A King Word And a Gun

by Yuri Hamaganov

  Two light boats come to the dead colony, one on each side, under the constant cover of unmanned fighters. A short docking, the resetting of scouts, and then the boats move on to the next prey.

  Reminiscent of large metal squids, robot scouts in the meantime swiftly penetrate through the blown hatchways and large holes. Clinging to the walls with tentacles, the inspectors move to the center of the station, slipping past debris and hundreds of corpses with the dexterity of real squid. They look everywhere with dozens of unblinking red eyes, periodically turning on searchlights, and connect to the surviving elements of the cable network, trying to get records from security systems. Olga is sure that the inspectors won’t find anything; she personally reconfigured the systems to hide her presence. And yet she’s a little uncomfortable by the movements of the metal octopus, even though this is only the most minor trouble that will be encountered in Tartar.

  The robots don’t have enough time to inspect the entire colony, so the squid first inspect especially important compartments. At the moment they are studying the dead nuclear heart of Eastwood-Gamma, and then they will go to the control room and the arsenal. Some of the inspectors are operating in a specially protected banking section, where the deceased residents kept their goods; the Bolsheviks deliberately didn’t touch anything there. Finding that the safes are still sealed, the inspectors go away, not spending much time on the piles of impenetrable debris in the central part of the station.

  “Customs gives the green light.”

  Putting their own seals on the safes, the squids rapidly disappear to the surface, not finding anything interesting. In the end, they determine that it’s just a dead colony, one of many. Here, the last squid jumps on the boat coming up, and after five seconds, the engines of the orbital collection wake up, pushing Eastwood-Gamma to the cutting plant.

  “Combat mode!”

  During those ten minutes that the inspectors were snooping around, Eastwood-Gamma entered the Limb. In fact, they were already in Tartar. The first line of garbage rings stays behind the stern, and ahead of them appear reefs, at first not too large. As they move into the Limb, the number of reefs increases steadily, as do the sizes; in many cases, powerful cannons and lasers is hidden inside. Joseph locates several satellites for various purposes, and Natasha discovers the first false stars and beacons of navigation systems. The pirate fleet isn’t yet visible.

  There is a cutting plant straight ahead on the course—a leisurely spinning metal wheel with spokes in half a kilometer. On the rim are the labor barracks, and large clusters of debris hang in the neighborhood. Olga recognizes two standard colonies of a small class and several ships; the rest can’t be identified. Eastwood-Gamma will be the largest prey of this plant, and they are already preparing for its arrival; different repair machines and gondolas with prisoners are moving along the spokes of the wheel. The work on other debris doesn’t stop; large and small robots creep around, as well as people in the yellow spacesuits of prisoners.

  The towing engines throw out their flame for the last time and halt; the fuel is exhausted. Eastwood-Gamma hangs motionless next to the plant, which stretches toward it long white snakes of motor cables to securely attach to it.

  “Trading station at eleven hours.”

  There it is what the Bolsheviks need. Fifteen kilometers away from the cutting plant, a trading berth for small and medium-sized ships hovers in the void. Here, the allies and vassals of Tartar are staying, delivering their monthly toll to Boddicker. They aren’t allowed to go any further into the depths of Tarter, so the transfer of toll to the coasters occurs at such trading stations.

  Two objects are in a state of gravitational equilibrium, surrounded on all sides by garbage reefs and minefields. There are two long-distance vehicles on the trading station, which apparently came here to refuel before leaving for the flight. Five coasters; a seriously damaged raider, its board is under repair; and unmanned fighters, assault boats and a few other small vehicles that are of no particular interest: It is an ordinary working day here; nobody is interested in Eastwood-Gamma.

  “They have started the disassembly.”

  The first detachments of prisoners have already landed on the hull, together with the repair robots. They make markings for powerful plasma torches and install subversive charges, preparing to break the outer walls of the colony and get to its core.

