Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2)

by Joel Shepherd

  “Well they haven’t jumped in ahead,” Shahaim observed. “Hard to believe they’d be more advanced than Phoenix.”

  “After what we just saw I’ll believe anything,” Erik replied. “Everyone stay alert, they could be coming in behind us any moment. I’m not dumping V for a while yet. Coms, contact station and tell them we’re coming in hot with hostile sard ships on our tail. Confirm with them that our intentions to station are entirely peaceful.”

  “Aye LC,” said Lieutenant Shilu from Coms.

  * * *

  Three hours later Phoenix command was crammed into the captain’s quarters, which was barely big enough for three people to gather, and became very tight indeed with five. Joma Station’s two security vessels were approaching fast, and Erik had instructed Lieutenant Draper to keep close eye on them — tavalai-model cruisers but barabo-crewed, they didn’t seem likely to prove a threat and their captains were courteous when contacted. Joma Station was less so, their Stationmaster decidedly displeased to see them… and of course, unable to do a damn thing about it.

  Erik had only just handed off to second-shift, wanting to be certain they were out of jump-entry range for any incoming threat, and that Kazak System itself had no further surprises lurking. He’d given them all fifteen minutes to shower and change, which was harder for some as delta bulkhead water mains had ruptured in the manoeuvres and taken local recycling systems with it. The Systems crew were taking apart several corridors to repair the break, with Warrant Officer Krish reporting it would take most of the run into station to fix, with everyone sharing bathrooms in the meantime.

  “Seems logical to me that Chonki was two separate ambushes,” said Shahaim, exhausted as they all were, sitting on Erik’s bunk alongside Kaspowitz and the nervous Second Lieutenant Karle. Erik sat on his little desk-side chair, and Trace leaned against a wall, insisting that marines didn’t need a seat. All were either eating, or just finishing a meal, save for Trace who had already finished her food having less to do after jump than the bridge crew. “The first bunch knew exactly where we’d emerge, it’s easier to guess in a transit system like Chonki where nearly everyone is turning toward Kazak… though they still got lucky. And still couldn’t finish us, so I’d guess they were poorly informed about the threat we’d pose.”

  “Which suggests they don’t have much contact with humans,” Kaspowitz added. “Human freelancers or mercenaries would know exactly who we are.”

  Shahaim nodded. “Their tactics appear to rule out sard, their coordination was nowhere near sard standard and lacked their numerical fetish. Tavalai don’t do mercenary stuff…”

  “Much,” Kaspowitz warned.

  “…and neither do barabo.”

  “Much.”

  Shahaim gave him the tired look of a mother in no mood to bother with unruly kids. Fortunately for Kaspowitz, Suli Shahaim was one of the most patient people Erik had ever known. “The ship layout didn’t seem to have the heavy-gravity rotation we’d expect with kaal, so anyone’s guess is as good as mine as to who they were.”

  “There are Fleet reports of mixed-species freelancers out this way,” Erik told them. “The weakness of the barabo military creates a vacuum that freelancers move in to fill. The word is that a lot are outside human-sphere.”

  Glances among the officers. The human-sphere was shorthand for those alien species whose space directly adjoined human space. In the past hundred and sixty years of wartime expansion, human space had increased quite a bit, and human-sphere aliens now included chah’nas, tavalai, kuhsi, alo, sard and kaal. Barabo were right on the fringe and only now being added to that list, and krim had once been on the list, before humans had removed them from all lists, for good. Hacksaws, of course, didn’t quite count as a ‘species’, and were not extinct despite everyone’s best efforts, and also lacked a contiguous region of space.

  “On review, their ambush was competently executed,” Shahaim continued. “But they failed to allow for Phoenix’s power and mobility, and got their spacing too tight… which is always the temptation in an ambush against a larger vessel — to concentrate firepower. Which our intrepid commander immediately recognised, of course, and quickly killed one in busting out of their crossfire, forcing the others into a parallel pursuit which is always bad news against the combined firepower and mobility of a combat carrier, and allowed the LC to isolate the second target and put him into a one-on-one contest that he was always going to lose.”

