by Tom Julian
WIDOW’S WALK
Salla closed the door to the widow’s walk, a chamber at the very top of the station that offered a wraparound view of all the docking ports. When wooden ships plowed the seas of Earth, sailor’s wives would take to watching the horizon from a platform on top of coastal homes. From the platform atop The Outpost, there was no horizon, just the infinite black freckled with stars. Below, she could see the long and spindly Nina connected to Cargo Bay 4 and the gleaming white triangle of St. Francis attached to Cargo Bay 1.
She plugged the thumb drive into her tablet. Drogel had been wrong about the encryption; there wasn’t any at all, but the files were ninety percent unreadable. They had some sort of auto-deprecation on them and they were self-deleting. She opened a file and, for an instant, she saw video of the unmistakable Mile High Red Forest on Phaelon Prime. The footage was from a helmet cam and in the instant before the video cut out, she saw the name T. Velez in the upper right corner of the screen.
This happened a few more times; she was teased by tantalizingly brief helmet cam footage. She experienced Timberwolf scrambling over the low-gravity surface of Phobos…a bloody scene of a dozen dead Glox in a crashed lifter…a Devorin space station falling through an atmosphere in flaming pieces.
One video froze just as another man turned to Timberwolf while they were sitting in an armored vehicle. The other man was Gray. He was smiling and lean and it was years before what would happen on Nova. She couldn’t hate this Gray, this younger man who hadn’t yet spilled so much blood. She looked in his eyes, surprisingly warm, and noticed he had long feminine lashes.
She closed down that file and what she saw next made her lose her breath. Staring directly at her through its six red and glowing eyes was an Arnock, hovering close and moving closer. This footage had audio and she could hear Timberwolf. “No, no, no!” he grunted desperately. But still, the beast drew closer until it blocked the camera completely.
The next video wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t from a helmet cam, but of Timberwolf sitting across from someone at a desk. It was a woman and she somehow seemed able to stare down at Timberwolf even though they sat at the same level. Timberwolf was a mess; bloodshot eyes sunken into his head. She might have guessed he had been drunk for days, if not for what came next.
“I can feel them. If they were coming, I would know…” he said.
The video jumped and the woman was mid-sentence now. “…if Gray has found a way of taking Highland, then you can be damned…” The video jumped again and it was the woman still speaking. “What’s in the box, Timber?” With that, the video went dead.
She sat for a long moment, holding in her breath as the last of the files deleted themselves. “Holy shit.” She finally exhaled. The snippets she had seen swam in her head: Timberwolf…Gray…the Arnock…Highland…The thought of someone such as Gray getting control of Highland made the bottom drop out of her stomach.
Just then, Drogel entered, letting the door slam open and shaking her from her thoughts. Instinctively, she flipped down the screen on her tablet, but there was nothing to hide. All of the files on the thumb drive had now deleted themselves.
“Didn’t mean to slam the door. Find anything out about our special security consultant?” Drogel asked.
“Nothing more than you already knew.”
“That he’s a terrific asshole?”
“That wasn’t in his file,” Salla responded. Drogel’s face was blank, not registering the sarcasm.
“He’s a spook. Department of Peace Enforcement,” he said, impressing himself with the deduction.
“Safe bet.”
Drogel’s earbud beeped and he tapped it. “Governor Drogel here.”
“CB4. Now,” Timberwolf barked through the connection and hung up. Drogel shook his head, his face glowing with irritation over and above its usual redness.
“So, nothing at all on this S.O.B.?” he asked as they stepped into the hall.
She fished for something she had read in her own research to throw him off. “He was born on Golgotha. Mother passed away when he was a boy. Father was a construction worker on the terraforming project, now deceased. Brother’s still there, worked as a tower hound, was paralyzed and is in a home.”
“Golgotha, huh? Went there once. The air’s so damn thin you need a breather.” Salla was relieved Drogel didn’t ask for anything more. She didn’t know who had given him the thumb drive and what they could have been after. “Toss it,” he said with a dismissive wave.
