Creepy, Sikuuku called it. Prickling and weird.
Henricksen wasn’t quite sure how to describe the sensation himself, but he did know he didn’t need Hanu to tell him when that stealth shield slid into place. Never felt anything like that cloaking system. Remembered Shaw mentioning something about baffling around the bridge pod and thought that was a very, very fine idea.
Baffling would have to wait, though. Get in line behind the engine incompatibility work. Crew’s comfort was one thing. Preventing the crew from blowing up by accident? Tiny bit more important.
Failsafe, he reminded himself, watching Snicker-snack shimmer, cloak coming on-line. AIs won’t let us do that. Got strict orders not to let us grunt pilots run the jump drives and the cloaking system at the same time.
But AIs were fallible, and these AIs still young. Unknown and untried. Nothing at all like battered, battle-scarred Hecate who’d spent two hundred years flying. Machines glitched—not often, but it did happen. Even sentient, super-powered artificial intelligences sometimes had a bad day. Better to just fix the chassis and remove the issue entirely.
Failsafe was still a workaround. A temporary fix, not a solution to a problem.
Henricksen watched the ships a while, thinking that over. Touched at the panel to open comms. “Petros. One last run and then I want you back in the hangar.”
“Aww, man!” Shriek objected. “We just got out here.”
“Yeah, yeah. Quit your bitchin’ and finish up. You’re next in the maintenance rotation, bucko, and Shaw—”
“Shaw’s a butcher,” Shriek grumped. “I don’t wanna come back inside.”
“Really.” Henricksen shared a smile with Sikuuku. “So you don’t want those upgrades Shaw’s—”
“Upgrades? No one mentioned upgrades.” A panel came to life, data windows opening and closing, information scrolling lightning quick as Shriek read through Shaw’s reports, digesting the design specs and maintenance plan, all the fancy, whizz-bang new features on offer. “Three percent efficiency upgrade!” Shriek whistled appreciatively, dipped his wings and circled around. “On my way, Captain, sir!” Comms crackled, channel opening in the hangar deck below. “All hands. Clear the deck. I’m coming in!”
“Flare,” Sikuuku grunted, shaking his head. “God save us all.”
#
Henricksen woke to the ominous sound of thudding. Not rattling. Not tapping. Thudding. A thunderous banging, coming from the front room of his quarters. A sound his muzzy, sleep-deprived brain eventually translated as someone pounding incessantly on his door.
“Not now,” he moaned, pulling the blankets over his head.
No idea what time it was, but it had to be early. Felt like he’d just laid down, barely closed his eyes. Alarm hadn’t gone off, anyway—thing shrieked bloody murder to wake him, no way he would have slept through that—and since he’d rolled into bed after curfew, there shouldn’t be anyone awake and moving around, much less banging on his door at this hour.
Drunk crewman, he thought. Got turned around, thinks this is a barracks. Probably looking for a booty call.
“Go ’way,” Henricksen mumbled, pulling the pillow over his head.
Two days since Scythe cycled out of maintenance. Two long, hard days of training, trying to get as much flight time in as possible before Kinsey pulled the plug. Called in his marker and sent them out to that asteroid field for a recon mission.
That put sleep at a premium. The last thing he needed was some drunk crewman interrupting his beauty sleep because he was looking for some action.
“Go ’way,” Henricksen repeated when the fist kept pounding. Rolled over, wincing at the pain of sore ribs and aching muscles, joints turned stiff and balky, on the edge of locking up.
Desperately abused body—thank the pressure suit for that. Kept the crew from getting jellified by the g-loads the Raven’s flight path put on them, but they bruised the body something fierce. Made him feel like he’d gone ten rounds with a deranged elephant by the time he stripped it off.
And the training itself…
Hours in the cockpit, piloting that brutally fast stealth ship. Hours of processing reams upon reams of information, focused in the entire time. Mind dialed down and locked on tight.
Brain suffered for it. Felt like someone’d carved off the top of his skull and shoved a load of cotton batting inside his head. But the instincts came. The reflexes. That almost preternatural anticipation a pilot felt when they finally connected with a ship.
