Samurai Guns (Orphan Wars Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  He talks tough, but his pale face radiates fear I can practically smell. Grabbing hold of the wrench, I nod to one side, encouraging him to take a break.

  “Thanks, Mr. Murph. I knew you’d come,” he says.

  “Anytime. I was bored anyway. Do you come down here often?”

  He laughs in surprise. “You must be pretty bored. It sucks down here.”

  “It does. Now run topside and see what’s taking Shaina so long. I have no idea what I’m doing. She needs to help.”

  “Okay,” Garin says, already moving. “I’ll ask her about fixing the comms too. That would make things easier.”

  It’s lonely in the bowels of the Heptagon. What had it been like for the kid all by himself with no guarantee we’d find him before the ship came apart?

  I examine the problem. Part of the insulation has pulled apart. Why? I don’t know. What I can see is a raw sheet of metal beyond that. Vibrations ripple across the surface. Just looking at it makes me cold. Surely there are layers, and baffles, and shielding between me and the blackness of space?

  The panel may not be the exterior of the ship, but I’m not willing to risk being wrong. Images of ship decompression bloom in my imagination. My Orphan-touched mind treats this like reality, drawing the landscape in one corner of my vision like a HUD of the next scenario to survive.

  On one hand, the imagery is stunning. On the other, I’m probably losing my mind. Which begs the question, how crazy is Jack? He’s been in the Goliath Sector five years longer than I have, and he’s gone through far too many gates. How badly have I misjudged him?

  It’s too much. One problem at a time. That’s the ticket.

  The Heptagon lurches. I nearly lose my grip. Pain burns through my forearms, forcing me to adjust my hold on the wrench. This really sucks, and I’m a grown man. How did a twelve-year-old troublemaker manage?

  Garin came down here—all by himself—and clamped the spreading seam closed with the only tool he could find. From the looks of it, the pipe wrench had been here for ages and had likely been used for the same purpose more than once. Not a comforting thought.

  Which makes me wonder what it had been holding together before Garin applied it to the current crisis.

  Garin shimmies into the under-deck out of breath. “Shaina can’t come. Says a pair of Overlord scouts are after us and she has to do some fancy flying.”

  “Did you tell her she won’t be flying anywhere after we suffer a violent decompression?” I snap.

  “No. Be right back. I’ll explain it better this time.”

  “Never mind. I need you to look around for what this pipe wrench was being used on before this,” I say.

  “Oh, that’s easy.” He points toward a missing panel exposing a brace of rockets.

  “We have rockets?”

  Garin shrugs. “I’m not sure I would use them. They look pretty roughed up. Probably older than this ship, and that’s saying something. Look at the chipping paint—there is like layer on top of layer.”

  He keeps talking, excited as a kid, but I’m not listening. On the other side of a degrading wall is a stash of dangerous explosives. Below us, the exterior of the hull is rippling with torque from Shaina’s maneuvering.

  And comms still aren’t working.

  “Garin, we’re definitely going to die.”

  “I knew it.” His unconcern is almost believable. “Can we eat first? I’m getting hungry… and I’m freezing. How do you stand the cold?”

  Something violently impacts the exterior of the ship. I bark a curse, holding the gash in the insulation together for a few more seconds.

  “Looks like the scout ships have weapons,” Garin says.

  “You think?” My sarcasm is interrupted by an extremely loud comm transmission.

  “Orphan, can you hear me?” Shaina asks. Each syllable pounds my ear drums.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “You just blew out my eardrums. What’s happening?” Gritting my teeth, I remind myself I wanted comms even if it comes with a double helping of tinnitus.

  “I’m fleeing into a nasty cloud of ship debris. I doubt they will follow. Are you okay down there for another hour or two?”

  “An hour? Holy hell. Yeah, sure. Why not? I’m just holding the ship together with my bare hands,” I complain.

  “Don’t be dramatic, Orphan. Send Garin up here so I can relay messages if comms go out again,” she says. “I am sure you have gloves.”

