There was no particular point in Rick preparing. Holding onto the support railing just in case, he concentrated on the present, on completing the task, downplaying everything secondary. His free hand rested on the hilt of his Verpine destroyer.
He was politely pushed behind the backs of others – two squads took up positions at the very exit, the rest positioned themselves immediately behind them.
The ship shook again.
"They're fast," someone muttered.
"Once is not a count," the leader of the Zabrak squad grinned toothily. The hit did not bother the group. A few more seconds, and in the cargo hold, they heard:
"On the count of "five". One. Two..."
On the count of "five," the cargo hold door opened, releasing the landing party.
Fire billowed into the open passage – a torpedo hit a transport standing by the bulkhead, and it exploded. The explosion blew apart part of the deck and bulkheads. The ship had not yet stopped, it was being carried through the hangar, turning its nose towards the exit.
The Zabrak went first. Their quartet jumped onto the deck, immediately rolling behind the wreckage of the exploded transport. Then the Elder's trio followed.
"Go!" Rick heard.
Rick drew his destroyer and moved after the Elder, carefully monitoring the situation. The helmet's capabilities greatly expanded a person's perception, allowing, firstly, to control a larger field of view, and secondly, not to notice smoke and other obstructions. Moving after the detachment towards the terminal, he primarily looked for targets that held heavy or unfamiliar weapons, or were aiming at the detachment. From such, he could expect big problems. Those holding light blasters, he considered last.
Among the targets, several were found stunned – judging by their unsteady movements, the wreckage of a turret on the deck – it was destroyed by the transport, and a courier, who had not been hit by the explosion, unexpectedly swayed on its repulsors.
The stunned ones were immediately dealt with by the Zabrak. The ship menacingly moved towards the mercenaries who had scattered around the hangar.
Fighting a courier... Rick had heard of the "Nova," and had even considered buying one, but the high cost of the ship and parts had completely discouraged him. And here... If it had a full combat load, the entire operation would go down the drain now. He needed to find cover, firing three shots at the cockpit's blister, hoping that the ones taking off had not yet activated the kinetic shield, and that the mass driver projectile would penetrate the transparisteel.
The courier retaliated with a single shot at the bulkhead and flew almost to the hangar ceiling. Shooting at it now would mean being left without his own transport. Falien did not wait for the situation to get out of control and hurried to leave the station. The courier rushed after him. He did not linger to deal with the transport and began to accelerate for the jump.
It became quiet in the hangar.
Sparks of anger flashed in Rick's eyes, which he instantly suppressed, darting towards the terminal, still looking around. He would have a word with someone about this incident. Because, if there were their own people on the "Nova"... And he had something more powerful… A lack of information could negatively affect the ship.
The terminal greeted the smuggler with dead silence. Even a superficial inspection clearly showed that the explosions had nothing to do with it – someone had ripped out the power conduits. And judging by the layers of dust on the power conduits themselves, this had happened not today and not yesterday.
Rick knelt down, studying the scale of the destruction. Why would someone want to commit this act of vandalism? It took ten seconds. Then he brought up the tech sector map on the screen.
"Someone deliberately de-energized the terminal. Restoration will take five to fifteen minutes," he reported via the communication system.
"about the same amount of time will be needed to storm the main control center. Time is on our side, but you are the Elder."
For some reason, the ripped-out power conduits suggested that someone was deliberately inviting them to visit the technical sector. It all smelled like a trap for those who would try to storm the station.
"A lot can happen here in fifteen minutes…" The Elder paused for a few seconds, then began to give instructions. The Zabrak changed positions, taking control of the breach. One of the mercenaries jammed the door to the residential sector elevator.
"Get to work."
The guy had started working even while the Elder was thinking. A ripped-out power conduit was a fairly common damage. But… He didn't have half of the repair equipment that needed to be used. If the terminal were in the workshop, he would have put everything back in place in about fifty seconds. Opening the panel under which the power supply unit was located, he began to work.
When attempting to rip out a power conduit with meat, which usually happens due to forgetfulness or carelessness, various predictions could have been made before. Before – that was about a hundred years ago. After some scandal in the Senate, manufacturers were obliged to specifically create stress concentration points along which the rupture occurred. He himself learned this fact after comparing, about eight years ago, about six or seven terminals with the same malfunction. Armed with a knife, a multitool, and a low-power cutter, he cut off a piece of the power conduit and began to install the stub in its place. When it was installed, albeit clumsily at first glance, Rick began to connect the wires one by one, carefully, so as not to get an extra "jolt of energy" on his suit. When the last wire was connected, he looked at the terminal.
