“The ship is now secure, ma’am. Captain Greenacre is dead, and so are several of his officers.” The Major pushed a tablet across the desk. “I’m pleased to report the bastard that killed my Colonel is among the prisoners. I’ve put him in separate accommodation under guard, on charges of murder as well as mutiny.”
Admiral Le Jeune nodded. “Good. I’ve asked the Advocate Commodore to examine all the officers involved and draw up the charge sheets. The ship will require dockyard attention to repair the damage we did while recapturing control, so I’ll have to shift my flag.” She sat up straighter and leaned her arms on her desk. “I’ve appointed Commander Keane in temporary command of this ship until someone else can be appointed to fill the gap. I find it difficult to believe that almost half the officers joined that fool Greenacre and killed so many of their fellows.”
“You were top of their target list. It was just luck your Marine guards were able to prevent them getting to you. Their timing must have been forced, because they made their attempt just as the guard was being relieved.”
“So I discovered. Make sure the people involved are mentioned in your report, and I’ll endorse it.” She paused. “You know we lost the Lutine. We’re not sure if it was deliberate or an accident, but she blew up. No survivors.” She leaned back in her chair, the strain showing in her face. “There will be hell to pay over this. I’ll face a Board of Enquiry at least, probably a Court Martial—and we still don’t know how many more of their people are tucked in everywhere.”
“I have a report from Admiral Petrocova, ma’am.” The Flag Lieutenant was at the door. “She reports her charges are all secure.” He smiled. “She had a tip-off, and was ready for the attempt on several of her ships. The mutineers will no doubt be wondering what went wrong.”
Admiral Le Jeune smiled. “That’s good news at least. If I know Valerie, she’ll make them wish they’d just taken a walk through the airlock without EVA suits.” She hesitated. “Any other reports?”
“Afraid so, ma’am. Four more ships have been lost. We’re not sure if they’ve been destroyed or taken over. One of them is the starship L’Orient. Contact has been lost with her Flag Officer as well. The others are the Kursk, Borodino, and the Batteleur. Almost every ship in the Fleet is reporting some kind of takeover attempt or damage due to sabotage. We’ve learned the Sino-Asian Imperium’s ships have had trouble as well, but we’ve no details.”
Harry tried to focus his eyes. He couldn’t remember when last he’d taken any liquids, and his feeding container was empty. He swayed as he stood. They were surrounded by an orchard, a fact that truly had saved them from starvation. He reached for a big, juicy fruit that reminded him of an apple, but it was just out of reach, and he collapsed to the ground with a heavy exhale, and lay there splayed out as if he had fallen dead where he stood.
Jack heard the sigh and the thud as Harry dropped, and swore under his breath as the beast swung its ferocious head in their direction. “Don’t move, Mike!” He hissed. “Leave him, and for God’s sake, don’t move!”
“Doing my best, Warrant.”
The beast lumbered toward them from its crevasse, the evil tail rising, the stinger claw unsheathing as it did so.
Jack swore again. His gaze took in the creature’s thick hide and the heavy carapace, and the manner in which it changed colour to match its background as it stood, fully exposed, its four eyes locked on his. A long, forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air, the dust, the vegetation. The creature moved, and Jack’s thoughts raced. Was it preparing to charge or to pounce? His mind screamed to run, to get away, but he forced himself to remain motionless. Distracted by the beast, he didn’t register that a huge mechanical monstrosity was approaching from behind.
Time stood still. Man and beast eyed each other. Then the creature moved, and for a beast this large, it moved with a speed that surprised him. Jack dove aside as the creature lunged, and was almost crushed as the thing crashed down on top of him.
Admiral Heron surveyed the prisoners with mixed emotions. Their act of mutiny or rebellion—both equally abhorrent to him—filled him with disgust. That they’d attempted to kill him and his staff was bad enough, but what was unforgivable was that they had killed some of their own comrades in their attempt to seize the ship. His gaze burned across the beaten and miserable collection of traitors herded together in the hangar.
