Silent Order: Iron Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

“Yes,” said Karlman, his rifle pointed at the door. “Three of them. You can set the blast geometry…”

  “Give them to me,” said March, holding out his hand.

  Karlman, to his credit, did not hesitate. March took all three grenades and set the controls, configuring them for a conical blast and a five-second fuse. He placed the grenades on the door, the metal quivering as the infiltrator drones hammered at it.

  “I’m going to blast the door and go through it,” said March. “When I do, run for the lift car. The blast will distract the drones, and I’ll distract them even more. If I don’t make it, get out of here.”

  “But…” said Roanna.

  “Captain March knows what he is doing,” said Bishop.

  “Ready,” said Karlman, pointing his rifle at the door.

  March armed the grenades and stepped back, cradling his own rifle. He hoped the grenades were not defective. Otherwise, he was going to get a fatal blast of shrapnel in about three seconds…

  The grenades went off with a roar and a flare of fire, and the explosion ripped the door and most of its frame from the wall and hurled them across the balcony, through the railing, and to the hydroponics bay below. The debris ripped through two infiltrator drones, tearing them to a pulp, and threw another two back, one falling to the floor, the other slamming into the damaged railing.

  Their heads climbed up the walls, metal legs clinking against the stone.

  “Go!” shouted March, and he leaped through the door, his rifle set to full auto.

  The infiltrator drones on their feet were the priority, and March started with them. He shot two in short order, the end of his rifle spitting bolts of superheated plasma. A third infiltrator drone staggered towards him, and March kicked it in the leg, spun it around, and stitched up its back with a volley of plasma bolts.

  Behind him, the balcony clanged as Heath, Bishop, Heitz, and Karlman ran for the stairs to the lift car, Heath helping Roanna along. One of the infiltrator drones lunged at them, but Heath shifted his sniper-rifle one handed and shot it three times through the spine. The infiltrator drone flipped over the railing and crashed into a row of hydroponic equipment.

  Some part of March’s mind noted that had been a hell of a shot.

  The rest of him focused on staying alive.

  He whirled and ran backward, spraying fire as he retreated. The explosion had done a lot of damage to the infiltrator drones, but most of them were on their feet, and nearly all of the head-spiders had survived. March shot two of the head-spiders, plasma bolts turning their skulls to charred debris, and took down another headless corpse. His rifle beeped empty as the capacitors went dry, and March yanked a grenade from his harness, turned, and ran.

  The stairs to the lower level had come into sight when the grenade went off. The explosion echoed through the room, and March seized the railing, vaulted over it, and jumped. The arc of his leap carried him towards the wall, and he drove his left hand forward, his metal fingers scraping down the stone and slowing his descent enough that his legs absorbed the landing without shattering his knees and his ankles.

  As he straightened up, he scanned the pipes running along the wall below the balcony, spotted the one he wanted, drew his pistol, and fired three times. The pipe ruptured on the third shot, and a thick cloud of greenish gas started to spew into the room.

  The infiltrator drones scrambled towards him, ignoring the toxic gas spouting from the pipe.

  “That stuff’s toxic!” shouted Heitz as March ran towards the lift doors. Heath, Roanna, Bishop, Heitz, and Karlman had retreated into the lift car, and March was pleased to see that six of the Ronstadt security men had escaped as well. At least this wouldn’t be a total slaughter.

  “Yes,” said March, stepping into the car and yanking a grenade from his harness. He set the fuse for five seconds. “Also flammable. Get out of here!”

  Heath hit the car controls, and the doors slid shut two seconds before the headless corpses reached them. As the doors clanged shut, March armed the grenade and flicked it through the doors.

  The lift car shot away down its tube, the engines whining to life.

  About three seconds later March saw the flare of fiery light through the windows and felt the vibrating roar of the explosion as the hydroponics bay disappeared in a fireball. He feared that he had miscalculated, and that the explosion would disable to the lift car or damage the track, but the car did not slow, and soon the light and the vibration passed.

  No one spoke for a while. March busied himself by returning his pistol to its holster and reloading his rifle.