They passed a trash bin and she pretended to throw the thumb drive away, but put it in her pocket instead. She’d destroy it later. She wasn’t going to take any chances with what she found. Who knew if someone would be able to recover what she’d seen?
A wave of uncertainty went through her. What was she supposed to do with what she knew? Who would she tell? There was no way she was telling Drogel. She had already made that call. The command at Tach-One? The Outpost was a military facility and she was in the Station Corps. Gray had been forced to resign as a general before becoming governor on Nova Turin, but he still had powerful friends in the upper ranks. They might laugh her off at best, especially if she couldn’t recover the files.
As she got onto the elevator, she thought about Timberwolf waiting down in Cargo Bay 4. She would be surprised if he even knew her name. Salla had no allusions about trusting a D.P.E. agent but she sensed something in Timberwolf that she liked. He seemed to be all about his job and he clearly had a disdain for Drogel. From what she’d seen, Timberwolf was working against Gray and they seemed to have a history that went back decades. Salla had a history with Gray as well. Looks like we have at least one thing in common.
What about the Arnock? What had they done to him? People didn’t survive contact with the Arnock. It just didn’t happen. She recalled the image of the spider above Timberwolf, drawing closer and taking over the frame. “I can feel them. If they were coming, I would know…” he had said. She considered the implications of that and how the Arnock had torn apart the minds of all who landed on their world. She swallowed hard. What the hell was she getting into?
CARGO BAY 4
The Outpost was composed of a bulbous central hub with eight pinwheel arms that made up its docking ports and cargo bays. The cargo bays were like massive, overlapping pie slices and each could handle two ships at once. During the Arnock war, the place had been a way station for battle cruisers, supplies, troop transports, and everything that was needed to support an interstellar conflict.
It used to be so busy that ships had to wait days for one of the sixteen docking slots. As the conflict wound down, the traffic through The Outpost dropped in tandem and the place fell into a general state of disrepair. Drogel, and previous governors like him, had stepped into the breach, using the former strategic hub as a place to move contraband and line their pockets. Glox freighters alone, running from Saavas, kept hundreds of worlds swimming in exotic narcotics. The Station Corps command didn’t much care what happened on The Outpost and the other stations. In peace time, their budgets and authority had been slashed by the D.P.E. They were happy to receive a slice of what the governors were able to collect in bribes. Drogel called it tithing. Salla held her nose and waved through smugglers, arms traffickers, and worse.
In Cargo Bay 4, a hail of golden sparks fell in the cavernous space. The tri-level bay was covered in decades of rust. Dozens of white containers were on all three levels and workers in yellow bio suits cut into them with bulky saws. Drogel and Salla watched as one worker sliced the top off of one of the containers. Another worker approached and sprayed a liquid inside, then backed away hurriedly as something within thrashed and screeched. “They smell awful…How many…Hazard money…Could sell these for my retirement…” the workers complained. Several security guards blocked the airlock, and out a large window Nina hung outside, small maintenance machines scooting about her. Through a conveyor belt in the wall, more containers came and were moved up to various levels with magnetic cranes.
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br /> Drogel knelt next to a container that hadn’t been opened yet. On the side of it was an unmistakable mark—the mountain surrounded by stars that was the Highland logo. A worker sprayed another container and Drogel got a snout full of sour chemicals. The thing within screamed, and this one lurched itself out. Drogel leaped back. It was an embryonic Sabatin, horribly burned and dying. The containers were bio-mechanical vessels filled with nutrients and food in which the creatures finished growing—artificial eggs. The Sabatin slid back into the container and twitched.
“Fifty-two Sabatin containers.” Disgusted, Timberwolf tossed an electronic clipboard to Drogel.
Salla took the clipboard. “That’s an army. Sabatin are nasty, bio-assault weapons. Remote control or auto-kill. Use them for security, urban assault, killing thy neighbor. What have you.”
“You said you didn’t want our reputation to change,” was Drogel’s excuse.
“So I can see who’s making the deals!” He turned to Salla. “Someone thought they could dump this quantity of haz-mat here?”
