by Jim C. Hines
“Here’s a larger picture for you. You hurt anyone in my crew, I’ll rip off your wings and feed them to you.” Wolf activated the acceleration pods. Four egg-shaped indentations opened in the rear wall of cell two. “Mind your head.”
Wolf waited until Cate had settled into the pod before setting her own equipment in storage, unlocking the cell door, and taking pod four next to Cate. The gel molded itself to her body. Latches in the back interlocked with the attachment points on her harness. “How long until the jump?”
“Less than one minute,” answered Doc, his voice broadcasting through the cell’s comm system.
Wolf had never understood the science of Krakau acceleration rings. Kumar had tried to explain it once, something about acceleration rings using compressed space as a slingshot to propel the ship faster than light.
The ship’s internal gravity kept everyone and everything on board from being smashed to jelly from the acceleration, but there was only so much it could do. Anyone not secured in an acceleration pod when the Pufferfish passed through the A-ring would be tossed about like a minnow in a maelstrom.
“Prodryans relish victory,” Cate said from his pod. “They’re impatient for it, preferring the immediacy of battle. I’ve never fit in well with my peers. I find much more pleasure in arranging things so I can watch our enemies destroy themselves.”
“Remind me to shoot you before this is over,” Wolf snarled.
“That would be a wise choice on your part.”
Before Wolf could respond, a series of injections turned her limbs, and then her thoughts, to warm lead.
* * *
Mops’ body tingled with the aftereffects of the A-ring jump. Her mouth was sour, suggesting she’d puked during the process. She swallowed and grimaced. The dryness around her mouth meant it had been during acceleration, not deceleration. Her pod had vacuumed up the worst of the mess, but they never got it all.
“Doc?” she croaked.
“You’re all alive. Congratulations on another successful jump. The Pufferfish is down to five A-rings. You’ll need to resupply soon.”
The ship was built to carry thirty of the rings around the bow. For interstellar travel, the frontmost ring was deployed a short distance in front of the ship, where it expanded and spun up to speed. It destroyed itself in the process, but only after shooting the Pufferfish across the galaxy. A second ring was used to decelerate the ship at their destination.
She fished her monocle out of her pocket and clicked it into place. According to the crew status display, Wolf and Rubin were awake and on the bridge. She pried herself free of the acceleration pod with a familiar sucking sound. Kumar and Monroe were both beginning to stir. The nonhumans would be out for hours yet.
Mops licked her dry lips and rotated her arm until her shoulder joint popped back into place. She’d have to get that fixed one of these days. “Where are we?”
“Home.”
Her monocle showed her a top-down display of the solar system. Her solar system.
It felt like two lifetimes since she’d left. The planets were larger than scale, allowing her to admire the swirling red-and-white stripes of Jupiter, the watercolor-orange of Mars, the impossibly perfect rings of Saturn. The Pufferfish was a good 350 million kilometers from the cloud-frosted blue and green of Earth.
“We’re being hailed,” Wolf said over the comm.
Mops cleared her monocle. “Confirm we’re broadcasting the beacon ID Cate provided.”
“We’re alive,” said Rubin. “Several security satellites are tracking us, but I see no sign of long-range missiles or incoming warships. I believe that confirms they have not identified us as the Pufferfish.”
“They’ll know we’re an EMC cruiser from our deceleration signature,” Wolf added.
Mops walked toward the lift, working the stiffness from her joints as she went and trying to ignore the silence around her. The Pufferfish should have carried a crew of two hundred, most of them human. Most of them friends.
She used a cleaning rag to wipe her face as the lift whisked her to the bridge. Once there, she studied the display of Earth and its defenses on the main screen. Green icons represented hundreds of satellites and automated tracking and weapons platforms scattered in a flattened ovoid with the planet at its center. The four dots closest to the Pufferfish were blinking—those would be the weapons satellites that had locked onto the ship.
Wolf glanced up. “You’ve got something . . .” She trailed off and pointed to the front of Mops’ uniform.
