by M. R. Forbes
“You don’t need to see to shoot,” the soldier said. “At least not if you’re a Republic soldier.” He laughed. Bastion laughed with him.
Abbey entered a dozen commands in succession, rewarded a moment later when the password came back unencrypted. She stared at it for a moment, memorizing it. That was the other benefit to a full TCU. She wouldn’t have to remember the details.
“Well,” the soldier said. “Now that we’re friends, will you please show me your identification so I can be on my way?”
“You just said we were friends,” Bastion said.
Abbey quit the command line, quickly restarting the kiosk. She pulled the disruptor from the side of the box, retracting the needle and holding it in her fist.
“I’ve known plenty of good people who washed out of the military and had to turn to something less than legal to make ends meet,” the soldier said. “Are you one of them?”
“I should kick your ass for even suggesting it,” Bastion said. “You little groundfragger.”
“Cool it,” Abbey said, turning and putting her closed hand on the back of Bastion’s shoulder. “We’re all done here.”
The soldier stared at her.
“What? You’ve never seen a bald woman before?” she asked. The softsuit’s higher neck was covering her Hell brand.
“That’s a military grade softsuit you have under your coat,” the soldier replied. He leaned in a little closer. “Is that Republic made?”
Abbey stepped between Bastion and the soldier. “You just don’t know when to mind your damn business, do you?” she said. She could feel the Gift reacting to her anger. “Fragging budget cuts. Yeah, it’s a Republic suit. So what? The terminal’s fixed, take a look. Move on or call for security.”
The soldier’s eyes flitted to the terminal. Abbey almost wanted him to make a move to contact security so she would have a good reason to smash his smug face.
He looked at her again, locking eyes. She was defiant, staring him down. He drew back, his eyes suddenly fearful.
“Uh. No. It’s not a problem,” he said, backing away. “Sorry for the interruption.” He turned and walked hurriedly away.
“What the hell?” Abbey said, looking at Airi. She flinched, too.
“Your eyes, Queenie,” she said. “They’re. Oh. They’re going back to normal.”
“What do you mean going back to normal?”
“I don’t know what you did, but they were red, and they changed shape. Like the eyes of a demon. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Abbey felt the Gift squirming under her skin. It had reacted almost subconsciously to her anger, as though overpowering it back on the shuttle had made it more eager to respond to her emotions. Had it really altered her eyes? She hadn’t felt a change in them.
“Where to, Queenie?” Bastion asked, staring at her eyes in search of the change.
“I’ve got credentials to access the Anvil mainframe. I just need a terminal that won’t get interrupted so I can dig in a little deeper.”
“You did all that in five minutes?”
“That’s what Breakers do.”
“Is there anything you aren’t good at?”
“Piloting starships, for one. I also suck at cooking.”
“If we ever get anywhere that has a decent kitchen, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“You cook?” Airi asked.
“If it involves fire, I’m in,” Bastion replied.
Abbey turned back to the kiosk, using the card Olus had given them to buy passes.
“Wait,” Bastion said. “You hacked into that thing and didn’t just take the passes?”
“That would be stealing. Stealing is wrong.”
Bastion opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
“Wow,” Airi said. “Someone finally shut you up.”
Abbey pointed to a transport sliding into the station. “That’s our ride. We can grab a hotel room downtown to get access to a terminal. Ursan’s been here a few days already, which means he has to be staying somewhere. We find out where, we pay him a visit, and we get off this planet with the Brimstone.”
“Now that’s what I call progress,” Bastion said.
34
Gant was waiting impatiently in the hangar of the Brimstone when the shuttle arrived. Lieutenant Iann was standing beside him, the former crew of the Triune nearby. He had nearly wet his lightsuit when the commander of the Triune, Otero, had called into the Brimstone to inform them that some Trover named Dak had informed him of the sale of the Triune to a bot-maker named Gorix, and that the entire crew was on its way over to the Brimstone to meet up with the rest of Ursan Gall’s former mercenary associates.