“Ships are generally permitted to auto-unload, without going through customs.”
Timberwolf shot her an Are you shitting me? look and inspected a nearby Sabatin container. Drogel was at his heels. “We catch a smuggler, you let him go?” he said. “Your latitude aside…” Timberwolf pushed past Drogel, checking another Sabatin container. Drogel continued, “I cooperate with you because I’ve been asked to from on high. I don’t even know who you answer to!”
Timberwolf stared at Drogel, draining the bravery out of him. “Everything here is at my disposal, including you, Governor.” A magnetic crane lowered another Sabatin-container to the deck. More golden sparks fell. Timberwolf continued, “A Highland shipment. Freighter’s name is the Nina. When we started logging the cargo, it unhooked and tried to get away. No one was onboard.”
“This cargo’s worth billions!” Drogel said desperately.
“I’m killing them with chlorine blasts.”
“Just hold it…”
Timberwolf drew within inches of Drogel. “You don’t want to line your pockets with this. You break the yolks, they’ll want out. Any of these go missing and I’ll shoot the suspects—any suspects. This crew is here.”
The sound of a muffled scream came from somewhere. “It’s from inside one!” Salla had her ear to one of the unopened Sabatin containers. The workers froze as they listened.
Timberwolf grabbed a cutting saw, handling it like it weighed as much as a hair dryer. He cut the top off the container and pried it open with a crowbar. A clear, horrified yell seemed to stop time for a second.
The workers crowded around the open container, grimacing from the smell. Inside, a translucent pink yolk embraced a little man. “Achilles Dacha,” Timberwolf said. Achilles reached out with his small, childlike arms, his mouth open but unable to scream anymore. Beneath him a dormant, curled-up Sabatin was buried farther in the yolk.
“You know him?” Salla asked.
“Probably,” Timberwolf responded.
INSIGNIA
Nemesis buzzed with activity. Gray had worked the men into a frenzy after Fangelsi and Michael and Sol used that momentum to get them ready for what was coming. Gray was one for buildup and theater. He could just as well have used Wrath again in this next phase and been done with it, but the crew needed a test they could easily pass before things got more dangerous.
They were gathered now in the galley. Most had the breastplates from their armored rigs laid out on the tables and the floor. Izabeck moved among them, handing out paintbrushes and stencils. Gray stood at the doorway and watched them within. Michael appeared beside him. “What are they doing?” Michael smirked.
“I know what it is. It’s perfect. You may not subscribe to any of this but look at that boy there.” Gray pointed to one young man, who proudly held up his breastplate. He’d stenciled a cross surrounded by the Believer symbol. Another man did the same with the crescent of Islam and another painted the nine stars of the Bahá’í faith on his armor. Others had elaborate crosses, suns, stars, Hindu symbols, and more. Some had a mix of several symbols. “The Believer truth is wrapped around the old religions. You know, we used to butcher each other—Hindu versus Muslim versus Christian versus Jew. That’s gone now.”
“I read, Emmanuel,” Michael shot back.
“So, why’d you come on this little adventure? Especially when you had to pull out your own shooters?”
“I’d already spent the money,” Michael huffed. “I’ve got a job to do. No use in complaining.”
They stood in silence a minute, used to being in each other’s company and saying what was on their minds.
“So back on Fangelsi, I almost put my foot up your ass. What did you think you were getting at?” Gray was quick to anger and quick to forgive, but Michael’s challenge to Gray before had grated on him. And what about those that don’t believe? Michael had asked. Gray knew he was referring to Timberwolf and the part he might end up playing in all this.
Michael shook his head. “You think that Timberwolf is going to sit this out?”
“Ah, it’s Timberwolf and his shadow falling on everything you do,” Gray spat back.
“You made sure of that.”
“Wrong. You made sure of that.”
“He’s your blind spot and I guarantee he’ll come for you on this one.” Unlike nearly everyone else, Michael told Gray the truth. He had no fear of his anger or retribution. Gray had done his worst to Michael already.
