“And?” asked Summers.
“There was only one hold, and I’m sorry to report to you that it was empty.”
“It couldn’t have been empty,” said Nimoux, unable to resist speaking up. “We know they picked up at least one weapon; we saw them bring it aboard their ship.”
“That’s just what I was getting to, Captain,” said Pellew. “The hold was utterly empty except for the one weapon.”
“Damn…” said Summers. And a kind of fiery, determined hope which had been glowing in her eyes since they’d begun their chase of Zander puffed out in an instant. “So we haven’t ended the isotome threat once and for all.”
“Sadly, no,” said Pellew. “And what’s worse, we did find evidence the entire complement of isotome weapons had been in the hold recently. Which means it’s already been handed off to the Rahajiim by now, or worse.”
Summers dropped her head into her hands, no doubt taking this news as a personal failure. After all, she’d been charged with finding and destroying those weapons before they fell into the hands of an enemy who was likely to use them and now, by all accounts, assuming Pellew was telling the truth, it was too late.
“What have I done…” mumbled Summers, in an unusual loss of self-composure. Nimoux felt the instinct to go to her, to try to comfort her and convince her that this hadn’t been her fault. She’d acted as expediently and diligently as she possibly could have, given the information she knew. But now, unfortunately, was not the time for such emotional condolences.
“So then, what did you do with the solitary isotome missile inside the cargo hold?” asked Nimoux. Picking up where Summers should have.
Pellew looked nervous for a moment. It was almost nothing, a mere flash of a second, a quick glance to the side, and then it was gone. And he was able to answer the question with full confidence, even managing to look Nimoux in the eyes, no doubt picking up on the fact that he was being challenged. “We destroyed the weapon, of course,” said Pellew. “That was the whole reason we went over there. Well; mission accomplished.”
“I see,” said Nimoux, rising to his feet. “Then please explain to me, why is the Nighthawk’s mass now over two-hundred kilograms more than it was before your mission began?” This caused heads to look back at Pellew curiously. Even Summers lifted her head and seemed confused.
“Computer’s margin of error,” said Pellew with a shrug.
Nimoux shook his head. “Nice try, but wrong. You probably don’t know this, but the instruments are much more pinpoint accurate than that. So there can only be one explanation: you brought something back with you. Something about the weight of a small missile…”
Summers glared at Pellew. “You didn’t…”
Pellew’s face went red and, not being a trained Intel Wing operative, apparently was fast running out of lies. “All right, all right, you got me,” said Pellew. “We brought the missile aboard the ship, but only the debris of it! It’s still destroyed, just like I promised. I only kept the refuse and broken parts because I thought they’d be useful for study by Intel Wing.”
Nimoux raised an eyebrow, highly doubting this. “And where did you store this missile debris?”
“It’s in the auxiliary analysis lab on deck four,” admitted Pellew. “Being analyzed.”
“Why would you withhold this information from us?” demanded Summers. She too was standing up, her face red with anger.
“Believe it or not, Commander, I thought you would not approve.”
“You’re damned right I don’t approve,” she said.
“Well then, lucky for me I’m not under your chain of command,” said Pellew. “I unilaterally brought the destroyed ruins of the missile aboard the ship because of its potential strategic value. As the commander of the ship’s defense force, that is my right.”
“But the analysts in that lab, and the lab itself, belong to my chain of command,” said Summers, fuming. “And I will not have them wasting their resources studying a weapon whose secrets are best lost to the ages. The sooner they’re forgotten, the better.”
“Well this is all a very moot point,” said Pellew. “Since the scraps of the missile, upon first examination, have proven to be utterly worthless. I’ll happily get rid of it whenever we make our next stop.”
“Yes, you will,” said Summers. “I’ll personally see to it that it happens.”
Pellew shrugged. “You’ll get no argument from me. Hell, you can carry all that rubbish off the ship with your own two hands for all I care.” He glanced at each of the soldiers on his flanks. “Tell her how heavy that stuff was; we’d love your help moving that crap out of here. We wish we’d never brought it aboard.”
