Finest Hour (The Exiled Fleet Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “This isn’t ‘forward’,” Powell said as he followed Seaver up onto an angled roof. Inez and the fourth member of their fire team, a scrawny man named Nassau, joined Seaver just below the lip of the roof.

  The crack of weapons sounded through a long metal tunnel, echoing off houses and buildings a few stories tall.

  “On three,” Seaver jammed his rifle against his shoulder and counted down.

  They stood up as one and fired down on a machine gun nest barricaded behind broken furniture and sand bags. Bullets smacked off the weapon and the three soldiers manning the weapon. There were curses as the men went rigid.

  “Go go,” Seaver slid back down to the window and rumbled down the stairs and out through a broken doorway. He banged against the wall of the alley next to the machine gun and waved Nassau over.

  Nassau slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up the machine gun.

  “Why does the smallest guy have to carry the heaviest thing?” he asked.

  “Team three is in violation,” stabbed into Seaver’s ear.

  “No,” Seaver grabbed Nassau by the scruff of the neck and pushed him forward. The four hustled forward, the torques around their necks tightening more and more until they crossed a street. The torques popped loose and Seaver took a hard breath.

  “Three!” Legio Keoni, clad in flack armor pointed a knife hand at Seaver, the other held a maul crackling with electricity. “Three through the breach, now!”

  “But we have—” Seaver ducked his head as the maul came down on his shoulder and he yelped in pain. Keoni grabbed the front of his uniform and threw him into a knocked out hole in the side of a building.

  Seaver stumbled over bodies with blue sashes, losing his rifle in front of him. Bullets snapped past him, one hit him between the knuckles and he snapped his hand back, the pain from the maul strike forgotten as a new and much stronger agony replaced it.

  He scooped up his weapon as Inez and the rest of his team came into the room.

  Powell went down with a sharp yell.

  Nassau opened up with the machine gun, firing wildly from the hip until he dropped it suddenly and started clawing at his throat.

  Seaver struggled forward and stood up to see through a low window.

  A Daegon soldier raised a pistol at him. He fumbled with his weapon, blood from his knuckles making his grip slip. The Daegon shot him twice in the chest and his pain gripped his body. He went down on one side, his jaw tight as an electric shock paralyzed him.

  Inez fell face first next to him.

  The pain cut out and Seaver clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.

  “Feet!” Keoni came into the room and started kicking prostrate soldiers. “On your feet!”

  Seaver groaned and policed up his weapon. Inez wiped a hand across a bloody scrape on his face and gave Seaver a nervous glance.

  “Yeah, not good,” Seaver said.

  “Form up. Ten seconds to comply,” Keoni put his heels together and the soldiers fell into ranks quickly. Keoni kicked the machine gun away from Nassau and hauled him up onto his knees as he kept clawing at the torque around his neck.

  Centurion Juliae, the same Daegon that shot Seaver, walked down the side of the formation. She dropped the magazine from her pistol and replaced the dummy rounds with compact energy bolts.

  “You obey…the Daegon,” Juliae walked down the first rank, the blank eyes of her skull mask looking over each of her soldiers. Her words echoed in Seaver’s ear bead. “You obey without question. Without hesitation. You,” she stopped in front of Seaver and grabbed his bloody hand, “your team was nearly terminated for non-compliance. Why?”

  Words caught in his throat, unsure how to answer. She’d never asked him a direct question in the weeks he’d been under her command.

  Keoni popped his maul to one side and stalked towards Seaver, a neutral expression in his face.

  “Tactical necessity, master,” Seaver said. “I saw the chance to seize the heavy weapon, avoid casualties…we took it.”

  Juliae let his hand go and went to the front of formation where Nassau was on his knees, hands to the ground, fighting for breath.

  “You had no control over the machine gun,” Juliae said. “You struck fellow themata in the next building.”

  Nassau looked up at her, hate written across his face.

  “Bitch,” he reached to the small of his back and pulled out a crude knife made from a bit of metal, strips of cloth wrapped around the hilt. He stabbed the shank at Juliae’s chest, but she caught him by the wrist, stopping him cold. She snapped her hand to one side and Nassau’s fist came off at the wrist.