The terminal flickered. Went out. Flickered again. And displayed the logo of the industrial company on the screen.
There was a loud thud in the elevator shaft. The door bent outward, then was ripped from its hinges.
"Those nasty ones," he muttered, connecting his deck to the connector and opening the terminal's functionality. He had to put his weapon on the terminal; the guy needed both hands to open the system. It took a few seconds – to redirect control from the terminal to the deck, and from there the hacker could work without being fully exposed, hiding behind the terminal. The "Destroyer" was put back in its holster, Rick knelt down, taking the deck and using the control panel as cover. In fact, it was no longer needed. Having access from the deck, he didn't have to worry if someone blew up the control panel.
Get to the server, try the main weak points of defense, find a working one, push the system, and cut off access to those who were in the tech sector. This was where the main part of the time was needed. Time when he had to be absolutely concentrated and attentive.
"I shouldn't be disturbed now," he said into the communication channel to the Elder and began hacking.
He received no answer – it was taken into account. A quiet click, and a cottony silence in his headphones – Rick was disconnected from the general channel.
Meanwhile, a small war broke out in the hangar. A detonator fell out of the mangled shaft. It was sent back into the shaft with a precise kick. Judging by the explosion that occurred below the deck, the fuse was on a timer. They didn't wait for the next gift and sealed the shaft with a glob.
Someone tried to climb out of the breach, but was immediately taken down by the horned mercenaries.
Usually, hacking a system is a technical task determined by certain factors. But hacking a system with a deck and on your knees is more of a creative task than a technical one, or more precisely, a fusion of the two. When technical knowledge is turned inside out so that the picture in your head refuses to be perceived as a coherent series of facts, bound by analysis and calculation. A lot depends on luck and the system's resistance. Fortunately, no one designs these stations with their capture in mind. Stamped mass production does not involve high levels of protection simply because there is no point in breaking it.
Rick didn't need to hide his actions; he immediately attacked the server, bombarding it with so many requests that it couldn't process them all. Only a single quiet packet of information was supposed to penetrate, which, in the wave of the attack, was not even perceived as a threat. Meanwhile, the attack overloaded the power, and the server went into a reboot, during which that very packet surfaced, stripping all terminals except this one of administrator rights.
Information began to flow into the deck, all that was available on supplies, personnel, camera readings, fortified positions. All of this was in direct access in his hands. All that remained was to take and use it. The fight didn't concern him; only the sense of danger remained, so that in the event of a real threat, he could get out of the line of fire.
The first thing Rick did after downloading the reports was to check the elevator status. He could give the defenders an unpleasant surprise.
The shaft was practically torn apart by the explosion. Power supply had ceased.
The cameras were not working. Two turrets on the upper level were working. One was aiming at the elevator exit, the second – at the door in the bulkhead. In the room behind the door were people, about two dozen. On the station plan, this place was listed as a sports hall. There were two in the cabins. Several dozen more moved randomly on the levels.
Transferring data from the deck directly to the tactical display in his helmet, Rick, bypassing the security protocols, applied increased voltage to the turrets, turning them into a useless pile of metal and completely blocking the door to the gym. If these were hostages – so that they wouldn't get hurt. If not – so that it would be easier to deal with them.
After that, he connected to the channel:
"I'm online," he said dryly.
"the main enemy forces are on the residential levels. Five in the tech sector. Hostages, according to the data, are in the sports hall. Two in the cabins. Two turrets, I've neutralized them."
He also launched several programs. He didn't need full control in case of disconnection, but observation – yes. This could be done quietly and without leaving traces.
"Understood, received," came the reply.
"Jay, downstairs. Monroe, with me. Roy, the ladder."
The mercenaries moved. One quartet dived into the breach, the Zabrak squad took care of the emergency entrance. Slightly opening the door to the fire escape, they made sure there were no tripwires, and began to ascend, covering each other.
Blocking the deck, the guy left it lying near the terminal, re-armed himself with the "Destroyer" and quickly headed for the Elder.
"We're waiting," the mercenary said quietly, looking expectantly upwards. Soon, clicks sounded in his headphones.
"And now we go..."
And he dived into the emergency corridor first.
Rick followed the Elder, emerging from the emergency opening and immediately taking in the surrounding space. There were several corpses and a Zabrak around, and even without empathy, it was clear that he was very angry about something. Checking the map, he began to look for other enemies on the map. From the side, it seemed that the guy was looking at the Zabrak, however, the pistol was aimed at the nearest passage.
