The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  Private John McLeod carefully placed his slate on the deck before he completely lost his rag. Cludgie Command…It wasn’t just the dirty jobs the captain was giving them, but the jibes from the lads and lassies had a vicious bite, because they blamed him for everyone being confined to this heap-o-garbage ship. He bellowed in rage. If he ever got his hands around that mutant chipmunk’s neck…

  His shouts ceased as his clenched fists imagined feeling Flatar neck vertebrae popping. It would be better than a night of passion with the entire squad of Inverkriekie Ladies Football Club.

  “Ach, you’re such a drama queen,” said Jones, not looking up from his own slate. “Shut yer gob, why don’t you?”

  “Dry yer eyes,” Sergeant Vogel told them, “both of you, and keep checking those bot feeds. Sooner we finish the job, the sooner this’ll all blow over.”

  “But it won’t, Sarge,” wailed McLeod. “I’ll never live it down. I’ll be like that JR fella…infamous across the Union.” He gasped in horror. “I’ll be known as Cludgie McLeod!”

  “Obdura will relieve you soon,” snapped Vogel. “I don’t want to hear a peep outta you until then.”

  “Sarge?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Sergeant,” McLeod insisted, “will you look at this?”

  “More elSha?” asked Vogel as he and Jones strained to get a good look at the image on McLeod’s slate.

  “No, Sarge.”

  “Pity. What am I seeing?”

  “The bot’s discovered electrical cabling.”

  “It’s a space ship, McLeod. Of course it has sodding electronics, you numpty.”

  “Yes, Sarge, but the bot’s inside an overpressure exhaust vent for the plasma torch. I’m no electrical engineer, but—”

  “But even the purest mad dafty would never design a ship with electronics inside the engine exhaust,” finished Vogel. He grabbed his own slate and pinged the captain.

  “Sinclair, go.”

  “Vogel, sir. We’ve discovered what looks like sabotage.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 35

  “Got you, Blue,” Sinclair announced in triumph to the empty captain’s cabin.

  He alerted the cyber defense team, then took a moment to marshal his thoughts. What’s the best way to isolate and remove whatever led from the electronic thread Vogel’s team discovered in the plume vent? He hesitated. Maybe it’s not the Midnighters? Maybe this is the Condottieri?

  He shook his head. It no longer mattered. Vogel had come good. Just two more transitions, and they’d reach the rendezvous and the friendly warships waiting to take the Raknar to Jim Cartwright.

  The oversized slate set into the bulkhead by his desk flickered on. A completely bald woman blinked at him, bleary eyed, from within a shield of hastily-gathered sheets.

  “Blue?” he queried.

  She reached into a storage cubby above the bed and drew out a midnight blue topknot, which she locked into place atop her smooth head.

  “Clever trick,” said Sinclair. The way she’d accessed the slate in his cabin was terrifying. Not that he’d let on. “We’ve found your trickery on my ship.”

  “Took you long enough. If you were a gentleman, you’d have waited till morning.”

  “You’re unhinged, but you’re still a cunning vixen, Blue. I’ll give you that. But my team is thorough. You were never going to sneak this past us forever.”

  She blinked, and the sleepiness was all gone. The grin sliding across her face was pure predator – a predator who had its victim trapped. “I didn’t need forever. Just long enough to take full control of your ship. Full control, Jimmy.”

  Sinclair’s guts turned to ice. He tapped at the bulkhead slate, but it didn’t respond. The reboot button did nothing.

  With that devil woman’s eyes watching his every move, he shot out of his seat and climbed the ladder that led to the bridge. But he only bumped his head against his cabin hatch. Locked.

  And when he opened the manual release control and started cranking the mechanism, the hatch-closing motor pushed back, easily overcoming him. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Blue hadn’t merely taken over the ship’s systems, she’d reprogramed them against him.

  “I don’t give up easily,” he shouted at the woman on the bulkhead and started unscrewing a ventilation grille.

  “Stubborn,” said Blue. “I’ll give you that, Jimmy. Nonetheless, you’re beaten.”