Again, they stood in silence, used to saying things to each other lesser colleagues wouldn’t be able to recover from.
“You think they’ll all make it?” Gray finally asked.
“We might have to sing for a few of them.”
“As long as we don’t have to sing for you and me,” Gray smiled.
Michael wasn’t scared to die and he was used to living by the gun, but this—taking Highland and calling it a religious crusade—seemed destined to get a lot of people killed. Michael had no illusions that he might be among the corpses.
Gray began to sing quietly at almost a whisper. It was the song Assault Corps troopers sang over the graves of their fallen comrades; glass of whiskey in the left hand, right hand over the heart. “When my life in this place is over, I’ll fly away. To that home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away.” Gray smiled that loving, cruel, sorry, fatherly smile he’d had for decades.
Gray stepped away, climbing up a ladder to the bridge. Michael watched him go. What’d they say about the devil coming to you with a smile? About whispering gently in your ear? Michael looked back to the galley; another man held up two thigh plates, a crucifix on one and the Believer symbol on the other. There they were—Emmanuel Gray’s new believers.
BREACHERS
Michael and Sol huddled in the breaching tube that extended out of the nose of Nemesis. The rest of the men were in two columns behind them, all suited in fighting rigs for combat and weapons set for live fire. They were about to breach and board Noel, a short-haul transport. The breaching tube was like a battering ram with an airlock at the end. When it made contact, the back of it would collapse like an accordion, absorbing the impact. The mission was to grab Sergey Dacha and make sure he kept breathing.
They could feel the recoil from Nemesis’s plasma cannons firing electromagnetic pulse bolts at Noel. The air crackled with static electricity. Jan, the first man behind Sol, had a short in his suit and lost the glow from his heads-up display. Sol tapped the side of his helmet with his giant gloved hand, but it stayed dark. “You’ll be in the rear wave today, son; move to the back. Windwhistle, you come up and take the second breach slot.”
Sol looked through the airlock window. He could see Noel sizzling with electricity and listing in a spiral. “We’re laying some boom on them!” Sol was a snaggle-toothed old ground-pounder, with a wide mustache on his wide, dark face. He looked over the men. Their faces were draped with fear. Some chanted and prayed. They held
on as Nemesis twisted to match the rotation of Noel.
The pilot announced their distance over the intercom. “Sixty-five hundred yards.”
Michael rose and steadied himself. “Breaching and boarding one-oh-one. The Noel is a tub and made for B&B. It’s got an external airlock that sticks out of their topside like a beer can. We’re going to slam hard and then the saws in the seal are going to cut off their airlock. We won’t have to cut into anything on their side. You hold until Sol gives you the go. Worst thing you do is go in early.”
“I-ya,” the men said, weakly.
“Our E.M.P.s are going to make it dark over there, so watch for surprises. Follow us in.”
“Don’t shoot me in the back!” Sol bellowed, laughing and slapping Windwhistle’s arm.
“Forty-two hundred meters,” the pilot announced.
Sol and Michael locked eyes. They were coming in at Noel way too fast. Michael called up to the bridge. “Tap the brakes!” He didn’t get any response. They waited tensely.
“Twenty-eight hundred yards.”
Michael gritted his teeth. Sol traced a Believer symbol on his forehead.
“Sixteen hundred,” the pilot updated them calmly.
“Jesus, everybody get loose. This is going to hurt,” Michael shouted. The men braced for the collision, huddling close.
“Nine hundred…eight…six…five…four…three.”
Out the window, Sol saw Noel right below them now, an instant from contact. “Hold on!”
The impact was like a car crash, even as the back of the breaching tube compressed. In sudden darkness, Jan flew forward, tumbling sideways and smashing hard into the airlock. White gas burst into space from all around Noel’s airlock as the Breacher saws in the seal did their work and the internal barrier fell away.
Michael shook Jan and the man’s eyes flicked open, a crack running down his visor. Jan struggled upward, nodding that he was okay. The Noel’s superstructure screamed, but the seal between the two ships was holding and the purge of atmosphere from Noel subsided.