“He’s actually got a fair bit to sell us,” Trace replied. “In exchange for his life.”
Erik reactivated coms. “Well have you learned anything, Lieutenant?” he asked Dale.
“Ah…” Long pause, as though also taking an off-mike break on the other end. “Quite a few things, yeah. His main point is that some things we’ve been offered aren’t as good quality as we’d been led to expect.”
He could have been talking about the missiles Lieutenant Karle was there to acquire. Erik was quite sure he wasn’t. “Not that surprising,” he conceded. “But one has to consider the messenger.”
“Yes, well I could say some other things. He insists it’s not his problem, it’s an institutional thing. Some institutions never change, no matter what they insist they’re now manufacturing.” Definitely not the missiles. “About those shipments, Lieutenant Karle tells me the first one is ready, we can even haul it on…”
The rest cut out in static. Erik frowned. “Hello Lieutenant Dale, can you hear me?” More static. Then a blinking display — lost signal.
“Hello LC, this is Phoenix,” Lieutenant Shilu cut in. “We’ve just lost local coms. All of them, I’m switching to hardlines now, we’re still getting station feed and station say there’s nothing wrong. But all the wavelength is gone, it’s like a main transmitter just blew.”
“Hang on,” Erik replied with concern. “But I can still talk to you.”
“And we’re a quarter-turn of the station apart, I know,” Shilu replied in frustration. “We’ve got a hardline connection, but if all wireless relays are out, we should be getting more interference. It’s like it’s selective or something.”
“Phoenix,” Trace cut in urgently. “Get me hardline coms to all Phoenix units on station, marines or otherwise — red alert, and get me immediate extraction back to Phoenix.” No reply from Shilu. “Phoenix? Phoenix do you copy?” Trace looked at Kono. “We’re moving, midships extraction now. You two tell the Captain, I’ve got the LC. Coms check?”
Kono tried his, and shook his head. “Nothing. Not even closer range — everyone will be moving on extraction.”
Trace nodded and beckoned to Erik, stomping off down the corridor as Kono and Rolonde headed back to the bridge. At the next intersection they ran into Corporal Rael and Private Kumar, already moving.
“Coms are out!” Rael announced, got the expected confirmation as Trace and Erik went straight past him, and followed behind. Not for the first time, Erik felt a surge of relief to see the competence of Phoenix crew in action — Trace’s marines didn’t need instructions to know what to do, when the coms failed they immediately moved on the extraction plan to get the LC out via Edmund Mundi midships. Likewise he didn’t need to worry if Lieutenant Shilu had received Trace’s last order — with coms out, Shahaim would order red alert as a matter of course, and begin full crew extraction back to Phoenix.
“This is a total coms blackout,” Trace said as they moved, cycling through channels. “I can’t reach Phoenix on anything. We’re being jammed.” And to some puzzled crew in passing, “Total coms blackout, consult your Captain, station may be under attack.”
“Phoenix can probably identify that source if it’s a ship,” Erik added, striding hard to keep up. “But Phoenix is stuck on station until the crew get off. We may have to use a shuttle.”
“If I were attacking this station or any ship attached to it, I wouldn’t jam from another ship because it will just be destroyed in a few minutes.” Combat vessels considered the deliberate jamming of coms as much a provocation as shooting, and Phoenix was not the only warship docked with station that could pinpoint the source and retaliate. “I’d do it internally within station. In which case we may have to go looking for it on foot.” And to the crew guarding the big airlock doors through to midships, “Excuse us, combat red alert, coming through.” As those crew kept out of their way.
“ETA on full crew extraction?” Erik asked as they ducked through the passage connecting what would be gravitational crew-quarters in flight, to the midships behind.
“Lieutenant Crozier reckoned eleven minutes thirty against an inbound minimum assault warning of twenty-two.” Meaning that most of the time they’d be responding to inbound attacking ships, against whom they’d need twenty-two minutes warning, in this system, against whom to make their escape. “If the threat’s inside the station already, that can complicate things. Kono, who was on shuttle standby?”
“PH-4,” said Kono as they emerged into midships, its open steel compartments broken by cargo nets and acceleration slings for use in the zero-G of regular flight. “Just hope Tif’s not taking a nap.”