  The cabin plunged into darkness, lit only by the slate which now showed a close-up of Blue’s face. The way she peered at him in amusement…Sinclair felt like an exhibit in a little girl’s ant farm.

  Muffled by the walls, he heard cries of protest throughout the ship. What he didn’t hear were the sounds of ventilation. Nor the air scrubbers.

  Blue’s face shifted across to one side of the slate. The other side now carried IR feeds showing shifting scenes of panic and confusion throughout the Nova, with one exception. The infirmary seemed to be cut off, but the power was still on.

  “It’s been fun, Sinclair. But we won. Surrender the Raknar, or I kill everyone on your ship.”

  “You’re no murderer. You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Dare? What was it you called me? Unhinged. That means I operate by a different playbook, Jimmy, and some of my moves are positively indecent. Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but I have my orders. I must recover the Raknar or, failing that, destroy the thieves. I tried taking them back, but the Condottieri intervened. Now I can do far more than confuse a few of your sensors as I did last time. Now I control everything. Surrender those Raknar freely, or watch your entire team die. Either way I fulfil my contract; it’s just a question of bonuses. Which way do we go? It’s up to you.”

  “You know what happened back on Earth?”

  “No,” she said cautiously. “We’ve heard a mix of garbled, conflicting messages. Misinformation is being pumped out so that, by the time we figure out what’s going on, it’s already happened. Although…my boss tells me not to trust anyone. Not even the guilds, and especially not the Mercenary Guild.”

  The Mercenary Guild! James felt his eyes light with hope. If the Midnighters were opposed to the leadership of the Mercenary Guild, maybe…just maybe, they could find common cause. “Let me make it simple,” he said. “As far as many of us are concerned—”

  “Many? That’s a very flimsy word. Be precise.”

  “Okay. I mean several other Earth-based mercenary companies.”

  “Uhuh?”

  “Led by the Four Horsemen.”

  That got Blue’s attention.

  “It’s nothing less than a full takeover of Earth by a faction of Veetanho operating via the Mercenary Guild. And that’s just the start of it. The Four Horsemen think this goes far beyond Earth. Beyond our species.”

  “Now this whole heist business makes sense,” she said. “You’re working an acquisition contract directly for Jim Cartwright, aren’t you?”

  Sinclair felt his face drain. That was supposed to be secret.

  She gave a knowing smile. “Jim knows the hottest secret in the galaxy. How to turn mecha junk into unstoppable war machines.”

  Sinclair said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, James. I can’t deal. The boss doesn’t have our affiliation with Earth. Gloriana wants her property back, and she’s powerful. Seriously, James. I know Raknar relics are as rare as hen’s teeth, but there are a few still out there. Rather than acquiring Gloriana as your enemy, you’re better off abandoning these three and looking for some more.”

  James shook his head in dismay. “You’re still playing games, but this is serious. Your hidden owner might have money, but she doesn’t have force projection. It’s CASPers, missiles and particle beam cannons that matter in the fight that’s brewing, and your entire company only fits inside one battlecruiser.”

  “What you see is the tip of the iceberg,” she replied, and James had the impression that her own words terrified her. “Please don’t make us your enemy. Yield
the Raknar or die. And don’t waste your time pulling up the wires you’ll find in the hidden parts of your ship. They don’t matter now that they’ve delivered the infowar modules throughout the Nova’s systems. I shall plead on your behalf as soon as I regain contact with Gloriana. I truly am sorry, James, but that’s all I can offer. Besides, I always fulfil my contract.”

  “But, Blue, war’s coming. Our home world is already occupied. Earth needs you.”

  She shook her head. “Earth means nothing to Gloriana.”

  “But the Veetanho do,” interjected a third voice. “They interest me a very great deal.”

  Blue squeaked in shock. “Who?” she said in a small voice. “Gloriana? How? Are you on the ship?”

  “Mr. Sinclair,” said the voice. “Please allow me a few moments’ discussion with the leader of my mercenary force.”