Mops grimaced and scrubbed the indicated spot.
“Alliance computers are requesting interface,” said Doc. “There are six thousand, four hundred, and eleven software updates pending.”
“Let’s not clog our systems with those right now.” Mops stepped down the ramp to her station, but remained standing, her hands on the back of her chair. After spending hours immobilized and unconscious, she needed a little more time upright to recover.
“Grom plotted an escape jump before we left, just in case,” said Wolf. “Fooling long-range scans is one thing, but eventually they’re going to figure out who we are. We’re missing two weapons pods. If anyone looks closely at the visual as we get closer—”
“Admiral Pachelbel has that covered.” Mops did her best to project confidence. “Doc, remind me who the hell we’re supposed to be?” The notes appeared on her monocle. “Wolf, open a channel to Stepping Stone.”
Wolf worked her console, then gave Mops a nod.
“Good morning, Stepping Stone. This is Battle Captain Aldrin of the EMCS Cape Buffalo. Over.”
It took three minutes for their signal to reach the station, and three more for a response to make the return trip. “Acknowledged, Cape Buffalo. I am Communications Technician Jude of Stepping Stone Station. Please confirm your mission and destination.”
“Transport and escort duty. We’ve got a team of Krakau scientists napping in their pods. They’ll be doing a low-atmosphere study of Earth’s equatorial weather patterns.”
Another six minutes passed while Mops tried to keep her nerves under control. They were still far enough to turn tail and escape if things fell apart . . . which anyone on Stepping Stone would realize. Meaning if they did suspect Mops, the smart thing would be to act like everything was fine and lure them closer.
“Maintain course and speed, Cape Buffalo. You’ll receive additional navigational guidance in fifty-three minutes. Welcome to the Earth system, Battle Captain Aldrin.”
“Thank you.”
Wolf closed the connection. “I don’t like this, sir. Even if we fool them long enough to slip a shuttle down to Earth, and even if we somehow manage to find this escaped human before the Krakau do—”
“Let’s focus on one thing at a time,” said Mops. “Rubin, plot an orbital insertion that keeps Earth between us and Stepping Stone.”
Rubin hesitated. “Kumar has been showing me how navigation works, but I haven’t completed the tutorials.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have Kumar and Grom double-check your work. But with so few people, we need backups trained on every station. Puffy can help you.”
Rubin’s cheek twitched. “Puffy’s assistance will not be necessary.”
Mops suppressed a smile as she turned her attention back to Wolf. “We’ll need someone with Cate when he wakes up. I don’t want him wandering my ship alone.”
“That won’t be an issue,” Wolf said without looking up. “I locked the cell door behind me and activated full security measures when I left the brig.”
She sounded like a new cadet trying too hard to sound professional and official. Mops had worked with Wolf long enough to know what that meant. “What else did you do?”
Wolf’s head sank another centimeter. “I might have doodled a few pictures on his carapace . . .”
* * *
M
ops had spent much of her adult life making difficult decisions. When to fight and when to fly. How to balance the needs of a mission against the safety of her team. Whether the stains in the Nusuran guest quarters could be safely cleaned and sanitized, or if the entire room needed to be torn down and rebuilt, with all furnishings sent to the incinerator.
The rare simple choices were a relief, a gift from the galaxy. “The answer is no.”
“This is Earth,” Wolf protested. “It’s probably the most dangerous place we’ll ever go. Why does the Pufferfish even have power armor if we’re not going to use it?”
Mops checked the armory inventory list on the wall, just inside the main door. “The goal is to avoid attention. Running around in a three-meter exosuit with an arsenal capable of annihilating a small continent isn’t terribly subtle.” Especially with Wolf at the controls.
Wolf stared at the line of angular matte-black armor components at the back of the armory. “It even has its own missiles.”
Monroe took a blue combat baton from the rack, hesitated, and finally selected a pistol as well. “EMC marines train at least four hundred hours before taking one of those suits into a hostile environment. How much time have you put in?”
