to shunt. All shields were gone.
" Time to jump point?"
" Six minutes. We're still trapped in this system's gravity well; the planets and moons are too close together!"
The Captain snarled, looking down at a monitor in a nearby terminal. Presented in the clearest holo RavSun Imaging Technologies, INC could provide with its newest-line systems was their attacker. His freightor was supposed to be able to match flank speed with seventy percent of all cruisers onnthe market. It was obvious that the vessel behind him was in the smaller, faster minority. On the screen, the Captain saw the pursuer fire again. Barely two seconds later, he felt the impact of that blast. Then another. And another.
" Engines are down!" screamed the ship's chief engineer. Cursing in his native Bakuran, he thrust his jumpsuited self up out of the chair and left the bridge. There was nothing more he could do from a remote terminal, so the Captain let him go. Instead he looked forward out of the viewports and saw the stars slow and slow in their passing of the canopy until they passed no more. The grey orb of a planet's moon hung dangerously close.
" We're drifting forward on inertia only. All drive systems have bene shut down; computer deactivated the reactor before it began flooding the aft quarter with radiation."
The Captain nodded, then sat down in a nearby chair, vacated by some nameless crewman who had tried - and failed - to keep the Coalition Fleet Tender Esperance going. He looked around knew the end was near. His options were few now that their engines were gone: fight a delaying action against boarding parties until the engines could be repaired; evacuate and scuttle the ship; or surrender.
The ship shuddered for a moment, a bit longer than normal. The inertial dampeners were working on reserve power, no doubt and thus not at full capacity. No one needed to report - the Captain had been caught in a tractor beam before.
" All hands to intruder stations - prepare to repell boarders."
A Sentinel-class Shuttle was the first to approach, flanked by a pair of older-model TIE Defenders that did circles around the freightor when their charge was stationary. Rather than find an open docking port - of which there were twelve on either side of the seven-hundred meter craft - it grappled the hull and forced itself onto the dorsal structure. Laser drills and a magnetic seal extended, carving open a corridor like a roast. The seal was secured and a breech created. The slab of durasteel vanished inside the shuttle and twenty men dropped through the gap into a hallway with crew quarters on either side. The men fanned out, being watched by droids and sensors alike. They were easily recognizeable in their black uniforms and white polished curiass-plates and coal-scuttle helmets: Imperials.
A loud 'pop' filled the hallway as the shuttle sealed its entry point and returned to its carrier; those twenty men were now alone on a ship boasting a crew ten times that number. It wasn't too long before the black-clad Fleet Assault Corps troopers were set on by the defenders who attacked with stunning ferocity. In the Galactic Coalition, the Fleet Supply Service was somewhat stigmatized from the combat forces, known for its long deployments and solitary supply routes. That isolation bred comraderie and longing and the sense that their ship was their home - those crewmen fought like it.
The Imperials, however, were trained soldiers. They found cover in crevices and bulkhead joints, firing only a few shots to the flurry fired at them. Their shots were aimed and coordinated and they beat off the attempts to dislodge them.
It was a long fifteen minutes for the shuttle to return, making the kiss of the magnetic seal's rebirth a welcome cacophony in the corridor that now reaked of cordite and carbon. Another twenty men entered and the attack force moved on. Defenders were met at every turn but again and again they were driven back. By the time the soldiers reached the bridge, there was a trail of wounded behind them, but suprisingly few of them fatal.
" Who commands here?"
" I do," the Captain replied.
An Imperial stepped forward, the image of a recruitment holo, stereotypical by GC standards: his hair was close cropped, his features chizeled as if out of stone, his eyes deep set and watchful. " I am First Lieutenant Jarvis Lorry, commander of 45 Kompanie, detached to the Cruiser Emden. I am authorized by my Captain to accept your surrender."
" I doubt you'll want that. This ship is set to self destruct in five minutes." The Captain smiled, the grin tugging at his lips in smug reassurance he had robbed the enemy of his nation the prize they had sought after a two hour chase. His men, those left alive, he had condemned to death, but it was better than being tortured by Imperial Intelligence.
The Captain let the smile fade from his face and waited for the Lieutenant to shoot him, but the officer remained impassive. His voice remained steady, his manner calm and collected.
" Captain, you have fought bravely but doomed yourself. You need not die here. The Guard does not kill needlessly."
Realization struck home - that is why the breast plates of the enlisted ratings was white and not black, why they had seam-stripes on their breeches, why they were standing with their weapons holstered instead of pointing at him and the ten other crewmen on the bridge. The Imperial Guard. He was disbelieving of what they said and was prepared to offer some retort when the ship rocked again. The cause was internal - and even the soldiers knew it. The computer had failed and the reactor was detonating plasma conduit by conduit.