  He looked down at his bleeding stump in shock.

  Juliae raised her pistol and shot him between the eyes, blowing his brains out onto the floor and the wall.

  Nassau collapsed to the ground.

  “You were right about that one,” she said to Keoni. “Clean them up and get that,” she wagged her smoking barrel at the corpse, “to the incinerator.” She glanced over at Seaver and Keoni nodded as she left.

  “Our master give four hours for rest and food before we train again. First we clean weapons,” Keoni said. The man hailed from a planet named Papa’apoho, some deep fringe place Seaver had never heard of before he met the cruel sergeant. “Squad leaders. Go. Team three,” the man pointed his maul at Nassau’s body.

  Seaver and the others stood around the dead man, deciding amongst themselves how best to move him.

  “You,” Keoni took Seaver by the arm and put two gloved fingers on the crook of his elbow. Seaver felt a sting and the pain in his hand went away.

  “Juliae thinks you do well,” Keoni said, “but you think too much. Obey her. Instincts, no. This,” he touched the back of his jaw where their beads were, “this yes. Or…” he cocked his head at Nassau as the other two carried him to incinerator units in the back of the training area.

  “I serve, Legio Keoni,” Seaver said.

  “Not all,” Keoni touched Seaver’s chest. “You still smell of your home. Not the themata.”

  Seaver opened his mouth slightly, but opted to keep his mouth shut.

  “I no Daegon. You ask.”

  “Who are they?” Seaver asked. “What do they want? What they did to Albion I—”

  Keoni held up a finger and shook his head.

  “Too much. See doc bot,” Keoni passed him a small plastic chit. “Fix hand. Need it to fight.”

  Keoni rapped his maul against the side of his leg, the smell of ozone coming off as it sparked.

  “Yes, legio,” Seaver clutched the chit and hurried away.

  CHAPTER 13

  Bucky’s was something of an outlier as far as orbital way stations went. A massive holo sign of a smiling marmot in a baseball cap wrapped around the outer hull. Many smaller signs—each the size of a freighter—flashed around the main advertisement, all promoting restaurants, repair shops, the best fudge this side of the Milky Way and a number of specialty massage parlors.

  The Joaquim had docked on a lower level, the entire ship within an atmosphere filled bay.

  Tolan, his face set to the thin features, came down the gangplank from his ship to where a station official and a pair of armed guards waited for him. Geet and Loussan followed behind him, the captain with a breather mask over his mouth and a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

  “Welcome to Bucky’s,” the official said. She stepped back from Tolan as he came off the gangplank, her eyes watching his hands and darting back and forth between the three of them. “This station is under Concord common law. We don’t have many laws, but if you break any, it will be unpleasant. You all going to be any trouble?”

  “No trouble at all,” Tolan said. “Nothing to declare. Here for repairs and a bit of hospitality. I’m used to docking on the upper decks. Station’s a bit crowded for this time of the year, yes?”

  “Concord’s under emergency.” She held a table out to Tolan. “Traffic to the planet’s restricted. ID scan.”


  “Scan? I thought this was Concord space. Behave and it doesn’t matter who you are,” Tolan said as he waved his palm over the tablet.

  “How long have you bunch been in slip space? You heard what happened to Albion? These Daegon?” she asked.

  “We heard, we heard.” Tolan motioned for Loussan to touch the tablet. The captain did so, and the official frowned at him.

  “What’s with the atmo gear?” she asked, glancing at the tablet.

  “Found him on some deep hole of a colony. Lousy immune system. Eyes aren’t used to so much light. Had to hose him down a couple times before he was ready for civilized company,” Tolan said.

  “No issue with him…or you. Your turn, skinny,” she said to Geet.

  Geet smiled, revealing a few missing teeth.

  The tablet went red when he touched it, and the two armed guards readied their rifles.

