Trajectory, Systems Control area...

"Alright everyone, listen up! We've got Insurgents inbound, and about two minutes before we're up to our necks in Veritraxes and about two hundred AM23's ripping through our hull! Our fighters need time to deploy, our point-defences need targeting solutions for those incoming missiles! Route all standby power reserves to the chemical thrusters, we're gonna need maneuvreing speed to keep the Trajectory ahead of those bastards until our PDs are online and tracking! Bypass the cutoffs if you have to, and route any excess power into the gravity grid! We don't want Zee-Gee pockets appearing as we take damage!" - Annike Rand began barking orders as soon as she stepped into SysCon at a dead run... and into a hive of barely-controller chaos, as battle klaxons blared, and people rushed in every conceivable direction.

She never even had time to throw on her uniform, after her meeting with the captain in the Scapperia.

A chorus of affirmatives came from various points in the semi-chaotic chamber.

"Ma'am, there's no way we can--" - one of the duty officers began, just as the comm unit on the wall chirped, cutting him off: "SysCon, this is TacOps, we NEED approach vectors on those fighters! Yesterday!" - the XO's harried-sounding voice echoed from the unit.

Rand grimaced.

"Yes sir, we'll have targeting solutions computed in a moment! SysCon out." - she shouted in the general direction of the comm unit, before pinning the duty officer with a glare.

"It's in your career's best interest not to finish that sentence, Ensign. Override the cutoffs, and fire up the lateral sensor array for a broad-spectrum sweep. Feed in the likely approach vectors, and let the computer do it's magic. It won't have enough time to do a full spatial trajectory plotting, but we don't need it. They're already within visual scan range, enough for a 70-so percentage acquisition chance. I want actionable targeting data sent to the bridge in ONE minute, and approach vectors fed to our point-defence grid in 30 seconds! Got it?" - the woman hissed, eyes unblinkingly on the officer. Despite her lack of uniform, her expression commanded authority.

"Yes, ma'am." - he bit his lip, turning his attention to the console in front of him, fingers flying over the buttons.

"Or it's ALL our asses." - she added in a growl, rushing past to her own duty station.

***

Trajectory's main hangar bay...

"ALL PILOTS TO THEIR FIGHTERS! REPEAT, ALL PILOTS, BOARD YOUR FIGHTERS! YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO BOARD AND DEPLOY! Attack vectors and target priority to be fed to your TacScan computers after deployment! Squadrons Alpha and Beta to begin prelaunch maneuvreing immediately, Squadrons Gamma and Delta, get up to standby! Launch harness crews, begin powerup sequence and prepare to receive the first wing for release!" - the launch officer's urgent tone echoed across the wide chamber, as a mass of pilots sprinted in full gear, to their assigned fighters.

The Trajectory carried a complement of sixty Azrael-class space-superiority fighters, or five squadrons. While individually, an Azrael-class fighter was a superior machine to the Insurgents' mainstray, the ageing Veritrax-class, at least when it came to weapons complement, targeting array, and armour plating, it lacked speed and maneuvrability, as it was not designed for rapid response.

Realistically, they would have time to deploy two squadrons at most, twenty-four fighters, before the enemy was onto them. The latest count, from TacOps, was that seven Insurgent squadrons in total were on their way, with the first three to be in attack range in one minute. The proximity to the Trajectory would help, as the battlecruisers' point-defences would be taking up a lot of slack in keeping enemy fighters off their tails during launch - but they would be overwhelmed before long, since their main purpose was interception of inbound enemy missiles.

The pilots knew this. The squadron commanders knew this. But they also knew that if they didn't launch, there would be nothing standing between the Trajectory and oblivion. The battlecruiser's PD's could only do so much. This was never supposed to be a combat assignment. If it were, the battlecruiser would have been accompanied by a wing of six gunships, and possibly a frigate or two for support. The smaller warships would be ranging out even now, acting as pickets to corral the enemy attackers along predictable vectors and pick them off, with the Trajectory's fighter screen plugging the holes, while the Trajectory herself could focus fully on annihilating the enemy's bigger assets, safe from retribution to it's vulnerable areas. The ship was designed to slug it out in an extended range, big gun duel with other big ships or fortified installations. This meant heavy armour plating at the front and around the main weapon ports, facing forward, and triple-redundant, reinforced main power grid to prevent any brownouts. But being surrounded and stabbed to death by a hundred fighters looking for weak points - that was not where she shined.

