PATOR SYSTEM

He scrambled down the corridor in pursuit, his heavy suit slowing him down. There were only two more hallway junctions until their quarry eluded them, securing himself in his hangar, escaping into space.

They had already broken into two teams, the ground team, which he was part of, and the flight team, which wouldn’t have systems operational on their combat shuttle for another five minutes. 

Five minutes was way too long when in pursuit of a capsuleer.

Daul sucked recycled air into his burning lungs, his helmet filtering out any potential toxins, and continued storming down the hallway after Deschaines.

Roland Deschaines was a con artist. The sad thing was, he didn’t do anything deemed illegal by Concord. He simply sold mislabelled items; Stabbers as Republic Fleet Stabbers, etc, etc. It was profitable, immoral, and perfectly legal.

The up side was that as a member of Roc’s Renegades, they could apprehend Deschaines under the pretense of military crimes; Concord wouldn’t interfere with that. Everything was supposed to have gone smoothly.

They were a three member team. Their squad commander had posed as a potential buyer of Deschaines fraudulent wares, and had loitered insystem until Deschaines finally approached him with an offer. Having agreed upon a price, they had docked at a nearby station to complete the transaction.

They had secreted into the station upon docking, keeping a safe distance from their team lead, whom was wearing more appropriate clothing for the role he was acting. He couldn’t exactly be seen as a legitimate pilot/businessman walking around in a heavy suit. The bulky armour was resistant to most military grade weapons, and was lab tested to even be able to withstand a minor frigate blast, though Daul wasn’t anxious to field test that.

Roland had wanted to meet on the station’s promenade. It was smart really; someplace public gave him all the advantages. Still, today was his last day of running scams. He had scammed Colonel Wieler just over a month ago, and the Colonel didn’t take kindly to it. Upon contacting Deschaines, Roland just shrugged it off as “making a living”. It was obvious he didn’t know whom he had crossed.

They had watched from the shadows as the two met, engaged in smalltalk, then finally got down to business. It was quick and to the point. Deschaines was obviously the type of man that enjoyed not being in one place too long.

Deschaines produced a mobile transaction unit, the kind any legitimate business would have, and the pseudo pilot processed his end of the transaction, using one of Colonel Wieler’s accounts. Roland then transmitted the deed for the bogus ship. The two men shook hands, the support team’s cue to get ready.

Their team lead didn’t release his grip of the other man’s hand, producing handcuffs from seemingly nowhere and slapping them across the other man’s wrist, locking it in place.

Deschaines’ eyes widened in terror and he yanked against the handcuff, only to find its mate attached to the wrist of the team lead, a sturdy built man. Roland wasn’t going anywhere.

That was when things started going downhill.

Deschaines’ demeanour changed, his face contorting into one of savagery, as he drove his forehead into the nose of the team lead. He followed this up quickly by driving his elbow down across the other man’s arm while kicking his knee, dropping him to the ground, stunned. Daul and the other man in the heavy suit bolted from their cover, assault rifles locked and loaded.

The crowd on the promenade was quickly stirring into a panic, dispersing in random directions, making things that much more difficult. Daul was unable to get a clean line of fire on Deschaines, whom had dropped to his knee over the unconscious form of the team lead. 

Daul pushed through the panicked crowd, shouldering and elbowing his way closer to his team lead. Every moment they were out of sight was one moment too long. Each second stretched, Daul’s chest tightening with dread. He had only been part of Colonel Wieler’s team for a few weeks, but was giving it everything he had, learning more than he ever thought possible in his previous life.

The crowd broke, and he was standing over the unconscious form of his team lead. The man’s forearm was cleanly cut in two, blood spilling across the promenade floor. Daul quickly checked for a pulse; there was none. 

“Team lead down. Need medical evac now! No eyes on target. I repeat, no eyes on target. We’ve lost him!” Daul spoke hurredly into his helmet’s comm unit. 

“Notifying station security of potential murder suspect. See if you can pick up his trail, Halwick. The Colonel will be pissed if we blow this.” his other team mate replied.

Daul scanned the floor for the easiest trail, the blood from the stump of his team lead. He scanned around him in all directions, not finding any droplets of the life giving fluid. “Shit!” Daul thought to himself. “What the fuck is going on?” He ran in a random direction for a few meters, scanning for signs of Deschaines. He had lost him, with no inclination of how to find him.

“He’s gone, Burrick.” Daul said through his comms. “I’m going to the upper level of the promenade. I might be able to see better from there.”

“Roger that.” The other man replied. “I’ve engaged station security. They’re using medical scans now for accelerated heart rate, etc, but with the crowd panic, it’s pinging too many results. I’ll keep you posted. Head back to the ship and report.”

Daul Halwick headed back to their docking bay to report their failure, and worst, the loss of one of their team, to Colonel Wieler. 

Several minutes later and he was close to where they had docked. He turned a corner, nearly stumbling over a man he recognized; a man with a bagged and bloody stump hanging from a handcuff attached to his arm. 

Daul’s eyes went wide. He hesistated. Roland did not, turning and running like a man possessed, disappearing around a corner. Daul gathered himself and raced after Deschaines.

He scrambled down the corridor in pursuit, his heavy suit slowing him down. There were only two more hallway junctions until their quarry eluded them, securing himself in his hangar, escaping into space. 

“I’ve got him!” Daul screamed into his helmet comms. “Lock onto my signal and bring me some backup!” His armour clad feet clanged heavily against the floor as he kept running down the hall after Deschaines.

As he turned the last junction, he could see the secured hangar access door opening, Deschaines moments from escape.

Daul dropped to one knee, and took aim. His voice was amplified by a built in megaphone in the heavy suit. 

“Roland Deschaines. Freeze where you are. You’re coming with me.”

Deschaines didn’t break his stride. Daul was not a law enforcement officer. Daul wasn’t going to warn him again. Daul opened fire with his assault rifle.

High yield projectiles littered the hallway, peppering Deschaines legs, shearing them almost clean off slightly above the knees. He dropped like a sack of wet meat, screaming in pain.

“Target acquired and in need of medical attention.” Daul said, a slight hint of triumph in his voice. He stood and approached Deschaines, his weapon still trained on him, wary of any more surprises.

“My legs!” Deschaines screamed in agony. “You shot my fucking legs! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You fuck!”

Daul opened a pack at his waist, and pulled out some lengths of nano elastic. He secured it to what remained of Roland’s leg, watching as the elastic pulled tight, creating an effective tourniquet until the medical team arrived.

Roland yelled in further pain, prompting Daul to dig an emergency sedative from his kit and inject it into Deschaines. 

The man cursed and grumbled for another few moments, then succumbed to forced sleep.

Daul allowed himself to smile at the man. “Sweet dreams, bitch. Enjoy them while you can. When you’re awake, the first thing you’re going to see is Colonel Wieler.”