by B. V. Larson
“You don’t think your hacks will work?”
“They will have some effect, if only to test the limits of Victory’s processing power, but I cannot say for certain they will be enough.”
Engels pointed her finger, hand and arm like a spear. “Dammit, that fucking flagship is the key to victory, no pun intended. If it keeps working, they’ll probably win. If not, we will. So from now on, I want every effort concentrated on taking her out. Just one full-on shot from Indomitable will do her serious damage, right?”
“Hard to say,” said Trinity. “I’ve calculated her maximum armor resistance and it approaches Indomitable’s own.”
“What? How is that possible? Indomitable’s so much bigger!”
“Indomitable’s armor is thicker, but also flatter, not curved in a near-perfect three-dimensional arch. I surmise Victory is made of cutting-edge materials, and I have calculated her reinforcement density per square meter of hull to be superior to ours. She devotes a much higher percentage of a very powerful suite of generators to reinforcement fields, and she has no offensive weapons. Thus, no large weapons ports, no spinal structure, no diversion of power from self-preservation. Her purpose is simple: stay alive to command and control.”
“And Indomitable’s purpose is to kill anything she sees. Don’t tell me she can’t!”
Trinity didn’t speak for a moment. “I’ll do all I can, including selectively overloading the particle beam weapon at the correct time. I can take control of all the missiles we can launch and try to weaken Victory’s armor. If we get close enough, I can try to achieve a kinetic railgun strike. But I simply have no guarantees to give you, Admiral.”
“The hell with guarantees. Do your best. That’s all I can ever ask of anyone.”
Trinity’s face lifted its chin. “Thank you, Admiral.”
“For what?”
“For treating me like a person, not a machine.”
“I never thought you were a machine. Neither did Derek. Remember, he wouldn’t abandon you—Indy, anyway—to die.”
“Some would say that was a cynical attempt at manipulation.”
“He put his own life on the line to get you to do what had to be done. I didn’t agree with it at the time, but he wouldn’t have done that for a machine.”
“Your pardon, Admiral. I need my full attention for the fight.” Trinity’s disembodied head vanished from the hologram.
Indomitable thrummed again as Trinity targeted and fired. The beam widened and struck one destroyer and three drones. The drones were marked destroyed, the destroyer crippled.
“Looks like Trinity’s taking what she can get, rather than going for the big ships, but firing in spread mode,” Engels muttered.
“The enemy has opened fire,” said Tixban.
“Evasive.”
“Already in progress.”
“Damage?”
“Negligible. The range is long and our cruisers are at full reinforcement.”
Engels sat in her chair. “Fleetcom, order the withdrawal.”
Chapter 24
Straker on Terra Nova
Straker readied himself for violence, one hand on his pain-wand, the other on his knife, as Melgar boldly led the way across the drink-factory floor toward his woman. Nobody seemed to have guns. As in any prison, deadly weapons could be taken away by the more numerous prisoners.
The furred woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the two men, first with fear, and then with recognition. She stood docilely as Melgar used the unlocking tool to remove her anklet.
Straker glared around at others nearby. Slaves watched sidelong with dull curiosity. Free people kept working, though one that might be a supervisor started moving toward them. Guards glanced at them, and then went back to their guarding. Apparently all it took was to be of the proper type and in uniform, much as police at a busy scene would mostly ignore other uniformed police they didn’t know.
The supervisor made indignant clicking noises at the removal of her slave. Straker growled at her and powered up his pain-wand. This brought more indignation, but the supervisor backed up. Melgar said something harsh from behind Straker, and the woman’s face filled with fear as she retreated. Everyone else shrank away as well.
Melgar marched his woman toward the nearest door and Straker tried to make sure nobody interfered, but there was no need. Whatever Melgar had said, everyone avoided them and let them go.
“What say?” Straker asked once they exited the drink factory into a corridor.
“Say woman sick. Bad. Die.” Melgar laughed. “Fear sick.”
Straker laughed too. “Good. Smart.”
“Only smart live. Stupid die. Stupid stay in chains. Stupid.”
