Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  “You’re staying here,” he told me. “Do you trust me?”

  That was a silly question, but asked that way, was scary. “Yes?”

  “We’re going to have to confront them. They might board. Don’t argue or fight. Try to keep them talking before boarding and after. Commo is about to function again. We’ll be back. You’re noncombatant,” he said.

  “Oookay.”

  Mira engaged some program or other, and they followed the rest aft.

  I had no idea what was going on.

  Warning buzzers sounded angrily. I didn’t know what to do with them, and I got the impression it was planned.

  There was a faint shift in the atmosphere, that you get in any small ship when there’s bay or lock evacuation and transfer. Then I saw a very clear display that said the maintenance tug had launched.

  I wondered who was aboard, or if they’d all tethered onto it. They wouldn’t fit inside.

  They wouldn’t want me captured. My intel was important. I knew that. They wouldn’t just leave me to die. I was a lot more use alive. Right?

  I was. They’d even blasted their way in to recover me.

  I fought off a wave of panic.

  The ship was in trajectory, and there was nothing to collide with. Worst case, I could bleat a mayday and someone would salvage the ship and save me. Supplies on board would last me for months. Someone would want a half billion marks or credits of ship and cargo.

  There was no reason for anyone to vaporize it.

  I sat and shivered, and my eyes got wet. I had no idea what was happening.

  Then commo came on. “NCA Pieper, are there any crew aboard? Emergency broadcast from UNS Scrommelfenk, over. Navire Commercial Alsacien Pieper . . .” the respondent repeated in dialect.

  I found a headset, and replied, “Scrommelfenk, this is Pieper, Angie leBlanc, Officer on Watch, over.” Well, I was.

  “Pieper, do you need assistance? We show reactor irregularities and craft launch, over.”

  So, Juan had said to keep them talking.

  “We’re functional, over,” I replied. I hoped it was true.

  “Can you explain the EVA launch, over?”

  “I really can’t. That’s not my department. Sorry. Over.”

  “Is your captain or engineer available? Over?”

  “They are not available at present, over.”

  “Officier leBlanc, your responses suggest you’re being deliberately deceptive. Please tell me in clear language your ship’s current status, or I’ll have to treat this as a potential piracy. Are you under duress? Over.”

  I was definitely under duress, but not the way they thought. Still, I was to keep talking.

  “I am not under duress. Our current status is in flight, in system. I’m commercial crew, not rated for astrogation. We don’t have a big enough command crew for that. Everything I was told to watch looks nominal. Over.”

  Nothing followed for a while. I grabbed a food bar and a Coke, and turned on lights and music. I was alone in a ship I couldn’t pilot with commo I could just barely use, in empty space near an enemy warship. How the fuck did I get here?

  I sat there watching the chrono scroll, the trajectory numbers change, and the sensor screen show a large ship and a bunch of nothing. I was afraid to leave. I needed to use the head bad, but didn’t. I was completely mentally numb.

  I jumped and almost went bejeebus. There were clanging, clanking thumping noises from the crew lock, and a moment later, it cycled fast. Someone had dumped atmosphere to get in quickly. The hatch swung, and four troops in armored V-suits burst through looking like clowns, but I was sure it was an intentional maneuver.

  One of them, I wasn’t sure which, said, “Please keep your hands where we can see them. Identify yourself.”

  I raised my hands. “Angie leBlanc, Officer on Watch.”

  Then I was grabbed, twisted to the deck and bound in cuffs. They checked the pressure, checked me with a flash of light, and started doffing helmets.

  One of them reached the commo console and started swiping buttons.

  “Sir, this is Bernard One, we’re aboard, over.”

  We were close enough for a video connection. Juan appeared onscreen.

  “How convenient,” he said.

  “Who are you, over?”

  “Juan Gaspardeau, Freehold Military Forces. I have seized this vessel in combat operations.”

  How the fuck had he done that? From a maintenance tug? Had he hacked their commo, or . . . ?”

  The lieutenant immediately said, “I have your crewwoman.”

  “I have your captain,” Juan replied, waving the camera over. He held a pistol. The captain looked ashamed and livid. Behind him I saw Sebastian and Mira. “Are you seriously proposing to exchange a cargo-grunter for a ranking officer?”

  The lieutenant flapped his arms in confusion. “What, then?”

  “Surrender at once.” Juan sounded so reasonable. God, I loved the man. Had he really captured a capital ship?

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I have not killed anyone I didn’t need to. I would like to maintain that standard. If you harm her, you lose an officer.”

  “Sir, what do I do?” he asked his captain on the screen.

  Juan answered him. “You have our ship. We have your much more valuable ship. We can destroy you in that ship if you don’t comply. Per Geneva Conventions and Mars Accords, I am not initiating violence against anyone who has surrendered or been detained. If you initiate violence at this point, you’re a war criminal, I can kill you out of hand, and I have weapons. You will surrender and return. If you run, I’ll consider you a combatant.”

  The captain said, “You must surrender, for now.”

  The lieutenant wasn’t done yet. He was twitching, furious as he replied.

  “Sir, I will comply with your orders under protest. I want it in record that these pirates used a fake distress call to lure us into a rescue, as a way of hijacking us.”

