by Allen Stroud
Yeah, that might just work.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sellis
“This is shit.”
We’re crowded on the bridge with our new warlord, Kieran Rocher, sitting in the command chair. Ashe and I are keeping busy, fixing what we can of the damage. I had thought I’d try and sleep, but being part of a mutiny doesn’t help.
I’m wired and pissed off.
Rocher spins around in his chair and favours me with a challenging smile. “Something you want to talk about, Technician?” he says.
“I said this is shit. There’s no way the captain has agreed to what you want.”
Rocher’s smile widens. “I think you’ll find Captain Shann has no choice. This is the best solution for all of us.”
“What guarantees do we have that—”
“She’s an honourable woman. You know her.”
I glare at Rocher, but he’s not backing down or looking away. I don’t like my chances taking him. He has the pistol from Jacobson, and the way he moves tells me he’s had advanced zero g combat training. He’s not told us anything beyond his first name – Kieran. Bogdanovic broke him out of the room they were keeping him in. I can see blood on the doctor’s knuckles. Looks like that wasn’t easy. Right now, I don’t trust any of these people. I can’t be sure how far they’re prepared to go.
“What are your people trying to do?” I ask.
“Right now, save lives.” Rocher runs a hand through his hair. “This way, you people survive and the people giving me orders get what they want.”
“You make it sound easy. Like there’s no consequences for killing those people on board that freighter, or anyone on this fucking ship.”
“What are we in space but assets?” Rocher points to the door. “If you think Captain Shann won’t execute people who prove a burden to the running of her ship, you are wrong. Out here, mercy and generosity only go so far before an enemy becomes a waste of precious resources. I will not be kind to my enemy if they are breathing the air that I need to live.”
“That’s cold.”
Rocher shakes his head. “Sellis, I’ve read your file. You don’t give a damn about anyone apart from yourself. I’m surprised threats to your family even worked on you. The reason you’re angry now is because you’re worried about your own situation, not anyone else’s.”
“All the same, it might be useful if we all had an idea of your plans,” Bogdanovic interjects.
There’s silence. We’ve got everyone’s attention now. Even Chiu has given up pretending she’s invisible and is watching Rocher, waiting for him to talk.
Rocher looks at each of us in turn. “I’m under no illusions here,” he says. “This is a difficult situation for you all. Leverage and incentives have been applied to make you help me, but you’ll find this is the right course of action.”
“You’re asking for trust,” Ashe says. “We don’t know you.”
“True.” Rocher unstraps himself from his seat. “You’ve heard what I want. We’ll be altering course shortly, lining us up for a rendezvous with the Gallowglass. Once we have confirmation of Captain Shann’s surrender, we will notify the Gallowglass that we are in charge. There will be a peaceful meeting between the two ships, and everything will be straightened out without further bloodshed.”
“What possible incentive do those bastards have to keep us alive?” I ask.
“If they wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” Rocher replies. “The benefit of keeping the Khidr and its crew intact outweighs any other option.”
“So you say.”
“Yes. Again, we come back to the matter of accepting my word.” Rocher taps the holstered pistol at his side. “Your decisions are made. You are wasting energy and effort questioning the situation. Make the best of it and help me. You will not regret it.”
“What about the Hercules?” Bogdanovic asks. “What will happen to her?”
“The freighter will be impounded,” Rocher says. “They were guilty of smuggling illegal goods, something members of this crew might have been involved in. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”
I scowl. “One of the reasons…”
“Yes, one of them.”
“You’re aware that one of the Hercules crew survived?” Bogdanovic says. “He’s been debriefed by the senior officers.”
I glance at Bogdanovic. He’s not supporting me; he’s playing his own game. It’s like blackjack when two of you are up against the house. Everyone likes to see the house beaten, but that doesn’t put any money in your pocket.
“I’ll want Shah confined to quarters,” Rocher replies. “We’ll have to deal with him.”
Bogdanovic frowns. “What do you mean deal—”
“Mister Rocher,” Jacobson says, interrupting the conversation, “we may have an issue.”
“Issue?”
I glance at Jacobson. He’s hunched over his screen, intent on whatever he’s discovered. “There’s an anomaly,” he says. “Some sort of minor calculation error when I’m trying to plot our new course.”
“Is it Shann, trying to interfere?”
“I don’t think so.” Jacobson’s fingers are flying over the keys on the screen as a list of data scrolls by. “It’s a tiny error, some kind of scan and position discrepancy. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before…. Maybe I did, but didn’t realise…” He seems oblivious to us and the irritated Rocher, who is now looking over his shoulder.
“Will it stop us making the burn?” Rocher asks.
“No…we should be fine.”
While they’re talking, my hands are in my box of tools. The chemical cutter is a precision instrument, designed to heat up at a moment’s notice and burn through steel plate. Might not be needed, but I’d rather have something in my pocket.
Rocher is speaking to Jacobson. “Okay, we’ve given them long enough. I want a list of all the occupied acceleration chairs. I want to know where every member of the crew is when they prep for the burn.”
