Siege on Star Cruise 239 Read online

  "Yes, that is correct, sir," the CSO said.

  “The value of this item exceeds the valuation of the entire Star-Line Corporation. It is, and you are, no doubt, insured, but a claim on this item would surely put the underwriter into bankruptcy. I hope you're starting to get the picture?"

  "Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt," the CSO said. I will personally escort you to the vault, and you will see that is it is secure with your own eyes.

  “Perfect.”

  “If you'll follow me, I can take you there now."

  "Nathan, take my bags to my stateroom," Vanderbilt said to his overload assistant.

  "Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt."

  Vanderbilt’s blue eyes glanced back to the CSO, and he flashed a courteous smile. “Lead the way.”

  The CSO spun around and boarded the ship. Vanderbilt followed behind him shielded on either side by his towering guards.

  6

  The Celestial Voyager was definitely the flagship of the Star-Line fleet. It was 1879 feet long and weighed 237,331 tons. Unlike the other liners, they didn’t pack passengers in like sardines. The ship only had 618 staterooms. Even the cheapest room was large and luxurious. Star-Line was THE premier cruise line and took customer satisfaction seriously. Not only was the Celstial Voyager opulently decorated with luxurious appointments, it had a full complement of security features. The galaxy just wasn't what it used to be, and there was no denying the need for state-of-the-art defensive technology. Pirates and terrorists would hijack anything they could get their hands on. Commercial, recreational, and even military vehicles had been targets in the past.

  The Celestial Voyager was outfitted with several Tactical Dynamics™ plasma cannons, mounted fore and aft, and on the port and starboard sides of the ship. A state-of-the-art auto-targeting system could identify and eliminate incoming threats with speed and accuracy. It was just shy of a combat vessel and could probably hold its own against a Corvette class Navy ship.

  There were two flight decks that could accommodate emergency vehicles, small transports, and supply ships. Star-Line boasted that the Celestial Voyager was invulnerable and could not be hijacked. A bold claim, to be sure—and they charged a premium for such enhanced security measures.

  A glimmer of excitement danced in Max's eyes as she gazed at the wondrous ship through the viewport of the departure terminal on Lyra Station. They were moments away from boarding.

  "Are you excited?" Winston asked.

  Max shrugged trying to downplay her enthusiasm. "I don't know if it's fair to say that I'm excited. I'm mildly optimistic that we might not have a bad time.”

  "So, you’re excited.” Winston knew her well.

  Max smiled.

  A woman's voice crackled over the intercom system. "We'd like to extend courtesy boarding to anyone with special needs and for those needing a little extra time to get down the space-way.”

  Max watched as an elderly couple made their way aboard. The man was fitted with an exo-brace. The device helped him walk normally. The couple looked like they were about to have the time of their lives, and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Max was happy for them, but it filled her with a twinge of sadness. She was never going to reach that age, nor did she really want to. But still… She certainly wouldn’t have someone to share her life with. Who would put up with her, and her lifestyle, besides Winston?

  Max looked over the excited faces of the passengers waiting in the terminal. There were families, college students, young professionals, and a few empty-nesters. The average passenger seemed to be between 25 and 40. The terminal was filled with smiles and laughter and anticipation. The excitement was palpable.

  Max took note of a man with a stoic face. He had a square jaw, a stubbled face, and short blond hair that was clearly dyed. Dark roots were starting to show through. He had a dimple in his chin that was so pronounced you could fill it with water and swim in it. He wore dark sunglasses and had an athletic physique. He didn't look excited or relaxed. He was probably in his early to mid 30s. His name was Rex.

  His traveling companion was a cyborg with a titanium arm. She wore it well, and she looked tough as nails. Her sleek bodysuit accentuated her toned body. She was attractive, but her face was hard. Her life hadn’t been easy. She went by the nickname, Surge. Her eyes were as deep as any ocean. Max knew the look well. This was someone who had seen a lot of combat. Max figured them for former military.