Missed that feeling. Long time since Henricksen felt anything like that. Not the same as with Hecate—not even close—but Scythe...Scythe was something special. Different from any other ship he’d flown.
Not Hecate, though. Never that.
He drifted, thinking of her. Dreaming of standing on Hecate’s bridge. But the pounding pulled his mind back to the here and now.
“Hell.” He rolled onto his back, hand flailing for the button that activated the clock set in the bedside table.
The projection system woke, casting cool, blue numbers on the wall.
0450—later than he’d thought. Early, but not that early. Well past drunken booty call time, which meant that pounding on his door was serious. A problem Henricksen, as captain of this stealth ship squadron and senior officer assigned to the RV-N project, probably shouldn’t ignore.
“Fuck.”
He threw off the covers, wide awake now and all but jittering with worry. Rolled over, wincing as overused muscles protested, and climbed out of bed. Stalked across the bedroom naked but for his underwear, hand lifting to shade his eyes as the motion sensors kicked in, drowning the room in harsh, white light.
Bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang!
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
He shambled across the from room, moving as quickly as his tired, sore body would allow. Grabbed the heavy wheel set in the outer door’s center, and spun it. Hit the latch and pulled it wide.
“What?” he snapped. “What’s so goddamn—?”
“It’s about time, Captain.”
Angry voice, disapproving—Henricksen’s sleep-starved brain registered that. He blinked a few times, gritty eyes trying to understand the face on the other side of that door hat went with it. The stiffly starched shirt and perfectly pleated trousers, jacket tailored to hang just so.
Only one person he knew of that could look that pressed and perfect at this indecently early hour of the morning.
“Kinsey.” Henricksen folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Slumming it, I see.”
Kinsey frowned, tugging at his jacket’s cuffs. “Can I come in, Captain?”
“What are you doing here?” Henricksen demanded, standing his ground. Blocking the doorway with his body. “And what the hell is so important you came all the way down here to wake me up in the middle of the goddamn night?”
“We’ve had a communication.” Kinsey pursed his lips, head tilting. “We need to talk.”
Henricksen went very still, skin prickling with goosebumps as a sudden and intense feeling of cold washed over him, settling deep inside his bones. “Damn. God damn,” he breathed, rubbing at his face, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to at least grab a pair of pants before answering the door. “Muzzy as hell, Kinsey. Can it wait an hour or—?”
“No,” he said flatly, dark eyes blinking slowly as he stared at Henricksen on the opposite side of the door. “Time is of the essence, Captain. We need to talk now.”
“Hell.” Henricksen straightened up, shoving past Kinsey as he stalked across the hall.
“Where are you—?”
“It’s four fucking early in the morning. If I’m up, he’s up.” Henricksen hooked a thumb at Sikuuku’s door, throwing a look at Kinsey over his shoulder. “And I’m too damned tired to repeat everything you’re gonna tell me just so Sleeping Beauty in there can finish his dreams of Tahitian beauties.” He raised a clenched fist, hammering on Sikuuku’s door. “Up!” he shouted. “Up, you lazy bastard!
”
Took him damn near as long to rouse Sikuuku as it took Kinsey to get Henricksen out of his own bed. The grumbling came first—muffled by the triple-thick layers of that composite metal door—followed by cursing and a chaotic banging that sounded suspiciously like many heavy things being picked up and tossed around.
Henricksen glanced at Kinsey behind him, flashing as a thumbs up. Faced around as the door whipped open, revealing a bleary-eyed Sikuuku standing naked as a jaybird on the other side.
“What?” he snapped, yawning widely. “What’s so goddamn—shit.” The gunner rubbed at his face, staring murder at Kinsey across the hall. “This can’t be good.”
“Quarters.” Henricksen nodded to the open door behind him. “Now.”
“Why do I—?”
“Misery loves company, Akiwane.” Henricksen slid a look at Kinsey standing outside his door. “And I think you’re gonna wanna hear this.”
