The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2)

by L. J. Simpson

  “Pirate… it’s such an ugly word, don’t you think? I much prefer privateer,” said Jacks. “But stay if you wish. I’m sure your father would be proud of you.”

  “I never knew my father. He left before I was born. I’m a bastard – just like you.”

  Chuck looked at Penny in surprise. So did Tully.

  “And now you’re just being personal. It does not become you, Ensign. Well, gentlemen, time is pressing. Mr. Fletcher, lead the way if you please. Mr. Tully, bring up the rear.”

  Fletcher left the bridge without a backwards glance, followed closely by Jacks. Bruno Tully paused at the bridge exit, looking over at Chuck and Penny whose eyes were still affixed to the consoles in front of them. Grim faced, Bruno turned and left, doubling down the stairs to fall in line behind Fletcher and Jacks, matching stride as they marched off to the airlock. The simple exercise of marching in step gave him a sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger and better than himself. But just like the Dracian mercenaries at Praeton or the raiders at Orlov 5, his uniform was bare of decoration – no regimental crest, no rank insignia and no badges of honor. He suddenly felt more in common with the ensign up on the bridge of the Artemis. Two bastards together.

  As Fletcher and Jacks made their way into the airlock tunnel Bruno stopped at the threshold. Jacks half looked over his shoulder but by that time Bruno’s finger was already over the button. A second later the airlock door slid shut with Bruno still inside the Artemis. Bruno engaged the auto locks and then took the panel off-line.

  Jacks turned and pressed the com button. “What’s the meaning of this, Corporal?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Bruno looking through the porthole into the airlock. “I can’t come with you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I can’t come with you, sir,” repeated Bruno. “This is not who I am.”

  “Really? And exactly who are you, Corporal? That drunk back on Charnak 3?”

  “No, sir. That’s not me either.”

  “Who, then?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m about to find out.”

  “You must do as you will, Mr. Tully, but I’m not sure if you’ll like what you find.”

  Maybe not, thought Bruno, but that would be par for the course. He hadn’t found anything he liked for a very long time. At least, not once he’d really got to know it.

  “You may be right, but my mind is made up. You should go now, sir. Good luck to you.”

  Jacks gave a brief nod and retired to the Reaper without a backwards glance. Bruno watched the outer door close and that was that.

  Chuck looked up in surprise as Bruno appeared once more on the bridge of the Artemis.

  “Forget something?”

  “In a sense,” said Bruno, propping his rifle up against the captain’s chair and divesting himself of his helmet and battle armor. The chest plate made a dull thud as he dropped it to the floor. “I forgot who I was.”

  “You did what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Jacks and Fletcher have gone. What can I do to help?”

  “Help?” said Penny. “But why?”

  “I’m not sure… I guess us bastards just need to stick together.”

  * * *

  Larson spent an acutely uncomfortable hour in the narrow confines of the Reaper’s weapons pod. Once safely inside he’d shrugged himself out of the thruster pack and shoved it out of the way under the portside J&P primary laser casing. Losing the thrusters had given him a little more wriggle room but he was still stuck inside a cramped, claustrophobic space. Officially designated as a crawl space he was half sitting, half lying with his back wedged against the rotary cannon’s breech mechanism and his helmet scraping the metal plating above. Facing aft as he was, the hatchway leading to the Reaper proper was set in the roof just inches from his head. Next to the hatch was a small console, presently offline.

  The worst part was the waiting, during which time he’d allowed his mind to roam and ponder the various ways he might actually perish in here. Most obvious was the possibility of running out of air and dying of hypoxia. An alternative was the Reaper unexpectedly going to full engine power and with no inertial dampeners to cushion him he’d end up as little more than a red smear across the shield generator housing. Most troubling of all was the possibility that they might fire the weapons before he had a chance to vacate the compartment. The J&Ps pumped out high doses of radiation when discharged, high enough to fry every cell in his body. Not nice at all. He thought about pulling the breakers just in case but they’d soon notice that the weapons were off-line and then in all likelihood come down to find out why. Best just to sit tight.