“Okay,” Jacobson says. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Rocher looks at me. “You can escort the doctor to the medical room. I want sedative injections given to every crew member. You’ll then proceed to the airlock and let us know you’re strapped in. As soon as you are, we’ll initiate the course correction.”
The mission is a pretty good excuse to get out of this room. I’m keen on that, even if the rest of his plan is shit. “What if we run into trouble?” I ask.
“Good point.” Rocher reaches for his holstered pistol. He takes it out, flips it and hands it to me, butt-first. “That should take care of things.”
I accept the gun and stare into his eyes. I’m tempted to end him, right there and then, but I don’t. Instead, I mumble, “Thanks,” and turn toward the door.
“My pleasure,” Rocher replies. “See you on the other side.”
Chapter Thirty
Shann
Twenty minutes are up, and I’m strapped into my chair in my quarters. The magnetic locks are all engaged. I’m ready. The necessary instructions have been sent out in Shah’s simplified Morse. Hopefully, everyone else is ready too.
The chime of the emergency override goes off. My door opens and Bogdanovic appears, accompanied by Specialist Sellis, who levels a pistol in my direction.
“Thought as much,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Captain Shann, but this is for the best,” Bogdanovic says. He looks uncomfortable, like he’s aged five years in the last couple of hours. “Just lie back and let me do my work.”
“You’re a doctor. You spend your life trying to help and heal people. How can you countenance this?” I ask.
“I’m a soldier first and foremost, Captain,” Bogdanovic says stiffly. “We’re all trained to kill. Besides, you won’t die from this injection.”
I sigh
and do my best impression of looking defeated. Acting was never a specialty of mine, but a silent glowering expression is something I can manage. Bogdanovic doesn’t want to be here anyway. He unzips the medical access in my right sleeve, finds a vein and jabs me with the needle, unloading the syringe into my arm. “We’ll talk again after,” he says.
“Count on it,” I reply.
I shut my eyes and look away. The room door closes. I’m still being observed on the ship’s cameras, so I have to be quick and discreet. I unstrap my left arm and reach for the rope tourniquet concealed around the upper part of my right arm and yank it tight, cutting off the circulation. Next, I tap my comms bead, signalling to the rest of the crew that I’m set and that the plan is in motion.
There’s an acknowledgment reply from Keiyho and Sam, who are positioned near the bridge. One by one, other people check in too.
I strap my arm back in loosely, so I can free it again when needed, and settle down to wait.
* * *
Thirty minutes later and I’m still waiting.
Something must have gone wrong. Rocher and his people have found something, or they’re preparing a contingency we haven’t thought of.
I’ve no way to check or do anything without jeopardising the plan. I need to sit here, stay calm and ride it out. Whatever is going on, I can’t help or hinder.
I close my eyes and I’m back in my room at home. It’s dark and I’m five years old waiting for someone to help me after I’ve woken up from a nightmare. I’ve pressed the alarm, but I can’t hear anyone coming. I’m stuck here on my own.
A rational part of my mind knows there’s a light sensor, portable screen and other devices within arm’s reach, but another, louder part just wants my parents to be here. If I turn on the light, I’ll see what’s hidden in the darkness and it’ll see me. It’ll know me.
There is a power in blind ignorance. A power of possibility that we feed with our imaginations, our speculation and our fear. Planning, strategising, preparing, anticipating. All of it magnifies what could happen, what might happen, leeching away our ability to shape and control events.
While I guess and wonder, I expend time and energy countering things that may never happen. I empower Rocher and his traitors by overthinking all this. For all I know, everything may have gone wrong for them. Le Garre or Keiyho might have retaken the ship. Could that be—
No. There would have been a signal or something…
My right arm is numb and sluggish, just like before, only this time it’s because of what I’ve done. Any attempt to restore the circulation will speed up the effect of the sedative. I need to stay awake; people are relying on me.
Two clicks in my ear from the comms bead. There’s a hum and surge in pressure. It’s begun. I’m pushed into the straps as the ceiling becomes the floor. For a moment, I can’t breathe, but then the training kicks in. Little sips against the building constriction. I must move. I must execute the plan.
Keiyho’s portable screen from the EVA to the Hercules is tucked under my right shoulder. I lift it out with my left hand. Even if Rocher’s people are watching, they won’t be able to leave their chairs and make it all the way down here to stop me.
All drones are activated and operated from the bridge consoles. Senior officer authorisation is required to switch control to a portable device. Le Garre did that when we found Shah. The drone slaved to this screen comes equipped with a cutter and a portable power unit.
However, this drone wasn’t designed to work in a gravity environment, so Duggins had to make some changes. Hopefully, he’s done everything needed for our plan to work.
The screen is cabled to the back of the chair, so I don’t drop it. I have one hand to operate it with. I slide it carefully into a mounting arm on the seat. It’s an effort to turn my head to see the display, but failure is not an option, so it has to happen.
The drone is a green dot. I touch it and draw a line through the ship to where I want it to go. There’s a beep and the green dot begins to move.
Very, very, slowly.