Straker found himself working to combine his limited vocabulary to express himself in the High Tongue. No doubt he sounded like an illiterate fool, but in this setting it hardly mattered. “Most people stupid. Most people fear. Few people brave and smart.”
Melgar grunted. “Truth. You brave.”
“You brave.”
Melgar grinned with large, dirty teeth. “Neeka make brave.” He nuzzled the woman, who clung to him desperately. “Neeka. Stray-kurr.”
“Neeka,” said Straker. “Pleased to meet you.” He’d memorized that stock phrase, along with a few others.
“Pleased to meet you,” Neeka said, and then babbled more words, too fast for Straker to understand. Melgar spoke to her briefly before leading her and Straker onward.
The rounded a corner and nearly ran into a man who didn’t fit—a man in ordinary modern clothing, like Myrmidon’s.
An agent, Straker was sure.
Growling, Straker grabbed the man and slammed him into the rocky wall. “Who are you? What do you want!”
The man’s bland face, so much like Myrmidon’s own he could be a brother, remained blank. He said nothing.
“I’m going to start breaking fingers if you don’t talk.”
“I can talk,” said the man. “But I can’t give you information no matter what you do.”
“Can’t?”
“Can’t. I have a mental block.”
Straker grasped the man’s little finger and bent it backward. “I bet you can tell me something that’s not blocked.”
The man’s face widened in pain. “We become what we hate.”
“I prefer to think of it as fighting fire with fire. Now talk!”
“Thank you for the field exercise. It will be invaluable to me in the future.” Then the man’s eyes rolled back and he went limp, unconscious. No amount of shaking or slapping would wake him. Disgusted, Straker left him lying there.
They walked through interminable tunnels. Melgar chose those less busy, but didn’t try to hide. Their guard uniforms got them through everywhere. No doubt Melgar avoided any areas with heightened security, and he seemed to be leaving the production zone. Now, the corridors became rougher, less improved, just tunnels cut through the native rock and shored up with timber as needed.
Melgar directed them upward when he could, by stairs and ramps. At one point they passed among miners, with the furred people digging and hauling instead of cultivating or gathering. It looked to be backbreaking work. Maybe that was why the moss-scrapers hadn’t wanted to escape. By comparison it was good duty, and there was always a more brutal place to be assigned.
Eventually they reached a chamber that led to the surface. Sunlight streamed in from a large opening, nearly blinding Straker. His two companions shielded their eyes against the light and waited in a secluded alcove. “Light hurt. We wait,” Melgar said. “Night better. We hide. Wait.”
“Yes.” Straker followed Melgar back down a tunnel until they found a chamber full of broken tools and discarded items. There, they hid in the back until well past nightfall.
When next they emerged, they found a different problem. Whereas before the entrance had been wide open and unobstructed, now fires burned, behind metal-barred gates that had been closed and locked. Straker could see a dozen g
uards, this time with stubby low-tech quad-barreled slugthrowers, possibly muzzle-loading shotguns. Eight slept on bunks while four sat or walked around, tending the fires and chatting with each other.
Fortunately, their attention was focused outward, as if guarding the entrance from assault. Their potential attackers must not have firearms or even crossbows, as the open bars provided no cover.
“We out,” whispered Melgar. Neeka’s eyes were bright, focusing on the exit as if she longed for nothing else in the world.
“Many bad men,” said Straker. “I hurt.”
“We hurt.”
“No. I hurt. You open door. Key. Tool. Open. I fight.”
“Yes yes. I know. Stray-kurr one, they many. I fight. Neeka find tool. Open.”
Neeka nodded enthusiastically. “I open.”
Straker preferred to go up against the guards by himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about watching Melgar’s back. Every fire-lit figure would be a target. But there was no way to explain this with the simple words he knew. “Yes. I first. I strong.” Straker reached out to squeeze Melgar’s wrist until the man winced. “I big fight. I first.”
Melgar nodded, rubbing his wrist and smiling wolfishly. “You first. You hurt men awake. I hurt men sleep.”