“You can upload Puffy to talk me through it,” Wolf countered.
Mops paused, imagining the caricature’s clownlike grin popping up on Wolf’s display. “It looks like you’re trying to slaughter every living thing on Earth. Would you like help with that?”
“Even if that were possible, have any of these suits been calibrated for you?” Monroe took two extra magazines and slid them into quick-release pockets on his right thigh.
Wolf shrugged. “So it doesn’t fit quite right and I get a few blisters.”
Monroe rapped his artificial hand against one of the bulky armored sleeves hanging like a row of severed metal limbs. “These things amplify the power of your punch tenfold. You can put a hand through a concrete wall.”
“Damn right,” said Wolf.
“And if it doesn’t know the precise length of your arm, the first punch will dislocate your wrist, elbow, and shoulder,” Monroe continued. “The first step will destroy your hips and knees. And would you like to hear the havoc an improperly prepared plumbing attachment can wreak?”
Wolf took a step back. “How long would the calibration process take?”
“About an hour,” said Monroe. “And it would require the skills of a CAM officer. Unfortunately, the skills of a shipboard hygiene and sanitation team don’t carry over to combat armor maintenance.”
“Grab a combat uniform like everybody else,” said Mops.
“All right, but if we get ambushed by sharks, you’re gonna wish we had combat armor.”
Mops grabbed one of the heavy-duty combat jumpsuits, along with a standard EMC pistol, combat baton, extra ammo, and a long list of cleaning and janitorial supplies. Hard-core soldiers would probably scoff, but she’d survived more confrontations with industrial tape and various detergents than she had with her firearm.
She took an infantry helmet and pulled it on to check the fit. Humans could survive just about anything short of a direct shot to the head or neck. The black helmet wouldn’t stop an A-gun round, but hopefully none of Earth’s native life would be carrying modern weaponry.
She pulled down the laminated memcrys visor. It locked into place, covering her face from eyebrows to chin. Doc transferred himself from her monocle to the visor, where he quickly tested his link to her suit and weapons.
“I can’t guarantee you’re shark-proof, but everything checks out.”
Her monocle popped free as Doc reversed the magnets in the rim. It slid down Mops’ face to land in her waiting palm. She tucked it into a padded pocket inside her uniform and exited the armory.
Cate waited outside, wearing the same armor as when they’d picked him up. He also wore exaggerated black eyebrows and a long, curling mustache over his pincers, all carefully drawn with a standard-issue marking pen. From the smudge above one eye, at least Wolf had used temporary ink instead of permanent. “When will I be issued weapons?”
Mops kept her voice neutral. “Just be grateful I talked Wolf out of removing your wing blades while you were unconscious.”
Kumar perked up. “The implants are only four centimeters deep. It’s a delicate process, given how thin the wings are, but I’d be happy to take some scans and figure out the best extraction procedure.”
Mops often worried about Kumar’s enthusiasm for cutting open other living things. “Cate can keep his blades,” she said, cutting off the Prodryan’s indignant response. “But that’s all you’re getting. Everyone else, pick up the pace. We’ll be in launch position soon.”
“Cate’s coordinates checked out?” asked Monroe.
Kumar nodded. “I checked his satellite video against historical records of that area. I believe the building we saw used to be a national library.”
Wolf poked her head out of the armory. “Dibs on the mystery section.”
“Temperature in your landing zone is four degrees below zero,” Kumar continued. Mops had ordered him to remain with the Pufferfish, along with Grom and Azure. He was the best navigator they had. More to the point, Mops didn’t want to find out what would happen if Kumar’s compulsive cleanliness met the ruins of Earth.
She waited for Wolf to finish grabbing ammo magazines, then closed and secured the armory. “Kumar, get back to the bridge. Keep an eye on Grom and Azure while we’re gone. Tell Grom no makeovers this time. If I come back and they’ve turned the Pufferfish into a live-action laser-maze game, I’ll launch them into the sun.”