  “Public charge of petty larceny,” the official read from the tablet. “Public indecency. Failure to pay for contracted services. Public indecency. Public indecency. Public—”

  “What’s the fine?” Tolan asked. “We don’t mean to stay here for too long. Just need to purchase a number of major end items and be on our way. No need to go through all the magistrate hullabaloo.”

  The official glanced over one shoulder back to a customs stations. “Five troys,” she said. “And three for my associates to compensate for their time. Each.”

  “Eleven? He’s not even getting paid that much for this cruise. Maybe we’re better off picking up someone else that’s less trouble while we’re on station,” Tolan said.

  “Wait…” Geet went pale. “Wait…I’m getting paid—”

  Tolan slapped him on the back of the head.

  “Make it eight and then get off the station as soon as you can,” she said.

  Tolan swiped a hand against the inside of his coat and shook her hand. She gave him a half smile then took a small chit from her tablet.

  “Pay your docking fees at the kiosk. Don’t try and take off with the boot still on your ship. You do, you’ll leave most of it behind.” She winked and went away with her guards.

  “Really?” Loussan asked. “You could have paid eleven.”

  Tolan pressed a button on a fob and the Joaquim buttoned up.

  “Always negotiate with Concordies. You accept the first offer, they get suspicious,” Tolan said. “All right…you know where to get the IFF?” he asked Loussan.

  “I do…but it won’t be cheap,” Loussan said.

  “Fine, fine. Call me when you’ve got the item and a price. Geet. Commissary run. And everything else the ship needs.” Tolan handed him a pack of troys, slips of gold in thin plastic bills.

  Geet’s draw dropped at the sight of so much money.

  “I also put a neat little explosive device in your body while you were asleep,” Tolan said. “This ship leaves and you’re not on it?” He mimicked an explosion.

  Geet shoved the money into his pockets, nodded frantically and took off at a jog.

  “You didn’t,” Loussan said.

  “I didn’t,” Tolan said. “But he doesn’t need to know that. Bet he’ll beat us back to the ship with a cleaning bot and a steak dinner. Off we go, Loussan. Try not to get noticed and don’t forget where we parked.”

  ****

  Tolan walked down a line of garages, small shuttles in various states of disrepair in each. The air smelled of ozone and grease. His gaze flit from sign to sign until he found one bearing a Maltese cross. Above, level upon level of the station reached to Bucky’s lit dome, the uppermost reaches behind thin clouds.

  He ducked into an alley and signaled to a young woman in skintight latex over little of her body, black fishnets and lace over the rest. Her eyes seemed to swim in their sockets.

  “Looking for a good time, handsome?” she asked.

  “What do you call bliss on this rust bucket?”

  “None of that here,” she said. “No shipments from wild space in the last few days. Fiends for that stuff cleaned me out. I’ve got stardust, apple cores—”

  “I need a nerve-system dampener. A fuck-it-all pill.”

  “Got edibles,” she said, shrugging.

  “Do I sound like an amateur to you?”

  “This strain’s amazing. Concord has the best hydroponics setup for ten systems. Best I got. You want them or not? Cherry sour flavor.” She put her hands on her hips. “Twenty troy-pence.”

  “If it’s shit, I’m coming back here.” He waggled his fingers and a small bill appeared. He handed it to her.

  “Kid in a blue cap back on the street has your stuff. Watch for pigs. They want everything sold through the licensed places all of a sudden.” The money disappeared into her top.

  “Fascists.” Tolan walked out onto the main street and a boy in his early teens brushed passed him and pressed a small wrapped bag into his hand. Tolan sniffed it and grimaced. “Just to keep me level.”

  He pocketed the drugs and went over to the shop with the Maltese cross where small drones worked across a sleek shuttle with a chrome hull.

  “Owner’s looking to sell,” said a burly man in coveralls from behind Tolan. He was bald and a blond beard was braided down both sides of his mouth, dangling and tipped in small beads. “Everyone’s looking to sell and then buy one-way tickets to free space. I’m Dieter.”

  “Who would ever part with a Daimler-Ewing 9000? Finest machine to come out of Dallas Secundus in the last ten years,” Tolan said.