  Then a small, red light appeared in the corner of the hatch console. It blinked three times and turned green.

  At last, he said to himself. We’re in business.

  “Bring the engines online, Mr. Fletcher. Let go the docking clamps and move us to a safe distance. Thrusters only.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said Fletcher working the controls. “And Tully?”

  “Corporal Tully has made his decision and must now bear the consequences.”

  “Understood. How long do they have?”

  “If they hold course, they will enter the planet’s upper atmosphere in a little over two hours. It should be quite a sight.”

  “Do we hold position?” asked Fletcher.

  “I should say so,” replied Jacks. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  * * *

  “The name is Bruno, by the way. Where do you want me?”

  “Try the sensors array,” said Chuck. “Have a look around and see if Jacks is still about.”

  “I’m on it,” said Bruno, sitting at a vacant work station.

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you picked a funny time to change sides.”

  “Yeah, well… I guess I’ve always had a problem with decision making. Story of my life. Never quite seemed to make the right choice at the right time.”

  “I don’t want to worry you, but I’d say your days of making poor decisions are pretty much over. Unless we can find some way of getting off this ship, that is. Got anything on the scanners?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Bruno, playing with the controls. “I can’t see anything but that doesn’t mean to say they aren’t out there. The Reaper has a pretty advanced ECM suite. They might just be jamming our sensors.”

  “Any way of telling if we’re being jammed?”

  “Not with the equipment at our disposal. The AI might have known, but I’m afraid I don’t. Sorry about that…”

  “But if they have gone, can’t we try and get a sub-space message out? The Temujin could be here in – I don’t know – minutes.”

  “Problem is that they can jam our transmissions just as easily. And how about if we did get a message out? The Temujin might arrive just in time to see Jacks riddling us from stem to stern.”

  “Not good,” said Penny.

  “No,” said Bruno. “Are you sure there isn’t enough fuel in the remaining power cell to light up the engines after we’re done with that comet?”

  “Maybe enough for a couple of squirts, but not nearly enough to get us into a stable orbit.”

  “And you say that the remaining escape pod is unserviceable?”

  “Not exactly,” said Chuck. “The pod itself is fine – it’s the launch mechanism. The dockyard screwed up with the installation. All the cables and hydraulics were installed back to front. The cables are… too… they’re all… they’re…”

  “What’s up?” said Penny as Chuck’s voice slowly trailed off, a faraway expression appearing on his face.

  “That’s it!” said Chuck, jerking to his feet, his eyes wide and shining. “That it! Damn! How could I have been so stupid…!? Oh, thank you, Criterion Shipyards!”

  “Thanks for what? Screwing up?”

  “No... well, yes! The cables! All we have to do is to replace Pod 2’s wiring.”

  “But you said we don’t
have the stuff to build a new set of cables.”

  “But we don’t need to! Don’t you see?”

  “Not really,” said Penny in bewilderment.

  “Pod 1 has gone, right? And Pod 2 is built the same as Pod 1.”

  “Yeah, so..? Oh!”

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” said Bruno.

  “The two pods are identical. We just need to cannibalize the parts we need from Pod 1’s launch tube…”

  “And patch them into Pod 2!” said Penny.

  “Oh, I see,” said Bruno, realization dawning. “But is there time?”

  “I don’t know. With your help, maybe yes. Will you help Penny to look after the laser? She’ll show you what to do. In the meantime I’ll get to work on the pod. How long do we have?”

  “Ninety minutes, maybe a little more,” said Penny.

  “With luck it will be enough,” said Chuck. “First we make sure the comet is safe. Then we send out a subspace message and abandon ship. Agreed?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Bruno.