“Don’t speak ill of crew unless they’ve earned it,” Trace reprimanded, climbing down a G-ladder toward Edmund Mundi’s single set of shuttle grapples. “Tif’s been a total professional so far, no mean feat for a civvie while raising a kid amongst an alien crew.”
Right about now, Erik thought as he followed Trace down, he could use another shuttle pilot. Their civvie shuttle AT-7 was available, but with no one full-time to fly it. With crew spread over the station, and PH-1 on away on a mission, two shuttles for rapid evac looked totally inadequate.
* * *
Lisbeth’s first clue that something was wrong came when Vijay frowned, excused himself from the table, and disappeared out the door. Carla stayed, eating at Lisbeth’s side as they talked with her Uncle Calvin. There was a small recorder balanced on a pack on the end of the table, to record their meal and conversation. It had been Calvin’s idea — to take this mealtime chat back to Lisbeth’s parents and sisters, so they could watch it later while having their own meal, and have the impression that Lisbeth was back home with them at the dinner table.
Lisbeth talked about her adventures, careful not to say anything that might cause trouble should the recording fall into the wrong hands. She hadn’t been in on many of those command decisions anyway, and her experience had been more like that of the regular crew — stuck in a small room, scared and ignorant and often under enormous Gs, and hoping that she wasn’t abruptly killed by some unseen threat that she could do nothing about… or worse, left crippled and drifting to die slowly from suffocation or fire.
But she didn’t talk much about that. Mostly she gave her impressions of the crew, and of Erik, and Tif, and her new friends in Engineering whom she helped out on a regular basis… not that that made her one of them, but as she joked with Uncle Calvin, she was now the most junior member of the Engineering crew, fit for little more than cleaning toilets, but thankfully unqualified for it. And she talked about Stanislav Romki and helping him with the hacksaw remains, much to her Uncle’s incredulity. The hacksaws were not a secret, Phoenix had volunteered that encounter to everyone at Heuron System. Probably her mother had heard about it already. She was careful to stress that the only time she’d seen hacksaws, they’d been in pieces from high caliber gunfire and high explosive.
Then Vijay returned to the room and turned off the recorder. “Coms are dead,” he said grimly. Immediately Carla got up, grabbing her rifle and helmet — the light marine armour that Major Thakur had allowed them as former-marines with the important task of guarding Lisbeth. Lisbeth and Uncle Calvin blinked at them both. “Hardlines and wireless, it’s like we’re being jammed. Phoenix will be on automatic red alert, that means full evacuation, we have to head back now.”
“Shit,” said Lisbeth, and noted Calvin’s look as she said it. She’d never used to swear — Mother didn’t like it. She got up, and hugged her Uncle as he rose. “I’m really sorry, I have to go.”
“Wait,” said Calvin to her bodyguards. “Shouldn’t you wait for a shuttle? Won’t Phoenix send one for Lisbeth? It could be dangerous on the dock.”
“We’ve got a vehicle,” said Carla. “And there’s a fully armoured marine section waiting with it.”
“Phoenix only has two shuttles operational,” Vijay added. “Only one will be on immediate standby, and that one will be going to get
Erik — he’s on that Worlder ship. The other one will take five minutes and we’ve no guarantee Lisbeth will be their priority.”
They left up the main corridor, past some concerned-looking crew talking or rushing to do things. Then out the main airlocks where two Alpha Platoon marines stood guard and onto the Berth 26 platform and down the ramp to the fat-tired vehicle. The two marines guarding it were staring up the dock. Traditional dock-level design on space stations made the ceilings at least three times the height of a regular station level. Joma Station’s dock level was five times the height, for a ceiling more than twelve meters up. Stations were enormous, and though Joma was small compared to the big human stations, a person could still see nearly two whole berths in either direction before the upward curve took all further berths out of view.
Dock level was also wide — Joma's was thirty meters wide, and largely uncluttered by the gardens, grass, benches or island platforms that more intricate designs incorporated. That wide expanse of decking plate was typically covered with many people and vehicles, any way one looked. As Lisbeth followed the marines’ gaze up past Berth 27, she could see a lot of people, mostly barabo. Some were running. Quite a lot were running, actually. Many looked frightened. Then came the screams.
