“I managed a terraforming system like this,” said Catkins from his engineering eyrie. “The Broken World I worked on was much earlier in its restart than this. I’d guess the process is two to three centuries more advanced here.”
“Can anyone answer this basic question?” asked Lieutenant Hjon. “Official Federation history says the Broken Worlds were destroyed by the Reene before the Exiles arrived in the sector, but there’s no explanation for what the Reene were, what they wanted, or why they are no longer here. We’ve seen innocent people transformed by what Enthree calls the Andromedan Corruption. Are the Reene and the Andromedans two names for the same thing?”
“I don’t know,” Zan Fey replied. “My people have no record of this taking over of individuals, this Corruption. The ravages of the Reene took place around ten to twelve thousand years ago. It is even possible this planet was once a Zhoogene colony. Much knowledge was destroyed during that period. Still more was lost in the chaos and retrenchment that followed. The two could be connected, but there are more dangers in the universe than the Andromedans.”
“Enthree?” queried Lily. “Your view?”
“I have insufficient information to answer.”
“Then give me your best guess based on the balance of probabilities. The Reene and the Andromedan Corruption—do you think they are different aspects of the same hostile power?”
“She knows far more than she lets on,” Bronze whispered to Osu when Enthree did not reply. “That much was clear to me at Bresca-Brevae.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with wild speculation,” said the Muryani. “It is a humanoid weakness.”
“Please try, Enthree.”
“I’d rather not, Lieutenant.”
“It was not a request.”
“Then my answer is…yes.”
“Thank you,” said Lily. “One last question, Enthree. If I had asked the same question of whatever passes for the strategic authority in the Muryani Expansion, would they have given the same answer? Do the Muryani think the Corruption and the Reene are connected?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I am sure of it.”
“Told you so,” Bronze whispered. “I bet the war never stopped as far as the Muryani are concerned. To them, the Perseus Arm is probably a quiet zone in a front line that spans the entire galactic rim.”
“Don’t ever embark on a career as a motivational speaker, Hines Zy Pel.”
Bronze laughed at Osu’s crack. Osu couldn’t join in; the thought of the Federation being a bit player in a vast galactic conflict was terrifying.
The door swished open.
With his head encased in the top of the acceleration station, Osu couldn’t turn it sideways to see who had come in.
“The crew’s been having a word,” said Fregg’s voice. “We decided that, since we’re shipmates now, we’d welcome you to your first proper mission with a drink.”
Fregg’s body came into view, and that was no bad thing, he decided. She was wearing her hair down for a change, and her shy smile was charming. He didn’t know her well, but he thought of her as the most normal person on the Phantom. Himself included.
The positioning of Bronze’s couch gave him a rear view of the crewman in her stretchy ship suit. One he was obviously enjoying.
“Are you doing this to piss me off?” Osu asked Fregg.
“How could you say such a thing?” She looked genuinely hurt.
Bronze undid his couch, despite being under orders to secure for high-gee maneuvers. “Of course, you aren’t, Fregg. Do you prefer Fregg or something less formal?”
“You can call me Justiana.”
Bronze nodded. “I’m sure we appear—how did Arunsen put it once—as though we walk around with a shock stick up our asses. We are who we are, though, Justiana. Take that away, and we’re nobody. No use to anyone. The sergeant cannot help but strap in tight because that’s what regulations tell us to do. But I, for one, will take this brief respite to enjoy your generous gift. Thank you.”
“What is this concoction?” Sybutu sighed, deciding not to ream Bronze in front of Fregg.
“Pryxian coffee.”
She waved a ceramic cup in front of him. He guessed the liquid would be blue, but the coffee was black as the void. Just how he liked it. “This isn’t actually coffee grown on Pryxia, is it?”
“Verlys’ people make a liqueur called Movold. A generous dash in strong coffee is just the nip you need before the captain and the lieutenant get started. And they’re in a perky mood.”