And that’s what Gant was sure this crew was. Mercenaries. Assholes for hire, whose loyalties only rested on the biggest paycheck, the next payday. Having figured that out, it was no surprise to him that Iann had turned on Gall. What good was a crazy Captain when you had money on your mind, not to mention your own person health? It also answered a few other questions for him. Namely, where the hell Thraven was getting his army from, figuratively and literally. He knew they couldn’t all be guns for hire, not if he was going to use them to start a war, but how many were mercs, how many were those hard to kill, some-kind-of-dead former prisoners from Hell, and how many were whatever the frag Thraven was? Come to think of it; he was sure the Outworlds had a prison colony or two somewhere. Had he been filling his ranks from there, too?
Gall’s people were experienced, but they weren’t horribly organized. It seemed to him that they had gotten used to Ursan and his now-deceased wife doing most of the hard work, while they managed their assignments with all the enthusiasm of a clerk in a government office. It was a situation he could take advantage of, as long as he got the other Rejects on board before the crew worked up enough nerve to challenge the fact that they hadn’t seen any other sign of Gant’s Special Forces friends.
“General Thraven will be pleased with you for your assistance,” Gant said.
He had been tossing platitudes like that out since he had entered the Brimstone’s bridge, glad to find it wasn’t constructed of Terran remains. He hadn’t mentioned the design of the engines to Lieutenant Iann. He was saving that for when he might need a few seconds of shock value and confusion.
“Thank you, sir,” Iann replied.
She was the most stalwart of his allies, and so far had kept the others in line. But he could tell by the way Otero had been eyeing him that he wasn’t convinced the Gant was one of Thraven’s, or that he should be taken seriously at all. The only thing keeping him in check was the fact that he had undeniably slaughtered half the crew, even if he hadn’t claimed sole responsibility for it yet.
The Crescent Haulers’ shuttle touched lightly to the hangar floor, bouncing up once before settling. Gant could see the pilot through the canopy, the one Abbey had said was named Erlan. The one whose call sign was Nerd. He didn’t look that much like a nerd to Gant, but maybe the nick was being lost in the translation to his own barking and chittering language.
“Is that the Crescent Hauler logo, sir?” Iann said, her voice a little weak at the sight.
“It is,” Gant said. “Why?”
“Where. Where did you get it, sir?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The Rejects exited the shuttle. Benhil was first, followed by Pik and Erlan. That made four of them to the twenty plus on Gall’s crew.
“Hey, squirrel-man,” Benhil said, leading the Rejects over.
They were fully geared in battlesuits, each carrying assault rifles. At least they looked professional.
“Jester,” Gant said. “Okay.” He noticed the right glove of the Trover’s battlesuit was hanging limply. “What the hell happened to your hand?”
Pik just shook his head. “Fragging bastards.”
“Nerd. Welcome aboard the Brimstone.”
“Thank you, sir,” Erlan replied shakily.
Gant could tell the kid was trying not to laugh
at the sight of him. It was the biggest reason he hated going to small-time planets. Most of the locals had never seen a Gant before, and they tended to think of him as a damn pet or a cute, cuddly toy.
“Lieutenant Iann,” Gant said. “I’d like your crew assembled here. They’ll be disarmed and sectioned off to appropriate waiting areas within the ship.”
“What?” Iann replied, confused. “You want to lock us up?”
“Not all of you. Only non-essential crew. I’m sure you understand, Lieutenant. We’re outnumbered, and while I appreciate your surrender and loyalty to General Thraven, there’s a web of trust that needs to be earned.”
“I do understand, sir,” Iann said. She tapped the communicator on her chest. “Iann to the bridge. We’ve been ordered to assemble in the hangar. All hands. Make a general announcement.”
“Aye, Lieutenant.”
A tone sounded a moment later, echoing across the hangar. “This is Ensign Calso. All hands to the hangar for general muster. I repeat, all hands to the hangar for general muster.”
