The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2)

by J. S. Harbour

  “The well?” Jack whispered to Chase.

  “I think that’s their word for Harmony,” he said.

  “Ah.”

  “Fine,” Ward said.

  Chapter 14

  Mercenaries

  Jazdie stood inside the airlock on the left wall of the crowded cargo hold, wearing the EVA suit, waiting for the captain’s signal. She could feel her pulse in her ears—thum-thum, thum-thum. As a runner, she could quickly estimate. “Pushing a hundred. Calm down, Jazdie,” she told herself. She closed her eyes and took slow, deep breaths.

  The message came. “Jazdie, go!”

  She turned the safety and hit the red button. The airlock hatch sighed open and she faced the immensity. She held onto the outer handhold and stepped out, leaving gravity behind, and held on while verifying that the EVA was working. She tested the thumb control at her left hand. A light push forward caused the suit to gently move forward. She knew better than to push it all the way forward. While her thumb rested on the maneuvering stick, her index and middle fingers rested on buttons controlling maneuvering jets to move her up or down—with her feet always down.

  She tapped the second button under her index finger. She felt nothing but began to rise gently, relative to the airlock hatch. She held the button for a full second and began to rise faster. She smiled; it had been months since she had worked an EVA suit, and it was all coming back to her now.

  Jazdie maneuvered upward, gliding over the outer hull of the Black Dahlia. The ship’s large port-side engine looked dangerous and intimidating to her right. If the captain engaged the engines, she would be burned to a crisp and knocked away from the ship, entombed in the EVA suit and likely to drift for millions of years. She tried not to think about it and looked for the rear upper maintenance panel—there it was, about twenty feet ahead and to the right. She headed for it and grasped the handholds near the panel.

  Then, a red blip appeared on her HUD, and she looked up with a start to find the other ship already moving slowly alongside the Black Dahlia, apparently lining up to mate at the airlock.

  “Already?” she said to herself.

  Jazdie was facing the nose of the other ship; she could see the name emblazoned across the side: LIT’L LIZA.

  She kicked off against one of the hand rails and crossed the open space to the front of the Lit’l Liza, making minor course adjustments as she crossed the distance. She kept clear of viewports, hoping no one on board was paying attention to any exterior video feeds. The crew was hopefully focused on the starboard side docking maneuver.

  Jazdie skated along the belly of the ship toward the rear and found the large cargo hatch. Now it was just a matter of locating the rear airlock. They were usually near the cargo hold, allowing the crew to egress during loading or unloading without using the cargo bay doors—which involved depressurizing the entire cargo hold. That was rarely done in space.

  She reached the airlock hatch. There was no window. She pulled the safety lever; the status light blinked red while it depressurized. It blinked faster and faster and then switched to green. She pressed the button and the hatch popped open. She pulled the door open and clambered inside, where gravity brought her down to the floor of the tiny airlock.

  She closed the door and locked it, and saw air flooding into the chamber. A blinking red light on the opposite door switched to green. She pulled the safety lever and hit the button, and the hatch popped open with a sigh. Jazdie doffed her EVA helmet and peered through the opening.

  Good, no one here.

  Jazdie pushed the door open wide. She stowed her EVA suit behind the lockers—in case she would need it for an escape, which was uncertain at this point. She was relieved to be in just her soft blue jumpsuit again. The EVA suit always made her shoulders ache due to the way the way the arms were forced into an odd angle that didn’t work well with her body size.

  A holster was strapped to her leg. She opened the holster and pulled out the 2011, pulled back the slide to arm it: chik-shunk. This was the standard-issue 45-caliber pistol used by US armed forces, so, of course, it was mass produced and popular. Every crew member of the Black Dahlia had to be trained to defend the ship if needed. On Reilly’s orders, Locke had trained her, but she had been so difficult that he’d almost given up.

  I’m glad he kept at it, Jazdie thought, recalling that week-long training session in the cargo hold. She smiled at the memory. She had never touched a gun of any kind before that first day, but by the end of the week, she was shooting a three-inch spread at fifteen yards. That was all the range they could manage on board ship.