***

TacOps deck, and the Bridge...

"Sir! We're up to point-two-two sublight! Beginning defensive maneuvreing." - the ship's nav officer reported crisply, her voice echoing slightly from the far front end of the bridge. The background whine of the ship's engines was slowly, but surely, amplifying.

"Take us around the planet, parabolic course! Keep the attackers coming from just the rear and upper quadrants... they won't risk dipping into the atmosphere to flank us from below." - Reventon Alzer barked back, not even looking, his eyes still on the TacView display on his command terminal, where approach vectors and targeting data was beginning to pour in.

He allowed himself a slight smile - SysCon was on the ball on this one. He made a mental note to write up a commendation for Lieutenant Rand, if they survived this. And also a slight feeling of vindication. Like her, he knew that there were those aboard ship, that viewed her advancement as less-then-merit based. Even if none dared to express those insinuations to his face. But her department's performance during this crisis would go a long way towards silencing those voices.

"Alpha is out... vectoring to engage the lead enemy squadron. No losses. Beta is deploying now sir... but we've got attackers making a run! They'll slot-in on their tails as they deploy, and we can't spare point defences to deter, too many missiles inbound!" - the XO voiced his concern, intently gazing at his own screen, off to the side.

Alzer scowled. Take a few body-blows, or lose half the squadron as it deploys? He never liked making a choice between two bad options. But bad options were about all he had to work with, here.

"Thirty-five degrees port-jaw rotation! Bring our strongest armoured rear quadrant to face those missiles! Focus PD's in that area, all the others are to cover Beta as it deploys!" - he snapped.

As the ship began making the turn, the XO scowled as well. "Won't be enough, sir. We'll take damage. And it'll kill some of our forward momentum, letting the rest catch up sooner." - quietly.

"I know." - Alzer growled. "Better hope those fighters earn their pay tonight. And six or so, more of them surviving past the first ten seconds, could make the difference. Even if it means we take a few more holes in us."

The ship shuddered slightly, as the first missiles got past, and began scoring hits. The first of the damage-reports began scrolling across the bottom most part of the screen, on a live feed from SysOps. Nothing serious, for the moment. Relays blown out on the lower decks, hull damage, some explosive decompression - sealed off, a couple of casualties... but Alzer knew this was just the beginning.

"Beta is out, sir! No losses! Our PD's took out four fighters off their lead squadron, the rest are peeling off to regroup! Alpha is on their tail, Beta is moving to flank!" - the flight officer reported a dozen seconds later. Reventon allowed himself another slight smile. He bought them the time they needed. Now they better use it well, since this maneuvre also lost them a good twenty-seconds worth of lead, on the enemy's main attacking force - his smile vanishing again.

"Belay that! Alpha is to pursue but not beyond the outer radius of our PD's range, Beta is to establish a perimeter to our rear. Focus on shooting those missiles down. I don't care about their fighters, beyond them staying off us until our own fighters launch! We can't be distracted by insects buzzing around." - he instructed the flight officer, who nodded, relaying the new orders.

The ship shuddered some more, as a couple more AM23's squeaked-past the point defence net. Alzer's eyes flicked over the damage reports. Still no serious damage. Yet.

"Gamma Squad about to begin deployment! Delta and Epsilon on hot standby! TTD - three minutes." - the officer added.

Three minutes. At the rate the Insurgent Gunships and five more fighter squadrons were closing... Alzer knew they didn't have three minutes. And the Trajectory couldn't outrun them, or outmaneuvre them. So far, sticking to the planet's upper atmosphere was forcing the enemy to take a slightly more circuitous vector, since their smaller ships were more affected by atmospheric friction... but they were still gaining on the Trajectory. Slowly, but surely.

