CHAPTER ONE
The star burned a deep abyssal blue. It had a name but no one cared. The system was a ponderous place. A place of little value. Without resources, development was nonexistent. It was visited only because it was on the way to places that were worthwhile.
Belts of rock drifted. Rocks of stone, iron, and just enough nickel to make a miner dream. The remnants of dreams littered the system. Abandoned mining platforms, drone probes, even a refinery. All testaments to failure.
Mao Chen was not interested in failure. But it seemed quite interested in him.
“Dammit,” he whispered.
His mind kept playing the conversation he would have with his family. The family who invested everything in his shipping operation. The family who would be left with nothing. Well, not nothing, just a cargohold filled with goods that no one would want besides the Harmony Worlds or a newly founded colony.
Across the room, his nephew, Wei, squatted next to a battered console. “Shit, junk!”
“I thought you were good at this?” Mao asked.
“I am, this is just—” He stopped and hissed. “Shit!” Wei looked up to his uncle. Rings grew under his eyes like an eighty year-old man.
“Enough!” Mao said.
Wei glared across the room. He straightened himself out and plopped down. The chair was a relic of an age before gravity generators. An age when straps were necessary. He settled himself in and crossed his arms across his chest. “You said—”
“I said if you fix it. If it’s not fixed, nothing.”
Wei leaned forward and sighed. Above him the displays flickered and blinked. Seemingly at random the screens would shatter into a wall of white static. Only the center of the screens was visible—the edges and corners blurred with two generations of wiping and accumulated grime.
Mao would have cast him out if he wasn’t family. He was cheap—of that, he was thankful. But he was an addict—of that, he was not.
“Hey?” Mao held out a slender data packet with an orange stencil of a garish girl on the side.
Wei perked up. His eyes squinted. “Season seven, episode nine, I’ve got it.”
“Here?” Mao dangled it from side to side.
Wei licked his lips. “No.”
“Then fix it!” Mao screamed across the bridge. “See? Greed is good. It motivates you.”
The screen leveled out before Wei could try again. The flickering disappeared. Mao hissed at his nephew and studied the display.
Halfway across the system the rest of the convoy was burning towards Earth. Or, at least, in the same direction. A line of comms requests was scattered on another screen. They all said the same thing in different words. Hurry up, we’re not waiting.
“Look! You cheap bastard, they blinked. Greed is good you say. I told you,” Wei yelled through a screwdriver crimped in his brown teeth.
Mao waved him off. “How was I supposed to know? We saved fuel on the way out.”
“You’ll get us killed, they’ll come from behind and slit our throats because you’re too damned cheap.”
Mao ignored him and sat up in the chair. His ship, the Greater Prosperity of the Rising Ocean, was on a gentle fuel saving plot. It’d take longer, much longer, but it was also much less expensive. Every time they blinked, it cut five percent from his profits.
The screen danced and settled.
“Hey, hey! Don’t touch!” Mao yelled.
“Give it to me. It’s working, right? Give it to me?” Wei backed away from the console.
“Gah.” Mao tossed the chip across the bridge and sent it ricocheting down the slender hall.
Wei chased after with the look of glee only an addict could wear. He disappeared down a hallway along the spine of the freighter. Cargo locks dotted the way. The ship was surrounded with wedge-shaped containers with a Haydn drive on one end.
The ship groaned as gravity generators compensated for Wei. With every step, more generators fired and surged new stresses. Alloy bent, steel moaned, and the weight settled.
Mao cringed. He could picture the fuel rods burning away like a candle guttering in the wind.
The screen flickered. Mao prayed. A new message appeared. His reed thin fingers danced on the yellowed console. “Shit, bastards,” Mao whispered.
The message was a simple set of blink coordinates. They were effectively abandoning them. He could catch up, if he wasn’t flying in an ancient relic patched together with dreams and prayers.
It all started so well, he thought. A contact in the Harmony Worlds followed by a trading voucher. The other merchants looked down on him in their fancy ships. All he’d need was one run. One run to buy that fancy ship, fire his nephew, pay off his family and he was on his own.
Instead, the war started. Two blinks out and the scattered remnants of the UC fleet told the story. The Harmony Worlds had dealt a deadly blow. So much for my tax dollars, he thought.
He felt lucky that the Hun—god, he hated that word—hit the planets first and let them flee. Why bother with a ship when an entire world was open to plunder?
The metallic groans stopped. The reactor settled back into the same groove it had occupied for a century and a half. Mao pulled out a small tablet and started to plot his way home.
Digits danced on his mind, and not kilometers, but dollars. With every blink, he winced. Not only would he lose money getting back to Earth, but also travelling out once more to sell. He groaned. The profit kept falling.
Mao’s stomach started to roll. Anything that reduced the profit had a tendency to make him ill.
The screen flickered and settled once more. A horizontal gray line burned a bar across the center of the nav display. A white dot appeared in the middle.
Mao squinted and laid the tablet down with a trembling hand. It was a blink signature. A blink almost on top of the convoy.
“Wei!” Mao boomed. “You useless son of a goat! Get up here!”
A second white dot appeared. The green icons of the convoy hovered and continued moving. They were at a point where they could only burn forward, burn back, or blink to a celestial even farther away from safety.
Groans echoed from the hull as the gravity generators announced Wei’s passage. The addict stood with relaxed eyes and a dazed look on his face.
“Warm the Haydn up,” Mao said.
Wei rolled his eyes. The rings around his eyes were gone but the tension of an addict remained. “Can it wait?”
Mao pointed.
Wei followed Mao’s fingers. His face drooped as his jaw hung down. He turned and scurried down the corridor.
The groan of the hull announced Wei’s departure back to where the Haydn drive resided. The groans spread even faster than before.
The white dots turned to red. The convoy data stream updated the newcomers: Harmony World raiders. Light corvettes blinked in and were approaching the convoy. He didn’t expect a message warning him—the stream of information was more than enough. He knew the ships across the system had enough troubles that they weren’t worried about him.
His orbit slung them out and away from the hostilities. The red icons burned closer to the rest of the convoy. Burning away from him. He was watching dead men. His heart skipped a beat and he felt the doom of bad luck. He was as superstitious as he needed to be.
The light from the ships was nearly thirty minutes old. In less than thirty minutes the red icons would reach the green of the convoy. The fancy ships filled with fancy goods wielded no weapons.
A gray faced speaker crackled on the bulkhead. “One hour.”
Mao stood slowly. He set the tablet down onto the wood paneled table and began to pace. His knees popped with each step. He pondered the course he was on. He ignored the fact that there was a battle going on. Quite one-sided, of that he was sure. If anything, it bought him time, and time was what he needed. If he used the Haydn, they’d see it, but where would it take him? He was still inside the system, maybe a few astronomical units.
Icons winked out and were replaced with question marks. Finally the last icon disappeared and the pair of hostile icons dimmed. The display showed the last bits of data. Zero acceleration. Vector and velocity matched the wrecks. The raiders were pacing with the wrecks.
Below him the paint on the open strip of bridge was worn away, showing the glint of steel. Real steel, not alloy. Someone else had paced the same place. Mao felt a connection to the past. More of a connection to some long dead Captain than to the dead souls half a solar system away. It bothered him for a split second. Then he saw how he would survive where they wouldn’t.
Open communications crackled. Men called for help. Men pleaded, begged, cried. Then silence.
He felt particularly lucky. If he had blinked with the rest, he’d be dead. He was running silent, still, with hardly a blip from his reactor. The only way they’d find him was if they went active and scanned for him.
The thought of the dead men didn’t bother him. He was sure they’d not shed any tears for an old Chinese trader if the roles were reversed.
The groan in the hull announced Wei’s return.
“Well?”
“We continue on,” Mao said.
Wei looked back with wide eyes. A nervous tic fired in his cheek.
“Look.” Mao nodded to the display.
The display flickered and pulsed. The icons were gray question marks showing last known positions.
“We need to blink,” Wei said.
“We’ll do nothing.”
“You fool!”
“If we blink, they will see and follow. Be patient, you idiot.”
Wei ran his hands over his oily face and moaned.
“Anyway, they are busy,” Mao said. “Greed, my nephew, greed delivered us. They are too busy looting to worry about this poor ship. Being frugal saved us: they never even knew we were here.”
Wei sat down hard and watched his uncle smile a thin smile. The old man looked back up to the screen and saw the same thing that was happening across a dozen solar systems.
Generations of deprivation suddenly erupted.
CHAPTER TWO
––––––––
Lieutenant William Grace stepped out of the transport and sucked in the recycled air of the shipyard. For two months he’d paced and watched space pass by. One blink after the next brought him closer to Earth. Closer to his first command. Closer to a planet that wasn’t his own. The lights in the hall were too bright, too close, like carbon arcing in the darkness.
It wasn’t the open spaces of a real station. Or, god forbid, an actual planet. He’d visited Earth on the last trip and found it claustrophobic. The raw crush of humanity was almost too much. He’d seen the requisite sites. Tampa crater was blossoming into a tourist locale, all with polite images to the tragedy that really did create ocean front property in Florida.
Montreal, where he was raised, still felt the same. He passed that trip just walking the streets and staring into windows that were old centuries before. He’d heard Paris was nice, but Montreal was always in his heart.
Home. It hit him and he felt a tug in his heart. Farshore, burned, gone. He suddenly felt lonely. It was an odd feeling, the Navy had seemed to be a good fit for a man with no roots. Now though, he wanted something more. He wanted a ship of his own, a place to call home.
A stocky Marine Lieutenant pushed past and stomped down the passage. William watched him go and felt the sadness replaced by anger. He’d not gotten along with the bullheaded son-of-a-bitch. Few things worse than a disagreeable shipmate.
The rift was widening between those born on Earth and those from elsewhere. He’d had his fill of glances, insinuations, and outright snubs.
He slung his small bag over his shoulder, looped his dress jacket over the other shoulder, and walked slowly out of the airlock. He’d have enough time to grab a quick bite.
At the end of the hall a slender passage was filled with personnel. Naval uniforms blended with Marine armor with an occasional civilian. The air smelled of crushed stone and a hint of resin.
William’s stomach rumbled. Ever since the starship crash on Redmond, he’d been unable to stop eating. His hands drifted down and patted the expanding bulge that was his stomach. Then he patted his bag: protein bars, a wheat biscuit, two packets of strawberry jam, and a slightly funky piece of yeast protein. He needed to make sure. Starvation was always on his mind.
A ding sounded that his tablet had connected to the local data stream. He pulled it out and saw the command ping. The message was simple: report to Admiral Sanjhi. He thought for a second and shrugged. Just another Admiral he didn’t know.
He passed through the crush and found a VeggieBit stand. He nommed a quick bite of noodles and saturated vegetables. Topped off and full, he dabbed a wet spot off his uniform and made his way to the Naval quarter.
The entire station looked like it was carved out of an unwilling asteroid. Gantries and passages linked dark nodules of iron and chondrite. The walls were spackled in light gray foam. A chill seemed to creep everywhere like a frigid winter day.
He found the core of the Naval section and passed in slowly. Men and women rushed away from the main assembly area. William’s eyes darted to the Marines standing at rapt attention. An anxious feeling rose in his full stomach.
“Marine?” William asked in a low voice. “What’s going on?”
The Marine cleared his throat and pressed himself tighter against the wall. He looked across the passage to the other Marine. “Clear?”
The opposite Marine snuck a glance and nodded.
“The Admirals are at it again,” the Marine said.
“At what?” William asked. Again?
Loud voices and shouts boomed from the passage. The Marines snapped even tighter to the walls and looked forward. William wanted nothing more than to turn around and come back later. But orders were orders.
He shouldered his bag and walked through the portal. The passages, still rough from cutters and grinders, were almost totally empty. Closed doors and unlit spaces bracketed the passage.
A wide area opened before him. An area filled with more Admirals than he’d ever seen in one spot. They scowled and glared at each other. They stood in three groups. One group stood against a rough carved wall, another group off to the side, with a third group holding the center of the room.
He turned and looked behind him. On one hand he wanted to run, find a place where he could get a nanite patch and zone out. On the other, he wanted to watch...and his orders did require him to report.
William saw Admiral “Gruffalo” Dover, posturing in the middle of the room. The man was intimidating when he was friendly, William couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end. Behind him a dozen Admirals stood.
Opposite from him paced Admiral Hollins, known for giving the recorded speech that every cadet watched upon receiving a commission. In the recording his face was paternal, warm, welcoming.
Admiral Hollins snarled and spat onto the floor. “You have your orders, now follow them!”
“I’ll be damned, you son-of-a-bitch,” the Gruffalo said.
William looked up and saw other spectators on a mezzanine. Commanders, Captains, Lieutenants and officers of other flavors watched as if spectators at an arena.
“Going to run us out? Push! Push, you weasel!” Admiral Dover stepped closer, his hands balled into fists.
Admiral Hollins crossed his arms. His eyes snapped up and took in the crowd. A cautious look spread across his face. “Resign.”
Admiral Dover stopped. Neither man said a word. Stillness settled across the hall as if there was not a molecule of atmosphere to transmit sound. Both Admirals were locked in the moment.
William looked from one to the other. Who was bluffing? He’d seen posturing before, dancing around the bulls. But this was something else, it wasn’t jockeying for command or even a promotion. This was something beyond insubordination. Hollins had left an out for Dover—the Gruffalo could walk. But at what price?
Admiral Dover’s shoulders dropped and his body relaxed. The fight drifted away in the silence. He turned and glanced to the others behind him. Wooden faces stared back.
“I resign,” the Gruffalo said in a low voice, barely a whisper.
William felt a chill run through him. A dozen Admirals? Resigning? Then it dawned on him: the Admirals standing with the Gruffalo were all born off Earth.
Memories of his last Captain came back to him. Khan, a bigot who despised him because he wasn’t born on Earth. She implied that he’d not stand with Earth but join with the attacking Colonists. It still pained him to think of it. He bore the scars of where she’d shot him for disobeying an order. Later he’d take possession of her ship after she lost it to the Sa’Ami. Then his crew held the Sa’Ami, held them against all odds... And now it was all falling apart.
Now it was happening again, except now it was Flag Officers.
Admiral Dover turned and walked through the crowd. Pain was etched across his face. Sweat ran down his cheeks and stained the collar on his working uniform, the steel gray cloth turned black.
He passed William and looked up in surprise. A look of shame spread across his face as he dropped his eyes and walked down the passage. Behind him the dozen Admirals he stood with repeated the same words: “I resign.” Each walked out silently.
Admiral Hollins watched. His face had a surprised look, like he’d bluffed a hand of cards and still lost the pot. He glanced up and noticed the crowd. The surprise drifted away and was replaced by a calm professionalism of a man who’d made a decision.
William watched Admiral Hollins walk out. The room had the feel of a boxing ring. Of a bout where it ended in a technical knockout in the second round. No one wanted to leave, still expecting the fighters to keep going. Voices drummed up and the crowd dispersed. Marines walked back into the room and took up posts.
He stood in stunned silence. It took a moment to process what he’d just seen. The faces he saw were all men and women who’d served a lifetime in the name of the colonies, not just Earth. And now they were being tossed aside. He felt cut loose, adrift from everything he’d ever believed in.
*
The officer he reported to was a chubby Commander with cheeks perched on his face like peaches. He smiled and squinted at William. “Sit, Lieutenant, sit!” His voice was friendly. A bowl of orange rock candy was on the desk.
The room was tight and raw. No one had bothered to come through and add any coating to the walls. It, like the rest of the area, had the feel of a coal mine turned into a cheap hotel. The only decoration was a picture frame with a cracked corner. Inside was a picture of a beach stretching to nowhere. William recognized the photo, it was from the paradise colony Haven.
“Admiral Sahji will be here shortly, he had to meet with Admiral Hollins,” the Commander said. “Have you been through the yard?”
“No sir, I just arrived from Bosporus.” William eyed the candy.
The Commander’s eyes widened. He leaned in closer and glanced out the door. “Is it true?”
William smirked. “I’m uh, I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” He wasn’t sure what was open knowledge and what was rumor. He knew couriers had arrived before he did, but didn’t want to spread rumors.
The Commander leaned back and smiled slyly. “I’ll wait for the Admiral, but was there really a Queen?”
William tried not to laugh. A gossip? “No, no, I don’t think so. I didn’t think they were a monarchy.”
“Well, who knows, right? You send someone off into the stars and god forbid what sort of habits they’ll pick up in a few generations.”
William smiled back and nodded. The conversation was taking a turn somewhere he didn’t want to go. Not after watching a pack of Admirals resign. His desire for the orange candy soured.
He drummed his fingers on his pants and watched out the door. The Commander peered back to his console and made small talk. Every time he leaned back, his chair crunched against the milling lines in the floor. Crunch. Shift. Crunch. Shift.
William thought of the voyage. He had a data packet from Admiral Mesman with a glowing recommendation. He recognized the glaring hole from his previous Captain on the letter. Did Mesman send something else with the couriers? Would he be relegated to supervising docking operations or some such useless task? The very thought made him nervous.
“Sit, sit!” Admiral Sahji said before he even entered the room. William snapped out of his daydreams and realized he hadn’t been paying much attention to the Commander.
“Mr. Grace.” Admiral Sahji shook his hand. He straightened himself out and sighed. “Damned dirty business this is.” He looked around for a chair and, upon not finding one, stepped out into the hall with apologies flowing behind him. He returned with a gray plastic box and sat upon it with a wink.
William looked over the Admiral and wondered where he stood. He didn’t recall seeing him with either of the three parties. Nor did he know anything about him.
“Ahh, well, what do you think of our little hole in the wall?”
“A bit more spacious than the ride back, sir,” William said.
Admiral Sahji smiled at the Commander. “Can you call up the sheet please?”
The Commander turned to the console with another crunch. One wall lit up and a display cast upon it. The entire view was rough as the light played out across the tool marks. On it a schematic floated for a ship William had never seen before.
“This will be your new command, Lieutenant,” Admiral Sahji said proudly. “I’ve been working with Core on this. It’s a no frills warship. It’s not a colony tender. All our ships in the past had to fulfill dual roles. Not this one.”
William looked to the Admiral and back to the screen. The ship on the wall was ugly. Even accounting for the distortion in the raw tool marks. The body wasn’t plates, or even cast alloy, but a rumble of stone, like concrete.
“We use an asteroid for a shell, bind it with nanite, burrow out the insides, and then add what we need. Fairly substantial savings on material, but most importantly time too.” Admiral Sahji looked around the room and nodded, smiling. “I bet it will look something like this room.”
William managed a polite smile.
The Commander leaned towards William and sounded slightly embarrassed. “We haven’t actually finished them yet, Lieutenant.”
“But they’re almost done! Very soon.” Admiral Sahji said. He turned his eyes back to the screen and looked at the rock potato on the wall. He seemed like the proud parent of the ugliest baby on the block.
“How long, Admiral?” William asked.
Admiral Sahji tore his gaze from the screen and looked back to William. “Soon.”
“Soon?”
“Soon,” the Commander said.
“So uh, what can you tell me about them, Admiral?” William asked. Both the Admiral and the Commander seemed pleased just to admire something that was finally leaping out of the computer and into space.
“Quad batteries of Gracelle mass drivers. Single keel mount railgun, probe launcher, and two missile launchers. K142 Haydn drive, a zero point three percent efficiency boost.” The Admiral nodded to the Commander with a smile. “Hmm, crew quarters for a dozen, and supplies enough for a four month tour.”
“Four months?” William spat out.
For the first time in the conversation, the Admiral squirmed in his seat. Glances were exchanged once more. Pleasant smiles returned. William looked between the two with his mouth slightly agape.
“Four months is barely enough time to travel to the frontier, let alone back,” William said. “I’ll need a resupply ship following just to get anywhere and remain on station.”
He peered closer at the print. Shared crew quarters, no paneling, zero amenities. It had a bare minimum of gravity systems—even the grav shield complement was low. The passages between occupied areas were zero-gravity. It was everything a warship needed to be and nothing more.
“Here is your data packet with the crew list,” Admiral Sahji said quickly, as if eager to change the subject. “Things are a bit tight at the moment. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have another Captain to brief.”
The pair stood and moved to the door, leading William out.
“What’s her name?” William asked.
“Who?” the Commander asked.
William looked at the print on the wall. “The ship.”
Admiral Sahji shrugged. “I’m not sure, they’re Ganges Class pocket cruisers, you’ll have to speak with the Admiral about the naming convention.”
“Thank you, sir,” William said. The two men shook his hand and wished him well. He walked on the rough floor and scanned the tablet in his hands. The complete ship specifications was listed along with his crew manifest.
A dozen. A dozen crew. He could hardly believe it. Barely enough to make a decent watch. The ship would have an XO, a junior officer, three maintenance personnel, three Engineers and three Marines. Sweet Jesus, he thought. A second glance showed that two of the Marines doubled as cooks. He keyed the next tab and saw his crew.
The first bit of good news came when he saw Huron’s name, the ship’s Engineer from his last tour. When he’d last seen him, Huron was arguing physics with other Engineers on the way back. The wounds he suffered in the Bosporus system were mostly healed.
A few of the names were filled, but most were blank. His orders were to report to the shipyard the following day and see the actual ship. The schematic he stared at was generic enough to show basic details. As he gaged the mass, he saw that it had only a small additive cell. It was as far away from self-supported as a ship could be.
Materials would be tight. They’d also have to spread crews out for the biggest bang. The Malta, his last command, barely had the same spread of weaponry. As he saw it the ship, had the frame of a yacht with the weaponry of a frigate. They were mass producing and maximizing assets. He liked that, but it would take some getting used to.
The mission was simple enough, an escort job there and back to the Winterthur system. The map showed it in the absolute middle of nowhere, the very edge of colonized space. He searched for more details but found nothing else. He shrugged and kept browsing the tablet.
“Mr. Grace?” a female voice chirped.
“Yes?” he said, startled.
An olive-skinned female Lieutenant stood before him with a crisp smile. On one of her cheeks she wore a nanite tattoo that shifted between colors in a simulated sunset. She was stocky on the shoulders with legs like a dancer. Her brown hair was tied back into a ball tight enough to crack a window. “I’m Lieutenant Ali Shay, your XO.”
William glanced around. “Walk with me, Lieutenant.”
The pair moved through the passage in silence and finally exited past the pair of sentinel Marines. Neither one looked any happier, just a bit more weary. When William finally stepped into the larger corridor, he pointed to a storage area and sat down on a stout crate.
“What the hell is going on?” William ran his fingers through his hair and looked up to Ali. “I walked into a dozen flag Admirals resigning.”
She looked around with soft eyes and leaned against a large shipping container. “There’s been some disagreements.”
“Disagreements be damned, I thought they’d pull out pistols and duel. What is it about?”
“Rumor is, the UC only wants an Earth-born command staff. They were running the others into nonessential tasks.”
William shook his head and looked down. Not this again. The time when they’d need every bit of force and expertise and there was a rift. They couldn’t afford it, not now.
“What news from the Hun front?” William asked.
Ali shook her head. “I don’t know, there’s been nothing back yet.”
William nodded and looked around. The last he’d heard, the UC was sending out fleets to both sides of space. One side to defend against a possible Sa’Ami invasion and the other against the Harmony Worlds. He’d already tangled with the Harmony Worlds fleeing Redmond and the Sa’Ami at Bosporus. It was almost a guarantee there’d be a fight that way.
“And from the Sa’Ami front?” William asked.
Ali cocked her head. “You were there?”
“Humor me.”
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Nothing official yet.”
“Unofficially?”
Ali looked to the floor and back up to William. “They say we won, sealed the front.”
William smirked and shook his head. “Well, it was a helluva fight, but we came out on top.” He left out the details about the Sa’Ami barrier, and especially about the breach.
A buzz followed by a beep sounded from William’s tablet. He slid it out and checked the screen. In a split second he acknowledged the message and tucked it back into his bag. “Meet at the shipyard nexus, 0900 tomorrow. See if you can track down an Engineer named Ebenezer Huron.”
Ali looked to him with a slight smile. “Ebenezer?”
“That’s right,” William said and disappeared into the flow of people.
*
The farther edges of the station were rough like a fresh volcanic eruption. Seams and edges were coated in a coarse flexible insulation. Row upon row of wedge-shaped containers were tucked in as tightly as they could be.
William found him near a pile of baggage. “Admiral.”
Admiral Dover gave a somber snort and patted a long case. “Sit.”
William sat. Admiral Dover stared at the floor and squeezed his hands together. It seemed as if he was about to speak but just couldn’t find the words. Finally he let out a deep breath. “Outmaneuvered. Plain and simple. Shit stomped and I didn’t even see it coming. I was the most senior Admiral not born on Earth. Should’ve known. So here’s how it is.” Admiral Dover looked up to William. “You’ll get a ship, a nice little brig, and they’ll give you a crew of nothing but people born off Earth. Sound about right?”
William nodded and watched as the Admirals face turned red. Sweat pooled on his brow.
“Then they’ll send you off somewhere that is safe, secure, and not a chance that you might run off with a precious starship. To top it off, the ship has an additive cell barely big enough to print a new toilet seat. So you couldn’t refit if you wanted to, right?”
William felt a lump growing in his throat.
“Oh, it gets better,” the Admiral said, “if you’re not back in time, the ship will disassemble.”
“Disassemble? Why give me a ship at all?” William clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms.
Admiral Dover smiled. His eyes softened and he sat back with a thud. The mass of his body rested against a slate gray container. “Patrons, maybe? And they lost a good many command officers engaging the Sa’Ami. You have combat experience and they need it. They’ll just see how trustworthy you are.”
William stared at his hands and flexed his fingers. The augmetic hand felt exactly like the real one. He still couldn’t get used to the augmetic nerves even if it felt the same. An honest man on the street couldn’t even tell them apart. “What are you going to do, Admiral?”
Admiral Dover looked up with a sparkle in his eye. “You can take the Admiral out of a fight, but you can’t take the fight out of the Gruffalo.” He stood and his knees popped and rattled. “Now go. You’ll not make any friends if they see you talking to an old has-been. Just remember, you’ll be a long way from home, keep your options sharp.”
A loud bang and a shudder shook against the containers. A gantry crane scooped up a yellow container with the letters CONDI stenciled on the side.
“I’m on that freighter. Once they’ve got the crates, I’m out,” Admiral Dover said as he kicked a piece of luggage. He nodded to William. “Good luck.”
William felt a pang in his chest and shook the Admiral’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”
He wondered if the Admiral got him that ship. The Admiral embodied what he stood for, a United Colonies, not a Colonial defense force working with an Earth defense force. For now, he decided, he would focus on his mission. There was an oath.
He turned and walked out without looking back.
CHAPTER THREE
––––––––
“Profit,” Samson Kretikos said slowly. “Profit. It is why we exist. Think about it. If there is no profit, there is no Core.” His gaze turned and swept down the length of the alloy-topped table. He paused at each executive and held the gaze long enough to connect with each person. His eyes were intense, rich, alive.
Emilie Rose looked back and felt relieved when the eyes passed. She sat in silence with all of her netlinks turned off. One did not remain connected to the net when Samson Kretikos was speaking.
“You’ve all seen the projections,” Samson said. “Ms. Ndebele, please.”
A woman with dark skin stood. “All three AIs are in agreement: there will be a retraction. This is regardless of how the kinetics go. Sentiment on Earth is for focusing on defense, regardless of the outcomes.”
“Thank you, Amahle.” Samson smiled. “We’re getting out of the colony business, folks. Defense. Defense. Defense. Already that division is seeing spectacular growth.”
“Mr. Kretikos,” Emilie said. Eyes snapped to her and the room shifted tone. Shit, she thought, my timing was off. “All of the colonies?”
Samson glanced to his side and returned his eyes to Emilie. “Yes.” His tone sounded distracted, bordering on annoyed.
Emilie smiled and continued. “What will be done with them?”
“Miss, uh, Rose?” Samson’s tone rose. “I suggest you contact the Colony division, they can fill you in on the relevant details. Now, if we can—”
“Will we be shipping everything back?”
Samson set an ivory shafted fountain pen on the table. He cocked his head slightly and leveled his gaze. “Get to the point.”
Perfect, she thought, I’ve got his attention. “I want those assets.”
Samson’s face softened and a slight curve of a smile rose on the edge of his lips. “I’m listening.”
Emilie licked her lips. “Group eight only. Ten percent above transport cost. Library license for five years. Option for Core asset transfer after three years.”
Samson clicked his teeth together. “Amahle, what’s the projected time until return?”
“Eight years.”
Emilie’s cheeks grew warm. She didn’t have much time—either she secured it now or it would go into negotiations. A labyrinth of accountants and lawyers. It’d take her longer than eight years to buy it. But if she could get it now. Up the odds. “Military library license also.”
“Full?” Samson asked.
“Full.”
Samson stared back. His face was taut and locked as if painted on. The only thing that moved was his eyes, they squinted a barest fraction of an inch up and down. “Cash. And Core retains twenty percent.”
Shit. Emilie forced herself to not swallow. If he saw the cue he’d know she was overstretched. “Cash,” she said.
“Claire, market value on group eight?” Samson asked.
The financial AI responded, “Four point nine.”
“Kevin, get it drawn up, end of the day,” Samson said to a balding man.
Emilie became aware that all eyes were on her. Every single Executive in the room was staring. Some with looks of envy, others with curiosity. She basked in it. Worries danced in her mind as she crunched numbers. Could she sell everything and cover it? The beach house, her second apartment on the Seine, the timeshare on Haven. Gone.
Enough, she thought. It would be enough.
The meeting wrapped up shortly after and the images of those around her disappeared. All except for Samson Kretikos. Emilie had never been alone with him, in person or via image. The room around her felt cold, almost antiseptic.
“Harvard. Goldman Business School. Then Core. Why go?”
“Profit.”
Samson nodded slowly. He grabbed the fountain pen and tapped it on the table. The famous fountain pen, a man who wrote things down in an age where nothing was written. A show of wealth and taste. He opened the cap and scribbled on something before him. The sound was scratchy and rhythmic.
“You know this is a shooting war now, right?”
Emilie nodded. Of course she knew. A part of her felt touched by his paternal worry. Or was it worry for his assets? “There’s profit in risk.”
“Risk can get you shot. Don’t go playing some two bit weapons dealers in the ass of the universe.” He stared at her and the paternal look was gone. Samson’s gaze was a hard look. “I envy you.”
She didn’t know how to respond. The man who was the CEO of the largest corporation in UC space envied her. Was it possible? The man who had everything. Or did he? She did have something he didn’t: the ability to walk away.
A moment later he nodded and his image disappeared, leaving her alone in a cold room. She stood and walked to the window. The adrenaline started to flow and the gravity of the deal hit her. Her hands shook and she felt like she was going to throw up. The edges of her vision clouded up as the excitement faded. She loved that adrenaline rush after a big deal. Everything she worked her entire life for was now on the line.
Outside a sleety snow pelted down silently onto the window. The skyline beyond it was obscured. Only ghostly shadows of white and gray marked where Chicago stood.
She threw out her first plan. There was no way she could afford first rate protection with a proper UC charter. She’d have to go on the edge and find someone who had a ship and a touch of muscle to go with it. She didn’t see much chance that the war would come to Winterthur: it was as far away from the two fronts as it could be. But just in case. Plus she wanted to have an exit plan.
She picked through her contacts and settled on a name. Corporate listed him as a part-time contractor for shifting black assets. Recently out of prison, according to the news. She liked that, out of prison meant cheap ad eager. She punched his tab and waited.
“Yes?” a baritone voice asked. Wind whipped in the background with the sound of horns and yelling.
“Mustafa?”
“If you want to speak, come to Istanbul and we’ll speak,” the voice said with the noises dimmed behind. The sounds were still present but muted as if he’d stepped into an entryway.
“I’ll be there in three hours.”
“Ahh.” He sucked air through his teeth and sounded surprised that someone actually took him up on a deal. “And who do I owe the pleasure?”
“Emilie Rose.”
“Of Core?”
“Of Rose Incorporated,” she said quickly, making up a name.
“See you in three hours.”
She hung up as she walked out of the conference room. Word spread quickly throughout the building and it took longer to get out than she planned. Her staff came by to wish her well. She smiled politely enough and continued out into the sleet.
On the elevator ride up she focused on the numbers. Her tablet was a scatter of figures. She would make it, just barely, but be almost completely and totally broke. If she didn’t secure contracts on Winterthur, then paying things like building rents and wages would become troublesome. But at least she could make and sell weapons. That never went out of style.
Istanbul was one shuttle across and an elevator ride down. It bloomed below the elevator like an orange flower. The setting sun scattered the entire city in shades of orange and black. The Sea of Marmara was like a sheet of gold south of the city.
On the ground she hailed a cab and called Mustafa. He sounded more formal, less surprised. The cab delivered her to the address. It was a small restaurant with seating on the edge of the water. The styles were old, or at least designed to look old.
She found him sitting at an iron rimmed table. His skin was a touch dark with a thick mop of black hair. A shift in color above his lip marked where a mustache had been. His clothing was plain but stylish.
Still trying to look European, she thought. “You’re well dressed, Mr. Mustafa.”
Mustafa stood and smiled widely, showing a set of bright teeth. “And you know how to compliment. Please sit, they have amazing clams here.”
Emilie sat and stared out to the water. It was as dark as it could be with twenty million people living on the shores. “Are you available?”
He finished his sip of wine and slowly nodded. “How long?”
“Six month minimum, option for six more.”
“Illegal?”
“No.”
“Dangerous?”
Emilie shrugged. “It’s not near Sa’Ami or Harmony space.”
Mustafa ran a finger on his upper lip. “I’ll need half of the first term up front, with the second half in escrow.”
She’d been afraid that would happen. She had the first half, expected it. But the second half would be a touch beyond what she had available. Or at least if she wanted to have any purchasing power on Winterthur. “First half up front I can do.”
Mustafa squinted and looked at Emilie. The tone of the meeting changed abruptly from a sales pitch to a negotiation. “No option for the second half.”
“I can pay once things get rolling in system.”
Mustafa waved a hand and sat back with his arms crossed. “Once you have the money we’ll talk. I’ll need a note from your bank on the second half of the first term.”
Emilie frowned. “And you won’t take that note for the second term?”
“Cash,” Mustafa stated. “I’ll not lay down a bond either, not for this, this, terrible deal.”
“Then why take the job if the deal is so terrible?”
“I’m in need of work. Things are a bit, eh, how do you say? Tight.”
“Prison?”
Mustafa winced at the words. “An unfortunate complaint that led to an unfortunate lodging.”
Emilie smiled thinly. A bargain mercenary at a bargain price with no bond. Not how she liked to work. But he was cheap... “Deal.”
Mustafa smiled and the shining teeth came out. He gestured to someone across the room and slid a chair to the table. “Well, please do tell us about the contract then, boss.”
“Us?” Emilie asked.
A tall woman in a floor length red dress walked across the room. Her skin was a touch on the olive side while her hair was shorn short to her head.
“Emilie, allow me to introduce my pilot. This is Salamasina, she is—”
“—Samoan,” Salamasina said.
Emilie looked to Mustafa with an impressed look. The fabled sailors of old still made the greatest pilots and mercenaries. She was starting to feel like things were moving in the right direction.
“Now Emilie, tell us about the contract. Where are we going?”
Emilie took a thin stemmed wine glass in her hand and stared up at the color. “Home,” she whispered. “Winterthur.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The boy wore a smile bright as the striped banner he carried. His face was a caricature of happy, almost something beyond happy. The wind slammed the banner from side to side and he struggled to hold it aloft. It flapped like a cracking whip in the sea air. His small frame was battered back and forth. It didn’t falter and neither did the boy.
“A beautiful Founding Day yes?” Natyasha Dousman said to her companion. It wasn’t a question as she had no intention of listening to the answer. Natyasha’s face glowed as she watched the children pass. A smile, jovial and warm, was ever present. She waved excitedly and nudged the man sitting next to her. A tap, a nudge, another personal connection.
Natyasha was all about personal connections. On the scale, she barely went over one hundred pounds. For height she was a hair under five and a half feet. But she had a presence, a presence that added muscle, grit, and inches. A touch of gray, carefully cultivated, was dashed in her auburn hair. Her eyes, so blue they almost hurt, were what everyone remembered. Her campaign color was blue. Her house was blue. Her yacht was blue.
A low profiled tractor plodded by silently with a low-boy trailer. On it sat the original colony lander. The body was scarred, rippled from impact, and corroding slowly. Natyasha stood and placed her hand reverently over her heart. Others, watching for the lead, stood proudly with her.
“My grandfather was on that one,” Natyasha said with a slight choke in her voice. She liked to say it, as if anyone could forget, just to show that she didn’t forget.
The ancient lander plodded past, followed by rank after rank of proud workers, militia, and, of course, more children. Children with banners, flags, staffs holding blue orbs. Natyasha smiled as each group passed, a warm smile, a smile that people would remember.
Then the rowdy ones came. Men, drunk on grain alcohol, stumbled past with shovels in one hand and rocks in the other. The rabble followed behind the parade at a respectable distance. They chanted in loud, angry voices. “No more taxes! Keep your filthy poor! No more a whore for Core!”
Natyasha looked on and turned her glance to the side. The UC Ambassador looked straight forward, right through the rabble. His escorts, a pair of UC Marines, stood close with faces grim. Natyasha turned back to the rabble, she could almost smell the booze from where she sat. They looked about how she hoped they would. She smiled a bit.
The first rock landed before the Ambassador with a thud. It was no larger than a grapefruit but packed with raw minerals. The Ambassador turned and looked over to Natyasha. He nodded his head slowly, slightly, as if acknowledging her.
“Let’s go.” She stood and straightened her jacket, a jacket that was carefully chosen to match those marching with stone and stick. A jacket that was just a touch nicer, with a beautiful blue band on the shoulder. She gave a knowing smile to the burly man who led the rabble, Malic.
She didn’t bother looking back to the Ambassador or the parade. She already had her outcome. A touch of a tussle, she liked that. Just enough of a barb to remind the Ambassador that he wasn’t at home. He was on her turf.
Natyasha and her entourage stepped down from the stand and walked through the cool sea air. The sea wind blasted straight into them. She could taste the metallic brine in the back of her mouth. “I do love that,” she said to no one.
“Councilor!” A scraggly bearded man sprinted through the crowd. He wore a set of dull green clothes with a 3D camera array.
Natyasha snapped out of her moment and glared sourly at the man. “Jon,” she said without halting.
“Councilor, how do you feel about the allegations—”
“No comment,” Natyasha said, and nodded to Bark.
Bark stepped aside and shoved the reporter.
“Hey! I’ve got rights ya know!” Jon cried out as he tumbled to the ground.
*
Half a kilometer away the briny sea crashed against the breakwall. Distillation towers grew like pine trees from the edge of the sea. Inside of the breakwall a line of yachts, working ships, and cargo ferries bounced gently in the waves. The steam pillars twisted in the wind, casting shadows of dark and gray across the civilian fleet.
“Councilor! Councilor!” a man in a deep gray jacket shouted as he ran closer.
Men stepped out in front of Natyasha but pulled back when she nodded. The man stopped on the edge of the entourage and looked suddenly aware of the mass of muscle that stood before him. “Councilor, may we speak?”
“Of course, Garth,” Natyasha said in a warm, slow voice. “Just allow Ms. Bark a moment.”
A woman with a pair of dull alloy augmetic arms stepped forward. Her hair was shorn short to her head, in the style of the UC Military. One eye was completely milky blue while the other was gray like an old mans. Her face wore a smile that seemed as fake as her arms. “Clean,” she said.
Garth looked between the two with a confused look on his face.
“Can never be too safe.” Natyasha resumed walking.
“Councilor, with all due respect, what are you doing? The Ambassador knows you called in those, those thugs!”
Natyasha looked at Garth with a sharp glance. “Who do you work for? Core? The UC? Or Winterthur?”
Garth shook his head slowly. “Winterthur, you know that! My family was one of the founding—”
Natyasha cut him off. “No, the founding was a dozen men and women in that lander.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Garth said. “The UC is calling the shots, and the tariffs were negotiated—by you!”
Natyasha didn’t say a word as she continued closer to the piers. She watched as steam billowed from the gray towers before her. Reddish orange crust grew from each tower from the waste distillates pouring down. An industrial hum pulsed through everything. “We’re calling the shots.”.
Garth stopped abruptly. The mass of one of the escorts bumped into him and knocked him off balance. He looked behind to the man and opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.
“The tariffs need to go. We pay them, the Core Corporation doesn’t. I see a fundamental problem with that, don’t you?”
“But!”
“There’s no buts,” she hissed. “As long as Core has a stake here, it’s not our colony, it’s Cores. And as long as they keep bringing in immigrants, they stack the deck in the elections. How long ‘til the immigrants are running the show with Core’s backing?”
Garth threw his hands up. “Colonist or immigrant? Didn’t your family immigrate here?”
Natyasha spun rapidly and jammed her stark white finger into Garth’s chest. “Don’t you ever fucking say that.” She turned her eyes to Bark and stepped onto an alloy walkway leading to the yacht. “Bring him.”
“But I—”
Bark grabbed Garth by the biceps and pushed him forward. “If you would please, Alderman Garth,” she said in a voice just polite enough to not be a threat.
He looked at her with his mouth open and walked onto the yacht.
Natyasha wondered why anyone ever tolerated a democracy. It was a dance, a graceful shuffle, to get anything done. Dress well, dance perfectly, and they would love you.
She didn’t much like Garth. She knew he knew it, but still, she wasn’t ignorant of the fact that some people must be persuaded and not bought.
The yacht pulled away from the pier and powered through the light chop of the protected harbor. It sounded a booming horn as it passed each distillate tower. The chop grew as the yacht rounded the breakwall. The leading edge cast wide arcs of gray water onto the deck.
The inside of the yacht was sealed up tight from the corrosive winds. The windows shed a filmy mist of salts and brine. Inside it smelled of cinnamon and salt. It was arranged in a plain manner, barely a step above a prospecting yacht.
“Garth,” Natyasha said. She walked around the couch with one hand bracing onto the cushion. Her fingers touched Garth’s shoulder just for a second. “Things are changing.”
His face was a shade whiter than when he arrived on the boat. A wide mouthed glass jar was perched between his knees. The smell of pickles drifted out of it.
“Courier came in this morning. Looks to be a war,” she said, smiling.
“War?” Garth stifled a gag.
“Naval stations were hit around Earth.” Natyasha paused and pushed the numbers through her mind. “About three months ago. We’ve got an opportunity.”
“Natyasha, what are you doing? We’ve signed the Covenant, we’re full members, you’re jeopardizing everything our forefathers did.”
Natyasha walked around the other side of the couch and sat in a plush-armed chair. “Is that how you feel? We’re three damned months away from Earth. It took less time to cross the Roman Empire than it does to get here.”
Garth shook his head and gagged. The windows ran with sheets of gray water. Heavy sounds blasted against the hull. The yacht slid up each wave and rolled sickeningly down the other side. The whole room took on the smell of pickles and bile. “What can we do?”
“We’ve an opportunity here, fate favors the bold. We just wait for a chance,” she said simply. “Core won’t hold onto the claim if it’s losing them money.
“The protests.”
Natyasha nodded. “The protests, the riots, everything. We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”
“What about defense? What if the war comes here?” Garth spat yellow bile into the jar.
“You just have to pick your friends.”
A roar slammed into the room. Bark walked in with seawater streaming down her jacket. The door closed and the roar stopped suddenly with only the dullest sounds of the sea behind her. She looked to Natyasha and then to Garth.
“Go ahead,” Natyasha said to Bark.
“He’s here. Shall I?”
Natyasha nodded and smiled thinly. “Bring him up.” She looked back to Garth. “Do you stand with Winterthur?”
Garth nodded. “You’ve asked me twice now.”
“And?”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“Garth, your district will be crucial. Absolutely crucial! When Core pulls out we’ll have to rely on our own grit, our own resolve. We’ll need your fruits, vegetables, meats. The children, Garth, think of feeding our future.” Natyasha leaned forward and squeezed Garth’s hand. Her face was sincere.
“We don’t have enough food, do we?”
Natyasha wanted to snarl. Sharp, he thought. “No. Core can import it cheaper than we can grow it. Amazing, isn’t it?”
The very thought angered her. A colony, the embodiment of freedom, found it cheaper to buy food grown on Earth and send out into the stars. One more thing to keep them from being rid of Core.
Garth stifled another gag and burped beneath his free hand. “I should have stayed on shore.”
The roar resumed when the door opened. A crash of waves was followed by a roll of the yacht. A moment later a man carefully entered with both hands seeking something to hold on to. His face was shielded beneath the prospectors rain slicker. The nanite-sheathed hood kept the wind and rain out.
“Ambassador.” Natyasha stood and held out welcoming arms. “Please, sit. Do you need anything?”
The man stumbled in and gripped the edge of the window so tightly that his fingers turned white. One hand released a grip and felt for the nanite latch. Bark reached forward and snapped it down.
Garth let out a surprised sound.
“Garth, this is Ambassador Myint. From the Harmony Worlds.” Natyasha nodded to the Ambassador.
Ambassador Myint lowered the weather face-shield. Water ran down the hood onto the tip of his nose and skittered off the ran slicker. One cheek bore a metallic patch the size of a thumbprint. The same cheek patch that every Harmony Worlds citizen wore.
Natyasha looked over to Garth and watched for a reaction. Go on, she thought, let’s see how the level looks. Garth seemed to lose his composure for a moment and then captured it again. His eyes tightened and his lips pursed. She could see the fear in him.
“Dousman,” Ambassador Myint said.
“Call me Natyasha.” She leaned forward and patted Garth’s knee. “And this is Alderman Garth. He’s the answer to the agricultural problem.”
Ambassador Myint looked to Garth and smiled politely. A moment later a wave threw him off balance. Bark’s hands shot out and grabbed the Ambassadors shoulders. The Ambassador looked up at Bark nervously and sat with her assistance.
“Please Garth, do tell the ambassador about your farms. He is quite interested,” Natyasha said.
She watched as Garth stumbled on the words and then slid into his role. The moment came and passed. It pleased her that Garth fell into his place so quickly. Garth rolled into the conversation beautifully. Only an occasional retch broke his stride. Her heart settled. She gave a smile and a wink to Bark. No need to use Ms. Bark’s particular talents today, she thought.
CHAPTER FIVE
William woke to the smells of the bakeries. Scents of yeast bread and sticky sugar coaxed him out of dream.
He groaned when he saw the time. He sniffed the air, dressed, and was on the way to the mess hall.
The first sticky bun was sufficient. He licked the icing from his fingers and walked out of the mess with a second sticky bun wrapped in plastic. He thought of saving it for later but he wasn’t sure he could help himself from taking a few bites.
His reflection passed in the window. He stopped and stood before the multilayer nanite glass. He’d put on weight, enough that he noticed, and felt a bit conscious.
What am I doing? Where do I stand? The thoughts he’d laid down with and wrestled to sleep frothed back up. The sticky bun didn’t seem quite so appetizing. He didn’t relish any of the decisions or the outcomes.
On one hand, there was the oath—his oath. On the other hand, the thing he made an oath to was nudging him aside. Would they outright fire him? A pogrom against all born off Earth? He looked back up to his reflection and continued walking.
The hallways and passages were mostly still. Crews of vacuum welders and pipefitters passed through in clusters. Their eyes were arc burned and they had a salty-sweat layer from too much time in a vacuum suit. More than once William smelled the raw edge of alcohol.
A long segmented hall stretched before him in the shipyard. Stacked from wall to wall and ceiling to floor were supplies. Everything needed for human—or nanite—to assemble a starship. At regular intervals, airlocks jutted out into space. Every single one bore the red stamp of vacuum on the other side.
William stopped and stared up at a screen showing the ship on the other side. It was mostly clad in shadow, but what he could see was brutally efficient. Ugly, like a potato clad in dirt. Blisters of mass drivers stuck out. A single missile battery was half hooked up and dangling in space. He wondered if it was his, or if it mattered. They’d likely all look about the same.
“Aww fuck,” a woman’s voice said in a husky voice. She sat up slowly. A titanium flask clattered onto the floor, but she didn’t appear to care. She had every appearance of being in the Navy except for demeanor. A dull blue jacket was thrown over her shoulders.
William looked down and wasn’t quite sure whether to help her or walk away. He hadn’t noticed her when he walked up. He wasn’t even sure if she knew he was there. “Rough night?”
She looked up with eyes red and burnt looking. “Weld all day, drink all night.” She eyed up the sticky bun. “You brought me breakfast.”
William handed the sticky bun over reluctantly and turned back to the screen. The lines of the asteroid ship were growing on him, he could see a definite beauty in it. He wasn’t sure if beauty was the right word—handsome maybe. Like a woman boxer. All brute with a touch of grace.
“Fuckin’ ugly,” the woman muttered, the sticky bun half in her mouth. “Like a turnip.”
William chuckled and looked back. “Supervising?”
“Supervising? Fuck, this is my shipyard. I’m welding the damn things. You should see our schedule. Someone wants to send these pieces of shit out in a few days.” She shook her head and stuffed another bite into her mouth.
He wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable about the ship. Not that he’d felt comfortable since Admiral Dover—or was it Mr. Dover now?—told him that they had an auto-destruct sequence. The lack of trust hurt him to the core.
“How do they handle? How do they fight?”
The woman snorted and her jacket tumbled onto the floor.
William saw the rank pips and straightened himself up. On the dirty jacket were the bars of a Rear Admiral. A carbon black dot signified her as a Ships Engineer as well.
“You takin’ one out, Lieutenant?” she asked as she looked up and grabbed the flask.
“Yes, Admiral, I am.”
She smiled a crooked smile. “Then you tell me, we haven’t finished any yet.” She snapped the flask back and released it with a pop.
William stared back in disbelief. Untried. Untested. Unbelievable.
*
Admiral Hollins stood in the front of the briefing room and smiled out to the crowd without smiling at anyone in particular. His uniform was crisp, immaculate, like it was grown onto his body every morning. He looked down to his wrist and took a single deliberate step forward to the podium. The room, quiet already, dropped into silence.
The Admiral turned and looked over his shoulder for a second and watched the display bloom into a mass of stars. The display panned and slid until Earth sat at the center and lines of territory popped up. Notable planets were named. A red and orange bar marked the Harmony Worlds and the Sa’Ami.
Gray was reserved for alien space, far in the distance. The K742 and the Gracelle hung far, even in interstellar distances. That they were shown at all proved the immensity of the task.
William stood in the back of the room on sore feet. Seeing it all in one chart, so big, so close brought it home. From one end to the other the combined territory was over one hundred light years. Even with the Haydn, that was a monumental distance. Good god, to protect that giant donut?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Admiral Hollins began. He tapped the podium and the starscape changed. The Bosporus system blinked with a line bisecting that entire edge of space. “The battlespace as we know it has shifted.”
Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. William knew rumors made it out already. He’d spent agonizing hours on the way to the system answering question after question through hours of light lag. The courier gave them the basic details but they wanted the story from him, and the other dozen or so staff officers who came back with him.
“The Sa’Ami have effectively sealed off their space. They also sealed off a good deal of our border.” Admiral Hollins highlighted a handful of star systems on the display. Canaan was prominent on the list. “Over here,” he said, sweeping a hand towards Hun space, “things have gone differently.”
The display panned and zoomed. The wide border was a jagged line from the top of the wall to the floor. Icons appeared, icons for different fleet elements. The icons moved in stuttered jumps as they blinked and consolidated. A second after, more icons appeared: Hun ship icons.
Admiral Hollins’s eyes darted through the crowd and connected with those in the crowd. The icons moved and danced. “We held them at Redmond,” he muttered with a wave of his hand. “Caught them setting up a flanking base. But they hit us before our fleets could consolidate. This came in on a fast courier.”
The screen shifted closer. Icons blinked and formations of red and green clashed. William shifted where he stood and took the starscape in. The UC fleet was trapped in the midst of a border system with no name. He could see the vice snap shut when more Hun ships blinked in from behind. The battle was a running slog as the UC elements fought at every planet and gravity well. It was painful to watch as the UC fleet were almost entirely obliterated. A v-shaped wedge of the remaining ships burst a hole through the Hun line. Three frigates forged an escape and blinked from the massacre.
“We’re ceding space on both ends. The closer we are to Earth, the shorter our supply lines. The quicker we can react. The more muscle we can hammer with.” His tone grew and a confident smile appeared. “They’ll string themselves too far and we’ll have all the advantages.”
And we’ll lose a giant donut of colonies, William thought.
The display pulled back and showed the entirety of space once again. A ring appeared in space. A ring that circled through space halfway in between Earth and the outer colonies. Everything on the inside glowed green, everything on the outside was a dim yellow.
William caught his breath. They weren’t just shrinking back a few borders, but all of the borders. They didn’t have enough ships to cover everything. No, that didn’t make sense he thought, they could make ships in a month or so. What they lacked was crew. Trained crew. He looked around and saw the ranks, all lower echelon. The most experienced were either on the Sa’Ami frontier or dead on the Hun border.
His eyes searched for Farshore, the planet of his birth. It was tucked away on the far edge of space, one of the dim yellow planets. How odd, he thought, everything that happened there to force the creation of the United Colonies and they abandon it.
Whispers and murmurs rose. An angry woman called out about abandonment. William peered down and wondered where she was from. He glanced around and saw two groups: those who looked proud and those who looked lost. He assumed the men and women with eager faces were those born on Earth, or the inner colonies.
Admiral Hollins didn’t miss a beat. “The Outer Colonies will be reclaimed, but for now we need to bring our force to bear and stop them before they reach the Inner Colonies.” He cleared his face and clasped his hands behind his back. The display shifted and zoomed in on the Inner Colonies. The bright blue and white badge of the United Colonies was hovering over Earth. “This will be our finest moment. Your orders will be delivered shortly.” He turned and walked off the stage.
“Admiral!” a voice cried out. “Questions?”
Admiral Hollins stopped and turned his head to the crowd. “No questions.”
William sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t argue with the big picture, but it didn’t sit well. At every level it made perfect tactical sense. Draw them in, react quicker than they could, and use the closer supply lines. But still, he didn’t like it. He looked around and saw an opening out the door. Most of the room still looked up to the divided star map. He snuck out before the crush of officers departed. He had a ship to inspect.
*
The packet was simple. Charts followed by a manifest and the book of Standing Fleet Orders. He leaned against the rough wall and stared down at the Summary of Orders for his ship, S245998 . Simple. Almost brutally so. He was to escort a convoy to Winterthur, guard against incursions, oversee asset transfers, and return. He was, under no circumstances, to remain.
He didn’t like that part. So many mission parameters might require him to remain on station. Or was it because he knew the ship would de-assemble? He noted that it never mentioned the disassembly anywhere in the orders. Was Admiral Dover mistaken?
The threat assessment tab was particularly interesting. He was, according to the analysis, guaranteed to encounter Sa’Ami harassment drones. He’d seen them before, saw the raw damage they could inflict, and didn’t feel comfortable protecting a convoy, especially with only a handful of Marines.
The following tab laid out the capabilities of the ship. That, at least, made him feel better. The quad batteries of mass drivers were specifically designed to intercept missile launches while the rear mounted missile launcher was specifically to kill Sa’Ami drones. The ship relied on mass and sheer bulk to react to incoming railgun slugs. A pincushion, he thought, a railgun pincushion.
The one thing he didn’t like was he only had one railgun. They were accurate, powerful, and helped a small ship hit above its weight class. He understood the problems: at long ranges, the projectiles could be avoided while at short ranges a mass driver could do it better. But still, he liked that big bore nickel slug. If only they could get it to fire a smart projectile.
William walked slowly and studied the crew. They stood in ranks at the edge of the airlock. His crew. He came closer and tried to do an approximation of what he thought a Captain should do. On the front edge stood Huron and Lieutenant Shay. Beyond them stood the remainder of the crew, looking crisp and eager. He wondered who they were, but more importantly what they were made of.
The red light over the hatch burned brightly. The display next to it showed an array of arcs burning brightly on the edges of the hull. A cold alkaline light shone over the bulk of the hull. His hull. His ship. The very thought gave him goosebumps. A fresh from the yard beautiful... potato. He still couldn’t get the first picture out of his head. It’ll need a better name than that, he thought.
“Mr. Huron,” William said.
“Captain,” Huron replied.
“What’s the status, Lieutenant?” William asked.
Shay cleared her throat and shifted her stance. “Admiral Muir told us to wait.”
“Tall Admiral? Skinny? Hungover?”
Lieutenant Shay chuckled and raised her eyebrows. “Uh, yes, sir.”
William smiled. She owed him a pastry. He turned to the rest of the crew. A bit of everything. Light skin, dark skin, men and women. Technical ranks, naval ratings, and just the bare basics to make a ship function. Were they enough?