  Jazdie squeezed the grip, adjusting it in her palm, and smiled lecherously. It felt good to be armed!

  Powerful. Safe.

  Cyril had called it a personal fear eradication device, and Jazdie’s smile widened at the memory.

  She held the weapon out in front of her with both hands as she sneaked along the side of the cargo hold toward the service ladder. The cargo elevator would be too noisy. She climbed up the ten or so rungs in a few seconds. So far, there was no crew in sight—that was a relief.

  She ran up to the hatch leading into the main hall, toward the bridge. That’s where Drake and his people would all be now, preparing to board the Black Dahlia. Jazdie’s orders were to find a quiet spot as close to the bridge as possible and sit tight until called. She crept into the mess hall and hid in the shadows behind a large two-door stainless freezer.

  Reilly knelt behind her command chair, aiming her 2011 toward the airlock hatch. She popped the clip to check her ammo again for the twelfth time. Nervous habit. She looked around the bridge, making eye contact with the crew. Cyril was closest to the hatch, crouched behind a console, armed with a DEW. He could potentially take out all of the boarders at once if they rushed through.

  Locke was poking out of the rear bridge hatch, also bearing a 2011. Phix was locked up since no one trusted his loyalty in a firefight—and Reilly reminded herself that she needed to get rid of him soon. But, she needed another gun right now, dammit!

  “Jazdie, come in, report,” Reilly said into her wristband.

  “In position,” Jazdie whispered back.

  “Good. Wait for my signal. Won’t be a minute.”

  “Roger, ma’am.”

  Reilly looked back at Locke who nodded.

  “Get ready, guys,” she advised. “And be ready for a flashbang. Call it if you see it!”

  Something banged into the airlock hatch. Reilly had not locked it because they would just burn through and there was no point ruining the hatch. The status indicator cycled quickly from red to green and then it sighed open an inch.

  “Reilly! Put down your weapons and no one will get hurt! I just want your salvage.”

  The hatch opened a few more inches.

  “Like hell, Drake! I know your M.O., you rotten bastard!”

  “Cyril, now!”

  He unleashed a dizzying wave of nausea through the opening. The DEW hummed and Reilly could actually see the air swirl as the DEW wave flooded the airlock like water from a huge fire hose.

  The sound of loud vomiting and a curse came through and someone kicked the hatch wide open.

  Reilly heard a tink-tink-tink as something metallic slid across the deck. Cyril yelled, “Flash!” and Reilly got an arm over her eyes just in time to block the dazzlingly bright light that filled the bridge.

  “Shit!” Locke said from behind them as he backed out, shaking his head.

  “Dammit!” Reilly shouted and fired into the airlock. She couldn’t see clear through to the other ship. Even though the airlock was only six feet long and three wide, she wasn’t in a position to fire directly—that would have put her in their line of fire too. She unloaded a clip into the opening, then pulled out another and reloaded while Cyril kept pumping DEW bursts into the hatch.

  Just when Reilly paused to reload, someone bolted onto the bridge and took cover behind the navigation console. A second invader poked a weapon out of the hatch
and began firing random shots, causing Reilly and Cyril to duck. Just then, Locke regained his vision and popped around the corner to return fire, causing the first boarder to duck.

  “You’re outgunned, Reilly!” came a shout from right inside the hatch. “Drop your weapons, and you have my word, you won’t be harmed. We’ll take what we want and leave. Simple as that. No harm done! But if one of my guys takes a hit, all bets are off.”

  “Fuck you, Drake!”

  “Oh, don’t be like that! But since you brought it up, how about we have a go . . . for old time’s sake?”

  She replied with her gun and was answered with a scream from inside the airlock as one of Drake’s men went down.

  “Okay, deal’s off! You had your chance!”

  “Jazdie, come in,” Reilly whispered into her comm.

  “Still in position, captain,” came the whisper.

  “Now! We can’t hold them much longer!”

  “Roger.”

  Jazdie stood and headed for the main hall and turned toward the bridge. The entry hatch was open. She heard the gunfire and a scream. She peered around the bridge entry, gun at the ready. Then she turned back and leaned back against the bulkhead.