  Max knew that sometimes combat could burn you out so that nothing could excite you anymore—except more combat. It was a vicious and deadly drug. If you hung around it too long, you became one of those people that needed a war on all the time. Nothing else could give that rush of adrenaline. Maybe that’s why the cyborg looked so bored?

  After a few minutes, boarding was extended to the First Class passengers. Max and Winston strolled down the space-way.

  Max and Winston went through a security scanner before boarding and set off all kinds of bells and whistles.

  "I'm going to need to see your backpack, ma'am," the Interplanetary Security Agent barked.

  Max cringed. She knew what the fuss about. She handed over the backpack and the agent rummaged through it. It didn't take long for the blue shirt to find what she was looking for. She pulled out Max's .45 and held it in the air, scolding her. “New rules have been in effect for at least 6 months. What made you think something like this was going to be okay?”

  Max shrugged. “Can’t a girl defend herself anymore?”

  The ISA agent arched a stern eyebrow at her. Then her face softened. “Between you and me, I don’t like driving without a weapon either. There are some crazy people in the galaxy.” She examined the weapon. "This is old school. I haven't seen one of these in a long time. Is this an antique?"

  "No. It's a reissue."

  "I can't let you travel with this, but I can have it forwarded ahead to your destination, or I can keep it here, if you plan on returning. But ISA regulations prohibit weapons of any kind aboard cruise ships."

  Max frowned. "Fine. Send it ahead to Andromeda Station."

  The ISA agent tagged the weapon, unloaded it, and placed it in a secure container. They were really cracking down lately. Weapons had previously been permitted aboard interplanetary flights. Banning them hadn’t reduced the number of hijackings, and with more armed passengers, there was less incentive to attempt a hostile takeover.

  Max felt naked without her weapon. She couldn't remember the last time she had been without it. It was an unsettling feeling.

  “Hello, I’m your cruise director, Gavin Malone." He had a beaming smile and brilliant white teeth. They stood out against his round face and curly dark hair. “Welcome aboard. We have a lot of fun and exciting activities planned for you. If there is anything that we can do to make your stay more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask."

  "How come he gets to carry a gun?"

  "This is chief security officer, Mitch Taylor,” Malone said.

  "Pleasure to meet you both," the CSO said.

  Max shook hands with the two of them. In doing so, her advanced genetics allowed her to sample their fingerprints—always a good thing to have handy. But in her current condition, she wasn’t sure how well she would be able to reproduce them.

  "When's the last time you fired that thing?” Max asked.

  The CSO chuckled. "At the range last week."

  "Have you ever fired at anything other than a paper target?”

  Mitch forced an uncomfortable smile. "Haven't needed to."

  Max was less than impressed.

  "This is a Star-Line cruise," the CSO said proudly. "You have no need for concern. We’ll get you to Andromeda Station without so much as a hiccup."

  The cruise director motioned for them to enter—they were taking up too much time already, and there were plenty of passengers behind them.

  Max and Winston stepped into the main airlock. A porter greeted them as they boarded the ship. “Welcome to the Celestial Voyager. I’m Dale, can I please h
ave your name?”

  “Mars… Max Mars.”

  He flicked through his PDU and found Max's reservation. “Suite A-223." He gestured to the area behind him. "The central elevators are just ahead. Get off on A deck and take a left when you exit, heading aft. That's toward the back of the boat."

  "I know which direction aft is," Max said, pointedly.

  "Excellent. So this is not your first time aboard a cruise ship?"

  "I learned my way around a ship in the Navy."

  "Well, thank you for your service." The Porter gestured to the elevators again. “Oh, by the way, we’ll be having an orientation at 1700 hours on C deck. See what I did there? That’s military time for 5pm.” He seemed exceedingly proud of his cleverness.

  Max gave him a blank look.

  His smile faded when he could see that she wasn’t amused. “We’ll be going over shipboard safety and evacuation protocols. Hope to see you there.”