“Separate the officers, the warrant officers, and the TechRates. Place the officers and warrants in solitary confinement; the rates as you see fit. Have the wounded treated, but keep them confined at all times. No one is to be moved without restraints for any reason if they are taken from their places of confinement.”
“You can’t do this to us, Admiral. It’s a breach of our rights.” The speaker wore the rank markings of a Captain.
“Your rights, Captain Orsen? Ah, yes. Perhaps I should accord you the same rights that Senator Samland afforded my relative Commander Heron. She had him put into a helmet that suppressed his ability to communicate with his ship’s AI. Unfortunately, it also prevents him eating. Then she had him marooned on an unknown planet with nothing but basic survival rations. All we do know about the planet is that it is a desert world in a binary system. About the only thing going for it is that it has a breathable atmosphere.” He paused. “He and his men had standard rations for four weeks. That was eight weeks ago.” He let that sink in. “You will be fed and cared for, and then you will face justice. You will, in the meantime, enjoy the rights I decide are appropriate for traitors, mutineers and murderers.”
With that, he said, “Colonel, you have your orders.”
The Marines moved forward, several senior Rates among them carrying devices for restraining the prisoners. The Admiral watched, his expression unreadable as the officers were singled out and placed in restraints, and then he turned on his heel and stalked away accompanied by his staff.
When the airlock closed behind Admiral Heron, Captain Orsen made a renewed protest. “You can’t do this. It’s against the Regulations.”
“So is mutiny!” The Colonel moved fast and stood right in front of the man. “Can’t is not in my vocabulary.” He moved so his face was inches from the Captain’s. “Be grateful our fine Admiral doesn’t share my view on what we should do with scum like you. I wanted to eject you all into space.” He stepped back. “Same odds Samland gave Commander Heron and his boys.”
“You don’t understand, Colonel. The Charonians are offering humanity the chance to evolve into something greater, and Senator Samland is promising a new deal—a clean-out of corruption and a new system of government. Those of us who accept their offer will help to build a new deal for everyone—less corruption, less regulation—and some will become the first of an enhanced species.”
The Colonel shook his head in derision. “Ah, yes, the good old utopia gimmick. If you believe that, you’re the greatest fool in the universe.” He glanced at the others. “Have any of you actually met the Charonians? Do you know how they reproduce?” His question met blank stares and head shakes. “No, I didn’t think so. That’s because they don’t. They implant themselves in a host body and take over, adapting it to their physical ideal as they do. As far as we can tell, the hosts remain aware of what is happening, but they are prisoners in their own bodies. Count yourselves lucky that we got you first.”
To his NCOs he ordered, “Take these fools away. Put them in the isolation cells. No human access—droid attendants only, and only when supervised by armed escorts.” As the Captain made to protest, he snapped, “Don’t push me, Orsen. I’m not in the mood, and I don’t have the Admiral’s sense of justice or his control.”
Chapter 14
Out of the Frying Pan
_________________________
Jack struggled to free himself as the monster writhed, one clawed foot swiping in a swift downward motion just inches from his side. Then, with a great shudder, the thing lay still and pinioned him to the ground. Up close and
this personal, it stank. The smell made him want to throw up, it was so rank. He fought it down as he tried to work out what had happened, and then he remembered Harry.
“Commander? Mike? Are you guys okay?”
There was no response. He resumed struggling then stopped abruptly when something cold and metallic touched his neck. “What the...?”
A muffled voice cut him off. “Lie still, you dirty Enviro. Yer way out of your territory here—even the stupidest of you Enviros know not to come here. What’re yer lookin’ for?”
“What the blazes are you on about? Who the flaming hell are you? Get this damned thing off me!” Jack’s patience snapped. He grabbed the contraption and shoved with as much force as he could muster. There was a loud pop, and a metal slug ricochetted off the stone he was laying on, fortunately on a trajectory that took it away from his body.
“Easy there, Jazz.” This was a new voice, equally muffled. “These guys don’t look like Enviros.”