“Yes, what he said,” said one of the soldiers. The other merely nodded.
Nimoux had had enough of this charade. “Lt. Winters,” said Nimoux, getting the attention of the ship’s pilot who had, until then, been seeming to enjoy watching the conflict escalate between Summers and Pellew.
“Yes, Captain,” she said, immediately alert.
“Please contact the auxiliary lab on deck four. Ask them to confirm they have possession of missile debris and that they’ve conducted an initial analysis of the components.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and she tapped a few buttons, then adjusted her headset microphone.
***
“Wait,” said Pellew, “Sarah, Nimoux, Summers, everyone, just cool it for one second!” Obviously this situation was unraveling fast, all because of that damned Lafayette Nimoux. I should have left his ass to rot on that prison world, thought Pellew. Now all the thanks I get for the rescue is him being a total thorn in my side. Pellew honestly didn’t know what had caused the Intel Wing captain, who until recently had been their enemy, to get such a large stick up his ass in regards to Pellew. Probably he was butt-hurt over all the bald jokes Pellew had made.
“All right, I’m going to come clean with you all,” said Pellew, easily and gently. “Now just promise me everybody is going to stay calm.” Before they could reply, or argue further, he continued. “I did bring the isotome weapon aboard this ship and it is in the auxiliary lab on deck four, intact and able to fire.”
“I cannot believe you,” said Summers, looking like she wanted to hit him.
“Now what’d I say? I said easy,” Pellew reminded them. “Now, what’s done is done. Before we go and do anything rash, let’s think this through like adults.”
“Like adults?” asked Nimoux, looking a little too smug for Pellew’s liking.
“Yes, like grown-ups. Like calm, rational, thinking people who don’t rush into rash action,” said Pellew. “Now, hear me out. We thought when we got to Zander we’d be able to get rid of all the isotome weapons. If we had, we could've destroyed them all and leveled the playing field for everyone. But we did not. Clearly, he’d already given away the others, fourteen of them, in case you’ve forgotten, to someone else. Now, my money says that someone else is the Rahajiim. If not them then the Republican navy, not that there’s much of a difference between them at this point. Now, if you know your enemy has a gun pointed at your head, and not just one gun but fourteen of them, don’t you want to have a gun pointed back at him?”
Pellew knew he had a point. And, for the briefest instant, he thought he just might have won them over. After all, it was one thing when he’d argued for the Empire to be the possessor of the only isotome weapons, Summers and Nimoux hadn’t believed that, under such circumstances, there was a frightening enough threat to warrant needing such destructive weapons. The bastards had been wrong, of course, Pellew knew that for sure. But at least, in their little worlds, getting rid of the isotome weapons had made a kind of sense under those conditions.
But now, now the game had changed. The threat was real, and far more pronounced. In fact, it was almost unspeakably dangerous. A real life, known, vicious enemy, in possession of fourteen isotome weapons, who has every motive and ability to use them against the Empire; it was small comfort to have an isotom
e weapon of their own they could use in an effort to deter Rotham aggression. That solitary isotome weapon might not even be enough to intimidate the Rotham, but at least it had a chance! Without it, they had nothing. They would be morons showing up to a gun fight with scissors and crayons by comparison.
Unfortunately, after a shared look between Summers and Nimoux, Pellew knew he'd lost them. They still rejected the obvious wisdom of his argument.
“The weapon has to be destroyed,” said Summers. “It’s the only decent thing to do.”
“Oh, come now, haven’t you listened to a single word I’ve said?” asked Pellew.