  “Spot of bother, hen?” Sinclair managed to get out before the slate died, plunging his cabin into silent blackness.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 36

  Two seconds later – a tiny duration, but plenty for Jamie to contemplate how stale his air was becoming – the bulkhead slate switched back on. But it didn’t show Blue’s annoying face.

  It was her sister.

  “Captain…captains…there’s been a development. The Condottieri. They’ve blockaded both our ship and the Scorpions’ with interdiction swarms.”

  “You got me,” said Sinclair. “What the bloody hell is an interdiction swarm?”

  “Veetanho tech,” Major Sun replied. “Very rare. Very expensive. Highly effective. Imagine our ships are surrounded by shoals of hungry space piranha, with jaws that can grind through CASPer armor in seconds.”

  “Oh, I’m picturing it now,” he said cheerfully, imagining what would happen if Sun’s mercs tried to get to his ship from the outside.

  “I hadn’t finished, Captain Sinclair. Throw away that first picture and understand that these lethal devices also have anti-armor rockets, and lasers, and can convert themselves into breaching charges. If Arashi Nova leaves the safety of its Exuberance clamp, within minutes it’ll be hulled and disabled by the swarm.

  “Ahh.”

  Blue’s face joined her sister on the slate. Her jaw was clenching, and her angry eyes were summoning flashes of red across her pale skin.

  “Given the precise timing of this interdiction,” said Blue, “we’d better assume our communications aren’t secure. Captain Sinclair…”

  She rolled her words around her mouth, not yet willing to spit them out. Her eyes pinched as if she were trying to smile, but her anger was too great. She gave up and scowled. “Would you like to take me out to dinner?”

  Sinclair laughed. “I’d love to, pet, but it’s kinda tricky going anywhere. You’ll never believe this, but I’m locked in my room.”

  Light returned to his cabin. Best of all, ventilation fans and scrubbers spooled up.

  “Pick me up in one hour at Bay 79.”

  The Midnighters disappeared from his screen to be replaced by a worried man whose beard was more salt than pepper. “Captain!” said Lieutenant Rough. “Thank heavens you’re okay. We lost control of the Nova. The XO’s organizing…”

  James held up a hand. “It was Blue.”

  “I knew it. But the team in the hold report the Raknar are safe. No one’s seen intruders. So what’s her game?”

  “Ach, dinna fret, Chief Engineer. It’s just her special way of asking me out on a date.”

  The poor man’s mouth flapped, but he was too astonished for any words to tumble out.

  Jamie Sinclair shrugged before giving his chief engineer a rakish wink. “Don’t look so huffy, man. A gentleman canna say no to a lady. Now, off you pop. I need a good hose and scrape if I’m gonna look my best.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 37

  If the Happy Carcass restaurant on one of UTS Exuberance’s inner frames didn’t put off unsuitable diners with its name, the overbearing security-backed staff would happily suggest alternate venues for anyone they didn’t like the look of.

  And if none of that worked, they simply had to show the menu. Yes, honored patron candidate, the prices really do show the correct number of zeroes.

  Fortunately for Blue, Gloriana had ensured the Midnighter credit line could match those zeroes, and then some.

  Sinclair was eating in silence, which Blue thought was a bit rich, considering she was paying. The interpretive software activated by her pinplants told her he’d inevitably agree to her demands. It was simply his pride insisting he pretend to consider her offer, when she knew damned well he had no choice. No matter…the food was delicious.

  “So, let’s get this right,” said Sinclair, leaning forward and pointing his fork at her, gravy running down the most expensive potato wedges in history. “You want to give me the Raknar?”

  Blue tucked into another few mouthfuls of gorgeous poutine while it was still warm. She’d learned that disagreements with Sinclair often led to strenuous activity, gunfire, and good food going to waste.

  “Not quite,” she said. “They don’t belong to me, and without the magic spark from a certain Mr. Cartwright, as soon as I’ve fulfilled my contract to retrieve them, they’re just museum pieces of no interest to me. You can hoist them out the airlock as far as I’m concerned.”

  “But your mystery boss thinks otherwise.”