  “Hell yeah,” Kaspowitz affirmed, to nods and general approval from the others. “And some sterling work from Mr Karle and Ms Harris on guns.” With a whack on Karle’s arm, which pleased the young man.

  Erik did not join the enthusiasm. His hesitation at the near-boarding of the wrecked ship had nearly gotten Phoenix and everyone aboard her killed, and he was in no mood for backslapping. No one else seemed to see it that way, but Erik knew what he’d done, even if they did not. Only Trace seemed to notice his mood, watching him sombrely.

  “Which brings us to the sard,” Shahaim continued. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Their tech is never that good, as we know, and tavalai don’t share their best stuff with them.”

  “Those ships were better than anything the tavalai have,” Erik said grimly. “Either they stole them, or they bought them, or were gifted them… whatever. They came from somewhere else. Who else makes ships as good as Phoenix?”

  “Sard aren’t alone in other people giving them technology,” Kaspowitz cautioned. Meaning humans, of course, as Phoenix was alo-tech.

  “Sure,” said Erik. “But we were only behind in the technology because we were so new in space. When the krim hit us, humanity was barely beyond the pressurised bathtubs of the early space age. But we internalised every technology given to us, we even started taking some of it in new directions that its inventors hadn’t thought of. I mean, humans went faster-than-light on our own. Not many species in the Spiral did that, most had it given to them by someone else. Sard in particular.”

  “Weird that a species so good at maths is so dumb with tech,” Trace pondered.

  “Maths isn’t science,” said Kaspowitz. “Science is a cultural institution of asking questions and using reason and experiments to challenge established norms. Sard are a hive mind, they’re internally uncompetitive, they don’t ask questions or get into debates, they just harmonise. It doesn’t produce great tech.” Trace nodded thoughtfully, no doubt thinking about that cicada-shriek in the cargo bay where they’d found Randal Connor.

  “Anyhow,” said Erik, “it doesn’t matter how the sard got those ships. Or it doesn’t matter to our immediate situation. My guess is that the first ambush at Chonki were mercenaries, probably employed by Fleet Command, since Chankow and Co are having such trouble killing us themselves. The sard probably saw that ambush being set up, and came in quietly to stand off nearby and pick up the pieces. Why they came after us, I don’t know, and even our resident genius alien expert hasn’t a clue.”

  “Do sard need a reason?” Trace wondered.

  “Our main takeaway is that lots of people are trying to kill us,” Erik continued. “So what’s new?” Dry smiles from the group. “Now, there’s a few interesting ships on Joma Station. Europa is a Regelda Freightliners vessel, that’s of course a Debogande Incorporated company, or sixty percent owned by DI anyway.” Everyone nodded. Regelda Freightliners was well known to all Spacers. In any busy human system their ships would be ubiquitous on scan or station docking lists. “Station lists say she arrived fifteen standard days ago, which is a very long stay for a commercial freighter. We’ve also got no record of DI trading ties to anyone in Kazak, or regularly passing through Kazak… though I’ll admit our records are sketchy. Lisbeth agrees that she can’t think of any family interests here.”

  “Looks like she’s waiting for us,” Shahaim surmised. “Or for you, more precisely.”

  “Or better yet, for Lisbeth,” Erik added. Oh good god he hoped that Europa would check out as ultra-reliable, so he c
ould put Lisbeth on board and kiss her goodbye. He’d miss her terribly, their time together on Phoenix had reminded him of just how proud he was to have her for a sister, but that last action had nearly gotten all of them killed. He could not protect Lisbeth out here, not even with all of this huge warship’s firepower and technology. Having the lives of everyone on Phoenix at the mercy of his mistakes was bad enough without having her here as well. “Also at dock we’ve got… what’s the Heuron-registered ship?” He clicked his fingers at Shahaim.

  “Edmund Shandi,” said Shahaim. “Shandi was a founding father of the human settlements on Apilai. She’s registered to a Heuron Starfreight, which was heavily Worlder-owned before the ordinances. Don’t know what’s happened to it now.”

  Erik nodded. “Right. So a Worlder civvie ship. She got here five standard days ago… now we lost about six real-time days on our little detour, but aside from us all being six days younger on this date than we would have been, I don’t think we’ve lost much.”