  The unloading of bodies begins—prisoners gather the bodies of Eastwood-Gamma’s dead in a truck that will take the corpses to the plant. Not only are broken ships and colonies dismantled here, the human body in space itself is a lucrative resource from which many useful things can be extracted, especially if the bodies come in unlimited quantities. More or less preserved internal organs will be placed at the disposal of wounded Tartar fighters or put up for sale. Muscles, bones, and all other tissues will be processed in bioreactors and turned into hundreds of useful substances, irreplaceable right now when the Reich is waging a war and constantly in need of the biological reconstruction of new soldiers and the speedy restoration of old ones.

  Counting the last seconds, Olga gradually watches the prisoners on the surface, who have come from the penal barracks of the cutting plant. Now there are twelve of them, and about twenty more are waiting on the boats; they will land after the subversive charges take down the upper hull. Telescopes catch the faces of men and women in yellow spacesuits, and these faces don’t express anything. They all have equally indifferent expressions; the difficult and dangerous work doesn’t cause any emotions, nor does the methodical loading of corpses. It’s possible that in the recent past, these workers themselves were residents of such colonies; they simply can’t remember any of that now.

  After the forced neuro-chemical treatment of personality, they don’t have a past or future; there is only an infinite present, practically devoid of any information about the outside world, with the exception of a specific order to begin disassembling this particular station, which they immediately started to execute. It would be very nice to catch one of them and send him or her to Chernova’s operating table for a thorough study: it’s necessary to find out whether Boddicker puts a combat program in his slaves or only a worker program. Most likely, they have some kind of military program, at least at the level of kamikaze—cannon fodder is never superfluous. But, it won’t be possible to find that out now. The loss of even one worker can trigger an alarm, and Olga notes the reliability of their communication system.

  “Attention, comrades,” Klimov says. “We have thirty seconds before the operation begins—let’s have a thorough conversation with the owners of this institution.”

  Eastwood-Gamma is shaken by a series of explosions; the prisoners are beginning to undermine the charges.

  “Three, two, one, zero.”

  At zero, nothing unusual happens. The workers in yellow spacesuits continue to disassemble the hull, still paying no attention to anything around them. But the world around has already changed; the first alarming messages are on the air, and the pirates are dramatically increasing their radio exchange. Uncle Joe doesn’t have time to decipher everything, but the general meaning of the alarming broadcasts can be understood: an attack was committed on Tartar. The Red Dawn squadrons are attacked from several sides, for the first time in many years deciding to openly attack the Space Reich.

  Signal lights flash on the cutting plant and the trading station; garrisons request urgent instructions. The workers finally stop the dismantling and freeze, waiting for further orders, which haven’t yet arrived. The chiefs of the plant aren’t thinking about them now. Three hundred kilometers flare up and die from a nuclear fire; one of the Dawn torpedoes found its target, striking the Tartar transport.

  The Bolsheviks have the opportunity to observe a rare spectacle—they see the course of the battle from within the enemy position, without going into the fight. Unable to use radars, the cruiser crew relies only on telescopes, patiently watching the shootings at the external borders, imagining the plans of thei
r allies in general terms. The coordination of the attack is beyond praise; the allies weren’t even late by a second.

  The squadrons of the Wasp Queen who entered the firing line don’t attempt to storm the impenetrable cluster; their tactics consist of rapprochement at maximum speed, concentrated firing on Tartar's external fortifications, and returning to the starting position. Already, a dozen small outposts and several solitary ships have been destroyed, and at this moment, on the opposite, southern part, there is a fight between the Dawn’s Navy and Tartar’s squadrons emerging from the cluster. All units of the pirate fleet in the nearest sectors have surely been ordered to return immediately and give battle to the attackers, but Klimov and his crew are waiting for another event with great intensity—the release of the main fleet from the depths of the cluster towards the enemies.

  “Warning, torpedoes going to the Limb’s border!”

