“What is it?”
The personal computer on Gavin’s arm was lifeless as well. The double doors on the side of the shuttle opened, and bolts of white energy tore the first three marines to shreds. The smell of burned flesh and ozone filled the compartment. Ferrier leaned out with his rifle ready to fire. “Stop! Your rifle's battery is dead!” Gavin shouted.
As Gavin expected, Ferrier and the marine who leaned into jeopardy to fire back only emitted clicks from their rifles and were taken apart by shards of white light before they could get back under cover. Surrender was the only option. Gavin drew his sidearm and tossed it through the door, Skylar did the same. When the last marine was fired on, they were on their knees at the rear of the cockpit, their hands above their heads. The sounds of heavy feet stepping on soil as at least two people in armour approached the shuttle hatch threatened to unman Gavin, but he took a deep breath. He was supposed to be the one with more tactical training. “We surrender. There are two unarmed people inside. We have our hands up.”
“Don’t worry,” an amplified voice said from one of the suits. “We are all Synthetics here. Welcome. Come out, please.”
The hangar they landed in was enormous, sheltering rows of two and single seat ships that had pod engines on moving spars. Pilots rushed to take their seats, some of them looked very similar to each other. They were all attractive, practically perfect. The things that killed their marines were sitting in three-metre-tall armoured suits that were highly articulated. It seems that they could move and fight as quickly as an unfettered soldier or perform maintenance just as easily. Some were carrying fighters and loading munitions further inside the hangar. “Welcome to Earth Outpost East Bay,” said a female voice as the front of the armoured vehicle on two legs opened in the middle. A blonde woman who looked similar to Skylar was standing inside. “Food is limited, so your wild born soldiers had to go.”
“We had our own rations,” Gavin retorted. “I’m sure there must have been something in that ocean that they could have eaten.”
“I’m afraid not,” the soldier said. “Everything in those waters is poison to any kind of human. I can eat it, because I’ve had genetic treatments that make me immune, but you’d die in about an hour. The Issyrians poisoned the water when the corporations took this place, and we haven’t figured out how to clean the whole ocean. We clean what we need, but that makes food limited. Again, sorry, but best we kill your wild born soldiers before we learn their names.”
“What about stasis? We could have suspended them until our people come to retrieve us?” Gavin asked, so angry that it surprised him. Skylar brushed the back of his hand, reminding him that this wasn’t the time.
Starfighters were lifting off, at least twenty were already ascending. “I had my orders. Besides, no one’s coming for you. The planetary shield is almost whole again, and we don’t let anyone but our own kind in. Our Uriel Fighters are chasing down one of your shuttles and capturing a few of the more important mad robots; by the time they’re done, the whole planet will be sealed up again. You’ll like spending your last days with us, though. You’ll see.”
“Last days?” Skylar asked.
“Yeah, didn’t you know?” the attack armour pilot asked. “Ah, I’ll let the doc fill you in. Follow me.” The front of her armour closed and she started walking towards an interior door.
Gavin was still enraged at the loss of soldiers who would have peacefully found a compromise that would keep them alive. Skylar took his hand and leaned so she could see his whole face as she walked at his side. “There was nothing we could have done,” she whispered. “Not aboard the Queen’s Pride, and not down here.”
“I know. I don’t think I’ll ever trust these people, though,” he said. “They can’t be real Earthlings. Their reputation is better than this.”
Eleven
The ticket system for the British Alliance was critically important to them, so it was a good thing that it was also surprisingly simple. Spin, her ship and the crew in her service were allowed to perform as hired security, to transport goods and people but they weren’t cleared to claim salvage. That was something she submitted a new application for. She could also sell the tickets with her ship if she needed to, increasing its value a great deal.
According to what she saw, the British Alliance suffered horrifically during the holocaust virus. Yes, many artificial intelligences were infected and turned on their masters. Artificial Intelligences were still not in broad use yet, in fact, the new Alliance depended on crews and the military more than anything. Artificial Intelligences were forbidden in most areas of industry and private life.
The thing that damaged the British Alliance more than anything else was the uprising of hundreds of localized independent governments while communications and transport were running minimally or not at all during the Holocaust Crisis. Most of them were backed by criminal organizations, and they weren’t content to manage the populations that foolishly supported their formation. Most of them took more territory, even filing for their independence legally, knowing that the British Alliance wouldn’t receive their documentation for months or years because of the broken state of their once artificial intelligence managed communications systems. As a result, the British Alliance territories were cut down by two thirds, and all ships that were capable had to carry secure data packets for delivery to remote systems when they filed their flight plans. That was still more reliable than the outer edges of their communications systems.
One thing that kept the remainder of the British Alliance powerful was the might and size of their military. They were taking territory back, mostly through diplomacy, but none of those diplomatic solutions would be possible without the dreaded force of the British Military backing them. There were forces to spare, and from the little time she had to look at the information package all captains received, Spin saw that the British Alliance Military were publicly supporting causes from where she was standing all the way to the edge of the Iron Head Nebula, many, many light years away. Someone might think that the British Alliance was down, smaller than it had been in over two centuries, but Spin recognized a pattern. They were rebuilding by strategically supporting governments that could become important allies, and if it worked out, they’d be at least twice their former size if you included them.
