Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  That seemed positive, sort of. It wasn’t negative. We were hiding for our lives and didn’t have a ship, though. That didn’t seem to bother them. It was almost, “Yes, I lost a hand, but I have a spare,” attitude.

  “At this point, we have to escalate to a level I’d preferred to avoid. We’ll need to actively hijack a ship.”

  “We commandeered one before,” I said.

  “This time we need to keep the ship, and not have it discovered.”

  “You’re going to kill civilians,” I said.

  “Yes.” He nodded firmly. “If I could think of a way around it, I would. The only justification I can offer is that ending the war will mean less collaterals, and that we’re doing so to save our own lives.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. We’d been a gray area for so long, since we were non-identified combatants, but there was no way to do what we did while identified.

  At least he wasn’t claiming it was a good thing. Just necessary.

  I stared at the floor.

  “Angie,” he said. I looked up. “If you can think of any way at all to acquire transport without killing anyone, I’ll take it. A ship in repair that’s unoccupied, except that we need to put it in service. A crew we can detain, except we can’t risk a port inspection that way. We have to do what we’re doing, and we can’t buy one or I would. But even that would be noticed. If we acquired a ship like the one we commandeered, and could smuggle their crew elsewhere, I would. If we can smuggle a crew onto another ship, I’ll take it. I can’t find a way to do it.”

  I shrugged. The responsibility wasn’t mine.

  Except it was all of ours.

  The next morning, I was dressed down. Way down. The clothes I wore were dusty, stale, musty, had been well-sweated into and even had some urine sprinkled. I even wore a well-used briefer underneath, and it felt disgusting and my skin crawled. Mira had dusted my hair with deck sweepings after I worked up a sweat.

  I looked like the complete bottom echelon of humanity.

  I had a couple of food bars, and the wrappers were mashed and stomped. I had a water bottle with coffee stains on it. I had a shredded backpack with a collection of bits and stuff in it. The only worthwhile thing I carried was my phone.

  We all had different covers, but at least Jack and Bast were also made up to look like dregs. We walked on foot, slowly, from near the homeless camp all the way to the docks. It took most of the day.

  The dock security wouldn’t have let us in, but there was a power conduit. It still amazes me how many of those we used and no one ever caught on. We met up, Jack shagged the lock, we all went down, then we staggered back out a half hour apart. I mean actually staggered.

  I didn’t know what ship we were taking. I just knew to be ready to get to it, that I might have to fight my way aboard, and that innocent people were going to die.

  I just hung out where Juan had said, and looked helpless. I felt it. I knew sooner or later the cops would round us up.

  My phone buzzed and I read it as a scroll on my hat brim.

  Move toward SCS Prophet’s Glory. SCS was Salin Commercial Ship. That didn’t mean it was local, it was using their registry as a convenience. It probably couldn’t pass a modern spaceworthiness test, or they didn’t want to pay higher fees or reveal personal info.

  Did we have a ride? I glanced around slowly, and there it was. What a piece of crap. But if it got us out of here, it was worth it.

  I saw Bast lurching toward it, trying to look fat and out of shape. He did okay, but he had a lot of muscle to hide. I gave him three segs and moved generally that way, trying to plan for moving transports.

  I did okay, but was next to a marked lane when a jenny hauler went past.

  “Outa the way, you burned-out trash whore.”

  That was nice of him. I guess he’d never actually been a transient, never mind homeless.

  But a while later, I was loitering at a strut near Prophet’s Glory’s lock.

  I saw the crew muttering. They didn’t want anything to do with me, even to get rid of me. They were embarrassed and ashamed that I existed, and they’d have to deal with me.

  I didn’t get any closer, and they kept watching me but didn’t approach. I mumbled to myself and shook my finger at the strut now and then as if I was schizophrenic.

  Their cargo arrived, and we weren’t in the way so no one said anything. Actually, I wasn’t in the way. Bast was elsewhere entirely. I didn’t even know where the rest were. If I got taken, they were clear.

  They had two loaders, old Dash 2s. As in, first generation, not even upgraded. Everything about this bucket was worn out. I was surprised it still flew.

  Still, the crew were decent at operating them. One took a load, the other came around and reached for another.

  The takedown was brilliant. As the loader rotated, Roger appeared, sprung and yanked the operator off. Bast caught him and applied a chokehold, then laid him gently down. Mira swabbed his nose with a sponge and I guessed he’d be out for a while. It was probably Ruff or some similar knockout.

  Mo, Teresa and Jack rolled up the ramp using Roger’s loader as concealment, and disappeared inside. The command crew hadn’t seen anything.

  Roger delivered the cargo, rolled back out, and this time, Glenn, Shannon and Juan went inside.

  That left me to follow with Mira and Bast. I lost the homeless ghillie, and strode up the ramp in my standard shipsuit.

  “There’s another one. Hey, chick, who are you?”

  Mira was on him with the Ruff and down he went. Roger sprung off his loader and took a second one out. Bast just grabbed one and gripped. That was enough to disable the man before he was drugged, too.