“Yes, sir.” Kumar gave Rubin a quick hug. “Be careful. That whole planet is filthy and overrun with disease.”
“It’s natural filth,” said Rubin in her customary monotone, but she returned the embrace. “The planet reclaiming itself. You’ll look after my pets?”
Kumar tapped his monocle. “I annotated your instructions and programmed daily reminders.”
“Roach just molted, so she might be more tired than usual.”
Grom broke in over the group comm. “Captain, are you at the shuttle yet?”
Their tone made Mops’ heart speed up. “Not yet. What’s going on?”
“If I’m reading the tactical display correctly, one of Earth’s orbital platforms just locked targeting lasers onto us.”
* * *
Mops was seriously considering ordering Wolf to carry Cate the rest of the way to the shuttle. The Prodryan’s shorter legs, evolved on a lower-gravity world, just couldn’t keep up with the humans. His armor provided strength and stability, but did nothing to increase speed.
Mops stopped outside the docking bay. “Monroe, get everyone strapped in, and prep the shuttle.”
“Yes, sir.” He, Rubin, and Wolf hurried inside.
Mops turned to speak into her comm. “Grom, what’s happening out there?”
“Stepping Stone is hailing us.” A low belch betrayed Grom’s distress.
“Tell them we’re having communications trouble.”
Grom came back less than a minute later. “Stepping Stone wants to know if a full missile bombardment will fix the problem.”
Cate came trotting down the curving corridor, arms and wings pumping. Mops grabbed his arm and hurled him through the door toward the shuttle. “Rubin, help Cate get himself secured.” She closed the door and ran after Cate. As soon as she was inside, she slapped the hatch controls. Taking a vacant spot on the bench opposite Wolf, she said, “Grom, put Stepping Stone through to me.”
She waited for the connection icon to appear on her visor. “Stepping Stone, this is Battle Captain Aldrin. Sorry for the delay. We’ve had a weird fungal outbreak. My SHS team believes it started after our last mission to Kanoram-yi. The spores are corrosive. It looks like a patch in the secondary communications array ate
through—”
“Battle Captain Aldrin, you are ordered to divert to Stepping Stone Station for immediate inspection.”
Mops’ weight fluctuated briefly as the shuttle lifted off and started toward the outer doors.
“Our Krakau captain’s still in the acceleration chamber, but she should be coming around soon. I’ll send someone to—”
Another voice cut her off. “Launch that shuttle and we’ll atomize everyone on board. If the Pufferfish so much as twitches, we’ll destroy that, too. Acknowledge.”
“Take it easy, Stepping Stone. No need for anyone to get blown up today. Who is this?”
“Fleet Admiral Belle-Bonne Sage.”
“Admiral Sage.” On the opposite bench, Rubin stiffened, while Wolf began swearing under her breath. Cate’s antennae flattened along his scalp. “As I said, this is Battle Captain Aldrin of the Cape Buffalo. You can verify our beacon. Our mission—”
“Stop trying to lube my tentacles, Adamopoulos. The Box Jellyfish reported your departure from the Tixateq system, where you left a pack of space whales molesting their ship. Travel time from Tixateq to Earth coincides exactly with your arrival here. As for your phony beacon, I suggest you shove it up your donkey.”
“I believe that should be ‘ass,’ sir. You might want to have a tech review your translator vocab.” The shuttle floated free of the bay and picked up speed, curving downward.
“Last warning, Adamopoulos.”
“For the record, sir, the Comaceans weren’t molesting the Box Jellyfish. They were trying to protect it.” She muted the connection and leaned toward the cockpit. “Monroe, what weapons and defenses do we have?”
“Nothing that will hold up against Stepping Stone’s resources,” said Monroe. “Grom’s keeping the planet between us and the station, so they can’t shoot us directly, but between fighters, long-range missiles, and defense satellites, we’re in trouble.”
“Do all of your mission plans erode so quickly?” asked Cate.