  “Oh my God,” said Roanna, sinking into a seat. “Oh my God. That was horrible. That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “You’re only twenty-three,” said March. “You’ll have plenty of time to see worse things.”

  She gave him a stricken look.

  “How did you know?” said Karlman. “If you hadn’t warned us, we’d have been wiped out to a man.”

  “The holes in the metal,” said March, letting out a long breath. “Lorre must have dosed the Graywolves with infiltrator nanobots. They lie dormant in the bloodstream until activated. Once they do, they gather metal from their environment, build cybernetic implants, and then kill their host. They turn their victims into sort of…machines of meat, with the hijacked brains and nervous systems acting as a computer. It’s one of the Machinists’ favorite tricks for covert ops. Dose some people with infiltrator nanobots, active the bots, and you have instant saboteurs.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Roanna.

  “That isn’t even the nastiest trick the Machinists have,” said March. His voice was harsher than he would have liked, but he was not feeling generous. Her idiot brother had decided to run off and play politics with a Machinist cell, and a lot of men had gotten killed as a result. “That was nothing compared to what they can do. That was nothing, and it still killed eighteen men, maybe more. That’s what the Machinists are really like. World after world of people enslaved or killed and turned into meat machines. That is…”

  “Captain March,” said Bishop in a quiet voice.

  Roanna was on the edge of tears and the Ronstadt men themselves looked shocked. Not surprising, given that they had just seen several of their colleagues butchered. March rebuked himself. Losing his temper would accomplish nothing, and might endanger the mission.

  “At least we know where the hostage is,” said March. “Dome 12.”

  “You’ll have our help when you go after this Lorre asshole,” said Karlman.

  “It’ll cost you,” said Heitz, scowling at the wall.

  “You can charge him if you want, Heitz,” snapped Karlman, “but the Machinists have killed Ronstadt men, and we don’t forgive that.”

  “Thank you,” said March. “My task is to rescue the hostage. If you want Lorre once we’ve rescued the hostage, you can have him, so long as he’s dead when you’re finished with him.”

  “All right, fine,” said Heitz. “I won’t stand in the way. Do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t damage the station too much.”

  “Thank you for your approval, Administrator,” said Karlman. He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

  “We had better move at once,” said Bishop. “Mr. Lorre hired the Graywolves, and once he realizes his trick with the nanobots failed to kill us, he…”

  March’s phone started chiming. He frowned and looked at the display. It was an urgent call from Vigil.

  “What?” said March, tapping his earpiece.

  “Captain March,” said Vigil. “There is an encrypted call from an unknown location coming to the Tiger. There is an image with a recent timestamp attached to the call. Given its nature, I concluded that you should be informed at once.”

  March looked at his phone’s screen again and swore.

  “What is it?” said Bishop.

  “You had better see this,” said March, turning the screen towards them.

  Roanna’s ha
nds flew to her mouth.

  The picture showed Thomas Vindex sitting in a dusty room, a gag in his mouth, his wrists and ankles shackled to the chair. Blood trickled from his nose and lip, and his right eye was swollen shut.

  March tapped his phone and accepted the call. “I’m listening.”

  “Captain March,” said Simon Lorre. “I think it’s time that we talked, don’t you?”

  Chapter 8: Negotiations

  “That depends,” said March. “What do you want to talk about?”

  The others stared at him. He considered putting the phone on speaker but decided against it. Both Roanna and Heitz were worked up enough to interject themselves into the conversation, and March wanted to deal with Lorre alone. Besides, Vigil would record the conversation and March could play it for them later.

  “We have matters of business to discuss, Captain March,” said Lorre. “We are, after all, two professionals, so I imagine we have a great deal to talk about.”

  “Really,” said March. “That’s optimistic.”

  Roanna leaned forward. “I want to talk to Thomas.”

  Bishop hushed her, and Heath put his hand on her shoulder and eased her back.

  “Ah, is that Lady Roanna Vindex?” said Lorre. “Such a lovely young woman. Family piety is a noble quality, wouldn’t you say? Though the Final Consciousness shall make all such things obsolete when the revolution comes to Calaskar.”