The elevator finally reached the ground floor. It was reserved for new captains, so there was seating, and only one other passenger rode with her. It looked like a water-based species based on the liquid support system built into its suit, and the faceplate was blacked out. It could be an Issyrian or a Paudik, or some other aquatic species she’d never met. Her crew were waiting in a separate lobby section, their interviews were finished and the base moved them on to a waiting area where they could relax and have something to eat while they waited for her and Dorian.
The aquatic creature’s suit bubbled loudly. Spin looked at the polished white and black suit, its metal components were polished and the suit beneath looked new. It nodded at her. “Best of luck on your journey, human Captain,” it said.
“Best of luck to you too, Captain,” Spin replied. Her computer buzzed against her skin. She looked to the wrist of her suit and saw that her ident had connected to the British Alliance communications network. There were pages of messages waiting for her, and one was marked with Boro’s grinning face. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
“I understand, farewell,” the aquatic Captain said as the doors opened. It stepped out ahead of her.
Spin tapped the display on her wrist and gasped. “Look who the bloody slavers were stupid enough to dig out of the muck,” he said with a big grin. “I’m alive, I got away, even got my own ship and tracked you down. The talking heads at the star base said I might get to you before you’re checked in right and have access to the comms network, but I thought I’d send you and Nigel this so you don’t think you’re seeing a ghost or some bloody clone. I thought it was important to warn you about Kort and his little f
leet. He’s after you, and he might have the people who know how to get around the British Alliance. Those rich bastards seem to do whatever the hell they want, and while they were doing it to me, I was thinking about you.”
Spin was happy no one she knew could see her as she stepped into the shadow of the tall administration tower, its dark metal surface blending with the blackness. She wiped tears from her face, glad she could shed them and embarrassed at the same time. “I should have known. We should have taken him aboard to make sure.”
“You did your best, darlin’,” Boro said, but not from the computer display on her wrist.
Spin looked up and spotted him walking towards her in a new green, armoured jacket, a heavy shard handgun strapped to his thigh, combat boots with a thick armour under suit beneath it all. There was a man several steps behind him who was visibly awkward, trying to look anywhere but at Boro or her. “Oh my God!” she squealed, rushing at him at a run.
He caught her in his arms easily even though she collided with him. “If you took me on that ship, I wouldn’t have made it. The bastard that took me worked miracles to get my grey matter back online, but he made sure I was still one hundred percent human.”
“I’m sorry,” Spin said, burying her face against his chest and gripping the back of his black skin suit. He lost a lot of weight, and it didn’t suit him, but there was something about the whole sensation of him that made her feel safer than she had since she escaped the Countess' grasp for the second time.
Larken felt like her equal in all things, like a partner who she loved deeply, but he never gave her that. Boro could do things that she didn’t have the skill for, had an attitude that was completely foreign to the way she was raised and the etiquette that was drilled into her from an early age and she always liked it. Even when she sometimes caught him looking at her with an admiration that seemed almost hungry – as though he wanted to devour her with his eyes, maybe take her somewhere private so they could be together in a very, very indelicate way – it didn’t disgust her like it had with other men who made similar desires obvious. He tried to hide that side of himself from her, to rise to her intellectual level enough to get to know her and Spin couldn’t count the number of times he simply asked her to explain things he never had the education to know just so he could stay in her company.
Boro respected her, cared about her, and wanted her in ways that Larken would never have let himself express as openly or as passionately as the man who held her close would. Spin knew she’d always love Larken, but as Boro tilted her chin up and wiped her tears away with thick but gentle fingers, she realized that she would let him take care of her from time to time, while her and Larken were always too equal for that to feel right. With Boro, she knew he’d lean on her intelligence, and she could lean on him for anything she wanted. “Thinking of you got me through the worst of everything, Aspen,” he said.
“It’s just Spin, now.” It was simply unbelievable that he was there, but the circle of his arms and his confident, low voice were evidence enough for the moment that it was true. His eyes were closing, lips lowering, and her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest as she let her guard down completely. Spin closed the gap, realizing that she’d given up the idea that she’d be passionate with anyone ever again as their lips joined and expressed how much she wanted to celebrate his sudden return.
He was slow, as though he was savouring the sensation of her, holding Spin close, one of his big hands holding her waist, while the other was planted on her back, and his lips held hers gently for a long moment before they moved with hers. It became a warm, breathy kiss and when they parted long moments later it was with hesitation. She spotted a tear on his cheek before looking into his dark blue eyes. “I missed you so much,” Spin told him.
“Aye, me too,” he said quietly.
“Woo!” whooped Nigel from the bottom of the long, broad ramp as he lead the way to the crew hospitality area. His hands were above his head, clapping before balling into shaking fists. “Man, I should have known they couldn’t get you!”