  Six of them! Damn!

  Could she just shoot them all in the back? Was that right even in a situation like this? Reilly, Cyril, and. . . .

  She found her resolve and rounded the corner, took aim at one of Drake’s men, and saw one of them running right for her!

  Jazdie ran quickly back to the galley and ducked inside. Three seconds later, two men burst into the hall from the bridge, one screaming in pain, the other helping him walk. She drew back and returned to the relative safety behind the freezer again. She heard them open the hatch directly across from the galley. She sneaked back to the entrance and peered around the corner.

  “Jazdie, dammit, the hell are you? We’re falling back!” the captain said.

  “Captain? Captain!” she whispered into her wrist comm.

  She swore under her breath. “Gotta think fast,” she said to herself. “What can I do? I can’t shoot two unarmed men in the infirmary. I just can’t! But the captain is counting on me!”

  Jazdie slipped into the hallway, eying the men through the open hatch. All one of them had to do was look out toward the hall and they would spot her. She quickly glided down the hall toward the bridge and let out the breath she’d been holding. “Whew!”

  She peered through the hatch to the bridge, and no one was there. She crept across the bridge. The floor was covered with blood and what appeared to be vomit. Jazdie grimaced and put a hand up to cover her nose and mouth, tried to step around the bodily fluids.

  All of this violence just to steal some cargo? she thought to herself, feeling disgusted over the whole incident. “Why are people so fucking stupid?” she whispered and felt a twinge of guilt. Her dad had always scolded her for swearing, but between the boredom and hard work on the farm, tension seemed to grow in her. She frowned, thinking about her mom and dad, how worried they must be. She felt suddenly ashamed.

  I just . . . left . . . without a word. I could have at least left a note so they wouldn’t worry about me. That was selfish.

  Jazdie swore to herself that she would call them if she lived through this day.

  Reilly had fallen back to the bridge entryway, using the bulkhead for cover while firing at Drake’s men. Three of them were on the bridge now.

  “Cyril, fall back! I’ll cover you!”

  Cyril looked over his shoulder toward Reilly, realized he was going to be left if he didn’t get a move on. He turned and ran for cover as Reilly fired at the intruders, causing them to duck, and dove past Reilly through the hatch.

  “Locke! Now!” she said and fired again at the intruders.

  Locke unloaded his weapon on them too and ran for the rear bridge exit. Drake drew a bead on him, despite the covering fire, and fired. Locke lurched mid-step and tumbled down right in front of Reilly.

  “Locke!” she screamed and fired back at Drake, who advanced to a new position behind the helm console, firing as he walked. Their proximity was so close she could smell the powder coming from the boarders’ guns.

  Drake signaled his men to advance left and right of his position.

  Cyril continued firing, and got one man in the shoulder; the 45-caliber round knocked him sideways as he went down, while his weapon slid across the deck.

  Drake looked at his man and swore.

  Reilly saw Drake taking aim and grabbed Locke by the collar, yanking him through the hatch. Cyril bent down and lifted Locke over his shoulders as Reilly shut the hatch. She punched a code into the door panel and it turned red. “That’ll hold them for a while, anyway.”

  “What now, captain?” Cyril asked.

  “Put me down at once!” Locke demanded, and Cyril slid him down to his feet.

  “You can walk? I thought you were out cold!”

  Locke put his arm up to Cyril, “Just help me walk.”

  “We’ve got to stop the bleeding,” Cyril said, looking at the blood seeping down Locke’s pant leg.

  “Here, let me,” Reilly said. She pulled off her thin jacket and knotted it tightly around Locke’s leg wound. “Now, quickly, we have to get to the armory before they get through this door. That son-of-a-bitch is not taking my ship!”

  “I hope Jazdie is okay,” Cyril said.

  As if forgetting that detail, Reilly swore. “We’ll figure something out. What the hell happened to her? I was counting on her!”

  They both helped Locke and made their way down the central hall toward the aft of the ship, down the rear steps, and stopped before a heavy coded door. Reilly palmed the panel and the door hissed open. They quickly went inside and set Locke down against the wall.