“We have, very much so,” said Nimoux. “But the simple fact is we have a chance to destroy a weapon that, if we don’t, will very likely be used against an entire star system. Maybe that star system won’t be a human system, I don’t know. But what I do know is this, whether it’s a Polarian system, a Rotham system, or a human system, there will be billions of innocent lives there, lives which will be horrendously wiped out as their own star destroys them. Slowly enough that they will see it coming, they will know their terrible fate, but fast enough that none will be able to escape. And when that does happen, the blood will be on our hands, mine and yours, because we could have prevented it, here and now, and we chose not to.”
Well, I tried my best, thought Pellew, feeling regret that Summers and Nimoux were too stupid to see reason and they’d have to do this the hard way. He checked his watch and saw that he’d stalled them nearly long enough; only a few seconds remained.
“Very well then,” said Pellew, slowly. Counting down the seconds in his head. “If I can’t convince you, then I can’t convince you. You win. But you really might want to move the ship,” he gave Sarah an enigmatic smile. “Hurry up, love; do it. Fire all thrusters and hard to starboard, now!”
She looked confused. They all did. But in a minute, all would be clear. Pellew glanced at his soldiers subtly, one then the other. And then, like clockwork, a dozen alarms began sounding on the Bridge.
“Warning Explosion! Proximity alert!”
Everybody dove for the many controls to see what was going on. Out the window the forward section of the Duchess could be seen exploding, throwing debris every which way, including toward the Nighthawk. A piece of it slammed into the ship’s armor. Next, the mid-section of the Duchess began to go up, all following the length of charges ODB had set leading from bow to stern.
Sarah wrestled with the controls to detach the Nighthawk fast enough, as Pellew knew she would, and she even followed his advice and fired the thrusters at maximum, jamming the stick to yaw starboard as hard as she could. Summers meanwhile began barking orders at Mr. Roy, ordering the shields raised and for their weapons to target any incoming debris. He began heating the guns and firing, just as she commanded.
With the Bridge crew distracted, busily saving the ship, it was time to put his plan into action.
***
Nimoux had been as startled as the others when the alarms started going, and he’d thought they were goners when the debris had slammed into the ship. Then he realized the Duchess, to which they were still attached, wasn’t exploding all at once, but rather coming apart in sequences, conveniently designed to give them enough time to break away and escape.
This is your work, he thought as he looked at Pellew. And, Nimoux was quite sure, he had an inkling regarding what was about to happen. And so while Sarah dove for the flight controls and Summers and Mr. Roy did what they could from the defense panel, each trying to save the ship, Nimoux knew better than to dive for the Ops console and try to do what little good he could from there. No, he needed to be near the rear of the Bridge, where Pellew and his henchmen were. And so, not wanting to look suspicious, Nimoux rushed for the flight controls too, making sure to arrive after Sarah did, so that she would be the one to actually pilot them out of this mess. This maneuver, however, did manage to get him significantly closer to Pellew and his men, and did so without raising any suspicion from them. After all, it had been perfectly logical for the Ops officer to rush for the flight controls, the Ops console couldn’t help in such an emergency and, should the pilot fail to get to the yoke, at least somebody would be there.
Nimoux kept a subtle eye on Pellew and his men, sizing them up and examining their weapons. Nimoux himself was unarmed, but he had the benefit of many years of combat training and had spent significant years as successful commander within Special Forces, long enough to have developed a sense of tactical awareness and to know that anything can be a weapon.
Sure enough, Pellew raised a hand, giving a signal, and his soldiers began to draw their weapons. As they did, Nimoux leapt forward and charged one of them headlong, taking the man at the waist and crashing him against the rear wall. His head clapped against the metal bulkhead and he dropped to the ground, either unconscious or dead. As the soldier slid downward, Nimoux grabbed the man’s stunner from its sheath and turned to face his other enemies.
By now, the ship had been moved safely away from the exploding Duchess, but Pellew and his other soldier were making quick work of the poor bridge crew. Summers stood, hands raised, in a position of basic defense, facing off against Pellew, who looked amused. He held a stunner in his hand, and at his side was holstered a handgun. Crumpled on the ground was Mr. Roy, who, it seemed, had taken one severe hit to the head with a stunner. Nimoux doubted the man was dead, but he certainly wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. As for Sarah, she’d been wrestled to the ground by the other soldier, who stood on her hair and seemed about to swing his stunner down upon her head with full force.