  “What Gloriana wants to do with her property is her business. For what it’s worth, I think she’s rabidly excited by the prospect of her Raknar being brought back to life, even if someone else makes it happen. She likes nothing more than restoring rare antiques to fulfil their original purpose.”

  “Especially if those antiques pinch Veetanho noses.”

  “Apparently so.”

  Sinclair turned to the other diner at their table. “And what about your wee creepy crawlie? What do you think about your big boss and her toy Raknar?”

  Lying on a raised couch, Jenkins had been doing his best to shrink into his carapace so the two humans would forget him. He’d picked unhappily at his plate with a pair of his flexible front limbs, occasionally lifting a steamed shell to crack it open with his mandibles.

  The Jeha shook his segmented torso to build up a little courage before giving an indignant reply. “I think both of you should bring your human posturing to an end and address the serious practical challenges we face. You two are no better than a pair of frisky Zuul sniffing each other’s anal glands. It’s embarrassing, ma’am. Sir.”

  “Normally, Jenkins wouldn’t say boo to a fly,” Blue explained, “but anxiety makes him caustic.”

  Sinclair laughed. It was an honest sound, unguarded and warm. Blue decided his laugh pleased her.

  “I like you,” the Scorpion told the Jeha. “For an overgrown garden pest, you’re all right.”

  “My species’ resemblance to Terran Dermapterans is coincidental, although members of your species, Captain Sinclair – which I might add, resemble partially-shaved gibbons – more usually call us millipedes of the insect class Diplopoda, rather than the earwigs to which you refer. The superficial similarities are merely an example of parallel evolution. Some design patterns are so excellent that we see them reappear on many worlds, repeating motifs in the song of the universe.”

  Still laughing, Sinclair raised his hands high in the air. “Give me strength! It’s bad enough that a beautiful woman asks me to dinner, and it turns out she wants a menagerie à trois, but it’s worse when yon insect third wheel starts spouting existential meta-bollocks.”

  “We are observed,” clicked Jenkins. “A pair of humans, three tables aft. Two more waiting to be seated. Please, swallow your pride and be sensible.”

  “Dry yer…antennae,” Sinclair told the Jeha. Shielding his lips with his hand he added in a whisper, “Your boss brought us here to be observed. Isn’t that right, Blue?”

  Blue activated the table’s privacy shroud. “I did; now let them wonder what we’re plotting. Sinclair, Jenki
ns is correct. Some of our people have died, and if we don’t work together, their deaths will be just the start.” She leaned over the table. “Will you please do as I’ve asked? Remembering the correct form of words?”

  Sinclair courteously raised Blue’s arm and planted a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. Then he spoke into her wrist slate. “I, Captain James Sinclair, commander of Zulu Company, Sinclair’s Scorpions, acknowledge that Captain Blue of the Midnight Sun Free Company is a wee conniving vixen who is smarter, better, and prettier than me. She has us beat, and so I yield the three Raknar in our hold to her. She wins. Game over. Goodnight.”

  She snatched back her arm. “There, that wasn’t so difficult. Now my people shall be paid in full.”

  Despite what he did for a living, there was still a vestige of boyishness to Sinclair’s features. But not now. A steeliness blew that away. He growled, “Your turn.”

  He thrust out his hand and she spoke into his wrist slate. “This is Captain Sue Blue, commander of the Midnight Sun Free Company. On behalf of our company owner, the three Raknar relics in her ownership, taken from Kubar Park on Tau-Rietzke, and subsequently retrieved by my company, are freely given into the ownership of Captain James Sinclair, whom I acknowledge to be stubborn, resourceful, occasionally charming, but to have met his match in me.”

  “Have you two finally finished?” asked Jenkins.

  Blue sat back and returned to her dinner.

  Sinclair gave Jenkins a companionable rap on his carapace. “We’ve scarcely begun, Master Earwig. Those Condottieri – and the Veetanho I bet are behind them – think they have me and my Raknar on their hook. And I’m hoping the reason the lady brought you along is to explain your alien magic that’ll see us un-hooked. Am I right?”