  “That’s it?” Trace asked with concern. “We did all that advertising to everyone to come to Joma Station, and we only get two ships?”

  “So far,” Erik cautioned her. He could not deny it was disappointing. He could see it on Trace’s face — rare for her, to let those feelings show. This was the Captain’s legacy at stake, and she took it personally. “Remember it’s dangerous to come out here. Fleet doesn’t like it, for one thing. And Randal Connor got Grappler to come out to Tuki Station, and look what happened to them.”

  “We still don’t actually know who was on Grappler,” Shahaim reminded them. “Aside from the long-term registered crew, but we’ve no idea about passengers. Connor said it was senior Worlders. Maybe someone at Joma Station can tell us.”

  “Right,” Erik agreed. “Everyone knew we were coming here. But getting here early could be real dangerous, given everything else that’s going on. Much safer to arrive late, and be sure Phoenix is already here, to give them some protection. And look — sure enough, we did get here late, thanks to our little sard encounter. Anyone who got here on our advertised date would have been ahead of us, and exposed. The others will be along in due time.”

  Trace looked somewhat mollified at that, but still unusually anxious.

  “Be nice if they did actually turn up,” Kaspowitz murmured. “Given what we went through to get here.”

  “We all knew the risk,” Erik told him sternly. “We all discussed what might happen. We all signed off on it. You too, Kaspo.”

  “I know that,” Kaspowitz said evenly. “But if we have to do it again, and tell everyone we’re going to some new destination to do more diplomacy, then given what’s now chasing us we’d probably not survive it…”

  “LC’s right Kaspo,” Trace cut him off. “You agreed, and pointing out the obvious now seems like needless point scoring. Leave it alone.”

  Kaspowitz took a deep breath, and said no more. Knowing Trace so well meant knowing when to cut your losses.

  “So what we’re going to do here is much the same as we did at Tuki Station,” Erik continued. “We’re going to dock at the rim and set up a station rim presence. Lieutenant Shilu will be in charge of accommodation, he’ll be coordinating with Major Thakur as to exactly what’s needed and what station will give. Lieutenant Shahaim will be in charge of the money — spend it wisely please.”

  “I’m the only one who would,” Shahaim said wryly, with an accusing look at Kaspowitz.

  The Navigation Officer smiled. “No special requests Suli?”

  “None.”

  “Now,” Erik continued, “Second Lieutenant Karle will be responsible for finding us some more ammunition.” As understanding dawned upon the young man’s face. It was Karle’s first command meeting that Erik could recall, typically only the very highest officers were called. Karle had been second-shift prior to all this mess, but Lieutenant Paulson from first-shift hadn’t come up from Homeworld to meet them. Thus Karle was even more a stranger to first-shift than Erik was. “So, Rhea is a very large multiple-moon system, there are some quite sophisticated-looking fabrication plants on and around a few of them, and even a small shipbuilder out near the fifth moon, I forget what it’s called…”

  “Dada,” said Kaspowitz.

  “Thank you.”

  “Barabo names are easy to remember,” Kaspowitz added. “Dada, Papa, Gigi, Poopoo.”

  “You made that last one up,” Shahaim accused him.

  “I might have.”

  “And I want you to contact each of them,” Erik continued still without humour, “and find out if anyone can fabricate what we need.”

  “Yessir,” said Karle, nodding as he thought about it. “Sir, our armaments are kind of secret, or at least the specifications are…”

  “We only want ammunition. The ammo’s not secret, we’ve fired enough of it in the war to make a small moon. Plenty of specimens for study and reverse engineering, not all of them detonate.”

  “But viper rounds always detonate sir,” Karle persisted.

  “Not always,” Erik said firmly. “You think Fleet will punish us if we share those tech specifications with aliens? Maybe declare us a renegade vessel and try to kill us?”

  Karle fought back a nervous smile as he grasped the point. “Um, yeah. I get it. I’ll tell them.”

  “Vipers aren’t even the best missiles in service,” Shahaim added. “Tavalai use better. And we don’t need the guidance heads, we can do them ourselves. Just hull, engines and warheads.”

  “You think private companies out here will sell us warheads?” Karle wondered.

  Erik forced an encouraging smile. “Ask nicely. We’re still in barabo space, a smile and a drink goes a long way.”

