The mile-long Imperial Planetary Dominator Isosceles moved in a stable geosynchronous orbit around the planet Ratatouille. Suns-light glinted off its sleek, angular hull, picking out the hundreds of laser cannon turrets and missile launch tubes which bristled along its perimeter. Huge and menacing, and as triangular in shape as its name suggested, the IPD Isosceles was undoubtedly a military vessel.
In the underbelly of the beast, a much smaller ship was docked securely within one of three cavernous bays. Scarred and seared by multiple laser blasts, her hull breached in several places, the CSS Botanical Bayou had clearly seen better days. It took but a glance at the multiple weapons which were still trained upon her, and the shimmer of the two attractor beams which locked her firmly into place, to see that she was a captive of the massive IPD Isosceles, and not its guest.
Aboard the Botanical Bayou, the smoke-filled corridors echoed with the heavy tromp of boot-clad feet. Armoured and helmeted Shock Troopers, anonymous and faceless, their combat armour a neutral shade of gunmetal grey, moved in small squads throughout the captured ship. The battle was over, the crew having resisted valiantly but in vain against the finest warrior force of the Imperium. The mission now was 'Search and Capture'; sweeping the ship for any stray passengers or crew who had managed to elude the initial attacking forces.
"Upper deck secured. Repeat, upper deck secured."
Sergeant Samson 'Mauler' Strong keyed the communicator in his combat helmet. "Acknowledged, Raptor One. Team Badger proceeding to deck two via aft port stairwell." Deck two was primarily crew quarters, food, and recreation.
"Copy that, Badger One. Raptor One out."
Sergeant Strong listened for a few seconds as, one by one, each of the other four teams checked in and reported their status. Teams Ferret and Ocelot covered the other two stairwells between the two main decks which ran the full length of the ship—the Botanical Bayou, barely four hundred feet in length, was not large enough to require an extensive elevator system. Team Mongoose had split up to search the warren of equipment which filled the engine room. Team Fennec had once again—the third time in as many weeks—drawn the short straw, and were rummaging around through the ship's waste disposal system.
"Okay squad," grunted the Sergeant, his voice electronically distorted by the circuitry of his helmet, "let's get this done. Jenkins, take point."
With a nod, Izzy 'Killer' Jenkins hefted the compact, ugly shape of her Gemini Mk-III Vaporiser and took the lead, moving with a well honed blend of confidence and caution. She moved rapidly down the narrow stairwell and, once clear of its confines, stepped to the left. The corridor before her was deserted. Several doors opened off it, and lazy drifts of blue smoke curled slowly in the still air. She moved forward several paces, feeling a little exposed under the bright glare of the ceiling-mounted light panels. She swung the barrel of her weapon to cover the nearest doorway.
She keyed the squad channel open. "Clear."
Sergeant Strong appeared at the bottom of the stairs and stepped right. He advanced a little, covering the next doorway beyond Jenkins. Hugging the wall, Jenkins slid forward until she was directly beside the first doorway.
"Three," she broadcast. "Two."
On "One," Jenkins turned past the doorway, took in the room beyond with a single glance, and flattened herself against the wall on the far side of the doorway. After a moment of silence she peered back into the room, taking a longer look. The cabin appeared to be empty.
She glanced back past the Sarge. The other two members of the squad had joined them in the corridor. "Empty," she stated flatly, and moved on towards the next doorway.
As Strong followed her past the first doorway, he jabbed a finger at Mikhail 'Mikki the Mouse' Tetrakovavonavich and indicated the room. Mikki, leading with his weapon, stepped lightly into the room and conducted a quick but thorough search: closet, bunks, drawers. Nobody and nothing. He performed a final electronic sweep, looking for any storage device which may contain useful intelligence data, then rejoined his team-mates in the corridor.
Mauler and Killer had already moved on past the second doorway. As Mikki moved to join them, the fourth member of Team Badger appeared in the doorway and shook his helmeted head. Nothing.
"Hey, Fib, what's going on here anyway?" asked Mikki in a low voice. "'Search this ship.' 'Sweep that ship.' Who or what are we expecting to find?"
All his friends called Fib 'Fib' because it rolled off the tongue slightly more smoothly than 'Eff Bee'. There was some debate amongst the squads of Raptor Command as to what the initials actually stood for. Some of them, for reasons best known to themselves, called him 'Fluffy Bunny'; many called him 'Fuckin' Brutal.' A couple of them referred to him as 'Fairy Boy', but never to his face. Fib himself swore that he had been lumbered with the unlikely and unfortunate name of 'Fellatio Brown'; all agreed with a grin and a nod that, as names go, and as Fib delighted in repeating, "Fellatio really sucks!"
"Beats me," said Fib. "You know they never tell us anything beyond 'kill 'em all' or 'bring 'em in alive'!"
"Yeah," grumbled Mikki. "Bloody officers, never..."
"Can the chatter, guys!" came the Sarge's voice over the squad channel. "We're still soldiers, and we've got a job to do."
"Yes Sarge," said both men.
Slowly, methodically, the squad continued their sweep. Room by room they worked their way up the corridor until they reached the closed pair of double doors at the end. All the sleeping quarters were empty, and the only storage devices they located were a couple of portable music players which they collected for further analysis by Imperial Intelligence.
At the closed doors, Killer Jenkins stopped. She brought up the blueprints of the ship on the inside of her helmet's right eye-screen, and cross-referenced them with the feed from her weapon's scanner.
"Hydroponics," she said, "and I'm reading movement inside."
"Anyone we know?" asked Strong. He switched to the Command channel. "Badger One to Ferret One, please confirm your location."