  “You heard her, kid. Get up there and tell her to find the volume control on her mic.” I watch him go and really hope I’m not going to be at this for two hours. “Tell her to take it down a few notches.”

  He disappears, but Shaina isn’t waiting for the message. I wince against the unmitigated assault on my hearing.

  “They’re not breaking off, and we’re getting pelted with asteroid fragments and ship debris. Could get cubed,” she says. “Make your peace with eternity.”

  For the next five minutes, I occupy myself with what she means by “cubed” and decide it must have to do with the game of chance they play in the Goliath Sector, something with dice. As for eternity, I’m not ready to face that right now.

  Small and medium impacts shake the sub-deck, but I hold onto the wrench and look for a better way to fix the problem. Conclusion, putting this Humpty Dumpty back together again will take a team and a dry dock.

  2

  Garin returns, out of breath. “She needs you in the copilot’s chair. Right now.”

  The ship lurches sideways, taking the kid off his feet. He bounces back up, apparently uninjured.

  “I can’t leave this.” My hands and forearms cramp from holding the wrench. “You know that.”

  “Zedas is coming down to take over,” Garin says, massaging his left shoulder.

  “He won’t fit through the hatch.” The words are barely out of my mouth when metal screeches above us. A sliver of light from the main deck breaks through. “No, Zedas! The ship is already coming apart. You can’t just—”

  A pry bar wedges deeper into the gap. Zedas leans against it, opening a hole that probably can’t be fixed with a team of professionals and specialized tools. The Dogan grunts with effort, then grinds out a monologue in his own language that doesn’t sound happy, his anger stretched out in a slurry of mashed Dogan sounds.

  “Get back,” I warn the kid.

  Garin circles behind me, then grabs onto the wrench, hands next to mine, helping me hold it in place. The ship lurches from another impact, and I’m glad there are two of us gripping the oversized wrench.

  Zedas drops down. “That was not easy, and I fear the damage to the floor is significant.”

  “Hold this right here. If this section separates from that seam, it will cause a chain of events I don’t want to think about,” I say. “The exterior of the ship is that close.” I point at the vibrating panel between my feet. “Can you see it shaking?”

  “Yes. It wiggles like a rock snake of Kiazhel. Very disturbing.” Zedas grabs the pipe wrench and holds it with one hand. “Perhaps you should make haste.”

  “Agreed. Garin, come with me.” We climb through the gap Zedas made.

  “The big Z really messed up this deck. Shaina is going to be furious,” Garin says.

  “Assuming we survive.” I reach the cockpit in no time and drop into my seat with relief.

  Shaina turns the Heptagon away from a spinning chunk of debris, barely recognizable as a ship part. It’s pockmarked from random collisions and sheathed in accumulated ice.

  “There is a lot of moisture, from ice pellets up to huge rocks not much smaller than a moon,” Shaina says as I fire up my terminal. “Unique to the system. Good news is that our sensors have confirmed more than one of the worlds are habitable. Three, to be exact. Unfortunately, all three frozen worlds—survivable, but not by much.”

  “Are we being attacked?” I ask.

  “Yes, but they have to nav
igate this mess just like we do.” Shaina concentrates on flying a wounded engine tumbling through the void. “Speaking of the Overlords now, here comes one of the sly dogs.”

  A sleek ship races around the remains of the biggest intact ghost vessel we’ve encountered in the Midas system, dodges a spray of small debris, then accelerates toward us.

  “Wait for it,” Shaina advises. “Here come his rockets. Small, but fast and dangerous. Check the shields. Strengthen the starboard side… now.”

  I run the sliders forward just as she taught me. Practice makes perfect, and she’s a good teacher once you get past her harsh style. The job demands all my attention.

  One rocket slams into the shield. The other misses and circles but can’t keep up. A new unrelated alert flashes across the bottom of my small screen—an atmosphere conservation warning.

  “We’re leaking air,” I warn.