“Marines, Ms. Shay?” William asked.
She shook her head, then snapped her eyes down the hall behind William. “They might be ours, Captain.”
William turned and placed his hands on his hips. Three Marines were walking in single file with complete combat baggage on their backs. The uniforms were crisp and gray. The lead was a woman, in her mid-twenties with a face like a granite wall. Her arms were thrust out to the side and they swung as she walked.
“Cruisin’ for a bruisin’,” Huron muttered.
William couldn’t help but smile. The other two were almost like twins. Dark hair like burnt coffee and wide faces. Large wasn’t quite enough of a word to describe them. They looked like a pair of lost lumberjacks, or stonemasons. Abraham, his Anabaptist friend, flashed into his mind.
“Group, halt!” The Corporal’s eyes swung slowly and locked onto William. “Group, reporting for duty.”
“At ease, Corporal, fall in.”
There was an ease, a gracefulness, all with an overtone of extreme violence. Her face was a mass of scars, or what remained of scars after nanites smoothed it out. It must’ve been bad, he thought, for the nanites to not remove it all. As she turned her eyes flickered red, nanite implants. William looked down to his tablet: Corporal Vale Thorisdottir.
“Open ‘er up, Harry,” Admiral Muir said. She approached William and sized him up. “She’ll be done, or soon enough. We’ll have another day to finish it up, but you can start loading now.”
William nodded. The Admiral didn’t look much better than before, just more awake. And sober. “I think you owe me a pastry, Admiral.”
Admiral Muir turned and cocked her head slightly with a wide smile on her face. “Ahh, I thought you looked familiar. That was a good start to a bad day.” She looked satisfied as she turned to the hatch. A chubby civilian engineer walked over to the airlock and plugged in an oversized tablet. A dim hissing pulsed and surged from a panel next to the door. Chilled steam flowed from beneath the panel. Breathable atmosphere was pouring into the little ship for the first time.
“She gonna hold, Harry?” Admiral Muir asked.
Harry shrugged and stood with the tablet cradled in his arms. The light above the airlock flickered to yellow and then green. Williams heart raced faster. He stole a glance at Huron and Shay: both looked as excited as he was. He was almost leaning forward, eager to get in. There it was, just on the other side, waiting.
“Aww fuck,” Harry spat. “Popped a weld.”
William felt as deflated as the ship. The airlock light danced back down to red once again. He looked over to Admiral Muir with a questioning glance. She shrugged and sighed. “Why don’t you guys go get something to eat?”
William turned back to face his crew and tried not to look disheartened. More engineers came running along with men in vacuum suits. He had a hunch it was going to be a long day. But on the plus side, he’d get a stab at some second breakfast. He looked at the growing crowd of engineers and wondered if this was the equivalent of a ship sinking right out of drydock.
*
A week later they departed with little fanfare and less reception. Throughout the week more of the stubby pocket frigates detached from the station and sped for points throughout UC space. News and plans were still months old, set into motion as foreseen and unknown. Orders passed down set out guidelines for reaction—Earth was simply too far away to oversee every contingency. Never before had so much relied on so few.
They passed by freighters, clawed and mauled. Raking damage from mass driver barrages and blooms of carbon black showed the truth of the battles. A particularly mangled Arkhangel class battlecruiser forged past with a gaping hole large enough to drive the pocket frigate into. Somber greetings were made and they passed in opposite directions.
William scrutinized each ship as it passed by under high power magnification. He wanted to see what the wounds of war from a different front looked like. He’d been on the receiving end of the Hun once before, and of the Sa’Ami recently. Was anything different? Or did they still rely on the massed barrages and simple technology?
They passed more ships heading for refit and eventually met up with the convoy in orbit around Mars. The dusky red planet was like an iron-stained cueball. The poles glowed white with bands of dirty green streaking through some of the valleys. Ships and cargo arrays were strung out around the planet everywhere. The bladder of intergalactic trade was suddenly stopped and the piss of commerce was holding above.
He found his convoy just beyond the edge of Phobos in the shadow of the moon. Three bulk freighters: one old enough to house a museum, along with a personnel carrier and a single corvette that looked very similar to the one he’d taken on his way out of Redmond. That beautiful little ship came back to him, Samoan mercenaries and all. It was a bloody business. It was his, if only for a few short weeks. His first real command.
Now this was his duty, that little pack, strung along to the very edge of UC space. Where beyond only licensed prospectors and the very fringe of society dared to roam. There was a part of him that envied those that went beyond.
“Send along course plot, please,” William said to Lieutenant Shay. He squirmed in his chair and tried to get comfortable. The bridge was tiny, claustrophobic, like a closet compared to the spaces he’d been on before. With each hand he could lean forward and tap whoever was at either command station. At least he could wake them up easy enough.
The entire ship was tight, cramped, small. To make it even worse, the main hall between sections was zero gravity—it wasn’t even possible to walk and stretch. He never realized how much he’d miss a simple walk. Judging by his waistline, he’d need to start working it off soon, or find a nanite fat burner. The thought brought him to dinner. The other downside of a small ship was that the scent of every meal wafted and drifted everywhere.
“Course sent, acknowledgments from all except the, uh, Greater Prosperity of the Rising Ocean.”
“Who? What?” William leaned and looked over Shay’s shoulder. The ancient freighter appeared to be powered down. “Ping them again please.”
After the third hail, the pitted and worn freighter finally acknowledged the call.
“Datastream live please,” William said.
Screens flashed to life and showed incoming data from the convoy members. Reactors were primed, Haydn’s powered up, and all systems showed nominal. Except for the Greater Prosperity of the Rising Ocean. William shook his head. He had a feeling he’d be babysitting that one.
“Overlay that name, call it the Grouper,” William ordered.
Lieutenant Shay nodded with a smile. “Done, they’re reporting startup now.”
William sat back in his seat and stretched his feet out until they touched on either console. A shadow passed over him and he turned and saw the face of a Marine staring in and gawking at the screens. PFC Grgur Vlasic had his mouth open far enough that William could see his back teeth. “Can I help you, Marine?”
Vlasic looked back, shook his head and snapped to attention on the other side of the bulkhead. William found the new Marines a bit odd: both Grgur and Igor were from the Serbian colonies. They were also the ship’s cooks, though William wished there was a bit more variety to what they cooked. He could only take so much garlic and paprika essence.
The Marines were barely enough to form up into a group. Corporal Vale made for an imposing squad leader: beyond the scars, she was heavily muscled and toned. Her service record was impressive—her latest deployment ended when a wire grenade detonated in her face. Now she had an alloy skull and nanite eyes. The only thing more impressive than her service record was her discipline record. Vale Thorisdottir liked to fight. William had chuckled more than once reading through the incident reports.
“They say they’re ready, Captain.”
“Very well, send the signal, we’re moving out. Form us up above the group. Give me a nice cluster, Lieutenant.” William wanted everyone close enough that he could cover them with the mass driver batteries. He had every expectation of running into Sa’Ami striders.
For a moment he felt a sense of resentment. Here he was herding a group of civilians to a system that they didn’t want anymore while other ships were heading to the front. He had the experience they needed, just not the birthplace they wanted.
“Grouper is lagging,” Lieutenant Shay said, unsurprised.
The visual display had icons overlaid onto the distant ships. Beyond lay the red disc of Mars with Phobos only visible because a few rays of light scattered from the edge. William knew why Grgur was gawking: it was an impressive sight.
“Mr. Huron, Haydn primed and ready?” William keyed the comms and asked.
“Should be, Captain,” Huron replied in the twangy accent of Mars.
The convoy pulled farther away from Phobos and pointed in a direction far and away from anything. Before them lay almost totally empty space. Civilian traffic seemed to be avoiding leaving the system while any military vessels had transponders shut off. Only the signature of a Haydn blink would betray where anything moved through.
The Haydn drive worked by clipping the space between gravity waves. All except for the very peaks. When the gravity waves were steep, like near a planet, the blinks would be short. While in deep space a single blink might cover a light year between gravity wells. But the very peak of the wave was still traversed the old fashioned way: with a gravity drive.
The first blink was another hour out and William took the opportunity to review the drill schedule. Every shift was to be engaged in every manner of battle, emergency, and failure. What a Captain could normally do in half a year he would have to accomplish in a few weeks. Beyond that and he’d enter a zone where the usual patrols had been pulled to the front.
The deviousness of a few exercises made him smile. Simulated electrical fire followed by a water leak. A vacuum leak inside of the sewage treatment system. Plus the old standby of only failure missions. Situations where there is no possible way to win. He needed to know what Shay was made of, along with Midshipman Bryce.
“Mr. Bryce, verify Haydn status please,” William said to the young Midshipman.
Bryce had the good looks of someone who had lived on a planet where the beach lifestyle was the only lifestyle. His accent was slow and ponderous, as if speaking too fast was an insult. His skin was sun stained a few shades darker than everyone else, but in the way that said he’d lived on the beach. Beyond that, though, William sensed an uneasiness in the Midshipman, a reluctance to take command.
“Five minutes, Captain. The Grouper is claiming they’re ready,” Lieutenant Shay said.
William keyed the comms and decided now would be a good a time as any to see how Mr. Bryce behaved. “First drill, folks. Railgun strike, both myself and Lieutenant Shay have been killed. Mr. Bryce has command. Proceed.” He smiled down at Bryce’s blanched face. The Midshipman’s eyes looked to be sucked out of their sockets.
“But, Captain?”
“Tut-tut! I’m dead, as is Ms. Shay.” William leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
The Midshipman between the two with his jaw open. Grgur had popped his head back around and was peeking in once more. Bryce turned quickly to Grgur, but before he could speak, the Marine disappeared.
“But. I—shit?” Bryce slapped his hands onto the console and looked back up to William and Shay.
William was glad this was happening now, and not when a real railgun round just punched through the bridge. He looked down at Bryce with a placid face. He had every expectation that the young man would come to grips and settle on a course. Any course really, everything was locked in, all he had to do was say ‘go’.
A mock medical team burst onto the bridge along with Huron and another maintenance tech. The remainder of the crew performed a quick triage, mechanical and medical, before returning to stations. William waved Huron off from his role on the bridge, he wanted to see what Bryce would do.
Bryce sat still, shoulders locked forward, like a statue.
The clock ticked down on the display and finally reached zero. Status indicators for the rest of the convoy pulsed. Comms request came in one after the next. No one would blink until the convoy lead gave the order. William was close, so close, to ending the exercise and verbally thrashing the tanned Midshipman when he finally snapped out of it.
“Convoy, blink as soon as able,” Bryce said quickly. His head snapped back to William and Shay and back to his console. His fingers wobbled about, seeking for the right bind. “Uh, Engineering, Haydn drive ready?”
“Haydn clear,” Huron responded.
Bryce looked back once more. “Blink,” he said, and pushed the key down.
The starscape shifted an almost imperceptible amount, the blink was short, almost short enough that they could have burned it. On the opposite side, the convoy was building velocity and powering across the next trough. The corvette came in a few moments later. All ships were present except for the Grouper.
William had a feeling it wouldn’t make it. But what would his Middie do?
“Convoy, continue to point delta-eight. Formation as ordered,” Bryce said in a more confident tone. He looked from screen to screen and settled back into his chair, looking slightly more in control. A moment later he turned slightly at William with a shade of relief on his face.
“All clear, Mr. Bryce?” William asked.
Bryce’s eyes darted from side to side and he nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah, Captain.”
William sucked in a breath and hit the comms. “Convoy acceleration zero.” He released the key and looked down to Bryce. “I think we’re missing someone.”
Bryce’s face, which was almost back to full color, dropped to nearly white as he slunk down into his chair. The Midshipman looked between Shay, William, and back to Grgur before hunching himself over his console.
“Bryce,” William said and waited for the Midshipman to turn. “You did well. Just slow down a bit, you had plenty of time.”
William looked back to the display and wondered how many more blinks the Grouper would be trolling behind. He also wondered how well Bryce was going to handle everything else thrown at him. Especially when it wasn’t a drill, but that steely time when doing something was better than nothing.
CHAPTER SIX
––––––––
The smell of garlic with a touch of paprika struck Emilie as something odd to have in the midst of space. The scent was right on the edge of overpowering, the merging point of coughing politely and declining dinner altogether. The hallway was quiet, still, empty. The transport ship had the feeling of a freshly built hotel without any of the fanfare.
“Why am I here?” Mustafa asked.
“Because you were invited,” Emilie replied. “And because I pay you.”
“I should have sent Sala.”
Emilie glanced over at Mustafa and ignored the remark. The invitation came after the second blink, once they finally reached a burn with sufficient time to allow the Captain to depart his vessel. So far the only communications from the ugly naval vessel was simple, terse, and spartan.
“So who’s this Captain?” Mustafa asked.
“William Grace. Rumor is, he’s from Farshore.”
Mustafa gave a crossways look at Emilie. “Bullshit.”
Emilie shrugged and stopped at a junction. She turned and followed the wafting waves of garlic down the passage.
Her mind drifted from the dinner back to her finances. The short week they’d been in transit gave her an opportunity to sit down with static numbers. No more data-dumps from the colonies to mess up her calculations.
She was locked in—for now, at least. The line between brilliance and idiocy seemed to be coming together. In a moment of reflection, she almost had Mustafa turn around. Almost. She had left everything behind on a gamble, a gamble to get back home, a gamble to be something more.
“Hold on,” Mustafa said. He reached into his shirt pocket and slid out a black nanite patch the size of a thumbnail. The sides shimmered as he did a quick stick and peel just below his collar. “Can you see it?” He raised his chin.
Emilie glared at him and shook her head. “Nothing too strong, I hope?”
“No. Just a little something to take the edge off.”
She nodded, turned a corner, and found the source of the garlic.
A table sat in the center of the auxiliary mess with only half of the places set. The tableware had old, slender lines and the edges were adorned in a crisp blue piping—a beautiful reproduction of something found four centuries before. Even the silverware was heavy, almost blocky, with the Krupp logo stamped large.
A pair of Marines stood behind a buffet heaped with various garlic-scented foods. At the table stood two male Naval officers. One had a hint of command, as if it was coated on with a brush. The other officer stood taller, but seemed more nervous and fidgety. Opposite sat two women, both plump with carbon pads on their temples. Pilots, Emilie thought, and definitely not military.
Emilie walked slowly and studied the room. A quick nod to the officers and a crisp smile to the civilians. She saw the rank of a Captain, that must be Grace. The two women had the easy grace of Core pilots, and that made sense as this was a Core transport. Both wore a bored look—disconnected, she thought.
“Crew of the Gallipoli, I assume. I’m Captain Grace.” He smiled and beckoned to a set of open chairs. “I hope you like garlic.”
Emilie passed the chair he offered and instead sat directly next to him. She glanced at the chair next to the pilots and Mustafa moved in beside them. “Thank you for the invitation,” she said to Captain Grace.
“It is a custom for the escort to host. We’d have you aboard our ship, but it is a bit cozy,” Captain Grace said.
“Looks like a rock to me,” Mustafa said.
Captain Grace smiled and chuckled. “Yes, it is. Accountants these days will toss a crew into anything.”
“What’s her name?” Emilie asked.
Captain Grace glanced to the officer next to him, then looked back to the group. “No name, not yet, not until we settle on one.”
Mustafa snorted and sat next to a cocoa skinned woman with a thin layer of reddish orange stubble on her head. “Mustafa,” he said to her, and held out a hand.
She regarded the hand as if it was a piece of raw meat and smiled back weakly. “Cordova Wile Bonaparte,” she said.
Captain Grace nodded to the Marines. “Shall we dine?”
Emilie admired the plates before her. “Are they originals?” she asked, knowing they weren’t.
“No, be a bloody million for that,” the other woman said in an accent of cultured English.
“They are still quite exquisite,” Emilie said, gently setting the plates down. Both of the women smiled and the tension slid away in the room. They might only be corporate pilots, she thought, but they still took pride in the ship.
“What sends you to Winterthur, Ms. Rose?” Cordova asked.
She was expecting the question, and decided to respond with the simplest answer: the truth. “I purchased all of the Core assets in that sector.”
The silence in the room leveled the immensity of the purchase.
She expected that, too. A slight smile, some charm, then she’d have them. “Core is pulling back at the moment, so I saw an opportunity.”
Cordova tapped the table. “Why would one ever want to retreat to that icy world? Not even a proper pub in the whole city.”
Emilie smiled politely and glanced at Captain Grace. “It’s where I grew up. How about you Cordova? Where are you from?”
“New Kingston, Royale Proper.”
“Ahh, a fine town I’ve heard. Amazing bakeries, yes?” Emilie looked over to Captain Grace. “And you, Captain?”
Captain Grace stared at the empty plate and glanced at the Marines. His delay was just long enough that she thought about asking again, in case he missed the question.
“Farshore, though I was raised in Montreal.”
Mustafa and the pilots exchanged glances and watched Captain Grace as if he was a unique animal.
“Interesting,” Emilie whispered.
Captain Grace smiled weakly. No one seemed to have anything to add. The guests took a moment, shifted in their chairs, and relaxed.
Captain Grace focused on the Marines. “The cuisine tonight is Serbian. Please do enjoy.”
The Marines descended upon the table with a culture and grace that seemed at odds with the gruff faces and rough demeanor. They looked more like chefs from a prison kitchen than serving haute cuisine. Emilie admired the plating, not top notch, but good enough to get them a line job in Chicago.
“So tell me, Captain, what do you know of Winterthur?” Emilie asked.
Captain Grace looked up from his food and finished chewing. “Precious little, what my charts tell me and little more. Well established industry, good sized colony, on the edge to nowhere. We don’t plan on stopping.”
“So it is true, we’ll have no garrison?”
Captain Grace wiped his mouth and leaned his elbows onto the table. “That will pass to the colony to administer.”
Emilie felt her pulse rising. She’d have possession of the only ship with a gun. That, all by itself, would be priceless. A nice cushy contract. Her eyes caught Mustafa’s, who had already picked up on it.
“We’ll be in system as long as it takes for this transport to get loaded, the Grouper to offload, and for us to inspect some assets,” Captain Grace said, plucking a garlic clove from inside an ivory white dinner roll.
“Grouper?” Mustafa asked, a mouthful of orange noodles slapping on his chin.
Captain Grace elbowed the young officer sitting next to him.
“The uh, freighter with us, the old one, sir,” Midshipman Bryce said.
“They are not dining with us?” Mustafa asked.
“The airlock design on the freighter will not couple to this modern of a ship,” Midshipman Bryce said.
“Unfortunate, I’d like to see who flies a museum.”
Captain Grace swallowed and took a swig of blood red wine. “This is Midshipman Bryce. In case you can’t tell from the complexion, he was blessed to be born on Haven.”
Emilie could see the look in the Midshipman. “How is Haven these days, Mr. Bryce?”
Bryce smiled. “Nice, ma’am.”
Captain Grace nodded to the Midshipman.
Emilie could see that the pilots were already itching to be done. They hardly touched dinner, Emilie assumed they preferred condensed meals fed while linked to the ship.
“Your corvette, uh, Mr. Mustafa, is there a last name?” Captain Grace asked.
“There is, but Mustafa works.”
Captain Grace nodded with a raised eyebrow and looked to Emilie. “You own the corvette then Ms. Rose?”
“Chartered,” Emilie responded.
“Mercenaries?” Captain Grace asked as he shoveled another load of food into his mouth. The Marines came behind him and landed another plate of steaming garlicky goodness before him.
In the silence, Mustafa leveled a fork at the Captain and waved it before him. “You. You take away that little silver platter on your shoulder and you’re the same.”
Emilie snapped her eyes to Mustafa and frowned at the Turk. Good god, she thought, what the fuck is he doing?
Captain Grace swallowed hard and set his fork down. “Mustafa, if that is your name, I’ve had dealings with mercenaries, on a corvette similar to yours. Took it, seized it, and fled with it.” The words came out thick like a bitter syrup. “As long as the good lady sees fit to keep your leash tight, you’ll be fine. But one slip and I’ll see you hang.”
Mustafa stood and slammed his fork onto the table. He opened his mouth and stopped himself. His upper lip flapped as he took heavy breaths.
Grgur and Igor each crossed their arms and took stepped forward.
“Mustafa!” Emilie yelled. “Take a walk.” The meal was an opportunity to pump the Captain for information, learn a bit—instead, she was running damage control.
The Turk turned and walked out of the room in silence. Captain Grace’s eyes followed him until he was gone. He shrugged it off and jammed another hunk of rich red pseudo-protein garlic sausage into his mouth. “You have my apologies, Ms. Rose, but I’ve seen the worst mercenaries can do.”
“Of course, Captain, now please do tell me about your chefs.”
She felt lucky to have struck on something Captain Grace enjoyed. The remainder of the meal was spent discussing the finer points of the dinner. Both of the Marines looked quite pleased by the finish of the evening. She regretted not being able to talk more shop with the Captain. He carefully deflected any critical question back to the topic of food.
The evening ended. Her last glimpse of Captain Grace was him stuffing garlic rolls into his pockets. She did a double take and shook her head as she walked away.
Typical Navy, she thought. Duty, country, a ship, and not much else. As predictable as economic units of citizens. She didn’t mean to think ill of him, but she knew that he was, to someone, just a pawn on a board. Her plan would go much smoother without a Naval asset in place. The sooner he was out and gone, the quicker she could secure a contract for patrol.
She found Mustafa sulking before the airlock. He glanced up and turned his head aside. They weren’t due to be picked up for another hour. The edge of the personnel carrier was cool with a hint of garlic still in the air.
“What was that? What the fuck was that?” Emilie asked. She leaned against the side wall and shook her head at Mustafa.
“We won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Mustafa said in a low voice.
“He hit a fucking nerve, didn’t he?” She watched Mustafa divert his gaze and shrug lightly. The Captain did hit a nerve she thought. “What did you go to prison for?”
Mustafa looked up from the floor and shook his head slowly. “That’s off limits.”
“Bullshit, it could jeopardize my contract. Which means it’ll jeopardize your pay.” She stabbed a finger at him. “What did you do?”
Mustafa ran a finger over his bare upper lip and licked his teeth. “We ran a job screening a corporate jump, early assets out of unclaimed space.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Emilie groaned. “Who did you steal from?”
“Dythco. But we were just a screen, we never touched the shit,” Mustafa said.
“So someone else ran, had a load of minerals, and you were left without any pay and a nice little prison sentence.”
Mustafa nodded slowly. “That’s about it.”
Emilie shook her head and pictured the operation. One ship would go in and seize the manufacturing operation while the other ran interference in case the owners popped in. Except in this case, when the owners showed up, Mustafa’s partner ran. “What happened to the other guy?”
Mustafa snorted. “They made it out. Laundered the minerals.”
“Just like that? Done?”
He nodded and shrugged. “Hard to argue with a battlecruiser.”
“How long?”
Mustafa looked at the floor and muttered, “two years.”
“So why the enmity? You got caught, did your time, that’s it.”
Mustafa stared and stepped closer. “It was my ship. They took everything! All they left me with was a hulk. Bare and stripped. I get out and she’s tethered on Luna, baking in the sun. My ship! Mine!” He shook with anger. “So you take that Captain, strip off his rank, and he’s just a merc with someone else’s ship. At least I own mine.”
Emilie didn’t like it. She didn’t like the fact that Mustafa had such a grudge. She didn’t understand, but she knew that owning a starship was like owning a house. It was personal, linked right to the soul. But more than a home, a world, a place where everything insured survival. She could see how someone could get attached to it.
“Just play it cool. We’ll be clear of them soon enough.”
“Then what?”
“Then we get a nice contract for system security and you’ll be the one busting ore thieves.”
Mustafa waited in silence.
CHAPTER SEVEN
––––––––
The small convoy plied the routes and passed the discarded jetsam like litter on the side of a highway. At every blink they saw empty canisters, wrecked transports, discarded containers, and mining debris. The shattered remnants of asteroids drifted and hung like clouds of sand.
After leaving Earth and passing through the icy bands that was the Oort cloud, they blinked through a region of interstellar deadness. The places where only radio waves sung. Starship traffic was light and the majority headed back to Earth.
Word of the attack reached the outer colonies and now they were responding. At every encounter, the convoy would open the datastream and transmit their previously loaded newsfeeds. One of the last data dumps they received was packed with news for the colonies. Everything from mineral prices to the latest gossip from the vids. At every encounter they sent it all.
“How’s the war? Did we slam ‘em?” one Chilean freighter asked, though they seemed more interested in the latest World Cup.
The information William received was even more interesting, at least for the Navy. Encrypted inside of the civilian datastream were bits of Naval intelligence. Sa’Ami raiders were assaulting ships.
The Sa’ami had set remote mining operations with additive manufacturing cells. These cells produced strider drones specifically designed to hit ships coming into systems. The gangly limbs would slash into a ship and disable or destroy. Since most ships heading back for Earth contained minerals it was a self-sustaining operation for the striders.
William studied each report and knew it was only a matter of time until he too ran into it.
The farther away from Earth they went, the more the debris from these attacks was seen. Data repeaters on the edge of systems would blare warnings. At each blink the convoy would go to full battle stations and William would blink his ship through first. But after every blink all they saw was debris.
*
“Convoy standby for blink. Shift through fifteen minutes after we do, unless engaged,” William ordered. He released the keybind and nodded to Huron.
The ship’s Engineer was hunched over the console. Beside him sat Lieutenant Shay, leaning back as if in a hammock, relaxed and calm. The displays showed everything ready, everything loaded. The passages echoed as the airlocks sealed throughout the ship.
“We’re green for blink,” Huron said.
“Ms. Shay, you call it.” William said as he engaged the weapons program. Lines of contingencies rolled and flowed before him. He caught bits and pieces of it, mass driver executions, if-then statements, missile protocols. It was a dance and he liked to watch it play out.
“Here we go,” Lieutenant Shay said softly. She slapped the console.
The displays blinked to white and the starscape shifted. Sensor arrays waited, each sucking in every bit of information they could. In the span of a few milliseconds every instrument absorbed every bit of local space. The starscape was calculated, observed, and the position verified.
Then the mass drivers opened fire.
William could almost sense it before they blinked. His fingers danced on the console. The commands between the bridge crew were rapid. The data was still coming in and already the mass drivers had halted and quieted. The initial wave of violence stopped.
The displays showed nothing more in the immediate vicinity. The blink had brought them a step closer to a barren system with nothing but automated mining systems. Clouds of debris twinkled in the dim starlight.
“Clear, Captain,” Lieutenant Shay said. “Here’s the vid.”
One of the screens blanked out followed by a shift of starscape. Red icons were overlaid onto shadows scattered around the ship. A group of four Sa’Ami striders had been barely a kilometer away. Acceleration icons flared followed by an immediate juking and dancing. Mass drivers opened up a moment later and the targets were vaporized.
“That was quick,” Huron said, as the playback cycled once more.
“Go live, Ms. Shay, make sure nothing else is nearby. We’ll cover an AU or so before they come in.” William looked up to the system chart.
The ship released a trio of energy bursts that scattered in all directions. The energy ranged through various spectra and cast out at the speed of light. It plunged through the emptiness around them and returned scattered signatures of dust, micrometeorites, and the accumulated debris of space travel.
“Clear,” Lieutenant Shay said.
“Can they blink?” Huron asked.
William had been afraid that they could. He pictured the striders attacking away from him and began to scratch the palm of his augmetic hand nervously.
“Blink!” Huron called out. The display lit up with both the Core personnel carrier followed by the bulk of the Grouper a second later.
Comms chatter tore through the silence from both ships. “They’re on us!” a voice howled from the Grouper.
“There!” Lieutenant Shay called out and zoomed in on the outside of the Grouper. A pair of large striders leaped along the top of the shipping containers. Each was humanoid and massive with an elongated bulb hanging off the back.
“Grouper, seal hatches,” William called as he keyed up the weapons program and fired.
A pair of mass drivers stitched rounds into the Grouper. The first strider tumbled away with the bulbous back slapping against it. Sparks and delicate flame erupted.
The second strider leaped and powered down at an odd angle. It had fired a grav drive and pushed itself behind the mass of the freighter.
“Roll Grouper! Roll!” William yelled.
“You’re shooting at us!”
“Shut up and roll!” William yelled again.
“Blink!” Huron yelled.
The form of the Gallipoli appeared a kilometer on the opposite side of the grouper.
“Gallipoli is priming weapons,” Lieutenant Shay said. “We’re in line.”
William calculated the ordinance; he could take a few rounds. “Gallipoli! Fire mass drivers on the strider assaulting the Grouper!” He leaned forward and watched. Every beat of his heart was like a hammer in his ears.
The Gallipoli wore meager armaments, barely enough to show her as a truly armed corvette. But even with a handful of mass drivers, it would be enough.
The green winks came and William’s heartbeat dropped just a touch. The taste of metal was in the back of his mouth.
Mass driver rounds slammed into the Grouper in flashes of green and white. The Gallipoli ceased fire and all was silent.
“Grouper report,” William called over the comms.
“Our cargo! Have you any idea what those containers are worth? They’re irreplaceable!” a voice wailed over the comms.
William keyed the mute for the main speaker. “If they have anything important to say, let me know, Ms. Shay.” He cleared his throat and didn’t relish hailing the Gallipoli. He’d made a point of criticizing the Captain of the ship when he discovered he was a mercenary. All he could picture was the mercs who had enslaved the planet Redmond and were going to turn it over to the Hun. Maybe he’d been too harsh, he thought. “Gallipoli, well done. Thank you for the assistance.”
“We’ll send you the bill,” Mustafa called back in a heavy voice.
William smiled and nodded. He’d earned that one. “Huron, see if the Grouper needs anything, otherwise we continue on.” He kicked back and reviewed the footage of the attack. These weren’t weapons of war, they were designed to inhibit shipping but not destroy it. All signals pointed to a weapon designed to stop the flow of shipping.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Natyasha felt the anger rise. She turned and snapped her head to the Ambassador. “Don’t lecture me about necessities, Myint.” She turned away and looked up to the raw stone of the wall behind her. It was one of the few places around that didn’t weep corrosion. Mineral poor, and safe from prying eyes.
“When the time comes, we will offer support,” Ambassador Myint said in a low voice.
“Why not explain it? Put it to the council? Surely they’ll see the logic?” Garth said. He swirled a wide-mouthed glass before him and stared into the oily brown liquor.
Natyasha pictured the stoic faces of those small minded council members. “Half of them are with, or imported here, by Core. The others are old school colonists, they won’t see the necessities.”
If only it was so easy, she thought. None of them would see that they had to nurture one suitor while exploring all the other options. She looked up to the Ambassador. Slimy bastard, she thought, but weren’t they all?
“What of Core?” Ambassador Myint asked as he paced.
“What of them? They’re the root of the problem here. No tariffs from the Harmony Worlds right?”
“No unequal tariffs.”
Natyasha glared back at the Ambassador. Slimy, she could almost feel it. She needed leverage. The Ambassador would bring troops, foreign troops, and if she didn’t have a counter, they’d be in control. “How tight is the Harmony front?”
Myint raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly. “I’m an Ambassador, not an Admiral.”
“But surely you must know if the Harmony Worlds will spare starships for us?” Natyasha asked. “How long can we remain free of Core and the UC?”
“How long do we have to? Really?” Garth asked as he leaned forward in his chair. “Once the borders have shifted it’ll be difficult for them to come back in. Cast off that tariff and it’ll be impossible to bring back in.”
Natyasha didn’t buy it. “Core has a claim here, a lot of infrastructure, they won’t just let us walk with it.”
She hated to admit how much of the planet was Core owned. The layer of corporate nanites was thick on damn near everything.
How to get that leverage? She pictured a Hun garrison, her own militia could counter that well enough. Even if they were outgunned, the colonists would have a numerical advantage. She glanced at Myint and watched him expound the details of Burmese origins. It was difficult to keep the disgust off her face. The Ambassador was nearly slavering over the chance to seize the colony, her colony.
Bark spoke and startled Natyasha. “Ma’am, a moment?”
Natyasha nodded and the pair walked out of the room and down a slender hallway with a peaked ceiling.
“We’ve got a convoy coming in, ma’am,” Bark said.
Natyasha looked down at the stout woman. A convoy, she thought. “Who?”
“UC Navy, Core transport, a civilian corvette and an ancient freighter.” Bark shifted where she stood and flexed her augmetic arms. The bared alloy frame hummed and sang lightly.
Natyasha felt a shiver as she watched the mechanical arms. “Send an invite to the Captain of the UC ship. A cruiser?”
“I’m not sure, it’s not a design I’ve ever seen.”
A new design? A ship no one had ever seen? Now that was an interesting bit of leverage. Natyasha turned to the dark hallway and saw the Ambassador gesticulating something to Garth. Leverage indeed. “Could we take it?”
Bark smiled. “Yeah, I think we could.”
Natyasha pictured a starship. Winterthur’s starship. Her starship. “Organize a welcoming party. Keep it discrete, your people. None of the riot squad. Save Malic’s boys for something else.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bark said.
The pair separated and Natyasha walked back to the Ambassador. Garth slouched across from the Ambassador with his head on his chest. Both men were silent.
“Tell her,” Garth said.
Ambassador Myint turned and smiled crookedly at Natyasha. “Can you secure control?”
Natyasha crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Yes.” Enough bantering with the Ambassador.
The Ambassador’s face turned from the polite tilt of a politician to that of a bargaining opponent. “Riots?”
“We have a riot squad.”
Garth snorted.
“Mr. Garth doesn’t sound convinced,” Ambassador Myint said.
“They’re a bit raw, but effective,” Natyasha said.
“Brutal,” Garth murmured.
Ambassador Myint shrugged. “I have no problem with brutal. But it must be effective!” He snapped his finger at Natyasha. “Once this begins, if you cannot secure control, we will. Then I can do nothing, it will be a military matter.”
Natyasha smiled back politely and nodded. Good cop, bad cop. She’d seen it before. He was jockeying.
But what if there was no agreement? What if this was a ruse, and the Ambassador was here to seed dissent? Contingencies flowed. She’d need to attach one of Bark’s crew to the Ambassador. “And your side of the bargain? I’m not going to trade one overlord for another. We need independence.”
Myint smiled and the warm edge of the politician returned. “The Harmony Worlds has no interest in Winterthur as a conquest but only as a trading partner. You are a long way from our space.”
Garth looked to Natyasha. His face wore lines of worry and unhappiness. He opened his mouth as if to speak but instead said nothing.
Natyasha saw her opportunity. Secure the UC starship, secure the colony, and use that leverage against the Harmony Worlds. It might only be one starship, but this far out, one starship was worth a dozen treaties. “Excellent, Ambassador. We can all agree to that, yes?”
Garth looked up through bloodshot eyes and nodded weakly.
Ambassador Myint settled back into his chair and clasped his hands over his breast. A smile of satisfaction rested on his face like it was slathered on. “Of course.”
To add a bit of shock, she thought. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Ambassador, we have a convoy coming in that I must prepare for.”
The look on the Ambassador’s face was exactly what she was waiting for. His eyes betrayed him: he was surprised, very surprised. She liked that. Information always made the best leverage.
Garth saw it too and smiled back at Natyasha.
“Well, you are my ride back,” Garth added as he stood and walked towards Natyasha. “Good evening, Ambassador.”
“Good evening indeed,” Ambassador Myint mumbled as he sat alone in rocky silence.
Natyasha walked out feeling satisfied that the Ambassador would have plenty to keep him up at night. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that on one side was an enemy she knew and the other an unknown enemy. It was an option, a start, a place to leap off from. A leap, she thought, that might have a hard landing.
CHAPTER NINE
Emilie took a deep breath and tasted the tangy recycled air in the back of her mouth. She was ready to be out of this bucket. As ready as she ever was. She stood and listened to her knees crack.
“Ms. Rose,” Salamasina’s voice purred over the intercom.
Emilie felt her hair rise just listening to the voice. She tapped her fingers against the intercom but didn’t push the button yet. Did she want to talk? “What is it?”
“We’re in system, scans coming in, as you requested.”
The excitement started to rise. The first time she’d been back since leaving all those years ago. Would she know anyone? “Great, send it to my console,” she said in as level a tone as she could manage.
“Negative. Too much data, come to the bridge,” Salamasina said with a hint of arrogance.
Emilie wanted to slap the intercom just for good measure, but instead kept silent and tugged on a jacket.
She’d been waiting for this, to see what she actually purchased. Not just sketchy line items that were four months old, but real live assets. Robotic miners, automated refineries, orbital silos. All Core, no, she thought, all hers.
The hallways, normally empty and quiet, were filled with crew of the Gallipoli. Men and women hauled and shifted as the accumulated layer of filth from the voyage was scrubbed away. Only the smell of harsh chemical cleaners did anything to change the taste of the ship.
Emilie passed through with a professional indifference. She knew how these things went. It was the same whether it was a superlev, an elevator, or even a short trip arcjet: people had to organize. She stepped and dodged and found her way to the bridge.
The bridge was a sharp change from the chaos happening down the hall. A set of sleek granite topped consoles huddled beneath overhead displays. Mustafa sat on the top of one. Samalasina relaxed in a reclining chair with silvery leads trailing out of her head.
The professionalism and design of the bridge always impressed Emilie. Every time she walked on she felt like she was on a different ship, a ship where some two-bit merc wasn’t running the show. She nodded to Salamasina and stood next to Mustafa. “Which console can I take?”
Mustafa glanced at Salamasina and smiled back at Emilie. His mustache was growing back in, but was not the thick mass of luxurious broomstick bristles like most Turkish men could wear. “Any,” he said in an indifferent tone.
Emilie felt something was off, like a joke she had just walked in on. She glanced around and took a seat next to Mustafa.
The display scrolled rapidly and abruptly stopped. Assets were listed, ranked, categorized. Each was followed by a list of astrological details. Velocity, acceleration, vector.
Emilie squinted and leaned in closer. She tapped her fingers onto the cool slab of granite and scrolled down the list. Something was wrong. It came back to her, all assets in system. Samson! Dirty son-of-a-bitch, she thought, he moved the assets out.
“Very good, thank you Mustafa,” she said.
Mustafa looked over to Salamasina and shrugged slightly in disappointment. He slid off the console and returned to the Captain’s chair. The one thing on the bridge that was original was the alloy and strap covered chair. It would almost look proper with an old style maritime wheel before it.
The betrayal she felt was only surpassed by the anger. Anger at no one but herself. She should have known better. She purchased all assets in system. All Samson would have to do is send a courier and have the automated systems pack up and leave. A part of her respected the wit, the ability to bend the rules to his advantage. But as her eyes scanned the meager list what she expected was significantly reduced.
A small fleet of robotic asteroid miners, the kind that were new technology thirty years before. The refinery ships were a sort specialized for technetium, a mineral quite in demand twenty years ago but in the gutter now. The system additive cells were a style that could produce assemblies, just not very fast, or efficiently. On top of it all was a renewed lease for a prison contract and a service agreement with a monastery.
Her eyes drifted down the list and stopped on the last two. A prison and a monastery. A part of her found some comedy there, but she knew little of either.
Both were but a minor line item in an otherwise profitable operation. A profitable operation that was headed somewhere else.
She wanted to cry. But no, to hell with that. She still had billions in assets, just not what she thought. New numbers flew through her head and she projected mineral prices into potential profit.
The numbers were large. Huge. Greater than the industrial output of most colonies. But not huge enough. Could she secure a contract? A big juicy one? What did the colony need? Her eyes ran along the room and saw that she had the one thing the colony didn’t.
A proper ship with guns.
“Think we could take ‘em?” Salamasina asked Emilie. The pilot’s eyes were glassy.
“Who? Hun?”
“That frigate.”
The display wobbled and zoomed in on the rough exterior of the potato-shaped frigate. With the exception of a few metallic ports it looked exactly like an asteroid. Only a slight ripple on the trailing edge showed where the grav drive exited.
Emilie squinted at the screen and was sure the pilot must be joking. That bravado between professionals to always know who is the best. “Right,” she said, as she returned her gaze to the screen.
A crewman in an EVA suit poked his head onto the bridge. “Torpedo launcher is online, Captain.”
“Keep going, Gavin, unbox ‘em all,” Mustafa said. He looked up at the display and shifted views.
Above him a list of weapons systems blinked on. Most were offline. A few showed maintenance alerts, but more were showing green.
Emilie blinked at the list. It dawned on her that they weren’t cleaning and making ready—they were unboxing hidden weapons and bringing them online. “Is this standard procedure?” she asked Mustafa.
The weapon list now included railguns, target painters, missile batteries, and the old style torpedo launcher. It was as if Mustafa had latched on to every weapon system he could buy.
Mustafa looked over at Emilie and his eyes twinkled. “You didn’t hire me just to look pretty.”
“I think we can take ‘em,” Salamasina mumbled.
“What do you think, Ms. Rose? Sala has an axe to grind, but we could make off with a pretty penny,” Mustafa said as he chomped on his mustache.
Above him another missile battery came online.
Emilie wasn’t sure what to think of the comment. They had to be kidding. It was outright piracy. The thought ran through her head for a second. She’d have the only ship, a seized convoy, and the combined Core workforce. It’d be a dictatorship. But where would it lead to? She didn’t want any of that. But were they serious? She looked to Mustafa and back to Salamasina. “What’s she got against the Navy?”
“That Captain Grace took her ship.”
“And killed my husband,” Salamasina added.
The bridge felt cold. The granite slab seemed dead beneath Emilie’s hands. She had every expectation that this was a joke, but it wasn’t. There was still UC assets in space, which meant Core assets with them. Time to deflect this, she thought. “Cut the shit. We’ve got a job to do, that Captain will be off to the front and out of our hair soon enough. And c’mon? We just got here.”
Mustafa looked to Salamasina and smiled at her. “See? I told you. You get a job and stick with it. No need to make this personal.”
Salamasina closed her eyes and shifted her body deeper into the chair. She looked serene, almost angelic.
Emilie didn’t feel as relieved as she thought. She had no interest in getting into some half-baked vendetta. There were enough issues throughout the system. Least of all was the fact that she’d paid for a whole bunch of equipment that wasn’t in the system anymore. “How long?”
“Few more hours, depending on that slow ass freighter,” Mustafa said, jabbing a finger at the icon of the Grouper. “Then we can dock, but customs will have the convoy lead dock first.”
“Comms request,” Salamasina said. “It’s them.”
Them? Emilie assumed that was the UC.
“Gallipoli. Continue in and dock at the needle,” a woman’s voice said in a bored tone.
Mustafa held his hands open before him and shrugged. “Or not in this case, eh?”
“What are they doing?” Emilie asked. “Why change?”
Mustafa leaned forward and hit the comms key. “Convoy lead. Ms. Rose wants to know why you’re not escorting her in.”
Emilie felt her face flush red and started to get angry. Her eyes snapped over to Mustafa.
Mustafa wore a slight smile and seemed to enjoy the question.
There was a pause, a moment of silence, followed by a crackling on the other end.
“Gallipoli, we have some assets to secure,” Captain Grace’s voice said over the comms. “We’ll be returning when the convoy is ready to depart.”
“How long? Ask him how long ‘til they leave to secure the assets?” Emilie asked excitedly. She felt impatient to get moving. Impatient to secure what was hers and start laying the groundwork for a corporation. Then it hit her. She could walk, right now, leave it all and tell Samson to shove it. Or at least get her job back. Could she? The waves of emotion rolled over her and she decided no, she couldn’t leave. This was her decision and she’d stick with it.
“One hour,” Captain Grace called back.
“Can you set me up here? I need to talk to him,” Emilie said.
Mustafa tapped on the granite and nodded.
“Captain, this is Emilie Rose. There are Core assets, my assets, at those locations. I’m coming to catalog that.” She released the key and waited.
Mustafa laughed and nodded to Salamasina. “See? Balls, eh?”
“Negative. We’re not going to be docking before departure.”
Shit, she thought. Her eyes danced along the list of assets in system. The monastery had an old Kubota blink launch. “Not an issue, Captain, just drop me off at the monastery.”
“Helluva vacation location,” Salamasina mumbled.
She knew she had to push, too much time to think on it and he’d cut her off. “Captain?”
“Gallipoli. Approach to fifty meters. Ms. Rose, suit up and prepare for transfer. No baggage please, ma’am,” a female voice called back.
The moment came and went and luck was on her side. It might be routine, it might be boring, but at the very least she might secure a few extra items. Who knows what sort of goodies she might discover on the fringe. The robotic systems couldn’t loot everything. Time to recover some payback. “Mustafa?”
Mustafa nodded. “You heard ‘em, Sala, bring us in.” He turned to Emilie. “And us?”
“Bring it in, dock up, and provision. Try to avoid any conversations. You’re just my escort, got it?”
“Of course, just a taxi,” Mustafa replied with a snort.
Emilie stood quickly and nodded to Mustafa. “Try not to get into any trouble, all right?”
“Not unless it pays.”
She walked out the door. Now was her chance to reclaim a bit of lost pride. If she could lay claim to those assets they’d be on the books when it all came back together.
*
The delicate dance between the two ships passed along the edge of the outer planets. About the place where the debris changed from ice to bits of stone and iron. The convoy traveled towards the only planet with a space elevator.
They passed away from the core of the system and visited a trio of orbital facilities. Each was uncrewed and filled with enough additive cells to fix a fleet. Except the fleet wasn’t there.
At every stop Emilie stood in silence and looked around with sad eyes. There was some materials, and some equipment, but most everything was gone.
The unnamed UC ship changed course and burned at a side vector. The path curved and slung them towards the outside. A single short blink brought them to the edge of the system. A prison facility and a monastery, both within a short blink of each other. So short a distance that they could do it with a grav drive if they weren’t in a hurry.
William double checked the access codes and felt a bit nervous dropping in. He’d never visited a prison, let alone a maximum security corporate prison. It wasn’t a trip he wanted to make, but it was part of the inspection. Make sure everything was proper and sign it off. He glanced at Emilie Rose and watched her studying the station. “Not what you thought it was, is it?”
“No,” she mumbled. “Not exactly.”
Core had the contract to maintain and service the station. What once brought colonists to Wintethur now held the combined criminal elements of a handful of neighboring star systems. The station was a relic of an earlier age of exploration. A series of spent fuel tanks connected in parallel. The only power signature rose from an archaic reactor at the tail end where they were headed.
“Corporal Vale, ten minutes,” Lieutenant Shay called out over the comms.
“Keep everything live. We’re going in with Vale while the brothers cover the door. No one comes on board,” William said to both Lieutenant Shay and Midshipman Bryce. “Clear?”
Bryce nodded quickly, nervously. Shay made a clicking sound with her tongue and settled back into the chair. Her console was overlaid with station attack simulations running.
“I have every expectation for everything to be normal,” Emilie said to William.
William nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you do. But expectations aren’t necessarily reality.”
Corporal Vale sailed through the hallway and found her footing in the artificial gravity of the bridge. Her armor looked formed and graceful, a new design for a new war. “Armor, Captain?”
William felt a touch of—what was it, fear? Excitement? He wasn’t sure, but adrenaline for sure. Those long watches and waits in between stars made for days devoid of any adrenaline. To have it back now was a subtle relief. “Negative. You’re going to keep me safe right?”
Corporal Vale grinned and showed a set of mismatched off color teeth. She patted the blocky Browning heavy assault rifle that was slung across her chest. “Me and Mr. Browning, sir.”
William left the gravity of the bridge and propelled himself through the main passage. His arms tapped the sides of the hall and made a quick correction. Orange lights blinked to show where the gravity began again. He spun and tucked himself into a walking position.
Behind him Emilie propelled herself with both hands. She groped for hand holds, like someone unfamiliar with zero gravity.
William took hold and helped her stand.
Frail, he thought as he helped her get used to the gravity. She’d probably never had to deal with zero-g until today, he thought. At least she didn’t puke. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “This way.”
The pair of Serbian Marines stood at either side of the hatch. Both were in heavy boarding armor with boarding shotguns in hand. Each looked like a defending sentinel staring out a dirty crenelated wall. Beyond a small access was punched through the asteroid with only a layer of nanite adhesive to seal it all in.
“You’ve got five minutes and we’re out,” William said to Emilie.
Emilie nodded and turned her thin face towards the hatch. “Just a minute to see the inventory.”
“We’re coming in Captain,” Lieutenant Shay said over the intercom.
William looked back down the hall and saw a few maintenance personnel taking battle stations. He’d always liked how Huron ran the shifts. Relaxed, but tight enough to get the job done. “All right, into the lock.”
The team pushed through into the cramped quarters. The walls were gray sealant with a hatch on the opposite side leading to vacuum.
William could taste the stale air along with the tang of plastic in the back of his mouth. He didn’t like air locks, because he didn’t like looking down. He watched as the boarding gantry came into view and felt relieved to see it wasn’t the clear type. Looking down always freaked him out.
The door hissed and cracked open. On the opposite side a long narrow gantry wreathed in expandable insulation drooped sadly. A heavy riveted door hung on the opposite bulkhead. It wore the Core logo surrounded by red warning labels.
William took the first steps out and felt Corporal Vale’s hand on his shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, Captain.”
He let her get halfway down the gantry before following. The air took on a smell that he couldn’t place. Like an old garbage can in the winter.
A grubby face appeared in the frost edged window.
Funny, he thought. I didn’t even notice the cold. It must be adrenaline again. “Hold up, let them open it.”
Corporal Vale leaned against the insulation. A dull whine sang through the passage as the Browning powered up.
The door swung open silently. A thin, bald man stood within the doorframe. His eyes were wide, almost to the point of bugging out of his head. The uniform he wore had a vague look of professionalism but hinged on the edge of shabby. “Don’t mind the smell,” he yelled, and turned.
William wrinkled his nose and sniffed. It didn’t smell different. Oh shit. There it was. He gagged—it was like someone shit in a bag and tossed it onto a grill. The smell’s in my mouth, he kept thinking over and over.
“C’mon, Captain, it’s not as bad once you get in,” Corporal Vale called from inside the door.
The three found themselves inside an open space large enough to dock a small frigate. The walls were dull and oxidized. Crates and cases were stacked almost to the ceiling. A single lit passage went to the left while a heavy bulkhead went to the right. The man sat on the edge of a box with his legs dangling over the edge.
“Don’t get many visitors,” he said.
“Who are you?” William asked.
“Shin Xin. Keeper of this place.”
Emilie spun around and studied the facility. She stepped up onto a crate and craned her neck upwards. “What’s in all the boxes?”
Shin looked up and shrugged. “Bullshit. Possessions of the prisoners.”
“This is Emilie Rose, she owns all this now.” William waited and let it sink in. “UC is pulling out of this system until such time we deem it strategically necessary to return.”
Shin looked at Emilie and William with a confused look. “Why?”
“The war?” William said slowly.
“Huh,” Shin said. “I don’t get many visitors.”
“It’s just you?” Emilie asked.
“Yup. Why’d you need more than one keeper? It’s not like they’re going anywhere,” he said, hooking his thumb towards the riveted door. “You’re the new boss, then?”
Emilie smiled weakly and nodded. “You have an inventory?”
“Of prisoners?”
“No. Items.”
“Oh.” Shin pulled a dirty tablet from his shirt.
“Two minutes,” Corporal Vale called.
Emilie looked frantic as her hands scrolled and scrolled on the screen. She shook her head and talked to herself inaudibly.
“You’re leaving already?” Shin asked.
“She’ll be back—won’t you, Ms. Rose?” William said.
Before she could answer, the riveted door boomed and voices rang out. A single narrow window filled with dirty faces. Blotchy skin and wide eyes looked out.
“What are they in for? Murderers?” William asked.
Shin shook his head and walked closer to the heavy door. “Most are for violent crimes, worst would be manslaughter. A lot of robbery, a few nanite dealers. All for five year sentences. They keep the really nasty ones on Earth.”
William glanced back at the dirty faces in the window and nodded. A helluva way to run a prison, he thought.
“I’ll keep in touch, Mr. Xin,” Emilie said, backing away from the hatch.
“Print this,” William said, handing a tablet to Shin.
Shin laid his palm on it and sat back down quietly. He scrunched his cheeks up and nodded. “An assistant would be nice.”
*
The last stop was a monastery. It was a US Naval dropship old enough to make it into the history books. Row after row of drop capsules studded the length of the ship. Someone made a beauty for a war fought long ago. Micro meteor scars pocked the hull like it had hit with a shotgun. A bright beacon of light illuminated a crucifix with a pair of angled crossbars.
“Last one Ms. Rose,” William said as he leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Status from in system, Ms. Shay?”
Lieutenant Shay craned her neck from side to side with an audible popping. “Transport is almost loaded, they’ll be done before we are. The, uh, Grouper, is still negotiating.”
Great, he thought. Still negotiating. The Grouper had been nothing but trouble throughout the entire operation. “They’ve got until the transport is done.”
“Yes sir.”
Emilie hunched over with her elbows planted on her knees. Her face wore a look of boredom and sadness.
William watched her a moment and understood why she was going out. At every stop she took inventory and found the same thing. Not what she wanted. Not that he could help her, but still, he felt bad. A risk, was, well, a risk. He wanted to ask details but decided against it. Not his business. “Ms. Rose?”
Emilie’s head perked up and she looked around. “Hmm?”
“Monastery.” William pointed to the screen. “What does Core want with this anyhow?”
“We service it, lease them a single launch and keep them supplied. Imported food items mostly.”
Midshipman Bryce cleared his throat. “You import food here?”
“Well yes, if we can produce it cheaper elsewhere.”
“Seems kind of, well, foolish. Why ship it across a few stars when you could grow it here, ma’am?”
Lieutenant Shay shook her head and nudged Bryce with her foot. “Give a man a razor and sell him the blades.”
Bryce squinted and looked at Shay with his mouth open. “Huh?”
“She’s right. It’s a profit model. This colony is—was—a production designation for us. For Core. They bring in processed foods from other colonies with more agricultural potential.”
Bryce looked back to his station and stifled a yawn.
“Quite profitable, too,” Emilie said.
“So now that Core is pulling out?” William asked, letting the words trail.
Emilie licked her lips and nodded. “Well, seeing as I don’t have an agricultural colony, we’ll start growing our own.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble,” Bryce said.
“Maybe, but it’s a challenge.”
William didn’t quite get Emilie. “Why are you doing this, Ms. Rose? Why leave Core?”
Emilie let out a deep breath and smiled sheepishly. “It seemed like a much better idea before.”
William watched her stretch out and rub her face.
“I’m from here, born on Winterthur. I left and went to Harvard under a colonial scholarship. Core was fine, but, well, Earth is an odd place to me. I guess a part of me wanted to come back, so I saw a chance and took it. It’s hard to stay away when you can make a difference.”
William looked at her without saying a word.
“We’re coming in,” Lieutenant Shay said.
Emilie dropped into silence and watched the screens.
The ancient ship loomed large in the displays. Tarnished lights flickered and pulsed to mark the docking hub. A single planetary launch hung off the bottom of the ship. The two ships came close until one nestled up to the other with a dull thud.
“All right, Shay, you know the routine, we’ll be out in a moment,” William said as he stood and cracked his back.
“Going to take me a minute to get the seal made, Captain. One helluva old design,” Huron called over the intercom.
Great, William thought. He plopped himself back down into the chair and stretched his legs. His eyes closed and he pictured himself heading back to the war. Back to where he could do some good. For some reason, Winterthur reminded him of Farshore, a longing was kindled that he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. A longing for home.
“Captain, I, uh, I’ve got something,” Bryce said.
William snapped his eyes open and focused on the center display.
The display peeled back and showed the entirety of the solar system out past the Oort band. A single relay beacon on the edge of space broadcasted an arrival. The system had four surrounding systems, each with a relay beacon on the edge of space.
Data flowed in from the relay before ceasing abruptly. It was enough to see that a pair of ships blinked in. One was a Harmony Worlds assault cruiser while the other was an armored troopship. The last points of data showed them accelerating into the system.
William punched the key for battle stations. “Huron! Get that hatch open, we’re dropping off our passenger!”
The adrenaline started to flow. He could feel his neck tingle and the palm of his augmetic hand itch. He watched the screen. It was a close enough match, or should be if the Hun hadn’t upgraded since the last time he faced them off Redmond.
Then it hit him. His orders. All he had to do was get the Core transport out. He felt everything move around him as the decision laid onto his shoulders. Cut and run, that was his orders. Leave Winterthur to its own. Could he do it? Make it another Canaan, trapped behind enemy lines to survive alone? He looked to Lieutenant Shay, who stared back at him. “Send word to the transport, they’re moving. Now. Oh! The Grouper too!”
He could taste it. The raw steeliness of the adrenaline in the back of his mouth. His hands danced on the console and brought up the nav simulation. Plot after plot laid itself out before him. Edges in, edges out, blinks points and optimizations. He didn’t like any of them. His hand swept across and cleared it all out. A slender line plotted out an intercept.