Nimoux threw his stunner with all his strength and it took the other soldier squarely in the face, breaking his nose with blunt force and stunning him with electricity in the process. He dropped his own stunner and reeled backwards, but somehow managed to keep his feet. Nimoux charged him, before he could recover, and sent a swift, flat-fisted punch into the man’s face, worsening the injury to his nose. Nimoux punched again, this time more forcefully, and the hit had the desired effect of ramming the man’s nasal bone up and into his brain, killing him where he stood.
With Sarah out of danger, Nimoux turned his attention to Summers, ready to take on Pellew himself, although not quite sure how. He bent down and picked up one of the fallen stunners and then stood to face his adversary. Unfortunately, by the time he stood, Pellew had managed to draw his handgun and had gotten the best of Summers. He held her tightly with one arm securely around her, hand positioned to apply intense pressure as needed should she resist. With his other hand he held the handgun against her temple. It was clear Summers was in no position to do anything about it.
“You’re more dangerous than I ever thought,” said Pellew, his tone was more amused than angry, despite the loss of two of his men, and when he spoke to Nimoux like one would expect an old rival to speak to another, it made Nimoux uncomfortable. “But seriously, drop the stunner and put your hands on your head!”
Nimoux hesitated just for a second.
“I’m serious, I’ll kill her, right here and right now. Then I’ll kill all the rest of you.” There was a craziness in Pellew’s eyes. The fire of a man who didn’t idly threaten violence. Nimoux knew what it was when he saw it; he’d seen it before. So, with no other choice, he immediately dropped the stunner and put his hands on his head. As he did, Summers tried to say something, most likely something self-sacrificial and how Nimoux should keep fighting, but Nimoux never got the chance the find out because Pellew applied forceful pressure to her, shutting her up with a squeal.
“That’s better,” said Pellew.
And then, to both of their surprise, Summers tried to speak again. This time her words a bit clearer, “Don’t give i—” she screamed and was silenced again. Yet Nimoux could only think of how noble Summers was, with a gun pressed against her own head by a violent madman who continued to injure her every time she spoke, and yet she continued to fight him in the only way she knew how, by trying to ral
ly Nimoux.
Well if she can continue to fight him, then so can I, thought Nimoux. He knew better than to charge Pellew, or make any kind of ostensibly aggressive move against him. If he did, the man would likely panic and send a nine-millimeter bullet into Summers’ beautiful head. No, Nimoux had to do something different. Something that could still stop the isotome weapon. That was the real objective, one they’d already agreed they would die for, if necessary.
Nimoux waited in place, hands on his head, as he considered his next move. As he did, Pellew moved away from the defense post and toward the command position, dragging Summers with him. Nimoux took advantage of that and, in a display of keeping his distance from Pellew, walked around the flight control and over to the Ops console, where he still stood with his hands in the air, apparently in the act of surrender.
Pellew tapped the intercom which broadcast throughout the ship and sent a message. As he did, Nimoux sprang to action, hurriedly activating the Ops controls and began disabling various safety protocols. He wasn’t able to enable the ship’s self-destruct by himself, assuming Calvin had even left such a system in place, but there were other ways to put a ship in danger. By disabling the safety protocols involved with alteredspace jumping and encouraging the computers to prefer burning the coils at the hottest possible temperatures, it was kind of a backdoor self-destruct which, upon jump into alteredspace, would take them all out. But, most importantly, would destroy the isotome weapon. It wouldn’t be as good as ridding the galaxy of all fifteen isotome weapons, not by a long shot, but it was better that one small ship with a reduced crew go out than the many billions of lives which would be lost should the weapon be used for its intended purpose.
***
The Phoenix Darkness Page 17