The Lieutenant grabbed the Captain and forced him before him, his soldiers yelling commands at the GC men around them to make for the shuttle. As the Captain ran he saw other Imperials without armor, he saw his wounded being rushed into a shuttle. Others had already bene evacuated, for there was only his bridge crew remaining and a few wounded. They stood by the breach and waited. A few of the less experienced men and women were crying, fearing death's approach. Some wept, some cowered, some just sighed - the Imperials seemed to defy Fate and stood at the ready to meet whatever came. He marveled at their resolve, and wished he had some.
There came a hiss in the corridor, all but drowned out by blaring klaxons and explosions that grew closer by the minute. The Captain did not recognize it, but the Imperials did. The ladder extended and he looked up, into the bowels of a shuttle. Before he could rejoice, the soldiers were rushing his men aloft then him. The Lieutenant came last and was about to haul up the ladder when a scream came from the corridor. The voice was undiscernible, but the Captain knew it was one of his crewmen. He wanted to say something, wanted to run down the ladder but his legs refused to do it. They valued life too much - he valued life too much. He sighed, and was about to feel sorry for his lack of courage when an Imperial pushed him aside and scrambled down the ladder. His disappeared beyond the cutout hull and was gone from view. The Captain saw the Lieutenant check a chrono, then glance up a design on his ship - time was running out. There was another scream as the ship rocked violently, a piece of tubing flying down the hall at the speed of a bullet.
" Arghhh!"
The Captain looked down to see what had happened; the ladder was gone. He saw the soldier limping up, trailing blood, a wounded Coalition ensign on his back. He looked up and tossed off his blast helmet. Yelling he hefted the ensign on his shoulders and pushed him towards the breach. Arms flew down to grab him, both Imperial and GC, and hauled him up into the shuttle. Another explosion followed and another piece of debris struck the soldier. There was no way he could get into the shuttle without help but to send another...the ship was about to die. Before another Imperial could make the fatal descent, the wounded man drew his blaster and fired a single shot that fried the control box of the magnetic clamp, releasing it. To save the shuttle from the vacuum of space, the occupants had to seal off their hull, and so they did. The shuttle flew off towards the cruiser, a brilliant explosion where Coalition freightor had been silhouetting it in the stars.
The Captain looked at the Lieutenant whose face was as stoic as it had been on the bridge. Then he looked down at the wounded ensign, barely conscious and unknowing that his enemy had saved his life by sacrificing his own. He reached out and touched the Imperial officer, asking only one simple question. " Why"
The Lieutenant looked down at the wounded man then back up at the Captain. " Because you have surrendered and not combatants anymore; we swore to protect you. Because we are the Guard."
" Time to jump point?"
" Six minutes. We're still trapped in this system's gravity well; the planets and moons are too close together!"
The Captain snarled, looking down at a monitor in a nearby terminal. Presented in the clearest holo RavSun Imaging Technologies, INC could provide with its newest-line systems was their attacker. His freightor was supposed to be able to match flank speed with seventy percent of all cruisers onnthe market. It was obvious that the vessel behind him was in the smaller, faster minority. On the screen, the Captain saw the pursuer fire again. Barely two seconds later, he felt the impact of that blast. Then another. And another.
" Engines are down!" screamed the ship's chief engineer. Cursing in his native Bakuran, he thrust his jumpsuited self up out of the chair and left the bridge. There was nothing more he could do from a remote terminal, so the Captain let him go. Instead he looked forward out of the viewports and saw the stars slow and slow in their passing of the canopy until they passed no more. The grey orb of a planet's moon hung dangerously close.
" We're drifting forward on inertia only. All drive systems have bene shut down; computer deactivated the reactor before it began flooding the aft quarter with radiation."
The Captain nodded, then sat down in a nearby chair, vacated by some nameless crewman who had tried - and failed - to keep the Coalition Fleet Tender Esperance going. He looked around knew the end was near. His options were few now that their engines were gone: fight a delaying action against boarding parties until the engines could be repaired; evacuate and scuttle the ship; or surrender.
The ship shuddered for a moment, a bit longer than normal. The inertial dampeners were working on reserve power, no doubt and thus not at full capacity. No one needed to report - the Captain had been caught in a tractor beam before.
" All hands to intruder stations - prepare to repell boarders."
A Sentinel-class Shuttle was the first to approach, flanked by a pair of older-model TIE Defenders that did circles around the freightor when their charge was stationary. Rather than find an open docking port - of which there were twelve on either side of the seven-hundred meter craft - it grappled the hull and forced itself onto the dorsal structure. Laser drills and a magnetic seal extended, carving open a corridor like a roast. The seal was secured and a breech created. The slab of durasteel vanished inside the shuttle and twenty men dropped through the gap into a hallway with crew quarters on either side. The men fanned out, being watched by droids and sensors alike. They were easily recognizeable in their black uniforms and white polished curiass-plates and coal-scuttle helmets: Imperials.