“Captain?” Lieutenant Shay said. “Our orders?”
William slapped his hand down onto the console. Damned if he did, and a coward if he didn’t. A line that Emilie spoke came back to him. She’d said it’s hard to leave when you can make a difference. Well, what more of a difference could he make? On one hand, his orders laid it out, and on top of it all, his ship would disassemble if he wasn’t back in time. But to leave a colony undefended... And he had plenty of time.
“Shit.” He looked to Bryce and Shay. “I’m not going to leave them.”
Shay looked to Bryce and then to Rose. Bryce’s face scrunched up and he nodded. Shay simply turned around and began to lay out her console.
William pushed the main intercom button. “Here’s how it is. We’ve got a Hun cruiser and troop carrier coming into system. Our orders are to leave system and not engage,” William released the intercom and let the words hang. “I’m not going to do that.”
His heartbeat rose. The patter tickled against his chest and he took a breath. Here it is, violating a direct order. All he had to do was win the day, bring the ship back, and endure a court martial. It’d be hard to prosecute if he won, and if he lost, well, you couldn’t court martial a corpse. “If you want off, now’s the time.” He looked to Ms. Rome. “That’s you.”
Emilie looked at William with wide eyes. She stood slowly and nodded. “What are you doing?”
He wondered the same thing himself, but settled on the only answer that made sense. “The right thing. Now get out, we’ve got to move.”
A slight smile spread across her face. “Good luck.”
“Vale, get Ms. Rome into the monastery. Huron? Are we ready?”
Mechanical whining and the hissing of air sounded. “Just about!” Huron replied over the clamor.
“Let me know how many depart with Ms. Rome please.”
Worry spread through him and he watched as the docking routine finish. In a few short minutes the hatch sealed again and they pushed off. He waited for the reply. It was his decision, a decision that he’d go alone if he had to.
“All clear, Captain. Just Ms. Rome,” Huron replied.
Relief and excitement started to build inside of William. He nodded and a wicked little smile spread across his face. Time to get down to business. “Shay, Bryce, let’s lay it out, time to go pick a fight.”
CHAPTER TEN
––––––––
Natyasha stood in the center of the elevator with her arms crossed and her face angry. Incompetence could be dealt with, but bad luck, well, anyone could have bad luck. “What’s Bark doing?” she asked a man standing behind her.
“Waiting for you, ma’am.”
The elevator moved upward through the upper atmosphere. The smell of crowds of people still hung in the air. The undersized filtration system wasn’t designed to handle a major influx so quickly. The elevator shuddered and hum, then stopped abruptly as harmonics stuttered along the cable.
The scene played itself out in her head. Bark was waiting with a few dozen troops. Then when the ships blinked in, it wasn’t the ship they wanted. Bark, she thought, was smart enough to know when to wait. The true mark of an ardent follower, she thought. Her eyes glanced around the elevator and saw a few trusted aides, all standing just far enough away. “Are they in system yet?”
“Yes ma’am, a cruiser and a troop ship.”
Natyasha nodded. “How long?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
Natyasha sighed and shifted her feet. She glanced over at a linear indicator. They were nearly three quarters of the way and the car was decelerating, or at least that’s what the display told her. She couldn’t feel a thing beyond nice level gravity. She sniffed and exhaled through her mouth. Core was gone.
The victory felt hollow. She had one of her greatest goals, but something was missing. They wouldn’t just leave, they couldn’t. There was too much tied up. In some cases the operators simply turned off the equipment and walked away. The corporate write-off must be staggering, she thought. Already she knew her people were moving in and claiming what they could. That part felt good, but there was no vindication, no explanation, just corporate control leaving.
The elevator came to a stop and the door opened to a wide expanse. Inside the length of docking station extended past a hundred meters. The space was silent, empty, barren. Only the hum of the reactor and the harmonics of the cable betrayed any life at all.
Natyasha stepped out and turned to see Bark waiting. “Well?”
“They’re on contract,” Bark said.
“Contract? What’s that mean? To Core? To us? The UC?”
Bark took a short quick breath. “I don’t know.”
Natyasha walked past Bark and shook her head. “Are your people here?”
“They’re here.”
“Do they know?”
“I don’t think so,” Bark said.
Natyasha nodded and walked through a bulkhead to a second docking area. The emptiness felt odd to her, it always felt so alive in the docking station.
Three dozen men and women stood in dark gray body armor. Beyond them lay a hallway with a frosty patch of hull at the end. The armor plate of the hull was a dull orange with streaks of moisture weeping through the frost.
“Did they come out?”
Bark shook her head. “They inquired about provisioning, said they were waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Natyasha snapped.
Bark kept her face impassive and followed.
Natyasha grasped a heavy comm panel and turned it to face her. She poked at the comm key and waited for it to acknowledge. She didn’t have time for this bullshit. “Put the Captain on.”
A dull click was followed by a level tone.
“This is Mustafa, this is my ship,” a thick slow voice replied.
“Mustafa what?” Natyasha asked.
“Just Mustafa. Are you here about provisions?”
“Open the goddamn door. I’m not talking to this,” Natyasha said as she slammed down the comm panel.
Bark shifted and mumbled something into her mic. The pair waited.
A thin line cracked in the frost and moisture broke through. The airlock slid open. Inside stood a man with a coal black mustache. Behind him the opposite airlock was sealed. He smiled politely. He looked to Bark and Natyasha, the smile never leaving his face. “And you are?”
Natyasha ignored him. “What do you want? Who do you work for? Core?”
The man licked his lips and peered down the hallway. “I am Mustafa, I’m not going to deal with someone whose name I do not know. It is not polite.” His fingers drifted up and itched one ear, a slight shimmer of a nanite patch glistened in the light of the airlock.
“Natyasha Dousman.”
“Can I call you Naty?” Mustafa asked.
“I don’t fucking think so. Now who is your employer?”
Mustafa shifted and looked down the hallway again. “How many people are waiting over there?”
“Enough,” Bark said.
Mustafa nodded. “The Gallipoli is armed, you know.”
Natyasha saw the tone change subtly. It was a negotiation at its most basic level. Lay out what you’ve got and let’s see the hand. Time was not on her side. “What’s your contract?”
Mustafa turned his head slightly and ran his tongue along his lips. “Passage.”
“Terms?”
“Three months with an option.”
Natyasha nodded. “Bond?”
Mustafa shook his head slowly.
“Would you like one?” Natyasha asked.
Mustafa looked between the two and leaned away. He looked down the hallway once more. He laughed, and it sounded like a cough.
Natyasha could feel it. There it was, laid on the line. The man was weighing his options. “Rhenium, platinum, maybe a bit of good old fashioned gold. A nice bond, yes?”
Mustafa’s eyes focused on Natyasha and he held her gaze. “That would be nice,” he said slowly.
Natyasha wanted to smile. “We’ll pack it up and store it here. All yours. once the term is completed.” She turned to Bark. “Ms. Bark, arrange it, please, two hundred kilos of each?”
“Three,” Mustafa added.
Natyasha held her hands up in mock defeat. “Done.”
Mustafa smiled and relaxed his pose.
“Who do you work for?”
“Emilie Rome.”
The name meant nothing to Natyasha, but it sounded familiar. “Who is she?”
“She owns the Core assets here.”
Natyasha was caught silent. Anyone who could purchase the industrial assets of an entire system could be a valuable ally. “Where is she?”
“On the UC ship inspecting assets.”
“Capabilities?” Natyasha asked as she looked at the hull.
“Enough.”
“Enough for what? A picnic?”
Mustafa chuckled and ran his fingers through his mustache. “Enough to handle anything in the system, troopship, even that cruiser.”
“Cruiser?” Natyasha asked as she looked at Bark.
“The one the UC is headed for.”
Bark shrugged and spoke quietly into her mic. “The UC Ambassador doesn’t know.”
I bet he doesn’t, Natyasha thought. But I bet he knows more than we think, she thought.
Departure alarms sounded through the halls. It was a steady tone followed by shrill beeps. Then silence once again.
“That’d be the Core transport, yes?” Mustafa asked.
Natyasha ran through her options, she didn’t trust the Ambassador but at the same time didn’t particularly trust the UC either. Were they really leaving? It sure seemed that way, and the UC Ambassador had left on the ship. She weighed waiting for the Captain of the UC ship or taking matters into her own hands. Time enough, she liked control. “Mustafa, it’s a fighting war now, isn’t it?”
“Seems to be, yes.”
Natyasha clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I like options. Having a Hun cruiser floating overhead hampers my options. Having a troopship dock up restricts my choices.” She let it hang for a moment and watched Mustafa. “And having the UC on my back creates problems as well.”
Mustafa rubbed his chin. “The rate went up.”
Natyasha smiled. Her eyes sparkled in the bright light of the boarding bay. She liked this, that moment where new plans merged past old ones. The course had changed. But to still leave some options opens. “I’m not burning any bridges here. Let the Core transport out, even cover them if need be. Then see what happens with the Hun and the UC. Depending on the end game take ‘em out.”
“The troopship?” Mustafa asked.
“Leave them be for now, we can handle that—can’t we, Ms. Bark?”
Bark smiled a thin, professional smile and said nothing.
“Now go, keep in touch,” Natyasha said as she turned and walked away.
Bark nodded to Mustafa in a moment of professional recognition before turning and following. Mustafa leaned back with his hands in his pockets and smiled.
Natyasha heard the airlock cycle behind her and saw Mustafa walking through. She didn’t trust him, but he was going to be very useful. He gave her deniability across all fronts. If he succeeded, well, all the better. And if he didn’t, then she was still sitting ahead of where she was. “Interesting times, Ms. Bark, interesting times.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The display was a dance of vectors that pulsed through the unending pull of gravity. Lines were laid, paths were set, and now only time split the opponents. The Hun cruiser approached and took a wide arc to blink onto the edge of a barren planet. The troopship skirted the other direction and fled in system.
William saw the chess pieces and mapped it out. If he went after the troopship the Hun cruiser could maul him from behind. He’d get it, there was no doubt, but they’d get him. Instead he nudged the display and laid a course out for the barren planet. Winterthur Seven.
“Why don’t they give them names? Winterthur Seven, kind of lame,” Bryce asked himself.
“Cuz they weren’t born on Haven, sunshine,” Shay replied as she laid out the nav program.
William took a moment to leave the bridge and stretch his legs. He nodded to Grgur and passed through to zero-g. The shift to zero gravity and back to full gravity made his stomach turn. Though it always did.
He looked in on his crew and smiled and nodded to each. A moment to connect, say hello, not lay out the expectations, but to just communicate. They knew the expectations, there was no doubt. He once regretted not making that walk, so he made time for it.
Huron was laying on his back in the middle of the small crew commons area. His eyes were closed and a slight smile was on his face. The room had taken on the smell of garlic. Not a touch of garlic, not a spill, but an all out garlic assault. Huron appeared to be sucking it in and enjoying it.
William smiled and leaned against the bulkhead. He’d always found the Martian-born engineer quirky. “Huron, maintenance time?”
Huron’s smile grew wider. His eyes stayed closed. “Ahh, Captain. Just stretching out, my quarters are a bit tight. It’s a luxury to have a moment here.”
“We ready?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t be lying on the floor if we weren’t.”
William nodded. “Of course,” he replied with a light laugh. “How’s she gonna do?” he asked in a more serious tone.
Huron sighed and the smile dropped. “She’ll hold up. Or should at least. It’s a good design for what it’s for.”
William knew what it was for: war. Nothing but. His hand slid along the wall and rubbed against one of the welded sections. Memories slid back, harsh memories like gritty snow. It would disassemble, to prevent anyone from taking it. He wondered how it would happen. If the welds popped, vacuum would surge in and everything would fall apart. Could suit up, he thought.
The moment drifted away and he put the thought of disintegration behind him. Already he’d violated his orders and was about to engage a Hun cruiser. No use worrying about the ship coming apart.
“Does the Hun cruiser look any different?”
William shook his head. “They make ‘em ugly. Maybe even uglier than this,” he said as he looked to the raw asteroid wall. “Doesn’t appear they made a technological shift like the Sa’Ami.”
Huron let out a sigh of relief. The engineer sat himself up. “How long?”
“Another hour or so, we’ll open it up early and keep ‘em guessing. They’ll hold range if I had to bet.”
Huron looked surprised. “You? A betting man?”
William laughed and felt a bit of tension wash away. “I’ve had a good run, no use ruining it with a bet, eh?”
Huron nodded and stood. “Works for me! If you lose a bet, we lose a ship, not a prospect I like.”
A hissing sound burst out from behind of a narrow wall. The smell of garlic billowed after a moment later. A shuffling sound of steel on steel pushed in behind it.
“Hello Igor. What’s for dinner?” William asked, knowing the answer, but felt hungry anyway.
Igor’s thick head popped around the edge of the small galley and grinned at William. “Garlic!” he said excitedly. “Beautiful ,beautiful garlic, Captain.”
“Make a good ship name,” Huron mumbled.
“Garlic?”
Huron shrugged. “Earth plant, but spread through the stars and to almost every colony. A bit of poetry to that, eh?”
William liked it. There was a subtle poetry, a slight nod to heritage on both sides of the debate. It also beat the damned numeric indicator they’d left with. It was hard to inspire a crew and talk about S245998. “Sounds good, Mr. Huron.”
The smell of garlic grew stiffer in the room, as if Igor wanted to christen the hull.
William returned to the bridge and took his seat. “Go get a bite to eat, you two. Igor is cooking.”
“Yes sir,” Bryce said quickly and left.
Shay stood and stretched. “Nav’s laid out, Captain, Bryce put in a weapons program, but this pig handles most of it herself. Wonder why we’re here sometimes eh?”
“I wonder the same thing. I’ll check the programs, now go get some more garlic. Oh, that reminds me.” He pressed the shipwide intercom button and waited for the tone to finish. “This ship is no longer named the S245998. It is now to be called the Garlic.”
Shay looked at William like he was crazy and laughed as she walked off the bridge.
His eyes returned to the display before him and he saw about what he expected. The Hun cruiser was coming in. The last blink had it headed to the barren planet. It could have changed, they weren’t close enough to get a visual yet. The Core transport was moving out of the system with Mustafa’s corvette running a screen on the side. The Grouper, his friend in agony, was still docked. Mustafa surprised him, he expected the corvette to hang close to the planet.
He laid out the nav plot and played out the course. Statistical bands shifted away from the course of the Hun cruiser. But he wouldn’t know for sure until they blinked, were lit up with an energy source, or came close enough for a scan.
The smell of garlic preceded Bryce by a moment. “Captain? Do they know we’re here?”
William nodded. “Yes, once we blinked they could read the signature from the Haydn and guess on our mass.”
Bryce nodded and concentrated as he chewed the side of his cheek. “So we’re gonna look pretty small—correct, Captain?”
William smiled at Bryce. He could see where his thought train was going, but didn’t want to stop it. “Go on.”
“So they think we’re smaller than we really are for the guns we mount.”
“Go on.”
“So when they do get close enough...”
“It’ll be too late,” Shay said, sliding into her chair.
A look of recognition spread on Bryce’s face, followed by a smile. “Oh hell yeah.”
William felt the burning and itching on the palm of his augmetic hand. The feeling always came when he was excited, or maybe the adrenaline triggered it. “Let’s blink and get this dance going.”
The starscape shifted once more and the barren planet was wide in the screen. Before the blink it was scarcely brighter than the starscape behind it. Now a band of light showed the terminator line. The edge looked like stirred up dirt mixed with old milk.
Turrets slid and tested limits. The railgun powered up with a dim shudder. The lights winked for a moment as the capacitor bank charged to maximum. On the rear the missile batteries loaded with a resounding ka-chunk. The grav shields powered up, but only barely. It was the one downfall of the design: they sacrificed grav shields for mass.
The ship came close to the planet, or as close as one could get and still be in space. The gravity well acted like a slingshot, like a ball bearing rolling down a funnel and gathering speed. Below them the surface was dark, empty, devoid of anything. In front the curvature of the planet marked the edge.
“Weapons program is live,” Shay said in a low voice.
William nodded. Soon. It’d happen before he even expected it, the weapons would be off. Then, he knew, it’d be over quick. The wall of slugs that the mass driver could throw was immense. “Get ready on the roll, Mr. Bryce, I want to get all the mass drivers in the fight.”
“Yes sir!” Bryce snapped back quickly.
A light blinked and then it began. Instead of coming in on the same plane as the Garlic, the Hun cruiser was in a polar orbit. The ship was curving from below. Both ships opened fire immediately. Mass drivers slugs punched through vacuum while railguns fired and left trails of singing plasma.
Missiles erupted from both ships and blossomed out into space. From a distance it would look almost beautiful, like a light show in the midst of the darkest night ever. Instead, the rounds punched and shattered, missiles exploded and the brawl was on.
The wave of adrenaline washed over William. Surprise was followed a second after. The Hun cruiser had altered course and changed planes. He felt stupid for not thinking of doing it himself. Trapped in two dimensions, a true pilot would say. “There it is!” he shouted out.
“Rolling!” Bryce called out.
The display shifted and drifted down as the Garlic pivoted upon the center and presented the thickest spot forward. The railgun was a fixed mount model, now the muzzle could be brought to bear. A second after the computer produced a solution, servos adjusted the aim, and it fired.
William watched as the mass drivers expanded and stitched the hull of the cruiser. His missiles were mostly intercepted as they came closer.
He jumped when the railgun fired. It drew a plasma trail from one ship to the other, he’d never seen it like that before.
Like a laser line it smashed into the starboard quarter of the Hun cruiser. Sparks gouted out with a surge of white frost. Atmosphere, the most precious thing, was being vented.
Shay whooped and leaned forward into the console. “Two minutes!”
Bryce rocked from side to side as he worked the nav control. Icons above him showed where the Hun rounds were intercepting and eating away at the asteroid core. Grav shields had long ago surged into the red. The Garlic had nothing but its mass protecting it.
“Captain, nanites are up eighteen percent,” Engineers Mate Pope called out over the comms.
William scrunched his brow. That meant that there was a breach somewhere and the nanites were sealing it. “Where’s Huron?”
“He’s with the reactor,” Pope replied.
The reactor. William felt his stomach drop a bit. Whatever it was, Huron didn’t see fit to notify him so he wasn’t about to micromanage. “Keep me posted, Pope.”
“Second round coming up!” Shay called out. Above her lines and displays showed the ordnance heading through space. Reload times were bracketed next to firing solutions. Everything was broken down into the physics of the moment. Math at its most violent form.
The Hun cruiser was passing behind the Garlic with its nose presented front on. Atmosphere had ceased venting from the cruiser, but the entire section was dark. They’d hit something critical. The Garlic was pocked and still rolling. With every angle turned, new mass drivers presented themselves and more fired.
“Getting hot, Captain,” Bryce called out. The mass drivers were like miniature railguns. But because they fired so quickly, heat buildup was the main issue.
The moment was close, he could feel it. “Save the guns,” William said. “Don’t burn ‘em out. The next rail shot will give ‘em hell.”
The two ships passed and the distance grew. The Hun ship would arc above the upper pole while the Garlic would continue on an orbital plane around it. Gunfire stretched out a farther distance. Missiles seemed to make the least impression on either ship. The Garlic had too many mass drivers to screen it and too few missiles to break through the Hun defenses.
William watched the railgun count and didn’t focus on anything else. His damage console was blinking yellow in a few spots, but yellow meant non-critical. The violence the little potato could put out was stunning. He didn’t like the ship initially, but now he was growing attached to it.
“Here we go!” Shay yelled.
The countdown for the railgun dropped to zero. The bridge dropped into instant darkness. Darkness so deep it was like a pool of ink. There was silence for a moment, then the silence was replaced with a steady booming and shuddering. The Hun cruiser continued to pummel the Garlic. Emergency lights blinked on throughout the ship. A dull blue illuminated the bridge giving hard edges to everything and everyone.
William snapped his head down the hallway and felt the gravity begin to dissipate. Shit, he thought. “Huron!”
Voices called out throughout the ship. Grgur poked his head into the bridge before beginning to float away. He caught himself and hugged the edge of the bulkhead.
A voice called out down the hall. “He says it’ll be a minute, Captain.”
The knockout punch was ready, and he didn’t have any power. Anger rose, a prototype design rushed into war. Or did they send him out with a bad boat? He shut the thought out—he had no evidence, just anger. “Seal hatches!” William shouted, his voice cracking.
The booming of the impacting rounds grew louder. Grgur stepped onto the bridge and swung the bulkhead door shut with a clang. The silence seemed deeper, more detached. The booming echoed but seemed far away.
The gravity continued to drop slowly and everyone found themselves pushed into one side of their chairs. The Garlic was still rolling. The artificial gravity continued to bleed away leaving the crew feeling the centripetal forces.
William had once heard the term, “fail like an escalator, not like an elevator”. The rational being that if a system failed, it should still function, just not as well. He gazed around the blue tinted bridge and felt helpless. A starship was not an escalator, and when it lost power, it lost everything. It hit him that unless Huron did his job, they’d all die. He could hear the impacts growing farther apart, the cruiser would be dropping away, the distance growing. “We’ll have one orbit, then they’ll nail us,” he said.
“Is there anything we can do?” Bryce asked nervously.
William shook his head.
The bridge felt like a cocoon. The still air grew warm as the body heat from the four occupants and the dead computers, warmed the space. Normally the UC built ships with redundancy, but not this time. Centralization allowed for specialization.
“How long ‘til the air goes?” Shay asked.
“I think we’ll be hulled before that happens,” William replied.
Bryce shifted in his seat and stood quickly. He pushed up against the wall and looked around wildly. “But, what can we do?”
“Sit, dammit. Huron’s working on it,” William said.
“But what if he can’t?” Bryce asked.
“Then we hope they take prisoners,” Shay whispered.
William strained to see Bryce’s eyes. The blue gave everything a deceiving tone of clarity. But in the moment he knew he had clarity, clarity into a moment where Bryce was tested. A dark place for anyone, he knew it himself. “Bryce, sit down.”
Bryce began to sob lightly and slid himself back down into his seat. A few steps away, Grgur cracked his knuckles, stifled a yawn, and relaxed against the door. The hefty Marine seemed unfazed by it all.
“It’s a matter of faith,” William said. “Huron’s got this under control.”
The booming stopped as suddenly as it began. The artificial gravity was almost totally wound down. The room felt cramped and tight as the air grew warmer. Without external heat sinks functioning even a few bodies could overwhelm a room.
Shay wiped her forehead and smeared her hand against her trousers. “Fuck,” she said. “Want me to check on him?”
“No,” William replied. “If he needs the help, he’ll ask. The last thing he needs is a few officers looking over his shoulder.”
Shay sighed. “Fuck, it gets to you—right, Captain?”
William wondered if it did. He felt a sense of urgency, but little regret or fear. If the reactor came back online, it was because of the competence of another, not because of some inner willing or longing. He had a cruiser to kill, a ship to save, and a crew to get back before the ship disassembled. “Yes,” he lied. “It hits us all. But once we’re online, get that railgun rolling.”
Bryce sat up and nodded. The midshipman straightened his rumpled shirt, smoothed out his pants and cleared his throat.
It started as a low whine. A subtle tingling that danced on the edge of the audible range. A moment later it rose higher, deeper, richer, like a drum that was beaten too fast. It paused and the sound ebbed into the stone of the asteroid.
“What was that?” Shay asked in barely a whisper.
A console winked on and flashed through sequences of code. Startup code. A second later the artificial gravity settled back in like a rigid cushion.
“Get ready! We’re going live!” William yelled.
A second, and a third console flickered to life. Lights rebounded above spreading out a sweet yellow light. A moment after the ventilators kicked on and blasted cool air inward.
William felt some tension drift away. He reached over and gently patted the wall next to him. His eyes drifted across the panels and watched the startup count down. A click in his ear told him that the comms were online. “Huron! About damned time,” William called over the mic.
“Hoo! Well, a few bugs yet, I think,” Huron replied.
“No more surprises,” William called back.
The displays stabilized and the starfield expanded outwards into a near planet view. They had swung around through two thirds of an orbit. Maintenance and damage alerts were past yellow and into the red. Automatic repairs were progressing on a pair of mass drivers and the missile launcher.
“Railgun?” William asked.
Shay clicked and looked back over her shoulder to William with a smile. “Primed and ready, Captain.”
That, at least, made him feel better. They had taken a beating and he knew it. He looked down to Bryce and saw the young man’s hands shaking, uncertain. “Bryce?”
Bryce’s head snapped around and nodded. “Sir?”
William looked him in the eye and nodded. “We’ve got this.”
Bryce nodded and smiled nervously.
William’s fingers flew over his console as he mashed together bits and pieces of weapons programs. He pushed the mass drivers to the edge. The railgun program he left as Shay had laid it out. Two shots, he thought, they’d need two more. He tried to ignore the nanite rating, which hovered painfully high. They had some serious damage on the outside. He wondered how exactly he was supposed to repair an asteroid hull. “Bryce, halt the roll and alternate between mass drivers. Don’t expose both pairs at once.”
Bryce nodded and leaned over his console. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
He debated changing course and drifting lower or higher. But he was going to play dumb. Let ‘em think he was still drifting. “Get ready.”
The words were barely out of William’s mouth when the displays lit up with gunfire. Mass driver slugs pushed through the void and smashed against a wave of incoming missiles. The Hun cruiser opted for an early launch of multiple waves of missiles and let them all coalesce into a ball. Bryce slammed the console and the Garlic rolled between both quadrants. The thudding rumble of the mass drivers was unceasing.
“Bingo!” Shay cried out. The Hun cruiser appeared from a different angle, the missiles had been launched early to confuse them.
“Hold! Wait until they’re closer, then roll the rail towards action. Got it, Bryce?”
Bryce nodded quickly without taking his eyes off of the console.
Mass driver rounds cracked into the Garlic, followed by a massive shock from a railgun. A resounding boom racked through the bridge. Shay hunched her shoulders up with every sound. The range came closer but the icon showed the cruiser to be decelerating.
William looked up and watched the plots converge. The bait was too much for them, he thought. They were coming in close. A straight on course that would snuggle the two ships. His eyes snapped to the clock and back to his console. If they fired now... they’d get one more point blank. “Roll and fire!”
Bryce slammed his hand onto the console and the starscape shifted. A moment later the weapons program stitched out a path of mass drivers followed by the whining sing of the railgun.
William’s heart felt relieved as he saw the stream of plasma mark the path. He dared not think of another reactor failure. He watched, satisfied, as the railgun punctured another wicked wound into the cruiser. Another spray of atmosphere billowed out from another sector of the ship. “Huron! We got another shot in us?”
The comms crackled and fizzed. The voice on the other end sounded patched up. “We uh, yeah, one more Captain.”
He was about to ask about the sound when he saw the vacuum alerts. The engineering area was breached. Huron must’ve been in a suit. He had focused too tightly on the railgun and had neglected to tend to his ship. Too much for one man, too much information, delegation. Delegation. “Shay. You’ve got weapons.”
Shay leaned over and nudged Bryce on the shoulder. “Here we go, fancy pants, keep me clear!”
The pair sent more rounds back and forth. Missiles collided against the hull with a roar that was louder than before, the sound of expanding plasma vaporizing rock. Vibrations shook through the entire ship. The Hun cruiser didn’t waver, its nose was leveled straight at the Garlic with the deceleration continuing.
“Are they coming in?” Shay asked.
“It’s too late, if they tried to break away we’d keep smashing ‘em with the railgun. All they can hope for is to lock on,” William said.
He scanned through the alarm lists and saw that they’d taken a helluva beating. As soon as they were clear, he needed camera drones outside. Systems were missing, he needed to know if they were offline or simply gone. Vacuum alarms showed throughout the ship, Engineering was the only one with a full breach. His eyes snapped up to the display and back down again. So much to take in, so many details. The information overload was staggering. He pushed it behind him and took a breath. Focus on the essentials, win the fight, fix the ship. “Kill it, Shay, quit screwing around.”
Shay looked back over her shoulder and grinned.
The cruiser’s icon changed, and instead of reading a negative acceleration, it showed a positive value. A value that continued to grow. The cruiser was not just coming on, but charging.
William saw it and took a second glance. He was about to be rammed. His gambit to smash ‘em at close range just backfired. Now he couldn’t run. Worse, the entire nose of the cruiser was dead. Now it was just the brunt of a battering ram. “Shit, burn it!” he cried out.
Shay looked back and then leaned forward onto the console. Her voice was low as she called to Huron. “I need it full power, dump the reactor and burn the rails.”
Power meters spiked and capacitor banks showed heat alarms. Shay looked back at William for acknowledgment.
“Fire,” William said simply. He knew it was now, or get smashed by a few hundred tons of alloy. As it was, he didn’t know what was going to happen. He doubted they’d blow up conveniently. This was going to be rough.
The Hun cruiser was close, a few hundred meters away and then grappling lines fired out. Thin diamond strong tendrils sparkled in the dim sunlight and locked onto the ragged edges of the Garlic. The lines cracked like a silent whip and began to pull.
The railgun fired with a whizzing and popping sound. Dull explosions trembled through the floor. The capacitor banks had exploded under the shock. But it didn’t matter, not then, the stream of plasma burned through the nearest group of tendrils and tore a scene of havoc through the side quarter of the cruiser. Luck was with the shot as it tore a rift that sprayed vacuum for a brief moment. But every section looked hulled. The weapons on the cruiser stopped, but the derelict came closer.
“Bryce! Roll and burn,” William said.
Bryce worked the console with his entire body but the ship was sluggish to respond. The combined power of the railgun had taken the reserves designed for the grav drives. On top of it the tendrils were still attached and guiding the hun cruiser in closer.
William saw the inevitable, but knew of nothing more to call out other than “Brace!” He tensed his guts and waited for it.
The two ships came together, locked by the diamond grapples. The Hun cruiser’s nose collapsed on the edge of the Garlic and plowed through the stone like a rusty farm implement. Sparkling tendrils snapped under the forces but not before spinning the two into each other. The rear of the cruiser tumbled and rolled while the nose pirouetted on the rocky outside of the Garlic, spraying bits of alloys and chondrite into the darkness.
The roll stopped as suddenly as it began and the Hun cruiser drifted with the final tendrils, snapping silently. Bits of gray frost and debris followed after the Hun cruiser as it descended, broken and dead, into the minuscule atmosphere of the planet below.
William opened his eyes and felt the blood rolling down his nose. He wiped one eye free and stood on shaky legs. It felt like a little man had smashed him in the head with a mining pick. He gingerly touched his scalp and felt the sticky tang of blood and hair. “Shay? Bryce? Grgur?”
Blue lights flickered to life and the consoles began booting back up. Shay stood slowly and slumped back down onto the floor. One arm hung at an odd angle before her with the ball of the shoulder a bulge through her shirt. Bryce was slumped across his console. Grgur sat back onto his butt and looked around with his mouth open.
“Holy fuck,” Shay kept repeating in a low voice.
William walked over to Bryce. Every step felt disorientating, like he wanted to fall over. The beginnings of an epic headache were growing. He tapped Bryce and felt the muscles tense under his hand. “Bryce? You okay?”
An animal like moan came from Bryce as he pushed himself off the console. A string of saliva and blood peeled itself off of his chin and dropped onto the console. His nose was pushed in and the front of his mouth devoid of teeth. A pair of black eyes were already forming. The pretty boy look was no longer in style.
“Relax,” William said. “Grgur? Are you okay?”
Grgur spat on the floor and grinned. “I’ve had hangovers worse than this, Captain,” he said.
The consoles settled into a steady state and William slid himself back into his chair. He sent a request to all stations for an update and waited. It took him a second to realize he could ask. “Stations, report.”
The response brought any exuberance about a victory and slammed it into the gutter. Engineering was huddled up in suits and working to seal the breaches. The other Marines were locked into the galley while the whereabouts of three more crew members was unknown. Atmosphere alarms sounded everywhere.
“Did we kill it?” Shay asked, sitting down.
William glanced at the screen. “Yes, I think we did.”
Shay nodded and scowled, rubbing her arm. “Fuck.”
The first camera drone launched and hovered fifty meters off the Garlic. Underneath was an asteroid ripped, torn, and gouged. The immense furrow that the cruiser had dug showed alloy and crew quarters beneath. The mouth of the railgun was caved in and only a single mass driver battery was operational. The missile launcher in the rear hung oddly. But it was, for the most part, still a functional starship.
William drifted a hand onto the rocky wall and patted it gently. He felt a strange sort of reverence for the ugly little potato. Now, only a troopship. “Huron, take anyone you need and seal us up, we’ve got one more ship to take on.”
“Message from the Gallipoli, Captain.” Shay said. “He says, ‘Good work, see you at the troopship.’”
William felt a touch of relief. He’d take all the help he could get, especially given the shape he was in. “Well, I guess I judged Mustafa wrongly.” He looked to Bryce. “Plot an intercept, Mr. Bryce. We’ve got another ship to kill.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The monastery smelled nothing like Emilie thought it would. She expected it to smell musty, old, with a touch of incense. Instead it smelled like beer.
It wasn’t like an old tavern with stale smells and still air. The aroma was rich, hearty, malty, and sweet. Beyond the smell of beer, it was the smell of a brewery. The smell of Lent.
She followed behind the monk and stared at his rich brown robes. Whatever it was she was expecting, this was not it. Her mind was still on the departure of the asteroid frigate. The Hun were here. In her system. Thoughts of the additive weapon library came back to her. At the very least she could leverage some minerals and sell some weapons. If she could get back to Winterthur, she thought, and if the Hun were stopped.
The monk in the walnut brown robes turned and smiled warmly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
She smiled sheepishly and felt even worse when she realized she’d forgotten his name. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
He let out a deep sigh of relief and smiled widely. “Oh boy! Don’t I know that feeling.”
“Harwell!” a voice boomed from down the hall.
That’s right, she thought. Harwell. She stopped and turned.
At the end of the hallway a short man with a stout belly stomped closer. One hand was out in front of him as if warding something away, while the other held a metallic stein. Both of his eyes were milky white like old balls of glass.
“Brother Devereux,” Harwell said in a low voice.
“A woman? Is it a woman?” the blind man spouted out. He stopped at the end of the sentence and took a sip. Brown frothy liquid rolled down the creases in his chin. “You know better!” He shook a stubby finger at Harwell.
“The Sisters asked me to—”
“Excuses! Now get her to Sister Dandalaza!” Brother Devereux burped.
Emilie had no desire to get into it with the burly monk. Her eyes drifted to his hands and saw massive scars on his knuckles. The sort of scars a man gets pummeling something. Who were these monks? “I’m sorry, Brother Devereux, I wasn’t aware of the protocol.”
Brother Devereux’s face melted into a smile that was braced by a deep set of dimples. He twirled his hand and bowed slightly. “You have my apologies as well. We do not receive guests often, and normally just the Core delivery.”
“Well, I now have the Core contract.”
Brother Devereux nodded and smiled. “A pleasure, I’m sure. Now, we’re sorry, but Lent is a special time.” He pointed a finger down the hall. “Now please, Brother Harwell. Go.”
Harwell gently grasped Emilie by the elbow and steered her down the hallway. The ship had the feeling of something old. The wall panels were long gone, now showing the lifeblood of conduit, piping, and wiring beneath. A thin patina brought every detail out and placed it firmly in the realm of the antique. They passed through a troop loading area, now a simple chapel. The space was large enough to hold a full landing force, but now held pews and an altar. Entrances to the drop capsules flanked the entire chamber. Brother Harwell focused on getting them to the rear of the ship as quickly as possible.
Harwell stood next to an ancient bulkhead and beat on the edges with a wooden mallet. He stood nervously and shuffled in place.
A moment later the bulkhead peeled back and revealed the rest of the ship. The other side of the bulkhead was brighter, more alive, and there was even greenery sprouting beneath the ships lights.
A woman waited, round cheeks dimpled with a smile.
“Thank you, Brother Harwell,” she said in a rich accent that had inflections on the edges of words that were hard, unique. She beckoned for Emilie to enter.
Emilie entered and smiled at the nun. “Sister Dandalaza?”
“Yes. Now, not to sound brief, but we’d like to get you back to Winterthur.”
“I understand.”
She followed after the nun and took in the silence of the rest of the ship. Whatever assets she had hoped for, there was nothing here. She caught glances of other shrouded nuns. “Sister? What are you doing way out here?”
Dandalaza smiled and glanced back to Emilie. “We wait and pray. It is closer to God here.”
“Why not a planet?”
“Once they open the next star system, we will move there. Already we wait on the edge.”
Emilie looked at the woman and felt out of place. Matters of faith were never her strong point. At least not the sort that Dandalaza placed stock in.
“Here we are,” Dandalaza said, as she opened a narrow hatch and stepped inside.
Emilie passed through into a launch that felt a few decades newer. The bulk was raw cargo space while a small crew area was stuck next to the cockpit. She took a seat next to Dandalaza and sat in silence. She didn’t have any more questions for the Nun—her mind was spread thin, planning out how to salvage what she had in system.
She hadn’t planned on the Hun coming in, it was in the back of her mind, but it never seemed real. None of it did. At the very least she had the additive cells on planet and in system. But on top of that, she had full libraries, something the colonists definitely did not. She pondered on the term “colonist”. She wasn’t a colonist, being third generation, but the term still stuck.
The plan started to take shape as the launch dropped away from the monastery. The first task, get the additive cell working on a new mining fleet. She’d have to negotiate for some resources but saw no issue with a little credit. Beyond that it’d take time. What would the UC do, she wondered? Would William engage? She glanced around the bridge for a display. “Can you see them?”
Sister Dandalaza leaned forward and flipped down an old style display. It blinked into a pattern of hexes and shifted into a starmap. The edges were fuzzy, like it was cleaned too often. Icons blinked where transponders showed, but nothing more. The Core transport was heading out with Mustafa as escort.
“I hope he’s getting paid for that,” Emilie mumbled.
The small launch made the first blink and plunged through the gap to the next blink. Emilie spent the time in silence as she reviewed her position. It was the sort of thought that was beyond numbers and tables and in the realm of heart and grit. It was more than just value now, it was something bigger.
“Look,” Sister Dandalaza said. She pointed to the display and flashing energy signatures near a barren planet. “Railgun signatures. Grav expansions, a nasty fight.”
Emilie peered at the screen but could only see the numbers. None of it made any sense to her. “Who’s winning?”
Dandalaza watched the display with her hands folded onto the crisp black fabric of her habit. Her eyes danced on the screen and she nodded slowly. “Neither, they spread apart. They’re close in to that planet, the well makes for a quick engagement.”
“You were Navy?”
“Once, yes. Then I found a calling.”
Emilie saw the signatures begin again. She wished she could understand what was happening. A new indicator would flare and Dandalaza would click her teeth or suck in air. She glanced at the Nun—her face was scrunched up tight and she had every bit of energy focused on the screen.
“Hmm,” the Nun said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s done,” she said, and pointed at the screen. She leaned closer and zoomed back the display. The Gallipoli was no longer on scan.
“Where did my ship go?” Emilie asked. She hoped that Mustafa didn’t leave her behind.
“Turned off the transponder. My guess is they’re going in to flank the last intruder,” Dandalaza said. She pointed and nudged at the screen. “They’ll come in and pair up.”
The pair watched the display and passed through into another blink. The starscape barely shifted but Winterthur loomed closer. The planet was a smoky ball smudged with blue stripes.
Emilie felt her heart stir and leaned closer to the visual display. She hadn’t expected to feel much of anything, yet a tear was creeping down her face. Her eyes danced and took in the details, the only definable feature was the heavier density of cloud cover near the capital. “Home,” she whispered.
“About an hour,” Sister Dandalaza said.
Emilie nodded and turned her head to hide the tears. She glanced at the Nun and felt lost, there was a sense of purpose she had before, a faith in herself, that was lost. Gone into the nether. A moment later she started telling the carbon skinned Nun everything.
It was a confession, a confession of ideals, guilt, fears, and sins. By the end, tears flowed and sobs racked her chest. She felt a leaden weight rise and a new clarity emerge.
Sister Dandalaza watched with eyes hard like flint. “Maybe you never had a true purpose? Maybe now you’ve found it, and it scares you?”
Emilie felt it in her heart, a twinge, a twist of heat. She glanced at the Nun and nodded. “Maybe,” she croaked.
“It was after New Tunis that I left the Navy. I saw the violence that was coming. I needed to know there was something more, a meaning, a reason, the thing that made space. Even just the nudge into existence,” Sister Dandalaza said. “Purpose is like duty, it can be a terrible weight. For some, it’s too much.”
“Duty.” The word didn’t feel real. She’d known duty, but duty to a Corporation, a department, a business group. She grappled with concept and felt lost. The duty she felt had always been to herself, and now the change was setting in.
“Find your duty, your purpose, and come to grips with it,” Sister Dandalaza said.
Emilie sniffed and wiped her eyes. At least, she thought, I’ll have time to think.
Traffic around the planet was almost nonexistent. Only a battered old freighter lay against the elevator complex like a beached whale. Farther off the Core transport made the final blink out of the system and towards the depths of space.
Now Emilie felt totally alone. Adrift with nothing but asset codes and a library for an additive cell. Everything she needed for a fresh start, and a purpose that mattered. The materials would come soon enough, but the purpose seemed fleeting. She snuck a glance at the nun and tried to regain her composure.
Sister Dandalaza kept her eyes locked on the displays. “Oh my.”
“What is it?” Emilie asked. Her eyes settled on the energy display and saw a new signature flare.
“That was a torpedo, no one’s used one of these in a very long time.”
Emilie opened her mouth and snapped it shut quickly. Mustafa. Her last moments on the bridge came back to her, they had just onlined a torpedo launcher. “Are you sure?”
The nun nodded quickly and stabbed her dark finger at the screen. “See the rings spreading out? It’s an area denial charge. Old old. Back before the grav drives. ”
Emilie felt that things just went from difficult to salvage to nearly impossible. No retention bond. With no bond, came no security. Mustafa had found a better deal, she thought. Or that by claiming the system for his own he’d negotiate his own terms. “It’s not the Harmony ship? How long ago?”
Sister Dandalaza tore her eyes from the energy display. “No, that’s old UN technology. Thirty minutes ago,” she said, barely a whisper. She looked back to the screen eyes wide, haunted.
Emilie nodded and looked away from the display. Her only chance now was to get on the ground. She still had value, but not as a hostage to a mercenary. The value would be to whoever needed to fight the Hun on the ground. If there was ever something she could bank on it was the stubbornness of a colonist, and the desire for a good weapon.
More energy signatures bloomed on the screen like red and yellow roses. Someone, somewhere, was taking a hell of a beating.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
––––––––
Shockwaves rippled through the asteroid with an intensity like a bass drum. Bits of hull aggregate dropped away in chunks with sections of insulation backing dancing in the air. The stream of alarms suddenly stopped. Only the sounds of pumps and valves rippled through the air.
“A fucking torpedo,” Shay said. Her hands slid on her console while her eyes locked on the display above her.
“Bryce!” William snapped at the Midshipman. “Bryce? Dammit!”
The Midshipman slumped onto the side of his console and lay with his head down. Sobs rolled out. Deep mournful animal sounds. With every new impact he shook.
William snapped the control of the nav system and transfered them to his console. A mess of plots and probabilities flickered away from the Garlic leading to points all over. He scratched most of the routes. “Shay, you’ve got weapons.”
Shay snorted and leaned forward. “Ain’t much left, Captain,” she said, her fingers dancing along the keys.
“Then make it count,” William said. He pushed the nav display around and rotated the ship. Another quick movement and they settled into a semi-random pattern. “Gamma roll, sigma profile.”
She nodded and glanced at Bryce. “C’mon, dammit.”
Bryce sobbed and moaned.
William looked up briefly and counted the critical alarms. Too many. The torpedo had made such an unbelievable detonation that almost every seal punctured. Nanite repair loads were buried into the red. The camera drone, before it was hit, showed massive thermal loads. The nanites were trying to stop the dam with a finger. He wanted to shake his head, but instead laid out a course between the Gallipoli and the troopship.
“We’re threading the needle, we’ll hug the troopship. Then they can’t use the torpedo again. When we pass, I need you to pepper that ship, hit ‘em hard.”
Shay nodded and focused on her console. “A fucking torpedo,” she said again, shaking her head.
“Captain? Reactor is stable, but hoowee the Haydn is close to a breach,” Huron called through his EVA comms.
A single display shifted and showed a yellow EVA suit standing beside the Haydn drive. The suit was spraying sealant and laying over a nanite mesh. “Can you keep that quadrant clear?” Huron asked.
William wanted to tell him that nothing was clear but instead modified the roll program. They’d oscillate instead while presenting the breach to the lightly armed troopship. “Halting the roll, Shay, going to a Marley oscillation instead.”
The Garlic oscillated between both of the working mass drivers. The rapid bursts pulsed a stream of nickel enhanced nanite. The impacts rippled against the nose of the corvette. Spatters of green plasma pulsed away as ragged divots glowed with nanite fire. The troopship strained to move away, pivoting as best it could to present a less damaged flank. It returned fire with two meager single point drivers. The streams of plasma were miniscule compared to the searing waves of fire that blasted out from the corvette.
The corvette danced like a ballerina, sliding and moving. One face absorbed the mass driver fire and the entire bulk rolled to show another new, fresh surface. With every roll brought a new battery of weapons. Almost every surface on the Gallipoli spewed out a projectile of some sort.
The Garlic pushed through the fire and came closer to the troopship. A railgun battery seared a lance of fire across the scant kilometer between the ships and evaporated one of the remaining mass drivers on the Garlic. Debris slung outward and tumbled soundlessly against the hull of the troopship.
William started to feel the rise of fear, but that rise was buoyed with anger. The rage was what propelled the fear. He could taste it. This wasn’t done, not yet. He looked up from his display to Grgur and nodded. Grgur grinned back with a mouth of wide, yellow-stained teeth. “Shay, nail the Hun!”
Shay whistled and keyed the weapon program. “On the way!”
The Garlic rolled and halted for a moment. The mass driver paused and sprayed slugs along the edges of the troopship. The troopship tried to roll and show a new face but it wasn’t nimble enough. Atmosphere vented from holes while grav shields deflected the rounds in others. The mass driver stopped just as the Garlic passed the nose of the troopship.
The troopship’s hull blasted out thermal signatures. Atmosphere purged from chamber after chamber while a meager nanite sheath tried to heal the damage. Entire sections went dark and cold. A good majority of the ship was now a lifeless hulk.
“Big bastard,” Shay said in a low voice.
William felt nothing but hate for those inside of it. He knew what they’d do on the ground. All he could hope for was to whittle away at the troopship and hope the forces on the ground could carry the day. “Shay, focus on the Gallipoli. Keep your heat down, if they launch another torpedo kill it.”
“Aye, Captain!” Shay replied quickly.
The Garlic sped away from the ships at an angle that would blink them into the mining debris. More fire erupted from the Gallipoli. Every impact strained the Garlic. Whines, groans, and tensile strains echoed through the bridge. With each strike, the mass of the Garlic dropped. With mass was strength, and the ship was losing strength.
He could see a way out. His fingers traced the Gallipoli. It was mirroring the movement of the troopship. He could press away and blink into the asteroid belts. The zone was rippled with clouds of stamped ore, discarded equipment, and most of all, asteroids just like him. He could picture a nice slow orbit, plenty of time away from prying eyes and a chance to lick some wounds. He laid in the course and glanced back up.
The Gallipoli rolled gently. A flash popped on the far end of the corvette. The torpedo launcher birthed the enormous capsule on far side allowing a few extra seconds of acceleration before it was clear of the Gallipoli.
“Torpedo!” Shay called out. Her hand slapped the console with a crack. The mass driver fired so quickly that the individual pulses could barely be heard.
William grasped the armrests of the chair and clutched as tightly as he could. Kill it, he thought. Stop that bastard! He knew if it hit they’d not have the integrity left to survive. They’d fall apart into nothing.
The torpedo danced and wavered so quickly it was almost as if it was vibrating. Mass driver slugs sailed past it in a wall of nickel alloy. Then, in a flash of whiteness, it was gone. Walls of shrapnel and plasma expanded out and away, first impacting on the troopship and then on the Gallipoli itself. Sensor readings bounced from side to side as the energy shockwave collided with the Garlic.
William tensed and listened for more alarms, but most of all he listened for that horrible sound of cracking. A second passed and the hull groaned, but didn’t crack. They’d made it. “Three minutes to blink!” he called out.
Bryce raised his head and turned to look at William. Spit ran down his chin in a wide sheet of slick redness. His eyes pleaded as he shook his head from side to side. The sobs stopped.
William looked away from Bryce and back to his console. He felt a sort of pity for the young officer. Pity that was a luxury he didn’t have the time to deal with. If it wasn’t for the vacuum on the other side of the door, he’d have tossed him out long before. “Huron? How’s it looking?” Most of his maintenance alerts for the engineering section showed disconnects.
“Haydn is live, grav drive is clear, reactor is acting like a saddled bitch.”
“Can we—”
“Yes,” Huron replied quickly. “We can blink.”
The path of the three ships diverged like a spreading wedge. The Garlic pulled away with lances of plasma, mass driver slugs, and a ragged assortment of missiles chasing after, but nowhere near enough or fast enough to make a dent.
William watched as the distance grew slowly. Too slowly for his taste, but now it was the waiting. So long to wait for a fight, he thought, and it’s over in minutes. He savored the dripping of the adrenaline, that edge of the seat giddiness. A hard pit in his stomach grew that was edged with sore muscles. In a second he relaxed back and sighed, feeling his muscles uncoil. “We’re blinking in thirty seconds.”
Bryce looked between Shay and William with a burning in his eyes. He wiped the drying blood with his sleeve and started to sob once more.
“Shaddup for fuck’s sake,” Shay said without turning to look at Bryce.
“Ms. Shay,” William said. He agreed with her, wholeheartedly, but this wasn’t the time or the place. The feelings Bryce felt, he once felt too, when he’d debated shooting himself after crashing on Redmond. Alone, freezing to death, with nothing in his hands but a handgun. He sealed that memory away and looked down to Bryce. “Mr. Bryce, compose yourself. You’re an officer.”
Grgur stood a bit taller and Shay slid out from the slump and planted her back squarely against the seat. Bryce sniffled and nodded solemnly, sadly. He turned away from William and Shay and looked down to the floor.
The dim rumble of the impacting gunfire was like thunder receding into the night. Maintenance alarms blared on every display, every screen, every console. The Garlic was alive, but barely.
“The Gallipoli is holding course,” Shay said.
William nodded and keyed up the intercom. “Blink in three, two, one,” he said, tapping his console and watching the starscape change.
He let out a breath and exhaled deeply. His eyes drifted to the displays and began to prioritize. He keyed up the personnel screen and saw nothing but errors. Time to do it the old fashioned way. “Crew, sound off.”
“Shay.”
“Huron.”
“Bryce.”
William listened as the names drifted in a slow rhythm, checking them off one by one. He dreaded the moment when it would stop. The words hung in the silence and he nodded slowly. Three gone. Bryce’s shift. They’d have been sealing breaches, he thought, keeping us alive. “Huron, can you get to a console?”
“Already there, Captain.”
“How long ‘til we can get sealed up?”
“It’s going to be a bit,” Huron said. “We’re holed in the center section. I need to find a patch big enough to seal it.”
“How big?” William asked as he pictured a mass driver slug sized hole.
“Hmm, a few meters should do it.”
“Shay, run a passive, find me some rocks,” William said. He looked to the wall next to him and patted it with his augmetic hand. They suffered a wound a few meters wide but the ship held together.
Bits of the coating dropped away, showing the rocky core underneath. Already a thin layer of nanites propagated and grew a thin sheen. The tiny machines were eating, crunching, sealing, and expanding.
“I’ve got a debris field, third order reflectance about a hundred thousand kilos out,” Shay said.
“Set it in, full burn, keep the weapons ready in case the Gallipoli decides to follow.”
William scanned the maintenance list and wondered how the hell he was going to fix some of those items. His additive cell could make an amazing variety of parts, but nothing large enough to replace the mass of conduits, weapon launchers, and pumps. He pictured what was left of the railgun and sighed. There was no way they’d be able to make one of those. “Shay, Bryce, start hitting the maintenance reports. Let’s see what’s on our plate.”
Bryce wiped his nose again and blinked his eyes dry. “Captain, I uh—”
“Not now, Mr. Bryce, we’ve a job to focus on. We’re going to need your help.”
Shay said nothing, but looked at Bryce for a second with hard eyes.
“I—” Bryce stammered.
“There’s a time for emotion, and this isn’t it. You have a job to do, and by god, you’ll do it!”
Bryce looked away and returned his attention to the console in front of him. No one acknowledged the outburst.
William seethed and watched Bryce. ”Launch camera drones, if we’ve got any. Let’s get a beauty shot.”
The first camera drone slid into space and pulled a dozen meters off the hull. The light pulsed then sprayed harsh lines of alkaline brightness onto the outside of the hull. The visuals showed what the damage reports could not.
The Garlic had the look of a rock gnawed on by an angry giant. It looked bad after the first engagement but was now almost totally worn thin, right to the nub. Pockmarks and craters were so dense that the starship looked like an actual asteroid worn by time.
The drone arced around the ship and panned the camera. A wide crevice disappeared into darkness deep inside of the hull. A flash of alloy and wiring showed the depth of the wound. The wreckage of the railgun appeared. It was wrapped around the front of the ship, twisted and torn.
William took it all in. He was speechless, any other ship of the same size would have been ripped apart. The Garlic was more than just an asteroid, there was something inside holding it all together.
Many years ago, he ran gunnery ranges as a cadet. The time was spent observing strikes in space against a course of asteroids. They never lasted more than a few runs. Whatever this hull was made of was something new. The big question was: could he make more?
The bridge crew collated the data and sorted it as it came in. Even Grgur was tasked with systems he was familiar with. The rest of the crew was either stuck in EVA suits or in areas of the ship where they couldn’t do much but wait.
The atmosphere indicator above the hatch changed from red, to yellow to a flickering green. The hatch opened and a large orange suit stepped inside. Behind it the space of a portable airlock was stretched tight. Beyond that: darkness.
Huron slid the faceshield to the side. One cheek was crisp looking, like a sudden burn had flared against it. “Oh nice, you’ve got gravity here.”
“Out elsewhere?” William asked.
Huron nodded. “It’ll take a while for the nanites to propagate, then we’ll get more data.”
William nodded and beckoned to an observer’s chair. “Sit.”
Huron patted his large, orange behind and shook his head. “Not in my fat suit, sorry.” He leaned against the wall and looked at the displays above him. “We can get it sealed up well enough, at least enough to get back to a UC base for refit.”
The decision William had been avoiding was on him. Stay, or go? He glanced up and counted back the days. If they left now, and had no issues, they could return to a UC base and the ship wouldn’t disintegrate. If they stayed for more than a week or so, they couldn’t make it back.
“Huron, what’s the hull made of?”
Huron looked around to the walls and licked his lips. “An asteroid aggregate, nanite binder. Fiber reinforced maybe?”
“Gruffalo told me that the ship would disassemble if it wasn’t back after a set amount of time,” William said, and hunched his shoulders.
Shay looked over her shoulder at William. “Really?”
“There’s fractures, tensions between the colonies and Earth. You know all of the Admirals that weren’t Earth-born resigned,” William said.
“The whole crew is colonists,” Shay said.
The bridge was silent. Huron’s suit made the only sounds as the refrigerant unit hummed.
“I don’t want to go back,” William said. It was like tearing weeds as he spoke the words. Hard, brittle, abrasive. “We can make a difference here. Save a world.”
Huron glanced to Shay and back to William. “Do we really know?”
“Admiral Dover said so. Can you verify?” William asked Huron.
“Maybe,” Huron said.
“How much time do we have?” Shay asked.
“Another week in system. If we’re not gone by then, there will be difficulties,” William said.
“Difficulties,” Shay said with a snort.
“If we stay, it’ll take us longer than a week to make repairs,” Huron said.
William nodded. “I took an oath to the United Colonies, not to Earth.” He knew this to be true, knew it in his heart, knew it in his soul. This was his duty, not just to protect Earth. “I want us to stay. But once—and only once—we’ll put it to a vote.”
Huron nodded and rested his head against the back of the suit. “Well, make it quick, Captain, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
William keyed up the ship wide comms and laid it out. He stared at the list of dead crew and felt a guilt, a heavy weight that was on him and only him. He’d asked so much of them once before, and now he asked even more. They’d be disobeying a direct order, but following an oath to the letter. He knew what was right.
Grgur took the votes as the crew called in. It was, like the first time, unanimous.