“They’re all going to want to hear this.” Kinsey moved a step forward. “Wake your crew, Captain. It’ll go easier if they all hear what I have to say at the same time.”
“All of them?” Henricksen turned around, brow knitting in confusion, synapses firing sluggishly in his sleep-fogged mind. “You’re launching us,” he breathed, finally making the connection. He reached for Kinsey, fingers wrapping around his arm. “Now? You’re launching us now?”
“I told you, Captain. Time is of the essence.” Kinsey shook his hand off, brushing wrinkles from his oh-so-fine jacket. Touched at his wrist, consulting that ancient watch he wore. “It’s coming up on 0500 now. I’ll expect your crews in the debriefing room at 0600.” A nod and Kinsey stepped past him, moving down the hall. “One hour, Captain,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “Use the time wisely.”
“Wait,” Henricksen called. “What about—”
“One hour,” Kinsey repeated, marching down the hallway with that distinctive hitching, rolling gate. “And for god’s sake take a shower, would you? Grab a clean uniform. At least try to look professional before you brief our crews on this mission.”
“Prick,” Henricksen muttered after him, watching Kinsey disappear around a corner. He slid his eyes to Sikuuku standing buck naked in the doorway. “How the hell did you ever get to be friends with him?”
“Acquaintances,” Sikuuku corrected, yawning widely, scrubbing fingers through his short-clipped hair. “Told you, we met a few years ago. Ran into each other every now and then.” A pause as he leaned out of the doorway, searching the empty hall. “Not sure anyone’s really friends with Kinsey. Knows a lot of people, but I haven’t met anyone who referred to him as a friend.”
Henricksen grunted, shivering as the cold of the hallway soaked through his skin. An icy chill that infected the entirety of the station. Pervasive as the mildewed stench blanketing its spaces. “Wake Shaw,” he said, nodding to the end of the hall. “Tell her she needs to get Snicker-snack sorted.” They’d taken him down for maintenance, planned to keep him out of the flight rotation until tomorrow. “Wake the crew after that. Make sure they grab breakfast.”
Long day ahead of them. They’d need all the calories they could get.
Sikuuku pursed his lips, eyebrows lifting. “Early wake up. Crew’s not gonna like that.”
“Tough,” Henricksen told him. “You heard the man: flight briefing at 0600. You make sure the flight crews get their asses down to the debriefing room on time.”
Sikuuku screwed up his face, on the edge of refusing. Changed his mind when Henricksen gave him a good glare. “Fine,” he huffed, stepping into the hall.
“Whoa there, partner.” Henricksen stopped him dead with a hand to his chest. Glanced meaningfully at the free-swinging manhood dangling between the gunner’s legs. “Grab some pants first, then go wake everyone up.”
“Prude.” Sikuuku managed a tired smile. Retreated to his bedroom as ordered, drawers and doors banging as he dug around searching for something moderately clean to wear.
Henricksen left him to it. Turned around and headed across the hall to his own quarters, shivers growing worse with each step.
Shower seemed like a good idea all of a sudden. A very fine idea, in fact.
Twenty-Five
The shower helped immensely. Woke Henricksen up a bit. Leeched the station’s pervasive cold from his weary bones. He stepped into the hallway dressed in a fresh uniform—midnight dark pants and jacket, those silver captain’s stars winking brightly on his collar—ducked into the mess hall to grab some breakfast, forcing a couple of pastries on a protesting stomach, chasing them down with a hastily gulped cup of coffee before slipping back out again.
Passed a few yawning crew along the way—shadow eyed and half asleep, rubbing at weary faces and bleary eyes—but he didn’t see Sikuuku. Figured he was still banging on doors, trying to round everyone up. Thought about checking his quarters, but the last thing Henricksen needed this morning was another peep show. One sneak peek of the gunner’s genitals was quite enough, thank you very much.
