The Aggressive (Book 1 of the Titanwar saga): A science fiction thriller

by Gem Jackson

  In the end the positioning algorithm located them just over ten days travel away from Ceres. Murray plotted a course and accelerated the yacht appropriately. As long as he was clearly in charge Leon found him close to bearable. Ten days could be done, especially given the distractions available. There was music, films and hours of television to catch up on. If Murray wanted to play captain, why not let him?

  He went to the cockpit for the six hours Murray slept, but otherwise Leon was happy to sit at the opposite end of the ship eating crap and watching season after season of Cold! Dark! Hard! It was a reality show, following the belt miners as they tried to mine their way to a fortune. Pure escapism. Sure, it looked a hard life: lonely, repetitive, long stretches of nothing on board ageing mining rigs moving endlessly from rock to rock. But Leon would swap with them in an instant. He idly considered that he might suffer some kind of injury that forced him out of APSA while also gifting him enough compensation to purchase a small prospecting vessel.

  On the third day of the journey to Ceres, just as Leon had started season three, episode one of C!D!H!, Murray called him over the ship communication system.

  “Starflight. Get up to the cockpit now.”

  This is new. He wants me around? Leon paused the episode and made his way to the cockpit.

  “Good, sit down.” Murray pointed to the co-pilot's seat.

  “What’s up?” asked Leon.

  “The sensors have picked up an object,” Murray spoke without looking at him. He was focused on the sensor display screen. Leon shifted position to get a better view.

  “So what? We’re in the asteroid belt. We’re bound to pass close to a few objects between here and Ceres. We’re not exactly going to hit anything though are we?”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. Look. See it’s trajectory?” Murray orientated the display to show the vectors of the yacht in relation to the various objects the sensors detected in the nearby area. On the whole, they were nowhere near any. Except one. One object had a vector that intersected with their own. It was puzzling.

  “Zoom in a second. Is that right?”

  “Yes. I’ve checked it at least a dozen times. It’s approaching from about a sixty-degree angle along the solar axis and about negative thirty degrees vertically. Translation—”

  “It’s on an intercept course,” said Leon, “bloody hell, that’s going to pass within a few hundred metres of us.”

  “Correct,” said Murray, “and since the probability of that is fucking tiny and the fact that we haven’t tried to intercept it, the most likely situation is—”

  “That it, or they, have manoeuvred to intercept us.”

  “Correct again,” said Murray, “that’s two out of two.”

  Chapter 10 – Leon

  “Did you ever imagine that piloting a spacecraft would be so fucking dull?” said Murray. Much to Leon’s surprise, Murray had become rather chatty since the mystery object appeared. Leon had suggested adjusting their course by half a degree to put a bit more space between the yacht and the object when they passed. Murray agreed without question and made the necessary thrusts. There was still around six hours before they would pass and so the small adjustment easily removed the chance of any collision. That had been half an hour ago.

  “To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what any of this would be like,” said Leon.

  “Any luck finding out what that thing is?”

  “No. Nothing. I have absolutely no idea how to get the cameras pointing at the object. Even if I could, I don’t know if they would be able to make anything out at this distance. I’ll keep trying. Has it changed course or is it the same as before?” asked Leon.

  “It’s still the same. No change,” said Murray.

  “It’s probably just a small asteroid. Nothing to worry about.” Even as he said it Leon wasn’t convinced. The yacht was barely fifty metres in length and from the limited data they had the object wasn’t much more than that itself. The chances of such a close near miss were astronomically small. It was possible, though.

  They tried to make radio contact, unsuccessfully, which could be seen as further evidence that it was just another asteroid passing by. Leon turned back to the touchscreen and tried to figure out the long distance camera again. There was plenty of time. Everything in space happened so slowly. It wasn’t because things were slow; they weren’t. As a mathematician, he was used to carrying out calculations with enormous velocities. It was just that space was so big and, well, everything was relative. In fact, ‘big’ was the wrong word. Space wasn’t big, it was empty. The problem was that things were just too far apart.