  Near the cutting plant, a flock of long-range torpedoes fly, launched from large reefs. The reefs change their location, and the ionic engines come to life, shifting the garbage asteroids into a new configuration—sure signs that a large squadron will soon be passing here, immediately after the torpedo flock. The workers have finally received orders to load their boats, transports, and coasters at the trading station and drop off mooring lines, preparing to dive deeper into the cluster.

  “I accept the thermal signature. I hear three, I hear three, stop, I hear five pennants. Five raiders coming from the depths of the cluster will pass us in two minutes. The garbage reefs continue to move, clearing the passage.”

  Operating with infrared detectors and gravimeters, Anastasia in time locates the advance of the Tartar squad. Immediately after the torpedo flock, the reefs smoothly shift away, opening a wide fairway; simultaneously, there is a change in the minefield configuration, which Uncle Joe carefully reads. It’s done; the fairway is open, and the advance squad has already appeared—three raiders and two torpedo-bearers. They are preparing to fight the Dawn on the north side, and this is just the vanguard. If necessary, many more ships will come from the core.

  The advance detachment passes the plant, not paying the slightest attention to Eastwood-Gamma or the other debris. Transport vessels at the trading station drop mooring lines but don’t start their engines, apparently waiting for instructions on which military base they should follow. The battle is already close; in the Limb, the emptiness lights up with flashes of nuclear fire and laser whip. The air is crackling; both sides are actively using interference. It’s the last minute before the second round.

  “Another squadron—seven ships, following the same course, will be here in forty seconds!”

  The second Tartar squadron passes to the border. This time, the link of the raiders is led by the destroyer; the military transport closes the formation. The squadron is coming on the same fairway and passes the cutting plant, preparing to go beyond the Limb and join the battle, but then it stops. On the trading station, the signal lights switched on. They write very quickly, beating off a long message.

  “The Red Army is coming!”

  Eleven thousand kilometers away from the cutting plant, on the other side of the garbage cluster, something unprecedented is happening. In the fierce battle between the Queen and the Tartar, a third force is swiftly and decisively intervening. A large group of Union warships has crossed the undeclared border of Tartar and attacks the pirates, joining Elizabeth. The Tartar’s squadron, capable of restraining the blows of the Red Dawn on equal footing, can’t withstand the double strike inflicted by the cruisers and destroyers of the Union.

  The battle at the South Pole is fierce and at the same time short; the pirate squadron is completely crushed in 130 seconds. None of the raiders turned back; Boddicker gave the order to stand to the death, trying to gain time, even a few minutes, to regroup their forces. The former alignment collapsed; Tartar unexpectedly found itself on the brink of war against the Union.

  “The ultimatum!”

  The powerful radio stations of the Union’s cruisers prevail through the shaft of interference, giving a short message to all interested parties.

  “Immediately give us the following war criminals to be judged by the military court. Otherwise . . .”

  The entire space listens attentively to the ultimatum. No, this isn’t yet a war, but the situation is very serious—the military leadership of the Union requires Boddicker to immediately hand over several of his henchmen, responsible for the death of the private passenger ship Saito-Maru-9, which happened almost a month ago. Saito-Maru-9 was shot down by Tartar raiders and fell on the dark side of the Moon; the crew and all passengers were killed. Among the dead there were several Union citizens, and now the Navy is demanding the extradition of the perpetrators for a military court and immediate execution.

  One hour is given for the execution of the order, and meanwhile, the Union reinforces its demands by joining the Red Dawn and striking methodically on Tartar's borderlands. Military intelligence has done a good job of identifying hidden targets; the shelling is very accurate. Flocks of powerful artillery shells, among which are nuclear ones, go into the battle together with torpedoes. And although the losses of the Tartar fleet are still relatively small, the numerous port facilities in the Limb are faced with a disaster: trading stations, shipyards, and fortresses on the border explode one by one, leaving Boddicker with no doubt about the seriousness of the intentions of the unexpected enemy.

