Well, not quite everything. Mostly he skimmed across the surface, skipping most of the details along the way. That ugly business on Kepler. The stolen secrets and forced relocation.
The nannites, and Hecate—those details most of all. Important details that Kinsey glossed over. Offering just a few, terse statements to sum everything up.
“Information gathering mission,” he told them. “You locate a can, retrieve it and come home. Simple as that.”
“Simple,” Sikuuku grunted. “Not fucking likely.” He frowned, listening, as Kinsey kept talking, keyed into the projection system, bringing a star chart up. “He’s not gonna tell them, is he?” he said, pitching his voice low.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Think we should?”
“Oh, I plan to.” Henricksen turned his head, sliding a look the gunner’s way. “Crew deserves to know—”
“Drop coordinates,” Kinsey said loudly, drawing Henricksen’s eyes back to the front of the room. He stared a moment, dark eyes blinking slowly, reached inside his jacket and pulled a reader out. Plugged it into the lecturn, replacing the images on the wall with the data from that handheld device.
Long strings of data. Half a dozen sets of multi-partite numbers that Henricksen recognized as coordinates—markers that meant precisely jack without a star chart for reference.
“What the hell is this?” Henricksen demanded, nodding to the numbers on the wall.
Kinsey held up a finger, toggling the projection system’s settings to bring the star chart back. “The drop coordinates are here,” he explained, zooming in on one planet in particular. A lonely, red orb that was way, way out.
Henricksen squinted, reading the data tag beneath it. “Terinassis. That’s a Class II, right?”
Kinsey nodded slowly. “Surveys completed a decade ago. Samples collected, but that’s about it.”
Which meant it hadn’t been terraformed. Might never be terraformed if the data tagged to that star chart was correct.
Young planet, from the look of it. Big sucker, though. Core analysis showed a blast furnace center—heavy metals laced with uranium and thorium deposits—surrounded by a bubbling, fire-encrusted surface. Lava erupting in geysers, magma flowing in crisscrossing rivers, painting the planet in a red-orange glow.
Moons orbiting around it—many and large, pulling at the molten surface, making the crust swell and break like tides. Atmosphere, of a sort—a toxic stew surrounding the planet—but no water. Not a drop of liquid anywhere.
“Nice place.” Taggert twisted, searching for Henricksen standing near the back wall. “How the hell are we supposed to retrieve anything from there?”
“Not there.” Kinsey stared at the back of Taggert’s head, waiting until he faced back around. Touched at the reader’s screen to reorient the star chart, moving Terinassis to the center, highlighting a section of space nearby. “Here,” he said, pointing to the corresponding image projecting on the wall.
“Great. Another asteroid field.” Taggert sat back, shaking his head in disgust.
Ogawa leaned forward, reaching for Taggert’s arm. Grabbed it and shook it, wanting his attention. “Tag. It’s the same one.” She glanced at him, flicked a finger at the image on the wall. “That’s the same asteroid field the engineers programmed into the sims.”
“The very same.” Kinsey nodded.
“And the drop coordinates this spook of yours sent?” Janssen asked, speaking up.
“Inside.” Kinsey touched at the reader again, toggling the screen back to the long lines of coordinates, layering them onto the star chart next to a tiny red dot. “That asteroid field is twenty kilometers long and almost as wide, half again as deep.”
Which meant rocks, and lots of them. An ocean of tumbling obstacles with no fixed position, and no steady orbit.
“Inside,” Janssen repeated, eyes flicking to Henricksen at the back. “You want us to go in there to pick up this canister of yours.”
“Have to,” Taggert said, picking at his lip. “No way for the canister to clear all that debris without some kind of propulsion. And you add propulsion, the DSR will pick it up.” He grunted, thinking, shaking his head. “Must’ve stuck it an airlock. Garbage shoot or something. Explosive decompression would shoot it out pretty far—”
“But not far enough to clear the asteroid field,” Kinsey cut in. “May I continue, Mr. Taggert, or would you like to take over?” He stepped from behind the podium, inviting the engineer to slide in, but Taggert just scowled. Slouched in his chair and tucked up his arms, staring fixedly at the wall.