The screens flickered and danced as more systems networked into the nanite stream. With every new system came a new task. Everything was fragged or slagged. The only things that survived were the items cradled closest to the core, or the heavily distributed systems.
William felt anxiety rising as he wondered if it was all a mistake. They might not even make it out alive without a fight. The only thing he could take solace in was the fact that they’d bloodied the troopship. Someone on the ground should be thankful for that, he thought.
“Captain, an idea,” Huron said.
William nodded. “Go on.”
“There’s mining infrastructure everywhere. At the very least, we can refit basic systems, strap on some plating, maybe even find out what the hull is made of.” He reached his suited arm over Bryce’s shoulder. “Sorry Bryce. Now, here.”
The third closest Core mining base blinked on the display.
“That one, it was a refit station.”
William scanned his eyes over the maintenance list once more and nodded. A better course than trying to refit in space. “Right, set course and dock up. Until then, Mr. Huron, take whatever help you need and get us on track.” On the edge of his vision the icons for the planet and local infrastructure danced. A single launch had docked up onto the station. He hoped Ms. Rose was having better luck than he. “Mr. Bryce? Listen to comms as best you can. If you have an opportunity to get a secure channel on planet let me know. There’s still the UC consulate.”
Bryce looked up with red eyes and nodded quickly. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
William sighed sadly and began to work on a new crew rotation.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
––––––––
“Ambassador to see you, ma’am,” Bark said, as she checked the slide on her pistol.
Natyasha felt anxious, excited, but still anxious. So far everything had worked. But why the anxiety? Whatever troops were in that ship weren’t nearly enough to counter her own. “Let him wait.”
Bark spoke in a low voice into her commset. She tucked the pistol back into a holster under her heavy jacket.
“Is everyone in place?”
“Riots are in progress. We’ve got the immigrants out of key areas and are pushing them into the receiving complex. More troops are on standby.”
“And the consulate?” Natyasha asked as she turned to look at Bark.
Bark gave a crisp nod. “Clear.”
Natyasha didn’t press for more details. If it ever came down to it, she’d rather not know. That was a bridge that needed to be burned. Now there was no going back, not for any of them. The moment had solidified, she could feel the fluidity walking away. The confidence was back. “Let them dock. Once the troops come in, we’ll meet them with ours on the ground.”
“Which units?” Bark asked.
“All of them,” Natyasha replied. “Bark, who docked?”
“Sister Dandalaza. She had a passenger.”
Natyasha turned back around to Bark. “A passenger? Where the hell did they pick up a passenger?”
“It’s Emilie Rose.”
Natyasha smiled and nodded. “Mustafa’s, eh? Is she...?”
“Processing, until you clear her.”
“Put her into quarantine, I’ll want to speak with her.” Natyasha didn’t want to burn that bridge just yet. There was too much to be gained from the person who held the codes to the additive cells.
“What about Mustafa?”
“Give him a task, I don’t care what it is.” Natyasha walked to the door and had a feeling things were turning to her advantage.
The trip to the elevator was brief. Streams of black smoke snaked upwards into the misty sky. Debris and garbage littered the streets, streets that were ugly to begin with and now outright hideous. They passed squat concrete buildings of residential housing and commercial zones.
The area near the elevator was even worse. The concrete was worn, cracked, and stippled on the surface with ridges of red rebar peeking through. Even the plasticized panels of the buildings wept corrosion. The salt rich sea deposited a mist onto everything. What salt the sea didn’t drop the industrial condensers did.
Around the base of the elevator was arrayed nearly a thousand troops. They wore an amalgam of uniforms, wielded a variety of weapons, and all tried to look like they were something they were not. Professional. Most lacked modern weapons, instead cradling percussion rifles with actual powder charges inside.
Natyasha watched them as the vehicles rode in and wondered if they felt like the patriots they were. Here it is, she thought. The birth of a nation. More than that. Much more, or so she hoped. She glanced back to the Harmony World’s Ambassador and saw the smug smile on his face.
The Ambassador craned his neck and looked behind him. “An amazing welcome for our troops.”
Natyasha smiled back warmly and leaned forward to pat the Ambassador’s knee. “Of course, just enough to make you welcome.”
He smiled back and had the look of someone who was pleasantly placid. “There’s a bright future here.”
“Garth coming in,” Bark said from the front of the car.
Natyasha wanted to curse and instead smiled back at the Ambassador. Garth wasn’t supposed to be here. He was a willing accomplice, but not a partner. “Ask Mr. Garth to meet me at the council hall.”
“It’s too late, some of his boys were running the gate,” Bark said.
The Ambassador raised an eyebrow as if highlighting a faux pas. “Problems?”
“Of course not,” Natyasha said and opened the door.
The air outside had the same slippery feel it did everywhere along the coast. The slight edge of chlorides with a taste of metal. Every breath brought a feeling in the back of the throat like bleeding teeth. But it was crisp, almost refreshing. Even the scent of perpetual oxidation still brought the taste of something new.
Natyasha felt the broken concrete under her shoes. She felt the touch of the sea. But most of all she felt the exuberance around her. The air was electric with the feeling of triumph. Word of the UC defeat already hit the news, padded carefully with her involvement hiring the Gallipoli. She raised a single hand into the air and pumped her fist.
The crowds erupted around her into cheering broken by hoots and yells. Groups of men and women in rain streaked clothing looked like conquerors. The smiles were wide, jubilant, and everywhere.
They surged together in a mass and stood at the base of the elevator complex. They were a mob. An unruly group celebrating and basking in the moment.
A single elevator broke through the low cloud cover and drew down a cascade of rain with it. A shear of wind blasted through, followed by the deep humming of the grav drive decelerating the car. It paused for a moment a dozen meters off the ground while mechanical arms latched on. Finally it settled down at the cargo platform.
Natyasha glanced at the Ambassador and saw a man who was happy. Too happy, she thought. The smugness was inevitable for a victor, but she should have been smug, not him. She glanced at Bark and gave her a quick nod. She leaned close to Bark’s ear. “Is a car ready?”
Bark nodded. “It’s close, just behind.” Her shoulders were tense and the bulge from her sidearm obvious through the rain slicked jacket.
The wide doors of the elevator cracked open and slid aside.
“And here it is,” Ambassador Myint said, smiling. He looked to Natyasha with sparkling eyes and stepped ahead of the human mass around him.
The first thing that stepped out of the elevator was massive, like an oversized hairless ape. The shoulders were as wide as a truck with heavy armor plate wrapped on it like iron kettles. The thumbless hands gripped steel gray autocannons with stripes of ammunition running behind it. Helmet of gray blocked out the face, a face that on the edge looked human, but distorted and odd. But most of all, it was the height. Four meters. Four meters of mass, intensity, and plodding determination. More marched behind it.
“See?” Ambassador Myint said over the dropping noise of the crowd. He walked between the first pair of the giants and disappeared into the elevator.
The crowd didn’t seem to know what to do. They gawked at the monsters that stood in the rain. The giants spread out until a dozen stood shoulder to shoulder. Behind them even more milled inside of the cargo elevator. Orders from the militia echoed out over the humming of the crowd.
“Bark? What the fuck is this?” Natyasha asked as she pushed her way through the crowd.
Garth pressed through the back and shoved Natyasha out of the way. He snapped his head around and glared at her. “What have you done? You foul, foul woman!”
Natyasha ignored the remark and followed as closely behind Bark as she could. She could feel the crowd spreading, edging away, preparing to fly. She could hear the voices ordering them to cover, move away, quit fucking off. But the giants, she thought, good god, what were they? She turned to look and saw Garth break through the front row of the crowd. She stopped.
“Move!” Bark yelled and yanked at Natyasha’s wrist.
“Send out the Ambassador! We will not have foreign troops armed on our planet!” Garth shouted above the din of the crowd. He stopped midway between the shifting militia and the line of Hun giants.
“Get in!” Bark hissed.
“Wait,” Natyasha whispered. She stared over the scrambling troops and felt it in the air: violence. “Wait.”
The militia sought cover. Troops sprinted across the rain slicked concrete and tucked behind containers. The giants looked down at Garth. Autocannons scanned the crowd while rain streamed out of the flame suppressors.
Garth stood alone. His hair pressed down tightly on his scalp. He thrust his chin out. “Drop your weapons!”
Natyasha could see it coming. A part of her envied Garth, to be making a stand. To be the one who stood with total conviction. A patriot. The truest sort. But the fear inside of her, the fear that kept her in power so long, told her better.
“We need to go!” Bark yelled in Natyasha’s ear.
Natyasha pushed Bark’s metal hand off her shoulder and watched. She needed to see it. It wouldn’t be long, she could feel it.
The rain stopped with only a drizzle of mist hissing against the black of the elevator ribbon. The militia was as hidden as they could be behind containers and concrete organizers. The facility wasn’t designed for combat but for commerce.
Garth took a single step closer.
One of the giants leveled the muzzle of the autocannon in Garth’s direction and pulled the trigger. Rounds erupted like a steady drumbeat. In a moment he was nothing but a pile of meat.
Bark threw her arm around Natyasha’s neck and dragged her into the back of the car. Natyasha was silent as if in shock.
“Go, go!” Bark yelled to the driver. She threw herself across the seat and covered Natyasha’s body. Broken glass sprayed over them. A ricochet blasted the upper window support.
The Hun line took a single step forward in unison. The opening gap allowed more of the giants to draw weapons through the breach and use the armored bodies before them as cover. As each stopped, they opened fire and raked the containers and cover around them.
Heavy slugs punched through alloy containers and perforated concrete sorting walls. The militia seemed unsure of what to do. The look of triumph was gone and replaced with a shock. The celebration and jubilance disappeared, now only a realization that the freedom would be bought with blood.
Natyasha pushed Bark off her and felt the vehicle accelerating away. Her ears rang and she looked upward through the gash in the roof. Then it felt different, she could feel it deep inside of her. The shockwave hit a second later and her stomach felt like someone kicked it with an iron boot. Then the darkness came.
She snapped her eyes open and felt a raw scraping on her back. The edges of sound, clipped and muffled, began to return. Small arms fire, rapid thuds of heavier weapons, and something large, something booming. She looked up to find Bark pulling her.
“I can walk,” she whispered.
Bark snapped her head back and helped Natyasha to her feet. The pair huddled against a concrete wall. Behind them the smoking wreckage of the touring car lay mangled with the nose punched out by a heavy slug. Gunfire raged with the sing of ricochets whining through the air.
Bark looked relaxed, downright placid. Her arms rested on her hips, the dull alloy offset by the black trousers.
Natyasha looked down the line and felt anger mixed with despair. She snapped her head and looked across the wide concrete pad. She followed groups of militia sprinting away, sprinting without weapons or order. It was a rout and it hit her, right in the gut. “Bark, what are we doing?”
Bark glanced over her shoulder. “Waiting for another transport.”
“Can we wait somewhere else?”
“You pay me to keep you out of trouble, that’s what we’re doing here.”
“Helluva job.”
“I didn’t invite them down with a troopship.”
Natyasha remained silent. Her insides ached, like she’d just gotten kicked in the chest. Every breath reminded her that something bad was happening.
She wondered if they would shoot the leaders. Everyone? There must be some value to a person in charge. Or maybe they wanted a fresh start and she’d be shot on sight. She’d not only misplayed her cards, she knew she hadn’t even been playing with the right deck.
Autocannon rounds smacked into the heavy concrete embankment behind Bark and Natyasha spraying chips of rock and grit into the air.
Bark flinched and tucked her head down. “We need to move,” she said.
Natyasha snapped her head to the other side and saw nothing. “Where?”
“Somewhere else!” Bark hissed and grabbed onto Natyasha’s hand.
Natyasha found herself drug behind with the cold alloy grip squeezing tighter than she’d like. She wanted to cry out, to tell her to stop, but knew better. Not now, not here. Get out alive.
They passed the wreckage of the transport and crouched behind the crumpled front end. The smell of burning plastic and torched resin was overpowering. The rapid sound of small arms fire drifted away while occasional thumps still echoed out.
“Wait,” Bark shook her head at Natyasha. “They’re looking our way.”
“How do you know?” Natyasha turned her head and looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see anything beyond the rising smoke.
“I’ve got a sniper observing,” Bark mumbled and leaned forward.
“Why isn’t he shooting them?”
Bark leaned back. “It wasn’t doing anything, he’s more valuable keeping an eye out for us.”
Natyasha felt even more helpless. They couldn’t touch the giants, what military force she had was scattered. Only the thugs and police remained. Her thugs, and her police, she thought. “Can he see the Ambassador?”
Bark spoke low into her mic and shook her head. “Negative. There’s another elevator car coming down.”
“We need to get out of here!” Natyasha said.
“I’m working on it!”
The sounds of the Hun giants echoed through the containers. Each step like an elephant with the clanging of armor. The pace was slow, steady, unnerving in its tone. Each step was just far enough apart that it seemed as if they stopped, only to start once more a split second later.
“The Ambassador is out.”
“Shoot him,” Natyasha growled.
Bark called it in and the sound of a single shot cracked through the air. She clicked her teeth and looked at Natyasha. “We’ve got to go.”
Natyasha looked at Bark angrily and heard the sound of the approaching attackers. “What? What the fuck? Did he miss?”
“They’ve got a grav shield down there,” Bark said. She crawled to the front of the wreckage. “Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to have a distraction, get to the next line of cargo containers, I’ll be right behind you. Got it?”
Natyasha nodded quickly and trembled with fear. Fear like she hadn’t known in a very long time. Her skin tingled and her mouth tasted like steel. The feeling of soreness disappeared and she edged next to Bark. She glanced over and saw how small Bark was, all muscle and alloy, and not much else.
Bark nodded at Natyasha. “Go!”
The pair broke out from behind the cover of the wreck. Legs pumped and arms swung as feet slammed down into puddles of dirt and concrete rubble. A wall of gunfire erupted from the edge of elevator complex. The troops who had fled now had positions far away and were laying down what fire they could. The crack of nanite rounds was interspersed with the boom of conventional gunpowder.
In response the Hun troops leveled more fire. The rattle of the autocannons reflected off the low cloud cover, making it sound like twice as many were firing. Then a new sound came. A heavy whine with a screeching and crunching of concrete behind it.
Natyasha turned her head to look and stumbled. Bark snatched her arm and caught her before she sprawled out. She could see a pair of the Hun giants firing away from them. She wanted to ask Bark what the noise was but didn’t have enough breath.
“Go!” Bark yelled. Her alloy hand pushed Natyasha forward.
The new sound paused and then a rumbling boom shattered through the air. The concussion was massive, deep, penetrating. Nearby puddles shuddered and shook with dancing ripples bouncing in the center.
Natyasha stumbled again at the sound and felt the fear rising. Almost, she thought. Almost. Her feet pounded against the rough concrete. Her lungs burned, it was a ripping and tearing feeling with each sucking breath. There it was, so close, another fifty meters to cover.
Silhouettes of militia appeared through the haze. Bursts of gunfire zinged by and then the whining crunching sound started again.
She saw the next shot out of the corner of her eye. Fear rose like nothing she’d felt before, an animal fear.
It was a massive concussion that shocked the edge of the complex. Air rippled and steel buckled. The immense roar slammed into them a second later and Bark tumbled and rolled. Natyasha wasn’t as graceful and crashed forward into a heap. One of the giants turned and swung the tree trunk barrel sideways and poured rapid fire at the containers before them.
“Get up!” Bark yelled. She sprinted and grabbed onto Natyasha’s arm.
Natyasha rolled and looked up into the sky. She shrieked as rounds skipped nearby. She knew she had to stand and run, she knew if she stayed she’d die. But she couldn’t do it. The fear was so deep, so tight, like a net that held her down. All she wanted to do was crawl and curl into a ball. She could feel the gravel against her cheek as she turned her head towards the pair of giants.
One continued to level fire at the edges of the terminal. The other held his barrel slightly higher and raked streams of autocannon rounds above her head. The muzzle flashed and a moment later the sound reached them. Then the tank crunched around the corner..
It had a set of four tracks, each independent from the rest. The upper chassis was low, slender, and drooped inside of the tracks. On the top a bulbous blister grew out with a rectangular barrel a few meters long. The barrel was massively thick with a cloud of steam rising from the end. It stopped, the turret turned slightly, and fired once more.
Natyasha cried out in pain. The concussion was amazing, the force of the blow beyond anything she’d ever felt. She looked and saw the tangled steel and tumbled containers. They had no chance. She could see it. How could they fight that? Far above she saw motion, something in the mist, and decided now was the time to stop.
“Bark. Stand me up,” Natyasha said, trying to stand. The fear was gone and now something else came—a sense of inevitability.
She loved Winterthur, she loved the people. To see them slaughtered like this was too much. Her plan had fallen apart into so many pieces of broken glass.
“We’ve got to go now!” Bark yelled. She hunched and tugged on Natyasha’s arm.
“Go,” Natyasha said, stripping her arm away from the alloy grip. “Go.”
Bark spun and tumbled backward rolling herself and covering the gap between her and the concrete wall. Her face was tight with pain and bore a hurt look.
Natyasha felt the ground shift and sway beneath her feet. The first step would be the hardest. She willed one step and felt her toes crunch as they came down. It was as if a weight was lifted, just by one step. The second step came easier.
The giant continued to rake fire above her. It seemed oblivious to her stumbling ahead.
She raised both hands above her and showed her palms, wide open and empty. It was like this, or die trying. Her hair blasted back as the cannon fired once more. The concussion made her stumble , but she caught herself and dropped to a knee. The raw pain of the concrete cutting through snapped her awake again.
“Move,” she said through gritted teeth and stood herself up again. She locked eyes with the giant and stepped closer.
The giant’s visor was almost totally dark but a set of deep eyes, like whales eyes stared back through it. It was human, or at least human derived. The proportions were close, but everything was off a bit. The shoulders slumped oddly, the angles of the arms off, while the steps were awkward.
The sight of the hands shook her. They had no opposable thumbs. She saw the features and knew it was not natural.
“Hold you fire!” she cried. Did it hear? Did it know?
It leveled the barrel towards her. One of the hands tensed on a paddle trigger and hovered in place. She stared down the black pit of the barrel and watched the steam roll out. She licked her lips. Her arms were getting heavy. “Hold your fire!”
Around her the rolling fire of the autocannons mostly ceased. She looked away from the eyes of the giant and stared in horror. Bodies were lumped and scattered across the old and broken concrete. The giants had advanced but didn’t press any farther. Then she realized there was no fire coming from the edges. The militia had fled.
The Hun giant took a single plodding step closer and dropped the tip of the massive barrel onto the ground. Chips sprayed from the impact point and it stared down the length at Natyasha. Its eyes were wide, placid, simple.
A low armored car crept around the corner and stopped next to the giant. On the peak of the roof a blister turret scanned from side to side. A set of racking along the back was empty with wires trailing down. A door slid open from the side and Ambassador Myint stepped out.
The Ambassador wore a uniform with slashes of gray across the shoulders. He looked confident, but not arrogant, with a hint of boredom. “Do you surrender?”
The words hit her in the gut: no banter, no wordplay, but a single binary decision. She snapped her eyes from the Ambassador to the tank and one of the giants before settling them back on Myint. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“There are riot control drones out.” The Ambassador rocked back and sighed. “Now do you surrender?” He stepped closer and ran a hand onto the mailed glove of the Hun giant.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What?” he shouted.
“Yes,” she said louder. “Winterthur surrenders.”
Ambassador Myint nodded slowly and patted the giant’s hand. “Come, Ms. Dousman, there’s much we need to discuss.”
The wind shifted and brought sounds of shrieks and screams. The wailing sirens of the riot control drones ebbed and flowed as the wind drifted.
Natyasha stumbled and caught herself. The drones? What of the drones? What of her people? “Ambassador? The drones? Recall them.”
Ambassador Myint turned crisply and stepped next to the armored car. “No. Not yet, there’s an education being earned right now.” He stepped inside of the car and leaned out. “Now come.”
Natyasha saw the beginning of an agreement she was sure she didn’t like. But the edges of the rationale were coming into sight. She couldn’t do much good dead, and her voice was more valuable speaking with the Ambassador than as a peasant prisoner. She straightened herself out and entered the darkness of the APC. The sounds of the drones sickened her. The thing that bothered her the most was that she could understand the reasoning in the violence.
“Also, Ms. Dousman, none of this Ambassador business. Governor is more fitting to my role,” Myint said, settling back into his seat.
Natyasha looked at the new Governor of Winterthur and wanted to be sick. The insult was like salt in a raw wound. She didn’t know how, or when, but one way or another Myint was going to pay. That was her new goal in life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emilie was sure the room was designed specifically for boredom and bureaucracy. Against one wall leaned a broken customs panel while the other held data slates with dead batteries. The table had a look of dull permanence, while the chairs squeaked and flexed with every movement.
The woman on the other side of the table had a face like a putty ball. It was as if her emotions were blended with a torch and set slowly into a caricature of reality. She looked neither happy, sad, or even concerned.
“Now, Emilie,” she said, “if you could explain to me once more.”
Emilie felt her nerves stretch tight. Four hours of this, even her hairs seemed bored. She knew the woman wasn’t the sort she could bribe. She had the manner of upper management, not some lowly clerk. “I was inspecting assets.”
“You own a monastery? That is a UC property, it’s a heritage site.”
“I own the contract to service the monastery. I don’t care who owns it,” Emilie said.
The woman nodded and looked down at her own ragged tablet. The backside was scratched and dull with a line of barcodes zinging along the top. She tapped the screen and her eyes snapped back and forth as she read something.
Emilie saw the shift, a tiny change in facial posture. She’d attended days of negotiation training that helped her identify just that sort of reaction. Trouble. She shifted in her chair and rested her hands onto her lap. “Could I get some filtered water? With ice, please?”
The woman’s eyes snapped up and she blinked quickly. “I, uh, one moment, we’re almost done.”
Emilie smiled just politely enough to show she cared, but not enough to be friendly. She’d posed a simple question, a non-offensive query to see what the woman’s mindset was. The reaction made her heart rate rise. Whatever the woman was reading was outside of her norm. “Of course.”
The woman dropped her chin lower and looked down at the tablet. Her eyes darted up to the door and back down again. Up once more and back down. A thin bead of perspiration rolled down a waxy crease.
Emilie tensed and did her best not to show it. She could tell that the woman had received a message and was waiting for someone. Someone who was going to come in behind her.
She turned slightly in her chair and uncrossed her legs. She edged one toe against the table and braced herself. Her heartbeat climbed higher while the room felt warmer. She locked her eyes onto the woman and waited for the moment. The moment when someone would come in for her.
The woman looked up once more and placed her hands onto the table as if to stand. Her face was bare of anything, but a hint of fear was poking through.
The door slammed open and two men pushed inside. Each wore a dull gray uniform, neither looked like a customs officer, but more like a professional rental cop. One of the men was unarmed while the other held a stubby baton.
The waxy faced woman slid back her chair. “Now, Ms. Rose, if you would please relax.”
The lead man placed both hands onto Emilie’s shoulders while the other stood to the side with the baton in his hand.
Emilie saw the bulge in the jackets of both men. Pistols, probably—rough additive types, or maybe confiscated Core stocks. Didn’t much matter, she thought, they’d both shoot.
Then the rumble of gunfire sounded in the distance. They all turned and looked, heads craned slightly as they took in the sound. It was a rapid tut-tut-tut followed by the higher pitched crack of gunfire. The sound was oddly distant as it echoed down the hallways.
The waxed faced woman stood quickly. The chair skittered back and she shrieked when it hit the wall. “What is it? What is it?”
Emilie felt the grip loosen and she stood quickly standing next to the line of broken data slates. She felt the urge to get out, to move, to escape. Her eyes scanned the two men and decided the one with the baton was the threat.
“Just hit her and lock the lady up!” the unarmed man said.
The man with the baton took one step and hefted the baton.
Emilie spun to the side and jabbed two fingers into the man’s neck. She slammed her heel into the side of his knee and he screamed. She didn’t wait for the man to fall before stepping forward and smashing her palm into the face of the unarmed man.
“Oh my god!” the woman behind her yelled. “Help! Help!”
The baton tumbled to the floor with a clatter that followed the slump of both men. The first writhed on the floor with one hand on his throat and the other on his leg. The unarmed man was sprawled out and silent. A trickle of blood rolled down each of his cheeks.
Emilie knelt down and ripped the gun out from the first man’s holster. He tried to grab her hand but she shoved him back with the barrel. The pistol felt rough in her hand, not like an authentic weapon, but a cheap counterfeit replicated in some backroom additive cell. Shit, she thought, what now?
The woman whimpered and stumbled against the wall. Her hands raised up and tears streamed down her cheeks. Emilie grabbed a handful of charging cables and tied the woman to the chair. She kept an eye on the men but neither one looked to be in any shape to do anything. The first man mewed and squirmed.
Gunfire snapped her out of the moment and she moved closer to the door. The sound grew louder. She peaked out and scanned down the hallways. It was empty, everyone seemed to have disappeared, the only thing that made it seem alive was the smell of java. She took one glance back at the whimpering woman and set off, away from the gunfire.
The first hallway opened up into a wide reception area, the type where planetary travelers normally arrive. Lanes and stalls were bracketed by high booths with glass windows. The area was empty. She passed through quietly at a brisk walk.
A bright green sign marked the exit followed by another boring hallway lined with photos and industrial facts about Winterthur. Pictures of the vapor distilleries shone in the sunlight. She smirked a bit at the thought of the corrosion crusted towers that lined the sea shore. Hardly a tourist attraction. More gunfire echoed down the hall, reminding her to hurry the hell up.
She was determined to get out, to get somewhere that she wasn’t bottled in and tucked up. Right now she was at the mercy of whoever was shooting. However it worked out in space, she had a feeling that Mustafa came out on top. She swore to herself and felt even more alone.
A plan was slow in coming together. She walked through the empty corridor and tried to piece it together. She checked for a signal on her implanted tablet and saw nothing.
She came to a wide set of smoked glass doors. Daylight peaked from beneath in a slender band of white. She tucked the pistol into her jacket, and pushed through.
Outside the air was thick with the mist of the day. The smell of rain was on the wind along with another smell, gunpowder. The acrid tang tickled her nose. She stepped out quietly onto the well worn concrete and looked left and right. A man with a rifle sprinted past almost knocking her over. She stepped back and saw another person running. No one seemed particularly interested in her.
“Shit,” she whispered. The sound of gunfire was louder outside. Much louder. She jogged cautiously in the direction the men had run.
A horrible ripping boom blared through the air. She threw her hands over her head and crouched down. Her insides tightened and the shock almost made her cry out. The sound of gunfire had toned down with only the tut-tut echoing on.
She ran past the dull concrete wall and caught glimpses of others running. A wider avenue opened up before her and she approached cautiously. She peeked around the corner and snapped back.
Two men sprinted past without even looking at her. One didn’t have a weapon and the other held onto his rifle only by the strap. She peeked again for a better look and caught her breath. A gargantuan creature in heavy armor plodded into view with a massive autocannon hanging in front of it. Plumes of flame burst out from the barrel as it fired. Bodies littered the ground around it.
A high pitched whine came from everywhere. The crunching stopped and another enormous blast shattered through the air.
Emilie didn’t know what it was, but she knew enough to get the hell away from it. She glanced once more at the giant and saw it shooting away from her. She sprinted out the gates and was finally into the streets. A line of men huddled against the wall, clutching weapons.
“Get over here!” a man in a beat up construction helmet yelled.
Emilie ran over and knelt next to the man. She was afraid that she’d be found out—the pistol felt like a betraying lump against her waist. “What’s happening?”
The man shook his head. “Hun came down with damned giants, like walking tanks. You work in Customs?”
Emilie nodded and lied, “Yeah, I was inside,”
The man nodded. “Get out of here, we’re going to try to hit ‘em once more.”
The ripping roar sounded once again and everyone hunched down. “The fuck is that noise?”
She looked down the line of men huddled against the wall and knew they weren’t professionals. She’d spent enough time with the UC military to see that these were just locals with guns. She stood on shaky legs and braced herself against the wall.
A flash of silver dropped faster than a hawk and rebounded off the wall smashing into a man next to her. He rolled and screamed as the thing lashed out with razor like arms. Men stood and raised weapons as the man rolled on the ground.
“What is it?” a man with a shotgun yelled as he thrust his barrel at it.
Emilie stumbled back against a soldier and felt him move aside. She reached in and pulled the pistol out of her waist. It seemed heavy, blocky, artificial in her hands.
The man stopped moving and the drone stopped, suddenly still. A dimly glowing sensor bank on the back rippled and sang. It was like a silver beetle with arms made of razor steel. It hunched like a cricket.
“Shoot!” the man in the construction helmet shouted.
Gunfire erupted and blasted the creature sideways into the wall where it shuddered and popped. A dim hiss of smoke rolled off the body and it collapsed into a pile of metal.
“Fuck, man!”
“What the hell is it?” a man with stringy yellow hair asked.
Shrieks and screams echoed through the air. Farther down another one of the things descended upon the troops.
“Get up! Hit the wall, get ready to shoot. Everyone keep an eye on out,” the man in the construction hat bellowed down the line.
Emilie felt nothing but fear. Her eyes scanned up and sideways trying to see the next drone. Flashes of silver in the sky told of more, and the fear grew deeper. She’d seen them before, a branch of research had a whole shipment. Razor drones, to be used to assault ground troops or as a weapon of terror.
The blond man peered into the mist. “What are they? The fuck did they come from?”
“Razor drones,” Emilie said.
“Who are you, lady?” the man in the construction helmet asked as he stared at her pistol.
Emilie looked from side to side. “I’m Emilie Rose, my father was Klaus Rosenstein.”
“Well shit, I knew Klaus,” the blond man said.
“Hey, hey!” the man in the construction helmet yelled. “Focus!”
“Name’s Duma,” the blond said, smiling. He turned and hefted himself onto a set of containers.
Emilie looked down the road and had no idea where to go next. Behind her were the invaders. All around were razor drones. She figured she’d stick near the people with guns, at least for now. She squatted near the edge of the container and waited.
“Get ready!” a raw voice bellowed.
The fire coming from the spaceport had mostly died away. The steady fire of the autocannons continued, but the intensity had dropped. The heavy whine droned on with the crunch of concrete pulsing through the air. More screams came from farther inside of the city. Men on the containers turned and glanced behind them.
“Fire!”
A chorus of gunfire ripped through the drizzly air. The militia fired with everything they had. Casings rained onto the ground in a steady roar of pinging brass. The tut-tut of the autocannons roared back to life. Rounds seared through the heavy concrete wall and slammed into the cargo containers. Then the concrete crushing noise stopped.
Emilie felt it before she even knew it fired. A ripple inside of her rose and oscillated. The feeling was like being thrashed about without knowing it was going to stop. The sky tumbled into darkness and a roar assaulted her. Then she was on the ground coughing on concrete grit. She tried to stand and fell forward. Her lungs burned, her eyes were filled with chalky grit.
“Get up!” Duma yelled in her ear. He wrenched her up and helped her stand. “C’mon!”
She followed as quickly as she could. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she spat up a mix of grit and spittle. She closed her mouth a moment and could feel it on her teeth and against her gums. She turned and looked behind her.
A massive gap was ripped through the concrete wall. The cargo container she’d huddled next to was split open at the seams and rolled over. Bodies littered the ground.
“Keep moving!” Duma said loudly, but it sounded muffled, distant.
The sound came into her ears slowly. A ringing sound pulsed up and down, ranging from one tone to the next. She looked down at herself and saw nothing more serious than a few scrapes. “Thanks.”
Duma said nothing and led her away from the complex. They ran past a woman in a yellow jacket, sprawled out and eviscerated. More bodies were scattered around her. The civilians were sprawled out as if running from something, each farther than the next. Emilie snapped her head away from the corpses and focused on staying on her feet.
The gunfire died away to almost nothing before only the wind sang through the streets. An occasional crack and boom signaled that someone was still fighting. The pair ran to the edge of the docks and passed below a mass of stained tubing. Farther along the rising distillation towers continued to spew steam.
Duma stopped beneath a maze of piping and pushed his back against a damp wall. His eyes scanned from one side to the next. He let out a deep sigh and slowly shook his head.
“Thank you,” Emilie said, sliding up next to him.
The wind rose slowly and the mist pushed back. A light patter of rain dropped onto the pipes. A stray gunshot rang out, followed by screams.
Emilie looked up to the sky and caught a glimpse of silver darting through the mist. “Hey,” she said pointing up.
A drone clattered onto the pipes and was still. Legs ticked with each step as it gently made its way above them. The sensor package scanned from side to side. It seemed oblivious to the pair huddled below.
Emilie held her breath. Her eyes focused on the razor sharp legs and mandibles hanging underneath the drone. She willed herself to be small, to be quiet, to be invisible. The pistol felt close, so close, but she didn’t dare pull it out.
It sprang onto an orange stained valve and hung in place as it swung its head from side to side. The sensor pack stopped and the entire body was rigid, silent.
Duma stared up at the creature with his rifle tight in his hands. His dark knuckles were white with tension. A nervous tick made one eyebrow dance on his face. She looked back up and it was gone, as silently as it arrived.
“Wow,” she whispered.
Duma raised the rifle and pointed it at Emilie. The muzzle was shrouded in shadow.
She looked back at the man and saw his eyes unfocus. It was if he was staring through her. “What are you doing?” she asked, afraid. Then she realized he wasn’t pointing at her, but at something behind her. With every muscle tense, she slowly turned and saw the razor drone perched behind her, half hidden behind a set of conduit.
It sprang and Emilie dropped to the ground. It clattered through the conduit and fought to free itself. Duma fired once and tumbled it back against the wall. Emilie struggled to tear the pistol out from her waist and pulled the trigger aimlessly. Rounds impacted against the alloy tubing and smacked against the wall.
She stopped when she saw that it was dead. One set of limbs danced and tapped on the ground while the others folded in and out. The sensor bank was dim and half torn away. They were above her, around her, and she had no way of knowing. The foreboding terror came to her like only prey can feel. “Can we get somewhere safe?”
Duma lowered the rifle to his waist and pressed himself against the wall. “Where?”
“Inside?”
Duma’s eyes danced wildly through the conduit.
Emilie saw him losing his edge, falling under the pressure. Fuck, she thought. “Duma, you need to get us out of here. You can do this, but don’t fall apart on me.”
Duma snapped his eyes to her and squinted. “Who are you? To come here and fucking order me around? I don’t owe you shit. Your old man owed me money.” Duma stepped closer and loomed over Emilie.
“You’re pissed about money when there’s razor drones around?”
Duma shook his head and stood his ground. “Where we gonna go? Get away from this? This,” he said, gesturing all around them, “is the new reality. It’s all gone. Gone.”
“Just like that? Someone comes in and pushes you, and you fucking buckle?”
Duma slapped her with the back of his hand. He looked away and took a deep breath.
Emilie licked her lip and felt it growing thicker. Her mouth tasted of blood. “We can’t stay here,” she said, knowing she’d pushed the wrong way. “I need your help.”
A transport pulled along the edge of the port, three hundred meters away, and stopped abruptly. A single soldier dropped down in a suit of blocky pattern armor. His weapon was stubby and short. He raised thermal binoculars to his face and scanned around.
“We need to go,” Emilie said. The troops were hidden from view, but something had caught their attention. She glanced at the dying drone and knew they had to move and now. “Like now.” The additive cell, she had a location, if she could get there she’d be safe, at least for a short time. “I know where we can go.”
Duma redirected his gaze from the troops to Emilie. “Where?”
“There’s a Core facility down the shore, a couple of kilometers, we can make it,” she said quickly. She stepped closer and grabbed Duma by the arm.
“Core?” Duma spat. “Core? You’re one of them.”
Emilie released his arm and stood back. “No. No, I’m not, I bought the facility to come back here.”
Duma focused his eyes and cocked his head. He looked to the troops spreading away from the transport and back to Emilie. He took a cautious step back and raised his rifle.
Emilie watched the muzzle rise again and point at her. This time his eyes were focused on hers. Not like this, she thought. “Duma, we can go, we can do this.”
Duma shook his head slowly. “They’ll want you. They’ll leave me alone.”
“No Duma, they won’t.”
He stepped back and raised the rifle up. “Stop!”
She focused her eyes on his and took another step. Her hands stretched out to the sides with palms outward. “You’ll have to shoot me, Duma.”
His feet slid back on the crusty ground and he stopped against the ragged edges of alloy. His eyes were wild and spittle ran down one side of his face. “Stop!” he yelled.
A slight metallic sound clicked and tapped. A razor drone clacked from inside of the piping and punched spikes out.
Duma spun with his rifle and jammed the muzzle downward. He fired once and drilled the drone into the ground. The razor drone righted itself and struggled to get through the conduit. Shouts echoed from behind them, the Hun troops were coming. He turned quickly with the barrel of the rifle following.
Emilie held the pistol before her and looked into Duma’s eyes and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back against the piping with a dull thud and he crumpled onto the ground.
The moment was on her and she was locked in place. A thin snake of smoke rose up from the action of the pistol. It felt warm in her hands. She’d never killed anyone, the adrenaline dropped away and a sickness welled up inside of her. Go, she thought. Run. Run away. But she couldn’t move, her eyes locked onto Duma’s. He looked almost normal, like he could rise, except for a small ragged star shaped flap on his cheek.
“Fuck,” Emilie whispered and choked on a mouthful of bile. She spat onto the ground and left the dead man behind.
The Hun troops spread out and advanced with weapons at ready. The lead trooper held his blocky weapon tight to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel as he stepped closer. His face was mostly obscured behind a mask, but his eyes were bright white.
She snapped her eyes back and forth. The pistol was heavy in her hand and she glanced at it for a moment. The feeling of sickness was heavy inside of her. She dropped the pistol with a clatter and pushed herself into the shadows.
A single gunshot rang out and the lead trooper crumbled into a heap. Voices called out angrily and the Hun troops sprinted for cover. A round sang out and the Hun retreated farther back.
Emilie ducked into the piping and squatted in the shadows. She eyed a narrow passage leading down to the shore.
“Move it!” a voice hissed from the darkness.
She almost fell backwards with fear. “Who is it?”
“Shut the fuck up and get in here!” the voice said again. “We ain’t got all day, lady.”
She glanced behind her and could see the Hun troops hunched against hard surfaces. A second Hun trooper lay dead not far from the first. She stepped into the deeper darkness and felt a cold hand on her elbow. “Who are you?”
“The dumb one,” the man’s voice replied as he pulled her through the shadows. Her escort was silent the entire way. All she could hear was the flapping of a jacket.
The smell of metal came on strong and they dropped down onto the edge of the shore. Heaps of corroded waste lay strewn in front of them. Clouds of steam danced in the wind and obscured the upper reaches of the wall. The man was wrapped in a heavy jacket that reached down to his knees. One hand was a heavy alloy augmetic. His face was scarred, rough, and speckled in a layer of chalky stubble. A slender black oxide barrel peaked out from the bottom of his jacket. He leaned against a rust stained pillar and caught his breath.
“Who are you?” Emilie asked.
“Emmet,” the man said, breathing heavily. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slender comm clip. “We’re clear.”
“Are you militia?”
Emmet looked to her and shook his head. “I ain’t with those clowns.”
“Then why did you help me?”
“It’s my job.”
“What?”
“It’s me and Kari, she’s the one with the sniper drone.”
Emilie blinked and wiped the condensing mist off her face. “But the militia doesn’t have sniper drones.”
Emmet looked to Emilie. “You’re slow for a smart person. We’re not militia, we’re Core. Or we were until you bought it.”
“How did you—”
“Find you?” He pointed to the small bag clinging to her side. “Your data tablet is keyed in the Core system.”
She glanced down at the bag and patted it gently. The only thing she had, the only thing she owned, was the Core assets. Most importantly, the library. A complete collection of Core items on the open market. If it could be bought and sold, she had a license to make it. Each license fed an additive cell. Each cell was a self-standing collection of material aggregators capable of making anything. Or at least anything that it was programmed for.
Emilie hoped more Core personnel would have stayed behind, but at this moment she was happy with whatever she could get.
“We’re secured for now,” Emmet said, nodding down the shore. “But we’ve got to move.”
“Lead the way.”
Emmet glanced back and smiled. “So this isn’t a good time to ask for a raise?”
Emilie looked back and shook her head slowly. The feeling of wanting to vomit had finally passed and the look on her face didn’t show much relief.
“Uh yeah, I’ll ask later.” Emmet picked his way onto the first piece of heaped stone. He looked down and held out a hand. “So what now?”
Guns, she thought, people always need more guns. Thoughts of the rounds bouncing off the armor of the brutes came back to her. Bigger guns.
Behind her screams and gunfire proved the point. She needed to cement her position, and she could feel it in her heart. Aimless and lost was not how she planned to go through life. “We’re going to make guns. Lots of guns. Big guns.”
Emmet grinned and helped her onto the stone. “I’m going to like you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
––––––––
The brutes smelled like a mix of swamphole tucked next to a burning tractor tire. They stood in a ragged line. Battered armor stripped and bare to the elements. Each bore wounds, puncture holes, and bits of shrapnel. One particularly savage looking beast sat on the ground with blood pouring out of a ragged wound.
Troops came with a transport truck hooked up to a tanker-trailer. At the first brute they clamped a bracelet of tubing onto its wrist and started a loud pump. It clanged and shuddered. A moment later two Hun soldiers in brown waterproof suits sprayed a stream of icy water onto its body. Steam rose in sheets and the creature bawled.
Natyasha watched as she followed behind the Governor. Her face was solid, a tight look of neutrality. Beneath the veneer of calm was anger and regret. She paused a step behind the Governor as the mist drifted off one of the hulking brutes. She could feel the warmth radiating off of them even ten meters away.
“We can inject them with massive amounts of nanites this way,” Governor Myint said with a dismissive gesture. “Otherwise it takes so long to heal.”
She said nothing and glared at the back of the Governor’s head. She ignored his military staff around her.
The group followed as the Governor surveyed the spaceport. He walked alone with the retinue streaming behind. The first line jockeyed to be close, the second line edged in to hear the first. Behind that was Natyasha’s staff. Bark led the line with a sobbing woman behind her and a hefty man with thick eyebrows.
Governor Myint stopped. “The drones are recalled.” He looked at Natyasha for a moment. “Your corvette.” He nodded to the rising spire of the elevator. “It is now my corvette. In fact, your people are my people. They’re simply on loan.” He glanced to her entourage. “You have a very strong organization here, but they are mine to use, and yours to command. For now.”
Natyasha looked back at the Governor with flinty eyes. She saw her role, a face to the government. A popular figure to take the resentment while the Hun sat back and let her take the fire. Enabler.
She saw the price she paid for her hubris. Part of her wanted to turn around, walk away, and just leave. But she knew she couldn’t. She made the mess, she’d damn well clean it up. “I trust the drones won’t come out again.”
Myint raised an eyebrow and looked to his staff before returning his eyes to Natyasha. “They are a tool, Ms. Dousman. If you have a broken machine, you fix it with the most efficient tool at your disposal.”
“You will use them again?” Natyasha asked, barely hiding the disgust in her voice.
“No, Ms. Dousman, if the machine is broken, you will use the drones,” Governor Myint said coldly. “I suggest you see that it remains in working order.”
“To what purpose does this machine function?”
“Minerals. Minerals. Minerals.” The Governor beckoned to an aide and handed a tablet to Natyasha. “That is the requirement.”
Natyasha glanced at the columns and saw numbers that were impossible. Or nearly so, they were on the higher upper edge of what a distillation column could produce. They would need every single tower at full capacity with no downtime. An impossibility. “These numbers are unrealistic,” she said as she shook the tablet before her.
“Then I suggest you find a way to make it realistic,” Governor Myint said.
“But—”
“No. There is no protest. If you cannot do it, I’ll find someone who can. I will guarantee you,” he said stabbing his finger out, “that I will find someone willing.”
Natyasha dropped the tablet to her side and stared back at Governor Myint.
“Now, tend to your duties. I must tend to mine,” Governor Myint said, and walked away, leaving Natyasha standing in the mist and stink. He turned a few meters away. “Are the newest immigrants still interned?”
“Yes.”
Governor Myint nodded. “Keep them there.”
She tapped the tablet against her leg and watched the Governor pass through a security portal flanked by armored soldiers. Her mind ran through details and then stopped. More than anything, she needed an alternative. She needed options, options that felt heavier with each tap on her leg. “Bark,” she called.
Bark limped forward with her alloy arms crossed. Each of the augmetic limbs bore scratches, dents, and dings. She stood next to Natyasha and watched the Governor walk out of sight.
“I need options, Bark. Do they have Rose?”
Bark shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Natyasha nodded and saw one flicker of hope. “Find her.”
Bark nodded and walked away through pools of warm water that ran down from the wounded brutes.
Natyasha looked around and found it odd how quickly she was used to the bioaugmented shock troops. What had been unthinkable a day before was barely something to take notice of a day later. The numbers came back to her and she looked to the tablet again. They’d need more towers. But only Core could make more towers. She felt a bit of spite at how they were so dependent on others. What was freedom if they couldn’t do as they pleased?
She turned to her aides. “Get everyone who can handle a district. Get them to the council hall.”
The woman sobbed once, a heavy droning sob.
“Mea,” Natyasha said to the woman. She stepped closer and squeezed her shoulder. “I need you here, Winterthur needs you here, but we need you to focus.”
Mea held her hand over her mouth. Tears rolled down her plump cheeks and her tussled brown hair was a mess. She tried to speak but instead sobbed lightly. She nodded quickly.
“Shin,” she said to the man. “Get the police, and bring in Malic, get his boys in uniform. We’re going to need some muscle.”
She pictured the brutish face of Malic and had a hunch that he’d be the one the Hun would replace her with. He was ruthless, blunt, and quick to anger. But he knew how to get a job done. If anyone was to be kept close, it’s him, she thought. The Governor spoke of tools, Malic would be her alternative to the razor drones. A part of her rebelled at the thought, but another enjoyed the ability to wield her full power.
The camps brought conflict to her mind. It had been a rallying cry to cement her power base but now something that was both a liability and an asset. If Core continued on, she knew they’d have brushed her aside at the polls. But now nearly half the colony was interned inside of camps under Malic and his rabble.
What was Myint thinking, she wondered. Why mention them at all? She pictured them flocking to the Hun and seeing them as liberators. They were still her people, the moment sat with her in a hard way. Her people, but people she’d cast aside, and if given the chance would have sent back to Earth.
Natyasha looked over at one of the brutes and stared into its eyes. It was a saucer of darkness ringed by bloodshot lines. She wondered if it could think, if it could feel. Could it be bought, bribed, or turned?
She saw the slope she was on, a craggy ridge covered in ice and shale. On one side was the destruction of everything she held dear. On the other side was the same, but worse. She had no good options. Tyranny was the only alternative. The thought of being a tyrant hadn’t bothered her, but the thought of someone else as the tyrant burned deep into her soul.
*
She found Bark hunched over a pile of crumbled concrete. The short haired woman nodded and hefted a piece of the old rock in her hand as if judging it. It fell with a thud and Bark dropped down from the pile.
“That wall could tell some stories,” Natyasha said as she took in the damage around her. She stared at shattered fragments of red stained metal. A dead drone, she thought. Good.
“It ain’t saying shit now,” Bark said flatly.
Natyasha started walking and felt the reassuring presence of Bark next to her. She’d never regretted hiring Bark. The woman was trustworthy, violent, and clever. A relic of Core that paid dividends to her, if not anyone else. She’d found her after Bark flunked out of the Core Marine program. The stress of being reborn was a touch too much.
She could still picture Bark’s face, covered in the scars of war. Nanite shrapnel that was like starbursts of black speckled her face then. It was a fairly simple matter of finding the proper surgeon. At that point Bark saw her as the savior and Core as the enemy. After that Bark was hers, or least a bit more trustworthy, but there always seemed a feral edge to her.
“Ever going to grow your hair out Bark?”
Bark looked at Natyasha and shook her head. “Winterthur has fallen and you ask me about my hair?”
“We still eat. We still sleep. We still live.” Natyasha shrugged. “Now we find a way to do it on our terms.”
The pair walked through the quiet streets and passed a column of marching Hun soldiers. Neither group paid the other any attention. Natyasha turned and watched the troops pass. She wondered how good they would be without the giants.
“Did you find her?”
Bark looked up to the sky and sighed. “Not yet. Last report I have is she made it out after that armor blew out the east wall. After that, no idea.”
“Family? Friends?”
Bark shook her head. She ran her alloy hand over the rich stubble on her skull. “She’s been away for almost twenty years. Her family is gone. No idea on friends.”
“Check the camps. They could have rounded her up,” Natyasha said. She looked out towards the sea and listened for the crash of the breakers. The air tasted like salt and she loved it.
“Bitch! Traitor!” a voice called out from an alley.
Natyasha spun and stared down the dark lane.
“You’re gonna burn!” another voice yelled.
Bark stepped before her and slid a hand down to where a pistol once was. She stopped and her hand hovered for a moment. “Keep moving,” she said softly.
Natyasha always felt that she could walk into any home on Winterthur and would be welcome. There might be a disagreement on politics, but everyone would know she sought the best. But now, could she? A melancholy came over her and she followed quickly after Bark. Once again she found herself somewhere different. Was she for herself or Winterthur? The two were once one, but now where did she stand?
She pictured the alternative and saw Malic standing over piles of corpses. Could she get the production numbers? Of course, she thought, she could do whatever she put her mind to. But the question still remained, how to secure it all, what was the endgame?
The pair walked through the mostly silent streets and came to Founder’s Square. A brass miniature of the original lander stood on a pedestal as a monument. It was streaked with corrosion that looked like green tears.
On the far side huddled the council, a small group of men and women who looked out of place and uncomfortable. They milled about and looked across the square. At the opposite corner a group of Hun soldiers watched with dull eyes.
“Want me to come inside?” Bark asked as she eyed up the group. “They don’t look happy.”
Natyasha shook her head and set her face in as grim a tone as she could. “No, they’ll not lynch me here. And anyways, I have Mea and Shin,” she said, nodding to the pair behind her.
Bark snorted and shook her head. “I’ll find her.”
Natyasha stopped and faced her. “I know.” She reached out a hand and squeezed Bark’s alloy fingers lightly. The touch, she knew, was enough to cement it. She released the grip and turned to face the crowd.
The group, upon seeing Natyasha, all turned to face her. The faces were angry and hurt. Some wore bandages next to the orange layer of a civilian nanite patch. Eyes darted over to the soldiers and back to Natyasha. A man in a heavy jacket stepped out from the group and placed his hands behind his back.
“Ms. Dousman,” he said. “What is going on?”
The others stammered and stepped forward. Each tried to yell above the rest and make their questions heard. They crowded in closer, tighter, forming a ring around Natyasha. The soldiers on the edge of the square watched with more interest.
“Stop, stop!” Natyasha yelled and pushed her way through the crowd. She ignored them and walked through the heavy doors and into the hall.
Inside the ceiling was vaulted with hoops of alloy and stone. It was as fine a building as a colony could hope for. The light filtered in through slender windows, highlighting motes of dust that stirred and danced.
Natyasha stomped down and passed by the empty seats before standing in the center of the room on a small rise. She watched as the rest of the crowd came in. “Sit. This meeting is in session.”
“We don’t have a quorum,” Mahindra, an elderly woman with a brown shawl, protested.
Groans and arguments broke out as the tensions came to a head.
“Enough!” Natyasha shouted. “This is not a democracy any longer.” She let the words hang in the air like the motes that danced above.
The words struck everyone in the room like a heavy blow. They looked down, none catching the eye of anyone else. Only Natyasha looked to each and every one of them.
“There is a new reality now. We are not a colony, but a vassal world.”
“We’re slaves!” Mahindra yelled back in a shaky voice.
“And what are we going to do about it? Go outside and get shot? We have one chance, and that’s to give them what they want. Hope for our own rule,” Natyasha replied.
“Appease them?” the mustached man spat.
Natyasha looked to the crowd and held her hands out. “Unless anyone has a better idea?”
“What about your spaceship?” a man said as he walked down the steps slowly, methodically. He wore a arrogant smile with a layer of spit running down his chin.
“Malic.”
Malic plopped himself into one of the chairs and settled himself in. “What happened up there?”
“We hired them,” Natyasha said.
“You mean ‘I hired them’?” Malic said with a slight smile and a glance to the crowd.
“That’s right,” Natyasha said. “And at one hell of a discount.”
“Why didn’t they shoot the Hun troopship? Instead they brought ‘em right in, didn’t they?”
Natyasha smiled thinly at Malic. Clever, she thought. Well informed. “The Hun have informed me that they now control the mercenaries. I can’t vouch for the character of mercenaries.”
“Yet you hired them.”
“What’s your point, Malic? It doesn’t change anything now.”
Malic shrugged. “Just curious.”
Natyasha spent the remainder of the meeting responding to questions, criticism, and anger. Everyone voiced their extreme displeasure, but when Natyasha asked for ideas, none had any. When it was done, they walked out single file into the dimming light of the day. Natyasha stood in the center of the room and waited for the last to go.
“Was that necessary?” Natyasha asked Malic.
“Just maintaining the, uh, what’d ya call it? The personal connection.”
“Well, next time keep it personal.”
Malic grinned back. “Well, I could have mentioned the Ambassador.”
Natyasha walked off the rise and sat in one of the alloy molded chairs. Her knees ached, her back ached, and she was tired. “You could have, but that wouldn’t have done either of us much good.”
“I’m not as dumb as I look.”
“Get your people into uniform, tell them to act proper.”
Malic suddenly looked sober. “They’re not fighting those animals.”
“They’re not resisting, they’re going to be crowd control.”
“For who?”
“For us. Once word gets out, we’re going to have riots. You need to stop them before the Hun does.”
Malic leaned back into his chair and stared at Natyasha. “I don’t have enough to watch the camps and hold the streets.”
“Focus on the riots. The camps aren’t a concern right now.”
“Can we let them go?”
Natyasha shook her head. “The Governor wants them to stay. If there’s trouble, shoot.”
Malic nodded and rested his hands on his paunch.
She looked over at Malic and sensed a touch of ambition. Have to keep him close, busy, and most of all engaged. Bark might have to pay him a visit, she thought. “We have a quota, it’s going to be tight. Full capacity.”
Malic nodded and looked up to the ceiling. “They bring a library?”
Natyasha shook her head. “No.” She knew Malic, along with every other resident of Winterthur, would understand a quota. The distillation towers was their life, their job, their blood. Everyday the sun rose through the steam plumes, and it was part of them all.
Bark stood on the edge of the room and cleared her throat.
Malic turned and looked back. He smiled up at Bark and leered at her.
“Come back in the morning,” Natyasha said to Malic.
Malic looked back with a smile and a sigh. “And I just thought I was getting warmed up.”
Natyasha ignored the comment and left Malic sitting near the floor. She followed Bark through the tall, slender hallways and into her office. The space was ceremonial, almost totally unused, but it was hers.
“We found a body,” Bark said.
“Shit,” Natyasha said.
“It’s not her, but the last person she was seen with.”
“So where is she?”
Bark looked through the rain streaked window and bit her lip. “I’m heading out after dark to search some of the Core facilities. If I find her?”
Natyasha sat down in the ancient wooden chair and ran her hand on the smooth armrest. She wondered, what would she do? “Gauge the situation, see what she can offer.” She racked her brain and felt the fog of the day heavy on her brain. “Build some trust.”
Bark nodded and leaned against the stone wall.
“Bring in the organization, everyone. Send them here.”
“Everyone?” Bark asked.
“Everyone. We’ve got a vassal state to run.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
––––––––
“Still nothing, Captain,” Bryce said. “No reply on any UC channel.”
William nodded and ran his hand over his face. His fingers rasped against the first bit of stubble growth. Already he wanted to shave, to look professional. Each routine was a reminder of what was done before. Before whatever horrible thing put them out of the routines. “Automate the pings,” he said to Bryce.
Shay labored over a console and yawned. The nav plot in front of her looked like a simple red arc between dotted lines of asteroid orbits. The arc intersected an asteroid with a different numerical designation than the rest.
“Any reply, Shay?” William asked. He stared at scan data for the Core facility. It was an incomplete scan, but it was thermally active.
She shook her head and covered her mouth, stifling a second yawn.
In the tiny commons area there was a wisp thin naval rating named Benju who had come out of a damaged area and was left with a broken spine. He moaned when the nanites ebbed. Igor, the Serbian Marine, wore a pair of heavy white mitts that were filled with an odorless white gel to cover the burns that stretched down to his elbows.
The corpses they managed to recover lay on the opposite side of an airlock. They would be set loose into the void, but not yet. Corporal Vale Thorisdottir was mostly silent as she followed Huron and noted repairs to be made. Huron kept speaking of his desire to get some serious repairs made.