“This is bullshit,” a voice shouted from the side of the space.
Gant turned his head slowly. He knew who had spoken without looking.
“Excuse me, Commander?” Iann said, looking at Otero.
“You heard me, Olain,” Otero said. “There’s no way this little rodent is one of Thraven’s.”
“How do you know?” Iann replied.
“You’ve seen how Thraven does things. You cross him; you die, plain and simple. He doesn’t waste time with the likes of us.”
“The General wants the Brimstone,” Gant said. “And the Brimstone needs a crew.”
“The Brimstone needs three people on the bridge,” Otero said. “That’s it. Thraven would have killed everyone else on board already. Who the frag are you really?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Gant said. “Maybe I don’t need you.”
Otero smiled, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. He drew his sidearm, looking down at it. Gant hadn’t been dumb enough to try to take away their guns alone.
“Maybe we don’t need you.”
“Otero,” Iann said. “If you kill one of Thraven’s men, you’ll be signing all of our death certificates.”
“Except he isn’t with Thraven, you idiot. Where the hell would Thraven get a Crescent Hauler shuttle?”
“You know what?” Pik said, stepping toward Otero and pointing his rifle at him. “I think you should shut the frag up now.”
The rest of the Triune’s crew was assembled behind Otero, and they came to attention as one, brandishing their weapons.
“Why don’t you shut the frag up?” Otero said. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
“General Thraven will have your asses,” Erlan said.
Gant glanced over at him, shaking his head lightly.
“Thraven will kill us anyway.”
Gant cursed beneath his breath, backing toward the Rejects. He had been right to ask Abbey to expedite the reinforcements, but maybe he should have asked her to come before heading down to the planet? He had underestimated Otero.
The two sides stood opposite one another, weapons raised and pointed, the tension getting thicker with each second. The rest of the crew began filing in, freezing when they saw the standoff.
“We don’t need more blood spilled,” Iann said, moving slowly out of the crossfire. “Otero, what do you think you’re going to accomplish? Even if they aren’t with General Thraven, do you really want to take that chance? One way we might live. The other we definitely die.”
Otero looked at her, a fire in his eyes. “Yeah, I want -”
The Brimstone shuddered, shifting in space hard enough that everyone in the hangar was thrown off balance.
“What the hell?” Gant said.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say something just hit the ship,” Erlan said.
“Don’t just sit there, kid,” Gant replied, finding the knife he had taken. “They’re off balance, and they aren’t wearing battlesuits.”
Erlan’s face froze. Then Pik was up beside him, bouncing toward Otero and his men, spraying fire across the hangar. Benhil joined him an instant later, not hesitating to take advantage of the situation. The mercenaries had numbers, but they weren’t as aggressive, and it cost them, a handful falling before they could regroup and start shooting back.
Gant bounced from the floor toward Lieutenant Iann, knife in hand. She put her hands up, still in the midst of surrender, and he returned the gesture with a smile before redirecting himself toward the fight.
Rounds filled the hangar, the volume of fire creating a near deafening echo as the two sides squared off. There was little enough cover, but Otero and a few of Gall’s crew managed to get behind their shuttle, firing around the corner. A constant barrage of return fire kept their aim from being true, sending bullets ricocheting off the metal floor, some of them bouncing up and into the armored legs of Benhil and Pik’s battlesuits.
“Okay, up and over,” Gant said, bouncing away from a hail of slugs.
“Roger,” Pik replied. He bent his legs and used the battlesuit’s muscles to push himself into the air, rising twenty meters to the top of the enemy shuttle. Otero noticed, and he backed away from the edge of the craft, adjusting his aim overhead.
Erlan and Benhil moved in, crossing to either side of the ship, taking their time while the targets tried to figure out where to shoot. The shuttle had given them cover, but it had also limited their line of sight.
“Iann,” Gant shouted. “Get your team back to the bridge. I want to know what just happened. I’ll be there as soon as we finish up here.”
“Aye, sir,” Iann replied.