The cup smelled sweet and powerful. “Is this just for us,” Osu asked, suspicious of being tricked, “or are you offering drinks to all the Marines?”
“All of you,” said Fregg. Osu didn’t like the way she was grinning. “Even Enthree.”
“Then I will enjoy it. Thank you, Fregg.”
He took the drink and sipped. It was strong and bitter with a sweet alcoholic nose. “It’s good.”
Fregg’s shy smile flickered back and then off she went.
“You can wipe that grin off your face, Zy Pel,” Osu snapped. “I already have one Sapper of the Legion infatuated with a Militia girl. I don’t need you sleeping your way through the ship’s crew.”
“Are you sure, Sarge? Seems like a perfect way to return the favor of the crew’s welcome.”
First, Bronze had disobeyed orders to unstrap his couch. And now this disrespect. Instinct shouted at Osu to reaffirm discipline in his subordinate, but he could not.
When he’d first stepped aboard Phantom, Osu’s authority over Bronze had come from the Legion. That meant more than the positioning of lines and names on a TO&E chart. The Legion tradition of loyalty, service, and discipline had been all he needed.
Today, Osu’s authority was delegated to him by Captain Fitzwilliam, a clever and deadly man, no doubt, but a rogue and a chancer whose connection with the Legion was even more tenuous than Osu’s.
On the jump to 211-Fractura, Fitzwilliam and Hjon had met with the two sergeants and explained that Trooper Lily was now Lieutenant Hjon. Fitz had been anxious, fearing resistance from the men, but he needn’t have worried.
Arunsen had been withdrawn since his experience in the Nyluga’s palace and had accepted the change with a simple ‘Thank fuck.’
Before the fall of Rho-Torkis, Osu would have fought the legitimacy of Hjon’s authority to his dying breath. Irisur had shown what happened to legionaries forced to obey Militia officers. Their treachery had led to Lieutenant Szenti’s death. Osu had neither forgotten nor forgiven.
But now?
He’d lost all reasons to say no.
Would he find his purpose on 211-Fractura?
* * * * *
Chapter 32: Osu Sybutu
Phantom, 211-Fractura System
“I thank you, Marine Ndemo-327-Cerulian, for the valuable information you have shared with us,” said Nyluga-Ree over the intercom. The crime boss had taken up residence in the spacious lounge, treating the crew—and particularly its captain—as personal servants. Osu found that hilarious.
“Now, let me tell you something in return. This system was claimed by the Federation some 2000 years ago. However, without ever establishing a presence here, that claim is as meaningful as—what do the humans say—pissing in the interstellar wind. The nav charts list this as 211-Fractura, and the destination Lord Khallini has supplied is on the fifth planet. I refuse to refer to this ugly world with the equally ugly name of 211-Fractura-5. Since the Reene brought such sadness here, I have decided to name this world Doloreene.”
“Copy that, Nyluga.” The excited edge to Fitzwilliam’s voice gave Osu the impression that action was imminent. “Don’t wish to spoil our vacation jaunt, but does everyone remember those two ships I mentioned in orbit around Doloreene? They’re declining our hails and have raised shields. You have ten minutes, people, to take a last trip to the bathroom, finish your coffee, and get that last clue on your crosswords, or whatever else you people do. After that, Phantom will begin c
ombat acceleration. Some of you have yet to experience what Phantom can do. I don’t want to spoil your surprise, but ensure you have mouth shields in and straps secure. Marine Enthree, are you secure in your…contraption?”
“Yes, Captain. I’m the most gee-hardened aboard the ship.”
“That’s good to hear, because it’s obvious there’s one hell of a lot of secrets you’ve been keeping from us. Fitz out.”
One of the flight deck feeds supplying the viewscreens in Osu’s cabin showed a closeup of the ships Fitzwilliam was gunning for. The basic form was that of a ripe blackberry on a fat stalk. The bubbles of weapons modules dominated the fore section, the rear being a simple cylinder housing the crew and the engines. There were no heat shields, wings, or other indications these vessels could penetrate a planetary atmosphere. This was a military design, with its primary firepower directed forward, that relied upon other ships in its formation to protect its rear.