“Good idea, buddy,” Straker said in Earthan, and took up his weapons, holding them out of sight at his sides. “I go. You after. Far after.”
He stood and strolled casually toward the firelight, hoping Melgar had the sense to stay well back. The guards didn’t notice him until he got close. As he’d hoped, they were night-blind from looking at the fires. One spoke up in questioning tones. Straker smiled broadly and made friendly, wordless noises for long enough to get within reach.
His first knife-strike slashed the closest man’s throat from one side to the other, completely through. He immediately took a long stepping lunge to plunge the blade upward from under the next man’s chin into his brain. Both dropped like stones, without outcry.
The other two yelled in surprise. Straker struck one with his pain-wand, causing him to drop his quad-barrel gun, which discharged explosively. The other he side-kicked. He felt ribs break as the force knocked the man across the room to fall into a bonfire.
He thought about picking up a gun, but it looked so primitive, he wasn’t sure he could take the time to figure out how it worked. Better to use his strength and speed. He wished for a sword, but his knife and the pain-wand would have to do.
As the one upright guard scrabbled after his fallen weapon, Straker kicked his legs out from under him and then put a boot into his head, snapping his neck with an audible crack. He took three strides and kicked the burning man in the face hard enough to ensure he was out of the fight.
By this time the other eight men were roaring and grabbing for weapons. No, make that seven. Melgar had found a miner’s pick and had slammed it through the chest of one, pinning him to his bunk. He jerked it free with frenzied strength and swung it frantically, striking anyone within reach.
Neeka scrambled around the melee and began searching the guards Straker had taken out. Straker dismissed her from his mind and raced for the melee in the bunking area. He slammed his shoulder into one guard, knocking him sprawling, and then stabbed another in the gut. Ripping the blade upward, he dropped his pain-wand and grasped his victim by his tunic. He used the man as a shield as one guard fired his gun with deafening thunder.
Pellets stung Straker’s arm, but the dying guard he held took most of the blast. He shoved the body hard against the firer, knocking him down, and then he was so close among the others that they couldn’t shoot.
One short, desperate battle later, he and Melgar had killed or incapacitated the rest. Melgar clutched a knife-wound on his thigh. Neeka bound it with cloth cut from the dead men’s garments while Melgar drank from a looted bottle. He offered Straker a drink, which turned out to be some kind of bitter plant tea.
Straker found a roast joint of meat on a spit near the fire. He was so tired of eating moss, he cut a piece off and lifted it toward his mouth.
“No, Straker! No eat!”
Straker stopped. Was it poisoned? That would make no sense. It was clearly part of the guards’ food.
Melgar hobbled over and knocked the meat out of Straker’s hand. “Meat,” he said, touching his forearm, then his thigh. “Man meat.”
“Ugh.” Straker backed away, sickened. “Yeah, I should’ve known.”
Neeka unlocked the gate and set a rock to hold it wide open. She gestured for them to go, but Melgar spoke to her and she reluctantly returned. Neeka brought Melgar and Straker each a bowl full of porridge, with only grain and vegetables in it. The furred couple ate enthusiastically, so Straker did as well. It wasn’t bad, and it filled him up.
When they had hurriedly eaten, they escaped into the warm night air. Melgar took off his fur coat and hid it beneath leaves. Straker did the same, but they both kept the harnesses and tools.
Straker would have liked to search the guardroom more thoroughly for useful items, but his companions were adamant about fleeing immediately. He had no idea where he was or what kind of diz this might be, so it seemed best to stay with them.
Neeka led, navigating unerringly in the starry night. Of course, her cave-adapted eyes would easily find her way in the darkness. She followed a trail out of the hard-rock forested hills and into swampy lowlands where unseen creatures hooted and cried.
Abruptly, she and Melgar stopped, peering upward into the trees. Melgar made a whistling sound, almost a birdsong, and was answered in kind. Shapes moved in the vined trees above.
Straker readied his knife and pain-wand when Melgar grabbed one of his wrists. “No, Straker. My people. Friends. No hurt. Afraid.”