“Almost like new if they’re outfitted,” Huron had repeated like a mantra.
William had heard the phrase over and over and had finally asked. “What do you mean?”
“If they left materials, and just powered everything off, it will be easy. We have a full library of specifications, just not the ability to make anything we need.”
“And our library can—”
Huron nodded. “Yes.”
Now William had a fairly complete list that showed how devastated the ship was. But more importantly he felt a trust in the entire endeavor. It wasn’t the ship’s fault that it would disintegrate, it pained him to even think of it happening. His first real command, and what a beauty it was. He glanced to the wall and watched the ripple of nanite binders.
The bulk of the modified asteroid grew in detail as the Garlic crept closer. The majority was untouched asteroid chondrite with a blocky mass of alloy jutting out one side like a symmetric crystal. Farther out a debris cloud of scattered minerals hovered and grew into micro-asteroids that would in a few million years, turn into real asteroids. It seemed as dead as everything around it.
“Captain?” Bryce cleared his throat.
William looked over to his Midshipman and nodded.
“I think it’s been refining.”
“How can you tell?” William asked.
“There’s a gap between the debris clouds. The larger mass is all together, then there’s that,” he said, highlighting a blank area. “And this.” He highlighted a new cloud closer to the station. It was as if someone had turned it off, and back on again a week later.
William smiled and squeezed Bryce’s shoulder. “Corporal, you’re going in hot,” William said to Corporal Vale.
“I could use a few more, Captain,” Corporal Vale called over the comms.
“Sir,” Bryce said.
William looked down and shook his head. “Corporal, take two. Huron, get your crew on standby at the hatch and keep it tight while the Marines are inside.” He looked down to Bryce. “You have no need to prove yourself. You’d just be a trigger happy officer seeking redemption.”
Bryce turned away in silence and faced his display.
William knew how he felt. He’d felt much the same before, like a single charge into the enemy would solve all doubts and problems.
The smell of garlic rolled through the air as the ventilation system clunked and clanged. Thermal instability shifted and pinged as the uneven balance of the hull created stresses. It served as a reminder of just how close the entire ship came to being nothing more than a dead asteroid.
The ship tucked up close to the alloy pier and waited for the airlock to snake across the narrow distance. The hull of the station was pitted and raw from years of mining debris scratching against it like sand from a beach.
William stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He disliked waiting behind, waiting for others to board. It was the way it worked, and he knew it, but he much preferred to lead by example. His stomach rumbled and he felt a growing anxiety about the next meal. He flexed his augmetic hand—another reward for his time on Redmond. “Is there still mealslab left?”
“Bryce ate it all,” Shay mumbled. Her head was rested on her hands with her eyes closed.
The livefeed flickered on. Igor looked at Corporal Vale and back to the airlock. The scene was mirrored on Vale’s. Both of the Marines wore combat EVA suits with armor layered over it. A standard issue Colt-Kubota was tethered to their chests. Vale turned and glanced behind her, two naval ratings, Perez and Kyong stood in conventional EVA suits with a bulky shrap-vest over it. Each held a Benelli flechette shotgun in front of them.
“Huron?” William asked. He saw the airlock had made the connection. His feed showed that there was atmosphere inside.
“Coming, coming!” Huron said.
The livefeed showed Huron arriving with another orange maintenance suit behind him. Huron’s face looked worn, tired, and pale. The camera bobbed up and down.
“Ready, Captain,” Vale said.
“You’re a go, but be cautious, I don’t want to turn this into a firefight. We don’t know who’s in there,” William replied to Vale on the livefeed.
Vale’s face was tight and her nanite implanted eyes flickered red. The scars were tight lines under the tinted shield of the EVA suit. She didn’t look excited, happy, or sad, just like someone who had a job to do.
The bridge crew watched as the boarding party passed through the zero gravity umbilical and into the airlock. The movement was almost like they were swimming. A dull orange line, faded by many footsteps, marked the return to gravity.
The camera pointed at the Core Logo stenciled on the door. It had the look of something sprayed on with great care and never touched since.
Igor reached forward and pulled an access panel out of the wall. A moment later, spidery tendrils rolled out from his wrist and interfaced with the wiring. The tendrils detached and the Marines stepped to each side of the hatch. Behind them the sailors took a knee and raised the weapon up.
“Go!” Corporal Vale called and the door slammed open.
Lights flickered, revealing an empty hall with a coating of dust and grit on the floor. The cameras bobbed as the team moved inside.
William looked away from the disorienting movement. His stomach danced a bit as his mind failed to sync with the motion he was seeing. He looked over and saw Shay looking at him curiously. “Motion sickness,” he revealed.
Shay raised an eyebrow and returned her gaze to the screens.
The boarding took position at the inner airlock. The lights above the door flickered green. The crescent shaped window showed a dim orange light in the distance. The camera snapped back to the sailors and Vale barked a command. The sailors jumped to either side of the bulkhead and took position behind the Marines.
Vale raised her arm and engaged a camera on the edge of her armor. The viewscreen panned and a new window propped up, showing the inside of the space. Row upon row of open topped containers stretched into the distance. “Seeing this, Captain?” Vale asked.
“Thank you, Corporal,” William replied.
She sighed over the comms and nodded to Igor. Her voice was low. “We pop it, toss in a springer, two count and in.” She looked to Perez and Kyong. “Once we go through, stay in the doorway and cover.” She turned away and back again. “Don’t shoot until we do.”
Perez nodded rapidly, while Kyong readjusted her weapon.
“What’s a springer?” Bryce asked quickly.
“Denial grenade,” Shay said.
William nodded. “They’ll toss it in, it’ll bang, flash, spray lights, and disperse nanites. Anything to overwhelm spectrum.”
The camera panned and looked down to a side container on the edge of Igor’s armor. He pulled out a slender cylinder and tossed it over to Vale. She looked down at it for a moment and nodded to Igor. Igor slammed his armored palm against the entry lever. The door pulled away from the hinge with a rasping sound and slid away. Uneven light streamed into the open hold.
Vale flicked her wrist and tossed the slender package. It landed with a clatter and shot out like a rocket before expanding in a shower of light. Anyone caught looking, in any device, would see nothing but bright lights for a few moments.
The Marines surged inside. Vale dodged a low cart and slid up against a container with a thud. Igor tripped over a snaking power cord and clattered onto the floor. “Fuck!” he shouted as his weapon skidded out and snapped back towards him on the tether. He scrambled forward on all fours and found cover.
“Hey!” Kyong yelled, opening fire. The muzzle blast illuminated the space before her like a strobe light. Flechettes sheared out and careened off the containers.
“Cease fire!” Vale hollered.
“I saw someone!” Kyong yelled. “There!”
Vale slid to the side and scanned around the corner. A brief bit of movement was highlighted by the in-helmet computer. “Shit, Igor, get ready.” She keyed up the vocal transponder. “Lay down your weapons. We’re United Colonies Marines.”
“Shay?” William asked quickly. “Anything?”
Shay shook her head.
“You shot first,” a male voice with a French accent echoed through the hold.
“That was a mistake,” Vale replied.
“Fucking Marines. I’m coming out!”
“Hold fire!” Vale yelled to the sailors crouched in the airlock.
Vale edged to the side of container and pressed the weapon onto the top of the container. A man walked forward in the dim light with both hands held out at waist level. His gait was steady, with a slight limp. Shadows hid his face.
Vale stood slowly and sidestepped to the edge of the corridor. Motion alerts flared on the edge of her display as more people stood and made themselves known. “That all of you?”
“Oui.”
“Who are you?”
“Contractors. We used to work for Core.”
William stood slowly and looked closely at the screen. “Vale, get him in the light.”
Shay looked up to William curiously.
The man came closer and finally the light played across him. He smiled thinly, almost sheepishly. He was thin with a face blessed by high cheekbones and eyes that spoke of mischief. A rich layer of black stubble contrasted against the whiteness of his face.
“Leduc,” William said. “Vale! Ask him if he can still steer a boat.”
“What?” Vale snapped back.
“Ask him!”
“Can you, uh, still steer a boat?” Vale asked.
A smile turned up on the edge of his face. He squinted his eyes and peered closer at the Marines and the sailors. “William?”
“Tell him I’ll be over in a minute,” William said. He looked down to Shay. “You’ve got the bridge.”
“What are you doing?” Shay asked.
William looked back and held a hand on the edge of the bridge. “His name is Xavier Leduc. He was a soldier, we were both survivors on Redmond. We steered a boat together,” he said, the memories of that horrible night coming back to him.
He ran out of the bridge. Leduc steered the unwieldy craft off the rocks, but they’d still been dashed on the shore. The boat tumbled all of them out into the surf. He’d buried a man in the sand that next morning.
William passed quickly through his wrecked ship and shot through the zero-gravity umbilical. He saw his old friend and grinned widely. The two embraced and William held onto Xavier for a few hard seconds. The Marines stood at ready, still in the cover of the containers. Both of the sailors looked confused and stood with the Benelli shotguns pointed at the ground.
“William!” Leduc said, smiling. “Had I known it was you... Ah, well, oui?” He shrugged. He raised a hand up and waved. “We’re clear!”
The shadows in the distance came together and moved forward. Half a dozen men and women with pale skin and sunken faces stepped closer. They held blocky knockoff boarding weapons.
“What happened?” William asked. The last he’d seen Xavier was after arriving back at Earth. He’d assumed the survivors would have stayed in the Army, but he guessed it’d make sense that some wouldn’t.
“Couldn’t do another drop,” Xavier said, leaning against a container. “After that one...” His gaze dropped to the floor.
William nodded. He could understand the fear that came. It still visited him at night when he woke to the smell of burning plastic and snow. To the smells of a world that almost froze him to death.
“So I took an early out and used my preference to get a mining rig.” Xavier beckoned down the long loading pier. “Eduardo told me ‘Drones! They’re the future, everyone uses them now’. So I picked up a contract with Core and came out here. A bunch of mining drones and voila!”
“And Core left?”
Xavier smiled and sniffed. “The bastards sent out a notice, said bring it in! We’re leaving! So we come in, they take the ore, and then the transports leave.”
“Without paying?”
“Payable at the corporate office, they say.” Xavier looked away and sighed. “So if I want to get paid, I have to go back to Earth. Problem is, our ship has no Haydn. Instead, I decided to stay, borrow the facilities, and sell direct.” He grinned at William. He looked behind to the others. “My crew, mostly retired Army and Navy.”
William nodded to them and thought they didn’t look half as bad as he and the rest of the survivors of the Lawrence did.
“And you?” Xavier asked.
How do I explain this? William wondered. He felt a touch of embarrassment, guilt, sadness, all mixed together in a stew of pride. So instead of trying to embellish it, he laid it out, simple and direct.
Xavier listened in silence. By the end of the story, he looked even more haggard and worn. His crew stood close and glanced among each other.
“So now we’re trying to refit,” William said.
Corporal Vale stepped forward. “Captain, Huron wants to come over.”
William looked to Xavier. “Any objections?”
Xavier chuckled and shrugged a Gallic shrug. “It’s not like I own the place, right?”
Corporal Vale called back to the Garlic and the remaining engineers went to work.
“Walk with me,” Xavier said. “I’ll show you our ship.”
The pair walked away from the flickering lights and into the shadow that was flanked by empty containers. The air tasted like dust and burnt steel. Every step brought a rasping hiss. Xavier limped slowly and held one hand to his hip as he walked.
“Are you okay?” William asked.
Xavier stopped and massaged the joint. “I have a few augmentations that are going sour.”
William remembered how Xavier had pulled sleds laden with survivors when everyone else was close to death. “Redmond?”
“Didn’t help, but I didn’t pay top euro for them either.” He shrugged.
They walked through an open bulkhead and the air felt colder. On the other side a robotic mining tender lay askew on the floor. Robotic miners hung like peapods from the sides of the ship. The spine was slender like a needle with a blocky front and back.
“There it is, eh?” Xavier said, smiling.
William had seen so many like it before, the lifeblood of culture as they knew it. Once the mining was automated, those tending the ore had little to do but service the miners. “No Haydn?”
Xavier shook his head. “We came out in a bulk hauler.”
William nodded. “Do you trust your crew?”
Xavier’s eyes flickered back down the bulkhead. “We got an offer to keep mining,” he said in a low voice.
“From who?”
Xavier licked his lips and looked down. “The Hun.”
William felt it in his chest, a nervous tightness with the edge of adrenaline rising. He reached down to pat his sidearm and patted nothing. He’d left his sidearm back on the Garlic. The moment was rich with a question of where Xavier stood, and William feared he knew it. “And?”
The answer came, a gunshot.
Xavier pushed William back with the force of a mule and brought his rifle up to bear. William fell backward and skidded to a halt. A second shot erupted in the distance, followed by a pair of booming blasts. Xavier stepped out of view of the bulkhead and crouched down with his weapon laid over his knee.
William felt a betrayal that ran even deeper than the one the Admirals laid upon him. He had a bond of kinship and survival with Xavier. He raised a hand and rubbed his chest where Xavier had hit him. “Why?”
Xavier shook his head and looked away. “I can’t do it again—we need to get out.”
“Tell your crew to leave the ship, you can have ours,” Xavier said.
William stared at the man who was once his friend and stood slowly. He kept his eyes locked on the muzzle of the rifle and had a feeling that Xavier would shoot him if given a chance. The memory of Redmond weighed heavy on both, but the weight must have broken him. “I can’t do that.”
Xavier glanced out the bulkhead. “No more shooting. Come on, lead the way.”
William felt a pit in his heart. He should’ve seen it coming. Bastards, he thought. No, no. I’m the bastard. I’m the stupid son of a bitch. He knew that if he’d gone by the books none of this would have happened, at the worst he’d have lost his boarding crew, but now they could lose everything. He walked stiffly and glanced behind him.
“Non,” Xavier said as he raised the barrel and slowed his pace.
The men walked through the portal into the warmer air. The taste of grit and steel returned. William stopped when ordered and felt his anger seething—anger mixed with helplessness. He scanned and saw nothing, no one, only the flickering lights of the airlock in the distance and empty containers.
“Manuel?” Xavier called out into the silence. His voice echoed and all was still.
William debated keying up his comms, but couldn’t speak, so didn’t see much point.
Xavier sidestepped behind an ore container and crouched slightly. His eyes were wide and white as they took in the darkness around him. “Manuel? Paul? Consuela?”
William turned and faced Xavier. He could taste the fear in his mouth along the itching on his augmetic hand. A sense of tension filled him. If he was going to get shot, he’d face Xavier, make the bastard look him in the eyes.
Xavier opened his mouth to call once more when a single gunshot rang out. It was the loud crack of a nanite propelled round. His head snapped back, a ragged hole in his cheek. The blocky knockoff rifle clattered to the floor and landed with Xavier.
William turned slowly, his heart booming in his ears. Corporal Vale rose two dozen meters away. “Well done, Corporal. Who did we lose?”
He’d dreaded asking the question ever since he heard the gunshots. They needed every single crewmember, and any thoughts of pressing the miners into service went away when the gunfire started.
Vale peeled her faceshield up. “Igor took a round. They tried to hit us once you’d walked away. Kyong saw it first and blasted a group of ‘em.”
“Igor?”
“He’ll live,” Vale said. She scanned the room with her weapon.
“I’m sorry,” William said to her. “He was once a friend.”
Vale scanned her eyes past William without really seeing him. “I’m taking Kyong and we’re going to secure the rest, sir.”
“Carry on,” William said, and returned to the airlock alone. But not totally alone—the feeling of guilt walked with him as an unwelcome companion.
*
The repairs moved from basic triage to that of a rough refit. The station held an additive cell specialized in refitting mining drones and orbital facilities. Huron worked incessantly interfacing the systems and laying out the repair plan. In a matter of a few short hours, the scent of a foundry permeated the air. The Garlic was being reborn.
William watched the chaos of the firefight and saw what a lucky affair it had been. Had Kyong not been as jumpy, the miners would have taken them. An overriding sense of guilt spread in him. Guilt that he’d almost cost them the ship, and this spilled into guilt about the mission. He’d asked so much, to go beyond direct orders and right into the realm of prison time. By rights, Shay should have taken his command and confined him to his quarters.
Even if they hit the troopship and finished off the Gallipoli, the planet was still occupied. He couldn’t save anyone. Worst of all, he could hardly save himself. He shook his head and stared at the dried blood mixed with the grit on the floor.
He passed through the airlock and made his way back to the Garlic. He glanced out the viewport and saw the first of the repair drones settling into position and laminating a new layer onto the rocky hull. He stopped and hovered in the zero gravity and watched, then spread his focus to the rest of the ship. His ship. No, the United Colonies’ ship.
They’d sacrificed so much to get here, to throw it all away now would be spitting in the face of those who trusted him. He knew it, and pushed the guilt away. His mind opened up and felt disappointed in himself that he’d let the moment get away from him. They had a job to do and he was going to see to it. At the very least he’d deprive the Hun troops on the ground of a ride home. And he had a score to settle with the Gallipoli.
“Huron,” William called. “How long?”
“Uh, Captain, we’re just getting rolling,” Huron replied. The sounds of machinery rattled behind him.
“Estimate? And can you get me another Haydn?”
“What? What in the Sam Hill do you need another Haydn for?”
William smiled and pushed back towards the station. He had a ship to refit. It was time to level the playing field.
*
The sun burned through the void of space with no regard of the time. It was a harsh light, an alkaline light, tinted with a hue of yellow. But it was light.
William shielded his eyes from the glare as he watched the multijointed arm sway out from the alloy pier and apply layer after layer of nanite aggregate. It was like a peanut butter mixture that was an intense bond of simple nanites and asteroid. He knew it wasn’t as strong as the original material. But he didn’t have much choice.
While the arm swayed back and forth he looked down to his tablet and saw another plot finished. He tapped it and watched the results play out. Icons danced in and around the planet. He swiped it away and let it continue without watching. The outcome was plain enough: two on one, and he wasn’t the winner.
Huron’s footsteps echoed through the hall. The pace was slow, with a slight tap of the toe. William glanced over and nodded to the Engineer.
“They always said that robots would take our jobs,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I could use a robot with a big kettle head and rubber jointed arms.”
William smiled and nodded. The tickle and itch of the nanite patch reminded him that he too hadn’t slept nearly enough. “Is it done?”
Huron looked to William. “Think they’ll chase it?”
“I think so.”
Huron rubbed his chin, the rasp of the stubble loud under his fingers. “If they don’t?”
William shrugged. “Then we go after both.”
A breath of air brushed against his face as the ventilation system kicked on. He tasted the grit of nanite powder in his mouth.
Huron smacked his lips. “That taste...”
William looked out at the ship. The arm was retracting. “Railgun?”
Huron shook his head. “The equipment here is too rough to make something that large and keep it in spec. Gotta keep the rail within three lightbands of flatness.”
William nodded. He’d been told as much earlier but asked again just in case his Engineer worked up a new solution. He didn’t feel good about any of the options.
“And it’ll blink?” William asked Huron.
Huron nodded and stared out into space. “Yup.”
“You don’t really know do you?” William asked.
“Nope.”
The pair broke into a smile and watched as the arm spread out another layer onto the ship.
“Kyong should be done,” Huron said, nodding towards the mining tender.
They walked in silence and entered the launch bay of the station. The mining tender was crouched in the same place with a gantry additive cell perched over the top. The gusseted arms shook and hummed as the head whirred from side to side. A steady hiss pulsed out with a whistle and crunching sound. Farther below, cables snaked out and were piped into a console that sat squarely on Kyong’s lap. She didn’t look up when the pair walked in.
Her fingers flew over the keys. She glanced up quickly and back to the screen and shook her head slowly. Her mouth moved but no sounds came out. It was like she was whispering a prayer.
“Almost,” she said. Her fingers paused and hovered, quivering.
“Two hours?” William asked.
Kyong turned her head slowly and looked at William with bloodshot eyes.
“Captain!” Bryce’s voice rang in his ear.
“One moment, please,” William said. “Go ahead, Bryce.”
Huron squatted down and looked over Kyong’s shoulder. She tucked the screen to the side and gave Huron an offended look.
“They’re moving,” Bryce said. “Troopship just pulled away from the dock with the Gallipoli a few kilometers away.”
“Course?” William asked.
“Back from where they came.”
William felt the grin growing on his face. “Kyong, you’ve got thirty minutes.” He slapped Huron’s arm. “Finish it up and get everyone aboard. We’ve got a target.”
*
William switched the screen back and watched as the mining tender pulled away. The thought that he’d been betrayed was behind him. The man who betrayed him, the man he’d thought closer than a brother, was dead and gone. That moment was gone, now just the flux for what lay ahead. The bead of the weld was rolling down, cementing the actions before him.
“Kyong says one more burst,” Shay said quietly.
“After that, it’s secure,” William replied and called up the nav plot. He watched the planned arcs as they spread through the system. With a tender tap he brought up the backup plot just in case the mining tender didn’t blink.
“Acceleration rising,” Bryce said. “It’ll blink in thirty minutes.”
Grgur stood at the edge of the room with both hands firmly planted in a set of white mitts. His eyes spoke of violence and his face was set in a grin.
“Don’t get too excited,” William said. “We don’t know if they’ll take the bait.”
Grgur straightened himself up.
William watched as the systems—once destroyed—came online. He looked up from the screen and scanned the walls of the bridge. The once shimmering nanite layer had solidified. He felt better, but only a little. The ship was more fragile than before and he knew it. “Kyong?”
Shay spoke quietly and nodded to William. “She’s ready.”
The system view showed the slender mining tender slowly gaining velocity. The projected arc changed to a course that sent it out of the system.
The icons for the two hostiles glowed a halo of question marks. The last known data came from reflected light. They wouldn’t really know anything until they blinked.
William watched the two ships and replayed the course on his console. His eyes darted across the screen. It could work.
“Shay, sound it.”
The tone of the Garlic changed as the crew shifted into combat stances. The lights dimmed while bulkheads were sealed. The reactor danced up to a higher level and the Haydn began to sing. The ship, baptized in fire, was being born again.
The bridge crew watched the icons move in silence. The mining tender, bracketed in green, continued to pull away at a steep angle from the Garlic. The course would send it towards Earth: a location that, even if it wasn’t destroyed, it would never reach.
Grgur turned and squinted up at the screen.
“If they take the bait,” William said, “then the Gallipoli won’t be able to turn around and hit us. If we try to take ‘em both on, then we’ll get stomped.”
Bryce nodded without taking his eyes off his display.
“Ain’t that right, Bryce?” Shay said, nudging him with an elbow.
“Blink coming up,” Bryce said, ignoring the jibe.
“Here we go, people. Kyong, is it ready?” William asked.
“It’s ready,” Kyong’s voice replied.
Then the icon was gone. The visual display showed nothing in the space where the mining tender was.
“Projected blink should register with the hostiles in eighteen minutes,” Bryce said.
The ripple of the Haydn drive flowed through real space like a pebble in a pond. As a beacon, it was the one thing that identified a ship and its position. No one could hide a blink.
Everyone watched the screen for the initial signature. William felt the itching rise in the palm of his left hand. His eyes drifted down and he felt his augmetic fingers scratch it. But it wasn’t the same, he could never quite sooth it.
“Got it!” Bryce yelled. Above the Midshipman, the screen showed the signature of the blink flaring. Now just to wait and watch to see what the Gallipoli would do.
William thought of Mustafa and wondered what sort of Captain he was. Would he pursue? It would be a hard thing to watch a target slip away a second time. He knew if it was him, he’d strike out and fight. That was what made him nervous. If Mustafa and the Gallipoli didn’t strike out after him, he’d have an out, a way to make it back to Earth.
Part of him wanted to get away, to return to duty, to pay his dues. But he really wanted to stay, to pick a fight, to do the right thing. There was the Covenant, that simple agreement that he’d sworn to upheld. A Bill of Rights for all in the stars—or, at least, those who chose to obey it. With the distances so wide between colonies, control became an issue. Rules would vary widely. Not everyone would be like Earth.
The homogenization that had taken place on Earth was reversing in the stars. Fractures rose, differences, cultures, but the Covenant was what kept everyone together. An agreement to treat humans decently and fairly. It was the one and only thing that bound them all.
He looked over at his bridge crew. Shay sat with her shoulders tight and her head askew. Bryce was rigid, tight, with the bruising and missing teeth totally changing his look. The once handsome beach bum from Haven had changed to look like an actual veteran. Though William still didn’t know if he trusted Bryce under fire. He wanted to, but not yet.
A new Haydn signature flashed on the screen. The mass resolved slowly as the ripples were measured and compared. A moment later the indicator flipped from a gray unknown to that of the Gallipoli.
“Course is showing they will intercept the mining tender in two more blinks,” Shay said, studying her console.
The projected path for the decoy merged with the Gallipoli. William glanced down at his console and smiled to himself. The Gallipoli was traversing across the gravity well, the blinks would be inefficient. The Garlic was crossing it at a right angle. What would take Mustafa three blinks would only take the Garlic two.
“Very well, Shay,” William said, pleased. “Continue with the nav profile as is—once they get on the same plane as the decoy, we blink. Ms. Kyong, well done.”
Shay nodded and kicked back in her chair. “You got it, Captain.”
They moved along the edge of the shallow gravity well and prepared to blink. The gap was set, the blink would take them across the majority of the system where they’d arc around a barren ball of dirt. The same ball that they’d torn apart the Hun cruiser at.
Farther out came the most extreme orbits. The fields of ice and planets warped out of round. It was a zone of extremes, of resources too far stretched apart to be worth chasing. The very farthest edges where the interstellar currents lapped against the farthest bits of the gravity well. It was also on the edge of what had been officially charted.
William flipped the nav screen aside and pulled up the survey report. He had time to kill and couldn’t watch icons crawl around on the screen any longer. The closest stars were all bits of rock and ice that were visited decades before, just enough to find nothing of interest. He slid the screen and peered at those places where the details were blank. A fresh start, something totally new, a truly unexplored thing. His heart stirred in his chest and he felt a desire to leave it all and explore. He sighed and pushed it away.
“Next blink coming up, Captain,” Bryce said.
William nodded and stretched back in his chair. He took one more glance at the system displays and double checked the weapon status. The grav fields were mostly offline, they’d used the last of the heavy metals to fashion the decoy Haydn. But he felt better with three mass drivers, the sustained fire each slammed out would be more than enough to perforate the troopship. “Mr. Huron, updates on the launcher?”
“One barrage. After that, the loader will probably jam,” Huron replied. The sound of servos and hissing nanites sounded behind him.
William changed his weapon program to work with a single barrage. “Thank you, Mr. Huron.”
He watched and felt the excitement grow. It was a dance, a dance where he needed his partner to step perfectly. Though he knew it was too late now for the troopship. Was anyone on it? He wondered. Then he decided he didn’t care one way or the other. He wanted to say it was about clearing the space of hostiles and gaining another layer of superiority, but he really wanted to get revenge.
“And there it goes,” Bryce said. He turned and looked at William with a smile crossing his bruised face.
“All right, sound the general alert, Bryce. Shay, time to blink.”
The starscape shifted before the words were even off the bridge. New ripples propagated through the system towards both the troopship and the Gallipoli. William wondered what the bridges of either ship were like once that new, unexpected blink registered. A giddy feeling ran through him as he pictured it.
*
The Garlic pushed through space to the next blink. Before it lay a gap where the Haydn couldn’t transit. On the other side of that gravity peak was a long blink. A blink that took it into the shadow of the barren planet and almost on top of the troopship.
“Shay, active scan after this blink,” William said. “Shut it down once we’re clear.”
Shay nodded and leaned over her console.
The bridge tensed as the anticipation was finally coming to a head. William notified the crew of the status and told them to get ready. It was coming, it was happening, and fast. The starfield shifted once more and the dull sensor overlay lit up with colors and spectrums across every band. The Garlic was active and hunting.
Data gushed in as the sensor packages processed the new data. The initial burst of energy went out in every direction, but once the nearest contacts were pinged it focused and drilled it down to the necessities.
“Here we go!” William leaned over his console and felt the warmth on his arms. The taste of metal was in his mouth and there was a tightness in his stomach. A touch of hunger reminded him that he would eat when this was done.
The troopship was fleeing, moving with an intensity that was only surpassed by the inevitability of the fight. Ripples of gravity shuddered away from the aft of the blocky Hun ship. Grav shields flickered along the edges while the meager armaments powered up and focused behind.
William cast a glance to the visual spectrum and saw the barren planet gliding by. The Garlic seemed to hang in space over the mocha grittiness below. He wondered for a second what it was like on the planet.
“Locking in,” he said, and engaged the weapons program.
Displays above shifted from general maintenance screens to the weapons layout. One quarter of the screens showed red and yellow warnings about the poor state of the mass drivers and the lack of railgun capacity. They drifted away moments later showing a black slice that reminded William what they were lacking.
He felt almost helpless, a slave to gravity and physics. The fight was inevitable now. Even if he wanted to run, his velocity was high enough that with a full sideways burn he’d still slide by within weapons’ range of the Hun ship. But he didn’t want to run, he wanted to puncture the Hun ship and make them pay for the damage they’d done.
The distance closed rapidly as the bulk of the Hun troopship couldn’t accelerate away. One grav drive cracked apart and winked out in a green arc flash. The ship pivoted and turned slightly on its axis, not from a defensive maneuver but because the thrust was unbalanced. The internals couldn’t keep it on course.
The mass drivers opened fire. The shudder of the new mass drivers was richer, heavier, and louder than the original units. The first slugs punctured the rear of the troopship with streams of frost and air bellowing out from the perfectly round holes. Grav shields stopped some of the rounds, but most skittered through the wide gaps and slammed into the lightly armored ship.
“Spin-break and evasive maneuvers,” William said to Bryce.
The Garlic’s grav shield indicators burned brightly into the red. The meager barrage from the troopship was enough to overwhelm what few cells remained. Rods of accelerated nickel impacted into the Garlic with crackling thuds sounding through the hull.
William listened and hoped that whatever aggregate Huron used would be strong enough to keep the slugs out. The deep wounds in the hull were barely scarred over.
Tracers of green nickel danced between the two ships. The Garlic closed and braked at the same time while the troopship continued to fight with a hull that was pocked with holes. In a flash of white, one of the Huns mass driver batteries disintegrated. The singe remaining battery spat out nickel at irregular intervals.
William swapped the visual to thermal. The hull was a uniform blue with each puncture point highlighted in red where the life was bleeding out. The barrel of the remaining mass driver was a blank white. The heat reading was off the scale. A deep red reading grew from the aft of the ship.
Fire? William knew there was nothing more terrible on a starship then when it burned.
The acceleration numbers on the damaged troopship dropped to zero. The remaining grav drives paused, emitted an odd frequency pulse and went cold. Thermal imaging showed the red in the aft growing and spreading. The last mass driver slumped and stopped firing.
“Shall we continue?” Shay asked.
William glanced up and saw the Gallipoli was still crossing the gap to the next blink. Plenty of time. “No,” he said, and tapped his console.
A massive ka-chunk sounded and the entire contents of the Garlic’s missile launcher burst apart. Each missile accelerated out, paused, and dove in towards the mauled troopship. There was a momentary halt as the pinprick fires of the missiles tails disappeared into the hull.
The superalloy tips of the missiles bored through decks, bulkheads and machinery before finally coming to a stop. A millisecond later the internal nanite explosives cascaded into heat and pressure. Shockwaves rippled through the hull followed by an incessant white heat of nanite consumption. From the outside the troopship flared and seemed to relax, as if each of the seams let loose.
William watched the ship burn for a moment and felt a small sense of relief. But not as much satisfaction as he’d hoped. His eyes darted over and saw the probable position of the Gallipoli. “Go passive, silent running, follow the plan.”
“Aye, Captain,” Bryce and Shay replied in unison.
The sensor banks of the Garlic dropped into silence and the course adjusted. The nose of the ship pivoted. They tacked, as much as an object could in zero gravity, and plunged towards the terminator line of the dusty planet.
Bits of dust and debris stirred as the ship passed into what was once known as LEO (low earth orbit). The hull of the ship sang with a sandy hiss. The velocity increased as they dipped lower, tighter, faster. Like a ball in a bowl, they shot out around the other side and used the accumulated velocity to escape into the darkness.
William watched the projected course of the Gallipoli and knew they couldn’t catch him—not now, velocity was on his side. “Course correction, Ms. Shay.”
Shay turned to William. “Hmm?”
“Bring us close to Winterthur, we’re going to sneak a peek and drop a little propaganda. I think we can gloat a bit.”
Shay grinned back. “You got it, Captain!”
William stood and stretched his legs. “Huron?”
“Sir?” Huron replied with the hum of the grav drives sounding over the comms.
“Prep an orbital relay please, I’d like to drop a relay and see if there’s anyone worth talking to on the planet.”
“Yes sir. Oh, the launcher jammed too.”
William nodded and regretted launching that final barrage. But it felt so good. “You have the bridge, Ms. Shay, I’m starving.” He patted his stomach and judged that he could afford to eat a second lunch for the day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
––––––––
Emmet picked through the briny air and pointed out handholds and flat spots. The shoreline was more treacherous than Emilie remembered. The high salinity level meant nearly everything that spent any time in contact with the water would corrode and wash away. The dead ocean had become a dumping ground. The fact that the dissolved metals might be reclaimed in the distillation towers wasn’t lost on anyone.
Emilie grasped the edge of a metal plate and felt the raspy grit of rust peel away. Her feet shifted and she caught herself on the slippery slope. “Hold on,” she said as she got her footing.
Emmet stopped and squatted down on an old washing machine. He adjusted his weapon and scanned along the shoreline. The sound of a transport rumbled by and he stared up at the edge above him but the sound faded.
“Where are we going?” Emilie asked again.
“Somewhere safe,” Emmet replied and started to move.
Emilie looked up and shook her head. The same answer to the same question. “But the facility—”
He cut her off. “—is one of the first places the Hun will go.”
She seethed at the thought that the invaders would seize her assets. If she didn’t have the additive cells, she didn’t have much of anything.
A loud explosion rippled through the air farther down the shore. The fog glowed green and yellow before dipping back into a shade of murky grey.
“What was that?”
Emmet grinned down the shoreline. “That was one of your additive cells.”
She cried out and nearly slipped off the debris heap.
“Listen, you might be the boss, and you might own this shit, but this is a warzone, lady. Not a fucking corporate buyout. Now get moving.”
Emilie felt embarrassed and angry all at once. He was right, she knew it, but the loss hit her in the gut. She reached a hand out and pulled herself along behind him. “Did you rig them all to blow?”
“Nah, just the first one. It’ll take ‘em a while to get to the others. They’ll be more cautious then, so the element of surprise is gone.”
They picked through the debris before stopping at the broken edge of an old distillation tower. White corrosion was caked on thick like a stalagmite. The waves rolled through the fog and crashed against the tower. Closer to shore it disappeared into the stone and debris.
“Why are we stopping?”
“We’re here,” Emmet mumbled as he carefully leaned his weapon against the structure.
Emilie saw nothing. Debris scattered as far as she could see down either shore. The misty fog obscured the higher terrain and the open ocean rolled gently against the strewn shore. Hiding in garbage, she thought, I’ve come to this?
A small drone crawled up from the debris and clung to a solid edge. A slender barrel telescoped out of its back and scanned the high ground. Purple tinted sensor eyes winked up and down.
Emilie stared at it with an open mouth. She didn’t notice the woman until she pulled back her hood and smiled.
“Hello, Kari,” Emmet said. “Give me a hand?”
Kari nodded and grasped the edge of a panel next to Emmet. She was tall enough to be pretty, but not tall enough to be amazing. Her face had a plastic look, the cheeks seemed locked while the eyes shone in the bright light, almost too glossy. Her throat was a rigid mass of raised skin and scar tissue.
Emmet and Kari raised the edge of a panel and revealed another piece of debris. The second piece slid aside and a passage opened down below. Warm air flowed out along with the smell of steel and chemprep dinners. The drone crept into the debris and relaxed.
Kari clicked her teeth and pointed down the hatch.
“Move,” Emmet said and dropped down into the darkness.
Emilie followed into a claustrophobic space of alloy and tubing. At first it felt like crawling into a distillation tower but then the floor leveled out and the walls looked new. The crawl ended on a flat floor with an airlock sunk into the wall. She looked up and watched Kari climb down behind her. Warm air pulsed out from a ventilation vent next to her. She guessed twenty meters, that put her about fifteen meters below sea level and the airlock pointed farther out. “We’re underwater,” she said.
“Ding-ding, give her an award,” Emmet said as he stripped off his heavy jacket and revealed a body of mostly alloy and mechatronics.
Emilie snatched her eyes away and felt awkward staring at a naked alloy man, except the man wasn’t fully a man and mostly alloy.
Emmet turned and looked down with a hurt look on his face. “We were both part of the Core Marine program, but it didn’t work out.”
Kari pushed the airlock open and beckoned inside.
“We both took it on New Tunis. I lost, well, most everything. Kari has a new skull, voice box, shoulders and spine. She doesn’t talk much.”
Kari turned and cocked her head at Emmet.
“Scratch that, she doesn’t talk at all.”
The three entered into a dark space and the lights flared on. Cell after cell of synthetic sunlight illuminated the space and kept going and going. The space was filled with small prototype additive cells and equipment that Emilie didn’t recognize. It all looked vaguely scientific, but in a way that only a layman would recognize. At the end of the complex, a wide wall was dotted with doors and offices.
“What is this?” Emilie asked.
Kari walked away and disappeared into the maze of machinery. Emmet smiled and pulled a dirty bathrobe off the corner of an additive cell. He tucked himself into it and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s listed as storage facility number eleven.”
She fumbled with her bag and pulled out the tablet. Her fingers couldn’t poke fast enough to bring up the list. The description was bland, a storage facility. She pushed further into the details and saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for the location. It appeared to be somewhere on the edge of town, exactly where this wasn’t. “But what is it?”
Emmet’s feet squeaked as he stepped slowly next to a yellow safety line. “They needed somewhere they could play around, get resources off the book, test things out without any chance of corporate espionage. So it was all encapsulated here.”
“A research facility?” Emilie was stunned.
“When the evac order came, we decided to stay. Everyone else had offers at other locations, transfers and such. There’s a few things they left for you in the command room,” Emmet said as a look of remembrance came over him.
Emilie turned and looked around. Now things didn’t seem quite as bad. She didn’t know of any research facilities like this, but it made sense. “Oh?”
“Come, come.” Emmet moved quickly with the tails of the bathrobe fanned out behind him. He stopped at the long wall and pointed to a closed door.
“What is it?” Emilie asked, confused.
Emmet rolled his eyes. “It’s inside, you have the key.”
Emilie looked to the door and saw no lock. She stepped closer and heard a pin slide out. She glanced down at the tablet and knew it must be the library. The door opened slightly and she pushed it open.
Inside sat a table. A single sheet of paper lay on top. Emilie stepped inside and picked it up. Paper. Her fingers felt the edge and took in the texture.
It was completely blank. A crisp edge on one side seemed a bit thicker than the rest. She squinted and watched as handwriting flowed across it. Digital ink.
Sorry about emptying the mining assets but we had to balance the books. Accountants and all. This should make up for it. Keep in touch.
SAMSON
“Son of a bitch,” she whispered and set the paper down. So she wasn’t screwed. Well, she thought, at least not financially. The value she paid was proper, just not for everything she thought. She set the paper down gently and rubbed her fingers on the edge once more. “Emmet?”
“Ma’am?”
“Mind giving me a tour?”
“Kari’s cooking something up. Why not grab a bite to eat? I’m starved.”
Emilie glanced at the man with a mechanical body and wasn’t sure if she’d offend him by laughing. “Uh.”
Emmet winked and walked out into the hall. “Come on!”
She smiled and decided that she liked Emmet.
The tour was brief and didn’t involve any food. Though the smells of Kari cooking wasn’t false. At the farthest edge of the facility sat bank after bank of raw materials.
“The library is pretty limited. I planned on making a nice side income selling replacement parts,” Emmet said, and sighed.
Kari walked up and handed Emilie a bowl of some kind of brothy liquid.
Emilie took a sip and burnt her lip. She almost said something but then remembered that Kari didn’t talk. “So, can’t talk or don’t talk?”
Kari sighed and looked to Emmet.
“Want me to?” Emmet said.
“No.” Kari’s voice was a rasping grating sound like dirt scraped against a snare drum. “I prefer not to.”
Emilie looked down to the broth and wished she hadn’t asked. She’d been so used to knowing, demanding, and getting what she desired that thinking of a reason, other than her own selfishness didn’t come easy. She almost apologized but caught herself. “Thank you.”
Kari nodded and leaned against a tank labeled “Tungsten Carbide”.
“How do you communicate?” Emilie asked.
“Part of the program, implants, we can relay text,” Emmet said and tapped his temple with a meaty finger. “Standard issue in the Army now, isn’t it?”
Emilie shrugged. “I was in colonization, not defense.”
“What now?” Emmet asked.
What now, Emilie wondered. She felt anchored, but the anchor was in shallow sand and threatening to tear out into the storm. Her eyes looked quickly at Emmet and Kari and she turned away before either could see the look of indecision on her face. She turned around. “Do we have a feed?”
Kari nodded and beckoned for Emilie to follow.
They weaved past an array of glass and tubing before walking in silence down a narrow path. On either side, additive cells sat silent.
Kari pushed through a metal door. Lights blinked on bathing the command room in a dim bluish light. Screens popped on and a startup routine scrolled past in walls of text. Kari shrugged, turned around, and walked out.
Emilie paced from side to side and felt the weight of the tablet. She saw the interface point and connected it. The screen paused, dropped out of maintenance mode and an entirely new view opened up. She gasped and took it all in. On one screen was a complete feed of the solar system while the others showed production status. A single display showed a close up view of the elevator complex and the entire city of Winterthur. A box popped up and politely asked her what to start making.
“Emmet?” Emilie yelled over her shoulder.
“What?” Emmet yelled back a moment later. Heavy footsteps stomped closer. “What?”
“What kind of weapon should we make?”
Emmet bit his lip and looked up for a moment. He nodded to himself and smiled. “Colt R-27. A beautiful gem, last generation but packs a wallop. It’s a big bore, something that’ll hurt those bastards.”
Emilie nodded and typed it in. With a simple tap, the screen acknowledged the order. Mechanical sounds broke out from the production floor followed by a steady humming sound.
“Just like that?” Emmet asked.
“Just like that.”
“So why not just make an army?” Emmet pointed at the scrolling screen. “Just whammo, a thousand assault drones—thank you very much!”
“Rares and control,” she said simply. “There is a tiny bit of rare metals that dope the entire nanite matrix. Without the rares, you can’t assemble anything. Well, not unless you’re making axes and swords. Plus, in order to activate automated drones, we would have to use the main Core neural net.”
“Neural net? Where’s that?”
“Elevator complex,” Emilie replied with a sigh.
Emmet snorted. “Rares? The distillation towers?”
“You got it. The sea is rich in dissolved metals. But yes, the whole purpose here is to extract those rares and ship ‘em back to Earth.”
Emmet squinted his nose and scratched his chin. “And what do they do with ‘em?”
Emilie shrugged. “Everything.”
“Well,” Emmet said, nodding to the screen. “Lemme know if ya need me.”
“Emmet?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Emmet looked away and smiled into the distance. “Well, had to find someone to change my batteries, eh?”
She smiled at his back and watched him walk out.
*
Emilie pored over each screen and picked through the data as quickly as she could. Her fingers scrawled notes onto her tablet. It was so much to see, so much to take in. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them.
The humming sound continued behind her and it made her feel better that she was doing something. She leaned forward and scrolled the skyview of the city. Landmarks jumped out at her and she panned around picking out points she remembered as a child. Then she saw something new, something different.
A rectangular block was sectioned off from the rest of the city. Inside lay block after block of housing. Then she noticed the entire complex was packed with people. Even using a satellite image, the density was evident.
Prison camp? Had they relocated the civilian population? She panned around the rest of the city and saw commerce continuing. She shook her head and stood on shaky legs. Sleep, she needed to sleep. She found a drab office with a couch and a woolen blanket and drifted off.
*
After the first night in the research facility, she felt cooped up. She was free, but free like an escaped prisoner. She focused on learning as much as she could and putting it together, but there just wasn’t much to do. The cells continued to hum and dump out steaming weapons.
She watched one cell, from start to finish, print out an entire heavy assault rifle. Once it was cool enough to touch, she picked it up and hefted it. It felt lighter than she thought it would be. She pulled it up to her cheek and sighted down the barrel. A simple set of sights bracketed her view.
“Nice, eh?” Emmet said, coughing.
“I think so?” Emilie handed the weapon to Emmet.
The ex-Marine tipped the weapon sideways and cycled the action. His hands pushed, pulled, and slid the weapon apart. A moment later he repeated the procedure and put it all back together. “Not bad, could use some deburring.”
“Will it shoot?”
Emmet snorted. “Of course it’ll shoot. But you better make some ammo.”
“Do you know what the big facility on the west edge of town is?”
Emmet set the weapon down next to the rest of the newly printed weapons. “Used to be the Core receiving facility. Each batch of immigrants came in and was processed there.”
Emilie was familiar with the process. As more colonists came in, they would be billeted and sent out according to the colonies’ need. It wasn’t exactly indentured servitude, but Core had to recoup the investment. On new colonies no one cared, but on the existing colonies she knew it created some tensions. “How was Core seen here?”
“Hmm.” Emmet straightened the front of the bathrobe. “If you worked for ‘em, you loved ‘em. If you didn’t, Core was trying to steal the moon.”
“So why is it full?”
“You gotta understand that before you came in, there was a big push against Core. Core went to great troubles to keep quiet, so they made the new guys into the boogieman. The locals were drumming up this anti-immigrant stuff. Kinda hypocritical, seeing as they all immigrated. But they called themselves ‘colonists’ while anyone who was new was an immigrant. Sounds worse, ya know?”
“But with the Hun, it shouldn’t matter, right?”
Emmet shrugged. “You got me. Oh, Kari says make drones too. Ammo and drones.”
“We can’t control them though,” Emilie said forcefully.
Emmet raised his hands. “Kari says she can handle one, but what about later?”
Emilie nodded slightly. “Fine. But weapons cells take priority.”
The days crawled and the finished products piled up. Stacks of weapons stood next to tubes of drones and bulk containers of ammunition. But it was driving her mad, she needed to talk to someone outside and find a use for it all. She had the mechanical element, now she needed the human element.
“We need to go outside.”
Kari looked to Emmet and shrugged.
“Why?” Emmet asked with an indifferent shrug.
“We can’t stay here forever.”
“I beg to differ.”
“That was your plan? Hide out?”
“What’s wrong with that? What have you done? Made a bunch of weapons for an army that doesn’t exist?”
Kari looked between the two indifferently.
“Which is why I need to get outside,” Emilie said louder.
“And what then? Who you gonna find? The Hun own this place,” Emmet said, and threw his hands in the air. “You go outside, you’re on your own!”
Kari scowled at Emmet.
“Don’t you start!” Emmet shook a finger at Kari. “We just wait here until the fleet arrives. They’ll drop down some Marines and they’ll clean this shit up.”
“Fleet isn’t coming,” Emilie said softly.
“What?”
“They’re not coming. The UC is pulling back.”
Emmet sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Emilie shook her head. “Shock? Denial? I don’t know...”
“Well fuck.” Emmet ran his hands through his hair and nodded to Kari. “That changes things then.”
Kari stood slowly and cracked her shoulders. She nodded to Emmet and walked off.
“Where’s she going?” Emilie asked.
“To get ready, we’re going outside.”
*
Emilie felt the sea breeze on her face and tasted the salty brine. The fog above her was tinted orange from the setting sun. She glanced out from the debris and shivered in the mist.
“What’s the plan?” Emmet asked as he wrapped his jacket tighter.
“I’m assuming any civilian comms still open are compromised, can’t very well make a call or send a message.” Emilie opened a small rectangular box and placed a set of slender glasses onto her face. Her fingers gently plucked a white cylinder out and set it before her.
“What’s that?” Emmet said, leaning closer.
“A toy.”
“A toy?”
Emilie smiled at Emmet. “Never seen one before?”
Emmet raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.
“Kari in position?”
“Yeah.”
Emilie leaned away from the cylinder and took shelter under the overhang. The glasses blinked once, twice, and showed a tiny world before her. An animated green cartoon dragonfly buzzed across the glasses with a WHING! sound. The cylinder wobbled and exploded into a miniature dragonfly of green and gossamer.
“Huh,” Emmet said with a smile.
She held her hand out and landed the small nanite creature. It buzzed and hummed before the wings finally stopped. Tiny droplets of water coalesced and ran down the diamond glittering wings. The cartoonish eyes blinked and shook. She saw herself through its eyes and tossed it into the air.
The dragonfly flitted up and away. She smiled and focused on flying. The glasses read her eye movement. The drone flew wherever she looked.
The mist broke away and the drone descended into the mostly empty streets. She buzzed a column of Hun troops and sent the drone vertical onto the tops of the buildings. She turned, perched it on a ledge, and watched the troops. Something didn’t look right, but she couldn’t place what, so she swooped in for another look.
The column was two wide with a single tall man on the edge. Each of the troopers was hunched over with heavy plate armor on its chest. The arms seemed too long, the weapons too short, the gait chopped and stunted. The person walking alone wore thinner armor and seemed distinct from the rest.
She scooted the dragonfly up and nudged it onto a window frame. The column passed by a few meters away and she gasped. The faces were vaguely humanoid but almost simian in proportion. It was like an ape slept with a badger. She shuddered and took off. This was not the Hun she had read about. The memory of the autocannon wielding giants came back and she shivered again.
It was easy enough to find her way: the entire community was planned. Block after block of housing rose up, with all roads eventually heading to Founders Square. She flew on until the buildings narrowed. Kari had told them that she’d seen regular civilians still there, so that was her goal.
The council building rose with stained stone walls and pillars streaked with rain. Lights blared out through almost every window. Standing guard at the door was a group of police, not Hun troopers. Though she did see Hun across the square. These troopers looked normal, human. She zipped the dragonfly along the edges of the buildings and edged through the high doors.
Lights and sound slammed into her ears and eyes as the drone took a moment to adjust. The air currents slid it from side to side, but the internals adjusted and compensated. Beneath her the hallway was filled with staff rushing in and out. She set the nose down and followed the stream of people.
The layout surprised her, it wasn’t a mass of stupidity and bureaucracy but a well layered flow. Had she wanted to layout a rudimentary system of control it would happen as she saw it. Whoever was at the end, was the person she wanted to meet.
The drone dropped lower and passed underneath a stone arch and the hallway was much quieter. She quickly pushed it back into the upper reaches of the hall and felt her throat stick as a clerk looked around for the source of the noise. The drone pushed forward quickly and came to the end of the hall.
She let out a breath and glanced at Emmet. He scanned the mist and rested with his hand on his rifle. A single bead of water hung from the end of his nose, ready to drop at any movement.
The drone dropped down and peeked inside before hammering back up to the ceiling. A slender woman sat with her back straight and her face down. Her hair was streaked with gray and she looked almost elegant—rough, but elegant. A man stood beside the table with his arms crossed over his chest. Emilie decided to wait and listen.
“We can’t feed them all,” the woman’s voice said.
“They want you to keep them fed,” the man’s voice replied.
“It’s your camp, your people. Send them out, call it a work crew.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Natyasha.”
“That’s Councilor Dousman to you,” the woman said coldly. “Now do your damn job.”
The man stomped out the door. He turned and took two steps and stood beneath the dragonfly. He cracked his hands and shook his head slowly. “Not for long,” he mumbled and walked away.
Emilie saw her chance and dropped the dragonfly straight down and almost onto the floor. The little creature hovered and zipped through the room. It came to rest on the desk directly before the woman. She looked up in surprise before her eyes narrowed and she smiled slightly.
“One moment,” she said softly and walked away. The door clicked shut. “Emilie Rose?”
“Who are you?” Emilie asked. To her this was just another negotiation.
“Natyasha Dousman, Councilor.” The voice was silky, smooth, confident.
“You’re talking, so that tells me you’re interested.”
“That’s right.”
“I can offer weapons, ammunition, firepower, and information.”
Natyasha smiled slightly and nodded at the little dragonfly. “In return?”
“We both gain our freedom.”
Natyasha glanced up and back down to the dragonfly. “I won’t conduct business like this, you need to meet with a member of my staff.”
Emilie’s heart beat quicker. She missed someone. “Tomorrow night, the first landing.”
Natyasha gave a questioning look and then a smile crossed her thin lips. “Her name is Bark.”
“Her word?”
“Is as good as mine.”
“Open a window,” Emilie said.
Natyasha stood slowly and pushed open a frosted glass window behind her. She never let her eyes drift off of the drone.
Emilie piloted the dragonfly up, turned to look at the other person and pushed through the opening. The woman sitting across the room was built like a boxer with arms like a hydraulic press. The drone was out into open space and away. She removed the glasses and sighed.
“They’re gonna fuck ya,” Emmet said. The droplet fell off his nose. “They probably had the room bugged.”
Emilie wondered the same thing, but she didn’t have much of an option. She glanced into the fog and saw the light dimming. The gray returned and what little beauty the day offered was gone.
*
She plopped into a chair on the edge of the command room. The options weren’t what she liked. But, as they taught her in business school, a good plan now was better than a perfect plan too late.
The screen above her changed and shifted. She tried to examine the new data, but didn’t know the mass readings to understand what was happening. Her heart beat heavy in her chest and hope returned. Someone was still out there.
She watched as another blink point opened close to the planet. Seconds later the screen registered something new. Something she hadn’t expected to see. A message.
She almost tripped over the chair as she ran across the room and sat down at a console. Her fingers felt like sausages as she couldn’t quite tap the right spots. She was almost giddy with excitement. It had to be Captain Grace. Had to be.
The message lit up and it was short. “Anyone home? WG.”
She tapped out a response and stopped. Was it a ruse? A trap? She knew the data stream was secure and randomized across billions of nanites, but still. How much did she trust whoever would read it? She erased the first eager message and replied with something of use.
“Planet occupied. Local military surrendered. Interest in changing status quo. Mercs under hostile contract.” She sent it off and waited.
“Who is this? WG.”
How could she let him know without compromising herself? She thought for a second to the last time she’d seen Captain Grace and typed quickly. “It’s hard to stay away when you can make a difference.”
The moments passed with only the sound of the ventilation system clicking away.
“We knocked out the Hun troopship. Will try and remove the Gallipoli later. Can you secure the ground?”
The question hit her and she felt helpless, but not as helpless as she had before. “Working on it,” she replied, and waited until she saw that nothing more was coming. Hope, she thought. Now there’s some hope.
She shivered and thought back to the inhuman troops. She eyed her tablet and replayed the captured video. She slowed it down and watched as the handler walked and saw the arrogance, the control, the indifference.
The troops shuffled and moved with an awkwardness that she at first mistook for fatigue. The armor sloped up to shield the sides of the head and the necks. She leaned closer and watched again. The weapons they held weren’t rifles but clubs. Heavy, weighted clubs. As the final creature walked by she stopped it and stared into its eyes. She turned and glanced into the open space and shivered in fear.
*
“This is a bad idea,” Emmet said as he leaned against a concrete embankment.
“Gotta play ball,” Emilie said. “Once we make contact, then we can get these things where they’re needed.”
Emmet shook his head and scanned through the low mist. A silent darkness shrouded the road and hills. The grassy crater was nothing but shadow.
“So I thought the square was the landing spot?” Emmet asked.
Emilie smiled. “The first one where people survived.”
Emmet chuckled. “Oh, that’s funny.”
“The first colony lander didn’t deploy retro-rockets or a chute.”
“Thwack!” Emmet nodded. “A helluva place for a meeting.”
“It’s a place the Hun wouldn’t know. If they were listening, they’d be camping out Founders Square.”
The smile dropped from Emmet’s face and he looked around once more. “I’ll be on the sea side. If you run into trouble—”
“Head for the water, I know.” Emilie pushed the fear back and hoped more than anything that she wasn’t walking into a trap. She patted the tiny pistol in her jacket and felt a tingle of adrenaline.
“Remember, Kari is watching, too.”
Emilie nodded and walked through the knee high wet grass. She looked but knew she’d never see Kari or the sniper drone. She remembered coming to the spot as a child, a field trip for school kids. The sky was bright and she remembered the brilliant emerald green of the wet grass. A sound snapped her out of her thoughts and she focused on the darkness ahead.
The trail was stiff rock with a touch of mud. It sloped up and paused at a squat stone monument. The outer face was slick and polished with the mist hanging in beads from the edge. Beyond it was a shallow depression, totally dark.
She felt afraid as she came closer to the dark pit but knew she had to do it. Her hand brushed the bulge of the pistol and she pulled it out slowly. It was cold in her hands—cold, wet, and heavy. She kept walking and stopped on the backside of the monument.