Sikuuku nudged at Henricksen’s side, nodding to Kinsey and Taggert. Moved a step forward when he shrugged and pointed at the star chart projected on the wall. “Don’t suppose that can has a beacon? Some kind of signal we can track?”
“Can’t risk it,” Kinsey told him. “A signal, any kind of electronic noise—anything we can pick up, the DSR can pick up.”
“Great. Just fucking great.” Taggert barked a bitter laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Goddamn needle in a haystack trying to find a metal can with no beacon and all those rocks wandering about.”
Kinsey flicked his fingers. “RV-Ns are small and maneuverable.” He reached over, toggling the display again, splitting the screen to lay two data windows side-by-side: star chart on the left, RV-N design specs on the right. “You’ve run that asteroid field dozens of times in simulation—”
“Sims aren’t real,” Henricksen growled. “I keep telling you that.”
Kinsey grimaced, tugging at his cuffs, smoothing the lapels of his pinstriped jacket. A perfectly pressed jacket, because that was Kinsey: buttoned up and strapped down, starched within an inch of his life. “What do you want from me, Captain?”
Cold voice now. Face a mask of stone.
Henricksen pushed away from the wall, chin lifting as he stared Kinsey down. “Recon mission. In and out. Get the scans you want. Figure out the lay of the land—”
“No,” Kinsey told him, shaking his head.
“Why the hell not?” Henricksen demanded, anger building inside him.
“No time, Captain.”
“No time.” Henricksen rubbed at his face, patience running short. “What the fuck does that mean, no time? You’ve waited months—”
“It means this.” Kinsey wiped the reader’s display, banishing the star chart, replacing it with an image of stars and ships.
An image that moved—one picture becoming many as a video feed started up.
Henricksen watched it a while, only half paying attention. He’d seen this before—twice, in fact, once with his own eyes, a second time in Kinsey’s quarters. Ships and stars, images shot from Hecate’s perspective. Captured in those last moments before she died.
But the crew hadn’t seen it. None of them but Sikuuku, who was there when Hecate went down.
“What is this?” Taggert leaned forward, staring intently from his seat in the front row.
“Just watch,” Kinsey said quietly, eyes flicking to Henricksen standing at the back of the room. “The video explains itself.”
Taggert twisted, brow wrinkling in question. Glanced at Ogawa when she touched his arm, whispered something in his ear. Shrugged his shoulders and faced around, slouching down in his chair. Watching in silence with the others as the images advanced, showing a cluster of ships in the distance, stars glowing softly around them.
Closer in and the Cepheid appeared—that oversized, silver orb in all its deadly glory.
“Almost looks peaceful,” Sikuuku murmured, stepping to Henricksen’s side. “Hard to believe it all went so wrong.”
Henricksen nodded without looking, focusing on a muted comms track in the background—Hecate’s voice and Seychelles. Gogmagog’s grinding, groaning drawl.
Flashes of light as the first of the droned ships skipped away, camera slewing when one of them speared Hecate in the side. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the rest of it. Fingers curling around the back of
the chair in front of him as his mind replayed it anyway. Every last minute of that encounter. Right up to the moment when Hecate disappeared—body shredded, AI mind snuffed out in an instant.
“What was that?” Ogawa asked when the video finally ended. “That silver cloud that came out of the round ship—”
“Cepheid,” Taggert interrupted. “That was a Cepheid, right?”
Kinsey nodded slowly. Quirked an eyebrow, redirecting Ogawa’s question to Henricksen at the back of the room.
Heads turned, eyes staring, everyone waiting for Henricksen to answer.
“Nannites,” he said, hating the word. How cold it sounded. How numb he felt inside.
“Modified nannites,” Kinsey corrected. “Ship killers, in this case.”
Henricksen grimaced, looking away. “Run it back,” he said, flicking his fingers. Forcing himself to watch this time. Everything. Every last moment. Right up to when Hecate died.
“What ship is this?” Ogawa asked partway through. “The angle…whose cameras recorded this?”