  Max and Winston strolled to the bank of elevators. Things were running a little slower than normal since everyone was boarding the ship at the same time. The bell finally rang, and the two stepped aboard the lift with several other passengers, cramming in together.

  Max wasn't used to being around this many people. One of them smelled like he hadn't showered in a month. Max's nose crinkled up. She exchanged a disgusted face with Winston.

  They stepped off the elevator on A deck and found their stateroom. Max placed her hand on the biometric scanner by the door, and the hatch slid open. She stepped inside the compartment and marveled at its opulence. It was spacious and well appointed. There was a kitchenette to the left. Beyond that was a common area that opened to a balcony that was enclosed in a clear dome. There were bedrooms on either side of the common area. A fully stocked minibar offered a selection of the finest liquor. There was a couch, a coffee table, a few chairs, and a large screen display. Max figured she wasn't going to spend much time watching TV, but it was nice to have.

  "Which bedroom do you want?" Max asked.

  "I have no preference. They should both be the same."

  Max stowed her gear in the aft bedroom, and Winston tossed his baggage in the opposite room. They met back in the common area and stepped onto the balcony, taking in the view of the cosmos. They were on the port side of the ship, facing Lyra Station. Once they pulled away from the terminal, Max was sure the balcony would offer a stunning view of the cosmos.

  Max was a little surprised to find that the tension and stress of life was beginning to dissipate already. Now that she was aboard the ship, there was nothing else to consider. There were no bad guys to chase. There were no murders to solve. There was no threat to her well-being. She was just along for the ride until they arrived at Andromeda Station. She might as well enjoy herself.

  The minibar had been calling her name since the moment she stepped into the compartment. She ambled over and perused the selection of liquor. She found her favorite Antarian whiskey, Bulvacci Special Reserve. "We are definitely traveling in style," she said, fiendishly eying the amber liquid.

  "I made a special request when I booked the reservations,” Winston said.

  "You done good, kid."

  "I'm glad the accommodations meet with your approval."

  "You know what? I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a bad idea after all." Max poured the whiskey into a glass, then lifted it in the air, toasting Winston. He didn't drink, but he lifted his hand in spirit. “To good times with good friends."

  "Here, here!”

  Max brought the glass to her plush lips and tilted it back. The smooth whiskey flowed over her tongue and slipped down her throat, warming her belly. It was the finest liquor in the galaxy, and Max appreciated every ounce of it.

  Back in the departure terminal, two men dressed in Cygnus Supply Service uniforms loaded crates of supplies onto the ship through the service entrance. The supply officer looked over the manifest, then studied their credentials. He motioned for them to bring the crates on board. The Celestial Voyager typically restocked at every port. The passengers would go through a huge amount of food and beverage on a daily basis. Star-Line had contracted with CSS as their vendor of choice for nearly all of their supplies. Cygnus was the largest supplier of service related items in the galaxy. You couldn’t step into a restaurant or bar that didn’t get some of their service items from CSS.

  The two men pushed the crates through the corridors on hover dollies, twisting their way through the maze of passageways until they reached the galley. A supply coordinator guided them into the storage area and instructed them where to store the crates. He was almost giddy at the prospect of receiving the supplies. "I sure hope you've got beef tenderloin? We're almost out. We’re out of eggs too, and this clientele doesn’t go for the synthetic shit.”

  The men began unloading the crates stacking them in the storage area.

  The service coordinator looked over the packing slips, hoping to find what he was looking for. His eyes lit up with glee when he saw that one of the containers did indeed contain beef tenderloin. He began to unlatch the top of the container.

  The two CSS men exchanged a wary glance. It was easy to see they weren’t thrilled about the service coordinator opening the crate.

  The service coordinator pulled off the lid and looked inside. His eyes went wide at the sight of several automatic weapons and plasma grenades. "What the hell is—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the two men had pulled out pistols fitted with suppressors. They looked like old-school 9 mm handguns. The fat suppressors stared the service coordinator in the face. He swallowed hard, and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  7

  Zip!