  It looked like we controlled the internal bay. I wondered if anything had been caught on vid, or if anyone on this ship even cared. C-deck should at least have monitors for the bay.

  Maybe that’s why they’d picked this ship, or maybe it was chance.

  The ones they’d disabled were here, and alive for now. That was a mixed thing. I guess they might be allowed to survive, and this was a chance. But if something went bad, someone was going to choke, shoot or space them, while they were helplessly trussed.

  “Aw, shit!” I heard Glenn swear.

  I looked back toward the main passage.

  Kids. They had a baby and a boy about ten.

  “They weren’t on the manifest I saw,” Juan said. “We don’t have time to divert.”

  “What do we do?”

  That was a good question. Killing adults was one thing, and still bad. Kids, though.

  “Truss everyone, we’ll sort it out after lift.”

  The ten-year-old struggled. Bast clobbered him hard enough to stun him, but not enough to kill him. They and the baby went into the passenger stateroom with the others. That made sense. Passenger rooms couldn’t reach any control functions.

  Roger and Jack were parking the loaders when the next thing happened.

  Down at the bottom of the ramp, Bert sat, waiting for permission to board.

  On the one hand, I didn’t want to ignore him or leave him in Sol system. On the other, I had no idea how long we were going to stay alive.

  “This isn’t the best ship, Bert,” I said.

  He wagged his tailed and yipped, because he recognized me.

  Godsdammit.

  “Welcome aboard, Bert.” Maybe we could drop him fast.

  He trotted up the ramp and headed for a bunk room.

  We sealed up. There was some confusion outside. Someone from another ship was near the ramp looking curious. Bast and Mo at the top shrugged and gave him a thumb’s up. He waved and left, looking unsure.

  Juan asked, “Do we have to note the Admiral is aboard?”

  I said, “Ordinarily, I think so, even in Earth space, but I don’t think they know he’s here.”

  “Good. The less interaction the better.”

  Mira was talking to control with a breathy rasp.

  Whoever was in charge
of departures said, “Damn, Valerie, if you sound that bad, you should be in your bunk and let Rich handle it.”

  This crew were on first names with the control office.

  Almost nothing had gone right.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “Valerie, just to make me sure you’re not under duress, please tell me who you’re talking to. My nickname.”

  She looked up as Mo started frantically pulling up data on personnel, and it wasn’t public, so he was digging. She opened the channel and started coughing hard.

  After four seconds, Mo had the name, pointed to the screen, and Juan leaned over her.

  “Controller Ambril, I must officially ask you to lay off. We need to minimize talking.” He cleared his throat slightly, then said, “Maven, Mav, please, we’re fine.”

  “Sorry, Lou. I needed to check. You’re cleared for departure. Have some honey tea and get better.”

  “We will. Thank you.”

  Pneumatics started shoving us off.

  Juan said, “I’m not assuming they’re convinced. Ultimately, the live crew might save ours, though I’d rather we all got away than wound up prisoners.”

  “Where are we bound?” I asked.

  “We’re going from here to Alsace and Chersonessus to continue bonafides, then resume combat if we can. If not, the backup is to cause minor mayhem wherever possible, disrupting operations, until caught, and beg for status.”

  I was trusting them to make that unnecessary, because I couldn’t think of a way that didn’t result in our deaths. Then I realized I was completely over the fear. Either we died or we didn’t. It was just the nature of things. Then I was scared that I wasn’t scared.

  I remembered when I was young and tried to have the longest orgasm I could. After a couple of segs, I could still feel vibrations and neural response, but there was no more cortisol in my system. It was just an irritating buzz. This was like that.

  There was another brief run-in connecting the train. It was automated, but Roger had to be out to sign off. The station crew didn’t recognize him. He pleaded being a sub on contract. They seemed to accept it.

  We got under way, with a bunch of Mo’s hand-built sensors giving us every spectrum possible. If someone came at us, we wanted to know.

  With all the post-launch taken care of, we had to try to create good relations with our captives, and find a spot for Bert.

  I found a chunk of foam and a box I could insert it in for Bert to dump in, and he was quite happy at the foot of my bunk. The little snit was getting a touch of gray at his muzzle and eartips. I wondered how old he was and how long he had left, assuming we didn’t blow up together.

  That really didn’t take long, and I wandered aft. Shannon and Mira had C-deck, Bast and Mo had stern, the rest of us were freeish and went to check on Juan’s discussions with the former crew.

  He unlashed them and had them sit on the bunk and the deck.

  “First, let me assure you of your safety at present. We have tried very hard to avoid collateral casualties, and would prefer to avoid them now. You will be fed and kept safe for as long as our resources permit, and transferred off board as soon as is feasible. I apologize for any roughness in our transition, and our medic will be happy to treat any injuries or discomfort you have.”

  The guy I figure was captain-owner said, “This is still piracy, sir.”

  “The last time it was only commandeerment. This time it most . . . likely is piracy. I will make no apologies. You can assume our origin and purpose. We hope and intend to all come through this alive, with the ship intact. We do not require your cooperation to achieve that, but we recommend not trying to hinder us. You are not combatants. We are. If you act as partisans, then you can be treated as hostiles. Your position is not great.”