  The asteroid belt was a perfect illustration of this. Leon knew there were almost two million asteroids floating around the belt a kilometre or more in diameter. That’s two million rocks the size of mountains hurtling around the Sun in very similar orbits. Yet if he looked out of a window, he was certain he wouldn’t see a thing. Stars, yes, mostly distant twinkling galaxies, visible only as bright points of light. But no asteroids. The densest orbit in the whole damn solar system and it was still unbearably empty.

  “Where’s the manual? There is a manual, right?” Leon looked questioningly at Murray.

  “What do you think? I thought you familiarised yourself with this thing before you left?”

  “Don’t look at me. You were supposed to as well. For goodness’ sake. The panel makes no sense. I don’t want to press anything in case I shut something down.”

  “Then don’t press anything. Figure it out first.” Murray stayed focused on his screen.

  The minutes dripped by like raindrops after a storm. The object got closer and closer. Kilometre by kilometre it came, the dropping numbers forming a countdown to some uncertain climax. With less than an hour before the point of closest approach, Leon figured out the controls and the yacht’s camera lenses focused, on the object. It wasn’t an asteroid. Obviously, it wasn’t an asteroid. Screens around the cockpit all lit up with the same image of the grey, indistinct spacecraft. Murray shouted at Leon to strap in. He was changing course.

  It had been clear from early on that Murray wasn’t up to much as a friend or fellow crewman, but Leon was impressed at how he handled the Jackdaw’s Straw over the next hour. Piloting small ships was always a secondary, more practical, skill in a pilot officer’s training, but it was an area in which Murray excelled. He started by pulling the yacht sharply across the path of the unnamed, unmarked craft all the while decelerating so as to pass behind it. When the other ship responded and re-calibrated its own heading and velocity to maintain an intercept course, there began a game of cat and mouse, move and counter-move. It occurred to Leon, grimacing under a heavy G deceleration, that to any outside observer the whole encounter might pass for some kind of mating ritual. Two insects in the empty night sky zagging and corkscrewing erratically, performing an ineffable, complex dance yet coming ever closer to each other. And closer they got. Fifty thousand kilometres apart. Ten thousand. Five thousand. Less than a thousand.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, you fucking fuck of a bastard, just fuck the fuck off!” Murray screamed at the controls, pulling the yacht from side to side. He turned to Leon, “Well come on, Starflight! Ideas?”

  Leon shook his head. He didn’t know what to do. Murray had piloted the ship better than he ever could. They couldn’t out accelerate the other ship and they couldn’t shake it loose. When Leon couldn’t answer him Murray looked away disgusted. A thought struck Leon.

  “Why haven’t they shot us? They’re not communicating, they’re definitely after us, but still, why aren’t they shooting?” Murray paused for a second and thought. As he did so, the ship settled into a straight course. Within seconds a cacophony of crashes and alarms engulfed them as the Jackdaw’s Straw came under fire.

  “Oh, you’re fucking prescient you, aren’t you?” shouted Murray, “Get those alarms turned off.”

  Leon swiped his control panel to shut off the alarms and shoute
d out the damage report as the updates appeared. The yacht had taken light impacts to the topside aft sections. That was puzzling. Light impacts? Given the proximity of the vessels, any reasonable hit from lasers or railguns should have torn them apart. The point defence systems hadn’t armed either, so it couldn’t be rockets. Obviously thinking the same thing, Murray stared back at him. The moment was broken as a new alert appeared. It was an incoming radio communication. Murray swiped his panel to accept. The voice, male, was calm and clear.

  “You have ten seconds to maintain a steady course and prepare to be boarded. Fail to comply and we’ll blow you to pieces with our railgun. Comply or die.”

  “Lock the door” said Murray.

  Leon dumped the last of the food packages on the floor and bent forward, panting. Behind him the deadbolts to the cockpit door clunked into place, cutting the two of them off from the rest of the shuttle.