Sikuuku looked at him, waiting for him to answer, but Henricksen just stood there, feeling cold all over. Tremor waking in his hands.
“What does it matter?” he heard Kinsey say, and that was it. The cold retreated, burned away by a sudden and overwhelming feeling of anger.
“Hecate,” Henricksen rasped, voice shaking, chest tight with pain. “Her name is Hecate.”
Was, his traitorous mind corrected. Hecate’s dead now. Nothing left but her ghost.
“And it damn well matters,” he said, glaring at Kinsey across the room.
Kinsey stared blandly back, dark eyes blinking slowly. Touched at a panel set in the lectern and swapped Hecate’s feed for another—more stars, more nannites, more ships dying—and that one for another, and another, cycling through half a dozen different video feeds in all. “These ships mattered too, Captain.” He froze the last feed on an image of destruction. “Do you know who they are?”
“When did this happen?” Henricksen whispered, voice hushed.
“Two days ago.” Soft voice from Kinsey this time. Surprisingly soft for such a cold, stiff man.
“Two days. Hell,” he breathed, covering his eyes. “How many? How many other ships have these nannites killed?”
“Dozens,” Kinsey told him, letting that single word hang in the air. “Ten in this encounter alone, before Gogmagog managed to neutralize the threat.”
“Neutralize?” Henricksen dropped his hands, head lifting. “How?”
“Drowned them in broad spectrum lasers. Ordered a tactical nuclear strike when that didn’t work.”
“Drowned them,” Sikuuku repeated, staring in horror. “You mean the ships? He destroyed his own ships?”
“And took the nannites out with them.”
“Why?” Sikuuku demanded, face livid. “There had to be another way!”
“No. There wasn’t,” Kinsey said, turning a flat-eyed stare the gunner’s way. “You’re not getting this. These things are a plague. An infection.” He twisted, stabbing a finger at the wall. “They need to be stopped. At any cost.”
“And grabbing this canister of yours.” Taggert nodded to the images in front of him. “That’s somehow gonna do that?”
Kinsey stared, sneering, tugging at his cuffs again. “Knowledge is power, Mr. Taggert. And there’s more in that canister than information on nannites.”
A touch at his prosthetic arm, eyes flicking to Henricksen’s face.
“What if it’s not there?” Taggert asked, turning around, lobbing his question at Henricksen standing in the back. “What if we can’t find it? I mean, the damned thing’s got no beacon, right? We could search that asteroid field a dozen times over and still miss it. Hell, if that can’s small enough, we could run it right over and never even—”
“Enough!” Henricksen roared, cutting Taggert off.
He stared a moment—surprised, upset—glanced at Ogawa beside him and slumped down, sulking. Mumbling something about “red herrings” and “wild goose chases” under his breath.
Henricksen sighed, hand lifting, shaking his head in apology. Sucked in a breath as the anger faded, feeling weary—just weary, now. Aching in his soul. “Enough, Taggert. Just…” A glance at Kinsey. “Just let the man speak.”
A nod from Kinsey—acknowledgment, perhaps gratitude—and he stepped from behind the podium, scanning his eyes across the room. “The truth is there are a thousand ways this could go wrong. And just one way it can go right.”
“Find your thing-a-ma-jigger.” Sikuuku waved vaguely. “This canister of yours.”
“Can’t guarantee it’s a canister,” Kinsey told him. “But, yes. The payload our contact put out there.”
“Wait a minute.” Taggert sat up straight, face indignant. “If it’s not a canister, how are we supposed to—”
“It will be some kind of composite metal object, Mr. Taggert.” Kinsey frowned in annoyance. “I just can’t guarantee it will be a canister, per se.”
Taggert sat back, sulking again. He was just full of sulky looks today. “Just saying it would be nice if we knew what the damn thing was so we knew what to look for.”
“Kid’s got a point,” Sikuuku muttered, sliding his eyes Henricksen’s way. “You believe him?” A nod to Kinsey at the front of the room. “You think that canister or whatever it is really has all the information we need to make that happen? Save the universe from the nannite scourge?”
“No idea,” Henricksen told him. “Could be his spook left us a buncha recipes. Whole goddamn thing might be a complete waste of time.”