Sharon, Leland, Mirra and Della were emerging behind him, watching with interest. “Go,” Spin told Boro.
“We’ll make time later?” he asked.
Spin nodded and started stepping out of his embrace. The question reminded her of how little time she’d actually have, and how selfish getting into a real relationship with him would be. They walked down the ramp, hand in hand until Nigel started running up, tears in his eyes. “Easy, nephew, I’m all right,” Boro reassured as he caught him.
“You’re really alive? I can’t believe it, thank God, man, you’re really alive!” he wept as Boro held him tightly. Nigel managed to curl himself into the embrace, stooping so he was shorter than his uncle.
“I’m back, it’s all right, Young Shark,” he said, stroking his head.
“Travis didn’t make it,” Nigel sobbed.
“It’s just family and new friends then,” Boro soothed, turning his face away so Nigel couldn’t see him squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw. The speed at which he pushed that pain down was almost alarming. When he spoke again it was in a tone that was more determined than soothing. “There’s a reunion coming up, I’ve put the call in to a distant relation.”
Spin knew Boro well enough to be sure that he’d make someone pay for everything wrong visited on him and his family. Revenge wasn’t a calling, or a quest for his people. It was an art form.
Twelve
The gunnery deck of the Hawker was running perfectly. Under the watchful eye of the Gunnery Chief who trained them, the crew worked in heavy armour that was the power and protection equivalent of the full-sized Earth Power Armour Suits that came with the Triton. In many ways they were superior, especially in size. The crews could move with much greater agility since it was only two centimetres thick in most places and as little as nine millimetres in major flex points.
In armour that looked like it should be from thirty or fifty years in the future to their Chief, the gunnery crews handled cartridges of caseless ammunition their own size, loading the heavy broadside guns at a pace that matched their turret gunners. The three levels of gunners worked around problems too. While most turrets were firing, a few had taken simulated damage or broken down for real and repair crews worked frantically to get them firing again.
A cartridge the Chief was watching for several minutes while he monitored the rest of the action from the middle catwalk finally slipped off an upper deck platform. The loader nearest made a last second grab for it and missed.
“Loose cartridge!” he shouted, sounding the alarm before it was completely off the edge of the deck.
“Got it!” a marine called as she activated her suit’s thrusters. By the time she made contact with it and another marine helped her balance the large cartridge, it had fallen no more than three metres.
“No more fuck ups! That would have blown the whole exercise!” called one of the Chief Trainers. “More importantly, it would have slagged at least one turret! These old ships can’t take screw ups like our new suits can! Get your shit together, keep your head on a swivel.” She barked, losing no ferocity from one end of her speech to the other. “We are thirty three percent through this fire exercise, let’s make it legendary! Got me?”
“Yes Sir! We’ve got you, Sir!” replied all sixty-two members of the gunnery team running the three decks.
The only problem the crew the Senior Gunnery Chief saw with the team was that they had a tendency to print ammunition ahead and a few of them didn’t stow the cartridges right away. The Chief Trainee would mark the loaders responsible for the near disaster and he would respond by having them held back. He expected the rest of the crew would go on to regular service by the end of the week. The Haven Fleet was only one third ultra-modern hardware, the rest were older ships they’d captured, bought or salvaged. They needed loading teams, among other types of specialized personnel. Eventually the older ships would be phased out, but until then Shamus Frost
was one of the few people in the fleet who could train people to work with the old hardware.
It felt good, but he had nine Junior Chiefs and almost as many large teams ready to go. They could all use more practice, but like the team he was watching, he would send them into combat if they were needed and he’d expect to hear good things.
Shamus watched as the same loader who failed to stow the loose cartridge – a metal crate almost as tall as he was – backed into another one and almost tripped into the ammunition printer ejection hatch at his feet. “Get Goreman out,” he told his Chief Trainee. “Now. His situational awareness is shit, we need to put him at a desk by the end of the day so no one mistakes him for a loader.”
“Aye, Chief,” she replied. The Chief trainee signalled a nearby loader who was idle to take Goreman’s place then she ordered Goreman to leave his post then surrender his armour. He would be on the first shuttle headed back to Haven Fleet Headquarters on Tamber, where they’d reassess him and give him a new assignment, maybe in logistics.
The rest of the exercise went well; three decks of guns firing from the port side of the Hawker as the ship made its way through the target field. The guns were reloaded at the right pace, so no ammunition was left loose, and they didn’t have to stop firing. When the vibrations of the turrets stopped and the crews worked on stowing any leftover ammunition while the gunners secured their turrets, Chief Shamus Frost patted his Chief Trainee on the shoulder. “That’s how it’s done,” he told her. “One more exercise and I’ll put you and your team in the rotation. You might not get picked by a captain right away, so get a few more exercises in using the simulator every day. Keep ‘em quick and smart.”
“Yes, Chief. Thank you, Chief,” Chief Trainee George replied, saluting.
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