She spun to Uncle Calvin. “Get back inside!” she yelled at him. “Tell your Captain undock and run, just do it!” As Vijay grabbed her and thrust her at the jeep, Lisbeth regaining control in time to insist upon the driver’s seat. She squeezed behind the wheel, the vehicle shaking as they piled on around her, then gunned the electric engine and left, wishing there were enough power to spin the wheels. Instead, she crawled steadily up to a miserly forty kph, most dock vehicles disabled from higher performance with all the pedestrians around. With six marines aboard, four in heavy armour, she was surprised they managed even this speed.
“Still no coms!” Lance Corporal Penn yelled. “No idea what’s going on, nothing’s working!” Penn was Charlie Second Squad’s newest section leader, and had volunteered to take Lisbeth to visit Uncle Calvin on Europa. He was a new volunteer off Europa, formerly a twelve-year sergeant, but had agreed to take the demotion to fill the holes Phoenix needed to fill.
“Lots of runners behind!” Private Herman added. “Holy shit, is that…?”
Then a harsh, metallic ‘baaarp!’ from somewhere behind, and an echoing rattle and howl of tearing metal.
“Chain gun!” yelled Private Ruiz.
“What the fuck’s doing that?” As they all shifted their position on the overcrowded vehicle to firing crouches, huge Koshaim rifles bristling out like an alarmed animal’s poisoned spines.
“Straight ahead Lisbeth,” Carla warned her from alongside, the big woman’s jaw set beneath her helmet. “If we come under fire, just keep going straight, these guys may need to dismount to support us but just keep going.”
More gunfire behind, a steady, thundering roar, punctuated by explosions. “That’s the froggies engaging!” Penn shouted. “Makimakala’s under fire, they’ll have karasai on the deck!” That was Berth 28, Lisbeth thought wildly, heart pounding and mouth dry as she watched the decking crawling by, the shopfronts on the right side turning slowly to empty construction. Makimakala was only two berths up from Europa. A tavalai combat carrier was nothing to mess with, yet whatever was attacking the station had engaged the other most deadly ship at dock.
Dock lights began flashing red, and a warning siren wailed. Workers in this section were shouting at each other, others running, others securing their gear. Suddenly Lisbeth’s ears exploded as marines opened fire — it was the first time she’d heard Koshaims at close range, and they were worse than jackhammers. Then a pause, and through the painful hush of her ringing ears, Lisbeth heard, “You fucking see that?”
“Hacksaw!” Private Ruiz yelled. “Definitely a hacksaw, holy shit!” And then Lisbeth was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Given recent events, that was saying something.
“You get it?” asked Penn.
“No,” said Ruiz, “it came out real fast then just fucking raced back up that corridor…”
Up ahead, beneath the curving ceiling, Lisbeth could see armoured marines on the dock, and spacers running from their accommodation block at full sprint to get up to Berth 18. Several of the marines saw them, pointed, and came running. Lisbeth nearly cried with relief. Then she saw the huge section seal this side of Berth 22 begin sliding down to cut them off.
“Guys!” she yelled in case they were all still looking behind. “Guys, section seal! We’re going to get cut off!”
“Just go,” Carla told her calmly. “Station must be depressurising somewhere, or else they figured they’re under attack and are closing off the dock. If we’re cut off we’ll leave the vehicle and go by the back corridors, just get as close as you can.”
“Go!” Herman was yelling at confused barabo workers as they passed. “Run! Get away from the dock! Damn it, how do you say hacksaw in Palapu?”
The huge steel wall was descending fast, bright LED lights illuminating its strike zone upon the deck, small flaps of plating elevating upward to keep traffic out so no one got flattened by the descent.
“Can’t make it!” Lisbeth announced, and steered them toward the furthest corridor entrance amidst the under-construction shopfronts. “Everyone get ready to get off!” At her side, Carla stood to wave at the marines running their way up the dock, still visible below the descending seal. She pointed right, into the corridors, and a distant marine gave a thumbs up, still running. Then the seal hid him from view, the entire deck shaking as it rumbled down amidst the howl of sirens.