“She’s not my spook, Captain.”
Good ears on Kinsey. Hadn’t expected him to hear that.
“And I assure you there are no recipes—”
“Joke, Kinsey. Lighten up.”
Kinsey’s face darkened, voice turning cold. “I’ll lighten up once those birds are flying, Captain. Now prep your ships and get them loaded. I want your squadron launched within the hour.” He flicked his eyes around the room, looking every last person in the face. Spun on his heel and stalked stiff-backed across the room, hauled the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
The room went very still after Kinsey exited, everyone looking at each other, sneaking glances at Henricksen standing in the back.
Waiting for orders. Wondering what he’d say. Afraid to be the first one to ask what came next.
“Captain,” Sikuuku prompted, sticking an elbow in his side.
“Yeah. I know.” Henricksen chewed his lip, thinking, staring at that last frozen image projected on the wall. Straightened and walked to the front of the room to address the crew in their chairs. “You heard the man.” He hooked a thumb to the door, indicating Kinsey on the other side. “Grab your flight suits and head down to the hangar bay. We’ve got ships to prep and, apparently, a mission involving a can.”
Twenty-Six
Scythe dropped out of jump a good five-hundred-thousand kilometers from the Terinassis asteroid field—light years from anything but that uninhabited planet, the rock field nearby. No ship’s signals pinging on the monitoring grid. No sensor sweeps or listening devices. Nothing at all, based on the scan results, except that asteroid field, and that molten death ball of a planet.
Henricksen studied them both as Hanu ran another set of scans. Asteroid field was problematic—all that tumbling junk wreaked havoc on the sensors, no way to tell what lurked inside. Then again, that problem worked both ways, since anything inside the asteroid field—scavengers, DSR, some as-yet-undiscovered lifeform, whatever—couldn’t get a fix on them either.
Still…
Henricksen frowned, distinctly uneasy. Didn’t like missing intel. Bad juju heading out on a mission with only sketchy information on hand. “Kill the engines.”
“Aye.” Ogawa touched at her panel, shutting Scythe’s propulsion system down. “Jump drives are offline. Main propulsion is primed and ready. You just give the word.”
“Hol
d for now,” he told her, studying the stars outside. “Scan.”
“Nothing, sir.” Hanu looked up and around. “Just us. And them, of course.” A nod to the asteroid field way, way off.
Henricksen grunted, tapping at his panel, surveying the sensors’ scans himself. Shut it all down after a cursory look—nothing but stars out there and vacuum, a molten planet and acres upon acres of tumbling rocks—and opened a secure channel, sending an encrypted message back to Kinsey on Dragoon to let him know they’d arrived.
Acknowledged Kinsey’s confirmation when it came back, the order that came with it, telling them to proceed into the asteroid field—a daunting, decidedly nervy consideration, now that they were actually here.
Lot of rocks out there. So many places for things to go wrong. But orders were orders—no turning back now. No giving up and going home.
A deep breath and Henricksen reached for the control stick, hesitated and moved his hand past it to Helm’s panel. Brought up the data from Scan’s sensors, making one last check—no change, just Scythe’s shape, limned in darkness and a sea of stars—before bringing up the asteroid field’s schematic. A crude, hastily created thing that was mostly guesswork, offering more questions than answers because no one had bothered to actually conduct a proper survey of the damned thing.
Not really important—star charts warned ships away from asteroid fields, mostly. Might never have been important if the DSR hadn’t moved themselves in.
“Useless piece of shit,” he muttered, setting his flight controls.
“Sir?” Hanu twisted, looking around.
“Nothing,” he sighed, pushing the mostly useless map to the front windows, looking from it to the actual asteroid field outside. “Alright, Hanu.” He gripped the control stick with one hand, tugging at the seat’s straps with the other. “Fire up that stealth system. Let’s see if Scythe’s fancy-schmancy cloak works as advertised.”
“Aye—”
“Stealth system online,” Scythe interrupted, beating her to the punch.
Hanu’s head lifted, visored face staring at the camera. “I was getting to it. I just—”
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