And there was only one true space navy in the Federation.
“How can we be facing Legion ships?” Osu whispered. “That’s what my mouth wants to say, but we all know how. Corrupted or rogue. Either explanation is so horrifying, I struggle to believe it.”
“I can even tell you their names,” said Bronze. “The smaller one is FRNS Osree, an Excross-class corvette, typically configured for anti-missile defense. The larger is a Diegos-class attack frigate, FRNS Radical. The two went dark three years ago after patrol in the Capula system. From what I heard, the Navy assumed the ships had defected to the rebels and stifled the story. Now, we know better, of course, but I wonder whether the Navy did too. The Legion’s compromised. You know it, Sergeant. You’ve even said it. But the horror of that betrayal keeps scabbing over, and you deny it again. I would love to believe those two ships are crewed by Panhandlers, committed to bringing about their utopia by force. That would be so much easier. People I could hit and kill. We both know what must have happened to the ships. And if Khallini sent us here, he must know the Corrupted are doing something important on that planet. Maybe this is where we’ll learn how to fight back.”
“Convey your suspicions to the captain. Tell him what you know about those ships.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
* * * * *
Chapter 33: Tavistock Fitzwilliam
“Are you certain we need to fight them?”
Fitz looked across at his copilot. Izza seemed calm, but it wasn’t like her to question him at a time like this. “We could sneak down to the surface, I suppose,” he replied. “But that would leave our backside dangerously exposed. Bronze told us those ships have had two years to learn to operate outside of the Legion. Either they’re floating hulks, or they’re dangerous.”
“I know.” She looked back at him with wide, golden eyes. They had their disagreements, big time, but in moments of danger, they were usually united in their adrenaline flow. Or whatever passed for adrenaline in that lovely sap-filled body of hers.
“I don’t know why I said that,” she admitted.
“I think we need to understand why. We’ve got a few moments. If you have doubts, it’s best I hear about them. But first…” He flicked on the intercom. “Mr. Bronze, to the dorsal turret, if you please.”
“I will take the dorsal gunner role. Roger that.”
“We’ve often had to shoot our way out of a tight spot,” Izza told him. “But we had no choice. This is different. It feels like the opening shots in a war. Fitz, I smuggle things. I trade things in places most people won’t go. Sometimes, I con people out of wealth they didn’t deserve. But I’ve never been a soldier. Never will be. The Phantom is an armed pleasure yacht, as is Ghost Shark. I won’t be a party to turning them into slaughter machines.”
He rested his hand over the waxy warmth of hers. “I’m sorry, my love. This will be rough on us all.”
When he took his hand away, it felt like he was losing her all over again. “But you’re right. This time is different. We have no choice but to fight. Are you ready?”
She straightened her back. “Aye, Captain. Micro-jump laid in.”
“Let’s do this.”
Fitz pushed the throttle to the first stop. This was the maximum thrust that would be survivable without the magic of the inertial damping system.
He hesitated a moment with his hand on the throttle, enjoying the power of what his ship could do, and those Corrupted Legion warships could not. The sense of power was all the stronger for being underpinned by anger.
When he pushed the control to the next stop, it would unleash the full power of Phantom’s engines. Enough raw thrust to pulp any living crew in a regular ship.
But in the Phantom, an array of energy converters would transform the deadly momentum into energy, which the KM horns would dump safely into the Klein-Manifold Region. The converters had been recoil absorbers for ancient SA-71 assault carbines, the mainstay of the Orion Era Marines who had been exiled to the Perseus Arm. Mass produced components the alien commanders had provided for their plasma fodder human soldiers.
The devices didn’t just use the old alien technology, they were the old recoil dampeners cannibalized from worn out S-71s many centuries ago. Humans had never been able to reverse engineer the technology.