A loud 'pop' filled the hallway as the shuttle sealed its entry point and returned to its carrier; those twenty men were now alone on a ship boasting a crew ten times that number. It wasn't too long before the black-clad Fleet Assault Corps troopers were set on by the defenders who attacked with stunning ferocity. In the Galactic Coalition, the Fleet Supply Service was somewhat stigmatized from the combat forces, known for its long deployments and solitary supply routes. That isolation bred comraderie and longing and the sense that their ship was their home - those crewmen fought like it.
The Imperials, however, were trained soldiers. They found cover in crevices and bulkhead joints, firing only a few shots to the flurry fired at them. Their shots were aimed and coordinated and they beat off the attempts to dislodge them.
It was a long fifteen minutes for the shuttle to return, making the kiss of the magnetic seal's rebirth a welcome cacophony in the corridor that now reaked of cordite and carbon. Another twenty men entered and the attack force moved on. Defenders were met at every turn but again and again they were driven back. By the time the soldiers reached the bridge, there was a trail of wounded behind them, but suprisingly few of them fatal.
" Who commands here?"
" I do," the Captain replied.
An Imperial stepped forward, the image of a recruitment holo, stereotypical by GC standards: his hair was close cropped, his features chizeled as if out of stone, his eyes deep set and watchful. " I am First Lieutenant Jarvis Lorry, commander of 45 Kompanie, detached to the Cruiser Emden. I am authorized by my Captain to accept your surrender."
" I doubt you'll want that. This ship is set to self destruct in five minutes." The Captain smiled, the grin tugging at his lips in smug reassurance he had robbed the enemy of his nation the prize they had sought after a two hour chase. His men, those left alive, he had condemned to death, but it was better than being tortured by Imperial Intelligence.
The Captain let the smile fade from his face and waited for the Lieutenant to shoot him, but the officer remained impassive. His voice remained steady, his manner calm and collected.
" Captain, you have fought bravely but doomed yourself. You need not die here. The Guard does not kill needlessly."
Realization struck home - that is why the breast plates of the enlisted ratings was white and not black, why they had seam-stripes on their breeches, why they were standing with their weapons holstered instead of pointing at him and the ten other crewmen on the bridge. The Imperial Guard. He was disbelieving of what they said and was prepared to offer some retort when the ship rocked again. The cause was internal - and even the soldiers knew it. The computer had failed and the reactor was detonating plasma conduit by conduit.
The Lieutenant grabbed the Captain and forced him before him, his soldiers yelling commands at the GC men around them to make for the shuttle. As the Captain ran he saw other Imperials without armor, he saw his wounded being rushed into a shuttle. Others had already bene evacuated, for there was only his bridge crew remaining and a few wounded. They stood by the breach and waited. A few of the less experienced men and women were crying, fearing death's approach. Some wept, some cowered, some just sighed - the Imperials seemed to defy Fate and stood at the ready to meet whatever came. He marveled at their resolve, and wished he had some.
There came a hiss in the corridor, all but drowned out by blaring klaxons and explosions that grew closer by the minute. The Captain did not recognize it, but the Imperials did. The ladder extended and he looked up, into the bowels of a shuttle. Before he could rejoice, the soldiers were rushing his men aloft then him. The Lieutenant came last and was about to haul up the ladder when a scream came from the corridor. The voice was undiscernible, but the Captain knew it was one of his crewmen. He wanted to say something, wanted to run down the ladder but his legs refused to do it. They valued life too much - he valued life too much. He sighed, and was about to feel sorry for his lack of courage when an Imperial pushed him aside and scrambled down the ladder. His disappeared beyond the cutout hull and was gone from view. The Captain saw the Lieutenant check a chrono, then glance up a design on his ship - time was running out. There was another scream as the ship rocked violently, a piece of tubing flying down the hall at the speed of a bullet.
" Arghhh!"
The Captain looked down to see what had happened; the ladder was gone. He saw the soldier limping up, trailing blood, a wounded Coalition ensign on his back. He looked up and tossed off his blast helmet. Yelling he hefted the ensign on his shoulders and pushed him towards the breach. Arms flew down to grab him, both Imperial and GC, and hauled him up into the shuttle. Another explosion followed and another piece of debris struck the soldier. There was no way he could get into the shuttle without help but to send another...the ship was about to die. Before another Imperial could make the fatal descent, the wounded man drew his blaster and fired a single shot that fried the control box of the magnetic clamp, releasing it. To save the shuttle from the vacuum of space, the occupants had to seal off their hull, and so they did. The shuttle flew off towards the cruiser, a brilliant explosion where Coalition freightor had been silhouetting it in the stars.
The Captain looked at the Lieutenant whose face was as stoic as it had been on the bridge. Then he looked down at the wounded ensign, barely conscious and unknowing that his enemy had saved his life by sacrificing his own. He reached out and touched the Imperial officer, asking only one simple question. " Why"
The Lieutenant looked down at the wounded man then back up at the Captain. " Because you have surrendered and not combatants anymore; we swore to protect you. Because we are the Guard."