“He don’t know enough not to try to wrestle a pneumagun away from me,” said the man addressed as Jazz. “Near shot hisself.”
“You should know better than to poke it into someone,” Hunter snapped The newcomer moved into Jack’s view. “Who are you, stranger?”
“Warrant Officer Proctor, North European Confederation Fleet, Captain’s Coxswain NECS Lagan.” Jack stared at the two figures and noted their attire. They wore tight trousers that appeared to be made from the hide of a beast like the one that pinned him to the ground, and a heavy jacket of the same material. They each wore a metal helmet that covered the head entirely, from which hoses protruded that connected to a chest harness. They carried what looked like rifles, but a hose from the weapon led to a large metal cylinder worn on the back.
“So the legends are true,” said the one called Jazz. “There are other humans around. Where did you come from then? Don’t give me any of that big ship in space baloney.”
Jack’s temper was fraying rapidly. “Legends? We’re just people, mate. Of course there are other humans. Other species as well.” Jack struggled to get up. “Get me out from under this damned thing, then you can spout all the bullshit you like! Where is my Commander? He needs medical attention pronto—or don’t you people do things like that?”
“Keep still. Jazz, get the levers and bring them to me.” Hunter, who was obviously the leader, waited until Jazz had moved away. “Now then, Warrant Officer Proctor—what the hell sort of job is a Warrant Officer anyway? Do you go around in your big starship making warrants on all these dried-up rocks in the outer reaches of the sky? I’m so impressed. Must keep you very busy. Guess what, I don’t give a shit. I don’t believe this blarney about ships and space. I know your type. You’re from the other side of this hellhole planet, aren’t you? Why don’t you stay on your turf? You’re in our territory now, and obviously you don’t know enough to keep away from the sand dragons. You’re lucky we nailed this one with the turret gun when he broke cover.” He stopped speaking as an identically clad figure got down next to him and worked a long metal bar under the scorpion carcass to pry it loose.
“Right, we’ll have you out of there in a jiff,” said the man.
A ‘jiff’ seemed to be a flexible measure of time in Jack’s opinion. It took almost ten minutes to free him, and when he stood, a little wobbly at first, he saw that he was surrounded by a dozen of Hunter’s people. Two of them moved forward to seize his arms and tie his wrists behind him while two men held their long rifle weapons to his chest and watched his every move.
Jack was hustled down the slope to a vehicle from which protruded a tall funnel that billowed smoke. Steam issued from somewhere near the funnel, and a turret structure on the top carried some sort of fixed weapon with a long barrel. Shutters around the armoured body of the thing could evidently be opened, presumably to reveal more weapons.
The two men led Jack to the rear of the vehicle and up a ramp, then handed him over to a man waiting inside.
“Put him with the other two,” said Hunter. After that, Jack was hustled away, and had no further chance to speak to the leader.
“Hunter, I can’t get this helmet off’n this ’un. Never seen nuffink like it.” The speaker tapped Harry’s encased head with something metallic. “He’s outta it anyways.”
“He’s suffering from dehydration,” said Jack in a droll tone.
“Shut it, mate.” The leader pushed Jack with his weapon. “Pix, leave the helmet. The Mechanist can deal with it when we get home. Pour some water on him. That’ll get him right.” He watched as the younger man did as he ordered, then they both left without another word.
From the noises and sounds coming from outside the vehicle, the other men were loading something into other compartments. Jack was relieved when Harry stirred, groaned, then passed out again. At least his breathing was a little less laboured.
Jack wondered whether he should demand their captors do something for the Commander, but decided there was no point. Mike seemed to be a bit dazed, and a bruise on his forehead suggested he’d taken a blow; at any rate, he wasn’t responding to questions or his surroundings.
Jack listened as the sounds outside changed and orders were given.
Before long, the rest of the men joined them. Most of them stank of blood and the rank smell of offal from the creature. Piling in around Jack and Harry, the crew moved their prisoners onto seats of a sort, then strapped them in before taking seats themselves. “All set back there?” The voice came from a bell-mouthed tube in the bulkhead.