"Ferret One to Badger One, we're in the galley. No contact."
"Copy that, Ferret One. Ocelot One, where are your team? Are you anywhere near Hydroponics?"
"That's a negative, Badger One. We're just past the main lounge. What you got, Sammy?"
"Possible contact." He turned to Jenkins, and she raised a single finger. "One confirmed. Nothing we can't handle."
"Roger that, Badger One. Watch your back. See you in twenty!"
"Confirmed, Ocelot One. Twenty."
He switched back to the local channel. With a nod to Jenkins, he switched his blaster to a one-handed grip and pressed his other hand flat against the door. Jenkins did likewise, and Mikki and Fib moved into position behind them, against opposite walls.
"On three. One. Two." As he said "Three" they pushed the doors inwards and surged into the room, stepping away from the doorway, weapons panning. The hydroponics chamber was a large square space, dimly lit, filled with stainless steel troughs and tubes and vessels. And, of course, plants; green leafy vegetables filled most of the troughs. The air in here was cool and damp, and the circulation fans kept it moving. Everywhere they looked, leaves trembled and waved in the artificial breeze.
There were a thousand places for someone to hide.
"Hey Jenkins."
"Yo, Sarge?"
"Any other exits?"
There was a pause as she double-checked the schematic. "One more door, far wall. But—it goes nowhere. Control room of some kind; monitoring equipment mostly. No way out."
"Okay," said Sergeant Strong. "Mikki."
"Sarge?"
"Cover this door. Nobody gets out but us!"
"Not a problem, Sarge!" Mikki hunkered down beside the doorway.
"Fib, you go left. Jenkins, you take the right. I'll go up the centre." He waited for the two troopers to acknowledge the orders. "And I know I don't have to tell you, but watch your fire, people. Check your targets."
"Don't worry, Sarge!" said Fib. "The day I shoot you, it won't be no accident."
"Fuck you, Fib," snarled Strong. Behind his face-mask, he grinned. "Let's move out."
The only sound being picked up by his helmet's microphones was the soft susurrus of the leaves, punctuated by the occasional plink of dripping water. Samson Strong checked the motion sensor feed, but got nothing useful—while the sensors had their uses, they were notoriously unreliable, and more than one trooper had gotten his head blown off because he fell into the trap of depending too heavily upon his equipment. In close quarters such as this, every leafy rustle and every movement of his weapon got translated into signal, and the sensors' own compensation circuits muted all data.
He moved cautiously forward in a crouch, one row at a time, checking each as he passed it. No sign of anyone.
"Jenkins? Got anything?" he said softly into the comm.
"Negative. No contact," her voice crackled in his ear.
"Fib?"
"Well, Sarge, I got myself an itchy nose—but no sign of movement."
"When we get back, I'll scratch your nose with my boot."
"Gee, would you, Sarge?" Fib responded. "That'd be great."
Step forward, look right. Step forward, look left. Strong continued his sweep.
Suddenly movement caught his eye at the far end of one of the gaps between two hydroponics troughs. He snapped his gun around, finger tensing on the trigger, then eased up. Even before the targeting reticle in his heads-up display flashed red, he recognised the dark grey armour of an Imperial Shock Trooper. He waved briefly, and Fib waved back.
Step forward, look left.
"Over here, Sarge. I've got a..."
There was a flurry of motion, a flash of blaster fire, and the loud clatter of an armoured body falling to the deck. Strong was up and moving in an instant.
"Man down," he hissed. "Talk to me, Jenkins. How you doing, girl?"
He rounded a corner, took in the scene, and responded all in an instant. The fallen Trooper; the slender woman in white, the blaster gripped firmly in her small hands seeming so incongruous, slipping back around one of the large water tanks; the sudden flash of blue light as his own blaster, set to Maximum Stun, discharged and the armed civilian slumped bonelessly to the deck...
"Nice shooting, Sarge," said Jenkins. "I'm fine; armour took most of it." She writhed for a few seconds, and then Fib was there, hand extended, helping her back onto her feet. Sarge turned, checking all the approaches. Nothing else moved.
"What's happening, guys?" Mikki's voice filled the dead air on the squad channel.
"One contact down. No casualties," Jenkins informed him. But she winced as she moved.
Strong kicked the fallen blaster away, then leaned down over the supine form of the woman in white. Woman? Little more than a girl! Cute ass though! She was unconscious, but still breathing strongly. "She'll be okay," he muttered.
He keyed the Command channel. "Badger One to Raptor One."
"Raptor One. Report, Badger One."
"Badger One. Contact, one civilian. Inform Lord Vapour we have a prisoner."
"Roger, Badger One. We'll send a collection team down to your current position. Wait for them to arrive, and then continue your sweep."
"Acknowledged, Raptor One. Badger One out." The sergeant turned his attention back to his team. "Are you okay to continue, Jenkins?"
"Sure, Sarge." She rotated one arm, working out the kinks. "Little stiff, that's all. Suit has already given me a dose of healant." She paused. Then, with a hint of venom, she spat: "Damn bitch got off a lucky shot, is all."
"Sure she did, Killer," said Fib. "Happens to the best of us."
"Screw you, Fib."
Fib leered at her, although the effect was mostly lost behind the face-plate of his combat helmet. "Oh baby! Any time, anywhere!"
"Okay, that's enough. If you ladies are done playing, perhaps we can get back to work?" Strong keyed the comm again. "Mikki."
"Sarge?"
"Watch your six. Raptor is sending down a team to collect our prisoner here. Hold your position, and send them in when they arrive."
"Roger that, Sarge."
Each thinking their own thoughts, the squad settled down to wait for the prisoner extraction team to arrive.