  “You know your Reich’s made.” Dieter reached into the air and thin wires embedded in his hands glittered as he tapped out commands on an unseen screen.

  “I also know luxury models like this are supposed to go back to the factory for all but the most routine maintenance. You’re replacing the suspensor coils.” Tolan wagged a finger at him.

  Dieter huffed. “The Kaiserina thinks she can keep every last blueprint to herself,” he said. “It never works that way. They sold this yacht to a Concordian. Did they think the buyer—from this planet—would let their choices be restricted? Waste of time.”

  “Which is why they hired you, a former engineer at the Imperial Academy, to come out and service their shiny toys.” Tolan winked at him.

  “What? That’s ridiculous.” Dieter looked to a workbench where a heavy wrench lay, the handle protruding over the edge.

  “But you were a plant from Kaiser Washington…the 28th? His Secret Police sent you here to report on black-market tech moving through the system. Someone as knowledgeable as you would be much in demand to verify what was a fake and what was the real item. But that was decades ago. You really must like this station to have stayed on here after you were recalled…or forgotten about. Given the dustup after 28’s…accident, I’m guessing the latter.”

  “How do you know all this?” Dieter put a hand on the wrench.

  “Please, you’re not the only one out here with a past. We have files on you,” Tolan said.

  “And which ‘we’ is that?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I have some tech aboard my ship that I need you to repair. How about you let your robots finish that up and you come do a little freelance work for me—under the table, naturally.” Tolan flashed a stack of troy bills.

  “Why tip your hand?” Dieter asked, his demeanor relaxing.

  “Because when you see what’s on my ship, you’ll either be amazed or angry, probably a bit of both. And that will beg a number of questions. Best to answer them now so we fully understand each other.” Tolan set the stack down on a tool chest and a drone scooped them up and flew around a corner.

  “Which tools do I need?” Dieter asked.

  “What am I, a mechanic? Bring them all.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Seaver pulled his boots off and got a whiff of feet and unwashed socks. He was on the second of four bunks, the third—Nassau’s—was empty. The lights were low, but the rustle of men and women struggling to sleep on canvas bunks carried around, al
ong with coughs, mutterings and passing gas.

  A clear suture on his hand sat in a numb patch in his hand. He could flex his fingers easily enough, which was a surprise, given that the Daegon medical bot had just dug out a small dummy round from between bones in his hand.

  “You,” Keoni’s voice buzzed in his ear. “All team three. Office.”

  Seaver stuffed his foot back into the boot as Powell and Inez sat up, groggy but moving quickly to obey the sergeant. He pulled his uniform top on and they went through a door at the end of the barracks to a small inner room where Keoni had his office; little more than a cot and a small nightstand. Keoni’s armor hung on a wooden cross. The man sat on his bunk, pants rolled up to his knees and a vape pen in one hand.

  “Legio,” Seaver said.

  “News,” Keoni opened the top drawer of his stand and took out a bottle of grey liquid and two slivers of what looked like coconut shells. He poured the liquid into a shell and handed it to Powell. She smelled it and hesitated.

  “Bula,” Keoni motioned for her to drink and she took a sip. She shrugged and downed the rest.

  “Oh…my tongue is numb,” she frowned and passed the shell back.

  “Good stuff,” he gave a drink to Seaver who downed it in one swig.

  “Bula,” Keoni said again.

  “That’s what this is called, Legio?” Inez asked.

  “No, it’s kava. You say ‘bula’ when you drink it. Bula,” he put the bottle to his lips and turned the end up.

  “I feel…nice,” Powell said.

  “You three go to shaping,” Keoni said. “Juliae favors you. Shaping for best themata.”

  “Shaping? Is that more advance training?” Seaver asked. A gentle calm came over him as the kava took effect.

  “Training, sure,” Keoni sniffed and leaned back against the bulkhead. “We second force to take planet. First has problem. Place called Concord, you know?”

  “The masters attacked Concord?” Seaver asked, his face full of surprise. “Even the Reich wouldn’t attack that place. They fight hard against everything.”