  The captain asked, “And what is your ultimate goal? Be specific, sir.”

  I liked him. He might be our prisoner, but he was still captain of his ship. Good man.

  “To continue our operations. Had we been able to just take your ship without you, we would have. It would have been simplest to space you all on departure, but I would prefer not to kill civilians. Please accept that and act with grace.”

  The woman cuddling the two year old and ten-year-old looked like they were all cried out.

  She said, “I want my children to live. Whatever you need . . .”

  He said, “I want them to live, too, Ms. Keral. It wasn’t our intention to take children. The manifest we had didn’t show them.”

  She and the captain exchanged looks. They were still scared, but it was true, if we needed them dead, we would have done it already.

  Juan said, “I will place a vac gap a frame forward of here. Please don’t attempt to cross it. Food will be brought to you. Engineer, vac gap a frame forward.”

  Bast replied over intercom. “Yes, sir.”

  Flight through to Alsace was unhindered, but the ship was a relic. I almost thought they’d be better off if we put them off and scuttled it. Half the kitchen elements had taped repairs. I felt engine rumbles now and then. Mira cursed something in another language. There were deep scratches near my bunk where years of stuff being moved about had worn away at the bulkhead. One of the locks had a nonstandard replacement switch. It worked, but it wasn’t able to be secured. But that’s why I carried a lock pin. Although I’d rarely used it for its intended purpose.

  I took food through to them personally for breakfast and dinner, and made sure they had cold goods for lunch and late night. I rationed out sweets for the two children.

  My first trip, dinner, they thanked me but ignored me otherwise. At breakfast I asked what they wanted for dinner, and they settled on beef stew. I asked about breakfast when I took that.

  They liked the stew. “That was good,” the captain said at breakfast. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re stuck where you are.”

  The boy asked, “When are you leaving our ship?”

  That was a tough one, and I really didn’t want to disappoint him.

  “I don’t know. I’m only crew, not in charge. I was with another ship before this.”

  “Are you a prisoner too?”

  “No, but I’m noncombatant. It’s complicated.”

  I left, because I didn’t want to let anything slip.

  CHAPTER 36

  By the time we reached Alsace JP1, Les Atterissages, they were in decent spirits and seemed to accept we weren’t a threat to them.

  But I remembered the plan had been to kill them as needed.

  When we arrived, we had contracted cargo and loaded it. Juan made specific inquiries with the real crew.

  “Is there anyone we’re supposed to know, or names we’re supposed to use? Your safety depends on this as much as ours.”

  Captain Lou said, “There’s a list of ships who know us. You’ll need to avoid them. I don’t think anyone at control knows us personally.”

  “Can you tell me which ships?”

  “You tell me, I’ll check them off.”

  I really hoped they weren’t going to try to be heroic. I wanted them to live.

  We pulled out with no trouble, but we were a bit low on load. The contracted stuff was aboard. We hadn’t stuck around to try to fill capacity. We did the usual news/data transfer as we jumped through.

  Two jumps with no action did reduce my stress level. Just because I’d accepted impending death didn’t mean I liked it. I felt much better after those jumps.

  Then we docked at Pyli—Gateway, in Chersonnesus, brand new on their only jump point, though a direct one to Earth was due to open in a few months.

  There were cops and inspectors waiting as we locked.

  In what seemed like ten seconds, Teresa and Jack handed us pistols and ammo. He also handed me a scarf.

  “If it’s legit, we’ll take those back at once,” she said.

  I wrapped the scarf over my head and loaded the pistol.

  Juan asked, “Do you know
a safe hole outside entry control?”

  “I think so.” Again, I’d been here rarely.

  “I hope so.”

  He went to the lock personally, and I heard the ranking woman present him with a warrant to inspect, for both contraband and standard safety requirements. That seemed like something we could argue our way out of, if we didn’t have a kidnapped crew aboard.

  He stepped back and ushered them in, turned, took a pistol that Teresa held ready, turned back and started shooting.

  It was so eerily like the previous fight, only out of the dock, not in.

  By the time I reached the lock, all six were dead and I think it was Juan who got them all—headshots.

  I ran to keep up with the team, and I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. The techs and I brought up the rear. We bounded down the ramp at 70% G, went past another lock, and someone rolled a smoke grenade into it. We kept going, and it turned into a huge, confusing mess for everyone else.

  I’m sure some of those grenades killed bystanders. It was a panic evacuation and they were using it to create more mayhem.

  I wondered later if that was the primary intent at that point. We probably could have made it off the dock before anyone really noticed. The shots weren’t that loud with the loads we had, and industrial noise is common in docks.

  Twenty seconds in, though, there were several explosions, three ships with smoke and a couple of other things smoking. Then I saw a fire flare up on a tug, from an incendiary.

  They were just unloading ordnance as fast as they could.

  I have no idea how they ran that fast. I was last and gasping as we reached entry control, and the monitors there were dead. At least one had a broken neck and the rest had been shot.

  “This way,” Jack said, and pointed.

  They had scattered into a crowd that didn’t yet know what was happening. The alarms finally started going off just then.