  Juan smiled.

  “When did we sound this alleged distress call?” he asked.

  The lieutenant stuttered. I thought he was going to melt down entirely.

  “But, your engines, and emergency pod . . .”

  “Tug, not emergency pod. There was no distress call. We even deactivated the transponder on the tug.”

  On screen, the captain turned to Juan said, “Damn you, we acted in good faith.”

  Juan nodded. “You did, and should be commended for that. But we’re still taking your ship.”

  He had no response to that.

  In front of me, the lieutenant said, “If I surrender, how do we proceed?”

  “Hand your sidearm to my crewwoman. Place the rest of the weapons where she tells you and follow her directions.”

  A moment later, he nodded to someone who unshackled me. He reversed his grip and handed me his pistol.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  Juan said, “Angie, lock them in the bunktainer. Make sure they have some rations. Unpower the hatch. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  They did as they were told, the lieutenant waving his boarding party to move ahead of him. They were so-so in emgee. I had more practice. I made a note of that.

  Juan kept the comm open.

  He sent a very terse transmission to system control.

  “Freehold officer reports capture of Scrommelfenk. Removing from system under neutral terms. No hostility offered. ASC Pieper accompanies. Respectfully request plans for priority transit.”

  A reply would take a while, and he gave orders in the meantime.

  I had the detainees precede me through the passages. They looked pissed. Hell, I could feel it in the air. They didn’t argue, though. We had a warship.

  Over the PA and echoed through my phone, I heard him giving orders to the screen ships.

  “Fueler, gunboat, EW boat, you are not engaged in combat and may depa
rt if you do so at once. This is a neutral system. You know your way back to Earth, or you can move closer to Novaya Rossia support. Your command already violated neutral space once. Don’t test me.”

  About then, something came back from system control that was like, “Did you say captured? Yobannyj v rot! How the hell?”

  I heard Juan say, “Previous transmission is correct and complete. Please reply.”

  The boarding party entered the pod, and I kicked it closed, then locked it using a johnson bar from the tool mount. I was amazed they hadn’t tried to swarm me, but I guess Juan having their captain worked. I locked the hatch again, with my pin. They couldn’t open it from inside now.

  “Uh . . . hold on, sir.”

  Another voice came on. “Pieper, are you reporting clandestine status as a warship, and capture of a UN vessel?”

  “Yes. They attempted to intercept with threat of fire. I’m filing the usual complaints, as we were in transit and noncombatant at the time.”

  We were about three light-minutes round trip.

  “Understood, Pieper, though you should have been identified as a warship.”

  “We didn’t become a warship until they decided to attack us, based purely on our flight path. See previous tx about usual complaints. We’ve captured her and will depart system with prize crew shortly.”

  “How the hell did you manage that?”

  “Through wit and skill. Please stand ready to clear both vessels for Jump Point.”

  “Angie, messenger line coming,” he said to me.

  “Okay,” I acknowledged. I knew that was possible. I never heard of it being done.

  There was a thumping on the outer hull, which I heard through the insulation and inner hull.

  How the hell had they captured a warship, even if they’d boarded it? There were so many ways to evac passages, seal locks. I figured the UN had some sort of boarder repel protocol. We’d never used it that I know of, except in an exercise a few years back that had cost lives. So how had they done this here?

  I was dying to know.

  Through the commo I heard, “Inbound, it’s us.”

  More mechanical noise came from the outer passenger lock, and I backed through a separator so I had a good field of fire. I had no idea if I could shoot anyone, but I’d try.

  Mira came through the lock, armed. She moved so we had good separation, and then others came through. It appeared to be most of the ship’s senior officers.

  “This keeps them out of trouble,” she said.

  It made sense, but a moment later, some mouthy commander second class started complaining.

  “Per Geneva and Mars, we’re supposed to be provided quarters matching our rank. These do not.”

  Mira said, “As circumstances permit, which they do not. If you want privacy, you’re welcome to pitch a hammock in the engine room, or outside.”

  Someone else grabbed his arm and muttered to him. He shut up.

  “How?” I asked. They’d captured a capital ship.

  “Later,” Mira said.

  The senior officers were followed by Sebastian and Jack. I wasn’t sure who was still on their bridge, of either their crew or ours.

  This group were split between the bunk pod and the pressure section of the bay. We threw padding and bungees at them. Mir said, “No, it’s not comfy. It will have to do. You’re alive and will be repatriated in good time. You, Captain Second, what’s your name?”

  “Monaghan.”

  “You seem to be in charge. I will meet with you twice a day to track the needs of your fellow captives.”

  He asked, “Can I get your name and rank?”

  “Astrogator Mira. Yes, that is my rating. My actual rank would not make sense to you.”

  That matched my guess that she was a Blazer. In public, that’s the only way they’re called. They have a rank and rating structure, but in public, they’re secretive. “Blazer Mira Zelemir” would be her ID.

  He looked irritated, and I couldn’t blame him. He’d lost his ship. That probably meant the career end for every officer, and might mean criminal charges. It certainly wouldn’t make any crew confident of their ability.