The KM horns were a human design, and the jump drive was said to have been designed by the Immortal Empress Indiya herself. But those damned energy converters came from the same aliens who had made him and Izza by splicing alien genetic code into their ancestors.
Fitz hated that. Absolutely fucking detested it.
It was worse than being a mutant. He was the product of a forgotten genetic experiment.
He pushed the throttle past the first stop, all the way to the second.
The console display quickly spooled up the thrust rating, maxing out when the thrust was delivering acceleration of 45g. Phantom shook. Her engines roared with a thrilling power, yet the tiny sense of acceleration was like a mouse breathing on his chest.
“If there are rebels on those ships,” said Fitz, “or turncoats or legit Legion, they would either run away or hail us. But if they’re Corrupted space zombies, they’ll stay. And I will destroy them.”
“Missiles! Missiles!” Izza shouted.
He grinned. Was he the only one in the galaxy who loved to hear those words? Only from her, of course. She said it with such exhilaration, it sounded totally hot.
“I count ten missiles from Osree,” she added. “Seven from Radical. Emissions are compatible with VT-17 Shipkillers.”
Fitz held course for a few seconds. Legion Navy tactical doctrine was to fire two missile waves against the priority target. The first to overwhelm shields and armor, the second to finish them off.
The two warships followed up with nothing more than lasers. Phantom’s shields absorbed them easily, but Fitz expected the beam power would crank up rapidly once Phantom entered effective beam attenuation range.
The missiles thrust at 400 Gs, faster than Phantom could ever hope to match. The old girl could never outrun them, but Phantom was far nimbler.
He’d hoped the enemy would expend another wave of missiles, but he gave up waiting and flipped Phantom around. Now the engines were braking her headlong rush.
It meant the missiles would impact a few seconds later than if they’d carried on head-to-head.
Having burned their primary fuel and reached an enormous velocity, the missiles coasted in, ready to burn again for the final kill.
Ten seconds to impact.
Fitz had braked away half of Phantom’s closing velocity with Osree and Radical. He’d hoped for more, but it would have to do.
“Execute jump!”
He tensed, waiting for Izza to do her thing. Jump calcs at this level of finesse were impossible according to every manual he’d ever read. Fortunately, his Izza had never read that bunk and delivered the impossible on a regular basis. But even she needed to fine tune her calculations according to Phantom’s maneuvers and the presence of nearby mass.
/> Missile proximity alerts flared.
The deadly machines had restarted their engines and were thrusting for the kill.
To kill him and his Izza.
Fitz felt the blood drain from his face.
He reached for the controls to spin the ship again and thrust away at an orthogonal vector, hoping the missiles had expended too much fuel to respond.
“Executing jump.”
The stars stretched away to infinity and curved around a rift vortex.
Phantom fell through. This was the part Fitz really enjoyed. Just as the sense of falling claimed him, the tunnel narrowed, and they were squeezed through and back out into the battle zone.
Jump space was a confusing concept. Izza sometimes tried to explain upper dimensional loops, but his mind was no good for such things, and he would just grin like a lunatic until she gave up.
Theory didn’t matter right now. The normal universe reasserted itself, and his screens registered the drive signatures of Osree and Radical dead ahead.
Phantom had pounced on their relatively undefended tails.
A minor complication was that they’d overjumped. Phantom was 900 kilometers away from her targets and still had the same velocity as before the jump. Relative to the two enemy warships, Phantom was drifting backward at 5 kilometers per second.
Fitz fired a missile from each of Phantom’s two tubes, one at each ship to give them something to think about.
A window on the edge of his tactical screen showed the missile magazine cycling status. It would take five seconds to reload missiles. He intended to send another salvo, but halfway through the cycle, he changed his mind and decided not to send any more into the black if he could help it. They were hideously expensive. Especially when Phantom could get up close and deliver firepower in a way no other conventional modern ship could.
Smuggler Queen Page 19