  12

  Two hours from dock, and Lisbeth was doing Skah’s maths lesson. She took it in the quarters she shared with Major Thakur, a necessity because Skah was easily distracted. Even now she had to flick his ear to stop him playing with a stylus, and concentrate on the puzzles she’d set him. Today it was simple multiplication, about what she figured a human child would be doing at the same age. Skah was plenty smart, but like a lot of little human boys would much rather have been running around with the marines and watching preparations for dock.

  The Major interrupted them by entering with a meal, and sat on Lisbeth’s lower bunk to eat it. “Najor Thakur!” Skah announced brightly.

  “Hi Furball,” said the Major with affection. “What are you learning?”

  “Naths.” With a kuhsi’s sharp teeth, ‘m’ was a problem. ‘L’ wasn’t much better.

  “Do you like maths?”

  Skah shook his head, big ears flapping. “Boring.”

  “Oh come on,” Lisbeth scolded. “Maths isn’t that boring. You’re very good at it.”

  “I know,” he said. “Stiw boring.”

  “Your Mommy’s very good at maths,” the Major told him around a mouthful of noodles. “She has to be good at maths because she’s a pilot. Would you like to be a pilot one day?” Skah nodded enthusiastically — he’d learned that gesture around humans, but his mother had to force it. “Then you need to study your maths, and you need to listen to Lisbeth. Is Lisbeth a good teacher?”

  Another enthusiastic nod. “I rike Risbeth. Risbeth good teacha.”

  Lisbeth laughed, and ruffled his ears. “Thank you Skah, I like you too.”

  “Not Skah!” Skah insisted crossly. “Furbaw.”

  “Come on then Furball,” said the Major. “Tell me your times tables. Do you know your fives?”

  He was onto his seven-times-tables — and considerably more focused when performing for the Major, Lisbeth noted — when his mother entered in her blue pressure jumpsuit, pilot’s helmet under one arm. She went to Skah and put an arm around him, asking rapid questions in their native tongue, with many guttural coughs and growls, looking at his maths-work. Skah answered reluctantly, the very picture of a boy being told to be good and work hard even if he didn’t want to. The two humans smiled
as they watched. And smiled more broadly still when Tif licked her hand to plaster down some unruly fur, while Skah squirmed in discomfort.

  “Tif,” the Major asked her. “You go flying?” Indicating the flight suit.

  “No,” said Tif. “Pre-per…no. Pre-par-a-tion.” And smiled, pleased she’d gotten it right. Tif’s health was as improved in the past few weeks as her son’s, her scratches and scars now fading beneath a healthy sheen of tawny-brown fur. Lisbeth thought she was quite gorgeous, with big golden eyes and dark highlights. Lithe and quick, she was a shade shorter than the Major, and moved with the fluid grace of a dancer. “Ship dock, we sit shuttew cockpit. Watch systen. Naybe quick go, if probren.”

  “Yes, good idea,” the Major agreed. Lisbeth thought that must be procedure for all combat shuttles, docking at a station they weren’t sure was safe. But then, Tif was not a regular combat shuttle pilot — was not even military, in fact. Utilising her in military procedures was surely an issue.

  “Najor, rook,” said Tif, and bared her teeth. Usually when Kuhsi did that at you, it was bad news, but not this time. One of Tif’s two big incisors had been missing since they’d recovered her from chah’nas custody. Now it was back, sharp and white, to make a full carnivorous grin.

  “Prosthetic!” said the Major. “Doc Suelo does good work, yes?”

  “Good work yes,” Tif agreed, and showed Lisbeth. “Nissing tooth bad for kuhsi. Rook bad. Kuhsi wonan with no teeth, no good.”

  Lisbeth nodded — it made sense, given the size of them. For a young kuhsi woman to lose her teeth would be like a young human woman losing her hair. “Excellent Tif! You must feel normal again.”

  Tif nodded vigorously. “Thank you. Thank awr Phoenix. And for ny boy. Snaw trobuw, yes?” Ruffling Skah’s ears. She looked emotional.

  “No trouble at all, Tif,” Lisbeth told her. “Everyone loves Skah. He’s part of the crew.”