Should she call out Bark’s name? She didn’t know. A moment of panic struck. Wasn’t there supposed to be a code name? “Hello?”
Nothing. Not even a wind pushed through the grass.
“Hello?” she called out again, louder. Her eyes opened wide and tried to take in every bit of light.
The hole was lumpy, low, and had the look of an outdoor carpet.
“Are you alone?” a woman’s voice replied from across the crater.
Emilie felt relief wash over her and she stepped closer. “Yes.” Control, she thought. Calm down, three breaths. Stand. Relax. Now take it in. Her heart still raced but she could focus. But she couldn’t get the hardass negotiator to come out. She wanted someone to connect with, someone to trust. Someone to take the load off her shoulders.
A hard black shape appeared and moved along the edge of the crater. The light was too low to make out any details.
“Are you alone?” the voice asked again, louder.
“Yes,” Emilie replied. “I’m alone.”
The shape stepped before her and held out a hand. Emilie looked down in the shadow and her eyes took in the slightest of details. The hand was not the hand of a woman with two augmetic arms.
Fear rolled over her and she stepped back. She slid the pistol up and tasted bitterness in her mouth. “Who are you?”
The shape stood and dropped both arms to the side. The drop continued lower and the hands hung level with the knees. Too far.
Emilie groaned and knew it was one of the simian faced monsters.
“Are you alone?” the sound asked once more. It crackled slightly.
“Shit,” she said. A recording. She leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.
The light exploded out from the barrel and blinded her with both light and sound. Darkness enveloped her and she cried out. The monument met her back and the cold wetness pushed through her jacket. She scrambled, rolled and pushed away. The grass was thick against her legs and she ran. Ran.
A mewing sound called out after her. She spun and fear filled her. She waved the pistol and fired once more. Her feet couldn’t move fast enough to get away from the sounds of feet stamping and breathing. It was all around her.
“Help! Kari!”
She turned and ran, sprinting into the hummocks of grass. A dark shape loomed before her and she cried out and shot at it. The shape shuddered and fell to the side. The heavy footsteps were closer but she still couldn’t see. The fear was electric inside of her, deep, an animal fear that was tens of thousands of years old. A prey reaction, flight.
“Help!” she screamed out again.
Another voice yelled out in a language she didn’t know. Then they were on her. The thick armed beasts leapt at her. Heavy hands snatched out and ripped the pistol from her grasp. The hands were wet, cold, like slabs of meat. They pushed her down onto the ground.
She screamed in fear and thrashed against her captors but couldn’t get away. The strength was amazing. She tried to move but was held tightly to the ground. A clump of grass was tight against her cheek. It smelled like tea. She was too afraid to cry. The monsters holding her were now placid like livestock—there was no anger, no retribution, just a dull compliance.
Something warm dripped on her face and ran down into the corner of her mouth. She licked her lips and turned away from it. Blood. The sickness came back and she tried not to retch but couldn’t stop it.
Soft footsteps came closer. The voice spoke again and she was heaved into a standing position. She couldn’t see who was before her, but a slight green glow came from the face shield. She wiped her lips on the collar of her jacket. “Well?”
A loud crack sounded out and the green tinted faceshield exploded. The shape crumpled onto the ground in a thud. Shouts echoed from the darkness and the meaty hands threw her onto the ground once more.
Emilie lay and listened as the wind grew louder. The hands held her and she finally relaxed. She owed Kari for at least taking one, but there were others now, someone ordered the heavy ones. She thought on it and saw the caste system. These were animals holding her, animals who took orders from someone else.
A sound scraped closer and she turned her head. Another green tinted faceshield crawled up. The light was low to the ground and bored into her. “You weren’t alone,” a man’s voice said in a heavy Australian accent.
She felt a cold metallic touch on her neck. The fear stabbed into her. There was a hiss and then the darkness came. The darkness mixed with fear.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Huron pointed to the screen above him and ran his hand from one edge to the other. “Some damage here, but nothing severe. Grav shields are about useless.”
“No chance to refit more?” Shay asked.
“There isn’t any niobium or technetium in the cells. We used the last of it on the decoy.”
Shay sighed and nodded.
William watched the maintenance display and ticked off what they could repair. He listened to his meager staff banter back and forth about failed and failing systems. The real worry on his mind was when the ship would begin to fail. Was the Gruffalo right, he wondered?
“Structurally?” he asked.
“Fine. Fine.” Huron gestured to the screen. “Strain sensors show it all looks good.” His eyes glanced to Shay and Bryce.
The three looked between each other, avoiding William.
He saw it and knew what they were thinking. “Keep an eye on it.” His eyes danced over the screen and stopped on the yellow icon for the launcher. “Missiles?”
Huron shrugged and glanced at a maintenance bot that hung from the ceiling. “It shows loader alert, but I can’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Will it fire?”
“I don’t know,” Huron said, the displeasure evident on his face.
“You don’t like not knowing, eh?” Shay asked.
Huron sighed and shook his head. “No! It’s just these things, well, we don’t have the systems for this.”
William frowned but knew it was true. They had barely enough supplies to get them to Winterthur and back to Earth. Already the supplies of food and water were approaching empty. He hadn’t mentioned rationing yet, but the computer told him it was coming.
He thought of running out of food and a tightness spread in his chest. His pulse darted up and he sighed. Food. He starved once before and even the thought of it happening again was enough to terrify him.
“Captain, if we head back now—”
“No,” William said.
“It’s lost, Captain, we haven’t heard from the surface in two days. Even if we take out the Gallipoli, what then?”
William clenched his hands. The part that hit him hardest was he knew she was speaking the truth. He itched the palm of his augmetic hand and breathed out loudly through his nose. He could feel the weight of the eyes on him. He was on the fulcrum of the moment, they could go either way. “We chose to stay to make a difference, not abandon this world. Ms. Rose told us they wanted to make a change on the surface. What if by knocking out the only hostile ship in the system, we could make that happen?”
Shay stared at the floor. Bryce darted his eyes between Huron and Shay. “But what if they can’t?”
“We need to refit, get ready to strike again. How long?” William said to Huron.
Huron sucked air through his teeth. “Two more days?”
Bryce stood slowly and raised an arm up and pointed at the solar system view. “What about that?”
A pair of icons hung on the edge of the system. The two were so close that they almost touched. The monastery ship was almost on top of the prison facility.
The bridge was silent as everyone looked up. Huron made a clicking sound with his tongue and the corner of his mouth rose into a smile. “Huh.”
“Bryce, tight beam to both, see if anyone is listening,” William said. “Shay, call up the details on that ship.”
“Does it even move?” Shay asked.
“You need to find out,” William said. Troops. They found troops. Well, he thought, they were technically convicts, but if they could move them and get them to that elevator.
“Wait a second, you want to use the monks to transport a load of convicts?” Shay asked.
Bryce nodded. ”Uh, yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
“Why would they? I mean, either one? I mean they’re monks and convicts. You’re going to have to give them weapons!”
“All you need is proper motivation,” Huron said.
Shay shook her head. “This is crazy.”
“I’m open to options,” William said.
Shay leaned over her console. Her fingers tapped slowly. She turned and looked over at William. “We’ll know in an hour.”
William smiled and patted her on the shoulder. Was this really a way forward? Convicts and clergy. But would they fight? “Mr. Huron, let’s see what your cell can produce for weapons.”
The two men walked off the bridge. The smell of garlic was still in the air even though they ran out of the flavoring days before.
William caught himself just before the transition to zero gravity and prepared by tightening his stomach. He still disliked the feel and pushed himself through it as quickly as he could. At the opposite end of the hallway, the scuffed orange line came up quickly.
The engineering console brought up a short list of small arms. A mix of rugged pistols, the venerable Benelli boarding shotgun, and a second generation Colt. The largest caliber weapon was a static platform that punched out a twenty millimeter slug. William scrolled through the list and nodded. “Corporal Vale?” he called over the comms.
“Sir?” Corporal Vale snapped back a second later.
“Engineering, please.”
The heavy sound of thudding footsteps was only interrupted by a bellow of “Make way!”. In less time than it took for William to cross the zero gravity gap, the Corporal stood in the doorway, at attention, with her chin held high. “Captain.”
“At ease, Corporal, I’m in need of some advice.” William smiled and explained the plan.
She watched with her hands clasped behind her back and not a single shred of emotion on her face. When William was finished, she glanced down at the display. “Do they have experience?”
“We don’t know.”
“What’s going to keep them from shooting us?”
Valid point, William thought.
“Incentives,” Huron said.
She scratched a scar on her nose and tapped the screen. “Mostly shotguns, squad support with the Colts and a twenty-to-one ratio on the heavy platform. Armor if you can swing it, boarding shields, hmm.”
“Speak your mind, please,” William said.
“What if that old bucket of shit can’t launch capsules? You’ll have to assault the elevator and that’s a terrible thing to do.”
William nodded. He’d assaulted one elevator from the ground and defended one from the ground. He was well aware of the terrible price to pay.
“Who’s going to lead them?”
William looked over to Corporal Vale and smiled. “Corporal, I can think of no finer task for the Marines.”
Corporal Vale, without the slightest hint of sarcasm, replied, “My thoughts exactly.”
“I’ll get the station pumping out some weapons,” Huron said as he poked at his console.
William walked out of engineering. He decided to give Shay and Bryce some more time and snap up a bite to eat. The thought of filling a monastery with convicts brought up a feeling of giddiness and worry. Even if both sides agreed, how would he cover it? The monastery would have to blink towards the planet. The two were close enough that they could load the ancient dropship using grav drives, but as soon as they blinked it’d be like a beacon.
Attack, he thought. He smiled over at Grgur and scooped up a shallow tray of reconstituted noodles and sauce. His tablet buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket and clicked it open. The action was almost subconscious, a reaction bred from a lifetime of instant data gratification.
The display showed a wide yellow box with a red flashing ring.
He paused with a fork full of noodles halfway to his mouth. The message didn’t flash, or blare, or do anything beside inform him that in four weeks the UCS-1134 would disassemble. It instructed him to return to the nearest UC shipyard for urgent maintenance. He reread it and set the noodles back down. Urgent maintenance, he liked the way it was phrased. As if disassembling a ship in the vacuum of space wasn’t urgent.
He sighed and found his appetite gone. Four weeks. In four weeks they could hit the shipyard on Epsilon Eridani. His plans suddenly stumbled and he was struck with doubt. Could they stay? He felt foolish—prisoners, monks, an orbital assault? Really?
“Captain?” Shay’s voice called in his ear.
“Just hold on, Shay,” William replied. He stared down at the maintenance alert.
“You need to get up here, Captain.”
“What is it?” William replied, annoyed. He wanted to be left in his cloud of doubt.
“A message, sir.”
He looked up from the tablet. “Emilie?”
“The Hun,” she said. “They’ve issued an ultimatum.”
*
He stared down at his console and read through it again. They gave him an out, offered to let him leave. They could just go. No pursuit. “If we stay, they start shooting civilians,” he said flatly.
The star system was broad in one screen with a simulated exit path illuminated across it. The orbit of the planets was plotted out showing various intercept points and priority Haydn routes.
Huron filed in with Corporal Vale. The bridge was now about as tight as it could get.
“I received a command priority maintenance alert,” William said. “We have four weeks to get to a UC shipyard.”
He felt sunk, like the ship was about to steer itself. He could return, salvage a few careers, and go to fight another day. “This isn’t our fight anymore.”
Lieutenant Shay clambered over her chair and grasped the seatback with white knuckles. She glared at William. “You listen to me, goddammit. We followed you this far—not because of you, but because it was the right thing. And now what? They open a door and you walk?”
William stared down at his XO and felt both anger and regret. “We’ve got a duty to the UC, we have our orders,” he said weakly. His heart wasn’t behind the words.
“Bullshit,” she spat again. “We took an oath to the Covenant, just like you said. We can do this! We can make a damn difference here. You of all people should know that.”
The words stung and William felt it in his heart. The memory of his father, the last commander of Farshore, fighting for the freedom of the planet. Fighting the UN Navies, an enemy he couldn’t beat. When he finally did win, they burned the planet. Which brought him full circle to the Covenant and the United Colonies, that noble document they all swore to. Not to a nation, or a state, but to rights common to all.
He looked to Shay and then down to Bryce. His eyes swung over to Huron, the man who’d stood with him on another ship. Another disaster. Finally over to Corporal Vale, a woman who’d have to tame a den of lions, and then make them fight.
What about me? he thought. All I have to do is kill that ship.
Shay opened her mouth and swelled up again. William raised a hand and silenced her.
“You’re right,” William said.
The words caught in her mouth and she pulled back. Huron nodded and nudged Vale. The atmosphere on the bridge shifted and the confidence crept back in. William sat slowly and erased the nav plot leading out and instead changed it to lead directly to Winterthur.
“Get the monastery on the horn. Same with the warden of that prison ship. Shay, will everyone fit?”
Shay glanced over at a set of schematics rolling across her console. “Yes, sir!”
“This needs to happen quick like. Once they see us blink it’s game on.” He looked up at the narrow white line that burned straight for Winterthur. “Run the plots, we’ve got to cover that dropship.”
Huron glanced over at Vale. “Additive cells are producing. But we’re going to run out of binders.”
“Not enough weapons?” Shay asked.
“There’s enough,” Vale said. “They’ll just pick ‘em up from the dead ones.”
“Anything from the ground?” Bryce asked.
“Don’t count on it until we’ve heard from Emilie,” William said. “Now I’ve got to convince an Abbot to lend us his ship.”
“What about the prisoners?” Bryce asked.
“I’m not worried about that conversation. We’ll offer the one thing they want.”
“Freedom,” Bryce replied with a smile.
*
The Abbot was slender in the cheeks with the posture of an accountant. His hair was a subtle tint of gray that blended in the edges into a frizzy white. The hair seemed even whiter in contrast to his almost soot black skin. One eye was missing in a shiny tuft of scar tissue and the other was milky and round like a potato. He stared into the screen and was silent like a sentinel.
William sat and waited for his message to reach the monk. The light lag was just long enough to make conversation awkward, but not so long that it could be put off. So he spoke, and watched a face that was a few minutes old. Three minutes there, and three minutes for the reaction to get back.
He wanted to address the Abbot as Captain, a rank the man once held, but instead stuck to the current title. The Abbot had a steady Naval career that ended, abruptly, in solemn retirement. The records didn’t say how he lost his vision. After retiring, William assumed.
The Abbot nodded slowly into the camera and listened attentively. His face slid away from curious and merged firmly into stern. Eyebrows knotted and his mouth moved slightly, but no sounds came out. He sucked in a deep breath of air through his nose and nodded slowly.
William watched and waited for the reply. He felt a knot in his stomach but also a hope, the majority of the monks and nuns were ex-military. But even if his appeal to their sense of duty worked, the thought of a few hundred convicts...
“Captain Grace,” Abbot Kyenge said slowly and deliberately. “You ask of us something that pains me deeply.”
William kept his face still, tried not to show any emotion. He knew how easy it was to scrutinize and pick apart someone when the light lag was so long.
“I am the voice of this order, and this is my decision.” The Abbot paused and looked conflicted.
William wanted to speak, to argue his case, and caught himself before his excitement got the better of him. The feed was over three minutes old.
“We will help you,” the Abbot said in a strained voice. “But we will do no violence. After the capsules are launched, we will depart. And we will depart with any who wish to come.”
He tried not to smile, did everything he could to look as serious as possible, but a little crook edged up on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Abbot Kyenge. My XO Lieutenant Ali Shay and my Engineer Ebenezer Huron will coordinate. We will transfer over my Marines to command the drop. We are indebted to you and your order.” He finished his words and waited as professionally as he could manage for the reply.
Six minutes later the feed came and the Abbot smiled. “You’re welcome, Captain, but I risk much, I trust you can keep us safe.” The Abbot looked hard into the camera and let the words sink in. “Sister Dandalaza asked about the woman she dropped off. If you know anything, could you inform us? God Bless.”
The feed dropped out and the screen turned to black.
“You heard the man!” William said. “Shay, Huron, lay it out, make sure those capsules will launch. They must have a few retired engineers in the mix.”
*
The face of Shin Xin wasn’t nearly as regal to stare at for three minutes. The space behind the Warden was a shabby wall with the curling growth of a whitish gray bacteria. Shin raised a dirty finger and scratched the side of his nose. He had the look of someone who walked into a conversation without knowing the beginning or end.
William sat as rigidly as he had with the Abbot and watched for a reaction. Any reaction. The legal situation with the prisoners was a bit unusual. On one hand, they were wards of the Core Corporation, but the web of ownership made it unclear who exactly had legal authority. William believed that he, the sole UC officer in the system, could authorize the release.
Shin squinted and his mouth opened, showing a row of yellow stained teeth. He nodded slowly without ever closing his mouth. “Uh.” He raised a finger and stepped away from the desk.
Shin called from off camera. “Well, if you say you’re the boss, then you’re the boss. But you should ask the inmates. Lemme feed it to the screen inside.”
A grime stained security camera dangled into view. A little red light poked on.
“Hi guys. This here is Captain Grace, he has something to ask,” Shin said.
Is this for real? he wondered. Prisoners. No use laying it on thick, time to make it count. “The Hun attacked Winterthur. I need people who can fight. You’ll earn your freedom when it’s all done. Full pardon.”
Shin walked across the view of the camera and a bulkhead opened and closed. Then he came back and gave a grimy thumbs up. He smiled. “They’ll do it. I think you had ‘em at fight. You mind if I come, too?”
William laughed a little. “Of course Mr. Xin, we’ll take anyone we can get. We’ll have the monastery move and dock. Garlic out.”
The screen turned to dark and the bridge returned to life. The crew was silent throughout the exchange. Now the taps of fingertips and the shuffling of feet proved that they were working.
“Ping the Abbot, tell him it’s a go.” William glanced up at the simulated plots and saw one choice after another play through. The statistical process drummed on through every possibility.
He liked the dance of numbers. He liked how sometimes the simulation proved everyone wrong and found a very unique solution. But mostly he liked that when you ran a program like this, you were going to get into a fight.
Mustafa. He looked up at the system plot and saw the data pulsing in from his orbital. Every time it orbited away from the scrutiny of the elevator complex and the Gallipoli ,it sent out a burst of data. It was choppy, rough, but it told him that the Gallipoli was there. Not docked, but waiting.
“Captain?” Huron asked over the comms.
“Go ahead,” William replied.
“Two things. One, the cell is done. We’re plum out of iridium binder. The other thing is, uh, we’re seeing some small scale delaminations in the hull armor.”
William licked his lips. The thought of the vacuum coming in sat with him right in his gut. “Get the weapons on board, I’ll come give a hand. Anything we can do about the hull?”
“Nope,” Huron replied with a pop. “But we should keep suits close.”
“Great,” Shay said.
“Finish the plots,” William said to Shay and Bryce, as he scanned the walls of the bridge.
The weapons rolled through in heavy carts normally used to shift minerals. They brought the carts to the edge of the airlock and passed each weapon through individually. One Marine stood at the edge of the grav field and tossed the weapons into the umbilical.
They sailed through the zero-g and were caught on the opposite side. Weapons lined every hall, door, and space where they would fit. In the zero gravity areas they were strapped to ceilings and floors. Even the meager crew quarters took on the look of an armory. Bulk bags of caseless ammunition slabs sat askew in every corner. “Enough ammo here for a helluva party,” Huron said to William.
The bridge crew settled on a course and they began a slow burn away from the asteroid station and farther into the debris field.
William stared at the course and traced the line with his eyes. A nudge around a sizable asteroid and then into the center of the system. He paused where two lines met. “How long after the monastery blinks will they know?”
Shay answered without looking up. “Seventeen minutes.”
Bryce whistled through the gap in his teeth. “Think they’ll know it’s not us?”
“Most likely, the signatures will be too different. Once they see that blink, they’ll come and chase. By that point, we’ll blink ahead of the monastery.”
Shay smiled. “And then we can finish this.”
Bryce darted his tongue through the gap in his teeth and looked to William. “Captain, what if they don’t chase?”
William was afraid of that. If they hung close to the gravity well, they’d have the ability to use his velocity against him. “Well, then we’ll get in close and give ‘em hell.”
“All right, Captain, two hours and we’ll meet the dropship,” Shay said.
The bridge crew watched as the icons glowed with acceleration markers. The meager fleet was slipping off to war.
CHAPTER TWENTY
––––––––
Natyasha sat and listened to the sound of footsteps in the hall. She didn’t much care who, or what, it was. The pace told her it wasn’t Bark. The weight of it told her it wasn’t Malic. The tempo told her it wasn’t the Governor. She felt afraid for a moment and focused on the tap, tap, tap.
Mahindra stepped into the doorway and drew away her shawl with a frail hand. “Natyasha,” she said in a voice surprisingly strong for her physique. Her eyes wore the look of someone with a burden.
“Councilor Mahindra,” Natyasha said. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Mahindra waved a hand and stepped inside the meager office. “I’m too old to be bothered.” She sat in a chair of sculpted wood and ran her palm up and down the armrest. Her eyes rose to Natyasha and the creases spread on her face into a comforting smile.
“But you bothered to come see me?” Natyasha said. She felt a touch of something, a real connection that she hadn’t felt in a long time. A part of her wanted to reach forward and grasp the hand but instead she savored the feeling.
“Things are going poorly.”
Natyasha looked away and nodded.
“More people are being rounded up. They are sending them out to the immigration district.”
“Are they?” Natyasha asked. She’d heard they were being interned with the immigrants, but saw no reason to debate. The feeling of helplessness sucked the fight right out of her.
“They’ve brought... creatures.” Mahindra’s eyes rose and the warmth was replaced by fear. “The streets are patrolled by men who are not men. The brutes stand and watch.”
Natyasha felt Mahindra’s eyes boring into her. Guilt. Guilt. She could taste it.
“Malic—”
“Don’t,” Natyasha said, snapping her eyes back. “Malic’s running the show now.”
“He’s a monster,” Mahindra whispered. She leaned forward and set her parchment fingers onto Natyasha’s cold hand. “A monster.”
I know, she thought, I made him that way.
The room took on a humid feel and the wind dropped. A hiss of mist slid against the window. Outside, the distillation towers rose into the sky, spewing the milky white steam into the cool air. Natyasha turned and saw her dreams drifting away.
Like grasping at steam, she thought. Nothing to be done now but letting it coalesce, settle, drive out the impurities and leave the distillation behind. Only the bitter stuff.
“They still use your name,” Mahindra said.
“My name doesn’t mean anything.”
Mahindra pulled her hand back and pursed her lips. “Child, I’ve watched men and women scrabble over this dirt. I watched when the food ran out. I watched when the water ran dry. I buried two husbands and three sons.”
Natyasha turned her head and looked at Mahindra. The woman was always reserved, regal, a staunch defender of the status quo, the long view. She opened her mouth to speak and stopped when a single crooked finger shot into the air.
“I’m not done!” Mahindra snapped. “We haven’t come this far to let it be torn apart.”
“What can I do?” Natyasha pleaded. “We have nothing. No troops, no military, no way we can fight. They’ll take what they want.”
Mahindra shook her head and stood on shaky legs. “I suggest you think of something, otherwise there won’t be anything left to think about.” The old woman walked to the edge of the door and turned. “Good day.”
“Good day,” Natyasha replied and listened to her walk out.
When the footsteps stopped, she turned her gaze up into the sky and caught a glimpse of the elevator through the steam. Her train of thought went to the edges, the fringes of possibility. On one side was Malic and troops. She knew she couldn’t fight, not with Malic’s boys holding the weapons.
She had a straight up numerical advantage. The colony was plump with citizens and she knew the polling numbers by heart. On top of it, the immigrants. She watched the mist shroud over the view and mulled the question. Immigrants. They had nothing, and she could offer nothing. But maybe it wasn’t a trade of items or goods, but something more abstract?
She stood and walked to the window. Her fingers touched the cold glass and she peered out into the street. Her eyes followed a patrol of the bio-augmented troops as they marched past. Farther down a heavy truck hauled gray canisters of distilled minerals.
“I’m here,” Bark said.
Natyasha spun and stared at Bark. Her hair was a mud streaked mess with scrapes and dirt stains across her face. Natyasha had never seen the ex-Marine so shaken. “Bark,” she whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
Bark stepped quietly into the room and leaned her back against the corner. Her shoulders seemed small as they hunched together. “Almost,” she said. “I had to run into the frontier. They chased until the roads stopped, but god, can those things run. Like dogs.”
“Sit, sit,” Natyasha said as she rushed across the room.
Bark shook her head. “If I sit, I sleep. We need to get out.”
“Malic took over, he must’ve known.”
“I know, I heard on the way back. We need to go.”
Natyasha nodded.
“Come.” Bark turned through the door.
Natyasha followed and stopped on the edge of the threshold. She knew if she passed through that door, she’d never step through it again. Her duty was in that room—by fleeing, she would be admitting defeat. “Wait.”
Bark stopped and rested an alloy arm against the wall. She looked at Natyasha with hard eyes.
“My duty is here. If I go...”
Bark stood up straight. “I can’t protect you here.”
“Go. Do the right thing.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to see the Governor.”
*
Natyasha tried to ignore the abomination that walked beside her. The thing was almost like a man, but with something else. The skull was too small while the shoulders were knotted up and heavy. It had arms like an animal with large fingers like sausages. She shivered and looked away again. It didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
The two walked through the security checkpoint and into the elevator complex. The retaining wall was rebuilt in sections while pockmarks and shrapnel scars marked the event that had left Winterthur enslaved. The space was wide and mostly empty, but more and more of the heavy sealed mineral containers marked the desire of the Hun. Bulk containers were stacked in dreary columns of corrosion. The elevator shot straight into the sky and disappeared through the mist.
A voice, definitely not the escort, spoke from the chest of the creature. “The Governor will see you.”
Natyasha jumped, startled, and looked at the creature.
It turned slightly and beckoned with the odd hands for her to follow.
They walked on the aged, cracked concrete and entered the elevator complex.
The Governor stood with a small staff behind him. A squad of the humanoid soldiers flanked him on one side while a team of armored Human soldiers stood on the other.
“Natyasha,” Governor Myint said. “I was wondering when you would come.”
“I wondered the same,” Natyasha replied.
“We can use your help,” Myint said.
“My help? And I thought Malic took over the role of lapdog,” Natyasha said as she walked with the Governor.
“He’s a tool, useful for one particular task. You, on the other hand, are more useful.”
“So that’s why you didn’t have me shot?”
“Why Natyasha!” Governor Myint said with an offended look. “Just because circumstances change, doesn’t mean you’re not useful.” He turned his head back forward and said, “But do stay away from rendezvouses in the night.”
Natyasha’s heart chilled and she became very aware of the armed soldiers all around her. No, she thought, if they wanted me dead they’d have shot me. “What do you want?”
“Your voice,” Governor Myint said, entering a command room.
The room was filled with screens and displays. Infantry mounted feeds streamed in from across the city and countryside. Most of the feeds showed the immigration center and the surrounding area.
“We’re having a problem and I want you to resolve it.”
Natyasha glanced at the displays and saw that the immigration camp was filled, bursting. Men and women surged against the walls and were beaten back. The angry front of a crowd surged in and out. A riot was forming.
“We can’t hold them there,” Governor Myint said, waving his hand. “And we can’t control them in the city.”
“What about your drones?” Natyasha asked.
“The corrosive air has destroyed my razor drones. So either you calm them down, or the orbital bombardment will begin.”
“Orbital bombardment?”
“I’ll pacify this planet one way or another. They are your people, Ms. Dousman,” Governor Myint spat, and slapped his hand onto a console.
Natyasha stared back at the screen and saw targeting solutions overlaid onto the satellite feed. Good god. Her fingers trembled as she saw not only immigrants, those she cast aside, but also her citizens. The moment weighed on her shoulders and she saw that all were her citizens. No, she thought, not hers, but Winterthurs.
“Salamasina,” Governor Myint snapped. “One battery, firing solution four.”
“Solution confirmed. Thirty seconds,” a voice echoed from a console.
“What are you doing?” Natyasha asked. “I’ll speak.”
“And now they’ll listen.”
Natyasha stepped closer to the Governor and heard the sound of a weapon being charged. “Governor!”
“This is because you tried to edge me out. I could have used those facilities.”
“Core,” Natyasha whispered, and knew that the Governor had her.
A large screen shuddered and the image changed to a single satellite feed. Beneath it the immigration facility sprawled out at right angles. Clouds blew in and obscured the majority of the facility. A red icon lit up on the lower corner and counted down.
“You have to stop!” Natyasha pleaded. “This is not how you govern.”
“Govern?” sneered Governor Myint. “I’m not here to govern. I’m here to rule!”
Natyasha stepped back and watched as the icon blinked zero.
At first nothing happened. A single bead of black opened through the clouds and was swallowed up again. A violent torrent of air shuddered through the clouds and slammed the clouds away. Shockwaves rippled as the sound caught up with the projectile. A billowing black cloud shot into the sky and melded into the white mist. A relatively small area of the facility was a crater ringed with wrecked buildings.
The room shuddered as the shockwave rolled through bedrock.
Governor Myint pointed to a comms console. “Tell them to stop the riots or we level the camp. After the camp, we level the cities. The only thing left will be the distillation towers and this complex.”
Natyasha stared back at the Governor and hated him with every bit of her soul. She knew she enabled it, but she couldn’t watch and wait when something could be done. She walked on numb legs to the communications console and sat.
A technician leaned over her shoulder and set it up. He tapped her shoulder and walked away.
“It’s not live,” the Governor added behind her.
Natyasha licked her lips and stared at the empty screen. Hope. They needed hope that something better was coming. That something would make the future worth living.
“Citizens of Winterthur, I speak to you in these difficult days with a beacon of hope. What was so sure yesterday seems so far today, but be patient that our partners in the stars will do us right. Stand quietly, stand patiently, but stand proudly. Do no violence, and await a better day.”
She said the words but it felt like she was watching someone else do it. Traitor, she thought. Traitor. All on her shoulders. There was nothing, nothing she could do to help anyone at all. At the very least she hoped that it would save some lives.
Governor Myint clapped. Loud slow claps that seemed to mock with each percussion. “Eloquent, simple. You are a politician, aren’t you?”
Natyasha stared back in silence and seethed.
“Now go.” Governor Myint turned and faced the satellite display with the growing cloud of dust.
A console crackled to life and Mustafa’s voice burst out. ”Ground Station, we have a Haydn signature.”
Natyasha stopped in the middle of the room and froze. Around her the staff stopped every task. Everyone in the room was silent and staring at the back of Governor Myint.
“Who is it?” the Governor asked.
“I don’t know, but they’re both coming here.”
Natyasha felt the news like someone slammed her in the stomach. She wished she could see the look on Governor Myint’s face. Hope. There was hope.
“We’re going to break orbit—”
“No!” Governor Myint cried out. “Begin the bombardment. Engage those ships here.”
There was a pause and a crackle of interference. “Confirmed,” Mustafa replied in a low voice.
“You can’t!” Natyasha cried.
“Get her out of here!” Governor Myint snarled and stormed out of the room.
Heavy hands clutched Natyasha’s arm and drug her out into the hall. The floor shuddered through her feet.
The orbital bombardment had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
––––––––
The room was dark with only a slit of white light coming from beneath the door. Orbital bombardments rolled in the distance. Mortar joints cracked and landed on Emilie’s face. She turned and felt the grit roll off of her cheeks.
The weight of restraint on her chest reminded her how helpless she was. The pain in her face and hands reminded her of how violent they were. She didn’t think they were violent intentionally, the humanoids simply didn’t seem to understand. They pushed and prodded her like cattle, not like a prisoner. Though it didn’t lessen her hate.
She thought back to when she entered the complex. The thing that came back to her was how few actual humans there were. It was at least a twenty-to-one ratio of the bioaugments to humans. They were almost like drones with the real orders coming from human soldiers.
A creak and a thud rolled through the building. A moment later a cascade of thunder drummed and more mortar cracked and fell. The room was alive with the hiss and crackle of mortar falling apart.
Emilie strained her eyes and pushed against the bindings. The metal edge told her she wouldn’t be using any Core Corporate Evasion Techniques to cut through this one. Something was happening outside, she could feel it. Riots? Fighting? The power of the explosions made her excited. Occupiers didn’t blow things up, she thought.
A shadow moved past the door with the sound of shuffling feet. Emilie focused on the slit and saw the dirty floor caked in corrosion. It brought back a memory to her first job chiseling corrosion and caked salts off of vehicles and washing them down with ionized water. The taste of the grimy oil speckled dirt came back to her.
There was a sound from the hallway—a crack followed by a tapping sound. Then two shadows broke the line of light into the room. The door handle clicked and turned silently. Light exploded into the room.
Emilie cried out and turned away from the light. Her eyes clenched tightly but still it burned on her retina. Too many hours of darkness had taken a toll. The fear drove into her like an iron pick. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t move, trapped. A part of her hoped to finish her days on Winterthur, just not like this.
She thrashed against the bindings and pushed her head into the plastic table. Raw edges slid and burned against her skin.
“Shh, shhh!” a woman’s voice hissed.
Emilie pushed her eyes open a crack and saw a woman in a full black combat suit. She recognized the model as an old Core design that the UC used a few years before. The light was still too intense on her tender retina to make out a face.
“Hold still,” the voice said softly.
The woman in black rushed to the edge of the bed and pulled out a slender serrated blade. Emilie recoiled from the sight.
“I said hold still.”
The woman’s face was blacked out in a non-reflective nanite coating. She was broad in the shoulders and stoutly built. “Who are you?” Emilie asked through lips cracked with blood.
The woman slid the knife into the edge of the strap and a high pitched buzz sounded followed the flop of the first strap. The second and third straps followed suit. Emilie lay without the weight but was too weak to stand.
“We need to get out,” the woman said. She tucked the blade away.
Emilie felt the woman’s arms raise her up. The touch was cold on her shoulders and arms. “Why did you help me?”
“Because you have the one thing we need.”
“What? What could I possibly have?”
“Weapons.”
“Who are you?” Emilie stood on tender feet and felt the grit and cold floor.
“I’m Bark,” she said, moving to the edge of the door and sliding a finger around the corner. She raised her other hand quickly.
Emilie stopped where she stood and held her breath.
Bark slid the knife from the sheath. In one smooth motion she was out of the door just in time to intercept a skulking bioaugment.
Emilie gasped as the knife sliced through the augment’s throat.
Blood sprayed across the hall and the creature slid down with a thud.
“Let’s go!” Bark hissed back and kept the knife at ready.
The pair pushed through the bright hallways, past empty checkpoints and closed doors. The facility had the look of somewhere that was recently built, but not well maintained.
“Where are we?” Emilie asked as she waited for Bark to open a door.
“Immigrant Processing facility,” Bark replied. She popped the door open.
The thunder sounded again, but louder. The walls hummed as the concussions rolled through.
Bark stopped and looked back at Emilie. “That’s orbital,” she said.
“Orbital? The UC?” Emilie asked, thinking of William and the Garlic.
Bark pressed on with a concerned look on her face.
The halls were silent and finally they passed a door with a corrosion stained window. The entire facility seemed nearly empty, only once did they slide back into a passage and wait for anyone to pass. Even then they weren’t combat troops but a squad of the bioaugmented troops.
Emilie followed as quickly as she could and had a chance to see the bruising on her arms and hands. The dirt stains were burnished into her skin. The whole night felt surreal. All the captors told her was to think on it, that they’d be back. She watched Bark and felt a deep connection. The woman had saved her. “Thank you.”
Bark glanced at Emilie but didn’t say anything. She stood at the edge of a cargo door and pushed it open a crack. Her fingers pushed around the edge of the door.
Augmented, Emilie thought. Implanted cameras. She decided not to ask when she saw the pistol come out.
The pistol was a plain affair with refined edges. Milled edges, not those from a rough additive machine. A sculpted metal cylinder hung on the end of the barrel.
Bark snapped it around the corner and pushed the door open. The action sounded with a click, a second click, and a final click. A white puff of smoke rolled up and away. “Move!” Bark called and opened the door.
The cloud shrouded sunlight echoed through the open air like a raw diffuser. Swirling clouds of black and gray danced above. It smelled of ground rock and burnt iron.
Emilie ran out and felt the cold ground on her bare feet. The pace was beyond her, Bark was pulling away towards the edge of the facility. She turned her head and saw a pile of three dead bodies not far away. All three were human and not Hun. The uniforms were simple with a white X stitched into the shoulder. “Hold on!”
The distance grew between them. Bark huddled up next to the wall and tucked herself beside a security gate. Emilie hobbled up and rested against the wall. Bark didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. She slammed the door open and two more clicks sounded from the pistol.
“Watch your step,” Bark said over her shoulder, as she stood on the opposite side of the security checkpoint.
Emilie entered the narrow room. Two bodies were sprawled in front of her. Both had heavy barreled shotguns strapped to their chests. One of the bodies was in a Hun uniform while the other was marked with an X. She had to step over the Hun trooper and nearly tripped on the other.
The Hun soldier had a narrow hole through the center of his Adam’s apple. One of his eyes was open while the other was half closed.
“Hey!” Bark yelled.
Emilie snapped out of it and looked back. “What?”
“I said, grab the shotgun. You know how to use a Krieghof?”
Emilie shook her head.
Bark stepped to Emilie’s side and lifted the Hun trooper. She slid the shotgun loose and dropped the corpse with a crunch. She jammed the weapon at Emilie and pointed out the mechanism. “Safety, here. Fire, here. When the alarm sounds, turn the barrel to reload.” Bark pushed herself towards the door and looked back to Emilie. “Don’t shoot me.”
Emilie nodded quickly.
“There’s a vehicle parked two blocks away. We get to that and we’re clear. Then we can meet with my team.” Bark looked once more out the door and back to Emilie. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Bark holstered the pistol and gently pushed the door open. She glanced from side to side and cautiously stepped into the street. “Let’s go.”
Emilie clutched the shotgun against her body and followed. The street was slick with moisture but the rain had stopped. The air tasted of the sea and she savored it. The sea was freedom.
They walked past empty apartment buildings and sealed storefronts. Most of them looked hastily shut up while others looked jammed open or bolted shut. Bark’s stride was confident, like she belonged. Emilie’s pace was short, stuttered, and she nearly stumbled at every step.
“Relax,” Bark said casually over her shoulder.
“I’m trying,” Emilie replied, still scared. The memories of the night before hadn’t faded.
Bark glanced above her at the apartment buildings and smiled when she looked at Emilie. “Look pleasant.” Her eyes snapped up and back down to Emilie. “In case someone’s watching.”
Emilie caught on and her eyes, involuntarily, darted up. A curtain moved above them while in another building she could see a silhouette. “They wouldn’t!”
A loud screeching sounded from behind them and a light transport truck came into view. A white X was painted on the hood and in the back half a dozen men stood with rifles and shotguns. The truck stopped with a stuttering rumble and one of the men got out at the entrance gate to the processing facility.
Bark grabbed Emilie and pulled her. “Faster!”
A voice cried out and a horn sounded.
Emilie stumbled and the shotgun clattered to the ground. Fear raced through her and she could sense them behind her. The sound of the truck accelerating burned into her skull. She grabbed the weapon in her wet fingers and broke into a run after Bark.
They ran around the corner with the sounds of the gear drive humming behind them. A small transport truck, the sort that would carry a daily delivery, was parked askew beneath an alloy awning. Bark opened the back and ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. Emilie crawled into the rear and shut the door about the same time Bark stabbed the throttle.
The sound of a rising gear was punctuated with the release of a capacitor, and the vehicle lurched forward. Emilie lost her balance and rolled onto the floor. She clambered back up and was tossed to one side. A crack sounded, followed by a thud.
She poked her head up and looked out the rear window. She shrieked and saw the corrosion pitted grill of the pursuing truck a meter away from the transport. She fell back onto the floor and the grill crashed into them and slammed the vehicle forward. The entire back door crumbled forward and the plastic window tumbled to the floor.
“Shoot the fucker!” Bark yelled.
Emilie grabbed the gun and braced herself against the wall, pushed the barrel out the empty window frame, and squeezed.
Nothing.
The truck slammed on the brakes. The front end wobbled and the men in the back pitched from side to side.
“Fuckin’ safety!” Bark screamed.
Emilie looked down and flipped the little black lever. She pointed it once again and opened fire.
The round exploded out in a puff of gray smoke that tasted like a bad barbeque. Pock marks stained the front of the truck with a slender filament hanging like a spiderweb on the front of the vehicle. A man grinned back and the truck raced forward.
“Wait ‘til he’s close for fuck’s sake!”
Empty streets blew past. Emilie tucked back down and heard another thud, followed by a second. The dull rumbling was louder and most definitely not thunder. She couldn’t place the sound, almost like someone was dropping trucks onto a road. She squeezed the weapon tight and braced herself for another shot.
“Hold on!” Bark yelled.
The truck slammed sideways and the tires chattered on the wet pavement. The chase truck slammed the brakes and wobbled on two wheels before bouncing down and surging forward again.
Emilie felt blood running down her face and tasted it on her lips. She grabbed the Krieghof shotgun and popped up. She punched the barrel through the opening and squinted through a drop of blood. The chase truck was almost on them. She could see the eyes of the man driving it and saw a look of concern spread across his face. Then she pulled the trigger.
A wad of filament with a core of tungsten slammed into the plastic windshield and sliced through it. Filament exploded out inside of the cab and ricocheted off the window. Each individual piece had enough energy for a single slice, but when coupled with a hundred meters worth of carbon fiber... the driver was a bloody mess and the truck tipped sideways.
Emilie whooped and then watched as the men in the back spilled out like rag dolls onto the road. One man pitched out with his arms extended, fear in his eyes. The others tumbled and rolled with truck plowing them forward. An edge caught as the truck slowed and rolled it forward, crushing most of the men. One man stood and stared down at his hands, both of which hung at strange angles.
“Got ‘em!” Emilie said with a smile and felt the truck decelerate.
“Fuck,” Bark said.
Emilie snapped her head to the front and saw a squad of Hun troops taking cover.
A pair of bio augmented soldiers dropped down a heavy barrel and a tripod and stood next to it. A single Hun trooper took cover behind a sloped shield.
“Hold on!”
The truck buckled once more and pitched to the side. Then it rolled.
She felt it in her gut and watched as the rough interior of the delivery truck came forward and smashed into her. There was sound in her ears like grinding and then it stopped. Gunfire erupted and little shafts of daylight opened into the back. She pushed away from the wall and crawled to the door.
The Hun team stood with weapons at ready and moved forward, slowly and deliberately. The heavy barreled cannon—a mass driver with a low rate output—hummed and pulsed with stored energy.
Bark crawled out of the driver’s compartment. Blood poured down from her forehead. She grinned at Emilie and bared blood lined teeth. “Wow!” she cried out and sat next to the door. She glanced at her wrist. “It’ll be close.”
“What will?”
“My people.”
Gunfire erupted. The Hun troops dropped and scattered. Bark pushed the door open and stepped into the rain. She rested her weapon on the side of the vehicle and snapped off two silent rounds. Emilie crawled out after and watched as the last of the advancing patrol fell. The man screamed and bawled in the street.
“Get the mass driver!” Bark yelled.
A man stepped out from behind the edge of a building and popped back into cover. The two bioaugmented soldiers stood and stared.
“Run!” Bark yelled and broke for a low concrete divider.
Emilie followed and wondered if she’d feel the burn of the mass driver.
It opened fire on people who Emilie couldn’t see. The heavy rounds put-putted out a steady sound with a whine of capacitors zinging behind it. She fell down and crawled to cover. Bark spat out a glob of sticky blood and shook her head.
“What I’d do for some proper Marines,” she mumbled.
A heavy crack smashed through the air and one of the bioaugments dropped with a divot in his skull. The second soldier looked to his side with dumb eyes. A second crack smashed through him and the weapon stitched fire wildly into the buildings. Concrete rained down and glass shattered.
A final crack sounded and a mixture of skull and blood peppered the plastic guard of the weapon. The sniper fire had come from behind the weapon, the direction of the sea.
Bark stood slowly with her pistol before her. “Who is that?”
Emilie crawled to her feet, braced on the edge of the concrete and tried to look as professional as possible. “My people,” she said proudly.
A man in civilian clothes rushed forward with a half dozen staying in the cover of the building. He glanced back down the road and shook his head. “We got a problem.”
Bark spat another mouthful of blood. “What?”
“Orbital bombardment, they’re hitting the immigration center.”
“I know,” Bark said and checked the action on her pistol.
“Shouldn’t that be empty?” Emilie said.
The man glanced at Bark. She nodded back to him.
“We put all the recent arrivals there when this all started, but now the Hun and Malic have been adding regular citizens.”
“But why?”
Bark wiped her face. “They don’t have the troops to hold a full population and the razor drones failed because of the corrosion.”
“It’s a massacre,” Emilie whispered. She looked down the road and saw the sniper drone pop out of cover. She waved at it. “Can we get in?”
“In where?” Bark asked.
“To that camp, can we get in?”
“Why the fuck would we do that, lady?” the man asked, looking towards the cloud of debris rising in the distance.
Emilie looked down the road and smiled. “Because I’ve got enough guns for an army.”
The man smiled. “Time the orbits, we could get in?”
Bark closed her eyes and nodded. “Do it.”
Emilie handed the shotgun to Bark and stumbled forward. “I hope you’ve got another truck. We’re gonna need it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
––––––––
Abbot Kyenge leaned over the console with a crush of people behind him. A mass of brown robes and black cassocks blocked anything behind him. The Abbot smiled and looked perfectly in place. “I wasn’t sure the Brendan would blink, Mr. Grace.”
William wondered the same thing, but didn’t say it. “I had no doubts, Abbot. And the, uh, volunteers?”
“Convicts, you mean?” the Abbot asked with a wry smile. “We had to lock the sisters away back in Engineering.”
“Trouble?”
“Surprisingly no.” The Abbot turned his head and appeared to be listening to someone. “We’re ready for transfer.”
“Bryce, bring us in, follow the plot.” He glanced up at the system and saw the projected course sliding into the inner planets. “Thank you, Abbot, we’ll send over my Marines once we dock.”
The Abbot nodded. The screen slid into black and was replaced with a maintenance readout. Red and orange bracketed systems with flashing indicators near others. William kept his eyes on the screen for a moment and felt relieved to see nothing new.
“I’m off to brief the Marines. Keep an eye out, and if the Gallipoli moves, call me.”
“Yes sir!” Bryce replied.
William walked off the bridge with Bryce on his mind. The last time they got into trouble the Midshipman crumbled. The two hadn’t spoken of it, William hoped that Bryce found some peace with himself about it. He made a mental note to clone the console and keep watch just in case.
He found Corporal Vale with Grgur and Igor waiting by the airlock. All three were suited up in an EVA suit with the sleek fitted armor over the top. The faceshields were retracted and all three Marines stood ready.
William felt the same way watching the clock tick down. The inevitability of combat brought with it a certain reflection before hand. The adrenaline wasn’t kicking yet, that he knew. Not yet.
Corporal Vale saluted William with an armored hand. Red lines ran down the length of her fingers with an orange skull on the back of her hand. “Captain,” she said. Grgur and Igor stood at attention, or as close to it as one could in a vac suit.
A heavy satchel sat against one wall. With hard shapes pressing against the outside.
“Special package?” William nodded to the bag.
“Be prepared. I’d rather pack my own than rely on the celled ones.”
“Problems?” William glanced at the stacked weapons against the walls.
“No, sir,” she said. “I learned long ago to only trust your own weapon.”
William nodded. “You’ll have two hours until you make orbit.”
Corporal Vale let out a deep breath. “Not much time to prepare an invasion, sir.”
William nodded. He didn’t like it either. She would have to arm, instruct, and load an entire dropship of convicts in under two hours. On top of that, she’d have to coordinate on the ground. “What’s your plan?”
Vale said to Grugr. “Spell it out.”
Grgur smiled. “We’ll find anyone who served and set them as squad leaders. The little man sent us prison records. There’s some veterans.”
Igor started in a second later. “After that, we issue the weapons and load them up.”
Vale finished. “When we’re on the ground, we coordinate with anyone we can find and assault the elevator.”
The enormity of the task hung over the room.
“Captain, this ain’t gonna be good,” Vale said.
“Do your best, Corporal. Once we’re clear, I can offer orbital support.” He looked at each of his Marines and gave a crisp nod. “See you on the ground.”
Corporal Vale saluted. “On the ground, sir.”
William walked away and wondered if he’d ever see his Marines again. A part of him felt guilty, but he knew better than to slip into that again. He made his way towards the bridge and ran his fingers along the walls as he slid through the zero gravity passage. Would it hold? He wondered.
“Changes?” he asked as he stepped onto the bridge and made his way to the center chair.
“We’ve got another feed update coming in three minutes,” Bryce said.
William sat and reviewed the plots going in. The Gallipoli was going to be tough to crack, but if Mustafa was smart he’d go after the dropship first.
Velocity. It was all velocity. He played it through his head and hoped the Gallipoli would come out to stop him. The screen maneuver would be easy, the dropship could get in and out, and he’d have plenty of room to dance.
“What are you going to do when this is all done, Captain?” Bryce asked.
Shay shot the Midshipman an angry glance. “Bryce—”
“It’s fine, Shay. I think our middie is a bit nervous.”
Bryce blushed.
“A posting to some backwater colony. Maybe one where they seed the oceans with salmon. Lots and lots of salmon. I’d fish,” William said and stopped himself. It felt too personal.
“Fish?” Shay said.
Bryce smiled and slid down into his chair a bit. The tension that he wore like a lacquer seemed to chip away.
“How long ‘til our last blink?” William asked.
Shay glanced down. “Twenty-three minutes.
William nodded and poked at his console. His fingers tapped engineering and hovered over the comm request key.
“Holy shit,” Shay said and pulled back from her console. She snapped her head towards William. Her face lost color and turned white. “They’re bombarding the surface!”
William leaned forward and stared down at her console. “Get it on screen!”
The orbital feed was hazy and rippled. The augmented layer kicked in and icons identified the elevator, the city, and the Gallipoli. A cloud of brown and gray dust hung like a smudge over a corner of the city. Ripples of mass driver rounds punched through the atmosphere and added more fire. The Gallipoli was parked in orbit and firing.
The feed blinked off and the data dropped away. The satellite slid away behind the planet.
“Dock us up now, we’re moving!” William said, sliding the nav screen open. He adjusted Bryce’s plot towards Winterthur and maxed the acceleration. He felt the adrenaline crawling into him. His fingers slid the course forward. It shaved a few minutes, but would reduce the orbital bombardments when they came out to chase. If they came out to chase.
“Brendan, this is the Garlic. Docking in two minutes,” Bryce said.
The bulky form of the Garlic merged with the course of the Brendan. The Garlic deployed a slender umbilical and the two ships came together, linked by a single thread of life. The dropship, though out of service for fifty years, still had the look of a warship. The Garlic was the one that looked out of shape, bulbous and raw.
The airlock engaged and the inside pressure of the Garlic bounced slightly, like someone opened a door in the summer. In a moment the press was gone, replaced by a hint of a smell that grew and festered. At first it was delicate spice mixed with incense but then the pungency rose and a man smell wafted through the ventilation. It was stiff, acrid, like urine rolled with fear.
Shay gagged and turned her head away from the console. “Oh god,” she said.
William turned his head to the side and tried to breath differently to remove the smell. No wonder all the monks were on the bridge. He looked up to the livefeed and saw the Marines passing through the umbilical with the interior of the Brendan coming into view. “Get the gear offloaded,” William called through clenched teeth. “Bryce, go help,” he said with a nod to the door.
Bryce coughed, stood, and shuffled out with a hand over his mouth.
The livefeed showed the time worn walls of the monastery coming into view. Vale pushed through and found herself on the edge of a mass of humanity jammed into one spot. Before her stood a wall of grimy, dirty disheveled men and women. A layer of brownish filth ringed every face while the hair was a universal shade of greasy gray.
The combined mass of the convicts stared back in silence.
“Listen up!” Vale bellowed out. “I’ve got weapons and this shit ain’t gonna move itself. You! You! You! Make a line! Everyone else get ready to start organizing. I’m on a fucking timeline!”
The crowd pulled back a bit and the three men she’d pointed out looked between themselves. The first walked up to Vale and loomed large in the livefeed screen. He smiled and bared dirty teeth and turned his head to the man standing behind him.
He didn’t get a chance to speak. Vale slammed out a fist and leveled the brute. A shudder and a crunch followed as the convict slammed into the floor.
Vale pointed at a woman with yellowish gray dreadlocks, “You, take his place. Now go!”
The woman glanced from side to side with dark eyes.
“I’m an equal opportunity asskicker here, move it!”
Laughter rang out from the crowd and the convicts moved into action. “Paco de baso! Wee-ooo!” a man with a bald head cried out with a grin and a kick to the unconscious man on the floor.
“I think I’ve got this, Captain,” Vale called back.
William grinned. “Carry on, Corporal.”
The weapons flowed and bounced through the umbilical. Armload after armload poured through like a river of firepower. The last thing to go was the satchels of ammunition. Even less care was taken with the near impervious slabs of nanite charges. With a final hiss, the hatches were sealed and the ships separated.
Abbot Kyenge’s face appeared on the screen. “We have the course set, you’re going in now?”
“Yes.”
The Abbot nodded. His blind eyes bored into William. “Pick your fight, Captain, you’re at a disadvantage as it is.”
The words struck William and he wondered if he was foolish for charging in. He knew the most important thing was getting the pods on the ground and the Gallipoli out of the sky. At this point anything else was secondary. “I understand, Abbot. If anything changes, we’ll relay.”
“Good luck, Captain.”
“Good luck, Abbot, and thank you.”
The Abbot cut the feed and William was left staring at the flickering maintenance readout once again.
“Hit it,” he called to Shay.
The hum of the grav drive changed to a heavy purr. The acceleration display pushed higher until they sat at the maximum thrust the drive could provide. Orbital plots shifted and the intersection point of the Garlic and Gallipoli met on the far side of the planet.
William recalled the Abbot’s warning and shifted the thrust down by ten percent. He saw Shay give him a glance and made an adjustment to the course.
“Polar?” Shay asked.
“Gives us a few more seconds of engagement time.” He also knew that the Mustafa would expect him to cover the entry orbit of the dropship. If he came into a counter orbit, they’d pass by so quickly that either ship would only get a barrage or two. He wanted to take the Gallipoli quick.
The Garlic pulled away swiftly from the Brendan and plowed towards Winterthur. The command was given to prepare battle stations. EVA suits were deployed, fire dispersion systems primed and weapons loaded. The chunking sound of loading mass drivers soothed William, but not as much as a railgun would have. The missile launcher still burned an orange loader error.
“Blink in three, two, one,” Bryce said.
Winterthur loomed large in the screen. The bluish gray of the oceans contrasted with the misty shores and soot colored continents. The hand of man hadn’t touched most of the planet, everything was concentrated near the elevator.
Data streamed in and the passive sensors absorbed reflections of light, radio, and cosmic rays to show a mostly complete battlescape. The targeting display flashed and showed that it was waiting patiently for a target.
William glanced down at his console and rechecked the weapons program. The gaps in the program made him worry, but nothing to be done other than roll with it. If only I had a real pilot, he thought.
A sound like a cracking branch startled everyone on the bridge. All eyes rose from the displays and glanced around. A small piece of nanite insulation had peeled off the ceiling and fell to the floor. Beneath it a dull gray layer of nanite aggregate looked chalky and coarse.
William stared at the hole and saw other spiderwebs forming in the ceiling.
Huron stood with his arms on either side of the bulkhead. He wore an orange armored maintenance suit streaked with dirt and aggregate. His eyes were tight with worry. “Captain, we need to get suits on.”
An orange atmosphere alert popped onto the main screen and showed a slowly dropping pressure.
“Ya don’t say.” Shay reached to her side and pulled open a sealed container.
“Mr. Huron, what’s going on?” William asked.
Huron held his ear for a second and nodded. “I think when we repaired the hull, the nanites didn’t agree.”
“Didn’t agree?” William pointed to the slab of nanite sealant on the floor.
“Well, look at that.” Huron picked up the sheet. The edges crumbled away into dust and fell to the floor like snow.
William grabbed the canister stuck next to his seat and popped the seal. The EVA suit unfolded onto his lap and he hopped up, pushed his legs in and overlaid seam over seam. The rest of the suit snugged on and he sat back down. A faceshield grew across the front. He reached to his side and attached a slender pad to the hip. A tone sounded in his ear and the faceshield displayed air and data connections. “Grace sealed.”
“Bryce sealed.”
“Shay, uh, I hate these things, sealed.”