  “How much is left in the stores?” asked Murray as he knelt down and started picking and sorting the ration packs, tucking them into the pilot-side storage netting.

  “Not much. When they get in, they’ll only be able to last as long as us if they bring over their own stuff. And we can last weeks with what we’ve got here if we’re careful.” Leon took his place back in the co-pilot's seat. He wiped his head, wet and slippery with sweat. It had been a while since he’d worked that hard physically. His tunic sleeve was soaked where he had wiped himself, turning the sturdy fabric near black. “And if it is weeks, we’re gonna stink. Did you get a distress signal away?”

  “Aye,” said Murray, “For what it’s was worth. I think they scrambled us pretty quickly though as the radio has gone down. But, with any luck, even the short distress blast should scare them off. I know I wouldn’t like to hang around starving out a member of the APSA government with half the navy on its way.”

  “Half the navy? We’re on out own out here, remember?” said Leon.

  “Yeah, maybe, but they don’t know that. Anyway, the T-drive is recharging so we can get the hell out of here when it’s done.” Murray dropped heavily into the pilot's seat. “I guess it’s just a waiting game now. What will break first, I wonder? Their nerve, the T-drive or our hull integrity from their laser cutters? Any bets, Starflight?”

  “I wish you would stop calling me that,” said Leon. Murray smirked and closed his eyes.

  Leon couldn’t rest. He had that feeling in his stomach again. Panic. Or, rather, he could sense the edge of panic. Panic is irrational. It is shouting and screaming, running and hiding when none of those things make a difference. Panic is retreating to the safe, traditional but useless ways of protecting oneself because you know there is nothing else to do. Panic is gasping for breath in a flooded compartment. Panic is turning your back on your attacker. Panic is breaking cover to run back to your own lines. Leon could feel the lip of the abyss in his stomach. He knew that if he just let himself go a little it would all come flooding out; the fact that it wasn’t fair, that it shouldn’t always be him, the urge to scrabble out of the cockpit hatch and run somewhere. Anywhere.

  A sharp tap on the narrow cockpit window snapped Leon from his reverie. Murray smirked again. “Bloody hell, Starflight, no need to jump.” Murray leaned forward, attention fixed on the window. Outside on the other side of the glass floated a figure, staring in and waving. Leon furrowed his brow and waved back, unsure of a better response. He looked at Murray and saw he was doing the same. The figure wore a bulky commercial spacesuit, although being so close, not much was visible apart from its torso and bright, reflective visor. The visitor pushed back a few feet happy that it held their attention. Reaching down, out of view, it brought a large, hand-written piece of card and pressed it against the window so they could read.

  “What the hell?” whispered Murray. The words on the card hung before their eyes.

  Hello. We want to be inside. Open your airlock so we can board you. There is an easy way and a hard way.

  Leon and Murray shook their heads emphatically, gesturing and mouthing ‘No’ as they did so. The space walker, almost imperceptibly, shrugged before reaching down again and pressing a second card against the glass. The card had a title at the top, underlined; The hard way.

  In a moment I am going to attach a device to this window. It is a bomb.

  The figure raised a finger, as if asking them to wait a moment, reached down and brought a third card to bear.

  The bomb will blast through this window and kill you. After you are dead, we will enter and take your ship.

  After waiting a moment for them to read, the figure gave them a thumbs up. It raised what looked to Leon like an adhesive gun and smeared a gel onto a small section of the window. This was followed by a small, dark puck like object which was pressed firmly on top.

  “Hey!” yelled Murray, banging the glass with his hand. “Hey. Stop touching this ship. Get your fucking hands off this ship now. Hey. Are you listening to me?” He turned to Leon. “What the hell does this guy think he’s doing?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Murray, you’re not helping,” said Leon.

  The space walker was pressing another card against the window. This one also had a title, underlined; The easy way.

  Open the airlock. My people are waiting. You have sixty seconds to take the easy way.

