Tyche's Deceit

by Richard Parry

  “My good girl,” said Hope, but there wasn’t anyone to hear her. And besides, it was too loud for anyone to hear anything, even if you were yelling right in their ear. But Hope said it anyway.

  Back to the holo. The Tyche drew lines, brief and bright, between the fighters as their computers coordinated attack runs, firing solutions, trying to make a mark on a ship that should have been too damn big and too damn slow to avoid them. Those lines reached up — huh. Up, hey? So, they were coordinating with someone in orbit. Someone up there who was pulling the strings like a puppet master, making the fighters leap and dance around. Not Republic command like a building or a person, but like a command vessel.

  Which brought us to second: the command vessel. It was big. A destroyer, something of the size of the Gladiator. This one was holding in geosynch hundreds of kilometers above them, watching all, seeing all. Pointing out to the fighters what they were fighting, where they should be going. Or that’s what Hope would have been doing, if she was on that ship. It was time to pretend like she was.

  So, third: crypto, crypto, crypto. The comm net was locked up tight, milspec tech keeping prying eyes out. Wouldn’t do to have wartime comms intercepted by the enemy. No sir. Getting your hands on a set of keys was a tricky proposition. Hacking that comm net without keys would take more time than was left to run in the universe, and more time than Hope had. It was good planning on her part — back to the planning thing, right? — that she had a set of keys. A Republic intelligence officer had been aboard their ship, using codes to unlock the Gladiator’s secrets. And because he’d been using the Tyche’s comm array to do his thing, Hope had done her thing and just nabbed a copy of those codes. Didn’t hurt no one, and right now it would help some. Good planning was one thing, but they’d need luck. No knowing whether the Republic had rejigged the comm codes. No knowing whether they had figured a breach in their net. The cap, he’d been careful — firing the Gladiator like a nuclear spear into the heart of an Ezeroc ship, leaving no inconvenient evidence behind. Careful, and lucky.

  The comm net chirped, thought about things a little, then let Hope inside. The holo filled with more data than before. Ship names, transponder codes unlocked like the secrets of the universe. The command ship was the Torrington — now there’s a familiar name. No wonder she could get into the comm net so easy. It was plain lucky that the ship that Karkoski was on happened to be leading the efforts to bring the Tyche down. Firing solutions visible to Hope, the holo packed with more data than she knew what to do with. She wasn’t an expert on any of the military side of things, just saw a net closing tighter and tighter around the Tyche. Sooner or later, it wouldn’t be luck that holed the Tyche. It’d be plain math.

  Which brings us to the fourth thing: let’s pretend. She brought online her vocoder program. It was something she’d ginned up a long time ago. It made a human-sounding voice out of a line of text. She tweaked a few of the parameters in the code — no time to get fancy — making the vocoder sound a little older (because no one ever took orders from Hope; hell, she sounded young to herself), a little wiser, a little more in command. She tapped on the console: THIS IS TORRINGTON ACTUAL. WE HAVE DETECTED A BREACH IN OUR COMM NET. SWITCH CHANNELS. KEYS FOLLOW. And she generated some new keys, something that would keep the Torrington in the loop, but by way of the Tyche. Hope then clicked her visor down to insulate her from some of the noise of Engineering, and pressed the big go button.

  “This is Torrington actual. We have detected a breach in our comm net. Switch channels. Keys follow.” It sounded a lot like Karkoski, almost like Hope had planned it that way. She’d got the nuance of Karkoski’s voice, her tone of command just right. The bundle of data that came with the orders sent new keys out to all the fighters. The only ship that didn’t hear the command was the Torrington herself.