Lisbeth pulled up alongside the corridor entrance just as the seal slammed down with an echoing boom! The jeep rocked as marines leaped off, Herman and Bernardino running ahead to the corridor while Carla and Vijay escorted Lisbeth, Penn and Ruiz guarding the rear. Several loud cracks and shweets of fast-moving projectiles snapped up the docks, and something hit a section wall to Lisbeth’s left with a bang! that made her jump for fright.
“What the hell was that?” she gasped as they ran into the half-completed corridor.
“Ricochets,” Vijay told her. “Big firefight up the docks, you get random rounds bouncing around the rim for kilometres until they meet a vertical surface.” The armoured marines ahead reached a T-junction, covering each other’s move about the corner with graceful precision, huge weapons levelled, then cut left as Lisbeth and her bodyguards approached. “Congratulations kid, you just got shot at.”
“Just fucking great,” Lisbeth said shakily, and turned left after the marines.
18
“Come on Tif,” Arime muttered, as they crouched by Edmund Mundi’s midships grapples, big exposed hydraulic arms preparing to catch the impact from below, and a central airlock on the floor. A civvie crewman was peering into the manual viewer to see below — with all coms down, no wireless transmissions were working, which blocked most external cameras. “Where the hell are you?”
“How do they block all wireless?” Rael muttered. “Most local systems can still cut through military grade jamming at some level.”
“Well I dunno about you,” Kumar added, “but my suit’s scanners are bouncy too.” That was what marines called it when their visor visuals started flickering and bouncing. “I’m even getting a radiation spike from somewhere, well above background normal.”
“Yeah, that’s not good,” said Rolonde, still pale. “Machines don’t mind radiation.”
Erik looked at her, then at Trace. “Let’s not jump at shadows,” Trace told them firmly. “With no coms we’ve no way of knowing what’s out there until we…”
“Contact up the ship!” yelled Kono from up the G-ladder, by the airlock leading to the crew cylinder. “I can hear something! Sounds like… shit, what is…” And they heard the echoing roar of chain gun fire, and a distant shriek that sounded like steel being cut.
“Dammit,” said Trace, and leaped for the G-ladder. “LC, you stay!”
“It’s inside the ship!” Terez was yelling from the other side of the airlock — his voice a tinny amplification as helmets sealed and marines turned up suit speakers to yell at each other.
“Told you,” said Rolonde at Erik’s side, as Erik double-checked his rifle while trying to keep his hands from shaking. This rifle could damage a powered-armour suit, though not badly, and the return fire would blow lightly-armoured soldiers in half. Against hacksaw drones, this thing would be more effective than spitting, but not much.
Somewhere out the airlock, Koshaims thundered, and Erik pushed the civvie crewman aside to stare at the outer grapples visual feed. “Sir what the hell is that?” the crewman asked in fear, wondering whether to run.
“Hacksaws,” said Erik.
“You’re kidding!” the crewman exclaimed. As though he’d declared them under attack by the bogeyman. More gunfire thundered, drowning out any conversation the marines might be having. Chain guns answered, then a shriek of cutting steel that vibrated straight through the deck. Erik had never heard anything like it before on a ship. As someone who valued the structural integrity of every vessel he boarded, it wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear.
“Does it sound like he’s kidding?” Rolonde told the crewman. Gunfire paused.
“… gone straight through the hull!” Erik heard someone shouting in the distance. “They’re cutting through!”
“Pressure suits!” Trace yelled, closer but still outside the airlocks. Several more civvie crew came sliding frantically down the G-ladder. “Jess, get the LC in a pressure suit!”
“Pressure suits!” Rolonde barked at the crewman, who pointed to a red and yellow striped emergency closet high on a walkway wall, easily accessible in zero-G but not at dock. “Fucking great.”
“Never mind!” Erik told her, as the outer camera’s view of a turning starfield was blocked by a dark shadow, looming close and coming closer. It resolved into an upper shuttle hatch, stencil letters and closing very fast. “PH-4 is here, everybody brace!”
Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) Page 23