  The figure floated backwards away from the window, tapping two gloved fingers against its thick, suited wrist. Time to decide. Inside the cockpit, Leon and Murray were silent. Leon stared at Murray, who breathed heavily, eyes wide and fists clenched, quietly snarling. After a dozen deafening heartbeats, Leon flinched as Murray smashed his fist hard against the console. There was blood and a scream of rage.

  “Fuck!”

  “Hard seal established. Data green, protocols green,” said Leon, glancing up from the control panel to look at Murray. “They can get in any time they want now.” Leon didn’t like how Murray was taking the change in circumstances. He was silent, his jaw fixed tight while his eyes darted around. “Murray, we need to get ready. If we can stall them and stay in the cockpit, we’ll be able to jump to Titan before long. We’ve just got to stall them.”

  “Wait here.” Murray spoke with his back to Leon. He released the cockpit dead-bolts and stepped out. Leon went to the hatch, gripping the cold, bare metal as he leaned out.

  “Murray, where are you going? We need to stick together.”

  Murray walked into the utility store behind the cockpit and emerged holding a pistol.

  “Oh no, Murray, what the heck are you doing?”

  “I said wait in the cockpit.” Murray’s voice was flat.

  “They’ve got bombs, for goodness sake. Just take a minute to think about what they’ll do to you if you go at them with that.”

  “I’m an officer in the navy. They will take this ship over my cold, dead body.” Murray stalked off into the bowls of the ship, his shadow jumping in the flickering light of the corridor. Leon thought about following but hung back. He knew, rationally, that confronting a group of professional pirates, even as a pair, was a terrible idea. There were half a dozen ways, at least, that the pirates could disable them without damaging the ship. Yet despite this, he was ashamed. There was something admirable in Murray’s vainglorious march to combat. What did the Spartan women used to say to their men before battle? ‘With your shield or on it’. Death or glory.

  Yet at the same time, he knew that resisting the boarding under the circumstances was stupid. Especially at the airlock; the whole area was stripped down, without sensitive equipment in case of compression loss. You could toss a grenade around that part of the ship and the worst it would do, mechanically at least, would be to scorch the paintwork. Barring a sealed, armoured servo-suit, anyone making a stand in that part of the ship was toast.

  Leon adjusted his grip on the cockpit door frame, fingers moist with sweat. He craned his neck towards the corridor, twisting his head sideways to hear more clearly as his ear pointed outwards. His own breathing was deafening.

>   A loud thunk broke the silence. It was followed by more clunks and bangs. They must be boarding, Leon thought. He held his breath.

  It came quickly. Shots fired. Not the clear, painful cracks and snaps he remembered from firearms training, but long, drawn out reverberations. Echoing twangs, barking down the corridor, horribly loud as if the sounds were too big for the narrow space they found themselves in. They filled the corridor ahead and Leon shrank away from them. Three, four, five, all in quick succession. More, maybe ten now. Was that twelve? Fifteen? Then silence, well, a silence of a kind. A long, high pitch filled the space that would have been silence were Leon not half deafened. Leon shook his head, trying to clear the ringing he feared would mask anyone approaching. A minute passed. Then another. Or maybe it was a few seconds, he couldn’t be sure. Leon’s hand slipped down along the doorframe leaving a trail of perspiration.

  Footsteps. Lots of them. A group was making their way through the ship. He shrank back into the cockpit. Turning back, he jumped in fright at sight of the the space walker, peering through window again. They shook a finger at Leon and held another card, hastily written, against the window.

  If you seal the cockpit I detonate the bomb.

  Leon wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. He knew he couldn’t fight. So he pressed himself back against the wall at the side of the cockpit in a desperate attempt to conceal himself. His hairs stood on end, not from fear, but from the humiliation of feeling the space walker's eyes, hidden behind the gold laminated visor, boring into him. Whoever they were, Leon could feel them laughing at him.

  “Come out of the cockpit with your hands behind your head.” The voice was a woman's. It was unambiguous. “We know you’re inside, we know you are unarmed and we knew you’re likely to piss yourself, so step out now before I have to stick a gun in your face and you have to change your pants.”