"Sir, what's the plan? If we turn and make a stand, we're toast, we'll be flanked and spanked. We might get a gunship or two, but the rest will just bypass and hit us from the flanks. If we keep running, they'll catch up and shoot our engines out from under us. Same result. We can't make the transition to lightspeed this close to the system. And we can't keep leading 'em on a chase around the planet... sooner or later they'll grow a brain stem and figure it out, then just pincer us from two sides, as they send half their force around the other side and cut us off." - the XO murmured in his ear, approaching to stand behind the command chair.

Reventon smirked.

"There's the thing. If they split up, they won't be one force anymore. They'll be two forces of half size. Three gunships and support each, if they split equally, which is the only thing that makes sense for them, without leaving one pincer weaker then the other. And we can handle three gunships. We blow-through the flanking half of them, without dropping speed to face the pursuing half, either destroy or disable the gunships, then make a break for the lightspeed marker. Assuming our engines remain functional. If not... we dip into the atmosphere, or head deeper into the system, to take cover within the asteroid cloud we picked up during our preliminary scans on approach."

"Assuming they didn't mine it. Rock-clouds are a perfect minefield-to-be places. Or that they don't have more assets in-system." - the XO pointed out uneasily, mulling over the options.

"If they do, it'll probably only be stationary emplacements. We can work around those. You don't take on a Deliverance-class battlecruiser like the Trajectory, with anything less then everything you got that can fly." - Alzer was confident. Or appearing so, anyway. It was important for a captain to maintain a confident facade for his crew, no matter what personal misgivings he might have had.

***

Trajectory, Decks 27 thru 29, Marine Operations Control

Unlike the command and system ops staff up there making snap-decisions that could mean the difference between life and death for all 1,324 - and draining - souls aboard, there really wasn't much to do, for the ship's Marine complement, during the opening dozen minutes. Oh, they could feel it... the ship shuddering and buckling under them, as it absorbed missile after missile. A couple of those happened to strike the lower decks, claiming a dozen of their number so far, killed right in their bunkrooms, to explosive decompressions.

The Marines took it all in stride, behind discipline and professional detachment. But one must have only looked in their eyes, to see the suppressed, controlled rage simmering there. Already organised into fire teams, armed, armoured, and hungry for combat, steel-wire muscled bodies hardened into lethal killing machines, through a dozen years of Marine Corps training. Each of them a perfectly cut, interlocking crystal of a killer, with supreme loyalty to their comrades, and the Conglomerate.

They knew that the enemy would try to board. They were briefed as much, but even without the briefing, each of them knew how Insurgents operated. And a ship like the Trajectory was quite a prize to gobble up, from the Conglomerate. Their enemy was always on the prowl for capital-sized vessels to add to their ever-growing fleet. And without large shipyards under their control, the only way they could get them, was by capturing.

Which is why it came as no surprise, when the distinctive tone of an intruder-alert klaxon began to blare throughout the hallways, accompanied by the Captain's announcement:

"We've been boarded! Seven breaching bods, several dozen Insurgent militia, decks eleven through eighteen! More incoming! MOC, deploy and annihilate, locations to be updated to your sargeants in real time. Non-combat staff, retrieve your sidearms and initiate containment protocols in your respective sectors."

As the Marines deployed quickly and efficiently, a computer monotone continued to update...

-All turboshafts on lockdown. Repeating: all turboshafts on lockdown. Systems Control, Navigation Control, and Environmental Operations secure. Tactical Operations and Bridge, secure. Main hangar bay, not secure. This report will update in T-minus one minute.-

"Shit! They wanna keep the rest of our fighters from deploying! Move out, use the service tunnels. We'll hit them as they breach the hangar!" - the sargeant barked, as the multiple fire teams began advancing via different service pathways. They knew the ship inside and out, and the Trajectory's internal layout was designed, in part, to allow the ship's Marine contingent to get to anywhere they need to get, quickly, even with the turboshafts offline. At the same time, the intruders likely only knew the official blueprints they could download from the Conglomerate's public database, which left a lot out.