  CHAPTER 21: The Right Stuff

  The Reaper

  Now that the power grid was online, the first thing on Larson’s agenda was to pressurize the compartment inside the weapons pod. There was a short tunnel between the Reaper’s inner and outer hull but he really needed to get out of the EVA suit before making his foray inside. The pod had its own pressure system and it was just a matter of cracking the valve and waiting. Eyes glued to the gauge, he fidgeted with impatience as the pressure slowly rose. Several minutes later – just about the longest of his life – he finally had a breathable atmosphere. Unlatching the helmet he broke the seal, swallowed a few times to equalize the pressure then quickly shrugged off his gloves and heavy magnetic boots. The suit proper unzipped automatically and Larson found himself floating around in his lightweight jumpsuit and stockinged feet. He clipped the pistol and flashlight to his belt and seconds later he was hauling himself from the confines of the weapons pod and into the space above.

  “Time?”

  “The laser has been operating for just under an hour,” said Fletcher from the tactical console. “I have to admit, I thought they’d cut and run.”

  “No,” said Jacks. “They’ll stay. I don’t think Poulson has the imagination to flee. In any case, I doubt if Ensign Parker would allow it.”

  “Pity about the ensign. She could have gone a long way.”

  “Possibly… though we are all the sum total of the decisions we make. She made a poor decision by staying on the Artemis. At least this way she will only forfeit her own life. Twenty years down the line a bad decision might cost the lives of an entire crew. This is but natural selection at work – a cruel and unforgiving process.”

  “It is indeed.”

  “I think we’ll bring the weapons online, Mr. Fletcher,” said Jacks. “I don’t imagine the Temujin will attempt to interfere but we may as well be prepared. Activate the electronic countermeasures and open the gun-ports.”

  Larson was still only halfway through the hatch when he heard a faint clicking noise behind him; it sounded an awful lot like a relay switching over. Any doubt was swiftly removed as the servos began to spin up and the weapons pod sprang into life.

  “Shit!” he said, frantically pulling himself into the space above and jamming his hand down on the ‘close door’ button. The hatch closed not a second too soon; another minute and his fears of meeting his maker inside the pod might well have been realized. But for now at least he was safe. Above him was a hatch that opened up into the galley at the rear of the crew section. Convenient, but it would be just his luck to stick his head out of the hatch while Jacks was opening up a can of beans. Not the ideal time to make an appearance…

  To his left was a smaller hatch that gave access to the crawlspace between the inner and outer hulls. The space ran almost the whole length of the ship and would give him far better options. His preferred exit point was towards the rear of the ship, in a corridor between the main hold and the fresh water tanks. Infrequently used at the best of times, it should provide him with the safest point of ingress.

  The going was cramped but easy – and surprisingly clean. Larson had often wondered if there were any roaches down here but as he rounded each corner he was presented by walls that looked as fresh as the day they’d been painted. In no time at all he found himself under the hatch adjacent to the water tanks. He unfastened the locks and eased the hatch gently upwards. Peering into the corridor he was greeted by the familiar smell of the Reaper – difficult to describe but impossible to forget. A unique combination of the synthetic materials used in her construction, the additives used by the air handling system and the inevitable odor of a ship manned by an all male crew. Perhaps it was the same with an all female crew. Who could say?

  Pulling himself into the corridor he closed the hatch and waited, listening intently. The only sounds he could hear were the gentle thrumming of the power generators aft. With his boots still in the weapons pod, Larson’s feet were clad only in a pair of heavy, insulated socks. If nothing else, the thick padding enabled him to creep silently up to the end of the walkway and peer tentatively around the corner. The corridor beyond ran the entire length cargo bay; long and open, it afforded nowhere to hide should someone happen to come wandering down the other way. When the time came, a better option was traversing the Reaper’s cargo bay itself. There were always a few containers of consumables on board so there would be at least something to dodge behind should he need it.

  Cracking open the door to the rear of the cargo bay he peeked inside; it was never completely dark – like every other hold it was always lit by the faint glow from the hazard lighting. He was surprised to find that the cargo bay was almost full, and even more surprised to see that the cargo consisted entirely of military hardware. Plasma rifles, plasma pistols, grenades of every description and even a couple of rocket launchers. If there was ever a chance to tool up, this was it.