I bring up a live camera feed. The drone is pitching and rolling through a corridor. Trying to climb, roll and maneuver along the walls, floor or ceiling as the ship shifts and twists. Duggins has fitted wheels, claws and a grapple to the frame. He’s also welded the portable power unit onto the back, meaning it’s all one device. The onboard guidance has been hacked to accommodate the new upgrades, but it’s cobbled together. The gyroscope at its heart still operates in the same way, working to correct its orientation. I hope the new code is good enough to do the job.
Better to let a machine do the climbing than risk the crew, but in this case, we’ll need both.
I tap the comms bead in my ear twice and receive the same acknowledgment back. Someone else is still conscious and working on our plan. Both Sam and Keiyho are near the bridge; it could be one of them. I hope it’s one of them.
There’s a red haze at the edges of my sight, a little like the visual distortion people get with migraines. I know what it means. I need to fight it off and stay conscious, or otherwise we lose. Otherwise—
The screen beeps confirmation that the drone has reached its destination.
Right outside the entrance to the bridge.
I activate the magnetic clamps, anchoring the vehicle in position. Then I target the door and switch on the laser cutter. There should be enough charge to cut through the door, and once the instruction is given, the drone goes into a preprogrammed sequence to complete its task. I can just about see the metal peeling away in the shaking camera window.
There are two more clicks in my ear. The gravity shifts again, and I’m pressed back into the seat. A sequence of clicks follows. I’m trying to make sense of them, recalling Shah’s set of codes.
In corridor. Chiu is helping.… Stop cut…
That must have been from Keiyho. He must have gotten through to Chiu on the back channel. Maybe she was being coerced or threatened. Who knows?
I instruct the drone to cease its work and wait. A moment later the door slides back. I guess Chiu has unlocked and opened it?
The bridge is dark, apart from the flickering screens. I tell the drone to enter and mark up its next position. I could turn on the mounted torch, but that’ll alert the rest of the bridge crew to what’s going on. We need to hurry; the force of the course correction is easing, meaning they’ve nearly completed the maneuver. They’ll soon know we’ve gotten onto the bridge anyway, and they’ll be out of those seats the moment they feel threatened.
There are more clicks in my ear – Right behind you. A shape moves in front of the drone. I can’t see who it is, but the microphones are picking up shouting and there’s the sound of gunshots. The force pinning me to my seat is lessening with every second. The camera shows chaos, bright and dark blurs, the pattern of a seat and then someone’s surprised face.
Jacobson. He’s strapped into his chair. The drone is right in front of him. For a moment, I think there’s been a miscalculation. I was supposed to get to Rocher, to confront him before he could get out of his seat. Then I realise Jacobson is in the captain’s chair, not the pilot seat. He’s struggling, but the drone has him pinned down, its grapples following preprogrammed instructions. Eventually, he’ll get loose, but we have a moment, a chance to retake the bridge.
I can’t hesitate; people’s lives depend on me. I press the button and activate the laser cutter. The tool positions itself, aiming for his chest.
“No, wait, I didn’t—”
The cutter is designed to slice through metal plate. It makes short work of a pressure suit, skin, flesh, bone and the back of the chair, slicing right through all of them. Jacobson is screaming in agony, his eyes bulging as he pours out his pain directly into the camera.
I want to look away, but I can’t. I have to watch. I owe Jacobson that. He might have betrayed us, but this is
an awful way to die. I made the call. I pushed the button. It’s my responsibility. I’ll never forget what I’m seeing, a man dying, screaming in my face. I know it’ll haunt me forever.
He goes limp. His eyes dull. It’s over.
* * *
“…joining me to discuss the way ahead for the space industry is Doctor Jan Halpern of the Intercontinental Research Institute, and Richard Isaac, consultant for Sovereign Reform – an advisory organisation who supports individual governments in attempting to retain their independence from globalisation initiatives. Mr. Isaac, if I can put the question to you. What is the future of the space industry as you see it?”
“Well, fundamentally, it needs to be smaller. We’ve overreached ourselves again and we’re neglecting the basics. People on Earth are struggling in their day-to-day lives. Why should money be poured into these hugely expensive subsidised colonies?”
“You’re referring to the intergovernmental financial levy?”
“Yes, that and other things. I mean, what are we getting out of this? What do hardworking families gain from paying for unsustainable colonies on Mars, Luna and Ceres?”
“I’d like to put that question to you, Doctor Halpern. What do we gain?”
“If you mean in tangible terms, there’s a hundred examples I could give, but I think it’s worth considering what this argument is really about. If you think withdrawal of funding from the levy and the other programmes that individual governments signed up to more than a generation ago, then you’re mistaken. What Mr. Isaac isn’t saying is that the lives of these families will get any better when or if these initiatives are closed down.”
“You’re suggesting there is another motive?”
“Of course. This is about power and control. The commercial interests of a particular set of wealthy individuals rely on division and self-interest. No one will gain from us turning our back on the solar system.”
“It’s pretty disingenuous of Doctor Halpern to predict the future. No one is saying anyone will turn their back, just that people here on Earth need to be the priority. We can’t reach for the stars when people at home are suffering.”