Or so they assumed...

***

Deck 15, main hangar access anteroom

A dozen bodies littered the deck, of the officers and enlistees on duty at the moment the Insurgent boarding party breached the doors. Blast and char marks bearing mute testimony to the ferocity of the Insurgents' attack. The rebels took no prisoners, and any crewman wounded was quickly dispatched by a shot to the head. A dozen Insurgents strong were now occupying the anteroom, with several dozens more spread throughout the deck.

"Sealed. Now what the fuck we gonna do?! We can't be here when the Marines show up!" - one of the Insurgent boarders, a sturdily built, scarred middle-aged woman, exclaimed, banging her fist on the heavy blast door to the hangar, in frustration. "That's where our new friend comes in." - a large, intricately tattooed, bearded man in patchwork armoured uniform interjected calmly, turning to a youngish man in Conglomerate pilot's uniform.

Ron Skitt.

The traitor's face registered no emotion, at the sight of his former crewmates strewn about across the floor, dead. All he did was nod.

"Damn straight. Get me an ingress line to the main computer, and I can flood the service vents with Tythanine gas from the ship's chem storage. Suffocate those meatheads. Just be sure we're in a sealed area so there's no spillage." - in a ruthless tone.

The bearded man looked impressed.

"Ya know, from your communiques, I got the feelin' you didn't like your shipmates much. But I didn't think you'd sell 'em out so totally." - motioning the man to a console, to do his magic.

Skitt shot him a glare.

"What's there to like? Bunch of immoral, greedy corporate pawns. The fact they don't see the Conglomerate for what it is, makes 'em no better then rats! Taking paychecks, while letting the Board drain Earth and the colonies of everything, for the benefit of it's members. And what's worse... making territorial concessions to xenos, in exchange for trade deals." - using an Earther slang term for alien species. "You know I was born on Arsekia II?" - he growled hatefully.

The bearded man nodded, understanding. Several other Insurgents looked at each other.

"Before they ceded it, eh? Was your family there?" - the scarred woman put in, with about as much empathy as the hardened Insurgent could muster.

"Yeah. Yeah they were. Never even got to say goodbye. Next thing I know... Conglomerate newsnet comes on, with a report on an Erellian slave op taking place in Arsekia system. Those corpo bastards SOLD OUT eleven thousand colonists, to Erellian slaver filth. My folks, and my sister included." - Skitt snarled, fingers flying over the console.

"Collateral. They called it. A trade deal. Necessary sacrifice, for the greater prosperity of mankind." - his snarl turning deadly. Then he glanced back.

"Done! We better seal this anteroom, this whole deck's gonna be flooded with Tyth in a minute or so. And it ain't gonna be a quick death." - his snarl turned into a gleeful chuckle.

"Ye heard the man! Get word out to all of our guys on this deck, to hunker down somewhere and hold their breath!" - the bearded man chuckled back, coming over to clap Skitt on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the Insurgency, lad. We got a big job ahead of us, but gettin' this beaut'll be a step in the right direction."

Skitt said nothing, but his eyes flashed. For his part, he also had a personal score to settle. Annike Rand. He never got over their breakup. And her prostituting herself to that Conglomerate brute up on the bridge, for career advancement... he felt his fist clench. He... cared for her. Even loved her, though he'd never professed it as such. And in return, she dumped him, for his 'lack of ambition', and shacked up with the enemy. He always... assumed... she knew how he felt about the Conglomerate, deep down. After all, she knew he was born on Arsekia. She knew what happened there. He always kind of assumed he'd be able to... quietly... influence her to switch sides with him, when the time came.

He just never could find the right way to broach the subject, while they were together. And she seemed so... eager... for her career plans. But now it was too late. She was in bed with the enemy - LITERALLY - and any feelings he had for her, vanished months ago, when he discovered her whoring herself to Alzer.

She was just like the rest of them. Out for herself, and her own advancement. And like the rest of them, she'd pay the price.

THE END

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