  Her holo lit up with affirmations as Hope’s keys came in, slicing off the Torrington from the conversation like she wasn’t there. Cool. Next step, give them something to do. She typed into her console more words for the vocoder to say. Almost-Karkoski said in her ears, “This is Torrington actual to all fighters. Your targets have been compromised. That ship has chameleon tech. You’ve been shooting at nothing but air. Your new target is being loaded in.” And Hope sent that to all the ships chasing them except for one. To that ship she sent a different message. “This is Torrington actual. Fighter A-113, we have identified you as a hostile target, and will take you out of the sky. Burn in hell, over.” Hope had no idea whether that sounded like what Karkoski might say, or anyone in the military for that matter. She knew the military would never tell a target they were a target, but that wasn’t the point.

  The point was to make that ship run like the hounds of hell were after them. The point was to give El a little breathing room.

  Several things happened at once. The first thing was that Fighter A-113 paged what it thought was the Torrington with an urgent comm. “Torrington, your intel is incorrect. Torrington, please be aware you will fire on a friendly. Torrington?” And then nothing else, because of the second thing that happened, which was that all of the other ships — courtesy of Hope — now thought Fighter A-113 was running chameleon tech, was masquerading as the Tyche, and even if it wasn’t, they were tired of shooting at a ship that seemed to slip between plasma bolts like she wasn’t there. At least this new target would give them something worthwhile to do. And on the heels of that came the third thing, which was that all those ships turned on Fighter A-113.

  Hope had her fingers crossed for the little guy. She really did.

  Fighter A-113’s pilot did what any sensible person would in this situation: they ran.

  Hope’s comm pinged from two locations. One was the Torrington. The other was the flight deck, which would be El. She answered the Torrington first. She had to type quick and clean, because it was still too loud in here for the comm to work well: HELLO?

  “Tyche, what have you done?”

  Hope typed, PLEASE HOLD. And she switched the comm back to El, and used her real voice to shout over the noise of Engineer. “Hey!”

  “Hope, what did you do? Everyone’s gone.”

  “Busy, but land, and get the cap!” Then Hope switched back to the Torrington, and typed again. KARKOSKI, THIS IS GUILD ENGINEER HOPE BAEDEKER. I AM ACTING OF MY OWN FREE WILL AND NOT UNDER ORDERS FROM CAPTAIN CHEVELL. YOU NEED TO SEE WHAT IS DOWN THERE. It was a tiny lie to say she was a Guild Engineer, what with her Shingle being stripped from her. But she’d done the work. She passed the tests. She was an Engineer, and since she’d be dead soon, she wanted to go out with that on her epitaph.

  “Tyche, this is the Republic destroyer Torrington. We don’t take orders from rebels.”

  OKAY, BUT. WHAT IF WHAT WAS DOWN THERE WAS REALLY IMPORTANT? Which was enough, because Hope wouldn’t be able to convince them of anything they didn’t want to do, but while all the Republic fighters were off trying to nail Fighter A-113 to the wall, the Tyche would set down with the Torrington’s eyes on her. Those eyes would watch, and be surprised when a bunch of aliens came outside.

  The Tyche’s attitude was changing as El brought the ship around in a smoother ride. The roar of the engines dropped to more of a rumble, the purr of a happy ship doing happier things than running for its life. They lowered, the holo showing Hope the ground approaching as El brought the belly down to kiss the earth. Good enough. It was almost time for the next part of Hope’s plan. She waited until the ship settled, the airlock opening for Nate and Grace — the Tyche showing Hope little blips on the holo as they ran from a burning warehouse. October Kohl’s blip was farther out, still in said burning warehouse. The Tyche highlighted several other humans running towards her, and made a query. POSSIBLE HOSTILE FORCE SEEKING TO OVERRUN TYCHE. PDCS ONLINE. FIRE?

  Hope told the Tyche no, thank you very much. She tagged the new people as non-combatants, which seemed to work okay.

  “Hope,” said El over the comm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve got
a plan,” said Hope. “Remember, you’re very busy.”

  The sigh came down the comm nice and clear. “Hope? What’s happening?”

  “Well,” said Hope. “I’ve told the Torrington to look at us. Like, kind of close—”

  “You what?!”