  Zip!

  The two CSS guys squeezed the triggers. Muzzle flash lit up the compartment. The guns barely made a sound. Smoke wafted from the barrels as two bullets zipped across the compartment, splattering into the service coordinator's brain.

  The impact made two small holes in the man's forehead. Two small dots that oozed blood. The exit wounds blew out a chunk of the man's skull, splattering a pinkish-grey mix of brain, blood, and bone fragments against the bulkhead. The service coordinator collapsed to the deck. Blood pooled around him, and his head looked like a watermelon that had been dropped out of a two story building.

  "Shit!" one of the service guys said. He stared at the mess on the deck, then his eyes nervously flicked to the entrance hatch. He commanded his partner to, "Secure the hatch!”

  His partner dashed to the entryway, mashed a button on the bulkhead, and a hatch to the storage compartment slid shut.

  "This is just fucking great. Now we gotta clean this shit up."

  At the vault, the CSO placed his hand on the scanner and identified himself by name. After a few moments, a soothing AI voice said, “Access granted.”

  The heavy composite alloy door slid open revealing the impenetrable compartment.

  The vault’s AI unit was completely separate from the rest of the ship’s systems. It used a combination of biometric features to verify access credentials. Fingerprints, facial recognition, voiceprint analysis and other biometric data. The door and walls to the vault were several feet thick. They were blast and heat resistant. Not even a plasma torch, or the incendiary liquid gel S9, could burn through it. Several titanium rods interlocked the door and the frame, making an impenetrable barrier.

  Inside the vault there were safe boxes of various sizes, each of which could be bio-metrically programmed for a specific passenger.

  The CSO motioned for Vanderbilt to step inside. "Please, take your pick of the safe deposit boxes. Anything with a green indicator is unoccupied."

  Vanderbilt chose box 777. It was large enough to accommodate the aluminum briefcase. There was no need to transfer the contents. What was in the briefcase would remain a mystery, much to the chagrin of the CSO. After all the hubbub, he wanted to see the item that was so valuable.

  Vanderbilt put the case in the unit and sealed it shut. He pla
ced his hand on the scanner pad and a small camera embedded in the faceplate captured his image.

  The automated voice said, “Please state your name and date of birth. Speak slowly and clearly.”

  Vanderbilt did as requested.

  "Thank you for your deposit. Your item is secure.”

  Despite the state-of-the-art security measures, the CSO could see that Vanderbilt was still a little uneasy. Taylor forced a reassuring smile. "Have no worries. This vault is the most secure place in the galaxy."

  "For your sake, I hope so," Vanderbilt said. He made a subtle gesture to one of his bodyguards who scanned the hallway, making sure it was safe for Vanderbilt to exit the vault.

  The guard stepped into the corridor, and Vanderbilt slipped out, followed by a second bodyguard. He waited in the hall as the CSO exited and sealed the vault.

  "Vault secure," the automated voice said.

  The door rumbled shut with a thunderous clank that reverberated through the ship.

  “A 20 megaton blast couldn't put a dent in this door,” Mitch said.

  "Thank you, Mr. Taylor. I can assure you, if we reach our destination intact, there will be a healthy bonus for you."

  The CSO smiled. "Not necessary, but always appreciated."

  Without another word, Vanderbilt spun around and headed toward his stateroom.

  The CSO's grin faded. He hated guys like Vanderbilt. Working for Star-Line he had dealt with his fair share of rich assholes.

  Max tied the top of her bikini and glanced in the mirror, making sure everything was just as it should be. She smiled again. Damn she looked good, and she knew it. She strolled out of her bedroom and into the common area where Winston was waiting. He was wearing swim trunks with a loud pattern.

  Max arched a curious eyebrow at him.

  "Do you like my swimsuit?"