  “Yep. And it’s getting worse,” she says, doing two things at once on her controls. “I’m partitioning what I can. Not a great fix because it will be risky to un-partition.”

  Shaina fires her charge cannons, which are normally used for short-range engagements. The closing speeds of the two ships hold my complete attention.

  “Watch for a secondary attack,” Shaina barks. “There are more than one in this system.”

  “Right.” I check my tiny screen. “You got the primary displays working.”

  “Just in time to get blown to pieces.” She laughs. Combat does that to a person. Gallows humor is real.

  Another ship bursts through a cloud of ice and dust. “Incoming!” I drop the shields on one side and power them up on the other.

  “Nice, Orphan.” Shaina evades the newcomer and quickly loses it among the husks of once-great battle cruisers. “Do you see the sneaky son of a cargo hauler?”

  “No.”

  She checks her screens. “Nothing on scans. This is an impossible place to fight.”

  “Can we get through this?” I ask, thinking of Zedas in the sub-deck.

  “I’ll say yes because no means we die, and that doesn’t work for me,” Shaina says. “I see a larger vessel we can land on or match speeds with—assuming the Overlord scouts aren’t about to spring another ambush.”

  “Why haven’t they?” I check my smaller screens and curse when they flick on and off.

  Shaina takes her time answering. She flies ever closer to the large ship that isn’t as close as it appears. “They backed off because they’re smart, and they must have reinforcements on the way. Their wing commander decided watching the debris field for where we come out is good enough for now. Or that’s my guess.”

  “Makes sense, but I don’t like it?” Spots fill my vision, and with barely a thought, I draw stored oxygen from tissue in my body. The hypoxia disappears. Good for me, but the conditions are not improving for my friends.

  Shaina runs a finger under her collar, probably unaware of what is bothering her but feeling it nonetheless. “Standard operating procedure limits their choices, and a good officer knows how to balance risk versus reward.”

  Goosebumps grow on my arms. My teeth chatter. “Someone sabotaged the sub-deck. It’s coming apart. Zedas is holding it shut, but it’s an extremely temporary fix. If we don’t land or dock for repairs soon, we’re in trouble.”

  “Shields keep the ship together as much as the welds.” Shaina points to my side of the cockpit to illustrate her point, but her face is drawn with worry.

  The last thing I want to rely on is shields. When they work, I’m a fan. When they’re on the fritz like everything else… “All the more reason to find a dry dock full of qualified engineers and mechanics.”

  “Not a lot of options in this corner of the galaxy, but I hear what you’re saying.” Shaina marks several points on the three-dimensional map. “The first two are places we might gather salvage. That farther point is one of the ice planets I mentioned. If we can get there undetected, we might survive. How are you breathing so easily?”

  “Long story.” I dodge the question. Both scout ships sneak onto my screen. “Two scout ships creeping up behind us. They’re not shooting.”

  Shaina alters course, flies through a hole in a large ship, then comes out the back.

  “Garin, go check on Zedas, then strap in,” I shout.

  The kid doesn’t argue. One second he’s there, then the next, he’s gone.

  The scout ships take the long, safe way around the blasted warship. From time to time, I lose their icon among the cluttered display. So much debris. This must have been the fleet engagement to end all fleet engagements.

  “They’re watching us,” Shaina says. “The Heptagon steers like a loaded freight hauler right now.”

  The ship bucks violently but only once.

  Shaina and I exchange a glance.

  “That wasn’t an external impact,” she says. “Check on the Dogan.”

  I attempt to raise Zedas on comms without success. Seconds later, Garin pops into the cockpit out of breath.

  “I told you to strap in,” I say.

  “I was going to, but Zedas wanted you to know we lost part of the ship,” Garin says. “He’ll need an EVA suit soon, which we don’t have in his size, so you better do something. It’s getting hard to breathe. What’s happening?”

  “We could surrender?” I suggest, hating the sound of the words.