  “But before that, I’ve sent the fighters off.”

  “Off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hope?”

  “Yes?”

  “How?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Hope. “But the good news is that one fighter is leading the rest of them away. In a minute, I’ll bring them all back here, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?” said El.

  “In case there are a million space bugs we need to shoot, of course,” said Hope.

  “Uh, Tyche, this is October Kohl,” said Kohl. His comm was full of static and stress. “Y’all on the deck yet?”

  “We’re here,” said El. “Cap’s on board.” Hope saw it was true — Nate was in the Tyche’s hold, or at least on the ship somewhere, which maybe meant he would come here and yell at her. She hoped he was going to the flight deck to talk to El first, as it’d buy time to get Fighter A-113 back here, with the rest of … their escort.

  “That’s great,” said Kohl. “Look, I’m bringing a party to your location.”

  “What kind of party?” said El. “We’ve got refugees boarding.”

  “I’ve got fucking space insects,” said Kohl, and then the comm lit with the sound of something exploding. The Tyche’s tactical holo in front of Hope highlighted where Kohl was, his blip still strong and alive. The ship highlighted the use of explosives, tagged the likely make and manufacture of them, projected yields, and noted that things would be safe for the ship at this distance. She also highlighted that the comm was now down at the other end, and based on the yield of the explosives, suggested that the crew member involved would need medical attention on arrival, and that the comm being down wasn’t because it was broken but because the crew member had left it at their last location. Maybe Kohl had lost his comm, or maybe he’d thrown it at an Ezeroc.

  Hope flicked on the external cameras. The rear camera set showed the last of the refugees boarding the ship, confused stares above ragged clothing. She saw from the nose camera that Kohl was running — he looks like he could stand to do a little more cardio — toward the ship. He had Hope’s maser — which made her smile — with his carbine bouncing on its sling at his back. He was waving at the Tyche, big movements of his arms that looked like get the hell out of here, which was weird because Kohl was the kind of person who looked after Number One in all situations.

  What was coming behind Kohl was something else, though. The side of the warehouse burst outward in a shower of ceramicrete, one of the big Ezeroc — the ones that looked like crabs — bursting through. Another was on its heels, and they were moving fast. While Kohl could benefit from a little more time on a treadmill and a little less time drinking hard liquor or worse, those things were moving at the speed of vehicles, gaining ground as their six legs clawed at the ground.

  This was one of those situations where Hope wished she was better use in a combat situation. She didn’t know what to do. Fortunately for October Kohl, El was also on the ship, and she knew what to do. The holo in front of Hope flickered from the amber of combat ready to the red of combat engaged. PDCs slipped from their mounts in the Tyche’s hull, and kinetic rounds sprayed across the distance, a hundred rounds a second showing brief red lines of light. The Ezeroc just … ceased to be, their big, hard shells nothing against weapons designed to deal with human-made tanks and spacecraft.

  Well, since Hope didn’t need to worry about Kohl, time to worry about everyone. She flicked on the comm array to the Torrington. She typed, DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?

  Then, she flicked over to the fighter’s comm net. She got the vocoder ready, and included Fighter A-113 in the broadcast. “Fighter crews, this is Torrington actual. Our comm net was compromised worse than we feared, and in fact the fighter you are pursuing is a friendly. New targets are being issued.”

  From Fighter A-113: “Torrington? Torrington, this is A-113. You assholes! You—” Hope turned that channel off. She then keyed in the Tyche’s coordinates as the fighter’s eventual destination. Finally, she keyed the flight deck. “El?”

  “What’s going on, Hope?”