“Set, Gord. Go.”
From somewhere in front of them, there was a long drawn-out hiss followed by the sound of machinery in motion. The vehicle lurched then gathered speed, but it was a rocking, swaying, lunging motion, as if the thing was on legs and not wheels. It wasn’t unpleasant, but in the close confines of the metal cabin surrounded by men reeking of heaven knew what, Jack’s stomach rebelled, then Mike’s followed suit, and both men went pale as waves of nausea roiled within them.
The men laughed. “Kin see they’s never ridden a walker before.” One of the men retrieved a couple of buckets and deposited them on the two mens’ laps. “There ya go. Ya get used to it.”
“Thanks.” Jack hoped his sarcasm was coming through. “But we’ve naff all to chuck anyways. Haven’t eaten for five days, and not a lot to drink either.”
There was a moment of silence, then one of the masked figures asked, “What? Whadaya mean yer’ve not eaten fer five days? Where t’ hell you frum anyways? Don’t look like Enviros.”
“I don’t know who these Enviros are. We’re from the Fleet. This is Commander Heron—our Captain. We were marooned here by some damned pirates that I can’t wait to get my hands on….”
“Haven’t heard of any tribe called pirates, mate, nor of this Fleet you mention. That your tribe then? Are you from one of those wild ones out in the plateau country?”
Jack looked at them like they were either demented or the most uneducated fools he’d ever encountered. “The Fleet is not a tribe. What are you anyway? Don’t you know anything? You sound human, but in those outfits, you don’t look it.”
“Us? Yeah, we’re human, mate. An’ these outfits are survival gear. Wouldn’t live long walking round like you’re dressed, or unarmed. Reckon you were sand dragon bait when we saw you.”
“Is that what you call these creatures—sand dragons?”
“Never heard them called aught else.”
“Don’t they attack you or your vehicles?”
“Nah, they’ve learned to avoid the walkers, so we have to get a bit crafty hunting them.” He paused as a voice called down the speaking tube.
Jack couldn’t make out what was said, but the men around him were already readying their pneumatic rifles and taking positions next to the ports that had opened. The swaying seemed to increase as the vehicle changed direction, and the sounds of machinery became louder.
A tremendous report from ahead and ab
ove was followed by the stench of acrid smoke, and a memory came flooding back; it reminded Jack of fireworks, something he hadn’t witnessed on Earth for many years. There was another change of direction, and shortly after another loud bang. Seconds later a tremendous clang and shudder suggested something had hit the outer hull.
“What’s happening?” Harry’s voice was weak.
Mike spoke up first. “We’re prisoners inside some kind of vehicle, sir, and I think we’re under attack.” He managed to give Harry some water, spilling a fair amount due to the motion. “You’ve missed a lot while you’ve been out of it, sir.”
Harry considered this. “The last thing I remember was reaching for a fruit, then everything went dark.” He tried to move and couldn’t. “I suppose that explains why I’m tied up.” He paused. “And I’m wet. Did we find water?”
“No, sir.” Another loud bang and the acrid smell permeated the space.
“Oh, we’re in action, are we?” Harry hesitated. “I hope these Frenchmen have us in the orlop—we’ll be like to be struck by a ball or the splinters otherwise.”
Jack realised Harry wasn’t in touch with reality. He wasn’t sure what this talk of Frenchmen and orlop was all about, but given the Commander was technically 426 years old, it must be something from his service in sailing ships during the Napoleonic Wars. Come to think of it, Jack mused, this vehicle does rock and sway like a wooden ship on the ocean. But all he said was, “I think we’re in the orlop, sir,” hoping this would appease Harry. He also secretly hoped that Harry’s confusion wasn’t a sign of permanent neurological damage.
Around him the crew were resuming their seats and the shutters were closing over the ports, so whatever had caused the excitement had passed.
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 14