Huron tapped his chest and the faceshield shot up. “Huron sealed.”
“What’s happening to us?” William asked. He glanced down and saw Bryce squirming in his suit. “Bryce, take a breath.”
“Yes sir!”
“The binder that the ship was built with is being colonized by the binder we repaired with. Like two bacterias, the dumber one is overtaking the more complex system.”
“So we don’t have anything to worry about?” William asked.
“Well, the new binder doesn’t have the strength to keep the ship together. We’ll be soft like a sponge.”
“How long?”
Huron glanced up to the ceiling and scanned the spiderwebs. “Couple of hours maybe. Maybe less.”
“What about everything else?”
“Eh, it’ll hold together, just don’t stress it too much.”
“You do know we’re going into combat, right?” William asked.
“And me being stressed is going to help, Captain?”
“Just a bit of tension, eh?”
Huron patted the wall and nodded. “But not too much!” He turned and walked out.
A targeting alarm flashed and a new overlay lit up in bright red. The ship’s computer identified it as the Gallipoli. It held a low orbit with a velocity that said it didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.
“Comm request,” Shay said.
“Who?”
Shay nodded to the screen. “The Gallipoli.”
“Voice only.”
“Hello? You getting this? Ahh, no video. Well, that’s okay,” Mustafa said in his rich Turkish accent. “You should have left when you had a chance. But no matter.”
“Gallipoli, cease bombardment, power down and dock with the elevator,” William said. He wanted a fight, and he knew Mustafa would never surrender, but he didn’t want a court martial finding him to be lacking in the proper etiquette.
“Oh, that’s rich,” Mustafa said. “You know, the money wasn’t even the big motivator for me. It helped, no doubt, but to be able to stick it to the UC, well, that was precious. Now there’s a bit of revenge here, too—but you don’t know that, do you?”
William furrowed his brow. He was about to cancel the transmission when his curiosity got the better of him. “Revenge? What did I do to you, Mustafa?”
“Nothing to me. But you might know my pilot, Salamasina.”
“I don’t know a Salamasina.”
“No, Midshipman Grace,” a woman’s voice purred. “But I know you. You killed my love. You took my ship and left me to rot with those colonials on Redmond.”
Redmond. The memories flowed back and William felt the sense of victory when they claimed the ship from the Samoan mercenaries. His friend, Von Hess, had piloted a strider into the heart of the mercenary ship. When William entered that bridge, he found the strider, a dead man, and a woman red with anger. He kicked them both off and escaped with the ship. He never knew her name.
Mustafa spoke, “I’ll get no pleasure in this, Captain, but I can assure you that Sala will.”
“Then come and get me,” William said in a bored tone. “I barely remember the woman or her dead husband. Both amateurs if I was able to take their ship.”
“Fuck you,” Salamasina spat.
“No, Captain Grace, I’d much rather if you came and got us. I have a planet to bombard,” Mustafa said, and then a click announced that the feed was closed.
“You killed her old man?” Shay asked.
“Yes, it seems I did.” William leaned forward and felt his suit tight against his stomach. He tapped Bryce on the top of the helmet. “Bryce, lay in the polar orbit. Time to pick a fight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The room stunk of piss and feces. Natyasha stood in the corner with her arms wrapped around her shoulders. On the opposite side of the room lay the corpse of Malic with his throat raw and bloody. His eyes were open with his tongue bulging from his mouth. Urine was pooled on the floor beneath him.
Natyasha heard the sound of footsteps and tensed up. She fought back a sob and glanced over at Malic. He was dead when she came in, strangled, and alone in the room. Her heart beat faster and the footsteps paused.
Then they grew softer and away.
She let out a sob and held her hand over her mouth. Failure, everything a failure, she thought. The last thing she’d done for Winterthur was to facilitate a slaughter of citizens. Her citizens. She had no military to call on, only scattered cells of militia. It wouldn’t matter now. They’d come for her soon enough.
A ray of light diffused into the room through a narrow rectangular window. The slit of light was gray and cold. She stepped over into the light and stared out into the clouds. All she could see was a rising cloud of dust.
Everything she’d dedicated her life to was all gone to piss. No, she thought, I’ve always been dedicated to myself. Winterthur was just the vehicle. The bitter thought sat with her and she stared at the debris drifting into the sky. I’ve been held back by all this, she thought. Her mind formed a scapegoat, and it was called Winterthur.
The Hun were right, she thought, how could a democracy ever hope to contend with the efficiency of a modern totalitarian regime. All around her she saw the evidence: Malic dead, the planet ground under the alloy boot of bioaugmented soldiers. This was not a challenge for a Democracy, but it was an opportunity.
She laid out what she had left. People. It was all about that touch. Militia cells, some weapons caches, and Bark. Her heart winced for a second but it passed just as quickly. A means to an end. They’d come for her and she’d have something to offer. Winterthur would be hers. With or without the citizens.
More footsteps came. A group of footsteps marching together with one sound out of step. They stopped and a solenoid latch thudded open. The door swung in and a broad shouldered Hun officer stood with his hands at his side. Behind him a squad of the bioaugments stood placidly.
The officer stepped inside the room and gave a casual glance at the corpse. He gestured toward the body and two of the soldiers sprang in and drug it out. The piss trailed behind as the body passed.
Natyasha stood quietly and a worry hit her. What if he didn’t speak English? Her plan would go to nothing. “Governor Myint, I must speak to him. Myint. Myint!” she pleaded.
The officer turned and looked at her with dark, hooded, eyes. He looked bored, like this was just another task to be done.
“Don’t strangle me,” she said in a low voice. She pressed her back against the wall. Her eyes grew wide.
The officer cracked his knuckles and stepped closer.
“Wait!” she cried out. “I need to speak to Myint! I can help, I know where there are things, people, I can give him things!” She watched him step closer. She stared at his fingers and felt a dread shoot through her.
Shudders rolled through the floor as another orbital bombardment went through. The bioaugments in the hall shuffled their feet.
The officer stopped and cocked his head. “Explain,” he said in a low pitched Australian accent.
“The militia are out there. I know where they are, and weapons caches, and,” she caught herself and almost didn’t say it. “And I sent someone out to get Emilie Rose.”
“You?” he said, pulling himself back. The rising violence in him dropped back like a wave on the shore. He turned his head and spoke in a low voice in a language she didn’t know.
Natyasha felt the weight drop. Her heart beat slowed. Her cheeks felt warm as the blood rushed back into him. She was almost shaky as she braced herself against the wall. The adrenaline flowed away and she felt sick.
“Come, the Governor wants to see you.”
Each footstep felt lighter than the first. She could barely walk with the thought of the long armed bioaugments shuffling behind her. Fear rode high, but the fear ebbed away and the reality set in. A reality she didn’t particularly enjoy, but one that she could understand. By the time they passed through the complex and stood in the control room, she felt almost righteous.
She followed the officer. He stood rigidly with his back to her. The atmosphere of the command room had changed since she last left. The Governor stood in the center of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. He stared up, a face thick with concentration, and ignored the officer.
The screens showed cascading clouds of dust and debris and a mass of human beings trying to escape. Gunfire burst silently as the feed showed troops firing into the crowd.
One set of feeds didn’t move. One camera showed nothing but concrete, a second a bloody arm extended out, a third looked straight up into the sky. That was the screen the Governor stared at. Indicators showed a combat squad—dead.
“What is this?” he asked without turning to look. His eyes burned and spit flecked his lips. “Your people broke her out?”
“I wasn’t totally helpless,” she said. She made a quick deduction and decided to seize upon it. “They’ll do more.”
He scrunched his face and stared. “More?”
Natyasha lifted her chin. “I didn’t know how things were going to go. I had hoped we could have worked together, but in case we can’t come to an agreement I have my people.”
“Your people,” he sneered. “One squad! And a few dead guards. Hardly able to take on my forces.”
“Then why do you look so worried?” Natyasha asked politely.
Myint glared at her and snuck a glance up at the screen. The crowd was surging against the walls and trying to escape. The orbital bombardment was peppering the center of the immigration facility, but if they hit the edges the walls would crumble. “Where are they?”
“Tell you so you can strangle me when it’s all done?” Natyasha crossed her arms.
Governor Myint charged through the crowd of seated technicians and officers and stood before Natyasha. He leaned in close, his hand almost touching her throat. “I’ll strangle you myself,” he hissed. “Where. Are. They?”
Natyasha wiped spit from her cheeks and stared into the Governors eyes. A part of her felt a tint of regret. “I want to run this planet. You can have the title, but it’s mine.”
“You bargain with me?” Myint said, with a hint of laughter. “Now? And you bargain?”
“My people, my methods, you’re the muscle, I’m the one who gets things done.”
Myint shoved Natyasha to the ground. “I’m the one who gets things done.”
Natyasha stared up at the Governor, eyes burning. She ground her fingernails into her palms to keep from lashing out.
“If I so choose, you’ll run this planet. Now where are they?” the Governor yelled.
She stood and her knees popped. Her shoulder was sore and the front of her jacket was torn and shredded. It hit her how close the Hun were to losing control. If those citizens surged out of the camp, they might be able to overwhelm the defenders on the wall. She ran the thought through her mind and instead stuck with what she knew right now. “I need a link.”
An aide rushed up and handed Natyasha a flexible communications cell. The sort found in vending machines, for free in advertising booklets, and given away at promotional events. She slid her fingers on the plastic front and tapped in a set of numbers.
The screen bounced between green and yellow. There was no name on the receiving end. Natyasha tapped the corner and the flexible device vibrated as one large speaker. It was ringing. There was a click and the sound of wind rushing past a microphone.
Governor Myint waved and the room went completely silent. He leaned over Natyasha’s outstretched hand and cocked his head to listen better.
“Bark,” Natyasha said. “Status?”
“We have her.”
“Where are you?”
There was only the sound of the wind for a moment. A dim mechanical sound hummed in the background.
“Heading towards the beach, down where the old Cleveland distillation tower was. Are you okay?”
Natyasha glanced at Governor Myint and held his gaze for a moment. There was a look of recognition that passed between them both. “Fine, things are working out here. What is the plan?”
“She has weapons, we’re going to get ‘em,” Bark said.
“Where?” Natyasha asked.
“Core facility, by the shore.”
“Which one?” Natyasha asked again. The only Core facility she knew of was destroyed on the first day of the occupation.
“I don’t know where yet, we’re almost there. They had it hidden in the junk.”
Governor Myint signaled for her to cut the call.
“I’ve got to go. Keep me informed. And Bark?”
“Yes?”
“You’re doing great things.”
“No, Councilor, you’re doing great things,” Bark added, and cut her end of the conversation.
Natyasha curled the phone into her palm. It felt like a weight of silver.
Governor Myint shouted orders and the officer sprung into action. The view of the some of the feeds changed and troops left posts and ran for transports.
He turned back to Natyasha. “We’re sending troops to that position. How well you fare will depend on how well my troops fare. I’ll not trust one who strays so quickly from the path. What surprises will we find?”
Natyasha looked back and felt pinpricks of worry on her neck. She had no doubt that the Governor would send overwhelming force. But she didn’t know what surprises they would find. “I told you where, I don’t know what you’ll find.”
Governor Myint walked away and stood before the screen. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
––––––––
The truck bounced across an intersection. The fog of the shore rose up in front of them. The taste of the briny sea was in her nose. Emilie looked away from Emmet and watched the empty streets pass by.
“You could have told Captain Grace,” Emilie said to Emmet.
The ex-Core Marine shook his head and glanced at the militia. “I wasn’t trusting anyone.”
“But he’s UC,” Emilie said.
“We didn’t know what happened. Kari got a couple, but...” He looked away.
Emilie looked behind her and watched the second truck bounce over the same intersection. Trust, she wondered, who to trust? Not many options, she thought and looked to Emmet and Kari. About the only ones she could trust. Bark too, she thought, gotta trust that one.
The mist enveloped her and the view shrank to only the sides of the road. The air tasted like salt mixed with dirt. The sun was blurred by a smudge of soot and smoke. A voice called out from the cab of the transport truck.
The trucks slowed to a crawl where the mist was the heaviest and stopped at the edge of the sea. A tall concrete embankment marked the dropoff. Rust stains and streaks of corrosion ran down the ugly barrier. On the other side, a scattered field of debris slid into the sea. Waves ran in from the distance and rolled up almost silently.
With Emmet’s guidance, the truck lurched backward and he plopped back down with a grumble. The second truck pulled up alongside and the remaining militia stepped out.
Kari hopped over the embankment and dropped into the mist. Emmet pushed open a stained door with a kick and squeak. Bark walked up to Emilie and stared into the empty space.
“Where is it?” Bark asked.
Emilie pointed out into the fog. “Out there.”
Emmet stepped into the darkness and called from inside. “It ain’t gonna unload itself, ladies.”
Bark glanced at Emilie and stepped into the darkened space. Emilie followed with the rest of the militia behind. A slender light popped on behind them and illuminated stack after stack of bulk containers. Behind them, a cargo elevator disappeared below.
“Huh,” Bark said.
Emilie smiled and popped open the first case. Inside was a heap of additive constructed Colt assault rifles. “Will this do?”
Bark ran a finger on the edge of the weapons and nodded slowly. “As long as you have slabs.”
“We got ‘em, lady. Best start hauling.”
The group broke into pairs and heaved the heavy cases out and into the back of the trucks. First came case after case of assault rifles followed by slab racks of ammunition.
Even with the cool mist Emilie was hot from the exertion. Her legs stumbled and shuffled forward as the handles bored into the joints of her fingers. “Hold on,” she said and dropped her edge of the case.
Bark stood and looked out to the sea. “All this right here?”
Emilie nodded and squeezed her hands open and closed. She wasn’t used to work like this. “It’s actually under water.”
Bark took two steps closer to the embankment and stared out into the debris. “In that?”
Emilie nodded.
Bark looked impressed, but just for a moment.
“Drones, too!” the driver of the truck called as he shuffled past with a case.
“Anything you didn’t make?” Bark asked as she laid her hands on the edge of the case.
Emilie heaved the case up and shuffled to the back of the truck. She spoke through clenched teeth. “Armored vehicles, the cells weren’t big enough.”
“I was kidding,” Bark replied, as the two heaved the case up and pushed it into the back of the truck. She turned and looked at Emilie. “I talked to the Councilor.”
She tensed and stepped away from the truck. “And?”
“She’s trying to work the diplomatic route.”
“Wait a second? We’re committed here. What’s she doing?”
Bark said nothing and walked towards the door.
“Does she know where we are?” Emilie asked louder. “Hey! Talk to me. What is she doing?”
Bark turned and looked at Emilie with her face set hard. “She went inside to talk to them.”
Emilie felt the fear rise in her stomach. Trust. “Can you trust her? Absolutely?”
Bark faltered a moment and her eyes darted away. “Yes.”
Emilie saw it and ran inside the dark room. “We’re done! Get it buttoned up.”
“What is it?” Emmet said loudly over the clang of the rising elevator.
“We need to go, we’ve been here too long.”
One of the militia grabbed a long case and tossed it over his shoulder. “They’re all at the immigration facility, ain’t no trouble here.”
Emilie threw her shoulders back, jabbed her hands onto her hip, shifted her posture and exuded as much power as she could. “We’re moving. Now.”
Emmet raised an eyebrow and grabbed his weapon. “Right, so what’s the plan?”
A single high pitched crack echoed out through the mist.
“Move!” Emmet yelled. “Troops coming in!”
The militia rushed out of the room and jumped into the backs of the trucks. Emilie took Bark’s offered hand and hopped up onto the stacks of crates. Her eyes darted into the fog as she tried to pick out details. One of the militia dropped his knockoff weapon with a clatter and loaded one of the Colt rifles.
A second crack sounded and Emmet yelled from the other truck. “Two squads coming up! One flanking!”
Bark leaned towards the cab. “Get going!”
“Where?” the man asked.
Muzzle bursts flashed through the fog and rounds pinged against the truck and skidded on the street. The side window of the truck puckered and hummed.
“Immigration!” Bark called out. “Get to that lockdown!”
Kari ran out from the fog. The truck stopped and threw everyone in the back off balance. The silent Marine hopped up in the back, her eyebrows set tight as if concentrating. Another high pitched crack sounded out. She nodded to Emilie and pulled out a short stocked bullpup sniper rifle.
“Go!” Bark yelled again as more rounds sang through the air.
Impacts rang out and shards of alloy splinters flew threw the back of the truck. The truck accelerated at a steady rate, as quickly as its reactor would allow, away and towards a sweeping curve. The front truck was pulling away slowly. Emmet stood with a hand locked onto the side.
Emilie crouched down and felt the truck dodge and dance. The gunfire sounded distant in her ears. Tired. She felt like she could curl up and lay down. It was tired mixed with an overdose of adrenaline, the sort that had burned in her for nearly twenty-four hours. She looked over at Bark and watched her drive a slab of ammunition into a rifle. “What are we going to do?”
Bark stopped, cocked her head slightly, and listened. “Once we lose the fog, we’re going to have a fight,” she said as she pulled the rifle up to her shoulder and let fly with a three round burst.
Emilie flinched at the sound. “After that?”
She never heard the answer. The lead truck slammed sideways as a Hun transport slammed into the front edge. The entire box leapt up as the leading edge tipped and rolled. Containers flew out and slammed against buildings and curbs. The Hun transport spun sideways with a screech of synthetic rubber. The following truck heaved and the driver slammed the brakes.
“Go, go!” Bark bellowed out as she spun and laid the rifle onto the top of the cab. The weapon barked out the first rounds just as the Hun troops spilled out of the back.
Emilie couldn’t find Emmet through the debris scattered on the road. Her eyes picked out detail after detail without regard for the Hun soldiers taking position around it.
“Get a fucking weapon!” Bark yelled to Emilie as she continued to shoot.
The truck weaved and accelerated. Rounds pinged all around. Bark fired and dropped down. She kicked open a dull gray box and pointed with her muzzle.
Emilie crawled over the uneven space and felt the truck decelerate. The case was filled with cylinders about the size of her forearm. She snatched one out and tucked in next to Bark.
“Fuck,” Bark said and pushed herself low.
The Hun troops laid out a wall of fire. Rounds slammed into the front of the truck and riddled the cab with holes. The plastic window made pong noises as more rounds burrowed through it. Only a heavy steel cargo barrier kept them from punching through to the other side. The driver was quite and totally dead.
Kari spoke in a grating voice. “Driver! We need a driver!”
A militia soldier dropped down into the street and his weapon clattered from his hands. He took two steps and opened the door. He fell to the ground screaming, clutching his legs before more gunfire silenced him.
The truck coasted driverless. The bloodstained arm of the dead driver hung out from the open door.
Emilie felt the fear like she’d never felt it before. Her eyes caught movement from behind and she saw Hun soldiers through the mist. She looked down at the canister and popped the top open. A small ball rolled out. She peered at it and had no idea what it was.
Bark grabbed two of the spheres and tossed them out of the truck. A concussion sounded as each slammed into the ground.
Emilie grabbed the last one and pitched it out like it was on fire. She felt the blast inside of her as it detonated close to the truck.
“Get ready to move!” Bark shouted, rising with the Colt. She dropped back down and leaped over the opposite side of the truck.
“Emmet!” Kari called out.
Emmet stepped from behind the fallen truck with his Browning heavy assault rifle cradled in one arm. The other arm was shorn clear away and his chest was a mass of bent and scarred alloy. Blood ran down from the corner of his mouth and one side of his face was pulped and torn.
A heavy thud-thud sounded from his weapon. Thick iridium backed slugs punched into the Hun troops sheltering in the debris. The troops turned and returned fire. Emmet trained the weapon from side to side as he lurched sideways. A second cluster of rounds slammed into the ex-Marine and he stumbled.
Bark dragged the corpse out of the driver seat and leaped inside. The truck slammed forward and accelerated once more. Kari crouched on the back with the bullpup rifle to her cheek and punched out one round after another. Hun troops fell in the distance.
Emilie felt her heart pull tight as she watched Emmet take one more step and fall to his knees. He dropped his weapon and toppled forward. The scattered Hun troops took cover behind the crashed trucks.
Kari finally stopped shooting and slid back into the truck. She wiped away tears from her eye and clutched the rifle to her breast.
“Few more minutes! We’ll be going in hot,” Bark said.
A pair of militia crouched in the back of the truck. One bound the shoulder wound of the other with a torn stretch of cloth. Emilie reached into a case and pulled one of the rifles out. She held a heavy slab in her hand. It was still slick with nanite residue. “Kari,” she said softly. “I don’t know how to load it.”
Kari wiped away another tear and looked up at Emilie with red eyes. She nodded and grabbed the weapon gently. She slapped in the slab and punched the lever. A light glowed for a second and dimmed. “Ready,” she said, with a hint of a sob on the edge of her gravelly voice.
“Thank you,” Emilie said. She meant it for not just the help, but also to the man who’d saved them all. She sat with her back against the side of the truck and felt very small and very unimportant.
The rising dust cloud blocked out the sun. Rumbles cascaded through the ground and shook the chassis of the truck. The stout vehicle pushed as quickly as it could directly towards the immigration center.
The air was almost still and the silt began to fall from the sky. Bits of shredded plastic, fabric, and grit fell in sheets. The street took on a look of dull gray.
Emilie sat up quickly. “Stop! Bark! Stop the truck.”
Bark turned her head quickly and pulled the vehicle off the side of the road and bumped the front against a heavy dumpster. “We’ve got to—”
“How did they know?” Emilie asked as she scrambled over the cases of weapons. “No one knew where to find us. Even you didn’t know about that facility. How did they know?”
Kari dropped down from the truck and kept watch around the side of the dumpster. She watched silently down the long street. The remaining militia soldiers watched the exchange.
“Give me the cell,” Emilie said. “I’m calling her.”
Bark shook her head. “She’s on our side, she walked in, I can’t compromise her.”
“Give me the damn cell!”
Bark jumped out of the cab of the truck and pulled herself into the back with her alloy arms. She jammed a finger at Emilie. “I saved your ass! She told me to!”
Emilie took a breath and questioned herself. “Then is she compromised?”
Bark shook her head. “No, she didn’t use any of the words.”
“Then let me talk to her,” Emilie said and held out a blistered hand.
Bark licked her lips and looked over her shoulder. She pulled a slender flexible cell out from a pocket and tapped on it. “Here.”
Emilie pushed the device to her face and felt it conform. A tone sounded in her ear followed by silence and another tone.
“Where are you?” the voice asked.
“This is Rose.”
There was silence for a moment. “Where’s Bark?”
“Organizing the militia.”
“Why?”
Emilie looked up at Bark and saw the anger on her face. “We’re assaulting the elevator. Militia coming in from west. As long as they’re tied up with the bombardment, we’ve got a chance.”
“What are you doing?” Natyasha hissed back. “You don’t even understand, you’ll get those people killed!”
“Get clear, the assault will begin soon,” Emilie said and halted the call.
“You bitch,” Bark spat. Her alloy hands pushed Emilie down onto the litter of cases. “You lied!”
“If she was under duress you would have known?” Emilie said.
Bark glared at Emilie and didn’t answer.
“If we don’t see any movement, then she’s with us. If we see troops move, then we know she’s not.”
Bark shook her head. “You don’t know her. She’d give everything for this planet. She’s the real hero here.”
Emilie smiled. “Then she can prove me wrong. We have to wait for the next bombardment, anyway.”
The sound of tires and high pitched gear boxes grew louder. Bark crouched down and stared over the back of the soot layered dumpster. Emilie watched Bark’s face and saw it change from anger to disgust.
A half a kilometer down the long lane a set of three heavy Hun transports passed into view for a brief moment and disappeared, heading towards the elevator. The sound disappeared as quickly as it came.
“Let’s go,” Bark yelled down to Kari and hopped out of the truck. She got into the cab and stared into the steel wall of the dumpster.
Emilie watched her for a moment and felt that something was lost there, but she didn’t know what.
Bark backed the truck up and halted when the nose cleared the dumpster. “I’m gonna bust down the gates.”
“Oh boy!” the militia soldier said. He pushed himself against the truck and grinned through a set of stained teeth.
Tires skidded for a moment on the debris strewn street before finally catching and lurching the group forward. The truck accelerated quickly before slowing and making the corner that the Hun trucks had come from. Down at the end of the road, a wide set of heavy steel gates hung with guard towers on either side.
Behind the gate was a picture of hell. Geysers of dirt and debris blasted into the air. A rumble sounded a moment later with a crack rebounding off the clouds. Pin pricks of light showed where muzzle blasts came from the walls of the complex.
Emilie looked on in horror as she thought of everyone trapped inside. Nowhere to run out, and nowhere to go in. “How many people are there?” she said to the now sober faced soldier.
“All of ‘em.”
“What?”
“Anyone Malic’s boys didn’t like, along with every immigrant.”
She didn’t need to ask how many immigrants there were. She knew: it was a line item on her P&L statement. Nearly a quarter of a million. Each and every one owed Emilie for their indenture. The fact that she thought of that made her feel sick.
“Hold on,” Bark said.
The rumble dropped away and the geysers of debris stopped. Gunfire peppered through the air as those trapped within tried to escape. Buildings flew by as the stout truck went faster and faster. The air whipped through the back and the tires hummed louder.
Emilie felt it in her stomach, a fear blended with excitement. She was long past the effects of adrenaline and felt almost giddy. The air blew her hair back and forth. She looked back at Kari and nodded. The Core augment focused on the approaching gate.
She looked down and realized she didn’t have a weapon. Anxiety washed over her. She almost laughed with the absurdity of it all. The gate loomed large before her.
The Hun troops stationed on top of the wall had their backs to the empty road. The gate was wide enough for a pair of trucks to pass. They could see the individual troops now, both human and bioaugments. The truck was barely fifty meters from the gate when the brute stepped out.
It came from behind a building. It wore a set of the heavy plate armor with a single barreled autocannon held out front, like a walking tank. The autocannon swung out towards the road.
The vehicle bucked to the side. Emilie shrieked and gripped the side of the truck. The truck barreled close and clipped the Hun giant.
A sound like a bawling calf bellowed out. It dropped the autocannon and swung to the side in an amazing oversized pirouette. The bulk of the giant stumbled back and crashed into a street pole, dragging down the light fixture and slamming it into the ground. Its stomach opened like an overripe melon and a gusher of blackish-orange blood streamed out. The creature lolled back and came to rest against a wall.
The truck skidded and impacted the gate. The gate buckled in and it seemed that, just for a moment, it would hold and stop the truck. Then something sheared and the gates blasted open. The front wheel had collapsed on the initial impact and the truck slammed through the gate. It hop-skidded to a halt against the edge of a bullet ridden building and fell onto its side. The truck was surrounded by a mass of corpses.
Emilie pushed a case off of her and heard the sounds of bullets slamming into the bottom of the truck. Her body was raw and all nerves. She snapped her head from one side to the next and saw Kari loading a weapon. On the other side of her, the militia soldier was clutching a piece of bone jutting out from his leg. “Oh god,” she whispered.
Then they streamed in from the ruins. Men, women, children. Young and old. All covered in dirt, grime, blood, more like walking corpses than humans. The gunfire from the wall hit some but still they came. Most surged for the wreckage of the gate: freedom. Then a voice stopped them.
“To me! To me! Arm yourself!” Bark bellowed out. The ex-Marine fired back at the troops on the wall from behind the cover of the truck. “To me, Winterthur! To me!”
Emilie watched, breathless, as men and women leaped into cover and loaded weapon after weapon. Then it hit her: a good portion of the immigrants would have veteran’s preference. That lofty goal of enlistment that let them immigrate without paying a corporate sponsor. Most lay dead in the gravel and grime, but some were preparing.
The soldiers of Winterthur, her sick and huddled masses, were off for vengeance.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
––––––––
William stared hard at the display and tried to ignore the itch in his augmetic hand. It was almost unbearable and no matter how hard he clenched his suit he just couldn’t sooth it. To top it off, he was hungry. To a man who had once nearly starved to death, it was bordering on agonizing.
He pushed the memories away and snuck a tiny gulp of protein gel. It tasted sticky and sweet in his mouth but did nothing to sooth his hunger. What next? He wondered. Two options that he saw: one was to win and dock up before the ship totally disintegrated, or lose and die. The tricky part was that the elevator was most likely filled with Hun troops. So even if they did survive the naval battle, they might die. He glanced at the surface of the planet and saw that he needed the ground secured as much as they needed him.
“Plot shows the Brendan coming in after our first orbit. It’ll, uh, enter orbit about twenty degrees above the equator. She’ll swing another twenty up and drop the pods,” Shay said through her comms system. Her voice had the sound of being inside of a plastic bag.
William slid his hands on his console and ran through the orbit. He didn’t like the ambiguity of the screen. The Gallipoli was on the same orbit but it could break that and change before he’d know it. Then he’d try to swat at a ship that wasn’t there. Instead it would be hitting the dropship.
Though he knew if they kept on course, he would slam into them from below. They couldn’t brake or change course enough for the first pass.
He didn’t like any of the options. He knew the dropship needed to get covered so he focused on that single fact. Everything else would come after, one way or the other.
The Garlic slid into a low orbit and set the course to dip below the southern pole of the planet. It was night below with not a single pinprick showing the touch of man. Then it was white. The stunningly white surface blasted light up and caused the displays to shift back and dim it down.
William double checked the plot and the weapons program. “Sound it, Ms. Shay, it’s that time.”
Shay nodded and set the ship into weapons ready. There were no sounds in the vacuum, just the shudder in the floor announcing that the weapons were loaded. Bits of grit fell from the ceiling in a cloud of dust. The screen flashed the missile alarm, showing the same loader alert.
“Huron, any word on those missiles?” William asked.
“Hands full right now, Captain,” Huron replied.
The engineering display was a kaleidoscope of colors and blinking lights. It showed nanite alarms, structural alarms, failed stress sensors, and a wide range of ailments. The reactor, the Haydn drive, and the three mass drivers were the only healthy systems.
Every eye was locked onto the sensor bank. The Gallipoli was due any moment.
“Bryce?”
“Sir?”
“Any word from the surface?” William asked, without moving his gaze from the display.
“No sir!” Bryce called back quickly.
“Oh—” Shay said, and then the mass drivers opened up.
Instead of seeing the sleek form of the mercenary corvette, the signature of a torpedo blasted in. The bulk of the device was nothing but propulsion with the rest being a dense nanite explosive charge.
The torpedo was below and the acceleration plot showed it trying to shift and dance up closer to the Garlic. In a sudden blast of white, it fell apart in a cloud of shrapnel which drifted away beneath the ship.
William saw the heat readouts for the mass drivers peaking higher than they should. “Huron? Why are my drivers overheating?”
“They sink heat into the hull. It’s all nanite conduit, Captain. The nanites are failing.”
“Shit,” William said. “Bryce, you better be on the ball. We’re gonna need some fancy piloting.”
Bryce didn’t say anything but his helmet bobbed forward and back.
William double checked that his console was cloned for nav control and waited. He wanted to trust Bryce, wanted to know he could pilot, roll and dodge, but he had doubt.
The displays lit up once again and the Gallipoli was on them. The nimble corvette had burned into a higher orbit while sticking to the same plane. Mass driver slugs plowed down and the ones that missed turned into bright green meteorites below. Racks of missiles fired along with an aged railgun gushing out a spray of yellow sparks.
The Garlic responded in kind and stuttered out a continuous series of mass driver slugs. The Garlic had the advantage with heavier, faster firing mass drivers while the corvette had a wider variety of ordnance.
The Gallipoli dodged and rolled as the slugs plowed into it. William watched with envy, and a touch of dread. The nimble corvette danced and shuddered as it blew through its orbit. The corvette pivoted on the center line while rolling all at once. Green dashes flared on the grav shields while most of the rounds either passed into space or deflected in a green streak.
Slugs slammed into the Garlic in a steady rhythmic pattern. A thick shock rattled the floor as the railgun connected. A piece of the ceiling crashed onto the flour like a ball of mostly set concrete. Bryce fought to roll and present a new edge but the Garlic couldn’t match the evasive maneuvering of a linked pilot. When they did roll, only one of the mass drivers could fire.
“Twenty seconds!” Shay called out. Already the ships had passed and the distance between the two was growing.
William snapped his eyes between Bryce and the display. “Stop roll. All weapons into the firing arc.”
He felt stupid relying on the simulations and trusting that the corvette was just a corvette. He was fairly sure it was modified with lateral drives for a much larger ship. He let his anger get the best of him and now the dropship was at risk.
The slugs pushed across a widening gap. The heavy rounds from the Garlic made a few final strikes before the two ships were out of engagement range. Only the railgun on the Gallipoli fired once more. The shock of the impact made the lights blink.
Bryce let out a sigh and his suit shook. “Oh god.”
“Bryce, you got to relax. Look at that plot, you did great. They’re firing smaller rounds and no one can dodge a railgun.”
“I know, I know,” Bryce whispered.
“You’re going to do this, Bryce,” William said, and felt it in his heart. “Shay and I are right here beside you. No one’s alone.”
Bryce nodded and Shay cast a glance up at William. He nodded to her and modified his weapons program.
“Course change, Captain?” Bryce asked in a nervous voice.
William watched the last plot and wondered if Mustafa would come in low, high, or stay where he was. If it was him, he’d try and come around to where the dropship would be. Just thinking of the defenseless hulk coming in made his stomach tighten.
“I’m redirecting that heat, Captain, you’ve got full rate,” Huron said.
“To where?”
“The Haydn drive. I figured we’re not going to need it for a bit.”
William applauded the logic, but the fatalism of it struck him. If they won, they could coast and let it cool. He didn’t bother putting thought into the alternatives. “Well done!”
“Can I do anything better, Captain?” Bryce asked with his helmet bowed down.
“Keep doing what you’re doing, Bryce. Once we get out of this, I’ll get you so drunk you won’t remember where you’re from.”
“But I don’t drink,” Bryce replied.
“Well then,” Shay said. “I can’t think of a better time to start.”
Now that he had a full rate of fire, it was time to use it. “Course change! Cancel polar roll, sling up and in!”
If he could get more parallel, he’d have more time for his mass drivers to work. Though he saw that by altering the course, the dropship would come in without an escort. But that wouldn’t matter if he could hit ‘em hard and make ‘em break, he thought.
“Captain?” Shay asked. “The Brendan...”
“I know,” William said. “What’s the reload time on that torpedo?”
Shay did a double take with her helmet and leaned over her console. “If it’s a Siemens, another forty minutes, but if it’s a LunarPlow, then it’ll be ready when we come around.”
“Dropship coming in,” Shay said. The screen above her showed the changing space as the elevator snuck up above the horizon. The information overlaid a blink with the signature of the Brendan hovering next to it. The heavy vessel was still an orbit out and burning slowly across the gap.
“All right, here we go!” William said.
The alarms blared.
Mass drivers slammed out a wall of nickel slugs as the torpedo banked in close. It was a bit high, but the acceleration readings showed it coming in.
“Bryce! Roll and bring her down!” William cried out, his eyes wide as the torpedo loomed large on the display.
Slugs pushed past and around in a silent cascade. A green streak marked the side of the torpedo as one slug grazed it. It was almost a miracle that anything could pass through the wall of defensive fire pouring out from the Garlic.
It detonated and pushed out a wave of plasma with an explosive core shredding kilometers of wrapped alloy. The outer bits frayed and went out as tiny particles while the inner pieces welded to themselves and spalled out, hot and sticky. The grav shields of the Garlic shrugged off the bits of low density filament but the spall was a different story.
The first piece came in high and gouged deeply into the nanite-weakened hull. Asteroid and aggregate peeled away like the wake of a boat. The next piece came in close and bored in deep. Hot alloy blistered the nanite shell and finally embedded itself along the edge of a passage. Alarms announced the arrival with the final bit of atmosphere disappearing into space.
“Woah! Look at that board!” Shay yelled out.
The maintenance screen looked carnival like: all bright colors and flashing icons.
How the hell did they know? William concentrated. “Shit! Sensors active! Anti-recon scan.”
The sensors blasted to life and immediately showed a return on a small instrument package designed to look like an asteroid. The mass driver burped once and it was gone.
William stared at the maintenance screens and watched the lines for the mass drivers. They stayed green. His heart rose and he nodded. Everything else was secondary now. A quick glance showed that his own satellite would give them some details on the next orbit. If there was a next orbit. “Get ready!” he cried out and then the mass drivers fired.
The Gallipoli came in close for the second pass. The sleek hull bore pits and craters but was mostly functional. The two ships were moving more parallel to each other. The quick dash and blast of the first engagement was replaced by a longer approach.
“Fucker can dance,” Shay mumbled to herself and nudged Bryce.
Mass driver slugs peppered the leading edge of the Gallipoli as the corvette pivoted and rolled. The two came closer, the paths nearer to converging. The Gallipoli poured out searing mass driver fire with the antique railgun punching into the disintegrating aggregate.
With every strike the alarms blared and sounded. Strain sensors buried deep within the hull registered changes where there should be none. The nanite binder kept the hull together like a concrete wrapped around a piece of rebar. Every shot chipped away gouges of material. Behind them a cloud of binders drifted away.
William leaned over and felt the crunch of the suit on his stomach. It adjusted and eased out. His hand itched like an ember had dropped on it. He clenched his fist tight and watched his program cycle and feed. It was learning. With every dance, the statistical package collated the data. The one flaw of a human pilot was an inevitable predictability. The Gallipoli was favoring certain patterns, Salamasina was making errors that only a computer could analyze.
The moment the two ships were closest the mass drivers fired. The heat alerts flared for a split second before dropping back down. Haydn alarms sounded in kind and Shay silenced them with a quick glance at William. If they were ever committed, this was the moment.
As if to accent the fact the next railgun strike from Gallipoli pierced the hull hard. There was no atmosphere left to vent but the ultra velocity round punched deep and sprayed molten alloy and carbon binder through the commons area.
William felt his heart drop as the biometrics for three of his crew dropped away. The butcher’s bill was rising. He pushed it away and focused on the task at hand.
The accelerometers hovered at zero and the evasive maneuvering stopped. William snapped his eyes down to the cloned console and saw that Bryce was doing nothing. The young Midshipman held his hands over the console.
“Bryce!”
His hands shook, visible even through the spacesuit.
No time. No time. William slammed his hands down onto the console and pulled control away. The Garlic pitched and drove a new quarter towards the Gallipoli. One mass driver was obscured, but the damage was pounding onto a new flank.
The statistical program tallied each strike and showed a rise in landed rounds. It was predicting, and it was predicting correctly. The Gallipoli continued to weave and dance, but the mass drivers came into the right spots at the right moment. A bright flash lit out from the hull followed by an incandescent white burning. One of the Gallipoli’s mass drivers was arcing out.
“There we go!” Shay cheered. She diverted systems and fought to keep the ship alive. On her console the maintenance feeds came in and she rerouted and changed what she could. Huron repaired what required wrench or fiber.
The Garlic was finally showing what a proper warship could do. The sustained duration of the contact was adding up for the little corvette. The Garlic, larger and heavier, was absorbing the rounds, even with the hull degrading and falling apart. While the smaller ship had less mass to absorb the heavier nickel slugs from the Garlic.
“I’m going into overload,” William said to Shay. He increased the rate of fire pouring from the mass drivers and rotated the ship to bring both mass drivers to bear. He could see the damage accumulating, time to push it.
“Rerouting!” Shay replied quickly.
The heat readings on the mass drivers surged higher and paused while the Haydn drive blasted alerts out. It wasn’t designed to act as a heat sink, but so far nothing had burned out.
An almost continuous streak of slugs poured out and danced around the Gallipoli. The corvette couldn’t dodge them all, even with the skills of Salamasina. Nickel impacted and flared out in green chemical gouts while nanite coatings ate away at the hull. The thermal view of the Gallipoli showed white pock marks where every slug landed. Every panel showed serious damage.
William gritted his teeth. So close, he thought. So close. His heart rose and he almost cried as he saw the cool blue jet of atmosphere flare out from the Gallipoli, but a moment later it was gone. That, he knew, was a serious wound on such a small ship.
The Gallipoli pulled away in its orbit and the gunfire from the corvette stopped. The two ships now spread apart, in sight, but the gap was far enough to keep the weapon fire down. A flash burst out from the Gallipoli and alarms sounded. Serious red icons blasted onto every screen. Power winked and flared and even the lights dimmed.
“What was that?” William asked, but he already knew. The railgun from the Gallipoli had landed a critical blow. His heart sunk.
“Captain!” Huron cried. “The Haydn!”
Shay’s hands flew across her console and the maintenance screens danced by. “It hit the superconductor, all the energy surged back into the drivers.”
“What do we do!” Bryce spun to face William. His eyes were red and streaked with tears. “You!” he yelled and pointed his gloved hand at William, his face broken into a sneer. “You killed us all!”
“Midshipman!” William shouted. “Take your position!” He raised his eyes from Bryce and to the display and back down again. The engagement wasn’t broken yet. He feared, more than anything else, a torpedo. If it came he’d have nothing to defend with.
Bryce spun and kneeled on his seat with his face a meter away from William. He reached out a hand and grabbed on, pulling himself closer on the confines of the bridge.
William pulled back and could hardly believe what he was seeing. He raised his leg to kick down at Bryce but the young man was already coming close and shrugged off the kick. Bryce crawled on top of William and shook him by the shoulders.
“Bryce!” Shay yelled and grabbed one leg and pulled him off balance.
It was enough of an opening and William pushed him away. Bryce rolled back over his chair and console and fell onto the floor.
“Secure him!” William ordered. His anger fired and he felt no pity for the collapsed officer. Of all moments to have a breakdown, William could hardly have picked a worse one.
Bryce jumped to his feet, eyes gone wild. One arm snapped forward and cracked Shay on the front of her faceshield. She fell back and crumbled onto the floor, a streak of blood flashed against the front. William leaned back and drove his foot out when Bryce dove for him.
The Midshipman flew back and smacked against the wall just below the viewscreens. He rose and dove forward again. “You! You killed us! You fool!”
William met him and grappled with his arms on Bryce’s. Their faceshields cracked together and he could see the agony and rage on Bryce’s face. Beneath the veneer was fear. Raw, animal fear. William punched out once, twice, and the third time connected with the side of the helmet. His own helmet was being pushed back and he felt the seams stretch and tug. An alarm blinked on the edge of his vision: the suit was beginning to fail.
The punch threw Bryce off balance but not enough. He had the advantage and pushed against Bryce’s helmet with both hands. William’s punches were landing but it wasn’t enough to knock Bryce away.
William wondered, just for a second, if this was it. Everything he’d gone through led up to this one moment, killed by a berserk crewmember. No, killed by himself for making bad decisions. No use putting blame when it all came down to him.
The seal alarm changed into a red puncture alert. Atmosphere alarms blinked across the front of William’s faceshield. Giant blinking yellow letters. BREACH BREACH. He strained with every muscle and tried to push off but Bryce was anchored with his feet against the back of a console.
William thrashed and kicked, the fear rising. His augmetic hand smashed time and time into the side of Bryce’s head.
Bryce dropped down onto William’s chest and a cry like a mewing sound came out of him. Behind him Shay pulled on his legs and drug him off of William. William clutched the throat of his suit with one hand while the other quickly patted his side for the emergency gel pack. Black dots danced on his vision with the only sounds being his own heartbeat in his ears.
Shay reached forward and slammed Bryce’s head off of the console. Again. Again. Three times. Her face was serious, professional, without a hint of anger. The fourth strike buckled in the side of the faceshield. Bryce thrashed and flailed as if on fire. Shay grasped one arm and pushed him off of the bridge.
William squeezed the gel pack in his hands and felt the seal pop. A slick coolness on his throat told him that the nanite gel had seeped into the right spot. He let out a sigh as the pressure alarm stabilized. The blinking BREACH dropped away and his view was normal. “Shay?”
Shay stood with one arm on the bulkhead and looked out of the bridge. “He’s dead.” She stumbled back and fell into her seat. One side of her faceshield was streaked and red with blood from the inside. “Can’t wipe the damn thing,” she muttered.
“Take nav,” William said.
“Got it,” her voice replied without any emotion.
William stared down at his display. “Huron? Options?”
Huron replied a moment later with his breathing tight. “Uh, I’m trying to seal the conduit. Then maybe?”
William scrolled down the maintenance alarms and noticed one was missing. The missile loader alarm disappeared. A single green icon showed his launcher was ready to fire.
“Shay! We’ve got missiles!” he said excitedly and leaned over his console and called up the next plot. The dropship was coming in, his feed bounced back from his satellite and saw that the Gallipoli would arc in close.
“Get us right on top of ‘em, Shay,” William said.
“Sir?” Shay replied with a glance through the red of her face shield.
“We’ve got one chance. They won’t be dodging a barrage of missiles. We need to hit them before they can hit the dropship.”
Shay nodded.
The course appeared on the screen and the ship slid into a new orbit. William laid out a simple weapons program. All he had to do was get close and the barrage would do the rest. The thought of the torpedo tickled on the back of his mind. Would they shoot at him or take out the dropship?
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Governor Myint seethed a fiery rage. His shoulders trembled while his hands flexed into fists of white hate. His gaze never left the viewscreen above him.
Behind him the staff labored on comms equipment and over consoles. No one walked near the Governor and everyone ignored Natyasha. She stood in the corner of the command room and breathed in the stale air.
Natyasha watched the Governor and ignored everyone else. She knew he was it, the key. She felt a touch of remorse for herself and shut it out quickly. This wasn’t a time for remorse, it was a time of action. “Governor,” she called above the noise of the room.
The room went nearly silent as hands hovered over keys and no one dared to look up. Yet everyone listened and watched without rising an eye to either.
Governor Myint cocked his head. His hands stopped flexing.
“Let me speak,” Natyasha said, and wondered if she should have kept silent. She’d tossed in her lot with them and still saw it as the best way to survive. Her gut said it was time to double down.
“To who?” Myint spat.
“To all of them.”
Myint licked his lips. “Your intentions?”
“Reinforce the legal government,” Natyasha said.
“That better be this government.”
“There’s only one government, and it’s here.”
A pair of officers cleared out a console and hurriedly attached a slender microphone. A technician snaked a cable across the room and lay on his back underneath. The console chirped twice and a new set of data rolled across as the technician stood and set it up.
Myint walked over to a weary eyed officer and pulled a pistol from his holster. His bony fingers plucked at the slide and released it with a snap, seating a caseless round. He rested the pistol against his hip and bored his eyes into Natyasha.
Natyasha stepped close to the console and felt the weight of her future on her shoulders. She saw the truth before her, the binary decision to be made. Before she could always dodge, weave, lie, and bribe her way out of difficult places. She could see the console like a lectern where she would speak her own fate. Her face felt warm and she nodded to Governor Myint.
“I wouldn’t mince words,” Governor Myint said with a glance at the pistol. “This is not a time for subtlety.”
She looked at the pistol and knew that nothing but truth would come out of it if she spoke wrong. “I understand.” Her eyes went to the technician.
The technician nodded. “Is ready.”
She didn’t need anyone to tell her it was ready. She’d seen the view a thousand times before. A blinking blue icon that made the adrenaline rise. The ability to speak to everyone with a cell. Normally it only went to those on her political list, but the emergency notification opened it to everyone. Everyone.
Her finger tapped on the blue icon and held it for a moment. She glanced up at Myint and saw his hard eyes. This is it, she thought, like the chicken and pig. Her finger released and a friendly tone sounded. The feed was live.
“Citizens,” she purred. “The time is upon us to seek our liberty. Long have we toiled under the shackles of Core and now Core is back and using you for their own gain.” She glanced at Myint. He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look unhappy either.
“At this moment, a Core agent seeks to deprive you of your freedom. The freedom we have worked so diligently with our friends to achieve.” Her voice rose and her fingers stabbed out. “Know now the deceit! Core will use you! Burden you! Make slaves of you! Fight not the troops from the Harmony Worlds but fight those who seek to shackle your liberty.” She took a breath and made sure it was audible. “Now is the moment of our nation. If you’ve taken up arms against the legitimate Government of Winterthur, then lay them down. If you’ve done nothing, then stay out of harm’s way and remain safe. This minor disturbance will be over soon enough.”
She saw the necessity in the words even if the truth was a bit muddled. To her, the moment was ripe for the plucking. A time to inspire. A time to drive her ideals home. But most of all, a time for her to secure what was hers. Winterthur.
“Winterthur, this is our greatest moment. I, as I’ve always done, will lead you all to prosperity.” She tapped the console and looked up to Governor Myint.
Governor Myint set the pistol onto a table and nodded. “What luck,” he said with a wry smile. “For this colony to have a shepherd like you.”
Natyasha straightened herself up and felt the insult hit her. She shrugged it off and stood as proud as she could. Vichy. The word hit her and she had vague memories of the feeling behind the word. Vichy. France? she wondered. They did what they had to, better to rule under occupation then suffer the brutality of an occupier ruling. “Indeed,” she replied dryly.
“Get the Gallipoli,” Governor Myint snapped.
A single panel of the multifaceted display blinked black and showed a comms pending indicator. To the left of it, a screen showed an orbital plot with the Gallipoli, an unnamed UC ship and a larger ship approaching near the elevator. The Gallipoli was on the opposite side of the planet from the elevator but on the right side to come in before the UC ship.
Green flared into yellow and Mustafa’s mustached face stared back. “What?” His face was ringed in sweat with dried blood caked on the bridge of his nose. Behind him the space was dark with a crackle of arcing electricity.
“Status?”
Mustafa scrunched his face and glanced above the camera. “One more pass. They’re toothless now. But that dropship is gonna get those pods off.”
“Unacceptable,” Governor Myint snapped. “Disregard the UC ship, stop those capsules!”
“What? You stop the damned troops on the ground. That UC ship isn’t out of the fight yet!”
“I thought you said it was toothless?” Governor Myint replied in a low tone. His eyes glared at Mustafa.
“For now,” Mustafa replied. “But—”
“Hit the dropship.”
“They’ll get some capsules away,” Mustafa said.
“Priests and nuns? We can handle that,” Natyasha said.
Governor Myint turned and looked to Natyasha. “Nuns? Priests?” He raised his chin and looked up at the screen. “Wait and engage both, we’ll handle those capsules on the ground.”
Mustafa turned away from the camera, spoke to someone, and looked back. “They’ll get about half of the pods out, but we should be able to work it.”
“Excellent. We’ll be up with the ship’s master. Once the UC ship is destroyed, you will escort us out.”
Mustafa nodded slowly.
“We’re leaving?” Natyasha added quickly.
Governor Myint spoke something in another language and the staff began to shut everything down. He looked to Natyasha. “No, we’re leaving. If the troops on the ground can settle this then we shall return.”
Natyasha felt her heart drop and grasped the edge of a console for support. “But I did what you wanted! I’m committed!” Her eyes snapped around the room and saw uncaring faces focusing on other tasks. By the time she looked over, Governor Myint was almost out of the room. “What do I do?”
He stopped and smoothed out his coat. His dark eyes looked up at the display and back down to Natyasha. “I suggest you find a weapon and help defend this complex.”
“But—”
Governor Myint spoke to Mustafa. “If this complex falls, you are to bombard the elevator.”
“Affirmative,” Mustafa said slowly and glanced at Natyasha. His eyes looked conflicted, but just for a moment. He nodded and the feed cut out.
Natyasha stood on shaky legs and watched as the staff streamed out. Everything and now this, she thought. “Damn all of you.”
A pair of soldiers escorted two men through the space after Governor Myint. One was mostly bald with skin thin like onion paper. The other wore the sallow eyed look of an addict struggling out from the bad side of a recovery. The old one walked proudly and regarded Natyasha with a casual glance. Then she was the only one left.
She felt betrayed but knew that wasn’t the right feeling. No, she thought, right feeling, wrong word. She glanced over at the pistol Myint had left. Two steps and she hefted it.
Loud thumping sounds echoed through the complex. A higher pitched sound came in just after. A sound she knew well, as did everyone else on the planet. The sound of the elevator rising.
Natyasha felt the weight in her hand and walked out into the wide hallway. Never before had she felt so alone, but never before had she felt so right. She glanced down at the blocky firearm and walked towards the sound of the fighting. She saw a single human officer leading a platoon of the bioaugments and watched it go by. No, she thought, I think I’ll wait here.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
––––––––
Bark stared down at the ground and shook with anger.
“What now?” Emilie yelled to Bark above the sound of gunfire. She stayed down below the edge of a concrete embankment. “Bark
Bark looked up with eyes that were ringed in tears and bracketed by cheeks of rose. Her voice choked for a moment as if unable to find the words.
Gunfire sounded in the distance, faint and sporadic. The makeshift militia had surged out to the edge of the complex and stood in the grime covered streets. Eyes looked back to the sky expecting more violence to rain down. A thin mist trailed down and seeped into the silt.
They had all stopped and listened to the broadcast. Every pocket cell hummed and sang the message. Emilie felt eyes on her as Core was mentioned, but ignored it all. The memory of the bombardment was too fresh for Natyasha Dousman’s words to stand.
She scanned the streets and saw everyone at a standstill, leaderless. “Bark?”
Bark looked up and locked her eyes onto Emilie.
“We need to move.”
“I know.”
“Now.” Emilie glanced at the crowds. They all seemed to be watching her and Bark. Far in the distance, more gunfire sounded.
“Bark?”
Bark stood quickly and pointed her finger at a group of mud streaked survivors. “You!” she said to the only surviving militia soldier from the truck.
“Me?” he called back. He sprinted across the street and nearly fell on the slick pavement. “What?”
“Name?”
“Pavel Gregorivic.”
“Pavel,” she said and nodded. “Get a truck, fill it with people, and get more weapons. Take half a dozen that are armed, too.”
Pavel nodded and ran back to the group where he came from. They broke off and ran down the street. He stopped a dozen meters away. “Where do I go then?”
“Just listen, follow the explosions,” Bark called back.
Pavel smiled and gave a sloppy salute and ran after the rest of his group.
Bark stood and hefted her weapon into the crook of her arm. She glanced back and forth down the street. Immigrants stretched along the battered wall of the complex. They wore mismatched body armor and recovered weapons. “Anyone who’s served, come to me!”
Men and women ran forward, hunched low, and crouched near Bark. She glanced down at them all and seemed to weigh each before looking to the next.
Emilie took them in and saw angry faces, wounds, blood, and mud. She knew what they felt: betrayal, anger, with just a taste of freedom.
“Break up into squads,” she said. “Dozen or so to each of you, make sure everyone has at least one heavy rifle. Priority is the brutes.” Her voice was level, professional, without a hint of anger. “We’re heading for the elevator. For now, we hold them there.”
Heads nodded around her.
“If you find a transport, load up whoever you can. If you meet militia, tell ‘em you’re with Bark.”
“What about them?” a woman asked with a thumb pointing towards a corpse who wore the uniform of Malic’s men.
Bark looked at the corpse and nodded. “Engage.”
They nodded and grasped weapons.
“Go, form ‘em up. If you get cells, dial my number, that’s how we’ll coordinate.” Bark rattled off a quick string of numbers and watched them go.
“That’s it?” Emilie asked, feeling that it was anticlimactic.
Bark looked down the long road heading towards the elevator, eyes squinting. “Yup, that’s it.”
“If we can get inside the complex I can get drones on the field,” Emilie said. She felt the waves of exhaustion and adrenaline wash over her.
“Drones?”
“We have them, but without a neural net we can’t do anything with them.”
Cracks of gunfire sounded in the distance, but the silence that hung seemed out of place.
“Where’s the bombardment?” Emilie asked. It was overdue, she could feel it in her bones.
The ragged group moved slowly at first. Unsure and unstable like a wobbling giant. At every dirty alley they gained more confidence, more speed, but not a single bit more grace. The group plodded forward as quickly as the wounds would allow. Some lurched farther and snapped back towards the mob.
Mob, Emilie thought. A mob. This is not an army, it’s a riot with a goal. She turned to speak to Bark and saw her engaged on her cell. She wanted to ask how they would engage and then she knew.
The group of Hun soldiers was pitched up inside of a low apartment building. The first round struck a man in the throat and sprayed blood onto the street. People scattered towards alleys, doorways, anywhere with cover. Some had no idea where it came from and paid the toll as automatic weapons fired into the groups.
“Cover!” Bark screamed.
Emilie leaped over a concrete embankment and followed Bark. The two huddled behind a delivery vehicle with four flat tires. “What now?”
Bark flipped out her cell. “Move one street to either side. Keep moving.”
Emilie watched the groups dissipate and melt away. “What are you doing?”
Bark cocked her head. “Not getting into a thirty minute firefight with three soldiers. We need to lock them down into that complex.”