  The signal lights on the plant and the trading station continue to beat messages. Olga focuses on the increase in radio traffic between pirate ships. Apparently, everyone is requesting urgent instructions. The pirate squadron continues to hang in the void, keeping their engines idling. The gun turrets rotate from side to side, searching for a possible enemy, but other than a few broken colonies, no one is around.

  Lying motionless in her compartment, Sergeant Voronov tries to imagine what is happening now in the Citadel. Surely, all are raised in combat alert. The main forces of the Tartar Navy are probably leaving their bases, waiting for orders, which haven’t yet arrived—Boddicker is most likely still trying to understand what is happening.

  The situation changed rapidly. Literally a couple of hours ago, they were lucky, being allowed easily and without loss to destroy one of their strongest opponents. The Bolshevik's apparent death changed the alignment of forces in the undeclared war. The Wasp Queen had lost her flagship, and her prestige was dealt a severe blow, while Boddicker’s authority soared to the skies.

  Elizabeth's retaliatory move is also understandable and logical—after the Bolshevik's death, she would want to prove to everyone that she is capable of continuing military operations without a powerful ally, so she organized this attack, firing from a distance and not engaging in close combat.

  Everything is clear, and Boddicker can fight the Queen on advantageous terms, skillfully waiting for the approach of his squadrons from the surrounding sectors, while simultaneously pulling reinforcements from the depths of Tartar. The loss of several frontier outposts and single ships is an acceptable price; very soon, Elizabeth's forces will be under crossfire. And then she will have to flee, lose the remnants of the conquered authority, or engage in a hopeless fight and lose a large part of her fleet, and thus lose the war. Here, at the borders of Tartar, all the trumps are on the side of pirates; Elizabeth is far from her own bases and won’t be able to engage in a long battle, while the pirates don’t have any shortages of shells and fuel. Soon everything will be over.

  But then came this unexpected blow from the Union, which crushed the entire squadron. The trap has failed; Elizabeth received powerful support in return for the Bolshevik, whose death was instantly forgotten. Naturally, everyone forgot about everything, watching the first massive attack of the Union on the pirate state.

  What do they want? Why did they come right now, at the same time as the Red Dawn? Do they want a trial of war criminals? Olga is sure that Boddicker will never believe that story. Pirates never betray their own;
everyone knows it. Revenge for the destruction of a passenger ship? But why now, a month later, exactly at the moment when Elizabeth headed into battle? A well-coordinated attack, that’s what it is—there is no other explanation.

  In some incredible way, Elizabeth and the top capitalists of the Union came to an agreement, agreeing to jointly oppose Tartar. Before, Boddicker had considered such a military pact almost improbable; the contradictions between the sides were too great. But now the incredulous has become a fact, and the joint squadron is hanging around the South Pole, striking blow after blow. They won’t strike into the core; the Union staffers are well aware of the possibilities of the Tartar defensive system. But, acting at the outer radius, they can pretty much take apart the valuable infrastructure of the Limb, methodically destroying the port facilities. And, even worse, such a large squadron can begin to effectively block the cluster, not allowing anyone to go in and out, and this would be the end. It is useless to wait for the attackers to run out of fuel and ammunition; the Union military transports will bring more. They must urgently do something before the situation becomes catastrophic; Boddicker must react, and the Bolsheviks patiently wait for his reaction, continuing to watch the pirate squadron idling.

  The destroyer begins to turn; the raiders and transports repeat his maneuver, gradually picking up speed. They don’t return to the center, but they don’t go to the border either—the squadron heads toward the south pole, moving inside the Limb, under the constant cover of minefields and garbage reefs, ready at any moment to dive deep into the cluster. Transports and coasters from the trading station are slowly gaining momentum; they are preparing to travel to the core along the open fairway. The tugboats remove the damaged raider from the slipway and follow them. That’s right, Boddicker has made a decision.