  He briefly considered picking up one of the Mk7 plasma rifles but in the confines of the Reaper it seemed a little unwieldy. Instead, he replaced the small pistol on his belt for one of the much more capable XL50s. He stuck a spare power cell in his pocket and was ready to go. Well, almost. To his left there were several cases of grenades. The frags would be of little use but there were also several boxes of concussion grenades. Now those he could find a use for – ideal against soft targets and the worst they’d do to the Reaper was throw a couple of breakers. Opening up the box he clipped a couple of the grenades to his belt. It made him feel a lot safer – at least until he thought of the job at hand…

  According to Burns there were three on board; Jacks, Fletcher and another one – what was his name… Tully? Three to one. The element of surprise would even things up a little but his greatest ally must surely be the Reaper herself. She was his ship and if he couldn’t use his knowledge of her layout to his advantage he didn’t deserve to get her back. For a start, with a little ingenuity he could use her systems to find out exactly where his enemies were located.

  Retracing his footsteps, he left the cargo bay, turned down the side of the water tanks and headed towards the engineering compartments which housed the reactor room, the oxygen generators and all the other ancillary equipment. His goal was the transformer room which fed electrical power to all areas of the ship. Once inside, he searched the rows of junction boxes until he found one labeled ‘air handlers’. Pulling off the cover he gazed inside.

  Fresh, clean air circulated throughout the whole ship but the pumps only activated in areas that were inhabited; leave the cabin or compartment and the pumps feeding that particular space would automatically shut down. A long row of red lights indicated that the pumps in most areas of the ship were presently idle. The few flickering green lights told him where the pumps were active, namely the engineering compartments and the bridge. Unless Jacks or one of his cronies was about to tap him on the shoulder, his foes were all on the bridge. Not exactly
a surprise – it’s where you’d expect them to be at a time like this but it was reassuring to have confirmation.

  He took a last look at the readouts from the junction box, checked his pistol and then set off for the bridge.

  * * *

  Escape Pod 2 was little more than a small metal cylinder with a window at one end and a door at the other. Sitting inside its launch tube like a torpedo of old, it had but a rudimentary flight control system and was powered by a pair of reaction thrusters that had only two settings – either full power or off. Necessarily uncomplicated, it was designed with one aim in mind – to get the crew off quickly and efficiently.

  Chuck was presently ripping the inspection covers from the outside of the launch tube to expose the cables and pipe-work within. As the bolts fell from the last cover he pulled it free and hurled it down the corridor where it joined half a dozen others with a loud clang.

  At his feet lay a tangle of cables and wiring harnesses that he had already removed from the now empty Pod 1 launch tube. Every single one had been held in place by a whole regiment of screws, washers and retaining bolts, making the process frustratingly long. The good news was that he wouldn’t have to bother removing the cables and harnesses form Pod 2; he just had to unplug them from their sockets and leave them dangling while he plugged in the replacements.

  “How’s it going?” asked Penny over the com system.

  “On schedule,” said Chuck. “Well, maybe. How about your end?”

  “Not quite half way through the burn. Current deflection estimated at five degrees. We need another four or five to be safe. Bruno’s doing a good job of holding the focus but it’s getting harder to keep the beam on target as the range increases…”

  “That figures. Any sign of our friends?”

  “Not as yet. But no sign of Jacks either.”

  “OK,” said Chuck, wondering if it was good news or bad. “Keep me posted.”

  * * *

  Larson hurried back to the cargo bay and slipped inside, gently closing the door behind him. Traversing the thirty meter length of the hold he inched the forward door ajar and crept into the passage beyond. To his left were the galley, the ablutions and the stores. On the opposite side lay the crew quarters – the cabins where Barnes/Fletcher and Lenny had been billeted. The galley door was open and the lights extinguished; the doors to the crew cabins were closed.