The Rejects were like cats hunting prey, closing in slowly while Otero and his remaining soldiers tried to defend themselves, taking pot shots to keep them honest. Gall’s team had worked its way into a corner, and there was no way out.
“We surrender,” Otero shouted. “Shit.”
“You had your chance to surrender,” Pik said. “And nobody tells me to shut the frag up.”
“Okay,” Gant said. “You aren’t in charge here.”
“Aw, come on, Gant. They’re assholes. We should kill them and be done with it.”
“We don’t kill unarmed soldiers in cold blood,” Gant said, loudly enough that Otero would hear.
“I do,” Pik replied. “Queenie did.”
“What?” Gant said, surprised.
“She dumped some ugly Curlatin out of an airlock. He deserved it.”
Gant felt a chill run through him. Abbey was a soldier, not a killer. Wasn’t she?
“Not today, Okay,” Gant said through his communicator.
“They’re still packing.”
Gant sighed. “I said, we don’t kill unarmed soldiers.”
A few seconds later a handful of weapons slid across the floor from behind the shuttle.
“I really can’t kill them?” Pik said.
“If Queenie were giving you the orders, would you keep asking?” Pik didn’t reply. “Exactly. Go round them up.”
Gant could see the huge Trover bounce down to the other side of the shuttle, and he held his breath while he waited to see if Pik would follow his orders. He had to know he would be answering to Abbey if he didn’t.
Otero and his remaining crew moved out from behind the shuttle, with Pik at their backs. Erlan and Benhil moved into position in front of them, keeping them covered.
“What are you going to do with us?” Otero asked.
“Get on your shuttle,” Gant said. “Get the hell out of here.”
“You definitely aren’t Thraven’s.”
“Nope. But I still want you off my ship. And don’t think about heading to the surface to warn Ursan, either. What’s coming to him down there is way worse than any of us. If you’re smart, you’ll make yourself scarce.”
Otero nodded, defeated. He directed his men to the shuttle, boarding it quickly.
“Okay,
make sure they get lost. Jester, Nerd, you’re with me.”
Gant hurried from the hangar with Erlan and Benhil behind him. The Brimstone was secure, but he had a bad feeling it might not matter.
35
“What’s our status,” Gant said, running onto the bridge.
Lieutenant Iann was sitting at the command station, but she stood and abandoned it as the Rejects entered.
“Officer on the bridge,” she said sharply, saluting.
The rest of the crew stood and saluted with her.
“Yeah, whatever,” Gant said, climbing into the seat. “Get back to work. Can I get a status report?”
“Sensors are reporting five unidentified ships have entered Anvil’s orbit,” Iann said. “They appear to be attacking the Outworld defenses.”
“Visual?”
“Not yet.”
“Bring us about.”
The Brimstone began to shift in space, turning slowly. Gant didn’t need to see the ships to know it they were Thraven’s. Any Republic or Outworld ship in the universe would have been tagged by the Brimstone’s identification system.
“We have to help them,” Iann said.
“I’ll give the orders, Lieutenant,” Gant replied. “Jester, keep an eye on these clowns.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Iann said.
Gant chittered softly, while Benhil positioned himself to the left of the bridge crew, his rifle up and ready for use.
The Brimstone continued to spin. Gant saw what had struck them a moment later. An Outworld cruiser. A starship. It had a gaping hole in its side and was floating dead in space; no doubt hit in the offensive. It had skimmed the Brimstone’s shields, giving them a shove on the way past.
“We’re being hailed, sir,” one of the other crew members said.
“By who?” Gant asked.
“They’re identifying as Captain Piselle of the warship Fire.”
“Shit,” Gant cursed under his breath. “Well, I guess the party’s over. Nerd, take over at the pilot’s station. Lieutenant Iann, have a seat over there. Anybody does anything I don’t tell them to do, they die. Got it?”
The crew looked back at him, surprised. One of them started to stand until he saw Benhil watching and sat back down.