There was movement in the locked compartment. There were no cameras there either, only thermal sensors, as throughout the station.
On the lower levels, only four points were moving now, heading up to the hangar.
On the upper…
Three marks just around the corridor turn were motionless. The Zabrak headed towards them almost at a run. About a dozen were approaching from the other side. Several more were doing something in the shaft clogged with glop.
And four were circling to the left.
"Got grenades?" the synthesizer deliberately turned Rick's voice into a mechanical one, he addressed the Elder.
"There's a dozen coming from that side, and another four from the left corridor."
"We have everything," the mercenary reassured him. He sent two of his squad to support the horned quartet, and he himself, with Rick, headed to intercept the flanking maneuver.
"I'll distract, you shoot."
A short nod, and Rick gripped the pistol with both hands for comfort and confidence. Four targets, forty-seven rounds. A piece of cake.
Already accustomed to immersing himself in the Force, he expanded his control over what was happening and prepared to shoot.
The Elder moved towards the corridor turn with a light trot. With a wave, he indicated the right side to Rick, positioning himself on the left, more easily visible side, and crouched, looking for targets. The helmet's visor reliably showed the smuggler how the enemy was approaching – cautiously, stealthily, covering each other – but doing it somewhat nervously.
The Force, combined with the armor systems, gave a complete picture of what was happening. The counter knew exactly when and where the first enemy would appear, and if the Elder had not taken the most visible side… He could have shot the second one first, and then the first one who peeked around the corner. But this way, he prepared to hit the first target that came around the corner, immediately switching to the second.
The Elder leaned out a little further, fired, and immediately jumped back. Shots rang out from around the corner, and flashes from bolts bloomed on the bulkhead. Then the pirates appeared.
One crouched, aiming at the Elder, the second stood to the side, covering him.
The guy didn't have time to thoroughly recall the entire Hutt lineage, so he carefully drove a "Destroyer" charge between the eyes of the one aiming at the Elder, and then made a similarly careful hole in the head of the second attacker, and prepared to change position if necessary.
Two bodies on the floor caused a hail of fire – completely safe for the fighters holed up around the corner. At this moment, the visor transmitted new information. Somehow, three people emerged from the closed room. Now they were entering from the rear, firing randomly at the pirates.
"The hostages have come out," Rick said to the Elder.
"these need to be finished. Cover me."
He felt no joy from the event. Whoever had come out, they had bypassed the security system, which meant they were not stupid. But he doubted they had protection against a heavy blaster. Unfastening one of the spare power cells from its mount, he did what was strictly forbidden: he short-circuited it, using the armor's servomechanism. In a couple of seconds, there would be an overload and a small, but loud special effect. Throwing it around the corner, the counter concentrated. He needed a very short period of time to shoot two people. But during this time, he had to be sure that he wouldn't be shot. The fright from the object under his feet was quite suitable for this.
The answer was a loud stomp, receding down the corridor. Rick rushed there, dropping to one knee and fired two more shots after them, so that the bullet would not accidentally hit the fugitives, but would certainly kill the opponents. Shooting at fleeing people was new for the guy, but he had no problems with it.
The pirates jostled each other on the run, and he managed to hit only one – who had pushed his partner out of the way and out of the line of fire at the wrong time. The second one flew around the corner, and the clatter of boots on the metal deck immediately died down.
Rick put the destroyer back in his holster, took out the IR-5, and then addressed the Elder.
"These are hostages, and they have weapons, I'll try to negotiate," he said, taking the weapon in both hands and heading towards them, raising the station's databases on the fly, searching for information about the face that appeared from around the corner. From there, meanwhile, came:
"Hey, don't shoot. We were held captive here. We knocked out the one who ran away."
"No one, really," Hailan doubted.
"And the emergency manual opening? This is just a normal room, not a prison. The designers had to provide a way to leave it in an emergency. And now is the time."
"This is remote control," the captain explained.
"Someone got to the..."
He didn't finish, straining his ears so as not to miss the approach to the doors.
"This function is provided in case of depressurization," the first mate finished for him.
The captain hissed.
Shooting was heard again. A little louder and a little closer.
"And if there are people in spacesuits left in a depressurized compartment? Have your ship's engineer check, just in case. It's clear that the situation is a bit unusual. And it's good if the local security service is storming them. But what if it's other pirates? And out of the fire and into the frying pan?"
"I could hack the lock, but I'd need at least a deck," someone replied. Possibly the mentioned ship's engineer.
"And they stripped us clean as a boiled shrimp..."