  “We need to leave, El. I’ve got all the fighters coming back. Here. So we need to not be here.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “I don’t know? Maybe a minute.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Hope, we’ve got refugees, we’ve got—” But Hope turned that channel off too. She sat in Engineering, the drives going hot and loud behind her, and she thought: Okay. Okay. I’ve done enough, maybe. Is it time to go see Reiko?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN NATE SAW the Tyche, her skids on the ceramicrete outside the warehouse, the fire of the air car still burning off to one side, he almost laughed. Almost, but he didn’t have the air left. He ran hard, his metal leg complaining the whole way, but it was okay: Grace was on that side, half lifting, half dragging him along. Less than a minute before, he, Grace, and Kohl had been facing down three Ezeroc crabs. Just one was more than enough to do for a normal human, but he hadn’t hired Kohl because he was normal. He’d hired him because he was exceptional. Broken, flawed, but if he could be fixed, he could be marvelous.

  It’s possible that, as a reclamation project, Kohl was too much for any captain.

  But in this instance, Kohl had given him a stare that said don’t threaten to throw me out an airlock again, but had in fact said, “Cap, y’all should go.” And when he’d argued, because Grace was there and he figured that this right here was a good time to show some of his manly virtue, Grace had said shut up and run, so he had. She’d been scared when she said it, scared in her voice, and in her eyes, and the way her knuckles went white as they gripped his arm.

  And he realized then that the only one not with the program was Nathan Chevell, still determined to do the wrong dumb thing. The right smart thing was to get Grace, who was terrified, away from the Ezeroc, who wanted to do God knows what with her. And Kohl was on board with this, or something like it, because he was buying them time. Kohl, of all people. It was possible he figured he had a score to settle, and he was probably right because the way Nate saw it, the bugs had made Kohl turn on his crew. And Kohl, rather than doing the easy thing and grabbing two hundred thousand credits, had come down here into this pit of despair and fished him and Grace out. And it was more Grace, rather than Nate, that Kohl was getting, but that was okay. All of that made Nate think there might be a little hope for the big man.

  So, he’d run. Clapped Kohl on the shoulder as they went past, got a grunt in return, and hit the top of the stairs already breathing hard. There had still been refugees in the room they’d pulled Amedea from, and so he’d yelled, things like are you all fucking stupid and go that way where there are no insects, and they’d run through the plasma burn that had torn through the building.

  When Nate and Grace had burst outside, the clean air had made him want to cry, and the ship had made him want to laugh, and then he breathed in some smoke and that had made him want to cough. But he kept running, herding people aboard his ship. He paused where he’d left Harlow — yep, still there. He hauled his friend up. “Resting on the job?”

  “Nate?”

  “Yes, Harlow.”

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “That’s a good question. Can you run?”

  “No, but I’m going to anyway.” And Harlow had set off toward the Tyche, and didn’t look like he was having trouble running at all. Now that’s what a solid incentive plan looks like. Amedea was outside the cargo bay, eyeballing a piece of metal that had been welded over the cargo bay door while her precious leadership were filing in through the side airlock, and she’d put a hand on his chest and said, “Captain? We need to talk.”

&n
bsp; Nate stopped, nodded to Grace, and turned to Amedea. “Ain’t no talking that needs to happen out here, Amedea.”

  “We still need to resolve—”

  “Tell you what. You stand out here and talk,” said Nate. “I’m going to get on my ship and fly to somewhere safe. Let me know if you want to come with.” He turned and followed Grace, because not being eaten by space insects was high on his priority list, and not having any of his crew eaten was a big number two on that list. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Amedea, saw she was following, and gave a little mental shrug to himself. Looks like it’s on her list too, and higher than ruling the world.

  He watched as Amedea sealed the airlock. He unsealed it. She looked at him like he was insane and said, “Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve got a man out there,” said Nate. “He’s trying not to die, and I figured on helping him with that.”

  “One man?” she said. “We’ve got all the free Intelligencers here, captain. They can’t be sacrificed for one man.”

  “They can if he’s my man,” said Nate. “We’re staying here until he’s on board.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” said Amedea, her eyes looking off, focusing on something else, and then they rolled up into her head as she slumped to the deck. Harlow was behind her, a piece of pipe in his hand.