  Shaina’s face darkens. “Have you forgotten what it was like to be their prisoners? Maybe you miss the sun ship?”

  I had forgotten—blocked it from memory. Jack’s betrayal pushed everything else into the background. Rookie mistake, getting tunnel vision like that. I need to think outside the box and be ready for anything.

  “We should power down as completely as we can for as long as we can,” I say. “And avoid anything that makes us breathe hard.”

  “Could work. With luck, we can look like space debris without becoming space debris. But it’s going to be cold,” Shaina says. “Garin, did you already bring Zedas the modified breather we used to infiltrate the gate ship and save the Orphan’s sorry butt?”

  “I did,” Garin answers. “I’m seeing spots. Looks kinda cool but doesn’t feel great.”

  “Good man. Now put yours on and strap in. For real this time,” Shaina says. “No more running around. If the spots get worse, tell me right away.”

  Garin complies, walking to the passenger area like a pint-sized drunk with balance problems.

  “Why does he listen to you?” I ask.

  “Who knows. The Dark Eye didn’t leave full suits, so mask up and hope air is your only problem. The ship is already losing heat. This may not work.”

  Inside, I agree with her completely. “It’s our only chance.”

  She briefly cocks her head but keeps working on our vector. “I’m not arguing. Once we power down, we’ll be coasting without the ability to steer.”

  I pull my mask from the cubby near my chair and slip it on. The breather bottle looks pitifully small. “Never thought I’d miss my EVA gear.”

  Shaina does the same thing, and we give each other the thumbs-up.

  “If Garin and Zedas aren’t ready, that’s on them. Try comms anyway,” Shaina says.

  I hail Garin, then Zedas, and get no response.

  Shaina cuts the power.

  The scout ships follow for a while, but our courses slowly diverge.

  The only sound is dust and debris from the ancient battle pinging and popping against the hull. Large fragments careen past us, testing the course Shaina set us on when we started this desperate trick.

  More scout ships join the first pair.

  They search farther and farther from our position.

  “What does your breather say?” Shaina asks ten minutes later.

  “I’m still at one hundred percent. Ninety-nine point nine if you want to split hairs,” I say.

  “Has to be a mistake.” Shaina sounds both annoyed and worried. “If our gear can’t track how much air we’re using, we could find
ourselves in a world of hurt.”

  I could explain that Jack forced an Orphan Gate upgrade on me by cutting my air tank during the void assault on the gate ship, but I don’t. She’s been through one OG. Maybe this ordeal will give her another ability. Zedas, for that matter, also changed after his trip through the same gate. Will his biology react as mine did?

  They might be surprised how little air they truly need, or they might not. Unlike Jack, I can’t predict what changes the process will have on other Orphans.

  The real problem is Garin. He’s a child with no chance of surviving this when the breathers give out. His lack of resistance to the increasing cold will also be a problem.

  “I’m going back to check on the kid,” I say, intending to switch our breathers if needed.

  “Okay, Orphan. But don’t stay long. I will need you when we fire up the ship,” she says.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Is that you, Mr. Murph?” Garin shines a flashlight in my face. “Sorry. I had it off to save the battery.”

  “Smart. How are you doing?”

  “It’s getting cold. Hard to get air through this mask.”

  I sit near him. “How much oxygen do you have?”

  “Enough, I guess.”

  “Let me check,” I say, then look at the small canister on the back of his mask without waiting for permission. It’s half full, which is better than I expected. “I have another one when you get low.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I miss his swagger. Right now he’s just a scared kid on a damaged ship millions of miles away from home. “I’m serious. Don’t be a martyr. Tell me if you get low. I have a spare.”

  “Where did you get a spare?” he asks. “The Dark Eye barely left us with anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I check his seals, then head for the sub-deck. My fingers, even through my gloves, go numb from cold the moment I lean through the hatch. “Zedas, are you all right?”

  “Of course,” he says. “I’m winning the battle with this big wrench. Very exciting.”