A check of the time showed it was just going on 0530, so Henricksen strolled down the hallway to the pressure door protecting the entrance to the RV-N crew’s berthings, buzzed through with his security code and walked the length of the corridor on the other side. Climbed the stairs at the end and stepped into the darkened control room, lights coming on at the edges as he shut the door and ambled over to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Stopped there and looked down on the hangar bay. On Shaw and her mech gang—a dozen or so deck crew clustered near the back end of Snicker-snack’s sharp-sided shape—dodging around each another as they buttoned up the hull panels protecting the stealth ship’s engines. Wrenches turning a mile a minute as they raced to finish up their maintenance on the stealth ship’s propulsion system and return the RV-N to service.
The rest of the squadron squatted nearby, huddled up in a tight circle near the hangar bay’s center. Scythe among them, though damned if Henricksen could pick her out. Stealth ships all looked the same in the hangar bay’s gloom.
Scythe and Shriek, Sharp and Sever, all of them waiting on Snicker-Snack to get his act together so they could head out into the stars. Henricksen stared at them, studying them. The way they blended into the darkness. Wrapped the shadows around them to hide in plain sight. Touched at a panel and opened a channel to the hangar bay—private communication, pinpointing one of the ships below.
“Scythe,” he called softly, eyes flicking across the clustered ships, wondering which shape was hers.
“Good morning, Captain,” she greeted him. “I hear we’re in for an adventure.”
Laughter in Scythe’s voice. Excitement and anticipation.
He envied her for that. Remembered those feelings, even shared them once upon a time. Back when he was a boot ensign fresh out of combat school. These days, though…six ships and a couple of decades in the military changed things. Gave him a different view on combat. Made him appreciate the quiet times in between. Nothing but he and Hecate, the crew and the stars.
“Garrett?”
Shadowed shape near the control room’s doorway, footsteps approaching, hand settling on Henricksen’s shoulder. Sikuuku stepped in behind him, worried face reflecting off the control room’s reinforced glass. Cords of thick muscle bulging beneath a short-sleeved, black t-shirt. Scar tissue twisting in ragged patterns on the gunner’s forearms, burn marks twining amongst the blue-black tattoos he’d worn for years and years.
Henricksen stared at them, remembering Hecate dying. The sound of Sikuuku’s screams.
“Garrett?”
The hand slipped to Henricksen’s bicep, fingers wrapping around it, squeezing hard. Pulled him around, bringing him face to face with that tattooed visage. Friendly face. Worried now. Creases showing around the eyes.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah.” Henricksen touched at his face with trembling fingers, tracing the long line of that jagged scar he wore. “Yeah. Just tired.” He mustered a bit of h
umor, offering a sickly smile. “Too goddamn early for this shit.”
“Tell me about,” Sikuuku snorted, head turning as the door to the behind him opened.
Janssen stepped in with half dozen crew hot on his heels. Nodded to Sikuuku and Henricksen as he crossed the control room, motioning for the other crew to follow. Glanced back as he opened the door to the sim area, giving Henricksen a curious look before slipping in, heading for the debriefing room on the other side.
“We should probably get in there.” Sikuuku nodded after them, checking the clock. “Kinsey said 0600. Look awful bad if the big boss himself was late.”
Henricksen smiled crookedly. “Since when do you worry how I look?”
“Always. You know that, Garrett.”
Serious tone now. Deadly serious look on Sikuuku’s.
Henricksen’s smile slipped, sliding slowly from his face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do.” He wrapped a hand around the gunner’s forearm, squeezing it hard. Glanced behind him at the windows, thinking of Shaw and her crew, wishing they’d hurry it up and get Snicker-snack back together because, dammit, they were out of time. Kinsey in an all-fired hurry to launch.
“Garrett.”
Sikuuku again. Nagging. Impatient. Worried still.
“Yeah.” Henricksen faced around, clapped the gunner on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Crew were just settling into their seats in the debriefing room when Henricksen and Sikuuku arrived. Kinsey glanced up from his place at the podium, dark eyes following them as they moved to the back of the room—standing, not sitting like the rest of the crew. Watching Kinsey from that vantage point as stared down a last few stragglers, waiting until they found their seats before addressing the room. Laying it all out.
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