Read Online The Veritian Derelict (Junkyard Dogs) by Phillip Nolte - Free Book Online
Authors: Phillip Nolte
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so there's no need to issue you another one. Besides, we don't have many suits of any kind in your size at the moment. Take it with our compliments."
"Thank you, Sir," said Carlisle. "I don't think we would have beaten those terrorists without that suit."
The admiral nodded in agreement, and then added short pep talk.
"For what it's worth, Tamara, I not only think you can handle this assignment but, because of what you've recently been through, I believe you're the best person we have for the job. Go out there and do us proud! By the way, you'd better get busy with your preparations. As I said, the Asimov leaves tomorrow night and the last shuttle from groundside to the Naval Orbital Facility will boost out just after midnight tonight. Sorry, but that's the way it is in the Federation Navy sometimes. Good luck, Ensign. Dismissed."
Carlisle came to attention and saluted. "Thank you, Sir," she said and numbly left the Admiral's office. There was no cadre of excited colleagues to greet and congratulate her as she went through the empty waiting room, only a bored secretary who got up and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 8.
Piedmont Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan system, November 29, 2598.
Deputy Director of Security Hartmann waited nervously with a group of seven other security personnel in the main airlock area of the Asteroid Mining Station. They were fanned out in defensive positions, concealed behind whatever substantial barriers they could find and each was armed with a pulse rifle in addition to carrying their regulation sidearm. All of them, including Hartmann, had donned the best defensive equipment that the security forces on this station had available, riot gear that consisted of light body armor and a helmet with a flip-up face shield and an emergency breathing system that was good for perhaps a half hour.
The chime that announced that the airlock door was about to open sounded, too loudly to Hartmann's ears, in the stillness that had permeated the station for the five minutes or so since Hartmann had silenced the other alarms.
"Easy now, everyone," said Hartmann, "Let me warn them before anyone opens fire. Maybe we can negotiate our way out of this somehow."
The airlock door cycled open, revealing two men dressed in full military battle armor , each of whom immediately exited the airlock and took up a defensive posture on either side of the door. The airlock contained another five or six men and two others also dressed in full battle armor.
"Hold it right there!" said Hartmann. "I am the Director of Station Security! I demand to know what you're doing on my station! State your business!"
In answer, one of the battle armor-clad newcomers brought his pulse rifle to his shoulder and fired a short burst in Hartmann's direction. Having detected the somewhat obvious motion in plenty of time, Hartmann had ducked back behind the bulkhead and the pulses struck harmlessly on the wall behind him, leaving scorch marks in the paint. The smell of ozone mixed with burned paint immediately filled the air.
"Fire at the faceplates of their armor!" he shouted to his companions. Immediately, all of his security personnel opened fire with their pulse rifles, delivering satisfyingly accurate fire that scored several hits to the head region of the two armored invaders. While the pulse impacts did not penetrate the battle armor, they did have the effect of disorienting and confusing the men within. Inside the airlock, the two additional armor-clad attackers moved to block the airlock opening, shielding the unarmored men who were setting up a very formidable weapon, a light-duty assault cannon, mounted on a tripod. Hartmann and his men continued to fire. In spite of the actions of the two armor-clad invaders blocking the airlock opening, one of the unarmored men in the airlock went down.
"Fall back, everyone!" shouted Hartman, "We don’t have a prayer against that weapon here. Retreat! Protocol Alpha!"
Protocol
"Thank you, Sir," said Carlisle. "I don't think we would have beaten those terrorists without that suit."
The admiral nodded in agreement, and then added short pep talk.
"For what it's worth, Tamara, I not only think you can handle this assignment but, because of what you've recently been through, I believe you're the best person we have for the job. Go out there and do us proud! By the way, you'd better get busy with your preparations. As I said, the Asimov leaves tomorrow night and the last shuttle from groundside to the Naval Orbital Facility will boost out just after midnight tonight. Sorry, but that's the way it is in the Federation Navy sometimes. Good luck, Ensign. Dismissed."
Carlisle came to attention and saluted. "Thank you, Sir," she said and numbly left the Admiral's office. There was no cadre of excited colleagues to greet and congratulate her as she went through the empty waiting room, only a bored secretary who got up and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 8.
Piedmont Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan system, November 29, 2598.
Deputy Director of Security Hartmann waited nervously with a group of seven other security personnel in the main airlock area of the Asteroid Mining Station. They were fanned out in defensive positions, concealed behind whatever substantial barriers they could find and each was armed with a pulse rifle in addition to carrying their regulation sidearm. All of them, including Hartmann, had donned the best defensive equipment that the security forces on this station had available, riot gear that consisted of light body armor and a helmet with a flip-up face shield and an emergency breathing system that was good for perhaps a half hour.
The chime that announced that the airlock door was about to open sounded, too loudly to Hartmann's ears, in the stillness that had permeated the station for the five minutes or so since Hartmann had silenced the other alarms.
"Easy now, everyone," said Hartmann, "Let me warn them before anyone opens fire. Maybe we can negotiate our way out of this somehow."
The airlock door cycled open, revealing two men dressed in full military battle armor , each of whom immediately exited the airlock and took up a defensive posture on either side of the door. The airlock contained another five or six men and two others also dressed in full battle armor.
"Hold it right there!" said Hartmann. "I am the Director of Station Security! I demand to know what you're doing on my station! State your business!"
In answer, one of the battle armor-clad newcomers brought his pulse rifle to his shoulder and fired a short burst in Hartmann's direction. Having detected the somewhat obvious motion in plenty of time, Hartmann had ducked back behind the bulkhead and the pulses struck harmlessly on the wall behind him, leaving scorch marks in the paint. The smell of ozone mixed with burned paint immediately filled the air.
"Fire at the faceplates of their armor!" he shouted to his companions. Immediately, all of his security personnel opened fire with their pulse rifles, delivering satisfyingly accurate fire that scored several hits to the head region of the two armored invaders. While the pulse impacts did not penetrate the battle armor, they did have the effect of disorienting and confusing the men within. Inside the airlock, the two additional armor-clad attackers moved to block the airlock opening, shielding the unarmored men who were setting up a very formidable weapon, a light-duty assault cannon, mounted on a tripod. Hartmann and his men continued to fire. In spite of the actions of the two armor-clad invaders blocking the airlock opening, one of the unarmored men in the airlock went down.
"Fall back, everyone!" shouted Hartman, "We don’t have a prayer against that weapon here. Retreat! Protocol Alpha!"
Protocol
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