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Flag codes, pretty much anything was allowed.
    Treven slipped to the side as the tube shook hard, and he grabbed onto one of the handholds. “Alright, boys, we’re breaching now.”
    The tube was designed to bore through the hull of a disabled freighter, providing a route for boarders to move in and seize the ship. Once the diamond-edged iridium cutting blades had penetrated the hull, a series of jets released a foam substance that quickly expanded and hardened around the new connection, maintaining or restoring atmospheric integrity.
    Treven checked his carbine, making sure the cartridge was firmly in place. It was the third time he’d done it, but he didn’t intend to end up dead because he’d been careless before a fight.
    The tube shook again as it pushed forward. A few seconds later the red warning light flashed. Then the hatch dropped and the first two rows of pirates swarmed onboard the freighter. An instant later Treven heard gunfire. He saw one of his people drop to the deck…then another. Then a dozen of his pirates opened up in response, riddling the three shooters with automatic fire.
    Treven sighed. There were two types of freighter crews. The first type—which accounted for about ninety percent of them—panicked at the thought of battle, thinking of nothing but surrendering or fleeing to an escape pod. Then there was the other kind, the ones with a good captain and a lot of esprit de corps, and probably more than one naval vet scattered around.
    Now he knew which kind he was facing.
     
    *  *  *  *  *
     
    Marne slipped down the corridor, moving quickly but carefully, paying attention to every sound. Deep down, he knew his ship was taken, that his crew didn’t have a chance to fight off the invaders. Freighters ran on a far different business model than pirates, one that required keeping costs down. No cargo run paid as well as piracy, and no transport vessel could support a pirate’s armament and crew size.
    Carlyle was strong as freighters went, powerful enough to chase off most small raiders. But this attacker was tougher than most, a big ship that almost certainly carried three or four times the crew Carlyle did. The laser cannons had been Carlyle’s best chance to repel the attacker, but the enemy ship had fired back with her own larger turrets, knocking out Marne’s big guns before finishing off Carlyle’s engines and defenses with her needlers. Marne would never surrender, but once the laser cannons went down, he knew the fight was hopeless.
    “Let’s go. Down to the cargo hold. We’ll have solid cover in there, and a good field of fire as they approach.” He gestured forward, turning for an instant, as if to confirm the five crewmembers he’d been leading were still with him. They didn’t have anywhere else to go, not really, but Marne knew fear worked in bizarre ways sometimes. He half expected them all to bolt for the escape pods.
    If they do, they’ll just get gunned down by the pirates. No one attacking this shipment is going to let anybody escape, and they all know that. But that doesn’t mean they won’t run for it anyway.
    He stopped abruptly at an intersection, peering cautiously around the corner. Then he pulled a small ‘pad from his belt. The main AI was tracking the invaders using the scanners and cameras situated around the ship.
    Good, he thought. They haven’t gotten this far yet. We’ll have time to set up a strong position .
    Good job, Cal . His first mate had taken command of the forward defenses. Durham wasn’t military, but Marne was sure his exec would fight to the end.
    Which will be soon. The men defending the boarding point will be the first to die. He sighed. Most of them are probably dead already . He knew he could check, his ‘pad would have updated data available. But he slipped it back in the pouch on his belt. He didn’t want to know.
    He turned toward his men and nodded. Then he swung around the corner—if he’d missed any enemies down the