  “Can you help us reload?”

  “Sure thing,” Locke said, grimacing while holding his leg. “I’ll be fine. I think the bleeding has stopped.”

  Reilly set an ammo bag on the floor beside him, and another on the nearby workbench. She also pulled out two more 2011s and ran them each through a quick slide-lock/chamber/eject sequence, then snapped a loaded clip and armed each pistol.

  “You know your way around guns,” Locke said while absently pushing 45 shells into a clip. Each time he filled one with fourteen rounds, he whacked it against his palm and set it aside. A small pile was growing.

  “Too bad we don’t have some automatics,” Cyril said while loading clips—a bit more slowly than Locke.

  “Rifles?” Reilly asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bad idea on a ship,” Reilly said in a serious tone. “First, you don’t need the range. Second, you don’t need the speed. Big heavy slugs will stop an intruder but won’t punch through a bulkhead. These hollow points,” she said, holding up a .45 ACP hollow point bullet, “spread as soon as they hit something.” She put her fingers together in the shape of a cone and opened them suddenly like a flower to illustrate. “Makes a mess in soft tissue, but it isn’t worth a shit against even light armor.”

  “Ugh!” Locke groaned and leaned back to regain his composure.

  “Sorry. Sorry, mate,” Cyril said. “But, you know what? I don’t think that slug went in very far. We could do a local right here.”

  “No can do!” Reilly said. “We need to repel Drake and his men first.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Locke said, holding up another bullet.

  Cyril took it from his hand and held it up in the light. “Niiiice,” he affirmed, smiling at Locke.

  The bullet looked nothing like the hollow points. Instead of an empty tip, it had a silver tip with a heavy, deadly point. Cyril rubbed his thumb against the tip. “Whoa, that—”

  “Yeah,” Locke interrupted, “that baby will punch through steel armor plate.”

  “It will also wreck the ship, and that’s why we don’t use them, dammit,” Reilly chastised. “But,” she amended quickly, “if one of those bastards is wearing armor, you take him down!”<
br />
  Both men smiled and nodded. “These get wrapped in red tape,” Locke said, wrapping a clip with a strip of red tape. “I’ve loaded three, one for each of us. Take care not to use it by accident if you’re in a hurry. If you’re out of ammo and down to this, take care where you fire. These babies will go through multiple bulkheads inside the ship and make a real mess.”

  Reilly’s wrist comm beeped. “That’s the bridge alarm. They’re coming through!”

  “Get me up!” Locke said, and Cyril pulled him to his feet.

  They headed back up the rear stairs to the main hall and quickly turned right to the cargo hold entrance, firing at Drake and his men thirty yards down the hall. “Go, get through the hatch, we can hold them here!” Reilly ordered.

  Drake motioned left and right, and one man rushed into the galley, the other into the infirmary while Drake fired down the hall at Reilly’s group.

  Each man came back out moments later, saying, “Clear!”

  Reilly, Locke, and Cyril all opened fire, each dual wielding pistols. Cyril stepped out into the hall to get a better angle and saw one of Drake’s men running for a hatch—and got him in the head—then dashed back behind cover again.

  A shot rang out behind Drake and a man screamed. “The fuck was that?” he said and turned around.

  Jazdie stood not three paces away, holding her pistol right at his chest. Drake’s hands immediately went up, his pistol falling loosely on his thumb. “Hang on there, girl! Take it easy!”

  “Shut up!” Jazdie yelled.

  Reilly grabbed Cyril’s sleeve to pull him back inside the hatch. “Jazdie?”

  “I think so!” Cyril whispered.

  “Now just calm down, we’re all friends here,” Drake said.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jazdie screamed and fired a shot right over Drake’s head. He ducked instinctively.

  Jazdie backed up, pointing her gun at each intruder in turn, keeping them all in view.

  “Goddammit, that bitch shot me!” one of the men off to the right screamed, causing Jazdie to focus on him. Just then, the last unwounded man on Drake’s team dove at her from the left. She turned and got a shot off but he was already under her arms in a diving hug and they both crashed to the ground.