  “Spare me the sermon,” said March.

  “Yes, you’ve heard them all and rejected them,” said Lorre. “How you could be part of the Final Consciousness and then reject it…I am baffled. I am truly baffled.”

  March barked out a laugh. “You’re a true believer? You seemed too cynical for that.”

  “And you are a true believer in the Kingdom of Calaskar and its Royal Church?” said Lorre. “I would have thought you too cynical for that, Captain March, but we both know that such cynicism is facile. We are both believers and soldiers in our causes. Some men fight with fleets of starships and plasma rifles. We fight with the tools of spycraft.”

  “Do you always talk so much?” said March.

  “I do,” said Lorre. “It is a failing of mine, but I only indulge it when I have the upper hand.”

  “You think you have the upper hand?” said March. Lorre might like to make speeches, but the man was too clever to indulge a passion for rhetoric if it might endanger himself. He was up to something.

  “That is one of the matters we must discuss,” said Lorre.

  “Actually, there is one only thing to talk about,” said March.

  “Oh? Do enlighten me, Captain.”

  “Thomas Vindex,” said March. “We know where you are. All your Graywolves are dead, and your trick with the infiltrator drones failed. Ronstadt Private Security Corporation wants your head for the men your drones killed, so I have all the troops I need to defeat you. So, you’re going to let Vindex go. If you do it now and run to your ship, you might be able to escape before the station shoots you down.”

  “All that you say is true,” said Lorre. “There is, however, one factor that you have overlooked.”

  “And that is?” said March.

  “I have a gun to Lord Thomas’s head,” said Lorre, “and I fear my trigger finger is twitchy.”

  “A bad habit,” said March. “Fire discipline is important.”

  “True,” said Lorre, “but I haven’t gotten to shoot anyone for days.”

  “You kill Vindex, and this will all have been for nothing,” said March. “No ransom, nothing.”

  “Now, now, Captain March,” said Lorre. “You’ve been in this business long enough to know that an operation can have levels of success. A ransom would have been nice, yes. But even if I shoot Vindex, I will have killed a nobleman of the Kingdom of Calaskar and kept an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order from more important tasks. A small victory, true. But wars are not won in a day, but with a thousand such small victories.”

  “So killing a young man will help bring about the victory of the Final Consciousness?” said March. “How noble.”

  “Sacrifices are necessary for the revolution,” said Lorre, “necessary to create a unified and superior humanity free of class and rank and economics and religion.”

  “Good for you,” said March.

  “This is what you are going to do, Captain March,” said Lorre. “You are going to take Lady Roanna, and you are going to come alone with her to Dome 12. You will order your allies and your men to hold back for thirty minutes. My sensors here are quite good, and if I detect anyone other than you and Lady Roanna approaching, I will kill Lord Thomas. Lady Roanna, of course, will bring the ransom with her.”

  “Those are unreasonable terms,” said March. “Why should I agree to them?”

  He already knew the answer.

  “Because,” said Lorre, “if you do not arrive within forty-five minutes of the end of this conversation, I shall kill Lord Thomas and depart. If I detect anyone other than you and Lady Roanna approaching, I shall kill Lord Thomas and depart. If I detect the station’s weapon systems near Dome 12 coming online, I shall kill Lord Thomas and depart.”

  “Forty-five minutes?” said March. “That’s tight. Our lift car won’t even get back to the spaceport concourse for another four or five minutes.”

  “Well, then,” said Lorre. “You had better hustle, hadn’t you? Tick-tock, Captain March, tick-tock.”

  He ended the call.

  March looked at his phone, swore in vexation, and shoved it back into his coat.

  “Well?” said Bishop.

  “That was Lorre,” said March. “We’ve got forty-five minutes. If Lady Roanna, myself, and the ransom don’t show up at Dome 12 before time runs out, he shoots the hostage.” Roanna closed her eyes. “If anyone other than the two of us shows up, he shoots the hostage. If the station’s defensive systems go online, he shoots the hostage. Probably wants to make sure he can launch and get to hyperspace before Heitz’s people blow him out of the sky.”