“Yes. I understand.” Straker put away his weapons and held out his open hands.
Furred men dropped from trees and surrounded the three, seizing Straker. He didn’t resist, though he could have thrown them off. Melgar and Neeka spoke rapidly, and soon they let Straker loose.
Melgar’s people wore makeshift harnesses and carried tools. Some were obviously homemade, of chipped stone, bone and leather. Others, steel knives and hatchets, they must have captured or traded for.
They leaped into the trees. Neeka did also, but seeing Straker’s hesitation, Melgar stayed on the ground. “Straker not come?”
“I not walk in tree. I not see at night. I fall.”
“I understand. We walk under my people.” And so they proceeded, the fur-people in the trees above, Melgar and Straker walking below, for several hours. Melgar struggled with his wounded leg, and Straker helped him when needed. They rested often.
When the dawn came and he could see better, Straker climbed into the lower branches and tried to walk in the trees as they did. He had the strength and coordination, but not the instinct or the skill. These people must climb trees from birth, like great apes, for all their faces and postures were human. He figured if he lived with them for a few weeks he could probably travel the tree-roads passably well, at least in the daytime.
But he didn’t want to live with them for weeks. A part of him was fascinated, and if he’d had no responsibilities he could see staying and learning—but now that he was free, his thoughts turned to escape.
The day revealed the world-ring above, and a precarious climb to the top of a tall tree showed him the wall only ten kilometers off. Air vehicles flitted to and fro beyond, promising familiar technology and a route, however unlikely and difficult, off Terra Nova and back to the Republic.
“There,” he said to Melgar as they gazed over the jungle canopy. “I go there. Wall. Over. Over wall. My people.”
Melgar’s large, dark-adapted eyes blinked at him with pinpoint pupils. “I show. Follow me.”
Straker stopped Melgar. “How? How over wall? Wall high.”
“I know.” Melgar swarmed down to where his people sat in the branches, picking and eating large, ripe fruit with a bready texture. Straker ate some—it was e
ither that or moss—and found it surprisingly satisfying.
While Straker ate breadfruit and drank from his water-skin, Melgar collected tools and lines from his people, putting what they gave him in a bag. He then left Neeka with his tree-tribe and proceeded at a leisurely pace through the lower branches, where Straker could find easy footing on large, strong limbs. In this way they stayed above the swamps and larger predators.
Once, Melgar stopped Straker and pointed. For a long minute he couldn’t see anything, and then he saw movement: a huge snake, or perhaps a lizard, since it had eight tiny legs that it used to help grip the branches. It stared at them for a while, until Melgar threw hard tree-cones at it. It moved sinuously off through the leafy canopy.
“Thanks, buddy,” Straker said in Earthan. “I can see I’d be dead meat without you. I guess everybody has their place to be, and yours is here.”
Melgar furrowed his brow at Straker. “Thanks, buddy,” he said in passable Earthan.
Straker laughed, and said, “Thanks, friend,” in the High Tongue. He went back and forth with the phrase in both languages until he was sure Melgar understood, and wasn’t just mimicking sounds.
Three hours later, when the sun stood at high noon, they reached the base of the wall. Melgar chose the highest tree he could find and climbed to the top. Straker followed, but stopped before the branches became too fine and willowy.
Melgar used his tools to make a grapple on the end of a braided line. He tied more loops of thin vine near the attachment point. He propped the loops open with stiff twigs, and then whirled it around his head and cast it up to the top of the wall.
Straker would never have believed it possible. He couldn’t have made such a cast himself, yet Melgar made it look easy. Unfortunately, it didn’t catch on anything. Melgar reset the loops and made three more casts before the grapple or one of the loops caught on something, stuck firmly enough to bear the weight of a man.
Melgar handed Straker the line. “You climb?”
Straker pulled on the line. He could climb it, but should he try now? The longer he delayed, the more chance of the rope being discovered by controllers or security forces. However, waiting until nightfall might be the best option. There would be fewer people about.