  I figured they were doing something, and it was a matter of a few hours when they started transferring more personnel over. I mean, they stuffed them in, and then pulled us out.

  I guess it made sense. Pieper had no weapons and limited engines. Put all the prisoners in her, and we’d have them as a shield.

  They were going to stuff all the nonessential personnel into a cargo hauler that was mostly empty bay.

  When the third transfer came over, there were casualties, stuffed into body bags. I gather none of them were able to be saved, and there wasn’t time for stasis and a trip to a facility of course. You need an Alpha Center for that.

  I figured a ship that size had a crew of three hundred. At least half that many came over, including what seemed to be every officer and CPO. They were all sequestered into life space, but without any commo. It took hours.

  Toward the end, Mira released their ranking prisoner and brought him forward.

  “We will provide rations from your ship. Heating facilities are limited. Toilet facilities are limited. Shower facilities are very limited. We will attempt to find a way to furnish deck pads for sleeping, and additional wash water. Drinking water will be in drums and we can fabricate cups. You will need to save and wash them.”

  “Thank you. If that’s the best you can manage,” he managed to say with a condescending sniff.

  I remembered a rescue run with half that many passengers stuffed on a similar class of ship. It was better than best.

  Mira didn’t faze. She just said, “This is a cargo hauler. It’s what we have. We could have just slagged a breech in your hull. This works better for everyone.”

  He nodded and let it drop. I understood him being pissed, though. They’d done the impossible, and he was humiliated, as were all the crew.

  He changed subjects. “Ma’am, I formally request permission to hold a memorial service for our casualties.”

  “Granted,” she said at once. “We can arrange it in the forward craft bay.”

  “Uh . . .” the captain muttered. I think he’d expected to be refused. He continued, “What honors will you allow?”

  She wrinkled her brow, and said, “I assume you want a firing party? We’ll do that for you. Please make sure your people understand we’ll have live rounds under the blanks, and no one is to get clever.”

  “Absolutely!”

  So I wound up in the firing party, while she sat at the controls in a locked bridge, with hard vacuum holding the hatch closed, ready to seal off the entire compartment if someone did get stupid.

  Their service is similar, since ours came from Earth anyway. They didn’t do any religious stuff other than a chaplain reading from three books—the Bible, Quran and Book of Life. They carried the sealed bags of dead into a vacuum cell so they’d stay preserved for the duration home. Once they stepped back with one flag, we fired three volleys of blanks, “we” being me, Mo, Jack, Teresa and Roger. Mira was up front. Juan, Shannon and Bast had control of Scrommelfenk.

  I hadn’t done firing party before, but we’d rehearsed.

  “Half right, face. Load. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Half left, face. Present, ARMS!”

  The blanks were fucking loud in that space. Then we stood at present arms while they played Taps, the flag was folded and presented to the captain. They didn’t play “Amazing Grace.” I guess that’s something we do.

  When he received the blue flag, the captain pivoted, and ordered, “Firing Party, Dismissed!”

  As we marched out, Roger turned and backed into the hatchway. I followed his lead, as did the others, so we always had the prisoners in view. It felt like that.

  But it did feel good to give them some closure and proper respect. It seemed to calm them down a lot.

  Jack and Mira stayed aboard with me. The rest remained or went back aboard Scr
ommelfenk.

  The captain and the engagement officer gave us no trouble. Whenever they were out, Roger followed them around, armed with a knife and a baton. They never argued with him once.

  The crew, though, were determined to take their ship back. Roger and Mo had to reroute controls, and hard-cut several conduits. Then, they kept everywhere we weren’t using in vacuum.

  I got to suit through, alone, placing optical motion sensors in discreet places, and disabling lighting, even emergency glow. It was scary. Ships are never dark unless you have a private berth and choose it. But I turned parts of it into an airless coffin. Even the hatches were disabled.

  The crew actually managed to cut between their powered sections and team up. We tried to keep track, as a lieutenant commander kept them busy with sanitation, cooking, exercise. That was good and effective.

  But it didn’t take all of them to do that, and they had a lot of down time. Some played games, but Teresa pointed out that a lot of them weren’t accounted for.

  “I think they may be planning to cut into one of the shorter passages and try to reach life-support from there,” she said.

  “They all die if they do,” Mira said.

  “Should we stop them?” I asked. I wasn’t sure.

  “We have an obligation to make sure they don’t kill themselves through error. But, they know this is possible and they’re taking the risk. I expect if they make a small hole and start getting a pressure drop, they’ll seal it.”

  They were surrounded on six sides by hard vacuum. We only pressurized the main passage when we needed to. Three times a day I rolled a dolly of rations down and left it in the passage for them. They returned it for the next meal.

  Sure enough, they started cutting into hard vacuum and slapped a patch over it. It wasn’t a very good patch, but we left it like that to keep them nervous and afraid of trying again.

  I guess they hoped to complicate things if they got through, but really, where would they go? They’d have a cargo ship is all. Unless they figured to ransom us to the others in exchange for a warship? Hell, it would be a fair trade to treat the four of us as collateral and slag the lot of them, and keep the warship. I knew Juan would see it that way.