Emilie was angry for a second and then took a breath. “Your lead.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
The streets were slick with silt and mud. Eyes watched from above inside of the apartments. Those on the ground glanced up warily but continued forward. Some streamed out from the buildings and took position. Bark hollered out to some she knew. They were gaining strength, but the elevator complex grew in the distance.
More gunfire echoed out from ahead. The heavy tut-tut sounds of autocannons slowed the approach. Emilie felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and jogged closer to the sides of the street. No one moved in the middle of the road. Everyone hunched forward and prepared.
Stacks of cargo containers loomed up and signaled that the elevator complex was coming near. As if the giant black ribbon disappearing into the clouds wasn’t enough of a reminder. A loud crack rang out and a woman crumpled to the ground.
Emilie sprinted forward and slid in next to a corrosion streaked container that wore blocky letters that said WALMART. Then she heard the gunfire exploding all around her. She didn’t even try to peek up. A woman next to her fired an automatic. Emilie could taste the nanite propellant in her mouth. “What is it?” she asked.
The woman finished firing the clip and slid back against the bluish container. “Why don’t you look?”
Emilie leaned forward a bit and felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She glanced back and saw Bark with her cell to her ear and a stern look on her face.
“Don’t,” Bark said, in a quick pause, and continued speaking into the cell.
The surge of the rabble halted against the first lines of Hun troops. Cracks and sporadic fire popped between the two groups with each side testing the other. Bodies lay broken on the mud slicked street with only the mist running down their faces.
Then they dropped down.
Emilie didn’t notice anything until the screams sounded from behind her. She whipped her head back and saw a hairless apelike creature with a stubby submachine gripped in arms too long. It swung the weapon and fired wildly at the crouched militia. She scrambled to the side and reached out to move the woman next to her.
The woman slumped down dead. The front of her scalp flopped forward.
Emilie shrieked and fell back into Bark. Bark dropped the cell and swung out her weapon but the creature was already buckled over with gunfire.
More of the humanoids dropped down. Some crashed and scattered with broken legs while others collided with light poles and cars. But the few who rained down burst out with vengeance.
The sounds of the high rate bursts of the submachine guns rang out all around. Cries and screams followed bursts of the lower pitched additive cell produced weapons.
Bark grabbed the cell and dialed on the face frantically. “Fuck,” she cried out angrily and frantically punched in more numbers. “Hold and cover! Deal with it and get ready.”
The assault ground to a standstill. Too many groups of uncoordinated soldiers all waited for commands. The breakdown of communication was becoming painfully obvious as no one wanted to advance without the cover from others.
Emilie saw the futility in a single person organizing an assault. She knew nothing of combat, but when it came to organizing mass groups of people, she was a pro. “Hold on,” she said and grabbed the assault rifle from the dead woman. She leveled the barrel and opened fire at a wide window.
Glass sprayed onto the ground with bits of advertisements still attached. Inside a yellow and red light blared. Racks of bare shelves showed what was once a small shop. A generic vendbot stood in the corner, garish and bright, like a circus clown.
Bark stopped talking and blinked at Emilie. “What?”
Emilie sprinted across the street. The glass crunched under her feet and she used the barrel of the weapon to clear away the shards still stuck on the sill. A quick bound and she was inside and punching out as many of the flimsy cells as she could.
Her fingers flew and ripped off each tab. The faces glowed pink and she laid each down. She repeated one after the next and watched as they synced with the others near it. She tapped quickly and hunched down with every explosion in the distance. Finally she gathered them up and ran out the door to Bark.
Bark stood with her back against the wall and her hand on the flexible cell. She watched Emilie run up and kept her eyes on the phones all the while she was talking.
“You! All of you!” Emilie called to a group in cover. She handed each a phone. “Names?”
“Consuela,” a dirty faced woman with bruising on her arms replied.
A man with a ragged tattoo across his chin replied, “Paul.”
“Levi,” a man with sallow eyes replied.
Emilie handed a flexible cell to each and crouched down next to them. “Each of you needs to handle three numbers. When she—” Emilie pointed at Bark, “—orders something, you each pass it along to your contacts.” She held their gaze. “No fuck ups.” She left the pile of cells on the ground and stood in front of Bark. “Call everyone, tell them that you’re delegating.”
Bark scrunched her face and ended the call. She opened her mouth and sighed, rattling off numbers followed by names.
“You can’t be wasting your time calling everyone, delegate. We need you to keep everyone moving forward. We’re stopped while you’re digesting all this,” Emilie said. She’d handled departments with as many employees as there were citizens on Winterthur. Nothing was worse than a manager who was overwhelmed by petty details. She’d seen it time and time again where someone would be so reluctant to hand over a bit of control that they lost control of everything.
The rate of fire increased. Heavy autocannons barked out. Quick bursts of lighter fire rattled everywhere. A set of explosions popped through the air. Screams came from the distance and whispered away on the light wind.
“Go! All teams move forward! Keep them in that complex!” Bark yelled to the three with the cells. She fumbled with her weapon and stopped. Her chest rose and lowered. Her fingers flexed on the weapon. She glanced up at Emilie and nodded.
The three with the cells punched keys frantically and passed word down the line. Emilie listened as closely as she could and beckoned the three to follow. Bark was already moving to the next piece of cover.
“Whoever sees the brutes, tell ‘em to report the position. I want to know where they are!” Bark yelled, more at ease with her tone of voice.
The group pushed ahead with the rabble before and behind. Some moved with a precision honed through a life of military service while others ran unsure and awkward with eyes wild and raw.
The walls of the elevator complex loomed up in patches of raw, fresh concrete, next to streaked panels of aged gray. Stuttered weapons fire shot back from the tops of the walls.
“Gordo relleno at the main gate!” Consuela said quickly.
“What?” Bark said.
“Big-big!” Consuela moved her heads away from her face and pantomimed puffy cheeks.
Bark nodded. “Move up Koyo’s group, and support with Haswell.” She turned and looked around. She raised her weapon and shot her way into a dim warehouse.
“What are we doing?” Emilie asked. She followed close behind.
“Hitting those brutes,” Bark said as she ran at a slight jog through the empty space.
“How?” Emilie had seen what the brutes could do and had no desire to get close.
“Take out the support, get in close.”
“You don’t know, do you?” Emilie asked again, with a quick glance to make sure the cell operators were following.
“You have any ideas?” Bark raised her weapon and kicked open a flimsy alloy door.
A man fell back and yelled out in surprise.
“Where’s Koyo?” Bark snapped.
The man scurried back up against the wall and pointed down the road. Farther down the elevator complex skirted away. The main gate was at the edge, a hundred meters away. The tops were chipped and torn by gunfire. A heavy tut-tut of autocannons spoke of the defense.
Emilie felt afraid. Afraid like she’d never really felt before. Everything else she’d done was for survival, but she’d never risked her life like this. The feeling of control she always desired had slipped away long before. She didn’t feel adrift, but she definitely wasn’t the one steering the boat.
“Bean says they’re moving up near the wharf!” Levi said in a shaky voice.
“Tell Bean to hold his fucking ass tight. He covers that sea shore. If he needs help, have Wallace move some in. Who has Koyo?”
Paul rushed forward and handed a cell to Bark.
“Koyo? No? Get Koyo,” she said quickly. She hunched down next to the man she’d scared and stared out at a group of corpses.
One of the Hun bioaugments lay broken near the wall. The side of his head was cracked open and matted patches of brown hair covered the wound. Both of his hands were curled up like claws.
Emilie stared at the dead thing and wondered what the hell it was. She knew the strength, knew the animal-like resolve, but she didn’t understand anything about it. She felt it in her stomach that it was wrong. No one tampered with DNA like that. No one that had signed the Covenant, at least.
“Koyo? Yeah, can you move?” Bark listened a moment. “I know the big bastards are there” She nodded and peered at the walls. “Two? Yeah, I’ve got some with me. Can we flank them?” She turned around and looked back down the street. All down the street was men and women hunched and waiting. Most were weaponless. Bark’s eyes scanned the hordes. “You seen Pavel?”
Consuela plucked out a cell and spoke into it. “Pavel? Pavel!” She handed it to Bark.
“How long?” She nodded and seemed satisfied. She handed the phone back to Consuela and spoke to Koyo again. “Five minutes, I know, but they aren’t moving anywhere. Just hold and wait.”
A sudden and enormous sound ripped out through the air. A crackling mixed with a hiss all packed into a thunderclap. The taste of ozone was thick in the air. The mist paused for a moment, as if pushed away by some great shock.
Emilie fell back against the wall and remembered the sound. Not just the sound, but the feeling of her insides churning. She turned to Bark with surprise on her face.
“Tank!” a voice screamed. The collected militia sprinted away from the entry point.
The creaking of alloy tracks on old concrete ground through the air. The high pitched hum was getting closer.
“Koyo? Koyo?” Bark tossed the cell back to Paul. She tucked her weapon close and sprinted ahead, along the edge of the wall.
Emilie followed as close as she could and felt nothing but soreness. She also felt rather stupid running directly towards the tank.
Then it appeared. First the leading treads edged out from the gate and backed in quickly as if testing the water. It lurched forward again and the rectangular muzzle slid from side to side. The sound paused once more and then it fired again, a horrible crackling sound.
Emilie screamed and fell against the wall. Dread ran through her. The tank was moving out. It couldn’t get to her yet, she could see that the barrel wouldn’t make the corner. But two more meters and it could. “Bark!” she cried out.
The alloy armed augment ran up next to a concrete pillar and leveled her weapon. The bulky rifle rattled off and sparks flared on the running wheels of the tank. A small patch of alloy flaked away but the tank crept farther out.
“Fall back!” Bark ordered and then dropped against the wall.
Emilie watched her fall and thought at first that she was taking cover. Then the sounds of the submachineguns snapped her back.
A pair of the bioaugments had dropped down from the complex wall and were strafing fire into everyone they could see. One of the Hun creatures fell forward silently while the other, with dumb eyes and odd hands, raised the small weapon and fired.
Emilie pushed herself up against the wall and felt the first round tear into her shoulder. She cried out and fell to the ground. Her hands clutched at the wound and felt the burn. It was like someone had hit her with a ball peen hammer right on the shoulder bone.
The Hun bioaugment stood proud and then its head disintegrated in a cloud of red mist. It wobbled and dropped.
“Kari!” Emilie cried out and looked around for the ex-Core sniper. The creaking sound of the tank reminded her that she most likely had seconds to live. She rolled back and tried to stand. She saw Bark up on all fours with spit and blood hanging from her mouth. Beyond her the driving wheels of the tank came into view.
She wanted to run, grab Bark and do the heroic thing. But her legs wouldn’t move. Her stomach was a steely pit that felt mixed between the urge to vomit and the urge to shit. Never before had she felt this way. She blinked twice and heard another loud crack.
The driving wheel fell off the tank and spun away like an errant manhole cover. The track crumpled up and the tank lurched to a stop. It fired once more, as if in rage, and tried to reverse, but the track just made it skew and slam against the gate.
Emilie looked around quickly and saw something new: a man coated in a layer of filth. Not just muck and grime, but the accumulated human waste of months of confinement. The man cradled a weapon that was different than anything she had made. He smiled at her and bared brown streaked teeth.
“You!” a woman called out. Emilie turned and looked and saw a full suit of Marine body armor. She recognized the pattern and design, it was all Core manufactured to UC specifications.
Emilie ignored the voice and limped over to Bark. She grasped her under her arm and lifted her up. The cold alloy arms chilled her fingers.
“Hey!” Vale Thorisdottier yelled behind Emilie. “You’re Rose, right?”
“She’s hurt! Do you have a patch?” Emilie asked quickly. She glanced up at the front half of the tank and suddenly wasn’t as worried about it.
Vale stepped closer and grasped Bark by the arm. Her face pulled back and her faceshield melted away. Her eyes blinked quickly and were wide open in surprise. “Bark,” she said, like she had seen a ghost.
Bark’s eyes fluttered and she fought to focus. “Vale?”
Emilie stepped back and looked to either one. It was obvious to her that they knew each other. She watched as Vale scrambled to remove a patch from her chest harness and slapped the sticky square onto Bark’s neck.
From every street and alley, more men and women stepped forward. They seemed to be in small groups, packs. They had a mix of weapons, most light, but some a heavy barreled mean looking thing. They all wore eyes that seemed too wide, too bright, too excited.
“Situation?” Vale asked as she sprayed a small canister of anticoagulant nanites onto Emilie’s shoulder.
Emilie spoke and watched the lurching nose of the tank. “Most are inside, but watch out,” she pointed above her and then to the corpse of the bioaugment, “some of those can leap down.”
“Long time no see,” Bark said with a cough and a fluttering of her eyes.
“You look good,” Vale said.
Bark smiled and tried to chuckle. “Fuck you.”
Vale smiled back and then whispered into her helmet. “Fuck.”
“What?” Emilie asked. She had just began to feel like the cavalry had arrived and her job was done.
“Half the pods are stuck.”
“Fuck,” Bark said.
“What’s that mean?” Emilie asked.
Before anyone could answer, the front of the tank began to move out. Grunting and heaving noises sounded from over the walls. A massive foot appeared and the tank moved forward a bit more. A group of the brutes were pushing the tank forward. The barrel began to swing.
“Move!” Vale cried out. Several hundred convicts, militia, and general rabble scrambled as quickly as they could away.
Emilie fell over herself and ran as quick as her body would allow. She had no desire to feel the sting of that tank once again. Now, she thought, we’re stuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
––––––––
William heard the alert from the dropship before he could see it. A sense of anger and helplessness came over him. He could picture it hanging in space gorging out capsules after capsule into the atmosphere below. But not now. “Repeat? Are you hit?”
“Negative!” a voice cried back. “Port side no launch!”
He growled and felt the warm, stale air on his cheeks. His eyes darted up and watched the orbital plot. They were coming around, he could see it all.
The orbital they sent out earlier streamed the position of the dropship. A red icon blinked: zero movement. The Gallipoli was coming in close and would arrive at nearly the same moment as the Garlic.
“Huron?” William called on the comms.
“We’re trying!” Huron replied with a crackling hiss behind him.
“Keep trying!” William called back, the tension grating. “Shay, is the plot going to work?”
“We could damn near run into ‘em,” Shay replied with a cough. She slid her hand on the console and a trace blinked on the display.
William followed it with his eyes and saw the interception point almost on top of the dropship. A smile cracked across his face and his eyes sparkled. This was it. He took a breath and leaned forward enough to pat Shay on the shoulder.
She jumped and glanced back through the blood spattered faceshield. “Some shit, isn’t it Captain?”
He nodded and leaned back. “Give me the tally, XO.”
“Huron, Perez, Kyong is wounded, Belanger has two broken arms, you and me.”
“And the Garlic,” William added.
“And the Garlic.”
William felt the pit of hunger in his stomach and instead focused on all he’d lost. Half his crew. It hit him and he pushed it back. He knew he’d use every single person under him to do the right thing. They’d come too far for half measures and feints. “All or nothing,” he mumbled.
“Captain?” Shay asked.
“Time?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Three minutes.”
“Will the torpedo be ready?”
“Yes.”
“Huron?”
“How much time I got?” Huron asked with a twang at the end of the sentence.
“Three minutes.”
“Well, hell. I’m getting to the reactor.”
“No mass drivers?” William asked. He’d hoped, at the very least, they’d get one operational again.
“Nope,” Huron replied, and said nothing more.
The Garlic orbited under the barest of grav drive power. A slight nudge early on had settled the course. The velocities were high enough that in the constraints of the gravity well they were locked in. There were no fancy maneuvers, no tacks, come-abouts, or halts. The Garlic was as committed as the Gallipoli. Physics ruled the course.
William leaned forward and kept his eyes on the display. The projected course lines hadn’t wavered. He tapped his console and licked his dry lips. “In about a minute we’re engaging. Get to the reactor and stay safe. I’ll brief you once we’re through. This should settle it,” he said. “Shay, you sticking around?”
“You got abandonment issues, don’t you?” Shay asked. Her fingers danced over her console and stopped, hovering over the panel.
William wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
“Of course. And here we come,” Shay said.
He felt better, but didn’t know why. “Keep the launcher aft, I don’t care what gets hit in the meantime. Just keep that launcher alive!”
“You got it, Captain.”
The ship clipped over the line of darkness and passed into the dawn. Before them lay the mass of the orbital station with the coal black ribbon streaming into the clouds below. The dropship hung nearby with half of the drop pods clinging to the side. Then the Gallipoli came into view.
The first railgun rounds clipped the top side of the Garlic and plunged deep into the disintegrating nanite aggregate. Chunks of grit and stone rained down onto the bridge. Alarms raged the flickering screens in shades of orange and red. The mass driver rounds came a moment after in a cascade of violence.
William ignored the alarms. They were old, the same things he’d been staring at since the two locked horns. His eyes only locked onto the status of the launchers.
“Oh boy,” Shay said, and made the ship dance.
The mass of the Garlic slid and pulsed like an overweight boxer. Even with the mass shedding off of the hull the ship itself was heavy and loud with slowness. It rolled and exposed a fresh quarter but kept the launcher hidden and tucked away from violence.
The Gallipoli in comparison was erratic like a flamenco dancer. All tips, taps, and shudders with never a position held for more than a fraction of a second. She bore the wounds of the engagement but looked more like a salvage yard deal than a princess of Luna. But still she spat slugs of nickel and nanite across the barest bits of atmosphere.
William felt himself grow warmer with the tension of the moment on his shoulders. He felt naked in the vacuum. He couldn’t throw a punch, couldn’t counter the anger, couldn’t do anything but wait. He ignored the pummeling of the mass drivers and instead focused on the torpedo. “Launch the damn torpedo,” he said through gritted teeth. “Launch it.”
The Garlic pushed closer with the intersection point coming barely five hundred meters from the dropship Brendan. The plots all clashed in an improbability so rare in space combat. The lines didn’t waver, the courses were set and the moment locked in.
A voice crackled from the dropship and the Italian spoke rapidly. “They’re going to be on us! Get them!” The phrasing was odd, but Monk spoke the truth and William knew it.
“They’re not shooting the dropship,” Shay mumbled as her hands pounced on the controls.
“What?” William asked. His eyes darted to the munitions display and saw nothing heading towards the dropship. “The torpedo,” he whispered, and began punching keys.
The railgun fired once more and the nickel slug slammed into the center mass of the Garlic. Atmosphere, had it been present, would have vented. Instead, more alarms blared and the display filled with more alerts. It was a slow and sudden destruction that chipped away the aggregate.
William felt a piece slam into his shoulders and rolled forward. He stood quickly and felt fire in his back. His hands danced on his shoulders checking for a breach. A chunk of grit, like chalk, was crumbling apart in his chair. He pushed it away quickly and dropped back down. “Prep to fire missiles!”
“Missiles prepped!” Shay called back.
He took a breath. He knew the Gallipoli would have no defense against missiles. The cutter was too far gone to intercept and he could picture the wall of nanite charges plucking it apart. His eyes took in the distance and he nodded to himself. Now was the time. He stabbed down on the only weapons system he had left.
Nothing.
Alarms exploded onto the displays. First thermal, then nanite. The missile propellant detonated in the launcher itself. Only the fact that the missiles didn’t arm saved the ship from instant destruction. But now they were truly toothless.
William opened his mouth to speak and instead watched, helpless.
The torpedo blasted out from the Gallipoli and sprayed a wash of orange and red. It was like a launch of an old missile and mostly useless against anyone with a mass driver. The velocity was ponderously slow, but it grew. It grew, and grew, and headed directly for the Brendan.
“Fuck,” Shay said loudly and her hands slammed onto the console.
“I’m taking it!” William called out and overrode the nav back to his control. “Prep and brace for impact!”
“What?” Shay asked.
“Do it!”
Shay drummed on her console and impact alarms sounded. Loud, angry klaxons.
The torpedo was a slow thing. Already the charge inside was burning brightly and adding acceleration with every second.
William punched at the console. He ran the numbers and guesstimated as best as he could. There wasn’t time to lay out the plots and see the courses. He piloted by instinct, by feel, by experience. It dawned on him as he adjusted acceleration that he’d never intercept the torpedo. “We can’t make it,” he said as much to Shay as to himself. Dread slammed into him. Dread and failure.
Shay silenced the impact klaxons and didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t save the dropship. The Brendan would, without a doubt, take a direct hit from a torpedo nearly as old as the dropship. He could taste steel in his mouth and his lips were dry. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Dust stopped falling from the ceiling. The Gallipoli had switched targets. The dropship now bore the entire brunt of the mass drivers and railgun.
“Wait,” William said. His eyes danced on the screen and he saw the course. Fingers punched keys and he leaned forward anxiously. A grin grew across his face. “Brace for impact!”
“But we can’t intercept the torpedo!” Shay called back.
“We’re not going to hit the torpedo,” William said calmly. “We’re going to hit them.”
The impact klaxons blared again and the torpedo exploded.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
––––––––
“With me!” Vale cried out. Her body, bulked up by armor, sprinted across the street and slammed into a metal service door. It crashed open and she fell inside in a heap.
Bark followed immediately behind with Rose and the cell crew in tow. A grimy group of convicts stumbled into the darkness. The sound of screeching steel echoed through the door.
“What now?” Emilie asked, nervous. She could hear gunfire, the sounds of engagement, but most of all the animal grunts.
“You’re sure you can get drones online?” Bark asked.
Emilie felt Vale’s eyes focusing on her. She nodded quickly to both. “Yes, if you can get me inside. All I have to do is engage the system.”
“Standard neural network?” Vale asked.
“Yes,” Emilie replied confidently. She knew it was the same style, density, and functionality as what was normally installed in planetary combat AI.
“How many?” Vale asked.
“Eighty-four.”
Vale glanced at Bark and nodded. “Anti-personnel? Ram design?”
Emilie nodded quickly. “I think so, yes.”
Bark and Vale huddled close and each spoke in low tones. Bark looked up and spoke to the cell teams. “Tell Koyo to let ‘em out a bit, back off.”
Consuela relayed the order.
“They’re hitting the east, two transports,” Paul said, juggling his cells.
Emilie looked between the Vale and Bark. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They’re pushing out, we’re going to lose it.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Vale said and ran up next to the door. The light streaming in didn’t do much to illuminate the grime stained convicts.
“Once they come out a bit, we can get behind the armor,” Bark said with a nod to the door.
“What about the brutes?” Emilie asked.
“Watch.” Bark pointed towards the door.
The convicts, wiry and worn thin like an old rag tucked tight to the wall. A woman, with hair like steel wool, edged up and nodded to Vale. Vale pushed her finger tips around the corner of the door and nodded to the woman. “Two, go.”
The woman dropped herself down onto the floor and scooted just her head and shoulders out. Two men grasped her tightly by the legs and then she opened fire. The weapon barked in a slow cadence. A gust of gritty recoil gases flared back and into the room. A bellowing noise like a enraged bull burst through the air. She grinned and scooted back in.
“Nice,” Vale said, her fingers still on the door frame.
More of the heavy caliber rounds burst out in the distance with more of the bellowing. The grating of steel stopped. Vale nodded, checked her weapon and sprinted out into the street with the convicts close behind.
Emilie went to move and felt Bark’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hold, we’re going to—” Bark said and was slammed backwards.
The ripping roaring sound of the tank firing was, at this range, beyond loud. The decibel count was on par with a shredded turbine engine, spraying nickel and alloy in a cataclysm of fire and noise. The walls tumbled. The sooty light rolled in as the roof expanded away. It was blasted apart, a mixture of corroded roof panels and waterlogged insulation.
Emilie tried to scream, tried to cry out, but she couldn’t hear anything. Her heartbeat was dead quiet in her ears. Her eyes danced from side to side and she stood shakily. A hand pulled her down and she stared out through a gaping hole in the wall.
A brute stood with an autocannon. Light flared from the barrel but Emilie couldn’t hear a thing. Next to it a second brute rolled on the ground, a slow and ponderous roll, and clutched at its face. A jellyfish like mass of an eyeball was tangled in it’s fingers.
The barrel of the tank slewed to the opposite side and then back towards her again. Waves of heat rolled off with tendrils of steam riding the thermals. Sparks flared off of the glacis as small arms fire smashed into it with gouges laid in from the heavier weapons. It stopped and the barrel hummed.
Emilie tried to stand again and found that she couldn’t. Her eyes drifted down and she saw Bark. Then she saw Bark’s mouth moving and it hit her: she was deaf. Completely and totally deaf. She spoke, but she didn’t know if anything came out. “I can’t hear you,” she screamed as loud as she could.
Bark pointed down with two fingers.
Emilie sat hard and watched. She felt detached, lost, the tank was going to fire again, she knew it. So why weren’t they moving? She glanced around and saw the debris, one wall was missing with the roof slanting down. The only way out was towards the barrel of the tank.
She heard a hiss. The slightest ringing on the edge of her ears. She was relieved, it meant that some hearing survived, but then she knew the tank was going to fire again. She caught movement and watched Vale, urging her on while feeling utterly helpless and, at the same time, serene. The only thought in her mind was how to salvage one of the brutes, it had to be priceless, that sort of bioaugmentation.
Vale sprinted up from cover and leveled the barrel towards the standing brute. It took a moment for the wide eyed creature to respond. It tried to swing the autocannon but she was too close. She was inside of its reach and jammed the muzzle of the rifle into a seam of armor and pulled the trigger.
A wall of sparks and shrapnel sprayed back and then the creature threw its head back and clanged against the tank. It dropped the autocannon and pushed Vale away. She clattered against the ground and continued to fire the weapon. A gusher of blood pumped out from the seam of the armor and the creature lolled over onto its partner.
The first of the convicts sprang over the brute and clambered onto the rear of the tank. He danced as weapons fire stitched into him. The second, and third, convict met the same fate. But the fourth, the steel wool haired woman, was lucky and jammed an explosive package into an access port and rolled off into the shelter of a dying brute.
She grinned back, a face rimed with grit.
The charge detonated in an anti-climactic thud.
Emilie felt a wave of relief. At the same time she focused on the dead Hun soldiers. All bioaugments. Good god, she thought, it was banned by the Covenant, no one could do that sort of research. But someone else did, and if she got a hold of it the research would be priceless. Thoughts of how to salvage her operation and stick it to Samson all came together. She stood slowly and felt every joint in her body creak.
“Move!” Bark yelled.
The pair clambered over the rubble and paused near the front gate. The convicts pushed past the pitted side plate of the tank and climbed over the bodies of the not quite dead brutes. A rising heat rolled off of each one as if gripped by a fever. One moaned and coughed up phlegm-clotted blood.
Emilie watched the brute convulse and die. Even a few meters away she could feel the heat. She worried for a moment that it would catch fire, and she’d lose out and not be able to get a DNA sample. A popping sound pushed into her head and the sound rushed back in like a distant river.
“Tell ‘em to hold the gates!” Bark said to Consuela. The woman juggled a handful of cells. The other cell-bearers were nowhere to be seen. “Koyo? Koyo?”
A chubby man with cheeks like limes waddled up. One arm was wrapped tight to his chest and in the other he held an old style pistol.
“Cowboy? For fuck’s sake, Koyo,” Bark said, smiling.
Koyo waved it in front of him. “Can’t very well shoot a damned rifle.”
Bark nodded and pointed to the gate. “Bring your boys in, hit the east gate, get it open. Grab as many of the convicts as you can for support.”
“Where’s the boss?” Koyo asked with a glance towards the space elevator ribbon.
Bark shook her head and set off towards the gate.
Emilie followed. She could sense the change in Bark when Koyo asked about the boss. Dousman, she assumed. She caught movement out of her eye and saw Kari run up next to her. The sniper rifle was missing but she held onto a rifle like the convicts arrived with. “Kari! I thought I lost you.”
Kari shook her head and rushed past the dead brute.
On the other side of the wall, the complex was wide, sprawling, and open. The main building was surrounded by inflatable habs and row upon row of cargo container. The concrete embankments that once sorted out the grid of cargo containers was completely ripped out and layered near the wall as a secondary defensive perimeter. A completely empty defensive perimeter.
Vale ran up and crouched next to the secondary perimeter. “They’re massed on the east side, do you have troops coming in?”
Bark shook her head and gave a quick glance at Emilie. “We placed some misinformation, they think we are.”
Vale looked impressed and sighted down the length of her weapon towards the main building. “You’re sure about those drones?” she asked.
“Yes,” Emilie replied.
“Can we take them without the drones?” Bark asked.
Vale licked her lips and squinted into the sky. “Eh. I could use those drones.”
The troops, convicts, militia, and a single UC Marine looked across the empty expanse. The elevator rose like a smashed coal stripe into the cloudy sky. The plain building beneath it was braced by a set of empty cargo lifts. The front was almost quiet with the heaviest fire coming from the distance, towards the east.
A trio of convicts ran up from behind the tank with a screeching of steel. Emilie snapped her head around and watched as three men hauled out the chest armor from one of the brutes. They huddled behind it at the edge of the perimeter wall with a clever look on their faces.
“Listen up!” Vale called out, her voice enhanced by her suit. “Make for the main complex and hold it. They’ll be coming from the east side,” she said with a wave of her arm. “Now move!”
Emilie went to rise and felt a metal hand on her shoulder.
“Hold on,” Bark said.
The first wave sprinted across the broken, crunched concrete and slowed after the first fifty meters. A few rounds snapped out and then nothing. The advancing line spread out around the inflatable habs and sporadic fire issued towards the east.
Kari nudged Emilie and pointed to the building. “Gantries.”
Emilie nodded. The sniper would want to be up high.
Bark rose and began a quick trot without giving a glance back towards Emilie.
Emilie followed after and hoped more than anything that the Core neural net hadn’t been destroyed. She glanced to her right and caught glimpses through the habs of the east side. Muzzle flashes and the forms of brutes flashed through the gaps. She picked up the pace and felt her heart slamming into her chest.
Kari split off and disappeared into a stack of shipping containers. Bark took a position next to a metal door with no handle. Convicts, citizens, and a single old man with no weapon took position next to her. “We’re moving in, down two levels, and into the Core headquarters.”
Grumbles rose from the citizens and the old man gawked. Emilie felt uncomfortable but she noticed Bark didn’t seem to mind.
Bark faced the door, raised the weapon to her shoulder, and slammed a three round burst into the frame. It popped open gently. She glanced at a convict and nodded.
“I ain’tcha bitch,” the convict said.
“Open it then,” Bark said without lowering the weapon.
The man stuck out the barrel of the rifle and pushed the door open. The hallway inside was littered with debris, as if the entire facility was ransacked.
Bark stepped in with her rifle welded to her shoulder. Each step was methodical, silent, and purposeful. She made it a dozen meters inside and beckoned without turning around. Then the rabble followed in.
The group pushed through the first hallway and met a wider hall. The main immigration hall was down one path. Bark ordered three to remain behind. The rest turned away and went down a flight of stairs.
Emilie felt that something was missing. The entire building felt empty to her. “Where is everybo
The sound of gunfire erupted above them and outside. The heavy tut-tut of the autocannons shattered through the silence. The old man in the group cackled and ran back upstairs with wild eyes.
“Dey moving in from the east!” Consuela said.
“Let’s go!” Bark said, and advanced into the darkness below.
Emilie followed and walked into an inky black. Her eyes adjusted a moment later and a dim band of light rolled along the floor. She could see breaks every few meters where a door broke the line. Sounds barely touched her ears as she shuffled behind Bark.
“Almost,” Bark whispered.
The Core logo loomed up out of the darkness. It was framed, and normally lit, but now dim. The barest touch of light illuminated the letters blue.
Emilie felt a touch of something—nostalgia? Relief? She didn’t know, but she wanted to get inside. She saw the secured door was open but didn’t expect any different. The doors were beefy, but not beefy enough to keep anyone out who was determined to get in.
Bark waved up a pair of convicts and the three advanced on the door. She pushed open the heavy panel with one hand and advanced into a space that was totally dark. Emilie followed, willing herself to be as quiet as possible. It felt wrong to be loud.
Lights blared on and Bark sprang to the side with augmented speed. A pair of creatures leapt out from behind a set of supports and savaged the two convicts. Each of the beasts had the body of a man, but with a spine like an animal and a face like a snarling wolf. One held a submachinegun like the other bioaugments while the second wore claws of alloy.
The first convict dropped where he stood as the beast shot a burst of rounds through his chest. Blood and gore exploded out from his back. The second convict raised his weapon and punched out a three round burst that caught the submachinegun wielding augment in the throat.
The creature tumbled back and rolled on the ground. The second bioaugment was already on top of the convict and the claws were tearing into him. Bark stood, sighted her weapon, and was slammed back behind a mess of crates and containers. A single crack from a weapon laid her out.
Emilie stood alone in the midst of the room and looked at the bioaugment. Behind her a woman stood. A woman she’d only seen through the eyes of a toy.
Natyasha Dousman lowered the barrel of her pistol and glared at Emilie. “Check on the other one.”
The creature bounded across the room towards where Bark had fallen. Natyasha watched it run, but kept the barrel pointed in Emilie’s direction.
It reached where Bark had fallen and pounced down. A gunshot exploded. It howled, rolled, and thrashed downward with its claws raging in and out. The sound of ringing alloy and guttural yells said that the fight wasn’t done.
Emilie saw the moment of distraction and rushed to the side and into the cover of more containers. A crack followed behind her and she expected to feel the pain of being shot but the second shot missed too. She saw the door that led into the depths of the Core facility, lowered her shoulder, and slammed through it.
Her feet ran faster than she ever thought they could. Her back felt hot, expecting to feel a nanite round pierce into her. But the shot never came.
The door to the neural network was bashed open, the delicate and sophisticated lock shredded and destroyed. Her heart fell when she saw it and hoped that the equipment inside survived. Lights flickered on and bathed the room in a low blue shade. A wall of displays blinked on and all requested the same thing. Proper authorization.
Emilie knew that if she ran across the room Natyasha could step in and shoot her in the back. There was nowhere to hide near the main control console. She wanted to run to the consoles more than anything but there were no drones to protect her, it’d be a martyr’s job. And she didn’t feel like a martyr, not yet. Instead she ran next to the door and waited out of sight.
Her heart slammed in her chest so loudly that she was sure someone could hear it. The moments passed and the sounds of gunfire above her grew louder. An occasional shake and shudder passed through the building. The fighting was coming closer. She started to second guess herself but stayed patient.
The door moved a fraction of an inch. A second later it crept open with the barrel of the pistol framed in the light.
Emilie slammed her body against the door. The pistol flew through the air and clattered on the floor. She threw the door back open and tried to pounce.
Natyasha slammed into her and the pair rolled onto the floor. Natyasha threw the first punch and connected squarely with Emilie’s nose.
Emilie felt white pain across her face and spread her arms before dropping Natyasha on top of her. She squirmed to the side and threw an elbow in her opponent’s ribs. Natyasha let out an oof and rolled off of her.
Emilie ran across the room and slammed a hand down onto the console. The screens changed color to a blinking orange. They all read ‘acquiring’.
Emilie knew it was analyzing her nanite signature. A bio-nanite flora that was unique to her and no one else.
Natyasha growled behind her and pulled Emilie’s legs away from the console. “This is my planet!” she yelled. “You fucking bitch.”
Emilie fell to the floor raised an arm to block the kick but felt the blow tight in her chest. She scrambled away but the kicks rained down one after the next. Her breath was gone, and her muscles seized up and she couldn’t seem to move or breathe. Her training flashed back and she waited for the next blow.
The toe connected against her stomach, driving even more air out of her. But her hand was ready and her fingers latched on to Natyasha’s ankle and pulled.
Natyasha let out a surprised cry and fell to the floor.
Emilie was on her. She latched both of her hands onto Natyasha’s throat. She squeezed with every bit of strength and fought to get a breath, a single breath. Her diaphragm was seized from the kicks. Black dots danced on her vision. Good god, she thought, I’m going to pass out.
She dropped her eyes down and focused on Natyasha. The two locked eyes and Natyasha squeezed Emilie’s wrists. Fingernails gouged in with blood squeezing out.
Natyasha shot a hand out to the side and Emilie looked. The pistol lay mangled just within reach. She could feel Natyasha’s ribs between her legs as Natyasha squirmed to grasp the pistol. She squeezed her fingers tighter against the cords of Natyasha’s neck. Her eyes focused on the pistol and she tried to wrench Natyasha away.
Natyasha’s ring finger latched onto the checkered grip. A second finger pulled and the pistol skidded a bit. Finally three fingers.
Emilie knew she wouldn’t have time. The pistol rose a fraction of an inch.
And slammed down onto the floor with a blood soaked boot on top of it.
Bark stood with horrific wounds on her face and chest. Her alloy arms were a mass of ripped alloy and splintered steel. Gouges, scratches, and ragged puncture wounds littered her upper body. Her eyes burned with a fury and she glared down at Natyasha.
Natyasha’s lips moved but nothing came out.
Bark watched Natyasha until her fingers went limp, then walked to the door.
Emilie felt the life go from Natyasha and held on tight for a moment longer. The cords in Natyasha’s neck relaxed and the contractions in the throat stopped. Emilie lay on the floor taking her first breath in what felt like hours.
The sound of gunfire was almost on top of them. An explosion ripped out from nearby. Gunfire rang from down the hallway.
“Turn it on,” Bark said flatly and stumbled out of the room.
Emilie scrambled to her feet, swayed like a drunk, and finished calling up the neural network. The system blinked green. She punched at the console and watched as it came alive. One drone after the next was acquired, onlined, and prepped. “Here we go,” she said and entered in an assault protocol.
The system acknowledged the order with a ping and ninety-eight separate feeds rolled into action. The drones woke.
*
Throughout the city, the canisters popped open and drones the size of dogs exploded out. Each of the mechanical constructs communicated in bursts and waves through the nanite laced air. Control was levied, orders requested, and the machines gained altitude. Up they climbed and waited.
The first pings issued forth and instructed the drones to seek out a nanite signature that matched those of the Harmony Worlds. First one drone found a signal and the others surged in. Location after location pinged into each drone and the neural network learned.
It identified the friendlies first. After that it queried the bioaugments and classified each as hostile. Half of the drones dropped from the sky and hunted for the humanoids. The neutral network took a moment longer and decided on the brutes, it was a unique threat.
A drone hovered in the mist and waited. The order surged up and it peered through the mist and caught the muzzles flashes of an autocannon. It released the grav drives and sunk from the sky.
Mist broke beneath it and it compensated sideways. The target was large, heavy, and from what it could tell well armored. The drone slowed the acceleration for a moment and flared to the side. It opened fire with a pair of spine mounted rotary cannons. The six millimeter rounds pinged and sang. It noticed that the charges made little impact.
The neural net compensated, changed the orders, and the drone surged ahead. Beneath it the crowds of bioaugments fought and died. Drones punched into the groups and dropped explosive packets while others latched in with mechanical violence and shredded one after the next. But this particular drone dropped down and landed on the shoulder of the brute.
It double checked the orders, verified the time stamps, and detonated its core. Light flared magnesium white and the brute crumbled to the ground with a steaming hole where its head and right shoulder had been.
The neural net watched the result and relayed similar orders to a handful more drones. The brutes were no longer a threat.
*
Emilie watched drone after drone wink into silence. The drones finished what the men had started. The explosions above her died away and only the sporadic echo of a gunshot pushed through the air.
She glanced over at Natyasha’s corpse and knew that Winterthur was hers. She came seeking her destiny, and it seemed that it had found her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
––––––––
The torpedo detonated in a massive flare of nanite incandescence. The propellant chamber first hardened into a wall of alloy. The slower burn shoved the brunt of the force away towards the target. Solidifying a cone of alloy and nanite scrap. The nanites fused, seized, and grappled bits and shreds into pieces of spall and shrapnel. The cloud was immense.
At fifty meters from the Brendan, the condensed solids were concentrated at a density high enough to be visible. Each bit glowed slightly with retained heat. Then the impact began. The first pieces slammed against the ancient armor plates. Each lost mass and was consumed in the briefest flare of heat, heat that was designed to weaken the plate. Every piece that followed afterward bored deeper.
The only saving grace was the fact that the dropship was designed in an era where a torpedo was a real threat. Beyond the outer layers was a material similar to peanut butter. A raw and brutally simple nanite matrix that grappled onto incoming shrapnel and swelled the size and reduced the force.
Pinpricks of light burst against the surface of the dropship and it began a slow roll. The careful positioning was abandoned for a reckless shift away. Velocity rose higher, slowly, gently. Flares of cold gas shot out as more of the torpedo slammed into the hull. The hull was breached and the cold grip of vacuum crawled in.
William double checked the course he had set and ignored the horrible damage being wreaked upon the Brendan. He saw the puncture wounds from the railguns, saw the stitching fire from the mass drivers, and saw the thermal blue flares showing where oxygen punched out. But all of it he pushed back, away, and focused on the course. His hands made a micro correction and watched the lines converge again. With a quick swipe he canceled the collision alarms.
“They’re going to shift,” Shay said quickly as she tightened the buckles.
“No,” William said. “They’re going to hit us. We’re too close to shift away.”
“Fuck, twenty seconds,” Shay said with tension and nervousness in her voice.
William corrected the course again. “Huron! Brace!”
“I heard ya!” Huron called back over the comms.
The icon for the Gallipoli dropped away, the ship itself, impossibly close in space combat, grew larger on the screen. Every detail stood out as the sun was behind the ship. Gouges, vents, external nanite blooms, all raged on the hull. The corvette was a wreck, but yet a functional wreck.
William made one final glance and dropped himself lower in his seat. He wondered what Mustafa was thinking. He knew Mustafa wasn’t piloting though. He pictured Salamasina, the angry woman in red, wanting nothing more than revenge. Well, he thought, let’s give it to her.
The distance closed the final hundred meters. He felt wrong, almost dirty, colliding the two ships. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was shattering a work of art. Then everything went blank.
The Garlic, slowly disintegrating with a hull like worn chalk, slammed into the rear quarter of the Gallipoli. A spray of white crested out from the Garlic and sent the ship spinning. Internal forces slammed higher, viciously higher, as the energy of the impact spun the ship.
The Gallipoli bore a harder fate. The rear of the ship cracked and flipped away with a shower of sparks. A cascade of particles followed, bright and hot, as the vacuum was slow to take the heat away. Atmosphere never had a chance to burst out the rift was so wide. There was simply a cloud of oxygen and a shower of debris.
The front three quarters of the Gallipoli tilted forward and tumbled on the center axis. The lights went dark, the mass driver fell silent, and the once deadly ship disappeared into the dark side of the planet.
William felt the vomit push out from his mouth but couldn’t see anything. The entire bridge was black, tar black. Not that he could see anything anyways, the G forces were enough to darken his vision. His stomach rolled and he retched again. Then it hit him, he was alive. “Shay?” he croaked between another retch.
His fingers fumbled against his chest and tapped along a strap until they found a slender pouch. It was thick like a cigar and he plucked at it once and missed. The second time it flared blue and bathed the bridge in light. He almost regretted doing it.
The screens were ripped free from the wall and littered the space before him. The ceiling was a ragged mass of sheared aggregate and failed alloy reinforcement. Rubble filled the front of the bridge. He saw a suit ripped open and crushed on top of the debris.
William felt the force drift back slowly. Something, somewhere, was slowing the roll. He thought quickly and knew that the reactor was still online and at least a single grav generator. He pushed away with both arms and hollered out. His mechanical hand was snapped and stabbed into his flesh. “Fuck!” he screamed again and again.
With his good hand he unbuckled and crawled towards the heap of debris. He knew it was worthless, Shay was dead. The suit was ripped, shredded, buckled, useless. But he had to see. The force pushing him back was almost too much to overcome with just one hand. He latched onto a console and pushed away with his feet.
Hungry. Fuck, he thought, of all times. His stomach growled and reminded him that his face shield was covered in vomit. His lips sucked on the protein tube and swallowed just enough to tame his stomach.
He panicked. His breathing was ragged, rapid, fearful. He scrambled forward in fear and felt the foot of the suit. Fear of being alone ate into his soul.
His hands squeezed the suit and felt no life. His fingers squeezed again and pulled the leg towards him. The corpse rolled and tumbled in the rolling force and showed a face.
It was Bryce. He was serene, and quite dead.
William steadied his breathing and stared into the dead face of a man he had failed. He’d not fail again.
“Shay!” he cried out loudly. “Shay!” His own voice was unbelievably loud in his ears. He pulled at the loose chalky bits of aggregate and tossed them up, the rotational gravity did the rest. He needed to find her, to make an attempt to save someone. He felt almost cursed to still be alive, and felt guilty for feeling that way a moment later. “Shay,” he said in a whisper.
“Fuck,” her voice, husky and raw, spoke plainly.
A renewed vigor came over him and he gripped and threw the chunks away. A grit covered suit appeared and he saw it move. “Shay!” he cried out again and felt the loneliness and fear drift away.
“I can’t move,” she said in barely a whisper.
“Hold on,” he said and dug faster. His good hand was sore, and he had to clutch his mechanical hand against his chest. Every time he jarred it, the nanite nerves fired in warning and pain. Tears streaked down his cheeks and mixed with vomit running down his neck.
“William!” Huron called from behind.
William rolled onto his side and saw the bright colors of the Engineer’s suit push through a mass of cabling and debris. Three other suits clustered behind and huddled in the silence.
Huron helped William to the side and dug in with both hands. William pushed away and came to rest near the body of Bryce. He watched as Perez crawled in and assisted Huron. The pair cleared enough away and Shay was free. She sat on the edge of the debris and laid against it.
“That’s it, eh?” Shay said.
“Hold on,” Huron said and crouched next to one of the displays. He stripped a connector from a broken display and latched it into a different screen. It flickered into view with a massive band of color missing.
“Help me up,” William said and felt arms steady him. He stared at the screen and picked out the meager diagnostics. It told him that his ship was mostly destroyed and the nanite aggregate was coming apart. Then he saw the neural net notice. “The net is up?”
Huron snapped his head to the screen and slid into the seat that was once Bryce’s. He swept the dusty debris off the console and tapped slowly. The screen changed and suddenly lit up.
It was broken into three views: Corporal Thorisdottir, Private Igor, and Private Grgur.
“Marines!” William cried out. “Can they hear us?”
Huron punched at the console. “I don’t know, wait, one second.”
The screen flared to black before changing to show the starscape. The Gallipoli was nowhere to be seen and the Garlic was moving up and away from the space elevator. The dropship was snuggled up next to the docking station and latched in tight.
A comms panel appeared and replaced the spaceview. Huron punched the console twice more and he spoke. “UC Marines, this is the Garlic, do you read?”
The room was beyond silent. William strained and listened. Every bit of his focus was on his ears. Would they hear the signal, he wondered?
“This is Grgur,” a voice replied in the slow Serbian drawl.
The group of survivors cheered.
“We’re kind of busy,” he said nonchalantly.
The screen flipped away from the comms and was replaced by the suit view. Grgur and Igor advanced through the open spaces of the space elevator docking station. Bodies were scattered and torn apart throughout the area. Grgur fell back and sat down, his camera unmoving. Igor punched ahead with convicts at his flanks. Hun defenders fought at every corner, every junction, but slowly the meager defenders were silenced.
William sat into his chair and tried to call up his console. It made a strange noise, followed by a pop.
Huron reached back, slapped the lower side, and the screen kicked in. “Bad connector,” he mumbled without taking his gaze from the screen.
The velocity of the Garlic was enough that, by his calculations, it would take them eighty-three days to return to the orbital station using the single gravity generator that still functioned. They would, at that rate, starve to death before they ran out of oxygen.
“Garlic,” Igor said slowly. “I think eet ees secured.” Igor’s camera panned across the cavernous inside of the station. Convicts swarmed everywhere. “They’re drunk,” he mumbled.
“Drunk?” Huron asked.
“Igor, is the Brendan operational? We’re drifting away and are in need of a recovery.” William asked.
“Negative, it is hulled,” Igor replied. “But I think there is another ship.”
“Another ship?” William asked. He pulled up the starscape and saw only the station. Then he remembered the Grouper.
“Yes,” Igor said softly. “There’s two little men here.”
The camera moved and panned as Igor stumbled through the hold. He came to the doors of the elevator itself and faced two men, one so old as to almost be ancient and the other with eyes sunk into his skull. Igor beckoned to them both and explained the situation.
Mao nodded and glanced behind him to the pile of corpses. “Who am I speaking to?” he asked in a polite, but firm voice.
“Tell him,” William said.
Mao listened and a smile breached his thin lips. Yellow teeth poked out and he nodded. “So the Grouper comes to the rescue, yes?”
William smiled. He deserved that one. “Yes Igor, tell him the Grouper comes to the rescue.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“Hell of a ship,” Shay said in a weak voice. She propped herself up against a corroded bulkhead and watched the Garlic grow distant.
William nodded and didn’t say anything. He turned away and looked at the empty space of the Grouper. It was like saying goodbye, he thought, just bad luck. And what could he say? It was just a ship.
He couldn’t bear it and had to turn and look. The hull was now mostly a cloud of disintegrated aggregate hanging like morning mist. The internal alloy structures peaked out with stained black pockmarks and shrapnel patterns. He felt sad that so noble a ship was designed, from day one, to fail.
The thoughts brought him to his own fate. He was sure that back on Earth there was a question mark next to his name. Thoughts of the Earth First groups made him feel bitter about the whole affair. His crew fought for more than just Earth.
“You drink, Captain?”
“Hmm? No, patches for me,” William said, without taking his eyes off the Garlic. It was almost gone now, just a bright smudge against the black.
“I’m gonna get smashed. It’s going to be the most epic hangover you ever did see.”
William faked a smile. His only thoughts were on the future. He’d pushed the future out of his mind while he had a duty to Winterthur. But now, without a ship, his duty was to get back to UC space. Court martial, he thought. A damned dirty word.
Shay took two gentle steps and sat on some conduit. “Drunk,” she said and leaned back against the wall. “So goddamn drunk.”
The hull creaked and groaned. A man of small stature walked carefully through the spine of the ship and came closer to William and Shay. He was old and wore a smile that bordered on a mischievous grin. He had the look of someone with a joke he couldn’t wait to tell.
“Captain Grace.” Mao placed his hand on his sternum and gave the slightest of bows. His eyes were bright, beady points of light.
“Captain Mao,” William said with a smile.
“My nephew, bless his idiotic soul, is tending to your crew.”
“You have my thanks,” William said, and glanced out towards the Garlic.
Mao came closer and set a gnarled claw of a hand on William’s shoulder. He pointed at the smudge of light that was the Garlic. “Just think, it’ll be part of the stars forever.”
“Yes,” William said. “I guess it will.”
“You think of things in too short a timespan.” Mao turned away from the crystal window and shuffled a few steps away. “That ship will be a legend someday.”
William didn’t think that they’d do any such thing. “How long ‘til we arrive?”
Mao stopped and shrugged his bony shoulders. “We haven’t even properly braked yet, it’ll be a while.”
William nodded. He glanced over and saw that Shay was asleep, drooling on her suit.
“Not bad for the Grouper, eh?”
William felt himself blush a bit and nodded to the old man. “Not bad for the Grouper.”
The Grouper snaked around through the system and took the most efficient route back in towards Winterthur. The hull was old enough to discourage the strains of rapid maneuvers. It was a thing of physics leisure, straight lines and gentle vectors.
The docking station still held the hulk of the dropship, though no tubes snaked across. Titanium bright lights danced on the hull and lights poured across the hull. Far below the carbon black ribbon disappeared into the clouds. The sea was obscured while farther away the slightest tendrils of human activity fought for a hold.
William walked to the aft of the Grouper with his crew marching behind. He had asked Mao to head back to UC space immediately but he discovered that the frugal Mao was anxious to fill his hold with ores. “Never travel empty!” he’d told him with dreams of gold in his eyes.
William just wanted to get it over with. He knew in his heart he’d done the right thing by staying and fighting. But he also knew that he’d broken his orders to the very core. The only consolation was that he upheld the Covenant, and that was his oath.
Plus he had some Marines to pick up.
The ancient intercom crackled and popped. “Could you engage the blue and red lever please?”
Huron stepped close to the airlock and pulled on each of the pitted handles. The first centered the airlock with the second priming the seals. A moment later a compressor hummed and atmosphere slowly equalized.
“Drunk,” Shay mumbled and nodded at the door. “Fucking drunk.”
The door opened and the smells of nanite propellant and death rolled into the ship. The crew of the Garlic hesitated and William waved them forward. Huron was the first to leap into the zero gravity of the umbilical and enter the station.
William watched them go and stood with his toes on the worn orange line. His doubts crawled over him and he felt the weight of command on his shoulders. Finally he pushed himself out into the zero g and coasted into the station.
On the other side, Corporal Vale Thorsidottir stood in a dirty suit of battle armor. Beside her stood Igor and Grgur, both at attention. Grgur was hunched over with a wide swath of bandages across his chest. Igor showed wide white teeth and smelled a bit like a brewery.
“Corporal,” William said with a salute.
The Marines relaxed and regaled the crew of the Garlic with stories of the assault. The initial wave launched perfectly but the dropship suffered a critical malfunction.
“Once the convicts thought we were going to die, they found the Lenten reserves and got rip roaring drunk,” Igor said, smiling.
Grgur tried to laugh but it sounded like a bad wheeze. “Then we boarded the station and shot all the Hun.”
“Shot them all?” William asked hesitantly.
Igor shrugged. “We offered terms.”
“No survivors?” William asked.
Igor shook his head. “They sealed up on the far side of the station. Then the shooting stopped and we found them all. Dead.”
“Dead? Like dead-dead or with a UC bullet?” William asked, almost wishing he hadn’t.
Igor shook his head quickly. “No, no. They did something, they were all dead. Like a suicide.”
William caught glances from the Marines and turned to see Emilie Rose watching them. He nodded to his Marines and dismissed everyone. “I’ve got this watch,” he said to Shay.
Shay grinned and led the crew towards the waiting cargo elevator. The Marines broke away from the rest and stood away from William at a respectful distance. Vale walked over and talked to a woman with scarred alloy arms.
“Captain. Fine work,” Emilie said. She looked worn, tired, and even thinner than before.
“Same to you, Ms. Rose.” William turned and walked slowly through the cargo area. He saw a group of monks and nuns, and made a mental note to find the Abbot.
“What will you do now?” Emilie asked.
William smiled. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Things are going to work out here, I see a future in politics.”
“Politics?”
Emilie smiled and looked away. “I came here to make my fortune,” she said in a wistful voice. “Instead I found something more.”
William didn’t say anything, but wished he’d found something more. With the threat of immediate invasion gone, he was left without a task, without a ship, and most of all, without a purpose. All he could think of was the only thing the future held was a court martial.
Emilie looked at William and studied his face. “You can stay.”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t,” William said, and walked away.
A voice hollered through the solitude of the hold. “Captain, Captain!”
William stopped, turned, and squinted towards the docking array.
Wei scrambled through the debris waving both of his arms over his head. “Captain!”
“What?” William asked.
“Someone is asking for you,” Wei said.
William glanced at the elevator and saw the doors still open and his crew standing inside. “Who?”
“Come, come! It just came in from the edge of the system.”
William followed Wei back to the Grouper. He was excited, and also nervous. It must be a UC ship, he thought. He nervously itched the stump where his augmetic hand was. His fingers scratched at an itch he could never seem to ease.
“There!” Wei said, pointing at a comms console old enough to be in a museum.
Mao stood on the edge of the bridge with his arms crossed on his chest and a crooked smile on his face.
William looked down at the smudged screen and picked out the source. His heart beat faster and the excitement rose in chest. He gently touched the console with trembling fingers.
The Gruffalo appeared on the screen and looked a dozen years older. Behind him a wide and open bridge was bustling with officers and crew. “Hello William,” he said, smiling. “Interested in a job with the real Colonial Navy?”
William smiled at the screen and wondered if he’d just found his calling. “Hard to go back when you can make a difference,” he said, and felt his path open before him.
From the Author
I hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I did writing it.
When I set out a year ago I wrote a novel that I would enjoy. Much to my surprise, other people enjoyed it as well. So I kept writing, and writing, and finished the story of William Grace.
There’s a lot unsaid in the story, an entire universe exists that you only get a taste of. I did this on purpose, one, you don’t want a history book, and two, everyone loves that sense of mystery. Will you see more from this universe? Maybe someday.
For now I’ve got other projects lined up. I hope you enjoy these even more.
––––––––
One last thing, if you enjoyed this novel please leave an honest review on Amazon and tell a friend about the series.
Even better, leave me an honest review, tell a friend, and drop me an email, I’d love to hear from you.
––––––––
Casey
casey@caseycalouette.com
––––––––
Find more at http://www.amazon.com/CaseyCalouette/e/B004IWHH8O
Or at http://caseycalouette.com
Or on Twitter at http://twitter.com/titaniumtrout
Join my newsletter for early releases, free stories, artwork, and 3D printable models of starships. http://eepurl.com/DN21H