  “He won’t have time to calculate a proper hyperspace tunnel before the missiles come online,” snarled Heitz.

  “He won’t need to,” said Heath. “He can just do a short-distance jump, exit his tunnel a few tenths of a light-minute from the system, and calculate a proper jump from there. He probably has his navigation computer pre-programmed for the jump.”

  “And he’s ready to jump,” said Heitz, scowling at his phone. “An alert just came over the internal sensors. Dark matter radiation was detected in Dome 12. Lorre has a ship there, and its dark matter reactor is warming up. He’ll be ready to go…”

  “Long before forty-five minutes,” said March.

  “What are we going to do?” said Roanna.

  They all looked at March. The expressions on the faces of the men were expectant. Roanna’s face was pleading. She wanted March to find a way to save her brother.

  “Cut our losses and blast Dome 12,” growled Karlman.

  “No!” said Roanna.

  “I’m sorry, but the hostage…a relative of yours, I assume? The hostage is already dead,” said Karlman. “Lorre probably killed him weeks ago. We know Lorre’s ship is there, and Dome 12 is unused. Shoot five or six missiles into the dome and send him and his ship to hell.”

  “I’m not having you blast a hole in the station’s infrastructure,” said Heitz.

  Karlman scowled. “I don’t need your authorization. Ronstadt employees have been killed, and we will take revenge.”

  “Do that, and you might lose the contract for Rustbelt Station,” snarled Heitz. “We…”

  “Shut up, all of you,” said March. “There’s only one thing to do. Lady Roanna and I will go to Dome 12 with the ransom.”

  “That is walking into a trap,” said Bishop. “You will probably get yourself killed.”

  “And you cannot put Lady Roanna at risk like this,” said Heath. “She…”

  “I put myself at risk, Sam,” said Roanna in a quiet voice, starin
g at the deck. “I put myself at risk when I decided to come out here, and I convinced you to put yourself at risk as well. At least this way only Captain March and I will put ourselves in danger.”

  “But…” said Heath.

  “There is something you can do,” said March. “Can you fly a Mercator Foundry Yards Class 9 light freighter with some engine and thruster modifications?”

  Heath looked at him. “I can fly anything.”

  March nodded and hit his earpiece. “Vigil?”

  “Captain March,” said the pseudointelligence.

  “Lieutenant Heath will be coming to the Tiger,” said March. “You’re to permit him full flight and weapons control.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain March,” said Vigil.

  “You’re letting me fly your ship?” said Heath.

  “Yup,” said March. “Launch and stay close to the surface of the asteroid, but get a weapons lock on Dome 12 with the railgun. I’ll keep an open call to you. If I give the word, fire at the apex of the dome. Understand?”

  Heath gave a slow nod. “I do.”

  “Won’t Lorre detect the launch?” said Bishop.

  “Not necessarily,” said Heitz. “So long as you don’t start the dark matter reactor, and so long as you stay within fifty meters of the asteroid’s surface, whatever sensors Lorre has on his ship won’t register you as a threat. Probably peg you as a maintenance drone.”

  “Good,” said March. He looked back at Heath. “You can run the ion thrusters and the railgun’s coil off the fusion reactor. Get a target lock on Dome 12, and fire if I tell you to do it.”

  “What’s that railgun of yours fire?” said Karlman.

  “A five-meter tungsten rod at a hundredth of the speed of light,” said March.

  “Good God, man,” said Heitz. “That will peel open the dome like a goddamn onion.”

  “Guess that will give the connecting airlocks a good test,” said March. He tapped the emergency breath mask on his belt. “This will give fifteen minutes of emergency oxygen. Karlman, can she borrow one of your masks?” Karlman nodded and pulled the mask from his own belt and tossed it to Roanna, and she caught it with surprising deftness. “Give me a second one. Might need it for the hostage.” One of the Ronstadt men handed March a mask, and he took it. “Lady Roanna. You have the ransom?”